Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Camelot had been calm - tranquil even - for a total of nine consecutive days. 

Summer had finally arrived, shining down on the castle, warming the flagstones, making every outside chore one of traded laughter and relieved sighs in spots of shade.

The whole kingdom seemed to come alive with the fairer weather, the market town busier than it had ever been, travelling performers frequenting the square and foreign merchants flashing cloth and  jewels vibrant enough to get even Gwens attention, though she swore she was above such things publicly. 

In all, it was wonderful, exuberant, jubilant- 

Suspicious.

“You're such a killjoy,” Gwaine laughed, nudging his friend and nearly sending him toppling over as he tried to balance the heap of laundry he'd retrieved from the lines strung outside, “Peace is a good thing my friend, it's what we fight for.”

“It's weird, no one ever gives us a break,” Merlin snapped, readjusting his load “Somethings going to go wrong, the longer we get off, the worse it'll end up being, mark my words."

“You're no prophetess mate, leave it to the witch.”

“The last time we had a good summer the king died-”

“Not the worst thing ever!” 

At Merlin's scandalized expression he doubled over in laughter, clapping him on the shoulder, “You should see your face! Gods above Merlin, I'm joking. Mostly. Kind of?”

Merlin's eye twitched and he promptly set back off towards the castle, Gwaines laughter echoing as he followed behind like an over eager labrador.

“Gwaine, laundry.” Merlin said pointedly, trying half-heartedly to shake him off with a slightly erratic route ,“Unless you want to help fold Arthurs socks?”

“I need to see the princess actually, very important knight stuff.” 

Merlin paused at the kings door, pinning him with a look “Knight stuff?”

Gwaine merely offered a shit eating grin, hand on the door knob.

“Nevermind. Your funeral, I don't want to know.”

They both stepped inside just in time for a tunic to come soaring directly at them, finally succeeding at toppling the manservant clean over, a cloud of fresh clothes raining down around him.

There was a long, pregnant moment as Arthur Pendragon looked between his fuming servant and knight with eyebrows raised in a spectacular imitation of Gaius, then Gwaine was doubling over laughing, falling right down next to him.

“I am going to kill you-”

“Your face-”

Arthur cleared his throat loudly, a hand pinched between his brows, “For the love of God, what do you think you're both doing?”

Merlin screamed into his hands, and Gwaine lost it all over again, cackling as he clambered to his feet and dragged him up with him.

“I” Merlin half snarled “was doing what you ordered and gathering your summer wardrobe. This one said he needs to talk to you and you attacked me so it is entirely your fault this happened-”

“Alright alright! Just pick them up, Christ!” Arthur waved him off quickly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “Gwaine, what do you want?”

“You.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“More specifically you, Merlin and the gang.”

Arthur stared at him, “The gang?”

“Squad? Troupe?” Gwaine tried “Camelot's mightiest? Handsomist heroes? No?”

“You hired him,” Merlin muttered, folding tunics sullenly “this is entirely your fault.

“Ignoring that, what's the goal here? I can't exactly just follow you at will Gwaine, if it's for the tavern-”

“There's a travelling circus in town tonight, one night only,” Gwaine said quickly before the king changed his mind “and we've all more than earned a night off.”

Arthur… actually seemed to be considering it “You are aware if I say yes this will be the only time I allow such a thing for a while? Sure this is the night?”

Gwaine nodded frantically “Yes sir it is! They have fire breathers, and apple bobbing! What a concept!”

“Sounds like a good way to hurt someone.” Merlin snipped mulishly.

Arthurs eye twitched “You know what? Yes, if only because Merlin is so against the concept of having fun, I mean really-”

“Oh because travelling performers have been sooo helpful before-”

“Your mistrust of literally every person ever-”

A piercing whistle interrupted them, the pair snapping around to Gwaine, who shrugged “You two bicker for hours if no one says anything. Look, Merl, I'll even help you finish all your chores first. Come on, mate, you know it'll be fun!”

And something in his friend seemed to loosen at that, Merlin's shoulders sagging with a sigh “alright alright!”

“Yes!” Gwaine cheered, immediately scooping up the rest of the fabric and folding it surprisingly well, “You finish up whatever it is you do all day princess and tell the queen, the courtyard, six sharp!”

With that he closed the armoire and all but dragged Merlin to the armoury, a reluctant laugh leaving him as they went.

Arthur just shook his head as the door swung shut, but he smiled as he sat down at his desk all the same.

At six sharp it was still light, though many vendors began to erect towering light posts, preparing to cast the kingdom under a dreamy golden glow and carry the festivities late into the night.

Gwaine stood smugly on the steps, one hand keeping Merlin from darting off by the scruff of his neck, Percival, Leon, Mordred and Elyan quietly making bets on how long he'd succeed for when Arthur and Gwen arrived, dressed far plainer than befitting their stations in a vague attempt to blend with the crowds.

“My lady, as beautiful as ever!” Gwaine cooed, dragging Merlin with him into a bow, making her giggle and gently tug the servant out of the knight's hands to link their arms.

“Sir Gwaine, mind if I steal merlin for a bit?”

Merlin squinted suspicously at her, "Why?”

“Arthur claims acrobats make him queasy, so you're my date!” Gwen squeezed his arm “you wouldn't deny your queen, would you?”

It was a testament to their friendship that Merlin just smiled softly instead of firing back a line about royalty and orders, nodding his head placidly, “Never.”

“In that case, Percy you're with me, I can see the apple bobbing from here!” Gwaine proclaimed, twitching with anticipation.

“Which leaves four, your choice, Arthur,” Elyan offered, “where first?”

Arthur thought for a moment, “I do hear a man claims to breathe fire-?”

“It's settled then, meet back here in thirty minutes to switch groups, and again at first dark to see the parade,” Gwaine decreed, in his best imitation of Arthur, already tugging Percival away, “see you later!”

Gwen quickly dragged Merlin in the direction of a towering tent, the servant waving smugly at Arthur as they left.

“I can smell gunpowder from here,” Mordred announced, “I believe the fire eater is this way my lord-”

“Arthur,” the king interrupted, “it's everyone's night off, just call me Arthur, Mordred.”

Mordred smiled “Very well, Arthur, come on!”

Though no festival had ever been officially announced within the kingdom it truly seemed the people had taken it upon themselves to host one unofficially in honour of the gentle times they'd finally earned two summers past Uther Pendragon's death.

Arthur could admit, as his knights tugged him between various stalls on their way to the fire eater, that something seemed to have returned to the land since his fathers death and his own ascendency. 

People weren't as afraid anymore. They actually went out of their way to smile at him, calling out greetings, offering free sugared fruits, fresh water, ale, and trinkets. No one shrank back as they passed, even though all of them bore their weapons plain upon their hips. 

Even Mordred, who'd been somewhat reserved since joining the group last year, seemed to brighten under the contagious atmosphere, not bothering to lift his shirt to hide the hint of the druidic symbol at his throat, even when curious eyes lingered on it.

He rather insisted on spending money though, which Arthur and Leon tried vainly to dissuade, and which only worsened when Merlin and Gwen re-joined them, Gwen already sporting a necklace handmade by a foreign blacksmith and Merlin sheepishly adjusting a new neckerchief she no doubt forced upon him.

Mordred seemed utterly determined to find out exactly what manner of trinket might impress the servant after that, for some god forsaken reason.

“He's just Merlin,” Arthur insisted, dragging the youngest knight away from a man selling leather cuffs not unlike one he recalled Merlin wearing his first few years in the kingdom, “you could impress him with a random peony for crying out loud-”

“He likes peonies then?”

Arthur shoved Mordred at Gwaine and ordered him to dunk him in the apple barrel until he came to his senses, ignoring his squawking. 

At some point a group of minstrels took up in the courtyard, a crowd soon gathering to dance and sing among them. 

Arthur hung back, watching as his wife danced with Leon, laughing, her hair catching the firelight and shining with a thousand colours, never more beautiful than when she felt free, feet whirling effortlessly as she slipped between her brother, Gwaine, Mordred, Percival and Leon, just one face missing among them.

Merlin was easy to spotted luckily, stood nearby, leaning against stacked barrels of ale, a small, pleased smile on his face as he observed.

Sometimes, Arthur thought, Merlin looked just like he imagined he himself did. Like there was some unknowable weight on his shoulders that held him back from joining the others, a knowledge that he didn't belong, was something slightly different, even if he was as much a part of them as their own beating hearts.

It was nonsense of course, Merlin was… well he was the beating heart of the group. The more the king thought about it the more he realised it was true; The servant had brought almost all of them together, and retained a fierce loyalty from each to mirror their oaths to Arthur. He should be with them.

The king almost opened his mouth to insist just that, but a thin, ancient voice interrupted before he could:

“Arthur Pendragon”

Arthur turned, found an old woman stood before him, white hair in two thick braids to either side of pale skin and gaunt face. She was dressed in draping cloths of red, heavy looking hammered jewellery covering her arms and throat, large, ornate rings clicking as she beckoned him over to an equally be-draped caravan.

“Can I help you?”

“No,” she said simply “It is I who can help you. Come.”

Arthur approached warily “to what end?”

“My name is Mneme. I am the Seanchai - a collector of legend and history. I give to all who come to my home their own vaticination, usually for a small sum, but for a king, I would give this word freely.”

“Sounds an awful lot like prophecy, that toes a line in this kingdom.”

Mneme waved an aged hand dismissively “I rely not on the gifts of seers. Seanchai are scholars at heart, and there is a story you need to hear, young king, before it is too late to understand it.”

Arthur glanced back at Merlin, debating dragging him into this too. Deciphering wordplay had always been a rather random strong suit of his servants.

But Mneme shook her head “Leave the boy. My offer is to you alone.”

Arthur was reasonably confident he could take her in a fight, even if she did end up being some twisted manner of sorceress. He didn't sense any malintent, but then when had he ever?

Still, he was curious. 

Arthur followed her into the caravan.

It was deceptively spacious inside, giving an odd, cosy atmosphere. The use of countless rolls of silks and and cottons suspended across the ceiling gave the impression of a much higher roof, a bed tucked into one end, two plush cushions sat to either side of a low table in the middle, the biggest candle he'd ever seen the only thing between them upon it, and a modest rail of clothing hung at the other end.

It was rather homey, all things considered, and smelled of things he had no name for but which tickled his nose and filled his head with memories of the sand blown lands he'd once journeyed to with Gwaine and Merlin.

Mneme ushered him to sit on one of the cushions, lighting some kind of incense before sitting opposite him, relaxing into the atmosphere, almost blending into her domain. 

“Tell me, Arthur Pendragon, what do you know of druid prophecy?”

Arthur settled his knees under him, wary as she lit the thick candle, eyes flicking between the strong flame and her aged face “I know they have many-”

“Not really,” she interrupted, shaking off the tinder she'd used to light it, the smoke curling into the rafters “in truth they only have one that really matters. One perhaps older than prophecy itself.”

“Does that matter?”

“Everything matters, Pendragon. No word spoken is wasted.”

Arthur got the faint impression he was being scolded, if gently. He bowed his head in apology, encouraging her to continue.

