Unbreakable Chains

by Ireadtoomanybooks, Iwritetoomanybooks

Summary:

Merlin never wanted to come to Camelot. But with his home reduced to ashes and nowhere else to turn, he has no choice but to seek refuge with his uncle, a court physician under King Uther’s rule. All he wants is a quiet life—one of healing, learning, and keeping his strange gifts hidden.

But the moment he steps within Camelot’s walls, he feels it. A presence watching. A hunger waiting.

Prince Arthur Pendragon is nothing like the noble protector of legends. He is ruthless, possessive, and drawn to Merlin in ways neither of them fully understand. Every time Merlin tries to escape, Arthur is there to catch him—tender, terrifying, and utterly unwilling to let him go.

Chapter 1: Ashes on the Wind

The road to Camelot was long, stretching out before Merlin like a thread spun from fate’s cruel hands. His feet ached, his limbs trembled with exhaustion, and the weight of everything he had lost pressed heavy against his chest. His mother was gone. Ealdor was gone. The only home he had ever known had been reduced to ashes and scattered to the wind, all because Cenred’s soldiers had come hunting something more valuable than the lives they trampled underfoot.

Not him. Never him.

Merlin had no power to call fire or wield the storm. His hands were gentle, built for healing, not for war. The gift inside him was soft, made of light and warmth and the careful mending of broken things. But even that had not been enough to save his mother, to save anyone.

He swallowed against the grief clawing up his throat and kept walking.

Camelot loomed in the distance, its red banners snapping in the wind, its stone walls rising like an unshakable giant against the horizon. Somewhere within them, his uncle waited. Gaius had sent word that he would take him in, let him apprentice in healing, and Merlin had clung to that letter like a lifeline. He had nothing else now—no home, no family, nothing but the clothes on his back and the few precious supplies he had managed to gather before fleeing Ealdor.

A life in Camelot would not be easy. Gaius had warned him of King Uther’s hatred for magic, had urged him to be careful, to never let his gift be seen. But Merlin had spent his whole life hiding it, pressing it down until it felt like something fragile and secret curled inside his ribs, something only he could hear whispering in the dark.

It would be enough. It had to be enough.

The city gates loomed closer. Merlin hesitated, staring up at them, his heart pounding like a frightened bird against its cage. This was it. A new life, a new chance to survive. He squared his shoulders, inhaled shakily, and stepped forward.

And somewhere, in the dark heart of Camelot, something stirred. Something waiting. Watching. Hungry.

 

Chapter 2: A New Life

 

The streets of Camelot were alive with noise. Merchants called out their wares, the scent of fresh bread and roasting meat curled through the air, and the press of bodies jostled Merlin from all sides. He clutched his small satchel close, the weight of his remaining coins a feeble comfort. Every clang of a blacksmith’s hammer made him flinch, every sudden movement sent a fresh wave of anxiety rolling through his stomach. He wasn’t used to this. Ealdor had been quiet, peaceful. Here, everything was too loud, too fast.

But he was safe. That was what mattered.

He took a deep breath and steeled himself. Gaius had warned him about Camelot—how to keep his head down, how to stay out of trouble, how to hide what made him different. So far, he had managed. Just a little longer, and he would be at the physician’s quarters, where he could breathe without fear of being trampled.

But first—food.

His stomach had been protesting since dawn, and the golden apples glistening in a nearby stall were too tempting to ignore. He approached cautiously, counting out a few coins before handing them to the vendor. The man barely looked at him as he dropped a red apple into Merlin’s hand, already moving on to the next customer.

Merlin took a grateful bite, savoring the burst of sweetness. He had barely swallowed when someone crashed into him. Hard.

The impact sent him stumbling back, nearly knocking the breath from his lungs. His apple tumbled from his grasp, rolling into the dirt.

“Oh—oh, I’m sorry!” Merlin gasped, scrambling to straighten himself. His heart was already hammering. He hadn’t meant to be in the way, hadn’t meant to cause trouble. “I wasn’t looking where I was going, I—are you alright? Here, take this—”

He fumbled for his remaining coins, offering them with trembling fingers. It was only when he looked up that he got his first proper glimpse of the man he had collided with.

The stranger was tall, golden-haired, and dressed in a rich red cloak that marked him as someone important. Too important. Blue eyes swept over him, sharp and assessing, but there was no anger in them. Just amusement.

“That won’t be necessary,” the man said, his voice smooth, almost teasing. “No harm done.”

Merlin blinked, uncertain. He had expected irritation, maybe even a sharp word or two, but instead, there was… patience? He ducked his head quickly. “Still—I really am sorry.”

A pause. Then, “You apologize too much.”

Merlin swallowed, unsure how to respond, but the stranger didn’t linger. With one last unreadable glance, he turned and melted back into the crowd.

Merlin exhaled shakily, then bent to retrieve his apple. Dirt clung to the skin, and he wiped it off the best he could before hurrying in the direction of Gaius’ home. He had wasted enough time.

---

Gaius’ chambers were tucked away in one of the castle’s outer buildings, a narrow doorway leading into a cluttered but oddly comforting space. Shelves lined the walls, stacked high with books, jars, and strange herbs that gave the air a sharp, medicinal scent. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the floor.

Gaius himself stood at a wooden table, grinding something into a fine powder with a mortar and pestle. He didn’t look up as Merlin stepped inside, but his voice was warm when he spoke.

“You made it.”

Merlin nodded, still lingering by the door. “Thank you… for taking me in.”

Gaius finally looked up, his gaze softening. “You’re family, lad. Now, come in. There’s much to do.”

Merlin stepped further inside, glancing around uncertainly.

“I’ve prepared a room for you,” Gaius continued, setting aside his work. “It’s small—used to be a storage space, but it’ll be yours now.” He gestured toward a narrow doorway. “Go on, take a look.”

Merlin hesitated before pushing open the door. The room was tiny, barely big enough for the small cot pressed against one wall and the rickety table beside it. There was a single window, its glass clouded with dust, but it let in enough light to make the space feel less suffocating.

It wasn’t much. But it was safe. It was his.

He turned back to Gaius, nodding. “It’s perfect.”

Gaius smiled. “I’m glad you think so. Now, about your duties—you’ll be assisting me with patients, fetching supplies, and helping to keep this place in order. I’ll also be arranging for some tutoring—history, reading, numbers, that sort of thing. Your mornings will be spent learning, and your afternoons working with me. In the evenings, you’ll have time for yourself.”

Merlin nodded, absorbing it all. It sounded… structured. Normal. Something he could hold onto.

Gaius clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Get some rest tonight. Tomorrow, your new life begins.”

Merlin swallowed, exhaustion catching up with him. He managed a small smile before retreating into his new room, closing the door behind him.

A new life.

He could only hope it would be a good one.

Chapter 3: An Unexpected Lesson

Merlin sat cross-legged on his cot, staring at the bare stone walls of his small room. It felt cold, impersonal—nothing like the home he had lost. He knew better than to hope for anything too comfortable, but he couldn’t help the longing that curled deep in his chest. Just a little warmth, a little softness, something to make this space feel safe.

He bit his lip, glancing toward the door. Gaius had been kind—far kinder than Merlin had expected—but he had no idea how the old man would react to what Merlin was considering. He hesitated for another moment before slipping out of his room and into the main chamber.

Gaius was seated at his desk, leafing through a thick tome, but he looked up when Merlin approached.

“Something on your mind, lad?”

Merlin hesitated. “I was wondering… would it be alright if I—um—used my magic? Just to tidy up my room a bit. Nothing big, just—just to make it more comfortable.”

He expected Gaius to frown, to warn him about the dangers of using magic in Camelot, but instead, the physician merely studied him for a long moment before nodding. “So long as you’re careful. And only when you’re alone.”

Relief flooded Merlin’s chest. “I will! Thank you.”

He hurried back to his room, shutting the door softly behind him. Then, taking a deep breath, he let the magic rise. It was a gentle warmth beneath his skin, a soft whisper in the air around him. The cot shifted, growing slightly softer, the sheets no longer stiff and scratchy. The air lightened, the dust swirling away as if caught in an invisible breeze. A small flicker of golden light danced around the room, leaving behind a warmth that seeped into the stones.

Merlin sighed, the tension in his shoulders easing. It wasn’t much, but it felt… better. Like maybe, just maybe, he could belong here.

---

Breakfast was a quiet affair, though Merlin found himself shifting awkwardly under Gaius’ watchful gaze. The bread was dense but filling, the fruit sweet, and he was grateful for the meal—though his appetite dimmed slightly when Gaius cleared his throat.

“There’s something you should know about your lessons,” the old man said. “You won’t be studying alone.”

Merlin blinked. “I won’t?”

“No. You’ll be sharing your lessons with Prince Arthur.”

Merlin nearly choked on his bite of bread. “The prince?”

Gaius nodded, looking amused at Merlin’s wide-eyed expression. “He rarely attends, so you shouldn’t have much trouble. Just keep your head down, behave yourself, and you’ll be fine.”

Merlin swallowed hard. He hadn’t had many encounters with nobility, but he doubted a prince—especially one raised by a king who despised magic—would have much patience for someone like him. Still, if Arthur never showed up, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

Maybe.

---

The library was grander than anything Merlin had ever seen. Towering shelves lined the stone walls, each packed with thick leather-bound books. A large wooden table stood at the center, and an older scholar greeted Merlin with a nod before directing him to a seat. The first few lessons were straightforward—history, reading, and arithmetic, things he was eager to learn. For the most part, it was quiet, peaceful.

Until, just before lunch, the doors swung open with a dramatic bang.

“I cannot believe my father is making me do this,” a voice drawled, rich with irritation. “It’s a complete waste of time.”

Merlin stiffened. Slowly, he turned his head—and there he was.

The man from the market.

Prince Arthur Pendragon strolled inside, his golden hair catching the light, his red cloak sweeping behind him. He exuded confidence, irritation barely masking the sharp amusement in his gaze as he took in the scene before him. He looked bored. Like he had far better things to do than be here.

Merlin shrank back instinctively, keeping his eyes down. Arthur’s presence was overwhelming, too big, too much. He didn’t want to be noticed, didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Maybe if he stayed very still, Arthur wouldn’t even realize he was there.

But then, Arthur’s gaze landed on him. His head tilted slightly, a flicker of recognition crossing his features.

Merlin ducked his head further, gripping the edge of the table as the lesson began.

---

By the time lunch arrived, Merlin’s nerves were frayed. He barely touched his food, his stomach twisting as Gaius led him toward the grand halls of the castle.

“Where are we going?” Merlin asked hesitantly.

“To meet the king,” Gaius said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Merlin nearly tripped over his own feet. “The king?”

“Calm yourself, Merlin. There’s no need to panic.” Gaius patted his shoulder. “Uther and I have been friends for many years. This is simply a formality.”

Merlin swallowed, his hands twisting in his tunic. A formality. Right. He could do this. He had to do this.

The throne room was as intimidating as he had feared. Golden banners hung from the high ceilings, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. At the far end of the room, seated upon a grand throne, was King Uther himself—stern, commanding, every inch the ruler of Camelot.

Arthur stood beside him, looking just as unimpressed as he had in the library. And next to Arthur, a woman in a deep blue gown watched them with interest. Her dark curls framed her face, sharp green eyes filled with quiet amusement.

“Ah, Gaius,” Uther said, his voice deep and measured. “And this must be your new ward.”

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat. He bowed quickly, heart hammering. “It’s an honor, Your Majesty.”

Uther studied him for a long moment before nodding. “I trust you’ll serve Camelot well.”

Merlin nodded fervently. “Yes, sire.”

A soft chuckle drew his attention. The woman in blue stepped forward slightly, tilting her head. “You don’t have to look so frightened. The king doesn’t bite.”

Merlin flushed. “O-of course not, my lady.”

Arthur let out a huff of laughter, clearly entertained by Merlin’s nervousness. “Well, this should be interesting.”

Merlin wished the ground would swallow him whole.

 

Chapter 4: A Healer’s Hands

 

The morning air was crisp as Merlin followed Gaius through the castle corridors, his satchel filled with supplies. His nerves still buzzed from the previous day—his encounter with the prince, his introduction to the king—but today was different. Today, he wasn’t a guest or an outsider. Today, he was working.

Gaius led him to the infirmary, where the scent of herbs and clean linen filled the air. Several patients were already waiting—mostly servants with minor injuries, though one guard sat stiffly on a bench, his arm wrapped in a makeshift bandage.

Merlin hesitated as Gaius set to work, but the older man gave him an encouraging nod. “Come, lad. You wanted to learn, didn’t you?”

Merlin straightened. “Yes, of course!”

He watched closely as Gaius cleaned and stitched a shallow wound on the guard’s arm, explaining the steps as he went. When it came time to bandage it, he handed the linen to Merlin. “You try.”

Merlin’s hands were steady as he wrapped the fabric around the wound, tying it off carefully. The guard gave him a grunt of approval, and something warm bloomed in Merlin’s chest.

Throughout the day, he helped with small tasks—grinding herbs for poultices, fetching clean water, and even administering a few mild potions under Gaius’ supervision. The work was tiring, but Merlin didn’t mind. Every time he eased someone’s pain, every time a patient left looking better than they arrived, he felt a little lighter.

By the time the last patient had been seen to, Gaius patted his shoulder. “You did well today, Merlin.”

Merlin beamed. “Really?”

Gaius chuckled. “Really. You have a good heart—and a steady hand. Keep at it.”

Merlin ducked his head, but he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face.

---

Dinner was held in the castle’s kitchens, where the warmth of the hearth and the scent of roasting meat filled the air. A long wooden table stretched across the room, already crowded with servants chatting over steaming bowls of stew and thick slices of bread.

Gaius led him to an empty seat, and before Merlin knew it, introductions were being made.

“This is Gwen,” Gaius said, gesturing to a young woman with kind brown eyes and a warm smile. “She serves Lady Morgana.”

“Nice to meet you,” Gwen said, offering him a slice of bread. “You’re Gaius’ new assistant?”

Merlin nodded, accepting the bread shyly. “Yes. I—I’m still learning.”

“Well, you’ll fit right in,” she said brightly. “Everyone here helps each other.”

Merlin relaxed a little as more introductions were made. He met Tom, the castle blacksmith, who had rough hands and a booming laugh. There was Alice, one of the kitchen maids, who immediately piled extra food onto his plate with a wink. Even the stable boys, Will and Darran, welcomed him easily, teasing him about how they’d be sending him to Gaius for bruises if their horses got too rowdy.

For the first time since arriving in Camelot, Merlin felt like he belonged.

Laughter filled the air, and as he ate, surrounded by friendly faces, he thought that maybe—just maybe—this new life wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Chapter 5: The Dragon’s Claim

Arthur leaned back in his chair, one leg draped lazily over the other, fingers tapping an idle rhythm against the armrest. The midday sun streamed through the windows of his chambers, illuminating the gold embroidery on his tunic, but Arthur barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere—preoccupied, restless.

He should have been focusing on training schedules, on court matters, on his ever-growing list of princely responsibilities. And yet, all he could think about was him.

That skittish, soft-eyed servant with magic in his fingers and the scent of wild air about him.

Merlin.

Arthur scoffed, forcing the name from his mind as he pushed to his feet. It made no sense—none at all. He had barely spared servants a second thought before. They were beneath him, unimportant, background noise in the grand stage of his life. He was their prince, and they were his to command. So why—why did his blood hum with dark satisfaction every time those wide blue eyes landed on him? Why did something inside him preen whenever Merlin’s gaze lingered a fraction longer than necessary?

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating.

And it needed an explanation.

---

His father sat at his desk, reviewing battle reports when Arthur stormed in. Uther barely spared him a glance.

“I assume there is a reason for this intrusion?” he asked dryly.

Arthur took a breath. “I need to ask you something.”

Uther set his quill down, finally looking up. “Then ask.”

Arthur hesitated. The words felt foreign on his tongue. “Have you ever… felt something? Deep inside you. Something that reacts to another person.”

His father stilled. A strange look passed over his face—calculating, knowing.

Arthur clenched his fists. “It’s like—when they look at me, something in me moves, like it recognizes them. It—” He huffed, shaking his head. “It makes no sense.”

Uther was quiet for a long moment. Then, with a sigh, he leaned back in his chair. “You are of Pendragon blood, Arthur,” he said slowly. “And with that blood comes a curse.”

Arthur stiffened. “A curse?”

His father nodded. “Many generations ago, one of our ancestors was cursed by a dying dragon. It was said that the Pendragon line would forever carry the beast’s hunger within them. It is why our family has always been drawn to power—to conquest, to dominion.”

Arthur swallowed, a cold shiver running down his spine. He had always been taught that power was his birthright. That dominance was his nature. But this—this was something deeper. Something primal.

Uther’s gaze sharpened. “You say you feel this… pull toward someone?”

Arthur hesitated. Then, slowly, he nodded.

Uther exhaled through his nose. “Then it is likely they are your mate.”

Arthur’s breath caught. “My mate?”

His father inclined his head. “I felt the same way with Ygraine.” His expression darkened. “It is not something that can be ignored, Arthur. The dragon within you will not allow it.”

Arthur stood rigid, his mind reeling. He had never considered—never thought—

Merlin was his.

The realization settled in his chest, dark and possessive. The beast inside him growled in satisfaction, coiling around his ribs like a predator staking its claim.

His.

Arthur exhaled slowly. If that was the truth, then there was only one course of action.

He would have Merlin.

One way or another.

---

The plan formed in his mind with brutal clarity.

First, he would win him over. He would be patient—charming, even. He would draw Merlin closer, coax him into trusting him. It wouldn’t be difficult. Merlin was soft, trusting to a fault. All Arthur had to do was pull the right strings, say the right words. Make him need him.

But if that failed—if Merlin continued to shy away, continued to flinch under his gaze—

Then Arthur would simply take what was his.

There were towers in the forests surrounding Camelot—forgotten ruins that no one ventured near. It would be easy enough to prepare one. To make it livable, comfortable, even. A place where no one would find them.

A place where Merlin would have no choice but to accept his place at Arthur’s side.

A slow smile curled at Arthur’s lips. Yes. One way or another, Merlin would be his.

It was only a matter of time.

 

Chapter 6: The Poisoned Chalice

 

The day of the grand feast arrived, marking the celebration of the newfound alliance between Camelot and Mercia. The castle buzzed with anticipation, servants scurrying to and fro, preparing the great hall for the evening's festivities. Merlin, however, found himself in the chambers of Lady Morgana, standing awkwardly as Gwen fussed over his attire.

"Hold still, Merlin," Gwen chided gently, adjusting the rich blue tunic that had been chosen for him. "You want to look presentable for the feast, don't you?"

Merlin's cheeks flushed. "I don't see why it matters. I'm just a servant."

"Nonsense," Morgana interjected with a warm smile. "Tonight, you are a guest. And besides, it's not every day we get to see you looking so dashing."

Merlin's blush deepened as he glanced at his reflection. The tunic was finely woven, the color accentuating his fair complexion. His dark hair had been neatly combed, and Gwen had even managed to tame the unruly fringe that usually fell into his eyes. He hardly recognized himself.

"Thank you," he murmured, feeling both grateful and self-conscious under their approving gazes.

As evening descended, the great hall filled with nobles and dignitaries, the air thick with the scent of roasted meats and spiced wine. Long tables were adorned with lavish spreads, and the sound of laughter and music echoed off the stone walls. Merlin entered alongside Gaius, his eyes wide with wonder at the opulence surrounding him.

They took their seats near the back, content to observe the merriment from a distance. Merlin's gaze wandered over the crowd, eventually settling on Prince Arthur, who sat at the high table beside his father. Arthur's presence was commanding, his golden hair catching the light of the chandeliers, a perpetual smirk playing on his lips as he conversed with the nobles around him.

Merlin's heart fluttered unexpectedly, a strange warmth spreading through his chest. He quickly looked away, chastising himself for such foolish thoughts.

As the feast progressed, a servant approached the high table, bearing an ornate chalice. Merlin's eyes narrowed as he noticed a subtle exchange between the servant and a hooded figure lurking near the entrance. His innate sense of caution prickled, and he leaned toward Gaius.

"Did you see that?" he whispered.

Gaius followed Merlin's gaze but shook his head. "What is it, Merlin?"

"I'm not sure," Merlin admitted, rising to his feet. "But I have a bad feeling."

Before Gaius could protest, Merlin made his way toward the high table, weaving through the crowd with determined urgency. As he neared, he saw Arthur reaching for the chalice, the servant presenting it with a deferential bow.

"Wait!" Merlin's voice rang out, startling the assembled guests into silence.

All eyes turned to him, including Arthur's, who raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Merlin? What is the meaning of this interruption?"

Merlin swallowed hard, acutely aware of the weight of the attention upon him. "I... I fear that chalice may be poisoned, sire."

A murmur rippled through the hall. King Uther's expression darkened. "These are serious accusations, boy. Explain yourself."

Merlin's mind raced. He couldn't reveal his suspicions without evidence, yet he couldn't stand by and do nothing. "I saw a suspicious exchange between the servant and an unknown figure," he said carefully. "I may be wrong, but I couldn't risk the prince's safety."

Arthur's gaze searched Merlin's face, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, with a smirk, he picked up the chalice. "Only one way to find out."

Before anyone could react, Arthur offered the chalice to Merlin. "If you're so concerned, perhaps you should take the first sip."

Merlin's blood ran cold. He hadn't anticipated this. His heart pounded as he looked at the chalice, then back at Arthur. The prince's expression was challenging, almost amused, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something darker.

"I..." Merlin glanced at Gaius, who subtly shook his head, his eyes pleading. But Merlin knew there was no way out. He couldn't refuse a direct order from the prince without raising further suspicion.

