Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Merlin waited, coughing, for the smoke to clear. It was frustrating that when he and Lancelot had finally managed to steal a few hours with the intention of spending some quality time together, they were accosted by a magical creature that spoke in riddles and eventually vanished with a cackling laugh. Although Merlin was thankful that it did vanish because he really had more important things to do.

As soon as he could see again, he started to scramble to his feet and immediately noticed that something was not right. His body felt different, unfamiliar as if he hadn’t used it for a while, and yet he was certain that only a few minutes had passed. He looked down and frowned. Why was he wearing Lancelot’s gambeson? They weren’t in the habit of exchanging articles of clothing (except shirts, sometimes, but never the gambeson—Merlin preferred it on Lancelot or, better yet, discarded on the floor of his room). Also, it fitted him very snugly now, not like that one time he had tried it on to amuse the knight. Strange…

‘Merlin?’

He looked up sharply and saw himself sitting on the ground a few feet away, blinking stupidly.

‘What the–’ he started to say but got distracted by the fact that he was speaking in the rich voice that always turned him to jelly.

‘What’s going on, Merlin? Why are you… me?’

Lancelot was lying, was his first, quite absurd thought. I do not look cute when I’m confused.

‘Merlin? Was it that cryptic creature? Did it enchant us?’

The warlock pulled himself together. He needed his wits about him for this one, although it was going to be difficult.

‘I assume so. Do you remember what it said? Maybe there was some clue in those stupid riddles?’

Lancelot furrowed his brow and appeared to concentrate.

‘I think there was something about “changing your perspective,” “trying something new,” and… strawberry jam?’

Merlin stopped staring at the very strange and disconcerting sight that was his ‘thinking face’ and nodded.

‘Yeah, there was definitely something about strawberry jam.’

Lancelot looked at him expectantly.

‘Does it convey anything to you?’

‘Apart from the fact that we have once again managed to get ourselves into the most extraordinary pickle? No. Also, I feel like I’m having this conversation with myself, which is weird.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Lancelot sighed and ran a hand through his (well, Merlin’s) hair, somehow still managing to make it as unconsciously charming as always.

Focus, Merlin, focus.

‘Well, I think we’ve covered the “changing your perspective” part, although I’m not sure what it was supposed to accomplish. Unless it was to confirm that I’d much rather look at you than at myself.’

Okay, he had to admit he blushed adorably, but that was probably Lancelot shining through. Merlin was certain the knight could make a troll look appealing.

‘My sentiments exactly,’ Lancelot murmured and even said not in his voice it sounded amazing and made the warlock feel all warm inside. ‘Although I feel I should clarify, in case Gwen is somehow listening, that it’s not because of my low self-esteem. I’d simply rather look at you than at anybody else.’

‘If you were wondering, that’s how you look when you don’t know what to say,’ Merlin muttered, averting his gaze in very pleasant embarrassment and feeling his cheeks burn.

‘Do I really turn so red when someone pays me a compliment?’

Merlin nodded vigorously with a teasing smile.

‘It’s like you’re trying to match your cloak.’

‘And now I’m probably matching your neckerchief.’

Merlin cocked his head to one side.

‘Hmm, it’s actually a good look on me, so keep it up.’

Lancelot’s response was immediate and as sincere as he could make it with a face that was not his own.

‘Every look is good on you.’

Merlin groaned inwardly. At this rate, they were going to be solving this situation until the next century.

‘You know you’re being the opposite of helpful right now?’ he chided gently.

‘Whatever do you mean?’ Lancelot was apparently going for wide-eyed innocence, but if that was what Merlin’s face looked like when he told Arthur he had no idea how something had happened, it was a miracle the Prince ever believed him.

‘As fun as this is, I would really like to get back to my body and our original plans. So be a good sorcerer’s assistant and help me figure out how to reverse this spell.’

There was a pause as Lancelot visibly switched to his thinking-hard-because-Merlin-needs-my-help mode.

‘You know what usually breaks such enchantments?’ he said slowly after a moment.

Merlin’s eyes widened when he realised what the knight was implying.

‘Absolutely not. I’m sorry, I’m not kissing myself,’ he said firmly, eliciting a soft laugh from Lancelot.

‘It would be “trying something new,”’ the knight pointed out with a grin. ‘Just close your eyes and pretend it’s me. Because it is. And if it works, you’ll get strawberry jam for your troubles.’

It was Merlin’s turn to grin.

‘Nah, if it works, I’ll be busy enjoying my preferred version of you.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

Chapter Text

‘Huh. I was so sure this would work,’ Lancelot said, looking perplexedly at his hand, which was still very much not his hand.

‘Maybe you’re not my true love after all,’ Merlin smirked and immediately regretted it. Lancelot was a master of pulling off the ‘sad puppy look,’ but with Merlin’s face at his command… oh boy, he would have made Uther cry.

‘Joking, joking!’ he clarified hastily, mentally kicking himself. Lancelot’s self-esteem was much improved these days, but even so, that was probably one idea that Merlin shouldn’t be putting into his head. ‘Clearly, strawberry jam is more important than we thought. Come on, let’s find some.’

He got up and extended his hand with a smile that was meant to convey just how much he didn’t mean what he had said. Lancelot obviously got the message loud and clear because he blushed and let Merlin pull him to his feet.

‘What’s our best bet? The kitchens? Or Gaius’s pantry?’ he asked practically (when given a task, especially one in his capacity as a sorcerer’s assistant, Lancelot tended to forget his self-doubt and get all business-like—which was kind of hot… but also beside the point, Merlin).

‘I don’t think I ever saw Gaius eat any jam, so I doubt he keeps a stash of it somewhere. And I know for a fact that Arthur is not a fan of strawberries in any form. I think we should start at the market.’

‘Oh, then we can get a new blanket while we’re there,’ Lancelot remarked matter-of-factly.

Merlin scrunched up his face in confusion.

‘A new blanket? Why would we need a– Oh, I see, haha, very funny. It was mostly your fault, you know, because you were distracting me. Besides, it’s only a little singed at the edge, you can barely even see it.’

‘Still, maybe we should get a spare blanket just in case you get distracted again?’

Merlin had to close his eyes because there was no way he was having this conversation while looking at himself.

‘Again, opposite of helpful, Lancelot,’ he said reproachfully. ‘Let’s focus on finding strawberry jam, ok?’

Suddenly, they heard a twig snap behind them, and Lancelot’s muscle memory proved very strong. He whirled around while his hand flew to the hilt of his sword—which, of course, wasn’t there—so he ended up gaping at his hip in disbelief. It was a good thing then that the presumed threat turned out to be just Gwaine.

‘Oh, hello, lovebirds,’ he grinned at them. ‘Sorry to interrupt this cosy little thing you’ve got going, but the envoys from Mercia arrived a bit earlier than expected, and Arthur is summoning you back.’

‘Oh, for the love of…’ Merlin sighed dramatically. It was just like the Prince to spoil his fun. ‘I know he likes to show off his Knights, but surely, the four of you are ornamental enough?’

Gwaine stared for a second, and then a mischievous smirk spread slowly across his face.

‘Well, well, look who’s not all prim and proper. Merlin’s really rubbing off on you, eh, Lancelot?’

Lancelot just rolled his eyes, and Merlin snorted with laughter—which was pretty much their standard reaction to most of Gwaine’s comments, but as it appeared as if it was the other way round, they couldn’t really blame him for looking a tad surprised.

‘Right,’ the knight continued, a little uncertainly. ‘So, anyway, thanks for the compliment, Lancelot, but Arthur says he needs someone who can also sweet talk these guys into making a deal.’

Fortunately, Merlin had enough presence of mind to stop himself from enthusiastically agreeing that Lancelot was very good at sweet talking people (and also murmuring sweet nothings and generally being sweet—oh great, he was getting distracted again…) because that would have been really out of character. Lancelot accepting compliments was a rarer sight than the Questing Beast.

‘I’m sure there are people who are better qualified than me–’ Lancelot began (Case in point, Merlin sighed with fond resignation) but was interrupted by Gwaine.

‘No, no, sorry, he didn’t mean you, Merlin.’

The warlock scoffed but managed to cover it with a cough. Of course he hadn’t. Arthur had many flaws—and underestimating Merlin’s talents was at the top of that list—but in this case, the Prince was right not to consider him. Even if he weren’t a servant, he just hadn’t the patience for trade negotiations. Besides, when you had someone like Lancelot at your disposal, you didn’t go looking elsewhere. They could all be charming if they wanted to (even Arthur), but Lancelot had the uncanny ability to make people trust him from the get-go.

‘Huh?’ Merlin started when the object of his musings elbowed him gently in the ribs.

‘We really should get going, Lancelot,’ Gwaine said apologetically. ‘I promise to make sure Arthur gives you more time off later. By the way, Merlin, can I talk to you for a second while we walk?’

‘Sure,’ Merlin replied automatically and was taken aback by a strange flicker in Gwaine’s eyes.

‘I didn’t know you needed Lancelot’s permission to do it,’ the knight said lightly, but there was definitely something off about his look, making Merlin realise what impression his answer had given.

‘Of course he doesn’t,’ Lancelot interjected hotly, then blinked rapidly a few times and corrected himself, ‘I mean, I don’t.’

Smooth, very smooth, Merlin telegraphed to him, wrinkling his nose, and Lancelot grimaced.

Gwaine was looking from one to the other, frowning, then his brow cleared.

‘Oh, I get it! You’re, like, answering for each other, right?’

Merlin couldn’t believe their luck. Gwaine had just given them a perfect explanation for the inevitable slip-ups.

‘Oh no, busted,’ he replied in mock disappointment, cringing inwardly because it sounded really weird coming out of Lancelot’s mouth.

‘You know, that is actually an awesome idea!’ Gwaine threw his arms around their shoulders and shook them affectionately. ‘It’s going to drive Arthur nuts!’

‘That’s the plan,’ Lancelot muttered weakly while giving Merlin a pained look. Their actual plan of finding strawberry jam and hopefully switching back to their own bodies was getting spectacularly derailed.

Chapter Text

The trek back to the castle was… not quite enjoyable, to put it mildly. Merlin walked ahead, feeling a little self-conscious because the scabbard with the sword in it kept bumping around his legs, and with every step, it became more and more clear to him that he was doing a very poor job of ‘impersonating’ Lancelot. Although, to be fair, it was unlikely that anyone could copy the easy grace with which the knight carried himself, his movements always sure and elegant. Even when he doubted himself, it didn’t show in his stance, and he stood up straight with his head held high (unless he was ducking it in that certain way and… damn it, Merlin!).

Having narrowly avoided walking into a tree, the warlock glanced back to see how his doppelgänger was doing. Lancelot was listening to Gwaine, apparently at ease, but Merlin could tell he was surprised and… touched? Wait, was Gwaine telling him about…?

‘You know,’ he said loudly, forgetting that such a rude interruption was not Lancelot’s style at all (but then, they had been rude to begin with by excluding him from the conversation), ‘we should hit the tavern later. I haven’t been in ages.’

Gwaine raised his eyebrows sarcastically.

‘Really? Three days are “ages” now?’

‘What?’ Merlin couldn’t quite hide his confusion, but luckily, Lancelot came to his rescue.

‘Yes, you went with Gwaine and Percival, remember? When I had some… stuff to do for Arthur.’

‘Oh, right, yes, well, it obviously wasn’t memorable enough, so all the more reason to go again.’ Oh gods, he was screwing this up royally, wasn’t he?

‘I’m game,’ Gwaine grinned, ‘but please be obnoxiously affectionate with Merlin at least half the time.’

‘Why?’ Merlin wasn’t opposed to the idea on principle, but it was a strange request, even by Gwaine’s standards.

‘Because then I might stand a chance with Mary the barmaid. She seems to have a crush on one of you, I’m not sure which… or maybe both? Anyway, you being all over each other should work in my favour.’

‘Well, I guess we could inconvenience ourselves for your sake,’ Lancelot did a pretty good imitation of Merlin’s mock-suffering sigh, which earned him an impressed glance from the warlock.

Gwaine rubbed his hands together gleefully.

‘I knew I could count on you. You’re always so selfless.’

That gave Merlin an idea.

‘Well, actually, there is something you can do for us in return.’

The knight looked at him a little warily. He had probably remembered his earlier promise to make sure they had more time to themselves and was now wondering if Lancelot was going to ask him to cover his patrols.

‘Can you get us some strawberry jam?’

Gwaine blinked.

‘I don’t think I want to know why you need it,’ he said slowly, ‘but sure, I’ll find some for you.’

It was Lancelot’s turn to give Merlin an impressed look.

Nice one, he mouthed, and the warlock shrugged in a ‘you know me, I’m awesome’ gesture.

Fortunately, Gwaine decided to change the subject and began telling a long story about his recent patrol with Elyan, which allowed them to relax a little (Merlin still had trouble with his not-very-knightly gait, but at least he could now focus on keeping the scabbard in place, which meant fewer bruises on Lancelot’s legs—yes, he had his priorities right, thank you very much).

When they finally reached the castle, Gwaine told Lancelot to make himself more presentable—Merlin somehow managed not to huff indignantly at this point—and went off to inform Arthur about their arrival.

‘Come to the council chambers as soon as you can!’ he called over his shoulder.

‘Will do!’ Lancelot replied and pulled Merlin in the opposite direction to the physician’s quarters.

‘Where are you going?’ the warlock asked in bewilderment. Surely the body swap didn’t make Lancelot forget where they lived?

‘Um, my ceremonial clothes are, you know, in the other room.’

‘Oh, right. I keep forgetting you have your own chambers. They must be hung with cobwebs by now.’

But they weren’t. In fact, they turned out to be very tidy and more spacious than Merlin remembered.

‘Huh. You know, this is a waste of a perfectly good room,’ he remarked, looking around at the large window and an even larger bed.

‘I guess.’ Lancelot shrugged indifferently and went over to the chest where he stored his less-used possessions. ‘Maybe we could use it for drying herbs or something.’

‘It beats me why people think you’re the romantic one,’ Merlin snorted, and Lancelot threw him an amused glance.

‘Fine, we can have candlelit dinners here.’

‘Um, technically, they’re always candlelit.’

‘I meant the kind where we’re alone.’

Merlin sighed dreamily. Between their duties as servant and knight and secret missions to protect Camelot, such moments were a rare treat.

‘Now you’re talking. Actually, let’s have one as soon as we strawberry jam our way out of this mess.’

‘Speaking of which…’ Lancelot laid the bundle he had retrieved from the chest on the bed. ‘I hope that’s not actually how I walk but A for effort.’

‘Well, since your version of me has too much poise, I guess we’re both bad at this,’ Merlin answered, not turning his head, focused on getting out of the gambeson. ‘So… what did Gwaine want?’

‘Let’s just say… your birthday surprise for me is no longer a surprise.’

The warlock groaned.

‘When it’s all over, I’m going to find that creature and punch it in the face. Here, help me with these fastenings. I swear I’m never again making fun of Arthur for not being able to dress himself.’

‘I’m sure he’ll appreciate it,’ Lancelot muttered teasingly, and Merlin shoved him in the shoulder. It was meant to be playful, but he must have miscalculated his strength because Lancelot staggered and crashed into the table.

‘Sorry, sorry! Wow… I knew you were strong, obviously, but I didn’t expect… I mean… you’re always so gentle…’

‘Yes, well, it’s like you with your magic, Merlin,’ Lancelot replied, wincing as he rubbed his elbow. ‘I adjust to the circumstances.’

Now, that brought up an interesting point…

‘I wonder which of us has–’

They were interrupted by a loud thumping on the door.

‘Lancelot, Arthur says that if you don’t, quote, get out here right now and turn on that damned charm of yours, unquote, he’s going to make Merlin clean all the boots in Camelot.’

‘Threatening you with punishing me? Is he for real?’ Merlin panted, trying to find his way inside Lancelot’s chainmail. ‘Why is this bloody thing so heavy if it’s only for show?’

‘Good question. I’ve always been afraid to ask. Here, let me fasten that belt for you. As for Arthur’s threat… it would work, you know.’

Not for the first time that day, Merlin melted a little inside.

‘I would really like to show you how much I appreciate that but–’

‘Lancelot, hurry up!’

‘But there’s no time,’ the knight nodded, throwing the cape around Merlin’s shoulders. ‘Rain check?’

‘Absolutely.’ Merlin hoped fervently that strawberry jam really was the solution (and that they would get their hands on it soon) because he couldn’t keep having these conversations with his mirror image, as it were.

Gwaine’s urgent knocking derailed that particular train of thought, making him drop the cloak pin he was fumbling with. He and Lancelot both bent down to retrieve it and bumped their heads together in the process.

‘Ow!’

‘Lancelot, I’m not kidding!’

‘Just a second!’ Merlin yelled back but then, suddenly, felt completely overwhelmed. ‘What on earth are we doing? This is madness. I can’t go out there and be you. How am I even supposed to walk in this? This will be a disaster, Lancelot, I can’t–’

‘Hey, hey, breathe.’ Lancelot laid steadying hands on the warlock’s shoulders. ‘It’s going to be fine. You’ve got this.’

Merlin closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Lancelot’s, focusing on the calming words.

‘I know it seems daunting. But if anyone can pull this off, it’s you. Who else knows me so well?’

‘But what if I mess it up?’ Merlin asked in a small voice.

‘Then it will be Lancelot who has done that.’

‘If you think that’s any comfort–’ he drew back to look pointedly at the knight, but Lancelot only tightened the grip on his shoulders.

‘It doesn’t matter because you won’t mess it up. You’re not just brilliant at magic, Merlin. You’re smart, and you can be really persuasive if you want to. Maybe being in disguise, so to speak, will make you feel more confident to–’

Merlin’s heart swelled in his chest, and he didn’t even register that he was using Lancelot’s own calloused hand to stop the knight from talking.

‘Remember how I said I’m not doing a certain thing?’ he whispered.

‘Uh-huh.’

‘I’ve changed my mind…’

Chapter Text

It may have felt different but was no less effective in making Merlin forget about everything else… at least until a loud crash made them jump apart.

‘I knew you were making out in here!’ Gwaine looked torn between smirking with satisfaction at being right and rolling his eyes exasperatedly. ‘And people say I’m the one who can’t be left unsupervised.’

The objective hilarity of Gwaine appearing to be the most responsible of the three of them, coupled with all the stress and worry that he had managed to drown out only for a little while, made Merlin burst out laughing, and he collapsed against Lancelot, shaking with helpless giggles. Gwaine’s expression turned to confusion and then concern.

‘Merlin, are you sure our noble knight hasn’t drunk one of Gaius’s weird potions by mistake?’

Lancelot hesitated, which gave the warlock the chance to catch his breath and gasp, ‘No, you’re just funny, Gwaine.’

‘Well, obviously, but I rarely get more than a snort out of you.’

‘Then cherish this moment and let’s go before Arthur makes good on his threat.’ Ever the pragmatist, Lancelot pushed Merlin gently towards the door.

The warlock reached behind him and squeezed the knight’s hand.

‘Another rain check?’ he muttered.

Lancelot replied by squeezing his hand back and then letting go unwillingly. They had agreed at the beginning to limit their public display of affection to a minimum, at least around the castle. They weren’t hiding anything, of course, because Merlin had rebelled at the idea of having yet another secret, but they preferred to keep a low profile. Lancelot had a hard enough time as it was, not being of noble birth (which just proved the utter stupidity of the whole concept, in Merlin’s opinion), so he didn’t need extra attention from those who would consider their relationship inappropriate, at best. They had told their friends, of course—or rather, confirmed their suspicions—but otherwise, kept their private lives as private as possible.

Hurrying along in chainmail and a cape proved challenging, and Merlin was once again painfully aware of his less-than-graceful movements, but at least he didn’t fall flat on his face, which could be chalked up as a success.

Gwaine accompanied them to the very doors of the council chambers (‘To be safe’) and then left on his strawberry jam-finding mission (‘Since Merlin has asked so nicely…’—of course, it had really been Lancelot who put his charm and persuasion skills to good use and reminded the knight of his promise).

When they were alone again—apart from the two guards, who, somehow, didn’t count—Lancelot stood in front of Merlin and smoothed the cape on his shoulders, then gave him a look that Merlin knew so well and yet was always thrilled to see. It conveyed a lot of things, but it all boiled down to an unhesitating ‘I believe in you,’ which boosted the warlock’s confidence to no end (of course, this wasn’t always helpful because it encouraged Merlin to proceed with half-baked plans, which sometimes resulted in chaos and destruction).

‘Ready?’

He nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped through the doors. His gaze fell first on Arthur, who was sitting at the head of the long table, tapping his fingers against the rim of a goblet impatiently. On his right sat four of his advisors and, opposite them, the Mercian delegation, including a woman in a very fine dress.

‘There you are, Lancelot,’ Arthur said with just a hint of annoyance.

Merlin felt Lancelot nudge him in the back.

‘Sorry, Ar–’ Another nudge. ‘I mean, my apologies, Sire.’

The Prince shot him a look, then turned to the woman.

‘My lady, this is Sir Lancelot. Sir Lancelot, this is Lady Beatrice, Lord Bayard’s niece.’

Merlin bowed as he had seen Lancelot do countless times (hoping he did it justice) and said, marvelling at how smoothly it rolled off his tongue, ‘My lady.’

He took his seat at the table and immediately felt out of his depth. He was used to standing behind Arthur’s chair on such occasions and being ignored by everybody; now, all eyes were on him.

‘Ah, I see why the Prince insisted we should wait,’ Lady Beatrice said with a trace of amusement in her voice, and Merlin realised that she had recognised his role in all of this because she was the Mercians’ Lancelot, so to speak.

‘As I’ve mentioned,’ Arthur put in hurriedly, ‘Sir Lancelot has spent some time in Mercia before becoming a Knight of Camelot, and I would appreciate his insight in this matter.’

Merlin frowned. So Lancelot hadn’t been asked here just because of his pretty eyes and Arthur actually wanted him to contribute more substantially to the negotiations? He felt a surge of pride for his knight (and also gratitude for Arthur that he was giving Lancelot this opportunity and showing everyone that he trusted and valued him) until it hit him that he hadn’t ‘spent some time in Mercia.’ No time at all, in fact. Which could prove problematic if that was the main reason for Lancelot’s participation in this.

He automatically searched the room for the knight’s reassuring smile, but Lancelot wasn’t there, and Merlin’s heart sank. So he was going to mess it up, after all. He would make some blunder, and Arthur would think Lancelot had lied about his time in Mercia (because, unfortunately, no matter how hard they all tried to forget about it, the memory of that first lie ages ago about being Lord Eldred’s son still raised its ugly head from time to time), but the Prince would be more disappointed than angry, and that would simply kill Lancelot, and…

Suddenly, a movement on the left caught his eye, and the warlock almost smacked his forehead when he realised he had been looking for the wrong person. Merlin-who-was-actually-Lancelot was standing behind Arthur’s chair, making small motions with his hand as if he was… writing? Oh, of course! Merlin couldn’t help smiling fondly at the reminder. He may not have been to Mercia himself, but he knew all about it from the letters of a certain wandering sword-for-hire. Good thing I’ve read them a ridiculous amount of times, he almost chuckled.

In the end, everything went better than expected. Arthur and Lady Beatrice discussed the general terms of the deal, leaving the finer points to the advisors, and Merlin found himself joining in the conversation quite naturally. He even forgot he was playing a part; he just said things he would have said as himself if he were ever given such an opportunity.

He only faltered once, when Lancelot was refilling his goblet like the good servant that he was pretending to be. For a moment, before he remembered what was going on, Merlin couldn’t understand why his hand was moving of its own accord. When he did realise it was because someone else was currently occupying his body (which meant that he, in turn, was in that someone else’s skin), he tensed up, and his mind went blank. But then, the other hand that usually belonged to him rested for a fleeting moment on his shoulder in what was clearly a steadying gesture, and Merlin was able to focus again.

Eventually, Arthur took note of the time and announced that they should take a break and resume the talks the next day. When Merlin realised it was over and the sky hadn’t fallen because of what he had said or done, he felt a certain light-headedness (Lancelot would call it ‘reckless abandon’ later). So when Lady Beatrice rose from the table and said, ‘I hope I’ll have the pleasure of your company at dinner, Sir Lancelot,’ he didn’t even blink an eye before doing arguably his best impression of Lancelot so far.

‘The pleasure will be all mine, my lady.’

Watching the Mercians leave, he could feel his body relaxing. He hadn’t embarrassed Lancelot, and Arthur seemed satisfied with his contribution, so he thought congratulations were in order.

As if on cue, he felt Lancelot’s breath on his neck, and the knight whispered in his ear, ‘That was impressive.’

Merlin was about to ask if he meant that last flirtatious look (of which he was quite proud since it had made Lady Beatrice blush a little), but Arthur’s voice alerted him to the fact that they were not yet alone.

‘Well, I think we’ve made progress. Merlin!’

The warlock remembered just in time not to react. Lancelot, however, forgot that he should.

‘Merlin!’

It seemed it was his turn to nudge the knight.

‘Yes, Sire?’

Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘You can stop with the “Sire,” they’ve left.’

‘Yes, Si– I mean…’ Lancelot’s eyes went wide as his brain obviously short-circuited.

‘Yes, clotpole,’ Merlin supplied in a stage whisper because he just had to see the appalled look that was undoubtedly going to appear on his face courtesy of Lancelot (perhaps his success at the negotiating table made him relax a little too much…). Arthur gaping like a fish was an added bonus.

Since it seemed that everybody was too shocked to react in any way, Merlin seized the opportunity.

‘May we be excused? Sire?’

‘What?’ Arthur was still gawking at him. ‘No. I mean, yes, you may go, Lancelot, but I need Merlin to help me prepare for dinner.’

Oh, right. It was time for Lancelot’s performance as the Prince’s clumsy manservant. If he was being honest, Merlin was a little disappointed that he wouldn’t be there to witness it.

‘Well then, I’ll go and see if… our door is still jammed.’ He gave Lancelot a wink and turned to go. The last thing he heard was Arthur hissing, ‘What have you done to the noblest of my knights, Merlin?’

The warlock chuckled to himself. He was starting to enjoy this.

Chapter Text

His plan was to hopefully find Gwaine and/or strawberry jam before dinner, although it became distinctly less pressing. Even if they didn’t manage to switch back to their own bodies in the next hour or so, Merlin felt confident that he could keep up appearances for a little while longer. After all, Lady Beatrice didn’t know Lancelot, so she wouldn’t notice any slip-ups on his part, and the others would be too busy stuffing their faces with all the delicious food to pay much attention to him (and hadn’t he earned a hearty meal at the Prince’s table, too?). So yes, there really was no rush.

Still high on his success from earlier, he forgot about the one person who could expose him for being the imperfect copy of Lancelot that he was. In other words, he forgot about Percival. Which is probably why he ran straight into him the second he had turned the corner.

‘Oh, hello!’ The knight was his usual benevolent self. ‘I’ve heard about the Mercians. How did it go?’

‘Fine,’ Merlin replied cautiously, feeling the tension seep back in. He had to tread very carefully here.

Percival’s friendly smile turned thoughtful.

‘You know, this is incredible. Who would have thought a year ago that we would both be here, in Camelot, serving as knights, and that you would be taking part in royal negotiations?’

‘Yeah, it is pretty amazing,’ the warlock replied softly, struck by the look of wonderment on Percival’s face.

‘To tell you the truth,’ the knight continued slowly, his eyes unfocused, ‘I didn’t think we would make it. I was sure that trying to take back Camelot from an immortal army was a suicide mission.’

‘Then why did you come with Lan– with me?’ Merlin was genuinely curious.

‘Because you were all in a dither, and someone had to keep an eye on you.’ Percival winked at him slyly (or as slyly as it was possible for this kind-hearted giant to wink). ‘Seriously though? You were the closest thing to a family I had, Lancelot, and I figured, well, if he cares so much about this, then I care about it, too.’

Merlin could feel his brain whirring as he tried to think of a suitable response.

‘It’s like I said at the Castle of the Ancient Kings. I believe in the world that Arthur will build, and I wanted to help make it happen.’

Yes, that sounded very Lancelot-like, he thought with satisfaction, but Percival just threw him an unimpressed glance.

‘It wasn’t Arthur who sent for you.’

‘Well, no, but–’

‘I was there, remember? When you got that letter. And also during those months before when you were secretly hoping for that letter.’

This time, Merlin had absolutely no idea what to say.

‘Remember how Lord Festor told us about the North Star being a guiding light for travellers? It sounds cheesy, I know, but I think Merlin is your North Star. And I’m so glad you’ve found your way back to him.’

Merlin knew that the knight he was pretending to be was good with words but didn’t expect Percival to be so eloquent. Perhaps it was a side of him that only Lancelot got to see. He looked away guiltily because it felt as if he had unwittingly tricked the knight into being open and honest with him; Percival was, after all, under the impression that he was talking to his best friend (it wasn’t a nice thought, but the warlock had to focus on something other than that North Star thing because it was… a lot to process).

‘Speaking of which… Did you manage to tell him about Ealdor?’

Merlin froze. Lancelot most certainly did not tell him anything about Ealdor.

‘What about it?’ he asked as casually as he could, but Percival was already clapping him on the shoulder consolingly (the warlock wasn’t expecting that, and his knees almost buckled).

‘Don’t worry, you’ll find the right moment. Just make sure he’s sitting down when you tell him.’

For a second, Merlin felt dread creeping up his spine. There was always a fear at the back of his mind that one day, Lancelot would announce that he was leaving again. Although he seemed happy, Merlin knew better than anyone that the knight could talk himself into believing that his feelings did not matter. Sadly, it wasn’t hard to imagine Lancelot getting it into his head that Merlin and Camelot would be better off without him (the warlock was always afraid to bring this up, in case it gave the knight any ideas, which meant, however, that he never told Lancelot how big a pile of horseshit that was). So it was conceivable that Lancelot’s news had something to do with that…

Stop, you’re being paranoid, Merlin told himself firmly. He has promised you, hasn’t he? Besides, Percival wouldn’t be so casual about it, not after that whole North Star speech; in fact, his behaviour suggested that the surprise was a nice one. And why would Lancelot’s leaving have anything to do with Ealdor?

‘Anyway, I finally used that trick we learned from Rodon and disarmed Leon. You should have seen his face,’ Percival smiled proudly.

