Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It wasn’t often that Arthur went to ride on patrols anymore. As prince, he had gone on countless of them, leading his knights around the citadel, in far away villages, by the border— any and all parts of Camelot. But now as king, his schedule was much too demanding to include patrols in his daily routine.

But occasionally some patrols required his presence. There had been recent reports of strange activity toward the northern border, of villagers seeing hooded figures pass by and kidnap men. Hearing about trafficking was not uncommon, and in most situations, Arthur would’ve just sent his knights to investigate. But there had been rumors of a sorceress with dark hair and green eyes with them.

Although there was no confirmation, Arthur knew from the sinking feeling in his gut that it was Morgana. She had disappeared for years without a trace, and now it seemed she had finally returned. Despite his advisors urging him to stay to focus on other matters, Arthur had to know the truth for himself. He summoned his most trusted knights and left the next day.

They rode out to the village. The wind was cold and bitter from the lasting winter, the ground was wet and muddy from the recent rains, and most of the animals were still hibernating away until the nearby spring approached, leaving the group with little game to hunt.

And yet Arthur couldn’t remember having this much fun in a long time. 

The bantering with his knights, the freedom of being able to travel, the thrill of the unknown in the air as they drew closer to their destination. It all reminded Arthur of a simpler time. A time when he didn’t have to fret about the state of Camelot, worry about his abilities as a ruler, or hear advisors nag him about marrying a noble and siring an heir. For the first time in years, Arthur felt free.

But the journey was cut short. By the time they reached the area, there was no sight of the mysterious men or Morgana. Arthur had tried to track down their whereabouts, following their most recent trail from the villagers’ account, but the tracks had suddenly stopped mid-footprint, as if they had vanished from the earth.

It was strange and worrying. But there was nothing Arthur could do for the time being. After telling the villagers to report back to him if they discovered anything new, Arthur and the knights set their sights back to the citadel to work on a new plan. And so that was where Arthur was now— cold, tired, and disappointed as they journeyed back.

“I thought the afternoon was supposed to be warmer than the morning,” said Gwaine from atop his horse, teeth chattering and talking to no one in particular.

Arthur rolled his eyes. He enjoyed traveling with his knights, but Gwaine’s mindless chatting was an unfortunate consequence of it.

“Considering our luck, are you surprised?” sent back Leon. “I’m sure there’ll be a snowstorm just as we settle down for the night.”

“Don’t tempt Mother Nature!” cried Elyan. “It’s cold, but not cold enough to snow... Hopefully.”

“If it does, I’m sleeping next to Percival,” said Gwaine, unabashed. “Man is as warm as the sun. And those muscles would scare any snowstorm away, isn’t that right, Percy?”

A beat passed before Percival responded in a deadpan, “You better be careful before they scare you away first, little man.”

Gwaine chuckled and they continued to banter back and forth, but Arthur had stopped paying attention. He heard the sound of leaves crunching some feet away from their group. Staring into the distance, he tried to look for any animals or people who could’ve made the noise. But he saw nothing more than the swaying of branches.

As the group progressed further into the forest, Arthur started to feel more and more on edge. His skin prickled and he couldn’t shake the feeling that a pair of eyes were watching him. He continued to look around, staring past the trees, but found no one there. He tried to tell himself that he was paranoid. But still the feeling didn’t ease.

A twig snapped. Whipping his head around to the source of the sound, Arthur again found nothing. This was no longer a coincidence.

Frowning, he quietly said to the rest of the group, “Someone is following us.”

The knights tensed up and reached for their swords. Arthur raised his hand to stop them.

“Act natural. But keep your guard up.”

For a few minutes, they continued traveling with no interruptions, the air tense with the scent of alphas on edge. However, that came to an end when Arthur heard a large thud and a pained gasp towards a stretch of trees. He veered Llamrei in that direction, his knights following behind him. 

Arthur lifted his sword, steeling himself for the worst— that Morgana was there, ready to ambush them with an army of sorcerers. He was surprised when they instead came across a lone figure lying prone on the ground. A dark blue cloak completely hid the person’s face and body. For a moment, Arthur thought them unconscious, but then he saw slight movement and heard a muffled groan.

Arthur looked down and saw a large tree root closeby. The person must have tripped over it. He resisted the urge to snort. Amateur.

“Traveler,” Arthur called, pointing his sword at the figure, “why are you following us?”

The person on the ground stiffened. Gradually, they sat up, but still kept their face turned away, obscured from the group. Arthur gestured his knights to surround the person, keeping a wary eye on their movements. Amateur or not, he didn’t know what this person was capable of. 

When no response came, Arthur prodded his sword into the person’s back, careful not to injure them. 

“Explain yourself.”

Another beat passed and nothing happened. In frustration, Arthur almost told one of the knights to grab the person. But then the figure lowered their hood and turned towards him.

Arthur found himself looking at bright blue eyes, pale skin, and a mop of dark wavy hair. His heart skipped a beat and then it suddenly leaped to his throat, stealing his breath away. He knew this person. Someone who had been in his thoughts for years, who he thought he would never see again.

Merlin.

Arthur smiled from ear to ear. Sheathing his sword, he jumped off Llamrei and nearly tripped in his haste to rush over. Merlin rose in turn.

As he got closer, however, Arthur realized something wasn't right about Merlin. The finer details he had somehow missed in his first glance now stood out prominently: the face was much too round with youth, the jaw too wide, the ears too small.

And he was about two times too short.

Arthur blinked. A boy. It was just a young boy.

Arthur shook his head. He was truly going mad to think that this child was his former manservant. After all, there was no chance he’d ever see Merlin again. But in the heat of the moment, Arthur had forgotten the reality of the situation— that Merlin hated him and wanted nothing to do with him.

Arthur swallowed and approached the boy. As he neared, the boy tensed and held his arms in front of him defensively. Arthur slowed down and put his hands up.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “Why were you following us?” 

The boy stayed silent. His jaw dropped and he stared at Arthur in awe. From this distance, Arthur could smell his faint scent: an alpha. He showed no obvious signs of fear, not even a whiff of it in his scent, despite being surrounded by knights with swords. Odd.

“Why are you out here alone?” Arthur tried again.

For the tiniest second, the boy’s face fell. But then his expression changed, his face hardening and eyes narrowing in distrust.

“Are you King Arthur?” he finally spoke. If Arthur wasn’t mistaken, he swore he heard a touch of a sneer in the boy’s voice.

“Yes, I am him.”

The boy looked him up and down. Sizing him up.

“...You’re fatter than I thought you’d be,” the boy commented boldly.

“Excuse me?” spluttered Arthur. He heard the knights snigger behind him and nearly turned back around to glare them down.  

The boy rolled his eyes, his lip curled scornfully. “Deaf too. You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Arthur stared at him, almost not believing what he heard. It was one thing to handle derision from an adult, which Arthur had dealt with plenty of times before, but from a child… This was unknown territory for him.

Arthur arched an eyebrow. “Where did you get such a smart mouth?”

The brat had the audacity to shrug at him. As if stalking and disrespecting kings were nonchalant hobbies of his and not things punishable by execution.

Arthur cleared his throat. “Well, you’re certainly…” Foolish. Insolent. Abrasive. He could keep the list going, but he decided to settle on, “...fearless.”

At this, the boy smirked and puffed his chest out. “So I’ve been told,” he said.

“You know, these woods are quite dangerous for a little boy. Even for a brave one who likes to shadow kings.”

The boy scowled. “I’m not a little boy. I know these woods, and I’m not afraid of anything.”

Arthur chuckled and his knights did the same. Ah, to be a reckless youth again, convinced that you’re invincible. The boy reminded him a little of his own childhood. Minus the raging impudence. Arthur had the sudden urge to ruffle his hair, but judging from the intensity of his glare, the boy would probably bite his arm off.

“Where are your parents?” asked Arthur, looking around as if they could pop up at any moment. “It’s getting late. I’m sure they’re worried for you.”

The boy glanced down and fidgeted with his hands, his face twisted in a frown. He was silent for so long that Arthur considered repeating the question, but at the last moment he started to speak.

“My papa’s been kidnapped,” he muttered. 

Arthur’s eyes widened in alarm. “Kidnapped? By who?”

His first thought was of the mass kidnappings and Morgana. Arthur would like to think that the once kind-hearted young woman would never kidnap a little boy’s father, but he knew now that she would do anything in her pursuit of power. There was a good chance she was behind this. Though he wouldn’t let the boy know that.

“I don’t know.” The boy shrugged, his body drooping. Then he looked up at Arthur, straightened his posture, and said vehemently, “I’m rescuing him.”

“That’s a big responsibility.” Arthur frowned. “Where’s your mother? Is someone looking after you?”

The boy shook his head. “I don’t have a mother. And I don’t need anyone. I can look after myself!” he insisted.

Arthur glanced at his knights, saw the concern written on all of their faces, and looked back down at the boy. Despite his outward confidence, the boy must be scared to be out here, trying to rescue his father alone. Any child would be. 

Arthur rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, who tensed a little at the touch but didn't argue.

“We’ll take you back to Camelot with us and organize a search party for your father. How does that sound?”

Arthur expected to hear in response ‘thank you sire, so sorry for insulting you earlier, you’re actually not fat at all.’ Instead the boy glared and knocked his hand away like he was nothing but a pest. 

“No!” he shouted. “We need to find him now. We can’t afford to wait.”

Arthur sighed. “We need to get you safe first. I’m sure your father would agree with that. Then I’ll get a group of knights to investigate—”

“That’s not good enough!”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew the boy was worried about his father, but he couldn’t drop everything for two complete strangers. Especially if the boy was from the northern village. They had no current means of tracking the kidnappers down.

“This is what I can offer you,” he said gently, looking into the boy’s eyes. “I promise you that we will do all we can to bring him back to you.”

Instead of placating the boy as intended, the words only seemed to cause his face to scrunch up in anger.

“My papa said you’re a good man. He was wrong about you,” he spat, clenching his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Arthur squinted his eyes in disbelief. Here he was, offering this boy all the help he had to give, and still it wasn’t adequate. Instead the boy was treating him as if Arthur was his enemy. It was strange. And all the insults thrown at him felt oddly personal, as if the boy had hated him for years.

“Have I met you before?” asked Arthur. His stomach churned. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like the answer.

“No,” sneered the boy. “But you know my papa. He used to work for you for some dumb reason. I don’t know why— you’re annoying. His name is Merlin.”

Arthur froze and stared at the boy with wide eyes. He searched the boy’s face, looking once again at the straight bridge of his nose, the ivory of his skin, the gleam of determination in his blue eyes. Arthur’s heart thudded loudly.

He didn’t know why he was in shock. Only one look at the boy was necessary to tell that he was a tiny version of Merlin. They even had the same level of sass and blatant disrespect for authority. And yet…

Merlin had a child? His Merlin? His former clumsy, omega manservant? Before he could stop himself, Arthur imagined Merlin, holding his large pregnant belly, as he waddled around. Merlin, with a small babe cradled in his arms, smiling and looking completely in love with his child. Merlin, in the arms of another alpha man and with a claim around his neck, as they satisfied his heat…

Arthur felt sick to his stomach.

“You’re Merlin’s son?!” Gwaine stepped forward, clasping an arm around Arthur’s shoulders and saving him from the embarrassment of keeling over in front of the boy. “We love Merlin. There’s never been a greater man in the whole world.”

The boy smiled brilliantly and looked up at Gwaine with eyes as wide and round as the moon. 

“You must be Gwaine!” he exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “My papa told me so many stories about you.”

“Did he?” Gwaine winked. “Only good things, I hope.”

The boy nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Very good things. I want to be like you someday.”

“I’d think twice about that,” Elyan cut in, grinning.

The rest of the knights laughed. Arthur couldn’t find it in him to follow suit. All he could do was look at this little boy, with his bright smile and endless nerve, and think about Merlin. Merlin, who had moved on with his life. He had a son, a mate, and had forgotten all about Arthur. Arthur always knew this day would come, but he never imagined how sharply it would sting.

“If you aren’t going to help me find my papa, I’ll be on my way then,” said the boy, raising a defiant eyebrow at Arthur.

The knights also glanced at him. Arthur knew they all wanted to help Merlin and if he said no, they’d resent him. Even though there was likely not much they could do to find him now. But Arthur would never say no to helping Merlin, no matter how many years in bad blood had passed between them. He owed him that.

“Hold on. Of course we’ll help you,” said Arthur. He swallowed. “We’d do anything for Merlin and his son.”

The entire group cheered. Even the boy shot Arthur a grateful grin.

“We’ll set up camp here tonight, and then we’ll begin our search in the morning,” commanded Arthur. He turned to the boy. “And we’ll need to hear your story about what happened to Merlin. What’s your name, boy?”

