Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Merlin had been many things throughout his service to Arthur. Punched, poisoned, drowned, thrown downstairs and into stone fireplaces.

But never, barring a few poison attempts, had he been anything even resembling the word sick.

A few hurried words with Gaius and now Merlin was huddled outside Arthur’s door. His face had been awkwardly shoved into a piece of cloth coated in something or other to temporarily clear the sinuses. Apparently, he had been sniffing for a few days, and Gaius had known to suspect something.

Merlin disagreed; he had been fine. Sleeping a little less, perhaps. Maybe, he needed to drink more water. Something simple and stupid like that.

But no matter what, Arthur could not know.

He wasn’t entirely sure why or when he had started to believe this, but it had hit him in full force. This was the sickest he had been throughout his entire service, and now not only would he be in condition to hunt down any assassins or otherwise magical threats – he could barely walk – he knew full well that Arthur did not, and would not, approve of any time of.

Especially not now.

He was Arthur Sigil carrier, after all. A role that, if he was honest with himself, should have gone to a knight of the realm or someone of that importance. Arthur certainly made fun of him enough to know that he would scuff it up or some other act. (Or melt it to pieces with accidental magic and claim it fell out his pocket and into the fireplace…Arthur might actually react better to the magic).

But that was beside the point. With this new responsibility, Merlin could never be off the clock.

Just be respectful. Then he won’t notice, he’s thick enough.

After his breathing had eased significantly, he opened the door and strolled inside. Only to see that Arthur was very much still in bed.

Unlike most mornings Merlin could not simply cry out with a ‘Rise and Shine’. His throat was too hoarse.

Merlin strolled over the window and threw open the curtains.

“Merlin?”

“Good Morning! A kingdom never waits for a lazy king.”

Arthur blinked up at him blandly, still not sitting up.

Merlin rustled through the wardrobe, throwing around just a few older tunics to add colour to the room, and pulled out the typical red with dark trousers.

Arthur still hadn’t sat up.

Merlin didn’t have time from this. His nose was going to come back with full force within minutes and there was only so long he could handle feeling like that before he collapsed into bed.

Strolling over to the bed, Merlin grabbed the coverings and yanked them onto the floor. Arthur pulled back, letting out a garbled sound, before eventually falling of the bed and lying on the ground surrounded by his red bed cloth.

“Tunic and trousers hung over the screen. I’ll be back with breakfast.” Another thing he totally did not forget to do.

His headache was already creeping back up on him again. The back of his head felt hot and tender, even though nothing was touching it.

He turned on his heel, not having the patience for Arthur’s cry of “Merlin?”

As soon as he was outside, he pressed the cloth to his face.

He felt awful. Even that brief walk and conversation had left him feeling like the world had decided earthquakes and thunderstorms were the best choice in weather that they had. His very flesh felt tender; like he had been in a long fight without armour.

As he walked towards the kitchens, his feet very nearly collapsed. He was so distracted he almost walked right past the serving stairs, and he would have missed the kitchen entirely if it hadn’t been for one of the serving maids quite literally grabbing him by the arm and shoving the tray into his hands.

“Something special on there, just for you!” The serving girl - Elenor - Merlin’s brain supplied. The simple act of looking down for a good moment he was quite convinced he was about to topple over from all the blood rushing to his head.

Sure enough, on the tray, there had clearly been placed serval extra sausages and a few tarts that very much did not seem like breakfast food.

But Merlin didn’t feel like eating. The very thought turned his stomach. Even something light, like soup, sounded physically repulsive.

“Thanks,” he muttered and began to make his way back up the stairs.

He was horribly sweaty all over. His clothes stuck to him, and he could feel heat rising uncomfortably under his hair. The desire to shave his entire head struck him with a considerable amount of force.

The way up to Arthur’s room felt shorter than usual. He wasn’t paying attention at all, not even when Gwaine leaned over a railing with a big grin on his face and a welcoming cry of “Merlin”.

He walked right past.

Upon reaching Arthurs door he pushed it open with the lower part of his arm. Not much you can do when you have a fuller-than-normal breakfast tray in your hands. Usually he would put it down, but if he did, he doubted if he would be able to pick it up again.

The door opened easily.

“Welcome back Merlin,” Arthur’s voice was dripping in sarcasm. He had (somehow) managed to dress himself but somehow had decided to simply get back into bed, with the covers still on the floor.

Merlin made sure to only bend over a little to place the breakfast tray on the side table.

He barley paid attention when Arthur looked at the tray in obvious confusion.

“Finally decided to increase my diet, Merlin?”

“Why, yes, of course,” Merlin said with only the smallest hint of sarcasm in his tone. “Even dollopheads deserve treat days.”

“Not hungry?” Arthur asked, picking up a sausage with his hands and biting into it. “There are far more sausages on this plate, and nearly a full block of cheese! What an absolute wonder.”

“Well, I’m glad you appreciated it,” Merlin found himself saying.

“My armour needs doing,” Arthur begins casually, “As does my boots and saddles. Sword as well. And mend that broken cape.”

The broken cape was not Arthur’s. At least, not originally.

On the last expedition into the woods, and the inevitable bandit attack, Gwaine’s cape had been ripped into several shreds. Tired of heading him complain, Arthur had shrugged off his own and stuffed the ripped red cape under his bum as the rode back to Camelot to try and keep him looking at least a little bit presentable.

Merlin walked out of the room and heard the crash as the boots failed to even hit the door.

The Sigil hug heavy in the front of his shirt. He had been so careful with it, creating a new pocket that lay hidden on the inside of his shirt, that held the Sigil secure. He might have lost several inches of length on the end of it, leading to more than a few unpleasant risings, but it would all be worth it in the end.

Arthur had given him this Sigil and he only worked out why a few days after.

Merlin knew what a Sigil represented; a concept he had been introduced to shortly after arriving in Camelot. A marriage proposal of the deepest and most romantic kind, a callback to the traditions of old – for those who appreciated such things.

As such, Arthur’s message was clear.

Keep it safe for my future bride.

It was rather odd that it had taken so long for Merlin to figure it out. He had actually tried to give the thing back to Arthur, leaving it inside his bedside cupboard, but when he returned to his quarters that night there was a guard outside the door.

Merlin had stared at the man as he pushed his own door open, watching suspiciously, expecting to be arrested for some meaningless – or less so – offence.

And the Sigil was lying on his bedside table, quite alone and unobtrusive. As soon as he picked it up, he heard the guard turn on his heels and leave, a light scoffing sound in his throat.

Protect it for me.

In many ways it was great news, Merlin thought as he skidded through the corridors best as he could with his addled mind, because Arthur trusted him. Or, at least, was so used to him being around that he assumed Merlin would be there when he finally wanted to propose.

Merlin sniffed loudly, and then gave a series of uncontrollable hearty coughs that seemed to reverberate through his entire body. Chest aching and throat burning, he stumbled foreword, nearly colliding with the nearest wall.

He awkwardly reached around to find his cloth, not that he thought it would particularly help, only to find that he had lost it somewhere along the way.

He tapped the Sigil that lay against his chest, right by his heart. It was all he could seem to do these days, even while working and operating on (supposedly) a fully working system, the Sigil hung below his collarbones under his neckerchief, and all he could do was tug and twist and move it.

Because it was something special. Something valuable. Something more valuable and more special than anything he had ever held in his hands.

It had become somewhat of a symbol to him. How he gave everything to the Pendragon’s (or, one in particular) and how even his skin lay the indents of his mark, carried cold against his chest.

Merlin eventually collapsed on a bench in the armoury deciding to do all of his chores in one go, starting with the boots. It wasn’t like he could move around a lot today…

The wood and bristles of the brush resembled thorns and holly in his hands, screaming as if set to burning coals. He brushed slowly, every go over seeming raw his hands further.

How could he protect anything like this?

Just two nights previous, he had been gripped with the fear of something happening whilst he was asleep, or when he was washing clothing having it fall into the washbasin. He hadn’t taken it off since, moving it from his pocket were anything could have happened to it, to tied around his neck.

Arthur had trusted him with this.

He couldn’t let him down.

This was the first step. The first step to everything. If Arthur could trust him, rely on him for something this big, then when Merlin’s magic was revealed then maybe, just maybe, he could trust him on that too.

Merlin doubled over.

But not with coughs, a burning spread from right next to his heart, shooting through his body in a burst of pain.

His head might have hit the back of the wooden brush as he nearly collapsed, but Merlin didn’t care.

He didn’t get sick often. Did everyone else have to deal with this? With no cure? He had known Gwen to work through illness before, and she had never collapsed like he had.

Pushing himself to his feet, he took a deep shuddering breath, waving his hand to get his magic to complete the boots.

Nothing happened for a long, painful moment.

And, when it finally did, it seemed drawn out of him by force. Like the magic was stuck inside of him like honey, drawn tight into his skin and unwilling to leave.

The shoes cleaned themselves slowly, making Merlin’s breathing rougher than before.

This was more than some sneeze.

Glancing out the window, Merlin’s heart dropped as he saw that the sun had risen to midday. It would soon be time for Arthur’s lunch. But, first, he knew he had to change him out of his armour and a hundred other things.

He still had time.

His sewing needles were in his room. He needed to mend that cape. Staggering to his feet, he went to do as such.

The trapse down the corridors could have, many years ago, been connected to the idea of trying to run up a mountain.

