Love the Bright Sword

by KindlyTheVoid

Summary:

Arthur died. Then Arthur wakes up. One week after Merlin begins his service as his manservant. Ten years worth of future knowledge is at his fingertips and the chance to make everything right: to rediscover Merlin, magic and all; to be the brother Morgana needed him to be; to spend more time with Guinevere and be the man she knew he could be, the man he aspired to become; to confront his father and change Camelot for the better.

But Arthur’s a prince again. He hasn’t known Merlin for one year, let alone ten, Morgana has no idea they were friends let alone related, Guinevere still thinks he’s a prat, and he has to act the part of a prince if he doesn’t want some poor sod getting killed in the hopes of lifting a fake enchantment Uther thinks was cast on his son.

Things are about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Notes:

“I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.” -Tolkien

Chapter 1: Onism

In a land of Sorcery and a time of Deception, the future of a great Kingdom rests on the shoulders of a young revenant.

His name?

Arthur.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - -

Arthur died. 

He knows he died, he felt the life drain from him as Merlin trembled and cried over his body. He knows he died, because suddenly his aching, broken body is upright and as fresh as the daisies that will grow on his corpse. He knows he died because he is surrounded by a white reminiscent of being underwater on a sunny day, calm and cool and surrounding. In front of him is a woman with black hair and dark eyes, all petite features and defined cheekbones above the sweetest smile as she looks at him with something akin to pity. 

He shifts uncomfortably because she seems familiar, he’s definitely seen those eyes before, but he can’t place it and he hates the pity in her eyes, absolutely hates it, because he knows he’s dead. It’s been accepted, over and done with, and if she keeps looking at him like that everything he came to terms with, the excited anticipation at being able to finally see his friends, no, his family, his mother will pale in comparison to the overwhelming tide of realization and want that he died too young, that he wouldn’t get to see Guinevere in Camelot, that he didn’t get to explore Merlin’s more… magical side as much as he wanted to, that he won’t be able to make things right in Camelot or with anyone, that it’s too late, and—

She needs to stop looking at him like that. 

“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” He flexes his hand, desperately in want of a sword but he’s out of his chainmail, out of his sheath, as if he’s safe, but he hasn’t been safe in a while and-

“In a way. You saw me in a very different light, and not for very long, either. But I know you, Arthur Pendragon, I’ve watched you from afar, you and Merlin both.”

A different light... “You were a sorcerer then? Did I have you executed? Or perhaps my father did?” But he could have sworn that all who died at the pyre in front of him had their faces etched into his memory and he can’t place her face or her voice but those eyes—

“Of a sort. I was cursed, to be a beast of twilight. It wasn’t my choice, but I dealt with the consequences.” And as Arthur’s stomach flips in on itself, he decidedly does not like where he believes she is going. “I don’t blame you, Arthur. You were doing what you thought was right. I bear you no ill will.” And then she’s stepping forward and touching his arm and—

Love

—was her birthday and her parents took her on a picnic by the lake! She loved the lake and the mountains—

Fear

—wouldn’t leave and she had to do something, anything, before he—

Pain

—first transformation and it hurt hurt hurt so much as her bones broke and reformed and her hair grew and nails elongated and—

Despair

—so much blood and she screamed and cried over their bodies as the moon mocked her—

Hope

—had said he’d be back and he’d freed her and he had the most honest, open face and—

Love

“—color is right,” he jokes and she feels so warm inside but also so much guilt, but the more he talks the warmer she feels and—

Painlove death

—she takes her hand away as he sucks in a breath after the onslaught of memories and emotions, so fixed and yet so fluid. 

“I apologize, but it seemed faster and easier than trying to explain it all. My name is Freya, and I have matters to discuss with you. Come, walk with me.” This time she holds out her hand, waiting, a choice. 

But Arthur has seen what she has been through, knows now that she died an unjust death, and so he presses his lips together because this isn’t the first time a sorceress has offered to shown him something, but Merlin has magic and so did Morgana before she turned evil if her dreams are anything to go on so maybe, just maybe…

He loops his arm through hers, as if he’s escorting a princess on a garden walk, and hopes that things will end differently. 

She smiles kindly at him, a tinge of sadness still barely detectable, but she lays her other hand on his and squeezes as if in encouragement and begins walking. Around them, the scenery changes, melting together. There’s grass, fresh and green, under his feet and a mass of magnificent mountains to his right looming over a still, clear lake. Birds are singing in the sunlit forest at the edge of the clearing to his left. The air is crisp and clean, the sun warm on his skin, and there’s a light breeze playing with his hair.

He wonders if these are the heavens and how long would he be able to stay here. He stills, and Freya stops with him, patient as he absorbs the sun that warmed him pleasantly, so different from the growing chill that seemed to leach out from his very bones when the wound took its toll and he finds himself struggling to hold back tears. It was so peaceful.

He was at peace.

“I know,” she begins softly, “that you must have been waiting for this for a long time now, a chance to see all that have gone before you. But you have been given an opportunity.”

Arthur sighs and his shoulders droop, as if they instinctively remembered the burden that had so graced him in life. Could he not get any rest, even in death? “An opportunity to do what?”

She squeezes his hand once more. “An opportunity to make things right. To turn this tragedy into something more, to save the lost and prevent much suffering and heartbreak.” 

And, really, how could he pass that up? He nods wearily and they begin walking again. Then they are sitting on a blanket in the middle of a picnic that hadn’t been there before. Arthur lays back on his elbows, eyes fixed on the picturesque scene before him as Freya lounges on her side eating strawberries thoughtfully. 

“So what am I supposed to do exactly, in order to accomplish all this?” Arthur asks, breaking the not uncomfortable silence. 

“What you do is up to you,” she says breezily, but holds up a finger when Arthur goes to protest. “However, like I said, we will be giving you an opportunity to make things right from the start.”

“What, like, rebirth?” He had to relive his whole childhood? 

“Not exactly. More of a… do-over. You will wake up, all memories intact, a week after Merlin is committed to your service. From there you will have all of your future knowledge at your disposal to change Camelot’s future as you see fit.”

A week after… ten years ago? “How am I supposed to remember what happened ten years ago? ” He may have a good memory, but…

Freya laughs quietly, a spark of mirth in her eyes. “Fear not, all memories surrounding coming days shall sharpen and come clearer and none of your future memories shall fade or dull.”

Arthur nods and mulls over, searching for weak points and prodding for questions. He doubts he’ll have anyone to ask when he wakes up.

“Will I be the only one who remembers?” It’s asked so quietly, and his eyes are so large as he looks up at her, as if this by far is one of the scariest things he will have to endure. Freya pauses, strawberry almost in her mouth, and slowly puts down the delicacy, studying Arthur carefully, dissecting him with soft eyes and a quizzical tilt of the head. Somehow, it doesn’t bother him. But after a moment or so of silence, she smiles gently once again. 

“I’m afraid so. At least at first. You have seen my memories of Camelot, and those shall not fade for you, either. If you manage to save me from my fate, I shall remember all that I have learned here.”

He absorbs this information, carefully building new walls that he knows will be necessary in the upcoming years. “I understand,” he says and stands up. Freya joins him and he notices she’s wearing a purple dress of nobility, one that looks remarkably similar to one Morgana used to own. 

”Hm.” She catches his eye as she stands up and Arthur snaps his gaze to the ground. “Yes, I’m afraid that the next time you shall see me in this dress, it will either be the happiest day of my life or my last.”

“I… will endeavor to make it the former,” is all he can think to say. 

She holds out her hand once more and the picnic is gone but there is a path through the woods up ahead. He wordlessly loops arms with her once more as she leads him through. He relishes the walk: the green leaves dancing in the breeze as dappled sunlight streams in between, the everpresent chirping in time with the branches swaying under their burden, the scent of warm, ripe berries thick in the air, the combined warmth of Freya and the sun driving away any lingering chill he recalled from death. 

“Have you any more questions for me?”

He shakes his head. “Have you any more information to give me?”

“No. But we shared a very similar dream once, and I would very much like for you to look upon my recreation of it before you go.”

His curiosity is piqued, but he lets the quiet linger, content in the knowledge that they will get there in time. For it seemed as if time had little meaning here, and perhaps it did. It felt both as if hours had passed and as if no time had passed at all. For the sun was still bright in the sky, but they had talked of so much, had basked in the light for longer than he had in such a long time, and yet there was still no rush. Not yet, not in this blissful creation. 

They reach a point where the forest turns to grains, tall, thick grains ripe for the picking. In the distance at the foot of the gentle downward slope there is a well-kept house with smoke rising from a chimney and on the other side are green pastures, patches of wildflowers dotting the field with beautiful bursts of color as the occasional mooing of cows drifts across the plains and up to greet them.

“It’s wonderful,” he breathes, the feeling of freedom, of no expectations itching at his fingertips, so strong he thinks he can almost grasp it if he tries hard enough. Freya tucks her head in his neck in a sort of side hug and sighs dreamily. 

“I thought you might like it. Go out to the fields, there’s a lovely space amongst the wildflowers that is perfect for a nap.”

“A nap?” He turns to look at her, eyes narrowed and lip curling slightly in a sneer. She raises an eyebrow in response.

“How else are you to wake up if you never fall asleep?” But she says it with an amused lilt and she squeezes his arm trapped in the hug and he laughs because the logic is sound and the sky is so blue and the air is so sweet. She walks him to the house and sits outside, gathering up a half-finished project and beginning to knit or crochet, Arthur wasn’t sure which, before shooing him off with a warm grin. 

And so Arthur walks into the meadow and finds the patch just as Freya had described and lays down, watching the butterflies and the clouds and wishing he could stay like this forever. But as with many things, he takes that wish and banishes it with the wind, a forbidden cry to the universe that he doesn’t allow himself to voice. At last, he breathes in deep and allows the ambiance to lull him to sleep.

Chapter 2: Whelve

Summary:

Onism (n.)
The awareness of how little of the world you'll experience

Notes:

Warnings: I don't think anything is too bad or explicit, especially since I'm assuming you've already watched the show. However, there are multiple flashbacks and I think Arthur has the start of a panic attack, it's only a few lines, but do be careful. If I missed anything, let me know and I'll put it up here! Enjoy!!

Arthur woke up. The sun was streaming through and the air was still and calm. Silent. Turning, reaching for his heart, his hand finds only cold, empty blankets. His eyes dart around, desperately trying to find Guinevere when it hits him. Everything, all coming back. Arthur wasn’t sure if he should laugh or cry. 

Then the door to his chambers opened and Merlin came in with his breakfast, idly chattering about how Arthur was awake so early, how crazy is that, and has he noticed how nice the weather is, since he’s been up apparently and– 

You’re a brave man, Merlin.

And one day you will be the greatest king this land has ever known.

I also do this because you’re my friend and I don’t want to lose you. 

Something I’ve never said to you— Thank you. 

He wakes up and Merlin’s there. For a moment he can pretend it’s all a dream, but he can’t escape the way Merlin is so much lighter here, how much weight isn’t on his shoulders. Arthur wonders how he never knew, never saw. Was he learning magic now? Did he already know? How many encounters had been touched by sorcery, how many lives had been saved by a servant of the Old Religion? 

He knows, in his mind, that he had willfully ignored him in his first days and afterwards, dismissed any notion of magic in connection with his only friend in fear of the consequences. Even after his father had died, Morgana was still a stark betrayal and every other horrid event could be traced back to magic. Merlin hadn’t, couldn’t, be connected to sorcery. And that was just what Merlin had been trying to save him from, wasn’t it? The cruel agony of choosing between friend and nation? 

But Merlin had still been Merlin. Perhaps smarter than Arthur gave him credit for, and wiser than he was aware of, but still Merlin. Still his friend. 

“I missed you.”

He says it simply, but a part of him aches when Merlin stares at him in confusion. All those years, wiped away before his very eyes. 

“I’m sorry?”

Arthur’s brain kicks in and he stumbles through a reply in an attempt to assure him that all was well, that he was still Arthur and Merlin was still Merlin. 

“I missed you this morning. You’re late.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and goes back to his chores. “Hardly. You were still sleeping when I came in.”

And just like that, the morning returned. Merlin chattered on, insulting as well as you please in between questions for the day and the tidying up. 

After breakfast, when Merlin waves him off to go train the knights, Arthur turns a corner and accidentally runs into—

His first instinct is to draw his sword. There’s panic building in his chest, squeezing every last breath out of his lungs as he stumbles back away from those eyes. Those eyes, one of the last things he ever saw, looming and bloodthirsty and mad. 

He won’t ever be able to rid himself of those eyes, he realizes between harsh pants, even as the ones before him are puzzled and soft and sane. Everything in him is screaming to run, to fight, to scream. This was his downfall, the architect of his own demise, and his first betrayal that cut him to his core. 

You used to be so kind, so compassionate as a child.

Alas, we were both wrong.

I will stay and watch over you until the wolves gorge on your carcass and bathe in your blood.

My sister.

Arthur wasn’t sure how he was going to change Morgana’s destiny. All he knew was that he had to; for her sake, for his sake, and for the good of the kingdom. 

Oh, Morgana. When once her hair was matted and her eyes wild, now she was the epitome of royalty. Quick and clever and kind, that was who she had been. The sheer color in her face and mirth in her eyes was enough to make a grown man weep. It was nearly enough to make Arthur cry. 

And then his eyes shift, almost of their own volition, and suddenly he can breathe again.

I’m happy in my insanity.

You have a good heart. Be true to it.

With all my heart.

That gives me strength greater than any weapon.

Guinevere. The light of his life, the calm in the middle of his storm. There she was, loveliness incarnate, still giving him the opportunity to breathe. She was beautiful and carefree and true. The best of Camelot; Arthur hadn’t realized the depths of which he had missed her, for he had always missed her, until she was right in front of him. 

Arthur had forgotten. He had forgotten about Merlin and Morgana and Guinevere. Guinevere, still a servant, nothing more than a blacksmith’s daughter and lady-in-waiting. Most royalty wouldn’t give her a thought now, but was it really so surprising that Arthur’s eyes were drawn to his wife? 

Wait. No. Arthur’s mind halted. Merlin and he were still on track to become friends, he had a new chance at a relationship with Morgana, but Guinevere—

Guinevere was free. 

No more nightmares, no more close calls, no more waiting. 

Arthur still had the chance to bring the Knights together, but Guinevere… Guinevere was a once-in-a-lifetime chance . And he couldn’t count on that. 

And yet, every time he looked at her, his tongue grew numb even as his heart steadied. 

Guinevere quirked an eyebrow without amusement as Morgana called his attention back. Something inside of Arthur withered. 

“Are you feeling alright, Arthur, you look as if you had seen a ghost,” Morgana teases him. No look of hatred, no sneer, no hissed death threats passing from her lips. 

“I’m fine, Morgana.” The words are foreign on his tongue. It had been years since they had been spoken even remotely to her. “Just… heading to training.” Because that’s what his schedule was, as a prince. And it felt so strange. He had power, but not enough. Not even a crown prince, not yet. But soon. Soon everything will change… and nothing will. He hoped.

“Very well, but make sure you don’t faint on your way there,” she calls back, leaving with her head held high in a way that reminds him of that awful time when she had taken the throne. She could have been a great ruler, Arthur ruminates, had her madness not caught up to her. 

He remembers to force out a laugh a moment too late and Guinevere looks at him oddly as she trails behind Morgana. His heart squeezes and he isn’t sure how much more he can take. He sighs and heads off to the training grounds. If this was how his morning had gone, he almost dreads to think of how the rest of the day will turn out. 

But right before the corner, he turns around, one last time, to drink them in, to savor this moment. Guinevere looks back as well and as his heart soars, he can’t help the faint grin working its way onto his face. But Gwen eyes him once more and the abyss in him gapes a little bit more as she’s gone in a wisp of hair and a trail of cloth. 

Training is almost worse, in a way. So many knights killed, and they’re all right in front of him, waiting for him to lead. He sees Sir Leon—

I do not expect any special treatment from you. 

There is no one I would rather die for.

I know that I would ride into the mouth of hell for you. 

It ends here, Leon. Be it life or death, it ends here.

—and dozens of memories flash through his mind before something nudges forth the ones most recently connected with this time. And so he swallows back the friendly banter that he didn’t say last time either, and pushes through training, letting the memories control his movement and words for the time being.

Lunch is a brief respite, a moment where he had enough wits about him to push away the memories of burying them, of riding with them, to enjoy a meal with his knights, his boys, because he had trained them and bled for them and they had too, but they were so young, now, in this present-past. But he can laugh and make new-old memories and relive some of the best, because this is what he lives for. These little moments surrounded by friends. 

He goes through the rest of the day in an almost dazed state. He’ll run into someone who had long been dead and have to smile without looking broken and cough to cover up the memory of inhaling the smoke from their funeral pyre as a thousand words clog his throat, from what he’s already said and needs to still to get through the day, from what he wants to say and only managed to when it had been too late. 

It never quite hit him in the past, how many knights had been killed in all his years.

By the end of the day, he’s drained, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and all he wants is a quiet dinner in his room before possibly crying himself into a long, deep sleep. But for all that fate loves him, fate fucking hates him. 

“ Mer lin.” He tried hard not to sound like he’s complaining, but he gets the distinct impression that Merlin thinks otherwise. In the back of his mind, he wonders how Merlin put up for ten years without using magic on him, and then immediately banishes the thought. He chastises himself mentally, because that was his father talking and Merlin was different. “Where, exactly, is my dinner?”

Merlin looks at him oddly, just as he had this morning. Arthur tries not to flush, because, surely, that wasn’t an odd question? Half of him had been berating him to stop treating his best friend and powerful sorcerer like a servant but the other half reminded him that Merlin would suspect otherwise and that, technically, he was still his manservant. But there is this nudging in the back of his head and the memories that happened tonight rush and he has to resist the temptation to bury his head in his hands.

“...you informed me yesterday that you would be eating with Uther and Morgana tonight.” 

Fate absolutely hates him.

“Ah.” He hopes he didn’t resemble a fish too closely. “I had forgotten. I’ll just… go down, then.”

“Are you sure you aren’t coming down with something, sire?” God above, now he’s worried Merlin. 

“Quite sure. Now, unless I am to be later than I already am…” Merlin wisely steps aside, but he’s looking at him shrewdly like he did when observing Mordred and the pit of dread that had been lodged in his stomach the whole day now starts to churn. But he puts on a brave face and heads to dinner with two of the people he fears most in this world; not that he’d ever admit it aloud.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Gaius!” Merlin shouts, slamming the door shut behind him as he gasps for breath. The man in question looks up sharply from his work, annoyance fading into concern as he looks at his ward. He carefully puts down the vial in his hand and turns fully towards Merlin. 

“What‘s happened now, Merlin?” He asks calmly. 

Merlin rushes forward, stumbling over stools and his own feet as he gets closer to Gaius. Gaius motions for him to breathe and the boy does, taking long, deep breaths before opening his mouth. 

“I think Arthur may be enchanted.”

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He is still my father.

I’ll show you footwork!

Camelot must come before all else… even you.

I loved you and I respected you.

Uther and Morgana. Just talking. Conversing over a meal as if nothing was between them. It was odd. When he caught sight of Guinevere pouring Morgana’s drink, it looked so utterly wrong to him, because for the last four years she had been dining by his side. But he had been a prince before, he had been able to disagree in his heart without ever making his sentiments known. And so with a final push at the defenses against his heart, he quietly steels himself and walks into the room, a genial smile on his face. 

“Ah, Arthur, I’m glad to see you could finally join us.” Uther glances at him in a warning-like fashion, but it’s all amusement. He manages to smoothly talk over some excuse as to why he was late and then Merlin comes in and gets him his food and whenever he can he slips into his memories and lets them speak for him, careful to adjust his responses when his guests, no, not guests, when his family members pose a different question. 

Twice, Merlin “accidentally” dropped something and when scrambling around on the floor to pick it up, Arthur could hear snatches of the old language. He was almost certain they were being aimed at him and had to summon up the last dregs of his energy in order to maintain his composure. It seemed so blatantly obvious in hindsight that it’s a wonder that Merlin used magic as often as he had without getting caught. Arthur didn’t know whether to congratulate Merlin on being subtle, which he really wasn’t, or start teaching the men under him a lesson in being perceptive.

With the dinner that had been just shy of being a disaster, at least from Arthur’s perspective, finally over, the now-prince trudged back to his room, exhausted and wishing to just collapse on his bed. He so desperately wanted to sleep that he almost locked the door so Merlin wouldn’t disturb him, but that would only make him more suspicious. And Arthur had seen Merlin when he was suspicious. 

Relentless bastard had free reign while Arthur tried in vain to get him to leave. In some strange mix of old and new, Arthur said everything he could to kindly get his manservant to leave . He would fix things, just not right now, and not in here. 

Finally, he was alone in his room, if not the vicinity, and he sighed as the events of the day came to him. Dead knights before their time, a father he could never please and a sister he never made up with dining together like old comrades, his friend trying to see if something is seriously wrong with him, and his past-future wife thinking he was touched in the head. 

Today was a warm up , he reasoned. He could do better tomorrow, he would. He spent the twilight on his bed without changing, building the stone walls around his heart and compartmentalizing his memories until he fell asleep so that the disaster of today never happened again.

Notes:

Tenses? Never heard of her.

Anyway, in all seriousness, I am blown away by the reception of Chapter One!! Y'all are the sweetest and I cannot thank you enough for the comments, the kudos, and even just the hits!! Not to be cliche, but they definitely fueled my re-read to make sure I put this one out just right.

That being said, this is a little more filler/exposition before we jump into the episodes and it may feel a little rushed, which is why I wanted to get it out of the way the first week so the actual story wouldn't get delayed.

Finally, I just want to let y'all know that, I know the tags are a little wacky, but Arthur/Gwen are the endgame. Absolutely no hate to Merthur, but that's just the direction I'm trying to take in this fic and breathe some life back into my ship that the writers threw out after season, like, 3. I'd just hate for you to get your hopes up and then nothing come of it. (They are definitely still soulmates!! Just, like, platonic and/or more familial soulmates.)

So... yeah! I'll be posting regularly in the nebulous-weekend Friday-to-Sunday time, you guys are the greatest, and I hope to see you then!!

Chapter 3: Exulansis

Summary:

Whelve (v.)
To bury something deep; to hide

Notes:

Warnings: References to Arthur's ~complicated~ relationship with Uther, and a not-so-indirect reference to the usages of pyres, but the latter is nothing worse than in the show. A lot of references to death and Arthur having complicated emotions about magic. I feel like this chapter is relatively tame, but beware of all that just in case and let me know if I ever need to bump up the rating! Again, I don't think this is the chapter for it, but who am I to say?

Also, in case you haven't read the tags or skim a lot, here's your language warning. Please consult the above tags for more information.

Enjoy!!

The next day was better. He knew what to expect and he conquered it like everything else he set his mind to. He worked at it, put all his energy and focus into it. The only, slight problem was that he had to put the same amount of energy into everything else he had to do. And so a week went by where he had to send Merlin away early just so that he could crash in total mental and physical exhaustion. Afterwards, it got more bearable and soon searching for memories and repressing certain emotions came with ease and close to second nature, as if he had been doing it all his life. In a way, one might say he had.

It wasn’t all bad, though. He took his own advice and basked in the days given to him. He strove to be on good terms with his knights as well as his people, the only servant or subject he subtly insulted was Merlin, usually for the banter. 

He smiled at Guinevere whenever he saw her and once he saw flowers by the road and couldn’t help but shyly gift them to her. She took them with an uncertain smile and a courteous platitude of thanks, but her gaze softened once or twice when she found his eyes the days after Arthur had snuck small flowers into her door. It was slower than a dead snail’s pace, but it was progress, and anything to get closer to the love of his life was worth it. Even if she decided she didn’t want to deal with him anymore. 

Morgana was trickier not to shy away from, but he managed to reignite, at least on his part, their camaraderie; she often threw controversial topics in his face and while before he may have floundered or said something his father had said in response, this time he answered truthfully, as well as hearing out her side and taking it under consideration. She appeared greatly confused by this change and Arthur could only cross his fingers and hope it resulted in the outcome he wished it would.

He was able to reach a happy medium of bite and play while battling wits with Merlin, which seemed to throw him off a bit. Merlin kept asking him odd questions, probably to trip him up and reveal some evil, magical plan that some creature had concocted and was attempting to put into effect while controlling the prince’s body. But he never tripped, knew when to answer casually and when to look at him oddly and ask if he was touched in the head and then tell him to go polish his armor or something. Occasionally, Merlin would mutter something under his breath —Arthur would bet the entire royal treasury it was a spell— and then a look of confusion or frustration would cross his face briefly before he went about his work. Once, Arthur had to keep a straight face while eating his stew that he was certain had been tampered with, if Merlin’s hopeful face was anything to go off. This had once been his favorite stew, but his taste buds had changed in the ten years and he had avoided it like the plague. Obviously, Merlin had noticed. 

It was by far the worst stew he had ever eaten, and if he suddenly had to go on a hunt the next day with Merlin grumbling behind him, no one remarked on it. 

His father was the hardest to gauge. The words of his ghost still echoed in his ears, battling with the words of his living self and it was then that he loathed how little sway he had as prince. Many a time he had to bite his tongue and swallow back the grievances he had with his father’s rulings that he had not dared speak against the first time around. His eyes blazed after such court proceedings and he would stalk to the training yard in silence and unleash all his rage on whatever person or dummy had the misfortune of getting in his way. But there were also the quiet dinners where they would talk and laugh and he could almost convince himself that the words ringing in his ears were the lies. 

It was so much harder for Arthur to convince himself that he had nothing to prove to his father when Uther was still very much alive and right in front of his eyes.

But he laughed for his knights, remained stubborn for young Merlin, kept any interactions with Guinevere secret for her sake, battled well-constructed arguments with equally thought-out ideology against Morgana, all while he played the part of Uther’s ideal prince for the sake of the people. 

When he was king, things would be different. 

Such a simple mantra, with so many nuances and meanings. He crosses his arms as he broods out the window at the prepared pyre and can only wish that that time will come just a bit faster, please. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“I don’t get it!” Merlin groans, shutting the door firmly and throwing up his hands as he walks by Gaius to collapse in a chair. “I’ve tried everything!”

Gaius looks at him over his glasses before he sighs and takes them off to give Merlin his full attention. “It’s been some time, Merlin. Perhaps the prince simply isn’t enchanted.”

“But it happened overnight! You can’t just be a prat one day and then stop the next, it just doesn’t work like that,” he scoffs, leaning back and trying not to seem as if he was pouting. Which he wasn’t, he just didn’t want Gaius to think he was, either. 

“Well, what else do you suggest? We’ve exhausted all of our spells, every tonic and poultice, you’ve scoured his room twice at least and there has been no sign of harm or malintent. Keep an eye on him if you wish, but I do not believe Arthur has been enchanted. Perhaps he had a dream or some encounter that night that caused him to change his views.” 

Merlin sighs and nods. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re probably right. There’s something off about him…” He gets this faraway look in his eye and his voice turns almost softer. “But it still feels like it’s Arthur. It’s as if he’s… aged somehow. I can see it in his eyes, they’re so much… older. So much sadder. I can’t explain it.” 

“Believe it or not, the prince has seen much in his time. Maybe it’s finally caught up with him. Now, come eat before we’re both put off our appetites.” 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Merlin answers the door, already babbling an excuse as Arthur answers back automatically. Then the door opens enough. And there’s a purple flower in his scarf and dread pools in Arthur’s stomach as memories of the coming days flood his mind. His father had asked him to summon Gaius, but he hadn’t realized…

“Oh, er… Gwen gave it to me,” Merlin explains, smiling fondly at the little plant, completely oblivious to the way Arthur’s blood pounded in his ears. 

He can’t speak for a moment as he desperately tries to both wet his mouth and search through his memories for a way to change the upcoming events. Merlin’s smile fades—

Get back on track, what are you here for?

and morphs into confusion—

Say something, anything!

and just as his eyes darken with suspicion once more—

“Tell Gaius my father wants to see him now.” Utterly mortified by his slow response time, he turns on his heel and walks to the throne room as fast as he can without seeming like he’s in a hurry. God help him if he made Merlin suspicious again.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Gaius is quick to answer his summons and Merlin trails behind him, peeking over his shoulder like a child would around their parent’s leg at something new and exciting. Arthur drifts away from the conversation as he frantically searches his mind for a way around the situation. Two people were already dead and he didn’t want any more to perish, but how could he tell them to stop drinking the water with no proof? 

But if he doesn’t, then more will die and Tom will get sick and then Guinevere will get taken away, oh Lord, by him. It almost makes him sick to his stomach. They found a poultice before. Maybe he could throw it away before anyone finds it? No, no, he didn’t find it the first time. But what if he did this time? No, the space was too small to do anything privately, he would surely get caught. And he couldn’t be caught neglecting his duties, so how was he supposed to—

He’s jerked violently out of his thoughts when his father leads him away from the others. 

“We must find who did this.”

“I will, Father,” he responds automatically, already so deeply entrenched in his memories. 

“Conduct door to door searches. Increase your presence in the town. Double the guards on all the gates. And lend the physician your servant.” 

He started and was unable to cover the alarm in his voice as he fumbled for an excuse so that Merlin wouldn’t have time to make a mess of things. “Merlin? But—“

“We need Gaius to find a cure. He needs all the help we can give him. If Gaius is right, believe me, this city will be wiped out. This is the kind of magic that undermines our authority, challenges all we’ve done.” Unbidden memories of screams on a pyre and the sword by his side flow through his mind and he clenches his hand into a fist at his side in an effort to gain control. “If we cannot control this plague, people will turn to magic for a cure. We have to find this sorcerer, and quickly.”

“Yes, Father,” he bit out. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He conducts the search himself, just like he always does. This time, however, he notices the mysterious book in Merlin’s room almost right away. He has fun messing with him, but doesn’t rat him out and apologizes to Gaius for the interruption before leaving to continue the useless hunt. 

It’s barely started and already around fifty people have died. He needs to stop it, he knows he can, but he needs Merlin to find out because hindsight is perfect and he sighs whenever he remembers the wind that blew in at just the right time. 

“Because that’s where most of the victims are.”

Oh. This is when his blood truly boils. Because the two kings in him war with each other; the one that can see the strategic advantage in such a move when fighting plague and the one screaming at him to protect his people at all cost. But he knows, he knows they can’t save them all and if this is the best way, then he would probably do it as well if he didn’t know the cause from past experience. 

And so he finishes the conversation, bows with his tongue behind his teeth, and leaves to try and figure out a way to get to the cavern. 

The next day he’s this close to screaming when word reaches him that Guinevere’s father has magically recovered from a fatal illness. He’s glad that Merlin is with Gaius because he’s sure he would wring his neck if they were in the same room. 

“And I can’t stand by and watch our people die.” 

As if it’s any easier for Arthur. He swallows back a retort and leaves with a stiff nod. Maybe this was the break he needed to get down to that fucking waterhole. 

But then Leon asks, innocently, whether or not they’ll be questioning Tom? And suddenly Arthur gets the urge that his death count may be higher than the plague’s. 

He’s grinding his teeth so hard as they walk towards Morgana’s chambers to arrest yet another innocent person that he’s mildly surprised that he hasn’t chipped one yet. 

“Guinevere, I am arresting you,” he hisses, so much guilt in his stomach, even with the memories that it’s not for long, it’s merely a temporary thing. 

“What are you doing!?” Morgana demands, tearing her eyes away from Guinevere to glare accusingly at him. His heart squeezes with memories from a different time, a different place but with that same look on her face. 

“I found a magic poultice in her house.” He can’t stop the regret from leaking into his voice. 

“That's ridiculous!” She seethes and Arthur agrees with her. 

“What can I do?” He skips any attempt at an excuse and at this point is voicing his frustrations in the only way he can. “I can’t turn a blind eye!” Oh, how he had tried. Damn his father, damn Merlin, and damn the knights. 

“She’s innocent!” She protests, but he can see the grudging understanding in her eyes. 

“I know,” he whispers miserably as he storms out of the room after the guard, his heart breaking in front of him. 

Listening to Gwen plead to her innocence is pure torture, especially when he’s the one leading her away. He wants to curl into a ball and cover his ears. He wants to punch the guards dragging her, wants to push her to freedom and go down and deal with the Afanc alone, but he can’t, not if he wants to go about this the right way. 

“Merlin!” Fuck. It takes everything in him to not turn around and deck him for not thinking of the consequences in the first place. 

Part of him whispers that Tom is only going to die later, anyway, that Merlin was merely preventing the inevitable. The rest of him screams not if I can help it. 

Well done. He hates those words. How dare his father say that, when all he’s caused is misery to the innocent. Everything in him screams at how wrong this is. 

“She’s right, Father,” he says, knowing full well this leads to nowhere and also knowing he would be letting Morgana down if he doesn’t speak up now, “You hear the word magic and you no longer listen.”

“You saw it yourself, she used enchantments.” Lie. 

“Yes, maybe. But to save her dying father. That doesn’t make her guilty of creating a plague. One’s the act of kindness, of love—” That was Guinevere, the woman he had married and loved, loves, smart and caring and just as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside “—the other of evil. I don’t believe evil is in this girl’s heart.” 

“I have witnessed what witchcraft can do. I have suffered at its hand.” Arthur’s hand twitches and his side twinges in tandem as his breathing shorts for a moment. Not now, he prays silently, not now. “I cannot take that chance. If there is the slightest doubt about this girl, she must die or the whole kingdom may perish.”

“I understand that.” And he did. He had been king, he knew the risks, knew what had to be done for the good of the kingdom. He knew that you could cut down every stalk that looked like a weed in an effort to save the garden, but half the time you were cutting buds that would have turned into the most beautiful flowers, and his father just could not see that. 

“One day you will be king. Then you will understand that such decisions must be made. There are dark forces that threaten this kingdom.”

But when he had ruled, he had made actual inquiries with actual proof to use in a real trial. But he couldn’t say that now; he wasn’t even crown prince. He had to play the long game, and for that, he had to manipulate his words to bring about the desired outcome. 

“I know witchcraft is an evil, Father. So is injustice. Yes, I am to be king and I don’t know what kind of king I will be, but I do have a sense of the kind of Camelot I would wish to live in.” This time, he lets the words hang in the air without further damning Gwen. 

