Archive of Our Own ^beta

Merlin never wanted to be Arthur Pendragon’s manservant. And yet, the position is thrust upon him, much like his magic, his destiny. It’s supposed to be some great honour, according to Gaius, that the king would grant Merlin such a role in the royal household. In truth, it feels more like a punishment than a reward for saving the prince’s life. Of course, the king couldn’t bestow upon him some nice monetary reward and be done with it, no, Merlin would have to earn his coin through terrible lists of chores every single day for the rest of his life.

As much as he resents mucking out the stables, acting as target practice for his royal prattiness, running ragged with errands, it all keeps him close to Arthur, which is good. For only destiny’s sake, obviously. Perhaps, over time, Merlin can convince him to be less of a royal pain in his arse. 

Merlin figures out pretty quickly the dragon is right about one thing at least. Arthur does need constant protection. Truthfully, how the prince survived the twenty years before they met if magical attacks are this common is beyond Merlin. 

In fact, it’s only his first day on the job when the next threat looms over the kingdom. Camelot is hosting a tournament among the knights in the region, and the final challenger has to defeat Arthur in combat if he wants a thousand gold pieces. Sir Valiant is a skilled fighter, but it doesn’t take Merlin long to uncover the heinous method behind his unmatched victories. When he comes across Valiant feeding the snakes on his shield a mouse (seriously, the enchanted shield snakes need to be fed? How would they digest it?), it’s irrefutable evidence of what Merlin suspected. 

But he’s the only witness to it. If he goes to Gaius, the physician won’t be able to do anything about it on his own; Merlin would have to take it up with a higher authority anyhow. Arthur’s a possible option, considering he’s technically Merlin’s master, but that might not be enough. Arthur didn’t want Merlin to be his manservant in the first place, yet his father’s decree overruled his protests. And it’s possible that even if Merlin could persuade Arthur to see the truth, Arthur would not be able to convince his father as successfully. 

Uther would have to catch Valiant red-handed with the enchanted shield. Except Valiant is adept at using the shield discreetly in combat. After all, even as a magic user, Merlin didn’t notice anything amiss the first day of the tournament. He wracks his brain for any possible solutions the next day, watching worriedly as each of Valiant’s opponents fails to best him. If Merlin doesn’t try something, Arthur will face Valiant in the final tomorrow, totally unprepared, and will die by Valiant’s hand. Or shield, rather. 

He does his duties as fast as humanly possible, wanting to get to Gaius’ to see if any of his books could provide a solution only to learn that he’s not off for the night because of tonight’s special feast with Uther, the competing knights, and Arthur. Which means Merlin has to attend. He’s never going to have enough time to come up with a plan, he should have talked to Gaius or the dragon...

Wait. The feast. When Merlin really caught Valiant, it was when the knight was in his guest chambers, off his guard, feeding his snakes. Valiant said “dinner time,” which would imply he feeds them regularly, right? Merlin’s just got to get Uther outside of Valiant’s chambers tonight just when he’s feeding the snakes without Valiant noticing. There’s about a million things that could go wrong in the process, but it’s the only plan he’s got. 

He waits until the feast concludes, sidestepping the knights stumbling drunkenly out of the great hall. Only Arthur and Uther linger, likely for appearance’s sake more than anything else. 

“My lord, I must speak with you,” he says, hands trembling at his sides.  

“Respecting me now? Why Merlin, that’s certainly an impressive change in attitude,” Arthur snarks. 

Gods above he is such a git. Merlin doesn’t know why he’s trying to save the prat’s life right now. 

“I was addressing your father, actually.” 

Arthur looks as though he is about to protest, but Uther holds up a hand silencing him. 

“I wouldn’t normally hear a request from a serving boy, but you are sincerely fortunate I am in the mood to humour this.” 

Merlin’s hands are so damn clammy. There’s a lump in his throat that he tries to abate, fighting the building anxiety. This is a mistake his mind whispers, and he forces that down too before he spirals. 

“I um...thank you. Sire,” he responds, a shaky start at best. Remember the plan. “There’s a rodent infestation in the castle.” 

“ What? ” It would be an exaggeration to say Arthur shrieks, but he’s definitely peeved. 

Uther, on the other hand, appears unimpressed as ever. 

“This is not my problem. Go to the Chamberlain with your concerns.” 

Uther’s words are supposed to be a firm but merciful reminder of Merlin’s place, that he should consider himself lucky the king doesn’t throw him in the stocks for wasting his precious time. Any other person would heed the veiled warning and leave the matter alone. Rarely, though, has Merlin ever listened to anything that would be in the interest of his own self-preservation. 

“I wouldn’t bother you with this, my lord, if it wasn’t important. On my way to the feast tonight, I heard animal…noises coming from Sir Valiant’s guest chambers.”

Arthur scoffs derisively, but Uther holds up his hand, silencing his son once again. It’s a little unnerving to Merlin, how easily that’s done. If he didn’t know any better, he would think it was the work of a spell. 

“You believe the infestation has reached the visiting knights’ quarters?” 

“Yes. I’m sure at the very least it is in Sir Valiant’s rooms.” 

Uther sits back on his throne, regarding him for a moment. Merlin hopes the king can’t assess that his claims are absolute bullshit. 

“If this is true, this is very serious indeed,” Uther says, and Merlin’s eyes go wide because this actually worked. Not that he knows Arthur very well, but Merlin thinks the prince appears surprised as well. “Camelot is host to knights and nobles from across the lands. I will not have our reputation sullied by something so trivial as this. Arthur, go fetch the Chamberlain. You, boy, will show me to Sir Valiant’s chambers, and I will determine the validity of this claim myself.” 

“But father, shouldn’t Merlin be the one to fetch him?” 

“No. If the boy’s claims are a falsehood, then I shall not need to have someone search the castle for him to deal out a worthy punishment,” Uther responds, his intense eyes unmoving from Merlin’s face. 

He’s starting to think contracts with destiny should be required to mention potential risk of maiming or death. 

The king sweeps from his throne and out of the room, and Merlin is only able to steal one glance at Arthur to find an indecipherable look on his face—anger and maybe, if Merlin’s being optimistic about the prince, worry present—before following after the king.

It’s a silent trek to Valiant’s chambers, and, unlike with Arthur, he doesn’t dare disrupt it with a joke or insult. 

The universe must truly be on his side though because as they turn the corner, Valiant’s door is propped open, and he’s feeding the snakes on his shield another mouse, unaware of any observers this time. This is even worse than Merlin using magic to polish Arthur’s armor, at least he has the sense to do it behind closed doors. Uther takes a step back, the lines of his mouth and eyes shifting from pure shock to unconcealed rage. 

“ Sorcery ,” the king seethes, so low and vehemently that it’s nearly inaudible. “Guards!” 

At that, Valiant jumps and spots the two of them. The knight drops the shield, and the snakes hiss wildly, only further cementing his guilt.

“My lord, I can explain!” He tries to insist. 

Four guards show up as commanded in the next moment, waiting for their king’s instruction.

“I want that shield destroyed. Arrest this sorcerer and put him in the dungeons. He will be executed at first light.” 

The order is given without a hint of hesitation or mercy, and Merlin suddenly feels a little sick where he stands, watching a man get sentenced to death due to his intervention. 

Valiant attempts to flee, but four more guards come round from the other corridor, effectively blocking his path. Despite being a knight, Valiant is overpowered by the sheer number of guards, and they carefully seize the enchanted shield and lead him to the dungeons. Uther watches the proceedings all in satisfaction, while Merlin stands there dumbly, not sure of what to do next. 

“I cannot understand why a knight would turn to sorcery,” Uther admits. 

It’s probably a rhetorical query, but he’s feeling bold enough to answer it anyways.  

“Sir Valiant is a talented knight, but so is your son,” Merlin offers cautiously. “It’s possible he—Sir Valiant—wanted to guarantee he’d win.” 

