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Chapter Text

Merlin stood at the bow of his ship, one foot resting on the edge, arms slung across his knee as he gazed out into the vast blue water. He took a deep breath of the salty air and relished in the feeling of the sea spray kissing his skin with every dip of The Avalon. Overhead, an albatross glided by with a shrill call. He studiously ignored the way the sun glinted off the gold ring on his left hand. He closed his eyes and tried to ingrain the moment into his memory.

It was his last night of freedom.

Come morn, he'd likely never set foot on his beloved ship again.

"Stand there much longer, and I'm gonna mistake ya for the figurehead, Cap."

Merlin suppressed a smile as he heard the tell-tale footfalls of his first mate's boots. "Hey, Will."

The boy appeared at his side. "Too bad ya ain't pretty enough ta be taken for one."

"Watch yourself, or I'll have your ass keelhauled."

Will's eyes widened in mock terror. "Aw hell, ya wouldn't."

Merlin simply raised a taunting eyebrow. Will grinned and clapped his shoulder. Merlin winced as he hit a particularly fresh bruise. "See, ya think any of the three of us is scared o' that."

"I swear on my mother's name, if I had use of my magic…" He trailed off, not wishing to head down that particular road. He'd grieved for himself enough already. Will, ever the dutiful first mate and steadfast friend, simply ignored the comment. He didn't give Merlin pity, and the captain loved him for it.

With his tousled brown hair, worn blue frock coat, and gold earrings going up both sides, one hardly thought the barely twenty-years-old Will a threat. That was, until they saw him in a battle four-on-one with nothing but his wicked cutlass and even more wicked tongue. Will was one of the finest pirates Merlin had ever had the pleasure to know, and he trusted him with his life.

"Everything looking good?" Merlin asked, still not taking his eyes off the water.

"Yeah, ya don't worry. Freya's at the helm, and Daegal's holed up in his quarters with his maps like an old hermit. Nothin' unusual. Though I do gotta tell ya 'Thus accidentally lit Daegal's map of The Perilous Lands on fire, and I thought we were gonna be havin' cooked dragon for dinner. Daegal was on a war path, I tell ya."

Merlin smiled. "Ah, yes, there's nothing quite like the bond between a boy and his maps."

Will snorted. Just as his first mate opened his mouth with what was no doubt a smart quip on the tip of his tongue, an earth-shattering boom cut through the air, and their ship lurched to the side with an almighty crack of splintering wood. If Merlin hadn't spent most of his life at sea, he would have gone toppling into the water.

He saw Will stumble and grip the rail as he regained his own footing

"That was cannon fire! We've been hit, Captain!" Freya called from the upper deck. She wrenched the wheel sideways just as another cannonball crashed into their rigging and sent part of it towards the deck below. It barely missed Daegal, flying out of his quarters with a bundle of crystals clutched in his hands.

He had the good sense to at least look alarmed by the near-death miss. "Where'd they come from? I was checking my seeing crystals just now, and the waters were clear. They shouldn't be here!"

"Well then, yer damn crystals are faulty!" Will answered as he ran for their own cannons.

"They are not!"

"Shut your mouths, both of you! Daegal, it's not your fault. You've never been wrong before, and I don't see why you'd start now. But I need you to get up to the crow's nest and tell us what you see. I'm going to help Freya at the wheel."

Daegal thrust his hand into the air, and a magically snapped down to hoist him effortlessly into the crow's nest.

Merlin wasted no time in getting to the helm, even having to jump a part of the now broken mizzenmast that went rolling across the deck with yet another fire from the enemy's cannons.

Freya, in all her petite glory, had her boots firmly planted while she gripped the wheel with two iron fists, desperately trying to steer the ship away from the cannon fire.

"Fancy meeting you here," she said breathlessly. Her dark hair, usually kept so meticulously cared for and tied back with a red scarf, was a mess. She blew a lock out of her face.

Merlin spared her a wry smile. "Go help Will with the cannons. I got it here."

"Aye, Captain."

Merlin took the wheel as soon as she was gone. He flexed his fingers, feeling the smooth wood, worn from use, beneath his hands. This was a feeling he was going to miss.

The boat jerked violently, and his ears rung when Will finally returned fire. That, however, was not going to be a feeling he missed.

It wasn't often they engaged in battle while out at sea. Not many ships dared touch his, whether they feared the markings of the dual swords on the sails, claiming The Avalon as one of King Cenred's fleet, or the name itself, Merlin would never know. What he did know, was that they had a reputation within Albion. They had only a crew of four and one small dragon, but they were yet to be bested by any crew, no matter the size.

"I see it! She's on our portside, not all that far out. But she's massive! I'd say she's 150 feet at least," Daegal called from the lookout. Merlin didn't have to look up to know he was using his trusty telescope, studded with rubies and made of pure gold. He'd pinched it off another pirate in a tavern on their maiden voyage as a crew, and it'd been his lucky charm ever since.

There was another muffled boom and an earsplitting crack. But this time, Merlin heard Daegal scream as the entire crow's nest collapsed, and suddenly his navigator was hurtling towards the waves.

Merlin couldn't even cry out to him before something small and white whizzed by his head. It slammed into Daegal with enough force to knock him back on to the ship midair, and they both went tumbling.

Aithusa slid across the slick boards with nails scraping towards the fallen boy. Daegal was curled on his side, breathing heavily, one arm clenched tightly to his stomach. Aithusa nudged him and chirped nervously.

"Get him out of the line of fire, Aithusa! You did good, girl!" Merlin shouted over the cacophony of cannon fire from both sides. Thankfully, he had raised Aithusa since she'd been in an egg, and she obeyed him blindly because, along with his magic, his dragonlord powers were out of the question.

She chirped again in acknowledgment and took Daegal's sleeve in her mouth. With all the power in her little body, she began to drag him behind the stairs leading to the quarter deck. Daegal groaned with pain.

Freya swung from one of the only ropes still attached to the rigging and landed solidly next to Merlin. "It's a mess up there. The ship's already repairing herself, but it's not going to do any good. They're right on top of us now, even with Will having taken out half their masts. I've never seen a ship so powerful before, and this one's bloody fueled by magic."

Merlin ducked, narrowly avoiding decapitation from a rope whipping through the air. He worried his bottom lip. "Well, this wasn't exactly how I expected my last voyage to go." He looked Freya dead in the eye. "Let them board."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

It was at that moment a mass of hooks flew over the rail and attached themselves to the ship. Merlin now had a plain-as-day view of the hulking ship slowly drifting towards his own. The words Dragon Slayer were carved into the wood.

Well, shit.

Now he knew why the ship was so powerful. It was the only ship he feared the day his crew came upon it. The Dragon Slayer was notorious across the seas for its power and wealth. It was said to hold the deadliest crew of pirates of all time. Worse yet, the golden dragons on its sails marked it as part of Uther Pendragon's, King of Camelot, fleet. The kingdom he hated almost as much as Essetir.

It was rumored to even use the magic its kingdom despised so much as a cloaking device. That would be why Daegal hadn't seen it approaching. Magic against magic.

A gangplank slammed down in the space where part of the railing had been blown away and the ship was yet to repair it. Will, albeit reluctantly, abandoned the cannons and joined Freya and Merlin at the helm with two mighty leaps. Aithusa roared and hunched protectively over the still-injured Daegal.

There was movement on the gangplank and soon an entire horde of pirates stood on their deck.

Will and Freya drew their cutlasses and jumped the railing to the deck below.

After that, everything was chaos. Merlin could barely see who was fighting who. He himself had never been an expert on swordsmanship, but he joined the fray right alongside his crew. Even Daegal, with one arm hanging limply at an odd angle, was fighting, sword in his good hand. Aithusa flew overhead, divebombing the opposing pirates and blowing fire in their face or biting at their hands every chance she got.

Still, the fight was not equal. Never had Merlin wished for a bigger crew. Yet again, never had they been so blatantly attacked.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Will in a fight with a guy twice his size who had no shirt sleeves and another with long wavy hair who kept chattering and cheering on his crew mates like the entire ordeal was giving him a buzz. Daegal was just in front of him taking on two more, one with olive skin, short hair, and a surprisingly kind face and the other with curls. They had undoubtedly targeted Daegal because of his injury, yet they were the ones having to hold their own. Merlin felt pride for his crew swell in his chest. He turned his attention back to the dark-skinned man in front of him as he lunged and managed to graze his opponent's bicep.

Freya was locked into a dangerous dance with two other women, one darker-skinned much like the man Merlin was fighting, the other pale with ink-black hair. It looked to be a well-matched fight.

One of Daegal's opponents managed to get the drop on him by grabbing his broken arm. He screamed and released his cutlass, collapsing to the deck. The one with short hair kicked the sword away and shoved Daegal to his knees. Daegal struggled, but it was no use. With both men pinning him, he didn't have a chance.

Aithusa streaked towards them and went to slam into them, but the one with curls batted her away easily. She went soaring across the deck and hit the door to Will's quarters where she fell and laid, unmoving.

Merlin saw red. Not only had these people attacked his ship on his last voyage and hurt one of his crewmates, but now they had hurt his dragon. No one touched her and got away with it. She was one of the last happy things he had in his life, and he loved her dearly.

Merlin planted a solid foot on his opponent's chest and kicked, sending him to his back. He went to stab down and end the guy's miserable life once and for all but missed when Freya cried out.

She was flung down next to Daegal by the black-haired girl, blood soaking her breeches. Will roared with anger and brought his own cutlass down clean on his big opponent's exposed arm. Blood blossomed to the surface and trailed down his skin.

Merlin barely managed to jump as the man he'd knocked to the ground rolled and tried to take him out behind the knees. He leapt to Will's side, and they stood back-to-back as the three others surrounded them. Somehow, in a matter of minutes, the battle they had seemed to be winning, or at the very least holding off, had gone to hell.

Will backed up to the rail and waited until the rowdy one went in for a strike. He twisted just out his reach at the last possible second and catapulted himself off the rail, slamming the hilt of his sword into the side of the mans face. He crumpled on the spot.

Meanwhile, Merlin parried an attack from his original opponent and twisting just right, managed to knock the sword out of his grip. Merlin plucked the stray weapon out of the air and twirled them both before launching his new one towards the big guy's chest. The big guy ducked easily but didn't manage to get ahold of the flying sword before it took a dive over the side. At least Merlin had disarmed one.

"That's enough of that," a voice said. Merlin's head whipped up as the entire fight froze. The big one took the opportunity to grab Will and trap him in a chokehold. He threw Will's sword into the sea.

Standing with a sword in each hand and held at Freya and Daegal's throats, stood a young blonde man who could only be one person.

Arthur Pendragon. The son of Uther, Prince of Camelot, and the captain of The Dragon Slayer.

No one dared to move. Even Will, who had been struggling valiantly against his captor, ceased his movement. Merlin had no idea why Arthur hadn't joined the initial fight; he was notorious for his love of battle, after all. But regardless of where he had come from, he now held the outcome in his hands.

"What's the matter, Captain? Scared of a little fight?" Arthur asked, an arrogant smirk on his face.

Merlin glared. "I could ask the same of you. I saw you letting your men take all the blows."

Arthur tightened his hold on his swords just enough for it to be a threat. A thin cut appeared on Freya's neck, but she stoically stared forward. A tough girl, that one. One of the many reasons she was on Merlin's crew.

"You're either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid, so let me make this clear for you. I'm in control now," Arthur said.

Merlin swallowed hard. An idea was nagging at the back of his mind, one he hadn't dared entertain before. Up until that moment, he hadn't thought it necessary or worth the damage to his own health. He had thought they were winning, that they would win.

But now his crew, his family, had been threatened. And he was not about to let them take his ship, not the night before his life pretty much ended. It was all he had left of his kingdom.

Merlin jutted out his chin and stood up straighter. Arthur looked almost amused. "No, let me make this clear for you. I'm in control here. You will let us, our ship, and all of our belongings go, or you will face the consequences."

"Merlin, Cap, don't…" Will said suspiciously, a warning clear as day in his voice. He knew what Merlin was planning, good old Will, and he didn't like it.

Good. He didn't have to like it. That was why Merlin was captain.

Arthur laughed, actually laughed, at him. "What could you possibly do to me, Merlin? The way I see it, we've got you pinned. There's no getting out of this one." And the cocky bastard winked at Merlin.

Well, that just wasn't going to fly.

Merlin clenched his fists at his side and closed his eyes, hyper-aware of all the gazes on him. When he looked up, they were blazing gold. He held out his hand and cried an ancient word of magic, hoping against hope that it would be enough.

It was not. The blast of magic he had targeted at Arthur, which usually would have been enough to send him halfway back to his own kingdom, barely made it from Merlin's hand before it snapped back into him like a whip. He was slammed backwards into the deck and screamed as the pure magic burnt through his veins. His vision went white, and his ears roared with the sound of his own blood. All he was aware of was pain, pain, pain. He was sure he was flailing, but he couldn't bring himself to care, not when he was even more sure he was being burnt from the inside out.

He must have blacked out for a moment, because when he came to, he heard his crew crying out for him with fear. They had only seen the affects of his imprisonment a handful of times, but each time they were just as worried as the last.

Vaguely, he heard Arthur. "He's a sorcerer! We're taking him with us. His head will make a fine prize to my father. Leave the rest, they can't go far in their state."

Merlin tried to fight as a pair of hands lifted him into the air, but he was too weak. He couldn't abandon his crew. He couldn't let them suffer Cenred's wrath when they inevitably showed back up at his port without Merlin.

But he was in pain. He was exhausted and sick, and the darkness just looked so nice.

He slipped back under.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke to yelling.

Granted, it wasn't the first time, not by far, but usually it was directed at him.

This time, he had the distinct feeling it was not.

"-can't keep him here like some sort of caged animal!" A woman's voice shouted. She sounded angry. No, she sounded furious.

"It's not like I'm keeping him for a pet, Morgana! I'm taking him back to my father," Arthur shouted back, more annoyed than angry. Merlin blinked sluggishly, finding himself lying on an old wooden floor.

Arthur.

With sudden clarity, the memories of the events that had transpired on his ship assaulted him until he was forced to close his eyes once more to quell the dull throbbing in his temples.

"Oh, because taking him to your father is so much better! It'd be more humane to toss him over the side and let the sharks have at him," the other voice hissed back. It was clear neither person was making any attempt to keep their conversation private.

Merlin finally dared to open his eyes a sliver, this time focusing more on his surroundings. Directly in front of him were iron bars. That was no surprise. No doubt he was in The Dragon Slayer's brig, the gentle rocking of the ship on the waves only worked to further support his conclusion.

If he was a betting man (and he was, who else had taught Daegal to hustle dice), he would bet the bars were not only made of iron, but specifically cold iron. Even with the reins on his own magic, it usually still buzzed just beneath his skin, tauntingly so but a familiar comfort, nonetheless. Now, his skin felt cold to the touch, like all the warmth had been sucked away. The feeling was undeniable. He was an old acquaintance with cold iron. Thank the gods they hadn't put him in cold iron chains, only blocked his magic from leaving his body with the bars. He would have probably bit the dust already if not for the small miracle.

Maybe there was an immortal being out there that still cared for his well-being to some extent.

On the other side of his new humble abode, he found the source of the argument almost instantaneously. Arthur and the black-haired girl from the ship, Morgana, apparently, were standing barely an arm's reach away having a proper shouting match over his unconscious body. Unfortunately, it was not the first time he'd woken to almost that exact scene, minus the other participant in the argument.

"What would you have expected me to tell my father? That we saw the famous Avalon, but just waved a friendly 'hello' as we sailed on by? That we didn't even try to apprehend its bloody captain?" Arthur practically growled. His voice had gone from annoyed to bordering on livid in a matter of seconds. "Do you even know what he'd do to me?"

"You could have ignored it. None of your men would have told, you know that. This is wrong, Arthur! The ship wasn't bothering anyone. It never bothers anyone; the entire pirate world knows that. But we near bloody lost because you know its reputation, but you still let your pride stand in the way as usual. He only used his magic to defend his ship and its crew, no different than you defending yours with a sword. He simply utilized a tool he had, and it's not like it even worked anyhow. Something is clearly wrong with him or his magic. You saw the same thing I did; you shouldn't have taken him. He's so young! I'd say he's barely a man. He needs medical attention; he's clearly ill. Look at him, Arthur!"

Merlin slammed his eyes shut at the last second, hoping he hadn't been caught eavesdropping on the conversation, even if calling it a conversation was being generous.

He had no clue if Arthur looked over or not, but when he did speak again, his voice was eerily soft. "If King Cenred pays the ransom, my father will not kill him. Clearly, Cenred thinks highly of him, or he wouldn't have his own ship."

Merlin internally cringed and tried not to let it show on his face to give himself away.

"So, that's what this is about? The money? You won't stop the senseless murder of an innocent because of the money? I agreed to be on your crew, Arthur, when I thought we'd only be taking care of people who were actual criminals. I never signed up for this!"

"Then bloody leave, Morgana! No one's stopping you! He's a damn sorcerer, that's his crime! I don't care that you're a magic user too and that you feel some sort of self-righteous protection towards all other magic users because of it. I only protect your secret from my father because you're my sister, and for some unknown reason, I trust you. If Cenred doesn't pay the ransom, my father will kill him, plain and simple." Was that remorse in his voice? No, it couldn't be. Merlin was still woozy anyhow. He was hearing things.

He stoically ignored the fact that they were blatantly talking about his execution not five feet from him. It certainly wasn't the first time he'd faced a threat against his own life.

A silence as bitingly cold as Merlin's own skin followed. "At least have Gaius check him out. He knows more about magic than any of us," Morgana insisted.

Oh gods, he knew that name! Gaius. He knew Gaius, had known him for as long as he could remember. He'd been his parents’ Court Physician in Ealdor before…that night. He'd been like a second father to him growing up. He'd thought him to be dead, just like everyone else from the kingdom.

Merlin cautiously opened his eyes once more. He watched as Morgana stormed towards the staircase that probably led to the upper deck, boots clicking sharply on the wood. She made it about halfway before she abruptly turned on her heel and set Arthur with a hard look.

"You know, some days I wonder whether it's your pride or your cowardice that smothers your compassion more." And then she left without another glance back.

Arthur was left standing in the midst of the dimly lit brig. He clenched his fists tightly at his sides. Suddenly, he lashed out, kicking a broken barrel with a cry of frustration, sending it flying into the wall where it exploded in a cloud of moldy wood chips. Merlin tried not to flinch.

He figured it was time he made his wakefulness known. He shifted to the side, choking back a groan as his temples throbbed with a vengeance. Slowly, he pushed himself off the floor and into a seated position.

"Glad you're awake. I thought your lazy arse was going to sleep the entire trip back to Camelot," Arthur said. He still sounded irritated, but also slightly exhausted.

Merlin couldn't help the flame of anger that lit inside him. "That's what happens when idiotic prats try to take over your ship."

Arthur huffed. "You cannot and you will not address me like that."

"I'll address you however I damn well please."

Arthur was suddenly right outside his cell. "You're in no position to speak. I'm not the one behind bars."

"Ooh, what are you going to do, kidnap me again?" Merlin asked, smirking with triumph when Arthur's face turned blood red.

"I'd watch your tongue, or I'll cut it from your mouth."

Merlin's smirk grew even wider. "Do with me what you please. My fiancé will come for me, and you will regret the day you dared to take me prisoner." It didn't matter if he'd only come to make sure such a powerful tool wasn't taken from his hold or that Merlin didn't betray any of his secrets. He'd come for him, nonetheless.

And boy would Merlin pay the price for it when he did. He shuddered at the thought.

"Let your little fiancé come, sorcerer. I will slaughter them in front of you if I must. One way or another, I'm taking you to my father. We will get our money from King Cenred in coin or flesh."

There was no need to tell Arthur that his fiancé and King Cenred were one in the same or that Cenred would not be paying any ransom whatsoever. Best to keep both bits of information to himself, lest he anger the asshole even more.

It wasn't like Merlin even wanted to go back to Cenred. He wasn't some weak, frail thing that needed protecting, and he certainly did not want to go back to that pig. He could handle himself just fine. It was just that he really didn't want to stay on Arthur's ship, either.

Both options would eventually spell death for him, though one much sooner than the other.

"Just try to touch me. You'll be sorry you did."

Arthur snorted, quirking an eyebrow and looking him up and down judgmentally. "I could take you apart with one blow."

Merlin gritted his teeth. "I could take you apart with less than that."

"I'd like to see you try. Your magic is messed up as it is, and besides, I take precautions. You think you're the first sorcerer to grace these cells with your presence? Those bars are made of cold iron. No magic of any sort is getting in or out."

So, Merlin had been right in his assumption that the bars were made of cold iron.

"Well, at least you did one smart thing. Maybe your head isn't completely filled with sawdust after all."

Arthur just sneered. "Do shut your mouth. You should be bloody thankful I'm allowing our physician to check you over. I can't deliver damaged goods to my father, anyhow." And with that, he was gone, storming off just like his sister. Maybe tempers ran in the family.

Was that really all he was to people? Goods to be traded for money and power, all because he'd been born with something out of his control? He'd long ago accepted that Cenred would never view him as another human, let alone an equal, but was the world really so cruel that everyone would see him so? Even Arthur, whom he was meeting for the first time in his entire life, seemed to view him as nothing more than a means to an end.

Not that he cared what Arthur Pendragon thought of him. He hoped the cocky git fell on his own sword.

At least his sister didn't seem so bad. At the very least, she didn't seem to want to see him die. He could possibly use that to his advantage if he hoped to escape the blasted ship alive and return to his own crew before Cenred had to get involved.

Merlin grumbled. Now that he was well and truly up, he could see everything there was to his new little home. There wasn't much.

The cell, while not nearly the smallest he'd ever found himself in, was still small in comparison to his quarters back on The Avalon. The floor was made of warped old boards, black and slippery from the constant sea mist and condensation. He was in the corner cell, so two sides consisted of solid wood, much in the same state as the floor, the other two made of the cold iron bars.

Merlin shuffled farther into the corner, keeping a safe distance from the metal.

There was absolutely nothing else in the cell. Fantastic. Merlin shivered involuntarily, even being as far from the metal as possible, he could still feel its chilling effects.

The stairs creaked, and Merlin's head snapped up, pressing his back into the wall and holding his hand out on instinct. That was, until he saw the familiar long, white hair, modest robes, and gait of his mentor and second father.

"Gaius!" He cried, scrambling up from the ground despite how the world spun as he did so.

"Shh," Gaius hissed, limping his way towards Merlin. "They can't find out we know each other, or they won't let me see you." He smiled kindly, and Merlin felt himself on the verge of tears. "I'm so glad to see you again, my boy."

"As am I. Oh, Gaius, all this time, I never knew what happened to you!" Merlin felt a tear trickle down his cheek. He reached towards his mentor, only to withdraw his hands with a hiss of pain when they came too close to the bars.

Gaius fiddled with a key in the lock on the door. "Stay back from the bars, Merlin, you know what cold iron does to you."

The moment the door swung open, Merlin was holding on to Gaius with everything he had. Gaius patted his back soothingly. Merlin sobbed.

"Calm down, my boy, I'm here."

After a while, Merlin finally pulled back. Tears were shining in both their eyes. All Merlin could ask was, "How?"

"Why don't you sit down? You look like you’re about to fall over." Merlin shuffled back to the dirty floor and Gaius followed suit, though with much more groaning on his part.

"When I heard they had taken the captain of The Avalon prisoner, I immediately knew it was you. Even after all this time, I knew. You were the only one who could ever sail that ship. And then Morgana came to me asking me to check on a prisoner she thought was ill, I got here as quickly as I could without being suspicious."

Merlin stared at him in utter shock. He still couldn't believe that he was actually seeing his uncle right in front of him after thinking him dead for nearly two years, and in the brig of the Prince of Camelot's ship of all places.

"But…but how did…I thought…how did you survive that night? I thought I was the only one," Merlin spluttered. Gaius sighed tiredly and gestured towards Merlin.

"I'll tell you all in good time. But first, I need to check you over. The Lady Morgana isn't usually wrong, my boy."

Merlin allowed Gaius's hands to roam over him, breath only hitching slightly when his uncle pulled his tunic from his breeches and pushed it up. This was Gaius. He'd never harm him.

"How much have you been eating, Merlin? I can count all of your ribs just looking at you."

Not much at all. Of course, he wasn't about to say that.

"Don't worry about it," Merlin snapped and immediately felt guilty. His first time seeing Gaius in years, and he snapped at him. Shit, he was messed up.

"Sorry," he mumbled. Gaius hummed in answer, prodding at a particularly tender bruise on his chest and causing Merlin to flinch. Thankfully, his mentor seemed to sense they were bordering on a dangerous topic and made no comment.

"So, how did you end up working for His Royal Pratness?" Merlin asked.

"Merlin," Gaius chastised. "Still have the same sharp tongue, I see. Got it from your mother. But you need to be extremely careful. This place…Camelot…It's not like Ealdor." Merlin smiled weakly. Nowhere was like Ealdor. He'd learned that very quickly.

Gaius sighed. "It's a long story. All you need to know is that night, when everything happened, I was out gathering herbs. By the time I got back…it was too late. There was no one in sight; it had all happened so fast. I got to the royal chambers as quickly as I could, but your parents were already gone, and you were nowhere to be found. There was nothing I could do."

Merlin wrapped his arms around his uncle once more. "It's not your fault, Gaius. None of us could have predicted what would happen. No one believed Cenred's greed could be so great."

"Yet, I fled. I felt like a coward, but I had nothing else to do. I didn't think anyone but myself had survived. Somehow, I found myself in Camelot. Word of Ealdor's downfall had not yet spread there. I began to work as a simple healer in the lower town, but when King Uther caught wind of my ability, he made me his Court Physician." Gaius looked around the brig. "Now, I sail with his son to make sure him and his crew get all the proper medical treatments. And to make sure the prince doesn't do anything completely stupid. Your turn. What happened to you that night? You were nowhere to be found."

Merlin shut his eyes softly, locking the memories into the deepest, darkest parts of his mind with practiced ease. He swallowed hard. "Don't worry about it, Gaius. I've been surviving."

"You know, I may have renounced magic the day I became Court Physician of Camelot, but I could still sense a dark curse even if I were half dead," Gaius said quietly after a moment, carefully not meeting his eyes as he bandaged a cut on Merlin's arm he hadn't even realized he'd acquired in the battle.

"I've no idea what you're talking about, Gaius," Merlin said coldly. Gaius looked unperturbed by his attitude.

"I've known you all your life, Merlin. I'm the one who helped your mother bring you into this world. And I know you would have been fighting with all your might to get out of here, cold iron or not. You're no ordinary sorcerer. We both know you would have never allowed yourself to get captured in the first place, if you had full control of your magic. I agree with the Lady Morgana. You practically look like a walking corpse. I'm not going to force you to tell me what's happened to you these last two years, or even what happened to you that night, but I can feel the dark magic gripping on to you, Merlin." Gaius patted his cheek softly. "You know you can tell me anything, even after all this time, right?"

Merlin gazed at the floor where his hand laid in a sharp contrast against the dark wood, all bony fingers and translucent skin. "I know, Gaius," he whispered.

"Well, then I think it's time my examination ends before someone comes down to check on us. Even with your weakened state, they're suspicious of everything." When Merlin gripped on to his hand like a lifeline, silently begging him not to leave, Gaius looked at his nephew sympathetically.

"I'll be back soon. I do believe your condition needs daily monitoring," he said with a small smile like he was sharing a secret with Merlin. Merlin couldn't help but smile back.

Gaius reached into his bag and pulled out a blanket that, while no means was the nicest one Merlin had ever seen, made his body shiver with anticipation anyhow. Gaius wrapped it around his shoulders and Merlin wanted to cry with joy as he pulled it tighter around his shaking body.

"Thank you," Merlin said reverently.

"Of course, my boy." Gaius turned to leave. "Oh, and Merlin, do please try to control yourself. I know how you are. Things here aren't all as they seem. Not everyone on this ship is like Uther," he said vaguely.

Before Merlin could even attempt to decode his words, Gaius was locking the cell behind him and walking away, letting something slip from his fingers. It clattered against the floorboards, just inside the bars.

It was the key to his cell.

Chapter Text

In theory, getting the key to his cell should not have been difficult.

Alas, here he was, stalking around his cell like a lion on the prowl while keeping a safe distance from the bars, eyeing the key like it might magically fly to his hand if he death-glared at it enough.

He couldn't very well blame Gaius for not getting the key closer. He'd already undoubtedly risked his life by dropping it for him in the first place. Still, a little nasty voice in the back of his head was resenting Gaius for not thinking about his particular issue with cold iron.

But he needed that key. So much that it physically hurt.

"Oh, screw my life," he muttered before diving for the key. He figured getting the pain over quickly was the best option.

He snatched the key, ignoring the way it burnt like a hot coal against his palm and choked back a cry when his shoulder met one of the bars. He stumbled back to his corner and dropped the key as quickly as he could. He barely flinched at the clatter of the key on the floorboards.

With one shaking hand, he slipped out of his brown coat and undid the ties on his tunic, sliding it off his shoulder. Already, black veins were curling up his arms from the spot where his shoulder had met the bars. His hand was in a similar state, the black veins encircling his wrist like some sort of demented bracelet. With another shaky breath, he shoved the key into the pocket of his discarded coat as quickly as he could, still gasping in pain, and kicked it as far across the cell as possible. He pulled the blanket Gaius had given him tighter around himself, already missing the warmth of his coat. His entire body ached and burned. He shivered. He felt ill.

The rest of the day passed achingly slowly.

At first, he'd tried to occupy himself with plans of how he was going to make his daring escape. But eventually, he had resigned himself to the fact that there were simply too many variables and unknowns for him to count on a solid plan. He'd just have to wing it.

After that, he'd tried to sleep but quickly figured out that he was simply too miserable to do so. Not to mention, he'd been trying his best to ignore the suspiciously dark stains on the floorboards. He wouldn't be laying on the floor unless they knocked him unconscious again.

It was more due to his own stubbornness than anything else. The gods knew he'd slept in worse places.

A boy he hadn't seen yet with short brown hair and an air of aloofness that immediately pissed Merlin off brought down a tray consisting of a cup of water, a piece of stale bread, and a bowl with some sort of weak broth that smelled nauseatingly like fish. Merlin gagged and drank the water, pushing the rest as far away as he possibly could. Even the plain drink made his stomach roll uncomfortably.

Finally, after what felt like forever in his tiny prison, Merlin heard a commotion coming from just the other side of the wall. Voices, loud and unruly, flooded into the brig. Merlin smiled to himself. That would be the crew retiring for the night.

Most likely, there would be two night guards up top considering the size of the deck. Merlin's only plan was to get past them. From there, he would have to make it up as he went.

By the time he managed to talk himself up and gained the courage to grab the key and jam it into the lock on the other side, he was sure the crew would all be asleep. He barely managed to snag the lock before it clattered to the floor and place it somewhat quietly on the floor. His vision turned white for a moment, and he collapsed against the wall just outside his cell.

Somehow, he managed to stumble his way up to the main deck, all the while clutching his shaking hands to his chest, still burning as if they'd been dipped in acid and mottled a horrifying collage of blacks, greens, and purples.

The moment the fresh sea air hit Merlin, it felt like coming home. His entire life, he'd been raised on the sea as Prince of Ealdor. His happiest memories with his parents were out on the open waves. His parents' kingdom had long been known for its connection with the ocean and all its inhabitants. There was much magic to be found in its depths, magic that only their people had ever been able to touch.

His moment of bliss was shattered by the sound of heavy footsteps. Quickly, Merlin pressed himself up against the stairs leading to the quarterdeck. He held his breath and listened carefully, fearing the thumping of his own heart might give him away.

Finally, whichever guard Merlin had alerted with his dragon-worthy noise making, seemed to put it down as a figment of their imagination and moved along.

Merlin released a shaky breath.

He crept out from his spot and somewhat blindly navigated the deck. The moon had just begun a fresh cycle, so visibility was next to none. Even with the thousands of stars he had so obsessively studied dotting the sky, Merlin couldn't see much. Not for the first time, he longed to use his magic and summon the little blue ball of light he had nearly every night in his youth to chase away the darkness.

He eventually made it to the main mast and spotted the rowboat just across the deck. The only problem was the guard standing right in front of it, though it wasn't one Merlin remembered seeing from the fight, even if the night made it difficult to tell.

He felt the weight of the key in his coat pocket, taunting him like a sweet to a child. With a sigh of utter resignation, he took it in his hands despite the searing heat and sent it flying across the deck where it clattered against the boards. The guard jumped, startled, and grabbed his cutlass from his belt to check out the commotion.

Merlin rolled his eyes. None of his crew would ever fall for such a simple-minded trick.

The simple-minded trick, however, provided him with the opening he needed to race for the rowboat and begin fumbling with the ties. They were still far from land, he could feel it, but he'd make it.

By the time he got the ropes securing the boat to the side of the ship undone, he was drenched with sweat and shaking with pain. His hands burned awfully, sending bolts of agony up both of his arms and down the shoulder he'd accidentally slammed into the bars earlier. His head was pounding, and his vision was blurry, not to mention his magic, which was already not his own, was retreating into him and making him feel light-headed. It wasn't the first time he'd felt the effects of cold iron on his body, but that didn't mean it was a feeling one ever got used to.

He had just reached for the rope to lower the rowboat to the water below when he felt the tip of a blade pressing into the back of his neck, cold and sharp.

He froze.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Arthur asked. Merlin gritted his teeth. Of course, it was Arthur. Just his damn luck.

"Thought I'd check the tie-ups on your rowboat, save you all the trouble. They're quite shabby, if I do say so myself. What would you do if your crew needed to make a quick escape? They'd be liable to fall to their deaths. Only a complete dollophead of a captain would keep it in such a state," Merlin couldn't help but snark.

The warlock felt the cold steel press harder into his skin. "What did you just call me?"

"A dollophead. You know, rhymes with Prince Arthur."

"And here I was, daring to think you weren't a complete buffoon because you managed to escape your cell. Silly me," Arthur said. Merlin suddenly felt a hand clamp down on his thankfully uninjured shoulder and spin him around, pinning him to the rail of the ship.

"Get your damn hands off me," Merlin said through clenched teeth. Panic seized him. He did not take well to being pinned down.

"Why should I, sorcerer?" Arthur said, even as he gave Merlin one last shove and pulled away, blocking his exit with his body rather than pinning him to the spot. Merlin winced as he was jostled. Whether Arthur saw it and chose to ignore it, or it was covered under the darkness of night, it didn't matter. The blonde made no acknowledgment.

"Stop calling me that," Merlin spat.

"I'll address you however I damn well please," Arthur said, throwing his own words from earlier back in his face. Merlin glared.

But, despite how truly awful he was in every single way, Merlin couldn't help but notice how good Arthur looked, even in the meager star light. Admittedly, Arthur Pendragon was not bad to look at. But Merlin had yet to be as close to the other prince as he was right then. He immediately noticed how young he truly was, regardless of how he acted. He appeared to be only a few summers older than Merlin himself. Unlike the other two times Merlin had laid eyes on him, Arthur wore only a thin white sleep tunic, a pair of old breeches, and boots he had clearly pulled on in the dark and not bothered to tuck his bottoms into. He'd also lost his black tricorn, giving Merlin a full view of his windswept golden hair.

"Were you sleepwalking, Sire?" Merlin asked.

"Couldn't sleep to begin with, not that it's any business to you. I thought I'd take a stroll and check up on my guards. Good thing I did, too. Can't let something as valuable as you slip away."

That comment absolutely did not sting.

Arthur's hand travelled down his coat, patting the fabric as he went. Merlin smirked. "If you wanted to feel me up, you could have just asked nicely."

"Please, don't insult me. If I wanted a quick shag, you wouldn't even be a candidate. Not when I can get one who knows when to keep their mouth shut for less effort on my part."

"Oh, come on. A night with me would be truly…" Merlin couldn't stop himself, "…magical."

And just like that, Arthur pulled away, acting as if he'd been burnt. "Must all you sorcerer's gloat your evil prowess?"

"Must all you supercilious royals think you're the only ones who ever do anything right?" Merlin countered. "Magic's a beautiful and wondrous thing. It is the user who makes it evil."

Arthur made a face as if he'd tasted something particularly foul. "Where's the key? Nicked it off of Gaius, I suspect."

"Used it to distract your guard. Quite thick, aren't they?"

"Well, will wonders never cease. You've got a brain in there after all. I'm surprised you thought of that."

"I'm an enigma, truly."

Arthur grabbed his elbow and began to drag him back towards the brig. Had he been in his right mind, he probably would have planted his feet and tried to stop his movement, fought to get away, something. As it was, he was quite distracted by trying not to throw up as pain radiated from his arm and the bruising grip Arthur had on it.

Arthur dragged him down the stairs until he once more found himself inside his cell, being flung to the floor and collapsing in a tired heap. His failed escapade had taken quite a toll.

"Home sweet home," Arthur said cheerily, locking the door with a key off his own ring. He leaned in, pressing his face into the bars. "Don't try that again, or it'll be nothing but your head I'm returning to this cell."

He made to walk away, but Merlin called out to him.

"If you're so keen on making heads roll, tell me why you weren't there during the battle for my ship?"

Arthur froze mid-stride. His back was to Merlin, but the warlock could clearly see the way Arthur's fists clenched at his sides.

"If you're so keen on escaping, what's wrong with your magic that prevents you from using it?"

Now, it was Merlin's turn to clench his fists. He stared a hole in the floor but remained silent.

Arthur turned and watched him with tired eyes. "Well then, it seems we're both keeping secrets, hmm, Merlin?" He disappeared back up top. Merlin barely felt the tear run down his cheek.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Merlin woke, not even having realized he had fallen asleep in the first place, to a man watching him from across the brig.

Merlin eyed the man warily but made no attempt to move from his corner where he had managed to drag himself after Arthur had caught him. He immediately recognized his audience as the rowdy man who had seemed to enjoy the melee on The Avalon just a bit more than the others. He had shoulder-length locks of curly brown hair topped with an obnoxiously red tricorn, the very beginnings of a roguish beard, and brown eyes. He had a wicked cut on his temple from where Will had knocked him out. Almost immediately, Merlin noticed the multiple flasks tied to his belt.

"What do you want?" Merlin snapped. The man smiled, not unkindly. More mischievous. His eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Seems the Captain gave me first shift as your new guard detail."

Merlin huffed. Damn it. Now, he'd have some asshole Prince Prat appointed watching him at all hours of the day. His life was wonderful. "Ah, so I have a zookeeper now, do I?"

The man threw back his head and laughed. It was a strangely warm sound, full-bellied and genuinely joyous, like he had nothing to worry about in life, like there was nowhere else he'd rather be than the bleak, dirty brig. It bounced off the walls and swelled to life until even Merlin couldn't help but smile minutely, it was just that infectious.

"You're a funny little thing, aren't ya? Troublesome, too, from what I hear. Got yourself in a right nasty situation with the Captain last night." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "But between you and me, he needs a bit of a challenge. Spends too much time tryin' to please that father of his. Plus, he didn't seem all that upset when he sent me down here, so I think you're safe for now." He winked.

"What he needs is a good kick to the head. Preferably multiple times," Merlin said. Again, the man laughed, stepping forward until he was well within Merlin's reach if the warlock felt like sticking his hands through the bars and torturing himself some more.

Which, he didn't.

"Yeah, might knock the stick out of his ass while you were at it too." He glanced back towards the stairs. "But really, the Princess isn't all that bad. I know you got no reason to trust me, but I swear it on my life. You just need to get to know him."

Merlin burst out laughing, and only stopped when his entire body began to ache, reminding him of his current state. "Yeah, that's likely. He can't bloody stand me, and the feeling's mutual, you can trust me on that."

The man's eyes shone with something Merlin couldn't decipher, nor did he have the energy to. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," he said, strangely serious.

It was awkwardly silent for a moment. "I'm Gwaine, by the way."

"Merlin."

"I already knew that, mate."

"So, I'm your 'mate' now?" Merlin asked, a perfect mixture of disbelief, awe, and annoyance.

This man was almost a bigger puzzle than Arthur himself. He could not for the life of him figure Gwaine out. He seemed completely at ease around him, not even the least bit uneasy. Most people were either too terrified, too disgusted, or a mixture of both to be in the same room as him. Yet, here was Gwaine, talking to him as if they were old tavern chaps. He was willingly standing within Merlin's reach from his cell, and he didn't even know Merlin couldn't reach him because of the iron. The sorcerer just didn't understand. He hadn't been treated with such trust like he actually meant something, like he was an equal, since before Cenred ever destroyed Ealdor. It was frightening.

But it also felt strangely good. It made Merlin's soul ache. He thought he had gotten used to his life. He had gotten used to it, accepted it even. He wasn't going to let one miniscule taste of how it used to be based purely on assumption hurt him more than he already was.

Gwaine shrugged. "Why not? Never had many mates myself. I never stayed in one place long enough, not until I met the Princess, at least. I saved his life in a tavern once, you know? That's how I got the job. He ran his mouth, and let me tell ya, a bunch of old drunkards don't appreciate that much." Gwaine laughed. "He might be the best swordsman I've ever met, but he's got nothin' on me in a good old-fashioned brawl."

Merlin laughed softly. He couldn't help himself. This was the first time he'd been able to ignore how awful he felt since he had stepped foot on the ship, both physically and emotionally.

"How about you? Do you drink much, Merls?" Merlin's heart stuttered. No one had called him Merls since…no one had ever called him Merls.

He didn't think he hated it.

"Not much. Though I'm not opposed to a good tankard of mead or rum once in a while."

Gwaine patted one of the multiple flasks on his belt mournfully. "Aww, what a loss for you. You don't know what you're missing."

"Oh, I'm sure I do." Merlin had seen Cenred drunk plenty of times. It never ended well for him.

The warlock was quiet for a moment while Gwaine took a swig from one of his flasks. "Why're you acting like I'm your friend? I'm a sorcerer, remember? Evil. You guys are the ones who kidnapped me."

Gwaine made a disgusted face. "I never believed that. Magic or not, we're all just people at the end of the day, right? I don't support Uther's beliefs, but I work for Arthur because I know he'll be different. Arthur will change Camelot. It's why most of us work for him. We can all see the kind of king Arthur will become." Gwaine crossed his arms and smirked. "Sorry about the kidnapping bit, by the way. We tried to talk the Princess out of the entire ordeal, but he's as stubborn as a mule when he wants to be. He wouldn't hear of it."

"As long as we're giving out apologies, sorry about the head wound."

Gwaine waved him off. "It's nothing. I've had worse tripping down the gangplank." He watched him carefully. "I really do mean what I said, you know."

"How do I know you're not lying? How do I know Prince Arthur didn't put you up to this? Gain my trust and then screw me over when my back's turned."

Gwaine stared at him like he had two heads. "Well, that would just be a sick thing to do to someone I barely even know. Who hurt you?" He burst out laughing like it was all one big joke.

Merlin didn't even bother to hide his flinch.

"At any rate, you're stuck with me, at least for a while," Gwaine said, making himself comfortable on the floor right outside Merlin's cell.

He supposed there were worse people to keep company with.

The rest of the day passed much as the first had, aside from Gwaine's constant and nearly completely inane chatter. And Merlin was told he talked a lot.

Gaius came down to check over him again, only shaking his head silently with disapproval as he wrapped up the wounds the cold iron had left on his skin. He gave Merlin a tonic for the nausea and left a poultice of pain relief for him to press against the worst of his wounds. He appreciated the effort more than he could ever express, but neither worked. Nothing ever did.

The same boy as the day before (George, the cabin boy, as he learned from Gwaine) came down to bring him his daily meal of water, stale bread, and weak broth.

Other than that, there was nothing for him to do but doze into a fitful sleep and half-heartedly answer Gwaine whenever it seemed the other man's ramblings required acknowledgement. Not even the Royal Ass himself bothered to come down and piss the warlock off with his mere presence.

It was quite maddening.

At some point, Gwaine's shift ended, and he switched with the giant man Will had fought on the ship. Percival, as a seemingly ever-helpful Gwaine introduced him.

He was nothing like Gwaine. He was quiet and stoic. He sat across the room and gazed around like he'd never seen a brig before. Despite his size, he moved with the precision and grace of a well-trained fighter, light footfalls barely discernable on the floorboards over the creaking of the ship.

On the plus side, he wasn't harsh, not by a long shot. For all his intimidating nature, he had soft eyes and a kind smile which he offered to Merlin once after he woke from a nightmare, shivering and disoriented. He didn't attempt to come any closer, but he also didn't shy away from Merlin like he feared him or was repulsed by him. It was almost like he was trying to give him his own space, or as much space as he could get in a cell barely the size of a cupboard.

After Percival had been on duty for a while, the hatch to the brig finally opened and one of the last people he ever expected to be visiting him made her way down the stairs.

Morgana was looking just as radiant as the first time Merlin had seen her in an emerald green corset with black breeches and a black undershirt. Unlike most pirates, she wore no hat, only letting her black hair flow down her back and be held in place by nothing but a golden circlet. Not practical for a fighter, but beautiful all the same. One would never mistake her for anything but a fighter though, with the way she walked like she was the captain and the deadly cutlass strapped to her waist.

Morgana nodded towards Percival and unlocked Merlin's cell with a key from her pocket. Merlin held his breath, tracking her movement with nothing but his eyes, as she turned to face him, not even bothering to lock the door behind her.

Why she of all people was there, he had no clue whatsoever.

And he was slightly terrified to find out. At least he mostly knew what to expect from Arthur by now. Morgana was an entirely different story. He'd barely even laid eyes on her, let alone spoken a word to her.

So, of course, the very last thing he expected her to do was collapse to her knees in front of him and bow her head, shoulders shaking with muffled sobs.

Merlin's mouth dropped open, and he gaped. He was utterly speechless. He had no idea what had come over the Lady. The last time someone had dropped to their knees in front of him for another reason other than to take his clothing measurements had been when he was still Prince of Ealdor. And now, to have who was essentially a stranger and who knew nothing of his status, formerly or presently, doing so was mind boggling. He could not, for the life of him, summon even a single word to his tongue.

"Please, forgive me, your majesty," she whispered softly so only Merlin could hear.

And hear he did. Because the warlock nearly choked on his air at the honorific. How could she, of all people, possibly know? And if she knew, had she told Arthur?

Finally, he managed to stutter out, "M-majesty?"

Morgana gazed at him with watery emerald eyes. She looked devastated. "I aided in your capture. If I had known it was you on that ship…Gaius only just told me…" She trailed off as a tear snaked down her cheek.

Merlin was pretty sure he was in shock. He was beyond confused at the turn of events. "Told you what, exactly?"

"That you're Prince Merlin, the Prince Merlin of Ealdor!" She whisper-shouted like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Merlin really did choke on his own air then. No one but Cenred's closest councilmen knew of his past.

That in itself was terrifying enough to cause Merlin to lean away from her. What if she was one of Cenred's spies? He had them everywhere. He wouldn't even be surprised if the Lady Morgana turned out to be one. If he told her anything, he'd be dead the moment Cenred got him back in his clutches.

He would, too. There was no doubt in his mind Cenred would get him back. That wasn't anywhere near a comforting thought.

"What? Why would you possibly think that?" He demanded.

Despite the initial rush of whatever sort of respect she'd had for him, Morgana rolled her eyes. "Possibly because Gaius told me himself? He was Ealdor's Court Physician before he was ours after all."

Merlin swallowed audibly. It felt as if his brain was filled with fleece. He couldn't conjure up a single coherent thought. So much had happened in the last minute, Merlin couldn't hope to keep up.

Morgana watched him closely. "You're confused, and rightfully so. I'll explain, but I don't have much time before my watch starts and my idiotic brother figures out I'm not there. Just know, I am no foe. I'm on your side."

"How…how am I to know you aren't deceiving me?" Merlin whispered.

"My father," Morgana began, "was Gorlois."

"Gorlois!?" Merlin shouted, and Morgana hurriedly shushed him. "Gorlois?!" Merlin hissed, much quieter.

"Yes, yes, though he wasn't my biological, he's the only man I ever cared to call father. Uther is no father of mine," she said darkly.

"But how? Gorlois was my father's closest and most trusted advisor. I'd heard endless stories of all he did for Ealdor before he passed."

"I used to live in Ealdor," Morgana revealed. "We lived there until I was seven, but then my father was killed in a battle against Camelot's very own knights, and my mother, sick from her own grief, passed soon after. It was then Gaius revealed to me my true parentage, and I was sent to live in Camelot with my supposed biological father and the half-brother I never knew I had."

"Strangely enough, I never blamed my mother for the affair," she continued. "Once I got to Camelot, I understood what it was like to be lonely and want nothing more than the affection of someone else, no matter what form that affection came in. I only ever blamed her for choosing him as a bed partner of all people. I despised him; I still do despise him. He persecuted our kind; he killed my father, even if it wasn't by his own hand. He took me away from the only home I ever knew. Thankfully, by some miracle, he never realized I had magic. He never even realized I came from Ealdor and still hasn't to this day. He only ever knew my mother was a lady of some court, and that's all that mattered to him. He never knew I existed, not until my parents died. Arthur and the crew of this ship are the only ones who know I have magic. You know, I never hated Arthur? I mistrusted him at first, and we barely spoke, but I've grown to love him as my brother over the years, even with his many, many faults." She giggled to herself.

Merlin, once again, found himself speechless. "I'm…I'm so sorry."

She smiled at him softly. "I remember you. I don't remember much from my time in Ealdor, but I remember you. You were still wearing nappies when I left, but the day you were born is not one I will forget. The kingdom simply rejoiced, Mer-my lord," she blushed at the stumble.

Merlin also blushed. "Please, call me Merlin. I'm not a prince any longer, not since Ealdor's fall, and I won't be one, at least not for a little while longer," he added softly, gauging her reaction carefully. He didn't know why he trusted her of all people, but something inside him yearned to tell another what he was suffering through, especially when said other seemed to have suffered nearly as much as he.

"Well, Merlin, I don't know what that means, but I'm not going to pressure you to tell me if you do not wish to do so. It's clear to me you've suffered terribly." Tears gathered in her eyes once more. "I'm so sorry for what Cenred did to your parents, to your kingdom. Oh gods, he's sickening, and I've only met him a handful of times."

"You have no idea," Merlin muttered, toying with the gold band on his ring finger. Morgana glanced at it.

"I'm sorry we took you from your betrothed."

Merlin snorted self-deprecatingly. "I should probably thank you, actually."

Morgana leaned back, paying no mind to the grime caking every inch of the cell. "I said the people rejoiced the day you were born. That's because there was an ancient prophecy stating you'd be the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth and would one day restore magic to all the kingdoms, not just Ealdor."

"I'm well aware of the prophecy, Morgana." Not that he believed it to be true any longer. Sure, when he had been young and naïve and still under the gentle and nurturing care of his parents, he'd had silly daydreams about being a savior to his people.

He'd done a bloody fine job at that, hadn't he? They were all dead now, all because of him.

He couldn't even save himself.

"We could all sense your magic from the moment you were born. It was beautiful and so utterly pure. It radiated pure power and encompassed everything that made magic what it was meant to be. It was wonderful. But now, it's changed. It's muted and dark, sad and erratic like a cornered animal just beneath your skin. I've never seen magic like it now. Something's happened to you, Merlin, something awful. Gaius' is worried, too."

Merlin didn't know how to reply, but he was saved by a wave of pain that chose to course through his body at that very moment. He tensed up, shuddering with a sudden chill. He slumped back into the wall and gripped his blanket with trembling hands.

Morgana reached out to grip his hand, but he jumped back as if he'd been burnt at the contact to his damaged skin. He tucked both his hands away and shivered in pain.

"Merlin," Morgana whispered, sounding pained with tears in her voice, "What's happened to you?"

"I-it's the cold iron…makes me sick," Merlin swallowed hard and tried to remember how to breathe properly. "Hurts t-too."

Footsteps just above the brig startled them both. "Someone's coming to change shifts with Percy; he won't tell anyone, I promise. I have to go. I'm going to talk to Arthur. I'll get him to release you from the cold iron; I swear it on my parents' graves."

She hurriedly locked the cell and scrambled over to Percival where she began a seemingly completely random conversation with him about fighting tactics.

Despite the buckets of new information swirling around in his head, Merlin succumbed to exhaustion for what felt like the hundredth time in the last day before the new guard even made it to the hatch.

Chapter Text

Nearly a week later, Merlin felt the ship jerk to a halt.

It had been an awfully dull week by anyone's standards, filled with nothing but the daily visit from Gaius, more sleep then was probably healthy for someone as young as himself, and the occasional pacing laps around his cell if the mood caught him right. He had also had the opportunity to meet the rest of Arthur's closest knights and crew members, the infamous yet disappointingly average looking Knights of the Roundtable.

In addition to Percival and Gwaine, there was also Lancelot, the knight from the ship with a kind face whom Merlin took an immediate liking to. He was just as kind as Merlin had speculated him to be, but was also funny in a witty, sly sort of way, so unlike Gwaine's crude and boisterous humor. He smiled a lot and laughed lightly. He spoke to Merlin with the ease of a travel companion rather than a prisoner.

It was all quite mystifying if Merlin was being honest. He was a prisoner, a sorcerer, something these men should have despised above everything else. But somehow, all three of them had shown Merlin a kindness he had never expected to experience from the famous crew.

That was, until he met the final two. Curly-haired Leon wasn't completely bad. Sure, he barely spoke or acknowledged Merlin's presence, and he only ever addressed him as "sorcerer", but he was Arthur's second-in-command; Gwaine had told him as much. He thought himself lucky that the head knight wasn't completely awful like his captain who couldn't even stand to be in the same room as Merlin, hence why the warlock hadn't seen hide nor hair of him since the night the prince had caught him trying to escape.

It was Elyan who set Merlin's teeth on edge. He could deal with being ignored. He could deal with sneers and looks of disgust. He could deal with aloofness. What he couldn't deal with, was how Elyan shoved himself into the farthest part of the room from Merlin and acted as if he were going to catch some sort of disease from him just by being too close. Every time Merlin so much as breathed too loudly, Elyan jumped a foot in the air and grappled for his cutlass like the clearly incapacitated and imprisoned sorcerer was going to jump him out of the blue. The fear wasn't anything new either. What bothered him was how Elyan acted like he was a monster.

It was this Merlin was gloomily pondering when the ship stuttered to a stop, and Gwaine paused his elaborate story about the time he'd supposedly had a run in with a nest of fairies in The Northern Plains (not that Merlin was inclined to believe most of it; no one but magical folk had ever encountered one and lived to tell the tale) long enough to cock his head curiously.

"'Bout time," Gwaine said. "With the mood the Princess has been in, I didn't think we were gonna stop until Camelot."

That moment, sunlight spilled down the stairs, and Arthur stepped down.

"Well, speak of the devil, and he shall arrive."

Arthur spared Gwaine a glare but kept silent as he unlocked Merlin's cell. "Out."

Merlin crossed his arms. "I don't think I will."

"I said out. Now."

"And I said no."

Seemingly fed up with Merlin's insolence, Arthur grabbed Merlin's bicep and dragged him out of the cell as easily as breathing. Merlin winced and squirmed as Arthur's hand took on a bruising grip.

Gwaine scrambled up. "Hey, take it easy, Captain. There ain't a whole lot to him."

"Not my problem." Arthur glanced at Gwaine. "You're free to go on land, Gwaine. Do what you please, but I expect you to be back by nightfall and at least able to crawl up the gangway."

Gwaine glanced between the prince and the warlock until he decided it was a losing battle and made his exit.

"You. You're coming with me," Arthur said flatly. "I let most of my crew off to do what they please whenever we're in port to give them a break, so there's no one to watch you. I've decided to ruin my own free evening by dragging your sorry ass with me."

Merlin sneered at him. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Your Majesty. Maybe if you hadn't, oh, I don't know, kidnapped me in the first place, you wouldn't have to worry about my 'sorry ass'. Better yet, you can just leave me wherever we are. I promise you, I won't hate you anymore than I already do."

"I bet you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Arthur asked as he pulled Merlin on to the deck and rolled his eyes when the sorcerer stumbled over the top step.

Arthur pulled a pair of shackles from his belt and slapped them on Merlin's wrists. He gasped as the metal rubbed his raw wrists.

"You listen to me. Be glad you're getting regular iron. Any lesser pirate than I would have put you in cold iron, damn how it made you feel. As it is, my insufferable sister managed to convince me that it was inhumane to keep you that way when it affects you so differently than any other sorcerer. Besides, you're not exactly a flight risk with the state you're in. You can't use magic, Gaius told me so himself."

Merlin cursed Gaius' loud mouth.

As soon as they had rowed all the way to shore, it only took Merlin a moment to readjust to solid ground. Arthur pulled him along the beach and onto a street teaming with life. People were everywhere, pushing down the streets filled with carts of all sorts, selling sweets and books and flowers. Candles lit up the gray evening air. Somewhere, a person was playing a beautiful tune on a lute.

"Where are we?" Merlin demanded, absentmindedly trying to wriggle from Arthur's grip. It was becoming painful. "I can walk on my own, thank you very much."

The prince didn't let go, however his grip loosened considerably. "One of the isles owned by Camelot."

"So, we're close then?"

Arthur glanced around in a way Merlin almost wanted to call nervous. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

"What is your problem? You're acting very peculiar," Merlin demanded. "Not at all prattish."

"First off, I don't think that's a real word. Second, Camelot may own many isles, but that isn't to say we are welcome on any of them. These people aren't pirates, and they don't much appreciate us intruding on their home. It's bad enough I'm royalty, but I'm a pirate at heart. Let's just say I like to get to the pirate sector as quickly as possible."

"Well, then why'd we stop here in the first place?"

Arthur whipped around. "For the love of God, do you ever stop talking?"

Merlin flinched. He sucked in his bottom lip and cast his eyes downward. He knew he should have kept his mouth shut, especially around the bloody Prince of Camelot.

Arthur sighed and ran his free hand down his face. "If you absolutely must know, we stopped so some repairs to the ship could be made. Much to my deep embarrassment, your puny little vessel managed to do some damage. Not that we can't sail in its current state, mind you, but I like my ship looking its best when I pull into Camelot's harbor."

With that, they were off again. Merlin stumbled his way past a blacksmith and a woodworker, a baker's shop and a leatherworker. He found the source of the lute when they passed an older lady sitting against a small home, strumming on the instrument with a blissed-out look on her face. Carriages pulled by horses passed them by on the dirt road. Merlin saw a group of children kicking a leather ball around in the middle of the street. Somewhere out of sight, a dog barked.

Arthur didn't pay any of it an ounce of attention. He continued to drag Merlin along at a dizzying speed, keeping his eyes forward and glaring whenever anyone came too close. However, no one quite seemed to dare. They all kept their distance, shooting the pair wary and disapproving, even fearful, glances.

It wasn't until they came to some sort of town square that they finally stopped. Merlin slumped against a nearby building and tried to catch his breath. His body seemed to think it was a wonderful time to remind him of its battered state.

While he squeezed his eyes shut and tried to quell the pounding behind his eyes, Arthur seemed to relax himself.

"Here we are," Arthur said, concerningly cheery.

"And…" Merlin sucked in a deep breath when he accidentally knocked his bad shoulder against the wall, "…and where is 'here' exactly?"

"I told you. This is the pirate sector. By decree of my father, every isle under his rule has to accommodate us, even if they don't approve of the lifestyle. They have to pay Camelot a tax to use the water for any reason, too."

"So, they have to pay to use the water, but then they also have to pay to accommodate pirates from the very kingdom they're paying taxes to just to keep their head on their shoulders? I'd always heard Uther was a bit of tyrant," Merlin bit out.

Arthur reached out with one hand and slammed Merlin into the wall behind him. Pinning him to the spot, he said through gritted teeth, "I'd watch my tongue if I were you. Wouldn't want to be using treasonous words against the king who holds your fate in his hands. We don't need Cenred's money that badly."

Arthur let him go with a shove towards the small, squat building next door with a sign hanging over the door, creaking ominously in the wind and advertising it as a tavern. Merlin tripped and bit back a cry of pain as his body met the dirt. Arthur grumbled in irritation and dragged him up for the second time in the last hour.

"I'm getting really tired of having to haul you around."

"Well then stop bloody shoving me everywhere!" Merlin shouted back. Arthur snatched his shackled wrists and clipped them to a nearby hitching post in an alley next to the tavern.

Arthur patted his head mockingly. "You stay right here, okay? I'll be back for you in a bit." And just like that, he disappeared into the tavern, laughing to himself.

Merlin glared daggers into the spot where the prince had been only seconds before. He despised him. All he could imagine was finally getting a chance to wipe that smug look off his face. To give him a reason to fear magic.

So, what if Arthur could be witty and charming and, admittedly, wasn't bad on the eyes? He was the single most arrogant, irritating, entitled, supercilious, condescending asshole Merlin had ever had the displeasure of knowing.

And now, the bastard had quite literally chained him up in an alley while he went to get drunk.

Merlin tugged uselessly at his restraints but only managed to cause himself more pain when the rough metal bit into his tender wrists. After much twisting, turning, and grappling for purchase on the packed dirt road, he managed to stand, if not looking rather ridiculous hunched halfway over to accommodate his shackles.

The position was even less comfortable than his previous one on the ground.

It did, however, offer him a knew viewpoint through a small, dingy window in the side of the tavern.

From where he stood, he had a perfect view of a large table in the back corner, a table that happened to seat the Prince Prat himself, and he wasn't alone.

There was a beautiful young woman with porcelain skin and auburn hair practically in Arthur's lap, hanging off him with her arms around his neck, batting her eyelashes and staring at Arthur like he was a god walking amongst mortals. She giggled at every word that came from Arthur's mouth, pulling her obscenely painted nails through his hair. As he played a game of dice with some other pirates, she pecked his cheek and ran her hand across his chest flirtatiously.

Merlin felt his cheeks grow hot. Not only had Arthur left him chained up to drink and gamble, but to also apparently get a cheap hook-up.

That was fine. It was Arthur's money and how he spent it was up to him.

So, why did Merlin feel himself heat with not embarrassment, but anger? Why the hell should he care who Arthur put his hands all over? Why did he feel hurt that Arthur had left him tied outside like livestock while he went to get pleasure from another? It wasn't like he liked him on any level whatsoever.

He was only angry about being left outside while Arthur went to enjoy himself. That was all it was.

Merlin sat once more. He leaned back against one of the hitching posts and finally took a good look around, or as good of a look as he could have shoved in a dark alley.

He immediately noticed the pirate sector of the town was significantly shabbier than the rest of the parts they'd passed. Many of the buildings were crumbling and in severe disarray. Trash littered the streets. There weren't nearly as many candles burning anywhere, making it much darker and more disturbing. It was a lot quieter, too, aside from the sound of the drunkards inside the tavern and the distant noise of a couple having a screaming match. If he looked close enough, dark figures slinked all along the shadows. Pirates, no doubt looking to make a quick buck off of an even quicker pinch. The air smelled heavily of rum and, Merlin shuddered, the familiar scent of blood. Fresh blood.

He shrunk back into the shadows even more and tried to reach his magic. Even if it would do him no good with self-defense, it would at least help to soothe his nerves.

The sorcerer was so caught up in his new-found anxiety, he didn't even notice the lone form sneak up on him until a hand clamped over his mouth.

Merlin's eyes widened in panic, and he immediately tried to fight back, years of refined instincts kicking in. Alas, he quickly found that he was no match for his assailant, all tied up and pinned down by rough hands.

"Shh," a cold voice whispered in his ear. "Calm down. We wouldn't want a pretty thing like you to hurt yourself before we've had any fun, would we?"

Merlin couldn't help it. A small sob escaped from behind the hand, no matter how much he tried to keep it in. It was too much. He could take most anything. He was tougher than he looked, and he'd proven that time and time again. This voice, this person, was too much like him. A wave of fear coursed down Merlin's spine.

"Hush now," the voice hissed, dangerous and sickly sweet, a siren trying to lure in its prey with its deadly voice.

A vile hand caressed his cheek. Merlin jerked away from the touch. The hand quickly found him again but was not so gentle the second time around. It gripped Merlin's chin and yanked his head forward so fast his neck ached.

"Now, now. Don't be like that." The hand released him only long enough for his assailant to pin him against the post with his body. Merlin's shackles rattled.

The man gave a dark chuckle. "Seems like someone was one step ahead of me. Got you all tied up and everything. I'll have to thank them if I ever come across them."

In the dim light of the setting sun, Merlin could just make out his attacker. He was a big, hulking man with beady eyes and a face that put Merlin in the mind of a rodent. He had a bushy beard and mustache that looked like they hadn't been cleaned in a very long time and a bald head. Merlin cringed back farther. The man reeked.

He slowly leaned in, and Merlin didn't need any more hints to see where this was going to end up. He lashed out with the only tool he had left. He forced his leg up with all his power and connected sharply with the man's groin, causing him to groan and collapse backwards on to his knees. The moment the hand was no longer covering his mouth, he began to shout. He didn't even know what he was saying, just praying to the Triple Goddess that there was someone in the sector who wasn't a completely despicable human being and would answer his call of clear utter terror and distress.

But no one came. The square remained as hopelessly desolate as it had been before. With renewed determination, Merlin began to yank at his restraints, hoping something would give, paying no mind to the rivulets of blood he could feel carving trails down his arms.

"You stupid little bastard!" The man snarled. He lunged at Merlin, and the warlock scrambled as far away as his limited mobility could get him. It was no use. The man caught him easily, and with a painful grip, roughly pulled Merlin into what had to be the most revolting kiss he'd ever experienced. Seeing his chance, Merlin bit down as hard as he could and felt the man's lip split. He gasped in pain and yanked his head away.

"Get away from me!" Merlin screamed.

The man slowly brought his hand up to wipe the blood away from his lips. He smiled, a twisted, horrifying smile. Merlin's heart dropped into his stomach.

"So, it's gonna be like that, hmm? I tried to be nice. Now, you're gonna pay for that."

His hand snapped out and slapped Merlin right across the cheek. It echoed across the alley. Merlin felt tears of pain, fear, and shame well in his eyes. Why was it always him?

Just as the man descended on him once more, Merlin caught a glimpse of something silver out of the corner of his eye. A wickedly sharp cutlass rested right at the base of the man's throat.

"I believe he told you to get your filthy hands off of him," Arthur said, his voice as cold as ice. If Merlin hadn't been too terrified to look away from his assaulter, he would have seen the murderous gleam in the golden prince's eyes, one not many had the misfortune to be on the receiving end of.

"I suggest you move along if you know what's good for you, boy," the man said.

An ugly smile spread across Arthur's face. "That's sire to you."

It was like all the blood had been drained from the man's face. He went ghostly pale and jerked away from Merlin so quickly the sorcerer's head spun.

"I-I'm so sorry…so sorry," he swallowed hard. "Sire."

"What?" Arthur asked. "Now you use my title? While you beg for your life?"

With one quick swipe, he drew his cutlass across the man's throat. Merlin barely moved as his body collapsed like a marionette with cut strings. Arthur kicked his head sharply and spat. "Rapist pig."

The royal turned his attention back to the petrified sorcerer. "Are you alright? I mean he didn't do anything too far, did he?" He asked as he unlocked his shackles, and if Merlin had been in a good state of mind, he might have noticed the edge of concern in Arthur's voice. As it was, he was not in a good state of mind and therefore was none the wiser.

"I-" Merlin opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Leon, who had appeared at the edge of the alley.

"My lord, you must come quickly. It's Guinevere. She's been badly hurt."

Chapter Text

Arthur didn't spare Merlin another glance as he took off after Leon. Merlin fumbled with his shackles until they finally came off with a metallic click. He wasted no time in racing after the pair. With what had just nearly happened and what had happened, the last thing Merlin wanted was to be left alone in this hellhole.

The trip back through the village was considerably less enjoyable. All of his surroundings blurred together and flew by in dashes of color. Merlin didn't have time to notice a single thing, all of his focus being absorbed into keeping Arthur in his line of view up ahead.

He probably should have been angry. He had been assaulted all because the royal asshole had thought it was funny to leave him tied up in a dark alley while he went inside to have a drink and get a one-night stand. Then, he had done the bare minimum of saving Merlin's life, only to take off without a second thought the minute his precious first mate showed up talking about some girl Merlin had never met before being injured.

Arthur was clearly distraught over it, so she was probably a member of his crew. Granted, if it had been one of his crew who had gotten injured, Merlin would've dropped everything to get to them also. But Merlin was hurting, too, and it was all Arthur's fault.

Maybe he was angry. But mostly, he was just sad that there were so many foul, evil people in the world who just seemed to hate him for being himself.

It was a wonder Merlin managed to keep up with Arthur and not once smash his face into something. But soon enough, Arthur had come to a sudden stop in the middle of an open market in the nicer part of the town where a crowd of people had already gathered, surrounding something on the ground.

The prince roughly shoved his way through the crowd with glares that had people shying away in fear. Merlin followed close on his heels through the pathway the people had formed, only to find a macabre scene in the midst of it all.

A young woman around Merlin's age, Guinevere, apparently, laid collapsed on the ground in a pool of blood. Merlin recognized her from the ship. She had dark skin and the longest, curliest hair Merlin had ever seen on a pirate before. She was beautiful in a simple sort of way, not wearing any flashy colors or showy jewelry, but naturally pretty with smooth skin and defined cheekbones. Her eyes were rolling beneath closed lids as she bit back a moan of pain.

Morgana, with tears in her sharp green eyes, was kneeling next to Guinevere with her hands pressed against a nasty gash along her ribs that was steadily gushing blood like a water pump. The lady's own clothes were soaked in her companion's blood, but Morgana didn't seem to pay it any mind. Lancelot had Guinevere's head in his lap, speaking so softly no one could hear him.

Arthur stood frozen with a look of clear shock written all over his face. His eyes flicked over the scene in front of him. He went pale and swallowed hard. Merlin was just about to say something to get him to snap out of whatever stupor he had gotten himself into when he finally shook his head and schooled his features.

"What the hell happened?" Arthur demanded in a tone Merlin was yet to hear from him. It was one that left no room for argument and held the expectation that whatever he said would be done as quickly as possible without question. It was the voice of a king.

It caused Merlin to stop in his tracks and clamp his mouth shut.

"We were just walking around the market when we heard fighting and saw a bandit trying to steal from one of the vendors. We stepped in to stop it, but he had a friend, and Gwen got stabbed!" Morgana cried, openly weeping even as she pressed just a little harder on the wound.

"And where is the bastard who did this?" Arthur asked through gritted teeth. Merlin saw barely controlled rage in his eyes, like he was ready to run the next person who spoke through with his sword. It was nothing like the steely ice that had riddled his voice when he'd killed Merlin's attacker. Somehow, this Arthur was less scary and more emotional.

"Right here, my lord." The crowd parted to allow a middle-aged woman to drag a thin, gangly man's body into view. They pressed forward, eagerly soaking up all the drama.

"The one that tried to steal from me got away, but this is the one that got your girl there. I think the mister on the ground was 'bout to put an end to 'im when it happened, but they convinced 'im to hold off until you arrived. I'm terribly sorry this happened, your majesty. But I'm ever so grateful they stepped in, oh, yes, I am indeed. My business is my life, you see, and if I'd been robbed, well, I hate to think of the consequences. So, I offered to hang on to this rascal here until the other mister came back, but now you're here-"

Arthur cut her off with a silent hand in the air. "Thank you. Your help in this situation will not go unrewarded; I assure you. However, I'll take over from here."

The vendor bowed quickly and dropped the man to the ground. He scrambled up and tried to run, only to be met with a wall of onlookers.

Arthur snatched him by his tunic and pulled him back. The man shrieked in terror. The prince flung him to the ground. With a flash of silver, Arthur had his cutlass poised directly over his heart.

"I should kill you for what you did," Arthur said, his voice shaking with anger. "I should run you through with my sword so you can experience the same pain you've caused Guinevere. I should-"

The crowd gasped with horror. It took Merlin much longer than it should have to realize what had happened. The man who had stabbed Guinevere had impaled himself on Arthur's sword. Now, he was slumped on the ground with the cutlass still sticking firmly out of his chest.

Arthur himself looked just as stunned, the hand that had been holding the sword still hanging out where the hilt had been ripped from his grip. He was covered in a spray of the man's blood.

The onlookers practically ran each other over to get as far away from the scene as they possibly could after that. Everyone knew better than to get involved with pirate business, especially when it came to death. People who got involved usually didn't end up much better off.

Arthur cleared his throat. He seemed to be doing everything he could to ignore the blood painting his skin. "We need to get her to Gaius now. Does anyone know where he went?"

"He got off the ship with the rest of us. He always replenishes his herb supply when we pull into port somewhere," Leon said. Lancelot hoisted Guinevere off the ground and cradled her oh-so gently against himself bridal style.

Arthur swore under his breath. He looked panicked. He paced back and forth, muttering to himself, glancing at the near-lifeless Guinevere every few steps. Merlin had been on the ship a week, and while he had admittedly not seen much of the prince, he was yet to see even a hint of this wild, anxiety-ridden part of him.

It was unnerving to say the least.

Merlin could help. Back in Ealdor, he had spent most of his free time in Gaius' chambers, watching him make diagnoses, aiding in treatments, learning to brew potions and make poultices, and devouring every book on medicine he could get his hands on. He was practically a physician himself. But he hardly knew these people, and on top of that, they had bloody kidnapped him. Most of them treated him like something foul on the bottoms of their boots. He shouldn't want to help them. He had no moral obligation to them; he owed them no debt. Hell, this was only the second time he'd ever laid eyes on Guinevere in his life and had only just put a name to her face in the last candle mark.

Then again…

Merlin hated to see people suffer, no matter who they were. He hated seeing anyone in pain. All he wanted to do was help. He just wanted to make everyone happy. It brought him to tears just thinking about how much his people had suffered at the hands of their oppressors and how there had been nothing he could do to save them; how the prophecy had been nothing but the psychotic ramblings of some ancient beings, and he had failed in the end. He still had nightmares nearly every time he closed his eyes just thinking about all those people - his father's councilmen, his advisors, their servants, all of the simple folks who were just trying to live their lives in peace in the town - crying out to him in agony as Cenred's forces slaughtered them. And all he could ever do was stand and watch until he woke up in a cold sweat, a scream tearing from his own lips.

"I can help." The words left his mouth before he could stop them. Every head turned to him, differing looks of shock, agitation, and, in Morgana's case, gratitude, staring back at him. "I've trained under a physician in Essetir for many years."

"What is the sorcerer talking about, my lord?" Leon demanded. Arthur opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by a livid Morgana.

"It doesn't bloody-well matter! Gwen needs the help of a healer now. She's dying! He offered to help, and I for one think we should take any chance we have to save Gwen. Oh, and Leon? His name is Merlin. He's not some animal or specimen. He's a human being like you and I with thoughts and feelings and a life. You would do damn well to remember that."

Leon looked as if he had swallowed a lemon. "Yes, your highness."

Arthur had remained silent. He was staring at Merlin with an unreadable expression. Finally, he said, "You heard Morgana. Move!" Arthur yanked his cutlass out of the dead man's body and only paused long enough to wipe the blade clean on his already ruined tunic.

Merlin didn't really know how they all got back to the ship. He just knows that one moment they were sprinting through the town, weaving their way down the narrow streets, and the next, they were being hoisted back on to the ship in the rowboat by the crew members who had stayed on board to keep watch.

Merlin was surprised he wasn't shackled back up the moment they got on the ship, but instead, he was allowed to follow Lancelot, who was still cradling Guinevere, through a door on the main deck.

On the other side, he found quarters that undoubtedly belonged to Gaius, with shelves as high as the ceiling stacked with jars full of mysterious substances and books piled nearly as high as Merlin all throughout the room. Lancelot laid Guinevere down on a cot in the middle of the room. Merlin knelt next to her.

"You can help her, can't you?" Morgana whispered as she, too, knelt beside Guinevere.

"I'm going to do my best."

Carefully, he pulled the tatters of her corset and undershirt away from the still sluggishly bleeding wound. Guinevere remained unnervingly still.

The wound was the length of Merlin's hand and grisly looking. The skin was shredded, most likely from the sword being twisted around. Dark pink muscle flexed deep inside, and Merlin could've sworn he caught a glimpse of white rib bone.

Overall, Merlin was stunned Guinevere was still alive. She wouldn't be much longer if he didn't do something quickly. She'd already lost more blood than Merlin thought was humanly possible.

"Sire," Leon said somewhere behind them, "is it really a good idea to allow a prisoner to look after her? I care for her life just as much as anyone but he's a sorcerer."

"Yes, and I'm a knight of Camelot. Thank you for pointing out the obvious, Leon." Shockingly, that was soft-spoken Lancelot. Snark did not suit him.

Merlin didn't know what to do. A wound as severe as hers required magic. Magic he couldn't use. But without it, she'd die. His head spun as Lancelot and Leon argued, Morgana jumping in to snap at them both. Arthur was strangely quiet, but frankly, Merlin couldn't care less what the captain thought of the whole situation. He was still furious with him.

"Get me a quill and parchment. And a basin of clean water and a cloth." Morgana looked at him quizzically as he took the supplies from Lancelot's hands.

"Do you know how to read the words of the Old Religion?" He asked her suddenly. Her frown deepened.

"Of course."

"Good." Merlin quickly scribbled something onto the parchment and handed it to Morgana. "Here. This is a healing spell. It'll heal the worst of her wound, and I'll only need to suture up her skin. I can't perform it myself, but it should work for you."

"Merlin…" Morgana swallowed hard, looking nervous. She glanced back at her brother and the two knights staring them down. "I try to avoid doing magic at all costs."

"It's the only chance she has."

"How do you know it'll even work?"

"It's worked before. It's worked for me, and I'm complete rubbish at healing magic." He leaned in close enough so only she would hear. "You do trust me, don't you?"

"Absolutely."

"Then do the spell."

Morgana took a deep breath, and without another glance at their audience, she began to chant the words Merlin had written down, both of her hands hovering just above Guinevere's wound. Her eyes flashed yellow, and the wound followed suit, glowing with light before slowly dissipating and leaving a completely changed mark in its wake. Gone was the gory gash; in its place was a long scratch, still bleeding, but significantly less so and covered with fresh pink skin. Much of the natural color had returned to Guinevere's pallor and her breathing had evened out as her heart worked to restore the blood her body had lost.

Morgana gave a shout of joy and fell back on her hands. She let out a long breath. Merlin offered her a quick grin before beginning to wash the area around the wound.

"Someone get me a needle and some sutures. They're probably in one of the cabinets over there." Merlin gestured vaguely.

He quickly got to work. Just as he was tying off the stitches and wrapping her side in bandages, there was a distant pounding from outside, and the door to the physician's chambers was thrown open with a rattling bang. "Get the hell away from my sister!"

Merlin jumped away just in time as Elyan lunged for him. Gwaine and Percival appeared in the doorway, and each grabbed one of his arms, yanking him away from Merlin. Morgana got in the middle of it all and threw out her arms in front of him like she was imitating one of the ship's masts.

"Stop it!" She shrieked. "He's only trying to help her! He saved her life!"

"You expect me to believe that! I can't believe you of all people would fall for his deceit. You're one of them!"

"I'd shut the hell up before you get yourself into more trouble," Gwaine said irritably. "We're all well aware the Lady Morgana is a sorceress. So, stop throwing it back in her face every time something doesn't go your way and you take a hissy fit."

"You're really letting that-that…monster, near Gwen, my lord? Leon?" Elyan pulled against Gwaine and Percival, now looking earnestly at Arthur and Leon, still casting withering, disgusted glares in Merlin's direction.

"See here, Elyan, I never agreed-" Leon started.

"Enough."

All heads turned as Arthur uttered his first word since they'd gotten back on to the ship. His face was guarded, his eyes carefully closed off and devoid of any emotion. "Stand down, Elyan. He's a sorcerer, but he saved Gwen's life, nonetheless. Gwaine, Percival, let him go. Morgana, for the love of the Goddess, get off the ground and stop acting like some common peasant. Lancelot, please escort our prisoner back to his cell. Leon, come with me."

Merlin sat, stunned, as everyone, even Morgana, rushed to obey Arthur's orders. Lancelot took him gently by the arm and led him back down into the damp, dark coolness of the brig. He locked him back inside with a look of remorse.

"Sorry about all that. You didn't deserve it. You saved Gwen's life even though you didn't have to. I'll forever be in your debt. I'll be sure to let her know exactly what happened once she wakes; I'm sure she'll want to thank you in person."

Merlin huffed and sat down heavily, trying to block out the last few hours of his life.

The Dragon Slayer had long set-sailed once more with all repairs complete when Merlin finally saw Arthur again. The prince looked rather bedraggled and tired, his hair mussed like he'd ran his hands through it repeatedly and dark circles under his eyes giving the impression he wore a mask. He'd clearly taken a bath since the ordeal because his clothes were clean, and his skin was free of all the crimson evidence.

"What do you want?" Merlin snapped. He was curled up in his corner and refused to look at Arthur anymore.

"I came to see you, you idiot. Why else would I come down here? I can feel myself getting dirty just breathing in the air."

"Well, I'm so sorry my accommodations aren't up to your royal standards."

Arthur sucked in his bottom lip and his brow creased. "Why'd you do it?"

"You're going to have to be more specific. That's too broad of a question for an idiot like myself."

Arthur sighed. Not irritated or annoyed like he was gearing up to fire back some wise-ass remark. Just tired. "Why'd you heal Gwen? After what happened to you…" Arthur made a face like he'd been punched. "You had every opportunity to get away. No one was paying an ounce of attention to you back on the island. You could've slipped away. Why'd you stay? And why'd you have to have Morgana perform the spell for you?"

And then the realization hit the warlock. It hadn't once occurred to him to run. Even after he had almost been raped, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

What the hell was wrong with him?

"I…I don't know," he said honestly. "I wanted to heal Guinevere. That's all."

"I don't know what you're playing at, but Gwen's already got a suitor."

Merlin scoffed in disbelief. "As if that was my motivation for helping her. This might come as a struggle for your thick head to understand but regardless of what you think, sorcerers are not monsters. I don't like seeing people in pain, even if they're someone I'm supposed to hate. I knew I could help Guinevere, so I did. So, it's none of your bloody business why I couldn't perform the spell myself! And for the record," he added, "I knew you thought poorly of me, but I didn't think you thought so poorly that you believed I'd be unfaithful to my betrothed."

Oh, how he wished he never had to speak those words in reference to Cenred. What he wouldn't give to be brave enough to be unfaithful.

Arthur's face twisted into a nasty expression. "Ah, yes, your beloved fiancé."

"Don't sound so disgusted. I saw you feeling up that girl in the tavern."

"That is none of your concern. I'm merely surprised someone agreed to marry you."

Merlin glared. "Shockingly, not everyone thinks I'm horrendous to look at. Clearly that guy back in the alley didn't think so." His stomach turned uncomfortably at the memory.

For a moment, just a moment, Arthur's face softened. It happened so quickly Merlin was sure he had imagined it. "I never said you were bad looking. You're a sorcerer. And are you truly alright?"

Merlin snorted. "Are you worried about me, Sire? It's not like you care. You despise me and everything to do with sorcery. Go turn your charm on to some poor girl who actually believes it. Just because you're the prince of the most powerful kingdom in the land and the most eligible bachelor in all the kingdoms doesn't mean you get to flaunt it. Guess what? Not everyone is so lucky. Some of us don't get a choice in who we marry!"

His words hung in the air between the two of them, quiet and as thick as butter. Merlin's eyes widened, and he couldn't help but look down in shame.

Arthur was watching him with a contemplating sort of look on his face, but there was something more behind his eyes, something Merlin couldn't be bothered to decipher.

"There's something about you, Merlin," the prince murmured.

"Leave me alone," Merlin said quietly. "Run on back to your precious Guinevere."

And surprisingly, Arthur obliged.

Chapter Text

Arthur sat at the desk in his quarters, his head in his hands, regretting the last day of his life.

He hadn't meant for any of it to happen. Admittedly, he didn't have any true reason for taking Merlin off the ship with him; he could have just as easily ordered one of the guards to stay behind and watch over him. But there was just something about the young sorcerer that both infuriated Arthur and intrigued him, angered him and enticed him…

He gave his hair a particularly hard yank to distract himself from those forbidden thoughts that had taken up residence in his head without his permission within the last week. Merlin was beautiful in an ethereal sort of way; he wasn't above admitting that, but that's all the further it went. He hated everything about him. He was a bloody sorcerer. He was a criminal.

Even so, Arthur had never had a prisoner like Merlin before. He had no idea how someone could appear so weak and fragile yet have a tongue like poison that could whip out as quick as a snake. He was bold and sarcastic. Arthur would even go as far as to say brave, but mostly just plain stupid. The prince was surprised someone hadn't yet cut that tongue of his from his mouth for such impudence. But then Merlin would turn around and do something so endearingly sweet, like laugh at one of Gwaine's jokes that truly wasn't funny or talk about poetry with Lancelot.

Arthur wasn't stupid. He heard and saw more than anyone gave him credit for. He knew how big of a soft spot some of his knights and his sister had developed for the sorcerer. And he also knew how hard of a time his first mate and Elyan gave Merlin. Why else had Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival been given more guard duty than the other two?

And honestly, he hadn't meant for Merlin to get attacked. He had just been so damn angry with him for trying to escape and for being so, well, himself. Arthur refused to think of what his father would've done to him had Merlin succeeded in getting away. He'd wanted to annoy him like he annoyed Arthur every day. So, he had chained him up outside while he went in to meet a girl and forget all about his darkest thoughts concerning the raven-haired boy.

Arthur didn't think he'd ever been so furious in his life when he'd heard Merlin's terrified screaming from outside the tavern, and he had run out to find that filthy monster touching Merlin. He barely even remembered the rest of the interaction, only the terror in Merlin's azure eyes and the feeling of absolute cold, silent fury settling over himself like a thick blanket. Next thing he knew, the rapist was lying dead, and Merlin was staring at him in a mixture of fear, confusion, and gratitude and shaking like a newborn colt.

Arthur had the sudden, overwhelming urge to wrap him up in a big, warm hug and never let him go. It was clear Merlin badly needed one of those, even in the short time he had existed on Arthur's ship. He knew for a fact the raven had been just as thin when they captured him, and he hadn't gotten that sickly just from the cold iron. The cold iron's effects on Merlin which, in fact, was a whole mystery in itself that Arthur's head was too full to contemplate.

But he hadn't gotten to do any more than ask Merlin the laughably obvious and pathetic question about his well-being before Leon had come running.

After that, Arthur had been too worried and overwhelmed with everything to give Merlin a second thought. It hadn't been until he had timidly offered to help that Arthur had remembered he was there.

And he hadn't even tried to run. He was unchained and unsupervised, yet he had willingly gotten back on to the ship where he was being held captive to save a stranger's life only to get screamed at and nearly beaten by Elyan. Elyan had been completely out of line, but Arthur couldn't say he blamed him. Gwen was the only family Elyan had left. Of course, he was protective. How was he supposed to know the sorcerer they were keeping prisoner was actually helping her?

Merlin was a puzzle Arthur was determined to figure out.

With a deep sigh, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out his mother's sigil. The familiar weight of the metal seal in his palm calmed his hyperactive mind. He turned it over once, twice, thrice in his hand, carefully tracing the smooth lines of the bird it bore with the tips of his fingers. Merlin's words to him from hours earlier replayed themselves over and over again in his mind:

"Some of us don't get a choice in who we marry."

The look of pure sadness and shame on Merlin's face had set Arthur's teeth on edge. Until that moment, Arthur had believed Merlin to be happily engaged; the Goddess knew he used his fiancé as a threat often enough, so Arthur had figured he or she had to be nobility of some sort. But now, the prince wasn't so sure. Maybe Cenred's golden boy didn't have such a perfect life. It sounded like an arranged marriage if he'd ever heard one.

"Sorcerers aren't monsters…"

"…despise me and everything to do with sorcery…"

Arthur groaned and rubbed his forehead. He had a stress headache something wicked, and he wanted some rum. Preferably, a large tankard, especially after he'd missed out on his drink back at the tavern. Something was nagging at the back of his mind, and it wouldn't let him rest until he acted on it.

"Damn it," he sighed. "George!"

The annoyingly obsequious cabin boy, having clearly been lurking in the servants' entrance attached to the captain's quarters just waiting for any opportunity to further lick Arthur's boots, appeared suddenly, a pair of Arthur's half-mended breeches clutched in his fists.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Go down to the brig. Inform Percival that he is to bring Merlin up here. I'd like to show him something."

"Right away, Sire." George bowed as he backed out of the room, so low Arthur thought he was going to smack his head off the ground. The prince rolled his eyes. He was a splendid servant on land and cabin boy at sea, but he was about as interesting as a rock and practiced groveling like it was his religion.

It was few minutes later when Percival came in with Merlin right behind him. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief when George was nowhere in sight. He'd probably gone off to clean the galley ceiling or something as equally absurd.

"I must say, Sire, for someone who can't stand me, you certainly like to see me often."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Thank you for bringing him up, Percival. You're dismissed."

"Yes, thank you for making sure the precious cargo didn't try to fling itself over the side and drown itself, Percy," Merlin said with such conviction it almost sounded like it was something he'd actually considered.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably while Percival gave a slight bow and offered Merlin a small, fond smile.

"Sit down. You look like you're about to keel over." It was true. Merlin looked much worse than Arthur remembered in the dimly lit brig. His skin was nearly translucently white and his cheeks gaunt. The circles around his eyes were dark bruises. His entire frame trembled slightly, and it hadn't escaped the captain's attention how Merlin favored his one shoulder and had sickly black veins that crawled up both of his hands from the cold iron.

To his astonishment, Merlin complied without a word, collapsing into one of Arthur's fur-lined dining chairs.

"What do you want with me?" He asked softly, defeated. His eyes were trained on the floorboards.

Arthur's mouth froze. He was used to Merlin's snark and his wit; he even expected it. But this…this was something else entirely. As much as the prince wished Merlin would keep his mouth shut, this solemn, defeated aura wasn't what he'd had in mind.

Arthur ran his thumb over the edge of the sigil he still had clasped in his fingers. There were indents in his palm from clutching the metal so tightly. Merlin's eyes flicked to his hand.

"What's that?"

Arthur perched himself on the edge of the table. "It's why I summoned you here. You saved Guinevere's life, and you said yourself I despise sorcery. But I believe you at least deserve an explanation as to why." He reluctantly passed the sigil to the raven so he could get a better look. "This was my mother's family sigil. It's all I have left of her."

Merlin held the seal like it was a delicate piece of glass and ran his fingers over the bird's wing like he could feel the feathers beneath. Arthur held his breath as the sorcerer turned it over in his hand.

"She was killed by magic. A sorcerer slipped into her bedchambers and killed her with a dark curse the day I was born. Father managed to arrest the sorcerer, but it was too late. They had already assassinated my mother. I never got to lay eyes on her."

"So, you despise sorcery because of one encounter with a sorcerer who was a disgrace to the Old Religion?" Merlin asked.

"Sorcery killed my mother. It was your kind that took her from me and my father and took the Queen from Camelot. If it weren't for magic, we never would have lost her!"

Merlin gently placed the sigil on the table. "Would your father have tried to genocide every knight in the land had the person who killed her wielded a sword?"

"Of course not."

"Well, there you go. Your mother's death had nothing to do with Uther starting the Great Purge. He's always harbored a grudge against us. He is no friend of the Old Religion. He just needed an excuse to kill us all. Otherwise, there would've been a coup. He only told you so to keep you as his good little soldier, oblivious to his tyranny."

Arthur felt his face grow warm with anger. Merlin had no idea what he was talking about. His mother had been the love of his father's life. He had been devastated when she died. "How dare you?" He hissed, fury oozing out with every word. "How dare you speak against my parents in such a way?! Sorcery is a plague that needs to be eradicated at all costs! You’re nothing but evil. I don't know why my father wishes to bother with ransoming you off. I should have you executed right here for such treason; Cenred's money be damned!"

Merlin snorted in amusement. "Is execution your go to threat? Can't we make things a bit more interesting for once? Ever consider, say, disembowelment or keel hauling? You know, get a variety instead of jumping right to lobbing my head off." He looked up at Arthur, tired but smug. "I'd like to go back to my cell now."

"Oh, no. You don't get to do that. I give the orders around here," Arthur snapped. He took a deep breath and turned away from the warlock, closing his eyes to try and calm back down. Nothing Merlin said was true, of course. Sorcery was evil. Merlin was a sorcerer, too, even if sometimes the fact slipped the prince's mind. Of course, he would defend his own kind. He was just trying to get under Arthur's skin like the insolent asshole he was. And Arthur had not summoned him to get into an argument. All he wanted to do was give Merlin the truth as repayment for saving Guinevere's life. No one could ever say he didn't pay off his debts.

All his life his father had ingrained into his mind how evil magic was. He said that magic users and all those who followed the ways of the Old Religion were coldhearted, deceiving, murderous monsters who weren't to be trusted. Why would he believe some boy he'd met only a week earlier over his own flesh and blood? Why would he allow some sorcerer to disgrace his mother's legacy and call his father a liar?

Besides, what reason did his father have to lie?

Arthur snatched the sigil up from the table. "Fine then. If I supposedly despise sorcery because of a single encounter, let me show you something else." He opened and drawer at his desk and dug around until he found the old, yellowed parchment map he was looking for. He slammed it down in front of Merlin.

"Here. This is a map of a kingdom called Ealdor. It no longer exists. Do you know why? Sorcery."

Merlin sat ramrod straight in his chair, suddenly looking much more awake. A strange look passed over his face, almost like he'd seen something terrifying.

"What…" the sorcerer cleared his throat, "…what do you mean?"

"Ealdor was a kingdom on the western coast. It was ruled by King Balinor and Queen Hunith, and I know they had a son, though I never knew his name. I never met them myself, nor did I ever travel there, but my father did. He said it was a small, prosperous kingdom, but they mostly kept to themselves. They didn't cause any problems for any of the surrounding kingdoms, and they never got involved in politics. They were cut off from the rest of us by a large mountain range, so communication between them and any other kingdom was scarce. But I know the kingdom was quiet and harmless-"

Once again, Merlin snorted in amusement. Arthur glared at him, not understanding what was so funny.

"-But something terrible happened. A little over two years ago, an evil sorceress amassed an army and attacked. To this day, my father doesn't understand what the sorcerers wanted with Ealdor, and nor do I. All I know is if Cenred hadn't led his army to their borders and intervened, the results would've been even more catastrophic. Who knows how far their regime would've spread had Cenred not destroyed them? That's why we're allowing you to be ransomed instead of executed. As a show of good faith to Cenred for what he saved us all from. As it was, not a single citizen survived the attack. My father rode out with our own army as soon as we got correspondence from Cenred, but by then it was too late. We did not know it had been totally decimated until my father returned some weeks later. So, you see? These people you're defending are murderers! Sorcery destroyed an entire kingdom full of thousands of innocent lives. Now, the land is so cursed no one can step foot on it."

Merlin was silent for what felt like an eternity. Arthur watched him carefully, waiting for any sign of a reaction. But his face remained impassive, even if he somehow suddenly looked much thinner and his eyes more haunted, like he was remembering something he'd much rather have forgotten.

"And your father told you all of this? You did not witness it yourself?" Merlin looked as if he wanted to say more, possibly accuse his father of something else, but the raven wisely kept his mouth shut.

"Of course, he did. I had only just turned eighteen myself when it happened. It was the first time my father left me in charge of the kingdom for longer than a few days. I was ecstatic at the chance of proving myself to him." A surge of shame washed over Arthur. He glanced at Merlin guiltily. "If I had known what was happening to all those poor people…"

Merlin softly ran his fingers over the map, stopping to gaze at the main citadel almost longingly. "There was no way you could've known."

Arthur shook his head. "Perhaps not, but it doesn't help ease the guilt any less. I still feel as if I could've saved someone had I been there even though in reality, I know there is a good chance I would've been killed."

"I feel the same sometimes," Merlin murmured softly.

"What do you mean?" Arthur prodded gently. He knew nothing of the sorcerer's past. It would be good to learn more, for interrogation purposes, of course.

Merlin's eyes searched the room. "My parents were, um, killed in a raid on our village. That's how I, um, came to work for Cenred, I suppose you could say."

"I'm sorry," Arthur mumbled sincerely, even feeling a little guilty. "What is it you do for Cenred anyhow?"

"It is none of your concern."

"Did you meet your betrothed before or after you went to work for Cenred?" Arthur couldn't help but ask, not truly wanting to know the answer, but also feeling as if he wouldn't be able to sleep again if he didn't find out.

"After. Do you think I'm going to give up some valuable information or something? I can figure out when I'm being interrogated, by the way. I'm not an idiot."

"That's debatable."

"Oi!"

Arthur couldn't help but grin. Riling up Merlin had quickly become one of his favorite past times. He could almost forget all of Merlin's accusations and his strange behavior surrounding Ealdor when Merlin grinned back, that dopey, cheeky smile.

Almost.

"Am I released to go back to my cell now, my oh so merciful lord? Do you believe you have sufficiently convinced me of my own evil prowess and cleansed my soul of the disease that is sorcery?"

Arthur smacked him in the back of the head.

"Ow! You prat!"

"That's treason, Merlin."

All the same, Arthur stood and opened the door to his quarters, waiting expectantly for Merlin to follow him. The sorcerer started to walk towards the hatch that led below deck, but Arthur grabbed his arm and pulled him to a door off the main deck, right next to Gaius' quarters.

"Here," he said. "Consider this your other reward. No more cold iron cell. Of course, the door will still remain locked at all times and a guard will still be stationed outside your room." He opened it up to reveal a simple room with a bed, a bureau, a desk and chair, and a tiny porthole window. Merlin stared at it like he'd just been told to move into a palace.

"Thank you," Merlin said without an ounce of snark.

Arthur felt his face turn red, and this time, it wasn't from anger. "Yes, well, most of the crew sleeps below. It is only me, Gaius, my sister, and my closest crew that has their own quarters. We could spare one small room." To keep up his health for the ransom. Or at least that was what he'd be telling his father if Uther ever found out he'd given a prisoner his own quarters.

Merlin stepped in and sat on the bed, sighing and stretching out not unlike a cat. Arthur smirked and tried not to mourn the loss of the contact when Merlin pulled his arm from Arthur's hold.

"Goodnight, Merlin."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

Chapter Text

"Up and at 'em, Merls!"

Merlin rolled over and covered his head with the pillow. For the first time in a long while, he had slept nightmare free. His new bed felt like absolute heaven on his battered body. The last thing he wanted to do was get up and answer Gwaine's incessant calling.

Gwaine pounded on the door. "Come on, magic boy. Gotta get up now. We gotta get some food into ya, captain's orders."

Merlin considered yelling back that Gwaine could tell Arthur where exactly to stuff his horrible food, but he didn't. He figured it was too much to risk his lovely new bed for one little jibe at the prince, especially after it had seemed they almost had gotten along the evening before.

Even still, he'd only been rattled from his near assault on the isle, that was all the newfound tolerance for the idiot royal was. He'd been shaken and anxious and tired and in pain, and Arthur had been the easiest option for human contact. He'd let his guard down. He'd been playing a role, trying to keep his head on his shoulders until they reached Camelot, but he'd gone soft last night.

That was the only reason Merlin had wanted to-

A particularly sharp knock from Gwaine startled the warlock so badly he fell off the bed and slammed on to the hardwood floor.

"You alright in there?" Gwaine called.

"Never better," Merlin grumbled, rubbing his still injured shoulder with a grimace.

"What was that noise?"

"Fell off the bed."

"Well, what'd you do that for?"

"I didn't do it on purpose, you git!" Merlin shouted back. Gwaine cackled with laughter on the other side of the door. Merlin heard a key slide into the lock, and the door popped open, Gwaine still laughing the whole time.

"Alright, up you get then." Gwaine gripped Merlin's waist and drug him to his feet as easy as he would lift a doll.

"Never do that again," he ordered with a scowl. Gwaine raised an eyebrow at his tone.

"Certainly, your highness." And he left, leaving Merlin staring after him in absolute shock.

The warlock's heartbeat kicked up, panicked. He didn't actually mean that, right? There was no possible way Gwaine knew. Only Gaius and Morgana knew who he truly was. He just had to be teasing him. He had to be.

Merlin hurried after him. "W-what did you mean by that?"

"Huh?"

Merlin swallowed hard. His palms started to sweat, and he heard the blood rushing in his ears as a million scenarios of how Gwaine had found out and what he would do to him ran through Merlin's mind.

"What did you mean when you called me 'your highness'?" He demanded.

Gwaine looked at him strangely. "Just joking around, that's all. You okay?"

Merlin breathed a huge sigh of relief. "Yes. Gods yes, I'm alright." Merlin glanced around, realizing for the first time just how high the sun was in the sky. "Mother, Maiden, and Crone it's nearly midday!"

"The Princess gave the order you weren't to be woken up until now to get some food."

Merlin looked at him skeptically. "Oh, yes, I'm sure. That sounds exactly like something Arthur would do."

"I'm not kidding. He gave us specific orders that no one was to bother you until the sun was high in the sky."

That information shocked the warlock. He couldn't believe Arthur had been so considerate. Even though last night it had almost seemed as if the prince could tolerate him, he had told Arthur, quite blatantly, that his father was nothing, but a lying, cowardly tyrant, and Arthur hadn't taken too kindly to such accusations. The fact that the royal had gone out of his way to give an order for Merlin to be allowed to sleep in was astounding.

"Where are we going anyhow? I thought you said the Prince Prat wanted me to eat?" Gwaine opened the hatch leading below deck, and Merlin stopped for a split second, thinking Gwaine was trying to trick him back into the brig. But the knight just smiled at him and beckoned him down.

"We are going to eat. In the galley. You need to get some meat on you, and you ain't gonna do that eatin' the prisoner food."

"And Arthur told you to take me to the galley?"

Gwaine winked at him. "Not especially, but he did say to feed you. It's his problem he didn't specify how."

Merlin could hear a cacophony of loud voices from behind a door just off the stairs. He hadn't spent any time on this particular level, only ever passing through it on his way from the brig to the main deck or vice versa. The staircase only passed through a small room with a doorway leading into a larger storage area, packed to the brim with supplies.