Uther fixes him with a hard stare, and Arthur matches it with equal force. He had been a young king amongst great nations; he was used to having to prove his mettle to gain respect. He doubts he would have been able to hold out for so long otherwise. 

“She has been caught using magic. She will die,” he says finally and Morgana storms out of the room with tears in her eyes after the king leaves. 

He needs to get to the Afanc, and he needs Merlin to do that, and he can’t face Guinevere when he’s the one that put her there. He needs to stop the disease from spreading and he doesn’t have time to go console Morgana and he needs to stop Merlin from doing stupid shit like… like… fuck, he had forgotten about—

“It was me! It was me who used magic to cure Gwen’s father,” Merlin pants after bursting into the room, “Gwen is not the sorcerer, I am!”

Ah. So he had gotten the “idiot” part right about Merlin. That was comforting to know. 

“He’s in love. With Gwen.”

“No, I’m not!” Shut up, Merlin, Arthur begs with every fiber of his being, please, for the love of God, shut the hell up. 

“I saw you yesterday with that flower she’d given you.”

“I’m not in love with her,” he rushes, scoffing nervously, but Arthur has murder in his eyes as he slings an arm over the boy’s shoulders. 

“It’s all right, you can admit it.” He squeezes the boy’s shoulders, hard, to get it through his thick head. 

“I don’t even think of her like that!” Not hard enough, it seemed. He’s actually going to kill this fucking idiot when all is said and done. 

“Perhaps she cast a spell on you,” his father says and Arthur’s heart freezes as he rushes to find a way to free Merlin and Guinevere. But then Uther laughs and Arthur is so light-headed with relief that the next words he pulls from memory are fuzzy and muddled to his own ears. Luckily, everyone else seems to hear it perfectly and agrees wholeheartedly. 

Merlin skulks out and Arthur breathes deeply, making a mental note to give him extra work for being an idiot and to go down to the waterhole as soon as the meeting ends. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

The meeting went on far longer than he remembers, and then the guards tell him that they’re ready to continue searching and he knows he’ll be screaming a lot tonight if he lives to see the end of the day. 

In spite of all this, after the search he still manages to have his chainmail under his coat and sword unsheathed when Morgana nearly runs into him at the door. 

“Where are you going?”

This has been such a stressful two days and Arthur cannot wait any longer, especially with frivolous conversation, no matter how much he enjoys battling wits with Morgana. 

“To kill an Afanc, are you coming or not?” He steps past her and doesn’t bother to check if she’s following as he walks to the waterhole because, damn it, appearances are still important for the people and they are definitely as stressed as him, if not more so. 

Merlin looks pleased, but they aren’t thirty feet inside the cavern when they already hear it growling. Arthur’s jumping at every shadow and his paranoia is at an all time high. His heartbeat quickens and he has to physically restrain himself from jumping whenever he catches sight of Morgana. Still, somehow they manage to find it and he’s trying not to stammer out the answers that he knows are vital for Merlin. 

They run in circles before it finally shows itself and Arthur raises his sword, fully aware it may cause the monster no damage whatsoever. 

But then it’s cornering Morgana and she looks so scared and the years they had been friends far outweighs the years they had been enemies and he only thinks twice before jabbing his torch into its face and drawing its attention to him. 

“Arthur, use the torch!” Merlin shouts and just as Arthur raises it, a strong wind blows through and destroys the creature in a whirlwind of fire and ash and screams that mirror his dreams.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Morgana and Merlin rush to the dungeons with Tom to free Guinevere, and Arthur follows them unthinkingly. He freezes, however, when the guard unlocks the door and they all run in, hugging and chatting, and Arthur is struck by the realization that Gwen probably won’t want to see him. Why would she? After all, he was the one to arrest her and he never visited once to apologize, even if it was because he was running around trying to fix things.

The smile on his face fades, but he can’t fully erase it as he catches the look of absolute joy on Guinevere as she hugs her father and Morgana presents Merlin as the hero. She turns, and for a moment he fears he’s been caught, but her smile doesn’t fade so surely that means she hasn’t noticed? Arthur runs up the stairs anyway and feels decidedly childish at the realization that he’s running away from his wife in the hopes that he won’t be caught. 

But if even one more person has survived this from last time, then it’ll have been worth it. 

He manages to get out of his chainmail and deal with his sword before collapsing on the bed, the stresses of the last two days catching up to him, and he thinks miserably that if this was how the first encounter was to be like, even with all of his future knowledge…

He’s passed out, right hand twitching occasionally, when Merlin comes in to perform his evening tasks. 

Notes:

Okay, I'll be real, I almost posted this chapter in the middle of the week. If I didn't want to make sure I had enough time to write Season 2 and maybe get into Season 3, then y'all would be getting updates every other day. You guys are so sweet and I loved seeing all your comments and kudos!! All my love to the people with the courage to comment, the generosity to send kudos, and the kindness to just stop by. <3

This is where we finally, officially enter Season 1! As you can see, I'm playing a little fast-and-loose with the episodes and some will definitely be getting more screen-time then others. If there are any technical errors (why does Arthur know the name of said creature? Why does this character do this when they definitely did something different in the episode?) then please let me know in the comments! Either I messed it up, didn't complete my research, or it was for a very purposeful purpose. If the structure of my episodic chapters make sense, let me know!! It would be very appreciated! :D

As always, this is diligently self-edited, but if there's any blatant typos or sentences that literally only make sense to me, let me know and I'll see what I can do about it!!

Thanks again for being the best readers and I'll see you this time next week!

Chapter 4: Nemesism

Summary:

Exulansis (n.)
the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because others are unable to relate to it

Notes:

Warnings: Mentions of drinking, very small inaccurate depiction of drinking (I enforce my right to *handwave things* as an author, thank you), more of Arthur's ~complicated~ relationship with his father, brief mention of spiders, very brief mentions of death/war (that don't include Arthur wanting to kill Merlin for friendship reasons). Again, not much different than the show, but just in case! If I missed anything, please let me know, but otherwise: Enjoy!!

He ends up avoiding Guinevere for a full week, refilling the vase in Morgana’s room that Gwen tends to with new flowers every day during that time. He is thoroughly ashamed of himself for throwing her into the dungeons and it takes four days into his self-imposed isolation before it dawns on him that even though he has all the memories and experience of a thirty-year-old, he currently has the emotional and mental stability of a twenty-year-old. This exasperates him so much that he ends up accidentally finishing training in half the time that day.

For the next three days he has to mentally draft an apology to Guinevere for being an idiot and begging forgiveness, but he can’t practice out loud or else Merlin, the ever present fungus that is his best, and, at the moment, only friend, will become suspicious. Again. 

Finally, he manages to find Guinevere on the day that Gaius pulls out Merlin to go hunt for herbs. 

“Sire!” She sounds surprised, but she doesn’t look angry, so that’s a good start. “Can I do something for you?”

“Guinevere, I…” Why is this so hard? He swallows past the lump in his throat and pushes through. “I wanted to apologize to you for my behavior. You were unjustly arrested and any oversight on your character can be blamed on me alone. I’m sorry for the hardship you had to endure and I beg your forgiveness.”

Now she looks surprised and damn if that doesn’t hurt, even if just a little bit. She’s studying him and remains silent for some time. Every second she doesn’t respond, his shame is compounded and he can’t help but fiddle with his coat in absence of his sword. He really should start wearing his sword all the time, you never knew when—

“My lord—”

“Call me Arthur? Please?” 

“Alright.” This throws her off slightly, but she’s still smiling slightly as she continues. It was unusual, he knew, but he also couldn’t take hearing such formalities from Guinevere. “Arthur, is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Of course I forgive you; you were doing your job. Besides, I think the flowers were more than enough compensation.”

He winces at that and she laughs lightly. “Too much?”

“Just enough,” she assures him and pats his arm. Her smile is still on her face and he’s torn between wanting to kiss her and wanting to watch it like one would admire the sunset. But he forces himself to nod and back up. 

“Good. That’s good. Um. Thank you. Have a good day.” With that terrible goodbye, Arthur is grown enough to admit that he fled the conversation. Internally, Arthur berates himself for not even being able to talk with his own wife. But she isn’t your wife, Arthur whispers to himself. The reminder just makes him more morose. 

Later at dinner, it’s clear that Guinevere told Morgana because she backs him up instead of taking Uther’s side this time. And the banter between him and Merlin is more bark than bite the next day, so it’s likely that Merlin also found out, which was the opposite of what he wanted, but at least he wasn’t teasing Arthur over it. Yet. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Bayard of Mercia was coming. Bayard was coming and Arthur was trying and failing not to panic. This time, the problem wasn’t even how Merlin found out about the poison in the first place, it was that the cup was actually poisoned. There were a million ways he could talk Merlin out of any real punishment, if Merlin had been lying. But no, he wouldn’t be, and someone might die as a result. 

He contemplated simply chugging the drink anyway, but then remembered that Merlin would have to be the one to see him potentially die and deal with the sorceress, and greatest sorcerer to walk the earth or not, he wasn’t putting Merlin through that sort of torture, especially when he was so young. 

Arthur also thought of keeping Merlin so busy during the feast that he would never find out about the poison. Then Arthur could spill the drink accidentally or merely pretend to drink it and no one would be the wiser for it. 

Then he was pulled in every direction to prepare for the signing of the treaty and the highlight of the day ended up being buying the most outrageous hat he could find in the market and convincing Merlin that it was actually part of the uniform. He showed it to Morgana beforehand and tears formed in her eyes as she struggled not to laugh so as not to give anything away. Bless Morgana and her willingness to join in on his pranks. 

By the time the actual feast came around, his frazzled mind had only time to decide on keeping Merlin busy. He called for Merlin so many times before the signing that when he had to actually stand up with the goblet, his vision went black as blood pounded in his ears. Luckily, it faded away as his hearing came back and it was time to fake drinking it. 

“Stop! It has poison in it!” He missed it? How had he missed Merlin leaving? He looked on incredulously as Merlin grabbed the goblet from his hand. Arthur looked on in a state of half-drunken shock. 

“Merlin, what are you doing?” he shouts as Uther looks ready to strangle Merlin for such accusations. So many people had already died in this war, he would be mad even if this wasn’t all a ploy to get Merlin to drink the bloody poison. 

If looks could kill, Merlin wouldn’t have to worry about the poison after he opened his big mouth. Why couldn’t he just leave things alone? Now everyone had their swords out; this was getting ridiculous. That or it was all the wine he had consumed, at this point he wasn’t all that certain. 

“I’ll handle this,” Arthur tells his father as the memory takes over. “Merlin, you idiot, we’ve been at the sloe gin again?”

But, just like last time, no one will believe him and Merlin continues to dig himself into a hole. 

No. 

“Merlin, apologize!”

No.

“This is a mistake!”

No.

“I’ll drink it!”

No.

“No no no, no. It’s alright.” 

No.

And then he jumps into the hole. 

No. 

And lays down in the hole. 

“There’s something stuck on the inside…” Gaius muses when Merlin’s on the physician’s bed. Guinevere and Arthur exchange a concerned look before Arthur goes over to examine the petal he knows Gaius will find. 

His mind is going a mile a minute as Gaius turns through the pages, already mentally packing and debating how to leave the castle best without anyone noticing. He’s anxious to leave, but waits for Gaius to finish reading from the book. 

“Sounds like fun,” Arthur responds in a clipped tone right as Gaius looks up. He’s almost to the door when Gaius calls out to him.

“Arthur, it’s too dangerous.”

“Merlin will die if he doesn’t get the antidote, won't he?” He’s already wasted enough time, he needs to go. But he waits as Gaius hesitates before deflating slightly as he looks over at his ward. 

“You have four days, five tops.” 

Arthur shoots an almost exasperated, I-told-you-so look at Gaius before running out to change into his chainmail. He avoids Uther like the plague, but his words still ring in his ears as the memories come to the forefront.

This boy won’t be the last to die on your behalf.

It stings, now, and he swallows down faces and screams and heads held high in the face of death as he packs his bag. 

It’s something you’ll have to get used to.

He never did.

He rushes past Morgana and she turns around to follow him. He doesn’t slow down and she doesn’t ask him to.

“Morgana,” he greets, “I hope you’re feeling alright after all the excitement?”

“More disappointed that I didn’t get to club a couple of them round the head with a ladle. Where are you off to?”

“To find an antidote.”

“Uther allowed it?” she says in shock.

“...I didn’t ask, and I would prefer it if you didn’t tell.”

“I never even saw you leave,” she promises with a proud grin and waves at him as he goes on.

He’s through the gates before any of the guards even spot him. In the back of his mind, he resolved to train them harder when he returns to rectify this mistake.

He hears a woman crying and curses silently when he realizes he’d been going the same way. He stalls and maps out how far he’ll have to go around to get back on track. He briefly entertains the idea of getting on his horse and galloping right past her, but then the lizard creature roars its way over the hill and he takes out his sword with a sigh. 

He ends up killing it like he did the first time, but he doesn’t stay to talk with the witch and loops around to grab his horse. She’s still crying and Arthur feigns deafness, looking around everywhere but at her as he walks the horse to the cave. She calls out and he still doesn’t turn around, just heads deeper into the cave just like she showed him a lifetime ago. 

He hears footsteps behind him and it triggers his adrenaline. He breaks into a sprint and doesn’t slow when the rock thins. He unsheathes his sword and jumps lightly over to the crevice just wide enough for him. The sound of faint screeching comes from above him and Arthur presses his lips into a thin line as he looks up at the spiders between him and the flower. He climbs as high as he can before there is too little distance between him and the spiders. He unsheathes his sword, gripping it tightly and swings. The spider, split in half, tumbles off the wall, shrieking into the abyss below. This only angers the others and he dispatches another two, gripped precariously against the cliff, before a mysterious light sends them scurrying away for the moment.

Arthur sheaths his sword with one hand and spares a glance to see what’s happened. A ball of light floats above him and in hindsight, he realizes that it must be Merlin; Arthur hadn’t had much luck with magic from anyone else. Logically, he knew that Merlin must still be alive, but it was comforting all the same. It gives him enough strength to grin and continue climbing.

Below him, he hears the footsteps stop and the woman starts to weave a spell. He climbs faster as he senses the spiders begin to close in. It’s still a struggle to reach the flowers, but he does it anyway and the woman huffs in frustration before incanting once more. This time, rocks begin to fall, only small ones though, knocking spiders and destabilizing him in equal turn. One rock as large as his head narrowly misses him as her words come back to him.

It’s not your destiny to die by my hand.

“It is not my destiny to die by your hand,” Arthur calls back to the woman. It was a desperate attempt, but the rocks do pause for a moment. 

“You know me, Arthur Pendragon?” Her words are cautious and he takes the moment to catch his breath, eyeing the blasted flowers in his hand. 

“I know enough.” 

“Then you know nothing!” she screams and the rocks fall faster now. 

Arthur sighs as he clutches at the rock face for dear life while the rocks sail over, scratching at his armor. Flowers still secure, he manages to crawl out, but not without a parting shot from the woman.

“Ask your father about Nimueh! See how much you know then!”

The name almost knocks him back. Nimueh? How did she–? What did she–? Arthur shakes his head and gets onto his horse. One thing at a time, he grumbles to himself. Merlin first. He forces his horse forward and rides harder than before. 

Just as he suspected, guards are there for his arrest, but when he doesn’t slow down, they have to jump to get out of the way. He keeps going till he gets to the courtyard steps and then he leaps off, checks for the flower, and sprints to Gaius’s chambers. 

He’s running on no sleep and has been riding hard nearly nonstop all day with a pounding headache. But when he hears the guard shouting behind him, he picks up his pace and runs into Gaius’s chambers and slams himself against the door, gasping for breath. Still, he pushes himself off to drop the flower into Gaius’s surprised hand while the guards burst in and manhandle him out. 

“Sire,” he vaguely hears Sir Berenger, one of his more veteran knights that has been training with him since he was a boy, say in an amused tone, “With all due respect, you seem to get thrown into the dungeon more than the town drunk.”

He laughs tiredly as he gets thrown into his cell. He got the flower to Gaius; Merlin would live. Arthur could be in here for a month and he wouldn’t mind. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Why did you leave!?” Uther barks as he storms into the dungeon, waking Arthur up from his nap. 

“To save the life of a boy who had saved mine,” he snaps back irritably. He had had this conversation too many times for it to affect him. 

“You could have gotten yourself killed! You didn’t even ask for my permission!”

“Because I knew this would be your reaction! Better to ask for forgiveness when the life has been saved than to wait around for permission and let my people die,” Arthur argues before taking a breath to calm himself. “Keep me in here for a week, a month, I don’t care. What’s done is done.” 

Uther raised an eyebrow as his lips pressed into a thin line. “What’s done is done.” Then he turned on his heel and left, allowing Arthur to sink back into the sweet embrace of sleep. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“All right. Start bragging,” Morgana said on top of the wall beside him, an amused grin on her face as he looked out at the Mercian peoples streaming out of Camelot until they faded into a line of blue, “How’d you manage it?”

“With help,” he replied simply, then elaborated upon seeing her confusion, “Someone knew I was in trouble and sent a light to guide the way.”

“Who?”

He smiled faintly, but a weight settled on his chest as he realized just how much he never got to thank Merlin for. How much he would have to make up for. 

“Whoever it was, I’m only here because of them.” In more ways than one, it seemed. 

“I’m glad you’re back.” He smiled more genuinely at this and lightly placed his hand on hers before she left. He savored these moments, in case he couldn’t change anything. 

“Arthur,” Uther calls from the other end of the wall. He glances over as his father walks over to him. 

“You did the right thing, even though you were disobeying me.” He put a hand on Arthur’s arm and a warm glow spread throughout his body. “I’m proud of you, Arthur. Never forget that.”

He managed a weak smile before they turned away. His emotions roiled within him. Two sides of his father whispered in his ear. One expressed similar sentiments to what had just been conveyed. The other reminded him of the ghost he had summoned, of the arguments they had and would continue to have. What did Nimueh have to do with it?  

It killed him to know that Uther would hate the kingdom he would come to build.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Still alive then?” Arthur inquired, enjoying the way Merlin swiveled around while still wrapped up like an infant and seeing the grin spread across his face.

“Oh, yeah, just about.” He nodded before turning serious. “I understand I have you to thank for that.”

“Yeah, well, it was nothing. A half-decent servant is hard to come by,” he jokes, knowing deep in his heart Merlin was anything but and that he had done this for him more times than Arthur knew. But even if he hadn’t, Arthur knew he still would have done this for him. “I only came by to see you were alright. Check to make sure you would be back for work tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Bright and early.” Arthur scoffed and rolled his eyes fondly before making his way to the door, nodding to Gaius as he passed.

“Arthur?” Came Merlin’s voice, still weak from nearly dying the other day. He turned around, giving him his full attention when he caught the look on the boy’s face. “Thank you.”

“You, too,” he replied, and hoped that somehow Merlin would know to what extent. “Get some rest.”

He walked out, feeling slightly better about himself. Maybe he would be able to change things. Maybe.

Notes:

You could say that my relationship with tenses have been a bit... tense. :D (I have better puns, I swear.)

As always, this is so self-edited it's not even funny, but if there is anything glaringly incorrect please let me know and if it wasn't an artistic choice then I'll be sure to fix it!! The same goes for any technical decisions (that didn't happen in the episode, why does Arthur/Person #3 know/not know?, etc.) that I may or may not have gotten wrong! If you don't understand/think I got it wrong, let me know in the comments and I'll happily fix it/explain/do more research!

With that out of the way, thank you SO much to everyone who's been sticking around!! This one was a shorter chapter like the first two, but I promise you'll be getting some longer-ish chapters in the future!! Be prepared for "long chapters" surrounding "short" chapters (only about a 500-1000 word difference, but still!)! The next chapter is especially interesting as we introduce the first of the knights and yet ANOTHER person Arthur has conflicting feelings over!! :D

Once again, shout out to all my people in the comments, high fives to my people giving kudos, and sending good vibes to those quietly stalking this (I love y'all, too)!! I'm trying my best on fleshing everyone out so let me know if I need to put in more interactions/change some characteristics/explain myself in the comments (be careful tho, I am prone to ranting. <3).

Other than all that (saying not a whole lot in too many words), I hope you're enjoying it so far and I'll see y'all this time next week!!

Chapter 5: Eccedentesiast

Summary:

Nemesism (n.)
Frustration, anger, or aggression directed inward, towards oneself and one’s way of living

Notes:

Warnings: Arthur panics internally throughout this, but he's been doing that ever since he got here. I may or may not have implied some child abuse, but it's a very quick line and I didn't realize the implications of said line until just now. There are a few more flashbacks, an insinuation of Arthur having a suicidal thought (it's a canon line that I side-eye in the chapter). Just a dash of Arthur and Uther's ~complicated~ relationship. But in more seriousness, there is a scene with implied sexual assault, or at the very least dubious consent, as well as a reference to perverted men. It's nothing explicit and nothing happens in the chapter, but do be aware of that and if you need to skip that then skim over Gwen's scene. If you'd like, please let me know and I'll tell you what exact paragraph you can skip, but it's nothing graphic; I just want y'all to stay safe. <3 If I missed anything, please let me know and I'll put it up here pronto! Enjoy!!

He woke up with a pit in his stomach in an empty bed before remembering that at this particular juncture in time, it had always been empty. Merlin chattered as he went about the room, mentioning how he was going to pick mushrooms for Gaius later, but Arthur laid there while hundreds of memories filled his mind. Not just for the next few days, but for a whole year spent together along with several miscellaneous adventures. 

Lancelot was coming. And it scared Arthur more than he was willing to admit. 

The first time he met Lancelot, he was a noble man, in the truest sense of the word. Arthur would have fought his father tooth and claw to allow him to become a knight. 

The second time, his feelings were a little mixed, because, yes, he was helping Guinevere escape… but he also loved Guinevere. The worst part was Arthur couldn’t even hate Lancelot, because he was as kind and just as their first encounter. Arthur was still a prince; he couldn’t ask Guinevere to wait around for him if she had fallen for another in the interim. 

And then Lancelot became one of his knights. And they spent a whole year getting to know one another, becoming friends, becoming brothers. How could Arthur hate him?

So where did Arthur go wrong? 

He never asked Lancelot to sacrifice himself in his stead, he never wanted him to leave Camelot for months on end with a tribe of strangers. And Arthur had been so excited to find out he was alive and well.

So what did he do for Lancelot to betray him like that? To plunge a sword into his heart that seemed even deeper than Mordred’s blade? 

And how was he going to handle Lancelot, young, naive Lancelot, who hadn’t done anything to Arthur, good or bad, who had yet to even talk with Guinevere, let alone cheat with her? Him and Guinevere had put the past far behind them, but now it was his future and he only wanted Gwen to be happy, but what if that was truly with Lancelot and not him?

But could he blame this Lancelot for that? Could he truly?

He had just nodded to start the hourglass when he saw Merlin grinning from the sidelines, Lancelot beside him, eyes wide in awe and face shining in wonder. And with that, a piece of his heart broke as he realized that he would do anything for Lancelot. For Lancelot and Guinevere. He wasn’t Guinevere’s fiancé, he wasn’t even courting her. If they fell in love, then so be it. 

Grummond, second son of Wessex, fell to him in under two blows this time. 

“He is a nobleman!” Merlin blurts out in the lower town. 

“Is he?” Arthur raises an eyebrow. He knows it’s a lie, but for the sake of Lancelot, he plays along.

“Absolutely.” This time around, it’s so much easier to spot when Merlin is lying between his teeth. Or maybe it’s because he knows the lies are coming. Lord, Arthur can hardly remember a time when people weren’t constantly lying to him. Had he truly been so naive as to think that because he was the Crown Prince, because he was King, his friends would tell him the truth, even when it was hard? 

Arthur mentally rolls his eyes at what he desperately hopes is Merlin’s terrible lying and not his own obliviousness and rattles off the instructions Arthur gave him from the memories before walking off. 

“Thanks, Arthur! You won’t regret it!” Merlin calls from behind him.

Oh, Merlin, he thinks miserably, you have no idea how much I hope you’re right.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He spotted Lancelot the moment he walked onto the field, twitching in his chainmail while Gwen walked behind him, positively glowing and so beautiful it nearly took his breath away, and Merlin whispered to the future Knight as they stood at the edge. 

You taught me the values of being a Knight. 

Arise, Sir Lancelot, Knight of Camelot.

His courage. His compassion. His unselfish heart. 

But I must prove it to myself. 

“Alright, that’s enough for today!” He called out to his knights. He nearly forgets how young they all are. 

He puts away his sword and looks up when Lancelot nervously fidgets near the rack, trying not to freeze as the memories flash through his mind's eye. Despite his best efforts, some frostiness enters his voice when he addresses him. “Yes?”

“Lancelot, fifth son of Lord Eldred of Northumbria.”

He pushes down any negative emotion he might feel for Lancelot, determined to start with a blank slate, and continues the conversation. 

“Ah, Lancelot, my servant mentioned you. Got your seal?”

The little bow he does is cute and Arthur suppresses a grin for this next part. A swift smack in the back of the head sends him stumbling and Arthur is thrown back to his early days; constantly hit around until he had the proper reflexes. A few of the veterans weren’t very fond of him, now that he thinks about it, too bitter about Arthur automatically leading the knights when he came of age simply because of his birth. 

“Sluggish reflexes. You’d be dead on the battlefield by now.” His tongue goes numb and his side twinges. He blinks rapidly and wets his mouth in an effort to control himself and turns swiftly. He needs to get far away from this conversation. “Come back when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now, Sire.” There’s that fire Arthur remembers. So bright, so fleeting. 

“You are, are you? Go start by cleaning out the stables.” He tries, he really does, but there’s a small part of him that revels in the comeback while the rest of Arthur is telling him to move. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Gwen, for the life of her, couldn’t understand him. Arthur Pendragon woke up one day, smiled at her, and then the flowers came. It was sweet of him really, and he looked so shy. But his behavior shifted so drastically from week to week. One week he was giving her flowers, the next he was arresting her for magic, and then she spotted him rushing down the stairs, seemingly overjoyed at her release. It made her head spin. 

Of course, Gwen had been in the royal service long enough to know the passing ways of nobles. Lin had only worked one year more than Gwen, but she was older and spoke low about it over the laundry. The whispers followed the nobles, coming and going in waves as the maidservants came and left with them. 

“We ladies have to stick together,” Saf whispered to her years ago –when Gwen was just coming into herself and suddenly found herself sticking much closer to Morgana– a smile on her face that was both warning and welcome, “Royalty or not.” 

Some part of her wondered if Arthur was different. Morgana had also marked his change, and no matter the part he played in her imprisonment, she couldn’t overlook the Prince risking his life to save Merlin. Except now it seemed he wouldn’t give Lancelot the time of day. Gwen balled up her skirts and frowned. 

Just how fickle was Prince Arthur? 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Is this some sort of joke? Am I a passing fancy to you? A maidservant to be wooed and dropped once you’ve had your fill?” Guinevere looked furious and confused and just a little disappointed. It knocked the wind out of his lungs because of course, of course she would think that, how could he be so stupid?

He was an arrogant prince who didn’t care about anyone but himself. He should have known that a sudden interest in his father’s ward’s maid would look suspicious and seem a mere playful fancy, a sick joke for high society. He shouldn’t love her; he doesn’t know her. Arthur should have been more careful, should have gone slowly.

But the problem was he did know her. He knew her and he loved her and they hadn’t gotten enough time before. But he should have known this would frighten her, should have known that she would need time, should have prepared if she didn’t feel the same way. And he was prepared for the latter, but he didn’t think it would be like this. 

Friends, he thought they could at least stay friends. He thought that she would get to know him and if more blossomed between them, then all the better for it, but if she was clear that nothing more would, then so be it. At least he could be with her. 

Or so he thought.

Because now she was standing in front of him, fists balled at her sides and jaw clenched as she leveled her worst glare at him. It made him want to shrivel and die and in that moment he thought he would. It certainly hurt him more than the real thing. 

He paused just a second too long trying to gather his words, because her glare faltered for a moment and her hands loosened just enough. Too much. Only to come up and wrap around herself, as if warding off a chill. Warding off him.

“I’m sorry. I never should have presumed– that is, I never should have spoken to y– to the Prince like–”

“No!” The last thing he wanted was for her to apologize for his actions. “No, no. I… I’m the one that should be sorry. I… apologize for my actions. I should have realized how it would have looked and I sincerely apologize for any grief I may have caused you.” 

His throat felt dry and his mouth tasted of ash; he stood up straight and found his gaze somewhere over her shoulder. This is what he used for diplomats. Not Guinevere. He hadn’t wanted it to go this way. But very well. 

“If that is what you wish, I’ll stop at once. I… I just want you to know–” because she had to, had to, had to know what he truly thought of her if they weren’t going to see each other anything more than professionally, and that alone got him to finally look at her, one last time “–that I believe you to be the kindest, wisest, fairest person I have ever met. You have a warm heart and a caring soul and it was an honor to have spent this time in your company.”

Arthur was halfway down the hallway, heart aching and eyes burning, when Guinevere called back. He dared not hope, especially when turning around revealed her utter confusion.

“Did you really mean all that?”

“Every word,” he replied, softly, truthfully. He would only ever be truthful to her, he promised. For better or for worse. She smiled hesitantly.

“Perhaps we can be friends then?” It was the happiest moment in his new life.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Lancelot is sharpening his sword when Arthur comes across him next. Visions of watching him do the same task, this time in full armor while the knights laugh and make jokes around him that echo in his ears. He grabs a nearby broom and throws it at the boy. 

“Nice reflexes,” he comments when Lancelot grabs it with barely a second glance.

“Do you need me to sweep out the guardhouse again, sire?”

“It certainly needs sweeping, but…” He tries to subtly take a deep breath to calm himself, but he’s getting jumpy and he needs to get this over with before he thinks he’s actually on the battlefield. “I want you to kill me first.”

“Sire?”

“Go on, don’t pretend you don’t want to. If I were you, I’d want to.” The words are repeated, but they mean so, so much more this time, even if Lancelot doesn’t realize it. 

The fight goes much as he remembers it and if he’s a little too aggressive in his comments than he was last time, a little too serious in his swings, no one notices. Of course not. How would they know the difference? 

Besides, the city is too busy dealing with an influx of survivors to worry. 

Arthur’s already in armor and pretending that he got a report from someone else by the time he has the new training drafted in his head. 

The look on Lancelot’s face when he hears of his upcoming examination softens the wall around his heart, just a bit.

Lancelot’s fight he brings forward to dawn. Lancelot fights well, but Arthur has a battlefield mindset and he doesn’t get in nearly as many hits as he did the first time. Arthur forces himself to slow down, he shouldn’t have this much experience right now anyway, and allows Lancelot to outsmart him once more. He doesn’t miss the way Guinevere grabs onto Merlin in alarm for Lancelot and his heart squeezes again as he forces the boy onto his knees. 

He has the sword at his heart and for one burning, fleeting second, gets the strongest urge to plunge it through his chest, to finally avenge the thought of how dare he force himself on Guinevere, to make him feel the agony Arthur felt when he heard the truth in the throne room. The agony when he learned of the death of one of his dearest friends. But he looks into Lancelot’s eyes, sees the fear and the confusion and still yet, the hope, and the feeling drains out of him as he leads him to his father to have him knighted. 

Arthur sees his father hand the faked seal to a servant and suddenly he feels so much older than all of his years combined. Still, his knights are pulling him towards the festivities and Leon is eying him oddly again, so he forces a smile and goes to pour Lancelot a drink. He hopes that Lancelot has more time as a knight this time. 

Arthur toasts Lancelot and sees him eye Guinevere the whole night. He purses his lips, but reminds himself that Guinevere is no longer his wife. She’s free, she’s free, she’s free. 

The next morning Lancelot is brought before Uther on his knees. Arthur races for an excuse in his mind. Maybe Lord Eldred hasn’t been keeping up? Maybe he was ashamed of his fifth son?

Like you will be ashamed of me, the back of his mind whispers. He slams that thought down and forces himself to think only of Lancelot right now. That’s who he’s here for today. Lancelot. 

But he has to wait for the room to be as empty as it can be before arguing with the king. 

“How can you trust a man who has lied to you?” Merlin is the first to flash through his mind. Then Mordred. And Morgana and his Uncle. Perhaps he was too trusting. Then the memory of Guinevere smiling at him, eyes full of love as they say their vows. 

Lancelot, he hisses. 

But he has no argument for Uther, for how can he hope to convey all of the emotions as he recalls why he married Guinevere anyway, why he will continue to trust Merlin with his life? Arthur himself can’t reason with it. 

Soon enough, however, the Griffin demands his attention, and his only worry is making sure there are no casualties, civilian or otherwise. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

How many suicidal missions has Uther sent him on, blinded by magic and unwilling to use water to face fire? He rides with his knights, certain he would rather lose a limb than any of these boys, these men he had grown up and fought with. A faint smirk plays at his lips as he remembers the change he made to his conversation with Lancelot. How he had apologized for not allowing him to ride with them in an hours’ time deep in the forest. 

He only hopes not all of Merlin’s friends are as idiotic as Merlin is. 

He pushes his brothers in all but blood deeper into the forest, hoping beyond hope that they’ll retreat with their lives, when he forgets to dodge a paw and everything goes black. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Then the code is wrong!” Finally, he is allowed to be angry. He knows Merlin went with Lancelot, knows that a Griffin must have been defeated with magic. But Lancelot came anyway, magic or no, and he deserves to be a knight, damn the code and damn Arthur’s feelings. 

“I’ve come to bid you farewell.” Why, why must Arthur surround himself with such noble idiots? “I’ve lied to you both and now there is conflict between you.”

Arthur nearly scoffs at that. As if Lancelot would be the start or the end of his arguments with Uther and the injustice and strife permeating Camelot. But Lancelot continues on with his apology and insists on him leaving. 

“But I must prove it to myself.” And bloody hell Arthur knows the feeling. He knows it all too well and while he was on the cusp of granting him a knighthood, damn the consequences, he knows it will mean nothing if Lancelot doesn’t think himself worthy of it. 