“Merlin?” Gwen and Gaius spoke together as he walked past, taking another long sniff of whatever it was that Gaius had coated it with. Through bleary eyes he could tell it was some red-brown concoction.

Earlier that day, he had said it smelled awful.

“Oh Merlin, you look awful!”

“You do look pale.”

“’M fine, just a cold,” Merlin insisted, trying everything he could to take a hard sniff. His nose was so blocked that nothing seemed to be able to get through.

Gaius’s tonic would fix it.

“You seem to have deteriorated from this morning.” Gaius tried.

“You look about to collapse!” Came Gwen’s more adamant refusal.

“You know me, Gwen, I’m always fine. It’s just a nasty cold that I will shake in a few days. Probably caught some disease off Arthur’s socks.”

The forced a chuckle from her lips, but the scrunched expression never left her face.

“And Gaius, you known better, you say all the time that physicians should be exposed and have as many illnesses that they can while they are young and can heal properly. If anything, this will help me work.”

The old man was silent.

Merlin gave a throaty cough, fighting to stay on his feet as his vision swam before his eyes.

“Gotta go sew up Arthur’s cloak, clumsy prat.” The words came out hollow, even as he waved the red fabric in the air.

He was sure his expression held the same emptiness, even as a wobbly smile crossed his lips.

“Be careful. Stop if it gets to much, I can always help out if you need. Not to insinutate that you couldn’t do anything but-”

“It’s all fine. Just need a moment to sit down and sew.”

Every step he took, the pain seemed to intensify, spreading throughout his chest. Just a cold, just a cold.  

They have nothing to worry about.

The door shut behind him hard.

The pain reverberated again, far more brutal than before, and this time Merlin caught himself on his own dresser, breathing heavily as his chest burned. His very heart seemed to be pushing itself out of his chest.

Something was wrong. This was no ordinary sickness; sickness didn’t come from just one place. It didn’t all stem from a single, painful location.

His neckerchief came off first, yanking at the hastily made tie at the back. His fingers fumbled, seeming raw. On another man, Merlin would have said the looseness and clumsy nature of limbs that were normally so poised (as long as he had eyes facing in that direction) but Merlin knew that wasn’t the case.

His shirt was harder, as it came off he could feel his muscles protesting, aching and burning from his chest to his shoulder blades, forcing him to put his arms down several times in order to lessen the pain.

A whimper escaped through his tightly closed lips. A red-hot tear from his clenched eyes.

He yanked so hard on his own shirt that it ripped at the end. He could repair it later once he found out what was wrong.

He just needed to open his eyes.

Not knowing what to expect, he braced himself, as well as he could with eyes squeezed shut in pain. An infection from a wound left untreated? A burn of some kind? A curse?

When his eyes forced themselves open, he could have gagged.

Right were the Sigil lay against his chest, the very skin seemed to have come loose, sagging and horrifically swollen. Streaks of dark, dark red spread away from the swelling like a spiders web, making the very skin look pale and sickly. It almost looked like something was growing, roots and all, under his skin, desperate to get out.

Hand shaking, he grabbed the string of the Sigil and lifted it up, peering underneath. And for once, he really did gag.

The very skin seemed burnt away, to the point that Merlin almost thought he would see bone beneath it all.

It didn’t even look like skin, the colour almost black like charred coal, not so far away from his heart.

This was no infection.

This was cold iron.

Chapter Text

Merlin trudged behind Arthur through the blistering sunshine, chest throbbing lightly. It had been a long time since The King had decided that a picnic was the solution to any sort of problem (namely, doing anything resembling the idea of work), and even longer since the fact he had ended things with Gwen.

“You know, they’re all going to be talking about this, right? That Gwen didn’t come with us?”

“And that’s an issue because…” Arthur rolled his eyes, pushing more force into his walk, quite leaving Merlin behind to struggle with the basket.

Arthur, to his credit, had decided that as the stronger of the two, it would be more reasonable for him to take the blanket, as opposed to the feast currently creaking against the basket walls.

“Because” Merlin hurried to be next to Arthur, “All the castle talk is going to be about how you simply must be courting someone new in secret. And they’ll all be hounding me about your love life.” He tried to put as much frustration into his voice as he could.

But Arthur simply threw back his head in a light laugh.

“Only you, Merlin.”

Merlin wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but he did know that his chest had begun to burn ice cold.

“This is a good spot!” Merlin pointed to the ground beneath them. “We should stop here.”

“Merlin.”

“What? I think this would be a lovely place for a picnic!” Not that Merlin really knew why Arthur wanted a picnic in the first place. He used to escape through hunting trips, which were at least more practical for Camelot.

Perhaps, he had decided shooting fluffy things and fighting bandits was not an ideal way to spend an afternoon.

At least one as hot as this.

“Right on top of stinging nettles and thorns? Really?”

“Well, I didn’t mean right on this exact spot, clearly…”

Arthur moved a few paces over, laying the blanket down to the left of the nettles and thorns, a little alcove hidden from the rest of the forest by it’s natural attackers. (Those that stung and stabbed).

“Perhaps not the most attractive spot you could have chosen, but I really don’t know why I expected anything else.”

Arthur lay back against the blanket, leaning dramatically to the side to avoid being near the thorn wall he had parked them against. Merlin heaved the basket over, dropping it heavily onto the blanket, collapsing next to Arthur.

His chest hurt.

But it was fine. He would be fine.

He had placed the Sigil in a small pouch, that he could easily remove while still in his shirt for Arthur’s use, in a vague attempt to protect his chest.

But the cold seemed to seep out, laying agony like lightning across his bones.

Throughout all of his adventures, he had only encountered the horrors of cold iron once before. And it hadn’t been in a fight, or even a particularly pathetic kidnapping.

Merlin had always been thankful that he never had to sleep in the servant’s quarters, like the rest, having secured a place with Gaius. Even gladder once he had visited for the first time.

Servant’s didn’t have many sources of protection, against anything really, so it shouldn’t have been a shock when he went to open one of the maidservant’s doors and let out a cry of pain.

A black, bleeding burn across his palm. Or, at least, what he thought was a burn. A burn that ran cold, icy, and dead. Like the skin itself wanted to reject from his very core of what he was. A foreign enemy against anything magic.

He had rushed to Gaius after passing whatever message he had undoubtedly forgotten to the poor serving girl. (Something about the way Arthur’s things had been cleaned, probably). He had never forgotten the look on his mentor’s face.

Horror would be a good one.

Sympathy perhaps, when he saw Merlin had been crying.

He had been younger then. So, so much younger.

Gaius had been quick to cover the wound in bandages, even as tears rolled down Merlin’s face at the pain. The ran them straight up his arm, to the point Arthur didn’t even question when Merlin said he had badly sprained it, but that it would be alright in the end.

He remembered watching his palm, peeling off the bandages at night to watch as it throbbed, and the darkness seemed to twist under his skin.

It had stayed for a full season, and still there was a slim mark of something on his palm. A thick, white scar. Arthur had asked about that too, of course, nosy as he was. But Merlin, much to his personal chagrin, was a good liar.

Of course, that scar had always been there. What was Arthur talking about? It was old from Ealdor, when he was just a small child.

So, perhaps, all in all, it was not so much of a surprise that it would be chosen as the metal on the Camelot symbol of romance – from the late Queen herself.

“At least eat something if you’re going to ignore me.” Arthur shoved Merlin out of his thoughts.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, just tell me. Tonight. Bath. Yes, or no?”

Merlin wrinkled his eyebrows.

“You had one just last night, I don’t think you need another. And you might prefer to save it until after training tomorrow as you said you were going to make a day out of it.”

Arthur passed Merlin the waterskin.

He took a long chug, feeling the lukewarm liquid flow down his chest. Burning, burning, burning with ice.

“I just thought...that we could…well, y’know.”

As it turned out, Merlin did not know what Arthur was talking about. We could…sit awkwardly in Arthur’s chambers while he had a bath? Talk some more?

“Arthur, I don’t-”

“It was just a thought, Merlin. Don’t make a big deal of it. Just…forget I said anything.”

And then they were in silence again. There was a river, somewhere out of view of the bramble walls. Perhaps a small animal too by the sound of pattering feet and crunching leaves.

It was peaceful, as much as Merlin knew how to experience the feeling.

“The council and I have agreed on a date.”

Merlin’s head shot around.

“A date?”

Arthur’s eyebrows raised, another ridiculous smile coming over his face.

“Of course, Merlin. The wedding date. It’s quite required to have one, even for the peasants as I’m aware. Let alone for the King of Camelot.”

Merlin thought a bucket of ice water had been dumped straight over his head. He could hear Arthur talking but his ears just buzzed in disbelief.

This couldn’t be happening.

Not yet.

Not…not so soon after Gwen.

You knew this was going to happen. You must have known.

Arthur wouldn’t appoint a Sigil carrier for nothing. You should have known the time was near, and not some distant thing in the future.

Merlin only caught a few words.

But Arthur’s voice was so painfully happy that Merlin didn’t know how to feel.

Love…happy…rings…finally won them over.

A match the council had agreed to. That Arthur was also happy with. Arthur who had sworn to marry for love.

Arthur, who had fallen in love, and not told Merlin.

“You’ll be alright to handle the planning, won’t you?” Arthur bit into an apple.

“The planning?”

“Course. I don’t know the first thing about tablecloths or florals.”