With trembling hands, he accepted the chalice. The room seemed to hold its breath as he brought it to his lips and took a tentative sip. The liquid was sweet, with a slightly bitter aftertaste. He lowered the chalice, offering a weak smile.

"See? It's fine," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Arthur's smirk widened, but before he could respond, Merlin's vision blurred. A searing pain erupted in his stomach, and his knees buckled. The chalice slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor as he collapsed, convulsions wracking his slender frame.

"Merlin!" Gaius was at his side in an instant, cradling his head as the young warlock's body trembled violently. Gasps echoed through the hall, and the crowd pressed forward to see the commotion.

Arthur stood frozen, his eyes locked on Merlin's contorted face. A tumultuous storm brewed within him—anger, confusion, and an inexplicable possessiveness that clawed at his insides.

"Someone fetch water!" Gaius commanded, his voice cutting through the chaos. "We need to get him to my chambers immediately."

Arthur snapped into action, pushing through the gathering crowd. "Clear the way!" he barked, lifting Merlin's limp form into his arms with ease. The room parted before him as he strode toward the exit, Gaius and Gwen close on his heels.

In the privacy of Gaius's chambers, Merlin lay pale and motionless upon the bed. His breathing was shallow, his skin clammy. Gaius worked feverishly, examining the remnants of the chalice's contents.

"It's as I feared," Gaius murmured, holding up a delicate petal. "The Mortaeus flower. Highly poisonous."

Arthur's jaw clenched. "What can be done?"

Gaius sighed, the weight of his years evident in his posture. "An antidote can be made from the leaves of the same flower, but they are rare and can only be found in the caves beneath the Forest of Balor. The journey is perilous, guarded by creatures of dark magic."

"I'll go," Arthur said without hesitation.

Gaius looked up, concern etched into his features. "Sire, it's too dangerous. Your father would never allow—"

"I don't care," Arthur interrupted, his eyes blazing with determination. "Merlin saved my life. I owe him this."

Gaius hesitated, then nodded solemnly. "Very well. But be cautious, Arthur. The path is treacherous, and dark forces are at play."

Arthur's gaze shifted to Merlin's still form, a strange possessiveness tightening in his chest. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from Merlin's forehead, his touch lingering longer than necessary.

"Hold on, Merlin," he murmured, a dark promise lacing his words. "You're mine, and I won't let you slip away."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving G

Chapter 7: The Tether Between Us

 

 

 

The wind howled as Arthur rode through the night, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. The darkness of the forest swallowed him whole, branches clawing at his cloak as if trying to hold him back. But nothing—nothing—would stop him.

His hands gripped the reins so hard his knuckles turned white. His mind burned with one thought, one singular focus: Merlin.

He had watched him crumble. Watched him shake and seize as the poison ravaged his fragile body. Watched his skin grow ashen, his lips part in a silent gasp as he slipped into unconsciousness. And worst of all, he had felt it.

A tearing inside him. A visceral, primal wrongness that sent something in his chest spiraling into fury and panic.

He had never known fear before. But when Merlin collapsed, he had known it intimately.

Arthur dug his heels into his horse’s side, forcing it to move faster. He would find the flower. He would rip it from the earth with his own hands. And if anything—anything—stood in his way, he would burn it to the ground.

Merlin was his.

And he would not let him slip away.

 

---

 

Gaius sat beside the bed, fingers pressed to Merlin’s wrist, feeling the faintest flicker of life. It was weak—so weak—but it was there. His magic pulsed beneath his skin, flickering erratically, as if trying to mend what was broken but finding no foothold.

Gwen sat on the other side, gently dabbing a damp cloth over Merlin’s forehead. Her hands trembled. “He looks so small,” she whispered.

Gaius sighed heavily. “He is small.”

He had always known Merlin was delicate—fragile in a way that had nothing to do with his power. He was soft-hearted, too trusting, too good for a world that did not deserve him. And now, he was paying the price for it.

Morgana entered quietly, her usual poise absent, worry written across her face. “Arthur will bring the cure,” she said, voice firm but lacking conviction.

Gaius gave a slow nod. “He will.”

Because Arthur was possessive. Because Arthur was hungry for something in Merlin that he likely didn’t even understand yet. He would not allow Merlin to be lost—not because of duty, but because Arthur would not allow it to happen.

And that was what scared Gaius the most.

 

---

 

He was floating.

Not in water, not in air—just… weightless. Suspended in nothingness. The world around him was dark, but not cold. Silent, but not empty. He should have been afraid, but the fear didn’t come.

Then he felt it.

A tether. A pull. Something there in the vast emptiness, something reaching for him.

Merlin turned his head, searching, his body barely responding. The darkness whispered around him, curling at the edges of his mind. And in the distance, barely visible, he saw something—

A golden light. Faint, flickering. Beckoning.

He tried to move toward it, but his limbs were heavy, uncooperative. A pressure wrapped around him, something thick and invisible, dragging him downward. His heart clenched. He didn’t want to sink. He wanted to reach the light. He wanted to wake up.

But the darkness would not let go.

He opened his mouth, tried to call out—but no sound came.

The light pulsed once, almost as if responding, and for a moment, just a moment, he thought he heard something—

A voice.

“You are mine.”

It was deep. Rough. Commanding.

Familiar.

Merlin’s breath hitched. The tether tightened.

And then everything went black.

 

---

 

 

Arthur reached the clearing just as the first light of dawn broke over the horizon. And there—glistening in the morning mist—was the flower.

The Mortaeus.

Relief, raw and vicious, tore through him. Without hesitation, he dismounted, storming forward and yanking the delicate bloom from the earth.

Merlin’s face flashed in his mind—soft, skittish, beautiful. The way he had looked at Arthur in that feast hall, unaware of how utterly he belonged to him.

Arthur’s fingers curled around the petals.

He would save him. And when Merlin awoke, there would be no more distance. No more hesitation.

Arthur had almost lost him once.

He would not let it happen again.

And if Merlin did not come to him willingly—

Then Arthur would make sure he had nowhere else to run.

 

Chapter 8: A Test of Devotion

 

---

 

Arthur’s POV

The ride back to Camelot was slower, and not because he was tired. The Mortaeus flower was secured carefully in his satchel, but Arthur’s mind was tangled in something far more unsettling.

Merlin had drunk the poison without hesitation.

Arthur had expected reluctance, fear, maybe even defiance—but there had been none. Only those wide, trusting eyes and the way his hands trembled ever so slightly as he lifted the goblet to his lips.

Why?

Why had Merlin done it? Not out of courage—that was the answer others might believe, but Arthur knew better. Merlin was skittish, soft, like a trembling bird cupped too tightly in one’s palm. He wasn’t some fearless knight eager to prove himself. No, this had been something else.

Something deeper.

Arthur clenched his jaw, his grip on the reins tightening.

He had told Merlin to drink it because he had wanted to see. He had wanted to test the limits of Merlin’s devotion, to see how far he would go—how much he was willing to suffer for Arthur’s word alone.

And Merlin had done it.

There was a sour twist in Arthur’s chest. It was unfamiliar, uncomfortable, but he did not dwell on it. It was not guilt—he had given Merlin a choice, after all. And Merlin had chosen to obey him.

And yet—

He should have stopped it. Should have knocked the cup away himself instead of letting the poison touch Merlin’s lips. He should have—

Arthur exhaled sharply. He was being ridiculous.

Merlin belonged to him. He had known it the moment their eyes first met, the moment something deep and ancient stirred inside his very bones. This was inevitable. The fact that Merlin was willing to sacrifice himself—even without understanding the full depth of their bond—only proved what Arthur had suspected all along.

Merlin was his.

And Arthur had no intention of letting him forget it.

 

---

 

The journey through the caves had been treacherous. The air had been thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, shadows stretching unnaturally against the flickering light of his torch. He had fought through the guardian of the flower—a monstrous creature that seemed woven from darkness itself—but Arthur had not faltered.

Not once.

Not when he had first seen the beast’s glowing eyes. Not when it had lunged, its claws sharp enough to tear through steel. Not even when pain had seared through his arm, hot and wet, as its talons had torn through his flesh.

He had fought like a man possessed, like something primal had taken root inside him—because in truth, it had.

Arthur had always been strong, always been skilled, but there had been a different kind of fury in him this time. It had burned white-hot, an unrelenting force that whispered of mine, mine, mine with every strike of his sword.

And in the end, he had won. He had taken the flower and left the beast bleeding on the cave floor, his pulse hammering with something far greater than victory.

He had no doubt that he would have done it all again. A hundred times over.

Because Merlin was waiting for him.

And Arthur would not allow fate—or poison—to take him away.

 

---

 

As Camelot’s towers came into view, Arthur urged his horse faster, the weight of the flower in his satchel grounding him. Soon, Merlin would awaken. Soon, those blue eyes would flutter open, and Arthur would be there, waiting.

And then—

Then, Merlin would understand.

Arthur would make sure of it.

 

Chapter 9: Fevered Whispers

 

---

 

Arthur stormed through the castle halls, his boots echoing loudly against the stone. The Mortaeus flower was clutched tightly in his fist, its delicate petals crumpling under the force of his grip. He did not slow, did not falter—his destination was clear, and nothing would keep him from it.

The moment he reached Gaius’s chambers, he threw open the door without a word of warning.

Gaius looked up from Merlin’s bedside, his eyes widening slightly at Arthur’s abrupt entrance. Gwen, seated on the opposite side, startled and clutched Merlin’s limp hand tighter.

“You have it?” Gaius asked, already reaching for a prepared vial.

Arthur didn’t respond, simply extended the crushed petals with a sharp nod. Gaius wasted no time, swiftly grinding the flower into a paste and mixing it with water before carefully tilting Merlin’s head back to pour the remedy past his lips.

Arthur stood rigid, his breath held as he watched. Merlin barely reacted. His face was pale, his skin clammy, and his breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps. The sight of him like this—so fragile, so breakable—stoked something dangerous in Arthur’s chest. He forced himself to remain still, to wait.

And then, after an agonizing pause, Merlin let out a small, pained whimper.

Arthur exhaled, his grip loosening ever so slightly.

 

---

 

The room had been suffocatingly tense before Arthur had arrived, filled with nothing but the sound of Merlin’s ragged breathing. But now, with the antidote administered, they finally dared to hope.

Gaius brushed a hand over Merlin’s forehead, frowning at the heat still clinging to his skin. “He’ll live,” he murmured, though there was a note of caution in his voice. “But the poison has weakened him significantly. He may be prone to illness for some time.”

Gwen let out a breath of relief, though it was shaky. “That doesn’t matter,” she said softly, her fingers brushing over the back of Merlin’s hand. “As long as he wakes up.”

Arthur said nothing, his eyes locked onto Merlin’s face as if willing him to stir.

 

---

 

The world was a haze.

Heat burned through him, seeping into his very bones, but beneath it was something else—a weight, a presence that tethered him to the waking world. He could feel it even as the fever dragged him under, even as his thoughts swam through the darkness.

He was not alone.

Something—someone—was there.

He struggled to focus, to break through the thick fog pressing against his mind. Voices drifted around him, blurred and distant, but one cut through the noise, sharp and commanding, tinged with something possessive.

“You’re safe now.”

It sent a shiver down his spine. The voice curled around him, held him firm. It was familiar. It was—

His lashes fluttered weakly, his body too heavy to move, but he managed a faint, barely-there sound.

“…Arthur?”

 

---

 

Arthur’s breath caught the second his name left Merlin’s lips.

It was quiet, hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but it was there. Merlin’s eyes were still closed, his expression tight with discomfort, but the sound of Arthur’s name passing his lips sent something deep inside him thrumming.

Mine.

Arthur moved before he could think, sinking onto the edge of the bed, his fingers brushing against Merlin’s wrist—just enough to feel the faint, unsteady pulse beneath his skin. “I’m here,” he murmured, his voice low, firm. “You’re going to be fine.”

Merlin barely stirred, his breath hitching slightly, but Arthur saw the smallest twitch of his fingers as if reaching toward the warmth of Arthur’s touch.

Gaius observed the exchange silently, his expression unreadable, but he did not interfere.

Arthur tightened his grip ever so slightly. Never again, he swore silently. He would not let this happen again. Merlin was too fragile, too precious, and Arthur had been careless.

He would not make that mistake twice.

Merlin belonged to him.

And now, Merlin would start to understand that.

 

Chapter 10: A Silent Warning

 

---

 

Merlin hated feeling useless.

His body was still weak from the poison, and though he was getting better, Gaius had strictly forbidden him from overexerting himself. Walking was still a struggle, leaving him lightheaded and dizzy, so when the tournament began, he had been given a wooden chair with wheels to sit in.

He felt ridiculous. It creaked whenever he moved, and the wheels—though practical—made him feel like a fragile old man rather than someone barely out of his youth.

Still, it was better than being stuck in bed.

From his place near the royal viewing platform, he watched the knights clash swords in the arena, the clang of metal against metal filling the air. Arthur, of course, was competing, but Merlin found himself distracted by something else entirely.

A feeling.

It started as a strange tingle along his skin, a whisper of something unnatural. It prickled at his senses, making the hairs on his arms stand on end. His eyes flickered across the arena, searching for the source, and then—

His gaze landed on Sir Valiant’s shield.

A chill ran through him. The painted snakes coiled across its surface seemed to shift, not physically, but with a shimmer of magic that made Merlin’s stomach turn. He swallowed hard, his fingers gripping the arms of the chair.

Magic.

Dark, twisted magic.

He turned quickly to Gaius, his voice hushed but urgent. “Gaius, that shield—it’s enchanted. I can feel it.”

Gaius followed his gaze, his eyes narrowing. “Are you certain?”

Merlin nodded, his pulse quickening. “I don’t know what kind of spell it is, but something’s wrong. I think—” He stopped, watching as Valiant’s opponent lunged forward, only for the knight to suddenly recoil, as if struck by an unseen force. The painted snakes glowed faintly before returning to normal.

Merlin’s stomach clenched. “Gaius, we have to tell the king.”

 

---

 

Uther listened, but his expression darkened with every word. When Gaius finished explaining, his face was a storm of displeasure.

“You expect me to believe such nonsense?” the king scoffed, his eyes sharp. “That a knight of Camelot—one who has fought with honor—would resort to sorcery?”

Gaius stood firm. “Your Majesty, Merlin has a keen sense for magic. If he says something is amiss, it should not be ignored.”

Uther’s gaze flicked to Merlin, who shrank slightly under the weight of his scrutiny. “This is the second time you have come before me, spouting wild accusations. First at the feast, and now here?” His voice was dangerously low. “Perhaps a night in the dungeons will teach you to hold your tongue.”

Merlin’s breath caught. The dungeons. Cold. Damp. Dark. He was still recovering, barely able to walk properly, and Uther would throw him into a cell?

He opened his mouth, fumbling for words, but before he could speak, Arthur stepped forward.

“Father,” Arthur said, his tone smooth, casual, but firm, “surely there’s no harm in investigating? If there’s no magic, then there’s no issue. If there is…”

Uther’s glare lingered on Merlin a moment longer before shifting to Arthur. His expression softened just slightly at his son’s words. Then, with a scoff, he waved a hand dismissively. “Fine. But I will hear no more of this foolishness unless you bring me undeniable proof.”

Merlin let out a quiet breath of relief, though he still felt Uther’s warning settle like a weight in his chest.

The king didn’t believe them. And worse—if Merlin kept pushing, he would end up in the dungeons.

But he couldn’t ignore this.

Because if no one else stopped Sir Valiant, then someone would die.

 

Chapter 11: The Serpent’s Bite

 

---

 

The halls of Camelot were eerily quiet as Merlin crawled along the stone floor, his limbs still weak from his recovery. Every movement sent pain rippling through his body, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on. He had to do this. If he didn’t, another knight could die.

He reached Sir Valiant’s chambers, heart pounding in his chest. The door was unlocked—a foolish mistake on Valiant’s part—but Merlin wasted no time slipping inside. He kept low, scanning the dimly lit room until his eyes landed on the shield propped against the wall.

Even in the darkness, he could feel the wrongness radiating from it. A sickly pulse of magic coiled around the painted serpents, waiting to strike. Swallowing hard, Merlin reached out, fingers trembling as he placed his hand against the cold metal.

He whispered the incantation under his breath, voice barely above a whisper. The spell thrummed through the air, and immediately, the painted snakes shifted. Their eyes glowed with a malevolent light before they hissed, writhing out of the shield as if sensing the one who had uncovered their master’s secret.

Merlin didn’t flinch. “Give me what I need,” he whispered, commanding them with magic. “Your venom. I need it.”

The snakes hesitated, their forked tongues flickering. Then, slowly, one opened its fanged mouth and dripped a thick, shimmering poison into the small vial Merlin had brought with him. He carefully corked it, his heart racing in his chest.

He had what he needed.

Now he just had to get out.

He turned, ready to crawl back the way he had come, but as soon as he reached the door—

A shadow loomed over him.

“You little rat,” came a furious snarl.

Before Merlin could react, a boot slammed into his ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. He gasped, pain exploding through his already fragile body as he crumpled to the ground. A hand fisted in his tunic and yanked him up roughly, forcing him to look into Sir Valiant’s furious face.

“You dare break into my chambers?” Valiant’s grip was brutal, shaking him like a ragdoll. “You dare accuse me of sorcery before the king?”

Merlin barely managed to suck in a breath before a fist collided with his jaw, sending his head snapping back. His vision swam, his body weak, but he refused to let go of the vial clenched in his hand.

Another strike followed—a brutal, merciless beating that left Merlin gasping, struggling to stay conscious as pain bloomed across his body. His magic crackled at his fingertips, desperate to protect him, but he couldn’t use it. Not here. Not now.

Valiant sneered. “You should have kept your mouth shut.”

Then, with one final, vicious kick, he sent Merlin sprawling to the cold stone floor, leaving him coughing, barely able to move.

Merlin lay there, trembling, his breath shallow. His whole body ached, and his vision blurred with unshed tears, but he forced his fingers to tighten around the vial.

You did it, he told himself through the pain. You have the proof. Now… you just have to make it back.

 

Chapter 12: A Narrow Escape

 

---

 

Pain radiated through every inch of his body as he lay crumpled on the cold stone floor. His breath came in ragged gasps, his ribs aching with each shallow inhale. He could barely move, barely think beyond the burning sting of the blows he had endured. But even through the haze of pain, he felt the shift in the air—the weight of Valiant still looming over him.

A cruel chuckle sent a fresh wave of dread curling through Merlin’s stomach.

“You really should have kept your mouth shut,” Valiant murmured, his voice dripping with amusement as he crouched down beside him. “No one would have believed you anyway.”

Merlin flinched as fingers traced along his jaw, tilting his chin up roughly. His vision was still blurry, but he could see the dark intent in Valiant’s eyes. His heart pounded wildly, panic seizing his chest.

“No,” he rasped, weakly trying to push Valiant away, but his arms barely had the strength to lift.

Valiant only smirked. “No one’s coming to save you, boy.”

Merlin’s breath hitched as Valiant’s grip tightened. His pulse roared in his ears, his body frozen in terror. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

Then—

Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor.

Merlin gasped in relief and found his voice, desperation breaking through the suffocating fear. “Stop—please!” he cried, just as the guard passed the doorway.

The sound of his pleading shattered the air like a bell ringing through the hall. The guard hesitated, then turned sharply toward the room. “What’s going on in here?”

Valiant’s grip loosened just slightly, enough for Merlin to jerk away. The guard’s eyes narrowed, taking in the bruised and bloodied state of the young servant on the floor. Suspicion flickered across his face. “Step away from him,” he ordered.

For a moment, Valiant hesitated, his jaw clenching in frustration. Then, with a sneer, he released Merlin completely and stood. “The boy was snooping where he shouldn’t have been,” he said smoothly. “I was merely teaching him a lesson.”

The guard didn’t look convinced. “That’s not what it sounded like.” He stepped forward and lifted Merlin carefully from the ground, his expression grim. “You’re coming with me, lad.”

Merlin could do nothing but slump weakly against him, relief and exhaustion washing over him as he was led away from Valiant’s chambers.

 

---

 

The moment they arrived, Gaius was upon him, his face etched with deep concern as he helped settle Merlin onto his cot. He examined the bruises littering Merlin’s face and arms, his lips pressed into a tight, disapproving line.

“You reckless, foolish boy,” he scolded, though his touch remained gentle as he dabbed at a cut on Merlin’s temple. “Breaking into a knight’s chambers? Do you have any idea how much worse this could have been?”

Merlin winced, more from Gaius’s words than the pain. “I had to,” he murmured. “The knight who was poisoned—he’s running out of time.”

Gaius let out a weary sigh but didn’t argue further. Merlin reached into his pocket and, with shaking fingers, handed over the small vial of snake venom. “This… this should cure him.”

The old physician took it, inspecting the contents with a grim nod. “At least you managed to get what you needed,” he admitted. But then his sharp gaze landed back on Merlin. “You, however, are not moving from this bed until you’ve properly recovered. You’re grounded, do you understand me?”

Merlin blinked. “You can’t ground me.”

Gaius arched a brow. “Oh, I most certainly can.”

Merlin groaned, flopping back against the pillow. It wasn’t fair, but after everything, he was too exhausted to argue.

And truthfully… he wasn’t sure he even could get up.

His body ached, his mind was foggy, but despite it all, a small, victorious thought settled in his chest:

The knight would live.

And for now, that was enough.

 

Chapter 13: The Hunger Within

 

---

 

Heat curled low in Arthur’s stomach, dark and insatiable.