Her bracelets chimed, sparking in the light as she drew in breath for her tale, “It is called the Great prophecy, foretelling a time that is soon to come to pass, though it was first known centuries ago. Tell me, how many times have you been called the once and future king?”

That… did surprise him. He’d never gone out of his way to mention the handful of druids who alluded to the title, let alone that Merlin of all people had, if he recalled correctly. 

Mneme seemed to read the answer on his face, “The name comes from this foretelling. One day the once and future king is destined to unite the seven kingdoms and form a sovereign nation of Albion, this I am sure you've heard, but it is but half of a story, and it is not yours alone.”

Albion… a dream he'd had since he was young. Uther had considered unity a children's dream, impossible to ever actually accomplish. But more and more these days the people seemed to turn to Arthur with its dream on their lips.

“What's the other half?”

“You cannot achieve this alone, as I am sure you've guessed. Another walks by your side, the opposite side of the same coin, as alike to you as the sun to the moon, as different as night and day.”

Mneme closed her eyes, drifting her fingers through the candle to catch the flame on her rings, tiny beams of light like shooting stars sparking through the small space, “It is his legend you need to understand. They say even he does not know his own true tale, though he must come to discover it as surely as you do. Albion will only come to exist when both halves are whole, entirely themselves, entirely at peace with each other.”

Arthur frowned “What kind of person?”

“They say he is the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth. A warlock so in tune with life that he is magic itself in human form, who walks in the shadows to serve the light, who devotes his life to the once and future king out of the most honest love for him.”

The kings stomach sank. A sorcerer. Love?

Impossible.

“Your revulsion stings my senses,” Mneme sighed “though it is understandable. I am not here to lecture you on the complex reality of magic and morality. He is your other half whether you enjoy it or not, and to reject a protector of this strength isn't just against nature, it's stupid. You will not succeed in peace making without him, will never know life without him, will never truly see without the one who can forge the heights to view from.”

“My view on magic is bloody and well known,” Arthur pointed out “and you expect me to believe some kind of druidic messiah wants to be best friends with me?”

“So the legends say, perhaps he already is,” Mneme opened her eyes “Many know of this prophecy, and they believe in him as much as they believe in you. You ought to take interest, regardless of your reservations, before someone else does.”

It was a lot to take in. Arthur scrubbed a hand over his eyes, “You came to find me to tell me there's an all powerful magic user I'm supposed to team up with. That alone could be considered treason. Why risk it?”

Mneme hummed, her eyes eerily gold as they reflected the candlelight, “I am of the belief no man is complete without their personal legend, and knowledge should be given freely. Camelot is on the path to greatness, but many fear there is still time for the way to be lost. I hope, Arthur Pendragon, that I have given you something to think about, that is all.”

“You have, but….”

Mneme stood, gesturing for Arthur to rise with her, “Prophecy is fickle, no life is set in stone. But it does well to heed the stories of those who came before, all the same. Emrys exists in this world already, if stories are to be believed. It is in both your hands to determine the path you walk with this information.”

“Does he know? The legend of the once and future king?”

Mneme shrugged “who can say? I've told you, and that's where our story ends.”

She swung her door open, ushering the king outside with a smile “Good luck, King Arthur. Perhaps I'll see you again one day in a united land.”

Arthur was left with a strange feeling in his gut, the name repeating over and over in his mind.

Emrys. 

By the time he caught up with the others, Merlin was about ready to shake him.

“You vanished! For ages, Arthur, no one could find you-”

“Calm down Merlin, gods above, you're not my wife!” Arthur huffed, batting off the hands reaching to throttle him, only to be met by Gwens' disapproving stare and shrinking back slightly.

“He was worried, we all were. You should have said something, you are the king you know!” she scolded “where were you?”

“I was just with the… what did she call herself? Shechi?”

Merlin blinked “the seanchai?”

“Yes! That.”

“Seriously? You vanished to talk to a bard?” Merlin looked at Gwen like he'd grown a second head “did you trade him for a different Arthur at a prize draw?”

“Haha,” Arthur said dryly “I do like to listen to my subjects you know.”

“Well, what did she say? Anything of interest?” 

“A very... perplexing story actually. But not one for today, its… I think I need to look into it, and I was actually having a good time-”

“I knew it!” Gwaine materialised, slinging an arm over his shoulder to crow his triumph as the others caught up to them “you heard the princess, it was a good idea!”

Merlin and Gwen didn't look convinced, even as Arthur tried to look as reassuring as possible. 

“Just tell me she didn't try to kill you,” Merlin said eventually “or be-spell you or-”

“I think she was warning me actually,” Arthur admitted, shoving Gwaine off “Look she told me about some guy called Emrys but-”

He certainly didn't expect both Merlin and Mordred to choke, the servant turning a peculiar shade of green as Mordred coughed hastily.

“What?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I think we should all go to the tavern actually,” Merlin turned desperately to Leon “When was the last time the king went to a tavern?”

“Some time, for sure, are you alright though?” the knight asked concernedly.

“Totally good, come on, first rounds on Mordred!” 

Merlin ensnared both Mordred and Leon, the others following laughing after them. Arthur frowned at their backs as he took Gwens hand “That was weird, right?”

“For Merlin, no. For Mordred, yes,” Gwen murmured “But it can wait, as you said. I believe you still owe me a dance, my lord”

All thoughts went clean out of Arthurs head.

The suspicion could wait until tomorrow. Tonight, the minstrels were still playing, the lights were hazy and his queen was lovely.

Arthur pulled her into his arms and let the music take them away.

When Merlin comes to wake the king the next morning he finds him not buried deep in his bed with Gwen and nursing a hangover as expected, but sat at his desk with a stack of heavy tomes, Gwen relaxed at her vanity, focused on some manner of embroidery or repair.

“Someone definitely swapped you out,” Merlin declares by way of greeting, plopping Arthur's breakfast on top of whatever paper he was so focused on “I didn't know you could read.”

Arthur barely rose to the bait, immediately moving the plate to the top of one of the stacks to keep writing “You never fail at being deeply unamusing Merlin.”

“That's it?” Merlin looked to Gwen, who just laughed, tying off a stitch and shaking out what appeared to be one of Arthurs riding jackets.

“Merlin I need you to do me a favour,” Arthur said distractedly “I need you to bring Geoffrey here, tell him to bring any and all books he has on druidic legends, I don't care if they're forbidden texts he's smuggled away either. I have a handful of tomes from Gaius but they're not specific-”

“Hang on, hang on, why are you suddenly researching the druids?”

Arthur glanced up “I told you last night, the shinchin-”

“Seanchai”

“Gesundheit,” Arthur continued unperturbed “the- the shen- the bard. The bard told me a druidic legend. I want as much information on it as I can get. Now that I think about it- get sir Mordred as well, I'd speak to him about it, and consider your duties waived for the day, you're helping me with this.”

“Seriously?” Merlin felt like he'd been pushed into a parallel universe, this was.. just what had this woman said to him? 

“Seriously. Geoffrey, books. Mordred, here. Go.”

He looked helplessly at Gwen but she just rose to kiss her husband on the cheek “I think it's good that you're taking this so seriously. Most kings dismiss their fableists as silver tounges. Maybe you'll learn something, its sweet.”

“Traitor,” Merlin decided “you're a traitor.”

“Look on the Brightside, you hate doing your chores, and now I can go get George to cover for you, everyone will be happy!” The queen shoulder checked him gently, vanishing into the corridor.

Arthur fixed Merlin with an expectant look and he sighed, turning to follow.

“You're certain he said druidic legend, specifically forbidden tomes?” the bookkeeper asked incredulously when Merlin arrived, looking at him like he'd grown a second head.

“Believe me, I looked like you do right now. He wants your help.”

“Is the king… okay?”

“As far as I can tell he's actually more level headed than normal, acting all stately and imperious like a regular monarch.”

“Right,” Geoffrey tapped his quill against his chin thoughtfully, “well, most of the books were burned in the purge of course, Gaius will have told you that. I might have one or two but.. I'm reluctant to disclose where. Even to you, boy. Go attend to whatever else he's instructed of you and I'll bring them up when I've checked to see if I have any other relevant texts. ”

“Thank you sir.”

“Yes yes, off with you now!”

It took slightly longer to track down Sir Mordred, Merlin eventually finding him patrolling the far ends of the gardens and nursing a rather spectacular headache going by his expression.

Merlin rolled his eyes, murmuring under his breath.

Mordred stiffened in surprise, his head whipping around as it cleared of fog and pain “Merlin?”

“Mordred. Better?”

“Well, yes, but why?”

“You looked constipated”

Mordred looked horrified, Merlin had to hold back a laugh “Sorry. No, Arthur wants to see you, but I need you to be clear headed when you talk to him.”

“He's looking into Emrys, isn't he?”

“Yes. Rather excessively. I don't know what the woman told him but… he must have been up before dawn.” 

Mordred bit his lip worriedly “You don't think she knew-”

“No. No if Arthur had even the slightest clue that I was involved he’d never have let me leave his chambers.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Merlin ran a hand over the sunflowers blooming against the outer wall, seemingly oblivious to the way they straightened under his fingers, petals blooming a brighter gold, “I won't ask you to do anything you aren't comfortable with. Tell him… pieces of truth. Enough to make him think Iseldier mentioned it in passing, but you aren't overtly familiar. Try and bore him, if you can.”

“You think that will throw him off?”

“I don't know,” he said honestly “but we have to try. Will you?”

Mordred hesitated for a moment. His relationship with merlin since his arrival had been strained at best, honestly his attitude towards him at the festivities last night was the closest they'd been, Merlin had been downright friendly, especially after a pint of ale had been coaxed into him by Gwaine.

Mordred wanted nothing more than to befriend him, to prove his loyalty to a man who could easily be the closest thing his people had to a king, and who quite literally seemed to exude magic to others with it, the air always fresh and light in his presence.

But trust and friendship took time. Took proof of intent.

He held out a hand, extended to Merlin “ I’ll do what I can to help you. I promise.”

And that seemed to be enough. Merlin offered a small smile, shaking it with a scarred palm.

“Come on then, his highness is waiting!”

Geoffrey had beaten them back to the kings chambers, Arthur and the scholar both bent over a black bound tome, debating whatever it is they found on the page.

“Ah, Sir Mordred. What on earth took so long?”

“My fault, sire,” the knight said quickly “I elected to take a station near the edge of the grounds this morning, the fresh air was… nice?”

Merlin shot him a grateful look, coming to peer at whatever they were reading, frowning slightly, “Is this written in Latin?”

“Right you are boy,” Geoffrey praised “Most of my older texts are, in truth. Tricky to fully translate, some vocabulary is simply lost to time without a professor of etymology to guide us.”

“I'll take whatever I can get, but this will do for now. Thank you Geoffrey, will you reach out to the friend you mentioned about further texts?”

Geoffrey nodded, bowing lowly, “I'll see what I can do. If you have further need of me, the boy knows where to find me.”

Arthur glanced at merlin as Geoffrey left “Does he know your name? I don't think I've ever actually heard him use it.”