Uther visibly pales at Merlin’s words. 

“He was to face Arthur tomorrow,” he says heavily, apparently only realizing now how close Arthur almost came to death. 

Merlin thinks this king isn’t exactly all that bright if it took him this long to figure that out. 

In the next moment, he’s fixing Merlin with a vivid expression, his eyebrows bend at a sharp angle and lines around his mouth and eyes harden, as if studying him. 

“You may be an unwitting servant, but your actions have once again saved my son’s life. From another sorcerer, no less. Come with me.”  

Merlin tries not to take too much offense to the “unwitting servant” remark but still nervously trails behind the king down one of the corridors without comment. Uther unveils a key from his person, unlocking a door that leads him into some chambers which, despite Merlin’s limited knowledge of the castle, he knows are definitely off limits to anyone who isn’t royalty. A small wooden chest sits in the center of an ordinary table. It doesn’t take him long to recognize it; it’s the chest with the reward that was shown off the first day of the tournament. Merlin stands uncertainly by the door, already uncomfortable spending this much time with the king currently giving him praise, the same king who would gladly toss him into the dungeons along with the disgraced Valiant if he knew the truth about Merlin’s magic. 

Uther opens the chest and retrieves several gold pieces before shutting it once more and striding over towards Merlin. 

“Arthur’s life is invaluable to me, but I hope this reward is enough to convey how grateful I am for your intervention.” 

He deposits ten— ten! —gold pieces in Merlin’s hand, and Merlin can no longer school his features like Gaius would want him to. It’s more money than he’s ever held in his entire life. His mouth is gaping open like a fish as he repeatedly counts the amount in his head, and it’s taking everything in him not to believe this is a dream he’s having.

“Well?” 

Merlin looks up sharply, noticing the king again. 

“My lord, I—I thank you,” he responds, unsure of what else to say. 

His floundering seems to amuse the king as Uther finally dons a smile and chuckles slightly. He ushers Merlin out of the chambers and back out into the corridor, locking the door behind the two of them. 

“You have proved yourself to be a useful agent in the war against sorcery. I am glad to have a servant like you in my household.” 

With that, the king takes his leave, and Merlin is left to privately scowl at the ground and the gold he has clutched in his hand. 

“I only did it because he was cheating,” he mutters to himself, knowing that Uther was well out of earshot to hear his dissent. 

Merlin isn’t sure what he’s expecting when he confesses to sorcery to save Gwen’s life, but it isn’t this. 

Well, Gaius trying to write off his confession is something Merlin expected, but he doubles down, accepting his fate. After all, Gwen really wouldn’t have been accused of sorcery if Merlin had been more careful. Arthur is posed next to his father’s throne, carefully watching and seeming conflicted about what to do. Merlin waits for the words he heard Uther utter about Valiant and probably thousands of people before: arrest him, burn him . 

But they don’t come. 

Smirking, the king orders the guards to halt their movements in seizing Merlin immediately after his damning declaration. 

“That’s not possible,” Uther responds with a slight shake of his head. “A sorcerer by nature is evil, intent on bringing the destruction of Camelot. A sorcerer would not have saved my son’s life twice over. Why do you fabricate this story of having magic?” 

Uther’s explanation throws him for a loop, not just because of the inherent logical fallacies. 

“I...uh…” 

“It’s obvious.” Arthur walks across the room and roughly grabs Merlin’s shoulder. “He’s clearly in love with Gwen.” 

“I am not in love with her,” he insists with some indignation, regaining enough sense to speak. 

Arthur, the enormous prat that he is, doesn’t let up. 

“I saw you yesterday with that flower she gave you. Just admit it.” 

“I don’t even think of her like that!” 

Merlin knows his cheeks are heating up, and he’s flustered not only because this isn’t helping Gwen at all , but he doesn’t know how to explain that she is simply a dear friend to him. 

Uther lets out a short and low snicker, and his council members follow his lead and start laughing as well. 

“Perhaps she cast a spell on you,” the king dismisses with an easy smile, which turns cold and acidic in the next instance. “Don’t waste my time like that again.”

“I will ensure he does not, sire,” Gaius cuts in. 

A few swift strides and the physician is practically pushing him away from Arthur and the rest of the mad court. 

So much for being on Uther’s good side.

Poisoning, as it turns out, is just as painful as most would describe it. Merlin doesn’t remember much of the ordeal truth be told—at least from the time he drank from the poisoned chalice to when he woke up to Gwen and Gaius prematurely mourning him—only vague sensations of a raging fire in his chest and head. 

The road to recovery is longer than he would like, but Merlin is chasing after Arthur within a week’s time. The prince assigns him noticeably fewer chores, and none that involve a great deal of physical strain, the first few days of his return to work. Despite his complaints to Gaius about his many duties, one thing Merlin can’t stand is being treated as different or an invalid. So he tells Arthur as much after his fourth day back when the prince is still looking at him as though he might keel over at any point. They exchange barbs, and it doesn’t take long for Arthur to grow irate with what he calls Merlin’s “insolence.” Within a matter of minutes, he orders Merlin to do fifty things by the night’s end, including getting the hell out of his chambers. Merlin leaves and just dodges one of Arthur’s socks on his way out, grinning like a loon. All is well.

He figures he’ll take care of Arthur’s armour first, but he’s so lost in thought that he nearly runs directly into Uther himself in one of the castle corridors. Recalling his last encounter with Uther (the one where the king either condemned him to death by Bayard’s sword or by poisoning), Merlin sidesteps the monarch, fully intending to pretend the man was never in his line of sight. 

“You there, boy!” the king calls to his retreating back. 

The effect is immediate: he stiffens, and it’s as though a stone has plunged into his stomach. Of course, Gaius will tell him that he should have given some sort of royal address before passing by; now he’ll receive a strict tongue lashing from the king and possibly an extended stay in the stocks. 

He turns on his heel, flashing what he hopes is his most disarming smile. By contrast, Uther appears slightly uncomfortable and chagrined as he steps closer to speak to Merlin.  

“You are looking much better than last I saw you,” he begins in a stilted sort of way. 

Merlin blinks his eyes rapidly in confusion before managing to stutter a perplexed-sounding “thank you.” 

“As you well know by now, the protection of my son is of great concern to me. I feared for Arthur’s life when he sought the antidote that would save your life, especially after the recent attempt on his life at the banquet. Your loss would have been a tragic but necessary sacrifice had Gaius not discovered another cure.” 

Merlin nods mutely along to the king’s impromptu speech, clamping his mouth shut because he knows he will speak severely out of turn if given the chance. Servants pass by the two of them in the corridor, shooting disconcerted looks Merlin’s way. It must look odd, seeing the king converse freely with a servant for no apparent reason. 

“But it would be remiss of me not to recognize what you did that night of the banquet. You are but a servant and yet you have shown the eagerness of a new knight to lay down his life for the kingdom,” Uther acknowledges. 

The king’s words are certainly a surprise, but Merlin wants to make one thing clear.  

“I do it for Arthur.” 

Only for Arthur goes unspoken. It’s almost distressing to contemplate that Uther thinks Merlin is doing any of these things for the king’s sake. 

If Uther perceives any slight in Merlin’s statement, he doesn’t immediately show it. Before anything else can be said, the Lady Morgana unexpectedly appears at the king’s side while Gwen elects to hover around Merlin.

“My lord, how good it is to see you! If you would be so gracious to join me on a walk through the royal gardens, I have important matters to share with you,” she announces while already winding her arm through Uther’s and leading him away from Merlin. 

Over her shoulder, she throws an unmistakable wink in Merlin’s direction. Gwen is the one to answer Merlin’s unspoken question. 

“Morgana and I thought it’d be best to rescue you from the king.”

