The Course of True Love

by orphan_account

Summary:

Originally by puckling on Box of Magic, I had this in PDF form on my old laptop.

Notes:

Much love to my completely and totally awesome and wonderful betas, cherrybina, aleathiel, and anevivi. They not only dealt with my comma issues, but my inability to spell quiet, last minute sending out of the drafts, and 39K of genderfuck.

 

Much, much later Merlin insisted that none of this was his fault. At all. In any way. At least at the start.

***

 

Merlin and Gaius rode back to Camelot from the Isle of the Blessed laughing in the downpour, much to the confusion of the sentries on guard who were huddled miserably inside the watchtower trying to avoid what had turned into the worst thunderstorm of the decade. Since his defeat of Nimueh Merlin had felt giddy and light, as if someone had taken the blood out of his veins and replaced it with liquid sunshine. The rain couldn't dampen his mood; it was like an extension of his own skin. He felt each individual drop as it hit him and soaked into his clothes. It seemed as if it was trying to tell him something, and if he only listened close enough he could hear all of its secrets. Merlin couldn't quite give it as much attention as he thought it wanted, because he could also sense Gaius' heart pumping, out of sync with the faster thumps coming from their horses. This in turn competed with the taste of lightning on his tongue and the feel of thunder ruffling through his hair. His whole body felt so foreign that it wasn’t a surprise he didn’t notice one last change as he passed through the gates.

Merlin stumbled a bit when he and Gaius dismounted from their horses, and the front of his jacket swung open, exposing the charred hole where Nimueh had hit him with her fireball. "Merlin," Gaius began hesitantly, creasing his brow in concern, "I think there's something wrong with your chest."

And Merlin laughed at how ridiculous the statement was. There wasn’t anything wrong with him; he had never felt more alive in his life. His balance might be a bit off, but he had won a magical duel and mastered life and death. He figured that these sorts of things took a bit of getting used to. He looked down to humor Gaius, who had died and come back to life and thus was entitled to a little humoring. The same rain that Merlin had been failing to listen to earlier had soaked and plastered his charred and blackened shirt to his chest, so that when he looked down it was rather obvious what Gaius was referring to.

"Oh Gods," Merlin said faintly as he poked the right one. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing was real. However, as he received sensory input from both his fingers and the exposed skin he was forced to conclude that he wasn't imagining it. He felt his eyes grow alarmingly wide and he quickly looked down his breeches. Gaius watched the proceedings with pursed lips. "It's not there is it?" he asked.

Merlin shook his head, feeling as if he might throw up if he opened his mouth to answer. Gaius took the reins and guided him slowly into the stables, leaving the horses with a stable boy before taking Merlin up to his chambers.

***

 

Merlin sat in a chair in Gaius' rooms, shifting uncomfortably in the new clothes he had changed into. He had snuck quietly around his room, trying not to disturb his mother as she slept, her breathing even and all of her boils gone. He had grabbed the clothes that came quickest to hand, but his small clothes hadn't fit, and there was a flat thatch of hair where his cock used to be. He certainly didn't have anything that would deal with his newly acquired breasts. Presumably women had something to fight the uncomfortable effects of gravity, but it was all rather a mystery to Merlin. He certainly had never expected to be in this sort of situation. Instead, he hunched back in his chair and crossed his arms underneath them, trying to avoid gravity pulling on parts that quite frankly should never be there. He was forced to lean forward and reach out to turn each page, and then readjust himself. The whole thing was terribly awkward and made Merlin grateful that there was no one besides Gaius there to see his discomfort. After the tenth repetition of the little dance, by which point Merlin had at least figured out what position to return his arms to, Gaius looked up from his own book and raised an expressive eyebrow. "Merlin," he said, "What in the gods' name are you doing?"

"They're uncomfortable," Merlin told him, hunching even further back in the chair. "I don't know how girls deal with this sort of thing."

"Hmmmmmm," Gaius said, going back to his book. "Well, hopefully we'll have it sorted out before your breasts become too much of a bother."

Merlin was torn between complaining that it was already quite a bother and never wanting to hear Gaius utter the word breasts again. Especially in reference to Merlin. He pulled his jacket tighter, trying to make the front meet, and skimmed the pages in front of him. They proved useless, just like the other pages. He flipped to the next one, which described the proper ceremony of sacrifice for preventing summer drought. Merlin was pretty sure that it was talking about sacrificing a cow. He certainly hoped that the book was referring to a cow. The part with entrails was rather unfortunate.

Gaius closed his book and pushed it to the side where it joined the other four books that he had already rejected as useless. The two Gaius had noted could potentially have information had been turned over to Merlin's fresh eyes for a more through inspection. Halfway through the first one he had yet to find anything that looked as if it pertained to his situation. Admittedly they weren't quite sure what his situation was, but so far Merlin had read about stone circles, the quarrying and measuring of, Druish tattoos, their age markers and levels of hierarchy, and way more than he ever wanted to know about sacrifices. The Old Religion was apparently rather big on them. Gaius reached for the next book from one of the large stacks precariously balanced at the end of the table.

Gaius was actually quite clumsy, a tiny corner in the back of Merlin's mind noted, as the the huge piles of books began to fall to the floor, an avalanche triggered when Gaius pulled a book from the bottom of one of the stacks with out removing all the ones on top. In fact, that same corner of his mind went on as Merlin's eyes flashed gold and the books began to reverse their course, flying back on to the table into neatly organized piles, Arthur was lucky that Gaius wasn't his servant. Then he'd really have something to complain about. The books continued to rearrange themselves, some of them returning to the shelves that they normally lived on, while others swooped down and landed on the table. For almost a minute Merlin and Gaius were surrounded by a whirlwind of books, dancing around each other to get to their new places, their pages flapping and covers spread like the wings of paper birds. Gaius looked bemused to have triggered such a display, but waited until everything settled down to comment.

"Well, thank goodness the door was locked at least." He picked up one of the books and thumbed through it. "I don't suppose you know where any of the books that I wanted you to look through have gone?"

"I think," Merlin said slowly, pointing to a small stack to Gaius' left, "that they might be in that pile. But I don't think that that pile will be helpful."

"Oh?" Gaius' eyebrow achieved previously undreamed of heights. "And you've read these books then have you?"

Merlin scratched the back of his neck. "No, but that pile won't help us out."

"Is your magic telling you that?" Merlin realized that he and Gaius were hunched over the table, practically whispering as if they were co-conspirators in a plot against the crown. Which, by practicing magic in Albion, they technically were.

Early on in his stay in Camelot, after Merlin, Arthur, and Morgana had defeated the avanc, Gaius had dragged him down to the library and dropped a large book bound in red leather in front of him. Gaius opened it and pushed the thin pages past each other until he reached a section that looked newer than the rest, written with crisper ink and in a stern looking hand. "This is the Code of Camelot, and this," Gaius had told him, tapping his finger on the page, right next to the blood colored M of the header, "is the section on magic."

"You mean all of it?" Merlin asked. Over a third of the book was below Gaius' finger.

"Yes," Gaius said grimly. "There were some points on which Uther wished to be quite thorough."

Merlin looked at Geoffrey, who was sitting at his desk copying out some manuscript, and not paying them much mind. "You mean more thorough than beheading?" he whispered.

Gaius snorted. "Beheadings aren't even half of it. Since I can't seem to get it through your head how seriously Uther takes magic, maybe this will."

"I know how seriously Uther takes magic Gaius, honest I do," Merlin told him. "Uther almost killed Gw--"

Merlin was pretty sure that was the first time that he really honestly saw Gaius angry. Gaius' sense of humor and equilibrium in even the worst situations had almost convinced Merlin that he didn't get mad, only drier and more sarcastic. As Gaius narrowed his eyes and clenched his fingers Merlin realized he had been wrong. "You have no idea," Gaius said, carefully enunciating each word, "how seriously Uther Pendragon takes the subject of magic. Gwen was suspected of practicing magic merely to save her father, and she nearly lost her life over it. Just think what would happen to anyone convicted of using magic for a less noble reason."

Gaius turned around in a swirl red velvet. "And Merlin?" he tossed over his shoulder as he left the library. "Make sure you read all of it."

And Merlin had, all a hundred and fifty pages, starting with the header "Punishments for Practicing Magic" and reading till the final sentence, which baldly stated "Under no circumstance is anyone in Albion permitted to practice magic". All of the codes in between dealt with the various horrible punishments that would be enacted upon anyone who dared to practice magic. They all resulted in death, sooner or later, but many of them consisted of outright torture first. Each detail was listed: fingernails pulled, skin burned, bones broken, and eyes gouged out. They were crystal clear on the fact that rank, age, gender, or intent would not allow for an escape from death. They were rendered in a straight and even hand that marched across the page, spelling out a litany of death for magic users. He had felt ill reading it, his shoulders curled inwards and head bent over the book, reading as fast as he could to get past the worst of it. Sometimes he would have to stop and rest his head against the smooth grain of the table, taking deep breaths and listening to the scritch scratch of Geoffrey's quill. At one point he wondered if Geoffrey was the one who wrote down the codes, if the man working not ten yards away from him had watched as his hand transformed harmless black ink into the laws of death. Merlin had barely been able to look at the librarian as he handed him the book and fled back to his room.

Gaius had inspected Merlin from his bench, pausing in his work. There was a light blue powder on the bottom of his mortar, and Gaius placed it carefully inside the the porcelain pestle. He walked towards the doorway where Merlin stood with his hands by his side, moving out from the little puddle of light that helped him late at night as he mixed up poultices and potions for the court. "Do you understand now?" he asked Merlin quietly. His face was blank.

"I understand," Merlin told him. Gaius gathered him into a hug, and Merlin buried his head in Gaius's shoulder, smelling smoke and herbs on his red jacket. It made his eyes water, but he didn't cry.

They never really spoke of it, and over time the experience faded until it was no longer fever bright in Merlin's mind, less important than the daily chores of being Arthur's servant, polishing his sword, tending to his chambers, cleaning up his messes, and occasionally saving him from whatever new menace he had provoked this time. Arthur, Merlin thought, was rather better at provoking menaces than any human being who was still alive ought to be. The fact that he was still alive was probably due in large part to Merlin, not that the prat could ever know. Merlin usually didn't think about it, but there were still a hundred and fifty pages lurking behind red leather covers that detailed the exact punishments for practicing magic. And Arthur, despite being Merlin's best friend, was still the prince and wore Pendragon red not only at official functions but of his own free will. Merlin helped him put on tunics that were the same color that he wore to beheadings.

So it was best to whisper, lowering their voices, when Gaius and Merlin discussed magic. They needed to figure out a solution to Merlin's current predicament, and they needed to find it soon, because the whole thing positively reeked of magic. Plus none of his small clothes fit, and his breeches were too tight around the hips and too long in the leg. The whole thing was massively unpleasant, even without taking into account the fact that if Uther found out he might decide that the easiest way to deal with a sex switching manservant would be to simply no longer have a manservant of any sex at all.

The skin on Merlin back prickled and he shivered, trying to shake the feeling. Gaius picked up one of the books from the pile that Merlin somehow knew would be useful. It was a thick tome and written in a language that Merlin had never seen before. It wasn't Latin, or Saxon, or the Danish runes, which Merlin sometimes saw on papers in the marketplace, carried by tall blond traders who dressed as if Camelot was in the middle of a perpetual summer. Merlin was sure he couldn't read it, although if he twisted his head the letters shift somehow, and looked more natural, as if they were something he used to know and had simply forgotten.

Gaius opened the book, to the end, to the index which was where he always started when he was trying to find something. Merlin preferred to skim through, looking at the pages and trying to figure out how the book fit together as a whole. "I don't think that I've ever seen this book before," Merlin said. He meant to ask what it was about, how it was going to help them figure out this whole mess, but instead he was distracted by another question. "What language is that?"

The letters were primarily made up of swirls, though little spiky bits jutted off, and butted into each other. The effect was like a thorn bush, and it was hard to tell where one letter began and the other ended, much less which ones made up words. Still Merlin found it oddly welcoming. In some ways it reminded him of the older tongue in his book of magic. No one spoke it anymore, at least not in daily life, but it was close enough to English that Merlin could usually figure out what was going on. The thorn language seemed older than that, even more different and foreign, but it made him feel the same, a sensation halfway between bafflement and belonging.

"The book's Druidic," Gaius told him as his fingertip moved down the index. "Although it's not actually written in their language. Mostly because they don't write things down if they can help it. It apparently goes against the way they prefer to impart their knowledge." Gaius' voice had gone neutral, although the corner of his mouth twisted ironically after he finished.

"So what do they write in?" Merlin asked, twisting his head sideways and trying to make the strange letters comprehensible.

"It's the Draconic language. Not that the dragons write either; at least not in books like this. Too small." Merlin tried to imagine the Great Dragon holding a quill in his claw and failed miserably. Then again, his brain had been shying away from thinking of the Great Dragon at all. It would probably be easier to talk to it than to look through the books, but the dragon was just as likely to twist the situation to its own advantage than help. At least the books had never tried to use Merlin. "They usually make humans write for them, but they can't be convinced to use any human language. They'd much rather make us learn theirs. Druids use it because they figure that barely anyone takes the effort to learn Draconic." Gaius shook his head. "Druids and dragons, each one is worse than the other."

"Yeah," Merlin agreed uneasily. "Dragons. Go figure huh?"

Gaius' eyebrow ascended his forehead again, but he changed the topic. "I don't supposed you know where you've put my Draconic dictionary in all this mess then do you?"

Merlin looked around at the various piles of books and in a particularly ill considered move, shrugged. He tried to readjust his jacket and regretted that he had given gravity an opportunity to remind him of his new body once again. He gingerly sat down on the chair and even that felt wrong somehow. Merlin had tried to avoid looking at himself when he changed, but he couldn't help to notice somethings. He was by no means a curvy woman, but his body was definitely different. Besides the constantly annoying breasts, and the obvious parts normally covered by his small clothes, which he absolutely positively refused to even consider, he had a waist, and subtle curves that probably wouldn't have been noticeable to anyone else. However, Merlin had grown accustomed to his body and the changes, no matter how small, felt unnatural. His adolescence had been awkward and terribly clumsy, all gangly limbs attached to hands and feet it seemed like he could barely master. No matter what Arthur said Merlin was much better now, freed from sudden growth spurts and lack of control. He had finally begun to feel comfortable in his body, and now it had changed on him. Merlin considered this intrinsically unfair, and he sighed and wrinkled his nose. Gaius rolled his eyes and began searching through the piles, though Merlin noticed that he was more careful not to disturb the books this time. Gaius sat down with the Druidic tome on his left and a smaller blue book on his right, presumably the Draconic dictionary. He slipped on his glasses, and focused his attention on the books.

Merlin grabbed another book from the pile that felt better than the others, more useful. This one at least he could understand, although the handwriting was cramped and the dust that drifted up from the pages made him want to sneeze. The paper was onion skin thin and almost glowed in the lamplight as he carefully flipped each page, his fingers leaving prints at the bottom. "I haven't looked at that book for ages," Gaius said, looking over the half moon lenses that had slipped down his nose. "I thought that I had returned it to Geoffrey after the coronation. I must have put it in with the rest of my library and then forgotten about it."

“What's it about?”

Gaius pulled the book over to his side of the table, frowning at the swirls on the bottom of the pages. Merlin thought about feeling guilty, but instead decided that his day had been difficult enough that he wasn't going to feel bad about a few pieces of paper. “You do know that this is a very valuable text? It's one of our only written sources for the coronation ceremonies.”

“It's been months since Arthur's coming of age ceremony Gaius, shouldn't you have given it back to Geoffrey already?” As Gaius had shifted his attention to the blue book, Merlin grabbed the Draconic dictionary and looked at the words, trying to make the swirls correspond to meanings he could wrap his mind around.

“Actually it's for the kingship ceremonies, not for Arthur's coming of age feast. I'm afraid that it's been out of Geoffrey's hand for far longer than that.”

“I'd hate to see the library fines he's going to charge you for that one,” Merlin said and gave Gaius a small smile. The corner of Gaius' mouth curled up although he didn't meet Merlin's eyes, instead continuing inspect the blue book. Gaius flipped to the next page in the book, where something caught his attention and he leaned in, as if proximity could convey understanding. Merlin stood up, cranking his neck in order to try and see what had so interested Gaius.

"Merlin?"

The two men froze at the sound of Hunith's tired voice coming from Merlin's bedroom. Merlin cleared his throat. "Yes?" Merlin pitched his voice low, deeper than it would normally be. Gaius rolled his eyes and pushed his reluctant apprentice in the direction of his bedroom. Merlin placed each foot firmly on the stairs, but eventually he passed through the doorway and into his bedroom.

"How are you feeling? You look much better." He hesitated before sitting besides the bed.

"I do feel better. Your friend Gwen was such a help; she was here all last night taking care of me. I sent her back to her bed this morning though, the poor thing looked as if she hadn't slept a wink." Hunith reached for Merlin's hand where it rested uncertainly in his lap. "What happened Merlin? Gwen seemed worried, but she wouldn't tell me where you or Gaius had gone. She didn't even know when you would come back. I though that I might never see you again."

"Me too." Merlin smiled, and gently squeezed his mother's hand. "Me too."

"I guess that Gaius found something that cured me then?" Hunith smiled up at him, and Merlin suppressed the memory of the panic he had felt when he came so close to losing both of them.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Something like that. You're going to get better, promise."

The skin of her hand was warm in the cage of his fingers and he could feel the callouses from the plow and the butter churn. He wondered, distantly, who was going to help her during harvest, if they would know to plant the wheat in the west field and to keep Bessy the goat away from the barley.

"Merlin," Hunith said weakly, "Is there something wrong? Gaius' cure did work, didn't it? You're looking at me oddly."

"No," he said quickly, trying to soothe away her worried look. "No, it's not that. You're going to be fine, I promise. There were just a few...complications."

Merlin tried to explain everything that had happened in the past few days, from Uther and the questing beast to the events on the Isle and what had happened in the courtyard. There were parts where he found it easier not to look at his mother, and he instead talked to a wall, or the pillow next to her head. He ignored his magic, which whispered to him that it would be so easy to just show her, not to bother with all the inconvenient words. He forged on, even when he had to speak around a lump in his throat. "It was okay when Nimueh was going to trade me for Arthur," he told the wall, "because it wasn't like I wanted to die, but I agreed, you know? I made my choice, and Arthur can be a prat sometimes but he's going to be a great king, so it was okay. I was okay. But I couldn't let her have you or Gaius, I just..." And here Merlin ran out of steam and instead concentrated intensely on straightening his mother's blanket, smoothing the wrinkles over her legs.

Hunith gathered her son into her arms. Merlin curled up around her, the way he had when he was a child and they both slept in the same bed. "It's going to be all right Merlin, we're all fine."

"I have breasts," Merlin eventually mumbled into his mother's shoulder. She laughed, tired but resigned.

"I've had a pair my whole life, and I've been fine," she said as she ran her hands through Merlin's hair. "Really, being a woman's not all that bad. I'm sure that it will only be for a short while, and then you and Gaius will figure out a cure. You figured out something for me after all, didn't you?"

He sighed and untangled himself from his mother's embrace, although he kept one of his hands in Hunith's. This time it was her fingers that enveloped his. "I'm sure that it wouldn't be too bad." His mother's amused face and the way she shook his head told Merlin how convincing that statement was. "But really I'm worried about Uther. What if he convinces himself that it was my fault? I'm going to have a hard enough time being a woman without having to be a woman on the run on top of that."

"Merlin," Hunith said, pulling his jacket shut again, "With you dressed like this I can barely tell that anything's different. And if I can't then I certainly doubt that the king is going to notice that one of his servants has a few parts that he didn't used to."

"I'm not Uther's servant, I'm Arthur's," Merlin felt obliged to point out. He looked past his neckerchief and down at his new breasts, hidden behind the brown leather of his jacket. "Do you really think that it will be that easy?"

"Of course," Hunith said comfortingly. "You'll just wear your jacket closed and bind your breasts and no one will notice a thing, not even Arthur."

Merlin looked helplessly at his mother, back down at his chest, then back up at his mother. "Ummmmm..."

"Oh Merlin, really, it's not that hard. Women have been doing it when we work in the field for ages," Hunith said, rolling her eyes in a fond yet exasperated manner.

A dry cough came from the doorway. "It's good to see you awake, my dear." Merlin turned his head towards the doorway, where Gaius stood with his hands folded into his sleeves. He walked over to the bed, smiling down at Hunith from behind Merlin. "How are you feeling?"

"Weak," she said, "but better. Better than I have in ages."

"You have your son to thank for that you know." Gaius placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder. Merlin's muscles tensed and the bottom of his stomach dropped out. Gaius continued, "You should be very proud of him. He used his magic to save you, and I doubt that even a warlock of old could have done any better."

"I have always been proud of Merlin," she said, and the truth of it echoed in her voice. "I can only imagine that I always will be."

Merlin looked down at their intertwined hands. He had never looked quite like his mother, too pale, too skinny, his hair to dark and his eyes too blue to show their relationship to the casual eye. But he had always imagined that there was something else, something indefinable but unmistakable that signaled that they belonged together. When he was much, much younger Merlin had always imagined it as thin golden threads, tying them together as they worked side by side in the field. He had grown alarmed when his mother went out of sight, afraid that the threads would break if stretched to far. But she had always come back, and that was reassurance enough that the invisible bonds were still there. As he grew older the threads became more of a metaphor, the bonds of love that the occasional wandering minstrel that passed through Ealdor spoke of. It had stopped mattering quite so much that Merlin took after his mysterious father in looks because, as Merlin told himself late at night, he wasn't there for Merlin. Hunith always was. And most of the time Merlin returned that unswerving affection, even when he was upset or angry, as he so often was during the tumultuous years of his adolescence. He had always tried to be a good son, and his recent failures filled him with a sense of guilt, a sticky morass that welled out from deep inside and covered him with shame.

"I let you down," he said, his voice catching in his throat. "I let both of you down, and I'm so sorry. I promise that it won't happen again."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Gaius said gently. "Without you, we'd both be dead."

"Without me neither of you would have ever been in danger!" The flame of the candles flickered violently, making the shadows dance on the wall.

"We've made our own choices Merlin, choices that have bought us plenty of danger." Hunith pulled herself up into a sitting position, propped up by the pillows. She looked steadily at Merlin. "But we would never, never regret anything that brought you to us."

"You almost died because of me. If I hadn't gone to the Isle of the Blessed--"

"Then Arthur would have died, and the gods know how many other people because of that," Gaius said sharply. The candles jumped again, and Gaius softened his tone and placed his hand back on Merlin's shoulder. "Nimueh was the one who tried to kill us. Nothing that happened was your fault, Merlin."

"We're both alright, and neither of us blame you because there is nothing to blame you for," Hunith said as she leaned over the side of the bed and hugged Merlin. "It's all right, Merlin. We love you, and it's all right."

“I wish that none of this had ever happened,” Merlin said.

“But since it has, it would be best that we dedicate ourselves to the task of fixing it,” Gaius said, motioning towards the door. “Come Merlin, stop tiring your mother and let her get some rest. We still have research to do.”

“Are you sure you're feeling better?” Merlin asked one last time as he scrubbed a bit at his eyes and stood up.

“Yes,” Hunith said, a yawn distorting the word. “Do as Gaius says. I'm sure that you'll be able to figure this all out in no time.”

“Goodnight Hunith,” Gaius said pointedly from the doorway.

“Goodnight Gaius,” Hunith said a small grin, making shooing gestures at Merlin.

“Goodnight Mother,” Merlin said. He stopped at the doorway. “Do you want--”

“Merlin!” Gaius called from the main room.

“Goodnight Merlin,” Hunith said, closing her eyes and settling herself in the bed. “Go help Gaius.”

Merlin started to take the steps down from his room to Gaius's chambers at his normal speed, half hopping, half walking, but was forced to stop when he almost lost his balance on the second step. He took the next three steps at a more sedate pace as Gaius waited behind the stack of books, eyebrow raised. Merlin crossed the room and grabbed a book from the top of the pile before sitting down again. “You did well Merlin."

“I just feel like I could have avoided this whole thing had I been more careful,” Merlin admitted. “You did warn me about the Old Religion.”

“You are by no means the first to have made an unwise bargain with the Old Religion, and I doubt that you'll be the last. Frankly, if this is the worst that happens, I'll say that we got off lightly,” Gaius said, sitting down and settling his robes around him. “After all, Tiresias did say that women experienced more pleasure during--”

“Gaius!” Merlin said, horrified.

“Really Merlin, I had no idea that you were such a prude,” Gaius said primly, looking across the table at Merlin. “It's a question that has been troubling science since ancient times, and one should always seek to further scientific exploration.”

Merlin glared at Gaius. “This is punishment, isn't it? You're punishing me for some horrible crime aren't you?”

“Now Merlin,” Gaius said, opening the small blue Druidic book again, “I'm sure this has nothing to do with the time you told Old Meg from the laundry that I was in need of special cheering up.”

“I didn't know that she would break into your chambers,” Merlin protested weakly as Gaius flipped the pages in an especially accusatory manner. Old Meg was older than even Gaius, and from what Merlin could gather from Arthur, had been in charge of the laundry since even before Uther had been crowned.

“All my clothes smelled strongly of dragon arum for weeks after that,” Gaius said. “Not to mention all the nasty looks that the laundresses gave me.”

“That was months ago!” Merlin said. It had taken them ages to figure out where the smell was coming from, as it penetrated the entire chamber and seemed to originate from multiple sources. Not to mention the way that it had interacted with the smell of some of Gaius' more volatile potion ingredients. “Besides, you made me rewash all of those clothes. I smelled like arum too.”

“I suppose you did,” Gaius said, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a small smile. He put his glasses back on. “Let's start looking through the books again, shall we?”

“Alright, alright,” Merlin grumbled. “I suppose the faster we look, the faster this will all be solved, won't it?”

“That's the spirit,” Gaius said absently, one finger marking his place in the Draconic dictionary while the other hand traced through the Druidic tome.

