War of Hearts

by ZukkaFireTrash

Summary:

There were several long moments of tense silence as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Merlin had used magic, and Arthur had been awake. Arthur had seen.

When Arthur finds out Merlin has magic, at first, he’s angry, then he feels betrayed, then torn—ultimately he doesn’t know what, exactly, to do with his manservant. Of course, he could never hurt Merlin, could he?

Set in the middle of season 2 just before The Nightmare Begins, Arthur learns about Merlin's magic. This story shows several select episodes, as well as our own scenes following the canon narrative from the perspective of Arthur knowing about Merlin’s magic.

Chapter 1: Deeper Than The Truth

Notes:

Hi there! I originally started writing this with a co-author (once-and-future-gay on Tumblr) for AfterCamalannBigBang 2020 but have yet to finish it, I have realised that you guys would probably like to read it though! So, here!
This is going to be a long-ass fic. So far I have over 70K written, and be warned it's not yet finished and may never be, however... I do intend to finish it, it might just take a while. Now, Enjoy!! I will be posting a new chapter every Tuesday for now, though updates may change. I hope you enjoy it!!!

There were several long moments of tense silence as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Merlin had used magic, and Arthur had been awake. Arthur had seen. Blinding panic took over Merlin’s body, the Earth was shaking—by the Goddess, was there a rockslide? But—no, the ground was still, he realised. He was the one shaking. Wracked with fear and jostling immensely as he stared at the prince, he wrung his hands together anxiously. For a time that seemed to stretch decades, Arthur said nothing; his sky blue eyes held only confusion. He shook his head, brows settling into a scowl, with his hands fisting in the dirt and leaves beneath him as if he were trying to ground himself. All Merlin could hear was his own harsh, quaking breaths and the rush of blood pounding in his ears as it travelled frantically to fuel his racing heart. 

He’d hoped, for a moment, that maybe Arthur hadn’t seen, maybe he’d missed the guttural language and the golden flash of magic in his eyes. Perhaps he hadn’t felt the warm surge of magic seeping into his wounds, caressing, helping, healing. 

Then Arthur scrambled backwards and unadulterated rage took over his beautiful features, whilst Merlin sat there watching as his entire world crumbled before him. 

"You—” Arthur’s voice was thick and it clogged his throat.

A thousand feelings seemed to flicker across his face and Merlin didn’t catch a single one of them. He shuddered as his expression suddenly shifted and set into that of Arthur Pendragon: Crown Prince of Camelot, First Knight and son of King Uther. To Merlin, he was unrecognisable.

"You lied to me," Arthur whispered, voice cracked by an emotion he couldn't place. It could have been betrayal or anger? Sadness? He used to be able to read him, but this Arthur was so shut off it was as if he'd buried himself in a maze of stone. "All this time, Merlin. And you… you..."

His hands flailed at nothing, reaching out only to fall away when all that was there was Merlin. Merlin, who he thought he knew. Merlin, who, as he was learning—slowly, agonisingly slowly—was a liar. Arthur lurched to his feet, stumbling unsteadily and continuing to shake his head as he faltered, only stopping himself from crashing back to the ground by clinging to a nearby tree. The word pierced through him, shocked right down his spine like a bolt of lightning. Merlin was a liar. Merlin was a liar. Merlin was a —

"I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—Arthur I—You have to believe me, I wanted to tell you, I wanted to so badly —really I did. So many times. But…" he trailed off, staring at the hands that had healed Arthur just moments ago. He was still shaking violently and his words caught and jumbled on his tongue, slipping through his teeth like treacle. “You have to understand, I couldn’t, I couldn’t tell you. You—with your—your father and… and I didn’t want to put you in that position—”

Arthur barked a laugh, though it sounded more like an agonised grunt as it was forced from the back of his throat. He couldn't think straight. His mind felt muddled like he was swimming underwater. He raked his fingers through his hair once, twice, three times before the fury began setting in. Fury was stoked by betrayal, by hurt, by confusion. Before he could properly think, his sword was flashing in the last, dying rays of the setting sun, glinting like firelight, and he was stalking toward his friend.

"You're a sorcerer. You have magic, you're a liar!" 

He saw the fear in Merlin's eyes, fear of him and not for him, and wavered. His eyes drifted to his weapon and its deadly razor edge, and he dropped it silently to the grass. But Merlin's whoosh of relieved breath only lasted a moment before Arthur was shoving him to the dirt with a strangled cry.

"You lied to me! All this time!"

Merlin tried to scramble to his feet, but then Arthur was punching him in the chest, right back to the dewy grass. The air was knocked from his lungs and he closed his eyes, mashing the side of his face to the ground as Arthur hit and hit and hit, but with each blow his strength waned, stuttering and unsure. Merlin lay there, panting in a muddy field; the greatest sorcerer who had ever lived reduced to a teary mess and Arthur couldn't find it in himself to really hurt him. And yet, in spite of that, his anger flared again.

"Do something! Defend yourself!" he growled, dragging him to his feet by the fabric of his shirt and holding him there, glaring into his clear blue eyes. Hands curled into Merlin’s clothing and shook him viciously before he threw him back against a tree.

“I order you to defend yourself!” he yelled.

He trembled, face red with anger, teeth clenched so hard the joint seemed to jut out from his jaw, and Merlin’s silent tolerance of his rage only made things worse. Arthur released a harsh snarl and reached again for his sword, and without thinking he swung it with half-hearted malice and confused desperation. More distressed sounds left him as his blade slammed into the bark by the left side of Merlin’s head. He flinched, a hissing sound slipping past his clamped lips as stark red blood began to seep from a small nick in his ear. 

Arthur’s face turned almost feral as he wrenched the weapon from the bark’s hold and swiped again, narrowly missing Merlin’s front before changing his tactic and holding the blade to his friend—his best friend's neck. 

“Fight back, damn it, Merlin! I order you to fight back!”  

Tears fell silently from Merlin’s eyes and slid down cheeks that were ruddy with emotion as he shook his head.

"No," he whispered. "I won’t. I only ever use it for you, Arthur. Only you. I'll never use it against you, I'd rather die."

Arthur’s breath hitched and he flung his sword back to the ground, pushing himself away. Away from Merlin, and his fervent sincerity, and his fucking sorcery —

"This isn't fair—this isn't fair!" he glared at Merlin once more as tears built up in his own eyes. “All this time, all this time —You’re not really an idiot either, are you? That was another lie, and I can see you’re not a coward, another one, there.” Then a new emotion crossed his face, “Who knows? Someone must have known—your mother, obviously, Gaius? Does he know?”

Merlin couldn’t help but twitch at the physician’s name. Arthur stared.

“That’s a yes then, how long did it take you to tell him, Merlin? Did you give him the courtesy of knowing you for several years and then blurt it out to him one day?” when Merlin’s expression turned pained, Arthur knew he had it all wrong. “Oh, no, I see. A few weeks then? No? Don’t tell me you waltzed into his quarters and told him on the spot?”

“Arthur, please, let me explain—”

“You did , didn’t you?” Arthur hacked out a humourless laugh, hurt and anger clouding his every move as he spun on his heel and began to pace. “Who else? Guinevere? Did you tell her? Or Morgana, maybe she knows? Or—”

“Stop it!” Merlin couldn’t help the sob that left his throat, how could everything have gone so wrong so quickly? 

“No, they don’t—I haven’t told anybody, Arthur, I—I’ve never even said it before. Gaius… when I met him he fell from a height and my magic saved him, it reached out without me telling it to. That’s why—that’s why I’m here , Arthur, my mother sent me because I couldn’t control it, the others in the village were getting suspicious—" Merlin was talking a mile a minute now, arms waving frantically as he stepped toward the prince, but Arthur had his back to him. Unmoving and rigid since he’d begun to speak, the only movement he made was the twitch in his right hand as he clutched his belt so tightly his fist was quivering. “—and, and, I couldn’t stay there. She thought maybe Gaius could help me control it—And, Lancelot, he saw me, with the Griffin! I used magic so he could kill it and I swear no one else knows, Arthur, I swear it—”

Arthur whirled around, teeth bared like a hound ordered to kill, and Merlin stepped back with a jolt as if he’d been struck. 

“Lancelot knew?” his voice was dangerously quiet, “You told him and not me? You’d known him barely a few days , and you—”

“Tell him? I didn’t tell him, Arthur, he saw — ”

“Shut up! Just—just, shut up , Merlin!” he shouted, he clutched his head and tried to quell its pounding with deep, shuddering breaths. “You… why? Why did you never tell me… Two years, you’ve known me—I, I helped you with the Druid boy! I trusted you, and this whole time you’ve lied to me—”

There was a change, then. A shift. Merlin's face contorted into something almost ugly. Something nearly furious. His shoulders shook as he flexed his fingers. Then he was erupting.

"Oh, poor you, Arthur! Poor Arthur, whose father has ordered the murders of thousands of innocent people, while you sat by and did nothing! Poor Arthur, whose father is the reason I couldn't say anything! Do you even hear yourself!? How could you be this self-absorbed!? Does it really surprise you, Arthur, that I hid this from you? Did you know the first thing I witnessed walking into Camelot was a fucking execution!? How could I have told you? How could you expect me to have told you when I knew what would happen if I did? When I knew you'd want me dead because you're just as bad as your—"

Arthur stumbled back involuntarily, staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Merlin sucked in an abrupt breath and stilled. The Prince swallowed, but his throat was dry as sandpaper. Then Merlin was recoiling, shrinking away. 

"I—I didn't—" he stammered.

"It's getting dark," Arthur said. His voice was even and betrayed nothing. "We should get back to Camelot."

The journey back was stitched with silence. Merlin couldn't bring himself to look up from the dirt beneath his feet. He just kept his head down, accepting whatever fate Arthur had in store for him. So many images and scenes flashed through his mind. What if Arthur was taking him back to have him executed? Or perhaps he’d change his mind halfway and simply turn and run him through?

Merlin would prefer that, he thought, no suspense waiting in the dungeons. Just quick and sudden.

Arthur refused to even spare his friend a glance. He simply trudged on through the thicket, not bothering to check if Merlin was still following him. It wasn’t until they were reaching the path that led to Camelot that Arthur realised why he hadn’t looked back at his servant, and the thought of it sparked something tight in his chest. He hadn't looked back because he knew like he knew that snow was cold and that fire burned, that Merlin would follow him no matter what. Even if Arthur could be walking him to his death. That confused him more than the revelation of the bumbling idiot’s power, shocking and altogether upsetting as that was. But while Arthur stalked through the forest, boots crunching on the dry dirt footpath, he decided not to think and allowed his mind to go blank, he focused only on the short journey home. He would think tomorrow. When Merlin wasn’t close enough for him to hear his near-silent, trembling footsteps, he’d think then.

He was still in a daze as they passed the guards at the city gates. It wasn’t until Leon, taking in their appearances and lack of prey, raised a questioning eyebrow, asking, “No luck, Sire?” that Arthur realised they’d reached Camelot.

Arthur glanced up, forcing his face to do something more natural and familiar than stay set and emotionless, and attempted a tight-lipped smile.

“No. Merlin, of course, scared all the game, as per usual,” his lip twitched at Leon’s chuckle and he forced back a frown when Merlin jolted at the sound of his name. “We were ambushed on our way back.”

Leon’s eyes hastily darted everywhere over the both of them so that he appeared rather like a worried fishwife, and he made a start to move toward them when he noticed the blood staining his front.

Arthur couldn’t help but recall the scene, having been stabbed by the final mercenary who’d come at him seemingly out of nowhere. He'd been one of the men Arthur thought he’d already cut down and before he knew it, he was laying on the ground gasping for breath, pawing at his chainmail in confusion. Then a roaring voice snarled words in a language Arthur didn’t recognise and the man standing above him was suddenly flung backwards. He’d flown a shocking distance, hitting a large tree behind him. A sickening crack filled the air on impact and he slumped to the ground, dead. Arthur hadn’t had much time to process that before hands were on him, scrambling for purchase and Merlin’s worried face came into view. He’d looked terrified, quietly begging Arthur to stay with him, to not die, please Arthur, don’t you dare die —

Then his eyes had flashed molten gold and more unfamiliar words tumbled from his mouth as hands pressed against his wounds. It was beautiful—for a moment he’d seemed almost like a guardian angel. That was before realisation struck and it dawned on him what that meant. The magic coursing through his wounds made the pain fade completely and left the skin looking entirely untouched before Merlin’s eyes came to rest on his. At first only relief filled the other man’s features, but he caught Arthur’s expression and horror clouded his gaze. And then everything had gone to shit because Merlin had magic and Arthur had seen it.

“It’s not mine,” Arthur lied hurriedly. “I’m fine, Leon, really, although I am tired. I’ll see you for training in the morning.”

Seeming to accept Arthur’s words, Leon allowed them to enter the castle. It was only when they were alone in a deserted corridor that he finally turned and looked at Merlin and when he did, he seemed to look straight through him as if he were made of glass. Considering how close Merlin was to crying, he certainly felt like it, as if he were falling and at any moment he’d crash and shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.

“You’re dismissed,” was all Arthur said, before turning and heading to his chambers, expression still an unreadable mask.

Merlin wasn’t sure how long he stood alone in that hallway, tears threatening his stinging eyes and a fist pressed worriedly to his lips before he blinked, scrubbed at his face and made his way to Gaius’ chambers, but it felt like an eternity.

 

Notes:

Well! I hope you enjoyed so far! Stay tuned, kids, ya'll got a big storm commin'!

Please leave a Kudos and a Comment telling me what you thought so far, but be gentle with me, I have Anxiety(TM)

Chapter title from War of Hearts by Ruelle

Chapter 2: Garrotter, Jury and Judge

Summary:

Arthur makes his choice.

It had been four days of silence. Four days of avoiding eye contact and moving awkwardly around each other. Four endless, painful days of curt orders and resigned obedience.

No more shouts of ’Merlin’ in that way Arthur used to call for him; no more comfortable raillery and good-natured jibes; no more ‘prat’s, ‘clotpole’s or ‘dollophead’s were uttered. Their once easy companionship had turned heavy, wooden and stilted. 

Merlin didn’t know what to do with himself. It were almost as if they’d reverted back to Merlin’s first few days as Arthur’s new manservant.

But this was worse, this was so much worse because then at least Merlin had been able to snipe at the Prince when he’d been an arse. Or stick his tongue out ruefully at a council meetings to throw Arthur off his rhythm.

At least then, they’d hated each other.

Now, Merlin just felt guilty and subdued. As if stepping so much as a toe out of line or saying anything reminiscent of their friendship—could he even call it that anymore?—would cause another catastrophic explosion. Another argument like the one they’d had in the woods. 

In the first few moments after realising he’d been found out, underneath the horror and fear clouding him, Merlin clung to a flickering ember of hope. Hope that their relationship over the past couple of years had developed to such a point where Arthur would be able to see past the label of the evil sorcerer and instead see him, just Merlin. The image of Arthur when he really had swung the sword at him, had shattered that dream forever. The pure unadulterated wrath in his gaze still woke Merlin up with a cold sweat in the night, gasping out guilt-ridden pleas for mercy. 

He hated this—this constant state of unknown.  

Each morning Merlin had come to wake him, Arthur had already been up, dressed and staring unblinkingly out the window. There he stood; detached and mechanical each day, no matter how early Merlin appeared. He’d even once come before dawn had broken; Arthur had been sat in his desk chair, back turned to the doorway and staring silently out at the pitch black courtyard. He seemed as if he’d been sat their all night.

Merlin had taken to silently bringing breakfast as early as he could, after that. It wasn’t as if  he was getting a decent amount of sleep, anyway. He was keeping himself busy in the days with his set list of chores from Arthur, helping Gaius and becoming the helping hand of just about everyone who needed one. But even still his nights were plagued with bouts of insomnia, followed shortly by relentless night-terrors. He was so rundown and exhausted, he barely acted like himself anymore.

Gone were Merlin’s contagious laughing fits, his bright, brilliant smiles and any indication of the boys previously sunny disposition. Since coming back from their hunt img trip, Merlin hadn’t even once dared to pilfer a smidgin of Arthur’s food for himself. Irrational—or maybe not so irrational—fear shackled him. Traitorous thoughts told Merlin that Arthur would inherently know and behead him for his insolence, now their dynamic has changed so wildly.

Perhaps he’d simply off Merlin with his cutlery, save the court the trouble of setting up an execution? And he certainly hadn’t tried to lighten the mood with a jesting ‘rise and shine! Let’s have you, lazy daisy,’ since their moment in the woods either. 

Sometimes, when Merlin was wordlessly leaving Arthur's chamber, he'd feel the slightest sob bubble in his throat. It made him feel even more pathetic than he already was.

Everything had changed so much; if Arthur wanted something he’d avoid eye contact and ask bluntly for it. Now that Merlin really thought about it, he was sure that the entire time they’d been back, Arthur hadn’t addressed him by name or even directly, once. He’d looked only at a vague spot somewhere hovering above Merlin’s head, and never directly at him.

Merlin's teeth gnashed harshly into the tender part of his already shredded lip, and he swiped his tongue out to get rid of the blood.

He wasn't used to not talking to Arthur. It felt so... fundamentally wrong , that they had barely even looked at each other in the days following the nasty ordeal of that summer night. He’d caught himself, several times, opening his mouth to mutter something cheeky, only to clamp his mouth shut again when he realised what he was doing. It wasn’t his place, anymore, to be Arthur’s brazen sort-of-friend. He was a servant now. A criminal servant at that. It was unsettling, and the was the worst part of it all was being away from Arthur. 

It seemed as if his body felt it too; during his rare breaks he could feel his magic thrumming under his skin, begging him to visit Arthur, before realizing that he couldn't, not really. Not now that Arthur hated him. Not when it had been nearly a week since Merlin had last called him a prat, clotpole, idiot—

And there was something else.

Was Arthur going to tell his father? If so, would Uther then want him dead?

Idiot, he thought quietly to himself, of course the King would want me dead, I’m a sorcerer for Circe’s sake.

He imagined all the ways in which Uther might decide to execute him. A sorcerer so close to his son, the Prince of Camelot? Surely a hanging would be too merciful, would Merlin be tortured? Would Uther order his head in a box—or better yet, on a platter?

He’d spent so many evenings lying awake in bed, sleep eluding him night after night as the possibilities swirled and bubbled in his head. He'd simply stare at the ceiling, terrifying himself paralysed and running over a whole manner of chilling scenarios.

And yet, the one that scared him most was one of Arthur never speaking to him again. He wondered if he could blame him, really. 

"I trusted you, and all this time you've lied to me." 

Merlin twisted a small bunch of rosemary he’d collected for Gaius between his fingers as he ground his teeth nervously. The memory of that night wouldn't stop replaying itself, but what was Merlin meant to do? What other choice was there when he was shaking and horribly alone with Arthur slipping away before his eyes? What else he have done when it had been Arthur’s crimson blood staining the ground like morbid watercolour painting? When his hands had fumbled for Arthur’s chest, only to feel the tiniest flicker of life?

When he'd desperately pressed his trembling fingers to Arthur’s wrist and the pulse had been so feeble that Merlin had uttered the spell before he’d even thought about it? The magic had barely been a choice. 

It had been an impulse—inevitable. 

Merlin tried to convince himself that it wasn't his fault. He hadn't been an idiot for not doing something sooner when he’d first suspected they were being followed. Stupid Arthur, he thought bitterly, always out bloody hunting, without even a guard! Why? Surely Arthur was smarter than that? Yes, he was the best of Camelot’s Royal Guard, but that didn’t make him invincible!

Night had painted the sky in bold black strokes. Merlin glanced out of his window, his own reflection staring unseeingly back at him. He found himself idly wondering if it was only Arthur he was angry at. His reflection didn't seem to have an answer.

The silence was quick to become suffocating, and with a huff, he swung his legs over his bed and stormed from his room. Gaius needed his rosemary, after all.

---

Arthur couldn't look Merlin in the eye.

If he did, he might catch a flash of gold around the iris. If he did he might see Merlin mouth a spell, hold his hand out and cast, because he was a sorcerer.

Merlin; a sorcerer.

His Merlin. His clumsy, oafish, sarcastic fool of a servant… had magic.

And powerful magic, at that if the display Arthur had witnessed was anything to go by. It didn't make any sense. Merlin was an idiot, a kind-hearted one, but still an idiot. Sorcerers didn't have hearts of gold. Eyes, maybe, but never hearts. And yet—

Arthur remembered a summer day, a year earlier, when everything was simpler and slated with hazy gold. Merlin, atop his trotting horse, had turned to Arthur with the widest grin and eyes that shone—not with magic, but something else. Something only Merlin seemed to have. Arthur almost let himself entertain the thought that maybe those two things were similar, almost; Merlin and magic.

He dragged a hand over his face and groaned.

This was impossible! He felt trapped in some hateful game of tug of war, where he was the rope and Merlin and Uther—along with the rest of Camelot!—were the players. How had Merlin not lost immediately? He was a sorcerer! A traitor…. Wasn't he? 

Perhaps the dreams had something to do with it. The last one had been Arthur, unable to control his body as if he were a hollow puppet, forced to run his sword through Merlin over and over and over again. In another, watching his execution. In another, staring at his reflection and seeing not blond hair but the raven black of Merlin's before blinking and finding himself on a pyre with rope being forced over his head. One of the early ones was Uther shoving him aside and slaying Merlin himself. That one still gave him shivers, and for a week he could barely look at his father.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair with a long, low sigh. He’d arrived back from training an hour hence, and a bath had been waiting for him—perfect temperature, not a Merlin in sight—and his clothes were set out on the bed. Judging from the lack of his laundry and torn clothing, Merlin was off washing and mending. 

It had been a week now since he’d drawn his blade on him and Arthur couldn’t rid his mind of the terrified look his friend had pierced him with. It plagued him like a curse, following him day and night. Blue eyes wild with terror, devoid of their usual mirth and instead desperate and frightened. He’d barely slept and he knew it was showing in his features; dark circles were lining his eyes and most days he looked pale-faced and gaunt—Morgana had mentioned it the other day, and that was saying something coming from her. He sighed, tracing the foot of his goblet and poking absently at his food. Merlin had been in only minutes before to deliver his lunch and, in courtly clipped tones, informed him that the Council would be convening in half an hour, before closing the door quietly behind him.

He had turned into the perfect seen-and-not-heard servant, and despite all the times he’d ranted to Morgana about his incompetence and impertinent manner, he hated it. Sometimes he found himself wishing he was still in the dark, blissfully unaware of Merlin’s deceit. He wished he was his Merlin again, the one he could throw things at and pile a towering list of chores on, the one who would pull funny faces at him and give wrinkle-nosed comments about the castle’s visiting courtiers which would have Arthur turning red with the effort not to burst out laughing and give them both away. He wanted the familiar push and pull back—

Then he remembered golden eyes and strange words and immense power and lies, lies, lies, lies, lies —

And all he could do to contain his anger was hurl his plate across the room and leave it for Merlin to clean up later. Which, really, just made things worse, didn't it? It reminded him that Merlin was everywhere, yet nowhere, unseen, yet standing right next to him. Gods, Arthur wanted to rant and rage and stomp his foot like a child because he really did not know what to do and it left this aching hurt inside of him.

It didn't help that a small voice that sounded suspiciously like his father poisoned his thoughts at the worst of times to whisper things like he’s a traitor, he's probably been plotting to kill you this whole time and is only waiting for the right moment, you must tell the King. But then, that wasn’t true, was it? Yes, Merlin had broken the law, he’d practised magic, but… he’d used so-called evil magic to heal Arthur, not to kill him. Besides, Merlin had already proven how willing he was to trade his life for Arthur’s on so many occasions that he’d lost count. He was kind-hearted and loving and Arthur was sure he was so clumsy and loud on hunts to purposely scare away any game—not out of malice, but because he didn’t see the sport in killing innocent animals. He stopped to smell flowers for heaven’s sake! Well, no, he stopped to pick flowers, and herbs, for Gwen or Morgana or Gaius, but really, who did that without being entreated to?

Arthur groaned, placing his head in his hands and closing his eyes, head pounding with uncertainty. Gods, Merlin wasn’t even here and he was still a pain; at least that much had stayed the same, no matter where he was he was a pain in the arse. He glanced up through his fingers at the candle that marked the hour and realised he had mere minutes to get to the Council Hall. He stood, chair legs scraping across the floor, and hurried over to grab his perfectly polished boots (which he regarded with a glare because he actually missed the scuff marks Merlin usually left there just to spite him) and yanked them on. He slung his sword belt around his waist and hurried out the door. He’d have time to think about Merlin later. For now, he had tax figures to try and stay awake for and diplomatic issues to pretend to be interested in.

---

"He needs time, Merlin," Gaius insisted in that grave tone of his. He regarded Merlin with weary eyes, watching him poke miserably at his watery porridge. It made his heart heavy.

"He's had plenty, in my opinion," he muttered. There was a bitterness in his tone that Gaius was not accustomed to.

"It's only been just over a week."

“Yes, and considering he hasn’t spoken a word to me since, he’s obviously had more than enough time to think things over on his own!” Merlin banged his fist on the table.

The Physician sighed as he put away his empty bowl to be washed later before re-joining Merlin at their table. The young warlock had never looked so troubled, now mournfully scratching at the table and anxiously biting his nails. Despair hung over him like a thick, dark cloud and Gaius felt the need to clear it. It was futile, really, when Merlin was this distraught, but hope was a fickle thing.

"You've had magic your entire life, Merlin. It's normal for you. Arthur's been taught to fear it all of his, but he hasn't told Uther—"

"Yet."

"Merlin."

His bench scraped loudly against the floor, grating to the ear and to Gaius' heart, and he turned away from the table having barely touched his food. With a lazy flick of his hand, the bowl was soaring through the air and clattering next to Gaius' empty one.

"Merlin! You cannot be so careless—"

"What's the point?" he asked, utterly wrecked and defeated and exhausted with his back turned to the man. He trudged up the little stairs to his room and the door yawned as he pushed it open. "Might as well use it while I can. He’s probably going to have my head chopped off anyway."

“Merlin—” Gaius fumbled over what to say. He couldn’t just console the boy, despite the fact he wanted to just collect Merlin up in a hug and tell him everything was going to be alright—that would be unfair.

By the time he’d finished pondering, the door had already quietly clicked shut.

Gaius spared a concerned look at the wall between him and on the other side Merlin and felt a heavy weight settle in his heart. Knowing that he wouldn’t be coming out anytime soon, Gaius sighed in resignation and decided to start on some tinctures he needed to be prepared for that evening.

---

"Alright, Arthur, whatever it is that's going on, tell me."

Morgana had forced her way into Arthur's room, much to his annoyance, after he'd already tried to send her away thrice. Her presence was certainly... intense, commanding his attention with narrowed, irritated eyes. He didn’t want to do this. Not now—not ever, really. But trust Morgana to try and sort things it out herself, blazing through and demanding answers.

"I don't know what you're—"

"For fuck's sake—give it a rest, Arthur! Something's up with you and Merlin—we've all noticed it."

He flushed a little at that, scratching at the desk before him almost feverishly. It was obvious, then. But he could hardly tell her, could he? What would he even say? Merlin has magic, but don't tell Uther, because he's my closest friend. Ha! The mere thought of it had the heat in his face flaring harder. He swallowed as Morgana started up again at his painful, prolonged silence.

"Come on , Arthur. Say it quickly if it'll help. You didn't even bring Merlin on your last hunting trip, and we all know how much you love impressing him," she said with a frown pressed into her features.

Fucking hell, what on Earth’s she said that for—

"He's—I don't—that's not—"

"Gods," she muttered in exasperation, "you're hopeless! Just tell me ."

He didn't even entertain the thought.

"There's nothing going on between Merlin and I," he bit out, "and I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I'm in the middle of some very important paperwork. So if you'd see yourself out—"

"Fine! Don't tell me. But sort it out, Arthur, whatever it is, because Merlin's been miserable, and it's making everyone else miserable too, and I just know it's your fault."

And then she spun on her heel, blustering out of the room with her chin held up in what could only be assumed was anger.

Arthur mulled over what she'd said as the paperwork he'd been slaving away at lost what little meaning he'd managed to wrestle from it. His fault? How was it his fault!? It was Merlin who was the problem, with his bloody magic and treachery and lying. That's what he told himself anyway because otherwise, he'd have to admit he was wrong. And if there was one thing Uther had taught him, it was that admitting error was admitting defeat. Weakness.

It's his fault for being a sorcerer , said Uther.

It's your fault for your ignorance , a new voice—Merlin, gods it was Merlin—appeared, and Arthur was suddenly struck with terror as his own inner voice couldn’t help but wonder if Merlin’s was right.

"No," he muttered to himself, furiously shoving the paperwork aside. He stared out of his window into the courtyard, at the people of Camelot living their lives below, and shook his head.

"It isn't my fault."

---

“Merlin! You’re looking… less tired today.” 

Gwen had spotted him across the courtyard, hitched up her skirts and practically sprinted to catch him. It had been a week since he’d come back with Arthur, a week of silence between the two of them where there had once been secret smiles and outrageous laughter. A week since Merlin had smiled, or given Gwen a cheeky compliment or teased Arthur or done anything really, and Gwen was worried for her friend. When she didn’t get much of a reply, she steeled herself and barrelled on.

“Merlin,” she said forcefully, placing a hand on his shoulder and pulling him to the side as he tried to march down a corridor. “What’s wrong?”

“Gwen, I need to—” 

He sighed, hardly bothering to look at her, and with that, the frustration and anger at her past failed attempts boiled over.

“Don’t you dare try and tell me you’re doing something for Arthur, because he’s in a council meeting and you haven’t attended him outside the bare minimum for weeks , Merlin. If you respect me at all you’ll do me the kindness of skipping the horseshit and being honest with me!”

There was a long moment of silence where Merlin just stared, awestruck, at her, and with her attentive glare, she really saw Merlin for the first time in days. He looked… awful. His face was gaunt, cheekbones jutting out so much more than usual that Gwen, for a moment, wondered when his last meal had been. He was restless, skittish, afraid, and Gwen had never seen him like this before, not even when they’d been preparing to fight a losing battle in Ealdor. Worst of all, however, was that the usual mischievous glint in his eyes was gone, and they were left looking hollow and dull. Her other hand fell upon his other shoulder and she examined him with furrowed brows. Her gaze softened, though she tried her hardest to keep her face schooled and asked again gentler this time.

“Merlin… What on Earth’s happened between you and Arthur?”

“I…” he cut himself off with a frown and then, sighing tiredly, he simply shook his head. “It’s nothing, Gwen… it will blow over in a few weeks,” she didn’t believe that at all, especially with the sad look that came over him as he continued to force his words out. “It’s all going to be fine… I just need to give it time. Sorry, Gwen, I’ve really got to go… I—” 

He stopped again, giving her one last fleeting glance before waving awkwardly and making his swift escape down the hall. 

She stayed rooted to the spot for a long moment, worrying her lip and fiddling with her sleeve, before slowly making her way up to her Lady’s rooms. She made a detour to stop off at the kitchens on the way, picking up a light lunch to take up with her, and giving her a few more minutes to puzzle over what had happened. Merlin was distant, flighty and he seemed sad—or no, was it guilt she’d noticed? And Arthur hadn’t looked much better when she’d passed him in the hall earlier, either. Usually, he stopped to converse or at least acknowledged her when they happened to cross paths, but since they’d come back from their hunting trip, both of them had been closed off and distant. Gwen had managed to work herself up so much thinking and fretting that she hadn’t even realised she’d been standing outside Morgana’s chambers for a solid five minutes. At the realization she blinked, jerking herself from her mental stupa, and balanced the lunch tray on one arm as she gingerly knocked.

She heard a quiet ‘come in’ after a moment and swiftly entered, busying herself with arranging the platters on Morgana’s private dining tables, quiet as a mouse as she went. 

“Oh, Gwen, you look a fright! What’s on your mind?” 

Morgana’s soft tone waded through the thick fog of Gwen’s thoughts and swathed her in warm sunlight. She couldn’t help but beam as her Lady came to stand by her side. Morgana frowned, taking her hands and holding them tightly before rubbing her thumbs over Gwen’s knuckles in a soothing gesture.

“I did as you asked, my Lady,” she said, her heart fluttering as Morgana smiled at her, drawing her eyes to the red lip stain which only enhanced her wonderfully natural beauty. Gwen caught her thoughts and ducked her head shyly. It wouldn’t do to keep thinking of her mistress in such a way.

Morgana's eyes searched hers for a moment and she deflated a little.

“I see... come, braid my hair, will you, whilst I eat?” 

And how could she say no?

Once they were settled, a small plate of food now at arm’s length as Morgana was seated in front of the vanity, she began to speak.

"Well? How did it go with Merlin?" she asked as Gwen worked her fingers through her soft hair. She was so close she could smell the rosewater she’d added to Morgana’s bath that morning. Her hands were deft and skilful as she worked, and no one was allowed to touch the King's Ward's hair but her. She preened at the privilege but sighed at the question.

"He was so quiet. I've never seen him like this before," she responded anxiously. Morgana watched her through the mirror, frowning at how her eyebrows were pulled together and the nervous chewing on her lips. She was halfway down her hair now, gentle and careful in spite of her nerves. "What about Arthur?"

She rolled her eyes. "He's an idiot, as always."

Gwen had to repress a smile at that.

"What happened, do you think?" she said idly as her long black hair shifted beneath her fingers. Morgana hummed through a mouthful of bread and cheese.

“I believe something must have happened to cause one of them to confess their feelings,” she said almost too casually. Gwen froze, fingers stilling in Morgana's hair.

“I beg pardon, my Lady… feelings?” 

Morgana smirked, stark moss-green eyes flashing with mischief and catching onto Gwen’s hazel ones as she said, “Surely you’ve noticed? Oh come now, Guinevere, they’ve practically been enchanted with one another since the day they met.”

Gwen gaped at her. “They hated each other!”

Morgana laughed then, popping a grape into her mouth before saying conspiratorially, “Well, love can be strangely easy to mistake for loathing.”

Placated, Gwen silently went back to braiding, frown caught across her forehead, and then she was done and stepped away. Morgana stood, loosely grasping Gwen’s wrist and holding her in place as she smoothed a thumb over the tension held in her maid’s forehead. She felt heat flicker through her as her Lady continued to trace the edge of her jaw, catching on her lips, before she caressed her face.

“You… you truly think they’re in love?” Gwen whispered, not daring to raise her volume for fear of shattering the moment.

“I do,” Morgana murmured, eyes trained on the corner of Gwen’s lips. “It’s as plain as day. They compliment each other like the cycles of the year.”

Gwen couldn’t help but agree with that, but a fear she’d been harbouring for years was lodged deeply in her mind. “But… the law—”

Morgana’s eyes flashed angrily and, though it wasn't directed at Gwen, she didn’t step away. “Do you believe the law is just?”

“No!” Gwen hardly had time to realise that she’d practically just spoken treason before more words left her lips, “I believe that the king will honour those laws without so much as allowing a trial.”

“Yes, Arthur will be locked away in some tower and Merlin will be accused of ensorceling him or some other such lark and executed.” Morgana’s expression had softened when Gwen spoke, and now she seemed almost irritated. “Why that man is so stubborn, I’ll never know.”

“The king is a mystery to us, my Lady.” She said quietly, praying to whatever gods were listening that no one else heard her speak such things.

---

“Merlin, keep jiggling that leg of yours like that and I’ll have to assume it’s grown a mind of its own and have it amputated.” 

Gaius’ patience had worn thin. Before Merlin had come along, he’d thought many times about having children of his own with Alice back in his youth, and continuously he’d entertained the idea of adopting a child, only to push it back in favour of his studies and duties as the court physician. Then, as if sent by heaven, Merlin had come—needing a father figure to tell him right from wrong and guide him into a young man himself. Obviously, Gaius had been mistaken. Merlin was a child sent from Hell. 

“I can’t sit still, Gaius!” he whined dramatically, throwing his spoon back into his bowl, causing an almost comical turn of events as the soup splattered everywhere and landed rather marvellously into his own face. 

He seemed not to notice, however, as he absently wiped at the mess with a stray piece of cloth and continued to babble nervously. Really, Gaius had understood his tense demeanour—what with the threat of execution looming over him—in that first week, but it had been over a fortnight now. If the boy still thought Arthur was contemplating which way to bring about his certain demise then there really was a concern for whether or not his ward had some sort of mental affliction. Gaius heaved a sigh. He was too old to deal with the melodrama that came with parenting. 

“— and he hasn’t spoken more than a few words to me since! You don’t think he’s already told Uther, do you? Oh, Hell , what if he has. They’re going to kill me, Gaius! They’re actually going to behead me! Or worse I’ll be banished and—”

“Merlin!” Gaius interjected, allowing his trustworthy and decade-long-perfected look to do the work as Merlin obediently shrunk back, temporarily quelled. “Get some sleep. You’ve been through an ordeal, both of you have. I’m sure Prince Arthur is only taking his time to come to terms with things. You need to rest, with circles as dark as those hanging about your eyes you look nearer my age than your own.” he stood, shuffling around the table to bring Merlin up into a hug. “Everything is going to be alright, my boy, you needn’t worry.” 

He felt his ward shudder against his shoulder as he took a shaky breath, and ran a hand through Merlin’s hair as he clutched desperately to him as if Gaius was the hero in a child’s story to fight away the monsters under the bed. 

“How do you know that?” came Merlin’s muffled voice, thick with emotion with trembling fingers grasping tighter to his clothes. “How do you know— Gaius, I’m so scared,” he pulled back, uneven breaths stuttering out of him as tears clung to his eyelashes, “and not, not of dying, not really. I don’t think I’ve really been scared of dying since my first week in Camelot—I just… This not knowing if Arthur hates me or not I can’t—” he seemed to break then, a sob escaped his lips, and Gaius used all the strength he could muster to bring Merlin back into his embrace and keep him there. 

He would stow him there forever if it meant keeping him from this pain and heartbreak, these demons who would only want to hurt and hinder his ward. Gaius blinked away the wetness in his eyes. He knew now that Merlin’s fear was not focused on whether or not his prince would have him killed, but instead whether the one he loved most would turn him away now that his deepest secret had been revealed. 

And Gaius knew that feeling well. 

“I know,” he said soothingly, allowing the boy to continue to murmur his fears into his tunic. 

Merlin lifted his head after a while, placing his chin on Gaius’ shoulder, and whispered, “What if he thinks I’m just an evil sorcerer…? Gaius… What if he thinks I’ll betray him? More than I already have—”

“You haven’t betrayed him, Merlin, don’t you ever say that!” he said sternly, pulling away to stare at him with force. 

“But I have, Gaius, he said so himself—and he’s right,” Merlin looked more distraught now, sucking in breath after breath, all but sending himself into hysterics as his voice raised, “I lied to him! I’m his servant—supposedly his loyal servant—and I lied to him so many times! Gaius—”

“Merlin, listen to me,” he set his tone firmly, making sure he was being listened to before beginning to speak, “you have not lied to him— listen —not willingly, and when you have it was either that or execution and if Arthur does not see the reason in that, then he is not the man I thought he was. He is the prince, and he has been taught his entire life to school his emotions, to not allow anyone to see what he is truly thinking, and you may be his servant but first and foremost you are his friend and he knows this. You aren’t supposed to know what he’s thinking every second of the day, Merlin!”

“But that’s just it , Gaius! That’s what scares me! I’ve always been able to tell what he’s thinking! Even when I wasn’t supposed to— especially when I wasn’t supposed to, apart from the first few days after I met him, I’ve always been able to read him!” Merlin gasped for breath, tears now streaming steadily as he spoke, louder and louder now, “And these past few weeks I’ve been in the dark, completely unable to see what he means, and that frightens me because in all this time I’ve known him I have never seen him like this and I don’t know what he’s thinking—I don’t know what he thinks of me, Gaius.”

He turned this over in his mind and paused. The physician gave a nod and, squeezing his arm in gentle reassurance, he said, “Then you must go to him and ask him these things, because I can see without a shred of doubt how much this is affecting you, my boy. He can’t blame you for wanting answers.” 

There was a moment of silence, then Merlin took a deep breath, in and out, scrubbed harshly at his eyes, and, face set, he nodded. 

“I have to go to him.” 

---

When there was a knock at Arthur's door minutes before he'd intended to slip into bed, Arthur was rather confused.

The knock had been timid and stuttering. Merlin never knocked, and when he did it was brash and dismissively perfunctory and nothing at all like that, so it couldn't be him. Perhaps it was a different servant, like that lanky, wily boy who sometimes delivered messages to him? Or maybe Gaius, who could be tired at this time of night—he was old, after all. His room was rather dark as he'd been halfway through blowing out his candles. That was normally Merlin's job, but he'd stopped now they were in this odd stage of limbo, and Arthur would feel ludicrous to ask him to start again. What would he even say?

Merlin, I'm not used to you not being the last person I see before I go to sleep, come and make sure all my candles are blown out. I miss you. He scowled at himself, pathetic. What, was he still a child?

He rolled his shoulders, watching the door as another, quieter knock filled the still air. He wasn't sure who this person was, but he was sure that they were irritating him very close to his designated sleeping time. With a sigh, he crossed his chambers and pulled open the door.

" What do you … oh. Merlin." 

He swallowed, taking in Merlin's rumpled appearance and trembling hands with a concerned, roaming gaze. His eyes were a little red-rimmed and his hair was a mess like he'd been crying and tried—but failed—to hide it. His knee-jerk reaction was to send him away, but he looked so… Arthur didn't know what the word was, but he really didn't like it.

"Can I come in, please?" he asked. His voice had cracked, but he didn't even seem embarrassed.

"Uh," he stared back into his quarters, then turned to a dishevelled Merlin before sighing and opening up the door, "go on, then."

He shuffled past and came to a stop in the centre of his room, silent. Arthur waited, but it didn't seem like Merlin was going to say anything. The seconds ticked by as the candles burned close to their holders and Arthur burned with them in anticipation. This felt like a breaking point for them, somehow, like whatever was about to happen would be important. And yet, there Merlin was, utterly silent and motionless all except for his shaking hands. Arthur tried to push aside his impatience, really he did, but his fear of whatever was about to take place had him wanting it over and done with as quickly as possible.

"Merlin—"

"Are you having me executed?" he blurted out, the air seemed to whoosh out of him all at once.

Arthur blinked.

"What?"

"Are you? Going to tell your father, that is. It's—it's just that," he fidgeted with his fingers anxiously, trying to take deep breaths, "you weren't talking to me, and, and I don’t know what you’re thinking anymore, so please, Arthur, tell me. Do I need to write my mother a letter? I just—"

The prince watched him suck in a shuddering breath and felt an indescribable urge to reach out for him, unable to do anything about the look of horror rising to his own face. Merlin pushed on through his increasing distress.

"I just want to know. Just t—tell me, please, Arthur, it's too much. I feel like I can’t breathe like I’m trapped in some kind of limbo—you not talking to me and this, this, this—" he choked on the word, trying to say something more but clutching his chest instead.

Enough , Arthur thought and rushed to him.