Despite still trying to figure out what Lancelot’s news could be, Merlin made an effort to follow the exhaustive recapitulation of what had happened at training. It seemed Percival was ten times more excited to be a knight than Lancelot… or maybe the latter just didn’t have the chance to fully enjoy his new role? Oh gods, was Merlin hogging all their time and attention with his magic and we-have-to-save-Camelot-again stuff? Even their ‘day off’ had been hijacked by some stupid spell-casting creature…

No, he had to snap out of it and do something productive, like find that damned jam.

‘There you are!’ Gwaine’s timing was usually terrible, which meant that this particular interruption was even more perfect for being unexpected. ‘Is Percival still reliving his moment of glory? You should have seen him, Lancelot, he was–’

Merlin felt the sense of urgency return, although it now had more to do with getting Lancelot alone and asking him about Ealdor (but maybe also about other things because no matter how thrilling it felt to be called his North Star, Merlin had to make sure that Lancelot’s life didn’t revolve solely around him).

‘Did you find it?’ he asked a little impatiently because Gwaine seemed intent on repeating everything that Percival had already described in excruciating detail (not that Merlin considered sword fighting boring, exactly, but he preferred to watch it in practice than to listen to it being dissected theoretically).

‘Find what?’ Gwaine asked, nonplussed.

‘The jam!’ Merlin huffed in exasperation. A part of him realised that the others didn’t understand the significance of this search, but still…

‘Oh, that. Well, it’s a funny story, actually. I went to the kitchens but obviously avoided Audrey, who would have gutted me for disturbing her dinner preparations… and for other things, as well; she seems to hold a grudge… So anyway, I asked Sadie, who said she thought there were at least three jars of it in the pantry. Only when she went to fetch them, it turned out that they were all gone. Weird, huh?’

‘Yeah,’ Merlin replied automatically, although it wasn’t, not really. Food got nicked from the kitchens all the time, as Gwaine probably knew better than anyone.

‘So it seems that whatever you need the strawberry jam for will have to wait.’ The knight waggled his eyebrows.

‘Hold on, aren’t you allergic to strawberries?’ Percival asked with a frown.

‘I don’t know,’ Merlin replied slowly, trying to remember if the subject had ever come up. ‘Am I?’

‘Isn’t that what we thought when you broke out in hives after eating them once in Haldor?’

The warlock stared. When was Lancelot planning to mention that small detail? Or did he miss being the biggest self-sacrificing idiot around and just wasn’t going to say anything? Honestly, that man was a danger to himself.

‘Are you alright, Lancelot? You’re acting weird, mate.’

You would too if you’ve had the day I’ve had, Merlin sighed to himself wearily as his List of Things to Ask Lancelot ASAP grew to include a rhetorical ‘Strawberry allergy? Are you kidding me?’.

‘I’m fine. I’ll see you guys at dinner,’ he forced a smile and left them standing in the corridor with puzzled faces.

He needed to take a break from this emotional rollercoaster for a moment before his wits decided to leave him, never to return.

Chapter Text

Usually, when he wanted some peace and quiet, Merlin went to the top of the highest tower, but he thought better of it now. It would take him too long to get there, and he would be more conspicuous as a dashing knight in chainmail and a cape. The next best option was his room, so he hurried towards the physician’s chambers, hoping he wouldn’t meet any of his friends on the way. He didn’t, but as soon as he pushed open the door with a sigh of relief, he came face to face with Gaius.

‘Lancelot? I didn’t expect you before nightfall. Did something happen?’

In light of the shenanigans the two of them got up to on a regular basis, the physician’s concern was understandable. Merlin considered telling him the truth but realised that would lead to something precisely opposite to peace and quiet, so he decided to act as if everything was perfectly normal.

‘No, we had to come back earlier because of the Mercians.’

‘Oh, I didn’t know. I’ve just returned from the lower town.’ The physician looked at him with sympathy. ‘Well, I’m sorry. I know how much you both looked forward to this day off.’

Merlin shrugged and bit his thumb absent-mindedly.

‘I guess a whole day with Lancelot instead of “Merlin, do this, Merlin, do that, Merlin, find my missing sock” was too good to be true. What?’ he asked as Gaius’s eyebrow flew upwards.

‘Care to explain what’s going on, Lancelot… or should I say, Merlin?’

The warlock closed his eyes. There goes ‘perfectly normal,’ he thought with resignation. Well, at least not having to pretend around Gaius would make the situation easier on this front.

‘What did you do this time?’ the physician asked in his well-practised ‘I don’t really want to know, do I?’ voice.

Ah, so maybe ‘easier’ was too optimistic…

‘Nothing, I swear! We were minding our own business—that was the whole point, after all—and then this creature appeared out of nowhere, said a bunch of nonsense, and then we realised we had swapped bodies.’

‘So Lancelot is–’

‘Helping Arthur prepare for dinner, yes.’ Merlin winced as a thought struck him. ‘Frankly, I’m not sure which of them will be more scarred by that.’

Gaius dismissed that particular problem with a wave of his hand and went over to the bookcase.

‘What did that creature look like?’

‘I don’t know, I couldn’t really see,’ the warlock sighed and then added defensively when Gaius gave him an exasperated look, ‘There was a lot of smoke, okay?’

‘And what exactly did it say?’

‘Mostly gibberish. It mentioned something about changing our perspective, though, which I’m sure Lancelot is doing right now, having to wait on Arthur… And, well, I certainly learned something new about him…’ Merlin paused as this brought the ‘Ealdor mystery’ to the front of his mind again, and he actually ached to ask the knight about it.

‘Anything else?’

‘Well, strawberry jam seems important.’

Gaius’s eyebrow jumped even higher.

‘Why must you always–’

‘Bump into a magical creature that we’ve never heard of? We just like to keep you on your toes.’ Merlin smiled wryly. ‘I have no idea but believe me, I’d do anything for some normalcy.’

Gaius nodded with a sigh and took one of the books from the shelf.

‘It’s a powerful curse,’ he muttered to himself while leafing through it, ‘but we should probably start with common remedies.’

‘If you mean, “true love’s kiss,”’ Merlin interjected, ‘we’ve already tried that. And don’t say it may not have worked on principle.’

‘I wasn’t going to suggest that.’ Gaius looked offended. Living at close quarters with them, he probably knew more about their relationship than anyone else (and certainly more than he wanted to know, if the looks he gave them sometimes were any indication). He could thus really appreciate what the warlock and his knight meant to each other. ‘Well, another thing that often lifts such enchantments is the stroke of midnight.’

‘Oh, that would be nice, so I’m pretty sure it won’t happen.’ Merlin had learned not to expect things to be easy for him.

Gaius pursed his lips in thought.

‘Of course, it may be that you must first learn a lesson…’

‘But what lesson is that?’ Merlin almost shouted in frustration. ‘I already know Lancelot is as important to me as my destiny to protect Arthur. He’s part of that destiny. I’m so used to keeping things from others that having someone who sees and accepts me as I truly am is… freeing. Lancelot is my freedom. And I trust him with my life. I’ve trusted him from the very beginning. I’m not sure, but… now, don’t get mad, Gaius… but I think I may have told him about my magic that night after he was knighted, even before the whole thing with the Griffin. We were both drunk, so he probably wouldn’t have remembered it anyway, and as I say, I’m not sure I actually told him, but I definitely considered doing it because I wasn’t afraid to. I didn’t know much about him; I didn’t know how he felt about magic; I only knew that I was safe with him, that I would always be safe with him.’

Merlin paused, breathing hard. Who would have thought that swapping bodies with Lancelot would be such an emotional ordeal for him?

Gaius looked at him in silence for a few moments, then got up and wrapped him in a comforting hug (Merlin wondered briefly if it was the first time the physician had embraced Lancelot—he certainly didn’t remember it happening before).

‘Merlin…’ he started to say but was interrupted by the gong sounding for dinner.

The warlock stepped away with a sigh.

‘I have to go.’

‘I’ll keep looking for a way to break the spell.’

‘Thanks, Gaius.’

On the way to the dining hall, Merlin managed to get a grip on himself. He wouldn’t be doing Lancelot any favours by acting weird; it was time to turn on the charm. When a servant directed him to a place between Lady Beatrice and one of her advisors, he bowed and said, ‘My lady’ courteously before sitting down.

‘Sir Lancelot,’ she replied, her eyes crinkling, and then the conversation flowed quite freely. Lady Beatrice was a delightful dinner companion, smart and funny and attentive, and Merlin found himself enjoying the whole thing more than he had expected. He weighed his words very carefully, however, to avoid any mistakes. Even if she didn’t know Lancelot, she would notice that something was amiss if he started talking about helping Gaius with gathering herbs.

At one point, she turned to Arthur, who was sitting on her other side, and that was when Merlin became aware of a familiar presence behind him.

‘How did it go?’ he whispered without looking up from his plate. It was probably best not to draw too much attention to themselves.

‘You weren’t kidding,’ came a soft reply as Lancelot leaned over the warlock’s shoulder, ostensibly to pour him more wine. ‘Arthur really throws things at you a lot.’

Merlin barely contained a guffaw and couldn’t help glancing up.

‘I suspect it intensifies when I’m all deferential for no reason.’

They shared a smile, and then Lancelot moved on to fill another goblet.

‘You two seem close,’ Lady Beatrice remarked, and Merlin turned to her with apprehension. She didn’t appear put off by her observation, though.

‘We are close,’ he replied because there was no point in denying the obvious. He didn’t expect any scathing comment from her but wondered if she would tease him good-naturedly.

Lady Beatrice, however, only sighed.

‘Mother was right; all the good ones are already taken,’ she muttered, as if to herself, and then asked a question that took Merlin by surprise, ‘Does Prince Arthur know about you two?’

‘Yes; why?’

She smiled at his alarm.

‘It’s just that you’re trying to be discreet, and I wondered if you were keeping your relationship under wraps.’

‘No, it’s not really a secret. It’s just… well, better this way.’

Merlin thought he saw a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

‘Well, I hope it doesn’t have to stay this way for long.’

Merlin found Lancelot across the room and felt his face stretch in a smile.

‘I hope so too.’

When dinner was finally over, he excused himself and approached the Prince.

‘Arthur–’ he began, itching to whisk Lancelot away but unsure how to phrase his request so that it wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

The Prince, however, apparently read his mind and seemed very eager to grant his wish.

‘Oh gods, yes, please, take Merlin and keep him as far away from me as possible until he stops with the “model servant” act. He’s driving me crazy.’

‘As you wish… Sire.’ It took a lot of effort to keep a straight face in view of Arthur’s massive eye roll.

‘Right, I’d better not see either of you tonight.’

That suited Merlin just fine, so he grabbed Lancelot by the elbow and steered him towards the door.

‘Excuse us, excuse us… we need to leave right now… Prince’s orders…’

‘What’s going on?’ Lancelot whispered, evidently surprised by the rapidness of their exit. ‘Did you find the jam?’

Merlin almost laughed. Strawberry jam was very far from his mind at the moment.

‘No, there’s no jam in the kitchens, so we’ll have to go to the market like we planned. But it will have to wait till tomorrow.’

‘So what’s the rush?’

The warlock supposed that ‘We need to talk’ might sound a bit ominous, so he only replied, ‘You’ll see,’ and pulled the knight after him. Once they were out in the corridor, he quickened his pace, wishing he could just transport them to their room. It was the only suitable place for the conversation he intended to have.

Once again, he didn’t take Gaius into account, but fortunately, the physician’s chambers were empty, and he breathed a sigh of relief when he finally shut the door that separated their safe space from the outside world and locked it with a quick spell.

‘What’s going on?’ Lancelot was visibly confused but also so trusting that Merlin’s throat constricted with emotion.

‘Help me get this stupid thing off,’ he tugged at the chainmail. The knight obliged, and Merlin was soon able to stretch with a grunt. Lancelot’s body may have been used to carrying the weight, but it still felt nice to be rid of it. He took a deep breath and finally asked the question that had been gnawing at him for the past couple of hours.

‘Lancelot,' he said solemnly, almost deafened by the beating of his silly heart, 'do you want to tell me something about Ealdor?’

The knight's shoulders slumped.

‘How–?’

‘Percival mentioned it. Well?’

He watched this strange mirror image of himself—which despite the different appearance was so undeniably Lancelot—duck its head and look up at him shyly.

‘I asked Arthur to give you a week off so that I could take you to visit your mother. We’re leaving as soon as these negotiations are over.’

Merlin was very glad he had waited to ask about this until they were alone because it was currently beyond his ability to keep a low profile and not throw his arms around the knight’s neck. He should have known it would be something like this. After all, it was what Lancelot did: he listened to him complain about or wish for something and then took action. Merlin had mentioned recently that he missed his mother (and immediately wanted to kick himself because at least he had a mother), and it must have given Lancelot the idea to organise this trip. And of course he made the preparations behind Merlin’s back so that the latter wouldn’t be disappointed if it didn’t work out.

‘How. Dare. You. Be. So. Perfect,’ the warlock muttered between kisses, walking them slowly towards the bed.

‘I’m hardly–’

‘Shut up, you are.’

Their fall on the mattress was less graceful than usual because Merlin had forgotten to cushion it properly the way Lancelot always did, and they both got the wind knocked out of them. Perhaps this was what enabled another thought to penetrate the affection-induced fog clouding Merlin’s brain, making him sit up abruptly.

‘Wait, no, actually, you’re monumentally stupid. When were you going to tell me about your allergy to strawberries?’

Lancelot groaned.

‘Percival again?’

‘Well, to be fair, he thought he was talking to you. But don’t change the subject.’

‘They were just hives, Merlin, and I’m not even sure I got them from those strawberries.'

The warlock shook his head resignedly. There was no point in arguing with Sir More-Stubborn-than-a-Donkey.

‘Still, you shouldn’t keep things like that from me. Promise you’ll take better care of yourself?’

Was it his imagination, or was there something mischievous about Lancelot’s smile?

‘I promise… as long as you promise to do the same.’

Oh, you sneaky little…

His hands flew to the knight’s sides, but instead of the usual squirming and undignified squealing, all he got was an amused glance.

‘You’re not ticklish, Merlin, remember? I, on the other hand…’

Seeing the glint in Lancelot’s eye, Merlin realised that he was in big trouble.

Chapter Text

This time, they were interrupted by soft knocking and a familiar voice calling through the door, ‘Boys, it’s me. May I come in?’

‘It’s Gwen,’ Merlin hissed with a hint of panic in his voice (he thought he had the right to be a little on edge).

‘I know,’ Lancelot seemed unperturbed by this development.

‘What are we going to do?’

‘Let her in, maybe?’ The knight was still maddeningly calm.

‘We can’t; she’ll know.’

‘Not if we keep our heads,’ Lancelot said reasonably. ‘We’ve convinced everybody else.’

True, but this was Gwen. The one person who knew them both really well, helped them commit the first of their many crimes when they were pretending Lancelot was a nobleman, unwittingly pushed them to confess their feelings to each other…

‘Merlin? Lancelot? Are you in there?’

Of course, it wouldn’t be such a terrible thing if she found out about this. They usually tried to solve their magic-related problems by themselves to avoid drawing too much attention to the fact that it happened nearly every other week (they agreed that Merlin shouldn’t be associated with spell-casting more often than was absolutely necessary—that is, only when he had to save Arthur’s ass). But Gwen had had enough close encounters with magic to know that getting enchanted wasn’t really one’s fault, so she probably wouldn’t jump to any absurd conclusions about one of her friends being a sorcerer or something.

‘I just wanted to see if you were alright because Gwaine says you’ve been acting weird.’

‘See?’ Lancelot looked at Merlin pointedly. ‘She already knows something’s wrong. Avoiding her will only make matters worse.’

‘Fine,’ the warlock conceded. ‘But you do the talking. It’s exhausting pretending to be your noble, eloquent self.’

Lancelot elbowed him playfully in the ribs and called out, ‘Come in, Gwen’ (as she entered, Merlin was suddenly aware that something was wrong but couldn’t put his finger on it). They shifted on the bed, and she squeezed in beside them, her eyes roaming their faces worriedly.

‘You don’t have to tell me anything,’ she said slowly, ‘but you can, you know that, right?’

Lancelot nodded with a grateful smile and looked at Merlin, clearly leaving the decision about what to tell Gwen up to him. And the warlock suddenly felt too tired to lie.

‘We’ve swapped bodies,’ he announced without preamble and almost laughed when her mouth fell open.

‘Come again?’

‘We ran into a magical creature in the forest, which put a spell on us, and now I’m him, and he’s me,’ Merlin explained.

‘I…’ Gwen was clearly flabbergasted. ‘I’m not sure…’

Lancelot took her hand and gazed at her intently.

‘Live for me, or everything that I am has been for nothing.’

Merlin figured that the knight was probably recalling something he had told Gwen that night in Hengist’s fortress to convince her it was really him, despite his appearance suggesting otherwise, but he still felt a small pang of jealousy. He didn’t exactly mind that they had had feelings for each other in the past, of course, but being presented with the evidence of that affection (even as a sort of echo) was not his idea of fun. Knowing it had happened was different from actually hearing his knight saying such words to someone else. Live for me, or everything that I am has been for nothing… Well, what else could he expect from Lancelot, who never did anything half-heartedly, especially when it came to love?

It seemed to have done the trick, however—which was hardly surprising because Gwen would have to be blind not to see Lancelot ‘peeking out’ from behind Merlin’s face—and she gave a little incredulous sigh.

‘This is…’

‘A bit inconvenient, yeah,’ Merlin put in quickly, hoping to make the moment pass. ‘But we’re working on it, so hopefully, we’ll soon be back to normal.’

‘Is this why you’re so obsessed with strawberry jam?’ she asked and added quickly, ‘Gwaine’s words.’

‘Yes, we think it may help,’ Lancelot nodded.

‘How?’

‘The creature mentioned it,’ Merlin explained. ‘We haven’t figured out how exactly that would work, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

Gwen considered this for a moment.

‘I’m no expert,’ she said slowly, ‘but isn’t it possible that you’ve been sent on a wild-goose chase?’

Merlin and Lancelot looked at each other in surprise.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, whatever its motives for enchanting you, why would that creature tell you how to break the spell?’

‘Er…’

‘Not one of our brightest moments, Lancelot,’ Merlin said after a pause because it seemed so obvious now that Gwen had brought it up.

‘Oh no, I didn’t mean it like that!’ she protested hurriedly with an anxious look. ‘It just seems strange…’

‘No, no, you’re right; it makes sense that it would want to distract us from finding the real solution.’ Merlin offered a quick thanks that Gaius hadn’t fixated on the jam like they had and was even now conducting more comprehensive research. They would have to help him tomorrow.

‘You’re a lifesaver, Gwen,’ Lancelot said, squeezing her hand, and Merlin’s heart lurched a little… until he told it to stop being ridiculous.

She smiled in return and then giggled suddenly.

‘Do you call Arthur “Sire” all the time?’

Lancelot cringed.

‘Can we please not go into that?’

‘I’m sorry, I just… He must be so confused.’

‘I suppose I won’t hear the end of it when this is all over,’ Merlin sighed.

Gwen eyed him thoughtfully.

‘Are you going to tell him?’

‘Arthur? Gods no. He’d be mortified if he knew he had been gushing about his favourite knight to the said knight. Because he has been gushing, hasn’t he?’ Merlin winked at Lancelot, who blushed.

‘Well, not gushing, exactly…’

‘Oh, come on. I hear it every day. “Lancelot really killed it at training today.” “No one can charm these nobles like Lancelot can.” He really is your biggest fan, you know? Well, after me, of course.’

The knight’s face was quickly turning the colour of the neckerchief he was wearing.

‘Wow, this might be the most bizarre thing I have ever seen,’ Gwen announced, stifling a laugh. ‘You look like the other one, but you are so clearly yourselves… Wow, just wow.’

‘Yeah, it’s really weird talking to myself like that,’ Merlin admitted. ‘We’d better find a way to break this spell soon.’

‘Do you need help with that?’ she asked, turning serious for a moment.

‘Thanks, but you probably have your hands full taking care of the King. Besides, Gaius is already on it,’ the warlock replied and, seeing Lancelot’s surprise, added, ‘I’ll tell you about it later.’

‘Well, if you need me, you know where to find me. Sorry, but I have to go now. I promised to meet Matilda, Lady Beatrice’s lady-in-waiting.’

‘Oh?’

‘Yeah, she’s quite taken with you, Merlin… I mean, Lancelot… uh, well, Arthur’s current manservant, to be exact, who is probably a mix of you both. Anyway, I’m going to tell her some embarrassing stories, so she doesn’t pine after you when she returns to Mercia,’ Gwen grinned.

‘Tell her about the time Lancelot and I pretended to be mad at each other,’ Merlin suggested. ‘That should do the trick.’

Gwen’s smile faded a little.

‘Ah, yes, the story of how you were inconsiderate jerks. You’re right, that should work. Well, I’m off. Try to stay out of trouble and keep me posted, hm?’

And with that, she swept out of the room, her mission to find out what was wrong accomplished.

‘Well, that wasn’t so bad.’ Lancelot stretched and fell back on the bed. ‘I’m glad we told her.’

‘Yeah,’ Merlin replied absent-mindedly, staring after Gwen, because the feeling that something was wrong returned and intensified with every second.

‘But if it’s not strawberry jam we should be looking for–’

‘Lancelot,’ he interrupted the knight as the nagging thought turned into a sudden realisation and hit him with full force. ‘I’m sure I’ve cast a spell on that door.’

The knight frowned.

‘But… it wasn’t locked.’

‘Exactly.’

Lancelot sat up slowly.

‘Maybe you forgot…’ he said without much conviction because they both knew perfectly well that after a memorable incident involving Gwaine (thankfully, the knight had only walked in on them making out, not using magic), locking that door had become second nature to Merlin.

‘I suppose there’s only one way to find out.’

Even before he cast the spell, he knew it was no use. There was no surge of magic in his body, no tingling of the skin; nothing besides a heaviness in his heart as he realised what that meant.

‘I guess I don’t have to fear the stake anymore,’ he tried to make a joke of it, but his voice quivered because the truth was that he suddenly felt incredibly vulnerable.

‘Does that mean that I…?’ Lancelot trailed off, looking apprehensive.

Merlin had not thought of that.

‘Do you want to try?’ he asked quietly.

After a moment of hesitation, Lancelot nodded curtly.

‘I do.’

‘Then focus on that candle and say, Bael onbryne.’

‘Bael onbryne.’

Nothing happened… and Merlin felt relieved. Because if Lancelot had magic, he would have to spirit him away somewhere where there would be no risk of anyone finding out about it. But first, he would have to fight him on this because the knight wouldn’t want to leave, saying that it was no different from Merlin staying in Camelot despite having magic, but of course it would be, it would be entirely different because Lancelot would be the one in danger…

‘I guess I have my answer,’ the knight was saying dubiously. ‘Though I could have sworn I felt something hot going through my arm… Well, I probably imagined it.’

Merlin’s heart skipped a beat.

‘You didn’t imagine it,’ he said with a sinking feeling. ‘It probably didn’t work because you’ve never done it before. Here…’

Taking Lancelot’s hand and extending it towards the candle, he tried to remember what exactly he used to do to cast that spell before it became so simple he could do it without thinking.

‘You need to–’

All of a sudden, the wick burst into flame, and Lancelot started so violently that he nearly toppled off the bed.

‘Shit,’ he said dazedly, his use of expletive a testament to how shocked he was. ‘Is that how it feels? Doing magic?’

The warlock stared at the burning candle in confusion.

‘I don’t understand…’

‘It seems that only your mind can wield the magic that’s in your body, which means you’ll have to take me with you everywhere until we figure out how to fix this,’ Lancelot said half-jokingly, but Merlin did not find it funny.

‘No, no, no, this is all wrong!’ He put his head in his hands. ‘I wanted to make sure you had a life of your own besides helping me deal with my stuff, and now you’re more indispensable to me than ever!’

When there was no reaction to his outburst, he looked up to see Lancelot staring at him with a curious expression.

‘What?’

‘I’m sorry, I’m not… fishing for compliments or anything… but… do you really mean it?’

‘What?’

‘That I’m indispensable to you,’ Lancelot finished quietly, flushing with embarrassment.

‘How can you even ask? I thought I made it clear long ago.’

Lancelot gave an apologetic shrug, and Merlin was reminded that the knight had had so much taken away from him in the past that he never took anything for granted anymore.

‘Come here.’ He wrapped him in a tight hug. ‘I’m never letting you go, unless you tell me to. And probably not even then…’

He felt Lancelot tense in his arms and wondered if he was going to protest, but it turned out that the knight had something else in mind.

‘Merlin,’ he whispered huskily, ‘how do I lock that door?’

Chapter Text

Merlin stretched with a yawn and blinked his eyes open. The sky looked overcast, threatening rain, but he could tell it was still early, so he snuggled back under the (only very slightly singed) blanket.

‘I had the weirdest dream,’ he muttered.

‘Oh yeah?’ came a sleepy response from behind him, and Merlin offered his usual thanks for another day that he got to wake up next to Lancelot.

‘Yeah. We’d swapped bodies, and I had to pretend to be you during negotiations with the Mercians.’

‘That is weird,’ the knight agreed. ‘Especially since I had the exact same dream.’

Merlin whipped his head around and was met with the strange sight of himself looking adorably dishevelled.

‘Well, I guess we can add “stroke of midnight” to the list of things that should have worked but didn’t,’ he sighed and promptly got distracted by another strange sight—that of a pale arm draped across his chest (after all, he was used to that arm being tanned and muscular).

‘Stroke of midnight?’ Lancelot propped up his head on his free hand. ‘You mean like that time we got stuck together with Gwen?’

‘Mhm.’ Merlin disentangled himself gently and sat up. He’d much rather stay where he was, but then he could not hope to focus on solving their predicament. ‘But, as I predicted when Gaius mentioned it, that would have been too easy.’

‘Oh, right, you were going to tell me about Gaius. I suppose he was thrilled to the teeth when he found out?’ Lancelot’s eyes were regrettably still blue, not brown, but the twinkle that the warlock loved so much was there all right.

‘He was positively ecstatic,’ Merlin grinned. ‘But he promised to help us find a solution.’

‘So he has no idea how to fix this?’

‘Well, he suggested it could have something to do with us learning a lesson, but I have no idea what it could be.’ The warlock scratched his chin and grimaced (he was never going to get used to having that stubble). ‘I mean, sure, I’ve had some small epiphanies–’

‘Oh?’ Lancelot raised his eyebrows questioningly, and Merlin started to count off on his fingers.

‘You’re even stronger than I thought; you’re even worse at taking care of yourself than I thought; you own my heart no matter what you look like; I rely on you too much, but that’s because you’re always there for me, for which I am ever so grateful…’

His enumeration was cut short when Lancelot sat up and wrapped him in a hug.

‘That’s because you mean the world to me,’ he said simply, and Merlin felt himself go weak.

‘Is that your epiphany?’ he made a feeble attempt at a joke because his brain was shutting down at an alarming speed.

Lancelot chuckled.

‘No, my epiphany is that kissing myself is not so bad.’

‘I know,’ Merlin giggled. ‘I thought it would be weird, but it seems I’m just conveniently ignoring the fact that you look like me.’

‘Well then…’

‘No, no, no, stop distracting me, Lancelot!’ He pushed him away and flung the pillow down between them for good measure. ‘We need to fix this.’

The knight pouted a little but, judging by the look of concentration that appeared on his face after a moment, finally started giving the matter due consideration.

‘So maybe… since nothing we had discovered about ourselves yesterday broke the spell, then maybe… maybe this is not about us at all,’ he said slowly.

Merlin squinted at him.

‘What do you mean?’

The knight shrugged.

‘I’m not sure what I mean; I’m just brainstorming. But maybe… it has something to do with changing how others see you?’

Merlin sighed.

‘I’m listening to you with polite interest because I love you, Lancelot, not because you’re making much sense.’

‘Look, let’s say we stay like this till the end of the negotiations with the Mercians. Then, after they’re successfully concluded, presumably with “Lancelot’s” help, we tell Arthur that it was actually you all along—’

‘And he goes ballistic, and we never have to worry about anything ever again because we’re six feet under,’ Merlin interrupted with a snort. ‘Good plan.’

Lancelot, however, was not to be deterred.

‘No, we tell him, and then he has irrefutable proof that you are capable of so much more than just polishing his armour.’

‘And what? The enchantment will break once Arthur realises I’m not useless?’ the warlock asked a little scornfully. ‘Then say goodbye to your body, Lancelot, because you won’t be returning to it any time soon.’

This earned him a reproachful look from the knight.

‘You’re being too hard on Arthur. He already knows that, but maybe he needs a little push to acknowledge it.’

‘A shove, more like,’ Merlin muttered, and Lancelot rolled his eyes.

‘I don’t know if this will help, okay? All I’m saying is that maybe it’s an opportunity to let him see you in a different light.’

‘Yeah, no offence, Lancelot, but I seriously doubt that Arthur’s opinion of me would have mattered that much to that creature in the forest. If it’s not some elaborate joke that will require the use of strawberry jam, after all, then it must be about something more significant.’

The knight acknowledged the truth of that statement with a resigned nod and then froze suddenly, gazing off into the distance with a stunned expression. Merlin shook him by the shoulder in alarm.

‘Lancelot? Lancelot!’

The knight’s eyes refocused, and he looked at the warlock with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

‘This will sound crazy, but hear me out. What if… what if you use me to try and persuade Arthur to lift the ban on magic?’

Merlin stared. And stared some more. When he finally regained his voice, he said incredulously, ‘You’re out of your mind.’

Lancelot took both of his hands and gazed at him intently.

‘Listen, this could work. If the suggestion comes from his trusted knight who has travelled in many kingdoms and seen magic used for good…’

Merlin could only shake his head dazedly.

‘This is… I cannot express how insane this is.’

‘I know it sounds like that but… well, I’m obviously not suggesting that you spring it on him that his manservant has magic… but you can try and show him that he needn’t be afraid of it.’

‘And what if I don’t persuade him? More importantly, what if he grows suspicious? I know he’s oblivious most of the time, but if his trusted knight, as you say, starts talking out of the blue about lifting the ban on magic, he’s bound to think something’s up.’ The warlock couldn’t believe that Lancelot—who was completely paranoid about Merlin’s magic being revealed accidentally—would even suggest such a thing.

