Chapter Text
The first morning he went to fetch Arthur’s breakfast—after everything had happened—the tray was already gone.
The castle was quiet in a strange, strained way. Not the usual sleepy hush of early hours, but a silence weighted by fear and tension. When he stepped into the kitchens, the staff barely acknowledged him. Eyes flicked up, then away, as though afraid he might catch them looking. As if his very presence was edged with danger.
That wasn’t entirely unexpected—not after he had lit the courtyard with lightning, struck Morgana down, screaming, to the stones—but it stung more than he wanted to admit. He had saved their lives, saved the whole kingdom!
And now they wouldn’t even meet his gaze.
One of the scullery maids eventually muttered something about a new servant rotation. The king’s meals, she said—barely above a whisper—were now being handled by someone else. She didn’t explain why. She didn’t have to.
He hoped it was a mistake. Or maybe one of Arthur’s awkward attempts at a joke. A test of boundaries. Something.
But when he reached the royal chambers, he found Arthur and Guinevere already gone for the day, far earlier than was typical.
He glimpsed George inside, clearing the breakfast dishes. Efficient, neat, silent. The kind of servant that was fit for a King. Nothing like Merlin.
But that didn’t sting, he always told himself. He knew Arthur didn’t keep him around for his talent at servitude.
Merlin had moved forward to begin his duties, but the guards stepped into his path, fingers turning white with the strength of their grips around their sword hilts. The message was curt and formal: per the king’s orders, George was now the only servant permitted in Arthur’s chambers.
The words hit like a blow to the stomach.
By then, the suspicion that something was terribly wrong had already begun to take root, cold and heavy. There was no mistake. This wasn’t temporary.
Over the next few days, the pattern played out in a hundred small, unmistakable ways.
He tried to draw Arthur’s bath, but someone else had already done it.
He went to fetch fresh linens, the bed had been changed.
He looked for Arthur’s armor to clean, already polished and laid out.
Even the laundry disappeared before he could touch it.
Arthur never spoke to him about it. Avoided his eyes in the halls and escaped any room they found themselves in together quickly.
There was no confrontation. No orders. No shouting. Just silence—precise, clinical, final. The roles Merlin had filled for years were reassigned, piece by piece, until there was nothing left to do but stand and watch others move through the shape of his former life.
It would have been easier if Arthur had been angry. But Arthur had listened to his confession in silence—every battle Merlin had secretly fought, every spell Merlin had cast.
He had known Arthur would be upset with him, but those hours after Merlin had saved Camelot from Morgana and her army had felt like a beginning, not an end. Arthur hadn’t struck him down where he stood for his magic as Merlin had always feared. That felt like hope.
Arthur had dragged Merlin to his chambers and demanded explanations, demanded to know the truth. And Merlin gave it, as he always would.
He told Arthur every secret he feared would go to the grave with him. He spent hours confessing everything. Every secret, every impossible choice, every mistake. He had spilled his heart out to his King.
His King had listened, and hadn’t condemned him. Hadn’t called the guards to drag him off to the dungeons or the pyre. Of course, he also hadn’t thanked him, or even seemed appreciative at all, like Merlin had always secretly hoped he would, but that was alright.
He had just watched his Kingdom nearly fall and been forced to see his sister die at the hands of his friend.
His friend, who had been committing treason against him for a very long time.
There was no surprise that it would also take a long time for Arthur to truly forgive him, but Merlin knew Arthur’s heart and knew he was good to his core.
When he’d left Arthur’s chambers after their talk, it had been so late it was effectively morning, but Merlin hadn’t been tired, instead, his chest had felt full, brimming with excitement, ecstatic to finally have the weight of his secrets lifted from his chest.
But now? Now... Arthur looked through him, like Merlin was smoke.
Like the truth had made him invisible. Or worse—like he couldn’t stomach the sight of his servant.
As if the years they’d fought side by side had meant nothing.