The Dragon Slayer's galley looked similar to The Avalon's, only much larger. Since Merlin's own ship was mostly capable of running on its own, the crew it required was minimal. He hadn't ever required a galley with more than a few tables, even back in Ealdor when he had an entire army of pirates at his disposal.

But that wasn't the case for The Dragon Slayer. The galley was so vast, Merlin was sure it took up most of the entire deck. Tables lined the room seating dozens of pirates, most of whom Merlin had never seen before since he'd barely ever left the brig until yesterday.

Gwaine led him across the room, Merlin determinedly staring down and refusing to look at any of the crew members who were no doubt staring at him like he was something particularly disgusting on the floor. He suddenly felt very self-conscious of his appearance and pulled his tattered coat Lancelot had brought him from the brig tighter around himself to hide his blood-stained tunic and tried in vain to wipe some of the grime off his gaunt face with the sleeve of his frock. He pulled his trusty, tattered neckerchief just a little higher on his neck and shoved his black-veined hands deeply into the pockets of his frock. He didn't even bother glancing at the holes he knew were in both knees of his breeches or the thick layer of mud and blood that coated his knee-high boots. It would only make him more upset.

He may have been a captive for over two years, but he was still a prince at heart. He hated when anyone saw him at anything less than his best, even total strangers.

They finally made it to a table in the back corner, closest to a door that probably led to the kitchen, where Percival and Lancelot were already seated with their midday meal, away from everyone else. Merlin tentatively dropped into an empty seat across from Lancelot.

"I'm gonna go get us some food. I'll be right back," Gwaine said and disappeared into the sea of pirates waiting on the same thing.

Merlin couldn't sit still. He could feel Percival and Lancelot both watching him, trying to be discreet about it while they ate their food. It was one thing to talk to the other pirates when there were bars between them and a very distinct line between their stations, but it was another entirely when Merlin was seated at the same table as them, free of any bindings, being treated like he was one of them.

He hated the entire experience. While he deeply appreciated Gwaine's effort and the fact that he'd be receiving food that wasn't scraps, he couldn't help but feel a little resentful when he could practically hear every person in the room whispering about him and casting wary glances in his direction.

"Always knew the Prince's knights were mad in the head. What were they thinkin', bringin' someone like him to eat with us? Been tellin' people from the start the prince is too soft. No doubt he's passed it on to them knights. Bringin' a prisoner to eat our food! Ha! His father would never hear of it! He'd have 'em all hangin' from the nearest tree if he knew," a pirate whispered at the next table over.

"Heard he tried to kill one of them fancy knights, I did. Serves 'em right for bein' such bloody daffodils."

"Ol' Gareth says he got eyes like a snake, and he can petrify ya with one look," another hissed back.

"Gareth don't know nothin'. He ain't never even seen 'im 'til today. He's always goin' on 'bout them tall tales of his. This ain't no story. He don't look like much, but I tell ya he got the heart of a killer," whispered yet another.

It was like Merlin wasn't even there. He clasped his hands so tightly in his lap the knuckles turned white. His face felt hot with shame, and his eyes burnt with unshed tears behind his lids. His whole body was trembling with barely concealed anger, his magic frenetic under his skin to lash out at the pirates and show them just how powerful he was. But he knew he couldn't. Not only could he physically not use magic without risking death on himself, but he also felt a strange sense of guilt at the thought of attacking people with magic in front of Lancelot and Percival. They had shown him nothing but kindness since he had been taken on to the ship, more than Merlin could ever have expected, and the thought of betraying their trust in him hurt. It wasn't their fault necessarily he was a prisoner; they had only been following Arthur's orders. He didn't want to prove to them that he was the monster everyone so feared.

"How're you feeling today?" Lancelot asked him loudly, eyeing the group of whispering pirates with a look of anger that appeared severely out of place on his face.

"I-I'm alright," Merlin muttered. He was sure his face was blood red. He glanced up at the pair across from him nervously. Both offered him a gentle smile that he couldn't help but return.

"Somehow, I don't believe that. Did you at least sleep well in an actual bed?"

"It was wonderful. Like I made it to Avalon without dying," he said with a laugh. Merlin leaned forward slightly, feeling much more like himself with every passing moment while he worked to ignore the assholes at the next table over. He was used to people whispering about him, even when they knew damn well he could hear. "So, why is it you guys sit away from everyone else?"

"It's because they don't like us, and we don't like them," Lancelot answered. "Generally, Leon and Elyan sit with us as well, but they opted out today for some peculiar reason." He smirked.

"You don't like the rest of your crew? That seems problematic."

"It can be, but we try to keep all our differences out from under Arthur's nose. None of the other pirates want any trouble from Uther, and we don't want to cause Arthur anymore issues than he already has to deal with when it comes to the King." Lancelot lowered his voice. "Granted, Arthur doesn't much like most of the crew either."

Merlin raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really? Why did he appoint them on his crew if he doesn't like them? And why doesn't he just kick them off? He's the captain. That's what I would have done on my own ship." Merlin felt a pang in his chest at the mention of his beloved ship. He missed it so dearly, and he missed his crew even more. They were the only family he had since his real one had been murdered. And he desperately longed to hold Aithusa and pet her and take care of her. His Dragonlord instincts had been going crazy in her absence.

It was Percival who shook his head and answered. "Arthur's the captain of this ship only in name. Everyone knows Uther still runs the show, even out on the open seas. Uther appointed the entire crew, all except for the five of us who're Arthur's personal knights on land as well. We only agreed to join to keep the prince sane. His father's a control freak, you see. He's been putting more and more pressure on Arthur lately, but seemingly trusting him less and less. Everyone knows Uther believes Arthur to be too soft to be king, or even the captain of his own ship for that matter."

Merlin sat in silence while he tried to process everything Percival and Lancelot had just told him. He had known Uther to be a tyrant, and Gwaine had mentioned on multiple occasions that Arthur worked too hard to please his father, but he had never realized the true extent. Arthur apparently held very little power at all.

Sympathy for the young royal bloomed in Merlin. His parents had done nothing but loved and supported him. He couldn't imagine what it was like to grow up without that.

It was just then Gwaine sat down suddenly next to him with two plates of food and two glasses of drink balanced precariously in his arms. He slid one of each in front of the warlock before digging into his own.

His plate consisted of salted beef (which he was sure was a considerably larger portion than he should've gotten), two whole pieces of bread that were miraculously not stale, some olives, an apple and some grapes, and a glass of blissfully cool water.

"How is none of this spoiled? You guys must have been at sea at least three weeks now," Merlin wondered. His ship never ran out of fresh supplies thanks to the ship's magic, but he was almost certain The Dragon Slayer was not a fully autonomous magical vessel.

"Uther's a massive hypocrite. He despises magic and kills anyone found to possess it but has no problem magically enhancing his ships. I'm sure you've heard the rumors surrounding this ship's magical cloaking abilities. I mean you're a captain yourself," Gwaine said as he took a large bite from his own apple.

"Of course, I've heard them. But I thought that's all they were: rumors."

"Nope," Gwaine said, popping the 'p'. "They're all true. But that's all the farther the magic goes. It's the Lady Morgana who keeps all the food fresh. Though only we know the ship's magic doesn't extend to the food supply." Gwaine said conspiratorially. Merlin laughed.

After that, the meal mostly dissolved into silence. Merlin was so hungry he felt like he could eat two more plates worth of food, but he barely made it through a quarter of his before his stomach cramped uncomfortably, and a sudden wave of nausea overcame him. He pushed the plate away.

"Are you alright?" Percival asked, concerned. Merlin waved him off.

"Should've expected it. The Goddess knows the last time I had a proper meal." His three companions shared a worried look until Gwaine shrugged and reached over for Merlin's apple.

"It's alright. Take it slow. Not to worry, we'll have you bulked up in no time. Until then, more for me." And he took an obnoxiously loud bite. Percival rolled his eyes, but Lancelot sat frozen, watching something across the galley with a faraway look.

Merlin craned his neck to see what Lancelot was staring at so intently. Immediately, he found the culprit. Across the room, Arthur himself and a miraculously healed Guinevere were huddled together, whispering about something.

"Put your tongue back in your mouth, Lance. I think you're drooling."

Lancelot seemed to come out of a trance, blinking rapidly. He shot Gwaine an irritated look. "I've got no idea what you're speaking of, Sir Gwaine."

Gwaine guffawed. "Of course, you don't, mate."

Merlin hardly listened as the two went back and forth. All his attention was focused on the couple still talking in fervent whispers. It seemed extremely odd to Merlin for Arthur to be in the galley, anyhow. The prince struck Merlin more as the 'eat in his own private quarters' type.

"What do you suppose they're doing?" Merlin asked, not taking his eyes off the prince and his lover. Arthur laughed lightly at something Guinevere said, causing the girl to blush. Merlin scowled and turned back to his companions.

"Beats me," Gwaine said. "But I could tell ya what Lance's doin'. Ogling the lovely Guinevere."

"I am doing no such thing!" Lance cried indignantly.

"You're well within your means, Lancelot," Percival said kindly, though he was also trying to suppress a smile.

"Are they always so friendly?" Merlin wondered, still scowling as he took a sip of his water.

"Who? Gwen and the princess? Yeah. Not to worry though, Gwen's being courted, so it's not creepy. Not that Arthur's a man like that anyhow. He's got honor, believe it or not."

If anything, Gwaine's words only increased Merlin's foul mood. He didn't know where the sudden feelings were coming from; he hated Arthur. Just because he was infuriatingly and unfairly attractive didn't mean a damn thing. He was an asshole. He had kidnapped him and was quite literally toting him off to either be ransomed or killed. He had every reason in the world to bloody kill the prince should the opportunity present itself. He should not be feeling angry that Guinevere got to make Arthur laugh like that.

"So, it's true then. Arthur had said she had a suitor, but I didn't know who."

Percival glanced at Lancelot. "And do you now?"

"Most definitely," Merlin huffed, restraining himself from turning around to look at Arthur and Gwen together once more.

Lancelot turned bright red. "Brilliant," he muttered, "Bloody brilliant."

"Jealousy is not a good look on you, mate," Gwaine whispered in his ear. Merlin protested.

"I am definitely not jealous!" He hissed back. Gwaine just shook his head in amusement.

Merlin was glaring a hole into the tabletop when a voice above him exclaimed, "Oh! I'm so glad I found you here!"

"Hello, Gwen," Lancelot greeted, cheeks permanently red. She looked away shyly.

"Hello, Lancelot." She turned her attention back to Merlin. "I saw you sitting here, and I just had to come over and speak to you. I wanted to thank you for saving my life; Lancelot told me all about it when I woke up this morning. I'm only glad they allowed you to help. I can't believe they've been keeping you in the brig like some animal just because of a little magic! Well, magic saved my life last night. How can I ever repay you?"

Merlin fidgeted uncomfortably. "Oh, well, it was no big deal. You were injured, and well, um, I could help, s-so I did. That's all. No need to repay me." His entire face felt like it was on fire, right to the very tips of his ears. He wasn't used to being thanked for his endeavors, not any longer.

Gwen giggled like a young girl. "You're adorable!"

Merlin stared dutifully downward while Gwaine howled with laughter beside him. Percival cleared his throat. "Where did the captain go? We saw you speaking with him."

Merlin looked at Percival gratefully while Gwen answered. "He had only walked me down from Gaius' quarters. He wanted to make sure I got here okay, seeing as no one expected me to be healed so quickly. He's gone back to his quarters now, I expect. He seemed rather preoccupied."

"I would've walked you down, had I known," Lancelot muttered.

"It's quite alright. I made it just fine, thank you."

"Gwen!" Someone called, and Morgana came dashing over. She drew the other girl into a tight hug. "Oh, Gwen, darling, I'm so relieved you're alright. We were all so terribly worried. I thought we'd lost you!"

Gwen returned the hug with just as much enthusiasm. "Can't get rid of me that easily, my lady. Who else would do your laundry?" She joked.

"I am quite capable of doing my own laundry, Guinevere!"

"Come now, your highness, you're a Pendragon! It's in your blood to be completely incapable of completing the simplest chores!" Gwaine called. Morgana promptly punched him in the arm, and he sat there grumbling about ladies who didn't know their own strength and rubbing his arm mournfully.

"At least she can dress herself. I highly doubt Arthur could put on his own boots without George," Percival said, and everyone laughed, including Merlin. It was just so easy to laugh at the prince's expense and forget all about the reason why he was on this blasted ship in the first place.

The looming threat of their arrival in Camelot had begun to weigh on Merlin's mind. He had spent his time since he could walk on his own two legs studying and learning about maps and charts. He knew well enough that another week or so on the ship, and they'd be arriving in the dreaded land. Merlin couldn't help the thrill of fear that shot down his spine at the prospect. As a young prince in Ealdor, everyone had made Uther Pendragon out to be some sort of monster. He'd never even met him, but the ingrained fear of the man of his imagination wouldn't go away. It seemed he saw the burning pyre just behind his eyelids every time he closed them, lurking like a shadowy beast.

Though, sometimes he thought he'd rather have Uther just execute him. Anything was better than having Cenred show up and destroy all of Camelot in retaliation, or worse, forcing Merlin to do the awful deed with his magic. And when his fiancé finally got him back in his clutches, back in their own kingdom…

Merlin shuddered. The mere thought of what Cenred would do to him made him feel like he was going to pass out. Every beating, every lashing, every burn and every verbal assault he'd had in the past would seem like a treat compared to what Cenred would do to him for daring to get himself captured and wasting Cenred's valuable time and resources to get him back.

"Are you alright?" Gwen asked him softly as he came back to reality. He realized everyone was staring at him with varying looks of concern.

"Y-yes, I'm alright. Sorry, just got lost in thought," he mumbled.

"Well, I think I'll just go grab something to eat then. I better go find my brother. I'd like to give him a good tongue lashing for his behavior yesterday if no one minds," Gwen said cheerfully. She pecked Merlin on the cheek, leaving him momentarily stunned. "I didn't see you here, promise."

As soon as she was gone, Morgana patted Merlin on the back. "Gwen is not happy about how Elyan treated you yesterday. Trust me; he'll get what he deserves." Suddenly, Morgana took a step back, looking him up and down with her nose wrinkled in disgust. "Oh, hell no. There is no way my moronic, arrogant, asshole of a brother actually made you stay in those clothes. Look at you! You look like some beggar who lost a tavern fight. Unbelievable!"

She helped him up, clearly wanting to pull him but not wanting to hurt his injuries. "Come now, what you need is a bath and some fresh clothes. No wonder you're ill!" She whispered, "Besides, this is no look for a prince," before taking his hand and beginning to lead him back through the galley.

"You'll feel so much better once we get you all cleaned up." Merlin looked back towards Lancelot, Percival, and Gwaine imploringly, silently begging for someone to help him. But all three of them just grinned at him cheekily and waved him on.

Merlin groaned internally, cursing the three other pirates, even as he allowed Morgana to pull him out of the galley.

Chapter Text

"Whose bathing quarters are these?" Merlin asked when Morgana finally pulled him through a bedchamber that looked significantly more lived in than his own, and into a small antechamber on the other side.

"Technically, all of Arthur's knights are meant to share the bathing quarters, but they all have separate sleeping quarters attached," she said, gesturing towards the multiple other doors in the small room. "But the one we just went through was Gwaine's. Figured he wouldn't mind much. He really likes you, Merlin. So, do Percy and Lance. So do I."

George came through one of the other doors carrying a bucket full of steaming water, which he poured into the already nearly full wooden tub in the center of the room. The cabin boy flitted around the room, lighting candles and pouring aromatic oils into the water.

"Um, Morgana, what's he doing?"

Morgana rolled her eyes. "What's it look like he's doing? He's preparing you a bath."

"Yes, I figured as much. I'm not completely moronic. I meant why is he doing all of that?"

"In the most loving way possible, you are absolutely disgusting, dear. Plus, I think you could use some relaxation after the last few days you've had. I asked George to draw up the same bath he would for Arthur."

Merlin's eyes got huge. "What?! No! Why? Arthur'll be furious!"

"First of all, no he won't. Second, you think my idiot brother scares me? And third, how's it any different? You're just as much a prince as he is," she said, ticking off the list on her fingers. Merlin opened his mouth to argue, but Morgana cut him off with a fierce glare. "Now, you are going to have this nice, relaxing bath, and you're going to like it! Strip."

"Are you going to leave?" Merlin asked, looking not a little scandalized.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "You don't have anything I haven't seen before. Gwen and I are the only women on the ship, mind you. Besides, you need someone to help you wash; you'll never get all the grime off yourself. Trust me, you'd much rather have me than George. Get on with it, then! You can't very well have a proper bath in your skivvies."

Merlin felt himself blush so red he was sure he resembled a tomato. He'd never taken his clothes off in front of any woman aside from his mother. The thought of stripping in front of a woman who was not only a Lady of Nobility, but also someone who deeply respected him as he did she and whom he'd only known for a week was horrifying. Besides, underneath all his mortification, the fear of what she would see rang truer and more fiercely than any other feeling ever could.

"Morgana…I'd really rather you leave," Merlin said, refusing to meet her eyes.

"Oh, come now. No need to get embarrassed. I'm sure you're well endowed, if it's your pride your worried about."

Merlin sputtered, causing Morgana to laugh. "Joking. I'm joking," she said easily. "Honestly, though. I'm not going to judge. I just want to help, Sire."

Merlin swallowed hard at the honorific. He didn't deserve her respect. He didn't deserve the title. "It's…it's nothing like that. I've got these…" he trailed off, trying to think of the best way to put it into words. In the end, he decided to go with the truth, "…these scars. I've got a lot of them, and I just-I just didn't want you to think differently of me. I'm already too much trouble as it is."

"You're a pirate, Merlin. We've all got scars. It comes with the job. It's nothing to be ashamed of," Morgana said gently, "And you're not too much trouble. You need help, and I'm more than willing to give it to you, whether you want it or not."

"But-"

"Tub. Now." Morgana crossed her arms and stared him down. Her eyes were hard and fierce, holding the same look of determination Freya's did whenever she was about to steer the ship in some heroic feat through hellish waters.

Thinking about her hurt too much. In the passing days, he'd been thinking more and more about the consequences his beloved crew had faced when they had inevitably returned to Cenred without him. The very thought made him sick with grief.

Slowly, Merlin reached up to untie his neckerchief, which was now more resembling something he'd find in his mother's scrap sewing cloth basket than the article of clothing it was. The entire time he prepared for his bath, his heart thumped hard against his chest, like the beat of a horse's hooves.

He refused to meet Morgana's gaze, even though he could feel her eyes boring a hole into his soul. He didn't even have to look at himself to know that each scar was shining in sharp contrast against his pale skin, some faded white, others fresher pink. His cheeks were warm, and it wasn't just from the steam rising from the tub. Morgana was eerily silent while he slipped into the blissfully warm water and eased back against the edge of the bathtub.

He may have made a noise he'd never admit to as he felt practically each of his muscles relax under the water's embrace. The steam wafted pleasantly into his face and filled the room with scents of chamomile and rosemary. He suddenly couldn't remember the last time he'd had a bath, even though he knew it couldn't have been more than a week. Somehow, it felt like a lifetime.

"This is wonderful," he told Morgana softly.

"I'm glad you like it." Her voice was strangely devoid of emotion. She knelt down next to him and handed him a washing cloth with a bar of soap.

The soap smelled heavily of olive oil. "Castile soap!" He cried joyfully. "I haven't used Castile soap since Ealdor! I'm always given tallow soap now; it's much cheaper."

Morgana wrinkled up her nose with disapproval, the first real facial expression she'd made since Merlin had taken the rags off that he'd been calling clothing. "Tallow is nothing but animal fat. It's not fit for a prince at all. Arthur uses Castile, and you are just as much a prince as he, even if you don't believe it yourself. I told you this bath would be fit for royalty."

Merlin took great pleasure in watching the week worth of grime and blood wash from his skin as he scrubbed himself until his skin felt raw. It didn't feel like it was enough. He swore he could still feel Gwen's blood burning into his skin, even as he turned pink from the incessant scrubbing.

Morgana's hands on top of his finally stopped his movements. For a moment, he couldn't look anywhere but at the murky water, now tinted a nauseating pale rose.

"Merlin…"

When he finally managed to wrench his head up to meet her eyes, they were swimming with unshed tears. She threw her arms around him, completely soaking her royal purple corset. Tentatively, he returned the embrace.

"Oh, I'm such a mess," she said, embarrassed. She pulled back and dabbed the tears from her face daintily with a lace handkerchief, so she didn't smear the kohl around her eyes. "It's just that…well, when you said you had scars, I never expected…not that I'm judging! I'm not! I just never expected them to be so there."

Merlin smiled sadly while Morgana ghosted a finger along a particularly old, jagged line across his ribs, light as a breath of wind.

"These aren't clean cuts from a sword. You didn't just get these on the job, did you?" She asked quietly. Merlin shook his head.

Morgana was silent as she cataloged every mark on his skin. The sorcerer could almost see her brain making all the connections, and he knew she had reached the right conclusion when a shadow fell across her face.

"Your fiancé?"

Merlin nodded mutely. Morgana worried her bottom lip and began to carefully pour water over Merlin's injured arm where the black lines from the cold iron were still prominent.

"Please don't tell anyone."

Morgana stared at the water pitcher in her hand while she wet Merlin's hair and began to work melted Castile and cleaning oils into his raven locks.

"Please, Morgana. I'm asking you as a friend."

"Tell me, to my face, that you won't marry him when you go back to Essetir."

"I can't do that," Merlin whispered. "You wouldn't understand."

"He's beating you, Merlin! And only the Goddess knows what else he's done to you! You can't possibly marry him. Have you no care for your life?"

"It's complicated. Please don't ask me to explain."

"Does your marriage have something to do with the dark spell binding your magic? With the night Ealdor fell?"

"Enough!" Merlin growled. Morgana looked like she'd been slapped, her hands freezing their ministrations in his hair. She pulled away, and guilt swirled in Merlin's stomach like an ugly beast.

"I'm so sorry," he breathed. "You're only being kind, and I'm acting horrid. I've got no right to yell at you. I don't deserve your care. It just hurts too much, that's all." He choked on a sob, tears running down his steam-warmed cheeks. Morgana brushed them away softly.

"Shh, it's okay. You don't need to apologize. I understand. I shouldn't have pushed so hard. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. But please, Merlin, let me help you. You deserve my care more than anyone I know."

"How was it you knew my fiancé is a man?" Merlin inquired suddenly.

A knowing smile split Morgana's face. "Oh, just a hunch."

Just then, George reappeared in one of the other entrances. Morgana whispered something to him, and he bowed before running off once more. Morgana finished rinsing the soap out of Merlin's hair and handed him a towel.

I wasn't long before George came back, clutching a stack of clothing to his chest. He set them on a chair and bowed once more. "Will that be all, My Lady?"

"Yes, George. You're dismissed." Morgana rolled her eyes as soon as the cabin boy left. "Oh, if he weren't such a good servant, I'd have him thrown in the stocks."

"What for?"

"I'm not sure yet. Does excessive politeness constitute public humiliation?" They both burst out laughing. Morgana handed him the stack of clothing.

"Here, put these on. They should be perfect."

"And you just happen to have clothes in my size?"

Morgana grinned. "I was planning on giving you a bath today come Hell or high water. I whipped these up with my magic last evening. I hope they're to your liking."

And they were. They were absolutely perfect. As soon as he finished dressing, Morgana brushed his hair until it fell in fluffy curls. She pulled a stick of kohl from a small case.

Merlin groaned and tried to swat her away. "No, Morgana, I don't need that."

"You don't need it, but you'll look damn good with it. Hold still." And seeing no point in arguing, the warlock let the sorceress smear the makeup on his eyes.

When she had finally finished her primping and preening him like a child playing dress up with her dolls, she turned him towards a gilded mirror on the wall, which he'd failed to notice before.

From the top of the midnight black, velvet tricorn to the tips of the gleaming black leather boots, he adored every aspect of his new outfit. His breeches were black as well as the overshirt he left unbuttoned over a low-cut white tunic. His new frock coat fell to mid-calf and was the most beautiful color of dark blue he'd ever seen, with black cuffs and gleaming silver buttons. He had soft silver silks tied around his waist and held in place by a black leather belt. He nearly cried when he found Morgana had also made him a matching neckerchief out of the same rich blue which he tied loosely around his neck. With the dark kohl painted around his eyes and the thin white scar across his collarbone peeking out of his tunic for the first time (one of the only ones he'd actually gotten in a battle), he looked like a force to be reckoned with. He looked princely. He looked downright dangerous.

And he was loving every second of it.

"How can I ever thank you, Morgana?" Merlin wondered aloud, awestruck. She pecked his cheek.

"It isn't you who should be thanking me, Merlin," she said slyly, winking at him in the mirror.

"You look delicious, darling," she practically purred. "I would make a move on you myself if I didn't care about my idiot brother so much."

"Excuse me?" Merlin squeaked, his ears turning red.

"Only a blind man couldn't notice you. Let's hope my brother has his eyes open."

"What?!" Merlin cried even louder, following Morgana out of the bathing quarters and back through Gwaine's quarters.

"You heard me."

The rest of the crew had obviously finished their midday meal because the main deck was swarming with pirates going about their daily chores. Merlin spotted Gwaine overseeing some younger boys swinging around in the rigging. The drunkard waved merrily at him, grinning brightly. Merlin laughed and waved back.

The grin fell from his face as soon as he saw where Morgana was leading him. Arthur was standing on the quarterdeck, leaning over the railing, watching the activity of the entire ship. He looked to be deep in thought, even as his eyes roamed over the pirates like an animal surveying prey.

Morgana strode right up to him, Merlin reluctantly following despite his silent attempts to tell the lady to back off. "Afternoon, brother dear."

Arthur slowly came out of his trance. "Hello, Morgana."

Arthur turned his head to look at her, but Merlin could see the exact moment he caught sight of him on his sister's other side. Arthur stood up a little straighter, his eyes going wide. Merlin stood tall and gazed ahead, refusing to look at Arthur even as he saw the prince look him up and down out of the corner of his eye. He would not give Arthur the satisfaction. Whatever had occurred between the two of them the night before was a mistake. Merlin would never get that vulnerable in front of the arrogant royal again.

"Oh, um, M-Merlin…um…wh-what's," Arthur stumbled over his words, opening and closing his mouth like a puppet.

Morgana giggled deceivingly. "What's wrong, Arthur? Something caught your tongue?" She took Merlin's wrist in her hand. "Come, Merlin, clearly my brother needs time to gather his thoughts. We must go see Gaius. Percival says he's been asking after you."

"Morgana, wait-" Arthur began to say.

A scream tore through the cool sea air. Merlin's head whipped in the direction it had come from. It didn't take him more than a moment to find the source of the sound. A creature of some sort was crawling around on the main deck. It was about the size of a very small jib sail and the color of milk. Merlin froze. He recognized those leathery wings and anxious chirping.

It was Aithusa.

In a flash, Merlin had jumped over the railing and landed heavily on the main deck, completely ignoring the bolt of pain that flew through his injured arm from the force of the impact. Already, many of the pirates had drawn their cutlasses, even though most of them were too scared to get close to her.

"Stop!" Merlin screamed. He couldn't get there fast enough. Leon, stupidly brave, ignorant Leon, was finally advancing on her. The baby dragon was crouched as low to the deck as she could get, panting heavily and chirping in distress.

"Don't hurt her! Please! Leave her alone!" He crashed to his knees in front of her and flung his arms wide, shielding his baby with his body.

"Out of the way, Sorcerer!" Leon called, still slowly moving forward. Merlin refused to budge.

"No, you don't understand. Please, she won't hurt anyone. Just let me explain. Can't you see you’re scaring her?" Merlin cried. He could feel Aithusa trembling behind him, causing his deeply suppressed Dragonlord instincts to scream in pain. He had to protect her at all costs. It was his duty. He was the last protector of dragons, and she the last dragon, not to mention that he loved her more than almost anything in the world. He would not let these people harm her.

"What's the meaning of this? Leon, what the hell is going on?" Arthur demanded as he and Morgana finally caught up.

"That sorcerer you insist on protecting has finally turned against us, just as I told you he would. He's summoned some sort of beast to destroy us, and now he refuses to move so I can slay it."

"How could he have possibly summoned it? He's been with me for the last hour and with some of the other knights before that. Besides, his magic is bound, Gaius can confirm that. Be rational, Leon," Morgana demanded desperately.

"I will not allow that monster to destroy this ship!"

"Merlin would never protect it if it was going to harm us. Please, you must believe me, Leon. Arthur, please."

The prince looked baffled, but he, too, was reaching for his cutlass. "No, no, please, don't. You don't understand," Merlin sobbed. "She won't hurt anyone. She's only scared. Please."

"Move aside, Merlin," Arthur said, his features schooled and emotionless.

"No, I won't. I won't let you hurt her. You'll have to kill me, too." He turned his attention to the baby dragon behind him. "Go, my darling, please, fly away. It's okay; I'm okay. Please, just go. I need you to be safe."

Aithusa chirped mournfully.

"I know you're tired, but you have to go," Merlin implored desperately, letting what little of his Dragonlord voice he could access seep into his words. Reluctantly, the little white dragon unfurled her wings behind him and leapt back into the sky, gazing back at her master with a sad expression.

Suddenly, her attention turned towards something further down the deck, even as Merlin tried to urge her on, to fly as far away as she could, to get to safety.

Merlin saw it a moment too late. One of the other pirates had loaded a canon to blast her out of the sky, but it was shuddering and making odd noises Merlin knew from experience should not be coming from a canon.

And Leon was standing right beside it.

Aithusa cocked her head at the noise. She zipped forward, employing the same tactic she did when she dive bombed the enemy in battle. She took the back of Leon's tunic in her powerful little mouth and yanked backwards as hard as she could.

The canon hissed and rumbled, close to firing, or rather, exploding. Aithusa was never going to make it out of the way in time, not in her exhausted state.

Merlin had only a second to get there, but somehow, as if some invisible force had pushed him forwards towards his girl once more, he made it in between the canon and Aithusa and Leon. He didn't know what he was meant to do against a literal canon; all he knew was that his dragon was going to die if he didn't do something. He didn't think that was something he could survive.

Aithusa released Leon's tunic and screeched in alarm. People were gasping, calling out, someone, most likely Morgana, even screamed.

Merlin couldn't move.

The world exploded.

Chapter Text

Arthur really had tried to go back to his own quarters after escorting Guinevere down to the galley. Truly, he had. But the call of the chilly sea air on his skin was too alluring to deny. Especially when so much was weighing on his mind from his conversation with his sister's handmaiden.

"Is something troubling you, My Lord?" Guinevere asked quietly.

Arthur hadn't realized how silent he was being. Usually, he quite enjoyed the times when he could have a conversation with Guinevere, especially with the scare they had just had almost losing her. She was a true and kind friend. Their conversations were like breaths of fresh air on the ship which could admittedly do with a washing. He made a mental note to assign some of his men the task later in the afternoon.

The prince cleared his throat. "It's nothing. My apologies for daydreaming. Where are my manners? I'm meant to be paying attention to you, not the other way around."

"What're you thinking of? Besides your usual misguided and misconstrued thoughts." Guinevere giggled lightly.

"Oh, very funny. You've been spending too much time around my harpy of a sister."

Guinevere laid a caring hand on his shoulder, gently stopping him right outside the door to the galley. "All jesting aside: what's bothering you, Sire?"

"It's…" the word 'nothing' caught in his throat. It wasn't 'nothing' at all; quite honestly it was a major something, or rather, someone.

"It's Merlin," he finally finished, deflating as the infuriating boy once more took the center stage in his thoughts just as he had done for the last week. Since when had his thoughts ceased to even be his own?

A wide smile spread across Guinevere's face. "Ah," was all she said while she pushed the door to the galley open. "He's quite magnificent, isn't he? He talked Morgana through healing me at the risk to his own safety. He stayed prisoner just to heal me. Now, I'm almost completely better from a wound that would have been fatal just yesterday."

"Yes, well, at the end of the day, he's still our prisoner, noble deeds or not. He will be out of my hands soon enough, and I won't ever have to think about him again." A pang went through Arthur's heart, but it was a match he'd learned to easily snuff out.

Guinevere gazed at him with those piercing doe eyes that might have once made Arthur's knees weak. Now, the only purpose they served was to make guilt ooze into his stomach, hot and acrid.

"Is that what you really want?" She asked quietly.

"Does it matter?"

"Of course, it does!"

Arthur sighed. "No, Guinevere, it doesn't. Because I've never had a say in anything regarding my own life, and I never will. It doesn't matter what I want."

Guinevere's eyes trailed over his shoulder. Arthur glanced back to see Merlin sitting with Percival and Lancelot at a secluded table. He couldn't even find it in himself to be angry that his knights had disobeyed his orders by allowing Merlin outside his quarters. Undoubtedly, Gwaine had orchestrated the entire thing anyhow, and punishing Gwaine was about as effective as pouring a cup of water on an inferno.

Arthur's eyes trailed over Merlin's frail form. He looked like a skeleton, sitting there in his blood-soaked rags and so thin his skin stretched over his bones.

When he turned back, Guinevere's eyes still held that dreamy, lovesick gaze she had every time she caught sight of Lancelot. Where a flare of jealousy usually licked at his heart when he saw the way they looked at each other, there was only a hollow sort of acceptance, now. Really, he was happy for his two friends. They were soulmates in a way him and Guinevere never could have been. The two of them had always been destined to be nothing more than friends, and that realization had only recently sunk in after so much pining. Neither one of them would've been truly happy.

Her eyes found his. He smiled. "Is that a blush I see, Guinevere?" He teased. They both laughed.

"I see the way you look at him," she answered softly, completely disregarding Arthur's attempt at dodging the situation. "You have more longing in your eyes than you ever did for me. Whether you've even put a name to it yourself, you can't deny that you find him alluring at the very least, and he's more interesting than any prisoner who you've ever shipped."

"It still doesn't matter; he's a sorcerer, a criminal."

"Is that you or your father speaking?"

Arthur remained silent, biting his tongue so he didn't snap at Guinevere. It wasn't her fault that his emotions were raging a battle in his head so loudly it could have put Thermopylae to shame.

Guinevere scooped up a plate of food one of the cooks had placed down for her. "Well, then, I think I'll be off to speak to my hero. I'd like to get to know him more; Lancelot says he's an absolute sweetheart." She stood on her tip toes and left a ghost-light kiss on his cheek. It felt more like a wall than a bridge between the two, and it left Arthur's cheek tainted with bittersweet remorse.

Arthur left the galley without another thought.

That's how he had wound up gazing over his crew from the quarterdeck, not really paying any mind to what was going on around him as his thoughts drifted right along with the wind whipping against his cheeks.

A set of determined footfalls startled him out of his musings. "Afternoon, brother dear."

Arthur blinked slowly, the fog still dissipating from his brain. "Hello, Morgana."

He turned his head to gaze at her, but his sister was not the one his eyes landed on. Next to her, Merlin stood, arms folded over the railing and gazing into the horizon in a regal manor.

Arthur's jaw dropped.

Merlin was absolutely, positively stunning. He'd clearly had a bath and was given a new change of clothes that did wonders for him. They fit him perfectly, and Arthur would be lying if he said his heart didn't break into a sprint. Someone had put kohl around his eyes, causing the azure to sparkle mischievously under the afternoon sun. His hair was fluffy like down instead of matted and unkempt, and Arthur couldn't help but wonder what it would feel like to touch those locks…

He meant to compliment the sorcerer, or at least tease him, but instead it seemed that his tongue had turned to mush, "Oh, um, M-Merlin…um…wh-what's…"

Morgana looked at him like a predator surveying prey with a triumphant smirk. She laughed slyly. "What's wrong, Arthur? Something caught your tongue?" She reached down and gripped Merlin's wrist. "Come, Merlin, clearly my brother needs time to gather his thoughts. We must go see Gaius. Percival says he's been asking after you."

"Morgana, wait-" Arthur called, panicked. The last thing he wanted was for Merlin to leave. The prince didn't think his heart could handle it.

A scream cut through the air. Arthur's heart gave a mighty lurch while Merlin's head whipped to the side. Before the prince could even turn to find the source of the noise, the sorcerer flew over the railing and out of sight.

As if his body needed a moment to catch up with his brain, Arthur came out of his stupor with a jolt. Morgana produced a dagger from her boot and tore after the wayward sorcerer, Arthur right beside her.

He had no idea what they were running into, nor what could've been so horrifying as to cause the scream from one of his crew. All he knew was whatever it was, it was bad enough to have Merlin taking off like a cannonball.

The idiot didn't even have any magic.

By the time the pair arrived, the scene was in utter chaos.

A little white creature, a dragon, Arthur realized as a thrill of fear spiked through his heart, was hunched down on the deck. It was wailing mournfully, causing Arthur to feel like he'd been dunked into the icy sea. Merlin was on his knees in front of it, clearly shielding it with his body. Leon stood threateningly over the cowering pair, cutlass raised.

"What's the meaning of this? Leon, what the hell is going on?" Arthur demanded breathlessly.

"That sorcerer you insist on protecting has finally turned against us, just as I told you he would. He's summoned some sort of beast to destroy us, and now he refuses to move so I can slay it."

"How could he have possibly summoned it? He's been with me for the last hour and with some of the other knights before that. Besides, his magic is bound, Gaius can confirm that. Be rational, Leon," Morgana tried to rationalize.

"I will not allow that monster to destroy this ship!"

"Merlin would never protect it if it was going to harm us. Please, you must believe me, Leon. Arthur, please."

Arthur didn't know what he was meant to feel. On one hand, he saw where Leon was coming from. It was a bloody dragon! It was the epitome of magic, nothing but evil and darkness. But on the other, Arthur's heart couldn't help but appeal to his sister and Merlin, both of whom he trusted more than he should…

Still, he could not appear weak in front of his men, especially when most of the men wouldn't hesitate to run back to Camelot and tell his father that he'd experienced a moment of weakness just for a bit of coin. He couldn't risk his father's wrath. Not only could it mean terrible things for Camelot, but anything he did to anger his father until Merlin was out of his custody was just another nail in the sorcerer's metaphorical coffin.

Arthur reached for his own cutlass still in its sheath. "No, no, please, don't. You don't understand," Merlin sobbed. "She won't hurt anyone. She's only scared. Please."

Arthur's own heart ached. Merlin was in distress, more distress than he'd seen him in even back on the island when he'd almost been raped. He clearly cared about this little monster, and Arthur's soul cried at the thought of bringing anymore sorrow into the raven's life than he knew from what little the boy had divulged.

Not that it mattered, of course. The mage would be out of his hair in only a few days' time, anyhow. It wouldn't matter what the hell he did to the boy between then and now. He'd never see him again.

"Move aside, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice flat even in his own ears.

"No, I won't. I won't let you hurt her. You'll have to kill me, too." He turned his attention to the little creature behind him. "Go, my darling, please, fly away. It's okay; I'm okay. Please, just go. I need you to be safe."

The creature chirped, almost like it was crying out in grief to Merlin.

"I know you're tired, but you have to go," Merlin answered liked he knew exactly what it had said. And honestly, Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he had.

Merlin was a mystery that just kept getting deeper and more complex. Arthur had always enjoyed a good mystery.

The dragon leapt into the sky with one last sad look at Merlin

Something down the deck caught the white dragon's attention. Arthur was too mesmerized watching the way its powerful little wings beat the air to notice. It was beautiful in a horrifying way.

Arthur knew he shouldn't feel so mesmerized. His father would have him flogged if he knew his son had possessed such thoughts about a creature of magic.

The prince heard the canon being loaded rather than saw it, but it didn't sound at all right. In a flash, the dragon zipped forward, took the back of Leon's tunic in impossibly strong jaws, and yanked back with all its might.

Arthur was too stunned to move. He would've dropped his sword were it not for the battle instincts engrained into him since he was a child. Never in a million years could he imagine a creature of magic actually saving someone.

However, it was never going to make it in time. The canon was rumbling oddly, clearly close to backfiring. A streak of black hair whizzed across Arthur's vision and put itself in between Leon and the canon.

"Merlin!" Arthur screamed, but it was too late. The canon exploded.

Merlin was aware of nothing and everything all at once.

His ears rung incessantly, yet no other sound filtered in from beyond. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he didn't seem capable of opening them again. The air stung like a thousand tiny needles, but he couldn't find it in himself to move. Something warm and familiar crackled pleasantly over his skin, not unlike a fire on a cool evening.

As the ringing began to clear, snippets of words trickled into his ears:

"-the hell?!"

"-dragon…magic…"

"-some sort of shield!"

"-Leon…saved his life…"

"-such an idiot!"

It was then that Merlin realized he had his eyes squeezed so tightly shut, he was seeing spots of color in his vision. Even so, the mere thought of attempting to pull his eyes open left him exhausted.

A strange pulsing sensation travelled through his body. A ball of solid warmth sat heavy in his stomach and crackled like lightning against the sea. With every beat of his heart, a wave of warmth and strength pushed through his veins from the source, leaving his skin feeling painfully hot. It felt like something was burning him from the inside out, even as the waves of mysterious power worked in time with his racing pulse to simultaneously soothe and exhaust him.

It was one of the strangest sensations Merlin had ever felt.

"What do we do?" came a female's voice. Morgana, his sluggish brain supplied, his thoughts rivers of molasses.

"No, no, stay back, your highness. He's dangerous."

"Oh, screw off, Leon. He just saved your damn life," another voice answered, this one gruffer than the others. Gwaine, it would seem.

"Merlin, you idiot, open your eyes!" Yet another voice called, but this one was different. It was more demanding, more authoritative, more condescending and arrogant. The very lilt of it grated on Merlin's nerves and caused his heartrate to speed up painfully.

Still, something about the moronic prince's voice called to a deep, dark part of him, pushed away the cobwebs to the recesses of his mind and allowed his conscious thoughts to return to the surface, despite the roaring, all-consuming pure burn the new mindfulness brought.

It was just like the cold iron, only this was internal, and he could do nothing to get away from it.

Merlin saw stars as his eyes were assaulted with fresh light. He stood on the deck, right where he had thrown himself between Leon and Aithusa and the canon, his arms held out to cast a spell. All around him, Arthur's crew stood watching with varying degrees of fear and interest, shrouded in a golden haze.

Merlin blinked. No, they weren't shrouded in a haze. He was. Small tendrils of shimmering gold flowed from the palms of his outstretched hands and added to the steady shield surrounding him with each new pulse of his heart. He could see the magic pumping glittering light through his veins, his skin taking on a golden hue.

He was using magic. Magic, which he hadn't touched in nearly three years.

If only it didn't feel like he was being burned alive, the thought would be exhilarating.

"Merlin, mate, you're okay. Everyone's safe; you can let go," Gwaine called.

Merlin blinked hard once more. It then occurred to him that the shield wasn't just some shapeless form, but a dragon. A literal, life-sized dragon, curling around him and baby Aithusa, who he had just realized was still behind him despite Leon somehow being pushed outside the barrier by his magic once the danger had passed.

But the danger hadn't passed, not for Aithusa and certainly not for himself.

They were still surrounded from all sides by pirates, most of them brandishing swords or some other form of weaponry. Leon looked too stunned to move, while Gwaine and Morgana were both trying to placate him with words he couldn't bother hearing. All his attention was focused on the captain, who wore an unreadable expression.

Merlin's body screamed in agony, yet Arthur just stared at him, hand still loosely curled around the hilt of his sword. The warlock didn't know why it was Arthur's thoughts on the situation that he cared for the most.

Finally, the prince's eyes broke the thousand-yard stare and found his own. "Merlin," he said tersely, "drop the shield. That's an order."

Merlin couldn't even find it in himself to glare at the pompous ass. His entire body was shaking with fine tremors. He was soaked in a cold sweat, yet he couldn't stop shivering. His heart felt like it was seconds away from quite literally bursting.

"Merlin," Arthur said again, his voice taking on more of a pleading sound. The royal's eyes flicked towards the mass of his father's hired crew watching the exchange with interest.

Merlin shuddered. The golden dragon around them flickered violently.

"Merlin, please," Arthur whispered, shifting nervously. Merlin's ears were roaring with the sound of his own blood straining to provide his heart enough oxygen, but he still managed to hear that one word. Arthur had said please. To him, a sorcerer. He despised how desperate Arthur looked for his cooperation in front of his father's men just so he could appear like he was all in control. The completely open, pleading look on Arthur's face was enough for Merlin to push himself to let go of the shield, to cut off the steady flow of forbidden magic that he never should have been able to produce in the first place.

Merlin gasped and collapsed to the deck, too drained to even stand. His body twitched weakly in awkward spasms, remnants of the cursed magic in his body trailing away back to the deep locked box inside him, held in place by the curse. Aithusa chirped softly in worry and inched up beside her master to nuzzle under his arm.

Morgana rushed towards him, but Arthur grabbed her arm and pulled her back at the last second.

"What the hell, Arthur?" Morgana demanded.

"Merlin, move," Arthur demanded without even looking at his sister. The prince raised his cutlass once more and took a step towards the pair.

Merlin looked up at him blearily. He shook his head without the words even sinking in.

"Move aside, sorcerer," he said, his voice cold. However, if Merlin had been in his right mind and fully well enough to comprehend the events unfolding around him, he would've seen the pained look Arthur was barely concealing, the anguish in his cerulean eyes as each word he spoke cut deeper into Merlin.

As it was, all Merlin knew was that this bastard was threatening his dragon. And he wasn't even enough of a man to call him by his name, to show someone who had done him no harm any sort of mercy.

"I hate you," Merlin slurred, "I hate you with everything I have."

With that, he gathered every last ounce of strength he could find in the deepest recesses of his body and stood, Aithusa on his shoulder, and stumbled to his quarters. Whether it was from sheer force of stubborn will or if some hint of the magic he'd just displayed still lingered in his body, Merlin didn't know, but somehow, he managed to shove the dresser in front of the door before collapsing onto the bed and succumbing to the darkness that had been eating away at the edge of his vision.

Chapter Text

Merlin drifted in and out of consciousness for some unmeasurable amount of time. He could've been lying there for minutes or days and would've been none the wiser either way.

He was fairly certain there had been people outside his door, banging on it, speaking to him. But at some point, they had left.

Or maybe there had been no one at all.

He felt like he was floating as an entire separate being from his body. He could only hear in fragments, muffled and distorted like he was underwater. He managed to crack his eyes open at one point and gaze through his eyelashes but was only greeted by two big, unnaturally black eyes attached to a little white body. Aithusa was curled under his arm, rumbling softly in fear for her master. She kept trying to heal him with her magic, but all she could manage were pitiful puffs of golden whisps Merlin barely even felt against his fever-chilled skin. Each time an attempt would fail, she would cry sadly and burrow her head into his side, feebly trying to push the bedcovers up over his body.

He didn't even have it in him to reach out and brush his hand over her head.

It went on like this for a while, Merlin hovering somewhere between wakefulness and unconsciousness, pain and numbness.

You're dying, a voice, not unlike his mother's, whispered through the endless nothing of his new existence.

Is that such a bad thing? He countered.

All around him were noises, garbled under ears stuffed with cotton. Thankfully, his body no longer burned with searing heat, though, quite frankly, he couldn't feel anything at all. He wasn't sure which feeling was worse. At least the pain meant he was still alive. Because death couldn't hurt so much, right?

It would be just his luck to die and finally get some peace, only to experience eternal agony even in the afterlife.

Someone was calling his name. They sounded frantic, scared, even. That confused Merlin. There was nothing to fear in Avalon, of course. The idea was absurd; it was downright laughable. He wanted to reach out and tell the mysterious person as such, but they seemed just beyond his grasp, like an echo in the forest.

A rush of warmth enveloped him, and he was sure that was it. It must be the voice of the Triple Goddess calling to him from across the shores of Avalon. He could almost feel the power the lake's water gave him, the very same power the sea had sustained his people with for centuries, a comforting, familiar power which he had not felt in some time.

A harsh, herbal scent assaulted his nose. It made quick work of slowing his racing mind into a swirling, incoherent mess and smothering the distorted noises still filtering into his ears. The smell lulled him gently away from his semi-conscious state, away from his pain and back towards the quiet.

The next time Merlin woke, he was slightly more aware.

Which meant he was even more aware of the giant bruise that was his entire body.

Through bleary eyes, he tiredly scanned his surroundings, no idea where he was. The cloth cot he laid on creaked as he strained to roll over, but soon found he lacked the capacity to even so much as lift his hand from the bed. His head fell to the side, and he found himself eyeing shelves lined with jars and flasks filled with unknown substances. Books were piled nearly as high as the ceiling. A worktable sat in the middle of the room, strewn with herbs, some half crushed under a pestle stone, others hanging from odd places as they dried, bound in twine. Another cot similar to the one he was resting on sat in the corner, the covers neatly pressed and tucked.

Tears gathered in his eyes for some unknown reason. He felt scared, and strangely enough, homesick.

The door inched open and a young woman with soft brown eyes popped her head in. Her eyes lit up with surprise when she saw him.

"Oh my, you're awake!" She breathed. She rushed across the strange room and fell to her knees beside him, her skirts pooling around her.

Her face fell. "Oh, don't cry," she whispered softly. She reached out and rested her hand on his forehead, her thumb stroking his temple. "You're burning up, poor thing. It's okay." She dipped a cloth into a bucket of cool water sitting at the end of his cot and draped it across his forehead. He flinched at the sudden cold.

She shushed him softly and pressed another cloth beneath his nose. The same strong, herbal smell filled his senses, and he felt his eyelids slipping close once more. "That's it," she breathed. "Just sleep."

The third time Merlin rose back to the waking world, he was fully coherent and fuming mad.

He remembered everything with startling clarity. He wasn't sure if he was shaking, or it was the boat or…

Ah. This godforsaken boat. His own little extension of hell.

With a start, he realized suddenly that he lay in Gaius' quarters, on the patient cot in the middle of the room. Whispered voices filtered in from across the room, and he turned his head only to find the old man speaking quietly to the source of all his anger.

Arthur good-for-nothing Pendragon.

The sorcerer forced himself into a sitting position and flung off the blanket covering his prone figure. Fueled, by nothing but anger, he pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the way he swayed like a drunkard, and balled his hands into fists. Gaius and Arthur jolted apart, eyeing him with shock.

"No, my boy, get back in bed. You're exhausted," Gaius said placatingly. The older man placed his hand on Merlin's shoulder in a caring gesture, but Merlin shrugged him off, uncaring if he hurt his feelings. He was past being kind. There was only one thing that would make him feel better.

"Merlin, for God's sake, get back in bed before Gaius has to drug you asleep again with the inhalant," Arthur sighed, exasperated. The prince made to grab his shoulders and undoubtedly manhandle him back on to the bed. There wasn't going to be any more of that.

His fist connected solidly with Arthur's jaw. The prince was so stunned, he stumbled back and fell into Gaius' workbench.

"Merlin!" Gaius cried in utter shock.

"You," Merlin growled, taking on the appearance of the deadly sorcerer all people feared him to be. "You absolute pompous, supercilious, condescending, bone-idled, asshole!"

He took a step towards the blonde, frozen against the table. He reached up and robotically rubbed at his jaw, eyes never leaving Merlin's looming figure.

"How dare you! How dare you try and kill my dragon!" He shouted. He reached down and yanked Arthur up by his collar, surprised when he was met with no resistance.

"I hate you!" Merlin cried, pounding his fist against Arthur's chest. Arthur, for his part, remained silent, allowing Merlin to hit him with no objection even though the sorcerer knew Arthur could've stopped him any time he wanted.

"I wish I'd never met you!" Another hit.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!" He punctuated each statement with a punch to Arthur's chest. Still, the blonde never moved to stop him.

All at once, it felt like the life had been drained from him. He was a puppet with cut strings. He sagged against Arthur, devolving into horrible, hiccupping sobs. It was only Arthur's arms suddenly around him that kept him from collapsing to the floor, utterly spent.

"Don't you understand she's all I have left?" Merlin whispered. Arthur carried him back to the cot and lowered him gently back down. Arthur knelt in front of him, allowing Merlin to cry into the chest he'd been hitting only moments before, soaking his lovely red tunic with tears.

Even after he'd ran out of tears, Arthur didn't move away. Neither of them spoke a word; in the end, it was Gaius who broke the silence.

"Chin up, my boy. I need you to take this tincture." Merlin sniffed softly and raised his head to look at Gaius through watery eyes. His hands were shaking too badly to grip onto the glass the physician offered, so the old man kindly tipped it back for him.

It was one of the foulest tasting things he'd ever consumed. He couldn't help but sputter and screw up his face at the taste. Arthur snorted in amusement.

"Mother, Maiden, and Crone, what the bloody hell is that Gaius? I've had poison that tasted nicer."

"Fever reducer. It would seem your body had decided the best way to restore the magic you'd lost was to boil all your organs from the inside out. You gave poor Guinevere quite the fright."

Merlin made a noncommitted noise, finding Arthur's shoulder to make quite a comfortable pillow. The tincture was beginning to burn pleasantly through his veins despite its taste. Vaguely, he remembered a woman fussing over him in his delusional state, but even now he couldn't match Gwen's face to her body.

Gaius patted his head lightly. "I believe there are things that need to be discussed. I'll leave you two alone for a while. But don't push yourself." He eyed Arthur seriously. "He needs to rest if he wishes to heal."

Arthur nodded. Gaius raised his eyebrow threateningly. It took all of Merlin's restraint not to look away under the gaze.

The moment the door shut behind the physician, Merlin launched off in a heated rant. "I don't know what you think needs discussed between us, but there is nothing to talk about. I always knew you didn't like me, hell, I figured you even resented me on some level, but I never thought you would stoop so low as to try and kill an innocent living being. Though, to be fair what could I expect from the son of Uther Pendragon. I can't believe I was starting to think you were any different. Gods, if only-"

Arthur cut him off abruptly. "Who did this?"

Merlin clamped his mouth shut in surprise. He drew his eyebrows together, looking torn between confusion, anger, and irritation. "Who did what?"

Arthur's eyes were hard, the cerulean now icy blue. He inclined his head towards Merlin's chest, and the warlock slowly followed…

…only to realize for the first time that he wore nothing but a thin pair of sleep pants…

…leaving his very pale, very much injured chest in plain view of the prince.

Merlin swallowed hard. His mind raced to come up with something to tell the royal that held barely concealed fury in his eyes. Fury at what, Merlin had no idea. Arthur had no right to be angry over something he knew nothing of.

"I'm a pirate, Arthur. Even your thick skull must realize that injuries come with the job. Not all of us can be royalty who sail in the lap of luxury. Some of us have to actually fight our own battles." Merlin murmured the last part, knowing it would strike right at Arthur's core. They were words Merlin had been dying to use since that very first battle for his own ship, thoughts he'd quietly mulled over in the back of his mind over Arthur's absence during the actual fight. At first, Merlin had merely thought him to be no more than every other entitled, cowardly noble in the world, but in the following week he had learned Prince Arthur Pendragon cared about his men more than his own life. It made no sense as to why he would allow them to fight and possibly lose their lives while he watched from afar. The quickest way to incite fury in Arthur was to take a stab at his pride, and Merlin's wounded, bitter mind wanted nothing more than to drag the prince down with him.

To his utter surprise, Arthur made no reaction aside from a deep exhale through his nose, no doubt to try and keep his temper down. "Nice try. It's scary how good you are at diversion. I'm not sure if that should be telling or not. And for the record, what I do is none of your business. You don't get to accuse me of anything when you've not told me a single damn truthful thing since stepping on to this ship."

"Oh, did I step on to this ship? If I remember correctly, you knocked me out and carried me. I was under the impression I was a captive, not a willing passenger. My mistake."

This time, Arthur's face did morph into one of anger. He shot to his feet. "Would you stop playing the victim? Would you like me to apologize for taking you away from your precious little ship with your perfect little life? If an arranged marriage is the worst thing you have on your hands, I envy you! Yes, that's right. I know of the mysterious fiancé you like to dangle over our heads like they're an actual threat. I figured it out days ago, after your outburst in the brig. I wonder if this mysterious person even cares that you're gone. I've got no idea who would even want to marry you, anyhow!"

Merlin bit his bottom lip to hide its trembling. Arthur's words were as tried and true as his aim and struck Merlin right in the heart. It was true. He doubted Cenred even cared that he'd been kidnapped, aside from fear of losing his magical toy. The warlock was sure his fiancé had some poor maid or stable boy with him right now, using them as a bedwarmer until he grew tired of them and cast them away, broken and lonely, only to move on to a new one the very next day.

He would know. He'd seen the man he was supposed to marry, who was supposed to be faithful to him alone, lay with enough people over the last two years. He'd seen the same cycle dozens of times. Yet, he was the one who couldn't leave. And, of course, he would never dare be unfaithful to Cenred. He shuddered at the mere thought of the consequences. No matter how many times Cenred cast him off for another, he was trapped by the ring on his finger and the darkness around his magic.

It wasn't like he cared. He cared nothing for that monster of a man.

He didn't.

It didn't hurt.

It did.

What was wrong with him?

He felt a tear roll down his cheek. He watched numbly as it splashed on to his hands folded in his lap. He didn't bother to wipe it away.

"Shit, Merlin, I'm sorry. I didn't mean-" Arthur started, sounding genuinely upset with himself.

"No, no, it's alright," he mumbled quietly. "Nothing you said was untrue."

Arthur sighed tiredly and knelt back down in front of the warlock. "No, it's not alright. I shouldn't have said that, any of that. It was too far." He made a slightly soured face, but smirked nonetheless. "You're not…terrible to be around. I'm sure some poor lass or lad is out there who'd be happy to call themselves your spouse."

Merlin snorted and glared halfheartedly at Arthur, but the blonde only offered him a crooked smile. The expression bled off his face as his eyes trailed once more to Merlin's bare chest.

"Who did this, truly?" He whispered. "Scars like these…they don't come from a sword. Neither do these bruises." Arthur reached out like he was going to touch a thick, white scar that ran across Merlin's stomach from the time he had thrown himself in front of a young chimney boy as Cenred descended on him with a whip for staining the carpet with ashes. The prince hesitated, pulling his hand back just before his fingers brushed Merlin's pale skin.

"It's alright," he murmured. "You can touch them. They don't hurt."

"But they did at the time," Arthur said softly.

"Yes, they did at the time."

Arthur, after only a moment of deliberation, gently ran his fingers along the old scar. Merlin shuddered at the contact and smiled apologetically at Arthur when the royal jumped back as if he'd been hit.

"Sorry," he mouthed, almost like Arthur would disappear completely if he dared to shatter the quiet around them, only punctuated by the steady slapping of the waves against the hull of the ship.

"This is from a whip, isn't it?" Arthur finally asked.

Merlin swallowed hard, feeling the familiar anxiety well up inside him. He was so close to the truth. He wanted nothing more than to tell Arthur everything, to finally let everything off his chest, to share the weight of his anguish with someone else.

But the two of them barely tolerated each other, didn't even like each other. They were barely even acquaintances. He couldn't possibly unload all of his pain on to the arrogant prat.

Yet, he found himself nodding his assent.

Arthur made a disgruntled noise, not much different from a wounded animal.

"How-" Merlin started, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat, "how did you know?"

"Because I have the same ones on my back."

The statement sat heavy between the two of them while Merlin felt like he'd been hit in the head with a stone. There was no way…perfect, stuck-up Arthur bloody Pendragon…how could he possibly have any scars marring his skin that weren't from great acts of heroism in battle, let alone a whip.

There was only one answer, and it made Merlin sick to his stomach and warm with sudden rage.

"Your father?"

Arthur smiled without a hint of amusement. "Yes, well, it would seem I often fall short of his expectations in a son and heir."

"And you're just alright with it? Everyone in that stupid kingdom of yours is just alright with it?" Merlin grit out, suddenly angry. How anyone could ever lay a hand on their child was beyond him. His mother and father would've chopped off a limb before they raised a hand to him, he was sure of it. And it wasn't like he hadn't given them plenty of times when a good smacking would've been deemed more than acceptable.

"Not exactly something I have a hand in, Merlin. Besides, he only does it out of love. He's trying to make me a better ruler. One day I'll have to take the throne, and Camelot will fall if she does not have a strong king. My father is only calling out my shortcomings when everyone else is much too afraid to."

"But-but he's beating you! He's flogging you! No matter what you've done, no one deserves that, and surely not by the hand of their own father!" Merlin cried.

"Watch your mouth, Merlin," Arthur warned halfheartedly, but it was clear there was no true threat behind his words.

And, for the first time since he'd stepped foot on to The Dragon Slayer, Merlin thought it best to heed Arthur's command.

That didn't stop him from watching the blonde carefully as the latter looked anywhere but at the warlock. For Arthur to tell Merlin what must have been a very deep, painful secret…Merlin didn't even entertain the implications behind that.

Still, Arthur so vulnerable, seeing the way his hands shook with fine tremors, the tenseness with which he held his shoulders, gave Merlin the sudden courage to speak up.

"It's my fiancé," he blurted before he could second-guess himself.

Arthur's head snapped up. His eyes were cloudy with his own pain and unshed tears, but also suddenly alert as Merlin's words sunk in.

"Excuse me?"

"The person who gave me this scar…who-who gave me all of them…," Merlin broke off, his hands shaking, and he clenched them tight to hide it. A warmth settled over his fists, and Merlin could look nowhere but at Arthur's hands settled there, on top of his, squeezing softly. Both were trembling so much neither could tell who was worse. All Merlin saw was the beautiful contrast of their color, how milky white he looked against Arthur's sun-kissed skin, how Arthur's ring glinted against the warm candlelight.

He shook his head hard to clear his thoughts and focused on the stability that simple action provided. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "My fiancé is the one who gave me all my scars and bruises. He-he has a temper. And he doesn't care for me. But you weren't completely correct in saying it's an arranged marriage." Merlin lifted his eyes long enough to see Arthur watching him intently, taking in every word he spoke.

"I had no say in it, nor did my parents. I met him after they-after they died." He cleared his throat over his stumble, emotions rising fast inside his heart. "He only wants me for my magic, which he controls. I can't use magic unless he allows it. Ever since he gained control over it, I've been stuck. I'm nothing more than a slave to him. He only uses me to relieve his anger, do his bidding with my magic, and then lay with me like a cheap hook-up only to hit me again the next day." At that, Merlin broke down in tears once more.

Merlin felt Arthur's arms around him, but he was too upset to even be startled. He sank into the warm embrace without a thought. It felt oddly natural, like he fit perfectly right in the prince's arms.

"I should thank you, you know," Merlin whispered into Arthur's tunic. "You took me on my last voyage at sea; I was getting married the next day. You see, I was only sixteen summers old when he…when he took me, and his advisors wouldn't allow him to marry someone who wasn't of age. Well, I was to turn eighteen the day of the wedding. If it hadn't been for you…"

"I'm no hero," Arthur said quietly. "I kidnapped you. I hurt you. You were almost raped under my watch. I'm a monster."

"You're not-" Merlin began indignantly

"Just because I am less of a monster than that pig trying to marry you does not make me good." Arthur breathed softly against his neck. "You don't deserve any of this."

"We're a mess," Merlin said.

Arthur chuckled. "That we are."

Suddenly, Merlin sat up ramrod straight. "Aithusa."

"What?"

"My dragon. Where's Aithusa? What did you do to her?"

Arthur held up his hands in surrender. "I didn't do anything to her. I told my father's men I was going to dispose of her, but we've been keeping her in Morgana's chambers. She and Guinevere have been taking wonderful care of her, though we can't get her to stop crying. We think she's crying out for you."

"'Course she is. I'm her master. She could feel my life force leaving me through our bond."

"So, it's true then? You're a-a dragonlord like Gaius said?"

Merlin smiled. "Yes, it's true. It's a gift passed from father to son. I'm one just like my father was, and his father, and his father all the way back for centuries and centuries."

Arthur's eyes went wide. "So, you really can talk to dragons? You tame them, and train them, and command them?"

"Well, not really them," Merlin said sadly. "Her. Aithusa is the last dragon left. And I am the last dragonlord."

"But how-"

Merlin cut him off. "I'm surprised at you. You're taking this well."

"I've had some time to mull over it while you were busy dying. Besides, I've grown fond of her. She's certainly got a personality. And how could I possibly hate something that helped save you, magic or not?"

"Save me?"

"The tincture Gaius saved your life with contained some of her golden healing dust. Without her here, Gaius said you would've died."

Merlin felt a swell of pride in his chest for his girl. "I need to see her."

Arthur glared at him as he attempted to get up. The prince shoved him unceremoniously back down. "No, you will keep your ass right where it's at. I will ask Gaius when you're allowed to see her. Until then, stay in the damn bed."

"Are you going to make me?"

"What, are you going to punch me again?"

Merlin winced. "Sorry about that. Truly. I was just so angry. I needed to get it out. I still shouldn't have hit you, though. It was wrong."

Arthur rubbed his jaw which was already a nasty red. "Yes, well, you pack quite a punch for such a weak little thing."

"I am not weak, asshole." Merlin worried his bottom lip. "I'm sorry I said all those things, too. I didn't mean any of it. I was out of line, and I just wanted to hurt you. You're nothing like your father."

Arthur made to leave but stopped to give Merlin's hand a final squeeze. "I'm sorry, too," he said softly, all hints of humor melting off his face. Merlin wasn't sure what of the multitude of things he was apologizing for, but the words rang true all the same. He was genuinely sorry, for everything.

"Prat."

"Idiot."

"Dollophead."

"That's still not a real word, Merlin."

"It is, too! Now, get out and go fetch Gaius, peasant!"

Arthur slammed the door just in time to avoid getting hit by a pillow. Merlin leaned back in bed, feeling the lightest he'd felt in a long, long time.

Chapter Text

On the following morn, Merlin was more than a little surprised when Leon accompanied Gwaine Percival, and Lancelot in visiting him in Gaius' quarters.

Aithusa, whom Gaius had allowed in after much complaint, was rumbling contently on Merlin's shoulder while he finished his breakfast of gruel, which was an unsightly gray hue. She had stolen his apple for herself, the little menace.

Merlin reached back and scratched her head absentmindedly.

Gwaine wasted no time in plopping down in the chair now permanently fixed next to Merlin's cot, kicking his feet up on the bed and leaning back with a smirk.

"So…" he started with faux innocence, "You and the Princess, eh?"

Merlin flicked a bit of his breakfast off his spoon at him. "I've no idea what you're talking about."

Gwaine wiped it off his face good-naturedly. "You're telling me nothing went on between the two of you then? Well, besides your decking our lovely captain. Nice punch, by the way. Really left a mark. Gaius hasn't stopped talking about it."

"Loud mouthed old man," Merlin muttered. Gwaine slapped him on the shoulder.

"It's all good, mate. Now, back to the business between you and the royal asshole…"

"Gwaine!" Leon snapped.

Gwaine only rolled his eyes. "Yes, Leon, we can all see the stick up your ass. No need to call attention to it."

Lancelot and Percy snickered while Leon's eyes glared holes into the back of Gwaine's wild mane of hair.

"Fess up then, Merls. Do you need coaching, or can I assume you've been in a bed before?"

Merlin burned scarlet, from his cheeks to the very tips of his ears. "Um, well, uh…damn it, Gwaine…I-I…W-where did you ever get such a revolting idea?" He finally managed to sputter out through his utter embarrassment.

Not to mention a little voice in the back of his mind was crying out Gwen's name.

"We're not accusing you of anything," Lancelot interjected, throwing Gwaine a meaningful look. "It's only Morgana had a dream, and you know her dreams are sometimes prophetic. She saw you and Arthur, well, kissing, and she couldn't make out where exactly, but it was all dark and cold, and she got really excited."

"So naturally, she told all of us," Percy added, sending Merlin a secret grin. The sorcerer groaned and threw his head back against his pillow, jostling Aithusa and causing her to hiss with indignation and take off across the room, settling herself quite happily right on Leon's shoulder.

They all froze in shock, including Leon.

"Well, I'll be damned," Gwaine muttered.

Leon stood completely still, even appearing to hold his breath like one wrong move would mean the end of his days. Aithusa, for all the panic she was causing, was blissfully oblivious, having fallen back asleep, rumbling softly against the First Knight's neck.

"She's not going to hurt you," Merlin said softly. "Well, at least not until you piss her off," he added with a sly grin. "You can relax, Sir Leon."

Slowly, ever-so slowly, Leon relaxed until he let out his breath in a long sigh. With one shaking hand, he reached up and tentatively brushed his fingers along her spine. She rumbled in response, stretching out not unlike a cat.

"See, dragons are not to be feared," Merlin murmured. Leon continued to stroke her.

"Who would've thought Leon would make friends with a creature of magic?" Lancelot wondered out loud. Gwaine was still grinning like a cat who got the cream, and Percival looked utterly befuddled.

Without looking away from the little white creature, Leon spoke. "I owe her my life. Even if she's magical…if it hadn't been for her, I would be dead." Leon turned his head with measured movements, and finally looked at Merlin, meeting his gaze for the very first time. In his eyes, Merlin found no distaste or disgust.

"And you. If you hadn't thrown up that shield, I fear the consequences may have been much more catastrophic. That was very brave of you. I'm indebted to you, sor-Merlin," he corrected himself, trying out the warlock's name on his tongue like a new spice. "I don't condone who you are or what you practice by any means. But I do, however, respect you."

Those words somehow filled Merlin with such joyous satisfaction. He didn't care if Leon liked him, he'd never cared if anyone liked him, but knowing he had earned the respect of a man Arthur so very clearly trusted filled him with a sort of smug pleasure.

Lancelot cleared his throat. "How're you feeling, Merlin?"

The warlock sighed and leaned back more heavily against his pillows. "Exhausted. Pretty much everything hurts. I've slept over a day now and yet it feels as if I haven't slept for a week."

Lancelot made a noise of sympathy. "You gave us quite a scare. I'm not sure I've ever seen Arthur so frantic as to when we finally broke down the door to your quarters." He shared a look with Percival who merely shook his head, clearly trying to be inconspicuous about it, but grossly failing. Merlin, completely ignoring the way the thought of Arthur being worried about him burned pleasantly in his stomach, narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What aren't you two telling me?"

"Well…" Lancelot started.

"We're almost to Camelot, mate. We'll be there come morn tomorrow," Gwaine interrupted. Lancelot shot him a dirty look, but Gwaine only shrugged. "Don't sugarcoat it. He's a grown-ass man like the rest of us."

"The Prince wants you to get Aithusa off the ship before we cross into Camelot's waters. She'll be safer that way," Percival said.

"Hell, no!" Merlin cried, forcing himself to sit upright again. "I'm not getting rid of her. She flew all this way to be with me, so Uther Pendragon's going to have to go through me if he wants to lay a finger on her!"

"Mate…"

"Merlin," Leon spoke suddenly, voice even and unconcerned, though appeasing all the same. "We're not trying to separate you and her out of malice. It's safer for everyone if you let her fly back to wherever she came from before King Uther catches wind. Right now, they're only going to demand a price from Cenred for your safe return, and you'll undoubtedly be reunited with your dragon. If Uther knows that you practice-" Leon swallowed hard "-dragon magic, he'll take his price in flesh, not coin. Thank this through logically."

Leon, of course, was right. As distraught as he was at the thought of parting with his beloved dragon so soon after reuniting with her, he hadn't lost his common sense. And he couldn't deny the fear he was feeling, even as he desperately tried to lock it away in that little box in his mind where all his horrid memories resided, never to be addressed again. But this fear was nearly tangible, heavy in his chest until it felt like he couldn't breathe. For the last two weeks of his time on the ship, he had studiously ignored what he knew was inevitable. He had chosen not to face the beast of Camelot and its monarch looming over his fate. Now, here he was, a day from confronting the epitome of everything he had been taught to fear.

He was bloody terrified.

So, yes, logically, he knew Leon was right. But that didn't mean he could accept he was right. Not when he was being asked to release one of the few living things that brought joy, safety, and love to his life anymore a sunrise before he was to meet what would ultimately be his doom, whether the outcome be death or being sent back to Cenred.

He would rather burn.

At least if he burned, he could do so with dignity.

Cenred had taken what little dignity he had left and twisted it into the one monster he could not beat.

"I…" he started, voice thick and rough with emotion. He choked it back. He'd shed enough tears on this living nightmare of a ship.

"You don't need to say goodbye just yet," Percival said softly, looking as upset as Merlin felt. "The Prince believes it best to release her this evening. The rest of the crew is having a sort of dance to celebrate finally returning to Camelot. No one will pay her any mind."

Gwaine added, "They'll all be too drunk."

"As you will not be," Leon said sternly, like a mother chiding a child. Gwaine frowned.

"You're such a prude, Leon."

"One who's going to keep you from tipping over the stern in a drunken stupor. I'm not going to haul you out."

Lancelot cleared his throat, raising his eyebrows pointedly. Leon instantly returned to his usual stoic look while Gwaine grinned sheepishly. "Right. It's settled then. We'll release…Aithusa this evening after the celebration's begun," the head knight said with a tone of finality.

"Hold on one damn moment, I never agreed-"

"As her master, you know what's best for her. I'm sure you can see this will keep her the safest. We're just trying to look out for both of you," Lancelot said softly. "But in the end, it's your decision. You know her best." He squeezed Merlin's shoulder lightly, mindful of his aching skin.

At this, Merlin deflated, feeling quite emotionally drained. He had no fight left in him, and he certainly wasn't going to win against the four knights.

He called her to him from her perch on Leon's shoulder, and begrudgingly, she came, with no small amount of huffing and attitude. Merlin lightly swatted the baby's tail, and she growled in what he was sure was meant to be a threatening manner. He almost laughed. She was a feisty little beast, always had been from the moment she had hatched and set Merlin's pant leg on fire with a sneeze.

"Very well," he murmured. "I'll let her go tonight."

Evening came much faster than Merlin had ever anticipated. He'd spent every moment of the entire day playing with Aithusa, stroking her, talking to her softly. There'd been a gaping, raw hole in his soul that had slowly grown throughout the day as Aithusa's time of leaving approached.

A quiet knocking on Gaius' door startled him out of his muted thinking. His brain was still clouded with sleep from drifting in and out of consciousness all day, his body still beyond exhausted and attempting to replenish the magic he'd once again been completely barred from now that no one was in imminent danger. At least, that was what Gaius claimed the fluke had been: an emotional reaction so strong he'd temporarily been able to surge up enough magic to break over the curse and protect both Aithusa and Leon, though in doing so he'd nearly killed himself. The amount of magic he'd summon to overcome the darkness in that moment had been astronomical.

The physician got up to answer the door. "Ah, good evening, your highness."

"Good evening, Gaius," Arthur returned pleasantly. The blonde's eyes trailed over to Merlin, finally settling on the little white ball curled on the mage's chest. "It's time, Merlin. The men have brought out the drinks. I'd doubt if they could hear a canon go off."

Gaius shuffled over to him and presented him with some fresh tonic which, begrudgingly, he took. He quite thought he deserved a commendation for keeping his grimacing to a minimum.

"He's still very weak, Sire. I wouldn't advise keeping him out of bed for too long."

"I don't plan to. I'd like to make this as quick as possible."

Merlin gulped. Aithusa crawled closer, burying her snout in his neck and rumbling soothingly.

Gaius reached out and patted Merlin's head gently. "Alright then, my boy. Perk up now. You'll see her again. This is what's best to keep her safe, you know that as well as I."

"Can you stand?" Arthur asked.

Merlin glowered at him. "Of course, I can, you prat. I'm not an invalid nor some damsel. I can walk on my own two feet." It wasn't as if he'd tried since the whole ordeal, but he was supposed to be the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth. If he was bested by taking a few steps, the future looked grim.

Arthur held his hands up in surrender. "Fine. Get your lazy ass up then, we haven't got all evening." He crossed his arms and leaned back against the opposite wall with a smirk.

He pushed Aithusa off on to the floor and swung his legs over the side, now freshly determined to prove he could do something as simple as walking, if not for any other reason but to wipe that smug look off the git's face.

The moment he stood he knew he'd failed.

All the blood rushed from his head and alarmingly large black spots flitted into his line of sight. He would've fallen right back down if not for his resolute stubbornness not to prove himself wrong in front of the young royal. Gritting his teeth against the aching all throughout his body, he took a step forward and tried to blink the offending spots away, to no avail. After another step, his legs were trembling so badly he was sure he looked like a newborn foal. By the third step, he knew it was a losing battle when the floor came rushing at him alarmingly fast. He clenched his eyes shut waiting for the impact, only to be stopped midair.

"That's what I thought," Arthur said triumphantly, his arms securely around Merlin's chest. Merlin rolled his eyes and bit his tongue to keep all the insults from spewing out. The prince hauled him back to a standing position and slung his arm over his shoulder. Merlin called Aithusa after them, and the dragon followed, her claws clicking against the floorboards.

Arthur dragged him out the door, keeping them pressed against the wall of the quarterdeck and in the shadows of the setting sun. He pushed the pace, yet his grip on Merlin never wavered, and never once did Merlin fear falling. Merlin saw Arthur's entire crew spread out across the main deck, laughing talking, and most noticeably, passing around tankards undoubtedly filled with rum and mead. They were shoving each other around, singing loud tavern songs at the top of their lungs, already tipsy from the alcohol. The sight made Merlin ache for his own little crew and beautiful ship, for the nights spent under the stars, playing dice, draining an entire barrel of rum in one go between the four of them, and just basking in each other's company. Will would get mad at Daegal for using magic to cheat, Freya would sing terrible folk songs at the top of her lungs, and Daegal would always be the first one out, the lightweight that he was. His heart hurt.

Around the back near the stern, Merlin found, to his surprise, that Arthur and he were not alone. Morgana, Gwen, and Gwaine were all there, as well, looking nearly as somber as he was.

Aithusa chirped and thumped her tail against the deck excitedly at the sight of them. The two girls knelt, and the little dragon shot off to see them.

"What's going on?" Merlin demanded as Arthur leaned him against the rail to rest.

"We wanted to see Aithusa off," Gwen said.

"And we wanted to be here for you, mate," Gwaine said, clapping him on the back. "Lance and Percy wanted to be here as well, but it would look too suspicious to Uther's monkeys if we were all nowhere to be found. So, we drew straws."

"He definitely didn't cheat either," Morgana interjected. She rolled her eyes. Gwaine gasped dramatically.

"I'm offended, your highness. I'll have you know I only cheat when it benefits me. I'm a gentleman."

"More like a charlatan."

"I prefer scoundrel, if you will. Charlatan makes me sound like I'm dishonest. And I would never lie about stealing."

"Hmm, charming. I'm sure the ladies adore you."

"Not just the ladies. The lads get their fair share of me as well. Isn't that right, Merls?" Gwaine winked at him, and it was Merlin's turn to roll his eyes.

"Not on your best day."

"Aww, come now. You would look simply ravishing with my-"

"That's enough," Arthur snapped suddenly. In full honesty, Merlin had completely forgotten he was there, too caught up in the comforting banter with Morgana and Gwaine.

"Sorry, Princess. I didn't mean to spark your jealousy." Morgana eyed him and shook her head.

Arthur shoved roughly past Gwaine to stand in front of them. Gwaine raised his eyebrows, surprised at the prince's sudden mood change. Usually, the royal took his teasing in stride.

"Alright, let's get this done."

Merlin took Aithusa from Gwen with trembling hands. She whined softly at his unease and attempted to get closer. He stroked her spine and shushed her softly.

"You have to go now. It's not safe for you. Go to Will. He'll take care of you until I come back."

Aithusa growled and dug her claws into his shoulder. Merlin winced.

"Aithusa, off," he said more sternly. She glared at him.

"Now."

Aithusa shoved off of him and climbed up the railing, still glaring. Morgana reached out and patted her head. "Goodbye, girl. It was wonderful taking care of you."

"Thank you," Arthur told her softly. She cocked her head at him curiously and bared her teeth until it almost looked like she was smiling.

"Aithusa!" Merlin called just as the little dragon made to take off. "I'm sorry. Please, I'll see you soon, I swear it." He felt tears hit his cheeks. He reached out to touch her, but she pulled away. She chirped in answer instead.

Merlin chuckled wetly. "Thank you, darling. I'll see you again. Be safe." With that Aithusa lifted off and flew towards the sunset. Morgana wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder. They all stood there watching her in silence until she disappeared over the misty horizon. Merlin swallowed hard.

"Thank you. All of you."

"Of course, mate," Gwaine answered roughly.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Well, then. Go enjoy yourselves. We'll be arriving in Camelot by daybreak. I'll escort Merlin back to Gaius' quarters."

They all gave him one last hug, Morgana's lingering the longest, before setting off towards the party. Arthur made to head back to Gaius' but froze when he realized Merlin wasn't following.

"Merlin?" He questioned gently.

"What's Camelot like?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your kingdom. What's it like?"

Arthur looked momentarily taken aback. "Well, it's…like any other kingdom I suppose. It's not much different from Essetir."

"Only magic's forbidden."

Arthur chuckled with no true amusement. "Yes. Yes, there is that."

The prince came to lean against the railing next to Merlin. Both men watched the gentle waves beneath rock the ship, the sunset setting the crests aflame.

"What I wouldn't give to be a merperson. I could just jump off this ship and swim away from everything. I'd never have to be bothered with worldly problems again."

"Merpeople aren't real, Merlin."

"Oh, you simple-minded fool. If only Uther hadn't tainted your brain with lies and hate, you could see what has been right under your nose this entire time. The sea is teeming with life, with magic. There are creatures within its vast walls you could only dream of in fairy tales."

Arthur was quiet for a long time. "And how would you know?"

"The sea doesn't keep secrets. It doesn't husband its magic and keep it from others. It's right there. You just need to be brave enough to look." Merlin felt Arthur shift next to him until their arms were brushing against one another. "Tell me: have you ever been harmed while at sea? Have you ever once feared for your life because of the elements while on this ship?"

Arthur chewed on his bottom lip, seeming to be truly thinking about his answer. "No, I can't say I have."

"The magic of the ocean recognizes its own. It'll never hurt those which belong to it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? You're creeping me out, Merlin, with all this cryptic talk."

Merlin simply shrugged. "I know more than you think I do. Magic isn't meant to harm, Arthur. Only remember that if nothing else."

Through the quiet of the evening, a lively lute tune cut through the air from the party on the other side of the ship. Merlin sighed dreamily.

"My mother used to play this song all the time when I was young," he said softly. He closed his eyes and listened to the music, swaying softly and imagining better times. He could see them now, cold winter nights spent in his parents' chambers next to the warm fire as a small boy, his mother playing merrily away on the lute while his father sang and swung him around like some damsel in a tavern. He was sure they both had mounds of work to get done, running a kingdom and all, but they always made him feel like he was the most important thing in the world, no matter what. He had to swallow around the thickness in his throat at the memory.

Arthur stepped away suddenly. Merlin looked up in alarm. The prince had his hand held out in offering, watching the warlock with his piercing cerulean eyes.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Merlin, shall I have this dance?"

"Oh, you are such a prat. I can barely stand; I doubt I can dance." Arthur gripped his elbow and pulled him into his arms easily.

"I can dance well enough for the both of us, be assured of that."

"What if your crew sees?"

"They won't. They're all too drunk by now to remember their own names, let alone see more than their own arms' length in front of them. Besides, I'll just say I was keeping you from pitching yourself over the side. Not unbelievable. It's what you've wanted all along, yes?"

Merlin shook his head in exasperation as Arthur began to move them to a much slower tempo than the one set by whoever was playing the instrument. Arthur was right, of course: Merlin did no work at all, his feet only following the prince's movements obediently. With anyone else, in any other setting, it would've been like something straight out of a fairy tale. Both of them moving together as Arthur led them in a gentle slow dance, the sound of the waves crashing pleasantly against the sides of the ship. Merlin bit back a gasp as the prince spun him easily and dipped him low, mindful of his injuries.

Arthur's eyes were sparkling like gemstones in the fading light, the song in the background making the entire experience feel like a dream. Never, not in a million years, would Merlin have ever thought they'd end up here, Arthur spinning him around in an intimate dance, no space in between them. As the song began to slow down in its final notes, Arthur stopped, only rocking them softly back and forth, holding Merlin's stare with piercing, vulnerable eyes.

The warlock's pulse quickened. Surely, he wasn't just imagining the way Arthur was leaning in, his face suddenly much closer to Merlin's own than it was before. He was assaulted with all the secret thoughts he'd buried in the last two weeks, thoughts he knew should've never been there to begin with. This was wrong. Even now, as he felt Arthur's warm breath against him, their lips so close Merlin could practically feel it, he knew this was wrong for so many reasons. It wasn't like anything could ever happen between the two of them, his brain said.

He promptly told his brain to shut up. He knew what he wanted, damn the consequences.

What about Gwen?

Shut up.

He closed his eyes, his heart racing with anticipation, anxiety and longing singing hot in his veins, the feeling he'd been denying since he first laid eyes on the golden prince finally coming to the forefront of his mind. And to know that Arthur was the one initiating it! Any moment, he'd finally feel Arthur's lips against his. Any moment.

Any moment…

As the music stopped completely, Merlin found his lips still cold, his body now much of the same as Arthur yanked himself away.

Merlin's eyes flew open to see Arthur stumbling away from him, looking completely terrified. The warlock reached out, but Arthur flinched, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Arthur, wait!" Merlin called desperately.

Arthur shook his head. "No. No. No, I can't. I can't do this. I'm sorry, I can't do this to you, Merlin. I won't." With that, the prince turned on his heel and dashed away, not even looking back to see the destruction he'd left behind.

"Arthur…" Merlin cried softly, barely able to be heard over the sound of his own heart breaking.

Chapter Text

Standing on dry land once more and staring up at the grand form of Camelot from the port below, Merlin really didn't know what he'd expected.

With all the horror stories that had come from within the walls, all the whispered warnings that had followed him all his life in Ealdor, he had managed to conjure up a horrifying image of a dark, decrepit place full of low lifes and scumbags hellbent on murder, torture, and all sorts of other heinous crimes, despite knowing logically he was being a child.

In fact, as much as he hated to admit it, the Pendragons' kingdom was quite beautiful, even from the minimal parts he could see.

The port where they had just finished docking the ship was clean and well-kept. All of the men milling around the docks were hard at work, not a single one looking as if they'd cause any trouble. Noise was already beginning to emanate from the lower towns as its sleepy people began to wake up and start the day. Merlin could hear voices greeting each other. Doors were opening and shutting rapidly as people went about their morning chores. A few chickens were clucking in their roost, and a horse came clopping down the dirt road towards the water with a wagon in tow, no doubt prepared to haul in any fish for the market that had come in overnight. Somewhere in the distance, Merlin heard a blacksmith already clanging away at their work. Trees rustled in the chilly breeze blowing off the sea, with foliage of all sorts reaching as far as Merlin could see through the gates to the town where two guards sat in a tower, another walking a slow line along the parapet. And above it all, the castle in all of its dazzling, sprawling glory rose into the clear sky, still gray with the rising sun.

It was so unlike Essetir. Where Camelot's people were allowed to roam freely about their homes and town, Essetir's were kept to a strict curfew. Where Camelot allowed its people any and all access to the sea, Essetir kept its peasant locked away from the ports at all times, Cenred's paranoia of his own rule not allowing him to trust anyone. Where Camelot's castle was grand and clean and gloriously white, Cenred's castle was cold and ominous, made from a dark, roughly hewn stone that instilled fear in all, not just Merlin who had all but gotten used to the perpetual chill, not from the weather, in the place he was meant to call home.

All in all, despite how he was quite literally quaking in his boots but refused to show it, he had to admit Camelot was much more welcoming than Essetir would ever be.

The place notorious for massacring people just like him was more inviting than his own "home". That thought really should've bothered him more.

A hand lightly touching his shoulder startled him out of his gawking, causing him to jump an embarrassing amount. Lancelot stared at him with sympathy.

"Sorry," he said, gently squeezing the warlock's shoulder. "We should get going. We don't want to keep the king waiting. The rest of the crew is finishing unloading just now." Sure enough, the noise of the other rowdy men he'd tried to ignore his entire stay on The Dragon Slayer picked up as they all clambered off the ship and made for the gates, shoving quickly past Merlin and Lancelot without another glance. Lance rolled his eyes.

"Beasts," he muttered. He smiled lightly at Merlin just as Gwaine came lumbering along and slung his arm over Merlin's shoulder with over-the-top cheer. "Alright, Merls, let's get this parade started! I can hear the tavern calling my name!"

Merlin smiled weakly, not able to muster up anymore while his heart tried to beat a frantic rhythm out of his chest. Behind them trailed Leon and a reluctant Elyan as they trudged through the gates. Percival was still helping Gaius down the gangplank while Morgana and Gwen were caught up giggling with some peasant girls down the street, an act he was sure Uther would severely disapprove of.

"Oh, come on. Don't look like we're marching you to your death. We'll get everything sorted with His Kingliness and then you and the Princess will be having a passionate love affair in no time. You'll see."

Merlin kicked a rock with the toe of his boot, forlornly watching it skitter a line in the dusty dirt as it rolled away. "I don't think that's going to happen, Gwaine," he muttered. He glanced up and found Arthur leading his men back towards the castle. The prince hadn't spoken a word to him since the night before and refused to meet his eye. "Besides, I'm betrothed to another. Remember? You guys kidnapped me from my final sail of bachelorhood."

"Well then, call it practice for your wedding night, mate. We won't tell. Right, Lance?" Lancelot scowled at Gwaine in answer.

"I don't think the prince wants anything to do with me."

"Did something happen between you two?" Lancelot asked gently. Next to them, Gwaine had hoisted a little peasant boy into the air and was spinning him around, much to the delight of the child.

Merlin sighed. "Nothing at all, that's the problem. We were dancing last night…oh, it was wonderful, Lance. And then I leaned in, and I could've sworn Arthur did as well, but he pulled away at the last moment. Said he couldn't do it.”

"I'm so sorry, Merlin. It's no excuse, but Uther wasn't exactly kind to Arthur growing up from what I hear. Arthur has a hard time expressing his emotions. He thinks they make him weak," Lancelot said, though his voice had hardened significantly as he glared in Arthur's general direction.

"I just can't believe he'd even think about being unfaithful!"

"Unfaithful? What're you on about?"

"To Gwen. I mean I knew Arthur was an ass, but I thought he was at least an honorable man."

Lancelot was quiet for a long time. His eyebrows were scrunched like he was deeply troubled by something.

"Merlin…who do you think Arthur's courting?"

"Gwen, of course! Didn't you see the way he was after she'd been stabbed? And everyone keeps talking about Gwen's suitor."

Suddenly, Lancelot burst out laughing, startling Merlin. He'd never heard the man laugh quite so loudly, even when he was joking around at a meal with the other knights. He was laughing so much in fact, that he nearly stumbled over his own feet.

"What the hell's so funny?" Merlin demanded. Gwaine, now back from his side mission to play with every child he came across, was now staring at Lancelot, just as bewildered.

"You actually thought…this whole time…oh my God, there's no way you could've thought Arthur and Gwen were courting!"

"Wait, what's happened? Merlin thought Arthur and Gwen were together?" Gwaine asked with a huge grin.

Lancelot was still howling like a dog while Merlin silently fumed. "Well, go on then. Make fun of me. It's nothing new. Besides, I can't be blamed. I'm your prisoner, remember? No one bothers to tell me anything."

"I'm sorry. It's just that, all this time you were holding back from Arthur because you thought he was courting Gwen. You didn't want to hurt her, am I right?" Lancelot asked.

"Of course not. Gwen's amazing!"

"I know she is. That's why I'm courting her."

Merlin's mouth fell open in shock, realization slowly dawning on his face as all the pieces fell into place. "You're…you're c-courting her. Oh, goddess, it all makes sense now," Merlin moaned miserably.

Gwaine patted him on the back. "See, now you can pursue Arthur with a clean conscience, after we sort out this mess the idiot's got himself into, of course."

"Still doesn't matter," Merlin whispered. He held up his left hand where a golden band shimmered on his ring finger in the soft sun. "I'm getting married as soon as Uther decides to send me back to Essetir."

Lancelot gazed at him seriously. "And do you want to get married?"

"Are you even in love with this guy-oh don't look at me like that, clearly, it's a man-that you're meant to marry? Were you even involved in the decision? 'Cause from where we're standing, it doesn't look like the answer to any of those questions is 'yes'," Gwaine said.

"You've fallen for Arthur, even if you won't admit it to yourself yet. And I can tell you the feeling is mutual. That almost kiss you two shared wasn't an accident. I've known Arthur long enough to tell you that he doesn't get that vulnerable around just anyone," Lancelot added.

Merlin snorted. "Frankly, I want nothing to do with the prat," he said, though his tone didn't convey the same message. Lancelot and Gwaine shared a knowing look over his head.

Their party came to a sudden halt. Merlin had been so caught up in his conversation with the two knights that he'd failed to notice just how far into Camelot they had hiked. Now, the group was standing outside the gates to the main citadel. The impressive white walls of the castle towered over all of them, casting a shadow over the large courtyard Merlin could see within.

The warlock swallowed hard and attempted to take a step backwards, suddenly overcome with raw fear. He gripped his trousers until his knuckles turned white in a blatant attempt to hide the way they shook. A gentle hand on his back made him shudder as nervous shivers wracked his thin frame. Morgana was standing right behind him, though he was sure she'd been far behind them only a moment before, caught up in her gossiping with Gwen. He wouldn't have been surprised to find out she could teleport, what with her knack of appearing out of seemingly thin air just as she was needed or was about to insert herself into where she thought she was needed. She shoved Gwaine away, to which the knight grumbled indignantly, and she wrapped an arm around Merlin's waist.

"It's alright," she whispered. "I know you're scared. You have every right to be with all the horror stories of my dearest father I'm sure you've heard all your life. But we won't let anything happen to you. And as much as my brother is being an absolute imbecile right now and needs to apologize, he won't either. You'd be surprised how many of us care about you and would gladly take up arms against Uther if he tries to harm you."

"Even Arthur?"

Morgana glanced over at her brother as he had the guards open the gates. "I don't think you realize how much he's changed in the two weeks he's known you. Nor do I think he even realizes it himself, for that matter." She hugged him gently then pulled away, striding into the castle with her head held high. If Morgana could walk into Uther's domain as a creature of magic with all her pride intact, Merlin surely could as well. He squared his shoulders and did his level best to bring forth every ounce of prince and sea captain he knew ran through his veins.

"Let's go then. I've a tyrant to meet," he said to the knights, not even giving a sideways glance to Arthur.

At some point, most of Arthur's crew had dwindled off to homes and other day to day jobs. Not many of them were knights of course, and even fewer were loyal to Arthur alone. So, it came as no surprise when by the time they had made it to the castle, the only people left were the five knights, Morgana, Gwen, Arthur's cabin boy, George, and the prince himself.

Even with much bigger things to focus on, Merlin couldn't help but take in all the beautiful architecture of the castle. The clean stones brightly lit with torches mounted on elaborate wall sconces. The crystal-clear windows that allowed the soft morning sun to shine in on the smooth stone floor. The tapestries and coats of arms suspended elegantly on the walls, leaving no room for doubt that this was a dwelling of the highest nobility. It reminded Merlin of his home in Ealdor, although this castle had a distinct lack of magical touch.

And also, a distinct lack of dragon scorch marks. There weren't any of those either.

A large set of wooden double doors loomed in front of them. Merlin only had time to take one last calming breath before Arthur pushed them open, and the mage found himself in a large throne room. The ceiling was so high Merlin could barely make out where it rounded off. To the left, large wooden panels rose halfway up the wall, topped off with an intricate design like the turrets of a castle. To the right, windows ran just as high the entire length of the room. Smaller dormer windows sat well above them in the rounded parts of the ceiling, casting the entire room in sun. The throne room itself was nearly double the length of Cenred's, and at the end of it rose a three-step dais, atop which sat a large gold and red throne and two smaller ones just behind, clearly meant for Arthur and Morgana.

It was here that Merlin caught his first glimpse of Uther Pendragon.

For a man with such an infamous reputation, he was not nearly as imposing as the image of a monster Merlin had conjured up in his mind. Even sitting, Merlin could tell the king was no taller than he. With his gray hair and prominent stress lines, Uther didn't exactly instill a feeling of immediate fear in Merlin. Instead, he felt a wave of hot fury rise inside of him, watching him sit upon his exorbitant throne with the knowledge that he had ruined so many lives. This was the man who had killed Arthur's mother because of his own greed. This was the man who had helped in the murder of his own parents and the subsequent fall of his kingdom and enslavement by Cenred.

He wished for nothing more than to wrap his hands around the cocky bastard's throat. If not for himself, then for the thousands of innocent lives Uther had taken in his own quest for power. Those were his people, and he didn't care whether this was Arthur's father or not. He wanted him to die, a feeling which he thought he strictly reserved for Cenred.

Arthur moved forward to kneel before his father, his knights following suit. "Ah, Arthur, you've returned at last! Certainly kept me waiting long enough, didn't you? And with such a valuable prisoner at that!" Uther said. The accusation was clear in his voice.

Arthur stared blankly at the ground. "I apologize, sire. We stopped in the Isles of Denatia to repair damages the ship sustained in the fight for Mer-," he cleared his throat quickly, "the sorcerer's ship. I'm afraid it delayed us."

Uther made a disapproving noise. "And where exactly is this ship?"

"We let it go, sire. There were but three others on the ship, none of which posed any threat. This was the only one worth anything, I promise you."

"That remains to be seen. Get up!" Uther said. "I'm disappointed in you, Arthur. We never leave witnesses. It makes us look weak. What would you do if Cenred now attacks because he thinks we can't hold our own against a small sea crew? It will be your fault."

Uther's eyes finally slid over to rest on Merlin. The warlock stared right back while the knights scrambled up from the ground.

"So," Uther said, a humorless grin gracing his face, "you're Cenred's great sorcerer then."

"Actually, I'm a warlock. There's a difference."

Silence followed. No one had expected him to speak back, least of all Uther himself. Morgana was silently glaring a hole into the back of her father's head from where she now sat on her own throne. Arthur's face still held the same blank expression as he stood in front of his father obediently. The knights were all looking at him with varying degrees of awe and annoyance as he gambled with his life two minutes after meeting the king.

"My apologies then, warlock. You're quite powerful if what the stories and my son's messages tell me are true."

"Some would say that."

"Yet, you never once tried to run. You stayed quietly in the brig for the entire two weeks they had you."

It was here that Merlin had to refrain from looking towards Arthur. Clearly, the prince had not reported any of the many incidents that had occurred on the ship, even after he had tried to break out that very first night thanks to Gaius' key.

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe. What I find even more difficult to believe is that you actually think I'd let you go after what you've done. I know exactly who you are," Uther finished. Merlin's heart jumped to his throat and the breath seized in his lungs as he thought of the many horrible things he had done that Uther could be referring to. What if he knew of his soon-to-be husband? Or worse yet, what if he knew of his heritage?

The thought was enough to make Merlin feel like he was going to lose his breakfast. It took all of his restraint not to bolt right then.

"Guards!" Uther called suddenly. Two knights whom Merlin hadn't even noticed came forth and seized him roughly by each arm. He gritted his teeth against the fire that raced over his skin from the still healing cold iron poison.

"Father!" Arthur cried in shock. Morgana had shot up from her throne, only held back by a fearful Gwen.

"Silence! Guards, take the prisoner to the dungeons. No one is to take their eyes off of him."

"Uther, you liar!" Morgana screamed. "You said you were going to ransom him back to Cenred, not have him imprisoned!"

"There is more going on here than your naïve mind knows, Morgana. You know not of what he has done. None of you do. This boy is a monster!"

"I may be a monster," Merlin said quietly, "But I promise I am a much smarter one than you."

"How dare you!" Uther roared, finally rising from his throne and marching down the dais to stand in front of Merlin. He roughly grabbed his chin and forced Merlin to look him in the eye. "How dare you speak that way to your superiors. The pyre will be a mercy to what you deserve. Get him out of my sight."

As the guards began to drag him away, Merlin drove his heels into the floor, dragging them to a stop. "You can lock me away. You can beat me, torture me, starve me. You can watch me go up in flames. But it won't make a difference. Dead men tell no tales, but even death can't smother a secret. They'll find out the truth, Uther Pendragon. They'll see who you really are, what you did. I hope you're haunted by what you've done for the rest of time." With that, he spat at the ground at Uther's feet.

He could still hear the angry king's roars from two corridors away.

Arthur stood frozen to his spot. So much had happened in such a short period of time that his brain was working on overdrive just to comprehend all of it.

His father had lied to him. He'd gone back on his word, and Arthur had been too afraid to see it. He should have been suspicious the moment his father said he'd willingly allow a sorcerer to live, if only for a price. He'd been too stupidly gullible, too caught up in trying to please his father in every way when deep down in his heart he knew it was futile, he'd failed to notice all the signs that were right in front of him.

Merlin was going to pay for it with his life. And it was completely Arthur's fault.

He didn't know what to do, didn't know what to say. All he knew was that Merlin didn't deserve to die. He couldn't watch the cheeky boy who'd so quickly become a fixture in his everyday life go up in flames. The warlock had already suffered enough in his life, and Arthur had only made things worse.

He should've lied. He'd thought that by failing to tell his father of any of the many events Merlin had caused on his ship that maybe he could convince the king that this one sorcerer was innocent.

What a completely moronic notion, now that he'd thought of it. How could he have possibly believed that Uther would ever be convinced of benign magic? Maybe it was that one shred of light still inside him that desperately hoped Uther could still change and be the father Arthur had always wanted.

The prince wanted to slap himself.

Watching Merlin interact with the man whom so many cowered beneath, and whom Merlin had every reason to fear above others, with confidence and the same snark he would a common man filled him with a sense of pride for the infuriating boy. No one had ever dared to speak back to Uther, especially not a sorcerer. But Merlin, amazing, completely unique Merlin, had the audacity to not only speak back, but to correct the powerful king with the same calm indifference a teacher would to a student's misspellings.

The Merlin who stood before Uther was unlike Arthur had ever seen him. He was cold and emanating barely concealed rage, nothing like the kind, compassionate, clumsy warlock they'd all come to know over the last fortnight. He looked every bit the fearsome sorcerer so many feared him to be.