“Perhaps you should learn.” Merlin shrugged, wincing as the icy feeling seemed to flood his veins.

“Merlin, I am the king. In case you’ve forgotten.”

“I suppose so.” Merlin grabbed for an apple from the basket, giving his hand something to do in the form of rolling it around and around. He couldn’t bring himself to eat it, the very thought brining bile to his throat.

“What had gotten into you today? You look like the back end of my horse during sickness season.”

“I’m just tired. Didn’t sleep well last night. Or the night before.”

“Why didn’t you sleep?” Arthur prompted, to Merlin surprise. He had never cared before what Merlin did in his spare time.

“Just, didn’t feel well.”

“If you were sick, you could have come to me you know?”

“What?” The word came out harsher than Merlin had intended. He knew, logically, that Arthur at least liked him, as much as Arthur liked anyone, that was.

“Of course!” Arthur replied, sounding vaguely offended, “That’s sort of the point of well…us.” Merlin didn’t have the heart to point out to Arthur that his words made no sense.

In fact, Merlin would have argued that the point of them was to fulfil a prophecy and ensure Arthur had someone to talk to. Or complain to, as it ended up being. And to make sure Arthur didn’t grow too complacent. Or too rude, or arrogant, or obnoxious, or have his kindness taken advantage of.

“Marriage is making you soft,” Merlin concluded instead, feeling as the words throbbed harder than even the ice in his veins.

Why? Why do I feel this way?

He’s just been taken advantage of so many times.

And it’s my destiny.

It’s normal that I want to protect him.

Thankfully, Arthur laughed. So, she wasn’t so horrible then. Or perhaps she was.

It was quite hard to tell with Arthur, sometimes.

“Yes, Merlin, yes I rather think it is.” The toothy smile he gave in Merlin’s direction was blinding.

“That’s good, then.” Came his words, shaky from the pain that had so suddenly snuck back upon him whilst he had been paying no attention.

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur’s smile dropped at his words.

“Never mind,” Arthur sighed, “Let’s go home then, if your fragile bones can’t handle it.”

The walk back to the castle was long, longer than the way there, if it was as it felt. Merlin had taken to clutching at his chest and breathing heavily.

Once, Arthur paused to check if he was okay, giving a slight smile when Merlin assured him that he was perfectly fine. Arthur’s expression was tentative, but relaxed. It soothed over Merlin like a wave of fresh wine to numb the pain that threatened to consume him entirely.

It felt like such a long time before they finally reached Camelot. They had swapped on the way back, Merlin with the blanket and Arthur with the basket.

None of it stopped the tremble in Merlin’s legs, or the paleness he knew invaded his cheeks. Or the darkness that seemed to flood into his vision at every chance.

But the fabric had to be helping.

He didn’t know what he would do if it wasn’t.

He would have to take it out the pouch on Arthur’s wedding day of course, to whoever he was marrying, that was.

Merlin would have loved more information than just that.

Why, he screamed internally, if you are so desperate to get over Gwen, court someone else. Please, don’t do this, you know you’ll regret it if you marry for anything other than true love.

No one heard.

When he finally reached his room, he near threw the Sigil on the floor. Using the small amount of magic that he was still left within him to land it on a cushion strewn on the floor. What if they were attacked before the wedding? At any point?

He couldn’t fight like this.

He could hardly walk like this.

Merlin peeled his shirt off slowly. It had begun to stick to the damage beneath, oozing and sickly, and Merlin knew he would soon have to start sneaking bandages.

A gasp escaped his lips.

Despite his best efforts, the black vines buried under his skin had grown, twisting and moving around under his chest. And the black, the cold, cold black had grown, cutting a horrific sign on his chest.

A single tear rolled down his cheek as he sunk down to his knees, trying to pull back on his shirt. But his hands shook.

Don’t think about this right now, anything, anything but that. Anything but the monster cold iron was creating within his chest.

The wedding, Arthur’s wedding. That’s why he was here right? To plan it?

Was this what his destiny had been leading up to, all this time?

He didn’t know what this strange princess would like. But they all seemed similar.

But he knew Arthur. Knew Arthur couldn’t be swayed from this, despite the fact he had only ever wanted to marry for love. And yet it seemed, by the way Arthur had been talking that he was in love with her, whoever she was.

Why would he have never told me if he was dating someone?

Why trust me to carry his Sigil, if I was never trusted with the heart that came along with it?

And yet, he tasked me to plan.

Merlin sighed. Arthur had always been a man of many, many contradictions. And a bigger heart than anyone else saw.

Apart from whoever she was, hopefully. She needed to see it. See it the way Merlin did, or the way he hoped one day Gwen would have done. He had been so convinced that she had, for so long, but he had been wrong.

Nobody who truly saw Arthur could leave him. It was just impossible.

He could do this for Arthur, could do anything, as he always had. And if Arthur wanted Merlin to be the one to plan out the day he married a perfect stranger. To Merlin, at least. Then, by the gods themselves, he would do it. Would she be bold and brave as Arthur? No, that had never been his type. Simpering and sweet? By the triple goddesses, Merlin hoped not. A bootlicker? Power hungry? Grasping for the throne?

A sorceress in disguise? Ready to break Arthur to pieces?

Just like Merlin was.

Merlin squeezed his eyes closed.

Just as he hoped against hope that this was not a marriage the council had pushed on Arthur, to the point he was deluding himself that he was, or at least could be in love with her.

If nothing else, he could make it Arthur’s perfect day. He deserved that much at least.

Once again, his chest twinged.

He could do this, no matter what it took.

Surely, planning a wedding wasn’t that difficult anyway?

Chapter Text

If there was one thing to be said about planning a royal wedding, was that it involved an ungodly amount of running about.

Just that morning he had walked into a celebration within the kitchens, laugher and song overflowing from a room that would normally be so utterly silenced by the wooded spoon, and iron pot of the cook. (Another unfortunate lesson he had learned early on during his stay in Camelot – he was pretty sure that black mark still existed somewhere under his hair, forever changing and shifting under his skin).

But the second he walked in, it all went silent. The singing stopped. As did the laugher.

Every eye turned to stare at him, as they had done every other day the previous week.

Except this time, more so than any other, he truly had no idea of the wrong he had committed.

They were still polite when they spoke, a sort of deepness to their voice, a formality that had never existed before. A praise for his company, that had never been their before.

But, more than anything else, a confusion as to why he was there in the first place.

“Are you sure there is nothing else you need to be doing Merlin?”

“Do you not wish another to bring up the tray?”

And once, horribly, Merlin even received a, “I didn’t think you would be coming down to the kitchen’s anymore. Would a servant not be better assigned for such a position?”

After having to pause down another corridor to cough until his legs collapsed, he couldn’t help but agree with them – just a little bit.

He shouldn’t be here. Not in a place that hated everything he was, that filled each room and item and royal relic with iron.

But this was the place with Arthur, and that beat out any other argument.

He knew full well he wasn’t a good servant, especially not like this when his very core burned with angry, white, agony.

But he would rather it was not so thoroughly rubbed in.

Sometimes, nowadays, it seemed even Arthur was confused about why he let Merlin stay around. (“You really don’t need to polish my armour anymore, Merlin.” He could still hear his own reply of, “But what else would I do with my time, Sire?” And see Arthur’s baffled expression within his mind’s eye).

But perhaps he just wanted Merlin to focus on the planning, make that the best he possibly could.

Useless at all manservant tasks as he was.

Merlin pulled himself up, taking another gasping breath that pulled down heavy on his lungs and spluttered at the unexpected dryness of his tongue.

Sure he had something more to do that day, without really knowing what, he began to run once more.

His legs shook hard, blood pounding in his ears.

Gods, it hurts. Make it stop, please make it stop.

It was like he was dying on the inside.

That he was about to throw up, and bring some nasty things with it.

Merlin knew he was important – in some senses of the word. He wouldn’t have become the carrier for Arthur’s sigil, should he have been otherwise.

He wouldn’t be willing to allow the pain to carve deep black lines into his chest, if he thought he was anything other – at least in the eyes of his friends. (And of Arthur, but that was something quite different).

But then again, everything always was different with Arthur.

Arthur was king, not just to Merlin, but to everyone. He wore his crown, and smiled warmer than sunlight, and did his best to help with every person he could.

He headed his own household, never assigning a woman to do such tasks as picking out new fabrics or drapes for the guest bedrooms, instead choosing to sit through the meetings on his own, ensuring every little thing in his Kingdom was run the way he wanted things.

After everything he had been through, Merlin knew he was good at spotting when things changed.

“Which of these two colours?”

Merlin skidded to a stop from rushing down the hall to George stood in front of him, holding up two very similar pieces of fine cloth.

He blinked at them lazily, almost wanting to shake his head around like a dog. Ah, the finally thought, for the wedding, of course.

They were both red.

If he squinted hard enough, he could almost say that one was very slightly darker from the other, if only by a little.

“What are they for?” Merlin finally asked, having looked deeper into the two colours than he had ever wished to do so. His muscled still ached from rushing down the corridors, and his chest still heaved.

Moving around took a lot more effort, these days.

George squinted at him, head tilting very slightly to indicate annoyance. He was also assigned to help, he knows what he’s doing.

“The wedding, sir.” Geroge bobbed his head, leaving Merlin only to stare at him as if he had three.

Maybe George had him mixed up with somebody else.