Merlin snorted, taking up a seat at the table Arthur had swapped to in favour of the space it offered compared to his desk, “Gaius introduced me to him as his great nephew, I think in his head they're both still young, so I must be a child in his mind.”

“You are a child,” Arthur quipped, before tugging out the chair next to him and waving Mordred over, “Come on, sit down for gods sake!”

Mordred hastened to obey, eyes skating over the parchment covering the wood “What is this about, exactly?”

“Before that - know I do not hold your ancestry against  you, sir Mordred, and I want you to feel comfortable talking to me, nothing held back. Do you understand me?”

Mordred swallowed harshly, “yes my lord.”

“Excellent. I know you were raised as a druid, so tell me, what do you know of the prophecies regarding the once and future king and Emrys?”

There it was. The question was asked. 

What did he know? More than Merlin was probably comfortable with him knowing, truth be told.

Mordred attempted to relax in the chair, determined not to accidentally incriminate either of them, “It's a common enough legend I suppose. The story of a great king who will unite the lands of Albion.”

“Yes yes,” Arthur waved off “I know about the once and future king, what no one seems willing to elaborate on is Emrys.”

“You know-” Mordred paused “you know that its..”

“Me, yes, a few people have said that.” Arthur frowned “I'll worry about that later. What do your people say of Emrys?”

Mordred very carefully did not look at Merlin, casting his gaze to the window, the sky beyond the castle an endless expanse of blue, barely dotted with clouds, “There are those who say he is the most powerful warlock to walk the earth. And that he is destined to help the once and future king.”

“What does that mean though, help me how?”

Mordred shrugged “Who knows? Prophecies don't tend to be overly specific, it could be as simple as vouching for you, or saving your life.”

“See that's what I don't get,” Arthur set down his quill, leaning forwards in his chair to pin the knight with full eye contact, “why would this all powerful sorcerer save me? Magic is outlawed in Camelot. It's been outlawed for twenty six years. Most of their kind despise us!”

“Maybe Emrys thinks you'll change your mind?”

“He’d have no reason to,” Arthur finally looked away “someone that powerful must have some kind of ironclad reason to- to support me. I don't think I've given anyone that reason, and to be frank the notion of a super powerful magic user skulking about Camelot is deeply disturbing. It can't be allowed.”

Merlin crossed his arms around himself, gaze directed towards the ground, and Mordred felt a great swell of pity.

He hadn't thought much about it, beyond his initial awe and confusion, but Merlin's position had to be more difficult than he'd imagined. It was one thing to hear Arthur dismiss and disparage magic users, another to be specifically shat on, so to speak.

“For what its worth my lord,” Mordred said quietly “my people truly believe Emrys is on your side. I don't think he could hurt you if he tried, and vice versa. Uniting Albion aside, your bond is said to be… well legendary. I wouldn't rush to discount such a man.”

“Yes these books say the same. But it's not enough, unfortunately. I can't just take your word that he's harmless, as much as I want to,” Arthur shut the tome carefully, thinking, “You were raised away from the druids in the end, maybe there's more you don't know. Merlin-”

The servant startled, nearly falling out his chair, to the kings bemusement, “first of all, wake up. Second of all, Gaius is still in contact with Iseldir, yes?”

“How'd you know that?”

“I'm not an idiot, Merlin. He always shows up within a day of Gaius requesting it, I don't begrudge him for keeping a useful source at hand,” Arthur drummed his fingers against the table “that being said, do you think Iseldir would agree to meet us?”

“Possibly. But seriously, if this Emrys guy has hid himself for however long, do you really think digging into him is going to make him magically appear now?”

“I don't know. What I do know is that this prophecy has come up enough times to be of note now, and its time we understood what we were dealing with. Get Gaius to set up a meeting? Please, Merlin.”

The rarely used politesse seemed to sway him, the servant sighing and getting back to his feet, “I want it known I think this is a bad idea!”

“You always say that when magic is involved. Don't be such a girl.”

“Don't come crying to me when this bites us on the ass!”

“Go!”

“Yeah yeah.”

Arthur shook his head at him, turning back to Mordred “In the meantime, sir Mordred, how's your Latin?”

Instead of just setting up a one on one meeting, Iseldir invites Arthur to the druids latest encampment, just a few hours ride from Camelot.

The druid leader had only two requests, that they come with open minds, and that they be willing to surrender their weapons when they arrive.

Merlin doesn't know whose more surprised that Arthur agrees, him or Leon.

Naturally the round table come, Mordred quietly briefing the others as they move out, attempting to quell the natural confusion that came with the mission.

“Nervous?” Percival asked Merlin kindly, “You know druids are a peaceful people.”

“Oh I know they're harmless. I just… Arthur's set on this. I don't know that it's such a good idea.”

Percival considered that as they trotted along the path, “I've never minded magic, or those who wield it for good. But I can admit that if Arthurs end goal is to force this Emrys to reveal himself it might bring trouble.”

“Exactly. This isn't the sort of thing he should be taking lightly. After everything that he's been through… I'm worried he’ll find what he's looking for, and wish he hadn't.”

Percival looked back at Merlin then, almost seeming to search his face for something, “You really care about him.” He said it as fact, which it was of course.

“I worry,” Merlin tightened his grip on his horses reins “every time Arthurs gone looking for magic he has gotten hurt, one way or another. If this ends badly, I don't know if I'll be able to help him.”

“Have more faith in yourself Merlin, Lancelot did, he told me so many times to bet on you, above anyone else.”

They hadn't spoken much about that- Lancelot, and his respective bonds with them. Percival had spent untold months with the man when he was banished from Camelot, they'd undoubtedly grown near as close as Merlin and Lancelot had.

“I wish he was here,” Merlin admitted “Arthur listened to him.”

“I miss him too. But are you so sure he would discourage the king from this? Knowledge is power, he always knew that, I think we stopped at more bookkeepers than inns in our time.”

Yeah, but he also knew exactly why this was probably a huge mistake, Merlin thought miserably.

Percival reached out, ruffling his hair affectionately, “It'll be alright Merlin, whatever happens, we face it together. You're not alone in this.”

Not yet maybe. 

Merlin just forced a strained smile, looking back to the road ahead, their journey soon coming to its end, Iseldir stood waiting with two young men to receive them as they dismounted.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Arthur said “I believe you know most of my group already.”

Iseldir nodded, glancing over them, “Mordred, it is good to see you again!”

“And you, elder.”

“And sir Leon, looking healthy!”

Leon smiled ruefully “As a horse. Speaking of, where should we tether them?”

“That's what Leo and Fredeven are here for,” Iseldir said of the two druids “they are my most gifted with animals, they'll take good care of them, and your weapons.”

The kings determination was plain, given that he sheathed excalibur on his steed without so much as a wince, the others following his unspoken command. 

“Come, let me show you our camp,” Iseldir beckoned, leading them deeper into the forest, where a great glade seemed to spill into their path.

It was, in a word, ethereal.

A sanctuary of thriving nature, a bubbling stream cut through the camp which seemed to have tripled in size since they'd last encountered the druids.

Women sat in circles on heavy looking logs, tying baskets or mending clothes, men prepared food by a cheerful fire, children weaved between sun dappled trees, their laughter streaming in their wake, flowers blooming in their footprints.

A handful of carefully woven tents were erected, a gathering of elders sat before them, smoking carved pipes and muttering to each other.

It was a stark contrast to the stark survivalist appearance they'd grown to expect of druids. They actually seemed to be thriving.

You know you helped this to happen.

Merlin shot a quick, questioning glance at Mordred, who seemed as in awe as he was.

Arthur relaxed the laws on druidism, you played a part in that. You make him a better person, and they feel safe near Camelot, near you.

It felt like a stretch. He hadn't even done that much. Had he?

Still, he could sense the whispers hidden by hands as all eyes in the camp took their time to furtively seek him out. He felt bizarrely like a may pole, with invisible strings linlking him to minds buzzing with magic around him.

Merlin ducked next to Gwaine, a shallow attempt at hiding.

“You've made quite the camp here,” Arthur said to Iseldir as they walked slowly through it, “but how is this possible?”

“Are you aware, Arthur Pendragon, that Camelot is the only kingdom to make our existence legal?” Iseldir paused by the area the children played in, watching them, “Since your asendancy we've been treated with nothing short of respect by your soldiers. It might surprise you just how far  that kindness can take people.”

Leon seemed to straighten a little at the indirect praise, “After what you did for me, for Camelot, of course we would.”

“My father… he made a lot of mistakes. I should have said something sooner,” Arthur agreed “I'm happy for you, truly. But it's not why I'm here. ”

“Oh, I know. Perhaps your men would like to take a break while we talk? Our fires are open, and they might enjoy some time within nature beyond stone walls.”

I will do what I can to guide his curiosity, Emrys, you need fear nothing among us.

Merlin nodded almost imimpercitbily and one of the children came sprinting over, offering him a blinding smile;

Play?

Children, it seemed, held a cruder version of the mindspeaking gift, the word more of an impression than true language.

Still, he allowed the child to slip their tiny hand into his, offering Arthur a what can you do kind of shrug.

“Leon, will you stay? And Gwaine, go make sure those kids dont tire him out too much.” Arthur laughed.

Gwaine was more than happy to chase after his friend, while Mordred excused himself to talk to druids he recognised.

“Come on then big boy,” Elyan said cheeerfully to percival, “let's go see if we can make ourselves useful!”

“Sure thing, tiny man.”

“Seriously?”

“You started it-”

Once they'd buised themselves Iseldir brought Arthur and Leon into what they assumed was his private tent, the flap pinned open so they ould still see their companions, but offering privacy enough for now.

“The children remember your servant,” Iseldir said casually, “he is kind when he visits them, I fear they've gotten rather attached.” 

Arthur snorted, glancing out. Merlin appeared to have been coerced into some kind of game of tag, dancing away from reaching hands and sticking his tongue out at Gwaine, who attempted to tackle him, failed, and got dogpiled by the kids for his efforts.

“He's good with children,” he agreed “probably cause he acts like one.”

“That's not a bad thing, some would argue a youthful spirit is a free one.”

“Maybe. Still.”

Iseldir tilted his head slightly, “You came here for a purpose, I know. I also know young Mordred told you what he knows, I don't know how much more I can offer in terms of the legends you're seeking.”

“We're hoping you can tell us more about who Emrys might be, or at least his motivations beyond supposedly uniting albion.”

Iseldir hummed “I'm afraid his identity is not something I'm able to offer, even if I wanted to. Though, there are those who say all with magic insinctually know him.”

“What? How?”

“The legends say he is magic itself, yes?” at Arthurs nod Iseldir continued, “Magic isn't some mystical force, it's… life, redirected. It's impossible to create something from nothing, even in the mystic arts. A typical sorocor takes fire from candles, water from streams or they may lift existing objects and utilise them. Even to heal- they don't just close wounds, they encourage the body to heal itself.” 

“That's incredible,” Leon murmured, in spite of himself.

Arthur could admit  it was interesting, but it didn't answer his question.

“What does life feel like to you, Arthur Pendragon?”

Weird question. But he could play along, “I guess, adrenaline, strength, solid ground. ”

Iseldir smiled encouragingly “and you, sir Leon?”

