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Chapter Text

Merlin abruptly woke to ice cold water being splashed in his face.

He gasped and tried to shake the droplets out of his eyes, still shivering. That was when he noticed that his movement was restricted; his arms were above his head, wrists wrapped and bound with rope. When he took stock of his surroundings, he realized he was in a cavern which was damp and dark, lit by a few depressing candles, casting shadows on jagged rock walls. The pieces of furniture– a simple chair and table– felt out of place. A flash of recognition hit him. He had been here before.

Its inhabitant, Morgana, was standing before him, crazed hair and gown, and wearing a wicked grin which bore no good outcome.

Merlin swore under his breath. “Not again.”

“Finally awake?” Morgana asked, gliding towards him. The words were gentle like the old, compassionate Morgana had spoken them, but beneath the surface there was a layer of venom which made his skin crawl.

Merlin groaned, feeling aches all over his body. His last memories were an unexpected attack during a hunting expedition (damn Arthur for taking him on so many) and just as he was about to take his usual spot behind a tree to secretly assist with magic, someone threw some bag over his head and suffocated him. He wasn’t conscious for much longer. 

“What are you doing, Morgana,” Merlin croaked, wincing at the rasp in his voice. He must have looked awful, he realized, taking notice of the sweat and mud and water tainting his clothes and the rope digging into his skin and turning it an angry blood-red.

Morgana’s grin stretched wider, sharp as a blade, and her piercing jade eyes seemed to briefly glimmer. “Why, Merlin, I thought you’d never ask.” Her pale, almost translucent hand rose to Merlin’s face, as if to wipe away his tears. Before she could make contact, Merlin jerked away, breathing shakily. Morgana pouted. “Oh, don’t give me that, we used to be such good friends, remember?”

Merlin remembered. The days where Morgana and Arthur only bickered like normal siblings, and the largest conflicts could be resolved by a soothing murmur from Gwen who played peacemaker in their little group. He recalled flashes of warm laughter and bunches of small purple flowers.

But those halcyon days were over, Merlin reminded himself. A fragment of the past, forever shattered because of the dragon and destiny and Morgause and himself and probably other things which turned their story down this dark and twisted route. 

God, he was so tired. Of this, of everything. “It’s not worth it,” he tried. “You’ve become just like Uther, driven by hate to kill and destroy, and all for what?”

“Don’t pretend you’re so morally righteous,” Morgana snapped furiously. “You tried to poison me, for God’s sake! Is it too much to want a world where people can just live without worrying about being put to death for something they can’t control?”

Arthur will create that world, Merlin wanted to say, but only glared and stayed silent. Arguing would probably anger her more, and he wasn’t in any state to defend himself.

“And if the only way I can take back control is through violence, then so be it,” Morgana hissed, gripping the front of Merlin’s drenched shirt. “An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. If I burn, I’m making damn sure that the whole world burns with me.”

Morgana released him and spat at his feet. There was a moment in which she seemed to recollect herself. When she formed her next words, her lips were curled back in that smirk. “But I won’t be the one to kill Arthur in the end. You will.”

Merlin furrowed his brow, thinking of the Formorroh. “You’ve already tried this, Morgana. It didn’t work. Arthur came out of that alive and healthy. I won’t kill Arthur. I can’t, and you can’t make me.”

“Yes, well, perhaps trying to control your mind wasn’t the best strategy. Better to let you remain in full control this time.”

Merlin was even more confused, but he knew that this sure as hell wasn’t going to end well. Morgana was powerful– maybe not as powerful as him, but still powerful.

“Though you probably won’t be fully sane by the end of it anyways,” Morgana said in a frenzy, like the thought had possessed her entire being. “It’ll be inevitable. Arthur has to die, and it will be by your hand.”

He narrowed his eyes. What did it all mean? Him killing Arthur– a notion so bizarre that he almost wanted to laugh– yet Morgana was so sure of it. 

Her eyes glowed golden as she started casting the spell in the language of the Old Religion. Merlin could make out words like time and condition and soul, but couldn’t make any sense of how they fit together. Morgana’s voice grew stronger with every syllable, but his head felt like it was wrapped in gauze. He was falling unconscious due to the spell, and he couldn’t do anything but let the darkness take over.

The last words he heard were, “Have fun, Merlin,” and a cold, sinister laugh.

When he woke again, he was warm and bundled up cozily in a blanket. Lifting his head up slightly and blinking the sleep out of his eyes, he realized he was in the patient cot in the main room instead of his own bedroom. 

The sound that woke him up was a hissing noise, coming from the direction of the table which Gaius used to make poultices and potions. Which was what he was doing right now– as he poured one liquid into another in a cauldron, they had a reaction which produced a sizzle and some steam. 

“Merlin! You’re awake!” Gaius must’ve seen the movement out of the corner of his eye. He smiled warmly at Merlin, who couldn’t help but return the smile at his father-mentor figure. Gaius put down his brewing ingredients and walked over to the cot. “You need to stop frightening me like that, my boy; one of these days my heart may give out.”

“I thought you’d already have built a tolerance to it,” Merlin said back. But now, onto more serious matters, as the memories began to flood his mind. “H- How did I get back? Am I cursed? Where’s Morgana?”

Gaius frowned, sitting down in a wooden chair beside the cot. “A few hours after the ambush, Arthur and a few other knights rode out on a rescue mission, and you were at the attack site, lying unconscious. They thought you must have been spared because you were only a servant, or perhaps you had escaped and gave out from fatigue. There was no mention of Morgana.”

Merlin shifted to his elbows, pursing his lips and deep in thought. It can’t have been a dream– it was far too vivid. He could still see the vision of Morgana before him, with pale and icy skin except for the dark shadows beneath her eyes that gave her the effect of something ghostly, supernatural. The passion in her voice as the spell thrummed in the air, the powerful magic that was almost overwhelming for his sixth sense, so to speak. But her threats were empty, because everything was still okay, nothing was out of the ordinary, Arthur–

Arthur.

He bolted up and to his feet, dashing for the door. His usual jacket and neckerchief and boots were left abandoned somewhere, he didn’t care, and he barely even registered the concerned calls from Gaius as he rushed out, sprinting up the stairs like the doors to hell had unleashed behind him, or maybe even faster than that, because if what Morgana said was true and something happened to Arthur because of something he somehow did, he would never, ever forgive himself–

He slammed open the door with enough force to create a loud bang to announce his presence, and he practically leaped over the threshold into Arthur’s room.

And there Arthur was, sitting at his desk, fiddling with his quill between two fingers, clearly mulling over the sheet of paper in front of him. Or at least he was, before Merlin created such a ruckus that probably startled every creature within a one-mile radius. Arthur’s head lurched up, hand automatically reaching for his dagger before his eyes found Merlin standing in the doorway.

They were locked in a staring contest. Until Merlin broke down with relief.

“Arthur,” he breathed, so happy he could cry. Then, “You’re… dressed?”

“And you’re clearly not,” Arthur retorted, gesturing towards Merlin’s bare feet and unkempt hair and general untidiness. “The hell are you doing!? You’re supposed to be resting on order from Gaius, not causing a stampede in the castle.”

But Merlin was so glad to see Arthur whole and alive, his grin never even wavered. “I’m here to do my job, of course,” he chirruped, hands on his hips. Arthur still didn’t seem fully pleased, even as Merlin walked over and started smoothing down the bedsheet in practiced motions. It was easy to fall back into this familiar routine and temporarily forget about all his troubles. The sunlight shone through the window, bright with the early spring weather. “We’ve got to get you your breakfast then into some armor for training this morning, then later today you also have a council meeting about taxes and whatnot.”

Arthur walked over and placed a gentle hand on Merlin’s shoulder. This was surprising, because Arthur was rarely gentle. Merlin glanced over at him to see faint amusement on Arthur’s face.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better, Merlin. But is it really too much to ask for you to put on shoes before roaming the castle like a hare-brained lunatic?”

“Just too dedicated to my job, sire,” Merlin responded with a cheeky smile.

That earned a snort and eye-roll from Arthur. “As if. I would believe you if you didn’t slack off every day you’ve been in my service for the past eight years.” Merlin tried to continue their banter with something sassy about how that’s because Arthur really should treat his servants better and perhaps they could swap places for a day and then he’ll see what he thinks, but Arthur squeezed his shoulder and quickly followed up with, “Breakfast is already being brought up by someone else, so don’t worry about that. You go get yourself properly dressed so you don’t damage my reputation any more than you already have.”

“And let someone else put on your armor? You always complain about it being too tight or too loose and then I have to deal with your sulky mood for the rest of the day.”

“I thought it was implied to go quickly, and then come back right when you’re done. Now, shoo.” Arthur patted Merlin’s back lightly and went back to whatever work he was doing.

Merlin all but skipped out of Arthur’s chambers, turning back once to find Arthur gazing at him with an expression equal parts fond and exasperated.

But as he made his way back, the scenes with Morgana began to invade his consciousness again. As Merlin rolled back his sleeves a few inches, he revealed inflamed pink lines on his wrists– burns left from the rope that Morgana restrained him with. 

The memories weren’t a nightmare then; they were real, just as he suspected and feared. Arthur was okay but only for now – perhaps the spell she cast hadn’t come into effect yet, and would catch them both unaware and vulnerable. And he didn’t even know what spell Morgana had cast in the first place. He didn’t recognize it and was too disconcerted to try memorizing it so he could reverse-engineer it.

As he walked back to the physician’s chambers, he found Gaius sitting at the table with a book and a bowl of porridge opposite him. Gaius looked up at Merlin, immediately frowning as he saw whatever face Merlin must’ve been making. 

Merlin sat down heavily with a sigh, scooping cold porridge into his mouth.

“Are you going to tell me what you were thinking when you fled from my chambers without so much as a word?” Gaius asked, raising a signature disapproving eyebrow. “And also what you meant by Morgana and a curse?”

Merlin sighed again, pushing away the porridge– he had lost his appetite anyways. “I’m not sure, but yesterday…”

He delineated the events he remembered happening, showed Gaius the marks on his wrists for evidence, and tried to recite Morgana’s words and the spell as best he could, but he only really remembered fragments of sentences. 

“She’s trying to make me kill Arthur again. But I have no idea how, or if she even succeeded with her curse. I mean, I don’t feel any difference, and Arthur and everything else seems normal.” Merlin dropped his head into his hands, kneading his hair anxiously.

Gaius swatted his hands away. “Stop that; your hair looks like a bird’s nest as it is.” Merlin obliged, resorting to jittering his leg under the table. “I’m not familiar with any enchantment similar to the one that you described. Perhaps you’re right, and the spell is yet to take effect, or perhaps it truly was enacted poorly and failed. For now, if you don’t feel mentally or physically afflicted, I believe you’re safe to perform your regular duties. I’ll see if I can think of something, and if you feel any change at all, come back here at once.”

He didn’t like the answer, but Merlin nodded anyway and got up to retrieve his clothes. There was probably something to say about how being attacked and captured was such a normal occurrence that Merlin just immediately got back to work the day after every such event. He slipped on his jacket and neckerchief and boots, and went on to prepare Arthur for training.

Out on the yard, Merlin leaned against a fence post casually with crossed arms, watching Arthur and the rest of the knights take turns swinging at each other to try to disarm their opponent. Apparently they were supposed to be practicing some sword technique, but honestly, Merlin didn’t care all that much about swordfighting so he wasn’t too sure. 

Either way, Arthur must have mastered it, because with a resounding shing of metal clashing on metal, Gwaine’s sword made an elegant arc in the air and dropped onto the grass next to where Gwaine himself had fallen. The tip of Arthur’s sword hovered directly over Gwaine’s heart. Both their chests were heaving from exertion.

The knights surrounding them whooped and clapped. Gwaine, with beads of sweat still dripping down his nose, got back onto his feet and raised his sword again with a single swoop. “I was just goin’ easy on you that time,” he taunted, and Arthur smirked and took the invitation readily.

A small smile made its way to Merlin's lips as he watched. It was pleasant outside– hot enough that it kept one warm, but not so much so that it was scorching. A few birds sang sweet melodies overhead in the sky blue, where cotton clouds drifted dreamily from one side of his view to the other. 

A curse sounded out from the field when Gwaine’s sword was knocked out of his hand and he fell back once more. “Princess, c’mon,” he whined, as Arthur’s sword rested against his chest again.

“Do you yield?” Arthur said, panting.

“Pri–”

“Call me that again and I’ll make you run ten laps in a row,” Arthur threatened, but the lilt in his voice made it clear he was being lighthearted. “Now, I’ll ask you again, do you yield?”

“Okay, fine, yes, I yield,” Gwaine muttered. Percival and Elyan snickered good-naturedly at the side, and Gwaine glowered at them as he grabbed the waterskin and downed it.

Arthur turned over his shoulder to face where Merlin was still leaning on the fencepost, and Merlin ducked his head quickly to pretend he was not staring, feeling a slight flush on his ears. Because, yes, he didn’t care for swordfighting– not one bit– but there was something about the way that Arthur moved when he fought, his motions smooth and effortless and flowing seamlessly one into the next, that Merlin felt compelled to look, enraptured at the performance. There was a reason everyone feared him on the battlefield, even when he was just a prince. It also didn’t help that the sunlight made Arthur’s hair gleam golden, forming a natural halo, like the heavens were shining down upon him and saying that he really was everything that he was destined to be.

Arthur flashed Merlin a knowing grin. Show-off.

As Arthur went back to correct some aspect of Gwaine’s form, Merlin heard a voice call his name. He whirled around in its direction and found Guinevere beaming at him.

“Gwen!” he called back, holding out his arms. She fell into the embrace easily, and Merlin sighed contentedly, relaxing in his friend’s arms. “I haven’t seen you in so long. How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been fine, thank you for asking, Merlin,” she said, releasing him. “How are you? I heard your hunting party got attacked yesterday. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” 

Now that she was closer, Merlin could see the finer details in Gwen’s face, her posture. Her eyes, although always kind, didn’t contain that same innocence he once saw years ago, and she carried herself more firmly, like she was bearing weights on her back and shoulders. Merlin felt a pang of sorrow again– she was no longer the same shy serving girl who greeted him on his first day of Camelot, radiating positivity wherever she went. She had suffered too much grief and heartbreak, with her father, Lancelot, Morgana…

Right. Morgana was still an issue, not dead yet. Best not to tell her about what happened, he decided, since it might be upsetting for Gwen, as he remembered her close bond with Morgana when she was still her servant. Though, Morgana had never treated Gwen as if she were of a lower position, and Gwen was always a comforting presence by Morgana’s side, similar to Arthur and himself. Gwen saw the potential of goodness in everyone, or at least she tried to do so. He couldn’t bear to watch her face crumple as she remembered that Morgana, her former closest friend and confidant, now acted only in hatred for her and the people she loved.

Luckily, Gwen didn’t notice his silence, and was watching Arthur spar with Elyan this time. Arthur won again (it would probably go to his head, that arrogant prat). Gwen hummed. “Well, he sure didn’t slack as soon as he became king.”

“It’s the only thing he’s good at. I don’t see what’s so impressive anyways– they’re just waving around huge metal sticks like overgrown children.” He tilted his head. “Actually, that’s probably why Arthur’s so good at it.”

Gwen gave him a sidelong look which seemed to say I know you’re saying that but you really are proud of him on the inside. 

“Anyways,” Merlin said, “how are things going? With Arthur?”

After a minute of no response, Merlin glanced over at her. She was picking at a loose strand of fabric in her dress.

“Gwen?”

“Well,” Gwen said, attention still concentrated on the stray strand, “We broke it off.”

Merlin’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “ What? ”

“It’s not a big deal, we were in mutual agreement about it,” Gwen hurried to explain. “Maybe something like a month ago, we both decided it wasn’t working, and we would be better off as friends. It’s all good, there was no awkwardness about it, but we didn’t tell anyone because it really didn’t matter that much, so. That’s that. Alright?”

“...Alright,” Merlin said, deciding to not pry any further. 