As if all he’d done, all he’d sacrificed, had been expected, owed, and unworthy of acknowledgment.
Not even good enough to be a servant.
The quiet rejection stung more than any punishment could.
Still—he had known the truth could ruin everything, and he had made his choice, had revealed himself for Camelot’s sake.
Merlin had trusted that his King would see him, would see that he was still the same man underneath his magic. Still Merlin. Not a monster. Not something to be scared of.
But Arthur hadn’t seen him at all.
Merlin, for all his heartbreak, couldn’t bring himself to simply fade away. His place may have been stripped from Arthur’s side, but his loyalty hadn’t been. His love for Camelot hadn’t withered just because Arthur’s care for him had.
So, he returned to Gaius’ side. If he couldn’t serve Arthur, he would serve the people.
The city was still reeling in the aftermath of Morgana’s assault. Broken stone littered the lower corridors. Shattered glass sparkled in the light like frozen tears. Families had been displaced, lives upended. There was work to do.
He threw himself into it with a stubborn determination. Brewing potions. Grinding herbs. Cleaning the leech tank. Anything to feel useful again.
But even here, in the one place that had always welcomed him, the cracks began to show.
Gaius gently discouraged him from delivering medicine on his own rounds, a hand, catching his wrist as he went to reach for the satchel. At first, Merlin didn’t understand. But Gaius was older, wiser. He trusted him.
And then, one evening, the truth became agonizingly obvious.
A knock came at the door. Merlin moved to answer it, eager for the normalcy of it—but Gaius stopped him with a silent shake of the head and crossed the room himself, opening the door just a crack.
The visitor didn’t enter.
“Is he in there?” The voice was soft, frightened.
It took Merlin a moment to recognize the voice—Margaret, a laundress he’d once teased good-naturedly about scrubbing out royal mud stains. They’d laughed together, once.
“I won’t come in if he’s here.”
It took a long moment for him to realize that he was the “he” in question.
From across the room, Merlin saw Gaius flick his wrist in a quiet, urgent signal. Directing Merlin towards the tiny storeroom that he called home.
Merlin obeyed. He slipped into his room, gently closing the door until it was a hairsbreadth away from clicking shut.
He stood there in the dim silence, heart hammering, ears straining. He could hear Margaret’s voice, still hushed, asking about salves for a burn. Heard Gaius' quiet reassurances and the soft scrape of a chair as she finally stepped inside.
He knew the people were scared of him, were scared of his magic, his power.
But this?
He’d stumbled back, collapsing to sit on his bed as his legs failed him.
To avoid treatment for an injury in fear that they may be forced to interact with him?
How could the people he had known for years, protected for years, fear him like this?
All he’d ever tried to do was help.
When the door to his room finally creaked open, it was Gaius who appeared. He didn’t say anything. Just came to sit by him on the lumpy straw mattress and curl an arm tightly around his shoulders.
Merlin didn’t speak either. Thought that if he opened his mouth to speak, he would sob until there was no breath left in his lungs.
He understood now. His presence alone was enough to further hurt and frighten the already traumatized people of Camelot.
And that was what finally drove him out.
Not gone entirely, but away from the public eye. He needed to be somewhere that he could keep watch over the castle and its town, but the where the people didn't need to see him, wouldn’t have to face his frightening power.
Gaius had apologized, voice quiet and earnest. Tried to explain that fear makes people behave irrationally, that given time, he would be forgiven and trusted again.
That the people would be able to rely on him to treat their wounds and tend to their sicknesses. That soon enough, everything would go back to normal, or at least an approximation of it.
But Merlin couldn’t wait for “soon” while people went untreated.
So that night, under the shelter of darkness, he quietly gathered his belongings and left.