The boy hesitated, looking at him with narrowed eyes. Arthur sighed in exasperation.

“We’re helping you now. We need to know your name so we know what to call you by.” He smirked. “Unless you prefer to be called little boy?” 

The boy lifted his chin up and looked Arthur square in the eyes. “Henry,” he said.

Arthur crouched down and held out his hand for Henry to shake, who grabbed on with a strength Arthur didn’t know children could possess. He shook his hand so vigorously Arthur was surprised his arm didn't pop off. He smiled anyway.

“It’s nice to meet you, Henry.”

Chapter Text

It wasn’t until after they set up camp and huddled around their campfire that Arthur began to regret his decision.

While polishing his sword, Arthur felt the heat of a pair of eyes on him. He looked up to see Henry staring intensely at him from across the campfire. Again. Even though the boy seemed to have nothing but disdain for him, Henry watched him like a little stalker, eyes trained on Arthur’s every move. It almost felt like the boy was staring through him. Like he could see every inch of Arthur’s soul and was poring over his flaws in judgement. 

It was a bit unnerving, to say the least.

“Have I offended you somehow?” asked Arthur. He sheathed his sword. “You keep looking at me like you’re trying to set me on fire with your mind alone.”

Henry averted his gaze. “No,” he snapped defensively. “I’m just wondering how a nose so big can fit on someone’s face.”

“My nose is not big,” protested Arthur. He almost brought his hand up to feel his nose but squashed down the urge. “It’s perfectly normal-sized.”

One side of Henry’s lips twitched upwards and he shook his head. “For an elephant, maybe.”

The knights snickered. Elyan in particular shook with laughter, nearly dropping the pot of stew he had set on the fire to cook. Arthur scowled. 

“I see Merlin taught you nothing but how to be a dollophead.” The word slipped out of his mouth before Arthur could stop himself. A wave of nostalgia followed before he shoved the feeling down.

Henry stared at him blankly. “A what?”

“A dollophead.”

“What does that even mean?”

Arthur paused. Somehow in all those years that was a question that had never been answered. “Nothing good,” he bluffed.

“That was one of Merlin’s favorite insults for Arthur,” said Gwaine, smirking. Arthur shot him a glare, but Gwaine continued on, either oblivious or purposefully irritating, “Your father made it up just for him.”

Henry glanced at Gwaine and then back at Arthur, his forehead creased. 

“He never told me that,” grumbled Henry. With his stuck-out lower lip and his arms folded over his chest, the boy almost looked like a petulant toddler. All this because Merlin never told him one insult?

“Did Merlin ever talk about us?” asked Arthur.

Henry glowered at him. “That’s none of your business, you nosy—”

“Stew’s ready!” interrupted Elyan, effectively cutting off the conversation.

They chatted among themselves as they enjoyed dinner. All the knights, Arthur included, ate wildly, but that was nothing to the way Henry slurped down his stew. He barely paused to breathe and finished much faster than everyone else, licking the bowl greedily afterwards. Elyan raised an eyebrow but gave Henry a few more spoonfuls, which Arthur allowed. Who knew what this child had lived off of alone before he ran into them?

“Henry,” began Arthur once they finished their meal, “tomorrow morning, Sir Leon will go to Camelot to rule in my absence. You will go with him and will be looked after by him and his family until we find Merlin.”

Henry looked at Arthur like he had grown two heads. “No,” he said, then turned away like the conversation was over.

Arthur pursed his lips. He should have known this wouldn’t be easy.

“This is non-negotiable. We don’t know what awaits ahead and I refuse to have you harmed.”

“I’ll be fine.” Henry snorted as if the idea of getting injured was preposterous. “You should be more worried about yourself. That big head of yours is a good target.”

The knights laughed for the hundredth time that evening. Gwaine patted Henry on the back with his full strength, nearly sending the small boy into the fire. 

“The kid’s even sassier than Merlin!” he said. Even though Gwaine almost just burnt him to a crisp, Henry smiled so brightly he could light up the nighttime sky. “Say Henry, do you know any good jokes?”

Arthur bristled. “Gwaine, shut up,” he interrupted before Henry could continue his tirade of Arthur-specific insults. “This is serious. I won’t entertain any other options for Henry.”

“You’ll be in good hands,” added Leon, looking at Henry with kind eyes. “And you’ll have Merlin back before you even realize it.”

Henry rolled his eyes. “You won’t be able to find my papa without me.”

Arthur stared at him. He was amazed at how arrogant Henry was, considering that Merlin was rarely so conceited. Must be the work of his other father, he thought bitterly.

“I don’t think we need the help of a little kid,” scoffed Arthur. 

“I’m not a little kid!” Henry scowled. He stood up, and for a second Arthur was convinced the boy was about to throw himself at him in a fit of rage. Instead, Henry stood there, holding his arm out. “This is why you’ll need me.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, not sure what that meant. Then he realized that the fire, which was large but under control, died down. The next moment, it roared back to life. It jumped to the sky, triple Arthur’s height, its red flames blazing and searing hot. The fire surged wildly, and it took Arthur a moment to see that its movement was not erratic but shaping into an image. 

He followed the creation of what were four legs, then a long tail, and finally a huge pair of wings. Arthur blinked. It was a dragon. A dragon whose long face somehow leered down at him and drew closer, its mouth snapping open as if about to—

Arthur sprang back. In his haste to escape, he tripped over himself, face planting into the ground. He laid there and braced himself. When he felt no pain from being roasted alive, he turned around to see a lack of a fiery dragon. Instead there was a normal campfire, calmed down to its original state and flickering harmlessly.

Henry stood in the same spot, not having moved an inch. Looking incredibly smug from his little display of terror, he put his hands on his hips and puffed his chest out.

Seconds passed by and the entire group remained silent. Arthur snapped out of his daze the quickest. From the wide-eyed looks on the knights’ faces, they were still processing their shock. 

“...A sorcerer,” whispered Leon.

“Yes, I have magic,” said Henry, staring down Arthur and the knights as if daring them to do something about it. “I know Camelot doesn’t welcome my kind. But it’s the only way to find my papa.”

Arthur scrambled to his feet. “What do you mean by that?”

The knights stared at Arthur in perplexity, like they instead expected him to arrest a child and throw him in the dungeons for using magic. Arthur frowned. His knights should have known he was not so cruel. 

“Well, I can take out bad guys in a second so the journey will be faster.” Henry grinned, his eyes carrying a mischievous gleam. “But my magic is also connected to my papa. I can feel his magic, so I can tell where he is.”

“Hold on. Merlin has magic?” exclaimed Gwaine, mouth hanging open. He glanced at Arthur. Whatever expression Arthur was wearing must have been telling because Gwaine frowned. Before Arthur could even react, the man stormed up to him.

“Did you know?” he shouted.

Arthur hesitated. He didn’t want to dredge up those memories. But Gwaine seemed to have figured it out, so he sighed and answered honestly, “Yes.”

“Is that the real reason why Merlin left?” continued Gwaine sharply.

Arthur remained silent.

Gwaine clenched his jaw, his angry alpha scent overwhelming the air. “You bastard—” he began, reaching for his gauntlet. But before he could drop it, Percival ran up and tackled him to the ground. 

“Percival!” yelled Gwaine, struggling against the large knight’s hold. “Release me.”

“Not until I know you won’t fight Arthur,” said Percival, as calm as someone could be while pinning another person down. Gwaine scowled in response. 

The two wrestled until Percival put Gwaine in a headlock, and even then it took awhile for the long-haired knight to quit fighting. Arthur watched as Gwaine, so full of rage only moments ago, now laid on the ground, limp, his face contorted with a deep sorrow. Arthur turned away from the sight.

“...It was the hardest decision of my life,” Arthur admitted quietly, watching the flames of the fire dance.

Gwaine said nothing, just huffed until Percival relented. He stood up, not sparing Arthur a glance, and picked the furthest area of their camp to settle down alone in. 

Percival patted Arthur on the back. “He’ll be fine. He’ll get over this in no time.”

Arthur doubted that. Gwaine had a soft spot for Merlin, and he made it clear that it was one of the only reasons he served Arthur. A revelation like this would not be so easily forgiven.

Arthur sighed and sat back by the fire, rubbing his face. This was not how he thought his day would have gone. He should have been on his way back to Camelot, but instead here he was, chasing after the ghosts of his past. As he shot a look at the boy next to him, Arthur realized that perhaps they pursued him instead.

Henry stared at him with huge blue eyes, silenced for the first time that entire evening. Arthur thought about apologizing to him, but decided that would be excessive. Besides, Henry wouldn’t even exist if Merlin hadn’t left. The boy should be thanking him.

“How does your connection to Merlin work?” asked Arthur.

“Our magic ties us to each other,” explained Henry. “I can feel where he is, and he can too. I don’t know why. I don’t know where exactly he is, but I just follow where his magic leads me.”

Arthur nodded. He looked again to the fire, still feeling the intensity of Henry’s gaze on him. At that moment, Arthur realized that there was so much he didn’t understand about magic. Despite his more relaxed stance on it compared to his father, Arthur still knew little on the subject. Even a sorcerer like Henry didn’t seem to comprehend it completely either. Perhaps learning more about it was worth looking into. After all, was magic really so evil when a bumbling fool like Merlin was a sorcerer, when little boys were too?

Putting his thoughts to rest, Arthur turned to the side. Henry continued to stare at him, undaunted, his head tilted as if he were trying to solve a puzzle. 

“I suppose you’ll be joining us on the mission then,” grumbled Arthur. Considering only Henry knew Merlin’s exact location, he’d have to come along. As much as Arthur didn’t want to bring him, they didn’t have any other possible leads in finding Merlin.

Henry smiled. “I knew you’d see my way.”

Arthur’s lips quirked in a tiny smile. Despite all of Henry’s massive flaws and hostility, there was something oddly charming about him.

“When did you last see Merlin?” asked Arthur, realizing he never got the full story.

Henry’s smile faded and he shifted in his seat. Silence stretched out between them. About to let go of the subject and retire to sleep, Arthur turned away, but then Henry started to speak.

“We were traveling the other day. Papa felt something magical nearby. I know because I did too. I don’t know what it was, but it was really powerful. He told me to hide, but I didn’t want to. I wanted to fight! I know how to fight,” Henry asserted confidently. But then he deflated, averting his gaze from Arthur. He muttered, “But Papa got mad at me and sent me to sleep with a spell. When I woke up, he was gone.”

Arthur frowned. So magic was involved. The likelihood that Morgana was behind this only seemed to increase with every new detail he learned. But what could she want with all these men she was kidnapping? And why Merlin?

Before he could stop himself, a glimpse of Merlin flashed in Arthur’s mind. The omega man sat alone, chained to the wall of a dark dungeon. From head to toe, red welts and dark bruises stretched across his body, marring his pale skin. Tears welled up in his exhausted eyes as he curled up on the floor uncomfortably.

Arthur blinked and the image vanished. He swallowed.

“We’ll find him. Don’t worry.” He patted Henry on the back. 

At the touch, Henry grimaced. Arthur couldn’t help but notice the difference in his reaction now compared to when Gwaine had done the same earlier. 

“Get some sleep,” said Arthur, ignoring the strange sinking feeling in his stomach. “We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

Arthur groaned as he tossed and turned for the millionth time that night. Even though he was exhausted, he had been wide awake for several hours now. Instead of peaceful dreams and well-needed sleep, his mind took the opportunity to taunt him. Thoughts that he had tried to suppress for years seeped into his head and stuck to him like glue, unable to be removed despite how hard he tried to scrub them away.

He couldn’t stop thinking about Merlin. Where was he now? And where had he been all these years? Arthur wondered how often Merlin thought about his old life. If he ever missed Gaius, or Camelot, or maybe even...

Arthur’s face flushed a mortified red. He was a fool for even hoping that. There was simply no chance Merlin ever thought about him. Not after what happened between them.

The terrible memory surfaced in his mind against his will. He grimaced and tried to think of something else. But it was difficult when the only thing his mind kept revolving around was Merlin, Merlin, and more Merlin.

So many years had passed since Merlin left, and Arthur thought he had managed to put it behind him. He hadn’t thought about Merlin in the last year, if not longer. Now in a single day, all that effort had been wasted.

Arthur struggled to understand what it was about Merlin that made him so….like this. There was no reason for him to be thinking about Merlin the way he was. After all, Merlin had lied to him for years. Arthur knew he could be insufferable at times, but at least he had always been honest with Merlin. He had never lied to him, especially not when they had—when they had even—

Arthur clenched his jaw. There was no use in digging up age-old memories. He had done the right thing in the end. With that in mind, he took a deep breath and tried to go back to sleep. 