Merlin stared at the fabric again.

Which shade of red would Arthur prefer? Which shade would this mysterious lady prefer?

“The darker one,” Merlin finally said, pointing to it for added effect, “if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all, sir,” George said again, before scurrying off down the hallway himself, the darker piece of fabric physically lifted higher as if comparing the colour to the ceiling above.

Merlin surely wasn’t the only one being stressed out by the whole wedding, he thought to himself. The other servants who had to be more hands on were undoubtably more stressed about it than he ever would be.

George being a tad forgetful over proper titles was not something Merlin needed to concern himself with. More respectful than needed, often wasn’t a problem for serving staff at all, as far as Merlin knew. Although it might cause Arthur’s head to squash the rest of his body from the sheer size if it went on to long.

On second thought, perhaps Merlin did need to address it after all.

Arthur had asked him to plan his wedding, a trusted servant who perhaps knew more about how such events should be planned, after having

Someone who knew Arthur’s tastes down to the smallest detail, who could plan the day so perfectly, without the king himself having to think to much about it.

But Merlin knew nothing about noble ladies, especially the ones who were not sorceresses in disguise, not equipped with love potions, and not desperately trying to win Arthur over for one thing or another. And unlike the others, this woman had something about her that had let her succeed.

Something so important and so valuable, Arhtur hadn’t needed to talk it out with Merlin. Hadn’t even known her for that long before he agreed to marry her.

And Merlin….Merlin needed to learn how to respect that.

Somehow, in the back of his mind, he had always thought that Arthur would confide in him first, if he was ever even thinking about courting somebody – would make Merlin do it for him, the lazy prat that he was. That Arthur would never truly be able to cope without him.

But then again, it wasn’t only the other servants that had changed the way they behaved around Merlin.

“Merlin! Job for you!” Arthur called out from the doorway to the council chambers, making an exaggerated ‘come hither’ motion with his hand and head.

Panting for breath, he did as such.

To give Arthur some credit, he only gave him a slightly odd look.

The council chamber was empty when they first went inside, and Merlin almost expected to find the table laid out with armour for him to scrub until his hands bled, or empty buckets upon empty buckets that he needed to fill up, just for the fun of it.

But, to Merlin’s surprise, no jug was handed to him. No platter was given on which to walk around with. No paper was given on which to pass around to all the Lord’s.

Instead, a hand found his back – Arthur’s, he realised with a shock – and he was being led directly into a engraved chair that had been placed next to Arthur’s own, tiled away from the table until the two were almost touching.

Before he could object, the hand had moved up to his shoulders that still shook as if from some imaginary cold, and physically pushed him down.

The other Lord’s flooded into the room, sitting around them. A few eyes flicked to him, a few faces crawled into a snarl.

But nobody said a word to the new, bizarre seating position.

Or the hand that still rested upon Merlin’s shoulder, probably straining Arthur’s arm from where he lounged in his own.

It took only a moment after that for Arthur to pull him closer to his chest, until Merlin was practically leaning off his own chair to stay upright.

Merlin knew he had to smell awful, like straw as per usual, after the few hours spent chatting with his horse that morning (the only being that seemed to treat him normally anymore). But also of sweat, and fever and any number of horrible things that would have Gaius force him into a chair long before letting him leave the physicians chambers, if Merlin had not taken to leaving far earlier in the mornings – long before his mentor awoke. And coming back long after dark, so he wouldn’t be able to see the black thorns under his chest in the darkness, stabbing out of his skin, paving around his organs.

And settling just over his heart.

Why was Arthur doing this?

Merlin’s head seemed to spin with the force of his confusion, the air feeling dizzy and light around him. The weight around his neck never lightened.

In all the years they had been friends, Arthur had never held him close, not even when he passed his mother’s sigil over for safe keeping.

And, just like that, his head stopped spinning.

Sigil carrier. Of course. Wedding planner.

Imagine if his new bride heard that the person keeping her wedding gift safe was a random servant with no position on the court, and no closeness with her future groom whatsoever.

His eyes searched around the table for a new Lord that he didn’t recognise, a new face that would be feeding the information back after all was said and done.

But every face looked the same, and every chair (barring Merlin’s) had not been moved.

Perhaps a pre-existing friend to one of the families then. Merlin had to admit, it did not narrow the pool overly. The Pendragons, and Lord’s that followed, had many connections all around the world.

And somehow none of them ended up not being witches, or hideous monsters, or freakishly entitled.

Merlin could only be left to hope that Arthur’s new bride was none of those things. (Or, at least, only one out of the three).

He could cope with that.

Probably.

“Lord Henry, your report?”

Arthur was business like, strong as any King could possibly be. But, this close, Merlin could feel his shoulders sag down as the man began to speak. Feel the way his chest reverberated with a sigh that went straight through Merlin’s skin and bones.

Arthur smelled like wealth.

Like polished leather, and whatever fancy things Merin poured into his bath late in the evenings. He smelled like grass, and apples, and the glass of mulled wine which he drank in that moment. Merlin could hear every swallow as it went down, and in some other situation, he would have laughed at his King’s utter lack of any semblance of table manners, his sipping loud enough to reach Merlin’s ears.

But Merlin’s neck ached. And so did his head, still pounding as if struck over by some oversized heavy thing, and working slow as if drowned in some poison or another.

And it throbbed. It hurt. It ached.

And his heart burned.

“Your thoughts, Merlin?” Arthur asked, jolting Merlin out of his own thoughts and into whatever it was that Arthur was saying. ‘You haven’t lost them all completely I hope’, said the pretend Arthur in Merlin’s head, and he braced for an insult.

It never came.

Instead, the man stared down at him expectantly, and he felt tens of other eyes doing the same. What was it they were talking about again? Servants were typically instructed to mind their own business, and Merlin had fallen on that as a last resort.

“I agree with Arthur,” he finally made out, hoping to the gods Arthur had just said something that wasn’t so utterly idiotic.

But the room seemed to accept that, another Lord – James – beginning to speak about something that Merlin couldn’t keep track of either, despite his best efforts. His brain seemed full of fog, and his throat itself seemed heavy now, unable to cough in such a place, and unable to drink anything.

As if reading his very thoughts, at that moment Arthur leaned forwards, allowing one of the serving girls to fill up a second goblet with water, and shoving it into Merlin’s hand.

It was also at that moment that Merlin realised he had been making some – rather dreadful – sounds with his throat from the sheer pain he had been in.

“Are you alright?” The words were whispered into his hair, quiet enough that he almost thought he hadn’t head them to begin with.

It took him a whole minute work out that they came from Arthur’s mouth.

He gave a small nod.

Arthur stared down at him.

“Just a little thirsty,” he managed out.

“Well then, drink,” the King replied, lips quirking up into what could resemble a smile. “I did give it to you for a reason.”

Merlin did.

The liquid was hard in his mouth, and it took more than he would ever admit to even get it to the right place in his throat to even attempt to swallow, let alone actually trying to get it down without choking.

How long had it been since he had anything to drink?

Not since that morning, he supposed. But it shouldn’t have become this bad this quickly. Especially not as he had already been taking extra precautions, wrapping the sigil in another layer – an odd handkerchief he had found in the wedding preparations – this one also red – both so it would be further from his skin, and it would look attractive when fished out for the Lady, should Arthur spring it upon him at an unexpected moment.

Always prepared, always ready.

He ached down to the bones, eyes blinking heavily, and mind swimming in a mixture of pain and fog and confusion.

He could only hope that Arthur’s future wife was not a sorceress in disguise, as nobody deserved to go through this.

Nobody.

Expect, of course, perhaps him.

Should Arthur one day, deem it so.

Chapter Text

Things always seemed to be confusing in Camelot, perhaps even more so than Merlin realised.

But perhaps it was due to all the conversations he’d been having.

Just that morning, he had gone to wake Arthur, only to find him dressed, and working through papers at his desk.

“Ah, Merlin, so glad you’re here.”

Merlin blinked to himself, wincing as even that seemed to hurt his chest.

“You’re dressed.” He couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his tone.

And then, as if to make everything worse, Merlin watched as Arthur reached over to his left, and pulled a sausage of his breakfast tray, shoving it quite un-regally into his mouth.

A tray that Merlin had not bought to him.

The image of George flashed into his mind again, and he pulled his fists into a tight ball, before walking over to straighten up Arthur’s tunic, and smooth down his hair.

It was already perfect; he knew that too well. But just looking down at Arthur, dressed by another’s hands, fed by another’s to.

Merlin had known for a while that he was being replaced, but the visible sight of it all made his legs feel even weaker.

“Good on you for noticing,” Arthur said wryly, “may the gods have blessed you with vision. You’ll need it.”

“If either of us need vision, it’s you, prat,” Merlin managed, walking around, trying to find some odd chore to do. But the floor had been scrubbed clean. The sheets washed, pressed and folded back. The ink pots filled, and everything put in it’s proper place.

And none of it had been done by his hands.

“You know Merlin, you may actually be on to something with that.” Merlin paused to stare back at him.

“Excuse me?”

“What I wanted to talk to you about?”

Merlin stared at him incomprehensibly.

“Alright then.”

Arthur tapped his quill on his parchment, and look at Merlin with his head titled to the side, like some young dog.

“Do you know what I have here, Merlin?”

Naturally, Merlin shook his head.