Arthur would be lying if he said it wasn't attractive.

But any sense of allure he held in that moment quickly vanished when the guards began to drag Merlin to the dungeons, the warlock spouting off something about secrets and lies that Arthur had no hope of understanding, but the words sending chills down his spine all the same.

Now, he was gone. Arthur felt as if he might faint only imagining the pain Merlin must already be in from the cold iron cells. It took everything in him not to rush after the guards and rip Merlin from their vile grips.

He couldn't let anything happen to Merlin before he resolved things with him. After his colossal screw up the evening before, he couldn't even look at Merlin. The guilt was killing him, seeing the pain he'd inflicted clear as day on Merlin's face because of his own self-loathing. Merlin had thought Arthur didn't want to kiss him, while that was the farthest thing from the truth.

Morgana, her tongue ever poisonous around their father, seemed to take Merlin's arrest as a personal insult. "What exactly is it we're too 'naïve' to understand? What exactly has Merlin done? Or better yet I should ask: how have you twisted the story to make him out to be the bad guy?" She hissed.

"Watch your tongue with me. I gave you your titles, I can strip you of them just as easily!"

"I'd rather be poor and happy than rich and calling you my father," she said coldly.

"You don't mean that," Uther murmured. "It's him! It's the sorcerer! He's clearly enchanted you! It's what their kind does. They charm you until you can't see them for the evil they really are!"

"Seeing as Merlin can't even do magic, I highly doubt that, your highness," Gwaine growled.

Uther paused where he had been pacing the length of the dais like a caged animal, rounding on Arthur and his knights. "Control your knight, Arthur, before he meets the same fate as the sorcerer you tried to protect."

Arthur blanched.

"Oh, yes. You don't think I actually believed he didn't cause any problems, do you?" Uther asked. "No matter, I'll deal with you later."

Uther continued. "Now, if you must know, though I shouldn't need to explain myself to my children, I've seen this sorcerer before. It's been two years, but I would recognize him anywhere. Of course, you know of Ealdor's downfall…well it wasn't a sorceress, in fact, who amassed an army and attacked. That story was easier to tell the people than telling them it was merely one sorcerer with unimaginable power. That boy singlehandedly brought down Ealdor! He slaughtered thousands of people with his magic. I saw it myself! Someone like him cannot be left alive. I'm sure Cenred would agree with me on that if he weren't undoubtedly also under the monster's power."

"You liar!" Morgana screeched. She looked as if she'd like to tackle Uther if not for Gwen desperately holding her back, looking on the verge of tears herself. "Don't you dare speak of him like that! Merlin would never harm a soul! How dare you even accuse him!"

"You two, escort the Lady Morgana back to her chambers, and have her confined there. She is not to be let out until I say, do you understand? She's dangerous until we break the enchantment," Uther snapped at Percival and Elyan who both hurriedly nodded and went to collect Morgana.

"You won't get away with this," she growled darkly, storming out and leaving the two knights and a disgruntled Gwen to run after her.

"George, go with them. Help Guinevere with anything she needs," Arthur murmured to his poor manservant who looked absolutely petrified. The boy bowed mechanically and practically charged after them, clearly glad to be relieved from the battle waging inside the throne room.

Arthur was still in utter shock from all that had just been revealed. It couldn't be. It simply couldn't be. Uther had to be lying. There was no way Merlin, good, kind, silly, Merlin could ever harm someone, let alone genocide a kingdom. He didn't believe it. He couldn't believe it.

Yet…

Why had Merlin tensed up when he'd told him the story of Ealdor? They already knew Merlin was immensely powerful, the shield he'd erected to protect Leon and Aithusa was proof enough. And he had told Arthur he had moved to Essetir with his fiancé two years ago.

A sick sort of dread filled Arthur's stomach.

Could it be? Could his father be telling the truth? Had Merlin lied to him, so thoroughly deceived him, since the moment they had met? Had he been in the presence of a man just as bad as Uther all along?

"Are you-are you sure?" Arthur whispered.

"Am I sure of what? Speak up, Arthur."

"Are you sure Merlin was the sorcerer? Do you have no doubt?"

Uther looked at him pityingly. "Oh, Arthur, not you as well. He's got his hooks in you, too. My son wouldn't question me unless he were under that boy's charm."

Arthur felt Gwaine shift angrily behind him, but someone must have held him back, because he remained surprisingly silent.

What if…what if it really was all Merlin's magic? What if everything he felt for the boy was simply because Merlin deemed it so? Gaius had confirmed that Merlin could not use magic, but the old man could've been lying, too, just like so many others.

"Don't worry. Once we have him executed, you'll feel better. You'll see; once he's gone, everything and everyone will be back to normal."

"May I…may I be dismissed?"

"Yes, go. But I expect you to attend dinner with me this evening."

Arthur didn't stay long enough to respond. He bolted from the throne room, tracing his way back to his chambers on pure muscle memory. He saw nothing around him. His mind was screaming, anguish filling him as all the "what ifs" fought inside him. He managed to shut and lock his chamber doors behind him before he slid down the wall, the first sob erupting from his lips.

Chapter Text

Arthur spent the rest of the day in a sort of haze, not quite awake, but not quite sleeping either. He could feel the way his cheeks were sticky with tears, but he didn't have the energy to wipe them away. His head was aching with all the new information. His heart was so full of worry and grief he was quite sure it was going to shut down. Sinful words of doubt kept creeping into his mind, keeping him from slipping into blissful sleep, or at the very least, making sense of this entire mess.

Merlin's evil…

You're doubting your father…the man you should trust above all others…

Merlin's a murderer…

Your father lied to you…

Merlin could be hurt…he's going to be killed…

It's your fault…

Merlin, Merlin, Merlin.

Arthur groaned and shoved his head as deeply into his pillows as he could manage.

At some point, George had brought him his midday meal, but it sat cold and untouched on his desk. His manservant had puttered around his chambers for a bit, cleaning different odds and ends, but soon left once more when it became clear his master had no intentions of giving him any chores.

George loved chores. Arthur was sure he suffered from some sort of mental affliction.

His mind did not clear up as evening approached. In fact, his thoughts somehow became more disconnected as the dreadful meal with his father approached. Even as he tried to actually get some work done, he found himself reading the same lines over and over again and soon deemed the task useless. He wouldn't even have Morgana there to buffer what was sure to be a fantastic blow up from Uther in which he made sure Arthur knew every bad thing about himself and how deeply disappointed his father was with him.

An idea cut through the cacophony in his mind with all the grace of a drunkard stumbling down a gangplank. How he had failed to think of it before, he was not sure. But if there was one person who could set him straight, who could clear up his mind, who he could rely on to tell him the truth even if it wasn't what he wanted to hear, it was Morgana.

Without another moment to talk himself out of it, he dashed out of his chambers and marched straight up to his sister's own, where two of his father's most trusted knights stood guard right outside her door.

"Let me through," Arthur demanded.

"Our apologies, Your Highness. No one is to enter the Lady Morgana's chambers, the King's orders."

"I order you to move aside! I am the Crowned Prince, and if you do not let me through to see my sister, I will personally make sure you are both locked so deeply into the dungeons even the rats will be afraid to visit you!"

The two knights shared a look before moving aside, bowing deeply to Arthur as he passed. The blonde snorted wryly and rolled his eyes. He hated how willing everyone on his father's staff was to lick the boots of every royal who passed through the castle until it came down to saving their own. His knights were far nobler and more loyal than any of his father's could ever hope to be.

He shoved open the doors and found his sister gazing longingly out of her window which overlooked most of the town with the glittering sea just on the horizon. Even after hours to cool down, she still looked absolutely livid. The moment he shut the door softly behind him, she rounded on him before he could even open his mouth to speak.

"How could you do nothing to stop him?!" She cried. Her hair, which she usually kept so painstakingly neat, was frizzy and sticking out at odd angles. Her eyes were red and swollen like she'd been crying, and she wouldn't stop wringing her hands in the folds of her dress, which Arthur was sure cost more than all the furniture in her room. She looked horrid. He was sure he didn't appear much better.

"What would you have had me do, Morgana? Tell my father off when one word from him and they would have slit Merlin's throat? He's much better off in the dungeons than what my father would've done to him had I tried to defend him."

"They're going to have him killed!"

"No, they are not! I'm going to try and talk to father over dinner. Maybe he'll see reason." Even as he said it, he knew it was a completely ludicrous idea. His father seeing reason in matters of magic was almost laughable. He'd be better off trying to persuade a pig to walk into the butcher's shop of its own free will.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "Good luck with that. While you're off playing our father's perfect little prince, I'll be here trying to make a plan to actually save Merlin's life, not get him sent to the pyre faster!"

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. Why couldn't they just see he didn't want to play the perfect prince? He hadn't supported his father's ideals in a long time, had begun to question his trust in the man for even longer. But it was safer for everyone if he continued to be the perfect little prick everyone thought he was rather than risk his father's fury when his own son opposed him. Especially now, with Merlin's life on the line, it was not a risk Arthur was willing to take. He knew how the King's mind worked. Anything Arthur did to displease Uther while Merlin was still in their custody would be taken out on the warlock. He wasn't sure Uther even believed his son was under an enchantment, only giving him more reason to use Merlin as bait against him.

"Morgana, please," he whispered, suddenly anguished by the weight of the entire world once more. "What do I do? I-I don't know what to believe." He slumped into a chair at her table, burying his head in his arms.

He heard the scraping of a chair right next to his, and then felt a gentle hand rub over his shoulder. He looked up at Morgana through bleary eyes, her face much softer than it had been before.

"Oh, Arthur," she whispered, so unlike Uther had only that morning. Sympathy laced every word she spoke. "I think you know the answer to that."

He did. Deep, deep down in his heart, he knew the answer. Somehow, he trusted Merlin, whom he had known but a fortnight and was meant to despise, more than his father. Still, he needed to know. Once and for all, he needed some sort of concrete proof that what Uther had said was a lie, that Merlin really wasn't a mass murderer.

Not that he truly believed him to be. No, what he was really looking for was the finality that there really was no redeeming his father, not as he'd hoped.

"I-I do," he whispered shakily, only just remembering why he had barged into her chambers in the first place. "B-but…I need to know. Please, Morgana, isn't there something…anything you can do to help me know for sure? I don't think I'll be able to go on until I know the truth. I'm sick of being lied to!"

He swallowed hard. "Use your magic, if you must," he begged.

She brushed her hand over his back soothingly, still looking at him sympathetically despite the fire he could now see crackling to life in her emerald eyes. "I think I know something that could help you. I have a memory," she said hesitantly.

"And?"

"And I could show it to you. It's only…I'd be betraying Merlin's trust. I promised I wouldn't tell anyone. I swore it on my life."

"Oh, so yet another lie," Arthur snapped.

"Not a lie if no one ever told you. It was too dangerous for him. And for me," she added as an afterthought.

"Please," Arthur whispered.

Morgana stared at him a moment, her eyes seeming to see right into his soul. Finally, she sighed. "Yes, alright, but only because you said 'please.' I wasn't sure you knew that word."

She smiled at his scowl. "Sit back. This is going to feel strange." She placed her hands on either side of his face. Her eyes filled with yellow, the same yellow he'd come to associate with all things magic and evil, yet he felt no fear in his sister's hands.

Nor did he, he realized suddenly, at the completely unique, utterly beautiful gold that was completely Merlin's own magic. Yet again, he was harshly reminded Merlin wasn't normal, even in the world of magic.

Morgana closed her eyes and took a deep breath, muttering ancient words Arthur could not understand under her breath. He felt his own lids suddenly grow heavy and obeyed them, thinking it best not to fight, even if all of his instincts as a warrior told him otherwise. A sound much like the bubbling of a brook filled his ears, and he found himself unable to move any longer, though it was getting significantly harder to breathe. He felt as if he were being squeezed from all sides, like the very air was trying to crush him. His chest ached, and his head pounded. Just when he thought he could take it no more, when he began to believe he would surely perish if he didn't get a breath of air that moment, he blinked open his eyes to find himself in a room he did not recognize, though he saw it all with startling clarity.

He turned his head and found Morgana standing just beside him, looking upon the memory with a sort of fond longing.

"Where are we?" He wondered.

Morgana shushed him. "Just watch."

Arthur gazed around the room, finding it to be a stone antechamber with a doorway leading to a bedchamber much like his own, yet somehow completely different. The room was cozily warm and bathed in a soft orange light coming from the crackling fire in the fireplace. Across the mantle was a magnificent blue banner baring a silver three-pronged spiral which Arthur didn't recognize. The room was filled with homey touches: a vase full of vibrantly blue forget-me-nots in the middle of the dining table, a painting of a young woman that seemed to be glowing of its own accord over the door, a little carved wooden dragon atop a chest of drawers where a pale green baby's swaddle also laid.

Morgana beckoned him towards the doorway leading to the bedchambers. Inside were a young man and woman. He hesitated in the doorway, seeing that they weren't alone.

"It's alright. They can't see us," Morgana said.

Indeed, the man kept studiously working at his desk and the woman on some stitching while she sat up in bed, neither even glancing up at their sudden entrance. A sharp knock cut through the quiet evening, but neither person in the memory appeared surprised.

"Ah, that'll be Gorlois," the man said, glancing up from his work long enough for his eyes to glow momentarily yellow, and Arthur heard the distinct sound of the chamber doors unlocking. The prince drew in a sharp breath, but it wasn't the magic that surprised him so.

He was hit with a sudden sense of déjà vu so powerful, he nearly stumbled back from it. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties, and from the looks of it, was no mere man at all, but some royal Arthur had never met. He had long, shoulder length curls of black hair. His face was kind but already marred by worry lines despite his young age. He traced the man's features: his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He had seen it all before; this man looked just like Merlin.

"Is that-" Arthur cut himself off, looking hurriedly to the woman in bed. She was a bit younger than the man and regally lovely. She had soft brown hair tied back in a braid over a white nightdress. She looked tired, with dark bags beneath her eyes, but a small smile sat fixed on her lips like she found something secretly very amusing. Her hands worked in quick, even strokes over the shirt she was mending. While Merlin was the spitting image of the man at the desk, Arthur could not deny the resemblance he held to the woman as well. The warlock had her same azure blue eyes that twinkled with mirth over everything and the same dimples in his cheeks where a light smile always seemed to rest.

Somehow, he knew these were Merlin's parents.

Another man had just entered the room with a woman and a young, dark-haired child in tow. Merlin's father grinned and rose from the desk. "Gorlois! Good to see you! I imagine your trip back wasn't too bad?"

The man, Gorlois, grinned in returned. "No, no, not at all. Ran into a few bandits along the way, but they were nothing a bit of magic couldn't handle."

Merlin's father then turned and bowed to the woman, taking her hand and kissing it softly. "It is good to see you once more Vivienne, I must say."

"You as well, Balinor. It's always good to be home."

Arthur gasped softly. He knew that name. King Balinor had ruled Ealdor. But it couldn't be. If this man was truly Merlin's father as Arthur guessed him to be…then that would make Merlin the prince.

He had known King Balinor and Queen Hunith to have a son, after all.

Of course, it was just his luck that he just so happened to kidnap the long-lost prince of a fallen kingdom and not even realize it.

But that would explain so much. That final puzzle piece finally slid into his mind, completing the mystery that was Merlin. It would explain why he had moved to Essetir only two years prior, right after Ealdor fell. It would explain why he had acted so strange when Arthur had told him the story of the destroyed kingdom. It would explain the death of his parents which Merlin liked so much to evade. And it would explain the way he acted, speaking like he'd had a royal education and holding himself like nobility in some moments, despite captaining a pirate ship.

He may not have known Merlin long, but he could see the sadness in his eyes every time he spoke of his departed parents. There was no way someone could fake grief like that, not even a powerful sorcerer. Merlin couldn't have possibly attacked his own kingdom, murdering all those innocent people.

The fact that he'd ever doubted Merlin when the boy had given him no reason to except for having magic he couldn't even use, made him fill with shame.

The little girl seemed to grow bored of the formalities because she began to tug on her mother's dress. "I want to see the baby, Mother," she whined softly.

Vivienne smiled apologetically at Balinor. "Ah, yes, she hasn't stopped talking about seeing the new prince since the moment we got your message of his birth."

"Well, then. I think we'll just have to show you the baby, now won't we, my Lady Morgana?" Balinor asked bowing dramatically at the little girl. The little girl, Morgana, giggled while Arthur gaped. Mouth still hanging open in shock, he turned to face the grown Morgana.

She waved him off again without even looking at him. Her eyes were transfixed on the little scene in front of them. Arthur could've sworn her eyes were tearing up.

"I'll explain everything later, I swear it," she whispered, "But for now, just listen. You asked me to help you understand."

"He's just over there," the woman in bed said. She pointed to a cradle right beside the bed which Arthur had failed to notice before. It was a beautiful dark wood with ornately carved symbols all around it. Above the baby's head, the same three-pronged spiral was burnt into the wood and painted in a shimmery silver.

"Oh, Hunith, you look wonderful, dear!" Vivienne cried, perching herself at the foot of the royal bed.

Hunith smiled ruefully. "You're too kind. I look dreadful, really. Alas, the wonders of childbirth."

"I didn't look half as well as you after I had Morgana. You are a wonder, my lady."

Arthur crept after the smaller Morgana as the little girl peered over the side of the cradle. Inside, a small baby boy was swaddled in the kingdom's royal blue color. He had a few wisps of ink-black hair like his father's and small, curious eyes the color of the sea blinked owlishly back.

"Mother, look! He's adorable!" The young Morgana squealed. She reached down and rubbed his cheek.

"Be careful, my darling. He's very fragile," Vivienne told her daughter.

"Not so fragile when he's making things levitate around the room in the middle of a tantrum," Hunith muttered. Vivienne looked at her with wide eyes.

"He's displaying magic already?" She whispered. "Morgana's nearly seven summers old and she's only just begun to have slightly prophetic dreams. Most children don't begin to show signs of magic until that age. He's so young! Do you believe the word of the prophecy could be true? That he will truly restore peace and magic back to all the kingdoms?"

"I say we not put so much stock into the ramblings of some ancient cods and let us raise our son first. We can worry about prophecies when he can hold his head up on his own," Balinor said, fiercely protective.

"What's he called?" Young Morgana asked.

"Merlin," Hunith replied.

"Like the bird?"

"Yes, like the bird."

Just then, Merlin gave a little sneeze. His eyes flashed that special gold and a small white daisy popped on to the end of his nose. The baby went cross eyed trying to see it, and both Morganas and Arthur laughed. The little Morgana swiped it off his nose.

"Arthur, I think you'll want to hear this," the older Morgana told him. She pulled him over to where Balinor and Gorlois were both bent over his desk, whispering together as the ladies cooed over the baby Merlin.

"What do you have to report from Essetir? How's their new king?" Balinor asked.

"He's…interesting. Very young, as kings go, but so are you, Balinor. The death of his father was so sudden, I'm not quite sure Cenred was ready for the throne."

"Doesn't have much of a choice now," Balinor sighed.

"No, he doesn't."

"Did you give him my apologies and explain to him why I couldn't come to establish relations in person and sent you in my stead?"

"Yes, I told him Hunith was due any day and you didn't wish to leave your wife's side until the baby was born. He seemed rather unperturbed by it. He didn't seem all that interested in talking matters of state at all, come to think of it. More interested in his mead. Not to mention the way he kept looking at Vivienne, the snake. I don't like him, Balinor. I think we need to tread carefully."

"What did he have to say on magic?"

"His father, of course, was always a friend of Ealdor's. While Cenred didn't seem particularly disturbed by it, not like Uther, he had this odd sort of glint in his eyes when he saw it in action. I turned a statue of a griffin into an actual griffin right before him. And Vivienne cleared away all the dishes from our banquet with one spell. You should've seen the way he looked. Almost like he was hungry. He looked like some sort of hunter setting eyes on prey."

Balinor sat down in his chair and ran his hands through his hair with a tired sound. "So, what you're saying is it looks like Ealdor has gained yet another enemy."

"This one is particularly disturbing."

"And what of Uther? Did you hear any word of Camelot on your travels? Or any other kingdom, for that matter?"

"No other kingdom, no. All is quiet. Cenred did make mention of Uther, however. Said he'd already established relations with the new king. How, I have no idea, seeing as he was only crowned two weeks ago, and it takes at least a month for word to travel there and back from Camelot. We have the misfortune of being Essetir's neighbor."

"Magic, no doubt. Uther's such a filthy hypocrite. He uses magic only when it benefits him, like it's something to be used instead of learned and nurtured. He understands nothing of the Old Religion, that's why he has no wife."

"Yes, well, Cenred seemed to be quite fond of Uther. A warning right there, if you ask me."

"For now, let us only be wary until we have reason to fight back. Let us rely on the magic of the sea to sustain us as it has always done. I'd like to bask in the joy of my son without worrying of attacks from foreign kingdoms. And let us hope that Uther's son has enough of his mother in him to change Camelot when he is crowned king."

Just like that, with more questions than answers now in his head, Arthur felt the familiar compressive feeling of changing realities and blinked his eyes open to find himself back in Morgana's chambers, in the same chair with Morgana next to him.

"So, questions?" Morgana asked cheekily. Arthur was at a loss for words. He didn't have the faintest idea where to begin.

"That was…that was Ealdor? And the banner with the spiral, that was their flag?" No wonder he didn't recognize the mark.

"Yes, that was Ealdor. King Balinor, Queen Hunith, my mother and father, and Merlin, of course. The spiral is called a triskelion. It's an ancient symbol of magic and unity. Ealdor wasn't destroyed by magic. On the contrary, it was filled with it! Nearly every person who lived there was a magic user or similar. It was a kingdom of magic. Why else do you think you were never allowed to know any more about it?"

The idea of a kingdom comprised solely of magic users both terrified him and utterly intrigued him. All his life, he'd been raised to hate and fear magic above all else. The thought of so much of it all in one place made him shudder. Yet, only seeing that quaint little scene, the warm, domestic feeling of the royal chambers, Arthur felt strangely at home. If every person in that room had been a magic user and lived in such peace, what could there be to possibly fear with more magic?

"So, Merlin really is-was the Prince of Ealdor? King Balinor and Queen Hunith were really his parents?"

"Well, I would think so considering they said so right in front of you. Really, brother, I thought you'd have some much more intriguing questions. I'm disappointed."

"And you, you lived in Ealdor? You knew Merlin before we ever took him and never said anything?" Arthur accused.

Morgana raised her eyebrows. "You're accusing me? I only kept the secret because two weeks ago you would've squealed to Uther the moment you had caught wind of it."

And sadly enough, Arthur knew he would've. So much had changed in him over the last two weeks he could hardly comprehend it himself. He really couldn't blame Morgana for keeping Merlin's secret, though, not when it only served to keep the boy, and herself, safe. Now, he understood why those two seemed to be so much closer than any of the others in such a short period of time.

"I came to live here shortly after that memory. My father died only a few weeks later, and my mother soon after him. To this day, our wonderful father doesn't know where I come from, and I'd like to keep it that way," Morgana said pointedly. Arthur held his hands up in mock surrender.

"Merlin really is innocent, then," Arthur whispered, ashamed. Morgana patted his back softly.

"Yes, he is."

"But, if Merlin didn't destroy Ealdor, who in the hell…" Arthur trailed off as a thought dawned on him. A horrifying, sickening thought. Morgana nodded solemnly like she knew he had reached the right conclusion. Maybe she did know.

"Cenred," Arthur said suddenly. "He destroyed their kingdom. He didn't ride to help them; he massacred them! That sick bastard!"

Morgana waited silently for him to figure the rest out. "And my fath-Uther. He didn't go to help them either. He went to help Cenred. They planned it. Right there in that memory, they were probably planning it since the moment they met. How could I be so stupid?" Arthur groaned, burying his head in his hands. "And Merlin. Poor Merlin works for Cenred! He was taken the night of the massacre, wasn't he?"

Morgana nodded solemnly. “Cenred kidnapped him. He knew of the prophecy saying Merlin would be the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. That's why he took him instead of killing him. Undoubtedly, Uther gave Merlin to Cenred in exchange for more manpower. Merlin's ship, The Avalon, feeds off of the sea's magic, something only the people of Ealdor had ever figured out how to harness and use to their advantage. That's why Cenred allows Merlin to sail. The infamy he establishes with that ship now displaying Cenred's crest gives him unbelievable power."

Disgust curled in Arthur's stomach. Merlin wasn't some animal that could be bartered. He was a living, breathing human being who'd gone through a terrible trauma and then was forced into an abusive relationship, probably with one of Cenred's lords, just to keep him under their control.

"How do you know all this?"

"Gaius," Morgana answered simply. "He was in King Balinor's court. He was our Court Physician before he was Camelot's. He was one of the few who managed to escape that night. He told me everything after even Merlin wouldn’t disclose what had happened that’s night in Ealdor.”

Right. So, Gaius was in on everything as well.

"It wasn't your fault, Arthur. You couldn't have known; you were only a child."

"I was so excited to prove to Uther that I could run the kingdom, I didn't even realize he was murdering thousands of innocents just across the sea. Those people were living peaceful lives. They didn't harm anyone. Magic or not, they didn't deserve that! No wonder Merlin hates me! I'm the son of the man who helped to kill his parents and commit genocide against his people. If not for me, Merlin would never have been in this mess in the first place."

"Merlin doesn't hate you, believe me. He hates Uther, yes, but you are not your father. You owe him a huge apology, but it's not too late to save him now that you know the truth. Does this ease your mind?"

"Absolutely," Arthur growled, furious at his father. How had he ever trusted a man who was so blatantly vile?

Arthur stood to leave, but paused suddenly, thinking. "What did Balinor mean about my mother?"

Morgana shrugged. "I'm not sure. Probably, he only meant your mother died and caused Uther to descend into hate."

Arthur, not quite believing it, nodded. "Probably. Good night, Morgana. Thank you, really."

"I do love you, brother, don't forget that."

"And I you. Get some sleep."

Arthur pushed back past the guards and headed back to his own chambers. As soon as he entered, he was nearly assaulted by George.

"Sire! Oh, thank God, there you are. The king is looking for you; you were meant to have dinner with him, and you're late. He's very angry."

Arthur shrugged out of his clothes and replaced them with his sleep ones. "You can tell my father to go screw himself and his dinner."

George gasped. "But Sire-"

"Go, George. Tell him what you wish. Just leave me."

When he was alone once again, Arthur pulled his mother's sigil from within his coat pocket and laid down, rubbing his thumb over the familiar bird.

"What do I do, Mother?" He whispered softly.

One thing he knew for certain: he was saving Merlin's life, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

Arthur walked along the maze of ancient ruins, the sound of his bare footfalls muffled and soft against the moss growing over the sharp stones. In nothing but his night clothes, he expected the misty air to bite into his skin bitterly, but he only felt a strangely pleasant warmth. A haze sat low over the scene until the prince could barely see his own hand in front of his face, yet he continued on, some unknown source beckoning him forward, and he followed on instinct. It was eerily quiet, nothing but a soft humming from deeper within the maze punctuating the hazy scene.

He had no recollection of coming to the strange place, or really anything at all, for that matter. His fingertips grazed over the rough edges of the ruins as he followed the path deeper and deeper still. The more he moved, the louder the humming became.

Finally, the labyrinth opened into a wide clearing where an archway stood in the middle. Hung beneath the archway like mistletoe was a glowing mix of blue and gold light where the odd humming emanated, now almost unbearably loud. Arthur could've sworn he heard whispers from within, though it seemed the harder he tried to discern what they were saying, the more determined the voices became to keep him from hearing their words. He made to go closer to the light, but he was stuck in place, unable to move in any direction.

Right before his eyes, the ball of warm light seemed to get bigger and brighter, swallowing first the archway, and then the surrounding walls, and finally Arthur himself until the prince had no choice but to raise his arm to cover his eyes from the sudden onslaught.

When he finally felt the warmth recede, he carefully lowered his arm, peering suspiciously back into the haze.

However, where there had once been cool, gray fog, now stood a small slender woman with ringlets of blonde hair and soft blue eyes. Her gaze traveled to him and when their eyes finally met, it was as if the prince was looking into a mirror.

"Mother," he breathed, not quite believing it. He had never laid eyes on her before, yet he knew it deep within his soul that the woman who stood before him was Ygraine Pendragon. Even with no recollection of arriving at the ruins, nor any weapon at his side or shoes on his feet, Arthur knew it was simply not possible for the woman he had so desperately wished to even have a glimpse of all his life standing right before him.

Not without magic. Dark magic, at that. He wasn't well versed in the world of the Druids and the Old Religion, he knew nothing at all, really, but he knew as much that necromancy was a dangerous subject to dabble in with gruesome outcomes for all involved.

She smiled gently, opening her arms to him. "My boy," she said softly. Even with every ounce of himself wishing to run into her waiting arms, Arthur didn't move.

"How?" He demanded. He took a slow step back.

Ygraine's smile fell. Her arms drifted back to her sides. "Oh, how I wished your father hadn't tainted your mind with his lies. There's nothing to fear. I'm your mother, my dear son."

"No!" Arthur answered vehemently. "No, you're not! My mother's dead! Only the darkest magic could bring you here, whatever you are. Leave me!" How dare this dark creature impersonate his mother, use her memory to torment him?

"Magic can do incredible things, despite what your father has taught you. It's not evil in its intentions; no, it's the user who turns it dark. Though, I have a feeling you've come to this realization yourself as of late, with a little help from your sister."

"How the hell do you know that? Where am I? I demand you to tell me!"

Ygraine laughed lightly, a lilting, joyful sound. "So brave and proud. I like to think you got it from me." She spread her hands out in front of her. "This is a wondrous place. It's a place where only the most pure and benevolent magic exists. It's, I suppose you could say, a resting point between the mortal realm and Avalon. I come here sometimes when enough magic can be mustered to see you. Only the High Priests and Priestesses of the Old Religion could come here in the days before the Great Purge. Now, you can see the walls of this sacred temple have crumbled as the magic of those days' wanes. It's become harder and harder to see you over the years."

Arthur swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving the woman before him. "Y-you have really come to see me? Why can I not remember?"

"I have only looked in upon you from the alter. Never before has there been magic enough left in Camelot for the Sidhe to summon you here as well. Only while there was still magic within the walls of the castle could I see you. Until Morgana came, I relied on Gaius' feeble magic alone to get a few glimpses of you for the first few years. I missed you growing up." A tear trailed down her face. "Once Morgana came to live with you, I was able to have a little longer with you a little more often. Her magic is much stronger the Gaius' ever was, even back before the Great Purge. Still, there was never enough magic to pull you into this go-between with me, so I could speak with you directly. Not until today, that is."

Arthur couldn't think of what had changed. Even standing there with his memories of the mortal realm slowly coming back to him, many moments were still fuzzy. Why would there be more magic than usual within the walls of the castle…

"Merlin," Arthur said suddenly, the answer so blatantly obvious. "Merlin's the most powerful sor-warlock," Arthur mentally rolled his eyes, "I've ever met."

"That's right. His magic gave the Sidhe more than enough to pull you here. They believe it's crucial for you to know the one last part of the story you are missing if you are to fulfill your destiny, as do I. Even under the curse, Merlin's magic is still just as powerful deep within him. He does not even realize they are using it, although, we still do not have much time. Come, I wish to tell you something vitally important." Once more, she opened her arms to him in invitation. This time, he hesitantly stepped into them.

"How do I know it's really you?"

She took his face in her hands and searched his face with her eyes identical to his own. "I've been watching over you all these years. And I can tell you something no one else knows. I can tell you that when you were young, you would cry under your covers every time your father forced you to watch a sorcerer stand upon the pyre. I can tell you their screams still give you nightmares to this day."

At this, Arthur finally lost the last bit of composure he had desperately been holding on to. He collapsed into his mother's shoulder, tears streaming down his face. "I'm so sorry, Mother. I've let you down. I never tried to stop him. I just went along with him blindly for all these years."

Ygraine rubbed her hands along his back in comfort as he cried. "You have nothing to apologize for, my wonderful boy. It is not your fault. It is your father's. It is his cruelty that has made the world as it is. It is his guilt that so thoroughly ruined your childhood." She brushed over one of the whip marks on his back as if to make a point, and Arthur shuddered. "That is what I wish to speak to you about."

She pulled back and took his face in her hands once more. "As you've already learned, your father has been lying to you for many years, about many things. Most importantly, he has made you believe magic is inherently evil. It is not. And while it was magic that killed me, it is not in the way you think."

She took a deep breath. "Your father and I were told by a High Priestess named Nimueh that we would never be able to bear a child. We were both devastated. But as I began to make peace with the idea, knowing there were so many other children out there who needed help, your father could not. He became obsessed with having an heir, specifically a son. Without my knowing, he went to visit Nimueh in her temple upon the Isle of the Blessed in Ealdor. He made a deal with her to give us a child without hearing of the consequences. Nimueh tried to warn him that the Old Religion would not allow the balance of the world to fall out of order. If she were to give us a child, she'd need to take another life in exchange. Uther agreed. And so, the day you were born, I died, even if I am sure he believed it would be some peasant in exchange for your birth. A fair trade, in his mind. There was no assassin, as he would have you believe. I died because of your father's own ignorance. He blamed magic instead of himself and sought to destroy it. All creatures of magic fled to the one place where they were always welcome, where the king and queen themselves possessed magic. They fled to Ealdor. It was only a few years later Balinor and Hunith had Merlin."

Arthur was in shock. He couldn't even find the words to express his rising emotions. On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to collapse into his mother's arms once again and cry for her life so cruelly taken. On the other, he wished for nothing more than to see his father's blood on his sword.

He knew only one of those would come to be.

"How could you ever have loved such a monster?"

Ygraine sighed. "You must understand, your father was once a very different man. He was the love of my life. He ceased to be the man I loved the day he executed his first innocent. And the day he laid his hands on you for the first time. I know within myself there is nothing of that man left. He has been corrupted by his own anger and grief."

"But he cheated on you! He had Morgana while you were still alive!" Arthur growled.

"I never said he was perfect. Nor, do I believe, was he ever as devoted to me as I was to him."

"Arthur!"

The call shattered the eerily silent air like a quill ripping through parchment. It seemed to stem from everywhere around them all at once. Arthur jumped back, hand instinctively going to his waist where his sword would usually be, only to remember he had been drawn there with no weapon at all.

"What was that?"

Ygraine glanced around. She seemed significantly unbothered by the sudden call. In fact, she seemed to have been expecting it, or at least something similar.

"Arthur! Your Highness! Please, you must wake up!"

"Someone is calling to you from the mortal realm. You must go, my boy."

"What? No, I'm not leaving you! I can't! I've just met you, I can't-"

"Yes, yes, you can. You are so strong. You are going to make a wonderful king. Believe in yourself and those you care about. You will need your friends in the coming trials. Lean on your knights and on your sister. Go save Merlin. Trust in him, Arthur. Love him, please, as I once did your father. Do not be afraid to love. It is a wonderful thing." She pulled him forward and kissed his forehead. "And do not doubt that I love you more than anything. I do not regret bringing you into the world. I'm always with you, even if you cannot feel me."

Even as he desperately tried to hang on to her, Arthur could see his mother becoming more out of focus by the second, the light from the glowing ball now back in the archway consuming them once more. His surroundings slipped away like sand through his fingers, no matter how much he tried to get just a little more time. When the light became too bright for him to look at once more, he covered his eyes and woke, gasping in his bed, his mother's sigil still clasped firmly in his hand.

"Arthur! Thank goodness!"

Arthur jumped back. His hand automatically scrambled beneath his pillow for the hilt of the dagger he kept there, only to realize it was just Guinevere.

"Guinevere! What the hell are you doing here? Don't you know how to knock? I almost killed you! Besides, I was sleeping!" Arthur yelled. He was beyond angry for her taking him from his mother so soon. Guinevere looked appalled, but she remained firmly in place beside his bed.

"My apologies, Your Highness, but I do believe this is quite a bit more important than your beauty rest!" She snapped. Arthur's eyes went wide. Guinevere never raised her voice to anyone, let alone to him.

"What is it?"

Her eyes suddenly became glassy, and she looked away, hurriedly trying to dab at her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak over top of her white dressing gown. She choked back a quiet cry while she tried to get out the proper words. Arthur reached out and gripped her wrist gently.

"What's happened, Guinevere? We'll fix it, whatever it is. Just tell me what is wrong."

"Oh, it's horrid!" She cried. "George was passing by the throne room when he overheard your father inside speaking with some of the elders from the council. He's decided to have Merlin executed at dawn before anyone in the castle wakes as to not cause any more of a scene!"

Arthur shot straight up in bed. "Dawn! Bloody hell, Guinevere, that can't be more than…" he glanced quickly out the windows where the drapes were still open from the evening before. Even then, he could tell the pitch-black night was already becoming a lighter gray. "…three candle marks away!"

"I know, I know, I'm sorry! George was afraid to wake you, so he came and got me. He told me I should go and rouse Morgana, but I thought it more important to tell you first." She laughed wetly. "Thank the goddess that George is up at all hours doing chores."

Arthur flung off the covers, all thoughts of his mother sliding to the back of his mind as Merlin took front and center once more. He hurriedly threw back on the clothes which he'd neglected to put in the laundry basket when he had changed for bed. "Guinevere, wake Morgana, and if you find George, tell him to wake the knights. Have everyone reconvene in Gaius' chambers in half a candle mark. If anyone tries to stop you, tell them you're working on my orders and mine alone. Understood?"

Guinevere nodded quickly and scrambled to do as he had commanded, disappearing through the servant's entrance.

Arthur grabbed his sword from where it hung in its sheath next to his bed. He'd strapped it around his waist thousands of times before. Yet, somehow, this time felt different. This time, it felt as if the whole world was shifting.

One way or another, he knew Uther's reign of terror would end tonight. Uther had crossed a line he could never return from. Not only had that man murdered thousands of innocents, caused the destruction of an entire kingdom, and filled his childhood with nothing but terror, abuse, and neglect, he had also been the reason for his mother's death.

And now he was going to have Merlin killed.

There was only one way this was going to end.

By the time George finally rounded up the last of the knights, Arthur had already paced a trail into the floor of Gaius' chambers. The moment the door shut behind George and Leon, the only knight who had been on duty, and therefore, the only one of them not in their nightclothes with weapons strapped haphazardly to them, Arthur snapped. "About time!"

"Woah there, Princess. You're the one who dragged us out of bed at the witching hour." Gwaine winced. "Bad choice of words."

"For good reason, you insensitive ass! Merlin's to be executed within the next two hours!" Morgana cried. She was just as livid as Arthur.

"What!?" All five knights cried.

"But surely, he'd want to have him executed at noon? He'd want to make an example of him, just like he does every other sorcerer," Lancelot demanded.

"He's not. I heard the King say so myself. He wishes to keep it private as to not cause any more uproar within the castle," George chimed in quietly.

Arthur nodded along. "Yes. Uther believes that the sooner he gets rid of Merlin, the sooner this 'enchantment' over all of us will break."

"What will you do, Sire?" Gaius asked. The poor old man looked exhausted but had graciously welcomed them all within his chambers without a single complaint.

"Surely, we'll rescue Merlin," Percival said.

"That won't be enough," Morgana said gravely. "Even if we rescue Merlin, even if we flee the kingdom, Uther will never stop searching. He won't rest until we're all back in his clutches and punished, if not killed."

"Morgana's right," Arthur said. "He'll never stop. There's only one way to end this once and for all."

Everyone exchanged a solemn look. Finally, it was Leon who broke the silence.

"The reign of King Arthur Pendragon is upon us, ladies and gentleman."

"It would seem so," Arthur murmured. He looked upon each face in the room, seeing each one as a person he deeply cared about. He couldn't watch them fall harm to Uther's hand.

"You must realize that what we're about to do is treason. There is no coming back from it. If we fail, each one of you will be killed. I can't ask any of you to take that risk, nor do I expect you to. Any one of you is welcome to walk out that door right now with no judgment from me."

"Someone's got to keep you out of trouble, dear brother," Morgana spoke up. The siblings shared a secret smile.

"I will always stand with you and my lady," Guinevere said.

"I would follow you until the ends' of the earth, My Lord," Leon spoke.

Lancelot answered next. "I made a vow to you long ago. I stand by you not just because of my duty to Camelot and you, but also because you're my friend. I do not wish to see any of you hurt because of Uther."

"I have seen the king you will become since the day I met you," Percival replied.

Gwaine grinned. "Aw, Hell. I saved your ass once. What's one more time?"

"If you need an old man," Gaius said with a small smile. Arthur looked at his mentor with pure gratefulness.

"Someone has to do your laundry, My Lord," George said. Arthur opened his mouth to argue, to tell the servant that this was not a risk he needed to take, but George cut him off.

Tonight was just full of surprises.

"There is no one I'd rather serve than you. Please just accept that, Sire."

They all turned to Elyan, who had remained mostly silent up until then. He looked Arthur dead in the eye. "I was raised in this kingdom to mistrust sorcery just as much as the rest of you. Yet, it is I alone who has remained steadfast in this opinion since meeting Merlin. I fear I was misguided. And although I'm still wary, I do not believe Merlin deserves to die, especially not in such a horrific way as the pyre. Of course, I'm with you."

Arthur looked around once more at his closest friends, his family. The pure gratitude and adoration he felt for each one of them could not be put into words. It seemed his mother was right; he would need them to lean on in the coming trials. And they would never let him down, this he knew.

"Alright, then. George, Guinevere, go and wake as many servants as you can. Get them out of the castle. Tell them as little as possible, just get them to safety. I don't want my father to have any opportunities to harm anyone else. Gaius, you stay here in case anyone is wounded. Leon, Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, patrol outside the throne room. Block all the entrances. Alert me immediately if he tries to leave or anything changes. Morgana, Gwaine, you're coming with me. We're going to save Merlin."

Everyone burst into action before the orders even left his mouth. At last, only Morgana was left standing in front of him while Gwaine helped Gaius pull as many herbs and poultices as he could from his shelves. She was smirking in that self-righteous way of hers, like she knew something no one else did.

"What are you smirking at?" Arthur demanded. He waved Gwaine back over.

"Oh, nothing," she said lightly, flipping her hair over her shoulder and striding towards the door. "It’s just…you sounded kingly in a way you never have before. It suits you, brother."

"Come on, your kingliness," Gwaine said, slapping his back. "Let's go rescue your beloved."

Chapter Text

For the second time in as many weeks, Merlin found himself once again in a Pendragon's cage.

He was really starting to despise the trend.

He hadn't gone without a fight, of course. He hadn't been about to let it be known that Uther Pendragon's people could manhandle him wherever they pleased and not face the repercussions. He may have been a powerful warlock and once a noble prince with a plethora of weapons at his disposal, but he was a pirate through and through. He was never opposed to a good old fashioned fist fight.

.

.

From the moment they had dragged him out of the throne room, Merlin had fought the two guards tooth and nail, twisting and writhing in their grips until finally, the one holding his bad arm had slapped him so hard he stumbled into the other, feeling his lip split under the impact.

When the two men finally managed to wrestle him into a cell, he had latched on to one of them and aimed a knee roughly at his groin. The guard howled with pain and took a step back, his eyes clenched shut.

"You stupid bastard!" He growled. "You'll pay for that!" The other guard shoved him hard into the floor, his shoulder taking the brunt of the impact and alighting with pain. On instinct, Merlin rolled away from the guard's first kick towards his head, steering clear of the other one who was still moaning in agony and clutching himself. The warlock couldn't help but smirk proudly at his work.

On his feet again, Merlin jumped back from another attempt to grab him and ducked under the guard's swinging fist. He aimed a fist right at the man's head, but it was caught. The guard rolled his wrist until it was pinned upside down.

Merlin had a sudden recollection of a fighting technique Freya had once showed him for similar situations. Without any warning, he dropped all his weight straight towards the cell floor. His shoulder, thankfully his uninjured one, screamed in protest against the abuse, but the move worked beautifully. The guard, unprepared for anything of the sort, was sent twisting to the ground over Merlin's head, having no choice but to release the mage's wrist. Merlin, grinning like an idiot, was back on his feet before the guard. His bad arm barely even twinged over the adrenaline of the fight, though he was sure he'd pay dearly for the overexertion later. But for right then, he was quite happy to cruise on the high of fist fighting a Guard of Camelot.

He felt a hand wrap around his throat from behind. Apparently, the guard who's groin he had sent his knee into was recovered, if not still panting in pain right by his ear.

Even though it was his instinct to reach up and attempt to pull away the hand crushing his windpipe, he knew it would be no use. These guards were twice his size and no matter how powerful he was feeling, he couldn't strong-arm them out of the way. Instead, he sent his head back as hard as he could into the other guard's face, hearing a sickening crunch and feeling the immediate release of his throat. He nearly slumped back to the floor as air rushed once more into his lungs, making him lightheaded, but he managed to catch himself on the wall at the last second. The guard had blood gushing from his nose like a river, and he was roaring in pain once more, clutching his face with two blood-drenched hands.

Merlin huffed out a shaky breath in an imitation of a laugh, still trying to get his lungs to function properly.

Taking a break to catch his breath had been a bad idea. He should've known that. Years of fighting for his life should've told him that. But instead, he had made an easy mistake and, in the end, it had cost him the fight.

The guard which he had flipped over his head swept his legs out from under him, smashing his head into the cell floor. Spots exploded in front of his eyes. He bit down hard against his cheek too and tasted fresh iron flood his mouth. The guard who had finally managed to take him down scrambled over to his injured friend and drug him out of the cell, locking the door securely behind them.

Merlin rolled over and spat the blood out of his mouth. He offered the two guards a lopsided grin. "Come back any time for round two. Maybe next time I'll bust out the magic."

The guard shoved his bloody friend away from the cell, the latter cursing Merlin so badly his mother would've surely washed his mouth out with Castile.

.

.

In hindsight, Merlin probably shouldn't have threatened Uther's barbarians with his magic, especially not when he was currently sitting in the king's dungeons, only waiting for someone to come and take him to the pyre.

He probably also shouldn't have assaulted two members of the Royal Guard. He'd known that even if he did manage to escape the buffoons, he would never make it out of the citadel before being caught. He had fought for his own stupid pride and all it had landed him was a fresh batch of bruises and a nasty split lip.

He really couldn't care less anymore. That fight had been the most alive Merlin had felt in a long time. It had made him feel as powerful as he once had before his life went to absolute Hell.

Now, he was stuck once again pacing a cell like a caged animal, eyeing the cold iron bars like he could melt them with his mind.

Even having only been in there a short time, Merlin could already feel its effects on him taking hold. He hadn't been able to quell the trembles coursing through his body since the adrenaline had worn off.

With a tired sigh, he slid down the back wall and drew his knees to his chest, trying to conserve what little heat was left in his skin.

His head lulled to the side. He watched drops of condensation roll down the rough stones just outside. His head was filled with the putrid smell of the damp straw that filled his cell. All he could taste was the blood from his split lip and where he had bitten down on the inside of his cheek. He felt an icy draft against his cheek, and he pulled his frock coat tighter around himself, shivering harder.

In all truthfulness, he was numb. Not just physically, but mentally as well. He was so tired; tired of fighting, tired of being afraid, just plain tired. And he'd be kidding himself if he said he hadn't always known that it would end like this, with him waiting for death like an old friend to dinner. From the moment he had been born, he had been destined to die simply because of who he was. The prophecy had been nothing but a lie, a story some High Priest had cooked up long ago to give humanity some sort of faith, something to hold on to. He had never been the one who was going to save his people. He was only some clumsy kid who couldn't keep his mouth shut and was far more trouble than he was worth.

And then he had met Arthur, the son of the very man whose hand he knew he would one day meet his demise by, yet he had allowed himself to believe. Like a foolish child, he had believed that maybe there was yet hope, that maybe Arthur could be different from his father and restore peace and magic to Albion. He should've known better. He should've known it was foolish to trust anyone, especially your enemy's son. Cenred was right to call him stupid. He had played right into Arthur's hands, right into Uther's agenda, the plan he had been cooking up to eradicate all magic since the night him and Cenred destroyed Ealdor. And then he had to go and fall for the stupid, arrogant, supercilious asshole and make everything worse. How could he have ever thought he had a chance with someone like Arthur Pendragon? Sitting there, in the freezing cold cell with Death's cold fingers on his shoulders, the thought was ridiculous.

He wished Uther would hurry up with his verdict. If he was to be made a spectacle for the entire town, he wished to get it over with.

Sitting there, completely alone in the dungeons with only the rats to keep him company, Merlin had no problem admitting he was terrified. Not terrified to die, no, but terrified to burn. It had been his worst fear since he had been a child.

When he had been ten summers old, the royal stables had caught fire due to some wet hay which had been improperly stored. Unfortunately, the fire had taken not only multiple horses, but two stable hands as well. Merlin had pushed through the crowds to see the source of all the commotion even though his mother had forbidden him from leaving the citadel to investigate.

He had been horrified by what he saw. The mangled corpses of the boy and the girl, unidentifiable under the burns that layered every inch of their skin, were carried out of the building. Yet, all the wood and hay had practically disintegrated, not even leaving a trace despite the bodies inside.

Later, when he had asked one of the older serving boys in the castle about the peculiar occurrence, the boy had told him that humans took much longer to burn than most things. And usually, it wasn't even the burns that killed them. It was the smoke inhalation, filling up their lungs until they choked on their own breath and died.

Merlin had nightmares about the fire for months afterwards. It seemed like every time he closed his eyes, he could still see those disfigured bodies. He couldn't stop imagining himself in such a state. And of course, after he had grown old enough for his father to tell him of the world's hatred for magic and their love of setting all things magical alight, the nightmares only intensified.

Even now, eight summers later, the thought of becoming nothing but a burnt corpse, of that excruciating pain, made him want to be ill. The smell of burning flesh wasn't something one quickly forgot especially when facing one's own imminent fire.

Merlin was ready. He would face his execution with his head held high and what little pride he had left intact. Uther could not take that from him, no matter what he did.

When he heard the door leading to the guards' station just outside the corridor of cells open and shut with a soft click, he didn't even jump. He pulled himself to his feet and pushed away every ache in his body to stand as straight as he could manage.

But instead of the door to the cells opening and an entourage of guards to escort him to the pyre appearing, he heard scuffling and a mild shout of alarm from just outside the door. The cut-off sounds of swords clattering in a fight followed and then multiple dull thumps that sounded suspiciously like bodies hitting the stone floor. Merlin got as close to the bars as he dared, craning his neck to a get a glimpse of something even though he knew the door was firmly shut.

The door flew open. Gwaine spun his sword in an exaggerated arc. He gave Merlin a wild grin, his eyes glinting with exhilaration in the torchlight.

"Hey, ya, Merls! Been enjoyin' your stay in the House of Pendragon?"

Merlin threw his head back and laughed, overcome with relief.

"Damn, am I glad to see you!"

And then, all at once, the world seemed to zero in on one person, one prince's voice from just behind Gwaine.

"Out of the way, Gwaine," Arthur ordered and shoved the renegade man aside. The moment they locked eyes, Merlin felt a wave of emotions crash over him all at once. Relief, joy, and that insufferable fondness mixed with embarrassment and just a little anger was there, intermingling with one another.

No matter; Merlin had never been so happy to see the pompous prat.

It seemed the feeling was mutual. "Merlin," Arthur breathed, barely a sound above a whisper. He jolted forward as he snapped out of his trance and fumbled with a key ring until he managed to open Merlin's cell to rush inside, freezing mere steps away from the sorcerer.

"I never thought I'd be so pleased to see you, your highness," Merlin teased.

"I could say the same thing, your majesty."

With those two simple words, Merlin's rush of emotions ceased all at once, leaving him feeling as if he'd been dunked into the icy sea.

"What-what do you mean?" Merlin questioned uneasily, taking a nervous step back. His heart was beating at a rabbit's pace. He felt lightheaded and slightly nauseous. Arthur couldn't know…there was no way he knew.

Arthur, as if reading his mind, rolled his eyes and gave Merlin a slightly exasperated smile. "I know, Prince Merlin. I know everything, or at least everything that matters."

"And yet…and yet you still came for me?" Merlin couldn't quite wrap his mind around the idea that Arthur had really come to save him even after finding out just how much Merlin had lied to him since the moment the two had met.

"Of course, I did. I understand why you lied; you would've been mad not to. We've come to save you from execution. Besides, I thought you'd want to be involved in our little rebellion. You of all people surely want to see my father's demise."

"Demise?" Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Gaius.

Gwaine chimed in from where he was standing next to the door, keeping watch. "We're staging a coup, mate. Uther's always been barking mad, but he crossed a line accusing you of murdering your own family. The princess told us all about Uther's dirty little secrets."

"He accused me of being the one who destroyed Ealdor?" Merlin asked incredulously.

"Among many other things," Arthur said. "But I found out the truth, with a good bit of help from Morgana and-" He cut himself off with a noise like he was being strangled, "-my mother."

"Your mother-"

"Not important right now," Arthur cut him off. "What matters is I know the truth. I've seen the monster my father is that I so blindly chose to ignore. I've seen the man who plotted with Cenred to destroy your home, kill your parents, and massacre your people. I've seen the man who killed my mother with his own quest for power. It ends now. But first…"

Arthur reached out and gripped Merlin's wrist, pulling the boy impossibly close until their chests were nearly touching. Merlin could see the small specks of gray in Arthur's cerulean blue, storm clouds over a rough sea. Warmth filled his cheeks, and he wanted to look anywhere but into Arthur's piercing eyes, yet he could look nowhere else. The chill clinging to his skin was lost in the prince's warmth, the ache in his body all but disappearing. There was no one else in the world but the two of them.

"W-What…what are you doing?" Merlin stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Something I should've done two nights ago on the ship but was too much of a coward. I didn't wish to burden you with my affections. But you haven't left my mind since the throne room and I just…please stop me if-"

Merlin silenced him with his lips on his. It was a soft, light kiss, no heat behind it at all. Yet, it was the sweetest kiss he'd ever shared in his life, all chaste and no rush, just warmth and care, and it was simply beautiful, like the bluebells in Essetir that bloomed only in the first sennight of spring or the wings of a butterfly painted against the sky. Merlin could think of a million things to describe it, but the only thing he kept coming back to was Arthur, Arthur, Arthur.

Arthur pulled back first, but only far enough to rest his forehead against Merlin's. He smiled at him gently.

"Hello," he breathed.

"Hi."

Arthur searched his face, coming to rest on the blood dried to his chin from the split in his lip. He brushed his thumb lightly over the small wound.

"What happened?"

Merlin darted his tongue out and tasted metal. "The guards were not my biggest fans. If you think this is bad, you should see them."

"I resent not seeing the aftermath of that fight. I hope you beat them to hell."

Behind them, Gwaine cleared his throat. The two royals jumped apart, startled, having completely forgotten they weren't alone in the cells.

"Hate to break up the love fest. Believe me, if it were up to me, I'd walk out and lock the door behind me to let you two have your way, but we've got a tyrant to overthrow if you two lovebirds haven't forgotten."

Arthur rolled his eyes but led Merlin out of the cell. Sparks of tingling fire kept leaping up from where Arthur kept their hands entwined; it was such a simple gesture, but Merlin thought it was the nicest thing in the world.

He'd never experienced this sort of care from another person before. All he'd ever known as a romantic partner was Cenred and calling him romantic was just wrong. The fact that this man, not just any man, but a prince, a prince who was funny and brave and noble and insanely attractive, could ever like him, was baffling. They had only known each other a little over a fortnight, but Merlin cared for him more than he ever thought possible, especially for someone he was meant to despise. Even when they were meant to be enemies, Merlin had no problem admitting now that he'd found the blond appealing, or, at least, intriguing.

In all honesty, Arthur kidnapping him had probably saved his life.

The guards laid unconscious outside the cells. Merlin took a sword from one of the slumped bodies, giving it an experimental swing. It was heavier than the blade he was used to, but it would have to do.

At the top of the stairs leading down to the dungeons, Morgana stood with her arms crossed, glancing around warily, shifting her weight and chewing on her bottom lip with anxiety. The moment the three of them emerged, her entire body relaxed.

"Took you all long enough!" Her eyes slid to Merlin. "Merlin, dear! Oh, I'm so glad you're alright!" She looked very much like she wanted to throw her arms around him but decided against it at the sight of the hefty sword he now had clutched in his hand.

Of course, leave it to Morgana to not miss a single thing. Her eyes narrowed while they flicked between Merlin and Arthur.

"What happened between you two? You seem oddly at ease, considering." She gasped. "Did you kiss? Goddess, it's just like my dream! You two kissed, didn't you? In a cold, dark place? The dungeons! Finally!"

Arthur shushed her. "Would you stop it? I'd rather not give away our attempt at treason because you're squealing like a blushing teenager!"

"You're lucky there's more important things to be done right now, brother. This is not the end of our conversation, believe me." With that, her and Gwaine took the lead back towards the throne room where they would meet up with the others. Merlin could've sworn he heard Gwaine whispering to Morgana, something about kissing and bets and money.

They picked up Elyan, Percival, and Lancelot stationed outside two of the entrances to the room just like they were supposed to be and reconvened in the servant's entrance with Leon. Once they were all together again, Arthur spoke.

"This is your final chance. If anyone wants to back out, you do it now. There's no going back from here on out. No one will think any less of you, and you will not be any less of a knight, do you understand?"

"When are you going to get it through your head that we're with you until the end? We swore an oath to you for a reason," Lancelot said. All the others nodded in agreement.

Arthur let out a long sigh. Merlin could tell he had been hoping, no matter how naively, that some of them would choose to save their own necks. Arthur didn't want to be the reason they lost their heads. He cared too much for his knights. Frankly, Merlin didn't even want Arthur involved. If it were up to him, he'd find a way to finish Uther off himself and save Arthur the guilt and anguish of having to kill his own father, no matter how much of a monster he was. Alas, the warlock knew that Arthur had to be the one to do it, had to be the one to get himself closure over all the crimes his father had committed, or he would never truly feel like he had earned the right to sit upon Camelot's throne.

"Very well. When we get in there, I need you all to handle the guards. George says he believes my father was talking to a few of the elder members of the council. I'm not particularly worried about them, just make sure they don't escape to sound the alarm. As long as no one gets out, no one should realize anything is amiss. I need someone to stay outside and silence any guards that pass on patrol. We can't have them overhearing." Elyan raised his hand. Arthur nodded his assent. "Morgana, Merlin, I need you two to stay out of the way, even if you don't want to. I'll take care of my father. This entire ploy wouldn't mean a thing if something happens to one of you in the process. And I don't want to give my father any leverage over us. I wouldn't put it above him to try and take a hostage. Anything else?"

When no one spoke up, Arthur nodded slowly. Merlin wanted to protest against being turned into a maiden in distress, but he knew it would do him no good. Besides, as good as he was with a sword, he was still recovering and weak from being cut off from his magic. He wasn't sure he could hold his own in a sword fight against the King of Camelot right then. "For the love of Camelot!" Arthur murmured.

"For the love of Camelot!" Everyone called back, tones just as hushed.

Arthur pushed open the door.

Almost immediately, Merlin could tell this was not going to go as they had planned. Almost as if he had sensed something like this would happen, maybe he really had, Uther had not just a few guards near the main doors as he had the day before when Merlin had been sentenced to the dungeons, but instead, nearly a dozen posted all around the room.

The moment they stepped through, two had pounced on Arthur, only to draw back in immediate shock, realizing who had just stepped through the door. The moment's hesitation was their downfall; Arthur quickly disarmed one and slammed the pommel of his sword into the man's temple, crumpling him to the ground. Gwaine simply punched the other one so hard in the face that it lit up with a spray of blood. That man, also, slumped to the ground, unconscious.

Or dead. Merlin wasn't entirely sure he was breathing.

Gwaine wiped the red liquid off his cheek with the back of his hand. It was a little unnerving how unbothered he was by it.

For a moment, it seemed as if the entire room had been frozen in time, much like it had when he had kissed Arthur.

But unlike that moment down in the dungeons, it was not a wonderful type of feeling where all Merlin could see was Arthur. This was a feeling of foreboding, knowing that any moment the shock would wear off.

And then chaos broke loose.

All the guards from around the room rushed to attack. Despite what Arthur had told him, Merlin found himself quickly locked in a fight with two of the guards, both of which were mercilessly landing blow after vicious blow. To his right, Morgana had also decided to disregard Arthur's orders and was dancing around a large guard with fire red hair, giving him absolute hell. All around him, he could hear sounds of similar scenarios as the others engaged in their own fights.

Managing to take down one of his opponents with a hefty blow to the chest, Merlin felt a moment of reprieve as he found himself now only taking on one. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Leon plow through two more guards in a dazzling display of swordsmanship. The head knight quickly turned his attention to the three old councilmen in the corner, looking terrified for their lives. Leon stalked in front of them, not harming them, but keeping them cornered just as Arthur had wished.

Merlin could not see the prince anywhere through all the mayhem, but he had to tell himself he was alright and focus on his own battle.

The guy across from him was well-trained, Merlin would give him that. Then again, anyone who had been taught under the tutelage of Arthur would be. The prince would easily give Will a run for his money as the best swordsman Merlin had ever met.

However, his downfall was exactly what made him so good. Merlin recognized much of how he fought as Arthur's own style. Despite not seeing much of the prat in action, Merlin knew well enough that the royal liked to be on offensive. The guard was no exception. As he took a wide swing at Merlin's head, the warlock ducked out of the way and jabbed his sword into the guard's ribs, which the man had failed to protect in his quest to be the attacker. The man roared with pain, blood blooming quickly from the sight. He collapsed to his knees. Merlin took the opportunity to smack him over the head with the broadside of his sword, effectively knocking him out cold.

Merlin was suddenly reminded of that day over a fortnight ago, when these strangers had taken his ship, attacked his crew, and kidnapped him. Now these strangers were fighting for him and with him. The mage could hardly believe how much had changed in such a short period of time.

Only a fortnight ago, he'd been worrying over his wedding day, his eternal imprisonment to the man he hated more than anyone else. Now, he was helping to stage a rebellion against the most powerful regent in all the lands.

His mother had always said he never did anything halfway.

As more bodies dropped, Merlin did a quick sweep to make sure it was none of theirs. Reassuringly, everyone on their side was still standing, if not a little battered and out of breath. Leon still had the three old councilmen cornered. Morgana had finally dropped her giant. Now, all of Merlin's focus went to Arthur, who he had finally found as the fray died down.

The blonde was locked in a deadly battle with Uther. It was clear from one glance that Uther was already struggling to keep up. Once, the man had been the sword fighting champion of all the kingdoms, Now, his son had thoroughly stripped him of the title, leaving him as nothing but an old man with a sword he was struggling to use. Uther couldn't even land a single blow on Arthur. All his energy was going into blocking each one of Arthur's murderous strikes.

The king managed to put the council table between himself and the prince. Arthur watched him with cold, angry eyes.

"Fight back, you coward," Arthur growled. "Fight back!"

"Arthur, son, please, see reason. This is the enchantment. You would never hurt your own father. Whatever this is, just let me get rid of the boy and all will be forgotten. This isn't your fault, son."

"Do not call me that!" Arthur yelled. "You are no father of mine. After everything you've done. I know everything, Uther. I know how you plotted with Cenred to destroy Ealdor. I know how it was a kingdom full of innocent magic and you helped to slaughter all of them. You gave Merlin to Cenred as a prize. You sold him to a monster! You've massacred hundreds of thousands of people purer than you ever were. Magic isn't evil; it never was. It's no different than a sword. It's the wielder who decides how it is used. I know how you killed my mother!"

Uther's eyes went wide. "How dare you accuse me of such a thing!"

"You got her killed in your quest for power. That is a crime that can never be forgiven. I have allowed you to control me and taint my mind with lies for too long. You ordering Merlin's execution was only the final straw."

"He's enchanted you!"

"There is no enchantment!" Arthur roared. "Only you with your lies and your hate. Merlin is a better man than any one of us in this room. "

Arthur whipped around the table and swung wide at Uther's chest, the older man barely parrying the attack. He took a step back, but his foot caught on the dais, and he fell, finding himself at the mercy of Arthur's sword.

Uther, desperate, turned to Morgana. "Morgana, please, my wonderful daughter. Have I not always treated you kindly? Have I not always given you everything you've asked for?"

Morgana laughed humorlessly. "You've given me nothing. I do not care for material things. You took me from my home. I'm from Ealdor, you bastard. All these years you were too stupid to realize. You never bothered to ask my mother, only saw a pretty face and knew you had to sleep with it. I have magic! And I'm not afraid of you, not after you destroyed my kingdom, got my father killed. I have more allegiance to Merlin as my prince and Arthur as my king than I ever will you. You hurt my brother all our lives and kept me silent about it by giving me pretty things. I was a foolish, scared child. I'm a child no longer. Go to hell, Uther."

This blow seemed to finally make Uther understand that he was not getting out of this. Accepting his fate, his face slid into one of cruel malice. "They'll never respect you. The people will riot. This kingdom will crumble in your hands. You've never been strong enough to be king."

"You're wrong!" Merlin yelled, pushing past Morgana and coming to stand just behind Arthur. "This kingdom will flourish under Arthur. He will be the best king this kingdom has ever known. He will be a king of legends. I will personally make sure that he is the greatest king of all time."

Arthur locked eyes with Merlin. In a split second, a silent conversation passed between the two that Merlin needed no help to interpret.

Arthur was looking for Merlin's approval. He was silently asking if he was doing the right thing.

Merlin nodded.

Arthur drove his sword through Uther's chest, the man's final strangled cry dying on his lips where blood began to trickle. The king slumped to the ground, a pool of crimson blooming beneath him. His chest never even drew a final breath. Arthur stood there, silent, his eyes emotionless, his hand still clamped over the hilt of the sword which he'd just used to commit both patricide and regicide in one blow.

Uther's reign was over.

Arthur's had just begun.

Chapter Text

The moments following Uther's downfall were a bit of a blur.

Everything happened so fast that Merlin wasn't exactly sure what had happened at all.

He wasn't sure who had managed to finally drag Arthur away from his father's bloody corpse, but he knew that they had emerged into the corridor beyond the throne room to find nearly every household staff member there, eagerly awaiting their emergence, some even holding tools they'd managed to scrounge up as weapons, if need be, like frying pans and fire irons. Gwen and George sheepishly explained that they had indeed tried to get the staff to leave just as they had been ordered, but not a single one would hear of it. When Leon proclaimed Arthur as the new King, a roar of cheers went up from the crowd. The knights, blood splattered and weary, were wearing tired grins. Morgana was already discussing coronation plans with some of the maids.

Merlin had expected utter chaos in the wake of the regicide. True, word was yet to spread anywhere outside the castle walls, but something told the young mage that there would not be many protestors against the change in power.

Merlin looked to the prince. King, he reminded himself. Arthur was King now. The new king did not smile. He did not make any expression at all. He didn't even appear to realize exactly where he was.

From there, Merlin knew little of what happened next. Everything went so fast as everyone rushed off to fulfill one duty or another. Someone led him away to a guest chamber. A serving boy came along to draw him a bath which he didn't remember taking and bring him a meal he was sure he didn't touch. He had tried to protest, to tell the boy that he needed to know what was going on, but strangely, he hadn't been able to get any words out. The gravity of what they had just done hadn't quite set in yet. In that moment, all he was aware of were the multitude of aches and pains making themselves known in his body, the split lip which someone had applied a salve to, and his bad arm which had been freshly wrapped and put in a sling, clearly in Gaius' handywork.

How had he missed the physician checking him over?

Perhaps, it was because the bed he'd been giving was the single softest thing he'd ever laid upon. It was like lying on a cloud, Merlin was sure. The warm linen sleep clothes he had found himself in were unbelievably comfortable. Everything was calling for him to succumb to sleep, despite knowing nothing of the aftermath of their rebellion.

Still, he drifted off.

Merlin was shocked at how fast they managed to arrange a coronation. They held a small funeral for Uther, certainly not one of any magnitude that would be expected of a king as supposedly great as Uther Pendragon.

Unsurprisingly, not many came to say goodbye, and those who did only came to wish him good riddance.

Arthur was coronated as soon as Uther's body was cleared from the throne room.

It, too, was a rather small affair, though only for lack of time. Merlin was sure that, had they had time to actually plan like they wanted, the serving staff would have created a magnificent ceremony truly meant for a king. As it was, the audience was kept to only members of the royal household, knights, and council.

Merlin stood in the back in the shadows from an alcove, feeling severely out of place. Even though he'd been invited many times over, he still felt as if his presence would put a damper on the already heavy atmosphere.

Arthur's face remained emotionless throughout the entire ceremony, even as he recited his vow of dedicated service to the kingdom back to Geoffrey of Monmouth. The king never even looked to Merlin.

Not that he had expected him too, of course. Merlin couldn't even imagine the stress Arthur was under, not to mention the mental anguish over having just killed his father, no matter how despicable the man had been. Merlin wanted to seek him out, wanted to comfort him, but something told him his efforts would be unappreciated.

So, in the days that followed, Merlin mostly kept to his own little chambers.

They didn't feel like his own, not really. Then again, nothing had quite felt like his own until The Avalon. His beloved ship was the one thing in which he had total control and power in his own domain. He missed his beautiful ship and her crew.

He had been missing his own crew more and more as the days passed since their coup and life began to settle once more into what Merlin expected was normalcy for Camelot. He couldn't help but worry about them, wonder how much of Cenred's wrath they had incurred because of him.

What if the king had executed them, and Merlin didn't even know?

He wasn't sure he'd be able to live with himself.

He couldn't help but feel like he didn't belong in the everyday life of Camelot. He felt a bit like a square box trying desperately to fit into a round hole.

.

.

With his new-found freedom, Merlin wandered the corridors of the castle listlessly, not having the strength yet to venture beyond the walls. Even though Gaius had ordered him on bed rest, he managed to find his way to the kitchens on his very first day. There, the head cook, Audrey, proceeded to declare him much too skinny for her liking and attempted to force feed him more food than he could handle.

The very smell of all the food made him nauseous. He bolted before she could hand him yet another slice of freshly baked bread. Still, he noticed that every meal brought to him was heaped with much more food than was warranted for a single person, no matter their status or caliber.

.

.

On the second day, he managed to find his way to Gaius' chambers. As kind as all the kitchen staff had been, there were only so many raspberry tarts he could handle.

The old physician was less than delighted to see him out of bed but hadn't passed up the chance to change the bandages on Merlin's arm and shoulder which had finally, finally, began to heal without so much stress weighing on him. Gaius completely refused to let Merlin take the sling off, much to the warlock's dismay.

Almost immediately, Gaius set him to work brewing a batch of fever tonic after it became apparent Merlin had no intention of going back to his rooms. It had almost felt like old times, lazy summer days in Ealdor with Gaius, learning to wrap poultices and dress wounds while the physician regaled him with tales of magic before the Great Purge.

On that particular day, with the weight of Uther's downfall still lying like a heavy blanket over them all, the two didn't really talk. Merlin just stirred slowly, watching, over the top of the cauldron fumes, Gaius amble to one of his bookshelves, select a book of rare herbs, only to reach into the space the book left behind and pull out another from the shadows, one much older and much heavier.

Gaius brought the tome over to the table and set it down with a heavy thump. Curiously, Merlin peered over his work to get a better look at the cover, though no words were inscribed there. It was a large book bound in thick leather, bearing ornate metal pieces on the spine and two large iron clasps that kept the book securely sealed.

The book was oddly familiar.

"What is that?" Merlin wondered, slowly rising from the bench and walking around the table to get a closer look. Gaius deftly undid the clasps and pulled back the cover, the yellowing parchment pages groaning under the use. Clearly, the book had not been opened in quite some time.

"This," Gaius said, "is a grimoire."

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath. A grimoire, a book of magic. Gaius had kept this hidden right under Uther Pendragon's nose all this time. Before he even realized what he was doing, Merlin could feel his hand reaching toward the book, fingers shaking in anticipation of making contact with the pages. He could almost hear the book whispering to him, calling to him in the words of the Old Religion, begging to be read. Though he had no need for spells, he never turned down a chance to learn everything he could about magic.

Gaius held the book out to him in a silent offering. Merlin took it in one trembling arm, the first magical artefact he'd touched in years. Words no others could read jumped from the pages, odd symbols floated by, some he understood, others he had never encountered. He felt a rush of warmth touching the book's fragile binding, knowing he had so much magical knowledge at his fingertips. This wasn't just any ordinary spell book.

"This belonged to-"

"-my father," Merlin finished for him, knowing it was true as the words left his mouth. He suddenly understood why the book was so familiar. He had walked past it thousands of times, lying there on his father's desk in his and his mother's chambers. His father had forbidden him to read it, to even touch it, until he deemed his son to be ready. Only weeks before he had died, Balinor had told Merlin the time was coming.

After everything, Merlin had forgotten all about the book.

"Indeed, it did. I had borrowed it for a bit of research a few days before Cenred's attack. When his army came, I threw everything most valuable into a bag. This was the only book on magic I managed to save. This holds magical knowledge beyond anything you've ever encountered, my boy."

"Is that why Father never let me see it?"

"He didn't wish for you to see some of the things in here. This book contains some magic darker than you could ever imagine. He didn't wish for your innocence on the views of magic to be destroyed until you were fully a man."

"What could possibly be that bad?" Merlin asked, feeling a little hurt that his father hadn't thought he was tough enough to handle it.

Gaius peered at Merlin over the top of his spectacles. "You'd be surprised. Your father didn't think you were weak, Merlin, quite the opposite. That's not why he kept it from you. He kept it from you because all your father ever wished was for you to have the best childhood you could, despite the surrounding kingdoms' views on magic. It's why he kept the prophecy from you for as long as he could. Him and your mother loved you so much."

Merlin swallowed around a lump in his throat. That was the most anyone had spoken about his parents since they had died. He stroked the worn spine of the old book, imagining that he could feel the ghost of his father's hands there, touching the same spot he was, flipping through the worn pages by candlelight.

With a reluctant sigh, Merlin went to hand the tome back to the physician. Gaius shook his head and pushed it back. "No, you keep it. It belongs to you. Your father would want you to have it. Besides," he tapped the back, "this also contains knowledge on dragonlords and dragon magic. I thought you'd want to know more about your kin."

"I don't know how to thank you."

"No need. I've had it much too long. It's high time it's returned to its rightful owner."

"Gaius," Merlin wondered quietly after a moment, "do you think there might be something in here about the curse binding my magic?"

"Only one way to find out, my boy. Let us pray so."

The silence that followed was broken by Merlin yawning. Gaius smiled softly. "Why don't you go back to your chambers? I believe I told you to stay in bed anyhow." He raised a threatening eyebrow.

Merlin smiled sheepishly. "You know I can't stay in place for that long. Besides, you needed the help."

"I can manage. Now, off to bed, physician's orders. Or I'll get Morgana."

The threat was enough to spur Merlin into grabbing his book and leaving the physician's chambers.

.

.

The rest of his time was spent, surprisingly, right where Gaius told him to be.

Apparently, being kidnapped, nearly dying multiple times, being arrested, and overthrowing a king was exhausting. He found himself sleeping a lot more often than not.

While he found himself recovering much more rapidly than on the ship, what with access to baths and proper food every day, he also found that his stamina was even worse than before. Even the trek to the kitchens and back to his chambers left him lightheaded and nauseous. Gaius said that the feeling would pass with time as he regained his strength and the cold iron's poison left his body, but it didn't feel so reassuring.

Not to mention, Merlin was completely bored out of his mind. With all the daily activities resuming in the kingdom, none of his new friends had much time for him, as much as they tried. Even Morgana, whom he had come to view as a sister and his closest confidant, barely managed to look in on him in the mornings and evenings before running off for court duties. As for the knights, those who had stuck around and pledged their loyalty to Arthur were so busy making up for the duties of the ones who had scoffed and left they didn't have time to even look twice at Merlin. One of the Round Table would drop in occasionally to say hello and apologize with guilty faces for not checking up sooner, but Merlin would simply smile sadly and wave off whomever it was, saying it was no bother, he understood.

Which he did. Of course, he did. He understood the demands of court life, and he could only imagine how they had increased tenfold as Arthur attempted to settle into his new position and the entire kingdom became acclimated to a new regent.

It didn't mean he was any less lonely.

He found his moments of solace in none other than George. While Gwen was a frequent visitor, she could never stay long as she breezed through to collect his laundry or make his bed. Even though he insisted he was not Arthur and could very much do such simple chores for himself, Gwen rolled her eyes and giggled affectionately.

"But why should you have to when there's servants, my lord," she teased lightly. Merlin scowled, only making Gwen laugh harder. The others hadn't let him live it down since they found out his true status, "my lords" and "sires" being thrown around like a mockery rather than an honorific.

He couldn't even be offended when he now found himself looking forward to George's daily visits to bring him meals and clean. He was a dry, horribly dull man, no personality to be seen, but Merlin found him absolutely hilarious, him and his dreadful jokes about brass.

Goddess, he knew he must suffer from a mental affliction when he began to actually listen when George told him all about the different types of rags one used to polish different materials.

He found himself looking forward to these stagnant, one-sided conversations. They went down about as well as water left in a canteen for days, but at least they made Merlin feel like he was actually a human being again, and not just some ghost wandering the halls, watching people flinch as he approached and then turn away as if he weren't even there.

Things, of course, had not simply changed overnight. Just because they had disposed of the tyrant upon the throne didn't mean their efforts had even put a dent in the two decades of fear and distrust of magic. Many, especially older servants and councilmen, still shied away from him, some even looking down on him with sneers and contempt. He could hear the whispers following him, much like those of the men from Arthur's ship. In fact, most of the people going out of their way to make their displeasure of his presence known were Uther's self-imposed crew on The Dragon Slayer. He knew many did not trust him, while even more resented him for being the catalyst to the rebellion. Life under Uther hadn't been as terrible as some rulers as long as one didn't possess magic, and now many feared the kingdom would crumble under Arthur's rule.

And they all very much blamed Merlin. They were scared of him. He saw the way they flinched. He saw the fear pass over their features before they quickly schooled them and thought it better to pretend he wasn't there at all.

There was nothing anyone could do, either. He wasn't about to ask Arthur for help. The king hadn't even so much as looked at him since the throne room when Uther met Arthur's sword. Merlin had no clue where he stood, or even what the hell had happened down in the dungeons.

Their kiss had been magnificent. It had been more wonderful than anything Merlin had ever hoped or dreamed to receive from Arthur, and for one lousy moment, he had allowed himself to believe Arthur had kissed him because he really wanted to, because what the blonde had said was indeed true and he had been wanting to since the very beginning. He didn't even want to entertain the idea that, perhaps, Arthur simply kissed him in a pinnacle of emotion, so caught up in the rescue and the rush of things.

But Arthur needed time. Merlin would give him all the time in the world. Arthur deserved it after everything he went through to finally sit upon Camelot's throne. He didn't need to be bothered with some lost sorcerer whom he'd murdered his father to save and now couldn't even look at.

Maybe Arthur just needed time to adjust. Maybe Arthur's feelings weren't real or maybe they were. All Merlin knew was his feelings for the young king were very much real.

Whether that mattered in the long run, Merlin was yet to find out.

It was nearly a sennight after Arthur's coronation before the newly crowned king finally sought him out. Merlin was lounging on the bed in the guest chambers, flipping through the grimoire with one hand, too tired to get up but too stubborn to go to sleep yet again. Even after nearly a week's worth of searching, Merlin was yet to come across anything even remotely helpful in lifting the curse Cenred had binding his magic. The book was massive, and Merlin was taking his time, savoring every ancient word painstakingly preserved on the parchment. He was barely halfway through the tome.

He was absorbed in the drawings of the Mortaeus flower, an inconspicuous yet deadly yellow plant, when a tentative knock came from the door. Merlin quickly shut his book and shoved it beneath his bed. Even though he was quite sure nothing would happen if it was found, the ingrained fear of having to hide anything even remotely magical would be difficult to be rid of. He wasn't sure the grimoire was something he was ready to share yet, either. It was the last piece of his father he had.

"Enter," Merlin called.

The door timidly creaked open. On the other side, Arthur Pendragon stood, looking worse than Merlin had ever seen him. He was in his sleep clothes, his hair sticking up at all angles. He slouched where he stood, nothing like the air of confidence he always carried. He had dark purple bruises beneath his eyes. He looked as if he hadn't slept in a year.

"Arthur!" Merlin gasped, scrambling up from the bed. Any feelings of sleepiness he had were swept away as he stumbled over his own feet to get to Arthur. He didn't care if he was meant to stay in bed. He went to reach for the royal, to cup his face with his hand, but stopped short, unsure if his touch would even be welcomed. Arthur closed his eyes and sighed, defeated.

"Hello, Merlin."

"What's happened?" Merlin demanded. He was horrified. He figured Arthur would be stressed and exhausted from grief, but he never imagined this.

Arthur completely disregarded his question. "Gaius said you're meant to be on bed rest. How're you feeling? How's your arm?" He asked, lightly touching the limb still stubbornly trapped in a sling. Merlin could tell it was a poor attempt at normalcy. He could see the way Arthur was desperately holding on to his quickly cracking mask.

"Never mind that. What's happened to you? You look awful."

Merlin expected a witty comeback, hell, he half expected to be smacked upside the head. Anything would have been better than the way Arthur's expression crumbled into one of pure grief and exhaustion.

"Oh, Arthur," he whispered, finally reaching up to touch his cheek. The blonde leaned into his touch, whether consciously or not, Merlin wasn't sure. "Come here."

Merlin led him back to his bed and sat, pulling Arthur down with him. Arthur sat there, unmoving, unblinking, blindly staring at the stone floor. Merlin ran the pad of his thumb over Arthur's cheek.

"I'm a monster," Arthur whispered.

The declaration was so sudden that it took several seconds for the words to compute in Merlin's mind. When they did, he turned his head so fast his neck ached.

"What did you just say?"

"I'm a monster, Merlin. I killed my own father. The people have a murderer as their king."

"Arthur Pendragon," Merlin asserted. "You are not a monster! Don't say that! You're a very good man, the best of men. Your father was the monster. He killed your mother. He hurt you and abused you all your life. He murdered thousands of innocent people. You only killed him to save my life and to save the lives of all your people. For that, you are a hero."

"I didn't even flinch," Arthur murmured. "I'm nothing but a cold-hearted killer. He was right; the people will never respect me."

"I saw the way you looked afterwards. You were devastated. That alone tells me that your heart is anything but cold. You're grieving a terrible man. Only a very noble, kind soul could do that. He was your father, no matter what he did. It's only natural for you to grieve on some level. But I won't allow it to destroy you. You're so much better than that, than him. You deserve so much better. Already, I can tell the people adore you. Can't you feel it? The entire atmosphere of the castle has changed! Everything's so much lighter and warmer without him here. People are happy."

Merlin turned to fully face Arthur, pulling his legs up on the bed so he could look the king in the eyes, eyes which were filled with unshed tears.

"I'm so sorry," Arthur whispered. He closed his eyes once more, allowing a few tears to streak down his cheeks. Merlin pulled him into his chest until Arthur's head rested on his shoulder, allowing the young king to sob into his shirt. Merlin was sorely reminded of a night not long ago when their positions had been reversed, Merlin crying into Arthur as he revealed his darkest secret. Merlin was more than willing to provide the same sort of comfort.

"You've got nothing to apologize for. You're doing wonderfully." Merlin stroked back a piece of Arthur's hair.

"I-I didn't even…even come visit you after. You w-were hurt, and I-I didn't even come to check on you," Arthur sobbed, his words muffled by the fabric of Merlin's sleep tunic.

Merlin shushed him. "Stop it," he said sternly. "I was alright. You had much more to worry about than me. I understand."

"I wanted to. I-I've been worried about you since that night. I d-didn't forget you, I swear. You must've been so lonely! I've just been so stressed, b-but I had to come tonight. I don't think…" Arthur paused. "…I don't think I can do this, Merlin."

"Yes, yes, you can. I know you can. You're so strong. You're already a better king than Uther. This is going to take some time. You can't expect to be adjusted after only a sennight, especially not the way everything happened."

They were silent for a long time, Arthur crying while Merlin softly rubbed his back. After some time, Merlin was sure Arthur had fallen asleep. The blonde suddenly spoke. "I don't regret it."

"Regret what?"

Arthur pulled his head up. His face was all red and blotchy with tear tracks, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. "I don't regret saving you. Or killing my father. I'm not sad that he's gone."

"You're grieving the man you wished he were," Merlin whispered softly.

"I know he needed to die. I only regret having to kill him. As much as I came to hate him in the end, I never wanted his blood on my hands. It's just, he crossed a line when he tried to have you executed."

"I wish you could hear yourself. There'd be no question on whether you were a good person or not."

Arthur absentmindedly played with a loose thread on the bedspread. "You once asked me if I was so brave, why was I not the first one on your ship that day? Well, the answer is because…because I care for my knights and Morgana and Gwen deeply. They're my family. And I could never bare to see them killed. I was too much of a coward. I thought that if I allowed them to go first, at least they'd already be dead by the time I got there, and I wouldn't have to see it. Like somehow that made it better. From the time I could walk, Uther raised me to care for no one. He wanted me to be a fearless sailor and a ruthless pirate. I wasn't meant to care for my crew."

"Having compassion doesn't make you a coward. My mother always said that the bravest thing a person could do was admit they were scared."

"Your mother was a smart woman."

"That she was," Merlin answered softly. He stroked Arthur's hair again, the blonde staring at him with the most vulnerable expression he'd ever seen.

He moved before Merlin could even react. Arthur's lips were on his once more, though this was completely different from the kiss they'd shared down in the dungeons. It was more desperate, less of a kiss than it was Arthur trying to get as close to him as possible. After a moment, Merlin softly pushed him away. Arthur's face fell.

"I-I'm sorry," he cried, making to get up. "I didn't realize. I thought…it doesn't matter. I'll go."

"No, wait!" Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand with his only good one, pulling the young royal back to him. "You didn't do anything wrong. It's just that, well…" Merlin sighed. "It's my own stupid self-consciousness. Both times we've kissed now it's been in a moment of high emotion. I just want to make sure whatever this is," he gestured between the two of them, "isn't something born out of rashness. I really care for you, but I think we should hold off on the kissing until everything's calmed down, and we're both sure it's what we really want when we're not in the heat of everything."

"It's not," Arthur demanded. "I know it isn't. I've wanted to kiss you since that very first night when you tried to escape my ship. I know it seems irrational, but what I feel for you isn't just a spur of the moment thing. I've never felt like this about someone else before. But I respect whatever you wish. I won't force you to do anything you don't want to. I'd never hurt you like that. I'm not him." Arthur made a dark face.

"I know you're not him. You're so much better. And, after everything has settled, if you still wish to kiss me, I surely won't be complaining."

"Cheeky ass," Arthur admonished him fondly. "I should go."

"Or you could stay," Merlin offered carefully.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. He was looking much happier than when he'd stepped foot into the chambers. "I thought you wanted to take things slow?"

Merlin blushed scarlet. "I meant to sleep! Goddess, use your upstairs brain!"

Arthur laughed. It was the most wonderful sound the Merlin had heard all week. "Alright. I don't see what it could hurt."

Arthur pulled Merlin back towards the bed. "Don't you need to inform your guards? Won't they panic when you don't come back?"

"Frankly, I don't care," Arthur answered, shucking off his sleep shirt. Merlin averted his eyes, suddenly overcome with embarrassment and not wanting to get caught ogling. Mother, Maiden, and Crone, when had he turned into a blushing virgin? He'd seen and heard much worse in all the taverns and pubs. He'd done much worse.

It took a while for them both to get comfortable after Merlin blew out the candle, but finally, they found themselves facing each other.

Merlin was on the brink of sleep when Arthur's quiet voice cut through the dark. "I don't want you to go."

"Hm?"

"I don't want you to go back to Essetir. I don't want to send you back to be Cenred's weapon whom he kidnapped. I don't want to send you back to a place where you're unloved and unappreciated. I don't want to send you back to that hell to be beaten and assaulted!"

"Then don't," Merlin muttered. "I don't want to go back. I only want to have my crew and Aithusa and my ship here someday. I want to stay in Camelot, with all of you. I never want to set foot in that kingdom again."

"I fear what will happen when more time passes without any sort of ransom from us. Surely, Cenred is bound to come after you. He'll be finding out I'm king any day now."

"Maybe he doesn't know it was Camelot that took me."

"How could he not? Everyone knows our crest. It was right there on the flags when we took you."

"There's a chance my crew didn't tell him."

"Let us hope," Arthur muttered into the night. "Even if he finds you, I won't let him take you back to your fiancé. I won't let that pig of a man you're betrothed to hurt you anymore." Underneath the bedclothes, Arthur intertwined their fingers.

Merlin opened his mouth to tell the King, to tell him that Cenred and his fiancé were in fact one in the same. However, fear of Arthur's reaction welled within him like a mighty beast, gnawing at his insides and freezing his tongue in place. Arthur would be furious for not telling him. He couldn't tell Arthur. He had just been crowned king, he didn't need to deal with what would become a political kidnapping on top of that.

Arthur squeezed his hand softly. "Go to sleep. You're still ill and weak."

"That's the pot calling the kettle black," Merlin slurred, once again on the verge of sleep.

"Sleep well, Merlin."

"'Night, Arthur."

Chapter Text

Merlin woke before the King. He laid there for a moment in his ridiculously comfortable bed, soaking up every detail of Arthur's face, finally free of stress in sleep.

With his hair covering his eyes, Arthur looked peaceful. Merlin reached out and brushed the fringe back, his fingers barely ghosting the regent's skin. Arthur sighed and scrunched up his face, worming deeper into his pillow. Merlin couldn't help but smile adoringly.

He couldn't believe how much he'd come to care for the prat since they first met. It was as if they were two completely different people. Never in a million years did he dream he'd be waking up beside the arrogant prince he first met, smiling at him with the softest smile he had ever given anyone.

If only Will could see him. He'd ask him when the hell their captain had turned into such a sappy daffodil.

The warm morning sun on his face let Merlin know that it was well past time for Arthur to get up and get on with his kingly duties, but the warlock couldn't quite bear to wake him, not after the night before.

He wouldn't mind waking up every morning like this.

As it was, Merlin knew neither of them had the luxury. Deciding to let Arthur rest a bit longer, Merlin carefully climbed out of bed and padded over to the door, finding a guard stationed there whom he was certain hadn't been there the night before. He sent for George to bring breakfast for two and a change of clothes for Arthur before getting dressed himself.

A benefit of suddenly finding himself a guest in an insanely rich royal household was he was no longer limited on clothing options. In the week since he had arrived, Merlin had received nearly double the amount of clothes he had in his wardrobe back in Essetir. Not that he was complaining.

Now set in a lovely royal purple tunic, despite a fair bit of wriggling and quiet swearing as he attempted to pull on his clothes one-handed, he sat at his desk and paged through a book on herbs he'd nicked from Gaius while he waited for George to bring them food.

It wasn't long before someone knocked on the door, and Merlin called for them to enter. George came in laden with enough food to feed half the court. Arthur grumbled from the bed and stirred, but surprisingly, didn't wake.

"Will that be all, My Lord?" George asked. He finished laying out their faux banquet and placed Arthur's fresh clothes near the dying embers of the fireplace. Merlin rolled his eyes.

"Yes, that'll be fine, George. And I told you to stop calling me that!"

George bowed lowly. "Of course. My apologies…My Lord."

Merlin was left dumbstruck as George began to gather up some of Merlin's dirty laundry scattered about. Had George just-

"Did he just make a joke?" Finished Arthur's sleep-addled voice from the bed. "One that wasn't about brass?"

"Um, yes, I believe he just did."

"Is there some sort of world-ending catastrophe I haven't been made aware of?"

Merlin snorted dryly, moving towards the bed and smirking down at Arthur who was still rubbing sleep from his eyes. "Unless you count a very indolent king, then no. Let's have you, lazy daisy."

"Excuse me?"

Merlin tilted his head, giving Arthur a goofy grin. "You heard me. Get your lazy royal ass out of bed."

"I'm the king now, Merlin. You still can't address me like that."

"I'll address you however I damn well please," Merlin replied, the echo of the words they'd exchanged upon one of their first meetings not slipping past either. "I must say, you're looking a fair bit better than you were last night."

Merlin flung Arthur's sleep shirt at him, and the King tugged it on. He stretched and yawned tiredly, the bags still prominent beneath his eyes, but significantly less so. "I feel better as well. You wouldn't happen to be some sort of magic healer, too, would you?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes, Arthur. Because I've felt like a corpse for the last two weeks even though I have the magic ability to heal myself. I'm just a masochist like that."

"Smartass."

Merlin put a hand over his chest, feigning offense. "You wound me. I would like to think it's my roguishly good looks that caused your miraculous turnaround."

"You wouldn't know how to be roguish if it bit you in the ass." Arthur playfully shoved Merlin towards the dining table. He appraised the spread as they both sat to eat. Merlin pouted.

"I wasn't aware we were feeding an army."

"I only ordered breakfast for the two of us. George took care of the rest."

"It would seem George is under the impression that we haven't eaten in nearly a fortnight." It was like George wasn't even in the room.

Despite his teasing, Arthur heaped his plate with generous amounts of food: sausages, roasted potatoes, cheeses and fruits of all sorts, bread and honey, breakfast cakes, and goblets full of sweet wine and water. Merlin shook his head affectionately when all the royal decorum Arthur possessed went out the window as he shoveled in mouthfuls of food like a starving man.

Merlin nibbled on a piece of bread, the thick slathering of honey, which had once been one of his favorite treats, now causing his stomach to clench uncomfortably. He barely made it through half a sausage before the greasy meat did the same. He resorted to forlornly pushing his food around his plate, famished yet sick at the same time.

Arthur stopped eating with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Are you alright?"

Merlin waved him off. "Of course. Just not very hungry."

"I've barely seen you eat a thing since I met you. You must be starving."

Merlin glared at a rather offensive potato on his plate. "Not particularly."

The King set down his fork, eyeing Merlin carefully. "Are you ill? Do you want me to summon Gaius?"

"No! I'm perfectly fine. Like I said, just not very hungry this morning."

"How long's it been since you've had a decent meal?"

Merlin opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur cut him off. "A decent meal which you've actually eaten?"

The warlock deflated slightly. He had vowed not to lie to Arthur any longer, not after everything they'd been through.

Well, aside from that lie. But that was completely different. That was protecting Arthur. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Still, it remained his first instinct to lie through his teeth at the slightest sign of vulnerability. Somehow, it was easier for him to fabricate a story rather than face what was actually bothering him. For so long, shutting people out meant less pain. Now, he wasn't quite sure how to let Arthur in.

He had to try. He owed him that much.

"Um…I've never really eaten much. My betrothed controls all the meals in the household. He says it won't do if I gain any weight." Merlin stabbed the offensive potato particularly hard, looking anywhere but at Arthur. He could feel the young royal's eyes burning into his head.

"Gods, Merlin," Arthur finally breathed sounding devastated. Merlin shut his eyes tight, not caring for the sympathy he heard in Arthur's voice. He refused to cry yet again.

"No. Don't. I don't need your sympathy. I don't want it."

Arthur held up his hands in surrender. Merlin watched Arthur wipe his hands on a napkin and take a sip of wine, his mind clearly turning all the while.

"You know, new sailors often underestimate the amount of food they'll need for trips. They come back half dead on their feet and emaciated from starvation. They can't handle anything heavy or rich, so Gaius always starts them on lighter foods, like broths and plain rice, in smaller portions. If you wish, I could have something easier sent up for your midday meal."

Merlin felt himself redden. He traced a soggy grape through the dregs of sausage oil on his plate. Without looking up, he answered, "That would be perfect." He looked up from his mess. "Thank you, Arthur," he whispered.

"Of course."

A comfortable, if not slightly warm on Merlin's part, silence passed between the two of them for some time. Arthur went back to eating while Merlin was content to just sit back and sip a goblet of water, admiring Arthur under the morning light streaming in from the window. His hair was still sticking up at odd angles from where he'd slept. His sleep clothes fell loose and light over his tan skin, practically golden in the light. Merlin had to quickly swallow another mouthful of water to keep from grinning like a fool. He had to keep reminding himself that they were taking things one day at a time. He was the one who had suggested it. It wasn't like one night spent just the two of them erased the outside world. Beyond the double doors of his chambers, they went back to being the King of Camelot and the semi-fugitive warlock whom half thought was some sort of psychotic monster. And for now, that was all they would have to be. There was no use getting all weepy and sappy just because the Golden King looked delectable fresh out of bed.

It took Merlin an embarrassingly long time to realize Arthur was trying to speak to him. He nearly choked on his water, clumsily setting the glass down and wiping the water off his chin with the back of his sleeve.

Arthur wrinkled his nose. "Lovely."

"Oh, like your table manners are so wonderful. You eat like a bear," Merlin shot back. He added, "What were you saying, clotpole?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I was asking what you planned to do today while in bed, idiot."

"Actually, it's interesting you mention it. Where would I find the library?"

"The library? What do you need? I'll have any books you want sent up."

Merlin's eyes flicked to where his father's grimoire was still shoved beneath the bed. Even barely halfway through it, Merlin realized he would have to go outside of his family's magic if he had any hope of breaking this mysterious curse Cenred had used to bind his magic. Not to mention he wanted an excuse to leave his room. He'd barely even left his bed since that second day under threat of Morgana's wrath. He was going to go insane if he didn't get out.

"I need to leave. I'm going to bloody rip my hair out if I don't leave this room. Besides, I'm not just after books for leisure. We're searching for a way to break the curse binding my magic. Gaius suggested I go see Geoffrey. He seems to believe Geoffrey may still have some tomes from before the Great Purge. It's unlikely, but who knows. It's worth it to at least look."

"It's worth it, yes, and I want to see your magic free almost as much as you do. But you're meant to be resting! You're still hurt; your arm is in a bloody sling. Can't you wait until you're healed?"

Merlin froze, his eyes narrowing. A flush of anger filled his cheeks. "I've been without my magic for two years. Two damn years! How would you feel if I took your sword, made you feel the most powerless and empty you've ever felt in your entire life, then told you to just wait? But no, it's alright, because it's only magic. I'm only a warlock. I don't need it. It's alright to keep me from who I am because I don't matter!"

He shoved away from the table and stormed across the room, right past a very startled George who had been attempting to make his bed. He stared out the window overlooking the courtyard below. His chest was heaving with anger, his stomach filled with nausea. His arm was aching badly. Beneath it all, he felt bad for blowing up on Arthur. He hadn't meant anything by it, Merlin was sure. He was only concerned.

A chair scraped, and Merlin heard a few hesitant steps behind him. Arthur placed a gentle hand on his good shoulder. With that single touch, all the fight drained from him at once. Arthur spun him around, so they were face to face, the cerulean of the King's eyes filled with worry.

"I'm sorry," Merlin muttered.

"You've nothing to be sorry for. I shouldn't have said that. Clearly, it's a sensitive topic."

"Still. I just got so angry for no reason. I didn't mean to blow up on you. You were only trying to help."

"Well, I would venture a guess that I'm not the only one who's been under a lot of stress as of late. It's only natural you would blow up at some point."

Merlin groaned and leaned his forehead against Arthur's shoulder. Arthur's hands came up and softly patted his back. "It's just…I've been so on edge since Uther's death. I feel like people are watching me, waiting for me to lash out every step I take in this castle. I'm tired of being looked at like I'm some monster, and I'm even more tired of feeling too helpless to do anything about it without my magic. In the solitude of the last week, I've come to realize just how empty and hollow I've felt for nearly two years without my magic, not just because of Essetir. I'm worried for my crew, worried about you, sad and, admittedly, a little angry I've barely had any visitors, and just plain lonely. I've been missing my parents more than I ever have. And all the while, I've been cooped up in here on bed rest because my stupid body won't just heal, and I feel so useless because I can barely walk across the castle without feeling like I'm going to pass out!"

There. It had all been laid out in front of them. Everything he'd kept pent up for so long, pushed to the little chest in the deepest recesses of his mind where he kept everything he couldn't be bothered to face emotionally.

He wasn't sure what he expected Arthur to say. Some evil part of his mind told him Arthur would just scoff at him and call him ridiculous. But the much larger, much kinder part of his mind that knew the kind of person Arthur was, told him he would never.

Instead, he said, "You matter."

This caught Merlin off guard. "What?"

"Back at the table. You said you don't matter. You do. You matter to Morgana and Gwen and Gaius and the knights and your crew. You mattered to your parents. You matter to me so much it hurts. I'm just sorry you kept all that inside. I'm sorry you felt like you needed to deal with it alone. But you're not alone anymore. Neither of us are."

Arthur gave him one of his crooked grins. "Now, it's occurred to me that you're going to the library whether I tell you where it is or not. I've learned my lesson on trying to stop you from doing things you want."

Merlin sniffled. He felt oddly light after his rant; his shoulders felt strangely unburdened for the first time in a long time. "It's only up to you whether you want me to waste energy wandering around looking for it."

"Very well. It's across the castle. If you refuse to let me have books sent up, at least take George with you. That way, if you fall down a staircase and crack your head open there will be a witness. He knows where it is."

George's head appeared from the inside of the bedchamber. "My Lord? Won't you be requiring my services?"

Arthur waved him off. "It's only training with my knights. That, I can easily handle alone. I want you to go with Merlin to the library and help him with whatever he needs. Understood?"

"Yes, My Lord."

Arthur pulled away. He took Merlin's hand and kissed it softly. His eyes made Merlin flush again, but this time, not from anger. No, it was something quite different.

By the time he and George made it to the library, Merlin was feeling very queasy.

Not that he'd ever admit it of course, least of all to the pretentious manservant. He nearly cried in gratitude when they entered, and Merlin was able to slide into a chair.

"Merlin? George?"

Gwen rounded the corner, holding a small stack of books. She looked lovely as always in a simple lilac dress with her curls tied back in a careful knot. She smiled upon seeing them, hurrying over. "What are you two doing here?"

"I could ask you the same."

"I came to return some books for the Lady Morgana. I do love the library, though. Are you quite alright?" She asked Merlin worriedly.

"Yes, of course. I'm wonderful. Just got a little winded coming down here is all." More like he felt his head was two seconds away from falling off.