But as he turned, he caught a peek of Henry sleeping some feet away from him, his face for once not marred by the presence of a sneer or glare. Instead he looked relaxed and innocent, much like a young boy should. 

Henry was such an enigma. Other than being Merlin’s magical son and a huge pain in the arse, they knew next to nothing about him. The worst part was that he actively avoided questions, which Arthur had many of. He wondered about Henry’s life with Merlin. His unmentioned father. And there was something about this boy that didn’t quite make sense, that made Arthur want to ask...

Arthur shook his head. For the sake of whatever sanity he had left, he couldn’t afford to think about that much longer. He needed to preserve his energy. 

He slept for a few more restless hours. Henry woke him often. No longer did the boy sleep peacefully; he now muttered in his sleep, his limbs twitched, and he cried out. At one point, Arthur debated waking him up. But then he remembered that Henry would probably try to light him on fire again, little demon that he was, so he let him be.

Arthur sighed and settled back down, feeling his eyelids droop. Despite Henry’s noisy fidgeting, he managed to succumb to sleep.

The next time Arthur woke, he heard the sound of leaves crunching. He silently reached for his sword. But then he noticed a familiar pair of black boots walk by him and looked up to see a head full of ginger curls.

“Leon,” whispered Arthur and stood up. He glanced at Henry, making sure that the slumbering boy didn’t stir at the noise, and crept towards the knight. “Headed back to Camelot?”

“Yes, sire.”

Arthur nodded and gestured for Leon to follow him out of the camp and into a small clearing.

“When you get back to Camelot, inform the council that I’ll likely be back within the week. I know they’re eager to start discussion of a new tax, but make sure nothing is passed without me,” said Arthur. He opened his mouth to say more but then hesitated.

“Of course,” said Leon. He looked at Arthur with some concern in his expression. “Is there anything else you wanted to discuss?”

Arthur glanced back at their campsite, seeing the others still asleep, and whispered, “I know that sorcery is still illegal in Camelot so if any of the knights have expressed...discomfort with this mission, they are free to go back with you. I won’t force them to accompany me.”   

Leon’s eyes widened in surprise. “Arthur, we both know these knights well. We’re all a bit startled by everything. But I can assure you that if any of us did not wish to do this, you would know.”

“I didn’t want to presume,” sighed Arthur, not entirely convinced by Leon’s answer. After all, there were many things he’d let slip right under his nose that he should’ve noticed. Merlin being a sorcerer, for starters. “We are breaking Camelot law. Surely that is cause for some concern.”

Leon looked him straight in the eye. “You create Camelot law. We are meant to protect Camelot, and that means we follow you. We trust your judgment.” He smiled softly. “Plus, we all still care for Merlin, and now we also care for Henry. Both of them having magic has not changed that.”

Arthur half-smiled, feeling some of his anxiety dissipate. “All right. I believe you,” he said then glanced at the slowly rising sun in the sky. “You should leave soon to make it back to Camelot in time.”

Leon nodded and hopped on his horse. “Have a safe trip, my lord. Tell Merlin hello for me.”

“I will,” said Arthur, looking up at the knight with what he hoped was sincere gratitude in his eyes. “And thank you, Leon. Greet your family for me.”

The knight smiled at him. With that said, he left, leaving Arthur alone in the clearing. After a moment, Arthur headed back to the campsite, where everyone was still asleep. Unable to go back to sleep and unwilling to sit there and mope any longer, Arthur set about getting ready for their trip.

As he brushed down Llamrei, he noticed that the rest of his knights had gotten up and were also preparing, as well as Henry. The boy was throwing whatever supplies he brought with him in his tiny bag, looking miserable with dark circles under his eyes. Arthur couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for him.

“Henry,” called Arthur. The boy stopped packing and looked at him. “You’ll be riding with me for this journey.”

Henry frowned. “I want to ride with Gwaine.”

Arthur dared a look at Gwaine, who stared at him with a smug smirk. Arthur resisted the urge to glare back.

“I’m leading the group, and you’re the only one who knows where Merlin is.” Arthur turned back to Henry. “So you’ll be with me.”

Henry’s grip on his bag tightened. “I want to ride with Gwaine,” he repeated more forcefully.

Arthur gritted his teeth. For a blissful moment, he had forgotten that Merlin raised such a difficult child.

“I am the king so if I say you’ll be riding with me, then you will. No argument. You’ll do as you’re told.”

“I don’t care who you are!” snapped Henry, his eyes darkening. He raised his chin. “I won’t ride with an arrogant bully like you.”

“I’m arrogant?” scoffed Arthur, eyes wide with disbelief. He gestured at Henry with his hand. “Look at yourself! I don’t know how so much arrogance can fit in such a small body.”

“Better to be small and arrogant than fat and selfish. All you care about is yourself!”

“You know nothing about me. And I am not fat.”

Henry looked him up and down, stared pointedly at his stomach, and sneered. “It doesn’t take a genius to see the obvious.”

Deep in his mind, Arthur knew he shouldn’t escalate this argument. Trading insults with a boy half his size was rarely appropriate. Yet as he stared at Henry’s rebellious eyes and his smug curled lip, Arthur found himself unable to back down.

“You little brat,” snapped Arthur. “I don’t know how Merlin deals with you. Is he even kidnapped? Or did he get so sick of you he dropped you off so the wolves could adopt you instead?”

Immediately, Arthur knew that he had gone too far. He watched as Henry dropped his bag and stood rigid, eyes blazing with fury.

“You don’t even care about my papa!” Henry snarled and jabbed an accusatory finger at Arthur. “You’re just doing this so you can stop feeling bad about banishing him!”

Any regret Arthur had vanished as he felt something snap inside him. He stomped over to Henry, about to grab the boy and tie him down to Llamrei if he had to, but Percival stepped in front of him.

“Arthur, can I speak to you? In private,” he added.

Arthur was about to turn Percival down, but then he looked at Henry’s tense form, trembling with rage, and back at the concerned knight. He swallowed down his anger.

“Fine.” Arthur turned and walked off into the woods, away from the camp, with Percival trailing behind him. As each second passed, his irritation began to ebb, instead replaced with exhaustion.

“What is it?” asked Arthur when they were a far enough distance away so that he didn’t have to see either Gwaine or Henry glaring at him.

Percival paused for a moment, pressing his lips together. “I know Henry is being...rude but—”

“Rude?” repeated Arthur. “That’s an understatement.”

“Yes, but keep in mind that his father’s been kidnapped. He’s clearly worried sick about Merlin.”

“Aren’t we all? You don’t see me acting like that,” snapped Arthur.

A beat passed in silence. Arthur felt the heat rush to his cheeks when he realized what he said.

“With all due respect, sire,” said Percival with no change in expression, as if Arthur hadn’t just admitted something mortifyingly vulnerable, “you’re not a young boy. He is.”

Arthur was about to bite back that Henry acted more like a moody teenager than a little boy, but then he looked at Percival’s calm, nonjudgmental eyes. He sighed.

“You’re right,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s just a boy. I should be more patient with him. This is a very stressful time for him.”

Percival smiled and clasped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. The two walked back to the camp. Now sufficiently calm, Arthur could sense the tension, could smell the bitter scent of angered alpha, that still lingered between the rest of the group as he approached.

He found Henry sitting by the horses, turned away from everyone with his knees tucked to his chest. Arthur’s eyes softened at the sight. Then he noticed Gwaine sat nearby Henry, angled behind him like he had tried to speak to him. As Arthur approached, Gwaine eyed him sharply but stood and left without complaint.

“Henry,” Arthur began quietly, crouching down next to the boy, “I realize I haven’t behaved the best towards you. And for that, I was wrong. Even though you are quite rude.” Arthur paused, seeing Henry roll his eyes. “But still. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.” He swallowed. “And I know I don’t show it, but I— I do want to make sure your papa’s all right. We were friends for a long time.”

Henry stayed silent. Arthur couldn’t get a good read on his expression or what he was possibly thinking about, but at least he didn’t look like he was about to put a curse on him.

“And you can ride with Gwaine,” added Arthur. “But you’ll have to be close to me in the front.”

Silence again. Well, he had tried. Unsurprised, Arthur sighed and stood up.

Before he walked away, he heard a quiet “...thanks” come from behind. Arthur turned back around and saw Henry’s flushed face looking down at the ground, refusing to look up. Arthur quirked a tiny half-smile. Although Henry couldn’t see it, he nodded once in acknowledgment and walked off to pack the rest of their supplies.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke with a throbbing headache. Groaning, he clutched at his head and massaged it gently. When his finger brushed up against a painful bump toward the back, he hissed and lowered his hand, spotting dried blood on it.

Merlin drew a sharp breath and looked up. The first thing he noticed was that his vision was blurry. He blinked several times but the haziness remained. Yet he could still make out the grimy walls surrounding him, the bars trapping him, the guard standing before his cell. His heart raced. Where was he? And how did he get here?

He struggled to concentrate on his last memories. After a few minutes, some details came trickling back to him. He remembered the darkness of the night and the chill that made him tremble, even with a blazing fire right beside him. Then some men appeared. It was a blur of fighting and yelling, with a sudden burst of agony in his head. His last thought before he fell unconscious was that at least Henry was safe...

Merlin jolted to his feet. Pain flared in his body but he ignored it, only able to focus on the one important thought running through his mind: Henry. His young son was still out there in the forest. Alone. And vulnerable.

Merlin’s heart sank. He closed his eyes and reached for his connection with Henry, seeing the golden thread that attached them together in his mind and feeling the faint thrum of Henry’s magic in his chest. He sighed in reassurance. The boy was far from him, but at least Merlin knew he was alive. However, his relief disappeared as he realized that he still didn’t know Henry’s actual condition— if he was hungry, or hurt, or in danger.

Merlin paced his cell frantically, looking for a way out, trying to think of any spell that could help him escape. But his mind felt so foggy, so excruciating, that he couldn’t concentrate. His breathing quickened, his hands started to shake, and before Merlin knew it, he was down on his knees, hyperventilating.

“Hey! Settle down in there!” shouted a harsh voice. The guard.

Merlin ignored him. He had to get back to his son. He prayed that Henry made it back home, but they had been far from it. He was probably still in the forest. Although Merlin knew Henry was brave and capable of many things, he was still a little boy. He wouldn't know what to do on his own like this. How to survive. How to reach out for help. 

Merlin felt his blood boil as he imagined Henry alone, scared, and with bruises covering him from head to toe. God forbid his captors had touched a single hair on his son’s head or Merlin would hunt them down and—

“Leave us for a moment.”

Merlin looked up to see another man talking to the guard. He hadn’t even noticed his arrival. Squinting his eyes, Merlin saw that the man was tall with dark curls and a solemn face. The description rang a warning bell in his head, and it took Merlin a moment to realize that he was one of his captors. But the man looked...familiar. As if Merlin had known him before this.

The guard glanced at Merlin then back at the man. With a blank look, he shrugged and left. The other man remained, staring at him intensely through the bars. Merlin felt his stomach churn.

“Hello Merlin. Remember me?”

Merlin’s forehead furrowed. He stood up on shaky legs and made his way to the bars. As he got closer to the man, Merlin took a deep inhale through his nose and nearly stopped breathing when he smelled the man’s alpha scent. An image of a little boy popped into his mind, wearing a green cloak and the same scent.

“You—you’re—Mordred,” gasped Merlin.

Mordred smirked. Yes, Emrys. I’m glad you still remember me after all this time, Merlin heard echo in his mind.

He flinched. He had never enjoyed the sound of Mordred’s voice in his head, but it was particularly piercing now in his aching mind. Merlin glared at him.

“Get out of my head,” he snapped.

“Still afraid of me, Emrys?” Mordred asked bluntly but without contempt. Merlin narrowed his eyes but didn’t reply. “How is your son?” he continued, as if they were long-lost friends catching up. “He must have grown much since I last saw him.”

Merlin scowled. “What do you want from me?”

Mordred’s smirk disappeared. The edges of his lips curled downwards and his face settled into a somber expression. 

“It’s not what I want with you,” he said. “It’s what Morgana wants.”

Merlin’s eyes widened and he took an involuntary step back, grabbing the wall to steady himself.

“Morgana?” repeated Merlin, feeling a strong wave of dread rise inside him. “She’s back?”

After Morgana’s last failed attempt at ruling Camelot, no one had caught even a glimpse of her since. It was as if she had fallen off the face of the Earth. During the first few years, Merlin had been on edge, waiting for her to reappear at any moment and ruin everything he had worked so hard for. But over the years, she became a faint memory. He had grown so complacent with her disappearance that he couldn’t recall the last time he even thought about her. 