So he lets him go. 

And wonders if anything he does will ever produce a different future. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Morgana comes into his room sometime later. Her hair is loose and she’s wrapped in a simple shawl overtop her nightgown and he knows that both Guinevere and Merlin have finished for the night. He’s been gripping the chair since Merlin left, desperate to release the pent up rage that arguing with Uther didn’t release. But Morgana is here and he can’t go to the training grounds without seeming rude, which is the last thing he needs right now.

Morgana closes the door quietly and her footsteps don’t make a sound as she pads over to him, gently prying away one of his hands and holding it between her own. 

“What’s gotten into you, Arthur?” She says softly, the concern in her voice making him want to sob. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it again, having her in Camelot and hearing her talk to him without malice, without scorn or hatred. “This is the third time you’ve gone against Uther. You’re scared more–”

“I’m not scared,” he protests and it comes out like a petulant child still very much afraid of his own shadow. 

But it goes to show how serious she finds this when she doesn’t even try to tease him for it. 

“More paranoid, then,” she amends in time with him, “and you always flinch whenever you see me or Uther or even Lancelot today. And you’ve been staring at Guinevere for months, don’t even get me started on Lancelot’s party; you couldn’t take your eyes off her.”

He hadn’t even realized that he had flinched when she had walked in. But, yes, Morgana was right. Arthur runs a hand over his face in exhaustion, slipping his hand out of hers to sit down and immediately regretting it. She sits down next to him and traps his hand on the table as she leans in, green eyes boring into him. He can’t quite meet her gaze and instead remains fixed on their hands. 

“And your eyes, Arthur,” she whispers. “When did they get so old?”

He laughs, a low, broken laugh, the kind he reserves for when Merlin is gone and he lets himself think about all of the things he has to do and all of the things that happened to transform the people around him to the people he knew before death and he wonders if he’s able to hold back a river with a stick and a shield. 

Lord, they were all so young then. Now. Before. Merlin was barely out of his childhood, eighteen at most. And what about Morgana, Guinevere? Morgana was only a year younger than him, a horrifying thought. She was, what, twenty-one, twenty-two when they last looked upon each other with a friendly eye? And Guinevere… Arthur himself was physically not but twenty. 

Children. They were all children. And yet… were they ever? Did they ever have the chance? 

“Do you trust me, Morgana?”

“Of course I do.” She sounds affronted and he smirks wanly at the contrast between now and then. 

He finally looks up, holding her shocked gaze with his own as his smile drops. “Do you trust me?”

She hesitates, which is what he expected, and then nods, slowly. She seems to be preparing for something, and he’s sorry to disappoint her. 

“Then be patient. I can’t tell you right now, you wouldn’t believe me if I did. Just trust me and know that I will tell you the full truth one day, just– not tonight, alright?” He says it softly, but he wants Morgana to know the high regard he has for her, even after all this time, and he hopes she can see it in his eyes. 

She doesn’t respond at first. She takes her time, and the only sound is of the fireplace in the background as she studies him carefully. She leans back at last and while she doesn’t seem satisfied, she does look… content, with what she must have found. 

“Very well. But I do expect to get the whole truth when you decide to tell me.” 

Arthur smiles at his little sister and stands with a nod. He leans in and cups the back of her head gently, softly kissing her forehead. “I love you, Morgana.”

She looks more uncertain when he pulls away. “But you will come to me, in the meantime? If you need help with anything, you’ll talk to me about it?” 

“Only if you promise to do the same,” he answers promptly and sticks out his hand.

She shakes it, but she doesn’t get up and looks pointedly at the seat behind him. He actually laughs then, but settles down like she wants. He hesitates, something in him knowing that this might change everything, but forges on anyway. 

He leans in, glancing towards the door, and she mirrors him a second later. 

“Can you help me with Guinevere?”

Notes:

As some of you may be realizing, today is not Friday. Surprise! It's Thursday and since I didn't want to accidentally miss posting this weekend for ~reasons~ you get an update a day early!! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

In any event, you guys have been the best!! Your enthusiasm is contagious and I'm so happy say we reached over a hundred kudos and a thousand hits!!! Thank you so much to everyone who's stopped by, left a kudo, or dropped a comment. I love interacting with y'all, even if it's just to give my love in the notes to those stalking this fic. Much love to y'all, too!!! <3 <3

As always, I'd like to think that I review each chapter with a microscope, but I'm only t̴̨̢̟̭̳͕̼̜̣́̉ĥ̵͙̮̞̠̞̹̥̘͚̽̀͐̔̈̊̃e̶̡̙̹̲̜̣̓̐͊ ̷̞͕̞̭̍̔̓͛ȅ̶͔̫̹̟̬͓̈́n̴̲̓̓d̴̗͚̖̞̝̲͖̯̭̑͒̑̚l̶̡̛̻̟͕̤͕̞̥͍̥̉̌̓́͂͌̿̑é̴̡̧̯̙̤͉͕̑̀s̶̮͎̭̝̩͚͊́̏̀̌̕̕̕͝s̷͈̊̆͌͒̒̀̌͘̚ ̴̼̲̙̜̿̕ë̸̡̯͐̍͗̃͠͝t̴̢̡̝̯̲̘͎͚̊̄͑͠ę̵̡̜̹̭̻̭̠̣̍̄̾̒͐͗̂̀̋̿ȑ̵̛͍̾n̶̲͇̺̤̘̬̦̱̮̒́̇͒ä̸̧̨̳̞̥̰̯͉́̈́l̵̥͠ ̵̨̨̫͖̪̻̫̞̝͌v̶̧̼̺̭̾̓͆̓͜ỏ̷͙̠̯̈̉̈́̿̋̚͝i̴̙̫̻̗̲̽͌͋̿̆d̷̢̨̛͓̙̣̯͖̲̝̥͒̔͆́̾̓ so if you see a typo or a sentence that doesn't make any sense, let me know and I'll do my best to clean it up!! Same goes for if you think I got any of the technicals of the show wrong (why does Arthur remember that? Why is Gwen acting like that? Why not this thing if it happened/didn't happen?) and I'll let you know if it was a choice or if I desperately need to go back and fix it!!

As for content, aren't you so psyched to see a Knight of the Round Table?? So's Arthur. I'm trying my best to make things flow together naturally, so we'll have to say goodbye to Lancelot for rn. He'll be back. (He's always back???) And I know I put in a few servant OCs, but, c'mon, we really don't have many named servants and we need to flesh out out the staff! However, if people aren't tagged, then that means I doubt they have more than a scene, if that brings comfort to any of you. I don't have much else to say, I don't think, other than not to worry because you guys will still get the usual update next week! Until then, have a good weekend and I'll see you next time!!

Chapter 6: Thanatophobia

Summary:

Eccedentesiast (n.)
Someone who hides pain behind a smile

Notes:

Warnings: You guessed it, just a little bit more of Arthur and Uther's ~relationship~ as per always. More seriously, there is some referenced sexual harassment, but nothing is ever made explicit and whether or not anything happens is up for debate. There are also references to death and genocide but I would say that goes hand-in-hand with the show. As always, let me know if I missed something, stay safe, and enjoy! <3

The last week had been horrendous, for more reasons than one. Arthur had finally been on good terms with Morgana, they finally had an understanding, even if it had the potential to break in the upcoming months. They had talked the night away, everything from Morgana teasing him about his love for Guinevere like she used to, still does, to discussing the political ramifications of a young king on the throne that in hindsight may have bordered on treason. 

In the days that followed, it felt easier, as if a small weight had been lifted from his chest, and he found himself laughing like he used to instead of only going through the motions. Morgana was his first friend, even if neither of them knew it at the time, and it was nice to realize they could rely on each other once more. 

Then Morgana fell ill and that man came around and everyone was desperate. He was so caught up in the rush of relief at having Morgana back again that he barely realized what was happening. Then Gaius was leaving and Arthur was running around like a chicken with his head cut off. 

Mentally, he toyed with the idea of allowing Uther to die and spare so many so much pain. But, then he reasoned that the people might demand more war on magic if the reason he died came out and besides, Arthur still hadn’t been designated crown prince yet. 

And so he ran around Camelot, calling for Gaius or Edwin or anybody and he chastised himself internally for allowing himself to still care so much for the man who made his entire life an uphill battle.

But then he recovered and Gaius was made a free man of Camelot, which Arthur forgot hadn’t happened yet, and they never saw Edwin again, which was a curious thing indeed. 

This particular morning, however, had Arthur this close to shouting curses the moment he awoke, and it wasn’t even Merlin’s fault. 

He was going hunting, which originally meant just bringing Merlin, but this time Arthur wheedled Leon into going because, well, he needed a buffer and second, he really hadn’t been able to dedicate as much time to his knights as he wanted to, what with seemingly everyone in the royal family almost dying over the course of a week. His knights had known to stay far away from the training dummies if they had wanted their armor to stay intact. 

So this particular morning his mind was running in a million different directions. Part of him was preparing for the hunt, another was congratulating himself on the brilliant idea of bringing along Leon, there was a corner of his mind plotting the best avoidance maneuvers in the castle, a mentally written note reminding him to see Morgana right when they got back, and still he had to talk himself out of blatant murder by omission. 

“Are you alright, Sire?” Leon asked quietly while Arthur checked over his saddle. Arthur cursed silently and tried to summon a smile for his most loyal knight. He had nearly forgotten how perceptive Leon could be, off the field of battle or outside council meetings. Arthur quietly took in a breath before turning to face his first knight. 

“I’m fine, Leon, why do you ask?” He had to know if there were any cracks in his armor. 

“When everyone’s just left or no one is looking around, you seem to be… in mourning. Has someone died, sire? Has the news not yet been released?” 

Oh, Leon. 

Arthur studied the man in front of him, physically only older than the now-prince by a few summers, in every way having known each other for years, concern shining in his eyes. His frown deepened and the furrow forming between his eyes belied his expectation that Arthur wasn’t going to respond. 

Arthur doubts he will ever be able to get over how young they all were. 

Are. 

“No one has died, Leon,” he answers softly. At least no one yet. Arthur hadn’t told him much, nothing of any substance, he would admit. He trusted the men with his life, but he couldn’t ask Leon to commit treason. Not this young. Arthur tilts his head up instead and strengthens his voice. “I appreciate the concern and commend you for your observational skills, however they should be used for more pressing matters. I’m fine. Truly.” The lie rolls off his tongue easier than it should have and Arthur claps Leon on the shoulder to make up for the roiling turmoil inside. He never had to lie to Leon before.  “Nothing a nice hunt won’t fix.”

And killing things mends a broken heart?

Leon hesitates and Arthur has to force his shoulders to relax as he gets onto his horse. Leon is still studying him even on the horse and Arthur sighs slightly. He nods to the other horse and addresses the, well, the physically older knight. 

“Well, come on, Leon, you can keep your eyes peeled for other dangers up on your horse better than you will by staring at me, no matter how pretty I am.” 

No, but it’s good fun.

Leon seemed to restrain rolling his eyes, which made yet another part of his mind make a reminder to hide out for the tournament in which an assassin makes an appearance and hopefully get his knights to treat him as one of them, instead of some deity that will smite them at the first sign of free will. 

Arthur sighs. So much to do; he can only hope he has the time.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“So you’re able to get by on two out of three, then?” Merlin snarks back, and, really, Arthur hadn’t meant to yell at him, but his nerves were stretched to their breaking point and when Merlin broke his concentration, he snapped and slipped back into his memories. 

Seeing Leon covering his mouth with a crinkle around his eyes caused him to relax only slightly. It was easier to skip out of his memories when there were glaringly obvious differences the second time around. Just in time, too, because in the next moment, she was screaming and Arthur gritted his teeth before running in her direction. It wouldn’t do to avoid an obvious cry for help with two of the most noble people he knew so close by. The witch probably would have just shown up later, anyway. 

Nevertheless, Leon was close behind and he knew Merlin was bound to follow. They dispatched of the bandits quicker than before and Arthur glanced up at the fallen tree branch. He saw it for what it was now and had to come to terms with the realization that he had blatantly destroyed all connections of magic to Merlin the first time around, for his sake as well as Merlin’s. As the two knights approached the couple, Arthur quietly whispered to Leon to comfort the daughter while he talked to the father. Anything to separate him from her. 

“And let that be a lesson to you!” Oh, Merlin. Never change. “What? I was covering your back!” 

Arthur rolled his eyes as he passed the boy, more fond than annoyed, and made his way over to the father.

“Are you alright, miss?” Leon asked. 

“Did they hurt you?” Arthur kept his eyes fixed on the father, anything to limit contact.

“I’m fine, thanks to you,” she crooned, gaze fixed solely on the prince. “My name is Sophia, and this is my father.”

“I am Arthur Pendragon and this is Sir Leon and my servant, Merlin. Allow us to escort you to Camelot, mister…”

He can look as prideful and holier-than-thou as ever, as Morgana once elegantly put it; he just needs to get through the next few days without desperately trying to elope with a girl he doesn’t even like. After that, he will worship the very ground any female walks on. Preferably ones not actively planning on overthrowing him, but as needs may.

“Aulfric.”

“Mister Aulfric.”

This was going to be a long week. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He kept his eyes on the ground the whole meeting, only flickering up to look at his father or change his gaze to a pillar very much not near Sophia. He could feel her eyes on him and it disgusted him. He had to suppress a shudder as he walked into his chambers with Merlin close behind. 

“The room next door is empty,” Merlin says in conversation without any prompting whatsoever. 

“So are the ones on the other side of the castle,” Arthur shot back in a pointed look. 

“Of course. She is, ah, very beautiful.”

“Shut up, Merlin.” At this point, if Merlin ever ended up hitting him over the head with a log, Arthur will have considered this attempt at life a complete failure. He cannot let Merlin gain that satisfaction. Not again. 

“I didn’t say anything!”

“You didn’t have to. She’s only staying here temporarily and even if she wasn’t, my intentions are only honorable.”

“Well, if your intentions really are only honorable, then what’s the problem with her staying next door?”

“Because the other rooms are warmer and more comfortable and there is no reason for her to be in the room next to mine.”

“If you’re sure…”

“I’m sure, Merlin!”

“Alright!” He held up his hands in surrender with that insufferable grin on his face before walking out. 

An hour or two later, Morgana stormed into the room and slammed the door shut behind her. Arthur tried not to jump at the sight. This was new territory. And if she’s come for what he hopes for, then he may never have to deal with this particular betrayal. 

“Arthur! I had a nightmare.” She’s all business as she sweeps through the room, leveling him with an intense look. “What do you know about Sophia?”

Arthur shrugs helplessly, not even lying. “Not much. She should be leaving soon. I don’t like the way she eyes me. What was your nightmare about?”

Morgana seems to be battling with herself, even despite the fact that she had clearly entered the room to tell him, and remains silent for a few minutes. Arthur waits patiently; it’s been hard-earned and he’s not going to rush her now. Finally, she caves. “She drowns you.”

Arthur freezes and his mouth forms a tiny ‘o’. He had not expected that. Nightmares, ill intent, a chance at a throne, of course, but actually killing him? By drowning, nonetheless? That had… thrown him.

“I know it sounds odd but–”

“I believe you.”

“Wh-what?” 

“I believe you. I’ll try to avoid Sophia, but I’ll need your help if she has me cornered.” 

“Of course.” The relief is palpable, and whether it was his or hers, he couldn’t tell.

Arthur smiles slightly. “You’re like a sister to me, Morgana. Of course I would believe you on matters such as this.” He needs her to know this. Not for the good of the kingdom, or the people, but for them. For their relationship, because it had destroyed him to see her take the throne with such malice and cruelty. She could have been a great queen, but Arthur still didn’t know what had happened that Morgana had broken off everything between them.

She seems conflicted, but she smiles back and Arthur counts each and every one of his lucky stars. Not that he had many to begin with. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

All of the events he had missed the first time in an effort to see Sophia made for perfect excuses to miss seeing her now. Every time he looked at her, his thoughts drifted and he had to dig his nails into his palms and bite his tongue so hard he drew blood. Yet it was only while he recited the list of the dead in his mind, in any and every order, chanting it over and over until he was on the brink of spiraling, that he was able to regain some semblance of control. 

Morgana spent more of her time around him, grabbing his wrist and squeezing hard, by his request, whenever Sophia even came into the vicinity. He was forever grateful and eventually Merlin seemed to catch on that Arthur wanted nothing to do with Sophia, though he may have interpreted that as a new crush on Morgana. Even the thought made him grimace, but anything would work at this point. 

Tyr, Lancelot, Morgana, Sir Pellinore, Sir Owain, Ygraine, Freya, Mordred…

Nevertheless, he went on patrol with his father and the knights the first day before Morgana whisked him away to some made-up event for the two of them once she saw Sophia closing in upon his return. Morgana locked her door behind Arthur and they alternated between Arthur complaining about tallying the grain stores, Morgana sharing Gwen’s gossip from the kitchen because Uther hadn’t done anything to piss her off that week, and sitting in a comfortable silence. At one point Arthur even helped pick out Morgana’s outfit for dinner before they deemed it safe enough for him to return to his room. The next day, he went to the knighting ceremony while Morgana took it upon herself to insist on showing Sophia around Camelot. All of Camelot, it seemed. 

They ended up making a not-so-secret code whenever Sophia showed up, if it couldn’t be helped that Arthur was in the keep. If they were close enough, one long grip meant she was in the room, two squeezes meant she was coming with no escape, and one meant leave now. If they weren’t, they would catch the other’s eye and typically the amount of terror in Morgana’s eyes summed it up nicely. It was surprisingly efficient and Arthur had his head remain clear more often than not. It was a nice change of pace.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“What’s up with Arthur and Sophia?” Merlin asked casually, sitting next to Gwen as they did the laundry. It wasn’t often that they were able to coordinate their chores, what with Arthur apparently needing everything right that second while it seemed Morgana was content to wait a few days. It was a welcome respite, however, and Gwen was always willing to fill him in on Morgana’s thoughts, if she could. 

Gwen looked at him oddly. “What do you mean?”

“Well, at first I thought Arthur had some sort of crush on her. Y’know, couldn’t meet her eyes and all that. But now he keeps leaving as soon as she enters the room and I don’t understand it.” Perhaps Merlin didn’t have the most experience when it came to courting or infatuations, but it sounded right at first. Maybe nobles were strange? He didn’t think Arthur could be shy about anything, but the only other feeling Merlin could mark it down as was scared. Why would he be scared of Sophia? 

Gwen looked around quickly, scanning the normal alcoves and doorways, before bowing her head over Morgana’s dress and lowering her voice. Merlin leaned in on instinct and strained to hear. 

“Morgana was talking about it earlier. Apparently, Sophia keeps… touching him. Nothing’s happened, mind you,” she was quick to assure him, “but apparently Arthur doesn’t know how to get her to stop without appearing rude. Morgana wanted to send them away, but Arthur doesn’t want there to be a rumor that Camelot doesn’t welcome the lost and weary.”

Merlin watched as Gwen pursed her lips and scrubbed harder. Merlin couldn’t believe what he was hearing –except that he could. It sounded just like Arthur to ignore personal harm in favor of upholding the diplomatic reputation of the kingdom. Arthur was an idiot, but a noble idiot, in the truest sense of the words. It made Merlin’s blood boil, but…

“Gwen? What else is there?” He matches her voice and squeezes her hand gently, slowly relaxing her hand from the death grip she had on the brush. 

“It’s nothing,” she sighs. “There’s just something –off, I don’t know, about the way she looks at him. I’ve seen plenty of noblewomen looking for a proposal, but it looks like she’d rather… eat him than marry him. Her father, too.” 

Merlin frowned. He was really hoping that there wouldn’t be any assassins or mercenaries or magical creatures hiding in the castle, at least for the week, but now he had to investigate Sophia and Aulfric. For Arthur’s sake, if Gwen or Morgana doesn’t beat him to it. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

After day two, Merlin became downright vengeful towards the two newcomers, although Arthur had no idea what caused such a violent shift in character. He severely hoped he hadn’t done anything wrong or disrupted something that would leave a lasting impression on Merlin. 

On day six, two days after it should have ended, Sophia and Aulfric were gone. Disappeared into thin air, and all their possessions as well. Merlin seemed particularly pleased that morning and Arthur felt a shiver work its way down his spine. 

“Thank you,” he said simply as he got ready for the day. 

“What for?” Merlin seemed torn between shock and confusion and Arthur smiled bittersweetly. 

“For seeing things my way,” Arthur replied, “For being a friend.” 

“...You’re welcome.” Merlin looked at him oddly, but his pleased smile became even more genuine and he made the bed with renewed vigor. It brought a grin to Arthur’s face. 

He went into Morgana’s chambers later and spoke with her, just to clear anything up. 

“If you ever have any more dreams like that, you can tell me. The future isn’t set in stone; we can change it.” 

“Of course. After all, we wouldn’t want a strange girl to mess things up between you and Gwen.” 

“Nothing’s happened between me and Guinevere!”

“Yet.”

“...Perhaps.” 

They parted with a new understanding of each other and while things returned to normal, Arthur felt content in the knowledge that Merlin was coming around and Morgana, in turn, was safe in knowing Arthur was, as well. 

The fact that Merlin did not achieve the pleasure of whacking him over the head with a log was simply icing on top of the cake. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

The first person Arthur went to when he caught his breath was Geoffrey of Monmouth. Gaius knew much about the founding of Camelot and medicine and the Old Religion, but he kept the confidence of the King and Arthur had a feeling Merlin was privy to more conversations with the old man than Arthur. Geoffrey was second only to Gaius in terms of such knowledge, but his knowledge had a wider net and he gave his stories much more freely, especially to the Crown Prince. His first loyalty was to the preservation of knowledge and the truth, Arthur was coming to learn, rather than any one central power; although the man had certainly sworn his fealty to the Kings of Camelot. Well, King, as of the current decade. 

Nimueh, it turns out, was a priestess of the Old Religion. Nimueh served on the King’s Court of Camelot before the Great Purge, under the reign of King Uther and Queen Ygraine. 

Nimueh fled the night of Queen Ygraine’s death, and was never seen again. Two days later, King Uther would proclaim a war on magic. Hundreds died. 

Geoffrey couldn’t say more, and refused to say what Arthur saw in his eyes, deeming it mere conjecture rather than fact. Geoffrey dealt with facts, but Arthur could guess. 

Of all the magic users he had met, Nimueh was somehow the only one that never lied, once she dropped her act. Their conversations were short, it was true, but whereas others would have claimed to be able to kill him, if only for the fear, she had spoken the truth. 

Merlin… He wasn’t sure where Merlin laid. He hadn’t gotten the chance to ask. Nimueh, however. 

It’s not your destiny to die by my hand.

The way she had spat out the words your father… On paper, it appeared as if Nimueh had killed Queen Ygraine and was forced out of the castle. But the records were also very clear that the late Queen, Arthur’s mother, had died in childbirth. Not by magic. Not by any overt magic.

Was it possible, then, that the twisted shade of his mother had been correct? Uther had lied about Morgana. What else could he have hidden? 

The question, it seemed, came down to this: Who had killed Ygraine? Uther or Arthur? 

And could Arthur accept the answer?

Notes:

I have a serious problem with tenses, but I refuse to pick a side atm.

Diving right in: if I remember my own story correctly, this is the first time that I basically mash two episodes into one chapter. It won't happen often, but my poor man Arthur doesn't get a lot of screen time considering he's the Literal Actual Other Half of the titular character, so you'll see it again in due time. But that's why I'm here writing this fic in the first place and also why we rushed by Edwin; Merlin did most of the heavy lifting in that episode. Also, if you were mad that I only alluded to the rest of Morgana and Arthur's conversation at the end of the last chapter, rest assured knowing that way far into the future (or not, who knows), I'll make a separate story that has some bonus scenes. Let me know if there are any particular scenes you'd like to see that I didn't add as we go along! In the meantime, feel free to speculate, I'd love to hear your thoughts!!

Those of you who have been here the past few weeks know the drill: I self-edit like I'm a mad man, but sometimes thing slip through the cracks, so let me know if there are any typos or sentences that don't read right and I'll see what I can do! Continuity and characterization are also one of my many first priorities (unlike SOME PEOPLE D_D *cough* the writers *cough*) so shoot me a comment with any questions or concerns you may have (where was Edwin? Why did it take two extra days? etc.) and I'll see what I can do to alleviate your fears/fix the problem/panic with you over why I made that choice.

Finally, thank you to everyone who's just joined the story, sending hugs to those of you who have been around the last few chapters, and giving my heart to the ones that have stuck with me from the start. Much love to all of you and I'll see you next week with another chapter that I promise will be much lighter (and shorter) before diving back into me dissecting Arthur's trauma post-S5!! :D <3 <3

Chapter 7: Drapetomania

Summary:

Thanatophobia (n.)
the fear of losing someone you love

Notes:

Warnings: Slight reference(s) to Arthur's death, one very quick flashback to a death from the show (not Arthur's), some quick back-and-forth in Arthur's mind concerning a thought that is unwelcome (but I don't think counts as intrusive), and Arthur's usual insecurities/fears. Honestly I think the most terrifying part of this chapter is me trying to write banter. I'll leave that up to y'all, though. This one should be very light compared to everything else, so please enjoy it (while it lasts)!!!

Most nights, Arthur doesn’t dream at all. That’s how it was, the first time around. He had nightmares very rarely and often slept in a deep, if not peaceful, darkness. After he died, it was how most of his memories came to him, in dreams. Still, most days were relatively uneventful and so Arthur slept uninterrupted until Merlin woke him. 

That isn’t to suggest that Arthur woke up refreshed every single day. No, he still had his every day concerns of running the castle as well as the knights, his father to deal with, and the general grappling that came with sorting through his past. Most days were exhausting, most events were terrifying, and most nights the only thing to rest was his body. Waking up felt like opening his eyes after dying, in a way. All that time, gone in a moment. 

But if there was anything that Arthur had learned in his life, it was that there would always be balance. Fate would have its way and the world would return to balance. In turn, people returned to balance. Those with great adventures would settle, great ambitions would be checked, and occasionally, great highs could follow great lows. 

It was a small thing, in the grand scheme of the world, Arthur’s dreams. After all, most nights he never dreamt. But his important dreams came as nightmares; it only stood that his only reliable comfort came in the form of dreams. 

The dreams weren’t memories, either, and were too coherent to be visions; of that Arthur was sure. But they were as precious to him as his mother’s ring, and as real as Freya’s words. 

Put simply, when he dreamed –if he dreamt– he dreamed of Guinevere. 

On those days, he woke up refreshed. For whatever reason, the nights he spent with his wife were often followed by days he could rest. 

Contrary to Merlin’s popular belief, Arthur did on occasion have days where the only work was the wake-up and breakfast, as well as his usual armor cleaning after training with the knights. As few and far in between as his dreams, but they appeared, and Arthur savored every moment. Arthur considered them Merlin’s off-days, but the boy vehemently denied it, and some arguments could not be won. If Morgana had taught anything, she had taught him that. 

Generally, he would steal some food from the kitchens and a glimpse of Gwen through the door to the laundry–

“Sire!” 

“My compliments to the cook!” he laughed, dancing around the servants with his prize, feeling all of twenty-five with his Knights waiting for him just outside to–

–and make sure his mare Llamrei was properly saddled before thanking Tyr warmly–

–pushing away the memories of betrayal and hurt and I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it shouldn’t have happened–

–and riding away into the forest. 

Those days, after those nights, he couldn’t face many people. So he rode and rode and rode, letting the leaves rush by and hide the castle behind him. He knew these woods like he knew Camelot, this was his home and his land and for all his talk of change, these woods never had. So as the years slipped by with the breeze, for a moment Arthur could pretend. 

It may not have been an easier time, but he could pretend that he was King, escaping his duties for the day, that his Queen would be meeting him later after she finished visiting her home in the Lower Town. He could pretend that his Knights were back in Camelot, training and most likely getting into mischief, and ready to good-naturedly rib His Majesty for running away like a commoner with his lover in the stories. He could pretend that he had known Merlin for what seemed like a lifetime, his best friend, and that they had no secrets between them. 

For a moment, the sunlight dappling the grass and the trees mesmerizes him. Arthur slows Llamrei to a trot, breathing in the smell of ripe berries and fresh dirt and something that reminds him distinctly of home. He closes his eyes. A creek trickles down the path in the distance, rushing down with the rustling leaves and creaking branches. The breeze carries birdsong as it cools his face. 

For a moment, he could pretend. 

Arthur dismounts only when he reaches the clearing where he met Guinevere on their secret outing. He takes his time, securing Llamrei to a branch tightly while allowing her space to graze. He walks slowly to the old oak, standing tall and proud, grazing his fingers over the rough bark. 

Being here with you? I can be myself.

I like that: You being yourself. 

He sighs softly at the memory, lowering himself under its old branches and settling in among its gnarled roots. Arthur closes his eyes, folding his hands together over his chest, and feels the gentle darkness of sleep creeping into his mind…

“Arthur! Arthur, are you out here!?” 

Of course, Merlin always found him. He opens one eye, half in annoyance, half to watch him clamber over the roots lining the bank. Arthur can’t help but chuckle as Merlin bats away the leaves from his face while he stumbles into the clearing, leading a horse from the stable behind him. Arthur does nothing to help him, content with watching the boy fumble his way closer. 

Yes, he thinks with a grin, as Merlin curses out a root for tripping him, definitely clumsy. Too bad he’s a sorcerer.

The grin flickers on his face. The wind whips through, although Arthur can’t tell if the nip is because he was close to sleep or his own imagination. 

Fuck off, he told the voice in his head, that doesn’t matter and you know it. What kind of a king are you, if you can’t even treat all your subjects equally? 

You’re not king anymore.

Oh, go fuck yourself. I have more important things to do than listen to your bloody shite advice. 

In perfect timing, Merlin flops down beside him with a huff, leaning his head back against the tree and struggling to catch his breath. He’s still grumbling about the trek between breaths, and it’s enough to make the corner of Arthur’s mouth tick upwards. 

“And what are you doing out here, Merlin? I thought you had the day off,” he says lightly. 

“Day off my arse! Running around after you all day? The king would have my head if he thought I’d lost you,” Merlin protests.

Arthur rolls his eyes and shoves him. “You’re a manservant, Merlin, not a bodyguard. The king could have your head for far less than that.” 

“Oh, well, thanks for that. That supposed to be comforting?” Merlin grumbles, rubbing his arm, which, really. Arthur had barely pushed him.

“No!” Arthur replied cheerfully, and was just about ready to try and catch that nap while Merlin settled himself in, when his fungus of a friend opened his mouth again.  “Hm?”

“I said, what were you doing out here? What, got blocks for ears now?”

“I could have your head for that,” Arthur replied agreeably before falling silent even as Merlin protests the merit of his statement. Finally, Arthur sighed, and picked himself up to sit more straight against the trunk. “I fight for this land, Merlin. My people live and die on this land. By every root, fruit, and flower. Camelot… Camelot is a beautiful place, filled with beautiful people. It can be confining and loud and demanding and unpleasant. It’s my home and I’d gladly give my life. But…”

“But sometimes it feels like you have to get away. Sometimes you’d like to see what the world has out there. But you can only go so far before being pulled back.”

“So I sit at the edge and wonder how anyone could stay. But most of all I wonder how anyone could leave.” Arthur had long gotten used to Merlin finishing his private thoughts. They hadn’t had this conversation, but Arthur could understand Merlin’s place in it. His heart would always be in Ealdor, but Arthur knew Merlin would come to love Camelot just as fiercely as him. Arthur eyed the younger man. Clumsy, yes, but also wise, it seemed. 

Truthfully, it wasn’t everything Arthur had wanted to tell Merlin. He wanted to tell him that he wasn’t his father, that he loved him and Morgana in equal measure, magic or no. He wanted to forgive Merlin for the lies, to ask why Arthur wasn’t worthy of the truth. But mostly he wanted to tell Merlin that he was happy with his death. On the battlefield, in service of his kingdom. It was one of the few ways he was content, if not pleased, to die. 

But Merlin was young, and Arthur wanted to gain his trust, not force it. So Arthur left the strand of conversation where it was, dangling and only just tied, susceptible to even a bit of pressure, and laid back down. Merlin seemed content with the decision and they didn’t break the silence until Arthur started to get hungry. He had Merlin get the food from his saddlebags, but shared it with the clotpole when he found out that the boy had forgotten to pack his own food. They traded banter and bread until Arthur judged it was time to head back to Camelot lest Uther send out a patrol in search for his ‘missing’ son.

While Merlin packed the saddle bags, Arthur picked a few flowers he had noticed earlier, but hadn’t gathered because he knew the needling Merlin would subject him to. He tried to act casual before stuffing them delicately into his bag and swinging into the saddle. They talk and joke as they walk back, taking their time and Arthur remembers what it was like, when he secretly thought of Merlin as his best friend and he could tell him anything and everything without fear of betrayal. Merlin was lighter now, and it was Arthur that held the secret now, but the camaraderie was easy and familiar. It was… nice. 

Even with all Arthur's secrecy, Merlin still smiles suggestively and makes a joke about Arthur’s honor before going ahead and allowing Arthur the space to lay his flowers by the window of Guinevere’s house, ideally without attracting suspicion. That night, he would have one of his few pleasant dinners with both Uther and Morgana. He would bid Merlin goodnight, and sleep would come sweet and easy.

The nightmares, however, would remind him of why he returned.

Notes:

Hello, now that this is completed I'm offering complimentary breaks! If you are reading this all the way through, this is your place to stop. If it’s still daylight, get up, go for a walk, grab a snack, drink some water. If it’s nighttime, please, please go to bed. The story will still be here in the morning and you won't miss anything by stopping at this chapter. I’m so happy to have such dedicated readers, but please take care of yourself first!
~*~
I'll believe in a lot of things, but consistent tenses are not one of them.