“Thank you,” he replies gratefully. “I’m behind enough on chores for Arthur as it is.” 

Gwen gives him a sympathetic smile. 

“What exactly did he want to talk to you about?” 

“I’m not sure. If I had to guess though, I think he was trying to apologize for nearly letting me die,” he says, barely stifling a wry grin.  

“Merlin! You can’t say those things, especially about Uther!” She admonishes in a hushed whisper, hitting his arm with the back of her hand. 

He mocks a pained reaction, she feigns a show of sympathy, and they carry on with their days. He doesn’t think about Uther or give a damn about whatever the tyrant king feels about him for a while. 

Not long after Merlin starts working for Arthur, Edwin Muirden shows up to the kingdom. He brands himself as a miracle worker, when he is really out for Gaius, the physician’s job, and Uther’s head. Gaius and Merlin uncover his plot quickly enough, and Merlin saves Gaius from Edwin’s flames in just the nick of time. The heat exhaustion gets to the old physician, but he urges Merlin to save Uther’s life with his magic before passing out. 

There is a moment of hesitation, not that Merlin will ever consider ruling Camelot himself like Edwin had suggested, but its people could be free of Uther’s tyranny. But that would mean Arthur assuming the role of king, losing his father at so young an age. No, Merlin can’t allow that. He goes to the king’s bedside and murmurs a spell, and the beetle crawls out of Uther’s ear into Merlin’s outstretched palm. Within seconds, the king’s eyes fly open, and Merlin fears that the man’s ears themselves are attuned to sorcery and that he will be condemned in very short time. 

The king’s gaze flicker about the room, then to Merlin.

“You...Edwin…” 

Uther’s lips form the words, but they are slowly drawn out, as though it is a great struggle for his mouth to move at all. 

“Your highness, you’re safe now,” he says, suppressing the urge to frown at the proclamation. “Edwin is dead.” 

The panic in Uther’s eyes seems to dim until they flutter shut once more, and the steady rise and fall of the king’s chest indicates that he is in a restful slumber. Satisfied, Merlin leaves Uther’s quarters in search of Gaius, who he abandoned in Edwin’s guest chambers earlier, and treats the injuries the older man sustained in the fight. 

After some rest, Gaius handles Uther’s treatment, and Merlin revels in the news that follows: his mentor is reinstated as Court Physician. There is another development, however. 

“Uther told me he does not forget what you did for him that night,” Gaius says to him over dinner one night.

Merlin looks up suddenly, alert and terrified. 

“He remembers me using magic on him?” 

“I don’t believe he can recall that much, otherwise I imagine we would be having this conversation in an entirely different setting. No, he mentioned that you should be looking for something in the courtyard in the morrow.” 

Baffled, he stabs at the carrots in his stew for something to do.

“What does that mean ? I can’t fathom him out, Gaius.” 

The physician shrugs, clearly knowing no better than him. 

The next morning, Merlin hurries out of Gaius’ chambers, late again, when two stable-hands intercept him on his way to Arthur’s rooms, claiming it is urgent and insisting he go with them to the courtyard. Which is when he finds out the “something” Uther promised would be in the courtyard—is a horse. Well, he should specify: it isn’t just any horse, it is a bloody massive, white, royal stallion . Even at Merlin’s height, he feels small standing next to it, but it is a beautiful thing really, with its smooth mane and smokey-coloured muzzle. 

“Am I supposed to hang onto him for Arthur? I’ve got to get the prince his breakfast first, or he’ll be a right thing to deal with,” Merlin says to one of the stable lads. 

“No, Merlin, this beauty’s all yours,” a stable lad replies. “Personal gift from King Uther himself.” 

Openly gawking, he accepts the reins of the stallion from the men and gently strokes its forehead with his hand, hoping to engender a tentative trust from the creature. Like with most animals he meets, it demonstrates an instinctive reverence towards Merlin and leans into his touch. 

It is slightly startled though when a bellow of “ Merlin! ” bounces off of the stones in the courtyard. Arthur practically stomps down the steps (amazingly already dressed) and puts himself directly in Merlin’s line of sight. 

“Merlin, you were so abominably late today that I…” He trails off mid-rant, anger tapering off as he somehow belatedly notices the stallion. “What are you doing with a royal stallion?” 

“Abominably, that’s an impressive word, I didn’t know your vocabulary was that expansive,” Merlin teases in his typical fashion. 

Arthur rolls his eyes and does the thing where it’s like he’s boring daggers into Merlin with just a glare.

“It’s a gift from your father.” 

“Well, I don’t know why he wouldn’t have just told me—” 

“For me. The stallion’s for me.” 

Arthur fixes him with an unimpressed look. “And why would he—” 

“Because I saved the king’s life and generally that tends to be a big deal.” 

“Merlin, are you actually capable of shutting up for a few precious moments so that I’m not interrupted?” 

Merlin huffs in annoyance. The prince is always acting like such a self-entitled prat, especially in the morning. But, in spite of it all, he believes he and Arthur have built a rapport of a kind...even if it’s a rapport intermixed with many bouts of passive aggression (from both of their ends, Merlin has to admit.) 

It allows him to say this:

“I’ll have to name him something. What do you think of dollophead?”

“ No ,” Arthur objects emphatically, probably mortified at the mere suggestion. “You cannot name a royal steed that. I forbid it.” 

“It’s not your horse,” Merlin complains but knows innately he’s not going to win this one.

The prince seems flummoxed at the very suggestion.

“Well, why don’t you take your horse to the stables and get on with your duties? I’ve got a hundred things for you to do, Merlin, and you won’t get through half of them by nightfall at this rate.” 

“A hundred!” He exclaims in disbelief, his motivation dwindling by the second. Turning from the obnoxious arse, Merlin starts leading his noble steed to the stables. “Can you believe him?”

Arthur scoffs behind him. “Are you talking to the horse?” 

“Might as well!” He calls over his shoulder. “I’ll have a more intelligent conversation with him than you.” 

Unfortunately, Merlin doesn’t realize until he’s in the stocks being pelted by rancid tomatoes that the prince is particularly sore about his intelligence (or lack thereof). 

It’s starting to get a little out of hand, he’ll admit. At first, Merlin was convinced being a secretly magical manservant, he was going to go through life unnoticed and unrecognized, working as a master puppeteer behind the shadows. But it turns out invading sorcerers and beasts don’t like subtlety, and, truly, it’s a skill Merlin has never exactly been well-versed in himself. 

Uther keeps noticing just when Merlin is saving Arthur from whatever the threat may be. It should mean the end of Merlin’s own life, as Gaius repeatedly reminds him, but somehow the king is oblivious to the means of his interventions being magical. 

As it would happen, Uther uncovers Merlin’s involvement in stopping the Sidhe’s plot to sacrifice Arthur as well and is considerably grateful for Merlin’s “discovery” of Excalibur, which helps the king defeat the Black Knight. Uther increases his pay as the prince’s manservant twofold and jokes that he is well on his way to becoming a knight. Considering Camelot’s uncompromising ban on commoner knights, Merlin struggles not to openly gawp at the jest when it’s made. 

So when his mother comes to plead for Camelot’s assistance fending off Kanen and his men, Merlin is only mildly surprised at the king’s response. 

“Providing aid in Cenred’s kingdom would be regarded as an act of war when we have worked so long for peace with Essetir. I cannot help your village; however,” Uther declares while pivoting his gaze to Merlin, who stands slightly behind Arthur. “Your son has proven his loyalty to this kingdom time and time again. As such, I will permit you and you alone as the boy’s mother to stay within the safety of Camelot’s walls until the threat has passed. And you may use the servants’ quarters in the castle until an abode in the lower town can be secured for you.” 

“Sire, I cannot thank you enough for your kindness. You are a good king, ” his mother says, curtseying demurely. “But what of the children and mothers in Ealdor? They will surely still bear the worst when Kanen attacks again.”