Merlin cursed himself internally. He should’ve known she would come back and he should’ve been prepared for it. A rush of fear shot through him as he thought about Arthur. Without Merlin to protect him, he would be defenseless against—

“Yes,” said Mordred, interrupting his thoughts.

Merlin’s jaw clenched as he reined in his emotions. “What does she want with me?”

“That is for Morgana to decide. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Merlin frowned at the vagueness of that response. “If you won’t tell me anything useful, why come see me at all? Come here to gloat, did you?” he spat.

Mordred raised an eyebrow. “I am not as cruel as you imagine.” He bent to pick something up. It took Merlin a moment to realize it was a tray with a stale piece of bread and some kind of gray mush on it. “I bring you food.”

Merlin stared silently as Mordred slid the tray beneath the bars. Despite his growling stomach, he didn’t move to touch it. Mordred continued to stand there, gazing at Merlin with an unreadable expression.

“We are much more alike than we are different, Emrys,” he finally said, eyes softening a touch. “I’ve learned to hide my talent as well. Your secret is safe with me.”

Merlin felt some gratitude stir at the fact that Morgana would continue to remain unaware of his magic. Though that did not lessen his resentment of the man before him. 

“Where are we?” he asked.

Mordred paused for a beat, looking hesitant. Merlin again expected a lack of an answer, but then Mordred answered, “Ismere.”

Merlin blinked in surprise. It had been cold the night he had been captured, but he hadn’t been anywhere near Ismere. He couldn’t even recollect the bitter wind or freezing frost of the land, so he must’ve been unconscious for the entirety of the journey. Merlin’s stomach dropped as he wondered how many days had passed since his capture.

“Why Ismere?” he managed to say despite the fear that froze him. “And how long have I been unconscious?”

“It’s been two days,” admitted Mordred. Merlin’s heart clenched as he thought about Henry again. His poor boy. “Morgana is searching for the Diamair.”

Merlin frowned. That word sounded vaguely familiar... “What’s that?”

“The Druid language was never your strong suit,” sighed Mordred. “It means the key.”

“The key to what?”

Mordred looked up and stared directly into his eyes, his blue irises bright and intense. Merlin swallowed.

“The key to all knowledge.”

With that, Mordred turned to leave. Merlin stood there, wondering what nefarious plan Morgana had for that, when he felt his anger surge. He clenched his fists. There was never a moment in his life that wasn’t difficult.

“Mordred,” he called sharply, watching Mordred stop in place and turn back to look at him, “there is a little boy out there waiting for his father. Do not make him an orphan.”

Mordred’s shoulders stiffened. His face remained mostly stoic, but Merlin caught a brief, uncomfortable waver in it. Silently, he walked out.

The guard returned as soon as Mordred exited. He leered down at him, but Merlin couldn’t bring himself to care. Instead he sat down and put his head in his hands. Although his mind ached in searing pain, he found himself unable to stop worrying about the two most important alphas in his life.

Chapter Text

It only took a few hours into the journey for Arthur to wish he was deaf.

Despite his anger at Arthur, Gwaine continued to be his loud, talkative self. And now that Henry encouraged him with his never-ending questions, the knight’s chatter strengthened in volume and irritation. To the point where Gwaine’s voice drowned out Arthur’s attempts to ask Henry which direction to go in.

“Did you really go to the Perilous Lands?” asked Henry in awe.

Gwaine chuckled. “Yes, with Merlin. All to save his royal backside over here.”

Although he didn’t turn around, Arthur felt the weight of stares on his back, as if everyone was waiting for a retort from him. He rolled his eyes but stayed silent. He didn’t want to support Gwaine’s prattling.

“Was it hard?” asked Henry.

“Well, it wasn’t easy. We faced a bunch of wyverns, which are like dragons. But your father is a good friend of mine and I would’ve done anything for him. I still would.”

Arthur’s grip on his reins tightened. When he realized Llamrei began to slow down in response, he loosened his hold reluctantly.

Henry made an adoring sound. Arthur peeked around his shoulder to see the boy stare up at Gwaine with his eyes round and sparkling in pure delight. Scowling, Arthur turned back around and tried his best to ignore the two.

Unfortunately, Henry continued his brazen display of admiration, “You’re so awesome. I wish I got to meet you earlier. Papa said—”

“Henry,” Arthur barked more harshly than intended. He cleared his throat. “Are you sure we’re headed the right way?”

“Yes,” huffed Henry, somehow finding a way to make even a one-word answer sound surly. “I told you the last fifty times.”

“Just making sure.” Arthur frowned, noting that they were headed north. His stomach dropped as he realized that was the way Morgana had been heading. But if she had Merlin, what did she even want with him? He hadn’t been in Camelot in years. And why was she kidnapping so many—

“Are you sure you’re not deaf?” asked Henry snottily. “Or have memory loss?”

“Believe me, I wish I did,” muttered Arthur.

“There is something wrong with y—”

“Henry,” interrupted Gwaine, preventing a potential hour-long squabble, “you asked me a lot of questions about my life, but I heard little about yours! What’ve you and Merlin been up to this entire time?”

Finally something interesting. Arthur perked up, trying to listen without making it too obvious.

A few beats of awkward silence passed. Then Henry said, “Well...we live in a Druid camp. It’s nice, but it gets pretty boring.”

Arthur frowned. So was that where Merlin had been all these years? Living among the Druids, teaching his son...magic. It made sense, he supposed. 

“How long have you lived there?” asked Arthur, not even trying to pretend like he wasn’t listening anymore.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” snapped Henry.

Gwaine hushed the boy before Arthur could retort something back. “It’s all right. He’s just curious like I am. What’s your favorite thing to do there?”

Henry hummed thoughtfully. “I like exploring. But I already explored a lot of the forest so it’s not that exciting now.” He paused. With pride warming his voice, he said, “And I like learning magic! Everyone says I’m really good for my age.”

The question that Arthur had tried to ignore for the last day suddenly ignited in his mind. He knew Henry wasn’t receptive to his inquiries, but his urge to ask was so powerful he couldn’t neglect it anymore.

“How old are you?” he blurted out.

“Why?” shot back Henry, a suspicious edge in his voice. “So you can keep calling me a little boy?”

“No, not at all. It’s clear how mature you are,” said Arthur, voice rich in sarcasm. When no response came, he sighed and admitted, “You seem interesting. I want to know more about you.”

More silence filled the air. Arthur swallowed, sure that Henry wasn’t going to answer, and couldn’t decide if he was relieved or disappointed. But to his surprise, the boy spoke.

“I’m ten.” Henry sniffed, as if displeased by this. “Almost eleven though.”

Arthur sat in silence, feeling his heart pound loudly in his chest. All the details he had learned in the last day raced in his mind, adding up, and suddenly there it was: the answer he had dreaded. It was staring him in the face, taunting him, no longer able to be ignored. 

Arthur pulled on the reins, halting Llamrei in place. The rest of the knights cursed as they tried to stop their horses from colliding into each other. Bewildered, they stared at Arthur.

“What is it?” shouted Elyan from the back. “What’s happening?”

Ignoring him, Arthur jumped off Llamrei. He walked towards Gwaine and Henry, who stared at him with wide, innocent eyes. Pretending like they didn’t know the truth. Arthur gritted his teeth. The nerve of them.

“Arthur? Are you all right?” questioned Gwaine warily.

Arthur ignored the faux concern. “When were you planning on telling me?” he spat instead.

“What?”

Arthur glowered. “Don’t pretend you don’t know. I didn’t see it before, but it all makes sense now.”

Gwaine stared at him for a silent moment. Slowly, he got off his horse, making sure not to jostle Henry on the way down. Arthur clenched his jaw. With a creased forehead and a frown on his lips, Gwaine walked up to him and clasped a hand on his shoulder.

“What do you mean? What is this about?”

Arthur shrugged him away. “Isn’t it obvious? I mean, look at him!” He gestured to Henry, who stared at Arthur like he had just descended to Earth from a different planet. “And then look at yourself! No wonder you two get along so well. You’re Henry’s father!”

Gwaine took a step back and gawked at Arthur. After several moments of opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, he finally said, “I am not Henry’s father.”

“His age almost perfectly matches how long ago Merlin left.” Arthur pointed a finger at Henry. The boy went pale, so taken aback that he looked as if he might faint off his horse. Perhaps Merlin had never told him the truth. Poor boy. “He looks and acts like you. And you and Merlin were always very close.”

“Arthur,” Gwaine began, shaking his head. His lips kept twitching upwards like he wanted to laugh. Arthur felt his blood boil. “Don’t be ridiculous. Merlin and I have always just been friends.”

“Friends?” repeated Arthur, nostrils flaring. “Is that what you would call your reaction last night to Merlin’s banishment? Just friendly caring?”

From the way Gwaine glared daggers at him, Arthur knew he brought up a sore point, one that required more time to heal. But he was past the point of caring now.

“You banished him,” said Gwaine. “And I’m sorry I’m upset that you exiled my friend, who’d been loyal to you for years, for something he can’t control having!”

Arthur swallowed. His rage somewhat diminished, but now his chest felt uncomfortably tight.

“I had no choice.”

Gwaine shook his head and scoffed. “You had a choice. And you made the wrong one.”

Arthur clenched his fists. “Sorcery was and still is illegal in Camelot. He would’ve been executed,” he snapped. “And that situation has nothing to do with you being Henry’s father.”

Gwaine closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking as if it took all his strength not to punch Arthur in the face. He exchanged a look with Henry, who stared at him with wide, nervous eyes.

“Henry is a great boy,” Gwaine began slowly, turning back to Arthur, “but he is obviously not my son.”

“What do you mean, obviously?” scowled Arthur. He must have released a strong alpha scent because Gwaine scrunched up his nose.

“Because he’s clearly yo—”

A red blur suddenly whizzed right between them. Startled, Arthur jumped back and glanced over to see a bright red arrow sticking out of the closest tree. He tensed and spun back around. As soon as he did, a large group of scraggly men jumped out from bushes and behind trees, yelling and running towards them.

“Bandits,” muttered Arthur, grabbing his sword.

The nearest bandit rushed him, drawing his sword and about to slice his side. But Arthur was much quicker. He parried then cut upwards with a speed that caught the bandit off guard. Within a minute, the man was on the ground and Arthur was moving onto his next opponent. 

Years of experience and instinct guided him as Arthur encountered bandit after bandit. While parrying another attack, however, Arthur caught something flash in the corner of his eye. He glanced there and started when he realized that the movement was a small blur of blue darting across the field, towards the center of the fight. Only one person was small enough to...

“Henry!” screamed Arthur. He tried to focus on defeating this bandit as quickly as possible so he could save that little fool of a boy. But it was difficult when he kept wanting to look over at him. “Leave!”

“No!”

Arthur scowled and dodged an attack aimed towards his face. “Somebody get that idiot out of here!” he snapped, hoping one of his knights could hear him.

“I’ll take care of him right after I’m finished with you,” said his opponent, showing off his rotten teeth as he smirked.

Fury coursed through Arthur’s veins. Tightening the grip of his sword, he thrust it forward, running the bandit through and ending any terrible intentions the man had. The bandit went down with a groan. Arthur promptly slid his sword back out and ran in Henry’s direction.

And then he stopped in place. Stunned, Arthur watched as bandits flew back in the air, landing yards away from their original location, unconscious. Some had their swords start floating away in the air. Others begged for mercy as their weapons turned on them with a mind of their own, blades held threateningly close to the men’s throats, as if held by an invisible enemy. And in the center of it all stood Henry, his eyes gleaming gold and his hand outstretched, murmuring frantically under his breath.

Suddenly Henry’s eyes turned on him, glowing and omnipotent and unforgiving. Arthur felt fear crawl up his throat. He saw his life flash before his eyes and braced himself for the fate that awaited him. 

But instead a strangled groan came from behind him. He turned to see a bandit a mere foot away from him held up in the air, face terrified and body paralyzed. The bandit was then thrown backwards, his body landing with an audible snap as he slammed into a tree.

Arthur turned back around, his eyebrows raised to his forehead. He stared at Henry, whose eyes returned to their normal, harmless blue. The boy smiled smugly.

“You’re welcome,” said Henry, putting his hands on his hips. “I just saved your life. With magic. Now can’t you see that it’s a good…”

The boy started to ramble on, but Arthur didn’t pay any attention. Instead, time seemed to slow as he noticed a bandit sneaking up behind the oblivious Henry, sword drawn and about to—

Arthur rushed forward and shoved Henry out of the way. The boy swore at him, but Arthur ignored it, lifting his sword and parrying the attack. Shocked at the sudden change in person, the bandit stumbled backwards, unprotected and careless. Arthur used the opportunity to run him through. 

