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Chapter Text

It was done. Camelot had fallen. Uther had been slain and Arthur had cruelly been made to witness. It’d all happened with such speed that he almost thought it was a dream. The moments came back to him in visions. Bits and pieces awaking him to the fatal mistakes leading to the death of his father and the downfall of his kingdom.

The morning after Cenred had forcibly taken the throne, the young (now former) prince was ripped from his hiding place in the lower towns to be taken in shackles to his new king. Arthur could not do much more other than walk himself as bravely as he could into the room where his father had once spent many of his waking hours. He tried to hold a steady, unfeeling gaze to the stranger that wore his father’s crown, trying to forget that the entire high court of Essetir was watching his every move. His hands trembled despite him and it was difficult to think straight. He needed to find a way out of this situation. There were a few among them that he recognized, in one corner the castle's servants collected and watched him in horror. Many had been slaughtered, as one can expect from such a siege, now only a few, closer friends remained. The great hall that had once been so familiar to him, now changed forever with the blood of his father and his people left to dry on the floor. Despite it, it being filled with onlookers. The room hadn’t been this full of life in quite some time. The irony was not lost on Arthur. 

He was led to the front of the crowd. All eyes on the blond that was meant to be leading them. 

“Kneel.” Cenred commanded him imperiously. 

Arthur tightened his jaw. Was it more advantageous to allow himself to be debased like this or to abandon all hope and be carried off kicking and screaming? Think ! Apparently, he had taken too long to decide because a strong hand pushed his shoulder down to force him to the floor. The stones were cold. The air was tense. He tried to conceal his contempt. His thoughts were racing. 

“There’s a good boy,” the King cooed.

He felt all of his anger and confusion turn to bile in his throat.

Arthur had had the pleasure of meeting King Cenred a handful of times in his life and not one of these meetings did he look back fondly upon. Cenred had always been a daft brute, which is why House Pendragon never thought him capable of something like this. They'd never assumed him a threat, but as it turns out, well... you know what they say about making assumptions.

“You have a choice, Arthur Pendragon,” Cenred shifted his body to splay himself more comfortably on the throne that was meant to be his. “Either we will allow you an honorable death before your people and you may join your father, or you could sign yourself over to me as an indentured servant.”

Cenred’s counselors snickered at the thought. Their robes were spun with rich patterns and colors that could only be supplied by the wealthiest of the wealthy. It was ostentatious and tacky, even for Cenred. Arthur supposed he could fight approximately three of them off at a time with the element of surprise, but he knew if he tried anything now, they would fall onto him like darkness in a storm. They eyed him, waiting amusedly for him to deliver them his decision or to do anything at all. The whole room was a-twitter with speculation. 

Arthur’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected to walk out of this room alive. Surely it was better to die with pride than to allow his people to bear witness to his own prolonged degradation, but on the other hand he couldn’t very well take back what was his if he were dead. He knew Cenred. He was a cruel and bitter man and he was capable of great horrors if it pleased him. What would become of his home and the people that lived here? Trouble had been brewing between the kingdoms for months, now Cenred had what he wanted and not much use for the ways of the city as Arthur had known them. It would be a massacre and Arthur simply could not protect the people who had shown him such loyalty if he were dead. It was time to pay back his debts in any way he could. 

Arthur took a breath. “I will become your servant, my liege ” he said, bowing his head to hide his grief. There was a great murmuring from the crowd. The words coming out of his mouth tasted wrong to him. It didn’t even sound like his voice speaking. He would no longer be prince and he would never be king, at the very least he could be there for his people during a time of strife. 

“Excellent!” Cenred clapped with glee, “you shall join the others and hereby be stripped of your titles.”

He is such a fool.

Immediately guards hoisted the former prince up by the arms and had him join the other servants of the room. Amongst them, Gwen offered him a pained, regretful expression. One of Cenred’s advisors, the one swathed in green robes to his immediate right side then spoke up, not turning to his king. “My lord, would it not be wise to separate our new servant from his former subjects lest he try something foolish?”

Cenred thought for a moment. “That is an excellent point, thank you Emrys.” 

Arthur seethed in anger but bit it back. He sent daggers mentally to that man who in turn met his rage with a soft, knowing expression. He didn’t know how he was going to do this if he didn’t have others. He was alone.

“In fact,” Cenred continued, “I’ll bestow him upon you as your own manservant as a gift for your fealty.” 

Arthur’s breath caught painfully in his chest at the thought. 

“That’s very generous, Sire, I’ll have him a well-trained dog within the fortnight.” 

It was one thing to be a kitchenaid, physician’s assistant, or even a stablehand, but to be the personal manservant of a high official - well, that was something of a nightmare for him. He’d heard the stories of people going missing or worse while supposedly under the protection of the nobility. Many had no concept of human decency or morality, because, in all honesty, they could afford to do without. 

Yet, it was better that they took him who had been taking beatings all his life, he who was strong to fight whoever needed to die. He couldn't imagine what could have happened if the same sentence had been awarded to Gwen, if she had been placed into Cenred's slimy hands like this. No, surely it was better him than anyone. 

It was a fate worse than death, but it was his fate nonetheless and he had nothing left to lose. 

____________

That night they allowed him to wash. He shed his bloodied tunic and old trousers, peeling them off his tired body. He stepped carefully into the freezing water, having not yet examined himself for bruises or broken bones since the swift battle had been lost. It hadn’t occurred to him until this moment how exhausted he was. He watched his hands shake, unable to calm them. Every inch of his body seemed to be sore, but what hurt most was the pain behind his eyes. 

As he ran the water down his back, Arthur sank back into the events that had led him here. It had been entirely unexpected, the attack that had taken place in the dead of night. He remembered being jolted awake by an eruption from somewhere beyond his tower. He’d rushed to his window to see an enormous glowing light pass through the air, seemingly taking hours to reach its destination but in reality, it was likely only seconds. His heart sunk into the pit of his stomach and he swore he could actually feel heat from the object, even from that great distance. It crashed into the walls of the city, one more and their first line of defense would be totally useless. He hadn’t quite understood at the time, but later it would be made abundantly clear that his father’s disdain for sorcery made for an immense gaping hole in their defenses, having not been able to study it, they didn’t know how to protect themselves from it much less use it to their own advantage. 

From then on, it was a slaughter. The intruders were outnumbered four-to-one and yet they were still able to push through with hardly a scratch. At the head of them, one man doing the work of twenty, likely on account of his sorcery. Arthur watched frozen in horror from his far-off vantage point as everything he’d known was burning. After a few moments, the notion of urgency sunk in and he was roused from his catatonic state.

He shifted to submerge himself in the tub water, his head slipping under entirely. It’d have been so easy to just end it all there. Could have found a way to hold his body under long enough to just fade away. Likely much easier than the route he’d chosen.

Oh god. What had he done? Would it have been better to just give up than likely end up a pleasure slave for some barbaric noble? It sent shivers down his spine. What would his life come to? What would his people think of him? 

No. If he were a man with weaker spirit, he’d just roll over and die. This was his duty to his kingdom. No matter that it was no longer technically his. If he wanted even the slightest possibility of returning to his rightful place, he’d need to endure and survive. It was then that he made a silent pact with himself from the last comforts of his bath that he would do whatever he needed to - for Camelot. 

Arthur sighed deeply, letting all the air out of his lungs. He sunk back into the tub, cherishing these last moments of autonomy. 

____________

Arthur stared, awake, at the ceiling from the floor of his cell. Around him were the noisy snores of a guard, which would have prevented his own sleep to come if the possibilities in store for him weren't already driving him mad. He tried to quell these thoughts by determining a plan. The problem was that if he wanted a sliver of a chance to overthrow Cenred and his men, he would need help. A lot of help. He’d seen first hand what they could do to a crowd of trained warriors, it seemed hopeless on his own. Not to mention that bastard, that he would soon be calling “Master,” who’d been cleverer than Arthur wanted to give him credit for isolating him from prospective insurrectionists. He hadn’t even had time to mourn his father. 

Oh god. He’d never get to say  goodbye.

The role of king does not tend to come with the promise of a long life, that’s no secret. Despite it, Arthur expected to have more time. He knew nothing about him. He’d hoped to make him a grandfather, to make him proud, but that day would never come. 

At some point during the night Arthur fell into a dreamless state. And then at some point during the morning he was ripped from his sleep and made to dress in a modest servant outfit. The itchy wool tunic gnawed at his skin and hung off him, rather unflatteringly, despite his impressive stature. How could anyone live like this? The guards watched him as he dressed himself in foreign garb. Arthur didn’t recognise the man, must’ve been of Cenred’s men. He wondered what had happened to all the people that he had known.

“Right, that’s enough,” the guard said brusquely and grabbed him by the bicep. They roughed him down the hall like a disorderly dog and made him to kneel once again at Cedric’s feet in front of all of his men. 

“I have a gift for you, my boy,” Cenred eyed him, but Arthur didn’t dare meet his gaze. He felt sick to his stomach when the old man even perceived him. 

“I had it made personally for you out of something that was once yours.” 

Arthur glanced up to see the man presenting the remains of his princely crown; he could still make out the distinct artisan pattern that he’d once been so proud to show off. The object was no longer fit to sit upon the head of a grown man, but instead to fasten around the neck like a collar. 

“It’s so you don’t forget your place and so no one else will either,” Cenred nodded to one of his men, who brought it tightly around Arthur's neck and fastened it with a click .

He took his first gasping breath as a prisoner. It was tight and required him to adjust. Something flared up within him when the collar closed around him. It was difficult to explain, like some mix of rage, hopelessness, and para-nervous excitement.

“Now you say ‘thank you’ to your king,” the guard growled in his ear.

“Thank you, my liege,” Arthur repeated robotically, staring at nothing at all.

There was still time. He could fix this. He was strong enough to live like this for a couple days -maybe weeks if he was slow to come up with something. Maybe he could find a way to sneak out that night even, he knew the ins and outs of the city, he knew the tunnels beneath and what they held. He could go down and-

“Take him to the stables and have him muck it out. We shall start the new reign justly, without the old shit- ha ha!” Cenred bellowed grotesquely to his subjects, who cheered and clapped as Arthur was whisked from the room.

Chapter Text

Arthur smelled foul. It’d taken him all morning to turn the stables as they had been so terribly neglected in the days since the coup. The work was taxing but not difficult. With each movement of the pitchfork, he felt the tightness of the collar around his neck. It choked him, but he gave no visible sign of discomfort. Arthur worked out all the kinks of their chainmail and buffed the helmets. All this work under the watchful eye of Radholde, a man who clearly sought only the approval of his king. Radholde had been appointed to oversee the work of the new servant and show him how to do things correctly, which vexed the bootlicker because he clearly had his own very important matters to attend to. Radholde looked down his nose in disgust and barked at him to redo the work in his grizzly Essetirian manner. If there was even a sliver of indignance he saw in Arthur’s face, he’d come up with some other menial task to give to him. Once Arthur made a false move, chinking a chain hood and was quickly hit with an open hand across his face. Radholde threatened to bring a belt for tomorrow. It was swift and the pain left quickly, with only a split lip left to mark its place. He’d had worse.

He hits like a girl.

Once or twice Arthur cut himself sharpening the swords. His hands were large and clumsy and much better adapted for war, they hadn’t been trained to bust out the smallest details that were asked of them. 

“You should’ve chosen death, boy,” Radholde hissed, “you’re not suited for much else.”

With a silent huff, Arthur returned to his work. He did so until he was banished from Radholde’s sight sometime that evening. He knew that it was time to bring his master his supper. He felt a burning rage in his gut at the thought. 

Maybe I can slip one of the smaller daggers into my sleeve to cut his throat with. 

He had to fight this. He had to survive. There was nothing left.

Arthur made his way to the kitchens as Radholde had instructed him. Strange that he’d eaten from this room three meals a day for all of his twenty-years and yet he’d never seen the kitchen. The cooks may not even know his face. He hoped to god they didn’t know his face. 

It wasn’t a large room, but it seemed to be large enough. There were maybe five people flitting about, frantically fretting over each of their little tasks. It was a big night after all! The king shall have his first proper meal in his newly acquired kingdom! Everything had to be perfect. (Not that Cenred was exactly a connoisseur of the finer things.) 

“For Emrys?” a stout woman with frizzy hair piped up in monotone. 

Arthur nodded and she motioned to the silver platter in front of her. He looked at the three course meal meant for someone else and realized he hadn’t eaten all day. His stomach growled.

Maybe just a bit off the side, he thought to himself, eyeing the mashed potatoes. 

He’d almost made it down the hall to snag a bite when someone caught his arm and yanked him to the corner, nearly sending the full plate to the floor. 

“God, Prince Arthur!” Guinevere shrieked in a whisper. She pulled him into a hug, leaving him awkwardly holding the tray in one hand as he tried to return the gesture with the other. 

She pulled back to look at him, frantically scanning his face with his head between her hands, “What have they done to you, are you hurt?” She brushed her thumb against his bruised lip, but everything else seemed to be intact. 

Arthur had always thought she’d had a thing for him and he’d be lying to say that he hadn’t noticed her too. They’d hardly ever spoken before. She was a strange girl, a bit awkward, but Morgana had always adored her. 

Oh.

He hadn’t even really thought about his sister since she fled the kingdom. He wondered if she was alive, if she knew what had become of him, maybe word had gotten out. 

Arthur shook his head. Every possible thing had been ripped from him, but he was still in one piece. 

They heard a door close from somewhere off and footsteps leisurely entering the hall.

“Okay, I’ll let you get back to it,” she said, wiping an eye on her sleeve. She just looked at him for a moment, sadly. “I just can’t believe what they’ve done. It’s dreadful. We’ll find a way out of this mess.” 

He smiled at her before she turned to walk down the hall. She looked back at him before she turned the corner and he was just left there with someone else’s meal. If ever he felt up for what he was about to do, his strength failed him now. He half debated finishing the tray himself and making a mad-dash for the woods. Surely, whatever animal is lurking between the trees is kinder than the court. 

He couldn’t afford that now. He was weak and tired and the light had already fled the sky. It would be suicide. There would be other opportunities. They were watching him now. 

Arthur retraced familiar steps through the official’s wing. He took note of the guards that stood their ground. He felt stupid and humiliated. He knocked on the great oak door.

“Come.”

Arthur pushed it open with his free hand. It was a guest room, perhaps the nicest one, but it wasn’t where he’d expected to find the king’s right-hand man. The room had been largely unchanged as he’d remembered it. The large bed was still draped in Pendragon Red and he suspected it would remain so. Just another vestige of the life he’d once led. The only difference Arthur could see was that the furniture had been haphazardly pushed against the walls and that there were clothes strewn about. That, and the man who’d made himself rather comfortable in the armchair next to the hearth. 

This was Emrys. He didn’t acknowledge the blond, he seemed too engrossed in a book. Arthur stood awkwardly, awaiting instructions. He hadn’t been much informed on how to go about being an indentured servant. 

Arthur tried to size the man up. He had long, raven hair that brushed past his ears and a rather impressive stubble. Arthur couldn’t quite make out his stature from under all the customary robes, but he wagered he could take him in a fight if he needed to… depending on the rumors of his magic. 

Arthur tried to recount everything he knew about the man. 

He’s Cenred’s personal advisor. 

He's a sorcerer.

He does not seem to be that old.

…And that was the exhaustive list. 

“You can put the tray down, you don’t have to just stand there,” the man said rather flatly from the corner. Arthur set the food on the table. There was a very strange feeling in the air, like a sort of living quietness, like a waiting. Surely something was there, waiting and it wasn’t him.  

Arthur cleared his throat. “Is there anything else I can… do for you?” 

“No, that’ll be all.”

Arthur nodded once to himself and turned to leave. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” 

He stopped and turned back around. This time, the piercing eyes of the sorcerer were on him, unwavering. Arthur felt a chill through his spine. This was the man that put him here, and now he wanted to watch him eat? What was he playing at?

“You want me to eat your food?” Arthur didn’t understand. He tried to imagine how this could possibly be to Emrys’ advantage. Had he poisoned it somehow? 

“I don’t want you to do anything, I figured you’d be starved. If you won’t eat it, you can just take it away.” 

“No, I’ll eat it,” Arthur sat down. He wasn’t going to waste a good meal. “Thank you,” he added.

He fought the urge to shovel the food into his gullet. He wanted to come off as dignified, as though he still thought very highly of himself and as though he hadn’t just gone two and a half days without a meal. 

Arthur felt the gaze linger on him as he ate. It was unnerving. Maybe forcing people to eat is what gets him off, he thought to himself (not that he’d forced him). It wouldn’t have surprised him much, he’d heard of far stranger fantasies that members of his father’s own court had maids and servants play out for them. He supposed of all of them, having his own stomach filled is likely among the most appetizing to him (pun not intended). 

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimmer of amusement on Emrys’ face, who had returned to his reading. This made Arthur's blood boil. He wasn’t here to be his amusement… at least he hoped not. So, what was he here for? 

It doesn’t matter, Arthur thought, I’ll sleep for an hour and try to escape tonight. Don’t want to stick around to see what this bastard has in store for me. 

“Take the dishes back when you’ve finished. You’ll be putting my room in order tomorrow, but don’t touch the furniture.” 

Arthur nodded in response. It felt strange to be ordered around. His first instinct was to protest, then he realized it wasn’t his place. But that’s okay, he won’t need to get used to it. 

___________________

That night, he’d been graduated to sleep in the middle of the guards’ quarters. He supposed they’d expect him to do better work having not slept the night on cold, hard stone. There were a dozen sleepily, sputtering men surrounding him, ready to subdue him if they heard so much as a mouse fart, but he was grateful for a cot to sleep in. Almost too grateful to leave it then a few hours later.

Arthur had been known for his prowess in the field, not for his intellect. He had, however, been smart enough to take with him the bucket of water, with which the guards would wash their hands and faces in, and a knife from dinner. The trick was carrying it out of the room slow enough to not spill, but quick enough to not awaken them. He would then need to find somewhere to dump the water to not raise any suspicion. If he could carry an empty bucket as far as the lower towns, at the very least he could have an alibi, that he was merely out fetching water, should he get caught sneaking out. From there it would be easy to slip through the cracks. 

Arthur let out a breath. It had to be now. He opened the door calmly and walked through the hall as though he was meant to be there at this ungodly hour. Footsteps entered the hallway from behind him, but he tried to maintain his pace, not daring to look over his shoulder to see who it could’ve been. His heart was pumping so loudly and quickly that he almost thought it could be heard. The knife was knocking around in his boot. It was only a kitchen knife, really couldn’t cause as much damage as he would’ve liked, but it was good in a snap.

