Chapter Text
Arthur woke up to his pillow stuffed in his face, snoring, and the loud noise of Merlin accidentally knocking over an entire table.
"Merlin." Arthur wanted to get out of bed and throttle the man, but really, that'd mean getting out of bed— absolutely unacceptable at this time of day.
"Right, sorry!" It was a little after 7, meaning it was far too early for that apologetic tone. Just like Merlin, to chronically fuck up only a few minutes into the day. "None of the food dropped, don't worry, I just-"
"You just decided to assault my ears." Arthur sat up, knocking his head twice in the hopes it'd get rid of some of the cobwebs up there. It didn't work very well. "That's what you did."
"Oh, stop being a baby," Merlin muttered. He actually set the food down on the table. "And to think I even got you sausage links."
Arthur froze. While Merlin was, supposedly, his manservant, meaning he, supposedly, got Arthur all the things he was supposed to have for breakfast, Merlin had a game he loved to play: how much food can I steal from Arthur's plate before I get hit with a shoe. From the full plate on the table, it seemed Arthur had been spared that particular type of torture.
Arthur scrambled out of bed, ignoring Merlin's annoyed scoff as he kicked the duvet to the ground. "Now this is a breakfast fit for a prince," he proclaimed, sitting himself down and beginning to chomp on his bread.
"Fit for a prat, more like," Merlin muttered, but Arthur was pleased enough with the delightfully toasted bread—just warm enough to melt butter!—that he didn't even correct Merlin's words for once. He just continued to eat contentedly.
"Now, don't take too long— your father's in a fit already."
Arthur scowled. Just when Merlin had begun to get on his good side again. "What is it about now?"
"The visiting king, I think. Alan?"
Arthur's scowl deepened; he stabbed his sausage with his knife a bit too viciously. Alan. Detestable being, Alan. He'd visited the castle a year or two ago, and he'd spent all his time hanging around Merlin instead of anything reasonable. Arthur had no clue why it'd happened, but it had been very annoying.
"Right. Him."
"I don't like him either, trust me," Merlin muttered. That did raise Arthur's spirits a bit. While it seemed Alan had a weird sort of hero worship for his manservant—incredibly bizarre, only Merlin would be in a situation like this—it did make Arthur feel a little less like a tantruming toddler to know he wasn't wrong to dislike him. If Merlin also didn't want the attention, then it wasn't jealousy: it was Arthur preventing harassment.
"Good. Alright, I have to appease Alan, meet with my father, train the knights, and manage your lazy ass all at once."
Merlin flicked his head. Arthur pretended it wasn't exactly the reaction he'd hoped for. "I am not lazy."
"Considering the state of my rooms, you could've fooled me." In his rooms, there were at least five separate piles of dirty laundry, four moths, and a pair of brooms left alone in a corner to rot for all eternity. "Spend all day cleaning my room and mucking out my stables. I won't even need you for the feast."
Merlin scowled; he kicked at the ground. Then he blinked, presumably remembering that this would make him stuck in a room nowhere near Alan for the entire visit.
"Oh." He coughed. "Alright then."
"Right." Arthur had been incredibly hungry when he'd woken up, but he'd begun to feel something similar to general fondness or an equally fuzzy feeling in Merlin's gaze. That made his insides itchy. Instead of finishing his breakfast, he stood up, grabbed his sword, and headed off to the hall to be there early.
Alan arrived 10 minutes late, just a bit after 10 o'clock. He was as handsome as ever, much to Arthur's perpetual annoyance. Really, did he have to look more regal than real life? Or have hair that swooped that perfectly?
He was an odd one, that was for sure. After being adopted by the royal family once their two blood descendants died, he'd decided to take an unorthodox approach to his kingdom, like not criminalizing magic and welcoming the druids. Uther hadn't liked it one bit. For now, Alan had a whole kingdom between his and Uther's, meaning Uther wasn't on a war conquest. Not yet, at least. However, Alan had always been tight on criminals and even infamous for his blood lust, so it seemed Uther was trying to sway him once more.