Satisfied that the majority of the bandits had been taken care of and that none would surprise them again, Arthur took a deep breath and sheathed his sword. He turned around to catch Henry’s wide-eyed expression, his mouth hanging open.

“Consider us even,” said Arthur.

Henry stayed silent, not taking his eyes off Arthur. The only indication he even heard him was a slight nod to the head.

“Is everyone all right?” asked Elyan. Arthur turned to see him and the other knights headed toward them, looking worn out and a little bruised, but thankfully none the worse for wear. 

“Surprisingly, yes,” answered Arthur. He looked at Henry and slapped a hand on his back proudly. With his other hand, he gestured to the many unconscious bandits on the ground. “Thanks to Henry over here.”

“Henry?” repeated Elyan. He looked at Henry, then back down at the bandits, his jaw dropping. “You mean he did—?”

“You should’ve seen him,” said Percival, face lit up with awe. “Bandits flying everywhere. I’ve never seen something like that before. I don’t know how you missed it.”

“I must’ve been too focused on my fight.” Elyan rubbed the back of his neck.

Gwaine smiled and gave Henry a high-five. “Good job, little man. You’re a hell of a fighter.”

Arthur expected Henry to puff his chest out and boast about his abilities, surely basking in all this praise. But instead he turned a vivid red, his smile elated but tinged with embarrassment.

“I’ve never done that before,” admitted Henry, sheepishly ducking his head. “I didn’t even know I could.”

Arthur removed his hand from Henry’s back and took a step to the side so he could meet the boy’s eyes. “So you’re telling me you just rushed in there blindly? Do you know how dangerous that could’ve been?”

Henry shrugged. “It all turned out fine. You’d have been split in half if it weren’t for me.”

Arthur felt irritation rise inside him at Henry’s apathetic tone. Did the boy not care about being injured? Or even worse things happening to him? A wave of nausea followed at the thought of what would have happened to Henry had Arthur not been there in that last moment. If he hadn’t caught that bandit... 

“And if it wasn’t fine?” snapped Arthur. “If anything happens to you, I refuse to be the one to tell Merlin what happened to his son.”

“I think I’ve proven myself plenty. What I did was amazing,” huffed Henry, folding his arms across his chest. Ah. There was the arrogance. “I took out at least a dozen bandits by myself. I’ll be fine.”

“You need to think the next time something happens. You can’t just rush into—”

“Lads, as interesting as this argument is,” interrupted Gwaine, putting his arms over Arthur and Henry’s shoulders, as if the two weren’t scowling at each other, “we should move out of here before some of these bandits wake up.”

Arthur shrugged Gwaine off. Knowing the man was right, Arthur begrudgingly turned to face the rest of the group and said, “Gather the horses. We need to leave.”

Chapter Text

Merlin sighed as he sat in his cell. Despite the hours that passed by, the pain in his head didn’t alleviate. Instead it only seemed to pound louder and louder, the pressure inside growing to the point that it left Merlin exhausted and in agony. He slept the vast majority of the time, unable to do anything else.

Merlin gnawed on his lip. For the hundredth time that day, he glanced at the lock on his cell. The urge to use his magic to open it was overwhelming, but there was no way he could run off in his current condition. He was so dizzy he could barely stand. He would have to wait for the perfect moment to escape and pray that he felt better by then.

After years of medical training with Gaius, Merlin knew he had a concussion. Most cases he had seen had gone away on their own within a week, and he hoped it would be the same for him. But none of his patients had been rendered unconscious for two days following their injury.

He hoped he hadn’t sustained any permanent injury. After he escaped and tracked down Henry, the first thing he would do was gather some herbs and ask the healers to take a look at him.

Speaking of Henry. Merlin closed his eyes and reached for Henry in his mind, hoping to gather where exactly his son was, but to no avail. He was somewhere south of here, but whenever Merlin checked, his location changed. Every passing minute, he was getting closer and closer to Ismere.

Merlin’s heart sank. He knew his son all too well; the first time he noticed that the length of their magical connection was shortening rather than elongating, that the pulse of his magic was getting louder not weaker, Merlin knew that Henry was trying to rescue him. His reckless, impulsive, brave boy. Who had no idea what he was up against but wanted to save his father.

What Merlin wouldn’t give to have Henry be cautious. Just, for once, to have him put logic before bravery, to leave things for the adults to figure out. He wished he could put himself in Henry’s head to check on him and then yell at him to go home, because if anything happened to him—

Merlin shuddered. He couldn’t afford to think of a scenario like that. Not with his head and heart both aching like this.

He tried to think of something else—anything else—but everything that he thought about led to his biggest fears. His heart clenched as he thought about Arthur. The alpha man would be in Camelot, ruling and training and doing whatever else kingly prats did, completely ignorant of Morgana’s reappearance. Unaware of the danger he was in. And for the first time, without Merlin to rescue him.

Merlin’s breathing quickened as he felt a sense of panic overwhelm him. Arthur and Henry both needed him. He had to figure out an escape plan soon. But it was so hard when his head was pounding over and over again to the point where thinking felt impossible—

The sound of footsteps interrupted his thinking. He looked up, his vision still somewhat blurred. But he could see the long black dress of the figure before him, the dark hair, the cold smirk. 

Morgana.

“Hello Merlin. So nice to see you again.” She smiled sardonically, the words a mocking parody of the Morgana he once knew.

Merlin stood up unsteadily, his face cold and ashen as he leaned against the wall. “What do you want from me, Morgana?”

“Now is that any way to greet me after all these years?” Morgana glided closer to the bars, as graceful as ever. “We have a lot of catching up to do. Tell me, what have you been doing since you left Camelot? Thwarting the plans of more sorcerers? Condemning their sisters to slow, painful deaths?” she hissed, her face twisting furiously.

Merlin glared back. “Do me a favor. Let Arthur know, could you? He should know I’m quite proud of those accomplishments. I can die happy now.” He tilted his chin up, unafraid.

“Oh you’re not going to die,” said Morgana, her mouth hanging open with faux surprise before smirking. “I’m not going to make it that easy.” 

Merlin took a shaky breath as he felt his stomach sink. If Morgana were to torture him, he’d be done for. There was no way he’d be able to escape in such terrible shape.

Morgana continued, “I find it odd that you still care what Arthur thinks. Given your...disappearance.”  

“I’m still loyal to Arthur. And Camelot,” Merlin said firmly. 

Morgana raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And yet you’ve abandoned him for all these years.”

He stiffened. “I had no choice.”

“Ah yes. Poor ill Hunith. So sick she needed her son to coddle her,” mocked Morgana. Merlin felt anger stir inside him at the way she spoke about his mother, but he was relieved that she didn’t seem to know the real circumstances regarding his absence. “At least that was the story I heard,” she added skeptically.

Merlin shifted his stance against the wall, finding it harder and harder to stand as the minutes passed by. “You haven’t kidnapped me just to chat. What do you want?”

“Still so blunt.” Morgana clucked her tongue. She glanced at his body, giving him a once-over. “And weak. You look terrible. It’s a good thing I’m not having you dig. You’d collapse after five minutes.” Turning away to hide part of himself from her view, Merlin frowned. Dig? So she had others searching for the Diamair too? “No, you have a much more special purpose, Merlin.”

Morgana took a step closer to the bars. She was close enough to Merlin that he could smell her omega scent. A decade prior it had been such a lovely, flowery fragrance, but now it smelled nearly rotten. Merlin wrinkled his nose. Something had gone wrong since her own disappearance.

Morgana smirked. “You’ll be going back to Camelot to see your former master again.”

Merlin blinked in shock—she wanted him to speak to Arthur? What?—before snapping back to reality. 

“Except I would never follow any of your plans,” he spat.

Morgana laughed. “Let’s just say I have a way of making you compliant.”

Merlin shivered at the malice in her tone. His heart raced and his immediate thought was: she knew about Henry. Now that Merlin thought about it, maybe he had been wrong about Henry trying to rescue him. Perhaps Morgana’s lackeys found him instead and were bringing him back to Ismere to force Merlin to comply. Bile rose in his throat at the thought of his young son in Morgana’s clutches. 

He willed it down and forced himself to look composed. “Even if you coerce me, you’re ignoring that Arthur and I haven’t seen each other in a decade. We aren’t close anymore. He’s probably forgotten all about me.” Despite knowing that truth for years, Merlin felt a part of his heart break as he said it out loud.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” scoffed Morgana. She waved a dismissive hand. “That fool was devastated when you left. According to my reports, he moped around the castle for years. And since you left, he never hired another manservant. Or married. I’ve never heard of a more pathetic display.” She curled her lip in disgust. “I guarantee he’s still in love with you. He’ll welcome you back with open arms.”

Merlin’s eyes widened and he took a step backwards, nearly falling over. Morgana thought that Arthur...that he could possibly even…?! His face flushed red. Before he could get too carried away with the idea, he knocked some sense back into himself. Morgana was wrong. She didn’t even know the real reason Merlin had to leave Camelot. There was no way Arthur could like him after that, let alone...

“Don’t look so shocked.” Morgana rolled her eyes. “Anyone with two eyes and a brain could’ve figured that out.”

“Y-you have it all wrong,” stammered Merlin. “We—”

Morgana raised her hand and shook her head. “The truth is obvious. I don’t want to hear your pitiful excuses trying to convince me otherwise.”

Merlin shut his mouth in shock. He tried to form a response but his tongue suddenly weighed a ton. He could only focus on Morgana’s words ringing in his head: moped for years...never hired another manservant...never married...still in love with you...

“It’s unfortunate that I can’t send you on your mission now,” sighed Morgana. “But Arthur is away from Camelot. Fortunately, he should be back any day now. And then you’ll be on your merry way to stab his heart again.” The flickering torches in the room cast strange shadows on her pale face, making her look like a demented spirit as she smiled.

Merlin tried to remain stony-faced but couldn’t help the shudder that ran through his body. The thought of hurting Arthur in any way made him sick to his stomach. He felt faint but couldn’t tell whether it was from his head injury or Morgana’s threats.

Morgana stared at him for a long moment before she turned to leave. However, as she exited through the door, she called, “Good night, Merlin. Enjoy your last day of freedom.”

Merlin stood and watched her leave until he could no longer hear the faint sounds of her footsteps echoing down the hall. Then he sank to the floor, grabbed his empty food tray, and vomited into it.

Chapter Text

Other than the whole bandit debacle, the rest of the day’s journey was uneventful. Gwaine had at least tried to keep it interesting, even telling the group a dream he had where he discovered beer that tasted like apple juice. But all he got in response was crickets chirping. Ungrateful, this lot was.

Even the kid was unusually quiet. Henry had gone from asking a million questions per minute to sudden silence. Despite his concern, Gwaine let him be. In the last few days alone, the boy had already experienced enough harrowing events for a lifetime. Gwaine didn’t want to exasperate him even more.

But with all the silence, Gwaine’s mind couldn’t help but wonder. He thought back to last night and all the revelations he learned. It was still shocking to know that Merlin had magic. Magic. A force that they had been fighting against for years! And there was Merlin, hiding it all that time as he served the royal family. If Gwaine didn’t know any better, he’d think it was a ploy. 

But then he remembered that it was Merlin. Caring, loyal Merlin. Who stopped whatever he was doing to help a person in need. Who got ill on hunts because he couldn’t stand the sight of animals being harmed. Who stayed by Arthur’s side, even though he had risked getting burned alive at the stake everyday. The omega man didn’t have a cruel bone in his body.

Yet for all his loyalty and kindness, look at how he’d been treated. The thought of a pregnant Merlin out alone in the woods, weeping as he had to leave everyone and everything he knew behind, made Gwaine sick to his stomach. 

And it was all because of Arthur.

Gwaine clenched his jaw, feeling his blood boil all over again. But as fury coursed through his veins, he couldn’t help but also feel a stab of pity for the alpha man. Ever since they began this rescue mission, Arthur had turned into a different person. Half the time, his face was pale and haggard, his eyes containing a distant look as if his mind was somewhere far from the present. The rest of the time he was scowling and tense, with sudden bursts of rage.

It was obvious he was suffering. From what exactly, Gwaine couldn’t tell. The guilt from banishing Merlin? The anxiety over Merlin’s abduction? The shock from meeting Henry? Maybe all of them. The only thing Gwaine could say for certain was that Arthur was coming apart at the seams. And despite his anger at the man, he took no pleasure in the sight. 

“Let’s settle down here for the night,” called Arthur from the front, startling Gwaine from his thoughts. 

Gwaine was relieved by the distraction. There was nothing he hated more than being left alone with his own thoughts. Instantly, he hopped off his horse and then helped Henry down. 