‘Well… then it won’t be you he’ll suspect,’ Lancelot pointed out.

‘No, it will be you, and I’m not taking that risk!’

‘But it won’t be a risk because I don’t have magic,’ the knight argued stubbornly.

‘This is not about having or not having magic!’ Merlin cried in frustration. How did he, of all people, not get it? ‘It’s about appearances. Your favourite word, remember?’

‘What are you–?’

The warlock leapt up from the bed and started pacing around the room in agitation.

‘Who do they think defeated the Griffin, which supposedly could only be killed by magic?’

‘Well, okay, but the point is that no one thinks I used magic to do it.’

‘But if you oh-so-casually mention to Arthur that he should let sorcerers roam free in Camelot, someone may put two and two together! Or they may realise that they don’t really know where you were and what you were doing when the Immortal Army disappeared so conveniently. There are so many ways in which you could be connected with magic–’

‘I think you’re exaggerating the risk.’ Lancelot wore the dogged expression that never boded well because it meant he was prepared to stick to his guns no matter what.

‘Oh, am I? Well, forgive me for worrying about you,’ Merlin snapped irritably. ‘Why are you pushing this?’

The knight was clearly struggling to maintain his usual level of self-control, his knuckles turning white where he gripped the blanket.

‘Because I hate that you have to hide such an important part of yourself! Because I vowed to fight for freedom, your freedom, and for the first time, I see a chance of doing that!’

‘Oh, so this is about you being my knight in shining armour? It doesn’t matter what I want as long as you can play the hero, is that it?’

Lancelot recoiled as if he had been slapped, and Merlin wanted desperately to take it back, to stop, but the words kept pouring out.

‘This is my life and my magic, Lancelot, and I will decide when and how to tell the world about it! But it most certainly won’t involve putting you in harm’s way!’

‘But this is not just about you or me, Merlin! You could stop the persecution of innocent people–’

‘So now you’re saying I’m selfish? That I don’t care about them?’

‘Of course not–’

‘Well, I’m sorry that I value your life more than–’

‘Then maybe you shouldn’t! What if this is the first step to bringing Albion about?’

Deep down, Merlin felt that Lancelot was right, but he was not yet ready to face that truth. Letting out a frustrated groan, he snatched his shirt from the floor and would have stormed out of the room… only the door was locked, and he needed Lancelot’s help to open it. Which was annoyingly symbolic, actually.

He stared for a moment at the wooden barrier, his anger already dissipating.

‘Wow, we can’t even have a proper fight with door-slamming,’ he muttered, turning and sliding down to the floor with resignation. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the door. After a while, he felt Lancelot sit down beside him and touch his knee gently.

‘I’m sorry,’ the knight said quietly. ‘I got carried away.’

Merlin sighed and put his head on Lancelot’s shoulder.

‘I’m sorry, too. For what I said. I know you’re not thinking about yourself here… which is exactly why I worry.’

‘I appreciate you wanting to protect me… but I still think–’

The warlock shook his head wearily.

‘Leave it, Lancelot, please.’

There was a pause, but then the stubborn streak in Lancelot got the better of him.

‘Just think about it.’

And, in spite of himself, Merlin did.

Chapter Text

Despite the emotional turmoil Lancelot’s suggestion had caused, Merlin would not have traded that moment for anything. Well, he’d prefer to rest his cheek on the knight’s well-toned shoulder instead of his own bony one, but otherwise, it was perfect. The fact that they could sit like this, comfortable around each other even with the memory of that argument still fresh in their minds, meant a lot. Not that it was terribly surprising since Merlin couldn’t imagine anything driving them apart, but it nevertheless did wonders to calm his nerves and make him ready to face another day in Lancelot’s body. After all, it was proof that no matter what, they would always have each other, and that knowledge was one of the things that kept him going. 

The clanking of pots in the other room interrupted these musings, alerting Merlin to the fact that he had lost track of time, and he swore under his breath.

‘Lancelot, you’re going to be late bringing Arthur breakfast!’

Lancelot, a man of duty and stickler for punctuality that he was, blanched and jumped to his feet.

‘Have you seen my gambeson?’ he asked, looking around frantically.

‘It’s under– Wait, you don’t need your gambeson.’

The knight shot him an incredulous look and gestured at his bare chest.

‘Really? You want me to go like this?’

‘Obviously not,’ Merlin grinned. ‘But if my humble person should burst into the kitchens wearing your ceremonial gambeson… well, it might raise a few eyebrows, too.’

After a beat, Lancelot let out a small bark of laughter.

‘Oh, right. Good call.’

‘Yeah…’ The warlock smiled sheepishly as he realised what he was still clutching in his hand. He threw the bundle to the knight. ‘Here, you’d better wear this. And then I’ll help you with the neckerchief.’

‘I can tie a knot, you know,’ Lancelot grumbled good-naturedly, pulling on the blue shirt.

‘I do not doubt that in the least,’ Merlin assured him with a mischievous wink. ‘I just need to make sure that Lady Beatrice’s maid can’t untangle it when she accosts you in a dark corridor somewhere.’

The knight snorted but allowed the warlock to do as he pleased. Tying the ends of the fabric at the back of Lancelot’s neck was such a small thing, and yet it warmed Merlin’s heart more than he could say. When he deemed the knight ready, he took his hand, and they unlocked the door together. (Now that he had started getting used to the idea of literally sharing his magic with Lancelot, he could appreciate the intimacy afforded by this way of casting spells—it would be a hassle on the battlefield, of course, but here, in this room, it only served to make their bond stronger.)

‘Try not to call Arthur “Sire” too often,’ he reminded the knight, tucking an unruly strand of hair behind his ear.

‘Try not to pry any more secrets from Percival,’ Lancelot deadpanned.

Merlin snickered and swatted his arm playfully.

‘I’ll do my best.’

‘Likewise.’

Lancelot was halfway out of the room before he turned and asked quietly, ‘So we’re good?’

Merlin’s first instinct was to roll his eyes fondly (because honestly, what kind of a question was that?), but he thought better of it when he realised that Lancelot needed his reassurance.

‘We’re good,’ he replied simply but with utter conviction. The knight gave him a relieved smile and disappeared down the steps.

Merlin sighed. It hurt to think that Lancelot had actually been worried about them being at odds, and the warlock regretted not having more time to knock that notion out of his head once and for all. Well, he could only hope that their planned trip to Ealdor would give him enough opportunity to convince the knight that everything was and would always be fine between them.

He bent down to retrieve the gambeson from under the nightstand. It looked a little less ceremonial now, but it was nothing that a quick spell couldn’t fix… Ah. Merlin groaned and flopped face down on the bed.

‘Is everything alright?’ Gaius’s concerned voice sounded from the doorway.

The warlock raised his head a little to reply.

‘Yes, it just feels like a long day already.’

‘So I see.’ The physician hesitated for a second, then said gently, ‘I heard you quarrelling with Lancelot…’

Merlin sat up with a sigh and shrugged the gambeson on out of respect for the knight’s sense of decorum (even though he was not there to be dismayed by the idea of talking to Gaius while half-naked).

‘How much did you hear?’ he asked resignedly.

‘Just raised voices and something about Albion.’

Merlin knew that Gaius was the one person with whom he could discuss the pros and cons of Lancelot’s suggestion, but he didn’t feel like doing it just yet. He needed to wrap his head around it first.

‘Oh, it was nothing,’ he said airily, then sighed when Gaius’s eyebrow rode up. ‘Okay, it wasn’t nothing, but it’s all good now. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, you know.’

The physician was obviously not convinced, but he seemed unable to accuse someone who looked like Lancelot of not being entirely truthful.

‘Well, if you’re sure, Merlin…’ He turned to go, but the warlock stopped him.

‘Wait. How did you know that the “stroke of midnight” didn’t work and that we’re still switched?’ he asked with curiosity.

Gaius smiled wryly.

‘The Merlin that just whizzed past me was obviously in a hurry, and yet he managed to greet me politely and apologise for skipping breakfast.’

Merlin blinked.

‘I feel I should be offended by what you’re implying.’

‘Well, I can’t help that,’ the physician replied pointedly and left.

‘Good morning, Gaius!’ Merlin called after him and turned his attention to the very annoying fastenings of the gambeson.

He was nearly done when he heard voices in the other room and then a knock on the door, after which Gwaine stuck his head inside, his eyes tightly shut.

‘Is it safe to look?’

‘Ha ha, very funny,’ Merlin huffed. ‘He’s not here, and I’m almost dressed.’

‘Better safe than sorry,’ the knight grinned, peeking at him cheekily. ‘So, Lancelot, can I interest you in a little sparring session before you get sucked back into charming the Mercians? We can’t have you getting rusty, you know.’

Uh, no, that was never going to happen. Despite all of his lessons with Lancelot—and there hadn’t been that many because Merlin had not yet managed to find a way to squeeze more hours into the day (and even if he had, he would have used that extra time for other things than waving a sword around)—so, despite Lancelot’s patience and talent for teaching, Merlin could never hope to pretend to be him on the training ground.

‘I can’t, Gwaine, I’m sorry. I would get all sweaty and—’

‘Didn’t you say that Merlin likes you fresh from the fight? I’m sure Lady Beatrice wouldn’t complain, either.’

‘I… when… what…’ Merlin spluttered because there was no way Lancelot had said that (not unless he was very, very drunk, and he rarely got very, very drunk precisely because it led to him saying things that made the warlock blush in second-hand embarrassment).

‘Oh, Lancelot, you make it too easy.’ Gwaine’s shoulders shook with laughter, and Merlin was tempted to take a leaf out of Arthur’s book and throw something at him. Preferably something heavy. ‘Well, in that case, have a nice day with those stuffy officials. And when you see your better half, say hello to him for me.’

And he was gone with a magnificent swish of hair.

‘Will do,’ Merlin muttered grumpily and dragged himself downstairs for breakfast.

The porridge looked surprisingly unappetising, and he frowned for a moment before it hit him that maybe he was experiencing what Lancelot felt every time he had to eat it—which of course he always did without complaint so as not to hurt Gaius’s feelings because he was insufferably noble like that. Which was also why he had offered himself as a tool for Merlin to use to fulfil his destiny.

‘Gods, I can’t with him sometimes,’ Merlin grumbled, pushing the bowl away.

Gaius looked at him inquiringly from across the table.

‘Are you sure everything is fine?’ he asked with concern.

‘Yes,’ Merlin replied tiredly. ‘It’s just, you know, Lancelot being Lancelot.’

‘Does it have anything to do with “bringing Albion about”?’

Gaius’s gaze was all too knowing, and Merlin could no longer stop the words from spilling from his mouth.

‘It does. He has this crazy idea, or maybe it’s not that crazy and he makes a good point, but the stakes are so damn high, and it’s frankly scary as hell, but thankfully, it’s up to me, not him, so at least I know he won’t go and do something stupid behind my back, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know what to do because if I do what he suggests, there will be no turning back, and if it backfires, like so many of my “ingenious” schemes, the consequences… I don’t even want to think about the consequences if it goes wrong, but the problem is that if it somehow goes right, which Lancelot clearly thinks to be possible, though I don’t really trust his judgement on that because he believes things must always work out for the best in the end, like with him finding a home in Camelot, only he doesn’t seem to remember all the pain and heartache he had to suffer before he got there, but let’s say it does go right, well, then it could change everything, and I feel I would regret not trying, but I don’t even know where to start, like, how do I casually bring magic into the conversation, even assuming I’m doing it as Arthur’s trusted knight and not his manservant, and how do I then convince him to make it legal in Camelot, how do I make him see that not all sorcerers are evil, and how do I do it all without putting Lancelot in danger?’

He paused and looked up from the clenched hands in his lap. Gaius wore a dazed expression, and Merlin didn’t blame him.

‘So you want to tell Arthur you have magic?’ the physician asked slowly.

Well, that was the question, wasn’t it?

‘No. At least not yet. I mean, I guess it depends. But certainly not while Lancelot is still in my body. No, he hopes that if the idea of allowing magic to be practised in Camelot comes from him, because that’s how it would seem, well, then Arthur might be more easily persuaded, and even if he won’t change the law, it wouldn’t reflect badly on me.’

Gaius looked troubled.

‘It is very risky… On the other hand…’

Merlin leaned forward intently.

‘You think I should do it?’

Gaius hesitated, but before he could answer, there was a knock on the door, and Leon stepped inside.

‘Good morning, Gaius. Lancelot, Arthur requests your presence in the council chambers as soon as possible.’

Merlin frowned.

‘I thought we still had some time before the start of the next round of negotiations.’

‘Well,’ Leon smiled apologetically, ‘perhaps he wants to make sure you won’t be late today.’

Ah, yes, he obviously couldn’t make such an entrance twice.

‘Very well.’ Merlin stood up. ‘Um, Leon, could you… would you mind helping me with the chainmail?’

‘I’ll be happy to,’ the knight answered kindly, and they retreated to Merlin’s room. Leon’s efficiency and the overall lack of distractions meant that the whole operation went very smoothly, and Merlin was soon ready to go.

‘Thank you,’ he smiled and was surprised when Leon’s expression turned more sombre.

‘I’m sorry, Lancelot, for what happened with Sir Edgar the other day,’ he said, and Merlin grunted noncommittally because he suspected he was going to learn another of Lancelot’s secrets, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. ‘Although I must say you reacted admirably. I just wish you didn’t have to deal with such attitudes.’

‘It’s fine, Leon,’ Merlin replied automatically, although it wasn’t fine, not by a long mile. He didn’t know what exactly Sir Edgar had said to Lancelot, but he could imagine it had something to do with him not being worthy of the knighthood because he wasn’t a nobleman or because he had lied about his parentage years ago, or because he was involved with a servant, or…

‘It’s not really personal, of course,’ Leon continued ruefully. ‘Sir Edgar and some of the others are just jealous that someone else has the ear of the Prince now, and they think that the new order under Arthur won’t be to their advantage.’

Merlin froze as the knight’s words sank in and he was blinded by the realisation that trying to convince Arthur to reconsider his stance on magic would not curry Lancelot favour with the more conservative part of Camelot’s nobility. And if those who were afraid of change were already openly hostile when nothing truly revolutionary had yet taken place, they would surely fight the proposal to legalise magic and would go to any lengths to make sure that those who suggested it didn’t succeed, even… even accuse them of sorcery. So the thing that Lancelot thought unlikely suddenly became a real possibility.

That settled the matter, of course—Merlin wasn’t going to breathe a word about magic to Arthur (and if that meant that the enchantment would remain unbroken… well, he would just have to get used to wearing that stupid chainmail for the rest of his life).

Chapter Text

Merlin sat down at the negotiating table in a completely different mood than on the previous day. He knew what to expect now and that he could get away with pretending to be Lancelot, so he was distinctly less worried. At least, he was less worried about this side of things, which gave him ample time to fret about how the knight was going to react to his plan of trying to convince Arthur to legalise magic being a no-go. Not that he would get angry, of course. But he would be disappointed and probably hard on himself for not being able to keep his promise to fight for Merlin’s freedom (and the warlock wasn’t exactly looking forward to dealing with a despondent Lancelot because it required a lot of patience). Although there was a chance that he could be persuaded to see reason with the argument that whatever retaliation his suggestion would provoke would be, for all intents and purposes, directed against Merlin since he was still occupying Lancelot’s body.

Speaking of which… Maybe they had been a little too hasty to dismiss other, less life-altering solutions to their predicament. Perhaps instead of getting worked up over this, they should be focusing on finding strawberry jam or ‘learning some kind of lesson’ after all. Yes, Merlin decided, they needed to get on to that as soon as possible—which would have the added advantage of keeping Lancelot’s mind off that insane idea of his.

Too preoccupied with his own thoughts, the warlock didn’t contribute much to the discussion at hand. All he wanted was for the talks to end so that he could snatch Lancelot away under some pretext and go figure out how to fix this mess, hopefully in a way that didn’t end with one or both of them getting thrown in the dungeons. Breaking into hives suddenly seemed much more preferable.

This time, it was Lady Beatrice who took Merlin’s intentions and sent them flying out the window.

‘Now, there’s another issue that we wanted to discuss. Some of our merchants trade in objects that are banned in Camelot, and they may wish to carry such items with them when passing through on their way to another kingdom, for instance. They won’t be able to sell them here, of course, and we accept that, but we’d like to add a clause guaranteeing that their goods won’t be seized and that they won’t be arrested for possessing them.’

‘What objects are we talking about?’ Arthur asked, taking a sip from his goblet, and Merlin waited with bated breath for the answer because he had an inkling that he knew what Lady Beatrice had in mind.

‘Magical objects,’ she replied, proving Merlin correct, and Arthur choked on the wine.

Time seemed to have slowed down for a moment, and the warlock watched with a kind of detached fascination as shock, fear, and even outrage appeared on the faces of Camelot advisors. Then everything slammed into overdrive, and he bit his lip, trying to decide how to react.

He could feel Lancelot’s gaze boring into him and knew what the knight was thinking. This is your chance, Merlin. Someone else has raised the subject, and it’s such a small thing, it can’t possibly hurt anyone. But convincing Arthur to agree to this would be a perfect foundation for the ‘bigger’ thing.

All of which was true, of course, only Lancelot wasn’t taking into account the key factor: himself and the danger that Merlin would be putting him in by suggesting that magic should be allowed in Camelot. Because even if they had an actual plan instead of a vague ‘Let’s show Arthur that he needn’t be afraid of sorcerers,’ it would still come down to one question: Could Merlin risk Lancelot’s reputation, knighthood, maybe even his life for a cause that, realistically speaking, had very little chance of success?

Almost involuntarily, he glanced over at Lancelot and saw the answer written on the knight’s face.

Whatever it takes.

And the only response Merlin could give to that was…

‘Absolutely not!’

He started, afraid for a moment that he had said what he was thinking out loud, only to realise that the vehement opposition had come from Arthur and that it referred to allowing magical objects to be brought into Camelot.

Lady Beatrice was on the point of saying something, though she stopped short when the Prince’s manservant leaned forward to mutter something in his ear. Arthur looked sharply up at him, but Lancelot-who-pretended-to-be-Merlin held his gaze steadily.

The warlock tensed along with everybody else (because what the hell was Lancelot doing? That was unorthodox even by Merlin’s standards), but then Arthur gave a barely discernible nod and turned back to the Mercian delegation.

‘I fear, Lady Beatrice, that the matter is not as simple as you imagine. I will have to confer on it with the King.’

She inclined her head graciously.

‘Of course, I understand. Shall we take this up again tomorrow?’

‘Yes, thank you, that would be best.’

As soon as the Mercians had left the room, the Camelot advisors started talking over each other, and Arthur turned his attention to them. Merlin’s heart was beating wildly in his chest, but he tried to keep his movements calm and smooth. He rose from the table and walked around it, hoping that if anyone noticed, they would think he was just getting himself more wine. As soon as he passed Arthur’s chair, however, he grabbed Lancelot’s arm and nearly dragged him to the back of the chamber and into the passage behind it. After making sure they were alone, he turned to the knight and hissed,

‘What are you doing? You were supposed to leave the decision to me.’

‘And I did,’ Lancelot replied defiantly, though there was a hint of apology in his stare. ‘I just gave you more time to make that decision.’

‘I don’t need more time,’ Merlin whispered fiercely. ‘I’m not doing this.’

‘But it’s the perfect moment to do it!’ the knight protested with his trademark stubbornness.

‘No, Lancelot, it’s too dangerous. I’ve been talking to Leon; I know that there are people in Camelot who will jump at the opportunity to hurt you in some way, to undermine Arthur’s trust in you.’

‘What are you talking about? Why would anyone want to hurt me?’ The knight frowned in disbelief. ‘I’m just one of the knights; I’m not important.’

Merlin almost growled in frustration. For someone so perceptive when it came to those he loved, Lancelot could be really oblivious sometimes.

‘Funny, I was under the impression that Arthur only asked important people to help him in negotiations on the highest level.’

‘Yes, but that was just because I’ve been to Mercia and can allegedly charm people,’ Lancelot looked down, blushing slightly, ‘although I’m not sure about the latter.’

‘Gods help me,’ Merlin did growl this time. ‘Those are just the reasons Arthur gave because he is not as big a clotpole as I thought and he knows he shouldn’t play favourites. But he asked you to do this because he trusts your judgement. And that rubs some people, especially the nobility, the wrong way.’

Lancelot stared.

‘But I don’t have a quarrel with anyone,’ he said helplessly, and Merlin rolled his eyes so hard it actually hurt.

‘You’ve been a cage fighter, for goodness sake! How come you don’t realise that people may mean you harm, even though you haven’t personally wronged them?’

Lancelot’s face fell, and Merlin shook his head dejectedly. The knight was taking this as poorly as he had feared. He needed to tamp down his exasperation and make Lancelot understand what was at stake.

‘You said it yourself. This is bigger than us. But not just because of what it would mean to people who have magic. Arthur is not the only one we would have to convince. Many people will oppose this idea out of fear or… or on principle because ‘how dare a commoner presume he has a right to even make such a suggestion.’ Starting this… this campaign for legalising magic will put a target on your back. People will try to discredit you in any way they can. They will bring up that forged seal, make you look bad and untrustworthy. And I don’t think they will stop at that. They will accuse you of sorcery if it suits their purpose. And they will make sure to have some kind of proof to back it up. And I can’t… I can’t lose you like I lost Freya and Will.’

Merlin only realised that he was clawing at Lancelot’s shirt when the knight gently pulled his hands away and held them, running his thumbs over the warlock’s knuckles.

‘But don’t you see?’ he asked quietly, his gaze as intense as it had been that night at the Castle of the Ancient Kings (and, frankly, every night since). ‘You shouldn’t have lost them because magic shouldn’t be illegal. And now we have a chance to do something about it. Arthur trusts us both. He won’t believe those other people–’

‘Unless they touch a nerve,’ Merlin sighed and added in response to the knight’s questioning look, ‘his fear of being betrayed. Look, Lancelot, we can still walk away from this–’

‘Oh, I don’t think you can,’ said a quiet voice from behind him, and Merlin’s heart stopped.

Chapter Text

Merlin stood rooted to the spot, unable to turn around and see who had overheard them (not that it was necessary—he would have known that voice anywhere). Lancelot’s protective instincts, on the other hand, kicked in instantly, and he stepped forward to shield the warlock with his body.

‘We can explain–’ he began, but Arthur interrupted him in a chillingly expressionless voice.

‘You know, when they told me you had sneaked off together without permission, I was actually relieved. I thought, “Well, at least they’re back to normal.” I can’t believe I’ve been so stupid.’

‘No, Sire–’ Lancelot started to protest but was clearly silenced by the Prince’s look or gesture. Merlin reached behind him for the knight’s hand and gripped it tightly.

‘You have some nerve. Of all the people…’ Arthur’s voice rose slightly before he paused to control himself. ‘No, you were right before, Lancelot. Haste and anger make bad advisors. Guards!’

This finally spurred Merlin into action, and he turned with a pleading, ‘Arthur…’

‘Oh no, you don’t get to “Arthur” me,’ the Prince bristled, though he looked more hurt than furious.

‘Your Highness?’ Two guards appeared and looked with barely concealed surprise at the scene before them.

‘Take them to the dungeons…’

‘No, Arthur, wait!’

‘…and put them in separate cells.’

‘Arthur, please, let us–’

But the Prince was already walking away. Merlin looked after him with growing desperation and was only shaken out of it when Lancelot tore his hand away with an alarmed, ‘Merlin, stop!’

The warlock blinked at him in confusion, and the knight gave him a panicked look.

‘You were…’

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat as he realised what he had almost done. He had wanted to stop Arthur so badly that he had nearly used a spell to do it. If it hadn’t been for Lancelot, he would have sealed their fate and probably sent them both to the stake.

A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder and steered him down the passage leading away from the council chambers. He went unresistingly because what choice did he have? Maybe letting Arthur cool down was actually the best course of action? Merlin was too wrought up to remember what exactly he and Lancelot had said to each other, and, in any case, he didn’t know how much of that Arthur had heard, so he wasn’t entirely sure what they were going to have to explain apart from the body swap thing. Having more time to come up with a plausible story could thus be considered a silver lining.

Frustratingly, the two guards escorting them were uncharacteristically efficient, walking them briskly through the castle and not allowing them to speak to each other. Merlin’s neck hurt from the way he constantly turned his head around to give Lancelot a reassuring smile. It’ll be fine; I’ve got this, he tried to convey with his eyes. He had to act confident to convince the knight he was in control of the situation because worried Lancelot was unpredictable (or rather, very much predictable). Therefore, Merlin had to make him believe there was no need for noble but rash actions.

When they reached the dungeons, Merlin was put in the cell nearest the door while the other guard took Lancelot further along the corridor. They shared a last look that warmed the warlock to the core despite the general despair he felt, and then he was left alone to ponder on the best way to fix this mess.

A small part of him, the one that wasn’t currently sick with worry, was impressed by Arthur’s handling of the situation. The Prince was obviously gripped by many unpleasant emotions, but he had bought himself some time to get a handle on them. And by separating the ‘offenders,’ he had ensured they couldn’t ‘conspire’ in the meantime (Merlin hated using such words in reference to Lancelot and himself, but there was no point in pretending that it wasn’t how Arthur saw them at the moment). What the Prince didn’t know was that he had also eliminated the risk of Merlin using magic—if only by accident—because without Lancelot, he had as much magical power as King Uther. That was probably another silver lining since not being able to cast spells should work in his favour when he claimed he wasn’t a sorcerer (although he knew that, strictly speaking, proving the negative was impossible).

The problem remained of what Arthur had overheard and what conclusions he had drawn from it. The Prince had obviously cottoned on to the fact that they were in each other’s bodies, but his strong reaction suggested that he wasn’t just embarrassed about not having realised it earlier. Which didn’t bode well.

Merlin sat on the cold floor of the cell for what felt like hours, mulling over everything, berating himself for not having been careful, and wishing desperately for Lancelot. Being scared together was infinitely better than being scared alone. Unfortunately, Arthur knew that as well.

‘Merlin?’

He looked up in surprise and suddenly felt just a little bit better. If he couldn’t talk to Lancelot, maybe this was the next best thing.

‘Gwen!’ He scrambled to his feet and came up to the bars. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I could ask you the same question,’ she answered with an anxious expression. ‘What happened?’

‘You don’t know?’ Merlin was dismayed. He had hoped Gwen would shed some light on what Arthur was accusing them of. She shrugged with a worried frown.

‘We only know that Arthur had you arrested and that he bites our heads off when we ask him why.’ She glanced cautiously around and lowered her voice. ‘I haven’t told anyone, but is this about you swapping bodies?’

‘I suppose so,’ Merlin sighed and couldn’t help voicing the fear that was gnawing at him. ‘But there may also be another reason…’

‘What reason?’ she asked anxiously, but Merlin shook his head. He couldn’t burden her with this, too.

‘Believe me when I say we only want what’s best for him and Camelot. But sometimes you have to choose the lesser evil. I used to think that good intentions were all that mattered, that if I just tried hard enough, I would always be able to do the right thing.’ He smiled sadly. ‘But the world is not like that.’

‘Maybe not, but you are everything that is right with this world!’ she protested hotly, reaching through the bars. As soon as her fingers brushed Merlin’s cheek, though, she froze for a second and then quickly withdrew her hand as if stung. ‘I’m sorry, it’s just… I forgot for a moment that you’re not him and… it felt like we were back in Hengist’s fortress…’

She blushed slightly and averted her gaze. Merlin knew instinctively that saying anything in Lancelot’s voice right now would be less than helpful, so he stayed silent. But he started imagining the scene: Gwen in the cell, frightened and desperate, Lancelot comforting her in his calm voice, and he suddenly yearned for that comfort himself, for the knight’s steadying touch, for the intense gaze that promised, ‘I will not allow anything to happen to you.’ He must have made a wistful sound because Gwen looked back at him and smiled softly.

‘I’m glad he has you. He deserves to be happy.’

‘He does.’

But suddenly, a question came unbidden to Merlin’s mind: Could Lancelot be truly happy with someone who was constantly putting him in danger? Had Merlin been selfish, allowing them to grow so close? Because what did Lancelot get in return for his loyalty and support? A life of endless lies and terrible risk. The warlock bit his lip. Whatever else the cryptic creature from the forest wanted to accomplish, it had certainly made him doubt the only thing he had always been certain of—that Lancelot was part of his destiny.

But it was too late for regrets. All he could do now was ensure that the knight made it out of this fiasco relatively unscathed.

‘I need to talk to Arthur.’

Gwen smiled at him reassuringly.

‘I’m sure you’ll get a chance to do that. He’ll come around eventually. Right now, he probably feels hurt that you kept this from him. You know he won’t admit that you’re his best friend and that he’s a little bit jealous of your bond with Lancelot. And Uther hadn’t really taught him how to cope with such emotions. But he’s come a long way since he’s known you. Have faith in him.’

Merlin shook his head resignedly.

‘I do. But I’m afraid it won’t be as simple as that. He’s right to feel betrayed, and I don’t think we can make him see that everything we do is about protecting him.’

‘He would have to be blind not to see that,’ she said with conviction, and Merlin once again felt grateful for her friendship and support.

‘I hope you’re right.’

They stayed silent after that, each lost in their own thoughts, until a voice sounded from the direction of the doorway.

‘Guinevere.’

Merlin started guiltily, and Gwen took a deep breath before turning to the newcomer.

‘Arthur,’ she replied in a remarkably steady voice.

‘What are you doing here?’ he asked. As far as Merlin could tell, the Prince was not angry with her, which was a small comfort.

‘I’m trying to understand what’s going on.’

Arthur remained silent, his face impassive.

‘I don’t want to have to take sides,’ she added after a pause. ‘Can we just talk about whatever it is?’

‘That’s why I’m here,’ Arthur said curtly and looked straight at Merlin for the first time. ‘I want to know what happened, how come he’s you and you’re him, and what is your connection to magic that you argue so passionately about legalising it. You can think of a good explanation while I go and ask Lancelot why he makes a habit of lying to me.’

Although it should have been a relief to learn what exactly Arthur was angry about (and that he wasn’t accusing either of them of sorcery—at least not yet), Merlin could only focus on the second part of the Prince’s speech, and he felt his blood turn to ice. Somehow, despite his best intentions, he had done the very thing he was trying to prevent from happening: undermined Arthur’s trust in Lancelot. He’s only lying to you to protect me, he wanted to say, but that would have opened a whole other can of worms, so he only watched helplessly as his friend moved down the row of cells to accuse his most noble knight of betrayal. Truth be told, Merlin wasn’t entirely sure which of them would be more hurt by this conversation, and his heart broke—not for himself but for the two most important people in his life.