“It is unfortunate, but they are not my concern. You should accept my offer while it is still available for you to take.” 

His words cut through the air like steel, and Merlin can tell from experience the king is close to losing his patience with the conversation. After all, a man capable of slaughtering nearly all magic users indiscriminately is only capable of so much mercy, and Merlin is not going to risk entertaining what an irritated Uther would do to his mother, his pride be damned.   

“She does! She does accept, my lord, thank you,” he exclaims hurriedly, rushing to the centre of the room and bowing once before practically dragging his mother away from King Uther and into the relative safety of the hallway outside of the throne room. 

“Merlin, we cannot abandon the village like that. I have called it home for so long.” 

“I know. But Kanen and his men won’t be able to hurt you again here in Camelot. And I’m going back to deal with those brutes myself with,” he eyes the hall furtively before waggling his fingers meaningfully. “You know.” 

Her eyes are filled with motherly concern at his words, and it takes everything in him not to cave into any of her demands when she looks at him like that. 

“You cannot, my son, I beg of you. It’s too dangerous.” 

“Not any more dangerous than anything I’ve been doing in Camelot,” he mutters not quietly enough for her not to hear. 

Before she can object, the doors from the hall open to reveal Morgana and Gwen who approach them in quick strides. 

“It is so lovely to meet you! I’m Lady Morgana, King Uther’s ward,” Morgana greets with an earnest smile. 

“And I’m Gwen, Lady Morgana’s maid. You must know your son’s been nothing but a true friend to so many since he arrived. We’ll help the two of you any way we can. Perhaps, we should get Gaius to see to you? I’m sure you’ve had quite the journey to get here,” Gwen suggests while very clearly and unsuccessfully trying not to look at his mother’s bruised eye. 

Hunith casts a glance between Merlin and the two women before answering, “Thank you. I’m so glad to have found such kindness within Camelot’s walls already.”

The four of them make it as far as Gaius’ chambers when Merlin comes up with a lie that he has to go retrieve some more herbs in the forest to help his mother’s recovery, asking Gaius or Morgana to pass along that to Arthur. Though it takes a few days, Merlin thoroughly scares off Kanen’s men from ever daring to enter his mother’s village again on his own with his magic, and his friend Will thankfully thinks of a convincing enough story that the embattled villagers seem not to question it too much. 

By the time he returns to Camelot, intent on telling his mother it is safe for her to return, he discovers that she, Morgana, Gwen and even Arthur have gotten on so well that Morgana requested to Uther that his mother be allowed to stay in the castle as one of her high-ranking seamstresses. Probably tired of fighting his ward on so many things, Uther apparently agreed, which is how Merlin spends dinner every night in his mother’s new home in the lower town.

Truthfully, if there is anyone’s gratitude Merlin wants to receive, it is Arthur’s. 

But, true to the stubborn prat’s reputation, Arthur still treats Merlin with unrepentant annoyance, ordering him to do this and that, acting frustrated by his general existence but infuriated whenever he’s been away too long. Even when he’s aware Merlin is saving his royal backside on a weekly basis!

It’s nearly intolerable. Destiny , Merlin repeats as a mental mantra, you’re doing this for destiny . 

This time, Merlin can’t help the fact that he’s late to get the prince ready for bed, having been held up. Not only did he have to stop that day’s attempt on Arthur’s life, but also had to subsequently entertain the king’s personal invitation to supper—not as a servant but as a guest —with Uther, Morgana, and Arthur, the latter of whom stormed off to his chambers early. (Not that Merlin could blame him that much because it was a terribly awkward ordeal he wishes he hadn’t had to sit through). 

When he enters the room, he’s expecting some sort of projectile to be lobbed at his head or an angry tirade, but not the blonde man to be lying facedown on his bed and blankets, fully clothed while the fire burns low in the pit. Merlin frowns. For a moment, the blood stops in his veins, thinking inexplicably the worst has happened. He rushes over, shaking Arthur’s shoulder with a firm but steady hand. 

“Arthur, are you awake?” 

A groan sounding as though it is pried from Arthur’s throat is muffled by the mountain of pillows at the head of his bed. 

“I am now,” he grouses. 

The prince rubs a hand over his eyes, blinking blearily at Merlin until his focus narrows into something very familiar—irritation. 

“What could you possibly want?” Arthur asks tiredly, which is expected. 

What he says next is not. 

“My father already gives you everything.” 

It takes a second for Merlin to process the prince’s words before he can react. The anger is a dim roar in his ears, and it takes a second for him to control his magic enough that it doesn’t start rattling the wine pitcher. Or the entire table it’s been left on. To think that Arthur actually believes Uther’s slight and honestly strange favoritism means Merlin has everything! At the end of the day, he’s still just a servant, mucking up horse dung, being laden with Arthur’s training gear on top of another thousand menial duties. And he would be killed without a second thought if Uther had known the truth of half the things he’d done. 

“You know, I say you're a dollophead all the time, but that’s really not enough to describe how thick you’re being right now.” 

Arthur has the gall to look offended and scoffs as if disbelieving Merlin is capable of being this harsh (and honest). He scrambles and moves so that his back is propped up against the pillows, probably trying to give the impression of being regal and intimidating without sacrificing the comfort of soft linen. Merlin stares at him, unimpressed. 

“You know, Merlin, I’m starting to think you must have some hankering for punishment. It’s the stocks for you in the morning, if my father even respects me enough anymore to let me make those decisions about you.” 

He opens his mouth to spit out a retort and call the prince some pretty unsavory things, even by normal standards, but he spots something in the other man’s face, behind the visage of anger. It was there when he and Arthur had been seated at the table for supper with Uther and Morgana. Merlin couldn’t identify it then, but he can now: the smallest shred of insecurity. And just like that, Merlin can see through Arthur’s unspoken fear: the little admiration Uther is capable of expressing is going to someone that isn’t Arthur—and soon, he’ll shed no more praise for his son. The fight sags out of Merlin, and he goes to sit on the edge of the prince’s bed. 

“What are you doing?!” Arthur all but squawks. 

“Talking some sense into you,” he answers calmly. “This...attention your father’s giving me isn’t exactly normal for me, either. But you know why he’s doing it, right?” 

The prince’s blank and confused stare prompts a sigh out of Merlin and forces him to continue. 

“Look, it hasn’t taken me long living in Camelot to know that there’s only one thing Uther Pendragon cares about.”

“Protecting the kingdom?”

“No, something else. Someone else ,” Merlin’s voice lifts at the end, hoping Arthur will catch his drift. 

From his place in the bed, Arthur’s face scrunches up, as though he’s making a very concerted effort to think of an answer. “Morgana?” 

“No, clotpole! It’s you!” Merlin practically shouts before remembering himself. “Your father cares about you, Arthur, even...if it’s in a very misguided and unclear way. The only reason I’m getting rewarded is because I’m saving your life . That’s why I was appointed to be your servant in the first place, because I stopped that witch from killing you. You and your safety are what matters to him, not me.” 

There’s a moment, so very small, where their gazes meet in the near pitch-black of the room, Arthur’s eyes wide and completely unguarded. And Merlin thinks not for the first time that this, these close conversations they have not as prince and servant but something...close to friends, may be exactly what Arthur needs. 

Not that the prat will ever admit it, of course. Just as soon as the vulnerability is there, it’s gone and replaced by a mask of smug and self-indulgent amusement he often gets around Merlin. 

“So you fancy yourself my protector, then?” He asks, clearly mocking. 

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose,” Merlin smirks, willing to play along. “Do I get to add that to my current title?

“I wasn’t aware you had one.” 

“Yes, it’s Put-Upon-Manservant-Who’s-Asked-To-Do-Too-Many-Things. Protector of the Prince actually might be less of a mouthful.”  

