Some and Now None of You

by Isthisusernameavailableornot

Summary:

"Let him think I hate him. If that’ll stop him from risking his neck for me over and over again, then it’s a sacrifice I don’t have to think twice about."

 

—

Arthur finds out Merlin has magic. He also finds out how often Merlin risked his life for him and so, he does the only thing he can think of to protect him: banishment.

Hurt and angry, Merlin leaves and swears to not look back.

But, when two years pass and Morgana shows up at Merlin’s door, urging him to fill Gaius’ position as Court Physician, Merlin agrees. He really doesn’t know why, but Arthur is sure Merlin would do just about anything to get on his nerves.

Unprepared for the shock of seeing Merlin back in the castle, Arthur is forced to speed along his plans to lift the ban on magic. But between stubborn councilors, a mysterious plague, a still angry Merlin, and Morgana being Morgana, Arthur is fairly certain he’ll lose his mind before the first year of his reign even ends.

Notes:

Hi! This is my first ever Merlin fic and I am so so excited about it. It's an idea that I couldn't stop thinking about so I figured, might as well write it myself. If anyone knows of fics with a similar premise, please please comment them coz i'd love to check them out.

This is also my first time posting a work on ao3 and it's taking some getting used to lol. Please lmk if i've messed anything up. Anyways, I hope someone out there enjoys reading this as much as I'm enjoying writing it.

Bonus points if anyone can guess what song I'm using for the chapter titles lol. Listened to it on repeat while editing coz it fit so darn well.

Chapter 1: So many things that you wish I knew

Chapter 1: So many things that you wish I knew

 

If anyone were to ask Arthur what his thoughts were on Merlin, his manservant, several things would come to mind. Loyal (of course), clumsy, brave, stupid, and just a little too curious to be ordinary . So perhaps, Arthur shouldn’t have been surprised when he discovered that Merlin had magic. But he was.

To his credit, he was a little less surprised that Merlin mostly only used magic in reckless, heroic attempts to protect him . After all, he’d long known Merlin was loyal to a fault. If that meant committing treason for the crown, so be it. 

Still, it didn’t sit well with Arthur. 

After he’d gotten over the initial shock and stamped down the hurt at the thought that Merlin hadn’t trusted him with this, he was left more than a little lost. Should he ignore it? Confront him? Demand him to stop?

Arthur hadn’t even made up his mind when he soon learnt that turning a blind eye would be impossible. Now that he knew of Merlin’s magic, it was easy to see anywhere. The boy used it with seemingly no caution whatsoever and Arthur wondered at his own foolishness for not having noticed it before.

It was everywhere. In bath water that never took longer than a minute to heat up, trays that almost fell out of Merlin's grasp but conveniently righted their balance again, in the way his mail shirt never snagged on the same spot twice, or how the path seemed just a little bit more clearer when they rode together and how, of course, branches miraculously snapped off of centuries old trees to land directly atop one bandit or another.

Even his horse seemed unnaturally cooperative when Merlin was nearby.

So, yes, ignoring it was out of the question when Arthur was certain that at the rate he was going, Merlin would be found out. 

On the other hand, demanding he stop didn’t seem like a much better option either. 

Merlin had hidden his magic (or, tried to) for a reason. If Arthur condemned him for it, he'd just be validating Merlin’s fear and that he was right to not trust him. That was the last thing he wanted. He cared too much for Merlin to allow their friendship to be tainted by an order such as that.

That only left one option. Confrontation.

He wasn’t sure what it would achieve but he knew it couldn’t be a worse option than the others. At the very least, he would get some answers and then figure out their next steps from there.

So, a fortnight after initially seeing Merlin’s eyes flash amber, as a heavy branch knocked out one of the bandits he’d been fighting with the knights, Arthur waited for Merlin to slip up again. This time he was not going to quickly avert his eyes before Merlin could catch him watching, as he’d done several times since then. 

He didn’t need to wait very long.

It was past dinner and Arthur was going over the reports for the next day, glancing at Merlin every few seconds as he bumbled around the room getting things in order for the next day. 

It was a nice calm and he wondered, distantly, if things would change after their talk . He hoped not. He would do everything in his power to make sure their friendship remained steadfast, even in the face of Merlin’s reckless behavior.

The castle was getting colder as winter steadily drew nearer, and eventually, Merlin crouched next to the hearth to start a fire and wade off the chill. Arthur quickly busied himself. He knew by now that Merlin preferred to use his magic for this task but that he wouldn’t do it if he thought Arthur wasn’t distracted enough. 

So, he shuffled the papers in front of him and watched out of the corner of his eye as Merlin quickly turned to glance at him. Once he’d looked away, Arthur fixed his stare on him.

Oh god, here goes.

Arthur didn’t need to see Merlin’s face to know his eyes flashed that beautiful gold and that he didn’t need to murmur anything at all to get the fire going. The flame came to life instantly. 

He waited. 

When Merlin turned back around to glance at him one more time, Arthur raised an eyebrow and watched as Merlin’s eyes grew owlishly wide. 

When it seemed he wasn’t going to do anything except blink, Arthur finally said, “What was that?”

Another blink. “What was what?” 

Heaven forbid Merlin ever make anything easy for him.

“You know what.” 

Merlin tilted his head a bit and seemed to think feigning confusion would work. “No?” Arthur wondered if that had worked on him in the past. 

“ Mer lin.”

“Yes, Arthur?” He had the audacity to smile in the midst of being confronted about breaking one of Camelot’s most sacred laws. Only Merlin.

“That was magic ,” he seethed. His anger was not entirely fake. After all, he was still mad that Merlin was foolish enough to learn it, let alone practice it so regularly.

Merlin’s jaw fell open. “Was not!” 

Lord help him.

“That fire just lit itself. I’m not blind.”

Merlin snorted and Arthur thought maybe that was a little fair.

“You’re being a dollophead again, Arthur. Did you get knocked too hard on the head in practice today?” He smiled, cheekily and stood up, dusting off his hands.

“No," he glared. "I know what I saw.”

Merlin seemed to hesitate and his eyes drifted around the room, uncertainly. Still, he didn’t acknowledge the accusation.

Arthur sighed and dropped the quill he had started to fidget with—a terrible habit that no amount of royal training managed to beat out of him. “Why would you do this? You know the law, Merlin. To learn sorcery and practice it so recklessly, while living in the castle? How could you be so foolish?”

Merlin’s stance shifted and, finally, he protested, “I didn’t learn it. It’s something I was born with. I can’t help it any more than I can help having two hands.”

Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed. “I thought magic had to be learnt?” 

“Yes, in most cases. I’m a bit of an anomaly. I could make things happen with my mind even as a baby.” Merlin’s tone was aiming for casual but Arthur could see the fear in his eyes and the tense set of his shoulders.

He blew out a breath. “Why would you come to Camelot of all places then? That’s just stupidity.”

Merlin shrugged. “Too many people back home found out about my magic, and they weren’t exactly happy. My mother suggested going to Gaius to learn to control it better.” Gaius knew too. Wonderful.

“The hurricane with Kanen’s men, that was you?” Arthur had no doubt about it now.

Merlin nodded and his arms were crossed in a defensive stance.

“What else? Tell me everything?”

Merlin startled. “About my magic?”

Arthur sighed. “Maybe it’ll help me understand better.”

Merlin crossed the room and settled in the chair across the desk. He took a deep breath and started explaining everything right from his first day in Camelot. Arthur was woefully prepared for everything that came out of Merlin's mouth next. An alarming number of pieces fell into place as Merlin talked about everything from dragons to griffins to magical swords and enchanted goblets.

He spoke about shields with live snakes, potions that went horribly wrong, spells whispered under his breath before battle, and a whole plethora of people always trying to kill him or Arthur—usually just Arthur.

He spoke of courage and bravery unlike any Arthur had ever witnessed and he marvelled at the man before him. 

Merlin grew more confident in his explanations as he went on, encouraged by Arthur’s carefully neutral tone when he asked questions. Inside, Arthur was reeling and his head was positively spinning. At some point, he’d poured them both some wine but it didn’t seem to be doing much to calm his racing thoughts.

He could’ve never even imagined the amount of threats Merlin faced to protect him. It made his heart swell when Merlin explained it was all for him . 

It made his heart break.

As he listened, it became clearer what he had to do. A fourth alternative that he hadn’t even thought to consider; nor one that he thought he’d ever have to.

Arthur took in Merlin’s expression, completely light now as he reminisced about all the times he’d managed to fool Arthur in some silly way. He looked so carefree and happy to finally be able to get it off his chest that Arthur couldn’t bring himself to do it in this instant.

Instead, he nodded when Merlin finished and took a large swing of his third goblet of wine. He allowed every bit of his father’s upbringing to tinge his tone with a harsh coldness as he dismissed him, saying he had much to think about.

He didn’t miss the way Merlin’s expression fell, or that fear and uncertainty clouded his eyes again as he left with little more than a mumbled, “Alright, I'll see you in the morning.”

He waited until the door had closed to bury his face in his hands. Despite being the best route, it was also the hardest one. Merlin couldn’t stay. He was sure of it.

Nothing would dissuade him from protecting Arthur when he was already so set in his ways and certainly capable enough to do it. But, Arthur refused to let it go on. Merlin was more than just his servant. He couldn’t allow him to keep putting his life on the line for him. What kind of friend would that make him? 

Not to mention, the threat of anyone else catching him doing magic. His father would have him on the pyre by morning, and past experience told Arthur he would be helpless.

Merlin would happily die for Arthur, with no regard for how that would make him feel. And, though Arthur couldn’t imagine a life without the idiot, it was certainly better that it be because he’s somewhere far from Camelot, rather than because he’s dead .

That was an even worse, unimaginable thought.

Arthur didn’t change into his nightshirt, before he collapsed onto his bed. He lay awake all night, not even attempting to sleep as he thought through every other possible course of action, desperate to not have to do go through with this. By the time the sun rose, he’d discarded them all and decided on a clear plan of action.

He hated it more than anything, but it had to be done.

He got up with bleary eyes and got a few things in order. Then, he waited patiently at the dining table, for his forever unpunctual servant to show up. He took the time to collect his thoughts and forced himself to push away every ounce of affection deep, deep down.

When Merlin entered, not looking much better than himself, Arthur was ready. He didn’t falter at Merlin’s hunched shoulders or the way he avoided his eyes as he set breakfast down on the table.

Merlin hesitated before asking, “So?” He crossed his arms as he waited for Arthur to dole out his judgement. 

Arthur steeled himself as his eyes met Merlin’s deep blue, now rimmed with red. He’d never felt more cruel before than he did in this moment. 

“You know Camelot’s law, and despite your intentions with your magic , you are not above it.” He tried to sound disgusted, again, thinking of all the times he’d seen his father reacting to magic and channeling that. He was Uther Pendragon’s son. If anyone had it in them to be cruel to a sorcerer—no matter how loyal they were—it would be him.

“The pyre, then?” Merlin asked, bravely. Arthur internally commended him for his nerves of steel.

“No. You are to leave Camelot by sundown and never return.” Then, because he knew it wasn't enough to simply banish Merlin, he added, “It is a testament to our friendship that I haven’t thrown you in the dungeons, yet.”

For this to work, He’d have to cut all illusions that Arthur cared even a little about him. Merlin had to hate him. Otherwise, he was sure to remain in Camelot, sneaking about saving his royal arse whenever he felt like. 

Merlin’s loyalty and stubbornness must be stamped out or this would all be for nought.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “Really. Thi s is how you repay friendship?”

Arthur stood up, knocking his chair back. “I don’t bloody well owe you anything! Magic is the root of evil and it’s astounding to me that you haven’t forsaken it even after seeing all the evidence of that. It just goes to show what kind of man you are.”

Merlin shook his head. “No. There’s no way you actually believe that. Not when, I’ve told you every instance I’ve ever used magic for and it’s never been for evil. It was always for you.”

He scoffed. “I couldn’t care less about what you told me. You’re a sorcerer. You think I’d ever believe a word that comes out of the same mouth that speaks of the old religion with reverence?”

Merlin flinched back and Arthur begged whatever higher power there was for this to be it. Just leave. Please. Don't make me go on.

“You’d forsake our years of friendship and trust over this?”

Arthur shrugged. “You were just my servant, Merlin. Don’t get ahead of yourself. And you had to have known I’d never accept you. Why else have you never told me?” 

When Merlin remained quiet, with hurt settling in his eyes, Arthur added one final blow. “You disgust me, and I can’t stand the sight of you anymore. Now get out.” He stepped back with finality.

Please leave. Don’t make me open my mouth again. Please.

But Merlin was more stubborn than that. “Don’t do this, Arthur. You know me. I’d never hurt you,” he pleaded.

“I don’t know you," he hissed. "And I sure as hell don’t want you.” The look of hurt that settled on Merlin’s face was one that would stay in the very front of Arthur’s eyes for years. 

When he saw Merlin start to tear up, he quickly turned. He blinked several times to clear his own eyes of any wetness as he grabbed the pouch of coins on the dresser. He turned back with renewed resolve. It was nearly over. One final shove.

He walked over to Merlin and shoved the pouch in his hands. “For your services.” He had wanted to put enough in there for him to buy a whole village, but he couldn’t. It would only serve to reverse the work he was doing right now. “No need to bother the stewardess about the month’s pay before you leave. I want you out of here quickly.”

He almost stumbled over his words when he saw Merlin rub a shaky hand at his face, wiping away a tear that had escaped. He looked between the pouch and him, shaking his head. “Where do you expect me to go? Everything I have, everyone I love is here.”

Arthur gave a careless shrug. “That was your mistake, coming to Camelot and putting down roots as if you could ever fit in here.” The words tasted like bile in his mouth and he struggled to not choke over them. “I don’t care where you go, as long as it’s not in my kingdom, ” he spat out.

Merlin looked up from his intent glare at the pouch and fixed him with a pained look. Arthur swallowed, forced his expression to remain cold, and took the opportunity to commit the exact blue of his eyes to memory. 

It hurt that his last moments with the man would be tainted by this . He wanted to see him smile one more time. He wanted to be called a clotpole and a dollophead and a trollop and whatever other idiotic name Merlin could think of, just one more time, because god knows he was right . 

Instead, he got, “You’re a lesser man than I thought possible, Arthur Pendragon." He swallowed. "And I feel ashamed to ever have called you my friend.” 

“Not more than I am, believe me.” 

Merlin tossed the pouch on the little ground left between them. There was a flash of his golden eyes and a spur of flame. What landed on the ground was nothing more than ashes. 

Merlin didn’t look at him again as he turned and left. Arthur’s eyes didn’t leave his back and when the door resolutely shut, he collapsed on the ground, leaning against the leg of a table and sobbed. It took every ounce of willpower to not go after him. 

This is for the best. He’s safe now. He doesn’t have to run after me ever again. He’s safe. 

It became a mantra in his head that he repeated again and again, every time he felt his resolve falter.

He sat there for hours, willing his tears to stop shedding and eventually giving up and succumbing to his misery. Every word he’d said replayed in his mind, in an agonising loop and Arthur felt he ought to throw up from the taste it left in his mouth. 

More than that, he knew he deserved worse. He wished Merlin had shown his anger, maybe knocked some things around. All he had was the ashes on the floor that seemed to mock him. He should’ve known Merlin wouldn’t accept the money. 

Several times, a knock would sound at his door and Arthur would quiet his sobs and his breathing until they left. They weren’t Merlin. He knew, because every time footsteps approached his door, he listened for the familiar pattern. It never came. 

Arthur didn’t move from where he was curled on the ground until it neared sundown. He got up on shaky legs and went over to the window that looked over the courtyard. He waited forever for Merlin to exit the castle and leave through the gates. When night fell and the numbers buzzing around the courtyard dwindled and he had yet to spot Merlin’s familiar brown jacket and dark head of hair, he realised he was already gone. 

Merlin had left, and Arthur had missed him.      

Chapter 2: But the story of us might be ending soon

Summary:

Lots of hugs and tears, basically.
And leon has weaseled his way into the story somehow?? It was very very unplanned lmao but i'm actually really excited to write him and morgana in the background.

Chapter 2: But the story of us might be ending soon

Merlin all but runs. 

His heartbeat thrums violently in his chest and there’s a ringing in his head, but Merlin thinks he can hear his heart breaking over it anyway.

He hadn't realized how vulnerable he’d left himself to Arthur until now. He had put himself entirely at Arthur’s mercy, never thinking it could end so terribly for him. He tries to shove Arthur’s words and the scathing look on his face, far far away from the forefront of his mind, as he makes the trip from Arthur’s room to his own, one final time. 

When it doesn’t work, he ends up in a dusty, unused room in some corner of the castle. He collapsed against the door as violent sobs racked his body and he curled in on himself, burying his face in his knees to stifle the sounds.

He knows he needs to get up and pack and get the hell out of here before Arthur changes his mind and sends the guards after him, but he can’t bring himself to move. His tears show no sign of stopping and he feels so weak crying over a man who had just shown that he certainly didn’t deserve his tears. 

It’s just–He thought they were truly friends. He’d been thinking about revealing his magic to Arthur for months now, because he’d started to show signs that he didn’t think of magic as a solely evil force. Merlin was so sure they’d made progress. 

At the very least, he never thought Arthur would hate him. He never once imagined Arthur would spew vitriol at Merlin as if it was second nature. 

And if Arthur hated him so much, why not just have him executed? He’d almost asked Arthur that outright but then thought better of it—knowing his luck, he’d probably talk himself onto the pyre in the process. He knew he didn’t deserve that, and Gaius deserved to witness it even less.

So, he’d been confused then, hurt and angry. The latter two emotions warred within him, now, as he stood on shaky legs and used his neckerchief to pat down his face. There wasn’t any time to waste right. Merlin would have the rest of his entire life to turn over every word that came out of Arthur’s mouth in the last hour. 

He collected himself and continued his journey to Gaius’ chambers. He tried not to think about the fact that this was the last time he’d be doing that.

When he entered, Gaius looked up from the concoction he was brewing, expectantly. Beside him, Morgana and Gwen had similar expressions of concern and curiosity.

Right. He’d filled in Morgana and Gaius after his talk with Arthur last night. Morgana must’ve told Gwen and now they were all waiting to hear how it went, with hopeful eyes. Morgana had full faith in her brother while Gaius had said he might be angry at first but that he’d surely come around.

“His royal highness has decided to exile me,” he stated, with little fanfare, as he crushed their hopes and expectations. 

Merlin didn’t wait to hear their questions before he locked himself in his room, slamming the door unnecessarily loudly. He didn’t have it in him to regret it. 

He did regret not slamming Arthur’s door, but looking back, perhaps it wasn’t so bad to leave with his dignity intact and his head held high. Merlin frowned as he was sourly reminded of the pouch. How dare Arthur reduce their friendship down to that . It was downright disrespectful.

Gaius knocked at his door, urging Merlin to talk to him, while he packed his few belongings. He gave in, eventually and let the man in. A quick glance at the rest of the chambers told him the girls were gone.

“They went to talk to him. Morgana is of the belief she can knock some sense into that silly boy,” Gaius explained.

Merlin snorted. If only it were that easy. “And what do you think?”

Gaius shook his head. “I wasn’t expecting him to do this. I’m sorry, Merlin. But, I have no doubt he’ll regret his actions in due time.”

“No.” he shook his head. “You weren’t there, Gaius. There’ll be no changing his mind and he won’t regret this. He was so disgusted and angry. Like, like he–“ Merlin didn’t know what he wanted to say anymore and he let out a frustrated scream. “ How could he do this? ” He rubbed at his eyes as they watered again.

Gaius sighed, mournfully and wrapped his arms around Merlin. “I’m sorry, my boy. You don’t deserve this.” 

Merlin hugged him back. The familiar scent of herbs and honey tickled his senses as he buried his face in the old man’s shoulder and allowed a few tears to escape. Gaius tightened his hold and rubbed his back.

When Merlin finally pulled away, Gaius gave him the time to gather his remaining belongings before asking, “Where will you go?”

“I don’t know. Far.” Ealdor was about as welcoming as Camelot, now. He’d just find some nearby village to settle in, maybe continue apprenticing under a physician. “Take care of Morgana, for me? Knowing Arthur is capable of this will hurt her more than she’ll let on. And continue teaching her about magic in my stead.” 

In leaving the castle, Merlin worried about her more than anyone else. He’d been helping her control her magic for more than a year now, after she’d confessed to him but it still got out of control when her emotions were running high.

“You fear the dragon may still be proven right?”

“No. She’s found stability in us, now. My leaving might make it harder for her, but she’ll still have you and Gwen to talk to about her magic. And you’ll help her if you notice her going astray, I’m sure.” Merlin knew almost for certain that it wouldn’t come to that. Morgana had come far.

“Of course,” Gaius agreed. “I’ll pack you some things for the journey.” And he got to work. Merlin watched the familiar movements and another pang of sorrow hit him. Losing Gaius would be akin to losing his father again. Worse, even. Gaius had done so much for Merlin and he’d never be able to repay him now.

Gwen returned first, and swamped him in a hug. “He’ll come around, Merlin. I know he will,” she murmured .

Gwen was sweet and Merlin didn’t want to dissuade her from still being optimistic. She’d realise eventually, herself. For now, he just took comfort in the warmth she offered.

She handed him a pack of food, enough to last him at least a week, and they sat in each other’s comfortable company as Gaius prepared an array of medicines and healing ointments for him, as well as a pile of books to take with him.

He would miss them. He would miss feeling loved and cared for. The road ahead was bound to be a lonely one. He hated Arthur with a renewed vigor for taking this from him.

Morgana returned around midday. She closed the door behind her with a dejected sigh. “He’s not answering his door.”

Merlin shrugged. “I wouldn’t have stayed even if you’d somehow managed to convince him, anyways.”

Morgana pursed her lips. “What did he say to you?”

Arthur’s words rang in his ears again. You disgust me. I don’t want you. Magic is the root of evil. You disgust me. You disgust me. You disgust me. You disgust me. 

I don’t want you.

“Doesn’t matter what he said. It’s about self respect.” When Morgana didn’t seem to be satisfied with that, he added, “Just be careful. He would never harm you, but that doesn’t mean he can be trusted with your secret.”

Morgana gave a shaky nod. “I can’t believe he’s doing this.”

“Neither can I,” Gwen piped in. “He’s always put you above the law. I didn’t think it’d be any different with magic.”

“Uther’s claws must dig deeper than we all realised,” Gaius said, as he handed Merlin a small wooden kit, stocked with everything he could possibly need for everyday ailments.

Merlin nodded and got up. “I should get going. Long road ahead and all,” he cleared his throat and emotions threatened to overwhelm him again. Honestly, Arthur was right. He really was such a girl sometimes.

“Not too long; You’re taking Onyx.”

Merlin turned to Morgana and deadpanned, “Oh, yes, let me just take a horse from the very castle he’s kicking me out of.”

“It’s my horse and I’m gifting it to you,” Morgana insisted.

Merlin’s mouth fell open. “I’m not accepting a whole horse for a gift. You’re mad.”

“What use is half a horse?” Gwen laughed.

“Yes, thank you, Gwen.” Morgana smiled with teeth. “I’ll walk you to the stables.” 

Merlin sighed. Any battle with Morgana was a battle lost. That girl simply never took ‘no’ for an answer. He turned to Gaius and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you for everything.”

“You don’t ever have to thank me, Merlin.” Gaius rested his hands on his shoulders and squeezed, gently. “Take care of yourself. Don’t get into foolish situations.”

Merlin chuckled and nodded, eyes watering. He kissed Gwen’s cheek. “Don’t let this place go to the dogs, yeah?”

Gwen started crying and wrapped Merlin in another hug. It was over too soon and he was leaving, with nothing more than a final look exchanged with some of the most important people in his life.

Morgana walked beside him in amicable silence, carrying half the books. Merlin kept his pace  brisk, half-expecting someone to spot him and drag him off to the dungeons. When they neared the stables, she asked, “What about the knights? They’ll all miss you, you know.”

Merlin had thought about them, then dismissed the idea of bidding them farewell. Better to leave as soon as possible. And, “I wouldn’t know what to even say to them. Let Arthur come up with an excuse that’ll satisfy Gwaine.” Merlin almost smiled at the thought of Gwaine endlessly annoying Arthur no matter what explanation Arthur provided. “And, tell Lance everything, whenever you get the chance.”

Morgana nodded. 

“I could come with you?” She whispered, her voice shaky, and it broke Merlin’s heart.

He turned to her as they came to a stop in front of where Onyx, a beautiful black mare, was saddled and ready to go. “Your place is here, Morgana,” he said gently. “I have no doubt that you’ll one day help Arthur see reason. Maybe…maybe things will be better when he’s king.” 

“You don’t sound very sure of that,” she pointed out. And, she was right. It had always been ‘Things will be better when Arthur is king’. Now, he was a lot less certain.

He looked away. “Yeah,” because there was nothing else to say to that.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me.” Merlin opened his mouth to interrupt, but she held up a hand. “I mean it. You took a great risk trusting me with your secret and you continued risking your life for me, every time you taught me magic. And I’m so so grateful to you for helping me harness it better and fearing it less.” She wiped at her eyes, as the tears she’d been holding in for so long, finally fell. “You were my light at a very dark time, I only wish I could repay you someday.”

Merlin hugged her. It seems that’s all he’d be doing today, but he wasn’t complaining.

“Talking to you about magic was as freeing for you as it was for me,” he whispered in her hair. “And teaching you was fun, especially when you burnt Gaius’ eyebrows off.”

They both shook with laughter and stayed in the embrace for several moments longer. When they parted, Merlin pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Take care of yourself, please. For my sake, if not your own.”

“I will, if you promise me the same.”

Merlin nodded. “My word.”

When he wiped at his face, he found it damp. He wondered when he started crying. He wondered if he ever even stopped.

Morgana stepped back to add the books to the satchel and he saw her slip a dagger in there. “What am I gonna need that for?” He asked, skeptical.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Morgana said dryly. “Maybe try not to die?”

“I can handle myself, as you well know,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes. “You can’t reveal your magic to everyone you come across.”

He flicked her forehead as he passed her to mount Onyx. “Well, now you sound like Gaius.”

She smacked his hand away. “Don’t be rude, or I’ll take back Onyx.”

He chuckled. “Take her. I never wanted to accept such a gift anyway.”

She gave a pointed glance at the amount of things packed onto the horse. “You wouldn’t have even made it to the gate before nightfall, with all that stuff on your back.”

“Your dagger would have been the first thing I dropped to lighten the load.”

“I’ll tell you where you can shove that dagger.”

Merlin laughed, heartily. “You have been spending way too much time with the knights. Really, what would Leon say if he heard you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “He’d fall over himself to ask for my hand in marriage, what else?”

“I expect an invite to the wedding.” 

They were joking but Merlin’s heart ached when he realised he wouldn't be around to witness any of it. Not Morgana’s attempts to sway Leon to court her, nor their inevitable wedding—because Sir Leon would surely come around. Merlin thought he was probably just waiting for Uther to keel over.

“Of course. You can be my maid of honour,” she grinned. 

Merlin kicked her shin playfully and grabbed the reigns. “That’s the final straw. I’m leaving.”

Morgana’s smile faltered and she squeezed his hands. “Take care. And don’t worry, I’ll give him a good beating when he finally leaves his room.”

“Give him hell,” he said, meaning it with his whole heart while also not meaning it at all. How stupid was that ?

With one final nod, Merlin was off.

The sun was still high when he left the castle gates, only turning back once to look at Arthur’s window. He wondered what he was doing right now. He forced himself to push down that thought, and any others about Arthur, and continued on. Thinking about him brought too much hurt with it.

When he neared the border, Merlin hopped off the horse and placed his hands on the earth. He whispered every protective ward he could think of, then allowed his magic to take the reins and let it flow freely out of him, with nothing but the intent to protect. 

As angry as he may be at Arthur, too many of his loved ones lived alongside him. Whatever threats Arthur would face—and he was sure there would be many —his friends and family would face them as well.

When he felt his magic settle deep into the soil and wrap around every last tree, he got up and took one last look at the Kingdom he’d given up everything to protect. How ironic that now he was being forced to give it up. 

He got back on his horse.

By sundown, Merlin was well out of Camelot and he didn’t look back.       

Chapter 3: Oh, I'm scared to see the ending

Summary:

Morgana schemes and Leon blindly follows.

Chapter 3: Oh, I'm scared to see the ending

 

Two years later

 

When Morgana woke from another nightmare for the fourth night in a row, she made up her mind.

Merlin must come back, or Arthur would surely die. 

Ever since his coronation, two months prior, she’d been plagued by visions of him dying through every possible method possible. It was gruesome. The visions were scattered when they started, but they’d started dangerously increasing in frequency, and it had reached the point that Morgana was scared to close her eyes.

She didn’t wait for Gwen to be up with breakfast and quickly freshened up before hurrying to Arthur’s room. It was best to catch him before the day’s events made his ever-present sour mood even worse. 

She knocked on the door, the same one he’d had as a prince because he’d refused to move to the King’s chambers. Morgana had a feeling it had more to do with Merlin’s presence in this one, than Uther’s in the other one. Of course, Arthur denied it when she’d joked about it.

When she entered, Arthur was seated at the dining table, breakfast mostly forgotten as he read through the reports for the day and when he looked up at her entrance, she could see the bags under his eyes. 

Morgana hadn’t realised how exhausting ruling a kingdom was. Uther had worn it well, but then again, he was comfortable in his reign. Arthur, on the other hand, was trying to change just about everything he hated about their father’s rule, which amounted to quite a bit.

“What are you doing, up so early?” He nodded to a chair at the table.

She rolled her eyes and sat. It was his favourite thing to do, calling her a lazy cow just because she preferred not to wake with the sun. He was a hypocrite, too, because up until a few months ago, he happily took any opportunity to do the same.

“I had something important to discuss with you.” She stole a sausage off his plate. He grumbled but motioned for her to continue. “We’ve been looking for a physician to take Gaius’ place but I think you skipped the most obvious answer.”

Arthur looked like he already knew where this was going. He narrowed his eyes, daring her to speak his name. “And who would that be?”

Morgana mentally fortified herself, knowing this wouldn’t be easy. “Merlin–”

“No.”

She groaned. “Gaius trained him himself! There’s no better replacement and you know how badly we need a physician right now. The kingdom is weak without one.”

Arthur’s cold eyes heated with rage. “Do you hear yourself right now? You’re asking me to bring back the man that I ran out of this kingdom, so he can sit here and patch up our arses?”

“All of his friends are here! I’m sure he’d love the opportunity to be back with them,” she pleaded.

“You don’t know what I said to him that night. He would never come back to serve under me again, no matter what. And even if he miraculously did, it’s too risky. ” He was nearly yelling now and Morgana feared this was already a battle lost.

Still, she tried. “Uther’s dead. You can easily protect him from execution–”

He fixed her with a look. He’d gotten quite good at those. “You know it’s not just that.” 

Morgana felt a little guilty for wanting to drag Merlin back to protect Arthur when that was the very reason he’d been forced out. But, she was sure Merlin would regret not doing his best to save Arthur, knowing he could have.

Morgana opened her mouth to argue again and he raised a hand, pausing her. “No, I don’t want to hear it.” He sighed and Morgana wondered how he’d managed to age a decade in the past two years. “I’m working on the ban on magic and when it’s lifted I’ll go and talk to him myself. Right now, I refuse to have him back here when the fear of failing to succeed with that is so high.”

“You won’t fail.”

“But I might. And I’m not gambling Merlin’s life on that chance.” 

She frowned. I’m not gambling yours.

“We still need a physician. Gaius was meant to have retired months ago,” she tried half-heartedly. There was no convincing Arthur, though. She’d just have to make him see.

“We’ll find one. I’ve reached out to a few contacts and I’ll hear back in a few days. It’ll be fine.” He sounded like he was trying to reassure himself too. She took in his dishevelled state and wondered how much he’d even slept. 

“Fine,” she conceded, frustrated.

Arthur went back to going over his papers and she stayed, enjoying his breakfast as she schemed.

The beginnings of a plan started forming. The only problem was that for it to work, she’d need to wait a week, at least. Otherwise, Arthur was sure to suspect her actual motives. She would also need to rope Leon into this and wondered if it was worth lying to them both. Eventually, she decided not.

She left Arthur to his work after lazing around in his room for a bit and went to hunt down Leon. She couldn’t wait to tell Merlin all about how she’d finally snagged him. No doubt he’d tease her mercilessly, but at this point, she looked forward to even that.

She found him in the armoury, sweat still gleaming on his face from practice. He was hanging up his sword and she tapped his shoulder, satisfied when he jumped a little.

“Morgana,” He smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

She loved his smile. “I need a little help with a scheme, what do you say?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you usually go to Gwaine for those little stunts you pull?”

She did indeed. The two had latched onto each other in Merlin’s absence and spent most of their time together troubling the knights or Arthur. Usually, just Arthur. He was the most fun to mess with.

“This is a little different. We’ll be travelling for a while.” Leon’s eyebrows rose and she continued, “It’ll be fun to go together, come on.”

He frowned, a little. “Do I get a little more information than that?” 

She pondered her decision for another moment and shook her head. “Best not. Can you trust me?”

Her real reason for not telling him was to protect him if Arthur made it a big deal. She’d hate for him to deal with the lashback just because of her, and if the last two years had proven anything, it was that Arthur could be downright evil when punishing one of the knights for something.

He sighed. “I trust you. You’re not planning on killing anyone are you?”

She punched his shoulder. “Now, why does that sound like you don’t trust me?”

He shook his head, furiously, all while grinning like a fool. “Never, my lady.”

She rolled her eyes and interlinked their elbows, leading him out to the gardens. In hushed whispers, she told him his role and like the brave knight that he was, he agreed. Even if he did seem a little exasperated. 

So, they waited for the days to pass. 

When Morgana’s nightmares got more dire, she gave up on waiting. 

She could tell Leon had noticed her on-edge behaviour but every time he commented on it, she waved him off. What was she supposed to tell him? I’m a witch? I see visions of the future? He’d probably run her through with a blade himself.

She shuddered at the thought and pushed it out of her mind.

For now, they stood in front of her brother, putting the plan into motion a few days early.

“You want to take her to visit your family?” Arthur glanced between the two, puzzled. “Right now?” He was right to be puzzled. It was a busy time at the castle, with distant kings and lords coming to renew their alliances with Camelot, after the shift in power. 

Leon remained steadfast, despite his quickly reddening ears. “Yes, sire. We’ve been courting for almost a year now, and my mother insists on meeting her.”

Arthur hummed. “Alright.” Morgana tried her best to hide her shock. She’d thought it would take a lot more convincing. “When will you be back?”

“Two weeks.”

“A week.”

Morgana glared at Leon. 

“Two weeks,” she hissed at him.

Leon sighed and conceded. “Two weeks?”

Arthur shook his head, surely cursing his menace of a sister for corrupting his best knight, if the slight glare he shot at her was anything to go off of. But, he conceded. “Sure. Enjoy your time off, you’ve certainly earned it.”

“Thank you, sire.”

“Thanks, Arthur.” She grinned. 

He would thank her once he came around. 

The others in his service certainly would, for Arthur had grown harsh immediately after Merlin’s departure. He could rarely be seen joking around with the knights, now, and he’d entirely pushed away Gwen, who he used to so enjoy conversing with. He would simply go through the motions for the day and then disappear into his chambers. Morgana would often seek him out, just to offer him some company that wasn’t borne out of obligation.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “We’re about to be family, now. Let’s drop the titles.” He clapped the other man’s back. 

“Right, sorry, Arthur. Habit.” 

Morgana grinned. He’d been resistant to the match, initially, but he’d come around after seeing how respectful Leon was and it helped that he happened to be his oldest and most favoured knight. 

The two took their leave. Their bags had been packed for days and Gwen met them at the stables to see them off and pack some more provisions. She fussed for a while, making sure they had everything. Leon got on his horse and waited patiently. Throughout all this, he never once wavered in his support of her. 

Finally satisfied, Gwen leaned in for a hug. “Bring him back home,” she whispered 

“Oh, I plan to.”   

Chapter 4: The battle’s in your hands now

Chapter 4: The battle’s in your hands now

 

The journey is long but not particularly difficult. They keep a brisk pace, only stopping to make camp when it’s too dark to see much of anything. Leon cooks them a stew that he mentions he learnt from Merlin, and Morgana is so surprised at the name that came out of his mouth, that she almost tells him where they’re headed there and then. When he moves on to talking about something else, she’s grateful.

Her sleep is just as restless as it was in the cast, except this time Leon is present to witness it. Each time she wakes, breathless and clammy, he’s there to pull her close and murmur words of comfort till she drifts back to sleep. He no longer asks her about the nature of her nightmares and she, of course, can’t tell him.

When they’re only half a day’s ride away from Ealdor, where Morgana plans on asking Hunith about Merlin’s whereabouts, she decides it’s time to tell him. They’re much too far to reasonably turn back, now, not that he would force her to. But, this way he can claim ignorance in front of the king, without lying too much.

He goes from surprised to begrudgingly happy. It’s no secret that Arthur’s short temper and harsher moods are a result of Merlin leaving, and he thinks having him back will eventually reverse the effects. Morgana certainly hopes so.

They stay at Ealdor for the night, at Hunith’s insistence, and the next morning, she points them in the right direction and sends them off with more food and water than they’ll probably need. 

Two more days later, they reached Oakmere. It’s a bustling little village, similar to Ealdor but something about it feels more inviting. Maybe it’s the fact that Merlin has made it his home. 

Leon and Morgana leave their horses with a little boy who comes to greet them and ask if they’re looking for anything. The two follow him to the small, shabby stables that house only 2 other horses. One of them is Onyx. 

Morgana happily greets her old horse and feeds him some apples while Leon asks about the owner’s whereabouts. Morgana can’t believe how close they finally are.

Leon and Morgana part at the little house the boy, Ren, had shown them to. The front of it looks like a shop from what she can see from the outside and she doesn’t think it’s her imagination that the lights glow a little warmer than all the others in the village. It seems to almost beckon her inside.

Still, Morgana hesitates. 

He must have built a whole life here by now. Who was she to barge in here and demand him to come back for her selfish reasons? And what if he didn’t even want to see her ? Was it possible their friendship meant more to her than to him? She’d always been so sure of where Merlin’s head was at but two years were no laughing matter. He could have changed. 

After another few minutes of building up the courage, Morgana entered the shop. She had come too far to turn back now.

A little bell sounded above her head as she entered, her eyes drawn to Merlin’s figure where he was stirring a pot over a wooden countertop. 

He looked up as soon as the bell chimed. Shock was plastered across his face as he whispered, “Morgana?” 

She doesn’t have time to come up with a reply before he’s crossed the short distance and hugging her. She melts into the embrace. When they pull away, Merlin’s shirt has a few wet spots and Morgana wonders when she started crying.

She hastily wipes at her face. “You don’t know how much I missed you.” How much they all missed him.

He laughs. “Enough to melt that stone cold heart of yours, huh?”

“Maybe,” she concedes.

He went over to the door and flipped the ‘open’ sign and locked it. “So, what brings you here, my lady?” 

She followed him to the countertop and perched herself on a tall stool near it. She was beyond exhausted from the journey and for all the thinking she’d done on the way, she still wasn’t sure how exactly to broach the topic with him. 

“That’s not important,” she waved her hand. “First, guess who I’m here with.” Alright, she was a chicken.

He looked at her with suspicion. “Gwen? Where is she?” He looked around as if expecting her to pop out of thin air. It was nice to see he was still a dork.

“Little more muscle than that,” she hinted.

He caught on immediately. “LEON! You conniving witch, you finally did it.” He laughed.

Morgana grinned. “Did you ever doubt me?”

Merlin shook his head, vehemently. “No no, of course not.” Then, he added playfully, “Just wondering whether my wedding invite got lost in the courier dispatch or if you’re more like your brother than I thought.” 

She internally winced at the jibe at Arthur. This was going to be the hardest thing she’d ever done.

“We’re not married!” She shoved him. “We’ve only been courting for a few months.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows, in mock surprise. “Well that’s just improper. Who let you two be all alone for so long?”

Morgana felt her face heat up at the implication and swatted his arm again. Instead she said, “You’re horrible. I’m leaving.” 

She made to get up but allowed herself to be dragged back when Merlin caught her sleeve with a laugh. “Noo, first you must tell me how you convinced Uther.”

Morgana let out a laugh— really, it was closer to a cackle— and said, “Well, Leon asked Uther for permission–“

“Brave, foolish man,” Merlin interrupted.

“Only brave ,” Morgana defended. Merlin raised his hands in surrender and she continued, “Of course, he threw a tantrum and said he had plans for me to marry for an alliance .” The very word left a terrible taste in her mouth. 

Merlin groaned. “I already know where this is going.”

“No, you don’t.” He probably did. “So, then I told him it’ll be a cold day in hell when that happens. And he really didn’t like that. I figured I was about two arguments away from being tossed in the dungeons, again so-”

“You ran away.”

“I ran away,” she nodded. 

Merlin cracked up, his whole body shaking with laughter.

“Made it halfway to Ealdor, too, before the guards caught up to me,” she huffed.

He raised an eyebrow. “I told you I wouldn’t go there.”

“I know, but I figured Hunith would know, so.” Morgana shrugged.

“Smart,” he conceded. “Well did it at least work?”

“Of course it worked,” she snickered. “He was angry, but I guess he wanted to lose me less than he wanted an alliance with Cenred. Leon lost a lot of favour but he gained most of it back too, when Uther started coming around.” She didn’t think before adding, “Arthur really helped with that.” 

Just to test the waters?

Merlin, however, completely ignored the last part, save for the slight shuttering of his expression when Arthur’s name left Morgana’s mouth. 

“That isn’t the only time you ran away, is it?” 

How did he know her so well?

“Only two other times before that.” In her defense, living in Camelot was exhausting as a magic user, and it was made even worse by the fact that she’d gotten used to facing it with Merlin.

“Make it far?”

She nodded. “I stayed at Isledir’s camp both times. It was a lovely reprieve but very short-lived because the guards were too close behind me for me to risk staying long. Morded asked about you. He said to bring you along next time. He’s grown a lot since we last saw him.”

She noticed Merlin’s shoulders tense a little the way they always did when she brought up the boy. She’d never gotten him to admit why, though. She watched him fight his initial reaction and exhale. “I’ve been meaning to visit for some time. Which reminds me, why are you here?”

She rolled her eyes, trying to buy time now. “Can’t I just want to see you?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Nice try. Who’s dying?”

“Same person it always is.” She hesitated. “Arthur.”

Merlin’s expression closed off in an instant and he got up, moving away from her. Morgana made to follow him as he moved around the little space, entirely ignoring her existence and tidying up. 

Merlin. Tidying up.

“Just hear me out, please?” 

She went to grab his shoulder and he danced out of reach. “Nope.”

“I’m serious. It’s really bad. Or, well, it’s going to be.” She withered under the look Merlin sent her way, before he went back to putting away some scattered pots. “I’ve been having dreams about him dying every night since he was crowned king. And every time it’s a different threat. He’ll die, Merlin, I know it.”

When he still didn’t acknowledge her, she continued, “Sometimes it’s poison, other times it's a battle wound or a magical beast or a dagger to his throat or a sword–”

“Morgana, I don’t care ,” he finally interrupted.

She pursed her lips, refusing to believe that. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do.”

“He’s changed, I swear.” She took a deep breath and played her best card. “I revealed my magic to him and he accepted it.” 

Merlin’s head whipped up in shock. 

She continued before he could get the chance to berate her. “Don’t you see what that means? He’s coming around. He just needs you now for that final push. There’s no one else who can do it but you.”

Morgana marvelled at her ability to spew bullshit. Arthur had ‘come around’ a long long time ago. Of course, Merlin couldn’t know that.

“It doesn’t mean anything. You’re blood, of course he would make an exception for you.” 

She groaned. “No! It’s not just about me. There have been no executions of sorcerers since his reign began. And–”

He shrugged. “Arthur could very well lift the ban on magic itself and that wouldn’t be enough to bring me back to Camelot.”

“What? But why ? That would prove how far he’s come, wouldn’t it?”

She thought of all of her brother’s plans to slowly ease the kingdom and the councilors to start accepting magic users, all for Merlin. She thought of his plan to bring Merlin back, once he’d succeeded, and tell him everything.

She hadn’t ever stopped to think Merlin still wouldn’t want to come back. Neither had Arthur, if she had to bet.

“It’s not only about the magic, Morgana. It’s about him not accepting me . And it’s about everything he said that night.”

Neither man had told her what exactly was said in their last conversation but she’d heard enough about it to know it was bad . She cursed her idiotic brother.

Morgana sighed. “I know he hurt you and you can be angry at him all you want, just don’t let him die for it? He’s going to change things, you just need to give him the chance to.”

“He can do all that on his own. I don’t need to be there when he has a whole army to defend him.”

“He can’t . Arthur was never supposed to rise to the throne without you by his side. That’s your destiny, you told me so yourself,” she insisted.

Merlin sighed and dropped the pouch of herbs he was packing away. 

Morgana added one final blow as she felt him start to seriously consider her words. “And he’s the king . Think of how many of our loved ones would die defending him as he faced threat after threat.”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “That’s low. Even for you.”

She shook her head. “I’m just being honest and voicing my own fears.” And she was. She had no doubt she’d lose more than just Arthur if it came down to it. Leon might even be one of the first, with how valiantly he defended the crown.

He sighed. “I can’t come back, Morgana. He ran me out of my own home. To show up there now would be to give up my self respect.”

“He wants you to come back,” she lied through her teeth. Honestly, at this point she had no idea which direction she was trying to take this in. 

“Oh, does he? Why isn't he here now, then?”

“He was busy. Running the kingdom.”

“Well, I wish him luck with that. Do pass on my insincerest apologies that I’m unable to come back to Camelot at the moment. He’ll know all about why.”

Morgana groaned. Nothing was working.

Merlin sighed. “Are we done talking about this now?”

“No.”

He ignored her and changed the topic, like the little rat he was. “Where’s Leon? There’s a spare room you two can stay in.”

She nodded, giving up for now. “I asked him to give us some time.”

“He didn’t mind that?” Merlin questioned, as he opened a wardrobe to take out some linens.

“Not at all.” Morgana loved that about him. Leon never wavered in trusting her wholeheartedly and it felt nice to not have to worry about offending him when she talked with Merlin, who she thought of as a brother just as much as she did Arthur.

“Good chap,” he smiled with approval.

“He’s the best,” she agreed and followed him to what she assumed was the spare bedroom. 

Merlin went around, lighting a few candles. “How’s Gaius?” 

She caught the thread. This would be it. Hearing about Gaius could be the final push he needs.

Morgana hesitated and laced her words with the concern and hesitancy that people usually displayed when offering their condolences to someone. “He has retired.” 

Merlin’s eyes widened and she felt a little evil even though it's not like she was lying. Just playing it up a little .

She continued before she lost her grip on the conversation. “In the weeks before Uther’s passing, there was a lot of dissent and it took a toll on him. He hated to do it to Arthur but he retired very soon after the coronation.”

“But why ?” Merlin looked befuddled.

Morgana let out an exasperated sigh. “He’s gotten old, Merlin.”

“Is he sick?” 

No, he was perfectly well and happy, keeping to himself in his new house with its odd trinkets and numerous books. 

Morgana didn’t think disclosing that information would help, so instead she went for, “I don’t know. He’s withdrawn a lot.” 

Still not a lie, she told herself.

Merlin frowned and looked deep in thought.

“That’s partly why I’m here. We’ve been in search of a good physician for weeks now, but they’re a lot harder to find than you’d think. There’s also the fear that we’ll accidentally appoint someone who wishes to bring Arthur harm.”

“Like Edwin,” Merlin said with distaste.

“Exactly.”

“You want me to be the court physician? I’m not trained enough for that.” 

He was coming around! 

She fixed him with a deadpan expression. “You’ve apprenticed under Gaius for several years and you continued working as a physician here, if I’m not mistaken?” 

There were herbs scattered over every flat surface; some crushed, others on a cloth to dry. Little bottles filled with various liquids lined the many shelves, and the pot he was stirring before she came in was, now, stirring itself , taking no concentration from him whatsoever. The yellowish mixture looked exactly like Gaius’ remedy for stomach pains. His whole workshop was very reminiscent of Gaius’. 

He shook his head. “What I do here isn’t the same as battle wounds and all that.”

“I’m sure Gaius has already taught you everything there was to teach. And there’s no one else he passed his knowledge onto.” 

Merlin finally caught on. “You’re evil, Morgana.” He walked out, leaving her in the freshly prepared room.

She poked her head out the door and yelled, “Yes, but I’m not lying!”

She only heard his quiet sigh in response and decided to give up for now. She could continue badgering him tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after that. They had a week here, at the very least. That had to be enough to make him succumb.

For now, she plopped down on the bed and wondered for a few moments if she was doing the right thing, bringing Merlin back when Arthur was still so against it. And, she truly didn’t want to take Merlin back there when it was clear he was still so hurt by everything that happened.

Morgana didn’t blame either of them. Each had entirely valid reasons for their actions, but at the same time, she couldn’t get the image of her brother dying out of her mind. Several images. 

She also knew Merlin would never forgive himself if Arthur died and he’d intentionally done nothing to stop it.

Maybe it was a little selfish too, to drag her friend back to their combined hell but it was easier to do so, with the knowledge that Arthur was actively working on reversing that. Everything would be perfect then.

But first they had to get to that point. For that, Arthur must be alive.

Leon entered so quietly, she didn’t notice him until he asked, “What’s troubling you?”

She sighed, softly and patted the spot next to her. Leon hesitated, ever the gentleman and she rolled her eyes before pulling him down to the bed with a tug on his wrist.

“He’s putting up a more of a fight than I’d prepared for,” she confided.

Leon thought for a moment. “I’m not surprised. He always was impossibly stubborn when he wanted to be.”

“Which was all the time.”

He chuckled. “Yes, exactly.”

“I just thought–well, him and Arthur, they were always so magnetic. And it’s been two years so I thought he’d be more open to coming back.”

He squeezed her hand gently and said, wisely, “He hasn’t even had a whole hour to digest the fact that we’re here. Give him some time and I’m sure he’ll come around.”

“I really hope so.”

 

Notes:

Morgana pov is lowkey so hard to write, because like she loves them both and she knows them both so she has so much more to consider before she does or says anything😭I'm honestly glad it's over. Arthur's head is my favourite to be in coz he's an emotional mess and also a cutie pie lol.

Next chapter, we'll be back in Camelot!

Chapter 5: But I would lay my armour down

Chapter 5: But I would lay my armour down

 

Thoughts of Camelot and Arthur itched at his brain, unwilling to let Merlin sleep. Morgana’s words weighed on his mind and he pondered over them. He’d instantly said no to her, of course, but it wasn’t as simple as that. 

He was hurt and angry and resentful, but he didn’t hate Arthur . He knows he should and he’d tried to. When he’d finally settled here and had nothing to occupy his mind with, he’d attempted to convince himself that every memory with Arthur, up until that fateful day, was tainted. 

He’d taken Arthur’s harsh words from that day and tried to fit them into the mouths of the softer versions of Arthur that lingered in his mind—those memories that seemed so much kinder, so much more like the man he had thought he knew. 

But it never worked. No matter how much he tried to twist it, the warmth he’d felt from those moments still existed, and it made the hurt that much harder to bear.

For all his hatred of magic, the prince he had known—the one he had watched mature into a fine man—would never have said those things to Merlin. He was wrong, he knew that on principle, considering that Arthur had said all those words, but that feeling of wrongness was enough to stop him from hating the old Arthur. 

He couldn’t reconcile the man that looked at him with such disgust, with the one who had defied his father’s direct orders and risked his life to retrieve a flower to save his servant.

There had been so many more moments between that: Arthur draping his cloak over Merlin’s shoulders without a word when he was shivering in the rain; trading amused glances during long, dull council meetings; Arthur, who once told a noble to shut up when they mocked Merlin’s clumsiness.

Arthur who always let Merlin speak out of turn. Who rolled his eyes and called him an idiot but still turned to look at him first when things went wrong.

Arthur who had trusted him. Again and again.

Arthur, whom Merlin had trusted just the same.

And in the end, Arthur had shattered that trust like it wasn’t something sacred—like it hadn’t been carved from years of loyalty and something akin to friendship, but probably more. 

Merlin figured he had probably done the same, in not telling him about his magic, but he was getting around to it, dammit. 

He'd started to think Arthur would begrudgingly come around. But, it seemed the prince couldn’t even fathom the idea of his friend–no, servant–being a sorcerer. 

He knew, also, that separating the before and now was stupid. They were the same person. The man that he called his friend had always held the capacity to turn on him. Still, it was jarring. 

So, Merlin couldn’t hate Arthur. He’d loved him too much for too long for that. He’d thought Arthur had too. But, well.

Merlin pulled the covers up to his head, hoping the complete darkness would force his brain to shut up. He didn’t want to think about Morgana’s request or the desperation in her eyes or the thought of stupid Arthur dying. 

He wondered if Kilgaraah had foreseen this—Merlin being cast out from the land he was supposed to unite, by the man he was destined to guide. He could ask, but he wouldn’t. He’d long stopped speaking to the old dragon when it became clear that all he wanted to talk about was his destiny. 

Still, that didn’t stop him from remembering the dragon’s words from a lifetime ago: ‘A half cannot hate what truly makes it whole.’

Another thing the overgrown lizard was wrong about, then. Arthur hated him. There could never be any doubt about that after he’d made it so painfully clear.

Merlin went to sleep with a golden-haired boy, an unfulfilled destiny and a longing for his home still on his mind.

He woke only a few hours later to a shrill scream.

Merlin wasted no time in ripping off the covers and running to Morgana and Leon’s room, his magic at the tip of his fingers, waiting for his command.

When he entered, it was not to face down a beast or a foe of any sort. Morgana was shaking, her knees brought to her chest, incoherent words coming out of her mouth.

Leon was on the floor beside her, rubbing her back soothingly. He looked up at the sudden entrance and Merlin caught the concern in his eyes, clear as day.

“What happened?” 

Morgana seemed too dazed to even look up at the sound of his voice and her head remained tucked into Leon’s neck.

Leon whispered, “Nightmare. She’s been getting a lot of them for a while.”

“Oh. Did she say anything?” Merlin asked, his voice soft.

Leon hesitated. “Just fragments. She was screaming Arthur’s name right before she woke.”

Merlin’s breath caught. Of course. 

“Oh. Does she need anything? I can get some water?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s already asleep, I think.” He nodded after checking and lay her back down. “She’ll be okay, Merlin, don’t worry,” he reassured.

It didn’t ease the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. Still, he nodded to Leon and left.

Merlin didn’t go back to sleep after that. He didn’t even try. He simply sat in front of the fire and let the dam break, allowing every traitorous thought about Arthur flood his mind once again.

He stayed there, pondering, and watched the sun rise. Eventually, he got up and started prepping for the day.

He put a herbal, calming draught to simmer and began cataloguing his inventory of dried herbs and bottled extracts. The comforting smell of lavender wafted through the room as the mixture heat up, mingling with traces of rosemary and parchment.

He made a mental note to collect some more frostleaf in the next few days. The weather was getting chillier and it would be a vital ingredient in his cold-soothing brews that people would soon come knocking for.

Merlin was halfway through his morning routine when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

Leon appeared, looking only slightly more rested than the night before.

“Morning,” Merlin said, glancing up. “She still asleep?”

Leon huffed a quiet laugh. “You know Morgana. Won’t stir until the sun’s halfway across the sky.”

Merlin smiled, already reaching for a pan. “Some things never change.” He pulled out a few ingredients. “I’ll get breakfast going for us, then.”

Leon shook his head and joined him in the little cooking space. “Nonsense. You’re clearly busy, I can do it.”

“You’re my guest. I’m not going to let you cook for yourself. What would my mother say?”

“I feel more like an intruder, considering we showed up uninvited, actually.” Leon snatched the knife out of his hands and elbowed him out of the way to continue chopping the onions and mushrooms Merlin had just started on.

Merlin huffed, giving up the fight and turned to stir the pot. “Not at all. You can’t know how happy I am to see you two. It gets so dull here, sometimes.”

Leon hummed. “Seems like a nice place, though. Everyone was very welcoming when I went around yesterday.”

“It is, I do like it here. It’s just–” Merlin shrugged, cutting off his words. He didn’t want to say it. 

Leon nodded and glanced at him, reassuringly. “Of course.” 

He added the vegetables to a pan with some sausages that Merlin usually just saved for rare occasions. As stupid as it was, they always reminded him of warm mornings buzzing around Arthur’s room, trying to rouse him and popping a few in his mouth in between.

What a prat, honestly—ruining sausages for him.

The two worked in comfortable silence. They enjoyed breakfast together—it was exceptional, and Merlin was glad he’d let Leon take over—then Merlin put Leon to work helping around the shop.

A few villagers came in, looking for relief from some ailment or treatment of little injuries. It was a peaceful morning. 

Morgana woke around midday. No one mentioned the nightmare and they had a hearty lunch of lentil stew and warm, rye bread. If Morgana noticed the calming draught he slipped into her water, she didn’t comment on it.

Merlin closed the shop for a few hours after that, and showed them around the village. They bought warm buns and cakes from his favourite bakery and sat by the lake for a while, enjoying them, while the two caught Merlin up on everything in Camelot—Lancelot finally asked for Gwen’s hand in marriage, Gwaine had given Arthur hell for months after he’d left, but stayed anyway (when Merlin asked why, Leon replied he was pretty sure it was merely so he could torment Arthur forever, and Merlin couldn’t find the fault in that assessment), Gaius was getting grouchier with age, Percieval had his eyes on a pretty girl from the village and Elyan was on strict bedrest after taking a bad hit during a bandit attack. 

No one directly mentioned Arthur and Merlin was glad for it. Surprisingly, Morgana didn’t even reignite the argument to convince him to come back to Camelot. They all simply enjoyed each other’s company. 

The days passed in a blur like that. Merlin woke every night from the sounds of Morgana’s distress. 

On the fourth day, they were at the lake, again, and Leon was teaching Morgana how to fish. They were all sitting on the bank, trousers rolled up, legs dipped in the cool water as they waited for a fish to take the bait.

Leon and Merlin were squabbling about who’d catch the larger fish and it was odd that Morgana wasn’t butting in to insist it would obviously be her.

Merlin glanced at her. She was lost deep in thought, a frown on her face as she watched the sparkling water.

He nudged her shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Snapping out of it, she shook her head, lightly. “Why would something be wrong?”

It was Leon who replied, “You were quiet for a while there.”

Merlin nodded, seriously. “Yeah, don’t scare us like that. We’re too used to your obnoxious prattling.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes. “ I don’t prattle. You do.”

“Ah, but you agree, it’s obnoxious,” he teased.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re obnoxious.”

Leon kicked his feet, splashing her with water. “That was weak from you, Morgana.”

She splashed back, resolutely ignoring their questioning looks. Merlin got dragged into the water fight, because, of course, Morgana had to attack him too. They abandoned their fishing lines and spent the next few minutes acting like children, merrily splashing each other, laughing breathlessly and trying not to slip on the smooth stones near the bank.

Morgana shrieked when Merlin managed to push her into the lake and she ended up submerged to her shoulders. He howled with laughter until Leon avenged her by yanking him in by the collar and fully dunking his head in.

Merlin used his magic for a quick second, to make the knight trip over his own feet, and slip off the bank and into the water. 

The evening passed in laughter and lighthearted bickering, after they finally flopped down on the bank to dry off a little. 

None of them managed to catch enough fish for dinner, so they showed up sopping wet at the tavern, too hungry to go back home to change. The barmaid, of course, didn’t turn them out. She did eye them with a little contempt but wordlessly served them warm stew and hunks of almost fresh bread with a side of exasperation.

He wasn’t sure if it was because she recognised Morgana or if she just didn't want to turn down good coin. He wasn’t complaining, either way.

After they’d had their fill, Morgana hesitantly spoke up. “I think we should start heading back tomorrow morning.”

Merlin blinked in surprise. “But you said you had a week here?”

Leon looked just as confused, but he watched her patiently.

“I know, I’m sorry.” She folded his hands between her own, over the tabletop. “I’ve had so much fun here and I promise to visit again, soon, but right now, I don’t feel right leaving Arthur there. It feels like anything could go wrong and I wouldn’t even be by his side for it.”

She was masking her words because Leon, who was not aware of the nature of Morgana’s dreams, nor her magic, was present.

Merlin sighed and nodded, understanding. “Right, of course.” He squeezed her hands gently. “You don’t have to apologize, though.”

Morgana looked at him, hope dancing across her eyes. “Have you reconsidered? You could come with us…”

Merlin deflated. 

Morgana gave a tight smile. “It’s fine. I’m sorry for pressuring you about it, but I had to try.”

And that was all.

The walk back home was mostly quiet. Morgana and Leon agreed to set out by dawn, then seemed content to drink in the village one last time. They stopped to grab more goods from the bakery, claiming Camelot didn’t have anything nearly as good. It made the old baker’s day.

Back at his house, they flitted about packing. Merlin supplied them with a few handy treatments and tinctures, food and water. Between that and everything they’d bought at the little market, their bags were overflowing. Merlin whispered a charm to make the load lighter and easier for the horses to carry.

Morgana had went to search for her boots and Leon and he were alone. Merlin handed him some bandages—in case they got wounded from a skirmish with bandits or something.

“Thanks,” Leon said. He paused for a moment before adding, hesitantly, “Listen, I don’t know why Arthur did what he did, but Morgana is a good judge of character, and more than that, you’re a good man Merlin.” 

Merlin had no idea where this was going.

“I have no doubt that Arthur was just being rash in his decision. I’m very sorry you had to suffer for it. You don't deserve that.”

Oh.

Wow.

Leon was loyal to the crown, almost to a fault, so the words meant more coming from him than they would almost anyone else.

“Thanks.” He smiled. “Not suffering, though. I’m fine,” He insisted, shrugging, carelessly.

“You deserve to be happy. Not just fine.” Leon ruffled his hair, and it felt like such a brotherly gesture that it made Merlin’s heart warm and reminded him of the other knights who’d welcomed him into their fold as if he were one of them.

God, how he missed them.

Merlin didn’t know what to say to such kind words so he settled on, “He would call you a girl’s blouse for that, you know?”

Leon laughed, heartily. “He would.”

Merlin joined him, tucking away his hurt for a while.

They all soon retired to bed, having an early start ahead of them. Merlin didn’t sleep.

He thought. He turned over his decision over and over again, in his head, trying to weigh it against the alternative. Thinking about it logically , there was no question what he should do.

It was his heart and his hurt and his pride that were making it difficult to come to terms with.

And what if Arthur turned him out again ? Merlin didn’t think he’d be able to handle that. He tried to take Morgana’s word that Arthur wouldn’t and that he supposedly had changed but even that was difficult to reconcile with the Arthur that had banished him.

He thought of Morgana’s neverending visions and her terrified scream. She wouldn’t be able to face whatever threat Arthur faced, on her own, and Merlin didn't want to subject her to that, anyway. She was powerful, of that there was no doubt, but not more than himself. And, besides, Merlin had years of practice at it. 

Saving the royal prat’s life was practically routine at one point.

He thought of Gaius, too; his father in everything but blood. He deserved to retire and not be burdened by the weight of his decision, should the kingdom struggle under a new physician (or a malicious one, or none at all).

He didn’t allow himself to think of Arthur for long. If he went back, he swore to himself, he would not crumble. He would remain aloof and act as nothing more than the court physician. Arthur didn't deserve even an ounce more than that.

Merlin sighed and got up. 

It didn’t take long to pack his belongings. Deciding what to do about his apothecary took longer. Eventually, he rolled out a leaf of parchment and ruled lines along the entire length of it then wrote a note at the top: 

Write your ailment or your symptoms on a line, next to your name. Check back in here after a few hours and your medicine will be on the counter. No payment is required. Consider it my thanks for accepting me into your village so easily. 

It wouldn’t be too difficult to send medicines from Camelot to Oakmere with his magic, which he hadn't bothered to keep a secret here, so far from the stifling laws of Camelot. 

The people here trusted him and he had become an important part of their community in his short time here. It would be cruel to rob them of the help that they’d grown dependent on.

He stuck the parchment to the main countertop, then set about organizing the already-made tonics, into small carts. Anything for headaches in one, another for stomach aches, and so on. They were meticulously labelled, so he hoped no one would struggle with finding what they needed. Whatever wasn’t readily available, or ran out, they were to use the parchment for. 

He would explain it all to the beekeeper next door and to Ren, aswell, in the morning. Hopefully, that would be enough.

He could scarcely believe he was actually doing this.

He started packing his equipment and ingredients. Halfway through folding herbs into small pouches, Morgana’s scream echoed through the walls. Merlin frowned but continued working, more solidified in his decision. Leon had her.

When the sky started turning a dusty pink, the two of them roused, again. When they came downstairs to the sight of Merlin trying to fit his mortar and pestle somewhere within his bag, shock flitted over their face. Morgana recovered first and enveloped him in a hug.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. ” She was squeezing the life out of him and started muttering reassurances that Arthur wouldn’t banish him again and that everybody would be happy to see him.

Behind her, Leon grinned and clapped his back.

They had a light breakfast, and started the journey back to Camelot just as the first golden rays of sunlight spilled across the horizon, casting long shadows behind them.

Begrudgingly, Merlin was content with his decision.

Chapter 6: Now I'm searching the room for an empty seat

Summary:

Camelot and reunions!

Chapter 6: Now I'm searching the room for an empty seat

Merlin’s first few hours back in Camelot were a blur. Everything looked exactly the same. It was unnerving and as if he hadn’t been gone for two whole years, rather just a few days. A few villagers even waved at him when they rode past! He really hadn’t thought anybody from outside the castle would even remember him, but it was nice to be proven wrong. 

Morgana and Leon dropped him off at Gwen’s house then went ahead to the castle to fetch Gwen and probably Lancelot as well. He was under strict orders to stay put until someone returned.

So, of course, the second the two had disappeared from sight, Merlin set about reacquainting himself with the village. Not that he really needed to. He would always know every inch of this place like the back of his hand. Still, what else was there to do? It would take them a while yet to find Gwen and the others and make their way back. 

He walked with no real purpose, letting the village guide him, the rhythm of its quiet life pulling him along. Every now and then, someone would call out his name, and he’d turn, smile, and wave. But he didn’t linger.

He wouldn’t know what to say if they asked about his prolonged absence or even his return. And, it would make it even harder to leave if Arthur kicked him out again, if he started ‘putting down roots’ once more. Prat.

He was at the bakery, trying to convince old Maren to accept his money in exchange for the warm bread roll she was already stuffing into a cloth bundle, when he spotted Gwen through the window. Behind her were Lancelot and Gwaine. All three of them wore varying levels of concern, on their faces, as they walked around the marketplace, clearly searching for him.

Merlin hastily dropped the coins on the counter, grabbed the roll and was out the door in seconds, ignoring Maren's following protests.  

Gwen spotted him first.

“Merlin!” She called from a few shops away. 

He grinned. They both crossed the distance and met in the middle, tackling each other into a warm hug. They were both laughing, damp-eyed and breathless.

When she pulled away, Gwaine elbowed Lancelot out of the way to be the next one to hug him, almost lifting him right off the ground.

“Thought we’d lost you, again, for a minute there,” He mumbled.

Merlin shook his head. “Not that easily.”

Lancelot tugged at Gwaine’s collar till he stumbled back enough for him to crush Merlin in another hug. Merlin was sure he was going to start crying just from how loved he felt in the moment. 

When he’d pulled away, Lancelot eyed him with concern. “I don’t understand. How are you back now? Is it not dangerous?”

Merlin bit his lip. Gwaine had a hard look on his face but Gwen seemed a little less worried. She probably believed Morgana, entirely, about Arthur having changed.

“Morgana said she’d deal with it. Whatever happens, I’ve got a few hours with you lot, at least.” Really, he should be commended for how his voice didn’t crack and show the hints of fear he was feeling.

They started walking back towards Gwen’s hut and Gwaine wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “Between us three and Morgana, we won’t let the princess run you out again.”

Gwen opened the door and lit a lantern. It was steadily approaching dusk. “I really don’t think Arthur will do that.”

Behind her, Lancelot nodded, then said, “Still, it’s risky. He’s a bit of a loose canon these days. I don’t feel entirely at ease about this.” 

Merlin collapsed on a small loveseat, beside Gwaine. “Nor do I,” he admitted. “But, Gaius deserves to rest and–” and Arthur’s arse needs saving. He shrugged, cutting himself off. It wouldn’t do any good admitting that to his friends. They cared too much about him to let him risk his life for the prat, again.

Not that Merlin would be risking his life , this time. No, that kind of stupidity came with his past blind loyalty and love –because, yes, Merlin had long accepted that that's what it had always been; tangled and unspoken, but love all the same). Without those, he’d make more sensible choices. Hopefully .

“Well, it’s good to have you back. This place wasn’t the same without you.” Gwen smiled, seeming to understand his need to move on from the previous topic.

Gwaine groaned. “Tell me about it. It’s so dull here nowadays. I was only one more pathetic bandit attack away from packing my bags and leaving again.” God, he was scarily similar to Morgana.

So, it didn’t surprise Merlin when Lancelot whacked the back of Gwaine’s head and argued, “He’s lying. He went and replaced you with Morgana before you’d even left the castle gates.”

Gwaine gaped in fury. “I did not!”

Gwen settled next to Lancelot on the bench and confirmed, “He really did. Thick as thieves those two are.”

Merlin laughed when Gwaine turned to him and said, “It took me at least two seasons to come around to her snobbishness.” He huffed.

“No, no I’m glad, honestly. I’m sure you two gave him hell.” He grinned. 

“We did, I swear.” Gwaine cackled in a manner far too similar to Morgana. “Like that time we switched Arthur’s boots for a pair two sizes too small the morning of a knighting ceremony.” 

Lancelot grinned, remembering. “He tried to act all regal while limping down the corridor. Thought he was being cursed.”

Merlin chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief.

Gwen added, “My personal favourite was when Morgana enchanted Arthur’s goblet to always be lukewarm, no matter what he poured into it.”

Merlin groaned in amusement. “He hates when drinks aren't the right temperature.”

“Oh, trust me, we figured that out really fast. Only took him a day to start sending his drink back like some grumpy nobleman,” Gwaine added merrily.

It took Merlin a second to realise Gwaine was talking about Morgana’s magic. 

“Wait–you know?”

Gwaine gave him a light shove. “About you or the lady?”

Merlin gaped. “Both of us??”

“Known about you for years. I can’t even remember when the first time was, but after that it was like you kept slipping up.” Gwaine ruffled his hair.

Merlin couldn’t believe it. He was certain he was cautious about his magic. How on earth had Gwaine–usually hungover, Gwaine–noticed it? 

“You’re not–angry? That I didn’t tell you?” He asked hesitantly. 

“‘Course not. I understand why you thought you couldn’t tell anyone. I do wish you had trusted me a little more, though.”

“I’m sorry-”

Gwaine elbowed him. “Nothing to apologise about, Merls.”

Merlin frowned, guilt tugging at his features. “No, really. I knew I could trust you but, I guess after so long of keeping it a secret, I didn’t know how to reveal it.”

“It’s alright, Merlin. I’m really not upset over it,” he reassured.

Merlin glanced at Lancelot and Gwen, who had drifted into their own quiet conversation. They looked so happy together. He felt something tug in his chest—something warm, something a little sad. Maybe it was longing, maybe it was just relief that some things, at least, had turned out right.

Gwaine followed his gaze. He lowered his voice and said, “Between the two of us, they’re practically intolerable when they’re all besotted like this.”

Merlin snorted. "You're just jealous Lance found someone to tolerate him before you did."

“Not at all. I quite enjoy being a free man, thank you very much.” He sounded like he meant it, too.

Merlin shook his head. He didn’t say what he was really thinking: that love like that—steady, forgiving, healing—was rare. And, though he was sure he’d never get to have it, it brought him no small amount of joy that two of his closest friends did.

The next few hours passed too quickly, in catching up. Gwen disappeared early on, after taking his measurements which was when Merlin found out that tonight was the Beltane feast.

And he was supposed to be present.

In the same room as Arthur.

Merlin thought he might throw up.

Gwaine and Lancelot did a commendable job at distracting him and the upcoming feast was almost entirely off his mind for a while. They made tea, laughed over more of Morgana and Gwaine’s mischiefs (some of which, they even managed to drag Lance into) and they filled him in on how prattish Arthur had been since Merlin left–though, he was glad when they finally moved on to talking about something else.

Overall, it was one of the best days Merlin had had in years. 

When Gwen returned with formal robes, he was sure the same could not be said about the night. It was likely to be one of the worst of his life.

She shooed the other two out, telling them to get ready; the feast was set to begin in only a few candle marks. They left with promises to save him a seat. Merlin could hear them arguing about who he would sit next to as they left. Merlin rolled his eyes fondly as their bickering faded down the corridor. Gwaine was loudly insisting it had to be him—“obviously, for emotional support”—while Lancelot argued that Gwaine was emotional turbulence at best. Their voices echoed until Gwen shut the door with a soft laugh, shaking her head.

His smile disappeared off his face the instant Gwen shoved the bundle of clothes in his hand. The fabric was softer than any he’d ever owned before, and it was far too heavy.

“Off you go,” She nodded towards the changing screen.

“Why can’t I just go in my own clothes? Why do I even have to go at all?” He sighed, put out.

Gwen smiled, placatingly. “These are your clothes now. Morgana had them made just for you. You can’t show up to such an exquisite feast in that,” she gestured to his—perfectly nice—shirt and trousers, “when there’s an impression to be made.”

Merlin groaned. “Still, don’t understand why I can’t just do all this with less commotion. What’s to say Arthur won’t create a scene right there?” 

“He won’t. Trust me. And Morgana thinks this is the best way to go about introducing you to court.”

Merlin stepped out as he was pulling on the forest green robe. It looked quite good, he had to admit. The colour was striking and complemented his features, and it fit just right. 

“So, I’m right then. Arthur really doesn’t know about any of this.” It had been a strong hunch, since Morgana never outright said he did, and the girl loved her lies of omission. 

Gwen sighed and handed him a comb. “He doesn’t,” she confirmed. “But, I promise you, nothing bad will happen. He’ll be shocked, sure, but believe me, exiling you again, will be the last thing on his mind.”

“Yes, because he’ll be too busy calling for the executioner.” Merlin combed through his hair—tangled beyond belief, from the long journey—almost carelessly, as if that wasn’t his own execution he was talking about.

At some point, he’d come to terms with it. Not his death, of course. He wouldn’t let Arthur do that, or even banish him, again. But, he was comfortable, now, in the fact that this evening would be horrid and probably chaotic. He’d deal with whatever was thrown his way when it came to that.

“God, no!” Gwen gasped. “Just have a little faith,” she pleaded.

Merlin sighed and nodded in assent, though he’d lost all faith in the king, two years ago. 

Gwen gave him a soft smile and fixed the collar of his shirt. 

“My neckerchief–”

She held the red cloth up. “Will be safe with me for one night.” She tucked it into the pocket of her apron.

Merlin was already beginning to hate this night.

He pulled on his boots—also new, and smelling of fresh leather—and the two made their way up to the castle. He wondered, briefly, if the guards that waved them in were the same ones who had watched him leave for the last time.

All too soon, they were walking the halls of the castle. Merlin felt as though Arthur might jump out of a wall, any second. Gwen seemed to sense his anxiety and kept a comforting hand on his arm as they walked. Maybe she knew he was ready to bolt any second.

Merlin drank in all the familiar sights. Nearly every maid or servant they passed stopped to say hi to him or at the very least, smile, busy as they were with the preparations. It helped ease his nerves—just a little. The castle felt the same and yet, not quite. The air was different, touched with something gentler, less rigid than before. Maybe that was the lack of Uther’s heavy presence. Maybe it was time. 

Still, every stone felt like a memory. Every turn in the corridor reminded him of laughter, of arguments, of secrets whispered behind columns and magic cast in the dark. It was a horribly bittersweet feeling.

They stopped outside the banquet hall, and Gwen gave his hand a small squeeze. “You’ll be alright,” she said softly. “They’ve missed you.”

Merlin took a breath, nodded, and pushed the doors open.

It felt like every eye in the room turned to him. Merlin’s gaze shot to the head table and he sighed in relief when he saw the king’s throne-like chair still vacant. His eyes then flitted towards where all the knights sat in a row. Gwaine was beckoning him over to the empty seat next to him, one right at the end of the table, as far away from the head as possible. 

The other knights were all giving him wide grins and reassuring nods but refrained from much more. He assumed they were avoiding calling attention to him as they must’ve been filled in already. 

Merlin quickly went to sit in his seat, feeling all too uncomfortable, even as Gwaine pulled him into conversation with his usual ease. Merlin’s attention, however, kept wavering. His eyes kept darting to Arthur’s empty chair or the door that remained resolutely shut. It felt like a sword was hanging over his head. Probably, Excalibur. Oh, the irony.

He was seated at the left wing of the large U-shaped table. Across from him were some of the councilmen and Morgana was sat next to Arthur’s empty chair at the head, whispering something to Gwen.

Merlin had never felt more out of place and the newly stitched, stuffy robes weren’t helping. His place had always been behind Arthur. Never had he thought he’d get to sit at a feast. It was odd.

The Beltane feast was a grand affair, celebrating the return of warmth and spring. The great hall was appropriately decked out in garlands of flowers and there were light instruments playing in the distance somewhere. The main table was surrounded by several smaller ones, where other high nobility were seated.

There was a merry buzz in the air, and no one seemed to be minding the king’s late arrival, happy to enjoy the pleasant atmosphere and chatter among themselves. Gwaine looked more joyful than Merlin had ever seen him. He was jesting with Percy, usually at the other’s expense, dragging Merlin back into the conversation whenever he noticed his attention start to waver.

There were too many eyes on him. Most people at this table recognized him from two years ago. The knights kept glancing over some with concern, others with wariness and the councilmen whispered amongst themselves with barely concealed curiosity. Morgana remained aloof, occasionally turning to talk to Leon—who sat closest to the head of the table, on the left wing—and gave him reassuring smiles whenever they locked eyes.

All this waiting to see what becomes of his fate, when Arthur finally arrives, was borderline torturous. Better to be put on the pyre right now than to wait for His Majesty to create a scene.

“Is he always this late?” Merlin grumbled, quietly, to Gwaine.

Gwaine snorted. “Likely just taking his time dressing up extra pretty for you today.”

Merlin didn’t acknowledge the comment with more than a roll of his eyes.

It’s another candlemark later, when Arthur finally walks through the door, that Merlin’s trained eye can see the faults in his attire. The strings on his shirt were done up a little too loose, there was a crooked buckle on his ceremonial jacket and his face was haphazardly shaven. 

He didn’t think a worse servant than him existed. He’s quite glad to be proven wrong.

Merlin doesn’t look at Arthur for more than a second. Doesn’t dare really see his face. Holds his breath when Arthur walks right behind his chair towards his vacant seat.

He doesn’t hear a word that comes out of Arthur's mouth as he makes a short speech about prosperity and whatnot. 

He knows Arthur will spot him any second and it’ll all come crashing down. It’s that thought that has him finally looking up from his dinner plate. As pathetic as it is, he decided he should savour what Arthur looks like when his face is unmarred by the anger and disgust that will soon come. 

As the feast starts and everyone digs into the large spread, Merlin keeps his gaze trained on the man who so cold-heartedly condemned their destiny, drinking in the sight with greedy eyes. 

Arthur looks the same and not. 

He’s still the same golden haired boy with gleaming, crooked teeth and the most expressive blue eyes that crinkle as he merrily greets Morgana and Leon, asking how their trip fared. Morgana launches into the carefully planned and rehearsed explanation and Merlin waits with bated breath, wondering what happened in the past two years to add such a solemn heaviness to Arthur’s demeanor.  

His gaze is switching between the two of them, trying to piece together which part of the conversation they’re at. Neither of them make it easy with how well trained they are to keep their faces completely expressionless when in court. 

Still, Merlin doesn’t miss Morgana nodding in his direction, and Arthur’s face is anything but a blank canvas as he whips around to lock his eyes on him. Arthur’s stare pins him in place—sharp, disbelieving, and so full of something Merlin can’t name, it hurts to look at.

For a moment, he’s sure neither of them breathe. 

He immediately turns his gaze to steel, unwilling to show even a hint of the panic and nerves he’s feeling. He thinks time seems to pause as Arthur stares at him, a range of emotions flitting across his face: shock, then something else that Merlin struggles to pinpoint, till finally he lands on anger. 

Merlin sucks in a deep breath, readying himself.

However, Arthur turns away.

His ire is directed towards Morgana in hushed whispers, and Merlin feels a little guilty for being relieved at that. Next to him, Gwaine pours him a glass of wine and Lancelot gives him a steady nod of assurance.

Gwaine nudges his arm. “See, it’s all good, what’d I say?” 

Merlin picks up the goblet, downing half of it and then returns his gaze to the king, who’s still in heated conversation with his sister. “All that drink must have messed with your eyesight.” He nods subtly in their direction.

Gwaine shook his head. “You’re still here aren’t you?”

“Let’s celebrate my last meal then,” he said with a resigned expression. 

Gwaine grumbled his arguments back, but Merlin scarcely heard him over the ringing in his own ears. And despite his words, he couldn’t bear to do more than toss the food around on his plate for the rest of the evening. 

 

Notes:

Next chapter: Arthur's reaction :D

Chapter 7: How I was losing my mind when I saw you here

Summary:

Arthur crashes out.

Notes:

Soo everybody's super sweet comments got me writing to crack out this chapter in a day! Love yall mwah. Never thought I'd get this many loyal readers and it's so cool :))

Chapter 7: How I was losing my mind when I saw you here

 

Arthur’s pretty sure whatever was in his brain had now turned to wool. There wasn't a single discernible thought floating around in his head. 

Merlin was here.

There’s no way Merlin was here. 

How is he looking right at Merlin? He’s looking at Merlin . 

And Merlin looked well—there were no words to describe how absolutely breathtaking he looked sitting there, all wide eyes and big ears, in dark robes that draped over his lithe body like…like he belonged at the head of the table, not in the crowd. 

It was maddening. 

He watched as Merlin’s eyes grew cold and instantly missed the emotions that previously danced across them, gone too soon for him to discern anything other than fear . It was enough to make Arthur want to impale himself on Excalibur. 

Merlin continued holding his gaze and his chin lifted in slight challenge. In any other circumstance, it would have made Arthur smile. Right now, though, there were more important things to deal with than Merlin’s inability to cower even in the face of—what he thinks is—execution.

Namely, Morgana. 

He turned to her, and all his fury erupted. Because Merlin was here and he’s not supposed to be. “What in all hells is he doing here?” Arthur seethed.

“Well, we were short a physician, yes?” Morgana had the gall to smile at him. “I figured–”

Arthur held up his hand and shot her a glare that could probably cut through stone. “You brought him back to play healer for us—for me— after I drove him out?” He hissed.

“He wouldn’t be back if he didn’t want to be,” Morgana tried. She placed a hand on his arm, trying to placate him. 

He shoved her hand off, ignoring the hurt that crossed her face, before she covered it. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to care, at the moment. “ What he wants always gets the idiot killed, so frankly, dear sister, I don’t care. ”

“He won’t! And, come on. Give him a little more credit than that.” She huffed. “He’s the most powerful warlock to walk the earth. He really can handle himself.”

Arthur cut a glance across the tables to see a few too many councilmen watching their exchange with hungry eyes. He lowered his tone further and made sure to erase every hint of emotion on his face before he spoke next. “That doesn’t mean I want him back in the face of danger. You do remember the threat of execution he’ll face everyday, don’t you? Or do you just, selfishly, not care?”

Morgan flinched back, his blow hitting true. He only reveled in it for a moment before starting to regret it. 

“Of course, I care. Don’t you dare accuse me of anything otherwise,” she shot back.

Finally, Arthur remembered his sister’s accomplice. His glare switched to Leon, his First Knight, who was sitting ramrod straight and watching the exchange with concern. He instantly dipped his head when he noticed Arthur’s ire directed at him.

Morgana spoke before he could get a word out. “Leave him out of this. He didn’t even know about my plan.” She sighed.

Arthur scoffed. “I suppose he rode all the way to wherever you went, blindfolded, then?” 

“He knew we weren’t actually going to visit his family, but that’s it. Besides that, he trusted me. If you want to be angry at anyone, be angry at me,” she pleaded.

Leon opened his mouth to say something and Arthur heard the telltale sound of Morgana’s pointy shoe making contact with Leon’s shin. 

Leon didn't so much as wince. He merely cut himself off from whatever he was planning on saying.

Arthur rolled his eyes. He’s not getting off that easy.

Morgana did a cursory glance across the room, seeming to also notice the many eyes on them. “We can discuss this later, Arthur,” she insisted. “They’re all watching us and you’re probably scaring Merlin.” 

At her words, Arthur’s gaze cut straight to the warlock. He was sitting hunched over his plate, drowning a potato into his stew, with his spoon, and occasionally allowing it to blob back up. His entire focus was on the food that he wasn't eating, but even from his place, Arthur could see the tenseness in the set of his shoulders and the worry pulling his frown further down. 

He relented to his sister’s request, with one final scathing look, and emptied his goblet in one swing. An unnamed servant quickly refilled it. If there weren’t so many people watching him, he’d have downed that just as quickly. Alas, he did have a reputation to uphold.

He shoved whatever was on his plate, into his mouth, ignoring how it tasted like rubber and how it threatend to make a reappearance before even going down his throat. 

He could feel Gwaine’s glare from across the room, and occasionally, Lancelot’s too. He's sure they’ll cause a ruckus if he dared to so much as breathe wrong in their friend’s direction. He wouldn't, of course. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do now, but it’s not that . He’s glad they’re looking out for him, anyway.

Arthur doesn’t miss the encouraging nod Morgana sends in Merlin’s direction, when he finally looks up from his plate—the food now turned into an unrecognizable mush. He ignored it, and her and of course, Merlin.

His head was positively spinning.

Really, he should have known this would happen. His sister was too much like him; when they both wanted something, they stopped at nothing to get it. 

Arthur had wanted Merlin safe and he made it happen. 

Morgana wanted her friend back. She made it happen.

Still, he couldn’t believe she’d do this to him. He also still couldn’t believe Merlin was here . What lies had she spun to convince him? Arthur hadn’t thought anything could convince him after the way things had ended.

He took another long sip from his goblet, holding back from draining it entirely, and chanced a glance at Merlin, again, only to be caught by Merlin’s striking, blue eyes already fixed on him. 

Arthur’s breath caught. His grip tightened around the goblet, knuckles pale, as the weight of everything he had destroyed between them pressed sharp and sudden against his chest. His own words from that awful morning filled his ears until it was all he could hear; the sounds of chatter and dishes clinking together, nothing more than a quiet buzz. 

Merlin’s face was a mask but Arthur knew him well enough to see past it. He had to look away. That expression—it was the same one Merlin had worn in their final moments. The same one that had lingered in his nightmares, and in far too many quiet, waking hours since.

Arthur knew, in that moment, he could not send Merlin away again. He simply wouldn’t be able to bear it. He doubted the words would even come out of his mouth if a blade was held to his throat.

To hurt Merlin like that a second time? It would be far beyond cruel, to both of them. And it would undoubtedly tear whatever was left of their bond to pieces—if there was even anything left in the first place.

He had half a mind to banish Morgana. Little wench.

He was dragged out of his thoughts by a sharp kick from her. When he looked up, he caught the tail end of Lord Brannon’s sentence and he definitely heard Merlin’s name in there somewhere.

Dammit. 

All thoughts of banishing his insolent sister vanished from his mind when she saved him from answering by doing so herself. “Yes, you’re quite right. Merlin is here to fill Gaius’ position as Court Physician.” She shared a look with Arthur. “We didn’t think there was anyone better to do it than the man Gaius himself trained.”

Arthur nodded along and sincerely hoped Brannon would shut up now. 

He didn’t, of course. When was life ever that merciful on him? 

“I wasn’t aware the boy was an apprentice. I was under the impression he was just your manservant, a few years back.” He directed it at Arthur.

Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Gwaine elbow Merlin, who then finally realised he was the topic of discussion. It spurred him on to reply, “Merlin did both jobs, and it was plain to anyone who paid attention to the happenings of this castle.” 

The hidden insult was barely even hidden, and yet did nothing to shut the old man up, who continued on as if he hadn’t just been chastised by the King himself. 

“Hm.” He stroked his patchy beard. “And what of his prolonged absence? Surely you can’t appoint him when we’re not even aware of what he was doing away for so long,” he insisted.

What did this fool have against Merlin of all people?

Arthur was about to retort when Merlin spoke up, instead, “I was a practicing physician during my absence from Camelot.” 

He wondered if he was imagining the bite to his tone. Probably not. Still, hearing Merlin’s voice after so long, felt strangely grounding, like coming up for air in the middle of a storm.

He nodded in Merlin’s direction to affirm his statement and added, “And you’d do well to remember that I am the King, Lord Brannon. If I so wanted to hire Merlin, even without his past experience, I would be well within my right to do so.”

He could feel Merlin’s eyes burning into the side of his head. Morgana’s too. 

Finally, properly chastised, Brannon dipped his head and conceded, “Of course, Sire.”

Arthur returned to shoving food around on his plate, occasionally engaging in idle chatter with his knights—who were looking at him with wariness—or one of the councilmen—who never ran out of things to complain about.

His attention was always diverted, though. He watched Merlin’s every move out of the corner of his eye and, too often, he drifted his entire focus to him, studying every movement, every expression. He wasn’t surprised that there was still something magnetic about him. 

He watched Merlin interact with the knights nearest to him, all of whom were practically vying for his attention and felt a twinge of jealousy tug at his heart. He wished more than anything, he could fall back into the same easy camaraderie as them. But, he’d done this himself, and now he must bear the consequences, as much as it pained him.

He’d catch Merlin’s subtle glances every now and then, and if their eyes ever coincidentally locked, he always looked away first. 

The night passed on in a blur. The surrounding nobles started retiring when it was a little past midnight, and the councilmen followed soon after—thankfully, having tired themselves of bugging him.

After that, only the roundtable knights, Morgana, and a few nobles remained. And Merlin.

The knights paid no attention to the emptying hall, happy to keep drinking and enjoying the night. He could see Merlin start to get uncomfortable, no doubt, thinking more of his own attention would now fall on him, with no one else to turn to (and, well. He wasn’t wrong.)

He was about to make his exit, to save both of them from this torture, when Lady Anwen pulled him into another drab conversation about how ‘ marvellous the feast was’ and how ‘simply splendid’ the roast pheasant had been—though, of course, not nearly as succulent as the one served at her cousin’s wedding in Caerleon.

He engaged her for as long as he could be bothered to and was only moments away from interrupting her to claim he was quite tired, actually, and would be retiring to his chambers now, thank you very much, when he saw Gwaine and Merlin stand. Neither of them looked at him as they left. 

Arthur’s eyes followed them all the way to the door. He swallowed hard, the all too familiar sight of Merlin’s retreating back sharpening the ache in his chest. 

He waited a few minutes for them to be far ahead before he cut Lady Anwen’s incessant chatter off and bid everyone goodnight. He probably should have been more respectful and he probably should have recited his closing speech but, really, Arthur was at the end of his tether here and he couldn’t remember a single word from the stupid speech he’d spent an hour writing and practicing, anyway.

He cut a swift glare at Morgana and Leon, to let them know exactly what he thought of their little stunt, and left immediately after—almost as hastily as Merlin.

He was only a few steps out of the suffocating hall when he heard the door open and shut, again, followed by hasty footsteps following him. He sighed. He was doomed to never catch a break.

When he turned, he was surprised to see Lancelot. He’d expected it to be his meddling sister or his traitorous First Knight. 

“Arthur,” Lancelot began, quietly but with conviction, “Don’t–don’t drive him away, again. I’ll never understand why you did the first time, seeing as it seemed to hurt you just as much, so please –”

“It’s not that simple,” he interrupted.