“Merlin, how could you—you thought… you thought this entire time I was wondering whether or not I should have you killed? Merlin, no— no— I'm not going to have you executed," he mumbled insistently as he lowered Merlin's hands from his chest. They shook violently in his own but he didn't let go, not yet; he paused, willing Merlin’s eyes to look up, and when they locked with his, he spoke again, "I promise—I swear it, Merlin, on my mother’s grave, I won't let you die. I couldn’t… even if I wanted to..." he allowed his gaze to flicker, gauging Merlin’s reaction as he added, “You’re like a leech, there’s really no point in trying to get rid of you now.”

Arthur hadn't noticed Merlin's eyes go shiny with tears until one began to crawl down his cheek, spilling over his pale skin as he hiccuped a wet laugh. Arthur nearly reached out to wipe it away, but there was no way in hell he would ever do something that gentle with a servant—and Merlin no less, or at least that’s what he told himself, so instead he let go.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Arthur couldn't respond to that, even if he’d had something to say, because Merlin was tackling him into a hug and had pulled him tightly to his chest. He froze completely, eyes wide and disbelieving as Merlin's chest shook with sobs against his own. His hands hovered for a moment while his head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton before he slowly folded them around his servant. He rubbed his back awkwardly and carded his other hand through his hair.

"It's alright, Merlin," he tried to soothe because this was uncharted territory and he was completely at a loss, "it's alright."

When Merlin finally pulled away, he was wiping furiously at his eyes and his face had gone beet red with humiliation, Arthur scratched the back of his neck, uncertain of where to go from there. Then he was pointing at him with an intense, serious look, and said sternly, "No one must ever hear of this, Mer lin. Understand?"

He gave another wet laugh, before nodding gravely and whispering a quiet, “Of course, my Lord.”

After a sniffle, he muttered something about leaving and Arthur didn't watch him go, but when the door fell shut, he couldn't help but feel achingly alone.

---

“ Gwen !” Morgana called, glancing away and mentally stumbling over herself as no further words accompanied her panicked shout. Gwen shut the door she had been about to leave through before rushing over at Morgana’s frightened look.

“What is it?” she asked worriedly, gathering her skirts as she sat down on the bed next to her, carding her fingers through her loose curls. “I’m still here, I was only going to get you a sleeping draught… I thought it might make you feel a little better. I know your nightmares have been troubling you again.”

“You make me feel better,” Morgana’s expression softened as she spoke as Gwen’s hand came to rest on hers. She smiled warmly, casting her a fond gaze as she threaded their fingers together. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, I just didn’t want to be alone yet.”

“You can talk to me, you know. About the nightmares. Only if you want to, but you can, I’ll always be here for you,” she smiled up at her, brown eyes sparkling as she allowed her thumb to lightly graze Morgana’s knuckles. “Well, not always, but I’ll always try to be here for you,” she frowned, her words were jumbling again, like they always did when she was nervous. “What I mean is that I care about you and I love—” she paused, eyes widening and finally stammering out, “being your servant! A—and what I mean by that is that you’re wonderful…” 

Gwen’s twitching gaze finally stilled on Morgana’s pale eyes and the breath suddenly left her, hitching as she realised just how close they were. She could count the colours in her eyes if she wanted to, and she found that she did want to. Morgana’s smile seemed only to brighten, eyes glimmering as she reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, glancing up through her lashes at her servant. Gwen felt warmth flood her cheeks and her heart was thundering in her chest. 

“To work for!” she said abruptly. 

“There, I feel better already,” Morgana smiled, adoration filling her features. “I don’t need a sleeping draught, thank you, though.”

Somewhat over her previous stumble, and appeased with her Lady’s happiness, Gwen ducked her head bashfully and mirrored Morgana’s blissful look.

“That’s alright. I can stay if that would make you feel safer.” 

She seemed almost taken aback at that, breath huffing from her in disbelief as she spoke hesitantly, “But you’ve done so much already.”

“I don’t mind,” Gwen said softly, gazing at Morgana for a moment before reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

She pulled away then and gave a weak shrug. They gazed at each other for a moment, and as if she’d seen something in her servant’s eyes, Morgana nodded. 

“If you’re sure you don't mind.”

“Of course not,” Gwen said quickly, frowning slightly. “Why would I mind? This just means I get to spend more time with you,” her frown deepened. “Not that that’s the only reason I’m staying—”

“Gwen?” 

She looked at her lady and when she noticed her fond, yet tired eyes, she nodded.

“I’ll douse the fire and get the candles,” she murmured quickly, ignoring the heat that had jumped back to her face. “I won’t be a moment. I’ll get a little more comfortable as well. If you don’t mind.”

Morgana smiled at her, allowing her eyes to flicker over Gwen’s elegant figure before chiding herself and parroting, “Why would I mind?” 

Gwen busied herself with getting Morgana’s chambers ready for bed and tried not to think about what she’d meant by repeating her words. Once she was down to her underthings, she took the last candle and blew it out, placing it away from the bed and down by the window. Her heart began to beat rapidly in her chest and she quickly slipped into the bed beside her best friend. As soon as she’d settled under the covers, warm hands snaked around her waist and she shuddered slightly.

“Is this okay?” Morgana whispered, breath ghosting against Gwen’s ear. Not trusting herself to speak, she nodded instead, and slowly let herself relax, resting her head against Morgana’s. 

“Goodnight, my Lady.”

Gwen waited for a response, and when none came she glanced down, realising with a smile that Morgana was already fast asleep.

 

Notes:

And that's chapter two folks!!!! I hope you really enjoyed it, and if you didn't... well I'm sorry but don't tell me that XD

Anyway! Please leave a big ole Kudos if you haven't already and leave a Comment if you'd like to read more!!

Chapter title from Her Sweet Kiss by Giona Ostinelli and Sonya Belousova written for The Witcher

Chapter 3: What for, to yearn?

Summary:

Flowers, magic and Merlin, oh my!

Since their awkward, yet emotional, talk in Arthur’s chambers, there had been several days of stilted fumbling between the two men. Merlin still wasn’t quite sure where his place with Arthur stood; they were somewhat back to their usual banter (read: Arthur was calling him every insult under the sun, hurling various inanimate objects at him, and being a generally prattish; and Merlin had taken to being sassy when he saw fit, but was marginally more reserved than he previously had been.)

But, there were still moments when Merlin was just… confused. 

Was he allowed to use magic in Arthur’s presence now? Would he be shouted at for snuffing a candle from across the room? Or was practicing magic just as taboo as the mention of it in conversation?

Despite the firm assurance that he wasn’t to be heading to the executioner’s block any time soon—not for sorcery, at least—they still hadn’t actually talked about it; and Merlin was starting to become nervous again. 

He was all but inhaling his porridge. Slouched at the table in their quarters and vaguely aware that Gaius had been talking at him for sometime now, Merlin nodded absently from across the table. He was much too focused on eating his breakfast and getting to Arthur’s side—so’s he could attempt to suss out the answers to his anxieties—to be paying much attention to Gaius.

The last week or so had seen the physician bombarded with patients from the lower town claiming a new illness had swept through them almost over night. For the past three days Gaius had spoken a word about anything else! Now, it seemed he was so fed up with this new craze, he wanted nothing but to complain about being far too old to deal with such malarkey; it was a common cold and nothing more.

Merlin, however, was paying Gaius no mind whatsoever; his movements became frantic all of a sudden and his thought began to spiral—

“Merlin!” 

Startled, he sucked in a breath. Unfortunately, he’d had a mouthful of food and was now choking rather violently on a porridge oat. A glass of water was shoved unceremoniously into his hand and Gaius was thumping his back—quite vigorously for such an elderly man, Merlin thought absently to himself.

Finally having been successful in dislodging the food clogging his throat, Merlin greedily drank his water and took a few well-earned gasps of air before noticing that Gaius’ infamous Eyebrow of Doom had been set on him.

“What?” he asked dumbly.

“What on Earth is the matter with you, boy?” Gaius demanded, narrowing his eyes at the sheepish look Merlin gave in response. “You can’t tell me you’re still wondering what Arthur thinks of you, you spoke with him only a few days ago! Come on, out with it! What’s wrong now?”

“Nothing’s wrong…”

Merlin sighed, pushing the porridge around in his bowl with a pout.

“It’s just that…” he dropped his spoon, allowing it to fall heavily into the wooden bowl with a loud clack! “Everything is strange now; with Arthur I mean. I think he feels guilty that he hasn’t told his father… or maybe it's because he’s technically breaking the law… Whatever the reason, I know it’s guilt he feels. I mean, he’s harbouring a sorcerer; it must be playing on his mind at least a little.”

Gaius rested a soothing hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Best not to dwell on it, my boy. The pair of you will be back to normal in no time, I’m sure of it. Now, these dishes aren’t going to clean themselves, are they?” 

“Well—”

“Merlin.”

He huffed, standing with the gall of a stroppy teenager and all but threw the offending dishes into the sink, glaring viciously at them as he petulantly washed them by hand. 

“There—” 

Before he could make a speech about slave-driving physicians inconveniencing hard-working sorcerers however, the doors burst open and a horror-stricken Morgana threw herself into the room. She looked terrified; her complexion had paled notably, and her eyes were rimmed-red. The most noticeable thing to Merlin though, was the fact that she was still donning her nightdress. Merlin, unsure of what to do with himself, attempted to politely glance away.

Gwen closely followed behind the King’s Ward, a similarly panicked look mirrored Morgana’s. The second thing Merlin noticed was that she seemed to be wearing the same dress she’d had on yesterday. Her hair was tied back haphazardly with a light pink kerchief and after a closer look, Merlin could tell it wasn’t one of Gwen’s. All together, she seemed rather disheveled. 

Merlin caught her gaze and raised an eyebrow at her. Narrowing his eyes, he shifted his gaze suggestively between her and Morgana and back again, before sending her a knowing smirk. Gwen’s only answer was to glance away and stare adamantly at the floor.

He grinned; there was definitely something going on there. 

“Gaius!” Morgana called, eyes landing frantically on the physician as she fell heavily onto the bench next to him. “Something’s wrong—something is very wrong—I don’t… Arthur and Uther are searching my chambers, but it wasn’t lightning, I swear it wasn’t—”

She broke into body-wracking sobs, and Gwen was by her side in an instant. She knelt next to her, wiping at her tears and stroking her hair as she whispered comforts into Morgana’s ear.

Merlin took the scene in, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He realised with a beat that he’d rather be anywhere but the same room as a frantic Morgana when she was practically wearing nothing bar her underthings; let alone the fact he’d witnessed such an intimate display between her and… whatever Gwen was to her. Fact that he and Gaius were just stood there silently seemed to make the entire situation infinitely worse.

“Uh… I’ll just go then shall I—”

“You will do no such thing,” Gaius hissed. “Start brewing some chamomile tea, would you? And make that calming tincture I taught you. The one with ginger and lavender.”

For a moment, Merlin did nothing. Instead, he stared worriedly at Morgana.

He was only jogged back to reality when Gaius gave a snapped, “Get on with it, Merlin!”

“Er, right!” 

Once the tea was brewed and the tincture made, Merlin hastily brought them over, siphoning the mug off to Gwen and holding the tincture out to Morgana.

“Don’t drink it, just inhale; it should help calm your nerves a little.”

Eyes still glassy with unshed tears, Morgana took the vial from him, offering a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Merlin. Thank you so much.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said kindly.

“Now; why don’t you tell us what happened?” Gaius prompted.

Immediately Morgana’s demeanour changed. She was visibly distressed, her hands shook violently in her lap and tears were dripping steadily down her face. Without a second of hesitation, Gwen had swapped the tea for the tincture and was entreating her to take a sip, before speaking up.

“Well, she’s been having nightmares again so… I offered to stay with her last night—to help if she woke up scared, of course! I mean, why else would I? And—and she’s my lady—well she’s not my lady—”

“Gwen,” Merlin interjected—attempting unsuccessfully to hide his ribbing grin—before she really started rambling. “The point?”

“Right!” Gwen gave a nervous giggle before restraining herself. “Well, during the night she had a nightmare and… there was a fire, it seemed to come out of nowhere, but Arthur assured us that there must be some explanation for it—”

“Don’t pass it off as nothing, Gwen!” Morgana suddenly snapped, only for a look of remorse to cross her features as soon as she noticed the shock on her maid’s face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Gwen’s expression turned soft, eyeing Morgana tenderly as she brushed a stray curl from her face.

“You’ve had an awful night, Morgana, I don’t blame you for being a little irritable,” her eyes widened. “Not that you’re—”

“It’s all thanks to you that I’m not more-so, Guinevere. I’m not sure I would have slept at all afterwards if you hadn’t been by my side.” 

They gazed at each other for a moment and Morgana seemed to be glowing with affection.

Her eyes danced as Gwen gazed back, in awe of her. As if it were an instinct, Gwen's arms moved of their own accord, reaching up and tenderly stroking her thumbs down both sides of Morgana's face in soothing circular motions.

Eyebrow raised, Gaius cleared his throat tactfully, causing Gwen to leap up and begin fiddling nervously with her hands.

“Merlin!” she blurted. “Can you….” she paused, eyes roving the room before landing on the mug, still clasped in Morgana’s hands, “teach me how to make that tea?”

Merlin, who wasn’t at all convinced by her terrible save, only raised a brow and nodded. “Yeah, it’s dead easy.” 

They left Gaius and Morgana to quietly discuss what had happened. Merlin was content to feign ignorance until he heard Morgana utter in a panicked tone, “I did it just by looking at it—the flame just suddenly leapt higher—”

“It could’ve been a gust of wind—” Gaius tried to reason, only for Morgana to become more anguished.

“It wasn’t! It was me.” 

Merlin was sure that if he didn’t already know what she was going to say from experience, the hushed tone to her voice would’ve hidden her words. But for someone who knew exactly what she was going through, her whispering made no difference.

“It was magic.” 

Before he knew what he was doing, he was abandoning Gwen and rushing back over to Morgana. Of course, Gaius knew what he was planning even before Merlin himself did.

“Merlin, don’t—”

“No, Gaius,” Merlin caught his guardian’s gaze and they shared an intense look. “You can’t keep sheltering her from it! It won’t help—”

“And how, exactly, do you think you know better than I do?” Gaius demanded.

There was a pause. Merlin knew he’d have to pick his words carefully, but really there was no subtle way to go about this. Without further ado, the young wizard began to speak.

“Because I know exactly what she’s going through. Keeping it a secret from her isn’t going to help, Gaius. Don’t you see? It’ll only make things worse for her!”

“Merlin?”

Morgana’s eyes were wide with alarm and confusion as she peered up at him. She reached forward, gripping the arm of his tunic. He could feel her magic bubbling under her skin; like Morgana herself, her magic felt alone and scared; practically begging him for help. And who was Merlin to refuse?

“What’s happening? What’re you talking about?” She begged.

“Merlin, you cannot be so careless about this—”

“Look at her, Gaius!” Merlin pressed, almost pleading now, “She’s scared, and I can’t leave her feeling alone, not like this. Please, Gaius, we have to help her.”

“What’re you talking about?” Morgana pressed, almost hysterical now as she continuously tugged at Merlin’s sleeve. 

He endured the pain as her nails scraped at his skin, allowing his gaze to speak for him as Gaius regarded him cautiously. Merlin needed this approval, he had to be certain he was doing the right thing.

Damn that bloody Dragon; what did he know about Merlin’s friends anyway? What did destiny know about Morgana? Surely if there was any path which saw that prophecy shattered, it was this one. It was helping her, showing her love and compassion where others would only condemn. 

“Merlin, what’s going on?”

Gwen seemed frightened, yet fierce as she stepped forward. Obviously, she knew what Morgana’s suspicions were. It was more than obvious with how quickly she’d moved into an almost defensive stance behind her.

“What did you overhear?” She asked.

Merlin ignored her, opting to stare beseechingly at Gaius until he conceded. It took a fair few moments, but then the physician was sighing heavily and nodding.

“I just hope you know what you’re doing, Merlin.”

Merlin grinned brightly, turning on the spot before crouching down in front of Morgana. 

“It’s alright, Morgana. You’re safe here, you don’t need to be scared. I know what you’re feeling—that there’s something wrong with you, that you’re different, not normal,” he paused briefly; when she nodded, he carried on. “Well, you’d be right. You’re not normal, but there is absolutely nothing  wrong with you. This… power that you feel inside of you, it can only cause harm if you allow it to take control of you. That’s why you must learn to take control of it.”

She was hanging onto his every word, eyes flickering as her grip on his tunic tightened.

“But, how?” she whispered.

“I’ll teach you.” 

Gwen gasped quietly at that, and several emotions crossed her face. Her brows tugged together and she opened her mouth before slowly pressing it shut. After a moment's thought, she smiled at him shakily. Relief flooded him, and he grinned in reply.

“You—you’re like me?” Morgana urged in a hushed mumble, looking vulnerable and small. He knew what he had to do to help her.

“Yes. I have magic.”

Her grip on his sleeve tightened as the tears started to fall. 

"I’m a sorcerer, and I’m going to help you.” 

She let out a choked sob and leapt forward, hugging him with reckless abandon. He knew he’d done the right thing.

---

Merlin was absently polishing Arthur’s pauldron when he and Sir Leon entered the room. 

“Are you sure this is all of them?” The prince asked. 

He warningly caught Merlin’s eye, giving him only a moment to make himself look as if he weren’t eavesdropping, before Leon was sending him a terse smile and carrying on with his report to Arthur.

“Names; and last known dwelling places.” 

“My father suspects that the fire was started by sorcery.” 

Merlin almost dropped the piece of armour he was working on and did a very terrible job of concealing his sudden fear as Arthur, yet again, caught his gaze. Thankfully Leon was far too preoccupied with inspecting the parchment he’d handed to the prince to notice the frightened look on his face or the quick shake of Arthur’s head.

“Indeed, Sire. I’ve included the details of everyone suspected of consorting with sorcerers, witches or Druids.” Merlin felt a thick lump in his throat start and hastily tried to swallow down the acrid bile clogging his throat. 

Arthur deliberately seemed to be avoiding his gaze now, and it made the acrid feeling worsen. “Gather the men. My father has issued that they’re to be arrested immediately.” 

It took all of Merlin’s strength to remain calm before Sir Leon left the room, and when the door clicked shut behind him, he allowed a trembling breath to leave his lips. He watched with uncertain eyes as Arthur rid himself of his jacket and continued to dodge his looks. He frowned at Merlin. “I thought I told you to do that this morning.” 

Ah , starkly evading the topic it was then. 

“Uh, you did. I didn’t have time, I was helping Gaius look after Gwen and Lady Morgana.”

Merlin started to fidget. He hadn’t told Morgana that Arthur knew of his magic yet, and they also hadn’t had time to discuss whether or not they were going to tell him. 

After a few cups of calming tea and silent confirmation that the topic would be broached again later, Uther had bustled in, demanding the well-being of his ward before ordering her back to her chambers for some rest. 

Merlin had taken the chance to let Gwen know he was going to follow her up momentarily with a bouquet of flowers from her garden on her behalf—Morgana would likely need cheering up after such an ordeal.

Merlin wanted—no he had —to tell Arthur, he’d been agonising over it all morning. He’d already lied so much he didn’t want to add anything else to his guilt. It wasn’t his secret to tell, though, and he honestly felt like he was back at square one. 

The light feeling he’d felt these last few weeks coming to terms with Arthur’s knowledge of his true colours had been eye-opening. He never wanted to hold such heavy secrets again. 

Arthur scowled. “Well, that’s strange, because a little bird told me you were somewhere else.”

“An apprentice helping the physician is strange and a talking bird isn’t?” Merlin joked easily, feeling a little lighter now Arthur’s own teasing tone had managed to cease his nervous shaking. 

“Merlin.”

“Right. I’ll add ‘no more jokes’ to today’s list of chores then, shall I?”

When that earned him a snort and an eye-roll, Merlin was altogether rather chuffed with himself. The Prince had seemed awfully tense since entering the room, and that smile had been one of begrudging amusement.

“So… where are my flowers, then?” Merlin turned, raising a questioning brow at Arthur’s odd tone as the crown Prince continued, “Well, I heard Morgana got some. I just assumed you’d be putting them in all the rooms; or is she the only one to receive a token of your affections?”

“What? Token of my—” his eyes widened in realisation and he really did drop the pauldron then. “No! What? No. They were for Gwen!”

Arthur’s eyebrows hitched higher at that. “Right, so Gwen has your affections then?”

“What? No! They were from Gwen, I was just delivering them! Look, I was just trying to cheer them both up, no women have my affections, Arthur,” he paused, belatedly realising how that might’ve come across.

He opened his mouth with the intention of stammering out some half-baked excuse, missing Arthur’s curious glance, only to give up with a huff. He didn’t really care whether or not Arthur knew where his affections with men lay; and frankly it was none of the Prince’s business.

“Well—I mean, oh—it doesn’t matter. The point is that it wasn’t a token, of affection or otherwise, from me.” 

“I see… so then, why did you try to hide them from me earlier?”

Why was he so obsessed with the damn flowers?

“I wasn’t… well, I was—but I wasn’t thinking that deeply about it. ‘Suppose I just didn’t want you to get the wrong impression.” 

Arthur moved around the table, eyeing his pauldron on the floor with an unimpressed look, before stepping up into Merlin’s personal space. Merlin swallowed thickly, mouth floundering silently as he took in just exactly how close Arthur was to him.

“And what, exactly, is the right impression?”

Merlin’s throat went dry. Arthur was acting strange—stranger than usual—but something in his tone had Merlin’s toes curling in his boots and a shiver running down his spine.

“The right impression about what?”

Arthur turned on his heel, eyes wide as he noticed the two girls now hovering in the doorway.

“Morgana, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be resting? What did Gaius say?” he rounded on her, brow caught in a furrowed look of tense worry as he placed a hand on her forehead, only for it to be instantly batted away.

“Oh, piss off! Uther’s given me enough of that this morning to last me at least lifetime,” she snapped, scowling and sweeping further into the room. “And do stop acting like a fisherman’s wife, Arthur, it’s terribly unbecoming,” she breezed toward Merlin, sending him a soft, knowing look, before turning back around to the Prince. “Now, what’s this I heard about impressions?”

“Merlin brought you flowers earlier, I was simply asking him his purpose,” Arthur said nonchalantly. Morgana smirked, eyes glinting mischievously and s before setting Arthur with a teasing look.

“Oh! They were for me, I asked Merlin to gather them for me after we came to see Gaius this morning… I didn’t cause any trouble, did I?” Gwen worried at her lip, piping up again hurriedly to say, “I just thought they’d help cheer you up, my Lady.”

Morgana glided back across the room, pulling Gwen’s delicate fingers into her own and up toward her chest. “And you did, they helped immensely.” 

She leant closer, all but pushing their noses together as Gwen let out a half giggle, feeling her face begin to heat again. She then drew back and placed a chaste kiss on Gwen’s nimble fingers. Something was definitely going on, Merlin concluded his previous thought from that morning with a satisfied nod. Morgana suddenly turned to glare at Arthur, who only held his hands up in mock surrender. 

Merlin smirked. “Well, now that that’s sorted, would you like me to head back down to the gardens, Sire?” 

Arthur frowned at him. “What? Why on earth would I want you to do that?”

It took a lot of effort to keep the smirk from rising to Merlin’s mouth as he said airily, “It just seemed as if you were keen for some flowers of your own, my Lord. What with being so interested in the ones for Lady Morgana.” 

Very suddenly, Arthur’s face turned a wonderfully furious shade of red and a gauntlet (the one Merlin had already finished polishing) was careening through the air toward him. 

“I do not,” Merlin gave an expert duck and laughed as Arthur glowered at him, “want flowers, you clotpole.”

“That’s still my word.” 

“Stop bickering,” Morgana said, expression put-upon as if she were breaking up a fight between children. “What’s this?”

She picked up the parchment, left carelessly open on the table and her gaze darkened as her eyes flickered over it.

“Morgana that is meant to be secret—oh, why do I even bother anymore?” He huffed, snatching the list from her now trembling fingers, which seemed to go unnoticed by him. “It’s a record of everyone in the kingdom, known to be consorting with magic users.”

Morgana had gone a ghastly colour and Gwen was now lingering anxiously by her side. “My Lady?”

Her whisper went unanswered as Morgana’s piercing gaze landed on Arthur.

“Why?”

“Obviously father suspects sorcery, when doesn’t he?” Arthur murmured, eyes wavering over the parchment. “Morgana, are you quite alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It wasn’t them!” she gasped desperately. Gwen was by her side in seconds, brushing soothing fingers through her hair and allowing Morgana to clutch at her, expression tortured as her voice rose, “It wasn’t, Arthur! Tell him! You have to stop him from arresting anyone, Arthur, you have to—”

Looking increasingly alarmed, Arthur seemed not to know quite what to do with himself.

“Uh, alright, alright, calm down, it’s, uh… going to be alright?”

Merlin had to resist the urge to slap his own forehead. That was really going to help, wasn’t it?

“Uh, look— just, just calm down for a second, okay? If you know what happened Morgana, then tell me, otherwise, my father will continue to think of sorcery as the culprit and proceed to hunt down half the kingdom.”

Morgana let out a choked sort-of sob at that.

“Arthur, would you stop talking about Uther hunting down half the kingdom!” Merlin said through gritted teeth.

Arthur let out an agitated huff and made a step toward the King’s ward. “Morgana, just tell me what happened. If magic wasn’t involved, then what was it?”

“But it was sorcery!” she wailed, then, as if realising her fault she took a halting step backwards. The only thing keeping her upright was Gwen’s steadying hands, “I—I mean—Merlin…?” She looked toward him, distressed and searching for help. 

Abruptly, Arthur turned, staring darkly at Merlin. 

“Explain. Now,” he growled, eyes hard and nostrils flaring. For a moment Merlin was confused, but then it dawned on him.

“No—Arthur—It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it!” Merlin hissed back at him, eyes wide and a slightly hurt expression taking over his face. “Why, in the name of the Triple Goddess, would I ever—”

“Oh, I don’t know, Merlin. But if my memory serves, you’ll agree there’s been an awful lot of things you’ve been lying to me about recently. It wouldn’t be that far fetched to wonder—”

Anger bubbled under Merlin’s skin, his jaw snapped suddenly shut and he set Arthur with a vicious glare. So much for thinking they were over all that and back to normal now. Merlin ignored the flare of hurt that jolted through him, as well as Arthur’s flickering gaze as he ducked his head and cringed. When he finally spoke again, his voice was tight and low.

“You're a real fucking prick sometimes, Arthur. You know that?”

Gwen, who had been watching the two of them intently, suddenly let out a gasp. “You know?”

Arthur scowled, expression turning dark. “You know?”

Merlin glowered at him, whispering heatedly, “If she didn’t know already, she’d bloody well know now, wouldn’t she?”

He was rather rudely ignored.

“Only since this morning,” Gwen interjected, having now eased Morgana, who was still shaking violently, into a chair. She perched on the arm of it, watching Arthur carefully for his reaction. 

“Oh, well only since this fucking morning, that’s alright then, isn’t it?”

“Don’t speak to her like that, Arthur,” Morgana rasped, her glare still just as terrifying despite her trembling. Arthur glanced down and away, looking suitably abashed for the second time that day when Gwen suddenly jumped up.

“I’ll get you some water,” she murmured to Morgana.

“You told them?” Arthur gritted out, now focused back on Merlin. His blue eyes swirled with a thousand tempests; hurt and anger seemingly at the forefront of his mind. Merlin stood his ground, head held high as he nodded.

“I had to.” 

“I told you to be careful and the first thing you go and do is tell Guinevere and Morgana?” In a sudden moment of contrast, Arthur’s voice was oddly calm. Quite frankly it made Merlin a little nervous.

“Stop it!” Morgana barked, glowering as Gwen rushed over with a goblet of water. Her expression turned fond as took the goblet from her, smiling at the other women over the rim as she took few sips. “Thank you, Guinevere.”

”I can’t believe you told—”

“Didn’t I just tell you to pipe down!?”

Arthur looked sheepishly to the floor. With a satisfied nod, Morgana continued to speak.

“Now, I’m sure if you know Merlin’s secret and haven’t yet sent him to the gallows, then you might as well know mine,” she paused, righting herself in her seat and holding her head high as if daring Arthur to react sourly to what she was about to say.

“I’m the one who caused the fire. I have magic, Arthur, and Merlin is going to help me control it.”

Silence. And then—

“I'm sorry—what!?”

Notes:

Chapter title from Burn, Butcher Burn by Joey Batey and Joseph Trapanese, written for The Witcher.

Chapter 4: You know the door to my very soul

Summary:

The student becomes the master.

“First of all, I’d like everyone to acknowledge that I am not okay with this—”

“Arthur, we know—”

“Merlin, another word and you’ll be in the stocks for a week. Do you have any idea how hard it was to convince my father that the fire was started because Morgana apparently sleepwalks now?"

Gwen smiled as she watched the two of them bicker; they’d always had that funny rapport. What with Arthur’s constant insulting and half-hearted threatening of Merlin, whilst the other man teased and pushed the Prince to his limits. She liked to think that one day, maybe somewhere far off into the future, they’d all be happy. 

She could imagine it now: 

Arthur, King’s crown resting proudly atop his gold-spun hair, and Merlin by his side, like he always was. His sapphire eyes brimming with emotion, advising and loving his King all the same. Gwen focused back on her needlework. She was absently sewing patterns of Morgana’s favourite flowers into a pale blue handkerchief for the lady, humming to herself as her needle and thread spun orchids, roses and wildflowers from nothing. 

She paused and glanced up. She must’ve been in her own world for quite some time, because Arthur had moved, no longer yelling and giving stern orders, he was now standing guard by the door. Face impassive, stance set and eyes flitting to any sign of danger, he was ever the soldier he’d been trained to become. 

Gwen inspected him for a moment and pondered that perhaps in another life she might be attracted to him if he weren’t so brash and quick to temper or so focused on his swords and his training, because really, what else did the man do? 

She remembered they had kissed, briefly after Arthur had disguised himself for the tournament—when he’d stayed in her house and been insufferably rude, and then, oddly kind. She remembered the initial confusion that led to worry when she realised how unattracted she was to the prince. Arthur was handsome, of course, and brave, but he really wasn’t Gwen’s type. If she were being deeply honest with herself, she’d take more notice of how she strayed from hulking muscles and much preferred soft, lean curves, angular cheekbones and deathly swiftness as opposed to raw brawn.

Then, the most beautiful sound graced her ears, and with a turn of her head, she was blessed with moonlight herself. Stark, pale, silvery skin made its mark against eyes which held waters like a clear lake in a dark forest. As Morgana laughed, beams of light shone through leaves to cast a spectrum of breathtaking colour. Gwen couldn’t tear her gaze from the flecks of new spring growth that seemed to encircle that lake like an ethereal rim; such strength was held in those eyes that sometimes she thought, just by looking at them, she could die then and there and be happy to never wake again. Her eyes held her soul and Gwen wanted to dive down deep into them, find everything that made them flicker and their waters ripple. They were beautiful, even when she cried, but never more so than when she was fierce and impassioned, sword gripped in hand and her beguiling features set in determination. Those times were when Gwen loved her eyes most. 

Morgana was born to be a queen. 

Gwen had always said that, and it showed even in the way she held herself: long elegant limbs poised for defense—should someone speak ill of someone she loved, or commit an injustice, Morgana was ready like a viper to attack. Her features were sharp, fervid and so intensely beautiful that Gwen sometimes thought that if she stared too long, she might go blind with it.

In her mind, they complimented each other like yellow and blue. She thought herself a daffodil. Plain, yet pretty and useful in its own way. Morgana, a forget-me-not. Delicate and underhand, often overlooked by many and seen only as a beautiful flower, but she would never be so easily forgotten. 

Merlin had begun their lesson now, and was teaching her to light and relight a candle. Gwen had been scared for her Lady at first, worried that the flame might cause her to be fearful; but once Merlin had shown her how easy it was to control that power, she’d become a quick study. 

Now, small objects were flying across the room as Merlin grinned, guiding her in hushed tones to allow the gate, as he called it, to open only a little. He had explained before they’d started that magic was like water behind a dam. If you allowed too much out at once, it would cause a flood and you could be overpowered by the torrent. 

It took a lot of effort at first, he’d said, to control how much power you needed for each spell, but it would only become easier until it was second nature, like learning to ride. Each incantation needed to be enunciated proudly. And intonation needed to be correct and precise or the connection would break and spell either breaks or becomes volatile. The intent was also key. You had to know exactly what you wanted from a spell for it to work. 

Gwen had been rather overwhelmed when his little lecture had ended. She’d been intrigued, not that she wanted to learn sorcery herself, but one couldn’t help but be curious. Merlin uttered the incantation again before getting Morgana to repeat it several times before he was satisfied.

“Now try again. Remember, you don’t just want the pillow to fly or it won’t move anywhere. You want it to come to you,” Merlin gave her an encouraging smile. “Come on, just another half an hour or so and then we can call it a day.”

Morgana gave a nod, eyes of green glancing to Gwen, and a newfound ferocious resolve seemed to overcome her. She held out a hand, gave the offending throw pillow—which had previously sat resolutely steadfast—a determined glare and spoke clearly, “ Befleogan.”

Her eyes flashed with the light of a hundred fires, golden embers licking at the green moss, rippling over the clear pools, and suddenly the pillow gave a jerk. It seemed to be unwilling to move any further. Her face hardened and concentration set in and, eyes still stunningly alight, she hissed again, “Befleogan!” 

It soared across the room, landing in her open arms. Morgana’s jaw dropped in shock and with a whoop of joy from Merlin yanked her into a hug. “You did it! See, I knew you could!”

Gwen’s feet were moving of their own accord before she could stop them, and she too was flying toward Morgana. 

Guinevere was beaming so brightly that the King’s ward was sure that a ray of sunshine had turned into her closest, radiant friend. Strong, yet soft arms engulfed her in a warmth that started somewhere deep and secret in her heart. 

Gwen buried her face into Morgana’s neck, allowing the sweet smell of camomile tea and wildflowers to envelop her, quelling her aches and causing her heart to stutter in her chest. A hand trailed up her back, gliding over the coarse cotton of her pale pink dress and stopping just at the nape of her neck. Fingers submerged themselves into the thick curls of her hair, playing idly, before slipping away. Gwen missed the warmth immediately. 

Breathless and flushed, she glanced away. “Well done, I never doubted you,” she praises quietly, fiddling with one of the lacings in Morgana’s dress. “You can do anything you set your mind to.”

Morgana’s eyes went a little wide as the colour rose to her cheeks, she stuttered out her gratitude with a little cough. Seemingly oblivious to her nerves, she was too focused on her smile.

Morgana’s smile was like starlight and heaven. 

“Thank you,” she said.

Merlin beamed right back at her.

“We might as well stop there for today or, just pop it back for me, would you?”

His eyes danced with impish charm, and it seemed nobody but Gwen noticed the amused huff Arthur gave from by the door. He quietly muttered the incantation to her, watching her with a steady eye. She seemed tired now, but no less determined. 

Morgana’s lip jutted in a pout, and with a weak glare she lifted her hand again, the other rested, overlooked, by Gwen’s hip, and whispered, “Eftforgiefnes.”

The pillow raised from where it sat on the floor and was flung back across the room, before settling gracefully onto Morgana’s bed. Gwen’s hand slid down her arm, threading their fingers together and squeezing tightly to signify her pride. 

“Alright, that’s enough, it’s late as it is,” Arthur’s tone was stern, inviting Morgana to throw a querulous look over her shoulder and give an indignant sniff.

“Alright, your Highness , get out then. Some of us actually want some sleep tonight.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and jerked his head at the door. “Merlin, come on.”

Merlin shared a jesting look with Morgana before ambling towards the door. “Goodnight, my Lady, Gwen,” he gave a theatrical bow and ducked out the door, Arthur trailing behind him. He paused, glanced back over his shoulder and caught Morgana’s gaze.

“That was… very well done, Morgana...” he said, a small smile flickered to his lips. “I’m proud of you.” 

Then he was sauntering out the door after his manservant, pulling it quietly shut behind him. 

“Well… that was… certainly unexpected. From Prince Arthur, I mean,” Morgana’s hand shifted on Gwen’s hip as she hummed in acknowledgement. Gwen looked her over and placed her own hand at the small of her lady’s back. “You look tired, come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Notes:

Hey guys, just a little post Christmas present, only a little chapter for now but a big one is coming later on, I hope you enjoy!
Give me a kudos and a comment if you’d like to read more!

Chapter 5: Burn, Butcher burn.

Summary:

Merlin is accused of sorcery.

The door to the prince’s chambers were thrown open with an almighty crash, startling the girls so violently that it caused Gwen to drop her sewing and Morgana to tip ink all over her letter. 

It had been several months since their secrets had all been revealed and things had been running rather smoothly. That is, if you didn’t count the time Gwen had been kidnapped in Morgana’s stead, or the time that the King got himself married to a troll for the best part of a week and a half.

But despite their hiccups, everything was going swimmingly. Morgana’s dreams still plagued her, but she was getting much better at deciphering them, with Merlin’s help, and she hadn’t once set the drapes on fire after the first debacle. Gwen was sitting safely by her side, smiling like the sun and humming under her breath and Arthur and Merlin hadn’t properly fought in weeks. 

Of course, she’d thought all that much too soon. 

Scowling stormily, she whipped around to shout her aggression at Arthur, only to have her words die on her tongue at the look of feral wrath she was greeted with. Never in her life had she seen him so angry, not even when she’d made the mistake of insulting his mother when she’d first been placed as Uther’s ward. 

“How dare you!” Arthur raged, practically dragging Merlin into the room and slamming the door shut behind him. 

His face was flushed and his jaw was clenched so tightly that Morgana couldn’t help but think that he must’ve been grinding his teeth to dust. Merlin stumbled, unsteady on his feet, before turning his own glare back at the prince.

“How dare I!? I saved your life! Again!” Merlin shot back hotly. His own anger surged violently out of him, fists shaking at his sides and nostrils flaring as he continued to shout, “I know that you think you're the greatest man who ever lived, Arthur, but a little thanks once in a blue moon wouldn’t kill you!”

“Thanks!? Thanks!?” Arthur gave a humourless bark of laughter, expression hardly shifting as he shook his head. “Merlin, the knights were right there! They could have seen—if they had— my father—”

“Damn the knights and bloody well damn your father too!” 

Gwen released a sharp gasp at that, finally alerting the men to their presence, only to make the mistake of speaking. 

“I don’t know what’s gone on, but if I may interject—”

“No you may not,” Arthur snapped, turning back to Merlin and seemingly oblivious to the dark look Morgana was shooting him. “It seems that your tricks aren’t enough for you, are they? You just have to go around committing treason vocally as well? Do you honestly have a death wish?” 

He’d moved closer to Merlin whilst speaking, and had clamped a hand down on Merlin’s arm, giving him a vicious shake when he received no answer.

“Don’t you dare speak to her like that!” Morgana bit viciously.

Arthur turned back to her, obviously confused. Before he could do much as get a huff out, she was right in front of him and glaring at him venomously.

“That goes for Merlin too,” she snapped. “He was protecting you, Arthur. That’s his job. And Guinevere has nothing to do with this, so you’ve no right to treat her that way!” 

Merlin attempted to twist his arm from Arthur’s grip, only to have no luck as the Prince’s grip only tightened. Taking the loss he, he caught Arthur’s attention with a well-timed growl.

“If I’m not mistaken, Sire, my ‘tricks’ have played a rather large part in keeping you well and alive all these years. I’m not the one constantly running headfirst into danger despite everyone else telling me it’s a bad idea.”

“The difference between you and I, Merlin, is that I’m trained in combat, and you are not—”

“That doesn’t matter, Arthur, I am perfectly capable of defending myself!” 

Arthur’s grip tightened on Merlin's arm, and again, he shook him. “No, you’re not!”

“Well, quite frankly, it does seem glaringly obvious that I am, seeing as I saved your life not half an hour ago!” Merlin began squirming again, voice raising as he continuously failed to free himself from Arthur’s grip. “And would you let go of me!”

“I’m not talking about that!” Arthur roared, eyes wild and anger suddenly shifting to something else. Merlin paused. He… he looked distressed.

Arthur glanced down at the hand squeezing Merlin's arm and hastily pulled it back.

“Alright, calm down. Both of you,” Morgana said, standing abruptly and abandoning her letter. “You’re clearly out of sorts from whatever it is that’s happened—”

“Morgana, get out, this doesn’t concern you,” Arthur growled. “Why are you even here, if you hadn’t noticed these are my chambers!”

“Arthur!” 

“Get out! Now!”  

In the end, it was Gwen who convinced Morgana to leave without aggravating the situation further. She pulled gently on her velvet sleeve, coaxing her toward the door with soft whispers of encouragement. With one last narrow-eyed glare, the two swept from the room, leaving thick, icy silence behind them. There was a moment of relief when Merlin thought the brunt of the argument might be over, but of course, Arthur just loved to prove him wrong.

“You. When will you learn that your actions have consequences!?” 

Merlin turned, glowering darkly at him. 

“When will you learn that so do yours!?” Merlin’s voice had raised so much it almost sounded as if his words were reverberating around the room. There was another long moment of silence and he continued. “You are the Crown Prince of Camelot, Arthur, and as I’ve told you continuously over the past two years, your life's worth a hell of a lot more than mine is! So, fuck everyone else if it means I die saving your life—”

“By the Gods, Merlin, I care about you!”

Arthur gave a yell, emotion burning in his eyes. He turned as if to begin pacing, before changing his mind and stalking straight back over to his manservant. He gripped Merlin’s shoulders tightly and gave him a forceful jostle. 

“I care about you and I am terrified of losing you. Can’t you see that? It’s not as if I can order you to stay here away from danger either because you don’t bloody do as you’re told!” he gave a heavy sigh and let his grip slip, moving away to run a hand over his face and pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. “If the knights had seen, Merlin… I would be helpless in protecting you from my father. I wouldn’t have any power, and he would have you executed in an instant—”

“Hey, hey, shh,” Merlin soothed.

He reached up to rest a hand on one of Arthur’s, waiting until the other man had settled a little before giving him an intense look.

“I know. I’ve been doing this for years, Arthur, practically since the moment I could speak. I know the risks, and despite you discovering my secret, I’m actually quite good at keeping it. I won’t endanger myself knowingly unless your life is on the line, and nothing you can say will change that.”

“You—you have to be more careful,” Arthur took a trembling breath and steadied himself. Without even a thought his grip on Merlin’s shoulders loosened and he was clutching Merlin’s hand in his own. “Do you understand me? If it comes to my father I won’t be able to protect you.” 

Merlin grinned and nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Untwist your knickers, Arthur, I'll be fine."

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Merlin,” Arthur said viciously, his once calmed expression rising back to anger, which was now looking suspiciously as if it were turning into fear. Quickly, Merlin put a quelling hand on the prince’s shoulder.

“I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have joked about it,” he pulled his hand away once Arthur’s expression had eased again, “but I will be fine, Arthur… I've lasted nearly twenty years.” 

Arthur studied him, and then with a scoff he muttered, “Through sheer dumb luck, and nothing else.” 

Merlin hummed, mouth twitching with amusement. “Almost as if by magic.”