Y’all, I have had this chapter written since MONDAY. And by "written since Monday", I mean that I didn’t like the tone of the original chapter so I threw out basically everything but the premise and, like, two scenes, and re-wrote the whole chapter in a fever dream into the wee hours of a night that may have been Monday. In any case, I have been v i br a ti ng waiting to give this to you guys so that we could move on (or so that I can finally breach the 20,000 word count, it's taunting me, I can feel it-) with the story. The original chapter was way too light and way too short, written at least a year ago when I was listening to "Touch the Sky" (from Brave's album, yes) on repeat. So, hopefully the general vibe is still there, but also it's not too broken away from the overall tone of the story. Yes, the end shift from banter-to-serious-conversation was originally there. No, I don't know how to segue it better. Maybe, I'll fix it later. Probably not.

Real quick, as always, let me know of any typos and I'll try my best to fix them, logistical questions (where is this in the timeline? What's Arthur and/or Merlin's deal?) and I'll try my best to solve them, characterization/continuity issues and I'll try my best to frantically go over everything and wonder where I went wrong and how to resolve it.

In OTHER news: GUYS, we have DOUBLED the hits in the last two weeks and have reached over 100 subscribers. Not to mention the Kudos and Bookmarks!! I am honestly astounded and so, so grateful for everyone stalking, giving kudos, and even writing out a quick (or not-so-quick) comment before going along with their day!! Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! I won't (try to) let you down!!! Ｏ(≧▽≦)Ｏ (*˘︶˘*).｡.:*♡

With that, I leave you with my short attempt at fluff and will see you next week for a full-sized chapter full of angst and decisions!!! Much love and Happy Halloween!!

Small Edit: Fun Fact!! I looked it up and (according to Merlin's wiki page; I trust them with my life) Llamrei was King Arthur's mare in the OG Legend (or as close as original legend Arthur can come to ig)!! He also had a stallion named Hengroen that he brought to Camlann!!

Chapter 8: Sciamachy

Summary:

Drapetomania (n.)
an overwhelming urge to run away

Notes:

Warnings: *More* of Arthur's nightmares, liberal (a lot) talk of death, talk of child death and oppression (er, it's the Druids my dudes, stay safe out there), flashbacks (including one that is very explicitly trauma-induced!! I however am not a mental health specialist so please please let me know if I handled it incorrectly/insensitively and how/if I can do better!! But I do understand if you would prefer not to read it, so just shoot me a quick comment and I'll let you know what happens vaguely/when to skip so you can read on your own!!), unintentional fasting (it is totally an accident and much regretted on Arthur's part; if you're reading this do me a favor and go get a snack <3), one (1) unhealthy coping mechanism mentioned (it's emotional rather than physical, but do be aware!), child death debate, brief mentions of past (canon, perceived) infidelity. As always, please let me know if you ever feel like I forgot something/need to push the rating and enjoy!!!

Arthur woke that morning biting back screams, covered in sweat, fumbling for a sword that wasn’t there. He was so blinded by his nightmarish memories that he ended up panting with his back on the floor, half in sheets when Merlin opened the door. 

“Any visitors I should be ignoring?” Merlin playfully pried as he brought in the prince’s breakfast. 

Arthur didn’t have the energy to make much more than a noncommittal noise in the back of the throat as he stared up at the ceiling and tried to absorb all of the memories rushing back. 

“Sire?” The curtains opened and light poured into the room, dashing away the shadows. It did nothing to keep the nightmare at bay. “Arthur, are you alright?”

Merlin’s head entered his gaze and blocked out the ceiling, his friend looking him over in concern. 

“Fi–” Arthur’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat before continuing, “Fine. I’m fine.”

Merlin pursed his lips and straightened, concern pulling at the boy’s face. Some dulled part of Arthur registered that Merlin was too young for such concerns. His eyes flickered around Arthur’s face, analyzing, before he went about the room in silence. Another part of Arthur, a large part, was too preoccupied to do anything about it. Arthur scrubbed at his face as he sat up and was startled to find tears in the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t realized how deeply this night had affected him. 

All of the nightmares– memories– what-have-you had affected him, of course they had, they were of his people, of his friends, family. He cared for them and fought for them and of course he had been just as panicked waking up from their dreams as he had today. But this night had unnerved him in a way that no others had, in a way, he suspected, no other could. 

I don’t want to die, he thought with a note of surprise, I don’t. 

He got up with only a minor struggle from his sheets and ate his breakfast quietly. Today he would have to make, in his mind, one of the most influential decisions of his life, for his life; up there with befriending Morgana, marrying Guinevere, dealing with Merlin’s magic, and taking over Uther’s rule. 

In short, Mordred was coming today and Arthur very much enjoyed being alive. 

“Should I clear your schedule for today, sire?” Merlin asked slowly, preparing his clothes for the day. 

“No, don’t. This morning was…” he struggled to come up with anything, but shook his head in the end, “...it was nothing. Don’t concern yourself, everything is fine.” 

“...Very well, sire.”

When Merlin finally left, Arthur groaned and buried his head in his hands. Now, he had to fix his friendship with Merlin. And the slow pounding in his head let him know there was an oncoming headache as well. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Something was wrong with Arthur, but Merlin couldn’t tell what it was. He didn’t look… terribly sick, but he had never seen him have such a severe nightmare before. Or… any nightmares, for that matter. And his eyes. They were the oldest he’d ever seen them since the day he woke up happy to see him. 

Merlin pondered over what it might be as he walked down the hall towards the square. Stress was definitely a factor, but his schedule wasn’t very trying these next days, and it seemed more important than anything usual. As if everything was going south. Had gone south? He would have assumed something had possessed the prince or the like, but with the way Arthur had been acting since the near-beginning of his service, what before was a cause for suspicion, Merlin now saw as a cause for concern. Merlin was just beginning to ponder what could have gone wrong as he took the dishes downstairs. 

Naturally, it was at this time that he started hearing voices in his head. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“The Druid was only in Camelot to collect supplies,” Arthur repeated as patiently as he could, “He meant no harm. Is it really necessary to execute him?”

“Absolutely necessary. Those who use magic cannot be tolerated.” It was said with no hesitation; Uther didn’t even look up from the parchment. 

“The druids are a peaceful people!” He was growing more exacerbated by the second and idly started to twist his mother’s ring with his thumb. 

“Given the chance, they would return magic to the kingdom.” 

Given the chance, yes, of course they would try to legalize their way of life! 

That was what he wanted to say as he looked incredulously at Uther. 

“They preach peace, but conspire against me.”

“You think everyone is conspiring against you,” he said in a voice quieter than a whisper, unable to restrain himself.

“We cannot appear weak.” 

“Showing mercy can be a sign of strength.” He said it with much more certainty than last time. He had learned it the hard way. The memory of an older woman, wise and grieved. Annis. 

“Our enemies will not see it that way.” 

Then let them come; I will show them strength single-handedly, he snarled in his mind, eyes flashing. 

“We have a responsibility to protect this kingdom. Executing the Druid will send out a clear message. Find the boy. Search every inch of the city.”

He could try to free him before the execution…

...but there was too little time and Uther would only suspect him, which was not what he needed if he were to free the boy. 

If? he thought, surprised at his own reluctance to help. Arthur resisted the urge to groan and instead went to begin preparations for a proper, fruitless search.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Arthur entered the dining room at lunch, exhausted and nowhere near making a decision about what to do when he “found out” about Mordred. Morgana was especially anxious that afternoon and it struck him how little time he spent with her last time during which he could be certain that she was being truthful. 

His exhaustion and hunger added to an already pounding headache and he answered automatically as Uther, disappointed as always, attacked him with questions and orders. 

“The druids would see your father’s kingdom destroyed.” This startled him out of his stupor so much that what the bloody fuck , Morgana almost slipped out of his mouth as he turned towards her with astonishment clear in his eyes because he thought they were past this phase already.

Rationally, he knew that she was trying to cover her tracks. Irrationally, and a bit petulantly, he wished she would at least be quiet if she wasn’t going to help him. 

“I had no idea you were such an authority on druids,” he hissed venomously. Words will be had tonight, Morgana, his eyes said. Her eyes widened imperceptibly in panic.

“Morgana is right,” Uther commanded harshly, “Double your efforts.”

“Yes, Father.” Standing up, he tried not to look at the food that he was leaving as the exhaustion creeped into his very bones. He had pushed around breakfast before skipping it entirely due to the warning bell. He had hoped to make up for it with lunch, but apparently it would not be so. 

“Keep searching until you find him.” Such encouraging words for such a noble cause. He rolled his eyes as the doors shut behind him. 

Morgana’s room was next after they had finished lunch, and he had to have a decision made by then. Arthur rolled out his shoulder with a groan and kept walking. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Arthur, to what do I owe the pleasure?” She was being deliberately formal and he spied Merlin closing the curtain before gazing about the rest of the room disinterestedly. 

“Don’t get all excited. It’s not a social call,” he said, giving her a pointed look that he hoped portrayed his frustration. Words. Later. 

He went through the motions, caught Morgana’s terrified glance towards the curtain as he looked at her dresser. “...I’m just looking for any evidence that the Druid boy’s in the castle.” God, how he wished for a lie down. 

“The Druid boy’s hiding behind the screen.” 

Ah, great: poised banter that always brightens his day. 

He almost started laughing right then and there. He could just… walk over and lift the curtain. There Merlin would be with Mordred, his bane. It was laughable how easy it would be just to kill him now. His life was in his hands and–

What?

Kill an innocent boy that Morgana adored? 

Adores. 

Lose all of her trust, all their hard work wasted. Arthur stood there, torn between his death and the death of his sister Morgana. He felt like crying and completely missed the cue from her that said he should play along. 

Fear began to enter Morgana’s eyes when he didn’t bite back. 

“Well, are you going to take a look or no?”

Arthur had already lost Morgana once.

“Why don’t you go back to brushing your hair, or… or whatever it is that you do all day!”

He couldn’t lose her again.

And so he did what he did best. He took all of that fear, all of that sorrow and grief. And he turned it into anger as he marched out of her room and slammed the door behind him. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

That night, he knows he has to confront Morgana before she gets caught, realizes now that Merlin was the one who stole his keys at dinner. But he’s so tired as he stares into his stew. So tired. 

He’s only a child! he remembers Morgana screaming.

Weren’t we all? he thought darkly and sighed as he heard the jingle of his keys. He stood up abruptly and Merlin snapped to attention. 

“You’re welcome to the stew,” he murmurs, catching Merlin’s creased brow as he walks out of the room. 

Morgana is startled when he opens the door without knocking, already in the red cloak he remembers catching her in. 

“Arthur!” she says, as if she doesn’t have a Druid boy stowed away in her room. In the back, Guinevere’s eyes widen fearfully and Arthur’s heart aches even more. 

“I know he’s here, Morgana,” he tells her softly, arms crossed and shifting his weight to one foot. 

“Who?” As if they hadn’t been conducting a search for the last ten hours. 

He sighs and walks into the room, gently touching her shoulder to move her out of the way of the closing door. Arthur didn’t want any prying eyes for this conversation. Guinevere’s gaze flickers to his hip and he remembers idly that he hadn’t taken his sword off, yet. It made him feel safe, and he liked it close by. 

“How long have you known?” she demands and he turns to face her. 

“All day. I know your eyes, Morgana, and I know when you’re hiding something.” Now you do, a masochistic part of him chuckles.

“What are you going to do?” The boy, Mordred, sneezes. Arthur whirls around and—

There was Mordred. Shock took hold, but then there was a sword in his side. The pain wasn’t registering. Side? 

Mordred, he thought, I taught you better than that.

Another sword. This time right in the center of Mordred, a little brother, a trusted friend, a devastating enemy. Dig deeper, dig up.

A smile. A mortal wound.

—he couldn’t move, his heart crawling up through his throat. He thought he had made his decision. Don’t lose Morgana; free the boy. But now he was here , the boy was right there—

You saved my life, once, many years ago.

Arise, Sir Mordred, Knight of Camelot. 

I have no option, I’m sorry. 

You gave me no choice. 

—and Arthur was staring into the same blue eyes he had looked into the day they killed him. He wouldn’t die for days later, but that was the day Mordred had killed him. 

And now he didn’t know what to do. Mordred had stolen his men, his chance at a future with his wife without the threat of magic hanging over their heads, and with Merlin as Magic. Mordred had turned Arthur into a legacy he didn’t want, the son of a warlord that took power too soon, died too soon, and abandoned everyone that had ever cared about him. Sure, Arthur was back now, but for a moment, an age, he hadn’t been. He knew Guinevere would make a great Queen, pass all the reforms that Arthur had only dreamed of. He knew that Merlin and the Knights would help her usher in the Age they had all talked about around the Round Table. But Arthur had broken his promises of a better kingdom under his reign, of ruling as equals and changing things, of taking the time to learn about his best friend, of coming back. And there was a part of him, small or large he couldn’t say, that hated Mordred for that, that loathed and despised him for it. 

The same part of him that had stabbed Mordred in turn. A swift death. An honorable death. Mordred hadn’t even given him that. 

“Dead people can’t betray you,” he murmured under his breath. The whole room was holding its breath and in the back of his mind he mused how great a metaphor it was for his life. 

Lancelot was supposed to be dead, a part of his mind whispers maliciously, and he betrayed you.

It still stung, but he had made a point to push it down and let go to the best of his abilities with Guinevere; he had married her, after all, and that wouldn’t be conducive to a good marriage. Besides, the Guinevere and Lancelot of this time didn’t even do anything. 

Your father was dead, it whispered.

While a good point, he was quick to remind himself that he had been the one to summon him, he had been the one too weak and so looked back after the horrid conversation. He had no one to blame but himself for that. 

But Mordred…

He had cared about Mordred. He had let him into his inner circle, had treated him as a little brother, even knowing he was a Druid. He had done everything he could to get Mordred to see his side and when that didn’t work out, bent everything to try and see things Mordred’s way. It wasn’t his fault that Mordred’s beloved was too stubborn and wouldn’t even try to work with him. She offered Arthur nothing while time and time again he attempted to help her on behalf of Mordred. 

But she had twisted his arm too far. And Mordred hadn’t cared about that. 

Lancelot and Guinevere betrayed him because they loved each other too much; they weren’t looking to interrupt his plans for the kingdom.

His father betrayed him because he had loved his wife more than he loved his son. Arthur had disturbed the dead and was responsible for the consequences; he owned up to that. 

Mordred loved the revolutionary and wouldn’t see reason. Arthur tried and tried to get through and when she had to suffer the consequences, like they all did, Mordred lost it and fled to their greatest enemy in order to seek some sort of retribution. It was childish, immature, and led to too many deaths. 

And now here he was. A child in his grasp. Would killing him prevent so much death? Would it trigger uproar from the other druids and even more be slaughtered? Could he even kill a defenseless child, especially when he had done nothing wrong yet? 

It was Lancelot all over again, and Arthur hated it. 

He hated it, because he walked to the boy, who flinched back into the corner, and fell to his knees. 

“Whatever happens in the future,” he murmured, looking at Mordred with weary eyes, “please know that I tried.”

A presence brushed by his mind, causing him to flinch this time. It was warm and it saw. Arthur didn’t know what was seen, but it saw. And Mordred smiled.

“What am I going to do?” He groaned as he stood up, facing Morgana, Guinevere, and now Merlin. When he had entered, Arthur had no idea, but it was of little consequence now. “I am going to do what none of you could.”

“That’s not conceited,” Morgana muttered and Arthur smiled crookedly.

“We are going to return him to his people.” 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

His plan was the same. Through the burial vaults, under the city walls, meet Merlin to break the grate and ride to the Druids. It worked before and this time the whole castle wasn’t on high alert from Morgana’s failed attempt.

It was much harder working his way to the burial vaults from Morgana’s room, but no one suspected her and the warning bells weren’t going off. Arthur supposed it helped that he made and memorized the patrol schedules. 

Mordred in one hand, torch in the other, he whispered quiet assurances to the young boy as they hurriedly stepped through the halls, quiet as ghosts. It was without disturbance until the very end. Merlin, as always, was late. 

“Don’t worry,” he said with a smile when he saw Mordred look over in concern, “he’ll be here.” 

Ten minutes passed. Arthur put out the torch and fixed Mordred’s cloak to give his hands something to do. 

Fifteen minutes. Arthur pursed his lips and studied the bushes more closely.

Twenty. Mordred’s eyes were squeezed tight and Arthur crouched down and rubbed his back carefully.

Twenty-three minutes after the predetermined time, seventeen minutes after he thought Merlin was to arrive, a voice rang out from the shadows.

“Hey!” There he was. Just in time for Arthur’s nerves to turn to frustration from sleep deprivation and hunger. 

“Where the hell have you been!?” He whispered furiously, trying to keep his voice down so Mordred wouldn’t be upset. Merlin shrugged and gave a helpless smile. Arthur figured he was justified in cuffing the back of his head as he passed.

Still, they got to the horse without any more trouble and Arthur pushed the horse hard for the three day journey there-and-back. He got to the appointed place in one hard day’s ride, the boy tucked against him and doing his best to sleep through the hours between sharing bites of Arthur’s food. Arthur helped him off the high horse and led Mordred to the three hooded druids. He was very aware of the irony of Arthur Pendragon returning a child to the Druids. 

“We are forever indebted to you, Arthur Pendragon, for returning the boy to us.”

“You must not let it be known that it was I who brought him to you.” If word reached Uther...

“We will tell no one. You have my word.”

He looked at Mordred and raised an eyebrow. “And may I have your name, little one?” 

The boy looked up at the man, who smiled and nodded, before returning his piercing gaze back to Arthur. There was a time it was a comfort, knowing the boy had his back. Now he had to suppress the instinct to shiver at the chill crawling down his spine.

“My name is Mordred.”

Arthur smiled slightly and the boy’s gaze warmed. For a moment, he saw his youngest knight.

“Good luck, Mordred.” The boy’s smile lit up his whole face as he nodded his thanks before turning with his elders and disappearing into the woods.

Arthur sighed, which he seemed to be doing a lot of lately, uncrossed his arms, and headed back to his horse to set up camp for the night before another day’s ride to a nice, warm bed and the first hot meal in days.

He tried not to think about what, or rather who, else awaited him in Camelot.

Notes:

And, my peoples, we are BACK. I hope you enjoyed the little fluffy-ish chapter last week because we are now DEEP in the angst again!!

Lemme tell you, after completely rewriting the last chapter, this chapter had me NERVOUS. I was like “what do you mean I don’t have to scrap the whole chapter and only do minor edits plus maybe like one (1) scene???” I spent all week agonizing over editing and did, like, nothing until yesterday. But I edited the fuck out of this chapter, I must say, and I think I’m happy with how it turned out?? Definitely some things that I think could have been reworded or gone smoother, but overall I think I was able to edit and reword everything that *really* bothered me. As always, let me know if I missed anything or if you have any technical questions (why does Arthur know that Mordred is Mordred (bc it's stupid he didn't in canon and I'm trying to patch that up), why doesn't Merlin show up on time, etc.)!! We can agonize over it together!!

In any case, this chapter was actually shorter than I remembered it being?? Like, it’s definitely got some heft to it, but I actually thought it was closer to 4,000 words rather than 3,000?? It doesn’t really matter tho, because *surprise surprise!!!* the NEXT chapter is almost FIVE THOUSAND words long!! *cue confetti and distant sobbing* Apparently I have this thing where I won’t cut a chapter unless each individual chapter is over three-to-four-thousand words long. So. Yeah. ¯\_(ಥ⌣ಥ)_/¯ And I’m pretty sure like 2-of-the-5-thousand words is actually just me trying to maintain continuity?? Like, one scene I just blew up the other week because I liked the newer version I had in my mind better, one scene is a continuity sweep from this chapter, and I’m currently writing another scene that I realized I hadn’t put in this chapter that needed to get explained/resolved (but I felt like couldn't be put in this chapter for some reason??). So. I hope y’all enjoy THAT mess next week!! B’)

Also, in case you didn't notice, I have a lot of feelings about a lot of events in canon, so sorry/not sorry for lowkey dumping that in here a little bit, ha ha!

In all seriousness, however, I am blown away by the people coming back week after week and the amount of people stalking this fic from a distance. I love and cherish every single one of you and I am so happy to see you nodding along to the fic!!! :D :D Thank you thank you thank you and I hope to see you again next week!!! <3

Chapter 9: Hiraeth

Summary:

Sciamachy (n.)
a battle against imaginary enemies; fighting your shadow

Notes:

Warnings: Arthur experiencing New Emotions, me trying to write Merlin+Arthur banter, references to nightmares and death, actual death, references to past death-in-childbirth, maybe a panic attack? maybe Arthur experiencing Bad Emotions? (I am not well-versed which is why I hesitate to label some things, but do be aware that was probably my intent, as I think I've given him like three already. If you have any way I can improve this portion of my writing, feel free to let me know!), more of Arthur and Uther's ~interesting~ relationship, a little bit of victim-blaming (it's Arthur. Arthur really thinks he killed ppl as a baby. My guys he is Wrong and if you victim blame when You are the Victim then Allow Me to send you a Virtual Hug. <3). I think that's everything, but as always please let me know if I missed anything -your safety is my priority- and Enjoy!!

When Arthur had finally gotten back, he had crashed on his bed and couldn’t have woken for a dragon. Merlin, at least, had manufactured countless reasons for Uther not to see Arthur over the three days. The prince is doing a personal sweep of the grounds, the prince is taking his dinner late this evening in his room, the prince is following a lead in the forest. In fact, when Arthur finally awoke, the sun was streaming in and his breakfast tray had already been laid out. Merlin should have woken him hours ago, but Arthur was grateful for the reprieve as he took his breakfast silently. 

No, it wasn’t until a rap at the door interrupted his paperwork around lunchtime that Arthur saw the younger boy. Merlin poked his head in, eyes immediately going to the empty bed before finding the prince at his desk. He grinned and entered more fully, and Arthur’s mouth watered as the delicious smells hit him. 

“Well, looks like someone’s finally awake,” he said cheerfully, lightly kicking the door shut. “I could’ve sworn I wasn’t going to see you until next week!” 

Arthur spared him a dry glance from all the paperwork he had to play catch-up on. “Very funny, Merlin.” 

Still, as much as it pained him, especially after Merlin made him wait an extra twenty minutes by the tunnel with Mordred, he owed the boy. He was a good friend, after all, even if he was unaware of it. Yes, at his core, Merlin was a good man. Arthur was determined that he let him know more often. 

“Thank you, by the way,” he said simply as he shuffled his papers around. Part of him hoped that that would be that. Merlin would nod in acknowledgement, and the two of them would go on with their day. Of course, Merlin being Merlin, that was too much to hope for. 

“Thanks for what?” Merlin guffawed. He even had the gall to hold his hand up to Arthur’s forehead. “Are you running a fever?” 

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur rolled his eyes and smacked the hand away as Merlin laughed. “I’m being serious.”

“So am I!”

“For–” Arthur waved his hands around helplessly “–I don’t know– showing up? Putting up with me? Making excuses to my father? Allowing me some time to rest?” Caring? “After repeatedly brushing you off? Take your pick.”

Merlin stared at him then, confused and dumbstruck. Arthur huffed, refusing to squirm under his gaze, and instead deciding to focus on eating the stew. Fuck. It was delicious. And his favorite. 

“Arthur… you helped us save a Druid child,” Merlin said slowly, as if Arthur was stupid. It rankled and Arthur very nearly glared at him, waving his hand for him to move on. Yes, Arthur was there, thank you very much. So much for thanking Merlin. “As Prince of Camelot. What did you think I was going to do? Did you honestly think that you acting– what, a little preoccupied that morning was going to change my mind about helping?” 

And, well… fuck, maybe he’d finally be able to start thanking Merlin a little more often. Arthur didn’t know what to say. He blinked. Saw Merlin watching him carefully. Blinked again. At least his mouth wasn’t left hanging like a fish. 

“Right. Well. Thanks anyway.” He held up a spoonful of the stew. “Cheers.”

“Cheers. How did you know that Morgana had the child anyway?” 

Arthur lurched forward, coughing and hacking, desperately trying to make sure that he didn’t choke on the damn stew, what a horrible way to go, his favorite stew, too, damn you, Merlin. Merlin rushed by him as Arthur pounded at his chest, coughing and choking, before reappearing in the form of a water cup by his hand. Arthur grabbed it and used it to wash down the rest of the stew in his throat. Finally, he was able to take in air, gulping in big breaths. 

“You okay now?” Merlin asked, seemingly torn between amusement and concern. Arthur took a second to stabilize his breathing, once again glaring at the boy out of the corner of his eye. “So, how did you figure out that Morgana was housing the boy?” 

Arthur took advantage of his recovery to scramble his thoughts into some order. Oh, I lived through this ten years ago now. Had a dream that made it feel like it was yesterday. No. That was a later conversation. Truthfully, however?

“I grew up with the girl, Merlin. Believe it or not, once you spend a significant amount of time with someone, you begin to recognize their tells,” Arthur said instead. Unless you were an idiot like me and preferred to believe that they would never betray you like that.

Still, Merlin nodded and seemed to take it as the truth. Well, it was true. Just. Not the whole truth.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

The next night, after seeing his father and he officially called off the manhunt in order to better redistribute the soldiers, he confronted Morgana after Guinevere and Merlin left. He had, after all, promised that they would be having words. The encounter turned into him decidedly not begging Morgana to please try and work with him please.

“Morgana, if we are to trust each other, then we need to work together. I know you were just trying to cover yourself on account of the child, but I can’t–” he broke off. How was he supposed to confess to Morgana that it was hard enough facing his father, and that he couldn’t breathe if they battered him from both sides? It was shameful, and weak, and–

Morgana was quiet when she picked up his line of thought. “I fought with Uther against you on a side we had both previously agreed upon. I apologize for not coming to you sooner. You have trusted my judgment before and I threw you to the dogs.”

Arthur sighed and idly rubbed at his temples against a coming headache. Dreams tonight. Something was bound to happen. “No, no, you were right to do so. I understand that I was too close to– to the king to strategize properly. And you’re contending with years of skepticism. It can’t be erased in so short a time. I apologize for my own behavior.” He nodded, once, and turned to leave. 

“Arthur.” He turned and faced her desperate expression. The wound in his heart seemed cavernous, and yet he knew it was necessary to give her time if they were to mend. “I’ll do my best to warn you, if a similar situation is called upon given… certain circumstances.”

And, well, he had to smile at that, hadn’t he? This was new territory, and he loved her for it. 

“Goodnight, Morgana.”

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Do you solemnly swear to govern the people of this kingdom and its dominions according to the statutes, customs, and laws laid down by your forebears?” 

Arthur stared into the eyes of his father, the king, and tried to reconcile him with the man of his future. For now, in this moment, he was certain there was love in his eyes, and perhaps even a shimmer of pride. 

“I do, sire.”

“Do you promise to exercise mercy and justice in your deeds and judgements?”

He would be better this time. Better than his father, better than his past rule. He had to legalize magic, make peace with the druids, with Morgana. At all costs. 

“I do, sire.”

“And do you swear allegiance to Camelot now and for as long as you shall live?”

He looked into the eyes of his father, gripped the scepter before him, and wondered if he would have the strength to do what must be done, if he could do it when the time came. If he would live long enough to see the day.

“I, Arthur Pendragon, do pledge life and limb to your service and to the protection of this kingdom and its peoples.”

He was speaking a lie. Did they know? Could they tell? Would he still be able to risk his life for his king, for his father, out of duty if not out of love? And if it was for the protection of Camelot… Lord, he felt this oath in his very bones, written in the very fabric of his being. 

“Now, being of age and the heir apparent, from henceforth, you shall be the Crown Prince of Camelot.”

And for a moment, he felt old. So incredibly old. He had so much to do. This was a small but important step towards the progress he wished to make, but there was so much more, and now he didn’t even know if he had time to do it. 

It had been weeks since Mordred, weeks with constant dreams, constant nightmares, constant memories. He had recited his vows every waking moment. And now?

Now he smiled. For his people. He smiled because Morgana was smiling at him, clapping and proud and downright cheerful. He smiled because Merlin and Guinevere were smiling, even as they chattered and schemed with each other. He smiled because his king, his father was smiling back. He was smiling for himself, for today, for this moment. 

And then the Black Knight rode through the window and strode down the hall on his monstrous, black horse. He threw down his gauntlet, helmet tarnished and scarred. Arthur knew what would happen next, knew what he had to stop. There was a moment of silence and Arthur, sword in hand, dove as quickly as he could for the glove. 

But he had trained his knights too well. Sir Owain had seen him, had known , and had reached the gauntlet first. 

“I, Sir Owain, accept your challenge.”

The Black Knight fixed his cold, deathless gaze towards the young man and spoke. “Single combat. Noon tomorrow. To the death.” The horse reared and finally, finally Arthur was able to fixate on the crest of his shield as the horse turned to slowly make his way out of the hall. It was… it couldn’t be. And yet, it had to be. The Black Knight… was of Wales. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - -

After the chaos following the escapade, Morgana more or less dragged him to her room, Guinevere trailing behind as quiet as a mouse. She walked them in and closed the door behind them. Arthur immediately started to pace, running through scenarios, coming up empty. 

“What just happened out there?” It was a question, but Morgana didn’t pose it like one. Arthur flickered to Guinevere but, of course, they all knew. They had all been raised with knights. 

Arthur turned, paced two measures, then turned back. His blood was humming and his fists were tightening as well as his chest. It was all happening. It was happening too fast and it shouldn’t have happened like this. 

“He shouldn’t have picked up the gauntlet!” Arthur shouted finally. It should have been different this time. 

“So put an end to it.” 

How? How? He had gone through everything, poured over every memory, looked at every code of the knights, even as he had it written on his heart. 

“The challenge has been taken up. The fight cannot be stopped.” 

“Then fight in his place.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

And this is where the two of them had differed. Arthur could not intervene without stripping Sir Owain of his honor, as a Knight, as a man. Arthur had lived in disgrace, even if only for a short while, and he will not be the man to commit someone else to it. Morgana was willing to do whatever it took, go for every measure, meet every length in order to achieve her goals. It was a trait he could not fault her for, but he could not endorse it either. 

“Owain picked up the gauntlet. Owain is the one who must fight. That’s the knights’ code. He knew that.”

Morgana looked so confused, so hurt on the knight’s behalf. He wished he could explain it to her better. But Arthur would not deny Sir Owain’s freedom of choice. He could not do him the dishonor. He turned again, stuck between pacing, avoiding Morgana’s heartbroken expression, and preparing for the fight ahead. 

“But it’s a fight to the death!” came Morgana’s cry from behind. It nearly froze Arthur in his tracks, knocked the wind out of him, and aged him thirty years simultaneously. 

“I know.”

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - -

Arthur grew up surrounded by tutors. It was expected for him to be educated in all fields, everything from economics to medicine to swordplay. How could he be expected to rule if he wasn’t properly versed? 

When he was little, and first beginning to understand just what it meant to be in line for the throne, he came under the tutelage of Geoffrey of Monmouth. Geoffrey taught him his letters and words, as well as French and Latin and the great writers of old. He also, of course, made sure Arthur knew his family tree at least five generations back, and those of all the surrounding nobles as well. 

Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot, and Ygraine Pendragon, Queen of Camelot. Prince of Camelot and Heir Apparent. 

Uther Pendragon, son of Constantine and Anna. Reigning King of Camelot. Married to Ygraine Pendragon, Father of Arthur Pendragon.

Ygraine Pendragon, née de Bois, daughter of Lot de Bois and Elaine de Bois. Former Queen of Camelot. Married to Uther Pendragon, Mother of Arthur Pendragon, Sister to Tristan de Bois and Agravaine de Bois. Died in Childbirth.

Arthur repeated the list ten, twenty, thirty times daily as a child, and could still summon it nigh on twenty years later. He didn’t understand it then, why he had to memorize all of those names of people he had never met, people who had died long before his time. As he grew up, he knew that it was to serve as his claim. His claim to power, his claim to the throne. 

I am royal, because they were. 

It would be many years before he unlearned this lesson. 

Guinevere, married or not, made a fine Queen. Arthur was certain that had he stayed dead, she would have ruled over Camelot with grace and wisdom. 

But occasionally…

Agravaine de Bois, son of Lot de Bois and Elaine de Bois. Lord of the House de Bois. Brother to Tristan de Bois and Ygraine Pendragon. 

Occasionally it would prove useful.

Sir Tristan de Bois, son of Lot de Bois and Elaine de Bois. Brother to Agravaine de Bois and Ygraine Pendragon. Earl of Orkney, Knight of Wales. Slain by Uther Pendragon in Single Combat.

Arthur had always known the names of his uncles, but he had never known one also carried the name of the Black Knight. Last time, he had been too preoccupied with preparing his men, and himself, to fight the challenger. This time Arthur finally saw the Knight’s crest. The crest of a dead man. 

Tristan de Bois. His uncle. Killed in single combat against his father. 

Arthur couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t doing a lot of it lately. His mother had been slain by his hand, her brother by his father’s. Uther would die and then Agravaine would betray him and die. Morgana would aid in Arthur’s own death before her own and Arthur was the only source for each and every one. They all died on his behalf. Why was his family cursed to die and to kill? What had he done to bring this upon them?

What hadn’t he done?

Arthur knew that if he played along the path, Tristan would fight Uther. Arthur could even acquiesce to Uther’s command and be present at the fight, be sure Uther would die. 

You are too precious to me. You mean more to me than anything I know, more than this entire kingdom, and certainly more than my own life. 

How could he do this? How could he condone his own father’s death? Arthur panted and gasped and slid down the door to his bedroom. He shook and trembled and tears fell on his hands. When had he started crying?

Why was this so hard?

His father had lied and cheated and killed and raged. He was driving Camelot to ruin and his campaign against magic served no one but himself. The kingdom would prosper out of his reign. 

And yet. 

Uther was his father. He had raised him and trained him and teased him. He was the only one who did not betray him. He could be just and civil and playful and cared deeply. 

Cared cruelly. 

And now Arthur had his answer. He could not willingly throw away his father’s life. He could not get rid of his remaining parent as easily as his first. 

And so Arthur stayed on the floor, trembling, weeping, silent, for the rest of the night, trying, failing, to deal with Tristan and Uther’s story. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - -

He must have fallen asleep. He certainly hadn’t been drugged yet. He was sore and shaking and drained, but still able to get up. He changed before Merlin entered, splashed some water on his face to make up for the terror of last night, and put on a brave face for Sir Owain. 