Lance ran a hand through his hair, frustration clouding his eyes and lacing his tone as he argued, “Why can’t it be? It’s Merlin , for heaven’s sake!”

Arthur’s gaze hardened. “You can’t understand, Lance.”

“I understand more than you think.” He hesitated, finding the words, and then started with renewed vigour, “You can’t let pride and duty and your father’s bigoted ideas dictate your life. You can’t keep hurting–”

“We’re not having this conversation, again,” Arthur snapped. It was awfully similar to the long argument the two of them had had when the knight had first found out what Arthur had done. It was then that he’d discovered that Merlin had told him about his magic. The fresh hurt had only deepened at that revelation and probably spurred him on to be harsher with Lancelot than necessary. 

Lance shook his head. “You’re being foolish.”

“And you’re forgetting your place.” 

Arthur ignored Lancelot’s faltering expression as his cold words hung in the air between them. He turned heel and left. He felt the knight’s pinning stare on his back long after he’d reached his room.

Shame, heavy and creeping, flooded through him. He should have just told Lancelot that he wasn’t planning on exiling Merlin, again. He barely knew why he didn’t, just that the night had stretched on for too long and he was tired of everybody telling him what he could and couldn’t do. 

Not to mention, everybody supposedly thought it was alright to go behind his back to reverse the decision he had made, for their own selfish reasons. And really, he understood why they all thought he wanted to hurt Merlin but that didn’t make it any less exhausting to deal with.

Arthur ripped off his doublet and changed into his nightshirt, tossing the heap of clothes near the door before collapsing into his bed. A servant would take them at some point in the early hours of the morning, and they’d be laundered and hanging back in his closet by tomorrow night, without ever once seeing who actually went about doing the work. 

The same was true about all the little chores that needed tending to in his room. Floors cleaned themselves, windows remained gleaming, and hot bath water was always waiting for him after a long practice. It was as if a ghost was doing all the work around him.

He’d learnt the truth eventually. In the weeks after Merlin’s exile, the servants had taken to avoiding him. He wasn’t sure why, but if he had to bet, it was because he’d taken his temper out on one too many unsuspecting servants, simply doing their job. 

Arthur really didn’t remember much from the early weeks, though, so he didn’t know exactly what he’d said to have them all this frightened and he had thought about apologising but then changed his mind when he realised he preferred it this way and that seeing anyone fully replace Merlin’s role, would only reignite his temper, so it would be futile.

Now, he only saw a servant in his room when it was time to deliver his meal, or if he’d wrapped up a council meeting early and returned to his chambers still in the process of being swept by a thoroughly spooked maid.

Never the same one, of course. There must’ve been a rota, or maybe they drew lots, because he was sure he’d seen one unlucky chap, a few too many times in a week. 

He usually ignored whoever was working in his room, and they in turn, worked hard and fast to be out of there as soon as possible. Other than that, there were no other interactions, for which he was grateful.

He had slowly learnt to do everything himself, all while missing Merlin’s gentle touch. Dressing himself was only difficult when his clothes were too fancy or he was too lazy, and the chainmail didn’t take long to get used to putting on himself, even if he did snag it on his undershirt, too often.

He wished he’d spent a little more time getting ready for tonight. Merlin surely would have noticed how unkempt his attire looked and, though he already thought of Arthur as lazy and incompetent, it’s not like he wanted to fuel that opinion. 

He hadn’t been able to help it, however. He’d fallen asleep in the middle of going through grain reports—the bane of his existence—and hadn’t woken until the feast had already commenced. So, he’d had barely a few minutes to get himself ready and go over his speech one more time before making his entrance.

Now, Arthur wished he’d just slept through the whole cursed thing. 

He turned over and lay awake for hours that night, replaying every look and every emotion he had cataloged from Merlin, each one sharp in his memory. 

Merlin's haunting eyes followed him even into his uneasy slumber.

 

---

 

The entire first week of Merlin’s arrival passed monotonously. He resolutely ignored Morgana and the fact that Merlin was back, and was relentless on Leon during practices. Leon never complained. 

He often caught Lancelot stopping Gwaine from doing something stupid. And Gwaine, despite all his impulsiveness, relented. No one mentioned Merlin—save for his sister, but she didn’t count because he was currently pretending she didn’t exist—which was smart because he really didn’t know how he would react if someone did . 

They all probably thought that if they kept Merlin out of sight and his name out of his ears, Arthur would forget that he was even back, and hence, not banish him again.

As if Arthur could ever forget that Merlin was now living under the same roof as him. The warlock’s quiet presence weighed heavy on him.

Arthur saw neither hide nor hair of Merlin but remained on edge constantly, thinking he’d run into the other man in the corridors and be forced to acknowledge him. 

He would not know what to say.

It was another week later, when he was brooding at his window that he caught sight of Merlin, riding Onyx out of the castle gates, a large satchel packed by his side.

Arthur didn’t think before he ran.

 

Notes:

Hehe. I promise a real interaction is coming really soon lmao, and then after that, it'll be pretty nonstop. Just had to have everybody deal with their emotions first.

Chapter 8: I'd tell you I miss you but I don't know how

Summary:

What we've all been waiting for :)

Chapter 8: I'd tell you I miss you but I don't know how

 

Arthur wanted nothing more than to go to the stables, get on a horse and go after Merlin. 

He didn't do that, though. 

He’s not stupid enough to believe that he has any right to chase after Merlin. Especially, not when it’s likely him that the warlock is running from.

So, instead, his legs carried him to Morgana’s door, in a breathless rush. He barged in without knocking, just like Morgana so loves to do to him.

“Arthur!” She exclaimed, sitting up from her window seat. She abandoned her book and concern overcame her features once she probably noticed the state he was in. “Is everything alright?”

He stood on the threshold, panting and trying to form the right words. 

“Did he leave? Merlin? I just— I saw him ride out just now...” The words tumble out of his mouth and understanding flickered across Morgana’s face. 

Why isn’t she panicking? She’s the one who brought him back in the first place!

Morgana came closer, dragged him entirely into the room and shut the door behind them. “Breathe, Arthur. He’s not going anywhere, I promise.” 

Arthur shook his head, vehemently. “No no. You didn’t see. He rode out and he had a bag all packed. He left, Morgana. ” He paced in front of the window, eyes darting to look outside every few seconds. “I didn’t even talk to him and now he’s gone!” 

Morgana shook her head and wrapped her arms around him. A wretched sound clawed its way up his throat and Arthur immediately collapsed into her hug. 

She ran her fingers through his hair and spoke gently, “He’s not gone, Arthur. Listen to me, would you?”

Still, Arthur’s tears didn’t subside and he buried his head into her neck.

Morgana sighed and continued, “He went to strengthen his enchantments at the border. Probably packed a bag because it’s a long trip.”

Arthur stilled and finally lifted his head.  

“What enchantments?”

“Protective wards and an alarm system, is what he said. He put them in place just before leaving,” she said sadly.

Arthur’s heart gave a lurch. He was so far gone, he hadn’t even thought it was possible to fall any further. And yet.

“He—he did that right after I banished him? ” Arthur whispered, awed.

Morgana nodded and pulled him down to sit on the window seat with her. “He does have a lot of people he cares about here.”

Arthur ran a hand through his hair, then wiped at his damp face . God, when had he become such a mess?

There was a pause for a moment before Morgana asked, “So, are you talking to me again now?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, though it probably didn't have much effect with his face looking all flushed and blotchy. “No. I enjoyed the peace far too much to want to change it.” But he didn’t make any move to leave his sister’s room, instead slumping further on the bench. He turned to look out the window, as if he’d somehow catch sight of Merlin through the dense forest.

“Liar. You were bored out of your mind, weren’t you?” Morgana must have sensed that he’d forgiven her, because the snark was back in her tone.

“I’m too busy to get bored. I’m the King, you know?”

It’s Morgana’s turn to roll her eyes now. “So I’ve heard.”

“Just thought you needed reminding.” He turned to glance at her, allowing some of his receding anger to show. “You did , afterall, go against my explicit orders.”

She huffed. “I did what I thought was right and-”

“You had no right to get involved like that.” He faced her fully now.

“I didn’t like what you’d turned into Arthur.” She hurried on, when he narrowed his eyes at her, “You’re just a shell of yourself. All you do is work; you rarely even make time for meals or for sleep; Gwen doesn’t even remember the last time you talked to her and the knights have all stopped complaining about your cold, detached behaviour because they’re used to it now!”

Arthur opened his mouth to cut off her rant but she held up a hand.

“They’re your brothers, Arthur. And you haven’t so much as smiled at them in the two years that Merlin’s been gone-”

“I do smile!” He protested.

She sighed. “We’re all smart enough to see the lack of genuinity behind it. The entire castle walks on eggshells around you, and you don’t even seem to realise it.”

“No, I have noticed that.” He shrugged. “I just prefer it that way. Less people butting their noses into my business-”

“It’s called caring about your friends. ” 

“I don’t want it.” I don’t deserve it. 

“This is exactly what I mean,” she snapped.

He let out an exasperated groan. “Are you quite done analysing me, now?”

“I’m just saying, having him around can’t be terrible—even if it’s at a distance.”

“No, actually, it’s torture,” Arthur retorted. 

“Can’t you just go talk to him?” She ignored his hardening glare and continued, “You don’t have to explain anything, just make sure he knows you won’t send him out again.”

“No,” he said simply. 

Arthur got up, and made for the door. That was enough interaction with his harpy of a sister to last him at least a month.

“He hasn’t even unpacked yet because he thinks you’ll send him packing any day now!” She pleaded, behind him, her voice rising.

Arthur turned back around, his anger barely leashed and yelled, “What do you expect me to say? If I wanted him back here, don’t you think I would have bloody gone and gotten him myself ?”

“I don’t understand why you didn’t! Uther is dead, what are you so afraid of?” 

“ Him putting himself in danger for me again, ” he seethed.

“He won’t,” Morgana insisted. “He hates you, remember?”

“AND I DON’T WANT HIM TO . DO YOU THINK IT’S EASY LIVING UNDER THE SAME ROOF AGAIN? EVERY SECOND OF THE DAY I HAVE THE URGE TO GO TO HIM AND CONFESS AND BEG HIM FOR FORGIVENESS THAT I KNOW DAMN WELL I DON’T DESERVE. BUT. I. CAN’T.” 

Morgana, if she was surprised by his outburst, didn’t show it, and opened her mouth to reply but he continued, all his pent up thoughts tumbling out of him now, “The second he realises the truth, he’ll go back to his heroics. Then he’ll get caught or get hurt and I won’t be able to do anything about it because he never tells me anything, ” he hissed.

Morgana groaned. “You can’t just keep pushing him away in the name of protection. That’s not what love is.”

The word had always hung unspoken in the air, every time they’d talked about Merlin. Never, had either of them said it outloud. But Arthur had known for a long time what it was, and Morgana had caught on after she’d revealed her magic to Arthur, in an attempt to goad him into hurting her too. 

Instead, he had told her the truth and after a lot of yelling, she’d understood and vowed to stand by his side as he brought change to Camelot.

So, he knew that she knew but still flinched back at the shock of hearing her words. And maybe it was that—the shock—that made him say what he did next.

“Don’t preach to me about love; you haven’t even told Leon the truth about yourself yet, after all this time.”

Arthur regretted it the instant he saw the hurt in her eyes. He didn’t know how to take it back.

All of a sudden, Morgana’s earlier words made so much more sense. What had he turned into? She was trying her best to look out for him and for Merlin and she’d been the only one to stay by his side through all his moods and he was hurting her.

Just like he’d done to Merlin.

“Same way Merlin never told you, either?”

All the fight left him. “Yes. But, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

Morgana deflated. “It’s alright. You’re not wrong.” she shrugged. “I’m sorry, too, for being harsh. But please, will you talk to him? He’s hurting. Being back here isn’t easy for him either.”

Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You should’ve thought about that before you brought him here then.”

“I didn’t think you two would keep going on like this ,” she admitted.

“Oh, did you think I’d welcome him back with open arms, after I’d specifically told you I don’t want him anywhere near Camelot? Did you think he’d want that after everything I did?”

Morgana stayed silent, guilt flickering across her face.

“Now, I have to run the kingdom, undo years of father’s manipulations and make sure Mer lin doesn’t end up in any sort of trouble. All while not going insane.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur." Her hands fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, betraying her usual poise. "I didn’t think enough of the position it would put you in.” 

He sighed. “I’ll think about talking to him. Just…give me some time. I’m at the end of my rope here.”

“Thank you, that’s all I ask.”

 

---

 

Maybe it was the weight of the conversation with Morgana, or perhaps the gnawing guilt that Merlin—his Merlin—was scared here, in the place he’d once called home.  

Maybe it was just him missing his best friend. 

Whatever it was, he was on his way to the court physician’s chambers, seeking a tonic for a headache. A headache. It should be noted, Arthur, currently, was not suffering from any sort of pains—well, physically at least. 

However, he thought, it can’t hurt to have the pain soother on hand for when a headache does inevitably start. And, if he gets to see Merlin for a few short minutes, then that’s well—great. 

Truthfully, for living in the same castle again, Arthur had thought he’d be seeing the other man around more. 

He hadn’t once come across him, though. Not in the entire three weeks Merlin had been back. 

Arthur had kept thinking he might. That they’d run into each other in the halls or he’d turn around during practice with the knights and Merlin would be there, watching like he always used to. It never happened but the thought of it—the anxiety—had Arthur keeping his guard up higher than usual.

He knew he was being harsher, too, to everybody around him. Had seen it in the disapproving looks the knights gave him, and in the servants avoiding him even more than usual. Really though, he couldn’t help it. It felt like Merlin was going to jump out of the walls any second. And how was Arthur supposed to deal with that ?

So, he’d decided to do it on his own terms. Maybe it would be easier after that.

And, though the very important ‘hey, I’m sorry for banishing you, I really didn’t want to’ conversation was a long way off, he knew he’d go mad knowing Merlin was so close and yet still so out of reach. 

Besides, what if he decided to just leave one day, before Arthur had the chance to fix things? That’s what he thought was happening the day Merlin went to ward the border, because, really, he has no reason to stick around, now does he? 

So, Arthur would allow himself any small glimpses and interactions he could get his hands on, knowing any one of those could be their last. Starting today. 

His steps echoed through the stairwell as he wondered whether Merlin was truly busy with his duties or if he was just making it a point to avoid Arthur. In his heart, he knew it was the latter, and though he hated it, he couldn't begrudge Merlin for it. Only himself.

It’s standing in front of the wooden door to Merlin’s chambers, that Arthur realised how little forethought went into this. 

What on earth was he supposed to say?  

Should he make small talk?  

No. Merlin probably wouldn’t appreciate that.  

He could wing it. This was Merlin. Just Merlin. 

He collected his nerves and knocked on the door. He would keep it short.

At least that’s what he’d decided before Merlin’s voice called out to come in. Arthur took another deep breath and entered. It took him a few seconds of looking around to spot Merlin. He was knelt on the ground, rifling through a crate under one of the tables.

Arthur swallowed and unceremoniously shut the door behind him. Then he just stood there and watched, not knowing what else to do.

First, he gave a curious glance to the room—it looked exactly as Gaius had left it—then, the workstation that Merlin was hunched under—just as messy as anything belonging to Merlin was—and finally, he allowed his gaze to land back on the man himself. 

His hair was longer, from what he could see. The soft, dark locks, curling on the base of his neck. A few strands fell in front of his eyes and Merlin quickly brushed them away, the move seemingly second nature to him, by now.

Arthur was wondering why he hadn’t yet cut it and also what on earth was taking him so long to find in that crate, when Merlin finally spoke up, snapping him out of his thoughts, “Sorry, just give me a minute.” 

Arthur was about to reply when Merlin peered out from under the table and looked up. It was clearly meant to be a cursory, apologetic glance but then he locked eyes with Arthur and they widened. 

Within seconds, his eyes hardened, as they had that first night. He didn’t think he could ever get used to that—seeing Merlin without any of the warmth he had come to associate with him. It was odd. And it hurt.

Merlin quickly stood up and raised an eyebrow, and Arthur realised it had been quiet for too long. 

Again, Arthur opened his mouth to say something but was interrupted by Merlin, who’d apparently ran out of patience and still lacked at least as many manners as he had two years ago. “Did his majesty need something or was he simply in the mood to banish me again?” Merlin sniped.

Right. 

He had not thought they would get straight into it.

Oh god, he hadn’t prepared for this.

“It wasn’t banishment—” Arthur almost hesitated when he saw both of Merlin’s eyebrows disappear into his hair. “It wasn’t official, and you technically could have come back anytime—”

Merlin now looked properly outraged and interrupted, “Are you really going to argue with me about the technicalities of how you made me leave my home?”

Why had he even said that?!

Maybe he’d jinxed himself when he had decided to keep this conversation short and simple. 

“I suppose not,” he conceded. His brain was going haywire. “I just came to get a tonic for my headache.” At the way this conversation had escalated, he was fairly certain he’d be needing it by nightfall.

“Why didn’t you just ask a servant to collect it, then?” His tone sounded entirely annoyed.

He shrugged, aiming for casualness when he replied, “I was nearby.”

Merlin was staring at him with those cold eyes and an inscrutable expression on his face till he finally let a breath out and turned to the cabinet behind him. He rummaged in it for a few moments before reappearing with a small glass bottle. 

Arthur held his breath as Merlin crossed the distance between them, practically shoving the little draught into his hands. Their fingers brushed lightly, a fleeting touch that lingered far longer in Arthur’s mind than it did in reality. 

“Next time, send a servant. I wouldn’t want you to inconvenience yourself, Sire,” Merlin griped out. And this time, there was definitely a bite in his tone as he spat out the title, as if it held a bad taste in his mouth.

Arthur rolled his eyes, if only to look away from Merlin’s piercing stare, up close now. It reminded him too much of their final conversation that fateful day. 

“Oh, I’m sure you’d like nothing more, actually,” he replied, affably, and swiftly turned on his heel and out the door.

Through the wood, he just caught the muffled sound of Merlin muttering, thick with disdain, “Prat.”

Arthur cursed himself over and over again on the walk back to his own room.

What was he thinking seeking him out like that?

It couldn’t happen again, he decided. 

He didn’t want to risk pushing Merlin’s anger to new heights, lest he leave again. For all his resistance to having Merlin here in the first place, he was not ready to actually let him go now that he was finally back. 

If he lost him again, he’d lose himself entirely.

:

:

That night, Arthur indeed had to take the tonic. And the next day, he was standing in front of Merlin’s door again.

Chapter 9: I’ve Never Heard a Silence Quite This Loud

Notes:

I did say i would be exploiting merlin's physician position as much as possible lol.

Chapter 9: I’ve Never Heard a Silence Quite This Loud

Arthur fell into a routine of sorts—one he actually liked, for the first time in a long time.

He would wake up with the sun, go about his day—training, then listeing to petitioners, then working on the upcoming proposals and doing research into Camelot before the purge. On Mondays and Wednesdays, there was a council meeting. It often dragged on for hours longer than necessary, with the lords all having some complaint or other about taxes, or grains or the bill he’d only recently put forward.

Namely, the one regarding the lifting of the ban on magic.

Arthur hated those days.

He’d end up in Morgana’s room immediately after, discussing how slow the process was, or just complaining about the hypocrisies of the old men. She usually offered her own input and then they’d go through their research together and decide on how best to frame certain magical incidents as positive ones to the council. 

It was tempting to just out Merlin and reveal to them that their arses had been saved from certain death about a hundred times with magic. Alas, he could not do that.

After debriefing with his sister—or if there was no council session that day, then just before dinner—when Arthur would be itching out of his skin to just see Merlin , he would end up in the physician’s chambers, seeking relief from his non-existent headache.

That was his favourite part of the day, by a wide margin.

It was probably the complete opposite for Merlin, if the shortness of their interactions and his ever-present scowl was anything to go by. But, kings were allowed to be selfish so Arthur allowed himself this one thing. 

Despite his intentions to stay clear of Merlin after that first meeting, he’d realised the benefit to it. Morgana had said Merlin was anxious about his position here. What better way to give Merlin some security, than to treat him as any normal physician?

Surely, Merlin would understand that if the king was doing that, it meant he’d accepted his new role in the castle and that he wouldn’t be banishing him anytime soon. Arthur thought it was quite genius. He couldn’t risk outright saying anything and reverse even a bit of the hurt he’d so painstakingly inflicted two years ago.

So when he asked Merlin for the medicine, every day without fail, it was, in Arthur’s mind, a declaration.

Not exile. Not punishment. Not suspicion.

Home.

But, Merlin only stared at him with cold eyes and an unreadable expression. 

He would stand in front of the workstation, and patiently wait for Merlin to hand him another one of those headache tonics and send him on his way. 

Merlin would sigh and make him wait longer than probably necessary, as he buzzed around the place, ignoring Arthur.

Arthur didn’t mind. He would take the few minutes to just watch the other man. After the second day, he stopped pretending he wasn’t blatantly watching his every move.

If Merlin wanted to be annoying and make him wait, it was his own fault that Arthur then took advantage of that.

Finally, Merlin would place the little glass bottle, filled with amber liquid—startlingly similar to his eyes when he did magic, and god, did he miss those eyes— on the table between them. 

He never came close to Arthur after that first time. 

On his seventh visit to Merlin in as many days, Arthur ran out of luck. It was bound to happen, but he cursed the fact that it happened so soon .

He had, once again, requested the tonic and was prepared for Merlin to nod then go back to ignoring him for a few more minutes.

That didn’t happen.

Merlin barely even glanced up when he said, “Can’t do that, Your Majesty. You’ll just have to wait for it to wear off.”

Arthur frowned at the formality. As much as Merlin had started to use it ever since being back, it never felt right coming out of his mouth.

“What? Why?”

Merlin sighed and put down the knife he was using to chop some green mush, with a clang. “You’ve had it six days in a row. You’re either starting to build a dependency or an immunity, so I'm cutting you off.”

Arthur almost argued back that no, he hasn’t actually had it six days in a row. Just once.

He couldn’t say that, though, of course.

He narrowed his eyes. “I am not an addict.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and raised his hands in mock surrender. “Simply doing my job, sire. ”

“Well, what am I supposed to do about my raging headache, then?”

He shrugged. “Sleep it off, I reckon.”

“I have work to do, ” he protested.

Arthur had no idea why he was still here arguing about his nonexistent headache. Might have something to do with the fact that this was the most words the two of them had spoken to each other in a long, long time.

Merlin let out a frustrated sigh. “Then go do your bloody work, and stop giving me a headache.”

“I am the king, Merlin–”

“Yes, and I’m the physician . Unless you fancy exiling me, again, you do have to follow my instructions when it comes to medical treatment.” Merlin’s glare was unwavering.

Arthur groaned. The temptation to repeatedly bang his head on the table, was a strong one. 

It always came back to the banishment. 

And why shouldn’t it? He’d ruined Merlin’s life, so if he wanted to be bitter about that, Arthur couldn’t very well complain.

Merlin had gone back to his chopping. Arthur drank in the sight one more time and left. 

What excuse was he supposed to use now?

 

---

 

In the end, he didn’t have to think of any excuses. He landed himself back in Merlin’s chambers only a week later, hauled up by Percival and Gwaine’s support.

“Hey, Merls.” Gwaine waved, merrily, as if Arthur wasn’t literally groaning in pain and hanging off his arm.

Merlin looked up, and Arthur forgot his annoyance at the knight when he—Gwaine, not himself, of course—received one of his easy grins. 

Arthur could almost pretend it was directed at him.

“Hey–” Merlin’s eyes fell on him, and the smile disappeared.

Gwaine and Percival helped him to one of the cots in the corner of the physician’s chambers. Arthur sat down with a sigh of relief, glad to have the weight of his leg. 

“Princess, here, got himself all banged up by a bandit. ” His tone was bordering on mocking, the insolent brat.

Percy elbowed Gwaine.

“Shut up, Gwaine,” he managed and his glare hardened when he got a smirk in response.

Merlin abandoned the thick book he was writing in, and drew closer. Percy was looking between the two of them with curious, wide eyes and Arthur shifted his glare to him. 

“ Bandits ? Really?” Merlin’s eyebrows scrunched up. 

Yes, alright. He’d gone and gotten distracted —definitely not thinking of Merlin— in the midst of a hunting trip, so he hadn’t seen the ambush coming until he was sprawled on the ground, blood already leaking from his shoulder.

“Anyone else injured?” He grabbed a small knife and cut away his shirt, where blood was steadily staining it crimson.

Merlin assessed the damage, entirely in physician mode now, it seemed, and Arthur tried not to wince when his prodding felt just a little too harsh.

Nevermind, not entirely in physician mode.

“Leon got a few cuts but said he’d manage on his own.” Gwaine shrugged.

Arthur was fairly certain Leon was just trying to avoid getting involved in this mess. 

Percy’s eyes were still flickering between them, as if waiting for one of them to blow up. 

“Go oversee the squires practice till Leon gets there,” he directed at Percival, who looked quite relieved at getting dismissed. Then to Gwaine, “And can you send word to the council members that tonight’s session will be held after dinner.”

Gwaine scowled. He turned his back to Arthur and had a silent conversation with Merlin. Arthur narrowed his eyes. Really?

Merlin nodded and gave Gwaine a weak smile. 

“Alright, as you wish princess.” He clapped his back, thankfully not on the injured side. Arthur wouldn’t have put it past him. 

Gwaine ruffled Merlin’s hair, who swatted away his hands in annoyance, and Percy gave him a small smile before the two of them left. He left the door to the chambers ajar, and Arthur heard a muttered, “Just in case.”

Then, all of Merlin’s attention fell on Arthur. Arthur sent a silent thanks to the bastards that attacked him. 

“Lie back so I can check your leg,” Merlin said, his voice detached from any emotion.

Arthur complied and Merlin got to work. He rolled up the leg of his trousers and started cleaning up the cut. A sword had slashed his calf and this wound was deeper than the one on his shoulder, and had made it difficult to walk. 

Merlin worked silently and Arthur watched. The past week had been torturous. Whatever progress he’d made in being less of a prat to everybody around him, had swiftly vanished. 

Merlin wound a strip of cloth just above the gash and tightened it into a makeshift tourniquet, his fingers precise and practiced, though his face remained carefully blank.

With the blood low staunched, Merlin moved on to cleaning up the shoulder. He pulled up a stool beside the bed, probably so he wouldn’t be standing at an uncomfortable angle as he worked. Their eyes met a few times and Arthur blamed his stuttered breathing at the injuries. Merlin always, quickly, looked away. 

When his voice broke the silence in the room, Arthur almost jumped. “I’m going to stitch this up. There’s a numbing salve on it already, but you’ll still feel it a bit.”

Arthur nodded. His throat was dry.

And despite the warning he’d been given, he was not prepared for the needle that pierced his skin with a sharp sting. Arthur automatically flinched away, eyes wide.

Merlin gave an exasperated sigh. “It’s just a needle, Arthur. Surely you’ve faced worse than that.”

Arthur blinked. 

Merlin just called him by his name!

Not ‘your majesty’ or ‘sire’.

His. Name.

He scooted back to his original position. It was easier to ignore the pain when he just kept replaying the moment in his mind, and it was over sooner than he thought. Merlin stood up, and disposed of the needle. Arthur turned his head awkwardly to the side to appraise the cut on his left shoulder, now all stitched up. It was done very neatly. 

“Can I get some water?”

Merlin scowled and handed him a goblet, a moment later. Arthur hesitantly sat up to drink. He stopped short when the goblet was a few inches from his mouth and he noticed what was inside. 

Ice. 

So, obviously, Merlin could remain bitter even when Arthur was pathetically wounded. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” He frowned.

Merlin shrugged and went back to crushing up some herbs. “Wait.” He wouldn't be surprised if it was his own head was being imagined in place of the herbs.

Still, he grinned and couldn’t help it when the words fell out of his mouth, “I didn’t know you missed my company so badly, Merlin.”

Merlin looked up and glared. His eyes flashed that wonderful gold, turning the ice back to water. 

Arthur gaped. “Are you mental ? Don’t go around doing that when the door’s wide open!” He was going to have a heart attack. Good thing he was in the physician’s chambers. Although, would Merlin even bother to save him?

He was knocked out of his thoughts when Merlin raised an eyebrow and asked, “Why? Not as much a fan of magic as you’ve led Morgana to believe? Does it disgust you? ” 

Arthur’s mouth dried.

Suddenly, they were two years younger and standing in his chambers, regret and freshly sprouted vitriol marring the distance between them. You disgust me. You disgust me. You disgust me. I don’t want you.

I’m so sorry.

Mentally, Arthur kicked himself. About a hundred times. Why, oh why, did he keep ending up back here and accidentally igniting Merlin’s ire. 

“No. I just said it’s because the door is open.” He emphasised and gestured widely in the direction of the door. “Clean out your ears, maybe.” He rolled his eyes, unwilling to let another conversation get out of hand.

“Or, what? You’ll banish me, again?” Merlin snapped.

Arthur groaned, outloud this time. There was no winning with Merlin, the stupid, stubborn prat. 

“You’re impossible.” He got up to leave, his wound entirely forgotten until the tremors of pain ran up his leg, the second he put his weight on it. 

“Sit down.” 

Arthur sat. 

Well, he sort of fell back on the cot.

Merlin came over with a grainy, mucky paste in a bowl. “I wasn't done treating you yet, and I’m not going to waste my time repeating the process just because you’re too much of a clotpole to be patient.”

Arthur dedicated all his strength to not smiling like a maniac when ‘clotpole’ came out of Merlin’s mouth. God he hadn’t been called that in too long.

“I was leaving because I was tired of dealing with you. Not because I’m impatient,” he cleared up. They were too close, all a sudden.

Merlin pushed his good shoulder back till he was lying back on the cot. “I really don’t care.” 

Arthur withheld his sigh. If Merlin wanted to hate him and be mad at him, he would let him. After all, it’s exactly what he’d wanted to accomplish. He just wasn’t prepared to deal with a hateful and angry Merlin. 

Merlin started smearing the paste onto the cut on his leg, with more gentleness than he was expecting, and Arthur was reminded of several similar nights from before , except back then, Merlin’s quiet chatter filled the room as he aimed to distract Arthur from the pain of whatever wound he was bandaging. 

It was starkly quiet now and Arthur missed the old version of them; one that was untainted by secrets and hatred. He was starting to believe they’d never get back to that point.

It was a depressing thought. What if he’d doomed them forever?

He continued watching Merlin work, and almost opened his mouth several times. He wasn’t sure what there was to say, just that the quiet was too unnatural. 

When Merlin finished, he finally spoke up. “ Don’t move. I need to bandage it once that's been absorbed.” He moved back to his workstation and went back to jotting down notes on the thick, old book.

Arthur nodded. “Is it supposed to be tingling?” Yes. He’d gone through this exact process with Gaius, more times than he could even count.

“Yes. That means it’s working.” Merlin was avoiding his gaze. Arthur wondered if he’d done something wrong, again .

“Oh.” His mind raced, searching for something else to fill the void, settling on, “It smells terrible. Is it supposed to?” Yes. He was desensitised to the smell, too, by this point. But what else was he meant to say?

Merlin sighed, finally looking up from his work. Instantly, Arthur knew that was the wrong thing to say. “If you’re doubting my knowledge, perhaps you should hire someone else, sire,” he bit out. 

Arthur was starting to hate his title. 

He was also starting to realise that his mouth desperately needed to be sewn shut whenever he was in Merlin’s company. Nothing he said ever led to anything good, no matter his intentions.

“I wasn’t implying that,” he said softly. And, maybe he should have let Merlin believe he was, for the sake of keeping the ruse going. But, he was tired. Tired of lying, tired of hating and most of all, tired of being hated. 

His resolve would strengthen when he was less delirious. For now, he let his eyes drift close and succumbed to sleep in Merlin’s comforting presence.

Chapter 10: And trying to look busy

Summary:

Merlin's a mess.

Chapter 10: And trying to look busy

 

Merlin watched Arthur drift off into unconsciousness. 

He looked so peaceful, just dozing away on the cot. Merlin wondered how that was even possible. For one, that cot was nothing Arthur was used to, with his feather soft, monstrosity of a bed. And then, how was he alright with falling asleep near him ? He was a sorcerer and one that Arthur hated. 

It was a bit idiotic to drop his guard around an enemy. Not that Merlin would do anything. But Arthur obviously thought he was evil incarnate.

Maybe he didn’t?

Was it foolish to think that maybe Arthur hadn’t completely erased what their friendship had meant? Maybe he knew, inherently, that Merlin could—would—never harm him? But if that were the case, he wouldn’t have banished him. He wouldn’t have said all those horrible words that still lingered in his nightmares.

How had everything become such a mess? 

Merlin sighed and looked away. It was too painful.

They were both probably just trying to put aside their differences for the sake of living peacefully in the same castle. It would do no good to get into a row every other day. Arthur must have accepted that Merlin was back for good, so at least there was that. 

He’d spent the first few weeks back, constantly on edge. It had felt like at any moment, Arthur would barge in and order him to leave again. He stayed confined in his chambers, even though he often got restless and wanted to see what his friends were up to, or go down to the village, or go foraging. 

Fear kept him rooted to his room, and Merlin felt more than a little shame at that. His anger outweighed it, though.

When Arthur had first shown up, asking for a remedy for his stupid headache, it had spooked Merlin right out of his mind. They hadn’t stood so close to each other in forever. They hadn’t spoken a word to each in years. And then all of sudden, he was right there, watching him with a completely neutral expression and not one of hatred or disgust, the way Merlin had thought their first proper interaction would go.

His heart had skipped several beats in such a pathetic way that Merlin thought he ought to just kill himself. How could he feel anything other than anger at the man that had hurt him more than he’d ever thought possible?

But Merlin had long known they were complicated, so he stopped berating himself over it. His heart would just take some time to adjust to this new normal. That was fine.

Merlin another assessing look at Arthur and wondered how he’d managed to get himself so banged up by a bandit . He was the best swordsman in the kingdom, dammit. To be defeated by some nobody with absolutely no training and a shoddy sword was a little embarrassing. 

Good, though. His ego could do with a few blows.

Merlin took him in quietly. Arthur looked leaner—like the years had carved away at him, chiseling sharpness into a face that used to be softer. His cheeks were hollower, the proud line of his jaw even more pronounced and dark smudges underlined his striking blue eyes.

He’d quite liked the softness around Arthur’s edges. Had found it cute even. Arthur loved food, always looked forward to a good meal, and heartily finished everything on his plate. He supposed it was the stress from his new position or the depression from losing his father—absurd as that was—that had eaten away at him. 

Merlin shook his head, trying to shake away all thoughts of Arthur. 

He gathered the few vials of his remedies for a flu, and placed them in a small crate. Then he whispered a quick spell and they were gone. They’d appear his shop in Oakmere, where someone would be by to collect their order soon enough.

T he idea had worked out perfectly and between providing for them, the villagers in Camelot, and the castle’s inhabitants, Merlin always had something to occupy himself with. He put another pot for the tonic to simmer, glad that Camelot, at least, hadn’t been hit by the cold yet. 

A few candle marks passed in quiet activity. He finished jotting down his notes on the new brews Gaius had taught him when he’d visited—on the second day of being back, because he’d be damned if Arthur or his stupid fear would stop him from seeing the old man—and was putting away the tome when he heard Arhur mumbling something incoherently.

Merlin paused what he was doing and tried to make out any words.

When a few seconds passed, Merlin realised it was pointless. Arthur was just muttering gibberish. 

“Merlin…”

He jumped out of skin, and whipped around. Arthur’s eyes were still firmly shut, and Merlin’s own widened when he repeated his name.

Arthur was dreaming about him.

On second thought, it was probably a nightmare.

Bit rude, honestly. Arthur’s the one who ruined everything and now he had the nerve to be haunted by him in his sleep? 

His expression wasn’t scrunched up in fear or anything, though. He looked as peaceful as he always did when sleeping. Prat.

Merlin went back to work, trying to ignore the quickening of his heart that had lurched at the sound of Arthur’s voice calling his name so softly. Traitorous thing.

There was a knock at the door, and Merlin looked up to see Leon. He smiled and waved him in. 

Leon drew closer. “Arthur needs to be woken up and prepare for the council meeting. It’s set to start soon.”

Merlin frowned. “You wake him up.”

Leon groaned, softly. “He’s a pain to wake up. You do it.”

An idea came to Merlin’s head and he grinned. 

“Fine, but then you owe me.”

Leon looked surprised that he agreed so readily. “Sure,” he conceded, with a roll of his eyes. He was spending way too much time with Morgana.

Merlin grabbed a cup, quickly filling it with cold water. Leon instantly caught on. “Merlin, no–”

It was too late. He splashed it on the king’s face and watched in satisfaction as he gasped, and his eyes flew open.

“ Merlin! ” Twin voices, chorused. 

He stepped out of reach. 

“Sorry, sire.” He was not. Arthur was wiping the water from his face and watching him through narrowed eyes, clearly not buying it either. “Leon came to inform you that the council meeting is about to begin, so I had to wake you up.”

Arthur glared. “And you couldn’t have done that with less dramatics?”

Merlin shrugged, innocently. “Unfortunately, you lost that privilege a while ago.” Gone were the mornings of coaxing Arthur out of his bed.

“You’re insufferable.” Arthur sat up, slowly, and turned to Leon before he could say anything. “Can you get a servant to fetch some clothes from my room? And the reports on my desk?” 

“I brought you my copy of them.” He handed Arthur the obscenely large pile of papers. “And someone should be on their way with your clothes right now.”

“Thank you, Leon,” he said, with a grateful smile. 

Merlin rolled his eyes and went to busy himself with anything, rather than just stand around awkwardly.

“’Course, sire. Should I send for dinner, aswell? The session will hold you for quite a while.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, that’s alright. I don't have much time, right now, anyway,” he declined. “Keep the councilors occupied, will you? They’re going to drive me up the wall with their complaining about postponing the meeting, as it is.”

Leon frowned but nodded and left.

Merlin made up his mind, without any thought. 

“I have some lunch leftover, if you want?” He suggested. The man needed energy to heal faster, alright?

Arthur looked up, surprise colouring his features, briefly.

“You’re not going to get better any faster if your body doesn’t even have the energy for basic functions,” he added hastily. He did not care about whether Arthur starved himself.

Arthur nodded dumbly, an odd expression on his face. “Sure, yeah.”

Merlin worked to keep his own face neutral and looked around for the tray he’d left lying around somewhere. He’d gotten distracted by his work and had asked a passing servant to grab him a quick lunch from the kitchen. It was more than a little weird to be on the flip side of that request.

He’d received a delicious meal of stew, potatoes and sausages. Only the sausages were left, now. He hadn’t even looked at them. Just as well, they were Arthur’s favourite part of a meal so at least they wouldn’t be going to waste now.

He could have warmed the food up, with his magic, in seconds but he didn’t because Arthur didn’t deserve that much .

He handed the plate to him, and went back to looking for something to busy his hands with. “You didn’t eat your sausages?” He sounded surprised.

Merlin looked up and blinked.

Arthur plopped one into his mouth. “Thought these were your favourite,” he mumbled.

Merlin gave a noncommittal sound—because, what was he supposed to say? ‘ I can’t bear to eat them anymore because they remind me too much of you’ ?—and went around the room clearing up some of the mess and trying to look busy to avoid Arthur’s imploring eyes, occasionally flitting up to him, from the food.

He stopped after a while, too absorbed in his work, and Merlin could breathe a little easier. He sat quietly, swinging his legs mindlessly, as he ate the sausages and went through the reports. And, Merlin, pathetic as he was, stopped what he was doing just to watch him. 

He couldn’t help it; Arthur just looked so soft in the moment. He was murmuring something under his breath, frown on his face as flipped through the numerous papers. The fork was just dangling in his fingers now, food half-forgotten. 

He could almost pretend that nothing had changed and it was just another evening in each other’s presence, winding down for the night. Arthur would ask Merlin for advice on the various proposals, or just make snide remarks about the stupidity of some of them and they’d laugh and bask in each other’s company.

Almost . 

Because, as horrible as it was, everything had changed. They were only around each other out of obligation now, and Arthur didn’t talk to Merlin unless he strictly had to—not that Merlin wanted him to.

It was in that position that Morgana found them in; Merlin leaning on a countertop, all his focus on the golden-haired boy who was too busy to give anything but his work any attention.

Merlin jumped up when she entered, and looked around, trying to look busy. Morgana gave him a knowing smile and he knew it was pointless. 

Arthur gave her a nod when she entered, then went back to whatever was so darn interesting about the reports.  She poked him on the shoulder and he made a questioning sound, still not looking up. 

Morgana sighed and said, “I came to see if you wanted me to handle the council meeting today?” Arthur was already shaking his head. “You’re exhausted and it would do you some good to rest a little more.”

“No, it’s alright. This one’s important so I have to be there.” He offered her a grateful smile.

Thyme. He needed to grind that for the fever-easing infusion and a respiratory draught. Merlin pulled some of it out and started crushing it under a pestle, if only to not look stupid standing around watching Arthur’s every move.

Still, he didn’t miss when Morgana’s eyes fell on the plate next to her brother, when Arthur finally remembered its existence and ate another sausage. Her mouth really should have fallen open, for how shocked she looked. Merlin couldn’t fathom why.

Arthur must have noticed her burning stare and odd quietness, for he looked up at her, with a questioning glance.

Morgana looked between the plate and Arthur again.

Was this because he’d given Arthur his food? He wasn’t cruel, god. The man was wounded and hadn’t eaten for hours. What else was he supposed to do?

Arthur followed Morgana’s gaze and quickly ducked his head, but not before Merlin spied the faint dusting of pink on his cheeks. 

Merlin was still watching the two of them, brows furrowed, when Arthur glanced up from beneath his lashes, as if to make sure he hadn’t noticed that odd interaction. Merlin couldn’t school his expression in time. They locked eyes—and really, this was getting too much for one day—and Merlin watched, wide-eyed, as Arthur's face flushed even deeper.

Arthur hastily tore his gaze away, shoving another piece of sausage into his mouth like it might save him from the moment.

Merlin blinked, trying to make sense of it all, but his mind stubbornly refused to cooperate. He looked down at the half-crushed herbs, swallowing around the sudden tightness in his throat

They were saved when a maid appeared, clothes in hand. Arthur nodded in thanks when she set the clothes down on an empty spot near him and left just as quickly. 

Morgana gave them both another quick assessing glare, and then said, “Well, if you’re sure–”

“I am,” Arthur interrupted.

“Right, I’ll just go…find Gwen then.” She finished.

Merlin glared at her. She was leaving him alone with Arthur—on purpose!

Morgana ignored his scathing look and waved to him, cheekily, as she left.

Merlin went back to grinding the thyme. It certainly did not need to be that finely powdered for the brews he used it in but, well, if it kept his mind—and his eyes—off Arthur, then he didn’t particularly care. The recipe would simply have to be adjusted.

He didn’t know how many minutes had passed when he heard a low hiss of pain. Merlin looked up to see Arthur struggling to tug on his shirt. The gash on his shoulder no doubt restricting his movement.

Merlin sighed and went over to help.

Arthur froze when Merlin appeared in front of him. 

Somehow, this felt different to a few hours ago, when he’d first been stitching him up. Merlin ignored him and the ghost of his past words, filling the air between them. 

‘ You disgust me’

‘ You disgust me’

‘ You disgust–’

“Here, let me,” he said, tightly.

Arthur wordlessly handed him the shirt. Merlin wondered how much he loathed being in his proximity. Sometimes, it was still so hard to believe. He’d left right after Arthur had turned their destiny to dust, so he’d had no time at all to be around this version of him.

He didn’t know how to act around him. 

Sometimes, it felt like Arthur didn’t either.

Merlin accepted the shirt and pulled it over Arthur’s neck, careful with the wound. He helped guide one arm through the sleeve with little trouble, but when it came to the injured side, Arthur stiffened almost imperceptibly. 

Merlin gentled his hands, trying not to let the way his heart twisted show on his face. They got through it, with some difficulty and several quiet winces from Arthur, who collapsed back on a bench as soon as it was done. Merlin pulled the collar to the side and checked over the stitches, pleased to see they’d held. When he glanced up, their eyes met, and for a moment, neither of them looked away. 

He snapped out of the daze and quickly took a step back when he realised how close they had gotten, the warmth of Arthur’s breath still ghosting against his skin. His hands fell to his sides, suddenly uncertain, as if they’d betrayed him by lingering too long.

Arthur was breathing heavily and his physician instincts kicked in. He held a hand up to his forehead, feeling for a fever but his temperature seemed fine. He frowned.

“Sit. I still need to bandage that leg.” 

Arthur complied without argument and Merlin turned, rummaging through the cluttered table for fresh bandages.

He returned, kneeling beside Arthur’s leg. The cut was still raw and angry-looking, but clean, at least. He pressed the cloth gently around it, working with practiced ease, though he couldn’t ignore how close they were again or how the air between them felt too charged. 

Arthur’s breathing still hadn’t evened out.

Merlin glanced up. “You’re not dizzy, are you?” He asked, voice quieter than it needed to be. “Lightheaded?”

“No.” His tone was clipped, but Merlin didn’t miss the way his eyes flicked toward him, then away, like he couldn’t bear to hold the look too long.

Merlin finished wrapping the bandage, tying it off with a flick of his fingers. He exhaled and pushed himself to his feet. Arthur was flipping through the reports again, but he looked up when Merlin said, “Keep your weight off it as much as possible, and come back if any of the stitches open or if you see bleeding.” His tone was entirely professional, and carefully detached from any emotion.

Arthur nodded. “Right. Thanks. I’ll be off.”

He got up, only a little shaky on his feet and left without a second glance. Merlin watched him go, then noticed the plate of only half-finished sausages still on the table. 

What an ungrateful prat.

He cleaned up some of the mess, trying to dispel the restless energy that had gathered in the past few hours. Eventually, he gave up and just retired to bed. He didn’t have the stomach for dinner anyway.

But, for how tired he was, sleep did not come easily.

Merlin lay awake, into the deep hours of the night, ruminating over the events of the day. He reassessed every glance, every word and every touch, passed between him and Arthur and allowed himself to cry. 

He missed Arthur. 

And he hated him. 

How could he do this to them? 

Notes:

Next update likely wont be till late May now, unfortunstely :( The biggest exams of my life are starting and I swear if i spend one more minute writing about these two idiots rather than revising, i WILL fail. I have very little self control tho so lets see if i can stop myself. Doesn't help that next chapter has one of my favourite scenes ughcjqevbkj.

Anyways so I used to always think playlists for books/fics/characters were so pointless because like what do i even do with that. Even for writing, i just never understood the appeal coz how am i meant to focus if theres a song blaring in my ears bruh. But then i started this fic and omg so many songs come to mind that just fit soo welll. The Story of Us, ofc. Every chapter is names after a lyric from that song (and lowkey im dumb af for not sticking ot that theme for the title aswell. idk wat i was thinking). And then Haunted (T.S) is Merlin's song because!! 'Something keeps me holding on to nothing' !! and then Arthur's song is Half a heart (1D), just the entiree song lmao. I also listen to Shameless (Camilla cabello), when writing some of their more tensiony scenes lmao becauseee:

There's just inches in between us
I want you to give in, I want you to give in, oh
There is tension in between us
I just wanna give in
And I don't care if I'm forgiven

Like come onn that so mwah. Alright rant over lmao.

Chapter 11: This is lookin' like a contest

Chapter 11: This is lookin' like a contest

It’s a quiet afternoon in the physician’s chambers. Merlin was brewing a dreamless sleep draught for Morgana who was sitting on one of the stools, flipping through a particularly old grimoire.

“Is this the spell you used on the banshee, last week?” She asked, turning the book towards him.

Merlin looked up from the cauldron to the page she was pointing at. “Yeah. Not too hard, that one.”

“Why do I get the feeling that none of them were hard for you to take down?” She asked, referring to the various 'threats' he'd encountered since being back. They were embarrassingly tame.

Merlin snorted. “I’m just grateful. This stuff was definitely more annoying to deal with two years ago.”

And it’s true. He thinks the reason it’s been easier to protect Arthur from the near-constant attacks—which the idiot was completely oblivious to, of course—is that his magic has gotten stronger with time and practice.

“I remember,” she snorted. “Now, you barely have to wave your hand and they’re dead.”

“Give me a little more credit,” he insisted.

She laughed. “I am! Your magic is rival to none. How much–”

The door barged open, knocking right into Morgana’s shoulder. 

“Ow! Gwaine you little menace.” She glared, rubbing her shoulder.

Of course, peaceful afternoons in Camelot never stayed that way.

Gwaine sauntered in, all cape and armour. “Apologies, my lady.”

She gave him a look sharp enough to cut through chainmail. “Do you knock, or just burst through doors like an unruly goat?”

He grinned. “Only when I suspect the occupant might be plotting something nefarious.” Gwaine plopped down on another stool, opposite the counter Merlin was working at, “Merls!”

Morgana kicked his shin, with the sharp toe of her shoes, once he was close enough. Gwaine only barely winced, strong man.

Merlin smiled easily. “Hey, Gwaine. Why do I get the sense you’re running from someone?”

“That, my friend, would be because I am.”

“No surprises there,” Morgana muttered with a roll of her eyes.

Merlin sighed. “What did you do?”

Gwaine gave a dramatic huff. “Nothing! Technically.”

He was met with a flat look from both of them.

“Alright, I might’ve hid Arthur’s sword-”

Morgana groaned.

“-And then I lost it.”

Merlin put down the stirring rod. “You LOST Excalibur??” 

“By mistake!”

Morgana whacked him on the head. “How do you lose an entire sword by mistake?”

“Well, because I gave it to one of the passing servants to run and hide it, 'cause I was about to get caught in the act–”

“And now you can’t remember who you gave it to?” Morgana finished.

He gave a sheepish smile. “You know me too well, princess.”

“Gwaine.” Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. “Arthur is going to kill you.”

“I know,” Gwaine bemoaned. “You have to help me, Merls!”

“Yeah, alright. I can probably sense it’s magic around the castle, if I try,” Merlin said, thoughtfully.

“Great,” Gwaine stood up. “Can you possibly do that very very fast?”

Merlin raised a brow.

“We’re supposed to have left for the patrol a candlemark ago,” he admitted.

Merlin turned off the burner. “You’re an idiot. Come on.” 

They both said quick goodbyes to Morgana who waved them off, claiming she’d get some more reading done, then, started walking briskly through the castle corridors, Merlin keeping his senses open to the draw of the magic, and Gwaine, looking through every nook and cranny as if the sword would just be sitting in some dusty corner of the castle.

“Where are you guys headed?” He asked, after they’d been searching for nearly ten minutes.

“The villages near Thornwick forest keep getting neglected because they’re so far from the castle, and it’s an unsafe place in general, so we’re going to check it out. Probably stay a night or two,” Gwaine explained.

“That’s close to the border, right?” He asked, remembering his recent trip from when he’d strengthened his wards. He hadn’t come across any towns in his short travel, though that could just be because of how expansive the forest was.

Gwaine nodded. “You should come, it'll be fun.”

Merlin pulled him away from the turn, and they continued walking straight through the hallway. The pull of the sword was getting stronger, now.

“Yeah, actually. I do need to collect a few herbs I saw there last time.” The comfrey bushes he’d seen hadn't completely matured, so he’d only been able to collect a few of the precious flowers. It had been weeks since then, so they’d likely be ready now.

Gwaine swivelled around, glee evident on his face. “Really? Oh, this is great. We’ve all missed you on those boring patrols.” He reached out and ruffled Merlin’s hair, affectionately.

He smiled, wistfully. “I missed you guys, too.” They neared a door at the end of the hallway. “I think it's in there.”

“If it’s not, I’m as good as dead.” 

He put his hand on the door knob. “Alright, fingers crossed.”

Suddenly, the sound of quick footsteps reached their ears. Merlin pushed open the door, and Gwaine shoved him in, following right behind. It was a storage room. Dusty, and every corner was filled with some long-forgotten piece of Camelot, from broken spears and old armor to crates half-split with age.

They both hastily looked around, as the footsteps drew closer. Merlin could say with almost certainty, that was Arthur. 

Then, he spotted the gleam of the metal, tucked away between two large boxes. He grabbed it just as the door blew open, and Arthur stormed in, rage evident on his face.

He shot an unrelentingly cold look at Gwaine, which cut to Merlin, when he spotted him. Merlin hid the sword behind his back, and inched a few steps closer to Gwaine.

Arthur turned to Gwaine again and yelled, “Do you have any idea how late you’ve made us?”

Gwaine held up his hands in surrender and gasped. “I was just trying to help you find your sword, sire!”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “As if you’re not the one who hid it,” he snapped. 

“Me? Never.”

Arthur gave him a hard stare and came closer to them. “Give it here, Merlin.”

He swallowed. “Only if you promise not to punish Gwaine for this,” he tried.

Arthur’s glare turned more deadly. He advanced, slow and deliberate. “ Mer lin,” he warned, voice low and dangerous.

Ah, hell.

Merlin dodged left, backing toward a shelf lined with old shields. Arthur lunged after him. They crashed into an old crate, knocking dust into the air. Merlin scrambled around it, still clutching the sword behind his back.

“Merlin!” Arthur barked. “I’m not playing.”

Arthur caught him by the arm, but Merlin twisted free and dashed to the other side of the room. Arthur was on him in seconds. They grappled, hands both on the hilt now, the sword held awkwardly between them.

“Let go!” Arthur growled.

“Say you won’t punish him!”

When Arthur didn’t say anything, only strengthening his grip, Merlin used a quick burst of his magic to overpower him, and pulled the sword from his grasp. Arthur gaped at the blatant display.

He narrowed his eyes. “You little vixen, I’m going to kill you.”

Merlin yelped and ran to shield himself with Gwaine’s body, who was just watching them with amusement. “You can’t tackle me! I’m injured!” he lied.

Arthur gave him an assessing look, then decided, “You’re not injured.”

“I could be!”

Arthur lunged left. Merlin darted right.

“You’re both children,” Gwaine muttered, but he was grinning as he pivoted to keep himself between them.

Arthur feinted one way, then the other, trying to fake Merlin out, but Gwaine stepped smoothly in time, like it was a game of tavern dancing.

“Just say you forgive him and that there will be no consequences!”

Gwaine nodded, vehemently. 

“Right now, you should be more worried about the consequences for yourself. ” Arthur lunged again. Merlin yelped and dodged left, barely slipping past him.

“Go ahead, banish me again, sire ,” he challenged.

Arthur scowled.

Gwaine cut in before he could say anything, “Need I remind you, we are already running very late, princess. I say, just drop it.”

“Wait, he’s going too?” Merlin asked, confused and breathless.

“What do you mean, ‘too’?”

Gwaine nodded. “Yeah, I thought you knew that.”

Arthur looked confused. Merlin probably did too.

“No?” He wrinkled his nose. “Why would I go anywhere with him? ”

“Excuse me?” Arthur said, sounding offended.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Besides, I haven’t even cleared you to travel yet. Your wound–”

“Is all healed up. I don’t need your permission to go anywhere,” Arthur bit back.

“Don’t you have kingly duties to do?”

“These are my kingly duties. Why do you need to come, is the question.”

Gwaine put an arm around Merlin’s shoulder. “He needs to do some frolicking.” 

Arthur's brows shot up.

“ Foraging, ” Merlin corrected, with an air of exasperation.

“Yes, that.” Gwaine grinned, mischievously.

“No. You’re not coming,” Arthur stated. 

Merlin scoffed. “Well, now I’m definitely coming.”

He wanted nothing less, actually. But, if this would annoy Arthur, then he could deal with it.

Arthur started to say something but then seemed to think better of it, and closed his mouth. “Give me the sword, Merlin. I won’t ask again.”

“You'll let Gwaine off?”

“ Yes ,” he replied, his voice tight.

Merlin hesitantly handed the sword over, almost dropping it when their hands grazed on the hilt, for just a second. Merlin looked away quickly, but not fast enough to miss the way Arthur’s gaze lingered on him—sharp, unreadable, and entirely too intense.

Then, the sword was pointing at Gwaine’s neck, almost carelessly. 

Merlin gasped. “Oi!”

Arthur ignored him. “Last warning, Gwaine. I swear, next time, it’ll be the stocks.” He sauntered off, with one last scathing look at them.

“I am a knight !” Gwaine called after him, in indignation. He followed, dragging Merlin along by his elbow.

“Then start acting like one,” Arthur snapped, without turning around.

“You want me to hand your ass to you, sparring, again?” Gwaine taunted. 

Merlin snorted. 

“Don’t test my patience, right now, Gwaine. We’ve already lost valuable travel time because of you.”

“I said I was sorry,” His friend protested.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Oh.” A beat. “Well.”

Merlin laughed silently, glad that someone else managed to aggravate Arthur the way he could. 

They walked in silence after that, the castle quiet around them. His eyes strayed to Arthur again, studying the rigid line of his shoulders. Merlin’s eyes drifted down Arthur’s back. He was wearing a deep blue shirt, for a change, with the sleeveless leather vest that Merlin could—under great duress—admit he loved seeing on Arthur.

And even through the lingering resentment and ache, it hit him how familiar this view was; Arthur standing just ahead of him, slightly too proud, slightly too careless, and still somehow infuriatingly handsome.

And then he realised what was off with the picture. “Where’s your chainmail?” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Arthur did turn, then, to look at Merlin. “What?”

“Your chainmail? And armour?”

Arthur shrugged, turning back. “The weight was uncomfortable on my injured shoulder.”

Unbelievable. He had absolutely no regard for his own life. “This is exactly what I meant about getting my clearance before you rode off to the bloody border.”

Arthur firmly said, “I’ll live.”

“Not if you keep getting bested by bandits .”

Arthur threw him a sharp look over his shoulder. “I was caught off guard.”

Merlin didn’t flinch. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen again, then,” he retorted with a roll of his eyes.

“If it does, you all can simply throw a party and celebrate as Morgana takes the throne and chaos reigns,” Arthur replied, feigning joy.

“Hm. That would be fun.”

They settled into silence again and Merlin felt Gwaine’s piercing stare on the side of his head. 

“What?” 

Gwaine gave him a knowing smirk. “Worried about him, are you?” He whispered.

“Only worried that I’ll be forced to spend more time stitching him back up,” he deadpanned. “I spent ages on those stitches.” He huffed.

“Oh, I’m sure you did.”

Merlin elbowed him. “Stop it. I literally hate him.” He cursed as his voice came out slightly too loud, almost echoing in the empty hallways.

Gwaine held up his hands in defeat. “Alright, alright.”

Still, Merlin could feel the amusement rolling off Gwaine in waves and was glad to split off from them to grab his satchel and a knife. Gwaine promised to get his horse ready, in the meantime, as thanks for his help with Excalibur, and true to word, when they reconvened in the courtyard, Onyx was saddled near the other knights.

She neighed happily when Merlin approached. He smiled, running a hand down her neck, feeling the warmth of the animal beneath his fingers. He was almost certain that, were Onyx able to speak, she’d complain about Gwaine’s less-than-graceful attempts at preparing her for the ride.

Elyan spotted him first. “Merlin! You’re coming too?”

Merlin nodded and the rest came around to greet him. He let his hair get ruffled by just about every single one of them, with only a few protests, and warmth blooming in his chest.

“You guys never believe me,” Gwaine muttered.

“If you’re all done, we do have a lot of ground to cover before nightfall,” Arthur said, his voice cold. He spared a moment to glare at Gwaine before leading them out the citadel.

Everyone quickly mounted and followed behind, keeping pace.

The journey was long, but time seemed to pass quickly in catching up with all the knights. He rode between Gwaine and Lancelot, in the middle of the group. Arthur was up front with Leon and he saw them conversing a few times but, for the most part, Arthur was silent.

It had been a while since his last time travelling with them all but he was sure it felt different, now. Arthur was never this… detached before. He used to enjoy every outing with his brothers and would happily joke along with them, glad to escape from the weight of his father’s pressure and the castle’s duties. 

Now, his shoulders were set in a rigid line, and his laugh, once so easily drawn out by Gwaine’s antics or Merlin’s teasing, was nowhere to be found. 

Nor was Merlin’s teasing, of course. 

“You’re thinking too loud,” Gwaine said, nudging him out of his thoughts.

Merlin blinked. “What?”

“Your face,” Gwaine added. “All pinched. Makes me think you’re about to solve the meaning of life or cry. Possibly both.”

Lancelot chuckled. “Leave him be, Gwaine.”

Merlin just smiled faintly, eyes drifting back to Arthur’s broad back in the distance. “Just tired. My thighs are cramping up. I’m not used to riding for this long anymore.”

His friends share a look over his head, probably seeing through the deflection. He’s not lying, though. His legs and lower back are killing him and he’s wanted to ask the party to stop for a while, but he’s pretty sure Arthur will chew his head off if there are any more delays.

Especially, because it’s him.

Percival, who’s riding behind them, overhears and calls out, “There’s a clearing up ahead, if you want to stop for rest.”

Leon catches the words and turns around to ask, “Everything alright?”

Merlin squirmed, uncomfortable now. He’s about to say he can go a few more hours, when Lancelot answers, “Can we stop for a bit? The horses are probably tired, and I know I am.”

Merlin shot him a grateful look. 

They all watch as Leon relays the words to Arthur, too far ahead to hear them all.  Arthur doesn’t even turn around at first and his horse maintains its pace.

After a few more words, Arthur finally reins in. He doesn’t look at them when he speaks. “We’ve already lost half the day.”

“I know,” Leon replies calmly, “but if we keep going like this, we’ll have exhausted riders and useless horses well before sundown.” He leaned in towards Arthur, saying something else, quieter this time. The king’s eyes dart to Merlin, for a brief second.

Merlin would bet good money that Leon just outed him. They’d travelled together for days, so Leon knew full well how out of practice he was.

A long silence stretches before Arthur exhales sharply through his nose. “Ten minutes,” He called out, and nudged his horse to the edge of the clearing.

Gwaine whistled in victory, and everyone rushed to dismount. Merlin held onto the reins for a few seconds, even after he stumbled off his horse. His legs had turned to jelly and he was pretty sure he’d embarrassingly fall if he tried to walk immediately.

Once he was sure he’d found his balance, he tied his horse off. He caught an apple that Elyan chucked at him, and fed it to Onyx. Once that was done, he joined the others, a few feet away, and plopped down with a groan and all the grace of a sack of potatoes. 

Someone beside him passed a waterskin and Merlin gratefully accepted it, taking a few swigs before handing it to the next person. He tuned out the chatter around him and surveyed the sky. There was still another hour of light left, unfortunately. He desperately wished they were done for the day.

With a sigh, he let himself fall back onto the grass, limbs sprawled out and eyes half-lidded against the sun. 

“Alright, Merlin?” Leon called from somewhere across him.

“Splendid,” He managed to get out. He was dangerously close to falling asleep right here.

“You trying to kill him, princess?” Gwaine asked, only half-joking. Merlin’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion. Why did his voice sound so far? He could’ve sworn he'd sat down next to Gwaine.

He jumped when Arthur’s voice came from right beside him, “How is this my fault? If he wanted to stop earlier, he could have just said so, instead of being such a girl about it.”

He turned his head in the direction and squinted open his eyes, and—yep, he was an idiot and had sat down right next to Arthur, who was casually leaning back on his elbows, not a care in the world.

“You would’ve tore his head off.”

Merlin hummed in agreement and closed his eyes again. 

"He's fine. It was only a few hours," Arthur said.

"He looks like he's about to pass out," Lancelot chimed in.

“Oh for the love of—” Arthur sat up. “You’re acting like I dragged him behind the horse by his ankles.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin mumbled, waving a lazy hand from the grass. “I just forgot how much saddle sores hurt.”

His words fell on deaf ears.

“Well,” Gwaine said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You did make us ride past two perfectly good streams, a shady grove, and what I’m pretty sure was a pub.”

“That was a barn ,” Leon corrected.

“Still had ale,” Gwaine replied, unbothered.

“For who? The hens?” Elyan wondered, quietly.

“Well, it’s your fault for delaying us at the start,” Arthur said.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were gonna be such a girl about it,” Gwaine taunted, throwing his words back at him.

Even in his nearly asleep state, Merlin cracked a smile. 

Arthur’s glare could’ve curdled milk. “You are just begging to be put on stable duty for a week.”

“I’m already on double shift until Yule,” Gwaine grinned. “Try harder.”

“Stocks then,” Arthur shot back, pettily. “As soon as we get back.”

“ For what? Calling you out for being an ass to Merlin?!” Gwaine protested.

“I didn’t even do anything!” Arthur defended, sounding truly frustrated now.

Merlin sighed and tuned out the rest of the argument. Those two could go at it for hours, over absolutely nothing, and he simply did not have the energy for that. He let his eyes drift close again and dozed off in the comforting presence of his friends.

Notes:

Yes, I have ZERO self control.

This actually isn't the chapter with the scene that I mentioned before was one of my favourites. This was only meant to be a few LINES leading up to that scene but it got SO out of hand clearly lmao. I do quite like the direction it took tho and I also really like the merthur interactions in this one. theyre so sdvjnsjavea.
Next chapter is already locked and loaded (5k words!!!i cant believe myself) and i'll probably post that right after my first exam. Hopefully. Please pray i don't post earlier. I am sooo cooked omg.

Next chapter: we see some action :))

Oh also, importantish note: most of the threats that merlin came back to face will be entirelyy in the background coz that is just not the focus of this story lmao and also because we mainly follow Arthur and he's oblivious (despite what he thinks). I was supposed to have mentioned the threats during merlin's pov in the previous chapter but i forgot oops. Anyways, if i forget to bring it up again, just assume they're happening and getting handled in the background :)

Chapter 12: But I liked it better when you were on my side

Notes:

The knights are children of divorce.

Also their love language has become accidentally falling asleep in each other’s presence how cute is that :((

Chapter 12: But I liked it better when you were on my side

 

When Merlin was shaken awake by Lancelot, his eyes opened to the open sky, which was definitely a few shades darker than it was supposed to be. He cursed and sat up quickly.

Merlin groaned, scrubbing a hand down his face. “How long was I asleep?? He’s going to kill me! ” 

Lancelot, who was crouching beside him, smiled and waved him off. “He won’t, it’s alright. It’s only been a half hour.”

Merlin’s eyes widened. “ONLY?! Oh my god, he won’t shut up now.”

Lance snorted. “Nah, I think Gwaine did manage to knock some sense into him. Besides, he can’t say anything when he’s asleep himself.”

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and he rolled to his other side—lo and behold, the king was indeed curled up on the grass, using his satchel as a pillow and facing Merlin.

“Lazy prat,” he muttered, even as his gaze lingered for a second too long before he forced himself to look away. 

Merlin pushed himself off the ground, glad to feel the pain in his body had eased with rest. He looked around to see what the others were doing. Elyan and Percival were getting the horses saddled up, again, and Leon was pulling Gwaine away from Arthur’s resting form. He could just overhear their argument about who would wake him up. Gwaine wanted to splash him with the last of the water in his waterskin, and Leon—ever the diplomat—was insisting that he was already on his final strike. 

Leon won when he managed to swipe the skin from Gwaine, who grumbled in response. 

Merlin stretched, working out the cricks in his body, then followed Lancelot to ready his own horse. He kept an eye on the scene, and snorted in amusement when Gwaine tried to kick Arthur awake, even as Leon shook him in a more graceful manner.

Arthur didn’t take much prodding to wake up. He blinked blearily, and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, accepting Leon’s help up. His hair was sticking up at odd angles, and his tunic was wrinkled from the grass.

Gwaine clapped him on the back, and said, with a lazy smirk, “Hurry up, princess. We’ve already lost a lot of light because of you. ”

Arthur shoved him away. “Shut up, Gwaine.” He didn't spare any of them a glance as he mounted his steed, and started leading them back onto the path. 

They ride for another few hours, not stopping for any breaks, and continuing even after the sun has set. Merlin spends half the time not even believing this was real; that he was here with all his friends and joking around with them and Arthur was, he supposed, begrudgingly accepting of it all. 

It felt a bit like he’d fallen into a different world. And Merlin—ungrateful little shite that he was—wished he could go back to the old one.

When Merlin starts to feel the warm buzz of his own magic in the air, he realises—with no little amount of relief—that they’re close to the border now, if he can sense the wards. The sky is almost completely dark, but the moon is full so there’s just enough light for them to stay on the track.

“Twenty more minutes,” Arthur called over his shoulder. “Then we make camp just at the edge of Thornwick.” Well, at least, he realised his men were getting grouchy and exhausted.

There were several sighs of relief, and conversation kicked up about what they’d be having for dinner. Merlin, meanwhile, kept an eye out for the Comfrey bushes he’d made the trip for. He finally spotted them and made a note of the surrounding shrubbery, to circle back once they’d all set up camp. The last thing he wanted was to delay them all as he picked a bunch of flowers.

The last few minutes of the journey went agonisingly slowly and Merlin was ready to jump from joy when they finally broke the tree line, coming to a much larger clearing than earlier. The other side of it was a thicker forest, and darkness seemed to emanate from it. Thankfully, they’d only be crossing that in the daylight.

He dismounted and helped the others gather firewood from nearby. The temperature was dropping exceedingly fast, and Merlin had to rub his hands together to keep the numbness at bay. 

The fire was finally crackling in the center of their camp, sending up warm, golden light that flickered across tired faces. Bedrolls were spread out in a rough semicircle, and the knights had started shedding bits of armour, groaning in relief. 

He was resting near the fire, next to Lancelot and deciding he’d lazed around long enough, he got up and brushed his trousers off. “I’m going to go collect a few of the herbs I saw nearby,” he said to Lancelot.

Lance got up too, concerned. “I’ll come with you, it’s not safe out here.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow and put his hands on his shoulders to push the man back down. “I can handle myself, don’t worry.”

He sighed. “Fine, but be careful and don’t be long.”

“Yes, mother,” he drawled out, and received a flat look in response.

He chuckled and grabbed his bag, heading into the trees. Everyone else was busy doing something or the other, so no one else noticed him go. 

Merlin hummed a light tune as he walked, trying to trace his way back to where he’d seen the Comfrey. The quickly darkening sky wasn’t making it easy, and he wished he could just use his magic to light the way. 

He’d been walking for a few minutes when he heard a rustling in the bush and immediately became more alert. One hand flew to his small knife and the other buzzed with magic.

He whipped around, sensing someone behind him, and considered yelling out. He didn’t get the chance to do that though.

There was a flurry of movement, then a dull thud resonating in his head, and then—nothing but darkness.

 

---

 

Merlin groaned at the pain lingering in his skull as he regained consciousness. How the hell did he manage to get knocked out by a bandit? Was this karma for mocking Arthur for getting bested by one?

He blinked and tried to get his bearings. At first, all he felt was pressure at his back and he spotted several blobs in front of him. And someone was definitely saying something. God knows what.

He blinked again and shook his head a little to try and regain his senses. And, oh. 

That was definitely a knife at his throat. And someone smelling absolutely rancid was gripping him in front of them, shielding their body with his. H is dumb movements had only served to dig the point of the knife deeper into his skin.

His vision came into focus. 

They were somewhere midway between camp and wherever he’d gotten to in his trek. Arthur was only a few steps away from him, sword brandished and a truly menacing scowl on his face. The other knights were in a ring surrounding him, all looking extremely concerned.

He was concerned too.

Really, he should have known they were tempting fate by joking about not running into any bandits for once. 

Arthur’s voice became more clear after a few more seconds and he heard the tail-end of his sentence, “…give you what you want.”

Was this a ransom situation? 

The man’s hot (and foul) breath assaulted his senses as he replied, “How about you give me your gold, and I’ll see about letting this one go, eh?”

Merlin flinched away, automatically, when the man leaned in too close while speaking. He was rewarded by the grip on his hair strengthening.

Arthur’s eyes followed the movement, like a hawk. 

He wouldn’t let him die, would he? He wasn’t sure of a lot of things between them, these days, but he thought, he could maybe be a little sure of that? After all, if Arthur wanted him dead, he would have just had him executed the first time around. 

Or maybe he would just let him die at this man’s hands, to avoid any inconvenience? Arthur never entertained negotiations with criminals before.

He glanced at the other knights. They’d do something, he was sure. They were standing ready to defend him, right now. Gwaine and Lancelot would go against the king’s orders in a second if it meant protecting Merlin. 

He wasn’t sure what they could do, though. The man could have his neck slit before they even took a step.

His mental debate became pointless when Arthur conceded.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pouch of coins, tossing it in their direction. The criminal caught it with the hand that had previously gripped his hair and Merlin exhaled at the feeling of the pressure easing.

He heard him jingle the bag and pocket it. Then the grip returned, just as harsh.

“Come on now, your majesty. Surely you can do better than that,” he baited.

“That’s all I have ,” Arthur growled.

“I didn’t realise Camelot was so poor . Where do all those taxes go, eh?” The man tugged Merlin’s neck back, by his hair and he hissed in pain. “See what you’re worth to the king, boy?” He taunted.

“Oh, shut up,” he bit out. Like he needed anyone to remind him of that.

The knife dug deeper into his throat, a thick line of crimson appearing. 

Arthur glanced at Leon, then the other knights. Leon understood the signal and collected whatever money they all had on them before depositing it in Arthur's hand.

His voice was cold as he said, “Let him go first, and this is all yours.”

“Hm.” The man took a few seconds to size up the gold before replying, “Well, if you valued the boy so little, you should’ve just said.” 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “I’m giving you everything I have. I don’t ride out of the castle lugging a trunk of treasure behind me! Now let him GO.”

Merlin focused on the anger on Arthur’s face and tried to ignore the fear slowly clawing its way up his throat. His chances of making it out alive were looking slimmer by the second.

“Don’t think I will. He’s quite pretty. He’d go for quite a bit on the market, ‘course that’s after I have my fun with him,” the man leered. 

Merlin shivered in disgust. Scratch that, he’d rather die than make it out of this alive. His breath hitched, shallow and fast, and he couldn’t stop the tremble that ran through his limbs—cold dread sinking into his bones like ice.

There were several threatening sounds from the knights and a particularly dangerous glint in Arthur's eyes.

“ Mer lin.” Arthur was looking at him with a knowing look on his face. “You can take him, come on.”

“What?” He sputtered. He couldn’t be implying what he thought he was. 

The man laughed, loud and raucous, right in his ear, and the dull ache in his head came alive with a renewed vigour. He winced.

“This little thing?” He scoffed. “He couldn’t—”

“Oh, he could take you apart with less than a blow,” Arthur interrupted, looking determined now. 

And, oh god. He really was implying that. He wanted Merlin to use his magic. 

Merlin’s eyes widened and he shot a look to the men behind Arthur. Lancelot and Gwaine were giving him encouraging nods, but the others were of course completely in the dark. To be outed like this? He shuddered.

He shot a panicked glance back at Arthur. “Are you crazy –”

He hissed in pain as the knife slid down his throat, drawing more blood as it went. “Hush now. Otherwise, I’ll have to cut your tongue out, and that’s no fun, is it?”

Sick bastard.

He tried to convey his thoughts to Arthur with just his face, doing his best to make it say ‘???’

“I’ll handle it, I swear,” Arthur was sounding panicked now. The man was, apparently, done dealing with them and had taken a few steps backwards, still clutching Merlin tight.

Merlin glanced at the knights again. No, he couldn’t do it. The memory of losing everything the last time he'd revealed his magic, was still too fresh in his mind.

When he looked back at Arthur, he was pleading with him, with his eyes, and Merlin knew he wasn’t lying. He would handle it—for whatever reason. Arthur at the very least, didn’t want him dead . 

He was dragged a few more steps back, being pulled by his hair. Gwaine had drawn closer, too.

“Morgana won’t let anything happen. Won't let anyone say a word against you for this. Trust in her ,” Arthur tried. 

Right. He was protecting Merlin because Morgana would probably have his head if he died on her brother’s watch, when there was clearly a way out.

“Merls, it’ll be fine ,” Gwaine pleaded.

Merlin swallowed. There were several feet between him and Arthur now, and he was even further from the other knights, but in the dark, there would be no mistaking the flash of his eyes.

He gave one last desperate look at Arthur. Don’t kill me for this. Don’t make me leave again. I can’t bear it a second time.

Don’t condemn me for this, please.

He made up his mind. He didn’t need to whisper any spell, and none came to his mind right now, anyway. His eyes simply flashed gold and his magic willed the knife to melt in the man’s hands. 

There were several surprised gasps and a loud roar from the bandit, who now had hot, melted metal, dripping from his hand. He shoved Merlin away and fell to his knees, howling with pain and clutching his hand.

Merlin tripped forward, right into Arthur’s arms. Arthur caught him without hesitation, steadying him with a firm grip and a reassuring look. He held on just long enough for Merlin to regain his footing.

Then, without a word, Arthur stepped past him, and drove Excalibur straight into the man’s chest.

A spray of blood burst out in a crimson arc, staining the air between them, some of it coating Arthur’s cheek.

The man crumpled at king's feet. Silence fell, thick and heavy. Another arm came around him, and Merlin recognized Gwaine’s familiar scent and relaxed into the hold, allowing it to ground him.

Merlin stared, heart pounding, barely able to process what had just happened. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around and face his friends. He wasn’t prepared to lose their friendship. 

It would be like that night with Arthur all over again.

Arthur didn’t look back right away, but when he did, his fierce gaze found Merlin’s before turning to his men. 

Merlin watched the man bleed out on the forest floor and didn’t feel an ounce of regret. A man like that didn’t deserve to live. Who knows how many other people he had already tormented or how many more he may still have, if allowed to live?

He turned around, finally. Gwaine’s comforting presence was still beside him and Lancelot was nearby too. His gaze flickered from Elyan to Percival to Leon. 

They were watching him warily. 

No, he realised. They were watching them warily. They were looking between him and Arthur.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Right. Anyone got a problem with this?”

Gwaine snorted.

One by one, they all shook their heads. Percy gave Merlin a comforting smile and some of the tension eased.

Elyan looked confused more than anything and Leon seemed to be lost in thought, his brows pulled together.

Still, it was a better reaction than he had hoped for.

“Good. Feel free to take it up with Morgana or myself if you change your mind,” Arthur said firmly. 

Merlin’s eyes cut to him. He sounded more like a king in that moment than he’d ever heard, and he cut an imposing figure, standing in the dark forest with Excalibur, blood stained, in one hand and his own face splattered with red.

“Morgana knew?” Leon asked.

Arthur gave his First Knight a tight nod.

Merlin wondered how this would affect Morgana's relationship with the man. He knew how secrets had a way of tearing even the best bonds apart and desperately hoped she wouldn’t suffer as he did.

Leon merely nodded.

Merlin took off his neckerchief and held it up to his bleeding throat, hating that it ruined his neckerchief.

“Wait, you all knew?” Percy asked, as they started the walk back, Arthur leading the way. 

“Yep,” Merlin replied, hoping that talking about it all casually would make it less of a big bad thing. 

But, he hated the attention on him. Hated even more, how Arthur’s face was turned away, his jaw clenched, as if he couldn’t stand the sight of Merlin. Which, of course, he couldn’t . He’d said as much himself—in much worse words—but that didn’t mean the reminder didn’t hurt . 

Arthur couldn’t even stand the sight of him after that small display of magic. Even though he'd been the one who encouraged him to do it. How unfair.

“I knew first,” Lancelot gloated as he came around to walk beside Merlin.

“Wow, and I was so sure it was you, Lance,” Elyan called from behind them. 

A few groans sounded from the rest of the group.

“Dammit, I had my money on Percy,” Leon mumbled. 

Leon??

“I had mine on you , Elyan!” Percival said, mournfully.

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up. He turned to Lancelot, and the confusion must be clear on his face because the other man chuckled. 

“They all figured there was a sorcerer among us–” 

Merlin’s mouth fell open. “What?”

Gwaine nodded, shaking with laughter. “It’s what led to me realising you had magic, now that I think about it.”

“But I was always so careful!” He protested.

Arthur, from the front of the group, snorted. Merlin shot a glare to the back of his head.

“Must’ve been, 'cause we only ever noticed the falling branches and not who was dropping them,” Elyan chimed in. 

“Nah, you’re all just thick,” Gwaine piped up.

Lancelot nodded in begrudging support. “He’s not wrong. Really does say something about you lot if you were outwitted by a drunkard.”

There were stammers of protest from the others and Gwaine shoved Lancelot in indignation.

Merlin ignored the passing around of coins in favour of watching Leon, who was walking just behind Arthur, so he couldn’t make out his expression. 

Making a split second decision, Merlin ducked out from under Gwaine’s arm and jogged up to him. This was important. He had to know where Leon’s head was at and, hopefully, straighten up any misconceptions or manipulation. For Morgana.

“You’re offly quiet,” he remarked, casually.

Leon gave him a smile, albeit a slightly tight one. “I’m always quiet,” he retorted.

Merlin snorted. “Okay, fair.” Wow, this was not easy. He looked up at him shyly. “But, um what do you think?”

“Well.” He paused and took a deep breath. 

Merlin prepared himself to hear the worst. If Arthur— his bestfriend—had reacted so terribly, chances were, Leon would be the same. They both had nearly the same amount of Uther’s influence ruling them.

And he liked Leon. He was like an older brother to him. Merlin wanted his acceptance for more than just Morgana.

“You’re you,” he started. “You’re just so good . I guess, I don’t see how magic could be…evil? In your hands?” Sir Leon sounded more confused than Merlin had thought he’d ever hear him. He shot a glance at Arthur only a few steps ahead of them and added hastily, “Just you, though. Magic is still magic.”

That was a hell of a lot better than he was expecting. This he could work with.

“Magic isn’t evil ,” he insisted. “It’s…it’s like a sword. Or, well, not a sword maybe, bad example. Uh, it’s like a tool.”

Leon rose an eyebrow.

“Like. The user decides what to use it for. Sorcerers can use it to hurt someone or they can use it to heal. And to protect.” His confidence grew as he spoke. “And, I’m not the only one who uses magic for good. There are others.”

Leon hummed thoughtfully. “'Spose so.” He glanced at Arthur again then in a lower tone, asked, “Is this why he-?”

Merlin nodded. 

“Hm. Weird.”

“Weird?”

“Yes.”

Merlin cocked his head. “Why?”

“I didn’t think he could have done that to you,” Leon said, in a hushed tone.

“What did you think I was banished for?” He wondered aloud.

Leon shrugged. “Never landed on an answer. Nothing ever seemed to make sense. You two were just so…” he trailed off.

Merlin understood. He hadn’t thought anything could come between them, either.

“Yeah well.” He raised his voice, making sure it would reach the prat’s ears and remarked, “He is his father’s son, afterall.”

Leon tensed beside him and a hush came over the rest of knights trailing behind.

Arthur kept walking, unfazed. “Shut up, Mer lin,” he called back, not even turning his head. But, Merlin was sure he wasn’t imagining the tenseness to his shoulders.

Good. 

“Or what?” he taunted. “Will you–”

“Banish you again?” Arthur finished. “You know, I just might.”

Merlin smirked. 

Maybe it was the adrenaline from what had just happened, or the look Arthur had given him when he was in the bandit’s grasp—so painfully familiar, it almost felt like home—or just the rush of goading Arthur like old times, or his growing anger at him—because, really, Leon had understood and he hadn’t??—whatever it was, Merlin ignored Leon’s silent warning to shut up and merrily replied, “Morgana won’t let you do that.”

“ I’m the king, in case you’ve forgotten–”

“Ah, my bad, sire. You see, I missed the coronation so it just hasn’t set in yet.”

“Did you?” There’s a tightness to his voice that Merlin can’t place and he almost misses the following words in trying to figure it out. “Your invite must’ve gotten lost with the courier.”

“Shame that,” he retorted. “Hate to have missed the chance to see a crown big enough to fit that head of yours.”

And Merlin’s not expecting it at all when some of the tension bleeds out of Arthur’s posture and a light laugh flows out. 

He almost stumbles.

He whips around to share a look with Lance and Gwaine. They give him twin helpless shrugs and Gwaine’s mouth is hanging open a little.

Leon patted his head, comfortingly, when Merlin turned to share his shock with him.

“Prat,” he whispered.

The rest of the walk back continued without any more words from the king. The knights quickly pick up conversation again, skirting around the tension.

Merlin stays quiet beside Leon, who holds him back from stepping on Arthur’s heels multiple times. 

He does succeed, once, and grins in victory even as Leon let out an exasperated sigh and Arthur continued walking as if he hadn’t just nearly tripped.

A few minutes pass in comfortable chatter until Arthur, who’s walking directly in front of Merlin, stops so suddenly that Merlin walks right into him with a quiet, “Ooft.”

There’s a hum of satisfaction and Arthur starts walking again. 

Merlin was unwilling to let him have the last laugh, though. He restarted his mission to step on Arthur’s heels but was sorely disappointed when the trees thinned out, and he realised they were back at their camp.

The clotpole was smart enough to time it right, then. He huffed.

Everyone huddled near the warmth of the dying fire, once they’d reached the campsite. It was barely a few embers now and Merlin wondered if they would mind if he just used his magic to reignite it. 

“Who’s cooking?” Gwaine asked, as he collapsed on one of the logs.

Percy dropped down beside him and called, “I vote Gwaine!” 

“Noo, I vote Leon,” Merlin said.

“ Me?? Why?” He groaned.

“Oh, he’s been holding out on you lot.” Merlin grinned. “You wouldn’t believe the amazing stew he cooked out of practically nothing for Morgana. ”

It was true. Merlin had had some of the best food in his life while travelling back to Camelot with them.

A bunch of laughs and hoots erupted the circle and Leon’s ears turned a shade deeper, blending into his red hair.

“Come on then, mate. It’ll give you a chance to practice your cooking for the next romantic picnic,” Elyan chimed in.

Leon’s glare turned to Merlin who held up his hands in surrender.

“Does he cut the vegetables in perfect little slices too?” Gwaine cooed.

Merlin gasped. “He does! How did you guess?”

They both cackled and Merlin danced out of reach when Leon’s hand shot out to grab him.

His eyes were inexplicably drawn to Arthur, who quietly sat near the fire with a small smile on his face.

“She likes things done properly !” Leon defended.

Arthur finally chimed in, “Hey, so do I, and yet I’ve never tried your perfect stew.”

Leon sent a long-suffering look at him.

“Aw, princess is jealous,” Gwaine taunted.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “I just want a good meal.”

“I’ll cook if someone else skins the rabbit,” Leon conceded with a sigh.

Merlin hated that part so he stayed quiet. Lancelot eventually volunteered, noble man that he was.

Merlin plopped down near him and asked, “So, has Lance’s cooking improved any, since he started courting Gwen?”

A series of no’s and groans rang out and Lance rolled his eyes.

“He’s been banned from cooking after he managed to give us all food poisoning one time,” Percy complained.

Merlin guffawed. “What did you even do? ” He directed at the man beside him.

“Nothing! I just didn’t realise I’d accidentally picked poisonous mushrooms,” Lance defended.

“I still think he was just trying to delay our return–”

“I was not!”

“–to avoid Gwen who was angry at him about something,” Gwaine finished.

“Slander.” Lance shook his head. “Someone else can skin the rabbit, then, since you all have such a problem with my skills,” he offered, holding out the rabbit and knife.

When everyone stayed quiet, he grinned. “Good, now shut up.”

The last of the embers died out and Gwaine groaned. “Do us the honours, would you, Merls?”

Everyone—except, Arthur of course—was looking at him with eager or curious eyes and Merlin realised they wanted him to use his magic.

“Oh, uh-” He shot a look at Arthur who seemed to have tuned out of the conversation. He was on the opposite side of the circle, sitting with one knee up, elbow resting on it, clearly lost in thought, as he watched the wood.

Merlin almost said no, but something stopped him. He’d already been outed in front of all of these guys, so he couldn’t very well be condemned for doing magic in front of them, again, right?  And if Arthur did want to banish him again, there wouldn’t be any changing his mind, anyway. And he didn’t want to live in fear. He was so tired of that. He’d just deal with whatever came next.

For now, he just muttered a spell and the fire came to life. Arthur instantly looked up, locking eyes with Merlin over the flame. Merlin kept the eye contact, challenging him to say anything.

Arthur rolled his eyes and went back to intently staring at the now roaring fire.

There was a low whistle and Merlin felt his face warm a little. 

Leon put a pot over the flame. 

Percival asked, “So you’re, like, really powerful, then?”

He shook his head. “No–”

“Oh, cut it out. My siblings practice magic. I know you’re well above average if you can melt a knife without even a spell,” Percy interrupted, with a matter of factly tone and Merlin deflated.

“I might be a little bit above average,” he conceded. He was so relieved to hear them accepting him without any complaints. It made him feel all warm inside.

Lancelot levelled him with a look and said, “He’s being modest. This is the great Em–”

Merlin tackled him to the ground and shoved a hand over his mouth. “Not that ,” He hissed.

Lance rose his eyebrows in a silent ‘Why?’

“Because!”

That felt like too much. They would accept him more easily if they didn’t feel threatened by him. Merlin pleaded with his eyes for Lancelot to understand his train of thought, but the flat look he received in return told him, he either didn’t, or he thought Merlin was being dumb.

They were sprawled on the ground, and Merlin was half on top of him, both hands clamped over Lancelot’s mouth. Lancelot, for his part, was just lying there completely still, in resignation.

His back was to the rest of the knights so he couldn’t see what they were thinking but they were surely confused.

“Why do I feel like I’m missing something too?” Gwaine asked, petulantly. “I thought I was your best friend, Merls!”

Underneath him, Lance managed to scoff and garbled out, “You wish.”

Merlin glared at him.

“Wait,” Percy started, hesitantly. “ Emrys?? ”

Merlin froze.

Percy took that as confirmation. “No way! My sister told me all about that dude–”

So did Arthur. “What?” 

Merlin looked behind him to see Arthur’s eyebrows raised and watching him with unfiltered shock. Percy wore a similar expression, but it was mixed with awe.

Percy, who thought Arthur’s shock was directed at him, replied, “Yeah, I just said they practice magic. They know a bunch about these things.”

“Not that,” Arthur cleared up. He turned his attention on Merlin. “ You’re Emrys?”

He groaned and got off his friend. “Gwaine is officially my favourite,” he announced.

Lancelot looked sheepish when he said, “It was an accident. Thought he already knew and I knew there was no harm in telling the others.” He got off the ground and patted Merlin on the back.

“Hang on, who’s Emrys?” Elyan asked.

“Same question,” Gwaine piped up.

“I’ve definitely heard the name somewhere,” Leon muttered, confused. He stirred the pot and added some perfectly diced vegetables.

Merlin sighed and rejoined Lance on the log. He looked everywhere other than Arthur.

“He’s prophesied to be the most powerful sorcerer to walk this earth,” Percy eagerly explained. 

Several eyebrows shot up. 

“It’s not actually proven to be true,” he insisted. “It’s just a prophecy.”

“The druids call him their king ,” Lancelot added, merrily, guilt all but forgotten.

The others spluttered in disbelief.

Leon dropped the ladle. “I think I need to sit down.”

“Me too,” Elyan whispered.

“You’re already sitting down,” Percy pointed out.

Elyan nodded. “Good, I’ll stay here then.”

“Bloody hell , Merlin. You used to polish princess’ armour when the whole time you were a legend. ” Gwaine shook his head in disbelief. 

He could still feel Arthur’s burning stare trained on him.

Merlin snorted. “I did use magic for that sometimes,” he admitted.

“You never told me you were Emrys,” Arthur said, in an accusatory tone.

Really. How dare he?

Merlin finally looked at him. His expression was unreadable, save for his brows that were pulled together just slightly.

“You didn’t give me much of a chance to, did you?” He bit back.

Arthur raised an eyebrow, in typical Gaius style, and replied, “You told me everything else.”

The others were watching the exchange with barely concealed curiosity and confusion. 

“Well, it slipped my mind,” he snapped.

“It slipped your mind that you’re king of the druids?” Arthur asked, disbelief colouring his tone.

Lance—god bless that man—saved him from coming up with a response. He patted his back and said, simply, “He’s a humble man.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes.