Arthur hums, almost as if in agreement. “But no more truthful than the first one you mentioned.” 

It should annoy Merlin more than it does that Arthur is still so unwilling to acknowledge all Merlin does for him, that Arthur assumes, as he’s stated many times before, that his manservant just blunders into the path of peril headed towards him. But if Arthur could know what it took for Merlin to keep him alive, the hours of research, the days spent shadowing would-be assassins, the scars he has to show for it—all Uther’s given Merlin would be meaningless in the face of that. 

One day, Arthur will know. 

Frowning, Merlin shifts off the edge of the bed and goes to collect the wine pitcher to send down to the kitchens. A few feet away, he hears the shuffling of blankets, meaning that Arthur is finally getting settled in for the night. With a few tired steps, he’s about to pull the door handle open, thinking only of his cot awaiting him in Gaius’ chambers just when Arthur speaks up again. 

“Merlin?” 

“Yes, sire?” He inquires, not turning to face the prince. 

“Forget about the stocks tomorrow. Just bring me my breakfast.” 

Smiling to himself, Merlin quietly shuts the doors to Arthur’s quarters and leaves in higher spirits than when he entered them, knowing full well what the prat was trying to say. It’s not a thank you, but it’s close enough to one for now. 

For a while, the gifts and small tokens of Uther’s admiration cease. After Sigan’s attempted invasion of Camelot, things are quieter in the kingdom, something Merlin is glad for. Even in the times of recent chaos, though, there’s been little reason for the man to notice what Merlin’s been doing. There was no way for Uther to tell Merlin intervened in Myror’s attempted assassination of Arthur during the tourney (not that Uther knew Arthur was even there), and the king was more annoyed than pleased that Arthur and Merlin had gone ahead and saved Gwen from Hengist. 

So what if he’s not getting silk tunics like when he saved Arthur from the Questing Beast? Or a barrel of wine like that time after he caught those thugs posing as royal guards (he, Gaius, and Gwen made almost alarmingly quick work of that). It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t need special compensation for continually saving Arthur’s life, Merlin tells himself when he takes rides on Archimedes—who is the finest royal stallion in all the land in his book. 

After all, things could be much worse for him, as his mother and Gaius have no problem pointing out: Merlin could easily find himself on a pyre or the chopping block if his true nature is ever discovered. And it makes sense, of course, that being noticed more by Uther increases the risk of his magic being seen. But he’s become used to Uther either liking him fine enough or acting generally neutral about his existence. So much so he doesn’t expect to be accused of theft by the troll posing as Catrina and for Uther to actually believe her about it. 

The next few days are spent in a frenzy, what with setting up a fake trail for the pursuing knights to follow, sneaking around the castle undetected, exposing the troll to everyone but Uther, and finally breaking the enchantment on the king with Arthur’s help. 

He thinks everything has fallen back into its normal routine until both he and Gaius receive an urgent summons to the throne room, just as they’d barely sat down to breakfast. When they arrive, Uther is seated in his royal, not-at-all-comfortable-looking wooden throne. Behind his chair stands Arthur, blinking blearily in the still dimly sunlit chambers, trying and failing to look as though he doesn’t sorely wish to wish to still be sleeping.

“I understand it is quite early to be conducting this matter, but, as it stands, it involves some discretion,” Uther begins, waving a hand as he speaks. “Camelot is once again indebted to you, Merlin. I thank you...for your role in handling this matter and saving the throne from further embarrassment.” 

Merlin clasps his hands behind his back in order to hide the wringing of his fingers. These kinds of conversations with Uther always set him on edge, even after all this time. 

He admits honestly, “I’m only glad I’m not hiding in Gaius’ or my mother’s cabinets anymore, your Highness.” 

Uther hums once, eyes distant and far away for a moment, seeming to consider something beyond Merlin’s words. 

“You have been in my family’s service for some time now, and while I have seen your performance as his manservant has certainly…been lacking, you have been surprisingly useful in other areas. I would like you to offer you a new position in Camelot’s court.” 

Merlin blinks repeatedly in confusion, shifting his eyes to Arthur to seek any wordless answer as to what this is all about. From the startled look in Arthur’s eyes, it’s clear the man has not been told anything of this development. Not that that is completely atypical for Uther. 

The silence draws out, and it quickly dawns on Merlin that if he’s not Arthur’s manservant anymore, how on earth is he supposed to protect the prat? Even though said prat was originally stunned into silence, Arthur recovers himself quickly enough.

“Father, Merlin is my manservant. And the longest-serving one in a while, and I—”

“I’ll see you’ll get another one, Arthur,” Uther replies dismissively. “Besides, you’ll still be seeing the boy around often enough once he begins working as spymaster.”

Merlin’s efforts at forcing a carefully guarded expression in front of the small court slips.

“Spymaster?” 

“Yes. This is not a usual thing, and I do not mean to set a precedent with this. However, this ordeal has shaken some of the trust in Camelot’s systems. I would normally entrust the First Knight with this type of responsibility, but seeing as the…imposter posing as Lady Catrina escaped his notice for nearly as long as I, when I was very much enchanted and not acting of my own will, it seems clear to me he requires some assistance,” Uther clarifies rather defensively in Merlin’s opinion, casting a meaningful and withering glare to the prince before continuing, “You will work with Arthur to identify new threats to the kingdom discreetly. By all appearances to the public, you will be Gaius’s apprentice, but in reality you’ll be working for the crown.” 

Working for the crown. Yes, Merlin’s been serving the royal household for years now, but this would be a lofty position. And an important role. No more mucking out horses’ stalls. Or polishing armour. Or being pummeled by maces and swords on the training field. With this, now, he’d be treated as an equal to Arthur, or at least, the scales would be more balanced than they had ever been before. And since more than half of the threats to Camelot have involved attempts on Arthur’s life, he’d still be hanging around the prince enough to prevent anything from happening to him. This could be a good thing, right?  

“Father, I must object, Merlin’s…been lucky, but he’s never been discreet in his life.” 

Merlin glowers at the man briefly before schooling his features. Of course, Arthur could never want good things to happen for Merlin because he’s just an arrogant, selfish, dollophead who only ever wants rewards for himself. Well, Merlin will show him he’s more capable than Arthur even knows. 

“Well, you see, that’s part of my skillset, sire. I convince everyone around me I’m an idiot, when it’s really just part of my charm. And my enemies never suspect I’d be hiding anything.” 

There’s a certain irony in this, Merlin recognizes, as Uther smiles back, never questioning that he could be included in the lump category of enemies. Perhaps in another life, where Merlin was not tasked with saving Arthur’s life and crown, they really would be. 

“Oh, that’s very good,” Uther replies with mirth, readily amused. “Yes, I think this is an excellent idea. Any objections, Gaius? He is your ward.” 

For the first time since this discussion began, Merlin turns to his right to look at his mentor, who is absolutely giving nothing of any reaction away on his face. 

“Your mind seems set on it, sire,” Gaius offers neutrally. 

Switching his gaze back to Uther, Merlin asks, “So with this new position, how much pay? If I’m really going to be a spy master , that probably means I’ll be risking my life for that from time to time, if not all the time. What if I have to bribe others for intelligence? I might suggest it’s only fair to compensate me for that.” 

“You strike a persuasive argument. How about double your current pay?”  

Merlin hedges further, “Triple. And days off?”

“A threat to Camelot could come at any time,” Uther argues, narrowing his eyes. 

This could be getting dangerous for him, if he makes the king too irritated. But he thinks he can still sway the monarch for this to work out entirely for his own favor. 

“Well, your highness, I can’t properly assess threats to the kingdom if I’m exhausted. I could be asleep as the bandits sneak in and steal the grain supply, or a stealthy assassin kills Prince Arthur or the Lady Morgana—” 

“Fine. Triple your current pay and two days per fortnight of your choosing, you may abstain from your duties,” Uther declares, frustration somewhat abated. At the seeking look in Merlin’s eyes, he falters even more: “Two days per week then. I’ll give no more.” 