Merlin looked back down at his book. “Oh,” he said suddenly. He spread his finger above it and concentrated. The pages of the book flipped by, before finally settling on a section entitled
“Myths and Confusions about the Ceremonies of Albion, and the disambiguation thereof”. Gaius looked up briefly before resuming his own translation. Merlin started reading. The language was oblique and the author seemed to be more concerned with proving his obscure point than with imparting any useful information, but Merlin's magic had obviously thought that it was important. He turned to the next page, which began: Though obviously acting as an agent of 'the Land' (so much as one can consider 'the Land' to be a cohesive whole instead of a blending of the various elements that make up Albion, including by not limited to Earth, Air, Fire, Water, etc.) during the ceremony, or perhaps more properly as a conduit, personality is not to be lightly discounted; as in fact it plays a crucial part as a facilitator and as part of the ceremony as it is expressed in its initial form. In the case of Arvirargus , the well forged connection, considered by many to be the strongest bond in documented history, though the author will call attention to the competing example of King Æthelred later in this treatise, is thought by many to be the result of the affinity of the King and the Veleda. However, the 'folk process' has clouded true scholarship, so that it is difficult to find any account that does not bend the entire period into purest speculation and fancy.

The mention of Arvirargus and the Veleda made Merlin stop and think. He knew he had heard the names before, but couldn't quite place them. His tapped his foot against the floor and stared unseeing across the table over Gaius' head. It was like an itch on inside of his skull that he just couldn't scratch, and it was driving Merlin all the more mad because he knew he had heard the name before. He tried to connect it to something, anything, but it wouldn't quite click. Then Gaius said, in a quiet voice that Merlin suspected Gaius had not meant him to hear, “Oh dear.”

“What?” Merlin asked, focusing on Gaius' face. “Did you find something?”

“Do you remember what I told you after your duel with Nimueh?” Gaius pursed his lips.

“About how I had mastered the power of life and death?”

“Yes, that.” Gaius took off his glassed and folded them carefully before placing them down on the table next to his book. “I'm afraid I hadn't quite realized the implications of that with regards to your position.”

“I'm assuming,” Merlin said, “that this has to do with the fact that I'm a girl now?”

“I believe that you are now the High Priestess of the Old Religion.”

Even though Merlin knew that his eyebrows could never reach as far up his forehead as Gaius', he still felt compelled to give it a try. “And I have to be a High Priestess instead of a High Priest because...”

“Merlin,” Gaius said, “do you know anything about the ceremony the High Priestess must perform to bind the King to Albion and Albion to the King?”

And with that it snapped into place. Arvirargus and the Veleda. Only Merlin had rarely ever heard them called that, because no one used the Latin names and titles, not when speaking of the Old Religion that had stood in opposition to those same Romans. But even in Ealdor, which was close enough to Camelot that people were cautious when they spoke of the Old Religion, they still told the tale of Gweirydd and Branwen, whose love some how allowed them to harness the land against the Roman legions. Merlin had never quite understood exactly how that worked, but all the same, it was something that every version of the tale he had heard insisted. Somehow love, Albion, the High Priestess, and the King were all tied together. And now Merlin was part of that equation.

“Please tell me it's not what I think it is,” Merlin said. He felt his eyes widen, and his stomach clenched.

“I'm afraid so,” Gaius said. The only comfort that Merlin could find in the situation was that Gaius no longer looked the least bit amused by Merlin's predicament.

“Me and the King?” Merlin asked weakly. He wondered if he was allowed to have vapors now. The ladies of the court seemed to be rather enamored of them, although Morgana had always sniffed disdainfully when the topic was brought up. Then again, she had never had to face the prospect of sleeping with Uther.

“I'm afraid so,” Gaius repeated, sounding even grimmer the second time.

“Oh gods,” was the only thing that Merlin could say before he let his head thunk down in despair on to the book in front of him. “No one mentioned that any of this might be a possibility when I became Arthur's manservant.”

“There, there.” Gaius said sympathetically. “I'll look to see if there's any way for you to get out of this.” Merlin just groaned. He really hadn't thought that the Old Religion could do any worse to him than turning him into a girl, but apparently he was wrong.

***

 

Merlin drifted in and out of sleep, watching the quality of light change through Gaius' window as the hours passed. At some point while Merlin was sleeping, Gaius had retired to bed, although he was presumably responsible for the blanket thrown over Merlin's back. Merlin didn't wake up properly until he heard Gaius' door open with a creak as Gwen stepped through, carrying fresh linens. He looked up at her blearily from the table. Gwen put the linens down and hurried over to Merlin's chair. “Merlin! You're back! Are you alright?” She bent over a little and looked into Merlin's eye. “I was so worried.”

Merlin grimaced a bit as he remembered frantically finding Gwen before leaving to follow Gaius. “Gwen,” he had panted, short of breath from running across the castle to Morgana's quarter where Gwen had just finished seeing to her mistress. “Gwen, I'm so sorry, but I need you to look after my mother.”

“Of course,” Gwen said simply. “Is there anything special that I should do?”

Merlin took great gulping breaths, already planning his excuses to the stable boys. “No, just make sure that she's comfortable, everything should be fine.”

“When should I tell her that you'll be back?” Gwen asked. Merlin saw the bags under her eyes that marred her face, and knew that it couldn't have been easy for her, tending to both his mother and Morgana, but there was no one else he could ask, no one else he trusted enough.

“I don't know,” Merlin said, trying to yank his thoughts into the moment. “But tell her that I love her.”

She looked at him and he could see the uncertainty lurking in the back of her eyes. Merlin had felt guilty for leaving Gwen. It seemed like they had all leaned on her then left her alone to worry. Arthur with his illness, Morgana with her madness, and then Merlin with his mysterious request. “I'll be back Gwen,” he had said, trying to make it true.

“Of course,” she said, absently smoothing the front of her dress. “I'll make sure that everything is taken care of.”

And then he had left in a whirlwind, shouting thanks to Gwen over his shoulder. She looked better now, more rested, and Merlin was glad that in the end he had been able to keep his promise. “I came back,” he told her, his voice still blurry with sleep. “Everything worked out all right.”

There were obviously so many levels on which this was a lie, but the smile on Gwen's face as she put her arms around his curled up and blanket covered body made it true for one shining moment. It didn't even occur to Merlin to panic over her proximity until after she pulled back. But Gwen asked no questions, and she didn't withdraw in surprise. Apparently Hunith was right, and his change wasn't as obvious as he had feared. “I never doubted you,” she said, standing up again, and retrieving the linens.

“Now that,” he said, standing up and buttoning his jacket over his breasts quickly, just in case, “is a lie, Gwen.”

She cocked her head to the side, and regarded him. Her lips spread into a smile. “Well, maybe. But it was only for a moment. Now let's go up to your mother's room and change her linens. That always makes me feel better after I've been sick.”

There was a snort from Gaius' cot before the physician rolled over and pulled the covers over his head. Normally Gaius was a fairly light sleeper, but Merlin guessed that the previous day's events had worn him out. It wasn't every day that one died and then came back to life only to discover that one's ward had been turned into a woman to fulfill the perverted ceremonies of a religion whose main goal seemed to be making one's ward as miserable as possible. Merlin could sympathize. “Gaius had a very late night last night, and we probably shouldn't disturb him.” Merlin told Gwen in a whisper.

“Your mother didn't take a turn for the worse did she?” Gwen whispered back, holding on to the linens a little tighter. “I wasn't going to leave but she seemed all right when she told me to go.”

“No, no,” Merlin reassured her. “Nothing like that. We were just...ummmm...” Merlin tried to think up a story, but his sleep-blurred mind couldn't come up with anything. He settled for part of the truth, waving his hand at the piles of books stacked on the table. “Doing some research.”

Fortunately Gwen didn't seem inclined to ask for further detail or question Merlin's hesitation. Merlin supposed that she had been through quite a lot in the last few days as well. “I'm surprised that you don't have a horrible crick in your neck from falling asleep over the books like that.”

“Huh,” Merlin said, stopping on the top step to his room. “I guess that I don't.” Having fallen asleep at Gaius' table one to many times, he well knew the effects of a long night hunched over on his body. He cheered up a little. Maybe it was a benefit of his new body. Probably the only benefit, but still. Merlin would grasp at any straw that he could find.

He poked his head into his room. The sun wouldn't pour into it until later in the day. The window faced west, not east, so it was still dim, and Merlin's eyes took a second to adjust. His mother was still sleeping, and watching the linens on his bed rise and fall with her breath made something in Merlin relax that he hadn't even realized was tense. “Mother?” he said softly, ready to withdraw if she didn't respond.

Her eyes opened and she said, as she had said almost every morning when they still woke up together in their cottage, “And how are you this morning, Merlin?”

He held open the door for Gwen before following her in. “As well as can be expected. Better than last night I suppose.”

Hunith's gaze flickered to Gwen, before returning to Merlin. “You never did like late nights or early mornings.” She smiled up at Gwen. “I can't imagine that he's changed that much since coming to Camelot.”

“No,” Gwen said, her fondness evident behind her teasing. “Arthur always complains that Merlin's hardly better than a lamp post in the morning.”

“Shit,” Merlin said. He ignored his mother's admonishment of “Language!” and asked Gwen. “How long has the sun been up?”

“Well, I've already seen to Morgana this morning, and I know that the kitchens have already started on the midday meal, so it must be a good two, three hours,” Gwen said, before her eyes widened as well. “Oh dear. Arthur.”

“Well,” Merlin said, trying to figure out if Arthur was still going to insist on being ready at a stupidly early time in the morning, even after he had almost died, “he's been waiting this long, it won't hurt him to wait for a few more minutes. If he's even awake. I'll do my mother's linens, and then run down to see if Arthur needs anything.”

“I can help, it goes faster with two people,” Gwen said, putting the linens down again and sat on Hunith's right side as Merlin covered her left. Hunith planted her feet on the wooden floor and leaned against them as they slowly pivoted and helped her lower herself into the chair. After that Merlin and Gwen worked together with the brisk efficiency that came with changing royal sheets three times a week. At least that was how often Arthur had Merlin change his sheets. But Arthur was awfully picky. Perhaps Morgana had Gwen change her sheets less frequently. Regardless, the motions were familiar and soothing, which helped Merlin to ignore the part of his brain that had been gibbering about Uther ever since he had woken up. It seemed unclear whether the potential of beheading or sleeping with him would be the more distressing prospect, but it was definitely gravely displeased at the entire situation, and Merlin was determined to ignore it.

Gwen smoothed the bed down as Merlin transferred his mother back into it. He then scooped up the pile of dirty linen. It smelled stale, and of old sweat, and he was glad that Gwen had come with the fresh linen. It was a small touch that somehow made the whole room seem brighter and his mother less fragile. “Thanks Gwen, I'll just bring this down to the laundry and—oww!”

Because he hadn't been paying attention, Merlin smacked himself into the hard wood of the column in the middle of his room. His forehead had taken the brunt of the impact and though Merlin didn't find any blood when he gingerly examined it, the skin tingled underneath his fingertips, not quite reporting back the sensations that he was accustomed to. “You know,” he said glaring at the column malevolently, gathering up linen that he had half dropped in order to raise his hand to his face, “I've always hated that column.”

“I can see why,” Gwen said, picking up the trailing ends and then removing the wadded bundled from Merlin's arms. “Go on, go to Arthur. I'll take care of this.”

“Have I mentioned that you're a lifesaver?” Merlin said as he gave her what he thought of as his best appealing puppy smile. It was an expression he had learned from Arthur, who had used it on Merlin to a devastating effect.

“What else are friends for?” Gwen said somewhat indulgently.

“I owe you, Gwen!” Merlin shouted over his shoulder as he left the room, taking the steps in only three strides, feeling proud of the fact that he neither tripped nor hit anything else on the way down. His forehead didn't even hurt that badly anymore. He made it to Arthur's room without any further mishaps, weaving around the other inhabitants of the castle as they made their way through the halls and corridors. “Sorry,” he said to Bedivere's squire, as he knocked a vambrace off the pile armour that the boy was carrying. It clattered as it fell to the floor, the first piece of a larger landslide of plate and mail. While Merlin would have typically stayed to help him pick up the ensuing mess of steel that decorated the stone floors of the castle hall, he was late enough as it was. Instead, he made a mental note to save the boy part of his tart from dinner that evening. Merlin knew he had a weakness for them.

Merlin paused outside of Arthur's room, checking to make sure the corridor was empty before readjusting himself, pressing his breasts down and rebuttoning his jacket. He took a deep breath and opened the door to Arthur's chamber on the exhale. “Sorry I'm late,” he said, turning towards Arthur's chair. Although Arthur was still too weak to spend much time on his feet, he was too proud to lie in bed. He had practically jumped up once Gaius finished changing his bandages and stood wavering by the fireplace, pretending that he didn't need the mantle's occasional support. In turn, Gaius had infringed on Arthur's personal space as he walked around the room, never quite blatant enough to be called out on it. It forced Arthur to move and shift off the mantle, standing on his own feet until he had blanched and gritted his teeth. Their short and mostly nonverbal battle had ended with a compromise of the chair before Arthur passed out from sheer stubbornness, much to Merlin's relief. In the day before he had left for the Isle of the Blessed Gaius had muttered comments under his breath about permanent and debilitating injuries resulting from wounds that hadn't quite healed right. Still, he had seemed disinclined to actively drive Arthur from his chair. Arthur, for his part, had defiantly ignored him, instead picking at his food and doing his best to pretend that he was simply choosing not to use his left arm, and the sling was merely decorative. Merlin was surprised that he still wasn't sitting in the chair, just to make a point. Arthur really was a terrible patient.

Instead, the half eaten remains of Arthur's breakfast, crumbs and part of a sausage, sat on the table and Arthur's bare back was to Merlin, and his blond head was resting on his pillow. Arthur turned and squinted at Merlin, the blue of his eyes a mere sleepy sliver. “Merlin,” he said in a low, burred voice, “I realize that it seems to be too much for you to understand, but typically people knock.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said, as he hoped that he wasn't flushed a truly embarrassing shade of red. While Merlin had seen Arthur shirtless dozens of times, and in one particularly embarrassing incident walked in on him naked with Lucy who worked in the stables, Merlin hadn't been a woman then. Now, even though Merlin was still, well, Merlin, and his attraction to Arthur hadn't changed that much, the situation was different. It felt deeply inappropriate, even if Arthur had no idea. Perhaps because Arthur didn't have any idea. “I'll just clean this up then.”

Merlin tried to give cleaning up his full attention, paying undue concentration to the crumbs scattered on Arthur's table. The white bread squished underneath his fingertips as he brushed them into the dirty plate. He could hear the soft sounds of Arthur pushing his sheets off and putting his feet on the floor. Merlin knew that normally Arthur would first scrub at his face before stretching, arching his back and pushing his body towards the ceiling hands first. He swallowed, and didn't look to see what Arthur did instead when he was injured. Merlin's neck was different, thinner and more fragile, and the bobbing of his Adam's apple that accompanied a proper swallow was missing.

“I'm surprised to see you back here,” Arthur said. He used his casual tone, which was no more casual than an early September frost among the wheat fields. Arthur was just as much of a crap liar as he always accused Merlin of being, no matter what he thought Merlin never had the heart to tell him otherwise. Merlin picked at the crumbs that had entrenched themselves in the cracks of the table. Arthur went on. “After that speech you gave you didn't show up yesterday...”

Merlin turned around and almost shrugged before he remembered what a poor idea that would be, jacket or no jacket. He adjusted his neckerchief instead. “I wasn't feeling well, sorry. I didn't want to risk passing it on to you, not while you were so fragile.”

“I'm not fragile.” Arthur bristled.

“Of course not, it's just that Gaius advised—”

Arthur came closer till he was a mere arm's length away and examined Merlin from head to toe. At first Merlin thought that he had shivered in response to Arthur's gaze. The feeling was certainly similar, an inner involuntary trembling, but Merlin realized that it also felt golden and warm, like a mixture of sunlight and honey. Arthur took another step closer, and Merlin could almost count the eyelashes on his lower eyelid. Then, to Merlin's horror, the golden feeling focused and changed, reaching out towards Arthur, the tremble changing to a steady vibration, almost purring. Merlin hoped against hope that his eyes were still their normal shade of blue.

“Really?” Arthur finally said. He rubbed at his shoulder before moving back to the other side of the table. He sat down in his chair. “Because I thought you were leaving again.” Arthur's next attempt at casual was even more of a dire failure, less a frost in September than a sudden hail in August.

“No,” said Merlin quickly. “I'm yours 'till the day I die.” The gold purred gently in agreement as it wrapped itself around Arthur, coating him in a golden glow and congealing in a blot around his injured shoulder. Arthur seemed not to notice.

Arthur looked up and his face was surrounded by a golden halo. “Gods, I'm stuck with you till then? I'm never going to have another breakfast on time, am I?”

“'Friad not,” Merlin replied with a somewhat strained smile smile. He tried to will away the golden mist, but it stubbornly remained. Merlin could almost feel it holding on to Arthur. If it was something that came from him he should at least have some control over it. He continued absently. “Besides, who else would you get to put up with you?”

“Gwen,” Arthur said after considering the question for a second. “Plus she's much nicer to look at than you are.”

Merlin stopped trying to remove the mist, giving it up as a lost cause. He rolled his eyes, and grabbed Arthur's dirty plate. “Right, as if Morgana wouldn't kill you, even before your prattishness drove Gwen to quit.”

“Guinevere loves me, I have no idea what you're talking about. Besides, I could take Morgana.” Arthur settled deeper into his chair and gave Merlin an insufferable smile.

“How funny,” Merlin said. Oddly enough Merlin found Arthur's prattishness charming in a sort of obnoxious, too spoiled for his own good, he was never going to mention it, way. Merlin thought of it as his own sort of Arthur caused mental deficiency. “That's not what looked like was happening last week on the training grounds behind the armoury. If I remember correctly, she smacked you in the ass with the flat of her sword.”

“There, there, Merlin, I'm sure that there must be someone who finds you attractive. Eventually your sex deprived delusions will cease, there's no need to speak of them.” It was all so normal that Merlin practically forgot to be worried about the golden mist. It made Arthur's hair seem even blonder and set off his eyes rather fetchingly, if Merlin just ignored the fact that he couldn't control it at all. At least it hadn't tried to kill Arthur yet. That was definitely a step up from most of Arthur's interactions with mysterious magical phenomenon. Merlin tried to will it away again, just in case it would be more susceptible a second time, but was forced to give a mental sigh when it refused to budge.

“Of course sir. Gaius says that you aren't to over exert yourself while your arm heals. I'll just grab something from the library for you to read today then shall I? Geoffrey still has the volume on the early Roman senate that your father wanted you to read.” Arthur looked at him as if he had been dropped on the head as a baby. “I've heard that it's a quite good translation. Doesn't leave out any of the long words,” Merlin said, mock solicitous.

“My arm's fine,” Arthur began reflexively, before he paused and actually looked down at his arm. His brow furrowed and he poked it. His finger was submerged up to the second knuckle in golden mist, but Arthur didn't seem to feel any resistance.

“You can tell Gaius all about it later when he comes to change your bandage.” Merlin began to head towards the door, plate in hand.

“No, really,” Arthur said, wonderingly, poking at it some more. “It barely hurts at all, it's just a bit sore. It's like I wounded it ages ago.”

Merlin looked suspiciously at the mist. Arthur spoke earnestly, “I swear Merlin, I'm not lying this time, it honestly feels better.”

Arthur's color was high, if tinged with a golden glow, and he seemed more alert than Merlin had seen him since before the fight with the Questing Beast. Besides the sling he was the very picture of health. “I'll go get Gaius after I drop this in the kitchen.”

“Fetch some cheese pies,” Arthur called after him. “I'm starving!”

***

 

The kitchen was always warmer than the rest of the castle, and full of smells that made Merlin's mouth water. Mentioning Arthur's name always made the head cook jump to, and if sometimes the food that Merlin requested for the crown prince made it into his stomach instead, Merlin didn't feel overly guilty about it. “The prince wants four of your cheese pies, Charles,” Merlin said. His stomach punctuated the order with a rumble. Merlin guessed that was one thing that hadn't changed. Fortunately for Merlin, it was lost among the general chaos of the kitchen. The dogs panted as they ran, the motion turning their spits over the fire, the constant banging together of the spoons and great metal pots was a steady roar in the background, and the assistant cooks shouted at the busy servers and assorted underlings who chopped vegetables and prepared the meat that the hunters brought in daily. It looked as if the hunters hadn't come in yet that day, but everyone seemed to be waiting, sharpening their knives and eying the remains of last night's dinner anxiously. Over the din it was amazing that the head cook could hear Merlin at all, and picking up on anything quieter would have been a lost cause.

“The prince, he is feeling better?” The cook was originally from Gaul, a small man who shaved not only his face but the rest of his head so that he gleamed like one of his own pots. His accent waxed and waned as meals approached, and was at its thickest right before feasts, when Merlin thought that he was still probably speaking English, but wouldn't swear to it. As it was after the morning meal and midday was still a comfortable few hours away, Charles would normally be in the medium ebb of the cycle, and merely pulling his r's while his sentences rolled like the hills outside of Camelot. However, the kitchens must have been under a little more stress than normal as Merlin was struggling to decipher his accent.

“Yes,” Merlin said, “Much better. He's quite hungry though, so if you wouldn't mind...”

“For the prince, of course. I will make it myself. We are low on eggs, there was no delivery today, but I have a few from yesterday.” With that Charles bustled off, grabbing the dirty plate out of Merlin's hand and negligently tossing it at the head dishwasher, who caught it with barely an upward glance before dropping it in with the rest of the cookware placed in his charge.

Merlin retreated to a corner of the kitchen, where he would be able to keep an eye on Charles and also stay out of the way. The first time he had been down to pick up a meal for Arthur he had stood gormlessly in the dead center, and one of the servers had run into him and accidentally poured a bowl of hot soup all over him. He never quite got the lentil stain out of that pair of breeches. But Merlin had accustomed himself to the kitchen, and was no longer fazed by the noise and bustle that characterized the giant room. Although today it seemed busier, with cooks running around frantically asking each other if they had certain ingredients, the sounds were no longer an overwhelming roar, but rather a background for his thoughts.

Clearly, Merlin thought as Charles began to chop the onions and shouted to his minions for eggs, the golden mist liked Arthur. There was a strange tugging from under his sternum, right in between his new breasts, and Merlin was pretty sure that it was attached to the mist, which had still been contentedly wrapped around Arthur when he had left. It wasn't like his magic, it had felt far less under his control, more like a puppy whose leash just happened to be dangling from his hand. A very large golden puppy. One that liked to lick Arthur.

His own magic, Merlin thought shifting his weight and refolding his arms, had no inclination to lick Arthur. He casually leaned his arm onto a nearby counter and used his magic to pull an abandoned spoon into his hand. An undercook ran by holding four eggs, turning them over to Charles with babbled apologies about the state of their supplies. The head cook merely snarled something in Gaulic before grabbing the meager offering. Merlin froze, the spoon clutched guiltily, but apparently they were too busy to pay attention to anything he was doing.

Anyway, his magic was perfectly normal. No abnormal Arthur related thoughts, or at least none that he didn't normally think. He was still thinking of Arthur, but he had to in order to figure out what was going on, and how to explain what had happened to Gaius. Hopefully Gaius had woken up and made more progress with the books since Merlin had left. Merlin's eyes widened as the repressed thoughts came bubbling back up. Hopefully, he thought as Charles slipped the pies out of the brick oven, the golden mist wouldn't want to lick Uther. Merlin wasn't sure if he could take that. The idea of anything at all remotely connected to Merlin licking the king was a deeply, deeply uncomfortable thought. Uther seemed amused by his son's incompetent manservant, but Uther's grin showed too many teeth and made Merlin acutely aware of how much hung on his ability to be a source of entertainment. Not to mention that the prospect brought him much closer to beheading than he was happy with.

“And here you go,” Charles told him triumphantly, giving Merlin a rectangular tray with the four steaming pies on it. “Tell the prince to be careful, they're still hot.”

Merlin could feel the heat through his jacket, warming the front of his body, and in his hands where they grasped the tray. He smiled politely and thanked Charles before navigating his way out of the kitchen and down the hall, which would take him to Gaius' chambers, and eventually Arthur's too. He was forced to adjust his grip on the tray as he walked, for the heat from the pies was bearable at first but grew too much for him after prolonged exposure. He hastened his pace, careful to keep the tray balanced so that none of the pies would slip off and go crashing onto the floor in a yellow spray of egg and cheese. It was a relief when he spotted one of the windows, and he rested the tray down on its sill and waited a bit for it to cool. He thought about using his magic to make it go faster; even though the hallway was fairly well traveled most people thought that Merlin was strange enough that if he were seen muttering under his breath they would simply dismiss it as another one of Merlin's oddities. He turned his head to check for other castle denizens anyway, as paranoia was rather habit forming, and almost jumped when he came face to face with Morgana.

“What have you done?” Morgana sounded heartbroken, and the black rings under her eyes were even deeper, as if she hadn't slept at all since last he had seen her. “Merlin, what have you done?”

"Nothing!" Merlin said, shocked that she had snuck up on him. He hadn't heard her coming, or even realized that he wasn't alone in the hall. "What are you talking about?"

"At the Isle of the Blessed, with the High Priestess. Do you even know what you've started?" Merlin had found Morgana's powers comforting initially, despite Gaius' misgivings. Though it put them both in more danger, it had been good to not be the only one with a dangerous secret, even if Morgana hadn't quite known about Merlin. Merlin planned to tell her, but there never quite seemed to be the right time, when it would be natural to blurt out, "Oh, and by the way, I'm a sorcerer, Gaius tells me you're a seer, how's that been working for you?" He hadn't anticipated that Morgana might find out on her own and it made him feel exposed.

“I did what I had to do,” Merlin told her, drawing away from the accusation in her eyes. The sunlight from the window cast his shadow over her. “I saved our friends, Morgana, I made sure that Nimueh can't hurt anyone ever again. What did you want me to do? Let them die?”