“Alright! Dinner’s ready!” Leon sounded very glad to have interrupted. Merlin shot him a grateful look and then a final glare at Arthur before going back to ignoring him.

Leon dished out some of the heavenly smelling stew and handed a bowl to Arthur first, probably to get him to just eat and go back to sitting quietly.  

Honestly, how dare he question Merlin like that? As if Merlin ought to have trusted him, when he’d clearly proven the opposite to be true. Still, he couldn’t shake the image of Arthur—eyes wide, voice almost trembling—pleading with him to save his life by committing treason. 

And, he knew it made more sense that he’d done that for his sister’s sake, or maybe just because he did have a responsibility to protect the citizens of Camelot, but deep down, Merlin foolishly hoped that a part of Arthur —not the brother, not the king, but the man he once knew—cared. 

He gratefully accepted the bowl handed to him, and passed out his compliments as he ate sluggishly. His thoughts drowned out the chatter around him. Arthur had said he would ‘take care of it’. That meant he would handle whatever lashback they both had been expecting from the knights. It didn’t necessarily mean that Merlin was safe from the consequences. 

What if Arthur banished him, again, as soon as they got back home?

He put his empty bowl to the side and shot a glance at Arthur only to freeze when their eyes locked onto each other’s. 

Merlin wanted to go over there and shake him and ask him— beg him —to fix this mess; to abandon his father’s prejudices before they swallowed him alive; to ask him if he hated him and how he could possibly do that when Merlin had done nothing but give Arthur every little bit of himself.

He looked away. He couldn’t do that; couldn’t voice the questions that kept him awake at night for the fear that he’d hear exactly what he didn’t want to. 

There was still a dull ache, echoing through his skull, from being knocked out, earlier, and his eyelids drooped, heavier by the second. He gave in to sleep with barely a fight, slumping sideways until his head came to rest on Lancelot’s shoulder. 

Lance shook him awake only a few seconds later. Merlin frowned in protest.

“Sorry, Merlin.” He gestured to the cut on his neck. “Let me bandage that first, then you can sleep,” Lancelot said, gently.

Merlin groaned. “Just use my neckerchief, it’s already completely ruined.” It had slipped from his grasp at some point and was sitting in his lap now. The blood had stopped flowing, so he wasn’t too bothered.

“Alright, just tell me if I put too much pressure.” Lancelot picked up the worn cloth and wrapped it around Merlin’s neck in a makeshift bandage, tying a neat knot on one side to finish it off. 

He leaned back to inspect his work, and hummed in satisfaction. Merlin, grateful now that there was nothing stopping him from falling asleep, slumped back onto his friend’s shoulder and was asleep within moments, unaware that a certain golden-haired boy’s eyes still hadn’t left him.

 

Notes:

That favourite scene i was talking about is Arthur accidentally breaking composure and laughing at Merlin's joke. It's just so soft dkbcasjc. The whole scene is very precious to me. Merlin going 'wtf???' and his friends all being just as surprised like 'idk dude he's weird idk why hes laughing all of a sudden *big shrug*' and Leon's like '*pat pat* its okay, kid, you'll get used to his hot and coldness eventually'. theyre all just so cute.

now. i swear no more chapters till late may.

Next chapter: ANGST and tears😈

Chapter 13: You held your pride like you should've held me

Chapter 13: You held your pride like you should've held me

 

Arthur sat by the fire, and observed as the last of the chatter from the knights died out. Everyone was tucked away into their bedrolls, tired from the long journey. Percival had managed to shift Merlin without waking him, and now he lay peacefully between Gwaine and Lancelot.

He had volunteered to take first watch—not an uncommon occurrence in recent years; sleep had stopped coming easily to him a long time ago, so now he made use of that time however he could, rather than just lying there like a log. Back in the castle, that meant going through reports and drafts into the late hours of the night, and here that meant taking the first and often second watch too.

The others had stopped trying to convince him to get more sleep once they realised their efforts were futile. Now, they just clapped his back and retired for the night. 

In the quiet of the night, his thoughts drifted back to Merlin—as they always did.

He wasn’t mentally prepared to be in such close proximity to the man, for so long and so suddenly. He was in a foul mood to begin with because of the councilors’ less than accepting attitude when he’d finally brought up the repeal of the magic ban, just yesterday. Out of the ten men on the council, only two had seemed even slightly supportive of the idea. The others were aghast at the mention of it, and had not kept their thoughts quiet on the matter. 

Arthur knew they would never have behaved like this in front of his father. It was only the fact that he was still so young in his rule that made them confident, and act as if they were almost superior. It was fine, though. He’d rein them in, in time. And h’d done plenty of research that could convince them, so there were good chances of everything working out, eventually.

For now, the resistance was exhausting. It was like talking to a bunch of stubborn mules who tried to dress up their arrogance as tradition and righteousness. He rubbed at his temples.

Bantering with Merlin had been fun. It had eased some of his tension as they fell back into familiar roles of jibing each other, almost as if nothing had changed at all. He hadn’t been entirely opposed to Merlin joining them on the trip, but had attempted to deny him because of how dangerous Thornwick was. And, though a selfish part of him was more than glad that Merlin had pushed back and come anyway, he regretted not trying harder to stop him. Now, because of him, Merlin had gotten attacked, injured, and revealed himself to all the roundtable knights. 

Not an ideal situation—regardless of how accepting they’d all been.

Even Leon. And that was the most surprising. He was proud of the man for not scorning magic instantly, despite Uther’s previous hold on him. And he was grateful to Merlin for ironing out some of his doubts, on the way back to camp. It would make it at least a little bit easier for Morgana when she finally told Leon everything. 

His eyes shot to Merlin, when he heard him shifting. He was turning restlessly in his sleep, murmuring something. 

Arthur frowned, his expression tightening as he tried to make out the words. Merlin’s brows were furrowed, his face pale even in the dim firelight, and whatever he was dreaming about—it wasn’t peaceful.

Arthur hesitated, then got up, deciding it was best to just wake him up to snap him out of the nightmare. He wasn’t very well going to sit there and watch Merlin’s distress.

He was only a few steps away when Merlin’s eyes snapped open. He was breathing fast and looked completely out of it as he sat up and his fingers clawed at the makeshift bandage around his neck.

Arthur cursed under his breath and quickly crossed the remaining distance. He dropped to his knees beside Merlin, and grabbed his trembling hands, halting them. “ Merlin! Stop that, you idiot, you’re going to–“

He paused when he really took in Merlin’s face, drawn in fear and soaked in his tears.

“Take it off, take it off. He’s- he’s choking me, Arthur,” there’s a low sound of anguish, “I don’t-”

“Shh, I’m taking it off, okay? Breathe. Just breathe,” he whispered as his fingers moved deftly to unwrap the neckerchief around his throat. The cloth came away easily, damp with sweat and stained darker with old blood.

Merlin was still inconsolable. He was shaking all over and tears were steadily pouring from his eyes but he had a far off look in them, and Arthur knew he was still in the nightmare. 

He cursed the bastard that dared to touch him, for the hundredth time that night. 

He tossed the harmless neckerchief on the ground, and continued murmuring reassurances as he checked the state of the cut. It had scabbed over at the edges, but the skin around it was still angry and red, faintly swollen—probably aggravated from Merlin’s earlier prodding.

“Merlin, take a deep breath. You’re awake. It was just a nightmare. He’s dead.” Arthur reached out and cupped the back of Merlin’s neck, grounding him with the warmth of his palm.

Merlin blinked up at him, owlishly, and Arthur’s heart lurched. 

“No one will ever harm you again,” he reassured, his voice quiet.

When Merlin slumped forward and buried his head in Arthur’s neck, sobbing silently, Arthur’s heart promptly crumbled to dust. 

He froze. 

He didn’t know what to do. 

There was–He couldn’t comfort Merlin like this, he knew that. 

He couldn’t wrap his arms around him and never let him go, the way he wanted.

But he couldn’t just do nothing. 

Hesitantly, Arthur wrapped an arm around Merlin’s shoulders, and Merlin melted further into his body.

For a while, only quiet, stifled sobs reached his ears, and Arthur sat there rubbing a soothing hand on Merlin’s back, as if it wasn’t killing him. Seeing him like this—shaking, unraveling in his arms—it made something twist painfully in his chest. 

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

It would do no good for him to breakdown, now. 

His other hand was clutching the neckerchief, barely restraining himself from wrapping both arms around Merlin and  holding him forever.

It was a few moments later that he was finally able to make out what Merlin was saying.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please don’t make me leave again,” he was whispering, into his shirt, almost in a trance-like method. 

The words hit Arthur like a thousand knives.

He wondered, for one horrifying second, if it was him that had been the star of Merlin’s nightmares tonight. But, no, he had said ‘he’s choking me’, and that did seem to fit the bandit from earlier, more than himself.

It did not do much to assuage the guilt festering inside him. 

When Merlin continued pleading, Arthur had to pull away. He held him by his shoulders and almost flinched at the visible distress on Merlin’s face. 

He had done that.

He thought he might be sick.

He was sure he was a monster.

Arthur took a deep breath. He looked Merlin in his eyes and spoke calmly, “I’m not going to banish you again, Merlin.” When he was only met with a blank stare and glassy eyes, he continued, “Do you hear me? I won’t make you leave. I swear it.”

And he knew he was dancing a dangerous line. He knew he wasn’t supposed to be comforting Merlin, rather, he had to cement the distance between them, or the tenuous equilibrium they’d found would collapse.

But he couldn’t help it, dammit.

Merlin was here and he was scared and it was his fault.

He watched Merlin process his words. His hand—shaking just a bit—was still clutching Arthur’s shirt. Then he said, “You promise?”

“I promise.” 

Merlin was looking at him like he was a puzzle. His eyes were wide and red-rimmed, brows drawn tight in something between fear and hope. 

Arthur took a shaky breath and shifted back, giving Merlin his space. “Get some sleep. Long day tomorrow.”

He made to get up, with one final look at Merlin. His face was splotchy and pink and there were dried tear tracks, but he wasn’t crying anymore, at least. Arthur didn’t think he could handle more tears. He might just give in.

A hand grabbed his before he could stand, stopping him. 

Merlin was watching him with uncertain eyes . He asked, voice soft and fragile, “Do you hate me, still?”

Arthur paused. 

His eyes dropped to their joined hands. Merlin’s grip was tight, almost desperate. He could feel the slight tremor and every callous on his delicate skin.

It pained him to slip his hand out of the hold. Arthur could not say what he needed to, nor could he say what he wanted to, so instead he landed on, “You know my opinion of magic.”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it. He just hoped his vague words would be enough to throw Merlin off—even if a part of him wished for his lies to be caught.

Arthur stood up, heart heavy and thudding so loudly in his chest, it was a wonder everyone in the campsite couldn’t hear the damn thing.

He started walking back to the fire, thinking that was the end of it.

Merlin called out, “What about Morgana, then?”

Dammit all to hell.

He turned around. “What?” 

Merlin raised his chin. “You have condemned me for the same crime that she’s guilty of. What’s the difference between us?”

For a moment, there was only silence—thick and accusing, as Arthur’s mind raced to come up with a response.

His voice was intentionally cold when he replied, “She’s my sister. There’s very little that I would not forgive her for.”

Even less, that I would not forgive you for. 

Merlin shook his head. “And what was I, then?” He asked, confidently, all traces of his breakdown kept out of his tone.

Everything, and more.

He forced his expression to be devoid of emotion and his voice to be neutral as he replied, “You were my servant.” Then to twist the knife—because Arthur was learning quickly just how cruel he could be even to those he loved—he added, “Sometimes we deluded ourselves into thinking we were friends, but that’s all it was. A delusion.”

Arthur is glad he’s not close enough to see Merlin’s eyes water, again. “Is that what we were? Nothing?” He spat out.

He nodded. “It’s all we could ever be, Emrys. ”

Merlin flinched back at the name, as if physically struck. The words settled heavy between them, like a final blow.

Arthur didn’t reach out, didn’t take the ugly words back, even though every part of him screamed to. 

He turned away before he could break.

Merlin didn’t say anything else. Arthur was glad. He couldn’t have handled any more. He settled on the log, once again. This time, keeping his back to Merlin.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, nails digging into his palms like it would anchor him to something—anything—other than the ache settling behind his ribs.

The look on Merlin’s face—that flinch—it would haunt him. He had been able to see a hundred more unanswered questions screaming in Merlin’s eyes. And he had not been able to answer them. He could not have—not truthfully, not now.

He sat and watched the fire. He ignored the sounds of rustling clothes, as Merlin settled back down. He pretended not to hear the low sniffles, even as his own tears finally escaped. 

Arthur wiped them away, furiously. He had no right to cry, not when it was Merlin who suffered; not when it was all his fault.

 

He wondered, when all this was said and done, would Merlin even take him back?

Notes:

ao3 curse might actually be real because tell me why between this update and the previous one, my country has suddenly been plunged into war? Or the brink of war ig? Scary times here. You really don't truly understand what someone else is going through till you are made to face it yourself. My city hasn't been as affected yet, but there was a blackout a day ago, and that was scary enough. And a few exams got cancelled!! It was insane. Mine (unfortunately) didn't, but the day after my exam, and today aswell, the cambridge exams were cancelled. Lowkey took away all my motivation to study coz why should i when theres a good chance that by the time my next paper rolls around, all exams will be cancelled yk. But hey! The maths paper that I just gave was actually bomb. I wouldve been maddddddd if that got cancelled lmao.

ANYWAYS! i have literally nothing planned for the next chapter so it'll probably take a while. Hope you all enjoyed this one tho :)

Chapter 14: Something's made your eyes go cold

Notes:

Just a very short chapter for merlin's thoughts before we return to camelot.

Merlin was one of the last to wake that morning. Gwaine still snored softly beside him. As Merlin glanced around the campsite to gauge how much time he had before they had to leave, his eyes fell on Arthur, almost magnetically, and the night’s events suddenly rushed back to him.

Oh god.

He was an idiot .

What the hell was he thinking, CRYING in ARTHUR’S arms. He looked away before he could be spotted, and busied himself with packing up his bedroll and trying to rouse Gwaine.

Every word that had transpired between them, sounded in his ears all over again. It was torture.

‘A delusion’.

‘Nothing?’

‘It’s all we could ever be, Emrys.’

He swallowed back a sob that threatened to claw its way up his throat, and continued arranging and rearranging his satchel like his life depended on it. Was that all they were?

He was so sure that he’d meant something to Arthur, back then. In truth, he still was. They’d done too much for each other to be nothing. Something had changed Arthur in the end. Something had made his eyes go cold and his heart turn bitter. 

But, that did not change what had already once existed. He could focus on that. He could try and forget that the version of Arthur he knew simply did not exist anymore. 

He could try and he would fail, because nothing was ever that simple—especially not between them.

He jumped when Lancelot came up behind him, then tried to act as if nothing was amiss as he got his wound checked over. 

Lancelot finished tying a proper bandage over it, after Merlin skirted the question of where the makeshift one had gone. “You alright?”

Merlin nodded. 

His friend hesitated, before replying, “Just–you look a little off. You can talk to-”

“No, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it,” he interrupted.

He was met with an assessing look. Reluctantly, Lancelot stepped back and gave a solemn nod and Merlin was grateful he wasn’t pushing it.

Deciding a change of topic was still necessary, he asked, “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” 

His own was ripped and had blood stains near the collar. And, of course he was an idiot and had forgotten to pack a spare.

“Yeah, give me a second.” Lancelot turned and rummaged through his pack. He emerged with a light blue tunic, definitely a few sizes too big, but Merlin accepted it, gratefully. 

He changed quickly, hoping to avoid anyone seeing the many scars littering his body. He shouldn’t have bothered, though. The neck of the shirt hung so low that several of the old wounds were on display and even the burn from Nimueh was peeking through. He cursed. 

Lancelot turned around and his eyebrows shot up. “God, Merlin,” he whispered, aghast.

Merlin shifted the shirt around his neck, hoping to pull it up enough to cover a little more skin but it was no use. Lancelot snapped out of his shock and helped him tie the drawstrings a little tighter—looking increasingly concerned the whole time—and that did help a bit.

He quickly moved towards the other knights when they were done, to avoid the questions and the concern. When he did, he noticed Arthur’s eyes set on him, his brows furrowed. He returned the look with a hard glare and went to saddle up Onyx and fed her a few carrots.

They all had a light breakfast of bread and cheese, while Arthur discussed the day’s agenda. It was all dull stuff that Merlin tuned out. 

The rest of the day passed in a haze. He didn’t engage with the knights, as much as he had yesterday, and was met with a few concerned looks over it. He felt oddly removed from it all. Everything that had happened in the past 24 hours felt so surreal, especially his last conversation with Arthur. 

It kept replaying in his head. His eyes were trained on the back of the prat’s blond head as they rode, and he turned the words over in his mind. Between all the cruelty, he’d at least offered some solace too. That had to mean that he didn’t completely hate him, right? 

Was he being delusional ?

And, he’d promised. Arthur had promised that he wouldn’t banish him again.

Merlin could not wrap his head around that.

Why do it in the first place, then? Was this all for his sister’s sake? It had to be. There was nothing else proving otherwise.

Whatever it was, he was grateful.

As the hours passed, he swore he could still feel the warmth of Arthur’s touch from the night. But Arthur hadn’t looked at him once since they broke camp. He gave orders like always, calm and measured, as if nothing had happened—no whispered promises, no cold cruelty, no moment of fragile closeness in the dark. 

And, for his part, he avoided Arthur’s eyes just as much. The vulnerability of the previous night was still too fresh in his mind. 

Merlin told himself none of it mattered. He lied.

Notes:

So, a lot of people were confused why arthur is still keeping a distance between them. It was briefly mentioned in chapter 3 but next chapter i'll go into more detail about it to clear everything up. Probably will post that one in a few hours too. Hang in there lmao.

Im very sad that i had to abandon the story of us lyrics for this chapter's title. But lowkey im running out of lyrics to use from that song and this one (from Haunted) just fits really well so. sigh.

Also ugh im just now realising that i forgot to add a scene of arthur simping over Merlin's collarbones in the feast chapter (when he was in the fancy robes). I literally added the part where gwen took away his neckerchief just for that reason ughh. Will try to incorporate it in a future scene now :/ Please alter ur memory of that chapter and pretend it already happened thanks.

Chapter 15: Can't turn back now, I'm haunted

Notes:

Made an edit coz i forgot a small part. It's right at the begining of the scene when Merlin enters the library.

A knock at his door roused Arthur from where he’d dozed off at his desk, in the midst of looking over some reports. He kept putting off his daily duties in favour of working on the lift of the magical ban, which was arduous work, and it took a toll on his sleep more often than not.

Arthur rubbed his eyes and sighed deeply before calling out, “Enter.” 

Arthur couldn’t even say he was surprised when it was Morgana who walked in, a thunderous expression on her face. Quite literally no one else knew when best to come and annoy him like she did. 

“What sin have I committed now, Morgana?” He asked, knowing there was really only one direction this conversation would go and it’s not one he was in the mood for.

Morgana stopped short before his desk and glared. “Merlin just filled me in on everything that happened on your journey.”

“Did he?”

“All the knights know now and they were fine with it! It’s the perfect chance for you to come clear. He’s been here for months already.” Arthur didn’t say anything and Morgana’s scathing look somehow intensified. “Why can’t you just talk to him and explain everything?”

Arthur opened his mouth to retort but Morgana put up a hand and continued, “You’re being cruel, Arthur. He’s living no differently to how he was under Uther’s reign–”

Arthur’s rage erupted at the comparison and he stood, knocking his chair back. “You know I’m working on lifting the ban. Decades old laws don't rewrite themselves in a few weeks.”

“ To hell with the laws. What’s the harm in telling him your plans before they’re in place?”

“I can’t give him false hope, Morgana! To dangle freedom above his head and then rip it away from him, should the council refuse, would be more cruel than anything I’ve done so far.” And there was plenty of that to go around.

Morgana frowned and nodded at the heavy pile of books on law strewn across his desk. “You have that little faith in this working out?”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “I don’t know. It’s more of a gamble than I’d prefer it to be. To change any law that’s more than two decades old, requires at least three-fourths of the council to vote in favour.” 

“You don’t think you can get that many votes?” She enquired.

“Between father’s brainwashing and all the attacks Camelot has suffered against evil sorcerers, they’re pretty set in their beliefs that magic itself is evil.” Arthur slumped down in his chair, in exhaustion. “I’m doing everything I can to make the case look strong now that I’ve put it forward, but it’s taking time to convince them. I have no doubt that they’ll fight me through every step.”

Morgana sighed. “What happens if it doesn’t pass?” She’s talking about Merlin, of course.

“I’m trying not to think about that.” Arthur glared at her as he added, “but this is precisely why I didn’t want Merlin coming back before it’s done.”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Yes, well, too late now. I still think you’re hurting him, quite unnecessarily. And that has to be hurting you .”

Arthur sighed. He tried and failed to ignore her words. It seemed, no matter what Arthur did, he ended up hurting Merlin. Merlin really didn’t deserve that. Not when he’d been the most loyal friend and, especially, not after all the times he’d risked his life for him. 

She continued, “And I think the longer it takes for you to tell him the truth, the harder it’ll be to make him see that you meant well.”

Essentially, she was saying he was losing Merlin with every passing day. Brilliant .

He thought back on Morgana’s words and made his decision in a split second (those were going to be the death of him, he knew it). “Fine. Tell him he has the king’s express permission to use his magic freely, as long as he takes proper precautions and only in his chambers.” 

God help him.

Maybe—hopefully—this would subtly tamp down some of Merlin's resentment.

Morgana beamed. “Glad you’re finally seeing sense. Maybe there is a heart somewhere in there, after all.”

“I’m serious, Morgana,” he emphasized. “For a man who’s constantly fearing that his magic will get him killed, he uses it with far too little care. No more of using his magic to tie his bloody shoelaces right in the middle of the courtyard.”

Morgana snorted. “Oh come off it, he’s not done that.” 

Arthur fixed her with a deadpan look.

“Oh.” A pause. “I’ll tell him to be careful,” she conceded.

“Thank you.” Arthur really was grateful. He was frighteningly close to marching down to Merlin’s door and downright begging him to show more caution with his magic. He wasn’t stupid, though. He knew that despite his intentions, that particular conversation would not go well and Merlin would again be reminded of that night two years ago, and how Arthur was not much more than a selfish dictator.

“I don’t have to remind you again to not mention anything about the magic ban, do I?”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “You don’t, but that won’t stop you, I’m sure.”

“Good,” he muttered, gaze flicking to the window, jaw tight.

He was about to tell her to kindly leave him alone now, when she spoke up again. “I had noticed he’s grown to use his magic more often now. More like a limb, less like a tool, you know?” She hummed, thoughtfully. “I think he became complacent about being careful after spending so much time away from Camelot. Which isn’t bad of course. He deserves that much.”

Arthur nodded in agreement. “You shouldn’t have brought him back. He deserves to live freely, and now this is just another thing I’m forced to take away from him.”

“He wants to be here. Otherwise, he would’ve already left.”

“Can’t imagine why he hasn’t,” he wondered aloud.

Morgana rolled her eyes again. Arthur hoped one day they’d just get stuck in her skull, then maybe he wouldn’t be subject to her withering looks. “Everyone he cares about is here, obviously.”

Right. He’d taken them from him too. 

“Anything else you wish to nag me about or can a man finally get some rest?”

“No, that was all for now.” She paused at the door and turned back around. “I apologise for comparing you to Uther. You’re a good man, Arthur. Certainly much better than he tried to raise you to be,” she said, her eyes finally softening.

Arthur’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline in feigned disbelief, because, really, he could not handle emotional talk like that. “But?” He egged on.

She shrugged. “You’re also an idiot.”

‘Dollophead’, his mind supplied, helpfully.

“You both are.” 

Morgana was gone before Arthur could defend himself. Wouldn’t have been much of a defense anyway, he thought.

 

---

 

He didn’t see much of Merlin in the days following their return from Thornwick. The trip was a very fruitful one, and he’d come back to the castle loaded with more work than he’d thought a few small villages could have for him. 

Better security needed to be arranged, a new lord appointed (the current one had become a little delirious in his old age and had no heirs), the new irrigation plan needed to be reviewed, amended and approved, and he had to figure out a way to improve communications with those villages in case of more dire emergencies.

So, he was busy and had thus been unable to schedule any mishaps that could land him in the physician’s chambers.

And he wouldn’t be surprised if Merlin was going out of his way to avoid him, the way he had in the days following his breakdown—which was still fresh on his mind, and haunted him relentlessly. 

The two of them hadn’t exchanged a single word beyond that night. He caught Merlin watching him sometimes, and sometimes he was the one who got caught watching Merlin, but they’d both look away quickly. He didn’t want to think about it but it felt like he’d fractured something in between them, irreparably that night.

Morgana’s words haunted him too. He knew she was pushy but he also knew she wouldn’t be pushing for him to tell Merlin about this, unless she figured it was truly necessary. She knew better than anyone why he couldn’t. And she also knew better than anyone why Merlin needed to hear everything.

Still, he remained firm in his belief that Merlin was better off without knowing anything, for now. 

Arthur simply worked as fast as he could to push the repeal through. He gained three votes out of the eight he needed, in the early weeks, then they reached an impasse, as no one else seemed ready to budge from their bigoted views. Every council meeting drained him more and more, and he spent increasingly long amounts of time in the library, searching for loopholes or evidence of the good that magic could do—not easy, seeing as Uther had burnt everything on magic in the purge.

It was on one such night, that he finally saw Merlin, again.

Arthur was buried deep in some legal nonsense, nursing a headache and an almost empty glass of liquor—thankfully, he did have the bottle with him, too—when Merlin walked in. 

He didn’t see him at first, and Arthur watched him browse the stacks of the medicinal section, using a small lantern for light. He looked tired and purposeful and Arthur wondered what he was searching for. He tried to make out the injury he’d suffered, at Thornwick, but the light was too dim to see much. He hoped it was healed completely by now.

He, also, wondered how many other scars lay under that thin shirt of his. He'd caught a glimpse of his back when he was changing in the morning, at Thornwick, and it was impossible to miss the faded, white scars on his chest that were peeking out through the tightly drawn up tunic. He'd had to look away before rage could consume him whole. He had wanted to shake Merlin and ask him why, oh why did he not trust Arthur enough with this part of him? He could have helped! He could have protected him.

How many of those wounds had been inflicted by some threat posed to Arthur? How many times had Merlin shown up all cheery in the morning but silently suffering from serious injuries? 

When Merlin drew closer to the shelves that were only barely providing Arthur some cover, Arthur pretended to busy himself in the book, again, and purposefully turned a page loudly, to alert Merlin of his presence. 

Merlin jumped a mile high at the sound and Arthur—though he had been planning on not looking up from his work at all—shot his eyes up and caught the spooked expression on Merlin’s face. He looked like a startled deer, in a hunter’s sights. 

Arthur snorted.

Merlin frowned and gave an appraising look at his cluttered desk, before turning back to the shelves and thoroughly ignoring his existence.

Arthur tried to do the same but was a lot less successful. 

Eventually, Merlin settled at a desk as far away from him as the room allowed, his back turned in quiet defiance. It wasn’t far enough.

He still sat in Arthur’s line of sight, and it was far too easy to let his gaze drift, to watch the way Merlin moved, to trace the shape of his shoulders, and to get lost in thoughts he had no business entertaining. 

Arthur did, eventually, force himself to return to his work, and was thoroughly annoyed by the lack of information he was finding, when Merlin’s voice snapped him out of it.

“Will you shut up? ”

He looked up and was met with Merlin twisting in his chair to glare at him.

“What?” His voice cracked a bit, from hours of disuse and he cleared his throat before insisting, “I wasn’t even saying anything!”

Merlin narrowed his eyes—and no, Arthur definitely did not think he looked cute like that. “You're tapping your bloody foot as if you’re rehearsing to join the kingdom’s drummers.” 

Oh. He had not noticed he’d started doing that. “Didn’t know you could hear that from all the way over there.”

“Well you do now, so shut up.” Merlin turned back around.

And really, Arthur was about to let it go and let Merlin win this round, but he was bored out of his mind, and he’d been deprived of Merlin for two whole weeks, so he could not be blamed for then taunting him with, “That’s no way to talk to your king, Mer lin.”

Merlin did not reply for a few seconds and Arthur’s heart deflated.

Then, a sharp sting rang through his head. He rubbed it, coming up empty and realised what had just transpired. “Oi!”

“ What? ” Merlin drawled, not even turning to face him.

“You can’t do that. It’s treason.” All the while, Arthur was working to keep the smile out of his voice, glad that Merlin was, at least, engaging him, even if it was to smack his head with magic—which, he could admit, he did deserve.

“Do what?” Merlin goaded.

“You know what,” He hissed.

Merlin whipped around. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, your majesty. Perhaps you should retire for the night.” He graced him with a smile that was just a touch too sharp to be sincere and added, “It seems all that drink has gotten to your head.”

Arthur huffed. “Brat.”

The two eventually returned to their respective reading, silence settling hesitantly but comfortably between them.

By morning, Geoffrey found them both slumped over their desks, fast asleep—ink smudged on skin and candles long burned down.

Notes:

I was so serious about the sleeping in each others presence thing lmao. Literally only the first sleeping scene (arthur when he was injured) was planned, the rest all happened automatically. I cant help itt! these 2 idiots are always tired :(

Chapter 16: You're not my homeland anymore

Notes:

I'm sorry I cant help it they just fall asleep so naturally😭

Chapter 16: You're not my homeland anymore

 

“—I mean the nerve! To first banish me from Camelot for using magic and then to give me permission to use my own magic ‘freely’ and ‘in my chambers’. Am I a dog!?” 

Merlin paused to catch his breath. 

“Do this, Merlin; do that, Merlin; oh I don’t give a damn about you, Merlin; expose your magic to all the knights, Merlin,” He drawled out, literally pulling at his hair while he paced the length of his chambers. “I mean, what does he want?!”

Morgana gave him a sympathetic smile. She’d been listening to him rant for the past hour at least, and at this point they’d circled the same topic thrice so he was quite grateful that she hadn’t yet told him to shut up.

“Maybe he’s trying to make amends?” She offered, hesitantly.

“Amends,” he repeated, not at all amused.

“Oh come on, it’s not such a stretch. He’s an emotionally constipated idiot and anyone with eyes could tell you he did care about you. So maybe now he’s trying to fix his mistake.”

“Did. Not does. He hated me the second he found out about my magic. And also, he quite literally said he never once gave a damn about me.”

Morgana scowled. “He said that?”

Merlin threw up his hands. “What have I been saying for the past hour!”

“I didn’t think you meant he actually said it.”

“Why is that so hard to believe?” Merlin sighed. “He’s only nice to you.”

And god, his stupid heart so wished that wasn’t the case.

The door to his chambers burst open and they both jumped up, turning towards it in shock.

A page stood in the entryway, looking slightly out of breath. “The king is requesting the physician’s presence in the throne room,” he said.

Merlin frowned. 

Oh, god. Was this because he’d revealed himself? 

Was it really any surprise that the prat was going back on his word and banishing him for it?

Morgana must’ve caught onto his train of thought because she hurried to ask, “Do you know what it’s about?”

The young boy shrugged. “I think I saw a body, my lady.”

Merlin’s eyebrows flew up. He quickly grabbed his bag and filled it with bandages and other handy ointments and desperately hoped it wasn’t one of his friends who was wounded.

When he made it to the throne room in record time, with Morgana quick on his heels, he found it had been pointless to bring anything. The body that lay on the ground was lifeless.

Arthur was in deep conversation with Leon, but he looked up when they entered. 

“Merlin, there you are. This man,” he nodded to the villager weeping over the body, “says his brother had been coughing up blood for the past few days. They were on their way to see you when he passed away.”

He knelt beside the body, wary of the grieving man beside him. “What other symptoms were there?” he asked the man.

He barely looked up when he responded, shakily, “Weakness, fatigue. He was hurting all over, too.”

Merlin gently peered back the eyelids of the still body. It was completely cold to the touch and his skin was much paler than it should be, considering he’d died only a short while ago.

His eyes seemed oddly cloudy, too. Merlin frowned. That definitely wasn’t normal. 

“Did he travel anywhere recently? Or do anything out of routine?” He asked.

His brother shook his head.

Merlin begrudgingly addressed the king, “I’ll need to inspect the body more thoroughly. Something about this doesn’t seem right.”

Arthur nodded and started saying something but it was lost on Merlin, who was carefully watching the man. 

He sucked in a sharp breath when the man coughed again, this time his hand coming up with blood.

The entire room seemed to freeze in horror.

Merlin jumped into action. “Everyone who's been in any sort of contact with either of these men needs to quarantine themselves for four days.” 

A rush of murmurs followed his words. 

Merlin paid them no mind and continued, his tone firm, “Rinse yourself off as thoroughly as you can. We don’t know yet how this illness spreads and it would be best to take every precaution possible to avoid it spreading.” 

He barked out more orders: burn your clothes, don’t go near anyone, stay confined, and Arthur followed it up with reassurances and steady words to stay calm and follow the physician’s orders. 

The few gathered men left quickly, Morgana among them. Two guards came forward to help carry the body to his chambers and Merlin leant the sick man—Gregory, he learnt—his support, to walk him there.

The king was left alone in the throne room. Merlin had half a mind to turn back and yell at him to get his arse into quarantine but his hands were a little full with Gregory whose health was declining at a concerning rate. 

Already, he was starting to lose colour and felt too warm and clammy to the touch. 

Merlin tightened his grip around Gregory’s waist, silently urging him to stay upright just a little longer. The man’s breath was coming in short, wheezing bursts now, and each step seemed to drain more life from him.

“You’re alright,” Merlin muttered, mostly to fill the silence and to calm himself. “You’re going to be alright.”

Gregory gave no reply for a while, and they continued walking. His eyes did not leave the sight of the guards carrying his brother, ahead of them.

“I’m going to die,” he whispered, finally.

Merlin shook his head and offered words of encouragement but Gregory wasn’t really listening and he was starting to go limp in his arms. 

They reached his chambers and Merlin deposited him on an empty cot, carefully. Then, he got started, first trying to provide some relief to the sick man and then assessing the body for any signs that pointed at what this could possibly be.

He didn’t find much, but there would be something in his books, he was sure. 

He could cure this. 

 

---

 

Gregory died three days later.

And by the end of the week, half the lower village was infected and Merlin was at his wit’s end.

His days consisted of rising with the sun, getting remedies for the Oakmere villagers dispatched, then getting started on the ones for the local folk.

By midday, he would have a satchel full and be well on his way down to the lower village where he’d remain till sun disappeared behind the horizon but the raspy coughs remained ever-present.

He would go door to door—because it seemed there was someone sick in every house—and stay for a while, trying to soothe their symptoms and lend a hand with chores that no longer had anyone to tend to them.

Nothing really worked. 

His books didn’t speak of a bloody cough paired with delirium and fever and fatigue, nor did any of the ones in the library, where he would spend most of his night after returning to the citadel.

The tonics he came up with would only barely ease the pain and the fever for a few hours. The cough remained and he feared people may die simply from losing too much blood.

Seven were already dead. 

He knew, also, that at the rate the plague was spreading, that number would double within a few more days. He’d never felt more useless before.

Physician.

Prophesied sorcerer.

Emrys.

And yet he couldn’t cure these people, so what was the point?

Merlin was trying to keep his emotions aside every time a body went cold in his hands but that was starting to get harder and harder.

Just today, a young girl, no more than 8 years old, had succumbed to the illness, crying for her parents the whole while—both of whom had passed earlier in the week.

He walked back to the castle, each step feeling slow and heavy. The plague hadn’t hit the castle yet. And for some reason, it hadn’t hit him, either.

Merlin didn’t know what to make of that except to simply be grateful.

He allowed his feet to guide him, not paying much attention to the route, too lost in his thoughts and too drowsy to even keep his eyes fully open.

So, he didn’t notice where he’d ended up until he was standing right in front of a large, intricately carved wooden door that was certainly not the one that led to his chambers.

He blinked and rubbed his eyes, trying to collect his bearings.

And then the door flew open and Arthur walked right into him.

They both stumbled back half a step, in shock.

“Merlin? What are you doing here?”

Merlin was wondering the same thing himself.

“I don’t know? Wasn’t really paying attention to where I was going…”

Damned muscle memory.

“Oh.” There’s an awkward silence that lasts a few moments too long before Arthur clears his throat and adds, “Well I was on my way to see you, so you might as well come inside.”

Merlin’s eyebrows furrowed and he took in Arthur’s appearance. He’d only come out of quarantine two days prior but this wasn’t the first time Merlin was seeing him since. 

Every evening, once he’d returned to the castle, he was summoned to the throne room to update the king on any progress. It was always a formal and stilted conversation and kept short because there was never much to say, beyond the worsening symptoms and the rising death toll.

Arthur’s concern grew with each passing day.

He’d returned much later than usual, tonight, for he’d stayed to give the young girl a proper burial, so he’d thought he wouldn’t have to appear in front of the king tonight.

He wore a nightshirt and cradled a thick book in his hands, his tousled hair and weary eyes making him look almost as tired as Merlin felt.

Arthur walked back into his room, leaving the door open. 

Merlin swallowed. 

He wasn’t sure he could bear to be in there with him. He hadn’t been anywhere near Arthur’s wing of the castle in the months he’d been back. Being in his chambers would be entirely too painful—a stark reminder of his previous role.

“I haven’t got all night, Merlin!” He called.

Merlin sighed and followed him inside. He tried to keep his gaze trained on Arthur, bent over a desk and flipping through the book, but his eyes betrayed him and he slowly took in the room.

At first glance, it seemed exactly the same.

His bed was unmade, the windows were cracked open just enough to let in the cool, night breeze and the heavy curtains were swaying gently. 

His clothes were in a pile, some by the wardrobe, others by the door. 

A blanket lay on the couch by the hearth—his favourite spot that he’d carelessly throw himself on whenever he sensed Arthur was in the mood to not scold him for it.   

The more he looked, though, the more he noticed the differences. 

Books were scattered across every surface—some open, spines cracked and pages folded, others tossed carelessly to the floor in heaps; a goblet of wine had tipped sideways on the nightstand, leaving a long dried stain that trailed off the edge; a torn tunic lay draped over the back of a chair, half-covered by a fur-lined cloak.

Crumpled parchment littered the floor beneath the desk, like Arthur had tried—and failed—too many times to write something and Merlin was reminded of all the times he’d written the prince’s speeches for him.

Maps and letters lay in a tangled pile by the hearth, soot from the fire smudging the corners. 

One boot stood by the window, its partner nowhere in sight.

And the ache in Merlin’s chest had never been louder. 

It was messy, yes—but not in the way it used to be. Then, it screamed of laziness and Merlin’s half-hearted attempts at tidying up. 

Now, it was no longer the mess of a prince and his servant, too busy to pick up after him. This was the mess of a man unraveling.

The whole place seemed to call to him. He itched to set everything right, even knowing it wasn’t his place. Even knowing that Arthur didn’t deserve a damned thing from him.

When he looked back at Arthur, he realised he was being watched, silently. There was an odd, unreadable look on his face but it wasn’t harsh. It was…soft? 

Maybe that was just the fatigue betraying his eyesight.

Merlin crossed the room, joining Arthur at the cluttered desk. He rubbed his watery eyes as soon as Arthur’s eyes fell back to the pages in front of him.

Gathering his courage, he asked, “What did you want to talk about?” 

“The symptoms, you said, were: coughing up blood, fever, and pain, yes?”

Merlin nodded. “And fatigue.”

“Right. It kept nagging at me, 'cause it just sounded so familiar and then I realised I’d read about it in here.” Arthur tapped the book in front of him.

Hope bloomed in Merlin’s chest and he couldn’t keep it out of his voice. “You’ve found something?”

“I think so. I can’t understand most of it but I think you can?” He asked, hesitantly. Then he turned the book around to face Merlin.

Merlin quickly soaked up the words. Some were in English but most were in the language of the Old Religion. 

It certainly seemed to be the same plague as the one they were currently suffering from. It seemed, there was an account from more than three centuries ago, of the same illness spreading through a village. It had spared only those with ‘close ties to magic’ and Merlin realised that must be why he’d been safe so far. 

As he read on, he learnt that the infection was air-borne and had wiped out half the population before they found the cure. He flipped the page, eager to find out what the cure was.

It talked about something else entirely and Merlin cursed. 

Arthur was looking at him questioningly and Merlin offered, “Good news is there is a cure. Bad news is the book doesn’t say what it is. It does seem to be of a magical nature, though, so that might help.”

Arthur groaned and dragged a hand through his hair. “Anything else?”

“Morgana and I are certainly immune to it.” Relief washed over Arthur like a wave, softening some of the tension in his shoulders, and Merlin continued, voicing his theory, “And I think…you might be, too, at least to an extent.”

Arthur frowned. “Why? I assume you and Morgana are safe because of magical blood?”

Merlin nodded and didn’t think before falling back into the chair before the desk, exhaustion eating at his bones. “Yes, but the text says anyone with ‘close ties to magic’ is immune.” 

Arthur still looked confused so Merlin sighed and continued, “For one, you were born of magic. And second, I spent ten years doing a lot of magic around you. I think it’s fair to assume some of it lingers in your essence.”

He expected Arthur to rage at that. But instead, he just stared at him—brows furrowed, mouth parted slightly like he was about to say something that never quite made it past his throat.

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “Look, I didn’t do it on purpose. And don’t forget, I was using it to save your stupid arse the whole time,” he defended.

Arthur nodded and looked away. ‘Okay, that’s good.”

Prat.

Merlin flipped through the rest of the book and smothered a yawn. It was all accounts of magical encounters from a long time ago, when magic was freely practiced everywhere. 

“Why do you even have this?” He asked, unable to help himself.

“It’s not your job to question the king, Merlin,” Arthur replied, his tone detached. 

Merlin looked up to see him watching the hearth, lost in thought. He scoffed and Arthur’s head whipped back around. “I just think it’s a little hypocritical is all.” And when he saw Arthur’s eyes narrow in annoyance, he quickly tacked on, “Have any more that weren’t in English?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and stood. “Yeah, let me find them.”

He rummaged around the desk, then under it, then on his dresser. Merlin’s eyes followed his every movement like a hawk and he slowly realised almost all of the books were old and about magic. 

Seriously, what was Arthur doing with all of these? Where had he even found such treasures?

Arthur returned from the couch, hands full with a pile of old tomes, their spines worn and not in English. He deposited them in front of Merlin.

“Great, I’ll tell you if I find something in the morning.” He got up and went to pick up the books, eager to get started.

Arthur blocked his way. “No, these books can’t leave my room.”

Merlin sighed, frustrated, and sat back down. “You and your stupid laws,” he muttered and started on the first of the pile. 

Arthur ignored him—though he was sure he’d been close enough to be heard—and settled on the other side of the desk. He picked up another text (an English one) and began flipping through it.

At first, Merlin struggled to focus. 

His eyes kept drifting to Arthur, and his mind kept circling around how bloody strange this was—sitting in Arthur’s chambers, almost like nothing had changed.

The last time he’d sat in this very chair had been to make that damning confession.

Merlin would sometimes get too lost in his thoughts and start biting his nails. Arthur would, occasionally, stare off into space and start fidgeting with his quill.  

Both of them, it seemed, were falling back on nervous tics.

Merlin wondered what was on his mind. 

Eventually, the weight of their task pulled him back in, and he lost himself in the pages.

Every so often, Arthur would nudge his foot under the table and tilt his book toward him, pointing out bits of text not written in English. Merlin would translate it, and they’d both return to reading in silence.

Hours passed like that, and it was only a few hours before dawn when Merlin succumbed to sleep, right there.

When he woke, the next morning—much later than he was supposed to—he was disoriented to find himself on the sofa by the fire. He sat up, confused, and the blanket that had been draped over him fell and pooled on the floor. 

The same blanket Merlin had spotted earlier. The same couch he once used to, foolishly, call ‘his spot’ in Arthur’s room.

He looked at the bed first but it was empty. Arthur was still at the desk, fast asleep with his legs propped up on the table and several more pieces of parchment had fallen off his lap and onto the floor. 

Merlin stood up and quietly padded over to where he dozed, peacefully.

In sleep, all the sharp edges of him—his scowl, his stubborn jaw, the tightly held anger in his shoulders—had melted away. He looked younger like this. Softer, and startlingly similar to the version of him that Merlin knew like the back of his own hand.

In the early morning light, Merlin’s head spun with the emotional turmoil. 

His hair had fallen into his eyes, golden strands catching in the soft rays of sunlight, and Merlin had the strangest urge to brush it back. Just to pretend, for a moment, that things were simple.

He held back, and instead reached for a spare piece of parchment and quickly jotted down a note. His handwriting was uneven, not from haste but from the tightness in his chest.

He folded the parchment once and left it by Arthur’s hand, close enough that he’d see it as soon as he stirred.

The fire had dimmed, casting long shadows on the stone walls. Merlin stood there, watching the steady rise and fall of Arthur’s chest, as if memorising it. 

As if he hadn’t done that a thousand times already.

Then he turned, quietly as he could, and slipped out of the chambers, before he did something foolish—like stay.

As he walked to his chambers, the castle slowly waking up around him, Merlin tried not to think of how, in that moment, Arthur had looked so much like the man he’d once loved.

And maybe still did.

How awful was that?

To love someone who’d banished him.

To love someone who only seemed to want him back when he was useful again.

To love someone who kept crushing his heart over and over again.

To love someone who could still make him feel like home, even after everything.

Notes:

I'm back! Still have one exam left in june but its okay i can write now. And ive finally got time to finsih the show so thats fun. Id forgotten how cute they all are lmao. The plague arc has begun but it only lasts like I think 2 or 3 more chapters? The two arcs after that are my personal favourites (and then after that it's the end). But anyways, please let me know your thoughts in the comments :) Next chapter will hopefully be up in like 2 days!

Chapter 17: But what a ghostly scene

Notes:

bruh arthur is such a mess, why am i doing this to him.

Chapter 17: but what a ghostly scene

 

Have work to do in the lower town. Have Gaius go through the remaining two books, he’ll understand them and he knows what to look for. 

-M

It’s about as impersonal as a note could be but Arthur clutches it like a lifeline. It was, maybe, a sign that all was not lost yet.

A foolish man’s hope, but it’s all he had at the moment so he treasured it.

Folding the small note up—neatly and exactly along the line where Merlin had—he placed it in the drawer, beside his bed.

Last night, sitting with Merlin and just working together like that had proven that maybe, just maybe, their friendship was still salvageable.

It was a long shot, sure, but he didn’t hate the odds. 

When Merlin had dozed off in the midst of the third book, Arthur hadn’t thought twice about shifting him to the little couch he so loved.

Maybe he should have thought twice, though. What would a gesture like that come across as? He couldn’t risk messing with the ruse he’d created.

But he couldn’t wake Merlin and send him off to his own chambers, not when he looked so exhausted. 

And he didn’t want Merlin to sleep in such an uncomfortable position on the wooden chair. He’d surely wake up with aches everywhere. So.

Then, after getting Merlin settled, Arthur hadn’t gotten through much more reading himself, content to just watch Merlin in the dwindling firelight. He’d probably never have the chance to see Merlin lounging peacefully in his room, again, so he drank up the sight like a starved man.

God . He missed Merlin so much. It was like an ache that started in his chest and was now rooted in his bones.

Some days, he could scarcely stop himself from marching up to the physician’s quarters and explaining everything . On those nights, he buried himself in training and paperwork.

Other days, he felt such a visceral hatred for himself that he thought he might just claw his own skin out.

How could he have done this? 

Surely, after everything, he didn't even deserve the chance to explain himself. Merlin would be better off with someone who wasn’t so selfish.

On those nights, he lost himself in ale.

Arthur glanced at the dip in the couch and the blanket on the floor one final time, and then left to get started on his duties for the day. 

He tried not to think about Melin again, but the image of the man hesitating to even come inside his chambers and then looking on the verge of a breakdown when he finally did, haunted him endlessly.

It was a long day.

He was short with his knights and worse still with the lords. He snapped at Morgana and he couldn’t bring himself to touch the food at lunch, nor at supper. 

He was just about getting ready to settle in with a nice bottle of mead for the night when Leon arrived at his door.

“Merlin is back from the village, sire. I thought you might want to see if there’s been any changes?” He suggested.

Arthur sighed and nodded. He gave one wistful look at the sparkling bottle, shoved his boots on and followed Leon to the throne room.

He wasn’t expecting to be drawn into conversation—everyone mostly left him to his own devices, these days—so it was a surprise when Leon spoke up.

“Arthur, I can’t help but notice…” he paused, searching for the right words, “You seem to have withdrawn even more, these past few weeks. I just wondered, if there’s anything I could do to help?”

An intervention. Of course. 

Arthur smiled, tightly. “Just stress from this plague. Nothing to worry about, I assure you.”

Leon sighed and then cut straight to it. “Is this about Merlin?”

Arthur’s head whipped to him. The last time anyone—except Morgana—had spoken to him about Merlin, directly, it was Lancelot on the day Merlin had first come back. 

And before that, it had been years ago.

Everyone knew it was a dangerous topic to broach and Arthur quite liked it that way.

No one would understand and he didn’t feel like explaining this mess to anyone, anyway.

“Why would anything be about him?” He asked, casually.

Leon gave him a rare, disappointed look and Arthur felt it as if it was burning him. “I don’t understand why you still keep him at a distance. You don’t hate magic, I know that much–”

Arthur frowned. 

“–So then, why do you pretend to hate Merlin?”

His frown deepened. 

Leon was onto him??

Arthur scoffed. “Who says I’m pretending?”

Leon sighed. “I’ve known you since you were just a squire, Arthur. Believe me, I know when you’re not being genuine about something.”

“Oh. Well, you’re mistaken this time. What Merlin did was very much unforgivable.”

They were drawing closer to the throne room now and Arthur sincerely hoped they’d reach it before Leon weaseled every little secret out of him.

“I’d accept that if we were talking about anyone other than Merlin–”

He narrowed his eyes. “What? Why?”

Leon gave him a long-suffering look. “You know why.”

Arthur worked to keep his jaw from falling open. 

This was exactly why Morgana and Leon were perfect for each other; they were both way too smart for their own good.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stated, simply.

They stopped in front of the large doors to the throne room and the guards pushed them open. Inside, a few courtiers were gathered, eager to hear about how far the plague had spread and whether they needed to get packing, yet or not.

“Would you like me to say it, sire?” Leon asked, exasperated.

Dammit.

He cleared his throat and took his seat. “ No , that will be all, Sir Leon.”

The man shook his head and joined Morgana on his left. They all spent a few minutes catching up until Merlin arrived.

He looked slightly better rested than yesterday, but he was still plainly exhausted and Arthur felt a swell of affection for him.

Gwaine was beside him and they both stopped short before his throne and dipped into cursory, half-hearted bows that almost brought a smile to his face. 

“Any news?”

Merlin sighed. “We lost another man today and the infection is spreading faster. I’ve enforced face masks to slow it down but I think at this point, the damage is already done.”

And he knew it was pointless but asked anyway, “Has anyone recovered?”

“No, but a few who contracted it early on are still showing a strong resistance to it, so I’m hopeful that they’ll—”

Merlin stopped when a raspy cough rang out, echoing in the large room. Arthur’s stomach dropped and he watched on as a look of horror dawned over Merlin’s face.

They all turned to the source of the sound.

Gwaine’s hand came away from his mouth, slick with blood.

The entire room erupted into chaos.

 

---

 

Merlin spent half the night fussing over Gwaine in his chambers. Arthur had ordered as many people as Gwaine remembered being in contact with, into quarantine.

Thankfully, Gwaine had taken the opportunity to skip training, earlier in the day, having found out that Arthur wouldn’t be present to scold him for it. 

Arthur had never been more grateful for the man’s idiocy. It spared most of the knights from having to go into isolation. All except Percival, who Gwaine had been with the whole day.

It was not enough, however.

A little past midnight, Leon alerted him that two of the servants had fallen sick. By morning, the number had tripled and when Arthur went to check in on the physician, the room was overflowing.

Merlin was pulling an angry-looking Gaius out of the room with him and Arthur stopped at the entrance to listen to the conversation.

“No, Gaius. I’m not risking it! You can help by looking for answers in the library, please,” Merlin begged, drawing the old man into a corner outside his room.

“Don’t be foolish. You and I both know you can’t handle this much alone. Have anyone else do the research. My efforts are better spent here.”

“You’ll die.” Merlin swiped a hand through his already tousled hair. “I just got you back and I am not going to lose you to this stupid plague.”

“I likely have immunity, Merlin. I practiced magic quite a bit, back in my day,” Gaius replied, placatingly.

“That was thirty years ago. There’s no guarantee that the residue stuck for so long.” Merlin placed his hands on Gaius’ shoulders. “Please, I can’t watch you succumb to this illness. It’s horrible , Gaius.”

Gaius argued, “I am a physician first and everything else second. My duty is to help these people.”

Arthur decided to step in. Merlin looked like he was on the verge of tying Gaius up and locking him in his room. 

He covered the short distance to them. Merlin didn’t look shocked at his sudden appearance and Arthur figured he’d probably been caught eavesdropping.

“I’m sorry, Gaius, but he’s right. You’re too old to beat the infection and we all value you too much to allow you to risk your life like this.”

Gaius looked frustrated. “Arthur, I appreciate you looking out for me but I shall be fine.”

In a rare moment of solidarity, Merlin and Arthur locked eyes, sharing an exasperated look. 

Arthur sighed. “Consider it an order. You are not to go anywhere near the sick patients, am I clear?”

Merlin sagged with relief so it was worth it when Gaius gave him an ugly look.

“Of course, your majesty.” Gaius stormed off.

He sounded just like Merlin when he said that—all fake formality and bitterness.

Merlin watched Gaius go, concern etched in his features. His sharp eyes cut to Arthur.

“Thanks,” he said, as if the words had been dragged up his throat.

Arthur nodded. 

He followed Merlin into the infirmary. He spotted Morgana instantly and almost yelled at her to get out before remembering she was immune. She was applying a cool cloth to Gwaine’s forehead who, even from this far, looked awfully pale. He was asleep, at least.

Most of the others were awake and moaning in pain or struggling to breathe, as their cough didn’t let up. Merlin helped one such woman swallow a tonic and it seemed to ease her just a bit.

“Are you running short on any supplies?” He asked, stopping at the cot Merlin was at.

Merlin barely glanced up, still preoccupied with helping the woman. “No, just space.”

“Yeah, I’ll have the great hall cleared out so you can set up in there before this place gets too overcrowded. I’ll send word when you can start moving people in.”

“Make sure the hallways are clear when you do. And send the nobles back to their lands and everyone else towards the East Wing.” Which was as far from the hall as possible.

“Already done.” He looked around, noticing how outnumbered he and Morgana were. “Is there anyone else you think might be immune? To help you out.”

Merlin wrung a cloth over a bowl of water then placed it on the woman’s forehead. “Not that I know of.” Then, he added dryly, “ Magic is banned in Camelot, so not many people go about practicing it.”

Just once he’d like to get through a conversation with Merlin without being reminded of all that.

“Didn’t stop you, did it?”

“Nope.” Then, he muttered, voice so low that Arthur had to strain his ears to catch his words, “Whole lotta good that did me.” 

Arthur didn’t have a reply for that so he didn’t give one.

Instead, he beckoned Morgana over when he caught her eye.

“Everything alright?” She asked, glancing between the two of them, warily.

He nodded. “You should go visit the druids. They might know something about this. And take Leon with you.”

Merlin looked up at that. He didn’t even have to say anything for Arthur to hear his thoughts, clear as day: Hypocrite.

“Smart thinking. We’ll leave as soon as the sun is up.” She made to leave, then paused and added, “But Merlin can’t handle all this and the lower town on his own. Maybe someone else should go in my place?”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. It was just problems on top of problems, dammit.

“We’ll figure something out. Finding a cure is the priority,” he said.

Merlin added, “And they won’t trust anyone else. Just be quick.”

Mograna nodded in determination. “Alright. Take care.” She hugged both of them quickly before rushing off. Dawn was only an hour away.

Only moments after she’d left, two guards stumbled into the chambers, blood dribbling down their mouths.

Merlin got to work and Arthur checked on Gwaine—still asleep—before he, too, rushed off to get the hall set up.

 

---

 

The next time Arthur sees Merlin, it is late afternoon and he’s literally trembling from the lack of sleep. He’s in the makeshift infirmary, drifting from one cot to the next, to a small workstation where he’s got something brewing.

Arthur sighed and realised he should’ve tried to get away from his duties sooner.

He sauntered over to Merlin, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the hall.

“ What are you doing?” Merlin yelled and tried to go back inside.

Arthur stood firm, barricading the entrance. “ You are going to get your arse to sleep before you faint on some poor patient.”

Merlin’s mouth fell open. “I am not!”

“You’re not going to sleep, or you’re not going to faint on someone? Because you look like hell and haven’t slept a wink in at least 36 hours so the odds aren’t looking to be in your favour. And the other thing, you’re not being given a choice ,” he hissed.

Merlin blinked and processed his words for a few seconds too many. Then he replied, “No.”

“That is an order, Merlin.”

“I can’t leave sick people unattended, sire .”

“You won’t be. I’ll stay here and manage.”

Merlin squinted. “What do you know about tending to the sick?”

He shrugged. “Enough to get by for a few hours.” Hopefully.

Merlin shook his head. “No. You being resistant to the plague is just a theory, and not one I’m willing to test.”

Something about that warmed Arthur’s heart and he fought to keep the smile off his face.

“As touching as the concern is,” he started, voice dripping with faux sarcasm, “you cannot defy a direct order. Off you go.”

Being King really did have its perks. Seriously, how did people get by without ordering their idiot friends into submission (for their own good, of course)?

Merlin groaned. “You’re impossible.” He rubbed his eyes, which were literally half their size at this point, and added, “Put on a mask.”

“I don’t need one, I’m immune.” And yeah, he could hear the arrogance in his words.

Merlin scowled. “You might not be. It’s been more than two years since anyone did any sort of magic around you.”

Arthur stilled at the words, his back going rigid. It was more direct than Merlin had ever been about, well, everything.

Merlin took his neckerchief off and Arthur watched, confused and heart still beating like a drum, as he held it out to him.

Merlin sighed and explained, “Tie it around your face or I’m not leaving you in charge.”

Oh.

Oh.

Was he foolish for thinking that this meant Merlin still cared?

Probably.

That wouldn’t stop him though.

He took the red fabric and wrapped it around the lower half of his face, covering everything but his eyes. When his fingers moved to tie a knot at the back, he struggled.

“You really can’t do anything, can you?” Muttered Merlin, before going behind him and swiping the two ends of the cloth out of his hands. 

Arthur didn’t dare breathe.

Merlin was standing way too close, his breath tickling the hair at the nape of his neck, as he tied a firm knot and then another and Arthur knew that was because Merlin thought he’d take it off the second he was out of sight.

He absolutely would not. 

The neckerchief smelt so strongly of Merlin, Arthur would be happy to wear it till the end of his days. Every breath in was accompanied by the once-familiar smell of pine and old books and crushed herbs. 

He hadn’t known it was possible to miss a scent until he was so viscerally assaulted by it again.

“Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Merlin replied with a roll of his eyes. He turned away and left.

Under the mask, Arthur smiled.

Notes:

next chapter: merlin and arthur being a cutie healer duo lmao.

I think most people were expecting Arthur to get sick and i played with the idea a lott before realising this is more progressive for the plot :) Dw tho, still have some tricks up my sleeve!

Chapter 18: Balancing on breaking branches

Summary:

Merthur being hot and cold for (nearly) 5k words straight!

Chapter 18: Balancing on breaking branches

 

They fell into a routine of sorts and it was the oddest thing ever.

Merlin would still rise with the sun and go to the lower town to treat the villagers, but only until the late afternoon. During this time, Arthur would be managing the castle infirmary.

When Merlin would return, he’d take over for Arthur who then went to handle his more kingly duties—and hopefully, sleep a bit.

The evenings found both of them working in tandem at the temporary infirmary as if it was completely ordinary for the king to be acting as a physician’s assistant.

Loath as he was to admit it, Arthur wasn’t too bad of a helping hand. He quickly picked up on what work needed to be done, and within a few days, he was able to anticipate what Merlin needed before he even had to say anything.

Merlin wasn’t surprised, really. Whenever Arthur set his mind to something, he did it to the best of his ability.

Still, it was a little jarring how efficient they were together.

He’d change out the water without being asked; hand him a cloth when the one in Merlin’s hand became soaked through with blood; fetch a pain reliever from the workstation when one of the patients seemed unbearably restless.

The list was endless.

His neckerchief never left Arthur either.

Merlin had thought he’d probably rip it off the second Merlin had gone off to sleep that first night, purely out of arrogance. Or hatred.

But days had passed since then and Arthur never switched out his mask for anything else and something about that sent a warm feeling down Merlin’s bones.

Merlin looked up at him. They were carrying a body out the hall—which was steadily becoming overpacked—and to the courtyard. 

It was dark, with nothing more than the moonlight to illuminate their way but the moon was full so it wasn’t too difficult to see.

There wasn’t a single soul in sight. Arthur had evacuated as much of this wing of the castle as possible. 

Arthur was already looking at him. 

Their eyes locked briefly before Arthur looked down first. The red of the neckerchief stood out starkly against Arthur’s pale skin and it contrasted beautifully with the deep blue of his eyes. 

Merlin found it harder to look away.

They set down the body, adding onto the steadily increasing row in the middle of the courtyard and wordlessly started heading back.

Merlin went to Gwaine first. He was awake but had his eyes squeezed shut in pain. Merlin ran a hand through his hair.

He’d administered a tonic only an hour ago so there wasn’t much more to be done. Gwaine was fighting the illness with every bit of strength he had, though. Not many had been infected for so long without passing away or being entirely lost to delirium.

“Merls…”

“Yeah?”

Gwaine cleared his throat then leaned over to spit a wad of blood into the bucket. Merlin helped him drink some water.

“If I die,” he took a deep breath, as if every word pained him to speak, “promise me something.”

Merlin swallowed. “You won’t die. I won’t let you.”

Gwaine gave a grim smile. “Humor me.”

Merlin nodded. 

“Look after Percival for me? He’ll…pretend he’s fine and you’ll never even know he’s struggling until he falls off the deep end,” Gwaine whispered, fear lacing his words.

“Of course. But you’ll be there yourself, so.” He shrugged, stubborn even in light of how many people had died in his arms.

Gwaine was strength personified. He would survive this.

And Merlin believed that Morgana had done enough magic in Gwaine’s presence for some of it to linger in his aura. Not enough to be immune but maybe, just enough to be strengthened.

“And–”

“Now you’re just being greedy,” Merlin said with a smile.

“A dying man is allowed to be whatever he wants,” Gwaine said, petulantly.

“Good thing you’re not a dying man.”

Gwaine coughed a few times, exaggeratedly loud, and spat another wad of blood into the bucket.

Merlin shook his head. “You’re really not as funny as you think you are.”

“As I was saying-” Gwaine sighed. “Look. I know things between you and Arthur are all sorts of messed up right now-”

Merlin frowned. He hadn’t expected this to be the direction Gwaine took.

“-but I think…I don’t know. I think there’s more to it than we realise?”

Merlin’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. “You think it’s more complicated? Why is it so hard to believe he actually hates me? You weren’t there when he said everything.”

Gwaine shifted uncomfortably. “I know. But you weren’t there in those two years when the princess was without you. He was completely out of it.”

Merlin’s eyes darted to Arthur. He was helping a young girl sit up and drink some water, his hand gently cradling her neck. He murmured something that made the girl smile, even through the flush of fever.

Gwaine continued, “He closed off from everyone and when he wasn’t ignoring us all, he was biting our heads off. He was—half a man without you.”

Merlin shrugged and tried to ignore the tightness in his chest. “So he developed trust issues.”

“No,” Gwaine drawled. “He was sad. ”

“And whose fault is that?” 

Arthur was watching them, now, brows furrowed. 

“His, obviously. I’m just saying, I think there’s more to it than meets the eye.”

Gwaine coughed again, this time not faking it, and Merlin helped him sit up so he wouldn’t choke.

When the bout had passed, he asked, “So what?”

“So. You and him need to talk, I think. Promise me you won’t let things stay like this?”

Merlin shook his head. “There’s nothing to talk about. He’s said everything he wanted to say and if he was regretting any of it, he’d have come clear by now.”

Gwaine squeezed his hand. “Promise me you’ll try, anyway?”

Merlin sighed. 

How was he meant to say no to a dying man’s wish?

“I promise I’ll talk to him about everything if you die,” he conceded.

Gwaine rolled his eyes, easily seeing the loophole Merlin had created for himself.

“You’re really going to make me lose to this damned sickness just so you two can have your happily ever after?”

Merlin snorted. “Funny.” 

There was a loud creak as the doors to the hall opened and Gwen poked her head inside. She gestured for Merlin and Arthur to come over when she caught their eyes.

Merlin patted Gwaine goodbye and went to see her, Arthur close on his heels.

“You shouldn’t be in this area, Gwen,” Arthur scolded, shutting the door behind him.

“I know, I know. I’m leaving in a moment. I just came to make sure you two ate something.” She shoved a tray in Merlin’s hands.

“I’m not really hungry,” Merlin started.

“Same.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Honestly, you two look as bad as the people in there. You need to keep your energy up or you’ll collapse.”

Arthur opened his mouth to argue and Gwen held her hand up.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how little you both have been eating since this started. And, you , Arthur have been on a terribly unhealthy diet for even longer than that,” Gwen ranted.

Merlin tried to, subtly, check out Arthur. His face looked gaunt and his shirt did hang a little more loosely than it did even a few weeks back when Merlin had treated his shoulder injury.

Huh.

Arthur loved food.

He thought it was one of the joys of life.

And Merlin had loved to tease him about it.

“I’m fine, Guinevere, but thank you,” Arthur replied, tone a little brittle.

“Thanks, Gwen.” He offered her a smile. “You should get some sleep.”

Gwen nodded, bid them both goodbye and then curtsied to Arthur— when had she started doing that? —before leaving, her light footsteps echoing in the vast hallway.

Arthur and Merlin shared an awkward look. Arthur pulled the neckerchief down so it hung around his neck, rather than his face.

Merlin went and sat on the floor, leaning against the wall, and placed the tray in his lap. Arthur hesitated for a moment before settling beside him.

Their shoulders were almost touching; the distance between them felt like a chasm and Merlin studied the contents of the tray like his life depended on it.

An apple, two bowls of stew, a roll of warm bread, cheese and a plate of sausages.

It looked quite good. 

Merlin picked up one of the bowls. Arthur grabbed the apple.

Well, no wonder he was losing weight.

But it wasn’t his business so Merlin stayed quiet and dug into his own food. It was heavenly. He hadn’t eaten in so long, he was pretty sure even dirt would taste delightful, right now.

There was just never any time to grab something from the kitchens, and he didn’t have much of an appetite either.

Arthur was slouched against the wall, arms crossed and occasionally coming up to take another crunchy bite of the apple. 

They ate in silence and Merlin itched to fill it. Gwaine’s words were still fresh in his mind and he pondered over them. 

He’d implied that Arthur, at the very least, regretted his actions and look, maybe Merlin would be more accepting of that theory, if it weren’t for the night in Thornwick.

He had begged Arthur to offer him anything but harshness and he’d been crushed instead.

No, he certainly didn’t regret it. 

Arthur might’ve been upset, but that could easily be because of the hurt of Merlin’s supposed betrayal. Not at the loss.

Gwaine didn’t know Arthur as well as he did. And no one else knew of every horrible word uttered by him. 

So, no one could even begin to understand.

Merlin set down his bowl, still half full. It was making him queasy on such an empty stomach. 

Maybe Arthur had the right idea with the apple.

Merlin glanced between the bread and the sausages. The latter would keep him going for longer and that was more important than foolish sentiments, so he pulled the plate closer.

He felt Arthur’s eyes fall on him. 

Merlin popped a sausage into his mouth, relishing the taste. He hadn’t had them since breakfast in Oakmere with Leon.

And now, here he was: sitting beside Arthur, eating the one food that never failed to remind him of the man.

Arthur picked up a fork and pierced one of the slices. He studied it for a second before putting it in his mouth, his movements slow, contemplative.

They sat like that for a while longer, sharing a plate of sausages, a thousand unsaid words lingering in the air—too painful to voice, too heavy to ignore.

Every now and then, their fingers would brush over the plate, or their shoulders would graze as Arthur moved. 

They’d both pull away, as if burned.

Merlin stole the last sausage and Arthur broke the silence with a small snort. Merlin looked over to see him smiling. He struggled to look away from the sharp blue eyes, crinkling around the corners. 

Sudden brisk footsteps around the corner snapped them both out of whatever that was , and they both sat up straighter, wondering who was coming around this area in the middle of the night. 

When Morgana turned the corner, they both gasped and stood up, hurrying to join her.

Merlin let Arthur wrap her in a hug first. She looked weary and spooked. Not at all like she came bearing good news, and Merlin’s hope deflated.

When Merlin hugged her, her grip was tight, like she needed it more than anything. He pulled away, concerned.

“What’s wrong?”

She shook her head and gave them both a smile. “Nothing. Good news, though! The druids told us about a flower that is rumored to cure all ills—”

“You’ve got it?” Merlin asked, excited. 

“Yep.” She handed him a bag. 

Merlin peeked inside. It was filled with large white flowers, similar to lilies. Arthur came closer to take a look, too. 

“Wow,” he whispered.

Merlin nodded along, dumbly. They all trekked back to the hall. 

“There’s a recipe in there, too,” Morgana added.

Merlin nodded again, gratefully. He dumped out the contents of the satchel onto his worktable and began reading through it.

“Where’s Leon?” Arthur asked, leaning on the table.

Morgana perched herself on the stool and shrugged. “Went to his room, I think.”

Merlin looked up from the parchment and locked eyes with Arthur over Morgana’s head, both of them sharing a concerned look.

Those two never strayed far from each other if they could help it.

Arthur poured out some water for his sister and handed it to her. He waited until she’d downed it all, before asking, cautiously, “Did something happen on the journey?”

Morgana played with the rim of the cup, her face utterly crestfallen.

“We ran into some bandits on the way back. We were outnumbered three to one and I had to use magic to stop a fatal blow to Leon.”

Oh no .

“Now he’s not talking to me.” 

Merlin’s eyes widened and she continued on, unwilling to let her hurt show, choosing, instead, to mask it with aloofness. “I mean honestly, I saved the man from getting stabbed. You’d think he would at least say thank you.”

“Sounds familiar,” Merlin muttered.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Arthur offered, resolutely ignoring Merlin.

Merlin’s frown deepened. “Yeah, cause you’re just the perfect person to give advice to someone on how to deal with that.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and made for the door. 

Morgana intercepted him.“Don’t. If he decides to accept me for who I am, I need it to be because of his own beliefs. Not because he’s been swayed by your opinions.”

Arthur swallowed. “I’m sorry, Morgana.”

“I’m sure he’ll come around. He’s a rational man, he can’t seriously still believe magic is evil incarnate,” Merlin tried.

“He doesn’t. I think he’s angry I kept it from him for so long,” she said hesitantly.

“Well, Merlin kept it from me for a whole decade and–”

Merlin’s eyebrows flew up. “And you’re still a prat about it,” he finished.

Arthur really was an idiot for bringing them up as an example. 

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes. Well. Leon is Leon.”

Morgana nodded, though. 

“He’ll come around,” Merlin insisted, again. “He loves you too much to let this get in the way.” 

Arthur’s eyes fell on him and Merlin felt the weight of his gaze to the depths of his soul. 

If only Arthur had loved him enough. Or at all.

“Yeah,” Arthur backed up. “Now get some sleep, you look like hell.”

He pushed Morgana towards the door.

“I can stay and help. You two look terrible, yourself,” she offered, pushing back.

“We’re fine. Everyone’s mostly asleep here.”

Morgana sighed and relented. “Alright, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Merlin knew he ought to offer some more reassurances but he didn’t. It would be pointless. He’d been through exactly what she was going through, right now, when he’d confessed everything to Arthur and then been dismissed, awaiting judgement.

It was hell. 

Morgana and Gaius and Gwen had all tried comforting him but it really made no difference. 

So, Merlin watched her go, hoping against hope that her story would turn out better than his.

He turned to Arthur to find his eyes already on him. Swallowing past the lump in his throat, he said, “You can go, too. I’ll manage here.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m not tired.”

Merlin gave him an appraising onceover. He didn’t look very ‘not tired’ . His hair was all over the place, there were dark smudges under his eyes and that was definitely the same shirt he was in yesterday.

“Why are you doing this?” Merlin asked, finally. Arthur quirked an eyebrow so Merlin elaborated, “You don’t have to be here. You don’t—you’re being-”

Not horrible.

Tolerable. 

Nice?

“- normal .”

Arthur looked at him, brows furrowed. “What else would I be?”

Merlin gave him an exasperated look and started picking apart the petals from every flower. 

Arthur joined him on the opposite side of the worktable and moved a bunch of the flowers closer to him.

After they’d both been quietly dissecting the flowers for a minute, Merlin gathered the courage to ask, “Why are you acting as if nothing’s happened—between us?” 

Arthur looked up, eyes wide. His hands froze on the flower he was working on. 

They held eye contact for too long, longer than they ever have since he’s been back. 

One of them always looks away.

Neither of them looked away, this time.

“I’m not,” Arthur said, simply.

Which was true but, “You’re not actively hating me, though. You just, I don’t know…” he trailed off, unsure.

“Is that what you expected from me when you came back?”

“I don’t expect very much from you at all, but yes I’d thought you’d be more angry.”

Arthur shrugged. “I am. But you’re here, now and there’s nothing I can do about that so I put up with it. As king, I have a certain reputation to uphold. Raging at you or Morgana would mess with that.”

Wow.

When Merlin didn’t say anything, Arthur continued, “Everything I said, I still believe. I just see no point in going in circles about it, now. You’re here and we’re in proximity too much for me to keep our relationship openly hostile.”

Merlin ripped off another petal. “ Openly hostile, ” he repeated, quietly.

Arthur didn’t say anything.

Merlin wondered how things had gone so terribly wrong.

They didn’t talk again after that, unless it was absolutely necessary.

Arthur stayed all night to help with preparing the potion, wherever he could, and attending to the sick patients. 

He was good at it. 

People instinctively calmed in his presence and he had a way of bringing a smile to their face, or hope in their eyes, with just a few words.

By the time the first of the rays of light started filtering in through the windows, the cure was ready. 

There was, thankfully, more than enough for everyone and Merlin worked quickly to fill all the vials he had on hand. Arthur hovered nearby, antsy with anticipation. 

He grabbed a vial and finally went over to Gwaine’s cot. Maybe it was selfish to give it to him first, but at least if something went wrong, he knew Gwaine could handle it better than most people here.

Gwaine was sleeping. Merlin shook him awake.

His eyes opened, blearily. “Can’t a dying man get some sleep?” He grumbled.

Merlin grinned. “Not a dying man for much longer.” He held up the vial to Gwaine.

Gwaine’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “You did it?!”

Merlin nodded. “Bottom’s up!”

Gwaine snatched the vial out of his hand and swallowed it one go. Arthur and Merlin watched with bated breath waiting for something—anything—to happen.

Then, they watched in real time as the colour returned to Gwaine’s face. Merlin hadn’t even realised just how pale he had become until he was faced with Gwaine’s true complexion again.

He sagged in relief. Arthur behind him whooped and clapped his back.

Merlin tried not to melt into it.

He was happy. It was just a reflexive gesture. 

Merlin wrapped Gwaine in a hug, both of them holding onto each other with a death grip. When Merlin shifted back, Arthur took his place.

None of them even commented on how odd it was for Arthur to hug anyone, let alone Gwaine. It had been a tough week. They were constantly thinking they’d lose Gwaine to the virus and it had eaten at their nerves, the fear deepening with every cough and every other man they lost.

But Gwaine had made it through and so would everyone else, now.

 

---

 

When Merlin returned from the town, after a quick trip to ensure everyone had received the cure, he went straight to the castle’s makeshift infirmary.

Inside, when once the entire place was full to the brim with dying people, now only a handful of cots were occupied. 

Merlin sighed in relief. It truly was a miracle. 

Arthur was knelt by a cot, helping an elderly man drink some water. He noticed him instantly and when the man was settled back down, he came over.

“Everyone’s recovering?” Merlin asked.

Arthur nodded, half a smile on his face. “Those who remain are taking longer to heal for some reason. Their fever has gone down but the cough is persistent.”

“Yeah, it was the same in the lower town. Might just be because of weaker immune systems.”

Arthur looked around, assessing the hall. “We’re all out of spare cloths, by the way.”

“Did you check the shelf in the back?”

“Yep. They were getting used up pretty fast between the fevers and all the blood. Are there any more?”

Merlin thought for a moment. “Think so. Come on,” he called, turning to leave.

Arthur followed and soon fell into step beside him. They walked quietly through the halls of the castle, the only sound being the echoing of their footsteps. 

“Is Morgana awake yet?” Merlin asked, when he could no longer bear the stifling silence.

Arthur exhaled and gave a sharp nod. “She helped out in the infirmary for a while and then Leon came to talk to me about something and she…disappeared.”

Merlin groaned. “Did he say anything about the—you know.”

“No.”

Merlin felt a pang of sympathy for Morgana. This wasn’t looking good for her.

Merlin pushed open a door. It was a store room, similar to the one they’d found Excalibur in. 

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “How are we supposed to find anything in here?”

“With our eyes, I reckon,” Merlin said, dryly.

Arthur rolled his eyes and they both got to work, opening wardrobes, rifling through dusty shelves and searching forgotten trunks.

Merlin sneezed once and then cursed when a stack of towels fell on his head. 

Arthur, of course, laughed.

Merlin’s gaze was drawn up, wondering where the towels had fallen from and his eyes landed on a cupboard, the top of which was piled with all sorts of crap.

Merlin took a few steps back and squinted to get a better vantage point.

“Found it!”

Arthur came beside him to have a look.

“Now how are we supposed to get those down?” He wondered.

They both looked around, searching for anything tall enough to help them reach the top of the overly tall wardrobe.

Merlin sighed and walked over to it. “Give me a boost,” he said, turning to Arthur. 

Arthur gave him a look but he too realised there wasn’t any other way, for he sighed and bent down to cup his hands in front of the wardrobe. 

Merlin stepped onto his hand with one foot, the other one hovering in the air next to it. His hands automatically reached for Arthur’s shoulders as he tried to stabilise himself.

“Don’t drop me,” Merlin said, nervously.

“I won’t,” Arthur drawled out. And Merlin wasn’t even looking at him but he could practically hear the accompanying eye roll.

Merlin took a deep breath and rose to his full height, his hands moving from Arthur’s shoulders—which were too low to be of much support, now—to the top of his head. 

He peered over the top of the wardrobe, finally spotting the two large bundles.

“ Don’t drop me,” Merlin warned again, when he disbalanced for a second.

Arthur groaned. “I won’t!”

Merlin took a deep breath and lifted one hand off of Arthur’s head—the other, holding tighter onto his hair — and dragged the bag closest to him down.

He teetered dangerously as it fell and pulled a few— outrageously soft—blonde locs in warning. “Don’t-”

“ Ow! I heard you the first two times, Mer lin. Stop pulling my hair. ”

Merlin snorted and looked down for a second. “Gwaine’s right. You really are such a princess.”

Arthur glared. “I will drop you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Merlin shot back. 

He reached up again. The second bundle was wedged further back. 

Merlin cursed and stretched as far as he could and then stretched some more. Arthur’s arms shifted beneath him, and Merlin instinctively yanked on his hair again for balance.

“Ow! Merlin!”  

“Support me better then!” Merlin yelled, as he finally managed to find purchase on the fat bundle.

“You're standing on me . I am literally your support.”

Merlin ignored the king’s dramatics and pulled the bag a little closer. Suddenly, something disgustingly fat and hairy scurried out from behind it. 

Merlin yelped and jumped another foot higher in the air, and then promptly came crashing down.

“Arthur—!”

“MERLIN!”

They landed in a mess of limbs and fabric—the stupid bundle had ripped open from the fall—with Merlin ungracefully atop Arthur.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you idiot? ”

He lay there catching his breath for a moment, trying to ignore the way he could feel Arthur’s chest rise and fall fast beneath him, and how his thigh was pressed between Arthur’s legs in the tangle, or how Arthur’s arm had instinctively circled his waist.

He rolled off to collapse on the floor instead, resolutely looking at the ceiling. Then, just to say something before awkwardness filled the air, Merlin kicked Arthur’s leg, and accused, “You dropped me.”

Arthur, who was also still on the floor, turned to him in outrage and retorted, “I did not. You fell. And you ripped my hair out.” He rubbed his mussed hair. “ And I’m pretty sure your fat head gave me a concussion.”

Merlin snorted and finally sat up. “If anyone’s got a fat head, it’s you.” 

But still, his physician’s concern kicked in and his fingers brushed away the hair at Arthur’s temple and he leaned closer to assess for any serious damage.

Arthur went very still under his touch.

Merlin didn’t notice at first—his eyes narrowed in concentration as he tilted Arthur’s face toward the light, fingers gentle against his jaw. His forehead was a little red but Merlin only felt a little bad. 

“Hm. You’ll live,” he declared.

Merlin leaned back and finally noticed how rigid Arthur had gone and just how close he’d gotten. 

He watched Arthur collect his bearings and pretend not to notice his reddening cheeks. He was sure his own ears were probably flashing crimson.

He sat up. “Brilliant. And for the record, I didn’t drop you. ”

“Explain why we’re on the floor then,” Merlin challenged, just to be annoying.

“Because you’re an idiot and you fell. And you weren’t on the floor. You were on me . So technically I caught you,” Arthur gloated, childishly. Then he added, “Why did you fall?”

Suddenly remembering, Merlin’s head snapped to the wardrobe, trying to catch sight of the fat monster, again. “There was a rat.”

“A rat,” Arthur repeated, his eyebrows shooting up. “The way you screamed, I’d have thought it was a wilddeoren.”

Merlin shuddered at the memory of that. “Close enough.” He scowled.

Arthur shook his head, half in amusement and half in disbelief. “ ‘King of the druids’, ” he muttered under his breath and scoffed

Merlin kicked him again, harder this time. “Don’t mock me. It was disgusting. And fat! Fatter than–”

“Me?”

“-You.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re awfully predictable, Mer lin.”

And, really, Merlin couldn’t help it when a laugh chortled out of him, almost painfully. 

This felt like them; and everything he couldn’t have; and everything Arthur had ruined.

Arthur pushed himself up while Merlin’s laugh bordered on hysterical, but it was okay, because Arthur was laughing too, and if he really tried, Merlin could see the pain in his eyes.

He wondered if it was a reflection of his own or if it was Arthur’s. 

Did Arthur ever miss him?

He was lent a hand up and whacked it away, amusement gone from his face now, as he remembered his hurt. It was scarily easy to lose himself in the moment when he was around Arthur. 

Merlin stood up and dusted off his tunic. Briefly catching the odd look Arthur was giving him. 

He grabbed as many of the scraps of fabric he could and stuffed them into the ripped bundle. Arthur grabbed the other one and they made their way back to infirmary, wholly ignoring the charged air.

They were nearly at the door when it burst open. Gwen came out, frantic and worried.

“Merlin, something’s gone wrong!”

Merlin dropped the bundle in his hands and ran into the infirmary. 

His head spun as he took in the scene. 

The smell of iron hung in the air; every remaining patient was keeled over, vomiting blood, their skin deathly pale.

“Guinevere, you can’t be here,” Arthur said, already trying to pull her outside.

Merlin watched, helpless as Gwen shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. I have to be here.”

Arthur realised before Merlin and quickly caught her before she slumped over.

Gwen turned to the side, and coughed hysterically. It soon devolved into gagging and then she threw up, blood dribbling down her face and onto the stone floor.

Merlin stepped back, horrified. 

The virus had mutated.

Merlin realised, with startling clarity, what had to be done.

Notes:

I was SO close to making arthur fall asleep on merlin's shoulder after finsihing his apple, what is wrong with me😭 WHy can't i let them stay awakee!! The only thing that stopped me was the sausage scene lmao.

p.s the rat scene was brought to you by a bored me, going out of my mindd when they forced us to sit an extra 40 minutes in the exam hall, after finishing. I was just sitting there cooking up ideas and hoping i wouldn't forget them before i got home to write it down (which happens annoyingly often). Anyways, fuck you cambridge!

Chapter 19: The first time you ever saw me cry

Chapter 19: The first time you ever saw me cry

 

Arthur ran to catch up with Merlin. He was doing that I’m-going-to-do-something-idiotic walk.

It wasn't hard to guess what he was going off to do.

“You are not going to use magic to find a cure,” Arthur yelled, covering the final few steps between them.

“Is that right?” Merlin kept on walking, going deeper into the forest.

Arthur grabbed his arm in a tight grip and spun him around. “That is an order from your king,” he spat out.

Merlin’s eyes blazed with anger and Arthur fought to not take his words back or soften his tone—but no, Merlin wouldn’t listen to kindness in this case, he knew him well enough.

When it came to saving people’s lives, Merlin ignored all rationality. 

“Try and stop me, Your Majesty,” he warned.

When Arthur didn’t say anything, only fixing him with a cold glare, Merlin continued, in a dangerous tone, “If I have to leave Camelot’s borders to do the ritual, I will. So either unhand me or risk facing the consequences, sire .”

Arthur didn’t loosen his grip. “Do you even understand what you’re setting out to do?” He hissed. “Magic requires a sacrifice–”

“Then I will pay it,” Merlin cut in with narrowed eyes.

“You are not god , Merlin. What are you going to do? Condemn a village in some other land to our fate?”

Merlin scoffed. “I’m almost offended you think I could do that.”

“I don’t know what you’re willing to do, because it seems I never really knew you at all, did I?” Arthur snapped.

“Of course you didn’t. We were nothing , remember? Why would you have known me at all?”

Arthur swallowed. 

His words would never cease to haunt him. 

“Don’t change the subject,” he said carelessly, with a roll of his eyes. “What are you planning on doing?”

“None of your business.” And then he pulled his arm free and went back to briskly walking further into the forest. 

Arthur pushed his hair back, in frustration, and followed right on his heels. They walked a few miles into the forest, in complete silence. 

Arthur mulled over what was about to happen. He knew he couldn’t stop Merlin—not when he would happily knock him out with his stupidly powerful magic. Better to just follow along.

When his thoughts finally turned towards the impending sacrifice Merlin seemed only too happy to make, he realised with horrifying clarity why that was.

Arthur pulled Merlin to a stop by tugging the back of his shirt toward himself. 

“You’re going to sacrifice yourself ,” he said, low and sharp, allowing his anger to bleed into every word.

“Took you long enough.”

“No,” he growled. “I forbid it.”

“I already told you,” Merlin shoved his chest and Arthur stumbled back a step, “I don’t give a rat’s ass what you want.” 

“So what, you’re just going to kill yourself to end all this? Seems like a coward’s way out.”

It isn’t. 

It’s brave and foolishly selfless and Arthur wants to hang his head in shame for considering, even for a moment, that Merlin would ever sacrifice anyone other than himself.

Merlin rolled his eyes (again). “I’m not going to die. I’m immune to the plague, for starters, and I’m fairly certain I’m immortal. So.” He shrugged and turned back around, continuing their walk.

Arthur’s head spun with that new information. Immortal??

Okay good, so Merlin wasn’t going to die and the plague would be gone.

Seemed too good to be true.

“How will the sacrifice even work? You’re one man, trading for an entire city worth of people,” Arthur tried.

He knew though, Merlin could do it.

Merlin shrugged, not turning back. “I’m Emrys. I’ll figure it out.”

Arthur huffed.

So he was just walking into this with no plan of action. How typical.

He wasn’t surprised. Merlin had bolted right after Guinevere passed out and after making sure Morgana was there to take care of everyone, Arthur had gone after him.

Merlin certainly hadn’t stopped to think this through.

Idiot .

Brave idiot.

They stopped in a clearing. Merlin didn’t acknowledge him as he went to the center and set his satchel satchel down. 

Arthur stopped a few steps behind. 

“You’re sure this won’t kill you?”

Merlin turned to face him. “Why would that even matter?” Then he clarified, “to you , I mean,” 

“I don't want you to die,” Arthur admitted. Because he didn’t, obviously, and he could probably play that off without ruining the ruse.

Hopefully.

“You don’t, do you?” Merlin sneered.

“No,” he spat out. “I banished you. I could have burned you at the pyre, but I didn’t.”

“Oh, wonderful. Am I supposed to get on my knees and thank you, my lord?”

“You’re supposed to be smart. If I wanted you dead, you’d be long dead.”

“Like I said, I don’t give a damn what you want. Although, it’s nice that you've still got a shred of humanity in that wretched heart of yours.”

Arthur sighed and tried to ignore the words. “Don't do this. We’ll find another way, Merlin.”

“No. Too many people have died already.” 

Merlin still hadn’t answered.

Would this kill him?

Arthur watched on as Merlin turned his face to the sky and began chanting words that he couldn’t even hope to understand. 

His eyes flashed gold and his voice steadily grew louder, sending a shiver down Arthur’s spine. 

Arthur begged the gods to have mercy on him.

Merlin started trembling, his words coming out more disjointed. 

Arthur flinched as thick, dark tendrils of black matter rushed out from behind them—from within the village and the citadel. 

They easily dodged him, slipping past like smoke, shooting straight for Merlin.

He watched in horror as, all at once, they collided with him. Merlin’s back arched at the impact and a guttural scream was torn out of him.

Arthur stumbled forward and caught him in his arms before he hit the ground.

His fingers flew to Merlin’s neck, searching for a pulse. His own heart was pounding so loudly in his ears that he struggled to focus, fear clouding his senses.

He sagged with relief once he felt the gentle thrum. It was faint but it was there.

Clouds that came out of nowhere suddenly started pouring rain, masking Arthur’s tears as he placed his forehead on Merlin’s, cradling him close.

He sat there a few minutes, collecting energy and his emotions. Finally, Arthur stood and made his way back to the castle, Merlin in his arms.

For the first time in days, he didn’t hear a single cough as he walked through the castle halls.

 

---

 

Merlin spends two whole days sleeping like the dead. On the third, he twists and turns restlessly in his sleep, moaning from the pain.

The entire time, the rain didn't let up. Not even once.

It lashed at the windows like the sky itself was grieving. It splashed against the soil as if every drop was cleansing the kingdom of the plague.

Between getting the kingdom back on its feet and planning out the memorial, Arthur didn’t have much time to check in on him, but every spare second he got was spent by Merlin’s side.

Everyone had been cured and now Merlin was sick. Selfishly, Arthur wished it wasn’t so.

He sat beside the bed with his head in his hands, shoulders hunched. He’d faced armies and beasts, but watching Merlin like this, helpless and fading, was a worse pain than anything else.

Morgana and Gwen and all the knights stopped by too. Merlin was almost never alone and Arthur was glad for that.

He did get a sharp, knowing look from Leon and a curious one from Gwaine, whenever they walked in to find him already present, but besides that, no one commented on his presence.

Arthur wouldn’t know what to say, anyway.

On the fourth day, Merlin woke. 

It was just Arthur in the room with him and he momentarily panicked. Quickly, he grabbed a handful of papers and started flipping through them.

Arthur watched out of his periphery as Merlin shifted, taking in his surroundings.

Finally, he spotted him. 

“What’re you doin’ here?” Merlin garbled out, then promptly started coughing.

Arthur looked up, alarmed. He quickly shot up and helped Merlin sit, then handed him the bucket left nearby. 

Soon enough, his coughs devolved into throwing up literal blood. Merlin blanched when he looked down into the bucket and then vomited some more.

Arthur hovered uselessly, wondering if he should rub his back or not. 

Merlin heaved, the bout seeming to have passed, and Arthur was saved from having to make that decision.

He settled back on the rickety chair.

Merlin was still looking at him with a questioning look in his eyes, so he answered, “It’s my shift on Merlin-watch.”