Eventually, the footsteps faded and he continued through a side door that was little known. This led out to a little footpath behind the stables. Arthur didn’t dare take a horse, although he did think about it. Though it would’ve made travel much easier, it would have been more complicated to get through the gates unnoticed, and it was better to think only about the next step in situations like these than to get ahead of oneself. 

He paused to listen. There was not a human sound in the whole vicinity. Only the sounds of night and far off wilderness floated through the darkness. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, as it felt, for the first time in his life. He could almost laugh. They’d beaten him, they’d enslaved him, but they could not break his spirit. This nightmare was nearly over and he felt finally free of it, but he didn’t want to get ahead of himself so early.

Not too far off, there was a break in the gate. It was a hole filled in by rocks and to the untrained eye, it was nearly imperceivable. Uther had had it put in years ago for something of this very reason. In fact, there were two other secret exits from the citadel and only himself and Morgana, if she was still alive, knew of them. For everything he had not been, paranoid planning was certainly in Uther’s nature. Arthur was grateful for that now. 

It took some looking in the dark, but finally he found the boulder that stuck out only a little further than the others. It took some doing moving it. He wasn’t at his strongest, having had only about six hours of sleep and one meal in the last two days. After some effort, he was able to move the rock far enough to see a small dugout in the wall. He crawled into it.

Just one last thing, he thought to himself as he exerted to move the second rock. It took more effort than he thought, only being able to use his upper body to move such a large piece of earth. 

Arthur felt the cool breeze on his cheek and heard the unsheathing of swords from just above him.

Chapter Text

Arthur felt the cool breeze on his cheek and heard the unsheathing of swords from just above him. 

Looking up, he found two of the king's guards standing calmly above him, their weapons drawn inches away from his cheek. The sound of his own heartbeat alone filled his ears as he tried to scurry backwards, undignified, through the hole but they had other plans for him. Instead, they caught him by the wrists and hoisted him to his feet. Luckily, his fingers managed to grab the knife from his boot in the process, but it was just as quickly whisked away from some invisible force. Arthur wrenched his arms forward, trying to throw one or both off of him, but they steadfastly held him down. His blood pumped into overdrive, he had to get away through any means necessary, but they did not let him go. He felt like an animal ready to naw his arm off if only just to get away. Manic. Out of control. There was a sharp blow to his rib, as they tried to subdue him. Pain bloomed from within him and he knew then that something had been broken.

He looked up with watered eyes to see Emrys and Cenred himself standing a few paces away. 

“Tried to get away, did you, boy?” Cenred sneered. The old man looked even older in his night clothes, he looked frail. He will be dead soon, if I have anything to say about it. 

Arthur’s eyes flitted to the man in green, who watched him with focus. It was as though those eyes saw nothing else in this world. Arthur hoped it hurt to look at him. He hoped it was painful for Emrys to see him so defenseless yet unfaltering all the same. He hoped that he would think about him for years to come, that his face was burned into his mind. He wanted to be the thing that keeps him awake at night. Arthur couldn’t have known then that he would be getting exactly what he wanted.

Somehow, he’d been waiting for the fugitive this whole time, knowing exactly where and when he would be crawling through the wall, cruelly waiting for him to debase himself like this. If Emrys had a sliver of decency, he'd let him go. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. 

Arthur hoped he could feel his hatred. 

As they carried him to the dungeons he allowed his feet to scrape along the ground. He couldn’t be bothered to walk like a man. There wasn’t enough energy left. He just wanted to die. 

. . .

He was awake for all of it, well... more or less. He’d never even seen this part of the dungeon before. It was somehow more morose than the part he’d come to know. They’d strung him up by the wrists, pulling him up so that only the pads of his feet could touch the ground. Metal spikes stuck from the wall behind him so that there was nowhere to rest against without getting impaled. The room was damp and smelled like soiled earth. The air, though chill, was heavy and hard to breathe. Once the torch marched away, there was nothing but pure darkness left. It was quiet. Not a sound to be heard from all around. Arthur wondered if anyone would even be able to hear him if he shouted, he’d never know. He hadn't the energy. He knew he was not dead only because of the steady drip of only god knows what falling onto him.  

No normal human being could comfortably sleep like that, so he didn’t. Instead, he leaned in and out of consciousness with only his thoughts to keep him company, which proved to be awful dreadful friends in a time like this. What went wrong? Could he have prevented this? Should he have just died with his father? It seemed like this was the natural end of his life. What remained of him now, it wasn’t who he was. It wasn’t like anyone he wanted to be. There was a time when he was stronger than this. He’d been happy- well… marginally. In truth, happiness wasn’t ever a thing he really ever thought about. There was duty; everything else was on the periphery.

Arthur started to shiver. For days, his body had neither been able to rest nor gather energy from eating and he was starting to feel the effects of it. This place was certainly no sick-bed. Fever started to take hold of him in the darkness. Through the hours, his body became wracked with convulsions. The chains rattled above him, unbudging. He could hear himself breathing low and heavy and wondered if he’d be taken away naturally. What a short life to have lived! 

Old memories started coming back to him. The sun winking through the trees, laying on the bank after a hot afternoon playing in the lake. Morgana smiling and cheering as he made his first conquest, his first beastly kill, consequently saving a nearby town at the age of thirteen. A chaste kiss shared with princess Elena at dusk. Being touched by a woman for the very first time under the comforting colors of his family crest. 

Suddenly, Uther appeared in front of him. He looked younger than he had remembered him. His father held out something glittering, urging him to take it. Urging him to take it in the light of the great hall, in front all their friends, their people. It was Arthur’s coronation day, the one he had already lived. The people clapped and cheered. Sir Leon was there and smiling at him. 

When Arthur looked forward once again, the vision shifted. Morgana stood now in front of him. She looked worried. She was pale and beautiful. The perfume of her drifted towards him. It was a very specific scent, but one he had not caught in years it seemed. There was so much that he wanted to say to her. Her eyes carefully examined their situation, the emotion of them never faded. Arthur could only watch. She reached out to touch him, her fingers graced the golden collar that adorned his neck. Slowly, her fingers pressed further to caress the part of his flesh that had been rubbed raw underneath. It stung, the contact, but it left in its wake relief of the agitated area. 

Arthur could hear his own labored breathing as though it didn't belong to him. His cheeks burned red with sickness and he could do nothing about it. He forced himself to look at her and she changed again. Her hair was shorter now and she’d grown. Her face was muddy to him, as though he was looking into a reflecting pond during a storm. Her hands smoothed release over his aching shoulders. The pain seemed to melt from the flesh wherever she graced it.

In a moment of stunning beauty, her eyes flashed gold through the darkness and Arthur could see now that it wasn’t his sister there before him. He wished he didn’t recognize that face. 

“ Why? ” Arthur rasped.

Emrys didn’t respond. Instead, he held his warm palm to Arthur’s cheek in a gesture that almost resembled tenderness. Arthur leaned into the touch.

. . .

He did not know how much time had passed. What he did know was that he was delirious with fatigue and hunger when they threw the water against his body. The coldness stung his skin as he gasped for the breath that had been knocked out of him. They gracelessly pulled him out of the chains that bound him to that infernal place, his muscles rejoiced at the change of posture, no person was meant to stand like that for as long as he had. They walked him down the hall, jabbing him with the head of a spear when he took too long.

“Don’t you have better things to do?” Arthur hissed over his shoulder at them. He didn't care, he had nothing left to lose. 

The guards said nothing. They could not. Wearily, he smiled to himself. A jab found its way to his shoulder indicating that the party had arrived at their destination. The door before him blew open on its own. 

Must be a draft, he thought to himself, almost laughing. 

He was pushed inside. Emrys, whose room was somehow more disorderly than before, was once again perched in his armchair. The furniture had once again been moved around, leaving an empty void in the corner. An array of books and papers were sprawled across the table and somewhere underneath the mess was his breakfast, which just sat there gathering dust, taunting the famished prince. 

“You may go,” Emrys said imperiously.

The men didn't move.  “My lord, he is dangerous. I would think it wiser if we stayed to protect you.” One of the men offered with a surprising amount of strength. 

Emrys closed his book and came to stand before the armored man. He came up shorter, but intimidating nonetheless. The guard shifted his posture, standing straighter, looking at nothing, clearly unsettled. “When I want your opinion, I will ask for it,” the sorcerer looked him over, “you may go.” 

It was interesting. It seemed his people held him to a less capable esteem than he held himself. Maybe he’s not as strong as he thinks. 

Arthur didn’t quite know what to do but stand there. He felt strong now, but he was sure he did not look it. His whole life he’d been training in the field, the strategies came to him naturally now. Any village idiot could see that in his gait or size. Cenred might have broken down his spirit, but his body was still very much intact - if not a little sore. Soon, he would be strong again. Soon, he could try again. 

Emrys moved to him, devouring him with his gaze. 

“Take off your shirt,” Emrys said firmly, standing over him. 

Was this it? Was this the moment where he had his way with him? Oh, how he loathed him. The apple must not fall far from the vile tree.  

As dignified as he could, Arthur slowly undid the laces of his tunic, maintaining an expression as threatening as he could. Emrys watched him pull the fabric over his head and discard it on the floor, but the look in his eyes was not that of lust. First, he graced the golden ring around his neck, making Arthur flinch.

“Relax.” he ordered, abruptly.

Arthur squared his shoulders, trying to settle into being examined. The second the fingers made contact with the newly healed skin underneath, Arthur was hurled back to the events that had taken place some time the night before. He knew that neither his father nor his sister had really been there, but their likeness had certainly been there, their spirits, the smell of their soaps. When really, it was clear now, it had been this sorcerer all along standing in their place. Part of Arthur knew that and resisted it. 

The tips of the long fingers pressed themselves to Arthur’s collarbone, to his sternum, his rib. Though he moved expertly, Emrys wore a youthful expression when he was seemingly at peace. Arthur couldn’t quite figure him out. Until now, he hadn’t expected anything untoward of him. He hadn’t paraded him naked before his former council members, made him to eat his scraps from the floor, nor had he forced himself onto as Arthur might have expected him to do. It seemed to him that this man, despite his impressive station, wanted nothing more of his servant than to be a servant. Arthur hated to admit that it was admirable. He didn’t understand it. 

The touch reached a darkened, sensitive spot deep within Arthur’s body, making him wince.  

“Turn around.”

For lack of a witty remark, Arthur obeyed. Emrys felt his shoulder and his spine. The hands found a similarly painful area, and pushed themselves against it. He could not help but shudder from the touch. A hand to his shoulder signaled him to turn again. Emrys regarded him. He was neither serious nor smiling. He was simply present. For a moment, he thought it was a vision it when the eyes before him glow gold and the fire in the hearth burst forth with a crackle. 

Emrys looked him in the eye and nearly smiled when he saw the dumbfounded expression of the former prince. Not a spell, not a word, not even a glance and he set the hearth ablaze. To conjure a fire like this, it would’ve taken Arthur half an hour and a sore thumb when he inevitably fumbled with the flint and steel. 

“My, how easily impressed we are,” the sorcerer cooed. Arthur in turn closed his gawking mouth at the amusement of his enemy. His cheeks flushed with embarrassment. He’d never seen such wanton use of magic before. Admittedly, it struck his curiosity… unfortunately among other things. 

Emrys’ eyes never faltered from his, Arthur met his gaze challengingly.

Finally he spoke up, “that was a stupid trick you pulled last night. If you really wanted to escape you would’ve done better to gain my trust first. Now you will be watched day and night. In fact, they're bringing a pallet for you to spend your nights here as well under my protection.” 

He’s trying to get a rise. I’ll give him a rise

“Anything as long as I don’t have to spend them in your bed, my liege .” 

But then Emrys did the last thing Arthur had expected of him; he smiled. He smiled as though they were friends sharing a joke. He was amused. “Oh, you wound me, my prince!” 

A chill ran through the blond at the sound of his former title. The wound was still fresh. 

Emrys’ smile did not fade when he carefully stepped forward, placed a gentle, patronizing hand on Arthur’s cheek, the one he’d carressed in the small hours, the tender one, and looked him directly in the eyes. “There will be plenty of time for you to make that decision later.”

Chapter Text

Arthur didn’t really know how to clean someone’s bed chambers, he’d never done it himself. He imagined making things tidy and changing the linens were a good start, but other than that he was in over his head. But what baffled him most of all is the blatant lack of supervision as he did so. He had full range over Emrys’ possessions.

It all felt so strange that he should be trusted like this. He had, afterall, tried to run for his life… and then brandished a knife when he was caught. All that and despite his best efforts, Arthur had not been able to get a rise out of his master. It was unusual to meet a royal with such an even demeanor. In his experience, most people of nobility turn red with anger when you even suggest that they have no power over you. In his youth, he’d turned this observation into a game he played with his sister. Who could make their esteemed guest tremble with rage the quickest! Arthur tended to win that one, not because he was wittier than Morgana but simply because he was a boy and people tended to not simply dismiss his words for lack of knowledge.

Emrys wasn’t like that. He’d laughed with him, perhaps at his gall, but either way it threw Arthur entirely off-guard. 

He started with his own bedding, pulling the sheet tightly up and tucking it under. His brow creased trying to come up with something else to make it look better. It hadn’t been an empty promise to have a pallet brought in for him. It waited for him on the floor in the corner until he collapsed upon it late in the evening. It’d been strange though, sleeping a stone’s throw from the man he loathed most -maybe second most- in the world. If he were more suicidal he could do to try to smother him in his sleep, but this Emrys was coniving and, as much as it pained Arthur to admit it, he was clearly rather clever. Still, he was almost offended that Emrys slept so soundly knowing a killer trained from birth, one that he had enslaved, was just a few feet away. 

During the night, after his urges of homicide had mostly subsided, his thoughts turned outward. There was the gentle breath of the man, the whirring of the breeze against the open window, it was calm and quiet. But Arthur was not calm and quiet. He would not be. He waited for something to jump on him, to subdue him further. That thing never came. 

With each passing day, he fell into his role a bit deeper. He saw less and less of Radholde, which seemed to be a good thing. After he finished his chores, he’d been sent to see the physician, grateful to see a familiar face. Sure, Gaius was ancient, but he’d been well instructed. He knew what he was talking about.

“It’s good to see you, my boy,” the old man smiled, clapping him on the back. He had not changed much in the time since the world had been flipped on its head. Maybe his hair had grayed a bit more, the lines in his face a bit deeper, but it seemed to not permeate him as deeply. Not so like it had Arthur. His tone then shifted, his eyes glanced down to the “necklace” the blond so proudly displayed “are you… getting on?”

Arthur knew what he meant. Have they beaten you? Have they touched you? Do you think about death less now that they’ve trained you? 

He looked at his hands and noticed calluses forming. He didn’t really have an answer to these questions. 

Gaius let it drop, “well, let me examine you, I suppose that’s what you’re here for.” 

There was an armored man against the door, undoubtedly itching for Arthur to try to run. But instead, he removed his tunic obediently. 

Gaius tutted, investigating the darkened flesh. After a few moments, his eyes looked over the former prince’s face with such a sorry expression, that Arthur felt a renewed shame for his condition. He didn’t need the old man’s pity. He’d made his decision, he had to live with it. Although one could hardly call this living. 

“It was a brave decision you made, don’t you forget it,” his fingers gently pressed themselves to his chest. 

Part of him was surprised to hear the physician speak so out of turn, but he often had to remind himself that he was no longer in a position of respect. “Doesn’t feel much like the right decision… There isn’t a moment that passes when I don’t regret it.” 

“You did it for your people at the expense of your pride. That makes you a remarkably honorable king.” 

Arthur winced at the word. 

“Things will be made right, my lord, I am sure of it.” 

Arthur felt a stinging in his throat. He hoped Gaius would stop speaking about it, he couldn’t bear it. 

“It is just as Emrys said, you have a fractured rib.” Maybe he’d sensed his plight. Gaius worked quietly to wrap Arthur’s sternum in a tight fabric.

“Gaius, what do you know about him?”

He exhaled slowly, “Not much I’m afraid. I know what the druids say about him.”

“The druids?”

“Yes, he is their king.”

This came as a shock to him. Cenred had always found the druids a cowardly people. Never fighting for what they need, never taking anything at all. Laziness was what he accused of them. 

“I thought he was Cenred’s heir,” Arthur said as Gaius put the finishing touches on his work.

“That he is, my boy.”

“Well, how can he be both?” Arthur shifted. The bandages were uncomfortable but not unbearable. They made him lose his breath. 

Gaius looked at him with his lopsided, inquisitive gaze, “I do not know, but if the rumors about him are true, then he is the most powerful sorcerer to have ever lived.” 

Arthur’s eyes widened. He was somehow in even more trouble than he had thought. Perhaps what this man wanted from him was revenge. Uther had desecrated his people, his way of life, and had he caught whiff of slightest rebellion, he’d rubbed out the smolders with an iron boot. Cenred wanted his land and resources, so it wouldn’t be jumping to conclusion to assume that they had created a team to get what they both wanted. 

“I’ll give you a wrap which you’ll have to change everyday. If it gives you any trouble, come back and see me,” then the old man leaned in closer and whispered, “I’m at your service, my lord.” 

Arthur smiled gently at him, “Thank you Gaius, for everything. Your kindness will not be forgotten.” 

The old man gave him a sad smile in return as he hobbled to get back to his work. 

He’d found somewhat of a friend of the old man. It had never occurred to Arthur to look there, but he was wise for his years. It always seemed like he could use an aid or something of the sort, the old man's work never seemed to be done. Arthur mused over their brief time together as he returned to his room to clean up for dinner. 

He pushed the door open to his master’s room. It was orderly as he’d left it, minus the raven-haired man sprawled across the divan and another man who found his head nestled in his thighs. 

Emrys breathed heavily, contentedly, undoubtedly feeling immense pleasure if the expression on his face was any indication. He was lying on top of his robes as though they’d been torn from him, discarded, and promptly forgotten right there in that moment. He ran his lithe fingers through the other’s hair, whose head bobbed obscenely, working against him. 

“Yes,” Emrys breathed, his hand guiding the rhythm, “just like that.”  

He was stronger than he seemed from under all that fabric. The toned muscles shifted in movement in a manner that seemed the very definition of masculinity. Emrys’ hair had been pushed back from his face with a mixture of sweat -and possibly other things- giving Arthur full view of his enjoyment. It wasn’t until Emrys’ eyes connected with his with knowing amusement, that Arthur closed his gaping mouth and came back to his senses.