"What are you doing out of bed anyhow?"

"I couldn't stay there any longer. I was going mad. Besides, I'm looking for a way to lift the curse on my magic. Gaius thought the library was as good a place as any to start. And Arthur sent George to assist."

Her face brightened. "Oh, I could help as well! I'm sure Morgana wouldn't mind at all. I have all my chores for the morning finished anyhow."

"Oh, I can't ask you to-"

"Nonsense," she said cheerily. "Just tell me what we're looking for."

"Only problem is, I'm not quite sure."

"Why don't we just ask Geoffrey?" George inquired.

"Ah, yes, because that will be a lovely conversation. 'Hello, Geoffrey! Say, would you happen to have any illegal tomes containing some very dark soul magic?' I'm sure he'll be more than pleased to accommodate us," Merlin said sarcastically.

"So, what do magic books look like then?" Gwen asked.

"They'll look very old. Some of the oldest ones in the library. And most likely, you won't be able to read the writing. Most things on magic are written in the words of the Old Religion. They're always bound in leather, as well. It's an ancient tradition to keep magical knowledge pure."

"Alright. Very old, can't read it, leather. Those shouldn't be too hard to find," Gwen replied.

Merlin sighed. "If he even has any left. I'm doubtful."

"We won't know until we look. George, why don't you start over there," Gwen gestured towards the shelves against the farthest wall. "I'll work on the books near the entrance, and Merlin, you can tackle the ones along the first wall."

Gwen scooped up the books she'd come to return and set them on Geoffrey's desk, the old librarian nowhere in sight. Merlin heaved himself out of his chair to begin his search.

After so many candle marks Merlin had lost count, their search had turned up fruitless.

Merlin was frustrated, though he couldn't say he was surprised. He hadn't been expecting to find anything. Yet, it still bothered him to no end. He just wished that something would go right for once.

He was just about to call it quits when Gwen suddenly beckoned him over. Filled with tentative hope, he found her on the other side of the library on the floor, multiple large boxes full of old parchment spread out in front of her.

"What is it? Did you find something?" He demanded.

Gwen looked up sheepishly. "Nothing magic, no. But I thought you'd want to see this." He knelt next her to her and took a few of the parchment pieces she offered him.

"What are they?"

"Kingdom archives. Uther wasn't much, but he documented everything. All these boxes contain the birth and death records of every royal in every bloodline I've ever heard of, even some I haven't."

Carefully, Merlin smoothed out one of the papers she'd handed him over his knee. Across the top, in swooping calligraphy and fading ink, he found 'Queen Hunith Ambrosius of Ealdor' scrawled. Beneath that it claimed her as a member of the House of Ambrosius and a former peasant. Her approximate date of birth and the date of her death were there, too. At the bottom, it listed King Balinor Ambrosius of Ealdor as her only known spouse and Prince Merlin Ambrosius of Ealdor as her only legitimate child. What truly made Merlin angry was at the very bottom, clearly written in hastily, it declared her "species" as a 'Sorceress.'

On his father's he found much the same, only his "species" was declared both 'Sorcerer and Dragonlord.' However, when he got to his own certificate with only a birth listed, he found his "species" had been marked as 'Unknown. Dragonlord Inheritance Upon Father's Death.'

Merlin ran his finger over the slight indents of his mother's name made by the quill tip on the parchment. A quiet fury caused his hand to shake, and it took all of his willpower not to rip up the parchment.

"I'm so sorry, Merlin," Gwen whispered. "Maybe I shouldn't have shown you these."

"No. No, I'm glad you did. It's just one more reason to hate Uther. Goddess, he didn't even think we were human!" He growled.

He clenched the paper in his fist until his knuckles turned white. Despite himself, a manic laugh bubbled up his throat. Gwen stared at him like he'd finally gone and lost his mind. "Whatever are you laughing about?"

Merlin shook his head, laughing so hard his stomach clenched painfully. The parchment fluttered on to the ground. Gwen picked it up and smoothed it out once more, still staring at him bewilderedly.

"I-It's so absurd!" Merlin cried through fits of laughter. "But he couldn't even get their "species" right. They were a witch and a warlock, both born with magic like me. Uther couldn't even get that much correct!"

Now, Gwen giggled, too. They were both lost in peals of laughter, giggling and lying on the ground like children. It was such an idiotic thing to laugh over, surrounded by the ghosts of so many royals, but it felt good. It felt so good.

"Should I come back?"

They both managed to stifle their laughter long enough to find George staring down at them both in confusion, looking like he'd never seen a magical prince and a maidservant lying on the floor of a library consumed by laughter amidst a tornado of birth and death certificates.

Come to think of it, he probably hadn't.

Merlin rolled on to his stomach. "It's alright, George. What is it?"

"I think I may have found something, Sire."

Gwen and Merlin shared a look and scrambled up from the ground, following quickly after George. As they all rounded the corner, Merlin's mouth fell open in shock.

In front of them, one of the bookshelves had spun inwards, revealing a concealed room just beyond. George looked unimpressed.

"I reached for one of the books, but it was attached to the shelf. When I pulled, thinking it was merely stuck because this place should be burnt for how much dust there is, the shelf pulled up as well and the bookshelf swung around."

Merlin didn't know what to say. George's impartial tone wasn't helping. Gwen, for her part, looked just as shocked as he felt. All three of them peered around the shelf, Merlin leading the way inside. The room was much bigger than he had anticipated. It was lined with shelves upon shelves of all sorts of odd objects. Books and scrolls, jewelry, crystals, things that glowed, things that shimmered. There was a barrel full of mysterious silver liquid. Daggers glinting with studded hilts and shields with peculiar pictures lined the wall. One wall was entirely taken up by a tapestry with mythological creatures moving through the picture of their own accord. A rope that coiled and hissed like a great brown snake sat in the corner. Hundreds of different bottles, some labelled and some not, took up so many shelves that Merlin lost count. Dozens of cold iron cuffs glowing blue with Druid symbols hung from the ceiling.

"By the Triple Goddess," Merlin breathed. Near the left wall, a sort of altar sat, draped in silks and magic symbols. A piece of cloth sail sat in the middle. Merlin could feel the power of its magic from where he stood. "I guess we know how Uther was able to cloak the The Dragon Slayer. He had a right proper ritual altar going."

"What is this place?" Gwen wondered.

"It's some sort of vault. George, it looks like you've discovered another one of Uther's dirty little secrets. This place seems like a catch-all for every bit of magic Uther could confiscate, the bloody hypocrite," Merlin answered.

"I thought you might be interested," George said. "It looks like it's filled with magic."

"You can say that again."

"It looks like it's filled-"

"I didn't mean that literally, George."

"Ah, right, yes. My apologies, Your Highness."

Gwen tentatively stepped forward, ghosting her fingers over an ornate golden coffer. "What is all this stuff?"

"Magical artifacts, it would seem. Every object in this room is teeming with it. I can feel it. Probably best not to touch too much, though. A lot of it appears cursed."

Gwen quickly jerked her hand away.

"It's too late for that. I already opened this one." George reached for a very small, leatherbound book, barely the size of his hand. The spine screamed from unuse when he opened the thin piece of leather binding it. He flicked through the pages which cracked beneath his hands. Finally, he came to a stop on the very last page. He held it out to the two of them.

"Here. I believe this may be helpful."

Merlin took the book with one hand, skimming the tiny writing in the words of the Old Religion. Indeed, it spoke of a very ancient, very powerful bit of soul magic which could work to control any being, including magic. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"This book is one of the oldest I've seen. Even the version of the Old Religion is archaic."

"What does it say? Can it help?" Gwen demanded excitedly.

Merlin swallowed hard. "Um, yes, actually. I think this is exactly what we're looking for." He pulled his gaze back to George who still looked rather bored even surrounded by the magic of dozens of generations past. "How did you know this is what we needed?"

For the first time since they'd met, Merlin saw George flush and look away. Between the joke that morning and the sudden display of emotion other than dry indifference, Merlin was quite sure they'd broken the servant.

"George?" He prodded.

The manservant cleared his throat. "I found this room and picked up a few tomes at random. I've been searching them all this time. That's how I discovered it."

"Yes, that's all well and good, but how did you know it would help?"

"George…" Gwen said hesitantly. "Do you practice magic?"

George looked as if he'd been slapped. Merlin couldn't hold back his snort of amusement. The servant spluttered, his face turning an even deeper shade of red as he did his level best to imitate a tomato.

"I-I…no!" He declared indignantly. "I do not! If you must know, my mother dabbled in the art before the Great Purge. She taught me how to recognize some words of the magic language. I opened this book because it looked exceptionally old and recognized the words for 'love,' 'soul,' and 'magic.' I figured it may be of some assistance."

Gwen and Merlin shared another look of astonishment. The last person they'd ever have expected to associate with magic in any way was George. Uptight, proper, bootlicking George.

"Well, George, it seems as if you've done it. I'm forever in your debt." Merlin had the sudden insane urge to hug him but instead opted to clap him on the shoulder instead. He did, however, grab Gwen into a tight, one-sided hug. She squeezed him back with a huge grin plastered on her face.

"I have to show this to Gaius immediately," Merlin said, mirroring Gwen's grin. His freedom was so close he could taste it. And, oh, was it sweet. He hurried Gwen and George out of the secret vault and sealed it once more, leaving it to be investigated thoroughly at another time. Right then, all he could think about was getting to Gaius.

He burst through the physician's door, no care for propriety. Gaius startled so badly when they entered that he physically stumbled back from the cot where he was tending a patient.

"Dear gods, my boy!" He cried, clutching his chest. "You're liable to give an old man a heart attack!"

"I'm sorry, Gaius, but this couldn't wait. We found something. George found it!" He cried, barely able to hold still.

"Wait, really? You found something?" A voice demanded from the other side of the room. In his rush to tell Gaius, Merlin had failed to notice the other occupants in the room. Arthur, who had voiced the question, was leant against the wall, while Lancelot sat on the cot, his arm half bandaged.

"Lance!" Gwen cried, pushing past Merlin and sliding to her knees before him. "Are you alright.? What happened?"

Lancelot brushed a wayward curl off her face and tucked it behind her ear. He smiled at her with the most loving expression Merlin had ever seen. "I'm alright, Gwen. It's only a flesh wound."

"Lancelot, what happened?" Merlin demanded. His mood deflated in light of his friend's injury.

"Really, it's nothing-"

"What the noble fool is leaving out is how he pushed me out of the way of an arrow shot. If it hadn't been for him, I could be dead," Arthur interrupted. Gwen sucked in a sharp gasp and cupped Lancelot's face. Merlin whipped his head around.

"Are you hurt?" He whispered making it to Arthur in two strides.

Arthur shook his head, bringing his hand up to smooth the worry crease from Merlin's forehead. "I'm perfectly fine. As I said, Lancelot saved me."

"How did this even happen? I thought you were meant to be sword training today, not practicing archery," Gwen asked.

"We weren't practicing archery. This was a targeted attack. A hired mercenary hid in the trees near the training grounds and waited for us. He was hired by one of the councilmen, Lord Aldred. Both have been apprehended and Leon and Elyan are with them in the dungeons as we speak," Arthur said brightly, seemingly much too unconcerned by his attempted assassination.

"They tried to kill you!" Merlin cried in outrage.

"It would appear so," Arthur said seriously. He smiled at Merlin, unbothered. "It seems like some are still adjusting to the sudden change. Frankly, I think they can't handle my devilishly handsome looks."

Merlin felt no guilt in the solid hit Arthur received for that comment.

"You're really alright?" Merlin and Gwen asked their respective partners at the same time.

"Of course, darling," Lancelot replied.

"Yes, you idiot," Arthur answered.

Merlin felt no guilt about the second hit either.

"Merlin, if you don't mind, I really would like to finish up with Lancelot. Can I see the book you've found?" Gaius interrupted. This was sufficient to draw them all back to the reason Merlin, Gwen, and George had burst through the door in the first place.

Merlin flipped to the page George had showed him and handed it to Gaius. The physician read it intently for a moment, his frown deepening as he went.

"This is…a very extreme piece of magic."

"Can it be done?" Merlin asked nervously. Arthur took his hand and squeezed it in silent support.

"I'm not yet sure. I'll need some time to study it. For now, you've thoroughly overexerted yourself today. Go back to your chambers and rest."

"But Gaius, the spell-"

"-will still be here later. After you've slept."

Merlin glared. Arthur leaned up to his ear and whispered, "Gaius is right. You should try to eat something again and get some sleep. I've got nothing for the rest of the afternoon. I can stay with you if you wish."

Damn Arthur and his bribery.

Later that evening, after Arthur had returned to his own chambers, Merlin slid his father's grimoire from out beneath his bed. Flipping to a section on Druid markings, Merlin devoured every piece of information the book had to offer on protective sigils.

Sigil magic required none of his actual own. It would only matter if he could draw them correctly.

No one would be able to hurt his friends, or Arthur, again. On the morn, he'd make sure of that.

Chapter Text

Days melted into weeks once more. Merlin found himself spending much of his time in Gaius' chambers, often helping the physician in his rounds, but more commonly pestering him for information from the book.

Since they'd found it, Gaius had offered no more explanation on the subject, though Merlin had seen him intently studying the pages many times. He was sure that after weeks, Gaius would have understood the ritual and known what needed to be done in order to reverse it. Alas, Merlin's constant inquiries did nothing to speed along the process, only proving to irritate the old man until he was barred from his chambers.

Annoyed, Merlin set off to find something to occupy his time.

Even with the daily routine of everything, Merlin still found it hard to fit himself in. Arthur had become much more relaxed as the days went on, and he figured out his own rhythm of running things. The bags beneath his eyes had disappeared, and he was finally back to his old arrogant self. The stain Uther had left on Arthur's soul hadn't left, and Merlin wasn't sure that it ever would, but even in the few short weeks since his death, the warlock could see it fading into nothing but an ache, rather than a gnawing, gaping wound.

With the king's return to his old self also came Merlin's. Freed from his sling and arm healed fully at last, he felt better than he had in a long time. He was finally able to sit and watch the knights train with George even if he didn't care for the snide comments and dark looks he still received from many of them. It was worth it enough to be there just to see George roll his eyes at the comments and mutter sailing language Merlin didn't even know he possessed.

Sometimes in the fading light of the day when the air began to cool off and the sun sank closer to the horizon, Arthur's knights would take him back out to the training grounds to run some drills. Somehow, his displeasure with their absence after the coup managed to make its way to them (even though Merlin had a sneaking suspicion about that particular matter) until a few days after Arthur's meltdown Merlin had returned from a trip to the kitchens to find five knights in his chambers, all attempting to apologize, even Elyan. Gwaine had actually gotten down on his knees and begged for his forgiveness until Percy smacked the back of his head, and Gwaine rose, grumbling something about freakishly tall man giants.

Those evenings were some of his favorites. Arthur never came, but it was just as nice without him breathing down their necks. He would spar with one of them, taking particular care to work his bad arm and try to get some strength back. He could hold his own against one of them for a surprisingly long time before he was inevitably defeated. Once, he even managed to knock Lancelot to the ground.

He could've sworn he saw Arthur watching them from his chamber window with a fond smile as Percy hoisted him into the air amidst cheers and claps.

As for the King himself, things between the two of them were the best they had ever been. Since the night Arthur had wandered into his room, grief-stricken and lost, there was an intangible bond between the two of them, deeper than Merlin would've ever thought possible. They understood one another on an incomprehensible level. And while they'd stayed true to Merlin's conditions, it wasn't for lack of romance or, at least, deep affection between them. Merlin had lost count of the number of times one had caught the other staring across the room. Each brush of skin, bump of a knee, soft, seemingly innocent touch sent sparks through Merlin's body. It was like a magic all on its own.

Still, he was the first one to admit he wanted to kiss Arthur again. Sometimes, it was all he could think about. Even if he knew they were being responsible, especially considering neither one of them was in any position to be in any sort of relationship, he didn't have to like it.

What he fantasized about, alone in his chambers at night, was another subject entirely which he wished to keep all to himself…

His improvement didn't end there. His stamina had returned as well since he began taking daily walks with Gwen and Morgana around the royal gardens. He was finally able to make it across the castle and back without feeling the need to pass out as soon as he made it to his room.

As his health returned to normal, he was able to expand his new project of warding the castle beyond the king and his closest friend's chambers. Any chance he got, he snuck around to every spot he could think of, warding them and then warding them again with defensive Druid symbols. The attack on Lancelot and near attack on Arthur had made him paranoid. No one was getting past his protections without his knowledge, he would be sure of that. No one he cared about would ever be hurt on his watch again.

All in all, he couldn't express how much his life had changed in Camelot. He never wanted to return to Essetir again. If he could only have his ship and his crew, he would never look back again.

But even he wasn't naïve enough to think his little bubble of happiness and safety would last forever. Eventually, Cenred would find him. It was only a matter of when.

Early one morning, Gaius arrived in Arthur's chambers where Merlin had been helping the king sort through some arrangements for the upcoming feast Camelot was hosting for all the surrounding kingdoms in honor of Arthur's coronation. The turmoil of how the exchange of power had taken place had finally settled enough for such an event to be arranged. Every one of Camelot's allies was invited, a necessary evil if new treaties were to be made between the regents under the new rule.

Unfortunately, it was about that very topic Arthur and Merlin were arguing when Gaius arrived.

"-will not invite that bastard!"

"Arthur," Merlin sighed, repeating the same reasoning he'd tried to impress on the King for the hundredth time, "you must. You must invite Cenred to the banquet. I loathe him as much as you, actually more, but he and Uther were on outstanding terms, up until Uther tried to ransom me for coin. For you not to invite him over one person, a warlock at that, would be as good as inciting a war! He'll take it as a personal slight. Believe me, I know him better than you."

The gravity of those words settled only on Merlin. He despised how he was defending that man. He wanted nothing more than to agree with Arthur, say good riddance, and call it a day. It was taking all of his self-control not to quake in his chair just thinking about Cenred in Camelot. The very idea of what he would do to him, what Cenred would do to all of Camelot when he found him, was enough to make him nearly see the return of the apple he'd been lightly snacking on as they worked.

But…

The princely part of his brain made for politics and court life told him the consequences of that decision. If Cenred ever found out Arthur had not invited him to such a prestigious banquet, and he would find out because he always found out, Merlin could not bear the thought of the wrath Cenred would rain down upon Camelot. And as powerful as the kingdom was, Merlin wasn't sure they could win against Essetir.

Especially not when his magic still lied fully under Cenred's control.

As sickening as the idea was, he'd rather return to his life of hell with Cenred than see all he had come to love in Camelot turn out the same as Ealdor.

"I told you: I am not inviting him! I won't allow him to know you're here. I'll fight him myself if I must, but he is not taking you back to that kingdom and giving you back to that vile man you're betrothed to. Inviting him here would only be instigating a fight I'd much rather avoid. I don't care if he thinks he can declare war; the worst that can happen is he withdraws our alliance. Frankly, I have no problem with that. Essetir's been nothing but a parasite to us as it is. They're in our deepest debt out of any kingdom, seeing as Uther never seemed to care whether they paid back their loans as long as Cenred kept his dirty little secret. I've seen his treasury reserves. I'd like to see him try and declare a war. Now, I am not inviting him, and that's final!"

Merlin slumped into his seat with a huff of irritation.

Arthur glanced out the window and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Besides, if we were going to invite him, the invitation needed to be sent out weeks ago. It would take nearly a month for the invitation to travel there and back and another two weeks for him to get here. The feast is in two weeks! Everyone who is coming has already accepted an invitation, and many are on their way as we speak."

Merlin knew he was right, but it didn't change the fact that Arthur's absolute determination not to invite the King of Essetir was a risky gamble.

He wanted to be angry that Arthur hadn't listened to him when he'd told him weeks ago, but he couldn't quite muster it. Instead, all he could feel was that familiar warmth over Arthur's care for him.

It was then that a quiet knock came from the doors, and Arthur called for them to enter. Gaius shuffled in with, surprisingly, Leon right behind him.

"Gaius, Leon," Arthur acknowledged, nodding to both with pinched brows. Once again, his eyes trailed to the open window, only half paying attention to the new arrivals. "What is it?"

Gaius cleared his throat. Merlin's eyes flicked to the little brown book he had in his hands. It was the ancient book of magic George had found in the secret vault, which wasn't so secret any longer.

"My apologies, Sire, but I wished to ask for your permission. I would like to go to the Druids. There's an encampment I know of not more than a two day's journey from here. My knowledge of the magic this book contains is limited compared to theirs. I wish to consult with them on the meaning of the spell used to bind Merlin's magic."

Not even a beat passed before the King answered. "Of course. Do whatever you need to free his magic. The stable is at your disposal. I'm sure we can get by for a few days without a physician." Arthur raised an eyebrow, turning to Leon. "And Leon? Why're you here?"

"I wish to accompany Gaius, My Lord. I don't think it's wise for him to go alone."

Merlin couldn't hold back the snort of amusement as he pictured Leon in a Druid camp. Arthur glared at him, but the mage could see the blonde's own shock written all over his face. Leon was one of the last of Arthur's knights either one of them thought would volunteer for such a trip.

"Very well," Arthur assented after a moment. Both bowed their heads and made to leave, but Merlin beat them to it.

"Gaius, wait!" The old man turned back to face him. "What is it you need to consult about? You must have some sort of idea on how to lift the curse."

"I have…some speculation, yes."

"Well, what do you think?"

"I'd rather not say until I'm sure. I don't want to get your hopes up or worse, disappoint you." With that, Gaius followed the Head Knight from the chambers, and Arthur and Merlin were left alone once more, Merlin still staring longingly where Gaius had stood only a moment before.

"What the hell was that?" Merlin demanded. He tore his eyes away from the spot. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat, formed from his bitter disappointment. If Gaius needed to go as far as to seek out the Druids for information, the solution to his caged magic couldn't be simple.

Because of course it wasn't.

Arthur was staring out the window again. Huffing in frustration, Merlin banged a fist against the table, making the King jump.

"What's so bloody interesting out there anyhow? You haven't kept your eyes off it since I got here."

Arthur scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. Merlin saw the exact moment a figure looking suspiciously like George rode into the courtyard upon horseback. Arthur stood abruptly from the table.

"Are you well enough to ride?"

Merlin sputtered, lost at the sudden direction of the conversation. "Well, yes, but why-"

"Wonderful. Come along then."

Merlin, utterly bewildered, had no choice but to follow as Arthur took his hand and led him out of the citadel, across the courtyard, and to the stables where he found Llamrei and a gentle, soft brown stallion Merlin had come to adore named Hengroen, already saddled for a ride. He gave Arthur a questioning look. The King simply smirked and held out his hand to help him up. Merlin shoved him away with a grumble and swung himself on to the stallion in one smooth swoop. He wasn't some amateur rider. He used to ride dragons for leisure for goddess' sake. He could handle mounting a horse alone, thank you very much.

"This is it, isn't it?" Merlin called to Arthur while he urged Hengroen after Llamrei. "You're finally taking me to the forest so you can be rid of me. Do tell, how do you plan to make it look like an accident?"

"It's funny you'd think I'd make it look like an accident. Anyone who's ever met you would understand how a person could get tired of your endless prattle and finally snap."

"Oh, haha, very funny."

"Just shut up and follow me, would you? I had to keep you distracted all morning for this."

So that's why he'd kept glancing out the window. He'd been waiting for George to return from whatever little excursion he'd sent him on. Curiosity thoroughly piqued, Merlin had his stallion trot just behind the blonde without another word.

Soon, Merlin felt the wind pick up around them, rustling the leaves in the trees as the foliage thinned out from dense forest to a light canopy where the midday sun could stream to the ground below. He could smell the salt in the air coming off the sea and feel his magic instinctually pull towards the land of his ancient ancestors. His ears filled with the roaring sounds of the waves as they got closer until finally, they emerged from the tree line on to a little secluded beach.

A soft gasp left Merlin's lips, and his mouth fell into a surprised 'o'. Arthur was watching him carefully, gauging his reaction. Slowly, Merlin slid from atop Hengroen and took a tentative step onto the pure golden sand. His boots sunk into the tiny grains. Even through the leather, he could feel the warmth hidden below the surface.

Tingles travelled up his spine with each step he took closer to the sea. He could hear the wind whispering to him, calling him closer to the blue depths. Magic coursed there, ancient and powerful, just out of his reach. The salty spray whipped through his hair. For a moment, if he closed his eyes, he could imagine he was standing on a balcony in Ealdor on their castle overlooking the sea. The waves lapped softly against the land and left traces of sticky foam along the shore.

It felt like home.

"Arthur…" Merlin trailed off, lost for words. He couldn't even breathe. He was overwhelmed by the magic there, having spent so much time kept from the shore. Commanding a ship just wasn't the same, as much as he loved to sail. "This is beautiful."

"Do you like it?" Arthur whispered.

Merlin turned to face him. The King's eyes were wide and vulnerable. His golden hair looked like a halo under the sun and swept to the side by the wind off the ocean.

"Do I like it?" Merlin repeated to himself. "It's…it's beyond words. It's amazing. It's breathtaking. It's…thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. Come on, I want to show you something."

Arthur took Merlin's hand in his once more and pulled him some ways down the beach until they reached a rather large dune, at the base of which was a blanket laden with pillows and foods fit only for royalty.

"Goddess," Merlin whispered. He took in the array of delicacies in front of him. All his favorite foods from the kitchens were spread out across the large blanket. A bottle of fine wine sat miraculously chilled in a bucket of cool water. "Is this all for me?"

"I was hoping I'd be allowed to stay, but yes, this is for you," Arthur answered.

"But…why? I don't understand."

Arthur huffed out a laugh. "Of course, you don't. This is a picnic, Merlin. If you're unaware what that is, generally it's when one eats food outdoors."

Merlin elbowed him in the ribs. "I know what a picnic is, asshole. I just don't understand why you've suddenly decided to have one with me."

Arthur guided Merlin down to the blanket. Keeping their hands loosely entwined, he said, "I thought we could both use a break from the castle. Now that you've finally recovered, I figured it was safe enough to take you out for a little bit. I know you were going mad cooped up in the citadel. And I know how much you love the sea. You told me once that you feel closest to your family and your kingdom by the sea. I wanted to give you that feeling back, if only a small fraction of it."

Merlin exhaled softly. His eyes stung in a way that wasn't from the sea salt. He grazed the tips of his fingers through the sand, leaving little trails behind. He sniffled hard. "That's very kind, Arthur. I didn't know you had it in you."

"We were having a nice moment, and you had to go and ruin it, didn't you?"

Merlin smiled. "You wouldn't have me any other way, dollophead."

"I suppose not, idiot." Arthur picked up the bottle of wine and appraised it with a curious expression. "Best we drink this while it's still chilled. I'd hate for such a fine bottle to spoil." He poured two goblets and sipped his own.

"Oh, I see. You didn't bring me out here to kill me. This was all one giant ploy to get me drunk and have your way with me, wasn't it?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, Merlin. Because I dragged you out of the comfort of the castle all the way out in the middle of nowhere to ravish you. How romantic."

"Doesn't sound too bad to me," Merlin said slyly. He plucked a strawberry from the basket and leaned back into one of the larger pillows, chewing it slowly and humming in content. "We used to grow the best strawberries in Ealdor."

Arthur leaned back beside him and propped up on his elbow to see better. "Really? All the magic helped, I suppose?"

"Well, yes, obviously. Our head cook's name was Thomas. Come spring, he would make the most heavenly strawberry rhubarb pies. I could simply die for one. And his pie crusts were always so perfect because he'd enchant them to have perfectly even ridges. Father always said he'd make him the royal architect if his food weren't so damn good." Merlin smiled sadly, remembering the amused twinkle in his father's eyes every time he made the joke. Yet, it never got old. Merlin and his mother would laugh every time, as if they were only hearing it for the first.

"That sounds lovely."

Merlin could feel Arthur's eyes on him, but he was too lost in his memories now. He plucked a bunch of grapes from the platter in front of him and chewed thoughtfully.

"I miss them," he said quietly. "I've missed them since the day Ealdor fell but coming here, finally having the time to breathe and be alone with my thoughts, the pain's gotten worse."

He laughed humorlessly. "I never realized until I left Ealdor how much of the world my parents had shielded me from or how naïve I was. On some level, I suppose I realized that magic wasn't viewed the same elsewhere; I was the Heir to the Throne, after all. But I don't think I ever fully grasped the hatred of the other kingdoms, or why we never visited anywhere else. I grew up in a world where the maids enchanted feather dusters to fly up and clean the chandeliers, where beds made themselves, where dragon's crawled amidst the open market and clouded the sky, where unicorns and nature spirits lived together in the forest. I never knew anything else and so, when I was taken from Ealdor, I was in shock. Even at sixteen, I never knew just how far the rest of the world's hatred of magic went. And while I'm eternally grateful to my mother and father for giving me the most wonderful childhood, I can't help but resent them a little for not preparing me for what was really out there."

Arthur was watching him with rapt attention, taking in every word he said. It made Merlin's heart flutter, knowing that those piercing cerulean eyes were, in that moment, for him and him alone.

"I can understand why," Arthur said after some time. "You clearly loved them very much, and they loved you. But I can understand why you feel like that. It's not wrong. You were kidnapped from the only home you had ever known and thrust into a world you were vastly unprepared for. Anyone would feel a bit resentful."

"Don't think I blame them for what happened. I don't."

"Of course, you don't."

Merlin smirked slyly. "And don't think my life in Ealdor was entirely innocent. I had my fair share of fun."

When Arthur cocked an amused, questioning eyebrow, Merlin continued. "When I was around twelve summers old, I kissed a dryad—that's a tree spirit—who lived in the forest near our castle. She was cute and funny, and I liked the way her cheeks blushed green when she laughed. But when we kissed, it wasn't nearly as much fun as all the older knights made it seem. I think that's when I began to realize I didn't much like kissing girls. I flirted with all kinds of nature spirits and people of all sorts, but nothing much happened. No, my first real experience didn't come until I was fifteen."

"There was this young son of a lord who came to squire with one of our knights. I liked to watch him train, and I think he knew it. Even though we never went all the way, he sure taught me some things."

Arthur laughed. "Ah, so if I ever meet this valiant young man, I should thank him profusely."

Merlin shoved Arthur hard. Arthur shoved him back. Soon, they were rolling around on the blanket in a mock wrestle, until Arthur inevitably pinned him. He hovered over the mage, his arms caging him in on both sides.

"You're a prat," Merlin panted.

"And you're an ass," Arthur returned. They were so close. It would've taken no effort at all for Merlin to extend those last few breaths of space and connect their lips. The smell of the sweet wine on Arthur's lips was all the more enticing, but he held strong.

"I want to kick Past Me for making this 'no kissing' rule. It's put quite a hindrance on Now Me's enjoyment."

"As much as I wish to kiss Now You, I believe Past You had a clearer judgment than either of us in the present. I think we should listen to him for a bit longer. But only for a bit. You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you senseless right now."

"I bet you say that to all the people you take prisoner."

"Hmm, only the particularly insolent ones."

Merlin laughed and shoved Arthur off of him. He sat up and drew his knees to his chest. "So tell me, who was the Great King of Camelot's first kiss?"

Arthur put his hands behind his head and leaned back against one of the larger pillows. "I'm sure you're expecting some grand tale, but it was really quite the opposite. Sure, I've had my fair share of flings, some more questionable than others, with both lads and lasses. I mean, come on, I was the prince of the most powerful kingdom in the land. I had my pick of bed partners. And who doesn't like a bit of fun when you're holed up in some grungy tavern during a storm? But my first kiss, now that's not interesting at all. The niece of some lord came to stay with us for about a fortnight when I was twelve or so. We kissed in the alcove outside the kitchens after we both found ourselves unable to sleep and in search of a late-night snack. Nothing else to it." He bumped Merlin with his shoulder. "It's certainly not as interesting as a kiss with a nature spirit."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Honestly, it's not all that exciting. It's no different than kissing a human. It was normal, in Ealdor, for someone to marry a nature spirit or similar. We lived together in harmony. Hell, my manservant was a merman!"

This got the King's attention. He sat up next to Merlin with a look of surprise. "You're jesting."

"Why would I?"

"Merpeople aren't real!"

"Did Uther tell you that?" Merlin asked seriously. Arthur turned a shade of pink which Merlin would have found adorable had the atmosphere suddenly not turned cold at the mention of the departed regent.

"Perhaps," Arthur said shortly.

"My Father only ever wished for cooperation and relations amongst all beings. He didn't think that one was any better than another, so he included all manner of creatures in our day to day lives. My manservant, Leith, he was the son of one of my father's councilmen, who was a Lord of the Sea. Uncle Caspian was hilarious."

"Uncle?"

Merlin nodded. "Distantly, yes. We didn't just learn how to use the magic of the sea; we're descended from the sea. Every monarch of Ealdor was distantly related to the sea. Caspian was related to my father somehow; he was married to a siren. Father always said I have a little too much siren in me." Merlin blushed, realizing the implication of what he had just said. It seemed that Arthur did as well, because a knowing smirk graced his stupidly handsome features.

"A siren, eh?"

Merlin shoved him away and stood, toeing off his boots and socks until he stood barefoot in the blissfully warm sand. He sighed happily. It had been too long since he had stepped foot on a beach just for the sake of it and not because he was running from some mercenary or other. Cenred never let him out of the castle alone long enough to enjoy the beach, and besides, the beaches in Essetir were nothing like these. All black sand and course rocks, they deterred travelers rather than beckoned them forth.

Cenred…

Merlin shook his head hard to clear his thoughts. He was no where near there. He didn't want to think about him, or Esseitr, or anything at all. He didn't want to spoil this wonderful time with Arthur by allowing looming thoughts of his betrothed to cloud his mind. Soon enough, he'd be able to break the hold Cenred had on his magic, and he'd never have to think about him again. It was only a matter of time. He had to keep telling himself Cenred wouldn't find him.

No matter how much he was lying to himself.

He made his way down the sand until it turned cool and wet beneath his feet. The water called to the magic at the very core of his soul. His entire body tingled with its power, and he longed to unleash his own in meeting, but sadly, could not. The waves crashed in and flooded around his ankles, and then ebbed as quickly as they had come, taking the sand beneath his feet with them. Merlin felt more at home in the water than he did at sea, so he simply adjusted his stance to stay on his feet. The water was chilly against his heated skin, the height of the sun doing nothing to warm the water. Sea foam was sticky against his skin, and he bent to roll up his pants, so he could wade farther out.

So lost in the crashing of the waves and the hidden roar of magic just below the surface, Merlin didn't hear the approaching footsteps behind him. Before he knew what was happening, a strong pair of arms swept him off his feet and held him bridal style. He cried out in alarm, his shock quickly morphing into annoyance when Arthur's sun-warmed face stared back with an amused look.

"Put me down, you ass!" Merlin yelled.

"No, I don't think I will."

Merlin flung his arms around Arthur's neck as a particularly large swell came up and crashed over Arthur's waist, soaking them both. The King pretended to stumble at the force, but quickly righted himself to laugh at Merlin's angry face.

"I-I'm sorry," Arthur lamented through gasps of laughter. "Y-you look s-so funny right n-now! Like an angry wet kitten!"

Merlin huffed, only causing Arthur to laugh harder. He waded out until the water was around his waist, and Merlin was holding on for dear life.

"You better not drop me!"

"Of course. I would never."

So, of course, he almost immediately dropped him.

Later, as they lay on the blanket, smelling of the sea and soaking wet, with their hands entwined and stupid smiles plastered on their faces, Merlin felt the happiest he'd ever been.

The sun was just beginning to set below the horizon, lighting the water ablaze with fire. Merlin glanced at Arthur's face in the light of the setting sun, and his heart thundered at the wonder. The blonde was toying with the fingers on his left hand, spinning the golden band there.

"Why don't you take it off?" Arthur whispered.

Merlin swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry as cotton. He had foolishly believed Arthur wouldn't notice its presence. He didn't have the heart to explain.

"I-"

"You can't, can you?"

Merlin blinked owlishly, taken aback by how observant Arthur was suddenly being. Any other time, he was sure Arthur wouldn't notice if someone painted his ship bright purple.

Mutely, he shook his head. Arthur sighed quietly.

"Do you know why?"

"I…I have a suspicion. That whatever curse that's binding my magic is using the ring as a medium. As long as my magic is bound, the ring won't budge. I've tried. Believe me, I've tried."

Arthur leaned over and left a featherlight kiss on his forehead. "I believe you. I suspected something like that. You're not the type to keep the ring out of spite. We'll figure this out, I swear. Gaius will find something with the Druids."

Merlin watched a sand crab scuttle across the beach. He let his head drop on to Arthur's shoulder. "Thank you for today. It was wonderful."

"You're welcome. Although, it wasn't all me. I only had the idea. Morgana planned it all, and George set it up."

"I figured. Half of these foods are natural aphrodisiacs. It has her written all over it."

Arthur rested his cheek on the top of Merlin's head. "Thank you, too."

"For what?"

"For being you. For giving me the best time I've ever had."

Merlin squeezed his hand. "Anytime, Sire, anytime."

Chapter Text

"Merlin!"

Had he not been fully prepared for the scream, he would've thought there was no less than an army breaking down the walls of the lower town.

As it was, he merely tossed his book on astronomy to the side just in time for Gwen to come careening through his door without so much as a knock. Her face was flushed liked she'd run up all four flights to get to his chambers from the royal gardens, which he assumed she had. She gripped the doorframe, quaking with barely concealed excitement.

Merlin was already grinning.

Morgana, who had been lounging leisurely on his bed making colorful commentary about all the strange nobles who had appeared in the castle as of late with the upcoming feast, jumped to her feet in one swoop. Merlin wasn't sure how she managed without swimming in her dress.

"Merlin!" Gwen squealed. She came dashing across the room and all but crashed into the chair across from him at his table. Her hair was a mess of loose curls and fly aways. Her behavior was severely out of character, but Merlin would expect no less. In fact, he'd been waiting all afternoon.

He'd helped to plan the big surprise, after all.

Lancelot appeared in the doorway, just as red-faced and grinning from ear to ear. His hair was tousled from the wind outdoors, although he'd clearly taken his time ascending to Merlin's chambers rather than Gwen's mad run.

Morgana peered over his shoulder with faux curiosity, as if she too, hadn't been one of the main orchestraters. She had been lying around his chambers for the last three candle marks just waiting for Gwen to finally show.

Gwen shoved her left hand in front of him. "Lancelot proposed! We're getting married!"

"Congratulations!" Merlin answered. He meant every ounce of enthusiasm that dripped from his words. He was so pleased to see Gwen and Lance so happy.

The maidservant stood and was quickly engulfed in a hug from Morgana, the two women squealing loudly enough to break a few windowpanes. "Oh, I do just adore the idea of a winter wedding," Gwen sighed.

"Then, a winter wedding you shall have," Lancelot said as he sauntered into the room with a half-drunk expression. Merlin clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well done, mate. I'm truly happy for you both, really. Congratulations. Just hope I'm invited."

Lancelot looked shocked. "Oh, believe me, you're first on the list. You saved Gwen's life; I haven't forgotten. And you've become a fearsome friend to both of us. I couldn't imagine getting married without you there."

Merlin beamed. Gwen and Morgana were too absorbed in their giggling like schoolchildren and examining Gwen's shiny silver band to notice anything else. The mage was vibrating with the joy filling his chambers. After weeks of secret planning with Lance and Morgana, he was beyond overjoyed that it had worked out so well. Gwen and Lancelot were made for each other.

"Someone forget to invite me to the engagement party?" Gwaine asked. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and a teasing smile in place.

"Gwaine!" Merlin called. "Heard the news then?"

"'Course I did. The whole damn castle's already gossiping about it. I heard some maids whispering on my way back from the armory, and I figured I'd stop by to see the happy couple. Congratulations, but how come I wasn't let in on the secret?"

"Because whenever you get drunk, you can keep a secret about as well as Leon holds his mead," Morgana shot back.

Gwaine feigned injury. "That was a low blow, Your Majesty. You have some nerve, insinuating I can't control myself with a bit of liquor."

"Oh, I know you can control yourself a little too well under the influence. It's what you say when you start to sober up that worries me."

Lancelot cleared his throat. "I wonder how Leon and Gaius are, come to speak of it."

"They're fine, I'm sure. It's been but a mere few days since they left," Morgana answered.

"Aw, well, let's not worry about that. I for one think this calls for a celebration. Let's go for some drinks tonight at The Rising Sun. We'll take Perce, and Elyan, and the Princess, and the three of us and go," Gwaine said.

Morgana rolled her eyes. "You may yet be the only man alive to turn their blood to pure alcohol, Gwaine."

"See, you think that's an insult when really, I'm proud you've noticed my endeavors."

"Gwaine, listen, I appreciate the sentiment, but I don't know-" Lancelot started, but he was cut off by Gwen.

"I think it's a wonderful idea! The guys can go for a night in the tavern, and we could have a proper little engagement party!" She said, gesturing between herself and Morgana. "We can invite some of the other maids, and I'm sure Audrey has some cakes and such to spare. It'll be lovely!"

Morgana grinned. "I think it's a wondrous idea, Gwen, dear."

"Hear that, Lance? You're betrothed is practically telling you to go to the tavern. You better not pass up the opportunity while you still can," Gwaine said. Lancelot threw his hands in the air.

"Alright. We'll have a celebration tonight. But just us, do you understand?"

Gwaine gave him a mocking salute. "Yes, Sir. Just the others and us. What do you say, Merls? Fancy a night in the tavern?"

Merlin blinked slowly like he was waking from a dream. He hadn't realized he was included in the celebration group. Surely, the Round Table and the King wouldn't want to be seen in the village tavern with him. Half the town was looking for his head beneath an axe as it was.

"Me?" He asked. In the wake of his shock, his witty eloquence had been diminished to monosyllables.

Lancelot looked at him oddly. "Of course. Why wouldn't you be invited?"

Merlin felt his cheeks go red. "Well, um, I just figured you'd only want your closest friends for your engagement party. You haven't known me nearly as long as the others. Besides, I'm not sure how keen the peasants would be seeing me outside of the citadel. I'm fairly certain most of them blame me for Uther's murder, no matter how well received the affair was. Murder is murder in any sense."

"If you don't go, I'm not going either," Lancelot said.

Gwaine patted his head like he was some sort of dog, and Merlin swatted his hand away with a disgruntled huff. "Never fear, Your Majesty. No one would dare try anything with Arthur there. Besides, I think you could do well with a night out."

"Alcohol isn't a cure-all for everything, Gwaine."

"No, but it's good fun all the same. What do you say? You won't deny poor Lance here a night out to celebrate his betrothal, will you?"

Merlin felt his resolve crumble, any protests he had dying on his tongue. He didn't want to be the reason Lancelot didn't get to celebrate his own engagement. He wasn't worried for himself even; no, he was more concerned for the reputations of his friends amongst the townsfolk when he appeared in their company. Inside the castle walls, he could pretend that everything was fine in the world when in fact, it was not. His arrival in the kingdom only helped to usher along the fall of a tyrant, although he wasn't sure the common people saw it as such.

At any rate, he held his hands up in surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll go."

"That's the spirit!" Gwaine cheered, backing away before he could get hit by Merlin's swinging fist. "I'll go tell the Princess, yeah? We'll head down after the evening meal."

"I'll send for Rheda to inform some of the other maids of the party," Gwen said, her cheeks still flushed with excitement. She gave Merlin a tight squeeze as she passed him on her way out the door and pecked him on the cheek.

Lancelot patted him on the back. "See you tonight then, Merlin?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

Promptly after his evening meal with Arthur, Merlin set off for The Rising Sun with Gwaine in tow. Much to his disappointment, Arthur had declined the invitation to the engagement celebration, offering his sincerest congratulations to Lancelot, but saying he had urgent paperwork he had to attend to and simply couldn't put off. Whether true or not, Merlin wasn't sure, but he did know his already pitiful amount of excitement at the prospect of the evening out dropped somehow lower at Arthur's absence.

At least he still had Gwaine for company.

The two of them made their way out of the citadel, and Merlin passed through the gates to the lower town for the first time since arriving. In a single step, the neatly laid cobblestones transformed into roughly packed dirt streets. Grass sprung up the farther they walked from the castle. Houses became nearer together. The closer Merlin looked, the more he noticed about the village. The market, although beginning to shut down for the evening, was still alive with the bustle of bodies and the rise of voices. Chickens clucked, a wagon full of fish creaked up from the docks as it was pulled by an old tradesman, a group of children rolled around in the dirt not far off.

He hadn't noticed it the first time he passed through, although he had been a bit preoccupied with his looming doom, the homes in Camelot's lower town were much nicer than that of Essetir's. Not one was falling in on itself. Each had an actual door and not just a sheet miming one. Little gardens dotted many of the spaces between houses, with flowers and plants among them. Despite how narrow the streets were, it didn't feel claustrophobic. Rather, it felt quite homey. Everything was covered with a thin film of grime from the smoke rising in many chimneys, but already, Merlin could see multiple people sweeping away the soot from their walkways. No one cowered in their homes in fear of breaking curfew or incurring the wrath of a knight like the citizens of Essetir. No, many greeted Gwaine with smiles and waves, some young ladies even blinking their long lashes at him and giggling when he winked.

Even better, not a single person paid him any mind.

Finally, they came to a rather brightly lit building towards the end of the main road. A small sign over the door swayed in the wind, declaring it The Rising Sun. Gwaine stepped inside, and Merlin quickly followed, happy to get out of the bitter wind blowing off the sea.

Inside, the tavern was packed. Merlin could barely hear himself think over the humming of voices. More tables than he would've ever thought possible were crammed into the main room, each one occupied. A large, balding man stood behind the counter to the right, serving up tankards of mead so fast Merlin barely saw his hands move. It was warm, almost unpleasantly so, with the press of all the bodies inside. The air was heavy with the smell of alcohol and something more savory. To the left, a few dice tables were being occupied by men who had way too much to drink and way too little coin to spend, and a boy about Daegal's age presided over the games, no doubt tipping the games in one favor or another. Girls with corsets tightly bound and bodices pushing up just enough to be enticing to an intoxicated sailor weaved between the tables where they served drinks, and sometimes, served a little more than that if the breathy sounds Merlin could hear rising from a closet near the dice tables were anything to go by.

It was just like any other hole-in-the-wall tavern Merlin had ever stepped foot in.

Gwaine looked content amidst the chaos, whereas Merlin was already itching to loosen the high collar of his tunic under the heat. Gwaine bounced on the balls of his feet until his eyes finally found a table in the back corner where Elyan, Lancelot, and Percival already sat.

"Ah, here we are! Come along, Merls, the fun awaits us."

Merlin swallowed hard and tried to keep his hands pulled close to his body as to not accidentally brush anyone or anything. Coming to a tavern with his crew when he was nothing more than a nameless pirate to the drunkards was one thing. Coming to a tavern in a kingdom where he was as good as a war criminal to half of the people who frequented the establishment was something else entirely. Already, he could have sworn the din and lively atmosphere of the tavern died down the moment he entered.

Lancelot grinned brightly. He pulled out the chair next to him and gestured for Merlin to sit. Carefully, he did, suddenly conscious of his freshly laundered and pressed breeches against the uncomfortably black chair.

Not for the first time, he heard a voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Will asking him when the hell their captain, who had once pulled a hired man's dagger from his shoulder and stabbed the hit man in the neck with his own blade, had turned into a daffodil.

Gwaine slid into the seat next to him. "Relax, Princeling. No one's gonna bite ya."

Merlin pulled a face. "Perhaps not, but I'm fairly certain I could catch my death from sitting on one of these chairs."

Elyan snorted behind his hand. For a moment, Merlin and Elyan shared a look of mutual amusement, one without any mistrust on either part. Elyan's eyes were a deep chocolate brown, the exact copy of Gwen's only with a little more fire. They filled the mage with a warm sense of comfort that had nothing to do with the sweltering heat of the room.

"Nonsense," Gwaine said. He rocked his chair back on to two legs and waved over a perky brunette holding two steaming bowls of stew. She gave him a cute little smile and fluttered her lashes. From the corner of his eye, Merlin saw Percy roll his eyes.

"What can I get Camelot's finest gentleman?" She asked, although the question was only directed at Gwaine.

"How about five tankards, sweetheart?"

She curtsied as much as she could with both of her hands occupied before dashing off to deliver the stew and fill their order. Gwaine watched her go with a wistful expression until Lancelot snapped him out of it with a punch to the shoulder.

"Would you knock it off?"

"What? All my friends are pairing off. You and Gwen are finally tying the knot, the Princess and Merls are going to be announcing their courtship any day now, mark my words, and don't act like we don't all see the way Percy looks at that cute little maid, Rheda."

Percival's cheeks went red. Merlin's mouth fell open. Ignoring the newest romantic revelation and leaving Percy to his own devices, Merlin started. "Hang on a moment. Mine and Arthur's courtship?"

"Well, sure," Gwaine said. "You can't keep your eyes off each other. And then he practically took you on a date the other day to the beach. You take your evening meals together nearly every day. You're always in his chambers working, or he's in yours. It's only a matter of time."

"Have you forgotten I'm still engaged! Whether willfully or not, it would cause an outright scandal if Arthur tried to court me when I'm sworn to another."

"Didn't seem to stop you when you were trying to swallow each other's tongues in the dungeons," Gwaine answered with an arrogant smirk. Merlin made a sound he was afraid sounded like an animal who had been shot.

"It's alright, Merlin, Percival. Gwaine's only jealous that all his friends are settling down, and he can't seem to find a lass or lad who wants to sleep with him for more than one night," Lancelot said. All around the table they laughed, even Gwaine himself. "Too bad Leon isn't here to wallow in your romantic misery. Elyan's too proud to feel sorry for himself."

"You could try Morgana," Elyan said slyly. "I'm sure Arthur would be happy to have you as a brother-in-law."

Gwaine put his hands up in surrender. "No thank you. I quite like having all my manly bits attached to my body." Again, everyone laughed, and with the laughter, the tension began to drain from Merlin's shoulders. He stopped paying much attention to anyone else in the tavern, as it seemed all of the unwanted attention was mostly in his head.

Only one table worried him. To their right, a table of rough looking men were half shrouded in shadows. He recognized some of them as the remnants of Arthur's crew under Uther's rule. They were watching him with narrowed eyes and hushed voices. Merlin spotted more than one knife on each of them.

While he was fairly certain none of them would attempt anything while in a crowded tavern where he was surrounded by four of the finest knights Camelot had to offer, he couldn't be positive. Hate made men do strange things, and these men surely hated him. Without Uther in charge any longer, they had all but lost their jobs since Arthur stopped sailing until he got the kingdom back on its feet. Merlin had only been the catalyst to Uther's downfall, but these men clearly saw him as the sole reason.

No one noticed as he shifted his seat closer to Lancelot.

In the meantime, the brunette appeared again, somehow balancing five tankards of mead in her arms. Gwaine slipped her a gold piece for her troubles. She swept it quickly into the pocket of her skirts and disappeared once more into the sea of people.

"How are things with you and Arthur?" Percival asked innocently. He had miraculously recovered from his embarrassment over the maid and had even returned to a normal shade.

Merlin took a sip of his drink. The initial burn of the alcohol felt good against the back of his throat and settled warmly in his stomach, the sweetness of the honey following pleasantly after.

"Things are…good. We haven't really talked about what we are, but I'm happy with it. We're happy with it. For now. But anyhow, this isn't supposed to be about me and Arthur. Aren't we supposed to be celebrating someone's engagement?" Merlin asked.

Lancelot beamed. "Oh, but your love life with Arthur is much more interesting. Gwen and I have been together for years. They already know all about us. The two of you are something new and exciting. It's about time Arthur finds someone to actually care about. We were afraid he was going to be forced to settle for a political marriage if he didn't find someone suitable soon."

"But he's only twenty-one summers old!" Merlin protested.

"And you're only eighteen but you've been engaged for nearly two years," Percival said.

"That's completely different."

"Not so much to Uther. Arthur was very close to agreeing to marry Princess Mithian of Nemeth. She's a wonderful girl and would've made a fine queen, but there was no chemistry between Arthur and her. None of us wished to see him in a marriage that was more of a business partnership than a romance," Elyan said. Merlin blinked slowly. He had no idea. Why Arthur had never mentioned his near engagement before, he couldn't say, but Merlin suddenly realized why Arthur was so understanding of his circumstances. While inherently different in nature, both of them had been in undesirable situations where they were forced to be with someone they didn't want, even if Merlin's was significantly worse.

"What stopped it?"

"Mithian herself," Gwaine jumped in. "Said she was in love with her handmaiden and couldn't possibly think of marrying another. Thankfully, King Rodor's a better man than Uther and didn't want his daughter to suffer. He called off the engagement. Uther was downright pissed for days and was on the verge of declaring war on Nemeth when you walked into our lives. Or, rather, we dragged you into our lives."

"That's awful," Merlin answered truthfully. He knew exactly how Arthur had felt. He couldn't help but gain a new level of sympathy for the young king who wasn't nearly as perfect as everyone wanted him to be. "Rodor and Mithian visited Ealdor a few times. I liked them a lot."

"Naturally, Uther wasn't very fond of them after everything. You know, anyone who exhibited any sort of free will or care for their own children was a no-go in Uther's eyes," Gwaine said with a dry chuckle.

Elyan raised his tankard. "To the fall of a tyrant and free will in one's own love life."

"And to Lancelot," Merlin added, holding up his own. They all toasted and repeated the sentiments before taking long swigs from their drinks. Merlin glanced at the table full of men again.

"Anyone else think they look like they wanna eat us?" Gwaine wondered, following Merlin's line of sight.

Elyan and Percival both leaned out to get a better look at the men who hurriedly looked away when they realized that they'd garnered more attention than they'd bargained for.

"I recognize them from The Dragon Slayer," Elyan said. "They're a nasty bunch. Always drinking and gambling away their wages. I'm not entirely sure they weren't stealing from our reserves."

One brave man, even if calling him stupid was probably a better term, called across the room. "You fancy knights got a problem?"

Percival placed a placating hand on Gwaine's shoulder to keep the other knight from walking over and decking the man right then and there. "No problem here. Something wrong over there?"

"Actually, yeah," said one of the other men. He was wider than he was tall with barely any hair and a beard in severe need of a wash. "We tolerate all of you 'cause we have ta. What gives you the right ta come paradin' someone like him around? He's one of them magic freaks and a murderer ta boot. Should be standin' on the nearest pyre, 'far as I'm concerned."

All four of Merlin's companions shot to their feet, hands going to the pommels of their swords. In turn, the shady pirates rose too, pulling daggers from places Merlin hadn't even noticed.

"I should cut your tongue from your mouth, you bastard," Gwaine growled. He was the only one who had actually drawn his sword from its sheath and was now making a big show of swinging it in menacing arcs.

The entirety of the tavern had gone dead silent. No one dared to intervene or even to tell them to take their fight outside, not when the Knights of the Round Table were involved.

"You sure you don't need permission from your King, knight? You are his little attack dogs, aren't ya?"

"If you value your life, I'd stop talking," Percival said lowly. Merlin stood and pushed Elyan aside. If there was to be a fight, he wasn't going to be hiding behind the knights.

"You won't do a damn thing to us. You're too scared of a good fight, always spendin' all your time with the nobles. That boy there lost us our jobs, and he's gonna pay for it. Don't get in the way, and we won't have no trouble."

Elyan put his arm out in front of Merlin. "But you see, if you have a problem with him, you have a problem with us. If you haven't noticed, Arthur's King now. Uther was no more than a tyrant. The only people who respected him were vile like you who could only find employment scrubbing the deck of some royal's ship. You have no right to say things about Merlin without any basis. And if you dare suggest harming someone under our protection again, I will personally make sure they remove each of your limbs one at a time, do you understand?"

Merlin stared at Elyan in utter shock, the words the man had just spoken in his honor resonating heavily in his mind. He had started to warm up to Gwen's brother since they'd overthrown Uther, but he never thought the man would outright defend him in a way he would've only expected from Gwaine or Lancelot.

The sleazy pirate chuckled darkly. "Alright. That's fine. Seems like the Good Knights everyone loves so much are just as gullible as everyone else in this godforsaken village. 'King Arthur trusts the sorcerer so he mustn't be bad,' 'Lady Morgana adores him,' 'He looks so innocent. How could he be evil?' Well, I don't know 'bout the rest of you, but I'm not puttin' much stock in some magical whore who's sleeping his way into the King's good graces. Isn't it funny that everything started going to shit around here the moment he showed up?"

He was used to it. He was used to being called that wretched name. Cenred used it nearly every day. But that didn't matter. He knew he was nothing more than that to Cenred, nothing more than someone Cenred could use for his magic and his body. He didn't even care, especially not when being called it by some common street urchin like he wasn't a prince himself.

What hurt was not the name, in fact, but the accusation that he only cared for Arthur to get sex.

While he might think about it, fantasize even, he would never, ever force himself on Arthur like Cenred so often did to him. The thought of sleeping with Arthur for his own gain made him slightly ill. His want for the blonde stemmed from a deep attraction, bordering on a word he hadn't even allowed himself to think.

In that moment, standing beneath the threat of these disgusting men, he knew it was true. He didn't need any more time. He was rightfully in his sound mind, not influenced by any sort of overwhelming emotion, and he'd barely had any alcohol. The thought terrified him, but he knew it to be true. It was truer than anything else he'd ever known in his life.

He had fallen in love with Arthur Pendragon.

While he was coming to this monumental revelation, the knights stirred angrily around him. Percival had to hold Gwaine back once more even though the large knight was looking like he was on the verge of charging the pirates himself. Elyan hadn't removed his arm from where it was flung across the warlock's chest. Lancelot unsheathed his sword and rested it just below the man's chin.

"Get out," he snarled lowly. It was the darkest voice Merlin had ever heard Lancelot use. It sent a shudder down his spine. "Now!"

In one fluid motion, Lancelot swung his sword and left a shallow cut on the man's throat that was dangerously close to his jugular vein. The vile pirate finally seemed to get the message and clamped his mouth shut, his eyes practically popping out of his head. His friends scrambled back from the end of Lancelot's sword. And, like the cowards they were, the entire group of them clambered for the door.

The room was silent for a long moment after they left. Then, all at once, a mighty cheer roared through the crowd. People all around surged forward to thank the knights and clap them on the back, quickly drowning them in a wave of grateful patrons. The cacophony was enough for Merlin to be able to duck through some bodies and slip out the door into the blissfully cool night air. He leaned against the side of the tavern, taking deep breaths, his heart pounding a frantic beat against his chest. His cheeks were painfully warm. The icy sea air felt like daggers in his lungs, but it was a welcome change from the sweltering heat within the bar.

All at once, the prince couldn't bear to stand there any longer. He took off running, his boots pounding the ground, trying to put as much distance between him and that tavern as possible. He wasn't sure where he was going, but anywhere was better than there. He'd have to apologize to Lancelot later.

Frantic thoughts of those men filled his mind, screaming right along with the wind whistling in his ears. What could have happened had the knights not been there? Were they actually planning on hurting him, or were they only putting on a show to appear menacing?

Would they have killed him?

And in the midst of it all, the encounter had brought about one of the biggest revelations of his life. What kind of person was he to realize his feelings for Arthur under knife point? Was the realization merely brought on by the sudden stress of the danger, a reaction to the fact that he may very well never see the other man again if those pirates were successful in taking their price?

But he knew. He had known for a lot longer than just that night, if he were to be honest with himself. His love for Arthur had been brewing deep in his soul since he had decked the King in Gaius' quarters, maybe even longer. There was no question in his mind that he had fallen absolutely, irrevocably in love, even if the feelings weren't nearly as reciprocated.

Oddly enough, admitting it, if only to himself, freed him from a weight he hadn't even known he was carrying.

All the while, he kept running. His heart pounded in time with his boots, the rhythm giving him something to focus on besides his swirling thoughts. He didn't even notice when the ground changed back to stone or when he entered the castle again. No one stopped him. He was running blindly, letting his feet carry him where they wished, his mind a separate entity from his body. By the time he finally ran out of stamina, his lungs were constricting painfully, and he could barely draw in a full breath. His legs wobbled dangerously beneath him. He pushed open the great double doors in front of him without even thinking, fully intent on curling up in the nearest bed and hiding for the next few days while he stewed on his newest feelings.

Instead, he was confronted by a rather surprised Arthur clad only in his nightclothes, who was sitting behind his desk, quill frozen a hair's breadth from the document he was meant to be signing.

"Shit," Merlin swore breathlessly.

He'd ended up right in Arthur's chambers.

Chapter Text

Merlin stood frozen in the doorway.

"Ever heard of knocking, Merlin?" Arthur asked teasingly, his faced scrunched in confusion.

As it was, Merlin was too busy trying to draw enough air into his lungs to respond. He leaned heavily against the door, panting in a way he was sure resembled a dog. It'd been too long since he'd ran like that.

Arthur set down his quill and worriedly turned his full attention to the warlock. "Merlin? What's wrong? Why're you out of breath?"

Merlin waved his hand. "S'nothing. Ran here. From the tavern."

"You ran all the way from the tavern?"

Merlin nodded. He dragged himself over to Arthur's bed and sat on the edge, his heartrate finally beginning to even out. Goosebumps prickled along his cold skin as the heat from the fire finally reached him. It wasn't uncomfortable like the tavern but instead much more pleasant. He kicked off his boots and pulled his stockinged feet on to the bed.

Arthur touched his arm gently and sat down next to him.

"What's wrong?"

"Does something have to be wrong? Can't I just come visit you?"

"You can. But you don't usually enter like there's fire at your heels. And anyhow, you're meant to be with the knights. I don't think they'd let you go running around in the dark alone unless something happened."

Merlin sighed. Damn Arthur and his damn intuition. He really chose the worst times to be observative.

Then again, Merlin was the one who had come careening into his chambers without so much as a knock, and then interrupted his work without an explanation.

Maybe Arthur had a right to be concerned.

"It's nothing. Just some idiots at the tavern. They were part of your crew when Uther was still king."

"They didn't do anything, did they?" Arthur's eyes hardened with anger. "Is that why you came running in here? Did they do something to make you that afraid?"

"No, mostly just said some things. The knights wouldn't have let anything happen. I was running because-" Merlin swallowed hard, "-my mind was full. I couldn't think straight there anymore. Somehow, I ended up here."

"What did they say?"

"Just…things."

"What did they say, Merlin?" Arthur demanded. Merlin tried not to flinch under Arthur's gaze, but he couldn't quite manage. Immediately, the King's features softened.

"What did they say?" He asked again much kindlier.

"They-they called me a whore," he murmured. "They said I should've been executed.

"They what?" Arthur growled, his voice dangerously low. Merlin knew that Arthur would never harm him. Yet, he couldn't help the twinge of anxiety that tremored up his spine at the dark lilt Arthur's voice had taken.

"It's nothing I haven't heard before!" Merlin hurried to add.

Arthur jumped to his feet. His face was red with anger. "That doesn't bloody well matter! You shouldn't have to be used to it! How dare they! How dare they take a slight at your honor like that. And how dare they ever suggest that you should be dead! It doesn't matter if you think you're used to it, they clearly upset you, and I won't stand for it! I won't stand for people making you feel unsafe here, as well! What did they look like?"

Merlin lowered his gaze. "I didn't see them very well. It was dim."

"I'll just ask the knights either way. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to tell me just what these bastards look like, so I can have them exiled to the farthest isle I can find."

"Arthur, no! The people already hate me as it is! Don't give them another reason by making it seem like you favor me."

The corner of the King's mouth quirked up. "But I do favor you." He reached out and held Merlin's chin, running his thumb along the younger man's cheek. "And besides, I'm sure they don't hate you. I don't think anyone could. You only have to realize, my father reigned for many years. It was a long time for his mistrust of magic to sink into the people. It's going to take time before they start to trust it again."

"I just feel so out of place. It's one thing to walk around the citadel where I'm still treated like royalty but down in the lower town…" Merlin took a shaky breath. "I guess tonight just snapped me back to reality. Being here with all of you, I feel safe for the first time in a long time. And I fear I've allowed myself to become too comfortable."

Arthur sat down again and pulled him into his arms. "You've been afraid for far too long. Even though you put up a tough front, I can see right through it. You've been brave for so long. Nothing that happened to you was fair. You didn't deserve any of it. You've endured more pain than you ever should have. And even though it will take time, I swear to you upon my mother's grave that I will restore magic to our land. Uther may have taken it from the heart of Camelot and helped to destroy your entire life, but I'd like to at least give you a small fraction of it back. I'd do anything if it meant none of this would have happened to you."

"I'd go through it all again if it meant that I got to meet you, even if you kidnapped me again," Merlin murmured with a little laugh. He could feel Arthur's smile against his hair. "At least the event in the tavern wasn't totally in vain. It made me realize something I was too scared to admit to myself before, but now, I can't stop thinking about it because it's making me all sappy like a girl."

Arthur pulled away and raised his eyebrows in that way of his that never failed to make Merlin's heart flutter. "Do tell how a slight against your honor brought about a realization making you so happy."

Merlin elbowed him in the ribs. "I'm trying to have a moment, you prat. As I was saying, I realized something tonight when those men were threatening my life in the tavern."

He turned so he was fully facing Arthur. He took the blonde's hand in his own and searched his cool blue eyes. "I know there's still so much we have to deal with. I know you're still trying to understand how to be your own king. I realize I'm still, technically, engaged, and we're yet to figure out how to free my magic. We both have issues, trauma we need to work through. I fear what happened to Ealdor and what my fiancé has done to me has affected me more than I care to admit. You're still trying to come to terms with all your father kept from you all these years. But I-" Merlin took a deep breath. He was a prince. He captained one of the most renowned ships in all the seas. He was supposed to be a warlock of prophecies. He was the Last Dragonlord. He'd never been cowardly before, now was not the time to start. Before he could doubt himself for a moment longer, he surged forward and captured Arthur's lips in his own just as the other royal had that night in the dungeons.

And much like he himself had, Arthur froze for a split second before utterly melting in Merlin's hands.

Merlin's heart sang over the feeling of Arthur's lips on his again. He'd only truly experienced it once, and even then, it had been under pressure and born of urgency. Here, in Arthur's bed, the fire in the hearth casting a warm glow over both of them, it was something else entirely. It was soft and slow and so full of an emotion Merlin couldn't describe that the mage felt tears prickle in his eyes.

Merlin cupped Arthur's face in both hands. In one swift movement, he climbed into the King's lap, straddling his waist and deepening the kiss. Arthur responded in kind, pressing back and tangling one hand in Merlin's hair while the other trailed much lower than it had ever been before. Merlin gave a muffled moan against Arthur's lips.

After a moment, Arthur pulled away and rested his forehead against Merlin's. When he whined impatiently, Arthur quieted him with a quick peck and a small smile.

"What happened to Past Merlin's no kissing rule?" Arthur asked breathlessly. They were so close that when Arthur spoke, his lips whispered over Merlin's.

"Ah, screw him."

Arthur chuckled softly. He pulled back enough to look Merlin in the eyes. There was something there, behind the lust and longing, something much gentler and more caring. Merlin was sure it belonged to Arthur alone. No one had ever looked at him that way before. It made his heart stutter in his chest.

The blonde swept a wayward curl behind Merlin's ear. "Are you sure?"

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life, Arthur. Even if it's completely mad, I want you. I know how I feel. Tonight, made me realize I was doing anything I could to convince myself otherwise, but I'm tired of it. Only, do you feel the same?"

"Are you really asking if I feel the same? You're quite literally sitting on my lap. I'm sure you of all people can tell. I've never felt like this for anyone but you before."

Merlin's cheeks went warm. He looked away, but Arthur took his chin softly in his hand and pulled him back.

"We don't have to do anything, you know."

"I want to," Merlin breathed.

"What about your betrothed? I don't mind taking the gift that pathetic excuse for a human being decided he didn't want, all for myself, mind you. But if you have any doubts, please don't. I can't be like him."

"You could never. Please, Arthur. You'd never hurt me like that. I don't want to be his anymore. I want to be yours, all yours. Please, help me forget. If only for a little while, help me forget everything. I only want to be with you."

Arthur appraised him with one final look before seemingly deciding that the warlock was fully in his right mind to consent and meant every word. Without another sound, Arthur kissed him once more, this one significantly more heated as Merlin allowed Arthur to explore with both his hands and tongue. The callouses on Arthur's hands from years of training were a pleasant feeling over his skin. The King pushed him gently back on to the bed, his head coming to rest on one of the pillows. Everything smelled of Arthur in such an intoxicating way, and it was making Merlin's head spin.

Arthur's hands wandered beneath his shirt, causing little sparks to light up every spot he touched his bare skin. Merlin traced the fine muscles of Arthur's back, flexing beneath the thin sleep shirt. Barely even breaking apart, Arthur managed to rid Merlin of his tunic and cast it aside to be found at some other time.

"You're beautiful," Arthur whispered.

Merlin definitely did not tear up again at those words. He was nothing compared to Arthur and to hear those words spoken so reverently, so honestly, from him meant more than he could ever express. Having Cenred as his only bed partner meant all hopes of his ever experiencing anything near that sort of care were dashed. He was lucky if Cenred even kissed him.

He felt no remorse, either. Cenred laid with other people more often than he did his own betrothed. Why should Merlin feel any guilt over being unfaithful to that man when he was with someone he truly loved, and his supposed fiancé was never faithful to him to begin with? He didn't.

Any lingering thoughts of his betrothed drifted away as Arthur kissed along his jaw and made it to his neck until Merlin was gasping at the sensation, and he was sure there would be a mark in the morning. He could feel Arthur's smug grin against his neck. Any other time, he would've told the prat off for being so arrogant, but he was quite distracted by the sudden lips on his collarbone.

Arthur slowly and methodically made his way down Merlin's chest, making sure not to leave any part untouched. All the while, Merlin could only writhe and moan softly, trailing his hands over Arthur's back, his chest, his hair.

It was every bit as close as Cenred and him, but infinitely more intimate. Where he tried to place his mind as far away from the bed as he could with Cenred, somewhere he didn't have to think about what was happening until the man was through, he had never wanted to be more aware of anything in his life with Arthur. Every kiss, every gentle touch, every whispered word was delivered with the utmost care. Quite frankly, Merlin could think of nothing else besides Arthur.

The blonde pressed a kiss to the whip mark on his stomach. Merlin shivered at the touch, and Arthur glanced up at Merlin through his lashes worriedly. The sight of the King with swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and eyes shiny with lust and adoration set his heart racing and a warm feeling began to pool in his stomach.

Merlin reached down and crooked a finger under Arthur's chin, pulling him back up until their noses were nearly touching.

"I'm alright," he whispered softly. "This is the best night of my life."

Merlin grabbed the ties of Arthur's nightshirt and tugged gently until it, too, joined the slowly growing pile of clothes somewhere on the chamber floor.

"Why don't you show me all the things you learned from that squire, My Lord?" Arthur teased in a husky voice, his hand trailing lightly over the laces of the warlock's breeches.

Merlin just laughed and dragged Arthur down for another breathtaking kiss.

By the time the candles in the room had melted to all but stubs and the fire in the hearth was nothing but glowing embers, Merlin was lying with his head resting on Arthur's bare chest, completely spent.

He was warm, and his body was covered with a thin layer of sweat, but his mind was still pleasantly buzzing, and he was sure that if he were to attempt to get up, he would find that his bones had all been turned to mush.

Arthur's chest rose and fell under his head in a steady rhythm as the blonde dozed. His hand was still limply resting against Merlin's head from where he had been stroking his hair. Merlin trailed his fingers lightly over Arthur's chest as he, too, felt the edges of sleep creeping upon him.

It was a wondrous thing, not only being able to lay with Arthur, but also being able to then stay afterwards. Cenred always kicked him out the moment he was finished with him.

He mentally berated himself. He refused to think about that man any longer, especially not while in such a position with Arthur. It wasn't fair, and it wasn't right. He would never make Arthur feel like a surrogate when he meant so, so much more.

His eyes had just drifted shut when a distant voice whispered from across the room.

"Merlin!"

His eyes shot open. He lay frozen, sure it was just a trick of his tired mind. However, the voice came again only a breath later.

"Merlin! Cap!"

That got his attention. It was enough for him to sit up and stumble out of bed, blindly grabbing a pair of pants off the floor.

He followed the direction the voice had originated from and cursed when he ran smack into Arthur's desk, toppling a few scrolls. He heard rustling from behind him, and Arthur rolled over, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Merlin?" He asked, his voice hoarse from sleep.

Merlin didn't acknowledge him. Instead, he grabbed a small dagger Arthur kept on his desk, holding it out in front of himself. There were only three people in the world who called him Cap, but he wasn't taking any chances.

"What's going on?" Arthur demanded.

"Cap, please. I don't have much time."

"What the hell?" Arthur asked, finally getting up, too, pulling on clothes, and drawing Excalibur from its sheath next to his bed.

Merlin's eyes locked on the washbasin in the corner, filled to the brim with clean water. Neither of them had even bothered to clean up, but Merlin wasn't concerned about that at the moment.

Instead, he peered over the edge of the bowl, and what he saw nearly made him drop his knife in shock.

There, in the water, was Daegal. The image was distorted and poor, but Merlin would recognize his thieving navigator anywhere.

"Daegal?" He gasped.

"Yeah, it's me, Cap."

It was then that Merlin really did drop the dagger. It clattered against the stone, but Merlin barely even noticed the sound, nor when Arthur appeared at his side. He opened his mouth to say something, but Merlin mechanically reached out and gripped his wrist, silencing him.

"How-but…what…" Merlin spluttered. He couldn't even form the right words. His mind had gone blank the moment Daegal's so misleadingly innocent voice had sprung from Arthur's wash basin.

"No time," Daegal said. His voice was breathless, and Merlin could hear the underlying anxiety. Something was going on bad enough to make Daegal nervous.

A sick feeling settled in his stomach.

"Listen to me. I don't have time to explain. Water doesn't sustain a scrying connection nearly as long as oil. I had to talk to you somehow. This is the first time I've managed. Cenred knows."

Those two words, those two simple, insignificant words strung together caused Merlin's entire world to tilt on its axis. Had it not been for Arthur's sudden hands on his back, he surely would have collapsed to the ground. His knees became weak, and he felt all the blood drain from his face so fast his head swam.

No. No. There was no way Cenred could know. Because at that moment, there were only two secrets he was keeping from his betrothed. And seeing as there was no possible way Cenred could know about what he and Arthur had just done, that only left one option.

Somehow, Cenred knew where he was.

"He knows where you are. He knows about the feast King Arthur is hosting to celebrate his coronation. He left just this morning. He'll arrive by the day of the feast."

Merlin couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. His lungs wouldn't move in his chest. Black spots danced in front of his vision. All he could think about was what Cenred would do to Camelot, to his friends, to Arthur. He was foolish to think he could avoid Cenred, foolish to think he could keep Camelot from suffering the wrath of Essetir.

"Breathe, Merlin," Arthur implored in his ear, voice firm and steady, yet gentle in the way he spoke. He placed a solid hand over Merlin's stuttering chest. He attempted to focus all his energy on that hand, allowing it to pull him back to reality, making it his goal to push Arthur's hand away with every steady, solid breath he took. Slowly, his vision began to clear, and the roaring in his ears faded until he was only left feeling weak and shaky.

"I'm so sorry, Cap," Daegal gasped as soon as Merlin had calmed. "We kept it from him for as long as we could. But he threatened to slit Freya's throat if one of us didn't give in, and I caved. You guys are the only family I have. I couldn't let him kill her. I told him. You should have me hanged for treason. I let you down."

"No," Merlin demanded. His voice was faint and quavering, but he was firm in his answer. "No, you didn't. You could never let me down. We always look out for each other, and that's exactly what you did. I'm proud of you, Daegal."

"I'm out of time. We miss you," Daegal said suddenly as his image flickered and the water rippled. Just as it seemed he was about to end the connection, his image appeared once more with a final burst of vibrance. "Don't give into him. Don't let him take you. Kill him, Merlin, kill Cenred. It's the only way-"

All at once, Daegal was gone, and Merlin found himself staring back at his own reflection. "No," he breathed. "No, no, no, Daegal, come back!" He shoved his hand into the water, feeling around the bottom of the bowl, ignoring the way it splashed onto the tabletop and his clothes. Even though he knew it was fruitless, he continued his frantic searching until finally, Arthur pulled him away from it, tipping the basin to the floor and shattering the porcelain with a deafening crack against the floor and sending a flood of water over the stones.

A helpless sob crawled its way up his throat. Hot, angry tears streaked down his face as he was left gasping for air again. Arthur pulled him back into his chest, but Merlin dragged them both to the floor, collapsing against the King. He pounded the floor with a tight fist, ignoring the pain that radiated up his arm. It wasn't until Arthur grabbed the hand and stopped the harsh treatment that Merlin finally registered the dull ache in the bones of his hand and the burning from the split skin. Even then, he only pulled the appendage into himself and held it close.

"I hate him," Merlin growled. "I hate him more than I've ever hated anything in the world." Harshly, he wiped away the tears from his eyes. How had such a beautiful, wonderful night turned into one of his nightmares?

Merlin pulled away from Arthur's arms. "I'm going to kill him. I won't let him ruin your banquet. I won't go back with him. I won't let him hurt my friends. I won't let him hurt you. He's already taken everything from me, he can't have this."

Arthur pulled Merlin in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "I think there's going to be quite a few people you'll have to fight for the privilege of ending his existence, love, starting with me."

The term of endearment, so easily used, threatened to send Merlin into tears all over again. Even if he hadn't told Arthur yet about his truest, deepest feelings, the sentiment of that word meant that Arthur at least returned his feelings to some degree. Instead of crying, he wrapped his arms around Arthur's middle once more and rested his head against the King's shoulder.

"We'll be ready for him," Arthur murmured. "And when he decides to show his cowardly face at the feast, he'll face all of Camelot's power. I won't let him take you, I swear it."

Just across the sea, a scene much different from the one experienced by the two young royals played out in Essetir. King Cenred loomed over the young Druid boy as he hunched over a puddle of water left there by a frightened maid.

Nearly two months had passed since his magical weapon had been kidnapped by none other than Uther Pendragon's son, the man he thought he could trust above all others, as they both had their reasons to keep what had happened from coming to light.

Now, the bastard had gone and gotten killed by his own son.

And Cenred was left to carry on alone.

It had nearly driven him mad with anger. Not only had the old tyrant had his son kidnap what Uther knew was rightfully Cenred's, but then he got assassinated before he could even get him back.

It had taken him too long to figure out where the warlock had gotten to as it was, seeing as the ragtag team he called a crew were less than reluctant to speak, even after two months of torture. The only reason he had kept them alive after losing his most valuable possession was because they were the only three witnesses in the world to the kidnapping. Without them, Merlin might as well have disappeared into thin air.

It wasn't until the band around his finger which bound the mage's magic to him began to smolder and glow red-hot that Cenred gained any sort of insight into where the boy had ended up. Only then, even after Uther had already died, did Cenred learn his supposed ally had stabbed him in the back long ago by taking his fiancé right out from beneath him.

The band itself was small and inconspicuous, a simple loop of gold matching the one Merlin wore. While insignificant in nature, the small piece of metal served a purpose grander than the whole of his army. Not only did it give him total and utter control over Merlin's magic, magic which was prophesied to be more infinite than even nature itself, but it also allowed him to know the moment Merlin tried to stray from him.

In the beginning, when he had first brought Merlin from Ealdor over two years ago, the ring had nearly constantly glowed and heated as the young prince fought against him tooth and nail. Many a time had he caught Merlin trying to escape thanks to the ring, although Merlin had no knowledge of the true extent of the little piece of jewelry's power. Eventually, however, as Merlin's spirit and soul began to wither under his power, the ring went cool, staying dormant until it began to smoke and burn hotter than it ever had before so long after the warlock had disappeared from his grasp.

Fuming with anger and pain, Cenred rushed to the dungeons and demanded the Druid boy show him what Merlin was doing at that very moment to cause such a reaction. It wasn't until he grabbed the girl and smashed her head so hard into the ground, she crumpled like a puppet with cut strings, that the boy gave a terrified shout and collapsed to his knees before him, begging and pleading to give him what he wanted so long as he didn't hurt the girl any further.

Of course, being the merciful and generous king he was, he only kicked her slumped form over to the other boy, the traitor whom he had once trusted completely.

But that was another story entirely.

After that, the Druid Seer placed two trembling hands around the ring and began to chant quietly beneath his breath in a language that never failed to make Cenred feel giddy with greed, knowing that so much power of the Ancient Ways lay with him.

After only a few moments, a foggy image began to play before him. What he saw made his stomach roll with fury and disgust.

That slut was sleeping with bloody Arthur Pendragon!

It was at that moment he realized just what had happened since the prince had disappeared. From there, he ordered the Druid to make contact with the magical whore and act as if Cenred wasn't prowling around just behind him, feeding him every word he said.

He wanted them to know when he was arriving. He wanted the new King to gather all the powers of Camelot in defense of his new bed warmer. Because Cenred had a weapon the young Pendragon could never predict, could never even dream he could use. How would he feel when the very magical creature he was bedding turned on him and burnt Camelot to the ground, all on Cenred's orders? Oh, it was going to be fun.

But then, the Druid had to go and do something so profoundly stupid he nearly messed up Cenred's entire plan. Just as it seemed he was ending the connection, the boy lunged back toward the puddle and gasped out in one rushed, frantic sentence, "Don't give into him. Don't let him take you. Kill him, Merlin, kill Cenred. It's the only way-"

He never got to finish. The King of Essetir grabbed him by the back of the shirt, yanking him back so hard he choked on his own breath.

"You stupid little bastard! Do you realize what you nearly did? You could've ruined everything!" His fist connected solidly with the Druid's jaw. The boy stumbled back until he hit the wall. Cenred easily grabbed the arm he had been favoring since their return months ago, and in one quick movement, snapped it until he heard a bone crack. He cried out and tried to catch himself with his good arm as Cenred threw him to the ground, but only succeeded in stoving the other wrist which gave out beneath him, causing his head to meet the dingy floor with a solid thunk. Fury at this stupid boy took over him. He pulled his leg back and smashed it into his side. The boy cried out again and tried to curl into himself. With every kick he landed, his anger increased tenfold. He had every intent of ending this boy's trivial life.

"Leave him alone!"

All at once, Cenred was thrown back as the other young man tackled him around the waist, both falling to the ground. His fiancé's first mate managed to land a single hard punch to the side of his head before the commotion finally drew the attention of the guards just outside, and he was yanked away, shoved back towards the other two.

As dignifiedly as one could after being tackled to the ground, Cenred pulled himself up and straightened his clothes, making a big show of brushing the dust from his coat. He gave the three in the corner a wicked look.

"You'll wish you hadn't done that. The same night I get back from Camelot with your precious little Captain, you'll all be lying beneath the executioner's axe. I'll make sure it's nice and dull, too, so he has to keep hacking and hacking until finally, after the excruciating agony of being partially decapitated, your heads will roll, and I'll put them on pikes to be displayed above the entrance gate as a reminder of what happens when you disobey me. Your days are numbered. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a kingdom to raze."

And with that, he turned on his heel and strode out the cell door.

Chapter Text

The day of the banquet arrived misty and gray, the clouds rolling in from the horizon dark and dreary. Rain pattered against the windows of the castle as its inhabitants rushed around within, trying to finish the final preparations for the evening's big event. The wind howled and shook the very walls.

The weather made a wonderful backdrop for Merlin's mood.

Since the night he'd spoken to Daegal, Merlin hadn't heard another word from anyone in Essetir. There had been no reports of enemy ships in Camelot's waters. Arthur had practically made it his new hobby to receive reports from merchants and guards alike on the daily, so he could scout out the seas. For all their trouble, there was no sign of Cenred.

As for Merlin, he felt as if he were teetering on the edge of a cliff, unsure if someone would pull him back at the last moment or give him a final push to send him on his way. He was caught in a limbo somewhere between furious and terrified. One moment, he felt like he could strangle Cenred with his bare hands, conjure up enough magic to smite the King of Essetir despite the curse. The very next, he was sure they were doomed. No matter how much Arthur increased security, put the knights on high alert, and planned for a full-scale invasion, the mage couldn't quite quell the feeling of dread deep in his stomach. No matter how much reassurance he got, he couldn't help but feel like he alone had brought upon Camelot's doom.

Merlin stared out over the water-logged courtyard from Arthur's chambers. He watched as one of the stable hands came sprinting back towards the warm light of the castle, his hands raised in a vain attempt to protect himself from the torrential downpour. Briefly, Merlin wondered what he was doing out in the weather.

Mindlessly, he reached out and traced the faint protective seal he had so painstakingly carved into the windowsill, so no one but he would ever notice its existence. The tips of his fingers tingled sharply from its power. Even without his own, he could sense the power the sigil held just from the barest of touches. Similar symbols could be found littering nearly every inch of the castle, weeks of careful, secret work finally paying off. If anyone unwanted dared to breech even as far as the castle gate, he would be the first to know.

Somehow, even that didn't work to settle his nerves. Knowing what Cenred was capable of, Merlin wasn't entirely sure even Druidic magic could hold up against him, especially not when he had Merlin's own power under his complete and utter control.

An involuntary shudder coursed down his spine.

His gaze travelled to the hazy horizon where he could just make out the dark mass of the sea over the roofs of the lower town. Somewhere, beyond the fog and the rain, his fiancé was sailing towards Camelot at that very moment.

A flash of lightning sliced through the darkness. Silently, Merlin counted to five until it was followed by a deep rumble of thunder.

The chamber doors opened with a creak dwarfed by the thunder and a pair of footsteps padded across the room. Two arms suddenly wrapped around Merlin from behind.

"I used to hate thunderstorms," Arthur said, his chin resting on Merlin's shoulder.

Merlin leaned back into him. "Me too. Until Mother told me that thunderstorms were just the gods in Avalon having jousting tournaments."

Arthur snorted. "No way you believed that."

"Excuse me, that was a very convincing story when I was seven. Besides, I don't think Mother and Father so much cared what I believed; they were only happy to get me out of their bed every time a few drops of rain fell."

Arthur huffed a laugh. He left a light kiss on Merlin's temple. "Well, I'm not complaining about having you in my bed."

"You're insatiable."

"Only for you." Arthur rubbed a hand up and down Merlin's arm. "How are you doing? I know it's been difficult."

The warlock sighed and turned in Arthur's arms, so he could face the King. He found Arthur's eyes, worried and full of care. Merlin's knees suddenly felt a little weak.

"It's hard. A part of me hopes he shows up just so I can have the pleasure of slitting his throat. The other part of me wants to cry for how scared I am. I'm afraid of what he'll do to you and all of Camelot. I'm afraid he'll take me back to Essetir. I can't go back." His voice trailed off to a whisper. He buried his face in Arthur's shoulder, his eyes stinging. He refused to cry any more.

"You won't. He won't lay a hand on you, I swear it. I've just come from a meeting with the council. There's been no sign of him or any other unfamiliar ships around Camelot. Perhaps he got delayed by the storm."

"Perhaps," Merlin agreed, though he didn't really believe it. No, Cenred was planning something, something Merlin couldn't figure out, and it was driving him mad. "What if…what if you can't stop it?"

"That's not going to happen. Whatever he tries, we'll be ready."

"But what if he uses something you could never predict?"

Arthur pulled away and gave Merlin an appraising look. He pulled his eyebrows together, confused. "Do you know something, Merlin?"

Merlin shook his head hard. The moment he asked the question he knew it was a mistake. He couldn't tell Arthur, no matter how much he longed to. If it had been hard before, it would be impossible now. Before, Arthur would've been furious with him for keeping such a monumental secret. Now, he'd still be furious, but it wasn't just their tentative relationship on the line anymore.

As long as Arthur didn't know of his true relationship with Cenred, he was at least somewhat safe. Cenred could hardly blame Arthur for sleeping with the spouse of some lowly lord when he himself did the same thing. It was still adultery, but not in such a manner that would justify a consequence, especially when Arthur didn't know he was betrothed to the King of Essetir. At least that way, Merlin was still a whore to Cenred, but Arthur was an unknowing participant.

Goddess, he was a horrible person. Arthur deserved so much better. But he was in too deep, now. Coming clean wasn't an option anymore, not until Cenred was finished.

"Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything. If something's worrying you, I want to know."

Merlin swallowed hard and mustered the biggest smile he could, hoping it didn't convey just how much fear he really felt. "I'm sure." He leaned forward and gave Arthur a lingering kiss. "Is everything ready for tonight?"

"I believe so. The servants are setting the main hall for the feast as we speak. I consulted with Geoffrey earlier; every noble is accounted for. No one extra, no one missing. You have nothing to fear."

"What can I do to help?"

"You can help by relaxing until this evening. You're going to sit at the head table with Morgana and me as my guest."

"Arthur…"

"I won't be swayed so don't try. You deserve it. And besides, how else am I meant to keep an eye on you?"

Merlin huffed quietly and turned back to gaze forlornly out the window. He watched as another arc of lightning split the sky, followed immediately by a deep rumble. The windows shook in their frame under the onslaught of rain. His eyes trailed back towards the hazy mass of the sea beyond, wondering what his crew was doing at that exact moment. Daegal had said he hadn't found an opportunity to speak to him since his disappearance. Whatever had happened to them surely couldn't be good.

Especially if Cenred ever found out Daegal had tipped them off.

"I'm worried for my crew," Merlin murmured. He reached out and traced his finger through the condensation on the windowpane. He watched as a drop of water chased after his fingertip.

"I'm sure they're fine. Hell, they nearly beat me and my knights. I'm sure they can take care of themselves."

"Oh, believe me, they can. But you don't know Cenred like I do. You don't know the things he's willing to do to get what he wants."

"Like decimate an entire kingdom and slaughter thousands of innocent people?"

"Something like that," Merlin whispered.

"Tell me about them," Arthur whispered. He left a feather-light kiss on Merlin's ear. "Get your mind off your worry for a little while. You know all about mine, and I barely know the names of your crewmates."

"Well, there's Will, my first mate; Freya, she usually steers; and Daegal, my navigator. And, of course, you know Aithusa though there isn't much to tell about her. She was just a baby when Ealdor fell, and she followed me all the way to Essetir. I've raised her since she hatched."

Arthur chuckled. "Yes, I know her."

"They're like my family. I don't know what I would've done without them these past two years." His heart ached at the thought of them. He wanted nothing more than to have them there with him. They would understand what he was going through more than anyone in Camelot could. They had suffered the same anger he had in Essetir.

Arthur sat in a chair near the window and pulled Merlin down with him, maneuvering so they could both be seated comfortably. Merlin leaned his head back against Arthur's shoulder, happy to just spend the time alone with him and keep the rest of the world outside just for a moment.

"I suppose I should start with Will. I've known him the longest. I met him the day I was taken, although I didn't really meet him. He oversaw me for the journey back to Essetir. They travelled over land, so I couldn't find my way back since I'd never left by land before. Will was one of Cenred's most trusted guards, but he was exceptionally kind to me. They kept me barely conscious and delirious most of the trip back, but all I remember is Will tucking me in with blankets, helping me to drink, giving me extra rations of food. He gave me his cloak to keep warm and would talk to me when no one else was around, tell me he was sorry and that everything would be okay. I was scared and grieving and in pain. For weeks, Will was the only source of comfort I had. When we got back to the kingdom, my fiancé took me that very first night. Will held me all night while I cried. The next day, he went to Cenred and demanded to be my personal guard. He knew too much about, well, everything, so Cenred had no choice. It was either that or kill him. A month later when Cenred granted me The Avalon, he became my first mate."

"He sounds like an admirable man. I wish I could have him on The Round Table."

Merlin smiled wryly. "Oh, he would love that. Will just adores nobility. His father was killed in Cenred's army when he was a boy, and he never quite got over it. He only stayed on Cenred's guard for so long to provide for his mother and sister, but after Cenred had them both killed in retribution for him quitting, Will's been out for blood. Besides, Will isn't really knight material. Yes, he's a hell of a swordsman, but he sort of lacks the nobility aspect. Imagine Gwaine if he was more bloodthirsty, less laid-back, and three times as cynical. That's Will."

"Goddess, help us all. I can barely handle the Gwaine I have, let alone another who's more ruthless. But what Cenred's done to him would make anyone ruthless, wouldn't it?"

Merlin nodded and shrunk further into the chair. Arthur rubbed a comforting hand over his chest. "What about the others?" Arthur wondered softly.

"I met Freya next. It was a few months after I got to Essetir. Will and I had been sailing The Avalon for about two months. We were down at the docks one day when we saw some young girl rummaging through a load of imports just brought in. She was clearly hungry and desperate. We were going to let her go, knowing Cenred could certainly do without a bit of salted pork or whatever exotic fruit he'd had shipped in. But one of the fishermen wasn't as kind. He called in a crime to the castle guards, and they came to arrest her. She wasn't even given a trial; there are none in Essetir. Cenred simply sentenced her to death for stealing from castle stores, and that was it. But I was worried about her. I snuck a loaf of bread from the kitchen and took it down to her in the dungeons that night. She thought I was tricking her at first, tempting her into taking the bread laced with something. I managed to convince her that I wasn't working on Cenred's orders, only intrigued by someone who was so brave she could steal from the King himself."

"I knew I wanted her on my crew. She hated Cenred nearly as much as Will and I. Her entire family had starved because of his poor handling of the crops the season before. The next morning, I went directly to Cenred and begged him for her life. It took a while, but he eventually relented. I promised him I would kill her myself if she even thought about going against him again. In the end, he branded her with his seal. She still has the scar on her shoulder, and it only cost me ten lashes from my fiancé later for my impudence to the King."

Arthur made a pained noise. Merlin flinched, and Arthur pulled him in tight. "Only ten lashes? Branding? My gods, Merlin…I'm going to kill all of them. What the hell does Cenred think he's playing at in Essetir?"

"He's a tyrant just like Uther," Merlin said meekly. "Only difference is he's a stupid one. At least Uther understood the concept of money. To compensate for his ignorance he instills terror. No matter how bad of a ruler he is, the people are too scared to do anything about it. I was too scared."

"Don't you dare blame yourself, Merlin, don't you dare. None of this is your fault. You're a victim just as much as they."

Merlin nodded, trying to pacify Arthur, even if he didn't believe him. There was so much more he could have done to protect the people of Essetir, yet he let his fear win. He was supposed to be the Greatest Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth, for Goddess' sake!

"I guess that leads us to Daegal. I met him last. It was about nine months after I came to Essetir. Will, Freya, and I were sailing around some of the Eastern Isles when a storm blew in, and we checked into a small tavern for the evening. There was a boy there, a bit younger than I. He was a Druid, I could see it right off, from his aura and markings. Well, he was using his ability as a Seer to tip a dice table in a certain favor. Some shady characters figured out what he was doing, dragged him out back, and started kicking the living Hell out of him. By the time we intervened, he was half dead. Will killed both of them with his bare hands, and we took every bit of coin they had on them. We took him back to the ship and nursed him back to health. It took time, but he came around. I offered him a position on my crew. He didn't want to work for Cenred, but even he could see his options were to accept or die on the streets. He accepted, but it took months before he even remotely began to trust us. Hell, it took months before we managed to stop him from stealing everything in sight. Daegal's got sticky fingers."

"And there you have it," Merlin finished. "That's my crew in all their broken, crazy, misfitted glory. At first, all that brought us together was our mutual hatred for Cenred, and our will to just survive. But now, we would die for each other in a heartbeat."

A long silence followed, one Merlin was sure he could reach out and physically touch. He could practically hear Arthur's mind working to process everything he'd told him. Finally, the blonde sighed and brushed his lips over Merlin's cheek.

"I hope I can meet them someday if for no other reason than to thank them for keeping you safe all this time and giving you a family when yours was so cruelly taken. I promise you this: when this is all over, I will bring them here. Whether they want to join my crew or not, it doesn't matter. They matter to you, so they matter to me. They will have a home in Camelot."

And how was Merlin meant to respond to that other than grabbing Arthur and kissing him with all his might?

They were rudely interrupted by a sharp knock. Arthur was the one to pull back with a groan and call, rather harshly, for the person to enter. George popped his head in.

"Apologies, My Lords, but I was sent for Prince Merlin. Gaius and Sir Leon have returned."

"What?!" Merlin exclaimed. He stumbled out of the chair, only staying upright thanks to Arthur's firm hold on his arm. "When did they get back? Why am I just finding out?"

George, for his part looked unperturbed by Merlin's outburst. "They arrived only a moment ago, Sire. Sir Leon sent me to retrieve you."

Merlin's breath froze in his chest. He exchanged a panicked look with Arthur. This was it. Either he was getting his magic back, or it was all for nothing. If Gaius could break the curse before Cenred arrived, they may stand a chance. Arthur gripped his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"Go," he said. "Go see what Gaius found with the Druids. I have some things to attend to before this evening, but I want to know everything, understood?"

Merlin nodded mutely. Throwing one last glance back to Arthur, the warlock practically plowed George over in his attempt to get to Gaius' chambers.

He blindly stumbled his way towards the physician's chambers and threw open the door. Gaius, still soaked from the rain, jumped back from his worktable where he was unpacking his bag. He gripped his chest. "Merlin! You're liable to give an old man a heart attack, my boy!"

"You're yet to actually succumb to this heart attack you keep threatening me with. I couldn't wait a moment longer. I was considering coming and searching for you and Leon myself if you didn't arrive back soon!"

Gaius gave a tired sigh and slumped on to the bench near the table. Merlin hurried down the steps and knelt before the old physician, searching his face like that alone would offer him all the answers he had been wanting for so long. Gaius grimaced slightly as he shifted on the hard wood seat.

"Are you quite alright, Gaius?" Merlin asked, concerned.

"Ah, yes. Not as young as I used to be. Sleeping on the ground for nearly a fortnight did me no favors."

"I'm sorry. This is all my fault."

Gaius raised one eyebrow, and Merlin couldn't help but crack a smile at his mentor's signature look. "Nonsense, my boy. Some aches and pains were well worth the trade for everything I learned from the Druids."

Merlin felt his heart speed up in his chest. He gripped the fabric of his trousers, attempting to wipe the sweat off his hands. Whatever Gaius told him would change everything, no matter if it was for the better or not. Either way, Merlin felt as if he might lose the porridge he'd had for breakfast.

"W-what did you learn?" His voice wavered as he spoke. Gaius reached out and patted his shoulder.

"There is a way."

Merlin's eyes went wide with shock. He wasn't sure he had heard Gaius correctly. "What?"

"You heard me. The Druids believe there is a way to remove your curse."

"How?" He demanded immediately. "Whatever needs done, I'll do it. It doesn't matter. If I need to go find Cenred and kill him myself, I will. Or if I need to travel to some far off land or find some crackpot old wizard or-"

"Breathe, Merlin," Gaius said. He didn't look nearly as happy as Merlin would've thought he'd be.

"What is it? There's something you're not telling me, isn't there? Don't lie to me, Gaius. I'm no longer a child. I don't need coddled."

Gaius gave another tired sigh. "The curse Cenred used to bind your magic is an extremely powerful and extremely ancient bit of soul magic. The Druids believe it existed when the gods themselves roamed the land. Humanity became greedy and wished to steal the gods' power for themselves. They believed it was unfair the gods could be so omnipotent when man was left to suffer. So, some of the most powerful Priests and Priestesses of the time developed a curse that could be used to bind the magic of the gods. It was more powerful than even cold iron. Not only did it give them the ability to subdue the gods, but also to take complete control of their powers. It's said that this very curse was what caused the gods to retreat to Avalon in the first place. They feared what humanity would do with that sort of power. With no gods left, the curse went out of use and was essentially lost for some millenniums. How Cenred managed to get ahold of it, let alone successfully pull it off, even the Druids do not know. But there is one flaw to the curse."

Feeling lightheaded, Merlin held his breath, waiting for the other boot to drop.

"The curse is all about control. It controls every aspect of a person, even their emotions. However, there is one emotion that conquers all others: love. Love is the most powerful form of magic, as it always has been. Only a great act of love will break the curse."

Merlin felt a wave of relief wash over him. He pulled his eyebrows together in confusion. "Is that all? But if that were true, surely the curse would've broken by now. Arthur and I haven't exactly been having friendly sleepovers."

Gaius seemed to choke on his air. His face turned red, and he cleared his throat loudly. Merlin quite enjoyed the display, smirking as it elicited such a reaction from the old man. "Oh, dear, well that's not quite what it means, Merlin."

"Do tell then."

"This is no ordinary act of love that can be achieved through conventional means. You momentarily overcame the curse when you sacrificed yourself to save Aithusa, but even that wasn't enough. To break it once and for all, it'll need to be even more profound."

"How the hell am I meant to do more? I only have one life to sacrifice, Gaius. I'm not afraid to die, but I don't see how the curse is going to matter much if I kick it anyhow."

There were tears shining in Gaius' eyes. "That's the point. None of the gods ever loved anything enough to die for it. This curse can only be broken by the ultimate sacrifice. Your life for one you love. I'm so sorry, my boy. You have no idea how much this pains me."

Merlin's eyes drifted to his lap. He worried his bottom lip, mulling Gaius' words over in his mind, searching desperately for any loophole. It seemed crystal clear. There was only one way to break the curse, only one way to ensure that Cenred couldn't use him as a weapon against Arthur and Camelot.

"In order to break the curse…I have to die."

"Merlin, my boy-" Gaius reached out for him, but Merlin pulled away.

"I have to go."

"Merlin, don't do anything-"

Merlin didn't hear what Gaius was going to say, though he was sure it ended with 'stupid'. He was already slamming the chamber doors behind him.

He'd do anything if it meant Camelot, his new family, and Arthur was safe.

Even if it meant doing something incredibly stupid.

The feast rolled around with startling speed. Before Merlin even realized it, he was seated at the head table to Arthur's right, with Morgana on Arthur's left. Both Pendragons looked stunning, Morgana in her flowing gown of deep Camelot red and Arthur, ceremonial armor shining with a fresh polish, cape flowing, crown glinting like a halo on his golden hair.

Merlin was sure he'd never seen a more gorgeous sight.