He was aiming for a casual air and not at all a I’ve-been-worried-sick air.

Merlin put the bucket down, next to the bed and curled up under the thin blanket, again, eyes fluttering.

“Whot’s that?”

And dammit, it’s so difficult to not smile at how adorable he sounds.

“We’ve all been taking turns sitting here, waiting for you to wake up. Gaius said you had to be monitored at all times. So.”

Merlin’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Kingly duties?”

He nodded towards the pile of his paperwork, sitting on the windowsill, half a smile gracing his face. “I’ve been getting my work done here.” Then, to explain his presence, he added, “Not very many people that Morgana trusts to leave alone with you.”

He made a mental note to update his sister on the new lie.

Merlin yawned. “How’d you make the list?”

Ouch.

He shrugged. “I don’t pretend to know how her brain works.”

“Hm.” He looks close to drifting off, eyes only half open. “Everyone is alright?”

“Yeah, everyone’s fine, Merlin. Go to sleep.”

And there’s more that needs to be said, of course. ‘ Thank you’ and ‘don’t pull that shit again’, but there’ll be a better time for that when Merlin isn’t half delirious.

“Good.”

And then Merlin was fast asleep again, like he’d never even woken in the first place.

Arthur drew his knees up to his chest, arms wrapped loosely around them, and simply watched the slow, steady rise and fall of Merlin’s chest in the dim light.

He didn’t mean to fall asleep, but eventually, with the rhythm of Merlin’s breathing lulling him, he drifted off too.

Outside, the rain finally trickled to a stop.

Notes:

of course they both fell asleep :l
it just happens bro idk. Is there a tag for this? Sleeping as a love language?

Chapter 20: And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

Summary:

Merlin ends up in Arthur's room again, oops.

Chapter 20: And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

 

Merlin didn’t know much of what was going on beyond waking up for small fragments of time due to unbearable pain or the need to vomit. 

Or both.

He’d been through plenty of agonising situations before but this might just take the cake.

It felt like every bone in his body was being crushed into dust, every muscle was protesting movement and every nerve screamed in agony, fire coursing through his veins with each breath.

The good thing was, it came and went.

The bad thing was, when it went , he was too busy throwing up to appreciate the breather.

The days passed. Merlin wasn’t sure how many, he knew, only, that he wished they would go faster. Surely the pain would ease up, in time?

He never woke up alone. One of his friends was always sitting dutifully in the corner. They’d offer him water and help him sit up and Merlin just wanted to shake them and ask where Arthur was.

Or if that had been just a dream.

It had felt like one. 

Arthur had been kind and Merlin had been awed and pained by it. It was all he wanted, even now, even after everything.

Pathetic, foolish heart.

He was sure at least a week had passed when the pain started to fade. 

It still clung to his bones like a disease, leaving weakness and frailty in its place, but Merlin much preferred that to the previous agony.

The next time Merlin woke after that, Arthur was there again. Merlin’s heart leapt at the sight.

He was slumped awkwardly in the little, wooden chair by the window, fast asleep. 

Snoring, too.

Merlin scanned the items in his reach, then poked one arm out of the threadbare blanket to grab the pillow at the end of his bed. That wasn’t his; probably one of his lazy friends.

Merlin chucked it, his aim hitting true as it flopped off Arthur’s face and onto his lap.

Arthur’s eyes flew open, startled.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to be sleeping on shift,” Merlin pointed out. 

Arthur rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. 

“Gwaine was here too when I drifted off,” he explained, voice hoarse and a little raspy.

Arthur put a few papers to the side and stood up. 

Merlin watched him stretch and work out the cricks in his body, no doubt from the awfully uncomfortable chair that he’d made into a bed.

“Gwen said you have to eat before you sleep again, so don’t fall asleep. I’ll send someone to get food.” 

Merlin nodded and wondered what alternate dimension he’d entered where Arthur was treating him like he actually cared.

Arthur left and Merlin took the chance to survey his room. It was a mess—but for once, not his own familiar one. 

He spied Gwen’s cloak draped over Arthur’s chair, Morgana’s gloves on his side table, Gwaine’s socks on the end of his bed—he kicked those off with a grimace—and Lancelot’s jacket hung on the door knob.

The room smelled faintly of lavender and herbs and old parchment; it was still his room, but it was soaked in their presence.

He swallowed the lump in his throat. He wasn’t used to being the one looked after.

Arthur’s presence was there too, in the papers that carpeted the floor, and not for the first time, Merlin wondered why Arthur was even here.

He remembered, vaguely, something about shifts and Morgana, from the first time he woke, but not much more beyond that. 

Seemed it was Arthur’s shift again.

Merlin sat up when he returned, tray in hand and accepted it gratefully. He was starving and he’d do just about anything to get rid of the weakness that lingered in his bones.

Arthur set it down on his lap and Merlin froze when his hand reached for his forehead, checking for a fever. 

Vaguely, Merlin registered that this was the first time since he’d been back that Arthur had initiated touching him. 

Mostly, he just focused on how warm Arthur’s hand was. And though it was gentle, he could feel every callous on his skin.

Merlin didn’t dare move. Or breathe.

Arthur’s brow was furrowed. He let his hand drop and said, “You’re still too warm. The fever should have passed by now.”

God, he was standing so close, acting so familiar , it left an ache in his chest. 

Merlin swallowed past the tightness in his throat and replied, “It’s fine, I already feel well enough to get out of this stupid room.”

“Gaius said you’re not to leave until your fever has completely gone.” Then he handed him two familiar vials.

Merlin grimaced and flinched away from the foul-tasting medicines, made by his own hand. “I don’t need those,” he insisted.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You do. You quite literally look like death right now.”

“Gee, thanks,” he muttered and hesitantly accepted the vials. 

He studied them both and cursed himself for making the gross one such a large quantity. He’d never expected to have to take it himself .

With slightly shaky fingers, Merlin uncorked the better of the two and quickly downed it. He avoided Arthur’s amused and heavy gaze and pinched his nose before swallowing the other.

He followed it up with the large glass of water on his tray, most of it dribbling down his neck in his haste.

That was even worse than he’d imagined.

Arthur snorted, then stated, “Eat.” And when Merlin made no immediate move to do so—still recovering from the wretched taste—he added, “Don’t make me call Gaius in.”

Merlin huffed and shoved a spoon of stew into his mouth. “How’s Gwen feeling?”

He could do this; he could act normal.

“She’s fine, everyone’s fine. It’s just you that’s sick now,” Arthur replied, in an almost exasperated tone, and settled back into his chair.

Merlin inspected the food on his tray. There was a hearty venison soup and warm, buttered bread 

Out of the corner of his eye, he spied Arthur sifting through some reports, occasionally looking up at him. 

Merlin ate as much as he could stomach, which wasn’t very much at all.

When he noticed Merlin push the tray away, he said, “You have to finish everything, Merlin .”

“I’m full, I don’t want more.”

“Stop acting like a child. You have literally not eaten in days. If I return a full plate to the kitchen, Gaius will have my head.” 

He shrugged. “Good.”

“Merlin.”

“Sire.”

He stood up. “Right, I’m gonna fetch Gaius.” He gave an evil smile. “Stay put.”

Merlin groaned. “I really can’t stomach any more!”

Arthur stopped by the door and looked between the tray and Merlin. He sighed.

“Finish the soup.”

Merlin looked at it, nose wrinkled. 

Arthur’s hand moved to the door knob.

Merlin gave a great, big sigh and picked up the spoon.

Arthur stood like a statue at the door the whole while, watching Merlin eat.

Prat.

Merlin held up the tray when he’d finished with the soup and Arthur took it and left.

How odd, to be in such reversed roles. 

Arthur didn’t return.

Morgana came as his replacement, and Merlin smiled and talked to her for a while before he fell asleep, again.

He tried not to let his thoughts drift back to the king, he really did, but in the end, it was hopeless.

His dreams featured a soft, golden-haired prince—unhardened by the weight of a kingdom’s expectations and a betrayal. 

Merlin reveled in the fantasy that he knew he could never have.

In the dream, Arthur smiled more. Touched him without hesitation. Said things Merlin knew the real Arthur never would— sweet things.

But when he woke, the ache in his chest was worse than before

Because that version of Arthur didn’t exist anymore.

Maybe he never had.

And it was a cruel reminder: he’d been a fool to fall for him in the first place.

A bigger fool for yearning still.

 

---

 

Life slowly returned to normal.

When Merlin found out he’d been bed-ridden for nearly two weeks straight, he demanded to be let out. He was well enough, finally, to not be denied anymore.

His limbs still ached with too much activity and he could sometimes still feel the taste of iron in his mouth and he felt an unending chill in his bones, even though they were well into Spring, but it wasn’t entirely unbearable and Merlin was glad for that.

When he’d set out to do the sacrifice, he really hadn’t known how it would affect him. He barely even believed Kilgaarah when he told him he was immortal—because how insane was that —and he’d thought it would take more of him in exchange.

Apparently, 12 days of agony and the residual effect of feeling like he had the bones of someone twice his age, was enough to appease the gods.

He did hope it wouldn’t last forever . But, Merlin wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth and he could see that he’d gotten the better end of the bargain.

So, life returned to normal.

There was a backlog of orders from Oakmere so the first day back on his feet was spent catching up on those. It was a good way to ease his body into doing something other than lying down.

He restarted rounds the second day, always accompanied by one of his friends, who were still fretting over his health way too much.

Leon and Morgana still weren’t speaking, he found out.

It was more than a little sad but Merlin was staying out of it. If he couldn’t convince Arthur to accept magic, he had no hope of changing Leon’s mind. 

It would be up to Morgana. 

Besides, something told Merlin that Leon simply needed time to come around.

“Merlin! What are you doing just lazing around here?”

Merlin looked up, hands pausing on the honeyed bread he was about to put on his tray. Martha was staring at him with the intensity of a general, her ladle swinging like a weapon."

“Uh, I came to grab some breakfast.”

She rolled her eyes. “Well, be a dear and give us a hand, would you? We’ve all got our hands full.” And, though her words were sweet-sounding, her tone and expression left no room for argument.

She picked up an overflowing tray and pushed it in his hands. Merlin dropped the roll, sadly, and accepted it. “Where does this go, then?”

“To the king, of course.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up. 

Why did he have such horrible luck?

After everything with the plague, Merlin had no idea where they stood. It just kept getting more and more confusing and he was trying to stay well away from Arthur to avoid getting tangled in more mess and heartbreak.

Martha continued, “Surely, you remember your way?”

As if he could ever forget the chambers he’d frequented for a decade.

Merlin nodded, quietly accepting his fate. 

Martha turned away and began yelling orders again. He looked over the plate and noticing what was wrong about it, he readjusted the plates to make room and fixed it.

The walk to Arthur’s room felt awfully long. 

His mind kept haunting him with memories of so many similar mornings; of waking up early; picking up breakfast from the kitchen; barging into the prince’s chambers without hesitation; waking him up and cherishing the soft laziness as he groaned about staying in bed and then slowly dragged himself to the dining table.

But everything was different now.

Merlin knocked. 

He waited to be granted entry before taking a deep breath and going in.

Arthur was already awake.

He was, also, shirtless. 

Arthur was standing at his desk, quickly jotting down something in a book. He hadn’t looked up when Merlin entered, so Merlin took the opportunity to let his eyes travel down his toned body.

He wondered what he could have possibly remembered to write down, right after having woken up.

And who had woken him?

Better yet, how was he awake and looking so fresh already?

Merlin stood at the door, feeling unsure. 

Arthur finally looked up. He froze. 

For a long moment, they just studied each other. Merlin didn’t think it was his imagination that Arthur looked just as off-kilter.

“Um.” Merlin searched for something to say and landed on, “I got dragged into helping out in the kitchens.”

There was a pause and then Arthur said, quietly, “Oh.” 

And because Merlin could not stand the awkwardness, he continued blabbering on, “Everyone was busy preparing for the feast tonight and Martha—that’s the cook—figured I might as well make myself useful, which is unfair really, 'cause I just went to grab some food for myself, and—” 

He was fully aware that he was rambling and completely helpless to stop it.

“—I have to make my rounds still, but well, it felt rude to say no when the entire staff was running around like chickens.”

Holy hell, what is wrong with him?

Arthur was standing there, still just as shirtless as before, and watching Merlin with wide eyes. Merlin was about to open his blasted mouth again, but thankfully, Arthur beat him to it. 

“Right. That’s fine.” A beat. “Thank you.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do it for you . I literally just explained that.” He had the childish urge to add, ‘W ere you not listening?’

Arthur nodded. 

He had an odd look on his face and Merlin couldn’t stand being here, in this role a second longer. It was too reminiscent of how things used to be. He quickly went over to the dining table and set the tray down. 

He turned around to leave.

His hand was on the door when Arthur, sounding confused, called out, “Why are there sausages here?” 

“Are there not supposed to be?” He turned around, just as confused.

Arthur was standing over the table, now, eyeing the plate heaped with the sausages that Merlin had placed there himself . 

What an ungrateful prat.

“No?” Arthur didn’t care to elaborate.

“Oh.” What? “Well they weren’t on your tray, originally, so I put them on there 'cause I thought Martha got distracted and forgot. Thought you’d throw a tantrum…you always have sausages.” The last sentence came out more as a question than he’d intended. 

“Oh,” Arthur said softly. He was looking at Merlin with the same raw, unguarded look that had become so commonplace in their friendship, back before Arthur destroyed it. 

Merlin didn’t know what to make of it. 

Arthur blinked, and as if a switch had been flipped, any hint of the softness was gone.

Merlin didn’t think he would ever understand this person Arthur had turned into. He didn’t even want to. 

He would kill for Arthur back—the version of him that didn’t have anything to hate Merlin for; the prince that had proven time and time again that he cared for Merlin—in his own prattish way—and not the king who only looked at him like he wasn’t nothing in the rare moments that he forgot his treasonous actions.

How was he missing a man who was right here? How was he missing the friend that had turned on him in an instant?

Merlin bit his lip, unsure. “I can take it back—?”

“No, that’s alright,” Arthur replied, quickly.

Merlin was about to leave, again, when Arthur called out, “Merlin.”

Merlin hovered near the door, fists clenched.

This was too much. 

“I wanted to say thank you for what you did. I’m not happy that you did it…but you did save the entire kingdom and for that, I will always be grateful,” he said, sounding more genuine than Merlin could even believe. 

Arthur was thanking him.

For using his magic.

Merlin was reminded, suddenly, of Uther and Gaius. Was that what they were heading towards? Forever distant, with the king only going to the physician for selfish needs and being hypocritical when it came to magic?

Was history doomed to repeat itself, even after all of Merlin’s efforts to be better?

Merlin nodded. He couldn’t scrounge up any words, so he simply turned and slipped out. 

The entire walk back to the kitchen, his head was spinning.

What had they become?

Notes:

i was giggling and kicking my feet while writing the uther-arthur-gaius-merlin parallel lmao.

Also to anyone that i previously answered about how much of the story is approximately left, please forget what i said. a bunch more chapters have been added since then. I can't help itt. Everytime i hear a lyric that resonates with the story, i feel the urge to write a scene about it and thenn I have to turn that into a chapter if i cant fit it in anywhere :/ sucks to be me.

Oh my GOD iwas rereading chapter 1 (of this) for the first time since i wrote it and id completely forgotten that for like half a chapter, ive written them being normal and happy😭😭💔 AND LOOK AT THIS: ‘He cared too much for Merlin to allow their friendship to be tainted by an order such as that.’ crazy work bruh. i cant wait to be done with the whole thing so i can read it all in one go. (Sorry for the lack of humility?😭😭😭its just that i wrote this very much for myself lmao)

Next chapter: the begining of a very fun/light-hearted arc imo. We'll take a (lowkey-ish) break from the angst before a few big explosions :)

Chapter 21: 'Cause lately I don't even know what page you're on

Summary:

forced proximity central. And by that, I mean, a one bed scene (!!)

Chapter 21: 'Cause lately I don't even know what page you're on

 

For the first time in more than two years, Arthur sent his tray back to the kitchen, completely cleared.

The servant that had come to collect it had even given Arthur an odd, twitchy little look. Arthur ignored it. 

He, also, ignored the warmth he felt all the way down to his toes when Merlin had mentioned that he’d put the sausages there himself, remembering how much he loved them.

Things between them felt different after everything with the plague. He didn’t think it was just his imagination that they’d sort of…mellowed out. 

He had no doubt Merlin still hated his guts and that Merlin thought Arthur hated his, but it just felt different somehow. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he was glad anyway.

So, a few days later, when word reached the castle about a rogue lord, treating his villagers unjustly, Arthur didn’t think twice about dragging Merlin along.

Merlin was slumped on a stool, head resting on the table and nearly asleep when Arthur barged in.

He jumped up, startled, and then looked at him with such irritation and confusion that Arthur almost apologised.

“Pack a bag, Merlin. You’ll be coming with us to one of the nearby towns—”

“What? why?” Merlin groaned.

Arthur rolled his eyes. Servant or physician, Merlin would never not be lazy, it seemed. 

“Because you’re the physician,” he drawled, like it was obvious. 

“Gaius never had to go with you,” Merling protested, rubbing his eyes.

“I promise, Merlin, when your hair is white and your bones creak with every step, I’ll let you sit out the trips too,” he replied, dryly.

Merlin’s eyes brightened and Arthur’s heart stuttered. 

“That can be arranged.”

Arthur wondered for a second what he could possibly mean by that before he realised Merlin was referring to ‘Dragoon’.

He sighed. 

“ Pack a bag. We leave in an hour.”

“Yes, your majesty,” Merlin drawled out. 

Arthur had a stupid smile on his face, the whole walk back to his own chambers. 

 

---

 

“Let’s play a game,” Gwaine called out from where he was riding somewhere behind him. 

Arthur didn’t bother stifling his annoyed sigh.

They’d been riding for two hours, which meant they’d about reached the point of the journey where Gwaine became so restless that he simply became insufferable.

Arthur picked up the pace, hoping to reach their destination well before nightfall. They were travelling in a smaller pack—only Leon, Gwaine, Percival, and Merlin with him—so they were moving a tad faster than usual, at least.

“How about two truths and a lie?” Merlin replied, his voice closer.

Arthur turned to lock eyes with him. “Yeah, you’d enjoy that wouldn’t you, Merlin ?”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, tone dangerously low.

Arthur smirked and turned back to the front. Leon was watching him like he was a puzzle.

But it was simple. He couldn’t allow himself to be too nice. The fact that they’d ‘mellowed out’, while nice, was still dangerous. 

And this was an easy opportunity. It wouldn’t hurt Merlin too much—at least he hoped not—and it would serve its purpose.

So, Arthur replied, easily, “You know exactly what I mean.”

Everyone else had fallen silent. Even Gwaine, how lovely.

Merlin then started, merrily, “How about I start!”

Arthur cursed. 

“I grew up in Ealdor, my eyes are green, and Arthur once spent a week braying like an actual donkey,” he finished, sounding joyous as ever.

Arthur resisted the urge to say anything, lest he add fuel to the fire. Leon was secretly smiling, being the only other one who’d witnessed all…that.

Percival said, “Surely not…”

“Well his eyes are definitely not green,” Gwaine said.

“And I can confirm he is indeed from Ealdor,” Leon supplied. 

Arthur turned to give him a warning look, but it was already too late.

The rest of them howled with laughter at Arthur’s expense. He could pick out Merlin’s laugh even over the din. It was low but bright and unrestrained and it was the only thing that kept Arthur from telling them all to shut up.

Gwaine asked, still half-wheezing, “How’d that happen, princess?”

Arthur ignored him, though his face was steadily turning red. Merlin, of course, answered, giving everyone the full story—donkey ears and all.

When he finished, the laughter started up again and even Leon joined them, pointedly avoiding Arthur’s lethal glare.

“Alright, my turn,” he called over the ruckus.

Slowly, they quieted down. Arthur could feel the heat of Merlin’s stare at the back of his head.

“I’m the king,” he started, already smiling. “Merlin once transformed himself into a girl—”

There was an outraged gasp. “ Arthur .”

He continued, unperturbed, “And I am wearing my cloak right now.” 

He wasn’t even trying to make it difficult and laughed along when his knights burst into laughter.

“It wasn’t a girl . It was an elderly woman,” Merlin corrected, sounding perfectly irritated.

Arthur grinned. “What difference does that make? It was you and that hideous dress that you probably stole from Morgana’s wardrobe.”

Merlin groaned and the knights continued howling with laughter. 

“I was doing it to save your life, you prat.”

Wasn’t he always?

“What could have possibly warranted that?” Leon asked, the first to recover.

There was a long pause.

“…it was complicated.” Then before the ruckus could start up again, he went, “My turn, now.”

“You just had your turn,” Arthur said, gruffly.

Gwaine declared, “He shall have another!”

“Thank you, kind Sir,” Merlin replied. “Now, let me think.”

“Don’t think too hard. Might hurt your little brain.”

Merlin resolutely ignored him. “I am the court physician, I’m allergic to walnuts and Arthur slipped in mud right after he’d kissed Gwen. And she was still watching too,” he chuckled.

“ Gwen?!” Percy and Gwaine rang out at the same time.

Arthur sighed.

“Didn’t you two know? They had a thing a while back.”

“It was a very long time ago,” Arthur added.

“Wow…Gwen.”

“I always thought it was only—” A dull thud cut Gwaine off. 

Good . 

Arthur wouldn’t have known how to react if he had finished that sentence.

Not that Gwaine was wrong. Quite the opposite. 

Arthur had ended things with Gwen when he realised all the qualities in her that he loved were just the ones that he also loved in Merlin. 

That had led to some interesting revelations about himself.

Leon hummed. “I don’t think Merlin’s allergic to walnuts.”

Gwaine snorted. “Wow, you really are hopeless, Arthur.”

“No worse than you. I still remember when that barmaid smacked you for flirting with her. That’s much worse.”

“Well, I’m not the king am I?”

“Thank god for that,” Leon muttered. 

“Who’s next?” Gwaine yelled.

Arthur looked up at the quickly darkening sky. “I think it’s going to rain.”

His words fell on deaf ears as Leon took his turn. “I’m not a knight—” So, none of them were trying, apparently. “—Uther slept with a troll, and I caught Merlin and Arthur ‘practicing poetry’ in the middle of the night, in some dark corridor, once.”

There was a long silence. 

Then, “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Uther-?!”

“Oh yeah, it was horrible. He was besotted,” Merlin replied, clearly remembering the events in vivid detail because his tone was tinged with disgust. “Married her, too.”

Gwaine and Percival both gasped and then gagged. 

“UTHER ACTUALLY FUCKED A TROLL?!”

“You are bordering on treason,” Arthur warned, trying to wipe the horrid image from his mind.

“Aren’t I always?” Merlin muttered, while Gwaine and Percival continued recovering from the news.

Arthur snorted, lightly. 

“Wait so, why were you practicing poetry?” Gwaine asked.

“Not practicing, I was teaching him.”

“No, that’s just the stupid excuse you came up with,” Arthur said.

“Oh yeah.”

“So…what were you doing? In a dark corridor. In the middle of the night. All alone.” Arthur could practically hear the smirk.

Leon cut in before he could say anything. “No, please. I really don’t want to know.”

Arthur gasped and turned several shades darker. “Nothing like that!”

Just then, a light drizzle started. 

“Damn it.” He stopped and turned his horse to face the others. 

Everyone looked concerned, watching the heavy, dark clouds roll in. The rain would pick up quickly.

“How far are we from the village?” Merlin asked. He was shivering, Arthur noticed.

“About an hour’s ride. I don’t think we’ll make it.” Already the rain was pouring heavier. He looked around, trying to remember the map of the area. “Okay, Gwaine, Percival, head west. There’s a smaller town, close by. Rest there and then meet us at the estate when the rain stops. If it gets too heavy for us to go further, we’ll just follow you there. Leon, you know the way to Halway’s estate?”

Leon nodded. 

“Good. Ride ahead. Merlin and I will be right behind you.”

Leon shot off, then the other two, after a quick goodbye to Merlin who was now frowning. 

“Why am I stuck with you?”

“Because I said so.” And because the storm looked dangerous and Arthur wanted Merlin close to him. “Try to keep up,” he said, and then led his horse to go in the same direction as Leon.

They both raced across the forest. Occasionally they would spot Leon, ahead of them, but eventually the rain was falling too heavily to see much past their horses.

Arthur stopped and dismounted when it became clear that it was too dangerous to keep riding. He automatically offered Merlin a hand and was surprised when Merlin took it and quietly slipped off his own horse.

Arthur almost flinched back at how cold his hand was. They were both drenched but Merlin seemed to be taking to it worse than him. His nose was red and he was literally shivering in his boots.

“What’s wrong with you?” Arthur asked, unable to keep the concern out of his voice, entirely.

“Nothing,” Merlin mumbled. It didn’t sound very convincing. 

Arthur watched as Merlin grabbed his satchel—also soaked—off of Onyx and started heading up the path, leading her along.

He quickly followed, walking far too close to Merlin than he probably should. Merlin, for his part, didn’t say anything. He seemed entirely focused on putting one step in front of the other.

“Is it because we were riding for too long?” He asked, after they’d been walking for a short while.

He had tried to pace their journey with Merlin in mind, but maybe it was still too strenuous. 

Merlin shook his head. 

Arthur resisted the urge to scream. “What, then?”

“Just haven’t fully recovered from the infection.”

What.

“And you tell me this only now?” He yelled.

Merlin shrugged. “It’s not constant pain. It just starts after too much activity.”

“You could have mentioned that before I dragged you along to a four hour ride .”

“You seemed pretty insistent on making me come, what difference would it have made?” Merlin asked, lightly.

And Arthur wants to yell that it would have made a difference and that he hates putting Merlin through pain all the time. And he hates how it’s always his fault and how there’s always some little detail that he forgets that causes Merlin to suffer more. 

“I would have let you stay back,” he said, instead.

Merlin looked up at him, rain dripping down his cheeks so similar to tears that the sight tugs painfully at his heart.

“It’s fine, it’s really not that bad.” 

And his tone has left no room to say anything else so they continue walking, Arthur stewing in guilt as he keeps an eye on Merlin.

He wished his cloak wasn’t soaked through, so he could at least offer him some warmth. Instead, they simply bumble close and Arthur hopes he has enough body heat to provide at least a little comfort to Merlin.

They walk for what feels like forever, on the lookout for a cave or anything they could stop at for the night. The rain makes it too hard to see, though, so they only stop when the town comes into view.

Both of them let out a breath of relief. 

The estate is on the far side of the town, from where they’ve entered, so Arthur instead leads them towards the shabby-looking tavern that’s much closer. 

They tie off their horses under a small, shaded area and Arthur quickly waves down a villager to take care of them for some coin.

Once that’s taken care of, they head inside where it’s warm and crowded with all sorts of people singing a merry song together. 

It’s a nice sight.

He drags Merlin to the bar, keeping an arm on him so as not to lose him to the crowd.  

There’s an old woman there, steadily pouring out pint after pint, egging the crowd on. She freezes when she spots him, his cape being a dead give-away of his status.

“Your majesty! What brings you here?” 

Someone knocks into Merlin’s side and Merlin steps closer to him. They both shoot an ugly look at the rowdy drunkard.

He turned his attention back to the barmaid, ignoring the feeling of Merlin pressed up against his side and smiled.

“Ah, the storm put us off our path. I was wondering if we could get two rooms here?”

“Of course, of course. However, we’ve had a lot more guests than usual because of that nasty storm, would you be alright with one room? I’m afraid it’s the last one,” she said, apologetically.

Merling sighed. “Cursed luck,” he muttered.

Arthur’s smile became a little more strained. “No worries, we’ll take it.”

“Wonderful!” She turned to grab a key off one of the many hooks behind her—it was, indeed, the last one still hanging—and handed it to him. “Would you like anything to eat?”

Arthur hadn’t thought about food since yesterday, probably, and he wasn’t hungry right now, either. He turned to Merlin with a questioning look.

Merlin shook his head.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “One bowl of corn soup, if you please.”

“Coming right up!”

Arthur fell onto the bar stool closest to him. The walk had been exhausting. 

Merlin sat next to him, watching Arthur, carefully, with a look that was part confusion and part something Arthur couldn’t name.

He wondered if it was because he’d remembered Merlin’s favourite soup, or if it was because he’d ordered anything for him at all, despite the refusal.  

Arthur looked away and began fidgeting with the key. A steaming bowl was placed in front of him a few minutes later, and he pushed it over to Merlin. 

“Thanks.”

Arthur nodded, reminded of just a few nights ago when he’d professed his gratitude to Merlin, only for him to look so shocked that he hadn’t even replied with words. 

It was sad, what they’d come to.

A tumbler was set down in front of him— “On the house” —and he accepted it gratefully.

He took a long sip and after tasting the watered-down ale, wished it was something stronger. Best not to get wasted around Merlin, though. Who knew what foolish words would come out of his mouth?

He chanced a glance at Merlin. He was quietly sipping away at his soup, eyes focused on a thick scratch on the counter. 

He looked better already. The warmth of the inn and the food doing him some good, and Arthur sighed in relief.

He finished up his drink. The cheap taste was an assault on his refined taste buds, but it was a good enough distraction from his own thoughts, so he welcomed it. 

Soon after, Merlin was done too. They pushed through the crowd and up the creaky, wooden staircase, step in step.

Arthur slotted the key in and turned it. When he pushed the door open he was met by a room smaller than anything he’d ever seen. Almost as small as Merlin’s .

There were two rickety chairs in the corner, with a table between them, and a small fireplace—thank god .

And in the center, pushed up against one wall, was one bed.

Oh.

He’d thought it would at least be a double occupancy room.

Merlin pushed past him to get inside and Arthur realised he was hogging the doorway. 

Arthur went to empty out his bag and started laying out the clothes within, out to dry overnight.  

He was trying not to think about the sleeping situation, and avoiding looking at Merlin.

When he finished up hanging his last shirt on the back of a chair, he turned to find Merlin sprawled on the bed.

Sprawled . Like a starfish. 

Arthur sighed, already knowing where this was going. “I’m not sleeping on the floor.”

Merlin shrugged. “Nor am I. Too bad I got to the bed first.”

His fault for assuming they’d both be acting like mature adults in this situation, then.

He glared. “We can just share , you know?”

“You know how to share, your majesty?” Merlin exclaimed, his tone entirely mocking.

“Obviously.” Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Well, I don’t want to share with you.” Merlin shrugged again.

Arthur sighed, frustrated. “I can just pick you right off.” 

He won’t. Of course he wouldn’t.

Merlin gave him an assessing look. “Try me,” he challenged.

Arthur’s not sure if it’s a trick of the warm firelight or if Merlin’s eyes actually flash gold, hinting at the powerful magic that trickles just beneath his skin. 

Whatever it is, it sends a rush of heat down Arthur’s spine. 

He looks away but the image is already burned in his mind: Merlin bathed in a warm glow, on the bed, magic glinting in his eyes and openly challenging him. 

It’s maddening how he manages to look both otherworldly and infuriatingly mortal all at once. And he doesn’t even seem to realise the effect he has on him (Arthur is quite grateful for that, though).

“That’s treason, Merlin.” It’s a half-assed attempt that will never work on Merlin, but Arthur doesn’t care, since he already knows he’s lost the fight. 

He’s already grabbing one of the sorry-looking cushions from the chair and placing it on the floor to get comfy, when he hears Merlin mutter, “Bloody banish me again then, you prat.”

Yeah, alright. He’s pretty stupid for not seeing that one coming. 

In his defense, though, he’s bone-tired. 

In Merlin’s defense, he did go an entire day of being with him without once bringing it up! Quite an improvement, in Arthur’s opinion.

“What was that?” He asked, even though he’d heard him the first time. He missed their easy banter and maybe this is a horrible attempt at it, but it’s an attempt nonetheless.

He shucked off his shirt—because there was absolutely no way he could sleep in that soaked thing—and flung it to the corner of the room. All his energy had been used up on hanging up the batch that came out of his bag. 

Merlin rolled over, his back now facing Arthur. “You heard me.”

He wondered if it would be awkward to remind Merlin to maybe change out of his own shirt. It surely wasn’t helping him any with the cold he was feeling.

“I didn’t, actually,” he replied, lying down on the, thankfully, carpeted floor. 

Although, maybe it’s worse that it’s carpeted; who knew what sort of god-awful substances had seeped into it and remained there.

He shuddered at the thought and let his head fall onto the very deflated cushion, almost groaning from how uncomfortably the floor was on his back. 

Merlin looked over his shoulder. “ I said ,” he bit out, “ why don’t you banish me again, then. ” 

Arthur looked up to see piercing blue eyes glaring daggers at him. He hummed thoughtfully then replied, “Nah. Don’t think I will.”

And oh, he’s playing with fire , smiling at Merlin like all is well when Merlin is practically seething. He can’t help it that Merlin looks so cute, right now. 

Sure, his anger is warranted. That doesn’t mean Arthur can’t acknowledge that in this state—sleepy, and all warm and soft-looking in the firelight—Merlin resembles an angry deer (more than he usually does). 

Arthur realises, vaguely and with little urgency, that he should probably get a handle on his emotions—and his dick—because within the span of a minute, he’s thought of Merlin as both very hot and very cute. 

Merlin ignored his reply but Arthur could practically hear the eye-roll all the way from the floor, even with Merlin once again facing the other side. 

He wondered, idly, if he should bid him goodnight but decided against it. 

Best not to poke the bear, again. 

Arthur shifted uncomfortably on the floor. The thin carpet is really doing nothing to soften it. And there are definitely loose nails under the carpet, poking into his shoulder blades.

He sighed and turned over onto his stomach. Sleeping on the forest ground is certainly better than this. 

At least Merlin looks comfortable. 

He’s still but his breathing hasn’t yet evened out. Arthur watches him as his eyes grow heavier, the long day and several consecutive sleepless nights finally catching up to him.

His last thought is, maybe…maybe Merlin will see this as what it is; an olive branch. 

He knows deep down, though, it’s not large enough to cross the distance that he put in between them. 

He knows, also, that that’s probably for the best, for now.

Notes:

Please ignore my very shoddy attempt at seperating merlin and arthur from the others😭

Chapter 22: You and I walk a fragile line

Summary:

“So it was hate sex?”

Notes:

thank youu Katasstrobee for the very cool idea about Merlin no longer wearing red! Love you, and your awesome fics and your cutsie comments that always make me smile :)
(praying i've hyperlinked this correctly)

Chapter 22: You and I walk a fragile line

Arthur was asleep.

Merlin was not.

He was cold.

And Arthur kept making too much noise—groaning or snoring—for him to get any rest.

But mostly he was just cold.

The still-wet shirt he was in, certainly didn’t help.

The rain pattered on outside, and the fire in the hearth helped wade off some of the chill, but not enough of it. Merlin suspected it was another one of the after-effects of the damned infection.

He thought back to the long walk up to the village; just him and Arthur, huddled close for warmth. And Arthur’s concern .

Why had he cared? It was clear as day in his eyes. It was also clear how he’d tried to hide it. 

Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face. 

Every action Arthur did ended up contradicting the previous one. It was enough to make a man go mad. 

In light of Arthur’s odd behaviour today, Merlin did feel a little bad making him sleep on the floor. It truly looked disgusting. There were questionable stains everywhere, it was weirdly damp , and discolored in various patches. 

Merlin shuddered to think about how it had gotten in that state.

How on earth Arthur had so easily accepted it, Merlin had no idea. 

Maybe he did it to make him feel guilty. 

It was working, that’s for sure. 

Merlin let out a frustrated sigh and turned to face Arthur.

Arthur usually looked peaceful in his sleep. That was not the case now. He kept tossing and turning, the scratchy carpet under him, no doubt making him restless. 

The minutes ticked by, as he watched and watched, drinking in the sight of his once-friend with greedy eyes.

He still looked handsome, the prat, even with his hair all wet and messed up, and grime on his face from the long day of travelling. 

How utterly unfair that he got to have it all.

Another shiver racked through Merlin’s body and he made up his mind. He got up, then crouched next to Arthur, shaking him.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur’s eyes flew open, instantly. He looked at Merlin with furrowed eyebrows then got up on his elbows and started assessing the room—searching for a threat, Merlin realised.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, voice slightly hoarse.

Wow, it had never been so easy to wake him up before.

“Nothing. Um–” Merlin swallowed. “Let’s just share.”

Arthur looked at him with sleepy eyes and an increasingly confused expression. 

Merlin cleared his throat. “The bed, I mean.”

Arthur blinked. “...Why?”

He shrugged. When Arthur fixed him with an unimpressed look, Merlin answered, “I feel bad–making you sleep on the floor.”

Arthur snorted. “Only you, Merlin.” Then fell back on the lumpy cushion—if it could even be called that—and closed his eyes.

Merlin gaped and shook him, again. This time, Arthur didn’t open his eyes, only moaned in protest.

“Just come to the bed,” Merlin snapped.

“It’s fine , Mer lin. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” He grumbled his response, then turned to face the other side.

What?

Merlin groaned. “I won’t be,” he insisted. 

This was ridiculous. He was trying to convince a man to come to his bed. How utterly pathetic.

No reply came from Arthur, who had now started lightly snoring. 

Merlin slapped his face.

“ Let me sleep,” Arthur protested, sleepily, and batted away Merlin’s hands.

“I can’t sleep. You’re making me feel guilty.”

Arthur groaned and finally, squinted open his eyes. He gave Merlin a once-over, then said, “I’m not sleeping next to you, you’re all wet. You’re going to get me sick.”

Merlin looked down at his damp shirt. He quickly whispered a spell and it dried out. 

Arthur sighed and followed him to the bed. Merlin winced when Arthur arched his back with a grunt and his joints made crackling sounds, not too different from snapping twigs.

Merlin scooted over to the far side of the too-thin bed. Arthur fell in beside him and he became all too aware of how their shoulders were pressed up against each other. 

He also realised Arthur was very much shirtless. And Merlin was very much not prepared for that.

Merlin shifted, trying to find some more room. Arthur seemed a little uncomfortable too, if the twitchy look on his face was anything to go by. 

Merlin moved his arm from his side to his stomach—but that felt awkward, so he moved it back. But now that didn’t feel right anymore either.

With a deep sigh, he placed both hands on his chest and stared at the ceiling.

Arthur was lying stock-still, blinking up at the stone.

Merlin swallowed. 

He turned to his side. 

Arthur’s hand shot out and clamped around his forearm. “I swear to god, Merlin. If you move one more time, ” he growled.

Merlin stilled, breath caught in his, suddenly very dry, throat.

Arthur didn’t let go. His grip wasn’t harsh, but firm—warm fingers curled around Merlin’s wrist like he hadn’t meant to grab him quite so tightly, but now couldn’t bring himself to release.

Neither of them said anything.

Merlin looked down at their connected hands, heart thundering in his chest.  

Arthur's eyes followed his gaze and his fingers loosened, then slid away, brushing against Merlin’s skin in a motion that felt more like a caress and less like a departure.

Goosebumps rose on Merlin’s skin where Arthur’s hand had been, the warmth of it fading too slowly.

Merlin shifted again, this time slower, barely a movement—just enough to settle in his new position a little more comfortably. Somehow, it brought them closer together, not quite touching but not quite far enough. 

The warm firelight cast a beautiful shadow over Arthur’s sculpted jaw and Merlin found it difficult to tear his eyes away. 

Arthur’s eyes looked darker than usual, the blue of his iris barely a ring around his blown pupils. 

Merlin was quite sure he wasn’t imagining it that the silence in the room had shifted from horrifically awkward to something much more charged. 

Merlin looked away, and finally, lay still and satisfied; he no longer felt the weight of his conscience on his chest, and Arthur had plenty of heat practically radiating off him that Merlin warmed up, quickly.

He ignored every urge to do anything other than lie still, closing his eyes against the pull of the moment.

It was a long time before sleep found Merlin, but it, eventually, did and he succumbed to it, unintentionally burrowing closer to the—still very awake—heat source beside him.

 

---

 

He woke feeling warmer than he had in days, and more rested than he’d probably ever felt. 

Merlin kept his eyes shut against the blinding sunlight, filtering in through the window. He sighed, contentedly, and nuzzled deeper into the pillow.

He only opened his eyes when he realised the blanket felt a lot heavier than usual, and that it was breathing . On him .

Arthur was almost completely draped across Merlin’s body, one leg hiked over both of Merlin’s and an arm wrapped firmly around his waist. 

He was happily snoring away with his face buried in Merlin’s neck.

Merlin’s breath stuttered. It was all absurdly…intimate. 

He’d known Arthur liked to sprawl like a bloody king, in his sleep, but—no he was quite speechless.

Oddly enough, the weight of Arthur’s body on his wasn’t even uncomfortable. It felt almost like a hug .

Merlin pulled one of his hands free from under Arthur’s chest and started trying to heave the big oaf off. 

One more minute in this position and Merlin would implode. He struggled to rein in his more fantastical thoughts as it was.

It was no use, though. Arthur didn’t budge an inch, instead— somehow —melting further into Merlin’s body.

Merlin groaned. This was not something he was emotionally equipped to handle. Not now. Not ever .

He gave up and closed his eyes again. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, he could delay the inevitable existential crisis. 

That didn’t work, either. 

With his eyes closed, he became all the more aware of just how much they were touching, and Arthur’s warm breath tickling his neck, and his bare skin flush against Merlin’s body.

Merlin cursed his stupid conscience and that stupid infection—for making him crave warmth—for this stupid morning.

(But really, it wasn’t stupid. It was a little wonderful, actually. Merlin only wished they could remain like this forever. They couldn’t, though.) 

“ Arthur .”

No response. 

“ Arthur! ” He repeated, louder now. 

That did the trick. Arthur shifted—and Merlin really wished he wouldn’t because damn it this was not helping his self control and if Arthur kept dragging his thigh like that…

Merlin shoved at his shoulder as much as he could. “You’re drooling all over me. Get off .”

Arthur lifted his head, finally, and hovered over Merlin, looking at him with far too much confusion for someone who was sending him into a full-on panic at the moment.

Arthur blinked. Merlin made a gesture with his head to move. 

“Merlin.”

He sighed. “Arthur. You are crushing me.”

Arthur looked down at their entangled bodies and turned crimson so fast, it was almost concerning. 

He shot up and then scooted back, except the bed was too small so he ended up falling right off. 

He landed on the floor with a thump.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Sorry about that.”

“Should’ve just left you on the floor,” Merlin managed, after a beat too long.

Arthur looked away, abashed. He didn’t say anything more—though Merlin swore, it looked like he wanted to—and got up to start getting ready for the day.

Merlin swallowed against the lump in his throat and followed to do the same.

They moved easily around each other, and it was like falling back into an old dance. 

The awkwardness faded and Merlin washed up while Arthur changed, then Arthur washed up while Merlin realised he had nothing to change into.

He’d left his soaked satchel by the door, unlike Arthur who had left out all his clothes to dry—seriously, when did he become so sensible?

Merlin had watched him do it and made a mental note to do the same after Arthur was fast asleep, and then it had slipped his mind. 

He wrung out one of his shirts and then used his magic to rid it of all the water completely. Still, it was pointless because the smell of wet clothes that had been left wet for too long clung to it.

Merlin wrinkled his nose and decided he’d really rather not assault his—and everyone else’s—senses with that, the whole day. 

Merlin turned around to find Arthur wiping his face with a cloth and watching him, looking far too amused.

Merlin clenched his jaw and bit out, “Do you have a spare shirt?”

Arthur put down the cloth, shaking his head lightly. Then he grabbed one of his tunics off the chair and tossed it over.

Merlin caught it, surprised.

“I’ll go order breakfast,” Arthur said, a small smirk on his face as he walked past Merlin. 

Merlin glared at his back as he left, then breathed a sigh of relief once he was finally gone.

He pulled on the shirt—red and familiar and softer than anything Merlin owned—and then his belt, so it didn’t look as big on him.

It only made a small difference. 

He was drowning in fabric and he kept catching whiffs of what he could only describe as Arthur’s scent: an earthy blend of fresh cedarwood and worn leather, with just a hint of the soap he liked to use. 

He didn’t hate it.

And if he was inhaling a little more deeply than usual, then that was nobody’s business.

Merlin drew up the drawstrings around the collar—though it still swooped a lot lower than he’d like, leaving some of his scars on display—and discarded his neckerchief for the day, for it would only look silly with the shirt.

He tried his very hardest not to think about the fact that this was the first time he was wearing red in… years .

Sometimes it was still unbelievable that it had been that long.

Other times, it felt like it—the time spent away—had been infinitely longer.

Shaking away the thoughts, Merlin pulled on his boots and then he was out the door, trudging down the stairs to the tavern.

There were only a few people around, and he spotted Arthur’s golden hair easily. 

Merlin walked over and joined him on the table, sitting on the opposite side. 

Arthur had already started on his food, taking small, slow bites of scrambled eggs, and he looked up when Merlin arrived. 

His gaze trailed down his form and Merlin fought against the urge to squirm against it, all too aware of how stupid he looked with the shirt hanging off him.

Everywhere Arthur’s eyes landed, felt like the ghost of a touch and Merlin looked down at his food and pretended not to notice.

Arthur looked away, eventually—after too long, honestly—and Merlin was able to eat in peace.

He started on the eggs and then spied the baby carrots on the corner of his plate and frowned. 

Disgusting.

The table was small enough that their plates were touching, so it was easy enough for Merlin to slide them onto Arthur’s plate when he wasn’t looking. 

Better he eat it than putting perfectly good— if gross —food to waste.

If Arthur noticed the steadily growing heap on the corner of his plate, he didn’t say anything.

They ate in silence. 

Merlin couldn’t decide if it was awkward or companionable. Perhaps somewhere in between. 

There was a lingering uncertainty in the air and Merlin wondered if it was simply a product of the aftermath of everything their relationship had been through, or a result of well—everything from the last 12 hours.

God. He really should’ve just let the prat sleep on the floor. Stupid conscience.

He glanced up at Arthur. He was lost in thought, twirling his fork in the air and looking out the window. Merlin followed his gaze and didn’t find anything of note.

He itched to say something, if only to fill the silence.

He didn’t, though. 

Soon, he got lost in his own head, too and it was Arthur who noticed the approaching gang of knights first.

He jumped when Arthur broke the silence with, “What are you lot doing here? I thought we would meet up at the estate?” His brows were pulled together, a small wrinkle forming between them. 

Gwaine slid down onto the bench, beside Merlin; Leon joined Arthur on the other side; and Percival pulled up a spare chair.

“We thought it was best to check in sooner rather than later, you know, just in case you two killed each other,” Gwaine replied, casually.

“ Gwaine .” Leon sent him a long-suffering look.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

Merlin replied, solemnly, “Hm, I did think about it. Several times.”

Hardly.

Gwaine gasped and mock-whispered, “Well why didn’t you just go ahead and do it! I would’ve helped you hide the body, you know that, right?”

Merlin plopped another potato wedge in his mouth and considered thoughtfully, before replying, “I honestly think we’d need Percival’s help, too, to move his fat arse.”

Gwaine grinned and nudged Percival with his foot. “You’d help, wouldn’t you, Perce?”

Percy looked between their side of the table and Arthur’s—where Arthur was glaring at them—and swallowed.

Leon saved him from answering. “You two can’t possibly be discussing regicide in front of—the king!”

It was Merlin’s turn to roll his eyes. “Because it’s treason?” He turned to Arthur and asked, merrily, “Are you going to banish me again , your majesty?”

Arthur scowled. “Shut up, Mer lin. I’ll do whatever I bloody well want.” He took a long drink from his tumbler.

“'Course you will,” he muttered. 

Just then, the barmaid arrived and placed down three more trays for the others. 

“Will you gentlemen be needing anything else?” She asked.

Merlin looked at the gentlemen in question. They had all instantly dug in, like starved animals. 

Arthur replied, politely, “No, that will be all, thank you.” 

She nodded. “Has your room been cleared or will you be staying another night, your majesty? We’d be more than happy to have you.” 

“Oh no, we'll be heading up to the estate. But, thank you again. It was a lovely stay here.” He finished with a charming smile.

Lovely my arse. 

The barmaid was grinning brightly. “Of course, it was my pleasure.”

Only when she was gone did Merlin realise all three starved knights had stopped eating, and were exchanging calculating glances. 

Arthur and Merlin shared a rare look of confusion.

And then, all at once the table erupted.

“I KNEW IT!”

“A room?!” 

“That’s Arthur’s shirt isn’t it?” 

The last one was Leon, sounding slightly dazed.

Merlin gaped. 

Arthur’s eyebrows rose to his forehead. “ What are you three prattling on about?”

Gwaine started feeling up the material of Merlin’s—Arthur’s—shirt. “Oh my god. It is.” Then with a look of awe, he added, “Merlin, you bastard!”

Merlin whacked his hand away. “Don’t you dare,” he warned, finally understanding what was being implied.

Merlin’s words seemed to bring Arthur to the same page and he gasped. “ What?!”

Percival shook his head. “And here we were: worried you two would start a war.”

Leon took a long drink.

Gwaine added, “And instead you were fu—”

Merlin quickly covered his mouth and fixed him with the nastiest glare he could muster up. “No.”

“Was it hate se–”

Arthur’s outraged gasp cut Percy off. “We didn’t do anything like that! Are you all insane?!”

“Uh.” Leon cleared his throat. “Explain the shirt then? Or the fact that you shared a room.”

Merlin and Arthur turned to the first knight with twin looks of betrayal. 

Gwaine was nodding vehemently, desperate to get some input in, even with Merlin’s hand still on his mouth.

Arthur looked up at the ceiling in exasperation and sighed.

“My clothes were wet from the storm,” Merlin explained.

“And there were no other rooms available,” Arthur added, tightly.

Gwaine licked his hand, apparently done with not being able to speak. Merlin removed his hand, quickly, and wiped it on Gwaine’s shirt, with a grimace.

“You better not have made Merlin sleep on the floor,” He said in Arthur’s direction. 

“I didn’t.”

“ You slept on the floor?” Leon asked, half in something akin to awe and half in confusion.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Arthur and Merlin locked eyes and came to the same conclusion.

“No.”

“Yes.”

Merlin wanted to bang his head on the table.

Percival let out a low whistle. Gwaine clapped his back.

“I think I need to sit down,” Leon whispered. 

No one mentioned that he was already sitting.

“Wow, so—Huh.” Gwaine shook his head. “I thought you still hated him.”

“I do!”

“Did you listen to me and finally talk ?”

“About what?” Arthur asked.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “ No .”

“So it was hate sex?” Percy asked.

Merlin’s glare intensified. “I’m going to kill you. All.”

“Slowly,” Arthur added.

“Whyy?” He raised his hands. “We’re not judging, I swear.”

“Literally nothing happened!” Arthur repeated for the deaf idiots.

Merlin nodded in agreement. “And I don’t like—the implication.”

“What implication?” Gwaine asked, innocently.

“The one that–” He cut himself off, feeling his cheeks heat up, and unable to say the words.

His classless friends had no such issue. “That you two went at it like rabbits—”

“Oh my god, Gwaine. ” Arthur groaned.

Merlin pointedly looked everywhere other than at Arthur.

“Yes, that one,” Merlin sniped. “I wouldn’t touch his stupid royal arse with a ten-foot pole.” 

Arthur turned to Merlin and switched up. “You sure, Mer lin? Because you sure do love talking about my arse.”

Merlin gaped. 

Bastard.

The others howled with laughter. Percival nearly choked on his drink, and Leon had the audacity to look scandalised and amused at the same time.

He spluttered, then finally managed, “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Arthur merely smirked

The laughter eventually died down, tapering into soft chuckles and the occasional snort from Gwaine. 

The conversation shifted towards something else, thanks to Leon, but Merlin didn’t bother keeping up. 

His mind was enjoying replaying the morning and waking up in Arthur’s arms.

He’d never thought that that was something he could still have—still, apparently, wanted to have—after everything. 

The world worked in mysterious ways, truly.

Never had Arthur and Merlin snuggled up like that , in their previous friendship. And now, both of them hated the other and had ended up entangled together.

It sent a pang of hurt through his chest when he realised it wasn’t something he’d ever experience again. 

He chanced a glance up from his plate to Arthur. 

He was smiling and chatting away with Leon but as if sensing Merlin’s eyes on him, he looked his way. 

Merlin tensed and looked away.

One by one, the knights filtered out of the room—Gwaine muttering something about "denial being a river in Camelot," and Percival dragging him by the collar before Merlin could take a page from Arthur’s book and launch a goblet at him.

Leon only gave them both a curious look before following, saying they’d get the horses ready to head up to the estate.

And then, it was just the two of them. 

The door clicked shut behind the last idiot, and the silence that followed felt heavier than before. 

Merlin fixed a glare at Arthur. “Did you really have to add fuel to the fire?”

“No, but it was so much fun.” Arthur smirked, and added, “Doesn’t hurt that there’s plenty of fuel to go around.”

Merlin felt his face heat up. “ God , I hate you,” he hissed, when no other rebuttal came to mind.

Arthur nodded but Merlin caught the oddly pained expression on his face before the man looked away.

“Don’t do that.” He waved a fork. “Don’t make that face,” he said, angrily, narrowing his eyes.

Arthur turned back, shocked. “What face?”

“You know which one.” Merlin glared.

“No? I wasn’t even looking at you,” he defended.

“I don’t care. You have no right to act like that after—after everything .” Merlin’s heart lurched painfully in his chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur said in exasperation.

“Brainless prat.”

They went back to ignoring each other and finished off the last of their food then headed back up to the room, together. 

Merlin was eager to be out of there as quickly as possible, after all that, so he was quick to grab his bag, give a quick glance over the room to see if he’d left anything lying around, and then he was out the door.

Merlin joined the knights outside where they were feeding the horses.

Arthur took a little longer packing up his mess and then paying for everything. 

And then they were off to the estate. It was a relatively large village, so the estate was quite impressive, spanning a few acres.

Merlin’s irritation at Arthur for dragging him along on this trip, came back with a renewed vigour when he was just standing around doing nothing while Arthur dealt with the lord.

To be fair, the knights looked pretty bored too, so at least he wasn’t alone in that. 

His anger evapourated when Arthur beckoned him over and quietly told him to ask around with the staff about how fair their treatment was.

And as annoying as it was to receive orders from him, Merling obliged anyway. 

He very quickly found out that Arthur was right to be concerned. 

The maids were all shifty and tight-lipped, but one little boy came forward and started explaining that Lord Wilfred had a short temper and very little self-control, so when one of the servants messed up anything, he’d beat them.

After that, the others started telling more tales, each one, somehow, worse than the previous. 

Merlin listened carefully and then relayed everything back to Arthur, through Gwaine. He stayed in the kitchen late into the night, tending to the wounds the servants had received at Wilfred’s hands—broken fingers, burned hands, and deep welts.

It seemed no one had been spared, and Wilfred had shown no mercy at all in his blows, not even to the women or children. 

It was horrifying to see that he’d been able to get away with this for so long. In the castle, the lords and nobles did tend to let their temper or their desires get the best of them sometimes, but those were isolated instances.

It was worse in Uther’s time when the courtiers thought they could get away with anything. He’d certainly noticed the shift during Arthur’s reign. 

People were well aware that Arthur didn’t rule like his father—magical prejudice aside.

He listened more. Punished justly. The knights actually protected the people instead of intimidating them. And while Camelot still had its flaws, it was clear the kingdom had begun to reflect the heart of its king.

Grudges aside, Merlin was quite proud of the change Arthur had brought about. 

They stayed at the estate for almost a week.

Wilfred was banished after even the villagers complained about his temper and his greed. It took a few days to find a suitable replacement and Merlin saw very little of Arthur during that time.

He spent his days getting to know the staff and teaching them the basics of first-aid—not that he thought they’d necessarily need it, but it was good knowledge to have nonetheless.

In the evenings, he joined the knights at the tavern and it was like old times again; getting sloshed and winning at dice, much to everyone else's dismay.

Arthur never came along, spouting off excuses about how busy or tired he was, and Merlin tried to convince himself that he preferred it that way.

They returned to Camelot at the end of the week, a red tunic tucked safely away in his satchel. Arthur never asked for it back and Merlin didn't feel like giving it up so he simply didn't.

Their first night—the storm, the inn, the breakfast—still lingered heavily in his mind.

Even now, days later, Merlin found himself replaying every interaction over and over, trying to decipher the look in Arthur’s eyes.

Was he a fool to think it wasn’t hatred he saw in them?

Notes:

so like i love this chapter for all the tension and all but sdjkcneb i miss being in Arthur's headdd😭 There is always sooo much explaining to do in Merlin's pov.

Hope you guys are enjoying the break from the angst lmao. I think there's 3 more chapters left of this arc and then things will blow up again!

Chapter 23: I have known it all this time

Summary:

there is some next-level idiocy in this chapter.

Chapter 23: I have known it all this time

 

The clang of swords did nothing to bring Arthur’s focus out of his mind and back to the sparring session currently in progress. 

He was going through the motions— block, attack, feint —purely on muscle memory. His head was up in the clouds, or perhaps, more suitably, still in that darn tavern.

Merlin waking him up. 

Merlin sleeping beside him, pressed up close. 

Waking up on Merlin, limbs completely entangled together, breathing in his comforting scent; the best sleep he’d probably ever had.

That awfully— beautifully —domestic bit where they’d moved around each other so easily, it was like they’d been doing it all their lives.

Merlin in his shirt. 

Merlin. In. His. Shirt.

Not just any shirt, but the red one that Arthur never really wore anymore. 

He wasn’t sure when it began, but he’d started leaning away from wearing red, some point after Merlin’s banishment. It was subconscious, mostly. He wanted to separate Prince Arthur from King Arthur. 

As prince, he’d been carefree and stupid and always wearing that damn colour. 

As king, he set himself apart from that version of him—the version that Merlin knew, he thought morosely—by shedding the colour. 

Now he wore hues of blue and a lot of black. Sometimes white.

In the comfort of his own room, he would, occasionally, sleep in one of his old red shirts. 

That was rare, though.

He didn’t like disturbing the pile of messily folded tunics Merlin had left in his wardrobe the day before he was banished, so he’d just taken one from the top to bask in and left the rest untouched. 

That was the shirt that had ended up in his pack.

And then on Merlin.

And oh, what a sight that had been.

Merlin standing there, the shirt hanging off his lithe body, neckerchief not even in sight and those lethal collarbones on display. 

Merlin had looked at him, completely unaware of the devastation he was causing. His sleeves were rolled to the elbows, the shirt far too big and gaping just enough at the neck to send his thoughts somewhere utterly inappropriate.

He hadn’t been able to look away.

He still couldn’t stop thinking about it—pale skin, the line of his throat, the lazy slide of fabric off one shoulder.

God, he was so gone for Merlin.

Now if the council could just hurry up and vote for the legalization of magic and then he could fix everything. 

There was a sharp pain on his head and Arthur snapped out of his thoughts, stumbling back.

Leon stood before him, very much startled that he’d managed to get a blow on his head. 

“Sorry, Arthur. You alright?”

Arthur drew his fingers up to where the pain was emanating from, they came away sticky with blood. 

Leon’s eyes widened in horror and before he could start sprouting off apologies, Arthur insisted, “It’s fine. Just a cut.”

The swords they used for training were dull but with enough force, they could break skin. Arthur cursed his stupidity for zoning out so completely while sparring that this happened.

Leon came closer and inspected the side of his head. He pushed away Arthur’s hair—now, no doubt, stained with blood—and frowned. 

Arthur stood there letting him fuss, well used to Leon’s quiet concern. 

“You need to go see Merlin,” he decided, finally. 

Arthur agreed readily and practically skipped all the way to the physician’s chambers, even with his head a little woozy.

He didn’t bother knocking and barged in, disappointed to find the room empty. He huffed and went to sit on one of the benches to catch his breath, and poured out a glass of water.

He hadn’t so much as stopped for a sip after leaving training half way through and he was parched and tired and had he even had breakfast that morning?

It had definitely been on the table. Between dragging himself out of bed and getting ready for the day, he didn’t remember sitting down to eat. 

Guinevere was right— no surprise there —his diet really had become quite poor. He helped himself to a shiny apple from the basket on the table, then hopped off.

Might as well make use of the opportunity and snoop around a bit. 

He started on the worktable that Merlin usually favoured (because it was right by the window) and almost moved on, finding not much more than brewing pots and half-crushed herbs, until his eyes landed on a piece of parchment, tucked under a thick book.

Curious, Arthur pulled it out. He stared at it for quite some time before it clicked in his head.

It was some sort of list of orders placed for various medicines, except each line had a new scribe and yet, not one of those was Merlin.

All he recognised from Merlin was the small ticks next to most of the requests—the ones near the bottom of the page weren’t done yet—and a few notes here and there like, ‘Will be ready in a week’, or ‘Ren, please deliver this to Shanky’.

Who on earth was Ren? And Shanky ?

Clearly, Merlin had some sort of neat little business going on here. 

Best not to ask, he decided. It was nice, though, that Merlin was doing this, and probably for free too, Arthur would bet. 

No wonder the idiot was always so tired.

Arthur moved on to browsing the cupboards, then the shelves. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping to find, honestly, but at least it kept him from getting bored.

He was rummaging through one of the higher up shelves, when a voice drawled out, behind him, “Looking for something, sire?”  

He grinned then quickly covered it up and turned to face Merlin, standing in the doorway. “Yes. You.”

Merlin gave him an unimpressed look. “...did you think I was hiding on the shelf?”

Arthur assessed the very small shelf, already crammed with all sorts of funky-smelling herbs and tonics. “No, you know, I don’t think you’d quite fit,” he said, seriously.

“You don’t say.” Merlin set his satchel down on one of the tables. “Why are you here?”

He tapped his temple, where blood had already started to crust. Merlin’s eyes followed the movement and they widened.

“Nicked my head while sparring,” he explained.

“Of course you did. Sit.” Merlin nodded to one of the stools. 

Arthur sat down and watched Merlin flit about the room, gathering what he would need. 

He brought the things over and set them down, then lightly turned his jaw to the side, and started inspecting the wound, nothing but medical professionalism.

Arthur sat still, trying to control his breathing and trying very hard not to look at Merlin, who was hovering too close.

His touch was featherlight and still everywhere his fingertips grazed, Arthur felt had been burnt with his imprint.

Finally , Merlin moved back and dropped his hands.

He was threading the needle when he asked, “Is it just me or have you gotten much worse at the one thing you used to be decent at?”

“I have not!” Arthur exclaimed in indignation. 

“You’ve been in here more times than any of the other knights. Or squires .” Merlin deadpanned.

Well, yes. But there were other reasons for that. None that he could say.

“You’re mistaken.”

“Of course.” Merlin rolled his eyes. 

He started cleaning the cut and Arthur repressed flinching when he felt the sting of what was certainly alcohol on it. 

He did flinch when Merlin brought the needle up to his head and started stitching away.

Merlin sighed. “Stop moving.

“You’ve got a needle pointing at my brain —”

“ What brain? ” Merlin muttered.

Arthur ignored him and continued, “—Bit hard to sit still.”

“You’re going to make me poke you in the head with this,” he waved the needle.

“That’s comforting.”

“You’ve literally been cut by swords more times than I can count and it’s a needle that’s scaring you?”

“Well the swords never cut my head did they?” And then, as an afterthought, “And I’m not scared.”

“ I’m not cutting your head. The opposite actually, you idiot.”

Arthur sighed. “You can’t call me that. I’m the king.”

“Then sit still. ”

Arthur tried his best, really he did. But Merlin was so close that he was already on edge. The pointy thing poking into his head wasn’t helping.

He took a deep breath and tried to think of anything else as Merlin worked. Castle gossip flitted through his brain—odd bits that he’d overheard from the lords or the knights or the servants, because of course, no one really told him anything anymore.

His mind snagged on one little tidbit he’d overheard from two maids, just as Merlin was finishing up.

“So. I’ve heard rumors that you’re often visiting Morgana at night…?”

“Yeah?” Merlin looked confused as he disposed of the needle.

“Doing what?”

“Teaching her?” When Arthur still didn’t understand, he said, “You know…” And he waggled his hands.

Oh god.

“WHAT?” He screamed.

Merlin, that absolute prat, rolled his eyes . “Right. Why am I not surprised, you have an issue with this too.”

He gaped. “Of course, I have AN ISSUE WITH THIS. That’s my sister! And you’re—you’re you. ”

Arthur felt horridly like he had been cheated on, which was just a little pathetic, but that didn’t stop his anger or his hurt.

Merlin, too, looked angry. “This is just typical. I told Morgana you were still a prat and that you’d never actually accept it, but did she listen? Nooo . Now, I get to hear you prattle on and on, and frankly, you are getting on my nerves. ”

Why on EARTH would Morgana think he’d accept—THAT? 

Had she finally gone insane?

“What about Leon ?!” Arthur yelled, half in fury for his friend (and half for himself, let’s be honest).

“He’ll come around; he’s not like you ,” Merlin snapped.

Arthur was speechless.

“Right, I’m leaving.” 

CAMELOT?? How had he screwed up AGAIN? 

He couldn’t muster up any words in his panic and watched, helpless, as Merlin picked up his satchel.

Where was he even going? Wasn’t his work here ?

He stopped, with his hand on the doorknob and added, “And don’t think I’ll stop just because you have a problem with it, your majesty. If you don’t want a sorcerer in your castle, maybe you should just banish me again and deal with Morgana’s wrath then.” 

He slammed the door, because, of course he did.

Was he going to see Morgana?

Arthur glared at the audacity but relief flowed through him as he realised Merlin wasn’t leaving the kingdom—just him. 

But what did being a sorcerer have to do with anything? 

Arthur huffed. Merlin just loved to remind him of their bad history.

He tried to ignore the fact that Merlin had apparently given up all hope on him , instead choosing to focus on how his sister was stringing along poor Leon, who’d done nothing but love her right—he would come around to the whole magic ordeal, he was sure. 

What a harpy.

Arthur sat there a while longer, lost in thought and wondering how on earth this had happened. 

How could Morgana betray him like this?

And Merlin . He was so sure that back then, whatever was between them wasn’t one-sided. Of course, things had changed, but it was a bit low to go for his sister .

Almost as low as Arthur banishing him, he supposed. So maybe Merlin did to get back at him.

And those two were oddly close. One thing must have led to another…

He frowned. 

It felt as if his whole world was crashing down around him.

He left Merlin’s chamber a lot less happier than he’d entered. He was on the hunt for his horrible sister, when he ran into Lord Bass.

“Ah, your majesty! I was just on the way to the meeting. Let’s head there together, eh?”

Right. The council was meeting today, of course.

Arthur gave the slimy man a mildly irritated look and walked with him. He didn’t like Bass very much. Something about the man rubbed him wrong. 

He was relatively new to the court, having replaced his father only a short while before his coronation and Arthur got the feeling that he didn’t quite respect him or his ideals.

Not an uncommon notion amongst the lords, but more apparent with this one.

He listened to him drone on and on about the upcoming tax cut (and how it wasn’t the right thing to do, of course) with one ear, his mind still on Merlin and Morgana. 

He was going to kill her. Was this why she’d dragged Merlin back?

He lost half the day to the council session, relentless in giving proof after proof that magic wasn’t inherently evil, to the stubborn fools who remained steadfast in their traditional ideologies. 

It was all in all, an exhausting day, made much worse by the headache from his injury, the betrayal he felt from his sister, and the sharp sting of loss.

Had he lost Merlin, well and truly?

Night fell as he continued going through the reports from surrounding kingdoms, too distracted to register any of the words he was reading. He eventually grew too restless and decided to go and put an end to this little affair. 

He didn’t need a reason. He was the king, damn it.

The walk to Morgana’s chambers felt too long. Arthur felt wholly aware that every second wasted was one in which–

He couldn’t even think about it. 

He didn’t bother knocking on the door. Barging in, he erupted, “ MORGANA! What are you doing with my- ”

He froze.

They were sitting on the floor. Clothed. Practicing magic.

“Really, Arthur?” Twin voices sounded in unison. 

In between the two of them, two orbs of light levitated, the one closer to Merlin was almost blinding, but not enough that it concealed the anger on his face. Morgana looked curious more than anything.

Truly, Arthur had no idea how he was supposed to get out of this situation with any grace. 

“You are…practicing magic.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes.

Merlin bit out, “I did say that.” 

No, you made a stupid gesture that led me to believe something else, entirely. 

Arthur blamed the knights for his head being so far down the gutter that he’d jumped to that conclusion.

Maybe it also had something to do with where his thoughts were at the entire morning.

He cleared his throat. “Yes. Quite.” He couldn’t believe his own stupidity.

“Why are you so red?” Morgana asked.

He was still going to kill her, he decided.

“Ran here.” Instantly, he realised that was the wrong answer.

“So eager? I do wonder why.” She smirked.

Arthur felt his face heat up, further. “Shut up.” 

Oh, she’d definitely pieced it together if the mirth and anger dancing in her eyes was anything to go by. He pleaded with her, mentally, to keep her mouth shut. 

Merlin was glaring at him and Arthur decided he couldn’t face him for a second longer, so he swiftly shut the door and left.

He cringed as he made the walk of shame back to his room. What did Merlin think of him now?  

Merlin seemed to think this was about his magic. He didn’t think he could ever look him in the eyes again, if the other man knew what he’d actually thought they were doing.

The alternative didn’t put Arthur in a much better position, though. Once again, Merlin would make the (fair) assumption that Arthur hated him and his magic. 

It really wasn’t supposed to be like this; Arthur had thought he’d make his hatred clear once and that would be the end of it, but now that Merlin was back, it just kept snowballing. 

He groaned and collapsed on his bed.

At the rate he was going, there would be nothing left to salvage of their friendship, even if he succeeded in lifting the ban.

 

---

 

The morning found him nestled deep in his blankets when a knock sounded at his door. Whoever it was, didn’t wait to be granted entry before coming in. 

Once upon a time, Arthur would only assume that it was Merlin here to wake him up, alas, the world was cruel and when Arthur lifted his head up, it was Morgana.

He fell back into his sheets deeper as if that could prevent the oncoming onslaught of teasing. She was already grinning like a maniac.

“Get out,” he mumbled, his voice raspy from sleep.

She tugged the blanket off him and he tugged back, still not ready to face her. 

“Not until you tell me what the devil you were prattling on about yesterday.” 

He groaned. “Let me sleep.” He closed his eyes.

She slapped him. Gently. His eyes opened from the shock of it.

“I am the king! ” There were two people that particular line never worked on and, unfortunately, his toad of a sister was one of them.

She sneered. “I’m concerned for this kingdom because it seems their king doesn’t have a brain anywhere within his abnormally large head.” 

“Yes I do.” He turned over to face the other side and closed his eyes again.

That was why he didn’t see the pillow she grabbed to whack his face with. “Really, Arthur! Me and Merlin ?! How dare you assume I would do that to Leon? Or, to you? ”

He grumbled, “Well what was I supposed to think, after what he said?”

“What did he say?”

Arthur knew he had turned completely red. He shook his head and tried to feign sleep, again. 

“You’re an idiot , Arthur. He’s like a brother to me.” She said, affectionately.

Finally, Arthur couldn’t ignore the question nagging at his brain. He turned back to Morgana and asked, hesitantly, “He didn’t figure it out, did he?”

Morgana backed away a little. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I gave you away.” 

Arthur’s eyes widened in horror.

“I couldn’t help it! I started laughing as soon as you left and he put two and two together.” She had the audacity to sound sheepish, even as she laughed at his expense.

This time, it was Arthur who grabbed the pillow that Morgana had discarded. He threw it straight at her face and went to throw another one but she quickly danced out of reach.

“It’s not that bad. He just turned all red. Bit like you right now.” Arthur hated how much amusement she got out of his misery.

He fell back into his bed. “I can never face him again.”

“Good. The more you interact with him, the more you botch things up.”

Arthur sighed. 

Too right.

Notes:

kinda cracky and filler ngl. Promise to make the next one goood :)

the merlin/morgana confusion bit is taken from a tumblr prompt so creds to whoever came up with that lmao.

Chapter 24: But I never thought I’d live to see it break

Notes:

alternate title: ’Cause loving him was red
(i'm so sad i can't use this but the previous 2 chapters are strongly linked to this one so the lyrics titles match up but ugh)

Chapter 24: But I never thought I’d live to see it break

 

Merlin blew out a breath and shut the door to his room. It was late, and after Morgana had laughed herself dizzy, she’d let him go (after only a little teasing for his completely crimson ears).

He’d walked through the halls, back to his chambers, completely lost in his head.

He was quite speechless.

Because there was no way Arthur had gone and jumped to that conclusion. 

Had he been enchanted into a bigger idiot than usual? Surely not . Merlin was doing quite well with dealing with the magical threats Arthur faced these days, he thought. It was doubtful that one escaped his notice.

Which was worse, honestly, because that meant Arthur had come up with that all on his own. 

Merlin didn’t even know how that was possible.

He didn’t say anything that could’ve hinted that he and Morgana were…he shuddered.

Gross.

She was like a sister to him! How could he even assume that? And—

Well, it was stupid but Arthur had to know he didn’t even swing that way. It had become quite obvious, in their last few months before his banishment, where both their feelings lied. 

Or, so he’d thought. 

Obviously, he’d misread the situation, back then, because if Arthur did feel the same way, he wouldn’t have switched up the way he did. 

Probably.

Merlin collapsed on his too-thin bed. It was all too confusing.

Arthur’s feelings aside, the idiot must’ve at least taken note of Merlin’s lingering gazes and touches that lasted a few seconds too long. 

So how could he even think that he would ever think of Morgana in that way?  

What went on in that empty head of his?

Merlin thought back to their short conversation from when he was stitching up his forehead. 

Arthur had looked uncomfortable under Merlin’s touch (and Merlin had tried not to show how much that hurt, actually) and then the question had come out of nowhere, after a few minutes of silence.

Merlin hadn’t bothered lying about the nature of their late-night meetings, trusting Morgana to handle her brother’s response. 

And, okay fine, maybe he’d wanted to see how he’d react to being told magic was being practiced under his roof.

So he’d waved his hands, alluding to said magic and Arthur had predictably, painfully, and instantly been outraged. 

Had he been angry about the magic or had he instantly— somehow —assumed that he and Morgana were sleeping together? 

What could have possibly led to that conclusion?! 

He’d said he was teaching her!

What kind of teaching did Arthur think was going on with his hands—OH.

Merlin gasped, the sound breaking the silence of his quiet room.

Goodness, what kind of people had Arthur started keeping company with?!

He was going to have a long talk with Gwaine.

Oh, that was disgusting. 

Beautiful as Morgana was, Merlin was offended that Arthur would think he would come in between her relationship with Leon. 

What was he even intending to do, just now? Barge into her room and what— walk in on them going at it?!

What was it he’d said? 

‘Morgana! What are you doing with my—’

‘My’?

My what?

Merlin frowned.

My physician?

Weird. 

Merlin wasn’t Arthur’s anything anymore. He had no right to say something like that?

Merlin huffed and turned to his side, even as he felt a bit warm inside and a bit like someone had reached into his chest and twisted .

‘My servant’.

‘My friend’, it had once been.

How sad that things had changed so fast.

A part of him—a much bigger part of Merlin than he’d like to admit—wanted to cling to that one word and believe that it meant something. That, maybe, Arthur did still care, or at least once did. 

The smaller and smarter part of him had been sharpened in the years away and could never unhear Arthur’s words from that day.

‘You disgust me.’

But why didn’t Arthur act like he was disgusted anymore?

He was cold and detached, yes. And he’d even explained that he didn’t want to waste his energy being ‘openly hostile’, but still. 

Something was still off and Merlin couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

His eyes searched the room for his bag and he summoned it over to him. He dug deep into it and grabbed onto the fabric right at the bottom, knowing it was what he was looking for because it was softer than everything else in there.

He pulled it out and turned the tunic over in his hands, letting his fingers caress the soft folds and get lost in the deep red. 

He’d expanded his wardrobe a bit since his banishment but stayed firmly away from anything of that colour.

It reminded him too much of Camelot—of Arthur .

And then the idiot king had given him a red shirt and Merlin had been helpless to refuse it.

Now that he thought about it though, he couldn’t remember the last time he saw Arthur in red, either. 

He thought back to all the times he’d seen Arthur in the months he’d been back— far too many times, honestly—and no, he really couldn’t recall him wearing red.

Well, there was that time when he’d worn Merlin’s maroon neckerchief as a mask for a week. Thinking about that , Merlin realised the prat had never returned it to him.

He huffed. His neckerchiefs were quite precious to him.

Other than that, though, he’d only ever seen the king in blue or black. Occasionally white. 

That was weird too, wasn’t it? 

He’d always thought ‘Camelot Red’ was Arthur’s favorite colour. He did regularly wear the cape, but still, Merlin wondered why his tastes had changed. 

Not for the first time, Merlin thought that Arthur had changed too much for him to ever make sense of the new pieces.

He drifted off to sleep, still clutching the shirt. 

 

---

 

Merlin bumbled down the corridor, bag almost empty now as he finished up his castle rounds.

It was a new day—sunny and warm enough that even the chill in his bones from the infection struggled to stay—and Merlin was determined to make it a good one.

He knocked on the door to Lady Beatrice’s suite and pulled out her skin-rejuvenating tonic.

She opened the door with a wide smile that crinkled her eyes around the corners. She was one of his few favourites among the peacocking nobility who resided here.

“Ah, Merlin, just in time! A second later and my skin would’ve sagged right off,” she joked, accepting the vial.

Merlin laughed. “Nonsense. You don’t look a day over twenty years, my lady.

She swatted his arm. “With charm like that, I do wonder how you haven’t been snagged up yet.”

Merlin smoothly replied, “Well, it’s not easy to find someone as lovely as you,” even as he felt his cheeks warm up.

She cackled. “Off you go, before my husband overhears you and decides to take offense.”

Merlin sobered up at the mention of Lady Beatrice’s kind but fairly possessive husband. He waved her a quick goodbye and then hurried along to the last door.

He wiped the lingering smile off his face and straightened his shoulders before knocking. This one gave him the chills.

Lord Bass opened the door, a smile on his face, except something about it seemed eerie rather than warm like Lady Beatrice’s.

“Your muscle reliever, my lord.” He held it out.

The man was young, only a few years his senior, but carried himself with all the authority and self-importance of the king (and that was quite a high bar, really).

His eyes trailed Merlin, head to toe, and Merlin tried not to squirm under his gaze as his hand hovered in the air, outstretched with the little pot of paste.

Why a perfectly healthy, young man, who had never ridden into battle, had chronic muscle pain, Merlin had no idea. He got the sense that it was best not to ask, either.

Finally, he accepted the pot. The young noble didn’t move his hand right away, letting his fingers graze Merlin’s as he took the pot from him. “Thank you, Merlin. What would I do without you?”

Merlin chucked, nervously. “I’m sure you’d manage just fine, my lord.”

“Modest too,” he said with a smirk. “Rare in someone so… gifted. ”

Merlin took a step back instinctively, the polite smile on his face far more strained, now. “Just doing my job,” he muttered. “If that’s all, I’ll be going. Gaius is expecting me.” 

(Gaius was not expecting him.)

“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He gave him another ugly smile.

Merlin smiled back and nodded. When the door closed, he didn’t waste any time getting back to his chambers.

He shut the door and closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths. That damned infection had taken away what little stamina he had too, apparently. 

“Alright, Merlin?”

Merlin jumped, eyes flying open and hand going to his racing heart.

Gwaine was sitting on one of the tables, giving him an easy smile. Morgana was perched on a stool, lightly smirking.

Already, he knew they brought trouble with them.

“What are you doing here?”

Morgana started, “I was telling him about what happened yesterday—”

“You were what?”

Morgana shrugged. “He’s my best partner in bullying Arthur and this is invaluable material,” she explained.

“Invaluable indeed,” Gwaine teased. “I do wonder why Arthur got so jealous that he nearly blew the door off its hinges.”

Merling glared. “It wasn’t jealousy.”

Merlin didn’t know what it was. Disgust? Anger?

“Denial, again.” Gwaine shook his head. Then, his eyes brightened and he turned to Morgana, a mischievous gleam in them. “Did I tell you what happened on our trip?”

Morgana smirked. “No, do tell.”

Merlin sighed. “Don’t you dare, Gwaine. ”

Gwaine huffed and raised his hands. “Alright, alright.” With all the subtlety of a cow, he winked at Morgana, and Merlin was quite sure he’d be filling her in when he wasn’t around.

That was fine with him. As long as he didn’t have to sit there and relive that treacherously wonderful morning, again, he didn’t care about anything else.

“This is why I like Lancelot more, by the way.”

“No you don’t.”

“I do, I swear.”

“Fine, then I’m leaving and I’m taking my fantastic idea of a prank with me.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows and nodded to the door. Gwaine didn’t move.

“Come on, Merlin. Won’t it be fun to annoy Arthur?” Morgana tried.

Gwaine gave him his best puppy-dog eyes and added, “Besides, you two have been so moody because of your respective men, this is bound to cheer you up.” 

Merlin smacked Gwaine upside the head for that little comment, and Morgana protested, eyes narrowed, “I am not moody! I’m fine and I don’t even care anymore.”

The shakiness of her voice gave her away.

Gwaine gave her a flat look but before he could say anything to ignite her ire, Merlin took a seat opposite Morgana. “What’ve you got in mind?” He asked, exasperated.

Gwaine whooped and clapped his back. “That’s my man!” 

And Merlin, unable to help it, smiled, because Gwaine’s joy was always contagious.

“Now. That whole ordeal in the tavern gave me the idea that it’s time Arthur slums it with the rest of us. And so, I propose a very simple plan: we go into his chambers and replace that cloud of a mattress of his with something much more lumpier.” Gwaine sat back, pleased with himself.

“How do you come up with such horseshit…” Morgana muttered under her breath.

Gwaine gave her an ugly side-eye.

Merlin snorted. “Okay, not bad. Except we can’t just walk into the king’s chambers.”

“We can,” Morgana corrected. She wiggled her fingers. 

Merlin turned a bright red and started choking on nothing but air. Gwaine and Morgana gave him odd looks which really just went to show that Arthur’s head was well and truly in the gutter because even Gwaine didn’t see anything inappropriate about that.

Merlin cleared his throat. Ignoring them, he said, “Right, so we just wait for him to leave and then attack?”

“No, I haven’t got that much patience. I’ll hold him off during training for as long as I can, then Morgana will intercept him when he gets away from me and distract him while you get into his room,” Gwaine explained.

Merlin groaned. “I have to do this alone? Why can’t I distract him?”

Morgana raised an eyebrow and said, “Well if you want to talk to him, I’m not one to get in the way.”

Merlin frowned. “Nevermind.” He looked out the window that overlooked the training grounds. “Isn’t practice nearly over, though?”

Gwaine stood up, coming beside him to peer outside. “It is. I was enjoying my self-appointed morning off and the princess will waste a good few minutes yelling at me for it.”

“All I get is a few minutes?”

“Your job is just to grab his master key. Once we have that, we can sneak in any time to make the switch. Easy work, good luck!” He patted him on the back and raced off. 

Morgana and Merlin watched from the window as he entered the grounds and Arthur zeroed in on him. 

“He’s a dead man.”

Merlin nodded in agreement. “Hold him off as long as you can,” he pleaded, wondering why he’d even agreed to this crap.

She gave him a warm smile. “I will, don’t worry. We’ll meet you back here.”

And then they were both off, splitting off in different directions at the bottom of the staircase.

Merlin made it to Arthur’s wing in record time, only earning a few odd looks for racing down the corridors. He stopped at the corner.

There were two guards stationed at the entrance that led to the hallway housing Arthur’s chambers. 

At least the prat had started to take his safety more seriously.

He quickly whispered a spell that knocked them out and rushed past them. They would wake up in a minute and hopefully not get suspicious.

Another spell had the door unlocking easily for him and he slipped inside.

He took a deep breath as he took in the room. 

It looked messier than it had the last time, if that were even possible. There were shirts lying in small heaps in various corners (none of them were red, how odd), the bed was still unmade, and a full tray of breakfast was sitting on the table. 

Karma was quite nice for giving Arthur a worse servant than Merlin, he had to admit.

His heart was pounding as he headed over to the hooks beside Arthur’s bed that held the keys to every part of the castle. He flicked through them, searching for the small brass key that he knew would open to these very chambers.

Finally spotting it, Merlin lifted it out of the hook and headed back towards the door. Tempting as it was to snoop around, he wasn’t willing to risk it.

Merlin froze, just a few steps from the exit, when he heard the sound of footsteps approaching,

Forget Gwaine, he was a dead man.

He considered ducking under the bed but he was too far from it and the footsteps were just outside, now. Making up his mind, Merlin folded his hands behind his back, keys enclosed in his fist, and inched closer to the door, standing right behind where it would open.

Hopefully, he could just slip outside when Arthur came in.

That did not happen.

Arthur walked in and slammed the door shut, so quickly that Merlin couldn’t have made it through even if he tried. 

Arthur doesn’t notice him instantly because his back is turned, and Merlin held his breath, and crept closer to the handle of the door.

He watched as Arthur carelessly started taking his armour off, tossing gauntlets and shoulder plates on the bed. He swiped a hand through his hair, leaving it in disarray, and Merlin’s eyes followed every movement, even as his hand inched towards the door knob.

And then, Arthur turned around. 

Merlin cursed and a yelp came out of Arthur’s mouth when his eyes landed on him.

“Merlin?!”

Merlin swallowed and cleared his throat. He moved his hands behind his back, again.

Oh, he was going to kill those two idiots. 

Arthur was looking at him with shock, his eyes wide and mouth practically hanging open. Merlin couldn’t help it when he smiled, a little pathetically. 

It’d always been amusing to spook Arthur like this.

“I uh—needed to speak to you about something,” he said, hoping his voice sounded confident. “It’s important,” he added, trying to buy time and get his muddled brain to land on an excuse—not exactly easy when his heart was beating a mile a minute and Arthur was standing there flushed and sweat-soaked and—

“So you snuck into my room?” 

“I didn’t sneak in , it was open. Not open. Unlocked. It was unlocked.”

They both knew it was certainly not unlocked.

Arthur’s eyebrows rose further. Something akin to panic flitted across his face and his eyes shot towards his desk for half a second.

Think, think, think.

Arthur narrowed his eyes, and Merlin tried not to let his own stray from anywhere other than Arthur’s face. It would simply be downright creepy to sneak into the king’s room and then check him out. 

He crossed his arms. “What did you want to talk about, then?”

He could bring up Arthur’s stupid assumption yesterday, but really, he didn’t think that was a conversation he could get through without fumbling. 

So, he instead whined, “My salary! It is simply insufficient for the amount of work I do. I mean, really, you have me running around the castle, keeping all these stupid lords happy and fed with their, respectfully, vain little tinctures, and then there’s all the bruised up squires and knights, and—”

“ Merlin–”

“I’m not done yet,” he protested. “And , there’s all the trips to the lower town, as well. Frankly, I’m exhausted and feeling more than a little underpaid.”

Arthur dropped his hands and prowled closer. “Are you?”

He swallowed. “Yep. Very.”

“Gaius never complained.” He was only a few steps away now. Merlin’s eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, he forgot what he'd meant to say next.

The moment seemed to stretch too long before Merlin finally replied, “Well, Gaius was never much of a complainer.”

“Hm.” Another step, and then there was barely any air between them, and that too felt charged. “And your impromptu visit wouldn’t have anything to do with whatever you’ve got behind your back, would it?”

Merlin winced. “Nope. I don’t have anything. Just came to negotiate my pay.” He smiled tightly.

Arthur didn’t give him any warning before putting his hands on his shoulders and twisting him around. He grabbed his hands before Merlin could move them out of reach and slowly pried his fingers open. 

The key clinked against Arthur’s signet ring as it fell into his palm. Merlin scowled and turned back around, only to find Arthur still right there, far too close.

He was flush against the wall so there was nowhere to move, and the proximity felt like it might suffocate him. Arthur’s eyes lingered on Merlin, intense and unreadable, before he took a step back. 

Merlin missed him immediately.

Arthur held up the key. “Really?”

Merlin swallowed, his mouth felt too dry all of a sudden. “I have no idea how those got there, sire” he lied, shamelessly.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You can tell Morgana and Gwaine they’re both terrible at distraction.”

Idiots.

“Will do. Anything else, my lord?” Merlin doesn’t know why he says it like that—why he’s tempting fate, like his mouth is moving faster than his sense of self-preservation. 

Maybe it’s habit—long forgotten, he’d thought, but dragged back to the forefront of his mind, standing in Arthur’s room and talking with him as if nothing’s changed. 

Maybe it’s something else entirely.

Whatever it was, it had exactly the effect Merlin would never admit he was secretly hoping for. 

Arthur’s eyes darkened, and the air between them—already taut with unspoken tension—snapped like a wire pulled too tight. He’s not sure who moves first but suddenly they’re on each other.

They kiss and it’s deseperate, but inevitable; like every moment ever had led to this one. 

Merlin gasped into his mouth and Arthur pushed forwards with an animal sort of noise. Merlin melted further into his body, the wall caging him in. 

Arthur’s lips were warm and demanding, his hand shifting to the back of Merlin’s neck, pulling him closer, until they were completely flush against each other. 

Merlin’s thoughts scattered, but he found himself responding just as eagerly, his hands moving to Arthur’s chest, clutching at his shirt, wishing it was bare skin instead. 

Arthur’s hand fisted in his hair and yanked, dragging him closer, forcing the angle—like he couldn’t stand even an inch between them—and an embarrassingly loud sound tore out of Merlin’s throat. 

It broke the spell.

Both of them snapped out of the haze at the same time and jumped apart. 

Arthur looked thoroughly debauched with his face flushed and his lips swollen in a way that made Merlin fight to hold onto the last shreds of his self respect, just to not pounce on the man, again.

They both stood there for several long seconds, their hearts still racing and breathing coming out ragged. 

Arthur took a few steps back. “Right,” he muttered, eventually. “Well. That was—”

“A mistake,” Merlin cut in quickly, voice sharp, even though it made his chest ache. 

Arthur cleared his throat again, rubbing the back of his neck.  “That—uh—yes. And it was…probably just adrenaline–?”

Merlin nodded too quickly. “Yes. Definitely. Heightened emotions.” He swallowed and clarified, “It didn’t mean anything.” His words came out more as a question than he meant.

Arthur nodded, shakily. “Of course not.”

Another beat, both of them looking at each other, then everywhere but the other.

“I should go,” Merlin murmured. And when Arthur didn’t say anything, Merlin’s hand found the door handle behind him, and he quickly slipped out.

“What the fuck.” He whispered to the empty hallway, once the door was shut. His fingers went to his lips and he found them as swollen as Arthur’s.

There was no way that had just happened. Absolutely no way, he had let Arthur kiss him. 

Absolutely no way, he’d kissed him back.

What was he thinking?! 

Clearly, he wasn’t. 

But, still!

He started the slow, long walk back to his chambers and if the now-awake guards thought it was odd to see Merlin come out of Arthur’s room but not go in, they didn’t say anything.

Every step felt light and his head was spinning.

Why did Arthur kiss him?

Arthur who hated him.

Arthur who banished him.

Arthur who was disgusted by him.

Arthur who had said they were nothing.

And then he’d gone and kissed him like they were everything.

Lust, then?

Maybe, Merlin hadn’t completely misread the situation two years ago?

So then it was just those past feelings—of lust, not love, of course—coming out, making them both act the way they did. It made sense, considering all the…proximity during their last trip.

He’d thought things between them were complicated, before. Now, he’d tasted what could have been theirs and felt the loss of his other half only more sharply. 

God, how had everything become such a mess?

It was Arthur’s fault of course; Arthur and his bigotry and his hatred and his lust and his lack of self-control.

Stupid, idiotic clotpole. 

Merlin very much ignored his own lack of self-control.

He walked into his chambers, fully planning on doing nothing but sleep the events off, when he saw Morgana and Gwaine talking in hushed whispers.

He froze when he noticed them. 

Gwaine was about to say something, his mouth already half-open. He stopped himself once he took in Merlin’s state.