Arthur shot him a warning look, which promptly got ignored, before heaving a sigh and all but collapsing into the seat Morgana had been sitting in when they’d first barged into the room. He reached over, plucking up the ink-stained paper and lifting it delicately. 

“I should go and apologise to them, they didn’t deserve that,” he paused a moment before continuing, “you didn’t deserve that.”

“You’re right, they didn’t.” Merlin agreed, puttering around the room, tidying away odds and ends as he went. “You might want to give them time to cool down. If you go now, you’ll only make Morgana angrier. You should take Gwen’s things with you,” he nodded to the dress she’d been darning, left haphazardly on the table, “when you go. She won’t want to fall behind on her chores if Morgana’s asked her to fix something.”

"Yeah, that's a good idea," Arthur murmured, wondering aloud how he should apologize as a mischievous smile slipped onto Merlin's face.

"What was it you said earlier, Arthur? 'I care about you and I am terrified of losing you'? That seems like a good start," his smile grew wider as his eyes sparkled with mirth. He looked beyond cheeky.

Merlin, however, was no longer smiling when an ink-drenched ball of parchment splattered wetly across his front.

---

“How many times must I drive it into that thick skull of yours that your magic is a secret to be guarded with your life?” Gaius shouted, “What were you thinking?”

Merlin gave a heavy sigh, he’d already had this fight with Arthur the night before—and yes, alright, a Witchfinder was coming to Camelot, but how was he to know someone would follow him out that morning whilst collecting firewood? 

“I… I—urgh, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Well think, boy, think!” 

Merlin gave a vague gesture with his arms, shrugged and said defensively, “It was just a bit of fun!”

“It was magic and it was seen.” Gaius pressed, face contorted with frustration. 

Not feeling much for another shouting match, Merlin gave an appeasing nod. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.”

“How many times have I told you you cannot be so careless?” Gaius gave a sigh of his own and set Merlin with a long-suffering look, shaking his head, he softened his tone. “Merlin, what on earth am I to do with you? You must hide the book, anything that can connect you to sorcery in any way—”

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” 

Merlin’s eyes shut of their own accord, and he couldn’t help the groan that left his throat. Great, now, Arthur was here. To shout at him. Again.

“No need, Sire, he has already been thoroughly reprimanded.” 

Barely acknowledging that Gaius had spoken, Arthur grabbed Merlin by the shoulders and shook him, much like he had the day before. If he kept this up, Merlin was going to have permanent handprints on his upper arms and a very persistent headache.

“Stop shaking me, that isn’t going to help—”

“Oh, but making horses in fire smoke in broad fucking daylight is?” Arthur hissed, looking even angrier than he had before. Neither of them caught Gaius’ harsh glare, the old physician was not one for such brazen language. “We just had this conversation, Merlin, do you have a brain at all up there, or is it just empty space?”

“Alright!” Merlin snapped, scowling and wriggling out of the prince’s grip. “I bloody well get it. Now if you don’t mind, I need to find a good hiding place for my book of magic before the Witchfinder finds it!” Arthur gave a growl, Merlin ignored it.

“How—how can someone as clever as you be so stupid?”

He faltered, blinking vacantly at him, before muttering, “You… You think I’m clever?”

Arthur gave a vexed groan and ran a hand rather viciously through his hair. He set Merlin with a glare and took a deep inhale. “Not right now I don’t.”

Merlin smirked. “But generally… on the whole, you think I’m clever?”

“Mer lin.” 

“Shut... up?”

Arthur hummed, his smile wide and wooden. Then his expression changed and he looked worried again which meant the conversation wasn’t yet over.

“Arthur—”

“Don’t, Merlin. I am so—so angry with you. Do you realise you haven’t just put yourself in danger—” 

He inhaled sharply, realisation dawned on him. “Morgana.”

“Yes, Morgana. She’s not like you, not yet, anyway. She’s still terrified—back there when father mentioned the Witchfinder, I thought for sure that she was about to burst into tears. She’s already close to breaking point and he’s not even here yet—”

“She’ll be fine,” Merlin rushed, eyes locked with Arthur’s and determination set on his features. “There’s nothing that can incriminate her. We’ll stop the lessons until it’s safe. He can’t—he won’t find anything. She’s safe, she has to be.” 

“I hope you’re right, Merlin.” 

They didn’t notice Gaius’ intrigued gaze as Merlin took Arthur’s hand and squeezed. 

“So do I.”

---

Morgana’s face was struck with terror, eyes wide and pupils barely-there as she watched the Witchfinder smirk before the King. Arthur's arm flinched at her every movement. He was sure that if Gwen hadn’t been there with a calming hand sweeping down her shoulder, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from leaping to her side. 

He saw Merlin exchange an aghast look with Gaius when the girls told their tales and noticed Aredian’s beady-eyed gaze roaming the room, looking for any sign of weakness. His fist clenched in the arm of his chair, but he’d been taught his entire life how to hide his emotions, so fear and discomfort were easy to mask. 

The King stood abruptly, eyes wide as he called out to the Witchfinder, “The sorcerer. You have a suspect?”

“I do, my Lord,” he answered, smile turning sinister as he turned to address the other members of the court, “and I regret to say, they stand among us in this very room!”

Gwen watched him with thinly veiled contempt in her eyes, feeling the distaste she'd felt at seeing him crossing the corridor outside Gaius' chambers return tenfold. Arthur heard Morgana gasp, watching from the corner of his eye as she cowered like a startled fox. She was going to give herself away, she needed to calm down. Gwen was with her, and if anyone could calm her it would be Gwen. He slowly turned his gaze back to Aredian, leaning forward in his seat, careful to make sure he seemed only shocked by the revelation, that no worry was detectable in his face.

“My methods are infallible, my findings incontestable!” his voice rose and Arthur felt sick to his stomach as he spoke. “The facts point to one person, and one person alone. The boy!”

His voice echoed as he turned, pointing directly at Merlin, who, thankfully, looked only shocked, and not particularly guilty or fearful. Arthur swallowed thickly, jaw tight as Aredian condemned, “Merlin!”

There was deathly silence for a long moment, then Arthur heard himself speak, more arrogant and self-assured than he’d felt in a long while.

“Merlin?” Arthur quirked an eyebrow, tone disbelieving as he carried on, “You can’t be serious.”

Arthur thanked whatever gods were above when Gaius spoke, as he really did not have a clue what else he might’ve said next, given the chance.

“This is outrageous! You have no evidence!” The older man shouted recklessly. 

“The tools of magic cannot be hidden from me,” Aredian’s voice was as slippery as a serpent and twice as cunning. “I’m certain a thorough search of the boy’s chamber will deliver us all we need.”

Uther scanned the room, gaze flicking between Aredian and Merlin. He raised his head, eyes narrowed and, tone far more respectful than Arthur had ever heard him when speaking to a servant, he asked simply, “Merlin?”

If Merlin was anywhere near as surprised as Arthur was that Uther actually knew his name wasn’t in fact ‘the serving boy’, he didn’t let on. He only matched the King’s look and spoke calmly, “I have nothing to hide from him.” 

“Very well. Guards! Restrain the boy,” he sat back on his throne. “Let the search begin.”

Arthur had to force himself to stay rigidly still as the knights roughly took a hold of his Merlin, using far too much force against someone who didn’t even struggle. He glanced away, thinking for a split second it might be better not to watch as he was dragged from the hall. He caught Morgana’s tortured gaze as she stared at her friend being manhandled out of the room. Gwen was whispering hurriedly into her ear, thankfully her voice was soft enough that Uther hadn’t noticed, and a deep-set worry overtook him. Panic broiled in him now that Merlin was no longer in his line of sight, and missing the fact that Aredian was watching him intently, he turned quickly to catch one last glimpse of pale blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, before the doors slammed shut. 

He knew his face was no longer blank, he knew that distress was evident in his features, but for a moment he couldn’t control it. Merlin was gone. Merlin had been arrested for sorcery. There was a very high chance that things could go horribly, horribly wrong.

Notes:

Chapter title from Burn Butcher Burn

Chapter 6: Catch me, ‘cause I’m already falling

Summary:

Merlin is held in the dungeons and subjected to Aredian’s merciless methods of interrogation; will Merlin be able to resist giving in, and if so, how will Arthur react?

Arthur had only stood by and watched as Aredian had used Arthur’s men to tear apart Gaius’ chambers. Merlin’s things had been flung haphazardly about the room, the few good clothes he’d had were torn to shreds in the name of looking for "evidence". It had been Leon who’d found it, eyes glancing at Arthur with sorrow and confusion as the amulet fell from beneath Merlin’s pillow. 

Gaius had been even more astounded than Arthur had, which said something. After everything they’d talked about—the book was hidden safely, or had yet to be uprooted at least—how had Merlin been so careless to leave such an obvious magical object in plain sight? 

It didn’t make sense.

“The boy was brought up in Essetir, was he not, Arthur?” he fell suddenly back into the conversation, nodding as Uther continued to speak, “This amulet you found could just be a stupid mistake. Merlin has been a valued and loyal servant to Arthur since the day he arrived in Camelot. Why would he show such loyalty if he was dedicated to sorcery?”

Arthur stared at his father. Since when had Uther been such a big fan of Merlin? Not that he was complaining, of course.

“Perhaps he’s just been biding his time.”

Arthur bristled. “We must give him the benefit of the doubt, though, surely?”

“Why?” 

Aredian’s tone was full of stone; cold and unforgiving. His eyes seemed to be judging him, searching for any reason to accuse, not only Merlin, but Arthur himself. As if he gave no mind to the fact Arthur was the Crown Prince. He stared Aredian down, expression only faltering when the Witchfinder twisted an eyebrow with a mocking question. 

“Anyway, there is a sure way to establish his guilt.”

Uther leaned forward onto the table, obviously finished with his dinner as he set down his napkin before picking up his goblet and taking a leisurely sip.

“I know your methods are effective, Aredian, however Merlin is nothing more than a weak serving boy. If he’s not the sorcerer you accuse him of being, I fear he could not withstand such… treatment.” 

Alarm sliced through Arthur’s mind at his father’s tone. Uther was a formidable force, coarse and unfeeling when he wanted to be. What on earth was this man capable of if it worried the King in such a way? Arthur swallowed thickly, taking care not to seem too affected by his father’s words.

“Treatment? Father, what are you talking about?” 

He was ignored, however, as Aredian bit into a hunk of meat, gaze locked with Uther’s in some kind of power play. Arthur felt defenseless, like he was thirteen again, invited to his first war meeting with no clue how to act. The Witchfinder’s smile turned leer was dangerous, like a hungry wolf ready to tear at its prey. 

“It’s the only way to rid your mind of doubt.”

Arthur felt fear, cloying and unyielding, reach his throat as Aredian finished his meal and pushed away his plate.

“Now, if you’ll bid me, your Majesty, I will start… questioning the boy.” 

Uther waved him off with a nod, and he was sweeping out of the room, taking the wellbeing of Arthur’s heart and soul with him as he went.

---

Merlin was beginning to panic. 

It had been hours since he’d been tossed into the dungeons. The sun had already set and he hadn't been given any food or water—surely the search would have been over by now? He hadn’t been lying, he had nothing to hide in his rooms. Anything at all that could’ve been seen as magical he’d long since squirreled away to the catacombs under the castle. 

Kilgharrah had been less than pleased about the fact his cave was now being used as a glorified storage unit; but at least the scaly old bastard understood it was only temporary. 

Merlin shivered in the biting chill of his cell, his tattered threadbare jacket wasn’t putting up much of a fight against the cold of the dungeons. With only a single torch by the guard’s keep to see by, the dank darkness of the cell was getting to Merlin’s head. There was no bed, only a pile of straw on the floor which he’d long since curled up on to. It’s late , he thought waveringly, they’ve probably just forgotten about me for now and I’ll be let out tomorrow.

Just as he’d rested his head in his palms to see if he could catch some sleep, harsh footfalls pounded toward the cells. He scarcely had time to wonder who was coming, when the cell doors were wrenched open and a bucket of ice-water was dumped unceremoniously over him. Shock engulfed him for a moment, rendering him speechless before he gasped out a choked cough.

Jolting up and spluttering violently, Merlin glared at the intruder with fire in his eyes. “I was already awake!”

“Were you? My apologies,” came Aredian’s cruel sneer, striking ambivalent concern through Merlin’s gut. “Guards, if you would.” 

He was abruptly yanked up by harsh fists and dragged through the cell doors.

“What’s happening? Where are you taking me?” 

He couldn't conceal the frantic edge to his words. Attempting to take control of his own movements, he managed to wriggle one of his arms out of the guard’s grasp. He let the mocking voice in the back of his mind tell him it was all because Arthur was so grabby—only for it to be silenced when he was struck cleanly across the face. 

He gasped as pain blossomed on his cheek. Head sent reeling and blinking spots from his eyes, he surrendered to the guards as they manhandled him into a small, firelit room just along from his cell. He was tossed into a chair made of thick wood and ropes were immediately cast around his arms and legs, tying him resolutely to the chair. 

He tried to pull at them, only to notice they’d been knotted just tight enough that if he were to struggle at all, they would rub and rip into his skin. He clenched his teeth and glared defiantly up at Aredian. 

“I would advise against being so… uncooperative , Merlin, was it?” Aredian smiled something ghastly and cast his hat down on a table littered with various devices. Merlin swallowed thickly, fear surging through the rage in his blood. “You might find your… treatment to be otherwise rather unpleasant.”

Merlin ignored him, hands tightening into fists as he ground out, “Why am I here? I haven’t done anything wrong—what those girls said, it wasn’t me who did those things!”

Aredian let out a harsh bark of laughter. “So stereotypical of you, sorcerer, to put your blame on others. No wonder you’ve been caught, you’re getting sloppy,” he picked up a bracelet from the table and held it up to his face, showing how it pulsed with light—obviously magical—in the near darkness. “Do you recognise this?”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “No… I’ve never seen that before in my life.” 

“You’re certain?” 

“Yes.” 

His cruel smile widened at that.

“Lies!”

Again, Merlin was struck soundly across the face, and a noise of surprise rang from his throat. Within seconds he could already feel the bruise starting to form on his cheek. Tears brimmed in his eyes and a trickle of thick, warm blood dribbled down past his eye; he’d been cut by one of the Witchfinder’s rings. 

He puffed out a breath, leaning forward in the chair and trying to lightly shake the pain away. He’d suffered much worse than this and survived time after time, he wouldn’t allow Aredian the pleasure of seeing him in pain. Nostrils flared, and eyes just as fervent as before, he stared defiantly at the floor.

“Let’s try again, shall we?” Aredian crooned, sickly sweet. “This was found in your rooms this afternoon. Moreover, under your pillow. Care to explain, sorcerer?”

“I am not a sorcerer.” Merlin bit harshly, which technically, wasn’t a lie—he was a warlock. According to the dragon, there was a difference. “And I’ve no idea how you found that in my room. It's not mine, I certainly didn’t put it there.”

“Well isn’t that…” he paused, setting Merlin with a condescending look, “convenient.”

Moving nonchalantly, he discarded the bracelet with little care, eyeing Merlin wickedly. He ran his fingers over the sinister array of objects on the table, before finally settling on a thick set of cuffs. They clinked together as he picked them up, the sound ominous in the otherwise silent room. 

“Do you know what these are, Merlin?” he asked, smirking when Merlin shook his head. “These are made of cold iron, which I hear is incredibly painful to those with magic.” 

Merlin steeled himself, careful not to let out any indication of panic. “I already told you,” he said, pushing through the quake in his voice, “I’m not a sorcerer.”

Aredian smiled. “Good. Then you’ve no fear of these, do you?” 

Merlin kept still, eyeing the shackles with trepidation as the Witchfinder drew closer. He yanked one of Merlin’s arms, pulling him forward with such force that the ropes rubbed through several layers of skin. He gritted his teeth, eyes shut tight and unmoving. 

As soon as the first manacle was around his wrist he had to bite back a scream. The metal burnt his skin like a thousand ice-cold fires, blistering his bare skin red raw. Aredian jostled his arm and the blaze grew, forcing an unwanted whimper past Merlin’s lips, and the Witchfinder chuckled. 

“Not so bad, is it?”

Merlin kept his jaw clamped shut, trying his best to ignore the mocking laughter as Aredian secured the second clamp around his left wrist.

He barely felt the tear of skin against the rope as Aredian twisted his arms into place. The blocking, burning feeling of the manacles stymied any other pain he felt. It felt strong and constrictive; and his magic threatened to crack through his seams, despite any risk of shredding him to pieces in the process. His powers clawed at him, trapped beneath his skin and itching to get free.

Merlin groaned, head pounding and skin prickling. It hurt. Not using magic on a regular basis was frustrating enough, but this—this, was torture. 

He gripped the arm of the chair, forcing a calm look to overtake the existing expression of agony as he began to speak solemnly. “I feel nothing. Surely you have your answer now. I’m not a sorcerer.”

Aredian gave a cavalier snicker, eyes flashing dangerously. He started forward, grabbing Merlin by the chin and snapping his head upwards in a domineering grip, causing a chain of reactions. Aredian’s forceful manhandling jostled the cold-iron shackles so they chafed at already blistered wrists. 

The ropes were still tugging mercilessly at the shredded skin, cutting deeper into his flesh as blood began to stain the fabric of Merlin’s tattered sleeves. He bit down on his tongue, praying to Hecate that his pain wouldn’t show.

“The trouble is, Merlin, that you can never tell if a sorcerer is lying or not,” he mused.

Aredian spoke in a calculatedly sinister way, as if he weren’t torturing someone in a dungeon, but was instead casually conversing over a cup of tea. The detached demeanor had Merlin waiting with bated breath at the edge of his seat; left wondering as to whether the next excruciating torrent would come vocally or physically.

“And I, for one, only believe a sorcerer’s word when it comes along with a confession.” 

He viciously grasped a handful of Merlin's hair, yanking and slamming his head back against the backrest triggering another explosion of bright sparks behind his eyelids. Aredian let go abruptly and his head slumped forward, hanging low on his chest as a weak groan escaped him. 

“Now, it seems these questions might have been a little too much, to begin with, hmm?” 

He plucked a small, gleaming knife from his table of barbaric tools and twirled it between his fingers. It flashed in the moonlight peeling in through the window and filled Merlin’s empty stomach with a heavy helping of dread. 

“So why don’t we start with something a little simpler, hmm? You’re from Essetir, are you not? Cenred’s kingdom.”

Merlin blinked at Aredian, tearing his gaze away from the weapon in confusion. “What—? Uh, yeah, yes. I lived in Ealdor until I moved to Camelot.”

Aredian hummed and leaned casually against the table, still twirling the dagger between his fingers. 

“Magic is practiced freely in Essetir, isn’t it?”

“No,” Merlin frowned, almost unaware of how his magic used to quell much of the pain that had plagued him before. “Well, it isn’t outlawed, if that’s what you mean. But no one in their right mind would practice magic openly in Cenred’s kingdom. He captures sorcerers, kills them if they’re of no use to him, and locks them up if they are. Besides, Ealdor is bordering Camelot, it would be too risky to practice magic so close—”

“So you admit you’ve thought of the risks of practicing magic?”

“That wasn’t what I said—”

“But it is what you meant , isn’t it?” 

Before Merlin could protest, Aredian had moved closer, bracing a hand on the edge of the backrest by Merlin’s head; he spoke again, louder this time. 

“Besides, that begs the question: if a sorcerer was living comfortably in, what was it you said— Ealdor? Why would they move to Camelot?” Merlin floundered, unable to answer the question without lying outright, and risking being caught, or at the least revealing himself as a sorcerer.

“I… I don’t—”

Aredian gave a satisfied smirk. “Was your conscience clear when you practiced magic in Ealdor?” 

“I never practiced magic in Ealdor!” 

Which, again, wasn’t a lie. He’d only started practicing magic when he’d arrived in Camelot, under Gaius’s help and supervision. The cold iron was still searing his skin; his wrists throbbed angrily and it was all he could do not to shout out with exertion. 

His magic crackled dully in the background of his mind, tempering any other sensations as his head throbbed and pounded to a staccato drumbeat. 

The third blow of the night was no more or less expected than the second; hitting his cheek in the exact same spot as previously. He realised belatedly just how much his magic had been protecting him before. 

Merlin cried out weakly. The breath was long since knocked from his chest, iron shackles into now almost carving their mark into his skin and burning so intensely he could barely stand it—

“If I weren’t awaiting your confession, sorcerer, I might be tempted to cut that lying tongue of yours out.” 

Aredian was suddenly forcing open Merlin’s mouth, digging his thumbs into the hinges of his jaw and wrenching viciously at the joint until Merlin’s strength gave way. He felt like a caged animal, tugging frantically at his restraints, seemingly unbothered by the pain as they continued to brutalise the extant lasserstions adorning his wrists. 

He wouldn’t be humiliated like this. Biting down severely on the fingers now intent on forcing his mouth open, jerked his head back and away. The attempt at freedom was futile, however. 

Aredian forcefully lodged the knife he’d been holding between Merlin’s teeth before pressing the blade’s edge threatening down against the flesh of Merlin’s tongue. For the moment he simply allowed the dagger to rest there, then the tip of the blade began to bite into the flesh of his tongue as Aredian carefully forced the knife's point to press hard enough to draw blood.

A frenzied sob of horror escaped Merlin’s throat. He was now solely focused on forcing himself not to move a muscle. Aredian could do whatever he pleased to Merlin; he could beat, batter and bruise him ‘till there was barely an unblemished patch of skin to be seen. But he couldn’t lose his voice—that was one thing Merlin would never give willingly or not. His voice was something Merlin would never let go of; no one would take his witty, sniping retorts, his back-talking, his story from him.

“Although,” Aredian mused, “it’s not as if your tongue is needed for that. You could nod yes and shake no for answers.”

A panicked noise left him and he tried in vain to recoil from the blade threatening him. No , he needed his words, they were his and his alone. 

Without them, who would tell Arthur he was being a prat, or equally, what a great King he was to become? 

Who would talk to Kilgharrah? The lonely bastard needed someone to throw cryptic riddles at, after all, that cave must’ve been awfully lonely before Merlin came along.

Who would cast spells to protect Camelot? 

Who would protect, serve and comfort Arthur?

Anger burned hotter than the cuffs that ravaged his wrists, and he struggled, stilling only when the sting of the blade digging into the back of his tongue made itself known. Tears were brimming in the corners of his eyes, threatening with every second to fall. No one would take his voice from him. His magic blazed, begging to be set free, to cure, free, take vengeance —and it only hurt more. 

“But I suppose,” Aredian sighed, casually drawing the knife from Merlin’s mouth, making sure to press the blade’s edge down sharp enough to cut a thick line down the center of his tongue before slipping the weapon from Merlin’s mouth altogether, “the King might not take that as a viable confession.”

He couldn’t help the fear-stricken tears that rolled down his cheeks, he knew he’d given himself away somehow, now that Aredian had backed off. He’d given him his fear, the Witchfinder knew now just how precious Merlin’s voice was to him. Flooded his mouth, the taste mingled with bile as he continued to cry quietly to himself. 

“Guards, I think that will be all for tonight,” Aredian murmured, voice calm and sardonic as he methodically wiped the dagger with a crimson cloth. 

The guards came clamoring into the room, chainmail clinking and rousing Merlin from his melancholic stupa. Gloved hands pulled off the ropes that bound him to submission, but before he was released, Aredian held out his hands, stilling them in their mechanical movements and knelt in front of Merlin. 

“Hold on. That is, unless, sorcerer , you’d like to take this moment to confess?”

White-hot rage reared Merlin to life, and struggling enough to get out of the knights grasp, he landed heavily on his knees, face to face with the Witchfinder, he had only a split second to growl out, “I am not a sorcerer and I have nothing to confess, you fucking bastard!” 

Raising his head with air of high esteem, his face caught in a hate-filled snarl. Without a second's hesitation he reared his head and spat a clod of bloody spittle straight at  Aredian’s eye. 

He grinned heedlessly, daringly allowing himself a moment to appreciate the picture of incredulity Aredian made as he stumbled back and fought to wipe his face clean. 

He let out an abrupt yell and glowered back at Merlin, who had now gone limp and pliant in the guards’ arms as they hauled him back into the chair.

“And here I thought your vivacity was waning, Merlin. It seems I was wrong. I do have more questions if you’re feeling up to it.”

Merlin’s expression shifted from smug to regretful faster than he thought possible. Why did he always , without fail have to open his big, fat , stupid mouth? 

“Perhaps, we should try a different approach? Obviously sitting in that chair is much too comfortable for you, you’re practically falling asleep! How unobservant of me,” the growl in his words was vicious and unrelenting, his eyes glinted like the sadistic creature he was, and he motioned to the guards. “Chain him up over there. Feet just touching the ground, mind, we don’t want him dozing off again.”

“Aredian, I don’t think—” one of the guards began, voice sounding strained and oddly familiar. 

“I don’t believe, Sir Knight , that I asked your opinion on my methods. If I am not mistaken, it was Prince Arthur himself who lent your services to me, as a guard, not a councilman?” 

“Of course, my Lord,” the knight replied hastily. “I simply fear for Merlin’s health—”

“This vermin is nothing but a savage sorcerer with mind only to rape your ranks and murder your King , Sir Leon,” Aredian thundered, tone dangerously dark. “Forgive me if I do not share your empathy for such a beast.”

Merlin’s head jerked violently. 

Leon was here? 

His eyes squeezed shut, shame and self-preservation furled like smoke around him, choking and cloying as he attempted to curl further into himself. 

How long had he been there? What had he seen? Had he heard Merlin crying? Had he been standing just outside the doors this entire time? 

Leon had always been so kind to Merlin, even from the very moment they’d met; barely a few cells away from the one he’d been refined to earlier that night. Merlin could remember the first night he’d spent in the dungeons as if it were only yesterday, Leon chattering quietly to him as Merlin awaited release.

He'd been one of the few knights seemingly unperturbed by his relationship with Arthur to question why a lowly manservant accompanied the Crown Prince on all his quests. 

Sir Leon, with his kind eyes and his familiar smile. Sir Leon, who was the closest man Arthur had to a brother—

By the Goddess’ , Arthur had to know Leon was here. He would ask—He’d know —Merlin didn’t want to even begin to imagine how Arthur would react to this. Then he spoke again, tone stilted and stiffened by anger.

“Of course, Sir , I didn’t mean to cause offense,” his loose grip on Merlin’s shoulder tightened briefly into an encouraging squeeze. “But this… still seems unnecessarily excessive.” 

Aredian’s predatory gaze latched back onto Leon and Merlin’s magic gave a weak heave, attempting with what little fight it had left to break past the barriers and protect. However, Merlin was gifted only with a flare of pain, slumping back to his knees. 

“Unless I am mistaken, Knight , I am the one who is well learned in the art of unmasking sorcery, so if you would be so kind as to bid me to do my job, I will ask that you quell your childish concerns and fetch me a pale of water.” 

The Witchfinder’s voice was cold and calculated, glinting eyes almost appearing black in the flickering firelight. For a long moment, no one moved, then Sir Leon’s loose grip seemed to grudgingly leave Merlin’s shoulder and he was dropping into a curt bow.

“Of course, my Lord.” 

Leon turned, making sure to catch Merlin’s eye. Merlin tried a smile, but Leon’s answering look of deep sorrow and pity all but betrayed his own distress at Merlin’s state. The knight kindly averted his gaze as soon as he realised he’d been caught. 

Still, Merlin hated it. He hated being pitied, and looked at as if he were an invalid—unable to hold his own. What he hated more, however, was the sinister gleam in Aredian’s eye. 

---

Arthur felt like his insides had been tied in knots.

He felt like he'd been folded over and over and over again until he was crushed and tiny and worthless. What could Aredian be doing to Merlin right in this moment as he stayed here uselessly, in his warm, comfortable chambers, pacing back and forth? 

Morgana was rocking in an armchair as Gwen rubbed her shoulder in a weak attempt at comforting her. In truth, her mind was scattered and frightened of the horrors Merlin was surely experiencing. Aredian had seemed ruthless, and there was no doubt in her mind that that would extend to his ‘ interrogation methods.’

"Arthur, stop it," Morgana muttered in reference to his incessant pacing. The request fell on deaf ears.

"It just doesn't make any sense . I've never seen that bracelet before," he rubbed his chin, shoving away the sudden image of a screaming, tortured Merlin from the forefront of his mind as he tried to focus on freeing him. "Have either of you?"

"No," Gwen murmured. 

She frowned. It was strange, certainly, that he would just leave something like that there. Though Arthur liked to say otherwise, Merlin wasn't an idiot, not really. He'd never…

Her back went rigid and her hand slipped away from Morgana's shoulder. She spoke in no more than a whisper.

"He planted it."

Arthur turned to her quicker than she thought possible with an intensity in his gaze that startled her. She stood urgently, feeling the Pendragons' eyes on her but only focusing on the memory of Aredian strolling down the corridor outside Gaius' chambers. She'd assumed—she'd been so foolish!—she'd assumed he was on his way somewhere, taking his shifty eyes at face value and thinking only that he made her feel uneasy. But now, with the strange circumstances surrounding the bracelet and the convenient witnesses—

"I saw him. Outside Gaius' chambers, I saw him when I was bringing Morgana her gowns," her voice was a rushed, frantic mess as she nearly pulled her hair out with worry.

"That's hardly evidence," Arthur countered, but hope was sparked in his eyes.

"Then I'll find some," she said.

"Gwen, what're you—"

She cut Morgana off with a gentle smile and an absent kiss to her cheek, before barrelling out of the room.

"Guinevere!"  

Morgana staggered to her feet, hand pressed to where Gwen’s lips had touched her, about to go rushing after her, when Arthur raised a hand in warning.

"She knows what she's doing, Morgana. And besides, she's a servant. What's to stop her from claiming she's carrying out her duties?"

Conflict raged behind her eyes as she gazed through the door, but in the end, the gravity of the situation forced her back to the armchair. Her head fell into her hands.

"This is such a bloody mess , Arthur."

He didn't respond, instead, he lowered himself onto his bed with unsteady legs. His stomach was churning with nausea at the idea of Merlin suffering at the hands of Aredian. The potential extent of his pain was near endless from the dead look behind Aredian's eyes. Arthur had looked into those eyes, and he'd seen nothing. Just a cold, vast emptiness. A hollowness that sent a shiver down his spine. He swallowed thickly, Merlin was alone with him. Who knew what he could be doing—

It took all of his might not to scream or throw up or smash something to pieces or do all three.

How long had they been down there? Surely he had to be done questioning him by now? He wrung his leather gloves between his hands nervously, a habit from his younger years that he'd never quite grown out of, as a flurry of panic frothed and bubbled within him. He wanted to march down there and demand that they return Merlin, and fire every filthy guard who'd manhandled him, and toss Aredian off a fucking cliff. Or duel him to the death. Or torture him himself. 

When his misery and fury and fear all swirled together, a dangerous tempest was formed. He could only hope that Gwen could find something, anything before someone got hurt.

Notes:

Chapter title from Arms by Christina Perri

Chapter 7: Inside my head like adversaries

Summary:

Merlin confesses.

Merlin couldn’t tell how long he’d been strung up for, but he was beginning to lose himself. 

His arms ached, hands long since gone numb, his wrists were cut raw and his shoulders—his shoulders which bore his entire body weight, groaned and creaked with the strain. They felt as if they were mere moments from popping out of place, he couldn’t help the pitiful whimpers he made every time he was forced to shift or move unless he wanted his shoulder dislodged from it’s socket. 

He’d been mocked with salt-water at one point; mouth having long since gone dry, Aredian had noticed right away. Merlin had then been offered a cup and, delirious from dehydration he tried immediately to take a long greedy drink, only to retch and cough the stuff straight back up. It had stung excruciatingly on his tongue, inflaming the open wound and he’d been reduced to gasping for real water.

Aredian laughed humorlessly at him and supplied, “Water you’ll get… when you’ve confessed.”

His arms were shaking now with exertion, his feet ached from where they were forced to arch up, keeping at least some of his weight from being solely on his wrists and arms. Aredian had sent the knights away not long after Sir Leon had returned with the requested water and since, he’d taken to using a small whip to punish Merlin for ‘lying’. The whip was slight and lightweight, unlike most, it wouldn’t leave large lashes up his back, but small calculated cuts made only to cause pain.

“You’re a traitor, you’re an impostor!” Aredian hissed at him, tracing the whip over the plethora of small lacerations on Merlin’s back. His voice turned harsh as he sneered, “Sorcery is your only master!”

“I serve only Prince Arthur,” Merlin gritted out, bracing himself for yet another strike of blinding pain, he flinched, however, when Aredian only moved his fingers over the wounds. 

“ Yes… Prince Arthur does seem to have a rather unfathomable fondness for you.” Aredian placed the whip down, tone now laced with vacant thought, “I wonder, does he know of your treacheries? Or do you just share his bed?” 

Merlin jolted, eyes wide and moving frantically against the restraints, baring no mind to the tender flesh of his back and tearing skin on his wrists. Defensive anger surged through him, his magic flared brilliantly beneath his skin as he shouted, “Don’t you dare suggest—he would never—”

With his mouth agape from fury it was more than easy enough for Aredian to harshly shove the same small blade back into Merlin’s mouth, effectively silencing him. Nostrils flared with resentment, Merlin glared fouly at him, and if it weren’t for the sharp object cutting into his tongue, he would’ve bitten down on the knife with sheer defiance. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Aredian sang, tipping the angle of the knife and pressing the tip down onto the center of Merlin’s tongue. “Now, what did we say about lying, sorcerer?” 

He twisted the blade and Merlin whimpered as the familiar taste of copper filled his mouth.

“Good, I’m glad we agree. There’s no use hiding it… I’ve seen the way he looks at you, and the way you look at him.” He drew the blade back and Merlin gasped for breath, holding back a moan of pain as his tongue began to throb and sting. 

“Fuck you,” he spluttered, the blood filling his mouth caused the words to become butchered and harsh.

Aredian’s gaze tracked him like a hawk’s, and for a long moment he said nothing. Then his hand was flying through the air, connecting with Merlin’s—up until now un injured—cheek. His face was thrown to the side and blood flung from his mouth. With another curse, he gave a cough and grimaced, spitting bloody bile onto the floor.

“Let’s not forget,” Aredian mused, carrying on his previous train of thought as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “the Lady Morgana, she suffers from nightmares, doesn’t she? From what I’ve gathered… a lot of strange things happen around her. Candles lighting themselves, so on and so forth.” 

Merlin couldn’t keep the sharp inhale he took at that. No! Stay away from her, you son of a bitch! He fought against the chains, realising only too late what he’d given away. 

“I wonder what Uther would think of my findings.”

Merlin struggled desperately, jerking back like a wild animal, when Aredian took hold of his face and kept him firmly in place, leaning close to whisper, “I can tear you apart piece by piece, but you’re not the only one, Merlin. You should think carefully of what your next steps will be. Sorcery is my speciality, but there are other laws being broken here,” he stepped back with a self satisfied smirk and shouted for the knights to come back. “I believe my work for this evening is done. I’ll be back in the morning to continue the interrogation. I do wonder if Lady Morgana is still awake for questioning.”

“No! No!” Merlin collapsed to the ground as soon as the chains were let loose, limbs weak and trembling, face contorted as the nameless guard he didn’t know tried to drag him to his feet. “You can’t do this! She hasn’t done anything wrong!”

His cries fell on deaf ears as Aredian turned back only to say nonchalantly to the knights, “Keep the cuffs on him, if my suspicions are correct then we don’t want him escaping overnight through means of sorcery, do we?” 

Then he was sweeping from the room, a gnarled wolf on the prowl, his cloak billowing like a cloud of thunder behind him. Merlin hated him. He hated him more than anyone he'd ever met. 

One might think that this kind of hatred would burn but it didn't. It was ice cold, it was sharp, it was controlled. He wondered what he'd do if he and the Witchfinder were alone in a field, with no one around for miles, and he wasn't shackled with cold-iron, and Aredian couldn't whip him until he could barely feel for the relentless onslaught of it. Merlin would be cruel, he thought, and the fact that Aredian could twist him into someone he barely recognized unsettled him right down to his bones. Right down to his blood. But his hatred was so cold it froze all that to death.

When he was moved back to his cell, Leon had tried his hardest not to jostle him too much as he set him down on the dungeon floor. The knight had determinedly avoided Merlin’s eyes, looking as if turmoil had overtaken his thoughts. 

“I swear to you,” he’d whispered, eyes alight with regret. “I’ll try and get some food and water for you… I—I am so sorry, Merlin. I’m so sorry.” 

Just as Leon went to stand and leave, Merlin grasped at his shirt sleeve, garnering his attention. “Don’t,” he rasped weakly, “please don’t tell Arthur.”

Leon did look him in the eye then and Merlin saw only regret and outrage for him, then he nodded stiffly. “I won’t lie to him…” he warned, “but I will keep the details.”

Merlin had only been able to muster a halfhearted smile as Leon left the cell, wincing as he shut the bars behind him. Despite Sir Leon’s kindness, his hatred for Aredian would not quell. 

Merlin ached to protect, to shield, but he couldn’t.

He couldn’t protect Leon from his sorrow, he hadn’t been able to protect Morgana, and if things continued as they were, he wouldn’t be able to protect Arthur anymore either. He was caged like an animal, he was helpless , and that hurt far more than any physical wound ever would. 

When Morgana was brought through the dungeons hours later, face pale with terror, he could only stare weakly at her through the bars, huddled in the corner. Her eyes flashed with determination as she caught his gaze, but here, chained and bound, he could do nothing. So he closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. 

Aredian would not let this go.

---

“It was terrifying. There were so many… things, all around the room… and there was blood on the floor.” Morgana avoided Arthur’s gaze, hurriedly powering through before he had a chance to start demanding whether or not she’d seen Merlin. “He only asked me about my nightmares, nothing about Merlin, I—I didn’t know what to say, I kept stammering. It was like going on a hunt, only I was the prey.”

Arthur sighed heavily, the heels of his hands pressing firmly into his eyes. This was all getting so out of hand now; obviously , Aredian accused whoever he wanted to, guilty or not, to get his coin, but what on earth did that have to do with Morgana’s nightmares? And where the hell was Guinevere? She’d been gone all damn night—surely Aredian hadn’t thought to accuse her as well? Then again, he wouldn't put it past the greedy bastard. What if… What if he'd caught her?

Arthur shook the traitorous thought from his head and reached a hand over to clutch at Morgana’s. They’d been waiting in Gaius’ chambers for Gwen to meet them since dawn. A short while ago Morgana had been summoned by the Witchfinder and still there was no sign of the serving girl.

“It’ll be alright, Morgana…” Arthur faltered at her pointed expression. 

“Cut the bullshit , Arthur.”

“Did you see him?” he tried instead. He’d held off for as long as possible. He had to know if Merlin was alright.

“Arthur, I don’t think that’s a good idea—”

“Just—” the fight rose and left him all in one breath. He set her with a pleading look, half agonised with the fear of not knowing, and whispered, “tell me, please.”

Morgana closed her eyes and turned her head, opening them again to gaze out the window. 

“I couldn’t see much. It was dark, but… he was shivering, bruised like he’d been hit several times. He was shackled—and yes, there was blood on the floor, but it might not have been his…” She trailed off, subconsciously swiping a thumb over his knuckles. “It didn’t look like he was bleeding.” 

“What the fuck does that mean?” Arthur snapped, his grip on Morgana’s hand tightening with worry.

Morgana glared at him, yanked her hand from his grasp and sniped back, “It means that it was dark down there and I couldn’t see! We’re all worried, Arthur—”

“Well I am terrified!” 

Her shocked expression didn’t last. His outburst only confirmed what she already knew, and her doe eyes seemed to tilt pityingly.

“Oh, Arthur—”

“What would you do if it were Guinevere down there, not Merlin? What would you do , Morgana? I’m terrified, not of not getting him back in one piece—of not getting him back at all.”

He closed his eyes and turned his head away from her.

Suddenly the doors burst open and Gwen hurtled into the room, slamming a handful of petals onto the table and grinning up at Morgana, she breathed, “Belladonna! He’s using belladonna to give people hallucinations—his witnesses are false , we were right!”

Morgana started forward, sweeping Gwen into her arms and spinning her around, once, twice and a third time. “You are so unbelievably brilliant , Gwen!” 

She gazed at the other girl for a moment, reaching up to brush her fingers through Gwen’s curls as she glanced bashfully away. Morgana took a sudden step back, eyes wide and cheeks red with embarrassment as she pulled away and cleared her throat. 

If Arthur noticed anything—which was rather unlikely as he tended to be oblivious to these thing—he stayed silent and only raised an eyebrow at their odd behavior.

“It’s still not enough,” Gwen, who was now wholly focused on inspecting her own fingernails, said gravely. With a glance at Arthur she shrugged. “I don’t know what else we can use to convince your father—”

“Leave that to me.” Morgana’s smirk was blood red and dangerous. Gwen almost went weak at the knees, swallowing thickly and eyes trained on the Lady’s perfect lips. Morgana raised an eyebrow and that just made things worse. “Merlin taught me a very nifty trick last week, I think I might put it to the test.”

Before either Gwen or Arthur could protest, she was slinking out the room and disappearing into the shadows.

Arthur gave a defeated sigh. “She’s going to use magic isn’t she?”

Gwen’s only response was a distracted hum.

---

When Merlin heard the sound of footsteps approaching his cell, dread and fear exploded in his chest, overriding the horrible aches and pains that plagued his mouth, his head, his back, his arms, his shoulders, his—he exhaled slowly, as not to make the pain intensify, and schooled his expression into a glare. Aredian did not deserve to witness his fear. 

But as they drew up to his cell, he saw quite clearly that the figure was no terrible Witchfinder, but instead a woman. He attempted a smile upon seeing that this was Gwen stepping into the weak torchlight. A friend. His friend

"Gwen—" he rasped with a sluggish blink, his tongue was heavy and it hurt to move and he’d had to cut himself off to mask the pain of speaking. 

Her expression was torn upon entering the cell, as if she were instantaneously flung into a fit of fury at seeing the state he was in. She raked her gaze methodically over the cell and as soon as she caught the drops of blood on the floor, rage burned violently in the dark brown of her eyes. But then she saw Merlin, weak and hurting and utterly miserable, all curled up in the corner of his cell, she softened, just a bit.

"What has he done to you?" she whispered, not really expecting an answer and unsurprised when she received only Merlin’s averted gaze in reply.

She gave a cursory glance all around her to determine if any guards were in earshot before dropping her voice further and speaking to him conspiratorially.

"We're getting you out of here," she hissed, barely audible. "Aredian framed you. He put belladonna in the witnesses' medicine and planted the bracelet."

Though he'd figured as much about the bracelet, the belladonna did surprise him, it sickened him too. Manipulating innocent people like that, causing them to hallucinate traumatic experiences… he scowled.

Bastard, he thought as Gwen slid him a plate of food and a cup of water.

"I snuck in some more bread for you," she said, "and there's a general healing salve Gaius gave me for your wounds underneath the salad."

 

"Thank you," he responded with overwhelming gratitude as he reached for the food hungrily, momentarily forgetting his injuries and stuffing it into his mouth. A moan of pain left him as the crust of the bread scraped at the, most likely infected, wounds and he forced himself to swallow. At least then he wouldn’t be wasting the food.