But he still wondered. He thought Arthur and Gwen had been doing well together, and that Gwen would become queen one day. They were both good people, so maybe it was true and they just weren’t compatible romantically. He was surprised and a bit ashamed that both of them had managed to keep it from him for so long without him noticing. But he still didn’t know exactly why they broke up.

The faraway look might have something to do with it… reminiscing about a past lover, perhaps? Someone who made a place in Gwen’s heart and left it hollow when they were gone?

“Merlin, stop it.”

“Stop what?”

Gwen breathed out. “You’re looking at me like I’m a wounded puppy. I’m fine, Merlin. We’ve both faced far worse than a simple breakup. You don’t have to treat me like something made of glass.”

“Well, um,” Merlin said carefully, “if you ever want to talk…”

Gwen smiled earnestly at him. “I’ll keep you in mind. Has anything happened with you recently?”

Merlin made a show of thinking. “Polishing boots, serving meals, cleaning up after Arthur’s mess, getting attacked by bandits on a hunting trip I didn’t want to go on… Nope, everything’s pretty much the same.”

“Yeah, that’s how it is, isn’t it? Although, I decided to break my usual routine and take a walk this morning since it hasn’t been this nice in forever. Oh, I picked a few flowers along the path!” She reached into her pockets and picked out a daisy.

Merlin held the fragile flower, observing its delicate petals and yellow center. A daisy. “It’s beautiful, Gwen.” He placed it inside his neckerchief with care, just like he had done so many years ago. Gwen must have also remembered, because she let out a slightly wistful chuckle.

“I had better get going now. See you around, Merlin!” She said, waving goodbye, skirt and curly hair floating in the breeze.

As Merlin watched her go, with a smile on his face and flower petals brushing against his neck, he thought to himself that he wouldn’t mind if he could stay in this moment forever.

After a quick lunch, Arthur had the council meeting.

The council meeting was boring, as always. It was just a bunch of grey-haired or balding people who got together at one table to discuss policies or something about how to keep the kingdom up and running. Merlin found himself trying not to doze off more than once.

Since Arthur had become king, the people of Camelot had been generally happier. Arthur was a fair and just ruler who genuinely cared for the population. Of course, there were some more conservative members of the court, mostly friends of Uther, who disapproved of Arthur’s reforms. Arthur was diplomatic as a king should be, but Merlin saw his smile tighten at the edges when one noble made a particularly interesting remark.

“Yes, Sir Edwin, I do believe tariffs on Dyfed may bring in more profits for Camelot; However, at such high rates as you proposed, we risk escalating into conflict with Dyfed whereas I would prefer to maintain peace. Additionally, the general people at Camelot may be harmed by the tariffs, especially those in poverty who cannot afford spending even a few cents more than they already do just to survive.”

The council murmured in assent, and Merlin inwardly smirked at Sir Edwin's face. Though, the answer Arthur gave was fair and reasonable, so he didn’t say another word.

The rest of the meeting went on in about the same fashion, discussing more about kingdom revenue and such, concluding with a plan for Arthur to give a speech to celebrate the beginning of spring, the time of prosperity and plentifulness.

“So,” Arthur said, “Are you going to tell me what happened this morning?”

“Hm?” Merlin said, staring into the fireplace absentmindedly. Arthur snapped his fingers to get his attention.

It was sometime later, and they were back in Arthur’s chambers and Arthur was eating dinner. The hearth produced a homely yellow-orange glow to keep away the encroaching darkness of night. It was a pretty average day– no magical beasts to fight or raging armies to defeat or busy feasts to prepare for. And nothing had happened with Morgana’s spell yet, which was also good. Merlin was beginning to think maybe he had dreamed it up. It wouldn’t be the first time his everyday anxieties permeated his dreaming mind. It didn’t explain the rope burns, but maybe Merlin had gotten them from the regular old bandits, and his subconscious worked to explain the physical sensation with a dream.

Arthur gestured to the seat beside him. Merlin dutifully sat and stole an asparagus that was set aside on Arthur’s plate. Arthur hated them so he always gave them to Merlin anyways, who coincidentally had them as his favorite. Merlin also swiped a complimentary piece of chicken, which actually earned him a slight glare, but Arthur ultimately didn’t say anything and allowed it.

“Sorry, wha’ were you sayin’?” Merlin said around a mouthful of food.

“You know, it’s generally considered good manners to swallow before talking,” Arthur said. Merlin shrugged, because it was just him and Arthur in the room, and Arthur was used to his manservant’s impropriety by now. “But anyways, I was asking what you were doing when you burst into my room this morning.”

“Ah, right.” Merlin’s brain rapidly flicked through a few possible options to tell. “It was nothing. Just woke up from a nightmare,” was what he decided on, and it might’ve not even have been a lie.

“Really?” Arthur paused to take a bite and swallow. “What kind of nightmare warranted that reaction?”

“I was just afraid you might’ve been hurt.”

Arthur’s fork stilled, sensing the sincerity in Merlin’s tone. He looked up and made eye contact, searching Merlin’s expression for… something. Merlin had to suppress a shiver at being scrutinized under that calculating gaze, feeling like he was laid bare and being dissected.

Whatever Arthur saw (or didn’t see) must’ve satisfied him, because he said, “Wasn’t aware you cared so much. I thought I was just another royal prat.”

“True, but if you died, I’d have to find another royal prat to bother, and I’ve already gotten so used to you.” Merlin sighed melodramatically. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

The corner of Arthur’s lip quirked up. “Yes, I suppose so.”

The rest of dinner passed in comfortable silence. Merlin stole a bit more chicken and bread from Arthur’s plate (not like he needed it anyway) and wandered around Arthur’s room for some housekeeping– dusting cabinets, organizing the closet, stoking the fire. 

Arthur finished eating and sat back at his desk to whittle away at more of his neverending policymaking and revising and now writing a speech. He was settling into the role of king nicely– Merlin still remembered those weeks right after Uther died, when Arthur was nearly sick with grief and still was thrust upon the throne. But time waits for no one, so Arthur continued to grow and learn and eventually strayed from his father’s footsteps to become his own person. 

Stars started to emerge in the window just about when Merlin started yawning. 

“I think I’ll head to bed now,” Arthur stated, apparently sharing the sentiment. Merlin nodded, placing the polish onto the floor and taking out Arthur’s nightclothes. 

Arthur held out his arms obediently when Merlin told him to. He gazed at Merlin softly when he smoothed out the wrinkles in his sleepshirt and gently eased off his shoes. 

Merlin privately loved these moments because he got to see Arthur when he wasn’t just putting on an act for nobles or the people of Camelot. When he didn’t have to prove that he was strong or infallible just to be worthy of care and affection. He wished that everyone could see the true Arthur without the metaphorical armor that shielded him, while he also simultaneously wished that no one else would see him like this, warm and overwhelmingly human. It was a privilege, he decided, to lay hands on a king and have him not merely tolerate it, but actually lean into the touch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

When he was done, Arthur laid back onto carefully fluffed pillows and stared straight in front of him.

“Thank you. You’re dismissed,” Arthur said, words far too formal for Merlin’s taste.

Merlin blew out the candles. “Goodnight, Arthur,” he said, because he wasn’t one to use titles.

A pause, then a faint exhale. “Night, Merlin,” he murmured, before shutting his eyes.

Merlin tiptoed out of the room and walked back to Gaius’ chambers. He would have asked if Gaius knew anything about the spell now, but he was already asleep, and Merlin himself was getting tired. He could just ask tomorrow.

Merlin settled in his bed and curled up on his side. The stars twinkled above like eyes, like the universe was watching over him, cradling him in its arms. He liked watching the sky, because it reminded him of the enormity of the world, beyond himself, beyond the castle, beyond Camelot. Nature’s beauty was something he didn’t appreciate enough that it blew him away when he really paid attention.

He felt oddly safe as he drifted asleep.

The next day, Merlin woke to a sizzling noise.

He was still a bit groggy when he opened his eyes, but he realized that he was in the patient cot and abruptly sat up. Okay, this was strange. He clearly remembered falling asleep in his own bed.

“Merlin! You’re awake!” Gaius said, putting down brewing ingredients to walk over to the cot. Right, the noise came from a reaction between two substances. He continued, “You need to stop frightening me like that, my boy; one of these days my heart may give out.”

What the hell was going on? Why did that feel strangely familiar?

Gaius, sensing something off, frowned and leaned forward to lay a hand on his forehead. “Are you feeling alright? You seem a bit pale. Perhaps you haven’t fully recovered yet.”

Maybe he was just disoriented from excessive fatigue and stress. That was probably it. He didn’t feel anything different from yesterday. 

“I feel fine, Gaius,” Merlin replied. “But, why am I here instead of my own room?”

He could almost hear Gaius’ eyebrow form an arch. “During the hunting expedition yesterday, your party was attacked by bandits. Luckily, you were found hours later at the attack site, laying unconscious on the ground. You have a few bruises, but no major injuries. Though now,” Gaius said gravely, “I’m beginning to think you might have a concussion. Do you have a headache? Dizziness?”

Merlin shook his head while the cogs in his brain churned. The keyword in Gaius’ spiel was yesterday; As Merlin remembered, he lived a whole day between getting captured and this moment. Was Gaius remembering wrong? Had he misspoke? Or did Merlin actually live a whole day that was suddenly wiped from existence?

Gaius frowned even deeper. “Perhaps you should take a day’s rest as a precaution.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” Merlin said, already getting up and ignoring Gaius’ disapproving glare. “I think I just had a nightmare and was still feeling weird when I woke up. I’m fine.”

Merlin went to his room and dressed quickly, then headed for Arthur’s chambers, thinking along the way. 

Maybe in his delirium, he had hallucinated today (or yesterday), and it was playing out in real life right now. After all, most days in Camelot weren’t that difficult to predict.

Was he dying? He knew that some people who were brought back from the brink of death reported having crazy elaborate realistic memories which might have spanned weeks when it was just a byproduct of their subconscious and all happened in only minutes in real time. 

Or maybe… This had something to do with Morgana. Any irregularity in his day was something to consider, and this was an irregularity if he’d ever seen one. The foundation of reality was cracking under his feet. For now, he would assume that the memories of Morgana and yesterday were real. So what then? Why did she send him to relive this day? What was the point?

He was still turning over the thoughts in his head and struggling to approach the question when he entered Arthur’s chambers. Arthur was up and dressed (again) and sitting at his desk (again) and fiddling with his quill while looking over papers (again).

“Merlin,” Arthur said in surprise. “You’re here.”

“Yep,” Merlin said shortly, lost in thought.

He thought back to the few words he caught from the spell. Perhaps they were the final clue to this puzzle.

Suddenly, it clicked into place, and it became all too clear what Morgana’s plan was.

The day repeating, time unwinding. Time. Soul. Condition. 

Arthur’s death.

The only way he could get past today is if Arthur died. He was stuck in a time loop, repeating this day over and over and over until the condition was satisfied. The condition being Arthur’s death.

And the worst part was: No matter if he killed or didn’t kill Arthur, Arthur would never have the chance to see the light of day tomorrow. Or the day after, or the day after that. He was trapped here, in this day, and would never exist beyond it.

So, Merlin thought. Fuck.

Chapter Text

The realization hit him like a staggering blow to the chest, and Merlin had to remember how to breathe for a moment.

Okay, no, there had to be some way to bypass this without Arthur dying. Merlin hadn’t saved his ass almost a million times over a decade just for him to die before he’d even legalized magic and fulfilled his destiny.

“Merlin?” Arthur was immediately beside him, gripping his shoulder and forcing him back to reality. “Are you alright?”

Merlin nodded wordlessly. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, words not forming properly on his tongue, and didn’t meet Arthur’s eyes. He had to stare at the floor and concentrate on standing upright, because otherwise his knees might start shaking and give out.  

Finally he spoke, still not looking at Arthur, “Yeah, but I think I still have a bit of a headache. I’m going to head back for a moment.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, and Merlin barely heard him; everything seemed muffled like they were underwater. “Take the rest of the day to recover. I’ll expect you back in my service tomorrow.” 

If there was a tomorrow, Merlin thought grimly. As soon as he was out of Arthur’s line of sight, he raced through the hallways and back to the physician’s chambers.

“I figured out Morgana’s spell,” Merlin declared, bursting through the door.

Gaius looked up, seeming extremely concerned. “Morgana? Spell? What are you talking about?”

Right, damn, this whole memory resetting thing was gonna be a huge nuisance. Merlin took a deep breath, trying to order his scattered thoughts. “Okay, this is going to sound strange, but I already lived today yesterday. Or, not yesterday, because yesterday didn’t exist. Or, it did, but we had different yesterdays, and mine was wiped clean. But the point is two days ago, or yesterday for you– the day I got captured,” Merlin amended, feeling his head starting to spin, “Morgana cast a spell on me, and I wasn’t sure what it did at first, only that she planned for me to kill Arthur somehow. Then I woke up right here and everything was normal and I thought that maybe it was a nightmare or her plan failed, but now I’m back here on the same day even though it should be tomorrow, and I just realized that this is exactly what she intended: I have to keep repeating today until Arthur dies. That’s what she meant by those words she said, about Arthur’s death being inevitable.”

The silence hung heavy between them, until Gaius said, “I’m sorry, Merlin, but you’re going to have to repeat that. I don’t have a clue of what you just said.”

Merlin groaned and pulled at his hair out of frustration. This was gonna take a while.

When Gaius finally understood most of Merlin’s ramblings, worry replaced the confusion. “This is very powerful and dangerous magic. How did Morgana manage such a feat?”

“I don’t know, Gaius, I don’t know. What am I supposed to do now? Actually kill Arthur? I–” He broke off, voice cracking, balling his hands into fists so tightly that his fingernails almost tore skin. He stared at the floor, willing his tears to evaporate. Shit, he couldn’t do this. 

Gaius was also at a loss, despair in his eyes. “Undoing this spell– if it’s even possible– would take an incredibly long time, including researching what spell she used; finding if there is an established spellbreak, and most likely there won’t be, which would entail creating one ourselves; then tremendous casting to truly break it. And, I believe trying to break such a spell will be much more difficult than setting it in motion in the first place.”

“So what? Are you telling me that it’s over?” Merlin's whole body shook involuntarily. Everything felt out of control. 

“Merlin,” Gaius said, “I know the situation seems hopeless, but you can’t give up yet. We can still try to break the spell, and perhaps you can carry the information over every time the day resets.”

“...Okay.” Gaius was right. The least he could do was try. It was desperate, like clawing blindly at air and hoping a solution would fall into their arms, but the alternative was… well. He didn’t have to say it more than what was necessary. “I told Arthur I was feeling sick, so I have the rest of today to start trying to figure it out.”

“I will start as well. Let me go deliver the usual rounds of medicine, and then we can work on this. You write down what you remember from the spell to get us started.”

Gaius left, leaving Merlin feeling slightly more hopeful than before.

That sliver of hope was promptly squashed like a bug beneath his foot.

Merlin was in his room with a few books on the nightstand. He had flicked through them, trying to glean even the tiniest crumbs of useful information, but the books just told him that tampering with time was risky and could result in catastrophe, yet nothing about how one might break a spell that tampered with time. It was especially useless because during the Great Purge, nearly all books on practical magic had been burned, and even if there were some which survived, they would definitely not have instructions on how to cast dark and dangerous spells lest they fall into the wrong hands. 

He slammed the current book shut when he read another banal passage telling readers to avoid messing with the timeline. He knew that, and was trying to fix the timeline, for God’s sake. 

Merlin got up and headed out. Reading books on magic was an exercise in futility, but maybe the answer could be found elsewhere, in other sources of knowledge.

The sky was tinged with pink as the sun made its descent. Another whole day was nearly done. Arthur was probably being served dinner around now, Merlin thought distantly.

He could see spatters of that multicolored sky poking through clustered leaves in the forest as he trudged down a dense, unfamiliar path. Finally, the path opened into a wide clearing, and the sky came fully into view. The castle was far enough that no one would notice what happened next. 