There was a long silence, they were both clearly waiting for him to tell them what the hell had happened, watching him patiently and with just a tad bit of concern glazing their features.

Merlin let out a shaky breath. Might as well get it out there.

“He kissed me,” He whispered, because it was an explanation. And because it made it real.

If he didn’t admit it outloud, it wouldn’t exist outside of his memories and as horrible as it was and as much as Merlin was angry and so damned hurt by everything, he didn’t want to take the last few minutes back.

Wasn’t that just utterly pathetic?

Gwaine’s mouth formed a perfect ‘O’ and Morgana covered her mouth with her hand, barely stifling a gasp.

Neither of them said anything, so Merlin leaned against the door for support and continued, “Actually, I don’t know. Maybe I kissed him? I don’t know who moved first…But um, we definitely kissed.”

“Bloody hell.”

“It was good,” he felt the need to say. Because. It was. 

“And then?” Morgana asked, sounding a little nervous.

“And then.” Merlin thought back, because honestly he didn’t remember much from that interaction beyond the kiss. “And then we stopped. And he said—no wait, I said, it was a mistake. He said it was…adrenaline?”

“Oh.”

“ Adrenaline? ” Gwaine repeated.

“Yeah, what the fuck?” Merlin wondered, still dazed.

“I told you it wasn’t so simple!” Gwaine suddenly said, his voice rising above the hushed tones they were previously talking in.

“What are you talking about?” Morgana asked.

Merlin rolled his eyes and moved away from the door. “Nothing. He’s being an idiot.”

“No. I’m right, and when you realise that you will owe me a drink.” Then, he corrected, “ Several drinks.”

Morgana still looked confused—and annoyed—so Merlin clarified, “He thinks there’s more to the whole Arthur being a prat and a heartless bastard thing than we realise.” He rolled his eyes. “Because, god forbid Uther’s upbringing actually did have an effect and he actually is just like his father.”

And really, he doesn’t want to talk about this, right now; about Arthur’s every hateful word and action and his banishment and how their friendship ended.

Not after the kiss they’d just shared; not after he’d just gotten to taste what could have been theirs. 

And yet, it would always come back to that wouldn’t it? 

The hatred; the disgust. 

The banishment; the aching loneliness. 

The end of their friendship; their destiny left unfulfilled.

Merlin felt very, very tired of it all.

When he zoned back into the conversation, the conversation had already ended and they were both watching him, again, concern still present in their eyes.

He offered them both a smile. “I’m fine, guys. It was just a kiss and I am a mature adult. I’m not gonna have a breakdown over it,” he said, dryly.

A breakdown didn’t sound too bad, though.

Morgana started, “Well, if you want to talk about it—”

“I don’t. But thank you. I think I just want to not think about it because—I don’t really know what to make of it all, really.” He shrugged.

Morgana nodded, although her brows remained scrunched. Well, at least this had worked for one of them. She probably wasn’t thinking about Leon just now.

“This is all Gwaine’s fault,” she declared.

“How is it my fault? It’s your fault for not distracting him for long enough.”

“ No , it’s your fault for not keeping him occupied during training for a bit longer.”

“Oh, you mean when he was chewing my head off? Oh yes, I do wonder why I didn’t mind terribly when he finally shut up.”

“Since when can’t you handle Arthur’s lectures? You give as good as you get,” Merlin interrupted the bickering pair.

He groaned. “My head was aching—”

“From a hangover, no doubt,” Morgana cut in.

“Yes, my lady, it was indeed from a hangover,” Gwaine drawled. “Perhaps you should try drinking once in a while. Might make you a little more tolerable.”

She gave him a tight smile. “I’ll leave the drinking to you and my brother, thanks.”

Merlin frowned. “Arthur doesn’t really drink, though.”

He watched, curiously, as the two subtly exchanged a look. 

What was that about?

“He drinks more than be used to,” Morgana said, somewhat awkwardly.

“That’s rubbish. He barely even likes the finest bottles. The only times I saw him indulge was when things got particularly nasty around here.”

Gwaine shrugged. “Stress probably drives him to it.” 

“So, since he became King, he’s just been drinking through his duties?” Merlin asked, thoroughly confused.

Morgana winced. “Not exactly. It’s not that bad and I can’t recall when it started, really.”

“I do,” Gwaine piped up. “It was right after—” He cut himself off after a glance at Morgana. 

Merlin whipped around to her but she was just smiling pleasantly. 

“No, that was something else,” Gwaine said, thoughtfully. “Yeah, I don’t really remember, either.”

“Right…”

He glanced between the two of them. Not even a minute ago they had been at each other’s throats and now they were standing their ground in solidarity, over whatever this was.

The version of Arthur that Merlin had once known just kept changing. 

Always for the worse, too.

“Speaking of drinking, wanna hit the tavern with me tonight? It’ll help take your mind off things.” Gwaine offered.

Merlin sighed and allowed the topic-change. He didn’t care about Arthur and his newfound love for alcohol, anyway. 

He didn’t particularly feel like drowning his sorrows in cheap ale, especially not after this new revelation. It left a sour taste in his mouth.

“Nah, I’ll leave the drinking to you and Arthur, too.” Okay, maybe he cared a little —because, honestly, what the fuck , Arthur?

Gwaine sighed. “Always a bore, Merlin.”

“I have work that I can’t just skip out on, so I don’t quite fancy a hangover.”

Morgana smirked. “Hear that, Gwaine? Even Merlin thinks you don’t take your knighthood seriously.”

“I do not think that,” Merlin said, quickly.

“Ha!” 

“Maybe you shouldn’t skip practice so often, though?” Merlin added.

“Ha!”

Truly, they were such children. It was hard to believe he was the youngest of them three.

“I don’t skip that often,” Gwaine whined. 

“You were always more diligent about training before, though.” Merlin said, referring to his banishment.

Because there was the period before and the period after , and apparently, two years was enough to change everyone around here.

“Well, Arthur was more tolerable back then.”

And wasn’t that the truth?

Merlin gave him a grim smile. “Alright, I can sympathize with you there.”

Morgana rolled her eyes.

They both stayed a while longer, conversation flowing from Arthur to Leon (until even Gwaine understood that Morgana did not want to talk about it) to the failed prank to the knights then Lancelot and Guinevere (and their upcoming wedding), and it was nice. 

Lovely, really, to have his friends care about him so much that they didn’t want him to be alone with his thoughts after everything. 

And it did help. At some point between debating whether Lance would take a leave after his wedding (Merlin didn’t think so), and who everyone would be attending with, Merlin stopped thinking about Arthur.

Only for a few minutes, because eventually weddings brought him to kisses and to Arthur and how he could never have any of those.

Arthur would go to the wedding of their best friends with some princess or noble lady draped on his arm.

And Merlin would be alone.

And that was fine—really it was. 

Arthur didn’t deserve Merlin anyway.

Even though that damned kiss had felt so right .

Notes:

!!so that happened.
how are we feeling guys :D

Omg it broke my heart to write merlin reducing the kiss (and arthur’s feelings) down to just lust🥲 like no bby he lovesss you i swear💔😭

Also!!! I just finished my a levels (very exciting stuff im like dying of happiness) and that means more frequent updates :))

Chapter 25: And people would say, "They're the lucky ones"

Chapter 25: And people would say, "They're the lucky ones"

 

Morgana drifted through the castle corridors at a languid pace, her dress swishing at her ankles with every step. 

After what had just happened, there was really only one place to go. 

She nodded to the guards at the entrance that led to Arthur’s hallway and let her magic turn the lock for her. The door blew open instantly.

Arthur lifted his head from the bed and called out, with no small amount of weariness, “What’re you doing here?” 

“Nice to see you too, Arthur. Were you hoping I was someone else?” She smirked.

“No?”

“No? Not Merlin, maybe?” She asked in a teasing tone.

He sat up, then, and narrowed his eyes at her. She merely raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to piece it together.

After about a few seconds, Arthur yelled, “How is it you already know?!”

She shrugged and went to sit down beside him. “I know everything.”

“No, seriously. It’s been less than an hour. Are you spying on me?” He asked, suspiciously.

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Merlin told me.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “What— Why? ”

Morgana chuckled. “I think he was in shock, honestly.” 

He flopped back down with a groan. “He said it was a mistake,” Arthur said, glumly.

“And then you said it was adrenaline ,” she teased, trying to lighten his mood.

He turned to her, in shock and mortification. “He told you that? What else did he say?”

Morgana leaned back to rest her back against one of the bed posts and crossed her arms. “Ah, I can’t tell you everything , brother dear.”

“Morgana!”

She sighed. 

He kept up his half glare-half puppy-dog eyes and she relented.

“He said it was ‘good’, ” she offered.

Arthur grinned so wide that Morgana was hit with the grim realisation that she hadn’t seen him smile like that in… years.

“It was,” he confirmed, happily.

“I really don’t care.” Because, truly, she did not want to know about how thoroughly and wonderfully they’d snogged. “Honestly Arthur, one minute you’re accusing him and I of—”

Arthur’s hands flew to his ears and he yelled, “Don’t remind me about that right after I’ve just kissed him!”

Morgana shook her head. “You’re such a child.”

There was a pause, during which Arthur had his eyes trained on the ceiling, smiling again, and clearly lost in his own thoughts—or memories, probably.

She nudged his shoulder. “So, why did you do it?”

Arthur sighed. “I don’t know, he was just there and—” He pursed his lips.

Morgana gave him a (rare) patient look.

“I just really wanted to,” he finished, hesitantly. “I’ve wanted to kiss him for longer than I can even remember, and it was getting unbearable recently soo…”

Morgana snorted. “Fair enough.”

“He must think I’m insane.”

“He wouldn’t be wrong. You’re giving him mixed signals, and I’m fairly certain it’s driving him mad.”

“Am I?” He asked, genuinely. “I thought, up until now, I was doing a fine job of just being indifferent.”

Morgana thought back to all the times she’d seen them interact as well as all the second-hand accounts she’d received from Merlin and Arthur and Gwaine. 

“I don’t think so,” she said, finally. “I think there is too much history between you two for it to not show in everything you do.”

“Oh.” He closed his eyes. “It pains me to admit it, but you might be right.”

“I’m always right,” Morgana said, smugly. “Although, from what I hear, it isn’t just your past with him that’s making all this more complicated.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh nothing, just that Gwaine told me about that little trip—”

Arthur groaned.

“—you were just on, and my, Arthur! Sharing a room already?” 

Arthur opened his eyes to glare at her. “Why can you both never just mind your own business?”

“So you don’t deny it, then?”

“There’s nothing to deny. We just shared a room, what’s the big deal?”

“ And a bed.”

“I’m going to kill Gwaine.”

She shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

“Great, now get out before I kill you too.”

She raised her hands. “I’m just saying, maybe sleeping with the man you love who you’re pretending to hate isn’t the best method to come across as ‘indifferent’, ” Morgana explained, dryly.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could block out reality. “You’re such a harpy.”

She smacked his shoulder. "What, for telling the truth?”

There was a long pause and Morgana almost thought Arthur had fallen asleep, when he said, mournfully, “I wish it didn’t have to be this way.” 

It doesn’t, she almost replied, only barely holding herself back, because that was an argument they’d long tired of and it never went anywhere.

Instead, she sighed and asked, “How’s it coming along with the council?”

“I’ve made progress. Only need three more votes now,” he replied, somewhat happily.

Morgana’s eyebrows flew up. “Wow. All that hard work is finally paying off, huh?”

“Yeah, I hope so.” He smiled and reached for her hand, squeezing it. “I couldn’t have done it without your help, though. So, thank you.”

She squeezed back. “Of course. What are sisters for, if not to read up on a mountain load of depressing history?”

“Hm.” Arthur held up a finger. “Help with research.” Another finger went up. “Be a harpy.” Morgana rolled her eyes. “You’re not terrible at this sister thing,” Arthur finished, thoughtfully.

She made to get up. “See this is why I prefer Merlin’s company.”

Arthur laughed a true laugh and grabbed her arm before she could hop off the bed. “Nope, you’re not leaving until you do your turn. Has Leon spoken to yet?”

Morgana scowled and ripped her hand free but stayed at the edge of the bed. “No.”

Arthur sat up. “I can talk to him, seriously, maybe he’ll be more accepting if he sees that I’m not against it.”

Morgana shook her head. “I told you already, no. He has to accept this—me—on his own, otherwise it’s not genuine.”

Still, a large part of Morgana wanted to accept Arthur’s offer. He would talk to Leon, Leon would see sense, and they could be happy again.

She didn’t think she could ever be happy without him. He was it for her. No one else understood her better. No one else could make her laugh like he could, or make her smile after a sleepless night, or just share comfortable silence together.

No one would ever compare.

So, she had to believe Leon would get over it, eventually. The alternative was too depressing to consider—although, it was all she ever dreamed about; a future all alone, hated by the one man she loved, and surrounded by the suffocating company of all her friends and their lovers.

“I’m sorry. Things would probably be easier if magic wasn’t still outlawed,” Arthur said.

“Don’t be stupid, you’re working as fast as you can.”

Arthur looked away. “Not fast enough, though. What if, by the time it’s all done…it’s too late for both of us?”

As each day passed, Morgana couldn’t help but think those words held more and more weight.

But all that they had right now, was each other. And Morgana knew when to berate her brother and when to give him some hope. 

“I have to believe our love will prevail,” she said, simply. “You should do the same.”

“Right. Yeah.” Arthur met her eyes, again, and she was startled to see them shining from unshed tears. “But—what if he doesn’t love me?”

His voice cracked on the last word,  and Morgana’s heart broke for him. Because beneath the crown, beneath the arrogance, Arthur was just a boy grieving the love he'd pushed too far away.

And truly, he deserved to be happy.

“Don’t say that. We both know it’s not true. No one has ever loved you more than he has.”

“What if I lost that?” Arthur asked, softly.

“I don’t think you did,” She insisted. “He kissed you back, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. It could just be…lust?” He finished awkwardly.

Morgana sighed. “There really is no point in dwelling on this. You love him. You kissed him. He kissed you back. He didn’t hate it. The rest you’ll figure out soon enough when the ban is lifted and you clear everything up.”

Arthur nodded. “Right, yeah.” Then, he tactlessly changed the topic to, “So, we haven’t sparred in ages.”

Morgana shook her head at the horrible attempt but allowed it. “You’re looking to get your ass beat, again?”

“ Again?” Arthur made a snobbish face. “When have you ever beat me?”

Morgana sighed. “Many times, despite your memory lapses.”

“No, must be someone else.”

She shrugged. “I’ll beat you again just to prove you wrong.”

Arthur hopped off the bed. “Let’s go, then.”

“Right now?” She whined.

“Why not?” 

“You just finished training, why’re you even going back?”

“Have to test out the squires today.” 

Right. And she would know that, of course, if she still had Leon. 

Arthur made quick work of getting his chainmail on, didn’t even struggle with buckling on all the several pieces of armour all on his own.

“You’ve gotten quite good at that,” Morgana commented, truly impressed. Even Leon struggled to get it done that fast.

Arthur grinned. “I have, haven’t I?”

Morgana chuckled. “Merlin would be proud.”

Arthur’s smile grew. “One day I’ll show him.”

“Ah, but he might be more interested in you taking it off , I think,” she teased.

Arthur shook his head and turned away. “Don’t be crass, Morgana,” he chided, with a resigned air. He sheathed his sword and then asked, “Why not today?”

Morgana got up to join him out the door. “I’m in a dress, right now,” she said, simply.

“Girls,” Arthur muttered, as they made their way to the training grounds.

Morgana rolled her eyes. “What, you think you can win in a swordfight in this thing?”

“I could win wearing anything,” Arthur boasted. “Not that I want to wear that , though,” he added, quickly, probably rightly assuming what her next words would’ve been.

“I can’t wait to wipe the floor with you.”

“Sure, in your dreams.” 

They walked a while longer, in peaceful companionship.  When they reached the edge of the field, Arthur peeled off, and Morgana’s eyes immediately sought out Leon—his light hair easy to spot among the knights.

His eyes were already on her, expression completely neutral.

Morgana’s breath stuttered. 

Were they really over?

“He’ll come around, Morgana. Don’t worry too much,” Gwen said, as she locked their elbows together and headed for the bench that overlooked the grounds.

Lancelot walked past them, heading over to the shelf lined with weapons, smiling at Gwen on the way.

Morgana sat down with a sigh. “It’s been weeks—”

“Only two. He loves you, Morgana. Believe me, this won’t come in between that.”

“You said the same about Arthur the night Merlin told him about his magic, though,” Morgana retorted, because well, only she knew about the truth of that.

Gwen waved her hand, a dismissal. “Arthur’ll come around too, one day. I have faith in him.”

Morgana turned to her friend, shocked. “You think so?”

“Of course. Don’t you see the way his eyes never leave Merlin? He’s even more hopeless now than he used to be before the banishment,” Gwen explained.

Morgana snorted. “You’re not wrong. Could Merlin forgive him, though?” 

She was almost scared to hear Gwen’s answer, knowing that she always knew these things best. 

“Only if Arthur truly shows that he accepts Merlin’s magic. Otherwise…Merlin is smart enough to keep his walls up,” she said, sadly.

Morgana nodded. That was good, then. Afterall, Arthur was planning on accepting not just Merlin’s magic, but magic as a whole, in the entire kingdom.

“Hey, there he is!” Gwen exclaimed. Morgana followed her gaze and spotted Merlin, heading towards the castle.

Morgana glanced around for any eyes on them before using her magic to tug at Merlin’s jacket. They both laughed as Merlin startled like a deer and started looking around the courtyard.

They waved him over and he smiled as he slid into the seat beside Gwen.

“Ladies, don’t tell me you’re sitting here ogling your men,” he teased. 

“Of course. It encourages them to push themselves a little harder if they’ve got an audience,” Gwen said with a laugh.

Morgana nodded seriously. “Yes, and if you watch carefully, you’ll even notice Sir Lancelot flexing his muscles every few minutes.”

Merlin laughed and Gwen elbowed her. 

“He is not .”

“No, no, I think I just caught him doing it again,” Merlin said, squinting his eyes.

“Don’t lie. Your eyes are on Arthur ,” Gwen said.

“Arthur? No, never. Gross. I hate him.”

Gwen hummed and shared a knowing look with Morgana.

Merlin stayed and explained that he’d gone to check on a patient in the lower town, and he seemed to have recovered from the shock of the morning’s events, even if he was pointedly avoiding watching the field.

(Arthur, of course, was having no such issue and his eyes regularly—and shamelessly—sought out Merlin).

They talked about everything and nothing as the session progressed, eventually just settling to watch the young squires be put to the test, with Merlin making hilarious commentary the whole while.

He earned a few ugly looks for that, when some of them came close enough to overhear, but Merlin just gave them a cheeky smile and Morgana gave them a glare, and they’d refrain from whining about it.

A short hour later, the session was over. They watched—Merlin, only a little reluctantly, now—as Arthur gathered the squires and gave them an inspiring little speech, packed with what they all needed to improve on. 

Morgana’s eyes were on Leon, though. He was off to the side, helping one of the younger boys perfect his stance. The kid looked too young to be a squire, so probably just an eager page, trying to pick up tips from the older boys. 

It was an adorable sight.

Leon patted the boy’s back and then started heading their way.

Morgana froze.

Gwen noticed, next and then Merlin, and they both seemed just as startled. 

Oh my god. This was it. 

She shot a panicked look at her friends. Gwen squeezed her hand. Merlin looked a little concerned—no doubt thinking about exactly how this part had gone wrong for him—but gave her an encouraging smile. 

Leon stopped in front of their bench. He gave a kind smile to the other two and then finally to her. 

“I was wondering if we could talk?” He asked, politely.

Morgana swallowed. “Of course.” She realised, then, that he meant in private and quickly shot up.

He offered her his arm and she took it like a lifeline. They walked for what felt like forever and Morgana’s mind spun the whole time.

He would end their relationship; he would curse her for practicing sorcery; he would tell her he hated her.

They slowed to a stop once they reached the gardens where practically no one was around and Morgana felt like her heart might jump out of her throat.

She ought to say something, really. An apology, an explanation, an excuse. Anything to keep him.

“I’m sorry.”

What?

She blinked up at Leon to see him looking at her with a genuine expression, his face marred with guilt.

“I realise I kept you waiting for too long, and I must apologise for that, Morgana. I know you were hurting and it wasn’t my intention to ever hurt you.” He held her hands in between his and took a deep breath before he continued, “I’m sorry. I was angry that you kept it from me for so long and I didn’t want to come back to you with half-baked thoughts and unresolved frustration; you deserve better than that.”

She shook her head, eyes tearing up even as she tried to blink them away. “No, you have nothing to be sorry for. It was a big revelation, I understand why you needed time. I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you sooner—”

“No, Morgana—”

“At first, I was scared I’d lose you, and then after Merlin revealed his magic and you accepted it, I kept trying to build up the courage to talk to you about mine but…after so long of keeping it from you, I just didn’t know how ,”

He dropped her hands to cradle her face, his touch ever-gentle. “I understand, my love. I understand.”

Morgana broke at that, burying her head in his neck, arms going around his waist. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, the other cradling the back of her head, and Morgana cried, quietly, from the relief and the love and his warmth.

He understood. And he was here. And he didn’t hate her.  

They would be okay.

When her tears subsided, she pulled away a bit to reassure, “You’re not angry?” 

Leon wiped at her damp cheeks with the pad of his thumb. “I was angry. Not that you have magic—because well, it was out of your control, like your first explained, and I know now that magic isn’t the root of evil, especially not when people like you and Merlin are born with it—” 

Morgana let out a relieved breath at that, vowing to thank Merlin till the end of times.

“But I was angry that even after knowing each other nearly all our lives, you felt like you couldn’t trust me, when I’d given all of myself to you—”

“I’m sorry—”

He covered her lips with his hand. “But it was a big deal for you, I get it. And I’m not angry anymore, I promise. Quite grateful, actually. You did save my life that day.”

Morgana smiled, all the tension draining out of her. Leon smiled back and moved his fingers out of the way, and before she could even realise what was happening, he was kissing her.

It was an innocent, chaste kiss—their first ever, because Leon insisted on proper courting protocol, of course—and Morgana melted into it.

When they pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers, breath warm and steady.

“I love you,” he whispered. “Nothing could ever come in between that.”

Her breath caught.

“I love you too,” she said softly, like the words might break if spoken too loudly.

And for once, she believed she could have something good.

Notes:

Leon and Morgana getting the happily ever after that poor merthur are still waiting for :')

And lmao funny how in the previous end note I said updates would be more frequent now, and then proceeded to take the longest break i've taken so far to post the next chapter💀 I was busy writing literally every other chapter other than this one lmao. Ohandd I finished the show for the first time. That was insanee stuff, i kinda dk what to do with myself anymore.

Here is a teaser for the next chapter, as a sorta apology for keeping yall waiting :)

“Kill you?”

Merlin realized—far too late—what was coming. Arthur must have, too; their eyes met over Gwaine’s shoulder in a shared, long‑suffering look.

“Kiss you, more like.”

Chapter 26: Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

Summary:

Merlin patted Arthur’s hand once, and decided to let bygones be bygones.

Chapter 26: Are you gonna marry, kiss, or kill me?

 

“Merlin! Why aren’t you down in the courtyard yet?”

Merlin looked up from where he was sorting out various herbs and snipping off the useless parts. 

“…why would I be in the courtyard right now?”

“Arthur and Morgana are sparring, why wouldn’t you want to watch that?” Gwaine asked.

Oh right. Morgana had mentioned that earlier in the morning.

“I’m busy,” he dismissed.

Gwaine pouted. “This can be done later. Those two haven’t sparred in ages, it’s always fun, come onnn,” he drawled. “And you can cheer for Morgana!”

Merlin sat back, thinking about it. 

“Alright, I guess I’m pretty much done for the day.”

And more than cheering for Morgana, it would be fun to laugh when Arthur lost—which Merlin would make sure of.

“Brilliant, let’s go.” He pulled Merlin up and out the door, and Merlin just sighed and let himself be manhandled.

“So who’re you cheering for?” Merlin asked, as they descended the steps out the castle.

“Morgana, of course,” Gwaine replied easily.

“Really?”

Gwaine had never actually disliked Arthur. They got along pretty well, when they weren’t at each other’s throats.

“Obviously.” Gwaine gave him a side-along look, somehow perfectly conveying that he thought Merlin was an idiot. “That dick banished you, Merlin. My loyalty to him is hanging on by a single thread.”

“What about all that stuff you said about there being more to it or whatever?” 

Gwaine shrugged. “Doesn’t change that he hurt you, already.”

Merlin swallowed hard, but it didn’t stop the burn in his throat. He had to look away, because if he looked Gwaine in the eye right now, he might just cry.

He knew Gwaine was loyal to him before Arthur—he knew that. But it was really something to hear it put so plainly.

“Thanks, Gwaine,” he said, pushing past the emotion.

Gwaine just gave him a warm smile and clapped a hand on his shoulder, steady and grounding.

They reached the training grounds, stopping by a table that had a few waterskins and random pieces of discarded armour on it.

Morgana and Arthur were only a few feet from them. 

And Leon. 

Because they’d made up.

Which was wonderful, and Merlin was very happy for his friends and not at all jealous, of course not.

Bloody Sir Leon who had been under Uther's thumb for almost as long as Arthur could learn to get over his stupid prejudices, but Arthur couldn’t.

Whatever.

Merlin sighed at the depressing turn his thoughts had taken and hopped up to sit on the edge of the table. Gwaine was tall enough to just lean against it, beside him. 

Merlin waved to Morgana when she saw them and she grinned, maniacally. 

Gone were the silks and corseted gowns. Today, she was in perfectly tailored trousers and a linen shirt that was snug around her waist, looking every bit a warrior as she accepted Leon’s sword.

“You’re cheering for me, right Merlin?” She asked.

Merlin smirked. “You know it.”

Morgana gave Arthur a triumphant smile at that, and Arthur ignored her completely, inspecting Excalibur.

“Hey, me too!” Gwaine called.

Morgana whistled. “This is embarrassing for you, Arthur. Half your knights are on my side.”

Arthur smiled. “They’ll regret it when I triple the number of laps tomorrow. Traitors.”

A series of groans rang out—Gwaine of course being the loudest—and Merlin laughed despite himself.

His laughter dimmed to a smile when it drew Arthur’s eyes to him. 

His eyes were bright—expressive as always. It dragged Merlin back to just yesterday, when Arthur had stood before him, eyes darkening with every word, every step, until they both gave in.

Arthur’s thoughts must’ve been going in the same direction, if the way his eyes dipped to his lips was any indication.

Merlin looked away, even as heat furiously crawled up his neck. 

“So, what do I get when I win?” Morgana swung the sword around a few times, getting a feel for it, her movements fluid and confident.

Arthur looked away. “ If you win,” he corrected, snobbily. “Which you won’t, so choose whatever you like.”

“Anything?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Sure.”

Morgana smirked and leaned closer to him. She whispered something in his ear that had Arthur shoving her away. 

“My life is not a game, Morgana ,” he reprimanded, in a low voice. His eyes darted to Merlin, again, for some reason.

Morgana shrugged, carelessly. “You said anything—your fault.”

“Well, not that.”

“You’re such a bore,” Morgana whined. She turned to Percival, Lancelot and Gwen on the other end of the field and called out, “Any requests?”

“Make him come to the tavern with us!” Percival replied, excitedly, his voice booming out around them, even with how far he was.

There was a whooping cheer from Gwaine at that. 

Morgana cocked her head, thoughtfully. 

She turned to Leon and said in a lower voice that only reached them, and Merlin and Gwaine who were close enough that if they strained, they could hear, “Does he really need another opportunity to get sloshed, though?”

Leon considered this carefully before replying, “Could be good for him, to get out for a bit. I can’t remember the last time he went to the Rising Sun with us.”

“I am right here,” Arthur said, flatly. “And I’m king. I can’t be seen visiting the tavern everyday like some of you.” He looked pointedly in Gwaine’s direction.

“Make it on his tab,” Gwaine yelled out, from beside Merlin.

“Of course.” She nodded, ignoring her brother. “So. If I win, you must come with us to the Rising Sun and pay for everything.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Must you all always act so penniless?”

Merlin snorted.

“You don’t pay us enough to put up with you, princess.”

“ I don’t get paid enough to put up with you,” Arthur bit back.

“Alright, quit squabbling. Do we have a deal?” Morgana asked.

Arthur sighed and shook her hand. “Fine.” He stepped back a few paces and did that cool sword-spin thing. Merlin smiled, unable to help himself.

Morgana stepped back, too, drawing closer to Gwaine and himself. 

“Give me a hand, will you?” She whispered.

Merlin’s grin grew. “You bet.”

Morgana turned her attention back to her opponent, and raised her blade. Arthur mirrored the movement and a silence settled over the small crowd that had gathered.

Morgana attacked first and the clang of steel against steel rang out—sharp and rhythmic, a familiar sound.

Arthur blocked expertly and parried with his own attack, going for her open side. Morgana nimbly danced out of reach.

Arthur struck again, hard and fast, and Morgana blocked the strike, her boots skidding slightly on the gravel.

She twisted her blade free and taunted, “You’ve gotten slow,” aiming a swipe at his ribs.

Arthur blocked easily. “I’m going easy on you. Wouldn’t want to bruise your pride.”

Morgana scoffed, and then there was a flurry of attacks and near-misses and blocks. 

When Arthur stepped back dodging another slash of Morgana’s sword, she followed, sword raised, and swept her leg towards his feet.

Arthur jumped back with a bark of laughter. “That’s cheating.”

“That’s winning.” Her smirk was pure mischief.

They circled each other for a moment, the crowd of watching knights murmuring among themselves, clearly enjoying the show. 

He lunged, blade aiming for her shoulder, but Morgana met him with strength that belied her slender frame. Their swords locked. 

She pushed forward and managed to get her sword free, breathing hard.

Arthur attacked again, while Morgana was still recovering from the previous attack, and his sword managed to skim her sleeve. 

Morgana stumbled back, hissing.

Merlin stood more on alert, now, remembering that neither of them particularly cared much about being fair.

Arthur frowned a little when a line of crimson appeared on Morgana’s sleeve, but advanced again, nonetheless.

The next time he got close to nicking Morgana, Merlin smoothly used his magic to move the sword just a few inches out of the way.

Arthur startled at that, the first time.

The second time it happened—his sword (magically) moving from Morgana’s throat to the air, allowing her to quickly move away—he cursed.

The fight went on like this. They both did well in holding each other off, and every time Arthur got too close to winning, Merlin’s eyes would glow and Morgana would gain the upperhand.

They were both getting tired, Morgana more than Arthur—lack of practice and all—but what she lacked in strength and endurance, she made up for with confidence and determination (and cheating).

A few well placed blows later, Morgana had disarmed Arthur and his sword was flying through the air.

She caught it easily, with a triumphant smile, and pointed the ends of both swords at Arthur’s chest.

Cheers rang out in the gathered crowd, Merlin and Gwaine being the loudest.

“ Gwaine! ” Arthur yelled, searching the crowd for the knight. When his eyes landed on him, he glared. “You taught her your trick,” he accused.

Morgana laughed, merrily and went off to accept Leon’s praise, who was smiling proudly.

Gwaine smirked. “Aye, sire.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You never showed any of your fellow knights how to do it and you showed her ?”

Gwaine shrugged. “’Course. We had a fair trade. You lot don’t have much to offer me.”

Arthur crossed the field to come towards them, grabbing a waterskin from the table Merlin was sitting on. 

Merlin held his breath and pointedly looked only at Gwaine.

“What did she have to offer you?”

“A secret.”

Arthur took a swig of water. “What secret?”

“Well it won’t be a secret if I tell you, would it?” Gwaine teased. 

Merlin snorted and Arthur’s glare fell on him for a moment. 

Morgana and Leon came over to join them and Arthur turned on his sister. 

“You harpy . What have you told him to get him to reveal that trick?” He demanded.

Morgana ruffled his hair and Arthur ducked out of reach. “Are you jealous, brother?”

He was too close to Merlin now, standing just slightly ahead of him, and Merlin’s knees were brushing the back of Arthur’s thighs.

Deep breaths.

“Yes,” Arthur admitted, easily.

“So am I,” Leon added. “We all tried for ages to get him to teach us.”

Arthur moved to sit on the table, right beside Merlin, never once bumping into him even though he didn’t look at him. It was as if he was already aware of exactly where Merlin was, and expertly avoided touching him.

He took another swig of water, this time, his elbow brushed Merlin’s arm and Merlin froze.

“What state secret have you divulged to that idiot, then?” Arthur asked, resigned.

“It wasn’t a state secret,” Morgana protested. “I just told him about—you know…” She raised her hands and wiggled her fingers.

And, Merlin really couldn’t help it when he burst out laughing, holding on to Gwaine’s arm for support as he chortled. 

Everyone else around them seemed confused, save for Arthur who had turned a bright red. 

When Merlin locked eyes with him, his laughter only doubled, remembering how Arthur had assumed something totally inappropriate from such a simple gesture.

Arthur shook his head, a growing smile now on his face. 

“Shut up, Merlin,” he muttered, elbowing his side.

Merlin wiped away a stray tear. “You are such a clotpole.”

“So I’ve heard.” Arthur rolled his eyes and looked away, but he was still smiling and something in Merlin’s stomach came alive at that. 

Leon, Gwaine and Morgana were watching them with matching looks of confusion and amusement.

Arthur cleared his throat and took another sip of water.

Leon quickly broke the silence. “Hang on, Gwaine knows?”

Merlin expected some comment about Gwaine finding out before him , but it never came. He smiled. 

Leon was too good for the world, and he was perfect for Morgana. 

Morgana winced. “He found out by accident, I swear.” Clearly, Morgana had not yet realised that Leon wasn’t feeling insecure about their relationship. “And then I threatened him until he promised to keep his mouth shut, and we traded his sword trick to make it fair.”

Leon snorted. “Smart.”

Morgana grinned, relieved that he wasn’t making a fuss about it. 

Merlin watched on, only a little sad that he’d missed his chance to have that. When he turned to glance, slyly, at Arthur, he found his eyes already on him.

Morgana punched Arthur’s shoulder and gave him a knowing look. “You know what this means, Arthur.”

He groaned. “Must I?”

“Don’t be a sore loser, princess.”

“I’m not, I’m just saying I’m busy,” Arthur insisted.

“Your evening is clear,” Leon interjected, happily.

Arthur shot him a glare. “Does it have to be today?”

“Yes, otherwise you’ll conveniently come up with excuses,” Morgana said, wisely.

Since when did Arthur hate going out with everyone so much? Surely he wasn’t that busy.

Merlin sat quietly, swinging his legs as the conversation flowed around him. His eyes focused on Arthur’s hands gripping the waterskin.

The sun caught on his ring, gilding the gold and making it shine brighter than it should have.

Merlin stared at it, unblinking.

It had started as a joke. A harmless, stupid, very Merlin kind of joke.

He’d been sitting in Arthur’s chambers, polishing his signet ring—because of course Arthur never did it himself.

“So this ring, it’s kind of a big deal right?” He asked.

Arthur, who was lounging on the bed after a gruelling training session, replied, “More than ‘kind of’, Mer lin. It’s the royal seal. Whosoever has it, basically has the kingdom.”

“A lot of responsibility for a ring,” Merlin commented, dryly.

“What would you know about responsibility, you lazy bum?”

“Not as lazy as you.” The light caught the gold just right, and Merlin had grinned and slipped it onto his own finger. “Now, I command you to fetch me a goblet of wine, peasant.”

Arthur looked up, very much unamused. Merlin waved his hand, now adorning the ring. 

“No.”

Merlin tutted, entirely expecting the response. “You can’t do that.”

Arthur bounced off the bed, coming over to the sofa where Merlin was seated— lounging , honestly—and said, “Now you know what it’s like to have a lazy, incompetent servant.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Who are you calling incompetent?”

“Stupid too,” Arthur added, thoughtfully. He uncorked a bottle of wine and poured out two glasses. 

Merlin grinned in victory.

His gaze was fixed on Merlin with a look that was half amusement, half something far more dangerous, as he held out the goblet and said, “You’re lucky I’m in a generous mood.”

Merlin accepted it, feeling his cheeks heat up. Arthur had looked quietly satisfied as he came to sit beside him slinging one arm over the back of the seat. 

An older, colder Arthur laughed at something Gwaine said, and Merlin was dragged back to the present.

How odd that they were sitting side-by-side like this, chatting with their closest friends, and if Merlin tried, maybe he could even imagine this was all normal and okay and perfect , really, and that Arthur hadn’t ruined everything.

A kick to his foot jostled him out of his thoughts. Merlin looked up at Arthur, startled. 

“What?”

Arthur nodded towards Morgana who was watching him with her brows furrowed. “I was asking if you’re coming with us?” She said.

“Oh. No, I’ve got some work to do, thanks.” He smiled tightly. 

“You said you were done for the day before we headed here,” Gwaine, unhelpfully, pointed out.

Merlin glared at the knight. “I just remembered something else.”

He was fairly certain he wouldn’t enjoy a night out with Arthur .

“Oh come on, leave it for another day, please? You haven’t gone out with us in ages,” Gwaine pleaded.

“Who’s fault is that?” Merlin asked, dryly.

“Well you can’t let him take this away from you, too. Ignore him and just enjoy a night out with us ,” Morgana said, rationally.

“I’m literally right here,” Arthur said, glumly. There was a grimace on his face.

“ Well, shut up, then ,” Gwaine snapped, voice colder than Merlin had ever heard it.

Merlin sighed. 

Leon spoke up, “It’ll be fun, Merlin. You deserve a night to unwind.”

“ And , Arthur’s paying, which means we can get all the good stuff,” Gwaine added.

Merlin sighed, again—more of a groan, really. He locked eyes with Morgana, silently conveying that she better keep Arthur far away from him at all times.

Morgana smiled encouragingly and pleadingly so Merlin relented. “Fine, whatever.”

Gwaine clapped his back, a broad smile on his face. “That’s what I’m talking about!” 

Merlin hopped off the table, and he and Gwaine made short work of gathering the other knights and Gwen, who were all equally surprised and happy at the additions to their usual group.

The long walk to the Rising Sun was nice, with the whole group chatting together and catching up. Elyan, unfortunately, was still not back from patrol—nothing concerning, though, Leon reassured them.

Lancelot and Gwen were at the head of their group, Percival with them. Arthur was at the very back, by himself, and Merlin and Gwaine were walking just ahead of him, side-by-side, discussing their failed prank.

Their voices must’ve reached Arthur’s ears because he asked, suddenly, “What was it you were getting my key for anyway?” 

Merlin turned to look at him, turning a bright red—much to Arthur’s amusement. 

Gwaine saved him from having to scrounge up words, by replying, merrily, “We were gonna replace your mattress with a lumpy one.”

Arthur shook his head. “How do you come up with this crap?”

“That’s what I said,” Morgana called back from ahead of them. She was walking with Leon’s arm around her shoulders, looking like she’d rather be nowhere else.

“I think it was a good idea,” Merlin shrugged.

“Yeah, would’ve driven you mad, princess. Don’t lie.”

“I swear, Gwaine, one more idiotic idea of a ‘joke’ from you, and you’ll be spending some time in the dungeons,” Arthur threatened.

“What—why just me ? Merlin and Morgana were accomplices too!”

“That’s alright, you can just serve triple the amount of time, in their place,” Arthur replied, happily.

“Hm, how many nights in the dungeon are we looking at?” Gwaine asked, thoughtfully.

“About a week, if you behave.”

“That’s not too bad. A week of sleeping all day and not having to see your face or attend training sounds a bit like heaven to me,” he said, sounding entirely serious, too.

“No alcohol, though,” Arthur pointed out.

“Damn it.” He turned to Merlin. “You’d sneak me some, wouldn’t you?”

Merlin nodded. “Of course. Where am I supposed to get it from though?”

Gwaine waved his hand. “Just sneak into Arthur’s room again. He has the best stash.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “What do you know about my stash? Have you been stealing?”

Merlin ignored his prattling and said to Gwaine, “He’ll kill me.”

“ Kill you? ”

Merlin realized—far too late—what was coming. Arthur must have, too; their eyes met over Gwaine’s shoulder in a shared, long‑suffering look.

“ Kiss you, more like.”

Morgana broke out into uncontrollable laughter. Leon—who’d apparently been filled in already—was chuckling too. The rest of the group was, thankfully, too far ahead of them to overhear.

Merlin elbowed Gwaine away, straight in front of Arthur, who took the chance to smack the back of his head.

“ Ow! ” Gwaine quickly danced out of reach.

Merlin smiled. “You deserve that, sorry.”

 

---

 

They were all at least a little buzzed by the time Gwaine announced a game.

“Leon!” Gwaine yelled, drunkenly. “Kiss, marry, kill: Lancelot, Arthur, Gwen.”

Leon wrinkled his nose. “Why isn’t Morgana an option?”

“Because that would be too boring, you sap.”

They all laughed and Leon sighed.

“Marry Gwen,” he started, and Gwen instantly started blushing adorably, “uh, kiss Arthur and kill lancelot,” he finished with a wince. “Sorry, Lance, I just can’t kill him. The thought of kissing him is disturbing too, I promise.”

Arthur shook his head, chuckling. 

Lancelot grinned. “Killing me and marrying my betrothed. Maybe I should be concerned,” he teased.

“Gwaine’s turn!” Leon declared, after a long-suffering look at them all. “Lancelot, Merlin and Percival.”

“Kill Lancelot,” Gwaine said, easily.

“Goodness. Should I just leave?” Lance muttered, drawing the table into another round of laughter.

“Kiss Merlin and marry Percival,” Gwaine finished.

“Aw, Gwaine,” Merlin cooed, flattered.

Percival and Gwaine shared a soft look and Merlin wondered, not for the first time, if what they had went deeper than friendship.

Gwaine turned to Lancelot and said, “Merlin, Morgana and…”

“Leon,” Arthur called out, finally speaking up.

Gwaine nodded. “Leon it is.”

“Well, alright. I guess, I’ll marry Gwen, kiss Gwen and hm…kill myself,” Lancelot said, noblely.

“That’s cheating,” Merlin jeered.

“That’s love, my friend.”

“Ugh, we are surrounded by a bunch of saps,” Gwaine declared, dramatically flopping back in his chair. “Someone pass me a bucket before I drown in all this devotion .”

“Don’t be bitter just because no one picked you,” Arthur grinned, from across the table.

“Merlin would pick me,” Gwaine bragged.

Merlin nodded. “I would.”

“Alright, then. Merlin’s turn!” Gwen said. “Gwaine, Lancelot and Arthur.”

Merlin was quite glad that the flush of his cheeks could be explained away by his drunkenness.

He pointedly did not look at Arthur as he said, “Well, I’ll kill Arthur, obviously.”

“ Obviously ,” Gwaine, Lancelot and Morgana echoed, making Merlin smile.

“So who gets the kiss and who gets the ring, Merlin?” Gwaine asked, an innocent smile on his face.

Merlin hummed thoughtfully, looking between his two best friends.

“I’ve known you for longer,” Lancelot reminded him.

“I make a killer stew,” Gwaine remarked, casually. “Lancelot poisoned us all once, with his cooking.”

“His socks stink,” Lancelot said, leaning back into his chair, as if he too was unbothered by this.

“Hm. All very good points.” Merlin landed on a decision. “Lancelot gets the ring!” He announced, dramatically. “Gwaine, you get a kiss.” Merlin patted his shoulder.

Lancelot whooped. “I knew I was your favourite.”

Gwaine sighed, dejectedly. “Kiss of consolation?”

Merlin leaned over and pressed a quick, exaggerated kiss to Gwaine’s cheek. “There. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

Arthur glowered into his drink.

“Who’s next?” Gwen asked.

“Arthur!” Percival declared, happily. “Merlin, Morgana and Gwen.”

Arthur frowned. “That’s not fair, she’s my sister. I have to kill her. Give me someone else.”

“Rules are rules.”

“I can just kiss her cheek, right?”

“No,” Gwaine drawled out. “Rules are rules.”

“Merlin only kissed your cheek,” Arthur protested.

And Merlin realised that Arthur wanted the Kill spot open for him. 

Because he didn’t want to kiss or marry him.

Well, that was stupid , he decided, ignoring the hurt. They had already kissed.

“Do you want them to make out in front of us?” Leon asked with a sigh.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “Stupid game,” he muttered and took a sip of his drink. He was still on his first glass, though, unlike Merlin on his fourth, so really, Merlin didn’t know why the others were saying he liked drinking now.

“Haven’t got all day, princess.”

“Fine, I’ll kill Morgana—”

Morgana toasted in his direction. “Thank you.”

“Kiss Merlin and marry Guinevere,” Arthur finished, looking at everyone except Merlin.

Coward. Couldn’t even own up to his actions.

“That wasn’t too hard was it?” Morgana teased. “Not even too far from the truth.”

Merlin gaped. 

“ Morgana ,” Arthur and Merlin both warned.

Morgana sighed and leaned back into Leon’s arms. “No one lets me have any fun,” she complained.

Leon kissed the top of her head with an indulgent smile. “That’s because your idea of fun usually ends in someone crying.”

“Or a scandal,” Gwen remarked.

“Or bloodshed,” Arthur muttered into his goblet.

“See what I mean? You’re all so boring.”

“Does that mean I can go home now?” Arthur piped up, eagerly.

She snorted. “You wish.”

The game carried on for a few more rounds, growing rowdier with every refill of ale and every increasingly ridiculous choice.

Morgana chose to marry herself, kiss Gwen (to which Gwen turned scarlet), and kill Arthur “with love,” she clarified sweetly.

When it was Gwaine’s turn again, he dramatically declared, “I’d marry the tavern, kiss the barkeep, and kill sobriety!”

Merlin cheered at that, entirely too drunk to even figure out where the choices had come from. 

Their group split apart, eventually. Leon and Morgana went to grab something to eat, both of them not wanting the liquor to go to their heads; Lancelot and Gwen ended up at the bar, getting another round of drinks and probably snogging each other senseless; Gwaine and Percival started up a game of dice in the far corner of the room.

Merlin was about to get up and join them, on Gwaine’s insistence, when Arthur got up and settled in the seat beside him, close enough that their knees brushed. 

Merlin stilled, blinking at him in surprise.

Arthur leaned in closer to him and the hair on Merlin’s neck stood on end. “I saw you cheat, by the way,” He said in his ear.

This close, he could smell the mead on Arthur’s breath.

“Cheat?” He asked, a little breathless.

“During the swordfight,” Arthur said, flatly.

Oh. Crap.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin said, instantly. “I was on the sidelines, how could I do anything?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me, Merlin. I had her—several times, in fact—and then the tip of my sword would just move out of the way.”

Merlin let out a low whistle and tried to look anywhere other than Arthur’s piercing blue eyes. 

“Perhaps that’s a sign that you need to go back to the basics of training: How To Keep Your Sword Steady 101.”

Merlin took another sip of his drink.

Arthur exhaled, clearly frustrated, much to Merlin’s amusement. “Really, Merlin? In the middle of the courtyard? Do you have any idea how many people were watching us?” He hissed.

Merlin shrugged. “They were watching you, not me.”

“So you admit it then.”

“Wha-?” Oh, had he? Ugh. Merlin poked a finger into Arthur’s chest. “You can’t get me to admit to crimes while I’m drunk. That’s cheating.”

“ Mer lin.”  

And Merlin looked at him then, really looked at him, and lost himself in Arthur’s eyes. 

Why was his hand on Arthur’s shirt? 

Why did he not want to let go?

Arthur’s eyes fell on his lips and Merlin forgot how to breathe. His tongue darted out to wet them, all too aware of his every movement being followed.

He should’ve stepped back. Should’ve laughed it off, said something sarcastic, gotten angry, anything to break the moment. 

But he didn’t.

Because Arthur wasn’t looking at him with confusion or anger or disgust.

He was looking at him like he wanted . And Merlin was so, so tired of wanting alone.

“Oi, Merlin!”

The moment broke anyway.

They both backed away quickly, following the voice to Gwaine, who looked a little startled.

He recovered quickly and called out, “Join the next round?”

“Yeah coming,” Merlin yelled back, over the noise.

He got up and was a little mesmerised by the flush coating Arthur’s cheeks. Arthur who wasn’t even drinking enough for that to be an excuse.

“Feel like getting beat again?” He asked, unable to stop himself.

Arthur stood, too. “By your cheating arse? Sure,” he said, flatly and with a roll of his eyes.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, honestly,” Merlin replied, the picture of innocence. “Do you remember the last time we played?”

Arthur froze, earning him a curious look from Merlin.

“Yeah, I remember.” Arthur said, sounding a little off.

He’d thought it was a pretty nice night. It was just them and Percival, and Merlin had gone home with a lot of winnings and a furious desire to wank.

That was a long time ago, wasn’t it? Why hadn’t they played since then?

He couldn’t quite remember.

Gwaine and Percival greeted them both with warm smiles, almost as drunk as Merlin. Gwaine explained how to play—because he had a tendency to tweak the rules for ‘more fun’, every time he played—and Merlin nodded along, barely understanding.

Before they began, Arthur called out, “Everyone keep an eye on Merlin. He cheats.”

“I don’t ,” Merlin protested.

“Brilliant! He’s on my team, then,” Gwaine said.

Arthur sighed and Merlin gave him a cheeky smile.

After three rounds—two of which he won (he could’ve won the third too, but Arthur looked ready to quit, as it was)—Merlin split off from his friends to get a drink of water and maybe sober up a bit.

They waved him off, mostly focused on the game in front of them, though Arthur’s eyes lingered on him. Merlin felt the weight of his gaze as he pushed through the crowd.

“Can I get some water, please?” He asked the barmaid, Macy.

She smiled. “Finally had enough of the liquor, eh?”

“Yeah, it’s going to be one helluva hangover tomorrow,” Merlin managed to get out, every word a struggle to get out.

He really wanted to sleep.

Merlin collapsed on one of the tall stools and rested his head on the countertop. This was nice.

Macy placed a cup of water before him and then disappeared, a rowdy group drawing her attention. Merlin tried to summon the energy to lift his head and pick up the cup, but really, he couldn’t be bothered.

“Oi!” Came a voice from beside him. “Move your skinny arse. I was sitting there first.”

“Finders keepers, mate,” Merlin replied, without turning his head.

His eyelids fluttered close.

A large hand clamped down on his back. “I said, move ,” the gruff voice insisted.

Merlin sighed, annoyed, and turned to look at the man. 

Goodness, was he half-giant or something? 

He hulked over him, with a long beard that was entirely too gross to even look at, and harsh features that were twisted into a menacing scowl.

Merlin whacked his hand away. “Personal space, man. And go sit somewhere else, we’re not children anymore, for you to be acting petty over this.”

God, was it too much to ask for one uninterrupted night out?

Ugly—as Merlin had dubbed him, in his head—decided to move even closer, caging Merlin into the bar, and Merlin regretted not getting off the stupid stool when he’d had the chance. 

Now, he was trapped and at a terrible height disadvantage. Not to mention the size disadvantage.

“I’m gonna make you pay for that” he said, his hot and rancid breath assaulting Merlin’s senses.

Merlin wrinkled his nose, perhaps a little unwisely. “Can you maybe do that after you brush your teeth? And take a bath, too while you’re at it—”

Ugly didn’t wait for him to finish and a fist came flying for his face.

Merlin yelped and ducked, slipping off the chair and going under the man’s arms.

He didn’t get very far before Ugly grabbed a hold of his jacket, dragging him back. He was whipped around to face the man, standing far too close for comfort.

An ugly frown appeared on Ugly’s face and Merlin’s eyes darted around, wildly, searching for an escape.

He froze when meaty hands reached for his jaw, and without thinking, he yelled out, “ Arthur —!”

Ugly laughed, a slimy little laugh, getting all up in Merlin’s face. His grip on Merlin’s jaw tightened and Merlin squirmed, trying to push him, but the man didn’t budge. 

His hand, once again, moved back to land a blow on him, and Merlin winced, preparing for the impact.

Out of nowhere, a hand appeared at Ugly’s collar, pulling him away as if he weighed nothing. 

Arthur shoved him a few steps back and then followed it up with a clean punch straight to his jaw. 

Merlin gaped.

Ugly recovered from the hit and instantly recognised the king—very few this close to the citadel didn’t. He made the smart decision to raise his hands in surrender.

“Apologies, your majesty,” he said, eyes trained on the ground.

Arthur stalked forward, jaw clenched, eyes blazing. “Touch him again,” he growled, “and I will personally remove every single one of your fingers.”

The man nodded, looking a lot less scary and a lot more pathetic now.

Merlin gathered his wits and staggered over to Arthur, tugging at his shirt, insistently. “Don’t create a scene, god , Arthur,” he muttered, voice low.

Arthur didn’t look at him. His gaze stayed fixed on the man, still trembling in his boots.

Merlin tugged again, more urgently this time. 

Arthur finally looked at him, the fire in his eyes not dimming at all. But he stepped away and started leading them back to their table with a hand on Merlin’s back and his jaw clenched.

“Why are you mad at me ?” Merlin asked, confused, when he registered the anger still present on Arthur’s face.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“Then why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re angry at me!”

“I’m not angry at you,” Arthur repeated, but his voice sounded tight with barely restrained anger, so Merlin figured he was lying.

They reached the table their group had occupied, now vacant.

Arthur gently pushed Merlin into a chair. “Sit. Finish that. And then we’re going home.”

Merlin looked down at the cup, miraculously still in his hands.

“I just went to get water,” he mumbled.

Arthur sighed and sat down across from him. “I know, Merlin. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

“I might’ve goaded him.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, barely an inch apart. “Just a bit.” 

“Doesn’t mean he can beat you up,” Arthur replied, evenly.

“I know , right? Who fights over a chair? A chair , Arthur,” Merlin exclaimed, exasperated. “He was ready to deck me over a chair. Like—just sit somewhere else, you absolute walnut.”

Arthur chuckled and Merlin thought it lit up his whole face quite beautifully. 

He should smile more.

Merlin took a slow sip, allowing the water to soothe his nerves. He glanced around searching for everyone else.

Morgana and Leon were on a different table, speaking in hushed voices between quiet smiles, slowly working their way through a cheese board.

Percival and Gwaine were still at it, playing some card game, now.

“Where are Gwen and Lancelot?” Merlin asked, unable to spot them.

“They left a while ago.”

“Oh.” 

Merlin took another sip then put the cup down. He rested his chin on his forearm, eyes lazily fluttering, again.

Arthur’s hand rested on the table, his fingers tapping idly beside his mug, only a few inches from Merlin’s face.

Merlin’s gaze followed the movement, then fell to his other hand, resting idly. The gold ring sat there, unassuming and yet holding the weight of all the kingdom’s decisions.

“You’ve still got this old thing,” he commented.

Arthur followed his eyes. “Obviously.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed, like he was trying to focus, and then without thinking, he reached out and pulled Arthur’s hand a little closer, fiddling with the ring.

As wasted as he was, Merlin didn’t notice Arthur go completely still at the touch.

“Needs a polish,” Merlin stated, as he assessed it.

No reply came—not that Merlin noticed.

He twisted the ring once, then again, slowly, as if mesmerised. 

“Shiny,” Merlin said, to no one in particular.

“Hm.”

“I think I’m drunk.”

Arthur snorted. “Yes, I think so, too.”

“Why aren’t you drunk?”

“I don’t drink.”

Merlin looked up from beneath his lashes. “Liar.” 

He went back to twisting the ring. He kind of wanted to slip it off Arthur’s finger. Would that be a crime?

“Well, I’m not drinking right now ,” Arthur amended.

“Why not? Heard that’s your thing these days,” Merlin mused.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “No, it’s not. I have—”

“A reputation to uphold.”

“—a reputation to uphold.”

Merlin gave him a dopey smile. “I know you too well, Arthur,” he said, a little sadly.

But why was he sad?

He couldn’t remember. 

What could there be to be sad about?

He was sitting in a tavern, having a—mostly—nice night out with his friends and Arthur. 

Everything was great.

Maybe he’d had a fight with Arthur, he thought, still playing with the ring. But that was stupid. Arthur and Merlin never stayed mad at each other for long.

Merlin patted Arthur’s hand once, and decided to let bygones be bygones.

He sat up and finished his water, under the watchful eye of Arthur.

Perhaps the morning would bring with it an explanation as to why, even now, there was an odd tension in the air.

For now, “Are you coming too?” Merlin asked, standing, catching the table for support when he felt the room spin.

Arthur stood and rolled his eyes. “Obviously. You’re not going home by yourself , in that state.”

He grabbed Merlin’s shoulder and together they began pushing through the crowd, towards the exit. 

They stopped at Gwaine and Percy’s table and Merlin leaned on Arthur’s shoulder while they talked about god-knows-what. Merlin just wanted to go to sleep. 

The knights ended up joining them on the walk back, walking just ahead of them, and gripping each other’s shoulders for support. 

Night had fallen in the time they’d spent in the tavern, and a peaceful calm had settled over the lower town. 

Very few people were around, and those that were, gave them a wide berth and warm smiles, recognising the knights and their king.

Together they made the long walk back to the castle, footsteps clumsy over the cobblestones, in their drunken haze.

After the second time Merlin nearly tripped, Arthur sighed softly and slipped an arm around his waist.

“Never again,” he muttered, as they walked.

“You didn’t have fun?” Merlin asked, words slurring.

“I had fun,” Arthur reassured. “Seems you’ve had too much fun.”

Merlin groaned, suddenly remembering his duties. “Will you kill me if I show up a little late with your breakfast tomorrow? Let’s just both sleep in,” he pleaded.

Arthur didn’t reply and Merlin turned to face him, their noses only inches apart as a result of Arthur supporting him. Merlin frowned when he took in Arthur’s glistening eyes.

He stopped them and reached up a hand, hovering near Arthur’s face. 

“Why’re you sad? ” He asked, his voice soft. He gave in and rested his fingers on Arthur’s cheeks, which were soft and cold to the touch. 

Arthur leaned into it, his eyes closing, briefly. 

“Okay fine, I’ll be on time,” Merlin said, hoping to fix Arthur’s mood. “Bright and early with all your favourites; honeycakes and sausages—but only if you let me snag a few.”

Arthur smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You can sleep in, Merlin.”

Merlin was about to argue but Arthur started dragging him along again, so he shut his mouth and decided he would show up on time, regardless of Arthur’s rare leniency. 

They stopped at the bottom of the stairs that led to Gaius’ chambers, Arthur pulling the other two knights back by their collars. He started to walk up the stairs with Merlin but Merlin pushed back. 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“You might fall—”

“I won’t,” He patted the railing. “You need to walk those two back, too, and I’m sure you’re tired, yourself.”

Arthur hesitated at the bottom step and Merlin made a shooing motion. He nodded and stepped. 

Merlin smiled and started the walk up to his chambers. 

“G’night, Arthur!” He yelled over his back.

No reply came. They must be out of hearing range, then.

He entered the infirmary quietly, toeing his boots off at the entrance. Gaius wasn’t in his bed, for some reason, so Merlin gave up on keeping it down and properly stumbled across the room, knocking a few things over as he did.

He fell into his bed and went to sleep almost-happy. Content at the very least.

 

Merlin woke up, only a few hours later, terror gripping his throat. 

Notes:

Longest chapter so far--that too, with a wide margin and a shitttonnn of fluff, who woulda thought? I really didn't think anything could beat the thornwick chapter, but here we are!
enjoy this coz it marks the end of (what i call) the light arc lmao. It's all downhill from here folks :D
Also, in case anyone's like wondering why Merlin is going so easy on Arthur lately, well there are several reasons for that but i think the most important part is that I have several crashouts lined up for him in the close future :) (im so excited lmao)

Any guesses as to why merlin woke up?

Chapter 27: It's getting dark

Notes:

Trigger warnings: Attempted rape/non-consensual touching. Almost the entire chapter consists of this. If you want to skip it, skim ahead to the line in bold ('Merlin took his chance') and then it's safe to read on from there. I'll put a light summary in the end notes for those who want to skip.

Chapter 27: It's getting dark

 

There was a hand covering his mouth, almost suffocating him. Another travelled down his body.

Somebody was on top of him, the entire weight of their body pressing down on Merlin’s. His head was buried in Merlin’s neck, kissing.

Merlin’s first rational thought was that this was a nightmare—Ugly from just a few hours ago coming back to haunt him in his dreams over that damned chair.

When the man lifted his head, Merlin realised, horrified, that it was not a dream.

Lord Bass looked down at him, a lazy smirk on his face.

Panic surged through Merlin like lightning.

Merlin tried to scream and the hand on his mouth tightened painfully.

He twisted, thrashed, kicked—anything to push the man away, but Bass had the upper hand with his weight and his position and Merlin failed to get him to budge.

He did manage to make him angry.

The hand that had been going lower and lower suddenly stopped and disappeared. It reappeared a few seconds later, at his throat, the pointy end of a fancy dagger pushing into his skin.

Merlin stopped struggling, eyes wide as he peered up into Lord Bass’ glinting ones. 

“You,” Bass started, leaning closer into Merlin's face until he was only a breath away, “Are going to keep your mouth shut if you want to live.”

Merlin’s heart slammed painfully against his ribcage and his eyes watered.

When he didn’t give any sort of response, Bass pressed the dagger into his throat and Merlin squeezed his eyes shut as pain erupted at the point.

“Am. I. Clear?”

Merlin nodded, carefully.

How was this happening? How had he gotten in? Why, why, why.

There was a splitting headache raging through his skull that Merlin tried to ignore as he thought of an escape plan.

Magic?

Could he use magic?

And risk revealing himself in front of a prominent lord?

Bass removed the hand on his mouth and Merlin whimpered, “Please don’t do this.”

His now free hand began travelling under Merlin’s shirt and he cried out, begging, “Stop it!”

Bass laughed, coldly. “Come now, birdie. I’ve seen the way you look at me…”

Merlin shook his head frantically. “I don’t. I don’t want this, please.”

“Tsk, tsk . You really mustn’t lie to your superiors, birdie,” Bass said, cruelly.

Before Merlin could do anything, Bass’s mouth was on his, in some twisted version of a kiss.

Because this was nothing like the one he’d shared with Arthur. It was pain and misery, and tears splashed down Merlin’s cheeks as he pushed, trying to shove the man back.

Bass moved back, fury dancing in his eyes. He pressed down on the open cut and Merlin screamed .

“You do sing quite beautifully,” Bass said in a low voice, while Merlin was gasping, trying to recover from the pain.

He moved back to his neck probably to start sucking on it, again. 

“ Stop—please— ” Merlin gasped, when Bass’ breath hovered right over his skin.

His pleading was cut off when instead of feeling lips, he felt the sharp bite of teeth. 

Bass bit him, his teeth sinking deep enough to draw blood.

Merlin closed his eyes and bit back a scream, unwilling to give the man the satisfaction of it, even as the pain made his head spin and blood welled up on his lips.

Bass pulled back, grinning, blood smeared at the corner of his mouth in a truly grotesque way.

Merlin’s fists clenched at his sides, rage boiling under his skin. Magic prickled at his fingertips, begging to be let out.

“ You can’t do this —I’m friends with all the knights, lady Morgana,” Merlin threatened through tears. “They’ll kill you.”

Bass chuckled. “Oh, birdie. When I’m done having my fun with you, you’ll be begging me for more.”

“You’re delusional,” Merlin spat, fury trembling in his voice.

Bass’s eyes flashed. He reeled back and struck him, fast and vicious. The ring on his finger split skin as it connected with Merlin’s cheek, the crack of it all too loud in the silence. Pain bloomed across his face. 

Merlin began struggling, again, trying to push the man off.

The dagger reappeared at his ribs and Merlin froze.

He could melt it off. He could do any number of things with his magic and get free.

Except, unless he killed Bass, his magic would be revealed to all of Camelot by the man.

And if he did kill Bass, there was no saying whether the evidence would point back to him or not, but surely guards would have seen him come down this way, incriminating Merlin.

A wave of helplessness washed over him.

The fight left him—only half pretense—and Bass smiled, smugly, as he began working his way down Merlin’s body.

Merlin disappeared into his mind as soon as he felt a hand fumble with the belt on his breeches, and Merlin had never thought he’d be so grateful that he’d been too drunk, the previous night, to change into his night clothes.

Bass started kissing Merlin’s neck as his fingers slowly dipped beneath his trousers. 

Merlin took his chance. In a burst of magic, Bass was knocked unconscious, his head falling against Merlin’s shoulder. Too busy giving in to his lust, he hadn’t even lifted his head to see Merlin’s eyes flash gold.

Merlin let out a shaky breath of relief. He pushed the man off with little effort and Bass landed on the floor with a loud thump.

He lay there, catching his breath, trying to digest everything that had just happened. He stopped when he felt bile rise sharply in his throat.

Turning to the side, Merlin retched, empty and heaving, until his whole body shook. His limbs felt boneless, his mind like cotton—unwilling to let in the full reality of what had occurred.

He sat up and wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, staring blankly at the wall with glassy eyes.

There was blood drying on his cheek, even more on his throat. His clothes were twisted and his head still hurt, pathetically, as if a fucking hangover from the previous night really still mattered. 

His body ached as he sat up, slowly, but he forced himself into motion.

Merlin grabbed the small lamp on his bedside table and knocked it against Bass’ head, hard enough to concuss him and draw blood, but not kill him.

There. Now no one could question how Merlin had knocked him out.

Merlin dropped the lamp at his feet and stepped back. He spared one final look for the crime scene his little sanctuary had turned into and then ran.

Notes:

Summary: Lord Bass got into Merlin's room at night, which is what woke Merlin up. He tried to force himself onto Merlin. He did not go all the way because Merlin used his magic to knock him out eventually. Merlin's injuries from the interaction: a cut on his cheek (from Bass' ring), a dagger cut into his throat, and Bass bit him really hard.
--- --- ---
That was really hard to write bruh. Saw loads of guesses but no one hit the mark. Better luck next time yall.
Which brings me to: where do we think Merlin is running off to?

Chapter 28: And you're cursing my name

Summary:

What the title says.

Notes:

trigger warning: discussions of rape/non-con. It isn't in detail but just thought i'd give a heads up.

Chapter 28: And you're cursing my name

 

Contrary to what the knights and his sister seemed to think, Arthur really was busy. 

He had returned to his room after walking Gwaine and Percival back and then remembered the stupid grain reports he’d been putting off for too long, and decided to get through them tonight.

Working on the repeal of the magic ban left very little time for the part of his paperwork that wasn’t centered on magic, so there was a large pile that he now had to work through.

Just as well, because his mind refused to shut off after the events of the night, so sleep wouldn’t come despite the late hour.

Merlin, it seemed, was a forgetful drunk, for he’d somehow forgotten the bad history between them, sometime between his sixth and seventh drink.

And god, was that painful to witness.

He had talked to Arthur like they were still friends and he had touched him like it was nothing, and Arthur had sat there, unbelieving, his heart thundering painfully.

“Okay fine, I’ll be on time,” he had said, clearly trying to fix Arthur’s mood. “Bright and early with all your favourites: honeycakes and sausages—but only if you let me snag a few.”

If only.

Arthur leaned back in his chair and rolled his neck, a few satisfying cracks sounding out.

If Merlin ever came back to him, Arthur vowed to let the idiot steal as many damn sausages as he wanted.

The door flew open and Arthur stood up, alert.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Merlin stormed inside, the door slamming behind him with a quick flick of his hand.

Arthur gaped. 

Then he took in Merlin’s appearance and was that blood—

“You ass ,” Merlin spat, clearly infuriated.

Arthur crossed the room, meeting Merlin in the middle and that was definitely blood, what the fuck had happened?!

Merlin pushed at Arthur chest and Arthur’s eyes left the wound on his neck to spot a cut on his cheek. 

“ Merlin —”

Another push. “You were supposed to be better than him,” Merlin cried out, enraged. “And instead , you house a sick, rapist in your castle and keep him on your council and it seems nothing has changed at all since your father’s reign if your lords think they can—”

The words caught up to him. Arthur’s head spun and he took a step back.

“ Rapist? ”

But Merlin wasn’t done. 

His eyes were wild with grief and fury, tears slipping freely down his cheeks. “You were supposed to be different .”

Arthur flinched like the words had physically struck him. A physical blow might be better than this, though.

He swallowed. “Merlin,” he said, raising his voice a little. “ What happened? Tell me clearly,” 

Merlin scowled at him before taking a deep breath. And then another. It seemed to be doing nothing to calm him down.

“ Who did this, Merlin? ” He demanded, trying to force his anger down, remembering how Merlin had thought it was directed at him just a few hours ago, when it was in fact not.

Merlin’s shaky hands reached up to rub his watery eyes. He took another breath before explaining, “I woke up. And Lord Bass—”

Arthur cursed. Of course, it was that slimy git.

“He was in my room. He was um—he was touching me and kissing me and I tried to make him stop but he wouldn’t listen.” A few tears escaped Merlin’s eyes and he quickly brushed them away. “He said I was looking at him like I wanted it, but I didn’t . I hate him, Arthur. I hate him. He always gave me the chills. I swear. ”

Arthur saw red.

He crossed the distance between them and gently gripped Merlin’s shoulder, steadying him. 

“I believe you, Merlin. Is he still alive?” He asked, calmly.

Merlin nodded. “I used my magic to knock him unconscious—he didn’t see, though.”

“Okay.” Arthur took a deep breath. “Okay, that’s good.” His eyes fell on Merlin’s bloody throat again. “He did that?”

“Yeah,” Merlin muttered. “He had a dagger.” He sounded a little breathless.

Arthur dropped his hands and walked back to his desk. When Merlin didn’t follow, Arthur gestured for him to come over and sit on the chair in front of his desk. 

Merlin only hesitated for a moment before he complied. 

Arthur poured out a goblet of water and held it out to Merlin.

“Thanks.”

Arthur nodded. He waited until Merlin looked a little more calm before forcing himself to ask, “How far did he go?”

Merlin kept his eyes on the water as he replied, “Not very far. He kissed and touched but that was it.”

‘That was it’. As if that was nothing.

“And he bit me.”

Arthur’s eyes widened, his eyes going back to Merlin’s neck. He was looking at the wrong wound, apparently, because Merlin pulled down his shirt near his shoulder and uncovered another bloody wound.

Arthur swore and came closer to inspect it. The teeth marks were clearly visible and looked deep. 

“This can get infected,” he said.

Merlin nodded.

Arthur thought he had grown out of the habit of throwing things in anger or annoyance, but here and now, watching Merlin look so small , and pale and shaky, the urge returned.

He pushed it down, vowing to himself that he would satisfy it by, instead, skinning Bass alive.

Still, his hands were shaky as he grabbed the bottle of ale on his desk. It held just enough to be of use.

He held out the bottle. 

“Directly on the wound?” Arthur asked, even though he knew the answer. He’d tended to enough injuries of his knights to know how this went. 

He still hoped for a different answer, though, wanting Merlin to be spared from the sting of alcohol on raw skin.

Merlin nodded, again.

Right.

He grabbed his small stash of medical supplies from a shelf, and took out a clean cloth, finding the softest one in the batch and laying it out, ready to use.

Arthur uncorked the bottle and took a deep breath. 

Merlin watched him blankly.

Arthur looked away and focused on his shoulder, pulling the tunic down, again, to reveal the bloody bite marks.

Patch up Merlin.

Kill Bass. 

He could do this.

He used a second cloth to first wipe away the blood.

Another deep breath and he splashed the ale onto Merlin’s shoulder, wincing the whole while.

Merlin flinched but took it with commendable restraint, only a sharp inhale escaping him as his fingers curled into his palms, knuckles turning white as bone.

He let the liquor sit for a few seconds before grabbing the other cloth—soft, so as not to scratch against the tender skin—and dabbed up the excess.

Merlin’s eyes became distant and unfocused as he concentrated on a random spot on the floor.

Arthur worked with clean efficiency, his mind a hundred yards away, thinking up all the most creative ways he could torture Bass, while he cleaned and patched up both wounds to the best of his ability.

It wasn’t very neat, but he did try to be gentle, and in all the time he’d known Merlin, he had spent more than enough time hovering around the physician’s chambers to not be completely clueless at this sort of thing.

“Merlin,” Arthur said when he was nearly finished with the cut on his throat—dangerously close to the injury he had sustained at Thornwick.

Glassy eyes focused on him.

“I’m very sorry that this happened to you,” he said, quietly and hoping that sincerity bled into his words.

They went back to the spot on the floor, so perhaps it hadn’t.

Another minute passed as Arthur struggled with tying off the bandage. He felt the weight of Merlin’s gaze fall on him and tried to keep his focus. 

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” Merlin muttered, voice quiet but steady. “It’s not actually your fault.”

“No, you were right. It is. It’s under my rule that Bass got out of control, so the responsibility falls on me.”

Merlin shook his head. “You can’t be held responsible for the crimes of everyone in your kingdom, or even your castle.”

I can be held responsible for not protecting you , Arthur thought.

Perhaps for the first time, Arthur sincerely wished that Merlin had not come back. 

None of this would have happened if he was still tucked away in whatever little village he had blessed with his presence. 

He can’t say any of that, though, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

“What’ll happen to Lord Bass?” 

“He’ll get a trial,” Arthur replied, not meeting his eyes.

“My word doesn’t mean anything against his,” Merlin reminded him.

“We’ll see about that,” Arthur said, simply.

He stepped back, satisfied with his work and went to pull on his boots.

“Where’d you leave him?”

“In my quarters. But—oh god. I didn’t—” A trembling hand went up to cover his mouth. “I don’t think I knocked him out that good. And I’ve been here for ages—what if he found someone else to torment—”

Arthur cut him off. “I’m sure he wouldn’t dare to do that much in one night. You’ll have shook his confidence.” 

Merlin still looked on the edge of a panic attack, though, and his eyes were watering up again.

Arthur took a step forward, hands half-raised, then thought better of it. He was quite sure his touch wasn’t welcome, especially not when Merlin was feeling this vulnerable. 

“Merlin, breathe. I’ll take care of it, alright?” He said, softly.

“But what if he hurts someone else because he didn't get his way with me?” Merlin asked, his voice breaking.

Arthur shook his head. “I’ll find him. And the whole castle’s asleep. I doubt he could have found anyone to hurt even if he tried.”

Merlin gave a shaky nod and rubbed at his eyes. Arthur wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around him and whisper reassurances for all of eternity.

To think anyone could hurt Mer lin —his Merlin— like that? It brought out a familiar rage in him that he had felt just last night, when that man at the bar had dared to touch Merlin.

Merlin took a deep breath then stood up on surprisingly steady feet. “Right. Let's go, then.”

“Absolutely not,” Arthur stated, and immediately 

Merlin narrowed his eyes. 

“Stay here. I’ll come back to fetch you once I’ve dealt with him.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, Arthur,” Merlin grit out. “I can handle myself.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “ Obviously . That doesn’t mean I’m going to risk you revealing your magic to anyone in sight, should the situation get out of control.”

Not to mention he was looking deathly pale.

Merlin gaped. “It’s always about magic , isn’t it? When will–”

“ No -”

“-You get over it ? I get it. You hate magic-”

A growl of frustration escaped his throat. “This isn’t about how much I hate magic. It’s-”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Merlin shot back.

“Will you let me finish?!” Arthur snapped.

“ You didn’t let me finish! ” 

Arthur threw up his arms. “Well, go ahead then.”

Merlin glared. “No. I don’t want to talk to you any longer, actually.”

“Wonderful.” Small mercies, he supposed. “As I was saying, you’re going to stay put so that the wrong person doesn’t find out about your magic and this time, force me to put you on the pyre.”

“The wrong person already found out about my magic. You.” 

Arthur winced. 

Merlin continued, “And, really, what have you got to lose if that did happen?”

He was talking himself into more problems than he could deal with. “Can’t do that to Morgana.” He shrugged, feigning an air of casualty.

A brief flicker of hurt flashed across Merlin’s face before he schooled it to impassiveness again. 

His mouth was set in a grim line and when he realised Merlin didn’t have anything else to say he grabbed his sword and made for the door.

“Stay here, Merlin.” He only briefly hesitated before adding, “Please.”

He didn’t glance back before leaving. 

 

Notes:

good job guys :D yall were much better at guessing this one.

next chapter: merlin is alone in arthur's room and does the only sensible thing one does in such a situation: snoop.

Chapter 29: And I can't trust anything now

Notes:

Don't get mad at me for the direction this takes...

Chapter 29:   And I can't trust anything now 

 

Merlin scowled at the door, hearing the key turn from outside. The guards outside would surely notice if he used his magic to unlock it, now.

Merlin sighed and plopped back down on the chair. He took slow sips of the water, allowing the coolness of it to soothe his frayed nerves.

Something about the simple action tugged at his memories of last night. 

The tavern. Soft lights. A familiar ring. Merlin’s nimble fingers playing with it.

The hazy images didn’t make sense.

That was Arthur’s signet ring—the royal seal. Why on earth would Merlin go that close to Arthur?

He shoved the images away from his mind and took another sip. But that left his mind free to think about his more recent memories.

Merlin frowned and set the cup down.

Surely there must be something in this blasted room to occupy himself with.

He surveyed the room. 

There was some sort of paperwork on nearly every flat surface. There even seemed to be a book peeking out of the unmade comforter on the bed. 

God, when did Arthur become such an academic? 

He had hated the few reports he had been forced to go over as part of his princely duties. 

Merlin supposed it made sense that the workload had tripled since being made king, but it was a little disconcerting. 

It didn’t entirely fit with the image of Arthur that Merlin had once known. Just went to show how much time could change people.

Well. Snooping was as good a distraction as any.

And well, he couldn’t explain the pull he felt, but he’d been itching to have a proper look around ever since the first time he’d seen the place after being back; like uncovering everything in the room would reveal the changes in Arthur that Merlin had missed when he was gone. 

That maybe, something here could explain the meaning behind Arthur’s reaction from that fateful day. There had to be some explanation for how Merlin had missed it. 

How had he been completely blindsided in regards to Arthur’s visceral hatred for his kind? 

It was a stupid train of thought, but he followed it nonetheless. Of course, picking apart Arthur’s room wasn’t the same as picking apart Arthur’s—pea sized—brain. But, it was something and that was more than he’d ever had before, so.

He started on the desk simply because it was closest to him. A quick skim through the top few scattered parchments told him they were all just dull grain reports from various villages, so he quickly moved on to the numerous books. 

Those were a little more interesting. 

They were all about law and some looked as old as the grimoires in his own chambers. He flipped through those, finding them to be records on Camelot’s constitution and updates on changes made since its original establishment. 

He supposed a king had to learn about his own Kingdom. It did seem quite dull, though. He wondered how Arthur got through it—because he did have several spare pieces of parchment marking various places in the books, so they weren’t just sitting here collecting dust.

He almost pitied him.

More interestingly though, the books on magic were still on the desk. The ones that Merlin and Arthur had been browsing for clues as they looked for a cure to the plague, and if he wasn’t mistaken, there were a few new additions too.

What were those even doing here? What business did Arthur possibly have with magic? 

Could he maybe sneak a few to his room?

He vowed to sneak back in and try, one day.

Putting away the last of the books, he began automatically straightening everything on the desk—a leftover reflex from his manservant days that he stopped as soon as he realised exactly what he was doing.

Honestly, though, what kind of terrible servants were serving the king nowadays? The desk was a right mess. Arthur would have never let him off for not completing a chore to perfection; how unfair.

Merlin tried the drawers next. First the desk—filled with more legal gibberish—then the bedside table.

He wasn’t at all expecting the sight that greeted him: a few knicknacks, two of his own neckerchiefs, and nestled between them all, five little vials. Familiar ones, labelled in his own shorthand and filled with the amber-hued headache remedy that Arthur had so often sought out in his early weeks back.

What the fuck?

That bastard.

First of all, what was his favourite , blue neckerchief doing with Arthur? 

He hadn’t realised it was missing while he’d packed all his belongings before leaving Camelot and he’d looked for the little cloth everywhere after reaching Oakmere. 

When did Arthur even get a hold of it? Why did he still have it?

And why was the red one that he’d given to Arthur during the plague, here too?

That thief .

What right did he have to keep these—these mementos?!

His traitorous heart screamed the obvious answer at him; that maybe, their friendship had been just as sacred to Arthur as it had been to him.

His brain helpfully rebutted that with a simple fact: Arthur hadn’t given a single thought to their friendship when he’d banished Merlin.

Merlin scowled and focused, instead, on the corked bottles. He would spend many nights turning over the entire thing in his head. For now, however, his fury stole his attention away.

That. Bastard.

He’d never once had a headache. He’d merely come to keep an eye on Merlin and his ‘ evil’ magic. Merlin was sure of it.

It all made sense now. Why Arthur’s headaches started and stopped so suddenly and how they came at around the same time for seven nights in a row and how Gaius had said it wasn’t common behaviour for the young king. 

Merlin had the childish urge to smash the bottles and his magic buzzed just under his skin, encouraging it.

He slammed the drawer shut before he could give in. Throwing things around in anger was really more Arthur’s thing.

Still, he was furious.

To think, Morgana had said Arthur had changed . What a load of horseshit. It sent a pang of hurt to his heart. 

Stupidly, he was beginning to believe her. 

Arthur could have exiled him again. He didn’t. He had been almost-kind to Merlin in the time he’d been back, and not at all as cruel as he’d been expecting. And he didn’t have to go after Lord Bass, so immediately and with so much concern clearly present in his eyes, but he did. 

And Merlin—foolish, foolish Merlin—had been buying into the whole act. 

He wiped away a hot tear and then another. 

God, how much was he going to cry over this man?

He suddenly didn’t feel like snooping anymore. Maybe some things were better left undiscovered. 

There was a flurry of questions and accusations swarming his brain—ones that he would surely assault Arthur with the second that utter clotpole came back.

For now, he was tired.

He glanced at the divan by the hearth, longingly. That had always been his spot in Arthur’s room—after it had been gifted to the King by Nemeth during one of their many treaty talks.

It had appeared without fanfare. One day Merlin had walked in, a pile of fresh laundry in his hands and it was just there, all carved wood and deep red cushions, far too elegant for someone like Merlin.

Still, Merlin had slowly laid claim to it.

He had started off slow by getting some of his chores—sorting laundry and polishing boots, mainly—done while leaning against it, sitting on the floor.

Then one day Arthur asked him to mend a shirt quickly and Merlin had grumbled and complained but had taken it and perched right on the edge of the cushions to get to work. 

Arthur hadn’t said anything against it, so Merlin kept up the habit.

Eventually, it became his place.

It was where he'd work on Arthur’s speeches, or nod off, or argue with Arthur about stupid court politics or just talk about pointless crap, late into the night.

A fixture in the room, just as he’d been in Arthur’s life.

And now, like him, it looked untouched. 

Merlin decided to leave it that way. 

It wasn’t his any longer, and maybe it never had been. The bed would do just fine, and it would have the added benefit of annoying.

 A whiff of alcohol reached his nose, sharp and sour.

Merlin frowned, glancing down at the mess of a shirt clinging to his skin—the same one Bass’s hands had crawled under.

Disgust twisted in his gut—not just at the stench, but at the memory.

Merlin shucked it off without a second thought, as if by doing so, he could erase the touch that still lingered on his body and his mind.

A shudder ran through his body, sudden and violent, like something crawling under his skin.

Merlin moved before he could think, crossing the room in quick, urgent strides to the low-burning fire.

He didn’t hesitate.

The tunic landed among the embers with a soft thud, catching flame almost instantly. He stood there, watching it curl and blacken, as the smoke rose in thin tendrils toward the chimney.

He didn’t move until the last scrap of fabric crumbled into ash, only then moving to Arthur’s wardrobe with a little too much comfort for someone who had been banished from this room—this life—two years ago.

His hands found the handle without searching. The doors creaked open softly, the scent of cedar and worn leather and something unmistakably Arthur curling out like a memory.

He didn’t linger. Merely grabbed the first tunic he saw—a white one—and then retreated. 

His hand, clumsily, knocked over a pile of red shirts but he didn’t pay any mind to it. Arthur had a whole castle of servants at his beck and call. One of them could fold those, again. And it’s not like he ever wore any of those red shirts anyway, so it wouldn’t bother him.

Merlin shut the wardrobe and pulled on the tunic, wincing as his arms moved, disrupting the gently bandaged wounds.

‘You do sing quite beautifully.’

Sick bastard. He hoped Arthur would kill him brutally. Draw it out for ages, the way Bass had clearly been trying to do to Merlin.

Something told him Arthur wouldn’t hesitate to exact revenge on the man, despite his hatred for Merlin and magic, or even the fact that Bass was a lord with a good amount of power. 

He hadn’t expected any different; Arthur was a righteous king, bigotry aside.

Merlin toed off his boots and collapsed into the bed, burrowing deep into the thick red comforter like it could shield him from the world.

He allowed the familiar scent to comfort him, even as anger festered just beneath the surface, a long time building.

He hated this—how easily the room disarmed him. How it still felt like home, when it shouldn’t

It was a long time before sleep came, and if he cried a little before the exhaustion won out, well no one was around to see.

Or care.

 

Notes:

Okay look i knoww everyone wanted Merlin to find the magic legalisation stuff and i knoww this was the perfect opportunity but the argument that ensues from the discovery he just made is very important. And i did say in the previous chapter that arthur's desk was piled with grain reports and shi lmao. Merlin simply would not bother sifting through those to reach the Good stuff.

There's a lot that needs to be dealt with in this (final) arc and if i mixed the big reveal in with it, the ending would change entirely.
Soo yeah. Hope i didn't dissapoint yall too bad.

Also kat i LOVE you for the red shirt idea. Its just the gift that keeps on givingdjncljd

next chapter

He came to a stop right beside the desk, closer than Arthur was ready for and Arthur immediately noticed the clenched fist.
Was he about to get punched?

Chapter 30: And it’s coming over you like it’s all a big mistake

Chapter 30: And it’s coming over you like it’s all a big mistake

Arthur prowled through the halls of the castle, his steps quick and his fury growing with every one. 

He told the first guard he came across to wake Leon and have him come to the physician’s tower where, hopefully, the perverted bastard still was.

It didn’t take long to find the man. 

Arthur ran into him going up the stairs to Merlin’s chambers. He looked a little befuddled but mostly angry, and Arthur heard his mutterings before he set eyes on him. 

Arthur decked him straight across the face when he did.

Bass stumbled back, clutching his nose. A steady stream of blood was already flowing down his nose. His eyes widened in shock. 

“Your Majesty!” He exclaimed. 

All rational thought left Arthur’s mind. He had the man pinned to the wall in seconds, holding him up by the scruff of his neck. Another blow followed, this time to his throat.

Bass choked up. He coughed a few times before spitting out a wad of blood at their feet.

This was the man that had dared to touch Merlin. There was a lot worse coming to him for that.

“What is the meaning of this?’ He garbled out.

“What do you fucking think?” Arthur slammed Bass’ head into the wall and watched with no small amount of satisfaction as blood trickled down his forehead. “Thought you could get away with laying a hand on Merlin, did you?”

“I did no such thing,” Bass spat out.

Arthur punched him again, for lying; then once more for hurting Merlin; and then he just did not stop.

It was horribly satisfying to feel the crunch of bones beneath his knuckles; to hear the man begin to plead for him to stop— had Merlin done the same? Had he been granted mercy? The next series of blows came harder.

And it was hatred and bloodlust and anger, so so much anger that he had often wished he could turn on himself for all his many failings, but couldn’t. 

He channeled it all, into every punch.

“ Arthur! ” And then suddenly he was being pulled back. 

Bass slumped to the ground without Arthur holding him up and Arthur fought against Leon’s hold, wanting another go at the man.

“ Let me go, Leon. That is an order,” Arthur growled.

Leon dropped his hold and instead came to stand between him and the slimy bastard on the floor. 

Arthur tried to shove him to the side but he stood his ground.

Glaring, he ground out, “He hurt Merlin. And I will make him pay.”

Leon held up a placating hand. “You’ll kill him—”

“Good.”

“Would it not be better to use him to set an example for others?” Leon said, pragmatically.

Arthur eyed the nearly-unconscious body with disgust. “I’ll string up his dead body in pieces for all of Camelot to see. How’s that for an example?”

“I meant in court. A trial ,” Leon said, firmly. “You have the chance to change the way these cases are handled, Arthur. Don’t throw it away.”

Arthur’s jaw clenched. The silence that followed, as he contemplated the words, crackled with fury.

“He laid his hands on Merlin.”

“And for that he shall pay.” Leon said calmly, though Arthur didn’t miss the tightly leashed fury in his eyes.

He continued, “This isn’t just punishment—it’s precedent. The nobles need to see they’re not untouchable. And the lower-born need to know they’re not disposable.”

To think his own staff felt unsafe here, in their home, because of his own ignorance, was a painful thought. 

It was a harsh reminder that he’d, once again, failed the people he was sworn to serve.

Arthur exhaled. “A trial?”

“A trial. We both know the law stands with him . It’s time to change that.”

A trial would mean dealing with Bass the right way and, really, all Arthur wanted was to wrap his hands around his throat and squeeze and feel the life leave him at his fingertips.

But the people came first.

“Fine. Take him to the dungeons.”

Leon motioned to the guards behind them who wasted no time in dragging Bass’ body away, throwing cautious glances at him the whole while.

Arthur sighed and clapped a hand on Leon’s back. “Come on, there’s much work to do.”

Even angry, he could see this was the right move.

 

---

 

Arthur sat at his desk—these days, he was quite certain he spent more time here than anywhere else—rubbing his eyes. His mind was swimming with legal jargon, Bass’ smug face and Merlin’s tearful one.

There was a low ache steadily building right behind his eyes that he was trying to ward off with the goblet of wine he was nursing.

Three glasses in, though, it was becoming clear that it wasn’t helping with that. It did, however, dampen some of the guilt he was feeling, so it wasn’t completely pointless.

He looked over at Merlin, only to find him still peacefully wrapped up in a cocoon of his blanket, dozing away, and let out a content sigh.

Merlin was here, in his room, on his bed, as if nothing was amiss. 

Not true, of course. But still, it was a nice illusion.

Arthur turned back to the half-written bill on his desk. There was much work to do and it’s not like he could go to sleep with his bed occupied, so he might as well just keep at it.

And keep at it he did. 

He worked and reworked the bill into the early hours of the morning, running in and out of his room to consult Geoffrey or Leon. 

There was a rapid knock at the door, and then suddenly, Gwaine barged in before Arthur could even open his mouth to allow entry.

“Tell me it’s not true,” he yelled.

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Shut up,” he hissed. “Merlin is sl—”

Gwaine came closer and slammed a hand on his desk. “Fucking Bass attacked him? YOU LET ONE OF YOUR COUNCILORS FORCE HIMSELF ONTO MERLIN ?!”

“LET ??” He gaped and stood, nearly knocking his chair back. “WHY ARE YOU BOTH UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT I WOULD HAVE ANY CLUE WHAT A BUNCH OF OLD MEN THAT I MEET ONCE A WEEK DO IN THEIR FREE TIME?!”

Gwaine opened his mouth but Arthur continued, outraged, “Or that I would allow anyone to get away with such an act? ”

A groan sounded from the bed and they both froze. A sleepy voice mumbled, “God, Arthur. Will you shut up? ” 

Gwaine’s eyes widened.

Arthur, faster to recover, whipped around and protested, “He was yelling too!”

Merlin was almost completely buried beneath the covers, only a tousled tuft of black hair peeking out. From under the blanket, his reply came, “I’m only hearing your voice.”

That was just unfair.

“Well, it’s my room,” he snapped, with no bite at all. 

“You locked me in here, ” Merlin grumbled, sounding more awake with each word.

Gwaine’s eyebrows shot to his head and he finally erupted, “You did what?”

Arthru groaned. “He was going to go out and do something stupid like reveal his magic to Bass. What was I supposed to do?”

“I’m not stupid . Now shut up, it’s the crack ass of dawn, you inconsiderate prat.”

“Yeah. He’s not stupid.” Gwaine glared. Then side-stepped the desk and went around to Merlin’s side. 

Arthur sat back down, rubbing his temples. If one more person barged into his room to yell at him, he would combust.