“Warmth,” he offered “sunlight.”

“Imagine those feelings, imagine them being felt as you are now, gently fuelling you, making you feel as alive as you can be, like being close to the stools you sit on gives you life just by being by them. That's how they know him, that's what it is  to be near him.”

Oddly lovely, Arthur thought, must be nice. Weird, but nice.

“You wonder if Emrys has ulterior motives in his goals with you. I expect he does, but not nefarious ones.” Iseldir looked beyond the tent, seemingly watching the children in his care, “his duty is to help you unite the land, but in his soul, he is called to heal the land. To bring life, soothe the wounds of war and bring peace to magic users, and likely to himself. You fear that someone with that much power would use it for ill, but Arthur, you are also a person with immense power yourself, and you are truly trying to help this world. Why could he not too?”

“I've only ever seen magic used to destroy lives,” Arthur said quietly, “it's taken everything from me, my family, my friends, almost my whole kingdom. It's not enough to believe this person means well. Not after everything I've done to magic users, or had done to me in turn.”

Leon understood all too well how he felt.

Magic users were part of the reason he'd almost died in a ditch in the cold more times than he could count, but they were also part of the reason he lived and breathed now.

He’d seen the dragon raze camelot, stealing innocent lives, but he'd also seen humans enact just as much cruelty, the young druid girl Merlin had tried to save years ago coming to mind.

It was asking a lot to encourage Arthur to trust the most dangerous of them now, with no proof, no face, nothing but spoken word.

“I have a suggestion, if I may,” Iseldirs voice roused both of them from their quiet contemplation, “Stay the night with my people, talk to them. You know what we are and what we can do, and you came anyway. They are likely to use magic in front of you. It might help to see it used in a safe setting, and to listen to some stories of how it can be good, for the first time in your lives. Only if I take your word they would face no repercussion, of course.”

It said a great deal about Iseldirs character, and the strength of his beliefs, that he would make the offer at all.

Arthur turned to Leon, “You are my most trusted knight, and my oldest friend. What do you think?”

If you had asked him years ago, before Arthur was even a regent and they were still in the middle of the worst of the purge, he wouldn't have hesitated to recommend wiping the druid camp clean off the map.

But they had saved his life, had help to save Arthur's in their efforts over the years, one of them was sworn into service alongside him to do just that.

He looked out, to Merlin and Gwaine still entertaining the children, Percival chopping wood for a blushing young woman, Elyan using the fire to mend a hammer, Mordred with his head bent, deep in discussion with the elders.

They weren't afraid, they never had been, not the way Leon and Arthur were.

The time for their prejudice was past, and if any of what the druids believed was true, maybe the time for their beliefs to be challenged had finally come.

“I think we should stay,” He said firmly "I'd like to stay.”

Arthur nodded, considering, “No magic is used on my people. Not unless it is life and death.”

“You have my word.”

“Then we would be honored, Iseldir, and are at your disposal.”

Iseldir stood, “You are guests, let us show what hospitality from our kind can look like!”

Shortly after, Arthur called his circle over to inform them of the change to their travel plans.

“Seriously?” Mordred gaped, “you want to… have a sleepover?”

“It's in the name of learning more, sir Mordred. Please feel free to be as.. Druid-y as you wish.”

Mordred pulled a face, “what does that mean? Arthur I'm not different around them!”

“Unless you are, and have been holding back on my account, please don't.”

Gwaine stifled a laugh, and Mordred gave him a withering look, “My lord, I'm not holding back.I have no idea what you think druids do but… I'm just a guy.”

Arthur shifted awkwardly, “right, well, I mean it. So. “

“Riiiight” Mordred looked to Merlin for help, but received a blank smile in response.

You could act all druid-y too he pouted

Not on you're life, go pick flowers and chant ominously 

I think I hate you?

I'll live

Mordred fought very, very hard not to scream, instead just pivoting on his heel and returning to a man he was presuambly friends with to sulk.

The knights however, were slightly more awkward.

“Oh come on you lot,” Merlin said eventually, and led them over to a group of the men “hey there, who wants to arm wrestle a knight of Camelot?”

Arthur was actually impressed by how fast both parties rose to the occasion. Druid or knight, masculinity seemed to be the same.

Merlin slipped back next to him with a shit eating grin as Leon took place as umpire, the knights already cajoling Percival against a particularly intimidating druid.

“Don't look so smug, this is still a mission.” 

“Maybe, but you've got to take a break at some point, can't be all... you... all night!”

Arthur sniffed, “Hard to do, considering where we are. Speaking of, I know you're not the biggest fan of magic. Are you okay with this?”

Merlin got that look he always did when Arthur brought up magic around him, halfway between consternated and distressed, “I actually like the druids. I always have. My feelings towards magic are complicated and unrelated.”

“Most peoples are. But Merlin if druids aren't the problem… why don't you like sir Mordred?”

Merlin froze, “what makes you think I don't? He's a fine knight. Good, even.”

“Right, but you're different with him. I know you, Mmerlin, you've never met a single person you haven't tried to befriend immediately until him. It's clear he adores you as much as Gwaine does but you rebuff him constantly. Why?”

“It's-”

“If you say it's complicated I'm giving you to those children and telling them they can keep you.”

“I don't hate him,” Merlin looked away from him, to Mmordred, the younger man offering a tentative smile in his direction, “It's actually hard not to like him. But he is connected to Morgana, and he still cares for her.”

So that's what this was.

Unbidden, the memory rose of Merlin, covered in mud, deep red welts on his wrists, neck bleeding in Gaius’s care.

Morgana had always seemed to take Merlin siding with Arthur weirdly hard, he was sure there were things about their relationship he didn't know, but he did know that she scared him, and that he had certainly nursed affection for her once.

And arthur understood.

“Some part of me does too, and you I think. If you're afraid that he will betray us and go to her then Merlin, do what you did to the knights.”

At his puzzled expression, Arthur just smiled, “be nice to him. Make him like you. Then if he ever has to choose, maybe he'll choose the idiot he kept trying to buy ale for until Leon cut him off.”

“You know, you do say smart things sometimes, for a dollophead.”

Arthur twitched “excuse me?”

“You heard me- ghfgiaughugj”

Arthur pinned him in a headlock, mussing his hair and muffling his protests with his arm, ignoring his laughing, half hearted efforts to get free.

Arthur caught Iseldirs eye as he did, and got the strangest feeling he'd done something right.

The evening wound down much like any other camping trip had.

The druids wove around them, clearing away the days activities and building a campfire, logs being rolled into position and flashing eyes feeding the blaze as metal pots of soup were hung over it, all hands on deck to feed the many mouths.

Merlin kept trying to help, to Arthurs amusement,  and everytime he did one druid or another would appear and push him back into a seat with stern words, until eventually Iseldir himself said something to him that made him throw his hands up into the air, a round of laughter in his wake as he slumped down and was immediately bombarded by the children again, talking a mile a minute, Iseldir dusting off his hands smugly. 

Tin bowls were passed around, steaming food tipped in. A young woman looked warily at Arthur before whispering a spell and manufacturing a partcuarly large bowl for Percival, who flushed at the attention.

It would never be comfortable to be in the presence of spells being cast but… he made an effort to smile at her and look as non threatening as possible. The king found an extra helping in his bowl as a result.

Before long conversation formed a comfortable bubble and some of the elders began to pick up flutes and lutes, strumming vague tunes to accompany the meal until the metal was passed back up and set into the baskets in the river.

“Everyone, everyone,” Iseldir called, clapping to get the groups attention, a hush falling, “I am delighted to see another day end in joy, even if there are some strained arms among you,”

Elyan and Gwaine shrugged shamelessly, with supportive bandages peeking out from under their tunics, and a few of the camps mens.

"It is a true honor to host, in faith and friendship, king Arthur Pendragon and the knights of the round table. You came to us, trusted us to help you, and have in turn offered us kindness, forgiveness and a new chance. All of us know that the journey to reach this night was not easy for any of you, I thank you, sincerely for your trust.”

A smattering of applause broke out, the loudest from Mordred, who looked at Arthur with nothing short of reverence.

It was almost too much, to be praised for so little, when he had doubted so much.

The knights seemed to share his thoughts, Leon staring hard at the fire, Elyan leaning against Percival and Gwaine uncharacterisatcally serious.

Merlin, he noticed, was looking directly at Iseldir, something unknowable passing between them, tears rising in his friends eyes.

Unbeknownst to him, over the claps and cheers of the camp, the elder spoke a message among the druids;

It is the greatest of honors too, to host you, Emrys. There is not a soul among us who does not believe in you, who is not strengthened by you, who would not die for you. It is my deepest wish that one day you will stand with Arthur Pendragon as equals, that we might celebrate you both, for all you have done. You are our future, our hope and magic itself. To you, Emrys.

The sentiment was echoed by every mind in the camp, the distinct impression of love, of faith and almost… worship… pouring into his mind. Merlin couldn't help the tears that swelled in his eyes, though he tried discretely to wipe them away when he caught Arthur looking. 

“Now, the evening is young yet. Layla, Trevlor, why don't you lead us in music, as our king leads us in life!”

The pair bowed their heads, striking into song, a jaunty, celebratory tune the people waved their hands to, swaying into each other, many arms coming around each other, followed by many, many more.

As the fire began to die down, and people began to slowly drift off, the woman, Layla, lowered her instrument and moved closer to the Camelotians in the pretense of stoking the lingering flames, a final song carried by her and Trevlors harmony alone:

Among the flames, within the ash

Magic dies, its people pass

They cry to gods who never cared

An echoing prayer to one not there

But deep in the meadow

Under the willow

An ancient land

Built long ‘fore he would go

A promise in stone

Temple of brick and bone

He will be known 

He will become

Emrys will rise 

To wet the pyres and smudge the ash

And raise the people

Free at last

Merlin wordlessly stood, vanishing into the woods, but Arthur barely noticed, stuck on the trembling, gentle way the pair had sang, before they too wandered off.

They'd wanted him to hear it, evidently.

At first he thought it was because of the way it made him react- with grief.

It was… a source of shame, that he'd never given much thought to the burnings beyond the enaction of justice.

He’d never stopped to let himself think about the people and communities left behind to dismantle the pyres, who probably traded the grief and fear among themselves.

Gods, he'd seen it in Gaius’s face whenever he asked about the purge, when he'd almost seen him sentenced by Aredian, the distance he kept on Sammahanin and frankly any festivals fire pits. 

But as he laid down  in the blankets they'd been given, Arthur realised something else:

The song mentioned a temple. One Emrys would supposedly be at. Had they just told him -? 

He’d fall asleep with the question buzzing in his mind. 

Meanwhile, in the woods, the object of his curiosity sat by the river, staring up at the stars through a gap in the trees.

“I'd never heard that song before,” Mordred says, by way of greeting, coming to sit besides him “I'm sorry, I would have warned you-”

“Hardly your fault,” Merlin said softly, “I should be the one apologising to you. I've been hard on you of late.”

“You have. But I dont really blame you, given… everything. What changed your mind?”

“Arthur. Naturally.”

