Chapter Text
The room was cold. The large windows framed the night, letting in the distant glow of the stars, but Arthur barely saw them. Everything around him felt distant, as if the world had lost its shape and was dissolving into shadows.
He stood in the center of his father’s room. He was gone. And with him, something inside Arthur had gone silent. His mind was a storm of memories and silences, of words never spoken and farewells left incomplete.
He lifted his gaze to the moon. It was at its fullest, radiant and indifferent. For a moment, it seemed to be watching him, as if it understood the weight he carried on his shoulders. He sighed, letting go of the breath he had been holding during the days of illness, as if that exhale could release even a fraction of his pain.
His eyes drifted over his father’s desk—the scattered parchments, the abandoned quill lying to the side, as if everything was still waiting for hands that would never touch them again. He turned and walked out of the room.
His footsteps echoed through the empty corridor, the sound bouncing off the cold stone walls. And then, as he rounded the corner, he stopped.
Merlin was there, sitting in a shadowed corner of the hallway. His thin silhouette was outlined against the dim light, his head resting against the wall, his legs drawn up to his chest, as if trying to make himself smaller, to disappear into the silence.
Arthur looked at him, memorizing every detail, every shade of his presence.
“What are you doing here?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Merlin lifted his head, his eyes searching for him in the dimness.
“Waiting for you.”
Arthur couldn’t stop himself—he let his body drop beside Merlin. With a tired sigh, he stretched out his legs and, without thinking too much about it, rested his head against his servant’s bony shoulder.
“He was cruel. He took so many innocent lives. He never seemed satisfied with me…” his voice wavered slightly, but he didn’t stop. “But he was my father, the man who raised me, the figure I always felt I had to impress, Merlin.”
His tone was quiet, intimate, as if his words were a secret meant only for Merlin to hear, only for him to understand. Because he was Merlin.
The Merlin who never invalidated his feelings.
Merlin, who loved him despite every mistake. Who knew him in every broken fragment and every shadow.
He felt long fingers weave into his hair, moving with a tenderness that almost shattered him. Fingernails grazed his scalp, and, little by little, the tension that had taken root in his shoulders began to fade.
“I know,” Merlin whispered. “You loved him. And that’s okay… because he was your father, despite everything.”
Arthur closed his eyes. For the first time in days, he allowed himself to let exhaustion take over. He had no answers. No certainties. Only the weight of his grief and Merlin’s unwavering presence beside him.
Arthur reached out, letting his hand intertwine with Merlin’s, seeking comfort in the warmth of his skin. The touch was simple, but in that moment, it held him together, grounding him in something more real than the emptiness of his loss. Slowly, Merlin’s presence quieted the storm within him, soothing him in a way that words never could.
“I’m finally going to be King,” he whispered, as if saying it aloud made the reality settle fully onto his shoulders.
Merlin’s fingers continued gliding through his hair, gentle, steady.
“A great King,” Merlin murmured, his voice filled with certainty.
Arthur let out a small smile. Barely an echo of what it used to be, but genuine.
“I don’t know what I would do without you, Merlin,” he admitted quietly, without reservations.
“Neither do I, Arthur,” Merlin replied with a sincerity that made Arthur’s skin crawl.
The sudden loss of the caress in his scalp almost made him groan in protest. He lazily opened one eye, trying to understand what was happening.
Merlin was getting up, and as he did, he gently tugged at their still-intertwined hands, trying to get Arthur to follow him.
Arthur initially refused, holding on to the moment, to the peace he had found there, in the shadows, beside him.
But Merlin was staring at him intently.
“Arthur, you need to rest,” he said softly, but with the firmness of someone who wouldn’t accept no for an answer. “Come on.”
He tugged at him again, delicately.
Arthur didn’t respond immediately. His gaze wandered to how the dim light cast shadows on Merlin’s face, how the darkness slid down his cheekbones, outlining each angle with an ethereal glow.
And then, with a final sigh, he gave in.
Arthur stood up, standing beside Merlin. Without thinking too much, he tilted his head slightly and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.
Merlin held his breath.
For a moment, time seemed to stop in the dim light. But they didn’t say anything. There was no need.
Without letting go, they began walking through the cold hallways of the castle, their hands entwined in a silent gesture of support. Arthur let Merlin guide him, the echo of their steps resonating against the stone walls.
He wanted to turn around, to take one last look at his father’s room. But then he felt Merlin’s hand pull him, firm and constant, anchoring him to the present.
And he didn’t.
Because yes, Uther had been his father. But he had also been the man who, with his fear, condemned all of Merlin’s kind. He had been the king who ordered the death of children, youths, and the elderly without hesitation. He had been the man whose obsession had stained the kingdom with blood and loss.
So he kept walking.
He let Merlin lead him, his hand still gripping Merlin’s, wishing that his room would appear before him soon. That the journey would end. That the darkness would stop weighing so heavily.
Upon reaching his room, Merlin carefully opened the door. He entered first, making sure Arthur followed, and then gently closed the door behind them.
Arthur stood still, letting himself be guided, letting Merlin do whatever he wanted, because at that moment, he had no strength for anything else.