“Well, Merlin,” Arthur began, “I was just receiving the guest list to the wedding, and there’s a few things that I need to mention. That, and the seating charts.”

That, more so than anything else, distracted Merlin from the pain, if only to allow panic to seep in. Had he messed something up? When he was too distracted? Put two people together who shouldn’t be? Missed someone off? Invited someone he should not have done? Originally, he had gone to Geofrey for help, but all he had received in return was a list of nobles and some advice to “trust his best judgement”.

Nothing at all about who Arthur would want, or the family of the strange bride or anything. But, he gave it his best go, putting all the potential brides families near enough to the front that none of them would be offended, if he picked the wrong ones.

“Is there something wrong with them?” Merlin asked, trying to get this over with as quickly as he could, in order to fix whatever mistake he had made.

“Well,” Arthur amended, striking another shot to Merlin’s heart – Arthur never tried something like that, “not wrong necessarily. I just…is your mother not attending?”

At first, Merlin thought that he had just misheard what Arthur said. But looking down at the expectant face, and replaying the words in his mind, he couldn’t make sense of them at all.

His mind was just so…fuzzy.

But, then again, Arthur and his mother had bonded, when they visited Ealdor together, perhaps closer than Merlin realised. Certainly, enough for his mother to talk about how much they needed each other.

“I don’t think it’s her kind of place, really.” Merlin tried, letting Arthur down gently. Ealdor would be full of work around this time of year, and there was no chance of her having any time to…what? Try and make her peasant clothes look more presentable for a royal wedding, royals that were not even her own?

The thought was ludicrous. And yet, Arthur had look so very sincere.

He needed to learn, before he got married, that not everything revolved around him.

“Oh, well, alright then. It’s your choice. What about Guinevere and Gaius, on the seating charts?”

“What about them?”

Arthur squinted at him, as if Merlin had just presented some bizarre puzzle that he needed to solve.

“You’ve put Gaius at the back of the room, behind everyone else, and Guinevere doesn’t have a seat at all!”

“Is that…wrong? I thought since Gaius was the court physician, his seat would be better placed near the back in case anything went wrong, and so it didn’t offend anyone by being put in front of….well, a peasant.”

“And what about you?” Arthur finally asked, dropping his quill in frustration.

“Me?” Merlin finally squeaked out, the argument only making his skin run colder. It already felt too small for his body.

“Yes, you! You’ve given yourself a seat at the back of the hall! Care to explain that one?”

“I…just thought it would be convenient for me to have a place to sit?”

Arthur stared at him blankly, shaking his head is disbelief.

“Merlin, despite your small brain trying to tell you otherwise, you do have somewhat of a key role during the ceremony. One that actually requires you to be at the front.”

Ah, of course, Merlin thought to himself.

“And your family as well, they need to be up there to support you in the ceremony!”

“Right,” Merlin managed, “So I can just…move them then?”

“Yes!” Arthur said, a mixture of frustration, and pleasure that Merlin had finally managed to get to the point, that he had been so clearly trying to present. “Yes, Merlin, you can move them.”

“Alright.”

“Alright then.”

Arthur stood up awkwardly, jittery as if about to enter a fight.

“I have a council meeting that I need to get to, at the moment. Something about drapes, and grain, and some new roads that need to be built. I’m sure I can managed fine on my own while you…make those changes.”

And it was only then Merlin realised that nobody over the last few days had bothered to give him Arthur’s schedule, having attributed it to the wedding planning.

But clearly, it was so, so much more than that.

The door closed loudly behind Arthur, and his footsteps walked away. Merlin could feel each one as they reverberated along the floor, each leaving him feeling more and more hopeless.

Could he do anything right?

He chest throbbed, and ached, and the cold iron seemed to be melting through his skin and-

And before Merlin knew it, he was sobbing.

He collapsed to the floor in Arthur’s room, his knees hitting the rug as he keened and sobbed, tears rolling down his face and into his mouth.

Every twitch of his skin made the icy pain light up his flesh, but that only made him cry harder.

Even if he tried, he couldn’t stop the agonised scream that left his lips.

He would have thought, that after letting some of it out he would be able to calm, as he used to so many times before. In the dragon cave, in some gods damned pit. Pulling Arthur out of a hopeless fight. Pulling himself out of one.

His breathing still quickened.

And tears rolled down his cheeks, fast enough to not even bother mopping.

A voice hit his ears then, a door opening and footsteps padding in.

“-Lord?” came the soft voice, the footsteps becoming more and more urgent as it came closer.

And then, for the first time in weeks, hands were around his shoulders, pulling him into a soft chest.

“Merlin what’s wrong? What happened?”

Gwen? What was Gwen doing here?

Then, there was a body on the carpet next to him, pulling him into her arms. And it burned, and burned, and burned.

“Do - do you want me to get Arthur? Sorry, that’s a foolish question. I’ll call for Arthur, he’s coming, don’t worry. Just try to breath.” She spoke quickly, hugging him tighter, until his head fell on her shoulder.

It wasn’t within him to feel confusion, not then.

What was Arthur going to do? Came the small voice in the back of his head, drowned out in the burning of his blood, and the shards in his lungs.

He couldn’t help but let out another scream.

Even her hands burned his skin, right down to his bones that seemed to rattle inside what he had once called flesh.

It hurts. It hurts. Please, let it stop.

“Guards!” He could only just hear her voice, drowned out by the pain, until the world around him became hazy.

“.….Get….King…..emergency…..Lord….”. Nothing made sense, and his brain was on fire, just like his body now.

He clutched Gwen tighter to himself, afraid she would turn and run. What would Arthur do if he found them like this?

No man deserves your tears.

Not even for himself.

The door opened again, slam loud even over his tears.

More hurried footsteps, another voice, manly this time, one Merlin recognised, one he knew better than even his own.

Pain rolled down his limbs, and he chocked on his sobs.

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

And he was passed into another set of arms.

These arms were larger, stronger, and smelled all so familiar. And the arms came with a voice, one that spoke in soothing tones, and hands, one which cupped his head and the other his back.

This time he caught even fewer words, with only a single one catching any of his attention.

Love.

And he knew then that it was Arthur.

But he was doing it, he had the sigil for Arthur’s love, if he could just speed up the wedding this would all be over. He’d done all of this for Arthur’s love.

And nobody in the world deserved love more than Arthur did.

The arms held him for so long, he only just noticed when Gwen slipped out of the room. Long enough that the stroking became repetitive, and he grasped onto Arthur’s tunic, sure that he was dampening everything Arthur was wearing.

But Arthur didn’t pull away, only pulling him tighter and closer – and usually Merlin would have loved it, because he never thought Arthur would want to hug him – but his skin silently sizzled, and ice pricked through until he felt like he was bleeding.

And Merlin was the one who kept pulling closer.

Arthur was rocking them softly, and every now and then he would rock them in such a way that relieved the pressure on Merlin’s skin, and he let out a gasp of relief, before falling back into sobs.

He didn’t know how long they sat there, Merlin almost in Arthur’s lap, they were so close. But he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He’d lost all feeling in his legs a while back, and was sure Arthur must feel the same.

But, although his legs felt more limp than melted butter, Arthur pulled the both of them to their feet, Merlin still heaving with sobs.

He just…didn’t know how to stop. Like it was all out of his hands.

Arthur, as it soon turned out, had taken them both to the bed, to pull Merlin further against his chest, and with the softness of the sheets, Merlin finally allowed some of Arthur’s speech to reach him.

“Hush,” said Arthur, “hush, you’ll be alright. I’ll make it alright.”

The words should have taken a stab at Merlin’s chest, but all he could bring up was a wavering sense of confusion.

And that same wavering sense grew into a ball of anxiety within his chest, when Arthur bent down to kiss his forehead.

“It’s okay, you’ll be okay.”

And that was the last thing Merlin remembered.

***

Usually, when Merlin awoke in the morning it was to a crooked back, and blankets of stars, sun not even beginning to rise at such an hour. His room was usually cramped, and drafty. (Even if Gaius had recently begun to suggest he move out of the space. Merlin had no idea where he was expected to go.)

But that morning, when he awoke, it was to the warmth of sunlight pooling into Arthur’s bedroom, brilliant red bed-hangings softy swinging. He pillow his head rested on was soft, as were the sheets that covered him, which were thick, and made him feel like he was sweating, if the feeling wasn’t so deeply pleasant.

Arthur had…put him under his covers. Arthur had let him sleep in his bed.

Probably to lazy to move him, Merlin thought, the prat.

But, to his surprise, when he shifted, as if to make the first movements towards getting up, he could still feel another body behind his own.

“Always the big girl, huh, Merlin?” Arthur’s voice held none of the bite that it so normally did, not even the joking kind. Instead, he just sounded tired. Tired and desperate.

This was not the sleepy, good-natured voice that would greet him after he had woken up. This was an Arthur who hadn’t slept, who stayed up all night. Who had too much on his mind to relax.

Guilt ate through Merlin faster than even cold iron did. Just as painfully, too.

“I think Gwen would like to take you up on that one.” Merlin eventually said, and could only delight inside when Arthur’s whole face lit up with a smile, as if Merlin had made his entire day, as opposed to hitting back at his banter with a truly awful joke.

But the guilt stayed.

Surely, the last thing Arthur needed before his own wedding was his sigil carrier bawling his eyes out over something or another, that he had to take out valuable time away from his intended (assuming she was anywhere near Camelot) to deal with it.