His death would not be vain. No more knights would die on his behalf. Not on his watch. 

Arthur gave Sir Owain every last piece of advice he knew, right up until the start of the duel. He watched the fight as closely as he could, strategizing, analyzing, imprinting everything he could in order to beat him. 

Sir Owain dies. Brutally. Honorably. Young. 

Arthur has his gauntlet off before the Black Knight turns around. Uther seethes beside him in silence as the crowd looks on in horror at the proceedings. No more knights. No more knights.

“I, Arthur Pendragon, challenge you.”

He can’t look at anyone else. Can only picture the disbelief on Guinevere’s face, the horror growing in Morgana’s, and the fear certain to be on Uther’s. He doesn’t even know if Merlin trusts him yet beyond his own use, cares as far as his own destiny, as far as any decent man would.

“So be it.”

“Single combat. Noon. Tomorrow.”

The Black Knight takes up his sword and walks away, silent and finished. 

This world may be different, but that does not stop no less than two people from asking him to step down from the challenge. 

His father was first, screaming at him directly after the challenge, once they were away from prying eyes, about how could you be so stupid? Arthur knew, thought he knew, that it came from a place of love, but he had never been able to shake his words so easily. 

Merlin came next, as soon as night had fallen, looking desperate and harried. I’ve watched you overcome every fear you’ve ever faced. But as he goes on, Arthur can’t help but wonder if Merlin knew about the Black Knight’s identity. If he had used magic to figure it out. He’s able to control himself enough not to yell, not when he knows, he knows Merlin this time around, but he still can’t help his response from being cold enough to send his only friend away with pursed lips and darkened eyes. 

He will not use his position. He will not break the code. And this time, he will not be tricked. 

It’s not until later that he finally gets a knock at the door. It was much too soft to be Gaius, and his father was most likely asleep now. His first thought was that it was Morgana coming to see him, unable to sleep. 

“Come in,” he called, looking over Camelot’s state of affairs once more before tomorrow. The door creaks open, and the woman darts in quietly. There’s a moment of silence where neither party speaks and the only noise is the shuffling of papers on the table. Finally, Arthur looks up. 

“Morgana, you know I…” Whatever words he was about to say dies on his lips. Standing by the door is not Morgana in her nightgown, or Merlin in his silent fury, but Guinevere, messing with her hands and unable, it seems, to meet his eyes. She’s in her yellow dress today, the one that seems it’s caught the very sun in its cloth. It brings out her eyes in the light, Arthur remembers. 

“Guinevere,” he says when he finally finds his voice. “Please, come in. What brings you here at this hour?” 

She curtsies once, a little dip at the knees as she refuses to look at him. “Forgive me, sire, I know it’s improper…”

“Nonsense. Take a seat, Gwen. Is something the matter?” To further emphasize his words, he gets up to pull out her chair. He offers his hand, which she takes, and leads her into the seat before sitting across from her. 

“Not– well, no, not in the– That is– Yes, but…” she trails off nervously.

“Guinevere. Breathe. It’s okay, you’re okay.” He waits for her to take a shaky breath. “Now, does anything need my immediate attention? Is anyone hurt or dying?”

The fact that she waits to breathe in again tells Arthur that it’s nothing life-threatening, or else Guinevere would be inconsolable and rushing out her words. 

“No, not in the traditional sense, sire.”

“Gwen, we’ve talked about this. Call me Arthur, I beg of you,” he interjects warmly. Gwen had yet to confide in him, and he wanted this to go as smoothly as possible. 

She nods and seems to finally have gathered herself. Her back straightens and she looks him right in the eye, her mouth set and brow determined. “Arthur, do you truly believe that you can kill the Black Knight?” 

Arthur blinked. 

“I believe…” he tested the words on his tongue for a moment. He promised never to lie to Guinevere. “I believe that I can’t let anyone else fight for me. I believe it’s my job to protect Camelot.” 

“You can’t do that dead. Do you truly believe that you can kill him?”

“I believe that he can be killed.” 

Gwen studied his face for a moment, eyes darting around. “But not by you?” 

“I’m not sure.” Arthur shrugged helplessly. “I never am. Every fight could be my last. That doesn’t mean I should cower from every battle.”

“As a matter of honor?” Guinevere lifted her chin a little, a hint of wryness coloring her voice. She had been raised among the knights, among royalty. She knew the code, as well as Leon and Morgana. Arthur couldn’t help but smile at the display. 

“That is certainly part of it, of course. It’s also a matter of protection. I must protect everyone, including the other knights, no matter how willingly they would lay down their life. It gives me an advantage over the Black Knight.”

“How so?”

“He fights for vengeance, I fight for love.” Arthur didn’t realize he had been looking so intently into her eyes until she blushed and he amended his wording. “The love of Camelot, that is.”

“Right, yes, of course, what else would you have meant,” she rambled, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before her eyes sharpened and she followed the trail of conversation. “Vengeance?” 

“Yes.” The truth sat heavy in him, like rocks piled in his stomach and on his chest. “Let that be a conversation for another day.” 

She acquiesced to his request. “So you fight with a moral advantage?” 

“Yes… and no.” He thought of Mordred’s face when Excalibur plunged into him. Morgana’s pale face on the ground after Merlin had killed her. Uther, every time magic was brought up. His father, dying in his arms. “I believe that love can outlast vengeance, if we have the courage to cling to it.”

Gwen nodded then. “I think… I understand you now.”

Arthur smiled bittersweetly, picturing a different Guinevere, dressed in furs, dressed for battle, sitting beside him. “I’m sorry I cannot promise to come back.” 

“I appreciate your honesty.” Gwen stood up, back straight, hands folded in front. “Good luck… Arthur.” 

He reached out and squeezed her hand in reassurance. His smile turned into something a little softer, a little warmer. “Thank you, Guinevere.” 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - -

After Gwen had left, after her footsteps no longer echoed down the hall, Arthur slipped out of the door, nodding to the guards as he passed through the castle, and down into the courtyard. 

“Hello, Uncle,” Arthur said amiably to the unmoving corpse. He walked over to his side and crossed his arms, looking up at the night sky as if they were watching the stars together. The Black Knight tilted his head in Arthur’s direction, as if to gauge whether he was a threat, before resuming his position. “I know I’m supposed to kill you tomorrow. Or, I guess Father is supposed to kill you tomorrow, if he has anything to say about it. I’m sorry I never got to know you. It seems like you could have taught me a thing or two with the sword. Though, I suppose being one of the indestructible undead would help.”

He fell silent, and the Black Knight said nothing in reply. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Morgana looked out from her window. The challenge was tomorrow. And Arthur’s chances, however good a swordsman he may be, weren’t very high. But as she looked out to the Black Knight, looming over the entrance like a silent guardian, she noticed something else. 

A man was walking towards the knight and appeared to be talking… at him, for the knight did not appear to be replying. Morgana squinted and leaned forward in an effort to decipher his identity. 

To Morgana’s shock, it appeared to be… Arthur.

Slippers still on, she wrapped her shawl around her on the way out and grabbed a torch from the hallway before going to question the madman. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“I wonder,” Arthur started to say, then hesitated. He fiddled with his sword before continuing, “I wonder at the fact that you challenged Father after hearing of your sister’s death. It’s the same reaction I had when Morgause showed me a shade of her.” He chuckled dryly. “I guess we aren’t so different after all. Just two resurrected men, dealing out justice as best they can.”

The words were on the tip of his tongue, words he had agonized over for years, words he would never voice to another living person. 

“I wonder… if Merlin lied to me that day. I mean, he’s lied to me before, so it’s conceivable. Father has as well. It would explain a great many things. But…” He shook his head and sighed, scuffing the ground with the tip of his boot. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just imagining things.”

He glanced at the sky one more time before trudging back inside. Before he reached the gate, however, he paused. Turned back to face his Uncle. 

“If you had lived… if you had won… would you have raised me, in spite of Mother’s death at my hands?”

The suit of armor didn’t even creak. Arthur smirked.

“I thought you might say that.”

“Arthur.” A woman. Arthur whirled around, sword at the ready, only to falter once the voice came into sight. 

“Morgana,” he breathed, sheathing his sword fully after hearing her, “Please don’t scare me like that.”

I don’t want to hurt you, he thought. After months of nightmares and years of honing his instincts to fight her, the thought came as a surprise to him. It warmed him. 

He opened his mouth to ask how much she had heard, hesitated, then shook his head and walked over to her, leaving the question alone. He offered her his arm, which she took gracefully, and led her back into the castle.

“Please, don’t fight tomorrow.”

“You know I have to. It is my duty.”

“I think… I understand.”

Arthur was grateful that she was leaving well enough alone.

Morgana would leave it alone, for now. She had, after all, heard some very interesting statements that needed more information before she confronted the “resurrected” man beside her. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“I’ve brought you something that might help you to sleep!” Gaius announces as he walks through Arthur’s door. He has that blasted potion in his hand and Arthur remains tight lipped throughout the conversation. 

“I’m fine. I don’t need it.” 

“Here,” Gaius offers with a knowing smile, “it’ll relax you. Take the edge off your nerves.” 

“Thank you, Gaius.” Arthur takes it from his hand, if only so it won’t inevitably get shoved down his throat. “I know you only have my best interests at heart, but I truly don’t need it. I’d like to stay sharp before my duel.”

“Arthur.” Now he sounded like his father. 

“I’ll have it before I go to sleep, how about that?” He compromises. He could throw it out after Gaius left. 

“Hm. I can’t convince you to take it sooner?” He raises an eyebrow suspiciously, but looks him over in resignation. 

Arthur tried for one of his cocky smiles. “You know me, Gaius.”

“Alright. But you promise to take it before you go to sleep?”

“I promise,” Arthur lied through his teeth. 

Gaius hmed at him one more time before swishing out of the room. Arthur waited for his footsteps, then quickly poured out the odious elixir right out the window. He tried the door, eyed the ground outside the window, and spent the night making a rope out of his sheets. 

He was getting out of his room bright and early tomorrow, even if he had to break down the door. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He did it. Arthur wasn’t sure how, but somehow he stayed awake the whole night. 

Or at least he thought so, until he tried the door and it was locked. Arthur cast a disparaging look towards the newly arisen sun that he had watched come over the horizon and grumbled his way out the window. 

He skipped breakfast, going straight to the armory for his armor and sword to get in some training before noon. Arthur was quick to get into his chainmail and plating —yes, even without Merlin’s help. He had just secured his bracer when the boy himself waltzed in with a curious looking package wrapped in cloth. 

“Arthur!” He seemed surprised that he was up, or perhaps that he was dressed, but gave a tiny smile nonetheless. 

“Merlin.” Arthur nodded, then continued on casually, “I didn’t see you this morning. I was wondering if you had abandoned me as well, as it seems that no one believes it possible for me to actually win.”

Merlin snorted. “Actually, sire, I was getting you… this.”

He flipped up the cloth with a flourish, grandly presenting the sword before him. 

 “Excalibur.” 

The words passed Arthur’s lips in a whisper, a breathless smile of fondness. Arthur had ridden into battle many a time with this sword, had felt its comforting presence by his side when he had died, its weight and balance as his knights knelt before him. He knew this sword like he knew his own heartbeat, like he knew his mother’s ring around his finger, like he knew his wedding bands and every crack and divet in the Round Table. 

He firmly grasped it by the hilt and took it out of its covering with all the gentleness Arthur could muster. Yes, the weight was perfect, the balance finer than any pair of scales in the kingdom. Inlaid with gold and bearing the runes of old, he greeted it as he would an old friend. 

Excalibur.

After all these weeks, all these months, it was as if Arthur had finally come home.

“How is it?” Merlin inquired, a touch of apprehension and nerves coloring his footwork. 

“It’s perfect, Merlin, thank you.” He was confident that this sword would be the one to defeat The Black Knight. This was how Arthur would win.

“And just what exactly is going on here!?” Uther bellowed through the armory. 

Arthur sheathed the blade before calmly turning around to face the king. 

“I’m doing my duty, sire. I’m fighting the Black Knight.”

“I won’t allow it. I’ll fight in your stead.”

“No, Father, I issued the challenge. I will be the one to face him. I will not exempt myself from the code just because it poses risk!”

“I cannot lose you, Arthur.” His eyes were wild and terrified, but Arthur’s shoulders slumped slightly. 

“I do not plan to die this day. But I will fight the Black Knight. I would not be able to call myself worthy of being crown prince any other way. The code must be equal for all men, no matter how great their position may be.” He held his gaze for a moment longer, then waved to Merlin. “Come, Merlin, to the training grounds. We have some time before the challenge.”

Uther fumed still, and something inside told Arthur that this might have been the best their relationship would ever be. 

He tried not to take it out on Merlin during training. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

One well-aimed blow can kill a man. One well-aimed blow. 

That was what he had said to Sir Owain, wasn’t it? And he saw Sir Pellinore in the stands, safe and sound and healing. Guinevere and Morgana were both scared half to death, but each tried to smile encouragingly when they noticed him looking their way. 

Arthur doesn’t remember much after that. The challenge begins and they take their stances. His uncle makes the first swing. 

The Black Knight may be one of his most challenging opponents yet, but Arthur faces him with all of the courage he can muster, flits about him like a bird, and strikes with the swiftness and force of a snake. The Knight matches him, locked in a tumultuous dance of life and death and revenge. Arthur refuses to give up, to slow down, to entertain the possibility of death. His eyes dart every which way, analyzing his routine, anticipating feints and tricks and blows. 

Arthur manages to knock off his helmet and sees the corpse of Tristan baring his teeth from underneath. The crowd shrieks and recoils, but all Arthur can do is press his lips together and take off his own helmet to make it a fair fight. 

The Black Knight hits him, once, twice, but Arthur wheedles his way out in time to save himself, panting and biting his tongue to keep from wincing as the dance continues. They wheel and turn and exchange blows and it lasts forever and a mere second. The same eternity of a moment before the eyelid opens from sleep. 

Arthur ends it. In a sick parallel that has him envisioning Mordred’s face on the wretched, decaying corpse before him, he plunges the sword into his uncle’s abdomen and wrenches it up with all his might. 

Arthur expects the Knight to remain standing. To slay him as he stood, cutting down every reform and law and treaty he would pass. To finally, justly take revenge on his sister’s murderer. 

It didn’t happen.

Like dozens before him, and hundreds after him, Tristan de Bois, Earl of Orkney, the Black Knight of Wales, Brother of Ygraine and Agravaine, Uncle to the Crown Prince Arthur and the Lady Morgana, fell to Arthur of Camelot. 

The Black Knight exploded into fire and shadow. The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. Arthur resisted the urge to throw up until he made it behind the stables.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

They will call you Arthur the Kinslayer. Arthur the Just. Arthur the Once and Future King. You will have no family, you will bring about the Golden Age of Camelot, it is your destiny to die. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“You had Gaius try to drug me.” 

Arthur crosses his arms and leans against the closed door of the dining hall. His father was gripping his chair tightly and his gaze flickered once before settling on his son. Arthur doesn’t explode like last time, no, he stands in a quiet rage. His words are matter-of-fact and, quite truthfully, he doesn’t know how this conversation will go. 

“Evidently, it didn’t work.” His words are clipped and he’s simmering in a similar anger. 

Arthur gets it from him, after all. 

“I was meant to fight him.”

“And I believed you would die! That was a risk I could not take. You are too precious to me. You mean more to me than anything I know, more than this entire kingdom, and certainly more than my own life.” He said it with such certainty, such conviction, that Arthur was taken aback. 

Logically, he knew that he had heard these words before. But this was a new context. Arthur had done nothing but argue and rebel against Uther since he had been brought back from the dead, and he certainly wouldn’t be stopping any time soon. How could he say such things, after everything?

Arthur took a step back, trying to cope with the conundrum that was Uther Pendragon. 

“But I…” the words spill out of his mouth before he can clamp it shut, desperately looking everywhere but into his father’s piercing eyes. 

“What?” The firm command of his king, tempered only by the gentleness of a father, a combination Arthur rarely heard, was enough to have him snapping his head forward. 

“I always thought that… that I was a big disappointment to you.” Arthur knew, knew in his heart of hearts and in the depths of his bones, that this one thing was true. He may temporarily have Uther’s love, he may be friends with Merlin and Morgana and Guinevere at the moment, but he would always be the source of Uther’s shame. He braced himself for the confirmation sure to come. Certain that in this life, at least, he had cemented his place as Arthur, Prince of Fools. 

“Well, that is my fault and not yours.” 

Uther placed a hand on his shoulder, still covered in chainmail and plates, yet Arthur would swear that he could feel the warmth through it all. He was sure that any more and he would cry. 

“You are my only son. And I wouldn’t wish for another.” 

Arthur couldn’t. He couldn’t take this. On the brink of tears, he breaks away first and Uther is quick to pull back with a final pat. 

“You fought well today,” Uther breaks the silence. 

Arthur is warmed by the compliment almost as much by the hand on his shoulder. He clears his throat and then takes a chance, weighing his words carefully. 

“Thank you. You know… you could always join us for training.” Arthur grinned a little. “I could teach you a thing or two.”

“You could teach me?” Uther breathed a laugh, mock serious, “I’ll show you a thing or two.”

He darted up, quick as a fox, and Arthur darted away, placing the chair between them even as Uther tagged him in the side, leaving him laughing. 

It echoed in his ears for days afterwards. 

Notes:

(Earlier:) Not me staring at the beginning of this chapter for hours on end wondering how the fuck am I supposed to write a natural Arthur-resolves-his-perceived-earlier-problem-with-Merlin scene!? (Later:) Guys. Guys, I wrote another 800 words just to fit in the Merlin scene. :,) It was only supposed to be another couple hundred words like Morgana’s. It just kept going. Good Lord, this is over 5,500 words now. It’s a monster. I don’t know what to do with it. It’s supposed to be in the 4,000s range. I just don’t know what to do. Take it. Take it all. Please, don’t expect this again. Never again. Oh, I hope not.

Also I almost kept in “quick as a panther” and then I was like “wait a second, Arthur wouldn’t know about panthers” and then I did a quick google search of any type of big cat in Europe and settled on lynx but “quick as a lynx” sounded wrong and then I remembered that. Foxes. Exist. As I’m writing this, I also remembered rabbits. But foxes and lynxes I think would work better because I’m not trying to portray Uther as prey. (yet?) Also, somehow I did more research into that than in how ye olde family trees are formatted?? I may go back and research that, but there is also a high probability that I don't. There is an equally high probability that I find the scene in "A Knight's Tale" where he lists off some branches and call that the research. ¯\(ツ)/¯

Before I get into anything else, as always, let me know if I missed anything grammatically (they're/their/there), logistically (my dude wtf was that fight scene, how the hell did you order these scenes), or technically (where!? is Guinevere!? Why is Excalibur??? Who is Geoffrey??? (he's the librarian)) and I'll see what I can do about it! (Answers range from "I'll fix that right away!" to "*confused, panicked screaming in unison with you*") (also I think I got all of the continuity up till now in here, I swear, if I have to add any more-)

Finally. Ohhh my gosh. Guys the. I am just Blown Away by the. Reception. Y'all; I love all y'all, I love everyone who's contributed to the hits, to the kudos, to the comments. I love talking with y'all and I love everyone who's secretly and not-so-secretly stalking this. I love seeing the new faces and the old faces. We're really over half-way through this season (I am NOT half-way through the next season, sorry, guys) and I am overjoyed with all the attention this fic is getting. I just. I love everyone and I cannot thank you enough. :'D <3 <3

(also next chapter is our first two-parter and you'll have to wait the regular week between chapters oops sorry/not sorry- <3)

(EDIT: GUYS I just checked the calendar and how the Fridays line up... unfortunately you WILL have to wait two weeks for the chapter after this Friday. I REPEAT, Chapter 10 is coming out ~Nov. 17th, but Chapter 11 is coming out ~Dec. 1st. Ha ha, sorry guys, but I'm trying to give myself time to write season two so there are less accidental delays when we get there (whether or not that works remains to be seen-) but in the meantime happy holidays to those who celebrate and my many (almost) apologies for the wait!! feel free to yell at me in the comments when the time comes!! :D <3)

(EDIT 2: So I went back and wrote in a scene for Gwen because as TheCerynitian_Hind wisely pointed out, it made sense for Gwen to be there, and (as I subscribe to) there should always be More Gwen. So now this already monster of a chapter has another ~700 ish words added to it!! I also added a line or two to reference the addition so it should hopefully be a more smooth transition. This chapter is now around 6,500 words. I weep. Hope you enjoy!!)

Chapter 10: Monachopsis (Part One)

Summary:

Hiraeth (n.)
a homesickness for a home to which you cannot return, a home which maybe never was…

Notes:

Warnings: Victim-blaming (self-imposed), Arthur and Uther's ~fun little relationship~, references to death, actual death, fighting, my attempts at writing a fight, Arthur trying to explain things he isn't sure about, Arthur's ~mother issues~, maybe-could-be-a-flashback?-but-also-definitely-trauma, harm comes to an animal (off-screen? background?), my poor editing skills. If I forgot anything, let me know, but otherwise Enjoy! <3

Recovering from his injuries gave Arthur time to think. Mainly about Excalibur. How had it come to his hand so early? It was years before he was supposed to find it, sealed away in some damned rock. 

Actually, Merlin was the one who had shown him the sword in the stone. Told him the tale of the first king of Camelot. Arthur hadn’t even been able to get it out on his first try. 

So it was all another lie, wasn’t it? Somehow, Merlin had known about the sword the entire time. Why was he given it now? Arthur could try to say that they were two different swords, but that was impossible. Arthur knew Excalibur, and he knew that this sword was the one he had died with. 

So how many lies had Merlin told him? He knew his friend, his friend, well enough to know that they were all well-intentioned, but, well, still. Ten years of betrayals and lies and cheating and subterfuge and he had believed in Merlin the whole time. 

Except Merlin hadn’t believed in him. 

That was it, wasn’t it? Oh, Merlin might believe in him as a king, perhaps even as a person, but as a friend? A confidante? Arthur had failed on that front. Merlin was a sorcerer. He knew about Excalibur at least a whole six years before Arthur ever wielded it. He knew about Mordred and about Morgana, although Arthur’s own idiocy could be to blame on those accounts. Merlin wasn’t an idiot, he probably didn’t frequent the tavern as much as he said, and yes, the boy was clumsy, but who knew if he had faked it later on. Arthur was sure that there were a hundred more secrets locked away, and Arthur’s stubbornness and blindness were to blame. 

Arthur had believed that he had a servant-turned-friend with a mouth worse than a barbarian, smart enough to be Gaius’s assistant but touched in the head concerning social standards, clumsy but kind, ruthlessly brave but terrible in a fight. Arthur had seen him as a little brother to protect, young and blunt and caring and a little overly fond of drink. 

But Arthur didn’t know what to think. Ever since Merlin had told him the truth, he had second-guessed everything Merlin had said or done. And now that Arthur was back with Merlin lying every other sentence, he had an even harder time deciphering fact from fiction. Had he only really had two days with the real Merlin, two days out of his whole life where no one was lying to him?

But there was Merlin at the door now, probably with another draught from Gaius for his injuries, chattering on about some inane thing going on and sliding in an insult every other line. Arthur couldn’t really blame Merlin for any of it, could he? If he had been a better friend, a better man, maybe he could have earned his trust. 

That’s just what he’d have to do. Earn Merlin’s trust. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Arthur,” Merlin called from the door. He looked up from his work and immediately noticed him half-out the door still. Exasperated, Arthur rolled his eyes at the boy.

“Yes, Mer lin? I assume this is something incredibly important.”

“Yes, it is, sire—” here Arthur frowned a little, this had to be serious if Merlin was addressing him correctly “—I wanted to introduce you to someone.”

He opened the door and let in a peasant woman, who bowed deeply upon entry. She was… familiar, almost as if—

“This is my mother, Hunith.”

SON OF A BITCH.  

It took everything in him to not start cursing, very loudly, and very creatively. He knew he had forgotten something. His hand gradually tightened into a fist as he fought for control over himself in the presence of a guest; Merlin’s mother, too. 

“My lord,” she said, eyes downcast. Arthur sighed quietly, the tension leaving his body, and got up. 

“Hunith, yes?” He confirmed, walking over as if he could solve all her problems. Lord, he hoped he could solve all her problems this time. 

“Yes, my lord.”

“So you’ll be needing the day off then, Merlin?” 

“Hm? Oh, no, sire, but we would like an audience with the king.”

For a moment, a brief second, Arthur assumed Merlin was talking about him, to him. He thought it more of a joke covering a serious request, than simply a request. He had half a mind to say you’re having one right now. Or yes, how can I help you, Hunith? 

Then he got his mind back, promptly did a double take, and couldn’t get his mouth working for a moment. “With the king?” 

“Yes, my lord.”

“Please, sire, my village is in dire need. We are being raided and if we can’t hold them back—” Hunith raised a hand to her mouth, eyes clouded with tears.

“They’ll starve, Arthur,” Merlin finished softly, holding his mother to him. Arthur ached at the sight, but held his chin up. 

“I’ll see him right away. Top priority. Consider it granted.”

Hunith almost broke down in front of him, whispering thanks as he placed a single hand on her shoulder before shuffling past to run down to his father. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Surely we can spare a few men?” This whole charade was ridiculous. It was incredible that his father would hear out the peasant woman, but they both knew that Camelot would do nothing to help. It aggravated Arthur. This would not have stood when he was king. 

“Resources are not the problem.”

But he wasn’t king. And he’d do well to remember that. 

“Then what is?” Morgana sounded about as indignant as Arthur felt. 

“Ealdor lies beyond the ridge of Aesctir. For an army of Camelot to enter…” The moments that Arthur hated the most? It wasn’t when his father wouldn’t listen to him or wouldn’t help or actively pursued his political agenda. No, the moments that Arthur hated the most— 

“It would be an act of war.”

Was when Arthur understood him. 

He watched Hunith drop to her knees, begging for assistance, for anything to save her village. He thought of how brave she was. How humble. And he bit his tongue to keep from cursing.

“The accord we’ve struck with Cenred was years in the making. I cannot risk hundreds of lives for the sake of one village.” 

Arthur understood. 

He’d fought in the battles, led his men to death, came back with less and less of him left. He was there for the treaty, oversaw the signing. His knee would ache fiercely in the winters before his death, from when one of Cenred’s soldiers got a good kick in. 

He’d made these tough decisions, been faced with them during his rule, of the needs of the many over the needs of the few. But the thing he’d hated most was that he had overcome them. Faced with the same challenges of his father’s time, Arthur had looked at them dead-on and chose differently. He’d even succeeded at some points. And his father was too blind, too stubborn to see it. 

“I’m afraid Camelot cannot help.”

Morgana glared at Uther before rushing over to Hunith and leading her away with a steady arm around her shoulder. The sight made Arthur’s chest ache. He did not know her fate. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

She is my mother. I’ve got to look after her before anyone else. 

What is it like, I wonder, to have family so devoted to oneself? To know they would have your back at a moment’s notice?

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Of course I’m going with Merlin,” Arthur exclaimed, wrinkling his nose at her implied accusation. Morgana had just burst through, his work interrupted for the second time that day, and announced very pointedly that she was going to go help Merlin. 

“Like that?” She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. She certainly knew how to get a point across. 

Arthur heaved a sigh and put down his documents. “Morgana, I have work to do. The king expects me for dinner and we have a council meeting right beforehand.” She looked about ready to protest and so Arthur barreled on before she could speak. “So I won’t be able to leave before nightfall. After dinner, I’ll pack and leave within two hours. I’ll catch up with you before Ealdor is even in sight.”

He held out his hands palm up on the table placatingly and the plan seemed to mollify her. 

“That’s actually very clever of you, Arthur. I must confess I wasn’t expecting that.”

Arthur laughed aloud at that, determined for her to never know that they had conspired together about it the first time around. Morgana had her moments; Arthur didn’t think it was too much for him to have this one. 

He sobered up quickly enough and held his sister’s eye. “Promise you’ll be careful.”

“ I’m not the crown prince,” she shot back.

“Morgana, I know it doesn’t seem like it, but Uther cares for you a great deal. Don’t let anyone see you leave the castle and then get out of Camelot as quietly as you can. The faster you leave, the more able I will be to follow.” 

This seemed to take her by surprise —though given what he had just said, he wasn’t surprised. 

“I’ll keep that in mind. Best of luck to you, then.”

“Best of luck.”

She stalked out and Arthur went back to work. It was going to be a long night. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

His plan worked. Well, his and Morgana’s plan worked. He made it out of the castle and galloped as fast he could to make it to their campsite for the night. 

But just because he was worried didn’t also mean that he wouldn’t take the opportunity to scare Merlin. Arthur was catching on that he wasn’t the greatest sorcerer yet .

So while he didn’t spew out magic when confronted, he did, however, almost take off Arthur’s head when he swung around.

“Arthur!”

“Put the sword down, Merlin. You look ridiculous.” 

His reflexes were improving, but they’d have to work on spatial awareness when they got home. Sorcerer or not, the boy was just plain clumsy, Arthur had decided, and he also figured a few lessons in properly wielding a sword would help.

Merlin builds up the fire as Arthur takes count of everyone there. Pretty soon a cheery crackle quietly sounds behind him and he goes to sit with his oldest of friends. Even if said friend didn’t know it yet. 

“How much further is it?” Arthur had been there two… maybe three times on the whole and he was curious if he still knew where it was. 

“Maybe a few hours.”

And now down to strategy.

“And how many men does Kanen have?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Merlin turned around, subconsciously searching for his mother. Arthur couldn’t know the feeling. “I think from what my mother’s said, maybe as many as forty.”

“You should get some rest.” Forty. “It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”

Four more people to fend off the enemy. Arthur would have to start earlier, and with the women, too. If they were to fight for their homes, they would at least know how to block.

“Thank you. I know you didn’t have to come.” As if he really had any choice in the matter. Ha!

“Get some sleep.”

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

The knife throw was nothing but instinct and pure adrenaline. It lodged itself deep into the wooden post beside Kanen and it was only luck that it didn’t plunge into his head instead. If only. 

The fight ensued and Arthur got off his horse, determined to dispatch off as many as he could to make the fight later an easier win. He tried to keep his people in his sight, but the executioner in front of him demanded all of his attention. And then he turned around to face Death.

Morgana’s blade beat His to it. It didn’t matter if it had happened before, Arthur would take it as a win. He didn’t seem to get many of those on his own.

“Bring back memories of when I used to beat you?” She smirked, dancing away to another fight.

“That never happened!” Arthur laughed. But before Arthur could kill another barbarian, Kanen made his declaration of death and galloped away with his men. Coward. 

Arthur took tally quickly, counting Guinevere and Morgana safe in front of him and Merlin unharmed talking to one of the villagers. The sorcerer. 

Or—

“Merlin! Gather the villagers, I need to talk to them,” he called, only for Merlin to wave him off. Dear Lord, Arthur didn’t care how many titles this man may supposedly have, he was an idiot and Arthur was going to kill him. 

“Now , Merlin. There isn’t much time.” He couldn’t just whip up an army on the fly, especially with no one volunteering because Arthur hadn’t offered yet. Unlike some people, Arthur couldn’t do magic. 

He waited for Merlin to gather his kin and then stabbed his sword into the ground before stepping up onto their well. 

“I know Kanen’s kind.” He had fought them until his death. Cruel and vicious. “He’ll be back. And when he is, we must be ready for him. First of all we have to prepare—”

“Am I the only one wondering who the hell this is?” The sorcerer called, pushing his way to the front. 

“I’m K-rown Prince Arthur of Camelot.” He was lucky to catch himself so early. Almost a year playing the part of a prince and he still couldn’t shake the normality of saying king. 

“Yeah, and I’m Prince William of Ealdor,” he mocked. Will , that was his name. Merlin’s friend. The one who died. 

“Keep quiet, he’s here to help us!” Hunith scolded. Arthur couldn’t deny that it touched his heart a bit. 

“He’s made things worse! Kanen will be back and when he is, he’ll be looking for revenge! You’ve just signed our death warrant!”

But in that moment, Arthur decided—

“He saved Matthew’s life!”

Will would not die. 

Not if Arthur had anything to say about it. 

“It’s alright, Hunith. This is his village, I understand. What would you have us do?” Arthur wasn’t actively trying to put him on the spot, but he was curious if he had any good suggestions this time.

“We can’t fight against Kanen. He has too many men.”

“So what’s the alternative?”

“We give him what he wants.” Well there goes that hope. Arthur could confidently say that while compromising was an excellent solution to many problems, this was not one of them. 

“Then what? Those of you who don’t starve to death will face him at the next harvest. And the harvest after that.”

“We’ll manage, we’ll survive.” The villagers began growing restless, shifting and murmuring and arguing. 

Kanen was a warlord. “The only way he can be stopped is if you stand up to him.”

“No! You just want the honor and glory of battle! That’s what drives men like you! Look, if you want to fight, go home and risk the lives of your own people, not ours!”

Arthur almost lost his breath. The honor and glory of battle? Where was it to be found? Where was the honor in slewing down every man in front of you, just for the faint hope of survival? Where was the glory in counting the dead, building mass fires when the men were too weak to carry their dead for a proper funeral? There was no honor and glory in battle. It died a long time ago, just like Arthur. 

“Will!” Merlin ran after his friend and he felt his support’s absence strongly. 

Silence. Will had made his decision, and now the villagers would have to make theirs. 

“I will follow you.” Hunith. “If I’m to die, then I want to go out fighting.”

“That goes for me, too!”

A chorus of replies went up in unison. It brought a smile to his face. 

“We’ll begin training tomorrow. Get some rest, all of you. We’ll be working hard until Kanen arrives.”

Arthur cast a critical eye over the lot in front of him. Yes, starting with a larger pool would certainly bolster their chances. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Have you always slept on the floor?”

“Yeah, the bed I’ve got in Camelot’s luxury by comparison.”

“It must’ve been hard.”

“Mm. It’s like rock.” 

Smartass.

“I didn’t mean the ground. I meant… for you. It must have been difficult.”

“Mm.. not really. Didn’t know any different. Life’s simple out here. You eat what you grow and everyone pitches in together. As long as you’ve got food on the table and a roof over your head, you’re happy.”