“Naturally,” Mordred echoed “still. I'm not worried about that right now. Are you okay Merlin?” 

The other man didn't speak for a long time, hands drifting idly through the stream

“Being in Camelot all the time… I guess it's easy to forget the expectations people have for me outside of saving Arthur. Being here, feeling it…”

“It would be a lot for anyone,” Mordred offers “I think that's a hazard of being the one in charge.”

“But I'm not in charge of anyone!”

“Kinda are? If you started telling us what to do we'd probably do it at least.”

“But I'm not your king,” Merlin snapped, head dropping to his knees “I'm just… I'm a servant. A farm boy. I might never be able to live up to all of it, I'm not like Arthur. I'm just not.”

Mordred considered that carefully before he answered; “You're right. You're not like Arthur. And you aren't our king. You are Merlin Emrys. That's kind of the whole point, two sides of the same coin, not one side."

A breath, a beat "You are the man who saves Camelot endlessly and never seeks credit, and who has never walked away from someone who needed help. And that's all they need you to be, the rest of it… it just comes.”

Merlin looked at the stars and wondered if somewhere among them something else looked back. 

They sat in silence until eventually Merlin wordlessly rose, offered Mordred a hand and walked side by side with him to the camp.

They woke in the morning to bird song, sunlight, and a new understanding of each other. 

If only that had been all, and not also to a breathless druid running panting into the camp saying the Sarrum of Amata and the new king of Essitier had learned that Arthur was seeking Emrys, and were now racing to beat him to the temple from the songs, a lone druid no longer among those in the headcount, who had betrayed them all.

“Arthur-”

“No.”

“Arthur-”

“My decision is final, Merlin,” the king didnt even look at him, tightening the saddle on his horse, “If the other kings have reason enough to believe in this temple I'm not letting them get to it first. Either get on your horse or go back to Camelot, I'm not debating this.”

Merlin wanted desperately, just for a moment, to be anyone, anywhere else. He knew going to the temple was pointless, that it didn't matter if the Sarrum or whoever it was that had taken Cenreds crown beat them there.

The whole point was that they were looking for Emrys, no?

Well problem fucking solved, here he was.

But there was no way to explain that to Arthur, nothing he could do but what he'd always done.

He climbed smoothly onto his horse, teeth grit as the others mounted around him. 

Iseldir watched them prepare, expression unreadable.

One of the others told him where it is

Merlin flinched at the sudden voice, whipping to face the druid.

Please tell me thats a joke

I wish it was. Even I don't know what you'll find there Emrys, none have ever entered, its ground sacred to you alone. Be careful.

Merlin tightened his grip on the reins, nodding worldlessly.

None of the other knights dared to challenge Arthur as they turned and raced into the forest, the path stretching distantly ahead of them. They just shared the same look, half determination, half worry.

Thejourney was distressingly short, just three hours ride from the druid camp - Merlin wished it could have taken longer.

Outwardly the temple wasn't much to look at, impressive once maybe, pillars melded to walls sunken into the edge of a great sheath of rock, the outward structure overgrown with moss, vines and vegetation. 

Still, as they dismounted the air seemed almost to hum, the ground slick and muddy beneath their feet.

Merlin stared at it with nothing short of trepidation, even as his breath caught and the sun seemed to highlight their path forwards.

“Keep your wits about you. Percival, Elyan, stand watch and yell if someone comes,” Arthur ordered grimly, unsheathing his blade “I don't like this at all.”

Not even Gwaine had anything to say to that as they pushed the heavy oak doors open, a tunnel leading them in.

Inside the walls were whitewashed, though streaked with dirt and dust after so many centuries.

A light at the end of the tunnel guided them forwards, a great, circular antechamber waiting for them. No torches were needed, impossible sunlight seeming to fill the room, every inch of it warm and iluminated.

A pedestal sat in the middle, words inscribed on its face, endlessly repeated in a spiral.

“Walk eternally in light, walk in harmony, in life,” Mordred translated “repeated.”

But the others weren't listening.

On every wall between great pillars were stone carvings of scenes, scenes not unfamiliar.

A king by a bed, holding a baby, the queen within it turned away, eyes closed. Below it, mirrored almost, a woman was alone in a bed of straw, a tiny baby in her arms.

In another, a great dragon soared over a castle with its smaller kin, another of a hand emerging from a lake, sword in hand, another of the isle of the blessed a figure turned away calling lightening from the sky.

This was their lives, Merlin realised, but…

“The druids prophecy is inscribed on every wall,” Mordred confirmed grimly, “this is all… prediction. Or history.”

But then was any choice he'd made his own? Merlin looked at the druid, and saw his own fear reflected back at him.

“None of this helps us. We need to go further in-”

“Are you so sure that's a good idea?” 

Arthur turned to Merlin “we've talked about this-”

“This is an ancient magic temple, it could be full of traps Arthur,” Merlin snapped “or worse things you don't actually want to know-”

“I want to know. You can stand guard outside with the others if you're that scared Merlin but frankly I never knew you for a coward,” Arthur strode over to one of the doors, paused in its threshold “I need to find Emrys, no matter what.”

“You're unbelievable.” Merlin turned heel, walking randomly through a different tunnel, grim faced.

Mordred moved to follow him, but found Arthurs hand on his arm, “No. You're with me, I need you to continue to translate. Let Merlin have his tantrum on his own, unless someone else wants to deal with that?”

No one's really surprised when Gwaine shrugs and jogs after the servant, though they are all quietly relieved all the same. 

They pass through a number of rooms as the group continues through the deceptively large temple, some simple prayer areas, with half crumbled stone pews and ancient, but largely decorative, symbols inscribed on the floor. 

Ultimately they stepped out into fresh air, Leon sighing in relief.

It seemed like something of a courtyard, ornate trellices carved from oak forming a semi circle around the biggest tree Arthur had ever seen, towering towards the heavens, its trunk thicker than three ships masts, the foliage above casting the yard into a deep, gem like green. 

At its base was a statue, a faceless man, arms spread wide, flowers and animals reaching up towards him, a plaque carved at its base.

Mordred immediately went over, to begin his translation, while Arthur came to lean against a trellis, wary.

“What are you going to do?” Leon asked him quietly as they waited, “if we find this man?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean you've rushed us into a random temple searching for a sorcerer. Do you intend to kill him if he's here?”

Part of him wanted to say yes. Wanted it to be as simple as ending the threat once and for all.

But the other part had listened to the druids, to all the people who had named him the once and future king over the years, and to the legends. 

Killing Emrys wasn't the right move, he was pretty sure. He just didnt know what the right move was. 

“With others on their way we cant stay here,” Arthur settled on “he’ll have to come with us.”

“And how exactly do you intend to subdue someone that powerful?”

“They say he lives to help me, right? So he won't hurt me. I'll distract him, I trust you know where to hit a mans skull?”

Leon searched his face, “Are you sure that's the right thing to do?”

“You want to risk asking him to come quietly and have him start turning us into donkeys?”

“We have a problem!”

They both turned to Mordred, who was now sat on the grass, head in his hands, paler than they'd ever seen him. 

“What is it? What does it say?”

Mordred… looked like his father had once, after a battle in the east, when many good men had died and he'd gone to personally tell their wives and children.

A hopeless, honest grief. 

“Sir Mordred?”

The boy shook his head, “I didn't know, I had no idea what his name meant, or how literal it was I- he really, really won't like it.”

Arthur wordlessly pulled him to his feet, gently tugging him so they were eye to eye, “tell me.”

“Emrys is… immortal. In the truest sense of the word. I don't think he can be killed. He's magic itself, the song was literal in that,”

Mordred looked past him, to Leon, eyes full of what he now realised was actually sheer reverence, “Emrys is a god, or as close as a man can get to one.”

The admission hung heavy in the air, the king stepping back, a hand gripping his mouth as he bit his tongue.

“We knew he was powerful-”

“An unkillable god Leon,” Arthur whispered, “if he doesn't favor Camelot he could wipe us all out like we are nothing.”

“He does, right Mordred?” Leon forced his own panic down, ever a soldier ,“every legend we've heard suggests he cares about you, and about Camelot. But this does mean we need to be cautious. We should find the others.”

“Merlin,” Arthur seemed to snap back to reality “You're right. God we need to tell them-”

“No!”

Arthur blinked, raising an eyebrow at his knight “no?”

“Just… you know what he's like with magic?” Mordred tried, “we should wait until we're out of here to tell him, in case he… spooks?”

Arthur considered that for a long moment, Mordred holding his breath, but the king nodded “Fair enough. But we need to go now.”

It takes precious minutes to track down the missing duo, minutes none of them felt like they had, the hallway Merlin had initially run through taking them deeper and deeper until, after what felt like an age, they found themselves in what was surely the heart  of the place.

Gwaine was scratching his head, examining something written on the walls, looking bizarrely concerned but Merlin, he stood before a smaller statue, closer to life sized than the one in the courtyard.

A woman and a man, carved out of blinding white marble, cradling a baby. 

Merlin was stood before it, eyes shining oddly in the light, hands fists by his side.

“Merlin?”

The servant turned slowly, and Arthur looked at the statue, really looked. The faces were familiar, somehow, like people he'd seen before. But who?

“Tell me it isn't true,” his words almost imperceptible "tell me this isn't…”

But he wasn't talking to Arthur.

“Merlin,” Mordred stepped forwards but something held him back,his voice catching in his throat.

“Tell me it isn't true,” the servant repeated "It can't be. I won't believe it.”

Distantly, feet slapping against stone. Time was running out.

“We need to go,” Arthur asserted, “Gwaine, Merlin?”

But his servant ignored him, moving suddenly to grab the druid by his shirt, hands forming fists in a bizzare lurching of rage, “Tell me!”

“Merlin-” Leon moved to grab him but Mordred threw up a hand, halting the increasingly concerned knights,

“Stay back it's fine!” Mordred bit out, “what did you read?”

“He shall never pass through the veil of death, he who is life never able to join those at rest, such is the burden of the god who will bring Eden to Albion,” Merlin quoted softly, tears spilling from the corners of his eyes, “tell me none of that is what I think it is.”

“Soldiers are approaching!” Elyan skidded into the chamber, out of breath, immediately confused by the scene he arrived to intterupt, "Is everything okay?”

“Look at the walls mate,” Gwaine nudged his king “look familiar to you?”

Reluctant as he was to look away from the tense embrace of knight and servant, Arthur did, and would forever wish he had not.

The carvings told the story of a life, from birth to future. In landscapes painfully familiar. Events he knew, knew because he'd lived them, each one increasingly, horrifyingly known.

“But that's…”

“And the statue,” Leon realised, “Arthur doesn't that man look like the painting your father showed us of Balinor?”

“Please,” Merlin half sobbed, falling to his knees and taking Mordred with him, “Mordred I'm begging you.”

Dots were connecting. Dots Arthur didn't want to connect. Wanted to take and destroy and hide.

The statue was Balinor, undeniably, and the woman… 

“I'm sorry, Merlin.”

Arthur had never seen Merlin this distraught.

Not  when Will died, or Lancelot, or the dragonlord, or any of the many casualties they'd faced over the years together.