He shifted in his bed, half-lost to the world of dreams, his mind weaving an image so vivid it sent a shudder through him. Merlin—his Merlin—lay beneath him, round and full with Arthur’s children, his soft body trembling with every slow thrust. His lips were parted, his eyes hazy with submission as he clung to Arthur, desperate and needy.

Arthur growled, possessive hunger twisting through him.

The council would drone on about treaties and taxes, but Merlin would be there, seated at his feet, warm and pliant around him, keeping Arthur buried deep inside him. He would fidget, shifting slightly, making Arthur bite back a groan as he felt the tight heat surrounding him, keeping him on the knife’s edge of pleasure. A reminder, always, that Merlin belonged to him, that he was claimed.

Mine.

The thought sent a violent shudder through Arthur, and he woke with a start, panting, his cock achingly hard beneath the sheets. His hand was already wrapped around himself before he could think better of it, stroking in rough, desperate pulls. He imagined Merlin, helpless and sweet, whimpering his name, bound to him by more than just chains—by instinct, by magic, by fate itself.

A low groan spilled from his lips as pleasure coiled tighter, and with a final, shuddering jerk, he came with Merlin’s name on his lips, hot and possessive.

For a long moment, he lay there, catching his breath, the remnants of the dream lingering in his mind like a drug he couldn’t shake.

It wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

And Merlin—his foolish, naive Merlin—had given him the perfect excuse.

 

---

 

Merlin jolted awake at the sound of footsteps approaching. His body still ached, his ribs sore and bruised, but the moment the door creaked open, he felt an icy shiver of unease trickle down his spine.

Arthur stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

Merlin swallowed hard, instinctively shrinking back against the pillow. “Arthur?” His voice was hoarse, uncertain.

The prince stepped inside, his movements slow, deliberate. He shut the door behind him, and the sound echoed through the small chamber like the closing of a cage.

“You broke into a knight’s chambers,” Arthur said, his tone deceptively calm. “You disobeyed direct orders, risked your life—again.”

Merlin’s fingers clenched in the blanket. “I—I had to. The knight—”

Arthur’s sharp glare silenced him. “You’re reckless,” he murmured, stepping closer, his presence towering over Merlin’s small, fragile frame. “And you don’t seem to learn.”

Merlin swallowed, his breath hitching as Arthur’s hand came to rest against his throat—not squeezing, not hurting, just there, a quiet reminder of how little resistance Merlin could offer.

Arthur’s thumb brushed against the rapid pulse at Merlin’s neck, and something dark flickered in his gaze. “You should be grateful I’m the one punishing you for this,” he murmured. “Because if it were anyone else, Merlin… I don’t think you’d survive it.”

Merlin whimpered, his lashes fluttering, his entire body trembling under Arthur’s touch.

Arthur preened at the reaction.

His.

Always his.

 

Chapter 14: Royal Dinner

 

Merlin sat quietly at the long table in the grand dining hall, his hands folded neatly in his lap. His posture was small, tucked-in, trying to make himself as invisible as possible. Gaius had asked him to join the royal family for dinner that evening, but Merlin couldn’t help but feel out of place. The noise, the laughter, the formal air of the occasion—it all felt so distant from his quiet life in the lower town. He had only just recovered from the beating, his body still aching with bruises he hadn’t dared to speak of. And the poison… that too still lingered inside him, as though he could feel its effects in every weak breath he took.

The royal family, of course, were in their usual positions—Uther at the head of the table, stern and imposing; Arthur, seated to his right, with a look that could freeze any man in his tracks. Then there was Lady Morgana, who regarded him with some degree of kindness but a cool detachment. Merlin kept his eyes lowered, his focus entirely on the food in front of him, pushing the meat around his plate with a bit more care than necessary.

He had learned quickly that when they spoke to him, he must answer. When they did not, silence was safest.

Uther’s voice broke the quiet.

“So, Merlin,” Uther began, his tone not unkind but sharp, “you were born in Ealdor, yes?”

Merlin hesitated, a flicker of unease running through him. He nodded.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he whispered, his voice barely above a murmur.

“And your father?” Arthur asked, leaning forward, his expression somewhere between curiosity and a dangerous edge. “Who was he?”

Merlin flinched but didn’t look up. “I—I don’t know, sir. My mother never told me. He left before I was born.”

A thick silence fell over the table. Arthur’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but it was Uther who spoke again.

“And your mother, how did she die?” Uther’s question was blunt, though his gaze softened, perhaps for the first time that evening.

Merlin blinked, trying to hold back the surge of grief that rose within him. He cleared his throat and whispered, “She… she died when the soldiers came. They burned our village.” His voice trembled, and he quickly looked down at his plate again, not wanting to see their reactions.

“You must have been very young,” Morgana said, her voice soft. But Merlin felt her gaze on him, sharp and perceptive, even if she said nothing more.

“Do you miss her?” Arthur’s voice cut through the silence, and Merlin's heart skipped a beat. He looked up at the prince, startled by the question. It wasn’t cruel, but it was laden with something heavier—something Merlin didn’t quite understand.

“Y-yes,” he whispered, his hands tightening around his cup, the edges of his fingers pale. “Every day.”

Arthur seemed to pause for a moment, as if considering something in his mind. Then, without further comment, he took another bite of his food.

Merlin felt the conversation move past him like a distant tide, leaving him to chew on the words that had been asked. He focused once more on his meal, on the delicate balance of eating and staying quiet. His lessons were going well, he thought. He spent most of his time in the library now, working his way through Gaius's texts, learning how to heal, and trying his hardest not to get in the way.

When dinner ended, Merlin stood up, ready to retreat to his room. He didn’t dare speak again unless spoken to. His thoughts were already on the next task—how to focus on his books, his lessons, to avoid drawing attention, to prove that he could be useful, even if he wasn’t quite sure where his place truly was.

Gaius gave him a small nod from the end of the table, a silent confirmation that it was time to leave. Merlin followed the physician without looking back at the royal family, grateful for the quiet that awaited him.

 

Chapter 15: Caught

 

Merlin’s hands trembled as he adjusted the bandages around the old woman’s arm, his breath quick and shallow. The sickness in the lower town had spread, and the cries for help were growing louder every day. He couldn’t ignore it—not when so many people were suffering. Even if Gaius had warned him to be cautious due to his own weakened state from the poison, Merlin couldn’t help but feel the pull to help. It was who he was—he had to do what he could.

But tonight, he knew he would have to sneak out of the castle. No one else was going to help, and Gaius couldn’t be spared. Merlin couldn’t live with himself if he stayed locked inside, doing nothing.

He had just stepped into the darkened hallways, his heart pounding with a sense of dread that he couldn’t shake, when he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind him. His chest tightened as he froze, silently praying it wasn’t who he feared.

“Going somewhere, Merlin?”

Merlin's breath caught in his throat. He didn’t dare turn around, but the deep, predatory tone of Arthur’s voice sent a shiver up his spine. Slowly, he spun on his heel, his face pale as he tried to muster the strength to speak.

“P-Please, Your Highness,” Merlin began, his voice soft and pleading. “There are people in the lower town who need help. I—I can’t just ignore them.”

Arthur’s gaze darkened as he stepped closer, his presence overpowering. The distance between them closed with every breath, and soon, Merlin felt his back pressed against the stone wall. He swallowed hard, his pulse racing.

“I told you, Merlin,” Arthur’s voice dropped to a low, threatening growl. “You belong here. If you try to leave, if you try to help those people, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Merlin blinked up at him, confusion flooding his mind. Why was Arthur being like this? Wasn't he supposed to be the prince, the one who protected the people?

“I just want to help,” Merlin whispered, his heart aching. “Please, I don’t want anyone else to die. I—I have to—”

Arthur cut him off, his hand reaching out to grab Merlin’s wrist, tightening painfully.

“Not this time,” Arthur said, his voice low and cruel. “You belong to me. Don’t forget that.”

Merlin gasped, trying to pull away, but Arthur was too strong. Before he could react, Arthur’s other hand shot out, grabbing him around the waist and lifting him off the ground. Merlin’s breath hitched as he was thrown over Arthur’s shoulder, disoriented and stunned.

“Arthur! Let me go!” Merlin cried, his voice pleading as he tried to wiggle free. “I have to help them! Please—”

Arthur didn’t answer. His grip on Merlin was unyielding, and the prince’s steps were heavy as he carried Merlin down the corridor. Merlin’s mind raced, his panic mounting with each passing second. He wasn’t strong enough to escape, not now, not when his body was still recovering from the poison.

As they reached Gaius’s chambers, Arthur threw open the door, kicking it wide with his boot. Merlin was dropped roughly onto the floor, landing on his knees.

“Stay here,” Arthur ordered, his voice colder than any winter wind. “Don’t leave. If you do, I’ll punish you. I’ll make sure you never try to run again.”

Merlin stared up at him, trembling, his heart thundering in his chest. He didn’t understand any of this. Why was Arthur doing this? He was just trying to help people.

“Arthur…” Merlin whispered, his voice small and fragile. “Why… why are you doing this to me?”

Arthur leaned down, his gaze dark and intense. “Because you’re mine, Merlin,” he said softly, almost possessively. “And I won’t let you run away from me.”

Merlin’s breath caught, his heart twisting in his chest. He didn’t understand what Arthur meant by that. But the way Arthur looked at him, the coldness in his eyes, made him feel small—trapped. He didn’t know what to say, so he simply nodded, his hands shaking as he struggled to control his breathing.

“Good,” Arthur murmured, his voice laced with dark satisfaction. “Stay here. Don’t make me come back for you.”

And with that, Arthur turned and left, the door slamming behind him, leaving Merlin alone in the dim room.

Merlin collapsed against the stone wall, his body exhausted and his heart heavy. The darkness of the night felt suffocating, and as he sat there, trembling, he could feel the weight of the prince’s possessive words crushing down on him.

He wanted to help, to do the right thing, but he didn’t know how. All he knew was that he was caught in something far bigger than himself. And with every passing day, he felt himself sinking deeper and deeper into a world where he was no longer sure who he could trust—or who would control him.

Chapter 16: Under Arthur's Gaze

 

Merlin stood in the dim light of Gaius’s study, trying his best to focus on the task at hand. His hands were still unsteady from the poison, but Gaius had given him instructions to go out and investigate the source of the illness that was now creeping its way through the castle itself. The sickness had reached even the highborn, and everyone was growing desperate.

“Be careful, Merlin,” Gaius had warned him, his voice heavy with concern. “You’ve just recovered. Don’t overdo it.”

Merlin had nodded, though the weight of the task felt heavy on his shoulders. He couldn’t ignore the suffering, not when so many people were falling ill, even those he had grown to care for in the castle.

It was with a sinking heart that he stepped out into the courtyard, where he saw Arthur waiting by his horse. The prince looked displeased, his brow furrowed as he glared at Merlin, his posture stiff.

"You're late," Arthur snapped, as if it were Merlin’s fault the morning had arrived too soon.

Merlin flinched, immediately lowering his gaze to the ground. "I—I’m sorry, Your Highness," he stammered. "I was just—"

"Don’t waste my time," Arthur growled, cutting him off. His voice was harsh, like a thunderstorm on the verge of breaking. Merlin immediately corrected himself, softening his tone.

"Sorry, Prince Arthur," he murmured, carefully choosing the right words. "I’ll be ready to go now."

Arthur’s expression softened just a fraction, though it was still dark, brooding. Merlin couldn't help but feel that everything he did—every word, every movement—was being scrutinized under a sharp, unforgiving gaze. He didn’t dare offend Arthur further. Not today.

They rode together in silence, the tension between them palpable. Merlin kept his head down, trying to ignore the weight of Arthur's eyes boring into him as they made their way to the village. He knew better than to try and speak to the prince unless spoken to. Arthur was clearly annoyed, and Merlin had no desire to provoke him.

When they reached the village, the air was thick with unease. People were moving slower than usual, their faces gaunt, their eyes tired and fearful. The once-vibrant market square was quieter than Merlin had ever seen it, and the stench of sickness hung in the air.

Merlin dismounted, scanning the area as his heart began to race. He had to figure this out—there had to be a cause for all this suffering. He went to speak with some of the villagers, his heart aching as he listened to their stories.

After a while, Merlin had a thought. The villagers all spoke of the same thing—the well. He approached the village elder, an old woman whose frail body seemed to mirror the sickness around them. She confirmed his suspicion: the well water had been the source of their illness.

"I don’t know how or why," she explained, her voice quivering. "But something has poisoned the well. It’s the only thing we drink."

Merlin frowned, his mind racing as he processed the information. Poisoned? How could that have happened? And who would do such a thing?

He turned to Arthur, who had been watching him with narrowed eyes. "It’s the well," Merlin said, trying to remain calm, his voice steady despite the growing unease in his chest. "You need to tell the villagers to stop drinking from it immediately. They should get their water from the forest streams until we can figure this out."

Arthur scowled, his jaw tight, but nodded in acknowledgment.

"Fine," Arthur said, his voice clipped. "We’ll inform the villagers. Let’s go."

On the way back, Merlin’s thoughts continued to spiral. He didn’t have any answers yet—just more questions. He felt the weight of his responsibility pressing on him, but he knew he had to keep moving forward.

As they rode through the forest, Arthur’s horse beside his own, Merlin spotted some herbs growing along the path. Gaius had instructed him to gather some for a remedy, so he pulled his horse to a halt and dismounted quickly.

Arthur slowed his horse beside him, watching Merlin’s every move. Merlin tried to ignore the prince’s eyes, but he could feel them on him, making him uncomfortable as he bent down to pluck the herbs.

He focused on the task at hand, his hands working quickly but carefully, trying to ignore the sense of Arthur’s gaze bearing down on him. Every time Merlin leaned forward to gather more, Arthur seemed to shift in his saddle, as though something about Merlin’s movements intrigued him.

Merlin couldn't help but feel the heat of Arthur’s stare on his back, and though he didn’t understand it, it made him feel exposed, vulnerable. But he continued, too focused on the task to think too much about it. He had to finish this—he had to get back to Gaius and make sure everything was in order.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he straightened up, holding the herbs in his hands. He quickly mounted his horse again, casting a quick glance at Arthur, who was still watching him with that unreadable look on his face.

"Let's go," Arthur said, his voice flat.

Merlin nodded, though he didn’t dare meet his gaze. They rode back to the castle in silence, the weight of the day’s events hanging heavily between them.

 

Notes:

this is a short chapter seeing as im currently on vacation and the wifi here sucks so yeah i dont know when ill update but ill probably be after

Chapter 17: Careful Steps

 

Arthur didn’t want to be here.

That was the first thought that hit him as soon as his horse’s hooves clattered against the dirt road, the wind tugging at his cloak. He was in the middle of an investigation, but it wasn’t a battle or a council meeting. It wasn’t even about something important, like protecting Camelot or proving his strength. No. He was here because Uther had ordered it—because Merlin was involved.

Arthur scowled as he glanced at the smaller figure riding beside him. Merlin was quiet, too quiet, but it was just how he always was when Arthur was around. He was careful, making sure he said the right things and used the correct titles. And that made Arthur feel something tight, something possessive that he didn’t want to acknowledge.

“You’re a bit too quiet today, Merlin,” Arthur finally spoke, his voice clipped, not out of concern, but annoyance. “You’re not trying to get out of this, are you?”

Merlin’s head jerked toward him, and for a moment, their gazes met. Merlin looked nervous—skittish, as usual—but there was something in his eyes that Arthur couldn’t quite place. He hadn’t seen the boy act so timid before, not quite like this.

“I—I’m sorry, Prince Arthur,” Merlin stammered, his voice soft and apologetic, just the way Arthur liked it. “I’m just trying to focus, to figure this out.”

Arthur couldn’t stop himself from smirking. “You’re always ‘focusing,’ Merlin. It’s like you’re terrified of saying something wrong.”

Merlin didn’t respond, but Arthur caught the way the younger man shifted in his saddle, the way his shoulders slumped just a little as though he were shrinking into himself. Arthur’s smirk faded as a pang of something… possessive, twisted inside him. He didn’t know what it was exactly. But the thought of Merlin being so obedient, so careful around him—it unsettled him in ways he wasn’t sure how to handle.

They rode in silence for a while, but the tension between them simmered, and Arthur found it harder and harder to ignore. Merlin wasn’t the usual fool he seemed to be in the castle. No, Merlin had a certain quiet intelligence, one that made Arthur feel... uneasy, like the boy could unravel him in ways he couldn't explain.

When they finally reached the village, the air was thick with sickness. People were coughing, their faces pale and drawn. Arthur didn’t want to be here. He wanted to be back at Camelot, where things made sense. Where he could be the prince, the one in control. But here, amidst the suffering and the uncertainty, he was just another soldier.

Merlin seemed to sense his discomfort. Arthur watched as the boy dismounted, his movements careful, trying to avoid stepping into the mud that splattered in all directions. But Arthur wasn’t paying attention to the mud. He was paying attention to Merlin’s movements—how he crouched down to speak to the villagers, how his face softened with empathy as he listened to their concerns.

The boy was good at this. Too good.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. He had never seen anyone so selfless, so willing to give up everything for others. And it made something in Arthur stir, something dark and primal that he wasn’t sure he could ignore.

After a few moments, Merlin returned to him, his expression serious. “It’s the well,” he said quietly, as though speaking any louder would draw too much attention. “That’s where it’s coming from.”

Arthur frowned, his mind racing. "The well? How do you know?"

Merlin shrugged, his eyes glancing toward the villagers, his gaze distant. “The water. Everyone I spoke to, they said the well is the only source. They’ve been drinking from it for years.”

Arthur rubbed his jaw. “If it’s poisoned, how do we stop it?”

“I—I don’t know how it got poisoned or why,” Merlin admitted, his voice uncertain. “But we need to tell them to stop drinking from it, at least for now. I would suggest they get their water from the streams in the forest.”

Arthur nodded, though his mind was still racing. There was more to this, he knew it, but for now, this was the answer. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

On the way back, Merlin motioned for them to stop by the woods. “I need to gather some herbs for Gaius,” he said, dismounting quickly. “We might need them to help with the illness.”

Arthur didn’t speak as Merlin moved among the trees, gathering what he needed. But his gaze never left him. Every time Merlin bent down, every time he reached for a plant or knelt on the ground, Arthur felt the strange heat building inside him. It wasn’t just the usual irritation or frustration with Merlin’s presence. No, this was something else. Something deeper.

Merlin was careful with his movements, as if trying to keep his distance from Arthur. But Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off the way his body moved—his slender figure bending and stretching, his hands delicately plucking herbs from the ground. Every time Merlin shifted, Arthur’s heart rate quickened, something burning in his chest.

It was maddening. The way Merlin didn’t even realize how he was affecting Arthur, how he was completely oblivious to the way his every movement stirred something dark inside the prince.

Finally, Merlin stood, holding the herbs in his hands. He didn’t meet Arthur’s gaze, but Arthur could see the exhaustion in his face. He didn’t look strong—he looked fragile, like he could break at any moment. And for a brief moment, Arthur wondered if that was exactly what Merlin wanted. To be broken by someone like Arthur.

But then the moment passed, and the thoughts, the impulses, all faded into the back of his mind.

Arthur turned his horse and began riding back toward the castle. “Come on, Merlin. We need to get back to Camelot.”

Merlin nodded, following close behind, his head lowered as usual. Arthur glanced at him, his gaze lingering longer than it should have, the heat in his chest intensifying once again.

Chapter 18: The Dragon's Claim

 

Merlin exhaled in relief as he finally stepped into Gaius’ chambers, setting down the satchel of supplies with a soft thud against the wooden table. The old physician glanced up from his work, his brow furrowed with concern.

“You’re back,” Gaius noted, standing from his chair. “And in one piece, thankfully.”

“Barely,” Merlin muttered, rubbing at the sore muscles in his shoulders. “I swear, Arthur’s been in an even fouler mood than usual.”

Gaius gave him a knowing look but didn’t comment. Instead, he peered into the satchel, inspecting the vials and herbs. “This should be enough to begin treating the sick. Good work, my boy.”

Merlin grinned at the rare praise, his chest swelling with pride. But before he could bask in it, a voice called from outside the chamber.

“Merlin!”

Turning, he found one of the castle’s younger pages standing by the doorway. The boy—probably no older than Merlin himself—grinned impishly.

“You’ve been gone all day. I was beginning to think the great Prince Arthur finally did you in.”

Merlin huffed a laugh. “Not yet, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

The page stepped closer, tilting his head with an amused smirk. “Shame. Would’ve been a tragic loss. Who else would trip over their own feet while running errands?”

Merlin rolled his eyes but flushed despite himself. “Oh, ha ha. Very funny.”

The page leaned in slightly, voice dipping into a teasing lilt. “I do mean it, though. You really should let someone look after you, Merlin.”

Merlin blinked, heat creeping into his cheeks. He wasn’t sure what to make of that—was the page…flirting? Before he could stammer out a response, a voice like thunder cracked through the corridor.

“Merlin.”

The teasing warmth in the air vanished in an instant. Merlin stiffened, his heart lurching into his throat as he turned toward the source.

Arthur stood a few feet away, his expression carved from ice. His gaze flickered between Merlin and the page, something dangerous simmering beneath the surface.

“Prince Arthur,” Merlin greeted quickly, bowing his head.

Arthur ignored him. His focus remained on the page. “You. Leave.”

The page, clearly not wanting to test his luck, dipped into a bow and all but scurried away.

Arthur turned his attention back to Merlin, and the air in the corridor grew stifling.

“Go to the dog kennels,” he ordered.

Merlin’s stomach twisted. “What?”

Arthur’s jaw tightened. “Did I stutter? Go to the dog kennels and stay there until I send for you.”