He tried to go back to work, but in the quiet of the room, Gwaine’s voice carried, as he whispered to Merlin, “Oi, Merls.”

“Mm?”

“You alright?”

“Hm.”

“Sure? You wanna talk?” 

There was some shuffling and when Merlin spoke next, his voice came clearer, unobstructed by the blanket. “I’m alright, don’t worry. He didn’t get very far before I beat his ass.”

“Okay, okay good.” He sounded relieved. “And now, you’re here.”

“Got sleepy.”

“Oh.” A beat. Then he whispered, “I thought you two finally fucked—”

Arthur’s mouth fell open and he quickly tried to look as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping. 

“I mean, you’re in his bed, wearing his shirt—”

There was a thump and Arthur figured Merlin had hit the knight.

Merlin was wearing his shirt?

More rustling and then he’s pretty sure Merlin is back under the covers when he mumbles, sleepily, “In his dreams.”

Gwaine snorted. “Probably.”

Definitely.

Arthur shuffled a few papers and prayed that neither of them would turn to catch him blushing like a darn maiden, when he wasn’t even supposed to have heard anything. 

Gwaine called out, “Princess?”

“Yes?” And then, realising how stupid that sounded, “I mean– what? ”

Gwaine was smirking at him, amusement dancing in his eyes, and Arthur was sure then that he was still beet red. He straightened his shoulders and glared at the knight, daring him to comment on it.

“I can roughen Bass up a little, right?”

“There’s not much left of him to roughen up, but go ahead,” he shrugged.

“Must you always ruin everything?” Gwaine asked, looking put out.

“Not my fault you were sleeping. I’m fairly certain even Leon’s had a go by now.”

Gwaine clucked his tongue, then leaned in to whisper something else to Merlin. 

Arthur strained to listen but only heard Merlin’s reply, “It’s fine, I’m finee. Stop fretting.”

Gwaine sighed and left with a half-assed bow.

Merlin promptly went back to sleep and Arthur was glad he didn’t seem to be having nightmares.

Hours flew by and he was still settled into his chair, deep into rereading the draft—running on nothing but sheer willpower—when he heard Merlin beginning to rouse. 

There was the rustling of sheets, a soft groan, and then Merlin emerged from them: all bedhead and rumpled clothes, blinking blearily in the soft light

Arthur couldn’t pull his eyes away, particularly from the way his shirt draped Merlin’s body, swooping down to expose a swath of pale skin.

The bandages were on display too, stark against his prominent collarbones and if the wine had done anything to assuage the guilt festering inside him, it became pointless, for it came back in full force, once again.

Merlin rubbed his eyes and his gaze fell on him. Arthur felt pinned beneath the weight of it. 

He cleared his throat lightly and asked, “Sleep well?”

Merlin hummed. “Like a king.” There was an edge to his tone that made Arthur’s hair stand on end.

He watched him trudge out of bed and pull his boots on, almost tripping in the process.

“Bass is in the dungeons for now, so you’re free to leave,” Arthur said, placatingly.

It was easy enough to see past the calm facade Merlin had going on right now. There was definitely restrained fury in his eyes; Arthur was just glad he wasn’t blowing up immediately.

“Am I?” Merlin asked, cocking an eyebrow. He finally pulled the other boot up and came towards him. 

He nodded and waved a hand towards the door. 

Please leave without a fight.

Please leave without a fight.

Please—

Merlin didn’t— because, of course, when did things ever go his way?

He came to a stop right beside the desk, closer than Arthur was ready for and Arthur immediately noticed the clenched fist. 

Was he about to get punched?

“You really are an absolute arse, you know?” Merlin spat out. “ First , you kick me out of the bloody kingdom. Then! You have the nerve to lock me in your chambers as if I’m a child.”

Arthur opened his mouth to defend himself but Merlin continued right on, his voice laced with fury and just barely not yelling, “What do you want from me?!”

There was something so raw and frayed about his words that it made Arthur’s chest ache.

Arthur finally found his voice and said, in a level tone, “I was simply trying to prevent you from doing anything foolish.”

“I don’t need you to protect me from anything,” Merlin hissed.

Arthur was king, but here and now, with Merlin towering over him with all his anger and hurt and the weight of Arthur’s own guilt crushing him, he felt impossibly small.

Merlin’s hand slammed on the desk before him and he heard a sharp clink rather than a thud. It drew his eyes to the sound and he froze. 

Oh, he was so fucked.

“And what the fuck is this?” Merlin demanded.

Arthur stared helplessly at the little vial of amber liquid. 

He swallowed. “Looks like one of your tonics?” 

Oh god, had he seen the neckerchiefs too? 

Merlin’s grip tightened around the glass, his pale hands turning even more white. “And, pray tell, why are there four more, identical, uncorked vials sitting in your bedside drawer?” He grit out.

When Arthur failed to instantly come up with a reply, Merlin’s expression broke and the anger crumbled into hurt.

“What was this? Some stupid ploy to keep an eye on me?”

“No–!”

“I get it alright, you hate magic. But do you really trust me that little? Even after everything I’ve done for you? After everything we’ve been through together?” His voice cracked at the last word and Arthur felt the sound of it like a blade slipping between his ribs.

Everything he did just ended up digging a bigger hole for himself. 

To hell with this stupid ruse.

Arthur stood, his chair scraping against the floor, and reached for Merlin but then let his hands drop awkwardly, for the second time that night. 

He started, “No, Merlin. I swear that’s not it at all–”

“Then what is it?!” Merlin shouted, tears brimming now. “ What am I? Some sort of game to you? A threat you keep close? A loose end you don’t know what to do with? ”

Arthur flinched.

“I—no, it’s complicated,” he stammered out. 

Merlin gave a bitter laugh. “Uncomplicate it, then.”

“I will. I just—just give me time,” he almost pleaded. 

Because he couldn’t do this here and now when Merlin was burning with anger and he was tipsy and hadn't slept in more than a day.

 He was sure to mess it all up again .

Merlin gave a disappointed shake of his head. A knock sounded at the door before he could say anything. 

Both of them turned to it and Arthur quickly called out, “Come.” 

Leon, his saviour, walked in and seemed to hesitate when his eyes landed on the pair. 

Arthur gave him an imploring look and Leon— god, he was going to give that man a raise —finally said, “Merlin, you alright?”

Merlin gave a short nod. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Leon nodded and then assessed Merlin’s body, clinically. His eyes lingered on his throat and cheek and his mouth dipped into a frown.

“We’re doing everything we can to make sure he pays for this, Merlin,” Leon said, comfortingly.

“I know you are. Thanks.”

Leon gave Merlin a small smile, then turned to him. “Geoffery’s found the records you were looking for, and Bass is awake.”

“Right, yes. I need to deal with that.” Arthur quickly stepped around Merlin and the desk, taking his chance to escape.

Explanations could come later, when they both weren’t running on nothing but emotions.

Merlin’s hand gripped his forearm and he froze. He turned and was met with a look that nearly undid him  

“ Arthur ,” he pleaded.

“I’ll explain it, I swear . Just…let me deal with all this mess, right now,” he said, softly, vowing to do just that. 

Merlin’s face fell and he dropped his hand. 

Arthur walked away, each step felt like putting another crack into what had once been whole.

He could feel the ghost of Merlin’s fingers long after that.

 

Notes:

(please forgive gwaine for the little untimely joke he made)

So they're both going to crash out soon and im trying to figure whose crashout to post first. A lot is gonna happen in the next few chapters but withing a very small time frame so ugh the layout is getting complicated.

But hey! Arthur is gonna do the reveal soon :)) There's also another confrontation coming up that i'm almost more excited about than the main one but i don't think u guys will be able to guess at that one. but i just finsihed writing it and ugh its so good.

Chapter 31: Miscommunications lead to fallout

Chapter 31: Miscommunications lead to fallout

It’s late afternoon by the time Arthur gets some time to himself again. He returned to his room, thinking maybe a bath would help ease some of the tension he was feeling. 

That damned headache had only gotten worse as the hours trickled past, and even though he’d made time to squeeze training with the knights into his already busy schedule for the day, he’d had to cut it short, feeling oddly unsteady on his feet.

Arthur quickly downed the tonic left on his desk, which reminded him about the drawer . 

He made his way over to the bedside table and whipped it open, sighing in relief when he immediately spotted the neckerchiefs still there.

So were the remaining vials and folded up at the very back was the note Merlin had written back when they were researching the plague together. Arthur unfolded it gently and ran his fingers over the hastily penned words.

He was surprised Merlin hadn’t taken the neckerchiefs back. The old, blue one, Arthur was quite sure was Merlin’s favourite.

Had he forgotten to take it back in his anger? 

Whatever the reason, Arthur was glad.

It was all he had of Merlin, now. Sometimes, he feared it was all he would ever have.

Arthur sighed and shut the drawer. 

It was the wardrobe that he went to next, to grab a change of clothes, that left him stunned.

His eyes immediately landed on a pile of red tunics, once (somewhat) neatly folded and stacked by careless hands, now toppled over.

It had become a quiet fixture in his wardrobe, that little pile; always sitting there in a corner, with Merlin being the last person to have touched it.

Now it was ruined, a mess of crimson on the shelf. 

Arthur grabbed the first shirt in front of him and started folding, first roughly and then his movements more precise. Then the next. And the next. He placed them all back in a pile, not noticing his trembling hands, all his attention on the fabric.

He stepped back to appraise his work.

Shaking his head he started over. This time, the stack was leaning too much to the right. 

By the third attempt, there was a sting in his eyes and he was starting to realise he could never put it back the way it was.

The folds were too intentional. Too structured. And stiff. 

It wasn’t Merlin. 

Arthur stepped back.

It shouldn’t matter. It was just a pile of stupid shirts. Just fabric, nothing more.

But the sting in his eyes didn’t go away and his vision blurred.

Arthur sunk to the floor, a wretched sob tearing free from his throat. Salty, bitter tears tracked down his face before he could stop them.

He gave himself a full minute to be pathetic, crying about everything he’d said, everything he couldn’t and for Merlin’s hurt put there by him or by his ignorance. 

And then he brushed away his tears and stood on shaky feet. He wiped his face down with a damp towel, taking away the remnants of his breakdown—the weakness he couldn’t afford to wear in front of anyone else.

And the weakness he didn’t even deserve to feel.

Because what right did he have to sit here and cry when it was Merlin’s life he had fucked up?

He gripped the edge of the wash basin, knuckles white. It brought him back to the moment Merlin had confronted him, just a few hours prior.

Merlin’s grip tightening around the glass, his pale hands turning even more white. 

‘What do you want from me?!’

‘A threat you keep close? A loose end you don’t know what to do with?’

His pleading voice; his crestfallen face.

Arthur shuddered. Of course, that’s the conclusion Merlin had jumped to. It was his own fault for playing the part so damn well.

He walked over to the desk and took a swig of the freshly opened wine sitting there. Just one, for courage.

He knew what had to be done now.

 

---

 

Arthur took a long slow breath and knocked on Merlin’s door.

“Yes?” Merlin called out.

Arthur walked in and then froze, taking in the mess of the infirmary and Merlin’s guests. 

There was glass shattered all over the floor, broken vials lying in the mess with liquid spilling freely from them. Books torn and crumpled were getting soaked and further ruined, and in the middle of it all stood Merlin, a broom in hand and a blank look on his face. 

Gwen and Morgana—before they had stopped to stare at him—were sorting through the books and probably trying to piece them back together.

Arthur stepped to the side and held the door open for them. “If you don’t mind, I need to speak to Merlin privately.”

“Of course!” Gwen said, quickly, her eyes darting between him and Merlin

Morgana nodded and gave Merlin a warm smile before turning to the door. She gave Arthur a curious look before slipping past him, following Gwen out the door.

Arthur shut it behind them.

He took a moment to collect his thoughts and drink in the sight of the physician before him; different yet still the same man he knew like the back of his own hand, two years prior.

How did he let them get to this point?  

He would fix it all tonight. No more dancing around each other. No more being on the receiving end of his subtle glares from across a room. No more hurting for the sake of it.

“Another headache, your majesty?” Merlin asked, his voice sharp enough to cut.

“Uh. No.” He surveyed the room, again, to avoid looking into Merlin’s piercing blue eyes. “Did Bass do this?” 

“No. I took a page from your book and thrashed my own room. Nice isn’t it?” Merlin replied, sarcasm heavily tinging his tone

Right.

So, apparently, the last few hours weren’t enough to dampen Merlin’s anger.

“I came to inform you that the trial is tomorrow morning. It’ll be in the council chambers, not the throne room and you need to be present.”

“Why the change?”

“There are a few other things I need to go over with the councilors; better to do it all at once,” Arthur explained, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Merlin nodded and then looked pointedly at the door behind Arthur.

Arthur crossed a few steps into the room. “I also wanted to talk to you about something.” It came out sounding more like a question and he cursed himself for not practicing in front of his bedposts at least once, before rushing into this.

Merlin blinked. “Talk, then,” he said, coldly.

Arthur swallowed. “Morgana told you that you’re free to practice magic in here, as long as you take precautions, I assume?” 

“Yes, although, it was a pointless conversation. I would have done exactly that, regardless,” he shrugged and Arthur was reminded of a younger version of him that didn’t think twice about breaking the rules and disrespecting royalty all in one fell swoop. “If you didn’t want sorcery in your own castle, you should have appointed someone else in my stead.”

Arthur knew he couldn’t very well say that if it was up to him, Merlin would still be safely tucked away in whatever little town he had been living in, at least until some changes were made around here; he couldn’t think of a worse way to lose control of the conversation.

“No, Morgana was right to bring you here,” He admitted. “There’s no one else more worthy of the position.”

He saw Merlin’s brows furrow a little and hastily continued on, now to get the most important bit out, “You said earlier that you assume I am bothered by your magic, but…Merlin, truly, that is not the case. I—When I asked you to leave Camelot, it was—"

“' Asked me to leave’ ?!” Merlin repeated, with more fury than he’d ever witnessed from him. “You didn’t ASK ME TO DO ANYTHING, ARTHUR. YOU BANISHED ME!”

Arthur was too busy swallowing his words to really notice Merlin had dropped the broom with a loud clang and was now standing only a few steps from him. He blinked harshly at the heated look on his face and wondered how they’d gone off script so fast.

Merlin wasn’t done. “You made me leave the one place I’d finally thought I fit in. I had a life here too, you know, it wasn’t always just about you!” he yelled. “And for what? Because I dared to use my magic, something that I was BORN with, to save my friends’ lives over and over again? Yours most of all!”

“I didn’t ask to be saved, Merlin .” He had tried not to shout but it came out like that, anyway. 

“AND I DIDN’T ASK FOR SUCH AN UNGRATEFUL FRIEND.” They were up in each other’s faces now, both breathing heavily, faces flickering with years of suppressed hurt and anger.

Merlin retreated and turned around, his hands coming up to rub his face.

Arthur took a deep breath and shook his head. “I’m not—“

“Arthur just get out.” When he turned around, his face was clear of any emotion and Arthur almost missed his anger. “Whatever excuses you’ve come to make, for whatever reason, I don’t want to hear it. Especially not when it seems, you can’t even accept your own faults. So.” He nodded to the door, patiently.

But he did. He knew he’d made some mistakes. That’s why he was here. 

But when Arthur opened his mouth to say something, Merlin was already pushing past him to get to the door.

He held it wide open, not even looking at Arthur as he waited. Arthur knew a battle lost when he saw one. There would be no getting anywhere with both their moods now sour.

He walked out, avoiding looking at Merlin with as much determination as the other had and when the wooden door slammed shut behind his back, he wondered how he’d let it go so horribly wrong again. 

 

---

 

The rest of his day was a blur. 

Arthur couldn’t recall a single thing from after the conversation with Merlin, beyond getting back to his room and downing another vial of the headache tonic. 

Good thing he had a bunch of those saved up, huh?

He must have slept at some point for he woke—though when or for how long, he couldn’t say.

All he knew was that he woke to the room spinning and a wave of nausea clawing its way up his throat.

Blinking past the heaviness in his limbs, Arthur got ready for the trial, each movement slow and mechanical

A maid came in with a tray of breakfast, while he was leafing through his documents one last time, trying to make sense of words that looked more like smudges of ink, really.

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh and pushed away the papers.

Boots on, and he was out the door, not sparing a single glance for the tray sitting on his table. 

Food could wait until after he’d crushed Bass in court.

He doesn’t quite make it to the council chambers, though, and the last thing Arthur remembers is parchments slipping out of his hands and darkness creeping into the borders of his vision.

Then, there’s just cold stone beneath him.

 

Notes:

sorry guys. the next reveal will be The Real Shit, i promise lmao.

ily arthur :( (but also i have never been more tempted to kill someone off)

Chapter 32: I thought I had you figured out

Notes:

Set right after arthur tries to talk to merlin.

Chapter 32: I thought I had you figured out

“What did he want?” Lancelot asked as he surveyed the infirmary curiously.

Merlin shrugged.

Lancelot crossed the distance between them and rested his hands on Merlin’s shoulder, his touch comforting, grounding. “I’m sorry, I tried to get away earlier, but I got dragged into overseeing training with Leon being busy—”

Merlin gave him a small smile. “It’s okay, Lance.”

Lancelot sighed. He stepped forward and wrapped Merlin up in a hug. “I’m so sorry, Merlin,” he whispered into his hair.

And something in Merlin unraveled at the quiet comfort, and he finally broke.

He melted into the hug, needing it more than he could ever voice. He held on tight, allowing himself to be comforted by Lancelot’s easy warmth, and soon enough he was crying wretchedly, wondering how it had all gone so wrong.

Lancelot didn’t waver in his support and continued muttering soothing reassurances as he ran a hand through his hair.

“ Lance– ” He sobbed, brokenly.

“Sh, sh. It’s alright, Merlin. You’re safe.”

Merlin cried harder, burying his head in Lance’s neck. He wasn’t sure what he was crying about anymore. 

What hurt more? Bass and what he almost did or Arthur and everything he’d done?

Merlin pulled away after several long minutes. 

Lancelot pulled him over to one of the wooden benches and handed him a cup of water. Merlin drank it slowly, gathering his thoughts.

He kept his eyes on the wet patch on Lancelot’s shoulder as he told him everything from that night; how terrified he’d felt and how it was like he could still feel Bass’ slimy hands roaming his body.

Lancelot listened attentively. He didn’t interrupt or rush to fill the silence when Merlin struggled to continue.

When Merlin finished, throat raw and hands trembling, but feeling just a tad lighter, Lancelot looked him in the eyes and said, “You’re safe now, Merlin. Nothing like this will ever happen again, we’re all making sure of it. And Bass will pay for what he did.”

Merlin nodded, shakily. 

“And you’re not alone. You’ll always have me, and all the other knights, Morgana, Gwen. We all love you, Merlin. You’re the best of us,” he said, kindly.

Merlin smiled. “No, that’s you : The noble knight.”

“No, it’s definitely you: The brave warlock,” he retorted.

Merlin chuckled and wiped away the remnants of his tears. “Fine, if you insist.”

“What did Arthur want?” Lancelot inquired. “He looked awfully…moody when I crossed him on the stairs.”

“He came to tell me the trial is tomorrow.”

Lancelot nodded. “I’ll be there too. Leon and I are in charge of bringing Bass up to the council chambers.”

“That’s good to hear,” Merlin said, meaning it. It would be easier with friendly faces around. “Any idea why the trial is being held privately?”

“Leon is working with Arthur on changing the law regarding these cases, so I assume it’s something to do with that.”

“Changing the law?”

“Give equal power to all classes of society,” Lancelot said, with a small smile. “Not a small feat. He’s been running himself ragged trying to do it this quickly.”

Merlin sat and absorbed the words. He couldn’t say he was truly surprised, even. Of course, Arthur would do this. He was all good and righteous and just. (Just not to Merlin ).

“Alright?” 

Merlin nodded. “He’s given me permission to use magic in my chambers. Isn’t that odd?” 

Lancelot’s eyebrows flew up. “I suppose.”

“That was a few months ago. Today he was saying something about how he’s not ‘bothered by my magic’. What does that mean?” 

“Well, what do you think it means?”

“That he’s a liar and a hypocrite and he ruined my life over his hatred of magic, so I don’t know what he’s blabbing on about now,” Merlin said, casually.

“Maybe his opinion has changed over time?”

“Maybe.” Merling sighed and leaned back, exhausted. “I don’t know what he wants, Lance.”

He dragged a hand down his face. 

"One second he’s telling me hates me and that our friendship meant nothing to him, the next, he’s looking at me like none of those things are true and it’s driving me insane .”

Lancelot stayed quiet, letting him rant.

He gave a hollow laugh. “You know I found keepsakes in his drawer? Of me ? My neckerchiefs. Yes— two of them. Why did he keep those things?…Maybe he’s the insane one.”

Lancelot frowned and held Merlin’s hand. “Gwaine told you about his theory, yes?”

Merlin nodded. “You think it’s that, too?”

“I do. And he said as much, himself, you said. That it’s ‘complicated’ and that there is an explanation for it all.”

Merlin scoffed. “What explanation could there possibly be?”

“What if he just misses you?”

“He doesn’t.”

Lance held up a hand. “No, hear me out: He visited you as often as possible, perhaps under the guise of having a headache; he comforted you after your nightmare in Thornwick—”

“Yeah, and then right after that, he told me we were nothing.”

Lancelot gave him a flat look and Merlin sighed and shut up.

“He practically never left your side while you were treating the patients during the plague—”

“Because of his immunity—”

Lancelot covered his mouth with a hand and continued, “He also never left your side while you recovered from the plague, yourself—”

“ Guilt!” Merlin mumbled, through his hand.

“He. Kissed. You.”

Merlin swiped at Lancelot’s hand until he gave in and removed it. 

“ Lust. ”

“He’s changing the laws for you. Overnight.”

“It’s not for me . He knows the system is messed up,” Merlin argued.

Lancelot sighed. “It’s a lot of coincidences.”

“Well, so what?”

“ So , maybe he cares .”

Merlin shook his head. “No. If he cared, he wouldn’t be doing any of this. He wouldn’t have banished me and made me feel worthless. Doesn’t he understand how much it’s hurting me?”

Lancelot smiled, sadly. “I don’t think he does.”

Merlin looked away, eyes glassy. “If he cared about me, wouldn’t he be able to see that?” 

Lancelot gave him a crooked grin. “Well, he’s not the brightest of the bunch, is he?”

A laugh bubbled out of Merlin’s throat.

“No, I suppose he isn’t.”

And for a moment, the hurt was almost bearable.

 

---

 

It’s late at night when Merlin realises he’s been lingering in the work area of his chambers for too long, and clearly avoiding his bedroom. Quite belatedly, he’s grateful for Arthur locking him in his chambers the previous night. 

The thought of even stepping foot back in the room where Bass had assaulted him is enough to send a bout of nausea through his stomach. 

But he can’t go back to Arthur, of course.

Merlin sighed and with a quick flash of his eyes, his most important belongings from his room appeared right in front of him, his satchel with them. He changed out of the shirt—Arthur’s white one—and tossed it in a corner of the room. Putting on one of his own tunics, Merlin ran through his options.

Lancelot was the obvious choice—steady and understanding. But he had Gwen, now, and Merlin didn’t want to intrude on them.

Gwaine had been by to see him again, a while after Lancelot had left, but by now, he was either in the tavern, or enjoying someone else’s company.

Morgana was…a woman and the last thing he wanted was to encourage the rumors flying about the castle about them already.

So, it was in front of Leon’s door that he now stood.

The door opened a few short seconds after Merlin had nervously knocked on it.

“Merlin.” He smiled. “What can I do for you?”

“Um—” He gestured at his bag. God, this was harder than he’d thought it would be. “I don’t want to sleep in my room.”

Leon’s genuine smile melted into a more somber one. “Of course. Come, you can take my bed.” He held the door open.

Merlin let out a relieved breath and stepped in. “Thanks. I’ll take the carpet, though.”

Leon shook his head. “Nonsense. I doubt I’ll be getting much sleep tonight. There’s a lot of work to do, so really it would be stupid to make you sleep on the floor.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” Merlin said, feeling uncertain.

Leon chuckled. “You’re not intruding, don’t worry. If anyone ever intruded, it was Morgana and I when we showed up in your home uninvited.”

That pulled a faint, tired smile from Merlin. “That was a nice time.” 

“I agree.” Leon steered him towards the bed. It was almost as big as Arthur’s. “Have you had dinner yet?”

“Yeah. Gwen made me eat.”

“Good. That’s good. The trial is early tomorrow. It wouldn’t do to have you not at your best.” He grabbed a blanket from the armchair and placed it on the bed. “It gets cold near dawn. Believe me, even two of these aren’t enough on this side of the castle,” he explained.

Merlin smiled. “Thanks, Leon. You don’t have to do all this.”

“Of course, I do. You’re my friend, Merlin.” Leon ruffled his hair.

Merlin groaned and ducked out of reach. Leon laughed, unabashed, as he took in the mess he’d made of Merlin’s already tousled hair, then retreated to his desk, the wood groaning softly as he settled into his chair, a weary look on his face.

Merlin tucked himself into the blankets on the bed. The chill here was already quite unbearable and he wondered how he’d survive in the early hours of the morning.

“Wake me up if you get tired and want to sleep,” Merlin offered.

“Shush, Merlin,” Leon replied, exasperated.

He lay still for a moment, listening to the scratch of Leon’s quill behind him, and then he sighed, long and content.

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve such wonderful friends.

But here, in the quiet safety of the knight’s room, with warmth around him and no shadows creeping in, sleep came easily and he welcomed it.

 

Notes:

here's the timeline for the lord ass arc (coz i keep losing track so maybe u guys are too):
Morgan and Arthur duel -> Tavern -> Bass in Merlin's room -> Merlin goes to Arthur -> Arthur beats up Bass and Merlin snoops. [so far, this is all the same evening/night]
Then (next day), Gwaine comes in Arthur's room (early morning) -> Merlin wakes up and confronts Arthur (Late morning) -> Arthur tries to talk to Merlin (afternoon) -> straight after that, Lancelot talks to Merlin -> Merlin goes to Leon (night) and the rest of Arthur's day atp was a "blur" -> Next morning is the trial and Arthur faints right before it starts.
There.

Anyways, everyone say thank you lancelot.
Next chapter (title): This is me trying (which ive realised is the perfect arthur song ugh :')
Also what are our thoughts on a flashback to Arthur post banishment? Coztheres a good chance to include one in the next chap but idk ? I could probably just describe it in a paragraph instead ?

Chapter 33: I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me

Summary:

lots of yelling

Notes:

my bad, i changed the title.

Trigger warnings: disordered eating; alcohol abuse/addiction

Chapter 33: I wanna snarl and show you just how disturbed this has made me

 

Arthur woke in his room, feeling groggy and weak, all the way down to his bones. He sat up, each movement slow like he was pushing his limbs through water, and rubbed his eyes. 

Morgana’s face came into focus. She was seated on a chair beside his bed, arms crossed, looking… angry?

“The trial! I’m going to be late,” he said, panicked, already whipping his blanket off and then regretting it instantly when the cold hit him.

God, it never got this chilly during the day.

Morgana sat like a statue. “It’s been moved to later in the evening,” she said, calmly.

“ What?! On whose authority?” 

“Mine.” 

Arthur opened his mouth to complain but Morgana held up a hand. 

“You were passed out for two hours. It was moved because there was no other option.”

“I’m the king. The council could’ve bloody waited,” He argued.

Morgana shrugged. “Too bad you were too unconscious to make any decisions.”

Arthur let out a frustrated sigh. He ran a hand through his hair and made to get up again.

“ Sit down, Arthur. ” Morgana ordered, coldly.

Arthur froze, not used to her talking to him like this.

She continued, “You’re not to leave this bed until you’ve finished that entire bowl.” She gestured to the stew sitting on his bedside table.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “I’m not really hungry.”

“I suppose you’ll be sitting here until you work up an appetite, then.”

“I’ll eat when my mind isn’t spinning with all the fucking bills and drafts,” Arthur snapped. “And I’m the fucking king. You can’t tell me what to do.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Merlin said you passed out because you haven’t been eating. So forgive me, your majesty, if I don’t give a damn about your royal ego right now.”

“Merlin was here?”

“ That’s what you got out of that? Do you even care that I was worried? That we were all worried,” Morgana seethed. 

Merlin probably wasn’t.

He sighed. “I have a lot on my plate—”

“Not food, apparently,” she sniped.

Arthur rolled his eyes and continued, “It’s easy to forget to eat when you are as busy as I am.”

“ How do you forget to eat when your meals are literally delivered right to your room?”

Goodness, why was she getting so mad?

“You won’t get it,” he said, shrugging her off.

“No, what I don’t get is why you’re so intent on doing this to yourself. You’re pushing away everyone, you’re eating what—once a week?”

“Obviously not,” Arthur cut in, with another roll of his eyes.

“You spend all your time alone, as often as you can; you barely sleep; you’re falling back on your drinking habit—”

“I am not!”

Morgana stood up, outraged. “And now you’re lying to me,” She yelled. “I can smell the alcohol on your breath, you ass. Do you even understand how dangerous it is to drink the amount that you did on an empty stomach?”

“I had a sip of wine in the morning. That’s it.”

Morgana shook her head. “You had a lot more than that last night.” She pointed to a bottle lying on his bed, right beside where he was sitting. 

It was empty and a few drops of whatever little amount was left inside had spilled onto the crimson sheets, staining them a shade darker. 

Memories from the previous night came back to him in hazy flashes. They mostly just consisted of ripping open a bottle and drinking long into the night.

Arthur couldn’t meet his sister’s piercing stare.

“You think no one notices, but we do! Arthur you’re— god , you scare me so much, sometimes,” she cried. “You’re losing yourself and it feels like I'm losing you.”

Arthur’s mouth fell open as he watched Morgana hastily brush away a tear. 

He shook his head. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I’m fine. I hardly even drink anymore and this was a one-off thing. There’s just a lot to deal with right now,” he said, soothingly.

“When’s the last time you ate, then?” She asked, shakily.

“At breakfast.”

She shoved his chest, more tears escaping now, much to Arthur’s alarm.

“ Enough with the lies, Arthur!” She pointed at the dining table “Your breakfast tray is sitting there completely full,” she spat.

So, apparently, his room was just a treasure box of evidence of his vices. Great.

“Okay, fine. One-off, remember?” He pleaded.

Morgana started pacing. “You didn’t eat anything at the tavern either, and that was what, two days ago, now? Did you eat anything in between then and now?”

Probably not.

He didn’t answer, not wanting to lie again.

“ Why are you doing this to yourself?” She yelled.

“I’m not doing anything!"

She let out a frustrated scream. “YOU ARE LETTING YOURSELF WASTE AWAY! And what was it you said earlier? You don’t drink anymore? ” 

She marched over to a small cupboard beside the dining table and ripped it open. She took out a bottle of fine wine and shook it. “Empty.” Another followed. “Empty.” And another. “ Empty .”

Arthur got off the bed, wanting to put an end to this madness. His head spun a little but he stormed forward anyway.

Morgana got her hands on a bottle of gin—a gift from Lord Havensby to butter him up that he had been fully intending to down after the trial.

She shook it. “Oh, would you look at that! It’s still full.” She hurled it across the room and there was a loud crash as the bottle shattered against a wall.

Arthur watched wide-eyed as shards of glass fell everywhere and pale liquid splashed on the floor, seeping into the rug and pooling beneath the furniture.

He recovered quickly and grabbed his sister’s arm, trying to move her away from his stash. She had a manic look in her eyes, though, and would not budge.

“Stop it, Morgana. You have no right. ”

“Why do you care, huh? I thought you didn’t drink? ” She grabbed another bottle from the shelf, without tearing her eyes from him.

He made to grab it, but she jerked away, fast and wild, the glass slipping from her fingers in the scuffle. It shattered at their feet, the sharp smell of fruit and alcohol filling the air

“ Morgana! ” Arthur snapped, grabbing her by both arms now, holding her still.

Her eyes blazed—haunted and furious.

“Why are you doing this?” He pleaded. 

“Because I care about you! We all care and we want to help but you’re so out of reach and you just keep slipping away more and more,” she cried. “You were getting better for a while there and I was so relieved, but now —” 

Her words cut off with a sob.

“What happened to Merlin, it was horrible, I know , but you cannot drink yourself or starve yourself or exhaust yourself halfway to death’s door every time someone hurts him.”

“ I hurt him,” Arthur roared. “Every. Fucking. Time. It is always me at the scene of the crime.”

“That’s not true, this isn’t your fault!”

“It is. He’s back because of me, isn’t he?” He said, finally, voice ragged as he put into words what had been eating away at him for days. “To save my sorry arse from all the fucking threats that just never let up.”

Morgana’s mouth fell open. She shook her head, a denial already on her lips.

“But they did let up,” Arthur went on, quieter now. “Or, I thought they had. Merlin came back and I was too busy reeling to even realise that there hadn’t been a single magical beast, or vengeful sorcerer, or treacherous noble in weeks. Because he took care of it all.”

He laughed, a cold, mirthless sound.

“You thought I wouldn’t find out? I didn’t understand it for the longest time. What I said, what I did to Merlin, it was enough—I know it was enough to keep him away for as long as was necessary. But then he came back anyway. And bit by bit, I started seeing why .”

“Arthur—”

“What? Do you want to lie to me, again, Morgana? That would be hypocritical of you, wouldn’t it? You were only just yelling at me about my lies, but they pale in comparison to yours,” he spat out. “ Didn’t I have a right to know? ”

“I’m sorry,” she said, desperately. “There was no other way. You kept dying —in every vision, every reality—”

“THEN YOU SHOULD HAVE LET ME DIE, DAMN IT!”

“ You know I couldn’t ever do that ,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face freely. No longer was she the picture of elegance and poise.

“I know,” he agreed, still seething. “And now I am to blame for everything he goes through: Thornwick and the plague that he absorbed, weakening his own body, and Bass— fucking Bass —it all falls on me , because he came back for me . So forgive me if I’m not handling it very well.”

She grasped his hand. “If the blame falls on anyone, it’s me. I’m the one that dragged him back, after all. It’s not your fault that he wanted to come, Arthur.”

He shrugged and stepped back. “And yet, it feels like it is.”

Morgana sighed. She magicked the bowl of stew over to the table beside them and pushed Arthur into a chair. Arthur fell in, gracelessly, the fight leaving his body.

“Eat. Please.”

Arthur glared at her, albeit a little weakly.

When he made no move to start eating, Morgana settled into the chair to his left and started speaking, voice low and hesitant.

“When you banished Merlin, you—unwillingly—tore him away from everyone and everything he loves,” she started. “When I went to see him, to bring him back, he was living a completely isolated life. He had work as a physician, and he had patients. He did not have friends or a family.”

Arthur listened with rapt attention. Morgana looked pointedly at the bowl and he sighed and picked up the spoon. His stomach protested the first bit of food it had received after too long, and for a moment he thought it might come back up. 

Morgana watched him, a frown on her face. When he reached for a second spoonful, she continued, “Leon and I spent nearly a week living in his home and seeing his everyday life. Not once did anyone there talk to him out of the bounds of his profession. It was always ‘when will my medicine be ready, Merlin?’ or ‘fine weather, eh?’ and never anything more than that.”

The food already tasted like ash in his mouth. The picture she was drawing was only making it worse.

“He was so lonely. As the days passed, I could see some of the sadness seep out of him. He was enjoying our company; he missed us. He didn’t change his mind about coming back until the very last night.” 

She let out a breath and her hands played with the sleeve of her dress. 

“In the end, I don’t think he came back only for you. It was a factor, of course, but he missed Camelot. He missed Gwaine and Lancelot and the others. He wanted to give Gaius the chance to retire peacefully. So, really, it doesn’t fall on you,” she said softly. 

Arthur looked down into his bowl. It was empty— when had that happened?

Morgana watched him for a moment, then added gently, “He once loved you very much, Arthur. I think, deep down, he still does.”

Arthur’s breath hitched, almost imperceptibly.

“And that’s part of why he came back,” she continued. “It would be an injustice to him and yourself if you allowed that love to twist you up into this. ”

Arthur felt her words settle around them, smart enough to realise she wasn’t wrong. 

“And for what it’s worth, he’s being a lot more careful about how he handles the threats, this time around. He hasn’t gotten hurt once, and his magic is stronger so it’s practically effortless,” she said with a small smile.

He leaned back in his chair. “I don’t think you can ever understand the guilt I feel everyday,” he admitted, finally. “It’s like…it’ll eat me alive.

“But I just told you, it’s really not your fault,” she insisted.

“Maybe. But I did hurt him directly, several times.”

“He’ll forgive you once he finds out the truth.”

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t think he will, anymore.”

Morgana got up and pulled him into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Arthur sighed and melted into it, resting his chin on her head. “I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m trying my best, I really am.”

“That’s what scares me,” she whispered into his chest. She pulled away, wiping more tears. “Tell me how I can help,” she pleaded.

He pulled away. “You can’t. I can’t live without him and—and I’m losing him, I know it. So—”

So I’m losing myself.

“Talk to him, then. It’s about time, don’t you think?” 

“I did .” 

Morgana’s eyes widened.

“He doesn’t want to hear it. He thinks I’m making excuses or whatever.”

“ What? What did he say about the repeal?” She demanded.

Arthur gave a cold laugh. “We didn’t get that far before he blew up on me.”

She gripped his hands. “You can talk to him again, then. There’s still hope! He doesn’t know everything yet.”

“I will. For now, just let me deal with everything else and my own mess however I want.”

“What, by drinking your sorrows away?” Morgana scoffed.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “It’s not that bad and you know it. Have you seen me even slightly tipsy in public?”

“Shall I applaud you for keeping your indulgences confined to late hours?”

“I know what you’re thinking of, but I swear, I have a handle on it. It won’t get that bad again,” he promised.

“You have me and the knights and Gwen, and we all care for you. Why can’t that be enough?”

And he doesn’t know how to explain to his sister that every time Merlin looks at him with hatred in his eyes, it kills another piece of him. And how there are days where he’s itching to claw his own skin out because he’s just so so disgusted by himself and his words and his actions.

He knows it’s his fault and he knows this is what he wanted but that doesn’t stop him from spiralling.

He doesn’t know how to say any of that, so instead he says, “I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

She sighed and leaned in to kiss his cheek—a rare show of affection, between them. Their relationship was more suited to barbs and silently helping each other through their respective messes.

She grabbed the remaining two bottles in the cupboard and made for the door, her footsteps fast, as if she could outrun the glare on her back.

Arthur rolled his eyes and let her go. He had more, and he could always get some out of the wine cellar if he needed. 

Not that he would. 

He was King, now. The days of his reckless behaviour were long gone. 

Still, when he turned to the mess of glass on the other end of the room, he was dragged back to the days he wished he could forget.

---

Arthur only saw red. 

“Look at you. You’re a disgrace , ” Gwaine spat out, even as Arthur’s fists kept raining down on his face. 

He took satisfaction in watching the blood drip out of Gwaine’s nose, first slowly and then gushing. 

When Gwaine managed to flip them—grabbing Arthur by the collar and slamming him onto the floor—Arthur welcomed the pain that burst through his ribs. 

He coughed, maybe laughed. His lip was split, his knuckles raw, but still he grinned like a madman. 

Arthur made no move to fight him.

Luck was never on his side, though, and the doors to the armoury burst open. The rest of the knights tumbled in and Gwaine was dragged off of his body after only getting a few blows in.

Arthur sat up and spat out a wad of blood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His jaw throbbed. Something in his ribs definitely cracked when Gwaine got that last punch in.

Across the room, Gwaine was being held back by Leon and Lancelot, although the latter was glowering at Arthur. He was still snarling, fighting against their grip like a man possessed.

Arthur chuckled, low and bitter, and pushed himself to his feet. He crossed the distance between them and leaned in close. He felt the whole room tense up.

“ Sire .” A warning, perhaps? 

Arthur laughed again. Didn’t they know he was the prince?

He didn’t spare the knight a single glance. He wasn’t even sure which of them had said it, too far gone in his ire and the drunken haze clouding his head, the room spinning just enough to make his blood feel louder than their words.

“ Say his name again and —”

“ Merlin would be ashamed of you,” Gwaine snarled, not letting him finish.

Arthur’s fist clenched at his side

“Guards,” Arthur barked, moving past the knights and out the door. 

They were standing on high alert, probably being the ones who had called the others into the armoury, hearing the tussle. 

“Escort Sir Gwaine to the dungeons,” he ordered. 

And he’d like to say he moved confidently as he made his way back to his chambers, but really, that would be a lie, for every step felt heavier than the last, his boots dragging slightly on the stone and he had to grip the railing for support as he climbed the stairs. 

Various parts of his body panged with pain and once, he wouldn’t have hesitated to go to Gaius for even half the injuries he currently bore. Now, though, he was quite sure he’d wither under the disappointed eyes of the old man.

Not to mention, it was his space. 

Besides, the pain was good. It was like alcohol: a distraction.

So, when he stumbled into his room, he grabbed the bottle of gin left on his dresser and ripped the top off. He didn’t bother with a goblet and put it to his mouth, chugging greedily—like a man starved.

And, perhaps he shouldn’t, because he’d already downed the first half of the bottle before heading out to training with the knights and there was dinner with his father to attend tonight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, at the moment.

So he drank and he drank, some of it dribbling down his mouth in his haste, and he was thoroughly intoxicated by the time the door burst open and Morgana stormed inside, fury evident on her face.

“Have you gone mad?” She screamed. “This is the third time this month that you’ve gotten in a fight with Gwaine.”

“Is it?” He slurred.

“His face is a mess! You broke his nose and a rib—”

“ Good. ” He took another swig. “I always did tell him his mouth would get him into trouble one day.”

“DO YOU EVEN HEAR YOURSELF?” Morgana raged. “HE IS MERLIN’S BEST FRIEND AND YOU ARE BEATING HIM TO A PULP TO SATISFY YOUR DAMN EGO!”

“Hm.” 

He wondered if she’d done a spell to make it appear as if there were two of her—because, apparently, that was something she could do now. Spells. Magic. Maybe tomorrow Uther would reveal his own magical prowess. It’s all anyone seemed to be doing these days. 

'Let’s tell Arthur about our magic and drive him mad,' they all conspired. Well props to them for fucking succeeding. 

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. “ Are you even listening to me? ”

Arthur blinked back into awareness. “No. Get out.”

He lifted the bottle to his lips and revelled in the bitter taste on his tongue and the sharp burn it sent down his throat, and how with every sip, his own thoughts became less and less significant until they would just become a blur of nothingness.

Morgana ferociously reached for the hand that was gripping the bottle and Arthur tsked and swiped it out of reach. 

“He was right, you know. Merlin would be ashamed of you,” she hissed.

Arthur’s blood roared and in a fit of rage he hurled the bottle at the wall behind her.

Morgana’s eyes widened and she ducked, her arms flying up to her face to protect her from the stray shards of glass. When the glass settled, she slowly looked up at him with disappointment, yes, but also a hint of fear.

“I’ll tell Uther,” she ground out. “I’ll tell him that his precious heir is going mad , becoming a drunkard and then we’ll see if you have any of your pretty little bottles to waste yourself away in.”

Arthur laughed, almost maniacally. 

He leaned in close and whispered, “You do that, and I’ll tell him you have magic .”

Morgana stepped back, nothing but disappointment in her eyes, now. 

She turned swiftly on her heel and left, slamming the door behind her, and regret started to creep in, slow but damning.

He doesn’t want to drink anymore, the image of Morgana’s disappointment still fresh in his mind—hauntingly similar to Merlin’s from the day he had banished him. But at the same time, that’s really all the more reason to drink; to chase away those thoughts, those words.

Arthur grabs another bottle—there’s one on practically every flat surface in his room, opened and half-drunk and left forgotten for a while.

He drinks and tries to forget what he’s done.

'Don’t do this, Arthur. You know me. I’d never hurt you.’

He knew, of course, he knew. And then he’d gone and hurt Merlin. 

‘Where do you expect me to go? Everything I have, everyone I love is here.’

Where was he now? Ealdor? Happy with his mother in that small village? Tending to livestock with hands that were far better suited for helping him into his armour?

‘You’re a lesser man than I thought possible, Arthur Pendragon. I feel ashamed to ever have called you my friend.’

He wonders how much of this he needs to pour down his throat before his mind shuts off. 

He banished Merlin with every intention to bring him back once he became king and the laws were rewritten. He had known, when making the decision, that this could take years. Decades even.

Uther was still alive and healthy, for one. And, Arthur, despite all his bitterness towards his father, did not want the man to die .

Well, no, that was wrong. Some days he did wish for that—usually when he was too drunk to even stand without gripping the walls—but eventually, he’d realise how cruel it was to wish his own father’s death and then the guilt would come crashing down all over again.

Because Uther was a tyrant, yes, and he was harsh and cold, of course, but he had been the one to teach Arthur how to hold a sword, he had been the one to lift him onto his first horse, and he always stayed awake, pacing the war room, every time Arthur rode out somewhere particularly dangerous.

He was the only parent Arthur had and he loved him.

And he loved Merlin—of that there was no doubt.

But this would have to be a waiting game.

It was only now that he was beginning to realise how long that much time could feel like without Merlin at his side.

Each day passed agonisingly slowly—unending and dull. Days would drip into weeks into months and somehow, it would all be an ache to get through, but by the time he was at the other end of it, he would be unable to recall a single event from the past months.

Arthur sat down on the carpet beside his bed, leaning against a wooden chest, and drank.

It had been months—he wasn't sure how many, exactly—but every time he was in his chambers, one thought lingered in his mind: Life was too quiet without Merlin.

—

He must have passed out at some point, for he woke, curled up on the rug with the—now empty—bottle a few inches from his fingers.

Morgana was back. 

She never did leave. No amount of insults or threats could keep her out of his room forever. It was a loyalty that reminded him fiercely of Merlin. These days, just about everything did.

She sat beside him, carding her fingers through his hair, her touch gentle.

Arthur sighed and turned to lie flat on his back, staring up at her.

“You missed dinner,” she said, simply.

“Was father angry?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” She pulled a tray of food closer. “I brought you some.”

“Thanks.” 

He sat up and poked at the food, wincing at the ache in his head, his ribs, his face— god .

He wasn’t even hungry. Never was, these days. His appetite had left with Merlin, apparently.

Merlin would laugh at that. He would say that was a good thing and that Arthur could afford to shed a few pounds.

But, there was no one here to laugh or say anything, so Arthur sat there pushing around the sausages glumly.

Those were Merlin’s favourite.

They were his favourite, too, but he’d gotten into the habit of leaving most of them untouched for Merlin to steal off his plate. 

They remained untouched even now.

“I had Gwaine released,” Morgana said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Arthur narrowed his eyes but his voice held no bite as he said, “He was in there for a reason.”

“A stupid reason,” Morgana rebutted.

“Look at what he did to my face.”

Morgana shrugged. “Looks better this way. Besides, you did him worse.”

Arthur shrugged. “I did warn him.”

“He was his best friend. And he doesn’t know the truth of why he’s gone all of a sudden, only that you’re to blame for it. Cut him some slack,” she said, rationally.

Arthur made a noncommittal sound.

Because, how could he explain to his sister that he lived constantly with such rage burning inside him and that Gwaine was an outlet?

And how could he ever explain that Gwaine was the only one who wouldn’t hesitate to match him, blow for blow? 

So Arthur would goad him and empty out his anger and then welcome the pain—far less than what he deserved, but good enough for now.

“Arthur.”

He looked up to meet her solemn eyes.

“You have to stop this,” she pleaded. “Merlin is gone but you made a promise to yourself and to me that you would fix things around here. You can hardly do that when you’re constantly drunk out of your mind.”

“I can hardly do that when I’m not yet king.” And the urge to yell is there, gnawing at him to erupt and fight with the one person who still has his back and push her away but he stamps it down—a rare thing.

“You can start working on it. Do your research, figure out exactly how to repeal such an old law, start gathering support—”

Arthur groaned. “You’re giving me a headache.”

“Your drink gave you a headache,” she snapped.

He sighed. “I have years to do all of that. For now, I’m nothing but a prince with no power.”

She glowered. “So that means you're happy to spend all your days drunk?”

“Yes, quite.”

Morgana sighed. 

Arthur chewed on a potato, wondering if Cook had forgotten to salt it.

“You should apologise to Gwaine.”

He gave her a flat look and she sighed again. 

She stayed with him until he’d picked at enough of the food to satisfy her and then left in a swish of skirts.

Arthur eyed the chaise by the hearth—Merlin’s little space—and thought, again, it was too quiet without Merlin there to fill it.

Notes:

I'm not sure if Arthur's eating/drinking issues read as if they came out of nowhere, but i hope not. There have been hints since the very begining and they became more concentrated after and during the plague arc. But yeah, so i was keeping it subtle because both issues weren't as bad until now and because i wanted the big reveal about how fucked up arthur is to be in this chapter.

If you've noticed that Arthur is swearing more and more as the chapters progress, that because he is lmao. The more he loses it, the more he swears.

(oh and this was the other confrontation i was talking about)
Next chapter: the trial :)

Chapter 34: When it all broke down

Chapter 34: When it all broke down

 

Merlin stood outside the council chambers, trying to collect his nerves. He could hear Arthur shouting but his words were muffled through the heavy wooden doors.

Was Bass already inside?

Two men stood on guard by the door, one of them eyeing him curiously. Was he wondering why Merlin was here, or did he recognise Merlin from before his banishment and wondered where he’d been for two long years?

Merlin took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

Arthur’s yelling paused for a moment, his voice carrying to say, “Enter.”

Another deep breath, and then Merlin pushed the door open, slipping inside on light feet. His eyes darted around the room, relieved to find Bass absent.

Arthur was watching him with an intent look, and Merlin took the opportunity to assess the king’s health again. 

He still looked a little too pale, but not as terribly as he had been when Merlin had seen to him in his chambers, a few hours earlier. 

Arthur nodded to the chair to his right and Merlin quickly went to seat himself, avoiding the councilmen’s eyes following him all the way and tuning out the whispers that followed.

It was a long table, Arthur at its head and all the various lords seated around it, their proximity to the King depicting the amount of power they held.

There was an empty chair a few seats down from him. Bass’, probably.

Up close, Merlin could see the dark smudges under Arthur’s eyes; his obviously, hastily combed hair; his sunken cheeks.

Arthur talked, and Merlin didn’t hear much of it, falling back into his memories from hours ago. 

Arthur passed out in the hallway just outside. The commotion as guards alerted the council. Merlin pushing past the men to lay his eyes on Arthur’s very still body, pale as death, a sheen of sweat covering him.

He had ordered the guards to move the king to his chambers, the physician’s quarters being further away. He had followed, footsteps quick and heart thumping loudly in his chest, every fear that he had spent months—years—pushing down, crawled up to the surface.

And then he’d assessed his body for injuries or poison or sorcery and found out it was none of those things.

It was just Arthur destroying his own body.

Merlin couldn’t imagine what drove Arthur away from eating regularly—or even at all—and to drinking , because the first thing he spotted on his bed, beside his prone body, was an empty bottle.

Was it stress? 

He had always worried over making the right decisions, even as a prince. It must be worse now, as King, having to make a hundred decisions a day.

Arthur’s voice was no longer as loud when Merlin tuned back in. “I am passing around a bill, though I assure you, you all have no say in whether it will pass.”

Merlin glanced at the parchments in front of Arthur, tilting his head for a better angle.

The Charter of Equal Rights 

Oh.

“Refusal to sign will be a direct cause for me to open an investigation into exactly what you all get up to, sequestered away in your little lands, mistreating your people, and committing tax fraud,” Arthur said, his voice lighter now—bordering on cheerful.

“You are blackmailing us?” An old man scoffed.

Arthur leaned back in his chair, the hints of a smug smile dancing on his face. “Blackmail is a bit of a nasty word. I prefer… creative negotiation .”

Merlin met his eyes and couldn’t help but smile, biting down on a laugh.

Arthur’s eyes met his and they lit up.

“Lord Bass is not present. Perhaps we should wait for him to join us?” Another man reasoned.

The council…did not know about what had happened?

Arthur smiled, all teeth. “Lord Bass informed me he wouldn’t be able to make it on time. We can continue without him.”

Was this why Arthur had been rushing the whole process? To keep the truth about Bass from the council in order to make them sign off on a law that would condemn one of their fellow lords?

Smart.

Silence fell over the room. Arthur passed the parchment to the man on his left—Lord Soren, Merlin recalled.

Soren's eyes skimmed the page, quickly. He glanced up at the king when he’d reached the end, looking just a little wary.

Still, he voiced, “Surely, sire, this can’t be necessary. The lower class cannot be trusted to have equal rights as the nobles. That’s how it has always been—and for a reason." 

“Were you not listening to me?” Arthur pushed himself forward, leaning on his forearms. 

Merlin’s eyes were drawn to the bruised skin around his knuckles, ripped, red, and raw.

“My rule will not be the same as my father’s. I’d have thought that was clear by now,” he said, pointedly.

“What if they riot? What if they lie and accuse us of crimes we have not committed?”

Arthur shrugged. “We have knights. And we have a justice system. If any of you were accused, I assure you, you will get a proper trial.”

The man huffed. 

“I remind you, again, refusal to sign will draw me into your business until I find something to incriminate you for,” Arthur repeated, cold eyes passing over every one of the men gathered. “And you will not get off with a slap to the wrist.”

Soren signed the paper and passed it to the man beside him. He did a cursory glance before signing as well. And so it went on. Some took more time to read than the others, but in the end, they all signed.

Clearly, they had their fair share of crimes to hide.

The bill reached Merlin, who looked at the row of signatures at the bottom and struggled to reign in his smile. He passed it back to Arthur.

Arthur signed and stamped it swiftly, his signet ring dipping into the drop of wax at the bottom of the page. He beckoned one of the wide-eyed servants over and handed the parchments to her. “Take this over to Geoffrey to have filed, please.”

The girl nodded, and her hands practically trembled as she glanced down at what she held. 

“And send the knights in with the accused,” he added, voice tight.

The girl darted out. 

Merlin held his breath and tried to think of anything other than the hands that had roamed his body so freely or the lips on his skin or the teeth that had drawn blood.

Fucking bastard. He would pay.

“I wasn’t informed we were holding a trial today,” the man beside him said, making Merlin jump out of his skin.

A wry grin. “It was a last-minute addition. Shouldn’t take too long.”

The doors opened. Merlin’s eyes landed on Bass, although he had to do a double-take to really make sure it was him. 

He looked…unrecognizable. His face was a swollen mess of colour and his white shirt was ripped in several places and stained crimson—the same shirt he had worn when he attacked Merlin.

When he opened his mouth to snarl and protest against Leon and Lancelot, who were dragging him in, he revealed an incomplete set of teeth, also stained red—a recent development, the scar at his shoulder could confirm.

Almost in sync, everyone’s eyes went to the bruised and mottled face of the bastard and then to Arthur and then, to Arthur’s hands—hands still clenched into fists, knuckles split and caked with dried blood.

He didn’t even look angry anymore, per se. Just cold. 

It was a nice change to see that expression of Arthur’s directed at someone other than Merlin, even though something nagged at him and told him, no, this wasn’t exactly the same as the cold fury Arthur directed at him.

As the others got a better look at the man, whispers arose, recognition slowly dawning on them.

Lancelot pushed Bass to his knees before the throne-like chair that Arthur was settled in. Both knights nodded at Merlin, and Leon took his position just beside Merlin’s chair, a comforting presence that he was grateful for.

He felt Bass’ eyes on him and had to remind himself that the man couldn’t hurt him here—not when two of the best knights and even the king were on his side.

Arthur began, “Lord Bass of Roswich stands accused of sexual assault, on one Merlin of Ealdor. The–”

“ Bullshit. ” Bass spat at the King’s feet and returned to glaring at Merlin. 

Merlin played with the hem of his shirt and wondered how much the other man could even see through that deeply swollen eye of his.

Arthur continued addressing the room, unperturbed, “–Charges for such a crime are the penalty of death.” 

The councilors remained quiet, though Merlin had expected some argument. It seemed Arthur’s earlier dressing down had been very effective.

Arthur finally turned his cold eyes to the man on his knees, “Bass, how do you plead?”

Bass scoffed. “He’s a nobody. His word means nothing against mine.”

Arthur smirked. “Unfortunately for you, you missed the council session where that particular law was changed. Merlin’s word means just as much as yours, now. How. Do. You. Plead ?”

Bass chuckled and it brought Merlin straight back to that night.

His cold laugh. 'Birdie', he had taunted.

“Innocent.”

Merlin scowled and rolled his eyes. Pig .

“You deny attacking Merlin when the evidence is still plainly visible?” Arthur gestured to the various bandages on him. 

Leon had informed him it would be best for his case to not wear the neckerchief. It had pained Merlin to take it off, to reveal the depth of his weakness to everyone, but he could see the logic in it, so had complied.

“Merely a misunderstanding, sire. The boy wanted it,” Bass drawled. “He was always showing up at my door, looking at me with greedy eyes; practically propositioned me. I stayed away for as long as I could, however, I am but a man, and eventually I gave in.”

Arthur cut a look at him. “Merlin, your defense?”

Merlin swallowed. “That’s entirely untrue. I always deliver the medicines at the door. Anyone here can attest to that.” There were a few nods and murmurs throughout the room, from the men Merlin sometimes delivered tonics to. 

Encouraged, Merlin continued, “Lord Bass requested a regular supply of a muscle reliever, which I delivered to him on a bi-weekly basis. He always looked at me like I was something to eat, not the other way around. And then, two nights ago, I woke up in the dead of the night to him in my room—”

He hesitated, struggling to say the right words, because this wasn’t Lancelot or even Arthur that he was explaining everything to. It was a whole room of whiny old men who couldn’t care less about the trauma he had suffered through.

“—and then he attacked me.” And that was the best Merlin could do.

Arthur nodded, and something in his gaze managed to comfort Merlin enough to unclench his fists. 

“He’s lying,” Bass snarled. “You should have seen him. He was begging for it. He was on his knees before I even touched him.”

Arthur stood and prowled closer to the man until he was standing right before him, each movement slow and deliberate. 

“Is that right?” He gave a mirthless laugh, and every hair on Merlin’s body stood on end. 

There was something terrifying in Arthur’s calm, in the way his voice didn’t rise but, rather, sank lower.

Bass had the good sense to look a little more wary now and glanced around the room for support. He received none.

“Of course. Often Merlin would linger in my doorway and—”

Arthur suddenly reached out to wrap a strong hand around his throat, cutting off the last of the man’s lies. 

He leaned in close and whispered, “Say his name one more time, and I promise you, I will rip your tongue out of your mouth with my bare hands.” 

He said it in a tone so chilling and quiet that it really shouldn’t have reached the ears of every person in the room, but in the haunting silence of the room, it did.

Merlin looked at Arthur in a new light. Yes, he’d known Arthur would take action, even after everything that had transpired between them, because he was a righteous king. 

But he had thought Arthur’s protective streak for him had been banished with him. Watching him dole out justice to Bass, in a way that made it clear that this was personal , Merlin realised perhaps it hadn’t.

He didn’t know what to do with that realisation.

Bass struggled against the tight grip on his throat until Arthur loosened it just enough for him to say, “You cannot do this. I am a Lord. The law does not give M-this boy any power to accuse me .”

“Ah, you forget yourself, Lord Bass. I am the law.” The king stepped back and assessed the other lords, seated at the table. “It seems you all were forgetting your place in the wake of my father’s death. Let this be a reminder to you: Lord Bass of Roswick, I hereby strip you of your title, holdings, and land. You are to be held in the dungeons until dawn, when you will be executed for your crimes.”

Bass gasped and tried to protest, but his words fell on deaf ears. 

A nod from the king and the knights were dragging him out of the room. 

Merlin let out a shaky breath and watched him go right until the doors shut.

He hadn’t expected a death penalty—exile, maybe? He hadn’t expected any of this. 

He was not upset by the turn of events. Bass got what he deserved. 

The councilors did not seem to think so, for one of them, a fat man with greying hair, spoke up, “My lord, I mean no disrespect, but perhaps, banishment is a more fitting punishment?” His tone was placating. It seemed everyone knew Arthur was teetering on a dangerous edge.

Arthur raised a calm eyebrow. “Is it not you who is always telling me that ‘an example has to be set’ so that the incident doesn’t repeat itself?”

The man flushed. “Yes, but—”

Arthur glared at the lord who seemed to shrink under the weight of it. “My decision is final.” The words echoed through the hall like a blade dropped on stone—sharp and unyielding. No one moved. 

“Let it be known: rank does not shield you. Not from justice. And certainly not from me.” His gaze cut to two men at the far end of the table. “Something you gentlemen wish to discuss with the rest of us?” He raised a brow.

The two gossips froze. Merlin had been too busy watching Arthur to even notice that they’d been having a conversation the whole time.

One of them, Lord Halwayn—if Merlin was remembering correctly—hesitantly replied, “We merely think you may be allowing your…favouritism to rule your judgement here.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up. Goodness, these men sure had gotten cocky in Arthur’s reign. 

And foolish.

“ Excuse me? ” And Merlin heard Arthur’s words for what they were: a final opportunity to bow out.

Halwayn’s friend—an idiot, truly—said, “Well, it’s no secret you two were close before Merlin suddenly left Camelot. It’s quite unfair to show your bias in court.”

“This was not bias or favouritism.” Arthur narrowed his eyes, fixing them with the full heat of his glare. “The same consequences would have been doled out, were the victim anyone else.”

Lord Mallow input, “If that’s the case, why is this the first time such a crime has been handled in your court?”

“Because this is the first time such a crime has been reported to me. I assure you, I am taking steps to ensure this will not be the last. Which brings me to my final point: Earlier, I implied that signing in favour of the new law would save you from an investigation. That was a lie.”

What?

“ A formal—and I assure you, thorough— investigation will be launched into every member of the council. If evidence of any sort of criminal activity is found, the punishment will be severe. I will not take counsel from a bunch of pigs who can’t keep their hands to themselves,” Arthur spat out, eyeing each of the men with contempt.

Merlin gaped in awe.

A cacophony of protests rang out across the table. 

Arthur smiled at them, almost cruelly, and announced, over the noise, “Dismissed.”

He glanced at Merlin—only for a second, but it felt like time stopped in that moment—then walked out of the hall with the cool confidence of a well— king .

Merlin made his escape soon after, not wanting to be glared at by the stuffy nobles any longer.

He returned to his chambers and turned off the burner on the small pot of strengthening potion he was brewing. He had made it right after seeing Arthur’s state after he’d fainted. 

It would help restore energy and combat most of the symptoms of his low diet—dizziness, exhaustion, feeling cold. 

Maybe it would work well enough that Arthur wouldn’t resort to drinking to chase off the chill in his bones or the ache behind his eyes. Unless the reason for his new habit was stress. In which case, Merlin didn’t have any solutions.

Merlin sighed, capping the vial with a practiced flick of his fingers. He grabbed a pot of bruise-paste as a last-second thought before heading out the door.

It was getting near dinner time, so Arthur would hopefully be in his chambers right now.

As Merlin walked the very familiar route from the physician’s chamber to the king’s, he wondered if he should maybe say thank you for his unfaltering support in dealing with Bass swiftly and justly. 

Would that be stupid after all the arguments they’d had so recently? 

Merlin looked down at the little medicines in his hand. 

What was stupid was how, even after everything, Merlin’s heart hadn’t quite given up on looking after Arthur. It was like a reflex; to see Arthur hurt would always get his brain rushing to figure out how to help him. It was why he’d come back, after all.

It was a little pathetic, but it was mostly just sad. And unfair. 

With a jolt, he realised that no , he wasn’t the only one still falling back on old reflexes. It was the same for Arthur.

Because Arthur had clearly cared about his wellbeing after Bass’ attack. He had fretted and worried, and his hands had shook as he tended to Merlin’s wounds with a gentle touch. 

He had made sure Merlin was alright before going after Bass.

Arthur ended their friendship that day, two years ago, but even he was helpless to the instincts that came with caring for someone for so long.

But Arthur had declared they were nothing that night in Thornwick. 

A lie?

But why?

Merlin shook away the curious direction of his thoughts and knocked on the door.

“Enter,” Arthur’s voice called out.

Was he expecting someone? Or was the idiot just going around granting entry to anyone who knocked on his door?

Merlin took a deep breath and stepped inside, eyes darting around the dimly lit chambers searching for Arthur.

His gaze fell on a mess of shattered glass in one corner of the room.

…Right then.

Arthur poked his head out of the wardrobe.

“Merlin?” He said, sounding utterly befuddled.

“I brought you a strengthening potion.” He held it up. “And bruise-paste. For your hands,” he finished (somewhat awkwardly).

Arthur smiled a real, genuine smile, and Merlin stared, a little wonderstruck.

“Thank you. Can you leave it on the desk, please?” And then his head disappeared back into the wardrobe, the open door covering him.

Merlin went over to the desk and set down both things.

He could say thanks. Arthur was even being…nice–?

Merlin looked down at the mess on the wooden surface as his mind scrambled for the right words.

Those magical books were still there. Open, this time, with messy notes scribbled in the margins. Maybe after he said thank you he could ask to borrow one of those? If Arthur’s mood didn’t seem too sour? 

Yes, okay. He would do that.

His gaze shifted to a pile of parchments right in front of Arthur’s chair. The format looked similar to the bill he’d just seen passed. 

Merlin cocked his head, trying to make out the words and see what this one was about.

He froze. 

“Merlin?” Arthur was looking at him with wide, startled eyes.

Merlin felt his heart stop as the words on the page registered.

Notes:

Ha, bet you guys weren't expecting THAT :D

Next chapter's title: So many things that I wish you knew
!!!!!!!!Chapter 1 (when merlin explained everything to Arthur) was titled So many things that /you/ wish /I/ knew. How cool is it that it mirrors the chapter where Arthur explains everything to Merlin!!!!! And that's just the first of the parallels coming upp :)

teaser (coz ily guys and im so excited for the next chapter yallll):
“I thought I was doing the right thing.” He swiped at his face, again. It was no use, really, his tears didn’t stop.

Chapter 35: So many things that I wish you knew

Summary:

What we've all been waiting for.

Notes:

Take a shot every time Arthur says sorry…
(at your own risk.)

might've cried writing this.

Chapters 35: So many things that I wish you knew

"Merlin?” Arthur asked, aghast.

Because Merlin was looking at the draft. The one about lifting the ban on magic. What in all hells was he supposed to say now??

He was not prepared for this.

Merlin’s eyes cut to him, for only a brief second, a hundred emotions flickering across his face. 

More than anything, he was unprepared for the unfiltered rage and hurt he saw, and it threw Arthur back to that moment two years ago when it all went downhill.

Merlin’s shaky hands reached for the draft. 

Arthur didn’t move, standing in front of the wardrobe, a lone boot in hand, the other one already on his foot.

“What is this, Arthur?” Merlin asked, his voice rough, barely above a whisper. 

Arthur panicked.

He stood, almost frozen in shock, and Merlin waited, fixing him with a glare. 

Why was Merlin angry ?

“It’s–” There weren’t really any words that sounded right, right now. He resorted to their old banter. “Well, you know how to read, Merlin.” He sighed, resigned.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. Arthur gulped.

Merlin opened his mouth to say something, then shook his head. He looked down at the papers in his hand and in a low voice that barely reached Arthur’s ears, he muttered, “I can’t believe you.” 

Arthur’s eyes widened. “What? How—how is this a bad thing?” 

But Merlin was already leaving. He threw the papers onto the desk, carelessly, and turned on his heel.

His retreating back reminded Arthur too much of that fateful day.

Arthur pulled on his second boot, in a rush and let out a frustrated scream. “Why are you angry at me?!”

He tied up the laces with hasty, practiced fingers, and the door slammed shut in his face by the time he was done.

When he opened it, he came face to face with Leon, who was watching Merlin’s quickly retreating figure with a furrowed brow. 

He turned to Arthur at the sound of the door opening. “Sire.” He nodded. “The envoy from Amata has just entered the castle gates.” 

Arthur cursed. Merlin had already disappeared around the corner, and now he was expected to play the gracious host—or risk offending a foreign delegation and souring Camelot’s relationship with Amata.

He hesitated for all of half a second.

Fuck it.

“Have Morgana handle it,” he said to a startled Leon, and then ran off in the direction of the physician’s chambers.

He caught up to Merlin on the stairs to his tower and swiped at his sleeve.

“Merlin! Will you just let me explain?” He shouted, frustrated.

Merlin yanked his arm free and bounded up the remaining steps. He darted inside his chambers and moved to slam the door shut behind him.

Arthur was only a step behind him, though, and he shot out his foot and wedged it in between the doorway. 

The door slammed on it painfully and Arthur grunted, quite glad that he’d put his boots on before running after Merlin.

Merlin abandoned the door and stormed inside, his back to him. 

Arthur followed him in, just in time to catch the flicker of movement—Merlin’s hands lifting to his face, fingers scrubbing at his eyes in a way that made Arthur’s chest tighten.

“Get out.”

Arthur closed the door behind him. “No , not until we talk about this and you tell me why you’re so angry,” he insisted.

“Why am I angry? ” Merlin laughed, maniacally.

He whipped around to face him, and Arthur froze as he was met with a piercing glare coming from blue eyes that were rimmed red.

“You think it doesn’t hurt? That you’re doing all this, you’re fulfilling your destiny— our destiny —for Morgana?” He spat out, bitterly. “You banished me for my magic and you’re ready to do all this now-”

“What? I’m not doing it for her–”

Only a half-lie, seeing as it had started for Merlin.

“Well, it’s certainly not out of the goodness of your own wretched heart, now is it?” Merlin threw back.

Arthur flinched back. To hell with this. He was tired. So darn tired of fighting Merlin.

“I’m doing this for you! All of it, it’s only ever been for you.”

Merlin’s eyebrows furrowed together, his lips parted—unbelieving, even now.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Merlin. What I did two years ago, everything I said, I never meant it. Not even a little bit.” He shoved away a lone tear that somehow escaped, needing to get through this without being a sobbing mess, even though all he wanted to do was get on his knees and beg and beg Merlin for forgiveness. For another chance.

Arthur hurried on, “I found out about your magic more than two weeks prior to that night. And it terrified me how you used it so openly. But, it was beautiful and I loved catching glimpses of you doing some small handy thing with it; you’ve never looked more alive than you do in those moments. I could never hate something that was a part of you.” 

Merlin was shaking his head. “No, no, I don’t understand-”

“When I confronted you about it, the plan was to figure it out together. That all went to hell when I learnt the extent of everything you’d done-”

“That was all for you. It was always for you!” Merlin interrupted, his voice rising.

“I know that. That was the problem.” He sighed. “I couldn’t believe the amount of times you risked your life for mine, and I never once caught on. You could’ve died fighting for me any day and I wouldn’t even know it.”

“I’m not very easy to kill,” Merlin interjected.

“That doesn’t mean it wasn’t terrifying,” Arthur argued. He took a deep breath. “I banished you because it was the only way I knew to protect you. I figured, if you hated me and if you were far away, you weren’t very well going to risk your neck for me.”

Merlin scowled. “You can’t be serious. You don’t get to make that decision for me!” He roared.

“I do, because it concerns me,” Arthur yelled back.

“You were my friend. If I had the power to save you from dying, of course I wasn’t going to sit around on my arse,” Merlin snapped.

“Even if it meant dying yourself.” It wasn’t even a question. He had more than enough proof of it.

Merlin nodded. “That’s my destiny.”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT FUCKING DESTINY. JUST YOU. YOU DIDN’T EVEN THINK ABOUT WHAT IT WOULD DO TO ME IF YOU WENT AND BLOODY DIED!” 

“IT DIDN’T MATTER AS LONG AS YOU WERE ALIVE,” Merlin screamed.

“You think I wanted to live in a world without you?” Arthur shook his head, blinking away more tears. “You call me selfish for what I did, but how are your actions any different?”

Merlin scowled. “Don’t turn this around on me-”

“I’m not. I understand now that it was wrong to exile you. Maybe we could’ve come up with a better way to get through it all, together, but in that moment, I knew only that I had to protect you and no matter what I thought of, no other method would guarantee your safety.”

“So you took me away from everyone I love," Merlin ground out. "You punished me for my loyalty. You didn’t save me from anything, Arthur; you just put us in hell for two years.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice hoarse. “I couldn’t bear to lose you. And I was going to change everything in Camelot and bring you back myself. I didn’t mean a word that came out of my mouth that day, I swear it. And I’ll continue pleading for your forgiveness every day, even though I don’t deserve it.” 

Merlin shook his head. “I can’t believe you. How could you do this? How could you hurt me like that, over and over again? Did you never care about me?”

“I did! I do,” he choked out. “I let my fear rule me, and I passed it off as hatred and I’m sorry—but I was so scared. And it hurt me to do it, but it’s all I knew–”

“It hurt YOU? Really, Arthur? ” Merlin shoved him back, eyes blazing.

Arthur stumbled a step but didn’t resist.

“Of course, it did–”

“How dare you?” Merlin yelled, outraged. “You had every opportunity to tell me the truth after I was back, BUT YOU DIDN’T. YOU DIDN’T CARE THAT I WAS SCARED OR HURTING AND NOW— NOW YOU HAVE THE NERVE TO STAND HERE AND TELL ME IT HURT YOU?”

Arthur was at a loss for words.

Merlin wasn’t. “I-Gods, Arthur. I cried in your arms that night in Thornwick. I—I begged you to tell me that you didn’t still hate me and you…you just watched. You looked me in the eyes, at my most vulnerable, and kept up your little ruse and for what? ”

“I thought I was doing the right thing.” He swiped at his face again. It was no use, really, his tears didn’t stop. He could feel himself losing everything with every second that passed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry won’t fix what you’ve done to us,” Merlin yelled, and he was crying too, but with more dignity than Arthur. He scrubbed his face. “ God, just get out, Arthur.”

His eyes widened and he drew closer to Merlin, grasping onto his shoulders, his shirt, hoping he could claw his way back into his heart. “No, no. Let’s just—we can talk about this. We can fix this, please. ” A low, anguished sound clawed its way up Arthur’s throat. 

Let me fix this. 

“There’s nothing left to talk about.” Merlin stepped out of his hold, and Arthur’s hands fell. “Leave me.”

“I love you. I have always loved you, ” he admitted, his heart thumping painfully in his chest.

Take me back, please. 

Merlin looked at him, eyes glassy and lashes clumped with tears. His face was pale and damp, expression caught somewhere between disbelief and devastation. 

He shook his head and said, carefully, “You wouldn’t know love if it hit you in the face.”

And he wants to protest and say that isn’t true; that he’s loved Merlin for as long as he’s known what it is to love, but Merlin is looking at him with nothing but fury and hatred.

So instead, he swallowed the ache and whispered, “At least try to understand the position I was in.”

But Arthur already knew he had lost.

“Haven’t you already hurt me enough? Just go, Arthur. I’m done talking about this.”

Arthur takes in the sight one last time—Merlin, once again, standing before him, reeling from the pain and shock of his words. 

Another horrible memory to stitch into the montage that plays in his nightmares.

This time, it’s Arthur who’s forced to turn around and walk away.

He had started this two years ago, when he had turned their relationship into shambles. And the whole time, he had been deluding himself into thinking it would all be okay when everything came to light.

He was a damn fool.

Notes:

Welp. So that happened!

The comments on the previous chapter were so sweet i got hella motivation to get this one done fast :) love you guys
next chapter title: But the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now

Editing this chap and i completely forgot i added a manacled reference in here🤣 an ode to my roots🫡

Chapter 36: The story of us looks alot like a tragedy now

Chapter 36: The story of us looks alot like a tragedy now

Arthur all but ran. 

His heartbeat thrummed violently in his chest, and there was a ringing in his head, but Arthur thought he could hear his heart breaking over it anyway.

He had laid his heart out for Merlin thinking, maybe— just maybe —Merlin could bring himself to forgive and forget. A fool’s hope, that’s what it was.

Arthur’s own words kept him up at night. Of course, they would have irreparably hurt Merlin.

How had he ever once thought their friendship was salvageable?

He tried to push his emotions down and wiped at his face furiously as his steps slowed and he approached his chambers, but when the door closed behind him, he collapsed against it, violent sobs racking his body.

He curled in on himself, burying his face in his knees to stifle the wretched sounds clawing their way out of his throat. 

There’s not a single wound on his body, but this—this has to be the worst pain he’s ever known.

Merlin’s eyes, filled with disbelief and anger, and disgust played in his mind on a constant loop and he didn't know how long he sat there, crying pathetically, as if this wasn't all his fault.

He knew he needed to get up—check on Morgana, find out how she handled Amata’s delegation, and smooth over any ruffled feathers if needed, but he simply couldn’t.

Arthur was a king.

But he was also just a man who loved too hard and made all the wrong choices.

So, he sat there and cried for all that he’d lost in his idiocy.

A while must have passed, and his tears had slowed to a stop, when a knock sounded on his door, and he knew Morgana had come to him instead.

“Arthur?” She called out.

He didn't answer, unable to find his voice to tell her to leave him alone—because he couldn't quite bring himself to push away the one person who’s still standing by his side—and her knocks grew more rapid.

“Arthur,” she said again, louder now, concern creeping into her voice.

When he still kept quiet, the handle turned. The door creaked as she started pushing against it, against him—his weight slumped on the other side.

A burst of magic gave her the upper hand, and the door cracked open enough to allow her to slip through.

She stood in front of him, lips pursed, brows drawn together.

Arthur didn’t have it in him to glare at the intrusion, and he would look fairly stupid doing so with his surely puffy, red face. He looked away, focusing on a distant spot on the floor.

“I lost him,” he murmured, weakly.

There was a sharp inhale from his sister, and then she dropped to floor beside him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

Arthur sat stiffly, barely accepting the embrace for a few moments before he broke and returned it. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, inhaling the faint smell of rosewater clinging to her dress. 

His shoulders trembled as the tears came, slow at first, then harder—guttural sobs that returned as if they hadn’t stopped at all. He was helpless to hold them back.

Morgana said nothing. She simply held him tighter, her hand cradling the back of his head as if they were children again and all the world’s cruelty could still be kept out with a hug.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” he rasped, his voice thick with tears.

“I tried,” she whispered.

“Why didn’t you try harder?” He sobbed, the words spilling out between gasps for breath. “Why didn’t anyone—anyone—just stop me?”

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

And Arthur cried harder because, for all his complaints, he knew it was still his fault. 

He should have told Merlin the truth as soon as he was back. Maybe he should have never even banished him in the first place. 

He pulled away after another minute and rubbed a hand over his face. 

Morgana sat quietly, watching him with tears welling in her own eyes.

“He hates me now. I told him everything—I even told him I love him.” He laughed, though he wasn’t sure what was funny. “And he hates me.”

Morgana shook her head. “Merlin could never hate you.”

“You didn’t see the look on his face.”

Morgana sighed and squeezed his hand. “Give him some space to work through it. You dropped everything on him at once—feelings, guilt, two years of silence. That’s a lot to carry in one conversation.”

“You’re awfully optimistic,” he said, weakly.

“Realistic,” she corrected.

Arthur sighed and decided to steal some of Morgana’s hope. Merlin would sleep on it, maybe take a few days—a week, even—and then they would talk and fix everything. They would be happy again. 

He held onto that dream with clenched fists. 

It was all he had left.

Notes:

The next several chapters are gonna be fairly short coz there's not much plot happening, just alotta thoughts and feelings and i need to keep ending a chap to switch povs sooo. Hopefully that means faster updates tho.

I know we all wanted merlin pov rn but chronologically this one had to come first 😭 And also coz of the parallels lol.

Chapter 37: Distance.

Chapter 37: Distance .

 

Nearly 3 full years from the day he first left Camelot and Merlin, again, stood in his little room in the physician’s chambers, packing a bag and wiping away hot tears as he tried not to look towards the bed for too long.

It was funny how everything came full circle like that, in an odd, mirrored way; It’s Arthur who did the revelations this time around, Arthur who walked out his door, and Merlin, who is leaving again—but this time, of his own volition.

Ha. Funny. That was one word for it.

Merlin finished stuffing his few shirts into the satchel and thought, distantly, that there was someone out there with a sick sense of humor for putting him through this all over again.

He’s trying not to think of everything Arthur had confessed just a few minutes ago—his love, his cruelty, his actions, and his reasons—but every word has lingered in the air and is resonating in his ears.

‘I’m doing this for you ! All of it, it’s only ever been for you.’

‘I’m sorry. I couldn’t bear to lose you.’ 

‘I thought I was doing the right thing.’

His anguished face. His tears. His confessions—all of them, oh so painfully ripping a hole in Merlin's chest.

‘I love you. I have always loved you.’

Merlin scoffed. 

No, that couldn’t be love.  

He entered the main room of his chambers and tore a piece of parchment from a larger scroll, and quickly jotted a note for anyone to find. Gwen or Morgana, probably. Or maybe, some poor injured squire. He didn’t particularly care. They’d manage without him, and Gaius wasn’t far if someone was really dying. 

Perhaps he ought to give a proper explanation to his friends. Something with a little more substance than: ‘Do not follow me’—with not underlined more times than was probably necessary.

He just knew he had to get out of here. Maybe he should have never even come back.

His thoughts lingered on Morgana for a moment. She had been the one to follow him to Oakmere the last time around. She had walked him all the way to the stables. Gifted him Onyx.

He was quite sure she knew all about Arthur’s scheming. It put a lot of her words and actions into perspective.

He shook his head free of the thoughts. His mind was currently too preoccupied with warring with his heart, in his feelings about Arthur and everything he had done, so he had no mental energy to truly contemplate her . 

Merlin simply knew he had to leave. 

He needed distance and time to process everything and have a good cry and stay as far away from Arthur as possible, lest he finally commit regicide.

So, Merlin gave one final appraising look to his tainted little sanctuary in the palace and then, swiftly, turned heel and walked out the door.

The moonlight peeked through the windows as he walked the halls of the castle. 

Was it his final time? 

He had thought that last time too, hadn’t he?

His footsteps echoed in the quiet of the sleeping castle, and fortunately, he ran into no one on the way to the stables.

He saddled up his horse and tried not to linger too long in the memories of standing in this very spot as he said goodbye to Morgana for what he’d thought was the final time.

The last time he’d left Camelot it had been dawn. The sun had been slowly peeking up over the horizon, casting a beautiful pink glow across the sky and guiding his way.

This time around, it was pitch black outside.

But that was okay. Merlin didn’t need the sun. He had Onyx and he had his magic. That was more than enough for the journey that lay ahead.

As he rode out through the castle gates, Merlin allowed himself one last glance over his shoulder—at the castle he had, against all odds, begun to call home again, and at the window his eyes automatically sought out.

Time to leave it all, again.

Merlin steeled his mind and continued on. Within a few hours, he was miles away from the suffocating walls of the castle.

 

Notes:

'there was someone out there with a sick sense of humor for putting him through this all over again.' - das me btw🤣

Next chapter: Timing.
If you can figure out which song im sticking to for the next x amount of chapters, you'll have a pretty fair idea of what to expect :D
The hard part is guessing which lyric i'll stop at😈

Chapter 38: Timing.

Chapter 38: Timing.

 

Arthur stood in the council chambers, regarding each of the lords with cold detachment. This was it. The moment that would decide everything. Had all his efforts been in vain, or had he managed to win enough of the men over?

Lord Soren, closest on his left, had been the first to sign it. Lord Cassian, beside him, had followed suit. The man next to him had passed it forward without a word, a scowl on his face. 

Now, the bill was resting in front of Lord Theodorus, who was taking his time reading over it.

Arthur’s fingers drummed on the table restlessly. He needed this. If the bill didn’t go through, he would almost certainly lose Merlin forever. He needed something to show for the years of silence. He needed proof that he wasn’t lying about everything he had confessed.

“What would you say is your strongest motivation for this?” Theodorus asked, finally looking up from the papers.

Merlin.

Morgana.

“The fact that almost every battle or attack Camelot has faced in the past decade has been a direct result of our unbending laws on magic.” He allowed his words to settle before continuing, “In doing this, we stand a chance at bringing about an era of peace with people that we are hopelessly defenseless against.”

Theodorus hummed, thoughtfully. “And if the freedom to practice magic only incites worse attacks—this time, with more of the aggressors armed with magic?”

“If magic is no longer outlawed, we will be able to have our own magical defenses against it. Ones that would stand a much better chance at protecting us,” Arthur explained—for the hundredth time. “Nemeth, for example, makes use of magic to fortify their citadel, and it has never failed them. I hope Camelot can soon be the same.”

Lord Brynden piped in, “Yes, even Cenred uses sorcerers—albeit barbarically—in his army.”

Arthur nodded. “And that little detail has kept many of the kingdoms—Camelot included—from waging war on Cenred despite all the underhanded aggression we face from him.”

“Hm. Quite so.”

Arthur watched with bated breath, and just as he thought Theodorus was about to pass it on without signing, the man lifted his quill.

Next were Lords Alaric and Rowan, both of whom signed. They were two of the first that he’d won over when this whole debate had started, and Arthur suspected they had people close to them who dabbled in magic.

They were followed by Lords Mallow and Halwayn. The latter remained a staunch supporter of Uther’s ideals, however, Mallow was a bit more progressive. 

Neither of them signed.

Arthur was quite sure they were still holding onto the grudge over the debacle with Bass, and the way it had swiped the rug out from under them—which reminded him that he really needed to get started on that investigation. Still, Arthur could not begin to regret his actions on that day. It was necessary to put his foot down, firstly to remind the council just who was in charge around here, and then also to get an equally important law passed.

And so it went on. Some did not sign, some looked at Arthur with contempt, others with resignation. 

When the papers landed in front of Arthur again, he held his breath and counted the signatures. He knew already, for he had been keeping count obsessively, but he had to be sure.

Eight votes. That was all he needed.

Arthur counted and recounted.

 

---

 

Outside the council chambers, Morgana stood, anxiously waiting for him. 

Arthur smiled upon seeing her, and held up the bill in his hands, complete with eight neat little signatures and his own seal gleaming red at the bottom.

Morgana gasped. “You did it,” she whispered almost reverently. 

“Only took two or three years,” he said, casually. 

Her eyes were watering, and she wasn’t smiling anymore, though. 

Arthur frowned, wondering what had upset her. Didn’t she understand this was it?

It was everything they had worked for, and probably the one thing that could make Merlin look at him without hatred in his eyes again. 

He hadn’t seen Merlin since yesterday—had decided to listen to Morgana and give him space to work through everything. But now, he would go to him. Apologise again. Show him the papers in his hand—the proof that he meant what he’d said. That he was trying.

That it wasn’t too late.

Arthur’s eyes flitted down to her clenched fists, the edge of a bit of parchment peeking through. He reached for it, but she was quick to move her hand behind her back.

He frowned. “What’s that?”

“Arthur, listen —”

A horrible sense of foreboding crept up on him. He grabbed her arm—too harsh, too panicked to care.

Morgana danced out of reach. “Don’t—you’ll do something foolish. Just…just be rational, please .”

“You’re creating a scene,” Arthur growled, eyeing the guards that were no doubt watching them, and the last few men leaving the council chambers, their steps slow, so as to keep their eyes and eyes on the siblings for as long as possible. 

Vultures .

Morgana followed his gaze. “Arthur—”

“Give it to me.”

She bit her lip and conceded, holding out a roughly torn piece of parchment. On it was Merlin’s familiar handwriting, though he was hardly surprised by that.

He accepted it with trembling hands and read the words on the paper, hastily scrawled with one word underlined enough times to nearly rip through the thin material. He read it again, and again.

Unseeing, he handed the bill to Morgana who was watching him warily. 

“Get this to Geoffery.”

Months of effort, of research, of hope—all of it wasted. 

Arthur’s head spun.

“He’ll come back—”

“Now,” he said, voice tight and leaving no room for arguments.

He didn’t wait to see if she complied.

Arthur made it back to his chambers in a haze, kicked the door shut behind him—and then once more, for good measure.

Like slamming it could somehow hold in the ache threatening to spill out of him. 

He paced the length of his chambers, running his hands through his hair, eyes flitting to the windows, but no—there would be no glimpses of Merlin leaving through the gates. He was probably long gone. 

His eyes landed on his desk, and there at the edge of it, sat two little tinctures. The ones that Merlin had come to deliver himself—had made with his own hands, seeking to heal Arthur’s weakness and the raw skin on his knuckles. 

Merlin had noticed and he had cared, and yet he was still gone. Because, at the end of the day, the hurt that Arthur had inflicted could not be overcome by the remaining shreds of love and loyalty left in Merlin’s heart.

And why should it?

Arthur grabbed the glass vial of the strengthening tonic and flung it across the room, the sound of the glass shattering music to his ears, but not loud enough to drown out his thoughts.

He grabbed the pot of bruise-cream and hurled that, too. 

Then, whatever else that came in his sight. 

In a blind rage, he tipped over his desk, watching with a bitter kind of satisfaction as all the items on it fell to the ground, followed by the resounding thud of the wood hitting stone. 

Still not enough.

He tore down the drapes around his bed, his breathing ragged. One of the bedposts splintered under his boot as he kicked it.

A candle crashed. A chair splintered. A stack of books went flying.

The mirror was next. His own reflection—red-eyed and wrecked—stared back at him. 

He couldn’t bear it.

Arthur roared. 

His fist collided with the mirror, and it instantly shattered on impact, cracks spiderwebbing across the surface before large fragments clattered onto the dresser.

He reached for one of the shards.

The jagged edges of it grazed his fingers, sending a jolt of pain lancing up his hand. He welcomed the sensation and curled his fingers around it, watching as beads of red welled in his palm and slowly dripped down.

It stung. But not nearly as much as the hollow ache in his chest.

Arthur uncurled his fingers, revealing several jagged cuts from the edges of the mirror still bleeding in his palm. 

His eyes fell to an older injury from a long time ago. This one sat at the juncture of his hand and wrist and had faded to a silvery white line, in time.

 

“What happened?” Merlin had said, striding into the chambers with quick, worried steps. “I was gone for two minutes!”

Arthur pressed a cloth to the cut that was profusely bleeding. “Nothing,” he grumbled. “Stop fussing like a girl , Merlin.”

Merlin ignored him and dropped to one knee beside Arthur’s chair, bending low to examine the damage.

He pried Arthur’s hand away from the cloth, taking hold of it with both of his own.

“Let me see,” he muttered and pressed onto the wound with gentler, more nimble fingers. 

Arthur sat there, pain almost entirely forgotten as he watched Merlin, brow furrowed in concentration, lips pressed together in that way he always did when he was trying not to fuss too much, and dark hair falling into his eyes.

Arthur’s hands itched to brush the strands away—to reveal the blue-gray eyes hidden underneath.

“Another few inches lower and you could have died, Arthur,” Merlin said, looking up for a brief second. 

“Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not. Ask Gaius,” Merlin said, snappily.

Arthur tried not to smile. Merlin always did get awfully snappish whenever Arthur was hurt.

Merlin dipped the cloth into a goblet of water that sat next to his untouched dinner on the table, and began cleaning up the excess blood now that the bleeding was under control.

“I’ll live, won’t I?” He joked.

“Unfortunately.” Merlin ripped away the bloodied part of the cloth and wrapped the remaining, clean bit around his wrist. “So, how did this happen?”

Arthur sighed, already sensing the oncoming teasing. “The knife might’ve slipped,” he muttered. “I tried to catch it.”

Merlin gaped. “Wow.”

“It’s not my fault! It just slipped,” Arthur insisted, face heating up.

“Oh yes, because the natural thing to do when a knife falls is obviously to snatch it mid-air,” Merlin deadpanned.

“Shut up, Merlin.”

“Future king of Camelot,” Merlin mocked, standing up. “You’ll kill yourself one of these days.” 

He slumped into one of the chairs with an exaggerated sigh, arms crossed as he tilted his head to look at Arthur.

“Will you miss me?” Arthur asked.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Merlin replied with a snort. 

He leaned forward on his elbows, pierced a sausage with his fork, and popped it into his mouth.

Arthur made a half-hearted grab for the plate. “Those are mine.”