“Of course, your highness. Your highness is very generous,” he says, not missing how Arthur almost audibly rolls his eyes. 

Once back at Gaius’ chambers, Merlin plops himself on the work bench, while Gaius clears away the remains of their abandoned breakfast.  

“Well, this is a turn of events, isn’t it? I’m practically in Uther’s court now, or at least, I think I will be soon if I’m seen stopping a few more attacks on Arthur,” he boasts cheerfully. “Do you think I could’ve just asked Uther to repeal the ban on magic?” 

Gaius levels his eyebrows at him silently in response at first before launching into a somewhat expected lecture. 

“Merlin, I must admit I am growing worried at the...effect Uther’s generosity has had on you.” 

“What do you mean?”

“You’re getting reckless.” 

“Reckless? No one knows about the magic, do they? Otherwise Uther wouldn’t have given me a big, fat promotion just now.” 

“Yet, Merlin,” Gaius cautions. “They don’t know yet .” 

“Is it really so hard for you or Arthur to just be happy for me?” Merlin questions bitterly, getting up from the bench in his anger. “Or do the both of you want me to be a poor and penniless peasant for the rest of my days?” 

“No, Merlin,” the physician counters testily. “I don’t think either of us are unhappy for you. But you’ll do well to remember Uther was calling for your head just days ago, after you’d brought attention to the troll’s presence while he was enchanted. Arthur and I have known the king for years, and we both know that you’ll be under more intense scrutiny with this new role. He may decide he’s not as keen about you after all, or worse, discover you have magic.” 

“Well,” Merlin considers for a moment, “I really do best under pressure anyways.” 

A low, all-too familiar resounding rumble awakes him one night. 

“ Merlin! ” 

It’s unfair, Merlin thinks, having selective telepathic abilities. All people seem to do is shout in his head when he’s trying to sleep, and he’d rather not be able to hear voices if that’s the only thing he can do with it. In a vain effort to block Kilgharrah out, he chooses to fold the pillow so that it covers both his ears. 

“ MERLIN! ”

“Just as bad as Arthur,” Merlin grumbles to himself, despite knowing full well Kilgharrah does not order him around nearly as much as Arthur does. 

With the groan, he divests himself of the pillow and grabs one of his old battered tunics and boots, dressing himself in quick fashion. It would be strange meeting the dragon in one of extravagant outfits Uther recently gifted him. He slips past the sleeping Gaius easily enough and takes the usual path to see the dragon. 

“What do you want?” He demands without preamble upon reaching the cliff’s edge. 

“The course you are currently taking is no secret to me,” Kilgharrah responds, cryptic as ever. “Do you think it wise to so closely ally yourself with Uther?” 

Someone must have snitched to Kilgharrah. It was probably Gaius. Not that Merlin has any proof of it, but he’s convinced the two conspire together to make his life more difficult than it needs to be. 

“I’m not allying—he just keeps giving me stuff!” 

For the first time since they started having these conversations, Kilgharrah is stunned into silence. 

“Look, I’m saving Arthur’s life, Uther notices and as long as that happens, he apparently feels compelled to give me something in return. And you know it’s been nice getting adequately paid to keep throwing myself into danger. My mother doesn’t have to work another day in her life, I’m not a lowly servant anymore, and Arthur’s never been better! I don’t think it’s a crime to get a little recognition!” 

He heaves a breath as he finishes his rant, grimacing a little inwardly at how defensive he sounds. Normally, he reserves these kinds of outbursts for Gaius, who will put him in his place with a succinct and devastating retort, but he rarely loses his composure in front of an ancient creature of magic. Kilgharrah’s brief shock morphs into his typical condescending countenance, and Merlin braces himself for the upcoming lecture.  

“But it is a crime to be who you are, young warlock, lest you forget. Many have won the favor of Uther Pendragon only to quickly find themselves the subject of his deadly ire. He is not a man to be trusted with anything, much less your life and livelihood.” 

Merlin snaps irritably, “You only want me alive so that I can free you.” 

“It was a promise you swore to me,” Kilgharrah reminds him coldly.

He redirects the conversation before this can turn into a full-blown spat with dragon’s fire sent in his general direction. 

“You don’t have to worry about Uther finding out,” he reassures, beginning to explain a discovery that had dawned on him months ago. “I have the misfortune of knowing the Pendragon family very well now, and they blindly trust people they would consider their enemies if they knew any better. I’m basically in Uther’s inner circle—I would have to do magic right in front of him for him to suspect anything of me.” 

Kilgharrah sits on his rock, his gleaming gold eyes narrowing in judgment of his words. 

“I hope for the sake of your destiny that you are right.” 

It’s a dismissal more than anything, an exit Merlin gladly takes. Such a waste of my time, waking me up at an ungodly hour for this , he thinks, as he goes to ascend the stairs. 

“And Merlin?” 

He stops with one foot on a step and turns slightly.

“If nothing else, be sure to bankrupt Uther for me, would you?” Kilgharrah requests dryly.

Kilgharrah never leaves his prison, as Merlin vowed the day the dragon nearly sacrificed his mother for destiny (not that he was ever truly committed to honour his promise to free him). In Camelot’s darkest hour, when nearly everyone has succumbed to Morgause’s sleeping spell, his mother, barely hanging on to consciousness, urges nothing good would come of him poisoning Morgana. That he’d only lose himself, and his mother would struggle to love a man who would not longer resemble the son she’d raised. Her son is no ruthless killer, and Merlin is desperate to agree. 

It ends with him and Morgana alone in the throne room, Arthur fighting for all their lives, for the whole of Camelot and her slumbering citizens below the castle. He won’t win, Merlin knows. He’ll die out there, whether he’s awake or not, against Morgause’s soldiers. 

So Merlin tells her. He tells Morgana everything, his long-held confession spilling easily from his lips as his mind becomes slower and more sluggish under the spell. 

“You have magic?” Morgana asks, staring up at him in awe. “You’ve had it this whole time?” 

“Yes, yes, and I’m sorry I never told you before. I should have,” he rambles, half-aware he’s staking everything on this appeal to her. “But this is important. If you keep on being the host for this spell, Morgause will take over Camelot, and she won’t stop with killing Uther. She’s just as power-hungry as him and will hurt anyone who resists her. Arthur. Gwen will too, I’m sure. I swear I’m working on making this land fair for all. Fair for people like us. We just have to do it another way, any other way than this. Please .” 

He takes to one knee then, his body failing to support him any longer as he begins to pass out. 

“Please Morgana, do the right thing,” he pleads, blinking his eyes furiously to resist resting, and with the thought of rest , his vision goes dark. 

He awakens to Morgana roughly shaking him by the shoulders. His vision still blurry, he adjusts to the light still illuminating the throne room and realizes that he can’t have been out for all that long. 

He sits up quickly, demanding to know:  “What happened?” 

“I sent her away,” Morgana explains quietly. “Morgause and the Knights of Idirsholas, after what you said. It turns out all I had to do to break the enchantment was to not want to be the host anymore.” 

“Morgana, that’s brilliant!” He exclaims, reaching to pull her into a hug. “Thank you. I’m more grateful to you than you know.” 

She can’t quite meet his gaze, and he realizes then that everything might not be tied up so neatly as he thought. 

“What is it?” 

She bites her lip guilty, sighing before admitting, “I’m not sure I just did the right thing. Uther’s still alive, and I have magic. What if I’ve just signed my own death sentence?” 

“You haven’t. That’s the thing; I’ve infiltrated his ranks,” he reassures her. “I’m making sure magic is a non-existent priority for Camelot. No witchfinders, no more executions. I’ll intercept any sorcerers before Uther can hear a word of any of them.” 