"Slow down! You'll be sick," Gwen chided.

He pushed through his pain and forced a small chuckle. "Yes, mother."

"How could you be joking at a time like this?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I've been through worse," he lied.

"That… that isn't comforting," she returned sharply before worrying at her lip. A guard rapped harshly on the cell bars and she spared a look behind her. "I have to go. We're getting you out, Merlin. I swear it."

"I know," he said with a shaky smile, "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me."

Gwen swallowed as she waved goodbye. She couldn't stop worrying if she tried.

He took his time to tear up the bread into small chunks, using his fingers to push the food to the back of his mouth in a vain attempt to avoid the cuts on his tongue. It was a long, painstaking process and by the time he’d finished, he barely had the strength to apply the salve Gwen had brought him. 

He prayed that it wasn’t harmful to ingest and slathered it onto his tongue, crying out as it caused the wound to flare and throb. Gingerly, he slipped off his tunic, jaw clamped shut as the fabric tore away from where it had been stuck to the tender flesh. His shoulders screamed at him as he reached back to treat as many of the gashes as he could reach, cuffs searing his skin with every fraction of movement. Muffled sobs escaped him, eyes squeezed tightly shut as he bit down on his fist. 

He wondered briefly if the stuff was meant for bruises, and quickly decided he didn’t care, there was enough left to smooth over his face either way. He was exhausted, head swimming with agony and stomach still craving food, he slipped his tunic back on and crumpled back to the hay. 

It wasn’t long after that when Aredian came back, rousing Merlin with a harsh kick to his gut. He’d swallowed down the pained grunt, refusing to move, both on principle and to avoid causing himself further hurt and only set him with a belligerent glare. 

“Are you ready to confess?” 

“I’d rather die first.” Merlin growled.

Aredian grinned, predatory eyes dark with a sinister kind of lust. “Good, and die you shall. But not alone, I’m pleased to say. You shall have company.” 

Merlin’s entire body jerked at that, eyes wide and gritting his teeth through the flares of agony. “What the hell are you talking about?” He forced out fast and frenzied, cringing with the pain of it.

“Gaius and Lady Morgana are to join you in the flames, and I don’t doubt the King will have that lovely serving girl killed as well. Gwin-something or other, wasn’t it?” 

Merlin began to whimper unintelligibly, words not quite able to form as he progressively lost energy the more the Witchfinder spoke. 

“Especially with such convincing evidence that she’s been consorting with his Ward, and there really is no wondering what he might do to the Prince. Fraternizing with his manservant? Who’s a sorcerer to boot!” Aredian gave a baleful laugh, and moved to stand.

Merlin willed his tongue to work, finally choking out, “No, no. You—you’re lying.” 

Aredian shook his head and hummed, “Mmm-mmm. You’ve helped me expose them, Merlin, and they must answer to their King,” his mind was scattered and he couldn’t hold back his agonised sob. 

“Unless…” he trailed off, smiling knowingly down at him.

Merlin didn’t feel the fear he once thought he might in saying his nexts words. The pain, fight and weight seemed suddenly to all leave him. It was so simple, why hadn’t he done it before? He might not be in so much pain now if he’d just given in. No one else would get hurt if he did, he could save them all one last time.

It was so easy to let his head fall back to the staw, nodding softly as he said, “I confess.” 

His eyes were closed so he didn’t catch Aredian’s ominous leer. “Good boy, Merlin. You’ll be able to rest soon. Doesn’t that sound nice?” Merlin hummed in agreement as a cold finger stroked down his cheek. “But don’t go to sleep just yet, you’ve still got to tell the court. Guards! Call for the King, the sorcerer is ready to confess.”

Notes:

Chapter title from Hurts Like Hell by Fleurie

Chapter 8: Stay with me, a little longer, I will wait for you

Summary:

Arthur is riddled with depression, Morgana and Gwen have the brain cell and Gaius just wants his ward to be safe for once goddamn it!

The moment Arthur had seen him, he hadn’t been sure if he first wanted to throw up, kill Aredian on the spot or rush straight to Merlin’s side. His face was battered, more black and yellow than skin coloured, and his sharp cheekbones led the way to a morbid canvas of dark red and purple. A deep, but short, gash adorned his left cheek. 

His eyes had been half lidded and he seemed about ready to collapse, as if Leon’s steady grip was the only thing keeping him upright. Leon himself seemed visibly distressed, eyes flickering about with concern and brow creased, but Arthur paid little mind to that. Merlin had only been locked up for two days, yet he looked as if he’d been tortured for at least a week.

Those bruises were a result of methods of mal intent—Aredian had done whatever he could to cause Merlin inexplicable pain. 

Arthur had been trained in interrogation when he’d first become a knight. What Merlin had been put through was obviously brutal, cruel and unnecessary. It was obvious that Aredian’s ‘methods’ were just torture techniques hidden by frivolous words. Why was no one saying anything? Couldn’t they see?

Arthur brought a hand up to his face, willing his expression to stay set and emotionless, the best he could manage was a pensive look, as he choked back a shaky breath. Gods, Merlin hadn’t even looked at him once, he seemed barely lucid, head drooping and gaze unfocused. 

When Aredian had screamed at him to confess, yanking Merlin’s head back by his hair, Arthur had had to grip the arm of his chair to control himself, the wood almost cracking under the force of his hold.

Merlin’s voice had been a barely-there rasp, tongue moving sluggishly and stumbling over his words as he begged his confession. He’d heard Morgana sob to his left, he saw Gwen crying silently out of the corner of his eye. He hadn’t seen Gaius, hopefully the old man wasn’t there to see his Ward degraded in such a way.

When Uther had finally called his sentence, “Death by pyre, to be lit at high noon,” and the knights had begun to drag Merlin from the room, Arthur could no longer contain his anguish. 

He flung himself from his chair and sprinted straight for his Merlin before ramming bodily into two guards. He’d struggled like an animal against them, ears deaf to Uther’s soothing assurances that he understood, but Merlin wasn’t the trusted friend they thought him to be. It wasn’t until Merlin had been taken completely from sight, hand ripped viciously from his grasp, that Arthur really fell apart.

That had been just minutes ago. He’d been hauled to his rooms and deposited there until further notice, Morgana and Gwen had just barged in, but he sat silently at his desk, ignoring them as they frantically moved about the room. It was no use, the damage had been done, Uther would never let Merlin go, guilty or not.

“Arthur you’d better wake the fuck up, we don’t even have an hour, they’re already building the pyre—” Morgana shouted at him. 

When he seemed not to acknowledge her she growled and rounded on him, coming to stand right in front of where he was staring at a rather interesting sock on the floor, he scowled weakly at her for obstructing his view. 

“What the hell is wrong with you? We haven’t got the time for you to have a breakdown—Gwen, go and get your witness, I’ll deal with Arthur,” Gwen nodded, expression worried but firm, and as she swept past the Lady, she allowed their fingers to brush fleetingly, as a message of goodluck.

Morgana flushed, but carried on, turning back to Arthur, “—for fuck’s sake, Arthur, Merlin is going to die if we don’t—”

Anger coarsed through him, didn’t the bloody woman get it?

“He’s going to die no matter what we do, Morgana! The King has made up his mind!” he threw his arms up into the air and continued hysterically, a manic laugh erupting from his lips. “They’re going to kill him, he’s going to die and there’s nothing we can do about it so what is the fucking point—”

A loud, sharp slap resonated about the room as Morgana’s hand collided with his cheek. She glared fiercely at him. 

“Pull yourself together,” she said sternly, watching with a calculated gaze as he rubbed at the side of his face. Her lip twitched when she noticed the uncontrolled haze had finally left his eyes. “Now, you are going to go to Gaius’ chambers and help him prepare anything Merlin might need, then you’re going to head to the courtyard. Be ready to stop Aredian if Uther won’t listen in time, is that understood?”

He gazed up at her. She wore the face of a warrior, and her stance was set ready to kill; she looked stronger than all of Arthur’s best knights combined. He could see her now, years in the future, High Priestess and a leader of his knights. He took a breath and nodded.

“Yes.”

She smiled roguishly at him, and he instantly remembered a time in their childhood when she’d orchestrated an offensive attack on the kitchens to capture sweet buns and pastries. He grinned back.

“I’ll grab the book from my chambers,” her grin widened, “leave Uther, to me.”

---

"What is this?" Uther demanded, rising from his seat as Morgana and Gwen strode purposefully into the room, with a timid apothecary in tow. Ignoring Uther’s expression of withering annoyance, Morgana seemed otherwise unphased by the fact that their entrance seemed to be interrupting the High Court’s luncheon.

Aredian, who'd been conversing with Uther (though it had begun veering more toward gloating, than anything else,) over some roast pheasant spun around at the intrusion and set the women with a suspicious glare, though he didn't seem overly nervous. Morgana would have thrown her arm out, a blaze of fury raging behind her eyes, as she voiced Aredian’s crimes; but she was smarter than that. 

Uther needed to be approached with caution.

“You must stop the execution,” she demanded, head held high and gaze unwavering as she stared Uther down.

The King scowled dismissively at her and sat back down, saying with a cavalier wave, “Morgana, I’ve no time for another one of your frivolous affairs of rebellion.”

She lowered at him, nostrils flared as the men in the room turned back to their meals and ignored her. A new kind of anger coursed through her, not only for Merlin's justice, but for her own—she was not some silly girl playing games and vying for attention. 

"The Witchfinder lies!" she declared, loud enough so that Cenred's Kingdom could hear her voice clearly. 

She marched up to the table and slammed the Witchfinder’s book of notes down in front of Uther. The King, looking only a little less disdainful than he had previously, glanced down at the bound journal with a contemptuous look, and raised an eyebrow. Aredian’s expression turned wholly affronted, as if he were the one being wrongly accused. His hands balled into fists so tight they shook.

"What in God’s name is this nonsense, your Majesty?" Aredian said stoically, though his eye twitched, a movement that was only barely perceptible. Uther didn't spare him a second glance, eyes fixed on his Ward.

"Morgana?"

“Aredian’s witnesses are false, my Lord, he gave belladonna to the town apothecary and threatened him to give it to the women named as witnesses.”

She motioned for him to come forward, holding him before the court and hissing at him to reveal the truth. He swallowed thickly, eyes full of fear as he began to stammer.

"The Witchfinder, h-he forced me to mix belladonna into eye drops for his witnesses. Women use them to make their eyes—their eyes more beautiful, S-Sire," he was shaking. "He threatened to-to kill me if I—if I wouldn’t do it."

Uther's gaze swept over to Aredian, who looked comically enraged.

"This is ridiculous!"

"Uther, please, you must stop the execution! Check his chambers if you have to!" She said firmly. 

Gwen glared at the Witchfinder like she wanted to tear him limb from limb, but the King had denial ready on his lips. "Morgana—"

She grabbed the book from the table and threw it back down, open and displaying scribbled notes. 

“Look!” she pointed at one of the sentences, eyes fiercely intense as she cried out. “He was planning on going after me next! These are his writings—You saw Merlin yourself, he was not a man in his right mind—he wasn’t interrogated, he was tortured! Aredian fakes his sorcerers and forces them to confess, guilty or not.”

Uther pursed his lips, gazing down at the page with a thoughtful expression. She hadn’t failed to note the flash of anger that lit his eyes the moment she’d mentioned she was to be next on the executioner’s block. She prayed with all her might that he would, for once, listen. He shifted and she tried desperately one last time.

"If he's really innocent, he has nothing to hide."

Aredian scoffed, but anxiety seemed to be visibly crawling at his skin as she watched him wring his hands together. Shock flitted across his face before his expression soured.

"How dare you! Uther, surely you must know how preposterous —"

Gwen’s anger bubbled and overflowed, expression set in contempt she hissed out, “Then you won’t mind if we search your chambers, will you—”

“Silence! You have no authority here, girl,” Uther barked, eyes wide in outrage. 

Gwen backed away, heart hammering in her chest, both with adrenaline and fear. Morgana reached out and took her hand comfortingly. 

“Please, my Lord,” Morgana entreated, face stern. The King locked eyes with her for a moment, seeming as if he were searching for something.

"Aredian," Uther set him with a sharp and lethal look. “If you do believe these allegations to be false, you will allow your quarters to be searched. If my Ward has unjustly accused you, I will deal with her accordingly."

“Your—your Majesty—" he paused and glared at Morgana. He took a breath then with a non too steady look about him, inclined his head. “I’ve nothing to hide,” his expression wavered.

"Knights! Search his room, look everywhere!"

Morgana grinned until her eyes fell upon the view from the window. Her blood ran cold, and then she was dragging Gwen out of the hall and toward the courtyard.

---

“Stop!”

Arthur’s voices carried desolately, as he forced his way through the crowd. It took several moments of Arthur frantically battling his way to the executioner, before they belatedly caught on to who he was and parted for him. 

As soon as his pathway was clear he strode forward, terrified eyes trained on the blaze of fire burning from the torch wielded by the executioner. He hesitated, lowering the torch for a moment. 

Merlin was bound to the pyre, clearly held up by the ropes alone with an emptiness in his gaze that shook Arthur in a way little else could. What has he done to you? He thought, Hell, Merlin, what has he done?

The executioner appeared nervous and unsure. He glanced back and forth between the half-lucid servant and the Crown Prince of Camelot’s murderous glare, with a great deal of uncertainty.

"Your—Your Royal Highness, the King has ordered—"

"The King is my father, and you will do as I say or die by my sword!"

Gasps and muttering broke out within the crowd, but Arthur's icy, sweeping glare rendered them silent. Merlin groaned in pain quietly, eyes bleared and unfocused as if he was on the verge of unconsciousness. The sight pushed Arthur over the edge. He lunged for the masked man, wrenching the torch from him with a growl before storming through the throng of people as they drew back, startled. Then he flung it right into the courtyard fountain, and its smoky flame was reduced to steam and ash. If you want something done right, as they say…

"Aredian is a liar!” The crowd watched him silently, but he barrelled on. "You're all—"

He caught their stares and clamped his mouth shut. A beat later he spoke clearly, and his voice rode the wind.

"I'm taking back my servant."

---

Arthur, arms hooked beneath Merlin’s arms and legs, carried him hurriedly to Gaius’ chambers. His movements were frenzied and jolting, but he didn’t care how panicked he appeared. As soon as he’d been picked up, Merlin’s head had lolled back, eyelids fluttering and breath coming fast, Arthur had noticed his temperature rise almost instantly. Sweat was now beeding against Merlin’s forehead, and his heart was beating in an erratic staccato. Arthur barrelled into Gaius’ chambers, and within seconds he’d set Merlin down on the physician’s examination bed. 

There was a flurry of motion around him as he stood, almost lost in time, staring worriedly at the other man. He was feverish, a sign of infection, which meant there were wounds— untreated wounds—somewhere on him, and Arthur felt utterly powerless. 

Gwen had rushed off minutes ago to gather water from the well, and although she wasn’t much help, bless her—healing wasn’t at all her strongest suit—Morgana had tried her best, aiding Gaius by fetching herbs and ingredients he called for. A tincture to help fight the fever, a salve for deep lacerations, and rubbing alcohol, Arthur listed dazedly.

As soon as Gwen had swept back into the room, she’d knelt down by Merlin’s side, dunking two cloths in the water and wringing them out before laying one over his brow, and the other over the stark bruising on his cheeks. Her movements were clear and methodical, looking far more royal than he himself felt. 

He was useless , fear rendering him paralysed, he was so fucking useless.

“His wrists are shackled, how the fuck do we get these off? The keys could be anywhere.” Gwen’s tone was rough and tinged with distress. And though it was the first time he’d heard her use such foul language, Arthur nearly registered her swearing. Morgana was beside her in a flash, gently nudging her to the side she produced a pin from her hair and quickly went to start picking the manacle locks. 

As soon as her fingers touched the metal she drew back, letting out a gasp of pain and cradling her fingers to her chest.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Gwen panicked.

“They burned me…” Morgana whispered, confusion clouding her tone before her expression shifted to realisation. “Cold-Iron, I’d heard… but I didn’t think—”

“We must get them off him, now! They’ll be hindering him even more than his wounds, Merlin is born of magic, and if I’m not mistaken his magic has been suppressed for a day at the very least and three at most; they could kill him if left on too long.” Gaius spoke as if he were reading from one of his many books, matter-of-fact and shoving back any emotion.

Morgana gritted her teeth and persisted. It took a few minutes of quiet breathing and silent concentration before the first cuff opened with a click and was shoved unceremoniously to the floor. It wasn’t until the second one was off that the women finally allowed themselves to look at the damage. 

The skin was blistered and shredded around Merlin’s wrists and a severe shade of red haloed the wounds, almost giving the impression that the wounds themselves were glowing. And though Merlin had visibly brightened the moment he was released from the chains and the ashen tint to his skin made way for a slightly more human colour, he was still far too pale—even for Merlin.

Gaius bustled over then, with a speed that shocked Arthur, and pushed past him without so much as a glance. 

“We must find where his wounds are and treat them immediately. Morgana, help me get his shirt off.” 

She nodded, expression forcibly composed, and quickly moved to tie the long train of her sleeves loosely together behind her back before carefully manoeuvring Merlin’s arms. He jerked, eyes flickering open as a sharp cry of pain left his lips. Gaius shared a concerned look with Gwen.

Morgana persevered until Merlin’s shirt had been removed, taking extra care not to brush the coarse fabric against his blistered wrists too much and all four of them gave winces of surprise. Morgana dropped his shirt, eyes wide and directed at the large patch of mottled skin blooming across his midsection. 

Gwen, in turn, was staring at the rope-burn tears that ripped up his arms, her gaze honing in on the dried blood layered atop the grazes. Arthur’s entire body jerked as if to move toward him, but he decided to stay back, he didn’t want to get in the physician’s way. It was obvious that Merlin had been kicked, harshly, to the gut, and restrained far too tightly, but what seemed to concern Gaius was his shoulders. 

Merlin seemed scarcely lucid but was muttering under his breath, agonised groans falling from his lips as Gaius roved his weathered fingers over his upper arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I confess, please, I’m sorry.” Merlin whimpered, eyes rolling around, unfocused, as Gaius slowly drew back. A relieved sigh left him and his body seemed to sag back into an exhausted slumber. The broken, repetitive tone to his voice jarred Arthur to the core. It seemed everyone else was equally as horrified as the room’s atmosphere shifted dramatically. 

“His shoulders are severely strained. Gwen, fetch some ice from the stores and plenty of it, we need to keep the swelling down.” 

She nodded and quickly scurried out of the room, but not without catching Arthur’s eye and whispering a quick, “Sit down, Arthur, before you faint.”

Gwen was kind. She was always kind; always going out of her way to help others—and Merlin was the same. He absently supposed that was why he’d become such fast friends with her. 

“Sire, if you plan on staying here then I would appreciate some help. I’m not nearly strong enough to turn him over.”

Arthur hardly registered he’d been spoken to. He only stared blankly at Merlin, body tight with tension and heart breaking for every extra moment that expression of suffering twisted his face.

“Sire?”

He knew Merlin was poor, but he looked so thin and fragile, limbs hanging limply at his sides and bruising striking against the pale skin of his tiny stomach—had his ribs always stuck out like that? Surely someone couldn’t lose so much weight in two days? Arthur was struck with another bought of disturbed alarm as he realised he’d not even bothered to make sure Merlin was being fed when he’d been detained—

“Arthur, I swear to the gods above, get over here and help before I have to slap you for a second time today!” Morgana snapped, gaze piercing his stupa and jerking him back to reality.

“Try not to jostle his shoulders, we’ll need you to sit him up.”

He hastened over, hands trembling as he reached out, allowing his fingers to gently skim down Merlin’s side. Arthur sucked in a breath and gave a sharp nod, then he hooked a hand around the back of Merlin’s neck and used his free hand to clutch at his side, pulling him forwards. 

Morgana let out a shocked noise and turned away, hand covering her mouth. Before he could decide he didn’t want to see, Arthur’s eyes betrayed him and they looked anyway. 

White-hot fury surged through him and he had to force himself to calm before his grip tightened and injured Merlin further. The once unmarred skin of his back was now butchered with tens of deep gashes, no longer than the space from the tip of a finger to the base of a palm. Arthur’s eyes were glued to the destruction. It was obvious they would scar; some criss-crossed over each other in a few places. It seemed as if he’d been struck more than once in the same spot. A sick feeling bubbled up in Arthur’s throat and he had to swallow thickly a few times to get the feeling to dissipate a little.

“... oh, Merlin…” Gaius uttered, eyes clouded with sorrow and movements stilted as he took in the damage done to his Ward. 

He exhaled heavily and then pushed forward, reaching for the rubbing alcohol and a cloth before he began gingerly cleaning the wounds. Immediately Merlin woke again and began to struggle. It took all of Arthur's might to tighten his hold on the other man, silently begging Merlin to understand who they were and that their intentions weren’t malicious in his delirium; but it seemed to no avail. 

Arthur shifted Merlin in his grip, wincing as he let out more cries of pain at the movement, but he ploughed on until his lips were pressed to Merlin’s ear.

“It’s alright,” he murmured, pressing an absent-minded kiss behind Merlin’s ear. “I’m here, it’s okay, you’re safe now. I swear, to you you’re safe now, Merlin.”

He continued muttering placating phrases to him until Merlin seemed content enough to drift back off again. And if, when he glanced back up, Morgana was staring pointedly at him, well, it certainly wasn’t the time or place to address whatever she was getting at, was it?

When Gwen arrived back she almost dropped the bucket of ice from sheer shock at seeing Merlin’s back before carrying on with an air of professionalism that had Arthur struck-dumb. He felt only numbness for the longest time. It wasn’t until Merlin started to stir again, struggling weakly against Arthur’s hold and mewling sharp, pained gasps, that his anger returned full-force. He was certain his composure would crumble at any moment. 

Arthur had dealt with many levels of pain in his life, both physical and mental, and by far, this was the most excruciating.

It was hours after they’d begun that all the wounds were finally treated. A healing salve was spread thickly over the lacerations, before they were carefully wrapped and dressed; poultices were administered for the bruising; and the gash on Merlin’s cheek was stitched without fuss. It wasn’t until Gaius had attempted to administer a potion that the cuts on Merlin’s tongue were revealed. Gaius had cleaned them with salt water, waking Merlin for the hundredth time with the pain, and dabbed at them stoically when they bled. 

Merlin was sleeping fitfully now, still fever-ridden and mumbling incoherently every now and then. But he was settled, and he would live. 

Arthur finally let go of a breath he’d been holding since the moment Merlin had been sentenced to death. He stood abruptly and said, to no one in particular, “I’m going on a hunt.” 

Then he turned and woodenly walked to the door.

“Arthur!” Morgana hissed, stalking after him and pulling at his shoulder until he turned. “You need to stay here, with him—”

“Morgana—” Arthur knew he sounded crazed, hysterical even, his tone was laced with panic and his eyes were staring steadfastly at a spot above her head, but, “if I don’t get out in the next five minutes, I am more than sure I’m going to fucking murder someone. So, if you don’t mind. I’m going to leave and murder some rabbits instead.” Her once furious grip was now limp and easily slid from his arm.

“Or if I’m lucky,” he added without bothering to look back, “I’ll find some bandits to slaughter.”

Notes:

Chapter title from War of Hearts by Ruelle

Chapter 9: Right from the start, I knew that I’d found a home for my heart

Summary:

Arthur has some time to reflect after Aredian’s assault on Merlin… what will his new revelations push him to?

Arthur had spent a week and a half, thrown full force into his knightly duties. He hunted, trained, went on patrol for four days, hunted some more, trained a lot more, hunted again and then trained non-stop for another two.

He’d been violently punching a training dummy for the past hour as the unrelenting sun bore down on him. It was summer and it was sweltering, but his mind was focused only on the state he’d last seen Merlin in. 

A week ago he’d been told Merlin’s fever had broken and a few days after that, Morgana had informed him that Merlin had asked after him. Arthur had then fled— gone on a three-day patrol.

It wasn’t that he was avoiding Merlin, per se…

The still-fresh image of raw slits all over Merlin’s back shoved a growl from Arthur’s chest, angry welts that Arthur, himself, felt. He’d been flogged once as a boy, five lashes when he’d almost got Morgana killed pranking her during one of her horse riding lessons. 

He’d caught a rather long grass snake and showed it to Morgana’s mare, thinking it would just buck and they’d have a laugh whilst Morgana cried or shouted at him. The horse had thrown her off, she’d been bedridden for weeks with three broken bones, it took her almost a year to so much as get near a horse again. 

But this had been a thousand times worse. 

Aredian had intentionally hurt Merlin, and Arthur had known, even if it was only a niggling at the back of his mind, that Merlin would not be returned untouched. An aggressive grunt left him as he remembered the burns and the bruises; the moment he’d seen the cuts on Merlin’s tongue. How dare that fucking bastard threaten Merlin like that—with the loss of his voice. Morgana had told him Merlin’s story of having the knife pressed to his tongue, the blinding fear he felt about not being able to speak again. His voice was his life and it made Arthur half-mad with rage—he hadn’t done a fucking thing.

He’d sat back and had lunch with the bastard.

He’d lounged around and done nothing whilst Merlin had been beaten and tortured within an inch of his life.

The chain snapped and the punching bag flew across the field, landing with a crash at Sir Leon’s feet. 

“Never liked that one much anyway,” Leon said nonchalantly. “I’ve been saying to Sir Henry for months we should get that replaced.”

Arthur barely registered Leon’s attempt at breaking the ice and instead stared blankly at the training equipment. He’d seen Aredian’s body hanging in the courtyard when he’d left that day to go hunting. The only regret he felt was that the son-of-a-bitch hadn’t died by his sword. His knuckles throbbed, but he couldn’t feel the pain; the anger and frustration that had festered inside him had only grown since Merlin’s release.

He was mad at himself for not being there for his charge, he was furious at the damn Witchfinder for what he’d done, but most of all he was angry because he couldn’t quite figure out why he was so affected by all of this. Of course, he’d feel this way about anyone if they’d been endangered, or wrongly accused of sorcery, but the fact that it was Merlin seemed to increase his reactions, his emotions , tenfold. 

Fury, worry, guilt, happiness, sadness— everything was magnified around Merlin. 

Even before all of this, before Merlin had revealed his magic; the notion of any harm coming to the idiot boy from Ealdor made his blood boil and his skin crawl. He felt a swarm of birds circle incessantly about his stomach every time his manservant’s fingers had brushed over his bare skin when dressing or undressing him. His pulse rushed and roared every time Merlin smiled at him, his face flushed and his breathing faltered whenever they shared a look or a joke, or he so much as received a smile from the moron.

Why, why did he feel like this around him? 

Was it his magic? Maybe it was making Arthur sick—no, that was a ridiculous thing to think, he didn’t feel that way around Morgana. Or any other sorcerer he’d encountered, for that matter. 

Gods, what the hell was this overwhelming feeling that threatened to burn him inside-out?

It hit him like a stallion in full canter.

Arthur was in love with Merlin. Every moment came rushing back, every chaste brush of fingers, every fumbling touch, every flush, every lingering look—he was in love with him and he’d been in love with him for gods knew how long.

“My Lord?” 

Arthur came crashing back to reality, heart beating a mile a minute in his ribcage, threatening to burst right out of his chest, through his chainmail and go soaring up to Merlin’s chamber, offering itself to him, bloody and open and unrelenting. He felt about ready to collapse—although, whether that was due to the onslaught of sudden emotion or the relentless hours of training he’d put himself through as of late, was anyone’s guess.

“Leon,” Arthur nodded, not at all naturally. He fidgeted for a moment, hoping he didn’t look constipated or anything.

Leon stared wearily at him. “Might it be time for a break? It’s just you seem a little… tense.” His eyes flicked to and from the detached punching bag. 

Arthur blinked at him. “Yes. Break. Right . I’ll… I think I’m going to take the rest of the day if you have this handled…?” he suddenly realised that he was meant to be overseeing the knight’s training and had done absolutely nothing of the sort. Leon gave him a reassuring smile and that was that. 

He rushed to his chambers, completely ignored George—the servant who’d been tending to Merlin’s duties recently—washed frantically for a few minutes before hastily changing and heading for the door. 

And that’s where he stayed, behind the closed door, hand outstretched and completely frozen for several long minutes. 

Then he thought, rather resolutely, to himself, fuck it and strode purposefully to Gaius’ chambers. He knocked on the door, sweat beading at the back of his neck and breaths coming out laboured as he waited for someone to answer. 

When no one did, he tried again. After a few lingering moments of silence, he decided that Merlin was probably in his room and couldn’t hear the main door, so he went in anyway. 

He hesitated just outside the door to Merlin’s quarters and with a sharp inhale he pushed it open. 

The first thing Arthur noticed was how much better Merlin looked. His skin seemed to glow in the late afternoon sunlight, the once startling bruises were now faded and barely-there patches of brown and yellow. 

He was sitting up on the bed, a book resting on his crossed legs and he seemed to be so deeply engrossed in absorbing whatever it was he was reading that Arthur almost made the decision to back out and leave the room altogether. He swallowed thickly. How hadn’t he noticed how attracted he was to Merlin before? He was practically picturesque, thick dark eyelashes rested across his cheekbones as he continued to read, breathtaking full lips were drawn between his teeth in thought, and, yes, he was on the lanky side but it suited him. 

Besides, he was certainly a lot sturdier than when he’d first arrived in Camelot. Bony limbs now gave way to a thin layer of lean muscle—what with Arthur’s training, his courtly duties and his regular appearance on hunting trips and patrol, it was bound to happen. 

Frankly, Arthur was struck breathless.

Suddenly noticing he wasn’t alone, Merlin’s gaze flickered up to him; those blue eyes touched by lightning storm clouds had Arthur weakening at the knees. He was well and truly fucked.

“So, finally decided to grace me with your royal presence, then, Sire?” Merlin gave a good-natured smirk, but behind the nonchalant frontier, Arthur knew he was hesitant and a little hurt. 

He instantly regretted not coming to see him sooner.

Instead of saying that, however, Arthur shrugged. “Thought I might see for myself if you’re indeed still rightfully on leave, or if you’re just being lazy,” he ignored the waver in his tone. Merlin, however, seemed to lock on instantly.

“Of course,” he mused. “Don’t suppose you’ve at all been worried?”

Well, that was a little harsh.

Arthur frowned, then he opened his mouth, only to close it again. A frustrated huff left him and the feelings he’d felt these past days hit him head-on. 

“Fuck, Merlin,” Arthur’s head dropped and he was trembling, his throat closed up and he took a gasping breath. “Fuck—I, you—you… you scared the absolute shit out of me.” 

Suddenly hands were sweeping over his face, long fingers with a familiar roughness to them, and Arthur whimpered.

“Arthur, look at me.” 

His head jerked and he placed his hands on Merlin’s shoulders half wanting to tug him forward, hold him tight and never let go, half wanting to push him back toward the bed because—

“You, you shouldn’t be up, you should be resting—”

“Arthur,” then their eyes met, clashing and blending together like the sky and the sea melding in the horizon. Arthur let out a ragged breath. “Look at me, I’m okay. I’m still here, you saved my life.”

“‘Okay’? ‘Okay’!? You were barely breathing when I got to you,” he spat. A harsh bitterness flared in him and he threw himself into pacing restlessly, growling out, “I sat back and did fuck all whilst he, he—”

“There was nothing you could’ve done,” Merlin’s hands trailed down his neck and arms until they reached his hands, loosely twining their fingers together to give him a delicate squeeze. “I don’t blame you, Arthur… I’ll admit it took me a while to feel… somewhat normal again, but I’m okay, really. I’m not going to shatter if you shout at me.”

Arthur searched his eyes for a long moment before finally deciding he wasn’t lying. He was hiding something, but he knew he wouldn't get that out of him today. Just like that, the tension left him and his shoulders fell. He grazed his thumbs gently over Merlin’s knuckles, frowning slightly when the pain started to ebb and flow around his own hands. Merlin gave a gasp, tugged his hands away and pulled at Arthur until he sat down on the bed next to him.

“What the hell have you done?” Merlin snapped, scowling down at Arthur’s bruised knuckles. He let out a soft noise of shock.

“Must’ve done that whilst training… I didn’t even—”

“Bloody twat lied to me,” Merlin seethed, reaching over to grab a jar of something from the table at the side of his bed, before turning back and softly massaging it onto Arthur’s bruises. “I can’t believe her! ‘No, Merlin, honestly, he’s not gone training mad, he’s fine, Uther’s just overworking him.’ I am never, ever trusting Morgana again,” he continued to prattle on, nettled and on a rampage, muttering apologies whenever Arthur gave a slight hiss of pain.

Arthur just took to staring silently at him; lips slightly parted in awe and a small smile tugging at his face, he was mesmerised by Merlin. “There, that should lessen the pain and the swelling. Honestly, Arthur, what did the damn punching bag ever do to you?”

“It looked vaguely like the Witchfinder, that’s what it did,” he said vacantly, still enchanted and almost entirely out of it. 

Merlin blinked at him, a wonderful flush rising to his still slightly mottled cheeks.

“Oh,” he replied dumbly.

They gazed at each other for a few moments, quiet and earnest, then, the atmosphere shifted. Arthur couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth even if he’d tried. 

“You… you drive me mad , Merlin, do you know that?” he whispered suddenly. “You are an idiot, and a complete buffoon, but if anyone ever insulted you I would be mad with rage. Sometimes—sometimes I want to hit you hard enough to knock some sense into you; yet I know I could never hurt you, that I could never want to hurt you. And I ache, whenever I can’t see you—my chest, it aches,” he took Merlin’s hand and pressed it to his chest, right over his heart. “You make me feel like screaming and laughing all at once. You make me feel, constantly, like I’m making a fool out of myself—when you’re near me it’s as if I can’t breathe and when you’re not there it’s worse. You— Merlin , you are the only person who makes me feel like I want to tear out my own hair.”

Merlin frowned. “Well, that’s not very nice—”

“Shut up!” he voiced hysterically, hands gliding up to tangle in Merlin’s hair. “Just , shut up.”

His servant's mouth clamped shut as his heart began to beat erratically in his chest. Arthur spoke quietly, voice breaking as it crumbled the aching silence.

"Can I kiss you?"

Merlin blinked. Had he heard that right? He stammered for a moment before nodding emphatically because if he had heard that right, he was hardly about to say no , was he?

Then Arthur’s grip loosened, his hands slid down to clutch at his clothes. Then he was leaning forwards and crushing their lips together. Merlin let out a breath, eyes wide and frozen as if he somehow hadn't expected it. Then he groaned, allowing the tension to leave him, before falling head-first into the kiss. 

It was ridiculously messy, full of teeth, uncoordinated and perfect. 

Arthur smelled of sweat—which wasn’t all that pleasant, but Merlin had been subjected to smelling him at much worse, so he was hardly bothered—and the lavender-scented soap he used to bathe. It was pure heaven. 

He tasted like roast venison, mint and thyme. He felt like the crashing waves of the ocean, sweeping waters cascading over Merlin’s shores, shocking and terrifying and so undeniably right. 

He gripped the collar of Arthur’s shirt and tugged him closer, tilting his head and parting his lips with a sigh as Arthur darted his tongue out to taste. They melded together, neither sure where they ended and the other began. It was beautiful chaos. 

Arthur drew Merlin’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently before pulling back and letting it slip back into place. He kissed him again, this time taking full control. He forcefully slowed Merlin’s enthusiastic motions to a more tender, chaste pace. Time seemed to still, but it certainly wasn’t Merlin’s doing because he could barely concentrate, driven mad by the frantic-turned-featherlight touches of Arthur’s lips against his own. 

Merlin shuddered involuntarily as Arthur shifted to trace kisses along his jawline, just under his ear before diving back and capturing his lips again. 

Merlin’s tongue wasn’t fully healed, and Arthur was seemingly aware of that and being wonderfully considerate, or he just wanted to stay chaste; either way, he kept their movements infuriatingly slow, licking occasionally into Merlin’s mouth before pulling away. When they eventually drifted to a stop, they were breathless, one set of hands intertwined on the bed, foreheads resting together. 

Merlin reached up with his spare hand and traced Arthur’s lips, eyes lidded. It wasn’t until he noticed a flicker of green in his peripheral vision that it dawned on him.

They weren’t alone.

He jerked back, eyes wide as he took in Morgana and Gwen, standing suspended in action in the doorway. Arthur frowned as worry and fear overtook him before he caught Merlin’s line of sight and turned. 

The girl’s mouths were both agape; eyes like saucers and barely blinking as they stood motionless in the doorway. Merlin was sure if Morgana hadn’t started to speak, they probably could’ve stayed frozen in place like that for hours, days maybe.

“You—you were, since when—”

Arthur stood abruptly, face pale and jaw tight, he’d forgotten their hands were still locked together and almost yanked Merlin’s arm from its socket when he moved. He released his grip and Merlin’s hand fell limply onto the bed beside him. 

“I should… go,” Arthur blinked, avoiding everyone’s eyes before turning and barrelling past the girls. 

A second too late Merlin moved after him. “Arthur—” 

He was gone, and Merlin felt an overbearing sense of dread wash over him. 

When Morgana opened her mouth—presumably to apologise for her idiocy— Merlin shot her a dirty glare, effectively shutting her up, and collapsed back down onto the bed.

---

Arthur’s mind raced, thoughts passing through him at full force. 

He’d kissed Merlin. Then, he’d ran away, like a coward.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, utter moron, his mind groaned over and over again as his legs carried him aimlessly through the castle halls. His lips were still tingling from the feel of Merlin’s ghosting against them, and warmth curled suggestively in his stomach that he just couldn't shift. 

Images flashed across his mind, Merlin’s expression after he’d pulled away, gazing dazedly at him, lips parted and panting breathlessly. His eyes had been like a lake on fire, burning with something Arthur didn’t want to think too intently about; rings of sapphire circling pools of black. Sounds rushed in his ears, the scrape of Merlin’s coarse woollen bed sheets against his fingertips. Gods, the noises Merlin had made—he felt his cheeks go ruddy and his heart rate skyrocket again.

He paused, sucked in a trembling breath to calm himself and flexed his fingers. Merlin had kissed him back. He'd kissed him back. Shit. He dragged a hand over his face. Okay—alright. This was fine. All they had to do was ignore it, right? He'd just pretend that that one kiss hadn't sparked an unstoppable flame in him that would only be quelled by kissing Merlin again, again, again until he was awash with blue and neither of them was able to breathe. Until he was full to the brim with it.

Because kissing him felt like coming home.

Like everything and nothing all at once, as if the world had stopped moving and it was only the two of them, yet no one else had noticed and carried on peacefully with their lives. Kissing Merlin had felt like a cool breeze on a blistering summer day, like tasting chocolate for the first time, like a successful hunt, like getting drunk on sweet wine—addictive, thrilling, a blink-and-you-miss-it sensation.

Fuck.

This was out of control, Merlin had reduced him to nothing but a love-struck bard. He could not carry on thinking like this if he ever wanted to get over this, because what if that hadn't been Morgana and Gwen back there? 

What if it had been Uther? The Crown Prince of Camelot and his manservant? 

Merlin wouldn't be in his chambers right now, he'd be locked up in a cell, again. But this time he’d be left to rot or sent straight to death, or at the very least, he’d be awaiting permanent banishment. Gods, he was so stupid —Merlin had just barely escaped the pyre by the skin of his teeth and Arthur was already dangling his head right back in front of the executioner’s block. 

Which outcome was the worst, he wondered, when all of them were so awful? 

He continued his mindless marching, barely acknowledging the respectful nods of the stationed guards he stalked past before breaking out into the cool afternoon air. He knew he should technically be accompanied by a guard or knight, but he honestly did not give a shit. There was barely anyone out, and those who were were too far away to pay him any mind as he started for the stables.

The ride into the woods was peaceful. Too peaceful, he thought, because his head was full of Merlin and not much else. 

It truly was a wonder to him how he'd managed not to realise his feelings all this time. They were so glaringly obvious now that he'd come to this sudden epiphany. 

The horse trotted peacefully beneath him, down a well-worn path amidst the trees. Arthur barely noticed the first of pinprick stars as they began to litter the sky, glittering like thousands of tiny jewels above him. It wasn't dark, not yet, but the sky was swathed in cool yellows and dusky pinks. He could have been travelling for minutes or hours, but his mind was too muddled with nerves and thoughts of Merlin to pay any notice. When he finally drew the horse to a stop and dismounted, they’d come to a small lake.

The horse nickered behind him as he practically threw himself down at the lake’s edge, heaving a sigh that did nothing to ease the tension coiling in his every muscle. Quietly, he drew his knees up to his chest and stared at the lake’s surface; it was perfectly still—still as glass. Perfectly reflecting the sky above, however, it tossed his own reflection back at him, too. 

When he looked into the water and saw the state he was in, the red eyes, the wobbling lip, the cherry red cheeks, he'd never felt so pathetic and small. Why on earth had Merlin kissed him back, he wondered in bewilderment, when he was so undeserving?

A strangled noise of frustration fought from his throat and he slashed at the water viciously, watching his image distort and mutate, wishing it'd stay that way forever. The ripples from his disturbance spread, gliding through its once flawless surface. It took a while for it to return to its former state, and in all that time he didn't move a muscle. He knew he'd have to return to the castle—to Merlin—eventually, but he was trapped in his fear. Arthur could fell giants, could lead thousands into battle, but he couldn't face Merlin. He wouldn't even be able to look his servant in the eye.

What did that make him?

A coward. Merlin had cracked him open and scooped out all his bravery and bravado, leaving him hollow and yearning. He longed to tangle their fingers together and see him smile and kiss him again. He longed to hide under his covers and never go outside again. 

This was hopeless. 

His reflection stared at him, glared at him, really, and he didn't blame it. He was a fraud, after all. Some Knight of Camelot he was, afraid of his own feelings. The air was cold, biting at his exposed skin and wrapping itself around him. It turned his breath into plumes of steam and he knew it was time to go. When he stood, his stomach flipped. 

He'd felt less nervous going to battle than he had then, mounting his horse. With a click of his tongue and a crack of the reins, they were off.

 

Notes:

Chapter title from A Thousand Years Pt. 2 by Christina Perri and Steve Kazee

Chapter 10: We're bound to break and my hands are tied

Summary:

Merlin and Arthur contemplate what to do next.

For a series of long moments after Arthur had left, Merlin stayed silent. He stared down the space in between Morgana and Gwen, willing Arthur to turn back around, to come rushing back. To sweep him up into his arms and kiss him, and kiss him and kiss him until they were both mad with want. 

As soon as Merlin realised he wasn’t coming back, his eyes closed and he swallowed back the raw emotion that filled him. He ran his hands over his face and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, keeping the tears of frustration at bay. Steeling himself, he pushed his mind to think logically about it. What had just happened couldn’t happen again, he knew that. Fuck. Having magic was already dangerous enough as it was, but being a sorcerer and a manservant in love with his Prince as well? That was practically suicide. 