Alan bowed, looking Arthur in the eye. "A pleasure to see you again, your highness."
"A pleasure," Arthur echoed, not meaning a word of it. It seemed Alan hadn't as well; his eyes were searching the crowd of people. Arthur would've tried to be optimistic, thinking it was for a servant to aid him, but his attitude didn't change when George stepped up and offered his services. He was focused on Merlin once again, then. How lovely.
Alan followed George up the stairs; his eyes continued to swivel. Arthur just walked arm in arm with Uther, trying to make him see the truth of how awful this idea was.
"Father, while he is… untested in leadership, I don't see him as someone that would listen to you," Arthur said, walking briskly up the steps. Uther just laughed patronizingly.
"Arthur, you haven't been in this situation often with me as the ruler, but it can be very difficult for a man to say no to me when I set my mind on something." Uther hummed contentedly. "Even if he truly believes what he is doing is right, I know I can get him to follow my ways."
Arthur just stayed still, a little bit flabbergasted at the audacity for Uther to say you haven't experienced that. As if half of Arthur's life wasn't finding new and innovative ways to not say no to Uther while not not saying no either.
Uther told him to come back at 6 for the official welcoming meal; Arthur nodded, acquiescing, and he went to his room.
Merlin jolted as the door opened. Arthur just rolled his eyes and made sure to avert them as well. Merlin had been a cagey, secretive bastard for the last 5 years Arthur had known him; that didn't seem like it could (or would) ever change. Did Arthur, sometimes, in the dead of night, wish that Merlin trusted him with his heart? That maybe he wished Merlin would share part of himself, just so Arthur could share part of himself as well?
Ridiculous. No, of course not.
"Sire!" Merlin gave a smile that disarmed Arthur, even after all these years. He still noticed the use of sire, though. "You're back."
"Yes," Arthur said slowly. "It's my room. I wanted to be in it."
"Right. Yes. Course." Merlin waved a hand. "I'll just- just go and assist Gaius, then." He bustled out of the room before Arthur could speak; the door rang as it slammed shut.
Arthur just stared into the middle distance. Truthfully, he didn't actually have anything to do in here. He just sort of… found things to do when Merlin was there to make pretenses for him existing in the room. It was not nice to hear Merlin chattering, but it was also far better than being in his Father's presence.
Arthur huffed out a breath. He'd just go train, then, if Merlin wanted to be away from him so desperately.
The good news was the knights were in good form. Arthur was able to test that many, many times, make them drill until their bones ached, until the midday sun beat down on their backs. If it was also his way of getting rid of any anger he felt— well, that was no one's business.
"Arthur!"
Arthur looked up from his drills to see Merlin at the edge of the field. He seemed to be standing next to Morgana. She had an angrier look than Arthur had seen in a while. She didn't seem to like Merlin much nowadays, which had always confused Arthur— Merlin was liked by almost the entire castle. Nevertheless, it seemed they were allied in something for the moment.
"Continue on," Arthur ordered the knight. The knight bowed respectfully and continued practicing on his own. Arthur ran a hand through his hair and wondered if, perhaps, Merlin had arrived a bit earlier to see Arthur thoroughly beat other people's asses. That would be nice.
"So." Merlin grimaced. His tunic seemed to be stained with one of Gaius' poor-tasting poultices. "Your father is… having a fit."
"Is he," Arthur said drily. Morgana nodded slightly when he turned to her. Not a good sign.
"Alan is standing up for what he believes in," Morgana said, and it almost sounded— triumphant. Proud, for lack of a better word.
Arthur snorted. "Standing up for anything in front of father is asking for a shouting match."
"That's Uther's fault, not Alan's," Morgana retorted.
Arthur knew that was right the same way he knew Merlin disliked Uther more than he disliked shoveling the stables, but he didn't have time to deal with that. He had to deal with this disintegrating political relationship. "Right, of course, sure." Arthur waved her hand off. "Where is Alan?"