“No,” Morgana shook her head as if trying to toss something out. “No, it's all going to go wrong, I can feel it.”

“Morgana,” Merlin began, trying to soften his voice, “It—”

“I don't want to see it,” she told him. “I don't want to watch it happen, but I can't stop it. And everyone means so well, that's the worst part.” Her voice broke. “We all mean so well,”

Merlin held his hand out towards her the same way that he would if she were a spooked horse in the stable. “Do you want me to fetch Gwen? Should we get you more potion from Gaius?”

He could feel her shoulder shake under his hand. The noise she made was halfway between a sob and a laugh. “You think that I haven't tried that? I would drink a thousand bottle of that vile potion if I could only sleep and not dream.”

“They're just dreams,” Merlin said through a dry mouth. “Nothing's actually wrong.”

“Liar,” Morgana spat out. She knocked his hand off her shoulder. “You know that they're not dreams, you know that they're true! How dare you stand there are lie to me!” Her voice rose until she was almost screaming, and Merlin scanned the empty hallway before he allowed himself to reply. At least one of them should make sure that no one overheard and got them both killed.

“What do you see? What's so awful then?” Merlin was surprised by how his voice echoed off the walls. He hadn't intended to be that loud.

“I don't know!” she shouted back. “It makes no sense, and I can't understand what it's trying to tell me, but something bad is coming Merlin. Something awful because of what you did.”

“I saved Arthur, and he will be a great king. I refuse to believe that could possibly be wrong.” His fingernails dug into his palms.

“Of course he will. But at what cost Merlin?” Her gaze swept over him from head to foot, lingering where his arms were crossed defensively right underneath the tip of the neckerchief, and below his waist, where his small clothes had been bunching uncomfortably. “You've already begun paying, haven't you?”

Merlin could feel the muscles of his face tighten. “You can't expect me to believe that you have no idea what's going on. Not when you say things like that. What do you know?”

She laughed bitterly. “More than Arthur, that's for sure, but not actually enough to understand what's going to happen. Just enough to get in trouble.” Her voice dropped to a normal volume, and she meet Merlin's glare tiredly. The rings around her eyes appeared even darker than when she first began talking with him. “I'm not the enemy, Merlin. But if you're going to treat me that way, you'll miss what's actually coming.”

She turned and swept away, the satin train of her dress a hiss underneath the staccato stride of her feet. Merlin exhaled and felt his magic unfurl from where it curled around his fists and sat in a tight ball in his chest. The exchange couldn't have taken more than a few minutes, and the pies were still hot on their tray. He was pleased that his hands were steady and that the tray didn't tremble. "Calan" he whispered, and the pies cooled to a reasonable temperature.

He thought, as he walked, of telling Gaius about Morgana. Merlin thought of his magic as another limb, as integral to him as his arm, and just as normal. But Morgana's visions seemed forced upon her without will or consent, having all the terrifying incoherency of a nightmare. Sometimes Merlin had dreams where Arthur died while Merlin watched helplessly, unable to remember the spell that would save him. He usually woke up glazed in sweat with his heart trying to beat itself out of his chest. It was actually surprising that Morgana had held up for as long as she had. However, it didn't make her behavior any less frustrating, or any less dangerous if Uther figured out what was going on. He nodded to one of the red-clad guards standing with a pike at the entrance to the courtyard. It was a miracle that Uther hadn't already dragged her into the throne room and charged her with witchcraft in front of the entire court as an example that no one was exempt. Something that melodramatic would certainly be in keeping with his style. He had certainly shown no hesitation in throwing either Arthur or Morgana into the dungeon. Merlin could all too easily imagine Uther standing on the balcony with an extended arm, signaling Morgana's death to the waiting headsman below. Morgana would hold her head high, even while kneeling, until her blood stained the wooden chopping block. Merlin couldn't picture Arthur standing calmly behind his father while he executed Morgana, which was something at least. Although Arthur had certainly watched his share of beheadings and burnings, Merlin liked to think if he or Morgana caught, Arthur at the very least would have the decency to stay away from the death itself. It's something at least, Merlin told himself in the middle of the night when he can't sleep. Arthur would at least give him that.

He used his hip to push Gaius' door open. The distribution of his weight was different but not enough to give Merlin problems, or make him spill the tray. The door swung shut behind him, and Merlin's eyes watered as smoke billowed up from Gaius ' glassware and wafted in his direction. He coughed into his shoulder and put the tray on Gaius ' cot. “Gods that's foul,” he said waving his hand in front of his face in an attempt to clear a space to breathe. “What is that?”

“It's an infusion for the King. The seneschal stopped by earlier and told me that some of Uther's old wounds have been bothering him.” Gaius planted his hands on the table and bent over to check the level of a beaker where a mass of twigs and leaves seeped, turning the liquid inside a muddy brown. The smoke came from a separate maze of tubing where a bright turquoise liquid bubbled and hissed furiously. “How's Arthur?”

“Fine. He needs you to change his bandages, but he says that he feels much better.”

“He always says that.” Gaius picked up a glass rod, briefly stirring the turquoise mixture before tapping the excess off of the rod; the tubing ringing like very small bells.

Merlin couldn't disagree but, “There's more.” He described the golden mist to Gaius, and told him how it had been attracted to Arthur's shoulder.

"Can you still feel it?" Gaius asked, peering at Merlin's chest as if he could see past the leather jacket and blue jerkin into his body where the gold mist had come from. It made Merlin feel even more self conscious of the changes.

"Yes," he said. The gold mist was still purring, and although Merlin could no longer see it he had no doubt about what it was up to. "It's still with Arthur. It really likes him."

“And you're sure that it's not your own magic?” Gaius raised his eyebrow and looked at the stacks of books that had been moved to a side table. “It has been rather unpredictable as of late.”

“I'm sure,” Merlin said. “With the books, that was my magic, just different. I had never felt anything like what had happened with Arthur before.”

“Never?” Gaius asked.

Merlin opened his mouth in an instinctual refusal and then caught himself. “It was sort of like when I stopped Nimueh on the Isle of the Blessed. But not quite, and not like anything before or after that. And I certainly couldn't control it the way I normally can with my magic. Do you know what it is?”

"I'm certainly no sorcerer—”

“But you know about magic. Your books have so much information, it must be in there somewhere.”

Gaius checked that the door was closed. “Do you think that you could replicate what happened last time? I could knock over a book if you needed me to.”

Merlin stretched his hand out, fingers spread to their limit, and tried to make the books sort themselves. It was the hardest sort of magic, neither the instinctual action that he had been practicing his entire life, nor the proscribed and delineated spells that came out of Merlin's spell book. Instead he had to deliberately shape the magic to his desires without quite being able to tell it what he wanted. It was like talking to dog who had been trained in a foreign language. It could get a certain amount from tone of voice, but the communication barrier of species and language made intent difficult to translate, even if the dog was eager to obey. Merlin tried to recall how it felt when he had looked for the kingship ceremony, the same sense of questioning and finding. He took in the papery feel of the books, and he knew if he just asked in the right way they would jump to answer. As Gaius reached towards the pile, Merlin finally felt the magic click and the books rearranged themselves like a puzzle, so that one books was placed front and center in its very own cleared space. Merlin only had the briefest second to observe the cover before the pages flipped open to reveal "Myths and Confusions about the Ceremonies of Albion, and the disambiguation thereof”. Merlin ran his fingers through the hair at the back of his neck, before tugging on it. "No good I'm afraid." Gaius turned the book towards him and began to inspect it. "It's the same kingship ceremony stuff that I found last time. I tried to make it do the same thing as when it happened before, and I think that I got it a little too exact."

Gaius read a few more pages before shutting the book with a thwop. "We'll try again later, even if we have to do it the old fashioned way. Right now we have a royal family whose health we need to worry about." He turned and poured the turquoise mixture into the beaker with the twigs. The two at first seemed disinclined to interact and the turquoise sat on top, stubbornly separate from the twigs, but after Gaius swirled the beaker several times the two combined to form a vivid green concoction that Merlin would have never anticipated. Merlin picked up his pies as Gaius strained the mixture and bottled it in a small brass vial. Gaius stopped at the door and addressed Merlin. "After all, I managed to find things even before I had a magical apprentice. I dare say that it haven't lost the skill completely."

***

 

Merlin felt rather an idiot standing outside the king's chambers holding a tray full of cheese pies, but as Uther's chambers were on the way to Arthur's Merlin hadn't had the chance to turn them over quite yet. There were two guards outside of the king's chamber, and while one appeared indifferent to the going ons around him, the other was definitely interested in the contents of Merlin's tray. Merlin would have been less alarmed by the man's hunger if his attention hadn't been quite so focused on Merlin's chest area. He shifted uncomfortably as Gaius knocked on the king's door, and prayed, to no deity in particular, that Uther wouldn't notice him. Uther was terrifying enough during normal encounters, and Merlin didn't think he could deal with the king when he was acutely aware that his small clothes were bunched up around all sorts of unfamiliar anatomy. The thought that Uther might soon become acquainted with that anatomy sent most of Merlin's mind to gibbering and suddenly made the uneven yellow surface of the cheese tart fascinating. Merlin had never considered how many different shapes a cooked onion might twist into. Clearly it was a matter that required his grave attention.

The guards opened the door far too quickly and Uther appeared between them. "Ah, Gaius. I see that you've brought the potion I asked for. Thank you."

Gaius bowed his head in acknowledgment. "Of course your majesty. If you take half the bottle now and half in six hours it should relieve your symptoms. May I ask what's been troubling you?"

Uther held the bottle in his right hand as he rubbed his left shoulder. "An old wound suddenly started acting up this morning. It hadn't been troublesome before, but I suppose that time takes its toll. These sorts of things were much easier when we were younger." His eyes darted towards Merlin. The light glinted off the gold of his crown. "How does my son?"

Merlin barely heard the question. As soon as the door had opened, he had plastered himself against the wall opposite the king's chamber. The two guards were now giving him their full attention, and while their weapons weren't pointed at him, the angle at which they held them implied that could change with any more sudden movements. Merlin didn't even remember withdrawing to the wall. One second he had been standing behind Gaius, uncomfortable but still, and the next he had been possessed with an urge to run away so strong that it was a miracle that he hadn't dashed down the hallway, Arthur's pies a casualty of the flight. The golden mist had reappeared, and whatever benevolence it held towards Arthur clearly did not extend to his father. It had formed a thin shield around Merlin, who couldn't tell if the deep rumbling from the mist that was reverberating inside his chest was a sign that it was going to attack or was merely going to defend Merlin. Either way, the mist was not happy with Uther.

"How does my son?" Uther asked again, slower and enunciating each word. He took a step past the guards. "Really Gaius, I thought that you had done something about his mental affliction."

"It's a particularly trying case, my lord," Gaius said reassuringly. "I assure you that we're doing the best we can."

Uther took another step closer, examining Merlin as if he were a particularly interesting insect, perhaps one that had mastered the intricacies of court protocol. The golden mist got louder, and Merlin was thankful, underneath the terror, that no one else besides him noticed anything unusual. "Fine," he forced out, hoping that if he answered the question Uther might halt in his advance. "Arthur's fine."

"His wound is healing well?" Uther asked Merlin. Merlin could feel his shoulder blades pressing against the wall. Uther was surrounded by a black miasma that seemed to suck at Merlin, sending out sinister tentacles towards him. It felt unhealthy and reminded Merlin of nothing so much as the gut wound suffered by John, who had been commander of the night watch when Merlin first arrived at the castle. John had been one of the first guards sent out after the griffin began attacking the outlying villages. Although he had survived the initial battle with the creature, his men had carried him back to Gaius on a stretcher. He had a nasty gash across his lower abdomen that opened and closed as John's muscles relaxed, only to clench again as another wave of pain struck. He had been unconscious when Gaius stitched the skin together and wiped it down with distilled willow bark. The lack of expression on Gaius' face told Merlin more than any lecture on gut wounds could. John woke up raving incoherently several times, calling for his mother, his sword, and worst of all, for something, anything, to make the pain go away. Merlin had mopped his sweaty brow and cleaned the skin around Gaius' even stitchwork, but still the sickly sweet smell of decay had filled their rooms. After his debriefing, Arthur had visited. John was asleep, and Arthur's nostrils had flared as he walked in the door. He stood on the opposite side of John's cot. Arthur had been on enough battlefields to recognize the smell. "How much longer?"

"A few more hours, a day at most," Merlin had said quietly. They couldn't possibly disturb John, not by that point, but it would have felt disrespectful to speak in a normal tone.

"He was going to retire next year and start a pig farm," Arthur had said. His shoulders were slumped underneath his duster. "I don't think that he had ever been outside of the town walls for longer than a patrol, but he wanted to buy his own parcel of land with his retirement geld."

"He died protecting the people he would have lived with," Merlin had offered. "He died a noble death."

"I suppose he did," Arthur said, but he hadn't seem much comforted by the fact. The stench of death had filled Merlin's nostrils the four hours after that it had taken John to stop breathing. It had seemed like much longer. The miasma around Uther was like that, but a thousand times worse. While John's smell had slowly soaked into every nook and cranny, Uther's seemed to move beyond the king in an aggressive and ever expanding circle of rot and horror. Merlin found himself scanning the king's body for a gaping wound or detached strips of flesh, but he appeared whole and unharmed clad in his robes of state. "His wound?" the king prompted again.

"Fine, my lord." Even those short words were a trial to force out, and Merlin's breathing sped up. Gaius elaborated. "The prince says that he's been feeling better. We plan to check up on him right after we've delivered your potion."

"His appetite's improving then?" Uther looked at the pies on Merlin's tray.

"Yes, sire."

“Good.” Uther nodded in satisfaction and issued a final order to his physician. "I'll expect a full report from you on Arthur's health."

"Of course, my lord," Gaius said.

Uther swept back into his room, his cloak billowing behind him. The door slammed shut, and the miasma disappeared along with the king. The golden mist faded, until it was no more than sparkles in the corner of Merlin's eyes. Gaius watched, but didn't comment, as Merlin peeled himself off the wall and began walking down the hallway.

"Slow down, Merlin," Gaius eventually said. "I can barely keep up."

"Sorry," Merlin said. His tunic was damp from sweat underneath his armpits and stuck to his lower back. The pies on the tray jostled up along the edges, unsettled by Merlin's flight.

"What happened back there, with Uther?" Gaius stepped in front of Merlin, halting him in his tracks.

"There was something surrounding the king," Merlin said. "Something bad. It was like the very opposite of the golden mist."

"I don't suppose that you have any idea what it was, do you?"

Merlin shook his head. "I haven't got a clue, all I know was that it kept reaching out towards me, like it wanted something."

"Do you think that it's trying to hurt the king?" Gaius asked, his voice quiet.

"I don't know. I don't know anything besides the fact that it's related to the mist somehow, even though the two of them are completely different. But the mist likes Arthur, and the black thing around Uther doesn't seem to be concerned so much with Uther as with me."

"Hmmmmmmmm..." Gaius examined Merlin's face, and his eyes flickered briefly down to Merlin's changed body before snapping back up. "Do you think that it could possibly be your magic, merely reacting to your feelings?"

"You've lost me," Merlin said.

Gaius picked his words with obvious care. "I know that you're...concerned about the kingship ceremony. Certainly I can't blame you for not wanting to attract any more of Uther's attention. And I know that you and Arthur are very... close, and you've always had strong feelings for him--"

“Not feelings like that! He's a prat!”

Gaius continued as if Merlin had never interrupted. "And your magic is different now, we know that much. Although you've never encountered anything like the mist and the black thing around Uther, it did remind you of that fighting Nimueh on the Isle. Perhaps your magic was changed when you became the High Priestess, and this is merely a reflection of that."

"That sounds logical, but I don't think that it's quite right," Merlin said slowly, the thought condensing and clarifying as he continued. “The gold mist isn't me, it's the Old Religion. I think it wants Arthur for the kingship ceremony.”

"And the blackness around Uther?"

"We know that Uther's rejected the Old Religion, maybe it's rejected him as well." He shuddered as he thought again of how the darkness had tried to reach out towards him. "Maybe that's what it looks like when the bond between the land and the king is broken."

"And it wanted you to help fix it," Gaius concluded.

"That must be why my magic turned up the same information in your books," Merlin said. He felt a tiny glow of satisfaction that he had actually succeeded. "It wasn't confused, everything was connected."

"But Merlin," Gaius said, "even if Uther has rejected the Old Religion, he is still the king. The kingship ceremony to cement the role of the new High Priestess must be with the king."

"I can't touch him," Merlin said flatly. "When he was near me I could barely even stop myself from running away. There's no way that I'd be able to, to, to perform the kingship ceremony with him. Even if I tried, even if he didn't execute me for my connection with the Old Religion, I don't think that I could. I couldn't control my magic, or even the gold mist, enough to let him near me."

"I see," Gaius said. He folded his arms and tucked his hands into his sleeve. "I don't suppose you know what will happen if the king and the land aren't one?"

"Uther's been rejecting the Old Religion for twenty years now," Merlin argued. "Anything that could have gone wrong would have already happened by now."

"He never tried to kill Nimueh. Even when the initial cleansings took place he went after all of the other magic users, but not her. After that she disappeared, and I think he liked to believe she was dead, but he never tried to hunt her down himself." Gaius' face didn't betray his opinion as to the king's actions.

"Why? As the High Priestess of the Old Religion I would think that she would be the first person he'd want to burn." The few times Merlin had been unfortunate enough to witness one of Uther's executions for magic, the king seemed satisfied afterwards, pleased with a job well done. Merlin never got the impression that Uther was a sadist, or particularly enjoyed the deaths that he caused. Simply, he wanted to rid his kingdom of magic, and if he had to kill the people who practiced it that was quite an acceptable price to pay. Certainly getting rid of Nimeuh would be a big step towards achieving his goal.

"Even though Uther rejects magic now, he didn't always. He knows that the king and the land are connected, and he knows the role the High Priestess plays in the bond. If there were serious consequences to breaking it, I doubt that Uther would risk it." Gaius spoke confidently, as if he were imparting facts rather than speculation. Merlin wondered if Uther had read the books in Gaius' library when he had first become king, back before he started the executions.

"So you think that up until now Uther's still been connected to the land, even if he's been against the Old Religion?" Gaius nodded and looked grim. "Did the books tell you what will happen if the High Priestess doesn't bring together the king and land immediately? We haven't hurt anyone by waiting have we?"

"It wasn't specified in the books what would happen, no, but I can't imagine that it would be good. When royalty interferes with the Old Religion, the whole land suffers. You remember what happened when Arthur killed the unicorn. And he isn't even king yet." Gaius began walking towards Arthur's chambers again and Merlin followed him. "So far it seems like we haven't delayed to the point where it's been a problem, but I wouldn't want to wait too much longer."

"The gold mist will probably tell me if something needs to happen," Merlin said. One of the chamber maids walked past, and gave a little bob to Gaius, who dipped his head in return. Merlin smiled at her and hoped that if it was a little forced she didn't take it amiss. Merlin continued quietly after he watched her turn the corner. "It certainly hasn't been shy about showing me what it wants before."

"That is definitely true," Gaius said. "From everything you've told me it has a very strong preference for Arthur. I just wonder if it will be enough if the ceremony involves the prince instead of the king."

"I suppose there's only one way to find out." Merlin looked down at the pies on the tray. "You know, I don't think that anyone mentioned that this would be part of my duties as Arthur's manservant. Or as part of my destiny."

"Arthur would tell you it's a bonus," Gaius suggested dryly, before knocking on the door. "Come in," floated out and Gaius opened Arthur's door and revealing the prince himself.

Merlin fumed as he put down the damn pies, Gaius wasn't nearly as funny as he thought he was. Arthur made a beeline for the food and promptly stuffed one into his mouth. He chewed and swallowed, still surrounded by the gold mist. "That was delicious, well done, Merlin."

"Oh you know me, sire. Your kind words are reward enough for all my hard service." Arthur snorted and pushed a pie in front of Merlin before going back to work on the one in his hand. Gaius watched them indulgently. Merlin would have said he was as bad as the dragon, but that would require thinking about the damn creature, something he refused to do. Also, explaining how he knew about the great beast that Uther kept hidden in the dungeon would have been awkward, to say the least.

"How is your shoulder? Any pain?" Gaius gestured for Arthur to sit in the chair and stood besides him to removed the sling, placing the white canvas on the table. Through a series of increasingly ridiculous eye movements Merlin tried to convey to Gaius that he was sticking his hands into the nimbus surrounding Arthur, but Gaius merely shook his head minutely. Arthur remained oblivious, scarfing down the remainder of his pie.

Arthur grabbed the tray with his free arm and pulled it closer, looking to start on his second pie. "No, oddly enough. I can barely tell that I've been injured."

"That's what you always say," Merlin told him, brushing the crumbs from the pie out of his neckerchief. "Sometimes even while you're still bleeding."

"Thank you, Merlin. I'm so glad that your apprenticeship hasn't been a complete waste of Gaius' time." Arthur bent forward as Gaius pulled his arm slowly backward. His reaction was normal, clearly without the flinch that would normally give lie to his preposterous claims of health.

Gaius moved his arm to the side, so it stuck out from Arthur's seated body at a ninety-degree angle. "Stand up if you would, sire," he instructed. After Arthur got to his feet, Gaius tested his full range of motion, adjusting Arthur's arm and issuing instructions. Arthur could almost anticipate Gaius' orders, which Merlin found unsurprising for someone who spent as much time being patched up as Arthur did. At the end of the examination Gaius didn't even bother to tie the sling back on.

"If you're careful with it everything should be fine. I wouldn't advise starting your normal training regime for another week or so, but I think that you'll be able to do away with this." Gaius picked up the sling and walked towards the door. "I won't need Merlin anymore today sire, so he's all yours."

Merlin glared at Gaius as he sailed placidly out the door to go report to Uther. Arthur had already pulled off his shirt and was beginning his customary stretches. The golden mist surrounding him contoured to his shifting muscles, and Merlin did have to admit that it looked as if everything was in working order. "Grab me my under armour, and while you're at it, bring up my vambraces and my pauldron from the armoury. I want to make sure that you've been taking proper care of them."

"Gaius said that you shouldn't over exert yourself," Merlin said as he walked over to Arthur's wardrobe and rifled through the piles of his clothes. Someone must have been in while Arthur was ill and Merlin was at the Isle of the Blessed because he couldn't find a damn thing. Normally he was the only one allowed to touch Arthur's clothing as he was very picky about who was and wasn't allowed to touch his personal belongings. Merlin had initially considered this ridiculous; why should Arthur care about one shirt when he could easily commission another from the castle tailor at any time? He understood Arthur's weird quirks about his clothes much better after one of the maids had stolen a pair of Arthur's small clothes, which had promptly made the rounds with the below-stairs staff. Merlin thought it was only logical to not want a repeat of the whole situation. Some of the sillier girls would still giggle when Arthur walked past. It made the tips of Arthur's ears burn bright red and if Merlin hadn't been brought up not to bully people who were smaller than he was... well. Doing Arthur's laundry wasn't that bad, and it at least meant that Merlin could usually find Arthur's clothes. He finally dug out the red rough cloth, which Merlin would bet had been Pendragon red in the past, but had faded from constant use and washing to a reddish umber. It also stank of rust and Arthur's sweat, for no matter how many times and how thoroughly Merlin washed it, he couldn't get the smell out. Even using magic didn't work. It seemed to have a specific state at which it wanted to be and no amount of fussing could get it to change.

Merlin held the shirt out, but instead of simply putting it on Arthur looked at him expectantly. "Well, help me put it on. Gaius did say that I wasn't to over do it."

Merlin tensed, more acutely aware of the changes to his body than he'd ever been. He hadn't thought about it before but his nipples were more sensitive and brushed up against the front of his shirt. He wished he had taken his Mother up on her offer to help with breast binding. It had been awkward this morning, but that was nothing in comparison to the possibility of actually touching a half naked Arthur. "If you're in such good shape why don't you do it?"

"What's the point of having a manservant if you have to bend your injured arm to get your shirt on? Really Merlin, stop being such a girl." Arthur presented his arm to Merlin and shook it a little, as if perhaps Merlin might not have already spotted it. The golden mist glowed even brighter and Merlin gave serious consideration to just chucking the shirt in Arthur's face and making a run for it. Instead, he watched in horrified fascination as his hands approached Arthur and held the shirt for him. Arthur slipped his arm into the opening, and Merlin made a little choked sound as the golden mist spread from Arthur on to Merlin. Arthur paused for a second before continuing. He didn't comment on Merlin's noise, but his actions became rougher, more abrupt. The mist crawled up Merlin's arms and onto his chest. His sternum vibrated, and he realized to his horror that it was purring again, and even stronger. Arthur's forehead wrinkled. He regarded Merlin suspiciously.

"It's not me," Merlin blurted out. Arthur's eyes narrowed even further and he tugged the shirt out of Merlin's hands and pulled the last bit over his head, though he was careful of his injured arm.

"What the hell is going on?" The gold mist was now vibrating perceptibly around Arthur, which made him look as if he was moving. Merlin could feel it moving steadily down his abdomen, like golden honey.

"Ummmmmm..." He frantically tried to think of something, anything to tell Arthur. Then it dropped below his waist, and Merlin went "Oh gods," as his knees gave out underneath him.

"Merlin?" Arthur sounded alarmed, which Merlin would find gratifying under normal circumstances, but at the moment he could only pant up at Arthur's ceiling and try to figure out it would be better if the vibrations were to go away or if they never stopped. Then Arthur grabbed his shoulder and he came. At least, Merlin was pretty sure that was what happened. All the muscles in his lower abdomen tightened, and then a warm wave of heat rushed through him. Orgasms as a woman seemed to last longer. Afterwards he shivered, trying to discharge the intensity of what had just happened. Arthur was still holding on to his shoulder, and Merlin wondered rather hysterically if this counted as fulfilling the kingship ceremony.