It had been a long time since he had called upon his old scaly friend, (or, he couldn’t say friend but something close enough,) but he barely even had to think before the words flowed of their own accord, a guttural sound that he forgot he was capable of making, the language of his long-lost ancestors. Before long, he heard a whoosh, and in the blink of an eye there was a dragon in front of him. The flapping of massive wings ruffled Merlin’s hair a bit.

“Young warlock,” Kilgharrah said solemnly, voice booming through the clearing, enough to make a normal man cower. “What is it that brings you here tonight?”

“You already know,” Merlin stated. Kilgarrah stretched his wings once more then folded them into a more comfortable position. Merlin waited for him to still, then reiterated, “You always know what’s wrong, so you know why I’m here. Can we skip this part now?”

The Great Dragon grinned, baring his knife-sharp teeth. “You finally begin to understand me, Emrys.” Ribbons of smoke twirled through the air as he breathed out; Merlin had to briefly close his eyes to resist the gust of wind. “The witch has cast a spell which makes you repeat this day until the young Pendragon is dead. Everything remains constant except for the choices you make. Judging by the state of matters, it has only been a few days since this has started.”

“It’s the second day,” Merlin confirmed. “What do you mean by that? You aren’t aware of the loop?”

“I know the enchantment, but am not in the ‘loop,’ as you call it. The spell used is one that includes three variables: the length of time repeated, the beings ‘in the loop,’ and the condition. You are already well aware of the condition. As for the others, the spell repeats exactly one day, and the only person who is in the loop is you. Everything in the world resets to its respective states when the day starts, and the only exception is your mind, which carries memories from one day to the next. Or, more accurately, from the end of the day back to the beginning.”

Merlin sighed. This was more or less what he expected, but he was surprised to learn that even the usually omniscient Great Dragon didn’t know and wouldn’t know about what happened in the other todays. The thought made him feel terribly lonely.

He shook the feeling off. “So what can I do? Is there a way to break out of the loop?”

Kilgharrah’s keen reptilian eyes narrowed to slits. “I assume you mean, specifically, a way to undo the spell without meeting its condition.”

“I’m not going to harm him,” Merlin said, his tone resolute.

“The spell that the witch cast is indeed of a high calibre and very complicated, even for a High Priestess. Any enchantment that interferes with the natural processes of time places the entire universe at risk. Trying to interfere with that would only further compromise–”

“I know it’s dangerous!” Merlin lashed out, despite the fact that his throat was still hoarse from speaking the draconic language. The sting of it matched the burn in his eyes. “But I don’t care. I’m not going to fucking– kill Arthur. You’re the one who insisted on this destiny bullshit, that I have to protect Arthur, who’s apparently destined to be the greatest king the world’s seen and bring back magic and unite all of Albion, but he can’t do that if he’s dead!”

The Great Dragon loomed over him, unflinching. “There’s nothing I can do. And even if I did possess the knowledge to undo the enchantment, the magic required will likely destroy the universe.”

“So you’re telling me it’s inevitable. After all these years.” Merlin swallowed around a lump in his throat. “All these years, was everything that spewed from your mouth a goddamn lie? You tell me I’m the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the Earth, and the Druids hail me like a god and tell me that I’m magic itself. I should be able to overcome this, or else what am I even here for? Have I failed at my one single purpose?” The thought knocked the air out of him. “Have I failed?”

There was not a single shred of remorse in the dragon’s features. Merlin hated him so much in that moment that if the grief wasn’t there to temper his anger, he might have actually killed him.

“You want me to… satisfy the condition,” Merlin stated, voice choked with emotion.

“It would appear that that is the most sensible option to keep the universe intact.”

“And what about bringing magic back? Letting creatures of magic roam free?”

“Arthur has already laid the foundation for a peaceful Albion. The kingdom will continue to thrive in the future.”

“No,” Merlin said, shaking. “ No. Arthur’s not just a great king, he’s also a good man. He’s special, and there is no one else like him. You can’t just… replace him like that.”

Kilgarrah blew more smoke out of his nostrils. He then raised himself on his hind legs and unfolded his wings. “You’re on your own now, young warlock. I hope that when we meet again, things are better than they are now.”

“You’re a fucking manipulative bastard,” Merlin snarled. Kilgharrah at least had the decency to look Merlin in the eye. “You never cared about me or Arthur or even the kingdom; you just wanted your own escape before leaving me and everyone else in the dust. I should send you to your death. You’d deserve it.”

“Then, do it, Emrys. You know you’re capable of doing so,” Kilgharrah drawled. “Or stand by and watch, as is your habit.”

Merlin stood his ground and clenched his jaw. His hand twitched by his side.

But ultimately he did nothing. Kilgharrah let out a final smoky breath and flew away freely.

Damn. Damn.

His predicament was starting to feel more and more like an elaborate torture scheme, which he supposed it sort of was. He leaned against a tree, feeling the rough bark scrape his back and neck as he slid to the dirt and grass. The newly surfacing stars twinkled– it used to comfort him, being reminded he was a mere child of the vast universe, but now he felt like he was being mocked. He had never felt more powerless.

He briefly considered staying here because he would just wake up in the cot in the morning, but he mustered up all his energy and got up anyway. There was the off-chance that Gaius found something useful and could therefore impart some wisdom to carry over.

When Merlin entered the castle again, it was fully dark outside and the torches emitted an eerie glow on the bricks. He gently pushed the wooden door until he heard the soft click to indicate it was fully closed. 

He turned around to head to his room but there was an obstacle in his way. Specifically, there was a person who was in the middle of the area frantically pacing in circles, burning a hole into the ground. When he saw Merlin, he froze like a startled deer.

It was Arthur, of course. The candlelight illuminated the creases in between his eyebrows and on the sides of his mouth. “Where the hell have you been?” he asked, after having gotten over his initial shock. His stare zeroed in on the small twigs and leaves that latched onto Merlin’s jacket, and he narrowed his eyes. “Okay, new question, why the hell were you in the forest in the dead of night.”

He opened his mouth, but it felt like there was something lodged in his throat, rendering him mute. 

This was torture, Merlin decided. It was torture to face Arthur right now, knowing that his fate was sealed and he was a dead man walking. He felt like something in his soul was brutally ravaged and torn away and left a wide and gaping chasm, and perhaps there was something to the sides of a coin metaphor after all.

“Merlin?” Arthur whispered, the fury in his voice vanishing as it gave away to worry. He walked over to the door where Merlin was still standing and began to brush off the nature bits on Merlin’s jacket. 

Merlin hated that he flinched under Arthur’s ministrations, but Arthur didn’t seem to notice. “Why are you here?” He asked sullenly.

Arthur paused to look at him; Merlin didn’t look back. “You were sick. I stopped by to check on you to see if you were feeling better. You’re in my employ, after all.”

Merlin shook his head wearily. “You should’ve been sleeping.” And it would have saved me the trouble of facing you. 

“Well it’s a good thing I wasn’t, otherwise I would’ve missed your mysterious little late night excursion,” Arthur said, seemingly aiming for humor but missing by a mile. He cleared his throat. “Gaius is still out looking for you, by the way. Which brings me back to my question: What were you doing?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Merlin said unconvincingly.

Arthur finally gripped both of his shoulders and whirled him around, forcing him to look up into that storm that was Arthur’s eyes. “You were missing, Merlin. I was… worried that you were hurt.”

The words were a stark parallel to what Merlin said yesterday (or the previous today) except the roles were now switched. Just that simple phrase amounted to a confession spilling from Arthur’s lips. As expected of someone growing up under Uther’s parenting, Arthur had been taught never to reveal any semblance of affection. Had been taught to never show that he cared or was attached to anything.

But here he was, unknowingly reciprocating the care that Merlin displayed the day earlier. And by God, did it hurt to see Arthur in front of him now, open and unguarded and concerned and gentle all at once. 

The tears pricked again and this time started to fall. Arthur looked genuinely heartbroken, which only made his tears form faster. 

“Merlin…” Arthur murmured miserably, like he wasn’t sure what to do.

Then, very slowly, Arthur stepped into Merlin’s personal space. He raised and positioned his arms cautiously on Merlin’s back like he was scared that Merlin would run away. The motions were so drawn-out that mountains could have formed in the time they took. It was awkward and stiff, and under normal circumstances Merlin would have laughed at the clumsy and inexperienced Pendragon Hug which Arthur approached like a mission to accomplish, until he wanted to cry even more because Arthur had probably never been given enough proper hugs to know how one felt.

Merlin laid his face on Arthur’s shoulder, probably smearing tears on his shirt, but Arthur didn’t say anything. He didn’t cling, but his hands came around to hang loosely around Arthur’s waist. Arthur relaxed incrementally into Merlin’s touch and rubbed his back in small soothing circles. 

In all the years of their odd and unlikely friendship, they had never hugged or embraced, except for that Thank God you’re alive one when Arthur found him in the bog after being captured by Morgana last time, which he didn’t even remember because of the Formorroh slithering in his neck. But even that one, as he was told by the other knights, had only lasted all of two seconds before Arthur pulled away and started dragging him back to the castle. Never had they shared a moment so vulnerable and… intimate as now, with no pretense or purpose except mere comfort. It was cruel that it only happened when one of them was going to die.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said. He wasn’t sure exactly for what. For having to kill him? For never telling him about his magic? For waiting everything out until it was too late?

Arthur shushed him and infinitesimally tightened his hold. “You don’t have to be,” he said, not truly understanding the words.

Merlin didn’t say anything else. His breathing was still ragged but less so than before. Still, he didn’t let go, trying to drag out this moment for as long as he could. 

“Sire, I still have not found–” Gaius stopped when he took in the sight before him. Merlin and Arthur separated briskly. Merlin’s nose was probably still red from sniffling. “My apologies, my lord, should I…”

“No need, Gaius, I was just about to head back,” Arthur said, already making his way to the door. Before he exited, he glanced back, lingering in the doorway. The torchlight from outside framed him, enshrouding his face and body in shadow. “If you’re feeling better… I’ll see you tomorrow, Merlin,” he concluded, and shut the door.

Merlin all but collapsed onto the bench, and Gaius sat next to him. The stern yet worried look on Gaius’ face did all the communicating for him.

“I went to see The Great Dragon to see if he had any answers since the books weren’t helpful,” Merlin explained. “But he told me that he knew of no counterspell to the one Morgana already cast. And even worse, he actually wants me to break the loop the typical way, by… you know already.

“But Gaius, the thing is, I can’t lose him. I just can’t,” Merlin admitted, taking a shuddering breath. He let his elbows rest on his knees and stared at his shadow on the floorboards. “I don’t know if I’d be able to live with myself. I can’t even look in his eyes right now because it feels like I’m staring at a ghost. I just… I don't know what to do.”

Gaius placed a hand between Merlin’s shoulder blades, just like he did when Merlin first came to Camelot as a young boy all those years ago. It was fitting, because that was how he felt now. “I’m sorry, Merlin,” was all he could say.

Merlin just shook his head and returned to his own room, sitting on the edge of his bed.  

Tomorrow– or not tomorrow, but the next today– everything would be erased, and Merlin would have to try again. He would be the only thing in the universe who was not affected by the clock unwinding. It was like he was immortal, but also not, because he was stuck in this tiny frame of time between yesterday and tomorrow.

The world turned weirdly blurry all of a sudden.

Then Merlin woke up (though he never fell asleep) and instinctively checked his surroundings. He was in the patient’s cot again, and the room was lit with sunlight.

He heard the clink of vials being set against the table and Gaius’ relieved words for the third time. It rang out like a confirmation that Merlin was stuck in a time loop– there was no way that he had dreamed up two entire days plus the encounter with Morgana. His head fell back against the pillow and he wished he could sink into the mattress and into the core of the Earth and burn. 

He still wouldn’t do it, he decided. He was the most damn powerful sorcerer on Earth, he was Emrys, and he was going to find a fix to this even if it drained all the life-force out of him, even if he was a husk of a living being by the end.

Chapter Text

It became a sort of routine over the next few days.

Merlin woke up, explained to Gaius the time loop spell he was put under by Morgana (each time he explained it he was able to do so more concisely, so at least that was a bonus) and then he would call in sick so he could try some other new idea in vain hope.

He tried consulting the Druids on the border of Camelot, but they just glanced among each other, communicating telepathically, before one of them spoke up and said, “We are sorry, Emrys, but we are unable to help you.”

He travelled to distant regions to see if there were libraries with a more diverse grimoire section, and he also tried to amalgamate different spells and brute force his way to tomorrow. But he couldn’t figure out exactly what spell she cast, nor how to break it. He tried to fiddle around with time despite the warnings not to– warping it, speeding it up, slowing it down. Nothing worked. Right now, it still seemed like breaking out of the loop really did just hinge on the “condition.”

But strangely, as the days oozed into one another, Arthur’s planned future death didn’t affect Merlin as much anymore. He supposed it was because as long as he didn’t actually do the deed, it could be postponed to literally eternity and beyond, if his memories were the only thing that really aged. 

It was the twelfth time he'd lived this day (it was probably good to keep track) and Merlin didn’t have any new ideas at the moment, and he needed a break anyways. So, when he woke up that morning, he decided to simply attend to Arthur as normal. God, how he missed seeing Arthur’s face and hearing Arthur’s voice. It was almost easy to pretend that he didn’t see the guillotine above Arthur’s head if he could hold up the blade for as long as he wanted, even if it cut into his flesh and made him bleed.

“Gwen,” Merlin said, spinning the daisy’s stem between his fingers. He thought of the one on the first day of the loop which he pressed between the yellowing pages of an old book, which turned out to be meaningless because here it was again in his hand, freshly picked and alive. He thought of his wish that first day, about preserving this moment as if it was a painting then living in it. 

Gwen was peering up at him curiously. Arthur and the knights were at training, and he could hear them laughing in the distance. A bird sang overhead amid picturesque blue skies. 

He continued, “If you could freeze time on a day like this one– no threats or dangers to the kingdom, and you and the people you love are happy–  would you do it? Could you live in it forever, even if you’d never have the chance to see the future?”

Gwen tilted her head, pondering the hypothetical question, though it wasn’t really just a hypothetical for Merlin. “I’m not sure, honestly; Let me think on it for a moment.”

Merlin watched Arthur spar against Elyan while he waited. Arthur was going to win, he knew.

“I don’t think so,” Gwen said after a while, which he didn’t expect. He listened intently as she continued, “I’m happy right now– I really am– but I think life would become stale if nothing ever changed. Even if the day was perfect.”

“And what if…” Merlin pursed his lips. “What if you knew that the future would not be as bright? And that you would never feel the same level of happiness that you do right now?”

“Merlin,” Gwen said softly, and her tone made him turn to her. “You can’t expect to live in a bubble of happiness and keep everything the way things are forever. If everything is fixed, then all your actions and choices become meaningless, and life becomes meaningless too. That’s not living, that’s… nothing. Not even existing, really. Even if something ends in tragedy, I think it would still be better than staying in a single moment, because at least you’re able to live, right?”

Merlin stared at her. He had forgotten how wise she could be. 

He felt suddenly ashamed at even entertaining the notion of staying here forever. It was the easiest thing to do but also the worst thing, because Gwen was right, he would effectively cease to live. The past and future blended into one and therefore wouldn’t even exist as concepts.

He wanted to live, he decided. He wanted to see tomorrow. 

But he still wasn’t quite ready to face it without Arthur, and that was the real tragedy of it all, wasn’t it?

“Merlin?” Gwen said hesitantly. “Is everything alright?”

Merlin nodded slightly. “Yes, Gwen, sorry. I was just thinking.”

Gwen smiled at him, but her gaze held traces of sympathy and some sadness, too. Maybe she understood better than Merlin thought she would. “I don’t blame you for wanting to stay here forever, though. It really is a beautiful day.”

“Yes,” Merlin agreed. “That it is.”

“Do I have something on my face?” Arthur asked midway through dinner that night. Oops, Merlin was staring again. 

He shook his head. “Nothing more than your usual prattish looks, my lord.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. He used his fork to nudge an asparagus piece towards Merlin encouragingly. “Only because I have a lazy excuse of a manservant who always keeps me in a bad temper. Now take this; I don’t want it.”