Someone grabbed his hand, and he turned to see Gwen looking at him fearfully.

‘You were arguing about legalising magic?’ she asked in an almost inaudible whisper, and Merlin felt just the tiniest spark of hope because she seemed scared not of him but for him. It would be the last straw if they fell out over this, too, so it was a relief to see her still on his side. But it didn’t change the fact that he had to come up with a convincing story, and it was going to be difficult when all he could think about was the confrontation taking place in the other cell. The uncertainty of what was going on there was driving him to distraction. Because Arthur’s accusations weren’t totally unfounded, but it was Merlin’s fault that Lancelot had been compromising his honour since the day he came to Camelot.

And now the warlock wasn’t even there to defend him.

Chapter Text

It seemed like both forever and no time at all before Arthur’s footsteps were heard again down the corridor. They approached slowly, almost hesitatingly, as if there was a great weight on the Prince’s mind and he was unwilling to share his thoughts with anyone just yet.

When he finally appeared, he looked more shaken than angry. He motioned for the guard to open the cell door and then stepped inside. Gwen made no move to follow him.

‘So.’ There was something pleading in Arthur’s confused gaze, as if he hoped Merlin would take pity on him and help him make sense of it all. ‘Lancelot has told me quite a story.’

Merlin dug his fingernails into his palms, trying to keep his face carefully blank. He knew Lancelot would always protect him, but he also knew the knight’s self-sacrificing tendencies. The odds that this story would get them both off the hook were not great.

‘After he had lost his family, he was apparently taken in by a sorceress of some kind. He claims she was the kindest person he’s ever met and that she only used her magic for good, to help people and protect them from harm. Which is… hard to believe, but he swears on his life that it’s true. And, well, I guess I knew it had to be something like this because why would he care about magic being illegal otherwise, but still… Oh, that’s probably where he got that perfectly forged seal of nobility from, I suppose… Yes, that does explain a lot, doesn’t it? Well, he kept it to himself, understandably—didn’t even tell you about it—until the two of you got yourselves enchanted and swapped bodies. Then, he thought he could use the fact that he looked like you to convince me to make practising magic legal so that she wouldn’t have to fear for her life anymore. Why he imagined I would listen to you is beyond me… He said something about me trusting your judgement, I don’t know where he got that idea from… Alright, I’m sorry, he’s right, I do trust and value your judgement, Merlin, but this is so…’

Arthur paused, which was a good thing because Merlin needed a moment to digest what he had just heard. Although, after the initial shock had worn off, he realised that Lancelot’s attempt to deal with this mess was thoroughly unsurprising. Unfailingly true to form, the knight had somehow managed to twist everything around so that he took all the blame and all the risk. Noble, brave, exasperating man.

‘He also said that you only learned about this last night and are, and I quote, in no way complicit in his deception, which I’m going to accept for the moment, Merlin, because you keeping such a thing from me would be the last straw…’ Arthur rubbed his forehead, still wearing the slightly dazed expression of someone who had had the rug pulled from under their feet. ‘I suppose I should have asked for your side of the story first and then see if it matched with Lancelot’s version, but I can’t, I just… I just need to know… I need you to tell me, Merlin, is this true?’

Despite mentally chastising Lancelot for putting himself in danger like that, Merlin couldn’t help being begrudgingly impressed by how neatly the knight had manoeuvred him into a position where he had no choice but to back his story. After all, he could hardly admit that Lancelot had lied yet again.

‘And if it is? True?’ he stalled. ‘What will you do?’

Arthur looked away with a grimace.

‘What I must. He’s been harbouring a sorcerer–’

‘He’s been protecting someone he cares about,’ Merlin interjected. ‘Someone who has done nothing wrong.’

‘How can you be sure of that?’ Arthur asked imploringly, as if hoping that the warlock would provide him with a reason not to punish his most noble knight.

Merlin chose his next words carefully. It was his turn to protect someone he cared about, and he felt the weight of that responsibility.

‘Because I know him, and so do you. Lancelot would never stand for it if that sorceress was hurting people.’

Arthur nodded slowly. He looked like he wanted to believe Merlin, and yet he still fought the instinct to trust his manservant.

‘But he lied. Again.’

‘You were willing to overlook it once because his intentions were pure,’ Merlin reminded him. ‘I understand why you feel betrayed, but Lancelot has been nothing but loyal. He’s not here for riches or glory; he only wishes to serve you and Camelot. And he believes that by putting a stop to the persecution of those who have magic, you will make this kingdom a better place for everyone.’

‘And do you agree?’ Arthur asked suddenly, catching Merlin off guard.

‘I–’ The simple answer was yes, but would Arthur be satisfied with that? Or would he demand a justification that Merlin was not yet ready to give?

‘Sorry, stupid question. We’ve already established where your loyalties lie, haven’t we?’

‘What are you saying?’ Merlin asked cautiously. He should have been relieved that the conversation had turned away from Lancelot, but Arthur’s question seemed loaded.

‘I’m saying that you would follow him to the ends of the earth. Whether you agree with him or not, you’ll always stand by his side, won’t you?’

And Merlin understood what was the crux of the matter for Arthur. Not magic and whether or not it should be allowed in Camelot. Not even the fact that his trusted knight had been keeping secrets from him. No, what the Prince worried about was this: If he couldn’t trust Lancelot, could he trust Merlin?

‘Not if it would mean hurting you,’ the warlock replied quietly, his eyes boring into Arthur’s. In the end, fulfilling this destiny that you don’t even know about always comes first.

‘Arthur,’ Gwen’s voice cut through the tense silence that followed, ‘even if you decide to punish Lancelot for… for being Lancelot, it will have to wait.’

The Prince’s gaze snapped to hers.

‘What do you mean?’ he demanded, and she smiled sadly.

‘We have to get him back to his body first.’

Arthur blinked and then turned slowly to Merlin as if noticing for the first time that his manservant had currently the appearance of his knight.

‘Right…’

‘Gaius is already working on it,’ Gwen added, ‘but he could probably use Merlin’s help.’

The Prince was clearly struggling to come to terms with everything that he had learned in the past half-hour. At long last, he shook his head resignedly.

‘I… I need to think about all of this.’

Merlin felt some of the tension leave his body. Arthur’s hesitation to act was the best they could hope for under the circumstances. It would do more harm than good to rush him into a decision. The warlock could, however, make a request.

‘Put me in the cell with him, please. I don’t want him to be alone right now.’

The Prince had many flaws, but deliberate cruelty was not one of them. He looked at Merlin for a moment with something akin to compassion, then nodded curtly and gave orders to the guard.

‘You can stay there until I send for you.’

Merlin nodded in gratitude and followed the guard, touching Gwen’s shoulder briefly on his way out to thank her as well.

Lancelot was sitting in the corner of the cell with his head bowed, but he raised it when he heard the key turning in the lock. Unsurprisingly, the first words out of his mouth as soon as he saw Merlin were, ‘I’m sorry.’

The warlock shook his head minutely, then closed the distance between them in a few quick strides, dropped to his knees and crushed the knight in a hug.

‘What happened to not taking unnecessary risks and discussing stupid ideas before acting on them?’ he whispered, eliciting a soft chuckle from the other man. ‘Seriously, Lancelot, I love you, and I appreciate what you’ve done, but right now, I’m tempted to throw something at you, Arthur-style. You can’t just put your life on the line for me like that, like it would mean nothing if I lost you, do you understand?’

He pulled back a little to look Lancelot in the eye, but the knight avoided his gaze. Even so, Merlin could guess what he would have seen there: the most heartfelt apology mixed with resignation. Because no matter how sincerely Lancelot vowed again and again not to let his heart rule his head, they both knew it was impossible for him to keep that promise.

‘I’m not angry,’ Merlin clarified, running his hands up and down the knight’s back in a soothing manner. ‘It’s just that Arthur caught me by surprise with this story of you being brought up by a sorceress. Some heads-up would have been nice.’

If I knew what you were planning to do, I would have tried to stop you… Merlin smiled wryly to himself. Who was he kidding? He would have had more success with sweet talking the guard into letting them out. Despite the bond they shared, he could never change the knight’s mind once it was made up. He couldn’t make him stay in Camelot after they had killed the Griffin, he couldn’t make him stay after they had rescued Gwen, and he didn’t make him stay after they had defeated the Immortal Army—even that had been strictly Lancelot’s choice.

‘Or you could have stalled. Apologised but without giving any explanation. Certainly not one where you take all the blame.’

Merlin brushed the knight’s cheek gently to take the sting out of his words, but Lancelot still refused to meet his gaze.

‘Arthur came in here asking why I insisted on lying to him, so I thought it would be fitting to lie about that, too.’

It was clearly meant as a joke, but Merlin did not miss the shadow that crossed Lancelot’s face when he spoke, and his heart clenched.

‘I’m sorry for putting you in this position. You don’t deserve to have people questioning your honour.’

The peculiar smile that curled Lancelot’s lips chilled Merlin to the bone.

‘Maybe I do. Maybe I’ve been lying to myself as well. Because the truth is… I’m a fraud, Merlin. I swore to uphold the values that every knight should stand for and to protect my liege no matter what, but if it came to making a choice between Arthur and you, I wouldn’t even hesitate.’

Merlin stared at him, appalled. It felt like an iron band around his chest was squeezing all the air out of his lungs. He wanted to protest, to say that Lancelot was wrong, but he knew it would be no use. As cruel and unjust as it sounded, the knight had a point. And Merlin understood how hard it was to reconcile two contradictory aspects of one’s life—he was doing it every day.

He tightened his hold on Lancelot as he realised that one of his biggest fears had come true. He had to ask the question that he had hoped he would never have to ask.

‘Lancelot, if we get out of this… are you going to leave?’

Chapter Text

The last thing Merlin expected Lancelot to do was chuckle (though it was, admittedly, the saddest laugh he had ever heard).

‘I seem to have lost more than Arthur’s trust today. I’ve lost yours, too.’

The warlock leaned back to throw him an incredulous look.

‘What on earth are you talking about?’

Lancelot kept his eyes fixed on the ground.

‘You don’t believe I will keep my promise to stay.’

‘I… what… no!’ Merlin spluttered. ‘I’ve never… I mean, I’ve always believed it, but I can’t help worrying that something will happen and… and you won’t be able to keep it. I want you to be happy, Lancelot. I want that more than anything. And I want you to feel fulfilled and appreciated. To take pride in what you’re doing. And if you can’t find that in Camelot…’

Merlin could hardly believe what he was saying, but Lancelot seemed even more surprised.

‘So you want me to leave?’

It was the warlock’s turn to chuckle, though his heart was breaking.

‘Of course not. But you’ve sacrificed so much for me already that I can’t ask you to keep putting yourself last. Your feelings do matter, Lancelot, and it would be selfish of me to–’

‘Merlin, stop. None of this is your fault. If I’m a disappointment to Arthur, then that’s on me. I do want to take pride in what I’m doing and feel that my life is meaningful, believe me. But I can live without being a knight. Without you, though… not so much. So I don’t even intend to try. I can carve wooden utensils, or sweep the streets, or carry water from the well for those who can’t do it themselves, or… The thing is, I’d like to think that I’ve grown and can now accept the fact that I need to let go of this dream. But it doesn’t mean that I have to throw everything else that I care about away. It certainly doesn’t mean that I have to make myself more miserable by leaving you.’

Merlin was used to being left speechless by whatever it was that Lancelot had said or done. Usually, though, he wasn’t left gaping with amazement or incredulity (and sometimes fond exasperation) at himself. It was both fascinating and disconcerting to watch the mix of tiredness and hope, uncertainty and determination on his own face. Almost instinctively, he reached out to cup Lancelot’s cheek, to smooth his brow, but the hands he had at his disposal now suddenly seemed too big and clumsy, as if he was wearing ill-fitting gloves. He wished for his own body, which could express his feelings much better than words could, because there was so much he wanted to convey: that he was both elated that Lancelot was staying and dismayed by the price he was ready to pay for it; that he believed that Lancelot would excel at anything he put his mind to but that sweeping the streets might prove not exciting enough; that he was so, so damn proud of his brave and noble knight, who deserved that honour more than anyone, even if he did lie to his Prince on a daily basis. And it was this last thought that prompted him to whisper,

‘Let me fight for your dream again.’

‘Merlin…’

‘Shh. It’s not because you do so much for me. I’m not trying to pay off a debt or something. I just really believe that you are meant to be a Knight of Camelot. I’m not sure yet how I’ll convince Arthur about it, but I can’t not try.’ The warlock paused and shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. I’m making this all about myself again…’

‘It doesn’t feel that way to me,’ Lancelot replied softly, his gaze full of that wonderment that never failed to make Merlin’s heart flutter. ‘Thank you. For everything.’

‘If you’re trying not to sound like you’re leaving, you’re doing it wrong.’ He winked because turning one’s fear into something to laugh at was supposed to help.

‘I promise you it’s not a goodbye,’ Lancelot assured him and kissed the warlock’s hand to seal the vow. (Incidentally, that turned out to be more effective in assuaging Merlin’s fears.) ‘Come on, up. My knees must be killing you.’

‘You think I care right now?’ Merlin muttered, leaning forward ever so slowly…

‘Just out of curiosity, is there a part of this castle that you haven’t made out in?’

The unlikelihood of Gwaine walking in on them for the second time in two days (and in the dungeons, no less) was the last straw that sent Merlin into a fit of uncontrollable giggling. He buried his face in Lancelot’s shoulder and shook with laughter, too emotionally exhausted to care that he was once again displaying behaviour that was very much out-of-character for the knight whose body he was occupying.

‘We are trying to protect your innocent eyes by choosing out-of-the-way places,’ Lancelot quipped back, patting Merlin on the head patiently.

Gwaine snorted with disgust.

‘Okay, now that our pathetic attempts at jokes are over, tell me what’s going on, Merlin. This is not your typical brand of weird, is it?’ He paused and frowned. ‘But then, if something was really wrong with Lancelot, you’d be more worried…’

The serious note in Gwaine’s voice helped Merlin compose himself. He got up, grimacing slightly, and turned to face the other knight. Since the cat was partly out of the bag now anyway, there was no point in keeping their friend in the dark.

‘What’s going on is that Lancelot and I swapped bodies, and Arthur found out.’

Gwaine blinked for a few seconds and then whistled softly.

‘Well, I’ll be damned… That… explains a lot. Wait. When did this swapping happen?’

‘Yesterday, in the woods, right before you came looking for us,’ Merlin replied unwillingly because he could see where this was going.

‘So in all that time, when I thought I was talking to one of you… I was really talking to the other?’

The warlock nodded sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck in a very Lancelot-like gesture of embarrassment.

‘Oh. Oh.’ Gwaine’s eyes widened as he evidently started recalling their conversations.

‘We are very sorry for misleading you like that,’ Lancelot put in contritely.

The knight acknowledged the apology with a small nod and then grinned suddenly when a thought struck him.

‘No wonder that Arthur blew his top and threw you in here. He must have been mortified when he realised he had been treating his best knight like a servant.’

Merlin turned to Lancelot triumphantly.

‘See? Everyone knows that Arthur really admires you.’

‘And, more importantly,’ Gwaine added, ‘he cares about being admired by you in return.’

‘He’s my Prince,’ Lancelot bristled slightly. ‘He will always have my respect.’

‘That’s not the same. Also, it’s really bizarre to hear Merlin say that.’

‘You bet it is,’ the warlock confirmed with a grin and shared a playful look with Gwaine.

Lancelot shook his head dismissively.

‘Well, that’s not why we’re here.’

The other knight pricked his ears.

‘No? Surely Arthur is not punishing you for getting enchanted? Which, by the way, I’m curious to hear about.’

‘No, it has more to do with me wanting to allow magic in Camelot and harbouring a sorcerer,’ Lancelot said impassively, and Merlin noted to himself that he should congratulate him later on the perfect delivery of that news because shocking Gwaine into silence was not an easy feat.

‘Ha, you’re funny,’ their friend said weakly at long last.

Merlin looked over his shoulder at Lancelot. Maybe going for dramatic effect had not been the best plan.

‘I think we need to start at the beginning,’ he sighed. ‘Gwaine, you might want to sit down.’

Still stunned, the knight flopped to the ground obligingly. Lancelot meanwhile dragged a straw pallet from the corner of the cell so that it was closer to the bars and patted it invitingly, but Merlin shook his head. He needed to focus, and it worked better when he was moving.

After making sure he had Gwaine’s full attention, he recounted the recent events carefully, weighing every word. He needed this version of the story to match the one Arthur and Gwen knew because he had a feeling that any discrepancy would come back to bite him in the ass. Besides, saving Lancelot’s dream and good name (the warlock tried to avoid adding ‘his life’ to that list, although in the light of what some of the nobles thought about ‘that upstart commoner,’ that risk couldn’t really be ruled out) had more chance of succeeding if people didn’t know that the sorcerer whom the knight had been harbouring was Merlin himself.

When the warlock had finished, there was a moment of silence, and then Gwaine leaned forward and pushed something through the bars.

‘I got this for you after training, before I heard what had happened… I meant it as a joke, but… maybe it’s a solution to at least one of your problems.’

Merlin stooped and picked up a small clay pot.

‘Is this…?’

Gwaine nodded.

‘Strawberry jam, yeah.’

Chapter Text

Merlin picked up the pot and weighed it in his hand. Could it really be that simple? A spoonful or two of strawberry jam and everything would be back to normal? Well, not everything, obviously. Even if it fixed the root cause of their problem, it would have no impact on the later consequences. Which reminded him…

‘We can’t use it.’

‘Why not?’ Gwaine asked, just as Lancelot started to protest, ‘They were just hives, Merlin!’

‘No, it’s not about that… although thanks for reminding me that this could be potentially dangerous for you.’ Merlin rubbed his face in a tired gesture. ‘No, it’s something Gwen said. As long as you’re in my body, Arthur can’t punish you for your “many crimes.” So we can’t change back until we figure out a way to smooth things over with him.’

‘You could always change back and pretend that you hadn’t,’ Gwaine suggested after a pause.

‘And add another lie to our ever-growing list?’ He almost chuckled. If only Gwaine knew how extensive it was. ‘No, I feel it would blow up in our faces somehow.’

‘But then we’ll be lying that we don’t have a solution,’ Lancelot pointed out quietly, and Merlin shot him a look that said, ‘You’re not helping.’

‘Well, we don’t know whether the strawberry jam is even going to work, so I’m choosing to believe that this lie is not as bad.’

He knew Lancelot was more concerned for him than for himself (which was stupid because Merlin wasn’t the one whom Arthur had accused of repeatedly lying to him). He would have liked to employ his usual tactic of kissing the frown off the knight’s face but felt self-conscious about doing it in front of Gwaine. An attempt at humour would have to be enough.

‘Besides, do you really want to be yourself pretending to be me pretending to be you? See? Your eyes crossed just thinking about it.’

That elicited a soft laugh from Lancelot, which Merlin considered a great success under the circumstances. He smiled at the knight, feeling a sudden rush of affection for him (in addition to the steady stream of it he felt all the time). Thanks to him, even in the depths of despair, he could always see the light of hope…

‘Sorry, I have to ask,’ Gwaine’s voice interrupted his musings. ‘Doesn’t it feel weird to be making moon eyes at, well, yourself? Granted, I’ve been practising my hair flip in front of the mirror, but that’s not the same…’

Lancelot made a strangled noise that suggested he was not going to answer that question, so Merlin took it upon himself to try and explain.

‘It was a bit weird at first, but now, well, I look at him and obviously see that it’s actually my face, but I also know that it’s him underneath, and I think that sort of tricks my brain into ignoring what my eyes are telling it.’

‘Huh.’ Gwaine scratched his chin. ‘Convenient.’

Lancelot cleared his throat.

‘If we’re quite done with the subject…’

‘Yes, sorry,’ Merlin started guiltily. Lancelot’s future was on the line, and here he was getting distracted again. ‘Okay, so, smoothing things over with Arthur. Any ideas?’

Lancelot shrugged a little helplessly.

‘I don’t think there’s anything else we can say to him. To persuade him one way or the other. We’ve made our case and now just have to hope that he can see past his feelings of betrayal.’

Merlin grimaced. He wasn’t happy with standing back and leaving everything up to chance. Suddenly, something stirred in his memory.

‘Wait, maybe you’re right. There’s nothing we can say… but we should make sure that nobody else talks to him either.’

‘What do you mean?’ Gwaine asked curiously.

‘Gwen said that Arthur didn’t tell anyone why he had us arrested. But I’m sure everyone knows by now that we’re here. And, according to Leon, some of the nobles would love to see Lancelot fall from grace. They’re probably already trying to poison Arthur against him, and when they learn about the actual accusations…’

Lancelot’s shoulders dropped dejectedly. Even more alarming was the fact that he didn’t challenge the idea that he was important enough to warrant such scheming.

‘But how can we stop them?’ he asked with a note of hopelessness in his voice. Merlin noticed his fingers had tightened around the edge of the neckerchief he was wearing. Before he could answer (not that he had any solution to that particular problem), Gwaine piped up from the other side of the bars.

‘Leave that to me. Well, to us. I’ll ask the others to help me. I’m sure that between the four of us, we can create some diversion to keep them occupied. Oh, and I’ll put Percival on guard duty outside Arthur’s chambers to make sure no one gets in. He’s good at telling people no without making them mad; it’s almost like magic.’

Lancelot winced a little at that. He probably didn’t find jokes that connected any of his friends to sorcery funny.

‘He has this uncanny ability, yes,’ he admitted rather dryly, but Gwaine didn’t seem to notice.

‘Well, I’d better go.’ He got up to his feet. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll get you out of here.’

As he turned to leave, Merlin called after him.

‘Thank you! For everything.’

The knight looked over his shoulder and smiled.

‘Hey, you’re my friends. And I know you, Lancelot. You were just protecting someone you care about. I won’t hold that against you.’

‘We must have done something good to deserve such friends,’ Merlin remarked musingly, watching Gwaine’s retreating back. ‘Still, I don’t think we should just sit around and wait. We’d better practice what you’re going to say in case Arthur decides to, I don’t know, officially interrogate you at a council meeting or something. For instance, he may ask you… why were you harbouring a sorcerer when you knew it was illegal?’

Lancelot gave him one of his intense looks, and Merlin promptly forgot the point of the exercise.

‘I never thought of… her as a sorceress. She was someone who had shown me much kindness, always believed in me and cheered me on, forgave me for my stupid mistakes. It didn’t matter to me that she had magic and that it was considered a crime in Camelot… Well, no, it did but because I was scared for her and thought it unjust. She had shown me that magic can be used for good… and sometimes just for the sake of creating something beautiful. She became my family, and that was more important than any law.’

‘Careful,’ Merlin whispered dazedly, ‘or Arthur will think that you were in love with her.’

Lancelot didn’t miss a beat.

‘Oh, I was. And still am.’

I hope he won’t think it’s clouding your judgement, was what Merlin wanted to say, but it was hard to string the words together. Why did Lancelot have to be so damn distracting? With a superhuman effort, he managed to drag his mind back to the original topic.

‘What if he asks you why you let him believe you were me and make a fool of himself in the process?’

‘Again, the truth. That I was scared because you got caught in the crosshairs. And that I thought I could fix it with her help before anyone noticed anything.’

‘What if he asks you to tell him who she is?’

‘I won’t.’

‘What if he orders you to?’

‘I still won’t.’

‘What if he threatens you?’

‘Nothing would make me tell him that.’

‘What if he threatens me?’ Merlin asked in a small voice. Not that he really believed Arthur would stoop so low, not when the threat would have to be something more drastic than making him clean boots, but if one of the nobles suggested it…

Something dangerous gleamed in Lancelot’s eyes.

‘Then the fact that I’ve been lying to him will be the least of his problems.’

Merlin felt himself go weak at the knees.

‘Weren’t we supposed to prepare a good defence, not put you in more danger?’ he said faintly.

Lancelot gave a low chuckle.

‘I thought I was safe as long as I was in your body?’

Merlin swatted him lightly on the chest.

‘That doesn’t mean you should throw all caution to the wind,’ he paused as a not entirely welcome thought struck him. ‘I need you safe and sound if we’re going to act on that crazy idea of yours.’

‘Which one is that?’ The knight narrowed his eyes questioningly.

‘Oh, nothing too difficult,’ Merlin resorted to his tried-and-trusted method of turning scary things into a joke, ‘just convincing Arthur to lift the ban on magic.’

Lancelot straightened.

‘So… we’re doing this?’

‘Honestly, I don’t know,’ Merlin shook his head with a sigh. ‘It’s still scary, and I’m not even sure how to go about it, but first Lady Beatrice brought up magic, then we followed with our… magic-related disaster, so I think this conversation will be happening whether I like it or not. But I know one thing: I’m not doing it without you. So no taking unnecessary risks, you hear?’

‘I promise,’ Lancelot nodded solemnly.

‘Good.’ Merlin started to stroke his cheek tenderly but withdrew his hand when he realised something. ‘I’m such a hypocrite, I’m sorry. I’m the one who has been putting you in danger since the very beginning. You wouldn’t even be in this mess if it weren’t for me.’

Lancelot caught his hand and squeezed it gently.

‘I guess it’s my turn to remind you… We shouldn’t feel guilty about the choices we’ve made because they’ve shaped who we are and what we have. Yes, I wouldn’t be in this cell now if it weren’t for you… but I also wouldn’t have this,’ he gestured between them, ‘and that would be a damn shame.’

‘A damn shame,’ Merlin repeated (because what else could he say to that?).

‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Lancelot continued earnestly. ‘It’s not that I’m not afraid. But when I’m with you, it’s easier to face that fear.’

Merlin smiled. He felt the same way.

‘It’s like when we’re together, we could move mountains,’ he said, squeezing the knight’s hand back.

Lancelot was about to reply when his eyes widened, and then the earth began to tremble under their feet. Merlin stumbled and tried to grab the knight for balance, but Lancelot pushed him unceremoniously away. As soon as their hands stopped touching, there was a deafening crack, and the shaking stopped.

‘What just happened?’ Merlin gasped, leaning against the wall for support since his legs still seemed to think the ground was moving under them.

Lancelot, a little ashen in the face, looked at him with a mixture of amazement and incredulity.

‘I think… I think we’ve just helped Gwaine create a diversion.’

Chapter Text

‘I still think it’s a bad idea,’ Merlin muttered in Lancelot’s ear after they had squeezed themselves into a niche to avoid being seen by two guards hurrying down the corridor.

‘And I still don’t have a better one,’ Lancelot whispered back. ‘Come on.’

They slipped out of their hiding place and scurried along the wall, then looked cautiously around the corner. The corridor was empty save for a familiar figure.

‘Percival!’ They jogged towards him.

‘Lancelot? Merlin? What are you doing here?’ The knight seemed a little wary.

‘The tremor opened the cell door, and we just wanted to see if everyone was okay.’ That was the explanation they had agreed on since there wasn’t time to come up with anything better.

‘Yes, thankfully.’ Percival relaxed. ‘It seems no one was hurt, and there is only minor damage. We’re still not sure what caused it, though…’

Merlin interrupted him.

‘Is Arthur here?’

‘No, he went to check on Lady Beatrice.’

The warlock exchanged glances with Lancelot. It wasn’t ideal, but they had to work with what they had.

‘We really need to talk to him.’ The small earthquake they had unwittingly created forced them to change their plan. They could no longer afford to wait for Arthur to come to a decision in his own time. What if the Prince thought that the earth had shook because Lancelot’s ‘sorceress’ was attacking Camelot in retaliation for his imprisonment? (Yes, Merlin was aware they were becoming paranoid, but it was no wonder—the tension was getting to them both.) ‘May we wait in his chambers?’

Percival hesitated.

‘Gwaine told me not to let anyone in.’

Merlin barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

‘Well, he obviously didn’t mean us.’ It came out just a little scornful, and he immediately felt ashamed. Their friends had every right to be confused by the turn of events. He wished he had the time to be patient with them, but, unfortunately, time was the one thing he couldn’t spare.

‘The sooner we explain everything, the better,’ Lancelot spoke up. ‘Trust me.’

Merlin wasn’t sure if Gwaine had had the chance to fill Percival in about the body swap, so he couldn’t say whether the knight knew that it was really Lancelot who was asking to be trusted or whether he saw something in ‘Merlin’s’ eyes that convinced him. Either way, he nodded curtly and stepped aside to let them pass.

‘Thank you,’ Merlin said. The debt of gratitude to their friends was growing, and he had no idea how they would ever be able to repay it. As soon as he entered Arthur’s chambers, however, he forgot about this particular concern and gaped with incredulity at the sight before him.

‘Gods, Lancelot, I’ve only been gone a day, and this place is already a pigsty!’ he exclaimed, walking over to the desk and starting to tidy up the mess on it. It was a reflex, really… but also a way to occupy his mind instead of fretting over whether the huge gamble they were taking would pay off.

Lancelot chose to deal with this uncertainty by treading a path between the door and the window and repeating what he was going to say to Arthur.

‘I’m going to say that I’m sorry, that I was only doing what I thought was right, which was obviously misguided, that I will never mention magic or lie to him again…’ There was the briefest pause before he continued smoothly, ‘That I will resign my knighthood if he feels that he can no longer trust me…’

Merlin, who had been nodding in agreement until then, dropped the papers he was stacking.

‘No!’ he protested sharply. ‘You’re not supposed to give him that idea! Just apologise–’

Lancelot shook his head, still wearing down the floor with his pacing.

‘I have committed a crime, and there must be consequences. We can’t escape that, Merlin.’

‘Yes, but–’

‘This is the best way to show him how contrite I am,’ the knight pointed out reasonably, but Merlin didn’t care about reason right now.

‘I can’t let you take the fall for me like that!’

Lancelot stopped, his expression serious.

‘You can, and you must. He knows how much my being a knight means to the both of us, so, hopefully, he will think he’s punishing you too and leave it at that. We don’t want him asking any more questions, remember?’

Merlin shoved Arthur’s trousers off the chair and slumped onto it.

‘This is wrong,’ he said emphatically.