Merlin swallowed. He didn’t understand why Arthur was so angry, but arguing would only make things worse. Nodding quickly, he ducked his head and hurried away.

 

---

 

Arthur watched him go, his fists clenched at his sides.

The dragon inside him rumbled with satisfaction.

It did not like seeing another man too close to Merlin. It especially did not like seeing Merlin’s face flush because of someone else.

Arthur’s lips curled in distaste as he turned his gaze down the hall, where the page had disappeared.

He would ensure the boy learned his place.

 

---

 

Arthur set his goblet down with a decisive clink against the polished wood of his table. Without looking up, he gave his order.

“Bring me Merlin.”

The servant nodded, hurrying out of the chambers. Arthur leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the armrest as he waited.

It didn’t take long. A few minutes later, the door creaked open, and Merlin was ushered in.

He looked hesitant, skittish even. He kept his head bowed, his hands twitching at his sides.

Arthur exhaled slowly, the dragon within him pleased by the display of submission.

“Come here,” he ordered.

Merlin obeyed, stepping forward until he stood just before the table.

Arthur studied him for a moment before speaking.

“You will not speak to another man in this castle unless absolutely necessary,” he said evenly. “That includes pages, servants, and visiting lords. The only exceptions are myself, my father, Gaius, and a select few of my knights.”

Merlin’s lips parted slightly in surprise, but he quickly pressed them shut, nodding instead. “Yes, sire.”

Arthur’s gaze darkened at the title.

Good.

The dragon inside him rumbled in approval at hearing his mate address him properly.

“Do you understand?” Arthur pressed.

“Yes, my lord.”

Arthur smirked. Much better.

“Good.” He waved a hand dismissively. “You’re dismissed.”

Merlin turned quickly, eager to leave. Arthur watched as he moved toward the door, his gaze trailing down his back.

The tunic did little to hide the way his tights strained against the curve of his ass.

Arthur’s fingers tightened around the goblet in his grasp.

He would need to keep a very close eye on his mate from now on.

 

Chapter 19: Arthur's Dream

Arthur was lost in it.

The dream felt real—too real. The scent of damp earth filled his lungs, the warmth of the sun pressed against his skin, and the trees stretched high above, swaying lazily in the breeze. The forest was silent except for the sound of breathing—Merlin’s breathing—uneven, gasping.

Arthur had him pinned.

Merlin was on all fours, his knees pressing into the soft moss, his tunic rucked up over his waist, leaving his perfectly shaped arse straining against the thin material of his tights. His body trembled as Arthur loomed over him, one hand gripping his narrow waist, the other pressing against the small of his back, keeping him down.

"Prince—" Merlin's voice cracked, his head turning slightly to look over his shoulder, eyes wide, pleading.

Arthur growled. The title on Merlin’s lips sent a shiver of satisfaction down his spine. He liked it. He loved it. Merlin addressing him properly, acknowledging his place, acknowledging that he belonged to Arthur.

Arthur’s fingers tightened around Merlin’s waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles against the dip of his back, obsessed with the way his slender frame curved beneath his touch. He could feel the warmth of Merlin’s body, the way it trembled under him, unsure, innocent—

The dragon inside him rumbled with contentment, possessive and pleased.

Arthur leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of Merlin’s ear. "You’re mine," he whispered, voice dark, authoritative. "Say it."

Merlin whimpered, trying to pull away, but there was nowhere to go.

"Say it," Arthur repeated, his grip firm, unforgiving.

"I—I’m—"

Arthur woke with a sharp inhale, his entire body tensed, his breath uneven as he stared up at the ceiling. His sheets were damp with sweat, his muscles coiled too tight, and the heat pooling in his stomach was almost unbearable.

His fingers clenched around the bedsheets as frustration curled in his chest.

Damn it.

He was losing control.

 

---

 

Merlin adjusted the collar of his tunic nervously as he stepped into the chamber, the familiar weight of dread settling deep in his stomach.

His lessons with Lady Catrine were normally uneventful—long, tedious, filled with etiquette corrections and language drills that made his head spin. But today, as he entered the room, his feet stilled.

Arthur was already there.

Merlin’s breath hitched. He hadn’t expected him.

The prince sat in his usual seat by the window, one leg crossed over the other, his fingers lazily drumming against the armrest of his chair. He wasn’t looking at Lady Catrine. He wasn’t even pretending to be interested in the lesson.

His eyes were on Merlin.

Watching.

Merlin swallowed, forcing himself to move, his hands clenching at his sides as he approached his seat. He could feel Arthur’s gaze, heavy, unwavering, burning into his skin like a brand.

"Good, you’re finally here," Lady Catrine said without looking up, flipping through a stack of parchment. "Let’s begin."

Merlin nodded quickly, lowering his gaze to the table. He focused on the words written before him, determined to ignore the intensity of Arthur’s stare.

But it was impossible.

Every time he moved, he could feel Arthur tracking him. Every time he spoke, he could hear the slight hitch in the prince’s breathing.

Merlin forced himself to sit still, shoulders tight, movements careful. He had already angered Arthur once today—he didn’t want to make it worse.

The tension stretched between them like a rope pulled taut.

When the lesson finally ended, Merlin exhaled in relief, gathering his things quickly.

But before he could leave, Arthur’s voice stopped him.

"Merlin."

Merlin flinched.

Slowly, he turned, keeping his gaze low, his fingers tightening around the parchment in his hands. "Yes, my lord?"

Arthur tilted his head, eyes sharp, searching. "Be in my chambers before dinner."

Merlin’s stomach twisted, but he nodded. "Yes, Your Highness."

Arthur smirked, satisfied.

As Merlin hurried from the room, he could still feel the weight of Arthur’s eyes following him.

And the dragon inside the prince purred in approval.

 

 

Chapter 20: Arthur's Punishment

 

The day had felt impossibly long. Every moment, every step, every glance from Arthur’s knights or passing servants had Merlin on edge. He knew what was coming. Knew that Arthur was angry.

It didn’t matter that he had been acting on Gaius’ and the king’s orders—Arthur had ordered him not to leave, and in Arthur’s eyes, that was the only thing that mattered.

By the time he reached Arthur’s chambers, his hands were trembling at his sides. His breath felt thin, and his heart was hammering so hard it made him feel lightheaded. He swallowed thickly before knocking on the heavy wooden door.

“Enter.”

Arthur’s voice was calm. Too calm. It was worse than shouting.

Merlin stepped inside hesitantly, the room dimly lit by candlelight. Arthur was standing by the table, already in his nightshirt and breeches, golden hair slightly mussed as if he had been running his hands through it. His blue eyes locked onto Merlin, sharp and unreadable.

Merlin didn’t dare speak first. He knew better than that.

Arthur walked toward him slowly, like a predator stalking its prey.

“I gave you an order,” Arthur said finally, voice low. “And you disobeyed.”

Merlin flinched. “I—”

Arthur tilted his head. “Were you about to argue?”

Merlin swallowed and immediately shook his head. “N-No, Your Highness.”

Arthur hummed. “Good. Then you understand why you’re being punished.”

Merlin lowered his gaze, knowing it wasn’t a question.

“Kneel,” Arthur ordered, gesturing to a spot in the center of the room.

Merlin hesitated only a second before obeying, sinking onto his knees.

Arthur moved to the table, where a single candle burned steadily. He picked it up and walked over, setting it on the floor just in front of Merlin.

“You will stay like this until the candle burns out.”

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek but nodded. His knees were already aching against the cold stone, but he didn’t protest. Arthur’s punishments were never meant to be easy.

The minutes stretched on in silence, the flickering flame casting shifting shadows on the walls. Merlin’s back ached from holding himself so stiffly, but he didn’t dare adjust his position.

Arthur sat in his chair, watching him. Not reading. Not writing. Just watching.

The heat of his gaze was suffocating.

 

---

 

Arthur knew the exact moment Merlin’s legs began to shake.

He could see it in the way his shoulders tensed, in the way his fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. He was exhausted—Arthur could see that—but he hadn’t begged. Hadn’t even tried to protest.

Something deep inside Arthur purred at that.

The dragon inside him was still restless with anger, furious that Merlin had left without his permission. Furious that he had to punish him at all. And yet, the sight of him kneeling, trembling but obedient, soothed the beast.

Finally, when the candle had burned low, Arthur spoke.

“Stand up.”

Merlin wavered slightly as he got to his feet, his legs unsteady.

Arthur gestured to the table. “Bend over.”

Merlin paled but obeyed.

Arthur ran a hand over his back briefly, pressing him down. “Ten,” he said simply.

He raised his hand and brought it down sharply. The sound echoed in the chamber, and Merlin let out a soft gasp.

Arthur waited.

“…One,” Merlin whispered, voice shaky.

Another strike.

“Two.”

Arthur’s dragon rumbled in satisfaction at the obedience.

By the time the tenth strike landed, Merlin’s breathing was unsteady, and his fingers were gripping the edge of the table.

Arthur stepped back. “You may go.”

Merlin didn’t hesitate. He bowed his head quickly and hurried toward the door, his movements stiff but desperate to leave.

Arthur watched him go, his gaze lingering on the curve of Merlin’s backside as he walked. Even beneath his tunic, the tights left nothing to the imagination.

Arthur exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair.

A moment later, he turned to his new manservant. “Take this to the jeweller.”

He handed over a small parchment with a design sketched onto it—a silk cord, fine and soft, with a dragon and a merlin intertwined. The claiming necklace.

Arthur smirked. Soon.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 21: Merlin's vision

Merlin sat hunched over Gaius’s old book, his fingers skimming the brittle pages. He had been searching for hours, his eyes burning from reading by candlelight. The sickness that had spread from the village to the castle was unlike anything he had seen before, but something about the symptoms tugged at the edges of his mind. A memory, perhaps. Something Gaius had mentioned in passing years ago.

And then, there it was.

His breath hitched as his gaze locked onto the word. Afanc.

A creature of water and filth. A being of dark magic capable of poisoning wells, spreading sickness, feeding off human suffering. He traced the ancient ink, his pulse quickening. It had to be this. It was the only explanation.

He wasted no time. Grabbing the book, he hurried to Gaius, nearly tripping over his own feet in his urgency.

“Gaius!” he gasped, shoving the book toward him. “Look! I think— I think this is what’s causing the sickness.”

Gaius adjusted his spectacles and peered at the page, his expression growing grave.

“The Afanc,” he murmured, running a hand over his beard. “It makes sense. The way the sickness spread, first in the village, then the castle…”

Merlin nodded eagerly. “Arthur has to know. They need to destroy it before it poisons anything else.”

Gaius sighed, closing the book. “You’ve done well, Merlin. But this is not your fight. You should stay here.”

Merlin hesitated but ultimately nodded. Arthur wouldn’t let him go anyway. Not after last time. Not after—

He shook his head. It didn’t matter. Arthur would take care of it.

The Afanc was destroyed by nightfall.

Merlin heard of the battle from the knights who had returned bloodied and victorious. Arthur had slain the beast, proving once again why he was the heir to Camelot. He could only imagine the way Arthur must have looked, sword in hand, golden hair dusted with dirt and sweat—

He shook himself. Not the time, Merlin.

That evening, a grand banquet was held in Arthur’s honor. The great hall was packed with nobles and knights, all raising their goblets to the prince’s strength and valor. Merlin, however, remained in his chambers.

Gaius had exempted him from attending, citing his close contact with the sick as a reason for caution. Merlin hadn’t argued. He had no desire to be in a room filled with people, feeling Arthur’s gaze burn into him from across the hall.

Instead, he sat by his window, allowing his magic to dance through his fingertips. Small wisps of golden light curled in the air, forming into shapes of creatures he had only ever read about—serpents of mist, glowing birds, tiny dragons that flapped their wings before dissolving into nothing.

A soft smile touched his lips. Here, alone, he could be free. Here, he didn’t have to be careful.

Then, without warning, his vision blurred.

The room around him melted away.

And he saw it.

Camelot—burning.

The castle walls, once strong and proud, crumbled like sand. The sky was blackened, filled with smoke and the screams of the dying. And in the center of it all, the throne room stood in ruin.

Arthur’s body lay desecrated before the throne.

Merlin’s breath hitched. His knees buckled. No—no, this wasn’t—

A dark-haired man—Agravaine—sat upon the throne, his expression unreadable, while beside him, Merlin knelt, shackled and broken.

And behind them, Morgana.

She sat on a grander throne, Uther’s crown perched atop her head, a wicked smile curling her lips as she looked down at him, at Arthur’s lifeless form.

Merlin’s own voice echoed in his ears—a scream of grief, of rage, of loss.

And then—

Darkness.

He gasped as he was yanked back into his body, his hands shaking violently. His chest heaved, his vision swimming. The warmth of his magic was gone, replaced with a chill that seeped into his very bones.

It wasn’t just a vision.

It was a warning.

 

---

 

Merlin’s body trembled violently as he lay curled on the cold stone floor beside his bed. His breaths came in short, painful gasps, his chest heaving as if he couldn’t get enough air. His stomach twisted, dry heaves racking through him as his mind played the vision over and over again—Arthur’s body, lifeless and desecrated, blood pooling beneath him. The ruins of Camelot. Morgana’s cruel smile.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing the images to go away, but they clung to him, burned into his mind like a brand. His fingers dug into the floor, desperate for something—anything—to ground him.

The sound of hurried footsteps barely registered in his haze until a familiar voice broke through.

“Merlin!”

Gaius.

The old physician knelt beside him, hands firm but gentle as he touched his shoulder. Merlin shuddered at the warmth. He wasn’t in that vision. He was here. He was in Camelot.

But Arthur—

His throat tightened, a ragged sob escaping before he could stop it.

Gaius’s brow furrowed in concern as he helped Merlin sit up, one arm steadying him while the other felt for his pulse. “What happened?”

Merlin shook his head frantically. He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t form the words. His hands clawed at the front of his nightshirt, as if trying to rip away the crushing weight on his chest.

Gaius’s expression darkened with worry. “Breathe, my boy. Slowly now.”

But Merlin couldn’t. He couldn’t.

Arthur’s body. Agravaine on the throne. Morgana watching him suffer—

A strangled cry tore from his lips. His whole body seized as another wave of panic crashed over him.

“Enough of that,” Gaius murmured, pulling him close. “You are here. You are safe.”

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, his fingers curling into the fabric of Gaius’s robes. It was a childish act, clinging to him like a frightened boy, but he couldn’t stop himself. His entire body felt like it had been thrown into ice, the fear burrowing so deep into his chest he thought he might never be free of it.

“Tell me what you saw,” Gaius coaxed gently.

Merlin swallowed thickly, shaking his head. He didn’t want to say it. Speaking it aloud would make it real.

But Gaius didn’t relent. He waited patiently, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on Merlin’s back.

And finally—finally—Merlin choked out, “Arthur—” His voice cracked. He swallowed, forcing the words out even as his throat burned. “Arthur was dead.”

Gaius’s hand stilled.

“I—I saw Camelot destroyed,” Merlin whispered, his whole body trembling. “Agravaine was on the throne. Morgana—she—” He couldn’t finish. The memory of her smug, victorious expression made bile rise in his throat.

Gaius let out a slow breath, his grip on Merlin tightening slightly. “It was a vision, then.”

Merlin nodded miserably, fresh tears slipping down his cheeks. “I don’t know if it was just a warning or if—if it’s something that will happen.” His voice cracked on the last words, raw with fear. “I can’t—I can’t let that happen, Gaius. I can’t—”

“Shh.” Gaius squeezed his shoulder. “That will never happen.” His voice was firm, unshakable. “Do you hear me, Merlin? It will not happen.”

Merlin wanted to believe him. He really did. But the image of Arthur’s lifeless form refused to leave his mind.

Gaius helped him up, guiding him gently onto the bed. Merlin let himself be pulled under the blankets, exhaustion weighing him down. His body was spent, his mind a battlefield of fear and grief, but the warmth of Gaius’s presence kept him from spiraling again.

The physician sat beside him, patting his hand reassuringly. “I will speak to the King in the morning,” he said after a moment.

Merlin’s eyes fluttered open. “W-What?”

“Uther will want to know of your vision,” Gaius explained. “You know he allows me a certain… leniency when it comes to such matters. If there is even the slightest chance that this vision is a true warning, he will want to be prepared.”

Merlin hesitated, still breathless from crying. “You think he’ll listen?”

Gaius gave a small, tired smile. “Uther is many things, my boy, but a fool is not one of them. He has never ignored the words of those I trust.”

That should have comforted him. And yet, as he closed his eyes, all Merlin could see was Arthur’s blood staining the throne room floor.

He drifted into sleep with the weight of that horror still pressing against his heart.

 

 

 

Chapter 22: Truth Revealed

 

The weight of what he was about to do pressed heavily on Gaius’s shoulders as he walked the long halls of the castle toward the King’s chambers. He had spent the morning debating whether this was the right course of action, but in the end, there was no choice. Merlin’s vision had been too vivid, too horrifying, to ignore.

Uther had always been an unrelenting man when it came to magic. Even after all these years of earning the King’s trust, Gaius knew this conversation could go terribly wrong. He could only hope that his careful choice of words and his reputation as the King’s most loyal physician would be enough to protect Merlin from Uther’s wrath.

The guards outside the door stepped aside as he approached. One knocked twice before pushing the door open, allowing Gaius to step inside.

Uther sat at his grand desk, a goblet of wine at his side, papers spread before him. His sharp eyes flicked up, narrowing the moment he saw Gaius’s expression.

“This had better be important,” the King said. “I assume it concerns the vision you wished to speak of?”

Gaius bowed deeply before stepping forward. “Yes, Sire. It is a grave matter.”

Uther leaned back in his chair, gesturing impatiently. “Speak, then.”

Gaius took a steadying breath. “It is about Merlin, my ward. He was struck with a powerful vision last night—one of Camelot in ruins.”

The King stiffened.

“In this vision,” Gaius continued, carefully monitoring Uther’s expression, “Prince Arthur was slain, the throne taken by Agravaine, with Morgana ruling beside him. The city was nothing but rubble.”

Uther’s jaw clenched, and his fingers curled against the armrest of his chair. “You would bring me a boy’s nightmare as if it were a prophecy?”

“This was no mere nightmare, Sire.” Gaius met his gaze evenly. “You know well that I have seen visions before. The Sight—however faint—has been known to run in certain bloodlines.”

There it was—the moment of risk. He had to play this carefully.

Uther’s fingers tapped against the wood of his desk. “Are you implying,” he said slowly, voice dropping dangerously, “that the boy possesses magic?”

Gaius bowed his head. “Not magic as you fear, my lord. Merlin is… gifted, yes. But only in the way of healing and foresight. His abilities are limited—no different from the seers who have served kings in generations past.”

Silence stretched between them.

Uther’s eyes burned into him, searching for any sign of deceit.

Then—

“You have known this,” Uther stated coldly. “You have hidden this from me.”

Gaius’s heart pounded, but he kept his face calm. “I feared what you might do if you misunderstood, Sire. But I swear to you, Merlin has never used his gifts for harm. He has done nothing but serve Camelot’s people—his abilities saved many lives during the recent illness.”

Uther exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away. He was furious. But Gaius could see the calculations running through his mind.

After a long moment, Uther turned back to him. “If I were any other man, I would have him executed for your deceit.”

Gaius’s fingers curled into his sleeves, but he did not speak.

Uther continued, “However… you have been my trusted physician for many years, Gaius. And if what you say is true—if this boy’s abilities are truly as limited as you claim—then he may yet be of use.”

Gaius released a slow breath.

“But he will wear a cold iron bracelet at all times,” Uther ordered. “A thin one—nothing that will disrupt his work or draw attention, but enough to ensure that his abilities remain contained.”

Gaius nodded immediately. “That is more than fair, Sire.”

Uther studied him for a long moment before nodding. Then he straightened in his chair. “Summon Arthur.”

 

---

 

Arthur arrived promptly, stepping into the King’s chambers with a deep bow. “Father.”

Uther wasted no time. “Gaius has brought something of great importance to my attention,” he said. “It concerns his ward, Merlin.”

Arthur’s posture stiffened slightly, though he kept his face impassive. “What about him?”

Uther leaned forward. “The boy has magic.”

Arthur’s entire body went rigid.

His mind raced. Merlin? His Merlin? Magic?

But before he could react, Uther continued, “Gaius claims his magic is weak—limited to healing and minor foresight. He has never used it against Camelot.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. A part of him wanted to deny it outright, to call Gaius a liar. But another part of him… remembered.

Merlin had always been different. Strange, even. His hands, always steady when tending the sick. His presence, always a little too calming. And the way he just knew things sometimes, as if he could see beyond what was in front of him.

Still, Arthur’s anger flared. “He kept this from me.”

Uther nodded approvingly. “Yes. It is a betrayal.”

Arthur forced himself to breathe evenly. His dragon growled inside him, unsettled by this new knowledge. He had claimed Merlin, in his mind, if not yet in truth. And Merlin had lied.

But then—he is mine, the dragon reminded him. And this changes things.

Arthur’s mind worked quickly, cataloging the implications.

If Merlin’s gifts were truly as limited as Gaius claimed, then Arthur had no real reason to fear him.

And more importantly…

Arthur schooled his face into a neutral mask, but deep inside, a slow smirk curled in his chest.

Foresight. Healing.

Those were not the kind of magic that made a man powerful in battle—but they were the kind of magic that could be inherited.

Arthur had already been thinking of contingencies. Ways to ensure that Merlin could never refuse his claim. And now, a new possibility had just presented itself.

If Merlin’s blood carried magic, and if Arthur took him as his own—claimed him fully—then there was a strong chance that their future children would inherit that power.

A legacy.

A child born of magic and royal blood.