Merlin chewed slowly, leaning back in his chair. 

Arthur deserved to know. It was only fair that matters concerning his life or death were made privy to him, though he already kind of knew what was going to happen if he told him: Arthur, being noble and moral as always, would want to sacrifice himself to end the loop. Knights were always prepared to die every time they walked onto the battlefield, after all. It was actually kind of irritating how little they valued their own lives.

“Alright, spit it out,” Arthur said with a hint of annoyance, cutting into Merlin's thoughts.

Merlin frowned. “Spit what out?”

“You keep staring at me like I’ve grown two heads, and you’ve been making weird mopey faces the entire day when you think I’m not watching. Something’s going on, and you’re going to tell me,” Arthur demanded. 

“Nothing, it’s just a headache,” he lied. Arthur still looked suspicious but accepted it. Merlin got up to perform his chores and Arthur finished up his dinner to do a last bit of work to wrap up the day.

If he told Arthur, would it make him more prepared for the loss? Would he get some kind of closure from doing so? Or would Arthur do or say something that would make it harder to let go?

The thoughts swirled in his head, but they all circled back to the same point: He needed to tell Arthur. They had always been a team, working through things together, even if Arthur still didn’t know about his magic– Merlin brushed that thought aside for later. For now, it was his duty as Arthur’s manservant, his companion, his friend, to let him know about the spell that may end in his demise. 

Merlin got up from polishing Arthur’s armor and determinedly walked over to where Arthur was drafting a speech that he may never get to deliver. “Arthur, I need to tell you something.”

Arthur lifted his head, smirking. “Finally. I knew there was something off about you. You can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

But Merlin’s expression stayed grim, and Arthur’s smug expression dropped. The atmosphere in the room became cold and tense despite the blazing fire.

“On that hunting trip, when I was captured, I woke up in Morgana’s place.” Merlin cast a glance at Arthur, who displayed no reaction. He went on. “She cast a spell to repeat the same day over and over again, and also so that I’m the only one who retains my memory from day to day. This is already the twelfth time that today has happened.”

He let the information wash over them, sink in, before moving on to the most crucial part. “There is, however, one condition, that if met, makes everything go back to normal.”

Arthur’s face was stoic, but Merlin saw that his knuckles turned white where he gripped his quill. His muscles were pulled taut as a rope beneath his shirt, and it was only because Merlin knew Arthur so well that he noticed Arthur’s breathing becoming slightly more shallow than usual.

Merlin shut his eyes, bracing himself. “The only way to end the loop is for you to die.”

Blood pounded loudly in his ears, enough to block out the world. 

When Merlin finally dared to open his eyes, Arthur was still in the same position; he hadn’t attempted to run away or wield a weapon. He was staring at someplace left of Merlin, at nothing in particular.

“What you meant is, she’s forcing you… to kill me,” Arthur said slowly, weighing the words on his tongue.

“Yes.”

“Or else you have to keep repeating today.”

“Yes.”

“And yet I’m still alive.”

This was an incredibly serious moment, but Merlin felt the strong urge to smack Arthur upside the head. “Yes. Obviously. I don’t want to…” He trailed off, but Arthur seemed to understand.

There was another long silence. “You’re sure there’s no other way?”

“No, but it’s likely. I’ve been spending the last week doing research with Gaius to see if there’s a way to break the spell, but we haven’t found anything. The spell she cast is very powerful.” 

Arthur leaned back and put his palms flat on the desk. He had this unfocused yet look that Merlin recognized– it was the same one as whenever Arthur had to enter a battle that he knew he was likely to lose. He was fighting against the odds by endlessly strategizing, flipping the situation around to look at it from a new angle, poking and prodding to find any weak points to take advantage of. 

“Arthur?” Merlin said, when Arthur didn’t say anything for too long. 

Arthur glanced at him briefly. “Being a knight and protector of Camelot means I have to be prepared to die at any given moment. There have been close calls in the past, you know that.” Then, “Is this the first time you’ve told me?” 

“Yes.”

“Does anyone else know?”

“Well, I’ve told Gaius every day since it started, but not today, so technically he doesn’t know anymore.”

“And I won’t either by tomorrow,” Arthur muttered with a tinge of frustration, rubbing his temple. “What have you done so far?”

“I’ve already told you– researching time magic, seeing if there are any ways to stop the spell.” He purposefully omitted the parts about speaking with magical creatures and actually doing magic.

“If it comes to it, then I’d need to appoint an heir–“

“Are we not going to talk about this?” Merlin exclaimed, feeling put off by the mock interrogation. He knew Arthur’s first instinct during any such situation was to block out all distracting personal emotions, but this was a new level of indifference. “Like, yes, I do want to break the spell somehow, but you’re being far too calm about everything I’ve just told you.” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to start blubbering and crying?”

Merlin started pacing back and forth, gesticulating wildly. All the things he’d been trying to suppress these past few days were rushing in, the same way a crack in a dam leads to the whole thing falling apart. “No, but I want you to take your life seriously for once, not like some throwaway item. And I want you to realize that if you died, people would be affected and hurt, so you can’t just make some noble sacrifice and have everything be well again.”

“I know that. If you can’t tell, I actually don’t want to die, which is why I’m trying to ask you if there are ways to avoid it. The kingdom would be without a ruler, so–”

“I don’t mean just the kingdom,” Merlin interjected, trying to not let his voice waver. “I meant me. You’re… my friend, Arthur. I don’t want to lose you.”

Arthur’s composure seemed to crack a bit. Their loyalty to each other was something that was concealed by humor or friendly gestures, but never actually acknowledged out loud. Maybe they both feared that those raw and unadulterated words would burn them from the inside out. 

“I don’t know what I would do in your position,” Arthur admitted quietly. That was as close an apology as one could get from Arthur Pendragon. 

Merlin took a seat at the long table, and Arthur followed and sat right next to him. They didn’t look at each other; Merlin was glad for it, because he didn’t know if he could prevent himself from being overly honest if he was facing Arthur head on.

“So what if you do need to kill me in the end?”

“I’m trying to not think about that yet,” Merlin said, pressing the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. “Not until we’ve tried every last thing.”

Arthur didn’t say anything. Merlin dropped his hands and sighed. 

There were a few other magical ideas he had, but obviously he couldn’t tell Arthur those. Over his time in Camelot acting as Arthur’s servant and protector, his hope of Arthur ever knowing had trickled away and plummeted. There were so many times where he had tried to tell Arthur or tried to make Arthur see the good in magic– before the battle in Ealdor, attempting to save his father, just to name a few– but it was all in vain.

Distantly, Merlin recognized the logical fallacy in the fact that Arthur was supposed to bring magic back to the kingdom with his help when he never told Arthur about his magic, but he had enough practice to prevent breaching those thoughts. Besides, if he did tell Arthur, it would be fully acknowledging that it’d be his last chance to ever say it before Arthur died, which made something in Merlin’s body churn uneasily.

“You didn’t even question it,” Merlin murmured. “You just trusted me.”

“Come again?”

“The time loop,” Merlin clarified. “I could be making all this up; I haven’t even given you any evidence.”

Arthur scoffed. “Really, Merlin, after all these years, I know you wouldn’t lie to me about something like this. I trust you with my life,” he said, which just twisted the knife in Merlin’s guts. 

“What if I did die?” Arthur suddenly said.

Merlin groaned. “We’ve already gone over this–”

“No,” Arthur said, steady and even. “I mean temporarily.”

Merlin’s head snapped up sharply. Arthur continued, “Remember that thing you and Gaius did when you had to make my father cry? With the potion? Gaius told me that I’d be dead ‘for all intents and purposes.’ Maybe you could somehow… trick whatever magic Morgana’s done.”

For all Merlin’s jokes about Arthur being a clotpole or idiot or something equivalent, he was actually quite clever. “That might actually work. The potion makes your heart stop, so technically, your physical body would be considered dead for around five minutes before the antidote is administered.”

“Will it take time to brew?”

“Yes, but I can get it done in a few hours. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

Arthur nodded determinedly and stood. “You’ll try it tomorrow.” He was walking over to the closet, presumably for Merlin to dress him for bed, but he stopped halfway. “Hold on, is there a point in sleeping if everything will reset?”

Merlin shrugged, and got up too. “Might as well get changed, at least.” If it was an excuse for Merlin to have some sense of normalcy, no one had to know. Arthur just held out his arms.

They didn’t speak, and the only noises for a while were the crackles from the fireplace. Merlin tried to stretch out the moment for as long as he could, savoring every second where he could maintain the illusion that everything was alright, that Arthur wasn’t sentenced to die at his hand.

Just as Merlin finished adjusting Arthur’s collar and was about to pull away, Arthur’s hand whipped out to capture Merlin’s wrist, hard enough that it was on the verge of bruising. “Merlin,” he said, eyes piercing. “You are going to tell me every day from now on. That’s an order. I don’t care if I won’t remember this tomorrow; you’re doing it anyway.”

Merlin swallowed. “Yes, sire.”

“Good,” he said, and dropped Merlin’s arm. Merlin rubbed at his wrist gingerly.

Arthur didn’t lay down though, and instead went to the window that overlooked the citadel, leaning against the window’s frame with his arms crossed. Merlin had been Arthur’s manservant for long enough to know that this was his usual spot for meditation and reflection. His usual golden hair shone silver in the moonlight, a sort of muted brilliance.

The last candle was blown out and Merlin walked to Arthur’s side, stepping into the place where he belonged, as he had done countless times before. Camelot below was silent and peaceful at night, a sleeping kingdom, oblivious to the troubles of their King and his manservant. Arthur’s eyes were half lidded as he observed the realm that he’d built and protected, the thing he cared for above all else.

“I might already be dead,” Arthur said quietly. 

“You’re not.”

Merlin’s voice reverberated with such conviction that Arthur broke from his statue-like stillness to turn to him. “While this is still going, you’re alive. You’re here, breathing, and talking to me.”

“But if we don’t figure this out, then I’m essentially dead. I won’t ever be able to move forward in time,” he argued, echoing Merlin’s thoughts. “And even so, the me of today is definitely dead, because I won’t exist by tomorrow.”

Merlin knew Arthur was right. Saying anything otherwise would be an empty promise.

“You’re going to live,” Merlin said anyway, trying to force himself to believe it. “We will overcome this, and you’re going to become the greatest king that the world has ever known.”

Arthur was looking at him in that faintly awestruck way he always did when Merlin outwardly voiced his faith in Arthur. Merlin shifted closer to Arthur, who in turn, gripped Merlin’s shoulder tightly, the same way he’d instill strength into a fellow knight. “You’re a good friend, Merlin.”

They were connected at that sole point of contact, but Merlin yearned for something more. 

The truth was, ever since Merlin arrived in Camelot all those years ago and became Arthur’s appointed manservant, one of the hardest parts was getting used to all these stupid royal customs where people were expected to act emotionless and inhuman, without any easy smiles or touches like back in Ealdor with his mother and Will. There was nothing easy about affection here– everything was a move on a chessboard, or a contract signed between business partners. Every action had some ulterior motive.

He was lonely and starved for human connection. There was no one who could understand the extent of his loneliness, the burdens he had to bear, and there was no one who would ever comfort him for it. It was even worse now in the time loop, where he was literally isolated by its mechanics and forced to go through it alone. 

But right now, in this moment, he didn’t even care if no one understood, or if the time loop wasn’t broken. He just wanted someone to comfort him, to remind him that he was deserving of care, that he was human. That was it. It really wasn’t much to ask for.

So, fine, maybe he was feeling a bit desperate when he said, “Is there any chance for a hug now?”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, but something in Merlin’s face made his gaze soften and he slung his arm all the way around Merlin, pulling their sides together. “You’re such a girl, Merlin,” Arthur whispered, his breath tickling Merlin’s ear.

Merlin twisted himself out of the side hug and into a proper one, hooking his chin over Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur stiffened for a few seconds, arms suspended awkwardly in the air, until he eased into it and wrapped his arms around Merlin’s back, patting gently.

This time, Merlin did cling to Arthur as if it was the only thing that kept him afloat. Maybe some people lived for the purpose of protecting the kingdom, or because they wanted to become someone great and build a lasting legacy, or maybe they kept alive just for the hell of it, but the main reason Merlin lived was to be with the people he cared for, and who cared for him in return. Otherwise, there was no point in living at all. 

And he cared for Arthur, probably more than anything else in the world. Arthur dying would probably destroy him, wreck him until nothing was left.

But he tried not to think about that. The closeness of Arthur and the warmth of his body through the fabric was good, and some of the frost that had been accumulating in his heart thawed. He could feel Arthur’s heartbeat, a steady rhythm, a solid reminder that he was alive. Tomorrow he could go back to wallowing through the depths, but today he had this, which gave him the strength to go on. He could keep trying because of Arthur, for Arthur.

After a period of time which could have been anywhere from two minutes to an hour, Arthur cleared his throat. Merlin stepped back and mumbled, “Sorry.”

“That’s alright,” Arthur said, hands still resting on Merlin’s shoulders, keeping him close. “I’m assuming you haven’t rested much these past few days.”

“No, not really,” Merlin said. Since the beginning of the time loop, he actually hadn’t fallen asleep naturally at all, and just waited until the day to restart. He woke up at the exact same time each morning, adequately physically rested, but his mind was on overdrive from constantly thinking and pondering and berating himself for not figuring out a solution. “Been too busy trying to save your life,” he said, the delivery too sincere to pass as a quip.

“Sleep here,” Arthur said, which surprised him. “At least until the time loop resets.”

“Are you sure? I could just go–“

“Merlin, stop being an idiot. I’m sure it’s much more comfortable here than your small dingy room, and you need the rest; you look absolutely awful,” Arthur averted his gaze, and if Merlin didn’t know better, he would say Arthur seemed almost bashful. “I’m not asking twice, and I don’t mind if you stay.”

“Oh,” Merlin murmured. “If you say so, sire.”

And that was how Merlin ended up in Arthur’s bed, jacket and neckerchief and boots removed (and thrown on Arthur’s floor), and staring up at the canopy. Since it was warm enough, they both were laying over the covers. They were in close enough proximity that Merlin could feel the heat that radiated from Arthur’s body. 

It wasn’t too weird to be sleeping beside each other– they had done it multiple times during hunting trips, especially during autumn or winter where sharing body heat was mutually beneficial. But this was different, but also not bad.

Arthur turned over as if he was about to say something, but then thought better of it and closed his mouth. This happened a few times, like the words he was grasping for were just out of reach. At last, he just firmly said, “Get the timing right,” and turned back around.

The whole day felt like it took out a chunk out of Merlin, so instead of letting his mind run wild with new possibilities of bypassing the spell, he actually settled himself on the mattress and closed his eyes. He tried to focus his mind purely on the sensations around him– listened to Arthur’s deep breaths, breathed in faint whiffs of the lavender soap Arthur always used. 

But his mind kept wandering, to new territories. He wanted to press against Arthur’s side, feel his weight to ground him, anchor him when he felt like drifting. He wanted to press his hand against Arthur’s heart and feel his pulse, drag his fingertips over Arthur’s warm and flushed skin, knowing life was brimming underneath. He just… wanted more. Yearned. Craved. What exactly, he wasn’t too sure.

But he didn’t do anything, because even if Arthur put most of his boundaries down around Merlin, there were some lines that he couldn’t cross, would never be able to. The last thing he ever wanted was to scare Arthur away. So he took what he got, and told himself that it was enough; that just being at Arthur’s side was enough.

Despite the fact that he was in a bed literally made for a king, Merlin still couldn’t fall asleep.

Chapter Text

“This again?”

“Well technically, you– or, a version of you– suggested it, so.”

Arthur rubbed a palm against his face and looked to the heavens for help. His dinner was forgotten and abandoned.