‘If it diverts attention away from you, then it will be worth it.’

‘What if it doesn’t?’ Merlin asked in a small voice because underneath all his worry for Lancelot, he was terrified for himself too.

The knight didn’t miss a beat.

‘I swear I will not allow anything to happen to you.’

The warlock swallowed hard and dropped his gaze. The vow did not reassure him; in fact, it chilled him to the bone. Who knew to what lengths Lancelot would go to keep it?

The knight resumed his pacing, albeit at a slightly quicker speed, and they stayed silent for several minutes, each buried in his own thoughts.

‘Does Arthur keep any spare swords here?’ Lancelot asked suddenly, peering around.

‘Sure, there’s one under the–’ Merlin’s head snapped up. ‘Why do you want to know?’

Lancelot turned to him with a slightly haunted look.

‘Because I need a sword. I feel so damn powerless without one. I have to believe that this will work, but if it doesn’t… How can I protect you with just my bare hands? And if I can’t protect you, what good am I for?’ His voice trembled a little, and he turned away again, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand.

Merlin shot up from the chair and strode up to the knight.

‘Hey, hey, slow down.’ He caught him by the shoulders. ‘Look at me, Lancelot, hey, look at me. I am really grateful that you’re willing to fight the world on my account.’

‘It’s not that I think you’re not capable–’

‘Shh, I know, I know. And that means even more. But whether or not you can protect me should not be the measure of your worth. You are so much more than my bodyguard. You are kind, you are selfless, you are righteous. We are all very lucky to have you. And Arthur will see that.’ Merlin paused when a thought struck him. ‘Besides… if things do go south… I’m actually going to need just your bare hands this time…’

He clasped their hands together and concentrated. The papers on the desk arranged themselves neatly, and Lancelot’s eyes widened in understanding.

‘But right now, I need you to be my rock. You don’t need a sword for that. Just stand by me, and I know I’ll be able to face anything.’

Lancelot nodded slowly.

‘You’re right; I’m sorry.’ He took a deep breath and visibly steeled himself. ‘I’m here for you. Bregdan anweald.’

‘That’s my knight,’ the warlock whispered and kissed him lightly. The words were probably just a reminder for him of how all this had started, but Merlin appreciated them for another reason. After all, the enchantment was meant to make things stronger—and Lancelot did make him stronger.

The knight closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against Merlin’s.

‘We’re really running out of places where we haven’t made out in,’ he joked feebly after a pause.

‘I know,’ Merlin chuckled. ‘Arthur’s chambers? Gwaine would be so proud.’

The sound of the door opening made them jump apart. Arthur strode in, frowning and muttering to himself as he perused a long scroll.

‘If it’s not about the quake, it can wait.’ He waved his hand dismissively without looking up. Percival had apparently not informed him who was waiting in his chambers.

Lancelot cleared his throat.

‘Sire–’

Arthur stopped abruptly and stared at them in astonishment for a second. Then his gaze turned cold.

‘Oh, terrific. Just when I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.’ He dropped the parchment onto the desk and gripped the back of the chair, glaring at his knight and his servant. ‘Which part of “stay in the cell and await my decision” did you not understand?’

Lancelot stepped forward and bowed his head. Merlin never knew if he changed tactic on the spur of the moment or whether he had intended to say this all along.

‘I apologise, Sire, but I can’t bear that I’m once again the reason there’s conflict between you and someone who’s important to you. First it was your father, now it’s Merlin. I’ve abused your trust, I’ve disappointed you, and I’ll understand if you no longer believe that I only wish to serve you and Camelot. But I must ask you not to punish Merlin for my mistakes.’

Arthur regarded him pensively.

‘Back to making moving speeches, are you? What was it? “To fight with honour for justice”?’ He paused and then said in something akin to awe, ‘I always thought that Merlin was audacious, but you…’ He stopped again, his gaze flickering to the warlock. Then he continued slowly, as if just realising it as he spoke, ‘This is not about some sorceress you used to know. It’s closer to home. That’s why you broke out of the dungeons and accosted me here. Because the stakes are much higher.’

Lancelot tensed but managed to keep the note of anxiety out of his voice.

‘I just don’t want to cause any more trouble than I’ve already–’

The Prince silenced him with a gesture.

‘No, you want to force my hand, so that I don’t dwell on this too much. Because you’re afraid of what else I might discover…’

And then Arthur’s gaze landed on Merlin (the real Merlin who only looked like Lancelot), and he asked quietly, ‘Are you a sorcerer, Lancelot?’

And Merlin saw, with a clarity that comes only with knowing someone very well, that it hadn’t been a mistake, that Arthur was gauging his reaction to the question, not Lancelot’s. Alarm bells went off in his head, and he realised that he needed to tread carefully, but the instinct to protect was too strong…

‘He’s not, I swear, he’s not!’ He tried to step in front of Lancelot, but the knight grabbed him by the arm and shot him a warning look.

‘I know he’s not,’ Arthur agreed almost casually. ‘He wouldn’t care so much about his own safety. You, on the other hand, Merlin… you he would defend with his life.’

‘Don’t be absurd,’ Merlin tried to scoff to emphasise how preposterous this line of thinking was, but failed miserably. They were on such thin ice now that he couldn’t keep his voice from trembling.

Arthur flushed angrily.

‘You come in here asking for clemency while still lying, and you’re telling me I’m absurd?’

‘I am protecting Merlin, Sire, but not for the reasons you think.’ Lancelot sounded remarkably steady, but the warlock could tell he was shaking on the inside.

‘Permit me not to take you at your word,’ Arthur growled. ‘Father warned me that once a liar, always a liar, but I didn’t want to believe him. After all, you’ve never betrayed me… until now. Harbouring a sorcerer would be bad enough but doing it right under my nose? That is your biggest crime. How could you endanger me like that?’

‘I would never–’

‘There’s a sorcerer in my chambers right now, and you’re protecting him instead of me!’ Arthur exploded. ‘You may love him, but your loyalty should be to your Prince!’

Lancelot straightened up and, even in Merlin’s body, managed to exude an air of dignity when he replied quietly, ‘I am loyal to you, Sire. I will lay my life down for you if need be. But there is one thing I won’t do. I will not allow you to hurt Merlin.’

Arthur drew back as if he had been slapped.

‘You think I would ever hurt him?’ he asked in disbelief, and Lancelot shook his head slightly.

‘I think that now you know the truth, you may feel like you have no choice. But it’s not “a sorcerer”; it’s Merlin.’

Merlin had been dreading this moment for so long that now that it finally happened, all he felt was relief and a curious numbness. It’s over. He knows. It’s over, kept running through his head as he watched Arthur unload his anger on Lancelot. It was obviously a way to avoid having to deal with the consequences of learning Merlin’s secret. The Prince’s next question confirmed that he was stalling.

‘How long have you known that he has magic?’

Lie, Lancelot, lie, Merlin thought desperately. He knew he was doomed, but he still clung to the hope that Arthur might forgive the knight if the latter said that he had just found out about this whole thing because of the body swap the day before.

He should have known, however, that Lancelot would not deny his involvement. He was the bravest and most noble of them all, and he was going to stand by Merlin till the end.

‘Since the day he used it to save Camelot from the griffin,’ he stated calmly.

Arthur’s mouth fell open.

‘The griffin? You’ve known since…?’

Merlin closed his eyes in trepidation. Things were not just going south—they were hurtling towards a precipice. Any second now, Arthur was going to condemn them both to the stake…

But the Prince was not yet done with questions. Lancelot’s confession seemed to have shaken him anew.

‘You’ve known all this time… and you let him stay here?’

The colour rose in the knight’s cheeks. The warlock knew it was a sore point for him.

‘Of course I wanted him to leave. I know how much he’s risking. But it’s not up to me. He has reasons for staying, and I respect that.’

‘What reasons?’ Arthur seized on this immediately, and Merlin’s heart started to thump even louder in his ears. He knew he should be explaining everything, trying to make Arthur see that he was not a threat to him or Camelot, but he was transfixed by the sight of himself squaring up to the Prince. ‘He’s had countless opportunities to murder me in my sleep, and yet I’m still breathing so…’

‘Perhaps that should tell you something, Sire,’ Lancelot replied coldly.

‘That he’s even more incompetent than I thought?’ the Prince sneered.

Don’t take it personally, Merlin told himself, trying to tamp down the sickening feeling that rose within him. It’s a lot to digest. He feels betrayed and that’s why he’s lashing out.

He glanced at Lancelot and felt a shiver down his spine when he saw the dangerous gleam in the knight’s eyes. He realised he had never seen him so angry. Maybe he was the one who needed to be told not to take it personally…

‘You have no idea, Arthur–’ the knight began hotly, and then both he and the Prince froze, apparently more astonished by Lancelot’s use of Arthur’s name than by anything else that had been said thus far. The pause, however, spurred Merlin into action. After all, he couldn’t let Lancelot fight this battle for him. He cleared his throat and began talking rapidly.

‘I’ve been looking out for you, trying to keep you safe. You have many enemies, and some of them can only be defeated with magic. Do you remember Sophia? I didn’t just stop you from eloping with her. She was a Sidhe and needed your soul to go back to Avalon. I went to the Isle of the Blessed to save your life after you had been bitten by the Questing Beast. I protected you from Morgana and Morgause, and the Great Dragon. I’m… I’m Dragoon, so… there’s that. And I was the one who emptied the Cup of Life and destroyed the Immortal Army. With Lancelot’s help. Because he’s been keeping you safe too.’

He glanced at the knight, who gave him a small nod. Together till the end.

Arthur was looking from one to the other with a stupefied expression.

‘Why?’ he croaked finally. ‘Why did you…?’

‘Because…’ Merlin hesitated. He felt it wasn’t the time to bring Albion and Kilgharrah into this. Besides, his destiny wasn’t the main reason for his actions, not anymore. ‘Because you’re my friend.’

Many emotions crossed the Prince’s face, mostly surprise and disbelief, and he seemed at a loss for words. But there was also just the barest hint of anger, and Lancelot stepped closer to the warlock, letting their hands brush together…

‘Thank you for protecting me all these years, Merlin,’ Arthur said at last, his voice strange and distant. ‘Now let me return the favour.’

Merlin held his breath. Was this, by some miracle, going to end well? He hardly dared to believe it… and he was right because the Prince straightened and said grimly,

‘I’m banishing you both from Camelot. You have until dawn to leave.’

Chapter Text

Merlin was never one to mince his words when Arthur did or said something idiotic, so it didn’t take him long to blurt out, ‘You can’t be serious.’

Arthur looked around in apparent astonishment.

‘What’s that? Merlin questioning my orders? That’s new,’ he said mockingly.

The warlock had no time for their usual back-and-forth where they insulted each other more or less fondly. He had to nip this preposterous idea in the bud. But he also knew that contradicting the Prince outright always did more harm than good. He decided to approach this from a different angle.

‘Are you still not convinced that everything we’ve done—despite all the lying, for which we are sorry—we’ve done for your sake?’

‘I am convinced of that.’ Arthur gave a curt nod, and his unhesitating answer threw Merlin off balance for a moment.

‘Then why are you punishing us for it?’ he asked in real bewilderment.

‘I meant it to be a punishment when I first thought of it,’ the Prince admitted. ‘Earlier, when I didn’t know who Lancelot’s “sorceress” was. But now it seems it can serve as a… as a precaution.’

Merlin frowned.

‘How so?’

‘I can’t let you stay in Camelot. If anyone finds out about this, about your secret, I will be obliged to have you tried and condemned. I’m sure you wouldn’t want that…’ Arthur paused for a moment, ‘…and neither would I.’

‘But no one has found out yet, and it’s been years,’ Merlin pointed out, looking to Lancelot for support, but the knight did not perceive this, focused as he was on watching the Prince attentively.

Arthur gave a wry smile.

‘That’s what makes it worse. Do you know what the trial would reveal? That all this time, I was being duped by someone who had access to all of the kingdom’s secrets. I would lose respect of my advisors and my subjects. I would appear gullible and imprudent. It would undermine my position as the future king. In short, it would be disastrous. So if you really want to help me, as you claim, you need to go. Now, before anyone else discovers the truth.’

Merlin threw up his hands in frustration.

‘You’re talking as if this was a certainty! As if all of Camelot were to learn the truth about me tomorrow! But it may not even happen!’

‘I won’t risk your luck running out,’ Arthur said stubbornly. ‘This is the only way to ensure that you’re never connected with magic and that I’m not compromised by it.’

‘But won’t banishing us suggest that we did something wrong?’ Lancelot spoke up all of a sudden, and Merlin picked up the thought at once.

‘Yes, yes! Exactly!’ he exclaimed almost triumphantly. ‘You will have to give a reason for it. And you can’t say: “I’m banishing Merlin because my dinner was cold again.”’

‘Ah, but I can say: “I’m banishing Lancelot because he has deceived me again.” It’s not even a lie. And everyone knows that he has a history of doing that, so they won’t question my decision.’

The warlock’s heart sank, and he just gaped at the Prince in horror. This was the exact outcome he had been trying so hard to avoid…

‘What about Merlin? What reason will you give for banishing him?’ Lancelot asked calmly, as if he hadn’t just been told that he was to be yet again deprived of his dream of serving with honour. The warlock wished for the fire to return to the knight’s eyes in response to this injustice; he wanted to see him defiant and righteously angry because Lancelot did not deserve such ingratitude. Arthur, on the other hand, seemed to admire his composure.

‘No reason. Because he won’t be officially banished.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Don’t you? I think it’s quite simple. I will say that he has abandoned his post to follow you into exile. Believe me, no one will blink an eye. You weren’t quite as discreet as you thought.’

To Merlin’s dismay, Lancelot nodded slowly, humming in approval.

‘That does sound credible.’

That finally sprung the warlock into action—or, at least, helped him find his voice.

‘Nononono, please, you can’t, you don’t need to do this, I’ll go quietly, I’ll promise never to return…’

Arthur clicked his tongue impatiently.

‘You can’t just disappear. There must be some explanation, and this one is the most believable. Besides,’ his tone softened a little, ‘if, one day, circumstances should change… I’ll be able to revoke the banishment and restore his knighthood.’

Merlin bit his lip. His agitation was slowly being replaced by resentment.

‘You’ve really thought this through, huh?’ he smiled bitterly.

‘That is what being a prince means. I have to anticipate the consequences and choose the lesser evil.’

At any other time, upon hearing him say that, Merlin would have been fiercely proud of how far Arthur had come from being the arrogant prat he had met on his arrival in Camelot. All he wanted right now, however, was to hurt the Prince in return for treating Lancelot like someone expendable.

‘If you’re so damn smart, why can’t you come up with a solution that doesn’t tarnish Lancelot’s good name? Can’t you say that you’ve sent us on a mission or something?’

Arthur seemed slightly startled by this outburst, but he explained calmly, ‘After having just thrown you in the dungeons? That wouldn’t seem likely. And besides, it would imply that you were expected to return. After a while, people would start asking questions, and I would have to tell them that you were probably dead.’

Without hesitation, Merlin seized the opportunity to deal his blow.

‘Well, you’re certainly dead to me.’ And with that, he brushed past him and wrenched open the door. He sensed without looking that Lancelot had followed him, but then the Prince called the latter’s name and he stopped. Merlin turned, too, his rage still simmering. Arthur’s eyes were fixed on his former knight who had the appearance of his former manservant.

‘Keep him safe,’ he said intently, though it sounded more like a request than an order.

Merlin saw red.

‘You have the gall to–’ he spat furiously, but Lancelot put a hand on his shoulder to restrain him and bowed slightly to the Prince without breaking eye contact. ‘I will, Sire.’

‘If you’re quite finished…’ Merlin hissed, yanking Lancelot by the sleeve, and stalked out of the room. Black spots danced across his vision, and his whole body trembled—not with fear, but with indignation. Unexpectedly, his storming off was halted just outside the door by Percival, who grabbed his arm gently and inquired in an anxious tone, ‘What happened? I heard raised voices.’

‘You’ll learn soon enough.’ He shook off the knight’s hand and swept past him. After a few steps, he realised that Lancelot wasn’t behind him, so he whirled around, ready to drag him away by the collar if need be. Yet what he saw made him stop.

Lancelot had embraced Percival and was now whispering something in his ear. The knight looked utterly bewildered, and his eyes got more round with every passing second.

‘I’m not sure what you’re thanking me for, Merlin,’ he admitted at last.

Lancelot tensed for a moment, then laughed self-consciously and released his friend.

‘Gwaine will explain. Take care, Percival.’

And he hurried towards Merlin, who was digging fingernails into his palms without realising it. He thought he couldn’t get more mad, but here was another thing that Lancelot was losing, all because Arthur feared appearing gullible and imprudent, and the warlock could feel himself shaking.

‘Are you alright?’ Lancelot asked as soon as he had reached him.

‘Perfectly,’ Merlin answered, his voice dripping with irony.

Lancelot looked at him apprehensively but in the end decided not to call him out on it. Merlin spun on his heel and strode away down the corridor, Lancelot falling into step with him.

‘I have a bag packed—I wanted to be ready if we ever needed to leave in a hurry—but since there are still a couple of hours till dawn, I think we should eat something first…’

Merlin threw him an irate glance.

‘Seriously? You’re thinking about food right now?’

‘Well, we obviously need to make some plans,’ Lancelot pointed out reasonably. ‘And it’s hard to come up with good ideas on an empty stomach. We can tell Gaius about what happened while we eat and figure something out together.’

The warlock shrugged angrily. He didn’t feel like sitting down to a meal and discussing their options, not when he was still fuming about Arthur’s ‘precaution’ and his presumptuous request.

‘I can’t believe him!’ he burst out as they rounded a corner. ‘He takes everything away from you and then dares to ask– And you! I can’t believe you either! “I will, Sire”? What was that? You don’t owe anything to that ungrateful– Especially when he orders you to be my keeper– As if I couldn’t take care of myself! I hate being protected against my will! I told you that this morning, didn’t I?’

Lancelot, in his infinite wisdom, stayed silent and let Merlin vent all the way to the physician’s quarters, which they reached in record time since the warlock was propelled forward by the desire to get as far away from Arthur as possible.

On hearing the door open, Gaius looked up from the pile of books scattered on the table before him.

‘Merlin! Thank goodness!’ he exclaimed with relief, getting to his feet. ‘Arthur has released you from the dungeons then? So he doesn’t suspect that you are…?’

‘Oh, no,’ the warlock replied in an ostensibly cheerful tone. ‘He doesn’t suspect; he knows everything. And he’s very kindly given us leave from having to deal with his illustrious royal person.’

One of Gaius’s eyebrows rode up nearly to his hairline, and Lancelot hastened to explain.

‘He has banished us because he believes that it’s the only way to protect Merlin.’

‘To save face, more like. And don’t forget to add how generous he’s been towards you,’ Merlin switched to open sarcasm. ‘Really, Lancelot, you’re too modest. It’s not every day that your Prince ruins your reputation without a second thought.’

‘I would sacrifice more than my reputation for you,’ Lancelot said stubbornly, but before Merlin could retort that he didn’t want that, Gaius cleared his throat.

‘Arthur knows that you have magic and has banished you?’ he repeated disbelievingly.

‘Mhm. We have to leave before dawn, but we’ve come to raid your pantry first because Lancelot doesn’t want us to travel on an empty stomach. Well, I’m sure he’s right. Who am I to argue? I obviously need supervision, Arthur’s made that clear.’

‘Merlin…’

‘No, no, he’s got a point.’ The warlock went over to the side table, grabbed a bowl and filled it with leftovers from Gaius’s supper. ‘I would be a mess without you. You make sure I get enough sleep and don’t drink too much. Really, you’ve been wasting your talents as a knight. You’ll make an excellent nursemaid.’

He regretted that last scathing remark as soon as he uttered it, but words were the only outlet for his frustration, unless he were to start punching walls.

‘Merlin, stop, please,’ Lancelot implored—looking hurt because he surely hadn’t expected to find himself on the receiving end of such vitriol—and the warlock tried, he really did, but he was still so furious…

‘You didn’t even put up a fight!’ He levelled the spoon he was clutching at Lancelot. ‘You just meekly accepted the “ingenious” plan of His Royal Pratness! No, no, you’re right, why should you protest? Let him strip you of everything, your knighthood, your honour… As long as it’s credible…’

‘I didn’t protest,’ Lancelot raised his voice to interrupt him, ‘because I realised that getting banished might be a good thing.’

Merlin dropped the spoon, which clattered to the floor.

‘Do you want me to punch you?’ he growled.

‘You see,’ Lancelot continued, undeterred, ‘I remembered what else that creature had mentioned. Apart from the strawberry jam, I mean.’

‘The creature?’

‘Yes. I think we were supposed to “change our perspective”…’

‘We did that, for sure.’

‘But there was also something else… “Trying something new,” if I’m not mistaken.’

Merlin stared at him in astonishment.

‘What are you saying?’

‘That maybe we need all these three things to break the spell… And now we have them.’

‘There are many other new things we could have tried,’ the warlock said slowly, unconvinced by this logic. ‘But even if it had to be something so… radical… well, isn’t getting banished a little over the top? Wouldn’t leaving Camelot of our own free will be enough?’

Lancelot smiled softly.

‘For you, yes, probably. But I have already left Camelot once.’

‘I knew I shouldn’t have let you go that day,’ Merlin muttered grimly under his breath and then shook his head. ‘I don’t know, Lancelot. It seems a little… far-fetched. Besides, if it was really about that, shouldn’t we have swapped back already?’

‘I don’t know.’ Lancelot ran a hand through his hair, knitting his brows thoughtfully. ‘Maybe it’s like a quest? Maybe we still need to do something to make it happen?’

‘That’s a lot of maybes…’

‘I know. But since we haven’t found an answer yet,’ he swept his hand to indicate the volumes littering the table, ‘and since we have to leave anyway, let’s go back to that clearing. Maybe we’ll find some clues what to do next.’

Merlin bit his lip, undecided, and glanced reflexively at Gaius.

‘I think it’s a good idea,’ the physician spoke up, clearly more eager to join the conversation now that the warlock had reined in his anger somewhat. ‘Some spells are tied to the place where they were cast. Maybe you need to return there to break the enchantment.’

Now that his rage had subsided, Merlin found himself feeling tired and empty. He had no strength to look to the future and envisage a course of action. He didn’t have much faith in Lancelot’s plan, but perhaps it would at least take his mind off things.

‘It probably wouldn’t hurt to try…’ he said without much enthusiasm. ‘Fine. Let’s go.’

He put down the bowl with the untouched food and started for the door.

‘Right now?’ Lancelot gaped at him.

‘Well, why wait for the dawn? We’re not likely to come up with anything better tonight. If you’re hungry, grab something for the road.’

Lancelot didn’t move.

‘But don’t you want to say goodbye to Gwaine and the others first?’ he asked in what looked like genuine confusion.

Merlin considered this, a bit surprised himself. That hadn’t even crossed his mind. Why?

And then he knew.

‘No.’ His voice hardened. ‘I don’t need to say goodbye to them because I don’t intend to stay away for long.’

‘Merlin…’

‘Save your breath,’ he cut Lancelot off brusquely. It was now perfectly clear to him that he had unconsciously made a decision. ‘I don’t care what Arthur says. I’m not done here. We’ll go to that clearing and see if we can break the spell. But afterwards, even if it doesn’t work, we’re coming straight back, in disguise or whatever, I don’t know. But we’re coming back.’

Lancelot’s expression showed plainly that he wasn’t convinced it was the best idea, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded towards Merlin’s garments.

‘At least change out of my ceremonial clothes. I’m sure you’ll be more comfortable in–’

‘Nursemaid,’ Merlin scoffed, rolling his eyes, but nevertheless stamped up the stairs to his room with Lancelot in tow. He was rummaging around for something more suitable to wear when he remembered a bit of conversation from before.

‘Wait, you said you have a bag packed, ready for emergencies. Where is it? I’ve never seen it.’

Lancelot coloured a little.

‘It’s under the bed.’

In face of everything, it seemed silly to be curious about it, but Merlin found that he very much was.

‘May I see it?’

The bag turned out to contain all the essentials in case making a speedy getaway was required (and one or two things that weren’t strictly necessary but whose inclusion the warlock appreciated deeply), and Merlin allowed himself a second to marvel at how well Lancelot knew him and how lucky he was to have someone care for him that much… which, of course, led to him feeling ashamed of what he had said earlier.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, taking one of Lancelot’s hands and brushing his thumb over the knuckles. ‘For snapping at you and for all those comments. I lashed out because… because I don’t want you to give everything up for me. Or to throw yourself in harm’s way to protect me. What does it matter if I’m safe when you’re not?’

‘If we are both to be safe,’ Lancelot replied, squeezing his hand back, ‘we need to leave now and stay away. Not forever, just until we come up with a really sound plan. Because what you’re proposing is rash and may bring more harm than good. I know I’m the one to talk,’ he chuckled softly, ‘but head over heart, Merlin.’

The warlock looked down at their intertwined fingers.

‘But where will we go?’

Lancelot hesitated.

‘I have an idea… but it depends on whether we can switch back.’

Merlin glanced at him curiously but didn’t press.

‘Okay,’ he replied after a moment. ‘Haste and anger make bad advisors, right? Okay, let’s take it one step at a time.’

He made to get up from the bed on which they had sat to review the contents of the bag, but Lancelot stopped him by not letting go of his hand.

‘Thank you for fighting for me back there,’ he said in a low voice, to which Merlin replied without hesitation, ‘Always.’

They changed quickly into clothes more suitable for travelling, and then Merlin handed Lancelot his sword (he had left it behind in the morning, not being expected to wear it to trade negotiations, and it was still leaning against the wall in its usual place).

‘I believe this is yours. I doubt it will look as good on me, but that’s not the point, is it?’

‘I already told you,’ Lancelot murmured, ‘that every look is good on you.’

‘Oh, shush!’ Merlin swatted him on the shoulder, blushing. ‘Let’s go.’

They descended the steps together and, for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed, like they were going on another nightly escapade to deal with some magical threat to Camelot. But then the bag that Lancelot was carrying struck Merlin in the shin, and the illusion shattered.

‘It seems, after all, that it may be a while before we see each other again, so…’ he gulped and hugged Gaius quickly.

The physician opened his mouth to say something, but the warlock forestalled him irritably.

‘I swear, Gaius, if you tell him to “keep me safe,” I’ll curse you with a permanent itch on your back.’

Gaius blinked.

‘Well, there won’t be any need for that because I was going to say: “Take care of each other.”’

Merlin looked at Lancelot and smiled.

‘We always do.’

As they rode away from the citadel in the slowly fading darkness, Merlin resolutely did not look back. It was true that he was leaving another home behind, but he was convinced that he and Lancelot would return. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not for many days, but they would. And he found comfort in that.

Chapter Text

Riding on horseback, they reached the clearing soon after dawn, but it was still too long a time for Merlin to maintain the very precarious balance of mind he had somehow attained upon leaving the citadel. Setting off at once turned out to have been an unwise decision because he could feel now how draining that long, awful day had been. The weariness was making him jittery, and being in Lancelot’s body suddenly irritated him to no end—his beard itched, and his limbs felt uncoordinated. And yet he had no energy to be actively annoyed. He was simply fed up with everything and wanted nothing more than to be left the hell alone.

He was thus in the worst possible mood for what Lancelot was proposing: grasping in the dark for a way to break the enchantment. The hope that they would find some clues in the place where the body swap had occurred was tenuous at best, and Lancelot’s insistence that they try anyway was beginning to get on the warlock’s nerves.

‘Well, we’re here. What now?’ he asked impatiently, wanting to have it over with as quickly as possible.

‘I’m not sure…’ Lancelot peered around thoughtfully.

Merlin rolled his eyes and took the pot of jam Gwaine had given them out of the saddle bag. He cleared his throat emphatically and began speaking in the most obnoxious sing-song voice he could manage, ‘Hear us, oh, mighty magical creature with a weird sense of humour. We’ve done what you said. We’ve changed our perspective, we’re trying something new, and we’ve brought you this very tasty strawberry jam as an offering. Would you–‘

As soon as he had said the word ‘offering,’ there was a loud popping sound, and the pot he had been holding on his outstretched palm disappeared.

‘Huh,’ he said in surprise, staring at his empty hand.

‘I knew it!’ Lancelot exclaimed excitedly. ‘It is some sort of quest! And now we’ve completed the third step!’

Merlin had to admit that it did seem like progress, but he didn’t think there was cause for celebration just yet.

‘What’s the next step then? Because I’m still the one with the chiselled jaw here.’

Lancelot deflated visibly. The resigned expression on his face told the warlock that he had come to the end of the line and was out of ideas. Merlin was about to console him (it was hardly his fault that he couldn’t penetrate the mind of the clearly ludicrous creature that was the source of all their troubles) when Lancelot rallied his forces for one last desperate attempt.

‘You know what usually breaks such enchantments?’ he repeated the question he had asked at that very spot two days earlier.

Merlin summoned all his energy because the question demanded giving an annoyed huff in reply.

‘We’ve already tried it, Lancelot. It didn’t work then, and it’s not going to work now.’

‘Surely it can’t hurt to try once more?’

He should have known that Lancelot’s stubbornness would not let him concede defeat so quickly. He shrugged, unable to make himself care enough to fight him on this. He had very little faith in the effectiveness of this solution, but it was just easier to humour Lancelot. Especially since he had discovered that kissing himself was less weird than he’d expected, so there really was no objection to trying.

Even though he was absolutely certain that it wouldn’t work…

As their lips parted, however, he started coughing on account of all the smoke, and when the air around them finally cleared, he found himself looking into the pair of brown eyes he had been missing so much.

He stood there frozen for a moment and only came to himself when a familiar calloused hand caressed his cheek.

‘Hello, true love.’ The corners of Lancelot’s mouth twitched a little.

Merlin gasped in delight, all his discouragement and irritation forgotten. A pleasant shiver ran through him as he slipped his (his!) arms around Lancelot’s neck.

‘I never doubted that,’ he breathed.

To be fair, he had every intention of praising Lancelot for figuring out how to break the enchantment (and for persevering in his attempts despite Merlin’s lack of enthusiasm) but, unsurprisingly, got distracted by the sight in front of him—that unruly hair, that scar on the forehead, that relieved smile…

He would have stayed in silent admiration for a long time if it hadn’t been for Lancelot’s responsible streak which always made itself known at the most inopportune moments.