The man knelt on the ground, hunched over, one hand clutching his stomach like he might be sick, face white as the marble behind him, tears falling soundlessly to the ground while Mordred watched, a quiet devastation written across his own face.

“I really, really don't know what's going on but Arthur,” Elyan said urgently, “I wasn't kidding. We need to go.”

Right. Armies imminent. Soldiers.

Leon gripped Mordred by the arm, tugged him to his feet, the mans eyes never leaving Merlin.

“Merlin,” Arthur knelt besides him, pushing the treacherous thoughts down, down, down “I don't know what's going on but we don't have time, I'm sorry. We need to go.”

“I can't,” Merlin whispered, voice cracking on every note “I-”

“I'll help. Come on,” Arthur slipped his arms around him, heaving the smaller man to his feet, “can you walk?”

Merlin looked at him “Don't you see?”

“I see that you're hurting,” Arthur said stubbornly “and I wish we had time for you to have a mental breakdown but we don't because the Sarrum is almost-”

“The Sarrum is almost what, Arthur Pendragon?”

The knights of Camelot whirled, forming a protective circle around Merlin and Arthur on instinct, swords up as the Sarrum of Amata stepped into the chamber, soldiers filing in with him, four of them gripping a bound Percival between them.

The older king looked between them, eyes narrowing on Arthur still supporting his servant, a gleam in them ththaArthur really didn't like.

“I'm impressed you made it this far, though I hear you had rather a lot of help from little rats in the forest,” the Sarrum drawled, “strange though, I've been searching for this mythical wonderchild for years, why the sudden interest on your part?”

“You must be shit at looking then, since it took me all of three days,” Arthur spat, “there's nothing to find anyway, so let my man go.”

“No.” Sarrum strode fully into the room, the knights closing together tightly, making him laugh

“No, I don't think so, see I might not have found this temple but I did at least bring enough soldiers for the task. Noble though your round table is… not really an army, is it?”

Arthur made sure Merlin could stand on his own before he drew his own blade, coming to stand next to Leon and Gwaine, “I have no quarrel with Amata, so I don't need an army. You can have the temple, like I said, there's nothing here. You can let us go in peace.”

“A tempting offer,” Sarrum tapped at his jaw thoughtfully ,“hmmm tell you what, I will let you go, I'll even let you take your little tin soldiers with you. On one condition.”

Arthur twitched “and what is that?”

Sarrum peered over his shoulder to where Merlin stood, pale, mouth set in a hard line, “Him. I want him.”

“Merlin?” Elyan blurted, “the servant?”

“He's not for sale,” Arthur snapped, “and has nothing to do with this sick power play.”

“From the way the druid boy trembles everytime I look at him… I beg to differ.”

“Arthurs right though, Merlins just a servant,” Gwaine fought the urge to step back towards him, “you don't need another snarky kid-”

“I've named my terms, unless the boy has anything to add?”

Don't, Arthur prayed desperately, don't say anything Merlin please-

“What makes you think I'd go with you?” 

And there it was.

Merlin seemed to have regained some of his strength, color coming back to his face as he crossed his arms imperiously, eyebrow raised.

“Oh, I think you'll do anything it takes to save Pendragon,” Sarrum smiled, “or at least, that's what the legends say, no?”

“You're not seriously accusing Merlin of being Emrys?” Elyan spluttered, confused why Arthur wasn't one to beat him to it, “seriouisly? Arthur?”

“Like I said,” was all the king snarled,.“he isn't for sale.”

“Let me put it this way. The boy comes with us, or I slit the big ones throat and kill you all, then take both you and the boy anyway.”

“There's no need for that.”

Merlin moved, tried to push past the others, but found both Arthur and Gwaine shoving him back.

“Stand down Merlin, I mean it.” Arthur hissed at him, not even turning back.

“I won't let you die for me.”

“I swear, everytime we leave the castle I have this argument with you Merlin, how many times do I have to tell you, your death is not up for debate!”

Merlin flinched like Arthur had stabbed him himself, Mordred wincing.

The Sarrum just watched with vague amusement, toying with the hilt of his sword.

“This is all very touching, but I don't have all day. The boy or your lives, if he's just a servant it's no real loss, is it?”

“I don't know if we can win this,” Leon murmured in the kings ear, “what do we do, Arthur?”

Arthurs eyes cast about, as if searching for a last minute miracle “Sir Mordred, I know you have gifts can you-?”

“Not without hurting sir Percival too. I'm sorry sire.”

If he takes you, could you escape?

Easily, make Arthur agree. You owe me this.

Mordred steeled himself before sheathing his blade, “Arthur. It's not worth it.”

Gwaine snarled but it was the king who whirled on the druid, “Are you insane? You want to hand him over, after weeks of following him like a dog?”

“No I don't want to, but look around. We can't win this, Arthur. No miracle is coming. Percival has a wife waiting for him in Camelot, you have a queen and kingdom, Elyan a sister, Leon has nephews depending on him. You would sacrifice all of that for one man?”

Arthur looked at his knight like he'd just declared treason, and truthfully speaking against Merlin tended to equate as much, “we don't betray our own.”

“I'm volunteering Arthur.” 

Merlins hand, gentle on his arm, “Sir Mordreds right. I'm just a servant.”

“Gaius and your mother would never forgive me.”

“You're as good as Gaius's son you know,” Merlin smiled slightly, though his hands shook, “he told me that once. And my mother doesn't need me anymore. Stop thinking like my friend, and think like my king.”

“It isn't right”

“Good kings make hard choices,” Merlin glanced at the Sarrum, at the mocking bemusement as he listened to every word, “you know who you are. You know why you have to survive. This is not where you die.”

And in that, there was no choice. 

“Release sir Percival,” Arthur ordered, eyes still on Merlins, “we're standing down.”

“What ? no!” Gwaine cried, but Percival was shoved towards him, forcing him to catch his bound friend, though he wanted to rage with the betrayal.

“I was wrong earlier,” Arthur told Merlin solemnly, “you're not a coward. You've actually always been one of the bravest men I've ever met.”

Merlin bowed, as much a sign of respect as he had left to give, “Run. Don't look back until you reach Camelot.”

Take care of him Mordred. No matter what it takes. 

You have my word. Until your return.

Merlin finally turned, and when he stepped forwards he found that Arthur and Leon moved not to pull him back, but to press one last, comforting hand to his shoulders.

The Sarrum laughed, deep and cruel, hands clapping, “Oh what a show! What a show, your highness. I should have demanded this years ago!Over you come then boy!”

Merlin found, even with his newfound knowledge of supposed immortality, he could still be afraid as he stepped over to the Sarrum, the towering general wrapping arms around him in a mocking embrace, cheek pressed against his hair, so close Merlin could smell exactly how the trip over had treated him, and feel flecks of dried blood against his skin.

As disgusted with the embrace as he was, it never occurred to him to wonder why it was happening, until heat ripped through his gut, wet and searing as a blade tore through flesh and muscle, clean through to his back.

Time moved oddly as his mouth opened, eyes flaring gold and flickering to nothing as the Sarrum pushed him back, off the sword, a look of triumph in his eyes.

Distantly, he could hear the knights screams, held back by a flare of Mordreds own power, tears dripping down his face as he stopped them from interfering.

The soldiers in front of him held no kindness, or even interest in their gazes, watching him stumble into no mans land between the two groups disspassionatly, blood staining the holy ground a vivid red.

He'd been stabbed before, but never a killing blow, never like this. 

It might be true that he'd somehow survive this, might be true that he was immortal somehow.

But Merlin understood clearly in that moment that pain wasn't accounted for in that deal. 

Dying hurt.

Merlin collapsed to the ground, his own heartbeat echoing in his ears with the screams and one voice echoing over all of it:

Please live, please live Emrys, please live, please live Emrys-

Prayer, Merlin thought.

Mordred was praying.

The Sarrum said something, hands waving, but it slid from his ears like water as soldiers marched forwards, yanking his burning body to its feet, half dragging him after them as they turned back into the tunnels.

The last thing he'd remember was being strung over a horse in a flash of agony, and the terrible mingle of a druids prayers and a a grieving kings scream.

End of part 1 

Chapter Text

Camelot had been quiet - eerie even - for a total of seventeen days.

The sun shone down mercilessly over the fields, the novelty of heat long worn off and replaced with the exhaustion of working in punishing conditions, servants scurrying as fast as possible between tasks in a constant flow of movement that none dared disturb.

Even the travelling merchants and minstrels that still frequented the square that had shone so brightly just a few weeks prior seemed unwilling to disturb the unknowable darkness surrounding the city.

There was a marked heaviness over Camelot, and all of it led back to the king.

Since his return from what was only known to be a research trip the King had halved his public appearances, frequently issuing orders from his chambers and refusing to see courtiers.

Those that served him directly whispered that he was morose, barely speaking, burying himself in ancient books and maps, arguing constantly with the captain of the guard. 

No one knew what had happened while he was away, but there was one whose absence could not be mistaken.

Merlin.

Everyone present in the courtyard upon the kings return had seen it, how the court physician and Queen had scanned the group and come up one short, faces pale, and rushed for answers only to be harshly rebuffed, shrugged off, pushed aside.

Only young Sir Mordred lingered, bowing deeply to them and whispering apologies.

Merlins absence was felt throughout all of Camelot.

Without his aid, Gaius was forced to greatly reduce the amount of patients he could help, new servants had to be hired so George could take over as manservant and, of course, Arthurs pervasive black mood was a stain against all days, where the boy might once have tempered his rage.

Any attempts to glean information met dead ends. Whatever they'd set out to do, the king had failed, and Merlin had paid the price.

Would his absence turn the king back to the man he had been in youth? Would grief do to him what it had done to his father? 

The people seemed to be collectively holding their breaths, waiting for the penny to finally drop.

“Arthur-”

“Two weeks! Two weeks Guinevere!”

Arthur Pendragon paced around his chambers, parchment strewn on every surface, clothes thrown from the wardrobe carelessly, candles down to the wick and trays of barely touched meals piled in a corner.

“Yes,” Gwen agreed tightly, “two weeks, in that time there has been no ransom, no movement, not even a glimpse from our spies. No one wants Merlin back more than I do but you have to face the facts-”

“We don't know all the facts,” he looked half mad, Gwen thought sadly, pale, eyes rimmed with bruises from exhaustion, hair hanging limply over a face devoid of the man she knew, “for all we know he could be… could be…”

“You still can't say it. No one will. Sometimes I wonder which would be worse for you, if he was dead, or if he was alive, knowing what that means.”

It was cruel, and she half regretted the words the moment they came out but he needed them said. Someone had to say it. 

Because in truth they were the only options, neither good, neither what anyone wanted, but true all the same.

Gwen stepped slowly over to her husband, hesitating only for a moment before rubbing gently over his shoulders, guiding him to sit next to her on the bed, his weight falling against her shoulder;

“You saw the same thing everyone else did. Mortal men don't survive wounds like that. They just don't, Arthur.”

“Maybe we saw wrong.”