"In the halls. Uther…" Merlin was tactfully searching for the right explanation. This was no good. Merlin trying to be tactful was a sign of doom.
"Spit it out, Merlin."
"Uther kicked him out of the throne room," Morgana interjected. Merlin scowled at her, but he did sigh and nod as well, so that was just lovely. Just great.
"Fine. Fine." Arthur shoved his sword to Merlin. "Clean this up, will you? And get a bath ready for me once I come back from talking to him."
"You're going now?" Merlin seemed to be shouting out to him, but Arthur was too busy running off to find Alan to respond properly.
"Don't let the water cool down!" He shouted back instead. Even from half a field away, he could hear Merlin's scoff.
Arthur knew he didn't look appropriately dressed in that moment, but it was… fine. He was fine. His father was just destroying a necessary alliance, again, and was ruining any potential of Camelot surviving beyond constant war, again. It was fine. Arthur was more than used to dealing with this.
He rounded a corner, hearing his feet pound against the cobblestones, and nearly ran into Alan. Alan was in a corner of a dark and abandoned hallway; he seemed to be muttering to himself.
"No good, worthless…"
Arthur grimaced. He wasn't supposed to be hearing stuff said about his father—in fact, he was probably supposed to challenge it—but it was difficult for him to like his father on the best of days, even though he was Uther's son. He'd give Alan some leeway, at least, now that Uther had pissed him off. "King Alan."
Alan jumped. His eyes were as wide as saucer plates when he turned to Arthur. "Your- your highness! How long have you been…"
"Just a few seconds," Arthur said tartly. "Enough to hear you complain about my father, the king."
Something settled on Alan's face. It seemed crueler than before. "Yes, well. He did almost call for my head on a spike."
Not his father's usual style—usually threats were more subtle for fellow kings—but Arthur pushed on nevertheless. "I admit, he can be a bit… inflexible when it comes to negotiations, but whatever change on imports he's trying to wrangle out on you, cursing is not-"
"This isn't-" Alan sputtered a bit. "It's about the magic!"
Oh. "Oh," Arthur said. He'd hoped it was the easier issue of just regular people surviving, not the mass attacks his father was determined to carry out.
The thing was— the thing was that Arthur was a bit of an idealist. This was something he'd realized once he'd finally met someone more of an idealist than him (Merlin, that was. Merlin could see the best in an ax murderer). Arthur didn't truly believe that being born with magic made someone evil. He believed it corrupted, yes, but the same way a nobleman was more likely to line their pockets than the regular peasant. Class didn't determine morals— in fact, in his experience, it often ensured bad behavior. Arthur had met far more corrupt nobles and knights than he'd met scheming peasants. It wasn't a thought his father would've liked, but it was one that rung true to Arthur— that, in fact, him being king just made him king, not a better being.
This also led into magic for similar reasons. Every single sorcerer Arthur had met was determined to kill him. It certainly showed a bad leaning. Arthur was of the belief that since sorcerers were more powerful than anyone else he'd ever met—excluding other kings—it just naturally made them more likely to act poorly. With no real accountability, it was easy to be evil and foolish. This was what sorcerers did.
That did mean he disagreed with his father on subjects like executing children. Arthur thought that children were, in fact, children, meaning they deserved to live and grow into adults. Uther liked to disagree there. It was an issue that had made Arthur's life a living hell before, but it had also crucially taught him two things: his father could be wrong, and his father's thirst for magic's destruction far surpassed logic and reasoning.
"I do not…" there was no tactful way to say "My father is nuts and will do anything to get revenge against magic for existing," and, even if there was, Arthur wouldn't have known it. He wasn't necessarily known for his tact. "Any determination my father has to end magic knows no bounds," he said eventually. "I'm truly sorry that he's trying to drag you into his war as well."
Alan's face, which had been full of contempt, turned considering. "You truly do mean that," he murmured. "Fascinating. This must be why Merlin sticks by you."
That made Arthur's blood run hot like nothing else. "Why are you so obsessed with him?" he exclaimed, pointing. "I understand fighting with my father— I have no clue why you follow him like a dog!"