He didn't look so bad himself, if the way Arthur kept sneaking longing glances at him from the corner of his eye was anything to go by. Morgana had fashioned him a beautiful high-collared tunic in Ealdor blue, fitted with fine silver stitching and faint symbols of the Old Religion. She had even managed to somehow make an exact replica of his silver circlet, a thin ring of entwined dragons and vines alike. Arthur said it looked like moonlight in his hair.

Hair, which had needed to be freshly styled once more after that comment had landed them both in an alcove just outside the kitchens and nearly late for Arthur's own coronation banquet.

The room was alive with the press of bodies. Hundreds of people milled around and sat at the tables as they prepared for dinner, some allies from Uther's reign, others coming out of curiosity to see what the new regent had to offer them. Kings and Queens, Lords and Ladies, some Merlin recognized, others he didn't, all there to get a glimpse at the new King of Camelot.

Arthur, however, said it wasn't him they were staring at. It wasn't every day the long-lost prince of a decimated magical kingdom was found, after all. Even worse, Arthur planned to introduce him after the meal and announce his intentions to repeal the ban on magic. Merlin was beginning to squirm under all the gazes. And if one more lady came up to him and batted her eyelashes, he was going to grab Arthur and kiss him right then and there, decorum be damned.

Not to mention, he could barely think straight through his worry.

He hadn't even realized he was bouncing his leg beneath the table until he felt Arthur's hand upon his knee, quelling the motion.

"What's the matter, love? Other than the obvious, of course," Arthur leaned down and whispered in his ear. Merlin nearly sobbed at the name, it only serving as a reminder of what he had to do.

Mustering every last bit of courage he had, he gave Arthur what he hoped was a convincing smile. "Just nervous."

"That's to be expected. You've been out of the public eye for so long."

"Yeah, that's all it is, I'm sure."

That seemed to satisfy Arthur, as he turned back to a conversation he'd been having with King Bayard of Mercia, who kept casting nervous glances in Merlin's direction. Merlin had half a mind to bare his teeth like a dog just to see what sort of reaction he would get.

He took a sip of his wine, hoping it would do something to calm his nerves, but the alcohol only served to make the knots in his stomach tighten even further. He cast a surreptitious look around the hall, taking note of all the knights, mingling amongst the knights from the other kingdoms. Gwen and George were weaving in and out of the tables, stealthily filling glasses and replacing spoiled napkins where needed. Morgana was engaged in conversation with Princess Mithian and a young noble's daughter from Odin's Kingdom. At some point, King Caerleon and his wife, Queen Annis, had joined Arthur and Bayard and were now engaged in a lively discussion over import and export treaties.

The warlock had just shifted in his seat for the hundredth time, earning him an odd look from Annis, when he felt it.

His wards tugged against his bound magic, giving him a silent warning that they had an unwanted guest in the castle. Merlin didn't even need to investigate to know who had finally arrived. How he had managed to get on land, let alone past the castle guards was a mystery, but he didn't care. He had to stop this before it even started. He was the only one who could.

It was incredibly easy to rise from his seat, muttering something to Arthur about needing some air, and slip out the servants' entrance in the back. The halls were so quiet, Merlin was sure any passerby could hear the frantic rhythm his heart was beating. He shivered, his fingers brushing against the chilly stone walls as he followed the aura of magic towards the ward that had alerted him. His boots clicked softly against the floor, nothing compared to the great boom of thunder that chose that very moment to sound, causing Merlin to nearly jump out of his skin.

He had just rounded the corner towards the armory when a hand closed around his throat from behind. He gasped, hands immediately going to pull at the fingers blocking his air. He was pulled into one of the empty rooms the servants used to store their cleaning supplies and pressed up against the wall. Merlin held back a shudder when he felt his assailant's breath upon his cheek.

"Hello, darling," Cenred growled.

Chapter Text

The cool stones cut painfully into the soft skin of Merlin's back as he unconsciously wriggled in his assailant's hold, hands moving almost mechanically up to claw at the much larger ones blocking his air.

Warm breath ghosted over his ear. A tickle of oh-so-familiar shoulder-length hair brushed his cheeks, still pink from the warmth of the feast but now starkly so against his pallid skin.

"Hello, darling," Cenred growled, a mere whisper to him but seemingly thunderous in the empty storage room.

Merlin tried to swallow around the knot in his throat but grimaced when he met resistance from Cenred's great fist squeezing tight enough to bruise. For all his preparation, all his resignation to this very moment, he couldn't quell the terrified turmoil battling within him.

On one hand, he wanted nothing more than to stand up to Cenred once and for all, to put him in his place about just how one was meant to treat other beings, even magical ones.

On the other, the very thought of saying anything to make Cenred even angrier than he already undoubtfully was made Merlin slightly nauseous. The few swallows of roasted chicken and wine he'd had suddenly sat heavy like a rock in his middle.

He ceased his fruitless struggling, instead finding it more productive to glare at his fiancé with every bit of heat he could muster.

"Cenred," he growled back, breaking off in a sort of choking wheeze as the fingers around his throat squeezed ever-so-slightly more.

A wicked, nasty smile split Cenred's face. "It looks like I've caught a pretty bird."

"You haven't caught anything," Merlin gasped. "Now, get off me."

Cenred laughed darkly. "Now, when have I ever listened to that request, Birdie."

A bone-deep shudder wracked Merlin's entire frame, chilling him to his very soul. That name. That wretched, awful, degrading name sent his mind reeling, months away from the circle of abuse having worked to suppress the memories; but only one slip of the tongue and suddenly Merlin was back in that dark castle, in Cenred's quarters, knowing there was no escape from whatever Cenred wished to do to him and only the drafts of the empty corridors would hear him cry.

"Don't call me that," Merlin demanded even as the words sounded more like a weak plead.

Cenred chuckled to himself once more. Merlin's gaze flicked to the hand wrapped around his throat to see the king reach up with his other hand and stroke the gold band there thoughtfully. A deep shudder coursed through Merlin's body as his magic pulsed just beneath his skin. An almost hungry look filled Cenred's eyes as he met Merlin's own, which he was sure shone a vibrant liquid gold. He fought with all his might to close his eyes, to look away, to do something, but he was frozen in place, forced to stare back into eyes that glinted like black flint.

"All these months apart and all it takes is one touch for you to be right back under my control. You must have missed me."

Merlin wanted to scream. He wanted to shout back that like hell he missed him, call him any number of slurs and foul names that would've made his mother wash his mouth out with the nastiest soap she could find, but he found that much like the rest of his body, his mouth was incapable of even moving enough to let out a shaky breath.

And he hated it. He hated how easily Cenred could control every last aspect of him, make him feel so inferior and weak, destroy what little faith in himself he had gained in Camelot with a single touch. He felt tears of hatred and shame well up in his eyes. One finally spilled over and trailed down his cheek.

Cenred brushed the single tear away with the pad of his thumb. A sick feeling rose in Merlin's stomach at even that light touch.

"Oh, don't cry now, Birdie. You had to have known your little trip would end eventually." Cenred leaned in so close Merlin could feel his lips brushing his ear as he spoke. "Tell me, how does it feel to be used by two kings?"

The feeble amount of air Merlin was able to draw in caught in his lungs. Cenred's grip eased slightly, enough for him to take a real breath, his chest stuttering with the reality of what his fiancé had just said.

Cenred must have willed him to speak because his lips were moving before he even thought about it. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

"Don't play stupid. You and I both know you're anything but. One king wasn't good enough for you. Don't lie. I saw."

"You saw?" Merlin gasped.

"More than I ever wanted to see. Do you know what it feels like to see your fiancé, the man who's supposed to be faithful to you alone, sleep with another?"

"I do, actually," Merlin snapped. "At least I don't drop my breeches for any servant or noble who looks at me."

Even expecting it, the resounding slap echoed like a canon in the small room. Hot flames of pain licked Merlin's cheek. A drop of blood ran down his face from where Cenred's ring had broken skin.

"Watch your wicked tongue before you lose it," Cenred threatened. "It seems like your little trip away ignited that nasty spark in you again. Pity, I thought I'd weeded it out."

Merlin narrowed his eyes and squared his shoulders. "I never lost it. I just needed reminded that it was even there at all."

"And you found that reminder here? In Uther Pendragon's household?" Cenred asked incredulously.

"It's not Uther's any longer. Arthur's a better king than he ever was, and he's certainly a better king than you. Although, it's a rather small feat to be a better ruler than a swine."

He cringed back despite himself, expecting a blow that never came. Instead, a cold laugh dripping with acid filtered to his ears. Merlin cracked an eye open to see Cenred in a fit of laughter.

His fiancé gripped his chin and forced Merlin to look him in the eye once more. He tutted softly. "Oh, Birdie. You really think Pendragon cares for you, don't you?"

Merlin closed his eyes and turned his head, humiliation welling up in his chest as Cenred stripped him bare with only one sentence and struck at the heart of his deepest insecurity. A dull pain bloomed in his chest over his heart.

"How sad," Cenred said. "Even after all this time you still think that someone like him could ever want someone like you for any more than a bedwarmer. He's a Pendragon; how many of your kind has he helped to kill? How could you ever think that he would care about a freak like you?"

Merlin swallowed hard. His throat felt too tight despite Cenred's hand no longer clasped around it. All of the arguments, the defenses, the snide comments he'd so meticulously planned for the moment when he'd finally face his betrothed again slipped away, leaving him as nothing more than that scared boy who'd seen everyone he cared about brutally slaughtered and had been whisked away to a life of agony.

"Arthur's different," he whispered. Again, Cenred laughed.

"Oh, you poor, naïve, boy. Did you even think why he would ever lay with you? Surely, you had to have wondered why Pendragon chose you when he could've had just about anyone in all the surrounding kingdoms." Cenred touched the tip of his fingers to the cut on Merlin's cheek, causing the latter to flinch. "You were nothing but a show of rebellion to his father, a final middle finger to the man in the grave. Why else would he lay with someone he kidnapped, a warlock no less? Sure, you're somewhat attractive, dear, but you're certainly not the finest prize out there."

"Says the man who looks like an overgrown bear. You don't know what you're talking about," Merlin snapped, ignoring the taste of salty tears on his lips.

"Don't I? Then tell me that you don't care about him. Look me in the eyes and say you don't love him."

"I-I don't."

"I've brought with me an entire fleet of soldiers. They're waiting on ships just outside of the citadel's view. It would take only one word from me for them to level this kingdom even with all the defenses I'm sure Pendragon has in place. If what you say is true, you should have no problem with me burning this city to the ground."

Cenred reached into his pocket and withdrew a small golden medallion displaying the dual swords of Cenred's household. Every soldier carried an identical coin which relayed messages to the troops from Cenred directly. The seal could magically be replaced by text at Cenred's will. Merlin should know; he'd crafted them under the king's orders.

Cenred traced his finger along the smooth edge thoughtfully. Merlin saw the marker begin to glow a faint shimmering gold as the finger kept moving. The dual swords became misty and faded out as Cenred's thoughts took their place.

Merlin wasn't thinking straight. It was the only explanation for how he managed to throw himself from the wall and knock the medallion from Cenred's grasp before the message could be relayed. The coin clattered against the floor and rolled towards the door. It was deathly quiet in the small room as both royals watched its progression, not daring to make a move and stop it as it disappeared under the crack beneath the door.

Merlin couldn't hear over the pounding of his own heart. Somehow, it felt like that little coin had taken his last bit of hope and rolled away with it. He squeezed his hands into fists until he felt his nails digging into the soft flesh of his hands, and even then, he didn't stop. He relished the stinging pain and the warm rivulets of blood on his palms. They reminded him he was still alive. He may have just sealed his own fate and the fate of the entirety of Camelot with that stupid coin, but he was alive. This wasn't his fault. It was all Cenred, all of it.

You're alive, and you matter, A voice that sounded suspiciously like Arthur whispered in his mind.

"You won't touch them, understand me?" Merlin hissed, his voice low and gravelly. A pleasant warmth hummed through his body as the slightest touch of his Dragonlord voice rang through the curse. And for once, he felt no pain, only a cold, deep-seated rage.

"Is that a hint of Dragon Voice I hear? Now, we can't have that." Cenred spun his ring once around his finger, and another violent tremor coursed through Merlin's entire body. A sharp pain in his stomach caused him to wince and bite his tongue to keep from making a sound.

"That's better," Cenred said, sounding pleased. "You really care about Pendragon and his people, don't you? Even though they don't care for you. You know only I care for you, Birdie. That's why I'm willing to spare their lives."

Merlin bit back a disbelieving laugh. "In exchange for what?"

"You, of course."

Merlin closed his eyes. He knew before he'd even asked what the bargaining chip would be. He'd known when he'd stepped out of the feast only ten moments earlier that he likely wouldn't be going back at all, at least not the same person. Even still, an all-consuming sadness washed over him as he thought about the knights laughing too loudly and drinking too much, Gwaine making crude jokes to the visiting knights until Leon surely died of embarrassment. Lancelot gazing at Gwen as she worked her way through the crowds to attend the nobility. Elyan and Percival chatting amicably, the perfect picture of Camelot's finest knights.

He thought of Morgana sat at the head table going mad with boredom as yet another nameless, faceless noble's daughter approached her and spoke about how fine the cloths in their land were for dressmaking in the hopes that they could garner such a powerful lady's favor through her rather nonexistent vanity. He could almost see her eyeroll in his head as she sent a desperate look at Gwen to come and save her. She was the first person who'd shown him any sort of care in Camelot. She was one of his closest friends. He loved her deeply and nearly shed a tear at the thought.

He thought of George, stuffy, wonderful George, dutifully standing behind Arthur, ever the perfect servant.

He thought of Gaius, the man who had always been a second father to him. He loved him like his own family and couldn't bear the thought of losing the beautiful memories he'd made with his mentor ever since he could barely stand of his own accord.

Finally, he thought of Arthur. The Once and Future King. The Uniter of Albion. The love of his life.

He couldn't find words enough to express his deep love and gentle care for the young king. From the moment Arthur had rescued him from the filthy man in the alley, he'd known he'd do anything in his power to protect him. Even if it meant breaking his own heart.

All along, he'd known it couldn't last. Cenred had gotten one thing right. People like him weren't meant to be happy, and certainly not with people like Arthur.

There was no choice to be made. His life or theirs. It was as easy as breathing. If only it didn't hurt so much like a deep, throbbing ache in his very soul.

"Deal," Merlin whispered. A drop of blood seeped out between his fingers and ran down his wrist. "I'll come with you. I'll never try to leave again. I'll be yours and only yours to do with what you please. But you have to swear to me that no harm will come to any citizen of Camelot, nor to the kingdom itself. If you try anything, I will kill myself without a thought."

"That's a fair proposal. Afterall, Pendragon isn't to blame because you're a little whore." Cenred reached up and brushed one of his curls behind his ear. "If you uphold your end, I'll uphold mine. No harm will befall Camelot, its citizens, or its king…"

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief even as his heart shattered into a million little shards that could stab him over and over again for all eternity. He was stupid to ever let himself get so vulnerable around the Pendragon household, stupid to even kiss Arthur, let alone lay with him. He had only himself to blame for his heartache.

"…On one condition. We don't need Pendragon following after us once we leave. You will go back into the feast and act as if this conversation never occurred. You will not tip anyone off to our deal, not even your dear king. And when the time comes, you will come to me and act like the most loving fiancé in all the kingdoms. You'll figure the rest out soon."

Merlin swallowed hard, feeling as if his feet had suddenly turned to stones. The very thought of returning to the feast, looking all the people he'd betrayed in the eyes and smiling as if nothing were wrong, made him lightheaded. It was only the sudden shove from Cenred that brought him back to reality.

Merlin felt the familiar thrill of magic buzz within him as Cenred willed it to do his bidding. The mage didn't try to resist, only held his breath until the wave had passed.

"There. I've willed a glamour over you. That way there's no evidence of our talk even if you tried." Cenred stroked a thumb over where Merlin was sure the cut on his cheek had disappeared. Canred angled him towards the door. "Go, before anyone starts asking questions. I'll see you in just a bit, darling."

Merlin stepped from the closet and walked down the corridor, feeling like he was a spectator watching his body go through the motions. Somehow, he made it back to the servant's entrance he'd came through and slipped back inside to see the feast still in full swing as people ate, drank, and talked jovially amongst themselves.

He looked up at Arthur who it seemed had finally been left in peace to eat and was anxiously searching the room until his eyes fell on Merlin and a look of utter relief fell over his features.

Merlin was numb.

He slid back into his seat next to Arthur as easily as he'd left it. The king immediately abandoned his food to scan Merlin worriedly.

"Are you alright? You can't just leave like that, not with Cenred liable to show at any time now."

The king's words struck Merlin to the very core. The smile he plastered on was as fake as the jewel-studded goblets King Alined had brought as a coronation gift.

"You worry too much; I can handle myself. I just needed some air, that's all. Not used to all these formalities."

Arthur gave him an appraising look like he didn't quite believe him. His eyes narrowed. "Did something happen?"

"What? No, Arthur, I'm fine. See," Merlin gestured to himself, praying to the Triple Goddess that the glamour Cenred had forced on him held under heavy suspicion. "Perhaps I should speak to Gaius. You're getting older, maybe you're not quite in your right mind any longer."

"I'm only twenty-one summers, Merlin!" Arthur protested.

Merlin bit his tongue to hold back the small sob that bubbled up in his throat listening to the way Arthur said his name. How he made it sound like both an insult and a term of endearment, Merlin didn't know, but the thought of never hearing his name on his king's lips again was nearly enough for him to lose it right then and there.

But he couldn't. No matter how much he longed to spill all his secrets, his fears and shames, to Arthur, he couldn't. He couldn't risk the lives of all the wonderful people of Camelot just to save his own. He loved them much too dearly and he would do anything to save them, even if it meant his own life was forfeit.

Please, see through this, Arthur. Please, if any of the gods are listening, please let him see, Merlin begged silently, the words on the very tip of his tongue until he remembered his oath to Cenred.

Instead, he said, "That's still older than I."

Arthur huffed an exasperated laugh. "Only three summers, idiot."

Merlin shoved him with his shoulder. "Prat," he shot back, letting his touch linger a moment longer than was necessarily socially acceptable.

Arthur didn't seem to mind. Even after Merlin pulled away, he felt Arthur's hand creep up to his where he had it clenched on his trousers, trying desperately to hide the tremors. Arthur only hooked their little fingers together before returning to his meal, shoving half a potato in his mouth. Merlin shook his head fondly, a swell of love and anguish filling his heart. This was the last time he'd ever get to touch Arthur, even with such a small gesture.

"Arthur," Merlin murmured softly, his heart sick with fear. The king turned to him, his cheeks puffed out with food like a chipmunk. Merlin nearly barked a laugh. Even as king, Arthur's table manners were atrocious. Merlin's own mother would chide him the moment his elbows even touched the tabletop.

Thankfully, the blonde swallowed his food before attempting to speak, taking a sip of wine to chase it down. "What is it, darling?"

Merlin flinched minutely, hoping Arthur didn't notice.

"Just…" Merlin took a shaky breath, willing his voice not to break and his tears not to shed. "Just…remember you're a great king, okay? And no matter what, remember that I always…" Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, deflating when he couldn't force himself to say those words, not when Arthur couldn't reciprocate them. It wasn't fair. "Never mind."

Arthur's brows pinched together, worry taking over his features. "Merlin, what the f-"

At that moment, the main doors to the hall flew open. The entire room fell silent, all heads turning towards the new arrival. Merlin half hoped the floor would open up and swallow him whole when Cenred strode through the doors flanked by six of his personal guards and poor Meredith, his maidservant and favorite bedwarmer when Merlin wasn't around.

Before Merlin could even think about rising, Arthur had drawn his sword and pushed Merlin back in his seat, shielding the warlock with his body.

"Cenred," Arthur greeted, his voice as sharp as Excalibur's blade. Cenred gave him an easy smile.

"Ah, Arthur Pendragon. It's been a while. Last time I saw you, you were still following your father around like an eager little puppy."

"Yes, well, last time I saw you, you and my father were planning the genocide of an entire kingdom. How times have changed for the both of us, wouldn't you say?"

Merlin couldn't breathe. From around Arthur, Merlin could see all the Knights of the Round Table stand and draw their weapons, quickly prompting nearly every knight and noble in the room to do so. The tension was so thick Merlin was sure it could be cut with the steak knife Morgana had clutched in her fist.

"I don't recall sending you an invitation," Arthur said cooly.

"Nor did I receive one," Cenred answered easily. "I have no intention of staying. I've only come to collect what is rightfully mine, and then I will leave you to your merriment."

Merlin finally managed to will his legs to come to life and pull him up from his chair when he felt Arthur go rigid in front of him. Even without touching him, Merlin could tell the king was seething with barely concealed rage.

"And do tell," Arthur ground out, "what you consider to be 'rightfully yours.'"

Cenred's eyes trailed over to meet his own, and Merlin couldn't help the full-body shudder that shot up his spine. He gulped hard, suddenly feeling as if the room around him was spinning, so many eyes trained on them. Merlin longed to reach out and take Arthur's hand, seek out the warmth of his skin to soothe the growing ice in his soul.

"I think you know, King Arthur."

Arthur bristled at the mocking honorific. His knuckles turned white around Excalibur's hilt. "I can't say that I do. After all, I haven't taken anything from you. Everyone here is of their own invitation and free will, all aside from you," Arthur added pointedly. "But you wouldn't know very much about free will, would you, King Cenred?"

The hall was so quiet one could've heard a mouse crawl across the floor. No one dared to even breathe too loudly as they all waited for Cenred's reaction. Finally, a wicked, triumphant smile split Cenred's face, giving him the appearance of a gourd children carved faces into on Samhain.

"You're one to talk of free will when you yourself kidnapped the very man you are presenting as your guest of honor this evening. I would have no qualms over it, who am I to judge the whims of another man of power, if he weren't my betrothed you unwillingly and unrightfully stole from Essetir's own waters."

No, please, don't do this, Merlin begged silently.

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to stare at the king.

"You're betrothed? How ludicrous. Not only do you barge into my feast uninvited and accuse me of wrongs I've never committed, but you blatantly lie on top of it all. Some king you are, Cenred. I see now why your people pray for the day you pass."

Cenred's eyes narrowed, a sick mirth dancing in the charcoal irises. "You don't believe me, that's understandable, but ask him. Go on, then. Ask him."

Arthur seemed to consider the demand for a moment, almost like he didn't even want to humor the other royal by asking such an absurd question to which he was sure he already knew the answer. But his curiosity and insecurities deeply rooted from years of being manipulated by his father finally won out. Slowly, Arthur turned to face him.

Merlin felt all the remaining color drain from his face. He took a stumbling step backwards, away from the head table and away from Arthur. He was nearly positive that Arthur wouldn't hurt him. Sharing the level of intimacy they had, even on surface level, had to count for something. Still, Merlin's eyes flicked anxiously to Arthur's sword still clutched in his grasp.

Suddenly, it dawned on him, just what Cenred wanted, what he had meant when he had said, "you'll figure out the rest soon enough." This wasn't just a punishment for his disobedience, it was also reassurance that Arthur would never try to hunt him down. Merlin stupidly had allowed Cenred to see just how much Arthur and the entirety of Camelot meant to him, and now Cenred knew Merlin would do just about anything if it meant their safety.

Merlin was meant to make Arthur believe it had all been a lie.

Goddess, no, he sobbed in his mind.

"Merlin…" Arthur started, his voice sounding horribly strained and stiff. He was clearly holding on to the last threads of his composure in front of all these people. "Merlin, tell me he's lying."

Oh, how I wish I could, my love, Merlin thought, even as his legs numbly carried him farther away, off the dais, towards Cenred. No one made a move to stop him.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered. The agony in the king's voice nearly brought Merlin to his knees.

Cenred grinned as he reached out and ran a hand along Merlin's cheek. He pinched the back of his neck hard, a reminder to play his part well if he wanted to ensure their safety. Vaguely, Merlin felt his magic stir threateningly.

Cenred entwined their left hands, bringing them up to show the entire room the matching gold bands there. An audible gasp breezed through the hall, a wave of murmuring following which was only silenced when Cenred began to speak again.

"So naïve, Pendragon. Your father was right; you aren't fit to rule. Did you really think I wasn't in contact with my betrothed all this time? Did you really think that after you kidnapped him that he could ever care about you? I could have come for him at any time, but we decided there was too much Merlin could accomplish with you wrapped around his finger. Without Merlin here, Uther never would've died. And there's dozens of other things Merlin has done during his time here that you don't even know of. It's all worked out splendidly for Essetir, hasn't it, darling?"

It was a straight lie, of course, but only Cenred and Merlin knew.

Summoning every last ounce of courage he possessed, Merlin plastered on a dazzling smile he hoped didn't look too much like a grimace. "Wonderfully," he agreed.

"It can't be. Merlin told me what his betrothed did to him, you bastard. There's no way he'd willingly stay with you. He despises you after all you've done to him. You destroyed his kingdom; you killed his family. My hand in this aside, I daresay Merlin would rather slit his own wrists than willingly stay with you."

"And who's to say he didn't help us destroy his own kingdom from the inside? Who's to say that what your father and I could offer him was so much more than a lousy throne?" Cenred answered.

Merlin was close to passing out. His head was swirling with so many lies that he wasn't even sure whom he was lying to anymore.

"How dare you accuse him of such a thing!" Morgana cried. She moved to stand next to her brother, eyes burning with hatred. "Merlin loved Ealdor more than anything. He would never willingly aid in its destruction. And I suppose he helped murder his own parents? Ridiculous!"

"It would seem you don't know me very well after all, then," Merlin said. The words left his tongue tasting rancid and sour. He wasn't even sure where they came from, only knew the taste of them would never leave his traitorous lips again.

Both Pendragon siblings were left in stunned silence, mouths hanging slightly agape with shock. In a flash, Cenred pulled Merlin into a rough kiss. Instinctually, Merlin tried to pull away, the taste of bile hot in his throat and nausea rolling in his stomach. Instead, he willed himself to melt into the touch. It wasn't hard to go back to his old habits of projecting his mind as far away from the situation as he could. Instead, he imagined it was Arthur kissing him. It was the only thing that kept him from doubling over and puking before everyone.

Another wave of gasps passed through the room. The blatant display of affection in such a public setting was highly inappropriate, but Cenred didn't seem to care. He merely grinned as he pulled away.

Merlin turned back to Arthur, the faux smile on his face nearly falling away at the heartbroken look on the blonde's face.

A laugh so foreign that it took him a long moment to realize it was his own sounded across the room. "Don't look so crestfallen, King Arthur. I'm only a warlock. You really should've seen this coming. You can't trust a creature of magic, after all."

Please, see through this, Arthur.

"All this time…it can't be. I don't believe you," Arthur insisted and a flutter of hope lit up in Merlin's chest only for it to be snuffed out by his own words.

"I told you no more lies, remember? And, really, I never lied. You just never asked. How could I ever care for someone who's helped to kill so many of my kind?"

His words struck tried and true to Arthur's heart. The King of Camelot looked about a moment away from collapsing.

Arthur, I'm scared. Help me. Goddess, yes, I'm lying.

"If you please," Cenred spoke up, "I'll be taking my betrothed now. Don't be too upset, Pendragon. You weren't even his first."

With that, Cenred pulled Merlin from the hall, his gaggle of guards swarming them in a defensive circle and Meredith saddling up just behind Cenred with her head trained down like an obedient little servant.

Don't let him take me! Arthur, please!

They made it partway down the corridor when the sound of pounding footsteps behind them caused the entire group to halt. The guards parted to reveal Arthur chasing after them, a wild, desperate look in his eyes.

"Merlin," he gasped. "Merlin, tell me it was all a lie. Look me in the eyes right now and tell me that you never cared for me at all, that anything that happened between us was just for your own quest for power."

Merlin shook his head, willing it to all just go away.

"Look at me, damn it!"

Merlin took a solid breath, preparing himself to utter the most difficult sentence he'd ever spoken in his life. His eyes landed on Arthur's. He surveyed every last ounce of pain in those deep cerulean eyes, willingly taking it all, knowing he had caused every bit of it. "Of course, it was all a lie. As if I ever cared for you."

It was like a shadow had passed over Arthur. He schooled his features and his eyes filled with that same cold, condescending look Merlin had first met on The Dragon Slayer.

"Well, then you were nothing more than a common whore to me."

Arthur pivoted on his heel and marched back towards the main hall, not even realizing the devastation he had left in his wake. Cenred began to pull Merlin along once more, now an empty shell of a man.

As he walked out of Arthur Pendragon's life the only thing he could think was:

Please, I love you.

Chapter Text

Will wouldn't consider himself a religious man.

That wasn't to say he didn't believe in a higher power. He'd learned long ago there was too much magic in the world to believe otherwise. There was always someone who possessed more power, always someone higher up on the food chain, but he supposed it had to end eventually with some sort of all-powerful being.

Yet, he never put much stock in the whole idea of worshipping some deity who may or may not be there at all, and even if they were, surely had more important things to do than listen to the pleads of a lowly sailor. He certainly wasn't about to get on his knees and pray to the gods as Daegal and Merlin were so inclined to do. They could keep their blind faith.

Because what sort of god created men like Cenred, men who believed they themselves to be a god? Not a very good one, surely, and not one Will wanted to call his own.

How could a supposedly merciful god take innocent lives like his parents' and sister's, but leave men like himself, blatant murderers and scoundrels alike, alive and free to roam the land?

It was bad enough he had to listen to Daegal's rambling words of fate and destiny. The boy was always on about how one's life wasn't really their own at all. He often spoke about how things only happened because the gods willed them to be as such and everything had to be a part of a bigger plan, there had to be a reason, even if it wasn't always clear at the time.

Will couldn't help but call bullshit on that notion. Quite frankly, he couldn't find a reason in the entire godforsaken universe why most of the shit in his life happened, and he sure as hell couldn't find a reason why the three of them were currently locked in a cell with executioners' axes looming over their necks like the God of Death himself, all for the simple crime of being victims themselves.

He wasn't about to sit around and wait to become acquainted with the sharp side of the blade. Only a fool believed praying to the gods in the face of imminent death could bring about a life-altering miracle just in the nick of time. He wasn't so arrogant as to believe he was special enough or important enough to the greater scheme of life to waste a miracle on.

And he definitely was no fool.

So then, how had he come to find himself knelt before the cold iron bars of their cell with his head bowed, imploring anything out there to come and save them, or at the very least, Freya and Daegal?

If Merlin wasn't already dead when they met again, Will was going to kill him.

Behind him, Will heard Daegal sniffling in his attempt to hide how he'd been crying for the last two candle marks. Freya shushed him softly as he turned back to look at the two of them.

He couldn't stand to see them. He was the first mate. He was meant to take care of them when Merlin wasn't around and look where they'd ended up. Daegal was still a child, not even sixteen summers, and he was sporting an arm that was more than likely permanently damaged from the repeated breaks. Freya was holding herself together well, considering the circumstances, although it wasn't exactly surprising. She had once threatened to gut him alive and sew him back up using his own earrings as the needles just so she could kill him once more. It had taken him only a matter of days after he'd met her to realize Freya was the farthest thing from an angel.

Even still, she looked so young and vulnerable curled around Daegal at the back of the cell. Blood was caked thick and dry to her head and matted in her hair from when Cenred had smashed her head off the floor. Her eyes were glazed and vaguely unfocused and every time she moved, her body tremored.

Neither of them deserved the life they had been dealt, and Will would be damned if he watched either one of them die.

He'd already lost one family. He wasn't going to lose another.

And that meant finding Merlin, dead or alive.

I know I'm not a good person, Will pleaded silently, but don't take your issues with me out on them. They don't deserve to die. Whoever's out there, just help me out this one time.

Needless to say, Will nearly jumped out of his breeches when a small white blur came hurtling down the dark corridor and crashed into the bars of their cell with all the grace of a drunk dancer.

The first mate would've laughed at the sight of Aithusa splayed out across the ground, struggling to get up, had he not been so relieved, and admittedly, not a little disturbed with her sudden appearance. Surely, it had to be a coincidence. No way was he about to believe some great power had sent her to rescue them.

No, more than likely she had followed their scent back after her little mission to find her master must have proved futile. It still didn't explain what had kept her away for literal months, however.

"Aithusa! Girl!" Freya cried in shock. She and Daegal scrambled up next to him, pressing their gaunt faces against the metal. "Where have you been all this time? Did you find the Captain? What is it you've got there?"

The little white dragon had some sort of small leather pouch clutched in her jaws. She gave an irritated huff at being bombarded with questions and spat the object into Will's waiting hand. She gave her wings and experimental flap, shaking herself out, before standing on shaky legs and trotting over to receive Freya's pats. She was favoring one of her hind legs which was swollen with a small gash.

"That's my lockpick kit!" Daegal exclaimed suddenly. He grabbed it from Will and fumbled with the ties until the older boy yanked it back and drew it open. He shook out the contents until a collection of metal hooks fell into his palm.

"You're wonderful, 'Thus! Such a good girl," Freya cooed softly, scratching the dragon behind the ear until she practically melted back on to the floor.

With shaking hands, Will reached through the bars and felt along until he grasped the heavy iron lock. "Here, give it here. I'll have us out in no time," Daegal begged, but Will shoved him off. It was hard for him to take the younger boy seriously when his eyes were still puffy and tear stained.

"Ya need two hands ta pick a lock."

"I've got two hands!"

"Two hands that work."

Daegal scowled. "My hands work just fine."

Will rolled his eyes, now questioning why he had been so adamant about saving Daegal's life earlier. Some days he could really smother him. "Try tellin' me that again when your arm ain't slung up with my belt and Freya's skivvies."

Daegal's face turned the color of the morning sky on a stormy day. "They're not her skivvies!"

"Bloomers, then, if ya please. Whatever ya wanna call 'em. Can ya just shut up so I can get us outta here?"

"You'd know all about a girl's skivvies, wouldn't you? Laying with anything that moves and breathes in a skirt," Daegal muttered. Will was sure he would've broken Daegal's other arm if he weren't so focused on maneuvering one of the little picks into the lock.

"You're just bitter 'cause you're still a vir-"

"Boys!" Freya snapped. "Can we please discuss this after we've saved ourselves from certain death?"

Daegal huffed and turned his head, over two months stuck together in a cell barely big enough to be considered a room at all having tensions running high.

Will made quick work of the lock and soon it was popping off with a soft click. Tentatively, Will pushed the gate open and all three flinched at the loud groan from the hinges that bounced off the walls.

"Where are all the guards?" Freya muttered anxiously. None of them had moved from the entryway of their cell.

Aithusa pushed in front of them and chirped happily as she made her way down the corridor, spiked tail swishing as she went. Will shrugged. "Seems like 'Thus ain't worried 'bout 'em'. Let's go."

The only sounds as they made their way through the labyrinth of passageways in the dungeon were their boots striking the ground and the occasional groan or whimper of misery from some poor soul curled up in the shadows of their cell. One day, Will vowed to come back and free them all from Cenred's torture.

"This is so unsettling," Daegal whispered as they rounded a corner to find yet another deserted hall. "Where has everyone gone? You don't think this is some sort of trap, do you?"

"Shh," Will hissed. Straight ahead, the flickering of stronger torture caught his attention. No voices followed, but he found himself cringing back from even that minimal amount of light.

Undeterred by their unease, Aithusa pushed on, merrily limping along as if she didn't have a care in the world. Will, while on edge, his instincts screaming that something wasn't right, trusted Aithusa nearly as much as he trusted Merlin himself. And if Aithusa was so sure about what she was doing, questioning her felt like questioning the Captain himself. "Come on, don't be such pansies."

The guard station wasn't in much better condition than the rest of the dungeon, the only difference being the singular extra torch they had which was once clearly being used to illuminate some sort of card game. As it was then, all three guards of duty were slumped on the floor, appearing to be fast asleep.

"What the hell?" Will muttered. Freya walked over and kicked one in the shoulder. He didn't move.

"They're out cold. What the hell's going on?"

Aithusa preened, dancing around the room and purring with self-satisfaction. She fluttered her wings and chirped expectantly. Will's eyebrows shot up in shock. "D'ya do this, girl?"

She made an excited loop around the room before settling right on top of the abandoned card game and giving Will one of her sharp grins. She growled in what he thought was meant to be an intimidating manner and blew out a small puff of her golden dust.

"Ya knocked them out with your magic?"

She roared and spun in a circle, beating her tail excitedly off the table. Will watched her with awe.

"I swear it on my life, 'Thus, when things cool down, I'm gonna buy ya an entire cow to eat, ya wonderful, crazy little dragon."

Aithusa made an appreciative noise, and then cocked her head. She shot into the air and disappeared into the darkness only to return a moment later loaded down with three cutlasses and scabbards. She dropped them unceremoniously to the floor and disappeared once again, this time returning with a multitude of knives and daggers and a large brown sack draped over her body. She dropped it into Daegal's waiting arm, and Will worried he was going to rip the bag in half for how fast he tore off the buckle.

"My maps, my crystals, everything! It's all here!" Daegal cried, looking like a kid on Yule. "Where'd you get all this? Surely, Cenred has The Avalon under tight security."

Aithusa held her head high and bared her teeth in her very own imitation of Cenred. She mimed a slashing motion with her claws. "You attacked Cenred for them?" Freya asked. Aithusa chirped her assent.

"Is that what happened to your leg? And where ya've been all this time?" Will asked. Aithusa chirped in agreement once more, pretending to cower down on to the table in fear before pouncing so she could plant her front legs on Will's shoulders. "He caught'cha, but ya got out and nicked 'em? Well done, lassie!"

Up above, a door opened and shut. Voices filtered down the stairs, getting louder as their torch's light bounced down each step. Aithusa clambered onto Will's shoulders. All three pirates crouched beneath the cover of the stairs.

"Shit," Will swore softly. "Must be the guard change." He grabbed ahold of Freya's sleeve to keep her from keeling over and jerked his head back towards the way they had come.

The trio disappeared back down the corridor just as the new guards made it to the bottom of the stairs. They broke into a sprint the farther they went, an uproar of commotion following them as the guards discovered their mates slumped unconscious on the floor.

They were running for so long that Will eventually stopped trying to keep track of the amount of turns they made. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Will cursed Cenred and his unending cruelness. The dungeons were designed so that even if one managed to escape, it wasn't likely that they'd ever find their way back to their own cell, let alone to an escape. One was more likely to become forever lost in the endless maze. It would take weeks for anyone to discover their body, if anyone even bothered to look at all.

Behind him, Daegal was falling behind while he rummaged around in his bag with one arm. Will turned back and grabbed his good arm, flinging him forward. "Keep up or ya gonna end up with a lot more'n a broken arm."

"Wait, wait, wait. Just wait a damn moment!"

"We don't have a moment, Daegal!" Freya cried. She peered anxiously around the corner they had just rounded as the voices following them grew ever louder.

Daegal was back to digging in his sack as if his life depended on it, which it really did, Will realized. "Got it!" He thrust a small foggy crystal with a bluish tint into the air triumphantly and pulled it back down again to whisper inaudible words into the palm of his hand.

Aithusa growled nervously. Will smacked her tail lightly in warning, and she quieted once more.

"Daegal," he hissed. "Now ain't the time fer ya to be makin' love ta your crystals. Now, move it, er I'm gonna leave your lonely ass!"

Daegal crushed the crystal in his hand and blew into his closed fist, a cloud of powder-blue dust spewing out and floating down the hall. Faint gold footprints flickered into existence on the floor and led off into the darkness.

"This way, let's go," Daegal whispered. Will and Freya shared a look but had no other choice but to follow as the guards' footfalls seemed to be right behind them. They took off running once more, and Will risked a glance backwards only to see the golden footprints disappear behind them just as suddenly as they had appeared.

The group followed Daegal's magic deeper and deeper into the abyss of the dungeons until finally they arrived at an iron gate. It was rusted and mildewy and clearly hadn't been in use for many, many years. Thankfully, its lock was in just as poor condition as the rest of the gate, so it popped off with only one swift slice of Freya's cutlass. Will threw his shoulder into the metal and felt it give until all three of them were tumbling into the tiny passageway.

At the last moment, Aithusa turned back and blew a stream of fire on to the lock. The metal turned to goo under the heat and melted into the stone of the entryway, effectively keeping the guards out, or at least slowing them down. It would buy them some time. Will gave her a grateful pat and turned back to the passageway which had turned inky black with the disappearance of Daegal's magical footprints.

"What now? We can't see a damn thing." The voices and footsteps behind them faded out. Will rolled his eyes. Cenred really chose the stupidest men to do the most important jobs.

"Forbearnan," Daegal murmured. The shadows around them ebbed away as a little orange flame danced to life in the palm of the boy's hand.

"I thought ya couldn't do magic like the Cap'n, kid," Will said skeptically. They all shuffled along the tight passage with Daegal in the lead, flame held as high as he could. The corridor was so tight that they could only walk single file and even then, Aithusa had to pull her wings in tight against her body to keep them from brushing the walls.

Daegal's eyes were glowing yellow, giving him the eerie appearance of a cat in the dim lighting when he glanced back to look at Will. "I need my crystals and runes for big things, but a little flame is no problem. And don't call me kid."

Freya interrupted whatever retort Will had. "Why would Cenred have a random passageway out of the dungeons? And for that matter, where exactly does this lead, Daegal?"

"Couldn't tell you. Moonstone is good for guidance and for giving light in the darkness. I asked it to help us escape, and it led us here. Beyond that, I've got nothing."

"More'n likely this is some sorta old emergency escape tunnel created when the castle was bein' built. Cenred's family line has been paranoid fer generations back, far as I know, even before he was king. He probably wanted ta ensure they had a way ta get out if the castle came under attack," Will said.

"Selfish bastards," Freya muttered.

Soon, sounds began to filter into the tunnel. Daegal snuffed out the flame, plunging them into darkness again. The clanging of the warning bell was the first thing Will heard, letting everyone in the town know that prisoners had escaped and to be on the lookout. Just because someone escaped their cell didn't mean they were home free. A prisoner was more often caught by some common peasant in exchange for an extra cup of rice from Cenred than by any royal guard.

The sound of rushing water caught his attention next. It got louder as they walked and the ground beneath their feet became illuminated with soft moonlight. Finally, they came to another gate. This one was covered with moss, vines, and plants of all type, but some softly whispered words from Daegal had the vegetation easily receding so that Freya could break the lock off.

"Who fancies a swim?" Daegal muttered, glancing downwards. Will and Freya shuffled around so they could both peer over the young boy's shoulders and see the rushing river below. "'Bit of an unfortunate place to put an escape tunnel, isn't it?"

"Jus' a bit," Will muttered. "Alright, listen here. Daegal, you're gonna jump last. Ya can't swim with the way your arm is, an' someone needs ta be down there ta grab ya. 'Thus, keep an eye on us, will ya?"

The dragon rumbled in acknowledgement. With a small whine of pain when she jostled her swollen leg, she launched herself into the air and hovered just above the water.

"Walk the plank, there, lass," Will teased Freya. She gave him a sarcastic salute before jumping off into the water below. Both boys heard her yelp as she hit the frigid water and cringed back. Will stepped up to the ledge. "Give 'im a shove if he won't come, 'Thus." He stepped off.

He hit the icy water like a stone, the shock of it stealing his breath. The stream bit into his skin like icicles, and if it hadn't been for all his time spent at sea, he wouldn't have been able to get his legs to properly work again and kick himself towards the surface.

Just as he broke through and gasped for air, Daegal crashed into the water with a cry of pain. Will fought the current and grasped a tree root sticking out of the riverbank. He snagged the back of Daegal's tunic as the boy went flying by and heaved them both on to the shore. Next to them, Freya pulled herself onto the muddy bank.

The three of them lay there for a moment, heaving in breaths and relishing in their freedom. Will took a deep breath and nearly burst into tears at the aroma of scents that filled his airways. Grass and wild mint, honeysuckle, apple blossoms, and the smoke from the chimneys in the lower town. All scents he had once taken for granted, but now after nearly three months of captivity, relished in.

All at once he started laughing. It wasn't just a chuckle or an amused snort; no, it was a full-bodied, barking, genuine laugh. It wasn't often he offered any more than a smirk or a dry laugh, so he really wasn't surprised when Freya and Daegal looked at him like he'd brained himself.

"What's wrong with him?" Daegal muttered to Freya. She gave him a helpless look.

He was laughing so hard there were tears running down his cheeks. He sucked in a gasp and let out a sob. "I thought we were gonna die in there."

"Yeah, well, we didn't. All because you took care of us the entire time," Daegal said. Will felt his cheeks glow with embarrassment but couldn't help it when another sob escaped his lips. He reached over and pulled Daegal and Freya both to his sides. Aithusa zipped down and pounced on his chest, causing all three of them to laugh.

Freya reached over and stroked her back. "You did so good, girl. You saved our lives. We'd still be trapped in that cell if it weren't for you. We're going to get your master back, I swear it. We're going to rescue Merlin."

Daegal huffed and pushed up on to his elbows. "Don't think he needs much rescuing. He seemed quite comfortable with his arrangements. Cenred wasn't lying about that."

"About what?"

"Cap was sleeping with Arthur Pendragon— Uther's son, you know, the man who's slaughtered thousands of innocents just like him," Daegal ground out. His voice was suddenly angry and bitter in a way Will had never heard it before. Daegal was far from innocent, but he wasn't one to hold anger or resentment, either. It was unnerving, hearing the young boy speak with such disgust in his words.

The warning bell still rang loud and true from within the citadel. Guards were rushing all along the parapets, and Will watched as the light from their torches grew brighter and faded out again as they disappeared behind the wall.

"Let's move. I'll feel better when we ain't able to hear the bell no more." With a tired sigh, Will pulled himself up from the mud of the riverbank, somehow already missing the protection it had offered from the cool air as a particularly vicious gust travelled straight through his sodden clothes and left him shivering.

They fumbled their way into the surrounding forest by only the light of the moon. All the while, Daegal was muttering irritated things under his breath. After a solid candle mark of the endless cursing of Merlin's name, Will couldn't stand it any longer. He could no longer feel his fingers or toes. He had long since stopped bothering to pick up his feet as he moved other than to trip over a root here or a fallen branch there.

"Whatever the hell ya've been mutterin' 'bout Cap, why don't'cha share it with the rest a us?" He finally snapped. He whirled around to glare at Daegal. He looked awful: pale with blue lips that practically glowed in the darkness, shivering and waterlogged, his arm cinched up in the makeshift sling and his soaked leather bag hanging heavy on his drooping shoulders. It was hard for Will to take any pity on him when he'd spent the entire time since they'd crawled out of the river badmouthing the Captain. They'd all suffered in their own ways, and they were all miserable; for Daegal to stand there and blame their situation on Merlin when the entirety of it was the monster Cenred's fault, was as good as mutiny for all Will was concerned.

Daegal huffed and turned his head away.

"Oh, no, ya don't. Ya better start talkin' before I make ya. What's your problem?"

Daegal went rigid. He slowly turned his head back around to look Will in the eyes. The steel there sent him mentally reeling. This wasn't their Daegal.

"You want to know what my problem is? My problem is that we've been held captive and tortured for months. The only solace we had in going through it was that we were protecting the Captain by refusing to tell him where he was. Even though he could've been dead for all we knew, and we were suffering for absolutely no reason, we still held out. All because we knew that even if he had been slaughtered by Uther Pendragon, it was a better fate than he suffered at Cenred's hands every single day. Any one of us could've easily told Cenred exactly who had taken Merlin to end all the torture, but we didn't. Because we love and respect Merlin too much for that. And then it comes to find out that while we were all suffering for his sake, Merlin was off screwing Uther's bloody son! He didn't even bother to look for us! He abandoned us! We were beaten, starved, whipped, and left to wallow in that dark cell for months all to protect a man who would rather sleep his way into Camelot's royal household than worry about the rest of us. I suppose the moment he found someone new to mess around with he couldn't be bothered with us lowly sailors any longer. I've kept quiet ever since I saw him, I even tried to help him. I risked my own life to tell him that it was all a trap. I had my arm broken again, and how do we get repaid? We're wandering around in the woods, freezing our bollocks off, with no plan in sight! And do you want to know the worst part? I looked up to Merlin more than anyone else. I loved him like a brother. And I thought he felt the same. Guess I was wrong."

Will wasn't a man of many words. It wasn't uncommon for him to communicate in little more than grunts and nods, but for the first time in his life, he was rendered physically speechless. Not by choice but by the shock of the words that had just left his mate's mouth.

Freya gasped quietly. Her voice was shaky like she was holding back tears. "Daegal, gods, you don't mean that."

"The hell I don't!"

The sounds of the city had faded into the distance long before. Will couldn't even hear the clanging bell any longer. Still, he couldn't help but vaguely think they were being much too loud for a trio meant to be on the run. Aithusa seemed to agree, as she growled in warning at Daegal who merely shot her a dark look.

"Ya son of a bitch," Will hissed through gritted teeth. Daegal suddenly looked like a scared fawn under his gaze. He wasn't about to fall for it. "After everythin' he's done for ya! He's saved all our lives ten times over, so I'm sorry if I don't feel bad fer your whining 'bout goin' through exactly what ya signed up fer! Ya know what? He could've left your sorry ass ta get beat ta death at that tavern, but he didn't. He risked his own life to pull ya outta that mess. He gave ya a job, a home, a family. So, excuse me if I don't share your sentiments. 'Cause we have no idea what he's gone through since gettin' taken by Pendragon. Fer all we know, Pendragon could be no better than Cenred and forced himself on the Cap'n. He'd never risk comin' after us if he knew it would endanger our lives. He'd sooner suffer the same fate we have than put any of our lives at unnecessary risk. I won't stand here and listen ta ya blame 'im when ya have no idea what he's gone through the last months. If ya wanna leave then leave, damn it, but don't ever try ta come back. And if you're going to come with us, ya follow my rules. And ya won't speak another word against Merlin, d'ya understand?"

The only sound that could be heard was the quiet chirping of crickets and the wind whispering through the leaves. Daegal and Will stared at each other, seemingly locked in a battle of wills neither was willing to lose.

Freya's face was ghostly pale. Her eyes bounced between the two boys like she was watching an exceptionally interesting duel. Aithusa was baring her teeth at Daegal from where she had crawled on to Freya's head.

A violent gust of wind whipped through the foliage, and a full-body tremor wracked Daegal's body. Will felt as if it took all his anger with it, scattering it into the air and spreading it far from his body. All he could see now was a young, traumatized boy who had seen and endured things no one should ever have to, shaking like a newborn foal, terrified, freezing, and in pain. While he was still pissed those words had left Daegal's mouth even under the circumstances, he'd never been able to stay mad at the boy for long. They bickered all the time, but he cared about the kid too much to actually hold a grudge. His threats were all empty, anyhow. Mostly.

Then again, there wasn't much Will wouldn't do to protect Merlin.

Will sighed quietly and ran a hand over his face tiredly. He gave Daegal a pointed look as he opened his arms. "Ya've got ta the count 'o five."

The young Druid lurched into his arms and held on so tight Will was certain he was trying to meld their bodies into one being. After he silently reached five, Will pushed the boy off, resisting the urge to brush off and straighten the tattered remains of his beloved frock coat.

"Oh, boys," Freya whispered. "You're both such idiots."

Will felt his cheeks flame up with embarrassment. He studiously looked anywhere but at one of his companions. He cleared his throat and said, "Alright, then. Now, that's all cleared, we needa plan. I figure we lurk 'bout here 'til Cenred either comes back with Cap or not. He comes back with 'im, we rescue 'im. He don't, we trek our way ta Camelot.”

"And how exactly do you plan to manage that? It's not as if we can sail any sort of useful ship just the four of us, and we all know The Avalon's out of the question. Even if it would sail for us without the Captain abord, no way are we getting to it," Freya answered.

Will waved her off. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, let's find a spot ta hide out fer the night and take it from there."

He took care to look both his crewmates dead in the eyes. "One way er another, we're gettin' the Cap'n back. If it's the last thing I do on this bloody planet, we're gonna save Merlin, even if it's from his damn self."

Chapter Text

"Again! Do it again!"

Arthur stalked around the edge of the training field. The group of knights raised their swords once more with great hefts of effort. Arthur bit back an irritated growl when, on the very first swing of his blade, one of the newer knights lost his footing and went sprawling on to the grass.

"Sir Erec! This is the second time you've fallen during the same drill! Now, are you physically incapable of performing such an easy maneuver, or are you just stupid?" Arthur snapped.

The young knight's face turned tomato red. He struggled to get up from the ground in all his armor until Percival took pity on him and offered him a hand to haul him up.

"I-well, Sire, I-I'm not really sure-"

"That's enough, Princess," Gwaine cut him off. Sir Erec gave him a looked that wavered somewhere between shocked and awestruck. The rest of the knights shifted uneasily and moved back so Gwaine could push his way to the front of the group and stand toe to toe with the King.

Arthur squared his shoulders, his expression turning to ice. "What was that, Sir Gwaine?"

"You heard me. I said that's enough. We've been at this the whole morning. They need a break. You can't expect them to be able to do some of this stuff on the first try; even you're not that good."

"They need to learn!" Arthur exclaimed. He could feel his old temper quickly rising in him like a great tidal wave. He hadn't seemed to be able to calm it, not since him.

"Sure, they do but killin' 'em in the process ain't how they're gonna make any progress!"

"Are you accusing me of not being able to handle my own men, Sir Gwaine?"

"Maybe I am," Gwaine answered. Arthur's unruliest knight was looking far angrier than he'd seen him in a long time, but he wasn't about to back down from such a blatant challenge. Not when he'd been itching for a full-blown fight since the feast.

Arthur took a step towards Gwaine, practically daring the other man to match him in stride. "You watch your mouth. I am your king, and you would do well to treat me as such."

"I'll treat you like a king when you start actin' like one, Princess. Because right now, you're not actin' any better than a child."

Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting Gwaine to say, but it hadn't been that. Admittedly, he'd been waiting for one of his knights to call him out on his behavior, practically begging for it if only to have an excuse to vent some of his anger in a good old-fashioned sword fight, but he had been sure it was going to be Lancelot or Leon. Gwaine was the last one he had expected to land such a painfully truthful blow.

And it pissed him off to no end. He was not a child. These knights were far too weak, and they needed to learn exactly what would happen if they let their guard down for even a moment, if they let anyone get close enough to them because they would inevitably be betrayed and stabbed in the back by someone they'd cared about, someone they'd thought cared about them in return, someone whom they'd fallen in l-

Gwaine seemed to take his silence as an assent to keep talking. He didn't even appear to care that the rest of the round table and twenty brand new knights were watching him with varying expressions of awe, disapproval (that was all Leon), and fear in most other cases. Arthur couldn't even find it in himself to care that they feared what he would do to Gwaine. He couldn't see past the way his vision had gone blurry and distorted around the edges with absolute, cold, soul-deep fury.

"We get it; you're upset and angry because of Merlin. You feel vulnerable and betrayed. We're all experiencin' our own feelings about the whole situation, but you don't see any of us throwin' a tantrum about it. And sure, it's not the same, none of us were involved with him romantically, but we're all still processin' what happened in our own ways. It's only been two days, and even though I think the whole situation is one big crock of garbage, and personally, I think you're mad if you truly believe any of that shit Merlin tried to feed us, I'm still dealing with him. I miss him, too, and yeah, I feel betrayed that he didn't feel like he could come to me for help, but it's not fair for you to take it out on the rest of us just because you were too blinded by your own insecurities to see through Merlin's half-baked façade and figure out that somethin' wasn't right with the whole damn situation!"

Arthur hadn't meant to draw his sword; he was sure of it. But one moment, he was standing there, fists clenched at his sides, and the next, he had the hilt of his sword clutched in his hand, the point aimed right at Gwaine.

"Don't ever say that name again," he growled so low even he thought it sounded like someone else.

Gwaine sneered. "What're you gonna do, run me through?"

Arthur raised his sword a little higher. "You're toeing a dangerous line."

Leon stepped forward, looking like he was going to try and diffuse the situation, but Gwaine stopped him with only a raised hand. "No, stay outta this, Leon. He needs to decide his next move all on his own."

Arthur really wasn't sure what he wanted to do. He was so angry, so utterly betrayed, but beneath it all and more powerful than anything else, he was hurt. It would be so easy to shove his sword straight through Gwaine's chest. He knew from experience that it was as easy as slicing fresh butter, but he didn't want to hurt Gwaine, not really. It was all his fault. He had lied. He had thoroughly used and manipulated Arthur, and he'd been too gullible to see.

"No matter what you believe, you can keep your opinions to yourself. I know what happened. I saw it with my own eyes; I never should have trusted a sorcerer."

Gwaine's eyes lost any last remains of their usual warmth and mirth. He chuckled humorlessly. "I should've known you were no better than your father."

Before he knew what was happening, Arthur swung his sword at Gwaine, who barely managed to duck out of the way and draw his own weapon to parry the attack. The king let out a frustrated growl as he rained down blow after blow on the knight who seemingly refused to go on the offensive, only focusing all his energy into blocking each one of Arthur's attacks.

The new knights scattered as they fought their way across the field while the rest of Arthur's own knights drew their weapons in anticipation of saving someone, whether that someone was Gwaine or himself, Arthur didn't know. He wasn't certain they would come to his rescue right now.

After yet another sequence of swings and thrusts proved useless, Arthur roared in anger and flung his sword to the side, diving at Gwaine with his bare hands. The knight discarded his own sword right as Arthur felt his fist connect with the flesh of Gwaine's jaw.

Gwaine's head snapped to the side, but he pulled back and sent his own fist smashing into the side of Arthur's face. Punch after punch flew, some landing, others being blocked by one of them at the last moment until finally Arthur felt hands grab at the back of his chainmail just as he was about to go at it again.

Percival and Leon yanked him off Gwaine and pinned his arms behind his back. He struggled against them until he realized he wasn't getting anywhere. Lancelot and Elyan had Gwaine in a similar position, but the other man wasn't making any attempts to free himself.

Arthur's chest was heaving. He felt blood trickling down his face and his knuckles stung with split skin. Gwaine didn't look any better. Blood was running like a river from his nose. His left eye was already turning purple and swelling shut. A small cut on his forehead was causing blood to coat his other eye. He spat blood from his mouth, and when he smiled wickedly at Arthur, there was blood in his teeth.

Despite himself, Arthur felt a rush of shame.

"Knew it," was all Gwaine said. Arthur tried to shove the two knights off him, but they weren't budging.

"Unhand me!" He ordered, twisting his arm to free it from Percy's ironclad grasp. Percy shook his head solemnly.

"Apologies, Sire. Not until we're sure you're not going to try for a second round on Gwaine."

Arthur huffed. He searched the training field until he located the two guards near the doors to the castle. They were clearly doing everything in their power to ignore the blatant fistfight that had just gone down between their king and one of his most trusted knights.

Somewhere along the way, he heard Leon bark to the new knights that they were relieved of their duties and a tangible wave of relief flowed over the field. Arthur was too preoccupied with his thoughts to care. Sir Erec's fall felt so long ago.

"Guards!" He called. They came rushing over much too quickly for two people who hadn't been watching the brawl. "Arrest Sir Gwaine and have him taken to the dungeons to cool off. Send Gaius down to check over his wounds. Have him released upon the hour."

With two rushed "Yes, Sire!" they bowed and hurried to extricate Gwaine from Elyan and Lancelot's hold. As they were pulling the unruly knight towards the castle, he turned back and looked Arthur in the eye.

"Just so you know," he said, "Merlin thought the world of you. Nice to know the thought wasn't returned."

Arthur was left standing on the field, hollow and numb.

.

.

"I've cleaned you up to the best of my abilities, My Lord," George said quietly. He'd been methodically wiping the blood from Arthur's face for the last candle mark.

"Thank you, George," he said. The servant had not made a single comment on the state of his king, only quietly went about wiping the evidence from his most prominent features, even if the cloth was a bit rougher than usual. His entire body ached, but not as much as the raw hole in his heart and the gnawing guilt over how he'd ruthlessly beat Gwaine. "Can you help me dress now? King Olaf and Lady Vivian will be expecting me."

George kept silent. He disappeared behind Arthur's dressing screen and emerged moments later with a bundle of fine clothing in his arms.

There wasn't anything noticeably off about the way George went about dressing him. His manservant was always stoic and obsequious to a fault. He'd grown used to the silence that seemed to pervade the air around the man, and it was no longer uncomfortable, but something about the way George was behaving set Arthur on edge.

George adjusted the collar of his jacket with less practiced ease than usual and closed the clasp of his cape with a little more snapping aggression than Arthur was strictly used to from the servant. He unyieldingly pulled a comb through his tangled hair until Arthur was wincing at every snag of a knot.

"Has Morgana accepted Olaf's invitation to dinner?" Arthur asked casually. He wasn't sure how to make casual conversation with George; they'd never really spent any length of time together in a situation where it would be warranted, but he needed to find some way to ease the light tension in the room. It was making him uncomfortable.

"Yes, Sire."

Arthur was shocked. Morgana hadn't spoken a word to him since the feast, and he had been nearly certain she would come up with an excuse to get out of the diplomatic dinner just so she didn't have to spend time in the same room as him and be forced to make it look like she wasn't furious with him.

"Did she? I'm surprised. Anyone else I should know about?"

"Just yourself, Lady Morgana, King Olaf, and Lady Vivian, My Lord."

"Have you seen Morgana since the feast, George?"

When the manservant cinched his belt one hole too tight, he knew the uncharacteristic mannerisms were on purpose. George would never make such an easy mistake as to forget which belt hole he used.

"No, My Lord."

Arthur eyed him carefully. "Has anyone seen her?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"Are you planning to give me answers other than monosyllables?" Arthur demanded, irritated.

George busied himself with rinsing the cloth he'd used to wash Arthur's face. He kept his eyes carefully trained on the pinkish water as he said, "Guinevere has been attending her as usual, My Lord. She said Lady Morgana doesn't wish to speak with anyone."

"Did she now?" He asked, anger already rising. Gods, it was so hard to keep his temper in check these days. He didn't even feel like himself any longer. "And by anyone, surely she means me."

George remained quiet. He placed the clothes Arthur had changed from into the laundry basket and set the bowl full of bloody water on top. He stood to leave.

"I suppose she's angry with me?"

"Yes, My Lord."

The familiar void in his heart began to swell in size. "You're angry as well?"

George paused with his hand on the door. "Yes, My Lord," he said quietly, and the wood swung shut behind him.

Arthur took a deep breath, forced all thoughts from his mind aside from the politics ahead, and made to follow his servant.

A stone sat heavy where his heart should've been.

.

.

In all honesty, Arthur had completely forgotten how horribly drab and dull diplomatic dinners were, and they had only seemed to get worse when he became King.

He was sat at the head of the long dinner table in the main hall, King Olaf at the other end. Morgana and Vivian sat on either side of the two kings, looking as radiant as ever.

Morgana was the picture of dangerous beauty, her ink black hair tied up in an elaborate style, an emerald green dress the color of her eyes had a train which flowed to the floor, her make-up had been done up so that dark kohl lined both her eyes, and her lips were stained blood red. Sat in her seat like it was a throne, she looked every bit like a snake ready to strike.

Vivian, on the other hand, looked about as dangerous as a butterfly. She had soft blonde curls that fell in ringlets down her back. Her skin was pale and her cheeks rosy with a soft pink dusting of rouge. She wore a shimmery kohl rather than the dark black of Morgana's and her lips were the color of pink tulips. Her dress was a fine gold organza with a matching head piece.

The sight of them both made him slightly sick. He was suddenly acutely aware of the blossoming bruises on his face even cosmetic powder couldn't hide.

Down the table, Olaf wiped his mouth and cleared his throat. Arthur gazed up expectantly, leaving his bread and stew appetizer untouched.

"Vivian and I have been very pleased with our accommodations," he started.

Arthur gave him a grateful nod. "Thank you, Your Highness. I mustn't take credit, however. We have an excellent serving staff to handle the household."

"That you do. It's good to see a young king who appreciates the labors of those beneath us. Without their hard work, the rest of us would not be able to live in the luxury we do. Your father never quite understood that notion." Olaf watched him carefully over the rim of his wine goblet. Arthur sat up a little straighter.

"I appreciate everything they do for us. As I appreciate that you and the Lady Vivian remained behind after the feast to seek further alliance with me and Camelot."

"Ah, yes, the feast. The events were…quite unfortunate, don't you agree."

Arthur swallowed hard. "Yes, My Lord." Fantastic, now he sounded like George.

Morgana snorted softly. Arthur turned to her slowly, eyes already narrowed. "Do you have something you wish to say, Lady Morgana?"

When she lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes were cold and sharp. "Oh, nothing at all, Your Majesty," she spoke through gritted teeth. "I simply find it amusing you view what happened two evenings ago as merely unfortunate."

"And I assume you would call it something else?"

"An outrage, a blatant crime, if you please!"

Olaf chuckled. Both Pendragons turned to look at him in surprise. "Ah, the sound of petty sibling quarrels. I remember those days fondly; just last week my brother and I were having an argument over the new knights' training regiment in our kingdom!" He barked a laugh like he'd said the funniest thing in the world. Arthur chuckled uncomfortably along with him.

"Yes, well, the Lady Morgana and I are often bickering, but what else is family for?" Apparently, for regicide. He could feel his sister's eyes shooting daggers into his head.

"Very true, although I'm afraid my dear Vivian will never understand the plights of sibling rivalry. You see, my wife wished for more children but after she was born, I said no more. Why would I tarnish such perfection?" Olaf gazed at Vivian with all the love and adoration of a caring father, like she was some miracle sent by the gods themselves.

Vivian laughed lightly, the sound like a feather in the breeze. "And am I ever so glad for that. I couldn't have everything I wanted if Daddy had to split his riches between me and siblings. He'll get me whatever I wish for now."

From the corner of his eye, he saw Morgana hide a look of disgust behind her goblet. Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly.

"As I was saying before, we deeply appreciate your patience with the entire situation. I realize you and my father were never exactly on what you would call friendly terms, but I hope to change that under my reign. I know what happened at the feast chased many away, but it means much to my household that you and Lady Vivian remained despite."

"It's true that Uther and I never saw eye to eye. I never shared his beliefs on magic, and I do think that was the ocean of difference between us. While I never claimed to be an expert in magic, not by any means, I also believe it's unfair to punish those gifted with it for something many of them couldn't help. That's the main reason we remained, if I am to be honest. I couldn't quite believe it when I heard you'd found Prince Merlin of Ealdor. I figured any man willing to present such a renowned magical being as his guest of honor at his own coronation dinner when his father had such staunch beliefs against the practice was worth my time."

Arthur forlornly pushed a potato into his broth with the end of his spoon and watched it bob back to the surface of the murky liquid. It was taking all his self-control not to challenge Morgana to a duel right then and there for the way he could practically reach out and touch her smug satisfaction permeating the room.

"Too bad he wasn't what we all expected then," Arthur answered simply.

"You'll always have one bad egg in the bunch," Olaf said.

"More like a rose in a field of thorns," Morgana snapped. Arthur shot her a dark look of a warning, but she matched it, doubled.

Olaf chuckled again, good-naturedly. "At least the affair didn't cause you to lose any alliances. They all thought quite highly of you from what I hear, despite Cenred's rather impromptu arrival. I think he scared them off more than the Prince did." Olaf winked at Arthur, and Vivian giggled.

"Honestly, I don't understand why everyone was so upset. He wasn't even that nice to look at." She giggled again, and Arthur felt something tug at his stomach. His first instinct was to cut her off, demand that she take back those wretched words that couldn't be further from the truth. Merlin was the single most beautiful, ethereal person he'd ever had the privilege to lay eyes on! How dare she say such a thing…

No. He cursed himself. He would not think about him. No matter what anyone said, it wasn't his place. He wasn't going to defend a traitor.

"Merlin is devilishly handsome, but at least he doesn't know it," Morgana hissed at Vivian. The other Lady seemed taken aback at the jab before her signature easy smile slipped back into place.

"We can't all have beauty to flaunt, of course. Next time you come to visit us, I must take you to our seamstress. She works with the most gorgeous satin. It would so brighten up your wardrobe, Lady Morgana."

Morgana's eyes turned dark, but before she could come back with whatever debilitating blow she had planned, Olaf cut her off.

"Perhaps, we should discuss the reason for this spectacular meal," he said, if not a bit too loud. At some point, the servants had come to take their stew and the table was now filled with the most delectable foods, but not even one appealed to Arthur. He hadn't been hungry since the night of the feast.

"Yes, please."

"As you've realized, I wish to make a political alliance with Camelot," Olaf began. "However, I have a proposal to make that I think will be of great benefit to both our kingdoms." Arthur nodded along indulgently, reaching out to take another sip of wine.

"Before your father's…untimely passing, you were to marry Princess Mithian of Nemeth, yes?"

A sick feeling crept through Arthur's veins. "That's correct. Although, she fell in love with her maidservant and chose to marry her. I respected her wishes."

"By means of solidifying the alliance between our kingdoms, I propose that you and my darling Vivian wed."

Arthur nearly choked his wine back up.

"What?!" Morgana shrieked. She dropped her fork, and it clattered harshly against the floor.

Olaf held up his hands in surrender. "I know it's sudden and presumptuous, King Arthur. But your father made you eligible for marriage before he passed, and Vivian has just come of that age. As much as I hate to see my beautiful flower wed off to another kingdom, I believe you two would make a wondrous match. You do know, of course, that our kingdom contains the richest and most abundant mineral deposits in all the land. It would do well for Camelot to have such a claim under her belt, don't you think? And of course, the extra manpower could never hurt. Our military would be at your disposal. In exchange, we strengthen our own kingdom by having such a sound, powerful kingdom as an ally."

Arthur was lost. He felt nothing, and yet, everything. The very thought of marrying Vivian, uppity, spoiled, proper Vivian, made his stomach turn. Since he was young, he had known his chances of marrying for love were slim. But he wasn't even sure he could grow to tolerate Vivian, let alone like her, or, gods forbid, love her. He'd been king for only a little over a month; how could he be expected to take a queen so soon, even if her father's reasoning was impeccable from a political standpoint? And how could he be expected to marry anyone at all when his heart already fully belonged to another? A backstabber who had stolen it and taken it right along with him back to Essetir.

"No!" Morgana cried. "I've sat here and tried to listen to all of this with as much grace as I could muster, but I won't any longer. My brother is not going to marry Vivian just for politics. He's already in love with someone else. Arthur and Vivian have barely interacted before!"

Really, he should've told his sister to be quiet. It wasn't her place to come to his defense and speak on his behalf. He was furious at her for her behavior in front of their guests; it was one thing for her to act this way in private, but in front of another household was just unbecoming. Besides, love didn't matter. Just look at his own parents. His mother had been wholly devoted to his father, but that didn't stop Uther from going out and getting Morgana's mother pregnant. Maybe a marriage for the good of the kingdom was exactly what he needed to move past this entire ordeal. Perhaps, a wife would fill that gaping hole in his heart.

"And furthermore," Morgana said, reeling on Vivian. "My brother has nothing in common with the likes of you. There are more diamonds on your headpiece than brains in your head, and I'm sure you'll have no problem draining Camelot's reserves for your own pleasure!"

"Morgana!" Arthur snapped. "That's enough of your foulness." He turned to face Olaf, schooling his features into one of a diplomat.

"Very well. I shall marry Lady Vivian."

"How wonderful!" Olaf exclaimed. Vivian squealed with joy.

"Oh, Daddy, did you hear? I'm getting married! I'm going to be a queen!"

"No!" Morgana cried again, this time standing from the table. She whirled on Arthur. "You'll marry that, but you can't believe Merlin's devotion to you?"

"I don't even know you anymore," she hissed. She turned and strode from the room, slamming the door behind her. Arthur looked after her helplessly, on the verge of calling out to his sister.

"She'll be an enjoyable sister-in-law," Vivian said sarcastically. She laid her hand over Arthur's. Olaf beamed.

Arthur shuddered. The hole only grew larger.

The clanging of a chain brought Merlin out of his twilight-like sleep. He turned his head to see the cold iron chain clasped around his wrist, connecting him back to the wall of his quarters on Cenred's ship. The web of black veins roping up his arm looked a bit like someone had spilled ink over the limb.

It was a struggle to keep his eyes open. So long outside of cold iron bindings left him dazed and unused to the feeling. His stomach was twisted up in knots, and he was certain that if he had anything in there, it would have come back up long ago.

Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire. He squeezed his eyes shut to block it all out and hopefully quell the spinning of his head, but even the slight pressure of his eyelids caused the pounding behind his eyes to increase tenfold. Each time he shifted, the cuff chaffed around his raw wrist and sent sickeningly familiar waves of agony through his body. There was no escaping his pain. Not even the rocking of the ship and the sound of the waves slapping gently against the hull helped to soothe him. He was too lost in his own misery to feel the ocean's power.

He was unsure of how long he'd been on the ship. There was a small sliver of wood chipped away on the outer wall of his room where the sunlight managed to leak through. He knew it had dimmed at least twice, but beyond that, he could've been there for weeks, months, even.

The limbo of time he found himself caught in did nothing to douse the burning fire of grief that had been raging in his stomach since the moment he left Camelot. He hadn't left his room since then, barely even left his cot for that matter. His thoughts were his only friends and his worst enemies. Every moment he spent floating on his cloud of drunken agony only trapped him to the confines of his, admittedly traitorous, mind.

His mind was filled with grief and his heart sick with guilt. He longed for Camelot and all he had left behind there. He missed the little family they had created; he missed the brothers he had found in all the knights, the sisters he had found in Gwen and Morgana, the father he had found in Gaius, and most of all, the love he had found in Arthur. He missed his chambers there and all his belongings he had been forced to leave behind. His father's grimoire was still hidden away beneath his pillow, and all the wonderful clothes Morgana had crafted him were still in his armoire, having been washed, pressed, and hung so meticulously by Gwen. All of his books and other random bits and bobs he'd collected in his few months residing within the castle were all cast about his room, left there as if their owner had gone on nothing more than a simple stroll around the gardens and would be back in time to take his evening meal with the King.

The King. How the very thought of Arthur was almost too much to bear. The Golden King had been his very first love. Any that came in Ealdor were nothing but the whims of adolescent years, fortnight long flings both thought would last a lifetime. And then, of course, came Cenred. For two long, gruesome years, he'd been subjected to nothing but Cenred's ideas of romance. The only intimate touch he'd felt was that of the vile king's. He'd resigned himself to the idea that he would never escape it, that he was doomed to live out the rest of his life as nothing more than an object to who would one day be his husband.

Until, one day, Arthur appeared in his life. Even from the very first moment they had spoken when the blonde held both Freya and Daegal at sword point as leverage for his surrender, it felt as if he was seeing in color for the very first time. He hadn't realized just how dull and gray his life had been until he'd met Arthur.

And now, they all hated him. He'd betrayed Arthur, he'd betrayed his friends, and he'd betrayed Camelot all in the worst way possible. Perhaps, if he hadn't been so selfish and told Arthur right off exactly whom he was engaged to, then none of this would have happened. But he had so longed for a romantic touch that wasn't concealing pain and malice that he couldn't bring himself to do it, even if he knew by doing so, he would lose everything in the end.

His only consolation was that at least they were all safe. His misery wasn't for nothing. As long as he did everything Cenred commanded, which he intended to, he would not harm Camelot or any of her people. Cenred was a lot of things, but he never lied, at least not to Merlin. If he threatened something, he would sure as hell go through with it. But that was a two-way street, and Cenred knew it. If he went back on his word and even set foot in Camelot again, Merlin wouldn't hesitate to take his own life and strip Cenred of all that power which he held so dear.

At the end of the day, his life meant nothing next to Arthur's. If his only purpose in the prophecy as the Greatest Sorcerer to Ever Walk the Earth was to sacrifice his own life in exchange for the Once and Future King's safety, then he would gladly walk into the arms of Death and greet him as an old friend.

His mother had always said he was destined for great things. Well, there was no greater thing in life than to protect those he loved, no matter the cost.

Chapter Text

When on what was possibly the fifth or sixth day of his recapture Merlin was summoned from his closet of a cabin by Cenred himself, he knew it wasn't going to end well.

The King of Essetir couldn't even be bothered to retrieve Merlin himself. Instead, he sent one of his many lackeys on the ship, a great beast of a man named Orvyn or Osric—Merlin really couldn't be bothered to know. He was only another one of Cenred's guards with more muscle than brains and the hygiene of a hog pen.

The man produced a key from his belt, unclipped Merlin's chain from the wall and roughly pulled the warlock up from his cot, uncaring of how his knees buckled the moment he tried to place any weight on his numb legs. He collapsed to the floor, only a weak moan of pain escaping his colorless lips.

Orvyn-Osric landed a swift kick to his exposed ribs. "Get up. The King's ordered me ta bring ya out ta deck any means necessary. Imma start breakin' limbs next. He don't care s'long as ya can serve yer punishment."

Of course. He'd been naïve to think Cenred would let him off with only the cold iron as punishment. Disobeying him, even as uncontrollably so as Merlin's capture, was as bad as plotting regicide in Cenred's mind. If it weren't for his magic, he was sure Cenred would have him executed without a second thought.

"I says, get up!" The toe of Orvyn-Osric's boot connected with his temple, and Merlin saw stars. His vision went black. He reached one hand out in a desperate attempt to find something to latch onto and pull himself up. The floor, however, proved to be of no use. It was only flat and cool, spongy and damp with mildew and dark patches of other substances Merlin didn't want to think about touching.

By magic, miracle, or sheer stubbornness, he placed one palm on the ground, and then the other. The room swam in waves greater than those outside the ship. He nearly fell back down when his elbows buckled, but not wishing to become any better acquainted with the bottom of Orvyn-Osric's boot, he strenuously shoved his knees beneath himself and squeezed his eyes shut until he was no longer on the verge of passing out. His wrist burned where the iron touched his skin. Each breath brought knives into his chest, and his head pounded unrelentingly with each drop of blood he felt sliding down his cheek.

Blindly, he reached out until he managed to grasp the rickety wooden chair placed at the end of his cot. With each minute movement bringing him unimaginable agony to his bruised and beaten body, he somehow managed to push himself up from the ground, bit by agonizing bit. His legs tremored under the power of his body, and he bit the inside of his lip so hard his tongue burst with the metallic taste of blood.

One step.

Two steps.

Three steps.

He was at the door. He gripped the doorframe until the wood creaked under his fingers, his vision blurring around the edges and tilting the world sickeningly to the left. He stumbled out of the closet that acted as his cabin and into Cenred's quarters. There, the King himself looked up from his desk where he had been methodically counting out piles of golden coins and separating them into seemingly random other piles. When he saw him, his betrothed leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and gave Merlin a positively acidic smile. The warlock shuddered and had to lean all his weight against the doorframe to keep from keeling over.

"Good morning, darling," Cenred said. His gaze flicked to Orvyn-Osric. "Get out." Although looking like he'd been slapped, the man hurried to obey. Even the dullest of Cenred's guards knew better than to make the royal demand twice.

"Much better," Cenred said approvingly once Orvyn-Osric had left. The King slowly pushed up from his seat and made a big show of stretching his shoulders and rolling his head. He sighed and shook his head. "The duties of a king never cease. It's exhausting. If only they knew all I did for them, they'd be a little more grateful."

He sauntered over to Merlin and gazed down on him. "That goes for you as well, Birdie. I've given you so much. I'd be a little more grateful if I were you." He reached down where the cold iron cuff lay heavy against his shredded skin and pressed it further into the prominent bones of his wrist. A sharp gasp of pain rushed out of his lungs. He tried to jerk away, but Cenred's grasp was unyielding.

Cenred laughed like Merlin's clear pain was the funniest jest he'd ever heard. When he finally released the warlock from his hold, Merlin pulled the damaged limb back into his chest and quivered from the aftereffects of the abuse. He took sharp breaths through his nose, trying to quell the bile he felt rising in his throat.

His fiancé stood back and appraised him. "You're looking a bit rough, darling. Your accommodations not to your liking? Not that it matters much. I only need you alive enough for your magic. Your quite well enough to serve your punishment for treason against Essetir."

"Is being promised to you not punishment enough?"

Cenred narrowed his eyes. "What was that, Warlock?"

Merlin pulled himself to his full height. Raising his voice, he asked, "Is being promised to you not punishment enough?"

The following slap sent Merlin sprawling to the floor once again. He was becoming quite tired of being thrown to the floor.

Cenred hauled him up and pinned him to the wall by the neck of his tunic. His warm breath whispered over Merlin's lips, and he had to stop himself from gagging.

"Remember what's at stake, you insolent little bastard. One word from me and the men I left behind in Camelot won't hesitate to wipe Pendragon and the rest of his puny household off the face of this land."

"You won't touch them," Merlin wheezed, his sneer feeling more like a grimace than anything else.

"And you're going to stop me? You're mine and your magic…oh, wait, that's mine too." He chuckled and leaned in until his lips were pressed against the shell of Merlin's ear. "Looks like you’re all out of luck, Birdie."

"You said you wouldn't hurt them! You have me, you don't need them. They haven't done anything to you!" His voice was thick with barely concealed panic.

"Ah, but they do make such wonderful leverage. I'm only trying to get a rise out of you, darling. It's all in good fun, of course. I gave you my word that no harm from Essetir will befall Camelot, and I always keep my word."

Cenred released Merlin's tunic and carefully straightened out the wrinkles. Merlin weakly pushed him away with his good arm. Cenred smiled indulgently and dramatically stumbled back.

"And I always keep mine," Merlin hissed.

Cenred's grin grew impossibly wider. "Oh, I'm counting on it, darling. Now, you didn't think I'd just forget about the reason I've summoned you this morning, did you?" He jerked his head towards the door. "Get on with it then. You've got a punishment to serve."

Merlin shot his betrothed another withering glare. He took a breath, steeled his nerves, and marched out of Cenred's quarters.

Well, marched was a bit of a strong word. More of a graceful stumble. At least, he hoped it had been graceful.

Out on the quarter deck, Merlin took just a moment to simply breathe in the chilly sea air. Its salty spray kissed his skin, and for the first time since he'd left Camelot, both his magic and his soul felt at peace. The sun still sat decently low on the eastern horizon, filling the sky with a spattering of gold and red. It would not be an easy sailing day.

It took everything the mage had not to give into the whisperings of the ocean, to listen as its magic called out to his own, promising safety and healing. He had no doubt that he would survive if he jumped. As he had once told Arthur, the sea doesn't harm its own. It would take no effort at all to jump into the embrace of its magic. Maybe he could swim so far away that he would leave the rest of the world behind. He could live with the merpeople; they would sense the ocean in his blood. He'd never have to feel such human things as fear or pain again.

Merlin turned his head away, focusing instead on the rough wood of the stairs Cenred was forcing him down. It was only wishful thinking. He doubted he'd even be able to make it to the edge of the ship in his state. He'd probably fall and brain himself on the mildewy planks of the main deck. Cenred's crew would get a fine laugh out of that.

Not to mention his jumping overboard wouldn't prevent Cenred from taking it out on Arthur and the rest of Camelot. No matter how desperately he wished to be free of his betrothed's control, he wouldn't risk their safety. He wouldn't waste all he had already suffered for a moment of relief only to sentence all of Camelot to death. He couldn't betray Arthur so deeply yet again, not when the sting of his first betrayal was still so fresh and new.

As long as they were safe, as long as Arthur was safe, he would gladly suffer anything Cenred wanted to subject him to.

His wandering mind betrayed him yet again when he missed the bottom step and went tumbling. Cenred stepped up and peered down at him with disappointment. He tutted softly.

"Oh, Warlock, you and that head. I'm surprised you've survived this long." Without warning, Cenred pulled his leg back and stomped down on Merlin's right ankle. The sharp crack was lost in his own scream. Every man on the deck roared with laughter.

Cenred smiled pleasantly. "Just thought I'd head off any ideas you've formulated at the pass." He tipped his chin towards the railing and the glittering expanse of water just beyond. "You're not getting away from me so easily this time."

The King barked an order and two greasy men scrambled forward to haul Merlin up from the ground. His sobs and tears of misery were lost in the jeers of the men as he was dragged through the crowd and towards the main mast. Flames rivaling those of the cold iron licked at his ankle, scalding him all the way up his leg. The limb throbbed viciously with every frantic beat of his heart. The pain was almost too much for him to bear. At least he'd been granted the sanctuary of unconsciousness when he'd temporarily overtaken the curse on his magic in order to protect Leon and Aithusa. Here, he felt he'd find no such solace. He wouldn't be allowed such a reprieve, he was sure. The crew would be more than happy to wake him by any means necessary, and if that didn't succeed, Cenred would simply force his magic to keep him awake, seemingly stuck in an endless spiral of agony.

The two men shoved him against the mast, forcing him to put weight on his broken ankle out of instinct when he began to list to the side. Lightning bolts of agony struck anew in the damaged limb. He couldn't stop it when he leaned to the side and retched, stomach acid burning hot and acrid up his throat. Blood, bile, and saliva alike dripped from his lips in a lazy stream. His arms were wrenched back. His tears mingled with the blood, and he watched through slitted eyes as the nauseating mix finally splattered on to the deck.

The wood was rough against his back, and his nails caught over splinters as he scrabbled for some sort of purchase. A rope was thrown across his shoulders, his middle, and finally, his knees, the rough fibers clawing and tearing at his already tortured skin. The bindings were so tightly drawn that his lungs stuttered for breath under the crushing force. They did, however, allow for him to finally take all his weight off his ankle. He sagged forward with a shaky breath of temporary relief while the fiery agony receded back to something more of a dull burning he could manage.

Tying an unruly pirate to the mast wasn't an uncommon punishment. Hell, he'd done it himself when Daegal had first joined his crew and found himself incapable of keeping his fingers off things that didn't belong to him. More than once, he'd sentenced Daegal to be placed in a similar position to himself. Will had taken particular glee in putting the once-unbearably irritating Druid boy in his place.

Of course, the punishment never lasted more than an hour for Daegal, only long enough for him to sweat a little under the midday sun. Merlin never wanted to cause him any harm; he only wished to remind him who was in charge and that he couldn't just take whatever he wanted. Better yet, he wanted to remind him that he didn't need to steal anymore to survive. He had them now, and they took care of each other. That's what family was for.

Somehow, he knew he wasn't going to be so lucky. His punishment wouldn't be over in just an hour; he'd be lucky if they untied him by nightfall. Already, he could feel the rising sun breaking through the chill in the air to warm his skin. He nearly groaned at the thought of the sunburn he would inevitably receive, and he wouldn't be surprised if he walked out of this soaked to the bone and ill to his stomach judging by how choppy the waves already were. He could feel there was a storm brewing, his magic and years of experience at sea tipping him off to the fact, although he was certain no one else realized, at least not the crew. Many of them had hardly ever stepped foot on a ship. They were Cenred's land guard, nothing more. It would be a small miracle if they even made it back to Essetir alive.

Something solid and round struck him on the side of the head and splattered on impact. He hissed when a liquid ran into the cut Orvyn-Osric had left on his temple, mingling with the matted blood there and dripping down his cheek. It took more strength than he was willing to admit for him to loll his head to the side just to see what he'd been struck with.

A tomato. They'd thrown an honest to goodness tomato at him.

Good on them, wasting all their food. He hoped they all got scurvy. Good riddance.

Another tomato struck him in the chest, but bounced off and rolled away uselessly before it broke. He glanced up to see Cenred leaning against the rail with a pleased smirk just in time to catch one of the red fruits right in the face.

The crew roared with laughter once more.

Merlin could only squeeze his eyes shut and wait for it to follow gravity's pull and eventually slide to the ground with a wet squelch over his skin. He blinked rapidly to keep the juices and seeds out of his eyes, but the smell alone sent him retching again. Not even stomach acid came up this time; his stomach was so hopelessly empty that not even his body's own fluids could come up. His eyelids slipped closed as his body finally gave up only to be awoken once more with a startled gasp and a thrill of pain in his stomach when his magic flew to do Cenred's bidding. He glanced at his betrothed once more just in time to see him stop fiddling with his ring.

A quiet sob escaped the warlock's lips. It was a broken sound brought upon by utter exhaustion and defeat. There was no escaping his own circle of Hell. Not even the sweet relief of the darkness could hide him.

If Death himself were to come down and offer him an escape, a way out of his betrothed's endless abuse and torture, he wasn't sure he'd deny him, even with Arthur's safety on the line. Without him, Cenred really had no reason to threaten Camelot. There was no one for him to blackmail with it. And even if he did kill Arthur after Merlin died, well, it wasn't like the warlock would be around to suffer for it.

Then again, maybe he and Arthur could finally be together only in death.

Meals had never been such an awkward affair for Arthur.

Even when Uther had been alive and he'd been subjected to an evening meal with his father at least twice a week, it hadn't been this bad. They were usually silent, the tension only broken by the occasional comment from Uther about one trivial topic or another in which he himself or Morgana would respond with the expected platitudes in order to appease the past king. They were awkward and uncomfortable, but often cut short when Uther realized he wasn't going to get responses from his children unless prompted, and even then, they were monosyllables at that.

With his knights, meals were a jovial time filled with laughter, teasing, and secret shared smiles amongst men who were closer than even brothers. Even if the meal itself usually only consisted of some stew one of them had conjured up with the hunt's catch or the last dregs of vegetables left in the dwindling food supplies of the ship after a long voyage, it wasn't the food which warmed Arthur's soul.

And then, of course, he had come along and turned Arthur's life on its head. The meals they shared together, whether private or not, were some of Arthur's most cherished memories, despite his best efforts to purge all thoughts of him from his head. Their conversations about nothing filled the room with a happiness Arthur was sure had long been purged from any meal he'd ever experience. The silences between them were just as nice when Arthur could glance up and see his impossibly breathtaking azure eyes gazing right back. Arthur felt like he could drown in those eyes and die happy.

That was to say, he was decidedly not happy any meal he had to sit with his future wife.

It was tolerable enough when King Olaf joined them, at least there was someone there to buffer Vivian's endless stream of chatter. He swore the girl could giggle and speak for hours without saying anything at all.

More often than not however, he found himself taking all his meals with the Future Queen of Camelot, and he despised every moment.

After a sennight of it, the young king was at his wit's end. He'd taken to skipping his midday meal just to avoid his fiancée altogether, but that quickly came to a stop when he'd blacked out on the training field that afternoon because he hadn't eaten enough to be out in the heat.

Which brought him to his current predicament sat across from Lady Vivian, just the two of them alone in his chambers. Even George, the traitor, had left under the guise of an emergency in the laundry room.

Then again, perhaps George really did believe in such things as laundry emergencies.

"-I was just so worried about you earlier when you fainted during training. I thought you were having a fit or something," Vivian was saying.

"I assure you, I did not faint, Vivian."

"And, of course, those knights of yours were no help at all. They didn't even take you to the physician! I don't like them much, Arthur, especially that Sir Gwaine. I was telling Daddy just this morning how he's no good at all. How can you expect someone who's drunk most of the time to protect me once I'm Queen? He simply won't do, and don't even get me started on Sir Lancelot. He only ever minds Guinevere, anyhow, as if she needs any protecting-"

"She's his betrothed, Vivian. Of course, he's going to mind her more," Arthur said through gritted teeth. The metal of his fork bent under the force of his grip. "As for my knights, they are the finest the kingdom has to offer. They didn't take me to Gaius because I was awake and asked them not to. I simply had a dizzy spell, that's all. You needn't worry about your safety as queen." He spat it like it was a curse, but Vivian either didn't notice or chose to ignore it.

She needn't worry because he wasn't entirely sure she was going to make it that far. Even Leon, the most tolerant of his knights, could be seen biting his tongue around the future monarch. She should be less worried about threats from outside and more about ones from within his own guard.

"Speaking of that, don't you think Gaius is a bit too old to be physician? I know a wonderful young man in our kingdom who's been apprenticing with our physician, and he'd be more than happy to come here and take over-"

Arthur took a deep breath and tried to calm his anger. He was marrying her for the good of the kingdom. He didn't have to like her, but he at least had to learn to stomach her.

"Gaius is a wonderful physician, and he will not be leaving," he snapped, more heat in his voice than he wished to hold, but oh well.

Vivian sat up straighter. She drew her perfectly plucked eyebrows together in annoyance. "There was no need for you to speak to me that way, Arthur. This is going to be my home as well, and I believe it's only fair that I should be able to have an opinion on the people who will be holding a position in my household."

"Your household?"

"And furthermore," Vivian pushed on like Arthur hadn't said a word, "as your future wife, I do not wish to be spoken to in such a manner in the future."

Arthur stared at her as if she'd sprouted wings. He'd barely even raised his voice; he'd have received some quip about his "prattish tendencies" from Mer-him or a kick to the shin if the boy was close enough. Without thinking, he turned to look for the warlock to share an eyeroll and a look of disgust at the uppity lady's behavior, only to remember after a moment he'd not be sharing any such looks ever again.

That hurt.

"Anyhow, I was taking a walk this morning," Vivian began again. Arthur suppressed a groan and shoved a bite of pheasant into his mouth. Perhaps, the quicker he finished his meal, the quicker he could escape.

"And I took a curious look in the empty chambers down the hall. They would make such a wonderful nursery for a baby. I'd prefer to start as soon as we're married. We'll need to hire a nursemaid, because I'm certainly not taking care-"

"What?"

Vivian froze with her mouth still partially open. She blinked slowly. "Excuse me?"

Arthur swallowed around the rock in his throat. He opened his mouth to speak but instead found that words escaped him. He ended up gaping like a fish out of water until he finally managed to snap his mouth shut. He gave Vivian a blank look.

She cocked her head. "Are you quite alright, Arthur? Oh, don't tell me you're still faint from earlier; I just knew that Court Physician of yours wasn't in his sound mind-"

"A baby?" Arthur gasped. He definitely hadn't squeaked.

"Well, yes, that's generally what a couple produces after they've wedded," Vivian spoke like she was speaking to a very young child.

"I know what a baby is!" Arthur cried. "No one said anything about a baby!"

"I'm aware. It's just that you do need an heir, and neither of us are getting any younger. We might as well start as soon as possible, especially if we want more than a couple. Now, I realize the rooms down the hall still need to be cleared—they're still filled with all sorts of clothing and trash—but it's nothing a few servants can't handle. Certainly, Guinevere will be more than happy to help make room for the Heir to the Throne-"

"But those are Merlin's chambers!" Arthur protested. He didn't even bother to correct himself after breaking his own vow to never speak his name again. All he could think about was Vivian ordering Merlin's rooms to be cleared out, all of Merlin's treasured belongings just thrown out like ordinary trash. What if the warlock ever decided to come home and left because he found his chambers empty and cold like they'd tried to erase his memory completely, like he'd never mattered–

Arthur stood up so suddenly that his chair scratched along the floor and toppled over. Vivian jumped in her seat, her eyes going wide.

"Arthur!" She cried. She looked scandalized.

"I-I have to go," he stuttered. He paid his betrothed no mind even as the lady called after him like he'd lost his wits.

Perhaps, he had. But he couldn't suffer another moment with the dreadful girl. He could only pretend to be interested in her endless stream of nonsense for so long. The audacity she had to speak about his closest friends in such a way, acting as if they were no better than mud on the soles of her silk slippers. She wasn't even queen yet, and she was ordering the serving staff around as if they lived only to serve her every whim. He simply couldn't take it anymore.

His feet took the familiar path to Merlin's rooms without the consent of his mind, but he was staring at the inside of the mage's chambers before he even really registered he'd left his own.

It was as if the boy had never left. Books of all shapes, sizes, and colors were spread out across his bed and dining table. Many lay open while others were stuffed full of bits of parchment and other odd ends of paper where the warlock had obviously been taking notes.

The bed was immaculately made but a basket full of dirty clothes still sat near the door. Arthur was sure George would burst in to flames if he walked in and saw it, but it was clear everyone had obeyed his orders when he'd barred them all from entering after his betrayal.

Arthur crept through the room, holding his breath each time one of his footfalls was audible as if a ghost was going to jump out of the armoire and attack him for entering what felt like hallowed ground.

A sword was glinting from atop the chest of drawers. Arthur easily recognized it as one from Camelot's own armory and had undoubtedly been taken without permission. The mage's desk was littered with scrolls and various vials full of liquids the king felt best left a mystery.

As he finally made it to the bed, he ghosted his fingers over the downy soft, deep blue blanket thrown over the main comforter which he'd gifted the always-cold warlock when he'd been so ill right after Uther's downfall. Admittedly, it simultaneously warmed his heart and ate at his soul knowing he'd kept it even after everything.

Just as he was turning away to leave, feeling like he was a kid again and was about to be caught by one of his tutors for being somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, a flash of brown leather beneath one of the pillows caught his eye.

Really, it was none of his business. Clearly, he hadn't wanted anyone to see whatever it was if he'd hidden it beneath his pillow and never shared it with Arthur.

It wasn't his place to look.

Really, it wasn't.

His hand slid beneath the pillow and grasped what felt like a fairly large, leather-bound book. Pulling it out, he was immediately struck with a buzz of static in the air. His hands tingled where they grasped the tome, and a rush of familiar warmth swam up his arms.

He suddenly got the feeling he was holding something he had no right to touch, something that emanated such powerful magic that it practically oozed from the book in waves.

But he was the king. He could do what he wished. So, despite feeling like he was doing something highly illegal, he flicked up the large metal clasps that kept the book tightly shut, and carefully opened it, the spine cracking in agony the entire way.

His eyes scanned the first page. It took him three times of looking over the sheet until he realized he wasn't mental, and the words were, in fact, not in a language he could read. As he thumbed through the pages, he found he couldn't read a single word of it, aside from the handwritten scrawls in the margins. There were two distinct handwritings: one, an elegant swirl of loops and curls, the other, the familiar tiny, near illegible, scratches of his own penmanship. Arthur ran the pad of his forefinger over one note, something on a sleeping spell as best as Arthur could figure and felt the indents where his quill had pushed into the parchment. His entire hand shook with tremors.

The book was filled with images, beautiful watercolors of plants and gory depictions of ancient beasts tearing apart unsuspecting victims. Charts filled with odd symbols and signs lined the pages and an entire chapter was dedicated to an immaculately detailed diagram of the stars and their alignments. Arthur was even certain some of the images and words were moving and shifting before his very eyes.

The more he looked, the more his anger with the warlock for hiding this from him fizzled out. This tome was filled with more magical knowledge than he'd ever encountered in all his twenty-one summers. Even after Uther's passing, Arthur wasn't sure how he would have reacted to being presented with such a large supply of literature he would have once sent a person to the pyre just for owning.

That thought alone was enough to nudge the beast of guilt to the forefront of his mind.

A soft knock on the door startled him so badly that he slammed the book shut and dropped it onto the bed like he'd been burnt. He barely managed to stuff it back under the pillow before Guinevere's head appeared around the door.

"Good evening, Sire," she said softly. Arthur let out a long sigh. Guinevere hadn't called him by his actual name since the night of the banquet.

"Evening, Guinevere," he answered easily, leaning casually against the bedframe even as his heart pounded out of his chest.

Her eyes roamed over the room. She narrowed them suspiciously. "So…what're you doing in Merlin's old chambers?"

Arthur bristled. "I'm the king. I'm well within my rights to go wherever I please. What are you doing here when I specifically forbade anyone from entering?"

"The door was cracked open. I came to see what was going on." He couldn't exactly argue with that.

"Well, now that you know, you can be on your way. I'll see you later, Guinevere."

Gwen, however, made no move to leave. She only gave him a thoughtful look and cocked her head curiously. "Are you not meant to be dining with the Lady Vivian?"

Arthur huffed a laugh. "You try taking a meal with her."

"That bad, is she? I suspected. I'm quite sure she tried to trip me in the corridor when I was taking Morgana her breakfast this morning." She shut the door behind her and offered him a weak smile.

He felt his face crumple under Guinevere's kind gaze. He slid on to the bed and buried his head in his hands. The bed dipped beside him, and there was suddenly a hand rubbing soothing circles over his back.

"She's dreadful," he groaned.

"Then, and forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, why in the world are you marrying her?"

"I don't know!" He cried.

And it was true, truer than anything he'd spoken in the wake of Cenred's arrival. In the beginning, he'd been able to justify his agreement to the engagement with the idea that he was doing it with Camelot's best interests at heart. Certainly, it would do his kingdom good to have a Queen, or another monarch on the throne at the very least, should something happen to him. The castle could do with a proper lady's touch, too, since Morgana hardly counted as such. Not to mention the economic advantage such an alliance with Olaf's kingdom could mean.

It was hardly in the best interest of his kingdom when her future Queen insulted every member of the court and beyond and every knight on guard was planning a mock regicide before she had even taken the throne.

With his own private motives for the betrothal in mind, he was rather quickly and forcefully coming to realize that perhaps trying to fill the hole in his heart with a woman he found insufferable had not been the wisest course of action.

Goddess, he'd never be able to look Morgana in the eyes again after she found out. She'd be living in a state of smug satisfaction until the next solstice at least and wouldn't let him live it down until his dying breath.

"Clearly, you don't love her," Gwen spoke carefully.

Arthur snorted. "What gave that away? Perhaps you haven't noticed that I'm hiding from my fiancée in the chambers of a boy I once slept with."

Gwen stuttered a nervous giggle. "Um, yes, I had noticed." She cleared her throat uncomfortably. "You can't even tolerate her? Not even a little?"

"Goddess, no, she's insufferable!"

"Oh, thank goodness," Gwen said. "The whole castle's been whispering insults behind her back since the engagement. Gwaine said he'd rather have old Lady Agatha as Queen than the She-Devil. He said Agatha may not know where she is half the time, but at least she doesn't criticize each breath everyone takes. Even George has expressed displeasure with Vivian. He conveniently 'forgot' to pick up her laundry until a candle mark later than usual yesterday morning, so you know he must be feeling disquieted."

A surprised laugh burst past Arthur's lips. Guinevere smiled indulgently and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's better. We don't like seeing you upset, Arthur."

He kept his eyes carefully trained on his lap, his hands fiddling with his mother's ring. His heart slipped a beat at the sound of his given name from her lips. "I'm sure you speak alone in that, Guinevere. It seems as if most of the castle would turn a blind eye to an assassination attempt at the current moment."

"I wouldn't be so sure. We love you, even at your most stubborn. Sure, we're all a bit…frustrated with how the banquet was handled, but that doesn't mean any of us stopped caring for you. It's unfair of you to think you're the only one affected by what happened. We all miss him."