"Merlin, are you all right?" Arthur was half on top of Merlin, which was either the most or least appropriate thing ever. Dear gods, Merlin realized, he could never tell Arthur about this. If he found out that he'd managed to get Merlin off with nothing more than a touch on the shoulder, he'd be so damn smug about it that his stupid crown would never be able to fit over his head. And that wasn't even going into the whole girl thing. "Is everything all right Merlin?"

"I'm fine," Merlin said, brushing off Arthur's hand and struggling to an upright position. "Honest. Probably just a sudden bout of whatever I had before."

"Gods you are such a crap liar," Arthur sat back on his haunches, his knees spread and his hands resting on his legs. "Do you honestly expect me to believe that?"

"But it's true!" Merlin protested. He considered trying to stand and then decided to give himself a few more minutes. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against Arthur's mattresses. Fortunately he had managed to avoid the hard wooden bed frame on the way down, though it had been a near thing.

"You can't possibly think that I'll believe that," Arthur said flatly. "You've been acting strangely all day, but you're not sick. You get all stroppy and sniffly when you're sick and you blow your nose on your neckerchief when you think that I can't see it."

"Maybe it's not the type of sickness where I have to blow my nose," Merlin said. He refused to open his eyes, and the blackness behind them was soothing if he ignored the golden mist that was creeping in along the edges.

Arthur was silent for a second before he responded. "Gaius wouldn't let you near me if you were sick."

The gold mist had almost entirely overtaken the darkness, so Merlin sighed and opened his eyes. "Maybe Gaius doesn't know that I'm sick," he told Arthur snottily.

"Right," said Arthur scornfully. "Because of course the court physician would have no idea if someone was sick. Pull the other one Merlin, it's got bells on it."

Merlin got to his feet, using the bed as leverage. "It's too bad your maturity level, sire," he said to the still crouching Arthur, "hasn't caught up to even half your age."

"I'll have you know," Arthur said, "that my father often got compliments on how mature I was when I was younger."

"Yeah, well--" Merlin began, glad that Arthur could be distracted by their normal exchange on insults, when he noticed that Arthur was rubbing his hands up and down his breeches, in the tiniest of movements. They were both still haloed by the golden glow and while the vibrations had subsisted to a lower level, its outline continued to be hazy. Merlin looked at Arthur's crotch. He typically averted his gaze when he dressed Arthur everyday, as it was the source of enough minefields without adding ones of his own making. But there was a bulge underneath Arthur's breeches, distinct enough that there was no way that Merlin could fool himself into thinking that it was due to the angle of the light or an errant fold of the fabric. "Oh gods," he said once more.

"Okay, that's it," Arthur snapped, getting to his feet. "You know what's going on, and for the love of all the gods Merlin, you are going to tell me." He was trying to stand casually, but now that Merlin had noticed he couldn't help but observe that Arthur was standing much stiffer and with his legs spread slightly wider than normal.

"Arthur," Merlin said, but he couldn't figure out how to finish the sentence. Arthur, I'm a warlock? Arthur, please don't behead me? Arthur, I'm a woman? Arthur, we need to have sex for the good of all Albion? Arthur, I'm sorry? He tried again. "Arthur..."

Arthur growled and moved into Merlin's personal space. The mist started vibrating faster and Merlin could feel the heat building again, though slower. "Merlin..." he said. His eyes were dilated and Merlin noticed that Arthur was giving rather focused attention to Merlin's lower lip. There was really only so much Merlin could take.

He lunged forward and kissed Arthur. Arthur tasted of onions from the pie, a faint hint of honey, probably from the golden mist, and oddly enough of the foreign tea that Merlin's mother used to make on special occasions, like his birthday. It should have been an unpleasant combination, but instead it seemed right and comforting. So that's what Arthur tastes like, Merlin though as Arthur pushed him off, back towards the bed. It was the answer to a question he hadn't been aware he was asking, but had apparently always wanted to know. Merlin went sprawling as the back of his knees hit the bed. He bounced a bit on Arthur's mattress before he was unexpectedly pinned. Arthur's eyes were wide and his chest was heaving. Merlin braced himself for the punch that was surely coming, wondering if Arthur would go for his shoulder or his stomach. The golden mist hummed faster and Merlin shivered again at Arthur's proximity. Apparently the mist didn't really distinguish intent, merely physical contact.

Then, much to Merlin's surprise, Arthur kissed him.

***

 

It seemed like they had been kissing for ages. Merlin's eyes kept drifting shut, and he could occasionally feel Arthur's eyelashes as they brushed against his cheekbones. Then he would remember that he was in bed with Arthur, Arthur of all people, and he would open them again, just to marvel at the fact that Arthur was actually there. Arthur's hands drifted across the front of Merlin's jacket a few times, cupping at his chest, and he always muttered an apology, "Sorry, sorry, forgot," but Merlin couldn't imagine what he was talking about, so he simply dismissed it as typically Arthur nonsense. After all, it was far less pressing than the actual kissing, which eddied in intensity like the tide but had the inevitability of the ocean behind it.

Arthur kissed like he was trying to push himself into Merlin's skin, and Merlin could barely tell where his mouth ended and Arthur's began. It was all a mess of tongues and lips and pressure, and the only thing that Merlin could think was more. Arthur was almost as greedy as he was, only pulling back for the shallowest of breaths before returning to Merlin's mouth as if he had been deprived of it for a thousand years. Merlin could feel the golden mist over and under them, but it wasn't important, not when Arthur kept kissing him. "Arthur," Merlin said desperately, as Arthur shifted his attentions to the lobe of Merlin's ear. "Oh gods, Arthur."

Arthur began sucking on it and it was as if something molten flowed down his nerves directly from Merlin's earlobe to what he supposed was his clit. He had heard whispers and snatches of women talking about it before, about which men knew to pay attention to the small but oh so important part, and which didn't. He had never overheard anything about earlobes, but as Arthur sucked again, Merlin realized that he would have to revise his knowledge. Merlin's whole body trembled, and if he had his cock he would have been hard enough to pound nails, but he was wet instead, wet and desperately utterly wanting.

Arthur pulled back and surveyed Merlin, his face torn between smug and aroused. Merlin tried to reach for him, but Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin's forearms and though his fingers opened and closed, Merlin's arms remained on the bed. "Hold still, Merlin," Arthur told him, "just let me look at you for a bloody minute." And Merlin tried to hold still, he honestly did, but Arthur was looking at him and his eyes kept going between Merlin's neck, where it felt like Arthur had left a bruise, and Merlin's mouth. It was practically an imperative to tear himself out of Arthur's hold, press up against him so that they were once again connected at groin, chest, and lips. Merlin had always wanted Arthur but it was in the corners where he didn't look very often, and most of the time he pretended, even to himself, that it was no big deal. He had had no idea how badly he had been lying until now.

Arthur groaned and dropped himself on to Merlin, grabbing his hips as he frantically kissed him and pushing them both down into the bed so that Merlin was half buried amongst Arthur's pillows and blankets. He wrapped his legs around Arthur and rubbed up mindlessly against Arthur's thigh. Arthur began to pull back and asked "Why aren't you--" when Merlin blurted out "I want your cock."

He almost blushed to hear the words come out of his mouth, but they were true. He wanted Arthur so badly, he hadn't even known that it could feel this way. The feeling was lower and deeper than when Arthur had been sucking on his earlobe. It was like a hungry bass profundo, and while there were a lot of confusing things about his new body, Merlin's desire for Arthur was as clear as crystal. Arthur bit him, hard, and thrust against Merlin, shoving him farther up the bed so that only his lower legs hung off. Merlin moaned. Arthur pulled back and frantically ripped off his shirt, showing none of the care he had taken getting it on. The golden mist lined his hair, which had been tousled every which way. "Careful," Merlin said a bit breathlessly as Arthur crawled up until he was straddling Merlin's lower abdomen. "Don't want to hurt the shoulder."

Arthur used his chin to tilt Merlin's head back. "Do you even know," he said, his voice low as he interspersed his words with licks and nips to Merlin's neck, "do you even know how many times I've thought about this?" He put his hand in Merlin's hair and tugged gently until Merlin was looking at him. "Don't tell me to wait now."

"Oh gods," Merlin said again. It wasn't terribly original, but very few of Merlin's higher brain functions were operational. Being in bed with Arthur was a dizzying, intoxicating feeling, like being drunk only a thousand times better. Like being drunk and performing magic at the same time and so much better than Merlin's own hand, or any one of the dozen kisses he had given and received. Arthur shifted and bent back down to Merlin's neck. His hand was splayed out on Merlin's face, and his thumb explored Merlin's lower lip, pushing it from side to side. Arthur began sucking very determinedly right above Merlin's neckerchief as he pushed his thumb into Merlin's mouth. Arthur's metal ring was just inside Merlin's mouth and he ran his tongue around it, half curious, half teasing. Arthur thrust down against Merlin's thigh, and the suction on Merlin's neck increased. Merlin imitated Arthur's rhythm around his thumb, applying suction and pressing it against the roof of his mouth. Arthur panted wetly against Merlin's neck and drew his finger in and out, slowly, but with intent.

"Sometimes I thought of you when I was with women," Arthur admitted into Merlin's shoulder. And even though Merlin knew that Arthur had been with other people, and he had always told himself that it wasn't a problem, he bit down on Arthur's thumb to indicate his displeasure. "Stop that," Arthur said crossly, swatting Merlin on the side. "I'm trying to confess my secrets here, the least you can do is listen."

Merlin rolled his eyes, but resumed sucking, waiting to hear what Arthur was going to say. Merlin flicked his tongue over the tip of Arthur's thumb as he drew it out and Arthur's breath caught. He pushed two fingers back in, and spent several very intent minutes thrusting them in and out of Merlin's mouth. His head remained pillowed on Merlin's shoulder and his hair was surprisingly soft. "I thought about fucking your mouth when they blow me," Arthur eventually continued. "Sometimes I closed my eyes and pretend it was you on your knees in front of me."

Merlin had never been on his knees for anyone, but if it would get Arthur to sound like that, it was definitely something that he wanted to try. He hummed around Arthur's fingers, indicating that he should continue. "Gods," Arthur said brokenly. "I can just imagine what that would feel like around my cock. It's like..." Merlin did it again. Arthur practically whimpered.

Merlin clenched, wanting, and sucked harder on Arthur's fingers. Merlin thought of other interesting places that Arthur's finger could go. Arthur pulled back suddenly. His blue eyes were almost entirely eclipsed by his pupils, and his cheeks were red and puffy. "I want to," he said, and Merlin was nodding in agreement already with whatever Arthur was going to propose, because even if Arthur could be a bit of a prat and an idiot at other times, the man was brilliant in bed, "I want to fuck you."

And then Merlin remember that Arthur had no clue that Merlin was a girl.

"I know it's different for men," Arthur continued hurriedly. "Well, I've heard at least. But seriously, if my cousin Agravaine can figure it out, there's no way that it can be too hard. He's an idiot."

"Arthur," Merlin said, trying to wiggle out from underneath him, "I meant to tell you--"

"And it's all right with me if you've never done it either," Arthur said earnestly. "We don't have to." He scratched the back of his neck. "I mean, I'd like to, but there are certainly other things would be great too."

Merlin groaned and tried to bang his head on Arthur's bed. However, Merlin's head just bounced, like a small child thrown up and down on a sheet at the fair. "What? You seemed rather into blow jobs." Arthur said, sounding a little offended.

Merlin pressed the heels of his hand into his eyes and rubbed them in circles before lifting them up to look at Arthur. He was sitting cross-legged on the bed and Merlin could see his erection underneath his breeches. He was still outlined in gold mist, although it had diminished and was no longer purring. He smiled and poked Merlin in the shoulder fondly. "You can't seriously have just got a headache. I'm not going to buy that excuse you know."

Merlin's breath caught in his throat and his heart felt like a fist had reached in and squeezed. Then Merlin had his second epiphany, and he realized that he was well and truly fucked. In deeper trouble than when he thought he would have to sleep with Uther, more over his head than when he thought he was going to die after the Isle of the Blessed, and certainly with a bigger problem than when he had found out that Camelot's answer to magic was beheading. "Oh gods," Merlin said, horrified. "I'm in love with you."

Arthur snorted. "Is that what you wanted to tell me? Please Merlin, your declarations of life long devotion were certainly obvious enough." Arthur gently ran his finger around the shell of Merlin's ear. "There's no need to get all soppy about it."

Arthur was smiling, Merlin realized, and he felt like the worst scum to have ever crawled up from the bottom of the miller's pond. Even worse than the one that was all green and slimy and had clogged up the paddles of the mill for days. Arthur was smiling, and even though he was trying to hide it beneath a scowl his lips kept twitching upwards and he was petting Merlin's hair. Clearly he had mistaken Merlin's horror for something put on, a joke to diffuse the situation. Merlin half felt like punching himself in the face and half wanted to glory in the warm burn emanating from where all of Gaius' texts said the heart was. His traitorous fingers reach up to entangle themselves with Arthur's, who gave up even trying not to smile and had a grin plastered all over his face. "I don't even know when I fell in love with you," Merlin said, quiet lest too many of the conflicting emotions leak out.

"When you first saw me, obviously," Arthur said, lying down by Merlin's side, still holding his hand. "I've been told I tend to have that sort of effect on people. Especially those with severe mental afflictions. It's all right, I know how to handle it. Noblesse oblige."

"The only miracle is that I fell in love with such a prat." Merlin gave into the temptation and curled up against Arthur. Arthur was warm and the way his arms immediately wrapped around Merlin made him feel as if Arthur had been saving him a space there all along, only waiting for Merlin to come claim it.

"Your prat though," Arthur said, dropping a kiss on Merlin's temple. "Besides, at least I'm not an unobservant idiot who took months and months to figure out that I was in love with my master. I can see what's going on right in front of me."

Merlin felt as someone had dropped a leaden ball of ice into his stomach. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said.

"Is this about the sex?" Arthur propped himself up so that he was leaning on his shoulder. "Because I noticed that you weren't hard, honest, but you seemed really into it anyway, and sometimes these sort of things just happen." Arthur dug his hand back into Merlin's hair. "Look, I've never done anything like this with a man before either, but it will be good. I promise, I'll make it good for you."

"Arthur--" Merlin began helplessly, uncomfortably aware of the cooling wetness between his legs.

Arthur forged on as if by apologizing for everything he could make it all better. "And I'm sorry for the part where I fondled your nonexistent breasts."

Merlin picked up on of the red pillows and smacked Arthur across the face with it. Apparently as part of his campaign to woo Merlin with how noble he was, or something like that, Arthur didn't pick up another one and wollop Merlin with it, which is what he would have normally done. Instead he crossed his arms defensively over his face and began yelling. "I'm sorry all right! I've already apologized practically a thousand times, there's no need for that. It's not like I've got any more experience sleeping with men than you have! I've only ever slept with girls before!"

With that Merlin lost it. "Oh for fucks' sake Arthur, you idiot, I am a girl!"

This was apparently too much even for Arthur, who picked up Merlin's discarded pillow and hit him, albeit much more gently than he could have. "I know that they do things differently in the country Merlin, but honestly, you can't expect me to buy that it's that different. Really."

Merlin could feel his jaw hanging as he watched Arthur fluff up the pillow and pop it behind his head. Of all the scenarios that he had imagined since he found out what had happened, Arthur refusing to believe him hadn't even crossed his mind. "You are so lucky you're pretty," he finally said, "because there's certainly nothing going on between your ears."

"You're one to talk about ears," Arthur fired back, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Merlin couldn't help but notice that his nipples had peaked in the cool air. "I've seen you naked and you've got all the parts that you're supposed to have and none of the ones you aren't. I don't know what you're trying to pull, but it won't work."

"Wait, what? No you haven't." It was the exact beginning of a thousand arguments with Will, most of which had happened when they were under the age of ten and were totally ridiculous. Merlin indulged in a brief moment of nostalgia, thought admittedly none of the arguments with Will had involved nearly so much nudity.

"Yes I have." Arthur stuck his chin out at an angle that would be called pouty on anyone else.

"You've never seen me naked," Merlin repeated. "I'm still wearing all my clothes, even my jacket."

"You should really take those off you know, fair's fair, my shirt's off," Arthur told him imperiously. "And besides, I saw you naked in Ealdor."

Merlin thought back to the three fevered days that the four of them-- he, Gwen, Morgana, and Arthur-- had spent fighting for his village's survival. Mostly it was a blur of faces, ones he used to know as well as his own that had somehow become strangers, and Arthur shining brightly among them, growing into his kingship. Will's death was a dark mess of anger and sorrow that obscured the memories around it, like spilled ink spreading across the words of Gaius' books. Merlin could remember being exhausted, exhilarated, and flat out terrified, but never naked in front of Arthur. He had crawled into and out of chain mail in his mother's cottage, which had been unreal to the point of nightmare, but for the most part his clothes had stayed on, too much going on to be bothered to change into a new pair of trousers that would just get wrecked anyway. In fact, the only time that he'd taken them off had been... "Please don't tell me that you were spying on me and Will swimming. Because that would be new levels of pathetic, even for you."

"I just wanted to know what had the two of you sneaking off like that. Besides, I knew that Will was untrustworthy. I wanted to make sure that nothing happened to you." Arthur tugged on the cuff of Merlin's jacket. "Off, now."

"We were going for a swim," he said batting Arthur's hand away. "Even you couldn't think that we were doing anything dangerous."

"The safety of the village was of the utmost importance, and it was my duty to ensure that everyone was doing their all to defend it." Arthur didn't look Merlin in the face; instead he looked down and picked at one of the stray threads from his sheet. The gold mist extended past the tips of his fingers and enveloped the fibers.

"You were jealous," Merlin said wonderingly. Arthur's eyes snapped up to meet Merlin's and he took a deep breath, obviously ready to launch a denial. Merlin cut him off. "You were jealous of Will!"

"The two of you looked suspicious. I don't know anything about where stuff is in your village, Merlin, how was I supposed to know that the two of you were skiving off to go swimming?" And Merlin couldn't deny they had snuck off, disappearing into the forest, trying to nonchalantly look over their shoulders as they brushed aside branches and leaves. Will had been oddly insistent in the face of extreme danger, but Merlin hadn't been able to say no to his demands that they revisit their old stomping grounds. "But it will have to be quick," Merlin had said when he finally caved, pulling off his clothes. "I can't be gone for too long, Arthur needs me."

"Sure, whatever," Will had said before he pushed Merlin into the swimming hole, jumping in behind with a hoot. At Will's funeral Merlin had held onto that afternoon as a bright spot. He hadn't known that Arthur had been watching, and the knowledge subtly changed the memory, bringing it from his past with Will to his future with Arthur.

"Has anyone ever told you you're a paranoid bastard? Will and I were never like that," he said to Arthur. "Will was my best friend, and besides, he liked girls."

"I thought you were a girl," Arthur replied snottily. "Really Merlin, can't you at least stick to your own story?"

"Well obviously I wasn't a girl then," Merlin said.

"Obviously," Arthur said slowly, like he was explaining something to a small child. "Because you've never been a girl."

Merlin looked at Arthur for a beat before he began pulling his jacket off. "Right," He said, ripping his neckerchief from his throat. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Believe it or not, I actually quite like looking at you," Arthur's grin was blinding. "It's probably a sign that mental afflictions are catching, but I hardly need a warning."

The absolutely heartbreaking thing about Arthur, Merlin thought as he pulled his arms out of his sleeves, suddenly reluctant to reveal his new body fully, was that he was capable of being an absolute prat at the same time he said things that made Merlin's heart feel as if had swelled to twice its normal size. He took one last deep breath before he grabbed the hem of his tunic and then pulled it over his head. The brief second of darkness was one of the most terrifying in Merlin's life, like being underwater and swimming towards the surface with no idea if he had enough air in his lungs to make it. The only time that Merlin had been more scared was grasping for Arthur in the lake, unclear if he could find him, or if he had arrived seconds to late. Both times held the terrifying prospect of an Arthur-less future.

When Arthur's face came back in view he was rolling his eyes indulgently. "Finally, it's about time that you--" Merlin could see the second that it registered and Arthur's jaw dropped open in shock. "Oh dear gods, you do have breasts."

"I told you," Merlin said. "I told you!"

Arthur's hand drifted towards Merlin's chest almost as if he was unaware of the movement. "Gods, don't touch them," Merlin said. "It's bad enough that they're there without you going and touching them."

Arthur yanked his hand back as if he had been burned. He looked at Merlin's crotch, and then back up at his face. "Does this mean..."

Merlin groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Yes, don't remind me."

Arthur winced and half covered his crotch. "What the hell happened Merlin? You certainly didn't have those before."

Merlin looked down at his breasts, examining them properly for the first time. They were pale, unsurprisingly, but the scattering of hair that used to be there was gone, and instead of the normal pink circles, his nipples were slightly elliptical, even if they were the same color. Or at least they looked like the same color as before. The gold mist made it slightly difficult to tell and it wasn't like Merlin had ever spent extensive amounts of time examining his own nipples when he was a man. They had just always sort of been there. It wasn't as his breasts were very large and it certainly was no surprised that Arthur had missed them. But with his shirt off they had a certain, well, obvious presence. It was clearly a woman's chest and there was no way that Merlin could lie to Arthur any more, even if he wanted to.

"It wasn't on purpose. I was saving your life," Merlin started with. "Trust me, I didn't want this."

"Well I guess that makes two of us," Arthur said, still a little wild eyed. "But how the hell does you having breasts and a..." he gestured vaguely towards Merlin's nether regions, "relate in any way to what happened with the Questing Beast?"

Merlin took a deep breath, steeling himself. Arthur's eyes immediately zoned in on Merlin's chest and his hand twitched, an aborted gesture. Merlin considered hitting him with a pillow but decided that wasn't the tone he wanted to set. "What do you know about the Old Religion?" Merlin asked instead, interlacing his fingers and dropping them between his knees.

"It has to do with magic. It's the Druids' choice of religion, and clearly my father's against it." Arthur went still. "You don't practice it, do you?"

"Well, it's not really a choice. Hence the, you know," he waved at his body. Arthur didn't move, but his muscles were tense and Merlin could almost feel him pulling back. "No, no Arthur, it's not like that. I'm not your enemy, I swear it."

"What is it like then?" Arthur asked as he got off the bed and grabbed his tunic, wrestling it on. "What's going on, Merlin?"

Merlin shivered, and held his own tunic tighter, the fabric bunched up in his hands. "I'm a sorcerer," he said, rushing to get it all out. "I'm a sorcerer, and I killed the last High Priestess of the Old Religion and now I'm the High Priestess. I tried to trade her my life for yours, but she cheated and almost took my mother's. I couldn't let her do that. I'd die for you Arthur, but I couldn't just stand by and let my mother die."

"You used magic," Arthur said flatly.

"To save your life," Merlin almost shouted. "Gods, you giant prat, do you think that I'd stop at anything to save you?"

"Well apparently you have no problem using magic," Arthur almost growled. "You've been lying to me since we've meet. How am I to know what you'd stop at?"

Merlin stood up and stalked over to Arthur. "Your father," he said as the rage built, "executes people like me. You stand behind him and watch. How many people have you seen die on the headsman's block? Burned alive in the square in the pursuit of whatever idiotic point that your father's trying to make? What was I supposed to say to you? 'I'm sorry Arthur, I've been practicing magic since I was three? Please don't kill me?'"

That gave Arthur pause. "I wouldn't," he said finally, "I won't do that."

Merlin sighed and walked back to the bed, grabbing his tunic and pulling it back on before sitting on the edge of the mattress again. Gods, he was tired. "Well I suppose that's at least one thing that I won't have to worry about anymore then."

"Do you really think so little of me, Merlin?" Arthur's voice was soft.

Merlin laughed, but it had very little to do with amusement. "Arthur, I love you. You're going to be the greatest king that Albion has ever seen. I think the world of you."

"But you don't trust me," Arthur said, in one of his rare moments of insight. He was lined in gold and Merlin had never seen him look as old as he did at that moment, standing in his chambers sad and barely dressed.

"No," he said softly. He owed Arthur the truth now, even if it hurt to tell it. "I guess that I don't."

Arthur's face crumbled and then went blank. "It might be best if you were to leave," he said stiffly, walking over to his door and holding it open for Merlin.

Merlin's feet felt like boulders at the ends of his legs, and he stopped at the doorway to look helplessly at Arthur, who still gripped the wooden door as if it were the only thing holding him up. "Gods, Merlin, what am I going to do with you?" Arthur almost pleaded.

"I don't suppose you could take me back to bed and start up again where we left off?" Merlin asked, trying to at least summon up a smile from Arthur. Much to his surprise Arthur actually considered it for half a second before shaking his head. "Look, I'll see you tomorrow, after I sit in court with my father. We can talk then."

***

 

It was dusk and the servants were lighting the castle torches and putting down fresh rushes as Merlin walked down the corridors, forcing him to doge around the people completing their last tasks before supper. Much to his surprise, Merlin made it back to Gaius' quarters without any further incident. His fellow servants nodded in recognition, but no one accosted him, demanded anything from him, or made any more dire prophesies in his direction. This was fortunate, since Merlin really didn't think that he could handle any more crises that day. Merlin was still surrounded by the golden mist, but he was so accustomed to it that it barely even registered as he finally returned to the rooms. Once inside, he dropped his head back against Gaius' door and sighed.

"Long day, Merlin?" Hunith asked with a smile.

His mother and Gaius were sitting at the table. Hunith's hands were cupped around a steaming mug of tea and Gaius had his glasses on and was flipping through yet another of the books that inhabited his room. A large volume was opened in front of Hunith, but its pages were green and Merlin had to squint to make out the words. It turned out to be more of the spiky Draconic language, completely unintelligible to Merlin. "I didn't know you could read Draconic," Merlin said, plopping down next to his mother.

"It's just something that I picked up along the way," she said casually. Merlin noticed that she wasn't even using the dictionary. "How was Arthur?"

Merlin tried to think up an answer that would even be remotely suitable. Merlin finally settled on, "His shoulder's pretty much healed. You can barely tell that he's been injured at all."