“Sounds nice.”

“You’d hate it.”

“It would be hard at first, no doubt. Why’d you leave, then?”

“Things just… changed.”

“How?”

Merlin chuckled as Arthur shoved his feet into his face. 

“Oh, stop pretending to be interesting and just tell me.”

“I just didn’t fit in anymore. I wanted to find somewhere where I did.”

“Had any luck?”

“I’m not sure yet.” 

That was on Arthur.

“We’ll start training tomorrow. It’s going to be a long day. Get the candle.”

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Still haven’t learned to dress yourself?”

“You don’t have a dog and fetch the stick yourself,” Arthur replied, fixing his bracers before adding quickly. “No offense, Merlin.”

“None taken.”

The truth was, after a time Arthur hadn’t even noticed Merlin fluttering about with his clothes. Merlin was a terrible servant, but a great friend. And Arthur hadn’t known how to deal with friends, hadn’t ever truly had a friend until Merlin came along. He was just always there, fluttering and fixing. It just seemed to be what Merlin did. And it was comforting, especially as they grew closer as friends, when Arthur came to see him as more of a brother, more as the family he’d always wished he’d had, to know that he was always there, in range for a joke or protection or even scolding. 

“Prince Arthur, you didn’t finish your breakfast.” 

“Just Arthur, please.”

“Come on, eat up,” Morgana challenged. He glared at her when Hunith’s back was turned, but actually shoved the spoonful of porridge into his mouth when he saw Hunith looking. It was bland, but not terrible. They needed the food more than he did, though. 

But then he caught sight of Guinevere. Guinevere had been very good at keeping him in line, at standing up to people, but in the early days she needed a little… push. A little more confidence. 

So Arthur pushed the bowl into her hands with a quick grin and then dashed out of the house. 

“—We need wood, and lots of it!”

“Of course.”

Arthur left, Morgana trailing behind, and immediately gathered together everyone who was willing to fight, man and woman alike. Morgana and Guinevere were right. It would do them no good to leave out half the fighting force.

“I won’t be able to teach you everything there is to know about fighting with a sword. But you can learn the basics— the stance, how to parry a blow, how to land your own. Morgana will be in charge of the women, she knows plenty of tricks to get you into fighting shape.” 

Morgana looked surprised at the given leadership position, but pleasantly so. She smiled at him, a beautiful thing, and then began giving her own orders. 

After getting his own men in order, he had Morgana and Guinevere conspire to round up a few women to work on getting the weapons in working order. Since the majority could still fight, they agreed and got on it right away. 

Matthew, he had round up a sentry duty, and then took time to teach them how to be out of sight, what to look for, and drilled in for them to stay safe. 

When they finally took a break and Guinevere and Morgana joined him at the well, it was decidedly more cheerful than last time. Morgana still cast a wary look at the men. 

“They’ll toughen up,” he assured her.

“I’m sure.”

“How are we doing for weapons, Guinevere?”

“We’ll be able to get you what you need.” 

“The women are looking to be in fighting shape, Morgana.” He clapped her on the arm. “Nice work.”

Puzzled, but elated. “Thank you, Arthur.” 

With that interaction firmly under his belt, Arthur turned around and called for the men to get back on their feet. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

After dinner, Arthur took Hunith out back when everyone was busying themselves with preparations. 

“Hunith, may I have a word with you?”

“Of course, my Lord.” She wiped off her hands with a towel and followed him out… and out… and out. Arthur glances over his shoulder to see her eyebrows furrow and his lips turn downward slightly as she, too, looks around the forest they were now in.

He finally stopped a decent way away, where he could see if anyone followed them and there would hopefully be no prying eyes. But even with these precautions, he still spoke low when addressing Hunith, who seemed quite nervous by now. 

“Hunith,” he starts slowly, “I know. About Merlin.”

“What do you mean, sire?” She was good, he’d give her that. He was confident that had he been any other, he would have believed her. But her skills rivaled Agravaine and he had long grown used to spotting lies. 

“I’m not going to tell anyone about your son’s magic,” he assured her. She looked a bit white in the face and so Arthur guided her to a nearby rock to sit on. 

She looked up at him and smiled, even as he studied her in concern. “Sire—”

“Please, call me Arthur, I am a guest in your house, nothing more.” 

“…Arthur, why are you telling me this?”

Arthur grew quiet and he faced the dirt at his feet. It was so infuriating sometimes, his emotions reverting back. It made moments like these so much harder. 

“Because I want you to know he’ll be safe,” he says, so quietly she has to lean in slightly to hear, “And, please, don’t tell Merlin I know. I want him to tell me, when he knows he can trust me with this. I don’t want to force that on him.” 

“Sire—”

“Arthur, please.”

“...Arthur—”

“And I promise I won’t treat him any differently; I’ve known for quite some time now. And I know that he might never get to that point, I know he might… might never tell me in this life, I realize that—”

“Arthur!” Arthur’s jaw snapped shut with an audible click! He didn’t know when he had started rambling. Must have picked it up from Guinevere. Hunith looked on in amusement before continuing, Arthur turned a darker shade of crimson with each word.

“Arthur, what I was going to say before you interrupted me, was that out of all his friends, I’m glad you’re the one that knows.” Arthur blushed furiously and takes a sudden interest in his shoes, scuffing the ground with one. Hunith tilts his head so that he’ll look her in the eyes and she smiles. For a second it’s all too much—

How lucky Merlin is to have a mother. Especially a mother like this.

And

Oh Lord, a mother, another person, a mother, oh Lord—

—but Hunith gives him the biggest hug and Arthur just melts. When was the last time he was given a hug? He doesn’t know, and at this moment, he doesn’t care , just burrows in deeper.

He remembers himself too soon, and awkwardly works himself out of the hug, sure his face is still blushing red. Hunith graciously doesn’t comment on it. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“We won’t be able to defeat Kanen’s men with sword and sinew alone. We’re going to need a plan. We need to find some way of limiting their mobility and drawing them into a trap. If we fight them on their terms, then—”

A girl screamed in the distance and everyone turned to look before rushing out. Arthur got there first, terrified to see Matthew struck dead once again. 

But, no. Matthew was upright, breathing heavily but seemingly unharmed, while the horse he was riding had an arrow in its side. It was incredible. Had something Arthur taught actually helped? He was dumbfounded. 

Matthew did, however, hold a crumpled bit of parchment in his hand. 

“A message, my lord,” he pants, handing it to him in a trembling fist. 

“Good work, Matthew,” Arthur murmurs, carefully unfolding it. He scans it quickly and presses his mouth into a thin line. 

“MATTHEW!” a woman shouts, in joy this time instead of sorrow, and the man catches her in his arms. 

“Arthur,” Merlin starts, “What does it say.”

Arthur glances over from the joyous reunion, desperate not to break this moment, but it must be done. 

“Make the most of this day. 

It will be your last.”

Notes:

Hey guys! Unfortunately this week kind of got away from me, and I wasn’t really sure what to do with this chapter? So I ended up doing only really cursory edits, no new scenes or anything that drastic. Maybe I'll go back if the inspiration strikes me, but right now I'll leave it up to y'all if the editing's okay. As always, let me know if I missed anything and/or you have any questions (Why alive? Will the sorcerer? Who's Matthew? Women fighting??)!

ALSO unfortunately, y’all are going to have to wait two weeks for part twooooo. *cue lightning and evil cackling* I honestly didn’t plan it out this way, it just sort of happened, but I figured I’d be a lil evil and make you guys wait. This may or may not happen again. Hopefully not with a two parter. Happy Holidays to those who celebrate and Happy Thursday to everyone else!! :D

Overall, I don't have a whole lot to say, except maybe that some questions will be answered in the second part? Also my undying love for everyone who's comment'd, kudo'd, stalk'd, or otherwise engag'd with this work. Undying love, guys, I undyingly love you all. <3 :D See you in two weeks!!

Chapter 11: Monachopsis (Part Two)

Summary:

Hiraeth (n.)
…the nostalgia, the yearning, the grief for the lost places of your past

Notes:

Warnings: Lots of references to death, lots of actual death, more or less graphic depictions of killing, Arthur lowkey spiraling for a second, the author pretending to know how swords/anatomy/whetstones/battles/pyres work, the author's attempts at grammar and banter. In all seriousness, do let me know if you would like me to tell you what sections you should skip for any of the above warnings, as well as if I missed any!! Enjoy!

“You’re going to get us all killed!” Will hollered. The words settled upon everyone like snow. “Kanen wouldn’t have returned to slaughter us all if you hadn’t shown up treating us like your own private army!”

“Will, this is not his fault,” Merlin said quickly, frowning at his old friend. A part of Arthur softened with the defense. He was used to having his rule, his suggestions, his help questioned and analyzed at every turn. This… was a nice change of pace. 

“These men and women are brave enough to fight for what they believe in,” Arthur replied in a measured tone, “even if you are not.”

He will not die tomorrow.

“You’re sending them to their graves.” Will glared at him and then scanned the crowd instead. “When Kanen comes, you haven’t got a chance. You’re gonna be slaughtered!”

With this proclamation, he turned on his heel and stormed off. Merlin sighed and trudged after him, hopefully to talk some sense into the boy. Arthur still wasn’t sure if Will had any magic, but they could use all the help they could get, magic or no.

Arthur faced the attentive faces of the villagers, silent except for the soft, relieved sobbing from Matthew’s fiancée. The wind picked up, but Arthur simply felt numb. Calm? He could never tell the difference. 

“Finish your drills for the day. We’ll all reconvene in the common area after sunset,” he told them. Their faces bravely set, they scattered like ants to their places. Arthur himself grabbed his whetstone and took a seat where he could watch the drills and yet still afford some privacy. 

The repetitive motion of the stone against the blade soothed him, the familiar sound comforting and the grip firm and sure. He had been sharpening his own blade for as long as he could remember, honing the edge to perfection with help from the royal blacksmith and older knights. Too little and it wouldn’t cut through parchment, too much and the edge would shatter upon impact. 

Was he making a change? Truly? He had saved Matthew’s life, but only for the time being. What if he died in the battle tomorrow? How many would live? Survive? How many would die? They had the addition of trained women, which may bolster their chances, and yet. 

So many had died under his command, because of his command. Could he really undo years of strategy, years of hatred, lifetimes in the making? Just because he had the audacity to believe that becoming better friends with Morgana might change anything? This life, for all its luxuries, was not easy. 

Nothing came without a price. 

Would he lose Guinevere, would she flee with Lancelot or suffer at the stake? Would he neglect his friendship with Merlin, would Merlin grow to hate him? To say nothing of Mordred and Morgana. Could he truly change fate? 

And these poor people seemed caught up in a scheme much greater than themselves. How many people had died on behalf of destiny ? Why would Arthur be able to save them all; he was simply a weapon to be pointed. 

And then Merlin sat down beside him. 

“William’s father was killed fighting for King Cenred, so he doesn’t trust anyone of nobility.”

“Do you think the villagers believed him?” Arthur asked quietly. 

“No, he’s always been a troublemaker. They’re used to ignoring him.” 

But what if he wasn’t wrong?

“He’s wrong.” Fuck, had he said that aloud? 

Arthur stopped the whetstone, already feeling out of order without the motion, and stifled an exasperated sigh as he faced Merlin. Perhaps his real magic was being insufferably optimistic in the face of the facts. At least Arthur had always been forward about their chances. 

“I’m treating these men and women like soldiers. They’re not. Merlin, they’ve never seen battle.” They don’t know the constant weight of fear crushing their chest as every body that falls could be a friend, a loved one. They don’t know how to fight the rush coursing through their veins, sharpening reflexes and yet making one’s movements sharp and jerky. And that’s not even covering the lonely road of recovery afterwards, should they recover at all. “What if the losses are too great to bear?” 

“Arthur, we fight for freedom, for our homes, for each other. We’re going to make Kanen rue the day he ever came to this village. All you need to do is get the men ready for battle. The rest will take care of itself.”

Merlin had that knowing glint in his eye, the one that said he was up to something either incredibly cunning or incredibly stupid. Perhaps both. Probably both. 

“How?” Arthur asked skeptically, as if he’d get anything other than a cryptic non-answer.

“You’ve just got to believe in them,” he stated confidently, “Because if you don’t, they’ll sense it, and the battle’ll be lost before it’s even begun.”

Arthur studied the boy before him, so young and yet still so wise. It didn’t answer his question, but it was a good answer nonetheless. No matter how many times he’s seen moments like this, whether in his dreams or in his memories, they always surprise Arthur. 

He claps Merlin on the shoulder and grins. 

“Then we better get back to it.”

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

That night, Arthur laid out his plan. It was fairly the same as the last one. They would all hide, luring the bandits as far into the village as they could, but then Merlin would be the one to set the fire to block them in. Morgana and Guinevere would stay by his side. 

“Those who do not wish to fight may accompany the children and belongings into the woods. There is no shame in joining them, but you will be the last defense for their future.”

A few men and women, only a handful, stepped forward, heads held high. It was less than last time, which Arthur took as a good note. Arthur nodded back and then scanned the rest of the villagers before him. 

“This is your home,” Arthur began, side-eyeing Merlin, “If you want to fight to defend it, that's your choice. I'd be honored to stand alongside you. Kanen attacks tomorrow. Kanen's brutal . He fights only to kill, which is why…  he will never defeat us.” 

Arthur paused. He made sure to meet the eyes of every man and woman in the room as he paced around the fire. 

“Look around. In this circle, we're all equals. You're not fighting because someone's ordering you to, you're fighting for so much more than that. You fight for your homes. You fight for your family. You fight for your friends. You fight for the right to grow crops in peace. And if you fall, you fall fighting for the noblest of causes: fighting for your very right to survive!” 

Arthur was unsure if it was the vast difference between his emotions of thirty than at twenty, or if it was the abundance of experience, but he felt his words so much more strongly than before. 

“And when you're old and gray, you'll look back on this day, and you'll know you earned the right to live every day in between!” Arthur remembered dying in the grass, wondering if he had earned the right to rest, if he had done enough to move on. He did not wish them such an uncertain end. “So you fight! For your family! For your friends! For Ealdor!” He held up his sword for the people.

“For Ealdor! Ealdor!” The people took up the chant and echoed it into the night. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - -

“Come here,” Hunith called to her boy as he entered. She patted the bed beside her and Merlin took his place. He always stared at her with such intensity, as if every word she said was the most important. Even when he was a babe, those bright blue eyes would track her every movement. She lightly strokes his face, memorizing every new line and scar under her touch. Her baby boy. Growing up so fast. 

“I do love you, my boy,” she told him softly, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone. His eyelids fluttered before he latched onto her face. He frowned slightly at what he saw. 

“What’s wrong?”

What was wrong, indeed? Tomorrow was the biggest fight in the village’s life and the Crown Prince of Camelot had assured her that he would do nothing about her son’s magic. It was a tumultuous time, to say the least. Pride and fear stormed within her, wrestling for dominance. Should she tell Merlin to confide in his master? 

But no, she must respect his wishes, for Merlin’s sake, if nothing else. Merlin must feel that he trusts him before anything else. And even so, the lovely girls that they brought were from Camelot as well. A single misspoken word had the power to send her boy to the stake. Oh, it was all so complicated now! But then, it had always been complicated, hadn’t it? Ever since her boy’s eyes had turned golden as a child. 

“I fear I never should have gone to you in Camelot. I’ve made a mess of things for you.”

“You haven’t! Why would you say that?” Oh, Merlin, so clever and yet so quick to anger on her behalf. He was practically shaking under her hand. 

“I know what you’re planning to do,” she whispered. Her beautiful, clever, reckless, brave son. Always putting others first, even before his own safety. She was so thankful for Gaius. Otherwise, Hunith wasn’t sure what he would have done. 

Her poor boy sighed and a weight seemed to burden his eyes, if not his shoulders. “If it comes to a choice… between saving people’s lives and revealing who I really am…” He shook his head half-heartedly and tried for a grin. “…There really is no choice.”

Hunith leaned forward, holding his hands in hers. “Just be careful who sees you. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

He shrugged again and smiled tiredly. “Maybe it’s meant to be this way.”

Hunith kissed his forehead. 

Oh, Merlin.  

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Arthur was on sentry duty that morning, although he was confident they had enough time before Kanen arrived. Ealdor truly was a beautiful place. The trees were lush and green, the grass soft and yielding. Birds flitted from branch to branch, shifting the sunlight from dappled to streaming to dappled again. 

It reminded Arthur of that walk through the woods with Freya, blinded by sunlight, sunlight, sunlight. The breeze ruffled his hair, danced over his skin. He closed his eyes, lost in the feeling of peace. It wasn’t often he got a reprieve, fragile though it was, and Arthur planned to savor the moment for as long as it would last. 

As long as it would last turned out to be another ten seconds, but Guinevere was one of the few people Arthur was delighted to have interrupt him, even if it was when he was finally at peace. 

“Arthur,” Guinevere called, trudging up the hill behind him with a bowl in one hand, “Hunith made you some food.”

Arthur accepted the bowl, carefully choosing the words he would say in his head. “Thanks, but I’m sure there’s… someone else who would need it more.” 

He attempted to hand it back, which seemed more than anything to set her off. She stepped forward, but refused to take it. “Food is scarce for these people! Hunith made this food for you, you shouldn’t turn your nose up at it!”

There! There it was, the spark that Arthur had fallen in love with, the metal to her kindness, the backbone behind her mercy. He took a moment to study her in awe. 

“Oh no,” she breathed, eyes widening in fear, cheeks darkening in embarrassment, “I-I-I shouldn't've spoken to you like that; I’m sorry.”

The words just kept gushing out of her mouth as she backed away to leave, just rambling on and on. 

“Gwen.”

“—I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking. It won’t happen again.” 

Completely oblivious to the fact that Arthur was falling in love with her all over again. 

“Guin-e-vere,” he enunciated, unable to keep away the grin pulling at his lips. He loved the way her name rolled around in his mouth. He loved listening to her talk, but he did have something to say. 

Then she stilled, turning to face him with her beautiful brown eyes. He had seen her in silks and satin, comforted her as her brother went up in flames, watched as she single-handedly ran an impromptu hospital, counted each faint freckle dusting her face in the early morning light, stood waist-high in freezing water as a war went on in her very being, saw her win, saw her brought low, saw her laugh, saw her yell. Nothing quite matched how she looked when she berated him; the hard set of her mouth, the furrow in her brow, the sheen in her eyes unable to fully cover their warmth and love, the proud tilt of her chin. If he wasn’t careful, it would take his breath away again. 

“Thank you,” he said simply, “You’re right. I’m glad you spoke up; I value your judgment a great deal. I don’t know how we’d do in this fight without you and Morgana.”

She took a step forward hesitantly, an equally cautious smile on her face. “We’ll be fine.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “How can you be so sure?”

She looked almost… surprised at the question. “I have faith in you,” she stated, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Her eyes went wider, which Arthur had previously thought impossible, as she tried to dumb down her word choice. “I mean, we all do. Obviously.”

Arthur took pity on her and replied quickly. “Thank you. Guinevere.” 

“I… you’re welcome.”

He takes the bowl from her, casts one last look at the landscape, and then walks her back to Hunith’s house. It’s silent, as Arthur finishes the bowl of porridge on his way, but it’s still… nice. 

They part ways far too soon, but Arthur ends up busy enough that he can’t afford to dwell on it too long. There’s wood and oil to arrange, weapons to hand out, final touches to smooth over, children and their protectors to arm and send away, and a new question seemed to pop up every time Arthur turned around. 

Finally, however, it’s time to get his armor on and get in position. Merlin has it all laid out when Arthur enters, but he waves the younger boy off when he goes to help. 

“No, Merlin, not today. Put on your own.”

Merlin hesitates, but nods and quietly fumbles with his own gear. If whatever else happens, Arthur thinks as he helps Merlin put on a bracer, at least I’ll know that Merlin truly was always a clumsy, brave fool. 

“You ready?” Arthur asks, studying his eyes in case the boy tries to lie for the millionth time. 

“My throat’s dry,” he rasped in response.

“Me, too.” Arthur grins.

He holds out his hand, wondering if it was still too early between them. But Merlin clasps his forearm just as well, and something in Arthur’s heart relaxes. 

“It’s been an honor.” 

Arthur turns back ‘round to finish putting on his gloves, when Merlin starts speaking. Soft and slow, as if afraid of Arthur’s reaction. 

“Whatever happens out there today, please don’t think any differently of me.”

Arthur straightened up and looked over at the boy, who wouldn’t look him in the eye as he fiddled with his armor. Was this it? They hadn’t gotten to finish last time, but was this it? Was Merlin going to tell him?

“I won’t,” Arthur assured him, blood pounding in his ears as he fought to keep his voice level. He wouldn’t rush him, he wouldn’t. “It’s alright to be scared, Merlin.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

There. He could tell by the look in his eyes. Merlin was going to tell him something, and Arthur would bet the whole treasury that it was about magic. 

“What is it?” Arthur tried for a friendly smile, trying and trying not to seem overeager. “If you’ve got something to say… now’s the time to say it.”

He waited, desperate to be on the same page, desperate to level the playing field. Oh please, Lord, let him have won Merlin’s trust. He doesn’t want to go the next ten years living a lie. Merlin hesitates, and he can see his lips forming a sentence, half-thought as most his words were–

“Arthur, they’ve crossed the river.” 

Damn it.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Are you frightened?” Arthur asked Guinevere, checking for an honest answer. 

“Not in the slightest,” she replied firmly. Not quite honest, but Arthur could appreciate the sentiment. He nodded, which she returned before dashing off to her place. 

Merlin was the only other in armor. Arthur was glad; he had the least amount of sword training in his company. Sorcerer or not, he needed more training in a duel. He nodded to his friend and he hurried off as well, prepared to set the line on fire. 

Morgana quickly took his place beside Arthur and he shot her a short grin before the bandits arrived. 

They were loud, and barbaric, and many. They came in shouting and scrambling, on foot and by horse, trampling everything in their path. 

“Hold,” Arthur whispered as they tore through the wooden pens. “No one moves until I give the signal.”

He had been sure to practice with Merlin beforehand. The kid couldn’t tell a signal to save his life, and right now the village was counting on him. 

The bandits filtered in, vicious but confused. Kanen revealed himself soon after, scanning the houses hungrily as he strode atop his horse. 

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” he sang mockingly. 

The gate rushed up from under the hay, blocking the bandits exiting. Not a moment later did the fire strike up, thoroughly entrapping the bandits in their ambush. It couldn’t have gone off better. 

The horses reared and the bandits swore and shouted and fled back, but before they could get too far, Arthur charged. 

“Now!” He bellowed, rushing forward with his sword and the dozens of shouts beside him. 

He was engaged almost immediately, but dispatched him quickly enough. One by one, they fell under his blade, and the extra practice for the women served them well. The bandits died faster and in larger numbers than last time, but they were still outnumbered. Arthur growled and worked harder to cut through them, desperate to lessen the numbers of his fallen. 

A whirlwind started up, right in front of Will and Merlin, but Arthur spared it no more than a second this time, joining the men and women in the final seconds of battle before they fled from the magical barrage. Cheers erupted from the villagers, but were cut off by Kanen. 

“Pendragon!” He snarled, shrugging off his cloak and taking off his helmet in the rules of a fair duel. Arthur absentmindedly twirled his sword, analyzing the man’s fight pattern in his mind’s eye and searching for a weakness even as the bandit leader swung towards him. 

Arthur dashed below his sword, recovering quickly behind him and pushing him away with his shield. Space. Space, he needed space to swing. 

The sword dislodged from Kanen’s grip, but he was also creative, and when Arthur was getting ready for the jab, he kicked him away. Space. Space.  

Kanen swung heavily and viciously, wide enough for Arthur to get an opening. Their swords, however, locked in a circle of death and their arms danced around as they both separately looked for an opening. Kanen made his own, and headbutted Arthur out of the way. Space. Space. 

Arthur was hurled back, but steadied himself as fast as possible to block the next four swings from Kanen with his shield. And then— 

There. There it was. Space. Space for an opening. 

Arthur took it, stabbing his sword into the opening and not stopping when it hit armor, hit skin, hit bone. He kept pushing through, then just as quickly yanked it out. Leaving it in would have only prolonged his death. Kanen fell to his knees before Arthur, then crumpled to the ground a moment later. 

Arthur twirls his sword again, face hardening with his heart as he looks at the warlord at his mercy. Arthur hadn’t assured his death before, had been too caught up in his own skill and the rage at seeing magic, a rage like his father before him, and Will had died because of it. No more. He didn’t care how it looked, how aggressive or disrespectful it seemed. There would be no more deaths of the villagers, not if Arthur could help it.

With a sharp inhale of breath, he brought the sword up high, and then plunged it into the bandit’s neck on the exhale. It was hard to behead a man, it was even harder to angle the blade just right between the spine, but Arthur had years of practice and a willing victim. He ignored the way his sword hit the ground beneath, swift even with all of the muscle before it. He ignored the twitching of the body, the quick spurt of blood, the sickening squelch as his sword went in, the same noise it made when he pulled the sword out. 

The battle was over. 

He looked up, breathing through his nose, and saw the shock on Merlin’s face, the tight acceptance on Morgana’s. Guinevere looked almost sad, but resigned. It didn’t matter. No more would die this day. No more. 

He raised up his glove to wipe the sweat from his eyes, but sighed when he saw the bloodstains on his glove. Arthur looked out amongst the survivors, hopeful and weary. 

“I’m proud of you all. You did your land a service this day, and I’m sure they’ve learned never again to go against the people of Ealdor. Those of you who are strong enough, come with me to gather the dead. They shall have a burial fit for kings. The rest of you tend to your wounds and gather back the children. Tonight, we shall celebrate your victory!” Shouts of agreement and revelry went up amongst the lot and they dispersed according to their abilities. 

Arthur himself didn’t comment on the wind. If Merlin or Will wished to tell him about their abilities, it would be on their terms, not his. For now, he had to oversee the fires. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - -

“I suppose I was wrong about you,” Will said. The whole village had come out for the funerals. Four bodies on a single pyre. 

Last time it had been a dozen. 

“I suppose you’re not the arrogant, royal prat I thought you were,” Will continued. Arthur glanced at him, spinning his mother’s ring in front of his lips. 

“I suppose you haven’t caught up with Merlin then.” Will must have been where Merlin got it from. Arthur had never heard those words before him. 

“Maybe not. Plenty of time now, though.” 

There would, wouldn’t there? Now that he was alive, now that they were free. Arthur breathed freely for the first time since Guinevere left his side this morning. Morning. The battle couldn’t have passed half an hour and yet it felt like a century had passed between now and this morning. 

Arthur nodded absentmindedly and left the gathering, clapping Merlin on the shoulder in shared grief as he went. Arthur hadn’t known any of the villagers who had died very well, but after close to eleven years with Merlin, any of his losses became Arthur’s own. 

But now the final choice remained. Will was alive, and his mother was here. Why would Merlin go back to Camelot with Arthur ?

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - -

“You’d best be going tomorrow.”

“I don’t have to go.”

“Yes, you do.”

Merlin turned. “If anything were to happen to you–”

“I know where to find you.” Hunith inhaled shakily. “You have to go, Merlin. You belong at Arthur’s side. I’ve seen how much he needs you; how much you need him. You’re like two sides of the same coin.”

“I’ve heard someone say that about us before.”

She smiled knowingly.

“I’m going to miss you.” He pulled her into an embrace. 

“I’m going to miss you, too.” She pulled away to get one last look at him. “When you left, you were just a boy. Now look at you. I’m so proud of you. When the time is right, the truth will be known. Until then you must keep your talents hidden. It’s better for everyone.”

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - -

“What on earth are you doing, Merlin?” Arthur asked the next morning, bewildered at the sight of his friend packing up. Morgana and Guinevere were already readying the horses and saying goodbye. 

“I’m packing up,” — dollophead was heavily implied— “what does it look like I’m doing?”

“So you’re not staying here?” Arthur blurted it out before he could think about it and he could only hope it hadn’t sounded as painfully insecure as he thought. 

It must have. Merlin’s confusion softened into a grin and he packed up with fervor. 

“Of course not,” he said, “You can’t get rid of me that easily, your highness.”

Arthur sighed in annoyance to mask his relief. 

“Of course not,” Arthur agreed, “you’re like a fungus.”

Merlin laughed and Arthur caught Hunith smiling in the doorway.

Notes:

Hello, now that this is completed I'm offering complimentary breaks! If you are reading this all the way through, this is your place to stop for right now. If it’s still daylight, get up, go for a walk, grab a snack, drink some water. If it’s nighttime, please, please go to bed. The story will still be here in the morning and you won't miss anything by stopping at this chapter. I know you only have three chapters left and I’m so happy to have such dedicated readers, but please take care of yourself first!
~*~
I will say it was very hard to keep the Kanens/Kanans straight as someone who also watches Star Wars, ha ha! I'll be real tho, I did very minimal editing for this one. I *almost* changed one scene (which may or may not be one that you're thinking of) but ultimately decided not to. I may go back and change it if I have more energy, but until then we'll both have to make do. As always, if my grammar is atrocious let me know, if you're wondering why I did something (is the Gwen scene weird?? why no magic reveal?? Why no fake magic reveal by Will??) let me know, or if you know how I could improve any of the logistics of the chapter (anatomy? medieval swords??) please please let me know.

I hope the past two weeks have been a good break, or at least manageable to those who kept on keeping on! I would like to thank everyone so, so much for their continued love and support through kudos, hits, comments, etc. Just. The biggest of hugs to all of you. ヽ(≧◡≦)ノI hope this was a satisfying chapter after making you wait!! Also, I am sorry to say that next chapter will be one of the shorter ones, but then we'll be back to our regularly scheduled chapters! We should be wrapping up this season/story around the 22nd-ish, just in time to cry over the finale anniversary that next week. I'll go over more when we get there!!

So yeah, not a whole lot to say this week other than I love you all and I can't wait to see y'all next week!! <3 <3

(EDIT: So I was going back through and as TheCerynitian_Hind pointed out, there should absolutely be a scene with Gwen in Chapter 9 "Hiraeth". So I typed up around 700 ish words and added it into the monstrous chapter that is Chapter 9, instead of making it a special deleted scene like I was originally toying with doing. It should hopefully smooth out any inconsistencies in their relationship up to this point but let me know if it makes anything more confusing. You will still be getting the next chapter this Friday but please enjoy the extra scene in advance!! <3)

Chapter 12: Atychiphobia

Summary:

Monachopsis (n.)
the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, maladapted to your surroundings

Notes:

Warnings: lowkey graphic descriptions of the physical effects of starvation. Just skip the first paragraph for that. Otherwise, just some regular hunting, the typical references to death and killing, Arthur’s usual paranoia (is it paranoia if everyone was after you?), and my persistent ability to write in sections and ignore tenses like there is now tomorrow. Stay safe out there, y’all, and enjoy!

A few weeks after returning home to Camelot, after thanking Gaius and Leon for covering for them, the dreams returned. Terrible dreams filled with the screams of his people, the crying of their children. The worst were the silent ones, where Arthur would walk through the streets, littered with their starved corpses, husks, skeletons marked only as people on account of the skin still tightly clinging to every bone. 

He would awake, drenched, and shudder in the cold air as he sat up from his warm blankets. If he could spare the time, often Arthur would walk through the town before Merlin was due, patrol the streets below, just to make sure his people were safe. He checked the grain depository regularly, reserved enough for a plague. He was lucky that his father was more concerned with militant affairs and had trusted Arthur with the day-to-day. 

He had always preferred meat to bread anyway.

So Arthur went hunting regularly, much more often than last time, to dissuade the nobility from the usage of grain and to provide some sport for his men. It also served as practice for Merlin in horseback riding and even a duel or two when the woods were sparer with its bounty. Despite the boy’s complaining, Arthur had increased his practices with the sword when they returned from Ealdor. While he had fought valiantly, Arthur… Arthur wouldn’t always be there. He’d rather Merlin master the sword amongst friends than enemies.

Regardless, he had turned this particular trip around in his mind for several days beforehand, debating on whether or not he should actually go. 

He did, finally, if only to give out a warning instead of an arrow. 

It started out as a usual hunt, and Arthur brought only his most loyal and kindhearted knights with him and Merlin. There should still be some deer left in the valley they could pick off afterwards. 

He sent Merlin out first, just in case it was some wild animal this time, keeping close and out of sight behind him. He didn’t know what he’d do if Merlin died on account of a wild animal that Arthur had pushed him towards. His position also provided him with the advantage of seeing the creature first. 

Merlin, it seemed, hadn’t seen the creature yet, for Arthur caught sight of it before he caught sight of Merlin. Scanning the area, making sure his knights were well back, Arthur gently lowered himself onto the other side of the ridge and quietly made his way down towards the beast. 

It was beautiful. White coat softly reflecting the sunlight, powerful muscles and a slender yet elegant horn pointing towards the heavens. It reminded Arthur of Excalibur in its scabbard. Beautiful, yet also dangerous. Pure. 

He carefully stepped towards it, keeping a hand up so as not to scare the unicorn. He had trained with horses his whole life and could only hope that some of that training could be put to use now. 

It worked. The beast sniffed and nuzzled his hand, before moving its large head and going back to its meal. Arthur of Camelot stood by the side of a unicorn, gently petting its neck. 

“Hello, old girl,” Arthur says quietly, gently stroking the unicorn and taking it all in this time. “You and I are very similar this time around, aren’t we? Both back from the dead and trying to live our lives. Though I suppose you haven’t died yet. Or have you? Such an interesting life for an animal such as yourself.” 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Merlin stands in shock, staring at the great hunter known as Prince Arthur as he pats a magical creature and murmurs soft words to it as if it were just another horse. 

“You’re such a beautiful creature; it’s a shame so many wish to kill you.”

“Sire?” One of the knights, Sir Galahad, whispers to the prince. The knights have arrived, all staring in awe at its majesty. 

“Men,” Arthur calls in a measured tone, careful of the delicate beast beside him, “This is a unicorn. They are very rare and very important creatures. I’m telling you all now that they shall not be hunted. Any Knight or commoner found guilty of killing or injuring one shall answer directly to me for their punishment. Is that clear?”