Arthur could feel Gwen's eyes on him, but he refused to meet them. He was afraid he wouldn't be able to hold back the tears if he saw the warm care and understanding in her eyes. Sometimes he wondered how he'd ever fallen out of love with her.

And then he remembered what it felt like to get lost in seas of wicked azure blue, and he knew exactly why.

"You're still in love with him, aren't you?"

Silently, Arthur nodded. He squeezed his eyes shut, but a tear trailed down his cheek anyhow. He viciously wiped it away.

Gwen slid her hand over his and rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand. "You, Arthur Pendragon, are one of the few lucky people in this life to find true love. Why you ever let him go is beyond me."

"I didn't know what to believe. I was so caught off guard by the revelation of Merlin's connection to Cenred. I couldn't believe he'd kept that from me after all we'd been through. I've been lied to my entire life, Guinevere; I was scared. It was easier to believe such obvious lies than appear weak in front of so many nobles. It's no excuse for what I did, but fear makes men do crazy things. I'm still so early in my reign, and I didn't wish for the much older and much more experienced monarchs to think I'm some sort of lovesick teen. Oh, Goddess," he sobbed, "I broke my promise. I promised Merlin I wouldn't let him be taken back to Essetir, back to his fiancé. I let him be taken back by his abuser because of my own fear. I saw the scars, I saw the way Merlin flinched when he thought he was about to be hit, the way his skin stretched thin over his malnourished bones. I saw it all, and yet, I chose to believe the words of a known madman than my poor Merlin. I deserve to be killed for this. Who knows what Cenred's done to him? I'm an awful person, I'm a monster, no better than-"

"That's enough, Arthur," Gwen said quietly. Arthur fell silent, his mind swirling in a whirlpool of guilt and self-loathing. If anything happened to Merlin, it would be all his fault. "You're not helping anyone by spiraling."

"What do I do?" He wondered. She reached up and pulled his head down onto her shoulder, stroking his bangs back. "I want him back; I need to get him back. But now he's gone, and I'm never going to see him again."

"I know, believe me I know."

"I never even told him I love him," the king whispered brokenly.

Chapter Text

Of course, it wasn't enough that Arthur's own household could barely stand to be in the same room as him.

The outside world had to take its killing shot at him as well.

"I do believe the wedding has been pushed off for too long already, Sire. Really, the sooner the better. My Vivian is just so excited she can barely contain herself," King Olaf said. He was reclined in one of Arthur's great armchairs which he'd pulled across the room to face the King of Camelot's desk. His hands were folded over his stomach and his feet kicked out in a manner that belied the true nature of his noble status.

Arthur made a half-hearted noise of acknowledgment. He could feel the beginnings of a headache in the dull thudding behind his eyes. As if the bill he was currently working on wasn't the single hardest and most important thing he'd ever achieve during his reign, Vivian's overly enthusiastic father had to come and distract him, badgering him, not for the first time, to set a sound date for the two young nobles' nuptials.

Frankly, Arthur couldn't give a damn about a wedding when the scroll which would single-handedly repeal the ban on magic in Camelot lay dauntingly on his desk. Nearly a sennight’s worth of constant laborious work would all be wasted if he didn't put all his focus into his proposal to the council.

After he had realized just how royally he had screwed up and failed Merlin at every turn since they had met, he had plunged himself into work, taking many sleepless nights in exchange for the assurance that Merlin would have a safe home to return to when he returned.

He was yet to actually work out how he was going to get the unruly mage back, but one thing at a time.

And when they were finally together once more, Arthur was going to get on his knees and beg for Merlin's forgiveness until he could kiss him stupid and never let him go again.

A soft smile spread across his face until it looked like he was smiling at his quill with a look of the utmost adoration.

"Ah, I knew you'd come around! Look at that smile! Just pre-wedding nerves keeping you from setting the date, I imagine. I was the same way when I was preparing to marry Vivian's mother, you know. I couldn't eat the entire day before for fear I'd throw it all up again!" Olaf laughed, and Arthur cleared his throat. The smile melted from his face as easily as it had appeared, and he turned his gaze back up to meet Olaf's eyes.

"Oh, um, my apologies, Your Highness. What were you saying? I'm just overtired from work. The duty of a king is never finished, as you well know."

Olaf laughed again. "Never seen a king smiling like that over some paperwork, King Arthur."

Arthur felt heat rise in his cheeks. "Oh, I-I-"

"Young love, I remember it well. I'm forever grateful my Vivian has someone to care for her as you do."

Arthur turned his gaze back to the proposal in front of him. His eyes traced the sentence he'd just written without reading a word. His stomach tightened uncomfortably, hating the way King Olaf looked at him like he was some lovesick fool for Vivian.

A fool for agreeing to marry her, maybe, but lovesick he was not.

"As I was saying," Olaf continued. "I think it's been long enough now; it's about time this wedding occurs. I was thinking on the eve of the next full moon, that's only a little over a sennight from now-"

The doors to Arthur's chambers blew open. Arthur jumped up, startled, his hand automatically reaching for the dagger he kept on his desk. Olaf's head whipped around towards the source of the commotion.

Arthur let out a sigh of relief when he saw Leon standing in the doorway, but his grip never slackened on the knife. The look in Leon's eyes was enough to send him around his desk and towards his First Knight. For the man to have burst in without so much as a knock must mean the kingdom was burning down around them.

"Leon? What the hell's going on?"

Leon's mouth fell open, but no words left his lips. His eyes flicked to Olaf before coming back to rest on Arthur's.

The young king had never seen the knight look so lost for words.

"What's the matter? Leon, has something happened?" Arthur demanded. He strode forward and gripped Leon's shoulder, giving the knight a slight shake.

The movement was enough to knock Leon out of whatever sort of awed trance he'd been in. He shook his head hard and scrubbed a hand over his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"It's just–I don't really know…" Leon gave an irritated growl and sighed. "Sire, I think you should just see for yourself."

Arthur gave Leon one last worried look before following the First Knight out of his chambers. He didn't know if Olaf followed or not, but he had to jog to keep up with Leon's breakneck pace.

"Do you wish to give me any insight as to what I'm walking into? Or would you rather me be surprised by the destruction?" Arthur asked him breathlessly as Leon suddenly took a sharp right towards the stairs leading higher into the castle.

"There's no…destruction per say, at least not yet."

"And what the bloody hell is that supposed to mean, Sir Leon?"

Leon pushed open the door at the top of the stairs and stepped out onto the wall walk and into the warm afternoon sun. He gave Arthur a desperately pleading look and pushed forward. Arthur had no choice but to follow him.

"Please don't make me try to explain," he begged with a pained look, "Because I don't think I can."

Up ahead, Arthur could see the rest of the round table peering over the parapet which looked over the outer wall. Strangely enough, Morgana and Gwen were there as well. Arthur raised an eyebrow and shot an accusing look at Leon.

"And do tell why I was apparently the last one to know about whatever's going on in my own damn kingdom?"

Leon had the good sense to at least look guilty. "This is a rather unusual circumstance we thought could be better handled by Lady Morgana. My sincerest apologies, My Lord."

Carefully, Arthur himself approached the parapet, apprehension pulling tight in his chest as fear of what he would see set firmly in the pit of his stomach. If something world-ending was transpiring, everyone wouldn't look so transfixed by whatever they were seeing, would they?

When he finally glanced over the side, his breath caught in his lungs.

Far below what had to be at least three dozen bandits were attempting to scale the outer wall.

To say they were attempting was being generous. Each time one came within an arm's length of the wall, the stone would be bathed in a faint shimmery glow, the scenery warping around the spot where the contact was made, and the bandit would suddenly be thrown halfway back to the forest.

Arthur jumped like he was the one who'd been magically tossed through the air. Further down the wall walk, Gwaine barked a laugh when yet another stupid bandit thought they were for some reason different than all their comrades and gave a running start towards the wall only to be blasted back by a sudden spark of magic before he got anywhere close.

"At least a dozen has tried the same tactic since they got here, and they all end up roasting their asses. How thick can you be?" Gwaine called down to him around his peals of laughter. Leon rolled his eyes.

"This is why I wished for you to see for yourself, Sire. I'm not sure you would have believed me."

Arthur was still frozen in shock. Never in his life had he seen something like it. One of the bandits, thinking she was smarter than the rest, seemed to have caught sight of them watching the turmoil from above and sent an arrow towards their little crowd. Leon and Elyan each grabbed one of his arms and shoved him below the parapet while Percival and Lancelot gave Gwen and Morgana a similar treatment.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the telltale sound of an arrow finding its mark in the stone with a dull thud, but the sound never came. Curiously, he peeked over the edge again just in time to see what he assumed were the ashy remains of the arrow flutter gently to the ground in the soft breeze, looking like black snow against the backdrop of foliage.

"Mother, Maiden, and Crone, someone tell me what the hell is going on!" Arthur cried. He scrambled back up from where he'd been forced to the ground, shoving off Leon's helpful hand.

"Well, what does it look like, brother? Magic at its finest," Morgana snapped.

"Oh, my mistake, I thought that arrow got too close to the sun and burst into flames like a bloody myth. No shit, it's magic," he sniped right back. Morgana huffed and rounded on him. Arthur gritted his teeth and steeled himself for one of Morgana's tongue lashings he was oh-so familiar with. A delicately placed hand from Gwen stopped his wicked sister in her tracks.

"We don't know," Gwen told him calmly. "Lancelot and Percival were on guard duty when one of the sentries on duty came running, saying there was a disturbance at the southern outer wall. They sent for the rest of the knights, and when they all saw what was going on, Leon sent for Morgana since it's obviously an issue of magic. I was with her at the time, so I came along. We know no more than that."

"Well, now, that's not exactly true, is it?" Gwaine piped in. He had obviously grown bored of watching the game of magical bandit toss and was instead leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and a smug grin.

"What are you going on about now, Gwaine?" Percy asked wryly.

"You see, my large brother-in-arms." Percy grumbled under his breath. "Clearly, this is my dear Merlin's handiwork."

Every person standing on the wall walk gave Gwaine an utterly stunned look.

"Clearly?" Morgana asked, no shortage of offense in her voice over the implication that Gwaine of all people noticed something not a single one of the rest of them did. "Obviously, I realize it was Merlin, but I can feel his magical signature in the air. How could you possibly know it was him?"

"Yeah, clearly. I mean, come on, if it weren't enough that this has Merlin written all over it, he was working on this protective shit for weeks. I saw him goin' around carving all kinds of little symbols and doin' little chants. None of you noticed?"

Not a soul spoke. Arthur blinked a few times, desperately trying to clear the fog in his mind and somehow fathom out how Gwaine had noticed Merlin sneaking around and doing what were basically rituals. The man was drunk off his ass half the time and hungover the other. What did that say about the rest of them?

"And you never thought to tell us Merlin was going around the castle doing Druid rituals? For all we knew back then, he could have been rigging the castle to catch fire the next time Arthur sneezed!" Elyan cried.

Gwaine waved him off. "I knew he wasn't doin' anythin' bad. Merlin's got a heart of gold; he wouldn'ta hurt us like that. He started right after that assassination attempt on the training field when Lance took that arrow for the Princess. Figured whatever the hell he was doin' couldn't hurt, and we could use all the protection we could get after our little rebellion. If Merlin wanted to go around and carve magical signs into the windowsills to help him sleep better at night, who was I to stop him? Really, none of you noticed all the nights he was sneaking about the castle?"

Again, the silence lay thick and heavy as a blanket. Gwaine snorted.

"Honestly, I expected the Princess not to notice. All his blood goes to his downstairs brain around Merls. But the rest of you, well, no wonder Merlin felt like he didn't belong here."

The statement felt like someone had shoved a sword through Arthur's stomach. Because that was the crux of the issue, wasn't it? Merlin hadn't told any of them the true nature of his relationship with Cenred, but it wasn't like they'd given him a chance. From the moment the boy had been captured, he'd known nothing but shame and hatred for being born with a gift he had no control over. His arrival in Camelot had only been infinitesimally better, with the entirety of the castle treating him like a monster, Arthur included to start. He'd felt too common to fit in with Camelot's highest aristocracy and too noble to fit in with the commoners. There was no shortage of people to remind him just what he was, even after Uther had died. Hell, even those closest to him, the people Merlin had called his friends with such innocent, pathetic hope in his eyes, had barely bothered to visit him that week he'd been bedridden. No wonder Merlin had never felt safe enough to disclose his darkest secret. They hadn't once given him a reason to believe he could trust them with such information.

That was a guilt Arthur would harbor until his dying breath. How had he managed to fail Merlin so greatly, make him feel like he deserved to suffer alone?

Now, watching the effects of Merlin's care for a kingdom that would sooner see him dead than the prince he was, Arthur had a gut-wrenching thought:

What if Merlin left with Cenred, lied to Arthur about his love, simply because he felt it was unwanted by Arthur himself? What if Merlin would rather live the rest of his life in the hands of his abuser and enslaver than in Arthur's arms because at least with Cenred, he knew exactly where he stood? What if Arthur, in his own selfish bouts of misery in the wakes of ascending the throne, had driven Merlin away, knowing the boy would never question any sort of treatment he received from Arthur? Because at the end of the day, for all of the warlock's spite, wit, and false bravado, he'd been conditioned for over two years to believe himself deserving only of brutality and pain in retribution for crimes he never committed, all because every last ounce of his self-esteem had been shredded and stomped on by a man more interested in his body than his soul.

Merlin had claimed he finally felt safe in Camelot, with all of them. And Arthur didn't doubt that for a moment. Safety from bodily harm and peace of mind were two different entities entirely.

How could a man raised with hate ever hope to love another the way they deserved, especially someone as special as Merlin?

Perhaps his father, amongst all his lies, had been right about one thing: Kings weren't meant to care about anything but the power they held.

He found it was suddenly hard to breathe. One shaking hand reached up to tug at the high collar of his favorite red doublet. Invisible hands squeezed his throat, constricting his breath until he felt like he very-well may explode.

"Arthur! Arthur!"

Two soft hands batted his own away from his collar. Another pair worked to undo the fastenings that went down the front of the doublet. When at last the great pressure around his chest released, Arthur sucked in a gasping breath. He reached out to grip the parapet and steady himself only to feel the rough stone of the wall walk. He blinked slowly, realizing that he had somehow ended up on the ground. Without even noticing his surroundings had disappeared from view, they were suddenly back with full force, and the young king felt like he was emerging from a pit of mud.

The two soft hands from earlier were now cupping his cheeks, and Arthur's own weary gaze was met with Morgana's stunning emeralds. Her brow was pinched, and she was anxiously chewing on her bottom lip. Lancelot was knelt beside her, his hands still hovering around Arthur's chest where he'd apparently been the one to rip open Arthur's top.

All at once, he was hyper-aware of the thin sheen of cold sweat on his skin and the frantic beating of his heart behind his ribs. He reached out to grip the soft fabric of Morgana's dress in a desperate attempt to find anything to ground him. His eyes flicked down to watch his trembling thumb stroke the delicate stitching, but one easy finger crooked beneath his chin from Morgana pulled his gaze back up to hers. He panted out a shuddering breath and leaned into the caring hands of his sister, forcing his eyes shut to block out the unwanted stares of all the others watching their king fall apart at the seams.

It was abruptly all too much. He gave another shuddering sigh that broke into a sob, squeezing his eyes until he saw colors beneath his lids. His tongue was made of stone, his lips incapable of forming the words necessary to speak.

He felt a bit like a sieve trying to hold water, a castle by the sea built upon sand. The more he grasped at his last shreds of dignity, the more they seemed to slip right through his fingers.

There was a rustling of fabric while Morgana shifted around. "Alright, bugger off, you lot!" She barked. Arthur flinched. He death gripped her skirt. "Show's over. Leon, see that a guard's sent to handle the last of the idiots trying to get over the wall. Gwaine, Lance, please make sure our ever-gracious guest, King Olaf, is not left unattended lest he think us bad hosts. Off you go then, lads. Oh, and Gwen, dear, we're still on for the evening meal tonight, yes?"

Arthur didn't really hear the maidservant's response, only the shuffling of feet as his knights ran for the hills under Morgana's orders.

Morgana rested her forehead against his. Her fingers came up to tug lightly at the hair around his ears, scratching his scalp just enough to keep him from sinking back into the abyss of his panic. He was ten summers old again, huddled under the table in his chambers after his father had just beat him for losing a small tourney to another lord's son. Morgana was fourteen, holding him close and rocking them both beneath that table while they waited for Gaius to come and make everything better. They were each other's only source of comfort.

Not much had changed.

"You're having one of your panic attacks, brother dear. Just breathe. Everything will be alright, I swear it," she whispered. Even though they were now alone on the wall walk, the words were clearly meant for his ears, and his alone.

He took one shaky breath. And then one turned into two. Before he knew it the corset around his chest finally fell away completely. Arthur carefully opened his eyes to find himself curtained by long inky locks. Morgana pulled back just enough to smile at him.

"There we are. That's better."

Arthur didn't even have the willpower to be embarrassed by the fact that he was currently splayed out on the wall walk of his own castle while his sister held him as he came down from a panic attack.

He was a pathetic excuse for a king.

"The hell you are!"

Ah, he'd said that one aloud. Shit.

"You are the greatest king this land has ever seen, Arthur, and anyone who says otherwise is completely mad. Just because you have emotions and feel like any other normal person doesn't mean you're pathetic. It's because you feel that you're the amazing ruler you are. In the few months you've been King, you've already done more good for Camelot than Uther did in all the years he ruled. Might I remind you that this half-witted attack today is the only attack Camelot has suffered at all since you ascended the throne? Uther had people trying to break down the castle walls every other day. I don't know how many more times you need to hear it until it finally sinks into that thick skull of yours, but you are not Uther, and you certainly don't deserve to treat yourself as such!"

Arthur's eyes burned. Only Merlin had ever been so adamant about those ideals. And while he realized, rationally, not everyone in his kingdom could despise him, he was inclined to believe the number was much higher than he wished, especially after what he'd done at the feast.

Merlin never did truly see the impact he made on everyone he met.

He offered her a watery smile. "And here I thought you were still angry with me."

"I'm always angry with you," she teased, giving his chest a little shove. "But you're my irritating little brother. King or not, it's my duty to keep you in your place. Doesn't mean I love you any less."

She pulled him back into her arms and tucked his head against her shoulder. "I failed him, 'Gana," he croaked.

He didn't need to clarify just who 'him' was. She sighed tiredly and rubbed a hand along his back. "You didn't fail him. The rest of us are just as much to blame, apparently. I wish the events of the banquet had been handled differently but…" She was quiet for a long moment. "Merlin's stubborn. Always has been, even when he was just a baby. If he had wished for us to know the truth about Cenred, he would have told us. You must remember, dear brother, Merlin has essentially been a prisoner for over two years. You've seen first-hand what prisoners of war look like after they've been returned. And many of them were never violated to the extent Merlin has been. He covers a lot of pain all the time. I don't believe Merlin chose not to tell any of us because he didn't trust us, at least not consciously. Rather, I think he spent so long taking care of himself that giving up such a vulnerable part of himself to anybody at all was too much for him to handle. Aside from that, I think we're all missing a vitally important piece of this puzzle, I just haven't yet fathomed out what it is."

"Is that what the attack was about?" She murmured in his ear. He nodded jerkily and gripped her shoulders until his fingers ached with the effort. He buried his face in her neck as far as he could possibly get it and tried not to think about how much of a child he must look, gripping on to his sister like she was the only thing tethering him to the earth.

"I do love you, Arthur, but I do not wish to become one being. Much further and I fear what my magic will do." Nonetheless, her arms became impossibly tighter around him.

Arthur absolutely did not sob.

It was a long time before the king finally managed to work up enough nerve to extricate himself from Morgana's hold. He took a deep breath and rubbed roughly at his eyes.

"I'm so sorry, 'Gana," he whispered. "I know I'm not the only one who misses him. The two of you were very close."

Morgana laughed lightly. "Arthur, be glad I care so much for you. If not, I would've snatched Merlin up for myself a long time ago. Although, I do fear he has eyes only for you. Curious, really. I couldn't imagine why. Your personality can be downright dreadful some days and while you're certainly attractive, I've seen better. For my dear Merlin's sake, I do hope you're good in bed."

Arthur spluttered, his cheeks turning hot with embarrassment. "Morgana!" He cried indignantly with his mouth still hanging open. His sister collapsed into a fit of laughter.

"It's so easy to rile you up. If I didn't know better, I'd take you for some blushing virgin."

"I am not a virgin!"

"I'm sure Merlin can attest to that. Funny how you didn't deny that you blush."

Arthur gave her a rough shove. She fell on to her back and glowered at him. "This dress is chiffon, you heathen. While I realize that means nothing to your brain of masculinity, I will tell you it costs more than most of the furniture in your chambers. I will not have it tarnished in the dirt."

"We both know you'll be making yourself a new dress with your magic tonight anyhow, you harpy."

Morgana shook her head and sat back up. "Men," she grumbled. Her face softened, and she smiled. "Your infuriating state of manliness aside, everything will be alright. We'll bring Merlin home one way or another. Then you can grovel until he kisses you just to shut you up."

She leaned forward and ghosted her lips over his forehead. She grabbed his hands and gave them a comforting squeeze and then pushed up from the ground, brushing the invisible dirt from her dress. She offered Arthur her hand.

He took it with a smile.

"Daegal! Will! They're back!"

Will's head snapped up from the small campfire in front of him. Freya appeared on the ridge just above the valley they had set up make-shift camp in with Aithusa zipping around her head.

Will shared a look across the fire with Daegal who had been painstakingly attempting to mend some of the worse rips in his trousers. Will carefully set aside the rabbit he'd been roasting over the fire, and both boys scrambled up without a word.

It had been over two weeks since their escape, as best as any of them could tell by the changes of the moon. A month of sleeping under the stars, living off what they could from the land, and hiding from Essetirian patrols. It certainly hadn't been easy. Having been in Cenred's guard for the beginning part of his adulthood and part of a fairly affluent household, as far as families went in Essetir, before that, Will really hadn't the fondest how to survive in the wilderness. Even after he had joined Merlin's crew, the Captain had taken care of everything; they hadn't wanted for anything.

As for Freya, she was a scavenger at best, used to living off other people's scraps. She was just as useless as Will when it came to preparing her meal from the time it was still living.

Without Daegal, they both would have perished the second day of their grand escape.

The boy certainly knew what he was doing in nature; in fact, he was more comfortable amidst the land than Will had ever seen him before. He could identify and list the properties of any plant they came across. He could coax the edible plants to come out of hiding and make it easier for them to access. He scaled trees and cliffs alike as easily as he went up the gangway of The Avalon. It took him only a singular strike of two rocks to start a fire, even with the wettest wood available. Will was nearly certain Daegal also had a sixth sense for fresh water because the young boy could practically sniff out every drop in a six-knot radius. He could even charm small game like rabbits and squirrels to walk right into his ratty old rucksack, although he made Will finish them off in the end.

Needless to say, Will was endlessly grateful for the Druid's environmental know-how.

That was, until with two whispered words, a long, thick vine grew down from a tree above, wrapped itself around Daegal's waist, and lifted the boy effortlessly on to the ridge, leaving Will to fumble his way up the narrow, steep path curving down the cliff face.

Magical bastard.

By the time Will finally made it to the top, Freya was tapping her foot impatiently. "Took you long enough."

"Shove it up yer ass, lassie," Will snapped. He didn't have time to play games. If Freya meant what he thought she did, Merlin could be only a long hike away for the first time in months. He wasn't about to miss his best mate's arrival, the reason they'd been hiding out in the forest for a month like hermits, just because Freya felt she needed to tease him for being magically inept.

Freya and Daegal rushed to keep up. "We have plenty of time Will," Freya panted. "They were only just appearing on the horizon when I came to get you two. It'll be a long while before they moor the ship."

"Don't care," he growled. He shoved a tree branch out of his way only for it to snap back and smack Daegal clean across the face. The boy gave a startled yelp and collapsed to the ground, clutching his face with his one arm that worked. The other hung limp and useless at his side, only half-healed and poorly at that, yet Daegal had refused to be confined to the sling any longer. It was so far gone even Aithusa couldn't heal it, not completely.

"Daegal!" Freya cried and rushed to his side.

"Shh!" Will hissed and gave the surrounding woods a surreptitious glance. "D'ya wanna get us caught? How're we gonna help Cap then, hm?"

"Will, you hit him with a tree branch!"

"Well, maybe he should bloody well watch where the hell he's goin'!"

"William!" Freya screamed. Will shuddered at the sound of his given name. Only his mother ever called him that, and even then, only when he'd done something exceptionally stupid.

It was enough for him to finally turn and look at the pair. Freya was glaring at him in a way that sent another involuntary shiver down the first mate's spine. Daegal, on the other hand, was gazing at him over top of his hand through hazy, watery eyes full of hurt and upset. Will swallowed down bile that rose up his throat at the sight of the crimson blood leaking from between Daegal's fingers, knowing he had been the one to cause it.

He'd hurt Daegal.

Not just shoved him around or given him a brotherly punch. No, he'd hurt him.

Dear Goddess, what had he done?

He took a step towards the other boy, only for him to flinch back and plant his heels like he was preparing to scramble away. "Daegal," he breathed. He reached out a hand to soothe him, to comfort him, to look at the injury he'd inflicted, to do something. Tears welled in his eyes when yet again, the boy flinched, actually scooting away from his outstretched hand. Shakily, he closed his fist and squeezed it tight at his side.

Freya eventually coaxed Daegal's hand away from his face, and Will nearly threw up at the visage. It looked like someone had smashed their fist right into Daegal's nose. It had swelled to twice its size, and already, the skin around the damaged area had turned a sickeningly deep purple. Blood was splattered across most of his face and dripping like a waterfall on to his soiled tunic, yet more blood kept pumping out of his nose like a macabre river.

Aithusa landed next to Daegal and nudged his arm with a worried chirp. She clambered onto his lap while Freya tried to staunch the endless flow of blood with the meagre remains of Will's frock coat which they'd cut up and turned into bandages. A few drops of the blood landed on Aithusa, staining her alabaster scales red.

Will really did retch then, losing the few berries he'd eaten earlier.

He wiped his mouth roughly and pulled himself up in time to see Aithusa give a small puff of breath, her golden healing dust bursting out and encompassing the entirety of Daegal's face. Immediately, the flow of fresh blood stopped. The little white dragon gave a tired sigh and collapsed against Daegal's chest, even the meagre amount of magic too much with her master so far and her energy so low.

"'Hanks, 'Thus," Daegal whispered nasally and stroked her spine. Freya pulled a water skin Daegal had fashioned, from within his bag and emptied it onto the rags so she could scrub at least some of the congealed evidence off the Druid's face.

"There. How're you feeling?" She asked.

"S'ill 'urts 'ike a bish, but a'least i's'not b'eeding ." Freya gave him an unimpressed look. "I'm fine, F'ey, come on. We can' miss, Cap."

Freya helped Daegal up from the forest floor, and Aithusa clamored up to wrap herself around Daegal's neck like a large cat. They both pushed right past Will without a word.

Will studiously ignored the way he felt like his world was collapsing.

.

.

The rest of their trek was spent in utter silence, only broken by the occasional snap of a twig or rustle of a leaf that sent all three of them reeling and grabbing for weapons only for it to be nothing more than a rabbit or a squirrel.

Will trailed behind the others, too afraid to get close for fear of hurting them even worse.

He knew he had no compassion. He knew how many people he'd killed, how many women he'd bedded, how many treasures he'd stolen. He knew he was the last person anyone wanted to willingly be around. He only knew how to be sarcastic and rude. He barely knew what optimism was. He was ruthless and bloodthirsty, and he was okay with that.

Really, he was.

But he'd made a grave mistake. He'd hurt one of the only three people in the world he gave two shits about. All because he felt so powerless to do anything helpful. He didn't have magic like Daegal or wits like Freya. He was just Will, with his sword and his cynicism. And he'd gone and ruined the only good thing he had left.

If any one of them deserved all this misery, it was him.

At long last, the trees began to thin out and slivers of the afternoon sun filtered through enough to cast long shadows of the trees over the soft earth. Freya dropped to her hands and knees as the ground melded easily from damp moss to flat stone, and she motioned for Daegal and Will to follow suit. The trio crawled all the way to the edge of what became another cliff's edge, this one suspended high above Essetir and looking directly over Cenred's private port.

Will dared to peer over the edge and felt dizzy just looking at the nauseating height. A fall from there would leave nothing but animal feed. The first mate dug his fingers into the edge, but shuffled back with a startled cry when the dirt gave way under his palms.

Freya slapped her hand over his mouth so hard his teeth rattled. He let her. He was in no position to protest.

Thankfully, he didn't need to nearly pitch himself over the edge in order to see what Freya had. Sitting snugly in the port and already being moored by some dockworkers, was Cenred's personal ship, The Executioner. Those terrifying words were carved and painted blood red in the ship's hull. The Avalon, bobbing gently just next to it, looked like a toy boat next to the great beast of a ship. It even put Arthur Pendragon's Dragon Slayer to shame.

Will had only ever set foot on that ship once, but the smell was one he'd never forget. It reeked of blood and fear and misery. He shivered just thinking about it.

It wasn't long before someone lowered the gangway and a flood of men roared out of the ship. But even amidst the sea of Cenred's urchins and bastards, there was no mistaking the King himself, dragging a much smaller, limp figure like a sack of flour.

A figure with hair as dark as coal. A figure which didn't seem to be conscious at all.

Freya's hands snapped out and gripped both him and Daegal by the back of the neck and pinned Aithusa down with her elbow.

"Stand down, all of you!" She hissed, her voice like a snake's. "I'm just as angry as the rest of you. Don't think I don't want to march down there and kill every last one of those bastards with my bare hands. But we're no help to the Captain if we get ourselves captured again, or worse, killed cause we launched ourselves over a cliff!"

As Freya spoke, Will kept his eyes dutifully trained on the scene below. More men kept pouring out from the boughs of the ship. It seemed as if it were never going to stop.

He glanced over at his companions. Daegal, with his lame arm and shattered nose, tremored every time he stood for too long. Freya, in a pair of Daegal's spare trousers he'd had in his bag because she got so fed up with her skirts catching on all the underbrush and her leg that still bothered her from the long-ago fight with Pendragon's ship, though she'd never admit it. Aithusa, with the slow-healing gash on her hip, could barely keep her eyes open long enough to fly.

He himself was exhausted, acutely aware of every ache and pain in his body.

At that moment, he knew they were in way over their heads, hopelessly outmatched. Any rescue attempt on their part would be a suicide mission.

They were helpless. They likely couldn't fight off one of Cenred's guards, let alone get into the city, into the castle, get past all the guards, rescue Merlin, get back out, and get far enough away to keep him safe.

As much as it pained him, as much as the words tasted like acid on his tongue and felt like a knife to his pride, he said:

"I think we need ta get ta Camelot."

Chapter Text

"I think we need ta go ta Camelot."

Except, Will didn't have the faintest clue how they were going to get there.

"Great idea, Oh Fearless Leader," Freya groused. She pushed herself away from the edge of the cliff and stood so she was glowering down at him with her arms crossed. "Do tell, though, how you intend to accomplish that. I'd love to hear it."

Will huffed and scooched away from the cliff until Daegal was the only one left on his stomach with Aithusa perched on his head like the world's prettiest gargoyle.

He was wondering that himself. It wasn't like they had any hope of getting to The Avalon with it under security all hours of the day, and besides, he doubted it would sail without Merlin on board. Any other ship required more than a three-man crew to sail. Even if they were in any kind of shape to make the trek all the way there on foot—which they weren't—it was a six-month journey, at least. Merlin probably didn't have six days let alone six months.

He was left pretty bereft of any options.

"Unbelievable," Freya muttered. "You've got no idea what we're gonna do, do ya?"

"None of us do," Will said. He stared at a scraggly weed in the dirt, refusing to look at any of his companions. He wasn't sure which would be worse: Freya's disgusted anger or Daegal's innocent hope, crushed the moment he realized Will had not only hurt him but also had no solution to any of their problems.

"Yeah, well, not all of us are the first mate, are we? Aren't you supposed to take over when Cap's not around? Isn't that your whole point? Cap would know what to do."

"That ain't fair, Freya," Will snapped. He refused to let her see just how much that had hurt. He already realized his only place in the crew was to take over in case something happened to Merlin, a grunt to do all the muscle work, and he couldn't even do that much. But admitting it to himself and hearing it said aloud, aloud by one of the only people left in the world whom he gave a damn about…that hurt, more than he ever expected it to.

"Isn't it? Because even if Cap didn't know what to do, I can tell you he sure as hell wouldn't have hurt Daegal no matter how angry he got. Goddess, you're so pissed at the world all the time that you can't even look past your anger to see yourself hurting the people you supposedly care about."

"I didn't mean ta hurt 'im, Freya!"

"Yeah, well you did." She trailed her eyes over the sea on the horizon. "Sometimes I wonder why Cap even made you his first mate."

Will took a step towards her, but she held her ground, staring up at him with fiery contempt. This was a side of Freya he had never had directed at him before. "Ya know damn well why."

"Oh, right. You saved his life, or so he says. If you'd really have saved his life, you wouldn't have let Cenred take him from Ealdor in the first place!" She slammed the palms of her hands into his shoulders, and he took a stumbling step backwards. He felt his anger rising, so quick these days; it felt like the first days after his mother and sister had been killed all over again. Only then, Merlin had been there just as much as he had tried to be there for the prince. Still, he couldn't help but admit that just because this was the first time someone had voiced it aloud that he hadn't thought about what Freya said. Merlin had been beaten, assaulted, and drugged. He'd been taken from the only home he'd ever known, yet even lying chained to his bed the few weeks after they'd made it back to Essetir, he'd held the shattered pieces of Will's life together in his gentle hands and helped him to direct his anger from the world to Cenred. He'd talked Will away from the edge of his balcony the day after his family had been executed, without ever moving from his bed. All Will had been able to do was offer him a few extra bites of bread and hold him when Cenred was finished with him.

Merlin had saved his life and had every day since. He'd saved all of their lives a dozen times over with nothing more than his words and his gentle disposition. All he had ever asked in return was for them to take care of each other.

It was Will's one job. And he'd failed.

"Frey," Daegal whispered, his voice still stuffed and nasally. "Tha' wasn't nice."

Will glanced over at the boy on the ground who was now holding Aithusa to his chest like she was a housecat rather than a dragon the size of a flour sack. He couldn't look him in the eye, too afraid to face the disappointment he knew he'd find there. "It's okay, kid."

Freya shoved past him with a hard hit to his shoulder. "Yeah, sure, Daegal. It'll be fine. Soon as this asshole sprouts wings and flies us to Camelot. You know, where they'll probably hang us, anyhow."

"Come on, Freya," Will sighed, irritated. "D'ya have ta scare 'im like that?"

"Guys, don' figh." Daegal made to get up from the ground, but Aithusa startled in his arms, popping her head up and chirping at Freya with her head cocked questioningly.

Freya furrowed her eyebrows. "What's wrong, girl?"

Aithusa wiggled from Daegal's grip. She was practically vibrating with how excited she suddenly was. She crashed to the ground in an ungraceful tangle of limbs and wings and spun in a circle like she did when she was chasing her tail, chirping the entire time.

Freya fell to her knees. "Girl?"

Aithusa gave a little leap into the air with another excited chirp. She rustled her wings and fanned them out for everyone to see, giving them another little shake.

"Your wings?" Freya asked. "What about them? It's a nice thought, but I hate to break it to you, 'Thus. No matter how much I believe in you, you can't fly yourself all the way to Camelot, let alone all three of us."

Aithusa huffed and glowered at Freya. She shook her head and spun again, rustling her wings harder. Then, she stood on her hind legs, opened her mouth, and gave a little roar in the saddest imitation of a threatening beast Will had ever seen.

"Ya know another way for us ta get ta Camelot? Another dragon?" Will demanded. He didn't even try to hide the shock he knew was coloring his voice and no doubt being relayed on his face.

Daegal made a small, surprised noise. "Wait, anoder drag'n? Tha's not poss'ble. Most o' da drag'ns died in the Purge, and the few dat managed to escape wen' ex'inct when Cenred destroyed Ealdor. 'Thus is da las' drag'n. Cap surely woulda known if dere were more drag'ns. I mean, he's a bloody Drag'nlord!"

"Yeah, but not a Dragonlord at full capacity. He hasn't exactly been able to explore that particular ability, right? He didn't technically become one until King Balinor passed and by the time that happened, Cenred already had his magic bound, Dragonlord heritage and all. I mean, Cap always said it himself; he's not infallible. Even he makes mistakes. Do you think there's any sort of chance something may have slipped by him? It's not like he hasn't had enough on his plate to worry about the last few years besides some wayward dragon," Freya said. She was pacing back and forth, her words speeding up with every realization.

Will sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "But a whole dragon? That seems like a pretty big thing ta miss. If we're usin' the argument that his abilities have been suppressed too much for 'im ta sense this other magic dragon, then how come he's always been so in tune with 'Thus?"

"Well, she followed 'im to Ess'tir, did't she?" Daegal asked softly. "I wasn' 'round when everythin' 'appened, but I've heard the stories. She was dust a baby, but she followed 'im all da way from Ealdor. Cap's known her since she was dust an egg. What if 'e's never even met dis oder drag'n?"

"Still don't explain how a whole damn dragon—one large enough to carry us all ta Camelot, 'parently—managed ta escape death not once, but twice."

"Maybe the drag'n was never in Ealdor. Explains why da Cap'n wouldn't know 'bout it," Daegal said quietly.

Aithusa roared her approval and butted her head straight into Daegal's side. The boy huffed and shoved her away. He muttered, "Jeez, 'Thus, you're not that little anymore." He still reached out with his good arm and gave her a gentle pat on the head. Will rolled his eyes.

He let out a long sigh, and Aithusa's head snapped so quickly from where she was nudging against Daegal's hand that Will was surprised she didn't break her neck. The soft blue of her irises were completely swallowed by the darkness of her pupils, and she narrowed her eyes at him in an uncanny imitation of Freya. Clearly, she was corrupting the dragon.

A day ago, he would have teased the girl about it. At the current moment, he favored all of his manly bits too much to even breathe in Freya's direction.

Aithusa leapt from Daegal's hold once more and shot into the air, no more than a blur, before she was slamming into the center of Will's chest and sending him sprawling on his back. Aithusa sat on his chest like she sat upon a throne, her tail whipping against his thigh and her nails digging painfully into Will's dangerously exposed skin through the shreds of his clothing. She moved until her snout was nearly pressed against his own nose, small whisps of smoke circling his head and a low rumbling emanating from her chest.

"What the hell? Aithusa, get off!" He tried to shove her away, but she gave her tail one quick swat, and he felt her spikes break the skin on his leg. He cursed sharply.

"Son of a bitch! What the hell's wrong with ya? Aithusa! Get. Off!"

Off to the side, Will could hear Freya laughing, clearly not making any move to help him. "What? Can't take care of a little dragon, William? She's just a little baby."

"Oh, screw off, Freya!" That earned him another painful swat. He yelped softly and tried to kick his leg out from underneath her tail, but she had the appendage so tightly wrapped around him that he wasn't sure even Merlin could have made her move.

Freya snapped. "What? She just knows you're being an asshole. I'm so sorry it hurts your pride to be called out by a dragon. 'Cause apparently, your very much human family can't get the notion through your thick skull."

Family. She had called them his family. And while he would be the first one to claim them as such, he had been so sure he had lost all claims to that title the moment he had hurt Daegal. The moment he had broken the vow he'd made the day they'd busted down Ealdor's front gates that he would never again harm an innocent soul, not even under pain of death.

Will took a shaky breath. He was fed up with the snide remarks and eerie silence. He realized he had screwed up, majorly, royally screwed up. But he had never been one to beat around the bush; Freya needed to either tell him to go screw himself or not. Only a few hours of the backhanded treatment had set the last withering nerve he had on edge.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, alright? Is that what ya want ta hear? That I'm a stubborn, mean asshole who hates the whole world? 'Cause I ain't denyin' it. I screwed up, 'kay? I know that. And I'm gonna hate myself for the rest of my life, you can be sure of that. I ain't no good as a first mate; I ain't no good as a best friend; I ain't even any good at bein' a decent human bein'. The one thing I was supposed to be good at was protectin' the only family I've got left, and I even failed at that. So ya can keep remindin' me how awful I am, all of ya can," he said, shooting a pointed look over Aithusa's back at Freya, "but ya can rest assured that I already know. And I've hated myself a lot longer than any of ya have. Like it or not, you're all stuck with me, least 'til we rescue Cap. Then, none of ya will have to see me again if ya don't want. I just want to make sure he survives. So, I suggest ya get the hell offa me, 'Thus, and take us to this supposed dragon you know. The sooner we get there, the sooner I'm gone, if that's what ya all really want."

Aithusa was so stunned that it didn't take more than Will standing back up to throw her off. He could feel Freya and Daegal's gazes boring into the back of his head, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He was suddenly so angry. And he didn't understand what was wrong with him. Sure, he'd had a bit of a temper his entire life, but it'd never been so volatile before, especially not around Merlin and the others. He got annoyed with them nearly every day, but he'd thought that's what families did. They bickered and fought and tore each other's faces off, but at the end of the day, they loved each other more than anything.

He'd thought he'd gotten better, became a better person than the one he was as a guard in Cenred's household.

Now, he was thinking maybe it'd been less about him becoming a better person and more about the fact that Merlin was such a good one. And without him there to mediate, Will was losing it.

What a wonderful realization. Merlin was the only one who'd kept a cap on his anger.

Maybe he deserved their treatment after all.

Regardless, Will turned his head to scan the tree line. The dirt crunched under a boot.

"Will—" Daegal said softly. His voice was meek and tired, anxious, nothing like its usual snotty, cocksure lilt. Will resented it.

"Come on," he said as way of answer. "Lead the way, 'Thus. Best get ta this dragon 'fore night comes again. Sooner we get ta Camelot, the better."

"Will!" Daegal snapped. His voice was louder this time but still thick and nasally. Will clenched his fists at his sides and took a deep breath through his nose to try and keep a lid on his irritation. His uncontrollable anger was what had gotten them into their current situation to begin with.

"What?" Will spared a single glance over his shoulder. Daegal was standing behind him, his face pinched and red. His bad arm was hanging limply at his side, but the other was clenched around the strap of his bag like it was the only thing keeping him from lashing out.

"Wha' happen'd to not whinin' 'bout what we sig'ed up for? If I 'member correct'y, you bit by head off da one time I lost it. From where I'm standin', it sounds a whole hell of a 'ot 'ike you're feelin' sorry for yourself. You're right; we all owe Cap our lives den dimes over, and we 'ave no idea wha' wen' on in Came'ot. So that doesn't mean you get to let 'im down by aband'nin' us! We're a fam'ly. You're bein' ove'drama'ic. And you," he said, whirling on Freya. "Would you s'op blamin' 'im al'eady? Sure, he broke by nose, but we both know 'e didn't do it on pu'pose. We're all at our wi's end, and we're sick and ti'ed of bein' sick and ti'ed. Now, let's get da hell outta 'ere. I can' 'ook at either of you righ' now."

Daegal's chest was heaving with the exertion his spiel had taken. He shoved past both of them without a glance, following Aithusa as she zipped back into the woods.

Will glanced at Freya, but she was watching Daegal's retreating figure with suspiciously glassy eyes. Will sighed and ran a hand over his face.

Resolutely, he set off after the Druid.

So, Will had vastly underestimated the size of Aithusa's "friend".

Then again, it wasn't like he exactly had a lot of material for reference. The only dragon he'd ever known was Aithusa, and she was still a baby, barely any bigger than a sack of flour. And she was over two years old! Merlin had once told him that dragons grow extremely slowly, not reaching full size until nearly one hundred. And this dragon…was massive.

It was at least the size of The Avalon, if not bigger. So big, in fact, that it blotted out the sun over the forest clearing as it swooped down from above at Aithusa's warbling call.

A lesser man than Will would have pissed himself. Then again, he wasn't far from it.

The only solace he found in the situation was knowing that both of his crewmates looked just as petrified as he felt. Freya had her cutlass in a death-grip, brown eyes tracking every minute movement of the beast as if her puny blade could ever hope to do anything against it. Daegal had gone paler than he'd been before, quite an impressive feat. His hands were anxiously twisting the strap of his satchel, and he had one foot poised behind him like he was preparing to flee. It was a nice sentiment, but Will didn't think they could outrun it even at full capacity.

Aithusa, for her part, seemed completely unfazed. In a sudden burst of energy, she was zipping and diving around the much larger dragon's head. She looked like a small bug next to it. Will could barely see her in its shadow.

The dragon was watching her with an expression Will could only describe as amusement. It was smirking—honest to Goddess smirking. He didn't even know dragons could smirk.

Aithusa swooped down and gave his back a shove rough enough to send him stumbling forward. She cocked her head and gave him a smile full of razor-sharp teeth, looking for all sake like a cat that got the cream. He glared at her, but she only thumped her tail against the ground, pleased with the situation she had forced him into, and widened her eyes until they turned bright and glassy. He silently cursed Merlin and his damn puppy eyes.

Will swallowed hard and steeled himself. What he wouldn't do for Merlin to be there. What the hell was proper dragon etiquette? Was there dragon etiquette? Surely, there was. People had etiquette and from what he'd gathered, dragons were just as intelligent, if not more. Not to mention the fact that they'd existed for thousands of years. Even before humans had roamed the land, dragons had clouded the skies. The Captain had said they used to live in their own colonies. They had to have some sort of decorum, some sort of social propriety by which they'd take offense if it was broken. Usually, he wasn't really one to care about etiquette, but he didn't really think it was a good idea to tempt a beast whose claws were larger than his entire body.

Was he meant to look it in the eyes? Or was that taboo? He was pretty sure Merlin had some odd saying about never tickling a sleeping dragon…wasn't there some sort of saying about looking into a dragon's eyes and incurring their wrath, too…no, wait, he was fairly certain that was a joke Merlin had made right after Freya joined their crew.

Oh, they were so dead.

In any instance, he had to crane his neck back the entire way just to look it in the eyes, and even then, its head was reduced to an inky black blob surrounded by a halo of sun. Draconic decorum be damned, Will settled for gazing somewhere vaguely at its neck.

"Um…hello, mate."

The large dragon gave no sign it had even heard Will, but Aithusa shoved her head into his back again and gave him a warning snarl. He bit back a curse.

"So, listen 'ere. Uh, I'm Will, and this is Freya and Dae —"

"I know who you are."

Pissing himself was suddenly becoming a very real possibility.

The dragon's deep voice rumbled over the clearing causing the very ground to shake with the force of it. Will jumped so violently it hurt, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Freya had a similar reaction. He was pretty sure Daegal actually squeaked.

"Ya can—can talk."

"Ah, yes, a very astute observation, young knight."

"What, I ain't a—"

"But yes, I can speak as well as you."

Will spluttered, "But—but, on'y Cap can actually talk ta 'Thus. I mean, we've gotten pretty good but…"

"Aithusa is yet to grow into her voice."

"But—"

"Do ask your question, young one. I am very old and very tired. I do not have time for the likes of common men."

Will squared his shoulders with indignation and set his jaw. "Sorry ta take up yer time then, yer lordship. Didn't realize I was in the presence of such an esteemed being." He stepped back and gave the dragon a deep, exaggerated bow.

Aithusa's teeth nipped the back of his leg. He jumped away with a muffled curse and turned just in time to be swatted once more in admonishment by Aithusa's spiked tail.

"Damn it, Aithusa!"

The ground shook beneath them. Will's head whipped up to see the large dragon turning about as if to leave.

Shit.

A roaring gust of wind stronger than any storm the first mate had ever faced on the sea swept over the clearing with only one beat of the dragon's wings. It effectively pinned him to the ground, rolling around in vain. He let out a frustrated groan and punched the ground beneath him. He'd just gone and blown their only chance at saving Merlin because he couldn't keep his stupid mouth shut.

"Wait!"

The dragon paused.

Freya shoved herself to her feet. She looked like a force to be reckoned with. Her clothes, like Will and Deagal's, hung in tatters, a sad imitation of the garments they were supposed to be. Her hair was a nest of tangles and mats, her bandana long ago abandoned to some other purpose or another. There wasn't an inch of her not covered in grime and blood. She was pale and shaky where she stood, but her eyes held an unmistakable fire, one that had never been extinguished as long as Will had known her. It was one that told him they still had hope.

He only wished he could find even an ember of it for himself.

"What this idiot is trying to say, is that we need your help."

The dragon still stood poised for flight, but Will saw his head move in the barest of inclinations. He couldn't even be mad over the obvious jibe when Freya was likely about to save all their asses, yet again.

It wasn't like Will was any good at that lately.

"My help?" the dragon asked.

Freya nodded eagerly. "Yes, your help. We would be…forever in your debt."

"And what is it you need my help with?" The dragon turned its head slowly back around to watch Freya with a condescending sort of curiosity behind its eyes, like it knew exactly what they wanted, but wanted the satisfaction of laughing at their ignorance.

"We need passage to Camelot."

Freya seemed to realize her mistake the moment the words left her mouth. She froze with her eyes almost as wide as the time she'd walked in on him and a barmaid that had been nearly fifteen summers his senior.

Seeing it reenacted was disappointingly less hilarious than he'd always imagined it would be.

"You've come before me to ask for passage to Camelot?" the dragon growled. A gust of steam puffed from its nostrils. Freya cringed and flinched back.

"I—I didn't mean it that way…well, I did but—but not like you think—"

"You dare to ask me for passage to Camelot? The kingdom that has slaughtered the entirety of my race? What authority do you think for even a moment that you have here, girl? You should feel blessed to even get my audience, let alone make such a brazenly outlandish request!"

"I—"

"We need yer help rescuin' King Balinor's son," Will cut her off hurriedly.

That seemed to grab the beast's attention. It gave pause where it stood, cocking its head, alarmingly, like a curious dog. Its eyes narrowed to slits. Will made his most valiant attempt not to shudder.

"And what do you know of Balinor?"

"We know his son. He's the Cap'n of our ship."

"And what is it that's happened to the young prince?" the dragon pressed, "The last I knew, he was in Essetir with King Cenred."

"Well, he's gotta knack fer gettin' kidnapped. He was taken ta Camelot, but Cenred doesn't much like when he loses his property. He got 'im back."

The dragon threw its head back and gave a rumbling, throaty bark of a laugh. It was an ugly, guttural thing that had Will cringing back. Still, the first mate couldn't help but scowl. They didn't have time for whatever the hell this nonsense was. And they surely didn't have time to stand there and be laughed at by an overgrown lizard.

With an impressive mouth full of razor-sharp teeth, but that was unimportant.

"What the hell's so funny?" He snapped. He realized he was probably toying with fate talking to the dragon in such a manner, but he was fed up with the delays and half-baked answers. If the dragon wasn't going to give them passage to Camelot, Will would find another way. He would always find a way back to his family. But he wasn't about to waste another moment being belittled and talked down to for being a silly little mortal when he could be plotting his next course of action.

Not that he had one. They'd thoroughly exhausted plans A-P. He didn't even know what to name a plan Q.

It was a noble sentiment all the same and had absolutely nothing to do with the scaly, winged rat bruising his ego.

Goddess, he prayed Aithusa never learned to speak. Or he was dead before she did.

"Impossible. If the young warlock was in Camelot, he is already dead. Uther Pendragon has no mercy for creatures of magic."

"No, he's alive," Freya demanded. "We've seen him with our own eyes. Both in Camelot, and here, in Essetir, just a handful of candle marks ago. He looks to be breathing death's air. That's why we need to get to Camelot. We need the help of an army to rescue him from Cenred." Aithusa chirped her agreement. The larger dragon's eyes briefly flicked to her as she confirmed her master's survival.

The dragon looked back to Freya suspiciously. "And why would Uther Pendragon ever give his aid to the likes of you? Especially with the intent of aiding a creature of magic? Was it not miracle enough he allowed the young warlock to live?"

Will took a deep breath, trying to calm his irritation. All the exposition was driving him up a wall. "It's not Uther we're askin' after. We're after his son. We know the Cap'n at least has some sorta connection with 'im." He glanced at Freya who gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. He turned back to the beast glaring down at him. "We think Uther might be dead."

If the dragon had eyebrows, Will was sure they would have shot up. "Uther Pendragon? Dead? No, I'm sure I would know. The world cannot be so lucky."

"How else do you explain Merlin surviving a capture to Camelot? You're right; Uther never would have allowed him to survive whether his son intervened or not," Freya said.

"I will admit, you've piqued my interest. I must ask: why can your Druid not transport you to Camelot? Why must you call upon me?" The dragon's gaze fell to Daegal for the first time since they'd arrived in the clearing. The poor boy was paler than a white lily and looked not dissimilar from a small bug caught beneath a ray of sunlight streaming through a spyglass where he was collapsed on the ground. Will had the sudden overwhelming urge to shield him from the dragon's steely gaze. No kid should ever go through as much as Daegal had in his short, barely sixteen summers.

"He ain't got that kinda magic, ya ass, not that it's any of yer business. Now, are ya gonna give us a ride or not?"

Will held his breath for a long moment while he seemed to deliberate. Finally, with a great rush of air, he knelt low to the ground for them to climb on to his wing joint.

"I'm doing this as a favor to King Balinor, nothing more. He saved my life once, long ago. This is me repaying a debt. From here, we're even. Summon me no more."

It wasn't like Will had been planning on it.

For the first time, Daegal piped up. In a trembling voice, he asked, "Do you 'ave a name?"

"I am known by many things, Druid boy, but in your tongue, I simply go by Kilgarrah."

Arthur had thought the single hardest thing he would ever have to do was murder his own father.

Turns out, confronting your future father-in-law over the fact that you no longer wanted him to be your future father-in-law was pretty damn close.

It didn't help that he was being torn apart inside over the choice, either.

The political and economical benefits his marriage to Vivian would offer were unthinkable, not to mention a kingdom could never have too much military support. Not only that, but King Olaf was relying on the protection being so deeply entrenched in Camelot's household would offer their own kingdom. Backing out now was sure to put a permanent tarnish on Arthur's reputation and the reputation of the entire kingdom when it came to making good on their deals. Breaking off his betrothal to Vivian could quite literally have catastrophic political consequences extending well beyond the foregrounds of either of their kingdoms.

Yet, his entire life, Arthur had given everything for the sake of the kingdom. From his earliest memory, every choice he'd made, or had made for him, was done while always putting Camelot's interests before his own. Every sacrifice he made, every word he spoke while smiling as if they weren't ripping him apart at the seams only further served to show how he would give anything for his kingdom and his people, even his heart to a woman it held no love for.

"Love has no place in politics, Arthur." That's what Uther had once replied when Arthur had asked him if he had loved his mother.

At ten, Arthur had accepted that answer as nothing more than the concrete fact it was, an irrefutable statement spoken by a man who held all the secrets to Arthur's universe.

At twenty-one, Arthur had come to realize that love and politics were not nearly as mutually exclusive as Uther had made them out to be, nor so black and white. Often times, they were intrinsically intertwined and muddled between borders and shades of gray.

The entirety of Arthur's reign thus far was defined by a matter of the heart, and for once, Arthur was choosing his own. There was simply no room for Vivian.

Arthur's fist hovered hesitantly over the door to King Olaf's chambers. He was fully expecting to be challenged to a duel on account of his daughter's honor. And despite the fact that Arthur had no doubt he could take Olaf in a fight blindfolded and one arm tied behind his back, he wasn't extremely keen on being responsible for his second regicide in as many months.

He released a breath slowly, steeled himself, and rapped his knuckles against the wood.

"King Olaf," he called. "It's King Arthur."

"Please, enter," came the muffled reply.

He pushed the door open and listened to the metal hinges scream. He made a mental note to ask the castle steward to have someone oil it.

Olaf was lounging in a high back chair near the large window, a gilded goblet in one hand and a half-empty bottle of mulled wine sitting on the nearby desk. He leaned back and gave Arthur an easy smile.

"Arthur!" Olaf called jovially. He gestured lazily towards another chair with the hand holding the goblet. The young king tried not to wince as a bit of the dark liquid sloshed out of the cup and onto the rug.

"Please, sit, sit." He held up his cup and raised his eyebrows. "Care for a drink?"

Arthur gave him what he hoped to be an appeasing smile as he sat. "I appreciate the sentiment, Olaf, but I fear for the state of my liver shall I have another drink in the foreseeable future." He laughed. "Besides, my sister says alcohol is horrid for one's complexion."

"You young ones today. So vain. What else is there to being a king if I can't drink as much as I want when I want it? I say the hell with it all. I've lived my life, and if I'm to die an old drunkard, at least I'll have died a happy one." With that, Olaf raised his glass in the mimicry of a toast and threw back the last dregs of his wine.

Olaf sighed contentedly and set the goblet aside. He clasped his hands over his chest and leaned back in his chair until he was half slumped. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of such an esteemed visit? Come to update me on how wedding preparations are coming along, I suppose?"

Arthur clenched his jaw and stared at the deep maroon spot the wine had left on the carpet. It looked alarmingly like blood, and he only hoped there would be none really spilt by the end of their conversation.

"I suppose you could say that."

"Wonderful!" Olaf cheered. There was a drunken blush high on his cheeks and his eyes were much brighter than what Arthur was sure was healthy. He momentarily considered whether he should come back and try to have this conversation another time when Olaf's brain wasn't riddled with alcohol, but alas, he feared Merlin had not the time nor did he have the patience for such an endeavor. He feared for the inventory of Camelot's wine cellar if Olaf stayed much longer.

"I do not wish to marry the Lady Vivian."

It was as if he'd poured water onto a raging inferno. The room went deathly silent, any joviality from either party vanished like smoke in the wind. Arthur shifted uncomfortably in his seat and suddenly became hyper-aware of the way his pants rubbed against his skin.

"It has nothing to do with you or your daughter or either of our kingdoms." Well, it had mostly nothing to do with his daughter. "I still staunchly believe that our two kingdoms can form a strong alliance beyond that of an arranged marriage where neither party is happy, as I do not believe Vivian truly to be. She's infatuated with the idea of a marriage, not a marriage specifically to me. And she deserves better than to be bound to someone who does not truly hold her heart for all it has to offer. I realize it is abhorrently inconsiderate and selfish of me to back out of such an agreement, but I cannot, in good conscience, enter a marriage knowing I am not giving my partner every part of me. If this means the end of any political amnesty between us, I understand, of course. I only ask that you leave my people out of this and not let them suffer for a decision I am making to spare my own heart. They do not need to know their king so easily put his own interests before theirs, that their king is weak—"

"It's Prince Merlin, isn't it?" Olaf asked quietly. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to finally meet Olaf's eyes. And what he found there was no malice, no anger, no malcontent. Only a gentle sort of acceptance, and even a bit of amusement in the way his lips quirked up at the corners.

"Yeah," Arthur whispered. "Yeah, it is."

"I could see it the moment I saw the two of you together. I knew in that moment that my Vivian would stand no chance, and not for lack of your care. The heart cannot help who it loves, Arthur, even the heart of a king. It does not make one selfish or weak to love."

"You're not angry?"

Olaf sighed. "Not particularly, no. I wish you would have said so earlier, but I understand. Don't worry about Vivian; there are plenty of powerful, eligible bachelors out there for her to be content with. I feel for my wife the way you do for that boy. 'Tis a wonderous thing to truly love. Promise me one thing, though, yes?"

"Of course."

"Go rescue the poor boy. I don't know of any details surrounding this entire affair, but even a blind man could see he wanted anything but to leave with that pig of a man Cenred."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply when a shrill scream tore through the easy quiet of the late afternoon. Olaf jumped in his chair, blinking hard in sluggish confusion while Arthur was already on his feet, instinctually reaching for his sword. He crept towards the window as more screams rose from below.

His breath caught in his throat. He nearly lost his grip on his sword.

There was a dragon in the courtyard.

Chapter Text

Arthur was running before he really realized he'd left Olaf's chambers, taking the stairs two, maybe three at a time. He was sure Olaf had called after him in confusion and abject horror at the scene below his window, but he hadn't stopped long enough to acknowledge the other man let alone offer him a word in response.

As far as he knew, there was only one dragon left alive, and she was a baby with an attitude problem, not a green-brown scaly monstrosity who could barely turnabout in the courtyard without taking out a support column.

There was also only one dragonlord alive, too. Merlin's absence and the sudden appearance of this fully-grown dragon couldn't be a coincidence. Even if it was wishful thinking on his part, and the two occurrences were independent of each other, he wasn't about to let a great bloody dragon wander amidst the citadel, despite the fact that his animosity towards the creatures had been quashed after the entire ordeal with Aithusa. Just because Merlin's little dragon didn't seem to have a malicious bone in her body beyond threatening her master didn't mean this one was particularly tame at all. It wasn't just his father's words saying so either—any man with a brain could see an encounter with a dragon could turn deadly in a matter of moments. The entire purpose of the Old Religion giving forth dragonlords was to put a tamper on the absolute destruction the beasts could wreak.

He nearly sent Morgana tumbling down the stairs as he blew past her around the third landing. "Arthur!" His sister called after him.

"No time, Morgana!" He threw back over his shoulder. He could hear her stumbling over her words, trying to find some sort of witty response or snarky comeback, no doubt, but he was already gone.

Servants plastered themselves against the walls as he passed. By the time he was bounding down the front stairs, the Round Table and many of his other knights were already gathered on the cobblestones of the courtyard with their swords drawn. They were pulling tight into a fighting formation as the dragon bared down on them and glowered.

Arthur didn't know they could do that.

Despite having his own sword drawn, he was hesitant to raise it. The familiar weight of it in his hand was more of a comfort than a defensive measure, a reassurance that, should he need, it was always there. But he had learned many a lesson in the short time since his father had died, most importantly that creatures of magic were not inherently evil. Just like any others, they were creations of their environment. Just as a man subjected to years of abuse turned bitter and cold, those who spent decades being persecuted on the grounds of simply existing had a nearly inherent propensity for taking their strife out on those within reach.

Arthur would know. It took one victim to recognize another, and while he certainly wasn't about to claim what he'd endured at his father's hand held even a small candle flame to the grief of the magical world, he could still find kinship in their suffering. In a way, he, too, had been suppressed because of his existence, only death and destruction being traded in for lashings and the stifling stones of a castle whose walls heard more than its people.

Twenty-one summers ago, it was his father's hubris that had plunged them into some of the darkest years Camelot had ever seen. It was his father's selfish demand of the Old Religion that inadvertently placed Merlin within Cenred's grasp to begin with. He refused to let his father's sins become his own.

The wind picked up and blew a smattering of leaves and dust across the courtyard. To his right, smoke began to swirl in a slow funnel, picking up speed and growing taller until it was nearly the same height as he. He jumped back and actually raised his sword this time as the dusty gray maelstrom took on an inky black hue and began to condense, forming the rough shape of a human until finally in one great burst, the smoke dissipated on the wind as easily as it had arrived and left Morgana standing in its place.

His sister inspected her arms and dress. She ran her hands carefully over her face, down her neck, and finally across her torso until a grin broke across her face. She looked extremely pleased with herself like she hadn't just almost ascended the throne today after she gave him a heart attack.

"Wonderful, looks as if I've got all my bits and bobs then," she said breathlessly. Her cheeks were pink with exertion, and her irises were still tinged with a ring of yellow. Arthur sputtered.

"Do shut your mouth, brother, one might think you've gone a bit easy in the head, or at least more than you already have."

"H-how did…did you—what?" He groaned in frustration and ran a hand down his face. He gestured towards the snarling dragon that was still towering above the small army of knights which had congregated there in the few moments Morgana literally blowing in had distracted him. He gestured wildly with his sword as way of explanation. "Dragon!"

"Thank you, I had mistaken it for a weasel," Morgana deadpanned. She turned her head and snapped at the knights. "Stand down, you lot!"

His men seemed to hesitate. They glanced at each other, and a few of the braver ones even slid their eyes to him, looking for guidance on what to do. No commander had given them an order, nor Arthur himself, yet Morgana still had undeniable authority over them, whether self-appointed or otherwise. As a common rule, the men feared her, and she relished every moment of it.

The Knights of the Round Table were already returning their blades to their scabbards. There was a reason they were his most trusted knights and one of those reasons was their undeniable acceptance of the fact that sometimes Morgana's authority even overruled his own, especially regarding magic. They weren't so obsequious that they looked to him for every decision, and they were just as willing to obey Morgana's word in the heat of a battle as they were his.

"You heard the Lady!" Arthur snapped at the other dozen or so wide-eyed knights still holding their swords in wavering grasps as if their sharp sticks would do anything but tickle the dragon.

"Stand down. Lower your weapons. You there, Sir Conrad." He pointed towards a skinny blonde boy, freshly knighted not a fortnight prior. The poor boy lost all the color in his face. Arthur would have felt bad had it not been slightly comical. "Make sure the gates to the lower town are closed. Have the Council make a public announcement to assuage any of the people's fears. It's not every day one sees a great bloody dragon land in their citadel. Everyone but the Round Table, you're dismissed."

The small gathering of knights scrambled to obey Arthur's orders until only his five closest knights were still standing on the stairs, each staring up at the dragon dwarfing the castle in varying states of utter shock.

Aside from Gwaine, that was. He was looking at Morgana with a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. "What the hell are you smiling about, Gwaine?"

He glanced around himself at the other knights like he was shocked they weren't staring at her as well. "Did you all miss how Morgana turned into literal smoke? Are we not going to address that?"

"Did you miss the dragon, you imbecile?" Percival demanded, even as his eyes never left the beast in question. Gwaine waved his hand dismissively.

"I can see a dragon any old time. My best mate's a dragonlord; kinda runs in the family, ya know? But a Lady becoming smoke? Wicked."

"There's smoke in your head, you know that?" Percival asked.

Morgana hiked up the skirts of her dress and shoved past Gwaine on her way down the stairs. "What do you think Merlin and I did all those hours in his chambers? A couple of lays? He's delectable, of course, but I do think my brother would have quite lost his sanity if I defiled his little warlock. He wanted to save that job all for himself. We studied magic well beyond the comprehension of the likes of you. It's much faster, although much less sustainable than most magic over long periods."

Arthur felt his face go red as Gwaine's grin grew somehow larger. The unruly knight wolf whistled at him, but Arthur shoved his elbow into the exposed flesh of his ribs beneath his arm as he followed his sister down the stairs.

Because as Gwaine had been yammering on about Morgana's newly discovered incorporeal abilities, three small figures had slid from the back of the dragon and landed in a rather ungraceful heap upon the ground.

Arthur was immediately put on high alert. His hand, which had gone lax around the hilt of his sword, tightened once more around the soft hide. Morgana stiffened next to him, and from the corner of his eye he could see her irises beginning to glint with a familiar yellow, not a threat but still a warning of what would happen should their new companions think flying in on a dragon was going to intimidate them.

Arthur raised his sword and took a few tentative steps towards the trio. He was acutely aware of the way the dragon was watching every move he made. He was even more acutely aware of the way his knights were shuffling behind him, hesitant but loyal to a fault all the same.

Despite the situation, Arthur felt a wave of pride swell in his chest.

"Identify yourselves!" He ordered. The three small figures slowly emerged from beneath the shadow of the dragon's massive body, and Arthur was sure his eyes went comically wide.

He knew these people, despite the singular interaction they'd had being on different ends of a scabbard as his crew abducted their captain.

They were nearly unidentifiable from the fearsome pirates his knights had nearly lost to those months ago. Every inch of them was caked with blood and mud and muck. Their clothes could barely even be considered tatters. Their cheeks were pale and gaunt, and they appeared to each be one measly breeze away from keeling over where they stood.

Still, Arthur was sure he would have known them by feeling alone. With how much Merlin spoke of them after Arthur had forced their stories out of him—of his cynical, ruthless first mate, his fearsome helmsman, his sticky-fingered and cocksure navigator—Arthur felt he nearly knew them personally. Merlin sang their praises, and in that moment, if Arthur were to be completely honest with anyone, including himself, he'd say he felt the tiniest bit unworthy of standing in their presence.

Which was silly, of course. Besides, he was less certain it was a feeling of unworthiness as opposed to one of guilt over what he had allowed to happen to their beloved captain.

Will was ahead of the other two as they approached, visibly blocking them with his own body. Behind him, Arthur could make out a white mass wrapped around Daegal's neck like one of the ridiculous neckerchiefs Merlin so dearly loved. A small head inlaid with two glowing blue eyes popped up and zeroed in on Morgana, who had miraculously appeared at Arthur's side.

"Aithusa!" She called. The little white dragon gave a jubilant cry, spread her wings, and made a valiant attempt at launching herself into the air only to give a pitiful whine and sort of half float, half crash to the ground. She scuttled over to Morgana as quickly as she could while heavily favoring one leg, chirping and clicking the whole way. Morgana scooped her up the moment she came within reach. Aithusa curled into her arms and immediately began to purr.

"Will?" Arthur asked tentatively, like he needed any confirmation. He shoved his sword into its scabbard and stuck out his hand.

Will's eyes briefly flicked to it. He still hadn't loosened his grip on his own cutlass. His eyes narrowed suspiciously as he gave a curt nod. "Pendragon?"

The air turned thick and cold while Will seemed to deliberate his next move. Shaking Arthur's hand would mean lowering his defenses and putting himself at the king's mercy. But not doing so would do them no favors in establishing trust, even if Arthur already trusted the other man inherently. He understood why the first mate would be a bit skeptical of anyone, let alone a noble who had kidnapped his captain, for all the better he knew.

Freya shifted uncomfortably behind him and cleared her throat. Will blinked slowly and shook his head as if to clear away some cobwebs in his hair. He squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, gave a heavy sigh, and placed his hand in Arthur's.

Arthur grinned, but Will huffed and pulled his hand away the moment he got the chance. Even still, the atmosphere in the courtyard took on an air of something much more amicable, or at least as amicable as it could be with a massive dragon still looming above them all.

Freya whistled lowly. "Well, now that everyone is sufficiently uncomfortable, I would personally like to move from the middle of your courtyard. There's about ten pairs of eyes staring at us, at least." She nodded her head towards the castle, and Arthur turned just in time to see the drapes covering multiple windows, rustle with the hasty movement of being tucked back into place. He'd have to have a talk with the serving staff about making it less obvious when you were going to snoop in your king's affairs.

"Yes, agreed. But, um, what about…" Arthur trailed off as he dipped his chin roughly towards the large dragon's foot.

"I'll be on my way, rest assured," the great dragon thundered from above. Arthur swayed as the beast took a step away causing the earth to shake as if in the midst of a quake. Arthur felt like his eyes were liable to pop from his head.

"Did –did that dragon just speak?" Elyan asked from somewhere behind him. The knight's voice had risen multiple octaves.

The dragon huffed out an irritated sigh. The air rolled over the small group gathered beneath the beast like the wind of a spring storm, warm and putrid and sticky, all at once. Arthur saw his sister cringe and try to surreptitiously smother a cough in the fabric of her bodice. Arthur himself fought the urge to wrinkle his nose and reach up to fix his hair which had been mussed in the gust, too afraid of offending the creature sitting before him with the ability to burn his citadel to the ground in one go.

"I see Uther is handing out knighthood to any man with fingers enough to grip a sword these days. Truly astute observation, knight."

Arthur scowled. It wasn't the utter shock over the dragon's spoken words that he latched on to, although calling it shock was a bit of a reach; the bar for things that even remotely surprised him these days was so high he doubted he would ever see it again. It wasn't even the slight against his knight that bothered him—Elyan was a grown man and more than capable of standing up for himself if he felt his pride had been wounded by the dragon. No, it was the implication that his father, that Uther, had appointed his men which had his teeth clenching so tightly he heard them creak. He would credit his father with many things, starting with his debilitating trust issues and the scars wrapping across his body, but he would not let that man take the glory for the band of the most courageous knights in all the five lands that he had created all on his own. It was the only thing he had done on his own, free of his father's judgement and influence. He wasn't about to let Uther have the satisfaction of taking his pride in that fact all the way from his grave.

"My father did not appoint these men, and nor will he grant a single knighthood ever again."

The dragon's lips pulled back over his teeth in a gruesome pantomime of a smile. "And why, pray tell, would that be, young Pendragon?"

Arthur couldn't help but sneer. This scaly bastard was pissing him off in a way he couldn't even describe. He had much better things to do than explain himself to this creature. And Arthur wasn't in the practice of referring to beings of magic as such demeaning terms any longer, not since he had met Merlin and seen firsthand that they had been the victims all along, but something about this dragon just rubbed Arthur the wrong way.

"Because I watched the life drain from his eyes with my hand gripping the sword in his chest. And I relished in it," he spat, uncaring for the way he could feel every pair of eyes in the courtyard trained on him in silent horror. It was an admission he hadn't even made to Merlin, only to himself in the wee hours of the morning when the sky burned an orange more brilliant than any pyre and his heart spread an icy coolness through his veins that had nothing to do with the chilling drafts of the castle.

For every part he mourned the man his father could have been, there was another, much darker part, that savored in the death of the man his father was. That part had only been exacerbated by the sharp sting of Merlin's supposed betrayal and the accompanying realization that all along, he had not been so dissimilar from his father.

Had his father not killed over the loss of love, as superficial as it might have been? How was that so different from the blood coating his hands as he killed the man who had threatened to take Merlin from him?

So, yes, it royally pissed him off that the dragon assumed his father was still the one in control.

"Alright, ya scaly bastard, get the hell outta here. Ya've paid yer debt. We'd really like ta speak ta the King without yer condescendin’ ass hangin' 'round," Will grumbled. Arthur was vaguely impressed by the amount of balls Will had to have to speak to it in such a way. Then again, maybe he shouldn't have been. Merlin had said Will walked a dangerous line between reality and insanity. Maybe whatever had happened to them the last few months had finally shoved him over the edge.

The dragon stared at Will like it couldn't quite believe some measly mortal human had dared to speak to him in such a manner, but Will stared back, gaze steely and hard. A silent battle raged between the two until the dragon gave another mighty huff. To Arthur's immense surprise, the beast turned to leave with footsteps that shook the earth. Clumps of dirt rained down from the mortar of the citadel with each crashing step. It spread its wings, only to pause at the last moment and turn its head, staring directly at Arthur.

"Good luck to you, young king. The future I foresee for you and Balinor's son is not so different from that of your mother and father. You are your father's son, no matter how you so ardently deny it."

"You're wrong," Arthur said quietly. "I'm going to get Merlin back. And then we're making our own future."

Arthur wasn't sure whether that so royally pissed the dragon off that it took flight or it simply didn't have anymore cryptic messages to leave for them, but either way, Arthur wasn't complaining about its departure.

With the dragon gone, Arthur turned his attention to their three newest companions who, without the dragon's hulking frame covering them, looked even worse for wear. Had he seen one of them asleep on the ground, he would have mistaken them for a corpse.

Before he could so much as open his mouth to say something—because really, what exactly does one say to your not really ex-lover's family when they're standing in your courtyard looking like they've walked through Hell and back and staring at you like you're the suspicious one—Will cut him off with a single hand and an exasperated sigh like Arthur's very existence was inconveniencing him.

"Look, Sire, whatever ya got ta say, save it. This ain't a neighborly visit; we're here 'cause we need help rescuin' the Cap'n, and we can't do it ourselves."

Arthur gaped in shock, unsure how to respond. Will positively exuded an air that he wouldn't take any shit from anyone, nobility or not, and the closest the king had ever come to that was his own sister. He didn't even know where to begin addressing that with a man he'd never met before. For Merlin's sake, he tried to keep his temper, which was slowly beginning to build over Will's attitude, in check. He knew some of what the other man had gone through, and he could hardly blame him for being more than a little suspicious of the son of the man who allied with Cenred, the very king who slaughtered his entire family.

A hand settled on his shoulder, and he glanced behind him to see Lancelot giving him a knowing look, not unkind, but his hand squeezing in silent warning. Arthur gave him a small nod and the knight slowly removed his hand without another word.

Goddess, he didn't know what he would do without his knights. Perhaps he was being a bit hypocritical; Will clearly loved Merlin, and his warlock spoke of his first mate like he hung the moon and the stars. Still so insecure in his new role as king, Arthur found himself increasingly too quick to dismiss anyone who didn't immediately bend to his will, his unbridled and untampered anger unmanageable on the worst of days. Gaius said it was simply stress and grief still ravaging his worn-out body, but Arthur was tired of feeling like he could bite the head off the next person who dared to breathe at him wrong.

And from the looks of it, and Merlin's stories, Will wasn't so different, only he had the luxury of lashing out and not facing any consequences other than a fond admonishment from his Captain. Arthur had no such luxury, and it was killing him.

Morgana appeared at his side. Her eyes were wide and slightly frantic. "What do you mean you need help rescuing Merlin?"

"Cenred's brought him back to Essetir," Freya said. She came to stand in front of Will while giving him a withering glare. It didn't escape Arthur's notice how the first mate seemed to wince and quickly look away. "We saw them come into port. We have no idea what state Merlin was in; we couldn't exactly get close enough to see. But he didn't seem like he was conscious."

Arthur swallowed hard. He felt a lump forming in his throat, but he took a deep breath and brought his mind back to what was important. There was nothing he could do for Merlin right then; what was done was done, and him getting upset about it wouldn't bring Merlin back home any faster.

"And what exactly would Cenred want with him? Before I knew that his fiancé and Cenred were one and the same, Merlin told me his fiancé controlled his magic. I can understand that, but I don't understand what Cenred gains from keeping Merlin sequestered away. Why have all that power at your fingertips and not use it?" Arthur asked.

Will shrugged. "Sex, mostly. But I think that's more a byproduct. He's attractive and available. Guess it's more about the thought of the power, ya know? The Cap's there as insurance, not necessarily a weapon. Cenred don't plan on usin' him in a battle 'less it comes to it, kinda like his trump card. He's real weak in his power, and he knows it. Without Merlin as a loomin' threat, he'd be overthrown in a sennight. S'why the Good King lets us sail 'round, ta parade Cap 'round Essetir like some show pony. And he knows he won't try nothin' 'cause Cenred would bring him right back with those blasted rings they have."

"Rings?" Morgana pressed.

Arthur's eyes cut to her. "Merlin mentioned he couldn't take his off. He was fairly certain the rings were how his magic was being controlled."

Will nodded. "Yup, also shows when he steps out on Cenred. That's how Cenred and us found out where ya were. Cenred's ring started burnin' to high heaven, and he had Daegal show 'em what was happenin'. Don't think ya want the rest displayed fer all yer knights ta hear."

Arthur felt his cheeks heat with warmth. He knew exactly what Will was referring to, and he was eternally grateful that the other man wasn't about to lay out his sex life before his closest friends.

"Tha's why we came 'ere," Daegal chimed in. For the first time, Arthur's eyes landed on the young boy who had been practically hidden behind Freya and Will, whether intentionally or not. Arthur couldn't help but notice how painfully young he was, and even if he knew he was around sixteen summers, Arthur could have been convinced he was no more than fourteen. He looked somehow worse off than the other two, as well. His nose was obviously broken, painfully swollen and crooked with most of his chin stained blood red. One of his arms was hanging limp and useless down his side while the other death-gripped a leather satchel. He looked to be one misstep away from collapsing. "Even if 'ou on'y want'd the Cap'n for dat, it 'ad ta be be'er than wha' Cen'ed does ta 'im."

Arthur felt like he'd been slapped. "Of course, I don't just want Merlin for that! For you to insinuate—"

Morgana placed her hand on his arm. "They're rightfully skeptical, brother dear. I'm sure it's hard to believe anyone could have innocent intentions regarding Merlin after seeing how Cenred has treated him for so many years. It was not a slight against your honor nor meant to injure your admittedly oversized ego. You would do well to remember they have known and loved Merlin much longer than you."

"Damn straight. He's saved our lives ten times over. We're jus' returnin' the long-overdue favor. We have walked through literal Hell fer the last few months ta keep 'im safe. We let 'Thus summon a bloody dragon just to get here! So sorry not everythin' is 'bout yer pride, Yer Highness."

Arthur sighed. He closed his eyes, scrubbed an exhausted hand down his face, and pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward off the nearly inevitable stress headache he could feel beginning to dully thump just above his eyes. As much as he wanted to jump on his ship that moment and sail for Essetir, there was still too much he was uncertain of. He felt that he was yet to get Merlin and Cenred's story in its entirety, but he wasn't about to keep standing out in the courtyard discussing such a delicate matter, not when the walls had ears and loose lips. Besides, Merlin's crew needed a moment to simply breathe if they were to be of any use in rescuing the mage, and Arthur had much to prepare if he was going to be departing the kingdom for an unforeseeable amount of time.

"Very well, then," he said. "We shall leave at first light. In the meantime, my knights will escort each of you to a guest chamber, and I will send for our Court Physician to assess your conditions. You will meet me tonight in the Main Hall for the evening meal where we will further discuss this matter away from prying eyes. I fear we've already swirled up quite the gossip with the dragon alone."

"What?" It was Freya this time who spoke, her voice shrill and unbelieving. "You've got to be kidding me. We are not waiting until tomorrow to leave. Every moment we spend loitering about here is another moment Merlin must endure that pig's torment! We did not survive his torture just to be told to wait!"

"You are going to wait until tomorrow, or I will leave all three of you here. It's either tomorrow and you rest or nothing at all. One way or another, I will get Merlin back, but that plan must not inherently include any of you. That's my one and only offer; take it or leave it."

Freya glowered at him, but at that moment a bitter gust of wind swept across the courtyard, and she shivered violently. All the fight seemed to die out of her as she wavered on her feet. She nodded slowly, and worried her lip, but stayed silent.

Arthur turned to his knights. "Gwaine, Percival, please show our guests to their chambers. Elyan, alert the kitchen staff that they are to prepare a banquet for twelve. Leon, check on the other knights, make sure there's no panic in the lower town over the dragon. Lancelot, summon Gaius, tell him I wish for him to attend to Merlin's crew."

His knights all nodded their understanding and hurried off to do as they were instructed with quiet "Yes Sire's" from all but Gwaine. Gwaine, mind you, who was still standing next to Percival, now grinning like a loon.

He bent low in a grand, exaggerated bow. He looked up through his eyelashes at Freya and quirked a grin. "My Lady," he said. He rose slowly. "Has anyone ever told you that you're quite beautiful? Enchanting, one might even say."

Freya looked him up and down and raised an incredulous eyebrow. She scoffed, "I wasn't under the impression that the great Camelot made good practice of knighting blind men."

Gwaine grinned. "Only blinded by your beauty."

It took all of Arthur's restraint not to roll his eyes.

"Ah, so a blind scoundrel, then," Freya observed.

"Better to be a blind scoundrel than a seein' prude, I imagine. I'm sure Leon would argue otherwise, but then again, I'm not generally in the practice of listenin' to Leon." Gwaine leaned in conspiratorially. "He wouldn't know a barmaid from a wench."

"And you would?"

"Aye, lassie." Gwaine winked at her.

"Does this usually work for you?"

Right then, Percival slapped Gwaine on the shoulder hard enough to jostle the other man forward. "No, no it does not. Spare yourself the pain, Miss Freya, and ignore him. Trust me, his ego's bigger than anything else he has to offer." At that, Gwaine turned three shades of red darker, and Will gagged as Percival gave Gwaine another rough slap.

"Alright then, Sir Gwaine. I'd like to go in now. Do try to keep up." Freya took off with a new vigor towards the stairs leaving Gwaine to stumble after her worse than in one of his drunken states. Arthur saw Will also roll his eyes.

"She'll eat him alive," Will said.

"One could only be so lucky," Arthur muttered.

Arthur spent the rest of his day preparing everything for his departure and nervously pacing his chambers until he was sure he'd worn a path over the stone, gray and dull from his senseless wanderings. Even still, by the time George arrived to inform him that the evening meal was being set, Arthur was filled with so much anxious energy that the thought of sitting through any meal, let alone one to discuss such a pressing matter, made him feel like he might very well burst into flames.

Everyone was already gathered in the Main Hall by the time Arthur arrived, but he did a doubletake when he caught sight of their three guests. They were nearly unrecognizable. Gone were the thick layers of dirt and grime. The tatters they had been attempting to pass off as clothing was replaced by a pristine new wardrobe, clearly a gift from his sister right down to the resurgence of Will's blue frock coat and rows of golden earrings he had come to associate with the young man. Freya's hair was once more clean and tied back with a royal purple scarf. All of their injuries had been wrapped and accounted for, with Daegal looking leaps and bounds better. His nose was completely back to normal and the arm that had previously hung uselessly at his side was tied up in a proper sling instead of the pale imitation of a belt and some fabric.

They still looked as if they had found the wrong side of a horse's carriage, but at least they looked less dead. Arthur would count that as a win, completely attributed to Gaius and his magic beyond magic itself.

The room fell awkwardly silent the moment he strode in, and he had the nagging feeling they were talking about him, but he refused to voice the concern for fear of sounding like a petulant schoolboy. Instead, he took his seat at the head of the table with Morgana on his left and Leon on his right and waved for George to fill his goblet with water.

He cleared his throat. It was painfully loud in the grand room. "I do hope you've found your accommodations to be quite suitable." He looked pointedly at the three members of Merlin's crew. It was clear Will was doing everything in his power not to look at him as he suddenly found the ceiling arches to be incredibly intriguing while Daegal jumped away from where he'd quietly been talking to Gaius, looking down ashamedly. It was Freya, who had apparently been elected—or rather delegated, Arthur wasn't entirely sure—as the peacekeeper, who smiled graciously at him.

"Yes, thank you, My Lord. We've found everything to be quite suitable indeed."

They were plunged into uncomfortable silence once more. Even Gwaine, who was usually so vocal about everything, even when it didn't concern him in the slightest, was unusually reticent. Arthur drained his goblet and called George over to refill it, already wishing it was something stronger.

Gods, much more stress and Arthur was going to become just as bad as Olaf.

"Alright, that's enough!" Morgana finally snapped. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, surveyed each person sitting around the table. Most of the knights squirmed under her gaze, but Gwaine was too busy watching Freya fidget with her fork to pay the sorceress any mind. Arthur himself suddenly felt miniscule; it was an exceptionally bothersome talent of his sister's, making one feel like they were no more important than the scum on the bottom of her boots. How Uther ever thought he could keep her under his thumb was beyond Arthur.

"We're all uncomfortable, yes, but this is hardly the most insufferable meal we've sat through. You all," she said, pointing her knife at Arthur and the knights lining the right side of the table, "are acting as if you're being forced to witness your own executions. Will, Freya, and Daegal are our guests, but even more, they're Merlin's family. I can hardly believe he would keep company not worth his while, not to mention they nearly wiped The Avalon's deck with our asses, completely outnumbered. If you don't trust them, fine, but at least hear them out. They came all this way on Merlin's behalf; there has to be some merit to be had in that alone. We have a common goal here, so tuck away your snobby nobilities and trust issues and whatever keeps Gwaine loyal these days and stop acting like they're going to stab you the moment you turn around."

She turned completely to Arthur. "This little pissing match you already have going with Will is going to get very old very quickly, so I suggest, if you wish to rescue Merlin, that you put your ego back in your pants and at least come to terms with the fact that you both care about him very much and only want to help him."

Arthur gaped at her, too shocked to even be embarrassed over her words. Although, he wasn't sure why he was so surprised. Even when Uther was still king, her couth with other nobility had always left something to be desired. He supposed she had the luxury of speaking her mind with relative safety that he didn't. Uther wouldn't dare lay a hand on his beloved ward.

Morgana now turned to the three guests. "You don't trust us, either, and rightfully so. We've given you no proof to believe otherwise, and I'm sure that Camelot's reputation more than precedes it. But I can tell you: not one person here will cause you harm. We care about Merlin just as much as the three of you, and we only want to help you rescue him. I'm sure you would have done it yourselves had you been capable, but we are forever grateful that you allowed us to assist you. Don't mind these fools; they're just a bit awkward, that's all, but they're good people." She gestured vaguely towards the knights. Only Percival and Leon had the good sense to look thoroughly chastised.

"There," Morgana said pleasantly. She placed the knife she had been waving around like a baton back down on the table and unfolded her napkin, spreading it primly across her lap. "Now, that's settled. Goddess, I do believe Gaius and Gwen may be the only sane ones of you lot yet!"

Daegal blew out a shaky breath and then proceeded to burst into a fit of laughter.

Arthur stared at the boy, shocked. He wasn't the only one. Just about everyone was staring at him like he'd sprouted two heads, including Freya and Will. Only Gaius was watching him with a sort of quiet amusement dancing behind his eyes as he bit back a smile.

"Mother, Maiden, and Crone, I was worried Will was going to spontaneously combust if someone didn't say something soon. Gaius and I were just discussing how long it would take for one of you to break. Can't say I had my money on the scary lass."

Will narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Since when have ya become so chummy with this Gaius fellow, huh?"

Elyan sat up a bit straighter in his seat. "And what exactly are you implying?"

"Don't mind him, he's not very bright," Freya answered. She winked at Elyan, and smiled at Will, poisonous and sickly sweet. "He would find a fish suspicious for breathing water."

"Always suspicious, accusing me of cheating at dice," Daegal muttered. There was a muffled thump, and Daegal jumped in his seat with a quiet yelp and a glare at Will as the boy reached down to rub his shin.

"That's 'cause ya usually are cheatin'."

"It's only cheating if you get caught! I like to call it…using my resources." Daegal made a wild gesticulation of fluttering fingers that Arthur presumed was supposed to pantomime the magic he was yet to admit he had. While the king knew, of course, that the boy was a Druid, he wasn't about to scare him over something trivial that Arthur truly couldn't care less about.

Gwaine clapped his hands together. "Aye, my mate!" Just like that, most of the tension melted away, and the entire table dissolved into peels of childish laughter that surely had Uther rolling over in his grave.

Good, Arthur thought. Let him see what a real family should be like.

Now, all that was missing was his warlock.

It was then that George and a brigade of other servants came back into the Hall, arms laden with steaming bowls that smelled heavenly of roasted tomatoes and garlic. Arthur watched Freya share a lost look with Will and Daegal as their own bowls were set down before them. Daegal's hand hovered nervously over one of the spoons in his cutlery before flitting to another and then back to the one he'd started with. Will touched the rim of his bowl and watched the liquid inside ripple.

In any other situation, he would have found their total lack of decorum and formal know-how amusing. Now, it just made him feel guilty, especially when it was so clear it had been quite a while since any of them had had a proper meal.

He was just about to ask Gwen how her wedding preparations were going in the hopes that their guests would abandon their reservations and just eat if they felt the attention turned from them when George reached across him to place down his own bowl of soup. As he pulled his arm away, his elbow bumped Leon's goblet and tipped the chalice all over the table.

Arthur and Morgana both quickly jumped away from the cascade of water as George rushed to rip a cloth from his pocket and mop up the puddle slowly spreading across the table and threatening to saturate their bread. George was nearly frantic, his eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. He muttered quiet curses while his hand moving in a flurry to clean up the mess he'd caused.

"I –I'm so sorry, My Lord!" George said to Leon. Arthur's first knight waved the poor servant off.

"No harm done, George. Just an accident."

George quickly turned to Arthur and Morgana. "My apologies as well, Your Highnesses. I–I am unsure what came over me—"

"What's this, George?" Gwen interrupted his spiraling apologies. In the fray, Arthur hadn't even noticed her moving from her seat to pick something up from the floor, evidently having fallen from George's pocket in his haste to clean up the admittedly trivial mess.

She had what appeared to be a gold medallion about the size of an egg pinched between her thumb and forefinger. It shone with a metallic glow beneath the candlelight, and although he couldn't read it, Arthur could just make out that one side was partially engraved like the gold smith had given up his work part of the way through.

George's cheeks turned red. "'Tis nothing really. I found it near the armory while I was dusting this morning. I meant to take it to Geoffrey, but I suppose time got away from me. You can do with it what you wish, Guinevere. It makes no difference to me."

A fork clattered to the stone floor, and had Arthur not had a soldier's training, he would have jumped out of his seat. Every pair of eyes in the room zeroed in on Will. His hand was still frozen in midair where the utensil had slipped from his fingers. He was staring at the medallion, his face suddenly pale and his eyes wide with a fear Arthur never would have dreamed to be on the other man's face.

"Will?" Daegal asked quietly. "What is it?"

"The medallion," Will bit out.

Daegal's eyes trailed over to where Will was still staring, unblinking, at the coin in Gwen's grasp. He narrowed his eyes momentarily before they grew so wide it seemed his eyes were going to pop from his head.

"Oh," he breathed softly. Arthur could see the cogs turning in his mind. "Holy shit."

Freya gasped, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. Arthur couldn't take it any longer.

"Does someone please want to share what's going on?"

Daegal pointed at the marker with a shaking finger. "That medallion…it's Cenred's. Each of the men in his crew has one. They're enchanted so he can communicate with his men from anywhere, anytime. Merlin enchanted them."

"So?" Lancelot asked. "We already knew Cenred was here."

"Yes, but, as the crafter, that has a bit of Merlin's magic attached to it, and so using my own—yes, I'm a magic user," he said boldly, "I can see any powerful memories attached to that particular object. I'm not very good at magic, nor am I very powerful, but divination is one thing I'm actually decent at."

"So, if Cenred truly got to Merlin before he ever entered the feast that night as I speculated…" Morgana continued.

"This coin would show us," Daegal finished.

Chapter Text

Merlin was surely dying.

There was no other explanation for the constant agony he was living in, this horrendous feeling of in-betweenness, not conscious enough to be awake but not unconscious enough to be asleep. He was always hot, feeling as if his skin was alight with fire yet soaked in cold sweat and wracked with bone-rattling tremors. Cloth scratched like nails against his feverish skin with every move he made to escape the torture, but every endeavor only made it infinitely worse. His ankle throbbed with a vengeance. He had no idea where he was in Cenred's castle, only that he was too exhausted to care.

He could imagine nothing short of approaching Death's door would leave someone in such a state of unremitting torture.

On some level, he was aware of what was happening around him, not that there was much to report. Without fail, the door opened only twice a day, once when Meredith brought him a meal he never touched, and later, the visit Merlin dreaded each day, when Cenred would come to him.

Beyond that, even their visits were nothing more than mere shadows in his memory. He had a few vague recollections of Meredith's auburn hair cutting through the soupy darkness of his incoherent mind, of Cenred's hands touching his body. Each place he touched, bolts of pain would lance across his skin, but all Merlin could do was groan softly and drift slowly along his river of unconsciousness.

The first few days after he'd arrived back in Essetir, before the agony had grown too unbearable, Merlin had fought tooth and nail against everything, but it was no use. Cenred wasn't bright, not by a long shot, but that didn't mean he was stupid. He could be infuriatingly shrewd when he chose to be, and so Merlin had not been placed back in his old chambers, that much he knew. He wasn't even sure he was in the castle, to be completely honest; if he was, he had never stepped foot in the odd circular room he was being housed in. For all he knew, Cenred could have taken his favorite mistress and moved the three of them to some far away tower where he could have both of them without the disdain of the public eye.

He was fairly certain Cenred only sent Meredith to attend to him as torment. In the King's twisted mind, he must have thought it would bother Merlin that Cenred so freely flaunted his mistress while he left his husband —yes, husband, Cenred had wasted no time in ordering the bishop to marry them the moment they returned to Essetir—chained…somewhere. But really, the warlock couldn't care less. He had long ago grown used to Cenred's unfaithfulness. He had nothing against Meredith, though they rarely spoke. She was just as much a victim of Cenred's cruelty as he.

Why else had Cenred had her tongue cut from her mouth?

She was a pretty young girl, tall and slender and fair, her pale skin dotted with freckles. She had been around longer than Merlin himself, yet he'd never heard her utter a word. She always made his bed and washed his laundry but spared him no more than a tight-lipped smile. He'd thought her shy, maybe even a bit mistrustful of the sorcerer her king had so suddenly thrust into their castle. It wasn't until he'd quietly asked Will one evening, a few months after his arrival, what he was doing wrong to not even get so much as an utterance out of the girl, that he finally learned the truth.

"I'd be more shocked if ya did, Cap. It'd be a bloody miracle."

"How do you mean?"

"Ain't most people heard her talk. Only those of us who've been 'round fer awhile have."

"So, she can speak then? What's she got against me? I mean I know I'm…well, I'm me."

"Aw, hell, there ain't nothin' wrong with ya. Yer too good for this place. It's just that it's kinda hard to talk when ya ain't got no tongue."

"She doesn't have a tongue?!"

"Nah, Cenred cut it right clean outta her mouth years ago. Said she was speakin' sedition or somethin'. Don't know if that's true or not, but it don't matter either way. Not like it's growin' back now, and I guess a lass kisses just as well without her tongue, though I can't imagine."

"Will!"

"What? Cenred was beddin' her long before he went to Ealdor. Just facts, mate."

Merlin guessed her servitude also had something to do with her silence. It wasn't like Cenred had to worry about her trying to smuggle him secrets from the outside world, and he certainly wasn't coherent enough to read anything she would attempt to write, not anymore.

That hadn't stopped Merlin. He had a foggy recollection of begging her, desperately, pleading with her for any help the first few days of his re-captivity, but it was futile. She just looked at him with pitying blue eyes and went back to setting down his daily meal. And soon, between the cold iron cuffs around his wrists and ankles and the strange new feeling as if the very walls were sucking his soul from his body, he was left too catatonic to do anything but make small, pitiful noises of protest each time he thought she entered.

Needless to say, it didn't take long for Merlin to resign himself to his new existence of endless agony.

Merlin distantly heard the creaking of the door he had come to associate with someone's entrance. He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. Meredith had already brought his meal for the day; he distinctly remembered it because she had loitered around the head of his bed, adjusting his pillows and such for much longer than Merlin felt necessary. Surely, his pillows couldn't be so mussed in the capacity he found himself in.

It was too early for Cenred, either. His husband preferred to wait until what Merlin's internal clock told him were the deep hours of the night, when even the sun had hidden below the horizon and only monsters such as he could roam. It couldn't be any later than early evening at best. Then again, perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps he had lost more time than he had thought in his hazy delirium.

A searing hand gripped his cheek. Merlin hissed and tried to pull away, but the hand only tightened its grip. "That's enough, Birdie."

Merlin couldn't contain the full-body shudder that worked its way down his spine. He wanted to cry, but he had no tears left. He wanted to throw up, but he hadn't eaten in days.

He wanted someone to kill him.

He heard the chains keeping him prisoner in the bed rattle, and the cuffs scraped over his raw skin. A pitiful whine escaped his lips, and Merlin felt a well of shame swell inside him. He had nothing left to give. Cenred had taken every part of him, so thoroughly tore him apart and stripped him down until he was nothing more than a hollow whisp of a person. Only his heart was safe from Cenred's poison. No matter what his husband did to him, he rested easy with the knowledge that his heart was safely in Camelot. Just as his magic thrummed mutedly beneath his skin, it also flowed throughout Arthur's kingdom, and by extension the King himself, with each beat of his heart.

Arthur would always hold his heart, even long after he inevitably died at Cenred's hand.

Cenred pulled him up from the bed. Merlin's brain went fuzzy, and he was certain he blacked out for a few moments because the next thing he knew, he was slumped in Cenred's hold in some imitation of a standing position, his eyes blearily cracked open. He had his broken ankle raised off the ground like one of those bright pink birds his mother liked to keep in the pond near the citadel.

Cenred's breath ghosted over his ear. "I need you to do something important for me, darling." Merlin tried to turn his head away, but Cenred's fingers crept up to pull his chin back. His fingers dug painfully into his skin.

Cenred tutted softly. "Must you always fight me? Don't you ever get tired of fighting?"

Merlin swallowed hard. He had so much to say, so many scathing retorts just resting on the tip of his tongue, but what was the point? He was tired of fighting. So tired. What good would come from riling him up other than more pain? No one was coming for him, Cenred had made sure of that. Everyone he cared about in the world was either dead or despised him. There was no point anymore.

He hung his head silently. Any fight he had left drained from him. He felt like a marionette that had lost all its strings. He couldn't even lift his own arms. How did he ever expect to fight off his beast of a spouse?

"That's better," Cenred said. Merlin felt his long locks brushing against his face. Cenred leaned down and kissed his jaw. "I need you to kill Lord Byron."

Merlin's eyes flew the rest of the way open. The world spun at the sudden movement, but he blinked the haze away enough to turn his face towards Cenred's and gaze at the king with wide eyes. "Wh't?" He croaked. His voice was rough and hoarse, nearly quieter than a whisper.

Cenred ran his hands down Merlin's sides. "You heard me. He's become, how shall I say it…an imposition of sorts. I've heard talk of a coup, and all paths lead back to him. Seems people aren't nearly as pleased with our marriage as I speculated, Birdie. We can't have that, now, can we? I need to smother these embers before they grow into flames."

Merlin shook his head desperately. He may have given up on himself, but that didn't mean he had given up on everyone else as well. He didn't want to harm any of Cenred's people; they were just as trapped as he. He especially didn't wish to kill anyone. He didn't even know this Lord Byron. Bile rose in his throat while he shook his head back and forth even harder.

"Now, don't be like that. Come now, stop that," Cenred growled. He reached up and stopped Merlin's movement. Merlin shook harder, fine tremors racking every part of him.

He would not kill an innocent man.

"You don't have a say in this, whore," Cenred hissed. "You're mine, and you'll do what I say. Or have you forgotten our agreement? Do you know how easy it would be to have your beloved Pendragon's kingdom leveled? Stop resisting me this instant!"

Merlin watched Cenred fumble for his ring through slitted eyes. The man spun the ring around his finger thrice, and a fireball of heat settled heavily in his stomach. The heat raced down his arms and burst from his fingertips in a blast of magic so spectacular even Cenred stumbled. A ball of pure golden light crackled to life between Merlin's outstretched hands. Merlin didn't have the fondest idea what spell he was casting, nor did he have any control over it. He was instinctually obeying the will of the ring's curse, his magic flooding to do Cenred's bidding as easily as he breathed. The ball of light grew until it was larger than his head. It suddenly leapt from his grip and crashed through the nearby wall. Stones rained down to the floor, and Merlin watched it disappear into the gray sky.