‘Now will you please eat something and get some rest?’ he asked, disengaging himself gently from the embrace.

The question brought the warlock down to earth, and he grimaced.

‘You really are terrible at being romantic. Fine, if you insist.’ He plopped down on the ground, sighing irritably (because what was this obsession with food?), and reached for the bag with the provisions. As he ate—which fortunately didn’t prevent him from feasting his eyes at the same time—a fragment of conversation from before floated back to him  ‘So will you tell me your idea now? About where we should go?’

‘To Ealdor.’

‘To Ealdor?’ Merlin repeated dazedly.

‘Yes. I figure what we need right now is a safe, familiar place that’s not in Camelot, where we can just… catch a breath, clear our heads.’

The warlock stared at him, speechless. It seemed Lancelot was not yet done with amazing him. Because this was perfect. This was exactly what he needed. To take his mind off this whole sorry business and not worry about anything for a while. He felt warmth and a sense of calm spreading through him at the very thought.

‘That’s an excellent idea,’ he smiled widely in approval. ‘But why did you say it depended on whether we changed back into our bodies?’

‘Well, I could hardly meet your mother looking like you.’

‘That would have been a point in your favour,’ Merlin teased, and Lancelot barked out a laugh.

‘I see you’re feeling better,’ he said fondly, swiping a thumb across Merlin’s cheek.

The warlock considered it.

‘I am,’ he admitted with surprise. ‘Maybe it’s because I’m myself again…’ He relished the thrum of magic in his bones as he cast a small spell that ruffled Lancelot’s hair. ‘Or because I can pretend now that the last two days didn’t happen and that you’re just taking me to Ealdor as a surprise. And I really, really want that, by the way, so I vote that we get a move on. If we don’t dawdle, we could be there by nightfall.’

Lancelot looked taken aback by his ardour.

‘We really should get some sleep first,’ he said uncertainly.

‘Oh, come on!’ Merlin pretended to pout. The stress of the last two days had given way to a giddy excitement. The one good thing about getting banished was that he could be silly and irresponsible to his heart’s content. ‘You tell me that amazing idea of yours, and now you’re going to make me wait? Shame on you.’

‘But what’s the rush?’ Lancelot asked, though his resolve was visibly weakening.

The warlock’s expression turned serious.

‘There’s no rush. I guess I just like being impulsive with you… and now I finally don’t have to worry about the consequences.’

It wasn’t a line; he really meant it, and that seemed to do the trick, although Lancelot grumbled under his breath as he got up, ‘I really should learn to say no to you.’

‘Please,’ Merlin purred, catching him by the sleeve, ‘when have you ever regretted saying yes to me?’

‘Well, it did get me arrested that one time.’

‘I distinctly remember you telling me that I wasn’t to blame for that.’ Merlin peeked at him through his lashes as he played with the fabric.

Lancelot made a soft, strangled sound.

‘We won’t reach Ealdor today if you keep this up.’

Merlin was torn but, in the end, decided that making out could wait until they reached their destination.

‘Another rain check then. But the last one, I hope.’

The day proved to be perfect for travelling: sunny but not too hot. Invigorated by the prospect of seeing his mother, the warlock pushed on ahead, enjoying the wind on his face and the sense of freedom that came with it. He had noticed, of course, that Lancelot seemed tense, but he attributed it to the fact that they were still in Camelot. No one was pursuing them, obviously, but Lancelot—as the official exile—would probably feel better once they left the kingdom behind.

When they crossed the border late in the afternoon, however, instead of relaxing, he started squirming nervously in the saddle, and Merlin finally caught on to what was bothering him.

‘Lancelot.’

‘Yes?’

‘They’re going to love you.’

Lancelot sighed and rubbed his neck in embarrassment.

‘It’s different than when I came to Camelot. Back then, I only had to prove I was a skilled warrior. Now, however…’ he paused and grimaced. ‘I just don’t think I’m what people consider a “good party” for their son. I’m disgraced, I don’t have any prospects–’

It was amusing to see the man who had so bravely stood up to Arthur be nervous about meeting Hunith, but Merlin knew it would be unkind to laugh. What Lancelot needed was reassurance.

‘I promise you, the only thing my mother will care about is that you make me happy. After all, she fell in love with a fugitive herself…’

Lancelot mumbled something that sounded like, ‘At least he was a Dragonlord,’ and Merlin giggled.

‘And you slayed a griffin, darling.’

‘You know perfectly well it wasn’t I who–’

‘Gods, you’re impossible sometimes,’ the warlock chuckled affectionately. ‘You have nothing to worry about, trust me.’

Feeling so light and carefree was, admittedly, a strange sensation, and Merlin knew that he would probably regret swinging to the opposite extreme to forget his worries. But for now, he was determined not to let anything mar his joy.

So when the first cottages of Ealdor appeared in the distance and he saw in his mind’s eye Arthur fighting to protect a village that did not even belong to his kingdom for the simple reason that it was Merlin’s home, he checked the anger that was threatening to flare up again at the reminder that Arthur could be both the best and the worst friend. His life had been revolving around the Prince for so long that it was hard to imagine it otherwise, but he had to. There was no going back to the way things were. He and Lancelot would have to build a new life for themselves from the ground up—and the warlock was actually looking forward to that. And although he knew that there was no escaping destiny and that his future would have to include Arthur in some way, Merlin refused to make him the centre of his universe again.

Reaching to squeeze Lancelot’s hand reassuringly as they entered the village, he vowed not to wallow in the past but to focus on this exciting adventure they were embarking on.

Hunith greeted her son with a cry of joy and an embrace so fierce, she nearly forced all the air out of his lungs.

‘Merlin! What a wonderful surprise! And this must be the famous Lancelot.’

The warlock chuckled as Lancelot bowed almost deferentially.

‘Don’t mind him. He’ll be tying himself into knots trying to make a good impression on you. He has this funny notion that you might not approve of him.’

‘Merlin!’ She chided him laughingly. ‘Be kind to our guest. Forgive him, Lancelot. He’s nervous too, gods know why. Well, come inside and tell me how you managed to persuade the Prince to let you visit.’

Merlin and Lancelot exchanged glances. Relating that particular story was going to be fun.

They didn’t get a chance to go into much detail, though, because exhaustion had finally caught up with them. They soon started nodding off over their bowls of soup, at which point Hunith ordered them to bed. To Merlin’s old bed, specifically, which turned out to be a tight fit.

‘Sorry,’ Merlin apologised after almost elbowing his companion in the ribs. ‘I can’t remember the spell that would make it roomier…’

Lancelot didn’t seem disheartened by the news.

‘We can always, you know, just build a bigger one.’

The warlock eyed him suspiciously, unsure if it was meant as a joke.

‘I know you’ve learned many things while you were away, including milking goats, but you never said anything about carpentry.’

‘Well, no, I don’t know how to make one, but I’m sure someone here could help us. And I’m quite good with my hands, so–’

‘Oh, really? Care to show me?’ Merlin tried to murmur seductively, but the effect was ruined by the huge yawn that followed this suggestion.

‘With pleasure,’ Lancelot kissed him on the forehead gently, ‘but maybe when you’re less tired and can actually appreciate my efforts.’

Merlin wanted to protest (they were supposed to be done with rain checks, damn it!), but it was indeed difficult to keep his eyes open.

‘You’re not getting out of this,’ he managed to mutter sleepily before drifting off.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke up with a curious sensation of being both incredibly well-rested and slightly uneasy. The reason for that became apparent as soon as he squinted blearily at his surroundings. The light streaming through the window suggested that it was almost midday, which meant that he had slept for several hours—that explained the first feeling. And the belief that something was wrong must have been due to the fact that he was alone.

Lancelot was gone.

For one confused moment, Merlin just stared at the empty space in the bed beside him incredulously. How could the guards sent by Arthur have taken Lancelot without a fight? There must have been some commotion. Why on earth did it not wake him?

Then came the panic. Lancelot had been arrested again and taken back to Camelot to be punished. How much time had Merlin lost? Could he catch up with them before it was too late?

He catapulted out of bed and came to a screeching halt when his mind finally cleared a little. Why would Arthur do this? They hadn’t wanted to leave; it had been his idea to banish them so as to keep the warlock out of danger. Why would he order his men to bring Lancelot back, knowing that Merlin would surely follow?

Taking a calming breath, he looked around more carefully. Lancelot’s clothes were gone, but it seemed that he hadn’t left in a hurry because those belonging to the warlock were folded neatly on a chair and not strewn across the floor where he had dropped them the night before. So maybe Lancelot had actually left of his own free will… But where had he gone, then, and why?

Still puzzled, though a little less anxious, Merlin dressed himself quickly and went to check the rest of the cottage. He found Hunith in the main room, kneading dough and humming softly to herself.

‘Mother? Where’s Lancelot?’

She looked up from her work and smiled at him.

‘He went with some of the men to help repair Old Harry’s barn. It got damaged during a storm we had a few days ago.’

Merlin stared for a moment, then plopped down on a stool. He was both relieved and slightly annoyed because what business did Lancelot have causing him to worry like that?

‘Of course he did.’ He muttered grumblingly but soon realised something that made him chuckle. They had barely arrived in Ealdor, and Lancelot was already well on his way to ingratiate himself with the villagers—not that getting into their good graces was the reason why he had joined in the rebuilding. Wanting to be of use was just a very Lancelot thing to do. ‘Why didn’t he wake me, though?’ It wasn’t like him to hoard all the inevitable praise.

‘He said you rarely get a chance to sleep in. And that you deserve to rest after what you’ve been through recently.’

Merlin rolled his eyes.

‘Nursemaid,’ he scoffed, but there was no mistaking the affection in his voice this time.

Hunith cleaned her hands on her apron and came over to him. She cupped his cheek tenderly, and he leaned into her touch.

‘We talked a little before he left. He filled in some gaps in the story you had told me yesterday.’ She looked at him with concern. ‘How are you holding up?’

Merlin scrubbed his face wearily.

‘I honestly don’t know. So much has happened, so much has changed… shifted like during an earthquake… Has he told you about the literal one we caused? Well, inside, I’m still shaking. And I’m still angry, but mostly at myself because I should have been more careful. Although it seems the banishment was necessary for us to be able to swap back… But it’s no use focusing on the past now. We need to look forward, to the future. Work out how we’re going to go from here.’

Hunith nodded sympathetically.

‘I know things look bleak now. But every storm runs out of rain, and then you can start rebuilding.’

‘Like they’re doing with Old Harry’s barn?’ Merlin gave a small smile.

‘Exactly. And you won’t have to do it alone, either.’ She paused, and then added with a twinkle in her eye. ‘He’s a very extraordinary young man.’

‘You have no idea,’ Merlin grinned, feeling giddy all of a sudden. ‘I’m sure I didn’t do him justice in my letters.’

Hunith laughed.

‘Yes, the only thing I gathered from them was that you were hopelessly smitten. I’m glad I got to finally meet him… although I wish it were under different circumstances.’

Merlin’s face darkened at the reminder of how different their first visit to Ealdor was supposed to be.

‘We were planning to come here earlier. Before everything blew up in our faces, I mean. Well, Lancelot had planned it as a surprise for me, actually,’ he sighed, remembering the thrill he had felt upon learning this.

‘He cares for you deeply,’ Hunith said, her voice gentle.

Merlin felt a pang in his chest and averted his gaze.

‘Sometimes I worry that he cares too deeply.’

‘Why?’ She pulled another stool to sit down beside him and turned his chin so that she could catch his eye. ‘You feel the same way about him, I can tell. You won’t hurt him.’

‘Perhaps not in that sense.’ The warlock shook his head. ‘But look at how much he’s sacrificed already, first to keep my secret safe and then to protect me when Arthur learned the truth. Over and over, he’s been choosing me over the life he deserves, one where he doesn’t have to lie, where no one questions his honour, and where his loyalty is appreciated.’

‘Don’t you appreciate it?’

‘Of course I do!’ Merlin exclaimed indignantly.

‘Then maybe that’s enough for him. Or maybe…’ Hunith paused and eyed her son thoughtfully, ‘maybe what you’re describing is not his dream but yours. Maybe he always chooses you because that’s the life he wants.’

‘I want to believe it, I really do…’

‘Do you trust him?’ she asked simply.

‘With my life.’

‘Then trust him on this too. Trust that he knows his own heart.’

‘I just don’t want him to regret it. Surely, one day, I won’t be enough?’

‘Why do you assume he’ll never have anything else?’

‘How can he? Every time he builds a home for himself somewhere, finds a purpose, even a family of sorts, I make him leave it. It’s not just Camelot. It was the same with Haldor. He was happy there, he told me so in his letters, and then I sent for him–’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry that you’re keeping him from settling down,’ Hunith said confidently.

‘Why?’

‘Because I believe that he’s a wanderer at heart. He probably gets restless when he stays in one place for too long.’

Merlin stared at her in stunned silence. Lancelot had never explicitly said anything to that effect, but the warlock had picked up on it when listening to the stories about his travels. There was always that hint of longing to be on the road again. Fortunately, all the patrols and missions probably helped to keep this feeling at bay… But how could his mother, of all people, know that?

Before he could ask, however, she smiled a little sadly and explained, ‘I recognise it. Your father was the same. At least, back when I knew him. I can’t imagine…’ she paused, clearly lost in her memories. Merlin waited with bated breath for her to continue. ‘Living in that cave for so many years must have been… hard. Poor Balinor…’

She shook herself and patted the hand that Merlin had put on her shoulder.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.’

Hunith’s answering smile was tender.

‘They’re not all bad. And I want you to understand something. Uther’s persecution forced your father and me apart. Because of Arthur’s decision, you and Lancelot had to give up your old lives, but not each other. Treasure that. Don’t go breaking yourself what others couldn’t. Especially not out of some vague fear or misplaced guilt.’

Merlin knew he would never be entirely free of those doubts, but he could see the merit in his mother’s advice.

‘Lancelot would probably say that I was so dismal because I haven’t eaten anything,’ he joked, trying to lighten the mood.

‘And he would be quite right,’ Hunith agreed energetically. ‘Which is why I suggest that you take this bag of food and go find him. You can share a very, very late breakfast.’

Merlin hugged her.

‘Thank you.’ It couldn’t convey all his gratitude for her love and support, but he hoped she would understand.

‘Go.’ She pushed him gently towards the door.

All in all, their conversation had a somewhat cleansing effect—it made him feel more self-possessed and optimistic, so he strolled through the village, enjoying the warm breeze and looking fondly at all the familiar places (although a few made him think of Will, which dampened his mood a little). Soon, he heard a sound of hammering, and then Old Harry’s barn came into view. Several men were milling around, carrying building materials, passing each other tools, and arguing good-naturedly about the work.

‘It looks crooked, I tell you!’

‘Your eyes are crooked, John.’

Merlin’s eyes were definitely not crooked, and they found Lancelot immediately. He was sawing some planks and talking to Tom, Old Harry’s son. Hearing his rich laughter gave the warlock a warm and fuzzy feeling, but it was the sight that made him forget that he was hungry. Lancelot had taken off his shirt at some point, and his sweaty skin glistened in the sun, the muscles in his back and arms rippling with each movement. (Merlin thought distractedly that it was a good thing Arthur always had his knights wearing chainmail during practice; he would have never got anything done otherwise…)

He would have probably stood there for ages, ogling Lancelot and oblivious to everything else, if Tom hadn’t noticed him.

‘Merlin!’ He beckoned the warlock over.

Lancelot’s head snapped up at this, and he smiled so brilliantly that Merlin was blinded for a moment. The next thing he registered was Tom saying, ‘Sure, we’re due for a break anyway,’ and then Lancelot was striding towards him, wiping his hands on his trousers.

‘Hey, you.’ When Merlin didn’t answer, he narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yes.’ The warlock shook his head dazedly. ‘Yes, sorry. You’re just… too much to handle right now.’

Lancelot blushed and quickly changed the subject.

‘It’s great to see neighbours working together like that.’

‘Yes, well, this place wouldn’t last long if they couldn’t rely on each other…’ Merlin got distracted again by a bead of perspiration rolling down Lancelot’s neck. ‘So, um… I brought food.’

‘I was already happy to see you, you know,’ Lancelot replied laughingly and leaned towards the warlock, but Merlin put out his hand to stop him. It was hard to overcome the reflex acquired back in Camelot, especially since they were in the middle of the village. People were looking, for goodness sake. Merlin didn’t know how many of them would be bothered by their public display of affection—perhaps none, but he wasn’t going to risk it. He wasn’t keen on any more drama. And besides… they finally didn’t have to work around their busy schedules to fit in some time alone together. What were they waiting for?

‘Come on.’ He grabbed Lancelot’s hand. ‘I know a place.’

In the end, they shared the very, very late breakfast on the bank of a stream flowing through a small copse just outside the village. Merlin had magicked a blanket for them to sit on while they ate a simple (yet delicious) meal of bread and cheese. As they wrestled playfully over the last of the crisp and juicy apples, the warlock decided that there was no place he’d rather be.

Afterwards, he lay back with his eyes closed, while Lancelot’s fingers grazed his arm, sending sparks through him not unlike those he felt when doing magic. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt so at peace.

‘I could get used to this,’ he murmured dreamily almost to himself.

Lancelot’s hand stilled.

‘Then do,’ he breathed so quietly that Merlin wasn’t sure if he had heard him right.

‘What?’

‘Get used to this.’

‘Oh, I see,’ he said in mock outrage, pretending to glare. ‘So that’s your plan? First you lure me here, and now you want to distract me from leaving?’

For once, Lancelot didn’t blush.

‘Is it working?’

Merlin knew it was a hopeless dream. They would be fooling themselves if they imagined it could last. Neither of them was made for a quiet life, after all. But perhaps he could ignore that for one afternoon…

‘I’m not sure yet. You’d better get on with the distracting.’

There were some things that Lancelot didn’t need to be told twice.

Chapter Text

In the end, fooling themselves proved dangerously easy.

They started by building a bigger bed with Tom’s help (he seemed to be a bit in awe of Lancelot and only teased Merlin about why they needed it in private). Then, without quite meaning to, they fell into a pattern.

Every morning, Lancelot milked the goats belonging to Liz, Hunith’s elderly neighbour (she wove them a pair of matching shirts in return). Afterwards, he went around the village, doing odd jobs: carrying water from the stream, chopping wood, whatever was needed. Everyone seemed to take a liking to Lancelot straight away—as Merlin had predicted—and he fitted in quite easily. It probably helped that this sort of life wasn’t foreign to him. After all, he wasn’t some nobleman playing at being a farmer. He knew the struggles and joys of living off the land, and so he quickly found common ground with the villagers and earned their respect. And what he didn’t know, he was eager to learn, which scored him some points even with the eternally grumpy Ed the blacksmith.

Merlin, meanwhile, used what Gaius had taught him about herbs and medicinal plants to help the Ealdorians with their various ailments. Many of them were wary at first, but when he had successfully treated a nasty cut on John’s leg, the list of his ‘patients’ started to grow rapidly. (He also suspected that it might have had something to do with Lancelot casually praising his skills whenever an opportunity presented itself.)

Their life in Ealdor wasn’t all work, though. Whenever Lancelot accompanied Merlin on his herb-gathering excursions into the woods, they more often than not ended up sprawled on the ground in some clearing, the warlock amusing them both with magic. Casting spells just for the joy of it—and to see that unceasing wonderment in Lancelot’s eyes—quickly became his favourite pastime. In the evenings, they played cards, listened to Liz who was an amazing storyteller, or stepped on each other’s feet while trying to master ‘the easiest dance in the world,’ as Tom had informed them, rolling his eyes at their inaptitude.

One thing they didn’t do was talk about returning to Camelot. At first, it was by an unspoken agreement that there was no rush. They were supposed to take a step back, after all, and focus on something else for a while. But with each passing day, instead of growing, the sense of urgency diminished, and it became harder and harder to raise the subject.

It wasn’t that Merlin never thought about Camelot anymore. It was hard not to be reminded of it since the villagers often inquired why he had come back and how long he was planning on staying. His evasive answers only piqued their curiosity but even when they finally lost interest, the topic still came up at random moments, mostly on account of the younger kids. They could barely remember how their home had been saved from Kanen’s raiders, which was probably why they demanded to be told stories about the brave and generous Prince Arthur. At first, Merlin could only smile through gritted teeth (Pity that his generosity did not extend to his friends, he grumbled under his breath), but as the days went by, he found that his anger was fading. When he finally gave in and started to describe some of their adventures—in the Labyrinth of Gedref or during Arthur’s quest to retrieve the Fisher King’s Golden Trident (all appropriately censored, of course)—he found himself missing his old life: bantering with Arthur, Gwaine’s antics, the buzz of the castle, even the view from his window. Until that point, a small, obstinate voice in his head had been encouraging him to stay away from Camelot out of spite, in the hope that the Prince would come to regret his decision (even though Merlin obviously didn’t want his friends to come to any harm). But he was beginning to realise that he was mostly hurting himself, and so their stay in Ealdor lost some of its charm for him.

Even though he was coming around to the idea of going back, he was nevertheless still stumped as to how to do it. Try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself that it would all work out somehow simply because he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin and, more importantly, friends. They needed a really good plan… and that was the point where his deliberations inevitably came to a screeching halt as he remembered that he still hadn’t brought Lancelot on board with this.

And there was no doubt in his mind about why he hadn’t done it yet.

As he watched Lancelot play hide and seek with the neighbours’ kids, chatter animatedly with Hunith about old family recipes while he chopped vegetables for a stew, argue politely with Ed about the quality of the steel that his sword was made of, Merlin thought, I can’t drag him away from yet another home. But it was more than just reluctance to uproot his life again. Lancelot had never looked so relaxed, so at ease, and Merlin knew exactly what had caused it: Lancelot was no longer afraid for him, was no longer worried about the sword hanging over the warlock’s head. How could he deprive him of that peace of mind?

And so he stalled, putting off that conversation indefinitely, and as time went by, he resigned himself to the fact that they would probably never have it.

His work kept him busy during the day but at night, he often lay awake, wrapped safely in Lancelot’s arms and yet feeling torn. There was no place he’d rather be, he was sure of that, but he couldn’t help the prickles of homesickness (and yes, he appreciated the irony). Even thinking that Lancelot was not enough seemed like a betrayal, however, so he pushed that thought away, focusing instead on being grateful for what he had—a precious thing that was worth every sacrifice it demanded.

Still, the conviction that this fantasy they were living in was untenable in the long run hovered constantly at the edge of his mind. Thankfully, it was easy to ignore it since Lancelot continued to offer all kinds of distractions. The determination with which he did it sometimes told Merlin how much he feared that he was falling short, so it was even more important to convince him that the warlock did not regret choosing their life in Ealdor, built on sand as it was, over going back to Camelot.

And, all in all, he didn’t regret it. If he could have only one of those two things, he was sure he had picked right.

Once or twice, though, he caught Lancelot looking at him with a guilty expression and wondered if, perhaps, Lancelot knew exactly what Merlin was doing—but still neither of them said anything. It felt weird, not being completely straight with each other, and yet the warlock knew that it was a price he had to pay if he wanted this to last.

On top of that—though it might have seemed like a trifle in comparison—he was preoccupied with Lancelot’s upcoming birthday. They would be celebrating it together for the first time, and Merlin wanted to make it special. The original plan (which had envisaged Gwaine ‘luring’ Lancelot to the Castle of the Ancient Kings where Merlin would be waiting with food, wine, and ideas for how to take advantage of the fact that they would have the place all to themselves) could no longer happen, for obvious reasons, and he scrambled to think of something equally amazing.

In the end, he got a stroke of inspiration which certainly made that day memorable—though not for the reasons he intended.

‘Sneaking out in the middle of the night? That sounds familiar,’ Lancelot murmured as the warlock led him through the deserted, moonlit village and into the woods. Merlin’s breath hitched because he thought he detected a hint of longing in Lancelot’s voice. Were they both pretending not to miss Camelot?

He shook himself. It was not the time to get sucked into that particular quagmire.

‘Old habits die hard, I guess,’ he said lightly. ‘Come on.’

When they reached a sufficiently large clearing, he turned to Lancelot with a mischievous grin.

‘What do you think is the biggest perk of knowing a Dragonlord?’

‘No…’ Lancelot gasped.

‘Oh, very much yes,’ Merlin winked. ‘It’s high time you met him.’

Only after summoning Kilgharrah, as he leaned against Lancelot while they waited, did it occur to him that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea after all. Wouldn’t the dragon admonish them for hanging about in Ealdor?

It was too late to do anything about it now, though, so he focused instead on watching the anticipation on Lancelot’s face turn into awe as a grey dragon glided majestically through the air towards them. That silent wonderment—whether in reaction to magic or to the beauty of the world in general—was something Merlin knew he would never tire of.

He realised that Lancelot was gripping his hand, and he squeezed it back reassuringly.

‘Happy birthday,’ he whispered in his ear, ‘and many happy returns.’

A shadow crossed Lancelot’s face then, but before Merlin could inquire as to the cause of it, the dragon asked sharply, ‘Is this your knight, by any chance, young warlock?’

Merlin hesitated, puzzled by the phrasing of the question and suddenly unsure if he should answer it truthfully, but Lancelot took the matter out of his hands.

‘Actually, I’m no longer a knight.’

He sounded so matter-of-fact, no one but Merlin could have told how much it still hurt him to admit it. To the warlock’s surprise, the dragon snorted impatiently.

‘Arthur’s whim won’t change who you are meant to be: Sir Lancelot, the bravest and most noble of them all.’

Merlin grinned in delight, forgetting his misgivings, and bumped Lancelot’s shoulder.

‘See? I told you! You’re meant to be a knight! And not just any knight! The bravest and most noble of them all! You know, it might even sound better than “the Once and Future King.” Hold on…’ He turned to Kilgharrah. ‘Does this mean that Lancelot is part of my destiny? For real, I mean? I know I’ve called him that before but… since you know about him, is it, like, official?’

The dragon nodded his great head with what sounded like a resigned sigh.

‘Unfortunately, yes.’

‘Why “unfortunately”?’ Lancelot asked, his voice wary.

Kilgharrah blinked at him slowly a few times as if considering his answer.

‘Because you’re currently standing in the way of him fulfilling that destiny.’

‘Don’t be absurd–’ Merlin started to protest but was shocked into silence when Lancelot nodded as if Kilgharrah had confirmed his suspicions.

‘How so?’ he asked, almost dispassionately, and the warlock gaped at him. He didn’t like this calm acceptance one bit.

‘He’s putting you before his duty,’ the dragon explained. ‘You’re more important to him than anything. Certainly more important than Arthur or Albion.’

Merlin was too stunned to contradict Kilgharrah (besides, well, he wasn’t wrong), but he still half-expected Lancelot to jump to his defence, most likely deprecating himself and saying that he couldn’t possibly be the reason why the warlock abandoned his duty to protect Arthur. Lancelot, however, just shook his head with a bitter chuckle.

‘So I’m doomed to always come between the people I love and who they’re destined to become? Just like with Guinevere? Is that what makes me the bravest and most noble of them all? That I leave and allow them to achieve what they’re supposed to achieve?’

Any mention of leaving was guaranteed to spring Merlin into action, and he grabbed Lancelot by the shoulder.

‘What are you– No! Don’t even–’

Lancelot turned to him with a sad smile.

‘Merlin, please. I know what’s keeping you here, even though you want to go back. I haven’t said anything…’ He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. ‘I’ve been selfish. I’m sorry.’

‘No! No, no.’ Merlin was gripping both his shoulders now. ‘This is not your fault.’

‘I should have brought up the question of returning to Camelot,’ Lancelot insisted. ‘I told you we would think of a plan, and then I didn’t follow through on my promise. I chose to ignore what we had agreed on. You were safe, and I dared to believe that I could make this work, that even though you were away from people you cared about, I would be able to keep you happy. And so I also chose to ignore what you wanted. I used your feelings for me to bully you into staying…’

‘No, Lancelot, no,’ Merlin interrupted him gently, taking his face in his hands. ‘You weren’t selfish. You’ve given me the greatest gift—a glimpse of another life, a most wonderful life. Thank you.’

Lancelot grimaced and tried to pull away.

‘Merlin, you don’t have to– I mean, you have every right to be angry with me…’

‘But I’m not,’ the warlock assured him quickly. ‘I wanted this to work, too. You have no idea how much I wanted this to work. And even if it was doomed from the start, I’m glad we tried. So don’t you go feeling guilty.’

‘But I’ve let you down,’ Lancelot said stubbornly.

Merlin wanted to roll his eyes but checked himself just in time. Lancelot needed reassurance, not ridicule.

‘I don’t see it that way. I can only imagine how hard it is to protect me. You were doing what you thought was best,’ he said seriously, but couldn’t help adding with a wink, to lighten the mood, ‘Besides, I don’t summon the Great Dragon as a treat just for anyone, you know. That should tell you something about whether I hold a grudge.’ 

The corners of Lancelot’s mouth twitched, but his reply was lost in Kilgharrah’s annoyed huff.

‘Am I needed for something else, or may I leave now?’ he asked testily.

Merlin stepped back, letting his hands fall down to his sides, and inclined his head with a blush.

‘Forgive me, old friend. But your trip wasn’t entirely wasted.’ He turned back to Lancelot. ‘We wanted to keep each other happy, but we went the wrong way about it. Let’s face it, Lancelot, we suck at being selfish. We need a purpose beyond ourselves. Doesn’t fighting together for what we believe in, something bigger than us give you that special feeling, like, ‘Yes, I was made for this’? Not to mention that you love the thrill of the fight; you would go nuts milking goats for the rest of your life. What I’m trying to say… We can’t escape who we are. And I don’t want to. I like us this way. And the truth is, we have work to do in Camelot. Work that no one else can do. And I know it’s going to be dangerous, and scary, and that I’ll curse myself sometimes for asking but… will you go back with me?’

Before Lancelot could respond, Kilgharrah said softly from above them, ‘I think that was decided long ago.’

Chapter Text

Merlin shivered slightly when the gust of wind accompanying Kilgharrah’s departure hit them, and he snuggled closer to Lancelot, who put an arm around him.

‘I’m sorry,’ the warlock said in a small voice. ‘You probably wish I had just baked you a cake.’

Lancelot raised his eyebrows in disbelief.