"Yes," Gaius said. "It's quite remarkable. It must be due to that gold mist, because I've never seen anything like it. Arthur's fortunate that the mist helped to heal him so quickly."

"Yeah," Merlin said unenthusiastically. "Lucky Arthur."

"Gaius tells me that the Old Religion has selected Arthur for the kingship ceremony," Hunith said. She calmly took a sip of her tea while Merlin looked at Gaius with wide eyes. Gaius merely lifted his shoulder before letting it fall again. "I certainly never expected my son to be a High Priestess."

"Ummmmmm," Merlin said. He hoped desperately that someone else would speak. Instead, Gaius and Hunith stared expectantly at him. He spoke to prevent an awkward silence. "It came as a surprise to me as well."

"Well there's no need to surprise Arthur," Gaius said briskly. "I think there are several disguise spells that Merlin could use to approach him."

Merlin couldn't tell if it felt like his blink lasted forever because he was so tired or because of shock. "I never thought of that," he said dazedly.

Gaius raised his eyebrow. "There's no need to bother him with all this." He continued gently. "I know the ceremony will be difficult enough for you without the complications of explaining everything to Arthur. I brewed up a powerful aphrodisiac. You can slip some into Arthur's food and bring it to him while you're in disguise. He most likely won't ask any questions after he's had some."

Gaius placed a square glass vial in front of Merlin. It was filled with a viscous red liquid, which stuck to the sides of the glass and glossed the corners even as it slowly settled to the bottom.

"I'm very proud of you, Merlin," Hunith said, resting a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "This must be very hard for you, but it's for the best."

Merlin picked up the vial and watched as the aphrodisiac rippled. Gaius' face was distorted through the thick glass, a pink blur with a white outline. He wondered what they would say if he told them how much Arthur did know. "You've thought of everything, haven't you?" he said instead.

"We didn't want to place any more of a burden on you," Gaius said. He looked at Merlin kindly. "This way you only have to do one thing, and hopefully it won't take too long, or ask too much from you. I know you aren't experienced, but there are several potions you can take to make the act itself less--"

"Yes! Indeed! Thank you!" Merlin realized that cupping his hands over his ears wasn't very effective when one hand still held the glass vial. "Thank you," he said again at a more normal tone of voice, bringing his hands back to the table. "But I'm sure that we'll, that I'll, manage to sort things out when the time comes."

Gaius opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Hunith. "Thank you, Gaius, for all your help. But if you don't mind, I think that it might be best if my son and I talked about this alone." Merlin left the vial full of red liquid on the table, glad to turn his back on it. Hunith chivvied Merlin up the stairs and closed the door to his room behind them.

The first time his mother had talked to him about sex, Merlin himself had instigated it. "Mummy, Alfred keeps stepping on Margaret. Make him stop."

Hunith looked out into the yard where their two pigs were copulating furiously before turning back to Merlin, who was still tugging on her apron strings. "He's not stepping on her, he's making babies," she explained calmly, stirring the porridge cooking over their fire. "When a male pig sticks his male parts into a female pig's female parts, it makes baby piglets inside the female pig."

Merlin considered this, staring out as Alfred grunted furiously, his black ears flapping up and down as he moved. Hunith held the long stirring spoon out to Merlin. He blew on the porridge, making sure it wouldn't burn him, before he tasted it. "It's done," he told his mother.

She began setting the table for breakfast. "Will's parents told him that they found him underneath a cabbage leaf," Merlin said, climbing up to sit in his elevated stool. He grabbed his wooden spoon and banged the end of it against their table.

"Stop that, Merlin," Hunith told him as she sat down. "As for William, well. His father thinks much of himself now that he's returned from court with a knighthood. He's picked up some funny ideas from the city."

Merlin stopped scooping up porridge long enough to point out, "But Mummy, you lived in the city and you know where babies come from."

"That's enough of that Merlin," Hunith said firmly. "Finish your porridge. We've got a long day ahead of us."

The second time that Merlin talked with his mother about sex, he had actually been hoping to avoid any questions. The fire was banked when he snuck home from Farmer Baker's farm late that night. He had spent an exhilarating hour and a half after the harvest festival rolling around in the hay with Jenny, a girl from the next town over. Merlin lost track of time, not realizing that it was fully dark until she pushed him off, giggling, with an explanation that she needed to be back before her parents left for home. He picked out stray pieces of hay from his hair and clothes as he walked, unable to stop smiling. He was sixteen, and far passed the age when most of the others in the village had been kissed. It was good to finally understand what they were all going on about.

When he opened the door, careful not to aggravate the squeaking hinges, he found he needn't have bothered. Hunith was sitting up in her chair, contemplating the glowing embers in the fire. "Believe it or not," she said, "I can remember being your age. It all seems very urgent, doesn't it? Kissing and boys and girls. Almost like it's the only thing that really matters, doing it properly."

Merlin sat down in his chair, bracing himself for the lecture that he felt was sure to follow. "The first person that I ever kissed was your father," Hunith said instead, a small smile on her face. "I thought that it would be best for me to wait for the one that I knew I was destined to be with. Plus it wouldn't have been proper."

Merlin froze. His mother never mentioned his father, and though he sometimes asked oblique questions or tried to nudge the topic towards the mysterious missing man, Merlin always felt it would be improper of him to ask outright. It was something in the way that Hunith held herself, as if her independence had been proud won and private, not a topic up for discussion. By the time Merlin was old enough to ask the question, he was old enough to understand that he shouldn't. Sometimes at night Merlin would create bobbing balls of light and float them in circles around his head, wondering if his father could do magic too. He never saw Hunith perform magic, so it must have come from somewhere.

"I was terribly silly back then, but I supposed the atmosphere fostered it," she continued. "Which was a pity because neither of us had the slightest idea of what we were doing. I bit him so hard his lip bleed and his mouth tasted like sulfur. I remember wondering what it was I was supposed to be doing with my hands, and I almost panicked before I realized that he was holding his out to the side awkwardly too."

Merlin could hear the warmth in her voice and it made him brave enough to speak up. "Did you love him?"

Hunith stood up and bent over Merlin in his chair, placing a kiss upon his forehead. "Without him there would be no you. How could I not love him?"

Merlin tried to hold on to the positive memories. The last two talks about sex hadn't been too bad, so there was no reason to assume that this one would be any worse. Hunith patted the bed next to her. "Stop pacing Merlin. I promise it won't be too awful."

Merlin sat, but all the nervous energy animating his pacing transferred into his heel, which jumped up and down like it had been given springs. "Arthur wouldn't hurt me," he blurted out. "Not on purpose."

"Oh Merlin," Hunith sighed, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder. "Of course he wouldn't. Arthur is a good boy, and I'm sure that he will grow up to be a fine man. But I'm not worried about Arthur, I'm worried about you. You've never been with a woman before have you? As a man?"

"Well, no, not really," Merlin said, which was true, if a bit misleading. He was in no condition to explain the whole mess with Arthur to his mother. He twiddled his thumbs, and drew his fingernail through the gold mist. Hunith raised her eyebrow as if to say "oh really?" and Merlin twitched some more before he decided to go with an outright lie. "It's not... it wasn't... it doesn't have anything to do with what you're about to tell me. Please, go on."

Hunith exhaled heavily, apparently letting the topic drop. "It's very intimate, letting someone inside you like that. And it can hurt at first," Hunith pursed her lips before continuing. "It probably will hurt. You've never had anything in there before, not like you would have if you had always been a girl."

Merlin looked at her wide-eyed. "Honestly now, you can't think that boys are the only ones who experiment."

Merlin thought about asking if that had included her too, back in the day when she thought it was improper to kiss, but then decided that he really did not want to know. "No?" he said instead. He had never really thought about what girls did alone because he figured if it didn't involve him it was probably none of his business.

Hunith shook her head indulgently. "I suppose that it's not important now. It is important though that we make sure that you're prepared. Gaius has a potion that you can take beforehand, to prevent pregnancy."

"Oh gods," Merlin said weakly. He hadn't even considered the nightmare of being both pregnant and a woman. "Yes, that one'll be important."

"And there are oils that you can use to make it easier for Arthur to slide in," Hunith continued in a no nonsense tone of voice. "I wouldn't be surprised if Arthur already has some, but it's better to be prepared."

"Won't it just... you know," Merlin gestured in a deliberately vague manner. He didn't want to speak too explicitly with his mother.

"Not if you're frightened. Or not enjoying it," Hunith said. "I want to make this as easy for you as possible Merlin. It's best if we cover every possibility, including the less than positive ones."

Merlin thought about the tingling golden mist, and then about Arthur. Arthur, who had apparently wanted him when he was a man, even though he didn't know what to do with men. Arthur, who kissed like Merlin was a country that he was intent on conquering. Arthur, who, even if he hadn't said it, was probably more than a little in love with Merlin. Arthur, who he loved back. Not to mention the woman that Arthur had been involved with tended to giggle a lot. That was probably a good sign, Merlin reflected. Even if Merlin wanted to banish them to the most remote parts of Albion, just a little, the giggling probably meant Arthur knew what he was doing. "I suppose so," he shrugged and was annoyed at the reaction of his breasts once more. Then it hit him. "Oh gods, I left my jacket in Arthur's room. They're not too obvious, are they?" He tried to think of all the people that might have seen him in between Arthur and Gaius' chambers.

Hunith examined him critically before she delivered her verdict. "I can only tell that they're there because I'm looking. I don't think that a passing eye would notice."

Merlin deflated in relief, dropping back onto his bed. It wasn't as soft as Arthur's, but it was still reassuringly solid underneath his back. "Thank the gods," Merlin said. "I can't imagine that it would go well if anyone figured it out and told Uther."

"No, we wouldn't want that," Hunith agreed. "Tomorrow we'll bind your breasts, and you can get your jacket back from Arthur's room."

"Right," Merlin said. "Tomorrow."

***

 

The breast binding turned out to be surprisingly simple and not at all traumatic. Well, Merlin had to be shirtless in front of his mother, which was a bit unnerving with his new body, but besides that it was fine. Hunith wrapped a soft large cloth around Merlin's chest, instructing him to spin slowly in the opposite direction. She then pinned it down and had him slip his tunic on over. "It looks as if they were never there," she reassured him. "How's the fit?"

Merlin bent from side to side and took a deep breath. "A little tight," he admitted. Hunith unwrapped the whole thing and started over again. "I thought that it was supposed to be tight," Merlin said as he turned round and round, unwinding.

"Yes, but not so tight that you can't breathe." They repeated the whole process, with only a few minute adjustments. "Better?" Hunith asked.

"Yeah," Merlin touched his toes. "I think that this will be fine."

Hunith smiled at him. "Hopefully it will only be a temporary measure. Gaius will figure out some way to turn you back after the kingship ceremony. He's always been very good at things like that."

"Is there anything that he can't find in that library?" Merlin asked half jokingly, smoothing his tunic to lie flat over the bandages.

"I'd imagine not," Hunith said, with a tiny snort. "He probably has the best library in all of Albion right now, especially for things like this."

"Well it's got to be in there somewhere, and if Gaius can't find it I'm sure that my magic can," Merlin said.

"Merlin," Gaius called, "get down here."

Merlin gave his mother a kiss on the cheek before he ran down the flight of steps. No bouncing this time, he noticed. Definitely an improvement. Gaius shooed him out of the chambers. "Go on now, you've been summoned to court."

Merlin paused, confused, and looked over his shoulder. "Wait, what?"

"The new page David came and told me that we're expected at court this morning," Gaius said as he walked briskly up to Merlin, poking him in the shoulder so that he would start up again. "Apparently Uther wants to talk with us."

"While he's holding court?" Merlin asked. He noticed that Gaius was wearing his blue formal robes, and wished that he had changed into something better. "He's never done that before."

"The king's a busy man," Gaius said. "Apparently he can't be bothered to take time to see us specially, so we're just going to be folded in with everyone else."

"I don't see why he needs to see us," Merlin grumbled. "He can't want to talk about anything besides Arthur's health, and if he wanted to do that, he could just talk to Arthur. Or you. I don't see why I have to be involved with this."

Merlin hated court. Not only was it full of useless courtiers and fawning gentry, but the cases brought before the king were almost always boring legal haggles over who hadn't paid enough taxes to their lord or something along those lines. Arthur could barely conceal how little interest he had, twitching in his chair and leaning his head on his fist as the defendant and accused went on and on. Merlin fancied that he even saw boredom sneak across Uther's face at times. The only change was when someone brought a case before Uther that involved magic. Then king's face grew hard, and his voice held the finality of death. Merlin could only watch silently, his knuckles white as he held tightly on to a jug of wine, stood at the side of the room, or performed any one of the other useless tasks that necessitated his presence. All of this was bad enough without the black miasma that had surrounded the king the last time Merlin had seen him. Merlin wasn't sure that he could stand before the king for any extended period of time if it was still there. And as Merlin could still see the golden mist out of the corner of his eye, there was no reason to suppose that it wouldn't be.

"If you'd like to argue with the king, Merlin, that's certainly up to you," Gaius said dryly. "But I would advise that you not try Uther's patience. He's been amused by you so far, but if he changed his mind you just might end having an appointment with the executioner."

Merlin grumbled, but there wasn't much he could say to that. They joined the line of people waiting to be presented to the court, behind the woman holding a chicken but before the man wearing a purple velvet cap who muttered to himself under his breath as he read off a piece of paper. Merlin was pretty sure that it was the same feathered cap that Arthur made him wear, except it was a rather hideous purple. The feather had a sort of dreadful familiarity, and the man kept brushing it out of his face absently, only for it to swing back seconds later. It astonished Merlin that anyone would wear something that hideous of their own free will. The battle between man and hat kept Merlin preoccupied until the herald trumpeted and the great doors to Uther's court were swung open by two guards holding pikes and dressed in Pendragon red.

It was strange to Merlin to be presented to the court. Normally he was watching on from the opposite side of things and the business of the court seemed very detached from his own concerns. Uther looked much more intimidating from the center of the room, elevated on his throne and dressed in his formal robes. Arthur was in the room too, dressed in the white silk shirt that Merlin had only seen him wear twice because it was too valuable for any except the most formal situations. Merlin wondered who had dressed Arthur that morning, if they had watched the fabric settle over Arthur's shoulders and helped to lace up the intricate sleeves. Arthur's golden mist had achieved unprecedented brightness, especially around his crown, where it shone out around Arthur's face. Even though Merlin was developing a strong dislike for the mist, he couldn't help but admire how Arthur looked. He half wanted to turn to the man with the purple hat and go, "Look, look at him. Have you ever seen anyone like that? Can you believe that he loves me?"

Arthur had locked his eyes on Merlin the second he walked through the door and didn't move them even as the rest of the people waiting to be presented trailed in. It was almost a physical touch, possessive and fond. Merlin could feel his own golden mist beginning to purr in response. He might not know how their conversation would go after Uther dismissed Arthur from his duties, but at that moment Merlin was certain how Arthur felt about him.

"My loyal subjects," Uther began, spreading his arms out to take in all of the court, "my son, Prince Arthur, has returned to full health, and stands here before you today."

Uther was a horrible father. Merlin was pretty sure that a good half of Arthur's more annoying behavior sprung from the fact that Uther typically displayed as much paternal affection as the castle walls. Perhaps one of the exterior ones, that had ice frozen down the sides in the winter. He certainly wasn't above using Arthur as a political pawn or to make statements in tournaments, but oddly enough, he loved Arthur. It was a twisting and unforgiving love, but Uther would die for his son. And as the king looked at his son Merlin could tell that underneath all of his posturing, Uther was completely and utterly relieved to see Arthur well again. Merlin could have almost liked him for that, were it not for the sinister blackness that still surrounded him.

Uther clapped his son on the shoulder and Merlin almost flinched when Uther's blackness hit the gold surrounding Arthur. The golden mist sent out sparks, and the blackness began pulsing, growing smaller and larger like a rhythmic heartbeat. Arthur twitched, a movement that wasn't obvious enough to draw the eye of anyone who hadn't already been looking. Arthur had spent most of his life training to control his body and it showed even when he was off the field of battle. Merlin was almost certain that even though Arthur couldn't see the supernatural struggle surrounding the two Pendragons, he still could sense it on some level. Uther noticed his son's reaction, but fortunately he seemed to interpret it as Arthur being still too fragile for the gesture. He gave Arthur a small smile and what was probably meant to be a reassuring squeeze before he dropped his hand and addressed the court again.

"Our kingdom's legacy is once again secure. We have defeated the Questing Beast, a remnant of the magic that used to haunt our land. While magic, and those who practise it, are formidable foes, Camelot will triumph. We will wipe magic out from our land." Uther paused and the court applauded politely. Gaius elbowed Merlin in the rib, so Merlin clapped unenthusiastically. He fidgeted a bit, as Gaius' elbow had moved the wrapping, and it was now bunched uncomfortably underneath Merlin's armpit. Uther began speaking again and the applause quickly died away. "As you all know, Prince Arthur was injured in his valiant pursuit of the beast. Though he hung near death, he was able to come back from the brink with help from the court physician and his apprentice. Step forth!"

As they walked past the chicken woman she humphed, clearly displeased that they were bypassing the whole queue of people waiting to see the king.

They stopped in front of the throne and bowed. Merlin's golden mist started growling, and stretched out towards Uther's blackness. Or at least Merlin assumed that was where it headed before it took a sudden right turn and joined up with Arthur's mist. Uther was talking, but Merlin only paid attention to how the two mists began exchanging strands, so that golden threads connected Arthur to Merlin. The black mist stayed quiescent, much to Merlin's surprise. It was as if it was almost overwhelmed by the two different mists.

Uther stopped talking and looked expectantly at Merlin. "Ummmmmm," Merlin frantically tried to come up with something to say. "Thank you, your majesty?"

This was apparently the correct response as Uther nodded regally, dismissing them. Arthur looked at Merlin meaningfully and then pointed behind his shoulder. Merlin sighed, mostly for effect. Gaius raised his eyebrow, and bowed again to the king before leaving. Merlin had planned on escaping back to Gaius' quarters to redo the binding, but staying near Arthur wasn't that bad. As long as Merlin kept back and to the left, he was nowhere near Uther's blackness. The strands connecting him to Arthur kept thickening and multiplying as Arthur's mist sent its own strands towards Merlin. Arthur leaned away from his father almost unconsciously.

The first two supplicants to step before the throne were typical of those who appeared before the court. A shopkeeper from the lower part of Camelot came to complain about his landlord's increase in rent. The landlord, who was a knight and thus had exercised his right to bring the case before the court, said that his action was justified. They squabbled about the details of the location, the cost of flour, how much grain the shopkeeper was selling, and whether or not the rent had been too low in the first place. Merlin placed his hand over his mouth, trying to stifle a yawn. "Enough," Uther finally said, before he ruled in favor of the knight.

The next person was a representative from North Kingston, one of the smaller farming villages under Uther's rule. The man's breeches were worn at the knees, and he gripped his hat firmly between his hands. "We won't be able to pay as much in levy this year sire, I'm sorry, we just won't. After what happened to the crops a few months ago we thought that we could possibly recover, but the new blight came from nowhere. We'll barely be able to feed ourselves, much less harvest anything else."

Uther regarded the man. He was probably his village's mayor, Merlin thought, or one of its biggest farmers. He was plump, suggesting that he was normally prosperous, but Merlin could see how his skin abruptly transitioned between tan and white, probably from working out in his fields. Uther waved over his bursar. "Take this man and discuss with him a solution to this problem."

"Yes sire," the bursar said, before heading out the door, passing between the two guards. The farmer trailed behind him.

After that was a head of one of the markets that fed the city proper. "Few of our farmers have been willing to sell to us. And even those who will only have mealy potatoes and grain that's so dried it looks as if its already years old. We've been dipping into our storage, but we're not sure how long that will last. Certainly not more than a fortnight."

"This is affecting all of your farmers?" Uther asked. "Throughout the kingdom?"

"All of them your majesty. The blight has spared no one." The market head ran his hand through his hair. "If your majesty could open up the city's reserves again--"

"Sire," the man with the awful hat said, stepping out of line. "I'm here from the reserves. We've been approached by Camelot's merchants and members of your majesty's court, but we're at our lowest ebb in the past decade. We don't have the supplies to ride through another famine, not so soon."

The chicken lady held up her charge. "My chickens have stopped laying!" she shouted out. "I have over two hundred chickens and I supply eggs to most of the city, including your majesty's kitchens, but my hens haven't laid eggs for the past three days."

It was like a damn breaking. The entire line broke out in complaints about their crops or livestock, or bemoaned the lack of food left. The sound echoed in the chamber and there was an underlying sense of panic. Merlin could see the guards at the end of the hall shifting uneasily. Arthur tried to grab a non-existent sword before realizing that his formal wear didn't include a place to keep weapons. Uther stood up. "Silence!" he bellowed. His voice had carried out over the armies he had commanded in his younger days, and with age it had lost little of its volume or intensity. The room hushed.

"Why was I not told of this before?" he asked, turning to look at his councilors, who were standing at the edges of the room. They all looked at each other and there was a rustle of expensive fabric as Uther glowered.

"Sire," one of them finally said, stepping forward. "We only heard about this yesterday. We've been trying to find out how widespread the phenomena was and the causes behind it before we talked to your majesty."

Merlin recognized the man as Lord Beduerus, who suffered from gout and always gave a great cry of relief when Merlin arrived with his medicine. The man must have been over seventy, and he walked with a mahogany cane the same color as his skin. He had fought with Uther during his conquest of Albion decades before, breaking with the line of kings appointed by the Romans for the new British lord. Rumor had it that he was more tolerant of the Old Religion than the king, but Merlin figured that just meant he probably didn't kill the girls and boys of the families found practicing it. Only their parents. It wasn't hard to be more tolerant than Uther, and besides, he still stood with the king. Uther wouldn't stand for too much deviance from his own rules.

"What have you found?" Uther asked with narrowed eyes. "What is this blight that threatens my kingdom?"

"No one knows," Bedeurus said. "We've talked to farmers from a dozen different villages and none of them have seen anything like it. It's faster than all the diseases that have hit our crops before and it is affecting the livestock too. We had the archivist search, but it matches nothing in the records."

The chicken lady's chicken squawked and nervous laughter rippled around the court. Another one of Uther's advisers stepped forward. He was younger, between the king's generation and Arthur's, and favored melodramatic black clothing. Merlin didn't know his name, but he had always thought of him as "the smarmy one". He always addressed Uther obsequiously and most of his requests were just short of whining. He favored the nobility and he never looked at servants when they filled his cup or brought him food. "My lord," the man said, bowing floridly, "we suspect magic of the foulest sort. What other explanation is there?"

He looked pleased to see the effect that his words had on Uther. "If you're here about the blight, go to Lord Bedeurus and Lord Bors," Uther snapped at the mass of people who had come to see him. "Everyone else, leave."

Sound roared back into the chamber as Uther swept out followed by the rest of the court, only Lord Bedeurus and the smarmy one, apparently Bors, remaining behind. Arthur turned to Merlin and grabbed him by the arm. "Go to my chambers," he instructed Merlin in a low voice. "Lock the door, and wait there until I come for you."

"Arthur--" Merlin began.

"Go, do it." Arthur bit his lower lip. "I don't want anything happening to you."

"But Arthur--" Merlin said. It was somewhat touching that Arthur was worried, but it wasn't like anyone would suspect Merlin, of all people. They never had before.

"I'll see you after the council meeting," Arthur said, shoving Merlin in the direction of his chambers. "We'll talk then."

Merlin tugged at the binding in his armpit as he watched Arthur stride off after his father. The mist between them was a solid curtain of shimmering gold. As Arthur walked away it narrowed, becoming a thick cord. Merlin shook his head and walked out the side door.

***

 

Merlin had been waiting in Arthur's chambers for hours when the gold cord, which had thinned as he and Arthur walked farther away from each other, began to thicken again. Merlin watched from Arthur's bed as the cord began to expand. It actually made him feel rather nauseous, as if he was hallucinating during a fever dream. He pulled at the binding up underneath his arms. It was no longer as tight after he had rewrapped and he found himself constantly fidgeting with it. Finally the door slammed open and Arthur stormed through.

"I thought that I told you to lock that," he said to Merlin as he dropped his cape on the ground. "And stop lazing about, for the love of all the gods."

Merlin swung his legs off the bed and sat down with Arthur at the table. He had been trying to accustom himself to the idea that probably in the very near future he would be sleeping with Arthur. Probably in that bed. The idea was still unfamiliar enough, though not unwelcome, that Merlin was adjusting. He figured lying on Arthur's bed would be a good first step. "That took a while," he commented. "You were closeted up with them for ages."

Arthur pushed himself viciously out of his chair and began to pace. "Shut the door, Merlin," he instructed, still pacing. "We went round and round in circles for hours," he said when Merlin returned to his seat. "No one knows what's causing this, we don't have enough food to weather another famine and everyone's already started to look out for their best interests. It's sickening to watch them scheme like this, as if they've already give up hope."

"And what did your father say?" Merlin asked, dropping his head on his folded arms as he watched Arthur move like a caged storm.

Arthur kneaded the bridge of his nose. "He's still watching them and trying to figure out what to do. I think that he's trying to buy time."

"Your father has been king for twenty years. He knows how to handle his advisers." Merlin was sure this was true, mostly because he didn't doubt that Uther would have already removed the ones that he didn't know how to handle. Or they would have removed him.

Arthur smiled in return. It wasn't one of his better smiles, but Merlin figured that they were making progress. "I'm sure he does, I just wish that he'd let me in on it." Arthur sat down and leaned back in his chair. "He's just so damn closed mouthed about what he wants, what's going on. They all just sat and argued in front of him and didn't get anywhere. It's boring and infuriating at the same time, even worse than sitting in court."

"Normally being in court's about as exciting as watching them do your laundry," said Merlin, with the experience of one who had done both.

Arthur snorted. "If only the council meeting had been half as useful. We don't even know what's causing the newest disaster."