Morgana hesitates a moment, but he can see less anxiety in her expression as she probes, “And Uther really has no idea about you?” 

Merlin nods. “I promise he’ll never find out about you as long as I’m here.” 

They exchange grins at that conspiratorially, and Merlin finally feels as though he has a genuine friend in this strange, strange kingdom. 

At this point, Merlin has long lost track of how many times he rescued Arthur from the clutches of sorcerers bent on bringing Camelot’s ruin, beasts pillaging villages, bandits attempting to create chaos. 

Uther, however, has not. In Merlin’s chambers, a tower of books from the most renowned scholars, chests of gold and other treasures, piles of ornate trinkets, silks, and fine wines have begun to take up a sizeable amount of space. 

For all the years that he’s been lavished with gifts and attention, it can still be so jarring for him sometimes to reconcile with it all, after so many years of struggling to get by in Ealdor, of being the village’s bastard who had suspiciously magical things happening around him all the time. He thinks of that boy on occasion and wonders if he would ever recognize the man of fame and repute he’s now become. 

A knock at the door disturbs him from his musings. 

“Come in.” 

The door swings open without delay, revealing a small man of slight frame in a tawny jacket and blue tunic carefully carrying a tray. Merlin recognizes him instantly and just stops himself before scoffing derisively. George . The man is easily the worst servant in Camelot, in terms of bootlickers. That said, he’s the best if he’s being rated based on the quality of his service. George sets the tray down on the table in front of Merlin with grace, a surprising feat considering Merlin has his feet propped on the surface. 

Before him, an assortment of fine cheeses, meats and fruits is artfully displayed. 

“George, what is this?”

The man in question raises an eyebrow in judgement (not that he’s anywhere close to doing it as well as Gaius) before answering in a clipped tone. “Breakfast.”

He narrows his eyes, although he can somewhat guess where this is going. “Shouldn’t you be serving this to someone else, like Arthur?” 

“You mean the Crown Prince?” George attempts to correct, apparently in complete incredulity at Merlin’s lack of address. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t call him a prat. Which I now realize I just did anyways,” Merlin mutters more to himself than anyone else. “But you don’t serve me, no one does.” 

“King Uther requested I deliver this to your quarters to thank you after the most recent incident in the Darkling Woods.” 

Ah, that explains it. 

Just the day before, Arthur dragged him along to the Darkling Woods to hunt, and naturally it went to hell in exactly all the ways Merlin should have expected. Of course, Arthur would claim on his very deathbed that Merlin was the one to alert the bandits with his loud complaining, but regardless they were ambushed, one of the men landing a bolt in Arthur’s horse. The animal flailed, and, even with Arthur’s riding mastery, they went down, the injury too great for the colt to bear, pinning Arthur down with its weight. 

A silent scream reverberated through Merlin, and the bandits were knocked against the trees before he was cognizant he even did anything with his magic. Still, Arthur was on the ground panting and writhing in pain. Merlin leaped off of his mare with a shout of the prince’s name, hooked his arms around the man and pulled with all his might. Arthur was unconscious, likely passed out from the pain, by the time Merlin got him out from under the colt. Merlin did a cursory check for any injuries or apparent bleeding, but praise the gods Arthur’s ribs were somehow still intact, although the coloring of the skin on his ankle suggested it didn’t share so fortunate a fate. It wasn’t anything Gaius couldn’t care for, though. As a precaution Merlin found two sturdy sticks, manipulating them slightly with a spell to craft them into small blocks, so that each could be placed on either side of the affected ankle. Hastily, he undid the knot on his neckerchief, using it to secure the make-shift splint. Through adrenaline or some other force, Merlin heaved the still unconscious Arthur onto his own mare, climbing behind him with a hand to steady Arthur’s prone form, steering them towards Camelot. 

Of course, the exact moment he came galloping past the lower town into the courtyard, Uther was also there for some bloody reason, spotting his son immediately. 

“Arthur,” the king gasped. His gaze hardened in the next second. “What happened?” 

Merlin was forced to stop his mare in its tracks to keep it from trampling the man. 

“Bandit attack. He’ll be fine, but I’ve got to get him to Gaius. Sire,” Merlin tacked on lamely after a moment. 

“Go,” Uther commanded with a meaningful look, and Merlin didn’t need another hint to maneuver his mare around the king to Gaius’ chambers.

Arthur will be fine, despite all his grumbling about having to miss training due to his recovery. 

In the present, he takes a few grapes from the offered spread, playfully popping them in his mouth as he continues to speak. 

“Well, it’s probably better I have this than Arthur. If he gets too much attention, his head will be too big to fit his crown.” 

He sits back, barely containing his glee as George fixes him with a horrified expression. 

“I don’t understand—you continually save the prince’s life and yet mock his dignity in the next breath?” 

“Saving the prince’s life allows me the right to continually mock his dignity.” 

George splutters, his eyes going comically wide, seemingly so offended that he’s not being able to manage any retort. 

“I have urgent polishing duties to attend to,” he says coldly, making for the door in the swiftest fashion. 

“Of course,” Merlin replies genially.

It’s when the servant is about to exit that Merlin thinks of something. 

“George?” 

The man in question turns with a more than slightly exasperated look. 

“If you want the king’s—or the prince’s favor for that matter—you might want to try doing something different. Show up late every now and then, nick some food from off their plates, don’t be afraid to speak your mind, that kind of thing. Let them know you’re human.” 

Merlin offers the advice genuinely, without a hint of sarcasm, knowing this is part of his strange appeal to Arthur at least. 

“That would sabotage my serving career!”

Indifferent, Merlin cuts the cheese on the tray before trying it, which he absently notes must have been imported from some other kingdom because it tastes divine. 

“I don’t know, it’s gotten me this far.” 

“You’re different ,” George sneers (honestly Merlin had no idea the man was even capable of being so expressive) before finally leaving. 

You have no idea how much Merlin thinks to himself but shrugs the thought off as quickly as it came. He stands up, leaving the impressive breakfast behind, to check on Arthur, as good a reward as any the king could provide himself. 

Reckless, Gaius had once accused him of being. As he sits in Arthur’s chambers, listening to the prince complain for the upteenth time about one of his father’s unjust policies, Merlin decides reckless isn’t the right word for his own behavior these last few years in Camelot. 

Restless is more like it. He’s restless for change. Arthur is ready to be king, Merlin knows it in his bones. The royal, with some nudging from Merlin, Morgana, and Gwen, has grown in the ruler they’d all hoped he would be, with independent thoughts and ideas of his own, a will to take up the right causes for the people. The one obstacle standing in the way of that is Uther’s frustrating longevity. After so long of arguing against her, he can understand Morgana’s wish for the tyrant to just kick the bucket. 

The last possible benefit he could squeeze out of Uther, after all the fortunes he’s received over the years, is to secure a position on the court. That way, when Arthur ascends to the throne, the other lords won’t question Merlin as heavily when he begins to propose the repeal of the kingdom’s anti-magic legislation. 

“I think I should apply to be a lord,” Merlin cuts across Arthur as he’s about to launch into a series of admittedly very inventive swears. 

“Ah, eager to be my father’s beneficiary again?” Arthur teases, but the bitterness he once had about Uther’s benevolence towards Merlin has long since evaporated. After they began working alongside each other, as prince and spymaster rather than master and servant, Arthur has been more privy to the fact that Merlin is in fact very bright at tasks that don’t involve menial chores and has a legitimate commitment to Camelot’s prosperity. A mutual respect appears to be budding, Merlin notes, especially seeing as years ago he couldn’t have imagined Arthur inviting him up to his chambers to confide in Merlin about his doubts regarding his father. 