It was weird acting as if nothing had happened between them. Strictly speaking, nothing really did, but any displays of affection from Arthur Pendragon were noteworthy since they only ever happened once a blue moon. And that was the second time they had hugged during this loop, on top of sharing a bed. But Arthur obviously didn’t remember, and technically, those events occurred in an alternate timeline which was now undone and erased. They happened and didn’t happen, didn’t exist anywhere except in Merlin’s memories. It was a paradox, and Merlin hated it.

But he trudged through. He explained everything all over again and pretended his longing wasn’t eating him alive. “We need to at least try. It might be the way out of the loop.”

Arthur begrudgingly agreed. They spent the rest of the time with mostly Arthur asking questions about the nature and logistics of the time loop, Merlin answering as best he could, then long silences wherein they both stewed.

Soon enough, midnight approached, and Arthur raised the glass before downing it in one gulp and promptly collapsing onto the bed.

Merlin held the antidote steadfastly in one hand, standing above a pale Arthur, praying that this would work. He counted down the seconds in his head.

Three, two, one—

Merlin woke up in the cot and Gaius was calling his name. Looks like he didn’t need the antidote after all. Damn it.

“This is ridiculous,” Arthur huffed, visibly frustrated at Merlin attempts to explain the time loop and the condition and their past attempts to escape it. Merlin was getting pretty fed up himself. (They tried the poison-antidote stunt twice more to see if it was a timing issue. It apparently wasn’t.) “How are we supposed to do this if I essentially reset every single day? There’s no way to make progress like this if I can’t retain my memory of all the past days.”

The thing was, Merlin was explaining it perfectly well, but Arthur still had difficulty processing the information. Which was honestly perfectly understandable. Crazy things happened in Camelot, but rarely this crazy; Arthur was probably left reeling from the absurdity of it all. If only he could remember, it would make things a lot more streamlined, but that was impossible.

Unless it is possible, Merlin thought suddenly, eyes widening. There might be a spell which allows for someone to give their memories to someone else.

He didn’t know why he didn’t think of it sooner. After all, he knew the only thing that remained constant was Merlin’s memories, so why couldn’t he store Arthur’s memories in Merlin’s mind, then give them back to Arthur the day after?

“Merlin?”

Right, there was one glaring problem with that plan: he would have to explain to Arthur how he, a known incompetent and objectively terrible manservant, was somehow actually a sorcerer, and a quite powerful one at that. It would unravel a whole string of lies from the day they met to present. And Arthur would hate him.

Merlin averted his gaze. “Nothing–”

“That wasn’t nothing,” Arthur said, jabbing a finger into his chest. “You realized something, so say it. God knows we need everything we can get right now.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “I was wondering if there was a way to get your memories to the next day. But…”

Arthur’s eyebrows drew together. “...But?” 

And here it was: the truth. “It might need to involve magic.”

Merlin chanced a glance at Arthur, who had stiffened and clenched his jaw, as per usual whenever magic was mentioned.

“Magic killed both my parents,” Arthur said weightily. “I don’t know if I could trust it.”

Merlin nodded. That was expected.

What wasn’t expected was Arthur then saying: “But perhaps I’m being unfair. If what you say is right, then it might actually help us. And since Morgana’s magic started this loop, then maybe only magic can end it as well.”

Merlin was sure he looked like a complete idiot with his jaw slack and hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. He was quite confident that Arthur would blindly shut down any proposal involving magic, which, apparently not. Uther Pendragon was probably rolling in his grave. After a moment, he tentatively said, “You mean… you think we should use… it?” 

“I’m just thinking logically. Something you should practice, by the way,” Arthur said irritatedly.

Then the door to Arthur’s chambers opened, startling both of them. A servant came in holding a platter with sausages and bread and assorted vegetables. They looked surprised at Merlin’s presence but didn’t comment on it. “Breakfast, your Majesty,” they said, then bowed subserviently and left. 

Arthur stared dumbfoundedly at the door like he had forgotten regular life was still going on. Then he resumed and went to the table to eat and think. 

Halfway through, he said, “Okay, here’s the plan: You call in sick, then research if there is any possible way to transfer my memories in the first place, magic or not, and report to me your findings at the end of the day. We can go from there.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said, feeling dazed. 

A quick search through his spellbook revealed the perfect spell.

A Memory Transfer Spell, in which the memories of one person can be transmitted from their mind to the other person’s. It was quite literally exactly what Merlin needed. Unfortunately, they had to be in physical contact with each other while Merlin uttered an incantation, as well as some other specifics which made it impossible for Merlin to cast without giving away the fact that he had magic.

So that night, when Arthur asked about his findings, Merlin lied and said that he didn’t find anything useful. Arthur grunted and brainstormed a few more possibilities that involved him nearly dying to “trick” Morgana’s spell.

“What if you do actually need to kill me in the end?” Arthur asked, because he was truly awful.

Merlin sighed. “You’ve already asked me that. And I don’t know.”

The next days for Merlin were mostly spent in contemplation.

He couldn’t stand listening to Arthur keep asking the same questions and mentally preparing for his death. The thing about time loops was that, it was bearable if the weather was the exact same or some random noble kept proposing the same inane policy, but it was torture to face the people he loved and know that they don’t remember past shared memories and wouldn’t remember the current events that were happening. Which was why he started actively trying to avoid any meaningful conversation with Arthur, knowing it would hurt too much seeing his oblivious face the next day. 

But the Memory Transfer Spell could help with that.

During his lunch break one day, he told Gaius about the time loop and the Memory Transfer Spell. Gaius predictably told him, “Merlin, you can’t tell Arthur about your magic; it’s too risky,” and Merlin followed that advice for a bit; but then he decided that despite Gaius having the best intentions at heart, he might be in the wrong this time. He wanted approval to tell Arthur about his magic, wanted reassurance that he was doing the right thing (since it was so hard to tell nowadays), but he wouldn’t get that from Gaius, whose worldviews were shaped by the haunting memories of the Great Purge. Gaius liked to err on the side of caution, but he took it too far sometimes.

Merlin thought over the dilemma more by himself. In the past few years since Arthur had been made king, there was a significant reduction in the executions of sorcerers. Of course, this wasn’t saying much, because Uther tended to lose his mind at the mere mention of sorcery and would voluntarily start a witch hunt at the drop of a hat, but still. Arthur was noble and kind and fair, which were traits horrifically lacking in most rulers. And just that day, Arthur had even been open to the idea of magic to figure out the time loop, so maybe he was capable of overcoming his biases.

Now, around a week and a half had passed since he had learned about the Memory Transfer Spell, but he still hadn’t told Arthur, even though it gnawed at him more each day. Because even if Arthur came to accept magic, he wasn’t sure if Arthur could accept the fact that Merlin kept his own magic a secret. The betrayal was the thing that would hurt the most, especially after Arthur had trusted Merlin all these years. Merlin needed to talk to someone for this, someone who was empathetic and kind and could provide advice on interpersonal relationships.

It was the twenty-second (or maybe twenty-third?) day of the loop. The knights were at training and Merlin was on the edge of the field again, straining his neck in one direction, seeking a specific person who should be popping up any second now… ah, there she was.

“Gwen!” He called when she came into view. 

Gwen caught his eye and brightened.

After they exchanged the usual greetings, Merlin cleared his throat and said, “Gwen, I’ve actually been meaning to ask for your help on something, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, Merlin,” Gwen said, not missing a beat. Merlin felt a renewed surge of gratitude that they were friends. “Ask away.”

“Okay, um,” Merlin hesitated, trying to put this into the proper words while not giving too much away. “I have to be a bit vague about it, but… the thing is. What do you do when you’ve been keeping a secret from someone since the day you’ve met, and now it’s too late to tell but you kind of have to, but also they might hate you if they know?”

Gwen narrowed her eyes. “Is this about Arthur?”

Merlin opened his mouth, ready to evade the question, but then he just conceded with a sheepish “Yeah.” 

"Oh,” Gwen said, her face clearing instantly. “I wouldn’t worry, Merlin. You and Arthur have a special bond, and I doubt it could ever be broken. You should tell him. It’s better late than never, you know.”

“Yeah,” Merlin murmured, thinking about coins and destiny. “Maybe.”

“Also, for the record, me and Arthur broke up around a month ago.”

“Mhm,” Merlin said absentmindedly, then the words caught up to him. “Wait, what?”

“I thought Arthur may have told you, and also that, well,” Gwen said, brushing her hair behind her ear and blushing slightly. Merlin already knew of Gwen and Arthur’s splitting up from the first day in the loop, but he didn’t really see how that was relevant. He felt like he’d lost his footing along the course of this conversation. Gwen simply continued, “Either way, maybe that will help with your situation.”

“...Yeah.” They were definitely not on the same page.

She must have sensed his confusion. “Wait, is this not about… you and Arthur…”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about, but I’m pretty certain it’s not what I’m talking about.”

“Ah. Um,” Gwen cleared her throat and straightened herself. “Either way, my point stands. I don’t think Arthur could ever hate you for any reason. You’re his… You’re special to him. Whatever it is, you should tell him.”

He thought it over, but he had his doubts. Gwen may be right about their special connection– Hell, nearly every magical creature he’d met told them that their destinies were entwined or whatever– but at the same time, she didn’t know about the sheer magnitude of the secret he was hiding. 

Gwen glanced at him. “Do you trust Arthur?”

“Of course,” Merlin answered without needing to think. He looked at the man in question in the field, correcting Gwaine’s stance. “I trust him with my life.”

“Then, why won’t you tell him?”

"It’s just,” Merlin took a deep breath, “I haven’t told him for so long that I don’t know how to tell him. He’s going to be mad at me, I know that.”

“But if you wait longer, it just becomes even more unbearable,” Gwen reasoned. “Besides, even if Arthur does get mad at you right off the bat, I’m sure he will forgive you eventually. Time heals all things, they say.”

And time was something they had plenty of, at least while the loop was ongoing. He considered it. “It is scary, though,” he muttered.

“Come on, the Merlin I know has never backed out of something because it was scary,” Gwen said, lightly shoving his arm. “Even if it is, I think you would regret it for the rest of your life if you didn’t say it.”

“Oh, Gwen, you overestimate me. I’m frightened of a lot of things.”

Gwen breathed out a small laugh. “No, Merlin, I think you underestimate yourself. Arthur as well, for that matter.” She looked like she wanted to ask what the secret was, but thought better of it and just smiled encouragingly. Merlin was grateful; he wasn’t sure what he would’ve said.

He was, however, curious enough to ask, “Hold on, what did you think the secret was?”

“I think that’s for you and Arthur to figure out for yourselves,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. Suspicious, Merlin thought, narrowing his eyes. Gwen gazed sympathetically at him, then said, “You two have to sort this out first, though; you have to be honest with each other for anything to work.”

Which, Merlin supposed, summed it up pretty well. He’d have to figure out what other thing Gwen was talking about on a later date.

“Oh, wait! I almost forgot!” She reached into her pockets; Merlin already knew what she was going to pull out. “I picked these along the path on a morning stroll. Here,” she said, handing him a flower.

"It’s beautiful,” he said, as he always did. Here the daisy was again in his hand, alive and dead at the same time. He could crush it in his palm and watch its fragile petals bend and tear and it wouldn’t make a difference– but he didn’t. The days were already melding together and he was losing count of them, but he refused to also lose control over his actions and do things that weren’t himself. As long as he kept that in mind, he wouldn’t go mad.

So Merlin placed it in his neckerchief as per usual, and Gwen beamed. “Well, I’d better get going. See you around, Merlin!”

“Yeah,” he said softly, watching her go. “See you around.”

At night, Arthur infuriatingly caught on that something was wrong before Merlin had even said anything. He pointed his quill accusingly at Merlin, who was busying around the chambers. “ Merlin, you’re making that face again. I told you that you can’t keep secrets from me, so spit it out.”

Merlin wanted to laugh at the irony, that Arthur always thought of Merlin as this unassuming with nothing to hide, when he probably had the biggest secret out of everyone in Camelot, guarded so close to his chest for so long that he had grown accustomed to its weight.

Arthur was still staring at him expectantly from where he was drafting the speech at the desk across the room. Merlin walked over. 

He could stall even longer, until the weeks stretched into years, but it ultimately wouldn’t make a difference. It was now or never.

“Okay,” Merlin said. “Alright.”

This part was simple. He had told Arthur about the time loop maybe seven or eight times by now? He recited the words like they came from a script, making sure to pause in all the right areas to give Arthur time to process the information, and responded appropriately to all the questions he asked. Arthur leaned back in his chair, gaze unfocused and mind whirring, just like he was supposed to.

But this next part, this was new. And something that had been coming for a long time, since before the loop ever started.

“But that’s not what I really need to tell you.”

Arthur blinked and practically squawked, “It’s not?”

He was improvising on the spot. Shit, okay, maybe he should’ve rehearsed this. The entire universe felt like it was contained in this one room, in this one moment, and Arthur was still staring at him. 

His mind felt like a cacophony of blaring sirens and warnings and general mayhem which was impossible to block out. He had no preparation for this moment, except that was false, because he had waited years upon years for it. There were a million different ways he thought this would go, but he was waiting for the perfect time, except those were just excuses because there was no perfect time, and Arthur might die without ever knowing unless he told him right now.

“I–” Merlin cut off, mouth bone-dry and vision blurring. 

Arthur was looking at him in concern, with care. Would he ever look at Merlin like that again, knowing what he had hid for the entire time they’d known each other? Would they become enemies, or even worse, go back to being strangers? Maybe it wasn’t too late to stop talking. To zip his mouth shut and stow his secret down away and take it to his grave.

No, Merlin thought. He had to do this. He couldn’t let this go on. The air buzzed with anticipation. It was inevitable; everything that had ever happened was just a build up to this one moment of truth. Every molecule of his body was screaming at him, screeching, trying to hold the words back, keep them concealed; but Merlin fought against the swarm, summoning every last drop of courage and faith. It was difficult. He almost didn’t say it.

“I have magic,” Merlin finally choked out, ripping the words out of his chest, meeting Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur still looked concerned, but less with care and more like he thought Merlin had lost his marbles. “No, you don’t,” he said carefully, like how one would negotiate with a madman.

At this, Merlin did throw his head back and laugh a bit hysterically, because of course this was how Arthur would react. Arthur rounded the desk, hands coming up and grabbing his shoulders tight. “Merlin, I know you. You’re not a sorcerer.”

“No, Arthur, look–”

He wrenched himself out of Arthur’s grip and put a few feet between them. Just making that amount of space felt like he'd opened up a massive ravine in the floor. He raised a hand in front of him, palm up, and muttered a spell. 

It was a basic spell, so effortless that Merlin didn’t even really need to say the incantation. Sparks flew from his hand, bursting like mini fireworks. The light illuminated his palm, turning it into a multicolored galaxy. It was one of the spells that Will used to marvel at back when they were children, and it was still marvelous now.

Then Merlin dropped his hand to his side lamely and the light was gone. He looked up.

There was the disbelief and confusion that Merlin expected. It was written all over Arthur’s face, plain as day for all to see.

At last, Arthur managed to croak, “How…?” He looked more hurt than Merlin had ever seen him. “Why?”

“I was born with it,” Merlin said, trembling. His nerves felt like they’d gone haywire. “I’m sorry.”

“No. That– That’s impossible.”

“Apparently not.”

Arthur kept making small aborted movements towards the corner of the room, like he was unsure whether or not he should be trying to escape. Fight or flight, and in the end he chose fight. “I should banish you,” he declared.

“Arthur, don’t–”

Arthur put up a hand at Merlin’s protests. He swallowed, shaking his head, trying to compose himself; he took a step back, making the chasm grow wider. “You’ve been lying to me. For years. And what, you’re only telling me now before you kill me?”

“Magic is outlawed in Camelot! I had no choice–”

“You could have told me!” Arthur roared, his rage and hurt splitting the air like thunder. “I’ve already been king for nearly four years! You could’ve… I don’t know.” He chuckled humorlessly and dropped his head. “I thought you trusted me.”

“I am telling you now, Arthur,” Merlin pleaded. “I’ve only ever used it for the good of Camelot, for you.” Arthur scoffed, but Merlin pressed on. “I’m telling you now, because I need your help–”

“You need my help? That’s rich,” Arthur grit out.