“Perhaps she would,” Arthur began, clearing his throat, “but that doesn’t mean we don’t have to talk about this.”

Merlin swallowed.

“I’m….sorry about last night, I really didn’t mean-”

But Arthur was frantically waving his hands, telling him to stop.

“Don’t apologize. I don’t want to hear it,” at that, Merlin winced, “just tell me what upset you so much that you felt the need to cry yourself to sleep.”

Merlin said nothing, unsure if there were any words to explain his actions, without sounding horrifically ungrateful. Or giving away something that he shouldn’t.

Just then, he shifted, the pain in his chest coming back with full-force, and the last of the drowsy comfort wearing off him.

He only just managed to hide the tears in his eyes.

“You can come to me, you know that right?” Arthur said quickly, “it doesn’t matter how busy I am, you can always come to me before it gets to that point.”

Merlin couldn’t find it in himself to speak.

“Promise me,” Arthur seemed to plead, “promise me that you will. I…I can’t see you like that again Merlin. I just can’t.”

Merlin nodded, feeling as he did that how it pulled on his skin, rubbing it raw through his clothing that had not changed overnight.

Because, for the first time, he understood.

He knew, if he was relying on anyone, that it would kill him to see them break down, unable to handle such a simple task.

“Is it about the wedding?” Came Arthur’s next words, startling him out of his thoughts. “Do you not want to…did someone tell you that you could not-”

“No!” Merlin interrupted, quick to shut down that thought. It’s me messing it up, Arthur. Don’t blame anyone else. Just…give me one more chance. “It’s nothing like that!”

He could do it, with just a bit more effort, he knew he could.

“Okay. Okay, then. Just…let me know when you want to tell me.”

And then Arthur was pulling Merlin back to him, locking him in a headlock to viciously ruffle his hair.

But, this time, Merlin could feel no joy in his chest.

In fact, it took everything within him to not cry out in pain.

Chapter Text

The wedding crept up on Merlin before he knew it.

Every day seemed to float past him, appointments with the tailor with bizarrely fancy clothes, a very confused royal jeweller (who had seemed even more confused when Merlin tried to refer him to Gaius), and a new knight that seemed to follow him around at all times.

The knight in question had appeared in front of Merlin’s quarters just a few nights before and had simply started following behind Merlin everywhere he went.

“I am your personal guard, sir,” was the knight’s only words, before falling into some sort of solemn silence. Merlin’s aching hand had reached up to grasp onto the sigil.

He knew why the guard was there, knights didn’t just get assigned to random castle servants. Arthur knew he wasn’t doing a good enough job. Arthur didn’t trust him to protect his mysterious bride’s sigil.

And so, Merlin accepted the guard.

Perhaps Merlin from a few years, maybe even a few months, ago would have complained about it, tried to slip away from the guard at every moment possible, but the ache in his bones that had grown as familiar as the heart thumping in his chest told him firmly that it was impossible. He doubted he even had the strength to run anymore.

He hardly had the strength to walk.

“Are you quite alright, sir?” The guard behind him asked, leaning over to where Merlin had stopped dead in the corridor, leaning against a beam in order to pant for breath.

“I’m fine.” Merlin didn’t know the new guards name, he might have asked, he certainly hoped he had, but the fog filling his brain had started to drain memories that it viewed unimportant.

The guard who followed Merlin around had no name, not in Merlin’s mind.

But Merlin knew him well. Arthur’s doubt. Following him around in every step he took, every place he went, every day that went by.

And it was because of this that Merlin had almost missed it.

Guests had been arriving in Camelot in droves for the last few weeks, taking up every guest wing in the building. And precisely none of them were prepared by Merlin. Ironically enough, it had been one of the few jobs he had been alright at doing, especially during his earlier manservant days, as most of it involved disposing of dust and clearing out old oddities.

Now, it all seemed to fall under George and Gwen.

After the hundredth time of being told not to help, he stopped asking. There was only so much a single person could hold of knowing how useless their friends thoughts they were.

He had, however, been called down to meet every one of the noble guests alongside Arthur. Merlin didn’t even try to engage, nodding politely when he could, and trying his best to avoid saying anything. It was all made considerably harder by the fact that they now seemed to be trying to address him by name, which was quite disconcerting by itself.

So, as it was, two nights before the wedding, Merlin had been called down to the main hall to welcome another group of guests that had arrived.

It went the same as it had the whole strange time.

A new outfit from the royal tailors had been laid out for Merlin on his bed, something with red and gold, but Merlin’s eyes were too blurry to really get a good look. He just hoped it didn’t come with a horrific hat and moved on.

He never quite knew with the visitors whether or not to wear the sigil on display, as a sign of his role, but he left it tucked to his skin, hoping Arthur would tell him if he needed to pull it out.

He never did.

Arthur, as well as the guests, were waiting for them in the hall, were Arthur wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and manhandled him out in front of the others. If Merlin’s breathing tightened, and a flicker of pain crossed his face, he hoped dearly that nobody had seen it.

Merlin was getting better at dealing with the pain now. He didn’t know if that was better or worse.

He just felt so numb.

And it was that thought, with Arthur’s distracting arm pressing into his sensitive skin, and the guard behind him that he almost didn’t see it.

As one of the ladies turned to leave the room, her head snapped back unnaturally for just a second, head twisting, and Merlin could see the side of her eye slitted like a snakes.

And then she was gone, and Arthur was saying his goodbyes and final welcomes to all the guests, Merlin trying his very best to give a smile when appropriate.

It took him far too long to realise what had just happened.

“I need to pee,” he muttered in Arthur’s ear, wincing as Arthur’s hold grew even tighter.

“If you must,” Arthur sighed, releasing him with such a firm grip and giving him a beseeching look. Merlin gave one back that he hoped was more along the lines of sympathy than snark.

He walked out of the hall through the small crowd who parted ways to allow his entry with gentle smiles and soft words of congratulations.

They were all hum in his ears.

His guard made to follow him but Merlin waved him off.

“Please, stay with Arthur, with all these new people.”

He ignored the baffled expression of the guard, who stopped awkwardly and looked back to Arthur.

Merlin snuck away before he looked back.

Closing the door of the hall behind him, he walked the rest of the way down the corridor before turning the corner before breaking into a run.

But, of course, Merlin couldn’t run anymore.

He made it just a few steps before he was panting like he had just tried to outrace a horse, lungs screaming for air. Another few and he nearly collapsed, all the blood rushing to his head.

His chest felt so heavy it was like it hardly moved, as if he himself was being turned to stone.

He couldn’t fight like this. He couldn’t protect Arthur like this.

The very thought of what he had to do almost sent Merlin into convulsions, although he didn’t know if it was from the pain, the blurry vision or the panic deep within his chest.

He knew full well what he had to do.

If letting down Arthur was what it would take to save his life, Merlin would do that.

The lady snake hadn’t seemed to pressed about immediate action, having not attacked Arthur in the middle of the hall, and so Merlin knew he had some time.

Not enough time. Never enough time.

He made his way to Arthur’s rooms, feet falling out from under him, and eyes clouding with black grey every time he tried to stand up, until the point he was physically pulling himself along the corridor using the beams.

He couldn’t see. He couldn’t see.

At one point, he bumped into one of the maid servants, pushing past her despite he shocked sound, mumbling apologies that he knew must have only sounded like nonsense in her ears.

By the time he was nearly at Arthur’s quarters his ears were ringing so loudly that he couldn’t even hear his own harsh breathing.

His magic always had left his control when something dangerous was afoot.

We will protect him. We will. I am going to save him.

It was those thoughts, and those thoughts alone, that kept Merlin pushing onwards.

He stumbled into Arthur’s bedroom with no vision left, not a sound in his ears, and no strength left in his limbs, except, of course, the strength to reach up to his neck and wrench away the sigil.

As soon as it was off he dropped it, feeling only slightly relieved that it landed onto Arthur’s desk.

Air pulled into his lungs, and he collapsed against the side.

His eyes stayed closed for so long he wondered if time itself would stick his lashes together, never to be moved again. But his heartbeat thudded in his chest, and the waves of pain stopped coming.

When he finally did open his eyes, he could see again.

When his hand brushed to his ear, straining muscles that no longer knew how to work, he could hear the sound of his hair.

His strength wasn’t back, and although the pain still remained, he just panted by himself, but it was something. Something more than he had felt for a very, very long time.

Next, he reached for Arthur’s quill, ink pot, and a nearby blank scroll. Every movement still caused a whimper of pain across his lips, but he knew he had to press forward and quickly.

I am sorry. I can’t do this anymore. Merlin scribbled, shoving the parchment under the makeshift, broken necklace. I love you, and I am so, so sorry. That bit he didn’t write, he didn’t think he had the strength.

Or the place to say.

And, with that, he left the room.

Every step was still uneasy, and took too much effort than it probably should, but it was easier. And in that moment, it was all Merlin could possibly care about.

His magic, now realising it was free, almost seemed to fly out of him, filling the nearby area with visible warmth and feeling, almost making Merlin cry as it reached to the chill of his bones.

It was for that reason alone that the sorcerer had been easy to find.

“Who are you?” Merlin demanded, facing the lady in the corridor.

“I have no idea what you mean,” she responded, turning to face Merlin with a wry smile on her face. “I do believe we were just introduced, just over a candle mark ago.”