Merlin tsked. “Don’t think you can be trusted around forks either, sire. What if you accidentally gouged your own eyes out?”

“Yes, thank you for that wonderful picture, Merlin.”

Merlin had laughed, his whole face lighting up, and soon Arthur had followed.

 

Arthur flinched, blinking hard as if he could drive the memory away. He could still hear that laugh—sharp and bright like sunlight breaking through fog. 

God, how he missed that laugh.

Arthur stood in the wreckage of his chambers, chest heaving, throat raw, hands bloodied.

He looked down at the blood, at the shard slick with it, and shame hit him like a wave.

There was nothing left to break, now. 

He had already destroyed everything. He didn’t deserve to end his misery along with it.

Arthur turned away from the mirror and took in the state of his room. A mess. It was a mess—he was a fucking mess .

Not Merlin’s corner, though, no. 

The hurricane that had passed through his room seemed to have missed the couch, the blanket draped across it, and the hearth before it.

Something about the picture brought tears to his eyes again.

Had Merlin left last night? Straight after his confession? Had he not even said goodbye to anyone?

He didn’t know—he didn’t know anything. 

Only that Merlin was, once again, gone—forever, this time—and that Arthur had, once again , missed him.

 

Arthur picked up a bottle and drank.

Notes:

Soo, dramatic crashouts are Not easy to write. I think I should've written this back when i was more depressy lmao. Rn im more in the mood to like write happy stuff (hence the totally unplanned flashback in this chapter).

On that note, I've posted another fic! it's less angsty than this one (so far) and it has most of the same dynamics as this, soo if u like this then check that out :D

Also, why is it that every time I say in the end notes that chapters are gonna come faster now, I end up taking more time than usual. i ALWAYS jinx myself bruh.

Chapter 39: Breakdown.

Summary:

Basically everyone has tried explaining Arthur's perspective to Merlin by now, but sometimes you just need your mum to say it lmao.

Notes:

i feel like my writing style in this chapter was a little more idk casual? chaotic? I was tryna put us in Merlin's head as much as possible so like thoughts that were all over the place and constantly jumping around and questioning everything. Would love feedback on how it came across coz i obviously know how the scene is supposed to sound so im able to read it that way only (for the most part). But yeah if anything here didn't make sense, lmk so i can fix it :)

Chapter 39: Breakdown.

The journey is mostly a smooth one. There are only a few hiccups, because it is Camelot, and so travelling anywhere for more than a few days means running into bandits is inevitable. 

They think Merlin—alone as he is—is easy prey. 

They are sorely mistaken, of course, for Merlin has more than enough magic and rage at his disposal that knocking out the bandits takes nothing more than a flick of his hand.

It takes a week to reach Ealdor—his first home, and also the first place to make him feel unwelcome. 

It’s plenty of time for him to think all his thoughts and cry all his tears, but at the same time, it is not nearly enough

Because when the door opens, revealing his mother’s weary face, Merlin crumples. The tears come down as if they never even stopped, and he falls into her arms, sobbing.

Hunith murmurs soothing words into his hair, concern evident in her voice. 

Merlin breaks away finally, still standing in the doorway, and the words claw their way up his throat before he can stop them.

“He told me he loves me,” he sobs.

Hunith stills, then cups his cheek. “Oh, my darling.”

She leads him inside and sits him down on a long wooden bench next to the fireplace and, once more, wraps her arms around him. He has needed his mother’s warm embrace for a long time now—gone too long without one and been through too much as well.

They sit there for a long time, Merlin’s tears coming steadily as he tries to explain, through choked sobs, everything that had happened in the past few months, and Hunith rubs his back soothingly.

He tells her just about everything, getting it all out in the open.

About seeing Arthur again that first night—his lack of anger, his neutrality.

Of all the times Arthur ended up in the infirmary and how painful it was to be so close to him and go through such familiar motions but without all the feeling .

The cruelty in Arthur’s words that he had whispered in the dead of the night at Thornwick, but also his staunch support of Merlin throughout his magic being revealed to all the knights.

His endless assistance during the plague and his evident concern when Merlin was recovering.

His disgust—no, jealousy?—when he’d assumed something was going on between Merlin and Morgana.

The tavern. How right it had felt. How Arthur didn’t seem to hate him even a little bit, all throughout that trip.

Their kiss. That damned kiss that had, again, felt so damn right, but he’d said it was a mistake and Arthur had agreed. They’d both agreed it meant nothing—were they both lying? 

Then there was everything that had gone down with Bass. He didn’t tell his mother that he was nearly raped, no. It would break her, and she would never stop worrying again. 

He did tell her all about how a nobleman had attacked him and that Arthur had been swift in executing justice. And how Arthur had looked so broken, seeing Merlin in that state. And his gentle hands as they tended to Merlin’s wounds. 

He told her about the repeal of the magic ban that Arthur had supposedly been working on all along. Hunith had gasped and squeezed his hand. 

Then he told her about Arthur’s confessions. His love and his lies and his cruelty throughout it all—because it was cruel to be loved all along and not know it.

“He lied, mum. He lied to me for two years—more than two years!” Merlin croaked. “How could he do that? How can that be love?”

Hunith was running a hand through his hair, fingers gentle as they unknotted the tangles in his overgrown locs. “I don’t know, Merlin,” she whispered. “You said he was trying to protect you, maybe he really was?”

Merlin shook his head and wiped at his damp face. “That’s not—it’s not fair. He doesn’t get to hurt me like that and then say he did it for me,” he exclaimed.

“It was wrong, I agree,” Hunith said, calmly. “But…Arthur has never really known how to love, has he? Not in the way he loves you—”

“He doesn’t love me,” Merlin interrupted, snappishly.

Hunith sighed. “He has no example, no one to tell him that loved ones should be cherished and kept close to one’s heart, not cast away for protection. He was acting purely based on his experience with other things, I’d say. And by that, I mean that he is a king. He’s used to making big decisions for others and, perhaps, he fell back on that and did the same in this instance.”

“I’m not just some subject of his,” Merlin ground out, bitterly.

“That’s what I’m saying,” she replied, gently. “You’re not. He knows that too. But he may not know how to hold you in any other way.”

“We were friends. He knew how to treat me like a friend. Why is this any different?”

“Did he? Did you not tell me once that he always wavered between treating you like his servant and his closest confidant?” She asked. 

Merlin huffed. 

She was probably right. 

But, “You were supposed to be on my side,” Merlin said, petulantly. 

“Believe me, I am.”

“You’re defending his actions,” he argued. 

“I am trying to explain them,” she retorted.

“Well—don’t,” Merlin snapped. “He still hurt me. He could’ve stopped when I went back, but months passed and he didn’t.”

“I know, love. I know he hurt you,” she said softly. “And I’m not saying he didn’t. I’m saying...maybe he thought he was doing the right thing by keeping you away from his father. Heaven knows I lived every day in fear, knowing you could be caught and executed any second.”

"And now he’s changing the law,” Merlin whispered. “He said he’s doing it for me.”

“You don’t believe him?”

Merlin shrugged and slumped his head onto his mother’s shoulder.  “I don’t understand why we couldn’t have done it together. Or why he had to lie. If he told me the truth and then sent me away, at least I wouldn’t have been miserable for two years.”

“But would you have gone?”

Merlin was quiet for a long moment. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, and Hunith didn’t push, just continued petting his hair.

“No,” Merlin confessed, finally. “I would never leave him.”

“I think that’s what scared him,” she said. “That if he gave you the choice, you wouldn’t take it. That you’d stay. And he didn’t know how to carry the weight of both the kingdom and the fear of losing you.”

“So he made the decision for me.”

Hunith hummed and squeezed his hand, softly. “You have every right to be angry and I’ll stand by you in it.” 

When Merlin didn’t say anything else and the silence stretched, she got up to get the kettle going, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His mother was seldom wrong, and Merlin hated it. 

Arthur had always been a peculiar brand of idiotic when he was trying to woo a woman. Love was…just not his forte. And as odd as it was to realise that Arthur supposedly loved him, it also was not.

Because, he could admit, they’d been headed in that direction for a long time now—before his banishment, that is. It was there in every lingering touch, in every soft conversation in the early mornings and late evenings, and in every time they each went above and beyond for the other. 

Arthur and Merlin had loved each other for a long time, and in the weeks leading up to his banishment, Merlin was quite sure that they were even getting ready to have it out in the open. 

And, maybe, that’s what hurts the most: the fact that they almost had it all, and they could have been happy for years now, and instead, Arthur had torn it all up in his selfishness. 

When Hunith returned with a warm cup of tea each, Merlin admitted, voice small, “I don’t know what to do now.”

She sat down beside him. “Rest. Heal. Think about how you feel. And when you're ready, you’ll know.”

 

---

 

Merlin lay in bed, wide awake, that night, thinking about Arthur. It was eerie how similar this past day had been to the day he had come to Ealdor, two years ago, having nowhere else to go. Then, too, he had tossed and turned all night long, replaying every moment in his friendship with Arthur, wondering how it all went wrong.

At the moment, Merlin’s thoughts were on what he’d found in Arthur’s drawer: Five bottles of headache tonic, two neckerchiefs—one from long ago, another from during the plague. 

He still didn't understand the point of the tonics.

But the neckerchiefs…that was easy enough. Keepsakes, he realised now. At the time, he’d refused to believe that could be the case—why would Arthur want mementos of a friendship he didn’t give a damn about?

But, apparently, he did give a damn. He had held onto whatever pieces of Merlin he could find, after banishing the man himself. 

It was a heartbreaking realisation, and one that put more weight into Arthur’s confessions. 

Merlin barely slept a wink that night, and the next several weeks were spent labouring away doing mundane chores while turning over every conversation, every look and every touch, with the knowledge that much of Arthur’s actions were a facade.

He found that it wasn’t quite as difficult to see them in a new light as he’d first thought. 

 

On his third day in Ealdor, Merlin was milking a cow when his mind drifted off, back to Camelot, to the first time Arthur had landed himself in the infirmary for something other than the stupid, feigned headaches. 

Merlin had done magic in front of Arthur for—the first time?

‘Not as much a fan of magic as you’ve led Morgana to believe? Does it disgust you?’

Arthur had responded, ‘No. I just said it’s because the door is open.’

He’d practically admitted it, hadn’t he? 

Had he?

He was worried. Yes, that was for sure. 

He was worried somebody would see Merlin doing magic…because he didn’t want to have to punish Merlin?

 

Merlin was chopping firewood, on his fifth day, when his mind wandered off to Thornwick, when the bandit had him in his grasp with a knife to his throat. 

Arthur had stood there, sword brandished, and said, ‘ Mer lin, you can take him, come on.'

It had been down to life and death for Merlin, and Arthur had prioritised his safety over the potential lashback from his magic being revealed.

Then, there were Arthur’s desperate eyes and his panicked voice, as he promised that he’d handle the fallout.

And that same night, when Merlin had woken from a gruesome nightmare, in a fit of panic, Arthur had comforted him. Had whispered soothing reassurances and wrapped an arm around him—just the one, as if trying to maintain distance even as he held him.

He’d sworn that Merlin wouldn’t be banished again.

Then, Merlin had asked him about them and Arthur had danced around having to say anything sour for so long, until finally he had admitted that they were nothing—nothing but a delusion.

A lie. 

Lies—they just kept piling up.

 

On his seventh day, Merlin was chopping firewood when his thoughts strayed again—this time to a late night in the library, back at Camelot. 

He had walked in and been surprised to see Arthur there, but had stayed anyway, not one to cower.

Arthur had been tapping his foot or drumming his fingers—something incessant like that, he couldn’t quite remember. 

He did remember, and now, recognise, the smile in Arthur’s voice when he’d said ‘You can’t do that. It’s treason,’ in response to Merlin using his magic to whack the king’s head.

Not long after that, Morgana had told him that he had said King’s express permission to use his magic without fear as long as he was in his chambers. 

At the time, he had raged about Arthur thinking he could control Merlin like that. Why hadn’t he questioned it? Why had he not wondered about how odd it was for the man to grant such permission when magic was the very reason he was banished in the first place?

 

On his tenth day, Merlin was feeding their goat Daisy, when he recalled the hell that was the plague. 

People were dying faster than graves could be dug, and he had been overworked to the bone, making trips between the citadel and the lower town all day long. Then, when all the patients were relocated to the castle, it had been all too easy for him to skip sleep in favour of attending to them throughout the night.

And Arthur had taken notice of his exhaustion.

And he had cared— dragged Merlin out of the hall and sent him off to sleep, promising to take over the night shift. He’d stuck true to his word every night since, for the next several days.

Then, there was his conversation with Gwaine, who, against all odds, believed that Arthur did still care about Merlin. And he’d been right, perhaps.

‘But you weren’t there in those two years when the princess was without you. He was completely out of it. He closed off from everyone, and when he wasn’t ignoring us all, he was biting our heads off...He was—half a man without you.’

Merlin had brushed it off, of course. ‘So he developed trust issues.’

‘No, he was sad .'

Did that mean their years apart had chipped away at Arthur, like they had Merlin? 

Why didn’t he put an end to it, then, if it was so bad? 

How could he possibly value Merlin’s ‘safety’ so much when it was destroying both their lives?

 

On his thirteenth day, Merlin recalled Arthur’s quiet concern and his incessant hovering as Merlin recovered. He spent all day turning over the hazy memories from that time, in between weeding and digging in their small kitchen garden.

Flashes of seeing Arthur sitting in the corner on a too-small wooden chair, nearly every time he had woken.

Arthur’s hand on his forehead, checking for a fever.

Arthur bringing food for him. Making him eat a sufficient amount.

Arthur’s gratitude for Merlin’s sacrifice— despite the sacrifice…? Was that why he was unhappy? Because Merlin had put the kingdom above himself, once again?

 

He thought about their stay at the tavern every single night. 

He thought about the kiss even more than that.

And yes, Arthur’s words from the day of Merlin’s banishment flitted around his head fairly often, as well. 

And yes, he was still enraged at the king for his selfish decisions and his prolonged cruelty—because yes, it was still cruelty to keep his distance and keep up the lies even after Merlin was back—quiet gestures of affection be damned.

But by his fourteenth day in Ealdor, Merlin missed Camelot so terribly that he packed his bags the same night.

“You’re sure about this?” Hunith asked as she wrapped a warm loaf of bread in cloth for him to take on the journey.

Merlin stood in the kitchen, leaning his weight on the chipped, wooden countertop, a packed satchel sitting beside him.

He nodded and said firmly, “I am. I can’t just…run away from all my problems. And I refuse to let Arthur rip me away from my home again.”

Hunith handed the bread to him, along with more than enough dried meat to last him a week.  “And what’ll you say to him?”

Merlin shrugged and looked away. 

“One day, I’ll forgive him. I’ll let us move on from all this and be happy,” he said, quietly. “Right now—I just need a little more time, I guess.”

“But not distance,” Hunith, smartly, concluded.

“No. Not distance,” he agreed.

How could he tell his mother—the same woman who had almost certainly heard her son cry himself to sleep those first few nights—that his very bones ached to be back with the man, despite his fury?

She would look at him with sadness and understanding and offer sage advice, but Merlin simply could not voice those words out loud.

So he hugged her goodbye and started the long ride back home.

 

Notes:

This took ages coz im a lazy shit and this chapter was very daunting to write because i had to go thru a ton of previous ones and find the perfect moments for merlin to ponder over. It was alotta work lmao. AND its annoying coz i was holding off on reading until the whole thing is done. Sucks coz now ive spoilt it for myself.
Also like this was a very important chapter to the future reconcilation and i was worrying about doing it Right yk? Idk not totally happy with it but we move.

Andd im still in my i-wanna-write-fluff phase soo that held me back too. But that at least led to updating the other fic (which is in glorious happy times atm :D ) anddd writing the epilogue for this!! The proposal is so cute yall im dying to get there.

As a reward for waiting this long for a chapter, i present to you a teaser--from the epilogue!

Arthur took a deep breath. “The ring.” He held up his hand and pointed to the one on his own finger. “Ring. Did. You. Eat. It?”
Another burp--much louder, this time.
“You!”

Chapter 40: Fighting.

Summary:

“You thought you could push me away to some other corner of the kingdom—out of sight, out of fucking mind, right?”

Notes:

Arthur's brown coat from the first mordred episode was so slutty, ofc i had to include it before the story ended lmao.

Chapter 40: Fighting

 

Arthur was having, quite possibly, the most miserable month of his life.

It was a little pathetic, really. If he had any memory at all of the first few months after Merlin’s banishment, he may have been able to say that it was worse at that time. He doesn’t, though, because he was blackout drunk for most of it. And he would be, this time around too, if it weren’t for the crown on his head and all the responsibility that came with it.

Arthur could no longer afford to be the careless prince, drinking his days away, as much as he wished he could.

So, this time around was probably—definitely—worse. 

He went through each day, each motion with a hollow sort of numbness that came not from the few sips of ale that he allowed himself in a day, but rather just his own exhausted heart. 

When Merlin had left the first time, it had broken something inside Arthur—but not irreparably, because there was still hope to cling onto. 

There wasn’t any of that now.

Morgana was insistent that Merlin would return, and Gaius had said the same after Arthur had filled the old physician—currently reinstated—in on, well, all his lies. That had been, quite easily, one of the most difficult conversations of his life, but it had to be had. Probably should’ve had it a long time ago, but well.

Arthur fixed up his hair and pulled on a long brown overcoat. He had filled out too much, a few years ago, for it to fit comfortably, so it had been relegated to the back of his wardrobe. Now, it hung looser around his frame—more than it ever had.

He caught his reflection in the mirror. The coat made him look younger somehow, or maybe just more like the man he used to be—before the crown, and before he'd banished Merlin.

Each day was the same, and each day was horrible, but he did his best to trudge through it. With the magic ban only recently having been repealed, there was a lot of work to be done in securing ties with the druids and calming the fears of the people. The work was too important for him to spend his days wasted.

He poured out a few fingers of gin and downed it one go. Not too much, for he’d already had a bit right before the council meeting—god knows he needed that—but just enough to leave him on the edge of tipsy. 

It was the only way he could make it through the day without drowning in self-loathing.

He shoved the crown onto his head and left the room. Petitions waited, whether he was ready or not.

It was day 31 of Merlin’s absence from the castle. 

Arthur wasn’t sure how much longer he could give the man without going entirely mad. He’d give in, eventually, and hunt him down to beg forgiveness. But for now, he was doing his best to respect Merlin’s wish to be left alone. 

Something told him if he showed up at his doorstep after specifically being told to stay away, Merlin wouldn't be very happy—and that was the last thing he needed at the moment.

So, with squared shoulders and an expression that warned anyone with a shred of self-preservation to steer clear—an expression he’d honed to perfection—Arthur stalked through the castle halls toward the throne room.

It worked for the most part. Maids gave him a wide berth and pages turned in the other direction when they saw him coming. Apparently, he had a little more honing to do, though, because Lord Eldritch fell into step beside him when he was still a few corridors from his destination.

And thus began another god-forsaken conversation about how Lord Mallow’s sheep kept trespassing onto Eldritch’s land to graze. Arthur didn’t understand why the man couldn’t build a damn fence and leave him out of it. 

Still, he nodded along, providing input at the appropriate moments. His mind was miles away, though, pondering over the druid delegation that was set to arrive in a week’s time—not the first one, there had been several in the past month, but it was probably the most important one so far.

Opening up communication with them had been surprisingly easy. Arthur had no doubt he had Merlin and Morgana's close ties to the Druids to thank for that. They were receptive of the change he was trying to bring about, although it kept grating on his nerves when they would start every meeting with questions of Emrys’ whereabouts. 

If only Arthur knew.

Word, it seemed, had not yet spread to the magical community about how monumentally Arthur had gone and fucked things up with the man they were asking about.

They rounded a sharp corner—Eldritch still droning on about land expansion—when Arthur collided straight into a solid body.

There was a low, startled, “Oomph,” and Arthur’s hands shot out on instinct, steadying the man before him.

He didn’t have to catch sight of the raven hair or ivory skin to know who it was. He could probably recognise his voice in his sleep.

“Merlin!” Arthur murmured, awed.

Merlin blinked up at him, wide-eyed, breath caught in his throat. He had a bag slung over one shoulder, and Arthur’s heart thudded painfully in his chest, wondering if Merlin was moving back. For a moment, they just stared—two ghosts colliding in the corridor, neither quite prepared for the other.

“You—” Arthur started, then stopped. There were too many things to say, and none that would come out right.

Merlin beat him to it.

“Don’t touch me,” he snapped, eyes narrowed as he shoved Arthur’s hands off of him—where they had apparently stayed on Merlin’s arms after steadying him.

Arthur stepped back in an instant, hands half-raised in surrender, ignoring the hurt that the words sent straight through his chest like a blade.

“Are you going to let him talk to you like that, sire?” Eldritch asked, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Twin glares bore into the man, as Merlin and Arthur both snapped in unison, “Stay out of it.”

Merlin sent one last piercing look his way before shouldering past them, like they were strangers. “Buggering, meddling assholes,” he muttered as he walked away.

Arthur blinked.

Had that just happened?

 

---

 

Arthur lasted two hours.

It probably would have been significantly less if the petitions hadn’t dragged on for so long. 

He knew he probably shouldn't, especially not when Merlin, clearly, still seemed angry, but his logic was that they needed to hash things out if he ever hoped to see Merlin’s mood improve.

Besides, Merlin was back. 

That had to mean something, surely?

So, there he stood in front of the physician’s door, praying to whatever god existed that he would get through this conversation without putting his foot in his mouth.

He could just make out the sounds of a quiet conversation within the chambers—Gaius, probably, if he was hearing right.

Arthur took a deep breath and knocked. 

The chatter died out, and Merlin’s response came almost immediately, “Go away, Arthur.”

Arthur sighed and stepped inside anyway. 

Gaius was seated on a wooden chair, watching Arthur curiously. Merlin was leaning on one of the tables, scowling.

Arthur didn’t even have to look at Gaius expectantly before the man heaved himself up.

“I’ll let you two talk,” he said, quietly, patting Merlin’s back as he passed. 

Merlin’s scowl only deepened at the betrayal.

Gaius said nothing else, didn’t even spare another glance for him, before closing the door behind himself. 

The silence that followed was thick and tense. Merlin didn’t move from his spot by the table. Arthur didn’t come any closer.

Neither of them looked away from the other. 

Merlin’s hair had gotten a much needed trim—although, Arthur could admit he quite liked the way the curls fell around his face when hair was longer; his eyes were the same beautiful blue, but beneath them lay dark eye bags that spoke of restless nights; there was a neckerchief around Merlin’s neck—a new one in a lovely, dark green shade—and Arthur had the ridiculous urge to steal it to add to his own collection of Merlin’s Neckerchiefs. 

Arthur didn’t even want to imagine what Merlin saw. He’d certainly had better days.

The silence stretched on and on, until Arthur felt so uncomfortable under it that he thought he might crawl out of his own skin.

He shifted where he stood, cleared his throat, and said, “I’m glad you came back.”

Merlin looked away and crossed his arms. “Didn’t come back for you.”

“I know.” He’d guessed. “I’m sorry, Merlin. I’m sorry for hurting you for so long.”

Merlin didn’t reply, eyes still focused on a faraway spot on the floor.

Arthur drew a few steps closer and tried, “We have to talk, Merlin.”

Merlin looked up then, eyes blazing with anger. “I don’t have to do anything. Not unless you’re ordering me to talk to you the same way you ordered me to leave my home,” he half-yelled.

Arthur groaned, frustrated. “No—I’m not. Look, I get it. You’re angry at me, but—”

“But what?” Merlin cried in disbelief. “Do you want me to forget the hurt you inflicted, as if it never happened? Do you think it’s that easy?”

“No, no. That’s not what I was meant—”

“Really? Because it feels to me like that’s exactly how you thought this would all play out,” Merlin spat, prowling closer. “You thought you could push me away to some other corner of the kingdom—out of sight, out of fucking mind, right?”

Arthur opened his mouth to interrupt, but Merlin wasn’t hearing it.

“And then you thought, once you came clear about your idiotic plan, I would forgive you in a heartbeat because I’m stupid, little Merlin—and how could I stay mad at you for long,” Merlin continued, fists clenched at his side.

Arthur wondered if it was his imagination that he could feel magic in the air. 

The windows started to rattle and Arthur realised it was not his imagination, and it was not the sunlight playing tricks on his eyes, making Merlin’s appear amber-hued.

Merlin was truly yelling now, only inches from his face. He heard the crash of something falling, and the air was practically vibrating with untamed magic.

“But I spent two years living completely alone in some pathetic little town, so far away from everyone I loved. And that was all your fault," he seethed. “I spent even longer than that thinking the one person I had dedicated my entire life to despised me. That you were disgusted by me. Do you remember that? Do you remember saying that the night I left?” Merlin questioned, voice raw with betrayal.

Arthur nodded, looking down. “I didn’t mean it—I’m sorry,” he pleaded, guilt flashing across his features. He wished he could turn back time.

“I DIDN’T KNOW THAT, ARTHUR!” Merlin shouted, his voice cracking. A lone tear escaped his eyes and Merlin made no move to wipe it away. “You looked me in the eye, and you let me walk away thinking—knowing—that I wasn’t wanted.”

“I had to keep you safe!”

“You could’ve talked to me!” Merlin exclaimed. “You took away my right to decide things about my own life. You,” he shoved at Arthur’s chest, “moved me like a pawn across your fucking board.”

Arthur swallowed. They were only inches apart—when had that happened? 

“I was scared, Merlin,” he admitted, quietly, barely able to hold the man’s gaze.

“So was I, when I was telling you the truth that night. But at least I was willing to face the fallout. With you.” Merlin stepped back, chest heaving, voice low as he continued, “I thought I would always have you—that you would be angry about the secrets for a while, but never that you’d hurt me over it. And you—you looked at everything we were, everything we could be, and decided it wasn’t worth the risk.”

“The risk you’re talking about so carelessly, was you on a pyre,” Arthur snapped, momentarily letting his anger get the best of him. “So, no. I couldn’t bring myself to be selfish enough to keep you close—as much as I wanted to, believe me—because your life is worth more to me than anything.”

It was quiet for a few moments. Merlin’s magic had settled and he was looking at Arthur with a sad look in his eyes. 

Finally, he whispered, “You don’t get to decide what my life is worth.”

Arthur sighed. “I know that. I was—” he paused, searching for the right words. “I was thinking long term. Making you leave, it would destroy us both for a while, but then I planned for you to come back to a better kingdom. We could be happy then.”

What a foolish dream he’d cooked up.

Merlin didn’t reply for so long that Arthur feared he simply wouldn’t. His eyes flickered, his expression shifting like storm clouds—too many thoughts, none of them spoken, and all of them battling for control.

When Merlin did open his mouth to say something, the words never made it past his throat, for the door to the infirmary crashed open at the same moment, and whatever hold Arthur had on his attention vanished entirely.

Merlin brushed past him, voice frantic with worry as he said, “Lancelot! What happened?”

“Merlin!” Twin voices exclaimed in surprise.

Arthur whipped around to see what the commotion was about.

Percival had Lancelot’s pale figure leaning on his side for support. Both of them looked worse for wear, though it was Lancelot who sported a gruesome looking injury on one shoulder, enough of his shirt having ripped off to put it on display.

Arthur quickly crossed the room to them, helping Percival set their friend down on one of the cots while Merlin washed his hands.

“We were on patrol when a group of men attacked us, not far from the citadel,” Percival explained, as he too slumped down onto the cot beside Lancelot.

“Bandits?” Arthur questioned.

Lancelot, who was barely conscious, shook his head, groggily. “No, no. They weren’t after our gold. They just wanted to kill.”

Merlin came over and crouched beside him, getting started on cleaning up the wound. As some of the blood was washed away, Arthur could see just how deep the blade had went. 

Arthur frowned and looked away. “How many of them were there?” 

“Around a dozen. We were outnumbered three to one and had to retreat, eventually. I recognised two of the men from the last attack, Sire,” Percival said, wearily. 

“There was another attack?” Merlin asked, looking over his shoulder.

Arthur nodded, putting the past conversation completely out of his mind. “Three so far. All in the woods, targeted at the knights, rather than the towns.”

“And they sound foreign. I don’t recognise the manner of speaking from anywhere in Camelot,” Lancelot added, wincing as Merlin started stitching.

Merlin’s hand paused for a second, and then replied, “I came across a group like that on my way back. Near the border, a couple of days ago. There were about a dozen of them and...they seemed to know who I was.”

“Court physician?”

Merlin shook his head. “Emrys.”

Fuck.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair and thought back to when he’d run into Merlin right when he’d reached the castle. He had looked fine. Tired, perhaps, but not injured.

“You got out unscathed?” He asked anyway, making sure.

“Yes, and I killed all of them,” Merlin said, casually, but not cockily.

Percival whistled.

Arthur didn’t have the mental energy to be impressed at the moment. There were more pressing matters at hand, like the fact that what he’d originally thought was a ragtag group of rebels, had more than enough numbers to attack Camelot four times in a month and win almost every time.

“Leon was headed to the throne room to talk to you, by the way,” Percival said.

Arthur nodded and made his leave, only sparing one last glance at Merlin. 

Merlin met his eyes, and Arthur was surprised to find the lack of heat in them.

Just when he’d thought they were getting somewhere, bloody kingly duties got in the way.

He stormed through the castle, wishing he could stop by his chambers for a drink before meeting with Leon. Something told him he’d be needing it. Alas, the two rooms were on opposite ends of the castle and Leon was, no doubt, tired from the journey and the fight. Best to talk to him quickly and then let him get some rest.

Leon stood near a window in the throne room, talking to Morgana in hushed tones. She looked worried and was chewing through her bottom lip, eyes cast on the courtyard visible through the glass.

It was Leon who noticed him first, when he was only a few steps away. 

“Sire.”

Arthur nodded in acknowledgment and stopped beside them.

Morgana turned at Leon’s voice, eyes snapping to Arthur. Her worry didn’t ease—if anything, it deepened.

Picking up on his mood immediately, she asked, “What’s wrong?” 

Arthur waved a hand, dismissing the question. “Later. Are you alright?” He directed at Leon.

Leon exchanged a glance with Morgana before replying, “We all mostly got out unscathed, but that was because we had to retreat. It was the same men as before, Arthur.”

Arthur’s lips tightened. “Percival and Lancelot said that too. Merlin is back and—”

“What?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and continued, “—He said he ran into the same men near the border. They recognised him as Emrys and were hostile towards him.”

“He got out okay?” Morgana asked.

Arthur nodded. “More than okay. They’re all dead.”

“If they’re attacking him, it stands to reason that their motivations are borne from the repeal,” Leon said thoughtfully. “Merlin will be a target now, more than ever before.”

Arthur grimaced. “And this is exactly why I wanted him to stay away until things had settled.”

“Merlin handled himself just fine, brother. If anything, he’ll be useful in the fight against these barbarians.”

“Do we know where they camp? Or even where they came from?” Arthur asked.

“No. I don’t think they’re from Camelot, though. Their fighting style and manner of speaking is much too different.”

“So, it’s not rebellion then?” Morgana asked.

“Thankfully, no. I’d wager it’s just one of our enemy kingdoms trying to sow dissent at a time like this,” Arthur replied. “Post guards at Merlin’s door and increase patrols but don't send any of the new recruits. We’ll ride out with our best men tomorrow to draw them out and finish this.”

Leon gave a sharp nod and excused himself. Morgana squeezed his hand gently, a warm look in her eyes as she watched him go.

When the doors closed behind him, her eyes cut to Arthur instead, who resolutely ignored her in favour of watching the hustle and bustle of the citadel, dwindling down for the night.

“Will you take Merlin with you?” She questioned, softly.

“Why would I do that?” Arthur asked, not looking away.

“Maybe because he took down a whole gang of these guys on his own? Or because he’ll be mad that you’re planning a trap without including him?”

“He’s the court physician. Of course, I’m not going to include him in an attack,” Arthur snapped, barely keeping his irritation with the world in check.

He saw Morgana shrug, out of the corner of his eye. “If you think he’ll accept an excuse like that, go for it,” she said, simply.

Arthur looked up and glared at her. “Whose side are you even on?”

“There are no sides, Arthur. There’s just you being an idiot and not learning from your mistakes," she griped. "Stop punishing him for your fear. You already lost him once.”

“I’m not punishing him. I’m protecting him.” But even as the words fell out of his mouth, he knew they weren’t quite right.

“When will you understand that’s not what he wants?” Morgana asked, clearly frustrated, if the sharp edge in her voice was anything to go by.

Arthur’s voice was cold with fury when he said, “Oh, and you’re such an expert on all things Merlin, are you?”

She scoffed. “Clearly, I know him better than you.” Morgana’s voice softened, just slightly and she continued, “You’re not going to get him back by standing still and being kingly. You’ll get him back when you remember how to be his friend. ”

“As always, thank you for the fantastic advice that I didn’t fucking ask for,” Arthur sneered. “But I think I can handle my own damn relationships.”

“Oh, can you?” She mocked, eyebrows raised. “Because with that attitude, I don’t see you getting very far.”

The words hung heavy in the air between them and Arthur bit back whatever retort was about to come out of his mouth, using the last bit of his self-control.

He turned and stormed out, and she let him go.

This was how things had been for a month now, because for all his love for his sister, he couldn’t stand to hear her advice or false reassurances any longer. It was all pointless.

When his mind was clear of the ever-present fog, he would feel guilty for running her off. But those moments were few and far in between, which was good, really, because any more guilt and Arthur’s cup might just overflow.

He could recognise, at least, that she made a good point right now. Including Merlin in tomorrow’s plans might help mend their relationship. He would talk to him tomorrow, then. No doubt, he would be catching up with Lancelot right now, and if past experience was anything to go by, despite the nature of this conversation, they would more than likely end up fighting again.

Arthur sighed and pushed open the door to his room. He kicked off his boots and made a beeline for the hastily corked bottle of gin on his desk. 

It had been a long day, and he didn’t have anything else on his agenda for the rest of the night. It couldn’t hurt to indulge just a little, right?

With that thought in mind, Arthur skipped the goblet and put the bottle straight to his lips, taking a large swig.

The gin burned going down—sharp, and merciless. He welcomed it. It was something to feel. Something to hold onto in the silence of the room. Something that didn’t look like Merlin's eyes looking at him with hatred and betrayal.

He walked over to the window and leaned against the frame, the cool glass pressing against his temple.

There were knights sprinkled around the courtyard, ladies of court enjoying an evening stroll, stable hands leading horses back into the stalls, servants darting about with piles of linen in hand, and a few children darting between stone pillars with wooden swords in hand, laughing as they played at war. 

It was a peaceful picture, and one that Arthur hoped would always remain that way. 

Then, he caught sight of something that made his blood run cold. 

There, just by the stables, was Merlin, chatting with a stable boy, one hand running through Onyx’s mane. His fears were confirmed when Merlin bade the boy farewell and led the horse towards the gates.

Arthur cursed and ran. 

Leave it to Merlin to beat him to dealing with the threat.

 

Notes:

Idk what happened to the version of me that could write whole chapters in a day but i miss her damn.

Next chapter: Silence. (but dw they still talk and shi)
And there's a ball coming up very soon! Or like sorta a ball. Big celebration type thing :D im so excited!!!

Chapter 41: Silence.

Summary:

But all roads led back to this—to Arthur, to the two of them, tangled in something neither time nor distance nor feigned cruelty had managed to destroy entirely. 

Notes:

Arthur is like half drunk (ish) throughout this fyi. Merlin doesn't pick up on it but it's there in Arthur's words and actions lol. Just putting the reminder here in case yall forgot how the previous chapter ended (i know i would).

Chapter 41: Silence

Merlin had only just entered the forest bordering the citadel when he felt his hair stand on end. He was being followed.

He gripped the reins of his horse tighter, eyes darting around warily but trying to stay subtle about it. Magic danced up to his fingertips, itching to protect him.

A branch snapped behind him, and Merlin yanked his horse to a stop.

He turned sharply in the saddle. “You might as well come out,” he called out, voice steady. “I know you’re there.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then, a familiar horse stepped out from behind one of the thicker trees and he let out a breath of relief.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Merlin muttered.

Arthur nudged his horse closer, having the nerve to smile as he said, brightly, “So where are we headed?”

“We are not going anywhere, because you’re turning around right now,” Merlin said, as calmly as he was able to.

Arthur snorted. “No, I am definitely not doing that.”

“Yes, you are.”

Arthur shrugged. “Can’t stop me from following you. Might as well include me in your plan—you do have a plan, right?”

“I have a plan that only requires me,” Merlin snapped.

Arthur cocked his head. “That’s a little hypocritical of you, don’t you think?”

“Excuse me?” Merlin asked in disbelief.

“Yeah, I mean, I’m no saint—that much you’ve made clear—but I do remember that your problem with me was that I made decisions for you. Here you are doing the same.”

“This isn’t the same as what you did,” Merlin ground out.

“You’re not that much of an idiot, Merlin,” Arthur said, pointedly.

And alright, fine.   The logic followed.

“You’ll just be a hindrance,” Merlin argued, frustrated.

Arthur smiled again, bright as the sun. “Then a hindrance I shall be.”

“I’ve handled these guys—on my own—before. I can do so again. I really don’t need your help.”

Arthur sighed. “I’m not letting you go alone, Merlin. Now, we’re losing light, so if you’re done complaining, let’s get a move on.”

“I can take one of the knights instead,” Merlin bargained, realising that Arthur was here out of genuine concern—how stupid was that?

He wasn’t here to annoy Merlin or keep an eye on him or start an argument.

He really did just want to protect him.

Maybe.

Or maybe Merlin was just falling for Arthur’s tricks. Who knew?

“We can take one of the knights too , if that is what you want,” Arthur replied, evenly.

“You’re impossible,” Merlin muttered, under his breath, spurring his horse forward.

Arthur followed behind him for a while, until the path widened enough for them to ride side by side, and if Merlin tried hard enough, he could almost pretend it was just like old times. Arthur was even wearing that old coat of his that Merlin hadn’t seen on him since his first year in Camelot—so, nearly thirteen years ago. 

That was a jarring realisation. Had they really known each other that long?

Sometimes it felt like longer. Other times, it felt like it wasn’t nearly long enough.

Granted, two of those years were spent separated, and more than half of one was spent trying to hate each other.

But all roads led back to this—to Arthur, to the two of them, tangled in something neither time nor distance nor feigned cruelty had managed to destroy entirely. 

But it had been a near thing, hadn’t it?

Merlin chanced another glance at Arthur. His hair was unkempt and far longer than he’d ever let it get in the past—it looked quite nice, though, Merlin admitted; he had circles under his eyes that were a truly terrifying shade of blue-gray, accentuated further by the bags beneath them; and he looked awfully tired.

Merlin wondered if he’d been sleeping, if he had been eating well, if anyone had noticed that the answer to those questions was probably a firm no. 

Surely, Morgana was looking out for him?

Merlin looked back to the road, fingers twitching on the reins. He wasn’t ready to forgive Arthur, yet—not entirely—but he also wasn’t ready to lose him again. 

Arthur’s words from earlier floated back to the forefront of his mind. 

‘I was scared, Merlin,’ he had confessed. 

Merlin wished he had said, literally, anything else—that it was a mistake, maybe, or that he hadn’t thought it through fully, or that he simply didn’t care. 

But scared? That was human. It was honest and it was painful.

How many times had Merlin allowed his own fear to cloud his judgement? Too many to keep track of, over the years.

Merlin whispered, “Leoht,” and a ball of light appeared in the air in front of him. The sun had set about an hour into the ride, and it had finally gotten too difficult to see ahead. 

If Arthur was surprised by the sudden use of magic, he didn’t show it, instead keeping his eyes curiously on the little sphere.

Merlin's eyes fell back on Arthur, and he realised what was off with the picture.

"Arthur," he said, voice tight, as he finally broke the silence.

Arthur jolted in shock and turned to face him with wide eyes. The light from Merlin’s spell danced across his features, casting flickering shadows that made him look younger, and somehow more tired at the same time.

“You’re not wearing any armour,” he continued.

“I—what?” 

“Your armour,” Merlin repeated, gesturing vaguely at his chest. “Where is it?”

Arthur blinked, then looked down at himself like he was only just noticing. “Back in my chambers, I suppose.”

“Hilarious,” Merlin deadpanned. “You rode out to fight a group of trained mercenaries and didn’t think to put it on?”

Arthur shrugged. “I was in a rush. Grabbed my sword, though,” he said, proudly, patting the hilt.

Merlin gave him a flat look. “Oh, well, thank the gods. As long as your sword is here, what could possibly go wrong?”

Arthur smirked. “Well, you’re here too. That has to count for something.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, even as his cheeks warmed slightly. “Flattery won’t save you from getting skewered out here.”

Arthur let out a short laugh. “I wasn’t flattering you. That was a tactical assessment.”

Merlin huffed and tried to remember all the reasons he was pissed at Arthur. 

“So…what’s the plan, then?” Arthur asked, taking the broken silence as permission enough to, apparently, continue the conversation.

Merlin sighed through his nose, debating whether or not to answer. Eventually, catching sight of Arthur’s expression—tight-lipped and watching him with a guarded look like he was bracing for disappointment—Merlin relented.

“It’s too dark to track them, so I’m trying to draw them out,” Merlin said, curtly.

Arthur frowned. “By doing what, exactly?”

Merlin glanced at him, unimpressed. “By being obvious. Two riders. One of them magic. The other is the king. Word will get around. They’ll find us.”

Arthur blinked. “You’re using yourself as bait?” He asked, sharply.

Merlin gave a thin, humourless smile. “Oh, don’t worry. We are the bait. You insisted on coming, remember?”

Arthur opened his mouth, then closed it again, seeming to think better of it. He looked conflicted, though, eyebrows furrowed and mouth dipped into a frown. 

They rode on for a few more minutes, Arthur clearly lost in thought, before he spoke up, “You could have just waited to track them tomorrow morning, you know? We were going to ride out anyway.”

“Not with me,” Merlin said, bitterly.

“With you,” Arthur corrected. 

Merlin side-eyed him. “You’re just saying that.”

Arthur sighed. “No. I wasn’t particularly fond of the idea, but if you wanted to come, I was going to inform you tomorrow.”

Merlin blinked, surprised. 

They lapsed into silence again, but it was warmer this time—a little less weighed down by all the tension between them. The horses’ hooves clopped steadily beneath them, the only sound for a while.

“Can I ask you a question?” Merlin said, breaking the silence once again, before he could chicken out.

Arthur nodded, eyeing him curiously.

Merlin wet his lips, suddenly unsure how to word it. “That day...when you found out the truth. About my magic.”

Arthur’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t interrupt.

Merlin continued, “If you hadn’t caught me then—if circumstances had been different and you had found out after becoming king and if there was no reason to make me leave—would you have ever forgiven me?”

“Forgive you?” Arthur repeated. “...For what?”

“For having magic,” Merlin said, dumbly. “And for lying to you.”

“Merlin,” Arthur started, in that cadence that told him he thought Merlin was exceedingly stupid, “I wouldn’t have held your magic against you. I didn’t do that when I found out myself, and that wouldn't have changed if you had told me yourself a few years later.”

“Why not?” Merlin asked, confused.

“What do you mean, ‘why not’? Because that’s stupid! You were born with it, you said. Why on earth would I condemn you for that?” 

“Because magic is illegal.”

“Was illegal,” Arthur corrected. “And that really didn’t matter to me.”

Merlin squinted. “Why not?”

Arthur gaped. “Because I bloody love you, you idiot!”

The words rang out into the quiet night like an arrow loosed from a bow.

Merlin froze. His horse even gave a soft snort, as if in disbelief.

Arthur’s eyes widened a fraction, like he hadn’t quite meant to say it like that, or at all. But it was too late now.

Merlin looked away, back at the road. “You said that before as well,” he pointed out, softly.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Yes. I did. Because I do.”

Why?

How?

“Since when?” He asked, boldly.

Arthur shrugged, carelessly, but when Merlin steeled his nerves enough to look at him, he caught the faint dusting of pink on his cheeks, illuminated by his magic.

Merlin drilled a hole into the side of Arthur’s head, silently imploring him to answer.

Arthur did, finally, say, “I’m not sure, honestly. Reckon I always have.”

It was quiet for a few moments while Merlin absorbed those words, and then he said, quietly, “And yet.”

Arthur didn’t say anything after that, but Merlin saw his hands tighten on the reins. The silence stretched again, thicker this time, and Merlin almost wished he hadn’t spoken up at all. 

Maybe then it would be easier to ignore the pang of hurt in his heart. 

Maybe then it would be easier to pretend everything between them wasn’t complicated and messed up, and they could just skip to the happily ever after bit.

Merlin exhaled quietly through his nose, trying to will away the ache in his chest. Neither of them spoke up again, and Merlin remembered the actual reason he had rode out and became more vigilant.

Still, it was Arthur who signalled him to stop, first, and Merlin stilled instantly. Arthur cast a wary look at the shrubbery around them and did a familiar hand signal.

They were surrounded.

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath when he heard the telltale sound of an arrow being released from its notch. His hand went up and his magic fried the whole thing to a crisp just when it was millimeters from Arthur’s head.

He was barely off his horse when the attackers emerged from the trees with a loud war cry. There was no time to exchange words or grateful glances, but seeing the men come out from every side, encircling the two of them, Merlin was suddenly grateful that Arthur had tagged along.

Powerful he may be, but he couldn’t take out every single one of them with just one spell, and while he dealt with the men nearest to him, anyone else would’ve had a fair shot at his back.

As it was, that didn’t happen.

Arthur was already there, sword flashing as he moved to cover Merlin’s blind side without a word. The seamlessness of it—how instinctively they fell into place, back to back like two sides of the same coin—shouldn’t have surprised Merlin, but it still caught at something in his chest.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it.

They were each faced with half a dozen men each, which weren’t terrible odds for Merlin’s magic. Arthur with just his trusty sword, though? That was another story.

The first mercenary lunged at Merlin, blade raised, and he sent a sharp burst of wind that knocked the man clean off his feet. Another came, dagger low and eyes gleaming, but a quick word, and the man went flying backwards into a tree with a sickening crunch.

Arthur, meanwhile, ducked a blow and spun, slicing through his opponent’s guard with practiced ease. Blood sprayed, catching on his cheek. He stumbled back a step, colliding into Merlin’s back and Merlin spared a moment to check on him.

More came—two at once—and he instinctively sent them hurling toward the trees, the impact so brutal that the thuds were followed by sharp cracks echoing through the woods. 

He didn’t pause to watch them fall. His focus was locked, and magic was crackling at his fingertips like a live wire.

It didn’t take long to dispatch the rest. A flash of gold, a few whispered words, and the last of his opponents collapsed in a heap of limbs and groans.

Merlin spun around, cloak billowing behind him, falling into step beside Arthur. Without a word, they stood shoulder to shoulder now, facing the remaining fighters who had circled to Arthur’s side. 

There was blood on Arthur’s blade and a fresh cut across his cheek, and even vastly outnumbered, he was fighting with steely determination. Merlin’s pulse pounded in his ears, adrenaline rushing through him like fire, but standing there beside Arthur—battle-worn and unrelenting—he felt at home. 

The remaining men closed in and Merlin didn’t hesitate, eyes burning a bright gold, as he raised a hand to the sky, fingers splayed, and his voice rang out, low and commanding, “In fulmen in hos inimicos.”

The clouds parted with a deafening roar, and bolts of lightning rained down like the wrath of the gods, slamming into each of the remaining mercenaries in succession. 

Arthur was frozen in place, mouth parted in awe, and his sword hanging limply by his side. 

Merlin pulled him back a few steps, just as the last bolt hit the man in front of him, not wanting to risk Arthur getting caught in the fallout as the man’s body shook with the violent surge of energy, limbs convulsing before crumpling to the ground in a smoking heap.

The clouds went back to their original formation, and the glow from Merlin’s eyes faded. The smell of charred flesh and the smoke curling upwards was the only proof of what had just gone down. 

Merlin exhaled slowly, his magic receding back to where it rested, no longer feeling threatened. He flexed his fingers absently, eyes scanning the fallen men before turning back to Arthur.

Arthur was watching him with an expression that he couldn’t even begin to decipher, and Merlin wondered if this was it. This may be what it took to put the fear of magic back in Arthur’s heart.

Merlin shifted under the weight of his gaze. “What?” he asked, tone light but careful.

Arthur didn’t answer right away. He stepped forward, boots crunching over scorched leaves, and stopped just short of touching him.

“That was…” He shook his head, brow furrowing deeper. “That was incredible.”

Merlin swallowed. “Incredible?” He repeated, incredulously.

Arthru gave a faint, lopsided smile. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

Merlin raised a brow. “What makes you think you aren’t already on it?”

Arthur huffed out a breath of laughter, but there was a nervous edge to it. “You pulled me out of the way, didn’t you?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but he didn’t know what to reply to that, so he simply didn’t. Instead, he assessed Arthur’s body for any other injuries, finding only the gruesome-looking cut that went from the bridge of Arthur's nose down to his cheekbone, splitting skin and dried blood in a jagged line. It was bleeding steadily now, trickling down to his jaw.

Merlin frowned. “Do you want me to use magic to heal that?” He asked, barely able to meet Arthur’s eyes. 

He’s had nearly three years to get comfortable with the idea that Arthur knows about his magic, and yet it still scared him. 

There was barely any of that fear back when he thought Arthur hated him—there was spite, and that made it easy to look past it. Doing magic in front of Arthur, at that time, was a way of showing that he was unbothered by Arthur’s bigoted view of it.

Now, though, it mattered. Now, Merlin knew that those bigoted views, apparently, didn’t even exist. Now, Merlin wanted to push at Arthur’s boundaries and see how far they stretched.

And that was scary. It’s not like he wanted Arthur to go back on his stance on magic.

But still, Merlin needed to see. 

Would Arthur bat an eye at Merlin calling on lightning?

Would he flinch at the mention of magic touching his skin to heal?

Merlin waited, heart in his throat.

Arthur merely shrugged. “Sure, if you don’t mind,” he said, easily—like this was any ordinary Tuesday.

Merlin blinked. “Right,” he said, trying to match Arthur’s nonchalance but failing spectacularly.

He stepped closer, reaching up with a hand that was steadier than it had any right to be. His fingers hovered just above Arthur’s cheek, the skin around the gash already swelling and red. 

Arthur’s eyes were on him the whole time and Merlin tried not to get nervous. He took a deep breath and let his magic rise slowly, golden light curling between his fingers and casting shadows over Arthur’s face.

He still expected a flinch, even a small one. 

It never came.

Merlin’s fingers moved over the cut, floating just above the skin, as his magic weaved the skin back together.

He whispered another spell to get rid of the blood, and soon enough, it was like new. He stepped back, looking into Arthur’s eyes now that there was more than a breath’s distance between them, and was startled to find no tension there.

Worse yet, his pupils were blown so wide—so dark they nearly eclipsed the blue.

No, that definitely wasn’t fear.

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat and he itched to make a joke about how, Arthur, it is entirely inappropriate to get turned on when you’re surrounded by dead bodies. Get a grip. 

Except, saying that would bring attention to everything Merlin was trying so very hard to ignore.

Not to mention, it would be a tad hypocritical. Afterall, Merlin had absolutely no right to comment, not when his own heart was trying to beat its way out of his chest and his magic was still humming beneath his skin—not from the fight, but from the way Arthur was looking at him.

Because it wasn’t just the pupils. It was the slight part to his lips, the way his gaze flicked between Merlin’s eyes and his mouth, the way he didn’t step back.

Merlin swallowed hard and watched, almost amazed, as Arthur’s eyes dipped, following the movement of his throat, like he wanted to follow it with his mouth.

Merlin’s breath hitched, caught somewhere between panic and something else far more dangerous. 

He could feel the magic pulling at his fingertips again, unbidden, aching for something—someone—it had wanted for years. 

He could feel his heart yearning for Arthur like a compass to true north. It was maddening—the way every part of him leaned in, even when his mind screamed caution.

He barely had time to brace himself before Arthur closed the distance Merlin had put in between them, and suddenly there were soft lips on his, pressing into his mouth with a desperate sort of urgency.

Merlin gasped—a soft, shocked sound that Arthur swallowed down like it was something precious. The kiss was messy and frantic and real, and Merlin felt like the ground might just give way beneath him.

Everything in him felt like it had short-circuited.

But his body—his treacherous, desperate, loyal body—responded eagerly, like it had been waiting its whole life for this moment. Merlin kissed him back, deep and punishing, all teeth and fury and want. His fingers curled into the fabric of Arthur’s shirt, dragging him impossibly closer, as if he could pour years of silence and anger and heartbreak into a single kiss, into every touch.

Because Merlin was angry. Angry that it had taken so long. Angry that they could’ve had this all along.

So he kissed him like vengeance. 

And Arthur, damn him, kissed him like he understood .

It only lasted a few breathless seconds—too short, too much—and then Arthur ripped himself away, eyes wide and lips flushed, and Merlin was left staring at him like he'd just been struck.

The absence of him was like a blow. Cold air rushed in where heat had bloomed, and Merlin’s hands twitched uselessly at his sides, still aching for the weight of Arthur’s shirt clenched between his fingers.

“Fuck—I’m sorry, Merlin. I didn’t mean to do that,” Arthur rushed out, taking another step back, as if putting distance between them could undo what had just happened.

“Of course you didn’t,” Merlin said, quietly, his thoughts returning to him now that Arthur wasn’t inches away. “You never think, do you? You just do . You banish me. You break me. And then, what, you kiss me like that’s going to make it better?”

Arthur flinched. “It wasn’t meant to fix anything. I just—I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to push you. I was trying to give you your space, I swear.”

Merlin stared at him, chest heaving. “It’s fine. Whatever,” he said, voice tight and brittle. He felt exhaustion eating away at his bones. “Let’s just forget about it. I want to go home.”

Arthur’s mouth opened, but no words came out, for which Merlin was glad. Because if he did—if Arthur said anything more—Merlin wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk away.

 

Notes:

Whew. That was NOT meant to happen. But it did and then i ran with it. Its nice coz now there's a kiss in every phase of their post banishment relationship. The third (and last) one will ofc be when they're in the lovers stage :)
Anyways not the most romantic backdrop amirite.

Next chapter: The train may or may not run off its tracks.

Chapter 42: Delicate.

Summary:

Arthur and Merlin being magnets and running into each other nonstop. That's it. It's 5k words of that.

Notes:

Had to break song :')
Worry not! The train is set to run off its tracks next chapter :D
(maybe?)

Chapter 42: Delicate

 

Merlin wasn’t avoiding Arthur, but if he was, he’d be doing a pretty terrible job of it, because he kept seeing him everywhere.

Absurd, really—didn’t the king have better things to do than strut about the castle?

They had returned to the citadel in the early hours of the morning, after dealing with the mercenaries, to several frantic knights who were all wondering where they both had disappeared off to overnight.  The trip back wasn’t supposed to take so long, but it had taken nearly an hour to find where their horses had scattered off to. They’d both spent the entire journey back completely silent, and upon returning to the castle, Merlin had darted off immediately, lips tingling and mind whirring.

For three days after that, Merlin saw neither hide nor hair of the king, despite being all over the citadel.

It was almost impressive, really.

Arthur had a way of being everywhere and nowhere at once. He’d managed to attend council meetings, meet delegations, and somehow still avoid crossing paths with Merlin, which, given Merlin’s current mood, was probably a survival tactic. 

They were both probably better off with the distance.

Although, a part of Merlin—a larger part than he’d ever care to admit—still itched to catch sight of Arthur again. More than that, he wanted to be by his side again. 

He wanted to soak in the once-easy smiles and hear his bright laughter.

He wanted to talk to Arthur and not fight—not hurt and be hurt.

He wanted…everything back. Greedily, he wanted more than what they’d had before.

He wasn’t quite sure what was holding him back anymore. Was it the memories of every barbed word flung in anger, in betrayal, in hatred—in a farce?

Was it the fear that if he reached out now, Arthur would simply have another chance to hurt him again?

Or was it the darker, quieter dread—the one that whispered their relationship was already too far gone to ever bring back to life?

Merlin did not know. Perhaps, it was a concoction of all those reasons.

Then, like two magnets—impossible to keep apart for long, always snapping back together no matter how violently they clashed, they crossed paths once again.

Oddly enough, it was not violent.

Merlin didn’t think he had it in him to spit fire at Arthur again .

He was just so tired of it all.

He didn’t really get much chance to do that anyway, because it was just a glance across the courtyard. 

Arthur had been engaged in conversation with Leon when Merlin had come in through the castle gates after a tiring day of collecting herbs. Merlin’s eyes had found the prat’s golden head almost-instantly, and Arthur had looked up at that exact moment.

Their gazes had locked across the courtyard, and whatever words were on Arthur’s lips were left hanging. For a moment, the noise of the castle seemed to fade, and it was just the two of them. 

Then, Merlin had steeled himself and walked on, jaw clenched as he ignored the hitch in his chest.

After that, he saw Arthur maddeningly often.  

Several times in the castle corridors, while he was chatting with Gwen, or laughing with Gwaine as he recounted, in vivid detail, how Leon had spectacularly tripped over his own sword when he caught sight of Morgana in a lovely, new gown—he laughed harder still when Gwaine told him, with more than a little smugness, that Arthur had assigned the first knight extra laps for that. 

Bitter bastard, Merlin thought, half amused and half bitter himself.

His next run-in with Arthur was in the library. 

Merlin had been browsing for something to read to pass the time, and Arthur had strolled in, a few scrolls in hand. 

He didn’t think Arthur knew that Merlin was aware that he had come in, because he’d averted his eyes back to the bookcase as soon as he had. 

Arthur definitely knew Merlin was there because Merlin could feel his eyes burning a hole into his back. It felt like forever, but it lasted no more than a few seconds, and then Arthur had disappeared into some other part of the library.

The next time he saw Arthur was also the first time he saw him up close .

He was checking in on Onyx, feeding her some apples, when Arthur had come in, a bunch of carrots in hand. 

Arthur had frozen at the entrance, and Merlin’s hand had stilled near Onyx’s mouth.

The first thing he noticed was that if he thought Arthur looked like shit when he’d first returned from Ealdor, it was nothing compared to how he looked now.

His usual confident stance seemed frayed at the edges—tired, worn, and maybe a little unsure. His clothes were rumpled, and his hair desperately needed a comb run through it—and Merlin’s hands itched to do it themselves.

His heart pounded quietly, the memory of their kiss still burning on his lips as the air became thick with everything unsaid.

Then, Arthur had gestured to the carrots in hand, as if in explanation or apology, and ducked his head and walked past to reach his stables at the far end.

Merlin had looked away and held his breath when he felt Arthur pass, almost brushing his back.

And that was that. 

Well—no. 

Merlin had—stupidly, desperately—taken longer than necessary feeding Onyx, magicking apples out of thin air when his lot ran out, and wondering what the fuck was wrong with him and god, how had they come to this?

This, being Merlin waiting to catch another glimpse of Arthur on his way out, of course. He didn’t, though. Arthur remained with Llamrei and Hengroen for much longer than Merlin could afford to stay wasting his time in the stables.

So, a little embarrassed and a little dissapointed, Merlin had left, cursing his treacherous heart.

The time after that had been weird. 

Merlin had been up late, talking with Leon and Gwaine about everything and nothing. Those two butted heads exhaustingly often, and between debating which tavern in Camelot serves the best mead and whether Morgana’s hair is naturally that shiny, they’d all worked up an appetite.

So, Merlin had gone off to the kitchens in search of something to snack on, with the shadow of his ever-present guard—a nuisance that he was begrudgingly accepting and even thankful for—constantly at his heels. 

What he hadn’t expected to find was Arthur in the kitchens, rummaging through the upper cabinets. 

Merlin, who had frozen up instantly, hovered in the doorway, watching the scene curiously. 

Arthur was in his white shirt—the one he favoured for sleep, soft and loose at the collar—and his hair was still damp, darkened at the roots. He stood on his toes to peer into the upper shelves, muttering under his breath as he moved from one cupboard to the next, clearly impatient.

Merlin tried and failed to make out the low words, and then promptly got distracted by the way the lamplight caught the curve of Arthur’s cheekbone and the gold of his hair, turning him into something achingly familiar and impossibly distant all at once. 

Without a sound, he’d stepped back into the shadows, letting the door ease shut between them.

Arthur was eating—actively seeking out food, even—and that was good progress from the way he’d been living a couple of months ago. Merlin going inside would probably only have served to distract Arthur. 

So, he had left, footsteps quiet, stomach grumbling, and heart heavier than it ought to be, feeling the guard’s curious eyes on the back of his head the whole way back to Leon’s room.

Gwaine had grumbled when he returned empty-handed, but Leon had a basket of fruits in his room, and that was enough to placate them. 

Merlin munched on a pear, mostly tuning out the conversation—squabbling, really—thinking about Arthur. Every glimpse he’d caught of the king, since his return, stubbornly refused to leave his mind. 

Leon eventually deemed it too late to be awake when they had training in the morning, so he’d shooed Gwaine off, after masterfully dismantling a compelling argument made by the knight about postponing the session to later in the afternoon—or, better yet, cancelling it altogether—in favour of sleeping in.

Merlin didn’t understand why he rarely saw Arthur in the training grounds when he was returning from the lower town in the early mornings. 

He’d seen him running drills with the newer recruits once, maybe twice in the few weeks he’d been back, but that was it.

It was odd. 

Training was Arthur’s favourite part of the day, once. Was he just busy with all the work that came with lifting the ban? 

The weeks passed like that. A blur, but not, for every moment was too dull and seemed to stretch endlessly. He spent his days brewing and healing, taking breaks throughout the day to hang out with the knights or Gwen—not Morgana, who was definitely avoiding him—and then after dinner, he’d retire to Leon’s chambers to settle in for the night.

Leon had shown up at Merlin’s door the second night he’d been back—the first being spent in the forest, of course—had taken one look at Merlin’s makeshift bed on the floor beside the hearth in the main room of the physician’s quarters, and had promptly told him, in very clear words, that he was always welcome in his room, and that no, he didn’t mind the company, nor did he care about sharing his bed or his space.

And that was that. 

Merlin had grabbed his still-packed bag and followed Leon back to his room, and was finally able to sleep without eyeing the door constantly.

He’d expected it to be at least a little awkward at first, but Leon, being the no-nonsense type of guy that he was, didn’t let it get like that. They quickly fell into a comfortable routine, often ending the night with Leon filling Merlin in on council meetings—a little less dull these days, with everything that was going on; how Arthur was dealing with the druids—fairly well; the people’s reaction to magic being legalised—better than expected but certainly wary; and in return, Merlin gave him his advice and opinions.

It was a painfully familiar routine, but Merlin tried not to think about that too much.

At the moment, Merlin was curled up on the bed, a book discarded beside him as he sleepily talked with Leon about the upcoming festival that was being held to celebrate the dawn of a new era for Camelot. 

It was supposed to be a grand affair. What had started off as just a simple feast had snowballed into an open-for-all event, promising music, dancing, and merriment for every soul in the kingdom, with the magic users and druids, in particular, being the guests of honour.

“It was Morgana’s idea to do it this way, you know?” Leon said, casually, not looking up from the reports on his desk.

“Really?” Merlin asked, deciding to humour him. He already knew, though. Gwen had mentioned it, and surprisingly enough, so had Gwaine. 

Seems Gwaine’s anger on Merlin’s behalf started and stopped at one Pendragon.

Leon nodded. “Yes, she said it would be a good idea to have it outdoors. That it’ll put the druids at ease if they don’t feel trapped.”

“She’s right.”

Leon hummed in agreement, and then there was a lull in conversation during which Merlin almost drifted off to sleep. 

Then, Leon sighed, loud and frustrated. “Come on, Merlin. It can’t go on like this forever,” he insisted.

“Why not?” Merlin asked, glumly. “If Arthur never managed to overturn the ban or if Uther lived a longer life, they were both happy to let me stay away forever.”

Leon threw down his quill onto the desk, some of the ink splattering across an old map. “They weren’t happy—”

“I don’t care,” Merlin snapped.

“Listen to me. Please.” Merlin huffed quietly, and Leon took that as his cue to continue, “Morgana was angry. The two of them fought every day for weeks before she came around to Arthur’s plan, and even then, she still sided resolutely with you.”

Merlin sat up sharply, the mattress dipping under the sudden movement. 

“If she sided with me, she wouldn’t have let him do this!”

“She tried! I swear to you, she tried so hard, so often.” The knight’s expression was open and earnest, desperate for Merlin to believe him. 

His hands clenched in the blanket bunched around his lap, eyes narrowing at Leon like the knight had just accused him of treason. “Fine. What about Arthur, then? What excuses could you possibly make for him?”

Leon leaned forward in his chair, hands braced on his knees. “I’m not trying to make excuses. I am trying to help you see that it’s not all black and white.”

“You can dress it up however you want, but in the end, he let me rot out there.”

“But he didn’t want to,” Leon insisted, a pained expression on his face. “It killed him to do it—god, he was such a wreck, Merlin. He drove everyone away, he was drowning in guilt and loneliness, and then drowning all his emotions away in liquor. For a whole year.”

Merlin swallowed, his throat tight.

“He got his act together, eventually, to get started on the research to lift the ban, but even then, he wasn’t himself," Leon continued, quietly. "He loves you so much, and I know it was wrong to take away your choice, but what they both did was out of love, not hatred. Surely that makes a difference?”

Merlin's gaze dropped to the crumpled blanket in his fist. He let it go, smoothing out the wrinkles. 

“Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “I wish he loved me enough to not let me suffer for it.”

Leon’s mouth dipped into a sad frown. “I don’t think he realised how much you loved him—how much it would hurt you to leave.”

Merlin huffed out a laugh. “How? It’s not like I was ever subtle about it.”

“We both know how oblivious he can be,” Leon said, a wry smile tugging at his mouth despite the heaviness in the air. “Besides, he wasn’t subtle about it either and you never caught on,” he remarked.

“No, no. That’s not true. I definitely knew that he maybe, probably did care about me,” Merlin argued.

“‘Cared about you,’” Leon repeated, amused. "That man has been so far gone for you for so long, I don't think you can ever even begin to comprehend it."

Merlin blinked, caught between denial and something warmer, harder to name.

Leon looked at Merlin’s boots by the door. “You do know he got those for you, right?”

“No, what? Morgana did. Every winter, before the first frost, she would leave new gloves and boots by my door,” Merlin recalled, fondly.

Leon snorted. “No.”

“What do you mean no?!”

“Every winter, before the first frost, Arthur would leave those by your door. Always had them specially commissioned just for you.” Leon’s mouth curved in a faint smile. “Special stitching on the soles so you wouldn’t slip on the ice. He’d bully the cobbler for days about it—wanted them light enough for running, warm enough for snow.”

“What—how do you even know that?” Merlin asked, disbelieving.

Leon shrugged. “I see and hear more than people think.”

“Why didn’t Morgana ever say anything then? I always thanked her. ”

Because, honestly, it wasn’t even a question why Arthur didn’t say anything. He was, afterall, an emotionally constipated clotpole.

“It was her punishment for Arthur not being straight up about it. She said, if he wanted the credit, he would simply have to admit it to you himself.”

Merlin thought back to all those mornings that he’d woken up to snowfall and then rushed to get ready because the sun wasn’t nearly bright enough to have woken him up on time. He would run out the door, with shabby boots and ice-cold fingers, then stop short once he noticed the gifts resting on the floor right outside.

He’d always assumed it was a lovely, sisterly thing for Morgana to do. It's not like many other people could afford such good craftsmanship.

Now, though, the thought of Arthur—of him noticing the wear in Merlin’s boots, seeking out a cobbler, and paying for the best—made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

“Well, that one’s not on me,” Merlin protested. “Morgana always led me to believe it was her, so why should I have thought otherwise?"

“Hm.” Leon leaned back in his chair. “Surely, you at least noticed that he didn’t court anyone for almost as long as he’s known you?”

“You’re forgetting Gwen. And Princess Mithian,” Merlin said, distastefully.

Leon laughed heartily. “Gwen doesn’t count. He was still in denial back then. And the whole thing with Mithian was to get your attention.”

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin said with a roll of his eyes—because that was definitely not true.

“You remember that Mithian’s arrival coincided with that big fight you two had?”

Merlin nodded. “Yeah? I wanted to visit my mother, but he was refusing to give me time off,” he recalled, bitterly. It was a very prattish thing to do.

“That’s because we were getting reports about slave traders passing by Lushwood—which you would have had to cross to reach Ealdor. He didn’t want to put you in harm’s way like that.”

Merlin blinked, absorbing that new bit of information. “He…never said that.”

Leon gave him a knowing look. “No. He just argued with you instead. Easier to have you think he was being stubborn than admit he was worried sick.”

Merlin’s chest tightened, heat rising behind his eyes. All those weeks of resentment—of thinking Arthur simply didn’t care…

“Wait, what’s this got to do with Mithian? He still courted her. Extravagantly,” Merlin pointed out.

Leon shook his head. “He kept her busy, Merlin. Lavish dinners, endless hunts, tournaments—anything to delay her return home. Because as long as she was here, he knew you would stay in Camelot.”

“How’d he know that?” Merlin asked, not denying it.

Leon shrugged. “Oblivious as he was, he did eventually realise that you never left him alone if there was a foreign delegation visiting.”

“This is absurd.”

“And yet, you didn’t go to Ealdor, did you? Not until a month later—”

“—After we’d dealt with the slave traders,” Merlin finished quietly, remembering now.

“Exactly. Then there were all the times he defied his father for you…”

“In my defense, he would do that for anyone if he thought it was the right thing to do.”

Leon gave him a flat stare. “He risked his life to get you a flower that would cure you. And that was only in the first month that you’d known each other.”

“Yeah, that was really nice of him, actually,” Merlin said, smiling just a bit.

“Oh, it gets better. When he was talking to Uther in the dungeons—”

“The dungeons?!” 

Leon’s brows scrunched up. “You didn’t know he spent the night in a cell?”

Merlin gaped like a fish. “Because of—the flower ?”

Leon grinned. “Yes, and then to convince his father to get the flower to Gaius, he told Uther to put him in the stocks for a month , if that’s what it took.”

“You’re lying.”

“I swear.”

“Arthur. In the stocks. Willingly.”

“Well, it didn’t end up happening," Leon shrugged.

“Wow,” Merlin breathed out.

Leon had a satisfied smirk on his face. “That’s just the start.”

"On a roll, are you?” Merlin teased, though a flicker of curiosity sparked in his eyes.

“The list is endless,” Leon said, dramatically.

Merlin gave his own exaggerated sigh. “Alright, fine. What’s next?

“Well, there’s the fact that he’s always so physical with you,” the knight said, thoughtfully 

Merlin felt his face heat up and averted his eyes to the window. “What? Nah.”

Leon cocked his head. “I meant, the way he was always right next to you—closer than necessary—brushing your arm, patting your back, ruffling up your hair.”

He cleared his throat before replying, “Right. Yes. He did do that often.”

“You were thinking of something else, weren’t you?” Leon asked, knowingly.

“Nope. That. I was thinking of that.”

“Right.”

“Anyways. He’s a tactile guy. He’s like that with everyone,” Merlin argued, half-heartedly.

Leon raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “No, he’s not like that with the knights, and we’re his closest friends.”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. “Alright, fine. I did notice that,” he conceded.

The hard part was trying to ignore Arthur’s casual touches and to tell himself that, no, it’s not a big deal that Arthur only acts like that with him and they’re just friends.

“He also used to share his cloak with you sometimes, remember?” 

Merlin fell back in the bed, a sigh escaping his lips. “Yeah. When it got too cold during a quest.” 

“Never did that for anyone else, either," Leon said, pointedly.

Merlin had an argument on the tip of his tongue, something about how if one of the other knights ever forgot their cloak, he would share with them too, but it sounded so stupid, even in his head, that the words never made it past his lips.

He stared up at the ceiling, a reluctant tug of a smile pulling at his mouth despite himself. “…What a clotpole,” Merlin muttered, thinking about all the moments Leon wasn’t even privy to. 

And oh, there were so many.

And not just the grand gestures, either—the little ones, the ones no one else would have noticed if they weren’t on the receiving end.

Arthur making sure Merlin always ate when they were on the road, and he was too busy taking care of others’ needs to focus much on his own.

Arthur slowing his horse when Merlin was clearly struggling to keep up, or when he was complaining too much about wanting to stop for a rest.

Arthur catching Merlin’s eye during long, dull meetings, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips, as they both communicated silently about whatever stupid thing some old lord was droning on about.

Arthur letting him claim that couch in his chambers as his own little corner, never saying a word about how often Merlin dozed off there when he got too tired to make the trek back to his chambers.

Arthur letting him get away with stealing way too many sausages off his plate. They were Arthur’s favourite, and he'd eventually stopped complaining, and had settled on just huffing in annoyance.

What was holding him back from just accepting that maybe Arthur did love him? That he was treated differently—given kindnesses no one else received, shielded in ways others weren’t?

Maybe, deep down, Merlin feared that if he let himself believe it, truly believe it, he’d be opening a door to hope—and hope, he knew, had the power to break his heart all over again.

But oh, it was such a tender thing, that hope. And all that love—such a great, all-encompassing thing, theirs was—terrifying and precious in equal measure.

Inexplicably, Merlin’s magic stirred, slow and warm, like a cat lifting its head from sleep. It unfurled in lazy curls through his chest, brushing against his skin as if tasting the air. It reached out, stretching towards the door, to the warmth it recognized, curious and tender.

It only took a few moments for his brain to catch up.

Arthur was right outside.

Eavesdropping.

Merlin frowned, wondering what all he’d overheard and how long he’d been there. Not long, surely, if his magic only just roused at his presence?

He was about to get up and whip the door open to confront the prat when a better plan formed in his mind.

He smirked and made sure to raise his voice just enough to reach past the door, and spoke up, “You know he kissed me?”

The quiet tapping of Leon’s quill paused. “What? Again?”

“Yep. It was honestly a little disappointing," Merlin continued, tilting his head back against the pillow, letting the words linger just long enough for Arthur to hear. “Thought he’d be a better kisser, but I think Gwaine’s got him beat.”

“You’ve kissed Gwaine?!” Leon half-yelled, for which Merlin mentally thanked the man. No way Arthur missed that.

“Several times,” he confirmed—lied. He continued, dropping his voice to ensure Arthur would move closer to the door—that is, if he wasn’t already pressed up against it. He drew each word out, slow and teasing. “The first time it happened, we were totally sloshed, but all the times after that…” Merlin let out a low, appreciative whistle.

The creak of the floorboards, the subtle shift in the air, told him all he needed to know: Arthur was still there, and he was very much paying attention.

“You’re having me on.”

“No, of course not! Why would I lie about this?” Merlin asked, innocently.

“I know you, Merlin. You—”

Ah, that was quite enough of that, Merlin decided.

With a wave of his hand and a quick flash of his eyes, the door to Leon’s chambers burst open, and Arthur fell inside. He stumbled over the threshold, arms flailing, knocking a chair to the side with a clatter and almost tripping over Merlin’s boots.

Merlin sat up, struggling to stifle his laughter. “Sire!” He exclaimed, putting as much shock into his words as possible. “What on earth are you doing here?”

Leon’s mouth had fallen open, but if Merlin wasn’t mistaken, that was definitely amusement dancing in his eyes. 

Arthur’s jaw tightened, and Merlin could see the stubborn pride fight against the flustered panic on his beautifully flushed face. 

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice was low, rough around the edges, like he was trying to sound stern but failing miserably.

“Yes?” Merlin prompted, tilting his head, a teasing lilt creeping into his tone.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “What are you even doing here?” he asked, exasperated. His eyes were darting between Leon and him curiously.

“I’m afraid that’s none of your business, Sire. Now, is there a reason you’re here, or did you simply drop by to eavesdrop?”

“That’s none of your business,” Arthur shot back. He gave Merlin one last look before crossing the room to Leon’s desk. 

It was then that Merlin noticed the several scrolls clutched in his hand, their edges curling slightly, evidence of a mind busy with more than just casual intrusion.

Arthur’s back was to him now, and Merlin could hear nothing more than hushed whispers as the king and his first knight leaned over a map and discussed whatever on earth was important enough to be losing sleep over.

It was nearing midnight, and Merlin, for one, was bone-tired. He became aware that his magic had settled once again, a warm, lazy hum retreating back into him, leaving only the quiet ache of longing in its wake.

Merlin watched quietly, letting his gaze drift over Arthur’s broad back and the way his fingers traced the edges of the map. There was something achingly familiar in the way he leaned over, focused and confident. 

How many nights had Merlin spent getting done with the last of his chores in Arthur’s chambers while Arthur pored over scrolls and reports?

Sometimes, it had been quiet, and the only sound in the room would have been the crackling of the fire or the low tune Merlin liked to hum. 

Other times, they would be talking—Merlin grumbling about his day, Arthur complaining about his own—and somehow, in those small moments, the room felt warmer, closer, somehow theirs.

As his eyelids grew heavy and the quiet whispers lulled him into sleep, Merlin wondered if it was even possible to get back to that after everything that had happened.

 

Notes:

Gotta be a good sign that the falling-asleep-in-each-other's-presence trope is back :)

oh, and no, Arthur was NOT searching for FOOD in the kitchens lmao. 10 points if u can guess what he was actually looking for🤯.

Update: Arthur’s pov is posted and u can find the answer there ;)

Next chapter: A letter, a celebration, a dance! :)))

Chapter 43: The. Train. Runs. Off. It’s. Tracks.

Summary:

A letter; Merlin in a crown; Merthur as parents; a bright future; a dance (or two); and the damn train.

Notes:

Arthur's POV of the previous chapter has been posted as seperate work in this series!! Best to read that before this :)

Chapter 43: The. Train. Runs. Off. It's. Tracks.

The castle was buzzing with excitement, and there was an air of anticipation that seemed to hum through every corridor. Merlin found it impossible to even step out into the courtyard without running into some frantic servant or harried page boy, all working hard to get the decorations for the upcoming festival set up. 

Within the castle halls, maids darted to and fro with arms laden with garlands and lanterns, laughter echoing against the stone walls, as they made their way out back to where the main event would be held. 

Merlin’s invite had said there was to be a feast in the banquet hall, with all the most important clan leaders—and he was amazingly included in that—before the real festivities started right after dinner, to be carried long into the night. 

The invite—a beautifully embossed, thick parchment that was signed and stamped by Arthur himself—had been delivered about a day after the other sealed envelope that had mysteriously appeared on his table. The parchment used for that one was thinner, and Merlin could easily make out Arthur’s penmanship without having to open it. 

Now, both missives sat on a tabletop together, collecting dust.

It’s not that he didn’t want to open the letter. It’s just that he had enough on his plate thinking about all the things that had already been revealed about Arthur, and he was sure the letter would hold even more revelations that he would spend days trying to wrap his mind around.

One thing at a time.

Merlin had just sent another young maid, injured from a fall down the stairs while carrying far too many banners, on her way, and was measuring out some thyme to add to a brew when a knock sounded at his door, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Somehow, he knew, in his bones, it was Arthur. Perhaps it was his magic sensing him, like it had a few days back. Or maybe it was just Merlin’s innate ability to recognise the cadence of Arthur’s every step, every breath, every movement.

“Yeah, come in,” he called out, taking a deep breath.

The door opened slowly—almost hesitant. Sure enough, Arthur walked in, shutting it behind him and only walking a few steps into the infirmary. 

For a long moment, they both simply took each other in. Arthur’s golden hair resembled more of a bird’s nest than a king’s hair had any right to, and it had lost some of its usual luster. His eyes, too, were shadowed, their usual sharp blue muted into something softer, almost uncertain. His stance was rigid, though it looked more like a man forcing himself upright than one standing tall by nature.

But it was Arthur’s shirt that really caught Merlin’s eyes.

It was a striking red that stood out starkly against his pale skin—paler than usual, Merlin noted—and complemented his eyes beautifully, making them stand out. It was an old one, he recognised it from all his years of being Arthur’s not-so-dutiful servant. He thought it was a shame that Arthur had stopped wearing the colour in his everyday wardrobe.

Merlin’s gaze lingered longer than he intended, tracing the familiar lines of the shirt and the way it hung on his frame looser than it ever had.

What had made Arthur pull it out now, all of a sudden?

Arthur didn’t hold his gaze for long and his eyes scanned the room, only stopping when they landed on the two letters, one clearly untouched, with the seal intact.

Merlin wet his lips. “Why are you here?” He asked finally, voice small, almost a whisper.

“The celebration—it’s tomorrow,” Arthur replied, voice sounding a little hoarse. “I wanted to confirm if you’ll be attending?”

Merlin hesitated. Truth be told, he hadn’t really made up his mind yet.

On the one hand, he wanted to go, to put all this behind them and just move on and celebrate with the rest of his people.

On the other hand, he was bitter that Arthur had accomplished so much—fulfilled their destiny without him—and he wanted to sit in that hurt for a little while longer and let it simmer.

“Please come,” Arthur almost whispered, taking another step forward until only the low table in front of Merlin separated them. “It was all for you, you have to know that. None of this would be happening if it weren’t for your influence, and there’s no one who deserves to celebrate the return of magic more than you.”

Merlin’s heart softened at Arthur’s plea, and for a moment, he felt like he might crumble right there. His magic pulsed faintly, a soft hum beneath his skin, almost in agreement with the warmth blooming in his chest.

In the face of Arthur’s imploring gaze, patient yet intense and longing , Merlin’s resolve wavered. Maybe he was just a weak, weak man; or maybe, he had remained stubborn and hurting for long enough.

“Yeah, I’ll come,” he decided—an olive branch if there was ever one. 

He watched some of the stiffness bleed out of Arthur’s posture, and it twisted at his heartstrings. 

“Right. Okay.” Arthur’s Adam's apple bobbed. “I’ll see you, then.” He took a step back, unsure and unsteady.

Merlin nodded, looking down at the cauldron before him. The concoction had burnt at the base.

Arthur was inches from the door when Merlin impulsively called out, “Arthur—” 

Again, his heart lurched painfully in his chest as he watched hope fill Arthur’s eyes.

He wanted to say everything that’s been on his mind in the days since his return.

He wanted to tell Arthur that he just needs time . That he’ll get over this. That he could never actually hate him—not even close. 

He wanted to tell Arthur that what he did was horrible and painful but that he can maybe see the warped logic behind the idiot’s actions. Or, at the very least, he can see past it.

Because he loves him.

He wanted to scream that he loves him too.

He wanted to melt into Arthur’s body and stay there and never leave.

The words get caught in his throat. He didn’t know how to say any of this. 

“Nothing,” he stammers out. “Sorry.”

Arthur deflated and walked away. His hand hovered on the doorknob, then he paused, leaning against the door as if it could hold him up, clutching the handle tightly.

Merlin couldn’t bear the torn expression on his face. He almost broke right there,

“I’m truly sorry, Merlin. I hope one day you can forgive me. I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but—” he gave a hollow, self-deprecating laugh, “—I’m a selfish man.”

And then he’s gone before Merlin can muster up a response. 

Merlin stayed frozen for a long moment, staring at the door, heart hammering in his chest. His hands clenched at his sides, knuckles white, and for a fleeting second, he imagined throwing himself after Arthur, chasing him, kissing him senseless, telling him they can start over—they can pick back up from where they left off three years ago. 

He felt a wetness on his cheeks and swiped at it with hand, batting away a tear, then another and another, and then they would just not stop. 

With a shuddering breath, he sank to the floor, a low sob tearing its way out of his throat.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, as if sheer force might dam the tide, but it was useless. The sobs came harder, ragged and unrelenting, shaking through him until his chest ached. Years of loneliness, of waiting and wanting and hurting, all spilled out into the empty room.

Merlin let himself feel every bit of it. 

All the hurt that they’d each inflicted on each other.

All the love that for so long—too long—had nowhere to go.

All the bitterness that had curdled in his chest in Arthur’s absence.

All the longing that had been denied an outlet.

And this would be the last time, he vowed to himself. He would fix it all tonight. He would put an end to this miserable cycle of lies and deceit.

When the storm finally ebbed and his tears ran dry, Merlin sat slumped against the wall, breathing unevenly and with tears drying stickily on his cheeks. With a wave of his hand, he summoned the letter over and broke the seal with careful fingers.

As he read, his decision only solidified.

 

Merlin—

You said, once, that I do not know love. I think you’re wrong. I know what it is to love you, and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever experienced. 

Loving you is looking into warm eyes that lit up like the sun and feeling seen in a way I never thought possible. Loving you is hearing your laugh echo in my chest long after the sound has faded. Loving you is vying for your attention and for your blinding smile. Loving you is arguing over nonsense just to hear you talk back. Loving you is loving the way you can make every title sound like an insult and every insult sound affectionate.

 

Merlin let out a shaky laugh that cracked into a sob. 

 

Loving you is knowing I’ve always had you in my corner, even when I didn’t know it, even when I didn’t deserve you.

Loving you is the fear of losing you, and the hope that I never will.

Loving you, Merlin, is trying every day to be better, to be worthy of your love in return. And it’s knowing that I may never earn it, but hoping against all hope that I just might, because you are the only thing in this world that has ever truly mattered, and you are the only reason I continue to exist.

So believe me when I say, love is not a foreign concept to me. Doubt anything else I’ve ever said or written, Merlin, but do not doubt that.

 

By the time he reached the end of that line, Merlin’s vision had blurred and he’d started crying again like the tears had never even stopped.

 

You have to understand, sending you away was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. When I first discovered your magic, banishment and the pyre or any sort of punishment didn’t even cross my mind—not even for a moment, I swear it. The plan was to talk to you about it and then work through it together. 

 

Merlin pursed his lips. How had it all gone so wrong? To think, they almost had it all.

 

I botched that part up a bit, I guess. You told me all of these stupidly brave things you were doing behind my back for a decade and I got scared. I’ve faced griffins and dragons, yet I’ve never been more terrified before in my life than I was that night. All I was hearing was that your loyalty to me was putting you in danger constantly. You had borne the weight of our destiny for so long, completely alone. You did your part, Merlin—why should it be wrong for me to shoulder some of it for a few years?

So, I did the only thing I could think of at the time: I crushed that loyalty. The banishment and every word I said leading up to it were to serve that purpose alone. I could never mean it, my love Merlin—

 

Here, Merlin jolted, the endearment cutting through him like a blade. It was crossed out with a single heavy line, ink bleeding from the pressure, but he could still make out the words etched into parchment—words that had flowed out naturally for Arthur, instinctive and unguarded, and then he’d snatched them back.

 

—but I am sorry you had to hear it, and I do understand that I hurt you. My words from that night never stray far from my own mind. I said I was disgusted by you, then, but it was quite the opposite, really. Your magic is a beautiful thing to witness, and every time I saw it, I was reminded of how extraordinary you are.

 

There were several wet spots on the parchment now, ink smudging where Merlin’s tears fell. Arthur thought his magic was beautiful. Not merely tolerated, not begrudgingly accepted, but marveled at. Awed.

 

I allowed my fear to twist my actions—my love—into something cruel. I only wanted to protect you. But you’re right, I’m a clotpole and dollophead and every other idiotic word you can think of, because I did not realise it was those very actions that made me lose you. Even afterwards, when you were back as physician, it was like I’d dug myself into a hole that just kept getting deeper and deeper every time we talked and I put my foot in my mouth. I think, eventually, it just felt safer (easier, maybe?) to remain there at the bottom than to claw my way out and risk everything.

 

And Merlin could understand that much, at least. Hadn’t he been in exactly the same position for so long? He’d had several opportunities to tell Arthur about his magic, but he’d been lying for so long that it was easier to just…keep lying.

Was that what had happened here? 

 

I understand if you cannot forgive me, but know this: you will always have a place at this castle. The position of Court Sorcerer is yours should you want it (for there’s no one else more worthy), or you can remain Court Physician—the choice is yours. And I promise, if you wish to never speak to me again, I’ll respect that decision.

 

Merlin did wonder how that could possibly work when his current work consisted of patching up the knights—of which Arthur was one—and his potential job of Court Sorcerer (this was all a little unbelievable, honestly) would also put him in proximity of the king, during council meetings and whatnot.

Still, he smiled, a damp, shaky thing that almost broke into a laugh. He could appreciate the sentiment, at least.

 

You have friends and family and a home here. I took it away once before, please do not allow my foolishness to rip you from it again. You deserve all of these things and more. 

I love you, I’m sorry.
—Arthur

‘All of these things and more.’

Merlin traced the words with his thumb, as if by touch alone he might wring their meaning out. ‘ And more. ’ What more could Arthur possibly give him, when he had already taken Merlin’s heart in its entirety?

Merlin sighed and started the letter again from the top.

 

---

 

The following evening found Merlin turning his chambers upside down searching for the green neckerchief his mother had gifted him. It had quickly become his favourite one and he had rarely taken it off since being back and yet, somehow, it was missing

Merlin groaned and emptied out his satchel for the third time, digging his fingers into the depths of every pocket, coming up empty.

A knock at the door startled him out of his frustration and he ran a hand through his hair before going over to open it.

For the first time in more than a month, Merlin came face to face with Morgana.

“Hi,” Morgana said softly, her usual confidence diminished.

Merlin smiled. “Hi.” He held the door open and, a little hesitantly, she stepped inside.

She was barely past the threshold when words tumbled out of her lips, rushed and uneven, “I’m so sorry, Merlin! I tried to stop him, I swear, but he wouldn’t listen and then I just went along with it for so long and I shouldn't have—I know that—because you’re my friend and you’ve done so much for me and it’s not what you deserved—”

“Morgana…”

“—And I could’ve told you when you were back, but I still didn’t because he was so close to getting the ban overturned and talking to you about it himself, and it wasn't my place—”

Merlin held up a hand again, cutting her off gently. “Morgana. Stop. I get it. You both made mistakes, it’s alright. I wasn’t even really that mad at you.”

A crinkle appeared at her brows. “Really?”

“Well, alright, a little bit. But what’s done is done, and for what it’s worth, I forgive you,” he said, softly.

A little, relieved puff of breath escaped her, and she put down the stuff in her hands and closed the distance between them, wrapping him in a hug. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Merlin melted into the embrace, letting her warmth and sincerity wash over him. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice muffled against her shoulder. “Really.”

She pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes glistening. “I mean it, Merlin. We both made really stupid decisions and it wasn’t fair to you.”

“You tried your best to talk him out of it, I’m sure,” he said softly, offering her a small, forgiving smile. “Besides, now I just know for sure that idiocy runs in the family. You were an anomaly for a while there.”

“Hey!” She gasped. “I will let you get away with that just this once.”

Merlin laughed wholeheartedly. “Shouldn’t you be at the feast?” He asked, only now realising how late it had gotten.

She raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you? Arthur said you agreed to come.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “A stuffy banquet isn’t really my scene. I’ll head down for the festival.”

Morgana hummed. “It wasn’t as unbearable as usual. The druids are far better company than the nobles—which reminds me!” 

She picked up the small, wooden box she’d brought with her. Underneath that were some folded clothes in a dark navy, almost black.

She held the box out to him. “Iseldir said that was for you.”

Merlin accepted it curiously. He opened the lid and peeked inside, slamming it shut the next second.

“I am not wearing a crown,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“It’s not a crown! It’s more of a…circlet.”

Merlin gave her a flat look. “A circlet is a type of crown.”

“Well, so what? You’re their leader and they insisted you wear it.”

“Symbolic leader. Barely,” Merlin insisted.

Morgana rolled her eyes. “The crown is also ‘symbolic.’”

“Ha! See. You just called it a crown,” Merlin said victoriously.

Morgana huffed. “Gwen also made you some fancier clothes for the event. You’ll at least wear those?” 

“I was just gonna go in this,” Merlin whined, gesturing to what he was already wearing.

Morgana took in the rugged clothes with a scrutinising eye and a turned up her nose. “I’m afraid that doesn’t go with your crown,” she remarked.

“More reason to not wear the darn thing.”