Arthur made a mental note to add this to his plans. It was yet another reason why Merlin belonged to him—and why he could not, would not, let him slip away.

But for now, he straightened and met his father’s gaze.

“What do you wish of me, Father?” he asked.

Uther nodded in approval. “Ensure that he wears the iron at all times. And keep an eye on him. If he proves himself untrustworthy… I will not be so lenient.”

Arthur bowed. “Of course, Sire.”

As he left the chambers, his dragon rumbled in satisfaction.

This changed nothing.

Merlin was his.

And now, he had one more reason to make sure of it.

 

---

 

Merlin stood in the center of the throne room, his hands clenched at his sides to stop them from trembling. The weight of King Uther’s gaze pressed down on him like a physical force, and beside the throne, Arthur stood rigid, his jaw tight, arms crossed.

“This is a mercy, boy,” Uther said, voice stern but final. “You should be grateful I am allowing you to live.”

Merlin swallowed hard. The cold iron bracelet glinted as the royal advisor stepped forward to fasten it around his wrist. The moment it clicked into place, Merlin gasped—his body felt instantly heavier, like an unseen force was pressing against his very soul. His magic, once a quiet hum beneath his skin, dulled to a whisper. His breath quickened, panic creeping in, but he forced himself to nod.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Uther dismissed him with a flick of his wrist, turning his attention to one of his advisors. But Arthur didn’t move. Merlin felt the prince’s gaze burning into him before Arthur’s hand clamped onto his arm, guiding—no, leading—him forcefully out of the throne room.

Merlin didn’t dare protest.

 

---

 

Arthur barely contained the growl that rumbled in his chest as he dragged Merlin through the castle corridors. The dragon inside him stirred restlessly, clawing at his ribs, demanding that he mark and claim what was his. The thin iron bracelet on Merlin’s wrist only fueled his possessiveness—it was proof that Merlin belonged to Camelot now, to him.

The moment they were alone in a shadowed alcove, Arthur spun Merlin around, pinning him to the stone wall with a firm grip at his waist.

“You lied to me,” Arthur said, his voice low and dangerously calm.

Merlin’s eyes widened, darting around as if searching for an escape. His hands pressed against Arthur’s chest in weak protest, but Arthur didn’t let him go.

“I—I didn’t—”

“You did,” Arthur cut him off, his grip tightening. “You kept this from me. Your Prince.”

Merlin flinched at the emphasis, his breath hitching. “I wasn’t—I never meant to deceive you, I swear, Your Highness.” His voice was small, uncertain, laced with fear that sent a surge of satisfaction through Arthur’s chest.

Good. He should be afraid.

Arthur leaned in, his breath hot against Merlin’s ear. “Do you know what happens to liars, Merlin?” he murmured, voice deceptively soft.

Merlin swallowed hard, barely shaking his head.

Arthur exhaled slowly, controlling the possessive snarl threatening to escape. He couldn’t afford to lose control. Not yet. Instead, he let his fingers trace the delicate curve of Merlin’s throat before gripping the side firmly, tilting his head to expose the pale skin beneath his jaw.

“You belong to me,” Arthur whispered, the words more growl than speech. Then, without warning, he pressed his lips to the exposed skin, biting down just hard enough to leave a mark.

Merlin yelped, hands gripping at Arthur’s tunic, but he didn’t push him away. His breath came in uneven gasps as Arthur pulled back, admiring the faint red bloom on his throat.

“There,” Arthur muttered, satisfied. “Now everyone will know.”

Merlin’s lips parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His fingers hovered uncertainly over the mark, but he didn’t speak.

Arthur tilted his chin up with a firm hand. “You will be punished for lying to me,” he said, voice firm but not cruel. “But not today.”

Merlin exhaled shakily and nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

Arthur’s dragon rumbled in approval at Merlin’s obedience, at the way he submitted so easily. He would learn—and soon, he would accept his place.

Arthur released him at last, stepping back. “Go. I’ll summon you when I have need of you.”

Merlin hesitated for only a moment before bowing his head and hurrying away, his fingers brushing over the mark on his neck as if he could erase it.

Arthur watched him go, his gaze trailing down to the way his tunic pulled tight over his waist and backside. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening. Soon.

With a breath, he turned on his heel and strode toward his chambers, already drafting a message in his mind.

It was time to finalize the design for Merlin’s claiming necklace.

 

Chapter 23: Hollow

 

The moment Merlin returned to Gaius’s chambers, the weight of everything crashed down on him like a tidal wave. He barely made it to the middle of the room before his knees gave out, his hands clutching at his wrist—the cold iron bracelet burning against his skin like a brand.

It was gone.

His magic.

The constant, ever-present hum that had always been there, lurking beneath his skin, was silent.

He gasped, his chest tightening as panic seized him. His breath came too fast, too shallow, the walls of the room closing in. He pressed a hand to his heart, trying to feel something—a spark, a flicker, anything—but there was only emptiness.

“No,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “No, no, no—”

His vision blurred. His fingers clawed at the bracelet, nails scraping uselessly against the cold iron. It felt suffocating, wrong, like he was trapped in his own skin.

“Merlin?”

Gaius’s voice barely registered as Merlin let out a strangled sob. He could hear himself breathing too fast, his chest heaving as dizziness overtook him. His arms felt weak, his fingers trembling violently.

“I can’t—I can’t feel it—” His voice cracked, eyes wild as he looked up at Gaius, pleading. “It’s gone, Gaius. I can’t—I can’t breathe—”

His body was betraying him. His lungs burned, his limbs felt numb, his heart pounded in his ears like war drums. His magic had been a part of him for as long as he could remember, a quiet, comforting presence in the back of his mind. Without it, he felt hollow.

“Merlin, listen to me—”

Gaius reached for him, but the panic had already sunk its claws too deep. The world tilted sharply, the edges of his vision darkening.

Then—nothing.

 

---

 

Gaius caught Merlin just before his head hit the stone floor.

“Merlin!”

He eased him onto the bed, pressing a hand to his forehead. His skin was clammy, his breaths short and uneven even in unconsciousness.

Poor boy.

With a heavy sigh, Gaius sat beside him, brushing a damp curl from his forehead. His fingers lingered for a moment, stroking his hair in slow, soothing motions.

Merlin had always been so bright—so full of life and wonder despite everything. Seeing him like this, broken and lost, twisted something deep in Gaius’s chest.

He glanced at the iron bracelet, his jaw tightening. He had known Uther would demand something, but he had hoped—prayed—it wouldn’t come to this. To cut Merlin off from his magic was to strip him of a limb, to sever something vital.

His fingers curled into a fist. Damn you, Uther.

He looked back at Merlin’s face, still so young despite the burdens he carried. His heart ached with something old and weary, something that had settled in his bones long ago.

Uther had once looked at him that way—like he was something precious, something worth protecting.

Gaius exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. He had loved Uther once, truly and deeply. They had stood side by side in their youth, bound by devotion and something softer, something unspoken. But as the years passed, as Uther’s hatred hardened into something cruel and unyielding, that love had become strained—twisted by choices Gaius could no longer justify.

And yet, even now, a part of him still saw the boy Uther had been. The man who had once trusted him with everything.

But Merlin was not Uther.

He would never let Merlin become like him.

Gaius sighed, looking down at the sleeping boy. “I promise you, my boy,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion, “this will not break you.”

Merlin shifted slightly, a small whimper escaping his lips, and Gaius smoothed a hand over his hair again, comforting.

“We’ll find a way,” he whispered, though he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince—Merlin, or himself.

 

---

 

Merlin had never felt so empty.

It wasn’t just the silence in his mind where his magic should have been—it was the way the world felt duller now, as if a part of him had been ripped away and left an aching void in its place.

Still, he forced himself through the motions.

 

---

 

Merlin sat stiffly in the small chamber where his language and etiquette lessons were held, his hands clenched in his lap to stop them from trembling.

Lady Eloise, his tutor, droned on about proper courtly introductions in Old English, but the words blurred together in his head. Normally, he could feel the presence of his magic flickering at his fingertips, as if waiting to assist him, to help him absorb the knowledge more easily. Now, everything felt distant—like he was wading through thick fog.

“Master Merlin,” Lady Eloise called sharply, drawing his attention back. “Recite the formal introduction of a court mage when addressing a foreign dignitary.”

Merlin’s throat felt tight. He forced himself to sit up straighter. “Uh—Ic grete þe, lareow cynestol…” He trailed off, the words slipping from his mind like sand through his fingers.

Lady Eloise sighed, displeased. “Your pronunciation is lacking. Again.”

Merlin swallowed, nodding. He tried again, but the lesson passed in a haze of half-formed words and corrections.

 

---

 

After lessons, Merlin threw himself into his chores, hoping the physical labor would distract him.

He scrubbed the wooden floors, carried heavy buckets of water from the well, and cleaned the herb shelves in Gaius’s chambers. But without his magic, everything took longer—everything hurt more. His arms ached, his fingers fumbled, and frustration burned in his chest.

He reached for a bottle of tincture at the top of the shelf, out of reach. Normally, he would have just nudged it down with a small burst of magic, something instinctive and effortless.

Now? He had to climb onto a stool, his movements awkward, his balance unsteady.

The moment he grabbed the bottle, his foot slipped. He yelped as he tumbled backward, barely managing to twist midair to avoid smashing the glass vial. He hit the ground with a painful thud, breath knocked from his lungs.

Gaius rushed in. “Merlin?”

“I’m fine,” Merlin mumbled, pushing himself up, his hands shaking.

Gaius frowned, but said nothing.

Merlin turned away, blinking rapidly to keep the frustration from turning into tears.

 

---

 

The healing chamber was full again—peasants and knights alike, still recovering from the sickness that had swept through Camelot.

Merlin sat beside a young woman with a fever, pressing a damp cloth to her forehead. He whispered reassurances, though his voice felt hollow. Normally, his magic would have told him what was wrong, guiding his hands like a whisper in his mind.

Now, all he could do was follow Gaius’s instructions like any ordinary apprentice.

“Give her this,” Gaius said, handing him a vial. “Two drops, no more.”

Merlin nodded and carefully tilted the liquid into her mouth.

A knight in the next cot groaned in pain, gripping his side. Merlin hurried to his bedside, bandages in hand. He worked quickly, pressing the clean linen to the wound and wrapping it carefully, but his fingers felt clumsy.

“Mind your pressure, boy,” the knight grumbled.

Merlin winced and adjusted his grip, cursing himself. His hands had never been this unsteady before.

I’m useless like this.

 

---

 

Gaius clenched his fists as he stood before the king.

“Your Majesty,” he began carefully, keeping his voice steady, “I humbly request that Merlin be permitted to remove the bracelet during his apprenticeship hours. He struggles without his magic, and as my apprentice, he requires all his abilities to aid in healing.”

Uther’s expression darkened immediately. “You expect me to allow a sorcerer to walk freely without restraint?” His voice was cold. “No, Gaius. The boy will keep the bracelet on.”

Gaius inhaled sharply. “My lord, he is no threat—”

“He has already deceived me once.” Uther’s fingers curled around the armrest of his throne. “Consider yourself fortunate that I showed him mercy.”

Gaius’s mouth pressed into a thin line. He had expected resistance, but he had to try.

“At the very least, my king,” he said, “surely a healer must have the full extent of their abilities to be of the most use to Camelot—”

“If you continue to press this, Gaius,” Uther interrupted sharply, “perhaps I should increase his restraints.” His gaze was steely, unyielding. “Would you rather he wear cuffs instead? Let us see how well he fares then, when his magic is cut off entirely.”

Gaius’s stomach turned to ice.

“No, Your Majesty,” he said quickly, bowing his head. “Forgive me.”

Uther leaned back, his expression satisfied. “Then we will speak of this no more.”

Gaius nodded stiffly, biting back the retort on his tongue. He had lost this battle.

As he left the throne room, his heart ached for Merlin. The boy was already suffering enough. And now, there was nothing he could do to ease that pain.

 

Chapter 24

The claiming necklace had arrived.

Arthur turned it over in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship. The silk cord was soft yet sturdy, meant to sit snugly around Merlin’s neck—not quite a choker, but close. The pendant was the true masterpiece: a dragon, its wings spread wide in dominance, and a merlin bird, caught mid-flight beneath its shadow. The symbolism was clear.

Mine.

His dragon rumbled in satisfaction.

Still, Arthur wanted a second opinion.

He made his way to his father’s chambers, where Uther was seated at his desk, reviewing reports. At Arthur’s arrival, he set them aside, looking expectant.

Arthur wasted no time, stepping forward and presenting the necklace. “What do you think?”

Uther took it from him, running his thumb over the engraved crest with an approving hum. “It is fitting. A clear sign of ownership.” He handed it back, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You should have done this sooner.”

Arthur bristled slightly, his grip tightening around the pendant. “I wanted to ensure it was perfect. He needs to understand there is no escaping me.”

“Good,” Uther said simply. Then, his expression darkened slightly, a glint of something unreadable in his eyes. “I should have done the same with Gaius.”

Arthur frowned. “What do you mean? You were mated to my mother.”

Uther exhaled slowly, looking past Arthur as if seeing something far beyond the chamber walls. “Yes. Ygraine was my fated mate. But she was not my only love.”

Arthur stilled.

Uther’s voice lowered. “Gaius was my second chance.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed. “But he isn’t your mate.”

“No,” Uther admitted. “But my dragon accepted him.”

The weight of those words hung in the air between them.

Uther leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. “It is rare. Unheard of, in some circles. A bond without fate’s hand guiding it. I had Ygraine, but when she was gone… I had Gaius.” His lips pressed into a thin line. “For a time.”

Arthur had never heard this before. He had never even considered the idea of his father and Gaius having any bond beyond that of physician and king.

“What happened?” Arthur asked carefully.

Uther’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his tone sharpened. “The Great Purge.”

Arthur understood immediately.

“When I cleansed Camelot of magic,” Uther continued, “Gaius became… distant. Colder. He began addressing me only as ‘Your Majesty.’ Stopped sharing my chambers. Became entirely professional.” He exhaled, his gaze flickering with something almost like regret. “I had made it clear— all magic was a stain upon this kingdom. I did not exempt him from that truth.”

Arthur considered this, his grip on the necklace firm. “But he still serves you.”

“Because he had no choice,” Uther said simply. “His magic was weak. He never had the strength to defy me, not truly. And he knew his place.” He leaned forward. “I was merciful , Arthur. Do you understand? He lived because he knew to whom he belonged.”

Arthur’s dragon stirred at that, recognizing the lesson his father was imparting.

Know your possession. Ensure they know who owns them.

Arthur glanced at the necklace again, something settling within him. Merlin would learn, just as Gaius had.

“Speaking of loyalty ,” Uther continued, his tone shifting, “we must discuss Morgana.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened.

“She grows bolder,” Uther mused, pouring himself a goblet of wine. “Too bold. There are whispers. Servants have noted her frequent visits to the lower town. I would not be surprised if she is seeking something… dangerous.”

Arthur’s dragon snarled low in his chest. Morgana had been acting strangely for months now. He had turned a blind eye to it, unwilling to consider the implications, but his father’s words rang true.

“We cannot allow her to threaten the kingdom,” Uther said, voice cold. “Or our rule.”

Arthur nodded slowly, fingers tracing the metal of the pendant. “What do you propose?”

Uther smirked slightly. “We watch her. Closely.”

Arthur hummed in agreement. “And if she has betrayed us?”

Uther’s smirk widened. “Then she will meet the same fate as all others who defy the crown.”

Arthur’s dragon purred in satisfaction.

 

---

 

It had been raining the night Uther first kissed Gaius.

The corridors of the castle had been nearly silent, save for the rhythmic beat of the storm outside and the thunder of his own heartbeat. Uther, younger then—though already bearing the steel edge of command in his voice—had found Gaius tending to a wounded knight alone in the infirmary.

The torchlight had danced off Gaius’s cheekbones as he worked, focused, meticulous, and entirely unaware of the storm brewing in the prince behind him.

“You’re always here,” Uther had said.

Gaius looked up, startled. “Your Highness.”

“Uther,” he had corrected. Then, more softly, “Say it.”

Gaius had hesitated. Then: “Uther.”

That had been all it took.

Uther had crossed the distance and pressed him back against the stone, hand cradling the back of his head, mouth slanting over his with a hunger that had waited years to be fed. Gaius had resisted, at first—out of duty, fear, honor—but Uther’s will had been relentless. The dragon in him had already decided: This one is mine.

And Gaius… had given in.

They had been lovers in secret, bound in shadows, soft sighs beneath heavy furs, fingers pressed to lips to keep the world at bay. Uther had imagined giving Gaius everything. A place beside him. A collar to match the one Ygraine had worn.

But then magic became a threat. And Uther, ever ruled by vengeance and pain, had decided: If I could not protect Ygraine from sorcery, I would destroy all sorcery to protect what remains.

And in doing so, he had driven Gaius from his bed, from his trust, from his heart.

Uther’s love had always been possessive—an all-consuming fire that burned away reason. The moment Gaius looked at him with doubt, suspicion, revulsion after the burnings began… the bond snapped.

Or so it seemed.

Years later, the pain still lingered like a brand over his heart. Gaius still served him, still answered his summons. But never by name. Never by affection. Always as Your Majesty.

And that, Uther had never forgiven.

 

---

 

Now, as Arthur stood before him holding Merlin’s claiming necklace, Uther watched his son with quiet satisfaction.

“He reminds me of him,” Arthur said, his eyes shadowed. “Not in strength. But in silence. The way he flinches. The way he still follows orders.”

Uther’s lip curled. “That boy is loyal to Gaius. That is the only thing standing between you and what should already be yours.”

Arthur said nothing. The dragon in him paced, impatient.

“I will be taking Gaius with me,” Uther said, turning toward the fire. “To the seaside keep. I’ve decided it’s time to reclaim what’s mine.”

Arthur raised a brow. “Reclaim?”

Uther’s voice darkened. “He was mine once. And I’ll remind him of it again. Far from this court. Far from your little warlock.”

Arthur stilled.

“Yes,” Uther said, reading the shift in his son. “He’ll be too distracted to protect the boy. That will be your window. No eyes. No interference. Just you… and him.”

Arthur’s dragon rumbled with approval.

“But do not be gentle,” Uther warned. “Not with boys like him. Not if you want him to stay. ”

Arthur nodded slowly. “He’s soft. Kind. But the moment I press, he trembles.”

Uther smiled coldly. “Good. That fear is leverage. And when the time comes—” he glanced at the necklace again—“make sure he wears it where everyone can see. ”

 

---

 

Far to the east, the seaside winds howled.
And in Camelot, the trap quietly closed around Merlin Emrys.

Chapter 25: Tools of the Trade

 

The candlelight flickered across the curved spines of Gaius’s apothecary shelves, casting strange shadows on the stone walls as the older physician poured a thick, golden poultice into a ceramic dish. Merlin sat quietly across the table, fingers trembling slightly as he sliced willow bark into finer strips.

“You’re still shaking,” Gaius said without looking up.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

There was no bite to the words, no heat—just the patient finality of someone who had seen too many broken things pretending to be whole. Gaius reached across the table and adjusted Merlin’s grip.

“Too much pressure here. Use your fingers to feel the grain. The knife will follow your intention if you let it.”

Merlin’s lips parted, brow furrowed as he followed the guidance. The bark curled under the blade more cleanly now, each motion smoother than the last.

“I used to… feel when the herbs were right,” Merlin whispered. “Now it’s just...” He hesitated. “Like I’m deaf and blind to it.”

“You’re not deaf, Merlin. You’ve only had to stop listening through magic.”

“But it’s who I am.” Merlin’s voice cracked. “Without it—”

“You’re still mine,” Gaius said firmly, finally meeting his eyes. “Still my apprentice. Still the boy I raised, the boy who asked too many questions and learned how to stitch a wound before he could boil tea properly.”

Merlin gave a weak, watery laugh.

“I know it hurts,” Gaius added gently. “But pain teaches you things ease never could.”

 

---

 

Later that night, in the safety of his own chambers, Uther poured himself a goblet of wine and stared into the hearth.

The meeting with Arthur had gone precisely as planned.

“You’ll need to be quick,” he’d told the prince earlier that afternoon. “I can’t keep him calm much longer.”

Arthur, lounging carelessly in the chair beside the workbench, had raised an eyebrow. “You mean you can’t keep me away from him.”

“You’re right,” Uther said coolly. “Which is why I’m going with Gaius to the seaside keep.”

Arthur’s expression darkened. “Leaving him vulnerable.”

The king looked up then, sharp and steady. “Exactly.”

The silence between them pulsed. Old hatred, older debts. But above it all, a single shared goal.

“He still trusts you,” Arthur said finally.

Uther took a sip of his wine. “He always will. Until the very end.”

 

---

 

Back in the infirmary, Merlin had fallen asleep sitting up at the workbench, head tilted back, mouth slightly open. A book lay forgotten beside him, filled with notes in his spidery script: tincture ratios, infection signs, patient names.

Gaius approached quietly, draped a blanket over his shoulders, and placed a calming draft near his elbow.

He watched him for a long time.

Soft. Sweet. Fragile.

A key to two dragons—one who had loved once and lost everything, and one who had never loved but intended to possess all the same.

Gaius stroked the boy’s hair once and turned away.

 

 

 

Notes:

I know it's a short chapter, but lately I've been struggling with my mental health, and lost some passion for writing despite my head being overfilled with ideas, which I then can't manage to write out, making me even more frustrated, so yeah. I have a longer chapter planned as an apology, and I'll update as soon as possible.