“Arthur,” Gwen gently tugged his chin towards her, pressing their foreheads together, “Merlin would hate to see you like this. I hate to see you like this. We all loved him, and he loved you more than his own life, he wouldn't want you to destroy yours in his name, not after what he gave to save it.”

Arthurs eyes flickered closed, his arms wrapping around her, face slipping to bury in her shoulder, “I miss him.”

“I know. I think we always will.”

Arthur didn't answer after that, he just stayed curled in her arms for a long, long time, until the candles burned to nothing.

The papers were cleared away the next morning, the room set to rights, as if it had never happened at all.

The Rising Sun tavern bustled with activity, one of the few refuges from the smothering heat and a welcome bubble of joy away from the city.
People clung to each other, drunk and laughing, ale ever free-flowing and music ever as charming, light and forgiving.

Leon was a regular, though not in the traditional sense. The barkeep a large, motherly woman named Diane, didn't even look up as he approached, just nodded towards a darkened table in the corner, accepting the gold coins he handed her with a grim smile, another tab paid off among dozens.

The man in the corner stank.

Days between bathing, constant drinking, consequential hangovers and vomiting in the same clothes… they left a scar deeper than the eyes sight.

Leon looked down at Sir Gwaine and sighed, “Had enough yet?”

“Princess send you?”

“Nope.”

“Then no.”

The knight tipped his mug back, or tried to, Leon was quick to reach out, snagging it from his fingers and dumping it on a passing servers tray without missing a beat.

Gwaine squinted through matted locks of hair at him, displeasure written across what was visible of his face.

“I was drinking that.”

“Not anymore. Diane said you'd cleaned out half her stock these past two weeks.”

“Yeah? Good for ‘er, more of the kings coffers in her purse eh?”

“My coffers, Gwaine. Mine. Because it seems like I'm the only person left in Camelot you haven't managed to piss off.”

Gwaine snorted, slumping over the table tiredly, “All the same mate, he pays your wages with his blood money, you pay the tab. Cycle o' life.”

“Used to pay yours with that 'blood money' happily enough when you actually did your job.” Leon frowned irritably at him, “Are you trying to drown yourself in ale? Fine way to repay Merlin, that.”

“Don't you dare.” Gwaine was on his feet in a second, filthy finger jabbing into the knights chest, “you don't get to say that!”

Leon just stared back at him, "As I'm sure the Queen is saying to Arthur right now too, Merlin wouldn't want this for you. He'd be heartbroken at what you've become, and mad as hell that I've let it go on so long.”

“Yeah? Well good thing the dead don't want anything then,” Gwaine lost his fight as quickly as he'd found it, making to push past his former captain, probably to the bar.

But Leon was nothing if not a man of his word.

He was done allowing this.

The captain of the guard stood his ground, blocking him with all the strength his position had afford him, “You're done. You're going to thank Diane, apologise for stinking up her establishment, then you're going to bathe, cut your beard and eat a hot meal. After that I expect you to get a full nights rest for training tomorrow which you will attend.”

“That… is a wonderful idea. For someone else.”

The next time Gwaine tried to shove past Leon shoved back, lips in a tight line, “You can do this the easy way or the wet way.”

“I don't work for you anymore, lordling,” Gwaine spat viciously, “and you can tell the princess that and all! I quit the minute he let that fucker kill the only good thing about this kingdom!”

“So you've made your choice, then?”

"Damn right I have."

On an ordinary day, in ordinary times, Leon would never have been able to take Gwaine in a fight based on strength.

But when the other knight was drunk, hungry, exhausted and full of grief?

Leon might as well be grabbing a kitten by the scruff of its neck.

He did just that, seizing the yelling man by the back of his stinking shirt and hauling him out the back door, held open by Diane with a flourish, out to the stables in the back where Percival was waiting, a great bucket of icy water ready and waiting.

With one shove Gwaine landed in the mud and was promptly doused, shock shaking off the worst of the inebriation and finally snapping him back to his senses as he gaped between them, dripping all over the cobblestones.

“Are you quite finished being an asshole?” Leon asked pleasantly, “Will you listen now?”

Gwaine shook his arms out, hands coming up to shove his hair out of his eyes, “I can't stand the sight of them. That wont change.”

Leon and Percival both knew who he was talking about. 

“No one's asking you to be best friends again,” the giant said simply, “just to come home. You can patrol with me, right Leon?”

“Right. We do have other knights if the King needs anything.”

“And the brat?

“I think Sir Mordred is smart enough to stay out of your way, if your smell doesn't drive him off first.”

Gwaine sniffed, wincing.

They weren't wrong. He let Percival haul him up, not bothering to brush the mud off when it blended with so much pre-existing dirt, “Fine. But you keep him away. Not kidding!”

Leon just sighed.

Wherever Merlin was, at least he didn't have to see his friend like this.

Much like Gwaine, Elyan had abandoned his duties since their return.

The second they'd arrived back in the courtyard the man had folded his red cloak, ditched his armour and moved his belongings back into the hut above the blacksmiths, paying the man who'd taken it over with a small fortune to regain his place there.

Elyan had avoided the castle since.

Instead, he could be seen every day working at the forge, turning his grief into labour.

Not even four days after he resumed work the people began to talk of his skill and offer a booming flow of  custom, one well earned but a far cry from the career he left. 

Leon had tried to lure him back to the castle a few times but found letters burned, maids gently scolded and other knights ignored entirely.

He even tried paying for a custom dagger to be delivered by Elyan directly, but found the weapon brought over instead by George, who had lectured him on wasting peoples time instead of just going over there himself. 

Leon fought the urge to strangle the unsuspecting servant, a sentiment he was sure was universal.

George had taken the posting with grace but Leon was certain he was very aware how many people wished it wasn't him performing the duties he did. The realisation had made the knight feel so guilty he'd sent a fruit basket to the man personally.

Leon had come home that night to a sparkling bedroom and armour so clean he could see his face in it.

He made an effort to be nicer to George after that, and to stop others from misdirecting their anger to him in turn.

Still, Elyan was a problem that rankled.

Comparatively Gwaine was an easy fix, the man in question had no other home, at least that anyone knew of, to return to and as such had issues that could be easily fixed.

Elyan never needed the knighthood. Never needed Arthur, really.

He only had one weakness, the same weakness as Arthur, the same weakness who had been coordinating his efforts to pull the group back together from the start.

Gwen met him outside the blacksmiths with a steely glint in her eyes and a bottle of her brothers favourite wine.

Leon knocked on the solid wood, noting the newly fitted locks.

Tap, tap, tap.

“Fuck off Leon.”

“It's Gwen,” the Queen said sweetly, “let me in.”

The door opened a crack, Elyan glaring out of it, “Tell him to leave.”

“How good to see you too! In we go!”

Elyan never could fight his sister as she pushed her way inside, tugging Leon after her into the shop.

Elyan glared daggers into their backs as he re-locked the door, lest any other former co workers muscle their way inside, “I don't want to hear it.”

“Then its a good thing we aren't here to talk.”

Gwen quickly sourced three tin cups, sitting on one of the wooden benches gracefully, wine in one hand, the other beckoning the two men over, “Come on!”

Leon grinned, sitting besides her and accepting his cup like a good soldier, earning a withering look from Elyan as he glanced between them;

“What exactly are you trying to do here?”

“Isn't it obvious? Come on, its a red from Uthers personal stash!”

Elyan sat with the cautiousness of someone who knew they were walking into a trap but just couldn't figure out how, calloused hands fumbling slightly with the drink.

When Gwen knocked hers back in a single breath it wasn't just Elyan who choked in surprise, both meeting her challenging expression with mouths agape.

“Bottoms up, then?” Leon tried, taking a breath and copying her.

He never had been one for red wine, despite his upbringing, and grimaced at the sour dryness as it washed down.

After three rounds taken in relative silence Gwen folded her arms and stared at Elyan with the imperiousness of Dutch courage and a crown, “Show it to me.”

“Excuse me?”

“You've been working on something secretly since you reopened this place. Whatever it is, it's stopping you from having guests over, which is why I'm drinking in a storefront,” Gwen smiled smugly, “Spill!”

Leon would never know afterwards if it was the alcohol or simply the innate gift of siblings to bring out honesty in each other, maybe both, but just like that, Elyan cracked.

“Gwennie-”

“Big brother.” Gwen parroted back, “Come now.”

Elyan glared at Leon, as if this was somehow his doing, but stood up all the same, muttering about incorrigible women as he unlocked a small room at the back.

Gwen walked swiftly in, Leon following with fresh curiosity. 

Both of them stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the collection hanging on wooden hooks.

It was armour. A lot of armour.

Eight sets to be precise, one for a woman, seven for men.

One at the front stood out, smaller than the rest, more reinforced, the chainmail finer, polished with even greater care than the rest.

“Oh Elyan!”

The blacksmith stood to one side, and wouldn't meet their eyes as he spoke softly, “They aren't finished.”

“They're beautiful!” Gwen moved carefully, running fingers over the fine work with a reverence, “these are-”

“There's one for all of us. Including you, yes. A gift, as I leave the round table.”

“And this one?” The smallest. The most protected.

Elyan swallowed roughly, shaking his head, “I just figured, if he ever comes back… he’s always been one of us and he probably doesn't want a repeat of what happened so…”

Leon blamed the wine for the vicious tears that stung his eyes, “You weren't avoiding us. You were trying to protect us.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” Gwen whirled on her brother, yanking him into a crushing hug, “you idiot!”

“Because they're not finished? And besides-” Elyan extracted himself from her grip, a hint of a smile on his face, “I still don't intend to return. I was actually serious about that, I already penned sir Bedivere for my replacement, and he's accepted.”

“You're not serious?” 

“I missed working here. And… I realised the same thing everyone else did. It's just that no one else is saying it. There's a very real chance that Merlin is alive, and if he is he has magic,”

Elyan looked back at his creations, “Magic is illegal in Camelot, but he’ll come back anyway. I won't take the chance that we’ll be asked to hunt him down. I won't do it. I just won't.”

“Arthur would never-”

“I don't think you actually believe that. Look at Morgana, being Uthers daughter, his sister, didn't save her, what does that say about Merlins chances?”

“That was different and you know it! Morgana hurt people, Elyan,” Gwen snapped “she dug her own grave and we would have given anything to change that-”

“How do you know Merlin hasn't?” at their blank looks Elyan rolled his eyes,

“If he has magic then he's probably Emrys. That whole shtick is about protecting Camelot from threats we don't know about, chances are he didn't annoy anyone to death. No one wants to believe that he's anything other than who we knew but-”

“Yet you made this for him,” Leon pointed out, “you still care enough to do that.”

“Oh I think if any of that's accurate he'd have good reasons to do it. But you have all always been weird with magic, or are you forgetting you almost killed Gwen for it once?”

Gwen flinched at the reminder, rubbing her wrists as if to erase the memory, “I would never turn my back on him!”

“But Arthur might. He'd probably regret it in ten years, twenty, but you can't look me in the eyes and say he wouldn't prefer, deep down, that Merlin is dead instead of magic.”

And there it was. The words they'd all thought, finally out in the open.

Gwen wiped her eyes on her sleeve, turning to leave without another word.