A candlemark. Merlin had been unconscious for a candlemark.

It was a miracle in and of itself that Arthur had not found him.

“Most noble ladies don’t have snake eyes, if you know what I mean.”

Her body grew tense, as did Merlin’s eyes.

“Forgive me?” She tried, annoyance flying off her palpably.

“I don’t make a habit of forgiving people who wish to kill the King.”

A smirk lifted her lips.

“So be it.”

She clearly hadn’t been expecting the spell thrown at her first. Merlin hadn’t either, in all honesty, his hands shooting out before he could hesitate, on pure instinct.

The spell sent her flying into a wall, but it did to himself as well, weak on his feet and stumbling, blinking new clouds from his vision as his hands ached and still burned hot then cold. Burning to freezing.

It would take him a long time to even think of using magic normally again.

He must have hesitated for too long, lost in his own thoughts as he himself was thrown off his feet, aching head crashing to the floor.

More blur in his vision. More black he could not see through.

Out of the pockets of light still visible, he caught the head of a snake approaching towards him, jaw opened wide as if to swallow him whole. But still he felt no fear, no panic, if only a vague thought of concern to Arthur.

“How very curious,” hissed the snake head, “A sorcerer marrying the King of Camelot? I never thought I would see the day.”

He words made no sense in his brain, fumbling around like an infant trying to navigate court politics. Something about a marriage.

He dearly hoped that she was not the woman Arthur had been so very excited to marry.

If nothing else, maybe a snake bite would make it all go away. Sorcerers didn’t recover from cold iron.

Maybe it was time he accepted the same.

Then, just before the snake could bite down upon his throat, leaving him either poisoned or flowing blood, a scream caught his attention.

“Sire?”

Arthur was here?

A gleam of silver cut Merlin’s view off the snake, just before iced blood hit his face, and the head of the snake fell to the ground, limp and unmoving.

“Arthur,” he tried to say, unable to string the word together in any real way that made sense.

But it wasn’t Arthur who he stared up at.

The strange knight, his guardian of the last few days leaned over him.

“Sire are you alright? Are you injured?”

The knight was on his knees besides him, hands running over his chest and legs, checking for wounds.

The wandering hands stopped when they reached the back of his head, before frantically cupping and pressing down.

Oh, Merlin thought, his head must have cracked when he fell.

“Sire, please speak to me. Do you know where you are? Who that was? Please say something!”

Distantly, Merlin recognised the questions, the kind of things he had heard Gaius say when talking to a patient bleeding from the head.

Was the man talking to him?

“Help! Somebody help me! A physician, urgently! His royal highness the….”

Merlin blacked out.

A little while later he became more aware, of arms holding him, of feet running beneath him. Of a familiar voice telling him things, whispering, crying.

Of being placed down on a familiar cot, the warm, comforting arms being taken away from him, nearly making him cry.

Merlin did not cry.

A cold blade touched his shoulder, but he had no strength left to fight it, willing to let himself die there knowing Arthur would be safe for a little while.

The blade slid down his tunic, removing the loose fabric and ripping the rest open.

His last coherent thought was of the horrified gasping that filled the room around him.

And then, everything went black for real, and he dreamed of nothing.

Chapter Text

The next thing Merlin knew, hands were around his torso, burning.

It hurt; someone was hurting him.

Arthur…help…. he needed.

“Try to lay still darling, you’re going to be alright,” a soft voice was whispering next to his ear, “It’s just Gaius, he’s putting some…stuff on your chest to make it feel better. You’re going to be all okay…”

Merlin wondered if he was hallucinating from the pain. Arthur’s voice would never speak to him like that in it’s soft, sweet cadence, whispering words of comfort and kindness.

Then, the hands on his chest pulled off.

Merlin couldn’t see. Everything around him was black. Was he blind? Had he turned blind?

“I can’t see,” Merlin heard himself beg, “Why can’t I see?” His hands thrashed, fighting to grasp onto something, push someone away, he didn’t know what.

“Merlin!” His hands were being held down next to him in a gentle but unwavering grip. “You are fine. You’re not blind, just delirious and recovering. I don’t know how much you understand, but you need to lie back.”

Something else harsh touched his chest, not hands this time, but some kind of cloth, which seemed to be dripping something horrible onto his wound.

He bellowed in pain.

“It’s just the bandages Merlin,” came the hallucination of Arthur’s voice again, “just the bandages.”

Those hurt, too.

But not-really-Arthur’s voice would probably be the last he ever heard be nice to him, after he had failed so magnificently, and so he listened, hung to every word like it was a lifeline.

And not just his brain trying to make him happy one last time before the pain consumed him all together.

“Arthur? Arthur!” Merlin could hear himself calling out, but his body still seemed so out of his control. Was he there at the corner of the room, looking on in disgust? Would he even be there? What if the lady had done something?

“Merlin, I’m right here, you are okay. You are going to be okay.”

“Arthur!”

Merlin was shouting so loud his own head started to throb.

“Merlin! I’m right here, I promise. I’m not leaving.”

“Arthur!”

“Right here, all the way, I’m not leaving you.”

“Arthur…” Merlin’s own voice echoed longer than he stayed awake.

The next time he awoke, it was to the sound of more conversation, louder conversation.

Arthur’s voice.

Arthur was here.

Arthur!

“Thank you, sir Lucian, for protecting my...” Arthur’s voice died off before Merlin could catch the last word. He had the distinct impression that Arthur was talking about him.

“It is my greatest honour, my Lord. I am only ashamed I did not prevent him from getting into the situation in the first place.

“It is of no consequence. He is alive, and I must thank you for that. If there is anything at all I can give you as a reward, please, let me know.”

There voices returned to hushed whispers, allowing Merlin to drop off once more.

He had some awareness what felt like a few moments later, feeling hands underneath him, holding him through the air as heavy footsteps fell beneath.

The cloud, or maybe the giant who walked him had a heavy footfall, and a warm chest with a heartbeat that thudded against Merlin’s ear.

He could hear other sounds behind? Other people’s feet?

He strained his ears for any sound of conversation, but heard nothing.

After a while, he heard a door being cracked open and everything, once more, faded into nothingness.

***

When Merlin woke up again, really woke up, it was to the sound of hysterical sobbing.

He blinked his eyes, trying forcefully to open them.

His hands stretched out to the bedclothes under him, almost freezing as they realised they were not his own.

These sheets were thick and plush, warm, with a pillow that truly seemed to support his head and neck, and a mattress that didn’t poke him with straw every way he shifted.

All the memories rushed back to him in an instant, causing his eyes to fly open, sitting up in a start.

“Arthur?”

Merlin’s head turned, looking for the source of the crying, but he didn’t expect to almost completely crash into Arthur’s own face.

Arthur was sat in a chair he had pulled right up to the side of the bed, tears streaming down his face.

Through his bleary eyes, Merlin could see that in his hand, was his sigil, and the note Merlin had written.

“You’re awake.” Arthur finally said, standing up and walking back across the room.

“What’s wrong?” Merlin managed, watching in confusion as Arthur strode up and down, clutching the note in his hand. It’s you. You disappointed him.

You broke his trust.

“I don’t know, Merlin, what do you think is wrong?” Arthur snorted up a sob, hand reaching up to rub against his face.

Merlin stared at the back of his head.

“Is this a joke?” Arthur demanded, “A bad joke?”

Arthur waved the note around frantically, gesturing towards Merlin.

“It really isn’t funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be,” Merlin managed, “Do you want to talk to me?”

Arthur turned to him again, panting with rage, or maybe, sadness.

“Why should I?”

That, Merlin could understand. After all the ways Merlin had betrayed him, why would Arthur want to talk to him?

“You don’t have to. It might make you feel better.”

“Really?” Arthur exploded, “Make me feel better? You tell me you no longer want to get married, and you are injured and nearly die all in one night from some damned sorceress? You’ve got a permanent scar on your chest, marking the day I failed to protect you, and you decided you didn’t want me anymore? Yeah, I’m sure talking will make that all alright. Great job, Merlin. Truly.”

Merlin froze.

“Married?”

Arthur threw the note at him.

“Well, clearly not anymore, unless you have another explanation for this!”

It was Merlin.

The thought ran through Merlin’s cleared mind with startling clarity. Everything over the last few days, everything that had happened.

The wedding was Merlin and Arthur’s.

In a different situation, Merlin’s jaw would be agape. But now, Arthur seemed ready to scream at him.

He had no idea what to say, which made the silence between them stretch further than he knew possible.

It stretched and stretched, until Merlin finally broke it.

“The sorceress didn’t do this to me Arthur,” Merlin gestures down at himself, wincing, breathing still heavy.

“What are you talking about?” Arthur threw his arms up in exasperation and distress, face still red and damp from tears, so very visible in the candlelight.

“She didn’t. It wasn’t her, it was…well,” Merlin gestured again, towards Arthur hand that held out the sigil.

His proposal. Oh god, Arthur’s proposal.

“What are you talking about? This is ridiculous. If you didn’t want to marry me, you could have at least told me! I thought this was real, I thought you loved me!” Arthur was almost shouting by the end, voice hoarse with his grief.

Arthur had stood up, running his hands through his hair and panting for breath.

“Arthur,” Merlin demanded, “Hand the sigil over, Arthur.”

Arthur turned to look at him again, throwing the sigil towards him.

“Go ahead. You were the only person I would’ve given it too anyway.”