“Let’s do this quickly before the sun sets,” said Arthur as everyone gathered around him, waiting for his instructions, “Elyan, look around the area for a stream and refill our skins. Percival, start working on supper. Gwaine, unload our belongings. Henry, feed the horses. And I’ll work on the fire. Understood?”

Everyone nodded their agreement, and they all wandered off to complete their tasks. Gwaine headed back to the horses with Henry, about to crack a joke to lighten the atmosphere, when Arthur’s voice rang out again.

“Henry,” he called, “I want you to stay here for a moment.”

Henry sighed deeply and trudged back around. Gwaine stood by the horses, unloading their supplies but keeping a close eye on the duo. He edged closer to hear their conversation but found it to be unnecessary. When it came to Henry and Arthur, it seemed they could rarely keep quiet around each other for long.

“—want to thank you for your actions against the bandits. That was a very brave thing you did back there.”

Gwaine couldn’t see Henry’s expression, but from the way the boy stood there not saying anything, he was sure he was in shock.

“…Thanks,” came the quieter reply.

Arthur smiled for a brief moment before his face turned serious. “But it was also very stupid. You can’t pull stunts like that, Henry. It’s dangerous.”

“I thought we went over this already,” huffed Henry. “You almost died and I saved you so—”

“You almost died,” snapped Arthur. “I do not plan on burying a little boy anytime soon and I want to keep it that way. Next time something happens, I don’t want you to interfere. Leave it to the knights and me.”

Gwaine hurried around one of the horses so that he could get a better look at Henry’s expression. As expected, he was scowling.

“One, I am not a little boy.” Henry took a step closer to Arthur as if to be intimidating. Considering how short he was, the action fell flat. “And second, you need my magic. Just because you’re afraid of it doesn’t mean I shouldn’t use it!”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t be ridiculous. The issue is that you are just a boy, while the knights and I have trained for these deadly situations for years. You’re not ready to fight.”

“I knew you were an idiot, but I didn’t think you were this big of one,” sneered Henry. “My magic is ten times stronger than anything you can do. You need it.”

“Henry,” Arthur warned, “this is not up for debate. Do not put yourself in danger.”

“You put us in danger,” snapped Henry in frustration. “If you hadn’t been so caught up in accusing Gwaine of being my father, those bandits wouldn’t have attacked us!”

“Well, I—”

“Well what?” Henry lifted his chin. “Are you going to accuse someone else of being my father now? How about Percival?”

The tips of Arthur’s ears turned crimson. Avoiding eye contact, he muttered something about firewood and stomped off alone into the forest. 

Henry snorted and huffed something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like ‘dollophead.’ Gwaine lifted his eyebrows. The boy looked and acted like Merlin in so many ways, yet in moments like these, when he had that stubborn gleam in his eyes and that annoyed scowl on his face, Gwaine couldn’t help but be reminded of...

Ah. Speaking of that. He approached Henry from behind and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

Henry tensed and spun around. When he saw who it was, his face softened and lit up with a grin. 

“Oh, hello Gwaine!” he exclaimed. “You surprised me. Don’t do that again. My magic can get, um, twitchy sometimes. I don’t want to send you flying or anything.”

Gwaine chuckled, though he took note to remember that. “Don’t worry, kid. It’ll be all my fault if you do anyway.” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. He needed a drink. Or two. Or perhaps a whole tavern’s worth. “So you don’t seem to get along with Arthur very well, do you?”

At the mention of Arthur’s name, Henry’s smile disappeared. “I don’t really like talking to jerks, so no. I don’t,” he said, crossing his arms.

Gwaine frowned. “What makes you say he’s a jerk?”

“How about everything about him?” Henry rolled his eyes. “He’s been nothing but rude to me.” 

“That’s not true. He’s had his…moments, but he’s trying to rescue your father. I’d say that’s pretty nice of him,” pointed out Gwaine. “And to be fair, you’ve been rude at times too. Even a few moments ago.”

Henry went silent. For a second, Gwaine thought he had offended him, but the boy showed no obvious signs of anger. Instead he wore a rather contemplative expression.

“Well...that’s different,” Henry said without elaborating.

“How so?” 

“Because he’s being an idiot,” snapped Henry. “He doesn’t want me to use my magic. I saved his life with magic and he’s still afraid of it!”

“Arthur has had a complicated relationship with magic,” began Gwaine carefully, “but I don’t believe that’s the case this time.”

”It is. You should’ve seen his face when I saved him from that bandit. He looked terrified, like I was about to run him through instead!”

Gwaine hadn’t witnessed what Henry was referring to so he couldn’t dispute it, but he quickly made his point. “I’m sure he’s still wary about magic. But Henry, I think he just doesn’t want to see you hurt.” 

Henry laughed. But not a real laugh; it was a bitter one, devoid of any humor, that should not be allowed to come out of the mouth of a ten-year-old boy. 

“He doesn’t care about me,” said Henry casually, as if he was just talking about the weather. “He hates me, just like he hates every sorcerer.”

Gwaine frowned. “He doesn’t—”

“Yes, he does,” interrupted Henry. “Don’t try to make me feel better about it. It’s fine. I’ve known for a while now.”

Gwaine’s eyes widened at that statement. “Arthur does not hate you,” he said gently but firmly, resting an arm across Henry’s shoulders. “If he hates you so much, why would he protect you and save your life? If he hates all sorcerers, why would he try to rescue your father?”

Henry paused to glance at Gwaine’s arm warily but didn’t shrug it off. “Because my papa and I both saved his life and he doesn’t want to owe us a debt,” he answered.

“Henry,” said Gwaine, looking into the boy’s eyes, “I’ve known Arthur for a long time now. Longer than you. As much as he tries to pretend like he doesn’t have emotions, he is a caring man by nature. He cares for you, and he cares for Merlin. He wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“Caring? He banished my papa.” Henry swallowed and clenched his fists, his voice raising in volume, “He doesn’t deserve anything my papa does for him.”

Gwaine paused to take in Henry’s words. He knew Henry didn’t like Arthur, but he hadn’t expected this. The resentment in the boy’s tone was strong, and it was obvious that the hurt he was trying to hide beneath it ran deep. It made Gwaine’s heart ache for him.

“It does...upset me. What Arthur did,” said Gwaine. He tried to tread lightly, and so he swallowed the bitter taste of anger on his own tongue. “I am not excusing him for it. But I know Arthur is a good man. And I know he still cares for Merlin. And for you.”

Henry looked down and kicked a small rock on the ground. “I’ll believe it when I see it,” he muttered.

“You should try giving him a chance,” said Gwaine. When Henry sent him a disgusted look in response, he added, “When I was younger, I didn’t like Arthur because he was a noble. But over time, I realized that he was much different from what I thought he was like. Even though he’s a right prat sometimes—well, most of the time—he’s still the only noble I’d lay down my life for.” 

Henry’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“It’s funny sometimes how things change,” said Gwaine, nodding. “Listen, I’m not asking you to be Arthur’s best friend. But If you give him a fair chance, you might be surprised with what you see.” 

Henry hesitated before shrugging. “I’ll think about it,” he said, which was a better reply than what Gwaine expected. 

“Good.” Gwaine smiled. “Now how long are you going to wait until you tell him?”

“Tell who what?” asked Henry. But from the way the boy avoided eye contact and stiffened beneath his grip, it was obvious he knew what Gwaine meant.

“You know. When are you going to tell Arthur that he’s your—”

“Don’t!” hissed Henry, shrugging off Gwaine’s arm and stepping back. His eyes darted between the area where the other knights were and the spot where Arthur had left to go into the forest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Wherever you got that idea from, it isn’t true.”

Gwaine quirked an eyebrow. “So if it isn’t true, you wouldn’t mind if I joked about it in front of Arthur? He accused me earlier, so I think it’s only fair if I accuse him back.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “No—I-I mean—he—” 

“Relax, little man. I won’t tell him.” Gwaine held up his hands. Henry sighed, his face transforming from one of pure panic into relief. Gwaine hated that he was the one to put such fear into the boy. And that Henry was this terrified to tell Arthur the truth. “That is up to you. But he deserves to know.”

Henry was quiet for a few moments. “You were going to tell him earlier, weren’t you? How did you know?” he whispered, sounding vulnerable. 

“Your age, for one,” said Gwaine. “Plus that temper of yours is very much like a certain prat’s.” He ruffled Henry’s hair affectionately before the boy could swat him away.

“What’s this about a certain prat?” 

Gwaine and Henry spun around to face Arthur, who carried an armful of kindling and had a suspicious eyebrow raised at the two of them. 

“Finally, you’re back! We were just talking about how long you were taking. Dawdling in the forest, were you?” grinned Gwaine.

Arthur sighed. “Really, Gwaine, I thought you knew better than to gossip about me to a prepubescent boy. Well, actually...” He paused, looked at Henry, and frowned. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Gwaine looked at Henry’s blanched face, his blue eyes practically bulging out of his head as he stared at Arthur. He opened his mouth and it was clear he was about to start stammering—

“That’s because he did!” interrupted Gwaine. Arthur glanced back at him, eyebrows raised once again. “At least he was convinced he saw one. I may have told him that one story about the ghost girl from the lake… Now that I think about it, it was probably a bit too mature for him.”

Arthur shook his head. “Don’t terrorize him. The last thing I need on my hands is a hysterical little sorcerer who’s afraid of his own shadow.” With that, he rolled his eyes and turned away from the two.

Color started to return to Henry’s face but instead of his normal ivory, it was a fiery red. The boy opened his mouth, looking like a tea kettle about to burst. 

“Don’t worry, Henry, it’s just a story! It isn’t real,” said Gwaine loudly, covering an indignant-looking Henry’s mouth as Arthur walked away.

Henry pushed Gwaine’s hand away when the coast was clear. 

“First of all, I know that ghosts are real. And I’m not afraid of them,” he sneered. His face then softened a touch. “But thanks for saving me. Anyway, I’m going to feed the horses. Let’s pretend like we never talked about this.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me, little man,” said Gwaine, smiling. After a moment, his happy expression faltered and he exclaimed, “Wait, what do you mean ghosts are real?!”

Chapter Text

Arthur sighed as he leaned back against a tree, watching the full moon illuminate the forest in a beautiful glow. After a day chock-full of chaos, tonight felt peaceful. For the moment being, there were no bandits attacking them, no pitying looks directed at him from the knights, and best of all, no arguments from Henry. Instead all he had to focus on was the quiet hum of the forest at night. 

It was a well-needed moment of respite. Even if he was on night watch.

Staying up like this was always difficult for Arthur. As much as he wished he could survive on only a few hours of sleep each night, his body didn’t agree. He was exhausted, but at least the jagged bark of the tree helped stave off sleep.

It was a good opportunity to think about possible strategies for the rest of their journey, given that he had no idea what was in store for them. Except his sleep-deprived mind refused to cooperate. 

Though maybe that was a good thing. At least he could no longer torture himself with thoughts of Merlin. Or dwell on his humiliating behavior from today.

Arthur grimaced. He needed to get a hold of himself. For mercy’s sake, he was the king of Camelot! He’d dealt with greater high-pressure situations than this without losing his mind. He had literally ended wars before they even began. What was one rescue mission in comparison to that?

A pained moan interrupted his thinking. Arthur glanced to his left to see Henry twisting around fitfully in his sleep. The boy’s face was pale and crumpled as he murmured something incomprehensible over and over again.

Arthur frowned. This was now the second night in a row that Henry had had a nightmare. He was in the midst of deciding whether to wake him when Henry let out a plaintive cry, and it suddenly became clear what the boy had been murmuring this entire time: Papa.

Before Arthur even realized it, he was already standing up and walking over.

He crouched next to Henry and touched his shoulder. “Henry,” he whispered. When he didn’t stir from his nightmare, Arthur shook his shoulder lightly and repeated a bit louder, “Henry!” 

Henry woke with a sharp gasp. His eyes flew open and instead of their normal blue, they were a glazed gold. Henry lifted his hand, and Arthur realized that he only had a few moments to calm the boy before he was about to be thrown into the nearest tree.

“Henry, it’s me! Arthur,” he whispered frantically. When the words did nothing to change Henry’s vengeful expression, he panicked and said, “You know, the dollophead that your papa used to work for!”

A ripple of confusion broke onto Henry’s face and the gold in his eyes disappeared. He blinked as if he was seeing Arthur for the first time.

“Arthur? I thought that— never mind,” he said. He glanced around and then looked back at Arthur. “Why are you over here? I thought you were on watch.”

“I am. You were having a nightmare so I came to wake you.”

“Oh,” said Henry calmly, but he had a worried gleam in his eyes as he settled back down, his arms hugging his knees close to his chest. In comparison to his usual confident state, this was the most shaken Arthur had seen him look so far. “Did I—did I say anything in my sleep?”