Merlin himself was in awe, but more at the notion of Arthur protecting something magical than anything else. It was incredible. It almost gave him hope.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Yes, your highness,” they chorused back, eyes grave with their charge as they studied the magical beast before them. Merlin seemed dumbstruck. Then he broke into a smile and came forward to pet the unicorn as well. None of the other knights approached.

The rest of the hunt went smoothly. Arthur was right about the deer farther down the valley and the party came away with four deer and two pheasant. Camelot feasted. 

And the dreams disappeared.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Does Arthur seem… different to you?” Morgana had asked the question before, months ago, but she hadn’t had the information that she had now. 

Morgana looked out the window to see the man in question return from his latest hunt, leading his band of knights, and Merlin, of course, as well as their kills. Well, that’s what Arthur used to call them. Kills, trophies, that night’s feast. More recently, he had insisted it was food. Just food. He checked the granaries more often and went out hunting so that even Morgana had flagged down a record of the year’s harvest. It was fine. All fine. But still, Arthur went hunting. Like he was nervous.

“How so, my lady?” Gwen asked. Morgana could hear her straighten the sheets on the bed before padding over to her side. 

“I’m not sure,” Morgana said softly, not able to drag her eyes away from the mundane scene quite yet. 

“Kinder, perhaps?” She looked over to see Gwen glued to the Prince, a fond smile on her lips. Morgana grinned herself. While Arthur did a magnificent job of reigning in his emotions in public, it was adorable to hear him ramble on about whatever Gwen did that day, as well as see Gwen’s eyes brimming with affection whenever Arthur looked at her. 

“You would know better than me,” she replied slyly. Gwen gasped, blushing deeply, before scurrying away to the bed, a chastising Morgana! on her lips as she passed. 

Morgana let her ramble on about how it was nothing, really and how Arthur is nice to everyone these days, even Merlin and that they were just friends, is all, really, Morgana!, content to let her mind wonder over the enigma that was Arthur Pendragon. She had tried reading up on resurrection, not finding much in the stacks as it apparently was one of the darker forms of magic. None of the librarian’s books said much more than a passing mention before going on about the other dangers of magic. Really, it was all very annoying. 

Still, the Black Knight was clearly a victim of this resurrection magic. And considering how differently Arthur and the Knight had turned out, there was no doubt in Morgana’s mind that different spells had been used. Perhaps–

“Will that be all, my lady?” 

“Hm?” Morgana finally turned from the window, seeing Gwen standing by the finished bed with her hands folded in front of her. 

“I only ask because, well, it’s my father’s birthday tomorrow and I wished to see the stores before they closed, by your leave.” 

“Oh, Gwen, of course! I’m sorry I had forgotten, please, take the day tomorrow.” Morgana smiled and moved to her jewelry case. She opened it, plucked a few coins hidden underneath some of her bracelets, and walked over to press them firmly in her friend’s hands. 

“Oh, Morgana, I couldn’t–!”

“Please, Gwen? Get him something for me. I know how important it is to spend time with one’s father.” Gwen, sweet girl that she was, smiled compassionately in response, squeezing Morgana’s hand in thanks and understanding. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Kicking and screaming. That was how Arthur was going to take Morgana back into the light. Kicking. And. Screaming. 

He didn’t care how many assassination attempts were made, how many dates she crashed, how many plans she ruined. She was his sister, he loved her, and she would stay by his side in a magical world if it was the last thing Arthur did. They could set up an event for her: The Closest You Get to Killing the King, the More Gold and Silk Arthur Will Give You. After Arthur was king, of course. 

Merlin, he was sure, would enjoy participating in the game as well. Or, well, maybe not later Merlin, but if all went well, now-Merlin would never become later-Merlin and would likely do his best to win. Then again, Morgana was very competitive. 

This was what went through his mind every time Morgana went toe-to-toe with him. Every time they got into an argument. Every time she sided with Uther. Every time she challenged him to a duel, stole his food, looked at him coyly when Guinevere was in the room, made a remark against Uther’s kingship, won a wager against him, or scared Arthur half to death by standing silently by a window in one of the many alcoves hidden around the castle because, according to her, “the view was better from here.” 

To put it simply, Arthur was terrified of her. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he could see her leering over him as the sword piece traveled ever closer to his heart. When he runs into her in the corridor, the same heart stutters and stops before the traitor. During arguments and conversations, there’s a little voice in his head wondering who she’s selling the information to. Every laugh pierces him sure as a dagger and every hug comes with the expectation of betrayal. 

And he hates it. He hates the paranoia, the dread, the creeping sensation that he has to tiptoe through his own halls. He finds himself calculating how many bones would break if he had to jump out a certain window, where he would hide in an ambush in order to sneak out of the castle, if he can hide weapons behind the paintings without anyone knowing. 

But it’s not like he was better with anyone else.

Merlin, he wakes up to every day wondering if this will be the day he realizes that by taking out the two rulers of Camelot he can reinstate magic in half the time. He dreams of blue eyes souring into yellow and a funny smile morphing into a snarl. He fears the thought that Merlin is all just an act, that Emrys is simply doing his duty, playing his part. How many times has he lied to him? How many times has Arthur deserved it?

Morgana, he doesn’t even know where he went wrong, he’s simply terrified of her. With Merlin there’s a healthy helping of guilt piled onto every interaction. He wasn’t good enough, so Merlin lied. He wasn’t trustworthy, so Merlin lied. He failed as a leader, as a friend, so Merlin lied. 

He frets over Guinevere. Even knowing she was fully capable, he couldn’t help but worry, couldn’t help but count the cost. The amount of times she had been taken on his account, the amount of times she had sacrificed something, everything for him. She shouldn’t have to go through that again. Is he being discreet enough around the other servants, around his family? Should he dissuade her, encourage her feelings for Lancelot, take himself completely off the table for her safety? 

He can’t kill Morgause without Morgana’s permission, because if he kills her right off and Morgana finds out they’re sisters, she might just kill him. 

He can’t tell Merlin he knows about his magic because it forces Merlin to trust him for his safety, which is the last thing Arthur wants.

He can’t take away Guinevere’s choice, even for her safety, especially if he wants them to at least remain friends.

If Arthur is to fix everything over a ten-year period, he has to play the long game. 

And so he researched. In every free moment, when Merlin was sent away by Gaius and his father had no plans for him, as few and far in between as those moments were, he trudged himself down to the library and read silently with Geoffrey of Monmouth like he was back at his studies as a child. He researched everything from magical creatures to symptoms of possession to every line of nobility, just to make sure he still remembered them properly. He read every map of every place he’d ever been to, even rewrote those that had been changed over time. He learned basic medicine and the prophecies of the old religion and fifteen new methods on how to escape from Camelot, from the tallest tower to the deepest dungeon, the lower townhouses to the king’s very chambers. 

He read deep into the night, between treaties and laws and appeals. He trained with Merlin and Morgana to sharpen their swordplay and defense, watched as Morgana likewise trained Guinevere, engineered new drills for the knights in perception and teamwork, even before the rest of the knights filled out their ranks. He explored every nook and cranny of the castle he grew up in, finding every tunnel and locked door he couldn’t get through. He kept a journal under the floorboards of his bed, filled with every detail, every date, every dream he could remember. 

Arthur still had no idea how he was going to prevent Morgana from turning evil. How he was going to win Merlin’s trust. How he was going to face Guinevere getting kidnapped one more fucking time. 

But he’s more scared of waking up beside a lake. In a clearing. With ten years of lies between his best friend, his only sister dead, his knights dead and scattered for the most part. He misses them all, misses Guinevere, of course he does. But the thought of failing his friends, his family again so thoroughly that the best outcome is their inevitable death… He doesn’t even entertain the thought. 

So, worst case scenario, Arthur was going to drag Morgana back. Kicking and screaming. He’d listen to all of her suggestions, follow every trick in the three hundred twenty-four books belonging to Geoffrey, give her as much freedom as she required. She could try to kill him on Thursdays and have lunch with him on Fridays; attend council meetings every other Wednesday and poison his stew on Saturdays; Arthur could give less of a damn at this point. But, damn it, Arthur refused to believe that he could mess up that badly as to have his life, once again, end with her looming over him like the Grim Specter herself, his very own Black Knight, as he loses the fight to the infection of a badly made sword . 

But for now, he sighs, licks his finger, and turns the page.

Notes:

So, as per usual, almost right after I posted the last chapter, I wrote every possible thing I could. I added almost 1,000 words to this chapter alone, so while it’s still super short, it isn’t AS short as it was. Also in case you missed it, I added a Gwen scene in Chapter 9 and tweaked it a little bit accordingly. Tbh, I almost forgot I had to post today until literally last night, so I went through and did some last minute edits last night. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This chapter is definitely v heavy on the introspection, but I hope it was still good and showed a little bit of day-to-day? Next week will be our usual four-thousand-word-ish chapters (maybe a little more after edits) and fingers crossed I won’t almost forget again!! Anyway, y’all know the drill, send any questions my way for edits, logistics (who is Galahad?? When is Tom’s birthday?? (I made it up)), semantics (why did nothing happen in relation to the unicorn episode??), and everything in between! We’ll either answer it together or cry about it together. :D

HOWEVER, what is NOT usual is my everlasting love for y’all. <3 <3 The hype is unreal, and the hits and the kudos and the comments just keep coming in and I super super appreciate it. <3 Heard the other day that someone read this straight through?? Which is just?? So sweet?? So I may go back to add breaks for my poor fellows who are up late at night scrolling through fics. I’m there with you, and I know that we both need to go to sleep. <3 I know I used a lot of heart emojis, but it’s because you guys are the best group of readers I could have asked for as I stumble through my first finished long-form fanfiction. Y’all give me the courage to go back and grimace at the unfinished sequel and try to tackle it consistently.
Anyway, that’s that on that. Wishing you all love and hugs and I hope to see you next week!! <3

Chapter 13: Querencia

Summary:

Atychiphobia (n.)
fear of failure; fear of not being good enough

Notes:

Warnings: References to death/killing, a sprinkle of paranoia (but justified?), more of Arthur and Uther's ~fun relationship issues~, implied not-great-ways-to-handle-your-children (feat. the dungeon. But just the dungeon; I've read other fics and this one is literally just the dungeon). Yeah, not a whole lot going on that isn't usual for the show? If I missed anything, please let me know, but otherwise Enjoy!! :)

He had been tracking Tauren for a month by this point. Arthur didn’t always search for magic users so vigorously, at least not without explicit orders, but Tauren was malicious, no matter how decent his cause. He threatened the safety of his citizens and Arthur could not allow him to roam unchecked. 

Even when it led to Tom’s smithy. 

He held up a hand to his men, standing up against the door and prepared to burst in and finally catch the sorcerer. Three fingers he motioned to his men, and they all nodded their assent. 

Three…

Two…

One.

Arthur burst through the door, his men charging up behind him, finally catching Tauren in the act. 

“Seize him!” Arthur bellowed as he ran away. Half the knights broke off with him and the other half looped around. But Tauren wisely created a smokescreen with the heated materials and bolted for the back door. “Quickly, after him!”

They ran out to the back of the forge, Arthur shouting instructions as they rushed to catch him before he got away. But by the time they made it outside, he was gone. 

“Split up. Search the surrounding area. I want him found.” 

“Yes, m’lord.” One knight bowed and the rest scattered with the breeze. 

The initial adrenaline accompanying the chase ran its course now that the knights had been dispersed, leaving Arthur tired and shaking only slightly. Still, Arthur sighed and marched back inside for the regrettable task of arresting Tom for conspiring with a sorcerer. 

“Sire, please,” Tom pleads before him, just as he did last time. 

“I’m sorry, Tom. You’re under arrest.” Arthur rubbed his forehead against the building pressure and waved them off. “Take him away.”

This was going to be a long night. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

His memories had seemed like nightmares —on the nights he had gotten any sleep at all. Tauren took up the rest of his time. It was as if, if Arthur managed to find him in time, everything could be avoided. But of course, Arthur had no idea where he was until he was with Tom , so the whole month of search was fruitless anyway, as were the sleepless nights. 

And now he had Morgana yelling and his father doing nothing to help the situation while Arthur mentally went through how to get out of Camelot the fastest, specifically from the dungeons. 

“Tauren,” Arthur replied mechanically, “the leader of a band of renegade sorcerers sworn to bring down the king.”

He’d lost Sir Geraint last week. He wasn’t supposed to die until later, months later, during patrol. Ambushed by bandits only a few weeks before the tournament. Sir Leon had been promoted. Sir Leon would be promoted, officially, next week; ideally after all the commotion had died down. 

“And where is this Tauren now?”

His gaze unwittingly met his father’s and he saw the weight mirrored in his own. 

“He escaped.”

“Well then, how can you be sure—?”

Uther cuts her off as Arthur counts down the minutes till the guard change. If he can catch them in the two minutes between shifts, maybe he can get Tom to—

“—their price.”

“Found this—” Arthur dutifully slid over the gold “—on the blacksmith.”

But he’ll need a cloak to go undercover. And a map to Ealdor. Can Arthur have a map written? Did he have enough time to make one himself? The cloak he can get from Guinevere; she must be in the plan for it to be of any use. 

“Arthur, have you nothing to say?”

He looked into her eyes, bright and shattered and hopeful. He looked at his father, bright and hard and seething, but plowed on anyway. 

“Father, the blacksmith committed a crime, but we don’t know for certain he meant treason.”

“No, you’re right,” Uther mocked. “Nothing’s certain. Save one thing. The law stands or this kingdom falls.”

The law. The kingdom. Uther acts as if they are one and the same. How can he be so blinded by hatred as to see that these were the very laws bringing Camelot down to her knees? 

And Uther talks of fair trials, but everyone in Camelot knows the expectancy of such a court, if one is even granted in the first place in regards to sorcery. Compromise and goodwill, that was what Arthur had strived to build his kingdom on, to foster peace and prosperity. Uther and Morgana used nothing but fear. 

Arthur watches Morgana go and the words he must say lie heavy on his tongue. Nevertheless, he must say them, if only to gauge whether or not Uther was truly gone. 

“Maybe we should investigate further.”

“Tauren slept somewhere. He fed somewhere. Find anyone who helped him in any way. They must be punished.”

But not by his hand. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He stayed up late that night drawing up a basic map to Ealdor. If Arthur can get Tom out to the woods, then he should be free to continue on foot. Guinevere would be informed so they may say goodbye, but Arthur hoped no other would be directly informed of the plan. 

It would be hard to separate Guinevere from Merlin, but perhaps under the pretense of questioning, he could get her alone. Yes, that would have to do. 

He woke up early with the sun the next morning, disturbed by the memories he had seen in sleep. He grabbed all of his keys and set out first for the dungeon. Arthur couldn’t have Tom escaping without him. He’d talk to Guinevere around noon and they’d get him out that night. 

“I need to talk to the prisoner alone,” Arthur commanded. In that moment he was King Arthur of Camelot once again, regardless of his station in this past-present. 

“Yes, my lord,” the knights chorused after a quick side eye. They bowed and trailed off to the antechamber. 

“My lord!” Tom gasped, coming towards the bars. 

“Tom, listen to me very carefully,” Arthur dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “I’m going to get you out of here. But no matter what happens, you cannot leave this dungeon without me, do you understand?”

He nodded fervently. 

“Good. I’ll see you tonight. Don’t leave with anyone but myself.”

“Yes, my lord. Thank you, sire.”

“Not a word.” 

Tom nodded again, tears shining in his eyes, and then stepped back into his cell. Arthur nodded back and then swept out of the room. 

“Back to your posts,” he barked to the guards as he passed and then hurried up the stairs to meet his knights. 

They had a lot of running around to do if they were to be properly tired out before the shift change that evening. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Arthur and the knights spent the day tracking down leads with nothing to show for it except for one especially shifty supporter of Tauren that everyone had seen him conversing with at a tavern. 

He took the supporter and called it a day, studiously overlooking the sweating, yet innocent inn owner that had rented Tauren a room without asking for a name. 

The knights themselves seemed suspicious, yet cheerful in their lap around Camelot’s citadel. Leon eyed him especially, but wisely kept his mouth shut. 

Arthur didn’t end up seeing Merlin that day. 

But he did see Guinevere.

The guards fetched her from Gaius’s chambers for questioning and didn’t bat an eye when he sent them outside his door. He didn’t know what that said about him. 

“My lord,” Guinevere breathed, sinking low into a curtsy. She sounded terrified. Hopeful, but terrified. 

“Sit down, Guinevere,” he said quietly, going over to the water pitcher on the table. “Would you like some water?”

She shook her head hesitantly, sitting down with equal slowness at the table and looked up at him with frightened eyes. The band around his heart squeezed. “My lord, please, my father is innocent.” 

“Guinevere.”

However, the dam broke and His Love began pouring out pleas and explanations in equal measure, anything to let her father go. He was quiet for a moment or two, letting her say what she needed to say, until the edge of her voice bordered on hysteria. 

“Guinevere,” he repeated. She was borderline in tears and messing furiously with the strings on her corset; she didn’t even seem to hear him as she rambled on. 

“Guin-e-vere,” Arthur stressed at last, raising his voice only an octave so that she might finally hear him. It worked, and she did. 

She stopped immediately and went completely still. He couldn’t help the smile that blossomed over his face and carefully laid his hand over hers, leaning in close. 

“Guinevere,” he whispered, keeping her gaze, “I’m getting your father out.”

She gasped softly and used her other hand to cover her mouth. A part of Arthur glowed that she hadn’t removed her hand, rough and warm and familiar, from his yet. 

“When you leave, I need you to pack only a small rucksack of his things and fetch a good cloak for him. Meet us in the Darkling Woods an hour after nightfall. I’ll break him out and you can say goodbye.”

“Where will he go?” she breathed. 

“Ealdor. I have a map written out for him.”

“So he’s not going to die?” Her eyes filled with tears once again. He shook his head, hoping to allay them, but only succeeded in having her sob quietly in front of him. 

Arthur froze.

She wasn’t his wife; he couldn’t hold her and kiss her and promise that he’d always be there for her. They were friends, yes, but their friendship was fragile by Arthur’s count. And even so, Arthur didn’t have much experience with friends in an emotional manner, let alone female friends. His only female friends other than his wife were political allies before, and Morgana was a sister, which had its own set of rules entirely.

Simply put, Arthur was at a loss. Then–

What would Merlin do?

He hadn’t thought of that before. He didn’t know what Merlin would say, but he had a sort of instinct as to what the boy would do. Arthur got up from his seat, getting down on his knees in front of Guinevere, who was still sobbing quietly into her hands, and slowly pulled her into a hug. 

“Thank you, Arthur,” she whispered in between tears, her shaking hands grabbing for purchase on his tunic and holding on desperately, as something warm unfurled in his chest at the sound of his name coming from her lips. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

The bell was cut, ragged and threadbare as if by time and time alone. It was due for an inspection anyway, but at least now Tom would have a little more time. 

Guinevere was making the final preparations at her house after asking for the rest of the day off from Morgana, who of course graciously acquiesced before chewing Arthur out for making Guinevere cry and then yelling about questioning her in the first place. She paced and yelled and swore for a half hour straight while Arthur patiently waited by the fireplace, thinking up a half-dozen tasks for Merlin to keep him away from the escape. 

The fewer people who knew about the plan, the more secure the escape would be. Arthur and Guinevere had even brainstormed a way to fake Tom’s death. Morgana would hate him for allegedly killing Tom, but Arthur could cope. Hopefully.

If they were to tell anyone, it would be well after the escape, in certain secrecy, and given permission by Arthur. He’d been too free with his plans in the past, and he did not plan on making the same mistakes. 

Arthur fingered the cell key in his hand and adjusted his cloak over his armor. He had almost forgotten that Merlin had been the one to gift him his blue cloak, and while he had meant to ask Guinevere, he had clean forgotten, and so spent a frantic ten minutes finding something suitable. 

He would return it to Tyr upon his return and, hopefully, the horse-master would be none the wiser. 

He counted down silently, only thirty seconds to go, and stopped himself from fidgeting in his alcove. He had the map, the key, his cloak on, sword for the cover story, said cover story memorized, and he knew the tunnels like the back of his hand. He was certain to meet Guinevere and the bell had been cut. 

Three…

Easy. 

Two…

In theory.

One.

The guards walked past him, exhausted by the twelve hour shift they had been given since the others were stretched thin searching for Tauren, allowing Arthur to slip past down the stairs. 

“Sire!” Tom whisper-shouted excitedly.

Arthur shushed him severely —they were too close to fail now— and turned the key in the lock. As soon as the door opened, he grabbed Tom and a nearby torch and swept down the corridor. 

When they finally got into the tunnels that he had led Mordred down not a few months prior, Arthur finally murmured the full plan to Tom. 

“I’m to leave Camelot?” He exclaimed, in a much quieter voice than the first time, thank the Lord, then continued resignedly, “No, I suppose it can’t be avoided.”

“No, it can’t, but you’ll be able to say goodbye to Guinevere first and there’s a lovely village, Ealdor, about a day’s ride away. I’ll give you the map before you leave. Ask for Hunith or Matthew and tell them that Arthur sent you.” Arthur clapped him on the shoulder as they came to the grate. “I’m sure they’ll be in need of a blacksmith.”

Tom grinned. 

Arthur had just closed the grate behind them when shouting was finally heard from the citadel. Arthur put out the torch, confident in finding his way through the Wood he had ridden, hunted, and explored for the last thirty-odd years. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Thank you, sire,” Tom panted as they stopped to rest. They had finally reached their meeting place and had only a minute or two before Guinevere was due to arrive. 

“Think nothing of it.” Arthur waved him off, scanning the tree line for her. 

“I’m being honest, sire, thank you. This is more than I ever could have expected. I’m indebted to you. I owe you my life.” 

He sounded so earnest that Arthur simply had to turn around to look him over. Guinevere and Elyan had certainly gotten their compassion from their father. Arthur could only imagine what a high-spirited woman their mother must have been. 

“Tom, believe me. This is the least I could do. Live a good life and stay out of trouble, and that’ll be a debt repaid in my book.” 

Based on the look in his eye, Arthur was scared Tom would hug him or something, but luckily Guinevere arrived just at that very moment. 

“Father!” She cried out and the two embraced instead. Arthur allowed them to hug for a moment, but they really had to be moving on if they were to avoid suspicion on either of their characters. 

“We must hurry. My father will be wondering where I am and if you’re seen wandering around, Guinevere, you’ll certainly be tried.”

Guinevere nodded, wiping at her eyes, but smiled tearily at her father. She handed him the rucksack like Arthur had ordered, as well as a neatly folded cloak. 

“I packed your favorite things, as well as some food for the journey.”

Arthur wandered off slightly as Gwen started talking, to give them some space before Tom’s departure. He tried hard not to think about how he had almost gotten Guinevere banished once before, and then banished her himself when he had the power. He tried not to think about the relationship with his own father, how he would have to reconcile with that, sooner or later. 

Sooner rather than later.

Sooner rather than later, Guinevere drew away from her father, properly packed and looking ready for the journey ahead. Arthur approached Tom for a final farewell. 

“You know the road ahead?” He checked. Tom nodded. 

Arthur nodded back, already going through the logistics in his head, as he had done already a hundred times. “Good. It’s best if we part ways, then, if we’re to go through with the rest of the plan.” 

“Prince Arthur,” Tom started. Arthur looked up, mildly surprised to hear his title after so long, and saw the faint grin on the elder’s face. “Thank you.”

Thank you. 

Arthur was struck dumb, only able to nod in return as his tongue was unable to move. Of course he had heard the words before, but Tom said it… differently. It was so knowing. No, maybe not knowing. Proud. But Arthur had heard pride, especially from an elder. Why had these particular words –truly, an innocuous phrase– this particular cadence unbalanced him so? Guinevere came to the rescue once again, kissing her father on the cheek and sending him away with soft words. 

Thank you.

The rest of the night seemed to pass in an age and a moment all at once. He was acutely aware of what he was doing for the next three hours, but it all seemed to happen in a blink.

Thank you.

Guinevere and Arthur went their separate ways after she handed him the pig’s blood as a favor from the butcher. She smiled, looking radiant in the moonlight, and then she was gone, like mist under a hot sun. 

Thank you. 

Arthur blinked and his sword was covered in blood, the canister thrown away. He unclipped the cloak around his neck and tossed it over the sheer drop before him. It was splashed as well, but luckily landed flat enough, not bunched together too terribly. They had left bodies like this before. No one would dare the ledge. Guinevere would make Tyr a new cloak, to his specifications. He was due for a gift. 

Thank you.

Arthur opened his eyes and informed his father that Tom had been killed during the search by Arthur’s own hand. His body had fallen into a ravine. 

His father was pleased. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

The next morning, he was going through some papers when he heard Guinevere wailing from the courtyard. From what he could see from the window, accompanied by Guinevere’s great crying, she was truly selling it. Arthur had no doubt those tears were very real, but for a much different reason. Arthur smothered a smile and went back to work. 

After all, Guinevere’s house wasn’t going to buy itself.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He was going down to tell Guinevere the news when it struck him that he hadn’t seen Morgana yet. It could be that she was furious that he had killed Tom, but if that were the case she would have just shouted at him. He frowned slightly and resolved to find her after checking on Guinevere. 

Her father might not be dead, but banishment could still break one’s heart. 

Arthur quietly opened the door to Gaius’s chambers and found him reading quietly at his desk. He looked up when Arthur crept in and gestured to Merlin’s door. Arthur nodded and Gaius went back to his reading. 

He bit his lip before the door, going over all the paperwork in his head, making sure that everything was in order. The last thing he wanted was for some slip so that his words became a lie. Breathing in deep —he was done stalling; he wasn’t a coward after all— he knocked gently on the old wood door. 

Arthur waited a moment and then slowly pushed it open, peeking in at Merlin and Guinevere, then coming in fully when they both spot him. 

They both get up, in varying states of grief and anger. Merlin can hardly look at him, but at least Guinevere still holds his gaze.

“Sire.” She curtsies. For Merlin’s sake, no doubt. The boy glares, anyway. 

“Guinevere, I…” He had said these words before, had hoped that the escape would make them come easier, but her formality as a serving girl towards him disturbed him every time, sound reasoning or no. “I want you to know that your job is safe. And that your home is yours for life. I guarantee you that much.” He hadn’t even had the courage to sell it when she was banished. “I know that… under the circumstances… it’s not much, but… anything you want, anything you need, all you have to do is ask.” 

He paused, wrestling with the hopeful yet broken-hearted look in her eyes, then turned to leave before stopping once more. 

He meets her teary eyes, her exhausted smile. “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you, Sire.” 

And this time, she means it. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Lady Morgana is in the dungeon, sire.”

“The dungeon!?” Arthur was flabbergasted, although he shouldn’t have been. He knew she had been in the dungeon last time, but it had gotten swept away in the plans for the escape. 

“Yes, sire. By order of the king,” he said nervously. 

Arthur sighed and waved his words away. “Yes, yes, thank you. You may resume your duties.”

“Yes, my lord.” He bowed and left quickly. 

Arthur steadied his rapidly beating heart and made for the private dining hall. He had no choice. 

It was time to grovel.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“No one gets away with that sort of treasonous speech!” Uther thundered. “Not even Morgana.”

“Yes, but father, please. Morgana has never been in the dungeon before, surely she has served her sentence now. I am certain she’ll have learned her lesson by now.”

Uther deflated slightly at the reminder that this was Morgana’s first time receiving the dungeon as punishment, but his pride would not allow her release. Not yet. “Morgana is a fiery young woman. I’m not so sure that a few hours in the dungeon will have quelled her.”

“How about she stays overnight then? If you allow her to be released in the morning, I swear she will no longer challenge your authority.”

“And will you take responsibility for her actions?” Uther whirled on him, wit still sharp and quick. “You swear an awful lot of things on her behalf. Are you prepared to face the consequences?”

Arthur drew himself up to his full height, hands behind his back and chin up as he stared ahead. He knew the consequences of his actions. And they were more severe than Uther could have ever dreamed. 

“I swear to accept responsibility for Morgana’s actions. I will take on the consequences, whatever they may be.”

Uther studied him closely before sweeping out of the room. “You may release her at first light. If I hear that she was out a moment sooner, you’ll be joining her.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Arthur replied to the empty room. He dropped his shoulders and finally breathed again. He would gladly take the punishment if Morgana felt more free to speak her mind. 

He doubted any amount of swearing would have her tempering her words.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

That morning he was up before Merlin, and already dressed by the time he came in with breakfast. Merlin was silent, stewing, and all of his replies were blunt and sarcastic, dripping with vitriol. Arthur said nothing about his attitude and could only hope that Merlin would forgive him eventually. 

Arthur had a lot of things to be forgiven for. 

What little he ate, he ate quickly and left only after reminding Merlin of his daily chores. 

“Anything else, sire?” he questioned, just this side of a sneer. 

“That will be all, Merlin,” Arthur replied softly and grabbed his keys before leaving. 

The walk down to the dungeon seemed all too long and yet not long enough. He feared the accusations Morgana had for him, for last time he was not directly responsible for Tom’s death. He feared it would drive her away, that everything would be for naught. 

The guards at the door parted for him quickly as he unlocked the cell. 

“You,” Morgana spat. She was ruffled from her time here, but still looked as queenly as ever. “How proud you must be. Son of the mighty Uther. How you must look up to him,” she mocked. “Does the King’s little helper bring a message? Or have you just come to gloat?”

“Guards!” Arthur called. 

Morgana’s eyes flashed in fear and she stood up quickly, rattling the chains around her wrists as the guards entered the room. 

“Get away from me, you cowards!” She shrieked, pulling and pulling towards the back wall. The guards themselves await his order. 

“You’re free to go.”

She stands there in shock, allowing the guards enough time to unlock the manacles. They fall to the ground with a thud and the guards retreat to the hall. She slowly makes her way past him, but Arthur lightly catches her hand. He examines her wrists, torn and bloody from the constant pulling, but determines that it won’t leave scars. 

“I’ll send Gaius up to treat you. It should heal in a few days, but take care not to injure yourself any further.”

She nods slowly and pulls her hands easily out of his own to massage her wrist. 

“Morgana.”

She looks up with her big green eyes. 

I will stay and watch over you until the wolves gorge on your carcass and bathe in your blood.

“I swore to him you’d never challenge his authority again. I swore to him that you’d learned your lesson. Tread carefully. Next time, I may not be able to help you.”

All that power, all that cunning, abandoned, forgotten in a living grave.

She nodded and then turned to leave. Arthur shuddered, trying desperately to get rid of the memories. 

“Arthur,” she said carefully as he tried his best to make his whipping-around seem natural, “Thank you. You’re a better man than your father. Remember that next time.”

Her stony regard promised her own lecture for him later that night, likely about the nature of Tom’s official demise. He could take it. But she could not know, not this soon. After a moment, Morgana left, every inch a Lady even after the dungeon, and Arthur could breathe again.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Arthur walked into Gaius’s chambers once more, confident that Merlin would be somewhere else. Gaius almost looked surprised to see him. 

“Merlin is not here, sire.”

“I know.” Gaius raised an eyebrow. “I’m here for your services. Morgana… has injured her wrists. If you could attend to her, I would be most grateful.”

Gaius stood up immediately, concerned. “Of course. How was she hurt?”

“That isn’t important. Minor scrapes and sores, I’m sure it won’t take up much of your time.”

Gaius eyed him skeptically. “Still. I’ll see to her right away.” 

“And I’m sure there’s no reason for anyone to hear about this. I doubt Morgana would want much attention at the moment.” Arthur gave him a meaningful look and Gaius raised his chin in understanding.

“Of course, sire. I can’t imagine who would ask.”

“Thank you, Gaius. I know I can always trust you.”

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Morgana had, in fact, yelled at him over the handling of Tom’s case. Arthur hadn’t had to fake remorse. He had been just as responsible last time as Morgana believed now. He had many amends to make. A few days later, however, Arthur overheard the gossip that Morgana had saved the king from an assassination attempt while they visited Gorlois’s grave.

Arthur caught her arm as she walked past him in the hallway that day. 

“He’s dead, then? Tauren’s dead?” He looked at her hard, careful not to squeeze her arm even as his hand itched for a sword. 

“Yes,” Morgana said simply, reading him just as well. “Tauren is dead.”

A part of him wished that he had been able to kill Tauren this time. But either way, Sir Geraint was avenged and the threat was extinguished. 

He released her arm with a short nod and averted his eyes, trying not to feel like his father. “Good.”