“I need your help, to save you,” Merlin said. “Because of the time loop Morgana cast, because otherwise you will die.”

“And how do I know you’re not lying to me about this?” Arthur made a vague, jerky hand motion. “About this so-called time loop?”

That was like a slap in the face. Arthur had trusted him unconditionally on this every single time, but not anymore. “Arthur, I’m not lying, I swear. Why would I even– could you– Arthur, please, just look at me.”

Arthur dragged his head up, eyes hard as flint. There was none of that familiarity or fondness; it was replaced with a tall, foreboding stone tower which shielded him on all sides. Something that no one, not even Merlin, could pass.

“Arthur, I’m still me.” Merlin tried taking a step towards him across the abyss, which made Arthur flinch. Something in Merlin shattered at that, and he stayed on his side. “You know me. I’m your… stubborn, lazy, clumsy manservant. And I’m loyal to you. I want you to live, because you’re my friend.”

Arthur’s impenetrable exterior faltered for a second before sliding right back into place. “You have the audacity to call us friends when you’ve been keeping me in the dark this whole damn time. What would have happened if Morgana never cast the spell? Would you have waited until I was bleeding out on the battlefield, minutes from death, until you told me? Would you have kept your secret until it was too late and never let me find out who you really were!?”

The words cut deep because they rang true. He didn’t know if he would have ever found the right opportunity to tell Arthur; he almost backed out of it even just now, more than twenty days into the loop. 

The silence was telling enough. “You would have. Christ, Merlin.” His laugh was an empty, hollow noise.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, with all his heart. “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“Right,” Arthur drawled, crossing his arms. 

Merlin paced back and forth a few times, Arthur eyeing him warily. Then he came abruptly to a halt. “Fine, yell at me later, I don’t care, but right now, I’m trying to get the universe out of this time loop, so I need you to listen. When midnight comes, this entire day will reset, including your memory.” Arthur’s face darkened at the implications of that statement. “So, yeah, you won’t have any recollection of this whatsoever.

“However, there is a spell that allows for memories to be transferred from one person to another. If you give your day’s memories to me, I can keep them, and then I can give those memories to you on the next day.”

Arthur twisted his mouth. “What if I said no?”

“Are you– no way,” Merlin said. He ran his fingers through his hair. “Are you seriously saying no to being able to keep your memories? And finding a way out of the time loop?”

“You’ve been lying to me for the better part of a decade, so I’m sorry if I don’t trust you to do magic – which I’ve always known as evil– on me! For all I know, you’ve also been corrupted by its forces, and are now plotting against Camelot!”

Merlin would be lying if he said he didn’t expect this. The line of Arthur’s body was straight and rigid and unyielding as they regarded each other. It felt like Arthur was miles away from him, unreachable and untouchable.

On the other hand, Arthur hadn’t actually sent him away yet. Perhaps there was a small part of him that still cared for Merlin, that was solidified by their time together and could withstand this. He tried to reach out to it, to make Arthur hear the raw honesty in these words despite whatever lies he’d told before.

“Arthur, I promise, I mean no harm. I’m doing this because, if it’s not obvious, I don’t actually want to kill you. Whether I have magic or not doesn’t change the fact that you’re my friend– I’m not lying about that part– and I can’t bear to lose you. So, please,” Merlin said, voice weakening towards the end.

He didn’t want to lose Arthur in the life-or-death sense, obviously; but he couldn’t lose Arthur as a friend either. He didn’t want their relationship to splinter and fall apart, everything that had been built between them brick-by-brick to topple and leave rubble in its wake. He wanted to call Arthur by his name and not just my lord, know him as a person and not his title. If he lost that, then it would be nearly as bad as if Arthur did die.

Merlin waited for Arthur to weigh the stones and cast his judgement, praying it would turn out in his favor.

“I can’t forgive you,” Arthur said, and Merlin felt a sickening, rushing sense of vertigo until he continued, “Not yet. But I’ll go through with your plan. If you really wanted to hurt me, then you would have had plenty of opportunities to do so before. Therefore, I at least trust you enough to not do so now.” 

Arthur had resorted to what he did best– compartmentalizing his thoughts and shutting off all emotion. But that was more than he could ask for. Merlin felt somewhat lightheaded. “Thank you,” he breathed.

“But don’t think you’re absolved from this,” Arthur said sternly, pointing a finger. “We’re not done. I have questions which you’re going to answer.”

“Of course,” Merlin said, not daring to utter anything that might change Arthur’s mind.

“Okay.” Arthur exhaled, taking a step towards Merlin. A small step, but a step closer nonetheless. “Tell me exactly how the spell works again.”

Merlin did, and Arthur listened intently, eyes glazed over as he digested the information. He explained slowly and patiently, knowing Arthur wasn’t used to hearing about magic in such a close setting.

“Do you understand?” he asked when he was done.

Arthur’s jaw worked as he mulled it over. “When I give you my memories, will I– as in, the current me of today– remember them too?”

“No,” Merlin said honestly. “When you transfer the memories over, you also relinquish them. I’m the only one who will possess your memories until I give them over the next day,” Merlin informed him, then meekly added, “… assuming this plan actually works.”

Arthur stood there silently for a long moment. “This is mad,” he muttered, running his hand over his face. “I can’t believe I’m even considering this.”

Merlin said nothing, waiting. This entire scene felt incredibly surreal, he thought distantly. Like the floor might suddenly sink in like quicksand and no one would bat an eye. 

“Alright,” Arthur finally said, and he bridged over the gap so that now they were at arms-length. Not as close as they usually stood next to each other, but a respectable distance. “I’ll do it. But if you stray even a hair’s breadth from what you said you planned to do, we’re stopping.”

Merlin could deal with that. “We should probably do this by the bed. I’ll also cast a spell to make you fall asleep right after you give over the memories.”

Arthur nodded after a moment. “That makes sense,” he said, and made his way over. Notably not stopping for Merlin to change him into nightclothes; that was probably too intimate for the state of their relationship right now. Merlin felt a slight pang in his chest at the thought, but he didn’t say anything and followed.

Arthur was sitting rigidly on the edge of his bed, feet still planted on the floor. Merlin sat a safe enough distance away from him, then turned slightly sideways and held his hands out, which Arthur took cautiously like he thought they might burn him. When they didn’t, he relaxed, but only just.

“So, to clarify: You’ll cast this memory transfer spell to store my memories and make me fall asleep, and tomorrow– or, today again– you’ll give these memories back to me, so we can figure out how to break out of this time loop.”

“Yeah, exactly that,” Merlin said. “Are you ready?”

He watched the line of Arthur’s throat bob as he swallowed. “Yes,” he said firmly.

Merlin nodded and began saying the incantation.

Before he even got through the first few syllables, Arthur abruptly withdrew. “Is it supposed to feel kind of– like–” He scrunched up his face, searching for the right word– “Tingly?”

“Maybe for those who aren’t used to magic,” Merlin said. “Sorry, I forgot to tell you.”

“Of course you did,” Arthur muttered exasperatedly, then turned serious again. “Okay. I’m prepared for it this time.”

On the second try, Merlin felt Arthur shudder, but he determinedly kept his hands placed in Merlin’s. Their hands shimmered and sparkled where they made contact; you could just barely see it on the edges of where their hands were touching, setting their skin alight. 

But it was like there was something blocking the memories. Merlin glanced up to see Arthur’s eyes trained on his, undoubtedly seeing blue turning gold. From where his fingertips touched the inside of Arthur’s wrist, he could feel Arthur’s pulse spike.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, “Remember, for this to work, you have to first think about the memories that you want to transfer.”

Arthur shook himself out of it. “Right, sorry. It’s just– your eyes.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

“Okay,” Arthur said, shutting his eyes. “Alright. I’m doing it now. This had better work.”

Those were his final words before the spell began to take effect, the memories being siphoned into Merlin’s mind. 

When it was over, the shine between their hands dimmed, and Merlin quickly placed a palm over Arthur’s forehead to cast the sleeping spell. Arthur fell back horizontally across the bed, and Merlin repositioned him so his head was laying against a pillow, and also unlaced Arthur’s boots and set them neatly on the ground. Then he also blew out the candles and rearranged Arthur’s closet.

Once there was nothing else to keep his hands busy, that sense of vertigo returned and Merlin suddenly felt dizzy and unsteady on his feet, like the world had tilted on its axis, and he crumpled onto the floor beside Arthur’s bed. 

He had done it. After all this time, Arthur finally knew. Merlin wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh, cry, or hurl. 

He studied Arthur’s side profile from his angle. Above him, the moonlight cast an ethereal glow and Arthur looked calm and at ease, like a sleeping god. Even though the day would reset, Merlin could feel an irrevocable shift, knowing that today had somehow, for better or for worse, permanently changed the course of their destiny.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke up.

And then he shot out of bed, because Arthur knew about his magic. Or technically, he would know once Merlin returned his memories.

The plan worked– he could feel Arthur’s memories filling up space in his brain. Not erased or disappeared or anything. If he probed at them, he was able to kind of experience Arthur’s memories and see what the magic reveal was like from his perspective. Maybe it was a bit invasive, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. 

He was surprised to learn that the memories had emotions attached to them as well. When he dove into the memories, he felt like he was plunged into an icy river, drowning in thick waves of confusion and anger and other things which made it difficult to keep afloat. Merlin backed out of them with a wince; he could leave the remembering bit to Arthur.

Without wasting another moment, Merlin ignored Gaius’ calls and dashed to Arthur’s chambers, weaving between the maids and servants and knights easily; he’d memorized the most efficient path over the course of the time loop. When he arrived, Arthur was sitting at his desk and fiddling with his quill, and he looked up at the sound of the door opening to see Merlin skidding to a stop.

Merlin’s mind temporarily short-circuited. It felt like he was seeing double– the current Arthur here, oblivious to his magic but wearing a familiar fond-but-exasperated expression reserved for only Merlin, overlaid with Arthur from last night, a storm of warring emotions as he grappled with the uncovered secrets. The contrast was so stark that it was difficult to believe they were the same person just one day apart.

“Merlin,” Arthur said in surprise. “You’re here.”

“Arthur.” He snapped out of his stupor and walked around the table. Arthur didn’t flinch or lean away when Merlin came close, which made his mind short-circuit a second time. Then he recovered, and said, “This is going to seem weird, but I need you to just trust me. Give me your hands.”

Arthur raised a brow and eyed Merlin’s outstretched hands not with derision, but playful suspicion, like one would be of a prank. “And why would I do that? Also, why aren’t you resting?”

“Come on, can’t you just do as you’re told?” Merlin said. “Dollophead,” he tacked on.

“Are you even well enough to be here?” Arthur continued to annoyingly question. “We only just found you yesterday in the forest after the attack.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I’m not sick, I just need you to do this for me,” Merlin said. Hopefully he didn’t sound overly eager. “Think of it as… a favor.”

Arthur flicked his gaze from Merlin’s hands to his face to his hands again, and sighed and thankfully gave in, probably deciding that this was more interesting than his paperwork. “I swear, if this is some funny game of yours–”

“No, nothing like that. Okay.” Merlin closed his eyes and muttered the incantation under his breath.

Arthur inhaled sharply as the spell took effect. Merlin retrieved Arthur’s memories from the last day, bringing them to the front of his consciousness. The spell swept them away like a receding tide, and they found refuge in Arthur’s mind.

When it was over, Arthur was still sitting and his hands had fallen to the chair’s handles. His eyes were trained on Merlin, and his expression shifted as the memories slotted into place. 

He stood up with a start, chair grating against the floor. “You’re a sorcerer!”

“You remember!” Merlin was probably meant to be more upset, but this was the first time since the start of the time loop that someone else could also remember the day before, so he felt a bit giddy despite everything. Finally, someone could move forward in time with him, meaning he didn’t have to be completely alone in this. “It worked!”

“Yes. What?!” Arthur smacked the side of his own head, like it might help him adjust to the new reality. “No! This– what?! This isn’t a good thing! You have magic!” 

“Yes, I know!” Merlin exclaimed, flailing his arms. Arthur ogled at him incredulously, and Merlin dropped his arms and said, in a more sullen tone, “We have a bit to talk about.”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” Arthur said, standing at the opposite end of the desk and gripping its edge like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to reality. “What am I even supposed to do now? I obviously can’t just go about my day like normal–”

Merlin hushed him. Arthur looked positively murderous at that, so he whisper-shouted in explanation, “Someone is coming up right now to bring you breakfast.”

As if on cue, a servant opened the door and settled the platter onto the table at the far side of the room. “Breakfast, your Majesty,” they said, then bowed subserviently and left.

Arthur seemed bewildered at the impeccable timing. Once he was sure the servant was out of earshot, he said, “You say you’ve lived this day–” he fished through his newly acquired memories– “twenty-four times?”

“Give or take. I tried to keep count in the beginning but it got difficult, and later I failed to see the point in it.”

Arthur was silent. 

“I wanted to tell you,” Merlin said, since it didn’t seem like Arthur was speaking anytime soon. “I even tried to a couple times, but there was something getting in the way, so eventually I just gave up. It was easier to help from the shadows.”

“What do you mean ‘help?’ And yesterday, you said you used your magic for me – what on Earth is that supposed to mean?”

“Arthur,” Merlin said tiredly, “I’ve been using magic to save your life since the day I got appointed as your manservant. Remember the feast with the singing lady? I pulled you out of the way of that dagger she threw, but I only got there in time because I used magic.”

Arthur took a moment to process that, and then his mouth fell open. “You used magic in a hall full of people! And then as a reward, my father made you my manservant!”

“Trust me, I see the irony,” Merlin said bitterly.

“This is…” Arthur shook his head in disbelief. “I knew there was something about you, Merlin,” he said after a brief pause. “I even told you back when I first met you, after our skirmish in the marketplace.”

“Oh, yeah.” Merlin fought to hide his grin as he remembered their early encounters. He’d been so young and foolish back then, brandishing his magic with undeserved confidence to try to humble the similarly young and foolish prince that Arthur used to be. He missed those times so badly; though, antagonizing Arthur had not lost its appeal over the years. “About that, I may or may not have pulled some… tricks to stop you.”

Arthur blinked. “You–”

“Just, you know, a few boxes here and there that were somehow conveniently placed in your way right when you stepped foot in those areas. Then your mace got tangled too, somehow, completely accidentally. Nothing unusual at all.”

A short burst of laughter escaped from Arthur, seemingly against his will. “I honestly can’t tell if you’re outrageously brave or just incredibly stupid,” he said, lips curving upwards.

“They do say the two have much overlap,” Merlin remarked.

“Seems so,” Arthur agreed, and then he turned away and his face was pulled back into a look of rumination. 

Merlin stopped smiling too, the brief respite coming to an end. The light atmosphere dissipated, and the vibrant sunlight streaming in and cheerful chirping birds from outside suddenly all felt extremely inappropriate. “You have training in an hour,” he reminded. 

Arthur waved away the idea. “There’s no use in any of my daily activities right now. I wouldn’t be able to focus either. We need to talk about this, somewhere alone.”

“We could sneak out of the castle.”

Arthur glanced at him and bit the inside of his cheek, considering the suggestion. “I don’t need to sneak; I’m the King of Camelot.” Then, “This isn’t some sort of elaborate trap, is it?”

Merlin sputtered. “What? No! And even if it was, why would I tell you about my magic and the time loop before I went through with it?”

“Fair enough. Clear my schedule for the day; we’re going on a hunting trip.”

By mid-morning, they reached a clearing far enough from the citadel where they had enough privacy. Merlin tied up their horses to a tree and joined Arthur where he sat against a fallen log. He was clad in a shirt, the shade a blazing Camelot red, as well as a simple leather vest and hunting boots. His legs were straight out in front of him and crossed at his ankles, arms crossed as well, and he was overseeing Merlin’s doings with an unsettling silence.