Edit: This will hopefully be the last time I edit this chapter, but when I first posted it, I realised it was a piece of the last chapter again. I usually write really short chapters, so I just stick two of them together in one to make them a bit longer. I myself get irritated when they're short(er) chapters, which would then be hypocritical if I were to do that.

Chapter 26: The Quiet Before The Storm

The orders came at dawn.

Uther was never one to rise with the sun unless he had purpose. This morning, he had several. The castle stirred reluctantly around him as he stepped into Gaius’s chambers unannounced, not even bothering to knock.

“Pack what you need,” he said without preamble.

Gaius looked up from the table where he had been sorting dried feverfew, hands stilling on the brittle stems.

“My lord?”

“The seaside keep,” Uther continued. “You’ll accompany me there for the week. The Lords of Mercia arrive soon, and I want you far from the capital while they are entertained.”

Gaius’s spine straightened slowly. “Is this necessary?”

Uther’s eyes were cool. “It is.”

The silence thickened, but Gaius gave a short, respectful nod and said nothing more. Inside, his gut churned.

It wasn’t the journey. It wasn’t even Uther, not entirely. It was leaving Merlin behind. The boy had been holding himself together by threads—threads Gaius had kept from unraveling with steady hands and gentle words. And now he was being pulled away, and he didn’t trust Arthur to keep his claws to himself.

“Shall I begin packing?” Gaius asked, forcing the words through dry lips.

Uther smiled faintly, the kind of smile that never reached the eyes. “Yes. Bring only what you need.”

Gaius nodded again, and when Uther left, the door clicking shut behind him, Gaius sat down heavily on the bench. The feverfew crumbled in his lap.

 

---

 

Across the courtyard, Arthur stood in the training yard, sword in hand, yet unmoving. His eyes weren’t on the target but on the sky—on the rising sun that poured gold over the castle’s stone walls.

He hadn’t spoken to Merlin since the last candle punishment. The boy had flinched when he left the room, scurried like a deer scenting blood.

Arthur’s hand flexed around the sword hilt.

He lied.

Merlin, his Merlin, had lied.

Hid something that should have belonged to Arthur. His magic, his secrets, his silence—all of it should’ve been Arthur’s to claim, to guard, to break.

And the boy had chosen to be afraid of him instead.

Arthur hated the way that twisted in his chest.

He’d watched the shape of Merlin’s back as he fled the room the night before. Had watched the red mark blooming at the base of his throat. Had seen him touch it, fingertips brushing over the bruise like he couldn’t decide whether to weep or cradle it.

Arthur had given him that mark.

But it wasn’t enough.

He needed Merlin kneeling not out of fear, but submission. Acceptance. Arthur needed Merlin’s obedience, yes—but he wanted his devotion more. That soft look, the one Merlin always gave Gaius, always filled with trust, safety.

Arthur would rip it from the physician’s shadow and force it into his own.

His dragon stirred in his blood.

Break him.

Then rebuild.

 

---

 

In his chambers, Gaius worked in silence, folding herbs into oilskin packets, sealing vials in cotton. His hands moved mechanically. His mind raced.

What would Arthur do without him here?

He’d tried to warn Uther, tried to beg him to remove the bracelet during lessons, to let Merlin feel something. But Uther had responded with ice.

“If you persist in this line, Gaius,” the king had said, voice razor-sharp, “I will see to it that the boy wears cuffs instead. And you know what that would mean.”

He did.

It would sever the last remaining thread between Merlin and his own magic. The bracelet dulled him—muffled the whispering current of the Old Ways. But cuffs would silence him entirely. A life without even the possibility of magic.

And Arthur—Arthur would use that silence.

Gaius pressed his knuckles to his mouth, closing his eyes.

“I should take him with me,” he muttered. “I should find a way.”

But Uther would never allow it. And Merlin wouldn’t flee, not truly. The boy was too loyal. Too soft. He’d stay and try to endure, even as Arthur’s obsession twisted tighter around his throat.

 

---

 

By mid-afternoon, the carriage was prepared. Gaius stood beside it, trunk already loaded, travel cloak fastened tight against his throat.

Uther approached with leisurely confidence, the kind of stride that only came from absolute authority. His dragon stirred just beneath the surface, golden and greedy, pacing inside its cage.

Gaius didn’t look at him as Uther offered his arm.

“I can step in myself, my lord.”

Uther let the words pass without comment. He followed Gaius into the carriage, sat across from him, and shut the door with a soft click that sounded far too final.

The wheels began to turn.

The countryside rolled by, slowly at first. Then faster. Camelot shrinking in the distance.

Neither man spoke.

Inside, Uther’s dragon roared.

Take him.

Reclaim him.

Show him what he is—ours.

But Gaius did not meet his eyes. Not once.

He sat stiffly, hands folded in his lap, and stared out the window.

The lines around his mouth were tight. His jaw clenched just enough to show restraint—and resentment.

Uther’s eyes drifted to the hollow of Gaius’s throat.

Once, long ago, he’d bitten that skin. Once, Gaius had let him. Had bled for him, had bent for him, had lain in his arms after long nights of shared madness.

Now?

Now he sat like a prisoner choosing politeness over rebellion.

Uther’s fingers curled.

“You’ve grown cold,” he said softly.

“I’ve grown cautious,” Gaius replied, just as quiet.

Uther’s eyes narrowed.

“You used to trust me.”

“I used to believe you could be trusted.”

That silence stretched like wire.

Uther leaned back in his seat, eyes never leaving the healer.

“My dragon still recognizes you,” he murmured.

Gaius’s mouth pressed tighter.

“Do you still feel it?”

Gaius didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

 

---

 

Back in Camelot, Merlin stood in the apothecary chambers alone.

Gaius was gone.

He felt it deep in his chest—a hollowness, as if something safe had been carved out of him.

He sat at the workbench, laid out tinctures like he’d been taught, folded bandages with trembling fingers.

Behind him, the door creaked.

Bootsteps.

The unmistakable rhythm of someone who had never needed to fear being unwelcome.

“Merlin,” Arthur said softly, from the doorway.

Merlin didn’t turn.

He couldn’t.

Not now.

Not when he was alone.

 

Notes:

I weirdly got in the flow yesterday, so I have two(?) pretty big chapters coming up soon, which I will post during my exam period, as I know I'm not going to be studying otherwise, and I wanna thank you for the comments from the previous chapter, it's what got me in the writing mood and out of my slump

Chapter 27: The Lion and the Sparrow

The inn they arrived at by dusk was modest—timbered walls, a warm hearth, and the kind of heavy silence one only finds in the distant countryside. A single serving girl greeted them in nervous tones, curtsied when she realized who they were, and ushered them upstairs.

“There is only one bed, my lords,” she said apologetically, wringing her apron.

Gaius’s throat bobbed once. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“No,” Uther cut in, voice like iron under velvet. “That won’t be necessary. We are not strangers.”

The girl bobbed her head and fled, the door clicking shut behind her.

Gaius didn’t move.

He stood beside the bed with the same tension one might carry before walking into battle. The mattress was wide—broad enough for space—but that wasn’t the point.

Uther removed his cloak leisurely and sat down on the edge of the bed, unbothered. “You were never this stiff when we traveled before.”

“That was before the Purge,” Gaius said quietly. “Before you gave me reason to fear you.”

Uther’s hands paused on the laces of his tunic.

“I have never once harmed you.”

“No,” Gaius agreed. “But you’ve burned people I loved. You’ve silenced voices I swore to protect. And now you threaten my boy every time he breathes wrong.”

Uther's eyes darkened. “Merlin,” he said, low and tight. “The boy with the Sight. The boy who lied.”

“The boy you would cage if it suited you.”

Uther stood, slow and deliberate, and crossed the space between them. He didn’t touch Gaius—but the air between their bodies buzzed, heavy with old familiarity.

“My dragon still remembers the scent of you,” Uther murmured, voice barely a breath. “Still burns for you.”

Gaius didn’t retreat—but he didn’t look up either.

“You made your choice, Uther,” he whispered. “And I made mine.”

With that, he stepped around the king, methodically undressed, and lay down on the far edge of the bed, spine straight, arms rigid by his sides.

Uther stared at the ceiling long after the candles guttered out.

 

---

 

The next day, the sea wind greeted them long before the ocean itself came into view. The salt stung sharp in the air, pulling at Gaius’s robes and tangling in his thinning hair.

The seaside keep was perched like a crown jewel over chalky cliffs, white stone and grey marble gleaming in the light of afternoon. Fewer staff were stationed here—a skeleton retinue loyal to Uther alone.

Gaius stepped down from the carriage before the footman could assist, already scanning the grounds.

A garden overlooked the cliffs. A tower jutted higher than the rest of the structure. A separate wing stretched farthest from the main quarters—isolated, cold, and perfect.

“I’ll take the western chamber,” he said before Uther could speak.

Uther’s brows rose. “You’ll freeze in that wing. The east keeps warmth longer, and the hearths have been prepared.”

“The western chamber is far enough for quiet,” Gaius replied calmly. “I’ll manage.”

Uther’s smile never touched his eyes. “As you like.”

He didn’t stop Gaius. Not with words. Not with hands. He merely watched, the silence behind his gaze louder than thunder.

And Gaius knew.

He knew the distance he’d tried to put between them would not be tolerated for long.

 

---

 

That evening, they dined in the grand hall with only the steward and one servant present—both dismissed quickly once the food was laid out.

The table was set with roasted game, honeyed parsnips, and fresh bread. Gaius picked quietly at his meal, too aware of Uther’s gaze on him with every bite.

Uther drank slowly, one hand curled around a goblet of deep red wine, the other resting on the carved wood table. There was a tension in his body—a stillness that spoke of held-back force.

When Gaius stood to excuse himself, Uther’s voice halted him.

“We’re not done.”

Gaius turned halfway, one brow arched.

Uther rose to his feet, slow and commanding.

“You’ve run from me for twenty years, Gaius. Duty. Regret. Fear. I allowed it. I forgave it. But you forget something important.”

“And what is that?” Gaius asked, voice calm but tight.

Uther took a step closer.

“My dragon chose you.”

Another step.

“And no matter how far you flee, that choice remains.”

Gaius didn’t retreat.

But his hand trembled where it gripped the edge of the table.

Uther’s smile turned feral.

“After dinner,” he said, voice low and thick with promise. “We’ll have a real conversation. One we should’ve had decades ago.”

Gaius left without a word.

But Uther didn’t miss the way his shoulders stiffened.

The chase had begun again.

And this time, Uther would not let him slip away.

 

---

 

Gaius didn’t sleep.

He spent the entire afternoon cataloging herbs in the western wing’s drafty alcove, arranging apothecary bottles he would never use, stacking gauze in cabinets that smelled of old soap and salt air.

He tried not to think of the look Uther had given him across the dinner table. Of the low promise in his voice. Of the slow, knowing smile that had haunted him for decades.

He especially didn’t think of the servants who had brought in the carved box after the meal—silent, blank-faced men and women who would never speak a word.

He shouldn’t have opened it.

But he did.

And what he found made his stomach churn.

A pair of robes—deep crimson lined with Pendragon gold. Luxuriously soft. The stitching unmistakably familiar: the crest of the royal house embroidered across the sleeve and along the hem in quiet, elegant thread. The neckline loose, scandalously so, almost slipping off one shoulder. Gaius knew the style intimately.

He’d designed it himself. Long ago. For ceremonial occasions when he’d still stood at Uther’s side.

But the real horror was what lay beneath it.

A collar.

Not just a symbolic torque or a lord’s gift—but something more primal. A silk-wrapped band with a silver clasp and two charms: a lion crowned in flame… and a tiny pewter sparrow in flight.

His fingers trembled over it.

The weight of it was crushing.

The message was unmistakable.

Uther Pendragon was done waiting.

 

---

 

Gaius allowed the servants to dress him.

There was no fight left—not here, not now. Not when his refusal would only escalate things. He had survived the Purge, outlived betrayal, buried students and siblings and friends. He would survive this, too.

Even if it meant offering up the last scraps of himself.

Even if it meant bowing to the beast who once swore he’d protect him.

When he stepped into the chamber at the heart of the seaside keep, the heat hit him first—coals glowing in the grand hearth, candles flickering across stone walls, shadows dancing over rich red carpets. Wine sat decanted by the hearth. Music murmured from a string instrument resting in the corner, softly plucked by a servant who vanished the moment Gaius entered.

The room was empty.

For a moment.

Then he felt him—behind him.

A hand slid over his shoulder, slow and familiar. Hot breath touched his neck. Gaius froze as Uther’s voice coiled around him like smoke.

“You look exactly as I remember,” Uther murmured, lips brushing against the curve where neck met shoulder. “Maybe thinner. Older. But still… mine.”

Gaius’s hands clenched at his sides.

“You had no right—”

“I had every right.” Uther circled around him, slowly, like a wolf stalking prey it had cornered long ago. His eyes devoured every inch of Gaius—lingering on the collarbone exposed by the loose fabric, the pulse in his throat, the stiff tension in his frame. “You think you could run off, bury yourself in work, raise that boy, and what? That I would forget what we had?”

Gaius’s voice cracked. “I was never yours to keep.”

“You were,” Uther hissed. “After Igraine, you were my second chance. The one my dragon accepted.”

He stepped behind him again, this time pressing closer—hands sliding down Gaius’s arms, lips trailing heat along the side of his throat. “Do you know how many years I spent dreaming of you in that cold palace? While you ran, while you grieved, while you defied me?”

“I stayed after the Purge,” Gaius whispered hoarsely. “When no one else would. I stayed when you burned everything I loved.”

“And I forgave you when you turned cold. When you pulled away.” His teeth grazed Gaius’s neck. “I let you heal. But it’s been long enough.”

Gaius turned then, heart thudding, and tried to step back—but Uther was faster, grabbing his wrists, pushing him gently but unrelentingly against the heavy oak post of the bed. His voice softened, dangerously so.

“Tell me you didn’t miss this.”

“I didn’t—” he flinched.

Uther’s smile turned hungry.

“I thought so.”

He kissed him then—hot, desperate, more possession than affection. Gaius endured it, eyes shut tight, body still. When he twisted his head away, Uther growled low in his throat and nipped down the curve of his neck.

“You shouldn’t have run,” he whispered. “You shouldn’t have made me wait.”

And then—

He bit.

Deep.

Fangs—not metaphorical ones, but sharp, ancient, draconic—sank into Gaius’s neck just above the collarbone. Gaius cried out, knees nearly buckling as fire lanced through him. Heat and agony and something older swelled in his veins, crashing like a tidal wave as Uther's dragon unfurled fully behind his eyes.

The bond pulsed.

Uther shuddered against him, snarling low and guttural as his dragon accepted the bond. No resistance. No hesitation.

Ours, it said.

Finally.

Gaius was panting, weak, half-slumped against the bedpost as Uther withdrew his fangs, licking the mark with deliberate slowness. Blood stained his lips. His eyes glowed faintly gold in the candlelight.

“You always belonged to me,” he whispered.

And then, with ceremonial care, he lifted the collar from the table and fastened it around Gaius’s neck. The clasp clicked shut with finality.

A lion and a sparrow.

Bound.

Claimed.

Marked.

Gaius didn’t fight him anymore.

But he didn’t look at him, either.

He sat down silently on the edge of the bed, one hand brushing over the collar.

Uther stood before him—flushed, triumphant, victorious.

And yet… something bitter coiled under the triumph.

He didn’t speak another word.

And that silence said more than any plea could have.

Chapter 28: The Collar and the Crown

Dawn came with a cold wind off the sea.

It crept in through the shutters of the guest room window, whispering across Gaius’s bare skin, raising gooseflesh even beneath the heavy coverlet. The fire had long gone out. The scent of ash clung to the chamber air—but beneath it, deeper, fouler, stronger, lingered the musk of him.

Of Uther.

Gaius opened his eyes to pale light and silence.

He was alone.

The sheets beside him still held the heat of a second body, but the man himself was gone. Likely to the east wing, where the staff had readied Uther’s personal suite overlooking the cliffs. A place of luxury. Of command.

A place Gaius no longer belonged in.

His fingers brushed the collar.

It felt heavier in the morning than it had the night before. Thicker. Tighter. Though perhaps that was the bruising. The dragon-etched clasp sat firm against his nape, unmoved even when he twisted to check it in the small wall mirror.

The lion and the sparrow. Gold on leather. Ornate. Imperial.

Possession.

A knock came—three precise raps. Gaius wrapped a robe around himself and opened the door. Two servants entered without a word: one bearing breakfast on a polished tray, the other carrying a folded set of robes, dark crimson with gold threading.

Pendragon colors.

The colors of a king’s consort.

He said nothing. And neither did they. Only nodded once before bowing out.

He dressed slowly, hands trembling—not with fear, not exactly. It was the kind of tremor that came from weariness of the soul. Of a man walking back into his own grave.

The robes were fine silk, embroidered at the cuffs. Loose in the chest, open at the throat, designed to display the mark—still raw and healing—at the base of his neck. Gaius stared at it in the mirror. A bond renewed. A prison sealed.

He touched it, and—

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

He was thirty-four again.

The Beltane fires roared in the courtyard. Flowers in every doorway, petals drifting in the air. Arthur—only four—clung to Gaius’s cloak as the crowd spun and danced.

Uther had pulled him away from the edge of the crowd, away from the council, from the lords and their stiff expectations.

“Just this once,” he murmured, taking Gaius’s hands. “Dance with me.”

And Gaius—laughing, flushed with firelight and mead—had said yes.

He remembered Uther’s smile. Soft. Boyish. The way his fingers curled around his waist, careful and protective, even amidst the chaos. Arthur had giggled when they returned, lifted into Gaius’s arms and carried off to bed, soot on his cheeks.

Later that night, Uther had whispered, “You make this place feel alive again.”

Gaius had believed him.

He had believed everything.

 

 

---

 

 

 

A servant passed him in the corridor as he stepped out. She bowed lower than usual.

They all would now.

He was no longer merely the court physician. Not just the king’s advisor.

He was the king’s again.

He moved through the halls of the seaside manor like a shade. And when he entered the sunlit terrace where breakfast had been laid for Uther, he found the king already seated—writing a letter, ring glinting, hair perfectly groomed, as if nothing in the world had changed.

But it had.

Uther looked up. And smiled.

“You look well, Gaius.”

The older man inclined his head. “Majesty.”

The smile faltered for a moment. Uther set down the quill.

“Still so formal?”

Gaius sat across from him. “You’ve given me a collar, not a crown.”

Uther’s nostrils flared, just faintly. But his tone remained smooth.

“It suits you.”

Gaius said nothing.

The silence stretched, filled only by the soft clink of silver against porcelain as they began to eat. Uther reached across once—touched his hand.

Gaius didn’t pull away.

But he didn’t meet his eyes either.

Not when Uther said, “We'll return to Camelot in a fortnight. Let them see you at my side again.”

Not when he added, “I want them to remember what we were.”

And not when he whispered, “This time, Gaius… I won’t let anything come between us.”

Gaius sat very still.

Because he remembered what came between them the last time.

Fire.

Blood.

A screaming child wrenched from his mother’s arms.

And Uther’s hands, still warm from Gaius’s skin, casting the first stone.

 

 

---

 

 

 

He finished his tea in silence.

And said nothing at all when Uther leaned over at the end of breakfast to kiss his temple, brushing back a lock of grey hair.

“You’ll come to my chambers again tonight,” Uther murmured. “We’ll finish what we started. And you’ll sleep beside me this time.”

It wasn’t a question.

Gaius rose. His fingers touched the collar one last time.

“As you command, Majesty.”

And he walked away.

Not faster than was polite.

But fast enough to keep from weeping in the corridor.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The knock on Uther’s chamber door was soft. Hesitant. Polite.

Expected.

He had been waiting.

“Enter,” Uther said without rising, voice deep and dark as wine left too long to age.

The door creaked open.

Gaius stepped through, silent and composed in the robe Uther had ordered him to wear: deep Pendragon red, embroidered with gold along the cuffs and hem. The collar was cut low, deliberately so, exposing the fading mark from the night before—still raw, still bruised, still his.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t meet Uther’s eyes.

He simply stood there, as obedient and beautiful as Uther remembered him.

A flame snuffed down to cinders.

Uther took his time. He walked slowly around Gaius, admiring the lines of his form, the way the robe clung to his waist and loosened over his chest. A shadow of defiance still clung to his posture, but his silence—that was surrender.

“You wore it,” Uther murmured from behind, fingers brushing lightly along the edge of the robe. “I had it made after the first time I claimed you. Years ago. I knew you’d return to me one day.”

Gaius flinched slightly at the touch, but said nothing.

Uther leaned in, mouth grazing the side of his neck, nose dragging over the soft hair behind his ear. “You were always the most elegant creature in court,” he breathed. “All those pompous lords, and it was you they watched when you entered a room.”

His hands slipped forward, caressing the flat of Gaius’s stomach through the silk. “But you never belonged to them. You were mine. Are mine.”

Still, Gaius didn’t speak. He only shuddered.

Uther’s dragon growled beneath his skin, drunk on the scent of magic still lingering faintly around Gaius. Faint now, yes, but still there. Still familiar.

Still his.

“On your knees,” Uther said flatly.

Gaius hesitated.

Uther’s voice hardened. “Now.”

He obeyed. Slowly, stiffly, he knelt before the king. His hands rested on his thighs, eyes downcast. Uther cupped his face, thumb brushing over the collar resting against his throat.

“You should’ve never left,” Uther said. “You should’ve never made me chase you.”

He leaned down and kissed him, slow and claiming, fingers tightening painfully in Gaius’s hair. The kiss turned harsh—teeth, tongue, hunger—until Gaius gasped and Uther pushed him back onto his heels.