He moved into one of the long-abandoned rooms in the Eastern Tower. It hadn’t been used in years—dust blanketed the floors, and the air smelled of dirt and mold—but it was quiet. And empty. Most importantly, no one would be able to find him, able to be disturbed by him, up here
The room was, technically, an upgrade: a tall window looked out over the forest, and a small fireplace sat unused in one corner. He placed his few possessions down gently—his father’s tiny dragon figurine on the mantle, the worn magic book Gaius had gifted him all those years ago. A few changes of clothes. The sidhe staff, still wrapped in cloth, he leaned against the corner of the room. That was all.
A sharply cold breeze seemed to leak through the room, chilling the stone and forcing Merlin to shiver. He took a moment to twist his hand through the air, pushing his magic out to wipe away the thick layer of dust and seal the crack cutting through the large window.
Another thought had flames roaring in the long-unused hearth.
He dragged the old, creaky bedframe closer to the fire, pushing it until it sat too close for comfort, considering it was crafted of wood, fabric, and straw.
It didn’t matter, he felt like he could crawl into the fire itself without managing to melt the ice that had settled deep into his veins.
He curled up under the threadbare blanket, pressing his face tightly to the musty-smelling mattress.
The fire crackled and popped. The wind outside pressed against the glass, wailing for entry. Somewhere below, the distant clang of repairs echoed through the stone walls—Camelot, slowly stitching itself back together.
He clung to the sounds outside his window, they proved that Camelot was still alive, would be able to heal with time.
Life was continuing and would do so, with or without him.
Maybe that was the price of his magic, the shape of his sacrifice.
Doing what needs to be done and accepting that in the end, no one will thank you for it.
- - - - - - -
That first night was the hardest.
That’s not to say it got easier; it didn’t, but the pain in his heart faded into a sort of absent ache.
The sort of bruise you forgot about until you poked it or bumped against something.
He spent his nights the same way, always cold, always lonely. Sometimes he lay awake for hours, sleep eluding him, and sometimes he was barely lying flat before blinking his eyes open to the rising dawn light.
His days, too, seemed to pass by, slipping through his fingers before he even realized he was losing them.
The servants hadn’t stopped flinching from him, wouldn’t look him in the eyes. When he ventured out, he made sure to stick to the less-travelled corridors, stay away from anywhere he might accidentally chase someone off, just with his mere presence.
He wished he could help with the reconstruction efforts he could hear happening, catch glimpses of through windows, but knew he would be unwelcome.
If the people he used to interact with every day, who had liked him, now couldn't stand the sight of him, Merlin could only imagine the terror and hatred he would inspire in those in the lower town, who knew him only by name and former title.
So he kept to himself, only venturing out beyond his new room on occasion, and only during hours when he knew the castle's bustle would be subdued.
His saving grace had been an accident.
It had been early one morning, a few weeks into his self-exile, the birds only just beginning their songs, when he had heard laughter coming towards him from a bend in the corridor.
Familiar laughter.
It was Gwaine’s loud guffaw, punctuated by Elyan’s more subdued chuckles and Percival’s heavy footfalls.
For a long moment, Merlin had frozen, clung to that noise, evidence that the knights were alright, that they were happy and finding joy.
He knew that the instant the knights caught sight of him, their joy and laughter would die.
That was…not something he could be alright with.
In his moment of panic, Merlin had thrown himself through the nearest door, shutting it behind himself as quickly and quietly as he could and pressing his back to the rough wood.
He held his position for several long moments, waiting until long after the laughter and footsteps had faded from his hearing to relax.
When the rapid tempo of his heart had slowed to a more normal rhythm, he had finally glanced around the room he had ducked into.
It was the library, currently void of any life.
He had only been in here a handful of times and had always been lost in a haze of panic or rushing, desperate to come up with a solution to whatever crisis Camelot was facing at the time.
Now, Merlin was able to take the time to look around, stare at the great stretches of tomes that seemed to be organized by an imaginary system that only Geoffrey might know.
Merlin wandered, carefully, cautiously, down the aisles, browsing the different titles.
Near the end of the second-to-last row, Merlin found a section that was different from the rest. He was sure this shelf of books had not been here last time he had looked through the library’s contents, skimming for a different title.