He took a breath and pushed away all the anger, the hurt and the longing. He wouldn’t let this happen, and besides, Arthur had never been good at expressing his feelings. It was entirely plausible that he had just been overwhelmed by all the excitement with the Witchfinder and he’d just accidentally kissed him… and stuck his tongue down Merlin’s throat… and had kissed him a second time… sensually… whilst caressing his face.

Merlin raked a hand through his hair and gave a growl of frustration. Thinking about it wasn’t helping. 

Arthur was a Prince , Merlin was a servant , and a man . They’d kissed once and it would never happen again. Ever. End of story.

He’d almost forgotten the girls were there and he was sure he would have entirely, had Gwen not spoken.

“Merlin—”

Her face was full of concern and well-practised ease as she approached him like one would a skittish horse, open and slow in movement. Merlin’s eyes locked onto her and a fierce sense of alarm pierced through him.

“It was nothing!” he blurted. He sighed and cleared his throat, before saying again in a more even tone, “It was nothing, Gwen.”

She raised a sceptical eyebrow at him. “Well, it certainly didn’t look like nothing.” 

Merlin huffed at her, ignoring the heat that prickled his cheeks as she gave him a scathing look. He rolled his eyes.

“Look, whatever you think you saw, you didn’t—”

“So we didn’t just see Arthur snogging you as if his life depended on it, the completely devoted look you gave each other, or the fact that he bolted like a deer the moment you noticed us?” Morgana breezed, tone laced with sarcasm and gaze dripping boredom. 

“The point is that none of that matters because it’s never going to happen again.” Merlin snapped, gaze sharp as he took in their disbelieving expressions. 

They exchanged a look. 

“Merlin, we know how you both feel about each other,” her gaze flickered and she glanced briefly at Morgana. “It’s okay, Merlin, you don’t have to hide it, not from us—”

Merlin gave a humourless bark of laughter, throwing his head back theatrically, before setting his hard-eyed stare back on his friend. “By Hecate, Gwen, you don’t get it, do you? That can never happen again. Whatever he thinks he feels, we can never act on it. That… that kiss was just a mistake and we can't—”

“Don’t you dare try and fool us Merlin, you and I both know just how long you’ve wanted that to happen, and gods know how long Arthur’s wanted it,” Gwen bristled, before deflating and sending him a look of apology. She gave a sigh and shook her head. “Why? Why do you think you can’t have him, Merlin?”

“Because he is the Prince, because I'm nothing but a servant—”

Morgana snorted. “You honestly think that matters to him?”

“It’s not about whether or not it matters to him, Morgana!”

“Then what is it about, Merlin? You’ve danced around each other for the best part of two years, you obviously care for each other, you obviously want each other, so what’s stopping you? You love him, and he loves you, you just have to be careful—”

“Morgana have you gone mad?” he shouted, eyes instantly widening and taking a step back as he realised what he’d said. “Oh, gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

Morgana’s face was set, the perfect picture of the King’s Ward and she jutted out her chin. 

“I am not the mad one here, Merlin. You have found the person who loves you for exactly who you are and you can’t even be bothered to try.” 

She turned and left the room before he could so much as think of a reply. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sat heavily back down on his bed. Gwen came to sit beside him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. He relaxed, just a little.

“She’s right, you know… Arthur loves you. He might not know it yet, but he does. That’s part of why it didn’t work out… when we had our moment," she shrugged. "His heart didn’t have enough space for me.”

“Gwen, please,” Merlin whispered, voice cracking as he shook his head. “I can’t—We can’t—Even when he’s next to me he’s still a thousand miles away. Anyway, if the King ever found out—”

“He wouldn’t—”

“But if he did, Gwen,” Merlin stressed. “Arthur wouldn’t be able to deal with the consequences and I can’t put him through that. If anything happened to me and he had reason to believe it was his fault? It would destroy him. No. I am going to stay by his side, like I always am, protecting him, and I am going to watch him become the great King I know he is.”

For a long time, Gwen said nothing. She only stared sadly at him. Then she ran a hand down his arm.

“It's better to have loved and lost, Merlin, than never to have loved at all.” 

Merlin hardly noticed her leaving the room for he had been unceremoniously dragged back into the past by a long forgotten memory. An image of his mother saying the very same thing to him when he had fallen for the baker’s son and laughed out of the bakery by the very boy who had his heart. 

“Is it?” he echoed his younger self to an empty room. “The more you love, the more it hurts. I don’t really see how that’s worth it.”

He was lying through his teeth, but he forced himself to believe it. Just for one moment, because nothing would be worth hurting Arthur.

---

Arthur was rudely awakened by the slam of his chamber doors and an ice-cold goblet of water poured onto his face. He coughed and spluttered, disentangling himself from his bedsheets to glare venomously at his attacker, but as soon as he saw Morgana’s pale-eyed glower, he ground out a groan and flopped back into his pillows. 

He had barely slept at all the night before, mind switching between wanting to leap up and run back to Merlin’s chamber and simply wishing to disappear so that he never had to deal with his feelings ever again.

“No,” Morgana hefted him up by his arm and in an uncivil gesture, dumped him on the floor. “Get up. Where the hell did you go last night? Uther almost sent the entirety of Camelot’s guard out looking for you. I had to say you went on a hunt, good luck explaining your lack of kill.”

“Morgana, it's too early for this,” Arthur refused to move as Morgana became increasingly more frustrated with him and threw an arm over his face. He frowned. “Wait, how early is it exactly?”

“That doesn’t matter. What matters is that you need to get up and tell me what the fuck you think you’re playing at.” 

Arthur glared at her and offered no help as she dragged him across the room by his arm. He let his body go limp, proving it even harder to get him to move as he really was just dead weight now. Morgana huffed out a noise of frustration and dropped his arm, scowling down at him. 

“I’m not playing at anything, Morgana,” he said finally, shifting to sit up.

“Then, please, feel free to enlighten me as to what you thought you were doing yesterday?”

“That was nothing.” Arthur said with an air of finality, eyes downcast as he stood, gathering up his bedsheets to throw them back where they belonged. 

Morgana rolled her eyes, tone impassive as she sniped at him, “Of course, so ‘nothing’ translates to snogging Merlin senseless now, does it?” 

She smirked as a deep red flush consumed Arthur’s face. He sighed heavily, eyes squeezed shut and fists clenched at his sides. 

“Morgana that—that was a mistake, okay? A moment of weakness that won’t be repeated. Now would you please just leave it alone?” he pleaded, voice strained as he spoke. He couldn’t allow this to happen, he’d already decided that. Why did Morgana constantly have to challenge him? 

Because she’s right, a tiny voice in the back of his head whispered. He ignored it. 

“No, I will not ‘just leave it alone’, Arthur. Why are you men all so emotionally compromised? You do realise that you just left him there, don’t you?” she snapped. “If you care for him then what is stopping you?”

“Everything!” Arthur bit back, glaring with full force at her now. “I will not explain myself to you! So if you would be so kind, Morgana, get out.” 

She scowled vehemently at him, nostrils flared as she hissed, “Fine! Pretend you feel nothing, Arthur, just see where that gets you. But don’t come running to me when you realise your mistakes.” 

She whirled around and yanked the door open, startling a little when Merlin tumbled into the room. Breakfast tray in hands and obviously unbalanced, there was no doubt that he’d been eavesdropping. Morgana stood in the doorway for another few seconds, looking back and forth between them expectantly. When neither of them so much as looked at each other she shook her head.

“You are both idiots,” she told them, before breezing past Merlin to head down the corridor. The swish of her dress and the quiet tapping of her shoes were the only indicator that she’d actually left. 

Merlin kept his eyes glued to the floor, head ducked as he scuttled into the room and quickly placed the tray down at Arthur’s desk. 

“Will that be all, my Lord?” 

Arthur stared resolutely out the window, ignoring the shiver that roved down his spine at the sound of Merlin’s voice. He blinked away the memories of the night before, but Morgana’s words niggled at him.

Just as his manservant was shuffling back toward the door, Arthur heard himself call out, strained and questioning, “Merlin…?” 

“I think it would be best, Sire, to forget,” he said, tone wavering and avoiding Arthur’s gaze.

Arthur forced himself not to stare, but the effort it took was exhausting. Merlin’s words hung in the air between them, thick and difficult to swallow like treacle. Forget . How— how could he possibly hope to forget? If he never saw Merlin after today, if he was never blessed with the sight of him again, there wasn't a single doubt in his mind that his eyes, swirling with sapphire and cobalt, would stay with him. That the need to kiss him would always remain.

“These things are… uh, best—best not to be discussed—” he forced out, swallowing thickly past the lump in his throat. 

“Merlin… what happened in your chamber…” Arthur trailed off, glancing briefly at him before flicking his gaze away when their eyes met. “I’m afraid my father would never understand—”

Merlin shook his head, smiling sadly at the Prince. “You don’t need to explain it to me, Arthur,” with a false front of nonchalance, he shrugged. “Some things are not meant to be.”

Arthur felt his lips quiver and cleared his throat, then he gave a nod. “That will be all, Merlin.”

“Sire,” Merlin bowed his head and went to gather Arthur’s mail and training kit, clearly intending on setting himself to work and cleaning them. Arthur frowned as he gave a wince, breathing becoming more laboured as he picked up the heavy chainmail.

“Merlin… are you sure you are well enough to—” he cut himself off, realising too late how concerned he’d sounded. 

“I’m feeling much better, my Lord,” Merlin stressed. Arthur narrowed his eyes. On the surface he seemed to speak the truth, but the Prince knew him much too well for that.

Arthur did not believe him at all.

“Of course, I’m sure Gaius would not have bid you leave were you still incapacitated,” he felt a sense of victory wash over him at Merlin’s shifty look. He’d snuck out then. “George is more than happy to carry on with attending most of your duties until you are fully recovered, Merlin,” he paused, eyes downcast as he whispered, “I wouldn’t want you to injure yourself further.”

Merlin stood, totally at a loss in the middle of the room, unsure whether he wanted to tell Arthur to fuck off or thank him profusely. Still undecided, he let out a breath, allowing his shoulders to sag slightly before nodding.

“Of course, Sire.”

“Then you are dismissed until further notice,” Arthur commanded, detached as his eyes still refused to fall directly on Merlin.

For a moment he said nothing, trying with all he had not to let his emotions slip, but the dispassionate way Arthur had regarded him left him with an uneasy, convulsing distress tightening in his chest. Then George burst into the room, blissfully ignorant as he assessed the scene.

“Ah, my Lord, it seems your breakfast has already been served. No matter—shall I select your clothes? There is a warm breeze in the air today, by the way, Sire. Do you have any preferences regarding style, colour or fabric?” 

As he always did when George spoke, Arthur gave him a rather bewildered look, somehow seeming both nervous and afraid of him. The way he spoke and served like he was under a bloody spell never failed to put him ill at ease. The man just didn't seem human.

“Er… no . Thank you, George, but if you wouldn’t mind taking my training armour off Merlin’s hands?” 

Arthur didn’t spare Merlin so much as a glance. Instead he waved vaguely in his direction and turned away. Not at all perturbed or seemingly affected by the halting exchange, George simply stepped toward Merlin to take the clothing, gibbering incessantly about absolutely nothing as he went.

Merlin kept his feelings at bay as long as possible after dumping the things on the other servant, absently saying goodbye to Arthur and leaving the room. He’d barely cleared the next corridor when he was ducking into an alcove, hand pressed firmly over his mouth and trying frantically to blink away the stinging in his eyes. He clutched desperately at his chest, gulping down harsh sobs that threatened to leave him and slid down to the floor, pressing his head back against the wall. 

He had been so sure he would be able to deal with this. 

He’d been in love with Arthur knowingly for months and he hadn’t even felt this way when he’d believed Gwen and Arthur were starting to fall for each other. This, however, this was agonising. Maybe it was the fact that Merlin knew now his feelings were returned somewhat, or maybe it was the lack of affection in Arthur’s tone when he spoke his name. Whatever it was, it sliced through Merlin like a knife and reopened all of his wounds. He was startled when a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Merlin? What are you doing here? You shouldn’t be out of your room, Gaius said at least another week or two until you’d be well enough to walk around—" Gwen kneeled down next to him, face full of concern as she hastily ran her eyes over him. She took in his distress and trailed a hand over his cheek. 

Merlin took a gasping breath and violently shook his head. “Gods, I didn’t know it would hurt this much, Gwen, I can’t—it’s like I can’t breathe—”

Gwen’s expression was now clouded with frantic fear and she gave an anxious bodily jerk. “I’ll call for help, can you move? Wait, no, stay here, I’ll get Gaius—”

“Gwen, Gwen—” Merlin rushed, stilling her frantic movements with a hand to her arm. “No, that’s not what I meant, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he gripped her arm tighter and bit his lip.

She frowned at him for a moment, before her eyes cleared in understanding. 

“Oh, Merlin…” 

“I thought—I thought it would be easy —”

She placed an arm gently around his shoulders, careful to steer clear of his back, and pressed her cheek to his. Just like that, all his energy left him and he was bluntly reminded just why he was still on bed rest. He let himself tip forward, utterly exhausted as the sobs continued to shudder through him. Gwen was quiet, stroking his hair and murmuring things he was sure were very kind, but he was so distraught that her presence was more than enough. 

Guinevere was such a good friend. He wondered what he'd done to deserve her.

“Come on, let’s get you back to bed.” 

He nodded wearily, movements sluggish as his best friend led him through the halls.

“It’ll all work out, Merlin, I know it will,” she said the words with the conviction of a queen, before leaving him to get on with her duties. Despite the fact that he knew he couldn’t ever have Arthur, a small spark of hope still burned at Gwen’s words.

---

This… was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea.

But then again, when did he ever stop doing anything because it was a ‘bad idea’? 

Gaius had stressed over and over that he was not to strain himself, especially not his shoulders, and hanging Arthur's nightclothes was doing just that. But Merlin wasn't a little boy, he could handle hanging a few articles of clothing. Of course, he hadn’t just picked up Arthur’s washing, he’d collected a few of the visiting noble’s sheets as well, which, yes, made more work for him, but he was just so damn bored! He’d been squabbling over duties with George for the best part of a fortnight, he wasn’t fragile and he certainly didn’t need to be coddled.

Alright, so he still had nightmares most nights about the witchfinder, and his scars were only just starting to heal, but he was better now. A lot better. And, did he mention bored? So bored.

He stood there, in the warm spring breeze, trying to hang the garments but wincing every time he got halfway. The more he tried, the further the pain intensified, fluctuating between sharp slices of pain and a dull, rolling ache spreading all over his upper back. He managed three shirts before slumping to the grass in exhaustion with eyes that shone with unshed tears. It was bad enough that he was in pain, but that bloody royal prat wouldn't leave his mind. He gritted his teeth. Gods, he hated this! He was basically useless now, what was the point of being the greatest sorcerer who ever lived if he couldn't even handle hanging some fucking nightclothes—

"Merlin?"

He startled, snapping his eyes up from his spot on the ground to see Sir Leon regarding him with wary concern. He wasn't in any knightly garb, just a simple white shirt, and black trousers. Merlin wasn't used to seeing him like that. Leon spared a glance to the rest of the sparsely populated fields before slowly lowering himself to the grass at Merlin's side.

"Are you alright?" he asked carefully.

Merlin sighed. "Yeah."

"… Really?"

The first tear fell, and, like a dam finally breaking, the rest followed suit. He didn't cough or sob or anything like that, but the tears kept falling, and Leon couldn't help but watch in alarm. He blinked at Merlin once, twice, before shifting forward.

"I'll take that as a ‘no’?"

Merlin laughed a little, even as the tears continued to roll down his cheeks. He did nothing to wipe them away because more would replace them quickly enough either way. He could feel his cheeks burning—no doubt he looked like an apple. If he were less tired, he'd probably find this utterly humiliating. In fact, he probably wouldn't cry at all. But… this was Leon. He wouldn't judge him.

"Just tired, that's all."

"I don't normally cry after training," Leon pointed out gently.

"Yeah well, you're a knight. All you lot are emotionally constipated."

"And you're not?"

"Oi!" Merlin laughed, shoving him playfully in the arm. "I'll have you know I'm perfectly fine in that department."

"You're crying under a clothesline."

"'s good to let out your emotions."

"And what emotions are these?"

Merlin glanced at him with narrowed eyes. "If I tell a nobleman to piss off, do I get executed?"

Leon grinned. "I wouldn't take my chances if I were you."

"It's… Everything with Areddian was weeks ago and I’m still—” he gestured to himself, “I feel useless and—and that’s not all, it’s—” Merlin contemplated telling him then. 

Here was Leon, one of his good friends, open and ready to listen to whatever he had to say. And he knew how Uther felt about love between two men, but he was in a minority. Surely Leon wouldn't react that way? But he was a knight loyal to the King… 

"Arthur."

Leon groaned at that, throwing back his head and leaning backward on his elbows. "Of course."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He sat up, suddenly looking shifty. "Nothing. Never mind, it's nothing."

Suspicion flared in Merlin and he grabbed hold of his sleeve.

"What? What is it?"

"You two are just…" he sighed, shaking his head. "C'mon, I'm taking you to Gaius. George can hang the rest of these."

He gestured lazily to the basket of damp clothing before helping Merlin to his feet, trying to be careful with his shoulders. Merlin tried in vain to pry more out of the knight as they returned to the castle, but to no avail.

"Gaius!" Leon called as the pair entered the chambers. He looked up from the pestle and mortar he'd been using to work some herbs with and raised the eyebrow. Merlin poked Leon in the side, desperately trying to get him to shut his dirty mouth. "Merlin hasn't been resting."

Gaius' gaze darkened and he swallowed dryly.

"I'll get you back for this," Merlin hissed menacingly.

Leon turned to leave with a smile. "You need rest. You'll thank me one day."

Just before Gaius started chiding, Merlin barked a laugh. He doubted it. 

Leon sauntered out of the room, a self-satisfied smirk on his lips, and eyes flashing mischievously and for a moment Merlin was reminded of Will. 

Will had been his closest friend in Ealdor, Will had been the one to make him laugh when he needed to and to tell him off when he needed that, too.

Gwen was a close friend, but there were just some things he didn’t want to burden her with. She had so much on her plate already chasing after Morgana, and Morgana, well she was the kind of friend he’d trade snide remarks about Arthur and magic with. And Arthur… well he couldn’t very well talk to Arthur about himself, could he? And yes, he told Merlin off but the prat was way too overprotective.

Maybe… Maybe Leon could be the kind of friend Will had been? 

And just maybe, Leon already was.

Notes:

Chapter title from Rewrite the Stars by Zac Efron and Zendaya

Chapter 11: Nothing around here is quite, As it seems

Summary:

A boy is sentenced to death.

"I hereby pass sentence for treason of the highest degree on accounts of sorcery. Your penalty is death."

The boy couldn't have been more than sixteen, quivering on his knees before Uther and the rest of the High Court. He snapped his head up, eyes full of terror and desperation as he struggled against the guards that dragged him roughly to his feet. Arthur watched silently, feeling a horror that hadn't been there before. He'd seen this happen so many times, from the age of fourteen, but this was the first time since he was a teenager that he stepped forward in protest.

"Father, he's just a boy!"

Uther's cold and steely gaze fell upon him.

"Excuse me?"

A frightened shiver ran down his spine, but he pressed on in spite of it. "Father, please, he's a child! He wasn't hurting anyone!"

"You dare question me before the High Court? He's a sorcerer!" he boomed, towering over his son. “Sorcerers will stop at nothing to see our Kingdom destroyed, they have mercilessly killed hundreds of us!”

“And we have killed thousands of them!” Arthur’s voice rang through the hall. He breathed heavily as he stared down at his father.

After a long moment of silence, Uther shifted.

“You are young. Impressionable and naïve, Arthur, that I understand, but your childish defiance of me has worn my patience thin, guards, take him away.” 

"What— no—" Arthur scrambled for words as the boy screamed and screamed, wrestling against the guards and begging for his life even when the doors were slammed on him.

“I am your father, your sovereign, and your King, you will show me some respect!” Uther seethed, “You will learn, Arthur, that such things need to be done, the boy will hang today for his crimes and your insolence."

"Father—"

His head snapped toward him, face terrifying and overwhelming in its fury.

“You will hold your tongue, Arthur if you have any idea what’s good for you.” Uther's tone was dangerous, eyes sharp, cold and calculating. Arthur’s jaw clenched with the effort to keep quiet. "Magic left unchecked will wreak havoc, Arthur! Even if I wanted to, I couldn't let him go. If I allow one to go free, then I must free them all, that is how it must be!" his face fell away from anger, turning sombre and heartbroken. "Magic killed your mother, Arthur. That sorcerer—"

That boy! Arthur thought , he is more than just a sorcerer, a person!

"—would have become a dangerous threat to Camelot. We'd all be at risk."

Would have. Speaking like he was already dead. So certain he'd grow to become a homicidal maniac. And yet…

Merlin's grinning face, Morgana's mischievous smirk, the warm, gentle feeling of healing and the wonder of moving things without touch filled him like water in a dam, and in that instant, he knew, from the bottom of his heart, that his father was wrong. Magic itself was not the problem. It never had been. It was people like him, who were full of hatred and blindness that posed a threat. He'd been so unbelievably wrong, all this time, and so many of the people who'd died because of his ignorance were innocent.

"Poor Arthur, whose father has ordered the murders of thousands of innocent people, while you sat by and did nothing!"

Merlin was right. He'd stood idly by and watched in silence since he was fourteen years old. Horror and misery curdled within him.

"Do you understand, Arthur?"

No.

“He is just a child—”

“So help me, Arthur, you will speak no more of this unless you wish to be locked in your chambers until morning! Do I make myself clear?”

Arthur swallowed thickly, opening his mouth but coming up short. He was only a boy. Sixteen at most. Many, younger , had been drowned, tortured, hung and beheaded. He looked at his father and saw a husk. The noble, mighty king he had once been was now swept away, and in his place stood a terrified, paranoid tyrant. Disgust sat heavy in his chest without relenting, and he stepped away. His mouth tasted foul.

"Arthur."

He stormed toward the doors, leaving his father alone in the hall.

"Arthur!"

The doors gave a deafening boom when they slammed shut behind him. It felt like everything was crumbling from the inside, yet crushing him from the outside. And oh, how Arthur ached.

Anger was a raging storm of fire within him and he managed to keep it at bay only until he breached his chamber doors. When he was finally alone, he allowed the thunder and lightning to wreak havoc. He ripped his sword belt from his waist and hurled it to the table with an almighty crash, letting out an agonised, devastated shout as he moved toward the hearth and rested his hands there, fists clenching and unclenching with uncontained rage. He hadn’t noticed the undignified noise of alarm that followed his actions, nor did he notice Merlin’s concerned gaze and the shuffling of his scruffy boots until he was placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Sire?” he questioned quietly, brow knitted and obviously unsettled. “Arthur, is everything alright?”

Now that he had fed fuel to the fire, he could no longer suppress it. He whirled, rounding on his manservant with a look of vicious contempt and shouted, “No! Everything is not alright, Merlin!” 

He jerked back as if he’d been struck and his expression only deepened. “Tell me what happened.”
“I am the Crown Prince of Camelot, and I do not have to answer to the likes of you!” he screamed. 

Merlin backed up a little more as hurt flashed across his face. Arthur watched him swallow and his heart sank. Instantly, regret and shame curled around the firepit in his stomach and with a glance at Merlin’s now wounded look, he felt icy water slosh heavily over the rage and he sagged. Eyes clamped shut and face twisted in an expression of torment, Arthur allowed himself to tip forward. He caught the confused hitch in Merlin’s breath and only pressed further into the warmth of his neck. 

“I’m sorry—” he whispered, “I’m so sorry, I can’t—Merlin,” his voice was full to the brim with anguish. It was thick and difficult as he clutched at Merlin’s shirt and breathed out, “there’s nothing I can do —I tried, but he won’t listen he—”

Merlin sucked in a breath. “The boy.”

He said it as if it were a conviction. Arthur could only nod and bury himself further into his warmth.

“I fucked up,” Arthur said, muffled by Merlin's shoulder. “I fucked up, I should’ve stayed quiet, I shouldn’t have said anything—then at least, he could’ve had a chance. If he goes missing now he’ll know it was me, he won’t stop until he’s been found again and killed—” he choked on his words, guilt and bile clawed at his throat like the rope of a noose. The air was forced from his lungs and he felt as if he was drowning—this was wrong, so wrong and he was helpless, he could do nothing—

The doors to his chambers burst open and Morgana entered with the force of a tempest.

“You’re just giving up!?” she shouted. Faltering slightly at the sight in front of her, she took a step back. “Arthur?”

Arthur righted himself, matching her disoriented, yet still fierce, stare. “Morgana, not now—”

“So you are giving up?” Fury clouded her features again. “In all my years of knowing you, Arthur Pendragon, I never took you for such a gutless coward—”

“I tried!” Arthur shot back, voice turning hoarse as he barrelled past Merlin. “There’s nothing I can do, Morgana! I was stupid for speaking out like that because now father knows that if anything were to go amiss it would be because I orchestrated it!” his voice rose with frustration and anger, by this point he was shouting, pain etched into his face and eyes set hard, “I don’t know what to do, Morgana—I don’t know how to stop this, so please if you have any grand ideas tell me! I’d love to hear them!”

“I… I—” she stammered, looking just as pained as Arthur, then her face fell.

“There’s nothing that can be done, is there?” she said weakly.

Arthur shook his head where it hung low with remorse. He'd been so, so foolish.

“Nothing short of magic.”

His eyes flashed with realisation at what he’d said and he snapped a stern look at the both of them. “Don’t you dare even think about it, either of you. I will not be watching either of you being hung tomorrow as well, this is already bad enough.” 

Morgana's gaze stayed fixed to the floor, resigned and hopeless. She nodded feebly with a trembling lip. Her eyes pressed shut as a broken sound escaped her. Then she held her head high, and with a tremor in her voice and steel in her gaze, she spoke.

“When you are King, things can be different.”

Arthur regarded her with an unreadable look. He stepped forward, rested his hands on her shoulders, and spoke with the confidence of the ruler of a nation, “When I am King, Morgana, things will be different.”

Merlin saw it then, just for a moment, as the sun streaked Arthur's face with gold. The man Kilgarrah had foretold. He sat upon the throne, with blue eyes that held the patience and passion of a King who loved his people. A glimmering crown sat atop his hair of golden thread and all those around him bowed their loyalty. Merlin felt that this moment was transcendent as if history itself was shifting into place, like past, present and future themselves were set to circle around this very point in time. 

Perhaps Morgana had seen it too, for they shared a look—eyes glazed with unshed tears of pride—for this was their Arthur, their prince—

The Once and Future King.

Notes:

Chapter title from Welcome to Wonderland by Anson Seabra

Chapter 12: I’ll be your crying shoulder, I’ll be love’s suicide

Summary:

Merlin and Arthur find comfort with one another.

Torrents of rain were beating down from the sky, pummeling the earth and hitting Merlin with such force he felt as if tiny fists were pounding his back. Though spring had been swept away by summer, the last of the showers came in fast and thick. Merlin was soaked through, pressing a hand to his eyes as he stumbled out into the training ground, trying in vain not to slip around in the slick muddied grass. He narrowed his eyes, seeing the familiar outline he'd sought after all this time.

"Arthur!" he called out into the rainfall, watching as the Prince steadfastly beat the absolute shit out of a training dummy. 

His sword hacked against it over and over and over again, beating harder and harder until the post it was hanging off actually started to bend and splinter under the strain of his relentless pounding. 

Merlin called out again as he drew closer, "Arthur, come inside!"

His cries, however, fell on deaf ears and Arthur swung his sword once more, finally sending the sack of straw crashing down to the dirt. But even then he didn't stop. 

He held his sword high above his head and brought it down over and over and over again. Merlin drew closer, hands held out as if he were approaching a wounded animal while Arthur continued slashing and hacking, voice raw as scream after scream of frustration left his lips.

Slicing through his storm of emotion like a ray of sunlight, Merlin placed a calming hand on his shoulder. Arthur stilled, then swayed a little, feeling his energy suddenly leave him. He glanced down at the man made of straw only to see it had become nothing but splinters of wood and shredded fabric.

"Arthur, stop," Merlin murmured as he slowly eased the sword from his grasp. Arthur's breathing built up in his chest, becoming overwhelmingly laborious with each breath in and out.

"I… he—it's only a few hours away," he whispered frantically, voice cracking and barely audible over the curtains of rain that lashed upon them.

Merlin didn't know what to say to that. He’d never seen Arthur so torn up about an execution before, and frankly any emotion he himself used to have for such things had left him back when he’d begun to lose count of how many he’d witnessed. He glanced up and found he was unable to catch Arthur’s eye so instead he sighed, swinging the sword a little by his side. 

"It isn't your fault,” he offered. “You couldn't have known your father would react that way."

Arthur remained silent and drenched with clumps of his hair sticking to his forehead. If he had anything he wanted to say, he didn't. Merlin tugged at his arm gently.

"Come on, Arthur. It's tipping it down."

After Arthur gave a sudden jerky nod, the two of them trekked to his chambers in solemn silence. Merlin set a bath quietly, prepared him a little food, though of course it was left untouched, and offered him a change of clothes. The way Arthur moved about was stilted and unnatural. His arms felt like lead and his mind was nothing short of a mess. He'd never felt this way before. Magic had always been evil, in his mind. No, not always, though it'd felt that way. When he was fourteen, there had been an incident painfully similar to this one. He'd spoken out of turn, and a little girl was hung the same day as punishment. 

Seven years ago, that had been. After all this time, his father had still refused to grow, wilfully keeping himself stunted and thorny and hidden away from sunlight. It made his blood boil. Quite frankly, it made him feel sick.

As he changed his clothes, he couldn't help but feel disgusted with himself as well. All the executions he'd watched, and only now, with the knowledge of Merlin's magic, did he recognise how wrong it was. 

For years, he'd been no better than his father, yet here he was condemning him. 

But he is awful, he deserved it. But—agh!

Everything was warring within him. His father, both the one who he'd worshiped like a god and the foul, raw, real version of him that Arthur was now painfully aware of, couldn't exist together. He knew that. 

But even beneath all the hatred and anguish and torment was love. A little dying ember of it. A relic from all the years of bedtime stories, dueling lessons and fumbling, awkward advice about women. Careful guidance on leading a nation, the rare times his father had laughed, his unrelenting honesty. He had to let that familial love go, though. How could he love a man so mercilessly cruel?

"Arthur?"

Please, no.

Merlin's expression was blank. Arthur still saw the sliver of pain that breached his pale blue eyes.

"It's time."

---

The gallows were ready. The noose swung forebodingly in the breeze as the crowd watched on in silence. The rain had stopped, as if the gods themselves were holding their breath, but the sky was just as tumultuous. Angry grey clouds swarmed ahead.

 Arthur, entirely against his will, stood with weak and shaky legs on the balcony, Uther's gloved hand clamped, heavy and emphatic, on his shoulder. His grip was tight, nearly painful, a warning. 

He swallowed, but his mouth felt dry and he felt hollow with the knowledge of what was to come. His nostrils flared. The cold of rain had dissipated out, replaced by a thick blanket of mist and warmth that burned his eyes and seared his body, everything felt too hot, too close, too much. 

But the humidity was the least of his concerns, because he couldn’t help but obsess over the brutal fact that they must have taken the boy from the cells by now. Gods, this was horrifying, and where was—his gaze roamed the small mass of people and he found him. Merlin, who was already watching him with an intensity he'd only seen on a few rare occasions. 

For a moment everything seemed to freeze, and they stared at each other; some anguished, crucial thing passing between them. 

He'd never been so aware of how slowly time could move. Seconds were set to the beat of the executioner’s drums as he stood there, useless, forced to witness the public death of an innocent child. Oh, gods, Arthur thought as the boy was roughly dragged into the courtyard.

Arthur's lip trembled and he tore his gaze away. He felt like he'd been drenched with ice water.

The boy was screaming as they hauled him through the crowd, and it was obvious he’d already been doing so for hours. His voice was rendered raw and croaky. The crowd parted for him almost in unison, quiet, clueless bystanders blithely happy to do nothing as the boy begged for his life to be spared. 

Arthur knew Merlin’s fingers would be twitching to act and stop all of this unneeded, ugly suffering, and as he glanced back at the other man he saw the exact moment the realisation dawned on Merlin, that painful sinking feeling that he was helpless. 

The prince watched it all from above. The sound of his cracked shouts and piercing shrieks would haunt Arthur's nights for months, for years, he knew it already. The desperate cries of a young boy condemned to death for healing a baby bird.

"No! Please, help me! Someone help me!" 

He was crying, wailing, voice raised with panic. His pleading became shrill as he was ignored, dragged up to the stage and forced in front of the noose. They'd had to use a longer one because the boy was so short. 

“Please, please, please—I won’t do it again, I won’t—I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, please! I don’t want to die—”

Eventually they gagged him, folding humiliation into the horror of his fate as his sobs became inaudible. He clawed uselessly at their arms, kicking out and crying around the gag as they forced his head into the rope. The fight sputtered out of him and he stopped struggling then, eyes blank and tears still streaming down his face. They were the colour of acorns, his eyes, and although his skin was a honeyed brown, he looked ashen now. They roved sluggishly over the crowd before falling on Arthur. He didn’t have time to try, but even if he had, he doubted he would’ve been able to hold back the tortured noise that left him. Uther’s grip tightened painfully on his shoulder. 

“Grow up,” he hissed. “You are not a child anymore.”

He felt abruptly transported back to an experience long since forgotten, only for a second, and remembered the very first execution he’d been forced to witness. He’d cried then, and retched the moment the smell of burning human flesh and hair reached his nose. Uther had said the same thing to him all those years ago. He’d barely been twelve. 

Uther's arm raised slowly toward the sky and Arthur barely held back a whimper. He could no longer keep his gaze trained on the execution, and instead searched out Merlin, whose eyes were glistening with tears as he waited to watch the boy drop. This is wrong, Arthur thought, he’s only a boy!

A tortured “please,” slipped out of him

Uther's hand sliced down through the air.

The crowd flinched, the rope had been misjudged. The boy's struggles were as loud as one could make with a rope around their neck, choked and desperate as he was slowly strangled to death. Arthur heard it, but he wouldn't look. He couldn't look. And then the boy was suddenly, devastatingly silent. 

Arthur’s body went rigid and cold, numbness engulfed him. Just like that, Uther’s hand crushing his shoulder was the only thing keeping him standing. He almost thought he might be sick.

Because—he couldn't breathe—because—

The boy was dead.

Merlin showed no emotion, looking on as if he were staring down his own death. Then he shifted. Eyes now closed, he muttered something under his breath, a hand clutched over his heart and he tipped his head toward the sky. Arthur realised belatedly that he must have been praying. He watched Merlin, he was now staring resolutely at nothing, unmoving as the other onlookers began to disperse. Even as he was jostled by the people leaving, he didn't so much as flinch. Far above him, Uther pulled his son close, whispering into his ear.

"Do not defy me again."

The rest of the day slipped by quickly, but Arthur felt like he was wading through thick waters. He ate only when a hunk of bread was forced into his hand at midday by Merlin, but he could barely stomach that. Sir Leon had thankfully taken over the task of instructing drills. Arthur watched, barely there, from the sidelines, now only useful enough to act as a sparring partner every now and then. 

Later, at a council meeting he found his attention span had become nonexistent. Now, being so close to Uther caused acrid bile to sit heavily at the back of his throat, threatening to bubble up every time he spoke. 

He’d only just managed dinner with Morgana and the King—that’s all he was now, no true father would force this on a child, how had it taken him over twenty years to realise this?—pushing the food around his plate and tersely asking to be excused as soon as it was no longer deemed impolite to do so. 

He stood, vacant and numb in his chambers until Merlin appeared, dropping the clean linens he’d obviously just finished with to the floor. He felt like a child, but he could do nothing but stare, lost, at his manservant. 

For a long moment, Merlin seemed just as bewildered, himself. He didn’t know what to do with this Arthur who looked as delicate as broken glass. This was worse, in a way, than when he'd found out about Merlin’s magic. Then, at least, a boy hadn’t been killed. He steeled himself, expression turning soft. 

“Come on, how about a bath?”

Mulled wine had been served throughout the winter, and though summer was approaching, the nights were still cold. He poured Arthur a goblet of the steaming wine and watched as the Prince sat motionlessly with it, until the bath was prepared—if Merlin used his skills to help him, then the prince either didn’t notice, or at that moment, forgot to care. He took his time washing Arthur’s hair and quietly sang a melody about meadows and willow trees his mother used to sing when he was a boy. 

“What’re you singing?” Arthur croaked suddenly, his voice barely a whisper.

“Something my mother used to sing to me,” he replied, brushing away rain and dirt from the early hours of that morning, along with all the guilt and sadness that seemed to cling to him like wet clothes.

“What were you saying earlier… after he… when…” he trailed off, brow creasing before he settled on, “you spoke to the sky.” 

Merlin smiled, more than a little surprised Arthur had noticed that at all.

“I was praying to the Triple Goddess, Hecate. I don’t claim to know much about the old religion, but I crossed paths with a Druid camp on my way to Camelot when I first came, they told me the basics. I’ve tried to learn what I can from my book and Gaius—but he doesn’t like to say much,” he rested his arm on the lip of the bath and glanced toward the window. “ ‘I pray to you, the maiden, make his journey quick. I pray to you, the mother, keep him safe on his way. I pray to you, the crone, to give him wisdom in the next life. I ask you, Hecate, to bless this soul as he leaves the earth...’ That's what I said. It’s a prayer for lost souls. I felt he might need her guidance in death.”

He felt Arthur’s hand come to rest on his, and they shared a look—deep and meaningful. They both understood, they didn’t need to speak.

It was only when the bathwater had cooled that Arthur moved of his own volition, stilling Merlin’s hand where it was scrubbing his shoulders, and motioning for a drying cloth. 

Merlin continued to hum his tune as he dressed Arthur by the fire, fingers threading through his hair and eyes flashing gold to dry the strands. When the fire was doused, Merlin made a move to leave the room, uncertain if he was still wanted. He was scarcely through a roughened ‘good night’ when his wrist was caught in a panicked grip.

"Stay," Arthur whispered without looking him in the eye. "Please, Merlin, don't leave."

There was a long moment of silence before Arthur mustered the strength to glance upward.

As soon as their eyes locked, Merlin gave a nod, and then Arthur was pulling him into a tight embrace, Merlin’s knees almost buckling under the sudden force of it. Arthur buried himself into the crook of his servant's neck as he pulled him closer with fistfuls of his shirt. 

Merlin released a shaky exhale, still humming brokenly. He rubbed soothing circles into Arthur’s back, his other hand tangled in his hair while they swayed. He was shaking, and Merlin realized that his shoulder was wet. The Crown Prince of Camelot was crying—sobbing almost, if his hiccups were anything to go by—and that was alright by Merlin. He deserves at least a moment to let it all out, Merlin thought, after such an emotional, hateful ordeal. 

A life had been taken out of spite, and the gods appeared apathetic so it seemed. They’d watched on without lifting a finger. Were they weak, he wondered, or simply ruled by malevolence?

With a start, Merlin noticed that he was crying too. He couldn't pry the image of the boy from his mind. The way he'd hung there, limp and swaying back and forth, as everyone scattered away like mice—and they were worse than mice to him, for mice were cowards by nature, but those people had been cowards by choice.

"Don't go," Arthur whispered hoarsely as his hands curled tighter into the fabric of his shirt, "Merlin, I— need you. Please, stay."

"I'm not leaving you, Arthur. I swear it."

At that, Arthur shuddered in his arms. 

He guided them to the bed, guilt clawing at him as he sang and held Arthur. After everything that had happened between them, he shouldn’t be here. He was only making things worse for the days to come. It was hard enough as it was to keep his distance, what if his resolve faltered after this? What if he was no longer able to pull away when they got too close for servant and master? But then, this wasn't about him. It was about Arthur, who was aching and needed comfort.

He shifted where they lay, resting his chin on Arthur’s chest and staring at the locked door. He’d allow this, just for one night, he'd let Arthur’s fingers stroke through his hair. 

Arthur needed him, so he’d stay. 

Even though he wanted to stay, burrowed into Arthur forever, and never let him go—even though this might shatter everything he’s worked for to keep things safe, to keep Uther from finding out a manservant loved his son. He’d stay because even if he wanted to, he couldn’t tear himself away. And he felt selfish for that, when Arthur was hurting like this. But it was true, painfully so, his place was to stay by his side—he'd run into the mouth of Hell for him. All Arthur had to do was ask.

"Thank you."

The words washed over him like the calm of the sea and Merlin continued his lullaby, tracing patterns across Arthur’s chest, still singing long after he’d slipped into slumber.

“Lay down your head, and close your eyes… and when they open, the sun will rise. Here it’s safe, here it’s warm, here the daisies guard you from every harm…”

Notes:

Chapter title from I’ll Be by Edwin Mccain and the lyrics of the song Merlin sings are taken from Rue’s Lullaby by Taliesin Orchestra

Chapter 13: I’ll never show it on my face, but we know this, we’ve got a love that is hopeless

Summary:

Arthur and Merlin have breakfast together.

When Arthur awoke the next morning without Merlin at his side, he felt a sudden panic roar through him. He'd only managed an hour or two of sleep after the horrendous events that had transpired the day before, and he'd clung to Merlin so desperately. And Merlin—gods, Merlin— sang like his name sake and quietened Arthur’s mind; allowed him respite, a chance to heal and move forward—so when Arthur awoke and his fingers clasped around nothing but air and sheets he couldn’t keep his heart from pounding erratically.

"Merlin," he mumbled groggily before blindly clawing at his bedsheets and wrenching himself upwards. "Merlin!"

Nothing.

"Merlin? Merlin! Where are you!?" 

He pawed uselessly—gods, why were the sheets so thick —as images of Merlin bound to a pyre flooded his mind. He felt his breath coming short, where was he?

"Merlin—" he called again, a little brokenly this time, but then there were familiar, solid arms collecting him up, calloused hands running through his hair and the smell of herbs and dirt surrounding him. He heaved a long, heavy sob of relief as solace washed over him like a tidal wave.

"I'm okay, it's alright, Arthur. Look at me, I'm here. Everything's alright," he soothed, pulling Arthur closer. “I was just getting breakfast, see?” 

Arthur glanced to where Merlin pointed out the haphazardly placed tray of food on his dining table. He let out a stuttered breath, grip tightening as he whispered, “Don’t scare me like that.”  

Attempting joviality, Merlin gave a wry smile, an eyebrow quirked with question. “So, you would rather I neglect my duties to cuddle you all day?”

Arthur scowled. “I’m the Prince , so if I say this is your duty then this is your duty. And I don't cuddle.”

He rolled his eyes, tone fond as he muttered, “Arthur, that didn’t make sense.” When nothing else was said, he slowly drew back. “Come on, I’ve got your favourite, and don’t you dare try to tell me you’re not hungry because you’ve barely eaten a thing these past two days.” 

Arthur wanted to protest that really he wasn’t hungry, and that, if he was being honest, even the smell of food made him feel ill. But it wasn’t until he’d taken a bite that he realised just how ravenous he was. 