“Oh, you’re so good at that, ” Emrys moaned, eyes hungry and not faltering from Arthur’s, as though he was talking only to him. 

The faceless man groaned at the praise, clearly reveling in it. 

Arthur felt a dull burning from within him. His mangled rib throbbed. It was too much. He turned on his heel, nearly forgetting to even close the door behind him. 

He had a hard time catching his breath. Never in his life had he seen a spectacle like that. There’d been once during his adolescence when he’d been dared to sneak into the local brothel just to get a peek, and a few times with his knights they had entered a tavern and entertained the women there. He’d had his own moments of fleeting pleasure with a handful of women but even in these cases, it had never been like that . No, the whole display had been obscene and… passionate.

Arthur tried to imagine what the other man could have possibly been getting out of the whole interaction.

Well, he certainly seemed to be enjoying it.

The skin of his face was still burning with heat and embarrassment. It’d probably been childhood since he last felt this sheepish. He cleared his throat, smoothed out the wrinkles of his tunic, and went to prepare himself for the dinner service. The only trouble was that he needed a wash and he couldn’t very well do so with the scene taking place amongst his things. 

He could wash later. 

Dinner service, as he learned, was a rather dull affair. They had him stand against the wall between the other servants (one of which he’d hoped would be Gwen, but it never was) and stare blankly into space while Cenred and some of the higher-ranking men dined before them. That, and he wasn’t allowed to touch the food for fear that he might poison it. Really it was giving him a bit too much credit. It was more likely that they just wanted another menial task to humiliate him.

He stood there, having assumed the position, his hands clasped politely behind his back as they piled in. Cenred, of course, took the head of the table, Sir Eoin to his left with his back towards the servants, three other officials that Arthur did not know. Then there was Emrys. He took his seat beside his king, the one with the clearest view of Arthur’s reddened face. 

The blond shifted uncomfortably, trying not to let on that it had phased him, though it certainly had. It wasn’t that he was a prude, it was more that he’d led a rather sheltered life and until that moment he couldn’t even have imagined how two men could have gotten tangled up like that. He hadn’t really thought it was possible. As it had been explained to him, the purpose, always, was to create life and if pleasure followed then it was a welcomed subsequence indeed.  

The men spoke amongst themselves as they ate, discussing things like food production, possible tax increases, proposals for new laws, all very diplomatic topics. Emrys listened attentively and spoke seldomly, but when he did speak up, he talked in a calm, meaningful cadence that made him sound thoughtful and informed. He’d said something about having a festival for all of Camelot’s people to celebrate the new reign, feeding the poor and providing enrichment. Arthur watched as his mouth moved. Slowly, deliberately, taking its time to make well pronounced phrases.

“That’s an excellent idea,” Cenred said merrily, “It would prove we are more generous than Uther ever could be.”

“It will be costly, my lord, there are many hungry people in this city,” said Sir Eoin contemptuously.

Emrys did not hesitate. “These people have just lived the violent upheaval of their government. Some have seen the slaughtering of their friends and family. If it’s the people’s favour you want, my Lord, it is worth every gold piece to ensure that they feel not only safe, but also cared for.” 

There was a brief moment of silence as they mulled over his words. Even Arthur was struck by his strategy. 

“And so it shall be,” the King decreed, “we shall have a festival and each citizen is welcome. Sir Eoin, I will entrust you with the preparations. This day shall be marked in time.” 

Emrys took another bite of his food as though it was nothing. Somehow Arthur had underestimated him in every possible way. It was clear to him now that it was he in control of everything at any given moment, the puller of the strings. Cenred, his own king, was wrapt firmly around his finger. Everyone else was just too daft to realize. But he realized. Arthur saw right through him. He saw now that this was a man he should never have fought against, he would never win. Instead, it’d be to his advantage to pull him in his favour somehow.

As though he’d heard his thoughts, Emrys looked up to catch his gaze. The men continued to talk but it was like they were the only two in the room. He looked up at him with the same lusty, knowing eyes that Arthur had seen on his face only an hour earlier, like he’d have him on this very table.

Arthur couldn’t help but stare. 

The wizard then made a motion with his thumb as if to wipe something from his lips. 

Arthur reddened. 

__________

After all the plates had been cleared away and everyone returned to their chambers, Arthur did the same. He’d turned the events around and around in his head and by now he was sure that the little gesture didn’t mean anything at all. He had just been trying to get under his skin. 

It was just how he was, Arthur told himself, better to be teased like this than to bear the brunt of other punishments.

But really, this man was shameless. The lengths he would go through to get a rise… though in the back of his mind Arthur did wonder what it all would be like. He’d never made such a degrading request of a girl to put her lips on him like that, and he’d certainly never asked for a man. 

The image of pleasure splashed across Emry’s face though, that was what he couldn’t shake. Arthur felt parts of himself awaken, parts that he had neglected for a long time. He tried to put it out of his mind, to cool off, but the thought did not leave him. 

He traced the path back to his (shared) room, happy to finally have a chance to wash himself and wash the day off him. He could finally breathe again once the door was shut behind him. It was only he and the other body in the room, but he’d learned there was nothing real to fear from him as long as he did what he was told. He’d gotten quickly acclimated to his presence.

“You’re late,” Emrys said, not looking up from his papers. He studied by a few measly candles, the light was low but the evening was not cold enough to ignite the hearth. The flames danced across his face, they gave him a warmth against his cool features. He was calm, even as always. There wasn’t a trace of anger in his accusation as though his intention behind it was left for Arthur to interpret. 

“There was quite a mess to be cleaned after dinner, thought I should do my part. It won’t happen again if it doesn’t please your grace .” 

There was a shadow of a smile on Emrys’ lips, though he fought so valiantly to hold it back. It reminded Arthur that this was still a man before anything else. Instead, the sorcerer stood, stretched, and walked towards the former prince. 

“Please ready my night clothes.”

Arthur retrieved a loose tunic and some linen shorts from the bureau and got to untying the complicated laces of his tunic. He felt eyes on him, but he continued to focus on his fingers. This was what riled him the most, the incessant eyes that followed him, always with intensity. Though he could never decide if they were addled with the hunger to tear him to shreds or to merely watch his movements for the joy of his humiliation. 

He calmed his nerves, or tried to. They were rarely this close physically and again there was that sort of silent living tension that could have been strummed like a lyre, it was wound so tightly. 

“What did you think?” Emrys said low and evenly after a few moments of the quiet.

Arthur could feel his face growing hot and the serious eyes of the man watching him intently. “Pardon?” he managed, keeping his own gaze on his work.

Emrys brought his hand to Arthurs chin, compelling him to lift his head to meet his eyes, “Look at me.” 

Arthur let out a breath. He didn’t mean to. He was only inches away from the man, whose thumb continued to rest on his jaw. In the warm light, his blue eyes cut through him with precision. Arthur could smell the herbs that he soaked on his skin most mornings. Emrys seemed so much larger than him, took up more space, even though they were nearly identical in height. Perhaps it was not so much physical space he occupied, not where it made a difference at least. 

“I know you saw me with Sir Gwaine earlier. I want to know what you think of it.” He asked this as though he asked what he’d thought of the soup earlier. Total disregard for the refinement of court. His gaze did not waver and nor did his touch, both of which Arthur was acutely aware of. 

“What I… think of it?” the blond could only stammer. 

Emrys, despite his patience being tried, did not become forceful. Instead, he waited for the response he asked for. He drank in Arthur’s strong features, his sharp jaw, angular nose, bright eyes. My, how they all came together to falter into an expression of total resignation in this moment. He was melting in his grasp.

“Did it excite you?” The hand moved to grace the thumb over the prince’s parted lip, pushing it, plying. Arthur was frozen, but not so much of fear. He watched as Emrys’ eyes flared gold in a shimmering moment of beauty. His mouth grew dry. 

“ Yes ,” he heard himself say in a rather embarrassing, desperate manner. He hadn’t meant to say anything at all, or maybe come up with some witty rebute but the word had snuck past his lips instead. He’s enchanted me now. He should’ve been angry. He tried to tell himself that the spell made him tell lies, but he knew that wasn’t true. In the end, it was hearing the surrender from his own voice that made his body go hot and he knew it. 

Emrys smiled watching him unravel like this. It wasn’t even powerful magic, it was a simple truth spell. He was just giving him the excuse to be honest with himself. 

“What is it that you want?” the sorcerer urged, the distance between them shortening even further. 

“I want you,” Arthur whimpered, giving in to his urges. He was aching. It hadn’t occurred to him before, but he hadn’t released himself in months. It had hardly even crossed his mind, certainly not since he was dethroned. In this moment, it became all he could think about. The touch of another human drudged up feelings he hadn’t had since his adolescence, fiery, needy feelings, like having hunger that burns the stomach but it’s not altogether unenjoyable. He’d felt his tenderness briefly in his time of great need, he wanted to know what else he could make him feel. 

“Are you certain?” Emrys whispered nearly against Arthur’s lips. His gaze didn’t falter after all this time. He stood waiting for the truth and the spell had long since dissipated. What came next was all him.

“Please,” his voice broke. He wanted to know everything. He wanted to know the things he hadn’t been able to learn from the girls he’d been with. He wanted to know what Gwaine had felt, what he’d tasted, what he’d earned from the interaction. 

Emrys smiled, making Arthur burn pleasurably even more, “well since you asked so nicely.”

Chapter Text

“Well since you asked so nicely.” Emrys’ even manner of speaking had not evaded him. It was soothing and authoritative. His gaze flitted to Arthur’s lips who could only stand there, burning with want. “Take off your shirt.”

Arthur wandered shallowly where he got the gall to order him around like that but the prince obeyed nonetheless, tugging the fabric over his head. 

He moved down to undo his trousers, but it was premature. Emrys placed his hand over his to stop him. “Not yet,” he said firmly, looking deeply into Arthur’s eyes. He wasn’t ready yet, the sorcerer knew it. 

Arthur nearly whined but he fought it back. He hated his body for betraying him like this. He wished to have maintained the higher ground, to pretend that this didn’t interest him, to fight it. This was his enemy afterall. The truth was that it was all he could think about all day. The tension was mounting and he was going to need to release soon or he might just explode. Who would’ve thought it’d be this easy to send him over the edge? The old king’s son, so wanton, just begging to be fucked. 

Emrys took a step back to admire his prize. 

Arthur was a beauty . He’d always heard rumors about Uther’s boy, everyone had, about his prowess. Across kingdoms, he was known as a fierce warrior who could vanquish most anything (if not a bit arrogant). He was surely what the Greeks had had in mind when they prayed to Mars. The countless hours he had spent on the field were evident in his strength and bronzed skin, the very picture of virility. All to say, he’d be the prize in any marriage and yet a marriage as such, he would never know. 

Gently, Emrys unwrapped the bandages around his sternum and pressed a hand to the bruised area. The sudden pain made Arthur flinch but after letting the pain subside, after leaning into it, the hurt gave way to something else. They were standing close.

 Arthur had never met anyone like him before. Someone who had authority and never ventured to prove it to others. He didn’t need to, it was already evident in his mannerisms and his way of being. It scared him how so easily he fell under his influence, and so willingly. He was eager to feel anything at all, a fraction of what that other man seemed to have felt. Maybe he was jealous, although he’d never admit to it. No, he was much too proud for that. He’d likely not even admit it to himself when his senses came back to him. 

The sorcerer’s eyes burned gold and Arthur knew he was healing him. It was inhuman, unnatural, a face that glowed. It was against everything he’d been raised to know. Yet, he couldn’t help but feel that old burn grow brighter because of it. 

Emrys held the hand to his chest, Arthur leaned into it, the feeling lingering. His hand moved to grace the gentle planes of his torso, once again inspecting him, but differently now. Through the touch, Arthur gave to him his hastened heartbeat, and in return he felt the frissons left in its wake. Wherever Emrys roamed, it left the skin buzzing, humming almost. His eyes didn’t grace his face, that’s not so much what interested him now. Like he was only a body, a beautiful one at that. 

It was unlike anything the blond had ever felt before. There was a sense of power to it. One, Arthur sensed was not on the receiving end of. As though he were a show pony and his master would decide when or if he deserved his praise. He felt his cock strain in his trousers. 

“Your problem,” Emrys said, “is that you still think of yourself as a prince.” Even his manner of speech was languid and measured. He took his time caressing his biceps, his forearm, taking great care with it. And Arthur, docile, let him. “You’re not a prince, not anymore.”

Emrys moved to stroke a finger up his spine and dance on the thing around his neck. He shuddered. This whole examination was taking far too long for his liking but somehow his body was reveling in it at the same time.

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard of me, of my reputation. Maybe you know what I’m capable of or maybe you’d like to know. Well -you’ll learn in any case.” 

Will he ever stop blathering and just finish the job? Arthur was getting impatient. He needed some friction, anything, but he knew if he touched himself there would be hell to pay. 

Emrys leaned in closely from behind him. Arthur could almost feel the hair of his beard brush his cheek. He spoke softly, only to him “Do you think it a coincidence that I am the last Dragonlord and you are the last Pendragon ?” 

Emrys didn’t have to move far to drag his teeth down the lobe of his ear and his fingers down the length from his ribs to his hip. Arthur couldn’t suppress the moan from his lips. To his embarrassment, he felt the front of his trousers become wet in anticipation. He didn’t know things could feel like this. For him, it’d usually been a couple of smiles exchanged with an agreeable handmaid and then they’d fall into the act. This, however, was some display, not of passion, they shared no love between them, but of power. 

What Emrys had said was true. Arthur still very much thought of himself as a prince. He still very much hoped for the day when he would reclaim the throne. Which is why it was all very confusing when his body so readily gave himself over to his master. 

“You’re so easily undone,” Emrys mused, pulling away, “you’ll be fun to play with.” He ran a hand over the front of Arthur’s mussed trousers. Involuntarily, Arthur pushed himself towards the hand that caressed him. He needed friction, the frustration was evident. His own heartbeat rang through his head and that was about all he could hear other than the words of his master. 

The wizard tutted at him, “look, now you’ve made a mess.” 

Arthur groaned when the hand pulled itself away. His body tightened and he knew it would be painful soon if he didn’t take care of it. Emrys turned to occupy himself with other things.

“You’re just going to leave me like this??” Arthur whined against his better judgment

Emrys smiled, evidently at his distress, “It is time for you to learn patience.”

Needless to say he didn’t sleep much that night. The whole thing was uncomfortable. His body ached with the suppression of his release and not to mention he was made to sleep in his breeches which clung to him uncomfortably in the front. Shifting  in his bed, he was constantly being reminded of what he had done to himself. 

He hated Emrys in that moment. He hated him for making him look like that. But somewhere in the confused feelings of the night, his thoughts turned to those of self-doubt. Was something displeasing about him? Something wasn’t good enough or that he could’ve done differently to merit his praise instead of his disdain. It was clear that the reward hadn’t been earned in Emrys’ eyes so he’d withheld it. The thought of it consumed him and the words from only days before echoed around his head: If you really wanted to escape you would’ve done better to gain my trust first.

He’d been thrown off that Emrys would even say something like this, to even imply that Arthur could’ve strategized his own escape better. There was something strange in his words, as though he didn’t really care one way or another if he escaped. As though he didn’t pledge fealty to Cenred at all. 

Maybe Emrys could be trusted.

But then that raised a very different question of why was he doing this at all?

________

Arthur awoke with a start. It was early and the sky through the window had only just started to pale. Somewhere from the tower, the crows started to caw, which was not altogether so romantic as the early morning usually permitted. He stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together the dream he’d just had, but as it all came tumbling back to him he realized it hadn’t been a dream at all. He’d really been there, practically naked in the middle of the room panting for his master to put his hands on him. 

That couldn’t have been right !

Surely it’d been a spell or something. He could recall every seismic shock of his touch on his skin and even the things that had come out of his mouth, Lord! He could feel himself stiffening again. This was not what he wanted.

He rubbed his eyes and forced himself to stand. 

Good god. He said to himself, appalled, remembering now his bedclothes which were now quite firm in a very certain spot. He tore them off of him in a flash, hoping to burn them later. That really was a cruel trick Emrys had pulled.

It gave him an idea. His master was sound asleep in his bed, legs tangled in the sheets, resting gently on his belly. Soft snores fell rhythmically from his lips. His dark curls fell around his face in a haphazard, well-rested kind of way. Arthur supposed he’d be handsome to some. He could see the muscles in his back shift slightly with every breath.

If he didn’t take care of himself now, he might not get a chance for days to come. It seemed Emrys was playing a twisted game after all, one, that he would not give him the satisfaction of winning. He went to the wash basin, giving himself a precursory scrub before taking himself in his hand. Images flashed through his mind frantically, not allowing him to settle on one scenario, but that hardly mattered. It’d felt like years since he could enjoy himself like this and it felt good .

He thought about all the most intimate moments he’d had with women, how they sounded when he pleasured them. He was especially fond of one memory when he’d caught a visiting lord’s wife in the orchard and had her against a tree. The fragrance of the air both from the blossoming trees and the sweat shared between them was something he could never forget. Arthur grunted, starting to feel close to spilling over. His thoughts flickered to the night previous. His master’s penetrating eyes on him, and the steady cadence of his voice telling him exactly what to do. 

He tried to think of other things. Anything else. But he was so close and those hands , the thrill, the contact, all of it teasing him. Coaxing him to make a mess. Arthur’s eyes, defying him, snaked to the sleeping man. The way his breath had felt against his cheek. Unwrapping him (literally and figuratively). 

He wandered what the sorcerer looked like burning for him. What could he do to him when his eyes glowed gold?

With a groan, the heat of pleasure flushed through Arthur’s body. His knees buckled and he grabbed the side of the tub for balance. As his senses started coming back to him, he tried to figure out what exactly had just happened. 

For God's sake. 

Chapter Text

Once his breathing slowed, he moved to clean himself up. The room reeked of sweat, he’d have to air it out later when the temperature outside rose. Emrys still snored blissfully from his bed. 

The last twelve hours of his life felt like a whirlwind, like one long fever dream. A different version of himself had been reacting to the events that had taken place, a version that was pliant, readily obedient. It was a version he neither recognized nor liked, but it fought him to be brought forward in the vessel that they shared. 

Arthur (True Arthur) was ravenous. Luckily there was a warm meal waiting for him and his master in the kitchen, he need only fetch it. 