“You have no idea,” he growled, “what it’s been like. Knowing you were out there. Free. Breathing. And not mine.”

He stripped him slowly, tearing at the robe until it fell in heaps on the stone. Then dragged Gaius to the bed and threw him onto the furs like a discarded doll. His own robe fell away moments later.

“I want you to remember exactly who you belong to,” Uther said, climbing over him. “No title. No duty. No illusion. Just me. Your king.”

He didn’t take his time.

He took him.

Every thrust was brutal, merciless, driving Gaius into the mattress with force. Uther’s teeth found his shoulders, his neck, his chest—biting, tearing, branding.

“You’re filthy like this,” Uther snarled, panting against his skin. “Wearing my colors. My mark. Spreading your legs like a common whore for the man who destroyed your world.”

Gaius let out a broken gasp. A choked sound that might’ve once been a protest, but no longer had form. Uther gripped his face, forcing him to look up.

“You want me to be cruel?” he asked. “You want punishment? You want to suffer for staying? Good. That’s what you deserve.”

He flipped him over, dragged him back by the hips. Pressed his face into the sheets.

“Say it,” Uther hissed into his ear. “Say who you belong to.”

Gaius didn’t answer. So Uther struck him—hard, open-palmed against the thigh, the ass, the back of his neck. Each blow echoing against the stone walls like a drumbeat of submission.

“Say it.”

“…you,” Gaius whispered.

Louder.

“You.”

Louder.

“You, Uther,” he gasped. “I belong to you.”

And the dragon in Uther roared.

He came with a growl, sinking his teeth again into the fading mark, reopening the wound, reinscribing the bond with fire and blood and dominance. Gaius cried out, body shuddering, collapsing limp beneath him.

Uther stayed inside him long after, panting against his back.

He didn’t pull out.

He wrapped his arms tightly around the older man’s waist, burying his nose in his neck, inhaling the scent of victory.

Possession.

Bonded.

Claimed.

“You are mine,” he murmured again. “Forever.”

Gaius didn’t answer.

But he didn’t move away, either.

And Uther, satisfied, finally closed his eyes.

The dragon within him, for the first time in decades, purred.

Chapter 29: The Rules of Service

Merlin knocked once, quietly.

His knuckles barely grazed the heavy door to Prince Arthur’s chambers before it swung open, as if Arthur had been waiting.

He probably had.

Merlin stepped inside, head bowed, fingers fiddling with the cuffs of the new tunic Gaius had laid out for him. It was deep blue, cut finer than anything he was used to wearing, and tailored in a way that made him feel painfully visible. Vulnerable. A silk cord bracelet — cold iron thread woven subtly into the design — rested against his wrist like a leash he hadn’t asked for.

Arthur didn’t speak at first. He only studied him.

His eyes dragged down the length of Merlin’s body, from the faint shadow of nervousness in his eyes to the uncertain shift of his weight from foot to foot. Then, finally, Arthur stepped forward, closing the distance between them with measured, deliberate steps.

“You’re late,” Arthur said. “By two minutes.”

Merlin flinched. “I—I’m sorry, I—”

A gloved hand tilted his chin up, just enough to make eye contact.

“Don’t explain,” Arthur said smoothly. “Just remember. When I give you a time, you arrive early. When I give you an instruction, you follow it exactly.”

Merlin nodded, throat tight.

Arthur stepped back, his tone turning brisk, coldly instructive.

“You’ll serve wine at the meeting today. You’ll pour for everyone present — knights, advisors, visiting nobles. But you’ll refill mine first. Before I ask. Before I look at you. You’ll be quiet unless spoken to. You’ll keep your eyes lowered. You do not look at anyone else.”

Merlin stiffened slightly. “What if—?”

Arthur cut him off with a sharp glance. “You don’t speak unless given leave.”

Silence.

Then, more softly, Arthur added, “This is how you earn the court’s favor. And my trust. Do you understand?”

Merlin nodded again. “Yes, my lord.”

Arthur’s mouth twitched, pleased by the address.

“You’ll call me that from now on. In public. In private.” He paused. “Unless I tell you otherwise.”

He gestured to the ornate tray of decanters and goblets waiting near the hearth. “Take the tray. We’re expected in the council chamber in five minutes. Don’t drop anything.”

Merlin, quiet and pale, obeyed.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The council room was already half-full when they entered. Lords and advisors murmured amongst themselves, the long stone table scattered with parchments and ink. Arthur strode to the head of the room without pause, armor gleaming, the very image of princely command.

Merlin followed.

Silent.

Invisible.

He poured wine with practiced care, keeping his gaze low. He moved around the table like a ghost, placing goblets before each lord — discreet, efficient. When he reached Arthur’s side, he refilled the prince’s goblet first, topping it to the rim with steady hands.

Arthur didn’t acknowledge it.

But he didn’t have to.

The message was clear — he’s mine. He serves no one else first.

Merlin returned to the corner by the wall, hands clasped neatly in front of him. He stood there for the entire session, unmoving, unnoticed except by Arthur, whose gaze flicked to him every so often with sharp, possessive pride.

The discussion ran long. Talks of trade routes, new defenses, increased patrols along the eastern roads. Camelot was preparing. The envoys from Mercia would arrive within the week.

And Arthur intended for everything — and everyone — to be perfect.

 

 

---

 

 

When the room finally emptied, Arthur remained in his seat, swirling the last of the wine in his goblet.

Merlin lingered at the edge of the chamber, unsure if he should leave.

“You did well,” Arthur said at last. “Not a single drop spilled.”

Merlin looked up, startled. “Thank you, my lord.”

Arthur stood, crossing the room in slow, measured steps until they stood face to face again. “They saw you today. The court. The lords. They saw where you stood — behind me. Quiet. Obedient. Mine.”

He brushed a curl from Merlin’s forehead, fingers trailing just behind his ear.

“They’ll know not to touch.”

Merlin swallowed hard.

“You’re learning,” Arthur murmured. “But you’re still too soft. Too easily startled. We’ll work on that.”

He turned back toward the window overlooking the courtyard. The sun had dipped low on the horizon.

“Prepare my chamber. The Mercian envoys arrive in two days. There will be feasting. I want you at my side during court. And after.”

Merlin froze. “…After?”

Arthur didn’t look back. “You’ll understand when it’s time.”

His voice dropped, almost fond. “You should rest. There won’t be much sleep once they arrive.”

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

The morning passed in silence.

The infirmary, once a place of warmth and muttered endearments, smelled like dried herbs and dust. Gaius’s absence lingered in every corner — in the way the books sat untouched on his desk, the kettle left dry, the beds tucked too neatly.

Merlin sat by the window, shelling dried feverfew into a bowl with clumsy fingers, eyes unfocused.

Across the room, Gwen moved gently between the shelves, stacking linen and replacing empty tonic bottles. She didn’t speak much — just small glances, soft smiles when she passed. She knew better than to pry. She saw the tremble in Merlin’s hands when they brushed the collar of his tunic, the flinch when he heard heavy boots pass in the hallway beyond.

“Do you want me to make tea?” she asked at one point, her voice careful.

Merlin shook his head. “No, thank you. I… I don’t think I could drink it.”

He stared at the scattered yellow petals, brow furrowed.

Gaius would’ve scolded him gently. Told him not to crush the stems. Told him that fretting ruined the potency. He would’ve ruffled Merlin’s hair, offered a bitter tonic and a firmer hand. He would’ve noticed the unease beneath Merlin’s silence.

But he wasn’t here.

He was with the king.

Merlin didn’t know what Arthur had told him. He didn’t know if Gaius had chosen to leave, or if he’d been forced. But either way, he was gone — and Merlin was alone.

Alone with his magic suppressed beneath the iron-threaded bracelet. Alone in a castle that watched him now with unfamiliar eyes.

And alone with Arthur’s words from the night before echoing in his mind.

“You’ll understand when it’s time.”
“There won’t be much sleep once they arrive.”
“You’ll be at my side. And after.”

The way Arthur had said it — calm, assured — had left no room for protest. No room for confusion, either.

He meant the court.

He meant the bed.

Merlin curled forward over the bowl, jaw clenched.

Gwen’s voice broke the silence again, gentler this time. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But if you need help… or if you need someone to be with you—”

“I’m fine,” Merlin said quickly.

Too quickly.

Gwen’s eyes softened, but she let it go.

 

 

---

 

 

 

Later, Merlin swept the workroom, straightened vials, laid out fresh bandages — tasks that used to take hours now completed in minutes without Gaius’s quiet lessons threading between them.

He paused at the windowsill where Gaius used to grow healing herbs. The mint was dry. The rosemary brittle. A small clay dish sat there — once used to catch dripping candle wax. Inside was a single hair, silver and coarse.

Merlin’s chest tightened.

He didn’t realize he was crying until he felt the tear slip down his cheek.

The knock came just before dusk.

He wiped his face quickly, heart lurching, expecting Gwen.

But it was a page. One of Arthur’s.

“You’re to attend the prince before supper,” the boy said. “Wear the tunic he gave you. Don’t be late.”

Merlin nodded numbly. “I won’t.”

The door closed again.

The candlelight flickered.

And Merlin sat for a long moment at Gaius’s desk, fingers resting lightly on the spine of an old book he wasn’t allowed to open anymore.

Then he stood.

He dressed in silence.

And he left the safety of the only home he’d ever known behind.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

Merlin’s knuckles hovered over the polished wood of Arthur’s chamber door for too long before he dared knock.

He half-hoped no one would answer. Half-hoped the castle would burn down before someone could say, “Come in.”

But then—

“Enter.”

His heart sank.

The door creaked open to reveal Arthur standing near the hearth, fastening the last clasp of his formal black-and-gold surcoat. The heavy Pendragon cloak draped over his shoulders like fire in fabric. He looked regal. Terrible.

And when his gaze lifted — sharp and glowing faintly in the low torchlight — Merlin felt something coil tight in his stomach.

“You’re late,” Arthur said coolly.

“I— I came as soon as the page—”

Arthur didn’t wait for him to finish. He stepped closer. One gloved hand reached out to straighten the collar of Merlin’s tunic — the deep wine-red one he’d been ordered to wear.

His fingers lingered.

“You’re to serve wine,” Arthur said. “To the court. To the Mercian envoys. But you answer only to me. You refill my cup before anyone else’s. Always.”

Merlin blinked. “I— I don’t know how much to—”

“You’ll learn.”

Arthur stepped around him, adjusting his cuffs. “You will keep your head bowed. You will listen. And you will not speak unless spoken to. If anyone addresses you, defer to me.”

His voice sharpened.

“And you will not look at anyone else for too long.”

Merlin stiffened.

“I wasn’t—”

Arthur turned to face him again. “I don’t care if it’s the kitchen boy or a lord — your eyes stay down. You are mine tonight. You are with me.”

Merlin’s mouth parted, protest or question barely forming — but Arthur’s hand caught his chin, tilting his face up.

“You understand?” he murmured.

Merlin hesitated, heart pounding.

“…Yes.”

Arthur released him. “Good.”

He adjusted the clasp of his cloak, then reached for his goblet. “Pour.”

Merlin took the jug from the sideboard and did as told. His hands trembled slightly. Arthur didn’t comment, but when their fingers brushed on the goblet’s stem, his eyes lingered.

A beat passed. Then Arthur turned and strode toward the doors.

“Follow.”

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The great hall was already buzzing with tension by the time they arrived.

Lords and knights lined the outer tables. The main dais glittered with silver cutlery and heavy banners. Musicians strummed quietly in the far corner. But it was the center of the room that commanded all attention:

Three envoys from Mercia — one old and fox-eyed, the other two younger, sharper — stood before Uther’s throne, cloaks dusted with travel and suspicion.

Arthur walked like the future king he was. Cold. Commanding. The crowd parted around him like wind through grain.

Merlin followed a step behind and to the left — exactly where Arthur had directed him.

The envoys turned to look. Merlin kept his eyes low.

“Prince Arthur,” one of them greeted with a bow. “Your reputation precedes you.”

“As does yours,” Arthur returned smoothly. “I trust your journey was tolerable.”

“Long,” the older envoy replied. “But fruitful, I hope.”

Arthur’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “That depends on how tonight goes.”

He sat at the head of the long table without waiting to be invited. The envoys followed suit. Merlin moved behind him, refilling his goblet before the others could even lift theirs.

Arthur said nothing — but his hand brushed Merlin’s wrist in silent approval.

As the feast began, Merlin moved among the table’s guests, offering wine, keeping his head bowed. He poured for the Mercian lords, for the court, even for Sir Leon and Sir Elyan — both of whom offered subtle, pitying glances that he didn’t dare return.

But each time he reached Arthur’s side again, the prince made sure their hands touched.

Made sure the room noticed.

“You trained him well,” one of the Mercian men remarked idly after his fourth cup. “Obedient little thing.”

Arthur’s smile was thin and dangerous. “He’s mine.”

The envoy chuckled. “I assumed as much.”

 

 

---

 

 

 

The feast lasted long into the night.

Merlin’s feet ached. His arms burned. But he never faltered.

When the plates were cleared and the lords began to retire, Arthur stood slowly.

“Court resumes in the morning,” he announced. “But those of you who remain are welcome to the wine.”

He passed his goblet back to Merlin without looking.

The moment the doors closed behind the last of the guests, Arthur turned — eyes locked on Merlin.

“You did well,” he said quietly.

Merlin swayed slightly, exhausted. “I just… poured wine.”

“You listened. You obeyed. You kept your head down.” Arthur stepped closer, voice darkening. “You’re learning. And they saw it.”

Merlin’s breath hitched.

Arthur’s gloved hand caught his elbow. “Come.”

“W-Where?”

Arthur’s smirk curled with something deeper, hungrier.

“You already know.”

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

Arthur had just locked the door behind them.

Merlin stood still in the center of the room, unsure whether he should speak, sit, or kneel.

He didn’t have long to wonder.

Arthur was on him in seconds.

The cloak hit the floor. The gloves followed. And then Arthur’s hands were at Merlin’s waist, undoing the ties of his wine-red tunic, pushing it aside like an unwanted wrapping.

“You looked like you belonged beside me tonight,” Arthur murmured against his throat, voice hoarse with restraint. “You poured my wine like a good little servant. Not a single word out of place.”

Merlin tensed. “You said not to speak.”

Arthur chuckled darkly, dragging his mouth down to the hollow of Merlin’s throat. “You obeyed. I noticed.”

He gripped Merlin’s hips, pressing him back against the wall. “And you ran when I called. Do you know how hard it was—sitting through that entire feast—knowing you’d bow your head and pour for those men who thought they could look at you?”

His hands slid up under Merlin’s shirt, possessive and hungry. “Do you think I’ll let that happen again?”

Merlin swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean—”

Arthur cut him off with a harsh kiss, pulling him in closer.

He was about to bite—about to leave a mark, something visible, something claiming—when a sharp knock rang out.

He froze. Merlin blinked, dazed.

The knock came again, louder.

“Sire?” Gwen’s voice, muffled but urgent. “Please—Merlin? Are you in there?”

Arthur growled low, teeth bared.

Merlin straightened instantly, tugging at his shirt.

“Merlin—” Arthur grabbed his wrist. “Don’t you dare open that door.”

But Merlin looked panicked. “If Gwen’s looking for me, something’s wrong—”

The third knock was sharper.

“Merlin, please—one of the stable boys got kicked in the chest. Gaius isn’t here, and he’s not breathing right—”

Merlin tore his arm from Arthur’s grasp.

“I have to go.”

He fumbled with the lock. Arthur’s hand slammed against the door beside his head.

“You walk out that door right now,” Arthur said, voice low and lethal, “and you run from me. Again.”

Merlin turned to face him — wide-eyed, guilty, desperate.

“I’m not running,” he said softly. “But someone’s dying.”

Arthur’s face twisted — rage and helplessness colliding in a single breath.

The door opened. Gwen stood there, sweat on her brow.

She didn’t miss the flushed look of Merlin’s throat. Or Arthur’s hand still braced above him.

Her mouth thinned. “Touch him again tonight,” she said flatly, “and I’ll scream so loud your father will hear it from the coast.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You overstep—”

“No,” Gwen snapped. “You do.”

Merlin bolted past them before Arthur could reply, following Gwen toward the infirmary.

Arthur stood in the open doorway, his fists clenched, chest heaving.

He stayed there for a long time after the echoes of their footsteps faded.

 

 

---

 

 

 

The fire in his chambers had burned low by the time Merlin returned — long after midnight, clothes rumpled and fingers bloodstained, but the boy lived.

Arthur didn’t speak.

He didn’t shout.

He simply stood in the shadows near the bed and watched Merlin sleep.

There was a crease between Merlin’s brows even in rest. Worry never left him. And the bracelet — that thin band of iron on his wrist — still shone like a brand.

Arthur’s jaw tightened.

He reached out, gently brushing a curl from Merlin’s forehead.

“You shouldn’t have left me,” he whispered.

He could still feel Merlin’s warmth on his skin. Still hear Gwen’s defiance.

They were running out of time. Gaius would return tomorrow. So would Uther. And Merlin would once again belong to someone else’s care.

Unless Arthur stopped pretending.

Unless he made it clear who Merlin belonged to.

He turned, stepping toward the chest near the foot of the bed.

He unlocked it with a key from around his neck.

Inside, nestled in black velvet, was the finished necklace.

Silk cord. Polished silver. The dragon. The merlin.

Arthur lifted it with reverence.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered to the sleeping boy. “No more hiding.”

Chapter 30: The Bite Beneath the Blossoms

 

 

 

The woods were silent save for birdsong and the distant hum of wind through the trees. Sunlight slanted through the canopy, dappling the forest floor in gold and green.

Arthur had chosen the spot carefully.

Far from the path. Deeper into the woods than anyone from the castle would bother to wander.

Merlin walked a few steps behind him, barefoot now after Arthur had insisted — with a look that brooked no argument — that he feel the earth beneath his soles.

“You need to absorb it,” Arthur had said. “The magic. It’s why you’re always so pale and trembling lately.”

Merlin had only nodded, afraid to argue.

His bracelet was gone. Arthur had removed it himself.

The cold iron sat back in Camelot on Arthur’s desk — a silent threat Merlin was too afraid to ask about.

Instead, he simply obeyed. The grass was soft underfoot. Warm. Buzzing.

And the trees…

It was like the whole forest breathed with him.

Arthur laid out the blanket in a clearing beside a moss-covered stone and a crooked birch tree. Food sat in a basket nearby — meat, cheese, dried fruit, soft bread, even a small bottle of wine.

But Merlin barely noticed the food.

His eyes were wide as he stood still in the sun, the wind tangling through his hair. He lifted a hand as a butterfly landed on his fingertips.

Arthur watched him from the blanket.

His dragon stirred.

There.

That was how he was meant to look — bare, unshackled, glowing from the inside out.

A wild thing. Untouched. Unclaimed.

Not for long.

“Come here,” Arthur said, low and lazy, reclining back on his elbows.

Merlin blinked at him, hesitant, but obeyed. He crossed the grass slowly, kneeling on the edge of the blanket, unsure what Arthur wanted.

Arthur didn’t explain.

He simply pointed to a spot just in front of him. “Kneel. Here.”

Merlin swallowed and shifted forward.

Arthur reached out, gently guiding him by the shoulders. Merlin flinched slightly but didn’t resist.

Now Merlin knelt between Arthur’s legs, uncertain, sunlight on his cheek and dirt beneath his knees.

Arthur sat upright then — slowly, like a great beast unfolding.

And then, with a smooth, quiet motion, he slid forward off the blanket to kneel behind Merlin, crowding into his space, body heat enveloping him.

Merlin stiffened.

“Arthur—”

“Shhh.” Arthur leaned close. His breath ghosted over Merlin’s ear. “Just breathe.”

But Merlin’s breaths were too fast. His fingers twitched against his thighs.

Arthur let his hands settle on Merlin’s hips, thumbs pressing gently.

“You were beautiful out here,” Arthur murmured, voice like smoke. “You belong in the wild, don’t you?”

Merlin shook his head once, not trusting his voice.

Arthur chuckled darkly.

“You don’t even know how you look. That soft little ass bouncing as you walked. Magic thick around you. Nature responding to every step.”

His grip tightened.

Merlin tried to shift away. “Arthur—please—”

But the dragon in Arthur’s blood surged, claws raking just beneath his skin.

He shoved Merlin forward — not cruelly, but with force — pressing him down into the grass. Merlin cried out in shock, his hands scraping against moss and earth.

Arthur loomed above him, chest rising and falling like a predator on the edge of losing control.

“You ran from me,” he growled into Merlin’s neck, pinning him there. “You let Gwen take you. You poured wine for those bastards like you were theirs to look at.”

“I didn’t mean to—” Merlin gasped, twisting, but Arthur only gripped harder, one hand holding both his wrists to the ground.

The other hand gripped Merlin’s jaw, turning his head.

“I should’ve done this weeks ago,” Arthur snarled.

And then he bit him.

Hard.

Merlin screamed — pain and heat flaring through his shoulder as teeth broke skin. Blood filled Arthur’s mouth, warm and copper-sweet. The dragon roared in satisfaction.

He bit again, lower, deeper. Merlin sobbed.

The forest held its breath.

When Arthur pulled back, his mouth was wet and his eyes golden, glowing.

Merlin’s skin bore two ragged, punctured bite scars — permanent, ugly, claiming.

He slumped into the grass, trembling, breath ragged.

Arthur sat beside him, chest heaving, hands still twitching with restraint.

“You’re mine now,” he said roughly. “I’ll chain you before I let anyone else touch you. I’ll burn them alive if they look at you like that again.”

Merlin didn’t answer.

He was crying softly, curled into himself, dirt clinging to his knees and blood staining the edge of the blanket.