Cenred whistled appreciatively. "Well, if that doesn't take care of him, I'm not sure what will. Well done, Birdie." He kissed Merlin's neck, his hands trailing lower to rest on his hips. Merlin fell, boneless, into his arms. His vision was black once again. He felt as if whatever last dregs of magic had been left in his system were swept away with that beautiful, deadly ball of light.

Cenred lifted him easily into his arms and placed him back on the bed. The cold iron chains clicked back into place with a quiet clink, and Merlin could do nothing but groan softly.

The bed dipped with his husband's weight. Cenred's hands wandered under his shirt, his lips ghosting over his neck. "So pretty, darling. To think Pendragon thought he could keep you."

Merlin's stomach turned sharply at the mention of Arthur's name. Oh, how he wished Arthur would have kept him.

By some miracle, Merlin soon felt Cenred's wandering hands withdraw with only a murmured promise from the man in question to return later. Merlin had no doubt he would. Cenred took what he wanted from him.

He squeezed his eyes shut, buried his face in the pillow, and curled his hand beneath it. He gripped the sheets in a death grip in an attempt to distract himself from the searing pain all throughout his body.

His clenched fist brushed against something cool and smooth. Curiously, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled the mysterious object from beneath the pillow. Cracking an eye, Merlin gazed tiredly at what appeared to be a steak knife.

He raised his eyebrows in confusion. How the hell had that gotten there? But then he remembered: the way Meredith had spent so long messing with his pillows today.

She wouldn't have…

…would she?

Merlin tightened his grip around the handle. It didn't really matter how the knife had gotten under his pillow. It wasn't cold iron, but Merlin doubted he would need even regular iron to be killed in the state he was in.

Maybe there was a way out after all.

The entire hall had gone silent. Everyone's eyes were fixed on the small gold coin Gwen still had pinched between her fingers. Arthur couldn't pull his own gaze from the inconspicuous piece of metal. Could this small sliver of gold really answer all of the questions that had been weighing heavy on his mind and heart in the weeks since the fateful banquet?

Gwaine was the first to clear his throat. "Excuse me if I'm missin' somethin' here, but how exactly do you know that particular medallion belongs to Cenred? Didn't you say every man in his crew has one?"

"Well, I s'pose I don't know for sure," Daegal said hesitantly, "But I guess it's kinda obvious. Sure, Cenred wouldn't have come here without a fleet. He brought what? Four, maybe five guards into the banquet?"

"Six," Lancelot answered. "And some red-haired lass."

Freya frowned. "That would be Meredith. She's his maidservant."

"And favorite mistress," Will added. Arthur winced, and he saw a few of his knights do the same from the corner of his eye.

Daegal nodded. "Right. As I was saying, he brought a few of his personal guards with him. Just know that when I say personal, I mean really personal. Cenred trusts no one, so even six guards are more than usual for him. But believe me, he would have no reservations about lobbing any one of their heads off should they breathe even a word of what he deemed treason."

"He had my mother and sister killed jus' 'cause I quit his personal guard ta join the Cap'n's crew," Will spat. His eyes tracked Gwen's hand like a cat watching a mouse as she slowly lowered the medallion to the table.

Arthur already knew that, of course. It was practically Will's origin story, what had truly turned him into the apathetic, cynical man he was now. But actually hearing it from the man's own lips—hearing the way he hissed the cursed story between his teeth with a fire so hot behind his eyes that Arthur was nearly inclined to pity Cenred should the man ever make the mistake of crossing Will's path again—threw everything into perspective. How much these people had suffered at Cenred's hands all these years while Arthur lounged comfortably in his castle crying about a few floggings from his father. This had been Will's reality for even longer than Merlin himself, and Arthur was hit with a sudden understanding of the man's views. No wonder he trusted no one. They spoke about Cenred's paranoia, but Will's was right there so tangible and painfully real. Arthur was faced with a man who had lost absolutely everything at the hands of a tyrant and would do anything to protect Merlin, Freya, and Daegal, even if it meant storming Essetir single-handedly.

The fresh respect for the first mate was jarring.

Daegal was also staring at Will. His eyes were haunted and suspiciously misty. He looked moments away from reaching out to take the other man's hand, but thought better of it at the last moment, blinking rapidly and tapping out a short ditty with his fingertips on the tabletop.

"If I was a betting man—"

"And believe me, he is," Freya interjected.

"I would say Cenred had and entire fleet in the water just out of the gaze of any watchmen. He at the least had a whole ship full of men; we saw them unload in Essetir," Daegal continued.

"Daegal's probable gambling problem aside, how did Cenred himself even manage to get into the citadel? We had guards stationed at every entrance, patrolling every hall, and Merlin had this place enchanted to Avalon and back," Morgana wondered. "He would have known, at the very least."

"Perhaps he did," Arthur murmured quietly. All heads turned to him as he spoke up for the first time since the medallion had fallen from George's pocket. "I thought it a bit strange how he just so suddenly excused himself because he 'needed air.' Sure, he had been anxious over the entire ordeal, but I just believed him to be fretting over Cenred's imminent arrival and his first societal debut since being kidnapped. Merlin's much more personable than I; I thought a banquet would be much more his scene. When he excused himself, I suppose I just chalked it up to general nerves. But what if he knew?"

"Knew Cenred had arrived and went to do what? Confront him?" Elyan asked incredulously.

"Wouldn't put it past the crazy, self-sacrificin' bastard," Will muttered into his bowl of bisque.

Gaius hummed quietly from the end of the table. Arthur watched the old physician, desperately pleading with his eyes for the man's input. If anyone were able to make heads or tails of this mess, it would be Gaius. Arthur, for his part, was way in over his head, not that he was planning to admit it.

The past two years that he had been physician, Gaius' opinion had been valued by Uther over the rest of his council of actual noblemen. Gaius was part of the Court, sure, but he was no nobleman. Yet, Uther, notoriously known for his favor to those of noble blood, sought the opinion of a common man above all others. It was Gaius who had first given Arthur the time of day to voice his opinions, as well. No one else wanted to pay him a moment's attention, too preoccupied with hanging on Uther's every misguided lie. It was after Gaius' very first council meeting in Camelot that the physician had asked Arthur, just a cocky prick of a prince at the time, to accompany him back to his chambers. He had done so, with no short amount of grumbling, only for Gaius to offer him a seat and an ear to vent to as the old man flitted about his chambers, crushing herbs here and mixing droughts there. Only Morgana had ever given Arthur that kind of attention.

Since then, Gaius had held a special place in Arthur's heart.

At the time, he had found it odd how at ease Gaius was, working on complicated brews while a snotty teen rambled across the room. Now, he saw it for what it was: Gaius was an old hand at it. He had practically helped to raise Merlin and had undoubtedly suffered through hundreds of afternoons in a much similar state while the chatty warlock did his best to talk his ear off.

Arthur gazed at Gaius hopefully. The old man cleared his throat. "I dare say we should see what Daegal can produce from that coin."

Arthur took a shuddering breath, simultaneously relieved and trepid. Whatever Daegal found would show them what exactly had transpired without all the lies and muddled grays, but did he really want to know? Would he be able to handle seeing how thoroughly he had failed Merlin, especially if they were about to see what Arthur suspected?

He honestly didn't have a clue.

Daegal took the medallion carefully from Gwen's grip and cradled it in his palms. Meal completely forgotten, everyone turned to watch Daegal with varying degrees of hesitant curiosity. The boy closed his hands into a fist with the piece cupped between them. He closed his eyes and began to softly mutter under his breath.

Arthur watched, fascinated, as his eyes rolled wildly beneath his lids as if searching for something. A soft gold glow began to leak out between Daegal's closed fingers. The longer he chanted, the brighter the light grew and the more his eyes moved until he seemed to finally land on whatever he was looking for. He froze in place, his hands tightening around the coin until the skin pulled white against knobby bones. He raised his closed hands into the air, suspending them just over a plate of fresh-cut bread.

Arthur held his breath as Daegal's arms began to quiver. He hadn't the faintest what was happening, only that one could have heard a mouse scurry along the floor for how silent the hall had gone. No one dared to so much as breathe too loudly. Arthur saw a bead of sweat run down the boy's temple.

Suddenly, Daegal's eyes flew open. His irises had been flooded with the owl-like yellow Arthur had witnessed in his sister's eyes so many times. Yet, nothing would ever compare to the molten gold that had filled Merlin's eyes the one and only time Arthur had ever had the privilege of witnessing Merlin's magic. He still dreamed of that gold sometimes. The way Merlin's shield, the same color, had flowed around him and encompassed him like it was just an extension of his own being. Which, honestly, Arthur wouldn't have been surprised if it had been. There was still so much about Merlin he didn't know, didn't understand.

Arthur vowed to change that the moment they got Merlin back.

"Aetiewe me tha the ic sece," Daegal whispered, his voice much deeper than Arthur had yet heard it. The glow around his hands grew until it swallowed his fists whole. Daegal yanked his hands apart, the glowing medallion spinning in the air and bursting into a ball of light so bright Arthur had no choice but to cover his eyes and cringe away. He felt the heat and distinctly shocking zip of magic flow over his skin before it ebbed away into a more manageable glow.

Carefully, Arthur pulled his arm away from his face and cracked his eyes open. Around the table, he saw the others doing the same, all staring at the light floating above the table with wide, shocked eyes.

Painted across the light, clear as day, was Merlin. He was wearing his clothes from the night of the banquet: the lovely Ealdor blue tunic and delectable silver circlet that shimmered like starlight against the stark background of Merlin's inky locks. Arthur longed to reach for him, but something told him that interfering would only break Daegal's concentration.

Anger boiled furiously in Arthur's stomach. Merlin was pinned against a stone wall while Cenred towered over him, hand wrapped around the warlock's neck. Merlin's eyes were wide and full of fear. Arthur had never seen him so terrified as he wriggled against his assailant. Cenred leaned over and whispered something in his ears that Arthur couldn't hear.

All at once, Merlin went limp in the other king's hold. He leveled a glare at the man and bit out a choked, "Cenred."

Cenred grinned. Arthur shuddered. "It looks like I've caught a pretty bird."

Down the table, Arthur glimpsed Percival laying an appeasing hand on Gwaine's shoulder, presumably as the other man shifted in anger. The king wasn't far behind, but he didn't have the luxury of letting his emotions run wild like Gwaine. He needed to assess the situation with as much objectivity as someone romantically involved with the victim could.

"You haven't caught anything. Now, get off me," Merlin demanded.

Cenred laughed darkly and reached for the golden ring—identical to the one perpetually stuck on Merlin's own finger—on the hand wrapped around Merlin's throat and ran a teasing finger over it. A full-body shudder ran down Merlin's spine before his eyes flashed that beautiful gold Arthur had been dreaming of just moments before.

Yet, never had the King hated it more.

It was like every ounce of willpower had drained from Merlin. He stared at Cenred with a lost, vacant expression, utterly frozen and powerless. Cenred's grin grew wider.

"All these months apart and all it takes is one touch for you to be right back under my control. You must have missed me."

Arthur watched tears well up in his beloved's eyes, one trailing down his cheek. Cenred reached up and wiped it away with the gentlest of touches, as if he didn't beat Merlin bloody on the regular. Arthur wanted to break every last finger he dared to lay on Merlin.

"Oh, don't cry now, Birdie," Cenred crooned. "You had to have known your little trip would end eventually." He leaned in so close Arthur nearly missed what tainted words seeped from his lips next. "Tell me, how does it feel to be used by two kings?"

At that, Arthur lost it. Ringing filled his ears. His head pounded, and he was sure his cheeks grew hot with the fury he'd been barely containing. The taste of iron flooded over his tongue as he bit right into it. Combined with the sickening acid roiling in his stomach, Arthur retched. He couldn't help it. He vaguely felt his knees crack the stone floor as he slid off his seat and continued to gag. Nausea ripped through him like a tidal wave.

How dare Cenred? To not only use the intimacy they had shared in the privacy of Arthur's chambers against the mage, but to insinuate that Arthur had used him? As if Cenred didn't force himself on Merlin, force the man he was meant to cherish above all others as his betrothed to give him such a private, sacred part of himself. Not that Merlin had given it willingly. No, Arthur was sure it had been ripped from the prince without a care for the emotional scars that did to a person. The very thought of causing Merlin that sort of pain, of defiling him in such a way, was enough to send Arthur into another gagging fit.

Morgana was suddenly beside him, running a hand over his back. Arthur was starting to become embarrassed about the number of times he had found himself in this position lately, collapsed on the ground while his older sister comforted him. He was a king.

The ringing began to fade from his ears just in time for him to hear a slap echo through the hall. Arthur's head whipped back towards the glowing light, and he scrambled back on to his chair. He realized he had missed precious moments of the memory in his spiral. The others around the table were dutifully choosing to look anywhere but at him, although it was clear they had all been watching him come apart only moments before. He wasn't sure if he should be grateful they were acting as if it had never happened or offended they didn't think he could handle the repercussions.

Although, he really wasn't sure he could. His stomach was still turning uncomfortably.

Arthur saw a drop of blood roll down Merlin's cheek from where Cenred's ring had cut him. The blood was eerie against the porcelain of Merlin's soft skin. Arthur wanted to hold Merlin's face in his hands and soothe away the pain.

"That bastard," Gwaine growled quietly. The image before them flickered momentarily, Gwaine's voice breaking Daegal's concentration. Arthur glared daggers at his knight. Will may have actually snarled at the other man.

"Watch your wicked tongue before you lose it. It seems like your little trip away ignited that nasty spark in you again. Pity, I thought I'd weeded it out."

Merlin's eyes narrowed to slits. He seemed to grow taller, defiant. "I never lost it. I just needed reminded that it was even there at all."

"And you found that reminder here? In Uther Pendragon's household?"

"It's not Uther's any longer. Arthur's a better king than he ever was, and he's certainly a better king than you. Although, it's a rather small feat to be a better ruler than a swine."

A mix of pride and guilt shot through Arthur. Here was Merlin, wonderful, kind, perfect Merlin openly defending him to his abuser, the man who had taken everything from him. And Arthur had really thought Merlin had betrayed them.

Merlin flinched back on instinct, like he expected to be hit for the comment, yet had said it anyhow. Only Merlin, really. Instead, Cenred burst into laughter. He gripped Merlin's chin.

"Oh, Birdie." Arthur shuddered. He didn't think he'd ever be able to look at a bird the same way again. "You really think Pendragon cares for you, don't you?"

Arthur watched as Merlin slowly closed his eyes, and an ashamed, defeated look crossed his face. Arthur's heart shattered. How could Merlin doubt his love for him, his devotion? He realized they had only known each other for a matter of months, and their initial meeting had been less than ideal to say the least, but there was no one Arthur had ever cared for more, longed for more, loved more.

You never told him that, a traitorous voice whispered. How was he meant to think anything else?

"How sad," Cenred said. "Even after all this time you still think that someone like him could ever want someone like you for any more than a bedwarmer. He's a Pendragon; how many of your kind has he helped to kill? How could you ever think that he would care about a freak like you?"

Merlin's face still looked shattered. "Arthur's different," he whispered. Although, to Arthur, it seemed like Merlin was trying to convince himself more than Cenred.

Cenred laughed again. Beside him, Morgana shuddered where she had perched herself on the arm of his chair after his little attack.

"Oh, you poor, naïve, boy. Did you even think why he would ever lay with you? Surely, you had to have wondered why Pendragon chose you when he could've had just about anyone in all the surrounding kingdoms." Cenred reached up and touched the small cut his ring had left on Merlin's cheek. Merlin flinched. Arthur gritted his teeth.

"You were nothing but a show of rebellion to his father, a final middle finger to the man in the grave. Why else would he lay with someone he kidnapped, a warlock no less? Sure, you're somewhat attractive, dear, but you're certainly not the finest prize out there."

"Says the man who looks like an overgrown bear. You don't know what you're talking about." Merlin was crying again.

"Don't I?" Cenred asked darkly. "Then tell me that you don't care about him. Look me in the eyes and say you don't love him."

Arthur held his breath. His eyes were trained on the scene before him, too scared to even blink. He knew how he felt about Merlin, of course; he was head-over-heels in love with the other man, had been completely gone on him since the warlock had saved Gwen's life after her stabbing.

But did Merlin feel the same?

They'd never said those words, nor had they even put a name to their relationship. Cenred always loomed above them like a storm cloud darkening any chance they had at happiness. What if Merlin had only sought him out as consolation? Deep down, Arthur knew that wasn't true. Merlin knew how it felt to be used and cast aside. He would never impart that to another person. Yet, that small, mean part of his mind that made its personal mission destroying Arthur's happiness kept whispering doubts.

"I–I don't." Arthur's heart stuttered.

"I've brought with me an entire fleet of soldiers. They're waiting on ships just outside of the citadel's view. It would take only one word from me for them to level this kingdom even with all the defenses I'm sure Pendragon has in place. If what you say is true, you should have no problem with me burning this city to the ground."

Everyone around the table gasped softly. The image wavered once more, Merlin's face blurring and misting over before reappearing sharply once more. Morgana's nails dug painfully into his arm.

It was there that Cenred reached into his pocket and withdrew the very coin they had discovered marks ago. The King ran his finger along the edge of the medallion. As he did so, the marker began to glow softly, shimmering the same color Daegal was projecting as the seal disappeared and words began to take its place.

All at once, Merlin launched himself towards the coin, and knocked it from Cenred's grasp. The coin flew to the ground and disappeared beneath the crack under the door. Both men in the vision stared at the spot where it had disappeared for a long moment.

Merlin's chest was heaving, a faraway look in his eyes. Arthur recognized the early signs of one of his panic attacks. It physically hurt him, not being able to reach out and help him, comfort him.

Merlin closed his eyes momentarily and seemed to steel himself before he glowered at Cenred through his eyelashes. "You won't touch them, understand me?" His voice was deep and gravelly, almost growling from the back of his throat.

A chill shot up Arthur's spine. He tried to shift inconspicuously in his seat and swallowed hard around a sudden lump in his throat. He felt his cheeks grow uncomfortably warm.

"Is that a hint of Dragon Voice I hear? Now, we can't have that," Cenred wondered, his voice mocking. He reached for his ring once more, spun it about his finger, and watched almost predatorily as the action sent a violent tremor through Merlin's entire body. Arthur watched his eyes flash gold again, and the mage gave a pained wince.

Cenred smiled pleasantly. "That's better. You really care about Pendragon and his people, don't you? Even though they don't care for you. You know only I care for you, Birdie. That's why I'm willing to spare their lives."

Arthur perked up.

"In exchange for what?" Merlin demanded.

"You, of course."

Merlin's eyes drifted shut. Tears welled up in Arthur's own. Just as Morgana had been saying all along, Merlin had indeed not gone with Cenred of his own free will. Cenred had used them as a bargaining chip—Merlin's love for them—to keep Merlin under his thumb, just where he liked him. Cenred wasn't much, but he was cunningly devious. He had spent enough time with Merlin to learn just what made him tick and had used that to his advantage. He knew that Merlin's care for them would outweigh his own fear of the man before him every single time. Merlin was too kind, too loving, for his own good. He would never allow harm to befall others just to save himself.

Merlin's face scrunched up in thought. He was pale and vibrating with fear. Even if Arthur hadn't been privy to the outcome, he could still see plain as day the choice the warlock was going to make. It was written out in the way he clenched his fists at his sides, how he slowly schooled his features only how someone of royal upbringing could in the face of devastation.

"Deal." The word dripped from Merlin's lips like a curse. Rivulets of blood were dripping down Merlin's hands from where his nails were clenching so tightly into his palms. "I'll come with you. I'll never leave again. I'll be yours and only yours to do with what you please. But you have to swear to me that no harm will come to any citizen of Camelot, nor to the kingdom itself. If you try anything, I will kill myself without a thought."

"No," Arthur murmured. "No!"

Morgana gripped his arm even tighter. Her nails bit further into his skin, but he couldn't care any less. He twisted from her grip as he leaned forward in terror.

Realistically, he knew, he knew, what had already transpired. He realized he had no real reason to be so horrified. It was no surprise that Merlin had gone back to Essetir with Cenred. And while he previously hadn't known the circumstances surrounding his departure, it really shouldn't have changed anything.

But it changed everything.

Before, Arthur had been blissfully unaware of how truly he had failed Merlin. It had been easier to accept the fact that Merlin had been yet another person in a long line of people to betray him than to even entertain the notion that he may have falsely condemned Merlin, held him accountable for an impossible crime, all because he was scared. He couldn't bear to watch Merlin give himself up, knowing all that Cenred did to Merlin and how truly terrified the warlock was of his betrothed—though he would never admit it—when Arthur had done nothing to help him. How had he not seen through the act, the lies, and seen what he had been too scared to acknowledge all along?

That Merlin was, at heart, the most selfless, caring, self-sacrificing person Arthur had ever had the pleasure to meet.

Had Merlin been scared? Or had he resigned himself to his fate, knowing that with the twisted deal he had made with the Devil, those he cared for would be safe if he only gave his body and soul to a monster? Had Merlin pleaded for his help, only to find a king too lost in his own self-righteousness to offer him any escape?

Had his heart broken just as Arthur's?

Arthur stood abruptly from his seat, and Morgana fell back. He felt momentarily guilty at having essentially pushed his sister to the floor, but it didn't last long. It seemed that Arthur's words coupled with his sudden unrest was the last straw for Daegal. The boy shuddered horribly, and the image flickered violently before snuffing out as easily as one would douse a candle. The coin clattered to the table and stayed there, silent and innocuous.

Daegal collapsed into his seat. Immediately, Will's hands were hovering over the boy, worry creased on his face, but Daegal shrugged him away. The yellow was still fading from his eyes, his chest was heaving, his nose was bleeding once more from the strain, and sweat beaded his forehead, but his lips tugged into the ghost of a smile. He seemed proud of himself. Gaius wordlessly reached over with one of the cloth napkins and shoved it into Will's hands to press against Daegal's nose.

No one knew what to say. They were all staring blankly around, some at each other, some at him, while others even nowhere at all. The shock Arthur had filling him was wafting around the table and turning the air thick with astonishment. Even Gwaine had been rendered speechless.

"Arthur…" Morgana finally dared to say. He held up a hand, and she fell uncharacteristically silent.

"We leave at first light," he ordered. He glanced at each and every person around the table, meeting each of their eyes. He realized they hadn't even made it through the first course of their meal, but the thought of putting anything into his stomach made it turn acridly. Without another word, he turned about and marched from the hall.

He refused to weep in front of anyone.

Chapter Text

Will couldn't sleep.

Not for lack of trying. He'd been tossing and turning for the better part of four candle marks, yet sleep eluded him. His mind was so full that not even the gentle rocking of The Dragon Slayer over waves could comfort him and lull him into blissful oblivion.

He found himself splayed flat on his back. He allowed his eyes to drift closed for probably the thousandth time, just listening to the crashing sea through the open porthole as the vessel cut through the vast darkness. A cool breeze filtered into the cabin just enough to alleviate clammy skin from the mugginess of the room.

He should have been ecstatic to find himself back on a ship once more. He may not have been from Ealdor like Merlin, nor some magical descendent of the sea, but he still felt its call on a personal level. From his earliest memories, he recalled his mother and father taking him and his sister to the sea to race amongst the surf and swim to their hearts' content. His sister and he would compete to see who could jump higher waves; he usually let her win. He would just close his eyes and allow the wave to pull him beneath. He would always open his eyes beneath the water despite how it stung just to watch the swirls of seaweed and small coastal fish swim by. He would try to hold his breath for as long as he could, not ever wanting to leave, before his father inevitably pulled him up just to throw him back in a moment later, much to his sister's glee.

It was forbidden in Essetir, of course, for common folk to utilize the kingdom's beaches. But somehow, his parents always managed to sneak them away for a mark or so, even if it was to just breathe in the air.

He was born to sail, not to squire as a knight or grovel as some royal guard. He felt more at peace with himself at sea than on land. He always trusted that the sea would keep him safe. Will had come to respect the sea more than people, if he were truthful. The sea took because it didn't know the devastation it caused; man took knowing the devastation but did it anyhow. Merlin had told him shortly after they met that the sea protected those that protected it.

It physically pained him every day he had to spend not on the open ocean, but he also acknowledged that the greed of society did not allow for people such as him to be free when it kept those much more deserving of that freedom in captivity.

Will couldn't find it in himself to feel anything but trepidation while on this ship. It had only been a day since they had left port, but already they had traveled three days' worth of water thanks to Lady Morgana's magical aid. Still, he knew where they were sailing for, and he couldn't shake the distinct feeling that he may never set foot on a ship again.

The door to the quarters he had been allotted creaked open slowly. Will froze, his hand automatically sliding beneath his pillow to clasp the dagger he kept with him always. No one but those closest to King Arthur were on the ship, he was sure of it, but it never hurt to be safe. He still wasn't sure he trusted half of them, anyhow. But if forming a begrudging alliance with the pompous king and his court of noble fools meant saving Merlin, he would gladly slide to his knees and kiss Arthur Pendragon's stupidly shiny boots.

No matter whether he knew his visitor or not, they had no business sneaking into his quarters in the middle of the night like some common rake. He would also gladly slit a throat if anyone attempted to stand in his way.

Hesitant feet padded across the floorboards. One squeaked beneath the stranger's footfall and the stranger paused. Will could just make out a vague silhouette through slitted eyes and the muted light of the moon. The mystery person let out a shuddery breath.

A hesitant hand touched his shoulder. It took everything in Will not to snatch the wrist and pin the stranger captive.

The hand shook his shoulder gently. "Will?" Daegal's voice cut through the darkness.

Will opened his eyes the rest of the way and allowed his grip on his dagger to go lax. "Daegal?"

Daegal sucked in a sharp breath. "Oh, you're still awake."

"Couldn't sleep," he said dismissively. "What's happened? Are ya alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. I couldn't sleep either."

"So, ya decided ta skulk 'bout my quarters at," Will glanced quickly out the window to the moon, "'bout two marks past midnight. And wake me up no less."

Daegal shifted. Will could barely see him scratching the back of his neck uncomfortably. "You weren't even sleeping, asshole."

"Yeah, but I coulda been. Liable ta get yerself stabbed."

Daegal shifted anxiously again. Will rolled his eyes even though he knew no one but the darkness could see his exasperation. "What'd'ya want then, kid?"

"Don't call me kid."

"What'd'ya want then, mate?"

Daegal sighed softly. "I–I don't know really. Wanted to see you, I guess. I–I can go…yeah, I–I'll just leave. Sorry to bother you, you're trying to sleep—"

Will grumbled. Any last hopes he had of catching a bit of sleep drifted away. He flung back the covers. "Get in."

"N–no, I can't—"

"Oh, for the love of—would'ya jus' get in?"

Daegal clambered ungracefully onto the bed, his splinted arm doing him no favors. Will grumbled quietly and scooched over on the bed so they weren't on top of each other. He loved the kid, but the only people who got to touch him lying in bed were himself and any poor wench he could lure into it with some well-placed words and a handful of coins.

Daegal squirmed around uncomfortably. Will kicked him under the covers. Daegal rolled right over and pressed his cold feet against Will's shins. Will yelped and squirmed even farther away.

"Motherf—would'ya lay the hell still?"

"Sorry," Daegal mumbled. "Bed's too soft. I'm not used to sleeping on anything that isn't the ground."

"Yeah, ya and me both."

It was quiet for a long moment. Will clenched his eyes shut and tried to ignore Daegal's breathing right next to his ear. He could feel the boy's body heat radiating under the covers and itched to move as far away from the other body as he could. It was humid enough as it was in the room.

"Will—"

"What?"

"I'm sorry," Daegal whispered. Will lulled his head to the side and searched for Daegal's face in the dark. He couldn't make out much, but he could at least still see the way the younger man's forehead pinched with worry.

"What the hell for? Ya do somethin' I don't know 'bout?"

"No, you definitely know about it. That day in the forest…I shouldn't've yelled at you."

Will blinked, taken-aback. If anyone should be apologizing, it should be him. "Woah, I'm gonna stop ya right there. Ya've got nothin' to apologize fer. I'm the one who broke yer damn nose. I'm the one who's acted like a prick for weeks. I've been messin' up at every turn, and for that, I'm so damn sorry, kid."

Daegal didn't even grumble over the nickname. "You didn't do it on purpose, we both know that. I was never mad at you for it; Freya overreacted. She was just worried too, I know. It really wasn't so bad. And I know you've just been stressed out trying to keep me and Frey safe. She knows it, too, I'm sure. The two of you butt heads on the best of days, but without Cap here to mitigate, everything blew up. I was just tired and in pain and so sick of you two fighting. But we wouldn't have survived a week in that dungeon without you. Still, all you do is throw yourself between us and anything you think could be remotely dangerous, and it scares me."

"Scares ya?"

Will felt Daegal nod more than he actually saw it. "Yeah, scares the hell outta me. Some of the things you say, Will…well, I guess I just worry. I don't want you to leave. I don't want to lose you. I don't want to lose any of you. I'm so scared we're not gonna get Cap back."

Will honestly didn't know what to say back to that. He never thought…he never wanted to think that the crew cared about him as much as he cared about them. To think there were actually people that would miss him if something happened to him sort of threw a wrench in his whole martyr act.

Then again, Merlin had already laid claim to the whole martyr gig. He figured you needed to actually have a cause you believed in enough to die for before you could die a martyr. And he was fairly certain acting as a human shield for three miscreants didn't count for much.

"Well, shit."

Daegal hummed tiredly. "Yeah. Well, shit."

"Ya know...most'a the time I'm talkin' outta my ass, right?"

Daegal shifted over to press his face against Will's arm. The first mate shuddered. How the kid's nose was ice cold in this heat, he had no idea. "I know that. I just get scared of losing you guys. You're the only family I ever remember having. I was taken from my camp when I was so young, traded around a good bit 'til you guys found me at that tavern. When you kicked the shit out of those traders, it was the first time anyone ever stood up for me. I guess that's why I acted the way I did for the first few months I was part of the crew. I couldn't fathom that there were people who would actually be willing to fight in my corner, so I fought back before I got hurt."

Daegal rolled back over once more and snaked his arms around the first mate. Will stiffened. "You're the big brother I wished for my whole life. Someone to protect me from everyone who tried to put me in chains, force me into cages. I love Merlin and Freya with my whole heart, but…you were the first one I trusted. I could feel your anger, your pain."

"Stupid empath," Will muttered as he hesitantly wrapped an arm around Daegal's shoulder. "Should'a know you were too weepy fer yer own good. Ain't no one cry over dead birds like that."

"Cap does."

"Yeah, well, Cap's always been a bit weepy. Hopeless romantic, too. How ya think he got himself in this situation? He calls me a manwhore. At least I ain't never dropped my pants for a royal. The son of the man who genocided people jus' like 'im, no less."

"First off, Cap seems to genuinely be in love with King Arthur, and the King seems just as infatuated. I think it's sweet. You can't help who you fall in love with, coming from the stupid empath. Cap deserves to find true, innocent love more than any of us. How many women have you actually been in love with? You wouldn't know love if it bit you in the ass. Second, Cap's slept with two people in his entire life, and only one willingly. How many have you slept with? If you need to pull your feet out to use your toes, I'll wait. Better yet, how many of their names do you know? Be sensible, Will. You're a manwhore."

"I ain't never said I was sensible. I just don't like King Asshole."

"S'why you're not the Cap'n. Cap's got more sense in his ears than you got in your whole body. You're just jealous 'cause Arthur threatens your ego."

Will huffed and shoved the boy away. Daegal rolled over, giggling like a child. "Oh, haha, laugh it up, laddy. See who's laughin' when I tell Cap ya was makin' remarks about his ears."

"Fine," Daegal said. "I'll just tell 'im you're the one who took the pile of gold pieces he had on his bedside table to pay off your bar tab. Poor 'Thus is still takin' the blame. Cap thinks she took 'em for her hoard, but I paid her off with a mutton leg to keep her mouth shut."

Daegal had once again pressed his face against Will's shoulder, and he was sure the boy had fallen asleep with the way his breaths slowly evened out. Will still had his arm firmly around the Druid's shoulders, and he was too afraid of waking him to move.

"I'm not asleep," Daegal muttered. His voice was muffled against the fabric of Will's night shirt. "I can hear you thinkin'. I like the arm. Feels nice. Didn't know you could be all chummy."

Will cleared his throat awkwardly. His face felt hot, and he was sure it had nothing to do with the smothering, humid heat of the cabin.

"Speakin' of chummy," he said quickly. "Somethin' goin' on with Freya and that long-haired knight?"

"His name's Gwaine."

"I don't care what his name is. He's got a thing fer Frey, I can tell."

"And what if he does? Freya's a grown adult."

"She's the same age as Cap, and you can't stand that he's betrothed any more than the rest of us."

Daegal huffed. "That's different, and you know it, Will. Stop acting like that. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you were jealous."

Will couldn't stop the barking laugh that escaped his lips. Even the very thought was unfathomable. "Jealous? Of who? This Gwaine fellow? Ha! Ya think I'm sweet on Freya? Yeah, I think not. She's like my little sister. My terrifying, mouthy sister. Besides, I quite like having the use of all my manly bits."

"I'm just saying, Freya's not exactly stopping him. She likes him; I can tell. You might want to put a cap on your protectiveness before it gets misconstrued. I know you're not sweet on her, but they don't. Might scare him away if he gets the wrong idea, ya know?"

"What if I want ta scare 'im away?" Will asked.

"Say goodbye to the manly bits now," Daegal answered easily. "Besides, why would you want to? Let's say you're right about Sir Gwaine; what's the worst that could happen? Freya gets a lay out of it and drops a man. But if his intentions are genuinely amicable, then perhaps Freya gets a happy ending of her own. Either way, I'm not seeing the issue here."

Will sighed. "When did ya get so wise?"

Daegal shrugged. "You make it look easy."

"Okay, ya know what? That's enough o' ya. Go the hell ta sleep or get the hell out of my bed."

The room fell silent once more as neither man made an effort to move. Daegal tucked his face back against Will's arm so that he could feel his tunic rustling with each of the younger's soft exhales.

"Fer the love of the Goddess, would ya at least get on yer own side?"

Instead of acknowledging him, Daegal grunted softly and pressed his feet harder into Will's calves. "Is everything gonna be okay, Will?"

"Of course. I ain't gonna let anythin' happen to ya. Or Freya. We're gonna get Cap back, and we'll be a proper family again. I ain't goin' nowhere."

"Are we okay?"

Will tightened his arm around Daegal and gave the boy's shoulder a squeeze. "Yeah, kid, we're jus' fine."

The sun was barely beginning to break the horizon when Arthur emerged from his quarters. He hadn't slept more than a few candle marks, but then again, that had become fairly average for him since his coronation. Knowing where they were sailing for, not knowing what was about to transpire, that had only worked to exacerbate his stress-induced insomnia to a nearly crippling level. Arthur wasn't sure how he would even be upright if it weren't for sheer spite and a handful of Gaius' "upper" brews. The old physician gave him a disapproving look whilst he handed them over—the brews meant for patients ravaged by disease and needing an energy boost—but had given them all the same. Even Gaius knew when best not to argue with him.

His ship cut through the waves as easy as he breathed. Although her name was unfortunate in the view of recent events, he still dearly loved his vessel. Even more so without Uther's crew defiling her decks.

He took a deep breath, the air salty and so very fresh. It stung his flushed cheeks and whipped the few locks of hair about his face that had managed to escape his tricorn. He refused to wear it on land, not wishing to taint either of his images with essences of the other, but it felt good to have it in its rightful place once more.

Standing on the quarterdeck and gazing across the vast blueness of the sea which was painted in brilliant golds and reds with the rising sun, Arthur finally understood how Merlin felt. Perhaps not on an inherent level nor a magical one, but he could finally grasp Merlin's desperate want to be at sea, to return back to it. There was something wild about it, unrestrained, yet orderly and meticulously mundane all at once. It was predictable, yet mysterious. It respected those that respected it and rained torment upon those that dared to test its power. It was chaotic and peaceful, beautiful yet deadly dangerous.

Much like Merlin.

And much like Merlin, he had never taken the time to appreciate its true depth. Now, he was paying the price.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and cast the thought from his mind. No one would be paying any price. He would either be leaving Essetir with Merlin and Cenred's head, or not at all. Hence his will carefully tucked away in his desk back in Camelot, and Leon's begrudging stay. His first knight had been less than pleased with being left behind, but Arthur trusted no one else but his sister with his kingdom should he not return, and Arthur valued his life more than suggesting Morgana stay behind.

Arthur leaned heavily against the railing. Exhaustion pulled him down like a heavy stone, but he refused to acknowledge it. Thanks to his sister's brilliance, they had managed to cut the two-week journey down to four days and were due to arrive in Essetir within the next few candle marks. He figured he should rouse the others, but he was ashamed to admit he was enjoying his last moments of solitude before he was forced to act like this wasn't destroying him.

Below, on the main deck, a door opened and shut softly. Arthur held his breath, hoping that whoever had decided to rise so early wouldn't notice him and would simply turn around and try to snatch a few precious more moments of sleep. Alas, it seemed luck was not with him as footfalls slowly trudged their way up the stairs.

The footsteps came to a sudden stop at the top of the steps. "Aw, hell," a voice muttered. Arthur tensed and silently swore. Merlin's derisive first mate was the last person Arthur wanted to speak to, despite the new respect he'd gained for him some days ago.

"No point in turning around," Arthur called over his shoulder. "I already heard you."

Will grumbled something the king couldn't quite pick up. He was sure the other man was going to turn tail and run back down the stairs despite what he said, but he was surprised when instead Will reluctantly trudged across the deck and appeared at his side.

"Didn't think no one would be up yet," Will explained.

"I as well did not."

Will shifted around uncomfortably. He reached up and tugged anxiously at one of his earrings, his eyes steadfastly gazing out over the sea. He appeared to be biting his tongue so hard Arthur half expected to see blood begin to leak from his lips.

"Have you been finding your accommodations suitable?" Arthur asked politely.

Will nodded. "Anythin's better than the ground, your majesty."

Arthur pursed his lips. Every title was always an insult with Will. He really meant it when he vowed that anyone that Merlin cared for as much as he did his crew, so would Arthur, but Will made it so hard.

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Don't really see how that's any of yer business. Ya invited me over 'ere; could'a jus' let me slink off back ta my quarters and called it a day."

"Well," Arthur began carefully, "seeing as this is my ship, and I am the captain, it really is my business where you go."

Arthur saw Will's fingers tighten imperceptibly around the railing. The first mate huffed. "That what ya told the Cap'n? Or didn't ya give him a choice at all?"

Arthur took another deep breath, taking a moment to drink in the morning air and focus on the way the salty residue coated his throat. He refused to get angry with Will anymore. He was trying to become a bigger man than his temper—something him and Will were eerily similar in, admittedly—and that leaf turned over now. Besides, he could recognize most of Will's words for what they were: barely concealed attempts at goading a rise out of him. Will purposefully made people not like him, but clearly there was more there than the front Merlin's first mate so steadfastly held up. Merlin had a way of seeing the best in everyone, so there must be something he saw in Will that the other man allowed few to be privy to.

"Look, Will," he began. Will raised an eyebrow at the use of his given name. "You don't like me, and I understand why. I represent everything you think is wrong with the world. I took your best mate, your brother, and left you helpless to do anything about it. I do not deny the fact that my initial intentions towards Merlin were less than innocent. I did not care for him and only wished to be rid of him to my father as quickly as I possibly could. But I also am mature enough to admit now that I was nothing more than an arrogant fool mindlessly heeding my father. Merlin, though…" He felt a soft smile spread across his face. "He has a certain way of worming his way into your heart whether you want him there or not. I was quite powerless to stop it."

"That he does," Will agreed quietly.

"So, you can hate me all you want. I do not care. Just know, if nothing else, that I wish no harm upon Merlin or any of you. I only want to bring him home. I only wish for all of you to be safe." Arthur glanced up at him. Will was staring back with an unreadable expression. "I'm irrevocably in love with him, yes, but if after everything he does not wish to even be in my presence, I will let him go with only a broken heart. His happiness means more to me than my own heart."

Will cleared his throat. He squinted his eyes towards the horizon. "Yer an odd creature, Pendragon. I never did meet a royal concerned with all this lovey shit, 'sides Merls, o'course, but he don't really count does he? He's like…half a royal now."

Arthur couldn't help but laugh at that.

"For whatever it's worth, I don't hate ya. It's just…I've watched Cenred use Merlin fer two years. It's horrific. And Merlin can't do nothin' ta fight back. He's given Cenred everythin' he has and then some. Forgive me if I don't quite trust yer intentions yet no matter if ya tell me 'til yer blue in the face."

Arthur felt like some of the weight had been eased from his shoulders with just those words. He figured that was the closest he was going to get to Will's approval, at least at the moment. And he had really meant what he'd said—no matter how much it would tear him up inside, if Merlin wished to have nothing to do with him, he would silently let him go with not a word. Merlin's safety and happiness were all he cared about.

Will rapped his knuckles sharply against the rail. Arthur nearly jumped. "By the way, Pendragon, why don't ya try sleepin' with Daegal some time, see if ya can sleep through it? Kid's slept with me every night on this ship. He kicks—like a damn mule."

Arthur smiled. "I wouldn't have pegged him for a fighter."

"He's real scrappy when he wants ta be. Don't go countin' him out yet."

"I meant nothing by it, I assure you. Only perhaps you would wish to be rid of your sparring partner when you're attempting to sleep. He was given his own quarters, yes?"

"Yeah, but Daegal gets real anxious, s'pecially after everythin' we've been through. He don't want to be alone."

"That's kind of you, then." Arthur felt his stomach warm with a pleasant fondness. This was the Will that Merlin so adored. The one who loved so strongly yet refused to admit it. Who would give up four nights of sleep just so his young crewmate—his brother—could feel safe.

"Yeah, well, kid's a menace, but he ain't so bad. Though, we all wanted to kick the shit out of him when he first came 'round."

"Oh, I heard."

Will opened his mouth as if to reply when a sharp cry suddenly came from the crow's nest. Arthur whipped his head towards the sound just in time to see a small blur of white and wings come bolting down from above and nearly plow Will over. He stumbled back but effortlessly accommodated Aithusa's weight with an ease that said it was not uncommon behavior for the young dragon.

Aithusa roared, smoke billowing out from her nostrils. Will coughed as the smoke rolled around his head in murky tendrils. "What's gotten into ya, 'Thus?"

She chirped sharply and fluttered her wings. Will's eyes went wide. "Land? Ya sure?"

Arthur reeled back in shock while Aithusa leveled a glare at Will and growled something deep and gravelly from her throat. Will just raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Alright, alright, I believe ya. No need fer the attitude."

"Wait, you saw land?" Arthur asked Aithusa only to meet exasperated, piercing blue eyes. He turned to Will. "She saw land?"

"S'pose so. I'd be inclined ta believe 'er, too. Dragon's can see real far."

"We weren't supposed to reach Essetir for a couple more marks."

"Well, I 'spect we won't, either. Like I said, they can see real far. Probably a few marks worth 'o sailin'. But I doubt ya just want ta pull up ta Cenred's front door with this hulkin' thing. Not exactly subtle, is she? We're gonna wanna anchor as far out as we can."

Arthur nodded. He turned and yelled to Percival at the helm. "Oi! Percival! Set her steady and wake the others. We're anchoring here!"

"Aye, Captain!" Came the quick reply. Percival fiddled with the wheel for only a few moments before he deftly disappeared below to the other quarters.

Will met his eye. "This is it then, huh? Gettin' the Cap'n back once and fer all?"

"Damn straight," Arthur said with a sense of stoic conviction. Will laughed.

"Maybe ya ain't so bad, Pendragon. I still ain't callin' ya by any real titles, though, Sire."

"I would expect nothing less, William."

"Hey, we ain't that close. I'll still punch ya."

Arthur grinned.

The entirety of the ship's population gathered around them within moments, all looking upon him with earnest curiosity. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Aithusa has spotted Essetir within the distance. We are still a few candle marks from shore, but as Will has so insightfully pointed out, it would be wise of us not to dock within view of their watch towers. It is one thing for a dragon's vision to spot the land; it is another entirely for a man's. We will anchor here and take the rowboats the rest of the way in."

The knights and Gwen broke off to drop the anchor and get the ship situated for the long haul. Only Morgana, Gaius, and Merlin's crew remained standing around him.

"Your Highness," Freya began softly.

"You may speak freely, Freya," Arthur assured her, just as softly.

She squared her shoulders. "If I may make a suggestion, do not steer for the main docks. Cenred has them guarded with men and magic at all times. Let us not forget he has Merlin at his disposal, no matter how unwillingly. If we do not go about this the right way, Cenred will know of our presence before we even breach the outer wall."

"What do you suggest?" Morgana asked.

"Aim the boats for a small cove to the east of the docks. It's a bit out of the way, but it is also out of the prying eyes of any towers. It's heavily concealed by shrubbery, but navigable all the same. There is a passage within that Cenred doesn't know of. Some servants worked hard to carve it out many years ago in order to discreetly sneak out of the citadel, and it leads directly to a hall just outside the kitchen, beneath a few stones. Cenred never steps foot back there, and none of the servants will breathe a word. They, too, care for Merlin, in their own ways. He is exceptionally kind to each one of them. It is only fear of repercussions that keep them from outright disobeying Cenred."

Arthur offered her a small smile. "Thank you, truly. I doubt this will be the last time we rely on all three of you, really." He swallowed hard and scratched the back of his neck. "I…I admit I'm a bit out of my depth here. Even before my fat–Uther passed, I never visited Essetir. Cenred always came to Camelot."

"That's how he wants it," Daegal spoke. "He never brings in outsiders. He fears that if someone saw the state in which he keeps his kingdom, someone would be tempted to actually do something about it."

Morgana patted his arm. Arthur covered her hand with his own. "I daresay you aren't the only one feeling as if you've had the carpet pulled from beneath you, brother dear. We're all unnerved. That is why we must put our trust in Merlin's crew. They nearly gave their lives just to rescue him, the least we can do is put our faith in them."

Gaius cleared his throat. "If I may interrupt, Sire, what role do you wish for me to play. I fear I will be of little use to you on the mainland, as much as I wish to assist in securing Merlin's safety."

"You and George shall remain on the ship. I need you to be prepared for the moment we return. We have no idea what state we shall be bringing Merlin back in. But knowing Cenred…I can't imagine it will be good."

Gaius nodded slowly, his face thoughtful, but he made no move to contradict Arthur's statement. They were all dutifully doing everything in their power to avoid facing the reality that even if they managed to save Merlin without losing anyone in the process, there was a chance that whatever damage Cenred had managed to inflict on him in the weeks he had been back under his control—although, Arthur questioned whether Merlin had ever really been out from beneath Cenred's control—would be irreparable. That even safe, the person they got back would not be Merlin at all. Yes, he had endured the other man's torment for two years, but never under such anger and betrayal. Arthur couldn't imagine a world where Merlin's treason to the crown of Essetir had gone unpunished.

"Very well, then," Arthur said. "I shall relay Freya's information to the men. With any luck, the next time we step foot on this vessel, it will be with Merlin once more."

.

.

In all his years sailing, Arthur was unsure if he'd ever seen a ship anchored and rowboats prepared so quickly.

Before he knew it, they were all loaded into two boats, quietly cutting through the glassy expanse of sea towards Essetir. The only noise came from the soft splash of the oars against the waves and Aithusa's occasional chirps as she sat at the helm of their vessel, eyes peeled on the distant horizon.

"'Thus says ta angle more towards the east. We've drifted too far west, and we're missin' the cove," Will muttered softly. Arthur saw Morgana nod and quietly relay the information to Gwen in the other boat. Arthur grunted as the waves pushed back against his oar, digging deep into the surf as he made his best effort to change the direction of their vessel. He saw Will do the same on the other side, and Daegal valiantly attempt to aid him with his one good arm.

Arthur was yet to decipher whether they had simply caught the current in a fortuitous mood, or they were all so doggedly determined to reach Essetir's banks as soon as possible, but he supposed it truly didn't matter. Either way, he set eyes upon the outcropping of rocks and spiraling vines Freya claimed encompassed the small cove much sooner than he anticipated.

He couldn't help but cast nervous glances towards the main docks. Shrouded in fog as they were and hidden in the early morning mist, Arthur was hard pressed to make out the vague shape of them, which he was thankful for. If he was having difficulty seeing the docks, then that meant any watch tower or guardsmen on duty would have just as much trouble seeing them, if not more in their small boats. Still, he couldn't quite quell the continuous foreboding stirrings of dread.

Something was going to go wrong. In his experience when it came to Camelot's House, turmoil in even the best-laid plans was as unavoidable as death.

He shared a quiet look with Morgana. Her face was soft and stoic, but her eyes were sharp and wide. She felt it, too.

This was likely the last time they would all sit as a crew. Not everyone was making it back to these boats.

Soon, he was ducking low beneath the hanging plants and holding his breath as the narrow opening pressed so close, stone brushed the tips of his hair. He silently pitied Percival's hulking frame.

It was as if the sun had been plunged from the sky. Inside, they drifted along in silence, the darkness pressing upon them, heavy and thick.

"Forbearnan," Morgana muttered from somewhere next to him. A small flame danced to life in her hand, framing her face in an eerie glow and making it seem as if her yellow eyes were, too, aflame. Gooseflesh rose across Arthur's arms.

The sorceress pushed her hands away from her body, and with them, the little ball of fire which tumbled through the air, growing as a snowball did, until it came to rest above a small rock path that ran the circumference of the secret cove.

Daegal shuffled around and managed to press his way to the front of their vessel, squeezing easily next to Morgana which caused Will to grumble in irritation and retreat backwards next to Freya before the boy pushed him overboard.

Arthur gripped the side with white knuckles. He had half a mind to snap at them for causing so much commotion, but he knew his voice would only add to the issue. He only hoped Cenred's guards were as incompetent as he.

Daegal stretched his arm out until his chest was pressed painfully into the helm and his torso was nearly parallel with the inky depths below him. His good hand curved as if he were clawing desperately at something, and the muscles in his arms bulged against the strain.

Arthur heard rock begin to shift. The Druid grunted softly, and in the pale light, he could see the boy's eyes squeezed shut. "Greot gecuman leccan."

The ground rumbled faintly below them as more rock fell away and roots from the very earth shot out from beneath, snaking around both boats and deftly pulling them to the shore. Together, Morgana and Daegal made quick work of tying their vessel so it would not drift away, mirroring Gwaine and Elyan working adeptly next to them.

Arthur jerked his head towards the path, and they all clambered from their vessels as soundlessly as they could. Arthur barely held back a cringe with each echoing noise that bounced off the walls, sounding not unlike a cannon shot next to the pounding of his own heart.

Freya appeared at the head of the group, Aithusa perched around her neck, as was the baby dragon's wont. She pushed towards a pile of rocks some ways down the trail, and Morgana urged the small ball of light to drift ahead of their group, casting their shadows large and intimidatingly against the blackened stone.

She gestured towards the rocks. "There should be a tunnel just beyond these. It'll travel beneath the castle. On the other end, a stone outside the kitchen is loose. I'll lead the way. It's a tight squeeze but try to keep up." She leaned out to look pointedly at Percival. Arthur saw his knight duck his head in embarrassment.

"Moving these will be too noisy," he said. Morgana huffed.

"Oh, move aside." She reached her arm towards the rocks. "Wamm."

In a flash of yellow and shimmering as if the very air was warping around the blockage, the great boulders vanished into thin air, revealing a dark hole below. Freya slowly began to lower herself in, the little light illuminating her passage.

Morgana shoved him forward. He took one stumbling step towards the tunnel, and nearly bashed his head off a sharp outcropping before he was able to right his footing. He sat down on the edge with his feet dangling into the abyss. He took a shuddering breath.

I'm here. I'm right here, Merlin. Hold on, he thought before plunging into the darkness below.

Chapter Text

Freya hadn't been lying when she'd said it would be a tight fit. The roof brushed against the tips of Arthur's hair and his nose was pressed nearly into Aithusa's tail. He swore with every breath he took he could feel his chest pressing against the walls of the tunnel.

He'd never thought himself to be claustrophobic before. As a child, he'd wandered his way down to the catacombs of Camelot more than once, not even armed with a torch. He enjoyed the damp coolness of the stale air and the way the darkness seemed to absorb all sounds from the bustling citadel above. He could breathe for the first time in days, and his mind was finally at ease without any prying eyes watching every move he made.

He would emerge hours later with his hair wrapped in cobwebs, lips and fingertips alike tinged blue from the biting cold. His nannies would be absolutely scandalized.

That was before. Now, pressed squarely between Freya and Morgana with only a small ball of light illuminating their passage as they slowly walked to their doom, Arthur was finding his chest to be uncomfortably tight.

Not a word was said. Aside from the scraping, scuffling, grunting, and heaving breaths of the group, all was silent. Even Gwaine with his endless running of commentary and crude jests had been subdued to silence by their situation.

Aithusa was pressed as tightly to Freya as she could possibly manage, yet her tail still scraped endlessly against the roughly carved walls of rock. Arthur felt bad for the poor girl, but they pushed on with not a peep of complaint from her, either. Freya felt along the wall as she went, her eyes scanning the ceiling as if she was looking for something in particular.

Frankly, Arthur was scared to ask how she had known of this passage in the first place when Will and Daegal had made no impression they had any prior knowledge.

After what felt like they'd been trudging through the dirt for a sennight, Freya held up a hand and came to a sudden halt. Even still, it was only Arthur who could see her silent signal, and thus they ended up a bit like the wooden dominoes Morgana had played with as a child, crashing into each other, one after the other. Arthur ignored the subsequent shuffling and irritated groaning.

Morgana reached her hand past Arthur's shoulder and urged the light to rise until it touched the ceiling. Freya placed a finger over her lips and pointed up with the other hand.

Arthur followed her finger and could just barely make out an odd formation in the stone, inconspicuous unless one was purposefully looking for it. She raised to her tip toes, reached up, and shoved her fingers beneath a crack about the size of Arthur's forearm. Her fingers just barely reached the ceiling, and her eyebrows furrowed as she pushed against the stone, but it failed to budge beneath her force. She just was too short to get the proper leverage.

Arthur leaned in until his lips were nearly brushing her ear. In any other situation, it would have felt scandalously intimate, but now, he was only concerned with keeping his voice low enough so as not to be heard. He had no idea how close to the surface they truly were.

"May I?" He whispered. He held his arms out to show her his intentions. For a moment, he saw her hesitate, a fleeting moment of deliberation passing behind her eyes before she was nodding, turning her gaze back to the task at hand.

Arthur easily placed his hands on her waist and lifted her into the air, just enough for her to gain a better grip on the stone slab. Had it not been life or death, Arthur had the distinct feeling that he would have lost a finger or two for touching her in such a way, if not from Freya herself, then surely Will. He was infinitely grateful the first mate was somewhere too far back in their single-file line to see what was happening.

With the new position, it easily slid. Freya pushed her head through the opening, peering above for a moment before lowering herself back down.

"The coast is clear," she whispered. She gripped the edge of the opening once more, this time pulling herself fully from the cavern and swinging her legs to the floor above.

Arthur quickly followed suit, pulling himself into a rather unimpressive corridor. The floor was a mere cobblestone and the walls no different. It was lowly lit by only a few torches, and everywhere he gazed appeared to be covered by a thin film of grime and dust. The only noise came from the end of the long hall where an open door cast a much brighter glow onto the floor. A cacophony of clattering pots and pans, hushed voices, and scuttling feet trickled out of what Arthur could only presume was the kitchen.

He turned back to the hole just as Morgana pulled herself through. One at a time, the others followed with minimal issue. Even Percival, whose hulking frame had thus far been a slight hinderance, managed to squirm his way through the opening. Once Elyan had pulled himself through, Freya was quick to replace the stone, the floor becoming seamless once more.

Arthur couldn't help but marvel at the ingenuity of the entire affair.

Aithusa slunk as close to Freya as she could without actually becoming a part of her. Will suddenly appeared beside them with Daegal similarly glued to his side, practically vibrating. Neither Will nor Freya appeared to be in much better shape, but it was clear they were concealing their fear for the benefit of their younger charges.

Arthur hadn't even stopped to consider how this would affect Merlin's crew. While he and his crew suffered anxiety only from the looming threat of a battle with one of Camelot's most formidable foes, the crew of The Avalon was not just confronting some nameless tyrant. For all respects and purposes, this was their home—no matter how welcoming of one it was—where they had suffered years of torment and torture beneath Cenred's rule, just as Merlin had. Arthur didn't believe for a moment that these three, bold enough to land a dragon in Camelot's bloody courtyard, had not tried to intervene in Merlin's treatment and had suffered the consequences of their impudence. This was just as much of a rescue mission for them as it was for Merlin.

A small whimper, almost like that of a wounded animal, came from behind a pillar in a small alcove holding one of the wall sconces. As if one mind, the entire group turned to follow the sound. Arthur couldn't help but reach for Excalibur.

Will actually pulled his cutlass from its sheath and brandishing it, took a few slow steps forward. The whimper came again, slightly louder this time, just as Will rounded the corner.

"Hugh!" Will whisper-shouted. He pulled a small boy, no more than two or three summers, from the shadows.

Arthur's eyes grew wide. He exchanged a look with Morgana.

"Who's the kid?" Arthur heard Gwaine mutter to someone only to be shushed.

Freya knelt before the toddler whose eyes were wide, glassy, and swollen from crying. His little cheeks were gaunt and pale, tear tracks carving down both. His clothes, or rather the tunic he was wearing as a dress to his ankles, were ratty and baggy; his feet were bare. His skin was covered in the same thing layer of dirt as the hall, and his chest heaved with each breath he took. He looked as if a feather would knock him to the ground.

"Hugh, where's your mama?" Freya asked quietly. She glanced around fearfully, almost like she was expecting Cenred himself to jump from one of the wall sconces.

The child, Hugh, curled his small fists into the fabric of his tunic. He refused to meet Freya's gaze. She shook him gently. "Hugh!"

Morgana leaned up to Daegal. "Why's Freya so panicked?"

"Meredith is Hugh's mother," Daegal whispered through his teeth. Arthur sucked in a sharp breath. Cenred's mistress. "There's some speculation that Cenred's his father, but who's to say. Either way, she never leaves Hugh alone for more than a few moments unless Cenred takes her somewhere. If he's here, Meredith is surely lurking about."

Hugh whined softly. A fat tear rolled down his sallow cheek. Arthur felt his heart crack. His own upbringing had been less than desirable, but he simply couldn't imagine growing up under Cenred's rule, especially with one's mother so close to the man. The boy looked as if he hadn't eaten properly a day in his life.

There were soft footsteps on the stone down the hall. Hugh perked up suddenly, peeking over Freya's shoulder, and reaching his hands out. He made a grabbing motion with two pudgy fists.

"Mama!" He called and like spectators watching a jousting match, their group collectively whirled around once more.

The same young woman with shining auburn hair that he'd briefly glimpsed that night in the banquet hall stood before them. Her hands were wrapped around a tray topped only with a bowl and a tin cup. Her eyes grew wide, and her face lost every ounce of color which made her freckles pop off her skin like ink on parchment.

She made a breathy sort of shocked sound from her throat and took a hesitant step back. For the briefest moment, their eyes locked, and Arthur could see a flicker of recognition, before her eyes were trailing over them all, flicking to her son, before finally landing on Freya.

Freya pulled Hugh in front of her and pushed him forth as if making a peace offering. "He's fine, Meredith. We were just talking."

Meredith nodded slowly. Her face was still the color of Arthur's night tunic, but at least her grip on the tray loosened ever-so-slightly. Slowly, she bent to the floor, never taking her eyes off her son, and placed the tray there. The moment she had rid it from her grasp, she fell to her knees and flung open her arms. Hugh bolted from Freya's hold, right into his mother's arms where he was held like he was the most precious thing in the world.

Freya rose slowly from the ground. Meredith mirrored her with Hugh resting on her hip. She pressed a kiss to the boy's dark hair—hair that by no means favored her own.

Freya held up her hands. "Meredith, I think you know why we've come."

Again, Meredith nodded slowly. Hugh whimpered and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She bounced him gently.

"Please, you can't–you can't tip Cenred off, okay? Merlin he–he doesn't deserve this. Just imagine if it were Hugh in his position." Freya paused there, her eyes narrowing, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side. "Wait, who were you taking that meal to? You only serve Cenred, but no one would dare serve him such a meal…were you taking that to Merlin?"

That seemed to invoke a reaction out of Meredith beyond a few fearful nods. She took a physical step back, eyes wide once more, her hand protectively covering Hugh's head.

"But you wouldn't go this way to take food to Merlin's chambers. You would have taken the servant's stairs in the back of the kitchen that comes out just between his and Cenred's, which means he's not being kept in his chambers." Freya matched Meredith step for step. "Where is he? Meredith, where is Merlin?"

Meredith looked moments away from bolting back down the corridor. While Arthur couldn't say he trusted the girl—he'd known her for all of five minutes—he also didn't want to put distrust where it wasn't warranted. This wasn't a girl preparing to run off and squeal to her master the moment they turned the corner; this was a mother willing to do anything to protect her little boy, which honestly, terrified Arthur more than the former. He didn't believe she would willingly betray them, but he also didn't have any faith that she wouldn't do so the moment her son was threatened. He'd been told a mother's love was more formidable than any storm.

But he could use that to his advantage.

Arthur placed a hand on Freya's shoulder. "Please, Meredith," he implored. "I know you're afraid, and I can't even imagine how you've suffered, how both of you have suffered. But I can see how much you love your son and how hard you try to protect him. It's the only reason you still serve Cenred, yes? Because he threatened to harm your son if you did not. I can help you, both of you. I can protect you and Hugh; all I ask is that you help us. You have no reason to trust me. I know the word of a king means nothing to you, but how about the word of a simply desperate man? We need to find Merlin, but we can't do that without you. So please, you needn't even come with us. I just need you to show us where he is."

Daegal was fumbling in his satchel for a map of the citadel, but Meredith was already reaching a shaking hand into the pocket of her apron. Her eyes never left Arthur's as she withdrew a rather large iron key, came forward, and placed it into the palm of his hand.

Morgana and Daegal both shuffled back from the presumably cold iron, but Meredith reached out anyhow to pull the scroll Daegal held in his hands from his grip, all while keeping Hugh securely at her side. She opened it and pointed to a small circular room in the upper left corner of the map. It was so high up that it nearly ran off the page.

Their group crowded around the piece of parchment. "I'm not sure where that is," Freya said, confused. "I've never been to that part of the castle before, at least."

"It's the West Tower," Will said quietly. "Essetir wasn't always like this. Under Cenred's father, it was real nice and proper. Magic and everythin' from what I hear. But when Cenred took over…well, we all know how that went. S'posedly the Tower used ta be his mother's art room 'cause it got good light in the evenin's. After they died, Cenred had it turned into a magical prison."

"What do you mean a 'magical prison'?" Morgana asked.

"Jus' what I said. He went lookin' fer some dark magic, and I guess he found it. He s'posedly cursed the room ta all hell and back for all magic users. Walls imbedded with cold iron. Hell, 'Gal and Lady Morgana ain't gonna be able to get near it. No one magical gets in, no one magical gets out simply 'cause the lock's made o' cold iron. Probably got the magic from the same place he got those cursed rings of theirs. Though, I s'pect he's been keepin' it up his sleeve 'cause he knew one day he wouldn't be able to control the Cap'n anymore, and he'd need a failsafe."

"But…doesn't cold iron kill Merlin? I mean, I saw first-hand what it did to him in the brig, and that was just behind bars for a few days. It's been weeks," came Lancelot's hesitant voice from the group.

"Dead or not, he's guaranteed to be if we don't get movin'. Every moment we stand here is another moment for Merls to bite it or for the Good King to figure out his castle's been compromised. It's hard to hide ten strangers forever," Gwaine shot back. And despite his frequent ire with said knight, Arthur had to acknowledge he was right. Standing there talking about it wasn't accomplishing anything.

"Very well, then," Arthur said. He placed the key securely in his pocket and unsheathed Excalibur. "Let's move." He turned back to Meredith and Hugh one more time. "Thank you, truly. I'm forever in your debt. And I wasn't lying, either. I can protect you both, once this is all over."

A small, sad smile graced her lips. She pulled Hugh in even closer. The toddler wrapped his fist in the neckline of her dress. She curtsied to him as well as she could with the boy in her arms and turned back towards the kitchens just as they began to move in the other direction.

.

.

Without Will, Freya, and Daegal, Arthur very quickly realized, their mission would have been doomed from the start.

The King could never have imagined just how much of a labyrinth Cenred's citadel was. Corridors that led practically nowhere, doors that brought you right back to where you started, stairs where one would make it halfway up before realizing it had been half-filled in at some point and one could go no further. It was downright maddening.

"They really weren't lyin' when they said Cenred was batty, were they?" Gwaine muttered.

"Just wait until he finds out about the torture rooms in the dungeons," Daegal said to Will. The older man cracked a smile.

"Wait, wait, torture rooms?" Gwaine cried, his voice rising dangerously shrill, only to be shushed by about six people. He turned to Elyan. "Did he just say torture rooms—"

"And we're here!" Will interjected. They had arrived at the bottom of a narrow stone staircase that spiraled behind a wall, so Arthur couldn't see the top.

Arthur took a deep breath. This was it. If Meredith was to be believed—and Arthur thought she could be—Merlin would be at the top of this staircase. After weeks of agony, he would finally see the man once more. That thought alone filled him with such a joy that he could feel it tingle on the tips of his fingers. He also felt like he was liable to puke, but he wasn't sure the two were mutually exclusive.

He only prayed to any gods that were listening that he wasn't about to walk into a corpse. Traveling this far only to find nothing but the mage's body…Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to survive it.

"Alright, you heard Will. Morgana, Daegal, remain down here. We don't need any other cold iron victims."

"Don't need to tell me twice," Daegal said. "That's some powerful shit up there. It's already making me kind of nauseous." Morgana, however, looked less than pleased. Yet, she didn't make a comment. Had he not been so focused on getting to Merlin, Arthur would have been inclined to be worried about his sister who spared no one from her opinion.

"I shall stay here with them, Sire," Guinevere said quietly. Arthur gave her a grateful smile. Leave it to Guinevere to always know exactly what everyone needed all the time.

With that said, Arthur started up the stairs, Will at his side, Freya just behind, his men pressed close. He had already taken the key from within his pocket, so when they arrived at the door at the top of the spiral, he was shoving the key into the lock before his brain even really told his hands what to do.

The lock gave way with a quiet click. He took one final deep breath, shared a knowing look with Will who looked moments away from kicking the door down, and pushed it open.

Arthur wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Perhaps a small dungeon, chains and blood splatter painting the walls, moldy hay matting the floor. Cold iron covering every surface, Merlin chained to the wall, curled up on the unforgiving floor.

He certainly hadn't expected a small circular room no bigger than his antechamber, looking more like a dusty storage room than a prison. Shapeless mounds cast off and tucked beneath oil cloth were all around the room. Crates full of things Arthur didn't even want to think about. There was only one window shining a pitiful stream of light across the stone, but it was covered in thick, cold iron bars.

The only actual piece of furniture was a large four-poster bed jammed in the middle of the room, and atop that, was the one and only person or thing Arthur cared to see.

Merlin appeared to be asleep—or unconscious, Arthur wasn't entirely sure—but he looked just as beautiful as Arthur remembered, if not more so in their time apart.

He mindlessly knelt next to the bed. Merlin had lost all the weight he'd gained back in Camelot, and then some. His skin was a sickly gray, those all too familiar webs of black veins climbing all the way up his neck and beginning to creep onto his cheeks. What wasn't covered by the inky curse was mottled with bruises in varying states of color. His upper lip and chin were stained pink as if his nose had bled over and over again. His neck was a macabre painting of dark skin in the shape of fingers.

Still, Arthur stood by his assessment. He didn't care what Merlin looked like; he had never seen such a beautiful person in all his life.

Merlin's thin wrists and bare ankles were chained to each bedpost. One of his ankles was twisted at an odd angle and appeared to be bruised and swollen. With one shaking hand, Arthur reached out and brushed a lock of hair off Merlin's forehead.

The warlock scrunched his face but did not wake. He tried once more, this time stroking a thumb down the side of Merlin's face. The other man grunted and tried to pull away from the touch.

"Merlin," Arthur called softly. "Merlin, wake up." He reached out and shook the warlock's shoulder gently.

Aithusa finally seemed fed up with waiting for her master because she untangled herself from around Freya's neck, leapt to the bed, stuck her tongue out, and licked all the way up Merlin's face.

That seemed to do the trick as Merlin flinched and finally managed to squint at the dragon.

"'Thus?" He asked, his voice thick with confusion and colored with disbelief. Aithusa buried her face in his neck and snuffled. She pranced her feet across the bed and swished her tail back and forth. She chirped jubilantly.

Merlin winced and weakly raised his arm to stroke her head. She practically melted into his arms and immediately began purring.

"She's not the only one," Arthur said quietly. Merlin pried his eyes open further, and his hand froze in its ministrations. He rolled his head towards the sound of Arthur's voice.

"Ar't'ur?" He mumbled. His eyes drifted shut once again like he couldn't quite be bothered to stay awake. "N't real."

"I assure you that I am very much real, Merlin," Arthur murmured, still stroking his hair. "I'm here, and so are Will and Freya and all the others who care about you so much. But right now, we need to get you out of here."

Merlin pried his eyes open once more. This time, Will cracked a smile, but not one of the sneering smirks that seemed to cut across his face like a flesh wound, but rather, a soft, affectionate, dare Arthur say loving smile.

"Hiya, Cap. Miss us?"

"Will?"

"The one and only," Will joked.

Arthur smiled down at the mage. "See? We've all come to rescue you. You're coming home." Of course, if Merlin even wanted to call Camelot home anymore. But Arthur didn't feel it was the appropriate time to start groveling.

Tears welled up in Merlin's glassy azure eyes. He shakily reached for Arthur who took his hand in his own. "You're here."

"I'm here, Merlin."

"You came f'r me."

"I'll always come for you."

"But–but I h'rt you…lied so bad."

"Let's not worry about that right now," Arthur murmured, swallowing back a sob. Of course, Merlin would be worried about him.

"Uh, Arthur," Lancelot said from the other side of the bed. "How do you plan to get these chains off him? Pretty sure they're cold iron, too. Our swords won't cut through them."

"Perhaps the key Meredith gave us?" Elyan proposed.

"Cenred wouldn't be so stupid."

"Oh, he would," Will and Freya said together.

Arthur fumbled for the key and carefully slotted it into the lock, trying his very best not to rattle the chains. Merlin was flinching and wincing with each miniscule movement, and Arthur loathed to be the cause of even a moment more agony when he'd already endured so.

To his immense relief, the lock popped open, and he swiftly moved to the one at his ankle before passing it to Elyan to undo the other side. Soon, they had Merlin completely bereft of any bindings, and the warlock practically collapsed in on himself with an enormous sigh of relief the moment the last chain was pulled away.

"Huh," Gwaine said, "Just when I think Cenred can't have his head any further up his ass, he surprises me. Making both locks the same key? What a jackass."

To their surprise, Merlin huffed in amusement, bouncing Aithusa who was yet to vacate her post splayed across her master's chest. His eyes were much brighter and much more aware without the metal sucking all the energy from his body. "You have no idea. Nice to see you, Gwaine."

"You, too, Merls. Nice accommodations you got here. I'd almost let my horse stay."

"Damn, and I thought it'd be my year to host a gala."

"Alright, alright," Freya said, even though she was smiling. "We better move our asses."

Arthur immediately went to pull Merlin into his arms but was stopped by a large hand on his shoulder.

"If there is to be a fight, he will need you with a sword more," Percival told him. "I will take him. I'll be gentle; I swear it on my honor, Arthur."

And as much as Arthur hated to admit it, he knew Percival was right. As much as he wanted to slap Percival's hand away and pull Merlin into his own arms, he couldn't. The best thing he could do for Merlin was protect him with his sword, and he couldn't very well do that if Merlin was in his arms, as much as he wished for him to be. Besides, Percival was, admittedly, stronger than Arthur. While Merlin's light weight would be a small burden for anyone, the easier he could be carried, the quicker they could get out of this hellscape.

Arthur nodded silently, and Percival easily scooped Merlin into his arms. Merlin's cry of pain at even that movement physically pained Arthur.

Freya gasped softly. "Oh, his ankle."

"I know!" Arthur snapped and immediately regretted it when she flinched. He softened. "Gaius will fix it. But we have to actually get him to the ship first. Let's go."

Arthur led the way back down the stairs where the others were waiting. Guinevere had her arms around Morgana, and Morgana had one slung around Daegal's shoulders as they all huddled together. As soon as she saw them, Morgana shook her companion's off.

"Merlin!" She cried, rushing up to Percival.

Merlin smiled weakly. He had gained a bit of color back to his cheeks after he'd left the walls of the West Tower, but he was still struggling to so much as lift his head. "Hi, 'Gana."

"Oh, Merlin. You look…it doesn't matter. It's so good to see you, dear." She awkwardly wrapped one arm around him while he was still suspended in Percival's arms and kissed his cheek. Arthur could have sworn he saw tears in her eyes, and he wasn't far behind himself. He had always known his sister loved Merlin—though, not in the same way as he, seeing as how she frequently reminded him how lowly she thought of the male species—but perhaps he had never actually grasped how deep her care went until that moment.

Growing up, he had been privy to her sisterly love alone. It was beautiful to see it bestowed on another person when most only saw her for her snake-like wit.

"Oh, my gods, Cap!" Daegal cried. Merlin reached out and took his younger crewmate's hand, giving it a soft squeeze.

"Hey, 'Gal." He turned his head slowly and smiled again. "Gwen."

Guinevere smiled, giving him a small curtsy then giggling quietly to herself as Lancelot came around and wrapped her in a hug.

It was all so heartwarming Arthur nearly forgot where they were. Nearly.

He cleared his throat, almost feeling bad when everyone fell silent, and the jovial mood was extinguished as quickly as it had come about. "We need to keep moving."

Will nodded slowly. "Aye, the King's right. We'll go back the way we came, 'cept I imagine it's nearly time fer the midday meal, now. They'll be too many servants 'bout the stairs and such. But if we cut through the throne room—"

"The throne room!" Morgana gasped incredulously.

"He's right," Freya said. "Cenred's surely finished with audiences by now, seeing as they all end in him dismissing petitioners after telling them their heads will be on the block should they ever come before him again."

"'e takes a nap after–after a'diences," Merlin murmured. His words were slurring together as his eyes drooped dangerously low and his head lulled against Percival's shoulder. The small burst of energy he had gained from being reunited and freed from his prison seemed to have been entirely snuffed out by the wholly smothering exhaustion.

"Throne room it is," Arthur said. He didn't like it, putting himself and his family so out in the open, but he had faith in Will and the others. If they said the throne room was their best bet, he wasn't going to argue.

He trusted his men, unlike his father, even if they weren't really his men, or men at all.

They retraced their steps through the citadel, only this time, with Will, Freya, Daegal, or even Aithusa skillfully guiding them away from all the dead ends and stairs-to-nowhere.

Will gestured for them to follow him. He poked his head around a corner, darted down the narrow hall, and opened a plain wooden door within a dark alcove. Arthur could once again hear the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchen, though it was significantly fainter this time around, like he was hearing it through a stone wall rather than an open doorway.

"Servant's entrance ta the throne room," Will whispered. Arthur followed the other man through the door only to smack square into his back.

"What the hell—"

"Ah, shit."

Arthur peered over Will's shoulder and blanched at what he saw. Because what was supposed to be an empty throne room was decidedly not. There had to be at least thirty guards, maybe more. And they were all staring right at them.

"Back up. Run. Go," Arthur commanded Morgana who was right behind him.

"Um, too late for that, Sire," came Lancelot's reply. "We're surrounded."

One moment everything was silent, all of them crammed in the alcove and doorway, trapped like mice while groups of hungry cats tracked them like they were the evening's meal.

Arthur's heart pounded. He became acutely aware of the heavy breathing from all around him, the grating scrape of metal on metal as everyone withdrew their swords, the painful creaking of armor in need of a good oiling.

He reached for Excalibur. Will was already gripping his own sword.

And then the next, all hell broke loose.

Two guards appeared from either side of the door and yanked Will from the doorway so forcefully that he went tumbling to the floor. It was only a moment, though, before he was on his feet again, bringing his sword down on one of the men's necks and splattering his face with a horrifying painting of blood. He spat it from his mouth, wiped his eyes with his free hand, and dove after the other guard.

Arthur's mouth would have fallen open in horror had he not been preoccupied by three of his own men. Merlin really hadn't been lying about Will's brutality.

All around was a flurry of motion. There were so many people everywhere that he was having a hard time deciphering who was who. One moment he would catch a glimpse of Morgana's royal purple corset only for it to be replaced by a flash of Gwaine's unruly frame or Daegal doing a dangerous dance between two others as he swung his sword wildly with one arm.

Aithusa was swooping in and out of the fray with teeth and claws bared. More than once, Arthur heard the tell-tale sound of heat crackling against the air followed by an agonized scream before Aithusa was shooting into the air once more, a blur of wings and tail.

Despite it all, Arthur searched the room desperately for Percival's hulking frame only to nearly get his head taken off for his efforts. He ducked out of the way and shoved Excalibur into the exposed gap the man's swing had provided beneath his arm, between his chest plate and pauldron.

The man collapsed back with a bone-chilling scream, and Arthur used the moment from his fall to yank his sword free and land the broadside across his other assailant's face. The other stumbled back, stunned, and Arthur wasted no time in turning his wrist and bringing the pommel down upon his temple. The other guard collapsed, boneless, to the floor.

Arthur didn't waste a moment. He swiveled his head around before any other guards realized he was not otherwise occupied and decided to change that fact. Finally, his eyes landed on Percival, across the room, valiantly fighting off three attackers while he stood protectively over Merlin who was rather unceremoniously draped across the floor.

The ache in his chest lifted infinitesimally. Merlin might not have been okay, but at least he seemed to still be alive. There was still a chance they could win this; they could still bring him home.

Arthur took his brief moment of reprieve as a chance to survey the rest of his family, and it seemed like they were actually winning. Not just holding their own, but winning, as Morgana sent four guards flying with a ball of lightning, Elyan smashed the head of one man against a stone pillar, and Aithusa clawed out another's eyes.

It was a bloodbath, sure, but a bloodbath in their favor. The air was thick and hot with the metallic smell, so acrid Arthur could taste it on his tongue. His hands and sword were coated, his clothes not fairing all that better. Yet, no one could quite compare to Will who looked as if he'd been rolling across the butcher's floor. Arthur thought it best to just turn away and thank the gods he was on their side.

So, yes, for the briefest moment they seemed to be winning.

Until all at once, they weren't.

Because all at once, Gwaine's head was slammed painfully into the floor, and he didn't get back up again. Lancelot was pinned to the wall with a sword a mere hair's breadth from his throat, and when Guinevere jumped on the guy's back to pull him away, he turned on her and backhanded her so hard Arthur could hear the slap across the throne room. Freya took the broadside of a sword to the stomach, and someone finally managed to knock Aithusa from the air with a well-aimed javelin. Daegal had lost his sword and had instead taken to throwing crystals from his sack in the hopes that one would do some significant damage, though most seemed to just piss the guards off more. Percival was cornered, doing everything in his power to block Merlin with his hulking frame.

Arthur stood, helpless, with so many places he could aid, but doing so to one would doom all the others.

"No!"

Arthur spun just in time to see Will throw himself between Daegal—who had seemingly run out of crystals—and one of the men's swords. The sword sunk into Will's stomach with nauseating ease.

Arthur's heart dropped to the floor. Will's face drained of all its color, and he stood frozen for a long moment. The sword was wrenched out, and his body jerked as if he'd been stabbed all over again. Two shaking hands reached up to press uselessly at the wound gushing blood across his fingers and dripping to the floor.

Freya screamed and slit the man's throat in one fluid motion. She kicked his body away and spat at his feet before turning back to Will whose legs had gone weak. He collapsed to his knees.

Arthur could not move. No matter how much he willed himself to do so, to help, to do something because Will was going to die, and they may not always see eye to eye but that didn't mean he wished death on the man, and Merlin couldn't lose him.

Will coughed. Blood splattered across his lips.

Freya and Daegal fell to their knees as well. Will slumped back in Daegal's arms, the boy crying a litany of, "No, no, no, please, gods no…" as he placed his hands above Will's own and pressed. Will groaned.

"Will, you can't do this!" Freya cried. She cupped his face in her hands. "You can't do this to us, you idiot."

"Will!"

And that's when Arthur finally felt like he was going to throw up. Merlin was on his stomach, reaching his hand out towards his first mate, attempting to drag himself towards his crew.

Will coughed again. Blood ran down his chin. A broken sob was ripped from Daegal's lips. Merlin screamed, though from which agony, Arthur wasn't sure.

And the thing was, everyone else was so absorbed in not meeting the same fate that not another soul seemed to notice. In a morbid way, it was sort of ironic; when Guinevere had been stabbed on the isles, his crew had dropped everything and raced to save her. Now, in an eerily similar situation, the only ones who really took notice was their own small crew.

Will reached up with a trembling hand, and ghosted his fingers across Freya's cheek, leaving a smear of blood in his wake. She shuddered and grabbed it.

"Aithusa!" Morgana screamed from across the room, and Arthur painfully pulled his attention from Will to see his sister running towards the baby dragon who was thrashing from within a net as a group of men descended on her. She was roaring in terror, and Arthur could see blood smeared across her scales.

Merlin sobbed. One guard finally managed to break past Percival and grab the mage by the arm. Merlin screamed the moment he was forced to put weight on his broken ankle. Percival sent the man he'd been dueling flying into the wall and yanked the man off Merlin. Merlin looked devastated, torn between his dragon and his crew and no way to get to either.

Freya and Daegal were still sobbing, shaking, cradling Will together as he bled out. Not far from them, Elyan was attempting to rouse a still unconscious Gwaine while Lancelot and Guinevere did their best to hold off the small army even as more and more seemed to appear out of thin air.

Commanding an army of nameless, faceless soldiers was one thing.

Watching his family be decimated by a force that far outnumbered them was a pain greater than any Uther had ever inflicted on him.

"What, not gonna jump in and play the little hero?" A cold voice hissed in his ear.

Arthur felt his eyes go wide and his grip tighten on Excalibur. He went to face Cenred like any honorable man would, but Cenred's hand grasped him around the throat, his fingers digging into Arthur's pulse point. Arthur choked.

He jabbed his elbow backwards, but Cenred had enough forethought to pin his arms down with the one not currently wrapped around his throat. The other king reached down and twisted his wrist until Arthur saw stars and was forced to release his sword. No matter how much Arthur twisted and fought, he had no hope of overpowering the man whose body was twice as wide as his own.

For the first time, Arthur truly knew how Merlin must have felt every moment of his life for the last two years. Seeing Cenred pin the mage so easily in such a way in a memory didn't do the experience any justice. It was vile and cruel and despicable and wrong.

"Halt the fighting!" Cenred yelled, his voice booming off the stone walls. Every soul in the room froze. The castle guards immediately dropped to one knee with their heads bowed, eyes trained on the floor as if it were nothing more than an instinct to submit to Cenred.

It was sickening. If they hadn't been trying to kill the lot of them only moments before, Arthur would have felt bad for them.

But mostly, he was just furious with himself for not even noticing Cenred coming up behind him. What kind of soldier was he—what kind of leader— if he couldn't so much as hear someone sneak up behind him? Sure, he had been too preoccupied with Will, but he could use that excuse until he was blue in the face. It didn't change the fact that he had dropped the ball on something yet again.

Daegal was openly weeping over Will's body—Will, who was no longer moving. Freya had her arms wrapped around the younger boy as he whispered Will's name over and over again.

Her eyes, all dark and bloodshot, rose from Will's body. She stared Cenred dead in the eye.

"You bastard," she growled. "You did this. You killed him. I'm going to kill you." She rose from the ground with her cutlass in hand only to be practically tackled by one of the guards who seemed to decide he had better odds of survival by getting off the ground to stop Freya than if he sat idly by as she fruitlessly attempted to commit regicide. She screeched in anger and clawed at the man's face as Daegal cried harder and began to rock himself softly.

His hand was wrapped in Will's.

Cenred just chuckled. "Stupid girl. You all would've been dead weeks ago had you not escaped. Though, I daresay, William got the easy way out compared to what I'm going to do to the rest of you when this is all over."

Arthur tried to twist in his grip again. Cenred's hand just tightened, and he choked.

"Cenred," Merlin spoke up. Percival reached out to pull him back only to be shrugged off by the warlock himself.

He painfully pulled himself up from the ground, using one of the fallen men's swords as a crutch. "Merlin," Percival hissed between his teeth. "Don't do this. Get back here!"

Merlin, ignoring how Percival pleaded with him, hobbled his way to the center of the room. He trembled where he stood, so hard the sword was wobbling under his grip.

Still, he stood up as straight as he could manage.

"You're not going to get away with this."

Cenred barked another laugh. "Oh, I'm not? Seems as if I already have. Or have you already forgotten the death of your beloved crewmate, Birdie?"

Arthur shivered at the nickname and saw the way Merlin subconsciously flinched. Grief was written across his face as plain as the agony he was clearly in. Still, the other man took a shaky breath and leveled a glare at Cenred.

"Will—Will did not," Merlin took a deep breath and swallowed hard, "die…he did not die just for us to give in."

"Look at you. You can't even say the word without weeping like some child," Cenred goaded.

Morgana appeared at Merlin's shoulder. She wrapped her arm around him, and he leaned his weight against her. He smiled gratefully, but she just jutted her chin out.

"He can barely utter the word because he grieves for Will. He loved him, you piece of filth. You would know nothing of loving someone enough to grieve for them. And I know for certain no one will grieve for you."

"And why, pray tell, does Uther's bastard think she has any right to speak to me?"

"I am not Uther's anything. I am the daughter of Gorlois. My only allegiance to Camelot and to the Pendragon name is my brother. Beyond that, I am Lady Morgana le Fey of Ealdor. You destroyed my home that night just as you did so many others. You killed my king and queen, enslaved my prince, and for that, I shall relish in your demise. So, I give you one chance to release my brother before you come to a very slow, very painful end."

Arthur didn't think he had ever loved his sister more.

He had also never been so afraid of her, but that was a moot point. Not for the first time, he almost pitied Cenred; anyone stupid enough to incur his sister's wrath was a sorrowful man indeed.

But, of course, he didn't pity him. If anyone deserved Morgana's ire, it was Cenred. He would hold the king down while Morgana castrated him, all with a smile plastered on his face.

"You would say that, wouldn't you? Bring them in!" Cenred commanded. The large main doors of the room opened slowly, and a small mass of guards shoved three figures harshly to the ground.

It was Guinevere who reacted first. She gasped, rushed to Gaius' side, and began to quickly check the old man for injuries. He only gave her a sad smile.

Beside the physician, George and Meredith were also similarly bound with little Hugh clinging to his mother, sobbing and whimpering quietly as she made her best attempt to rock him. George was staring listlessly at the ground, though Arthur could see the fine tremors wracking the boy's frame.

The King couldn't help but feel furious on behalf of them all. Not one of them had done a thing wrong. Their only crime was being associated with this entire mess, and they were likely to be killed right along side the rest of them.

"Their boat's a bunch 'o kindlin' now, Yer Highness," one of the men informed Cenred.

Arthur could barely feel the pang of remorse in his chest over the thought of his beloved ship so flippantly reduced to wreckage, but he quickly found he was much more grateful they had at least cleared the ship before decimating it. If he had lost both Gaius and George on top of everything else…he didn't even want to think about it.

"And those were the only prisoners you found?" Cenred demanded.

"Aye. These two. Found the lassie and her bastard jus' like ya ordered, too."

Merlin barely spared the new arrivals a glance long enough to make sure they were mostly bodily unharmed. "Let him go, Cenred," he snapped.

"You dare speak to your husband in such a way?"

A series of gasps cascaded around the throne room, and Arthur couldn't help his own sharp intake of breath. Not because he was angry, not at Merlin at least. Oh, he was absolutely livid, but his hot, gut-churning, boiling rage had nothing to do with the mage.

It wasn't enough for Cenred to rip Merlin apart at the seams, tear apart his very soul and destroy every last thing that made Merlin, Merlin. It wasn't enough the man took Merlin's virtue and so carelessly stepped on it as if that was not the most delicate part of a person. Arthur loathed it. Every cut, every bruise, every scar he saw riddled across Merlin's body. Every time the prince flinched at a raised hand, shuddered at a raised voice. The way he pushed away food like he was too scared of the consequences to accept that one might simply feed another person because it was humane. He had deserved for his first time in someone's bed to be the most beautiful, breathtaking experience of his life, yet Arthur shuddered to even imagine it.

It was the final nail in the coffin. Merlin was well and truly Cenred's in every way possible. He had taken and taken and taken until there was nothing left for Merlin to give. It didn't matter that Arthur would give every piece of himself if it meant Merlin could have even a sliver of reparation.

Merlin deserved the world. Arthur genuinely couldn't fathom how he had ever thought, even for a fleeting moment, that Merlin had betrayed them. And he would spend the rest of their lives making it up to him, however long that life was.

It wasn't looking particularly favorable at the moment.

When he met Merlin's eyes, the sheer shame he found there just about knocked the breath out of him. Merlin looked so small, putting more and more weight on Morgana, trembling where he stood. Still, he quickly looked away and refused to meet Arthur's eyes again as his cheeks colored with embarrassment. That simply wouldn't do.

Because, as Arthur had painstakingly come to realize, Cenred almost owned every part of Merlin. His heart was something not even Cenred could steal. No number of commands or magical control could tell one's heart who to love.

He knew with whom his heart lay, and if what he had witnessed through the memory was anything to attest to, so did Merlin. It didn't matter if they ever said the words.

"It's okay," Arthur croaked. His throat strained painfully around the bruising grip of Cenred's fingers, but he pushed on. "It doesn't matter. Husband or not, it doesn't change a thing. It's okay, love."

"Love," Cenred mocked. Something cool and sharp pressed into the soft flesh just above his pulse. "How pathetic."

There was a shifting of movement all around the room as his knights moved to protect their king from the tyrant who had a dagger pressed to his throat, although, it was futile. By the time one of his men made even a step towards them, his throat would be slit, and they all knew it.

"No!" Merlin gasped.

"Yes. This is the only way to solve this little nuisance, darling. This is the last time you try to leave."

The dagger pressed harder into his neck, hard enough to break skin with a sharp sting. A few warm drops of blood rolled down his throat.

"Cenred, please!" Merlin begged. He shoved Morgana away and promptly collapsed to his knees only a few paces from Cenred's feet with a quiet cry. His sister must have realized this was something Merlin had to do on his own, because she didn't even try to protest, just moved silently back to wrap her arms around a still inconsolable Daegal.

Cenred huffed. "Go ahead, beg for his life. Better make it good, though." Cenred spat. "On your knees. Pathetic."

Merlin was trembling all over, his eyes downcast, and Arthur ached. Ached to hold him, to look in his eyes and tell him he had nothing to be ashamed of. That he certainly wasn't worth Merlin's last shred of dignity.

"I'm waiting. Beg."

"Please, Cenred." He flinched when Cenred made a displease noise, and Arthur hissed as the knife pressed in ever deeper.

"Please, My Lord. Please—please, let him live." Merlin finally pulled his eyes from the floor. The beautiful blue was shiny and haunted with misery. "Please…I'll–I'll do anything. I'll never try to leave again; I swear it on my parents' graves. I–I never asked…I never asked for them to come. I'll stay here with you. You can have me. I'll do anything, just…oh Goddess, please."

Arthur tried to shake his head despite how the dagger bit painfully into his wound. Because no. Arthur wouldn't allow Merlin to give himself up just to save his life. He wasn't worth Merlin's freedom. He wasn't worth Merlin.

"No," Arthur whispered. "Mer-Merlin. Not…worth it."

"Nice try, Birdie," Cenred said. "But, you see, as long as he lives, you'll never fully be mine."

Cenred turned his wrist, and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the searing agony of a blade gliding across his throat, silently waiting for the way his breath would stutter in his chest, how blood would bubble up his throat just as it had Will's.

It never came. Instead, there was a rustle of fabric, and a sharp intake of breath from Cenred.

"You wouldn't dare."

Arthur cracked his eyes open. Merlin had a rather unassuming dinner knife—only the gods above knew where he had acquired that from—turned towards his chest, so close that his tunic grazed the tip with every shuddering breath he took.

"Let him go, or I swear you shall never have me again."

"You will not die. I will not lose your magic."

"You know nothing of love," was all Merlin said. His hands did not shake.

"Merlin, no!" Arthur cried, realizing too late what Merlin was planning to do. No. He hadn't come all this way to get Merlin back just to lose him once more to his own hand. If Merlin went through with it, Arthur prayed Cenred would not hesitate to draw the blade across his throat.

"Never fear, Little Pendragon; he's bluffing. He's too much of a coward to do it."

Merlin met Arthur's eyes. They were so soft and so resigned that it took Arthur's breath away. He felt tears gather against his will. Merlin was many things, but a coward he was not.

"'Tis the only way. I would explain if I could, but just know he shall not harm anyone ever again."

"Merlin," Arthur breathed. A tear slid down his cheek.

"You're worth everything. I love you, Arthur Pendragon."

Before Arthur could even reply, plead with him not to do it, demand there must be another way because they could not simply end like this, tell him how desperately he loved him, Merlin drove the knife into his chest.

It was just a simple flick of his wrist, a blink-and-you-miss it movement. There was barely any blood, no noise other than the sharp exhale of breath Merlin gave.

"No!" Cenred roared. He shoved Arthur roughly to the side and dove for Merlin amid a chorus of other cries and protests, final pleas for the mage not to go through with the plan he had so obviously kept hidden from them all.

But it was too late. Before Cenred could touch the prince, his eyes began to flicker a brilliant gold that was slowly trickling down his body and seeping from around the blade imbedded in his chest.

For only a breath, time seemed to stop.

And then the world exploded.

Chapter Text

Merlin awoke to the scent of forget-me-nots.

Though it didn't have the pungent spice of dianthus nor the unmistakable floral aroma of a rose, it was lovely all the same. It was nearly undetectable unless one was intimately familiar with the flower's sweet and delicate fragrance.

Merlin would recognize the scent anywhere.

The sky above was the most vibrant shade of cerulean he had seen in a very long time, it's palette only dotted with whisps of clouds—the perfect kind for finding shapes.

He turned his head and found his nose buried in the dusty blue and violet forget-me-nots that swept across the ground for as far as he could see with only his human eye. Tentatively, he reached out and let his fingertips brush across the dainty petals of the flowers; they were as soft as velvet and bent easily under the small pressure.

The warlock let out an easy breath, just brushing his fingers back and forth across the flowers his mother so dearly loved. His gaze drifted to the edge of the field where birch trees with their dazzling white trunks seemed to scrape the sky and other foliage rustled in the gentle breeze. Somewhere, a songbird called out a shrill little tune.

Merlin had a sneaking suspicion where he was, impossible as it seemed.

He pushed himself up until he was seated. He braced himself, already expecting the pain movement would bring, but to his wonder, there was none. He had grown so accustomed to one thing or another aching with every breath, that to be pain-free was nearly as surreal as his surroundings. He ghosted a hand over his chest, balking when his hand came away miraculously bereft of any blood. He shuddered at the memory and pushed it away to that little box in his mind where he stored every other unpleasant experience despite how the lid barely closed any longer.

The moist earth soaked unpleasantly into the seat of his trousers, and he stood quickly, suddenly becoming acutely aware of just what he was wearing, or rather, wasn't.

Gone was his usual attire: the waistcoat atop a fitted tunic, neckerchief tied in the much becoming style of a cravat, tight breeches with his knee-high boots, tricorn and frock coat, silks if he were to be persuaded. In their place were only a pair of loose brown trousers rolled up at the knees as if he had gone wading and a light, airy white tunic, the drawstrings untied and hanging down his chest. He wore no shoes.

He hadn't dressed in such a way since his early teen years, before he really realized he was a prince and needed to come into a sense of style that reflected it.

He searched the horizon until his eyes landed on a grand weeping willow silhouetted against the warmth of the afternoon sun. Beneath it, he could see two shadowy figures seated amidst the flowers. His heart seized in his chest, his breath froze in his lungs, and he stumbled towards them as quickly as he could, feeling not unlike a sailor just gaining his sea legs.

As he drew closer, he could make out more details. There was a rich blue blanket spread beneath the couple and silver lounging pillows laid out across it. A picnic basket was open to the side and an impressive array of food was laid out. Merlin could make out the outline of a fresh loaf of bread, pewter cups of jam and honey beside it. There was a tray with an assortment of fruits and fresh olives right next to a plate of what Merlin hoped were potato croquettes. There was a two-tiered display of fruit tarts and cream puffs, honey cakes and spiced wafers, and a pot of frumenty garnished with licorice root. In the middle of it all was a grand pie larger than the pie plate it inhabited.

All his absolute favorites.

He almost didn't want to lift his gaze for fear that his suspicions would not be confirmed, and he would be devastatingly disappointed.

But he knew this place, knew why he was there. He could feel it; there was no way they weren't there. They had always been there, in one way or another.

He slowly drew his eyes up from the small feast. There, smiling up at him from the picnic, were his parents.

Realistically, Merlin realized he was an adult. He had been betrothed for over two years, but then again, he hadn't been an adult then, had he? He'd been nothing more than a child still, and he'd had his last two years of childhood—arguably the most primitive years for a young royal—robbed from him by a power-hungry swine of a man. He realized he had been through far too much in his short years of life to weep to his parents like a child.

But, as he also quickly realized, he simply didn't care. He threw himself into his parents' arms, tears already cascading down his cheeks, his shoulders shuddering with the force of his sobs. He had missed his parents, desperately missed them, since the very day he'd lost them. He'd nearly forgotten the way his father's long locks of hair tickled his cheek and neck when he hugged him, how his mother scratched the hair at the nape of his neck with her blunt nails, turning him boneless under her gentle ministrations.

She shushed him quietly, kissing the top of his head and rocking them both. He felt his father's big, warm palm flat against his back, rubbing up and down his spine. They hadn't held him in such a way since he had tearfully come to them, a sennight before it, and told them that there simply must be something wrong with him after fumbling his way through yet another disastrous courtship with a lovely young naiad.

And didn't that just seem horribly trivial in light of everything?

They stayed like that for a long time, his parents holding him as he finally released two long years' worth of pain and grief. They stayed silent other than his mother's quiet shushing, almost as if they could tell just how much he needed to let it all out.

When he finally ran out of tears to cry and was instead staring blankly at the picnic blanket with his fist wrapped tightly in the fabric of his mother's soft velvet traveling gown, he slowly pulled away from them both and lifted a pale hand to wipe his eyes. His cheeks warmed with embarrassment.

"Feel better, lambkin?" His mother asked. She brought her own hand up to join his and helped to wipe the remaining tears from his cheeks. The tender touch was almost enough to have more welling back up.

He nodded slowly and his father gave the back of his neck a small squeeze. "Nothing wrong with a good cry now and then, dear heart. It's cathartic. Good for the heart, you know." His father reached down and poured him a goblet of water as he talked. Merlin took it with a grateful smile and sighed happily as the blissfully cool water soothed his dry throat.

Merlin sniffled and took the opportunity to survey the area while he sipped his drink. He cleared his throat. "I know this place. We're in that clearing by the Valley of Mora. You used to bring me here all the time when I was younger."

"It was your favorite place. You would beg us at least once every fortnight to make the trip out here," his mother said appreciatively. She pointed to where Merlin could hear the gentle bubbling of the river just beyond the limp branches of the weeping willow. "You learned to swim right over there. Although, I suppose saying you 'learned' is a bit of a misdirect. Your father tossed you straight into the channel, and you took off like a proper little fish."

His father chuckled. "That day on we couldn't get you out of it. I know the feeling; once you give into the sea's call, there's no going back. There's nothing quite like it in the earthly plane or the next, be assured of that."

"You and your philosophy. So self-assured," his mother chided. "The poor boy's only just got here. How about we answer the questions I'm sure he has and save discussion of the Ancients for after we eat."

"He's alright, mother. I–I don't care what you talk of. I…I just quite like hearing your voices again," Merlin murmured. He stumbled over his words as his throat closed up, tears about to spill again.

She took his face in her hands. "Oh, my darling boy," she whispered and pressed a lingering kiss to his forehead. She pulled away and held him at an arm's length. "How you've grown."

"Not the only part of him that's grown," King Balinor said. "His hair's grown out quite a bit. It used to be so short; now, it's covering your ears. Has it gotten curlier as well, dear Hunith?"

He ruffled Merlin's hair, and the prince batted his hand away with an indignant sound. "Father!"

Hunith's hand came up to tug teasingly at his ears, and Merlin practically squawked and fell into his father's lap. "Mother! By the gods, would the both of you stop it?"

His parents laughed. Merlin nearly lost it at the sound. How he had missed it.

"We only jest, son," his father said, although the corners of his eyes still crinkled with his smile.

Quite truly, Merlin didn't care what they did to him. His father could have picked him up and thrown him bodily into the river like he had as a child, and Merlin was certain he would have thanked him for it. Getting to even see them again, hear their voices and listen to their laughter, was enough for him.

"Let the poor boy up, Balinor. He could surely do for a good meal. He's all skin and bone," his mother tutted disapprovingly. Merlin suddenly found the intricate threads of the blanket beneath them to be exceedingly interesting. He couldn't look at his mother. He couldn't bear to see the grief in her eyes, the guilt that would tell him she knew everything. It was an unbearable thought.