The halls were mostly vacant, it was still early. He was grateful for it, for the moments in between when he could gather his thoughts. When he got back, Emrys was awake. No, he was awake and standing. There was that living quiet in the air again, the one that made him freeze in his tracks.  His expression was difficult to decipher. He watched Arthur quizzically, imperiously, while perching on the edge of the bathing basin. Arthur set down the trays of food, pretending not to notice. 

Emrys wore only his linen sleeping trousers, like he’d been interrupted in the middle of dressing himself. For someone who had only just woken, he had an air of very much present. His hair had been smoothed down from its former sleep-induced chaos and his eyes showed no sign of fatigue. 

“Enjoy yourself this morning, did you?” almost as a joke.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Arthur said as firmly as he could muster. 

Emrys dragged a finger through a rather obvious smudge of something that Arthur had left behind this morning on the side of the tub. 

Fuck. 

Emrys held his gaze as he brought his finger to his lips. Arthur could only stare as his master tasted the remnants of his morning’s pleasure. He could feel that submissive version of himself bubbling up again, filling him again with need at the sight of such a salacious act. Arthur knew that he, himself, would never dream of tasting the seed of another man and here Emrys did so willingly, with something resembling enjoyment nonetheless.

He didn’t know what to say. 

“Rather childish don’t you think? Aiming for my bathwater,” he smiled rather flippantly for such an accusation. 

“I can assure you, that’s not-”

“Oh please,” the sorcerer laughed, “if it wasn’t your will, then that leaves the fact that you simply couldn’t even contain yourself long enough to do it more precisely.” 

Arthur closed his mouth. Oh, he was clever. Emrys blue eyes peered into him with interest.

“So which is it, Ar thur?” Emrys got up and moved towards him. 

The sound of his name, knowing he’d been caught sent him into a frenzy. It was some mélange of newly acquired subservience and incorrigible lust that had taken over him the last few weeks. He didn’t recognize himself. Emrys had some sort of power over him. It was so strong, it must’ve been magic or something . He’d never heard of magic like that, of a sexual nature, but really what other explanation was there? He was not the blushing virgin he appeared to be.

Emrys hovered over him, “I believe I asked you a question.” 

Neither option seemed to have a good outcome. He was fucked. Arthur squared his shoulders trying to hold his ground. He wasn’t afraid of him. He wasn’t afraid of anyone. “That is what happens when you deny a man his release, is it not?” 

Emrys’ smile did not fade. It seemed he appreciated being challenged contrary to most monarchs. It drove Arthur up a wall. He didn’t know how to get under his skin, but it was abundantly clear that Emrys knew how to get under his. 

“No, you are mistaken,” he said almost warmly, with facetiousness, “it is a child that can not contain himself. Are you a child?” 

His heartbeat quickened. “No, of course not,” he spat. 

Emrys’ eyes took on that old hungry hue, “Let’s put it to the test then, shall we?”  

“I couldn’t possible begin to fathom-”

“That one was not a question.” 

Arthur swallowed his protests. 

 “I told you to learn patience, pet,” Emrys took his face gently in his hand, with those soft, intense eyes cutting him down, “and you will learn.”

. . .

Arthur found himself kneeling on the ground, naked -or nearly naked, covered only by his royal collar and a ring around his cock. The southern ring was made of no concernable substance, but, he supposed, magic itself. It was almost as if the thing were alive, thrumming, keeping in tune with the rush of his blood, which made him even more frustrated, which led to the thing tightening itself around him, which made him even more frustrated. A vicious cycle for which there was little else he could focus his energy on. 

If all that weren’t cruel enough, Emrys had left the door ajar for the very purpose of someone walking by and spotting him in such a compromising position. Arthur had never felt so naked in his life. Hands and knees glued to the floor, he felt more bare than just clothless. He was on display for anyone to come and see, ass in the cold air and cock hung heavy between his thighs. What a sight it was!

He kept his head down in case someone should see him, perhaps they would not recognize him, but of course they would recognize him, they all knew. 

Arthur must’ve been sitting there for hours now, trembling, but not because of the cold stone below him. A few shadows had passed the door frame but none had stopped to peer in. He’d survive this, like anything else, it was just a matter of getting out with his (dwindling) honor intact.

He’d been instructed to remain in that unfamiliar, uncomfortable position as long as it pleased his lord . Emrys ate his breakfast with tranquility, unbothered by Arthur’s turmoil, he then got up to dress himself and went off to perform his daily tasks, the bastard. 

His body strained against the ring rather painfully, but through the pain was something else, as there usually was. 

Oh, how Arthur hated him. He hated that he took pleasure in his degradation. But what he hated even more, as was becoming abundantly clear, was that Arthur himself was starting to take pleasure too. 

The memories of his life before had started to warp in his mind. Part of him wasn’t sure he’d want to return to that world even if he was given the chance. That part of him almost enjoyed taking the backseat, living the simple life, when the heavy decisions were not placed solely on him. Maybe he’d not want to be a servant so much as a farmer somewhere where no one knew him, of course, he’d need someone to show him how to live like that. 

Yes, better to keep your mind squarely on matters like these ,

After some time, after some more shadows, one did stop to push the door further open. Arthur almost didn’t notice until the man was over him. Finally, he looked up (the best he could) through his eyelashes to meet his gaze. 

“He’s really got you by the balls, does he?” the man asked amused at Arthur’s predicament. He was, Arthur supposed, the most beautiful man he’d ever seen. His skin was tanned and his hair was long, much too long for a man, and disheveled, but it all came together to fit him rather perfectly. 

He approached him, closing the door blissfully behind him and causing Arthur to strain neck. The man’s power was palpable but not so like Emrys’, it wasn’t nearly-tangible in the magical sense, it was simply hanging above him. Arthur met it when he realized he was at a rather awkward eye-level.

“You can stand up if you like, I won’t tell,” the man laughed. 

It was then that he recognized that voice. The one that could only groan while servicing the new king’s son. Was it really that good, Arthur asked himself, or was he just eager to please?

Despite knowing there would be hell to pay if the sorcerer found out, and he certainly would find out, he brought himself to stand. 

“I’m Gwaine,” he said, holding out his hand, which Arthur took with caution. Gwaine’s energy was different. It was jovial. Something Arthur hadn’t seen from another human being in a long time.

“Arthur.”

“Arthur…” he repeated back, distractedly. Gwaine didn’t mask his amusement when he took in the fully nude man in front of him. It was useless to try to cover himself, there was just too much laid bare. Gwaine smiled again when his eyes came back to reach his face. Though dark, his eyes were bright and teeming with life.  “I just popped ‘round to see if Merlin’s in, d’you know where he’s gone?” 

Arthur looked at him for a moment, confused, “Merlin?” 

“Yeah… or Emrys I suppose is what he calls himself when he’s feeling self-important,” Gwaine flashed another dazzling smile. He shrugged his shoulders out of his cape and held it out for Arthur to take.

“Here,” he said, “take it, winter is settling in and we can’t have you dying on us.”

Arthur, dazzled, took it and wrapped it around his body. It was still warm, the whole thing felt entirely too intimate. He didn’t know what to say, “Thank you, And no, sorry, I don’t… though I suppose he’ll be back soon to take his lunch.”

“Well that’s alright then, I’ll just go have a look.” He turned to leave.

“Wait!” he said a little too eagerly, “how… how do you two know each other?” 

In truth, he didn’t know why he posed the question. He supposed he didn’t really want to be alone, to go back to the floor. It also was in his best interest to learn as much about the man holding him captive as he possibly could, but this line of reasoning didn’t occur to him until hours later.

Gwaine smiled again, always smiling, “it’s a bit of a long story. We’ve known each other since we were kids really. Why, what’s it to you?”

“Nothing… It’s just that I sleep on his floor but I don’t know much about him. I’m afraid to ask.” He had so many questions on his mind and this man seemed open to answering them. The only one that really burned through his thoughts was, what does he taste like? But he couldn’t very well ask that one, could he. 

“You don’t need to be afraid! He won’t hurt you,” Gwaine laughed, making himself comfortable on the bed, not bothering to take off his shoes. He pulled an apple out of his pocket and noisily bit into it.

“He likes you far too much for that,” he winked. 

Arthur blushed. Right, he thought to himself, I see the allure . 

“What’s that there on the table?” Gwaine mumbled through a mouthful of fruit.

Arthur turned to look. “That would be my cold breakfast.” 

“Were you planning on eating it?” 

“That was the idea, but he gave me something better to do evidently.” 

“Yes, looking pretty on his floor, it’s important work.”

He’d never had this sort of flirtatious rapport with someone before, but it fell so easily from Gwaine’s lips that Arthur wondered if this was simply who he was or if it was to him in particular. 

“D’you do everything he asks you?” 

What an odd question for someone of the King’s men. He wasn’t quite sure whether he could trust Gwaine or not. He had the magnetic demeanor that tends to make one rather popular. 

“Don’t you ?”

“Why should I?” he smiled.

Arthur guffawed, “It seems you’ll end up naked on the floor if you don’t.” 

Gwaine closed his mouth, clearly trying (and failing) to hold his tongue. “What if I like the floor? It’s where you are, isn’t it?” He winked and took another obnoxious bite. “Plus, we don’t need another pompous ass on the throne.” 

Arthur just looked at him for a moment. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” 

His expression changed to something vaguely more serious, something he’d more likely see on Emrys. 

“Of course I do, Arthur Pendragon. We all do.” 

Chapter Text

It wasn’t long before Emrys opened the door to his own chambers to find his servant wrapped up in foreign clothes and a knight of the King’s men sat around his own table, eating the food that he’d left there since morning. 

“Our princess has arrived!” Gwaine lit up, forgetting he was in the middle of a conversation. Arthur froze. He’d entirely meant to re-assume the position his master had left him in before he’d gotten back, but he’d lost track of time and gotten eagerly swept up in Gwaine's idle chatter. 

“Who let you in here?” Emrys teased.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but your watchdog here isn’t exactly vicious,” he got up nodding towards Arthur who said nothing, eyes wide. He knew the second that the knight left, his master’s humor would change. So far, he saw no evidence of his contempt.

Gwaine moved to give the sorcerer a kiss, it was flirty and entirely inappropriate and suddenly Arthur was once again very aware of the ring around his cock. Really, how could they be so blatant with it? He could only sit there and watch as the two men fell into what was clearly some familiar pattern of mirthy jokes, either having totally forgotten that Arthur was there at all or having simply not a care in the world. 

 It was something of jealousy that bubbled up within him. He wanted to know what they knew, but now they were parading themselves around like old flames. The frustrations of being left to wallow in his own lust, Emrys, or Merlin he should say, having put him in this position only to neglect him later. He inwardly boiled at their domesticity. 

“Right,” Gwaine sighed as though he were vexed, “I’d just come to see if you were around to play, but now you’ve entirely wasted my time and I must get going.”

“It’d be more of a tragedy if I didn’t know that you’d come around in a couple of days looking for the same thing,” he quipped back. 

Gwaine smiled and patted him on the shoulder, “see you in a few days, then.” He left them in silence. Emrys looked over Arthur who was still draped in a royal cloak. His smile faded. He approached Arthur quickly. His breath caught in his throat. 

“Did he touch you?” His face was only mere inches from his own, his eyes searching for something within the former prince. 

 “N-no,” the blond sputtered. This was not the question he was expecting. 

Emrys stared at him hard as though he were looking for a hint of deception. When he didn’t find it, he nodded to himself and gained distance.

As usual, Arthur could not discern what the man was thinking. Anger was not what appeared on his face, but concern. It was a look he hadn’t yet seen from him. It made Arthur squirm, not understanding it. 

“Right,” the wizard said, coming back to himself. He said something the blond didn’t understand as his eyes glowed gold. The smaller ring binding Arthur dissipated into the air, but not before rolling its heat up his length, the feeling of which and combined with his pent up lust made him spill himself onto the floor with a groan. He’d not had the proper time to prepare himself.

Emrys stared at him again, half in confusion, half in interest.

Arthur looked at him pathetically, trying to catch his breath. Their eyes met and he felt the aftershocks of what he’d done. He’d been caught off guard! It wasn’t his fault! Unsatisfied that he had wasted an entirely pleasurable orgasm for the least opportune moment. 

“Oh, come on! You really are useless,” Emrys glowered at him. “Well, clean it up. I can’t stand the sight of you.” 

.  .  .

Arthur’d spent all afternoon trying to remove the embarrassing stain from the cloak that had been borrowed to him. At least now he could go about his business fully clothed and clear-minded. And now he was blissfully alone. 

Needless to say, he was frustrated with the whole thing. He’d decided that the work itself wasn’t entirely pointless. It was probably good to know how to really take care of one's horses or clean one's clothes, things he’d never had to do in his life leading up to these events. 

He looked at his hands and thought that he might be rubbing a hole through the fabric instead of actually undoing the mess. He sighed. I really am useless, aren’t I?

Arthur caught a chambermaid in the hall and asked her if she knew anything about getting a blemish out of this particular grade of fabric. He was rather, ahem , vague about the nature of the stain. She smiled and showed him how to mix ashes with lye and use the mixture to flush out the discoloration. He tried to pull up the collar of his tunic to hide the golden necklace which grasped his neck.  

He was hardly listening as her hands worked. All he could think about was how simple it would be to get her into bed. Sex was something that crossed his mind exorbitantly more since his new employment. He was hungrier for it now that he realized there was more to learn, and of course, he’d have to tackle the very new, very confusing feelings he felt for his master. He hated himself for it, but at this point he was a master of repression. As long as he didn’t have another taste, he wouldn’t know what he was missing. 

He pushed himself to notice how the girl’s hair layed itself over her shoulders, how she smelled like lavender, and the ruddy of her cheeks. These were all very agreeable traits. Arthur promised himself he found them attractive. If he hadn’t spent himself already twice today, he’d probably strategize a way with her as well. 

The remnants of Arthur did eventually wash out of Sir Gwaine’s hood. He thanked her, Joan he learned her name was, and she winked at him. Now he had to get to the floors which would prove to take up the rest of his evening. They were utterly filthy. He still had smut on his knees from earlier when he was made to kneel upon them. 

He thought it would be rather straightforward to wash that out, maybe he wouldn’t need help for this one. Just needed a cloth and a bucket, really… he hoped.

Arthur was about halfway finished with the whole room when Emrys entered. His presence was heavy even though he didn’t say anything. Instead he collapsed on the armchair. Arthur pretended not to notice, he was still searing from embarrassment from the last twenty-four hours of his life. He scrubbed more furiously, trying to put it all out of his mind. 

Really, was it even his fault? Sure he seemed useless when he was cleaning the linens and mucking out the stables, he’d never been expected to handle that before. But ask him to rip someone apart in battle, he could do it before his enemy could even blink! They weren’t using him to their advantage and it made everyone look stupid. He was working himself up now. 

The sun had set. Autumn was turning to winter and the cold air was starting to settle in.

“Set the fire please,” Emrys said listlessly from his book. 

Arthur breathed out his anger through his nose. He abandoned what he was doing, grabbed the flint and steel from the mantel and got to work. Emrys was mere paces away and that irked him more. After what seemed like ages, countless tries to ignite the flame, Arthur nicked his thumb beating the rod. He grunted at the pain. His frustration got the better of him. “Why don’t you just use a spell, it would cost significantly less effort!” He was sorry the second the words left his mouth.

The sorcerer slowly closed his book and looked him directly in his eyes. He knelt forward to meet him. “Why do you still assume the world works for you?” he said in a low, searing voice, “You will light the fire simply because I’ve asked you to. It does not matter how much effort it would take me to do it, because you must learn for yourself.” 

Arthur gaped. It was really unfair, this fantastic ability Emrys had to just tear him apart with his words and to do it slowly. And the worst part is that Emrys wasn’t even angry. He said it like it was something that he should have already known. 

Merlin had known that Arthur would hold him in contempt for his magic, after the King’s pogroms, his royal decrees, his stance was well-known but he had not expected Arthur to be so curious about it. (If ‘curious’ was the word you wanted to use.)

“My magic was not gifted to me so I could become lazy. That is not what it’s meant for.”

The blond looked at him from the floor. He’d become accustomed to this patient reprimand, it no longer (visibly) fazed him. In a fit of boldness, he continued to speak, almost as though he were speaking to a friend and not his master. “What do you mean, it was gifted to you? People study their whole lives to learn a spell.”

Emrys’ attention had returned back to the book in his lap, “Some do, yes. But I was born with it.”

Arthur guffawed, “that’s absurd.” 

He shrugged. “You may choose to believe it or not, but it is the truth.”

There was a moment’s pause. He was still unsure whether to believe him, although he had no good reason to lie about it. “If your name is Merlin, why does everyone call you Emrys?” 

“My, aren’t we talkative today!” he smiled, “Did Gwaine tell you that?” 

Arthur didn’t say anything.

“If you must know, the druids named me Emrys, that is who I am to them. My mother named me Merlin.” 

Arthur was quiet again. He’d heard of rulers who went by other monikers, he supposed being named after a bird wasn’t the most menacing, but it was as fair a name as any. “If you’re their king, why does your father have you live here, where you can’t rule over them?”

Finally, he looked up, his face full of confusion. “My father?”

“King Cenred.”

Emrys laughed, loud and musical as though Arthur had made a grand joke, “He’s not my father.”

“You’re his heir.”

He continued to smile, “yes, that is true, but we are not kin.”

Arthur turned back to his work, trying to piece together how that could possibly be. Cenred has sons, why would he choose someone else to bestow a kingdom upon? This was simply not done. 

Finally, a flicker bursted from the rod and a small flame grew quietly in the hearth. The room seemed smaller with the fire illuminating practically only what Arthur could reach. When he looked up again, Emrys’ eyes were softly on him, but this was surely not Emrys before him, who’s harsh gaze swallowed him. This was someone else, someone more complicated. This was Merlin. 

After all this time, Arthur still didn’t understand the nature of their relationship. At the base of it, he was his servant, yes. Sometimes it seemed Emrys’ goal was to goad him, to rile him up, but sometimes he caught glimpses of something of comradery. Like maybe they could’ve been friends in another life, maybe something else. These were the thoughts he tended to cast out of his mind. 

The man closed his book and set it calmly aside. He still had the levelness of a man three times his age, the patience. 

“I was born in a village near the border of Essetir and Camelot. When Uther came to power, that border came into question and then it came under fire. My mother knew of my gifts, it's not something easily concealed by a toddler, and naturally she became worried. Uther made himself very clear on his stance toward magic.”