Arthur looked like he wanted to punch something. Arthur was a man of action. During council meetings he would circle the chamber with his hands held behind his back as he listened to his father's advisers. Merlin was sure that being unable to doing anything about the situation after being trapped in his bed for the past week was probably driving him out of his mind. Merlin was surprised that the golden rope between them wasn't humming with tension. Instead it hung there, fat and, to all appearances, happy.

“Is it magic?” Arthur asked abruptly, spinning on his heel to look at Merlin. “It must be, mustn't it? Nothing else could make all the crops fail so quickly or so throughly.”

“I didn't cause the famine,” Merlin said as the blood froze in his veins. When Arthur had sent him to his room after court Merlin thought that he was being over protective. He hadn't realized that Arthur had wanted to accuse him in private. He wondered if it would be better to start running now or if he should try and convince Arthur that using magic didn't automatically make him an enemy of Camelot.

Arthur stared at Merlin, cocking his head. The look on his face reminded Merlin of when the castle's hunting dogs had found a stray kitten perched between their giant paws, calmly eating out of their bowl of scraps. They hadn't so much as barked, looking at the small creature with confusion, as if they couldn't quite process what they were seeing.

“I didn't imagine that you did,” he finally said. “I just wanted to know what was causing it. That way maybe we could figure out how to fix it.”

“Oh, right,” Merlin said, letting out the breath he hadn't realized that he had been holding. “I'm afraid that I don't know what's causing it. Magic does seem likely though.”

Arthur twitched, and Merlin followed his gaze to a corner of the room. Apparently while Merlin had been at the Isle of the Blessed, someone had decided to rearrange all of Arthur's hunting gear. The various traps and leathers were all newly polished, and the spears had been lined up neatly in a new rack. Sitting on the edge of the rack, in its own little compartment, was Arthur's crossbow and quarrel. After the disaster with the unicorn Arthur had lost his enthusiasm for hunting for a while. Even when he did take it up again he mostly hunted with his spears, or a few times with an old fashioned bow and arrow. Arthur hadn't say anything explicitly about getting rid of it, but Merlin had let if drift down into the endless piles of stuff that occupied Arthur's room. He figured that it would probably just disappear into Arthur's mess, much like the various spoons, chalices, clothes, and the neckerchief that Merlin carelessly left in Arthur's room, never to be seen again.

“It's not that,” Merlin said quickly. “This isn't your fault. You lifted the curse, the unicorn came back, and that was months ago. You haven't done anything wrong since then, and the crops had made a full recovery. Besides, no one's come to tell us about sand coming out of the water pumps. That was one of the first things to go wrong last time, remember?”

Arthur look tired and unconvinced by Merlin's argument. The white silk of his shirt looked subdued, as if it too were dispirited by a long day of council arguments and the heavy weight of guilt. Merlin made his final argument. “Besides, if it were that, don't you think that Anhora would have shown up already and begun to assign you stupid mystical tasks?”

“Gods, that was annoying. I'm certain that he only did that to watch me squirm,” Arthur said darkly. Wrinkles appeared on his forehead and he glared at the table as if it had done him a personal wrong. “I hate it when people are baffling just because they can be.”

Merlin thought fleetingly of the dragon in the dungeon. “Tell me about it,” he said with great feeling.

“What I was thinking of when I asked you about the famine,” Arthur said, returning to the original topic of their exchange, “was whether or not you could use your magic to fix it.”

"You want me to use my magic?" Merlin asked, surprised. "I thought that you didn't approve."

Arthur shrugged one shoulder and took off his crown, putting it down on the table. "I couldn't get to sleep last night so I had a lot of time to think," Arthur said. "It was actually quite annoying--" Merlin resisted the quip about it getting easier the more you did it, "--because I kept arguing with you in my head, and sometimes those arguments would turn into...well," Arthur coughed, "but other times you would just make all these points about how you had saved me and what we could do with your powers, and you were just so horribly irritatingly Merlin. But right. And when I heard about the famine I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to use your powers to do something good."

Merlin blinked at Arthur. "I've honestly never used my powers like that," he admitted. It had always seemed too risky to use his magic for a land that didn't want the help he could offer. While he would use his magic for his friends, for Arthur, wide, sweeping changes weren't really Merlin's style. Besides, he wasn't even sure if his magic could be used that way. There was no spell for it in the book Gaius had given him, and he had never used his magic to affect the land. Back in Ealdor, he and his mother had always farmed with spade and hoe, their labour no more supernatural than any of their neighbours. Their crops succeeded or failed by dint of hard work and luck, the same as everyone else's. "I don't even know if I can."

"You are the High Priestess now, right?" Arthur said. "Only stands to reason that you'd be able to control things like that."

"It's astonishing how little you let your ignorance get in the way of things," Merlin told him, but Arthur just laughed.

"When you're fighting with hundreds of men, hell, when you're fighting with dozens of men, you haven't the slightest idea as to what's going to happen in the next minute, much less in the next ten minutes. You still have to prepare and draw up plans for the whole battle. Trust me Merlin, strategy is one of the things that I excel at." When Merlin had first met Arthur he would have thought the statement a lie, boasting from a bully. After the first tournament, and after the first few times they had saved each other's lives, Merlin would have conceded that it was true to an extent, but still thought that Arthur was probably over exaggerating his own prowess. Now however, after the battle at Ealdor (and how strange to think those words together), after watching Arthur for a year; watching him fight and train and read books on battle tactics when he thought no one was looking, researching fights that took place years before he was born, Merlin knew that it was nothing but the truth. Arthur was his father's right hand, his sword arm. And if his father relied on him then Arthur would rise to whatever impossible heights that were demanded. And Merlin would rise right beside him, unwilling to be left behind.

“Alright,” Merlin said, already thinking about the books that he would need to consult in Gaius' library. “I'll start trying to figure out the spell we'll need to fix this thing.”

“You mean you can't just...” Arthur wiggled his fingers in what he probably thought was a magical manner. To Merlin it looked as if he were trying to tickle someone who wasn't there or shake off a particularly persistent case of pins and needles. Arthur inadvertently ran his fingers through the gold chord that swung between the two of them, but fortunately it had no more effect on Merlin than to make a warm spark light up in the bottom of his stomach.

“It's a little more complicated than that,” Merlin told him, eying the chord between them in case it tried to act up again. “With magic you need to be specific, otherwise things can go wrong and you'll end up with consequences that you didn't want.”

“Is that what happened when you killed the last High Priestess and turned into a girl?” Arthur asked, with as much tact as he typically mustered. He beamed at Merlin, pleased that he had brought up a topic that made Merlin uncomfortable. Arthur was obviously over any discomfort he had felt the night before.

Merlin blinked at him incredulously, but Arthur merely continued to look back without any sense of shame. “Something like that,” Merlin finally settled on.

“Well, I would certainly hate for you to end up a donkey,” Arthur said briskly, standing up and extending a hand to pull Merlin from his chair, “even if you do have the ears for it. Let's go talk to Gaius about the proper spells.”

Merlin almost tripped as he stood, Arthur's grip on his hand the only thing stopping him from going head first into the table. “Why we would talk to Gaius?” he asked, trying to pretend like nothing had happened. “He doesn't know anything about magic.”

“You're gripping my hand so tightly that you've almost cut off the circulation to my fingers,” Arthur said mildly. Merlin let go abruptly. He hadn't even realized that he was still holding onto Arthur. Arthur's palm was a warm and callused presence so natural that Merlin barely noticed it when it was there and missed it when it returned back to Arthur's side.

“Honestly Merlin,” he sighed, “you are such a crap liar. It's practically a miracle that I haven't figured out about your magic before now. Of course we need to talk to Gaius.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Merlin protested, feeling like he was standing on shifting sand. “Gaius wouldn't be helpful at all. He doesn't even know that I'm a warlock.”

“You must really think that I'm an idiot,” Arthur said, his voice both amused and disappointed. “I told you, I spent most of last night thinking. After I started getting better, Gaius disappeared and then you did. You both came back together, and a day later you're telling me that you're a girl. There's no way that Gaius doesn't know about all of this.” Arthur finished ticking off his points on his fingers and folded his arms across his chest, almost daring Merlin to contradict him.

“How did you know that we came back together?” Merlin asked, almost having to force the words out of his throat.

“I specifically told the castle guards to report to me when you came back. They told me you rode in laughing like a madman, but Gaius almost had to carry you up to your chambers.” Arthur picked up the ewer of water that Merlin always kept in his chambers. He poured himself a goblet of water before going on. “I just wanted to make sure that you came back safe,” he half muttered as he raised the goblet to his lips.

The golden chord between them shone a little brighter. Merlin tried not to be touched by the fact that Arthur had been worried. All the worry in the world wouldn't suffice to save him or Gaius if Arthur let something slip to the wrong person. “Arthur, you can't tell anyone,” Merlin said, holding onto Arthur shoulder as if he could force him to understand through touch. “If anyone finds out...”

“I know Merlin,” Arthur said, obviously trying to be comforting. Merlin could tell that he meant what he was saying, but his voice was too smooth and he spoke to easily. Arthur didn't understand what they were risking. “I won't let anything happen to you. Either of you.”

Merlin thought of the red leather binding and smooth black lines in the book of Camelot's laws. “Did you know,” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, “that the penalty for hiding a magician is death?”

Arthur opened his mouth to reply but Merlin kept speaking. “Of course they kill the magic users in public, as an example. But the magicians are usually killed quickly at least, not kept waiting. They wouldn't want to give them too many chances to escape, after all. Their accomplices can be kept in the lower reaches for years, rotting away in the dungeon. Your father even lets people come and visit them sometimes. Watching loved ones go pale and thin and flinch away from the light encourages people not to help magicians, I suppose.”

Merlin tried to smile a bit, but he could feel his mouth crumple and twist. He had heard stories, whispers in the lower market, about incomplete families who waited for the headsman's blow half with longing and half with fear. It was like watching a mouth with a missing tooth that never quite healed, a gapping wound where a son, a daughter, a wife, a husband, should have been. It was the uncertainty that was the worst, Merlin was sure. The families never quite knew when it would be over but were unable to escape the horrible conclusion.

“It won't Merlin, it won't,” Arthur said again, almost hopelessly. His fingers flexed around the stem of the goblet and he put it down on the table. Arthur rested his hands on both of Merlin's shoulders and looked him in the eye. “Nothing will happen to you or to Gaius. I promise.”

Merlin took a deep breath and asked, “Even if it means defying your father?”

Emotions chased themselves through Arthur's eyes before his face finally settled into resolve. “Even then,” he swore.

“Alright,” Merlin said, half to him self and half to Arthur. “Alright.”

***

 

When they walked into Gaius' chambers he was brewing another drought of the king's foul smelling infusions. “Dear Gods,” Arthur said, his head drawing back from a particularly noxious whiff of smoke. “What is that?”

“Good evening, sire.” Gaius nodded, before checking the color of the infusion in his beaker. “It's something for your father. An old wound has been bothering him, and the recent troubles have only made it worse.”

“But does it have to smell so awful?” Arthur said under his breath, waving his hand in front of his face.

“Actually Gaius,” Merlin said, ignoring Arthur's melodramatic faces of disgust, “that's what we're here to see you about. We were wondering if there was anything that we could do about the famine.”

“I'm afraid that I'm not even sure what's causing this, much less what could fix it. I'm only the court physician after all--”

“But since Merlin's the High Priestess now, there must be something that he can do about it,” Arthur interrupted. He looked impatient and more than a little annoyed. He had changed out of his court clothes and pulled on his long brown coat, the one that Merlin though of as his work attire, before they had left his chambers. Now it billowed out behind him as he walked over to Gaius' bookshelf and grabbed a volume down at random.

“Will this tell us anything?” he asked Gaius with an edge before dropping it down on to the bench with a thunk. He pulled out another one. “How about this?” The pages of the book splayed out as it fell and Arthur took out a third book, barely holding it for a second before it joined its brethren. “This one?”

“Arthur,” Merlin said at the same time Gaius went, “Sire--”

Arthur twirled around, planted his hands on the bench and looked at Gaius. “I'm not the enemy,” he said firmly. Merlin could see the anger that he was holding back in the straight lines of his shoulder and the way his fingers spread, the webbing between them shallow scoops of skin. “You can't lie to me. I'm trying to fix things but it won't work if you won't trust me.”

Merlin flinched a little, sensing the deliberateness of Arthur's gaze at Gaius. He wasn't looking at Merlin so strongly that he might as well have been staring straight at him.

“My goodness,” said Hunith mildly, breaking the tension in the room. She stood in the doorway that lead to Merlin's room, a blanket wrapped around her torso and her hair uncharacteristically down. She looked the very picture of a woman just woken from her sleep, which Merlin didn't believe for a second. His mother had woken at dawn every day she was fit to and several that she wasn't, like a force of nature or like it was her sacred duty. The fields needed to be tended and work needed to be finished before sunset. Hunith had always seen to both. “What was all that noise?”

“Ahhh...” Arthur said, nonplussed, his eyes darting between Gaius and the books. “It's good to see you up and about. Merlin told me that you were ill.” He picked up one of the books and shoved it back into its shelf. In the wrong place of course.

“Yes, it is rather dangerous to cross the Old Religion isn't it?” She walked down the steps and sat at Gaius' bench, delicately rearranging the blanket. She still looked tired, but color had returned to her cheeks. “Fortunately for all of us it isn't that hard to heal from.” She smiled at Gaius, and then at Arthur, as if inviting them to share in a particularly pleasant thought.

Gaius raised his eyebrow. “Very fortunate, yes,” he agreed in a tone that was so bland it had more in common with gruel than with any sort of celebration.

“Merlin tells me that your shoulder is recovering nicely,” Hunith said, smiling at Arthur in an almost proprietary fashion. One of the terrible things about Arthur, Merlin had realized in Ealdor, was that Hunith adored him with the sort of amused fondness and protective fervor most mothers reserved for favorite son-in-laws. Arthur, whose palpable need for a mother figure clearly manifested itself in his frequent juvenile behavior, was all too happy to reciprocate by pretending to be a perfect angel.

“Ummmmm...” Arthur went, before he rallied. “I certainly couldn't have done it without Merlin.” He shoved another one of the dropped books back into the shelves. Merlin narrowed his eyes and mentally cursed Arthur as a brown noser. Hunith practically beamed at Arthur, in her own subdued sort of way.

“Actually that's why I'm here. I'm afraid that I need Merlin's help again. Well,” continued Arthur, turning to face Merlin's mother, “it's not just me, it's the whole country.”

“Oh?” said Hunith. There was no way she could have failed to hear what Arthur had been shouting from within Merlin's room. The door of the former store room was so thin that sometimes Merlin fancied that he could hear Gaius breathing through the wood. “What for? Surely it would have to be something important for you to expose Merlin to that much risk.”

“Mother,” Merlin said, embarrassed and hoping to head off any conflict that might develop, “there won't be any risk, don't worry so much.”

“We're just trying to figure out how to save lives, hopefully there won't be any risks,” Arthur explained, folding his arms across his chest. “Besides, I promise to look after Merlin.”

“More than likely I'll be the one looking after you,” Merlin shot at Arthur. “Do you even know how many times--”

“You've almost exposed your magic to Uther?” Gaius asked dryly, sitting besides Hunith. “I wish that I could say I'd lost count, but each time you've done it, it's nearly stopped my heart, so I can't say that's true.”

“Merlin...” Hunith said. She sounded like she was in pain, and her lips compressed into mess of tension and wrinkles. He could hear Arthur's feet shifting behind him and the rustle of his leather coat.

“We won't get caught,” Merlin told her, trying to convince her that they could handle it. “Besides, we don't have a choice. We need to stop the famine before people start dying.”

Arthur moved forward so that he was standing besides Merlin. As their shoulders brushed, Merlin realized that he had forgot to look for his jacket while he had been waiting for Arthur to leave the council meeting. He wrote it off as a loss and vowed to look for it later, after they returned from the Isle.

“I wouldn't ask this of Merlin if it weren't of the utmost importance. Please, Hunith.” Arthur voice could have commanded an army of men into battle, but he was asking, rather than ordering. It took all of Merlin's self control to look at his mother rather than turn to Arthur.

“It always is, isn't it?” She sighed and gathered her blanket around her before standing up. “Come Merlin, let's start packing for your trip.”

“Wait, where are we going?” Merlin asked. He had braced himself for an argument and now that none was forth coming it was like a mental stumble, trying to catch his feet under changing circumstances.

“The Isle of the Blessed, of course,” Hunith replied. “Where else would you go to fix a magical famine besides the center of magic in all of Albion?”

***

 

“I still don't understand what it is that we're supposed to do,” Arthur grumbled. The boat slid through the lake under its own power, barely a ripple in the water behind them to mark their passing. Merlin could tell that Arthur didn't trust it not to dump him out into the middle of the lake wearing full armour. He had, however, trusted Merlin to use his magic last night.

The third time that the wet flint had failed to strike against the steel Merlin had sworn, and looked up at Arthur to where he was gutting the two rabbits he had caught for their dinner. “Honestly Merlin,” he had said, “you have got to be the worst manservant ever. In the history of the entire world. Just use your magic for the gods' sake.”

“And you,” Merlin had replied as the fire crackled to life behind him, warming the back of his neck, “are the biggest prat known to mandkind. You should count yourself lucky that I don't just leave you here in the middle of the woods with out any fire whatsoever.” He sat down on the log next to Arthur, stretching his legs out towards the fire. They had been riding all day through the rain, past fields of crops that were overripe months before the time they were normally harvested and farmers who looked at them hopelessly as their horses passed. Arthur had drawn more and more into himself as their travel had progressed, disappearing with barely a word once they set up camp. He had returned in a somewhat better humour with the two rabbits and Merlin had let out a deep breath, glad to see that at least Arthur could still be amused by hunting.

They had lapsed into a comfortable silence as they ate and bedded down, the golden chord casting a glow over the pebbles and twigs that littered the ground between them. Merlin had been more than half asleep when Arthur had suddenly said, “Can I just say, that given you now apparently hold the power of life and death, I'm not very impressed by your breasts? Really Merlin, you're an awfully flat woman. Even Morgana's got a better figure than you."

"First of all," Merlin had said, tired and more than a little groggy, "I can't believe that we're on a mission to save the entire kingdom and you're spending time thinking about this, and secondly, I'm disturbed by the fact that you've noticed Morgana's breasts."

"She's not actually my sister! I never even met her until we were both ten!" Arthur had protested, shifting in an agitated manner. "Besides, I've totally seen you looking at her too."

“Go to sleep, Arthur,” Merlin had said, before promptly rolling over and suiting action to words.

They had woken up to a misty morning, and once they stepped onto the boat the mist had only become thicker. Merlin could barely see beyond the limits of their wooden world, and even though Arthur couldn't be more than an arm's length away, the blue of his eyes looked closer to gray and little drops of water beaded on his hauberk.

“My mother said that I would just know what to do when the time came. It's apparently one of those High Priestess things.” Merlin was happy that the bindings were supportive enough that he didn't have to worry about the dreadful effects of gravity. The ride was bad enough without some of the more unpleasant reminders as to his situation.

“Your mother knows an awful lot about the Old Religion,” Arthur said. His armour jingled softly as he shifted, the tiny pieces of mail bumping up against their mates.

“It's just something she picked up, plus a bit of common sense,” said Merlin, repeating what his mother had told him in response to his own questions. “Besides, Gaius says it sounds right.”

“I suppose,” Arthur said. He pointed into the mists. “Is that the Isle?”

Merlin looked at a spot that was virtually indistinguishable from the rest of the mist surrounding them. It was slightly darker, but it was impossible to tell if that was real or merely a result of Arthur's suggestion. “Probably,” he allowed. “The boat is headed in that direction.”

When they finally pulled ashore the Isle, Arthur practically leaped out of the boat, pulling his sword and hogging all the space on the landing. He inspected the stone ruins as if they could attack at any moment, and slowly began to climb the windy wooden stairs. “Stay behind me,” he ordered Merlin.

Merlin stepped out of the boat a bit more carefully, not wanting to soak himself in the lake. As it had been last time, the Isle was silent, and apparently empty. Merlin half expected Nimueh to appear behind the altar with her torn dress and malevolent blue eyes.

“Are you feeling any mystical urges?” Arthur asked. He had put his sword away and was using his foot to turn over various rocks. “Because honestly Merlin, I'd like to leave this place as soon as we can.”

 

The bond between them was vibrating so much that it swung in a golden arch, and Merlin felt almost nauseous as he looked at it. “I'm working on it,” he muttered, tearing his eyes away.

He walked towards the alter, and picked up the bronze chalice that still sat upon its surface. It was cool underneath his fingers and he could see himself reflected in the beaten metal. It felt as though it should have been wet, but it wasn't, and Merlin's fingers left no traces of water when he wiped them on his breeches.

Arthur looked over his shoulder. “Are you going to do something with the cup then?”

“No.” Merlin shook his head and put it back down. “Just remembering.”

“Look, I don't mean to put extra pressure on you, but it's rather important that we get this done as soon as possible.” Arthur seemed oblivious to the presence of the golden cord, which had only grown thicker as the two of them stood closer together. Merlin glared at it and tried to poke it, just to see if anything would happen, but his finger went straight through, just as it had before.

"What are you doing Merlin?" Arthur asked, exasperated. “Will this help to end the famine?”

Merlin shrugged. "Something's been bothering me. I'm just trying to figure something out."

"Something invisible?"

"To everyone else, apparently," Merlin said, reluctant to go into too much detail. The habit of hiding his magic was too ingrained. Discussing it with Arthur, even on an Isle dedicated to magic, on a journey for the expressed purpose of performing magic, felt dangerous and strange.

"So it's magical then?" Arthur said impatiently. Merlin shrugged again, not wanting to go into details he was unsure of. "Well, what is it? Spit it out."

"I think that we have this magical bond." Merlin cringed a little. It sounded so stupid when he said it out loud like that. He felt like his voice was swallowed up by the mists and the expression on Arthur's face wasn't helping any. "It wasn't my idea, trust me, but there's this golden chord. Rope. Thing."

"Gods, even when I'm involved you barely trust me enough to tell me about it." Arthur pulled out his sword and started inspecting the ruins again, pacing in the green grass surrounding the altar. Merlin couldn't see his face.

"Arthur, no, it's not like that," Merlin said. His treacherous memory supplied Arthur's broken expression when Merlin had admitted that he didn't trust him. "I'm trying, I really am. It's just hard to change all at once. But I will."

"You know," Arthur said, turning around and planting the point of his sword on the ground, his hands crossed on the pommel, "between this new famine, my father, and now you, it's been a really crap few days, Merlin. Utter rubbish really, and it's barely even noon today. Who knows what's going to happen next? So just tell me about this stupid magic bond thing, because it certainly can't get any worse."

Merlin took a few hesitant steps towards Arthur. "I would have chosen you," he said. "This bond between us was created by the Old Religion, it's true, and I wouldn't have wanted you to find out about any of this the way you did, but I would have chosen you."

Arthur regarded him warily. "That's probably because no one else would take you, magical bond or no. Besides, you're my manservant--" Merlin mentally translated that to 'best friend and man I love, despite the fact I won't actually use those words' "--and I wouldn't let you have a, whatever this is, with anyone else." Arthur sounded irritated, but his rant was like the cracking of ice during the first days of spring: though most of the pond was still frozen over, it was only a matter of time before summer came and the water was invitingly cool once again.

"Course not," Merlin said in a conciliatory manner.

"Right," Arthur said, nodding to himself and wiping off his sword before he sheathed it. "What's this about the magic bond thing then?"

Merlin couldn't think of anything he'd want to discuss with Arthur less at the moment—famines, stress, and sex wasn't a particularly alluring mixture—but he took a deep breath and said, “So the High Priestess has to preform this kingship ceremony—”

“No,” said Arthur flatly.

“But—”

“No,” Arthur said again, in a voice as unbending as the steel of his sword. “Whatever it is, whatever the Old Religion wants, the answer is no. I am not the king.”

“But Arthur—“ Merlin tried again.

“I won't discuss this with you any further Merlin. Fix the famine, and then let's go home.” Arthur's jaw was clenched in a particularly mulish way that always made Merlin pity all of his boyhood tutors. “I am not the king, and I refuse to take part in any ceremony that calls for the King of Camelot.”

Merlin sighed and scrubbed his hands against his face. “Fine. But we're going to have to talk about this eventually you know.”

“Merlin...” Arthur said warningly.

“It's not like it's just going to go away,” Merlin grumbled, staring down at the grass beneath his feet. “Trust me, I'd have dealt it some other way if I thought it would work.”

“We'll talk about this when we get back,” Arthur repeated.

Merlin rolled his eyes before closing them. Merlin knew that if Arthur was determined to make a stubborn ass of himself, there was very little Merlin could do to stop. The best solution was usually to let him hang himself with his own rope and then come back to clean up the mess afterwards. Merlin gave a small shake of his head, trying to dislodge his irritation, and concentrated.

He could still feel the bond, as golden and obnoxious as always, but something else seemed to be calling to him. It was faint, and felt more like a glimmer than anything else, but it was definitely there. Merlin opened his eyes and found himself looking straight at the carved marble arches of the altar. He walked towards it slowly, evaluating it with a sideways glance. It hadn't done anything when he had picked up the goblet, but perhaps he hadn't touched it right.

Merlin planted both of his hands on the top of the altar and pressed down. The stone was unyielding beneath his hands and the faint glimmer persisted. He pushed down again, reinforcing the pressure from his muscles with magic. Nothing happened. Merlin frowned down at the marble and wondered if all things relating to the Old Religion were deliberately spiteful or if it was just a parting gift from Nimueh. He tried a third time, pressing down on the stone and waiting, trying to force anything to happen. He gave up and looked at his fingers spread across the stone. He was suddenly struck by the realization that they were slimmer, and more feminine looking. Gods, he hated the Old Religion.

Arthur was puttering around behind him, and Merlin wanted to snap at him. If he thought it was so easy he could push at the damn stone. “Oh,” Merlin said, the revelation hitting him in the back of his head.