There was no way this shelf had been here, as all the titles implied the contents were of sorcery.
One tome appeared as though it was the companion to the spellbook Gaius had gifted him, the cover a nearly identical dark leather fastened with decorative iron clasps.
Perhaps the same person had written both, and Gaius had only managed to save half the pair. Evidently, Geoffrey had thought to save far more than that.
Not only had Geoffrey saved so many magical books, but now they were on display, and anyone who walked through the library would see them here.
Maybe Geoffrey had figured that Arthur’s failure to execute Merlin was a sign that his tomes would be safe as well.
Merlin carefully glanced around the library, checking to make sure it was still abandoned, before he reached out and plucked a shiny silver book from the shelf.
The gold stitching up the spine declared the book to be about elemental magic, the front face of the tome covered in tiny gold snowflakes, raindrops, and suns.
Merlin took the book and retreated to the back corner of the room, tucking himself in between a shelf and the wall before he sank to the ground and opened the book in his lap.
He didn’t dare take the book from the library without asking, not with how protective Geoffrey was sure to be. He would read just a little and be gone by the time anyone came in here for the day.
It would be fine, no one would know—
A throat cleared above him.
Merlin yelped, the book slipping from his hands as he flailed.
He lunged forward, barely catching the heavy tome before it crashed into the ground.
Geoffrey stood above him, staring down at him with one eyebrow raised high in clear judgment.
“I see you found my new display.” Well, at least he didn’t sound too upset.
“Yes—I—sorry I know I shouldn’t have—”
“Don’t damage them.” The old librarian walked away, leaving Merlin stunned, blinking in confusion.
He watched the old man walk over to his desk and sit down, pulling out a large sheaf of papers to sort through. He didn’t look back up, didn’t glance over at Merlin.
After 10 minutes, 20 went by without a word, without Geoffrey cursing at him and demanding he get out, Merlin was able to relax and return to reading the section of the book that had his attention so thoroughly captured—Magic about plants! Crops! How a sorcerer could use their magic to coax strength into roots and stalks, increase the yield of a farmer's crop!
For once, he didn’t feel a pressing need to retreat into the sheltered space of his secluded room.
The library was a much nicer place to be, anyway.
- - - - - - -
It was there, in that library, weeks later, that a page found Merlin.
This time at least, he was seated in a chair, tucked towards the back of the room.
The boy was panting, clearly out of breath, and clutching a scroll to his chest with white fingers.
The page wasn’t one Merlin recognized, but he wouldn’t meet Merlin’s eyes just the same.
He didn’t speak to Merlin, only extended the curled sheet of parchment out as far as he could, standing back as though Merlin carried a fatal contagion.
The instant Merlin took hold of the paper, the page was gone, retreating from the room almost as fast as he had arrived.
Full of trepidation, Merlin used his nail to break the seal, unrolling it to find it was a summons, stamped with Arthur’s royal crest.
The summons was to the council chambers for the midday council.
Anxiety coiled deep in his gut. Why would Arthur choose to call on him now? This wasn’t how he treated subjects of an investigation, so surely this wasn’t a sign that Arthur had changed his mind after all this time and wanted to put him to trial after all.
Merlin tried to push away the latent fear; whatever it was, he would deal with it, and then retreat back to the safe little cocoon he had carved out for himself here.
He flicked his eyes to the window to confirm that, yes, the sun had already passed the midway point.
He was already late.
There was no point delaying the inevitable, so he stood to place his book back on the shelf, carefully marking the page he had been on with a piece of string.
He gritted his teeth and strode out of the library doors. It had been a very long time since he had been in the corridors, these corridors, anyway, at this time. He tried not to let the stares—the sudden silences and hushed whispers—bother him, but his shoulders curled up towards his ears anyway.
Maybe he should start wearing his old riding cloak whenever he went out, if for nothing more than to cover his face. Give himself the illusion of privacy.