Arthur blushed at the flagrant use of his father’s name.  

“Eventually, the Druids came to my village and they took me into their clan. They raised me to their ways, taught me how to use my magic. They knew who I was and who I was prophesied to be, but word got out quickly as it usually does.”

Arthur watched him as he spoke. In all the weeks they’d been together, they’d never exchanged more than a couple quips at a time. It was strange to hear him talk like this. 

“When I was thirteen, Cenred sent a campaign to… retrieve me, shall we say, and I’ve been his advisor ever since. Apparently, I’ve been a damn good one if he was willing to pass over his own children for the role. But in any case, it was the prophecy that foretold it anyway.”

“The prophecy?”

“Yes. To come to you,” he said plainly. 

Arthur looked at him dumbly. His mind was racing. If what he was telling him was true, if he’d understood him correctly, then Merlin’s prophecy is Arthur. Everything he’d thought he’d known about the man before him had just been rewritten. “So, it was prophecy that my father would die by your knights?”

“Not initially, but yes.” 

“And that I would be your servant?”

“More or less.”

Arthur was becoming bolder. “If that were true, then why do you torture me? Why do you … bring me to the edge of pleasure, only to step away? Do you do that with all of your servants?” 

Merlin grinned, clearly relishing what he was about to say, 

        “because I know you like it.”

Chapter Text

Arthur looked up at him through his lashes as he spoke. The thrill of his eye contact burned in his gut. This was not a feeling he was used to despite its frequency. There weren’t many people who reduced him to this. In fact, The warlock was the first.

Merlin smiled as though his own response delighted him, “because I know you like it.”

It was a simple answer, yet the blood drained from Arthur’s face. Of course I don’t like it! You think I want to pine after my master? After the man who humiliated me nearly every chance he got?  He wanted to protest, he wanted to look up at him, maybe laugh in his face, and tell him that was absurd. He wanted to, but Merlin looked at him with that smug, knowing expression and Arthur knew then that this man before him knew him far better than he even knew himself. But how could he have possibly known?

Merlin leaned in closer to him now. The warm glow of the fire danced in his eyes which were searching for something. His lips looked plush and red, redder than usual. When his face was serious like this, he looked older, wiser. Maybe because he commanded respect easily, maybe because you could see the life he’d lived on his face.

“Are you going to tell me I’m wrong, Arthur ?” 

A shiver ran down his spine at the context in which his own name was spoken, as though it were a spell that called him. As though it were totally new to his ears, the sounds of these consonants and vowels in this order. 

Emrys was goading him again, but this wasn’t the power difference between master and servant that he usually felt for him. This was something else.

He realized suddenly that his mouth had gone very dry and that all the words he’d hoped to have already spoken had died in his throat. Maybe if he answered correctly, maybe if he were honest with himself, he would be given what he wanted. Evidently, what he wanted in this moment was to not have already spilt himself (twice) today, because the man in front of him looked like he was getting ready to eat him in a way that was entirely appetizing to the meal as well. 

He wanted to beg him. He wanted to beg him to do something - anything. But he just rested there, taunting him. Arthur was not bold enough to kiss him. After all this time, he was not sure if Emrys would even want him like that or if he’d be punished for asking. Maybe he just did this to everyone. Clearly Gwaine had fallen under the same spell. Maybe this was the cruel game Merlin really got off on. 

But at this point, it almost didn’t matter, the want of it burned him. All Arthur could do was look up at him with big blue pleading eyes, this made Merlin smile. 

“Is there something that you want?” He cooed knowingly.

Arthur swallowed. Why was it so easy for him? He knew he was falling backwards into this little game they played. He wanted for something to be done but he didn’t know what, and he certainly didn’t know how to ask for it.

He had to do something . It wasn’t far to go for the laces that held Merlin’s trousers together, Arthur’s fingers fumbled them with anticipation. This was the vision that had come to him in so many dreams in the past days… perhaps a little more graceful on his part, but what did it matter?

Merlin chuckled at his enthusiasm.

Once Arthur finished with the knot, he realized he wouldn’t even really know what to do when he got to the bare skin. Surely, it couldn’t be that complicated. He pulled the fabric back to reveal the most intimate part of him. Clearly, he kept himself well groomed, which was not much of a surprise having seen the rest of him. Merlin still had a dark trail of hair leading from his navel downward, his own was light and unremarkable, Arthur realized he’d never seen that on another man before. Well -that wasn’t entirely true, he’d seen other men in the nude, knights washing themselves in the lake, the occasional bathhouse, but he’d never really looked. Maybe he’d kept his eyes from flashing down at them.

He kissed the hair that grew on him, following it to the real interest. Arthur couldn’t help but stare down at him, ( oh, he was looking now!) wondering how he was going to fit his whole length past his lips. It hadn’t occurred to him until now either but Merlin wasn’t cut as Arthur was, he was a pagan, a “heathen” as his father would have named him. He really did not want to think about his father at a time like this. That difference between them served as another dark irony to what he was about to do. 

He took him in his mouth, trying not to scrape his teeth against him. Merlin hummed in pleasure from above him and suddenly the awkwardness was all very worthwhile. Arthur tried to recall watching Gwaine perform the act, he’d seen his head bob up and down and he tried to mimic that movement. 

“Slower,” Merlin commanded from above him.

Oh god, I’m not doing it right. He slowed himself, flattening his tongue against him in the process. He tried a couple of strokes like that. 

“ Mm , that’s it,” he hummed again. 

Arthur felt fingers fiddle gently with his hair and he tried not to smile at the praise. His eyes flitted up and he really cursed himself that he’d already been taken care of. Merlin watched him with heavy lids and parted lips. Arthur’s own eyes grew wide at the sight. Their gazes connected in a fit of intimacy and the blond nearly forgot what he was doing entirely. 

“ Don’t stop now, Arthur. ” Merlin’s grasp on him grew stronger and he eagerly got back to work. He decided he even liked the taste of him like this, that it was satisfying in this position. The whole act wasn’t nearly as invasive as it looked, not when you got the hang of it. He felt it on the grace the back of his throat even with a hand at its base.

Merlin rested one of his legs over Arthur’s shoulder who then reached around to grip his thigh. He moved like he needed it and that, alone, nearly sent Merlin over the edge. It was a bit haphazard, if not endearing, like a pup that had just learned a new trick; always eager to please. He loved that about Arthur. Whether or not he was willing to admit that to himself, it was rather unusual how easily he fell into the need to be guided.

Sure, he was headstrong and occasionally capable of making his own decisions, not entirely terrible, (he was a total clotpole really,) but when Merlin had stepped in, he bent himself willingly. It was all so delicious. He didn’t want to think about that now, he wanted to last a while longer. 

But really, how could he when Arthur was making love to him like that . It was obscene and lovely and he put his whole heart into it. 

Arthur rolled his tongue over the head and cherished the feeling of it twitch between his lips. He realized that he was going to bring this man to orgasm and the thought made him feel heavy between the legs. He understood now that it was less of what was physically given from something like this and more about what it meant to give satisfaction to someone else. Not that he had been a selfish lover before, he’d been entirely adequate… but maybe it hadn’t been his main focus to make love , rather just to fuck. 

“ You’re doing so well ,” Merlin purred, grasping tighter now at blond strands. 

The former prince of Camelot decided he liked his hair pulled and it only served to reinvigorate his interest. 

Merlin shifted, spreading his legs a bit farther apart and sitting a bit higher on his seat now, his body starting to tense. 

“I’m getting close, will you catch it?” Merlin looked onto him with pleading eyes.

Arthur hardly realized what he was agreeing to, but he nodded as eagerly as he could all the same. Merlin was so stunning like this, at his most vulnerable, trying to control his breathing, watching Arthur shamelessly in the heat of it. He thought he’d agree to anything if they could be like this. 

Arthur felt his cock spasm in his mouth and with it came a burst. He swallowed with one gulp more out of surprise than anything else (though why he should be surprised is beyond me, he’d done it himself numerous times, he knew the order of events). 

Merlin laid there with a heaving chest and a half smile on his lips. Arthur drew himself off slowly, still staring. They could only stare at each other before Merlin mumbled a breathy, “ oh just come here ,” and Arthur was pulled into a searing kiss. It took him a moment to realize what was happening, that he was feverishly kissing the man he’d lusted after for weeks now and that that man was kissing him back. Suddenly, Arthur realized what he must have tasted and he felt ashamed that he hadn’t washed immediately. He pulled back feeling dirty now. Merlin shot him a confused glance.

“I-I don’t want you to taste…” he sputtered.

Merlin rolled his eyes, catching his meaning. “If you think I’d be disgusted tasting you after having given me that gift, then really I should be disgusted at myself.” 

Tasting you was a collection of words that now ran around his head. Tasting you… really, it was brilliant. His heart jumped. This is what he had craved, all of it. The feeling of another person there, on the other end. His mind went totally blank around the thought of them bringing themselves together like this. It scared him a bit how right this all felt. This was the real relief, he thought, the one that all these electric moments had been building up to. Suddenly there was tongue and teeth and he melted into it. Merlin’s hand came to cusp the back of his neck, his long fingers sinking beneath the collar, lighting up his skin once again. 

He loved being touched by these hands. He couldn’t fathom how he’d lived his whole life until now without it… or really even these last few weeks being like this. Why had Merlin waited?

“Why did you wait?” Arthur pulled himself away with a gasp, “Why didn’t you take me when you could, at the beginning?... Didn’t you want me?” 

Merlin looked at him hard, “Of course I wanted you.”

“Then why?”

“I told you, you needed to learn patience.” he looked at him, mostly serious but also with a hint of mirth, “You still do, you prat.”

Arthur stared at him dumbly, “so it was all just a lesson then?” The worst, longest lesson of his life, he thought, worse than all of his tutors combined, even the mean ones. They used to rap his knuckles when he couldn’t keep his focus and they hadn’t stopped until embarrassingly late. He’d been a capricious child, what can I say?

“You needed to become who you were meant to be,” Merlin said quietly. 

This made him pause. Arthur supposed in a lot of ways, he was a different person than he had been. In this position, he existed for the greater good of others. He was forced to serve, forgoing his own wants and needs. It’d taken him a while to realize, but he enjoyed it. As a prince, he never felt helpful, he never sought after that feeling either. Sure, he went on raids and campaigns with his knights, he did what he was told, but never did he have real responsibility. 

Now it gave him pleasure, the thought of being useful, of pleasing someone.

“And who is that?” 

Merlin smiled, “I really did a number on you, did I?” Their faces, a mere inches apart and hovering there. Arthur felt his breath on his cheek as he said, “Do you not know the prophecy, Arthur Pendragon ?”

Oh, he would have to stop saying his name like that if they were to get anything done. Arthur was not sure he’d ever seen a more beautiful man in his life, or maybe it was that this one could make him so undone, so easily , and that he wanted him. 

“And what does the prophecy say about me?” He tried to manage a tone as imperious as he could muster. 

Emrys smiled easily and shut his lips, “I guess we’ll just have to find out.” He pushed a strand of blond hair out his eyes. It was starting to grow long, long for Arthur’s liking at least. Though he’d only noticed it when the wizard fidgetted it. 

Merlin looked at him fondly, “Would you like to come to bed with me?”

Chapter Text

“Did you know it would happen like this?” Arthur whispered in the small hours of the morning, with his master pressed to his back. An arm rested peacefully on his side, the fingers at the end of which gently graced his belly. He felt the heat from Merlin settled against him. Arthur’s body hadn’t permitted him to sleep despite it being his first night in a real bed in some time.He wasn’t even sure if the man he spoke to was even awake. He supposed that it would be a mercy if he could just forget he’d said anything. But then a voice spoke from behind him.

“Like what?” Merlin whispered back against his neck, hardly awake. The small hairs there stood up on their ends.

“Like this… in bed…” he trailed off, a bit embarrassed. He’d never had to talk like this and he was not used to it. 

Merlin huffed a small laugh at his uneasiness on the subject. “No I didn’t.”

“The prophecy didn’t tell you?” Arthur rolled over to face him. Merlin’s eyes were surprisingly present as though perhaps he had not really been sleeping either.

“What, that the night would end with my cock in your mouth?” he scoffed “No, it’s unfortunately not that specific. Otherwise I’d have done everything in my power to get to you much sooner.”

Arthur smiled to himself. There was still a distance between them, an awkwardness. The blond didn’t really know how this thing between them should go, what could happen, what was allowed and not allowed. He supposed that the underlying lesson is to do what he felt should be done so long as it should be for the good of others …in whatever sense of the word you want to take from it. It was clear that he would be taken care of well enough and he just had to trust the hands he was in.

And boy, did those hands know what they were doing. 

He didn’t know if it was some sort of sex magic (if that even possible) or even if it was magic at all, but every ounce of it was thrilling. It was like he’d opened his eyes for the first time and there was all this color that awaited him if he knew how to work for it. No more would his cakes be cut and handed to him, he realized now that the world he’d grown up in, expected for so long to inherit, wasn't the same world in which everyone else lived. 

Merlin watched him carefully as the emotions played on his face. “You think too much.”

His brow furrowed, “No ones ever accused me of that one before.”

Merlin laughed. 

It came as a shock to him, he hadn’t meant it as a joke but now he supposed he could see the humor. He smiled. He liked his laugh, he liked it even more that he’d coaxed it out of him. 

“Go to sleep, Arthur.”

He rolled back to his side. It was nice to be in a real bed, one with a real duvet, and a real body curled against him. 

.   .   .

Arthur woke to find the sorcerer already dressing himself. He watched for a moment, blinking the sleep from his eyes. Merlin’s body was adorned with lean muscle that shifted beneath his skin with every movement. In the cold morning air he looked paler than he’d thought him to be. Maybe if Merlin hadn’t been plucked from the Druid’s he’d be speckled with sunspots across his nose and the tops of his shoulders. It was something Arthur didn’t much like to see in his women, but on Emrys maybe the trait would be redeemable. He stared as the man stepped into his small-clothes. Part of him wished he wouldn’t get dressed, that they could stay like this for a while more.

“I know you’re awake,” Merlin said, then turned to him with a shit-eating grin. “See something you like?”

Arthur reddened. It was as though the wizard could feel his gaze upon him -maybe he could. Suddenly, his body reacted with a renewed interest. He cursed himself. 

“Come now, you’re still my servant,” he said fondly, easily. His eyes raked over the tan body wrapped in his own sheets, “can’t have you lying around in your master’s bed all day.”

“Hard to have me any other way,” Arthur muttered to himself (although clearly untrue), swinging his legs over to grace the floor. He stretched his arms. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt so well-rested that reacclimating to reality took more than a moment.

Merlin stared at him. The look of unfiltered desire pushed past his defenses and splayed across his face. Arthur dared to meet his gaze in this state and Merlin approached him, standing over him. He looked down at him, gracing the back of his fingers against his cheekbone then jaw then landing gracefully, prodding his full lip. Whether on purpose or not, Arthur opened his mouth, inviting the fingers to roam where they pleased.

“Fuck,” Merlin’s eyes flickered. The weight of their maintained gaze grew heavy and the lithe fingers fell away. The blond felt sorry for it. “You should know better than to tempt me like that, Arthur.” 

“Why, what would you do to me?” He smiled up at him rather daringly.

Merlin smiled back, evidently pleased at the push back. “That’s for later,” he brushed a golden lock of hair out of his face. “Come get dressed.”

It was clear that something had changed between them. Arthur had become bolder and Merlin invited it. There was even something vaguely resembling warmth that now flowed between them. Arthur asked a million questions, he had about a million more, and Merlin took it in stride. The man that knew everything and the man that knew nothing had fallen into bed about as easily as they had fallen into conversation.

Today they would go into town to the markets. Emrys had been tasked with aiding in the preparations of the grand feast before them and he wanted to source everything from the citizens if possible, to prove that their reign was invested in its people. The only trouble was that he didn’t yet know the people. 

In truth, Merlin hesitated to ask Arthur out of the castle, he hesitated to give him tasks that would take him even out of their room. It wasn’t safe for him here, it never really had been. He knew Cenred’s proclivities, he knew those of the company he kept, it all disgusted him. Even if Arthur wasn’t who he was, even if “conquering him” wouldn’t mean what it would, he was exactly the type that Cenred sought to break; strong of will and body and handsome. If he hadn’t cast a sort of cloaking spell on him, Merlin suspected Arthur would now be in a far worse condition than he was in. (Unfortunately he wasn’t able to use something as strong as an invisibility spell or a glamour, least the other court sorcerers notice and expose him for treason.)

They dressed. Merlin clenched his teeth when Arthur tied Gwaine’s blue cloak around him. Maybe he was jealous. The friendship between them had come easily as did everything with Gwaine, there wasn’t the same nervousness between them that Arthur showed to him. Merlin understood it as he’d lived it already, but he hated it nonetheless. If he were being honest with himself, he lamented how the events, though foretold, had landed around him. Maybe in another life they could’ve been friends, they could’ve fallen into step with trust and tenderness instead of fear and degradation. Sure, he took some pleasure in how they were. Okay fine, a lot of pleasure. But often he wondered if he first had not been “broken” by Cenred so many years ago, though himself then without a protector, if he would take the same way of fulfillment that he had with Arthur. He tried not to linger on those thoughts as they did not serve him now. The past must remain the past. 

He shifted his focus instead to the blond who had difficulty keeping a smile from his face as the sun kissed his skin for the first time in weeks. Arthur was snapped from his reverie when his king marched towards him along with some guards. Merlin’s spell had worked, it had never made him invisible, instead it served to place Arthur always in the back of the twisted man’s mind. But now they were met face to face and it was difficult to conceal him. 

Cenred looked even more abhorrent in the morning light, maybe it was just his distaste for the man. His hair was scraggly and thinning, the skin of his face was blemished with age spots and the yellow tint of disease. The sight of his leering smile and the recognition on his face when he saw Arthur again nearly sent last night’s dinner up his throat. 

“How good it is to see you again, my pet .”

“What is today’s task, my lord?” Merlin said brusquely, becoming Emrys instead with a ridged back. 

Cenred looked over Arthur a bit longer, surely noting how unmarred he was despite the training Emrys had promised him. If he would grow to become suspicious of Emrys, then his place at court and the prophecy itself would be compromised. He grunted, pulling his eyes off the blond. “I want a full menu for our festivities and seeing as our boy here knows the grounds, I want him to sniff something out.” 