Merlin puttered around nervously, mostly avoiding Arthur’s gaze. He had to make sure last night wasn’t mentioned. They’d spoken about it just now, but nothing else was to be said. He had to be adept about this, they were master and servant—nothing more, nothing less.

“Merlin?”

He whirled around, frozen in place. The morning light that spilled in from the window framed Arthur like an ethereal glow. The image left him breathless. He looked soft, hazy, barely awake and Merlin wanted to keep him like this just a little longer. His hair was tousled from sleep, smile lackadaisical, creases etched into his face from where he’d slept on the pillow and a small drool stain was left on his nightshirt from where Merlin had been pressed against his chest. He'd never thought him more beautiful.

This was the moment Merlin knew he was well and truly fucked. 

“Yes?” he all but whimpered.

Arthur dragged the chair by his side out with his foot and raised an expectant eyebrow at him. 

“Well?” he prompted, rolling his eyes when Merlin said nothing. “Oh, stop being purposefully obtuse and sit down, it’s not as if we don’t do this every day anyway.” 

He was suddenly struck with the realisation that yes, they did have breakfast together most days, when Gaius didn’t accost him before work. Apparently it had become such a regular occurance that neither of them bothered to wonder how damn domestic that was. Merlin sat down heavily in the seat he’d been offered, and dumbly scarpered a bit of bread and cheese. 

They’d been having breakfast together like this for almost a year now. Merlin would tell Arthur what he’d have to do today, they’d tease each other, gods, he even combed Arthur’s hair for him most of the time. Absently, as his thoughts started to turn even more unsettled, he reached for the comb (which had been set on the table unthinkingly when he’d got up) and raked it through Arthur’s hair a few times. Arthur smiled at him, pulling him from his own head, as he plucked the comb from Merlin’s deft hands and stuck it unflatteringly in his hair. 

“Wow, that’s really something,” he snorted, vaguely aware of how close they were to each other. 

Arthur hummed, sending Merlin a playful look. “Yes, I rather thought this might be a good look for today.” 

Merlin laughed, flicking the prince in the forehead as he pushed away from the table. “You’re ridiculous. If the people really knew you—”

“Let me guess? They’d lose all faith in me because of how silly I am around my manservant?” He nestled his chin on his steepled fingers and looked up at Merlin through his lashes. His breath caught again, and suddenly his heart was in his throat.

“They’d fall even more in love with you,” he blurted, “they’d never be able to take their eyes off you, knowing just how human you are. Arthur you’re—” 

He cut himself off, turning away from him. He didn’t want to see the look on Arthur’s face, that awed unadulterated look of emotion he had whenever Merlin got carried away. 

He schooled his expression, before turning back and saying with practised false-cheer, “The King has requested your presence this morning. You should… you should finish eating, Sire, and go to him.”

“Merlin—”

He heard the chair scrape and Arthur stand, still looking absurd with the comb sticking out of his hair. He looked hurt, lips stuck out and downturned as he tentatively reached out, eyes urging him not to shut down. But Merlin couldn’t. He was selfish, and he wanted Arthur but he couldn’t have him, at least not like that. So, he would steal glimpses and brush his Prince off until he bloody well gave up and stopped trying.

Because it was better to be close, to protect him, than to have him taken away. It was better to break Arthur’s heart now than see it shatter later.

“I think Gaius needed my help, my Lord, if you’ll excuse me.” 

He turned without waiting for a response and left the room.

Notes:

Chapter title from Secret Love Song by Little Mix (ft. Jason Derulo)

Chapter 14: How long can we look at each other, down the barrel of a gun?

Summary:

Morgause makes an entrance and Merlin is this close to smacking a bitch.

Of course, it only took another two weeks for Camelot’s next threat to turn up in the form of a deadly warrior.

Okay, so, technically Merlin was still meant to be on bedrest, but he felt so much better. 

The cuts on his tongue had all but disappeared, he’d had to swill salted water around his mouth twice a day to aid the healing—apparently Aredian’s attempt at furthering Merlin’s pain had only stopped him from getting an infection. 

His bruises had faded and there were only a few patches of mottled skin along his ribs. The lacerations on his back were healing nicely as well, honey was applied every night before bed to fight infection and every morning Gaius applied a salve made with yarrow, goldenrod and calendula to help the healing process. 

Of course, some of the cuts were so deep that they would scar, no matter how many tinctures and healing balms were applied, along with his wrists. 

The burns that had threaded over and down his arms were mostly gone and the skin where the cuffs had rubbed was now soft and regrown—light, fleshy scar tissue that would never truly disappear—but he didn’t mind it really. It proved that Merlin was stronger than he looked, he’d endured all that—as Gwen kept telling him—and came out the other side still himself. 

It had been a long grueling process of being force-fed food and potions alike, as well as relearning how not to shiver at the sight of a blade, or panic when his tongue flared with phantom pains. After carrying Arthur’s armour for only a few moments it turned out he’d gone and hurt his shoulders even more. 

The muscle tissue had already been torn to shreds from being forced to hold up his own body weight for so long, that coupled with being stretched awkwardly and continuously whipped for hours on end only increased the damage done. Gaius had told him it would take the best part of a few months for the injuries to fully heal. It had only been three and a half weeks. Of course, Merlin had decided to sneakily push his boundaries, he’d taken to waking Arthur and bringing his meals—when he was fast enough to beat George, as well as take over a few of the less strenuous tasks, like polishing and washing. 

He and Arthur were… better. 

Less strained, closer to the banter they’d shared before all this shit had been shovelled onto them, so it wasn’t that much of a surprise when Merlin had been asked to help Arthur get ready for the knighting ceremony. He’d helped him into his clothes, although George had had to take over with lifting the chain and armour over Arthur’s head, and, like many of the castle staff, they’d both been invited down to watch the tradition.

It had been an almost boring two-hour lark with far too much fanfare and too many speeches to keep Merlin fully entertained, but once the actual knighting was done, of course some unknown masked woman had fought her way into Camelot and made everything just that bit more exciting.

She also appeared to have magic, which unsettled Merlin to the core. 

She’d waltzed into the main hall moments after Uther had finished appointing the very last Knight of Camelot, thrown down her gauntlet at Arthur’s feet, and before Merlin could so much as take a step toward her, he and Arthur had locked eyes. He’d faltered then, heart rabbiting in his chest and breath caught because for the first time in just under a month Arthur was looking at him—properly looking at him—again. It was seconds too late that Merlin realised he’d been fooled. Arthur knew he’d try to step in, at least the bloody prat seemed appropriately abashed, eyes to the floor and a cringe of apology on his features. Then the idiot was picking the bloody thing up and accepting the challenge. 

Merlin was actually a little grateful that Morgause was well… a woman, purely for the following look of horror on Arthur’s face when her buttercup curles cascaded from her helmet in mesmerizing rivulets. He’d taken that moment of irate pleasure and had proceeded to tease Arthur mercilessly in the safety of his chambers. That was, until it dawned on him how things could take a dangerous turn. 

“Do you know why she challenged you?” he asked surreptitiously, pretending to have his full attention on tapping out the dents in Arthur’s left rerebrace. 

When it became clear that the incessant clinking sounds were getting on his nerves, Merlin tactfully set the small hammer down and picked up the polishing cloth.

Arthur released a heavy sigh. Things between the two of them were more or less back to normal, if you didn’t consider the awkward looks and moments of weariness whenever one of them accidentally overstepped the boundary from friendly to overly friendly. Merlin watched the Prince from the corner of his eye and chewed anxiously at his bottom lip. 

“I’m the King’s son,” Arthur said eventually, eyes downcast and purposefully not looking at his servant. “Perhaps she believes she will prove herself?”

Merlin rubbed viciously at a rather stubborn spot on the otherwise shining metal and mused, “Yeah, but you don’t want to fight her, do you?”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, pacing the floor behind where Merlin sat as he anxiously spat out, “I have no choice . I’ve already accepted the bloody challenge! If I refuse to fight her, I’m a coward. If I kill her, what am I then?”

Merlin paused his ministrations, glancing up as Arthur came to a stop behind the chair at the head of the table. He bowed his head, hands coming to link over the front of the chair and press up to his forehead. He spared Merlin a searching glance, confusion flooding his features as he took in his manservant’s concerned gaze.

“What is it?” He asked.

Merlin set the cloth down, brow creased with unease. He thought over the meeting in the hall, how Morgause had curled her lip in a snarl when she’d met eyes with Arthur, how her predatory glare had landed on Morgana and stayed there, unwavering. He recalled the harsh feeling of her magic, obviously powerful, clawing at his own like a wolf fighting its elder for dominance. Where had she come from and what the hell did she want with Arthur? 

“I don’t think you should fight her,” he muttered eventually, ignoring Arthur’s indignant huff as he pushed away from the chair and set him with an accusatory stare.

“You think she's going to defeat me, don’t you?” he questioned, eyes narrowed. 

Merlin shook his head. Fear and alarm began to bubble under his skin and he took a thoughtless step toward the prince. They locked eyes and Arthur shifted away from the chair. 

“I think,” Merlin began, a corrective tone lacing his words, “that she’s dangerous, Arthur, and I don’t trust her. There’s—there’s just something off about her… She looked at you as if she hated you…”

Arthur gave a dismissive snort. “Well, I’m sure any swordsman—swords, er, person who happens to be a woman would—”

“No, Arthur. She looked at you like she knew you and she hated you for it. There is something wrong about her,” he turned away and scrubbed an anxious hand over his face. “She has magic, I’m sure of it. It’s as if I can feel it around her like some kind of fog. Like smoke. It feels wrong, Arthur.”

“Mer lin,” Arthur grinned, cutting through the tense atmosphere like an inconveniently timed cheese knife. “Don’t tell me you’re worried? I’m flattered, really, I am—”

“This is not funny!” Merlin snapped, whirling around to glare at him. “She is dangerous , Arthur, and you’re treating this like a joke! I can just see it now! You, completely underestimating her just because she’s a woman and getting your pretty little head chopped off.”

Merlin blanched at his word choice, avoiding Arthur’s raised eyebrows and ignoring the flush that came to rise on his cheeks. Arthur took a step forward and reached out a hand to tilt Merlin’s chin up. They stayed like that for a moment, gazing at each other. 

“I do have it on good authority, Merlin, that I am in fact one of Camelot’s finest Knights, and can take care of my own ‘pretty little head ’ without pesky manservants' intervening.” 

When he spoke, his voice was low and teasing, eyes glinting as he kept Merlin’s face firmly in place. For a wonderfully terrifying moment, Merlin was convinced Arthur was going to kiss him again. The trouble with that, however, wasn’t that he didn’t want to be kissed by him, no. The problem was that he fully believed he’d be incapable of stopping after another kiss. He stared achingly into Arthur’s eyes, half weak and wanting; half praying that he wouldn’t. 

Unexpectedly, the door burst open and Morgana rushed into the room—Merlin really wasn’t sure whether he felt relieved or murderous. Arthur jerked his hand back as if he’d been burnt and, ignoring the feeling of Arthur’s warmth leaving his skin, they exchanged equally concerned looks at the sight of her. She was haggard, her nightdress was a barely there plume of white chiffon. The billowing fabric floated about her as she raced across the room toward them, crumpled from sleep and almost falling off of her shoulders. Merlin, again, felt discomfort rise through him at the sight of her in such a state of undress. Not for the first time, he wondered what on earth Morgana’s fascination was with turning up in her nightgown everywhere. Her eyes were wild with frenzy, filled with unshed tears and her hair an unkempt knot of ringlets—under her eyes sat dark purple crescents. 

“Morgana, you’re not even dressed —It’s past midnight for heaven’s sake, what in the five kingdoms do you think you’re doing just barging into my chambers—”

She said nothing until she was up against him, white-knuckled fists balled in his shirt and trembling furiously as she stammered out, “Y-you can’t fight her—Arthur, you can’t! Promise me you won’t, please, I’ve seen such terrible things—”

She choked on a sob and buried her face into Arthur’s chest. He stared down at her, looking rather bewildered and placing a blundering hand on her back, he patted her. He looked over the top of her head at Merlin and nodded in the direction of one of his jackets which hung loosely over the back of a chair. Merlin nodded in understanding and fetched it, draping it gently over Mogana’s shoulders. 

Arthur lightly pushed her away and bent down to look her in the eye. “Morgana, what is it, tell me?”

“I—I don’t,” she gasped, trembling and clutching at the doublet. “I couldn’t make out—it was all so scattered. She’s going to kill you, Arthur, or at least she’ll try to—I saw, I saw you felled with a sword at your throat—I saw black-amoured knights! And they were walking over dead bodies and she was at the centre of it all, Arthur, you can’t—”

She sobbed again and burrowed back into his arms. Merlin saw the turmoil on Arthur’s face as he stared down at her. She was the closest thing he had to a sister, they bickered and argued with all their might but underneath it all they held a bond as close as Merlin had had with Will.

They’d been trying their hardest over the last few weeks to cram in as many magic lessons as possible, lest another Witchfinder come about they needed Morgana in control otherwise she’d get herself found out. They’d tried meditation, magically enhanced potions, and Merlin had even considered an old, unrefined, technique called dream-walking Gaius had told him about, but Morgana had yet to get a handle on her visions. He hadn’t told them yet, about Kilgharrah but perhaps… Perhaps this was the moment. 

Morgana was babbling incoherently into Arthur’s tunic and gave a jolt when he tried to reassure her. 

“It’ll be alright, I’ll be fine, Morgana I swear—”

She jerked away to glare at him. “You are not fighting her!”

“I have to, Morgana, unless you want to go and entreat her to withdraw—”

“Just step down! You don’t need to prove yourself, she’s dangerous… I think, maybe she might have magic—? I don’t…” she stepped away from him and turned to stare pleadingly at Merlin. “You feel it too, right? It’s as if I know her, as if I’ve met her somewhere before… Merlin?”

Merlin frowned at her, she seemed harrowed by Morgause, he was distrustful of her, yes, but not terrified like Morgana was. He thought over his words carefully.

“I agree that it's likely she has magic, I don’t think she has Arthur’s best interests at heart but…” he trailed off and took a breath. “I don’t feel as if I know her at all, I’ve never seen her before in my life.” 

He took in her expression, lips quivering, knuckles white and eyes shining with unshed tears, and his decision was made, he was taking them to see Kilgharrah. They had a right to know their destinies, he just hoped the dragon wasn’t as harsh toward Morgana as he expected him to be. 

“Go and get something warmer on, there’s someone you both have to meet.” His tone was final, his expression set. 

Morgana was already out the door when Arthur rounded on him.

“Me rlin!” Arthur hissed incredulously, “Need I remind you that it's the middle of the bloody night and I have a duel tomorrow?” 

He set the prince with a bored look.

“For once in your life, Arthur, don’t argue with me.”

Arthur blinked and a stark look of surprise overtook his features, then a deep pink hue blossomed over his face and neck. Merlin smirked.

Arthur forcefully cleared his throat. “Take that tone with me again, and I’ll have you in the stocks for a week.”

Merlin glanced up at the Prince through his eyelashes and hummed noncommittally. “Of course, my Lord.”

Notes:

Chapter title taken from You’re The Voice by John Farnham.

Chapter 15: And I see fire burn on and on the mountain side

Summary:

Merlin takes the gang on a field trip!

Morgana rushed back to her chambers, she was still half frantic from her dream, but her mind was clearer now. She thought back to when she’d first burst into the room. Too scared, she hadn’t noticed then, but she was certainly sure now that she’d interrupted yet another intimate moment between the two men. 

Although it might not have been all that devastating, they hadn’t progressed at all over the past couple of weeks. They were still tiptoeing around each other, and Morgana was sure that Arthur had almost lost a sparring match or two because he was too busy watching Merlin. Honestly, men!

It’s not like you’re any better. A snarking, suspiciously Arthur-like voice whispered at the back of her mind. 

She waved it away, she and Guinevere were different… Gwen had been serving her since Morgana had first moved to Camelot, if she ruined this now she’d lose her oldest friend. She shook her head, that didn’t matter now, Merlin had said to hurry.

She wrenched open the door to her chambers and ran straight into the object of her thoughts. They tumbled to the floor and a small shout of surprise left Morgana’s lips as she braced her arms to either side of Gwen. They stared, unblinking at each other for several long moments. Morgana’s heart froze in her chest and suddenly she couldn’t breathe, it would only take a slight movement and they’d be close enough to kiss. She stared into Gwen’s eyes, they were like honey and firelight, deep light browns that warmed her to the core. 

“You weren’t here,” Guinevere said abruptly, mouth downturned and eyes alight with concern. “I thought… I didn’t know what to think, I mean, it’s not my place—”

“Gwen, it’s alright,” Morgana’s expression softened and she moved to sit back up. “I’m fine. I had a nightmare, I went to see Arthur.” 

Gwen shifted, gaze sliding off to the side and murmured breathily, “Oh.”

Delicate hands slid up her arms, lacing their fingers together before pulling to help her off the floor. Gwen’s skin felt ablaze where Morgana had touched her, and she was suddenly reminded of her ire.

“You shouldn’t just run off like that!” she chided. Morgana wanted more than anything to reach up and smooth away the worried lines that fell upon Gwen’s brow. “I was worried sick… I thought maybe you’d been taken or…”

“Gwen, I’m fine,” she allowed her hands to reach forward and touch again. Her thumbs swept over Gwen’s cheeks, graceful fingers tangled into her curls and a shiver rolled down her spine. “Look at me, I’m alright. I thought you’d gone home for the night, it’s late.”

Gwen’s voice turned warm as her features softened, her own hands coming to rest over Morgana’s wrists. “I didn’t feel like leaving you, not that I think you need looking after or-or anything, you’re a grown woman for heaven's sake—”

“Gwen,” Morgana breathed out with a laugh. “Come, help me dress.”

Gwen frowned. “Help you dress? My Lady, it’s the middle of the night—”

“Merlin said he had something to show us, and to wrap up warm. Come, quickly! He seemed rather in a hurry,” she smiled teasingly at her maid and swept across the room toward her wardrobe.

“Where on Earth would Merlin be taking us at this time of night?” 

Morgana tilted her head before lifting her shoulders in a shrug, she pulled out a simple green tunic, a pair of breeches and a green velvet cloak from the closet.

“My Lady, please, let me—” 

Gwen took the clothes from her arms and placed them on the bed. By the time she turned around Morgana had already loosened the laces at the front of her nightdress and was swiftly stepping out of it. Of course, Gwen had seen Morgana wearing next to nothing before, she prepared her baths, after all, but she usually averted her gaze or Morgana would take the time to duck behind the changing screen. Her breath stuttered and she couldn’t help but stare. 

She was ethereal in the dusky candle light, shadows danced across her snowdrop skin extenuating her angular cheekbones and soft curves. Freckles and moles dotted like stars down her chest, stomach and arms, almost mapping out a path for Gwen to follow with her eyes. For a moment she allowed her gaze to rove over those slender muscles that appeared as if they’d been sculpted by the gods themselves.

She felt her eyes go wide and a hot flush sweep up from her chest all the way to her cheeks, she couldn’t tear her gaze away, even if she wanted to. Morgana was beautiful, sylphlike and utterly bewitching. 

“Gwen…?”  

She tingled all over, hot and cold and perfect all at once as she jumped to action. She stammered out a barely coherent jumble of words, quaking hands now fisted into her skirts, she moved in a flurry to reach for Morgana’s clothes. Holding them up in front of her face, she tried her hardest not to look again. She knew if she did she would be helpless to the pull inside her that told her to reach out, to touch, to see if those sloping curves were just as soft to the touch as they seemed. 

Somehow, she managed to hold mindless conversation for another few horrendous minutes. She didn’t catch the deliberate look that Morgana swept over her as she hurried them out of the confines of her dimly lit chambers. As soon as the door was shut behind them and she’d discerned that Morgana was in fact fully clothed, she allowed herself to take a breath to calm her racing heart.

Whatever it was that Merlin wanted to show them, she hoped it was bloody well worth it.

---

“Where the hell are you taking us?” 

Merlin weaved the corridors, movements obviously well-practiced as he slinked forwards, barely sparing Arthur and his borderline obsessive questioning a glance. They’d met just outside Arthur’s chambers and without a word the warlock had motioned for them to follow him down toward the dungeons. 

Of course, Arthur didn’t know the meaning of silence unless he was the one in charge of the situation and so he persistently—and loudly —attempted to quiz Merlin on their destination. Morgana shared an exasperated look with Gwen. The two women had held back, allowing Merlin the proverbial floor, and they watched with bemused fascination as Arthur relentlessly endeavored to lead the way before remembering he didn’t actually know where they were going.

“Shush,” Merlin hissed absently, pulling the torch in front of him to be sure the path was clear.

“You can’t tell me to shush! Unless you’ve forgotten, Mer lin, I’m the one who gives the orders around here—”

“Yes, yes, of course, Sire, just keep your voice down.”

Morgana couldn’t keep the snort that left her at Merlin’s audacious disregard for his status. Not that it matters all that much, she mused, allowing a smirk to adorn her features. She watched their teasing back-and-forth with a sad sort of smile. Their feelings were obvious, at least to her, and she found herself wondering why they hadn’t simply given in already. She knew that protests of status and protection were their flimsy arguments, but it was overtly obvious that Merlin especially didn’t give a fig about his position as Arthur’s servant. He hadn’t since the day he’d arrived in Camelot for heaven’s—or whatever’s—sake. 

She allowed her mind to wander slightly, she’d heard her friend curse in the name of Hecate, some apparent goddess of the Old Religion, although they hadn’t yet come to discuss that in their lessons. She knew a few of the festivals enacted and celebrated around Camelot were, in fact, takes on usually magical festivities; Beltane, Samhain and Yule were a few examples that came to mind. It made her blood boil realising just how much of a hypocrite Uther was, condemning magic on pain of death, yet allowing everyone to celebrate in the name of the Old Religion when he saw fit? Despite that, it truly was a mystery how Merlin got away with half the things he did, if that boy wanted to keep his head he should really try harder not to openly pray and call out to deities of the Old Religion.

“—in the name of the Triple Goddess, Arthur, be quiet!” Merlin called suddenly, almost as if he’d been reading Morgana’s mind. She sighed to herself, Merlin really was a wonder.

“You cannot ad—”

“Address you like that, I know, but Arthur! Guards!” Merlin snapped lowly. His arms gesticulated wildly as he whipped around to glare at the prince, tossing his head in the direction of the stairs. Indeed, a couple of knights were sat playing dice at a table in the stairwell below. “So unless you want to get caught—”

“Get caught? What the hell are we doing that could get us caught —Merlin—”

Merlin hushed him aggressively, expressing a mix of anger and plea as he begged, “Just trust me, okay, and be quiet we’re almost there, I swear—Gods, sometimes I wish you were more like Gwen!”

 

“What on Earth is that meant to—”

 

“Arthur, will you just shut up!” Gwen snapped, quite suddenly.

Silence fell.

Morgana stared at her, struck by awe at the fierce look on her beautiful maid’s features. Her honeyed eyes glistened with firelight and her full lips parted to release little puffs of irate breath. Morgana sucked in a gasp, eyelids flickering and mind working to capture this moment in her memory for as long as it could. Gods, she was beautiful when impassioned. 

Arthur, however, just seemed stunned by incredulity, mouth dropping open and closed in a rather convincing impression of a fish. She turned her gaze to Merlin who was beaming proudly at her, smirking lopsidedly and head shaking at Arthur’s petulancy. 

“I—I mean, sorry, oh gods, I shouldn’t have shouted—It’s just, you’re making this a much longer trip than it needs to be if you keep on stopping Merlin every five minutes to ask where we’re going when we could… you know, just be… going there?” Gwen stared resolutely at the floor, nibbling at her lip and playing nervously with her hair.

Morgana swept forward, slipping her hand into the crook of Gwen’s elbow to gently tug it down so she could clasp their hands together reassuringly.

“She’s not wrong, Arthur, you’re being painfully annoying,” she breezed, pulling Gwen closer to the stairwell to peer down at the guards. Allowing Arthur a moment to splutter and collect himself, she turned to Merlin. “So, how do you propose we get past them?”

Merlin gave a wicked grin. “Easy.”

Suddenly his eyes were aflame and without even incanting he jerked his head and the dice flew off the table. The guards bumbled over each other to chase the teasing objects. Merlin’s eyes flashing molten with every throw of his head, smiling with an impish delight as they stumbled into a darkened corridor. He waited a moment before huffing an amused breath and motioning for them to follow.

“Works every time,” he grinned.

Morgana spared Arthur a glance, tugging Gwen along as she noted the flush to his cheeks and the way his eyes were now slightly lidded. She smirked and whispered mockingly to him, “Come on, Arthur, do keep up. Oh, and you might like to take your jaw off the floor, you’ll catch flies otherwise.”

He scowled at her and bustled past, taking the steps two at a time as he raced after Merlin.

“You’ve done that before,” he accused with a wry levity in his tone. He bumped their shoulders together, almost shoving Merlin sprawling before he steadied him with a hand and chuckled.

“Maybe once or twice.”

“Is that all?”

It took them another few minutes before the hall they were traipsing down opened up to a vast cavern. Then, Merlin was calling out loudly.

“I need your help!” he bellowed, followed by a quieter, “Hello?”

For a moment there was no other sound, bar the echoes of Merlin’s shouts, but then there was something else.

The other three frowned at the strange, thundering noise which seemed to come from everywhere at once. It sounded like… flapping. The steady beat of wings caused great gusts of sweeping wind that had Gwen’s skirts twisting around her legs and ankles. Morgana’s hair was caught in the flurry of air as well Gwen’s, whipping around them both and tangling together. If she hadn’t been scared to stillness, the maid might’ve thought about the imagery of that a little more.

It was tremendously loud, louder than any bird or creature any of them had ever encountered before. Gwen felt tendrils of fear coiling around her, but she beat them back in favour of curiosity. The consistent whooshing sounds were accompanied by a different noise, a jangling that reverberated off the cave walls. As Gwen's eyes adjusted to the darkness of the expansive cavern, with its turrets of stone and alcoves filled with shadows, she gasped. 

 

There was an impressive chain, stretching upward beyond her vision but slinking toward the ground miles below her. It must have been pooling at the hard rock of the cavern's floor, creating the sound not dissimilar to keys being viciously shaken. Morgana gasped beside her, prompting her to draw her eyes upward, where they befell a great beast, covered in glimmering golden scales with wings that could span the Great Hall. Its gold, reptilian eyes narrowed at the four of them as it hunkered loudly onto a huge, thick tower of craggy rock. Thin plumes of smoke billowed from its flared nostrils before it drew to its full height.

Gwen’s breath halted and her hand jumped of its own accord. Her fingers clutched at Morgana’s arm and as soon as the beast spoke—gods it was speaking to them—her hand jolted further down to clasp their hands tightly together.

"Young warlock," he rumbled. 

His voice held an odd, resounding rasp that seemed to speak for itself. This dragon—because that's what it was, a bloody dragon —had seen centuries, if not millennia in its time and it was quite honestly terrifying. 

"I see you have brought some companions. Welcome young Pendragon, Once and Future King, and the humble Guinevere, whom I have heard much about."

And though he sounded somewhat good-natured, he did not bow before the Prince.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?"

“Merlin,” Arthur croaked, swaying slightly and looking almost as if he were about to collapse. “That’s… that’s a fucking dragon.”

Merlin cringed and gave a nervous laugh. By the way he was fumbling and running a hand through his hair, it seemed that he’d hoped Arthur wouldn’t notice that part. Then the dragon started to chuckle, puffs of smoke seeping through his teeth as he chortled merrily. He lowered his head so that he was closer to Arthur, razor-sharp teeth bared with glee.

“It seems you are not quite the idiot Merlin makes you out to be, young Pendragon,” his tone was jovial as he leaned back, settling on his rock. It didn’t get past Merlin that Kilgharrah had yet to greet Morgana. “Yes, I am indeed a dragon.”

Arthur glared at Merlin, mouth flapping soundlessly and looking rather affronted before he settled on a resentful, “I am not an idiot!”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Of course not, Sire.”

“I do not have the patience for your mortal squabbles,” Kilgharrah warned. “Now, what is it you need, young warlock?”

"Morgana—" Merlin started, but she cut him off.

"I've been having dreams and nightmares, and most of them come true. A—and, in my most recent one, when Morgause and Arthur duel, she—she—"

Gwen’s hand comfortingly squeezed hers as she tried to blink back tears. Kilgharrah turned toward her then and tilted his head. When he spoke, the shallow kindness in his voice was gone, and cold hostility roiled in its place.

"You brought the Witch," he said, and it would have sounded blank if not for the way the smoke leaking from him darkened, turning thick and black. Morgana regarded him with wide, startled eyes.

"Don't call her that," Merlin growled, taking a protective step in front of her.

“I will not help her, Emrys. You have already refused to heed my warnings of her destiny. She will betray you, and I will not be to blame when she does.” 

With an air of finality, the dragon shifted as if to leave, ignoring the group's indignant shouts.

“No!” Morgana screamed. 

Silence fell in the cavern and Kilgharrah paused. His anger filled outright into the billows of choking smoke that began to bloom around the rocky chambers and he turned, it seemed, with great difficulty. An energy seemed to crackle around Morgana, eyes wide with confused fury and hands were outstretched by her sides. Merlin took a hesitant step toward her, nervousness returning at full force as he attempted to maneuver himself in between her and the dragon.

“Morgana—”

“No!” she shouted again. “I am not who he thinks I am—I won’t ever betray Arthur! You’re wrong about me!”

“I know that—” Merlin tried desperately to defuse the situation, only for Kilgharrah to grow even more enraged.

“There is no right or wrong, Witch, only what is and what isn’t. You may have power, but you are merely mortal and you do not command me. We cannot choose our destiny—”

“I may not command you but I can command myself and I say that I will not betray Arthur, so I will not!” 

Her defiance was mighty, echoing throughout the cavern as the confidence of a Queen burned fiercely in the brightness of her eyes.

“I have seen what is to come. It will not change,” Kilgharrah sighed, with exasperated resignation twisting his words. Still intolerant of her, but he almost exactly like Uther when faced with her standing up for something she believed in. 

“Then look again!” she demanded. “There are so many things I have seen that did not come to pass because we prevented it! The future's not set in stone, it can be changed!”

Kilgharrah regarded her with a penetrating stare. She didn't waver, scarcely breathing in her utter unwillingness not to back down. This beast was epic, a thing of legend, and she felt the ancient well of his magic. His magic felt stubborn to the point of unyielding. It felt… cruel.

“I have lived over a thousand lifetimes, seen civilisations rise and fall. You have not seen what I have seen,” he said finally.

“Then you should know that people are not always as they appear to be,” Gwen resisted the urge to duck her head when the dragon’s steely gaze bore into her. “Look again, I beg of you, Morgana is not who you think she is.”

“Your honour and loyalty to your friends is a commendable, yet misguided trait, I believe, Guinevere,” the dragon said, before closing his eyes and inclining his head. “However, I will do as you ask, Witch. I cannot promise that what I do see will be favorable to you.” 

They stood in silence with bated breath as tendrils of lighter smoke rose from his nostrils. Merlin watched him fervently and prayed with all his might that he was right, that putting his trust in Morgana had changed fate’s awful design. Time felt like it was folding in on itself, as if moments or centuries could have passed before Kilgharrah shifted slowly and stared directly at Morgana. Through her, almost.

“It seems,” his voice was worn thin, filled with biting unease as he continued, “I was wrong… The future is now unclear. However, it seems your previously anticipated hand in the Once and Future King’s untimely demise has… shifted. Do not mistake my hesitancy for trust, Witch. Your path is not yet chosen and you have many trials to face in the future. I advise that you do not give me cause to regret my change of heart.” 

Temper briefly quelled, Morgana lifted her chin 

“I won’t.” 

He snarled distrustfully at her and flitted his gaze to settle on Merlin. “If that is all, young Warlock, I feel you’ve bothered me enough for one night—”

“No. I came to ask for your help, not for you to insult my friends,” Merlin snapped.

“Remember our bargain, Merlin. I will not give my aid so willingly unless it is vital to Arthur Pendragon’s survival.”

Merlin nodded. “Morgause, what do you know about her?”

"What need have you to ask?”

“Because it is vital,” Merlin shot defiantly.

Kilgharrah’s nostrils flared with anger.

“My patience is waning,” he warned, eyes narrowed nearly to slits.

“As I tried to say before,” Morgana cut in, her expression impassive, “my dreams show her—show that she will kill Arthur.”

She swallowed thickly, drawing in a breath as her grip on Gwen’s hand tightened. Kilgharrah regarded them with a shrewd look before stretching out his wings.

“Only the Witch should be wary of her,” he gave an unhelpful yawn. “Arthur will not die by her hand. Although I believe she is not to be trusted, perhaps she will endeavour to aid me, however… unintentionally.”

An ominous laugh rumbled from his chest before he launched into the air.

“Great!” Merlin bellowed at him. “More bloody riddles! Just what we need—and he’s gone. Some help that was… at least he confirmed what I already suspected.”

Arthur, who was now scowling at him with annoyance, raised an eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, is that, Merlin?”

He grinned roguishly and winked at the prince. “That Morgana wasn’t a lost cause like he’d have me believe.”

“Oh please,” Morgana scoffed. “As if I’d let something as trivial as destiny and a dragon tell me what I can and can’t do. Especially an arse like that.”

They all shared a small laugh and Gwen squeezed Morgana’s hand where it still lay a comforting warmth in hers. Arthur turned decisively and began to leave the cave.

“So, let me get this straight, Mer lin, you brought us all the way down here in the dead of night, got us to break the law and sneak past the King’s guards, to speak— illegally —to a dragon , all the while knowing full-well that it was unlikely that he’d actually be any help?”

Merlin hummed in mock thought. “Yeah, I suppose. Just thought it might be a fun trip.”

Arthur barked a laugh and threw an arm around his servant’s neck before dragging him into a standing headlock, paying no mind to Merlin’s shouts of protest. “You really are a wonder, Merlin, you know that?”

“Of course, my Lord, care to let me go?” he wheezed, one arm holding out the torch as far away from them as possible, whilst the other scrambled uselessly at Arthur’s hold.

Morgana watched them with a smile. 

“They’re quite the pair, those two, wouldn’t you say?” Gwen laughed, attempting to ignore the cold that rushed over her now that the adrenaline and excitement of the situation had left. They were in the dungeons and she was only wearing her usual dress—no cloak to fight off the biting chill of the halls beneath the castle.

Morgana manoeuvred her cape to wrap around the both of them and brought Gwen closer to her with a whisper, “Quite the pair indeed.”

They trekked quietly back through the castle, smiles turning to yawns, and wide eyes becoming heavy with fatigue. Once Morgana had changed back into her nightdress and was snuggled deep into the feathery depths of her covers, she watched with a fond glaze to her eyes as Gwen went about blowing all the candles.

“I won’t have you walking all the way back home at this hour,” she said suddenly. Gwen glanced up from the last candle by the Lady’s bedside, seemingly startled and unaware that Morgana was still awake. “Stay.” 

She couldn’t help the flush that rose to her cheeks, or the bashful look she gave as she nodded, “Of course, my Lady.”

And stay she did, falling fast asleep as soon as her head hit the pillows and she felt the arms around her loosen with relief.

Whatever would happen tomorrow, at least Morgana would no longer be plagued by night terrors—not with her dearest and most beloved companion settled beautifully beside her.

 

Notes:

Chapter title from I See Fire by Ed Sheeran

Chapter 16: I don't wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips

Summary:

Morgause, having beaten Arthur in the duel, finds and confronts Morgana.

As soon as Arthur was back in the safety of his chambers, head thumping methodically onto the table, Merlin allowed himself to take a breath. He’d watched the fight with a solemn fear clawing at his throat, heart beating rapidly in his chest and magic coiled, ready like a viper to strike.

“It could’ve been worse,” he reasoned, ignoring the unsteady tremor that shook his voice. He started peeling off Arthur’s armour, unbuckling the guardbrace, before carefully slipping it off and setting it aside.

“How could it be worse?” Arthur questioned sharply, lifting his head to set Merlin with an incredulous glare. 

For a moment his breath stuck and he seemed to lose control of himself, the need to touch Arthur, to make sure he was still there—still alive was thrumming through him like the inevitable rush of a waterfall. He reached up, carding his fingers through the prince’s sweat-damp hair and swiped a thumb over his brow.

“You could be dead,” he whispered. 

Their eyes locked and Arthur’s expression seemed to soften. Then, remembering himself, Merlin jerked back and turned away, wiping his hand subconsciously on his trouser leg.

Arthur turned away, slamming his forehead back down on the desk as he muttered, “I’ve never been so humiliated in my entire life. I was defeated by a girl,” he sighed and sat back up, yanking off his gauntlets and throwing them onto the table alongside the guardbrace. Merlin took the hint and quickly went back to his task, making sure not to let his mind wander anymore. “No, it’s like you said before. I was hindered because I was fighting a woman. I was worried I was going to hurt her, that’s why she won.”

“Don’t let Morgana hear you saying it like that—you constantly tell me how good she is with a sword,” Merlin let out a snort of laughter. “Besides, you didn’t look hindered.”

Arthur glowered at him.

“Yes, well Morgana is a creature entirely of her own species. I could never—nor would I ever—try to figure her out.” 

Merlin set to work meticulously divesting Arthur of his armour and it was only when Camelot’s prince was free of his gambeson, sporting only his breeches and a thin linen tunic, that Merlin spoke again. His tone was cautious and he busied himself with combing through Arthur’s matted hair, deliberately avoiding his eyes.

“What did your father say?” he asked, everso conscious of their proximity and trying with all his damned might not to sway even closer. It was times like this that really tested his will. “About Morgause’s challenge?” 

“He didn’t,” Arthur murmured. At Merlin’s quizzical look he gave a sigh. “I haven’t asked him yet, but I’ve a feeling he’ll forbid it.” 

Merlin hummed thoughtfully. “If he does, he might have a point, Arthur.” 

“And what would that be, Mer l in? I gave her my word.”

“I assume that means no matter what he says, we’ll be going anyway, then?”

When Arthur made no indication that he was going to answer, Merlin set down the comb and steeled himself, staring defiantly at him. Dropping the previous act of casual sarcasm, he willed Arthur to hear the worry and emotion in his words.

“I know Kilgharrah said she won’t kill you, Arthur, but you’ve still no idea what she wants. What if she asks you to do something dangerous, or something you don’t want to do? What if she asks you to do something even more dishonourable than breaking your word?”

“I don’t know, Merlin—just, look. I’m tired, alright? Tired and humiliated, could you just, for once, stop with all the questions? Please?”

Merlin’s eyes bore into Arthur’s, and for a moment he thought he wouldn’t let up. Then the servant sighed, forced himself to relax and gave a short nod.

“Of course, my Lord.” 

---

“I hope I’m not intruding, my Lady.”

Morgana jumped, hand plastered to her chest, and she swivelled around to see Morgause directly behind her. She stared at her, utterly bewildered, where on Earth had she come from and how had she got so close without Morgana noticing her? Morgana frowned at her and moderately backed away.

“How did you…?” She cleared her throat and went for a calmer approach. “Congratulations, on your victory,” she tried for a caring tone, but it came out far too flat when she said, “you were injured, are you alright?

“Thank you, I’m fine.” Morgause moved closer, fiddling with the bracelet around her wrist. “You feel it too, don’t you? It’s almost as if we’ve met before…”

Morgana averted her gaze and took another step back. She attempted to keep her expression calm as she felt her desk nudge against her back. “I’m afraid I really don’t know what it is you’re speaking of, my Lady. Now if you don’t mind—”

Morgause’s eyes had narrowed dangerously for a moment, but within a second she’d schooled her features and was reaching a hand up to brush over Morgana’s cheek.  

“Trouble sleeping?” 

“I—Yes, how did you know?” Morgana’s lip trembled with fear and she felt her magic curl protectively around her. The other woman smiled sharply, and moved to slip her bracelet off.

“It was a gift from my mother, it will help you sleep. Please, I want you to have it.”

“No, I couldn’t possibly—”

“I insist.” 

Morgause pressed the bangle into her palm but Morgana gave a shake of her head. The more protests that fell from her lips, the more frantic Morgause seemed to become, her eyes were wild and frenzied as she reached out to clutch at Morgana’s wrists.

“Don’t you feel it?” 

She did, it made her feel ill. 

“We’re sisters, you sense it too, don’t you, Morgana?” 

She shook her head violently and although, somewhere rooted deep down, she knew it to be true, she continued to force the words out of her mouth, shouting, “No! No, Let go of me! I don’t understand—Guards!”

Morgause’s eyes widened in horror as she glanced back at the door, but when no one came her face twisted cruelty. “Uther has you under his spell, his precious Ward. You are not his, Morgana, you are mine! You are my blood, my kin, I will help you to remember, you’ll see.” Morgana whimpered as Morgause’s grip tightened, pressing bruises into her pale skin as she continuously struggled to wrench herself away. “Oh, what has he done to you? Our mother, she was able to help me, to save me—don’t worry, sister, I’ll save you from him—”

“Let go of me! Get off!” Morgana growled, ferocious and suddenly no longer scared. She felt her magic coil through her, bursting out of her fingertips as it sent Morgause as far away as it could. She stumbled back across the room, face set with anger as the frisson of magic dissipated and left Morgana feeling powerful again. “And I am not your sister.”

Morgause gave an ugly sneer and ground out, “Yes you are. You don’t even know what you just did, do you? Under this facade Uther has forced you into—you’re just a terrified little girl, completely unaware of your powers, aren’t you? No one here in Camelot will help you, sister. I’m your only hope, your only salvation. One day you will see, and I will be waiting with bated breath until that day comes.” 

Morgause glided across the room and Morgana scrambled back, fear now clutching at her as she called out, “Stay away from me! Leave me alone! Guards! Guards—Gwen!”

She stalked closer, bracelet still clutched in one hand, she raised the other and began to encant, “Êower ferhþsefa reordian twêgen nu leng w¯ære êower warian, êower fêran lêo pron ðe ic wendan n—”

The door burst open and Gwen came crashing in, eyes wide and stance full of fierce defiance as she glared Morgause down. Morgana heaved out a breath she hadn’t even been aware she was holding, the cloying feel of a forgein magic sizzled around her, clawing at her skin and fogging her mind. She felt the spell fizzle out, and just as the world around her came back into focus, everything seemed to settle on Gwen.

“My Lady? Are you alright?”

Morgana felt herself instantly begin to relax and she nodded. “I’m fine, Gwen, Morgause was just leaving, weren’t you?”

Morgause stared down at her, then with an entirely too false smile, she inclined her head. “Of course, my Lady, I apologize if I disturbed you. Good night.” 

She strode toward the door and as she passed her, Gwen could keep the shudder of fear that rolled down her spine. She twisted just in time to avoid getting barged into and instantly rushed over to Morgana, running a hand down over her shoulders as if to make sure she’d come to no harm. 

Just before she slipped out of the room, Morgause turned, locking eyes with Morgana.

“I hope you’ll remember me fondly,” she entreated. Then, she was gone, and for the first time in minutes, Morgana felt as if she could finally breathe.

“I’m alright, Gwen, I’m okay,” she insisted, keeping her eyes trained on the door for a few more moments—to make sure she really was gone.