A plate was thrust into his hands, and before he could get a word in edgewise, his mother was heaping it full of all kinds of foods. It all looked delectable, and he knew it would only taste ten times more so, but the memories of his first attempt at eating real food following Cenred's practical enslavement assaulted him. Just as then, Goddess he was so hungry, but even the thought of putting any sort of sustenance into his body caused his stomach to turn over and threaten to rebel against him. Although, considering he was dining in what was surely now a barren wasteland in the real world with his very dead parents, he, too, had to be dead, right? Surely, he was in Avalon and vomiting in Avalon didn't seem entirely plausible. Still, better to be safe than sorry; he didn't want a repeat incident. If it hadn't been for Arthur—

"Arthur!" He gasped aloud. How had he been so damn stupid? To forget how he had died, how he had gotten to Avalon in the first place, for whom he had died for. After everything they had been through, all the lengths to which Merlin had gone to protect his king, and he simply forgets him in the face of his parents' ghosts and some home-cooked food like some starving peasant?

His mother made a noise which Merlin didn't have the capacity to interpret; although, he never had truly retained the capacity, even under the best of circumstances. His mother possessed an inanely inherent ability to know something about a person before they themselves were even aware of it and could remain impartial about it while somehow also managing to be extremely biased. It used to infuriate Merlin as a child, but now, having grown emotionally well beyond his years since their passing, he could see the merit to be had in her talent. He wasn't sure whether it was quite literally her magic or just motherly intuition, but either way, he now found himself envious. What he wouldn't give to know these secrets about himself that apparently only her keen eye could see.

She took a bite of a croquette, and this time, Merlin could tell her small hum was one of pleased satisfaction. He stared at her wide-eyed, expectant. Balinor was only watching her with quiet amusement, a shining adoration in his eyes which Merlin had never seen graced upon another living soul but his mother.

It was eerily similar, now that he thought about it, to the way Lancelot's eyes shone and crinkled kindly in the corners every time he set eyes upon Gwen. And he'd seen that look many times before, reflected upon himself in those treacherously cerulean eyes Arthur possessed, the same ones that appeared to rip so appraisingly into any man. Yet, Merlin could always see past that carefully constructed armor. There was a softness to his eyes as well; Merlin liked to think, in those moments, it was Ygraine staring back at him, not Uther.

She took her time finishing the potato delicacy and wiped the corners of her mouth with the silk napkin she had so particularly folded across her legs. Merlin had half a mind to grab her shoulders and shake them, but he was no heathen. He may have been treated as less than a human being for the past many moons, but he still possessed a shred of the manners and respect his mother had carved into him. Besides, he didn't particularly desire to have his hide tanned by his mother's ghost, although he had no doubt she would hold no apprehensions.

"Arthur," Hunith parroted. "Oh, yes, Arthur."

Merlin huffed. "Yes, Mother, Arthur. Is he okay? Did he…did he survive? I mean obviously I didn't, which I've made my peace with, but it does seem a bit futile if Arthur bit it as well. He…he is okay, right?"

"And why do you think I would know the answer to that?"

"Because you're my mother! You know everything. You knew I had broken that relic vase when I was eight before I had even done it. Couldn't figure out for the life of me why you wouldn't let me have dessert for some seemingly random summer week, and when I finally got the nerve to ask, you just said 'you'll know why in, oh, about a day or two.' And sure enough, two nights later, Leif and I were playing knights, and I thrusted my training sword right into the old piece of shit. I never did find out how you knew. You had a premonition, didn't you?"

"I had no such thing. I just know my son. Now, hush and eat your food." Merlin grumbled quietly but made a big show out of shoving a handful of olives into his mouth.

At last, his father spoke up with a rumbling chuckle. "I'm surprised at you, son. You know better than to question your mother and her ways. Perhaps, instead of interrogating her about her gift of sight, you should be questioning what I would deem to be quite the more pressing matter. As you asked, what became of the young Pendragon? That is the question, is it not? That surprises me even more. My son would hardly single out one person when a group of those so dear to him were also in just as much danger." His parents shared a knowing look over his head, but Merlin felt his ears redden anyhow. "Although, I do have a question of my own: what led you to conclude you're dead?"

At that, Merlin couldn't help but give pause. His hand froze partway to his mouth with a cream puff coating his fingers with sticky sugar. Wasn't it obvious? Nothing about what was happening made even the slightest bit of sense. He could, perhaps, excuse the clearing and picnic as nothing more than some disillusioned dream, but there was surely no way of explaining his parents' presence—their seemingly perfectly cognizant conversation, at least—with any other notion than Merlin was well and truly dead.

Instead of saying any of that, however, he sputtered. "Well–well, I must be!" And he promptly shoved the entire dessert into his mouth and nearly choked himself on the sweetness.

His mother fondly muttered something about his father's abhorrent table manners rubbing off on him while pressing a napkin into his hand. It was all Merlin could do to chew the pastry and swallow it down without spitting crumbs all down the front of himself.

"I can see why you might believe that," Balinor said, nodding in understanding but grinning all the same. It was beginning to sorely irritate Merlin.

He coughed and cleared his throat. "Father," he practically whined.

"Oh, lighten up a little, dear heart. I'm only jesting with you. Of course, you aren't dead. Do you really believe your mother and I would be so genial if our only son had finally come to join us in Avalon?"

"So, you don't wish for me to be with you?"

"Well, of course we wish to be together again, darling," Hunith appeased. "But we never wished to see you until you're as old and gray as your father."

"Oi!"

Hunith snickered but blew a little kiss in Balinor's direction.

"I'm not dead, then?"

"Not quite," Balinor answered. "Cut it a bit close if I do say so myself, though."

"Yes, I'm livid with you, dear, for what you did," his mother said. "Of all the stupid, self-sacrificing acts you could have done—"

"So, you do know what happened!"

"Well, of course, we know what happened! Who do you take us to be?"

"Father," Merlin groaned. Goddess, he loved his parents, but perhaps he hadn't missed this particular quirk all that much. The way they could talk around each other, somehow always skating the point while never actually hitting it until they seemingly remembered there were other people in the world besides each other. It was sweet, really, but right now, he didn't exactly have the time to wait for his parents to moon after each other before actually telling him what was going on.

"Alright, Balinor, enough teasing. It's becoming cruel," his mother said, but she was still smiling.

"Mother, Father," Merlin said seriously, "What happened?"

"What do you remember?" His father asked.

Merlin thought hard. Everything was a bit blurry, a bit hazy like a ship coming through the morning mist. He knew Cenred had kept him chained, but his time under Cenred's enslavement once more was even foggier than his memories of the ensuing fight. He remembered Arthur and the others arriving to rescue him. He remembered a confrontation in Cenred's throne room, although the actual specifics of the fight were still lost to his imagination. He remembered Will…Merlin shuddered at that, and his mother placed a soothing hand on his back, her thumb stroking his spine. He smiled at her gratefully, and he shoved that memory as far away as he could, far enough that he wouldn't have to confront it until he inevitably had a breakdown over the loss of his first mate some time later. For now, he forced himself to push on, mulling over the details and trying to bring the actual facts of the fight to the forefront of his mind. It was a bit like trying to swim through oil, but he did his best. He had a vague recollection of Cenred appearing, seemingly out of nowhere. There was a knife pressed to Arthur's throat. Merlin shuddered again as the glint of its blade left a permanent impression behind his eyelids. He felt himself slide to his knees, felt the way the cold stone bit into the knobby bones, felt the sickening taste of the platitudes passing over his tongue as he desperately tried to appease Cenred into letting Arthur go.

He felt the shape of the knife handle in his palm. It was a comforting weight, one he had spent every moment he could weighing in his palm ever since he had found it beneath his pillow. It was a constant reminder that he had a way out. Even when it seemed he had hit rock bottom, he had an escape.

He could never forget what came next, no matter how much he might try. His hand drifted up to the center of his chest once more, his fingers ghosting over the light tunic where he already knew there was no blood, but he couldn't help but feel the warm liquid dripping down his skin.

Both his parents gave a sharp intake of breath at the motion, but it was his father who eventually cleared his throat. "Ah, yes, seems you remember the gist."

"I—I…the knife…I—"

"Yes, you did. Oh, my dear, sweet, brave boy," his mother murmured, drawing him into a soft embrace.

Merlin let her hold him for a few breaths before gently pushing her away and wiping roughly at his eyes. "What…what of Arthur then?"

"He survived, thanks to you," his mother said. Behind him, his father grunted, and Merlin turned to gaze at him.

"Father?"

His father, to his credit, at least made an attempt at schooling his features, but Merlin could see past the façade plain as day. His father was angry, if the scrunch of his forehead and the reddening of his cheeks were anything to go by. It wasn't often his father got angry, but when he did, whomever it was directed towards was better off kissing their own rear goodbye. His father could rain down Hell itself if he needed to.

"Balinor," his mother said, but Merlin could hear the edge of warning in her voice.

"What is it, Hunith?"

"Oh, you know very well what it is."

"I know no such thing."

"Balinor."

And just like that, his father practically wilted. He scratched the back of his neck and did everything in his power to look everywhere but at his wife who was glaring a hole into his forehead.

"Hunith…"

"Oh, don't you 'Hunith' me. At least have the nerve to tell your son what your problem is. It's completely asinine, but I suppose we'll leave that up to him."

"What is it, Father?" Merlin questioned. He narrowed his eyes and watched his father seem to deliberate his next words.

He took a deep breath. "My problem is Arthur Pendragon."

"Arthur?" Merlin parroted incredulously.

"Arthur Pendragon, Merlin. In case you've forgotten that part. It seems to me you have."

Merlin couldn't help but bristle indignantly and sit up a bit straighter. "Does this have something to do with Uther? Arthur is not his father. I thought you of all people would understand that. How many times have you been compared to Grandfather Irekore? And you're certainly nothing like him."

"Merlin, you know better than to speak of Irekore," his mother chastised.

"I'm just saying! It's not fair of Father to compare Arthur to Uther when his own father was no better. Uther may have murdered hundreds of our people, but Irekore destroyed every person in his path without magic. Just as Uther believed us to be monsters, Irekore believed them to be inferior, but that doesn't make either right. Father, you took over the throne and made it your personal goal to be nothing like him. Arthur's only trying to do the same. Don't assume anything about him just because of his lineage just like I know you wouldn't wish for anyone to do so to you."

Merlin set his plate aside and crossed his arms defensively as he watched his father carefully. Just because his mother was renowned for her unreadable expressions didn't make Balinor any easier to decipher. He expected his father to be angry; never before had he spoken to him in such a manner. A bit of fear even began to creep into the back of his mind as a strange, misty look clouded Balinor's eyes even though he knew, he knew, his father would never lay a hand on him. But too long cringing under even the slightest of misguided looks had him on endless edge.

He was just about to apologize, beg for his father to forgive him and act as if he'd never spoken so out of turn, when Balinor smiled sadly.

"Hunith, it seems our boy is all grown up."

His mother smiled as well. "And such a clever boy, too. Spoken like a true king, lambkin."

Merlin shivered, even though he wasn't cold. "But, I don't understand. I was disrespectful, I sorely misspoke—"

"You did no such thing. I've known since you were but a little tot no higher than my knees and negotiating your bath time that the day you could finally beat my own logic, I'd be dethroned. You've always been destined for great things, but I'm not speaking of that stupid old prophecy. I'm speaking of how you've always been meant to rule our people, to show a cold and cruel world the joy and beauty of magic. It pains me more than you could ever know that I allowed that–that—"

His father cut himself off with a choked whisper and to Merlin's horror, a tear slipped down his father's cheek. "Father!" Merlin gasped and wrapped his arms around the older man. His father's arms came up to hold him tight, his long hair curtaining both of their faces.

"What's happened to me isn't your fault, Father. It's all Cenred's, every bit of it. I don't blame you or Mother."

"Merlin's right, dearest," his mother spoke up. "It kills me to know what he's suffered at that bastard's hands. I wish I could do to him each thing he's inflicted upon our Merlin, but we can't. There's no use wasting what little time we have left here with him dwelling on what we wish we could do. What has happened, happened."

Balinor nodded mutely, but kept his face tucked into the top of Merlin's head and rocked them both just as he used to when Merlin was small and crawled into their bed after a nightmare. Merlin sighed and turned so he could at least see his mother.

"Where exactly is here? You said I'm not dead, so it can't be Avalon."

"That's not entirely true. This place, it's of your creation, but it's still an extension of Avalon. It's a sort of stopping point between the land of the living and Avalon."

"So, when you said I wasn't dead…"

"Perhaps, it would have been more precise to say not yet," his father answered.

Merlin had a sudden recollection of an experience Arthur had once described to him. He had been a bit loopy with pain and recovering from cold iron poisoning, but he still remembered what Arthur had told him. "Is this…is this the same place where Arthur's mother brought him to speak?"

"Yes and no," Hunith said. "All realms, even the land of the living, are an extension of Avalon. It was here long before any human, and it'll be here long after. Everything else came from it, and pieces of Avalon can still be seen everywhere. Why do you think we feel so connected to the sea? Water was the easiest vessel by which magic could penetrate the living realm, aside from people themselves, of course, although people are a bit trickier. When we say we're descended from the sea, it's quite literal. We're descended from magic itself, and that's the whole essence of the Great Prophecy. A child would come along, not only born of magic, but made of magic, and restore it to the land. So, back to what you asked. You must remember Arthur was not dead, nor even mortally wounded. His mother simply called him into an otherworldly scrying bowl, if you will. Your body is dead. Where it lies, you do not breathe, and your heart does not beat. But your consciousness is not yet dead. Your magic prevents it from being so, at least temporarily. Arthur's spirit would not have stopped here, nor would he have been able to call other spirits here with him as you have done, no matter how unconsciously. Both are inherently magical, but neither is the other. Do you understand, lambkin?"

Merlin felt his forehead scrunch as he mulled her words over in his mind. "I believe so."

"And I believe Gaius explained to you the terms of the binding curse that foul excuse for a man placed on your magic?" His father asked.

Merlin nodded. "Alright, but I must ask. How exactly do you both know all of this?"

"You don't think we ever stopped watching you, do you?" Balinor asked, feigning offense with a hand to his chest. "Your mother would never allow such sacrilege."

Hunith reached over and gave his arm a quick swat. "Oh, enough of you. As he was saying, you are aware of what had to be done to break the curse surrounding your magic."

"Yes, only sacrificing my life for one I love would be able to overcome the curse. It's why I stabbed myself, Mother. It was the only way I could see out of my predicament. As long as Cenred controlled my magic, he could continue to hurt me and use me to hurt others. He forced me to kill multiple times before, and I knew it was only a matter of time before he used me to kill Arthur. I couldn't allow that to happen."

"Well, it worked, only a little too well, it would seem," she said. "When you took your own life to protect Arthur, your love for him was great enough to break the curse because as far as your body is concerned, you are quite dead. But what those Priests and Priestesses never accounted for was the fact that your magic would be much too powerful to simply let you die. When you sacrificed yourself, it released your magic, magic that was quite displeased with having been restrained for so long. Cenred is dead, as best as we can tell."

Which, of course, opened a whole new well of emotions Merlin didn't even want to touch, but really had no choice to. Since the moment Cenred had broken through Ealdor's defenses, since he had found himself roused by the terrified, agonized screams of his citizens just below his bedchamber window, he had prayed to every Ancient for the man's downfall. He couldn't even count the number of nights he had spent lying awake in the dark of his chambers in Essetir, hoping for something to kill his betrothed where he slept, and then hating himself for it. Because what kind of person wished death upon another, especially their own fiancé? Realistically, he understood that was just Cenred's words talking, manipulating him as they always did into doing just what Cenred wished of him. Even now, sitting with his parents in his favorite clearing, he found it hard to be happy. A death was a death, and it was still a death his magic had caused, at the end of the day. That wasn't to say he wasn't glad Cenred was gone, if for no other reason than the lift in the looming threat over Arthur and all of Camelot. The part of him who felt guilty for wishing harm upon Cenred had grown smaller and smaller with each moment he spent in Camelot.

He supposed now it was hard to feel anything beyond total, all-consuming relief.

Finally. After over two years it was over. He was finally free. Dead or not, Cenred could never again wield his magic above him and use it as a bargaining chip to coerce him into doing any number of horrific things.

Goddess, he could feel the tears again.

He blinked rapidly against the sudden onslaught. His parents were both watching him expectantly. "So…so what happens now?"

His father laughed. "Well, that's up to you."

"Up to me?"

"I already told you you're not dead, not yet at least. But it won't remain that way for long. Soon, even your magic won't be able to sustain you any longer, and you really will follow us to Avalon. What happens next, now, that's your choice."

"I can choose? I can choose whether to stay here with you and Mother or go back to the land of the living?" He asked. Back to Arthur, he thought privately.

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"But…" Merlin really wasn't sure what he was going to say. On one hand, he had missed his parents painfully, desperately, and the idea of spending an eternity with them was dangerously appealing. Not just any eternity, either. An eternity in Avalon where there would be no more suffering, no more pain or strife. He wouldn't have to live in a constant state of fear just for how he was born. He wouldn't have to worry about those less powerful lording his magic over his head or punishing him just for existing. There wouldn't be anymore rumors, no more quiet whispers or furtive glances that took all his might to ignore as he passed by in the corridor. He could just exist in a place of his own making—a place where his magic could run free—with his parents by his side for the rest of time.

But then there was Arthur. And his crew. And Morgana and Gaius and the Knights and everyone else he had grown to love and care about beyond what he ever thought was possible. He had always refused to abandon them in their time of need; even barely conscious in the throne room, he had tried to crawl his way to Will who was splayed across the floor, his blood spreading over the stone. It was why he had spent so many hours meticulously carving protective sigils into every door and window surface in the castle. The thought of choosing the easy way out when the rest of his family was still left exposed to the cruel reality of the living world was almost too much to bear.

Seeing his parents after so long soothed a part of him he hadn't even known had been raw, but Mother, Maiden, and Crone did he love Arthur. He had gotten sixteen full summers to know his parents, to love them and feel their love in return. After everything that had happened between him and Arthur the night of the banquet, Merlin wasn't even sure the other man would want to see him again, despite what the king had told him in the tower. But he didn't think he'd be able to rest if he never tried. If Arthur reciprocated even an ounce of what Merlin felt, he didn't want to spend all of his afterlife wondering what could have been.

He'd made his decision before he'd even looked up, but when he did, both of his parents were watching him with soft, knowing smiles.

"It's alright, dear."

Merlin swallowed hard and stared at the grass bending in the breeze. "But I've only just found you both again."

"We'll still be here. We're not going anywhere, lad. One day, we'll be together again, forever, and maybe we can finally meet that Pendragon."

"Father, I thought you couldn't stand Arthur?"

"Did I say that? Well, I suppose he isn't good enough for you, but no one is good enough for my son. As far as partners go, you could do worse. At least he'll be able to put you on a throne again."

"What matters," his mother interjected pointedly, "is that Merlin is happy. And I've never seen you quite so happy as when you speak of him. Besides, remember, lambkin, we've been keeping an eye on you. We've seen the way he looks at you when your back is turned, like you've hung the very moon and the stars. That's all we ever wanted for you, no matter who it is. He does make you happy, yes?"

Merlin couldn't stop the smile that spread across his face. "Very much. I love him, Mother."

"Then go to him, darling. Your father is right; we'll be here. We're always here with you, and we love you so much. More than you'll ever know."

She pulled him into a tight hug and pressed another lingering kiss to his forehead. His father then grabbed him from behind in a bear hug and ruffled his curls. He laughed and squirmed from the older man's grip.

"How do I even get back?" Merlin asked. He gazed around himself but saw nothing out of the ordinary. There was no stray door in the middle of the field, nothing strange in the air to indicate a secret passage or a ripple in time and space that would carry him back to the land of the living.

"You must find your magic, you see. When you released it from the curse, it became quite overactive and burst forth from your body. All that's left in you—what's keeping you alive—is buried somewhere in your mind. You must find it," Hunith explained as she carefully reached out and cut him a slice of pie. "Here, at least take a piece of Thomas' rhubarb pie before you go. You did used to enjoy it so." Merlin, fumbling, took the plate of pie hastily shoved into his hands.

"But I haven't the fondest idea where my magic could be!" He was already searching his entire body but found not even a hum or a tingle of the usual magic pulsing through his veins. Even under the dark magic, he could usually feel it warm against his skin. Now, there was nothing.

Balinor tapped his forehead, and Merlin nearly went cross-eyed trying to see his father's finger. "It's in here. In your mind. Probably trapped in a memory. A very powerful memory."

"But I don't know what memory!" He had too many powerful memories, for whatever the varying reasons they may be so. He didn't think he had the luxury to sift through every memory that held some sort of significance if the magic he was looking for in the first place could only keep him alive for so long if he didn't find it in time.

His mother gestured towards the piece of pie he still had clutched loosely in his grip. "Eat your pie. Don't think about it too hard. You'll know it when you find it."

"But—"

"I said eat."

Merlin grumbled under his breath. Why was he wasting his time on pie—even if it was Thomas'—when apparently there was an expiration date on this whole excursion, and if he didn't get searching soon, there wasn't going to be a choice left for him to make in the matter of his own mortality.

Still, never one to disobey his mother, he shoveled a bite of pie into his mouth. It was just as wonderful as he had remembered. The crust was perfectly soft and flaky, perfectly crisp yet soft in all the right places. The tang of the rhubarb burst to life over his tongue. It was bright and sour with a lingering sweetness that left his lips tingling. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Thomas' pie. Honestly, Thomas' cooking in general. Audrey was great, and he loathed to tell her otherwise for fear of incurring the wrath of her spoon, but Thomas would always hold a special place in his heart.

The sharp flavor brought forth a long-forgotten memory, one of being five summers old and being caught with his hand in a pie in the kitchen. He'd snuck away from his mother and retraced the path Leif had shown him down to the kitchen. Thomas had caught him, undoubtedly thanks to a bit of magical detection, but he hadn't been angry. He'd merely chuckled and cut Merlin a small piece before tucking the rest away and promising him another piece if he only came back tomorrow. He said his parents didn't have to know. Sweets could do a young, growing prince some good.

Merlin thought Thomas to be a wonderful person.

The memory was extremely vivid, possibly a little too vivid, and all at once Merlin realized he was actually watching the memory. Not as some third-party spectator either, no ghostly side viewer; he was quite literally reliving the memory as his five-year-old self. Everything was double its normal size, and he barely came up to Thomas' hip without standing on something.

"Mother!" He called. His voice was shaky with anxiety, but at least it was his own voice and not the squeaky tones of a small child. This was humiliating enough without adding flame to the fire.

His heart was beginning to beat with panic. He didn't know what was happening. One moment he'd been enjoying a picnic with his parents, very much an adult, eating a slice of pie and the next…the next he was eating the pie his mother had so emphatically shoved into his hands, insistent that he eat it.

"Let it happen, dear," his mother's voice came, but it was all wrong. It sounded far away and distorted, almost like he was hearing her from underwater. The scene was beginning to shift and ripple in waves until the image became so distorted Merlin could no longer distinguish one thing from another besides its general color.

"What's happening?" He cried. The world was still shifting. It was spinning by so fast Merlin was starting to feel a bit queasy. He tried to squeeze his eyes shut against the onslaught, but it was no use. The image painted itself onto his eyelids as well.

Now, the shapes were beginning to take form again. Merlin felt himself running even though he hadn't even told his body to. He felt bigger than before, but his limbs were too long, his body too short to support him. He was all gangly and bony in all the wrong places, and when he glanced over his shoulder to see Leif charging after him down the corridor, his feet tangled beneath him, and he was suddenly tumbling, painfully, down the stone set of stairs he had neglected to see in his desire to escape his manservant's grasp.

He vividly remembered this as well, as well as its outcome. He was about nine summers old, and he was already bracing himself from the searing pain of his arm snapping when he reached the bottom of the flight when the world rippled again, and the scene drifted away in a hazy, blurry swirl as suddenly as it had snapped into his vision.

"I told you. You must find your magic. It's buried somewhere deep in your mind, somewhere you would never touch. You only needed a little taste to kickstart your memories. Think, Merlin. What's a memory you would never want to go back to?" His mother sounded even farther away now, and he had to strain to hear every word.

"I'm not ready to leave you yet!" He couldn't do this alone. He didn't know where to start looking. It was all happening too fast, all hitting him at once like a stone to the face, and he was moments away from bursting into frustrated tears. He had a sneaking suspicion of where that little spark of magic not expelled from him in his grand act of love may have hidden itself out, but he did not want to go back there. He couldn't.

"You must. We're always with you. We love you so much. Go. Go back to Arthur." Her voice faded out until Merlin could no longer hear her, and then he really did want to cry. He felt so utterly alone, so utterly petrified as the world spun faster and faster.

Afternoons reading with Gaius. His mother playing her lute. His father teaching him sword fighting. The time he'd accidentally turned his armoire into a small dragon. Kissing that nature spirit. Doing more than kissing that squire. Watching Aithusa's egg hatch. Meeting his crew. The bruises. The cuts. The misery. The fight with The Dragon Slayer. Saving Gwen. The Knights. Morgana bathing him. Aithusa. Overthrowing Uther. Teasing Arthur. Dancing with Arthur. Kissing Arthur. Laying with Arthur. Arthur. Arthur. Arthur.

Bits of memory flew by, mere glimpses that didn't even do him the courtesy of stopping by for him to view. But that was okay. None of them were right, and it was best not to waste time stalling. He knew what he needed to find, no matter how much he didn't want to.

He felt it before he really even saw it. Every memory that had zipped by before had a certain unexplainable feeling to it. Where not every one was necessarily warm or exactly joy-inducing, this one just felt…different. Even more different than any of the ones of his time with Cenred before Arthur. At least, with those, he expected them to be horrific. He expected the creeping cold and fear that seemed to leak through his very veins. He did not, however, expect this one to hit him like a punch to the chest. It felt like all the air had been knocked right out of his lungs and had been replaced with liquid ice. He couldn't breathe and the aura the memory emanated was nauseating.

But beneath it all, he could feel warmth. Under the fear and the nausea and the frozen fingers, he could feel the comforting power of his magic, the pure light buzzing like an agitated swarm of bees as it tried its best to overcome the cloud of darkness the memory was submerging his mind in.

Merlin could see the memory as if he were living through it all over again. He was crouched beneath a window in the corridor outside his bedchambers, still in his sleep clothes, having been roused from bed only moments before by Leif and dragged from the room before his eyes were fully open. He turned his head to see his manservant's terrified green eyes watching him, questioning him about what they should do. Their chests heaved in unison, and Merlin risked peaking over the windowsill just to see the thousands of soldiers below as they swiftly cut through the line of Ealdor's knights. Hundreds of torches bobbed above the masses and set anything within reach that was remotely flammable alight. There was so much screaming, so much noise everywhere, it all sounded like one roar.

There was a muffled boom from where he assumed was across the castle, yet every wall in the palace shook. Leif's hand snapped out and held his bicep in a bruising grip. There was shuffling and screaming, the sound of metal on metal and heavy, booted footsteps on the stone that was getting steadily closer from the East Wing. The East Wing where his parents slept.

"Leif!" Merlin hissed over the cacophony of the ongoing siege. "My parents!"

He made to get up, to run to his parents, consequences be damned. If there was going to be a fight, at least there would be one more person with some magic tricks up their sleeve. He may still have a lot to learn but surely there could never be too many people who could throw around a fireball or two.

Leif's grip on his arm tightened further. "Merlin, no! Look!"

Leif was pointing towards the East Wing. An orange light was growing, flickering taunting shadows off the wall. There was a roaring sound, one Merlin had only heard once before when the royal stable had caught on fire, and he had witnessed the dead bodies of those two poor stable hands. It was growing louder, the roar of the fire spreading over every exposed piece of wood.

The air smelled like smoke. And burning flesh.

"No!" Merlin cried. He knew this was only a memory. He had already lived through this, had already felt all the pain and heart stopping fear, but that did nothing to assuage the overwhelming panic he was feeling at the moment. He knew exactly what was coming next, but that didn't make it any easier.

"Mother! Father!" He screamed, all while Leif did his best to drag him down the corridor. He dug his bare feet into the ornate rug running the length of the hall. There was another boom, this one much closer, and fire exploded on to the carpet a mere few arms' lengths in front of him.

"Sire, it's too late! We must go! Now!" Leif screamed. Bits of mortar and stone rained down around them from the force of the explosions.

But the mercenaries were already upon them. Footsteps were growing louder by the moment from the stairs at the end of the corridor not being consumed by flame.

Leif cursed in Mermish and yanked him towards the fire, quickly slipping back into Merlin's chambers before the fire was able to fully consume the door and sliding the deadbolt into place.

The room was slowly filling with smoke. Leif went immediately to his bed, pulling the sheets off and dousing them in water from his washbasin, and then taking them over to stuff them beneath the door. Merlin threw open a window and peered over the edge.

"We're gonna have to jump."

Leif whirled around. "Jump?"

"It's only four floors."

"Four?! Some of us don't have magic, Merlin. In fact, some of us can barely use legs!"

Merlin could hear the footsteps getting closer. There was a pounding on the door, and Leif jumped away as the deadbolt creaked under the stress.

"Open the door, Princeling! Don't make us do it for you!" That was Cenred. Merlin took a slow breath and reminded himself this was all in his head.

He had already lived through this. He knew there was no point in trying to fight. They were going to get through that door. Leif was going to try and protect him, only for Cenred to splatter his blood across the floor. They were going to overwhelm him despite his magic, beat him into the ground, drug him, and the last thing he would see before he succumbed to the darkness would be Cenred's grinning face, leering above him, practically salivating over his magic.

He couldn't do anything about it, but he knew he was in the right place. His magic was so close he could practically taste it. This was the most powerful memory he had, the one that had irrevocably changed the entire trajectory of his life. It was also the last memory he would ever want to live through again, making it the perfect hiding spot.

Cenred and his men did indeed bust down the door only moments later. They swarmed into the room, surrounding him and Leif with swords drawn. Leif, the idiotically brave boy he was, charged towards Cenred clutching a small hunting knife he'd apparently found somewhere in the room. Merlin made to call out for him as if it would help at all, but it was too little too late. With one quick movement of his wrist, he drove his sword through Leif's stomach, and the poor boy collapsed in a sputtering heap onto the floor.

It was heartbreaking to witness it all over again. He felt himself—or at least his younger self—screaming, collapsing to his knees at the sight of his best mate for as long as he could remember, splayed dead across his bedchamber floor. Arms gripped his biceps, but he barely had the wherewithal to fight. Even having seen it before, it was hard to pull his mind away from Leif's blood soaking into the rug.

There was a harsh chuckle from above him. A hand gripped his chin and ripped his gaze away from his manservant's corpse to stare into the eyes that would haunt him for the next two summers of his life. Cenred gazed at him like he was a rather amusing bug on the ground.

"Aren't you just a handsome little thing, hm, Princeling?"

Merlin felt his body shudder, but inside, his nerves were steeled. He was done being afraid of Cenred. He was done cowering beneath the other man. This ended now.

He wasn't entirely sure how this whole memory thing worked. He wasn't sure if he was able to control the body he was inhabiting, or if he had to let it play its course. So far, it didn't appear that he had much say in what went on, but that didn't mean he couldn't try. He had to try.

His magic began to flare in his core, but it wasn't really his magic. Well, it was, but the magic itself was a memory. It was his magic of two summers ago, a ghost of what he was really looking for.

Cenred slapped him harshly across the face, and his head whipped to the side. Cenred snapped his fingers, and suddenly, Merlin was being pinned to the floor with a boot at the base of his neck while cold iron cuffs were being forced onto his wrists.

The Merlin of the memory was crying, writhing in agony, begging Cenred for mercy. The Merlin in his mind knew better. Oh, he felt every bit of it. But he had grown accustomed to the agony in a way his younger self was yet to. It actually pained him to think about how this kid, this innocent kid, would suffer, but he had to keep reminding himself this kid was him. He had already lived through it. He had already suffered Cenred's wrath.

No more.

The angle they had him shoved at was no where near comfortable with his face smashed painfully into the solid floor, but it did do him one favor. It provided him with the perfect line of sight to a small box that sat atop his chest of drawers. He had forgotten all about it, really. It was a gaudy ash wood chest no bigger than his head with chunky carvings of magical symbols he'd never bothered to interpret because the thing was so ugly. Gaius had gifted it to him for his last birthday, telling him that one day he would know what it was for. At the time, he had just politely thanked his mentor and hastily shoved the clunky thing away. He hadn't even looked in it.

Now, it was glowing like it never had before. Light was seeping from the crack where the lid sealed to the rest of the box. The air around it was shimmering, and it was rattling like there was something inside trying to get out.

Merlin could feel it. His magic was there, right there, in that box. He had always been joking when he shoved his trauma into a metaphorical—or at least what he had thought was metaphorical—box in his mind so he could compartmentalize in order to function. Apparently, Gaius, the crazy old man that he was, was five steps ahead of him like always.

The Druids worshipped ash. It was renowned for its magical properties.

He felt so stupid.

The light was growing brighter every moment that passed. He thrashed in the holds of his captors. He had to get to that box.

"Get off of me," he hissed, unsure if it was actually him, or his younger self.

Cenred made a disapproving noise and forced Merlin to look at him again with a rough hand on his chin. "That's no way to talk to your superiors. Didn't the great King Balinor ever teach you any manners?"

One of Cenred's men cleared his throat hesitantly from across the room. "Um, My Lord, the fire's spreading. We must leave, now."

And Merlin could see it. From around the wet towels Leif had shoved into the cracks, smoke was pouring into the room in droves. The metal handle was beginning to glow suspiciously orange like it was in the blacksmith's forge. The room was becoming uncomfortably hot, as well, a sweltering, stifling heat that was causing beads of sweat to well up on his forehead and his clothes to stick uncomfortably to his frame.

Goddess, did he hate fire. Most witches and wizards did in his experience, the dancing flames having become synonymous with imminent death. It was a whole other level of sick and twisted, even for Cenred, subjecting them all to their greatest fear in their last moments of life. Merlin would have taken Leif's demise any day.

He pushed back against Cenred's grip even as panic roiled in his stomach. Between the smoke and the cold iron, his eyes were becoming heavy, his movements sluggish and weak.

For a moment, his eyes slipped closed. The Merlin in his mind took the opportunity to summon every bit of strength he had in himself. He thought of everyone he loved so dearly, how much faith his parents had in him. He thought of everything Cenred had inflicted on him, how angry it made him, how he was so much stronger now than the terrified kid of this memory.

He forced his eyes open and spat straight at Cenred's face as he reclaimed his own body. Cenred was so startled by the action that his grip loosened long enough for Merlin to shove his hulking frame away and dive for the box on his dresser. His fingers brushed the box just as Cenred seemed to regain sense of himself, and his hand wrapped itself around Merlin's ankle.

The mage crashed to the floor. He flipped onto his back and kicked Cenred squarely in the face. "You little bitch!" Cenred roared with blood beginning to leak grotesquely down his face. "Get back here!"

"No!" Merlin cried. He wrenched his leg from Cenred's hold and stretched as far as he could towards the box that was now fully consumed by the glowing light. The box teetered dangerously on the edge of the dresser. He willed his arm to stretch just a little. Bit. Farther.

"I'm not afraid of you anymore, you bastard!" With every last bit of strength he had, Merlin threw himself bodily towards the dresser, crashing into the side with enough force to send the box careening towards the floor. It shattered against the stone and exploded. Merlin was hit by a wave of magic so powerful he was sure it had to be akin to being struck by lightning.

Warmth and fire flooded his veins. Cenred was thrown away, his hand wrenched for the last time from Merlin's skin.

Everything went white.

Chapter Text

Merlin gasped like a drowning man.

His chest spasmed with the effort and his lungs burned as they were reignited with long-forgotten air. He practically jack-knifed off the bed as his eyes flew wide open, sending the heavy weight resting on his forearm bouncing off the uncomfortably limp appendage. There was the sound of a chair scraping along floorboards somewhere vaguely to the right of the bed, but frankly, he wasn’t inclined to care while he attempted to remind his body of its obligation to keep him alive.

He sputtered and gripped the bedsheets beneath him like they were his single solace from rolling off the bed completely. Tears gathered in his eyes while his throat screamed in protest, the air like hot knives against the dry length of his windpipe. He became acutely aware of his own heart pumping in his chest, quite literally jolting to life with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt.

He couldn’t see past the swimming blurs of tears obscuring his vision. He rolled clumsily to his side and tried to curl in on himself, hoping the change in position would do something to alleviate that all-consuming inferno of his body reanimating.

“Holy hell!”

A pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders and held his upper body precariously over the edge of the bed. Merlin was having difficulty discerning any one thing from another in his surroundings, but he was fairly certain whoever supported most of his body weight had just saved him from braining himself on the floor, if the mass of grainy brown wood swirling a mere arm’s length from his face was anything to go by.

A nauseating mixture of tears and snot and saliva dripped from his face where he hung suspended limply in midair. The hands on his shoulders were rubbing gentle circles into his clavicle with two thumbs, murmuring comforts Merlin had no hope of understanding through the cacophony of his internal reawakening.

Eventually, the two strong hands forced him to lay back on the bed. Which, really, Merlin did appreciate despite his inability to articulate his gratitude around the feeling of his tongue as dry as clean linen. At least the freshly reclined position seemed to help dissipate some of the grainy black dots swirling in his vision.

However, he did not, in fact, appreciate the sudden smothering weight atop his body, pressing his aching frame into the bedclothes.

He gasped softly, struggling to draw in a breath around the pressure constricting his newly breathing lungs. Instinctually, he reached up and softly patted the back of the person currently draped across his frame like they were afraid he was going to drift back into oblivion without some sort of earthly tether.

He cleared his throat and prodded the back more incessantly. The person jerked away just as quickly as they had thrown themselves upon him, and frankly, the behavior was almost enough to send Merlin’s already swimming mind, spinning all over again.

He narrowed his eyes towards the blurry figure, hoping that doing so would help to focus his vision and clear the infuriating distortion causing his head to pound and his stomach to churn uncomfortably.

When he finally managed the Herculean task, Arthur stood only a few steps from his bed. The king’s eyes were wide in a sort of horrified shock at having nearly crushed Merlin’s still-healing body, assuming it had been Arthur draped across him like a human blanket. Merlin really hoped it had been; if not, Merlin feared they had larger issues than his sudden rise from the dead.

From the looks of it, Arthur had indeed been the offender, if the way his hands were still held in front of his body, presumably from having pushed himself away from the bed. Arthur’s chest heaved. His shoulders were rising and falling greatly with each exaggerated breath. He was pale, looking as if he had just seen a ghost.
Which, Merlin supposed, wasn’t far off.

For a long moment, they stayed frozen like that. Neither was willing to look away from the other. They were locked in a battle of wills as Merlin simply lay and unashamedly drank in the sight of Arthur—the true sight of him, one unmarred by anguish or anger—for the first time in nearly a month. And Arthur, seemingly, attempted to remember how to form words.

The king open and closed his mouth a few times like he was gasping for air before he breathed a soft, stunned, “Merlin.”

Merlin smiled gently. He felt his cheeks go warm with a sudden bashfulness he’d never before felt around Arthur. It was unnerving, to say the least, but somehow endearing all the same. Although it was far from the first time he had ever laid eyes on Arthur, it almost felt like meeting him for the first time all over again, this time without bars between them. There was just something so liberating, knowing Cenred no longer breathed the same air as he.

“Arthur,” he answered. The name felt like honey on his tongue. He reached towards the king, beckoning him over once more with an outstretched hand. Arthur appeared hesitant to hurt him—or at least hesitant to smother him once more, for which Merlin was eternally grateful¬—and instead elected to perch himself on the edge of the bed and cup Merlin’s face in his hands. His sword callouses scratched pleasantly over Merlin’s skin as he stroked his cheeks with his thumb. His mother’s ring was chilly against his flush, and he allowed his eyelids to flutter shut with a content sigh.

Only to be yanked from his easy contentment by a broken sob.

“Oh, Arthur,” Merlin whispered. He reached up and rested his own hand on Arthur’s cheek. Arthur closed his eyes and cried softly, deep, chest-heaving sobs. His tears were cool against Merlin’s fingers, but his cheeks warm under his palm. Time seemed frozen as they sat there, Arthur’s fingers curled stiffly into the hairs tickling the back of Merlin’s neck, and Merlin cupping Arthur’s face in one steady hand, stroking his thumb over the surprisingly soft skin.

Merlin reached up with the other hand and gently maneuvered Arthur to lay down beside him, his face pressed in Merlin’s neck. The king’s shoulders shook with his sobs, and his hands relaxed enough to curl up in Merlin’s sleep tunic. Merlin pressed a kiss to the blonde locks and began to hum quietly.

It took a while, but Arthur’s cries eventually petered out until he was silently partially draped across Merlin again, softly nuzzling the mage’s neck. Merlin would be lying if he said the extra weight didn’t cause his entire body to ache, but there was no pain he wouldn’t bear for Arthur. Hell, he had just died for him. A bit of twinging in his chest wasn’t even comparable, especially if it gave Arthur even an ounce of peace of mind. He couldn’t begin to fathom how Arthur had suffered because of Merlin’s existence.

“You’re such a hopeless romantic. The song we nearly danced to? Really, Merlin?”

Merlin pulled away to see Arthur gazing at him, chin pillowed on Merlin’s shoulder, his face blotchy and red from crying.

“Excuse me, Sire, but which one of us is draped over the other crying like a lovesick fool?” There was no heat in his words, only a kind, affectionate teasing. How could he ever think to make fun of Arthur after everything?

This wonderful, kind, perfect man had sailed across a sea to rescue him, at great risk to his own life and the lives of a whole crew of people. He had done so even after Merlin had taken the heart Arthur had so hesitantly handed him and shattered it at his feet on the banquet hall floor. Merlin had lied to him, deceived him, practically betrayed him, and yet Arthur hadn’t hesitated to come after him. He could have just as easily left Merlin in Essetir to suffer his fate without a second thought. Arthur had nothing to gain from saving him, but he had done so just because he didn’t want Merlin to suffer.

“And, yet, I’ve gained everything.”

Merlin looked away sheepishly. “I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.”

“Still did,” Arthur said, “and I need you to know that none of that idiocy you’ve conjured in your mind is true. Never once until that moment in the banquet hall did you lie to me. Sure, there were things you hid, but never once did you lie. If I had only asked, I know you wouldn’t have hesitated to tell me everything.”

“I still deceived you. I still betrayed you, Arthur.” Now, it was Merlin who could feel tears beginning to burn behind his eyes.

Arthur shook his head. “You did no such thing. You did nothing that I wouldn’t have done in the same situation. You were scared. I can’t blame you for that. And if anything, it was I who betrayed you. If I had just paid a little attention, been just a little less absorbed with all of my own petty little issues…” Arthur trailed off, his voice choking up as an invisible guilt suffocated him.

Merlin could see his pain in the way the usually stoic king was trembling, his skin sallow and the area around his eyes dark like he hadn’t slept in days. He was barely a reflection of the cocky prince Merlin had met so many months ago when they had been anything but friendly with each other.

“Arthur—”

“I nearly lost you. I did lose you, Merlin. When I saw you pull out that knife…” he squeezed his eyes shut. “I can’t unsee it. Even if I wanted to sleep, I couldn’t. Every time I close my eyes, I just see that knife piercing your skin, your blood oozing out, that look in your eyes…Merlin, you were so scared, and I couldn’t help you.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Merlin said quickly. He gave Arthur’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Take a breath. I’m right here.” He took Arthur’s hand and placed it over his heart, taking a deep breath just so Arthur could feel the way his chest rose beneath his hand, steady and strong and alive. “I’m right here.”

“But you weren’t. You died. I carried your lifeless body out of Essetir, knowing that your heart did not beat, and your lungs did not breathe. I can’t…I can’t do that again, Merlin. I can’t lose you!”

“You’re not going to lose me,” Merlin assured quickly. “Not any day soon, at least. I’m not going anywhere until we can leave together, understand me?”

“But…you died,” Arthur whispered.

“I know. But,” Merlin grinned impishly, “what if I promise not to do it again?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and gave Merlin’s shoulder a gentle shove. “You’re such a dollophead.”

“That’s my word,” Merlin countered easily with a breathy chuckle, but he couldn’t help the wince that crossed his features as his sore chest constricted with the force of laughing.

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. He brushed a hand over Merlin’s chest, the tips of his fingers barely ghosting the fabric of his thin sleep tunic, like he feared putting even that much pressure on Merlin’s skin would suddenly cause him to drift away like whisps of smoke in the air. Which, honestly, was rich considering only a candle mark prior he had practically smothered Merlin in an attempt to get their bodies as close to touching as was humanly possible. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m all good. Never better, actually. Bit of a twinge is nothing compared to…” Merlin trailed off, swallowing hard as the memories of Cenred’s abuse assaulted him.

“Compared to Cenred,” Arthur finished for him.

“Yes, compared to Cenred.”

They fell silent for a long moment after that. Merlin found himself quickly lost in thought, desperately trying to scrape together some semblance of a timeline for what transpired from the time Arthur and the others rescued him from the tower to, well…his death. It was all he could do to cast the memories from his mind, to forget about his own feelings and focus on what actually happened. If only he could figure out what the hell that was.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Merlin sighed softly. Quite frankly, he was unsure if he even had been thinking. The conglomerate of foggy memories he couldn’t even manage to string together surely couldn’t be counted as such. As much as he loathed to admit it, he was utterly exhausted. His aching body, which he had been so diligently trying to cast far from his mind, was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, and the thick fog settling in his mind was not helping his cause.

Still, he gave Arthur a tired smile. “Just trying to figure it all out. Feels like I’ve got a giant hole right where all my memories should be. It’s fairly maddening. How long have I even been out?”

Arthur ran a finger over the back of Merlin’s hand, tracing lazy, mindless patterns there. It was such a simple, intimate activity, and it took everything in Merlin not to shiver with the thrills of delight it sent racing up his spine. Hell, he’d barely been alive long enough to figure out how he’d died in the first place. He had no business even thinking remotely about what all that had transpired implied for them romantically. And he certainly wasn’t about to be the one to bring it up, especially not after he’d killed his betrothed however long ago that had been, although Merlin had neglected to inquire that particular detail. Even still, entertaining such notions so undeniably soon after Cenred’s downfall—however warranted—was just ghastly.

“Hmm, going on five nights, now. What’s the last thing you remember?” Arthur asked, his eyes never leaving where his finger continued to move in lazy loops across Merlin’s skin.

And wasn’t that the question? It was difficult to distinguish what was true memory and what were the foggy recollections of a subconscious that may or may not have actually experienced, in Merlin’s incapacitated state, anything it recalled. And it was even more difficult still to determine whether said whisps of recollection were subconscious to the real world or the dream world to which his living soul had been pulled upon his body’s death.

Attempting to think about the nuances of the situation was causing a dull thumping to form right between his eyes. Or rather, was causing the already much-present ache to become even more prevalent in the grand scheme of his body’s general aches and pains. It was easy to ignore such things when he’d spent the last two summers of his life in a constant state of one pain or another. But now, free to assess the true extent of his physical misery, Merlin would be lying if he said it wasn’t all returning to hit him full force.

“I–I remember waking up in the tower, and you were there,” Merlin said breathlessly, but that was foggy at best. The cold iron’s poison had so thoroughly sapped his energy that he couldn’t even be sure if that was true or not. It was quite possible his brain had made that up in its wishful thinking. “I think I remember that, at least.”

Arthur’s eyes softened sympathetically. “You were pretty delirious. But we did find you in that tower.”

“How’d you know where to look?”

“Trust me, that’s a long story. And I will tell it to you, soon. Just…not right now. Only know that I know everything. I know what Cenred said to you the night of my banquet. And if you ever do something like that again, you self-sacrificial dollophead¬—” Arthur cleared his throat and quickly went back to tracing unintelligible patterns into Merlin’s skin. “We broke the chains off of you. You were so…Gods, Merlin you were so frail. I would’ve thought you a corpse right then if not for the rise of your chest. And your ankle. Gaius, managed to stabilize it, said you should be able to walk again, but it’ll take time. Nearly all the bones were shattered.”

For the first time, Merlin actually noted how stiff and uncomfortably bulky his right ankle was, but he couldn’t have been less concerned about it if he tried. Merlin could see Arthur starting to get choked up again, his eyes going glassy. Merlin gripped Arthur’s hand; this was the most he had ever seen the king cry, and it was breaking his heart.
“I’m so sorry, Arthur, that you had to see me like that,” he apologized softly.

Arthur sniffled and levelled Merlin with that withering glare of his that the mage was sure Arthur actually thought worked on him. When, in fact, the gaze itself did nothing to intimidate him. No, it was those hopelessly expressive cerulean eyes, the ones deep with so many unspoken emotions, that Merlin could never say ‘no’ to.

“You cannot seriously be apologizing right now, Merlin. You’ve absolutely nothing to apologize for. This is my fault. Every bit of this is my damn fault don’t you get that!”

And Arthur was up and moving, pacing the length of the quarters—quarters which, Merlin was just now realizing, were his own, the ones on The Avalon; he didn’t even want to begin dwelling on how they’d ended up on his ship after everything—whilst he raked both hands through his untamed hair. His eyes were wide, appearing to be searching the air for something that wasn’t there as he paced.

Merlin pushed himself onto his elbows. “Arthur—”

“Would you shut up, Merlin!” Arthur exploded. “You can’t—you can’t keep doing that. That thing where you make everything your fault, like it’s okay to place any sort of culpability as long as you’re the only one people are angry with.”

Merlin opened his mouth to speak, but Arthur cut him off with a silently raised hand. “Don’t. Don’t even try to deny it. You just apologized for being essentially kidnapped and tortured—”

“—Arthur—”

“No, I need to do this!” He paused his pacing to look Merlin dead in the eyes. “All my life I’ve been handed everything on a silver platter. Anything that went wrong, it was someone else’s fault. Until the day I met you, never once was I forced to except any sort of responsibility for my own actions, and even then, it took Uther sentencing you to death for me to see the error of my own ways. I’m an arrogant bastard, and I know that, okay? I’ve allowed you to take the fall for my own misgivings because it was easier than accepting the fact that, despite what I’ve been spoon-fed all my life, I’m not perfect. Quite far from it, actually. So, this is me, accepting responsibility. This is my fault. Should you have come to me long before it got this bad? Yes, but I can’t blame you for being scared, as much as I tried. And believe me, I tried.”

Merlin watched, stunned, as Arthur came to kneel beside the bed, taking both of his hands in his own. “You have nothing to apologize for. I was blinded by hurt, and I allowed you to be injured because of it. I’m sorry for not seeing through Cenred’s blatant lies. I’m sorry for ever doubting your loyalty. I’m sorry for every cruel word I’ve ever uttered to you, every cruel thing I’ve ever done. I’m sorry that my own father helped to destroy your kingdom and murder your parents. I’m sorry you had to suffer Cenred’s abuse. I’m sorry you never felt comfortable in Camelot. I’m sorry for every single person who has ever looked at you differently for your beautiful magic. And most of all, I am so damn sorry I never told you how much I love you!”

They were both in tears again by the time Arthur finished. Merlin pulled his hands from Arthur’s, not sparing a moment to see the flash of hurt that crossed Arthur’s face, and instead placed them on either side of the king’s face, pulling him down to place a soft, lingering kiss on his lips.

Merlin pressed their foreheads together. “I love you, too, Arthur Pendragon. I’ve loved you for longer than I care to admit.”

“And I you, Merlin Ambrosius. Gods help us all.”

Arthur gave him one more quick peck before pulling away. “I realized, in that moment, when I saw that knife go into your chest, just how much. It felt like someone had stabbed me in my own. Especially after a certain someone felt it prudent to confess his feelings while ending his own life.”

Merlin had the good sense to at least appear ashamed. “I knew I was going to die, and I couldn’t leave without…without telling you—”

“I know, love.”

And Merlin, having thought he would never hear the term of endearment uttered from Arthur’s lips again, utterly melted.

“What did happen? You know…after.”

“We were all shocked, as you can imagine. Cenred so much so that he released me. I’m not entirely sure what I did, but I do know it ended with him holding himself, groaning in pain on the ground. It’s entirely possible I kicked him in the crotch,” Arthur said sheepishly.

Merlin snorted, amused. “Been taking lessons from Morgana, have you?”

“Oh, you have no idea.” Arthur smirked. “After that, I ended up on the ground, holding you in my arms. There was blood everywhere. You were seizing, coughing it up, spilling it onto the ground from your wound.” Merlin reached out and took Arthur’s hand once more. “Not to mention this horrible golden glow was emanating from it, like you’d swallowed a bit of the sun.”

“The glow just kept growing, getting brighter and brighter. It was brilliant, dear, simply stunning in a macabre kind of way. At one point, Cenred managed to get off the ground and tried to take you from me, but the magic wouldn’t let him get near. Until finally, the whole world exploded in this dazzling shower of heat. Next thing I know, I’m waking up on the ground, your body still on top of me, everyone else unconscious as well. Well, except for Cenred.”

Merlin felt a sudden anxiety swell up in his heart. He knew Cenred no longer walked the earth. His magic knew it as intrinsically as he knew himself. He knew it just as he knew the sky was blue and the grass was green, but still. Some part of him was terrified that after everything, maybe he would never truly be free.

“He’s dead then?”

“Bit of an understatement. Let’s just say I wouldn’t be able to tell you the difference between Cenred and the ashes from my fireplace if you held me at sword point.”

“It was my magic. It was finally free, and I guess it was seeking retribution. My magic’s an extension of the sea, and as you know, the sea does not take too kindly to being restrained.”

Arthur snorted. “Don’t I know it. But stabbing yourself? With a dinner knife, no less? Bit dramatic, even for you, don’t you think?”

Merlin huffed. “Don’t be a prat. I had to do it, Arthur. I never wished for you to suffer, but only—”

“—a grand act of love could break the curse. Yes, I’m aware. Gaius explained everything you so conveniently kept secret.”

Merlin felt his face go red. “Sorry.”

“Hey, what did I say about apologizing?”

Sorry, Merlin mouthed, and Arthur rolled his eyes fondly.

“After everyone came to,” Arthur went on, “we realized that we had no way of getting back to Camelot. They blew up my ship after all, and that’s when Freya suggested The Avalon. She’s a beauty, love.”

“Who? My ship or Freya?”

“Both, although I think Gwaine may be partial to one. I’m nearly certain him and Freya shagged the first night on board.”

Merlin’s eyes went wide. “You’ve got to be kidding me! Freya and Gwaine? Truly, gods above, help us all.” Merlin froze for a moment, a look of horror slowly dawning across his face. “Mother, Maiden, and Crone! My crew! And everyone else! Arthur, how are they? Oh, I’m such an idiot. How could I forget about everyone else? Everyone and Will…” Merlin trailed off quietly.

An odd look crossed Arthur’s face, one that was gone too fast for Merlin to actually interpret. “Well, about that actually—”

The king was cut off by a sharp knock on the quarters’ doors. Arthur cursed quietly under his breath but quickly pulled further from Merlin and sat back on his chair, looking for all that it was worth, like a small child who’d been caught with his hand in a pie.

“Enter, Gaius!”

The door creaked open and the old physician’s head appeared around the corner. His eyes lit up, and he smiled warmly when he saw Merlin awake and somewhat sitting up.
“Merlin, my boy!”

Merlin grinned. “Hello, Gaius.”

The old man shuffled over faster than Merlin had ever seen him move in all his eighteen summers of life and wrapped him in a soft hug. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re alright, Merlin. I told everyone there was a chance you were not yet gone from this world, that you may return to us, but I still feared. I’m so glad you came back to us. We love you so, dear boy.”

Tears pricked at his eyes as he gripped onto his mentor’s tunic with every bit of strength he could muster. This was the man who had been just as much a father to him as his own. This was the man who had stood by him that very first night on Arthur’s ship despite the great risk to himself. Merlin would never be able to repay him for as long as he lived.

“Thank you, Gaius. For everything.”

Gaius cupped the side of his face. “No thanks needed. I’ve helped raise you from a little lambkin. And I’m not about to stop anytime soon. Now, how’re you feeling?”
Merlin opened his mouth to respond, but Arthur sharply cut him off. “Don’t believe whatever minimized half-truth he’s about to feed you, Gaius. He’d never admit to it, but I can tell he’s in pain.”

Gaius gave him that look, and Merlin folded, glowering at Arthur from the side who simply grinned in that condescending, wholly prattish way of his that Merlin couldn’t help but adore.

He crossed his arms, fully aware of how it surely made him look like a petulant toddler. “It twinges a bit, I suppose.”

“Twinges? And, pray tell, what exactly twinges.”

“Just about everything,” Merlin admitted. Gaius sighed heavily, and casting him one more of those looks, he dug through his bag, withdrawing a vial of rather suspicious brown tincture. He swirled it around, and Merlin half expected it not to move. Admittedly, it did, but in a horribly viscous way that lent itself more to solidity than anything consumable.

“Gaius, if you believe that sludge is going anywhere near my mouth, I’m afraid you’re about to be sorely disappointed,” Merlin said. He wrinkled his nose when Gaius pulled the stopper out, the foul smell immediately making his eyes water.

“Oh, come now, Merlin. If you can quite literally come back from the dead, surely you can stomach a bit of…whatever it is Gaius has seemingly dredged up from someone’s chamber pot. Besides, I’m sure whatever it is, is only meant to help you heal.” Arthur was grinning again, leaning forward with his hands steepled beneath his chin.

“Sure, and next time George goes to empty yours, I’ll ensure that he trips. I imagine that’s not something you want all through your horrifically expensive rug, Sire,” Merlin bit back.

“The King is right, Merlin,” Gaius appeased. “It’s only a sleeping tincture. I can’t use my usual choice; it couldn’t keep you asleep last time. This one’s much stronger. If it makes you feel any better, your mother often had me slip a bit of this into your father’s mead on late nights.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up. “Mother drugged Father?”

“Don’t make it sound so heinous, boy. Your father was a chronic worrier. He didn’t take to the drink often, but when he did, he was a horribly maudlin drunk. It was the only way she could get him to rest. As you should be.”

Merlin shook his head emphatically. “Not until I see the others. I need to make sure they’re okay with my own eyes.”

And, because apparently Merlin and Arthur had suddenly developed the inane ability to summon people just by speaking of them, Daegal poked his head in.
“Gaius, I know you said that checking on him so much isn’t going to change anything, but I just can’t—Oh my gods! Cap!”

Just like that, Merlin was being smothered again, this time by an armful of Daegal. The kid was shaking, great heaving sobs wracking his frame as he gripped onto Merlin like his life depended on it. It was oddly reflective of the position Merlin and Arthur had been in only a candle mark earlier.

“Thank the Triple Goddess! I have to tell the others.” Before anyone could make a move to stop him, Daegal had turned and was already yelling towards the open door. “Freya! Will! Everyone, come quick! Cap’s awake!”

Merlin’s mind came to a screeching halt at those words. It couldn’t be…he’d seen Will die, seen it with his own eyes. His memory of everything that had happened was spotty at best, but he was certain of that much.

“Will?”

And then his first mate was there, rushing into the captain’s quarters with a wild look in his eyes, searching the room until they finally came to rest on Merlin.

“Cap?” Will was grinning like a loon. It wasn’t even an echo of his typical condescending sneer. This was a genuine, full-faced, crooked-teeth smile.

“But—I thought…you were dead! How the bloody hell are you alive?”

Will was at his bedside in two long strides, wrapping Merlin in a hug, significantly gentler than Daegal, but no less caring. Merlin realized, amusedly, this was one of the first times Will had ever hugged him. How could he possibly do anything but hug back?

“Turns out yer magic is good fer a lot more’n fryin’ assholes. I was dead. But I guess even in death yer magic knows the difference ‘tween friend an’ foe. One minute, I’m wakin’ up in my bed back home, in my home, next minute, I’m wakin’ back up in the throne room, fit as could be. No wound in sight. You brought me back to life, Cap’n.”

“And that’s not all,” Freya said, appearing at Will’s side. “Every wound we had was healed. From ‘Thus’ leg to Daegal’s bad arm. It was miraculous. You’re miraculous.”

All three of his crewmates collapsed into a sort of group hug, each trying to touch him and show him their gratitude. At some point, a giant, familiar weight settled atop his head, rumbling happily and swatting him in the face with a large, spiked tail.

Merlin chuckled. “Hey, Aithusa, how’re you?”

Aithusa chirped happily in response, words that had Merlin snickering over his girl’s attitude. She was developing quite the cheek, clearly a direct result of having spent far too much time around Morgana.

“Alright, you lot, move aside. Quit hoggin’ him for the rest of us,” Gwaine said from behind his three crewmates smothering him.

One by one, everyone took their turn hugging him and offering him quiet words ranging from Gwen’s gentle, “Glad you’re okay,” to Morgana’s, “do something like that again, and I’ll kill you myself. And this time, you won’t be coming back.”

When everyone had finally had their fill, Merlin lay back on his pillows with a tired sigh. Not that he didn’t love each person in the room, but it turned out that rising from the dead was quite an exhausting process, and all of the emotional upheaval wasn’t helping in the slightest. Now that he had seen for himself that everyone was more than okay, apparently thanks to him, the utter tiredness was settling deep in his bones. He was quickly finding it difficult to keep his eyelids open.

Gaius leant over him, placing a cool rag on his forehead and tsking disapprovingly. “Alright, you’ve all seen him. He’s alive and breathing. But he needs rest, plenty of it, and he can’t do that with all of you loitering about.”

There was a chorus of grumbling and complaints all around, but everyone knew better than to question Gaius and risk incurring his wrath. Will and Freya had to practically pry Daegal off of him, and it took no small amount of effort to coax Aithusa off his head, either, but they managed in the end. Merlin was on the brink of drifting off as everyone shuffled towards the door when, through his slitted eye, he caught a glimpse of auburn hair at the back of the room, clearly trying to meld into the rest of the group and hide in the doorframe. But it didn’t matter how much she tried to disguise herself; Merlin would recognize her anywhere.

He forced his eyes open once more. “Meredith!”

Everyone froze, including the subject herself. appearing like an ant caught under a magnifying glass. Her eyes were wide with fear, her chest rising and falling with quick, anxious gasps of breath. She was petrified and clearly hadn’t anticipated being spotted. Merlin didn’t even know why she was there, and not back in Essetir with everyone else.

Morgana gave a snappy clap. “Oh, good. I was wondering when I was going to get a chance to tell you. I was going to wait until after you’d rested a bit, but…no time like the present I suppose. Off with the lot of you, then.” More protests rose from the group, but they were quickly snuffed out by one glare from Morgana, everyone filing out the door with quiet well wishes to him. Just as quickly as he’d seen her, Meredith was gone once more.

Gaius gave him a stern look. “I shall return in one candle mark. You need to rest, dear boy.”

“Yes, yes, alright, Gaius,” he dismissed the old physician. “Tell me what, exactly, Morgana?”

“All about our wonderfully devious plan, of course, dear.” She perched herself on the edge of his bed, earning herself a glare from Arthur, but Merlin found himself suddenly wide awake once more.

Morgana reached out and took his hand in hers. “Cenred was no fool, for all he could’ve deceived most. You saw; he figured out Meredith gave us the key to your tower, and he had every intention of killing her and Hugh right alongside the rest of us had you not killed him first. But he did make one foolish mistake.”

“And what was that?”

“Marrying you,” she continued. “And I’m not just talking about the beast he awoke in my brother, either. He thought he was condemning you to an eternal life of enslavement, I’m sure, but he never counted on dying before you, either. With no legitimate children of his own to continue his bloodline…”

“The crown falls to me,” Merlin finished, stunned. When he’d arrived back in Essetir, and Cenred had immediately forced them to marry, he’d never stopped to truly think of the implications of it, only focusing, as Morgana said, on the certain finality such a bond would pose for his life.

Morgana smiled. “Precisely. If he hadn’t been such a greedy bastard rushing to claim what was never his, this never would have happened. As it is, you’re the rightful King of Essetir.”

“No. Absolutely not. No way,” Merlin said quickly. The thought alone was enough to settle a sickening weight in the pit of his stomach. He’d sooner turn over his ship before he ever returned there. “I want nothing to do with that place; I need to abdicate. I know it’s unfair of me to abandon the people—they’re victims of Cenred’s, as well—and I will do everything in my power to find a suitable replacement from here, but I simply can’t…no, I won’t—”

“Merlin, breathe, dear,” Arthur said gently, giving Merlin’s shoulder a squeeze. “No one’s asking you to go back. You’ll never set foot in Essetir again if I have anything to do with it. Allow Morgana to finish before Gaius returns and tans all of our hides.”

With a shuddering breath, Merlin slowly returned his attention back to Morgana as the panic began to seep from his mind, leaving him somehow even more exhausted. It was all too much, and he felt like crying again, if he’d have had any tears left to shed.

As if reading his mind, Arthur gently lifted Merlin from his pillows and quickly slipped in behind the warlock, settling him back against his chest. Merlin allowed his head to melt into Arthur’s shoulder. “That man is not worth your tears.”

“Arthur’s right, you know.”

Arthur snorted quietly. “I usually am.”

“Careful. If your head swells any larger, I fear you’ll put us in danger of capsizing.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that, ‘Gana?”

“Morgana, please,” Merlin cut off whatever retort Morgana was gearing up to fire back. As much as he was amused by their sibling bickering any day, at that moment, he was becoming dangerously close to falling asleep in the middle of Morgana’s story if she didn’t hurry up. Besides, it had to have been nearly a candle mark; Gaius would be returning at any moment.

“Yes, alright, but only because I do not wish for Merlin to fret. I do not concede to you, brother.” She smiled, clearly pleased with herself, and took Merlin’s hand softly in hers once more. “Arthur’s also right when he says you will not set foot in Essetir ever again as long as we can help it. I meant only to reassure you that the people of Essetir will not suffer just because of Cenred’s death. As long as you remain King, no harm will befall them.”

“But I don’t want to be their King, Morgana!” Merlin insisted.

“And nor will you have to be. You will be their ruler in name only. I’ve been in contact with many of Cenred’s councilmen the past few days, and you would be surprised by how many of them were more than agreeable to this little arrangement; Essetir will be governed from within by a council I will personally oversee with you as King only to keep up appearances. The kingdom may continue to function internally as they wish but will be controlled externally by Camelot.”

“A protectorate, of sorts,” Arthur added.

“Yes, a protectorate one might call it. Really, it was quite beneficial all around. Essetir is horribly weak thanks to Cenred’s abhorrent rule, and they all know it. Having the support of such a kingdom as Camelot will be world-altering for them. And as for us, well, I must say essentially conquering one of the most formidable kingdoms in the land does look good for Arthur’s rule. Also, having them under our power gives us unparalleled access to their army and resources.”

“That’s not going to last forever, though,” Merlin said. “Eventually, they’ll grow weary of a puppet government. What’s to stop them from, I guess, overthrowing me and putting someone on the thrown possibly even worse than Cenred?”

“Ah, but that’s where Meredith comes in. You’re King right now, Merlin, because Cenred has no legitimate heirs. No one said anything about illegitimate.”

Merlin felt his eyes widen of their own accord. “Hugh.”

Morgana’s grin grew impossibly wider. “Exactly. While the people of Essetir may have always rumored him to be Cenred’s, Meredith was certain. She’s never laid with another, and Gaius confirmed his heritage with a bit of magic.”

Understanding finally bloomed in Merlin’s mind, and he couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for all Morgana had done, assumedly while Arthur had been holed up at his bedside these past days. “But he’s too young to assume the throne,” Merlin continued for her, “and by having Meredith raise him in Camelot, we can shape him into the kind of ruler Essetir needs.”

“And when he’s old enough, you’ll simply abdicate and name Hugh as your successor,” Arthur said. “My sister’s quite ingenious, is she not?”

Morgana flicked her hair over her shoulder. “I do try my hardest.”

With the kind of timing only the gods themselves could muster, Gaius chose that exact moment to reenter his quarters, glaring daggers at Morgana.

“My Lady—" he began, but Morgana held her hands up in surrender.

“I’m going, Gaius. I was only telling Merlin of our plans.”

“Regardless, it’s nothing that can’t wait until after he’s slept. He did just rise from the dead, if you’ve forgotten.”

Morgana leant over and gave him a quick peck to the cheek. Merlin’s eyes began to burn with traitorous tears. “Thank you, Morgana. For everything. I can never repay you.”

“No, thank you, Your Highness,” she whispered. “Thank you for bringing magic back into all of our lives.”

She gave Arthur’s shoulder a squeeze, shot Gaius a beguiling smile, and made her exit with all the grace and flourish that only Morgana could ever produce.

“Your Majesty, you should really leave, as well,” Gaius said. He had produced the vial of sludge once more and was now measuring out a dose. Merlin’s stomach churned even thinking about consuming it, but that wasn’t the only reason.

“No!” He cried, gripping Arthur’s wrist even though the other king had made no move to get up. “Please, don’t leave me.”

Arthur pressed a kiss to his hair. “Never, love,” and then to Gaius he said, “You heard him, Gaius. He can rest just as well with me here. Now, please give him whatever poison you’ve got, and as you’ve been so emphatic of, allow him to rest.”

It was clear the physician was less than pleased with the decision, but there was little he could do. Even had they not both been kings now in their own rights, Merlin knew that together they were two of the most stubborn men alive. Gaius never stood a chance.

So, he simply shoved the vile tincture down Merlin’s throat—and he absolutely did not nearly throw up to the point where Arthur had to hold him as he retched over the chamber pot beside the bed—and made his swift exit with mumbled well wishes and a promise to return to check on him at sunset.

Already, Merlin could feel himself slipping, his eyelids growing heavy and his head lolling back to sink even further into Arthur’s shoulder. It didn’t help the way Arthur was rubbing his back, deft fingers tracing the outline of his spine while his lips planted featherlight kisses here and there on his head. It was maddening.

“Stay?” Merlin asked again, because his mouth felt like it was thick with honey and his brain couldn’t muster up any other word.

“Always. I love you. With all my heart.”

With all my heart, Merlin echoed back, hoping he had enough magic to project the words into Arthur’s mind.

Arthur sighed happily, and that was all the confirmation Merlin needed.

With all my heart. And for the first night in what Merlin hoped would be an eternity of them, he drifted off to sleep with those words following him all the way.

Chapter Text

Three Years Later…

“How long is this going to take?”

Merlin absentmindedly flipped to the next page of his book, not even bothering to look up from its pages. “These things take time, Arthur.”

“I’m well aware. But this long?”

“Gaius and Daegal are with her. Gwen’s in the best possible care.”

Arthur huffed, never pausing his endless pacing of his chambers. “Yes, yes, I know that. But…what if something’s wrong?”

“I feel assured someone would have informed us if that were the case,” Merlin said, only pausing long enough from his reading to peer at Arthur over the top of his pages before turning back to the text.

“How can you possibly be so calm?”

“Because I know Gwen is strong; I would trust Gaius with anyone’s life. Between Daegal, Morgana, and myself, I’m sure one of us would’ve felt a change in the balance of the world should something have happened. And furthermore, Daegal is becoming quite the fine physician apprenticing under Gaius. I’m sure the old man will be able to retire any day now.”

“But it’s been hours!”

Irritated, Merlin huffed, and finally set his book aside to level Arthur with an unimpressed look of exasperation. “By the gods, Arthur. And what would you know of childbirth?”

Arthur groaned, coming over to drape himself across the bed, pillowing his head in Merlin’s lap. “Nothing at all, and that’s the problem! Guinevere is one of my oldest friends, Merlin. Should something happen to her…I don’t know what I would do with myself. And gods forbid it, but Lancelot would be devastated!”

“Dearest,” Merlin said as he began to stroke the blonde locks around Arthur’s ears, his sympathetic expression failing to belie the amused undertone of his voice, “babies are born every day. It is natural. Yes, there can be complications, but as I said before, I trust no one more than Gaius and Daegal. They will do everything in their power to help her. No news is good news in these sorts of situations, I believe they say.”

Arthur smiled and reached up to playfully shove the mage’s face away. “Why do you always have to be right?”

“I don’t always have to be. It’s just a general occurrence whenever I’m around you.”

“Idiot,” Arthur retorted and reached up to give Merlin another shove, only to watch a spark snap, hot and red, between his fingers and Merlin’s skin. He swore quietly, shaking his hand out and pulling it protectively back towards his chest while the dazzling gold faded from Merlin’s irises. Merlin laughed.

“What’re you laughing at, you ass?”

“Just you. You looked like a little startled stoat.”

“Oh, yeah?” Arthur asked. His voice dropped lower, almost threatening, while he pushed himself up to straddle Merlin’s lap. He pressed Merlin down into the pillows, leaning in until his lips ghosted against Merlin’s ear. Those azure eyes, flecked with gold, watched his every move, wide with shock and want.

“Who’s startled now?”

Merlin made a breathy noise that quickly morphed to a quiet moan when Arthur nipped his ear. Even after over three summers together, it never ceased to amaze Arthur just how easy it was to draw those sorts of sounds from Merlin’s lips. He loved the way the warlock’s cheeks and ears would flush deep scarlet with embarrassment with every involuntary noise.

“You’re the ass.”

Arthur hummed. “That’s not what you were saying this morning.”

“Arthur Pendragon!”

Arthur pressed a kiss just under the shell of Merlin’s ear. “Yes, Merlin Ambrosius?”

“You’re insufferable.” Arthur’s hands wandered the expanse of warm skin beneath Merlin’s emerald tunic. Merlin laughed. “And insatiable.”

“Hmm, only for you.”

Merlin laughed again. Sometimes he still found it unfathomable that this was his life. It had been three summers—three wonderful, peaceful summers—since they had freed him from Cenred’s grasp, and Merlin couldn’t imagine his life any other way. It hadn’t been easy, of course, not by a long shot, but the long road leading to where he was at that very moment had been well worth it; he wouldn’t change a thing for the world.

Arthur was perfect, needless to say. Sure, they had their fair share of spats, one memorable occurrence which had resulted in Merlin seeking refuge in Will’s chambers for a solid sennight and had ended with Arthur kissing him in front of the entirety of the Royal Council, much to the horror of the stuffy nobility. There were times when they vexed each other to no end—Arthur, despite his best intentions, was still prone to speaking before he thought, and Merlin had what was seemingly an endless wealth of trust issues, even with Arthur. And, once they had gotten past the initial joy of being reunited once more, it became painfully clear that they both still had a lot of issues they needed to work through before they could even think of romance. And so, the No Kissing Rule had been reinstated.

In all honesty, those had been the longest eight months of Merlin’s life. He knew it was for the best—they couldn’t hope to have any sort of meaningful relationship still reeling from all that had happened. But that didn’t stop him from fantasizing about pinning Arthur against a wall, any wall, and ravishing him right then and there.

And so, they had been fierce friends, albeit friends fiercely in love. They fervently ignored the wandering gazes and less than casual touches, focusing solely on the mounds of work they both had rather than on how much they longed for each other.

The first thing Arthur had done upon returning to Camelot was to repeal the ban on magic. Surprisingly, few fought the motion, even those nobles who had sat on the council under Uther. Merlin wasn’t sure whether they could see it was useless to try and fight Arthur on the subject or if they genuinely disagreed with the statute, but he supposed it didn’t matter. In the end, magic flowed through Camelot once more. Arthur named him Court Sorcerer, and Merlin nearly wept the first time he saw a young girl, no more than two or three summers, crouched just outside the citadel, carefully coaxing a tulip from the freshly thawed spring ground, the happiest giggles escaping her lips as her eyes glowed a soft yellow.

There was no shortage of responsibilities as Court Sorcerer, but he loved every moment of it. For the first time since he was a teen, he was able to use his magic without fear and with the freedom it deserved. He loved all the ways he could help the citizens of Camelot, and he certainly loved the way Arthur looked at him when he used his magic, his eyes all shiny with awe and something deeper, something that caused his pupils to nearly swallow the cerulean of his irises. Merlin adored the shiver of pleasure that raced down his spine each time Arthur looked at him that way, through his eyelashes, like he was the single most desirable person alive.
Arthur was busy with his kingdom, of course, and all the responsibilities of being sovereign, not to mention the additional difficulties Essetir threw into the mix. Still, Arthur fell easily into his role as king with his household back intact once more. Morgana was a true savior through it all, making an uncountable number of trips to and from Essetir those first few months.

Thankfully, even with his new position, Merlin had not been forced to give up sailing or his beloved ship. In fact, Arthur hadn’t even gone to the trouble of having a new ship commissioned after The Dragon Slayer had been destroyed. The Avalon effortlessly adapted and grew to accommodate all of them. He went on small trips around the Isles and such every few sennights, just him and his crew like the old days, only with no darkness baring down on them. They were happier and safer than ever, and for that, Merlin would be forever grateful.

True to her word, Morgana allowed Merlin to have nothing to do with Essetir, which he was eternally grateful for. As much as he cared for and felt for the citizens, he just couldn’t find it within himself to do them any good when he still had trouble sleeping through the night. When he still flinched at the Knights’ playful punches or even Gaius reaching for something on a high shelf. When he had devolved into a panic attack while cataloging Uther’s secret magic vault in the library because the door had unexpectedly swung shut from a draft, and he had feared he was hopelessly stuck, only for George to free him less than a few heartbeats later, finding the mage on the ground, gasping for breath.

He would have only been lying to himself if he’d claimed not to be struggling immensely.

It wasn’t even fear, that was the infuriating part. He knew Cenred was gone, knew it just as he knew his own soul. He knew Arthur and the others would never allow him to be hurt in such a way again. He knew he was safe. And, truly, he did not fear for himself. Yet, each time he believed he had begun to recover, to cast the memories of Cenred’s torments from his mind, the most trivial of things would send him reeling once more.

For the first few months back in Camelot, there really had seemed to be no end to it. He struggled to eat, struggled to sleep, struggled to function. He couldn’t even walk for over three fortnights, confined to his bed with his ankle stiffly splinted. He shook all the time. He was constantly flinching, his eyes always scanning a silent vigil of every room. He couldn’t stand to be alone, but he couldn’t really stand to be with others either. He had even begun to find Aithusa’s—his beautiful, wonderful girl—presence sickeningly oppressive. It seemed no one knew how to help him. Gaius and Deagal had even gone to some nearby Druids, the very same ones that had first informed Gaius of how to break the curse, but he remained perpetually stuck in a constant state of anxiety.

Merlin had been back in Camelot for nearly eight months, and he was miserable.

Oh, everything was wonderful, but that didn’t change the fact that every waking moment Merlin felt as if he were drowning. He had no idea what was wrong with him, why he couldn’t just get over it. It wasn’t like Cenred was going to suddenly reappear and drag him back to Essetir. According to the others, they’d seen kindling more intact than Cenred. And Merlin was no necromancer, but he was fairly certain having a body to return to was one of the main facets to raising the dead. He would know, after all.
He just wanted to feel normal again, whatever normal was. Or, maybe, he just wanted to feel like he had before Cenred had ever entered his life, no matter how much of a fantasy that was. He resented how Cenred, even in death, had somehow still managed to take so much of Merlin with him to the grave. The warlock couldn’t even kiss the man he truly loved without a sour taste flooding his mouth.

He sat cross-legged on a stone bench in Queen Ygraine’s rose garden solarium. It was immaculately well kept by the palace gardener, even after all these years, and it was positively stunning. The flowers covered every spare surface not occupied by benches or walkways, washing the world in deep reds and elegant blues, soft yellows and purples, pure whites. Sunlight streamed through the glass walls and pooled on the cobblestones. The colors almost seemed to glow under the midmorning rays.

Merlin closed his eyes and took a deep, slow breath through his nose. The light, fresh sweetness was the first thing he registered, soon followed by a rich earthiness that caused his magic to hum pleasantly. He could feel the flowers in the earth, the way their roots spread, seeking out nutrients in the soil. He wasn’t a Druid, but the life in the little solarium was undeniable with the way it thrummed through his veins like an extension of his own soul. It was peaceful, yet not quiet in the slightest. That was partially why Ygraine’s garden had quickly became one of his favorite spots in the citadel, right next to Arthur’s chambers and the library. The flowers, for all their spirit, held no expectations of him.

He was so in tune with his hidden solace that he noticed the shift in the air the moment the new person entered the solarium without so much as cracking his eyes open. There were soft, hesitant footsteps against the stones and then the gentle rustling of fabric as the person settled next to him.

It was only then that he opened his eyes. He glanced over at Meredith, her pale face glowing nearly as much as the flowers in the sunlight. Her auburn hair shone like a sunset. Her eyes were bright, happy for the first time that Merlin had ever known her. Her cheeks were no longer sunken, her fair skin no longer littered with Cenred’s bruises any more than his own. Now clad in a light green dress and white apron, not the rags Cenred kept her in, Merlin noticed for the first time her simple beauty. She was young, not much older than he, with forest green eyes, a button nose, and dusty pink lips. Her figure was lithe, her skin dotted with sun freckles, and her auburn waves tied into a simple knot at the nape of her neck. He could easily see how she had once attracted Cenred’s affection.

“Hello, Meredith,” he greeted her. She gave him a gentle smile

“Have you been well?” She nodded.

“Have you enjoyed being Morgana’s maidservant?” Another nod.

“She treats you well?” Although, he was unsure why he even asked such an idiotic question. As if Morgana would ever treat her poorly.

“And Hugh is well, too? Enjoying Camelot?”

Again, Meredith nodded with a smile, and Merlin had nothing else to say.

It wasn’t that he had any animosity for her. Quite the contrary, actually. He wouldn’t be alive if it hadn’t been for her, multiple times over. It was still just so strange to see her here, in Camelot, free from Cenred as well. It was hard for him to look at her sometimes, knowing they had both felt Cenred in the most intimate way possible, had both suffered his abuses and had been pinned beneath him at one time or another, helpless to stop him from taking what he pleased.

A soft hand settled over his, and his gaze flicked down briefly before rising to meet hers. She was staring at him with a knowing expression.

“What?”

Meredith reached into the pocket of her apron and withdrew a quill and roll of parchment. She smoothed the parchment across her lap and began to write out a message in quick, practiced strokes.

Merlin tilted his head curiously. He had offered, numerous times since their return, to make an attempt at restoring her tongue so she might speak, or at least gain some of her speech back, but he had been turned down each time. One of his current projects was developing a way for Meredith to communicate telepathically, much in the same way he, Morgana, and Daegal did. But until then, it was the least he could do to charm her quill so it might never run out of ink and the parchment so that it would never end.

Meredith pushed the parchment towards him, and Merlin quickly scanned the words. You’re sad. I can see it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he dismissed. She scribbled something else and pushed it back before Merlin even had to pull his head away.

No sense in lying.

“I’m not—” he began to say but cut himself off when she gave him a knowing look, her kind green eyes warm and just a little exasperated.

Merlin sighed. “I’m not sad, per say. Just a bit…lost.”

I understand.

Merlin could no longer meet her eyes. He couldn’t look into them, seeing the weight of her true understanding shrouded in that kindness. He couldn’t exist knowing another soul had suffered nearly as much as he, and even then, he was never forced to bear that monster’s child. He didn’t need to see his own pain reflected back at him. He saw it every time he looks in the mirror, anyhow.

The hand settled over his once more, this time giving it a gentle squeeze. He knew she was asking a silent question, willing him to meet her gaze, but he simply couldn’t. All this time, he’d been wallowing in his own world of self-pity, feeling as if no one could possibly understand what he suffered despite their best efforts, when all along, someone who knew exactly what he had experienced had been right there. Meredith had felt the same pain and had still had the personal fortitude to raise a child despite it. She was stronger than he on any day, but she wasn’t the one feeling sorry for herself.

Merlin heard the quill scratching over the parchment again before it was being practically shoved under his nose.

I can hear you thinking. Stop it.

Merlin couldn’t help the amused snort. “You’ve been spending plenty of time with Morgana, I can see.”

She pulled the parchment away to write more. Merlin finally willed himself to look at her, to watch her deft fingers write out her thoughts faster than any scribe he had ever witnessed. Still, he couldn’t imagine how wholly vexing it must be to have to write down every single thought. If he had to write down each of his thoughts separately, it would be all he got done in a day.

“Why won’t you let me help you?”

Funny, you and then Because I do not desire your help.

Merlin spluttered. “But you could possibly speak again! You would no longer have to spend so long just expressing your thoughts!”

It was a long moment before she showed him the parchment again. I do not desire your help because I am not suffering. I am at peace with who I am, and what Cenred did to me. I survived him, and I do not wish to have my battle scar taken from me any more than a knight would. That is why your magic did not heal me as it did the rest.

“It did not heal you because you chose for it not to?”

Meredith made a so-so gesture and quickly scribbled something else down. Something like that. I am comfortable with my condition. I have existed this way for many years. But Daegal, for example, was not at peace. His arm wound was fresh. Your magic made it so he did not have to suffer any longer, but I do not suffer.

Merlin read those words, astonished, a sick sense of guilt settling heavy in his chest. “Meredith, I don’t know what to say. All those years, I sat by and watched Cenred do all that he did to you. On some level,” he took a deep breath as he prepared to admit something he had never truly admitted to himself, “on some level I even resented you. Not that I wanted Cenred’s attention, but I suppose some part of me had always sort of dreamed of a fairy tale. I grew up seeing how much my parents adored each other, and I always wanted that for myself. And seeing Cenred turn his attention to another, especially one who was much prettier than myself, it hurt, as much as I didn’t want it to.”

Meredith was nodding in understanding as she wrote. There was nothing that you could have done to help me, any more than there was that I could for you. And I suppose I resented you, as well. Cenred dared to make me with child, but would not give me the slightest acknowledgement otherwise, not even his child. But you did not even ask for his attention, and he betrothed you. She wrinkled her nose, smirking slightly as she wrote, If it is any consolation, I do believe he preferred you to me.

Merlin matched her disgusted expression. “I can’t say that is one of my proudest boasts.”

She laughed silently, her mouth wide and an odd clicking noise emanating from her throat. Merlin grinned at the happy sound; it was the first he had truly ever heard from her.

“You know,” Merlin said, “I never did get to thank you for putting that knife under my pillow. How could you have ever dreamt I would need it?”

This time, Meredith’s pale cheeks flushed pink, and she looked away, ashamed. It took a while, that time, before she began to write again.

I did not, really. I never thought it would end the way it did. I only thought, if nothing else, it might provide you an out.

“To simply take my own life?” Merlin asked. Meredith nodded. “Well, regardless, I owe you my life.”

Then I owe you twice that. Mine and Hugh’s.

“I do believe you owe those to Arthur. I had no hand in the matter. I was quite dead, after all.”

Meredith did her little laugh again as she levelled him with a knowing smirk. Ah, Arthur.

Merlin read the words and rolled his eyes. “What of him?”

I’m happy for you. You deserve true love.

“We’re not anything right now, Meredith.”

As if that matters. I never had the pleasure of meeting your parents, but I would wager a guess that the two of you look at each other much the same way as they did.

As Merlin read those words, he found his eyes becoming suddenly misty with tears. He sniffled. “Thank you, Meredith. I…I needed this.”

Meredith pressed a hand to his heart and showed him the parchment. We all need to know we’re not alone. I have made peace with my scars; now, it is time for you to do the same.

She returned the parchment and quill to her pocket and wrapped him in a soft hug. He buried his head in her shoulder, catching a whiff of freshly baked bread on her dress mingled amongst the flowers’ fragrances all around them. She placed a hand on his cheek, gave his chest one more pat, and rose from the bench, brushing the nonexistent dirt from her apron. She turned to leave with one more smile, but Merlin called after her.

“How did you know where to find me?”

She paused long enough to pull her two utensils from their storage and to jot down a message. She held it up to him, and he squinted in the sunlight to read the words there.
You have always loved flowers. Who do you think put a fresh bouquet in your chambers in Essetir each day?

Merlin watched her leave, stunned. Those flowers had been the only spot of color in his otherwise desolate chambers, the only reminder that there was a world that existed beyond those cold stone walls. He had always assumed some poor servant put them there each day to try and garner his attention. He never dreamt it was Meredith.
And she really thought she had never helped him.

He leaned down and plucked a deep crimson rose from a nearby bush, brought it to his nose, and inhaled its deep, earthy scent. He smiled, his chest feeling lighter than it had in a long time, and carefully wrapped the flower in a handkerchief for later. Maybe they could help each other.

“Where did you go just now?” Arthur inquired as he stroked Merlin’s cheekbone.

“Far from you.”

Arthur pinched the warm skin of his hip with the hand resting on his waist. “Cheeky.”

Merlin laughed, a true, overjoyed laugh. “Just thinking about a good memory. A really good memory.”

“What was it?” Arthur pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter. It just really helped me feel better. It’s actually what made me get rid of the No Kissing Rule, once and for all.”

Arthur kissed his cheek. “Well, thank.” He pressed one to the other cheek. “The gods.” His forehead. “For that.” He ended by pressing a deep kiss to his lips, heated as he snaked his hands beneath Merlin’s tunic once more.

They were like that, pressed together on Arthur’s bed, languidly kissing and touching, when there was a sharp rap on the chamber doors and before either could pull away from the other, Morgana was letting herself into the room.

“Mother, Maiden, and Crone, Morgana!” Arthur exclaimed, pulling back to shoot his sister a glare. “What if we had been naked?”

She arched an eyebrow. “Looks like you were taking your time with that then. Merlin looks bored to death.”

Merlin felt his face flush, but Arthur rolled his eyes. “What do you want?”

“I thought you’d both like to know that Gwen and Lance’s baby is here. But if you wish to return to your activities—”

“Why didn’t you just lead with that, Morgana?” Arthur demanded. He clamored off the bed and rushed to pull on his boots, Merlin doing the same, albeit at a much more acceptable pace.

Morgana huffed. “I was quite distracted by your attempts to swallow Merlin whole.”

“Morgana!” Merlin chastised, his ears burning. She wrapped her arm around his shoulders.

“Don’t be like that, dear. It’s not your fault that you’re being courted by a brute.”

“Are you quite finished?” Arthur demanded, but Morgana was already pulling Merlin towards the door. He threw a pleading look at the king. “Where are you going?”

“To see the baby, you halfwit! Are you coming, or not?” Morgana called over her shoulder.

There was a small gathering outside of Lancelot and Gwen’s chambers. Percival and Leon were leant against the wall across from the doors with Elyan pacing back and forth, like a caged animal.

“Keep that up, and the new floor runner will be coming out of your monthly wage, Elyan,” Arthur said.

“Aye,” a new voice agreed, and Will appeared around the corner, George on his heels. “He’s been wearin’ a path in that carpet since the Lady Guinevere went inta labor. S’why I went to fetch George, get the poor man some water.”

George quickly went about filling Elyan a chalice of water while Arthur gave Will a grin, all teeth, and Merlin could already tell what was coming. He sighed, exasperated, as he usually was with his First Mate and his King’s antics.

“That was very kind of you, Sir William,” Arthur said, and Will glowered. He hated the title, more than anything, but it had been Arthur’s one stipulation to giving him command of Camelot’s entire naval fleet—he had to accept knighthood and a seat at The Round Table. Will despised nobility, and it killed him inside to become one himself, but much like Gwaine once had, Will soon discovered that Arthur was one noble worth fighting for. It was a small price to pay for the actual job he got from the exchange, which allowed him to still sail as he pleased while also being back in Camelot frequently.

“Alright, I was promised a baby,” Morgana said, pushing her way to the middle of the group.

“Gaius just came out to inform us. They’re cleaning her up now,” Leon said.

Merlin smiled. “So, it’s a little girl then?”

Leon nodded. “Cute little lassie from what Gaius says, too.”

They fell into an almost awkward silence. Not that they couldn’t just enjoy each other’s company or make simple conversation, but what exactly were they meant to say to one another knowing Gwen had just given birth on the other side of the door?

Percival cleared his throat. “Bit quiet with Gwaine and Freya off on their honeymoon tour, isn’t it?”

“I jus’ can’t believe Frey’s married. To Gwaine no less. Never thought either one of ‘em was the marryin’ type,” Will said.

Arthur snorted. “They are quite similar. Gods above know that man can’t stand a moment of silence.”

“Nor can Freya,” Merlin said. “Once she woke me in the middle of the night in a panic to inform me that some glowing creature was following our ship beneath the waves. It was, in fact, the reflection of the moon on the water. Needless to say, I started keeping the key to the room where we stored the rum barrels in my quarters.”

Everyone laughed at that, and the memory made him smile. It was nice to have memories from that time that weren’t completely tainted by Cenred.

Just then, the doors to the Du Lac’s chambers swung open, and Gaius eyed them all critically. “Come in, all of you, if you must. But Gwen needs her rest, and the new parents need time to bond with the baby.”

“Oh, let them be, Gaius,” Gwen called as they all pushed their way into the rooms. “I’m quite alright. Aithusa’s magic has done wonders for me. Why, I hardly feel tired at all! What a good girl you are!”

She was sitting up in bed, propped against a multitude of pillows, Aithusa curled up at her feet. The young dragon thumped her tail happily against the bedding, preening under the praise, and Merlin couldn’t help but roll his eyes fondly. She’d be bristling her scales over this for the next sennight.

The moment she saw Merlin, however, she bounded off the bed and would’ve fully tackled him to the ground had Leon not had the foresight to catch them both before they met the floor. Aithusa was chirping and making quiet clicking noises from deep in her throat as she nuzzled under his chin and licked his throat excitedly. Merlin grimaced. Not only was dragon saliva just about one of the vilest substances, all thick and gooey, but her breath smelled horrendous, and her tongue felt like rocks raking across his skin.

He pushed her away. “Aw, hell, get down.” He wrinkled his nose while he made a vain attempt to wipe the saliva off his neck. She swatted his leg lightly with her tail. “Yes, yes, you’ve been a wonderful girl. So helpful, making Gwen feel better. Now, go see Morgana. Give her kisses.”

Aithusa roared and wrapped herself around Morgana’s legs, who bent down and scratched her right behind the ear. “Oh, you are such a pretty girl. Don’t let the mean warlock tell you otherwise.”

“Thanks a lot, ‘Gana,” Merlin grumbled. “Turning my own dragon against me.”

Morgana had fully knelt down to give Aithusa a good belly scratch. “I can’t help it if she likes me better.”

Arthur cleared his throat. “If you two please, there’s a new baby we came to meet, if you haven’t forgotten.”

Gaius hadn’t lied to Leon when he’d told him that she was adorable. All wrapped up in a dusty rose-colored swaddle and cradled in Gwen’s arms, she had the tiniest little button nose Merlin had ever seen. Her cheeks were flushed pink and tufts of dark brown hair already curled from beneath the blanket. Her shiny chocolate eyes, so much like her mother’s blinked back up at him as he leaned over her.

“Oh, Gwen, she’s breathtaking,” he murmured, and Gwen smiled.

“Why thank you! Looks like her father, does she not?”

Lancelot, who was sitting on the bed next to Gwen, snorted. “Not a chance. Spitting image of you, my dear.”

“I think she looks like both of you,” Daegal piped up from across the room. He was methodically cleansing some medical tools and tucking them away into his well-worn satchel.

“Thank you, Daegal,” Gwen said. “You were wonderful, sweetheart. You’re becoming a fine physician.”

“Bound to put Gaius out of a job any day now,” Lancelot agreed. The old physician grumbled something under his breath, but there was a kind smile on his face.

“Alright, alright,” Morgana said. “What’s this beautiful little lady’s name?”

“Elinor,” Gwen answered easily. “It means light. And on top of that…” she glanced at Merlin, who nodded minutely, “we cleared it with Merlin already. We wanted to pay homage to Ealdor, as long as it was okay with him, and Elinor sounds close enough to Balinor.”

“That’s wonderful,” Arthur said. He was crouched down beside the bed, stroking one finger against the baby’s cheek. “Isn’t it, Elinor? You’ve got some big shoes to fill, it would seem. But if you’re anything like your parents, I’m sure that won’t be an issue.”

Merlin watched Arthur interacting with the baby and felt a peculiar warmth bloom in his chest. When he’d been small, he had always dreamt of having kids of his own, but that dream had been quickly snuffed out by Cenred. Now, though…well, Merlin could certainly see how Arthur would interact with their child, if his obvious adoration for this little lady was anything to go by.

By that time, Elyan had pushed his way to the front of their little entourage. “Alright, now, I’ve waited plenty long enough. I dare say it’s time she meets her Uncle Elyan.”

Merlin smiled as Elyan knelt next to Arthur, talking softly to his sweet niece. “Thank you,” Merlin said to Lancelot and Gwen. “You guys really didn’t have to do this. But it means more than you’ll ever know.”

“We wanted to. Merlin, you’ve changed all of our lives so much. Without you, our daughter would never get to experience a world where people didn’t have to live in fear just for being born the way they are. Now, she has the opportunity to learn magic if she so chooses, and even if not, she still will not have to exist in a kingdom ruled by tyranny and terror. We never got to meet your father, but from what I’ve heard, he was the kind of ruler we want our daughter to know. We’ll never be able to repay you for all you’ve done,” Lancelot said.

“And besides,” Gwen added, “without you, this beautiful girl wouldn’t even be here. I surely would have perished that day on the Isles.”

Arthur stood and wrapped his arm around Merlin’s waist, kissing his cheek. “They’re right, love.”

“Guys…” Merlin choked.

“Just take the compliments and move on, dear,” Morgana said.

“Move on, indeed,” Gaius said. “You people, always making me out to be the bad guy for having to kick you out when people need rest. Say goodbye to the happy couple and out, out.” He even made a shooing motion with his hand.

Arthur leant down until his lips were pressed to the shell of Merlin’s ear. “Let’s take this back to my chambers, hmm? I’ve got a surprise for you.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

But Arthur only grinned like a cat who got the cream, and Merlin had no choice but to follow him from the rooms.

The chamber doors had barely closed before Arthur was pinning Merlin against them, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his neck.

Merlin gripped the back of Arthur’s tunic. “Gods, Arthur,” he gasped, “it’s been but two candle marks since we left. Are you really this desperate?”

“For you? Always.” Arthur paused his assault to look Merlin in the eyes, “But I’ve had something else on my mind.”

Merlin smirked. “Oh, really? I was coming under the impression that laying with me was all you thought of.”

“It’s most of what I think of.”

“Best not to think of it too much. You haven’t got much room up there to spare.”

Arthur huffed, feigning annoyance. “Really? Must you always ruin the mood?”

“You would think something was wrong if I didn’t. And besides, both you and I know we don’t need any mood for that.”

Arthur gave him a searing kiss. “Yes, you’re exactly right. I can do it in any mood.”

“Arthur Pendragon!”

“Merlin Ambrosius,” Arthur retorted, as he always did, only this time, there was a hint of something else, a lilt to his voice, almost like he was hiding something. He hummed contemplatively, took Merlin’s hand, and led him over to the window that overlooked the kingdom, snagging something off his bureau as they passed.

Arthur wrapped himself around Merlin from behind, and the warlock sighed, leaning back into Arthur’s embrace.

“Merlin Ambrosius,” Arthur said again, behaving like the words sounded strange.

“Yes, that’s my name. Very astute.”

Very slowly, clearly giving Merlin time to pull away if he wished, Arthur took Merlin’s left hand in his, thoughtfully stroking the blackened skin around his ring finger, a permanent scar from when Cenred’s ring had combusted with the explosion of his magic. Merlin had spent months too disgusted to even look at his hand, and even now, he avoided doing so if it could be helped. No matter what they did, nothing seemed to be able to remove the blemish, and Gaius said it was a mark of a very dark curse. Merlin was lucky not to have lost his entire hand.

He certainly hadn’t felt lucky in the months following Cenred’s death, but now he saw it for what it was: a symbol of his strength and his unwavering love for Arthur.

“You’re unmatched, you know that?” Arthur murmured.

“Even my charred finger?”

Arthur laughed. “Yes, my love, even that.”

Merlin tilted his head back and ghosted a kiss along Arthur’s jaw. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Arthur took a deep breath, and Merlin could feel it shudder against his back in a way it did only when Arthur was anxious. Worry spiked in Merlin’s chest.

“Arthur, what is it? Whatever it is, just tell me.”

“Calm down, dear. It’s nothing bad. Quite the contrary. Well, at least I hope it is, anyway. What I’m getting at in the most horrid way,” he chuckled self-deprecatingly, “is that you are beautiful. Your name is beautiful as well. But I only thought—"

“Arthur?”

“—maybe you’d like to change it. To, um, Pendragon, that is.”

Merlin froze in shock. Had he really just—?

“Did you—did you just propose to me?” He pulled himself from Arthur’s grip and whirled around. “Was that a proposal, Arthur?”

Arthur blanched. It was almost comical. He fumbled with a deep purple silk bag he pulled from his pocket and withdrew what had to be the most gorgeous pair of leather wrist cuffs Merlin had ever seen. They were clearly high quality, deep brown and glossy. The closer Merlin looked, the more little details he could see. The clasps were made of soft cord, easily removable. And each was carved with stunning, intricate images, a triskelion and a Pendragon dragon amongst other various symbols of the Old Religion.

Arthur was shaking. “I¬–I figured you’d never want to, um, never want to wear a ring again. So–so I thought…I only thought, maybe, the cuffs would be better. They’re, um, handmade and the clasps are made for–for easy removal if you get overwhelmed. It’s stupid; I’m sorry—”

“Arthur, stop,” Merlin whispered. He grasped Arthur’s wrist gently, and the blonde’s eyes rose to meet his, soft and anxious and more vulnerable than Merlin had seen them in a long time. “They’re gorgeous.”

“You don’t have to accept, Merlin. I never should have assumed—I never want you to feel pressured—”

“Arthur,” Merlin said firmly, “I only told you to stop because I was going to ask, what happened to kneeling for a proper proposal?”

Arthur’s eyes lit up at that. He took a deep breath, the arrogant Arthur Pendragon he knew and usually loved, easily slipping back into place as he got down on one knee.

“Merlin Ambrosius, would you do me the honor of giving me your hand in marriage?”

Merlin couldn’t even see Arthur through his tears. “Gods, yes. Get up here, you dollophead.”

Arthur crashed into Merlin’s arms, kissing him with all the ferocity he had only a candle mark before, against the door.

Merlin laughed against Arthur’s lips. “Do you remember, one cold night long ago, when I tried to escape your ship by launching the rowboat, and you caught me?”

“Of course, I do. We wouldn’t be here had you succeeded.”

“Well, then you must remember what I said to you.”

Arthur smiled. “I believe it was something along the lines of ‘a night with me would be truly magical.’”

“Yes, well, how do you feel about a lifetime?”

Arthur laughed. “I love you.”

“With all your heart, clotpole?”

“With all my heart, idiot.”