The walk to the council chambers was both endlessly long and infinitely too short.
The guards barely spared him a glance as he walked up, just pulled the towering doors open to allow him entry.
The quiet murmuring Merlin had heard while walking up went dead.
Inside, the council table was already full. Gwen sat at Arthur’s right, hands folded in her lap, eyes drawn and tired. When she looked at Merlin, she managed a smile—but it was wrong.
He recognized it from back in their early serving days, when she had to make nice with a distasteful noble.
Merlin snapped his eyes away, unable to bear that look directed at him.
Leon, and then Percival sat to Arthur’s left, heads bowed together and frozen from where they had been having a quiet conversation. Neither of them looked happy to see him.
Elyan, on the other hand, just stared steadily. He didn’t smile, or really glare either. Just trained impassive eyes on Merlin as he crept forward.
Gwaine was the one who truly hurt. He’d had his feet kicked up on the table when Merlin entered, far from an unfamiliar sight.
What was unfamiliar, on the other hand, was the way Gwaine's feet dropped to the floor immediately, spine going ramrod straight. His lips pressed tightly together, and his eyes flicked on and off Merlin, as though he couldn’t decide if he wanted to look or not.
Once his best friend, Gwaine was now just a part of the masses, one of the many citizens of Camelot who wouldn’t have lived without him, and now couldn’t live with him.
Merlin tried to calm his own trembling hands. Pressed his own trembling lips into a thin line. Actually, now that he was paying attention, his whole body was faintly trembling.
It really had been such a long time since so many people had looked at him.
Merlin awkwardly gestured, brandishing the scroll he still carried.
“I—” His voice caught in his throat, and he had to take a second to swallow thickly, “You asked for me?”
Arthur didn’t even look up at him, still shuffling through papers. Merlin knew it was a farce. George would have already organized them. “You’re late.”
“I—I apologize, Sire. I only just got the summons.” Merlin shifted backwards, uncertain.
“I sent you that page this morning. It’s been hours.” Still, Arthur refused to look up.
“I came here right away, after he found me.” Merlin had to bite back the insult that pressed against the back of his teeth. Once, he could have jokingly insulted the king to his face and only received laughter in return.
He was pretty sure that if he tried such things now, he might end up in the dungeons, or with lashes to show for his cheek.
Arthur finally looked up, eyes as cold as Merlin had ever seen. He scoffed under his breath, clearly not believing him.
Then he pointed down the table, at the far end.
“Sit down.” Not an invitation, a command.
Merlin hadn’t even noticed the empty chair at first, as far away from Arthur as it was — as far away as a chair at this table could be — but now he remembered. It had sat empty since Lord Veymont had passed last spring.
The chair didn’t have papers in front of it, nor a goblet, like all the others.
As he crept forward to sit in it, the lords on either side seemed to try to subtly shift their own chairs away. It wasn’t as subtle as they thought.
Merlin took his seat, perched at the very edge, and folded his hands in his lap
Arthur cleared his throat and stood, shuffling his papers.
“There are only two things we need to discuss today.” Arthur paused and took a deep breath. ”First, effective immediately, performing magic or otherwise being associated with sorcery will no longer be a punishable offense. I will be announcing this to the people tomorrow.”
Merlin can’t hear the cries of the nobles around him. Can’t hear the clattering of chairs pushed back from the table. Not past the ringing that erupts in his ears.
He has to blink rapidly, desperately trying to push back the wetness threatening to turn into tears.
Was this supposed to be how Albion is formed? Was it supposed to take so much from Merlin and give nothing back?
This was what he had always wanted—magic treated as a tool, as versatile and precise as any blade, not as the monstrous force Uther had made it out to be.
When he could hear again, think past the cotton filling his head, it was to a settled room.
“—not be without regulation. Crimes committed with magic will be treated the same as those that are mundane in nature. Magics requiring sacrifice and necromancy will, however, remain strictly forbidden.”