“What?” Arthur asked.

“It's not pushing,” Merlin replied, already readying himself for his next effort. “It's pulling.”

And with that Merlin grabbed at the glimmer, using his magic as if it were his hands, pulling up a root from the field. At first it came out easily, almost eagerly, and Merlin was surrounded by the warm feeling of magic. He could feel it between his fingers and it tousled his hair like a spring breeze holding the promise of summer. This, this was the magic of the Old Religion, the power of the High Priestess. Merlin almost wouldn't mind being a woman for the rest of his life if he got to feel that all the time. He laughed, it felt so good, and he barely heard Arthur as he said, “Merlin, what are you going on about?”

Then, all of the sudden, the feeling reversed itself, and the magic slithered back into the stone with a slurp. Merlin gave the alter a distinct look of betrayal, trying to convey how very upset he was with it, and then he passed out.

***

 

He woke up sitting on a horse's back, braced up against Arthur's armour. His head was pounding worse than any hangover he had ever had, and a moan slipped out. He was only glad, as glad as he could be at that point, that it wasn't anything worse. His stomach was definitely less than happy. “Are you awake?” Arthur asked, his voice soft.

“Maybe?” Merlin hazarded. Everything was still more than a little blurry.

“Oh thank the Gods,” Arthur said. He sounded like a man pushed past his endurance, as if he had fought in a tourney after a week's worth of patrol.

“Yeah,” Merlin agreed, his eyelids falling down and practically slurring the word.

“No Merlin, no, you mustn't—”

But it was too late. Merlin had already lapsed back into unconsciousness.

***

 

The second time he woke up was much more comfortable. Merlin wiggled his toes contently and smiled to himself just a little, keeping his eyes closed for a few more seconds. His body was reporting back, and although it was still female, he felt much better than the last time he had woken up. No sudden urge to pass out or throw up, which was good. However, he probably hadn't fixed the famine. He pushed that though away, and decided to luxuriate a little longer. He wasn't quite sure where he was, but it smelled good, and there was something soft behind his head. He would have said it was a pillow, only he was sure that his pillows had never been quite so plush.

“Hello Merlin,” Gwen said. I must be in my room. Gaius probably asked Gwen look after me while he runs his roundsMerlin though. He then opened his eyes and found out just how wrong he was.

He looked at the red brocade curtains, and then at Gwen, who was sitting patiently in a chair, a ripped blouse in her lap and a sewing needle in her hand. “Why am I in Arthur's room? And where's Arthur?” He could still see the bond between them, but it was thin, no wider than Gwen's smallest finger and stretched out through the closed door and out of Merlin's sight.

“I'm glad to see that you're awake,” Gwen said, placing the mending in a wicker basket that sat by her side. “We were very worried about you when Arthur dragged you through the gates. You looked like death warmed over.” She smiled at him encouragingly. “You look much better now.”

Merlin still felt a bit wibbly. His arms were weaker than he would have liked and his mouth tasted funny. He made a face and smacked his lips. Gwen handed him a cup of water.

“Thanks,” he said, handing it back. “But why are you here? Why am I here?”

“Arthur insisted that you be taken to his chambers. He made Gaius treat you here and stayed with you for a while before he went off to report to his father. I'm just watching over you 'til Gaius comes back.” Gwen smiled at him again, fondly, as though he had done something particularly sweet instead of just lying in Arthur's bed, looking confused. “He cares for you a great deal.”

“Well he is practically a father to me,” Merlin said, lying back down and placing his head on Arthur's pillow. “And besides, none of us could do it without you, Gwen. You're the one that holds us together after we've been about gallivanting around.”

“That's very kind of you to say, Merlin, you need to stop wiggling around it. It's rather cute really.” She patted softly him on the shoulder.

“But it's true!” he protested. “Without you where would I be? Where would Arthur be? Hells, you're pretty much the glue that's holding Morgana together these days. Without you she'd be toast.”

“Morgana's doing loads better actually. The last time I saw her she was arguing with Uther about how best to distribute the grain to the lower city. I mean, she needs a bit of help when getting to sleep at night, but she's always needed that.” Gwen's forehead wrinkled, and her lips pursed before she refocused on Merlin. “And that's not what I was talking about. I was talking about you and Arthur. The two of you are very cute.”

“Gwen, you can't call me cute,” Merlin told her. “It's an insult to my masculinity.” His masculinity was at a bit of a disadvantage already, what with the breasts and all. He figured that it needed all the help he could give it.

“It's very cute,” Gwen told him, ignoring the face he made at her, “the way that the two of you dote on each other but won't admit it. Cute in an emotionally stunted sort of way I suppose.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he told her, trying to ignore the flutter underneath his breastbone. It felt like a sparrow was trapped underneath it, and its feathers were brushing up along his chest, downy and only barely there.

“You're really not fooling anyone, Merlin,” Gwen said, as if she were imparting a fact that he should have already known. “The whole castle's been buzzing about it for ages. There's a wager on in the kitchen on who'll be the first to see the two of you kissing.”

Merlin gapped at her from the bed. “But...” he started. “What...”

The door opened and in came Arthur, the golden chord shining out from his chest. The mud from their journey still caked on his boots. At least his armour was off, Merlin noted. Arthur sprawled out in one of his chairs and tilted his head back, eyes closed. He took a deep breath, his chest rising and falling. “How's he doing?” he asked Gwen. “Did he wake at all while I was away?”

“Why don't you ask him yourself?” Gwen said, picking up her basket of mending and walking towards the door. “Be gentle with him though, he's just woke up.” She closed the door behind her.

Arthur went and sat by Merlin's side on the bed. Merlin could swear that the chord glowed brighter when he and Arthur touched. Merlin was just glad that it didn't seem to be repeating the vibrating trick it tried last time he and Arthur were in his bedroom together.

Merlin turned towards Arthur, looking up at his face. “Hey,” Arthur said. His voice was a bit hoarse. “You had me a bit worried there.”

“Now you know what it feels like,” Merlin told him, thinking of those long days after the Questing Beast. “Not very much fun is it?”

“No,” Arthur said, leaning back on his hands. “Can't say that it was.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few moments until Arthur yawned. “What have you been up to?” Merlin asked. “You look like you've been pushing a boulder up a hill.”

“Worse,” Arthur moaned, collapsing fully onto the bed so that his head lay on Merlin's stomach. Merlin found he didn't mind being used as a human pillow too much. “I've been arguing with my father. He thinks riding off like that leaving only a note was irresponsible given the current crises. I had to talk fast to keep both of us out of the dungeon. On top of all that, we didn't even solve the fucking famine. I had to spend an hour fighting with that smarmy git Bors about the outlying farmers' livestock.”

“That is hard work,” Merlin agreed. His hands had begun to card through Arthur's hair without so much as a by your leave, and turned towards him, a small smile on his face. If he was a cat, Merlin bet he'd be purring.

“Before that I had to drag my idiot manservant across half the kingdom. I spent the whole ride worrying that he was going to die in my arms,” Arthur's voice was soft, and he looked at Merlin's face as if trying to check that he wasn't going to die right in Arthur's bed, just to be contrary.

Merlin tugged a bit on Arthur's hair, mock offended on the behalf of his third person persona. Arthur growled at him, no more threatening than one of the stable's kittens, and Merlin resumed his petting. “Lucky for him he has such a good friend,” Merlin said.

“Yeah,” agreed Arthur, stifling another yawn. “You don't find friends like that everyday.”

They fell into silence, Merlin's fingers still carding through Arthur's hair. Eventually Arthur began to snore, asleep fully clothed with his feet still hanging off the edge of the bed. His snores whistled and Merlin chuckled a bit to himself before he too drifted off.

***

 

He woke up a few hours later, awakened by the shift in the mattress as Arthur stood up to remove his boots. The room was darker, and the golden chord shone, as if trying to cast its own light. “Hey,” Merlin said, an idea floating across his mind like a soap bubble. He didn't dare tell Arthur outright, not until he had thought a bit more at least. He sat up, and his balance was normal, or at least as normal as it would get in the new body. “Remember the bond I told you about?”

“I told you Merlin, I won't be the pawn of the Old Religion.” Arthur tossed his boot into the corner. “Didn't all that messing about on the Isle teach you anything? The Old Religion is dangerous. It holds nothing good for us.”

"Arthur," Merlin said, talking to Arthur's back. Apparently Arthur didn't even want to look at him if he was going to speak of the Old Religion. But Merlin was determined that he was going to hear about it now, like it or not. "Arthur listen to me. We have this weird magical bond because apparently the High Priestess has to cement the relationship between the king and the land. If we don't do this, who knows what will happen next?"

"I'm not king," Arthur said flatly. He was still wearing the same clothes that he had come in with earlier, the clothes he had ridden in from the Isle. They must have been dirty and itchy, but Arthur was so still that he could have been carved from stone.

"The Old Religion doesn't seem to care," Merlin told him. The gold cord still hung between them, its circumference almost as wide as Merlin's leg. "It wants you, not your father."

"The Old Religion can want what it wants, but I'm not taking part in anything that calls for the king of Camelot." Arthur turned, snapping out each word as if it had personally offended him.

"But we don't know what will happen if the kingship ceremony doesn't happen," Merlin said, trying to make Arthur understand. "All the oldest legends of Albion speak of a connection between the king and the land—"

"And I know what will happen if we do perform whatever ceremony the Old Religion is asking from us." Arthur was dead serious in a way that he usually only got before tournaments and battle. "We as good as acknowledge that I'm king, not my father. We might as well start recruiting knights and stage a coup while we're at it."

"What are you talking about? Uther rejected the land and the Old Religion when he started the Purge twenty years ago. If what you and I have looks like a golden cord, the air around your father is black. The ties that bind him and the land have been severed long since. But he's still king, no one's contesting that. I doubt that anything will even change after we perform the ceremony!" Merlin argued furiously.

"There can't be more than one acknowledged king," Arthur said, rubbing his temples. "Having people think about it is only a few small steps for having them act on it. And I won't oppose my father like that."

"Look the kingship ceremony is..." Merlin balked at actually describing the act to Arthur. The first time they kissed had been about them, even if it had been initiated by the golden mist. Their feelings and their pleasures. Involving the Old Religion meant that it wouldn't be Arthur and Merlin; instead it would be the King and the High Priestess. It wouldn't be love, it would be duty. Merlin hated the Old Religion for insinuating itself into every aspect of his life. He didn't want to give it Arthur as well. "It would only be you and me, nothing you don't want to do. No one else would have to know."

Arthur was shaking his head before Merlin even finished. "I would know, and that would be enough. I would never be able to look at my father without knowing that I had betrayed him."

Merlin could tell that Arthur considered the whole thing a matter of honour. It was obvious in the way that he adjusted his clothing and in the straightness of his spine. Merlin, who was never more glad to be a peasant than when the subject of honour arose, was often amazed at the lengths to which Arthur would go for that elusive ideal.

Honour, according to Arthur, was the glue that held civilization together, the foundation of moral goodness, and the shining light by which the actions of all knights should be guided. "Including the actions that lead to you beating up on defenseless strangers in market places?" Merlin had asked him once, faux innocent.

Arthur had waved that aside. "I wasn't acting as a knight then."

"Right," Merlin had agreed. "You were acting as a prat."

Arthur had ignored him. "Honour is the code that ensures knights fight to defend those who are helpless, stand strong for just causes, and work hard to earn the status that they've been given."

All of which sounded just fine to Merlin. Those were things that everyone should believe in, not just knights. Unfortunately honour had also got tied up in wearing bits of ladies' clothing round one's arm in tournaments and accepting stupid challenges issued by anyone with a metal glove to throw on the ground. Merlin had seen all sorts of stupid things in Camelot justified by knights, who would have laughed in the face of Arthur's definition, invoking the sacred word. Sometimes Merlin wondered whether chivalry was killing honour.

"You've gone against your father before," Merlin reminded him. "With Mordred, with the mortaeus flower." Merlin hesitated before he added the final and most damning one. "By not reporting me."

An emotion flashed across Arthur's face too fast for Merlin to catch it. Arthur sat down at the table gingerly, as if the movement pained him. "My father and I don't always agree on everything," he said, using a knife left over from some meal or another to pick at the wood of his table, "and I've disobeyed him before. But I've never done anything that would threaten his rule, I've only tried to do what's right."

Merlin waited for Arthur to finish his thought. The golden cord stretched the length of the room, emphasizing their distance. "I wouldn't have turned you in," Arthur said, putting the knife down. "Even if I didn't feel the way about you that I do, I wouldn't have."

Merlin thought of how Arthur had avoided Gwen's eyes when he had dragged her off to the dungeons, how he had shouted at Will in Ealdor before the arrow was shot. He thought of Arthur's face in the passageway with Mordred, ready to draw on his own men to protect the Druid boy. He thought of Arthur's words at Will's bedside and how he treated Gwen differently now, with more respect. Trust, Merlin reminded himself, trust. "I know," he said, willing himself to believe it. "But this is what is right Arthur, I swear it to you."

"I'll do what I have to do to save lives," Arthur said, clearly trying to explain himself to Merlin's lurking doubts, "but that's not what this is about. It's about power, and I want no part in it. I'm not going to be a pawn for the Old Religion."

"What if it's about more than power? The Old Religion is tied to the land so deeply, who even knows what the consequences will be if we don't perform the kingship ceremony? Do you really want to risk everything for that?" Merlin bit his lip. He knew that he was treading on dangerous territory, trying to rouse Arthur's protective instincts towards Albion and her people. Arthur had spent years with his father and Morgana testing him till almost the breaking point, and sometimes past it. Sometimes he had trouble telling a question that was meant to make him think from an attack.

"Why me?" Arthur asked, twisting the topic. "If it consequences of not having a bond between the king and the land is so dire, why hasn't the kingdom fallen apart underneath my father? Why can't you do the kingship ceremony with my father?"

Merlin shivered at the idea of going anywhere near Uther. "Do you remember how it felt when your father clasped you on the shoulder in front of the court? Before we left for the Isle?"

"His hand was cold and he hit a little harder than he meant to," Arthur said. He was clearly trying for dismissive, but he followed it a little too quickly with, "It just took me by surprise, that's all."

"No, it's more than that, you know it. It's another one of those invisible things, something that I can see but that other people can't," Merlin explained intently. "But you can sense it somehow. Your father's surrounded by this black thing. It's like the opposite of what we have between us, almost this gaping, sucking wound. I can barely get near him without wanting to run away screaming."

"But maybe it's your job to heal it, to make it better," Arthur argued. For someone who hadn't even believed that there was something wrong a minute ago he had come around awfully fast.

"I can't fix it," he told Arthur firmly. Merlin suspected that he could pour all of his magic into Uther and more and still not remove the black miasma. "I don't know what went wrong, but at this point I doubt that it even can be fixed. Trying to fix that would make what happened at the Isle look like a mere love tap."

"Maybe it's not meant to be fixed then. Maybe it's time that we broke free from the Old Religion." Arthur was building up steam. "What's the worst that can happen really? It's been twenty years since my father rejected the Old Religion and he's perfectly fine. The land hasn't suffered for it. It's been pretty much the entire time that we've been alive and we're both fine. Well you're a girl, but that's new, and besides that--"

"What if this is recent? We've been acting like this has been going on for ages, but what if that's not true? What if it happened five days ago? When I killed Nimueh and became High Priestess." Merlin took a deep breath, before telling Arthur what he feared. "What if us not performing the kingship ceremony is what triggered the famine?"

Arthur couldn't have looked worse if Merlin had slapped him across the face while wearing a metal gauntlet.

"It's not your fault," Merlin said quickly. "There's no way that you could have known; I didn't even tell you till yesterday. Your father didn't even know that there was a famine till this morning, I didn't even think of it myself till now. It's probably my fault actually. You know, for killing Nimueh and things like that." Merlin could feel his head bobbing up and down idiotically, but if it prevented Arthur from blaming himself for another one of Camelot's problems, Merlin was just fine with that.

"Yes Merlin, because it would have been so much better if me or your mother had died instead," Arthur got up and lightly cuffed him on the side of the head. "Idiot," Arthur told him, but his voice was more fond than chiding, and he went to stand by the bed. Arthur wrapped his hand wrapped gently around the side of Merlin's neck, his fingers in Merlin's hair the same way that Merlin's had been in his.

Merlin leaned into him. "I'm going to tell Gaius you beat me. Then he'll make you drink that really nasty potion, the one you had to take when you pulled your tendon last time."

"I'm the prince. Gaius can't make me do anything," Arthur told him imperiously, his hand stilling in Merlin's hair. Merlin snorted. "Charming Merlin, very ladylike. So what is this ceremony thing that we have to do?"

"It's quite easy actually. We just need to have sex." Merlin shook his head, and Arthur's fingers caught in his hair. "You know if we hadn't made such a mess of things, we could have probably solved this before we even knew there was a problem."

Arthur pulled Merlin's head back and looked down at him incredulously. "This isn't just a ploy to make me sleep with you is it?" he asked suspiciously. "Because that's just insultingly easy."

"Yes, Arthur. Clearly I turned myself into a woman, revealed myself as a sorcerer, and then made up a stupid magic bond just to take advantage of you," Merlin said dryly. "You've seen right through me. What ever shall I do?"

"Weren't you the one insisting that you shouldn't insult people who you want to sleep with?" Arthur grumped. "Besides, I envisioned using your magic to fix the famine to be a lot more..." Arthur wiggled his fingers. He looked like he was trying to tickle the air, and Merlin reflected once again on how ridiculous Arthur could get when he was trying to express what was going on inside his head to the outside world. It was, as Gwen would say, endearing.

“I guess you'll just have to be satisfied with me.” Merlin tried to speak casually, to make it seem as if it weren't important that all they had to do was this seemingly simple act.

"Well, your enough of a bother that I'm sure that you'll keep me busy," Arthur murmured. He sat down on his bed and gave Merlin an appraising look. Arthur's smile bared his teeth and lit up his eyes. They were so blue that Merlin's breath caught in his throat and he felt suddenly shy. "This wasn't exactly how I had planned on this going," Arthur said, gesturing at the space between them, his hand passing through the golden cord. "But then plans rarely survive first contact with the enemy."

"You made plans?" Merlin asked. His voice didn't squeak. It might have been higher pitched than normal, but his Adam's apple was missing. Some sort of change in pitch was to be expected. There was no need for Arthur's smile to widen like that.

"I wouldn't really call them formal plans," Arthur crossed his legs and leaned against the bed post. His knee was only inches away from where Merlin's rucked the sheets. He looked at Merlin's mouth. "Just a few ideas."

"Oh, right. Well, I'm glad one of us does then." Merlin said, clearing his throat. "You'll have to change them a bit though, now that I'm a girl."

"It will probably make things a little easier to be honest," Arthur said casually. Merlin froze as if he were a deer that Arthur had been hunting. His shoulders were hunched up by his ears and he couldn't seem to get them to go back down. "I mean for me! Obviously things are much more difficult for you."

Arthur looked like he wished he had never spoken and the silence that stretched between them only made Merlin even tenser. The stupid magical cord began to vibrate and Merlin was tempted to shout at it, if only to relieve his own nerves. "It's just..." Merlin started, before realizing that he didn't even know which was causing him to panic more: having sex with Arthur, premeditated and planned out, or that fact that he was a woman and he was going to have sex. The thought of the ongoing famine and potential for thousands of deaths certainly wasn't helping either.

"You know," Arthur finally said, sitting down next to Merlin, "this was a lot more enjoyable the last time you were in my bed." His weight caused the mattress to move and shift Merlin just the tiniest bit closer to him. The outside of their thighs pressed together.

"Yes," Merlin agreed miserably. Being with Arthur before had been as instinctual as magic and Merlin felt that they should have no problem resuming. After all, they had talked it over, hadn't they? Arthur knew about the magic now and there were no more lies between them. He tried to look on the bright side. "At least I don't have to have sex with your father."

Arthur turned to him with a look of horror. "I can't believe--You didn't just..." He waved his hands around his head before he gathered the tattered shreds of his dignity and drew himself together looking down his nose at Merlin. Or at least trying to. "Merlin, that is not conducive to setting the proper mood at all!"

"I'm still taller than you, that look doesn't work," Merlin said to him. It was a constant sore point with Arthur. At first he had insisted that Merlin wasn't really taller, he was just a skinny pole and that made him seem like he had a few centimetres on Arthur. He had vehemently insisted on this in the face of Merlin's largely silent, though a few muttered "whatevers" did make it out, disbelief. Finally he had made Merlin stand back to back with him and had poor Gwen judge. "Well?" Arthur had said smugly.

"You're certainly more muscley than Merlin, sire," Gwen had babbled. "Much blonder too. I don't think that anyone could argue with that."

"Thank you, Guinevere. Now just tell Merlin that I'm taller and we can settle this whole thing once and for all." Merlin had felt his shoulder blades digging into Arthur's back and Arthur's hair had tickled the back of his neck.

"Errmmmmm, you see..." Gwen trailed off and looked at Merlin pleadingly.

"She can't tell you that you giant prat because it's not true," Merlin had turned to face Arthur, who was clearly in denial about the whole thing. "Come on, we'll do this in front of your mirror."

They had gone to Arthur's chambers, which was the only room that had a mirror large enough that they could see each other head to toe, back to back. "I think the mirror's tilted," Arthur had said, regarding it skeptically.

"Arthur, it's hanging on a wall. I think that it's physically impossible for it to be tilted." Merlin had watched Arthur make a face in their reflection. He had looked like he bit into a lemon thinking that it was a peach. Arthur had dropped the subject after that and glared at Merlin whenever he bought it up. So of course Merlin mentioned it whenever possible.

"It is very sad," Arthur informed Merlin, shoving him so that he fell into one of the pillows that lay scattered around Arthur's bed, "that you're so hung up on this one fact."

Merlin closed his eyes and smiled. The silence following that was comfortable, the type that Arthur and Merlin often lapsed into when their teasing had run its course and they weren't ready yet to launch into another part of their discussion. Merlin couldn't help but enjoy Arthur's pillows some more.

Merlin was wondering whether he should ask Arthur for a pillow or if outright theft would be the better approach when something brushed Merlin's cheek. He opened his eyes only to find Arthur looking down at him. "I'd really like to kiss you," he said, with a softness that would have surprised most of the people who knew Arthur Pendragon.

He leaned in slowly while Merlin held his breath. Their lips touched lightly and Merlin closed his eyes in an almost instinctual response. It was like a first kiss, or at least what all the bards would like their listeners to believe a first kiss was like. In fact the whole thing had a rather fairy tale quality to it, Merlin thought, as he was gently kissed by a handsome prince.

"What's so funny?" Arthur whispered. He was still so close that Merlin could feel the warmth of words as Arthur spoke.

"I've never really thought of myself as much of the princess type," Merlin admitted quietly, unable to stop smiling.

"Mental," Arthur said, dropping a small kiss on the corner of Merlin's lips. "Absolutely mental. You're lucky I love you, else I'd have to pretend not to know you in public."

Merlin's smile blossomed into a full out grin and he reached up to pull Arthur back down for a kiss that was significantly less innocent. Arthur could do really filthy things with his tongue, which Merlin remembered, and he wanted him to do again. "Prat," Merlin gasped after Arthur finished sucking on his lower lip and attacked his neck. It wouldn't do to let Arthur think that he could get out of things just by whipping out the word "love".

Arthur bit him, pulled back to examine the divot in his collar bone, and then bit him in the same place again. He ran his finger across it, making Merlin shiver as he brushed the teeth marks. He wondered if it would show when he was wearing a neckerchief. Apparently the mark was now red enough to meet Arthur's standards, because instead of mauling Merlin some more he said, "Don't lie, you totally go in for that sort of romantic mush."

"You are so insufferably smug that it's amazing that anyone wants to sleep with you," Merlin told him. But his hands gave lie to the statement. One was stroking the skin on Arthur's hips, having pulled up his tunic and squirmed underneath the belt of his breeches, while the other grabbed the back of Arthur's neck, interlaced with his hair.

Arthur merely grinned and leaned back in for another kiss. This time he didn't go for delicacy or finesse; instead he kissed like he was marking his territory or winning a fight on the tourney field. Merlin was pretty sure that fairy tale princes didn't kiss like that. The princesses didn't seem the sort to go in for that sort of thing. But then again Merlin wasn't really a princess was he?

Merlin kissed back, pushing up against Arthur, trying to show him how he felt through lips and tongues and teeth. Their kisses were messy, combative, like almost everything they did, and so saturated with emotion that it almost burned at Merlin's skin. Arthur kept trying to use his weight to push Merlin further into the bed, pressing closer and closer, as if trying to replicate how he felt with his body. Which was nice, but not what Merlin was looking for at the moment. He pushed at Arthur's shoulder, attempting to force him up with out letting go of his mouth. Arthur absorbed the movement, his shoulder rising then falling again while the rest of his body remained in place. Merlin tilted his head, deepening the kiss and then repeated the motion, only harder.

"Gods be damned Merlin, stop sending mixed signals," Arthur growled into Merlin's mouth.

"They're not," Merlin said, reluctantly disengaging with Arthur's mouth and using both hands to shove him off. He then promptly climbing on back top of him, straddling Arthur's hip. "Mixed signals." He leaned down to kiss Arthur again as Arthur's hands grabbed Merlin's waist, hitting the bottom edge of the binding. "I just wanted to change positions, that's all."

"What's going on underneath your tunic?" Arthur asked. Actually he muttered something completely incomprehensible because he kept trying to talk and kiss Merlin at the same time, but he repeated himself when Merlin separated their mouths. He kept looking at Merlin's mouth while his fingers brushed back and forth over the ridge that interrupted the otherwise smooth stretch of Merlin's tunic.

“The bindings remember? I told you about them.” Merlin said rather distractedly. The insides his thighs bracketed Arthur's body and his knees dug into the mattress. His hands were braced on Arthur's chest.

Arthur propped himself up to kiss Merlin again. “Surprised they didn't take them off you,” he muttered, nibbling at Merlin's mouth.