Merlin grasped the sigil from where it had landed on the bedclothes, a whimper coming from his lips as he held it up to his arm.

From all the continued exposure, it began to darken his skin right away.

“Arthur, look! Just look!”

Arthur turned again, freezing when his glance caught the sigil, burning Merlin’s arm black. Merlin’s eyes were already leaking with tears, the pain burning down his fingertips and up into his arm, causing him to pant as if he had been running for hours.

It was so much worse than he had remembered.

Before Merlin knew it, Arthur was almost on top of him, ripping the sigil away from his skin and holding it to his chest.

“You idiot! Stop that now!”

The world seemed to stop as Merlin watched Arthur look down at the sigil held to his chest, before throwing it away across the room as if it had been him it had burnt.

Hands reached out to grasp Merlin’s arm, pulling it right by a candle under Arthur’s eyes.

Arthur’s chest was heaving up and down, his blue eyes darting back and forth over the (slowly fading) black mess under Merlin’s skin.

“What was that? Is it cursed? Are you allergic?”

“No, Arthur.”

“Oh, gods, your arm! Your chest!”

“Arthur, listen-”

“The sigil, I can’t believe this, I looked after it for years, I can’t believe this happened right under my nose.”

“Arthur!” Merlin’s voice finally overtook Arthur’s, seeming to jolt him out of his inner thoughts, the bruising grip on his arm slowly releasing, the man taking a step back, hand running over his mouth.

“Yes, Merlin?” Arthur’s voice was so very soft, so very, very vulnerable.

Merlin knew what he had to do, something he always knew would have to happen, but had never really been able to plan for.

His nightmares had done that all for him.

But, Gods, Arthur had been planning to marry Merlin – as insane as that sounded – in just a few days, and apparently everybody around him had known, and expected this to happen, and if everything didn’t make so much more sense now.

“It isn’t cursed Arthur. And I’m not allergic, I mean, not in the typical way at least.”

“Then what? What is it, Merlin? What’s happened to you?” Arthur’s shoulder’s sagged, head lolling back on his neck to look up at the ceiling.

“It’s cold iron, Arthur.”

And Arthur….Arthur froze. Really froze, unlike a few moments before.

“It…it can’t be.”

“I’m really sorry Arthur, I promise I only use it for you, all my magic, it’s all for you, I-”

Arthur cut him off again.

“No, no you don’t understand. My mother liked sorcerer’s it can’t be cold iron. I can’t believe I gave this to you, I thought it was safe, gods, no wonder you want to leave me, I-”

“Arthur!” This time it was Merlin that interrupted. “Did you just hear me? I just said I was a sorcerer.”

“Yes? Yes, I know that,” Arthur said simply, as if his words hadn’t just shattered Merlin’s entire world, “I should have been so much more careful. My father wouldn’t have been so willing to give me anything of my mother’s, I can’t believe I didn’t realise! Merlin I am so sorry!”

Arthur never said sorry.

“You don’t need to apologise,” Merlin said weakly, just blinking at Arthur.

“Of course I do! I…I proposed to you with the equivalent of a phial of poison, making you promise to drink some every single day!”

“Well, it’s not like I haven’t done that before either.”

The joke landed uneasily in the air, all the life seeming to fall out of Arthur as he collapsed back into the chair next to his bed, letting out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob.

“Your chest Merlin!”

“My chest,” Merlin confirmed quietly.

“It’s not going to go away Merlin. I’ve scarred you for life, it’s all my fault.”

Arthur reached out as if to hug Merlin, pulling his arms back at the last moment.

But Merlin wasn’t going to let that stand, reaching out himself, pushing through the ache, to grab Arthur’s arms and pull him into his chest for a deep hug.

Arthur’s arms were hesitant hands flexing for the first few moments. Then, grasping Merlin’s shoulders, he began to hold Merlin tighter, and tighter, as if afraid that he would disappear at any moment.

Then, when Arthur pulled back, just for a moment, lips opening as if to apologize to him again, Merlin lent down and captured Arthur’s lips with his own.

At first, Arthur seemed shocked, limbs going limp, before he dove into the kiss.

Arthur’s hands met behind Merlin’s head, pressing the two of them so close, Merlin wondered if he was trying to merge the two of them into one being.

When they finally drew back, they were both panting in a remarkably unromantic way.

One look into each other’s eyes, and they found themselves laughing. Not like Arthur’s crying-laugh from Merlin’s (bad) joke from before, but a half genuine laugh, not fully happy, and not pure joy. It was the kind of laugh between two men who had finally realised that everything could, and most likely, would be okay.

“We might have to adjust the wedding suit,” Merlin muttered, still holding Arthur close.

Arthur almost jumped to his feet.

“What?”

“For…for our wedding? I’m going to need the suit bought out for the bandages.” Merlin thought it seemed fairly obvious, for now, brain finally starting to spin in other ways, wondering how quickly he would have to get his mother over for the celebrations.

But Arthur had fully sat up, grabbing both Merlin’s hands in his own.

“You…you still want to marry me?”

“Well, I mean, you are a bit of a prat, and you don’t know how to clean your own socks and-”

“Merlin! Please, honestly, do you still want to marry me?”

“Course I do. We have to send a message out to my mum first, but-”

“Finally! I was wondering why she couldn’t come, I mean, I wanted you to have the wedding the way you wanted but I was so confused why you didn’t want her there. And you never did move those seating charts.”

Merlin blinked at Arthur.

Arthur’s mood had shifted so completely, almost seeming jittery in his skin, looking for all the world like pure sunlight, the happiest Merlin had ever seen him.

“I have something else to confess as well,” Merlin managed out, cursing himself every way back and forth.

Arthur titled his head.

“Is this about bringing your magic books up to my chambers? Or, well, any of your things. I know it’s a bit soon, but I’ve already had a holder built for your magical staff, or whatever it’s called. I thought you might like it if we held it and Excalibur together.”

If he didn’t have something so important to say, Merlin might have ignored the way his heart seemed to soar in his chest, at the very thought that Arthur really did understand. He knew. He got it, or, at the very least, he had some idea.

Merlin didn’t have to explain.

And the idea of a holder for both his staff and Excalibur together made his eyes go big.

“No, nothing like that. Just, some…misconceptions of my part.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I may have…not known we were getting married?”

This time, it was Arthur’s turn to blink at him dumbly.

“What does that mean?”

Merlin found a grin sneaking up onto his face, a dry laugh escaping his lips as Arthur stared on in confusion.

“I may have…misunderstood your intentions. I mean, I’m not a noble, we don’t use sigil’s to propose. I just thought you wanted me to look after it until you were ready to propose to someone else, and then when you asked me to handle the wedding planning, I just couldn’t help but try to picture whoever it was that you were marrying, so it really isn’t planned like how we would do our day at all, or, at least, our day. I made it for you, it was all for you.” Merlin had started so confidently, easily explaining every thought that had crossed his mind in the last few days, but towards the end he started to speed up throwing everything he had at Arthur who still stared at him with amazement.

“Idiot.”

And they were kissing again.

“You.”

Another kiss.

“Absolute.”

Hands were in Merlin’s hair.

“Lovable.”

The next kiss was awkward due to the smiles that had crept up onto both of their lips.

“Idiot.”

And they were together again, wrapped between a halfway point of a hug, a passionate kiss, and a laugh.

Merlin had missed their laughter together so much over the last season, and now it seemed that they just couldn’t stop.

Arthur knew about Merlin’s magic.

Arthur loved him. Loved him, anyway, knew and loved.

Arthur wanted to marry him. Him!

His chest still burned, less so than the days before due to Gaius’s potions.

Merlin finally understood.

All was good. The world was good.

And, perhaps for the first time in years, Merlin was happy. Utterly, deliriously, completely, happy.  

“We’re getting married.”

“Yes, Merlin.”

“Married. Us. Me. You.”

“I think that’s the point, yes.”

“Married!”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

***

Arthur had offered to push the wedding back by a few days, to give Merlin time to recover, to make some of the changes that would have made the day personal to him.

But Merlin refused.

Once he knew, safely, that his mother would be in attendance, and that Gwen and Gaius would be sitting for him, all together in one row, he knew there was nothing else about the day he would change.

In all honesty, he would have married Arthur in the smallest stall of the horse stables, but he knew Arthur wouldn’t be thrilled by that idea.

Besides, he had reasoned with Arthur, they had so many royal and noble guests in attendance, it would be such a shame to disappoint them now.

The morning of, the last morning, Merlin had begun to think of it in his mind, he awoke to the knocking of his door.

Gwen stood there, arms filled with Merlin’s new wedding clothes, and began to help dress him. His chest still hurt enough if he tried to move his arms too much, and Gaius (as well as Arthur) had categorized dressing as one of the things he was unable to do. (Alongside almost everything else).

He swore up and down to Gwen that she would not be dressing him for long, that after the wedding he would dress himself just fine. It was the damned noble formal clothes with there clasps and buttons and laces that made them so complicated.

The fabric was thick, heavy, and so ridiculously expensive that he couldn’t help but stretch out his shoulders, shaking his head.

The last day.

The last day he woke up in Gaius’s extra room.

The last day he would see anything other than Arthur’s face in the morning.

The last day that he would be still considered a peasant.

And, most of all, the last day he would not be married to Arthur Pendragon.

And, in all honesty, he couldn’t wait.