Arthur reached down and touched the wound.

It was already closing — too slowly to be human. Nature was healing him.

Arthur leaned over him again and whispered:

“I’ll give you the necklace tomorrow. You’ll wear it when we face the Mercian envoys.”

He smiled faintly, brushing a bloodstained kiss against Merlin’s temple.

“And when Gaius returns… you’ll already be mine.”

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The clearing was quiet again.

Birdsong resumed in hesitant chirps. The breeze cooled, brushing against flushed skin and blood-warm grass.

Merlin hadn’t moved since Arthur released him.

He lay curled on his side, panting faintly, face damp with tears and dirt. The bite on his shoulder was swollen, seeping sluggish trails of blood. It pulsed like a brand. Permanent. Ugly. Claiming.

Arthur sat beside him, his breath finally steady, watching the tremble in Merlin’s hands.

The dragon inside was sated.

But Arthur wasn’t done.

Not yet.

He reached for the food basket and drew out a small square of bread softened with honey and fruit paste. He broke off a piece, leaned over Merlin, and coaxed it gently to his lips.

“Eat,” he said softly.

Merlin didn’t react.

His eyes were unfocused, lips parted in confusion. His breath made small sounds — barely-there whimpers of shock and exhaustion.

Arthur cradled the back of his head and pressed the food gently into his mouth. Merlin chewed slowly, obediently, not tasting it.

Another piece.

Then a sip of wine from the same cup Arthur drank from. Arthur tilted it to his mouth, wiping the excess from his chin with his thumb.

“There we are,” Arthur murmured, brushing sweat-matted hair away from Merlin’s forehead. “You’re still here. Still mine.”

Merlin blinked slowly — not resisting, not understanding.

Arthur kissed the bite mark on his neck again, soft now, reverent. The blood had begun to dry in the grass beneath him, but Arthur licked around the wound, tasting iron and skin. He pressed a final kiss to the raw edge, nose buried against Merlin’s pulse.

“You’ll heal,” Arthur said, more to himself than to Merlin. “You’re strong. Strong enough to carry this.”

He stood slowly, walking to the horse tethered at the edge of the clearing. It whinnied gently as Arthur approached, already prepared.

Arthur returned to Merlin and knelt beside him again, sliding his arms beneath the trembling body. Merlin made a faint sound, more instinct than protest, but he didn’t resist as Arthur lifted him.

He was too light.

Too soft in Arthur’s arms.

Too trusting.

Arthur mounted the horse in one fluid motion and pulled Merlin up with him, settling the boy sideways across his lap like a stolen bride. Then, as if remembering something critical, he shifted Merlin forward — straddling the saddle now, but still slumped and weak.

Arthur pressed his chest to Merlin’s back and wrapped both arms tightly around his waist, holding the boy flush against him.

“You ride with me,” he whispered against his ear. “No more walking behind. No more distance.”

They rode back to Camelot at a slow, steady pace.

Merlin barely stirred the entire way, body limp in Arthur’s arms, head lolling against his shoulder. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the trees as they emerged from the forest and approached the walls.

No one questioned the prince as he rode through the gates with the young apprentice bloodied and slumped in his grasp.

Servants looked away.

Knights lowered their eyes.

Arthur didn’t stop until he reached his private chambers in the western tower.

He dismounted, still holding Merlin against him, and swept him into the room as though carrying something both sacred and forbidden. The doors closed behind them.

Arthur laid Merlin down on his bed — not a guest’s, not the infirmary, but his.

The covers were thick and soft. The mattress deep. Merlin sank into it without a sound, eyes distant.

Arthur knelt beside him, dipped a cloth in warm water, and began to clean the blood from around the bite mark. His hand was steady. Careful.

“You’re mine now,” Arthur said softly as he wiped. “Everyone will know it.”

He cleaned Merlin’s hands next. His face. His knees. He was meticulous, methodical, quiet.

When Merlin was clean — bruised and marked but no longer bloodied — Arthur tucked the covers over his hips, brushing the back of his fingers down the side of his face.

Then he stood.

He strode to the corner of the room and called a guard through the side entrance.

“Fetch the royal tailor,” he said sharply. “Tell them I want soft linens, the best silks. Gold-thread embroidery. The seamstress is to take Merlin’s measurements from the clothes in Gaius’s chamber if she must — but he will wear nothing but Pendragon colors from now on. That’s an order.”

The guard bowed and disappeared.

Arthur returned to the bed, shedding his outer cloak. He sat beside Merlin again, stroking a hand through his dark hair, feeling the slight hum of magic just beneath his skin.

“You’ll be beside me when Mercia arrives,” he whispered. “In new clothes. Fed. Clean. Collared.”

He leaned down, letting his breath warm Merlin’s neck.

“Marked. Mine.”

Merlin made a faint sound — some wordless thing of confusion or pain — and turned slightly in his sleep.

Arthur curled up beside him then, pressing close. He rested a hand low on Merlin’s belly and buried his face in the crook of his neck.

The dragon within him purred.

Tomorrow, he would drape a chain around that throat. A necklace crafted by the best smith in the realm. Gold and silver. A dragon. A merlin.

And when Gaius returned, it would be too late.

Merlin would already be claimed.

And no one — not even his guardian — would take him back.

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

 

Merlin didn’t wake.

Not fully.

He drifted in and out of a haze of warmth and ache, breath catching in his throat every time he moved too much. His shoulder throbbed. The rest of him ached low and heavy, muscles bruised in places he couldn’t name.

The sheets were too fine. Too soft.

Not his.

A canopy overhead. Heavy curtains. Pendragon red.

This wasn’t Gaius’s chamber.

He turned his head and flinched. The movement tugged at the deep, raw pain above his collarbone. Something sticky and crusted pulled at his skin. He tried to reach for it, but his arm refused to lift. Even breathing took effort.

He whimpered.

A soft gasp answered.

“Oh, Merlin…”

Gwen.

Her warm hands were at his side in an instant, a bowl of water and cloth already at the bedside table. She brushed hair from his face and pressed a damp cloth to his brow.

“You’re burning up,” she whispered, voice shaking. “You need rest. Just breathe, alright?”

He opened his eyes further, blinking up at her. “Gwen…?”

“I’m here,” she said gently. “Gaius isn’t back yet. They said… they said you were with Arthur.”

Her voice trembled on the name.

Merlin looked down, confused. There were bruises on his wrists. A familiar cloak draped over the edge of the bed. His tunic was missing — his chest bare beneath the covers. The bite…

“Did he—?” His voice broke, barely a whisper.

Gwen pressed her lips into a thin line. She didn’t answer.

But her silence was enough.

“I didn’t—” Merlin blinked hard. “I didn’t say yes—”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, Merlin.”

Her hands moved with the gentle precision of someone trying not to break something already shattered. She pressed a little water to his lips. Adjusted the pillows behind his back. Folded the blanket up to his chest like he might shiver apart if left uncovered.

Merlin drifted again.

Somewhere in the haze, the door opened.

Boots.

A shadow tall and broad.

Arthur.

Merlin tensed faintly. Gwen’s fingers tightened around his.

Arthur didn’t speak at first. He approached the bed slowly, like a man approaching a shrine. His eyes locked on Merlin — still dazed, pale, feverish.

Then he smiled.

“I see you’re awake.”

Gwen stood, planting herself between them like a shield.

Arthur didn’t spare her a glance. His focus remained on the boy in the bed — the mark on his neck, dark and red and swollen.

“I’ll be brief,” Arthur said, voice low and even. “I have a long day ahead.”

He stepped around Gwen and sat on the edge of the bed. Merlin flinched, but Arthur only reached into his coat and drew out a small box.

He opened it with ceremony.

Inside was the necklace.

Silken black cord. Silver dragon twined with a tiny golden merlin mid-flight. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Intimate.

Arthur leaned forward and cupped Merlin’s neck.

Gwen moved to stop him — but the look Arthur gave her froze her in place.

“You are mine,” he whispered against Merlin’s ear. “The mark proves it. This will make it law.”

Merlin shuddered as the necklace settled cold against his skin. He raised trembling hands to touch the clasp—

But there wasn’t one.

Arthur had melted the ends together, fused it with a thin line of gold solder — tight and permanent.

“You can’t take it off,” Arthur murmured. “Not unless you rip it from your own flesh.”

Gwen gasped.

Arthur leaned down and kissed the mark on Merlin’s neck again, slow and possessive.

Then he stood.

Without another word, he left.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

The court was already in motion by the time Arthur strode into the hall.

Banners had been changed. New gold drapes fluttered near the throne. Envoys from Mercia stood in fine armor, draped in green and black, their leader tall and greying with eyes like flint.

Arthur took the throne with effortless grace.

His voice was smooth. Distant. Impeccable.

He entertained them with polite formality — discussing harvests, trade routes, border patrols. His responses were exacting, charming even, but never warm.

He did not mention the necklace.

He did not mention the boy sleeping in his bed.

But when the Mercian leader stepped forward and offered a golden goblet as a gift of friendship, he said:

“You seem settled, young Pendragon. I was told your father rode north. When does he return?”

Arthur sipped the wine, gaze cool.

“My father will be back in a day. Perhaps two. He rides with Gaius.”

“Ah. Good man, Gaius. Wise.”

Arthur tilted his head slightly. “He has his uses.”

The Mercian envoy smiled. “And you, Prince Arthur — do you have heirs planned? A future consort? Or are you still too wild for such things?”

The court laughed gently at the jest.

Arthur’s eyes glinted.

His fingers brushed his own throat — just above where Merlin’s bite mark would sit, had the roles been reversed.

“I already have something in mind,” he said, gaze distant. “Something rare. Worth more than most kingdoms.”

He stood.

Court dismissed.

And as he turned, his guards already falling into step behind him, Arthur said nothing of the collar. The bite. The boy.

But his dragon whispered beneath his skin:

Soon, they’ll all know.

Notes:

A/N 24/06/2025: I got accused of using AI to write my fics, and want to clarify that I do not nor will I use genAI to write my stories, these are things that I put my heart and soul into and using Ai to me feels like i would be missing the entire point of what fanficiton is. The lovely people over on Reddit informed me that it was probably a spam bot, and I have been using the advice I got. If you have any tips for me on dealing with this, I would gladly take them to avoid another panic attack if possible.

Chapter 31: The Grace of the Crown

Merlin stared into the mirror.

It didn’t feel like him looking back.

His reflection was pale, with bruises like fingerprints at his wrists and a dull flush blooming from the collarbone up to his cheek. His eyes looked hollow. A thin line of blood still clung to his throat where Arthur’s bite had half-scabbed and then wept again in the night.

And then the necklace.

Black silk cord. Melted shut.

Heavy against his throat, even though it weighed less than a spoon.

He could feel the magic inside it, coiled and whispering — but dulled. Distant.

Something in the metal.

Not quite cold iron — not enough to burn or strip his magic completely — but enough to keep his powers sluggish. Enough to keep him tethered. Domesticated.

He raised shaking fingers and touched the dragon’s wing.

The cord didn’t budge.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

Arthur had visited that morning again.

He hadn’t said much — only sat on the edge of the bed and looked at him, gaze soft and burning. His hand brushed Merlin’s hair back, his fingers calloused but almost reverent.

“You’re mine,” he said quietly. “But I won’t take what you aren’t ready to give.”

Merlin hadn’t spoken. Couldn’t.

Arthur had smiled faintly, like the decision was a kindness.

“You’ll stay here. In my chambers. In my bed. I’ll have the servants finish your wardrobe this week. But I won’t take you fully—not yet.”

He leaned down, pressing a warm kiss to Merlin’s temple.

“I’ll give you a grace period,” he murmured. “One week.”

He said it like a gift. Like mercy.

Merlin flinched anyway.

Arthur’s eyes flickered gold for a breath, something ancient and reptilian just behind them.

“I am being patient,” he whispered. “But don’t mistake patience for hesitation.”

Then he left, voice clipped and composed as he barked orders to his guards outside.

 

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

That evening, Camelot bloomed.

The great hall was lit with hundreds of golden candles. Banners were raised high — the red Pendragon dragon stitched newly in glistening thread. Tables overflowed with roasted meats, fruits, breads, and imported wine. Laughter echoed off stone. Lutes and lyres played in the background, drowned only by the ever-present voice of celebration.

Uther had returned.

Gaius too.

And the nobles of Mercia drank in Camelot’s hospitality like sweetened wine.

Arthur stood at the head of the table, regal and unreadable. The velvet of his formal tunic made his shoulders look even broader. The Mercian lord beside him toasted his future reign, already speaking of alliances.

Uther, seated like a lion on the throne beside his son’s chair, was pleased. The lines at his mouth were less severe than usual.

His eyes only flicked sideways once — to the far end of the table, where Merlin sat awkwardly in new royal-dyed clothes, a cup of watered wine untouched in his hands.

Merlin’s posture was too straight. Too stiff.

He wasn’t looking at anyone.

His fingers twitched every time someone laughed too loudly, or raised a glass too quickly.

But the necklace glinted in the torchlight — unmistakable. Official.

Claimed.

Beside him, Gaius sat in full court robes, his expression grim.

He hadn’t said much since they arrived. But when he’d first seen Merlin, the color had drained from his face.

He’d pulled him into an embrace before even saying hello — fingers trembling as they brushed over Merlin’s shoulders, his face, the faint bruises that even Gwen’s careful hands hadn’t fully hidden.

And then his expression turned to ice when he saw the necklace.

“I told them to stop this,” Gaius had whispered. “I warned them…”

Merlin had clutched his robe like a child, shaking.

And all Gaius could do — all he dared — was gently ease him back into the chair, stroke his hair, and whisper that he’d protect him as best he could.

But in the heart of Camelot, under Uther’s rule, in Arthur’s bed—Gaius knew his power was paper-thin.

So he played along.

Because if he fought, if he protested now—he feared they’d tear Merlin’s magic from him entirely.

He could already feel it: that faint hum within Merlin was sluggish. Muffled. Like something was pressing against it constantly.

The necklace.

Uther’s doing, no doubt. Clever. Insidious.

Not strong enough to burn—but strong enough to silence.

“You can still use your hands,” Gaius had said softly, trying not to cry. “You can still feel the herbs. We’ll start there.”

Merlin had nodded, dazed. It wasn’t hope. But it was direction.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

As the feast roared on, Arthur only left his place once.

He walked the long line of the table with wine in his hand, pausing by the servants, the guards, nodding to nobles like a proper prince.

But when he reached Merlin, he stopped completely.

He reached out and tilted Merlin’s chin toward him. The room quieted just enough to notice.

He smiled.

Then kissed him — right on the bite mark.

Possessive. Obvious.

The Mercian envoys murmured to each other.

Uther chuckled darkly.

Arthur leaned down and whispered, “You’re still too quiet. I’ll fix that in time.”

Then he returned to his place.

Merlin sat frozen.

Gaius looked like he might be sick.

And still the feast carried on.

 

 

 

---

 

 

 

Later that night, back in Arthur’s chambers, Merlin stood in silence by the mirror again.

Gwen had helped him out of his fine tunic. She hadn’t spoken either. Just pressed a kiss to his temple and whispered, “Don’t let them break you,” before slipping away.

Now alone, he stared at himself in candlelight.

The necklace glowed faintly.

Not magic — just power.

Arthur entered an hour later, shedding his cloak and crown.

He didn’t approach. Just looked at Merlin, already standing in a shirt too large, hair damp from a bath, that mark dark and sharp on his neck.

His prince smiled.

“You belong here.”

Then he climbed into the bed, laying back like a man perfectly at peace.

Merlin didn’t move.

Arthur held out a hand, palm open.

Merlin, dazed and aching, walked toward it.

He lay down beside him without a word.

And Arthur — not touching, but watching — murmured:

“One week.”

The candlelight flickered low.

And the dragon inside him purred:

Mine.

 

 

 

Notes:

Okay, so I feel like y'all prefer shorter chapters over longer ones (correct me if I'm wrong), and I kinda feel like one week is too short of a grace period to be a grace period, so I might change it in the future

also lemme know what you think of my story thus far, and for those who have reached this far, let me be honest I tired to stick to canon mostly but then got derailed and I plan on merlin from the start beginning to come back (if that's what you want or if you prefer a more traumatised merlin I can give you that too)

Chapter 32: Whispers in the Dark

It was late when Gwen found Morgana.

The moon was half-draped behind Camelot’s towers, and the torches in the east corridor flickered like trembling stars. The castle was quiet—too quiet—but Gwen didn’t care anymore. She stormed through the princess’s private door without knocking, fists clenched tight at her sides.

Morgana looked up from her mirror.

“Gwen?” she asked softly. “What—?”

Gwen’s hands were shaking. “He branded him.”

Morgana stood immediately, the silk of her dressing robe rustling. “What?”

“He took Merlin,” Gwen snapped, eyes glassy with fury. “Out into the woods. I don’t know what he did out there, but when he came back—he was marked. Scarred. Claimed. And no one did a damn thing.”

Morgana’s jaw tightened, eyes sharpening.

“Arthur?”

“Yes. Who else? Gaius just… he just froze. Uther laughed. And Merlin’s been—he’s been so quiet. Like he’s not even in his own skin anymore.”

Morgana led Gwen to the cushioned bench by the window, gently pushing her down.

“Tell me everything,” she said.

So Gwen did.

She told her about how Arthur had packed a picnic and taken Merlin into the forest under the guise of a break, how he’d removed the bracelet, how Merlin had come back with a glazed look and a bleeding scar at his throat. How he now wore a necklace melted shut — no clasp, no escape. A necklace humming with metal that left Merlin’s magic soft and dim. How he had been moved into Arthur’s bed like a prize.

“And no one cares,” Gwen whispered, fists still clenched. “No one lifts a finger.”

“I care,” Morgana said quietly, her hand squeezing Gwen’s.

“I know. But what can we do?” Gwen’s voice broke, eyes shining. “He’s the prince. And Gaius—he’s trying, but he’s terrified. You didn’t see his face when he saw that mark.”

Morgana closed her eyes for a long moment.

When she opened them again, her voice was low.

“Uther made Gaius watch the Great Purge. He forced him to watch the pyres. Let him live only because of loyalty. Because Gaius knew how to obey.”

“So he won’t fight,” Gwen said bitterly. “Because he’s afraid of losing Merlin, too.”

Morgana didn’t deny it.

She just said, “Then we fight for him. Quietly. For now. We gather everything we can.”

Gwen looked at her, a flicker of hope in her face.

“I won’t let Arthur break him,” Morgana said firmly. “Not like this. Not while he’s still blinking like a frightened deer in court robes.”

“And if Uther finds out?”

“Then he’ll burn me too.”

 

 

---

 

 

 

In the quiet of the royal infirmary, Gaius sat beside Merlin’s bed.

He was awake but not alert, staring at the wall with dull eyes. His breath was shallow, and his hands—resting on the blanket—twitched every so often like he was trying to cast something he couldn’t feel anymore.

Gaius carefully dabbed a warm cloth at his neck, cleaning the bite again.

“Still tender,” he murmured. “But healing clean.”

Merlin didn’t respond.

“You were always the clever one,” Gaius said gently, trying not to let his voice shake. “Even when you stumbled over your own feet, you noticed everything. Asked the right questions. Found the right plants.”

He wrung out the cloth in the basin.

“I remember the first day you arrived. You tripped over the threshold, spilled the herbs everywhere, and swore under your breath in Old Tongue. I knew, right then. I knew what you were.”

Merlin blinked slowly.

His mouth moved. A whisper.

“…am I still?”

Gaius froze.

He set the cloth down and cupped Merlin’s cheek gently.

“You are still everything, my boy. Don’t you forget that.”

Merlin’s lip trembled.

“But it’s harder, isn’t it?” he asked. “Like something’s wrapped around it. Around me.”

Gaius nodded solemnly. “There’s cold iron in the necklace. Not enough to cut you off completely, but enough to quiet you. Arthur’s doing, I imagine. Subtle. Intentional.”

Merlin’s eyes filled.

“I didn’t ask for this.”

“I know,” Gaius whispered. “I know.”

He drew the blanket up further, tucking it around Merlin’s shoulders, then gently brushed his hair back, the same way he used to when Merlin had fevers as a child.

“I’m going to help you learn how to feel it again,” he promised. “It’s still in you. Magic never leaves you, not if it’s born in your bones.”

Merlin blinked slowly, as if trying to believe it.

“We’ll start small. Herbs. Touch. Energy,” Gaius murmured. “I won’t let them take more from you.”

Merlin’s hand slowly rose from beneath the blanket and grasped Gaius’s wrist.

The grip was weak, but real.

“Don’t leave,” he said.

Gaius leaned forward and pressed his forehead gently to Merlin’s.

“Never.”

 

 

---

 

 

 

In the tower above the city, Arthur stood at the window of his chambers, watching the moon rise.

He should have been in bed.

Merlin was already asleep, curled toward the pillows, hair splayed across the royal sheets, the dragon-necklace catching the candlelight like a brand.

Arthur’s eyes burned gold as he watched him.

“One week,” he whispered to himself again, though his teeth clenched this time.

His dragon clawed beneath his skin.

He could still feel the way Merlin trembled in his lap in the forest, the heat of his body, the sight of his blood mixing with spit as he kissed the bite down.

Arthur gripped the edge of the window, knuckles white.

He wanted.

But Merlin wasn’t ready.

He knew that. The way he flinched. The way he stopped breathing sometimes, like the air around him wasn’t safe.

So Arthur would wait.

But not longer than a week.

He’d promised him grace.

And Arthur Pendragon never broke his word.

 

Notes:

It's been a while, but let me know what you think!

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Unbreakable Chains