He could’ve sent someone else out to do this, Merlin thought with disgust, he just wanted to watch the people see their old prince enslaved. It’d been a month since he’d been seen by anyone, most of them likely thought him dead.

One of the guards jabbed him into motion like a horse against spurs and so the King’s party strolled through the towns. Arthur held the vanguard, leading them through the familiar streets, followed by two helmeted men, with Emrys and Cendred in the rear. The contrast of the joy that Arthur felt only moments earlier to when the townspeople started to recognize him as they passed was palpable. He’d tied his cloak carefully, but the collar still shone through and was rather unmistakable as to its meaning. This was cruel. Merlin wished with his whole being that he could be there walking next to Arthur. He wished he could put his hand on his shoulder, but there was no strategic way he could push past the men without undoing years of forced effort and withstood abuse.

Maybe he’d gotten too attached too quickly. God, Kilgarrah warned him of this. He’d been indignant that it wouldn’t be like that, that he’d be able to control himself and he wouldn’t let it get out of hand. But now here he was trying to contain his anger and having exposed his true purpose to the man entirely too early and therefore potentially dooming them both. The dragon was probably laughing from his cave.

That damned overgrown lizard, he gritted to himself. The situation was dire. 

The sky was pale and foreboding. Though it was only mid autumn, cold had settled in quickly this year. The crisp air promised a long winter, one of which will be daunting. For now, it was early and many of the townspeople had just begun their day. Market stalls were opening, blacksmiths were smithing, children playing with dogs, women washing clothes in the basin. Most of which paused their work, stunned to see their former prince walk past in something resembling a funeral procession. The fact that he was unshackled apart from the choker around his neck meant that he was a part of them, he belonged to them. It was an assault to his character, that he was too weak to fight against them so now he was helping them, the people that killed his own father! Despicable. 

“I am curious to know if you have taken him for a ride,” Cenred asked loudly enough for the “him” to have heard, though if he had, he bravely made no indication. 

This was clearly a test. Merlin needed to be vuglar, but not enticing enough for the twisted tyrant to want to try a round himself. 

“Took some doing, but he steers well,” Emrys said as plainly as he could, then he added “though perhaps a bit toothy.”

This pleased the man, even making him smile, “Well, those can be knocked out easily enough.” 

Merlin felt bile in his throat. He needed to remain calm in this situation. He was being studied.

“The boy is unmarked, yet he does your bidding?” Cenred turned to look the wizard in the eye, measuring him. It wasn’t as though Merlin could not crumple him with a flick of the wrist, but he was playing the long game as he was meant to do. This was chess, you have to play if you want to win. And he, unfortunately, was not much more than a rooke with a big head. 

Emrys smiled. “You forget, my Lord, that my magic has prepared me for those situations. I assure you, he’s well learnt his lessons.” 

Cenred seemed pleased at this answer. They watched as Arthur approached a nervous shopkeeper. The old woman seemed to recognize him, though she watched the other members of his party as they spoke. She curtsied when Cenred entered, it was not as though they had met before but rumors of the new King’s cruelty had swept through the city and if the ostentatious crown atop his head was any indication, then she did well to greet him as such. Cenred took over the conversation, trying to come to some sort of deal, putting his most agreeable face on. 

Merlin snuck a look to Arthur, he couldn’t help it, and Arthur returned it. It was only a second, perhaps not even, before Arthur let his gaze falter but Merlin knew then in that half-moment that the prophecy was true, that this was him. This was the man he was meant to spend his life teaching -and learning from; he was meant to protect him. 

The party walked a bit further through the narrow streets and the grander avenues, it did not get easier. Cenred decided that duck was the main course and pumpkin soup as a side with lots of vegetables. It was all arranged by mid afternoon. They stepped out into an alleyway where Cenred announce that he would retire for supper

“Emrys, will you be joining us? You’ve been rather absent at the table and I tire of Sir Eoin’s endless campaign tales.” 

“I believe I have a few more tasks before I settle for the evening, but I’ll be sure to dine tomorrow.”

Cenred looked between him and his servant, then leaned in close to the sorcerer. “Do send him to my chambers tonight but have him wash first.”

Arthur’s eyes blew wide. He tried to pretend he hadn’t heard what he’d doubtlessly heard. 

“As you wish, my lord,” was all Emrys could muster. 

“Do you wish me to leave one of my men in case he should misbehave?” 

Emrys gave a short, forced laugh, “I’m certain I can handle him on my own, but I appreciate your consideration.” 

Cenred patted him on the shoulder as though to affirm their comradery, then he and his men took their leave. Only a moment after they lost sight of the infernal man did Arthur suddenly turn to the ground and vomit. Merlin put a hand on his shoulder, making him flinch, but he held it firmly there. A bit woozy, Arthur brought himself to stand. He could barely look Merlin in the face. The things he'd said about him... knowing he could hear... Arthur knew that he did it because he had to, but that didn't help much. It almost reaffirmed what he already thought about him, about Emrys. It was difficult to gauge who was who at this point. Right when he thought he could differentiate the two lives, he was proven wrong. 

“Arthur, calm yourself,” Merlin looked into his eyes, worried. He wiped a fleck of half-digested food from the corner of his mouth. Arthur looked positively shattered. “You are not going to his room tonight, I won’t let that happen.” 

Merlin looked different to him now. His eyes were large and searching. Though he was composed as usual, this was the first time Arthur ever saw something of fear marked on his face and that scared him very much. Because if Merlin was scared, then he should be absolutely petrified.

“Come, let’s clean you up.” 

Chapter Text

The men did not speak as they walked back to the castle. Though they purposely took twisting side streets and quiet passageways, Arthur felt his heart sink a little more each time someone, someone he might’ve known in his past life, turned to look at him with a grotesque recognition. 

It was a blip in the timeline when he’d felt, only stupidly and momentarily, something resembling happiness. He was still here in the way that he was, in the way that he always would be. Since the fall of his family, It was as though Arthur were trapped in an old well. Everyday he did a little more to claw out of it, everyday a little closer, but lately he’d been distracted with his own newfound pleasure. It was so stupid.

Merlin could see Arthur retreating back into himself. That wide-eyed stare that now marked his face, he hasn’t seen since the first few days in his new position. He wondered idly if he’d had the same expression when he was at the other end of Cenred’s whip, at what point did he grow accustomed to his cruelty. Merlin knew it was his just fate, he’d known since he was a child. Maybe that made it easier to endure. 

After what felt like hours they returned safely to their chambers. Merlin shut the door gently and turned to Arthur. 

“I’ll have someone put an elixir in his wine this evening to make him sleep. He will not ask for you tonight, but- ” he cut himself off. I cannot promise for the other nights after, is what he would’ve said. Arthur understood what he meant even though he hadn’t permitted the words to leave his lips. 

Merlin could hear his pain. He knew that feeling. He did not know how to comfort him. Instead he watched his face move through a multitude of emotions .

“Why are you doing this?” Arthur murmured, though it was not entirely clear what this he was referring to. Helping him maybe, looking after him when he didn’t have to. It would probably serve him better as a master to do his best to not endear himself to the captive.

There was a pause before Merlin spoke.

“Because no one did it for me,” he said, his expression blank.

Arthur studied him. It was like his pain and sadness had already been beaten out of him. In those words, he’d made himself very clear, maybe he’d even given himself away. Arthur realized that despite Merlin’s frankly startling wisdom, they were two flies caught in the same web. He realized that Merlin knew how to play Cenred because he’d seen this all before, because he’d been here long enough, because it’d happened to him. 

“You…” he had difficulty finishing his thought, “you were just a child.”

Merlin didn’t speak for a time. He could feel Arthur’s horror. This really was a fine mess they were in. Part of him wanted to reach out and touch him again, part of him wanted to crumble into tears but he didn’t think he could summon them if he tried.

“You can’t win if you don’t play the game, Arthur. I think you know that,” Merlin whispered. 

Arthur felt rage bubble up within him. He was angry that any of this was allowed to happen, that a grown man, a king nonetheless, could be so savage and that people would simply look the other way. He wondered if Merlin -Emrys in those moments- was the way that he was because all of this had spent so many years hardening him. It enraged him, the thought. He was enraged for Merlin. 

“That’s not the point! Why would the druids just hand you over if they knew that you’d be treated like that? Surely they could’ve helped you or had they no humanity?”

Finally some emotion registered on Merlin’s face, his brow furrowed as though he couldn’t understand Arthur’s concern for him. “Do you honestly believe all this wasn’t happening under your father’s rule? Do you think you Pendragons were so high not to take slaves? You think it was just that your dad burned hundreds of innocents for no worse crime than performing magic? Did anyone help them? ”

Arthur was in awe. Perhaps it was the first time he’d ever seen him be anything other than in charge of the situation. “Monarchs have always abused their power. They always will. Having a big, grotesque head is what keeps the crown from falling off it. You’d be blind to disagree,” he spat.

It was then that Arthur recognized that Merlin’s blind anger on the matter was not necessarily directed at him, but at the pain that had brought him here. At the people like him. He didn’t know Merlin’s whole story, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stomach it, but slowly he was learning more piece by piece. He knew that his path till now had been a hard and lonely one. It’d been the druids so many years ago that had shown him the only kindness, something he might not have seen since. His rage was misplaced now, but understandable all the same.

Where most every one of his movements was calculated, it occurred to Arthur in that moment that the glimpses of tenderness he’d seen from him hadn’t been planned so much as they had been a part of Merlin; the old Merlin, the one from before all this. Maybe he’d really meant to continue the vicious cycle unto him. That thought made his blood run cold. What had stopped him? It wasn’t anger that flowed through Arthur even though it probably should have been, he could only look at him with sadness. He’d seen him now. The real one. He was still trying to heal from all those years. 

Arthur didn’t even think before he pulled him into an embrace. He wrapped his whole torso, as much of his body as he could manage around the man. He wanted him to be felt, to be swallowed by gentleness. Who knows when was the last time he was even touched with goodwill?

He buried his nose in the crook of Merlin’s shoulder where his hair met his neck. All he could smell was Merlin and all he could feel was the heat from his body. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur whispered into his skin, “I’m so sorry, you’re right.” 

It took Merlin a few moments to accept it and to return it. Arthur felt hands sprawl themselves across his back, clutching for him, for anything. Maybe he could be that kindness for him.

They stood there for a while but when the embrace loosened, Merlin was the first to pull himself away. He looked at Arthur with such depth, his eyes searching for words maybe. Instead of opening his mouth, however, he pushed a blond lock out of his handsome face. Without words, he said all that he had needed to. 

“You really are as beautiful as they said you were,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur blushed slightly. He’d felt handsome before, it was easy to recall the strongest moments. The noble maidens watching from the stands as he tore an enemy apart in the ring, he’d theatrically throw his helmet from his head and bow to them. They smiled at him as though he were the prize. The lavish parties when everyone would turn to look as his arrival was announced. The towns-women and girls when he went patrolling with his men through the streets. He remembered all this vividly, yet none of it compared to how beautiful he felt at the end of Merlin’s gaze. 

And really, he did have that much power over him. Arthur wasn’t sure at what point he’d leant into it, but he was sure now that this man was his master and that he always would be in some capacity. 

Now, in this moment, their faces hovering mere inches apart and the weight of the situation hung somewhere over their heads behind them, shoved out of view. 

“As who said?” Arthur whispered, practically against him. 

Merlin smiled as though they’d just shared a joke. “You don’t know? You haven’t heard the way people talk about you?”

Truthfully, he’d always noticed how people looked at him. People did love to stare, but he’d always chalked it up to nerves at seeing the king’s son or maybe watching him with critical eyes. As a sort of mask perhaps he pretended to assume that he was a prize that everyone wanted to win, but never, seriously, did he think he was coveted.

“No, I want you to tell me.”

Merlin guffawed at his gall, completely shifting the energy of the conversation had only minutes before. “Turn around, I’ll show you.” 

Merlin guided his shoulders as a vaguely confused Arthur turned his body to face his own reflection in the full-length mirror leant against the wall. He didn’t look any more remarkable than he usually did, the only notable thing about the reflection was Merlin watching carefully from behind him. 

“Let me show you what I see,” Merlin whispered against his neck. The hot breath of his words tickled his skin. With a golden flash of the sorcerer’s eyes, Arthur’s tunic gently lifted itself from his body and crumpled to the floor. The cold autumn air greeted his torso, making him shiver. It was then that Merlin pressed his own naked chest against his back, making Arthur push himself against him, seeking his warmth. 

Merlin’s deft hands brought themselves around to caress his skin. Both men were watching, almost hypnotized. Like last time, though perhaps a bit more charged now, wherever Merlin’s fingers danced along his skin lit up in a blaze of frissons.

“My magic likes you too,” he cooed. Merlin graced a nipple causing a sharp intake of breath from Arthur, “it wants to devour you like this.”

Merlin lingered there, taking the sensitive spot between his fingers, gently at first, then less so. Arthur hummed a moan. He’d never been pawed at before, certainly not by someone whose magic evidently wanted to watch him cum.

 His hands traced the bold muscles, one gliding up towards his neck, rubbing roughly against the sensitive tendons that found themselves strained with anticipation. Arthur had almost forgotten the golden collar that still perched above his clavicle before their jaunt through the towns this morning. It’d become a fixture like any other piece of him. (Perhaps that was rather telling.) A twisted part of Merlin liked it. The message sat proudly that Arthur belonged to him as his magic belonged to Arthur. 

The other hand snaked itself down Arthur’s side, tempting the slight curve of his hip and leading down his clothed thigh. The blond watched it all happen with a slack-jawed expression. Already, he was becoming overstimulated with so many different feelings of lust colliding upon him all at once. 

“There,” Merlin purred, nipping the soft skin where his neck met his shoulder and then raking it over with a kiss, “you’re a bit hard to miss, don’t you think Arthur?” 

The blond saw red spread over his cheeks, he tried to regain some semblance of dignity by closing his half-opened mouth, but it fell open again the second Merlin made a new stroke of his fingers. His hand moved inward of his thigh making his breath hitch again.

“Do you want me to show you more?” 

“ Please , Merlin, yes, ” he could only breathe. 

Merlin smiled. With another flash, Arthur’s trousers were undone and fell down his legs. His small clothes were all that remained to be unwrapped. His excitement was now evident. 

Merlin's fingers found their way back to his skin. They were simply dripping with magic as though it simply couldn’t contain itself within any longer. Its traces lit him up where they graced him. He moaned as one hand played with the hem of his linen shorts. 

“Don’t you see how beautiful you are like this?” 

Arthur opened his eyes to see himself in the reflection. His face had gone completely red with wanting. His chest rose and fell with a soft intensity, his entire body trying to lean more into the man’s touch. Embarrassingly, he grew impossibly harder at the sight of himself like this. Merlin peered at him, watching intently, possessively as Arthur drunk himself in. 

Slowly, the Merlin’s southern hand crept even farther south, caressing, teasing, no goal in mind. The whole act was somehow more salacious keeping what little cloth covered him. There was an intention there with it, something you’d have to push out of the way to get what you wanted. And Merlin was happy to do it.

If it wasn't clear before, it was blinding now how much Arthur was wrapped around his little finger. He’d probably do about anything he’d asked and he’d do so happily. 

In moments like these, it was difficult for Merlin to reign in his magic. This sort of expression obviously required a looser grasp on one’s constitution and he could not do both. Plus, he found his partners tended to care little if the experience was intensified a bit in that way. 

His magic was attracted to Arthur. This was obvious as Arthur was his entire destiny, but he hadn’t realized to what extent, in what domain it would manifest. Merlin had had many partners, he didn’t discriminate between sexes, but he hadn’t expected such an overwhelming feeling of lust for the man the moment he’d set eyes on him. What surprised him even more was his urge to take care of him, to protect him as best he could from the things he’d had to endure alone.

Now, he had no need to hold himself back. Merlin let his magic flow freely and it went straight for Arthur. It made his body sing, like he’d been drunk off too much mead but his head was clear.

Arthur moaned and Merlin’s grip on him (both figurative and literal) tightened. At some point, it was just too much with the small clothes in the way. An invisible force pulled them down his legs, slow and sultry. 

Merlin whispered words into his skin that he didn’t understand and he felt a sensation that was totally foreign to him. A sort of slickness ran down his leg and a new hunger from within him. He was suddenly very ready for whatever was coming next.

Chapter Text

Even as stunning Arthur was like this, literally begging, Merlin wasn’t sure. It only served as a distraction to them before something would happen. He knew something would happen, something bad. Merlin could handle it, but Arthur was new to all this. The situation they were in, Arthur did not take it lightly and Merlin hated himself that all he could think to do to comfort him was make him cum. 

All these years he’d spent learning people, studying how they behaved and what it meant, manipulating his way to getting what he needed, it’d never occurred to him that one day he might want to know how to love a person. He knew the prophecy, that his destiny lied in Arthur but he’d been kept in the dark to what capacity. He’d thought it would be as maybe a mentor getting him only as far as the next step, but now he was unsure. Arthur made him want to be a better person. He made him want to stay. 

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Merlin whispered, though the blond couldn’t have known this confession was not related to the task at hand. 

“Merlin, I want you,” he murmured, placing his strong hand over Merlin’s where it rested on his hip,  “you can’t hurt me.”

Something overcame the sorcerer then. Somehow, through all his pain and intensity, he’d imprinted on the man. You can’t hurt me. Surely, Arthur couldn’t understand the weight of his words or how freeing they were to him. Because after all this, all the teasing, all the degradation, Merlin really did not want to hurt him anymore. Maybe he never really did. 

“I want you,” he whimpered again, moving the man’s hand over his cock, “you aren’t making me do this, it’s my decision.” As though he could sense exactly what made Merlin pause. Maybe he could see the fear in his eyes for the second time in all the time they’d known each other. 

Merlin’s resolution came back to him. Give the man what he wanted, he thought to himself, give the man anything he wanted, he deserved that much.

“Where do you want me?” Merlin kissed his neck roughly.

Arthur, in his haze could not pull his eyes off the two of them together. He could not manage the words to say exactly what he wanted, but Merlin knew him. He saw right through him.

“Let me take care of you, Arthur,” he cooed.

The blond felt something creeping up along his skin, something not entirely there. In any other situation he would’ve recoiled, but he knew this was just a part of Merlin, of his magic that he didn’t yet understand. But he was about to. 

The pieces of him graced every erogenous zone on his body, one after the other. It made Arthur wonder if he really knew anything about himself at all. He felt something hard behind him press  his thigh and he couldn’t help but push himself back against it.