“I suppose that Gaius didn't want to bother me that much. Or he didn't want anyone to walk in and see him changing them.” Merlin was pretty sure that was what had happened. That or something like that. Besides, it wasn't important at the moment. The only important thing was that Arthur take off his clothes. This close they smelled horsey and more than a little like sweat. Merlin would prefer he were naked. Purely for olfactory reasons, of course.

Arthur was outlined in gold again, and Merlin could see the gold mist lining his own hands as well. Merlin didn't know when the cord had disappeared, but he was glad it was gone. He almost preferred the diffuse mist that surrounded them both, even if it did serve as an unpleasant reminder of the Old Religion. He gave a mental "fuck off" to the mist before examining Arthur.

Arthur's cheeks were flushed and his hair looked as if he had spent the day riding into a strong headwind. His eyes were so blue it was almost physically painful to look at them and his lips were red, bitten, and clearly in need of more kissing. Merlin bent down to kiss him as Arthur surged upwards causing Merlin to promptly lose his balance and fall flat against Arthur's chest with his legs splayed as wide as they could go. Arthur's cock was pressing up against him and even through their clothes Merlin could feel how hard Arthur was. It was weird the way that Arthur seemed to fit into the new parts of Merlin's body, as if all the awkwardness of his body had been made up for by this one perfect thing.

Merlin blinked down at Arthur and shifted forward, just a little. Arthur's pupils dilated and his hips rolled, thrusting up towards Merlin through their clothes. Merlin's small clothes were wet. His arousal had been general, more about the pleasure of touching Arthur and kissing than any specific feeling, but as Arthur thrust up again that changed. Merlin focused intently on the feeling of Arthur's cock as it slid between his legs. His lips parted and he could feel a breathless “oh” escape out of his mouth, more air than noise.

He began rubbing up and down on Arthur's cock through their layers of clothing, shivering a bit each time it rubbed up against his clit. Arthur started panting and then sat up abruptly, completely ruining the rhythm that Merlin had been building. “Clothes off,” he said frantically, ripping off his own shirt before pushing Merlin onto the bed and untying his breeches.

Merlin watched, absently licking his lips as Arthur swore, his fingers tearing at a particularly stubborn knot. Arthur finally gave up on the knot and simply tore the laces, stripping off his breeches and sitting naked on his haunches. “Off,” he said again, this time attacking Merlin's tunic. “Gods, Merlin.”

Merlin raised his arms over his head as Arthur yanked his tunic off, exposing the binding. Arthur paused, then looked at Merlin with his eyebrow raised. “You're going to have to help me out here, Merlin.”

“You, Arthur? Really?” Merlin smiled, ignoring the throbbing between his legs for a few seconds. “I thought that you'd be an expert at this sort of thing.”

Something in Merlin's tone made Arthur tilt his head and attempt a smirk, though it came out more fond than mocking. “Jealous?”

Merlin tugged Arthur closer until they were kneeling only a couple centimeters apart. He inspected Arthur, sweeping his eyes down his neck, his chest, and finally resting them on his cock. His fingers landed on Arthur's shoulders and he pulled on Arthur so that he could kiss him, guiding him forward with only the tiniest bit of contact. By the end of the kiss they were plastered up against each other and Merlin could feel Arthur's cock rubbing against his hip, right underneath the strip of skin that was exposed between his breeches and the wrapping.

“Maybe a little,” Merlin admitted. His hands had migrated to Arthur's ass and his legs had parted without him even noticing.

Arthur laughed and found where the wrapping was tucked into itself, and he pulled the end out. “Off,” he said again. He raised him arm almost gracefully and began unwinding Merlin, who ducked underneath Arthur's arm at each rotation. It almost felt like a dance, but more intimate than anything that would be performed in public. After the last loop of bandage came off Merlin kept his head bowed.

“Gods, you're beautiful,” Arthur said. Merlin looked up, into Arthur's eyes. So that was what Arthur looked like when he was in love, a distant part of Merlin's mind noted. It didn't resemble Arthur under Sophia's spell at all. Then he had been dazed and almost lost, as if he had stumbled into the situation and couldn't find his way out. Now he looked possessive and so intense that Merlin half believed that Arthur was trying to see into his soul. “You've got nothing to be jealous of.”

The tip of Arthur's tongue came out and licked a line between Merlin's upper and lower lip. Merlin's mouth opened and Arthur struck, licking his way inside and putting his thigh between Merlin's spread legs. Merlin whimpered and pressed down against him, almost desperate for the pressure, for Arthur.

“This would be even better,” Arthur muttered into his ear, nipping at the lobe, “if you took your breeches off.”

“If you want them off so badly, you should just take them off yourself,” Merlin said rather breathlessly. Arthur was rubbing his finger in circles around Merlin's nipple. Merlin had never really been affected by having them touched before but apparently girl nipples were different. Or maybe it was just different with Arthur. Arthur was almost teasing; using only his nails to trace the circumference of the pink skin so lightly that the sensation faded in and out, like thunder in the distance reverberating in Merlin's breastbone.

Arthur bent down and licked the underside of Merlin's breast, going from where it met his chest to the tip of the nipple, which peaked at the attention. Merlin could feel all the muscles below his waist clench.

“I think that I can do that,” Arthur said. His fingers were still circling Merlin's other nipple with maddeningly inconsistent pressure. He smiled and ordered softly. “Lie down.”

Merlin gulped a bit before settling onto his back. Arthur slid off the bed and pulled on the cuffs of Merlin's breeches, tugging them down his legs inch by inch. Apparently Arthur had managed to unlace them at some point when Merlin wasn't paying attention. Merlin took a shaky breath. He was lying naked on the bed except for his small clothes. The air was cold and he could feel the hairs on his legs prickle into goosebumps. Arthur crawled up onto the bed, until his head was at Merlin's waist. Maintaining eye contact he slowly removed Merlin's small clothes, tossing them over his shoulder when he was done. Merlin took another breath, feeling lightheaded. He couldn't tell if it was from arousal or nerves, or some odd combination of the two.

Arthur stroked the outside of Merlin's thigh. “It's okay, Merlin, I swear it.” Merlin realized that his legs were locked together and the muscles in his thighs stood out because they were clenched so tightly. Arthur settled himself on the bed beside Merlin and took Merlin's face in both hands, turning him gently so that they were staring directly at each other. “It's scary, I know, but I promise that I'll make it good for you. We can take our time.”

“But the whole country--”

“The country can wait for a few hours,” Arthur said. “Right now it can just be you and me.”

“Alright,” Merlin said. Arthur kissed him almost chastely before raising an eyebrow at him. “Alright,” Merlin repeated more firmly.

“I do love you,” Arthur reminded him. Then he smiled. “Ha! Works like a charm. You look a lot less like I'm staging an assault on your honour now.”

Merlin's eyes fluttered closed in the middle of a roll as Arthur kissed his way around the shell of his ear. Arthur chuckled fondly and dropped a final kiss on Merlin's neck, right at the edge of his hairline. “You are such a girl, Merlin.”

“Not funny,” Merlin said trying to be cross. Arthur began kissing down his jaw and around his neck, apparently intent on framing the entirety of Merlin's face. “Not funny at all,” Merlin repeated, but it was lazily and with little force behind it.

“It was a little funny,” Arthur argued softly, having reached Merlin's other ear. “Come on, you've got to laugh in these sorts of situations.”

“Situations where you're in bed with your,” Merlin couldn't think of an exact term, “your whatever, and you're about to get laid? Wouldn't that be rude?” Merlin asked archly.

Arthur paused. “You're right, no laughing. It'd probably be bad for morale.” He propped himself up on his elbows. “Besides, it would get in the way of kissing.”

He proceeded to suit actions to words and the minutes blurred as they kept kissing, Arthur's hands resting in the shallow dip of Merlin's waist. Eventually Arthur stopped and said, “Let me try something?”

Merlin murmured his agreement, practically melting into the mattresses. Arthur moved down Merlin's body, kissing each piece of skin as he passed it by. Finally he kissed right above the dark thatch of hair between Merlin's legs. “Trust me?” he asked.

“Of course,” Merlin said, half shocked to find that the answer came so instinctual and quickly. He had always been accustomed to hiding things from Arthur, deflecting and avoiding the entire truth, if not outright lying. Trusting Arthur completely and with out a second thought was new, but it felt good, as if Merlin had been holding himself in an awkward position the whole time he had been in Camelot and had only noticed after he was able to sit naturally. Arthur's entire face light up, and he dropped another kiss and then a quick and playful nip. He pushed Merlin's legs apart. They moved easily and he could feel Arthur's breath, warm on the wet places between his legs. He moved his hips towards Arthur, trying to get more of the feeling. Merlin was pretty sure that Arthur was smiling in a pleased and obnoxious matter, but he was perfectly fine with that provided that Arthur just kept going.

The first time that Arthur licked from the center of the wetness up to Merlin's clit, Merlin felt like Arthur's tongue had a direct connection to his spine, completely bypassing any conscious thought. Merlin moaned, arching his back. “Oh gods,” he swore, “Oh gods, do that again.” Arthur hummed smugly and Merlin, who didn't think that it could possibly get any better than what Arthur had already been doing, grabbed the back of Arthur's head and pressed him down into his cunt. Arthur went in tongue first, and the feeling built, like someone had poured boiling pleasure down his spine and it was pooling between his legs.

Finally, after what felt like forever and not nearly long enough, it spiked, and Merlin took one deep gasping breath as the pleasure exploded and his muscles relaxed. His fingers released Arthur's hair. He hadn't even been aware that he was pulling on it and he ran his hand through the blond strands, smoothing them back down. Arthur's face emerged from the vee of Merlin's legs, and he licked his lips. “I really,” he said hoarsely, “I really would like to fuck you now. May I?”

Merlin's mind flashed back to when Arthur asked him that question before. Dear gods, had it only been a few days ago? “Arthur,” Merlin told him as his head lolled to the side, “I think that you have a sacred duty to your country to fuck me. Far be it for me to get in the way.”

“Less talking, more fucking,” Arthur said moving so that he was once again on all fours above Merlin. He absently wiped his face on the inside of elbow, looking intently at Merlin. Arthur kissed him, briefly but with serious feeling behind it, before he said, “I just need you to relax. If you just relax everything will be fine.”

“If I were any more relaxed I would melt into the bed,” Merlin joked, stroking Arthur's shoulder. It was covered in sweat but Merlin was hardly in any better condition, and he didn't really mind.

“Alright,” Arthur said, resting his head on Merlin's shoulder before he picked himself back up. He looked absolutely wrecked. “Spread your legs again,” he whispered.

Arthur positioned himself between Merlin's legs, holding his cock in one hand while propping himself up with the other. Merlin could see how Arthur was restraining himself from just pushing in. He looked up one last time and Merlin nodded at him. Arthur took a deep breath and ducked his head. At first Merlin only felt pressure, uncomfortable and strange but not nearly as bad as he had worried it might be. And then, suddenly, like the release of pressure after a cork popping on a bottle of champagne, Arthur was in. Merlin shivered, his new body unclear how to interpret the stretch of his cunt around Arthur's cock. Merlin shifted his hips, trying to accustom himself to the feeling, and Arthur slipped out. Apparently he hadn't slid in that far. “Merlin,” Arthur said, half between a plea and a curse.

Merlin reached out and ran his hand through Arthur's hair. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologized, drawing Arthur in for a kiss. “Wanna try again?”

Arthur looked at him incredulously, obviously too far gone to be polite. “Right,” Merlin said, spreading his legs again and kissing Arthur one last time.

“Put a pillow under your hips,” Arthur said, his pupils still so wide that Merlin could see his own reflection in them. “It will make the angle better.”

Merlin settled himself in the new position, one of Arthur's soft pillows between him and the mattresses. This time Arthur slid right in, a slow smooth glide that ended with Arthur pressed against Merlin from chest to knee, their feet intertwined. From there it was a blur, with Arthur above him and the in and out, filling Merlin up and making him hungry over and over again. It was a different feeling than Arthur's mouth on him, more disjointed and less urgent, but the feeling still built, even if it was slower. Eventually Merlin began arching up into Arthur strokes, trying to time himself so that their motion pushed them together and drove Arthur deeper into his body. He was almost reluctant to let Arthur draw back to pull out, even if the feeling when he slammed back in was enough to make Merlin whimper. Right before Merlin came he wrapped his legs around Arthur's waist and dug his fingers into his back. “Arthur,” Merlin said, the name half caught in his throat. “Gods, Arthur.”

Arthur kissed Merlin's lower lip, desperate and a bit messy, before he snapped his hips forward once more as the wave of pleasure crested and engulfed Merlin, his cunt clutching around Arthur's cock. He thought that his last orgasm had been intense, but in comparison it was nothing. The world exploded behind his eyelids and he felt lifted up and expanded beyond his body while never inhabiting it more fully. And even though Merlin could feel the magic of the Old Religion in the background, a final crescendo of golden light before it exploded and went dark, that was unimportant in the face of how connected he felt to Arthur. At that moment, with Arthur inside of him and surrounding him, Merlin finally felt like half of a whole.

It took a while to come down from, but when Merlin's arms dropped off of Arthur's neck like two wet noodles and his back relaxed into the pillow, he realized that Arthur hadn't moved. Arthur's head was still bowed against Merlin's shoulder and the tendons in his arms stood out with the strain of holding him up, of holding him still. He was, Merlin realized, still hard. Merlin tightened his cunt in an apparently instinctive move, drawing a shudder from Arthur.

“Come on,” Merlin urged, running his hand down the tense muscles of Arthur's lower back, “you can let go, it's alright.” And Arthur did, driving forwards, once, twice, before coming with a shuddering gasp that seemed to go on forever and collapsing onto Merlin.

He lay there as Merlin traced abstract patterns on his back, words and letters that were just beyond Merlin's grasp, as if they held meanings he couldn't quite understand the intricacies of. One thing was for certain though, they meant togetherness, signs of claiming and of love.

When Arthur's breathing calmed he rolled off, boneless besides Merlin. “Do you--” he began to ask before he was interrupted by his own yawn.

“In the morning,” Merlin replied. “Whatever it is it can wait till morning.”

They ended up passing out curled up around each other, avoiding the wet spot on Arthur's bed.

***

 

When Merlin woke next it was barely light out, the merest rim of the sun cresting over the horizon and shining in through Arthur's window. His skin felt odd and tingly, as if an acute attack of pins and needles had seized his entire body. Merlin peered blearily below the covers, trying to process why exactly something was nibbling at the corner of his mind, when he realized what had happened. He rolled over so that he was face to face with Arthur. “Arthur!”

He growled something with more vowels than constants and tried to pull the covers over his head. Merlin poked the Arthur shaped lump. “Wake up, I have something to show you.”

He tossed back the covers, showing his naked, and now very male, body to Arthur's eyes. Merlin's left shoulder and calves, however, remained unexposed as Arthur clung to his covers and seemed disinclined to let anyone, even the man he loved, separate him from his bedding. His eyes narrowed into slits and he sounded rather grumpy when he said, “Very nice Merlin, I'm glad that you no longer have boobs. Now go back to sleep.”

He disappeared again beneath the covers as Merlin looked at him dumbfounded. There was no sign of movement, so Merlin prodded Arthur with his feet. “That's all you've got to say? Honestly?”

This time Arthur's entire head made an appearance. “I'm very glad that we've performed the kingship ceremony and that we can figure out what two men are supposed to do in bed together in a few hours. Is that good enough?”

“I thought that you'd be more excited about this,” Merlin said, rather offended. It was a big deal to him after all. Arthur sighed and tugged Merlin under the covers.

“As pleased as I am to know you have a cock again, and as much as I plan to explore the fact at a later point,” he said, and a small thrill ran through Merlin as he thought of Arthur's mouth, “it's at least an hour until the sun's risen all the way and we were up almost all of last night.”

“I suppose so,” Merlin conceded, stealing one of Arthur's pillows out from underneath his head. Though Merlin had grabbed a few to cushion his head the night before, Arthur had apparently stolen them back during the few hours that they had been asleep. “I just feel like the moment deserves more of a reaction.”

“Merlin,” Arthur yawned, distorting the last syllable in a parody of his usual smugness, “yesterday was exhausting. Right now I want sleep, and then I want to wake up and ravish you some more. Besides, I plan on spending the rest of my life waking up next to you in the morning. As far as I'm concerned this is just the first of many days that will begin like this. Though if you wake me up this early during all of them I might just kill you first.”

Arthur threw his arm over Merlin and closed his eyes in a manner he probably thought signaled the end of the conversation. “You're awful coherent for someone who claims to be so sleepy,” Merlin felt obliged to point out.

Arthur twisted his arm and smacked Merlin on the back of the head, but his eyes remained closed and he didn't speak. A small smile curled his lips. “Prat,” Merlin said, settling down again and nestling up to Arthur. His erection could always wait, he supposed.

“Idiot,” Arthur responded softly. “Now be quiet and I'll give you a blow job when I wake up.”

Merlin drifted off again wondering if he could get Arthur to extend that offer to the rest of their lives as well.

***

 

Their next awaking was nothing nearly as pleasant. Uther barely took a second between knocking on the door and entering, jolting Merlin from pleasantly asleep and wrapped around Arthur to naked and terrified half to death in front of his sorcerer-executing father. Merlin fell onto the floor with a not particularly dignified “Accck!”

Uther gave Merlin an icy stare and then dismissed him from the royal attention with flick of his eye. “Arthur,” he said, “I'll need you in court in less than an hour. See to it that you're presentable.”

“Of course father, I'll be right there,” Arthur said. He sounded mortified, but was clearly trying to act as if his father found him naked with his mentally afflicted manservant everyday of the week. Merlin was seriously contemplating trying to roll underneath Arthur's bed, and the only thing preventing him was the fact that he wasn't quite sure when when he had last cleaned underneath it. In fact, he was unclear whether he had ever actually cleaned there. But even the thought of truly terrifying dust bunnies became more palatable the longer he was naked in front of Uther.

Fortunately the king nodded, turned on his heel and left just as suddenly as he had entered. “Knocking isn't that hard,” Arthur complained as he swung out of bed and pulled Merlin up off of the floor. “Why can't anyone in this castle grasp the idea of knocking and then waiting to enter? I'm a bit terrified that your affliction is catching Merlin.” He sighed the sigh of the truly put upon and kissed Merlin, his lips dry and crinkly from sleep.

Merlin, who was still too terrified to be properly irritated, commented, “I thought he was going to execute me.”

Arthur laid both his hands on Merlin's shoulders and said, “I swear by my honour, by my life, and by Camelot that I won't let him. I will never let anything happen to you, I swear it by my mother's grave.” Arthur's voice was as serious as a steel forged blade, each thing he swore by was like a hammer banging down on his promise, making it stronger. Merlin had never heard Arthur speak of his mother before, and the final repetition felt like the finishing plunge into water, finishing the sword and sealing it into its final shape.

Merlin was pretty sure that was the equivalent of Arthur's wedding vows. For all his talk in bed that morning about the rest of their lives, Arthur placed value on ceremony, on promises made and actions taken, even if it was only they two to witness them. “I would pluck the moon down from the sky for you, if you asked it of me,” Merlin finally answered, trying to find the words to suit the strange solemnity of the moment. They were both still naked and Merlin's hands were at Arthur's waist as if they'd never known any other place to rest. “For you, I would defy a thousand fathers and ten thousand laws.”

Arthur tugged Merlin down and kissed him again, his fingers covering Merlin's cheeks and his sword calluses against the corner of Merlin's eyes. “I won't say it often,” he told Merlin softly, “because it's stupid, and the word doesn't mean nearly enough to encompass what I feel for you, but I do love you.”

“I've noticed,” Merlin whispered back, unable to stop his smile. “I hope you won't mind if I sometimes need to say it to you though.”

Arthur stepped back and started walking towards his cupboard, holding on to Merlin's hand as if he couldn't make himself let go and tugging him along. “I suppose,” Arthur said loftily, “that you can say it. Sometimes. If you need to.”

Merlin grabbed some of Arthur's clothes from the left side, which was normally where he put the fancier pieces of Arthur's wardrobe after they came back from the laundry. Luckily no meddling soul had rearranged his rather haphazard system and he was able to start putting the clothes on to Arthur. “Your highness is too kind,” he muttered, bending down so that Arthur could step into his breeches. “You let your humble manservant say he loves you and prevent your father from executing him for despoiling his son. Truly you are a font of generosity.”

“Was that what you were on about?” Arthur asked incredulously as Merlin rearranged his jacket so that it sat evenly on his shoulders. He snorted. “Merlin, my father thinks that I've been despoiling you for months on end. He keeps clapping me on the shoulder and giving me vague and somewhat terrifying pieces of advice.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, pulling his own tunic over his head and brushing at his messy hair rather futilely. He thought of his own conversation about sex with his mother. “Huh. Parents.” He shook his head and shrugged. He did it again when he realized he no longer had to adjust for the inconvenient effects of gravity.

“There are some things that one's father should not know about,” Arthur said darkly as Merlin laced up his own breeches, finally fully clothed. He tossed the wadded bundle of wrappings underneath Arthur's bed with a pleased glow, consigning them to their doom of death by dust bunny. After all, he'd never need them again.

Arthur ushered him out the door before falling into stride next to them as they walked towards the throne room. “Wait,” Merlin said, stopping in his tracks. “Did you just hold the door open for me?”

Arthur's grin was wide and obnoxious. “Come on Merlin, mustn't keep the king waiting. I hear that there's something very important in court today.”

“Prat,” Merlin said, before resuming his progress down the corridor, bumping his shoulder against Arthur's as he walked by. Arthur just stuck out his tongue, and it probably showed how truly besotted Merlin was that he found even that endearing.

***

 

Court was significantly more bearable when Merlin couldn't see a black miasma surrounding Uther. He couldn't tell if that was because it was no longer there, displaced by the kingship ceremony that Merlin and Arthur had done, or if simply he could no longer see it now that he wasn't surrounded by the gold mist of the Old Religion. Either way, it made Merlin's life much less easier, and he was only felt normal court-induced levels terror and boredom. Admittedly it was combined with a new and somewhat disconcerting knowledge that Uther thought that he and Arthur had been going at it for months, but Merlin decided to ignore that fact. He was unclear why everyone seemed to have such a vested interest in his love life, but Merlin was fairly sure he disapproved.

He looked out at the court over Arthur's shoulder and examined their upturned faces as Uther's speech went on. “--While the most recent sorcerer's curse has been defeated, and our lands restored to prosperity, Camelot will never be able to truly rest until it is free from magic...” Merlin went back to tuning him out. Uther had been going on in the same vein for over ten minutes, though Merlin noticed that he had neatly elide on just how the sorcerer's curse had been defeated. He seemed to be implying that it was all due to Arthur, who, according to Uther, had yet again valiantly defended Camelot from magic users. Merlin wondered what Uther would ever do if he ever found out about the irony of his statements.

Out in the crowd Lord Bors looked disappointed, as if the curse had set out to thwart him personally by ending early and taking away his newly conferred position. Some people were just unremittingly horrible. Merlin wondered if he could get someone from the kitchens to spit in his dinner that evening.

Morgana was missing. Merlin hoped that it was only the usual unpleasantness, not another relapse into near madness. Merlin had seen Gwen briefly as he walked down the corridors with Arthur, and her stride was easy and she had shoot him and Arthur a meaning laden and somewhat mischievous look, even if the bags underneath her eyes spoke of another late night. Morgana's chair sat empty, somehow loud even in her absence, as if to remind the court that she would return soon, as vivacious and challenging as ever.

Gaius, once Merlin overcame his embarrassment at spending the night in Arthur's chambers enough to meet his eye, was the only one in the mass of people facing the two Pendragon thrones to look at Merlin. He raised his eyebrow questioningly, his arms folded and tucked into his robe. Merlin tried to indicate with his eyes that everything had been solved, while at the same time counter Gaius' obvious amusement at the entire situation. It was all rather hard to do while remaining inconspicuous behind Arthur.

Merlin's efforts were interrupted by applause and he realized that Uther had finished and was about to dismiss the gathered court. “Father,” Arthur interjected, “may I say something.”

Uther seemed surprised. Merlin could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times Arthur had addressed the court, and he had never done so voluntarily, without prompting from Uther. The king gave his permission and Arthur began. “People of Albion,” he said, raising his voice and drawing their attention. The court turned at the sound of his voice like plants growing towards water after a long drought, naturally, as if craving substance and finding it in Arthur's voice. “Sometimes our land will be threatened, whether by famine, fire, or enemy forces. But we will face these threats, and we will defeat them, because we stand strong. We stand united. This latest disaster was adverted, as was the last one. As will be the next one, because we will provide for you.”

Merlin wondered which “we” Arthur was referring to. He and his father? The court of Camelot? Or maybe, just maybe, Merlin thought as he watched the people's swell with hope and pride in response to Arthur's statements, it was the “we” of all of Camelot, all of Albion. The royal we as it was meant to be used, the king speaking for and to the people, the land. Arthur wasn't wearing his crown, it wasn't a formal session, but he hardly needed to. His bearing and his expression, from the little of it that Merlin could see from his angle, spoke for him.

“Albion is,” Arthur said, his voice a bedrock upon which a country could build itself, “and always will be, a great land. We will stand together and we work towards that goal every minute of every day. This I promise.” Arthur nodded to the crowd, clearly finished, and a wave of sound, approval from every throat in the hall, roared towards him, at him.

Merlin was so proud he was surprised he wasn't glowing, and his hands hurt from clapping, even if he couldn't hear it over the noise that everyone else was making. Even Uther's leather clad hands were moving, acknowledging his son in front of his country. His look was full of wary approval, but Arthur wasn't looking towards him. He had turned, subtly, so that he was still mostly facing the crowd, but Merlin could almost feel Arthur seeking his approval.

I love you, he thought as hard as he could in Arthur's direction. I love you and you are a great king, even if you don't know it yet, even if you don't sit on the throne. You are my king.

And with that they faced the people of Camelot; they faced their future. Together.