They hadn’t talked at all coming here. Merlin rode behind Arthur, letting him lead the way as their horses trampled through thickets of bushes. He followed as Arthur barked out directions for which way to go, wondering why he didn’t want to be in the back to keep an eye on Merlin in case he did magic or something. Did Arthur really trust him that much already?

As soon as Merlin brushed aside some stray branches and settled down, Arthur asked, “Why did you come to Camelot if you have magic?”

It seemed like they were getting into it right away. “My mother knew Gaius, and she thought that he could help me sort of manage my magic.”

“Gaius knows?”

Shit. He didn’t mean to out that. 

“No more secrets, Merlin,” Arthur said in warning when he hesitated.

Merlin sighed. “Yes. Sorry. My mother didn’t know how to handle it, and we didn’t know any other people who would take me in. I never really found my place in Ealdor.”

Arthur grunted, seeming somewhat satisfied. “You said you were born with magic. How? Did you inherit it or something?”

“No; being born with magic is rare, but not unheard of. My mother doesn’t have magic, but my father–” He broke off.

That was another piece of information that Arthur didn’t know. This magic business was tricky, because the one large secret split off in so many directions, and it was really difficult to keep track of all the different branches. He simply wasn’t able to remember the specifics of every single magical thing related to him.

“Your father…?” Arthur prompted.

Merlin swallowed. “Do you remember Balinor, the last dragonlord?”

“Yes, but what does that–” Arthur’s face rapidly flitted through several emotions when it hit him. “Balinor was your father.”

He nodded. Arthur looked stricken. “You never told me.”

“It was the first and only time I ever met him. He had magic and was a dragonlord.” Merlin still remembered clutching him in his arms, knowing there was nothing anyone could do about the fatal wound that took his father away. “When he died, I inherited his dragonlord powers, and I was able to send the Great Dragon away from Camelot.” 

“You– okay.” Arthur rose and paced in tiny circles, pinching his nose bridge. “One: the Great Dragon isn’t actually dead, and two: you’re a dragonlord?”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. He also first set the Great Dragon free, but he wasn’t sure if he was willing to disclose that bit right now.

“Well, that explains a great deal,” Arthur muttered seemingly to himself. He swiveled back to Merlin. “I still can’t– you singlehandedly defeated the Great Dragon. Camelot would have been turned to ruin otherwise.”

“All in a day’s work.”

“And Balinor was just killed– Gods, ” Arthur kept talking as if Merlin hadn’t said anything, realizations landing one after the other. “That’s why you were so upset when he died. You were mourning your father.”

Merlin dropped his chin to his chest. “Yeah.”

Arthur stopped at Merlin’s heels, hovering there, shifting his weight between his feet. He seemed conflicted on what to feel, whether to consider Merlin friend or foe, but for now he knelt down so that he was level with Merlin and said, “You should have told me.”

“About my father or the magic?”

He shrugged. “Both.”

Merlin picked at the grass. “Regarding the magic, I’d just rather keep my head attached to my neck. Same for my father; the abilities dragonlords possess are rooted in magic. I’d have been executed.”

“I haven’t executed you yet.”

Maybe he was looking a gift horse in the mouth, but Merlin looked up and said, “Why haven’t you?”

“That’s–” Arthur huffed, moving back to his original seated position. He tapped his fingers against the ground restlessly, staring straight ahead. “I don’t know. Maybe because I want to believe that our friendship actually meant something.”

Merlin started, “It does mean something–”

“Clearly not enough,” Arthur said curtly. He was more somber when he continued, “You lost your father, and I never even knew. I know how painful it is, having experienced it myself, and you had to go through it alone. You should've told me.”

It wasn’t the only loss he suffered alone over the years, but he didn’t tell Arthur that. The grief never truly left, but it did grow quieter, fading into the background as the world carried on and callouses formed over his heart. “It’s in the past now.”

“Yeah, alright.” A moment passed, and the impersonal mask fell over Arthur’s face again, meaning they were resuming the interrogation. “How many other times have you saved my life using magic?”

“Too many to count,” Merlin answered automatically. “It’s honestly impressive how you’re still alive.”

“Care to elaborate?” Arthur said dryly.

“Well, for starters, when we get attacked by bandits in the woods, I usually take out a few using magic. I had to reverse a love spell on you once. Actually, I think there were multiple.” Arthur raised his eyebrows. “On your father too, actually, with the troll. That was quite unpleasant.” This was a very extensive list, Merlin realized; he could go on for ages. 

“I also had to kill Nimueh,” he said darkly. Arthur made an undignified noise at his side. “I think that was the first time I killed someone using magic.”

“First time– How did you–?”

“Brought down lightning to strike her,” Merlin said, the memory of their duel flashing through his mind. He didn’t particularly like it, but it was necessary for his task of protecting Arthur. “Also, if you remember Elena, who you were originally supposed to marry, her nurse was actually a pixie who was trying to help the Sidhe overtake Camelot, so I had to turn her to dust. That’s just the stuff off the top of my head.”

“Okay, sure.”

Merlin turned to him, alerted by the way Arthur’s voice sounded abnormally high-pitched. When their eyes met, Arthur violently flinched and scrambled to his feet, immediately assuming a defensive stance. Hands held up like a shield, one leg slightly in front of the other like readying for a fight. “Let me get this straight,” Arthur said, a manic gleam in his eyes. “Just how powerful are you?”

For the first time since he revealed his magic, Arthur was actually displaying… fear. Not disgust or hatred or anger, but genuine fear. Like a veil had been pulled back and he was seeing Merlin in a whole new light, and the sight terrified him.

Only then, it belatedly occurred to Merlin that Arthur didn’t ever realize the true extent of his magic. He probably assumed Merlin was the average sorcerer, only capable of a few street tricks. But Merlin had just admitted to violence and murder and other things that weren’t very innocent-sounding, and definitely not something any average magic-user should be able to do. He gulped.

“Arthur–”

“Answer the damn question.”

This was his worst nightmare come to life. He knew that Arthur, upon finding out about his magic, would distrust him and maybe break off their friendship– in fact, he would be shocked if Arthur wasn’t mad– but this, this he wasn’t prepared for. Arthur was looking at him like some of the townspeople had back in Ealdor. Looked at him like he was different from the rest of them, like he wasn’t deserving of love. Like he was a monster.

He braced his hands against the ground, getting dirt stuck beneath his nails. “I’m… powerful. More than most others out there. I don’t know what you want me to tell you; this is just who I am.”

Arthur rolled his jaw. “You could strike me down right now and I wouldn’t even be able to put up a fight,” he stated, barely a question.

“... Probably. But Arthur,” Merlin said cautiously, “I’m not going to. I’m loyal to you; I won’t turn my magic against you.”

Arthur’s shoulders sagged an inch, then he made a sort of frustrated sound. “That doesn’t make sense,” he groused. “If you’re so powerful, what are you doing here in Camelot, as a servant of all things? Why would you voluntarily do all of this?”

“This is going to sound insane, but.” Another secret was tumbling out. Probably the biggest one out of all of them, that had defined Merlin’s life more than the magic. “There’s a prophecy.”

“A prophecy?”

“They say you are the Once and Future King who will bring about the Golden Era and unite the lands of Albion,” Merlin said, and as he described it, the vision of that gilded world unfurled in his mind and it all suddenly seemed attainable, tangible. “They also say that I’m meant to be by your side to protect and guide you on your journey.”

But Arthur frowned. “They’re saying what now? And who is they?”

“The Great Dragon– who’s a bastard, by the way– but also the Druids, and… basically every creature of magic we’ve ever met.”

It was a lot to take in, so Merlin waited.

“You believe it’s true?” Arthur asked.

“Yes, I do.”

Another pause. 

“So is that all this is then?” Arthur asked, an unexpected hurt seeping into his voice. “Everything we’ve been through, just to fulfill some destiny you’ve been told? Is all of this–” He gestured vaguely between them– “a lie?”

“No,” Merlin said strongly. There was no way he was going to let Arthur believe that. 

“Then what the hell is it?” Arthur said. “Why else would you remain at my side?”

“Because of you.” He tilted his head up at Arthur, at his King, rimmed with majestic sunlight. The words materialized of their own accord. “I see who you are, and the man you are becoming. I see the devotion you have for your kingdom, how you care for your people, how you fight for them and put them before yourself every time without fail. Your people wouldn’t hesitate to lay down their lives for you. I would lay down my life for you in a heartbeat if I were given the chance. That’s why I believe in the prophecy, in your destiny. Gods help me, but I do. I believe in it, because I believe in you.”

Arthur seemed completely floored, his battle-ready stance crumbling. “All the things you’ve said to me in the past, about how I was going to make a great King– you really believed in them? It wasn’t just some- some destiny nonsense?”

“I meant every word,” Merlin said solemnly. “Every single time.”

“I thought I was just another royal prat,” Arthur said, sounding a bit breathless, arms now dangling limply at his sides. Merlin laughed.

“You know you’ve said that to me before on another day? I’ll give you a different answer this time.” He finally stood up to face Arthur, who kept in place when he came close. “There are many royal prats in the world; don’t think you’re the only one. But I don’t give a damn about any of them. Only you. You’re my King, and that’ll be true until the end of time. Even if you die, it won’t change that fact. Though,” he said, looking into Arthur’s eyes, which were a deep ocean-blue and wide with awe, “I’d rather you stay alive a bit longer.”

Arthur stared at him, still looking a touch frightened but also full of wonder. “Merlin,” he said, like he was saying his name for the first time. Like it was something strange and perplexing, but also somehow beautiful. “You’re– I–” he said helplessly– “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Not kill me, for one?” Merlin supplied. Arthur glared, but with no real heat behind it.

“Show me your magic,” Arthur suddenly said. “I want to see what you can do.”

“What do you want to see?”

“Something. Anything. I don’t care. Just… I need to see.”

Merlin thought, then turned to the open space in the clearing. He closed his eyes and let himself reach into the world, to the trees and the dirt, to the seas, to the sky and everything beyond. He remembered that he was born from the Earth, and that when he died, he would return to it. He was a creature of this planet, above all.

Once you become in tune with the elements, it bends to your will. Merlin knew this instinctively. That was all magic really was– a manipulation of matter and time and space. 

He didn’t even have to speak. Leaves and branches from the grass were swept up by a spirited wind, and they gathered in the middle of the clearing, a few feet in front of them, swirling round and round in the air. Beside him, Arthur’s breath hitched.

Then they shifted to form the image of a horse. It was galloping in midair, free and unrestrained, like it was taking flight. He made the sunlight particles brighter to illuminate it better, then made flowers grow under its hooves. They were little dainty flowers with yellow centers and white petals. Daisies, like the ones that Gwen always gave him. 

“Feels weird to use magic like this,” he murmured. His magic was too often used for violence, destruction, murder, that he forgot it was capable of such… beauty. Merlin smiled at his own creation, sculpted from gathered bits of nature. The scene was truly breathtaking, and he just stood there, mesmerized by it all.

He lost track of how long he kept it up, but when he finally turned back, Arthur’s cheeks were damp.

“Arthur?” Merlin said, worried. His eyes stopped glowing, and the leaves and twigs fell and scattered all over the clearing. He cupped Arthur’s face with one hand, and Arthur held his wrist, neither moving him closer nor pushing him away, just keeping him there.

“I haven’t seen you smile like that in years,” Arthur said, biting back a sob. “I’ve been told, for my entire life, that magic is pure evil. Is this– is this what magic really is?”

“Magic isn’t inherently good or evil,” Merlin said. “It’s a tool, which can be used for either. It depends on the person wielding it.” 

“Then I’ve wrongfully condemned your people. My father was wrong, too.” He shivered, even though it was warm outside. “I don’t understand. How are you still able to defend me when I've caused so much harm?”

“I told you already.” He watched Arthur blink rapidly, leaving stray droplets in his eyelashes. His hand dropped from Arthur’s face. “Either way, it’s my fault as well.”

Arthur turned to see the newly grown daisies peeking out beneath the leaves and twigs, and wiped his tears roughly with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry, Merlin,” he said, sounding strangled.

“Yeah,” Merlin whispered. “I know. Me too.”

For lunch, they had some bread from the kitchens. Arthur also caught a rabbit for them to share, a clean shot from his crossbow killing it instantly. Merlin didn’t whine about unnecessary cruelty towards animals like he normally would, so Arthur didn’t tease him for being a bumbling and oversentimental fool either.

The flint was acting particularly troublesome today, but then Merlin realized that he could start the fire using magic, so that’s what he did. Flames creeped up from the magically kindled wood, and Merlin started preparing their meals. He felt Arthur’s gaze boring into the back of his skull all the while. They ate in silence. 

Once they had both had their fill and wiped their mouths clean, Arthur asked, “Are you more or less powerful than Morgana?”

Morgana was a High Priestess, but then again, Merlin was Emrys. “It’s likely.”

“Is it that difficult to undo the spell then? Shouldn’t there be some sort of– I don’t know– manual for this kind of stuff?”

“It’s usually more complicated to undo spells than cast them. The same way it’s more difficult to heal a wound than stab someone.”

Arthur hummed. “That’s a clever analogy. I should have realized you were only ever pretending to be an idiot.”

“No, I really am an idiot sometimes.” Arthur smiled faintly, and Merlin returned it, before turning his head down and picking at his nails. “How are you feeling now?”

Arthur hesitated.

“No pressure.”

“I’m alright,” Arthur said succinctly. “Better than earlier, anyways.”

He meandered over to the patch of daisies and plucked one, then inspected it closely, like he was suspicious it was an illusion that would soon fade. When it didn’t, he said, “I thought sorcerers needed incantations to do magic. I was taught to strike as soon as I heard them utter a word, because that meant they were rearing up for an attack.”

“Yeah, well. I’m special, I guess?”

“You guess?” Arthur eyed him skeptically. “You’re not still downplaying your powers, are you?”

“Well…” Merlin wrinkled his nose. “The Druids also call me Emrys– my prophetic name. They also say that I am magic itself, whatever the hell that means,” he muttered. It always sounded so pretentious when he said it like that. 

Arthur surprisingly just scoffed, a half-laugh. “You always were a puzzle, Merlin. I thought the magic might be the last piece of it, but it just opened a whole new box of mysteries to fill. I don’t know if I’ll ever fathom you out.”

And maybe I never will before I die, was left unspoken. That caught Merlin off-guard, and judging by the way Arthur tensed, he didn’t intend for it to come out that way either. He flicked the flower off his palm and asserted, “We have to come up with a plan.”

“Yeah,” Merlin said. “I’ve already tried a lot, both magic and non-magic. Mostly looking into books about time magic, but none of them had anything useful.”

“Would Morgana know how to fix the loop, seeing as she cast it?”

“I’ve thought about confronting her, but I don’t know how to get her to reveal anything.” Well, he could probably force it out of her, but he was saving that as a last resort. 

Arthur had his hands on his hips as he thought it over. “Do you know where she lives?”

“Er…” Merlin thought back to the Formorroh incident. “Yes, actually.”

“I have an idea,” Arthur said, motioning for Merlin to get up. “No use wasting any time. Lead the way.”

They stopped quite a distance away from an abandoned-looking hovel with a rickety door wedged into the side of rock. There was unruly, overgrown moss and vine everywhere, covering it in various shades of green. 

Arthur whispered to Merlin, “This is the place?”

“Seems so,” he whispered back.

If they didn’t already pinpoint the location geographically, Merlin could confirm this was it because of the sheer density of magic in the air. And not in a good way; this magic was of the darkest kind, and it prickled at his skin like tiny needles, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to rise.

“How exactly are we going to convince her to help us?” Merlin asked, feeling that this was quite a crucial part of the plan. 

Arthur freed his sword from his scabbard, then gestured at Merlin to go forward. “You’ll see. Now, let’s go.”

Merlin sucked in a breath, and edged his way down the uneven dirt stairs that lead to the door. He was careful to not step on any incriminating twigs, and dared not to breathe.

When he peeked in, opening the door by only a fraction, he found that Morgana was already sitting in a simple wooden chair in the middle of the room, legs crossed beneath her pitch black, cobweb textured dress, staring up at the door. Their gazes locked together instantly.