Alan's face fell again. "You have no idea who he is."
"He's Merlin." Arthur thought that he might've known Merlin the best out of everyone in Camelot. Sure, Gaius was essentially his father, but fathers weren't there to know you— they just kept you safe and alive. Uther didn't understand Arthur one bit, and that was completely normal. "I know him better than anyone in this castle."
"Tch." Alan rolled his eyes. Arthur was happy he'd given his sword to Merlin because his hands were itching to grab it. "You really think you do?"
"Yes!" Arthur was going to say because he knows me better than anyone else, but then he realized just how revealing that was. He stopped. "He's my- he's- he's Merlin."
"He's your Merlin?" Alan repeated incredulously.
"No! What? I mean he's my manservant," Arthur retorted. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. Stupid Alan, making him trip over his words. "I just- you're weird. The way you behave around Merlin is weird. As the prince, it's my duty to inform you to stop."
Alan looked Arthur up and down, clearly judgmental. Arthur had no clue why. "So this is why he sticks by you," Alan muttered. "This is why he'll do anything to keep you happy."
Before Arthur could unpack that statement, or even begin to, Alan began to speak again. "Do you believe in the evils of magic, Prince Arthur?"
"Er." Arthur didn't really know how to respond to that. This conversation made no sense. "I do."
"A pity." Alan flashed a quick smile, and, much to Arthur's confusion, his eyes started to narrow. "I was beginning to actually like you. I hope Emrys learns from this and realizes he can't continue to lie. Maybe your death will finally push him to do the right thing and kill Uther Pendragon."
Arthur watched as a sword made of pure gold appeared in thin air. Magic. He opened his mouth to cry out— a breath was pushed out instead as the sword pierced his stomach.
Arthur fell to the ground. His ears began to ring with the thump of his knees, with the feeling of them being jostled by the cold stone floor. he couldn't see— his eyes were blurry, and his mouth was unable to work. He could taste blood in the back of his throat.
Strange. As Arthur's head hit the ground, he could almost imagine Merlin running down the hallway and crying out. Absolutely bizarre. It would've been nice if his last moment could've been with Merlin at his side, but he found his eyes fluttering shut before then. It all went black far too soon.
Arthur woke up. This was a shock since he last remembered a sword being pushed through his stomach.
He gasped. He felt the sweat on his brow, clearly caused up from a night terror. His hands were shaking as he reached to pat his stomach. It felt normal. It didn't feel like it was healing or like it had been stabbed.
So it had been a dream, then. A nightmare, really, but still. Completely made-up and fabricated. Something made up by Arthur's worst fears, which included dying and never being able to tell Merlin that he cared. Fine. Arthur was fine.
(If he repeated it enough, it could become true eventually.)
He stared at the rising sun. It was barely dawn—probably about six in the morning—and he could hear the castle only beginning to wake up. Merlin certainly wasn't up yet. Arthur couldn't fall back asleep, though, not with the adrenaline in his veins, so he decided to get up instead.
So strange, for his dream to include Alan. He hadn't thought about that man in a while. He didn't like how he seemed to hang around Merlin, that was for sure. Arthur would just make sure Merlin stayed by his own side for the rest of the day. That would be the best solution to the bizarre dream he'd had.
Merlin arrived an hour later. He blinked, clearly stupefied at Arthur awake and moving so early on the day. His surprise was enough that he stopped himself before jostling into the table.
"You're dressed," Merlin said dumbly.
"I am capable of dressing myself, you know," Arthur said smugly. He walked over to Merlin and stole the plate of food before Merlin could swipe any for himself. "I'm just a prince, so I'm above having to endure it."
"Endure. Right." Merlin's disapproving glare was radiating waves of distaste; this just made Arthur just stifle a grin. A day was sure to be great if he'd already made Merlin pissed up in the early morning. "Because it's such a hardship."
"Glad you understand." Arthur bit into his sausage, but he almost choked on it when he saw the plate looked exactly the same as it had in the dream, right down to the bread. "Er. What does my father want from me today?"