“Fuck, Arthur,” Merlin groaned. He brushed the head along Arthur’s entrance, a sensation the blond had never felt before. It was foreign and strange, but whether it was the magic making him undone or his own lust, he needed it now. More. 

“You-you’ll tell me, won’t you? If it’s too much?” Merlin sputtered. Even now he was worried about his well being. As it turned out, Merlin was sweet. Above all, he didn’t want to do onto Arthur what had been done onto him.

“Yes, you idiot ,” he breathed with a smile. 

Merlin pushed through, a little easier than he had expected catching them both off-guard, making Arthur yelped. There was a shot of fire through him, though he couldn’t distinguish where the pain ended and the pleasure began. Instead, it was all joined together and he thought it might knock him off his feet. Merlin’s hands were still on him trying to hold him up right, though he couldn’t hold the two of them up for long.

Merlin hissed and the desk flung itself haphazardly to stop in front of them, sending dozens of papers into a flurry and nearly shattering the mirror. Without instruction, Arthur leant himself over the great oak bureau, pressing his thighs against it to hold him up. And suddenly everything was perfect. Merlin slid into him and that hunger which had collected within him was suddenly, passionately being fed.

They moved in tandem, like they were one creature. He was unaware that those rather undignified sounds were coming from his lips and the promises being muttered against his ear were those of immense praise. Promises he had never heard before, he’d never dreamed of hearing, not towards himself at least. The two were so lost in each other that they were unaware of the ruckus they were making. It was a blessing perhaps. Surely it would have been abundantly clear to anyone within a mile radius what activities they got up to in their spare time.

Arthur craned his neck to look at the two of them again in the reflection and he saw Merlin’s face reddened with exertion and his golden eyes only on him. Arthur couldn’t contain himself any longer. He moaned wantonly and spilled himself onto the desk, ruining any work that had remained there during. The magic was like waves tearing through his body. With a beautiful stutter, Merlin followed suit.

The blond thought he had never felt his heart beat as quickly as it was now. He stared at the mess he’d made, trying desperately to figure out what had just happened, what he felt. It was terrifying, such a new feeling, something he’d never thought possible. It was like he’d been lied to all this time. 

Merlin slid out of him, trying to catch his own breath. He couldn’t suppress a laugh after he realized what they’d just done or how good it had felt. Arthur turned to face him, his head still reeling. 

Merlin happily wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled him forward into a kiss. It was sweet and thankful and so entirely unlike him. 

“You’re stunning,” Merlin pressed his forehead to his. Finally, coming back to himself after a rather intense orgasm, Arthur smiled. He smiled brightly and returned the kiss with fervor. Oh, he was in trouble now.

They found themselves naked in bed without any idea of what time it was. It was true that they’d skipped dinner. It hadn’t even crossed their minds. 

Something was different now. They were different now. Arthur had met Merlin and knew him intimately. Merlin had spoken of a prophecy that they were meant to meet but he was never specific. Maybe he didn’t know himself. Or maybe it’d been rewritten. Whatever it was, there was a change in him. He was softer now. 

That much was clear as they layed in bed. Merlin was on his back, his fingers tangled in blonde locks as Arthur let his cheek rest comfortably on his chest. It was intimate. 

For a while they spoke of little, inconsequential things. Arthur blathered on about the people he’d been with and Merlin could only listen and try to imagine how all the pieces had fallen into place like that. 

“How did you meet Gwaine?” 

Merlin smirked, “Why do you want to know?”

Arthur shrugged below him. 

The raven traced the outer shell of his ear with the tip of his finger, utterly enrapt. “We were just children. He’d followed traveling musicians to my village. I believe he tried to steal my pipe,” he laughed.

“That’s a bit like him, isn’t it?”

“It is! I’ll never forget the look on his face when I knocked him to the ground. He’d never seen magic before and I wasn’t going to let him have that pipe.”

“That was pretty brave of you,” Arthur shifted to look him in the eyes.

“I suppose,” Merlin looked back at him, “I felt badly so I took him in to meet my mother. She fed him and I suppose he hung around.”

“Sounds like a stray cat.”

Merlin playfully pushed his face away. 

Arthur loved when they were like this, when they could joke between them, when things were easy. He got the sense this could have been something different entirely. Friends maybe. He hoped in any world they got to meet that that version of himself got to taste his lips. He liked to watch them as they opened and closed.

“Hard to get rid of him really. He was always stronger than me physically, more daring. He was my best friend and he protected me when I couldn’t use my magic. He wouldn’t let me go with the druids on my own even though he stuck out there like a sore thumb. Doesn’t have a magic bone in his body, just brute strength… and stupidity.” 

He huffed a laugh.

“Did you ever have a friend like that?” Merlin looked at him thoughtfully.

Arthur shook his head, “all my friends were appointed so by my father.” 

Merlin laughed. It was bright and happy and Arthur was proud of himself.

“Was he your first, then?” he asked, a bit more seriously.

“Yes.” Merlin’s smile dimmed a bit, but didn’t entirely fade. “We were sixteen. Things were… bleak and we had each other. Couldn’t say the attraction wasn’t there.” 

Yes, I have met Gwaine, Arthur thought to himself.

He cleared his throat. “Has it always been that way for you? That good, I mean.”

Merlin couldn’t suppress the wide grin that crept to his face. He looked at Arthur for a moment, whose face was growing red again. “Has what always been that good?”

“You know,” he shifted, “the sex. Is your magic always that… that explosive?”

“No,” he said firmly, still smiling, “Usually I can usually control it better. It’s only that good when there’s something to lose.” 

The brightness faded from the blonde and Merlin realized what he’d said. He’d meant it in the context of his feelings for the man but he’d forgotten that this all could very well be lost. The light in the room dulled a bit. They were back where they had started. It’d been a nice moment. 

Arthur laid himself back down, cheek against him. The air had turned still.

“We need to get away from here,” he said quietly after a few moments.

Merlin was still silent.

“You can’t continue to live like this,” he spoke again, riling himself, forcing himself to sit up and be face to face with him, “I won’t let you live like this. We can go somewhere. Together.” 

This was an indignance from Arthur that he hadn’t seen before. His passion for the subject shocked him a bit. He was still a prisoner after all.

“I can’t leave.”

Arthur waited for some sort of explanation. Merlin pulled himself away, not bothering to look at him. His face was twisted into some expression Arthur didn’t quite understand. “If I leave then all this will be for nothing and the prophecy will be shattered.”

“Fuck the prophecy.”

“ You don’t understand,” Merlin glowered at him, his eyes half pleading, “You and I were meant to meet under different circumstances, kinder ones, but something went wrong. Everything was turned on its head somewhere and now you and I are trapped and thousands are dead who weren’t meant to be.”

Normally, at the hilt of all this prophecy mumbo-jumbo, Arthur rolled his eyes and dismissed the whole thing. But he knew that Merlin believed it with all his being. Arthur saw the seriousness on his face, he felt it. He blamed himself. 

“That’s in the past, it wasn’t your fault.”

“I… I know that.” 

Arthur searched his face. Maybe he wasn’t who Arthur thought he was. Maybe he’d never been the strong, calculated man he’d met before, just a projection of him. Who was this person before him that would just roll over and take a life-long lashing?

“I’m sorry, I can’t do it,” Merlin spoke again, “and you can’t either.” 

Arthur huffed, glaring at him. “Try and stop me.” 

It was a hollow threat. He knew he could end his life without so much as a flick of the wrist. The sadness in Merlin’s eyes at this comment tore Arthur apart. 

“Merlin, it’s not good for us here.”

“You can’t go because it would be me they’d send after you.” he spoke in an even tone. The one that Emrys always spoke in, “If I were anything other than successful, they’d know that I was guarding you, and when I would be successful,” Merlin sighed looking up at him through his eyelashes, “I’d have to make a show of torturing you.” 

Chapter Text

The festivities were well underway. The plans had all been made. The castle gates were opened to anyone and everyone. The courtyard was raucous with games, music and people dancing. Locals could sell their wares, people drank mulled wine and grog, it was all very merry. Even though the sun was high up in the sky, the day was cold, but no one seemed to mind much. Arthur had never seen anything like it. 

Sure, there had been festivals, but Uther had always been a rather conservative king. He preferred to not spend the peoples’ coin where it was not necessary. Which, really, was a kindness in his eyes, but it did mean that there were no joyful ties between the monarch and the people over whom it presided. 

Arthur was surprised that Cenred went through with all this. He was even more surprised to see Merlin helping, that he cared so much. Why did he care so much?

Inside the castle was equally chaotic, but in a different sense. Servants scuttered this way and that, trying to prepare the space for the feast that evening. Enormous, flowing wreaths were being strewn across the walls. The season’s loveliest autumnal flowers and spikelets of barely made beautiful arrangements on the tables. It was nearly unrecognizable. Hard to believe what had happened in this room…It all felt like so long ago. 

It was difficult to stand there and not feel the weight of it. But a lot had changed since then. He honestly couldn’t believe how much had changed in the months since he’d last been in this room. He’d changed. He was not even sure that he would run if given the opportunity, not without Merlin. 

The man was standing on the ground, wearing his best scowl and lighting the chandelier from above. There were hundreds of wax candles to set ablaze and he had to aim carefully and individually if he didn’t want the whole place to go up in flames. Though this was Emrys, though he would not treat him with kindness if Arthur should approach him publicly such as here, he felt, within him, that familiar aching hunger from nights previous. The one that made him slick like a girl at the sight of him. One last degradation that he got to keep all to himself. It made his knees weak. 

He had to admit that the place looked beautiful. Merlin clearly had put a lot of thought into it. Maybe he did have a way about him… when he wasn’t being a sassy prick. It was moments like these, the intense focus for the little things, that proved it. Arthur wondered what he could have been like if he’d had a normal upbringing, but then he supposed he wouldn’t be the man he knew. 

There was something darkly amusing about their relationship. It had not taken Arthur long to fall for his captor, the man he’d despised only months ago. Now, it was difficult to imagine going on without him. And surely he was not the only one who’d felt that change. More and more often a goofy smile cracked its way through Merlin’s tough exterior, and Arthur couldn’t help but relish that he’d been the one to put it there.

He lingered on this thought as he went about his work, smiling to himself dumbly. No one much paid him any mind...publically. In private he was much of what people could talk about. By now, half the castle had heard the two of them together at one point or another. It clearly wasn’t a ruse to them because he hadn’t tried to escape since that first night, much to the dismay of the guards quick to make a wager. It seemed almost as though he wanted to be there, ( imagine! ) to be a slave to Emrys, doing only God knows what to be making those sounds so loudly in all hours of the morning. 

Arthur had finished his task. Now he was meant to ready Merlin’s evening outfit and ready himself with a quick wash. He snuck out of the Great Hall inconspicuously enough, but once the door closed quietly behind him, he was met face to face with leering Essetirian knights. 

“Look who we’ve found slinking off into the night!” The shorter one sneered.

“It’s a good thing you were never king, from what I’ve heard, you make a much better whore,” a taller knight said, advancing towards him, looking him up and down as though he were gauging his value. 

“Want to make an extra coin?” The third one asked from close behind him, but he knew it was not really a question.

Arthur froze. He was surrounded. These were men trained to kill beasts much larger than he. It was clear that he stood little chance of fighting off all of them at once. 

“It’s rather selfish for Emrys to keep you all to himself, don’t you think?”

A large hand gripped his shoulder, slipping even marginally under the neck collar of his red tunic. Recoiling, he tried to wrench himself away but they were too strong. He cursed himself for picking this shirt this morning. It hung loosely off him and would be easy to grab at. The guards laughed. 

“He wants a tussle!” 

“We’re not going to have to hold you down, are we?” 

They forced his torso forward, pressed up against the wall. He struggled against them. 

“Come now, that’s enough.” 

The three knights turned towards the voice. Arthur couldn’t bear to move out of fear. 

“You’ve had your fun,” the man said again. 

“A whore should work, Gwaine.”

Arthur forced himself to turn at the sound of the name. There was Sir Gwaine with his hand on the hilt of his longsword and a serious look on his face, more serious than he thought he’d have been able to manage. 

“I’d say Emrys keeps him fed well enough.” The low growl of his voice sent shivers up Arthur’s spine. “Wouldn’t want to get on his bad side, would you?”

Hesitating, the knight finally laid off him and Arthur expelled the heavy breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Go find something more useful to think about than your cocks.”

Defeated, the band slunk off down the hall but not before shooting Gwaine lethal looks. The knight watched them until they were out of sight. 

“Gwaine, thank you, God knows what-”

“Save it. There’s work to be done.” He didn’t look at Arthur, instead he just commanded, “Come with me.”

The blond didn’t know what to say. He’d never seen him so grave. Surely something had happened. 

The two walked silently to a part of the castle that Arthur had not been to since he was a child. Thoughts flew wildly around his head, he could not soothe any one long enough to think clearly. He knew this part of the castle, though he could not fathom for what reason he was being led there. The dark underbelly Camelot was sparsely lit and dank. It was somehow more dreary than even the dungeons. Arthur wondered how safe he really was with this man he hardly knew. After some time, Gwaine stopped before an iron-grated door and opened it. Once Arthur was fully in the dim room, he closed it behind them and locked it, making him whirl around, preparing himself for whatever Gwaine might try. His heartbeat had hardly been given the opportunity to slow since the attempted assault in the corridor. 

“Gwaine, what are you-”

“Arthur?” 

Arthur turned to see his sister step out to meet him. She was mostly hidden under a great blue cloak but her eyes gleamed up at him from under its hood. Morgana didn’t wait for his response before she wrapped him in her arms. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” she choked into his shoulder. 

Leon stood paces behind them. He smiled at the long-awaited reunion. 

Arthur could hardly process what was happening, instead, he gripped her a little tighter. Lost himself a little deeper. It’d been so long he’d forgotten to miss her. The weight of his guilt finally caught up to him now that she was here. 

Her delicate fingers grasped at his golden collar when she noticed it. “What is this, what have they done to you?”

He pushed her hand away. He didn’t want to talk about it. 

Silent tears ran down her face at the sight of him. He could only wipe them from her cheek wordlessly. He didn’t even know what to say to her after all this time. 

She was still so beautiful, even now, even like this. 

“Come now, there isn’t time, we must go.” she pulled away from him.

“No,” he said, not moving. 

Her eyebrows knitted together.

“I can’t leave.” He couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. Escaping was all he could think about for weeks and now an opportunity showed itself.

“Arthur, what in God’s name are you talking about? These people made you- they made you their slave.”

He just stared at her.

“Are you… have they done something to you?” she whispered. 

He looked away. He couldn’t bear it, all of this. 

“It’s a spell isn’t it! We have people who can break it, Arthur, you just have to fight it!”

“No, it’s not that. Morgana, I can’t leave.”

Her face dropped. 

“Well, why not?”

How could he begin to explain to her everything that had happened since their father had been killed? How could he explain that he was falling in love not with not just a man, but a sorcerer, the most powerful sorcerer that ever lived, or that he wouldn’t leave without him.

“It’s become… complicated,” he managed, “a lot has happened since you left.” 

She studied him a moment. Her face twisted into something awful, like he was betraying her. “Morgana, we cannot waste time,” Leon said. 

“Gwen told me stories, but I-” she cut herself off, “I didn’t want to believe them.”

Arthur cringed. He was only vaguely aware of what people were saying about him. If it was anything like what the knights that had jumped him had said, then certainly news had reached her that he’d lain with him. He could not simply deny it. Not to her. Therefore he was grateful that she did not ask. 

“Are you happy?” She whispered, “with him?” 

So she had heard everything. Arthur pressed his lips into a thin line. He nodded, “I am. God help me, I am.” 

“Very well,” she looked him over once more, undoubtedly assessing for injuries. “I hope you continue to be so.” 

Her pale fingers brought the hem of her hood back over her head and she began to turn towards the door. “Take care of yourself, Arthur.”

“Wait,” he caught her wrist as she stepped past him, “Where are you staying?” 

She smiled sadly, unlocked the door and slipped through it into darkness. 

“Arthur, you’re the strongest man I know. Whatever this is, you will see it through. I have faith,” Leon said quietly before turning to leave as well. 

He could only stand there, trembling. What had he just done. Had he really just thrown away his chance at safety for a man who had degraded him? For a man who could not promise his autonomy? His face grew hot.

Gwaine cleared his throat behind him. Arthur had forgotten that he was there. 

“Right then,” he said, “let’s get you back.” 

Merlin was on high-alert. There was no room for mistakes. Until now, he did what he could to cloak Arthur from the king’s attention, and that worked for the moment, but he could only do so much before the other advisors would start to notice and denounce him. Emrys was the preferred by his king, but he was not a favorite among those closer to his rank. They’d be quick to take his place when given the opportunity, which is why he always had to be ahead of them.

For now, this event had to run smoothly and things were falling into place. This was his legacy and the people had to see that. Everything had to be perfect. They had to know that once he condemned Cenred to a slow and painful death, they would finally be in good hands, his hands. Preferably with Arthur by his side. 

He hadn’t realized how far his mind had wandered off from this place until someone yelled for the guards to open the great doors and let the people in. The room was ready, but he wasn’t. He hadn’t even noticed the hurried bustling of people completing their tasks around him, he’d been so lost in his thoughts. In calm droves, townspeople started to find their seats among the lavishly decorated tables. They murmured to each other and marveled at the beauty of the room. The sun had set outside, leaving only the candles to provide an intimate light. 

As the Cenred approached his throne and his trusted advisors around him, Merlin snapped to Arthur who was nowhere to be seen. His heartbeat quickened. 

Merlin sat to the king’s left, wearing the guarded, present face of someone who was loathing quietly. The face of Emrys. 

“My good people of Camelot, you have suffered much,” He spoke strongly, he looked stronger now, taller. Maybe it was the low light. 

“You did not deserve the cruelties that you have bravely withstood under the tyrant king Uther’s grip. Rest assured that you may live freely now by me.”

Merlin’s jaw clenched. Surely there was some dark irony in this situation. It was probably better that Arthur was out of sight, he only hoped that Arthur was safe somewhere. That hope was disrupted when he saw Gwaine creeping into the hall, a warning look on his face. 

“To commemorate your freedom, I invite you to drink, eat, and be merry.” Cenred thrusted his goblet into the air.

“ Long live King Cenred! ”There was a round of cheers from the people.

God help them, Merlin thought, they don’t know what they’re in for.