“Ah, Merlin. I’ve been expecting you. It’s only been a day since I last saw you, but remind me, how long has it been since you last saw me?” Merlin glared, which only made Morgana’s smirk more pronounced. “The mad look in your eyes says weeks, at least. Perhaps a month if we’re lucky.”

Well, so much for stealth. Merlin pushed the door open fully and let himself in.

Arthur followed Merlin in, keeping his sword raised beside him. Morgana looked on in vicious glee. “I see you’ve brought our little king, our lamb for the slaughter. I’m sure you already know what fate awaits you, dear brother. Come to say your last words?”

“No,” Arthur said firmly. He then lowered his sword onto the floor, demonstrating that they weren’t here to fight. “We’ve come to talk.”

Morgana narrowed her eyes, flicking her gaze between the two of them. “What makes you so sure I’ll cooperate?”

Arthur inhaled deeply, like he was about to say something very wise or very stupid. Morgana leaned forward in anticipation, and Merlin did too, hoping it wasn’t the latter. 

“If you tell us how to break out of the time loop, I’ll repeal the ban on magic,” he declared.

Both Merlin and Morgana gaped at Arthur, stupefied. Thoughts were racing in Merlin’s mind at the speed of light, including why and what and does he mean it?

Then Morgana scoffed and slumped back. “Oh, please. You don’t actually care about magic users; you’re just trying to save your own hide.”

“Morgana, Arthur isn’t lying,” Merlin said, deciding to just roll with Arthur’s absurd plan. “Think about it. After years of fighting and bloodshed, we can finally live in peace. You won’t have to hide away anymore, and you can practice magic without fear of persecution.”

Morgana whirled back towards Merlin, glittering with rage. “You don’t know how it feels to have magic, Merlin. To be ashamed of who you are and how you were born. So don’t talk as if you can understand my pain.”

Arthur glanced at Merlin strangely. Merlin internally groaned, and shot him a look saying save the questions for later. Thankfully, he obeyed.

“Besides, you’re mistaken. I don’t want peace,” she said coolly, standing up. At her full height, she was shorter than both Arthur and Merlin, but she still had a fierce air about her that made them both recoil. The waves of magic emanating from her felt dangerous and chaotic. 

Morgana’s eyes flashed gold, and the fire in the corner roared with life, climbing to the ceiling, spraying embers at their feet. “I want revenge, so that you may receive the same fate you’ve condemned to so many people. This is only justice for your very own actions, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur bristled at the sudden use of magic but recovered quickly. “I don’t want to hurt you, Morgana,” he said, reluctantly pulling the sword off the ground and directing it towards her.

“Oh, I don’t care if you hurt me. In fact, kill me for all you’d like.” Morgana said, seemingly indifferent to the sword tip at her chest. She stepped forward recklessly, and grinned when Arthur drew his sword back so it didn’t touch her. “After all, the day won’t stick unless you die. You’ve lost, Arthur. Face it.”

Arthur’s lips thinned as he studied their situation. “Even if I die, you can’t seize the kingdom,” he said. “My men will fight bravely and protect Camelot with their lives.”

“It may not fall, but it will be unstable without a king in charge. You haven’t even produced or chosen an heir yet; what a shame,” Morgana said with mock-pity. “And even if the throne isn’t mine, it won’t be yours either, since you’ll be six feet underground and be reunited with Uther, our dear father whose ideals you worship so greatly that you’d even abandon your own people.”

“Arthur,” Merlin muttered, trying to cool Arthur’s temper. Even before Morgana turned against Camelot, she had a talent in pushing the right buttons and pulling the right strings to elicit certain emotions, drawing them to the surface in full force. It was only now that she used that ability maliciously. “Arthur. We should go.”

Arthur shook Merlin off. “If you want me dead, then why won’t you kill me? You could finish the deed yourself right now.”

“True,” Morgana said languidly. She addressed the both of them when she said, “But it’s so much more fun this way, isn’t it?”

Morgana appeared to have no qualms with them escaping. Probably because she knew they couldn't escape the time loop, which was the thing that really mattered.

The ride back was gloomy. Arthur was still seething and Merlin rode at his side, not making a sound.

“You never told Morgana about your magic,” Arthur accused.

“Yeah.” Merlin felt queasy. “I wanted to tell her. I tried to support her the best I could without revealing my own magic, but it wasn’t enough. She’s too far gone now, corrupted by hate.” 

“Why didn’t you tell her then?”

“I don’t know!” Merlin yelled. He caught Arthur’s surprised look, and lowered his volume. “Well, actually I do. I was under orders from Gaius and the Great Dragon not to, but I should have done it anyway. It might have saved us this whole mess.”

“Merlin, you can’t possibly blame yourself for Morgana’s descent into madness. She did that to herself.”

Merlin privately disagreed. Morgana had never lived outside Camelot, so magic was a wholly foreign concept to her, unless you counted beheading and burning of sorcerers as exposure to magic. When she started unintentionally doing magic, there was no one to confide in, no one who she could trust. She thought she was a monster for it, and Merlin knew that feeling all too well. If only he had told her, then maybe she wouldn’t have felt so alone. Damn the prophecies which foretold her turn to evil; it wasn’t her fault, at least not entirely.

When she did decide to fully embrace evil, attempting to bring down Camelot at all costs, he had several opportunities to kill her and effectively put an end to it. Maybe it would have been the objectively best option– after all, dead people can’t seek vengeance nor cast time loop spells from their graves– but he couldn’t stomach it. So Merlin treaded a thin line, walking the middle ground, not quite harming but not quite helping. He didn’t know how to do anything else.

“Were you really going to repeal the ban?” Merlin asked, changing the subject.

Arthur slid his eyes sideways. “Yes.”

“That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

Arthur sighed with resignation, pulling on the reins to make his horse halt. Merlin did the same. “Okay, look. It’s– I’m trying. I know now that magic can be used for good and the benefit of other people, and that I was wrong with continuing in my father’s ways. However, that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve seen magic used to bring about disorder to Camelot countless times. Like Morgana, right now.”

Merlin didn’t blame him, though he also couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. 

But Arthur wasn’t done. “I wasn’t lying though. If we get out of this, I would. Legalize magic, I mean.”

“Really?”

“I think I’d have to,” Arthur said, turning to Merlin. “There’s still a part of me that… fears magic and seeks my father’s approval for the decisions I make pertaining to this kingdom. But when it comes down to it, I can’t consciously make choices condemning innocent, good people who are only trying to live, magic or not. It would be a change that many would oppose, but I believe it would be for the better, and those with magic would no longer have to live in constant fear of being outed.”

There Arthur was, saying these wonderful things, that Merlin had to resist the urge to hug him or do something equally appalling. “Oh,” he said dumbly. 

Arthur snorted. “Not even a thank you?”

“I’m just… surprised, I s’pose. I thought it’d take a bit longer for you to come around to this decision.”

“Well,” Arthur said. “The truth is, I’d been pondering the value of upholding the old laws for a while now. This whole ordeal just clarified it for me.”

“Oh,” Merlin said again. He recalled that day before Arthur even knew about Merlin's magic when he had been open to magical ideas for breaking the spell, and wondered why he was still amazed, when Arthur had proven to be a better person than his father a thousand times over.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Come on, let’s get back to the castle,” he said, nudging his horse back into motion. “We can continue figuring this out tomorrow.”

The future was still bleak, but Merlin smiled at the thought, at Arthur being able to experience the next day with him. They were truly in this together now.

Chapter Text

And thus, this became their new normal.

In the morning, Merlin would barge into Arthur’s chambers, tell Arthur to trust him (which he always did), and Merlin would transfer the memories over. They would come up with something (which invariably failed), and Arthur would give back the memories in the night. 

They tried to negotiate with Morgana a few more times, but each attempt went about as well as the first, no matter how genuine Arthur’s words were. Morgana was dead set on Arthur dying, and nothing could appease her enough to make her give up information on how to break the spell. Merlin still wondered how she was able to cast it by herself in the first place; it seemed impossible, when really he thought about it. But what mattered was that it happened, and they needed to fix it.

He still didn’t tell Morgana about his magic, because one, it technically wouldn’t solve anything, and two, he didn’t know how Morgana would react, like if she might actively try to kill Arthur then. No, it wasn’t worth the risk. 

They did, however, kill Morgana once. Luckily, there already existed a sword forged in a dragon’s breath, and it possessed the ability to do damage that a mortal blade could not. After Merlin explained its origins to Arthur (who accepted it easily enough– couldn’t get hung up over trivial things during times like these), they retrieved the sword from where it was lodged in the stone and went to her swiftly.

“Ah, Merlin, I’ve been expecting you,” Morgana started, dress swishing around her in a whirlwind of black. The rest of her monologue followed. The mad look in Merlin’s eyes; Arthur, lamb for the slaughter– they’d heard it multiple times already.

Arthur’s fingers rested on the hilt, but he hesitated.

Spells were often linked to the sorcerers who cast them. If Morgana died, then the spell could die with her. It seemed amazingly simple… but it wasn’t. Morgana had changed, but did that mean she was irredeemable? Did she have to die for Arthur to live? The past memories of her kindness flashed in Merlin’s mind, familiar enough to sink into and drown himself in.

Arthur pulled out the sword anyways, its blade glinting coldly.

Morgana seemed highly amused. “What are you planning to do with that? I’m a High Priestess of the Old Religion; you really think your mere sword can harm me?”

“Morgana,” Arthur said, knuckles white on his sword-wielding hand. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He trembled, just barely. Almost imperceptible. “I want to create a kingdom that is fair for all people. Which means I also admit that the old laws were wrong in unjustly killing those who practice magic. If I live, I swear, Camelot would no longer be an enemy of sorcerers, and those who practice magic can do so freely without fear. I implore you to at least consider it.”

She sneered. “Do you seriously expect me to lap up every little lie that spills from your lips?”

“I’m telling the full and honest truth. Merlin–” he cut himself off with a hiss, remembering that revealing Merlin’s secret would do no good– “My views on magic have changed since Uther’s death. I realize that he has committed atrocities out of his hatred for magic, many of which are unforgivable. I carry my father’s sins and my own, and I can’t change the past, but I have now learned that those ways were wrong and I plan to make things right if I have the chance to see tomorrow.”

There was a moment in which Morgana swayed slightly. There was no trace of deception in Arthur’s words.

But even if she did believe Arthur, Morgana’s lust for revenge ultimately overtook her. “You’re a fool, Arthur Pendragon,” she whispered. “The only thing I wish for is your death.”

“Please, Morgana. I don’t want to do this.”

“There’s nothing you can do to change my mind,” she said, stubbornly raising her chin. “The only thing you can do is accept your fate.”

Arthur looked down, and trembled again. “Then I’m sorry,” he said, and drove the sword into her side.

Then he withdrew it. Morgana collapsed to the floor, face contorting in shock and pain when she realized she was actually dying. Scarlet oozed through her dress, and she splayed her hand over the tear in her flesh, which did nothing to prevent the bleeding. “How did you– this shouldn’t be–”

“But it is,” Merlin said, stepping forward. “I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you, Morgana, but this has to come to an end.” It felt wrong seeing her like this, weak and broken at his feet; but alas, “I’m not going to let Arthur die.”

Morgana turned her head to him slowly, the approaching death fogging her mind. “You really are loyal to Arthur, aren’t you?” He detected a leaden ire in her words, but in addition to another strange thing– fascination, like something had dawned on her.

If there was one thing Merlin had learned over the years, it was that no matter how the bards liked to play it up, or how extravagant the funerals were or how touching the eulogies may be, there was no such thing as honor in death. There was no such thing as going out in a blaze of glory. Whoever tried to weave those overly romantic elements into a tale were wrong. 

Morgana didn’t say anything else. Her figure twitched once– twice– before going still. Death was dark and cold and ugly; it marked the end of a life, and there was nothing else to it.

Arthur’s face was carefully blank. They stayed in the forest until dark, milling through the shadows aimlessly. They didn’t return to the castle that day, and did the memory transfer procedure in the forest. Merlin wondered if Arthur was secretly hoping that the day would reset. Well, if he was, then he got his wish.

When Merlin appeared in the cot the next morning and went to Arthur's room and gave the memories over, Arthur sat paralyzed as he ran the memories through his mind. 

“I don’t want to do that again,” he said after a while. Merlin silently agreed.

They decided to redo the things that Merlin had attempted before telling Arthur about his magic. Rehash old ideas in case they didn’t work the first time for whatever reason. 

Fiddling around with time magic again yielded no results, and Arthur had no idea what was going on so he couldn’t help anyway.

They travelled far and wide, tracking down people who might assist in their predicament. Arthur’s royal status opened new doors, giving them access to more people than Merlin had already spoken to. Still, no one was knowledgeable enough to help; one particular sorcerer started guffawing at the mere idea of a time loop, because there was no way such a thing was possible. Arthur shot a withering glare, and their laughter immediately died, jaw clacking shut as they stammered out an apology, and no, they didn’t know of a spell which could break out of a time loop, no less cause one.

Some days, Arthur would lash out at Merlin all over again when he was reminded of an event from the past, or was frustrated because their current plan wasn’t working, or sometimes just for no reason at all, other than the fact that eight years worth of lies and even more time of Uther’s teachings couldn’t be resolved overnight. The outbursts were becoming less frequent, but Arthur’s emotions were a complex thing that could manifest in any form at any time. 

Other days, Arthur would swing away from anger and into the other direction. He would look into the air and see only ghosts from the pyre howling for mercy, look down into his lap and see only the blood pooled in his hands. They were done deeds which he couldn’t undo, etched into his soul permanently. During one of these episodes, Merlin laid his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, and told him, “You didn’t know any better. It’s not your fault,” and Arthur darkly responded, “That’s true. It’s yours.”

Arthur apologized later, the haunting guilt ebbing away (at least for the moment). Merlin instantly forgave him, even though those words continued to echo in the deep confines of his mind.

They again attempted a temporary death to trick the spell, except this time with magic involved. Arthur would give his memories to Merlin first, and then Merlin would spell Arthur unconscious and attempt the plan, inhibiting a bodily function in a way which would hopefully fulfill the criteria needed to pass into tomorrow. He always cast an additional spell to make sure the procedures were painless. He had enough experience as a physician’s apprentice that he could easily monitor Arthur’s condition to make sure he was revivable, but even so, he hated bringing Arthur to the brink of death and almost prayed that the time loop would reset so it would be proof that Arthur really was alive. Obviously, he was, because they were still here. 

In the mornings, Merlin would make some excuse for Arthur to be relieved of his duties; there wasn’t anything pressing on this day anyways. As they waited for the sun to set, they’d talk. Sometimes in the clearing, sometimes in Arthur’s room. Other magical secrets were revealed, most of which Merlin had forgotten about. They ranged from things like healing an arrow wound on Arthur’s back, to slacking on chores like making armor polish itself midair, to the time he’d enchanted the spear that Lancelot used to strike down the griffin, and Arthur started fuming at that last point because “Lancelot knew before I did?” to which Merlin replied that maybe he should work on not getting knocked out at the most inconvenient of times.

(When Arthur learned the truth of his mother’s passing, he said, “Get out,” through gritted teeth, his rage a palpable thing in the chambers. Merlin stepped out, easing the door shut so that it didn’t make a sound.

He returned just before midnight to find Arthur in the same position, sitting in a chair with elbows digging into his knees. Shoulders hunched, hands clasped under his chin, folding in on himself. With his gaze still fixed to the floor, he said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You would’ve killed your father.”

“What about after, then?”

“Well,” Merlin said, “he was your father. I didn’t want you to hate him.”

“You don’t hate him? After all that he’s done?”

“That’s not what I said. I didn’t want you to hate him.”

“Why not?”

“Because he was your father.” This conversation was becoming cyclical. “You would’ve been hurt.”

Arthur lifted his head. “That’s the reason?”

“Yeah.” Then, quieter, “I’d never want to see you hurt, Arthur. You must know that by now.”

Arthur didn’t say anything in response.)