“I want some land for my mother,” Merlin responds, settling on a believable motivation on the spot that actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea, now that he comes to think of it. Even if he’s lying to Arthur about it being his primary reason. “She’s been alright living here in Camelot, but she misses the countryside. And I don’t want to send her as far as Ealdor, especially with how Cenred’s men have been behaving on Camelot’s border. A lordship is the only way I’d be able to get that for her.” 

“You’ve secured my father’s loyalty and good will as well as any other diplomat in Camelot. I don’t see why he’d refuse you now. If I had enough power, I’d give you the lands for her myself,” Arthur offers, and it’s genuine. 

Merlin says nothing, but the corners of his lips turn up in a smile.

It doesn’t take much at this point to schedule a meeting with Uther, who is a captive audience as Merlin presents his most recent findings as spymaster. He can tell the older man is pleased, and it is with this in mind that he launches his bid. 

“King Uther, I have one last item to offer to you. A proposal for how I can serve Camelot even better.” 

“What is it you require? More guards? Additional books? An expanded wardrobe for subterfuge?” 

“No, I don’t need anything else…material, your highness, although I am most appreciative of your gifts,” Merlin says flatteringly, having learned and become comfortable in the ways of ooing and awing for Uther—he’s never attempted even to do this day to do the same for Arthur, who could snuff out the act easily. “I wish apply for a lordship to advise your majesty on policies that would lead to greater properity and security for the kingdom. I believe my expertise and insights would be valued by the wider court.” 

“A lord?” The man leans back in his throne languidly and dons an amused smile. “You know, I like you, so I’ll let this discretion pass with no issue.” 

“Discretion?”

“You can’t honestly believe I would grant you a title? With lands of your own? It just isn’t done.”

Merlin goes to speak and stops, feeling wrong-footed with the king for the first time in years. He clasps his hands behind his back, considering his next move. 

He clears his throat first before hazarding, “Much of what you have done for me is not typically done by a monarch for one of his subjects. Is this really such a radical request?” 

“You’d do well to watch your tongue, boy,” Uther admonishes, sitting forward in his throne. His expression has hardened, and Merlin, despite himself, glances around the room for all possible exits should this go further south. “I have been exceedingly generous with you. But I have done as much as I have only to secure your loyalty.” 

“What?”

Uther chuckles then, a laugh that originates somewhere dark and low in his belly. He smiles too, but his eyes are absent of all warmth, sending a chilling effect down Merlin’s spine. 

“You can't believe I was legitimately rewarding you all these years. Why do you think I have given all gifts in private, no public ceremony involved? You peasants run in certain circles and know the inner workings of the criminals in the lower towns, more so than any other noble or knight could. So of course it would benefit me to have a dedicated spy, who so faithfully will report to me his findings and any signs of a threat against the Pendragons. What would happen if you were to decide to ally with one of these agents, instead of stopping them or telling me? I knew I needed to incentivize you to protect the Pendragon line, even if it cost me.” 

That can’t…how does this make any damn sense? “...You’re saying you’ve been buying me off so that I don’t strangle your son in his sleep?” 

Uther’s silence seems to be a confirmation in itself. The fear keeping Merlin rooted in place unfurls hotly into rage and he questions, “So why deny me this? How does this help your plan to keep me loyal to you?” 

“You’ve been nothing more to me than a well-compensated informant. You were not born into nobility, and you shall never be of that stature. A peasant can never achieve noble rank. This is the way of things in Camelot,” Uther rebuts firmly. “I’ve realized now I have gone too far with my gifts. You think of yourself as important now. You dare go so far as to suggest I change the order of things for you. Whatever new threats come to Camelot can be contained without you. Who’s to say I can’t pick another informant who’s less insistent? Morgana’s maid seems as though she would accept a bribe more quietly and gratefully than you.” 

“What?!” Merlin sputters. He can’t help but feel there’s an unspoken, quickly approaching expiration date to all this—and maybe him as well. “What are you planning on doing to me?”

“You’re about to find out,” Uther spits back coldly. “Guards!” 

A handful of guards enter through the wooden doors and stand at the ready for the king’s orders.  

“Throw this boy in the dungeons. He’s to be executed at first light.” 

“You can’t just execute me!” Merlin shouts as the guards immediately grab for his arms, beginning to take him away. He squirms against their hold, pleading for his life with a lie: “I haven’t broken any laws!” 

“I am your king. If I decide your life is forfeit, then it is finished.” 

Uther’s voice carries through the hall as Merlin is dragged from the throne room, but it is the man’s cold gaze that lingers in Merlin’s mind as he’s thrown face-first into a cell. 

His back against the stone of the dungeon, he feels both breathless and witless. He closes his eyes, running what just happened for what feels like hours in his head. How could he have gone in there so confident he could play Uther like a lyre, only for it all to end with his head on a spike? He could resist this, he knows. All it would take would be well-timed spell to blast the cell doors off their hinges. And then what? He’d have to flee Camelot. Leave Arthur and his destiny behind. What have the last three years even been for at that point? 

“Merlin!” 

“Gwen?” He looks up, startled, as his friend runs in and kneels in front of his cell door. Morgana follows just after, looking at him with a swirling mix of confusion, concern, and hurt. Staring back, Merlin can’t help but feel he’s broken that promise to her when he swore so many months ago everything was going to be okay. 

“We came as soon as we heard. Uther told Arthur and Morgana at supper he’s decided to execute you,” Gwen explains, words coming out in a rush. “He can’t do this. It doesn’t make sense; you’re practically the king’s favourite!” 

“What crime did he charge you with?” Morgana attempts to ask mildly, but the tenseness in her tone is unmistakable. 

“None. I guess my head got too big, and I pushed one line too far with him. It doesn’t matter now, seeing as I won’t have a head by morning.” 

“Oh, Merlin,” Gwen sighs, exchanging a glance with Morgana. “There must be something we can do.” 

His fingers fumble with the ends of his sleeves, and he asks trepidly, “Where is Arthur? I need to speak to him.” 

“He’s upstairs. He and Uther were having the loudest shouting match I’ve ever seen when Gwen and I left for the dungeon. He’s furious about what’s happened to you and is trying to change the king’s mind. I tried to convince Uther this was madness, but…” Morgana can’t meet his eyes as she adds, “With the kind of tyrant Uther is, I’m afraid Arthur probably won’t succeed.” 

“I know he won’t. I just need him here,” Merlin says simply. 

The two women share another look but in silent agreement start to turn in the opposite direction, seemingly to find Arthur. They go all of ten paces when they hear a distant, brash shout of: 

“Merlin!” 

“Arthur, over here!” Morgana calls out. 

There’s some commotion as a clear debate reverberates throughout the dungeon between Arthur and the guards. The prince pushes past them and lets himself through, stopping in place as soon as he sees Merlin sitting miserably on the floor of his cell.  

“Gods above, this is a mess. Merlin, what did you do ?” Arthur demands, voice breaking on the last word. 

Merlin takes one look at Arthur and instantly knows what he must do in this moment.  

“I have magic.” 

Because if not now, when will Merlin ever tell him? 

Gwen gasps. Morgana does not visibly react, not surprised given she’s known this for months. Besides the slightest widening of his eyes and twitch of his eyebrows, Arthur’s face remains blank and guarded. Merlin only waits a beat before conjuring a flame in his palm, manipulating its shape into the Pendragon crest. 

“And I use it for you. Only for you.” 

The fire dies in his hand as he closes his palm. 

“Well, this certainly explains a lot about the last three years,” the prince eventually says, quietly enough Merlin wonders if he meant to speak aloud. “I suppose I should be outraged, and maybe I will be. Later. But, as it stands right now, I’ll probably need a sorcerer to help me depose my father from the throne.” 

Merlin watches Arthur, dumbstruck, as the prince slashes at the cell’s lock with his sword, proceeding to step in. Arthur extends a hand, and Merlin feels as though he’s being offered the whole world. 

“What do you say about working for me again?”