Cenred settled himself smugly back into his rather seat. He was proud of himself, for the things he had nothing to do with. 

He leaned to Merlin, “I’ve noticed that your boy has been avoiding his king, what do you make of that?” His breath was foul, but it was nothing he hadn’t learned to weather. 

“He has many duties, my liege. Myself and the knights have rather voracious appetites. I would not send him to you limp and used up.”

Cenred nodded as though he understood.

“Would it not be better to take a more experienced consort?”

He thought for a moment, before turning to the steward awaiting his requests.

“Send someone to fetch our dear Prince Arthur, would you? I want the people to see what happens should they cross me.”

The steward nodded and hurried off. 

Merlin pretended to be unaffected. 

“You baby him, Emrys,” he scolded, "he'll learn tonight."

Chapter Text

He had to find a way out of this. He had to think. There was too much happening and his thoughts were clouded by rage. 

If Arthur could do what he’s told for once in his life, stay out of sight , maybe they won’t find him. Merlin gritted his teeth knowing full well that he’d be found if they were truly looking for him. What if, despite all this pain, the plan fell through and all they could do was continue to suffer? He tried not to think about it. Kilgharrah had said that this part of the prophecy was rather murky, or perhaps he needed that they find their own way through this. He’d been on his own for so long. He hadn’t realized how lonely he was until Arthur had come along. Now, he couldn’t fathom how he’d ever lived this long without him. 

It wasn’t long either before the great doors were thrown open and two large guards followed the blond through the crowd. They did not carry him, they did not need to; he’d accepted his fate. 

The tension in that wracked Merlin’s body eased a bit. It seemed that Arthur had learned his lessons well. He was giving in, not to his own wants, but to those which were asked of him and he was doing so with pride. This was good, with this strategy he was more likely to live. 

The former prince held his head high, unwavering, unafraid as he strode past the people he’d once known. There were whispers and gasps among the people of camelot. He was not shackled nor was he being forced. He was simply one of them. 

Merlin couldn’t help but smile inwardly. How beautiful he was. 

Arthur was led to Cenred’s table. Those sitting to his right were asked to move down to accommodate their late guest. Emrys sat on the old man’s other side. He did not dare attempt to catch Arthur’s gaze. Cenred pulled the blond’s chair closer to him. He smiled at the old tyrant. Oh, he had learned well.

“Have you been avoiding me, pet?” Cenred leered at him as the steward poured his wine. 

“Of course not, my liege. I have had many duties to perform, each of which keeps me very busy. This is the first time this week I’ve gotten to sit down and relax!”

“And relax you shall,” said the king, taking a long sip of his goblet. 

Arthur smiled easily.  What he hid behind this expression, though, was some murderous plot should the old criminal try something. He had learned from the best. Channeling Emrys in this moment was all he could handle doing, all that kept him grounded. He dared not look at the man from over there. He couldn’t give them away. 

“I’ve never seen the castle look so lovely.” He tried not to notice the people below him staring as he flirted shamelessly with the king. Surely they thought him traitorous. It didn’t matter. 

“Your father hadn’t much an eye for decor.”

Neither do you, you old coot, Merlin did this, Arthur thought. It was so like him to take the credit for himself.

“He wasn’t much one for lavish parties either,” he tried trying to keep the hatred from his voice. “It’s good of you to give it to your people. You must make them feel very much at home.”

Merlin smiled. Obviously listening. Your people. Oh, he was good. 

Cenred eyed him. Did he have such lack of self-awareness that he was being goaded? Or was he catching on. Perhaps they’d underestimated him. 

Arthur felt a hand on his thigh under the table and he tensed up. Cenred leaned into him, eyes looking into him, “I’m very glad we agree.”

The man turned to Arthur’s personal steward and urged him to pour the man more wine.

“My lord, I couldn’t possibly-”

“Drink.” Cenred snarled.

___________

If it were possible, the feast grew even rowdier with each course. They had sunk deep into the evening and into their cups. Even Arthur felt its haze after only two glasses. The edges of his vision pulsed not unpleasantly. There was the familiar buzz of wine in his belly but something less familiar that came with it. He’d hardly noticed that the people before him had pushed back the tables and begun to dance in the middle of it all. The colorful skirts of the women were twirling this way and that. Those who weren’t dancing, were clapping happily to the beat of the musicians’ tune. Their cheeks stained red with drink and merriment, to them, this was a beautiful celebration. Even the servants stopped their work to watch. Arthur, nearly getting swept up in the feeling, didn’t seem to notice much Cenred’s arm hung around his shoulders or the things the man was whispering into his ear. He knew something was wrong, the alarm bells were sounding in his head, but his limbs felt so heavy and his tongue so swollen, that fighting it seemed not worth the effort. He could only lean into his king who welcomed him there, laughing at his docility. 

Only when Cenred slipped a hand under the hem of his tunic did he gather the strength to protest. The cold hand on his belly shocked him through a bit of the haze, finally realizing what was happening. “Wai-” he managed, the “t’s” getting swallowed, “wait, no.”

The walls started to dim in the corners, crumbling into blurry darkness. Even the people that he’d been sure were dancing before him were no longer in his field of vision. He could feel the edges melting around him. His lazy heartbeat started to hasten, as if having aroused it, finally, from its sleep. 

No, he thought. But the hand had already recoiled itself from him. What’s happening, what’s going on? Turning himself to look took much more effort than he remembered, but he forced himself despite it. First he noticed Cenred, paralyzed with fear. His foul mouth was hanging open in terror. His rotten, yellow teeth baring themselves either in fear or rage, or maybe some combination of the two. 

It was then that he noticed in his stupor the man standing above them both. 

Emrys was there, towering and full of power. His eyes were burning gold and cutting at Cenred only. Any other being, any other noise, sound, light, or color had begun to crawl in a slow circle and Emrys- Merlin was at the eye of the storm. He were the god and every other thing marched in spirals to him. The only life there was to register was the three of them at a standoff in some realm unknown to Arthur.

“You take this too far, Cenred,” he stated in his imperious, even manner. He didn’t even look human, he was something else. He seemed taller than he had been before. “Perhaps you have forgotten who I am, from whom you have stolen me away from.” Emrys leaned closer to the old man, roughly grabbing his face, holding his chin so that he could not look away. “I have not forgotten,” he seethed.

Through the fog, Arthur could only gawk at him. He feared him in that moment but he also felt something else for him. That feeling, he found, dripped from his gut into his cock. The hardened power that Merlin held, that he’d always held, it was nearly tangible. It was so thick, he swore he could feel it against his teeth like a particularly tannic wine. Part of Arthur was grateful the sorcerer seemed not to notice him in his fugue. 

“Or do you need to be reminded?” Merlin commanded over his king once more. Cenred shook his head violently. Merlin looked at him with disgust. There were a million things he would say to him in this moment if he could, but now was not the time. He was not yet king. Neither the anger in his eyes nor their unnatural hue had abated. 

Arthur was petrified looking at him, such power he wielded. 

Merlin continued his wrath upon the man that had so wronged him. “In four months, you will be dead. Illness will take you. Live the rest of your days wisely.” 

Then, whatever grasp he held on him loosened and the world returned as it all had been. No changes, nobody had seemingly even noticed that the world had fallen away. They had been silently transported back into the thick of things. The dancing, the merriment all seemed misplaced now, inappropriate.

Arthur trembled in his seat, trying to hold his head up steady, unsure if what he’d just witnessed had even been real or if some sort of hallucination had overtaken him. He felt the tug of sleep pull at him. Whatever he had ingested still had a hold on him, and a strong one at that.

“Arthur…” 

He hardly realized he was being talked to. His body flinched when a hand placed itself on his shoulder. Merlin was looking down at him. Traces of anger lined his face but what shone through most was worry. Arthur looked up at him, terrified. So much had happened. He felt dizzy. The fear that flowed through him was a primal one, a survival one. He could hear his own heart beating. He had to remind himself that this was the man he trusted. 

Merlin spoke, but the words got lost somewhere. The grip on his shoulder tightened, a gesture surely meaning to be comforting at its base. The sorcerer’s mouth formed the word now, and Arthur understood that he was meant to go somewhere.

He tried to stand but his legs wobbled from under him. The room spun. Merlin wrapped an arm around him, helping him up. Instead, Arthur’s body fell into him, his legs struggling to hold his own weight. Slowly, they made their way past their king, frozen in grief for himself, and into the hall. 

They were slow, the two of them together. They didn't make it far before Merlin heard the familiar unsheathing of a sword. “What are you doing with him?” 

With the blond hardly conscious and heavy on him, he could hardly turn his head to see who was threatening him.  It was a man who he didn’t know followed by a dark haired woman. 

“What are you doing with him?” she repeated with a shaky voice. 

“I haven’t the time to explain it to you.” He turned to carry on his way.

“Mor..na” Arthur sputtered. 

“You monster, I won’t let you have him!” 

Merlin was surprised by the hatred in her voice. “I believe he has ingested a fast-acting poison. I’m taking him to the physician before he shuts down entirely, I would appreciate if you could let us pass.”

Leon moved to stand in his way, “why should I believe you haven’t slipped him the poison yourself?” 

Merlin shot him a look, as though he couldn’t be any thicker, “you really think I’d go through all the trouble to poison him, just to cart him off to the medic? You’re wasting time! Lady Morgana, if you can’t trust me, then help Arthur.” 

“You’re him, aren’t you? You’re Emrys.”

Merlin sighed, “yes, I am. I’m begging you, we can introduce ourselves after Arthur is safe.”

Leon shot a glance at Morgana. He took Arthur’s other arm and the two men practically carried him to Gaius. 

“How do you know who I am?” she asked, trailing behind them. 

“Like knows like,” Merlin grinned, “my magic could sense you before you even entered the kingdom.” 

She was stupefied. Morgana had heard of this man which is why she despaired when she’d also heard that Arthur had fallen into his grasp. She’d entered the castle not knowing if she’d live to see the morning and she certainly hadn’t expected to stay for dinner. More than anything, Morgana needed to know for herself, really know, if her brother was safe. 

The four of them made their way to the physician's office. When they arrived, Gaius was sitting at his desk, still finishing his dinner and Arthur’s head was lolling from one side to the other. 

“Good heavens, what’s happened to him?” 

“He’s been drugged,” Merlin said out of breath, “or poisoned.”

Gaius looked at the sorry state of the blond. “Do you know what he’s taken?” 

Merlin shook his head. He looked out of place in his lordly robes among the mess.

“Who’s done this to him?” 

“If you had to guess?” he said rather quietly.

The old man pressed his lips into a thin line and got to work poking and prodding and looking over the once princely body. Arthur was sweating and writhing on the table as though something painful was passing through him.

“Well there isn’t much I can do if we don’t know what he’s taken.”

“Isn’t there a spell or something you can do??” Morgana shot Merlin a worried look.

“I-” He started, cutting himself off, “I’ve mostly been trained in the art of battle, I know little about healing.” He’d needed to consult the physician the last time Arthur got himself into a mess like this, Merlin feared his hands were tied. Though he was his magic and his magic was him, something like this, reversing poison was tricky business. Intimate knowledge was needed that he didn’t possess. How tragic it was that Cenred’s tutors turned him into a war machine and not a great healer that he could've been. “I suppose I can make him vomit.”

“He’s already sweating the toxins out of his body, I believe it’s too late to induce regurgitation. Either this is a fast-acting poison that has already begun to shut down his digestive systems, or it’s a powerful drug meant to disarm him. ”

The old man placed a consoling hand on Morgana’s shoulder. She blinked back tears. Being here, after what felt like lifetimes, affected her deeply. This is where she had grown up, spent her happy years. Now to helplessly watch as her brother squirms on the table is almost too much.

Arthur suffered a particularly violent spasm, he groaned from the sick bed.

They rushed forward to hear him better.

“ Merlin,” he moaned again. 

Merlin grabbed his hand, “ I’m here .” It was cold and clammy. 

“If it was indeed Cenred who gave him whatever he’s taken, I have a hard time believing he’d try to kill him. Not like this, in front of all of Camelot. My guess is that he meant to drug him to… well he’d given him entirely too much.” Gaius sighed, “normally it’d be best to simply wait. However, that’s quite a risk if I have misjudged it, in which case the opposite would be true.”

Merlin squeezed his hand, trying to see into his mind but it was muddy and faded. Normally he could feel which part of the body was ailing a person, even if he couldn’t then make it right for them. He had to imagine it was the stomach in this case, but if he didn’t know that, he wouldn’t have been able to guess. It was strange to him, feeling so helpless. 

“Maybe you should take him to his chambers… make him more comfortable,” Gaius whispered. 

Morgana sobbed and Leon wrapped her in his arms. 

Merlin didn’t remember hoisting the blond up and bringing him to their bed. He didn’t remember tucking him beneath the soft furs and covers, but suddenly they were there. 

Gaius arranged to stow Morgana and Leon in a forgotten room in the North Tower where they could be close to their prince. 

Merlin was grateful for the solitude, but then guilt stepped in. It was quiet. Too quiet. Why did I let this go on as long as it did? Why didn’t I stop him? Do I just settle in and watch him die or not die? Will he even want to stay if whe- if he wakes up? 

For hours, he nearly wore a hole in the carpet pacing like a caged animal. His thoughts were turning violently to himself. He couldn’t bear looking at the man in his bed, thinking that he’d put him there. Arthur’d been talking about running away together and Merlin let this happen to him. 

He really was disgusting . Was he any better than Cenred? 

Heat bubbled in his veins. How could I do this? It was pouring out of him, the fire in the harth erupted and he could control it no longer. His magic burst forth, sinking its teeth into Arthur. The blond crumbled over the bed vomiting on the floor, as though his muscles were commanding him and not the other way around. He heaved, letting it all out. Merlin noticed something in the stomach contents. Something made of magic, something moving. He pressed it beneath his boot and felt a squish , then felt it moving no more. The whole thing left Arthur weak and pale, but conscious in any case.

“ Merlin ,” he moaned. He had not even the strength to sit himself upright. 

Merlin rushed to help him, he wiped his mouth and smiled when Arthur looked up at him. He looked like hell but at least he was alive. 

“ Arthur ,” he exhaled a happy sigh. He wasn’t sure he would be able to go on without him. He kissed him, long and deep for the sake of being alive.

“I just ruined your carpet and your first instinct is to kiss me,” he said in his normal indignant manner (if not a bit feeble). 

Merlin laughed and held him close. “I thought I’d lost you.” He buried his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, feeling him there, feeling his pulse. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered back.

-   Epilogue  -

It was dull work hearing the petitions, but it was part of the noble responsibilities. Arthur still got lost sometimes in how regal Merlin looked on his throne. He wore a crown, not made of gold but of leaves, of twigs, of berries. He looked like a forest god, larger than this life. His staff, a gnarled branch with some magical stone, glowing at the hilt, stared one in the face. He listened intensely as each citizen voiced their grievance, asking fair questions as though it were part of his own important history. 

Merlin’s advisors surrounded him as he listened intently to his people. He consulted them often, Leon, Gwaine, Elyan, and others men Arthur hadn’t known, Iseldir, Lancelot. Even Morgana stood beside them.

It had been almost concerning to Arthur how well the two of them had gotten along. Sometimes Merlin would come to their room giggling  about an unearthed secret of Arthur’s childhood at the end of the day as Arthur would be pouring over maps and strategies. Needless to say not much would get done after those moments.

It wasn’t always happy though. Being a ruler was hard work. Sometimes Merlin would have to visit neighboring kingdoms or travel dangerous paths and Arthur would worry for him. Not that he couldn’t handle himself, but that he had to handle everyone else. That was his weakness, after everything. For that reason, Merlin never let him travel with him. He couldn't bear to lose him after all that, he couldn't be distracted with those feelings in a moment of peril. Arthur was clearly a fixture in his life and his life might crumble if anything should happen to him.

They'd settled easily into their roles, both filling their respective positions seamlessly after the mess of arriving here. 

Cenred had departed nearly immediately after the feast, wanting to live out the rest of his days in his own country, sinking into his crimes, lonely and afraid. In the months since the departure, Merlin had proved to be a wise and just ruler, no different than he had led his life before. He cared about things. It wore on him, yes, but nothing that seeing Arthur couldn’t fix. 

Today, he announced he was finished hearing petitions and dismissed everyone for lunch. Arthur turned to leave with them but was suddenly caught. He turned.

“Not you,” Merlin said looking up at him, “you still have duties here. 

Arthur smiled, “and pray tell, what may those be, My Lord? ”

Mmm , Merlin hummed, “I never get tired of hearing you call me that.” He looked past him to see the last of them hurrying out of the room. Gwaine closed the door with a wink. He smiled. 

“Your king has grown lonely and he needs the comfort of his consort.” 

Arthur barked a laugh, and bent over him to whisper closely. “I’m very sorry to hear that, what can the consort do to relieve his king?” He began to kiss his neck. 

One might’ve thought Arthur to have felt jealousy at the sight of his lover at the helm of what should have been his. A year ago, Arthur would have felt the same way. So much had changed since then. He was happy to serve. He was desperate for it. Needy even. 

“Does the consort have any complaints the king should hear?” Merlin joked, speaking in his faux-lordly manner. 

Arthur unfastened his cape from around his neck and let it drop to the floor. He did the same with his vest, salaciously standing over his king in only his trousers. They kept their eyes firmly locked on each other. He watched as Merlin’s glowed gold and the knotting undid itself. The fabric slid down his legs, brushing down his interest. 

“I suppose not,” the sorcerer answered himself, watching Arthur throb. 

The blond laughed. He pulled Merlin’s robes up over his thighs to reveal his underclothes, grateful he wore the long, flowy druid-king style. 

Merlin watched his face as he did so, enrapt.

Watching him, Arthur moved to straddle him on his father’s throne. They groaned together as Aurther rutted against him. He held them both in his grasp. Merlin wrapped an arm around the small of his back to support him. The contact sent shivers up his spine. He groaned.

The king’s other hand moved to his neck, hooking his finger beneath the golden collar and pulling him into a sloppy, passionate kiss. 

Merlin stopped briefly and looked to it. 

“I forgot you still had this thing on.”

“Me too,” Arthur laughed.

“We can have it removed, there’s no reason to keep it.”

Arthur shrugged, “I kind of like it.”

Merlin shot him a strange look.

Arthur smiled. “It shows everyone that I’m yours.”

Merlin’s eyes dilated impossibly large as he pulled them into a searing kiss.