"He's in a fit already," Merlin remarked, and some pit in Arthur's stomach deepened. Suddenly, the toast and sausage wasn't all that appealing. "That king is visiting and-"
"King Alan, isn't it," Arthur said morosely.
Merlin blinked. "Yes, actually. How'd you know?"
Arthur had no actual way to answer that. His confusion and misery made him suspicious of getting up, just in case the rest of the day was oddly like the dream he'd had. "I… lucky guess." he stood up; the chair screeched with the abrupt movement. "I'm not too hungry today, I find. I'm going to leave."
Merlin frowned. He stepped closer to Arthur: close enough that he could feel the heat radiating from Merlin's body. This was, oddly enough, the only thing Arthur could focus on.
"Are you sick?" Merlin asked seriously. He pressed the other side of his hand against Arthur's forehead. "Is that why you're acting like this?"
"Stop- I don't-" Arthur swatted the hand away. "I'm not acting like anything. I'm just- I'm being responsible."
"That's a lie. you've never been responsible."
"Shut up," Arthur snapped quite intelligently. "Clean up my room, idiot. I'm visiting Morgana."
As usual, Arthur's mind-boggling wit was enough to silence Merlin to sullen mutterings. He left without being interrogated and bee-lined for Morgana's room. She'd had those issues with awful dreams before, and she'd always been somewhat sympathetic to magic. Perhaps she could give some good advice.
"Er." Arthur found himself eye-to-eye with Gwen, and he abruptly realized how odd this must've been to anyone but him. "Can you fetch Morgana? It's rather urgent."
Gwen eyed him up and down. "…of course, sire." She turned away, heading further into the room. Arthur caught snippets of some sort of argument—did one of them seriously not want Arthur to enter?—but Gwen waved him in less than a minute later.
"It's barely seven in the morning, Arthur," Morgana said with a sigh. Arthur blanched as he realized she was still in her nightdress. It was a good thing Gwen was there to vouch that he was not, in fact, calling on her. "What do you want?"
He opened his mouth to speak; he quickly realized Gwen was still there. "It's… private."
Morgana scoffed at him. "Anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of Gwen."
Alright. if that was how she was going to be. "I dreamed up this entire day last night, and it's happening exactly the same," he said bluntly. He only slightly relished when Gwen's jaw dropped.
Morgana's face became unreadable. "You what."
"I just-" Arthur had no way to explain this without sounding like a loon, but he was going to make a valiant attempt. "I knew King Alan was visiting because I literally had a dream of him visiting. He arrives, tries to find Merlin—I gave him George as a servant, obviously—then gets father into a fight when he won't criminalize magic."
The sharpness in Morgana's eyes reminded Arthur of flint, or, perhaps, a good sword. "Gwen?"
Gwen nodded once. "You know I'd never share, my lady."
"Good. Thank you." Morgana bit the inside of her cheek, clearly thinking. "Alright. You're certain you've dreamt this entire day?"
"Positive."
"Then tell us what to do." Morgana straightened her back; she looked Arthur straight in the eye. "Are you truly not afraid that it's magic?"
Arthur blinked. He hadn't actually gotten to the part of being afraid; it wasn't his fault, after all. He'd just assumed since he was magically assassinated, it had caused some side effect of something. He wasn't going to look a gift like this in the mouth. "Well, at the end of my dream, I was stabbed by a magic sword, so-"
Morgana's jaw dropped this time. "Arthur," she hissed; she whacked his arm. "You can't leave that out. My god!"
"I was going to tell you!" he protested. "You just-"
"Shut up," she retorted, which perfectly fit with how he'd almost said you just tend to stop me from finishing my sentences. "Alright. Tell us everything."
So Arthur did. Everything with Alan, obviously, not the odd interaction with Morgana and Merlin at the field, or the way he'd been annoyed when Merlin hadn't hung out with him in his room. Everything important.