But when he felt Merlin release his hand, his body reacted before his mind did. He grabbed him immediately, clinging to him.
Merlin looked at him patiently.
“I need to put out the candles, Arthur,” he said softly, with the same tenderness one speaks to someone on the verge of breaking.
Arthur didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want to feel the cold of loneliness again, not when Merlin’s warmth was still within reach.
“No,” he whispered. “Just use magic, Merlin. I want to see you.”
His gaze locked with Merlin’s, blue against blue, a spark of electricity between them. Merlin blinked, surprised.
Arthur wanted Merlin to be free. Now that his father was gone, he wanted to see him use his magic without fear, without hiding, without invisible chains binding him to the lie.
He wanted to see him be himself.
For years, while Uther was alive, Merlin had had to hide, to smother a part of himself to survive. But now… now Arthur wanted that to end.
And Merlin understood.
With a barely audible whisper, he let his magic flow.
Arthur watched in fascination as Merlin's eyes turned a glowing, beautiful, ethereal gold. A flash of pure power passed through the room, and in the blink of an eye, all the candles were extinguished, plunging the room into soft shadows.
Arthur couldn’t take his eyes off him.
Because for the first time, he was seeing Merlin, truly seeing Merlin. And he couldn’t imagine anything more beautiful.
He felt Merlin’s hands on his chest as he removed his vest, allowing his fingers to slowly trail down his arms, leaving a warm trace on every inch of skin. He lifted his gaze, searching in Merlin's eyes for the comfort and strength he so desperately needed.
Arthur was aware that his actions were drifting away from what he had always considered right, but in that moment, he longed to surrender completely: he wanted to absorb every detail of Merlin, feel his presence, and, at least for a moment, push away the overwhelming weight of the world and the responsibility of swearing to be a good king in the days to come.
He stayed there, watching, as if every feature of Merlin’s face were being indelibly etched into his memory, now freed from the oppressive cloak and wearing a loose shirt that accentuated the vulnerability and authenticity of his being.
Merlin guided him to the bed. Arthur, eager to sink into the softness of the sheets, settled to one side, never taking his eyes off his confidant. Without words, Merlin understood his longing; he lay beside him, and Arthur wrapped him tenderly around the waist, letting his head rest on Merlin’s firm, warm chest. A sigh of relief escaped his lips, like a long-held release.
When he felt Merlin’s hands gently caressing his hair again, the accumulated tension faded in a silent embrace. In the intimacy of that moment, in the refuge of the bed and the shadows that enveloped them, Arthur whispered:
“Thank you, Merlin.”
He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be lulled by the peace of the moment. A kiss landed on his hair, and at that instant, Merlin’s soft, love-filled voice slid into the darkness:
“I love you, Arthur. I will always be here.”
Before sleep claimed him completely, Arthur wanted to return that love, confess that he loved him with an intensity that surpassed all pain. But the weight of sadness and exhaustion enveloped him, and, unable to utter another word, he let himself drift into rest, merging into the warmth of the embrace and the silent complicity of the night.
The coronation had ended. Arthur, now King of Camelot, stood at the top of the tower, where the morning breeze caressed his face and the sun warmly illuminated the lands now under his protection. From there, he could see everything: the sturdy walls, the lively streets, the fields stretching beyond the city. His kingdom.
He heard footsteps approaching, but he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.
Merlin.
Always Merlin.
The one who had stood by his side in every battle, every moment of doubt and despair, every fall and every rise.
"Thank you," Merlin said as he reached his side, with that serene and warm voice that Arthur always found comforting.
Arthur diverted his gaze from the horizon to focus on him, on his friend, his advisor, his everything.
"You don’t have to thank me, Merlin," he replied firmly. "It was necessary. It had to be this way."
Because he could no longer allow fear to rule. Because magic was not the enemy, but an essential part of the world.
Merlin smiled, that gesture of his that seemed to light up even the brightest day.
"Still, Arthur…" his voice tinged with emotion. "You lifted the ban on magic."
Arthur felt the weight of that statement in his chest. It wasn’t just a law; it was the symbol of centuries of fear and persecution. And he had broken it. For him. For Camelot. For all.
But above all, for Merlin.
Because he would never again allow Merlin to hide, to conceal the essence of who he was.
Merlin's eyes shone with gratitude, with something deeper, more intense. A devotion and love so sincere that it made Arthur feel, for a moment, unworthy of receiving them.
Gently, he reached out and wrapped his arms around Merlin’s waist, holding him with the determination of someone who has finally understood what they value most in life.
"Merlin… you are my entire life," he whispered, letting the words flow from deep within his soul. "You couldn’t keep hiding. You couldn’t keep denying what you are, what you represent. Magic is beautiful."
He pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, to make sure he understood the magnitude of his words.
"But you, Merlin, you are it completely."
He took a deep breath, feeling his heart overflow with everything he had kept inside for so long.
"Thanks to you, I saw reason. Thanks to you, I’m still alive."
And in that moment, under the clear sky of Camelot, with the sun shining over them, Arthur knew that he would never again let Merlin carry his fate alone.