“No,” lied Arthur. He watched the way Henry sighed in relief, the tension draining from his body, and knew he had said the right thing. “I’m going to kill Gwaine though.”

Henry’s eyes widened. “What? Why?”

“He told you those ridiculous ghost stories earlier.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Who knows what kind of crazy dreams you’ll be having now.”

For a moment, Henry stared at him with a furrowed brow before a look of dawning crossed his face. “Oh, yeah. They were pretty scary,” he said then added, “Nothing I can’t handle though.”

Arthur met Henry’s eyes and smiled. “Of course. You’re a fighter,” he said genuinely. After a beat, he stood up and brushed his hands off. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. Goodnight.”

“Wait,” said Henry, also standing up. “Can I ask you something?”

Arthur blinked. “Yes. Come this way so we don’t disturb everyone else.” He gestured to some bushes that were nearby the group but not too close. Hopefully, the knights wouldn’t be able to hear them if they started arguing. Though he didn’t think any corner of Camelot would be spared if it devolved into a screaming match.

“What do you want to talk about?” asked Arthur when they reached the area. He tried to act nonplussed but he was sure it was obvious how surprised he was.

But maybe Henry didn’t notice. With his timid shuffling and fidgeting hands, Henry looked more preoccupied with his own awkwardness than Arthur.

“When you and Gwaine were arguing earlier,” Henry began and then paused for a long moment. Arthur’s stomach dropped, knowing where this was headed. “Why were you...why were you so upset that you thought he was my father?”

Arthur flushed a deep red. “Well. It’s—it’s hard to explain,” he stammered.

Henry raised a dark eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Arthur took a few moments to compose his thoughts. How could he explain this to Merlin’s own son? Especially when Arthur himself could barely understand his own actions from earlier. He knew he had no right to know about Merlin’s relationships, but the thought of Gwaine being Henry’s father had swept Arthur away in a whirlpool of emotion. It had felt sickeningly similar to the day when he discovered Merlin was a sorcerer. Like a deep betrayal.

But he couldn’t tell Henry that. He wouldn’t understand.

“Well,” Arthur began again, “I consider Gwaine to be one of my most trusted knights. And Merlin was my close servant. If they had a child together, I would expect to be informed.”

Henry looked at him with an unreadable expression. “So you were upset that they kept it a secret from you?” he asked.

So it was true— Gwaine was Henry’s father. Henry wasn’t even trying to deny it. Arthur felt something stir uncomfortably in his chest and hoped it didn’t show in his face. 

“Yes, I suppose that’s a good way to put it.”

Henry stared at him, his intense gaze even sharper than usual tonight. Arthur wanted to wilt under it. His instinct was to leave and pretend like this conversation, or perhaps more accurately interrogation, wasn’t happening. But he held firm and stayed until Henry decided it was over. It was the least he could do for the boy.

“So if my father was someone else—not Gwaine or one of the knights—that wouldn’t bother you?”

Arthur felt the pressure in his chest grow tighter. He swallowed. “No,” he lied.

Again Henry gave him a long look. But this time something in his expression shifted, his frown deepening as he sighed. He almost looked…disappointed. 

“All right. I’m going to go back to sleep. Goodnight,” said Henry, yawning and stretching his arms. He turned to leave, but Arthur couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling that he was failing some sort of test here.

“Hold on,” said Arthur, resting a hand on the boy’s shoulder as Henry spun back around. “I want you to know that Gwaine being your father changes nothing. I don’t think of you any differently, and I won’t treat you differently either. You’re still Henry, the smart-mouthed and fearless little sorcerer. And I’m going to reunite you with your papa no matter what.”

Henry stared up at him with his eyes wide and his mouth agape. “…Thanks,” he said quietly.

Arthur half-smiled and patted Henry’s shoulder. “Now go get some rest. Who knows what we have to deal with tomorrow.”

Henry nodded. He started to walk back but then he stood there for a moment. “Arthur?” he called hesitantly, turning around again. 

“Yes?”

“Just so you know,” he said, the corners of his lips turning upwards, “Gwaine isn’t actually my father.”

Arthur stood there in shock as he took in Henry’s admission. His immediate thought was to ask Henry about his real father. But then he realized that in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t all that important. Henry was still Henry. And Arthur would still care about him, regardless of who his father was.

“All right,” he said after a few moments. “That still doesn’t change anything.” And Arthur meant that with every fiber of his being.

Henry smiled and turned around, heading back to his spot. Arthur followed, unable to help the small smile from rising on his face.

—

She was in a dark area, dimly lit by torches. Taking a shaky breath, she felt a sense of panic overwhelm her as she tried to remember how she’d returned to her old hellhole. But as she looked at her wide surroundings and felt the grit of dirt under her feet, she realized that she was just in the underground mines and relaxed.

There was a boy next to her. She wasn’t sure how he got there, or where he came from, but there was something about him that struck a chord within her. Staring into his fierce blue eyes, she felt like she knew him all her life. But she knew that she had never seen him before.

She reached out, oddly drawn to the boy, but he flinched and stepped back. She lowered her hand, an apology already on the tip of her tongue. But before she could say anything, a cracking sound as loud as thunder erupted in the room. A red-hot light flashed in her eyes, and a moment later a blazing fire engulfed the boy.

She ran towards him. As she came closer, she realized that the boy was not actually on fire. Rather, he was holding the fire in his arms, large and blazing, until he pushed it forward with a shove. She stood paralyzed as the fire flew towards her. The last thing she saw was the glowing rage in his golden eyes as she felt the flames lick her skin—

Morgana opened her eyes and gasped. She sat up and glanced around wildly to see her normal room, with no trace of the boy or any fire. She looked down at her unburned arms and touched the soft silk of her sheets. Sucking in a deep breath, she reassured herself that it was just a dream.

Or was it? Morgana thought back to the boy, whose face she could still picture perfectly in her mind. At first she thought it had been Mordred, but other than the hair and eye color, the boy looked nothing like him. But she had felt a similar pull to the child, just as she had with Mordred. 

Was it a vision? It was getting hard to tell these days. She was plagued so often with nightmares and terrifying glimpses of the future that it was difficult to tell which was which anymore. Sometimes she didn’t even know whether she was in real life or trapped in some terrible hallucination. 

But this dream felt different than the others. It felt so real. She swore she could still feel the lingering heat of the fire scorching her skin. Could sense the rage of the boy embedded in his veins like it was her own.

A thumping sound distracted Morgana out of her thoughts. Turning to the side, she saw Aithusa slowly limping towards her, the floor trembling under her heavy footsteps. The dragon was getting bigger and bigger everyday, and it wouldn’t take long before she could no longer fit in this room. But that was a concern for another day.

Aithusa looked at her and made a worried noise in the back of her throat. It occurred to Morgana that she must’ve heard her gasping and came to check on her.

“Come,” said Morgana tenderly, feeling a rare swell of love in her broken, broken heart. She outreached her hand. “Come here.” 

Aithusa came forward and rested her cheek on Morgana’s hand, nuzzling her. 

“We’re safe here,” said Morgana. “All our troubles are in the past. I promise.” 

In response, Aithusa closed her eyes and settled down to lay her head on the sheets, as if comforted by Morgana’s words. 

“We will have the Diamair,” continued Morgana in a whisper, though she had doubts swirling inside her. They had been searching for months now with no progress. But at least she was confident in her second plan. “And even without it, we will use Merlin to end Arthur. Camelot will be ours.”

And the image of the boy ebbed away in her mind as she thought of her future glory.

Chapter Text

The next morning brought gray clouds and a bitter wind so cold that Arthur removed his cloak and wrapped it around his front like a blanket. It wasn’t particularly insulating, but at least it helped stop the chattering of his teeth when he covered his face with it. 

He prayed that it didn’t get colder. But somehow Arthur knew that it was only going to get worse from here.

That was how he knew they were steadfastly approaching Ismere.

Despite the chill, Henry was ecstatic. Inch by inch, they neared Merlin’s location, and it was the only thing Henry would speak about. His eyes gleamed with a burning desire as he repeated how close they were every few minutes. It was as if that single thought fueled the boy so thoroughly that he couldn’t even feel the sting of the wind biting his skin. Or the pang of dread at the thought of what could go wrong.

Arthur couldn’t help but feel a touch envious. He was excited to see Merlin and reunite him with Henry. But even that feeling could not soothe the gnawing pain in his stomach that emerged when he thought about what they’d find. And who they’d find.

It was a worry he could not stop thinking about, even when they rested for lunch. Though he tried his best to focus on other matters.

“I know we won’t be here long, but we should make a fire now. Just so it can tide us over until we stop again for the night,” said Arthur. 

The rest of the knights, huddled together in a miserable pile of shivering to preserve warmth, nodded vigorously.

Arthur opened his mouth, about to offer to collect kindling, when Henry seemed to have read his mind. The boy’s eyes glowed. Before Arthur could blink, a collection of twigs and branches appeared before him, already lit to form a large fire.

Arthur stared.

“What?” shrugged Henry, plopping down by the fire. “Your way would take too long.”

Unlike Arthur, the knights took no moment to spare as they crowded around the fire. They argued and pushed each other as they fought over the warmth.

Arthur shook his head at the sight and walked over to sit on the other side of the makeshift fire. The heat soothed any chill he felt and, at least in this moment, all his worries seemed to melt away. He sighed and allowed himself to relax.

“Gwaine,” called Arthur when the knight got so close to the fire that he nearly fell in, “go prepare lunch.”

“But it’s so cold,” whined Gwaine. “Isn’t it Elyan’s turn anyway? It’s time for this freeloader to start pulling his weight.” 

He winked and gestured to Elyan, who responded by tossing some freezing water droplets from his waterskin towards the man. Gwaine let out a scream that could rival a little girl’s.

The group burst into laughter. Gwaine smiled good-naturedly as he attempted to put Elyan in a headlock and rub his knuckle on his head in revenge.

“All right. That’s enough roughhousing for one day,” said Arthur when he finished chuckling. “Elyan made dinner the other day. If anyone needs to start pulling their weight, it’s you, Gwaine.”

Gwaine released Elyan and sighed dramatically. “You’re lucky the princess is on your side,” he said. When Arthur fixed him with a sharp glare, Gwaine stood and did as he was told.

“Why don’t you have a servant?” asked Henry, raising a dark brow. “Aren’t you supposed to bring them for this kind of thing? It’d probably make things easier.”

Arthur stiffened. He felt the curious gazes of Percival and Elyan on him but elected to ignore them. 

“I don’t have the need.” Arthur shrugged. The excuse sounded weak, even to him, and he rushed to build upon it. “Having to do things on your own builds character. And Lord knows we need it with these hooligans as knights.”

“Oi!” exclaimed Elyan, taking faux offense. “Don’t blame the rest of us just because of that one.” He pointed in Gwaine’s direction.

“He’s definitely the worst,” agreed Arthur, feeling a sense of relief as the conversation steered away in a different direction, “but you all get up to shenanigans.”

They all continued to chat about, with Elyan and Percival arguing over who was the bigger hooligan between them. After a few minutes, Gwaine returned to the group and handed Arthur a fistful of nuts. 

Arthur glanced at the pile of food in his hand and then looked back up at Gwaine. “What’s this?” he asked, half suspecting that this was some kind of joke.

But Gwaine wasn’t smiling. “Lunch,” he said. “That’s all we have left.”

Internally, Arthur swore at himself. He should’ve known they would run out of supplies soon. They hadn’t been prepared for this long of a journey. If he hadn’t been so incompetently fretting and dwelling on other issues, he would’ve anticipated this much earlier. Now he had compromised their own survival.

“New change of plans,” announced Arthur, standing up and pocketing the handful in his trousers. “We need to hunt and gather food.” 

“But we’ve barely seen any game this entire time,” said Percival, looking hesitant but still standing up along with Gwaine and Elyan.

“Well it’s either look for game or starve." Arthur moved towards their supplies. “And I know which one I’d rather do.”

As they began unloading their bags and searching for appropriate hunting gear, Henry popped up by Arthur’s side, a frown on his face.

“How long is this going to take?”

“Hours, probably. And that’s if we’re lucky,” admitted Arthur as he collected several arrows together. “I doubt we’ll find any large game, but maybe we’ll find some rabbits. We’ll likely have to make camp here for the night and—”

“That’ll take too long!” interrupted Henry so brazenly that Arthur stopped to look at him. “We’re so close to my papa. We can’t waste any time!”

Arthur stared at the boy in disbelief. He knew Henry was young, but even a ten-year-old should understand that they couldn’t continue their journey if they starved before then.