"Alright," Morgana said after the story was finished. "You can't be alone with Alan. Gwen, I'm going to need my best dress. I think I've just found someone to court."
Arthur choked on air. Sure, Alan was objectively handsome, even if he was as greasy as a snake, but Morgana? "You- you're going to what?" he said, horrified.
"Not actually," Morgana replied exasperatedly. "He's not even interested in women, so it won't go far. It's just meant to be a cover for me sticking by his side the entire time. He tried to kill you."
Arthur was— well, he was oddly heartened. He knew how much Morgana detested the whole courting business as a woman. Something about it being reductive to her as a person, or something about her not having autonomy beyond choosing the least worst man instead of choosing her life. Arthur had always tuned out those rants. "Thank you, Morgana."
"Of course." Even though Morgana was certainly more rebellious than Arthur, she was just as uncomfortable with him and earnesty, so she just met his far too vulnerable thanks with a brisk nod. "You do need to meet him at the gate, though. Have fun then."
"Right," Arthur grumbled. He stood up, dusting off his pants. "Just- thank you, again. I was expecting you to call me insane."
"You may be many things, Arthur, but insane isn't one of them." Morgana smiled at him when she said that; it seemed a tinge bitter. "Just- don't get killed this time around."
"I won't," Arthur said firmly.
Arthur barely had time to think when the poison hit his system.
The day had been going so well. He'd hung out with Merlin, had a good training session, and talked to Alan only briefly with Morgana at his side, right before he'd entered throne room to discuss with Uther. They'd both reaffirmed that yes, their father was determined to eliminate all magic, no, it did not mean they personally were (Morgana could, at least, say that wholeheartedly), and that they were both very sorry their father had drawn him into this war. It had made Arthur think there would be no assassination this time if there was no displeased king.
Well, he'd been worried when he'd accidentally found Merlin hissing something scathing at Alan— it had to be scathing from Alan's exaggerated horrific expression. That hadn't been his place to intervene (it very much was, but only that he would've had to tell Merlin off, and he rather liked to see his would-be murderer being yelled at), so he had walked away and pretended to not see.
The dinner had been… fine. Uther had been stilted, but Alan had clearly learned that negotiation was nothing when it came for Uther. He had found a way to rebut every remark and instead move it onto Camelot's prosperity, a way to tacitly acknowledge Uther as "in the right." It seemed Alan was very used to appeasing egotistical people— probably because he had an ego of his own.
All had been well, so Arthur had started to eat his food and drink his wine, and that was when he had coughed. He had coughed again, and then again, and then, suddenly, he found his throat constricting.
"Arthur!" Merlin cried, dropping the wine pitcher. Arthur could hear it shatter, even if he could barely think past the pain. Merlin's footsteps were heavy and hurried as he rushed to Arthur's side, placing a hand.
"What a shame," Alan mused, and damn it. It was the bastard's fault again. "It seems a decision has been made for you, then. No more needing to defend Uther on behalf of his son if his son is dead."
Arthur was about to ask what the hell the idiot was talking about, but he'd begun to choke on his own vomit and throat by then. His head hit the floor once more that second— the clanging in his skull cancelled out the pain in his throat, at least. Hopefully his father would get revenge.
Arthur woke up, gasping, feeling bile climb up his throat. He was very confused when he was met with the sight of the rising sun.
That death had happened. He had definitely not dreamed it twice, nor had it escaped him that both times, he had woken up right after dying.
Arthur rushed through the hallways, caring very little for how bizarre he looked. He almost tripped on his own feet as he went through the halls.
Gaius was up, thank god. It seemed all old people got up absurdly early. Merlin was even up too, munching on unappetizing gruel while Gaius frowned and furrowed his eyebrows at the sight of Arthur.
"Arthur?" Gaius said with a squint. "What are you doing here?"
"Can magic trap you in a time loop?" Arthur asked rapidly. "Because I think it's done that to me."
Gaius stared at him. He continued to stare at him. Finally, after a few long, long moments, he sighed and gestured to the bench. "I have a feeling you're going to need to sit down and explain."