Merlin can only nod approvingly. He had been reading about all sorts of magic, and those two were particularly heinous. Arthur was wise to forbid the types of magic that twisted a soul, could turn someone like the Morgana they knew in the beginning into the creature she had died as.
“Gaius and Geoffrey have already advised me of their views on magic, their experiences from before my Father’s purge. If any of you would like to share your personal experiences, if you believe there needs to be stipulations to the law, I will be happy to hear them. I will not change my mind about removing the ban, but amendments are welcome.” Arthur glares out at the few councilors who had opened their mouths, clearly looking to argue against them.
They wisely keep their opinions to themselves, at least for now. Arthur shuffles his papers again, pulling out a few sheets from the bottom.
“We also need to discuss our food supplies for this winter. Morgana targeted our grain stores in her attack, and she was successful in destroying much of our reserves. I have been reviewing the reports from our farming villages, and we will be short this year.” Arthur was blunt in his delivery.
Merlin remembers reading one of Arthur’s reports earlier this year, from Bremn, the village that supplied the castle with the majority of the grain it needed. The reports had suggested that their early growing season had been struck by a blight, killing many of their crops and weakening those that survived. What little they had managed to grow would be needed to keep the villagers alive themselves over winter.
“We have options. If we begin rationing now, we will make it through; it won't be comfortable, but everyone will survive.” This was clearly an unpopular choice, judging by the twisted expressions throughout the room. Well-fed nobles would never react well to the idea of scarcity.
“There’s still enough time in the season to send trade wagons out. Queen Annis would likely help us, and with enough coin, I imagine Essetir and Nemeth would. If we are quick about it, we can restock enough of our supplies to last us through the winter.” This was a more popular option, the financial hit would be to the King’s coffers, not the nobles' own.
The thing was, neither of these actions needed to happen.
Merlin had been reading.
That first book, the one about elemental magic, had shown him just how much more his magic could do.
Since that initial chapter, he had learned so much more than he could imagine. If it were permitted, Merlin could heal the crop fields; he was sure of it. He had practiced on small things, coaxing dried flowers back to bloom and revitalizing trampled blades of grass.
If he could only get his voice to work, he could offer his own solution.
Fortunately, it seemed Arthur, ever the wise king, was way ahead of him.
“Or—” The King paused for a long moment, staring down at the grainy wood of his table before he seemed to make up his mind, “Merlin, can you—”
“Yes!” His mouth seemed to move before he decided to speak.
He flushed, belatedly realizing that he wasn’t even sure what he had just agreed to do. Then he flushed deeper and dipped his chin. He had just interrupted the king in a council meeting.
Arthur’s eyebrows were arched high in disbelief.
Well, it had already happened. Best make the most of it.
“I—I can help the village, Bremn. You know they were hit with that blight earlier this year. I can help the fields, and then they’ll have enough to help us. It won’t be enough to refill the granaries, but it should be enough for the winter.”
A councilman shot to his feet, “How does he know that! He must have cursed the crops! You can’t trust him!”
“Sit. Down.” Arthur snapped out, and the councilman quickly sank back into his seat.
Arthur could hardly admit that up until a few months ago, Merlin had often sorted through his reports for him, picking out the urgent ones for Arthur’s attention and occasionally solving issues for him.
Arthur turned to finally, finally, look directly at Merlin.
“You have one week. If the fields aren’t looking better by then, we will reconvene to decide on the best course of action. Dismissed.”
Arthur was the first one out the door, Gwen hot on his heels. The council members were quick to follow, tailed by the knights.
Gwaine was the only one who looked back, sparing a long look at Merlin. He gave a bit of a half smile, and then he too disappeared, the doors shutting with a heavy thunk.
Merlin was left alone, sitting in the vast council chambers.
His seat creaked loudly when he stood.
It seemed he had finally been given a seat at Arthur’s table, but he no longer had a reason to want one.