‘Are you kidding? I really appreciate your present. You summoned a dragon for me.’

‘Yeah, a dragon that basically told you that you were responsible for the fall of Albion.’ Merlin grimaced at the reminder.

Lancelot shrugged nonchalantly.

‘At least I know that I am of some consequence in all of this.’

Merlin felt hurt by the implication and wriggled out from under Lancelot’s arm to face him.

‘Oh, so you needed Kilgharrah to tell you that before you could believe it? I’m sorry that I wasn’t clear enough. I guess I thought it was obvious. You want me to spell it out for you? Fine. Of course you’re of consequence. You always have been. But not as an obstacle. Far from it. Maybe I could do this destiny thing without you. Maybe I even should, to protect you. But you know what? I don’t want to–’

Lancelot tried to interrupt him several times without success and finally resorted to Merlin’s own trusted method for cutting off emotional rants.

The kiss left the warlock breathless (and, as a result, silent), and Lancelot seized the opportunity.

‘That was a joke,’ he clarified. ‘A joke in very poor taste. I don’t think that way.’

‘Good,’ Merlin muttered dizzily, his indignation forgotten, and went back for more.

He would have happily got lost in the heady feeling this particular exercise always gave him, but then Kilgharrah’s unamused face popped into his mind out of the blue, and he tore himself away with regret.

‘Okay, no,’ he panted. ‘I really should do this without you.’

Lancelot blinked, startled and unhappy.

‘No, Merlin, we agreed. We’re in this together.’

‘Yes, sorry, no, I meant this part.’ The warlock rubbed his forehead wearily. ‘I need to come up with a plan how to get us back to Camelot, and you’re too much of a distraction. So go back to the village, get some rest, and let me think in peace.’

Lancelot didn’t move.

‘Go on. Shoo,’ Merlin said a little crossly because why did Lancelot have to be so stubborn? The warlock obviously didn’t wish to send him away, but it was necessary, and Lancelot being difficult about it was hardly helping. ‘Seriously, Lancelot, you are standing in my way now.’

‘What if I told you that I already have an idea how to get us back to Camelot?’ Lancelot asked with hesitation, not quite meeting the warlock’s eyes.

Merlin stared at him.

‘You mean that you were sitting on a plan all the time we’ve been playing house? And you neglected to tell me that because…?’

‘Not all the time,’ Lancelot mumbled defensively. ‘And it’s not like you’re going to be thrilled when you hear it.’

The warlock put his hands on his hips. He hadn’t been lying when he said that he wasn’t angry with Lancelot for trying to keep him in Ealdor, but he was well on his way to be miffed at this new revelation.

‘Wow, this just keeps getting better and better. But since you finally decided to mention this secret plan that I won’t like, perhaps you’d care to enlighten me further?’

Considering the circumstances, he thought that he was allowed this little bit of snark. Lancelot obviously agreed because he just sighed.

‘I haven’t been keeping it from you for long,’ he emphasised. ‘Only since the fair.’

‘The fair?’ A couple of weeks earlier, they had gone to a nearby town—ostensibly to get some supplies Merlin thought he might need—and ended up having a blast at the fair there, exploring all that it had to offer and stuffing themselves with honey cakes. ‘What has that got to do with anything?’

‘Well, while you were haggling over this,’ Lancelot pointed to the wristband he was wearing, made of leather and embossed with a pattern of big and small stars (You are my North Star too, you know, the warlock had whispered as he put it on—and then had to explain that it was yet another secret he had unwittingly pried from Percival), ‘I got talking with a merchant from Mercia. He mentioned that the trade deal with Camelot had fallen through.’

‘What? You didn’t tell me that!’ Merlin said accusingly. ‘Did he know why?’

‘No. But it’s not hard to guess what they couldn’t agree on, is it?’

The warlock considered this.

‘I don’t know,’ he pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘Surely Lord Bayard must have known that it was a long shot. I can’t believe he would make adding the clause about allowing merchants to carry magical objects a non-negotiable condition.’

‘True,’ Lancelot admitted. ‘But remember that Arthur was, ah, slightly on edge and not in a position to make wise decisions,’ Merlin snorted at that, ‘especially where magic was concerned. He may have shot the whole thing down himself as a, you know…’

‘Precaution,’ Merlin hissed through gritted teeth.

‘Quite.’

‘Well, thank you for reminding me that he’s a clotpole and needs someone to stop him when he’s being stupid. What I don’t see, though, is how exactly this fits into your secret plan that I won’t like.’

Lancelot rubbed the back of his neck (a tell-tale sign that he was apprehensive of Merlin’s reaction) but then seemed to master up the courage.

‘I suggest that we go to Mercia and ask Lady Beatrice to persuade her uncle to send us to Camelot as special envoys to talk Arthur into accepting the deal.’

Merlin’s jaw dropped. He had a sense of déjà vu. Was Lancelot only able to come up with the most insane and reckless ideas?

‘You– This– What–’

‘I figure that if we tell her the truth about why I was banished– Not the whole truth,’ Lancelot amended quickly when Merlin started in alarm, ‘but the version about me and the sorceress… Well, we should be able to make her see why it’s important to us that magic be allowed in Camelot and that she can trust us to pull all the stops to make that deal happen.’

‘But it’s just a trade deal,’ the warlock pointed out, surprised at himself that he was even discussing the merits of this hare-brained suggestion. ‘Even if we get Arthur to agree to that clause about magical objects—and that’s the biggest if I ever saw—it will only profit Mercian merchants passing through Camelot. There’s nothing in it for us.’

‘Nothing except Lord Bayard’s protection.’

‘What?’

‘If we’re his envoys, Arthur won’t be able to punish me for coming back. And he will have to let us stay. He won’t like it, but he won’t have a choice. We’ll be able to protect him and at the same time make our case for “that bigger thing”—making magic legal.’

Merlin blinked. He hated agreeing with Arthur but there was no escaping it. Lancelot was truly the most audacious of them all.

And it was the warlock’s duty to poke holes in his foolhardy plan.

‘Why would the Mercians do this? We have nothing going for us. We have no status. We have been banished and disgraced. No one in their right mind, no one, would even consider sending us back to Camelot on such a mission.’

‘You weren’t officially banished,’ Lancelot persisted. ‘You could be the face of it.’

‘Who? Me? A former servant?’

Lancelot took a step closer.

‘You know you’re much more than that,’ he said quietly.

Merlin shook his head.

‘It doesn’t matter. That’s how the world sees me.’

‘Then we’ll tell Lady Beatrice about the body swap. That it was actually you who took part in the negotiations. She has seen how capable you are…’

‘I’m not sure that admitting to how we’ve deceived her is going to persuade her to trust us with this envoy.’

‘Let’s just try, Merlin. What’s the worst that could happen? If she says no, then we’ll leave and think of something else.’

‘No, the worst thing that could happen is that she says yes and we go ahead with this madcap scheme of yours. Because you’re right about one thing. Arthur won’t like it, and there will be hell to pay. If we oppose him so brazenly–’

‘Fortune favours the bold, or so I’m told.’

Merlin frowned. He couldn’t quite believe his ears.

‘Who are you, and what have you done with cautious Lancelot?’

Lancelot snorted, not unkindly.

‘Actually, when you think about it… I haven’t been cautious in a long time. We wouldn’t be in this mess if I hadn’t pushed you to use the body swap to talk to Arthur about allowing magic in Camelot. And if I hadn’t insisted on him not punishing you, he might not have realised who my “sorceress” really was.’

‘But then you stopped me from going straight back after we’d broken the spell,’ Merlin reminded him, and Lancelot smiled wryly.

‘I think we’ve already established that I did that mainly for selfish reasons. Look, I know that this plan is risky. But anything we come up with will be. At least going as envoys gives us the chance to get a foot in the door, so to speak, in a relatively safe way. Convincing Arthur will be another matter, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

Merlin groaned. How was Lancelot able to take a wild idea and make it sound sensible? He made one last-ditch effort to discourage him.

‘But how are we going to get to her in the first place? We can’t just waltz in there demanding to see Lord Bayard’s niece, you know. We will need help, preferably from someone on the inside–’

A twinkle appeared in Lancelot’s eyes.

‘Then it’s a good thing that her maid has a soft spot for us.’

Merlin scrunched up his face in confusion for a moment before Gwen’s words floated back to him. She’s quite taken with you, Merlin… I mean, Lancelot… uh, well, Arthur’s current manservant, to be exact, who is probably a mix of you both.

He chuckled weakly.

‘I can’t decide if you’re brilliant or if you’ve been knocked on the head too many times.’

‘Neither.’ Lancelot shrugged. ‘But if I am meant to be part of your destiny, I want to earn that title.’

Merlin knew in that moment that he had lost the battle. Frankly, he was surprised that he hadn’t been hit with the intense gaze earlier. But he was grateful that Lancelot had listened to his reservations first and only then disarmed him in that ridiculously easy way. Granted, his plan was dangerous and more than a little crazy, but it was still better than what the warlock had come up with, which was a big, fat nothing. And, after all, hadn’t they proven that they could do anything together? Maybe fortune would really smile down at them for attempting something so daring?

One thing was clear to him, though—he was about to lose the thread of his thoughts, and there was no point in fighting it. If they were planning to head into danger, it seemed fitting to make the most of the calm before the storm.

He grabbed a fistful of Lancelot’s shirt to pull him closer.

‘Has anyone ever told you,’ he murmured huskily, ‘that you have a flair for the dramatic?’

Amazingly, Lancelot was still able to stay on topic.

‘Does that mean we’re going to Mercia?’

The distance between them was too small for Merlin’s brain to work properly.

‘Yes, fine, whatever,’ he gasped. ‘Still time… to celebrate… your birthday… come on.’

Lancelot did not oppose this plan at all.

Chapter Text

Merlin was glad to be on the road again if only because it was a joy to watch Lancelot glow with contentment. Being on the move made him visibly happy. He relished the open air regardless of the weather, and there was a quietly excited gleam in his eye every time he turned to Merlin to share an observation with the warlock inspired by something they had encountered. Even though he maintained a cautious stance and was constantly on the lookout for danger, it was a different kind of tension, one that Lancelot seemed to crave. Their ride to Ealdor had been so hectic that it didn’t really count, but now he was obviously in his element. If Merlin ever needed proof that Lancelot was a wanderer at heart, this was it.

Since they had already let much time pass while in Ealdor, Merlin felt like maybe they ought to hurry, but instead, he stretched out their journey to Mercia as long as he could. Asking Lord Bayard to send them to Camelot as envoys was risky, and if he agreed, they would be kicking up a storm and then walking straight into the eye of it, so the warlock wanted Lancelot to have this: a sort of last gift of a few happy days before they stepped over the precipice. But the powers that be clearly didn’t appreciate him putting Lancelot before his duty, and they set to brewing a storm of their own.

That would explain why, when they finally crossed the border into Mercia, Merlin got it into his head that it would be a good idea to stray from the path—ostensibly to gather some berries for lunch but in reality to find a nice clearing where he could suggest flopping to the ground and watching the clouds for a while or something. The day was perfect for that: bright and warm, with a gentle breeze bringing the smell of pines. As Lancelot was also prone to putting Merlin before his duty, it didn’t take long to persuade him to follow the warlock deeper into the woods. They went on foot, leading the horses through the trees in silence, enjoying the tranquil sounds of the surrounding nature.

At last, they arrived at a small clearing which looked ordinary enough except for a solitary tree in the middle, with a pile of what resembled rubbish underneath it. That should probably have been a sign to turn back immediately (although, as it later turned out, the damage had already been done), but Merlin let his curiosity get the better of him.

He approached the tree—first checking for any possible threat, of course—and looked more closely at the pile of stuff. It was a collection of everyday objects, some showing signs of wear, others in almost mint condition. Merlin saw bowls and other kitchen utensils, a wooden toy cart with a missing wheel, a distaff, a knife with a chipped blade, a piece of intricately woven fabric, and many, many other things. Next to them grew a small rosemary bush that seemed to have been planted there by someone and was apparently still being tended.

‘What do you think this is?’ he asked Lancelot, still looking at the various objects. When there was no reply, he felt a spike of fear. Was this some sort of trap? Had a group of bandits dragged Lancelot away while he had been distracted? But how could they have done it without him noticing anything?

Merlin whipped around and heaved a sigh of relief when he found himself face to face with Lancelot. But at once, the fear returned with double force because Lancelot looked scared.

‘What is it?’

Lancelot pointed at his mouth, opened and closed it a few times without making a sound, then shook his head frantically.

‘What? You can’t speak? But how–?’ Merlin tried to fight the rising panic. ‘Okay, okay, I get it. You’re pulling my leg. You’re pretending to be enchanted so that I would kiss you to break the spell, right? Right?’

Lancelot frowned and made a cutting motion with his hand which Merlin understood to mean an emphatic ‘no.’

‘Okay, sorry, sorry. But then how–? I mean, when–?’

Lancelot shrugged. Since they hadn’t been talking on the way to the clearing, it was probably hard to pinpoint the moment when staying silent had stopped being a choice.

‘Fine, it’s fine, don’t worry, we’ll fix this,’ Merlin assured him, though he was far from certain that they could. ‘Um, well, maybe we should try the kiss anyway, you know, on the off chance that it’s that simple?’

Lancelot looked about as much hopeful as Merlin felt (which is to say, not very), but he inclined his head in agreement.

Even though they were both tense and worried, Merlin soon drew comfort from the familiarity of guiding Lancelot’s lips to his. He was on solid ground here—no hesitation, no uncertainty, only a sense of calm followed by a growing thrill…

Amazingly, they managed to get interrupted even in this out-of-the-way place.

A giggle followed by a shushing noise made them jump apart, and Merlin had to admit that the last thing he had expected to see were two girls. Or, rather, a young woman who was short and stout and had the thickest braid the warlock had ever seen, and a bright-eyed teenage girl wearing an impressive flower crown.

They stood staring at each other in consternation. The young woman was the first to recover. She set down the pitcher she was carrying and asked kindly, ‘Have you come for the Remembrance? You’re a bit early, aren’t you? It’s five days after the first summer moon.’

Merlin’s confusion only grew, and he stumbled over his response.

‘The Rem–? No. Sorry, no. We were just passing by, saw this,’ he gestured at the pile of stuff, ‘and, well, wondered what it was.’

The girl started squirming excitedly, and her companion gave her an encouraging nod.

‘Go ahead, Keela. Tell them.’

The girl swept her arm over the objects in a grand gesture and proclaimed, ‘Those are the things that our people took with them when they fled Camelot.’

‘During…’ the elder one prompted her.

‘Oh, yes! During the Great Purge.’ Keela flashed them a proud smile which felt a bit incongruous with the topic at hand.

Merlin stared at them, uncomprehending.

‘Your people?’

‘Those with magic who were fleeing from Uther’s persecution,’ the young woman explained in a more sombre tone. ‘They settled here but didn’t want to forget where they came from. That’s why they made this. It’s a kind of shrine to memory. Once a year we hold the Remembrance here, to honour the home we lost.’

The warlock crouched by the pile again and lightly touched the broken toy cart. It was strange, but he had only ever thought about those who had perished during the Purge or had been bent on revenge like Edwin and Alvarr. He never wondered what happened to the survivors who tried to carry on with their lives.

‘I’ve never heard of this… Remembrance, but it sounds really special.’

‘No reason why you should if you’re Mercian. We don’t really advertise it. Everyone is welcome, of course, but we know it really only matters to those who are from Camelot.’

‘But we are from Camelot!’ Merlin interjected. ‘I mean, not originally, but we live there… well, used to live there, I guess? It’s hard to explain…’ He stopped talking, suddenly aware that it was unnecessary—foolish, even—to volunteer all that information. It was just so unexpected to meet someone who had both magic and a connection to Camelot.

The young woman must have thought that he was trying to find words to express what he meant, and she clearly wanted to spare him the trouble because she said with a knowing smile, ‘I understand. Our stories may differ in details, but we were all forced to leave because of who we are.’

‘Er… yeah,’ Merlin mumbled. After all, she wasn’t wrong.

‘So you’ve come seeking refuge?’ she continued. ‘You’re welcome to stay, of course–’

‘No, no,’ Merlin interrupted her politely. Again, it was foolhardy to share their plans with a stranger, but he couldn’t see the harm in it in this case. ‘We’re actually on our way back there.’

‘Back to Camelot?’ She raised her eyebrows in surprise.

‘Yes. It’s a long story. We needed to come to Mercia first to convince someone to help us return there…’ He paused because that reminded him that their entire plan of persuading Lord Bayard to send them as envoys rested on Lancelot’s ability to sweet talk people—so it was kind of essential that he was able to actually talk. The girls had interrupted them before they had a chance to see if the kiss had worked. Granted, if Lancelot had regained his voice, he would have probably already said so, but maybe he had been taken aback by the mentions of magic and Camelot too? There was only one way to find out, and Merlin looked questioningly at him.

‘Can you…?’

Lancelot shook his head mournfully, and Merlin’s heart dropped to his stomach, but before he could start worrying about what to do, the young woman asked incredulously, ‘Why would you go back there? Don’t you know that Uther is still burning people like us at the stake?’

The warlock blinked. For some reason, he felt that she hadn’t meant the other villagers.

‘People like us?’ he repeated to confirm his suspicions.

‘People with magic,’ she explained impatiently. ‘I get that you miss it—we all do—but it’s too much of a risk.’

Merlin sensed Lancelot shifting beside him, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the young woman. How did she–?

‘How do you know that I have magic?’ he blurted out.

‘Oh.’ She made an apologetic gesture. ‘I didn’t mean to spring it on you. You’re probably used to hiding it from people.’

‘But how do you know?’ Merlin demanded, wondering why he was more curious than scared. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Lancelot’s hand tightening on the grip of his sheathed sword. The girls saw it too, and the elder one pushed Keela behind her. Merlin quickly laid a hand on Lancelot’s shoulder in a calming gesture. ‘It’s okay.’ He turned to the others. ‘Forgive him. Force of habit.’

The young woman relaxed a little, although she still eyed Lancelot warily.

‘You wanted to know how I know? There are protective spells around this place that only allow magical people to enter. If you’re here, you must have magic. It’s as simple as that.’

‘And how exactly do these spells work?’ Merlin asked, fascinated.

‘Well, I don’t know the specifics. It’s all rather complicated… But the bottom line is that when a non-magical person approaches the boundary, they just don’t cross it. They go away. The spells make them forget why they were going in this direction, that sort of thing.’

The warlock was impressed, but now he wondered about something else.

‘But why do you need these spells? I thought magic was allowed in Mercia. Why are you living in hiding?’

She smiled sadly.

‘Magic used to be allowed in Camelot too… up to a point. We’re not going to risk putting our trust in non-magical people again.’

Merlin could understand that. Frankly, it made much more sense than what he had been doing until not long ago—staying smack in the heart of the lion’s den.

Something brushed the small of his back, and the warlock froze. Not because he was afraid (he had recognised that touch and knew that it had been meant as a secret signal), but because it suddenly dawned on him that Lancelot’s non-magical status could prove problematic. Would the villagers let go of their prejudices and accept him when they learned the truth? It didn’t sound as if they were looking for payback, but if an opportunity presented itself to them like that… Perhaps it would be better not to tell them? Although Merlin had to admit that it would be quite ironic if their situation got reversed and he had to conceal Lancelot’s true identity.

He thought asking a hypothetical question might help him decide what to do.

‘And if a non-magical person accidentally managed to cross that barrier… with no ill intentions, I mean… would you… hurt them?’

The young woman bristled slightly.

‘No, of course not. We’re not monsters like Uther. As long as they came in peace, they would be welcome.’

It sounded reassuring, but those were just words. Merlin had no guarantee her declaration would hold up in practice. He was debating whether it was even possible to get that certainty when Lancelot caught his chin and gently turned it so that they faced each other. And his expression said plainly, I believe her.

Merlin’s gut told him to trust Lancelot’s judgement, but he still wavered. There was no reason to tell her the truth: that the protective spells had failed and allowed a non-magical person to enter the village. He and Lancelot could just say their goodbyes and leave. Nothing was keeping them here, except… except the fact that Lancelot couldn’t say anything. Merlin nearly gasped when the possibility of why that might be occurred to him. Maybe the spells had actually worked but, for some reason, not exactly as intended?

‘Have the spells ever taken away someone’s voice?’ he asked and heard Lancelot exhale in surprise beside him.

She frowned in confusion.

‘I don’t think so? If someone went inexplicably mute, that would be bound to attract attention. And that’s the opposite of what we want.’

‘But you can’t be sure?’ Merlin insisted.

‘Well, we’re not cut off from the outside world,’ she reasoned. ‘We would have heard about anything like that… Why do you ask?’

The warlock made up his mind. But breaking the news to her was still so scary that he fell back on his trusted tactic of making a joke of it.

‘Because Lancelot here doesn’t have magic, but he used to have a voice before we came here. And we would like to get it back, thank you.’

Lancelot bumped Merlin’s shoulder with his fist and rolled his eyes. Merlin grinned at him sheepishly. He knew he was making light of a serious matter, but that was the only way to keep the fear of the consequences at bay.

He turned to the young woman, who was visibly taken aback.

‘He doesn’t have magic?’ she repeated slowly, and Merlin nodded, hoping desperately that he hadn’t made a mistake.

‘Something I’ve always been grateful for. Until today, I guess.’ The joke fell flat, and Lancelot grabbed Merlin’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly. The warlock immediately felt ashamed. Lancelot was the one in immediate danger, and yet he also had to be the one offering emotional support. He pulled himself together. ‘Look, I swear we didn’t mean any harm. We came here by accident, and we would leave right now, but we need to get his voice back. I know you have no reason to help us but…’ An idea struck him. ‘Please, it’s important for Camelot.’

He waited with bated breath as she mulled this over, eyeing them both thoughtfully. At last, she made a decision and addressed her companion, who had been listening to the exchange with wide open mouth, ‘Go fetch your father, Keela.’

The girl ran off into the forest in the opposite direction to the one from which Merlin and Lancelot had approached the clearing. The young woman didn’t move; she just kept her eyes trained on Lancelot as if trying to see all the way into his soul. The warlock wondered how many non-magical people she had met since fleeing Camelot. She claimed the villagers were not hostile to them, but it sounded like fraternisation between the two groups was not encouraged. Was she afraid of the unknown or fascinated by it? Or did she hold a grudge, maybe one she wasn’t even aware of nursing? It was a pity Lancelot couldn’t smooth things over with one of his sincere and deeply moving speeches. If anyone could bridge that divide born of distrust and fear, it would be him, Merlin was certain of that.

But it seemed that, in her case at least, no words were needed because her tone was kind when she finally spoke.

‘I’m very sorry about this… Lancelot, was it? I hope we can get to the bottom of this as soon as possible. My name is Steorra, by the way.’

Lancelot nudged him, and the warlock realised he was expected to round up the introductions.

‘I’m Merlin,’ he said quickly and then returned to the topic that was foremost in his mind. ‘So… can Keela’s father help us fix this?’

‘I hope so,’ she sighed. ‘He’s the head of our village.’

They fell silent. Merlin was fine with that (although a distraction from worrying about how they were going to get Lancelot’s voice back would not have been such a bad idea), but Lancelot started fidgeting, so he took pity on him. He racked his brain for some small talk topic.

‘Did you and Keela knew each other before coming here?’ Only after asking the question did he realise how silly it was. The younger girl must have been born long after the Purge. But Steorra didn’t seem to mind.

‘Her family and mine had been neighbours in Camelot, and when she was born—after we arrived here—I helped take care of her. She’s like a sister to me.’

‘And what of your family?’ In hindsight, it was probably the most insensitive thing he could have asked. But it just slipped out, and he was left squirming in mortification when she answered, ‘My parents died when I was little. During the Purge.’

His reaction wasn’t just due to guilt about bringing up her bad memories. Merlin glanced quickly at Lancelot, who had gone a little pale. But then he pointed at himself and gave the warlock an encouraging nod.

‘We’re sorry.’ Merlin said and then conveyed Lancelot’s message as requested. ‘Lancelot lost his parents when raiders from the northern plains attacked his village.’

Understanding dawned on Steorra’s face, and she gave a small compassionate smile.

‘And now you won’t let anything happen to your second family, hm?’ she asked, her eyes darting to Merlin.

Lancelot nodded.

Steorra hesitated for a moment, then closed the distance between them and put her hand on Lancelot’s forearm.

‘Magical or not,’ she said quietly, ‘in the end, we’re not that different.’

Unable to respond with words, Lancelot covered her hand with his and inclined his head. Merlin’s throat tightened. On the one hand, he was glad to see that Lancelot found common ground with Steorra—it surely raised his chances of being accepted by the other villagers—but he wished the reason for that mutual understanding and connection didn’t have to be so tragic.

Steorra stepped away, looking a bit flustered, and picked up the pitcher. She used it to water the rosemary plant. When she saw Merlin staring, she explained, ‘It was my mother’s. She kept it in a pot by the window. I brought it with me when Keela’s family took me in after… And then when we were leaving Camelot for good… I was five, and it’s silly, but I just grabbed two things: my doll and that pot. I have offshoots growing in the village for everyday use, but this one… this one is just for remembering.’ Merlin could tell Lancelot was bursting with words of comfort, but that was one thing he couldn’t relay. He could not imagine what they had both been through, and he worried about sounding trite. She didn’t seem to mind the lack of response, though. ‘Do you have any keepsakes from home, Lancelot?’

He shook his head, and Merlin’s heart clenched when he remembered the young man who had arrived in Camelot with only his sword and the clothes on his back, both of which he had acquired long after leaving his village behind.

Steorra broke off a sprig of her mother’s rosemary, muttering a spell under her breath, and presented it to Lancelot on an open palm.

‘It’s just a symbol, but symbols have great power. May you never forget.’

Lancelot took the sprig and tucked it into the wristband Merlin had given him. Then he put his hand on his heart and bowed his head.

Steorra smiled softly.

‘You’re welcome.’

Despite how strongly he used to disagree with Arthur about it, Merlin actually felt useless in that moment. All he could really do was hold Lancelot and make him feel less alone in the world, and even that was impossible right now. Not with an audience, no matter how sympathetic.

He was thus grateful to hear approaching footsteps, although he was dismayed when he realised how many people were spilling out of the trees into the clearing. He had been expecting only Keela’s father, not such a big crowd. Instinctively, he stepped in front of Lancelot and thanked gods that the villagers didn’t know that he used to serve the man they despised. As they neared, however, he saw that the group comprised also women and children, and he relaxed a little. Maybe he was stereotyping, but they didn’t resemble an angry mob intent on killing intruders. They didn’t carry pitchforks and flaming torches, at any rate. If anything, they seemed to have come out of sheer curiosity.

The group was headed by an unassuming man with a shrewd expression that spoke of intelligence. His eyes swept over the scene before him, lingering on Lancelot’s sword. Merlin tried to ignore the prickle of fear.

‘Well?’ the man spoke. His voice was calm but authoritative. ‘What’s that I hear about a non-magical person breaching our borders?’

‘Unintentionally,’ the warlock put in quickly but realised he might have come off as rude. He tried again. ‘My name is Merlin, and this is Lancelot. We stumbled upon this place by accident. We didn’t mean any harm. But the protective spells you have around this place didn’t work. Lancelot doesn’t have magic, but they allowed him in. Only now he’s lost his voice. We tried the true love’s kiss…’ Merlin blushed because it was embarrassing to admit that in front of a crowd of strangers, but he needed to be clear about what steps they had taken. ‘It has worked before but… well, he’s still voiceless. So we very kindly ask for your help in reversing that enchantment. And then we’ll be on our way,’ he added to emphasise that they didn’t intend to overstay their welcome.

The surprised muttering which had started among the gathered villagers already while Merlin had been talking was cut short by the gesture made by Keela’s father.

‘First of all, my name is Crawe, and I’m the head of this village. Which is why I sincerely apologise for what has happened to you because we never meant to inflict something like that on anyone. That said, I confess I am a little at a loss…’ He glanced around his fellow villagers. ‘Does any of you know what could have caused this?’

‘The spells are not to blame!’ A middle-aged woman with a very noticeable wart on her nose protested hotly. ‘They have never malfunctioned like that before. It must be something else!’

‘No one’s blaming the spells, Geron,’ Crawe assured her calmly, and Merlin assumed she had created the protective barrier. ‘But maybe there’s some catch?’

‘There’s no catch.’ She shook her head. ‘Either you don’t have magic and then the spells turn you away, or you’re a magical person and not affected at all. There’s no third way.’

Lancelot touched Merlin’s arm to get his attention and gestured between the two of them with a questioning look.

‘No,’ Geron scoffed, ‘being in love with a sorcerer doesn’t change anything.’

But Merlin had caught Lancelot’s drift.

‘What if he, sort of, had magic for two days because he had swapped bodies with a sorcerer?’

‘Is that what kids get up to these days?’ someone from the crowd asked, and Merlin hastened to explain, trying to ignore the snickers.

‘It wasn’t our doing. We got enchanted by some creature and then had to complete a few tasks, sort of like a quest, and that broke the spell. But when we were swapped… well, I used my magic through him, so to speak.’

There was a pause during which everybody looked at him in more or less stunned silence. Merlin felt Lancelot squeeze his hand in a show of support, and he shot him a grateful smile.

‘Well, I couldn’t have accounted for that, could I?’ Geron crossed her arms defensively.

‘So could that be the reason?’ Crawe inquired.

‘How should I know?’ she grumbled, shooting an accusatory glance at Merlin and Lancelot. ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing.’

‘You don’t know how to fix this then?’ Merlin asked with a sinking heart. This was bad. No, this was terrible, and it was all his fault because he had selfishly strayed from the course.

‘Isn’t there a cleansing ritual of some sort that could reverse everything?’ Steorra piped up, and Geron glared at her in turn.

‘Sure there is. Several, in fact. But I can’t promise,’ her voice took on a mocking edge, ‘that they will help these two lovebirds who can apparently break all the laws of magic.’

‘Geron,’ Crawe said warningly, but Merlin didn’t care. All he could think about was Gaius and the piles of volumes stacked in the hidden chamber in the library in Camelot. The answer could be there… but there was no way to get it.

Suddenly, he was startled by Lancelot making a flapping motion with his arms. In his dejection, it took him a moment to understand Lancelot’s meaning. It was only when he clawed his hands and pretended to roar (making Keela and several other youngsters burst into giggles) that the warlock caught on.