Finally, all of her attention fell on Gwen. Sweet, beautiful, wonderful Gwen.

“Should I get Arthur? I can—”

“No!” Morgana clung onto Gwen like a lifeline and pulled her closer. “No, please, don’t leave… It’s fine, really, she only gave me a scare.” 

Gwen’s face set and she nodded, circling her arms around her and pulling her head down to rest on her chest. Her fingers moved soothingly, carding through her hair and gliding down her back. “It’s alright, my Lady, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Come, let’s get you into bed?”

Morgana glanced up at her through tearful lashes and gave a watery smile. “Thank you, Guinevere… what would I ever do without you?”

---

“My Lady?” 

Gwen hadn’t left Morgana’s side all night, and really, this was becoming a much too common occurrence. If anyone, gods forbid, if Uther ever came across them, she was sure it would be her neck with a necklace of rope around it. She shuddered and resolved not to think about that anymore. She placed the lunch tray down on Morgana’s desk and with a frown glanced up. 

She’d left early that morning, not at all caring for Merlin’s barely concealed smirks and snickering, and gone back home to wash and change. With a breath of relief she’d seen Morgause leaving that morning, chatting to Arthur and leaving him looking rather confused and calling out to her. Whatever it was, Gwen didn’t dwell on it. Either the woman had been nasty (and she did seem the nasty type) or Arthur had been insulted, neither would be a thing to worry about. Of course, it hadn’t been that easy. Morgause had challenged him (of course she had), Arthur had given his word (of course he had), and Uther had said no (well, you get the general gist). 

So, naturally, Merlin and Arthur had snuck out. Just another day in Camelot, she supposed.

She’d trusted that Morgana would be alright for the time being, and had called a favour from Sabina—one of the chambermaids—to watch out in case Gwen didn’t arrive back in time. When she’d heard nothing at all, she’d assumed that Morgana had rushed off to tease Uther about losing his son, and not even for the first time. So, Gwen had carried on with various chores around the castle. Now, though, she feared something had happened in the time she’d spent away from the King’s Ward—Gods, what if the spell she’d heard Morgause muttering had taken effect? She was sure the other woman hadn’t been able to finish her enchantment but—

“Morgana?” She surveyed the room with narrowed eyes, and it was only when they fell upon the bed she realised it was still very much occupied. The furrow in her brow deepened and she sat down on the edge of the bed, repeating herself quietly. “Morgana?” 

When she didn’t even twitch with recognition, Gwen’s fear spiked. She called out a third time, voice raising with worry as she gently, then frantically, shook the other woman. After a particularly harsh jostle and a sharp, tense, “Morgana!” the Lady finally moved and gave a sleep-thickened moan.

At the reaction, Gwen’s mind eased and she sat back, a comforted smile slipping easily back to her features. Morgana shifted, face scrunching adorably as her eyes cracked open and a hand came to block the light streaming in from the windows. The midday bells began to chime in the background, the bustling city noise swept up with it into the room. Morgana frowned and as soon as her gaze found Gwen, she softened again.

“I was fast asleep…” she mumbled.

Gwen beamed down at her and absently reached out to trail her fingers through Morgana’s hair. 

“It’s nearly midday,” she said quietly, giving a laugh when Morgana sent her an incredulous look.

She shot up then, jaw dropped and staring wide-eyed out the window. She took a moment, and then she was positively glowing, lips stretched into a wildly gleeful grin as she stammered out, “I—I don’t remember the last time I slept that well…” 

Gwen, tucked a curl behind Morgana’s ear and moved to stand. “I’ll fetch you some clothes,” she said fondly. 

Morgana gave a vague nod as her mind began to clear. She really couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept like that, it was a miracle, it was—

Her eyes caught on a metallic glint and then she was gasping and scrambling back, expression horror stricken as she stared down at the bracelet Morgause had tried to give her. It was placed, almost perfectly, at the foot of her bed. She hadn’t realised she was calling for Gwen, voice frightened and panicky, until the maid was at her side and hands stroking carefully and calming down her sides.

“What is it? Morgana, what’s wrong?”

For a moment she only gaped soundlessly, pointing at the foot of her bed. Only when Gwen’s eyes finally fell on the jewelry and she moved to touch it did Morgana speak. “No! Don’t! It’s… Morgause, she tried to give that to me last night, I… Gwen… We need to find Merlin—”

“Oh, I was hoping I wouldn’t have to tell you this right away…” Gwen bit at her lip, eyes still trained warily on the offending item. “Well, not that I—of course, not that I wanted to lie to you—I would never lie to you! It’s just that… this morning, Arthur spoke with Morgause and… I’m not sure what she said exactly, but Uther forbid Arthur to go through with it—the challenge—that is, but you know Arthur, once he gets something stuck in his head—”

“Gwen,” Morgana smiled bemusedly at her, and she suddenly realised she’d been rambling at quite a spectacular speed. “What is it you’re trying to say?”

“They’re gone. Arthur and Merlin, Uther found out an hour ago, he’s absolutely furious.”

Morgana looked a terrifying mix between enraged and daunted. She flung herself out of bed and with a tired sigh, reined in her fury. 

“Well, there’s nothing we can do now. Merlin would’ve used his magic to get them out of Camelot and ensure they weren’t followed. All we can do is wait and pray that she won’t hurt them…” she glanced at Gwen, who was hovering at her side, and took her hands in her own. “Come on, let’s see if Gaius knows anything about this. I can give Arthur a piece of my mind when he gets back.”

Notes:

Chapter title from “Girlfriend” by Girl in Red

Chapter 17: You’re a liability, you’re a little much for me

Summary:

Into the thick of it, they go!

They’d been riding for most of the day now and Merlin was seriously starting to get anxious. Not only did they have no idea where exactly it was they were going, but they still had two whole days before they were meant to meet Morgause, for a challenge they knew nothing about. Whilst trying to keep from getting caught by Uther’s knights. Also, they were following a fucking horse.

Merlin glanced at the forest around them. The light was burning auburn through the leaves, clouds painted red and sky now swathed in purple as the sun set and night descended. 

He’d been feeling jittery since the moment they’d left and he really couldn’t tell if the spike in his magic was because it sensed something, or if he was just making himself overly paranoid. He really did wish that Arthur wasn’t so bloody noble sometimes, he’d never turn back, and Merlin was well aware of that. But it was getting cold and he really, really didn’t want to be stuck camping with Arthur for two whole nights. Alone. Just the two of them. And, not to mention, his thighs and arse were sore from a day of barely slowing from a canter, and he was hungry. So, who could blame him for whining?

“I’m just saying,” he reasoned, paying no attention whatsoever to the annoyance building in Arthur’s features. “We have no idea what she wants, Arthur. I mean, what if she asks you to do something that goes against Camelot’s law? Or betray the King? What if she asks you to kill someone, or—”

Arthur swivelled in his saddle and snapped irately at Merlin, “Will you stop rabbiting on?”

Merlin scowled, lips jutting out moodily as his head jerked back. He must’ve looked rather affronted—and rightly so , he thought morosely to himself. Alright, he had been going on a bit, but there was no need for Arthur to bite his head off.

Then, there it was. Ah, that explained it then. As per usual with these things, Arthur was starting to realise that perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea and now he was getting anxious. Great, just what they needed. Arthur on edge.

“In case it’s escaped you,” he hissed, “Merlin —which, I wouldn’t be surprised if it had, you are remarkably unobservant for a sorcerer—we’re in Odin’s territory. We could be attacked at any second.”

“I just think it’s strange to agree to do something when you don’t know what it is,” Merlin pressed, leaning forward in the seat of his saddle.

“One more word out of you, Merlin, and you’ll be taking the challenge in my place—”

Before Merlin could so much as think of a snarky reply, a crossbow bolt came sailing past and crashed into a tree right in front of his face. Arthur whipped around, but he was too late. Merlin’s mare bucked in alarm and let out a terror-filled whinney, throwing Merlin to the ground, before charging off. 

“Merlin!”

Merlin gave a groan, his head slammed against the forest floor with a clamorous thud that left his ears ringing and stars dancing in his vision. The breath was knocked from him, and he was sure it took him several minutes to right himself. By the time he had, Odin’s knights were on them. Arthur had already dismounted and was fighting off one of the men, and the other however was bounding straight for Merlin. 

He scrambled, back, ears filled with a high-pitched whining noise and blinking his eyes to rid them of the black spots. He dived out of the way just in time to miss being impaled by an axe and choked out a breath. The scars on his back were still healing and he just knew by the sharp, smarting pain, that he hadn’t done himself any favours.

With a growl of frustration, he shoved himself to his feet. Eyes already melted to liquid gold, he shoved out a hand and sent the one knight flying, magic coursing like fire through his veins. He tumbled down a verge and once Merlin was sure he was either dead or unconscious he fell back against the trunk of a tree. He braced himself, took in a lungful of air and allowed his eyes to adjust to the scene. Arthur had felled the man he’d been fending off and was now scrambling toward Merlin, eyes wide and frantic. 

“Merlin, are you—are you alright? Look at me, are you hurt!?” 

Merlin frowned at him, he was right up close, yet he sounded miles away. As if he was talking from the other side of a thick door—and the damned buzzing wouldn’t go away!

One of Arthur’s gloved hands came to rest on Merlin’s cheek and he wanted him with all of his might. His mind, body and soul leaned into that touch and relished in it—but there was no time. 

His eyes darted to the side as a battle cry tore through the ringing in his ears. Reacting on instinct alone, he shoved Arthur to the side, free hand out-stretched as he called on whatever aid nature could give him. The roots of a tree suddenly burst from the ground at the knight’s feet, clawing up his body and twisting dangerously around him; then, Arthur leapt forward and slashed at another, who ran full pelt at them from the side.

They seemed to fall into an easy rhythm, Merlin calling upon Earth, Wind and Fire to trip, blast, and burn those around him, whilst Arthur hacked and tore through the rest. When the final man was stopped, accompanied by a terrible squelch as Arthur plunged his sword through his chest, Merlin let himself a moment to breathe. 

“Merlin?” Arthur abandoned his sword and whirled to clutch at Merlin’s shoulders.

“Fine,” he lied, “‘m fine, just, gods, the horse—” 

Merlin swiveled and raced off through the underbrush in the direction he thought he saw Lefqwen tear off in, ignoring Arthur’s yells as he went. 

It didn’t take long to find her, his magic probably had something to do with that, but he couldn’t be bothered to think about that now. He approached her quietly and coaxed her back to where they’d fought the bandits. Arthur was sheathing his sword in Hengroen’s saddle when they arrived.

“Maybe we should turn back. The woods could be crawling with more of Odin’s men,” Merlin mumbled.

“You can go back if you want to,” Arthur said flatly, not even turning to glance at Merlin. “I won’t stop you.”

“You know I wouldn’t do that,” Merlin bit, glowering at the back of Arthur’s head. He let out a sigh of frustration, and said, “You don’t even know anything about Morgause! You don’t know what she’s gonna ask you to do! We don't even know where we’re going, we’re following a horse!”

Arthur turned, finally looking Merlin in the eye. Merlin faltered, Arthur looked… he looked torn.

“Morgause said she knew my mother.” 

Merlin stared at him. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t know what he could say. By Hecate, if it was him in Arthur’s place, he’d be doing the exact same thing. There was no argument left in him.

“Alright,” he said quietly. “Lead the way, Sire.”

Notes:

Chapter title taken from Liability by Lorde

Chapter 18: And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be

Summary:

Arthur and Merlin have a heart to heart about absent parents. And when Morgause’s plan is revealed, Arthur is left with a choice to make.

They’d set up camp an hour earlier, and the darkness had fully fallen now. With the aid of Merlin’s magic, they’d made quick work of lighting a fire and setting out what Gaius’ book had named ‘wards’ around them, in the hopes that they wouldn’t be discovered by any more of Odin’s men. It was crude spellwork due to Merlin’s inexperience with the enchantment, but what he had managed seemed to be doing the job. 

Merlin stared at Arthur over the flickering flames and decided it was time to break the silence; they hadn’t spoken a word to each other since they’d fought their attackers. Not even after Arthur had run off, only to come back with a pair of rabbits and Merlin had cooked. Usually they talked whilst they ate, it was a private thing that Merlin had become accustomed to, talking with Arthur around the safety of the fire. Alone and unencumbered by the castle's restrictive atmosphere. 

Suddenly emboldened, Merlin bit his lip and began to speak. “What was your mother like?”

Arthur’s head shot up, and for the first time in hours their eyes locked. “I… don’t know, I never knew her. She died before I opened my eyes.”

“I’m sorry,” Merin felt his heart sink, he knew that sorrow. Not knowing someone who was so significant to you, but knowing that they had existed, it was a pain he didn’t even know how to describe. 

Arthur avoided Merlin’s gaze, fixated on a branch he was determinedly pulling apart. 

“I barely know anything about her.”

“Can’t you ask your father?”

Arthur gave a scoff and shook his head. 

“I tried once… he refuses to speak of her. I gathered it must be too painful for him, so I didn’t try again. Sometimes it’s as if she never even existed. I still have a… sense of her, almost as though she’s part of me.”

“That’s the same,” Merlin breathed, gazing ardently at Arthur. “With my father, I mean. I never knew him.”

Arthur said nothing else, only setting Merlin with a curiously earnest look, so he fought on. It hadn't even occurred to him that Arthur didn’t know, yes he’d met Merlin’s mother, but he’d never spoken of his father before.

Arthur waited patiently for Merlin to carry on. It hadn’t been until this very moment that he realised how little he knew about Merlin, and the thought hit him before he could quell it. He wanted to know more, he wanted to know everything there was to know about Merlin’s life before Camelot. About his mother, about Will, about whatever he knew of his absent father. To him, meeting Hunith without a husband hadn’t been peculiar at all, it hadn’t even crossed his mind, he was so used to only having his father that somehow it seemed normal to him. Arthur gazed at Merlin, face open and heartfelt. 

“I’ve never met him… I don’t even know his name,” Merlin frowned and found himself staring into the campfire flames. “My mother’s barely spoken of him… I’ve got this vague memory, but I think it’s just my imagination. I asked her once, what he was like and she just cried,” he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“I’d give anything, even for the vaguest of memories,” they sat in silence for a moment, then, Merlin was speaking again.

“I wonder, sometimes, if he was like me. If maybe he’s the reason I am the way I am. I asked Will’s father if he’d known him, but he only shouted something cruel about gutless men who abandoned women, he said that we don’t talk of him, that he left my mother with nothing but me and he hadn’t been heard from again.” 

“Merlin…” Arthur’s expression was one of distraught.

Merlin took a breath. “But at least I have the hope he’s still alive… somewhere. I just wish I could ask him why he left. Had he even known about me? If not, would he have stayed?” Merlin shook his head and forced a smile. “Either way, that’s why you’re so determined to find Morgause, isn’t it? You want to see what she knows about your mother.”

Arthur’s gaze fell to the ground. “Is that so wrong?”

“No,” Merlin said, without a moment's hesitation. He stared deeply into Arthur’s eyes, and he knew then that there truly was no turning back now.

“We… we should check your back,” Arthur said, standing abruptly and moving off to collect the bedrolls from the horses. Once they were set down beside each other, Arthur patted the one next to him and motioned for Merlin to come closer. “You were hurt earlier, weren’t you? Don’t lie.”

Merlin sighed and did as he was told, sitting down next to Arthur and peeling off his shirt. “I landed on my back, I’m sure it's fine— Ah! Ouch, Arthur!”

Arthur gave a grimace as he looked at the mottled bruising that bloomed over Merlin’s back—it was going to be sore, but after a few probing presses to his ribs, Arthur decided that Merlin hadn’t done any real damage. None of the scars had reopened, thankfully. Arthur slowly traced a few of them, they were a terrible reminder of what he’d been helpless to stop. Criss-crossing gashes about the length of a finger at most littered his back, they were no longer the deep flushed red and were now raised and pink; at least that was a sign they were healing. They’d turn silver with time. They’d never truly disappear, but Arthur was only glad nothing worse had happened. 

“You’re badly bruised,” he whispered after a moment, “but nothing’s broken… Maybe you should head back, tomorrow—”

“No!” Merlin turned to glare at him, “I am not letting you go alone, Arthur.”

Arthur gazed at him for a moment, then with a small, private smile, he nodded. “Okay, if you’re sure. But you’re seeing Gaius the moment we get back, you understand?” 

Once he was satisfied Merlin wasn’t in immediate peril, he seemed to relax. 

“Come on, we should get some sleep.”

Merlin re-dressed himself and curled up under the blanket, watching the back of Arthur’s head with a heavy heart. He wanted to reach out, to comfort, to tell him everything would be alright. 

But it wouldn’t, because the queen was long since dead, and no matter what relief Morgause could give him, it would never heal the break in his heart.

---

He wanted to strangle that witch, he wanted to light her on a pyre and watch her burn.

How could she? How could say such things to Arthur— his Arthur—something so painful, with nothing but a cruel smile set on her face? How could she stand back and watch his dead mother tell him something so devastating , and act as if nothing were wrong?

They were breaking the treeline now, set at a grueling pace, they’d crossed the same distance that had taken them the best part of three days in less than one. He bet she bloody had something to do with that as well, he could feel her magic—acrid and sickening—curled around them. Pushing them on.

Arthur still said nothing, he stayed silent and stoic as they came into the courtyard, and without a word, he dismounted, took his sword from Hengroen’s saddle pack and sheathed it in his belt.

“What’re you going to do?” Merlin asked. Arthur all but ignored him, supplying nothing more than a grunt, and disappeared into the castle. Merlin felt at a loss, left alone to scramble off of his own horse and follow his Prince hastily. 

“Merlin,” came a sudden voice to his left, Gaius. 

Merlin turned, eyes stony as he stared at his mentor—he must’ve known, how could he not have? 

“I’m glad to see you’re safe, where’s Arthur?”

Merlin stayed silent and moved past him. It wasn’t until they were in the cover of a sparsely used corner of the courtyard that he spoke.

“Arthur was born of magic,” it wasn’t a question, but he looked at Gaius anyway and asked, “Wasn’t he?”

Gaius bowed his head, sorrow etched on his features as Merlin’s tone became harsh. “Uther used magic.”

“Merlin—”

“All those people he’d executed , he’s as guilty as they are. He sacrificed Arthur’s mother! He as good as murdered her. And yet, he sits on his throne and orders the killings of those who are helpless. For crimes of healing and helping, he slaughters them!” Merlin’s voice rose with a severity he’d never taken with Gaius before, but he was beyond furious. How could Gaius sit back and serve a man so spineless, so wrong?

“Merlin, I fear it is not that simple—”

“Not that simple!? Gaius, he has executed thousands of my kind, but he will use our skills for his own gain when he deems fit!? And then what? Kill the very sorcerer he pleaded help from to begin with?” he gave a humourless laugh and shook his head. “People should know the truth about what he’s done.”

Gaius said nothing, his expression radiated remorse and his posture pleaded forgiveness. 

“How could you not tell me?” Merlin whispered brokenly.

Gaius’ features were full of sorrow, and his tone profound as he replied, “I feared what Arthur would do if he ever found out.”

“Well, he’s found out now,” Merlin said, eyes as harsh as his tone, before turning and racing up the steps in the direction Arthur had fled. 

It didn’t take him long to find where the Prince had gone, a quick exchange with a guard told him he’d seen Arthur storming off in the direction of the council chambers. Merlin bounded for the doors, only to be intercepted by Leon, the muffled sound of metal clashing against metal leaked through the heavy wooden doors. 

“Merlin,” Leon warned, frowning as he struggled. “The King has forbidden anyone to enter.”

“They’re going to kill each other!” Merlin shouted. He yanked away from Leon’s grip on his arms and made as if to barrel past him before Leon abruptly let go, eyes wide. He turned, and together they opened the doors all but tumbling into the great hall.

“You speak of honour and nobility —you are nothing but a hypocrite, and a liar!” Arthur roared.

Uther’s sword lay useless on the table, Arthur’s pointed at his neck as the younger man heaved breath after breath, glaring venomously down at his father.

“Arthur, don’t! I know you don’t want to do this!” Merlin found himself begging. Arthur flinched but didn’t remove his sword from it's position.

Merlin wasn’t quite sure when his fury at Uther had turned to not letting Arthur kill him, but he saw now that this was not the solution. Arthur would regret his decision sooner or later and he would not be the better for it.

“My mother is dead because of him!”

“Killing your father won’t bring her back,” Merlin pressed, “you’ve lost one parent.  Do you really want to lose another?”

Arthur’s breathing was laboured and his face scrunched in an ungly rage. Merlin stepped closer, rounding the table and placing a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. 

“Listen to him, Arthur.” 

Arthur’s temper surged again and the sword trembled in his grip.

Trust Uther to ruin what little control I had on the situation by opening his big, stupid mouth, Merlin thought viciously. 

“Arthur, please, put the sword down.”

“You heard what my mother said! He killed her! He betrayed her!” Arthur’s voice was thick and anguised, he was almost mad with anger. “You execute those who use magic and yet you have used it yourself! You have caused so much suffering and pain!”

Uther’s face was full of fear and regret, and in that moment, Merlin wondered if he had known what the consequences of his actions would be. Or had he been tricked by Nimueh like Merlin had? Had he bartered his own life, instead of Ygraine’s? Had he simply thought someone unconnected, someone insignificant, would be sacrificed?

It didn’t matter if he’d meant to kill her or not, Arthur would never forgive himself if he did this.

Merlin swore to himself he would tell the truth to Arthur once he’d calmed down, but for now, lying was the only conceivable option.

“She lied, Arthur,” he let his hand move from the Prince’s shoulder to slowly grip the blade of the sword. “It wasn’t your mother who said those things, they were Morgause’s words, she tricked you.”

The fog in Arthur’s gaze began to dissipate, he looked clearer now, more himself. “You don’t know that!” he protested, raw and confused.

“She wanted this to happen, Arthur, she wanted to turn you against your father. If you kill him, the kingdom will be destroyed. This is what she wants!” 

He felt Arthur begin to sag and gradually started to remove the weapon from Arthur’s grip.

“Let go of the sword, Arthur, you don’t want to do this.”

“Listen to him, he’s speaking the truth.”

As soon as the words left Uther’s mouth, Arthur tensed again, he jolted with fury and the blade bit into the skin of Merlin’s palm. He gritted his teeth and kept his hold on the blade, ignoring the flow of blood that made the weapon even harder to hold onto and keeping back the glare he wanted to shoot at the King.

“Swear to me, it isn’t true!” Arthur roared, “You were not responsible for my mother’s death! Give me your word!”

Uther’s voice was thick as he spoke, “I swear on my life, I loved your mother. Not a day passes that I don’t wish she was still alive. I could never have done anything to hurt her.” 

A single tear slid down Arthur’s cheek and he caved in, dropping to his knees. Merlin slid the sword from his hand and let it go skidding down the table, far out of reach. He stepped back, watching with wet eyes as Arthur bowed his head and sobbed, ragged breaths echoing about the room as Uther curled over him.

“My son,” Uther gasped. “You mean more to me than—than anything.”

Arthur’s entire body shuddered as he clutched closer to his father. “Oh, Lord. I’m sorry—”

“You are not to blame,” Uther hushed him, stroking a hand down his back and muttering quietly to him.

Merlin jolted as Leon came forward pressing a cloth—which Merlin realised belatedly was a scrap of his shirt—to the gash in his palm. They stood to the side, silently watching father and son reconcile for gods-knew how long. Eventually Uther motioned for Leon and Merlin to help Arthur up and take him to his room.

Merlin assured Leon with a look that he was fine—which was a complete lie—and that he could take care of Arthur on his own. He gently pulled the boy away from his father, coaxing him with gentle words and soft touches up to his chambers.

When they were finally alone, Merlin allowed himself a breath. He methodically stripped Arthur of his armour and clothes, decided he was too tired to fetch bathwater the normal way and simply dragged out the basin and whispered a quiet, “Ingéotan hætan wær.” 

The basin filled with steaming water and Merlin guided him in.

"Your hand," Arthur whispered when he caught the blood stained fabric wrapped around it.

Merlin retracted it from his view as he spoke, "It's fine."

"No, it's not. I'm sorry," he mumbled earnestly, taking Merlin's hand in his own with an intent gaze. His manservant swallowed before speaking roughly.

"It's alright," his eyes flashed gold, and just like that the gash was gone. He unravelled the fabric to show him.

Arthur shook his head, "'m sorry."

"You were upset," he said as he worked soap into his hair with a careful gentleness. "I'm not angry."

"Wish you were," Arthur admitted before he could stop himself. He slumped forward with burning eyes. "Everything would be easier if you hated me."

Merlin’s nostrils flared angrily, and with a huff and a flash of his eyes, he doused Arthur’s head with cold water. He ignored the prince’s shouts and yanked his head round so he could look at him properly. 

“I could never hate you—stop spluttering, you look ridiculous— listen to me.” Merlin glared vehemently at him, and wiped the suds from Arthur’s face. “Don’t you ever tell me to hate you, do you understand me? I will never hate you.”

Arthur stared up at him and gave a solemn nod. 

“Good. There’s a shirt and trou for you behind the screen.” Merlin stood and grabbed Arthur’s drying towel, holding it out for him as Arthur stepped out from the bath. “I trust you can dress yourself. I’m going to fetch you something to eat, alright?”

“Alright,” Arthur wrapped the sheet around his middle and watched Merlin stride across the room. “And, Merlin?” he paused and glanced back at the prince. “Get yourself something too. You look about ready to collapse.”

Merlin was back in minutes, a tray of food in hand, and having briefly spoken to Leon—who’d been on his way to see Arthur—gathered that the King was fine, only tired, and that council would be postponed until the next day. He repeated this on entering Arthur’s chambers and it wasn’t until he’d set the food down on the dining table that he realised Arthur wasn’t listening to him.

“Arthur?” he prompted, glancing up.

He was leaning against the wall, staring out into the courtyard. He silently watched the city go about its nightly business, the last rays of evening sun filtering through the glass and bathing him in a warm glow. He was stripped of his title, clad in only a blue shift and a brown pair of trousers. He looked calm, more himself than he had in days.

“You were lying before, weren’t you?” Arthur asked quietly. There was no edge to his tone, no note of accusation, it was just a question. “When you said Morgause tricked me.”

Merlin stepped around the table and came to stand next to Arthur. He rested a hand on his shoulder, just as he had only an hour before. “There was no trick… I asked Gaius—look, Arthur, I don’t think anyone but Uther can ever truly know what happened to your mother, but Gaius didn’t deny it when I asked him if you were born of magic.” 

Arthur’s breath trembled but he didn’t take his gaze from the dwindling people in the square. 

“It couldn’t have been easy,” Arthur said at last. “Stopping me from killing—” he faulted, brow creased, before carrying on, “the King. I’m sure a part of you wanted to let me.”

Merlin shook his head and squeezed Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, no. That was one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever made.” 

The prince did turn then, eyes wide and full of confusion as he stared at his servant. Merlin gave a small shrug.

“I would never have let you do it, no matter how much I hate Uther. He’s still your father. I meant what I said before. Killing him wouldn’t have brought your mother back. It would have destroyed you, and I’m sure that is what Morgause wanted.”

“Merlin, I can't—” Arthur dragged in a breath and tried to push back on his emotions. He settled himself and started again, “I can’t thank you enough, for what you’ve done… But, I don’t understand why—why you did it, why I care so much. I should hate him. I do hate him, but I love him as well and—”

Merlin shushed him and tightened his grip on the other man’s arm. “Arthur, of course you still love him. He’s your father, nothing will change that. He could do the most horrendous thing and a part of you would still feel for him, still miss him if he were gone, that’s what love is.”

Arthur’s hand encased Merlin’s own where it rested on his shoulder, he twined their fingers together, and then brought Merlin’s hand to his lips. They were dry and cracked where they pressed to the back of his hand—not a kiss, not quite—but a thank you, perhaps, a promise.

They stood like that in silence for the longest time, until the sky had long since turned black and the city buzz had gone quiet. All that could be heard was the faint off-key chorus of drunkards from the Rising Sun and the echoing of the palace servants as they finished for the night. 

Arthur released Merlin’s hand and turned. Before Merlin could gather what was happening, lips were on his and the breath was stolen from his lungs. It barely lasted a second before Arthur jerked back and cursed.

“Fuck , I—Sorry.”

Merlin swallowed thickly and smiled. “It’s alright, Sire, you’re tired. You’re not yourself.”

They locked eyes and Arthur nodded, seeming to take the bluff. “Yes, of course. You’re dismissed for the evening, Merlin.”

Merlin bowed, not meeting Arthur’s eyes, and left. He forced his mind to stay quiet as he traipsed through the castle. It wasn’t until he’d left Arthur’s chamber that he noticed the dull ache in his back—he’d need to get Gaius to take a look at that—or just how weary he felt. 

He pushed into Gaius’ rooms and didn’t bother to look up, he went straight to his bags, which had probably been brought up by Tyr. He was such a kind and honourable man, he’d practically forced his friendship onto Merlin the moment he stepped foot into Camelot, if it weren’t for his timid personality Merlin was quite convinced he’d be the perfect knight. 

Merlin glanced up to see if Gaius was around and his heart rate immediately skyrocketed. There, alone in the middle of the room, staring directly at him, was the King. Merlin instantly turned to face him and bowed his head.

“My Lord,” he bowed again, completely unsure of what else to do.

“I wanted to thank you in person,” Uther stated, tone casual as he moved towards Merlin. “For your actions earlier today. You have shown great loyalty, both to Arthur and I, and to Camelot. I am most grateful.”

Merlin shook his head, still refusing to maintain eye contact as he kept his head bowed. “I was just doing my duty.”

“You’ve proven yourself a trusted ally in the fight against magic.” 

Merlin did glance up then, he tried with everything he had to keep the amused grin off of his face at what the King had said. Trusted ally? If only he knew just how ironic that truly was.

“Me?” Merlin found himself saying.

Thankfully, Uther seemed to take that as him being humble, for he only smiled—which was rather disconcerting—and carried on speaking.

“Those who practise magic, will only take advantage of Arthur’s inexperience. They wish to corrupt him, to use him,” Uther was in front of Merlin now, staring deliberately into Merlin’s eyes. He held his gaze for a long moment. “You must be vigilant.”

At a loss for what else to say, Merlin merely nodded and insisted, “I will keep my eyes peeled, Sire.” 

It technically wasn’t a lie, Merlin did intend to protect Arthur from other sorcerers.

“I know you will.” 

Uther moved past him and reached for the door, only to pause, turn back and say with an air of sinister indifference, “Oh, and Merlin? If you ever speak of what happened between myself and Arthur to another living soul, I will have you hanged.”

Merlin swallowed thickly, nodding his head as he replied, “Right, of course. Yes, my Lord.” 

Then, thankfully, Uther was gone.

Well, Merlin thought blithely to himself, that wasn’t at all ominous or terrifying.

 

Chapter 19: As long as you want me to, and longer by far

"Thank you for trying to teach me, Gwen, but I'm hopeless at this," Morgana mumbled as she struggled with embroidering her handkerchief.

Gwen gave a short giggle. "It's your first time! You're doing better than I was—though that's not saying much."

As Morgana attempted to stitch a leaf into the thin fabric in her hands, she hissed with a flinch. Gwen watched in alarm as a little bead of blood bloomed from her finger. She rose to her feet quickly, watching the blood crawl down her pale pointer finger before speaking frantically.

"Oh, you're bleeding!" She searched all around herself as Morgana tried to assure her that it really was nothing, just a little prick, but Gwen wasn't having any of it. There were no rolls of bandage in Morgana's room, as Uther did not deem first aid supplies in a woman's quarters necessary. Eventually, and distinctly lacking forethought, she ripped some of the fabric from her apron.

"Guinevere! It's honestly just a little blood…!" She insisted as heat rose to her cheeks. 

Seeing Guinevere just tear fabric from her clothing was doing things to her that it really shouldn't have. Her servant collected her hands up gently, wrapping the fabric around the pad of her forefinger with slow movements, tying it with intensely concentrated diligence. Gwen noticed how much softer her hands were, and couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed at the work-hardened feel of her own hands. She pushed those feelings away, though, when Morgana was staring so closely.

"There," her voice was low as she drew her hands back. "Does that feel alright?"

Morgana didn't respond.

"My Lady?"

Morgana blinked, as if reeling from a daze, and smiled, coughing a little. "Yes! Yes. Thank you, Gwen."

Reassured, she returned to the cornelias sprawling all over the milky white handkerchief she'd pulled into her lap. Morgana's gaze flitted to the little square of fabric in Gwen's hands, intricately stitched with soft pink flowers. Her hands reached out for it instinctively, and Gwen was happy to give it to her.

"This is beautiful," she whispered, though she wasn't looking at the handkerchief. "How do you do it?"

Gwen nervously tucked a curly lock of hair behind her ear as Morgana watched her with an intensity that was not warranted for mere embroidery

. How on earth was she supposed to focus when she… when she was being looked at like that? She rubbed the fabric, eyeing it carefully with a soft smile on her face.

"It's just practice, really. My mother used to teach me some when I was little, but I stopped for a long while before becoming a maid. I suppose I had an unfair advantage! The thread can be expensive depending on the time of year, and sometimes I break needles, but I like to sew when I can and I know you like cornelias so I—um. I'm rambling, aren't I?" Her eyes went wide as she recoiled, "Apologies, my lady, I should probably be—"

"No, wait." Her eyes were fond as she nodded toward her. "I like it. You can keep going, if you'd like."

Gwen swallowed. When did she get so close—and what god decided her eyes should be so lovely? Her mouth had gone dry. Before she truly made a fool of herself, she rose from the bed and retreated a little. As she curtsied, she missed the disappointment that flashed across her Lady's delicate features.

"I'm sorry, my Lady, but I must be going. I've chores to attend to." She inclined her head once more before turning, hastening her pace through the doors to her chambers before leaning back against a cold wall of the castle. 

She threw her hands to her face with a quiet groan. Ugh! She was such an idiot! Rambling like that, wasting her time… She tried to erase the image of Morgana's face inches from hers, eyes eager to hear more of her ridiculous waffling, to no avail. Then she righted herself, smoothing over her dress before bustling off. She had some things to pick up from the market, and she didn't want to keep Merlin waiting.

---

"Gwen, are you… alright?"

Merlin's voice pulled her from her Morgana-filled thoughts. She glanced at him in puzzlement, taking in the concerned pull of his eyebrows and disturbed twitch in his mouth. She'd been a little dazed all day after the… ordeal (could she call it that?) in Morgana's chambers. If only she hadn't been so damn close, she thought bitterly. Then she'd have at least been able to think straight in some capacity. Quite literally. But it was Morgana, she could have been on the other side of the castle and still be intoxicating—

She sucked in a breath.

"Of course. Why do you ask?"

"Well… it's just that…"

She shot him a questioning look and he sighed.

"You're holding a pair of braies."

Her mind stuttered to a halt as she stared down at the coarse material in her hands that was indeed men’s undergarments… she abruptly dropped the offending item to the ground and Merlin snickered. 

Humiliation flushed stark across her cheeks as she stooped to retrieve the cloth and gingerly place it back on the stall. She inspected the other wears, and—nope, not a womenswear stall at all. How long had she been holding that for? Why hadn't Merlin said anything? She huffed. Of course he wouldn't have, the cheeky bastard.

"Distracted?" he asked with a mischievous glint flashing in his eyes.

She hummed in response, strolling around the clothes stall with Merlin bouncing along at her side. Gwen pulled her shawl closer nervously, feeling that there was something in his tone that was a little too knowing. The sun was shining, but it was one of those arduous days where it provided little warmth, and instead served to be an irritating hindrance that invaded everyone's vision. The pair came to stop at a food stall, specifically one for grains and similar foodstuffs, and Gwen kindly asked for a pound of wholemeal flour as Merlin grinned beside her.

"You know, they're selling cornelias a few stalls down."

Gwen's eye twitched. "Are they?"

Merlin nodded with a grin. "Don't you want to buy some?"

She swept past the food stall and back toward the castle, having gotten everything she needed to. Merlin awaited her answer.

"Why—" she flinched at the shrill quality of her voice, "Why would I do that?"

"Suppose you're right," Merlin said nonchalantly, which put Gwen even more on edge.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Especially seeing as…" out of nowhere, he plunged his hand into her dress' side pocket, yanking out a small bunch of cornelias triumphantly, "You've already bought some!"

"Merlin!" she hissed, snatching them back with a scathing glare. "Be careful with those!"

His grin widened as he opened his mouth to speak, but Gwen interjected before he could say something embarrassing.

"They're for the castle."

"Which part specifically? If I had to hazard a guess, I'd say Morgana's cha—"

She pulled a handkerchief from her other pocket, thwacking him in the face with it repeatedly. He laughed as he tried to swat her hand away, ducking backward before starting to sprint toward the castle. 

Gwen shouted after him, something about getting him for that, but he only cackled. She couldn't help the smile on her face as he turned back to her with mirth dancing in his eyes and cheekiness stretching his lips into a grin. The smile didn't last long, though, as he started making kissy faces before scrambling through the entrance. Merlin was so insufferable sometimes, she thought, but she supposed it was part of his charm. Arthur certainly didn't seem to have a problem with it.

---

Merlin was abruptly stopped in his sprint by a solid chest. He'd been glancing behind him to make sure Gwen hadn't gone after him as he turned a corner, and then all of a sudden he was careening backward. Before a surprised noise could escape him, however, a strong pair of arms were catching him, suspending him in mid-air like a moment frozen in time. He blinked, glancing up to see awfully familiar clear blue eyes.

"Oh," was all he had.

"Merlin, what on Earth are you doing?" Arthur asked, looking confused and seemingly unaware of their close proximity.

Merlin opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He swallowed, making another attempt. "Sire… could you, uh…"

For a moment, confusion still clouded his face, but then his eyes were widening and colour rose to his cheeks. He pulled Merlin forward, setting him right before averting his gaze. The last time they'd been that close was after Morgause… when Arthur had—and before that when Arthur had asked him to stay. Before that, when Arthur had stolen into Merlin's room and asked if he could—

"Right. Well, I've got a meeting to go to," he said, with urgency shaping his tone. He waved his hand vaguely. “Five Kingdoms… and all… that.”

"Of course, Sire. You should go, and…"

"Yes."

Neither of them moved. Seconds passed by sluggishly, feeling slower and more agonizing than they normally did, and then Arthur was clearing his throat and hurrying past him. Merlin deflated, mood suddenly strange and messy. He forced himself not to turn and watch his retreat. He had to wash his night-clothes, he remembered, and set off to do just that. Any thoughts of stolen kisses or sapphire eyes or rueful smiles were pushed deep, deep down within him.

When he reached his room and his eyes fell upon the bucket of soapy water and Arthur's clothes draped over his bed, he thought this to be good. An effective distraction from his cyclical thoughts. He would focus on scrubbing clothes and preparing for the coming peace talks between the Five Kingdoms and nothing else. He would fill his head with the sounds of sloshing water and revising the Kingdom’s envoys' names, not Arthur's moans against his lips.

Washing Arthur's clothes was no such distraction.

He scrubbed and scrubbed until his hands were red and raw, trying in vain to pool all of his concentration into making his clothing as clean as was physically possible. But his mind wandered, entirely out of his will, and instead focused on Arthur. 

Arthur carrying him from the pyre, Arthur holding him close. How they’d spoken in quiet, private tones about their lost parents. Arthur bathed in the light of the future in his and Morgana’s shared vision. The time that Arthur had kissed him senseless. The only time, other than—he forced himself to remember that the second kiss had been an accident, because that could never happen again. Even if that was all he thought about when he looked at him.

He sighed, Arthur would be calling him for his lunch any moment now. Gods, no moment was an Arthur-less one, was it? Whatever, it didn’t matter, he had clothes to hang to dry.

He was mostly recovered now, almost fully back in Arthur’s service, George was only called on to haul the heavier things, like Arthur’s weaponry, amour and bath water, about. Merlin rang out the clothing and placed them in a basket.

By Hecate, he really was doomed to long for Arthur for the rest of his life, wasn’t he?

Bloody dragon and his two shitting sides of the same coin—destined to protect each other? More like destined to ignore each other. Merlin scowled and shook his head. 

No, he thought chidingly to himself, this is for the best. This way I can keep him safe. This way there’s no conflict of interest.

It would have been a good argument as well, if it weren’t such a colossal lie.

Notes:

Chapter title from How Long Will I Love You by Ellie Goulding

Chapter 20: Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong

Morgana officially hated that Vivian cow, how dare she insult Gwen like that!?

How dare she?

Morgana didn’t give a shit about eras of prosperity or peace talks, if that air-headed twat said so much as another word against Gwen, Morgana would throw down her glove and challenge the snot-nosed Princess herself. Just see how she fares against Morgana with a sword, she wouldn’t last half a minute. And who’d be tittering like a twit then?

Well, certainly not Morgana, but Vivian wouldn’t be either!

Because she’d be dead. JK

Anyway… Morgana shook the dark thought from her head.

At least, for once, she and Arthur agreed on something; Vivian was rude and horrible, and the sooner this was all over, the better. Gwen was unfortunately preoccupied with the nitwit, so Morgana needed a distraction, lest she get restless and march to Vivian’s rooms to reaccoust her maid. She found herself at Arthur’s door just as Merlin was leaving, he looked rather bemused.

“Oh! Morgana—er, my Lady,” he corrected, eyeing one of the passing guards.

“Merlin,” she greeted, smiling at him with amusement. She peaked around him into the room. “So, how is his royal arse-ish-ness this morning?”

Merlin gave another even more confused look and shrugged. “Honestly? Even more odd than usual, he's… well, he’s spouting off about beautiful mornings like he’s some kind of poet. And he’s dressed.” 

Morgana’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Well, I never…”

“I know. Either way, have fun in there, it’s quite amusing. I should see what needs to be prepared for this afternoon's banquet,” a servant from one of the visiting kingdoms passed and Merlin gave Morgana a curt bow. “See you later, my Lady.”

She watched him go before breezing into the room. Arthur stood by the window, gazing out into the courtyard like a love struck maiden, sighing every now and then. She couldn’t help but laugh at him.

“Morgana!” Arthur whipped around and came striding up to her, a rather ridiculous grin was plastered on his face. “Just the person I wanted to see! You’re a woman.”

Morgana gave him an unimpressed look. “Well done, Arthur, I see nothing escapes your keen eye.”

“Yes, well! Today is an exceptional day, wouldn't you say?”

She blinked blankly at him. Gods, was he drunk?

“Well, I suppose, being one step closer to united peace and all—”

“Hang that! I meant, for wooing,” he thrust out one of his hands, and she supposed Merlin was right. He was acting rather like a bard. Her face scrunched with incredulous revolution.

“For what-ing?”

“Woo ing, Morgana!” he gave a great sigh and whirled around, throwing himself toward his desk before he began to scribble frantically on a piece of parchment. 

“Gods Arthur, have you been at the sloe gin this morning?” At the strange bewildered look she was given, Morgana huffed out a wary, “Are you drunk?”

“Only with love.”