Notes:

Alright, I added a few lines here and there, tweaked a few scenes, but I really hope that Sir Geraint wasn't out of left field. I'm thinking about going back and adding him in a few scenes over the course of the story itself, but I'm not one-hundred-percent sure where he would fit in. :/ And in my defense, I had him in much earlier than the show. A whole two episodes earlier. And I don't immediately replace him with Sir Leon the next episode and not mention him ever again. So. Yeah. Take that, BBC. (งツ)ง (Seriously tho, look up Sir Geraint on the wiki page, it's a little bit funny. ig he's big in the myths so they were like yeah!! let's give him a speaking role!! he's gonna be big!!! and then they turn around and immediately decide that Leon is now their favorite. XD)

As per the usual, have any questions, feel free to ask them, have any criticisms on my grammar, feel free to tell me (although I would like it known that I actually fought my Lack of Tense Control and almost won!! Most of this is in the same tense!!!!), have any theories, feel free to send 'em over. I may or may not nod in approval. ;)

Also!!! This is our second to last chapter!!! Next chapter will be up next Friday!! With a fun little twist on the style as a treat for the season finale!! Just in time for everyone to cry over the anniversary of the series finale!! Anyway, some of you have expressed confusion over how the hell I'm supposed to wrap up EVERYTHING by the next chapter and the answer is: This is a Series!!! :D :D I am currently working on the next season (season 2) where a lot of these loose ends will be wrapped up, but I have the unfortunate tendency to only really write when I'm in the mood, which is why I'm giving myself a looooot of time before the next season comes out in the series. I want to give you guys quality effort at an expected pace, which is why the series will be on break after I wrap up this season (season 1). I will be gone for one (1) month, but I will still be answering comments and may go back and edit/add breaks for my homies reading this all the way through. I will be back the weekend of Jan. 19th with a short in-between story. It's about three chapters, already finished, and will be going up over the three weeks (~Jan. 19th - ~Feb. 2nd) to give me even MORE time but also to give y'all some content. Helps shake things up a bit. :D After that, I will be taking another month, because I like to be really ahead and there is absolutely the possibility that I will not have written. Fret not, however, as I want to absolutely give you guys some closure just in case I lose interest and end up leaving until a later date. So, yeah, expect the official story 2 (season 2) around March 8th, with a short story in the middle of January. I wanted to give you guys this heads up instead of bombarding y'all next chapter, where I will be giving so many hugs and kisses to my dear, dear readers. <3

Otherwise!! Thank you so much for returning week after week and thank you for those of you who are just now joining us!! I love and cherish all of you and every hit/kudo/comment/bookmark/subscribe has meant the world to me!! So without further ado, I hope to see y'all next week for the Story Finale!! :D <3 <3 <3

(EDIT: I have added the breaks into the work as a whole! If you feel that they should be moved and/or are inadequate, then do feel free to let me know! These breaks are for you guys, especially now that it's finished!! Much love!! <3 <3)

Chapter 14: Abulia

Summary:

Querencia (n.)
a place where one feels safe, a place from which one’s strength of character is drawn

Notes:

Warnings: The typical references to death/dying/killing, lowkey misplaced blame, references to Arthur and Uther's fun ~relationship~ and how not to treat your kids, references to PTSD, the author trying to write dreams, the author also realizing there are two Hamilton references in here that was not meant to be there, references to pyres, references to Merlin's suicidal/sacrificial nature. If I missed any, please let me know! If you need to know when to skip anything ever, please let me know!! Stay safe and Enjoy!! <3

“Are you still frustrated with the Prince?” Gaius asked pointedly over dinner that night. 

“Frustrated? He killed Gwen’s dad! Do you think that’s something I can forgive?” Merlin gaped at his mentor. “Oh, yeah, I’ll just shrug it off after a week and get right back to it!”

“I think you’ll have to. What do you think Arthur has been doing as First Knight? He hasn’t been rounding up sorcerers for fun, you know.”

“Yeah, I know that, Gaius.” Merlin slumped miserably over his soup, head in hand as he frowned at the dinner. “But he was doing better.” 

“He still answers to the king. And you know the king’s orders on runaway prisoners.”

“But it was Gwen’s dad.” 

“And Uther is Arthur’s father. I’m not saying what he did was right–”

“Then what are you saying!?” Merlin cried desperately, finally sitting up. 

“What I’m saying… is that it would be shortsighted not to take this into account with the other acts of the Prince, good and bad. Do you really believe that Arthur would have killed Gwen’s father had he any other option?” 

“Are you saying Tom attacked him?” 

“Merlin, please.”

The boy huffed, crossing his arms, but dutifully gave it thought. And as he did so, his arms slowly uncrossed, his brow smoothed over. Yes, Merlin had been in similar situations. Sophia and Aulfric had wanted to live with the fae again, but their methods were unforgivable. They were dead, now, too. 

And Arthur had been responsible for the death of many sorcerers, including innocent ones like Mordred’s father, Merlin had seen it firsthand over the months. But Arthur had also helped sneak out Mordred and taken the boy back to the druids himself. 

Merlin wasn’t sure if he would be able to truly move past Tom’s death; truthfully, he wasn’t sure how Gwen was able to. But perhaps he had been treating Arthur too harshly, especially considering all that Merlin had done behind his back. Maybe Arthur wasn’t ready for Merlin’s magic… but maybe he would be. One day. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

There was no way around it. The Questing Beast was there and if Arthur was to protect his people, he had to kill it. At least this time he had Excalibur. Perhaps he would be able to slay the beast without getting injured this time. 

Even if he does, it will have been worth it. 

But knowing what will happen beforehand doesn’t make it any less terrifying when the giant monster hisses in your face, when you can feel its hot breath on your neck and Merlin’s fallen. 

Arthur scrambles back to grab him by his arm, thankful that Sir Bedivere is there to grab his other, and hauls him upright. They’re scrabbling away, just about to make it, when Arthur remembers at the very last second.

No.

He jerks Merlin forward, grabbing Bedivere by his chain mail and forcibly dragging him over as fast as he possibly can.

Snap!

All of the blood drains from Arthur as the air whooshes where the Beast’s teeth had snapped and, thankfully, missed. 

“Have we lost it?” Merlin heaves, looking around wildly. 

But Arthur is too busy pushing everyone onto their horses, counting up everyone as fast as he can, and pushing for them to depart. 

“We have everyone, now ride!” Arthur barked. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

“Is it true then?” Gwen said quietly from his doorway. Merlin paused where he was cleaning Excalibur, his final duty before bed. 

“Is what true?” He moved over on his bed so she had enough room to sit down beside him. She moved tentatively, rubbing her arms. As she got closer, the dark circles under her eyes came into view. 

“The Beast. You and Arthur are going tomorrow to slay it.”

“Well, not just me and Arthur. The knights wouldn’t hear of staying.” He didn’t know how much good the knights will really do, but he couldn’t deny their heart. Merlin frowned a little. “I’m not sure why Arthur tried to convince them, actually.” 

“You’ll be careful, won’t you? And look after Arthur?” Gwen leaned forward, placing a hand on his knee, urgent and worried. 

“Of course I will, Gwen.” You don’t even have to ask. Merlin touched her shoulder to find her trembling, and pulled her into a hug. “We’ll be alright, you’ll see. Nothing can get past me, right?” 

Gwen hummed a little, too strained to be a chuckle and too subdued to be a laugh. She hugged him back, resting her head in the crook of his neck. 

“Gwen?” 

“Hm?” 

“Can I ask you something?” 

She pulled back, already looking more in control of herself, albeit a renewed worry shone in her eye. “Of course, Merlin, anything.”

“How were you able to forgive Arthur? After… everything, how can you still care?”

Gwen shut down immediately, dropping her head and pulling her hands into her lap. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Gwen, I’ve made a complete arse of myself–”

“No, no, it’s fine. Really. I’m okay. It’s just…” She fell silent, taking in measured breaths in the quiet of the room. “Complicated, I suppose. Arthur was… doing what he could. He always does. He’s not always right, of course, but… you don’t grow, do you? If you’re always right? In any case, he didn’t give the order.”

When Gwen met his eye, something dark and fiery was there, but also calm and composed. She was right, of course. Arthur was growing. Uther wasn’t. 

Merlin broke into a sly grin to ease the tension. “And that’s why you were able to go visit him earlier? To wish him safe travels before tomorrow?” 

“Actually, he was already asleep,” she responded immediately, only for her face to flush and her hand to fly up to her mouth, eyes wide. “I mean– I was just— worried, is all, it wasn’t like– I mean—”

Merlin laughed and Gwen slapped him playfully. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Yesterday, Arthur sat through the same council meeting on the Beast, and his father ignored all of Gaius’s warnings, just like last time. They were to leave that morning and defeat the Beast, come hell or high water. 

Arthur studied the knights before him, proud to know that Bedivere had made the lineup. He had been half-inclined to ride out with just Merlin, to spare them the agony of the Beast and deal with it on their own. But it was too late, and they wouldn’t hear of it when Arthur innocently proposed it. Nevertheless, they would all return home; Arthur would make sure of it. 

At last, the knights were prepared to go, and looked to Arthur to lead the way. He doesn’t know how he gathered such a fine group of knights, but he’s proud of every one of them.

“You’ve seen the foe we face,” he began, looking at all of them meaningfully. “It’s a creature of nightmare. But you are the best knights in the realm. We can, and we will, kill it before it harms another citizen of our kingdom.”

Arthur drew Excalibur, raising her up high and admiring how the gold captured the morning sun. 

“For the love of Camelot!” Arthur shouted.

The knights pulled out their swords as one. “For the love of Camelot!”

Their echo warmed his heart, and he knows that he goes not into battle alone. 

“Arthur!”

Morgana’s scream pierced the air and Arthur turned around to find her stumbling down the stairs, terrified and babbling in her nightgown. 

“Arthur, don’t go, you can’t go,” she was rambling on, hysterical and all too close to sobbing outright. Arthur caught her flailing wrists when she got close enough and she fought him like a restrained animal. 

“You can’t face this!” she cried out. “I’ve seen terrible things!”

Arthur wrestled her close to his armor, trapping her in a hug and shushing her quietly. He didn’t want his men to lose morale, but he couldn’t leave her like this either. He tucked her under his chin then caught Merlin’s eye over her head. He motioned for him to get the guards, Guinevere, anybody to take her back to her room for the time being.

“She probably had a bad dream, Sire,” Merlin assured him, waving the guards over and going to take Morgana himself, “I’ll make sure she gets to Gaius.”

“No!” she pleaded, feeling Merlin’s hand on her shoulder and burrowing deeper into Arthur. “I will not let you go!”

“Morgana,” Arthur said to her quietly, “You know I have to go.”

“No!” 

He lowered his voice again, speaking to her gently, “Morgana, I must protect my people. What kind of king, what kind of person, would I be, if I just left them to its mercy?”

“Alive.”

“Morgana, I appreciate your concern more than I can express with words, but I have to go. I promise you that I will make it back alive.”

She shook her head, still not meeting his eye. “You can’t make that promise. You don’t know.”

“Morgana.” He hooked a finger under her chin and slowly lifted up her haunted eyes to meet his. “I promise that I will survive this.”

She hesitated, and Merlin took that as his cue to lead her up the steps to where the guards were waiting. 

“I’ll make sure he’s safe, My Lady, I promise,” he told her as they went up. 

Arthur sighed and turned back towards his knights. He looked them all in the eye. “For the love of Camelot.”

“For the love of Camelot!” They chorus back once again. 

He nodded and jumped up onto Hengroen, his war horse, one hand trailing back to Excalibur, then led his company out to face the Beast. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He knows that he is proud to hit it. 

He knows for certain that he stabs it.

He knows he dodged the first swipe.

He knows its teeth sank into his muscle anyway. 

He knows it’s dead. 

He knows his people are safe.

And then he knows no more. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Chaos erupted in the castle. Rumors and whispers echoed through the halls. 

The Beast is dead. 

Prince Arthur has been injured.

They say he won’t last the night.

Morgana told him, she told him not to go! It’s his own fault for getting himself into this mess, Morgana tried to warn him, it’s not her fault he doesn’t listen. 

Except. 

He has been listening, hasn’t he? In all the years Morgana has been at Camelot, the last few months, the whole last year even, Arthur has never listened to her as intently. He allows her to speak without interruption, talks over her ideas and suggestions with her, and even puts them into effect when he can. 

Despite their recent feuds in the last few years after they grew out of their childhood friendship, Morgana has grown to like Arthur. It crept up on her, like the fungus that he is. And all for that he can be headstrong and obstinate and cocky, he has also proven himself to be a good man at heart, with a sturdy head on his shoulders, and a willingness to listen a good deal more than his father. 

Arthur would make a good king, if only he would stop dying. 

Droplets land on her hands and Morgana’s surprised to find that they’re trembling, and equally as surprised to find that she’s crying. Though she shouldn’t be as shocked as she is, should she? Arthur had become one of her closest confidants. 

Even when his eyes had become shadowed and his hand ever twitching for his sword, even when he jumped whenever they met and appeared more tired than her, even when he turned tight-lipped and visibly shaken at every new visitor… he had welcomed her with open arms. 

He listened to every dream without saying that she was crazy, heard every rant against Uther, and helped her out of trouble when she inevitably fell into it. His arms had been warm and sturdy and safe when they had pulled her into a hug that morning, his voice strong and sure. For all his faults, Arthur had become the older brother she never had. 

And now he was dying. 

Morgana peeked through the door, just able to make out his pale and sweaty form in the bed, just as she had seen in her dreams. 

She saw him a lot in her dreams, sick and broken, dead and drowned, and she had her dreams far too often for her liking. All of Gaius’s tonics and tinctures no longer did a lick of good and the visions— no, no, the dreams she’d been having gave her such an unsettled feeling when she walked around in daylight, such a dreadful, terrified panic when she first awoke. 

Sometimes they would prove helpful, as in the case of that horrid girl, Sophia, but in other cases… in situations like these… Morgana felt quite useless. 

She turned away sharply from the door. Morgana had not felt the sharp sting of helplessness in many a day and she refused to get used to it now. Arthur had a fever. He would surely need cool cloths and extra water to help bring it down. The medicine she would have to leave to Gaius, but this, this was something she could do. 

She almost ran into Merlin on the way down, but he was too flustered to mumble anything more than sorry before rushing back to Gaius. With all the chores Arthur gave him, it was easy to forget that Merlin also moonlighted as a physician’s assistant. 

It was less easy to forget the semi-prominent role he took in her dreams. 

Nothing ever seemed to go right; Arthur was always hurt and Merlin was always the one responsible. And yet, Arthur survived every time. No one could doubt Merlin’s loyalty to his master, indeed, to his friends. He had a brave spirit and a pure heart, although perhaps his methods required some fine tuning. He meant well and despite the fact that Arthur was a Knight and he a servant, Morgana had felt better knowing that Merlin was accompanying Arthur. 

She feared she would continue dreaming tonight, and she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be pleasant. Merlin seemed more prone to rush head-first into situations than Arthur, no matter how much forethought they actually put into the action. Morgana only hopes she would be able to warn him in time, should that be the case; and that he would listen, as Gwen and Arthur have. 

Oh, poor Gwen. Ever since Arthur confessed having an eye for Gwen, and for reasons more noble than other royalty might have, Morgana kept her own weathered eye on the situation. Gwen was growing fond of him, just as she had, although hers was certainly in a different direction. 

While Morgana had the privilege, although some days she would mark it as a curse, of growing up with Arthur already predisposed as siblings, Gwen was pretty far removed in spite of her role as Morgana’s maid. Or perhaps because of it. In any case, Gwen hadn’t truly gotten involved until Merlin showed up. They were fast friends and soon after, Arthur caught a liking to her as well, though in a markedly different way then Merlin, Morgana should think. 

Gwen was reserved enough that Morgana was unclear whether her true feelings for Arthur were solely platonic or romantic, but her father had recently passed —and by Arthur’s hand no less. The fact that they remained acquainted at all was astounding to her, yet Gwen always had a sweet nature about her and Arthur was truly regretful. 

It was probably the only reason Morgana was capable of retaining as much favor for him as she did. 

But Arthur was dying. 

Arthur was dying, Merlin was running around like a madman, Gwen was surely upset by the whole ordeal, and Morgana herself was most likely in a mild state of shock. It would seem that Arthur possessed, in his own nature, a sort of natural leadership that was able to bind the four of them together in a coherent group, no matter how competent, or incompetent, any individual members may be. 

Not that Morgana would ever say it out loud. 

Morgana rested heavily on the wall, though the bucket of water now with her and the rags on her shoulder had nothing to do with her discontent. 

Prince Arthur is dying. 

Light your candle, they say he won’t wake again.

What a shame, he would have been a good king.  

Rumors and whispers echo through the halls, but Morgana was going to make sure Arthur delivered on his promise even if she had to find a way to bring him back kicking and screaming. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Screaming. Everywhere, all around him. 

It’s dark. No. It’s bright. Too bright, he can’t see. 

He– He can’t see and he can’t move and they’re screaming all around him. 

He can’t get to them.

Them–

The Druids?

His people?

(Were they really ever different?)

The heat is rising. Clawing at his legs, his chest, his arms, his neck. He can’t see. 

He can’t move. He twists and turns, pushes and falls, but he cannot move. 

They are screaming. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Gwen takes Gaius’s place beside Arthur and wishes him a good night as he wearily shambles out the door. How anyone would be able to sleep tonight is beyond Gwen, but Gaius desperately needs the sleep if he’s to continue searching for a cure. 

There’s already a cloth over Arthur’s forehead, but a fresh one rests beside a cold bucket of water. Gwen begins by taking off the sweat-dampened rag and wiping him down once more before casting it to the side. She checks to make sure the bandage behind his head is still properly in place —for it had already stopped bleeding— and then tests the water absentmindedly. Still cool. 

Arthur hasn’t stopped making disturbed noises since she walked in. 

The cloth beside the bucket is soft, even Gwen’s calloused hands can feel it. It gets dunked into the bucket, thoroughly washed through, and the used rag is placed inside afterwards. Gwen diligently pats him down, determined to help Arthur fight off the fever. He moans in his sleep, and Gwen pretends that the droplet she wipes up from his eye is simply the residue of the damp cloth. Gwen smiles softly, bitterly. 

Even now, even in sleep, in fevered delirium, she is still trying to please the Prince. 

He twists under her care, face screwed up horribly; certainly he would have been thrashing had his body the energy. Her face screwed up in turn, herself disturbed by the thought. 

No, not pleasing a prince. Gwen is trying to preserve Arthur’s dignity. 

She shushes him lightly, hand moving to stroke his forehead automatically. She would have removed her hand as soon as she realized what was happening, except he stops moving under her hand almost immediately. So Gwen tries not to look into it and instead continues her ministrations with the other hand. 

“You’re not going to die, Arthur,” Gwen murmured. “I’m telling you.”

She finished dabbing at him and soaks it once more before laying it back on his forehead. She had to use both hands to wring it out and he made a distressed noise in the back of his throat. He quieted down when Gwen resumed stroking the furrow in his brow and Gwen wasn’t quite sure what to do with that information.

“Because I know one day you will be King,” she continued instead. “A greater king than your father could ever be.” 

It was treason, probably, what she was saying. But she couldn’t help it. And Arthur was relaxing the longer she spoke. 

She leaned in forward to whisper. “It’s what keeps me going.” 

The furrow was disappearing and it gave her the conviction to continue on. 

“You are going to live to be the man I’ve seen you be, Arthur. I can see a Camelot that is… fair and just. I can see a king that the people will love and be proud to call their sovereign.”

It was true. The Arthur before her was most assuredly not the Arthur of one year ago. He had grown, both in physique and in responsibility. 

Not that she was actively checking on his fitness or anything, it was just something that she had observed. 

Not that she was constantly observing him! 

He was just—

It was like—

She was—

Hopeless. 

Arthur had changed, one way or another. He cared for people, used his position for good instead of abusing it. He was kind and sweet and even funny in an odd sort of way. And he listened to her. It was incredible. She had grown up… not poor … not exactly , but definitely lower class. She was always a maid or a servant and even as a seamstress she had always been decidedly lower in intellect according to those around her. 

Her father, bless his heart, had always seen her as his little girl. Her mother had died when she was too young to truly appreciate her and Lord knows Elyan never paid any mind to her words. 

Before Morgana, her words were never given any stock. And then it had been Merlin, and Gaius was prone to believe everybody, but then Arthur started to defer to her knowledge. It was enough that he acknowledged her expertise, but the fact that he was interested in hearing her opinion? That he followed what she suggested? It was unheard of from his class, and a man no less. 

He made her warm and known and sent butterflies running up and down her spine to nestle in her stomach. 

But he was a prince. And she was proud to call him so. 

“For the love of Camelot, you have to live,” she pleaded. She blinked to clear her vision and refused to think of it as anything more than a stray eyelash. 

If he weren’t a prince, Gwen might even go so far as to say that he was her friend. 

Even though Arthur gifted her flowers from the side of the road, and got flustered so prettily when they would converse on occasion, and looked at her like she hung the moon and the stars, and was the only person who called her Guinevere just so, and overall seemed, well, he was—

Hopeless.

If he wasn’t a prince—

But, no, Gwen did those things with her friends. She gave them flowers and rambled on when she misspoke and sometimes she would look at Merlin that certain way when he first came to town because he was brave and handsome and—

She didn’t look at Merlin like that anymore.

But Arthur was a prince, the sole heir to the throne. 

And Gwen was a maidservant, no more than a seamstress. 

And Arthur leaned into her hand when she paused stroking him. She hadn’t seen him rest so peacefully the whole night. 

“You have to come back,” Gwen choked out, the pressure in her chest almost too much to bear. 

But she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, grabbed at the cloth in the bucket, and resumed her work. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He was burning.

He was floating.

It was raining and he was burning and it felt so sweet. A reprieve from—

From—

Something. 

He couldn’t remember what.

And then she started speaking. Her words flowed over him like the boats floated down the lake—

Like he had—

But funeral pyres burned and he was burning and

The words continued, and her presence stayed. 

All his friends had died—

Or had he killed them?

(Was there ever really a difference?)

But she was there, she was there. 

(How long?)

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

The people were holding a vigil. Dozens of them filled the courtyard, young and old, men and women alike, each one holding a candle in honor of their wounded Prince. 

Pellinore had joined the ranks of the Knights nigh on seventeen years ago when he was a headstrong lad, not a year or two older than the Crown Prince today, tested and trained by King Uther himself. He had watched the Prince as he observed the practices in his youth, and even oversaw a year in his early training a few years later. He had seen the ferocity in the boy, the fire in his spirit and his persistence in achieving excellence in every area. 

Pellinore stayed silent as other, older knights complained about how unfair it was that Prince Arthur would lead the Knight simply because of his rank. He looked on as Prince Arthur assumed command at the age of fourteen. Inexperienced, naive, and wholly loyal to Camelot. The Knights scorned him when he left the armory, whispered scathing jokes to each other as he trained. 

He was loath to admit that he kept his tongue still when he overheard such treasonous words. For Prince Arthur grew with each encounter, obtaining knowledge and experience and muscle with every passing year. Hardly any of the Knights could believe it when they found that the Prince had won their respect, however begrudgingly it was given, at long last. 

Prince Arthur was the one man Pellinore was proud to follow into battle. Indeed, he had many a time, always prepared to give his life for Camelot, but now equally happy to risk his life for the Crown Prince. When the Black Knight had approached Camelot, Pellinore was sure it was his time to make good on his pledge, injuries be damned, until Prince Arthur himself challenged the man… thing. Prince Arthur looked at him afterwards, as if he had read his mind, and made sure he followed Gaius’s instructions to the letter. 

Prince Arthur felt for his men fiercely, looking after each and every one of them as if they were part of the royal family itself. While he could be arrogant and stubborn at times, especially as a younger man, he was also loyal to a fault, exceptionally strategic, and knew his trade inside and out. Every Knight was at their peak thanks to Prince Arthur, even when past their prime. And while Prince Arthur had definitely changed over the past year —with whispers of the reason behind his dramatic shift finally dying down over the months— he grew closer to his men than ever before. 

And now he was dying. 

Pellinore had seen the King bear his son to his chambers, had seen him fall, consumed by grief, and it was only because he was too far away that he wasn’t one of the four men honored to complete the journey. 

He closed his eyes, sucking in a breath as he turned away from the sight. It was respectful, and showed the love of the people for their prince, but Pellinore could not bear to see it, lest he start crying for his fallen leader. 

After all, Arthur had told all of them long ago that no man, no matter how great, was worth their tears. 

A somber atmosphere had fallen upon the castle, and not solely on account of the King’s mood. Some of the Knights had taken up the vigil as a show of fidelity, others working out their grief in the training yard. The servants that knew him were heartbroken at the news, the others split between silence in the face of an apathetic personality and a sort of second-hand sadness on account of knowing Merlin. 

Oh, the poor boy. Merlin had attached himself to Arthur since the first day as a leech might to a patient. He had saved the Prince’s life multiple times, if the stories were to be believed, and that had bound them in a friendship tighter than even that of the Knights’. He accompanied the troop for every hunt, ride, and patrol he possibly could. It could sometimes, indeed most times, prove worrying for the Knights, such as Pellinore, who viewed it as a duty to protect the Prince’s servant from harm. And with the added pursuit of Merlin, having roomed with Gaius, as assistant physician, the death sentence must have been quite the blow.

Pellinore forced his eyes open, taking in the empty armory, littered with half-polished pieces, dull weapons, mud, and dust. He never shirked his duty, and he wouldn’t start now. 

The Questing Beast was dead. There was at least two hours until the next rotation. 

Pellinore needed to find a candle. They had all promised Arthur that they would waste no time weeping, but the Prince deserved to be remembered. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He stumbles forward. 

Everything is dark. 

Everything is tall. 

His legs don’t take him as far as they used to, but it doesn’t matter. 

Everything is dark. 

There is no one there. 

He cannot call for them. 

Mother he cannot call; she is dead, in the dark.

Father he cannot call; he is busy, and will not answer. 

He stumbles forward. 

Everything is dark. 

Everything is stone.

He’s been in this cell before. He knows every rock, crevice, and straw-piece. 

Everything is dark. 

The manacles jingle with every movement. 

He cannot call for them.

Mother he cannot call; she is dead and Arthur is responsible.

Father he cannot call; he put him here, and Arthur will not be released a moment sooner. 

Morgana he cannot call; she is young and would not understand. 

He stumbles forward.

Everything is dark.

Everything is dust. 

It shuffles around his feet, clogs the air he breathes, ruins his eyesight. The sound of stillness is what gets to him the most. 

Everything is dark.

Everyone is dead.

He calls for them. 

Mother he cannot call; she is dead, and every word she says is a lie. 

Father he cannot call; he is dead, and Arthur will not like the answer. 

Morgana he cannot call; she is dead, and would only come to kill him.

Guinevere he calls; but she is far away, safe, and loved. 

Merlin he calls; but he whispers words of magic and has duties far greater than to stay. 

He stumbles forward.

Everything is dark. 

He calls for them.

Silence answers.

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

Merlin slinks in to find Arthur sitting in a chair, staring at the fire with an intense expression. He looks tired and worn out, the shadows cast by the flames only exacerbating the bags under his eyes and the tremor in his hand. He seems about a step or two away from passing out of sheer exhaustion, but a good deal better than when he was thrown across the room by the Questing Beast’s death throes. 

In short, he looks about as well as Merlin feels. 

Merlin shuts the door behind him, just to see if he can get his attention without startling him. It works, and Arthur blinks before swinging his head over to him and then breaking into a confused smile. 

“Merlin!” 

If Merlin didn’t know any better, he’d say Arthur was glad to see him. A pit formed in his stomach. And to think, they had finally become the best of friends. Time –not wasted, no, never wasted – but cut short. 

“How are you?” Merlin asks softly. 

His eyes darken and Arthur appears to be mulling over his words. “Better,” he settles on. He flashes a smile Merlin’s way and the darkness is gone. Perhaps it was merely a trick of the shadows.

“I’m pleased.”

“Yes. …Was there something you needed, Merlin?” 

To say goodbye.

Arthur blinks at him innocently. 

“I need to talk to you,” Merlin blurts out. 

Arthur frowns and eyes him curiously. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks slowly, studying him intently. Merlin tries not to shift uncomfortably under the weight of his stare. 

“No,” Merlin was quick to assure him, “Nothing’s wrong.”

Arthur waits a moment more until his features smooth over. “Well, get on with it. It’s not like you’d stop talking if I asked.”

That surprised Merlin into a laugh. Only Arthur could startle Merlin into laughing when his mother was on the brink of death and Merlin would soon be dead. 

That sobered him up quickly. 

“Well, yeah, that’s because you’re a prat,” Merlin jokes weakly. 

He may have come here to say goodbye, but Arthur didn’t need to know that. Despite all of the shite he gives people to do so that he doesn’t have to do it, Arthur’d rather get falsely accused of sorcery and burned at the stake than have someone trade their life for his. 

Well, tough luck. 

Luckily for Merlin, Arthur either doesn’t notice his turmoil or lets it go and takes the joke in stride. He chuckles a little and the light dims in his eyes as he turns back to the fire. 

“Never change, Merlin,” he murmurs. “Don’t change for anyone.”

“Okay,” Merlin warns, “But when I inevitably get thrown out for treasonous words, don’t get a bootlicker for your next servant.”

This one had the opposite effect. Arthur grimaces and subconsciously reaches for his side as if grabbing a wound, though his injured shoulder would heal nicely. 

“Trying to quit your job?” Arthur teases lightly, a tone at stark odds with his countenance. 

“No. I’m happy to be your servant till the day I die.”

Arthur’s grimness doubled somehow. Merlin frowns, just a little.

Arthur may not have been enchanted after that first week, but he had definitely been… off . Gwen agreed with him, and by the strange looks Morgana has become prone to throwing Arthur, she obviously thinks it’s weird as well. Merlin had thrown every spell he could think of, gone through every trick in the book. Arthur was still Arthur… but Merlin could not shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

“I used to think I knew you, Merlin,” Arthur murmurs thoughtfully, watching the flames as if they had personally done him wrong. “Sometimes I still fancy I do. But then other times…”

He shakes his head and smiles ruefully. 

Oh, Arthur might be acting strange, but Merlin knows him. He might be stubborn and insecure and make Merlin do every little thing he could get his mind on. He fights ruthlessly and throws things at Merlin. He’s brash and loud and follows orders. 

Oh, yes, Merlin most definitely knows Arthur. 

Merlin knows that he’ll throw instructions out of the window for his friends. He knows that he cares deeply, cares fiercely and that he’s horrible at showing it. He knows Arthur listens to advice and takes it, that he would give up his life in an instant for Camelot and her people. He knows that he is responsible and kind and clever.

“Well, I know you. And you’re a great warrior.”

Most importantly…

“One day, you’ll be a great king.” 

If Merlin never sees him again, if they don’t meet in the afterlife, he needs Arthur to hear it. 

Arthur looks up, finally, and seems almost grief-stricken. His eyes are suspicious, and very nearly damp. But it must be a trick of the light. It’s not like Arthur knows Merlin’s plan. 

“That’s very kind of you,” Arthur says hoarsely, turning back towards the fire. 

“Just… remember to keep listening.”

Arthur’s face sets, very quickly, and Merlin wonders for a brief moment if he’s going to get hit with a pillow or something. He shifts his gaze back to him, as if he’s going into battle, and says something Merlin will never forget, as long as he lives. 

“Thank you, Merlin. You’re a good man; the bravest I’ve ever known. Don’t let anyone ever tell you different. You’ve a good heart and I trust your judgment.” The sobriety fell away and Arthur cracked a smile. “But keep an eye out for yourself once in a while, eh? At this rate I'll die of nerves before I ever become king.” 

And when Merlin left, when he finally closed the door behind him and left the crown prince to his musings, he felt lighter. What he told Nimueh was true: he would die for Arthur. 

Arthur reminded him of Will that way. They could be stubborn and good-hearted and Merlin would do anything for them. Well, anything that came from him. Whatever else happened, his mother came first. She always would. 

Merlin didn’t welcome death, but he didn’t fear it either. He was at peace with his decision. He regretted that he wouldn’t see the kingdom that Arthur would come to build, but at least it was for a worthy reason. The best reason. 

And as Merlin left Camelot, amid the thousands of worries about his mother, it struck him how odd it was, his change for Arthur. 

Nearly a year ago, Merlin would have paid to see Arthur leave. 

Now, Merlin would do anything to see him stay. 

- - - - -     ~*~     - - - - - 

He woke up. 

He called for them.

Just once more. 

This time—

“Rise and shine!” 

“You’re looking much better, Arthur.”

“I see you managed to keep your promise after all.” 

—they answered.

Notes:

Hey guys!! I know I know I know I said I’d post this on Friday, but things got really busy and I still needed to properly go through the chapter again, so I decided to post the final chapter on Christmas in honor of Merlin’s finale’s 11th anniversary, and it's an extra long, six-thousand-word chapter, with multiple different POVs!! I just checked and it says that it actually came out December 24th, which is a devastating blow. However, since I’m doing all this prep on Christmas Eve, let’s just say it evens out properly.

I would like to say that the original chapter only needed minor edits, however I did add two scenes to try and bridge the gap between some rough feelings in the last chapter and the I-will-actively-die-for-you feelings in this chapter. Fingers crossed it worked!! I am also happy to say that I actively tried to keep the tenses in line this time! However, as per usual, if you have any questions/comments/concerns feel free to let me know! I will of course be on break so my responses might be a little slower, but I love to know y’all’s thoughts so feel free to keep at it!! (Especially since I might have to go back and re-edit the two scenes –although if no one can guess which ones they are then they might be left alone, ha ha! I definitely did those a little late.)

Just to reiterate a few things: This is a series, I will be taking a break as this is the end of the first story in the series. I will be back around Jan. 19th with the second story, which is set before Season 2 and will only be three chapters, a sort of 1.5 story. It should finish around Feb. 2nd, after which I will be taking another break until hopefully March 8th, when I will finally put up the second full story which follows Season 2. These breaks are to give me time to write these new chapters so that I can give them to you weekly! During these breaks, I will absolutely be reading your comments, however my responses might be a little slow. I will, at some point, go back through the story and put in breaks before these notes for people reading all the way through.

Finally. Last but not least. I need to express my undying love for all the people out there who have supported this story from the start, for the people who joined later on, and for the people who are reading this hopefully after this is all finished! I love every single one of you to pieces and it has honestly been such a joy to see the reception this little fic has gotten. I love the people who track me down on my tumblr to leave notes, I love the people who leave analysis in the comments that I ramble on to, I love the people who leave emojis in the comments, I love the people who kudo and comment and subscribe and leave the tab open as they wait for the next chapter. I love you all and your words and love has meant the world to me, especially as I finally dip my toe into an Ao3 account and post my long-held fanfics. I cannot thank you enough and I am so thankful that I got y’all as my audience. You guys are the best readers an author could ask for and I sincerely hope I see your users again for the sequels.

I wish you nothing but love, cold pillows, and warm soup. <3

Kindly,
The Void

Notes:

Hey, guys! I've had this sitting in my drive for... well, probably a couple of years now, and I thought I'd finally start posting it in honor of the show's 15th Anniversary!! These are rigorously self-edited, but anything pointed out would be very helpful (and I may go back later and re-edit, but that's a later me problem)!

Anyway, season 1 has been finished, so expect weekly updates pretty regularly! I'll be posting chapter 2 tomorrow just so that we can get the ball rolling for next week.

Finally, I don't think anything too rough happens in season 1, but just in case I'll post any warnings I think are applicable at the beginning of each chapter since I (accidentally) filled up all the tags. If the rating needs to go up at all, let me know! I've been toying with the idea, but I'll leave it for now.

Thanks for stopping by and come yell to the void on tumblr @kindlythevoid !

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Rewind