“Henry,” began Arthur tersely, “we have to eat. We won’t be able to rescue Merlin while weak and starving.”

Henry raised a brow and looked at Arthur as if he thought he were stupid. Which, in all likelihood, he probably did.

“Duh. I know that,” scoffed Henry. “But I have something that can help us.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Henry started to look through the unloaded bags on the ground, searching for something. Arthur felt his own patience begin to wane as several uneventful seconds passed by.

“Henry, I really doubt you can help us in—”

“I found it!” exclaimed Henry, ignoring Arthur as if he hadn’t spoken. He grabbed the sack he’d brought with him and rummaged through it, pulling out a book nearly as large as him. Then he plopped down on the grass and started flipping through the pages.

Arthur’s eyes widened. Overcome by curiosity, he couldn’t help but move closer to Henry and try to peek at the book over his shoulder. He skimmed the page, squinting at the text, but couldn’t identify any words he knew. What language was this even in?

“What’s this?”

“It’s a book,” replied Henry in such a condescending manner that Arthur scowled. “That might be scary enough for someone like you, but it’s also a book of magic. Try not to scream like Gwaine.”

“If I wanted to hear your smart mouth, I would’ve asked,” Arthur grumbled. “How is this going to possibly help us?”

Henry released a long-suffering sigh, as if it took everything in him to not start an argument with Arthur. 

“It has spells in it that can be useful.”

Arthur lifted a skeptical brow. “Even for hunting?”

“Yes,” snapped Henry, not taking his eyes off the page. “There are spells for everything. Not that you would know.”

“Well I’m trying to understand.”

“A little late for that, isn’t it?” huffed Henry. Arthur felt the heat rush to his cheeks and opened his mouth to reply, but the boy cut him off again, pointing to a particular line. “I think I found the right spell!” 

“What does it do—”

Henry hushed him and began reciting words in an unrecognizable language. When Arthur had watched Henry beat the bandits the other day, he had thought the sorcerer looked quite menacing for a young boy, with his golden eyes and fierce expression. But as he watched now, Arthur realized that Henry looked less ominous and more focused. As if he was using all his energy to concentrate on this set of words.

Within a few moments, Henry finished the spell and his eyes returned to normal. He glanced around as if looking for something and frowned, tilting his head.

“...Huh.”

“What happened now?” asked Arthur, crossing his arms.

“The spell — I don’t think it worked,” said Henry, his cheeks turning pink. It was hard to tell whether the color was from the cold or embarrassment. “Let me try again.”

“Hold on. What exactly are you trying to do?”

Henry glanced down at the book again, mouthing the words of the spell to himself. After a moment, he answered, “I’m trying to summon a deer.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows at that but said nothing. If Henry wanted to bring them a deer with magic, he wasn’t opposed to the idea. It would make hunting much easier, that was for certain. Quickly, Arthur assembled his crossbow so that he was prepared in case Henry’s spell worked this time.

But it seemed he was too optimistic. Nothing happened. Henry tried again and again, but no deer appeared before them.

“I don’t think this spell is going to work,” worded Arthur carefully, making sure not to imply that it was Henry’s fault as he rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder.

Henry shrugged him off, his face twisted in a scowl. “No! It’ll work. Let me try one more time.”

Arthur took a step back and watched as Henry recited the spell for the hundredth time. Again, nothing.

Henry clenched his fists. His face flushed such a bright red Arthur was sure he was going to explode at any moment. 

“I don’t know why it’s not working!” he yelled in frustration.

“Henry, it’s all right. I’m sure these things happen,” said Arthur gingerly, trying not to set the boy off further. He didn’t want to see what kind of magic a volatile Henry would result in. “We’ll hunt the old-fashioned way.”

“But that’ll take too long!”

“We’ll try to go as fast as we—” Arthur paused as he saw movement in the corner of his eye. He turned to see a black raven fly down next to them, fearless, before stopping a few feet away. It stared up at him with startlingly intelligent-looking eyes and cawed. “...By chance, did you summon a raven?”

Henry’s brow furrowed. He looked down at the book, then at the raven still standing there, and back again at the book. “I swear I said deer.”

Arthur shrugged. “Well I guess a bird is better than nothing.” And with that, he took his crossbow and aimed directly at the animal. 

But before he could shoot, the raven flew off. Arthur cursed, trying to follow it with his aim, when he realized that the raven wasn’t flying away. Rather, it was barreling toward him. He lowered the bow in confusion.

“What the—?”

Before Arthur even registered what had happened, the raven had already pecked his head and was coming back for more.

“Get this thing off me!” he shouted, trying to shoo the bird away. But the raven was too persistent and dodged his hands with ease, continuing to jab at him. Again Arthur tried to pry it off, only to be bitten for his effort.

He hissed and removed his hand. For a few moments, Arthur continued to panic while the rest of his bloody useless group did nothing to help. He couldn’t believe what was happening. In all his years of traveling and adventure, he’d never come across a situation like this — a demonic bird attacking him. So now not only were they going to starve, but the wildlife was turning on them too.

An idea came to him. Arthur reached into his pocket and grabbed the handful of nuts he’d placed there earlier. 

“Is this what you want?!” he yelled, chucking the nuts a safe enough distance away so that the raven wouldn’t be tempted to go after him again. “Go get it!”

Instantly, the raven flew off him and headed in the direction of the food source. It quickly gathered the nuts in its beak and took off right as Percival shot an arrow. It narrowly missed the animal and embedded itself in the ground where it had been moments before.

“Damn,” said Percival. “That could’ve been lunch!”

As Arthur adjusted his clothing and calmed down from his adrenaline rush, he realized that Percival was the only other person standing. Henry, Gwaine, and Elyan were all on the ground, shrieking with laughter.

“Very funny,” huffed Arthur, feeling the heat rush to his cheeks. He had a strong feeling his face was beet red. “Fat load of help you all were.” He glowered in their direction, but his face softened a touch when he glanced at Percival and added, “Thank you, Percival. You were the only sensible one here.”

Gwaine sat up, clutching his side with one arm as he wiped a tear from his eyes with the other.

“Thank you?” he repeated. “Percy was laughing harder than the rest of us until that raven flew off you!”

“That was the best thing I’ve ever seen,” choked out Henry, still shaking with laughter. “I wish Papa was here to see it!”

Arthur stewed in anger and embarrassment as he watched the group continue to laugh at him anew.

“I know you did that, Henry. I don’t know how, but you enchanted that bird,” said Arthur, glowering down at the boy.

Finally, Henry stopped laughing. He sat up as he settled down and got his breathing under control. “I swear I didn’t!” he tried to say. But the effect was diminished as he couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “I wish I had the idea though. Would’ve been brilliant.”

Arthur scowled, not believing him.

“It’s all right, mate. That bird was probably just driven mad by lack of food,” said Gwaine. He stood and clapped Arthur on the back, likely to reassure him, but all it did was cause Arthur to bristle. “That’ll be us soon. Now we’re worse than we started off.”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Unfortunately, Gwaine was right. They needed to go out and hunt if they didn’t want to starve.

“Gather the supplies and let’s move out. We don’t have a lot of time,” commanded Arthur.

The knights did as they were told. Henry moved back to his book, settling down on the ground and holding it in his lap as he tried to recite a spell. Arthur snatched the book out of his arms. 

“Hey! Give that back! I’m trying to find another spell,” exclaimed Henry. He jumped up, but was too short to reach the book when Arthur held it high above his head.

“I think you’ve helped enough,” spat Arthur. 

Henry glared and opened his mouth to argue back when a loud rustling noise came by some large bushes a distance away. On instinct, Arthur shoved Henry behind him. He handed the book back and reached for the handle of his sword instead.

Arthur inched forward, gripping his sword tightly in his hands. A moment later, the bush moved and something jumped out of it. Arthur braced himself defensively, readying to fight, when he glanced up and froze.

It was a deer.

He blinked and looked again. 

It was actually a herd of deer, he realized as he heard the accompanying sounds of crunching leaves and craned his head to see even more of them. He tried to count how many there were, but found it to be an impossible task as they ambled around.

Somehow the closest deer had yet to notice him. It looked to the side, its big eyes focusing away from their campsite and elsewhere in the forest. Silently, Arthur turned around and gestured to one of the knights to shoot it.

Elyan promptly shot the deer in the side. It crumpled to the ground, letting out a loud bleating sound and causing the rest of the deer to scatter.

Cheering, the knights gathered around the deer. Arthur stood there in silence. Now that he thought about it, he was sure this entire day was some elaborate hallucination he’d conjured up as a result of sleep deprivation. But then he glanced over at Henry, who was smiling from ear-to-ear and looking unbearably smug, and was sure this was no dream.

“I told you my spell worked!”

—

There was something about Mordred that always put Morgana at ease. She wasn’t sure what it was about him, but his mere presence was soothing enough. So when she finished preparing for the day and left her bedroom, she sought him out.

Currently, she was laughing at a wry joke Mordred made, clutching the sides of her throne. At her side, Mordred smiled. For a moment, as she basked in his presence, all felt right in the world. Oh how she had missed him.

“You must join me for dinner one of these days,” said Morgana. “It’s been too long. I’ve been curious what you’ve been up to while I’ve been…gone.”

Mordred smiled softly. “Of course. I’d appreciate that very much. Though I must admit it’s not that riveting a story.”

“I assure you it’s more exciting than mine,” said Morgana, fighting the urge to shiver as she thought about the darkness she’d lived in over the years. No, there was no need for that. She was happy for once, being here with Mordred, and tried to focus on that. “Tell me, what—”

A loud squeaking noise interrupted her as the doors to the throne room unlocked and opened. Morgana resisted the urge to sigh as Ruadan advanced into the room. Everyday, the man continued to grate on her nerves more and more, and she nearly regretted colluding with the other sorcerer in the first place.

“Morgana,” called out Ruadan. There was a touch of panic in his normally gravelly and self-assured voice that made Morgana pause. “May I speak to you in private?”

Morgana nodded and watched as Mordred took his leave. When the young man was gone, she asked, “What‘s wrong?”

She prayed that it wasn’t about the Diamair. She clenched her fists. If Ruadan had been lying to her about its existence this entire time, she’d make his life miserable.

“Arthur never returned to Camelot,” said Ruadan without preamble. “Only his First Knight did. He claimed that Arthur and the other knights were still investigating the kidnappings. He said they had a lead.”

“What?” spat Morgana, standing from her throne and approaching Ruadan. “Did Arthur discover our location?”

“Unclear,” said Ruadan. “But our informant overheard the knight speak to his wife. Apparently Arthur is searching for someone named Merlin.” Ruadan paused and glanced at Morgana carefully. “Is that the omega in the dungeons?”

Morgana’s eyes widened in shock. “Yes. Does he know we have Merlin?”

Something didn’t make sense here. Why was Arthur searching for Merlin now when he had a decade to do so prior? Did he know Merlin was kidnapped? And if he did, how? Morgana was sure they hadn’t been in communication this entire time. There was something strange going on here, and she was determined to discover what that was.

“The knight didn’t say. He didn’t offer much information.”

“Why do we have a spy if she won’t even tell us anything useful?” scowled Morgana, crossing her arms over her chest.

Ruadan’s eyes narrowed and he seemed to be on the verge of glaring at her. Morgana ignored him. The alpha man always seemed haughty around her, and Morgana couldn’t tell if it was just how he was naturally or if he did it because she was an omega. Either way, she didn’t care much for hurting his or his daughter’s feelings

“Luckily through my daughter’s knowledge, I have found something else useful.” Ruadan snapped his fingers. A raven flew in from out the door and rested on his shoulder. “I enchanted a raven to find Arthur. He is only a few miles from the southern border. He was with a group of knights and a young boy.”

“A young boy?” repeated Morgana. A chill ran down her spine as she thought of fierce eyes and flames licking her skin.

“I am unsure who he is,” said Ruadan. “It seems as if Camelot is getting desperate to fight against magic if they're recruiting them younger and younger.”

Morgana ignored the quip as she felt a surge of worry crash over her. Was it the same boy from her dream? Who exactly was this boy?

She took a deep breath and willed herself to calm down. No sense in worrying over it now. If it was the same child, she’d take care of it. She was a High Priestess; a little boy stood no chance against her.

“Double the guards. And send a patrol out to the southern border. I want all of them brought back alive,” she commanded.

Ruadan nodded and turned to leave.

Morgana settled back down in her throne. “And send Mordred back in!” she called. 

She had time to kill before Arthur got here. After all, it was just a small change of plans. Instead of sending Merlin out to Camelot, Arthur would be meeting them here instead. Now she would be able to witness the betrayal and death of Arthur Pendragon firsthand.

She smirked. This may be better yet.