‘You think I should summon Kilgharrah? Well, he knows about this stuff…’ Merlin mused aloud. ‘He might think of a solution…’

‘Kilgharrah?’ An elderly man with a grey beard who until now had seemed uninterested in the proceedings spoke up suddenly. ‘The Great Dragon?’

‘Er… yeah,’ Merlin confirmed warily because something about the man’s expression worried him.

The villagers turned to look at the man as he rose majestically from the fallen tree he had been resting on. He stared into the distance, obviously connecting some dots in his mind, and everybody held their breath waiting for him to finish.

Finally, his eyes focused on Merlin and Lancelot, and he smiled incredulously.

‘Oh gods…’ he breathed and then cried out, ‘The prophecy! Meindulf’s prophecy!’

Before anyone could ask him what he meant by that, he recited solemnly,

A noble sword by love with magic bound

shall break the shell but never make a sound.

Thus peace will reign once more across the land,

the dragons tamed, the mighty warrior crowned.

He turned to the others and said in a voice quivering with emotion,

‘They’re going to bring us home.’

Chapter Text

‘I’m sorry, what?’ Merlin asked, just as Geron scoffed, ‘Oh please.’

The old man looked a bit affronted.

‘This one,’ he gestured at Merlin, ‘can summon dragons, which means he’s a Dragonlord, which means he can also tame them. The dragons tamed, yes?’

There were disbelieving noises from the crowd, and Merlin discovered with surprise that it stung. Although he didn’t care about being recognised as a Dragonlord, it bothered him a little that these people thought it incredulous that he should be one.

‘And the other one,’ the old man continued, ‘doesn’t have a voice, so he shall never make a sound.’

‘A noble sword by love with magic bound,’ Steorra repeated musingly, and Merlin couldn’t disagree that it was a very apt description of Lancelot.

‘Who’s the mighty warrior then?’ Geron asked with a scornful sniff.

Lancelot nudged Merlin and mimed throwing something. It took the warlock only a heartbeat to understand.

‘Arthur!’ he gasped.

‘Prince Arthur of Camelot?’ Crawe raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think he will bring peace to the land.’

Lancelot started gesticulating with emphasis, but when all it got him were confused looks, he huffed in frustration and motioned for Merlin to supply the words. Which the warlock could do because he knew exactly what Lancelot wanted to say. No one—not even Merlin and certainly not the prince himself—had as much faith in Arthur’s potential to be a just and compassionate king. (Indeed, it was the hope that he would get to see it become reality one day that had kept the former knight in Camelot, apart from the desire to protect Merlin.) But it choked the warlock up a little to think how Lancelot always saw the best in everybody. When his friends erred, he didn’t hold it against them but strove to help them do better next time. In a way, Lancelot was their compass, and Merlin suspected he wouldn’t be the only one lost without it. And that led him to wonder: Did Arthur feel like he was missing something? Did he regret banishing them? And—most distressingly of all—had they been away for too long? What was happening in Camelot? The uncertainty and worry rattled him and so, in the end, even though Lancelot was bursting with passionate speech, all Merlin could do was convey the gist of it.

‘He will.’

He expected Lancelot to roll his eyes at the ridiculously inadequate summary, but all he did was give Merlin a concerned look as if he could sense that the warlock was preoccupied with something. Merlin squeezed his hand to let him know that he was right and that it would be good to have a conversation about it sometime but that he was fine for now.

He directed his attention back to Crawe, who asked, ‘What makes you so sure?’

The head of the village sounded as if he was really curious about Merlin’s reasons for believing that Arthur could be a ruler they’d been waiting for. Perhaps that was why it slipped the warlock’s mind that it would have been smarter not to admit to knowing the prince so well.

‘Because he’s not like his father. We’ve seen how he cares about his people. And he would also care about those who have magic. He just needs someone to help him see that what he has been taught is wrong.’

Lancelot squeezed his hand back, no doubt aware that Merlin was echoing Lancelot’s conviction, not his own. The warlock only hoped that it would work out that way. (That was why he had protested when Lancelot had first suggested using the body swap to talk to Arthur about accepting magic. There was always that tiny bit of apprehension that they were wrong in their assessment of him and that he would not be able to shake off his prejudice.)

‘And you gleaned all that just from catching a glimpse of him in public once or twice? Impressive,’ Geron said mockingly.

‘No, we’re–’ Merlin hesitated, finally realising that telling these villagers, of all people, how close he and Lancelot were to Arthur was probably not the best idea. Besides, was there even a point in trying to convince Crawe and the others that their perception of Arthur was not quite accurate?

‘Maybe they worked in the castle?’ suggested a middle-aged woman standing in the back of the group. She sounded timid and glanced anxiously at the others. ‘Servants can hear a lot of things that are not meant for their ears. I learned that when–’

‘Yes, yes, when you were Ygraine’s maid, we know.’ Geron rolled her eyes, and the woman who had spoken seemed to shrink a little.

‘I only meant that you don’t have to be friends with someone to get to know them well,’ she murmured, her voice growing quieter with every word.

‘That’s a very good point, Earlene,’ Crawe said kindly, and she gave him a grateful smile. ‘Still, I don’t think a person with magic would willingly put themselves in danger like that, do you?’

There were murmurs of agreement, so Merlin nodded hastily as well and scrambled for a way to steer the conversation in a different direction. He was too slow for Steorra, however.

‘Unless… unless they had a reason for getting close to the prince…’ She looked at Merlin and then shifted her gaze to Lancelot. ‘And someone who would do anything to protect them.’

The warlock felt Lancelot tense beside him, but he couldn’t drag his eyes away from Steorra. How did she guess?

‘When Lancelot thought we were a threat,’ she continued, staring at Merlin again, ‘he reached for his sword. You said it was a force of habit. Would a farmer or a craftsman be so used to carrying a blade around? No. A swordsman, on the other hand… But he wouldn’t have been able to protect you if he was a wandering mercenary. Which leaves… a knight. A Knight of Camelot.’

There were shocked gaps from the crowd. Merlin gripped Lancelot’s hand and felt magic bubbling up inside him. Steorra turned her gaze back to Lancelot.

‘But why would you serve those who could hurt Merlin?’ Her eyes bore into him. ‘He said you needed to go back. That it was important for Camelot. What were you trying to accomplish there?’

In different circumstances, it would have been funny to observe Lancelot getting frustrated that he couldn’t launch into an emotional explanation of why they were doing something that seemed contrary to logic, maybe even suicidal. He managed to make it clear, though, that he wasn’t denying what Steorra had deduced about him, and Merlin braced himself. Now that the cat was out of the bag, it fell to him to make a good case and convince the villagers that he and Lancelot were neither mad nor dangerous.

‘We were protecting Arthur because we believe we can change his views on magic.’

Even Steorra looked a bit surprised.

‘Why did you leave then?’

‘Because he found out about my magic and banished us. For my own safety,’ Merlin added quickly. Despite how he had raged against it at the beginning, he knew in his heart of hearts that it was true. ‘But we’re trying to make our way back there because we’re not ready to give up yet.’

The warlock held his breath as he waited for the villagers’ reaction. He could practically see cogs turning in everyone’s heads as they tried to decide whether to believe him. Some were clearly sceptical, Geron among them, and she was the first to speak.

‘I call bullshit. They’re probably here spying for Uther.’

‘We’re not!’ Merlin exclaimed, and she looked at him pityingly.

‘Maybe you don’t know that you are. He may be deceiving you.’ She pointed at Lancelot. ‘He’s one of them. He can’t be trusted.’

For lack of a better way to express his vehement objection, Lancelot stomped his foot several times. It made Geron snort with derision. Merlin shuffled closer to him so that they stood side by side, their shoulders pressed together. It was as much a reassurance for Lancelot as a statement directed at the others. I have complete trust in him.

‘He wouldn’t do that.’ It was probably one of the few things Merlin could say with absolute certainty. ‘He’s known about my secret almost since the day we met, and he never betrayed it to anyone.’

‘Lucky you.’ Geron’s voice was dripping with irony.

‘I’m sure Lancelot is true to Merlin,’ Steorra spoke up.

Geron rolled her eyes.

‘Even if he is, that’s hardly a guarantee for us. In case you haven’t noticed, we aren’t Merlin.’

‘No but…’ The warlock faltered a little before quoting words that had been meant for his ears alone but which—he hoped—could have an effect on the villagers, ‘To him, I am magic. Magic is me. So he won’t do anything to hurt you.’

Lancelot shifted beside him, and Merlin shot him a quick glance, wondering if he had overstepped. Not that Lancelot would ever be ashamed of his feelings for the warlock, but perhaps he thought this particular expression of his devotion was too intimate to share with other people? Lancelot, however, wasn’t looking at him in anger. In fact, he wasn’t looking at him at all. His gaze was trained on the villagers, and he put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder to give them a clear message.

Unless you hurt him.

The warlock swallowed and glanced at Steorra. If they had the slightest chance of convincing anyone, it would be her. She stared right back at him, her brow furrowed. Then, she made a decision.

‘I believe them,’ she said.

‘Because you’re a sentimental fool,’ Geron scoffed.

‘No, because I have eyes,’ Steorra retorted, sounding impatient. ‘Look at them, really look at them, and tell me that you don’t see what they are to each other. And their story… it gives me hope. We’re so used to expecting the worst from non-magical people—and maybe it has protected us in the past—but they can’t be all the same as Uther. Lancelot is proof of that to me.’

Geron opened her mouth to respond with a scathing comment, no doubt, but Crawe forestalled her.

‘Well, I wouldn’t make any… general assumptions either way, but I agree that their intentions towards each other and towards us seem sincere.’

Geron raised her eyes to the sky but refrained from saying anything.

‘Which is why,’ the old man piped up, rubbing his hands together, ‘I’m sure the voiceless one will agree to open the Egg of Wyrd for us.’

‘Excuse me?’ Merlin genuinely thought he had misheard.

‘That’s what shall break the shell means. In the prophecy. Once the Egg is opened, it will right all wrongs.’

Merlin felt his jaw drop. He had forgotten about the prophecy that had started this whole conversation, but even if he hadn’t, this new development would have made him gape.

‘You have an egg that will fix everything?’

‘No, we don’t. It’s hidden somewhere in Camelot. Allegedly,’ Crawe explained, throwing the old man a pointed look.

‘Oh. Well, then.’ It seemed obvious, but Merlin felt it wouldn’t hurt to make it perfectly clear. ‘No. Lancelot’s not going to open it for you.’

‘Meindulf told me where it is. I can give you directions!’

‘Raindulf, please…’ Crawe sighed, shaking his head.

It might have ended there, but Merlin was truly bewildered and couldn’t help asking, ‘Wait, so it’s not some legend from way back? You actually know this Meindulf?’

‘He was my older brother,’ Raindulf said, wistfulness creeping into his voice. ‘The Egg of Wyrd had been in the care of our family for generations. We had been told it was important, though we didn’t know its true significance then. Meindulf went to retrieve it when we were fleeing Camelot but got wounded on the way. He managed to make it here with us but passed soon after. He made the prophecy on his deathbed.’

‘Well,’ Merlin tried to be tactful, ‘he probably had a fever or something.’

‘No!’ The old man’s eyes blazed. ‘He was as sound of mind as you or I.’

Geron’s expression told the warlock that he wasn’t the only one who doubted the latter.

‘So where’s the Egg now?’ Steorra asked.

Raindulf hesitated.

‘In the vaults of the castle,’ he admitted at last.

Merlin blinked.

‘Come again?’

‘It was the safest place back then!’ Raindulf said defensively. ‘Before… before everything.’

‘Oh, this just keeps getting better and better,’ Geron muttered.

‘So let me get this straight. You want us to break into the castle and steal something right from under Arthur’s nose?’

The old man nodded. To his astonishment, Merlin noticed in his peripheral vision that Lancelot did the same. Although, on second thoughts, he really shouldn’t have been surprised…

‘Oh gods,’ he groaned. ‘Of course you like this plan. Because. It. Is. Insane.’

Lancelot started gesticulating wildly but this time, it was too confusing even for the warlock. Not that he truly made an effort to understand because the whole idea was preposterous.

‘You realise I haven’t said no to you since this whole thing started? I mean, I tried a few times, but you always wore me down with that damn silver tongue of yours. Well, guess what? Not this time. You won’t talk me into this madness.’

Lancelot narrowed his eyes as if considering his options. Then he pointed at the warlock, mimed striking a flint to make a spark, and pointed at Merlin again.

You are magic. Magic is you.

Merlin stood his ground.

Lancelot pointed at the leather wristband on his arm.

You are my North Star.

Merlin gave what he hoped was a firm shake of the head.

Lancelot stepped closer and turned on The Stare.

‘Stop it.’ The warlock pushed him away because his resolve was beginning to weaken. ‘We need to focus on getting your voice back.’

Lancelot drew the shape of an egg in the air, then pointed at his mouth.

‘What, you think the Egg of Whatever will fix it?’

‘It will right all wrongs,’ Raindulf supplied (un)helpfully, and Merlin glared at him.

‘If it works like you think it does.’

Lancelot tapped the warlock’s shoulder to get his attention, then held up one finger, pointed to his eye, drew the shape of an egg again, and finally shrugged in a ‘I don’t know’ gesture. Merlin threw his hands up in frustration.

‘I have no idea what you’re saying.’

‘There is one way to… see if it works?’ Steorra suggested hesitatingly, and Lancelot beamed at her.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ Merlin grumbled under his breath. But he finally stopped ignoring the thought that had been nagging at him for some time. Weren’t they ultimately headed to Camelot anyway? Wasn’t their detour into Mercia only delaying the inevitable? Besides, he didn’t put much faith in the ‘let’s go as envoys’ idea. Maybe it actually made more sense to sneak back in (in a disguise of some sort perhaps?) and then just wing it since they couldn’t really predict what would await them there. Of course, that still left them with the problem of how they were going to get Lancelot’s voice back, but—as Merlin had already theorised—the secret room in the castle’s library could hold an answer to that question…

‘Fine, let’s go,’ he said abruptly, shooting Lancelot a warning look. ‘And don’t look so smug. I convinced myself. You played no part in it.’

He thought Lancelot would play innocent, but no. He had the gall to wink at the warlock, and Merlin was seriously torn between being miffed and wanting to kiss the living daylights out of him.

‘I know none of you care what I think,’ Geron’s icy voice brought him back to the discussion at hand, ‘but I wouldn’t let them go alone.’

‘You’re right,’ Steorra agreed, to everyone’s evident surprise. ‘That’s why I’ll go with them.’

Geron looked confused and a little wary.

‘I thought you believed them?’

‘I do. So I’m not going because I think that we need to keep an eye on them. I know they won’t betray us. I’m going because they’re doing it for us, and it’s only fair that one of us should share the risk with them.’

Merlin was left speechless like the others. On the one hand, he admired the sentiment, but on the other, he just couldn’t imagine having Steorra (or anyone else for that matter) tag along with them. She had magic and seemed plucky, which suggested she could be more of an asset than a burden, but still… He didn’t know her; he didn’t know how she would behave in a fight. There was only one person he trusted to have at his back on such a mission. And, well, if things came to a head, he didn’t want to be responsible for what happened to her.

‘You are not going, Steorra!’ Crawe was the first to find his tongue.

‘I will always be grateful to you for taking me in when I lost my family, but I’m an adult now, and this is my decision,’ she replied calmly.

The villagers seemed to awaken from their stupefaction at this point, and they all started shouting over each other.

‘It’s too dangerous!’

‘What if you get caught?’

The warlock didn’t blame them for caring more about their own, but it was a little jarring that no one had protested against sending them on such a perilous mission. Steorra, meanwhile, seemed unfazed by the barrage of counterarguments.

‘We can’t ask them to do something if we’re not prepared to do it ourselves.’

There was a fresh outburst of protests, but Merlin tuned them out.

‘You know,’ he whispered to Lancelot, ‘she may be even more stubborn than you.’

Lancelot laughed silently. Merlin grimaced as he realised the implications.

‘You two are going to make me age ten years before we reach Camelot, aren’t you?’

Lancelot laughed even harder, so Merlin pretended to pout.

‘I see. That’s what I get for defending you earlier. Fine. Next time, you’re on your own.’

Lancelot’s expression turned serious, and he caught the warlock’s hand.

No, he mouthed. There was a look in his eyes that Merlin knew quite well. And since it was never a bad time to repeat the promise they had made to each other at the very beginning, the warlock nodded solemnly and spoke the words for both of them.

‘Always together.’

He smiled to himself, comforted by the reminder that nothing was impossible for the two of them. Bregdan anweald and all that.

With Lancelot by his side, he was ready for whatever lay ahead.

Chapter Text

Merlin watched with a frown as Lancelot helped Steorra clean up after the meal they had shared in her cottage. They seemed to be getting on like a house on fire (even though Lancelot couldn’t unleash on her his full power of conversation) and that worried the warlock a little. Not because he was jealous but because he was afraid of the two of them siding against him when it came to the whole Egg of Wyrd business. Merlin was very sceptical of Meindulf’s prophecy and, besides, didn’t think that breaking into the vaults was the most advisable plan, so he was definitely entertaining other possibilities. If those two stubborn mules got stuck on this idea, though… He bit his lip. Lancelot chose that moment to glance over at him, and his smile faltered.

What’s wrong? he telegraphed anxiously.

Merlin sighed. It was no use pretending that he wasn’t concerned. Lancelot could always see right through him. And, well, it wasn’t like his concerns weren’t valid. They needed to be brought up now that the heat had died down. It was actually necessary for them to have a calm, rational discussion about what they were going to do and how. They had to be on the same page to have any hope of success.

He opened his mouth to suggest going outside for some privacy (he grudgingly acknowledged that Steorra would have to be included in their planning at some point, but he was going to postpone that moment as long as he could) when a knock sounded at the door. Thus started a steady stream of villagers who came to wish them luck and give Steorra advice as well as provisions for the road and anything else they thought might come in useful. She accepted everything without batting an eye, and the pile of stuff on the floor soon grew to such proportions that Merlin was seriously worried someone was going to propose lending them a cart. Which would have made their mode of travelling the exact opposite of stealthy, and he knew he would have to put his foot down. For the time being, however, he focused on watching everyone like a hawk for any signs of animosity towards Lancelot.

To his relief, there were none. Even those villagers who acted guarded at first were soon disarmed by Lancelot’s welcoming smile and found themselves accepting a cup of water from him. He showed silent but nonetheless avid interest in the things they brought, and they all warmed up to him whether they wanted to or not. They shared with him recipes for vegetable stews and cloth dyes, names of the plants they used to make amulets and of birds whose feathers adorned their clothes. Despite those manifestations of friendliness, Merlin did not let his guard down and was thus a much poorer company, so people mostly left him alone.

‘You’ll burn a hole in his back with that stare,’ Steorra whispered to him at one point while Lancelot was listening with rapt attention to a grandmotherly woman describing her reliable treatment for callouses. ‘He’s safe here, I promise you.’

‘He’s one of them. He can’t be trusted,’ he quoted Geron’s words without taking his eyes off Lancelot.

She hummed thoughtfully.

‘Can you blame her? We’ve been burned before. Literally, in some cases. But it’s easier to overcome this wariness when it’s not some abstract “people.”’ She paused. ‘Just out of curiosity, how long did it take you to trust him?’

Merlin was thrown back to that day in the forest near Camelot, his back pressing against a log as he and Lancelot took cover from the terrifying winged creature.

‘A heartbeat,’ he replied without thinking and immediately felt foolish for sounding mushy. Steorra, however, didn’t seem to think it a romantic exaggeration.

‘Well, for what it’s worth, I can’t think of two people better suited to bring reconciliation between us.’

Merlin finally tore his gaze away from Lancelot to look at her. She sounded sincere, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that she would come between them somehow.

He only realised how tense he was when the last visitor had left and a familiar gentle hand started rubbing his back. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes with a sigh. He was too tired by that point to formulate any arguments, let alone convince Lancelot that they were good ones. He wasn’t happy about it but knew that their one-sided talk would have to wait. Lancelot saw his exhaustion (because of course he did) and had a quick silent exchange with Steorra that resulted in them setting up a pallet on the floor where he curled up around Merlin, protecting him from the draught.

That’s not right, Merlin thought dimly. I should be the one shielding him from… everything. But the prospect of having to fight Lancelot on this was so unappealing that he just mumbled, ‘Goodnight,’ and Lancelot nuzzled the back of his neck in response.

He was jostled awake just before dawn by Lancelot slipping back into their makeshift bed. Still half-asleep, he murmured without thinking, ‘Call of nature? Or were you plotting something with Steorra?’

When he registered after a beat that the comfortable silence had turned icy, it roused him more effectively than a bucket of cold water. He twisted around and noticed with dismay that Lancelot looked hurt by the mindless accusation.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You know me, just joking about things that scare me. Well… not that I think you would… I mean…’ he trailed off, aware that he was just digging himself into a deeper hole.

Lancelot sat up and folded his arms, his expression decidedly unamused.

‘Okay, fine.’ Merlin sat up as well, facing him. They were always honest with each other, weren’t they? ‘It did cross my mind. Not that you would want to go behind my back, obviously, but that you would choose to help her no matter what, even if I said it was a bad idea. You two seem to have clicked and, well… it’s hard not to worry when I know how you tend to go all out for those you care about.’

Lancelot frowned, and Merlin barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes.

‘Riding after Arthur in a borrowed armour to help him kill the griffin? Breaking Gwen out of Hengist’s dungeon? I could go on… You’re too noble for your own good, I always say. And on top of that, you put too much stock in magic. But you have to be realistic. Magic can’t fix everything. That Egg, if it even works… it won’t…’ He glanced at the curtain that separated them from Steorra’s small bedroom and lowered his voice even more, ‘It won’t bring her family back.’

Lancelot shook his head and waved his hands for emphasis.

I know, he mouthed.

‘No? That’s not what you’re hoping for? Then what?’

Lancelot gave a helpless shrug. Merlin sighed. Jumping in without hesitation and just hoping for the best was how Lancelot usually operated. When he had persuaded the warlock to come up with a sound plan first instead of just barging straight back into Camelot, his usual instincts to fly by the seat of his pants had been overshadowed by the desire to keep Merlin safe for as long as possible. But now, when the moment of their return was finally on the horizon, he fell back into his old ways and just assumed that everything would work out in the end. So Merlin had to be the responsible one.

‘Think about this. How can this Egg “right all wrongs”? It may be the most powerful object in the world—which I doubt, but let’s assume it is—but I don’t see what it could actually do. You open it and what? Suddenly those with and without magic trust or at least accept each other? All those years of hatred and persecution are erased? And how? Do people simply forget about the past, or do they stop caring about it? Both would be weird, no? It’s one thing to persuade someone to change their mind. But doing it just like that,’ Merlin clicked his fingers, ‘feels, I don’t know, wrong.’

The more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt. He tried to comfort himself that this was a purely theoretical problem because the Egg had no magical properties whatsoever, but the possibility that there could be a grain of truth in the prophecy gnawed at him.

Lancelot stood up and fetched a cup from a shelf. He put it down on the floor in front of Merlin, overturned it, and clicked his fingers too. Not for the first time, the warlock wished they didn’t have to play charades to communicate.

‘You mean… the Cup of Life? Yes, it did work in an instant. But it was more like…’ Merlin searched for the right comparison, ‘like shutting a door that has been opened. We knew that emptying the Cup was supposed to reverse a particular spell. This, though… this would be making a whole new doorway.’

Lancelot quirked an eyebrow at him.

‘No, it actually can hurt to try. It’s too much of a risk when we don’t know the intended consequences, never mind the accidental ones. If we don’t know what to expect, we won’t be prepared to act when things go sideways…’ A sudden thought chilled Merlin to the bone. ‘What if the Egg’s idea of “righting all wrongs” would be to wipe out all non-magical people?’

Lancelot looked alarmed for a moment, but then he mimed throwing something.

‘We don’t know that the prophecy is talking about Arthur!’ Merlin exclaimed exasperated, forgetting to keep his voice low. ‘We don’t know anything!’

Lancelot slotted his fingers together several times, and the warlock gave a frustrated huff.

‘Maybe it all seems to fit because you want it to? You’re so convinced that the Egg is an answer to all our problems that you ignore the danger. We could do more harm than good by meddling in things we don’t understand. Personally, I think those are just feverish ramblings that don’t mean anything, but on the off chance that they’re not… We can’t just cross our fingers and hope that we understood the prophecy correctly. That the Egg will do what we assumed it would do.’ Merlin rubbed his forehead wearily. ‘So as much as I love being irresponsible with you, I have to draw a line somewhere.’

To his surprise, a glint appeared in Lancelot’s eyes that showed he got an idea of some kind. He straightened and drew a line on the floor between them with his finger.

‘Yes, draw a line, I said,’ Merlin repeated, puzzled.

Lancelot stretched out to touch one of the walls, then pointed to his imaginary line.

‘A wall? A fence?’

Lancelot looked around, clearly searching for inspiration, and finally pointed to the curtain behind which Steorra was sleeping. Merlin concentrated hard to parse his meaning.

‘Something that separates? Something not as solid as a wall? Oh! A boundary?’

Lancelot beamed and clapped his hands softly. He pointed between the two of them, then walked his fingers over the line he had drawn on the floor.

‘Uh… we… cross a boundary?’

Lancelot nodded and made his sign for magic. Merlin felt a very familiar wave of fond exasperation wash over him. He quirked his mouth in amusement.

‘Yes, and because of that I have to do all the talking now. Are you having a fit?’ he asked in alarm because Lancelot started to shake all over.

Lancelot snorted a laugh. He stilled, pointed to the ground, and made a wobbling motion with his hand.

‘Ah, yes, we made the earth move once.’ Merlin remembered the thrill of that moment, but he didn’t let himself be swayed by it. ‘I know I said that anything feels possible when I’m with you, and I meant that, but this… this is different. We may be able to break some laws of magic, but I’m afraid that we would be in way over our heads if that Egg turned out to be–’

‘You made the earth move?’

They both jumped in surprise. Steorra had poked her head around the curtain and was giving them an incredulous look.

‘I’m sorry, but since you’re talking so loudly, I assume I’m included in the conversation?’

Merlin refused to be flustered.

‘No, you’re not,’ he replied brusquely, ignoring Lancelot’s obvious displeasure at his tone. ‘This is between us.’

‘You’re having second thoughts about the Egg,’ she retorted, coming fully into the room. ‘How is that not my concern?’

Merlin had to admit (unwillingly) that she had a point, but that was precisely the situation he had been trying to avoid: having to argue his case while she and Lancelot put up a united front. For lack of a better idea, he crossed his arms defensively and didn’t answer.

‘Maybe I wouldn’t be putting so much faith in the prophecy if I hadn’t met you two. But your bond seems like something out of a story. It’s hard not to believe that you’re destined to close this rift between magical and non-magical people.’

Merlin shrugged and very carefully avoided looking at Lancelot. He wasn’t going to get dragged into this. He wasn’t.

‘It’s one thing to advise caution, but why are you so convinced that the Egg won’t change everything for the better?’

‘Because nothing ever comes so easy!’ The warlock clenched his fists as his resolve not to take the bait flew out the window. Not even things that are meant to be, he added silently to himself, glancing at Lancelot and remembering how long his road to knighthood (and to Merlin) had been. ‘Do you know how many hoops we had to jump through to reverse the body swap? And this… this is way bigger than that.’

‘It won’t be that easy. We have to get to the Egg first.’

Merlin did a double take. If they hadn’t been said in such a different voice, he would have been convinced the words had come out of Lancelot’s mouth. Damn. He and Steorra really were like two peas in a pod. Merlin was outnumbered. He needed someone else on his side–

‘Okay,’ he said, the idea occurring to him as he spoke, ‘let’s compromise. When we reach Camelot, we’ll ask Gaius for help. He’s the court physician, but he’s like family,’ he added in explanation when Steorra raised her eyebrows. ‘He knows everything about me. About us. And he has many books on all sorts of magic. There won’t be anything there about the prophecy, naturally, but Raindulf said the Egg had been in their family for generations, so maybe it’s mentioned somewhere. We could figure out how it works before trying to steal it.’

He pretended not to notice Lancelot narrowing his eyes at him in suspicion. He was just playing for time and trying to ensure that those two lunatics didn’t rush off to the vaults the minute they reached Camelot. He would worry about preventing them from doing that at all later.

‘You’re right,’ Steorra agreed. ‘This sounds sensible.’

‘Perfect. Well, since there’s no time like the present– Wait, did you hear that?’

‘I think somebody’s knocking.’

It was still quite early, so they looked at each other in surprise. The rapping sounded again. It was so soft that they wouldn’t have heard it if they hadn’t already been awake. Steorra shrugged and went to open the door.

‘Earlene?’

It was the woman who had spoken up during the impromptu village meeting the day before; a former maid in the castle if Merlin remembered correctly. She was clutching a bundle to her chest and kept flicking her eyes around nervously.

‘Yes, Earlene? How can I help you?’

She swallowed hard but remained silent.

‘Did you want to give us something for the road?’ Steorra prompted, pointing to what Earlene was holding.

The older woman shook her head, tightening her grip on the bundle. She fixed her eyes on the ground and finally gathered the courage to speak.

‘No, I’m coming with you.’

Steorra blinked. Merlin blinked. Even Lancelot looked taken aback.

‘Uh… that’s not a good idea.’ It was an understatement of the century, but Merlin was trying to be delicate.

Earlene raised her gaze at him and seemed to reach a decision. She spoke in a trembling voice, but it was clear that she was determined.

‘I was the queen’s maid. I was there when she held her baby son for the first and last time. She had such high hopes for him… Maybe I can help to persuade the prince that she wouldn’t want any of this pain and hatred.’

Lancelot’s hand landed on Merlin’s shoulder and gripped hard. The warlock gaped. He now recalled Geron saying, ‘Ygraine’s maid’ and chided himself for not making the connection earlier.

It didn’t change the fact that it was still a bad idea, though, and he was inclined to join Steorra in opposing the idea vehemently… until he realised what Earlene had not said. She didn’t mention the Egg. She wasn’t expecting an easy fix. She was prepared to do the work to persuade Arthur. She was, in short, the counterbalance he needed.

And she was coming to Camelot with them.

He would make sure of that.