“Well, it’s your choice. But Gwen did work very hard on these. And the Druids would be very pleased to see you, Emrys, their leader, their King—”

Merlin huffed and cut in, with no real bite, “Yes, alright, I’ll wear the lovely clothes and maybe the blasted crown, you manipulative witch.”

Morgana’s lips curled into a victorious smile. “Lovely. I best get back before Arthur starts thinking I’ve purposefully left him to the wolves.”

Merlin nodded. “Right. See you out there.”

Morgana paused at the door, hand resting on the frame as she glanced back at him. Her expression softened, losing its teasing edge. 

“You’ll do fine, Merlin. Better than fine. Don’t fret too much, it’s pretty casual.”

“Thanks,” he said, offering her a lopsided smile, one that didn’t quite hide the nerves thrumming in his chest.

With that, Morgana slipped out, looking brighter than when she’d come in.

Merlin sighed and laid out the clothes on a bench. They really were quite nice. The ensemble consisted of a navy blue tunic with little embroidered dragons along the hem, in just a shade lighter—and goodness, that must’ve taken Gwen ages—the trousers were black and slim fitting from the looks of it. To tie it all together, there was a long robe in a slightly darker shade of blue, with wide, billowing sleeves and a trim of silver thread that caught the light like starlight.

‘Pretty casual’, huh? Something about the finery of the clothes didn’t really agree with that statement. Merlin considered leaving the robe out of his outfit, but once he’d pulled it on and felt the warm, snug thing, he was a little more reluctant to forgo it. 

It looked nice, anyway. Who cared if it wasn’t something he didn’t usually wear? It’s not like this was an event that happened on the daily.

The crown, though…that was another matter entirely.

Merlin picked it up gingerly, holding it as though it might bite him. It really wasn’t too bad. Nothing like any of Arthur’s, thank god. For one, it was a gleaming silver, unlike the gold that royalty favoured. 

The metal wrapped around in a delicate wreath, leaves small and shimmering in the firelight. The two main clusters of leaves rested on either side of his head, meeting only at the back.

It really was very pretty. Subtle, too, seeming to fit the ways of the Druids.

It wasn’t heavy either—lighter than he expected, actually—but there was a weight to it all the same, and that made him set it down.

Just the outfit was fine, he decided.

A brief knock sounded at the door before it opened. Merlin turned, heart leaping to his throat and magic flaring to life, and relaxed only when he saw it was just Lancelot and Gwaine. They were dressed in similarly semi-formal clothes, Lancelot with a pale blue tunic belted neatly at the waist, and Gwaine in red.

Gwaine let out an appreciative whistle, sauntering in. “You look ravishing, Merls.”

Lance nodded along. “You really do. You must have a fantastic seamstress.”

Merlin laughed, face warming at the compliments.

Gwaine, on the other hand, groaned. “She’s not even here! Quit with the flattery.” He shook his head and turned to Merlin to complain, “The whole way here, it was all ‘Gwen looks lovely,’ and ‘Did you see that dress? She made it!” and—”

“Alright, alright. Quit with the jealousy.”

Merlin laughed harder. “One of these days, Gwaine, you’re going to set your eyes on a woman—”

“One woman,” Lancelot clarified, because, of course, that needed clarifying.

“One woman,” Merlin repeated, nodding his head. “And you’ll be all smitten and annoying about it, and then you’ll understand where Lance is coming from.”

“Never,” Gwaine vowed.

“That’s because no woman could last under your insufferable attentions,” Lancelot teased.

Gwaine plopped down on a bench. “I’ll have you know, several women have tried to make me change their ways for them. I just don’t want to.”

“You’re a lost cause,” Merlin said, sighing.

Lancelot cocked his head curiously. “Where’s the neckerchief? Gwen said you kicked up such a fuss last time that she made sure to spare some fabric especially for it.”

“Neckerchief?” Merlin looked around the cluttered worktables and benches, eyes finally landing on the scrap of blue on the floor. He picked it up, marvelling at the softness. “Oh! She really is the best.”

“I know.”

Merlin tied it on quickly, glad that the scars around his throat were now neatly covered.

Gwaine, meanwhile, had snatched up the not-crown from where Merlin had discarded it. “Hey, what’s this?” 

Lancelot came closer, peering at it. “The druids?”

Merlin frowned at the thing. “Yeah, how’d you know?” 

“Gwen was there when they gave the box to Morgana. It’s beautiful,” he commented. 

Gwaine held it out for him. “Why haven’t you put it on yet?” 

Merlin eyed it cautiously and shrugged. “I’m not going to. It’s not really my thing.”

“Wha–? It looks like it’d suit you perfectly.”

“Yeah. Not too gaudy or over the top.”

“Like some of Princess’ crowns,” Gwaine snickered. 

“Wouldn’t it be rude to not wear it?” Lancelot questioned, taking it from Gwaine’s hands and turning it over. “I mean…it’s a gift.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “Has Morgana been giving you all lessons in manipulation?”

They both chuckled. “No, we’re being honest,” Gwaine answered. “It would be a shame to let it collect dust.”

“And I know what you’re thinking,” Lancelot chimed in. “You think you’re not worthy of wearing a crown or that it’ll make you stand out. But really, Merlin, all eyes will be on you anyway. Everyone knows Arthur didn’t do this on his own. You earned this. They gave it to you because they trust you, respect you, and because you’re more than capable of carrying it with dignity.”

“But Arthur did do it all on his own,” Merlin argued.

Gwaine scoffed. “If you hadn’t walked into his life, us commoners wouldn’t even be knights. You changed his perspective on a lot of very important things—magic being at the top of that list.”

Lancelot smiled gently. “Exactly. And that’s precisely why they want you recognized. Not just for being their leader, and not for doing it all alone, but for being the one who helped shape it all. Who kept Arthur grounded and alive so that one day he could change the laws and free your people.”

Gwaine leaned closer, grinning mischievously. “Plus, you’ll look bloody fantastic wearing it. Arthur will be drooling.”

Merlin let out a soft laugh, tension easing from his shoulders just a little. The crown felt less like a burden now, more like a symbol of all the ways he had mattered, all the ways he had fought beside them—even when Arthur hadn’t realized it.

“Fine,” he grumbled half-heartedly, accepting the crown from Lancelot’s hands. He placed it carefully on his head, feeling the silver leaves settle perfectly on either side

Both Lancelot and Gwaine nodded approvingly. “See?” Lancelot said. “You were made to wear it.”

“Damn right.” Gwaine got up, slinging an arm over his shoulder. "You look like you could command an army—or at least make Arthur actually listen for once.”

Merlin let out a small, reluctant laugh, shaking his head. “I highly doubt a crown will magically fix that problem.”

“Maybe not,” Lancelot said with a grin, “but it might remind him who really keeps this kingdom running behind the scenes.”

Merlin’s cheeks warmed, and he adjusted the crown slightly. “Alright,” he said, finally letting himself relax. “Let’s go before they decide to have all the fun without us.”

“They wouldn’t dare start without me,” Gwaine said, puffing out his chest. 

“You. He means you,” Lancelot said to Merlin with a roll of his eyes.

 

---

 

They’re both wrong, however, because when they descend the steps out the back entrance to the castle, coming out to the lush, open yard, now decorated and filled with people, the festival is already in full swing.

They stopped at the bottom step, taking in the scene and Merlin’s breath caught at the mesmerising beauty of it all. The air felt alive in a way that literally made the magic under his skin hum in response, and under the moonlight, the area was illuminated by lanterns hanging on trees and fairy lights—as in, real, glowing fairies flitting about, leaving trails of soft, golden light like sparks from a hearth. 

Garlands of flowers and ivy were draped decoratively along the exterior castle wall with stalls lined around it, stretching out all the way to the perimeter of the yard where it opened up into the forest. Each booth offered something different: glimmering trinkets, delicacies steaming from cauldrons, and games that sent laughter ringing into the sky.

Music tinkled through the air, a soft but merry sound, mixing in with the chatter and laughter of the people—and oh, there were so many people. Druids, easily discernible with their more rustic clothing; nobles in their finery; knights on duty in their billowing, red capes; local commoners from the lower town and the surrounding villages, too—it seemed everyone had turned up to celebrate.

“Wow,” he breathed out, because…wow. The whole place, the people, the very symbolism of it all—it was more than a little awe-inspiring. 

There was magic in every corner—the fairy lights, the glowing trinkets and performers at some of the booths, the harp that played itself—and yet everyone had gathered here anyway. Sure, some of them were shying away from the more blatant displays of magic, but it was a start. 

One hell of a start.

Distantly, he heard Lancelot excuse himself, catching sight of Gwen across the yard, and then Gwaine was dragging him along, thankfully to a food stall. The scent of fresh bread, roasted meats, and sweet pastries mingled with the earthy aroma of the gardens and wafted up his nose, straight to his stomach, making it grumble desperately. 

Gwaine laughed and purchased a buttery pastry each for them, and they both ate it up greedily. 

“Didn’t you just attend a feast?” Merlin asked through a mouthful.

“Are you calling me fat, now that Arthur isn’t around to bully?”

Merlin shook his head, smiling. 

“You decide to put him out of his misery yet?” Gwaine asked, after they’d both finished, brushing their hands free of crumbs.

“Maybe,” Merlin said, leaving it at that. 

They ambled along the stalls, sampling sweetmeats and fancy breads as they went, with Merlin occasionally coming across someone he recognised from Iseldir’s camp—the only one he frequented occasionally enough—and stopping to chat until Gwaine politely dragged him away. 

Merlin didn’t mind and Gwaine knew that. There was only so much small talk and genuine gratitude he could take before wanting to just disappear into a nobody in the crowd. It was only when Merlin came across Gaius—haggling with a vendor over the price of a faintly mystical looking rock—that Gwaine left him in favour of grabbing drinks from the makeshift bar.

Merlin lingered by Gaius, pretending to be invested in the ridiculous rock while letting the sounds of the festival wash over him. Laughter. Magic humming in the air. For years, he’d dreamed of this moment, and now that it was here…he felt alone.

Where was Arthur?

His eyes searched for him in the crowd every few seconds, and he was tempted to ask Gaius if he knew what Arthur was wearing at the feast so he could spot him with more ease.

He didn’t though. Instead he let Gaius’ praise and comforting words wash over him, nodding absently and trying not to seem ingenuine. Iseldir joined them eventually and it was more thanks and words about looking forward to Camelot’s bright future.

Iseldir clasped his shoulder, earnest as ever, and spoke of unity, of how far Arthur had come, how much further he might yet go. Merlin didn’t have to fake his proud smile in that moment, and when he looked up, eyes darting across the yard, he caught the gleam of a golden crown in the crowd. And just like that, some of the ache dissipated. 

Gaius left him when they came across Morgana and Leon, all besotted smiles and hushed words, saying it was getting far too late for an old man like him to still be partying.  

The happy couple accepted him into the fold easily, Leon slinging an arm over his shoulder in a rare display of affection. Morgana’s laughter rang soft and unguarded, her hand twined with Leon’s, and for a while. Merlin let himself be carried by their ease, their unspoken certainty that everything was going to be all right.

Walking along the stalls, once again, there was the gleam of gold in the lanternlight, this time paired with the swish of a red cloak, the unmistakable sight of Arthur moving through the crowd. 

Morgana caught him staring and elbowed him, jolting him out of his thoughts. 

“You know, he’s going to fall to his knees seeing you like this,” she teased.

“Like what?” Merlin squawked, blushing furiously.

“All kingly looking,” Leon filled in.

“Stop it,” he whined. “Or I’ll take the damn thing off.” 

Twin laughs chimed in the air.

“Don’t. It really suits you,” Leon said warmly.

“Thanks,” Merlin mumbled, steering them towards a young girl selling honey cakes. 

But even as Leon bargained, Merlin’s gaze strayed back toward the red cloak. 

Arthur had stopped now, speaking to a cluster of townsfolk, and the sight twisted something sharp in Merlin’s chest. He looked every inch the king Merlin had always known he would be, and yet, when Arthur’s eyes swept over the crowd, searching, Merlin felt his heart stumble.

He turned away, back to the stall, stuffing the cake in his mouth and allowing the warm, fluffy texture to anchor his thoughts. 

After that, the food stalls dwindled out, replaced by games and performers. They stopped to watch and cheer on a young boy who was beautifully animating parchment origami to life, drawing quite a crowd. They lingered there for a while, tipping generously, until Merlin heard his name uttered somewhere further along the line of booths, and he tugged Leon and Morgana along to see which of their friends it was.

As fate would have it, it was Arthur and Gwaine.

They stood in front of a set-up of floating targets with a crossbow in each of their hands, squabbling—because, of course. 

“My tavern spending on your tab for a week,” he heard Gwaine bargain.

“For the good of the kingdom—no.” Even from across the booth-lined path, Arthur’s presence made his chest constrict and nerves loosen all at once.

“Three days?”

“No.”

“Merlin!” Gwaine called out, finally spotting him over Arthur’s head.

“No—what?”

Merlin closed the distance, coming up beside Gwaine, lips twitching despite himself. 

“Hey,” he said, aiming for casual and probably coming out as constipated. Because here Arthur was, standing before him—gaping, a little—in all his royal finery and golden hair and red— he was wearing red again! 

Well, not Camelot Red (except for the cloak). But his tunic was a dark maroon colour, almost brown but not quite, and it looked really quite nice.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, voice steady but just soft enough to make Merlin’s stomach do a somersault. “You came.”

“Said I would, didn’t I?” 

Arthur nodded and then resumed drinking him in, hungry eyes lingering on the crown, then his neck, and further down, in a way that made the very tips of Merlin’s ears turn a color that could probably camouflage with Arthur’s cloak.

Merlin cleared his throat, forcing his gaze elsewhere, pretending to inspect the floating targets rather than the king beside him. “So,” he muttered, “Robbing Arthur, again?”

Gwaine nodded, smirking. “Whoever gets the most arrows on the bullseye wins.”

“Let’s up the stakes then,” Morgana chimed in from behind Arthur. 

“Stay out of it, you menace,” Arthur grumbled. 

Morgana dutifully ignored him. “Winner gets a kiss from Merlin,” she announced. 

“No, what the fuck?” Arthur spluttered, while Gwaine and Merlin cackled. 

“You’re on,” Gwaine declared.

“No.”

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a hardass, Sire,” Merlin goaded, something in him coming alive at the casual banter that he’d missed for so long.

Arthur glared. “Shut up, Merlin. You’re just going to cheat and make him win.”

Merlin gasped in mock offense. “No, I won’t!”

“He will, because he likes kissing me more,” Gwaine interjected with a cheeky grin, earning a dramatic eyeroll from Arthur.

Merlin tried—and failed—not to grin at Gwaine’s confidence (and lie).

“Come on, brother. Are you doubting your archery skills?”

“No,” Arthur scoffed. “This is just stupid.”

“Well, if you forfeit, I guess I win by default,” Gwaine said, thoughtfully, and turned to wink at Merlin.

“Gwaine, you little fucker,” Arthur growled, teeth clenched. 

“Does that mean you’re in?”

“I’ll keep an eye on Merlin,” Leon added, earning groans from him and Gwaine. “Make sure he doesn’t cheat.”

“Fine,” Arthur relented with another great big roll of his eyes and a final glare at Morgana for getting him into this mess. She just smiled at him sweetly and winked.

Merlin grinned and stepped back, allowing Arthur and Gwaine to take up their positions in front of the targets. Only now did he notice the small crowd that had gathered to watch the king.

Arthur’s eyes flicked up, and for a fraction of a second, they met Merlin’s. Heat prickled at Merlin’s neck as the corners of Arthur’s mouth lifted just slightly, a silent acknowledgment, or maybe, a challenge. 

Merlin smiled in return, quietly wondering what Arthur was thinking was going through Merlin’s mind at the moment. Did he think he was just being mercilessly teased for the fun of it? Or could he sense that Merlin was trying to return them to the better days of their relationship? 

Probably not, honestly. He was an oblivious clotpole, and Merlin vowed to talk to him about everything, later in the night.

The man in charge of the set-up adjusted the floating targets with a few deft flicks, muttering spells under his breath to keep them suspended and moving sporadically. 

Then, he called out, “Go!” and the two were off, firing away at the boards with practiced precision. 

Leon’s eyes were on him the entire time, but it didn’t matter anyway, for Merlin hadn’t planned to cheat to begin with. Arthur would win, he was sure of it.

His eyes followed each of the arrows that flew out of Arthur’s crossbow, watching them hit the various moving targets with deadly accuracy. Gwaine was keeping up commendably, but his prowess lay in sword-fighting, not archery, in which Arthur had been training since he could probably walk.

“Alright, time!” The man yelled, halting the boards and any of the in-flight arrows mid-air. 

Arthur was already smirking triumphantly, counting the number of blue arrows—his—and the number of yellow arrows—Gwaine’s—that hit the bullseye. He looked up and caught Merlin’s eye with a look of utter satisfaction.

The vendor confirmed his win by announcing, “His majesty is the winner!” 

Gwaine groaned, while the small crowd around them cheered for their king, and Arthur nodded humbly, though the smug smile on his face offset the effect of that. It was a little stupid how unbelievably attractive he looked

Arthur set the bow down and made his way over to Merlin, who was finding it difficult to bite back a laugh at just how pleased with himself Arthur looked.

“You don’t look nearly disappointed enough,” Arthur said lowly, leaning in just a fraction. “Can I assume you were secretly rooting for me?”

Merlin’s breath hitched, but he shrugged casually anyway, trying not to show how fast his heart had started thudding. “Maybe I was.”

Arthur’s smirk widened into a full blown smile and it felt like the sun was out again, all bright and sending warmth fluttering down to his stomach.

“You don’t actually have to go along with the bet if you don’t want to,” Arthur said, voice soft and eyes earnest.

“I know.” Merlin’s lips twitched into a shy smile. “But I wouldn’t have agreed to it if I minded,” he murmured, shifting on his feet. “Later, though. These folks have had enough entertainment for the night, I think.”

“Ugh, don’t threaten me with a good time, you tease,” Arthur said, his grin turning positively wolfish.

Merlin’s laugh spilled out, light and unguarded, drawing the attention of a few nearby onlookers and then further still when Arthur’s laughter joined his.

It wasn’t until their laughter ebbed that he noticed the shift around them. The small cluster of onlookers had already drifted back toward the other stalls, and Morgana, Leon, and Gwaine had somehow disappeared altogether. He hadn’t seen them go—too caught up in the warmth of Arthur’s smile and the ridiculous—beautiful—sound of his laugh. 

If Morgana had orchestrated it (and he strongly suspected she had), Merlin decided he didn’t particularly mind.

“Where’d they go?” Arthur asked, looking around curiously. “I thought for sure Gwaine would whine a little more.”

“Probably moved on ahead,” he replied, peering over the heads to see if he could spot them. “Come on, we can catch up with them.”

Arthur followed him as they wove their way back into the stream of festival-goers. Their shoulders brushed now and then in the swell of the crowd, and the air between them felt warm and unhurried, like it belonged to them alone despite the noise of the fair all around.

It was Arthur who broke the comfortable silence when he asked, “Is that a new neckerchief?” 

Merlin turned to him to find his eyes lingering on the small twist of fabric at Merlin’s throat.

“Yep. Keep your grubby hands away from it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you already took two of my favourites—oh my god! Did you steal the green one aswell?!”

“What? No! Why would I steal that? It was very nice.”

“The red one was very nice too,” Merlin hissed.

Arthur snorted. “But the blue one was hanging on to dear life by just a thread.”

“And yet you stole it.”

“I didn’t steal it. It just…happened to come into my possession.”

Merlin glared, albeit half-heartedly, enjoying the good-natured back and forth too much. “Did the green one also just happen to come into your possession?”

“Nope.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Are you lying?”

“Why would I lie?!” Arthur defended, indignantly.

At this, he was met by a flat stare that Merlin hoped conveyed exactly what he was thinking.

By Arthur’s sheepish look and pursed lips, he figured he probably succeeded.

The awkward, tense air lasted barely a few seconds, before Arthur said, softly, “I swear I didn’t take it, but I’ll keep an eye out. Your neckerchiefs do, after all, have a way of finding their way to me.”

Merlin huffed out a small laugh at that, unable to help himself. 

It was a little ridiculous. They had all sorts of things of actual importance to discuss and here they were, fighting about a scrap of fabric. But that was just as well. They had the rest of their lives to hash out past grievances, so why disrupt the magic of such a beautiful night with all drama?

They walked a little more, pace slow and leisurely, occasionally stopping to browse a booth. A young girl, no more than seven summers, maybe, bounced up to them, just as Arthur was paying for some sweetmeats.

She tugged at Merlin's robe. “You’re Emrys, right?” She asked through wet lashes and a trembling lower lip. 

Merlin crouched in front of her. “I am, indeed. What can I do for a young princess such as yourself?”

The girl held out a flower crown, beautifully crafted with all sorts of colourful flowers, but it was snapped in one spot, petals drooping slightly. “Can you please fix this? My friend was being mean and he tore it,” she said, through tears.

“Oh dear,” Merlin whispered, accepting the crown. 

Arthur had stepped closer, peering over Merlin’s shoulder with a soft expression. “He tore it? That’s not very knightly,” he said, a faint grin tugging at his lips despite the gentle rebuke.

Merlin glanced up at him, a little smile playing on his own lips.

The girl huffed. “That’s what I said! I think he’s just jealous that he doesn’t have one.”

“Well, no worries. I can make this as good as new in no time,” he promised, already starting the spell work to stitch the broken stems back together and freshen up the crushed petals. 

He worked under the awed eyes of the child, and once the crown was mended, he whispered, “Floralis Coronis,” hands tracing a gentle circle in the air before him. The space shimmered with golden light, which soon disappeared, leaving a second flower crown in its place. 

“Wow,” he heard, murmured softly, and when he looked up, Arthur was watching him with such fascination that he felt his cheeks warm.

Quickly ducking his head, Merlin held out both crowns to the girl, whose eyes had widened to saucers. “There. One for you and your friend each.”

“But he was being mean!” She protested.

Merlin smiled. “Sometimes, it’s better to just forgive and move on rather than be angry about it forever.”

She pouted and grumbled, “Fine.”

Arthur chimed in from behind him, “And if he does it again, come tell me. I’ll set him straight.”

Curious eyes darted up to him. “Who are you?”

“I’m the king,” Arthur replied, with an all too pleased smile.

The girl turned up her nose. “Noo,” she drawled out and pointed to Merlin, “he’s the king.”

Arthur chuckled. “We’re both kings.”

“Well, Emrys is better,” she argued.

Merlin laughed and flashed a triumphant smile at Arthur. “Hear that, your majesty?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

Merlin stood up, knees creaking. “Where are your parents?”

“I don’t have any,” the girl said softly, eyes dropping to the ground. “I just came with my brother and now I can’t find him.” 

“No worries, you can stay with us until you find him. We’ll make sure you have a good time,” Arthur said, his smile softening to comfort her before her tears could return.

“Really?”

“Of course,” Merlin added. “A princess like you will fit right in with us, though I must ask, what’s your name?” 

She giggled and responded, “Sofia.”

“I knew a Sofia once!” Arthur exclaimed. “She was horrible, though. I think I already like you much better.”

Sofia hummed. “I don’t know if I like you yet.”

Merlin laughed. “Yeah, he takes some getting used to,” 

“Hm, can I bribe you with some sweets?” Arthur asked, holding out the sweetmeats they’d just purchased.

Sofia eyes the warily. “Daegal said I’m not supposed to accept things from strangers.”

“You can trust him,” Merlin supplied, grabbing one of the treats from Arthur’s hand. “Here, see, I’ll take one too.” 

Sofia bit her lip, but gave in to the temptation, picking out a pink one. Merlin’s eyes met Arthur’s for a brief second, and they both shared shy, contented smile.

After that, they fell into step on either side of Sofia, who clutched both crowns like they were the most precious thing in the world.  

She led them through the throngs of people, heading back towards the food area where she’d last seen him and keeping up a steady stream of conversation, the topics varying from how good the sweetmeat was—so Arthur offered her another—how the festival was the coolest thing she’d ever been to, her mean friend—and a few stories that told them that he wasn’t always mean—and how much her brother was probably worried about her right now.

Merlin found himself laughing quietly at some of her more dramatic descriptions, while Arthur offered gentle commentary, teasing, and encouragement in equal measure. 

Sofia suddenly stopped and pointed. “There! That’s him!” she exclaimed, running toward a boy in a black cloak, frantically looking this way and that.

The two of them quickened their pace, bounding after the young girl.

Sofia skidded to a stop in front of the boy. “Daegal!” she shouted, throwing herself into his arms.

Daegal stumbled back a little, startled, but then his expression softened and he wrapped his arms around her. “Sofia! There you are!”

“Emrys helped me find you!” Sofia announced proudly, bouncing on her toes.

Arthur huffed adorably at that, though a broad, amused smile spread across his face. He looked far too taken by the little girl.

“What—oh!” Daegal’s eyes widened when he looked away from his sister and at them. “Your majesties! I’m so sorry if she was a bother, I really hope we didn’t disrupt your night,” he rambled, flustered.

“Not at all. She’s a delight,” Merlin said, genuinely. “But if she’s a bit hyper on sugar for the next few hours, blame Arthur.”

Arthur elbowed him at that.

“Ah, nothing I can’t handle,” Daegal said, affectionately. “But really, thank you both for helping her.” 

He gave Sofia a pointed look and she sparked up and chimed in, “Thank you, Emrys!”

Merlin chortled out a laugh and Daegal gave her another warning glance.

Sofia sighed dramatically, her fluffy blonde hair and feisty little personality reminding Merlin far too much of the very king she refused to like.

“Thank you, Arthur,” she droned out.

“ King Arthur,” Daegal hissed, sharply.

“Emrys doesn’t call him that,” she argued.

“They’re friends, that’s why!”

Sofia shrugged. “Well, I’m his friend too, so I can just say Arthur,” she insisted, a far cry from her attitude towards said friend.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course, whatever.”

She grinned and waved at them both, yelling out a “Bye!” Before tugging her brother along.

“Brat,” Arthur muttered, still smiling after her.

Merlin watched them disappear into the crowd, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She’s…spirited,” he said lightly.

“Reminded me of you, actually,” Arthur stated.

“What? No, she reminded me of you .”

“Sugar addict and refusing to respect me? I thought you were giving her lessons in Merlin 101,” Arthur said, flatly.

“No," he drawled. "Blonde hair, bratty, bossy, and feisty—that’s all you.”

“Hate to say it, but that’s you as well.”

Merlin wrinkled his nose. “I’m not bratty.”

Arthur scoffed. “Come on, I need a drink,” he said, steering them toward the bar where Gwaine was chatting up a beautiful woman—who certainly did not look interested.

Merlin dug in his feet. “No.”

“What? Why?”

But Merlin was already pulling Arthur along in the opposite direction.

Arthur groaned. “Has Morgana been filling your ears?”

“She didn’t need to for me to guess that your drinking habit has become an addiction," Merlin snapped.

“There you go being overdramatic about it," Arthur grumbled. "Can’t a man just celebrate?”

Merlin rolled his eyes and stopped them at a table piled with various pies, a delicious aroma of fruits and dough lingering in the air. 

“Celebrate with food,” Merlin stated, picking out a slice of strawberry pie for himself before turning to Arthur expectantly. “Blueberry?” 

Arthur sighed and nodded, batting Merlin’s hands away when he tried to pay. They each accepted their slices, which were placed on thick napkins, and made their way over to the stairs to sit and eat.

They sat side-by-side on one of the steps, legs and shoulders brushing.

Merlin bit into his pie with a moan, earning a snort from Arthur, who took a bite and hummed out a “Mm,” sarcastically.

Merlin rolled his eyes again. “Good, isn’t it?”

“Fantastic,” Arthur said glumly, through a bite.

“Oh, come on. Has this night really been so miserable that you need to wash it away with alcohol?”

Guilt and something else that Merlin couldn’t quite place flashed in Arthur’s eyes. Voice low, he replied, “No, you’re right. It’s been a great night.”

Merlin smiled. “Yeah, for me as well.”

It was perfect, actually. He had gotten to hang out with his friends, catch up with Gaius, spend hours with Arthur for the first time in months (and not feel hurt throughout it all), and of course there was the whole magic being free and people openly greeting him as Emrys bit.

When he’d decided to come, he really hadn’t expected it to be this...perfect. 

“Do you—” Arthur started hesitantly, “Um, I’m really—”

“There you two are!” Gwen appeared, looking beautiful and flushed.

They were both jolted out of the moment and whatever Arthur had been meaning to say was left unsaid.

“Guinevere!” Arthur greeted, warmly.

“Hey, Gwen. You look splendid,” Merlin complimented, taking in the beautiful, purple dress she wore—no doubt her own making.

“Thank you! You look really great yourself,” she gushed with a bright, mischievous smile, then added slyly, “Doesn’t he, Arthur?”

Arthur’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he nodded, eyes drifting down Merlin’s form subtly.

Merlin felt heat creep up his neck, while Gwen continued, “What are you guys doing all the way here?”

“Tired. Been on my feet all day and half of that was spent playing politics,” Arthur complained.

Gwen winced sympathetically. “I…actually kind of came to tell you that the people are waiting for you to start the first dance,” she informed hesitantly.

Arthur groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Why?! It’s not a bloody ball!”

“The people want what they want,” Gwen shrugged. “And right now, they’re all very besotted with their revolutionary king.”

“Who am I even supposed to dance with?”

Gwen’s eyes darted to Merlin pointedly, and Merlin gasped.

“Hey! Leave me out of this.”

“Actually…the people are already kind of expecting it to be you two,” she said.

“What?” Merlin squawked. 

“Why?” Arthur asked, sounding confused.

“Well, you’ve been together the whole night. Just about everyone’s spotted you two, so they're just assuming...you know.” When she was met with unrelenting faces, she added, “Come on! Everyone wants to dance, we're just waiting on you two. It’ll be fun!”

Arthur sighed and stood. “Fine. Come on, Merlin.” He held a hand out.

Merlin looked at it like it had done him a personal offense. 

“I never even agreed!”

“The people want what they want.”

“The people can go fuck themselves—”

“See, this is what I meant about being bratty.”

Merlin gaped. “I don’t even know how to dance,” he protested.

“It’s not that hard,” Gwen chimed in from over Arthur's shoulder. “You just have to move your feet.”

Merlin groaned. “I’ll trip and embarrass myself.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Arthur promised, softly.

Merlin huffed and set down his napkin. “You’ll have to ask me properly, then,” he demanded, primly.

Arthur snorted. “There’s the bossy part.”

Merlin arched a brow. “I’m waiting.”

Arthur cleared his throat, dramatically. “Will you, Merlin Emrys of Ealdor, King of Druids, Bane of My Existence, do me the honour of giving me this dance?”

Merlin rolled his eyes, but he could feel a ridiculous little flutter in his chest that he tried desperately to smother. It was concerning, all the things his heart was doing tonight. He felt he almost ought to be worried for the poor thing.

“If I must,” he grumbled, though, as he slipped his hand into Arthur’s and allowed himself to be pulled up, his lips twitched like they wanted to betray him. 

Arthur’s unabashed grin widened in triumph, and Merlin ducked his head quickly so no one could see the warmth spreading across his face. 

He was tugged along, down the castle steps toward the torchlit yard where the musicians were waiting, a soft tune already playing. 

The hum of chatter and laughter grew louder with each step, and Merlin had to keep his gaze fixed stubbornly ahead so no one could catch the utterly stupid smile threatening to creep across his face.

Arthur leaned in and whispered, “Try not to look like you’re being led to your execution.”

Merlin scoffed, even as he felt a nervous thrill of anticipation shoot through him.“Easy for you to say—you actually know what you’re doing.”

Arthur glanced sideways at him, smirk softening into something warmer. “Just trust me.”

And, annoyingly, Merlin realised he already did. 

Gwen left them at the edge of the crowd, giving Merlin a mischievous wink before melting into the sea people, leaving them to step into the cleared space in the center, on their own. 

Cheers arose as they did and Arthur dipped his head in acknowledgment, all kingly grace, while Merlin just smiled tightly and squeezed Arthur’s hand even tighter.

Arthur’s attention fell back on Merlin and his lips curved into an amused smile. “They’re not going to eat you, Merlin,” he teased.

“Please don’t let me trip,” he whispered, just as the music picked up.

“I won’t,” Arthur promised, yet again, and then they were moving, Arthur’s hand firm at his back and his other guiding Merlin’s with a sure confidence that made it almost impossible not to follow.

Almost.

Merlin’s foot caught once, twice, and each time Arthur shifted smoothly to cover for him, so no one in the audience seemed to notice. 

Merlin shot him a grateful look, only to find Arthur already watching him with something softer than amusement lingering in his eyes.

“You’re doing fine,” Arthur murmured low enough that only Merlin could hear, his thumb brushing against the thin cloth at his waist.

Merlin’s stomach fluttered traitorously, and he looked away to assess the crowd. He spotted Morgana and Leon immediately, and both of their grins widened encouragingly when they met his gaze, but it was Mordred who was standing beside them, happily chattering away, that really pulled Merlin’s focus away, causing him to stumble once more.

Arthur’s grip on him became a little more firm. “Don’t look at them, look at me.”

But meeting Arthur’s intent gaze was just as hard as looking out at the people. Still, he tried, attempting to put Mordred out of his mind.

Fucking Mordred. Why did he have to be here?

Merlin took a deep breath and forced his gaze to stay locked on Arthur’s, the rest of the world blurring into background noise. The laughter, the chatter, even the music itself dulled a little when faced with the steady warmth in Arthur’s eyes.

Eventually, he fell into the rhythm. Forward, back, a turn, another step, repeat.

Merlin’s heart thudded far too fast for such an easy rhythm.

Arthur leaned in slightly, just enough for only Merlin to catch it. “Better,” he murmured, voice low and reassuring. “Now you’re not stepping all over me.”

Merlin huffed, cheeks heating. “Wasn’t doing it on purpose.”

Arthur laughed, his warm breath washing over Merlin’s face. “With you, I can’t really rule that out.”

Merlin chuckled, and when the first song bled out into another and more couples joined them in the space cleared for dancing, it didn’t even occur to Merlin to pull away. 

This song was a little more upbeat than the previous one and their movements widened out, larger steps, and a few fancy turns and twirls thrown in that had Merlin laughing breathlessly.

The rhythm tugged him along and his feet found the beat more easily than he expected. It was also easier because he felt fewer eyes on him as more and more people joined the dance floor, the crowd blurring into the background.

“Look there,” Arthur said, keeping his voice low as he nodded somewhere behind Merlin, then executed an effortless turn so their positions were reversed.

“Gwaine?” Merlin asked, seeing the knight dancing with the same girl from earlier.

Arthur hummed. “That’s the barmaid who slapped him when he tried to flirt with her.”

“No way,” Merlin laughed. “Seems she came around.” 

“I hope she sticks around. That’s exactly the kind of woman that could keep Gwaine in line.”

“She’ll have her hands full, that’s for sure.”

They did make a beautiful couple. She was taller than most women, had fiery red hair, and wore a simple blue dress, and the way Gwaine looked at her, it was as if she could do no wrong. His usual cocky swagger was softened, replaced by a look of genuine admiration, and Merlin found himself oddly touched by how naturally the two fit together.

He couldn’t help but wonder what kind of picture he and Arthur cut, dancing together—Arthur in deep reds, his ceremonial cloak flowing and golden crown gleaming, and Merlin in contrasting hues of blue, his robe swishing around his calves, the silver wreath on his head catching the light every now and then, but mostly buried in his overgrown hair.

They danced to a few more songs, and each time Merlin was about to ask to take a break to rest his feet and grab a drink, he caved to Arthur’s glinting eyes and charming smile. 

This one would be the last, he promised himself, as the previous song tapered into a softer, slower one. His hands were wrapped loosely around Arthur’s neck and Arthur’s were on his waist. At some point, they’d gotten so close that there was barely any space between them.

Merlin let his head drop onto Arthur’s shoulder, just in the crook of his neck, tightening his hold. Arthur’s grip on him became more firm, the pads of his fingers pressing into Merlin’s back comfortably, and they swayed together gently to the soft, fading music.

The world around them blurred into nothing. Merlin’s heartbeat slowed a little, settling into the steady rhythm of Arthur’s presence. His fingers were playing with the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck, and his mind was at ease.

When the song started to slow, the melody of the chorus ringing out one final time, Merlin lifted his head to meet Arthur’s gaze.

“I don’t think I’ve said it yet,” he started, “but, really, thank you for everything you’ve done for magic, Arthur.” For me, Merlin thought but did not say. 

Arthur’s blue eyes softened. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Still, thank you. In all my wildest dreams, I never imagined magic being free to look like…this. It’s beautiful.”

Arthur’s smile widened slightly, and he leaned just a fraction closer, resting his forehead against Merlin’s. “Well,” he said softly, “I couldn’t have done it without you, either, Emrys.”

He smiled, a little hesitant, entirely warm, though. “I’m proud of you,” he whispered, one hand coming up to rest on Arthur’s cheek.

“Yeah?” Arthur asked, a matching grin on his face.

“Yeah,” Merlin reaffirmed. “And…”

I forgive you.

Let’s fix this.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I miss you.

I love you.

Arthur’s gaze slips away from him, and a sharp gasp sounds in his ear, followed by a yell from somewhere distant. Before Merlin can even move, Arthur shoves him aside.

He falls to the ground, tripping on Arthur’s cloak and landing painfully on his ankle. There’s more commotion in the distance, somewhere by the tree line, and he can hear swords being brandished, but he has eyes only for Arthur.

Arthur, who has fallen beside him.

Arthur, who has an arrow jutting from his neck, and dark blood staining his tunic an even darker shade of crimson. 

Merlin scrambles forward, one hand already yanking his neckerchief free.

“Arthur, stay with me!” he cries, his voice shaking.

Gaius—where’s Gaius? 

He can’t do this. His hands are trembling, and he can barely see through his blurred vision. 

He’s not a healer, he’s just a boy in love.

Still, his fingers press against the wound, trying to stem the bleeding, as he calls out for the older physician. The arrowhead has pierced just below Arthur's carotid, but there’s so much blood—it’s everywhere, coating his hands, his clothes, the grass beneath them.

Merlin repeats Arthur's name like a prayer, like a chant, like a plea.

Arthur’s eyes are still open, etched with a pain so deep it steals Merlin’s breath. His hand twitches weakly, an aborted movement, as if even the simplest effort is too much. Merlin cries harder, the sound tearing from him.

“Please don’t leave me,” he begs, clutching Arthur closer. 

Arthur's lips move, but no words manage to escape his torn throat.

And it's there, sitting in the grass, pressing a blue swath of fabric to the edges of the wound, drenched in Arthur’s blood, that Merlin is able to decipher the expression on Arthur's face for what it is—what it has been all along—for the first time.

It’s love. 

It’s clear as day. He wonders how he missed it all the times before.

It’s a little too late now. Arthur’s eyes flutter closed, all expressions bleeding out, and his body becomes deadweight in his arms. Tears fall on his serene face in rapid succession.

Under his fingers, Arthur’s pulse slows, and Merlin looks up to the sky and begs—a prayer, a bargain, a curse, an accusation; anything it takes. 

But the heavens are quiet, and Merlin’s love is lost, leaving only the ache of what can’t be saved.

Notes:

Alexa, play The Prophecy, by Taylor Swift.

 

The route to the ending has changed DRASTICALLY. Strap in, folks, you are not ready for the brand of angst I have concocted.
And no, this is not MCD or even temporary MCD :) Feel free to guess what could be This bad tho.

(Also, he's wearing red for comfort these days.)

Chapter 44: How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

Summary:

“You underestimate Arthur,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “He will not break so easily.”

Green eyes glinted in the dim torchlight. “You misunderstand me. It will be you that breaks.”

Notes:

strap in, folks.

Chapter 44: How the hell did we lose sight of us again?

Arthur was alive.

But the way he looked at the moment—pale, lifeless, and lying on his bed, pulse thrumming erratically—it seemed as though his heart might give out any minute. 

This had been his condition for the past 52 hours. 

Merlin had stayed glued to Arthur’s bedside for every single one of those hours, so he could say with certainty that his health neither improved nor worsened. 

Back at the festival, Gaius had stepped in when Merlin's hands started shaking too much to be of any use. The king was quickly carried up to the physician’s chambers, where Gaius did everything he could to staunch the rapid blood flow. 

To that end, he succeeded. 

The poison, though, had spread fast enough that there was no stopping it now. Gaius was working on identifying it, but from what he said after the initial assessment was complete, nothing in the ingredients should have sent Arthur into a coma. 

And yet.

Merlin sighed and leaned forward, elbows resting on the mattress that Arthur lay on. They had decided to move him to his chambers for security and privacy. Too many people went in and out of the infirmary all day, and the last thing they needed was someone else deciding to finish Arthur off in his vulnerable state.

Gaius had easily taken over Merlin’s duties, and though he felt guilty for making the old man work again, he couldn’t bring himself to protest it. He was in no state to be tending to others’ wounds when his own heart suffered from the greatest one. 

Merlin slipped his fingers out of Arthur’s lifeless hand and heaved himself up. 

He was dangerously close to falling asleep and figured he knew just the strategy to keep himself awake. Looking around at Arthur’s absolute pigsty of a room, he knew he’d be occupied for at least a few hours in cleaning it up. 

One last wistful look at Arthur’s serene face, and Merlin was off. 

He went to the window first, pulling back the curtains and cracking it open to allow in some air and sunlight to hopefully get rid of the stuffiness that plagued the room.

He was a bit stumped after that, not knowing where to really start. In all his many, many years of cleaning up behind Arthur, the mess had never been this bad. Clothes were strewn haphazardly across chairs; boots abandoned where they’d been kicked off; socks lay on the carpet, missing their other halves; pieces of armour lay discarded on the dining table—horrifyingly dull from lack of polishing; the desk was a headache to even look at, filled with so many stacks of books and parchments that the wood was no longer even visible; and, lastly, goblets of wine and bottles of various liquor were on every flat surface, spills and corks accompanying them.

Excalibur, at least, was in its proper place, propped carefully against the wall by the bed, gleaming faintly in the sunlight that had broken through the curtains. 

Trust Arthur to treat his sword better than himself.

Merlin wasn’t stupid. He knew the state of Arthur’s chambers only reflected the state of his mental wellbeing, which was clearly in shambles. It hadn’t even been this bad the last few times he had been in here, so it was only natural to feel a healthy amount of guilt for what all the distance and time apart had done to Arthur. 

Merlin let out a slow breath, rubbing at the corner of his eye before the tears could escape. He dragged his gaze back to the chaos and decided to start with the bottles. Every second of looking at them made him sick to the stomach.

How had Arthur let it get this bad?

He went around the room grabbing every bottle, taking satisfaction in the clink that sounded throughout the room when each of them would hit the waste bin that he lugged around. The goblets he gathered up and stacked up on one the table, for one of the servants to return to the kitchen.

With all that clutter gone, the room was already looking much better, and if it weren’t for Arthur lying on the bed, dead to the world, Merlin could almost pretend the last few years had never happened and that this was just another dull morning of cleaning up after his highness.

He gathered the discarded clothes next, placing the dirty ones by the door and the few that just needed to be put away, in the wardrobe. Opening that, though, gave him a whole another task, and the next several minutes were spent rearranging the haphazardly folded clothes and simultaneously wondering how it had even gotten into such a state. 

The pile of reds on the left seemed to be the only sign of any attempt at order, but it was a pitiful one. Tunics were bunched together with no rhyme or reason, and more than one cloak was crumpled at the bottom of the wardrobe. Merlin huffed out a laugh despite himself—because somehow, it was so very Arthur—and went about righting it all.

He tackled the desk next, rolling up scrolls of parchment and putting them away neatly, and sorting the books by topic. Even then, there were simply too many crowding the surface, leaving little room to work, but there was nothing to be done about that. 

Maybe Arthur could get a bookshelf in here when he recovered? 

The boots, the sword, and all the various pieces of armour were collected and placed near his couch by the hearth, to be polished later.

Merlin, then, moved on to dusting, brooming, and mopping, and it was as good a distraction as any. His eyes kept flitting to Arthur, wondering if the sudden, sharp breath he took was a sign that he would wake up soon, or…the opposite. Nothing happened, though, and he kept at it.

Once his energy had fizzled out, Merlin returned to Arthur’s side and collapsed in the armchair beside the bed. His head slumped on the mattress and he slipped his hand back into Arthur’s cold one, as if he’d never even left. 

The silence of the chambers pressed in around him, heavy and unnatural, broken only by the occasional crackle of the fire. Merlin went to sleep wishing that when he woke, it would be to Arthur’s eyes, awake and bright, and his smile, charmingly disarming.

But even as the hope flickered in his chest, some part of him knew it was only that: a fool’s hope.

Deep down, he could feel it. 

Something was wrong.

 

---

 

On the eighth day since the festival, Merlin was woken from a fitful slumber by the low murmuring of familiar voices.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes and got up from the chaise that he’d made home, hope fluttering in his chest. It turned out to only be Gaius and Morgana, though. They both looked tired and weary, Morgana more so than he’d ever seen her.

“Have you found something else?” Merlin asked, approaching them beside Arthur’s bed.

Arthur was still unconscious. 

His pulse had evened out, and some of the colour had returned to his cheeks. The wound at his neck was well on its way to healing up nicely, after being cauterized and bandaged up, but Arthur was still not awake. 

And nobody could figure out why.

Gaius’ findings of the poison on the arrowhead were mostly inconclusive. The few ingredients that were identifiable were too general and were used in all sorts of poisons and even medicines. 

The remaining ingredients had completely dissolved into Arthur’s bloodstream before the arrow had been pulled out, leaving no traces behind. 

That was more than a little worrying, because it meant Arthur had been subject to the poison’s effects for more than a week now, and they were helpless to do anything about it until he woke up and they could work on identifying it through his symptoms. 

Gaius shook his head. “He ought to have woken up long before now. It’s very concerning that he hasn’t.”

“You said that the coma was induced by the trauma of the injury?” Morgana confirmed.

“Yes, though, I fear it may be something else that’s keeping him unconscious,” Gaius said, hesitantly.

“Like what?” 

“I think…he’s trying to fight the poison,” Gaius admitted, finally.

“Why are you saying that like it’s a bad thing?”

“Well, for one, his body barely has the strength to keep itself going, let alone do something as strenuous as that. But, also, some poisons are very predatory in nature. If they sense resistance, they’ll only fight back harder to crush that,” Gaius explained.

“The foxglove,” Merlin murmured. 

Gaius nodded sagely. “It’s a clever choice. In smaller doses, it only weakens the heart. But when combined with the right agents, it does something far worse. It adapts. It feeds on the body’s defences and grows stronger the more it is resisted.”

Morgana’s brow furrowed. “So you’re saying if Arthur fights it, he’s only digging himself deeper?”

And there was no doubt about it that Arthur would be fighting it.

“Precisely.” Gaius pressed his lips together, his eyes grave. “What little strength he has is being wasted on a battle he cannot win.”

With those foreboding words, Gaius left, saying something about needing to do more research. 

Merlin had just pulled on his boots to join him in the library when Morgana stopped him with a hand on his arm. 

In the past few days, their bond had reknitted itself tighter than it had ever been. With Arthur gone, they both lost part of themselves and leaned heavily on each other for support. 

No one else—save for Leon, perhaps—could come close to understanding what they were going through.

She patted the space beside her on the edge of the bed and Merlin sat down. 

Morgana opened up her palm to reveal a soft, red pouch, weighed down by something heavy. She opened it up and Merlin watched curiously as she pulled out a thick, silver, medallion-type disk.

“This is Ygraine’s sigil,” she started, running a finger along the curve before holding it out to him.

Slowly, Merlin accepted it.

His fingers traced the intricate etchings in the metal, the worn grooves that spoke of years of being held and cherished. On the medallion lay a cross, on the center of which was a carved bird of some sort—a falcon, if he wasn’t mistaken.

It was beautiful.

Morgana continued, “Arthur gave it to me to hold on to, a few years ago, with the instructions that if anything ever happened to him, I make sure you get it.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to him,” Merlin half-snapped. “He’s fine.”

“I know. But he would want you to have it.”

Merlin shook his head, another denial already on his lips.

Morgana just sighed and gently closed his fingers over the sigil.

“If he…if anything happened to him,” she stuttered out, “the sigil would guarantee you a high position in court, regardless of what anyone else had to say about it. He made sure that you would always fit into a life here, whether he would be around for it or not.”

Merlin’s throat tightened, words failing him for once. He looked down at the sigil, the cool silver pressing into his palm, the weight of it comfortable, and for a fleeting moment, it felt as though Arthur himself had reached out and anchored him.

He hated the thought of Arthur preparing for a world without himself in it. A world like that couldn’t possibly exist. Merlin, at least, could not exist in such a world.

But he couldn’t deny the warmth that spread through his chest at knowing Arthur had always thought of him.

“I don’t care about positions or titles,” Merlin finally managed, voice rough. “I just want him back.”

“I know,” she whispered, then choked out, “I’m sorry.”

Merlin turned to her, eyes finally drawing away from the sigil. “This isn’t your fault,” he said, confused.

“Isn’t it?” She asked, looking away, unable to meet his gaze. “It was my idea to have the festival outside—”

“Stop it, Morgana,” he chided, heart going out to her, knowing exactly how she felt. “If he was the target, he would’ve been attacked at some other time if not then. God knows he’s always prancing around vulnerable to attacks often enough.”

“Maybe,” she murmured.

A long and weary sigh escaped Merlin. “Besides, if anyone’s at fault, it’s me.”

“Oh, don’t you start again!”

“He took that arrow for me! It should be me dying right now, not him.”

Morgana huffed. “Since my brother’s not awake enough to say it himself, I will. Shut up, Merlin.”

Merlin opened his mouth and she swiftly covered it with her palm.

“First of all, the arrow might very well have been aimed at Arthur to begin with, and not you—”

“But—” came Merlin’s muffled voice.

“Second,” she said sharply. “Don’t you dare insult Arthur’s choice. He would throw himself in front of that arrow a hundred times over if it meant you lived.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes in protest.

“Third,” Morgana added, lowering her hand at last, “if you think that Arthur would want you to waste your breath on guilt instead of finding a way to save him, then you clearly don’t know him as well as you claim.”

“There is no way to save him!”

Morgana arched an eyebrow. “Read every book in the library already, have you?”

“There’s nothing in those damn books.”

Morgana sighed and squeezed his hand. “Worth a shot,” she said, getting up. “I’ll see you down there.”

And then she, too, was gone, following Gaius to the library. It was all they ever did these days: read mind numbingly obscure texts about poisons and cures, hoping something would click.

After a week at it, they’d gotten nowhere, so Merlin wasn’t too hopeful. Still, he would trudge down, eventually, and haul a few books back to Arthur’s chambers, and slowly make his way through them, eyes lingering on Arthur more often than the words.

For now, though, Merlin just sat there, turning over the sigil in his hands and wishing he’d come around and accepted Arthur’s heartfelt apologies sooner.

Then they could’ve had more time together. They could have been happy and stupidly in love for a little while longer than just that one night.

But now it was too late and Merlin was all alone. 

 

---

 

On the thirteenth day, Merlin found himself going down to the dungeons, cold fury burning through him.

He had already scoured every book in the library and his and Arthur’s chambers combined, searching for a cure or even a clue. He had spoken to Kilgharrah and the Druids, even, to see if they had any knowledge on the predicament. After coming up empty-handed, he figured going to the source of the issue might work out better.

He had been surprised to learn that the attack at the festival wasn’t an organized one. No, it had just been one woman who had easily snuck past the defences and fired an arrow from high up in a tree, right at the border of the forest. She had been interrogated thoroughly and repeatedly by every single knight but refused to so much as open her mouth to curse at them.

Merlin had insisted that Mordred be interrogated too. It was stupidly biased, of course, but it’s not like he was thinking straight. And what other conclusion was he supposed to draw when Kilgarrah had already said that it was Mordred who was prophesied to bring Arthur’s end?

Morgana and Leon had both been Mordred’s firm alibis, though, saying that he was with them at the time of the attack and for a good while before that, as well. He was also quite distraught by the events—apparently.

Maybe it was better that it hadn’t been Mordred—this time around. At least he was safe in the knowledge that Arthur (likely) wouldn’t die unless it was Mordred dealing the blow.

When Merlin stepped up to the darkened cell, he found the woman exactly as the knights had described: silent, wrists chained to the wall, and her head tilted back in defiance. The torchlight caught on her face, casting her sharp cheekbones into shadow, and for a moment, Merlin thought she looked less like a prisoner and more like a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

Or perhaps she already had.

He crouched low in front of her, coming eye to eye to scan her face, her hands and her clothes. They were torn and lined with sweat and streaked with dirt, and the dull colours marked her as a peasant.

But not one from around here, he figured, taking in her pointy features—a hooked nose, sharp, green eyes and a thin mouth. 

She was a slight woman, and yet she was responsible for felling a king that hundreds before her had already tried and failed to harm. 

“What did you do to him?” Merlin asked, quietly.

The woman met his gaze unflinchingly, not an ounce of emotion in her eyes. He was startled when she opened her mouth and replied, voice raspy from days of unuse, “I took your lover away from you.”

Merlin’s fingers curled against his knees, nails biting into the fabric of his trousers, but he kept his face carefully blank. 

“Why?”

“Because you took my husband away from me.”

He cocked his head. “And who was your husband?”

“One of the men you and the king butchered a few weeks ago,” she hissed, fury finally creeping into her eyes.

Merlin narrowed his eyes. 

“Your husband was a criminal,” he spat out, “a cold-blooded killer who really should’ve thought twice before accepting a shady job from Mercia.”

“And you, Emrys, should have thought twice before killing him. Now look at us both—left alone in this miserable world.”

Merlin shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “I still have Arthur. You failed, and you can rot in hell with that knowledge.”

A loud, humorless cackle rang out in the cell, echoing in a way that sent shivers down his spine. “You will not have him for much longer,” the girl warned, a sneer dancing across her face. 

Merlin’s magic stirred restlessly beneath his skin, urging him forward, urging him to do something. But he stayed where he was, fighting for control. He couldn’t let her see how much she had already shaken him.

“Tell me what poison you used, and I give you my word, I’ll set you free,” he tried, hoping he kept the desperation out of his tone, but by the way the smirk he was faced with only sharpened, he probably hadn’t.

“It is not my freedom I long for, Emrys. It is your sorrow.” The woman tilted her head, lips curling into a bitter smile. “But, I will tell you this: My poison doesn’t kill. It takes.”

Merlin’s jaw clenched. “Takes what?”

“Everything.”

Her words were barely above a whisper but they echoed through the cell, bouncing off the stone walls and crawling under Merlin’s skin.

He leaned forward and forced his expression into ice, though his chest felt like it was collapsing inward. “You underestimate Arthur,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “He will not break so easily.”

Green eyes glinted in the dim torchlight. “You misunderstand me. It will be you that breaks.”

Unable to bear hearing anymore, Merlin fled, returning to the tranquility of Arthur’s chambers. The woman’s laugh followed him all the way there.

Maybe if he had paid heed to her words, he would have been better prepared for what came next. Maybe, if he tried, he could have guessed at what she was alluding to and steeled himself. 

But her words were daunting and sent chills down his spine. He didn’t want to give them the attention they demanded, lest they reveal something he wanted no part in.

 

---

 

On the fifteenth day, Arthur woke.

It happened during one of the rare moments that Merlin wasn’t in his chambers already. Instead, he was in his own, grabbing a fresh change of bandages for Arthur when a pageboy ran in, flushed and panting.

“Lady Morgana is requesting your urgent presence in the king’s chambers,” the boy informed, in between gulping down air, desperately.

Merlin dropped the bandages at once and ran. His feet pounded against the stone floors of the castle as he sped through the corridors, and by the time he stood in front of Arthur’s door, he was almost out of breath himself.

He sent a quiet prayer up to whichever god was listening, and then shoved the door open, heart in his throat.

He froze when what he found on the other side was Arthur, wide awake and sitting up in bed—alive! And healthy, and talking, and awake!

“Arthur?” He breathed.

Merlin couldn’t move. His chest felt too full, his legs too weak, as though one wrong step would shatter the fragile reality in front of him.

Arthur’s eyes cut to him, sharp and focused, even though there was an air of confusion in his eyes.

Morgana and Leon, who he just noticed, also turned to him. Both of their faces were white as sheets.

In his relief, Merlin couldn’t quite make sense of the expressions, but, really, they should have been the first sign.

The second, harder to ignore, was when Arthur’s face pinched into a scowl aimed directly at Merlin. 

“Who are you?” 

Merlin blinked. “What?”

Arthur’s eyebrows dipped lower. “You can’t just barge in here like that! What are the bloody guards doing if they’re not keeping the rabble out?”

"Rabble?" He repeated, barely hearing himself over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Arthur turned to the other two in the room. "Is he deaf?"

Merlin’s mouth fell open. “Alright, enough. If this is your idea of a joke, it isn’t very funny, Arthur.” 

Arthur’s scowl only deepened. “You will address me as sire.”

The room went dead silent. Morgana’s hand flew to her mouth, Leon shifted uneasily, but neither said a word. 

Merlin felt the floor tilt beneath him.

His eyes darted to Morgana and Leon, both looking as off-kilter as he felt.

None of them knew what to say. It had been many, many years since they’d last seen an Arthur who didn’t know Merlin—who looked at him as though he were a stranger.

But staring into that blank, unrecognising face, Merlin realised this was the reality they were faced with.

‘Takes what?’

‘Everything.'

Wretched woman. She had been right.

In one fell swoop, Merlin lost everything.

Notes:

Hehe. Welcome to the Amnesia Arc :D

No one really guessed it but I think two of you got fairly close. I think the amnesia trope is like a love or hate, kinda no in between, with most people, but bear with me. I'll try to do it justice. Essentially, we get majorly depressed Merlin, Arthur being constantly confused but also very much trying his best in every regard, lots of Arthur suffering through rehab (and other stuff), and merthur still being cutesy despite it all! Andd Arthur gradually learning to love Merlin again :))

This really wasn't planned up until i got halfway thru the previous chapter. Originally, Arthur would just be normally injured and wake up after a few days, Merlin would hug him, they would fall back into a frinedship, rehab, then it would merge into a romantic relationship, the end. It was very cute and I even had a bunch of it written already and I tried very hard to ignore the amnesia idea once it came to me but it really stuck lmao. So now here we are!

Anywayss, uni has started! Nothing in the world could have prepared me for how draining it is :/ My schedule is also horrible so I doubt i'll ever update bw Mon-Thurs :')

Next chapter: But even statues crumble if they're made to wait i.e Merlin crashes out.

Chapter 45: But even statues crumble if they're made to wait

Notes:

trigger warning: the whole chapter is basically just a panic attack.

Chapter 45: But even statues crumble if they're made to wait 

A golden prince and a scrappy peasant, both young and untouched by everything the years would bring, goading each other in the courtyard for all to see. They don’t know it yet, but it’s the first of a thousand quarrels that would shape a lifetime.

...

Arthur disobeying his father and risking his life to retrieve a flower to save his manservant. 

...

Merlin, sacrificing his life for the prince’s, on the Isle of the Blessed—he didn't even have to think twice about it.

...

Arthur and Merlin going on numerous hunts together, spending more time teasing each other than anything else. A camaraderie builds, a friendship that they begrudgingly accept.

...

Merlin and Arthur, spending afternoons in the physician’s chambers where Merlin’s work sometimes dragged him, and Arthur hanging around, complaining about everything and nothing.

...

The first time Arthur shares his cloak with Merlin, grumbling about “idiotic servants” who don’t know how to dress warmly, while Merlin ducks his head to hide a smile. 

Arthur says he does it because getting sick will just give Merlin an excuse to skiv off his duties, but the fond curve of his mouth gives him away.

...

Arthur noticing how rarely Merlin got time to eat and making sure he was able to sneak off with at least a few of the sausages off his own plate.

...

The morning of the first frost, Merlin steps out of the physician’s chambers in his ratty boots, only to find a warm, new pair waiting by the door. They fit like they were made for him, finer than anything he owns.

It becomes a tradition, though Merlin won’t realise until years later that it was Arthur behind it all along.

...

Evenings spent in the tavern, playing dice, Merlin cheating and Arthur trying to pinpoint exactly how he’s managing it but failing every time.

Something shifts between them, laughter chiming a little brighter, looks lingering a little longer.

...

Rain-soaked walks, huddled close together for warmth.

...

Quiet nights, sitting by the fire, the knights winding down for the night around them, but to them, it’s like nobody else in the world exists. There’s some battle or another to be fought the next morning, and they share soft words and quiet fears, voices low so no one else will hear.

Merlin catches himself watching the firelight dance over Arthur’s features, and Arthur doesn’t look away when their eyes meet.

...

A chaise that has turned up in Arthur’s room that Merlin slowly makes home.

...

The plate of sausages that Arthur leaves entirely untouched now. Merlin knows they’re Arthur’s favourite, but Arthur knows they’re Merlin’s favourite too. 

...

Merlin helping Arthur adjust his armour, and both being acutely aware of the closeness, but neither wanting to step back.

...

Late nights in Arthur’s chambers, Arthur going over reports and occasionally turning to Merlin for his opinion, while Merlin polishes his sword. The rain patters on outside and the castle is long asleep, and in this sanctuary, it’s just them: Arthur and Merlin, not Prince and Manservant.

...

Arthur and Merlin, going to the ends of the earth for each other, over and over again.

And what he thought was the end of it all when, after ten long (but not long enough) years, Arthur discovers Merlin’s magic.

...

A still-golden king and his heartbroken physician, coming face to face after two long years apart.

Arguments and barbs and cold looks—but he should have seen it then, for they weren’t icy enough.

...

Quiet awkwardness, as they learn how to exist in the same space again.

...

A plate of sausages, shared after a long night of tending to the ill.

...

The tavern.

Arthur remembering his favourite soup.

Arthur giving him the bed—an olive branch, Merlin realises, only much later.

Waking in Arthur’s arms, everything about it feeling so right. Wanting that for the rest of his life.

...

A kiss—their first. He’d thought it would be their last.

...

Another tavern, another night where it feels as though fate itself is pulling them together and he’s doing everything he can to resist its pull.

...

Revelations and breakdowns. 

Everything making sense all of a sudden.

Nothing making sense all of a sudden.

...

Another kiss—their last. He hadn’t thought that at the time.

...

A letter. A festival. A dance.

A night where they got to be happy.

One final time.

...

And it’s all gone. Every moment that plays in his head like a montage, and everything in between. 

Arthur doesn’t remember any of it. Arthur doesn’t remember him.

Merlin’s not sure where he ended up, but Leon finds him easily enough and drops to the floor, in front of him. 

“Merlin…” Leon’s voice is distant, muffled, almost underwater. He doesn’t hear it at first, doesn’t register the hand gently resting on his shoulder. The panic has wrapped itself around his mind so completely that nothing else exists.

Merlin’s chest feels constrained, like there’s a vice around his ribs, squeezing until the very life in him gives out. His breath comes in short, ragged gasps, not enough to fill his lungs.

The room spins, walls tilt and shadows dance at the edge of his vision. When Merlin shuts his eyes to block it all out, he’s instead assaulted by the vision of Arthur’s blank eyes. Merlin gasps again, clutching his head as if he could squeeze the torment out of his skull.

Leon’s voice grows louder but it’s not louder than the drum of his heart that he can feel in his throat, like he’s choking on it.

Somewhere deep down, a tiny voice whispers that he needs to breathe, needs to slow down, but the panic roars louder, drowning out reason. His body shakes and his skin grows clammy with sweat, and he must be crying too, because the sound of shuddering, ragged sobs fills the air, joining the cacophony of his racing heartbeat.

“Merlin, focus on my voice,” Leon urged, his hands firm but gentle on Merlin’s shoulders. “Look at me. Breathe with me. In… and out… slowly.”

Merlin’s chest heaved violently, but he tried, fumbling to match Leon’s rhythm. Panic still clawed at him, and he could still hear Arthur’s voice in his ears, practically screaming, ‘Who are you?’

Each inhale felt jagged and incomplete, and it only pushed Merlin to draw his breaths in and out faster, working himself up into more of a panic. 

“Slowly, now,” came Leon’s voice—an anchor in the storm. His own breaths came out exaggerated and slow for Merlin’s benefit, and Merlin tried to keep pace with him, shuddering and shaking all over. His hands clutched at his chest as if he could physically hold the panic in place, but it only throbbed harder, relentless.

Leon’s voice cut through the haze again, firm but gentle. “That’s it, Merlin…in…and out…just like this. I’ve got you.”

Merlin’s head dropped forward, onto Leon’s shoulder, letting the sound of Leon’s calm breaths thread through the chaos. The sobs wracked his body, uncontrolled, but slowly, painfully, the rhythm began to sink in, and the tightness in his chest loosened just a fraction.

Leon’s arms came up around him and Merlin clung to him desperately, trying to drown out the voices in his head with the grounding rhythm of Leon’s heartbeat.

“I lost him,” he murmured, weakly, words finally escaping between ragged breaths.

Leon shook his head, a light movement against him. “You haven't. It can’t be forever, Merlin. He loves you too much to truly forget you.”

Merlin pulled away, tears still flowing freely, like a broken dam. “You don’t know that.”

To that, Leon had nothing to say and Merlin cried harder, hearing the echo of Arthur’s empty question reverberate through his mind. Each iteration was a jagged knife, twisting in his chest, and the weight of all the lost years pressed down until he felt as though he might collapse under it.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Merlin rasped, his voice thick with tears.

“I tried,” he whispered.

“Why didn’t you try harder?” He sobbed, the words spilling out between gasps for breath. “Why didn’t anyone—anyone—just stop me from being so fucking stupid?”

“I’m sorry,” Leon breathed.

“God—what was I doing?! Two months! Two months I spent being pathetic and bitter when he was just trying his best,” he cried. “We could’ve had it all! We could’ve been happy and now—now it’s all fucking gone, Leon!”

“It’s not gone,” Leon insisted, desperately. “He’ll remember! It’ll take time, maybe, but he’ll get there!”

“It’s not fair,” Merlin choked out, shaking, tears streaking down his cheeks. “Why does it have to be like this? Why can’t we just…” His voice broke, swallowed by sobs. “Haven’t we been through enough? I can’t bear it anymore. I keep losing him and it hurts—it hurts and I love him and that hurts,” he finished, voice raw.

Leon’s hands tightened on his shoulders, steadying him. “I know, Merlin. I know it hurts. But you’re not losing him. Not truly. You’re not alone in this, and he will remember, I know it. Give him time.”

“What if he doesn’t?”

“Then, he’s still Arthur. And if I know anything about that man, it’s that he doesn’t need his memories to love you again.”

“I want my Arthur back,” Merlin said, weakly, desperately. 

The Arthur who knew him inside and out, the one whose laugh belonged only to him, whose eyes softened whenever they met his, in a way they never did for anyone else.

Leon murmured gently, “You’ll get him back. It might take time, but he’ll remember. You’ve built something too strong to just vanish, Merlin. Trust that.”

Merlin sighed and buried his face in Leon’s chest, clinging to the reassurance, though every part of him ached for the man he had loved and lost.

Notes:

Bear with me guys, it's not all depressing, trust mee.
I think i'll be updating every sunday from now on btw. You can thank my lovely uni for that! Also, im very grateful to all of u who've stuck around this long, and to all the lovely commenters who keep me going. There's always at least one that comes on friday or saturday and it really does push me to hurry tf up with the sunday chapter <3

Also lmao, so i was skimming through all the chapters to find scenes for the montage/flashbacks bit, andcame across one of my notes: 'hm does merlin havea ring kink' and ykw. he totally does.

Also wow those sausages sure do haunt the narrative

Next chapter: arthur’s very confused pov and explanations. I MISSED ARTHUR POV SO MUCHHH

Chapter 46: Crossing out the good years

Notes:

Arthur's back!!!!

Chapter 46: Crossing out the good years

Now look. Arthur has been injured plenty of times. Sometimes it’s bandits, other times it’s some magical attack, and he gets knocked upside the head and promptly falls prey to the land of the unconscious. 

But none of those many, many times have made him feel this…this wrongness when he wakes.

It’s not pain. He’s had pain before, and this isn’t it. It’s not disorientation either, but if he had to describe the feeling as akin to another, it would be that. His mind feels clear, sharp as a blade, and yet, there’s something missing. He knows it in his bones.

He knows it in his heart, perhaps.

His chambers are familiar. 

The faces around his bed are familiar too—Morgana, pale and taut; Leon, stiff-backed and watchful. Except, Leon is in full knight’s regalia: sword belted at his side, red cape, chainmail—the whole ordeal. 

That’s the first odd thing he notices.

The second is the boy.

Dark hair that’s overgrown and untamed, framing his impossibly high cheekbones. He has a thin frame but upon closer inspection, Arthur can see the wiry strength hidden there—the kind built from long days of hard work rather than any knightly training. His posture is wrong for a servant, though, for he isn’t bowed or deferential.

But it’s his eyes, more than anything, that unnerve him. They’re bright and intense and focused entirely on him like he’s the answer to some desperate prayer.

“Arthur?” comes his breathless voice, sending a pang of something through Arthur’s chest. 

Arthur’s mouth pulled down, confusion giving way to his need for control, his desperate desire for everything to feel normal again.

“Who are you?” The words leave his mouth before he can think, cold and sharp, the way he’s been trained. And when the boy flinches—actually flinches—Arthur feels it, like he’s just struck him.

The wrongness digs deeper.

“What?”

Arthur’s scowl deepened. “You can’t just barge in here like that! What are the bloody guards doing if they’re not keeping the rabble out?”

"Rabble?" The boy—man, Arthur realised, belatedly—repeated, stupidly. 

Arthur turned to the other two in the room in exasperation. "Is he deaf?"

The man, still hovering in the doorway, gaped. “Alright, enough. If this is your idea of a joke, it isn’t very funny, Arthur.” 

Arthur’s eyebrows rose up, his own mouth practically falling open at the utter audacity. “You will address me as sire.”

For that, the man had no reply. Arthur watched the blood rush out of his face. He watched as a pale hand gripped the doorway, as if for support. He watched a hundred emotions flit across his face. And he watched as the man turned heel and left on undeniably shaky feet and not waiting for so much as a dismissal from him.

The room remained dead silent. Morgana’s hand was covering her mouth, an aghast expression on her face. Leon—ever-steady Leon—was also shifting uneasily, regarding Arthur like he was a puzzle.

Arthur’s eyebrows rose questioningly. Then, inexplicably, Leon turned to Morgana, and Arthur's confusion only grew as he watched them share a silent conversation, communicating with their eyes and expression alone.

“I’ll go fetch Gaius,” Leon said hurriedly, jogging over to the door.

Arthur watched him go and then turned to Morgana, who really looked like she wished she was the one who got to escape.

“What the hell is going on?!”

Morgana’s mouth opened then promptly shut again. Her eyes were darting around the room, looking everywhere but at him, and Arthur’s irritation began to mount. He could feel it bubbling, desperate for something—anything—that would make sense of this.

Because something was wrong. He could feel it, but he couldn’t quite put his finger to it.

Morgana cleared her throat, but when another few seconds passed and no words came out—a rarity, truly—Arthur spoke up again. “When did Leon get knighted? And–and where’s my father?”

“Your father,” Morgana repeated, breathlessly. “Oh god.” 

And then she began pacing. And really, that was the final straw. Morgana did not pace. 

And yet, here she was, wringing her hands, steps uneven across the stone floor, her jaw tight and her expression wavering on something that looked horribly like panic.

“Morgana,” Arthur snapped, “I want answers.”

He pushed himself further upright against the pillows, ignoring the dizziness that flared.

Morgana froze and raised her arms placatingly. “Don’t move! You might open the wound.” 

Arthur looked down and sure enough, there were neatly tied bandages wrapped around his neck. He raised a hand to either side of his throat, prodding gently until a stab of pain ignited from the right side. 

“Will you just tell me what happened?” Arthur asked, frustration growing.

“I think we should wait for Gaius…”

Arthur huffed. 

With nothing to do but wait, he surveyed the room. What had, at first glance, seemed the same as usual, he realised was not.  There was a lovely leather chaise sitting in front of the hearth and a low wooden table between the two. 

Those had certainly not been there before. 

The table was stacked with thick, dusty-looking books, and only the backside of the chaise was visible, but just at the edge, he spied a thick blanket pooling onto the floor. 

Weird.

He turned to Morgana, who had settled into a chair pulled up beside his bed. Her eyes had followed his gaze and she too was looking towards the fireplace and the new furniture, but with a soft, almost sad, expression. 

Faced with her so close, it struck him.

She looked older. 

Her skin was unblemished as always, but there was a subtle gravity to her features he hadn’t noticed before. There were faint lines at the corners of her eyes, a soft crease between her eyebrows, even though they were relaxed, a quiet heaviness to her expression, and her eyes looked wiser—calmer and less fiery than he’d grown used to.

Arthur steeled himself before asking, “How long have I been asleep?”

Morgana’s eyes cut to him. “Two weeks.”

Arthur shook his head. “Don’t lie to me.”

She sighed. “I’m not lying.”

Arthur’s heartbeat picked up, the anticipation of knowing that he was close to the truth and the desperate urge to run from it warring in his chest.

“Just tell me what happened,” he pleaded, quietly.

Something in his words or his face made Morgana give in. She took a deep breath before asking, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Arthur frowned and tried to recall, but the memories felt slippery and hazy, and in the end, he came up with nothing. 

“I don’t know. My mind’s a little muddled right now,” he admitted.

“Your last birthday, then?” Then, seeing the look on his face, she amended, “My birthday. Which do you remember last celebrating?”

What on earth was this line of questioning?

Thankfully, he didn’t have to think too hard for the answer. “I gifted you that red cloak. Your twenty-second, wasn’t it?”

Morgana bit her lip and glanced away. 

“Morgana?”

She shook her head faintly, a shadow passing over her face.

“I think—I think you’ve lost your memories. A good chunk of them,” she confessed, quietly.

“What?” Arthur repeated, incredulously. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“We celebrated my thirty-fifth a few months ago.”

Arthur blinked. “No, that’s not possible.”

He racked his brain for a single memory, an image—anything—of all the celebration in between, of anything else at all, and hit a wall.

He had every memory up until a certain point—somewhere a few months after Morgana’s twenty-second birthday celebration. There were tourneys and feasts and quiet dinners with his father and Morgana, and training with the knights, and then it all just became impossibly blurry until it disappeared into nothingness.

Anything he tried to recall after that hazy point—and, oh he tried—simply remained out of his reach, barred behind a foggy wall that seemed insurmountable.

Arthur met Morgana’s eyes and he was quite sure the panic was visible on his face. “Thirteen years? I’ve lost thirteen years?"

Her expression softened, though the worry in her eyes didn’t fade. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “There was an attack. An arrow hit your neck. The poison on it must’ve erased…everything.”

Arthur swallowed harshly. “Is father still—?”

“He had a heart attack around a year ago.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped, a heavy weight settling deep in his chest.

This wasn’t right.

This wasn’t fair, godammit.

He pressed a hand to his face, trying to process the words. His father. For all the quarrels they’d had, he still loved the man—the only parent he’d ever known. And just like that, he’d lost him. And he’d lost the last decade of memories with him.

Everything he thought he knew—the life he remembered—was just gone. 

He looked back at Morgana, fear and pain mingling in his eyes. “I’m the king,” he stated, needing confirmation.

She nodded. “Leon and I have been handling your duties for the most part, but um—there’s a lot you need to catch up on. And it’ll all come as a surprise to you, but you have to remember—”

Arthur scoffed. 

“Everything you’ve done, all the change you brought about, it was you who did it. I mean, you had help, but these were all things you wanted.”

“You’re really not making any sense,” he muttered, voice tight, trying to rein in the panic.

“I’ll start at the beginning, I guess?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes and shoved away all his feelings into a far corner of his mind.

Now is not the time to fall apart, he told himself. I need to know what’s going on, I need to catch up, I need to be in control. He forced his chest to slow, forcing his thoughts to line up like soldiers, one step at a time.  

His duties, he could deal with. His emotions, however, could take a backseat for now. Because he was the fucking king, apparently. And from what he knew from his father, kings didn’t really have the time to take two week long naps.

“With how much you love to prattle on, we’ll be sitting here for another thirteen years if you were to do that…tell me the important bits. I’m sure there’s work I need to get to,” he said, forcing calm into his voice, though his chest still felt tight.

“If only the poison took away your horrible personality,” Morgana commented, a scowl on her face.

“If only,” he deadpanned, and reached for the goblet of water on his bedside. 

“Right, for starters, we’re half-siblings.”

The water that he’d just taken a sip of promptly sprayed right back out of his mouth in his shock. 

“What?!” He spluttered.

Morgana had the meanest scowl on her face that he’d ever seen. “Must you always act like a pig?”

Arthur’s eyebrows shot up. “You can’t just drop something like that on me! What do you mean we’re siblings?” He half-yelled.

“Exactly what I said,” she snapped. “Uther had an affair with my mother a few years before he met Ygraine. We didn't find out until around five years ago, but he confirmed it.”

Arthur really didn’t know what to do with that information. 

Within the span of a few minutes he had lost one family member and gained another. The world he thought he knew just kept shifting beneath his feet.

Morgana took several deep breaths, then continued, “Most of your father’s knights have been replaced by your own men. They’re all far better than the previous ones, and being of noble birth is no longer a requirement to become a knight.”

Arthur stilled at that. His father would have raged, would have called it blasphemy against the very order of things. And yet, somewhere in him, it rang true. It sounded like something he would want. He knew a man’s mettle was defined by his deeds, not by his birth.

“Leon is your first knight—”

That wasn’t too unexpected, he supposed. 

“The knights all know you too well, you won’t be able to hide this from them—”

“I can’t very well reveal to my people that I’m missing half my brain.”

“You’re not missing half your brain,” Morgana said, snappily. “Just your memories. Your fighting skills, your sense of duty, honour, all of that I’m sure remains.”

“How do you know that? What if I don’t remember my way around a sword anymore?” What good am I then?

“Call it intuition,” she said, smartly. “I’m sure Gaius will confirm as much when he gets here.”

Arthur nodded, uneasily. He kind of really just wanted to pick up a sword and test that theory straight away. 

“Anyways, I agree. It’s probably not wise to reveal the extent of the damage to the people—”

“The knights—”

“Your knights will not betray you, Arthur. You have handpicked the finest, most honourable men in all five kingdoms. They would gladly lay down their lives for you before they’d ever think of betraying you like that,” Morgana said, calmly, though with a healthy dose of passion.

“Knights gossip just as much as the maids—more even! If it gets out that I’m wandering around with half a memory and no idea what bloody year it even is, they’ll start questioning me. And once doubt sets in, it spreads,” Arthur said sharply, his voice low but edged with frustration, as he tried to keep the panic from spilling over.

Morgana sighed. “They won’t gossip about you. At least not within earshot of anyone.”

“Oh, that’s comforting,” Arthur snapped.

“They’re your closest friends, Arthur. Your brothers in all but blood. You may have forgotten them, but you can’t have forgotten how unshakable the bond between knights is,” Morgana said, wisely.

Arthur huffed but relented. She wasn’t wrong. But, really, how was he supposed to trust these men with his life when he didn’t even know them? Was he supposed to just trust in his own past decisions?

He rubbed at his temples, willing away the steady ache that was building.“What about the council then?” 

Morgana hesitated. “I…don’t think it’s wise to tell them. Your reign has been very different to your father’s, and they’re all already on edge because of recent laws. This might be all it takes to tip a few of them over and a rebellion to start.”

Arthur’s face scrunched up, befuddled. “Why? What on earth have I possibly done in just a few months of being king?”

Morgana hesitated again, her voice dropping. “You…legalised magic.”

Arthur blinked once. Then twice. His whole body went rigid, the goblet nearly slipping from his hand. “What?”

She flinched, an almost imperceptible movement. “It was the right thing to do. You saw it yourself, Arthur. Magic isn’t evil. It’s the people who abuse it who are. You changed the law because you knew it was unjust.”

His breath came shallow, almost ragged.

He remembered his father’s fury at even the whisper of sorcery, the blood spilled in Camelot’s name, the endless executions. “I…legalised magic?" The words felt foreign on his tongue, like they belonged to someone else entirely.

“Yes.” Her gaze was unwavering, fierce in its conviction.

He shook his head. “No. Magic corrupts,” he insisted. “I’ve seen it with my own eyes. I would never do that.”

“What you’ve seen is sorcerers acting out against your father for the ruthless genocide against their kind. But at its core, magic is just a tool—no better or worse than a sword.”

Arthur’s jaw tightened, his knuckles white around the goblet. “A sword doesn’t whisper in your ear, doesn’t twist men into something unnatural. I’ve seen it drive people mad.”

“And I’ve seen it heal the dying,” Morgana shot back, her voice hardening. “I’ve seen it protect, and save, and build. Arthur, you’ve seen it too, you just don’t remember.”

“That’s impossible,” he snapped, though the certainty in his voice wavered. His memories—what few he had left—were filled with fire and blood, with sorcery wielded as a weapon of terror. 

Yet the way Morgana spoke, the raw conviction in her tone, struck at something inside him he couldn’t place.

“You’ve trusted sorcerers before,” she pressed. “Sorcerers that saved your life and never once betrayed you.”

Arthur stared at her, a muscle in his jaw ticking. He wanted to call her a liar, to dismiss every word, but the certainty with which she said it unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

“You saw the good that magic could do, and you unraveled the decades of hurt your father’s laws had inflicted.”

“I could’ve been enchanted,” he argued. 

“You weren’t,” she said through gritted teeth. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “How do you know?”

“Because I have magic!” Morgana erupted. “Would I enchant you? Do you think of me as evil or corrupt?”

Arthur gaped.

“I’ve had it all my life. Do you really think I’d use it to hurt you? Or anyone?”

Arthur’s breath caught. He wanted to speak, to argue, to demand proof, but the fire in her eyes left him momentarily speechless.

“I don’t—I don’t understand,” he stammered out. “I don’t remember any of this. Surely I should remember something as important as…that?” Arthur asked, panic building, clawing at his throat.

He squeezed his eyes shut and racked his brain again, searching for even a whisper, a flash, of a memory that hinted towards Morgana having magic; magic being good; him legalising it. 

A frustrated yell escaped his lips when he found nothing.

“Arthur.”

He opened his eyes and tried to blink away the wetness that had creeped into them.

“You just have to have faith in yourself. It was you who made these decisions, accepted these things. It was you who worked for years to make it happen. You have to trust that that version of you—the one that has experienced a lot more at the hands of magic, but also gained much from it—was wise enough to know what he was doing.” Morgana’s voice softened, threading patience through firmness. “You may not remember, but that Arthur…he’s still inside you. He is you. He’s the same man who would fight for what’s right, even when it scared him.”

Arthur let out a shaky exhale. “No, you don’t get it. I—” He stopped, breath coming fast, and the panic pressed like a vice around his ribs. His eyes darted to the window, to the walls, anywhere but at her, searching for something solid to hold onto. “I can’t…I can’t do this. I don’t even know where to start. I don’t even know myself anymore.”

“You’ll learn.”

“What if I make a mistake? I don’t know how to be King. Especially not the type of king you speak of—a revolutionary!"

“No one expects you to be perfect. You’re not alone in this, Arthur. You have friends who’ll help you through it.”

“And what if there’s no getting through it? What if I’ve lost myself forever?”

“Then you’ll start over; make all the right decisions again—because that’s just who you are,” Morgana said, almost-smiling.

And even this was different. 

Morgana’s behaviour towards him—completely unguarded, like over the years they had truly fallen into their role as siblings—felt strange and foreign. There was a warmth in her eyes, a vulnerability that he didn’t recognize but that managed to ease some of his fears anyway.

He wondered what it was like to not feel so alone in a vast castle.

“Who was that man from earlier?” Arthur asked, remembering suddenly.

“Ah.” She smiled fully, now, but there was a strange sadness in her eyes. “That was Merlin.”

“Merlin?”

“He’s your best friend.”

His what?

Arthur’s brows furrowed. “Is he a knight? He didn’t look like a knight.”

“No, not a knight. He was your manservant for a very long time after Uther awarded him the position for saving your life,” she explained. “He’s the Court Physician now.”

“Right…” None of that explained how they’d possibly become ‘best friends’. It’s not like he was in the habit of getting chummy with any of his prior manservants—unless tossing goblets at them counted.

Morgana continued, “You hated each other at first, but believe me, you became very, very good friends. There’s nothing you two wouldn’t do for each other.” 

“Oh.”

Arthur blinked at her, trying to parse the words. Best friends? The concept felt alien, almost uncomfortable. Honestly, he didn’t even know what the concept entailed. 

A prince, his father had taught him, didn’t have friends, only alliances.

“Just—be nice to him.”

“What?”

This was probably the oddest conversation he’d ever had—actually, scratch that. It’s not like he even knew about all the fucking conversations he’d ever had.

Morgana rolled her eyes. “He means a lot to you, and you guys were only just coming out of a big argument that you’d had. Don’t mess up the progress you made with your prattish tendencies,” she explained urgently.

“I, honest to gods, have no idea what you’re saying anymore,” Arthur confessed.

“Just don’t be an arse like you are to everyone else,” she said, sounding frustrated—for whatever reason. “He’s different.”

“Okay…noted.”

Morgana’s expression softend. “I know it doesn’t feel like it now. But he’s been with you through everything. He’s the one constant in your life. And he’s really great. You were friends for a reason.”

Arthur turned away, jaw tight, trying not to feel the emptiness that curled in his chest at the thought. 

A constant he couldn’t remember. 

Another bond erased.

“Anything else I need to know?” He asked, trying to ignore the pang in his chest.

“Yes, plenty. There are druids that you need to visit, alliances that need to be cemented, treaties that need to be signed, people that need to be put at ease, and a council that is itching to get back to picking apart your brain,” she listed off. “One step at a time, though. Wouldn’t want your small brain to explode.”

Smaller, now, without half its memories.

He shifted in the bed, rubbing his temples, trying to anchor himself. “Right,” he muttered finally, voice tight. “One step at a time.”

When his hands dropped back in his lap, Morgana reached out and squeezed one gently, her fingers warm over his cold ones. Arthur glanced down at her hand, a flicker of confusion passing through his chest. He didn’t recognize the gesture, didn’t remember the closeness that it implied, yet there was comfort in it, an unspoken reassurance that anchored him amidst the swirl of uncertainty.

“I’m really glad you’re alright, Arthur,” she spoke, softly. “We were all worried you might never wake.”

“Like this isn’t just as bad,” he scoffed. “I keep thinking that I don’t know myself, or you anymore. But you don’t know me either. You don’t know this version of me that’s struggling to accept you, our relationship, your magic.” 

She smiled warmly. “I know that you’re my brother. I know that you would never hurt me. And I know that you’re trying,” she said, each word deliberate, as if anchoring them in truth. “That’s all that matters, at the end of the day.”

Arthur felt another wave of emotion crash over him. “I’m glad I still have you,” he said, sincerely.

A knock at the door interrupted whatever Morgana was about to say. 

“That must be Gaius,” she said, getting up to let him in. 

When the old man walked in, Arthur truly got a sense of how much time had passed. The Gaius that he remembered was old, of course, but now…he seemed frailer, his steps slower, his back a little more curved, and the deep lines etched into his face had deepened. 

“Gaius,” Arthur said, in greeting.

“Sire,” the physician nodded with a smile, “it’s nice to see you awake.” He set his medicine bag on the bedside table and wasted no time in cleanly cutting off the bandages at his throat. “Any pain?”

This, at least, was familiar. It was a routine he’d been through a hundred times. “My head is hurting.”

“Describe the pain.” 

“Dull, not too intense.”

“Focused anywhere in particular?” Gaius asked, as he started applying a salve to the cauterized arrow wound.

Arthur looked down, trying to see it, but with its high position on his neck, it was impossible to do so. He wondered how on earth he’d slept through the cauterization, but he was eternally grateful. 

“Not really,” he replied.

“Hm.”

Gaius then proceeded to ask him to demonstrate various motor functions, from turning his head in every direction, to rotating his shoulder. All of it was doable enough and by the end, Gaius was satisfied, as was Morgana, who was hovering over his shoulder.

Arthur blew out a frustrated breath. “What about my memory? Did Leon tell you about that?”

Gaius handed him a tonic and stepped back. He waited until Arthur had downed the foul thing before answering, “He did.”

“And?”

“The arrow, I fear, may have been imbued with forget-me-not venom,” Gaius started.

“Like, the flower?” Morgana asked, brows furrowing.

“Precisely like the flower. When the petals are crushed and mixed with the venom of certain spiders, the forget-me-not venom is created. Such spiders are so rare in nature that we almost never see such a poison being used,” the physician explained. “It targets the parts of your brain that hold memories and blocks them.”

“Not erase?” Arthur asked, desperately.

Gaius shook his head. “No, not usually. It simply stops the victim from accessing the memories. It’s not strong enough to truly get rid of them. But it also shouldn’t have been strong enough to block such a large amount.”

“What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember Merlin, yes?”

Arthur nodded. 

Morgana added, “His last memories are from just a few months before Merlin got here.”

“I see.” Gaius turned to Morgana, then, and asked, “How frequently was he drinking?”

Arthur frowned.

“A lot. It was worse than the first time around.”

“What?” Arthur voiced.

The other two shared a look that had Arthur glaring until Gaius responded, “You developed an addiction to alcohol a few years ago. You got a handle on it after a while but it remained a crutch, and you fell back on it recently.”

Arthur shook his head, a denial already clawing its way up his throat, but seeing the grave expression on Gaius and Morgana’s faces, the words died on his lips.

He would…never allow himself to fall prey to such a vice. He knew what it did to men, and he knew he didn’t want that for himself. How had he slipped up?

Gaius continued, as if his world hadn’t been tilted on its axis for the tenth time that night, “You may be aware that excessive usage of alcohol destroys the liver—”

Arthur nodded along, not understanding what this had to do with anything.

“Your liver is what’s responsible for breaking down toxins in your body. The forget-me-not venom has never been recorded to affect such a large amount of memories, because our liver is capable of destroying it easily enough.”

Arthur swallowed, already knowing what was coming.

Morgana had a stricken look on her face.

“Your liver likely doesn’t function as well as it is supposed to. It wasn’t able to break down the poison, and that gave it time to fester and feed off your memories for as long as it wanted,” Gaius said, his voice heavy.

“As long as it wanted? So…it’s still not destroyed, then?” Morgana questioned.

“I don’t understand. Why did it stop, then? Why wouldn’t it want all of my memories?”

Gaius exhaled slowly, his eyes shining with concern. “One of the ingredients, foxglove, is practically sentient in nature. It helps the venom prey off the memories that you latched onto the hardest. Once you stopped fighting it, the venom no longer felt the pull to keep feeding."

“Why would I stop fighting it?” Arthur demanded, his voice cracking.

Morgana gasped, meeting Gaius’ eyes with a quiet sorrow there. 

“Perhaps, you lost your reason to keep fighting,” Gaius suggested, looking pained himself.

None of this made sense. It made Arthur want to bang his head on a table.

Finally, he asked the most important question, “Will I ever remember?”

“I believe so,” Gaius said, sagely. “As long as your liver recovers, the poison can be destroyed and the fog over your memories will clear. It’ll just take time.”

Arthur exhaled slowly, letting the weight of the explanation settle over him.

For the first time that night, a small thread of hope twined through the chaos in his chest. The panic was still there, as was the feeling that he’d ruin everything, or that he’d let his people down, and that he didn’t have time.

But the hope was there too, and it would have to be enough to get him through this. 

One step at a time. He could do that.

Notes:

Gaius sure took his time coming lmao
missed arthur but wow he's very difficult to write now. too many things to adress bruh.

Next chapter: i have no clue at all.
Daegal and sofia are gonna come back soon tho!! Theyre SUCH cuties i cant waittt

ALSO i cant remember if i already mentioned how uther died and i cant find it if i did but if any of u guys rmrbr anf if its not a heart attack (so random lmaoo??), pleasee comment it thanks

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of All of You