She scowled at him and rounded the table to peak over his shoulder. A note addressed to ‘My dearest love’ was written in a delicate cursive, ending with a flourished ‘Arthur’ across the page. She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“And what exactly are you going to do with that?” she said slowly, tone evident that she was speaking to him as if he were a simpleton.

He beamed at her and declared, “I wish to make a proclamation of love!” 

Morgana plucked the note off his desk and scanned it. 

“Really?” she blinked down at him. “And here I thought it would take another half a year to get you to admit your feelings… I thought you wanted to keep things a secret?”

“Why in Camelot’s name would I want to do that?” he scoffed incredulously. Then, his expression turned dazed again. “By the end of today, I will have won my Lady!”

“Right. Yes, I’m sure your ‘love’ will appreciate being called a lady , Arthur,” she said impassively. “What are you going to tell Uther?”

“What does he matter?”

“Well, that’s one way of approaching things I suppose.” 

“So, I need your help in expressing my… feelings…” he stood from the chair and stared at her expectantly. After a long moment of silence he gave a groan and gestured to the note. “Feelings, Morgana!”

“Of course, because I’m the best person to ask about this,” she scoffed dryly.

“Well, you’re the one always telling me to ‘follow my heart’!” Arthur’s bottom lip jutted out in a pout. “Please , Morgana.”

“Oh, alright!” Her gaze shifted to the note again. “It’s a little… flowery, but… it’s not terrible—”

“Perfect! Oh and flowers! Yes, girls like flowers, don’t they?”

She frowned at him. “Well, yes, but I don't see what that has to do with—”

“Brilliant! Then, I’ll need some flowers… Where do I get flowers from?”

She glanced over at the window and realised it was midmorning. “Arthur, don’t you have a meeting to go to? About the treaties?”

“Hang the treaties!” he sang. “My love is more important than treaties or peace! For my love is eternal and transcendent!”

She stared blankly at him.

“Alright, there is definitely something wrong with you—but, nevermind that. Just! Go to the meeting, Arthur, I’ll deal with this, alright? I’ll get the flowers, just go.”

“Are you sure—”

“Go, Arthur!”

He grinned at her, cupped her face in his hands and smacked a wet kiss on her cheek. “You’re an angel, Morgana!”

Before she so much as had a chance to shout at him, he was gone. She scrubbed vigorously at her cheek and gave a disgusted huff. She spared another look at the note in her hand and sighed. 

Well, she supposed she had something to deliver to the prince's beloved manservant.

---

When Merlin arrived back at Gaius' chambers a little while after serving Arthur’s dinner and readying him for bed, he found his guardian staring blankly at a bouquet of flowers perched in the middle of his workbench. 

He decidedly ignored the oddness of the situation, everyone had been acting rather strangely today. Arthur seemed like a cat on hot bricks, skittering frantically about, not to mention every single time he’d passed Morgana and Gwen in the corridor he received only conspiratorial giggles in way of greeting. Morgana and giggling should not be in the same sentence, and seeing it in real life? Terrifying. He went about grabbing the sandwich left out for him, and when several minutes passed with no acknowledgement from Gaius, he decided to speak up.

“Someone get you flowers, Gaius?” Merlin prompted, spraying crumbs everywhere. When that garnered no shout of outrage, he began to worry.

“No.”

“No?” Merlin frowned. “Are you… getting someone else flowers then?”

“No.” Gaius finally turned to look at Merlin with an expression of stark disbelief. He held out a piece of neatly folded parchment. “They’re for you.”

Merlin blinked at him. “For me?”

The note was unceremoniously shoved at him, and with an apprehensive look at the flowers, he realised it was indeed addressed to him. 

“‘My dearest love’,” he read aloud. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as he swallowed down the last bite of his sandwich and continued to read in a puzzled tone, “‘The barriers that keep us apart are nothing compared to the power of true love, Arthur.’”

He felt his face instantly begin to heat as he realised Gaius had just heard that, but as he continued to stare at the note, he couldn’t keep the bemused and widening grin from his face. He knew— gods , did he know—that he should refuse, that he should tell Arthur this couldn’t happen. But if Arthur truly believed they could make this work, if he really thought he loved Merlin enough to make it work. Well, then who was he to say no?

“Merlin, would you care to explain to me why on Earth the Prince is sending you love notes?” 

Ah, yes, Gaius. 

Merlin shrugged sheepishly and ducked his head. “Uh… we sort of… had a moment? A few moments, that is, but we decided not to pursue anything—”

“I should think not!” Gaius gave a sigh at Merlin’s hurt look. “I merely meant that you should know how Uther feels about such… relationships, Merlin.”

“Yes, exactly! That’s my argument!” Merlin rushed. “But…” he glanced back down at the note. “I think he really loves me, Gaius… and I… I really love him—I just don’t know what to do—”

Gaius softened and took a step toward Merlin, reaching up a hand to run it soothingly down his back. “Do what your heart tells you to, Merlin… don’t make the same mistakes I did, you’ll come to regret them in time. Just be careful.”

Merlin beamed at his guardian, enveloped him in a hug and ran for the door, note swiftly shoved into his pocket. He was practically glowing all the way to Arthur’s chambers only to be stopped by Morgana’s hand shooting out from an alcove to drag him into the corridor to the guest wing Lady Vivian was staying in.

“Morgana, what the—”

“Merlin, I’m so sorry, I thought he was talking about you,” Morgana fretted, watching as Arthur pranced about the other end of the corridor, preparing himself for… something.

“What?”

She spared him a pitying look and grimaced. 

“Arthur, this morning. He was going on and on about proclamations of love and feelings , he wrote a note and I offered to deliver it… thinking it was meant for you…”

Realisation dawned on Merlin’s face and suddenly the parchment in his pocket felt like a weight boring into his heart. He tried not to let his reaction show, however it was too late.

“Oh, Merlin—”

“I’m fine, Morgana,” Merlin stressed.

“Shush!” Gwen’s hand appeared from nowhere, clapping over his mouth, the other pointing down the hall. 

Arthur was now standing right outside Vivian’s door, a platter of some kind held in his arms, with a rose placed delicately atop the lot, shouting about destiny and chicken. The door swung open and he babbled something about beans and meat and the door slammed purposefully back in his face. He looked utterly besotted. 

“Gods, I have to get him out of there before King Olaf sees—”

Morgana looked horrified. “Merlin, no , we’ll deal with this—”

Merlin ignored her, barrelled past Gwen and strode down the hall. “My Lord,” Merlin began, capturing Arthur’s attention. The expression in the prince’s eyes flickered briefly for a moment on seeing Merlin, but a stony look of irritation quickly swept whatever it was away. “I don’t think your advances are welcome.”

“Go away!” Vivian shouted shrilly from behind the door, as if to punctuate Merlin's point. “And take your chicken with you!”

Arthur threw a glare at Merlin and growled out, “I don’t know what gives you that impression,” before shoving the platter at his servant and stalking off down the corridor. 

Merlin closed his eyes, groaning under his breath. This was going to be a long evening. 

Notes:

Chapter title from the song Youth by Daughter

Chapter 21: I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you

Summary:

Merlin and the others try desperately to break the curse.

It was indeed a long evening, Gwen and Morgana had spent half of it tailing Arthur around his chambers, entreating him to return to his old love. What a kick in the chest it was for Arthur to dismissively bark, “I don’t have an old love, now get out!”

Thankfully after that he’d found a rather suspicious lock of hair under his pillow. Of course, upon leaving the princes’ chamber he’d run straight into Morgana and Gwen… again, and had to endure their incessant cooing all the way down to Gaius’ quarters.

“Arthur’s in love.”

Gaius raised an eyebrow at him. “I thought we’d already established this?”

Merlin frowned and shook his head. 

“Uh… not with me,” he tried to ignore his mentor’s pointed look at the flowers. Morgana avoided everyone’s gaze and shrunk back. Gods , he wished they’d stop tiptoeing around him; he wasn’t that bloody fragile. “With Lady Vivian.” 

“Lady Vivian?” Gaius called incredulously. “He can’t be, Olaf will have his head.”

“I know,” Merlin sighed.

Gwen scowled. “I still can’t make sense of it… apart from obvious reasons,” her gaze flickered to Merlin. “Only yesterday he dismissed her as rude! Besides, I can’t really see her as Arthur’s type… she’s much too—”

“Airheaded? Rude? Down-right vile?” 

The room went awkwardly silent. Alright… perhaps that had been a little… harsh.

Morgana cocked an eyebrow at him, and asked slyly, “Jealous, Merlin?”

Merlin scowled at her. “Shut up—look, none of that matters because he’s enchanted. Again.”

“Again?” Gwen parroted.

“It happens surprisingly often. Sophia of Tír-Mòr, remember her?”  

Morgana gasped. “I knew there was something off about her!”

“Yep. Enchanted,” Merlin turned to Gaius and slammed the lock of Vivian’s hair on the table. “And, did I say enchanted?” 

“Well, that certainly makes some small amount of sense, but who—”

“Trickler,” Merlin appraised. “I should’ve known, no one can make butterflies appear out of thin air without magical aid. But, the question is why?”

Morgana’s eyes widened. “He wants to disrupt the peace talks! Alined, of course… The main export of Deorham is the weapons trade!”

“It certainly is the sort of cowardly behaviour you would expect from him,” Gaius reasoned.

“Cowardly, but clever…” Morgana mused.

“Alright, but how do we stop it?”

Merlin glanced over at Gwen, she sure did know the right questions to ask.

He let out a huffed exhale and shrugged. “Suppose we’ll have to find the counter curse.”

---

Unsurprisingly, despite four people searching almost all night, they didn’t find anything. What Merlin found the next morning instead was that Vivian had since also been enchanted, which really made life so much easier. 

Merlin had been tidying up Arthur’s chambers (read: deftly ignoring the hundred other chores he’d been assigned that day, whilst simultaneously avoiding the prince who’d assigned them as well) when there was a knock at the door, followed by a giggle. He frowned, and went to open the door, only to be barrelled into and shoved out of the way.

“Where is he?” Vivian crooned, a rose was clutched desperately to her chest as she whirled around the room. “Where’s Arthur? Your master, my Lord!”

Merlin’s face set, nostrils flared, and he gripped the door handle, slamming it shut with an aggravated huff. “Your what?”

“My heart’s delight!” she tittered. “Where is he?”

Oh, no… 

“Uh… well, he’s not here right now. Which is a very good thing, actually, so why don’t you just—”

“Then I shall wait!” 

Gods, he wanted to hit her. He sucked in a deep breath and through gritted teeth growled, “I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” he took a closer look at her and his anger momentarily turned to embarrassed resignation. 

She was in her bloody nightgown. What was with the women in Camelot appearing just about everywhere in their nightwear!? 

“You’re not even dressed.”

“My love does not care what I wear, servant boy, only that I am near,” she sniffed scornfully. “Now, fetch him.”

“I won’t,” he scoffed. 

He was sure if anyone were watching the scene he’d look rather like a territorial dog with its hackles raised.

“You will.”

“Shan’t.”

“As he commands you, I command you!”

Merlin groaned and threw his head back in frustration. “Look, you have to leave!”

She obviously hadn’t heard him, because she was staring dazedly at her rose and practically floating around the room. “I want my love… I need my love. I want to see him now!” 

Merlin watched her with abhorrence as she climbed onto Arthur’s bed and began to toss and turn in it. He didn’t quite know whether he was utterly freaked out by the display or simply overcome with hostility—and, no, he was not jealous—but either way it was a rather disturbing scene. She giggled and buried her face into the sheets, inhaling deeply, and looking rather like a sated cat. Of course, that was when things went even more downhill. Merlin heard Olaf’s shout, thankfully, with enough time to peek his head out, notice Arthur and the king, and attempt to make her move. He rushed back to the bed, patience now completely destroyed.

“Right, that’s it, get out!” 

“You cannot keep us apart! It’s written in the stars!” she sighed, crawling up the bed towards him, looking rather crazed as she spouted off utter nonsense. “Vivian and Arthur, a love for all time,” Merlin stared at her in horror and shook his head. Fuck enchantments, there was no way this insane cow was getting his Arthur! “A love stronger than time… a love—”

Okay. He’d had enough.

“Swefe nú!” 

Her eyes rolled back into her head, and with a contented sigh she tipped backwards and fell deeply asleep. As if the stars were aligned in his favour, Arthur didn’t come into the room until Vivian was safely tucked into his wardrobe.

“Merlin!” Arthur called cheerily, tossing him an apple core. He yanked off his jacket as he made his way into the bedchamber and ducked behind the changing screen. “What’re you doing hanging around here like a bad smell? I’m taking a bath, Merlin, no chance of winning my love stinking like the knight’s laundry basket.”

Merlin pushed down the pang of hurt and choked out a, “No, my Lord,” just as Olaf came storming in, raving about Vivian, with Trickler a pestiferous shadow behind him.

---

Merlin had rushed to Vivian’s chambers, Morgana and Gwen hot on his heels, praying to Hecate that after discovering Arthur wasn’t in his rooms, that instead he was where he was meant to be, at the signing banquet. He burst through the doors, unsure of what he would be walking into, but certainly not prepared for this.

His heart plummeted to his stomach, his chest constricted painfully and the breath left him all at once. 

There was Arthur, frantically kissing Vivian as if his life depended on it. As if she, solely, was the person he craved and that no one else could quench that thirst. Their hands roamed, his carding through her hair, hers roving over his chest. Their bodies were tangled together so much so that it was barely possible to tell where one ended and the other began. 

Gods, they were kissing, they were still kissing, and it hurt worse than any torture, than anything Merlin had felt before. Then, finally, finally, they pulled apart.

“My love,” Vivian sighed, gazing deeply at him.

Arthur’s response was instant and filled with emotion as he whispered back, “Forever and always.”

By Hecate , that was worse.

Merlin couldn’t keep the anguished sound that left him, thankfully the pair were too busy to hear. He’s enchanted , he told himself fiercely, it’s not real, he doesn't love her. Not truly.  

The more Merlin just stood there and watched, the more it felt as if a knife was being thrust into his heart, twisting deeper with every movement the enchanted couple made. He could tell when Morgana and Gwen arrived, mostly from the hand resting on his shoulder and the audible gasp of horror Morgana gave. Somehow, as if his friend’s surprise gave him the shred of strength he needed, he was able to draw up his magic.

“Abuge áglǽccræft,” he incanted, hand outstretched toward them. He felt the magic surge through him, but when after a moment, nothing happened, he frowned. “ Abuge áglǽccræft,” he tried again, tone more forceful this time. Again, nothing happened. “Abuge áglǽccræft!” 

His eyes were wide and frantic as he turned to face Morgana and Gwen.

“Nothing’s working. The counter curse, it’s not working.”

“It’s alright, Merlin, maybe we need to try together,” Morgana suggested, although she didn’t sound convinced. “Here,” she clasped their hands together and gave him a nod, “together.”

They raised their hands and chanted in unison, “Abuge áglǽccræft!”

Merlin stared and a wave of despondent heartache rippled through him as, yet again, the spell had done nothing to discourage the amorous couple. Then, just to make things worse, Olaf burst through the chamber doors.

“I don’t believe it,” Merlin found himself murmuring, more out of apathetic despair than anything else.

He was swiftly pulled out of the way by Gwen as the King barreled into the room, shouting his offence and rushing forward to throw his glove to the ground in front of Arthur. 

“Father!” Vivian protested petulantly, jutting out her bottom lip in a strop. Merlin tried once again, whispering the spell under his breath.

Arthur’s eyes swivelled across the room and their gazes locked. For a cruel moment, Merlin was convinced the enchantment had been broken, but then he was lurching forward and accepting the challenge. Merlin closed his eyes, turned, and fled the room.

There was one thought that filled his mind, over and over, My magic failed… there was no love spell.

It was obvious, clear as day. Arthur had moved on, albeit rather heedlessly. But wasn’t that how he did everything? Death-or-glory, running rash and headlong into life, just as he did into battle. A small traitorous voice peeped at the back of his mind, sounding suspiciously like Morgana, only when he’s with you. When you’re not by his side distracting him, he’s actually quite the strategist. 

But that didn’t matter, none of it mattered.

Because Arthur loved Vivian, and there was nothing Merlin could do about it.

Notes:

Chapter title from The Night We Met by Lord Huron.

Chapter 22: I’ll come back, when you call me. No need to say goodbye.

Summary:

Morgana and Gwen work together to get Merlin’s head out of his ass and find a way to break the enchantment.

“I still don’t understand how the spell didn’t work,” Morgana seethed, fists clenched at her sides as Gwen trotted along behind her. “Surely that Trickler’s magic cannot surpass both mine and Merlin’s skill?”

Gods , Arthur was such an idiot . At least he was an enchanted idiot and not a clear-thinking one. Merlin hadn’t been seen since the night before, although Morgana had a sneaking suspicion that he was holed up in his rooms, refusing to face the world, as opposed to being in any danger. He’d sent along a replacement servant that morning—George, she thought his name was—to serve Arthur, under the guise of feeling under the weather. 

Uther had visited him that morning, and whilst George had bustled off to make sure Arthur’s armour was in ‘tip-top condition’, Morgana had taken it upon herself to attempt to reason with Arthur. ( Read : give him a thorough tongue-lashing and try to convince him—yet again —that his feelings for Merlin should be acted upon.) Funnily enough, the King had had a similar idea. 

It had taken barely five minutes for Uther to realise something was definitely wrong with his son. After discovering that Arthur truly wasn’t aware of anything but Lady-cow-face, the King left with his arms thrown up in exasperation, muttering irately to himself as he went.

Morgana decided enough was enough, and it was time to visit the other half of the prince’s moronic duo. It had taken all of her resolve—and a placating whisper from Gwen—to resist pushing past Gaius to storm into Merlin’s room herself and drag him out by his overly large ears. The older man had only shook his head wearily when asked how their friend was, replying sagely that ‘one cannot cure such ailments with tinctures and potions,’ this ache would take time to heal.

It wasn’t until Morgana had pressed fervently that the foolish Prince of Camelot was “ enchanted, Gaius, I swear it, he looked drugged! ” that the physician sighed and said, “Then you’d better find someone who knows how to un-enchant him, and fast. You know as well as I do, Morgana, that Uther will not take kindly to discovering that magic has been involved.”

So, here they were, rushing around with barely half an hour before the tournament was to start, hoping for some kind of sign that someone in Camelot knew what could be done.

Gwen nibbled at her lip and piped up quietly, “Perhaps it wasn’t the right counter-spell, or… maybe,” she paused, eyebrows drawn in concern she tugged lightly on Morgana’s sleeve, pulling her to a halt. 

Morgana’s features softened slightly at the look of worry on Gwen’s face. Without a thought, she traced the wrinkles gathered in the maid’s brow and smoothed them with her thumb, tucking a chestnut ringlet behind her ear, all but cupping her face as she said, “It will be alright, Guinevere… we just… we just need to keep hope.”

“I really do want you to be right, my Lady… but, what if he isn’t enchanted?” her voice dropped lower as she spoke, “Not even yours and Merlin’s efforts together did anything… perhaps he really has just moved on…”

Morgana’s nostrils flared defiantly.

“No. I won't accept that, not until I have stark proof. How could he be so achingly in love with the boy barely a week ago, and now so suddenly all but forgotten him?” she gave a terse shake of her head. “No, as selfish and rude as Arthur can be, he is not so cruel.”

Gwen seemed to melt with relief, only to frown ever so slightly again. “Then however do we break it, Morgana? What else can we do?”

A Pendragon crest hung almost perfectly just behind Gwen’s head, and with a grin, Morgana knew. She spun her maid around and pressed her back flush to her own front. One hand slung securely around her waist, the other glided up to tilt Gwen’s head in the direction of the crest and with a twinkle in her eye she breathed against her ear, “There is one all-powerful being we’ve yet to ask.”

For a long moment Gwen said nothing, then her chest stuttered and she was turning her head. Their noses were a hairbreadth apart and their eyes locked so intensely Morgana almost missed what she’d said.

“You can’t possibly mean the dragon?”

Morgana gave a smirk. “Well, Guinevere, whyever not?”

---

The dragon had taken over fifteen minutes to reply to their simple, one-word-answer question, because of course he had. He seemed only to speak in bloody riddles and not to understand the phrase time is of the essence. He’d spent about five minutes laughing after the predicament had been explained, whilst Arthur’s head was in the clouds and about five seconds from being lopped off. Quite frankly, Guinevere was well and truly fed up. 

She’d spent the first third of the tourney searching the grounds for Merlin, whilst Morgana was off attempting to convince Uther to stop the fight and find Gaius, as it turned out no one had seen the prince’s manservant. She stormed into Gaius’ quarters, ripped open Merlin’s bedroom door and proceeded to yank him out of the bed.

“Get up,” she threatened. When she received nothing but a pitiful whimper, the very last shred of patience she owned abruptly disintegrated. “Get up!”

She turned away from him, noting he was still in his sleepwear and instantly began rooting through his wardrobe. Grabbing a red tunic and a pair of trousers, she unceremoniously threw them at him. 

“I said, get up! Honestly, Merlin, get dressed!” she snapped, glaring down at him. Once he finally deigned to send her a self-pitying look she huffed, nostrils flared in annoyance. “Don’t you dare look sorry for yourself, I thought you had more of a backbone than this, Merlin. You’re seriously just going to lie here while Arthur is still enchanted and about to be beaten and killed by King Olaf?”

Merlin glowered back at her, but he at least moved to sit up. “We already tried to un-enchant him, Gwen, it didn’t work because he wasn’t enchanted. He’s in love with that gods-awful princess now. It serves him right for thinking with his—”

A loud smack echoed about the room as Merlin’s head was thrown to the side. He blinked, jaw dropped in awe as he rubbed absently at his stinging cheek. Gwen faltered slightly, a flash of regret clouding her features before she shook her head and stared fiercely at him.

“I was going to say sword,” Merlin muttered petulantly.

“Pull yourself together,” Gwen hissed. 

He supposed he did deserve that if it was coming from Gwen. No, especially if it was coming from Gwen.

“Why should I, Gwen!? What else can I do? My magic didn’t work—”

“You’re going to have to trust me, Merlin, no spell can break this magic,” she raised an impatient eyebrow at him and gestured to the clothes, giving a roll of her eyes when he sent her a self-conscious scowl. Huffing with irritation, she turned around. 

“If no magic can break it then what in the hell do you want me to do?”

She heard a faint rustle of cloth and with a satisfied nod, began to answer.

“We asked the dragon—”

The rustling paused.

“You what—”

“—he wasn’t all too agreeable to begin with… but he told us that Arthur’s heart had been captured by the spell. There is only one thing that can break such an enchantment.”

She refused to speak again until she knew she had Merlin’s full attention, and waited until a hand came to rest on her shoulder to pull her around. She looked at him now, properly, and realised just how wrecked he looked, his nose and under-eyes were rimmed red and there was a dullness to his usually sparkling demeanour.

With an imploring look she pressed, “Love. He told Morgana and I to find the one person Arthur truly loves. You have to kiss him, Merlin.”

His expression shut off and he shrank away from her, shaking his head. 

“No, Gwen, he doesn’t… he can’t—I can’t—” he cut himself off with a growl and brushed past her into the main chamber. “Okay, so what if I try and it doesn’t work and Arthur, I don’t know, sacks me or something? What then? Or, worse, Gwen, what if it does work? We’ve been through this, over and over, Arthur and I can never be together.”

Gwen shook her head and set him with a sad look. “You’re wrong, Merlin, that man loves you more than anyone could possibly put into words. He cares for you so truly, so deeply that half the time I can barely believe it. A love like that can conquer anything, and if it can’t, then what hope is there for the rest of us?”

“But, if I do this and it works, Gwen, then—then it’s real—”

“And if you don’t, Arthur’s death will be real,” her tone was sharp as any blade and after a long moment of battling stares, her expression softened. “You have to at least try, Merlin. Last I saw he was losing, he’s not in his right mind! If we don’t break this spell Olaf will kill him.” 

There was a pause, the air was thick with tension. From the open window a cry sounded, unmistakably it was Arthur’s voice, agonised and wounded. Another voice declaring Olaf the winner of this round drifted in with the breeze. Merlin’s features shifted so suddenly that the doubt he’d previously expressed was a mere memory, fear for his Arthur was plastered plainly across his face. Then, he was turning and bolting from the room, Gwen only inches behind him. 

As they reached the fields where the tourney was held, Merlin darted through the crowds so recklessly he all but barrelled straight into Morgana.

“Merlin!” she gasped. Her expression eased. “Thank the gods—”

“No time! How’s he doing, where is he?”

Morgana avoided his gaze and pointed to the red and gold tent to the fair end of the field. “Not well… Gaius said he has a broken rib, he can’t even feel it, Merlin, he’s babbling utter nonsense.” 

Merlin nodded and raced off to the tent, determination set on his features.

“I hope this works,” Gwen whispered. 

Suddenly finding her hand clasped in Morgana’s, she was tugged in the same direction as their friend, and they settled to the side of the tent so they could offer false privacy. Sure, it was a little invasive but, Gwen reasoned with herself, they were there in case Merlin lost his nerve.

Notes:

Chapter title from The Call by Regina Spektor.

Chapter 23: Every kiss is a cursive line, every touch is a redefining phrase.

Summary:

Merlin tries one last time to break the curse. Leon proves where his loyalties lie. And Morgana takes fate into her own hands.

The gentle swish of the tent flap being pushed aside was like a scream against the calm bubble of silence the thick canvas provided from the outside din. Merlin swallowed thickly as Arthur turned, eyes slightly glazed and looking all too chipper for the sheen of sweat that covered his brow. 

“Ah! Merlin!” he grinned. “Finally decided to grace me with your presence? You’re feeling better I hope?” 

For a moment, Merlin just blinked blankly at him, then he remembered the pretence of illness he’d sent with George that morning. “Uh… yes, um. Of course, my Lord, much better…” 

Arthur nodded and held out his shoulder plate. “Come on, then, I can’t very well get back into this myself, can I? Gods know where George has run off to.” 

Merlin was beginning to lose his nerve, but it wasn’t until he stepped into Arthur’s personal space and caught the familiar scent of cedar, polish and apples that his resolve returned. He was not, under any circumstances, going to allow that ditzy twat rights to his prince.

“My pleasure, Sire,” Merlin muttered, tightening the buckles and making sure everything was in place. “The Lady Vivian…” he started.

Arthur sighed dreamily. Merlin felt as if his meagre breakfast was about to come back for a second turn.

“She’s… well, she’s certainly… something?”

Arthur did look particularly intoxicated when he said, “With her for my eyes to gaze upon, I am invincible, Merlin!”

“Right…” 

“She is the reason I breathe, the very cure for any ill,” his tone was almost lyrical as he spoke. Merlin couldn’t keep his expression from scrunching in distaste. “She, and she alone, has captured my heart.”

“You really believe she’s worth enough to die for?” Merlin whispered, his hands fluttering before resting still on Arthur’s armour.

“Merlin,” Arthur began, swivelling around to stare deep into his eyes. “For her hand in marriage, I would cross any ocean, climb any mountain. I would slay a thousand beasts and bring her jewels. For her hand in marriage, I would go to the furthest kingdom and bring her the rarest silks—”

“But what do you actually like about her?” Merlin interrupted.

Arthur frowned, testing the words on his own tongue. “What do I… ‘like’ about her?” He thought for a moment. “Well, she’s beautiful! Of course, the most beautiful creature to—”

“Yes, alright, she’s quite attractive, I’ll give you that, but what else?” Merlin pressed.

Arthur looked confused and dazed as he floundered for an answer. “What else… is there?”

“‘What else is there’? Arthur, answer me this,” Merlin breathed, stepping closer and drawing into his personal space. “Does she drive you mad?” 

Arthur scowled and Merlin felt his heart begin to beat with trepidation. 

“Does she make your chest ache?” he took Arthur’s hand and held it firmly against his own chest, directly over his thundering heart, echoing the words said to him so long ago now. Words he would never forget. “Do you feel like screaming and laughing all at once when you’re around her? Can you breathe when she’s near, or is it impossible? And is it worse when she’s away? Arthur, does she make you want to tear out your own hair?”

Arthur was looking at him rather as if he’d grown a second head, and really that was all Merlin needed. Arthur would have never forgotten that, not in his right mind. Gwen was right, gods , he hoped Gwen was right.

“Merlin, what on Earth are you blathering on about? Are you sure you’re feeling better?”

Arthur tried to tug his hand away, but Merlin tightened his grip. He gave a shake of his head and whispered, “No, I’m not, but I will be, after this.”

“After wha—”

He didn’t get to finish that thought because Merlin let go of the hand on his chest, reached up and shoved him backwards. 

Arthur gave a yelp of protest, stumbling over his own feet as Merlin trapped him against the tent pole. He waited for a beat, until Arthur’s eyes, glazed with confusion, locked with his. Then, he glanced down at Arthur’s lips, surged forward and kissed him. 

An indignant noise caught at the back of Arthur’s throat and the hand settled against Merlin’s chest began to push. There was a horrible moment where it seemed it hadn't worked, that Arthur didn't love him, and he started to pull away.

But then he felt a sweep of magic wash over them, and Arthur’s palm above his heart curled into a first. 

He smiled into the kiss, revelling as a murmur of his own name was drawn from the prince’s lips. They didn’t have much time, Arthur was probably already late to the third fight, so Merlin pulled back. He didn’t get more than half an inch away before a gloved hand dug into the back of his neck and pulled, unrelenting and final. 

His squeak of surprise instantly morphed into a groan as Arthur’s tongue swept tenderly over his bottom lip, delving into his mouth and coaxing him into a deeper kiss. Merlin melted against him, allowing himself to be tipped back and consumed completely by Arthur and Arthur alone. It felt just as good—just as right—as the first kiss they’d shared. Nothing else needed ever to exist if Merlin had Arthur pressed this wonderfully against him. 

The hand against the back of his head grazed up to twist into his hair and tug lightly. Merlin felt his knees begin to buckle, eyelids fluttering at the motion. It was desperate and full of every emotion Merlin hadn’t allowed himself to think or feel in months. He felt his hands move of their own accord, cupping Arthur’s face and drawing him closer still. 

As the enchantment finally faded in its entirety, the circumstances rushed back to him. Merlin barely registered the swish of the tent flap opening as the kiss drew to a close, nor the gasp of surprise that followed the sound. He pulled himself back, smile tugging at his tingling lips as Arthur’s seemed to chase them, unwilling to let him go just yet. When some of Merlin’s senses finally returned to him, he allowed one last press of their mouths before gingerly pulling away.

The kiss broke with an echoing sound, and their lips seemed to not want to separate. For a long moment Arthur gazed at him, smiling almost dopily, eyes heavily lidded. Finally, after days of clouded disturbance, they were as crystal clear and blue as the sky above. Abruptly, Arthur winced, face contorting as he slammed back against the tent pole, grunting in pain.

“Arthur?” Merlin whispered, his voice hoarse as concern overpowered the kiss-roughened harshness. “Arthur, how do you feel?”

“What am I doing?” The hand curled possessively into Merlin’s tunic stuttered and moved suddenly to clutch at his ribs. He sent a sheepish look to Merlin and chuckled, gritting out, “Not—not that I’m complaining, but, where the hell am I?”

“You’re in a fight, to the death—” Merlin cringed.

“What?”

“—over Lady Vivian—”

“What?”

“—and you’re losing.” 

Arthur stammered soundlessly for a moment, before leaning forward, knocking his forehead against Merlin’s and sighing out, “Is there any good news?”

“Um…”

There was a purposefully loud cough from the entrance of the tent and Merlin’s head jerked around to face whoever this was. 

Leon stood in the entryway, looking so awkward it was almost comical. His eyes shifted about and it was obvious he was trying his utmost to avoid eye contact. That was when Merlin recalled hearing someone enter earlier, only he’d previously been much too preoccupied to care.

“Sire…” Leon trailed off, trying with all his might to avoid looking at the two of them. 

Arthur’s eyes widened and he cleared his throat. Merlin felt the hand at the back of his neck drop down to his waist, but Arthur made no move to push him away. 

“Leon,” Arthur replied diplomatically. Merlin shifted to the side, instead manoeuvring them so he was supporting Arthur. 

“I apologise for disturbing you, my Lord, but King Olaf is beginning to wonder if you’re forfeiting the match?” 

“I—”

Arthur locked eyes again with Merlin, bewildered and at a loss. 

“There’s no time, Arthur, you have to go, if you forfeit now you’ll have dishonoured Olaf and there will be a war.” Merlin allowed one palm to graze Arthur’s cheek, quelling his disoriented protests. “You have to go. Just—promise you won't die, you clotpole.” 

Arthur’s eyes searched his, and when he seemingly found what he was looking for, he nodded. 

“I promise,” then he was leaning back in and brushing their lips tenderly together. Merlin kept his eyes closed as Arthur pulled back.

“I mean it, Arthur. Don’t you dare die,” he whispered thickly, refusing to watch Arthur leave. 

“You always seem to forget, Merlin, that I give the orders.” A laugh burst past Merlin’s lips before he gave it permission to. “But I suppose, just this once, I’ll do as you ask.” 

“Prat.”

Merlin turned, intent on saying something more, to see only Leon. Gods, Arthur was gone, he was going to fight King Olaf with a broken rib. Merlin’s breath began to come heavy as he realised Leon had seen them kiss, which despite everything else, was against the law in Camelot—

“Merlin, hey , Merlin, he’s going to be alright,” Leon assured worriedly. “He’s not going to die.”

“You —I—It’s not what it looked—”

“Merlin, I’m sure by now you’re fully aware that I am loyal to Prince Arthur. He is the First Knight of Camelot, not the King. Besides, the laws of the Knight’s Code holds honour above anything else and… well, the law is not always honourable.” 

Merlin swallowed thickly and Leon set him with a meaningful look. For a moment Merlin wondered if Leon knew more than he let on, if it wasn’t just talking about the kiss he’d witnessed.

Merlin’s shoulders dropped, he felt exhausted, but he couldn’t be here. He had to make sure Arthur was okay, that he was still alive.

“Thank you, Leon,” he said sincerely. 

The Knight studied him for a moment. “You really do love him, don’t you?”

Merlin let out a miserable laugh. “Sometimes I think more than I can possibly bear.”

He nodded, and tilted his head toward the entrance. “Then why are you still here? Go, Merlin, be there for him.”

He didn’t need telling twice. Before he knew it he was haring across the field, following the jarring sounds of steel on steel, and praying with all his might that Arthur would be okay.

---

Gwen remembered how she’d watched with bated breath as Merlin stepped closer to Arthur, face set in determination. How Morgana’s hand had felt clutched in her own, how their fingers had tightened their grip, how they’d shuffled closer and inhaled sharply, huddled together outside Arthur’s tent.

How Morgana had whispered an, “oh, Merlin…” when he’d tried to remind Arthur of his own words, words they hadn’t yet heard. Gwen hadn’t known Arthur could be so sweet, what he’d said under the spell had been technically poetic, but it hadn't been real. Merlin sounded raw, open, and anguished as he spoke—as though if things didn’t go to plan, he’d be shattered into a thousand pieces. They had watched on, at the edge of their proverbial seats, the silence of the tent deafening. After a dreadful moment, Arthur had finally kissed Merlin back, and Gwen hadn’t been able to contain herself. The kiss had worked!

She recalled how vivid the moment was for her, as she’d turned and been swept into Morgana’s arms. The way her violet perfume had filled her senses, making her feel dizzy and giddy. How Morgana had been strong enough to lift her, ever so slightly, off her feet before allowing her to slide back to the ground. 

They’d been so caught up in the moment, and it had felt so natural, as they came face to face, to press their smiling lips together. And for a moment that stretched for eternity, Gwen had hardly even been aware of what she was doing. Then they’d heard voices, realised Arthur had been awoken from his spell—for some reason Sir Leon was there as well, but Gwen’s mind was spinning frantically and she hardly cared.

That had been several hours ago, Arthur had won the next battle, they’d drifted on with their days, Gwen had been called to help the rest of the castle staff with preparations for the eve feast. Morgana was to entertain the other Ladies in the castle. The last Gwen had seen of Morgana was bright eyes, flushed cheeks and a faltering look of… what hadn’t been regret—but perhaps apprehension?

She’d finished with her castle duties now, and had been instructed to attend to her Lady. Frankly, she was rather dreading being alone with Morgana. They hadn't had the time to talk before. Gods, Gwen wanted so badly to be held by Morgana for the rest of her life—but what if it had only been a spur of the moment lapse in judgement? 

She gnawed worriedly at her lip, glanced up at the door to Morgana’s chamber, and paused. Hadn’t she spent the last few months internally berating Merlin and Arthur for similar foolish thoughts? She had feelings for Morgana, of that she was sure. And she hoped, in the glimpses she’d seen over the weeks and months of late. Of lingering gazes and prolonged touches, that Morgana felt the same. She took a steadying breath, straightened herself, and strode purposefully into the room. 

The candles were burning low, and the fire in the hearth was beginning to dwindle. The room itself seemed empty, but a bath—no longer steaming—was resting before the fire and the changing screen had been pulled out. She could see that Morgana was behind the screen, and shadows casted by the firelight behind her exposed that she was completely bare. Gwen felt a deep heat flood to her face, travelling down the back of her neck and rolling down into a shiver. 

“Gwen, is that you?” Morgana called quietly. “I heard the door, Elise was here but I sent her away.”

“My Lady,” Gwen forced herself to say, purposefully glancing away from the sensual shadows outlining Morgana’s figure. 

“Could you pass me my dress? Elise set it on the bed earlier.”

Gwen nodded mutely and went to retrieve it, noticing the purple satin chemise and the sheer chiffon overlay, lined at the elbows and waist with detailed gold brocade, next to it. Laying them over the top of the screen she waited silently for Morgana to dress. 

“Help me with the fastening, would you?”

She stepped out from behind the screen and Gwen’s breath caught. 

Morgana’s hair fell in natural waves, cascading over one shoulder as she bared her back to her. The overlay hung loosely from her shoulders and Gwen reached out to straighten it with quivering fingers. She moved to fasten the brocade belt by its miniscule tie, keeping her eyes averted from where the gold-spun patterns directed the eye to her cleavage. Carefully, she walked around Morgana, eyes transfixed by the smattering of freckles that covered her pale shoulders. The light blue chiffon that gathered at the back of the dress still needed to be tied in-place, and without a thought, Gwen let her hands trail absently along Morgana’s waist.

Gwen felt, more than saw, the shiver that rolled down Morgana’s spine, and with a gasp, she froze. The air seemed thick with tension and Gwen’s grip subconsciously tightened on the dresses final lacings.

“Guinevere…” 

Morgana’s voice was so full of emotion when she spoke, it came almost like a plea. But she said nothing else, so Gwen took it as a prompt for her to finish her duties. She made quick work of the ties and secured them with a bow, allowing the ribbon to fall elegantly down the back of the dress like a golden extension of Morgana’s hair. 

Gwen let herself linger for a moment, before stepping back and away. The air around her turned cold as she moved, but the sound of shifting fabric cut through the dead silence as Morgana followed, taking a firm hold of Gwen’s arm. 

“I’m not Arthur,” Morgana said suddenly. Drawing herself closer to Gwen and loosening her grip, her fingers trailed down the inside of Gwen’s wrist, interlacing their hands together with a poignant squeeze. “You have been by my side, supporting me and caring for me for as long as I’ve lived in Camelot. I couldn’t imagine my life without you, it's true that I can hardly bear the thought of losing you. My feelings, they terrify me, the thought that Uther could find out how I feel for you and take you away from me—” 

She cut herself off, gasping through a sob. 

Gwen moved closer, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind Morgana’s ear. She hushed her gently and Morgana let out a wet laugh before taking a steadying breath to compose herself. Gwen’s hand stayed where it rested on Morgana’s cheek, and the Lady gazed at her maid through her lashes. She closed her eyes, resting their foreheads together and continued to speak in a hushed whisper.

“But I don’t want that to keep us from being together. My fears do not dictate my actions, I haven’t let them so far and I’m not about to start now. I’d rather spend as much time as I can loving you, than to lose you anyway and never have given myself the chance. If you’ll allow me, Guinevere, I wish to give my heart to you.” 

Morgana’s eyes fluttered open and locked with Gwen’s. Hazel brown and lake green, their breaths mingled together and Gwen’s hold on Morgana’s hand and cheek tensed.

“And I want nothing more than to give mine to you,” Gwen whispered, raising her chin so that their lips were only a hairbreadth apart. “That is—if you’ll have me?”

“Nothing could make me happier,” Morgana breathed out. 

Then, without a moment’s hesitation, she reached up with her spare hand to tangle into Gwen’s hair and guide her into a kiss.

This kiss was chaste and sweet, but no less passionate than their first exchange by the tents. Their hands unlocked and Morgana slid her arm around Gwen’s waist, pulling her up onto her tiptoes. It was a little awkward and clumsy, and in no way a ‘perfect’ kiss, but it felt right. It felt like Gwen coming home to her father’s smithery and seeing her father and Elyan waiting for her at the table. It was like—well, like walking into Morgana’s chambers on a warm summer’s night to be greeted by her perfect smile and her kind, glistening eyes. Gwen allowed her arm to snake and curl around Morgana’s neck, drawing her closer so their chests were flush together. 

They were tangled up in each other in the best way, and, had Gwen died then and there, she would’ve been content to do so. 

Slowly they pulled apart and Morgana lowered Gwen to the floor, their chests heaved in tandem and their noses were still nuzzling cheeks, but Gwen knew if they stayed any longer it would cause suspicion.

“You'll be late, my Lady, if you don’t leave for the feast now,” her voice came out breathless and low, she hardly recognised it as her own. 

“Morgana,” she replied roughly. “When we are alone, we are equals, Gwen.”

She stroked a finger over Gwen’s cheek and felt, with a smile, as they warmed in a flush. She knew Uther would send her a disapproving look when she arrived at the Great Hall after everyone else, but for the moment she really didn't care. Gwen was her’s, they were going to allow themselves to act on their feelings. Feelings they’d felt for months, years even. 

“Of course my—Morgana.”

Gwen ducked her head and Morgana couldn’t help but smile teasingly at her.

“‘My Morgana’? Well, that’s rather unorthodox, but I suppose it will do, My Guinevere.” 

A shiver roved down Gwen’s spine at that, and she let out a soft groan of embarrassment, burning her burning face into the crook of Morgana’s neck. “Don’t you dare call me that in front of anyone,” Gwen warned, voice muffled against Morgana’s skin. “I will most definitely turn to flames, if you do.”

“We can’t have that,” Morgana murmured, pressing her nose to Gwen’s hair and revelling in that wonderful smokey scent that seemed to follow her everywhere. “I wish I could stay here with you all night…” she admitted quietly, taking in one last moment, before stepping dutifully away and pulling Gwen’s hands up to press gentle kisses to her knuckles. “Escort me to the feast?”

“Always, Morgana,” Gwen replied, voice timid as she spoke her name.

They shared one final, lingering kiss, and then Morgana was linking their arms together and guiding them out into the hall. They still had so much to discuss, so much to discover, but Morgana couldn’t help but feel as if she were walking on air.

Notes:

Chapter title taken from Turning Page by Sleeping At Last.