Elyan looked at Leon, daring him to say different. Leon wished he could.

“You're right,” the knight said instead, “she knows that. Sir Bedivere will fill in for you, but he won't replace you. I hope one day you'll consider returning to us.”

Leon turned to leave, but paused at the doorway, “You should know Elyan that…if he ever did come back, I would do everything in my power to get him a fair trial.”

“If it really didn't bother you, you would know he'd never need one. Goodbye, sir Leon.”

The door shut firmly behind him.

Unlike Elyan and Gwaine, Mordred actually remained thoroughly active in his duties as a knight.

He had remained steadfast in his decision to hold them back and refused to be cowed when questioned about it- his choice had been made, and nothing in the world would make him take it back. 

Mordred was as upset as anyone else, more so even, but refused to let it show, throwing himself with more fervour than ever before into his work and taking on as many additional duties as he could convince others to give him like a man possessed.

Most important of his new chosen responsibilities was helping Gaius.

Oh, Gaius.

Mordred had been the one to tell him what happened in the courtyard, and then to explain the full truth in the privacy of the old mans chambers after.

Gaius had collapsed into his chair at the news, stricken.

“What am I to tell his mother?”

“I don't know,” Mordred said honestly, “I truly believe he's alive, with all I am. I don't know why he hasn't returned and I cant… if we go to him, I don't know what will happen.”

“Yes. Yes it is difficult. You… you did the right thing. No one else will tell you that, Mordred. But I will. You made the choice he wanted, we have to believe he knows what he's doing from here.”

Mordred had been grateful, deeply so, but guilt wracked him anyway, “I know he worked for you. Let me help you? I'm no healer but I know plants, and I can at least be an errand boy.”

Gaius had smiled, patted him on the back and handed him a bag of deliveries to make.

He couldn't do as much work as  often as he'd like alongside his knightly duties, but it helped, just a little. It had to be enough.

As for his relationship with the others… Arthur, Gwaine and Elyan had no interest in speaking to or seeing him.

Every request was denied, every approach rebuffed. He found their wrath leaked too to the servants, even if they didn't know why, and suffered suspicious looks and whispers everywhere he went.

Some refused to serve him entirely, others did so only as much as they were forced by their work.

After yet another cold half bowl of porridge Mordred gave up on the kitchens entirely, grateful to his upbringing for teaching him how to cook, and to the summer for bringing street vendors with fresh food. 

He couldn't blame any of them though. If he thought his actions had actually gotten Merlin killed he'd have honestly thought he deserved it, though as it was he may have consigned him to a worse fate.

The question remained: Why had he not come back? 

The possibilities didn't bare thinking about.

Instead he did what he could to help Gaius, to lighten Georges load, to send anonymous supplies to Elyans' forge and add money to Gwaines tab at the bar when Leons' donations came up short.

As for nightfall, he would go to the edge of the gardens, where a grand willow tree overlooked the world, and as he did every night, Mordred would kneel in its embrace and pray to Emrys, hoping that one day those prayers might be answered.

Plink plink plink

The skitter of rats. The perpetual cold.

Plink plink plink

The chafe of the obsidian torque. The weight of the cuffs.

Plink plink plink

The constant ache of hunger. The stench of days without bathing.

Plink plink plink

All this, and Merlin still found the constant drip of water from some way up the wall was the most annoying part of his current circumstances, ever present and grating as it was.

The well that had become his new home was deep, so far from sunlight they didn't even bother to cover the top, leaving it open to create an odd sort of orb of light in the distance while keeping its base cloaked in darkness.

He had feared he would go blind at first, lack of exposure to light for long enough could do that eventually, he knew.

Of course he didn't actually need to worry, if he did, they'd just kill him again and his sight would return with everything else.

Merlin had died a total of seven times since he’d left the temple.

Never before had he longed for true death so much as he had after learning he would never know it. 

He curled up, hugging his knees closer to his chest as he shivered, barely enough space to do much else, barely enough warmth to stave off a slow eighth death by hypotherima. 

They told him Morgana had been down here once, before it was deepened.

He'd seen proof of her incarceration the first time he had been allowed to climb out, deep, painful scratches in the brick work halfway up.

Whatever his thoughts of what she had become, no one deserved this. 

No one.

Even as he thought it the sound of something falling caught his attention, a rope bouncing into view.

He could ignore it, refuse to make the painful, difficult ascent to the top.

They'd just flood him out, though, and make him clear the water when he was revived.

In other words, it simply wasn't worth it.

So he stood, ignoring the scream of his muscles to grasp the rough fibres, feet slipping against the wall.

Really, you'd think they'd allow him to just use his damned magic to get out, given how obsessed they were with him using it in the first place, though likely the suffering was entirely the point - he would go nowhere without the Sarrums hand, would do nothing, be nothing. 

It was getting harder to deny with every day that passed.

Merlin grit his teeth and started to climb.

Gods, the well seemed deeper every time he had to climb it, collapsing on the hard earth a weak reprieve. 

Merlin hated the Sarrums castle so much.

There was no life to be found, not so much as a weed growing through the cracks. It felt like the world was devoid of… anything, a hum of existence he'd never known was there until it was gone.

Gone like his magic, the glowing warmth of it inside his chest a cold, muted echo ever since the collar had fused around his neck.

That ceremony was the first thing he remembered after the temple.

Consciousness came slowly, like honey dripping from furs, trickling back into awareness with a slowness unlike any other he had known.

It was bright, he knew that much, an overwhelming orange glow the first thing to greet him in wakefulness, along with a pleasant warmth and a full body ache.

Gods, the ache.

Like every cell in his body had been torn in two and stitched back together, no part of him felt untouched, his skin raw, brand new, utterly foreign to him.

He'd been stabbed.

He remembered it now, the temple, the legends, the Sarrum and the sword.

Some God he must be, if a simple blade could kill him.

Except… he wasn't dead. 

Merlins eyes flew open, the ceiling swinging above him, his breath came in stuttering gasps, a desperate search for oxygen in a body that, until that moment, had no longer needed it.

Alive. Alive. Alive.

“He shall walk in the shadow of the once and future king, though none will know his face, he will bring life where he walks and freedom where he acts, and with the once and future king unite the seven kingdoms to a single Albion, and bring peace at last.” 

Merlin twisted to find the voice, realising at last that he couldn't move. He was laid on some kind of table, wrists, legs, waist and chest bound to its surface.

It was all he could do to shift his head to the Sarrum, now out of his battle gear and striding towards him in simpler, darker clothes.

“He shall be of magic itself, life itself. A new God, for a new age. Eternally in life, as he saves those from death,” the Sarrum continued in a monotone,

“Emrys. The immortal, all powerful warlock, a soldier for a king of two ages. Its all very romantic.”

“You stabbed me.”

“And yet, here you are. Funny, not usually how that works.”

The king drew level with him, eyes casting over his body  in a way that made his skin crawl, “Do you know it was rather spectacular to watch? You bled out on the journey here, a day ago. Then, within hours, you began to heal. I quite literally watched your skin reform, I felt your heart begin to beat-”

-He pressed a scarred hand over the servants chest, ignoring his horrified flinch,

“Your eyes were like molten gold the whole time. Quite beautiful actually, I never could have imagined such power would be hiding in Arthurs pet peasant.”

Merlin felt sick, desperate to escape the poisoned touch, “I'm no ones pet.”

“Oh don't mistake me, it was a very clever disguise. You've fooled everyone,” the Sarrum laughed cruelly,

“You do know the whole world is looking for Emrys? But your name never came up. Not once, not in that context. I did try to have you brought here before you know, but that was purely over Arthurs attachment to you, a misguided claim you may be another of Uthers bastards or worse a mistress. My soldiers never made it back. I assumed it was Arthurs doing but now I wonder…”

“Arthur doesn't care about me,” Merlin tried, swallowing revulsion, “so if you think ransom will get you anywhere-”

“Oh god no! No that's not in my plans at all. What kind of idiot would I be if I held a newborn god in my hands and just let you go?”

“I'm not a god-”

“And yet you cannot be killed, are the last dragonlord in existence, don't look at me like that boy I knew your father, how Uther didn't see it is beyond me, and are supposedly the most powerful of your kind.”

The Sarrum leaned closer, putrid breath ghosting over Merlins face, “do you know how many druids I tortured trying to find you? All of them died before speaking. All. of. Them. They sure worship you like a god, Merlin.”

Merlin couldn't push down the wave of sheer anger that came over him, which was probably why he then did something very stupid. 

He spat in the mans face.

He had all of one minute to consider why that was a really, really bad idea before there was a flash of pain at his throat and everything went dark.

Five hours later he gasped to wakefulness once again.

This time, it wasn't just the Sarrum in the room.

A second man loomed over him, heavily tattooed, dark eyed, murmuring words he couldn't translate, could barely grasp in re-birth, over and over before finally relenting and backing away, leaving his head spinning.

“He's awake and ready. You must place it yourself while I seal it, your blood must connect you.”

What the hell did that mean?

The Sarrum stalked into his field of vision, something glittering in his hands, even as blood dripped to the floor where he gripped the thing.

Merlin didn't know what was going on, but he was very, very sure, whatever was happening he did not want it to.

Breathe in, he thought desperately, breathe out, find the light. 

The tattooed man was chanting, the words ringing in his ears as the Sarrum lifted a glittering black torque over his head.

A flood of power in his veins, heat searing his eyes, restraints disintegrating into nothing-

The blood slicked torque closed around his throat right as he threw himself off the stone altar, slamming into the cold ground as a terrible pain shot through every inch of his body.

He couldn't stop the vicious scream that tore its way free as the Sarrum walked leisurely over to him, observing the writhing warlock like one observes a butterfly pinned to a board.

The pain was everywhere, all consuming, a terrible inferno charring his bones, every time he reached for his magic, for his very soul, slicing his nerves to ribbons and setting them ablaze.

It could have been hours or seconds before it ended, entire lifetimes seeming to pass in complete agony.

Eventually though, it stopped, leaving him curled on the floor, blood staining the corners of his mouth, chest heaving even as his hands came up to grasp weakly at the- the -

Oh gods

They had collared him. The sarrum had collared him like a fucking dog-

“I've never seen anyone react so strongly,” the Sarrum said softly, kneeling besides him,

“I only collar one sorcerer a generation, nasty creatures that you are. But this… you have no idea how much power you have, do you? To think Arthur Pendragon had you washing his socks, when he could have taken over the entire land by now, maybe even the lands beyond the seas-”

“He wouldn't!” Merlin half sobbed, voice thin, rasping and broken, “Arthur would have never-”

Gods he couldn't feel his magic at all. This was worse than a thousand deaths, than anything he'd ever felt before-

“That's not strength, Merlin, that's weakness. But don't worry, you can finally be what you were made for. Your magic belongs to me now, and we will do great things with it. We will be Gods, you and I"

“I'd rather die!”

“How unfortunate for you then, that is not one of your skills.”

He'd been dragged to his feet after that and tossed into a freezing cell to ‘adjust’. The days that followed were a dark and impenetrable hell, one that even centuries later he would hesitate to speak of.

Merlin shook the memory off, forcing himself to his knees to see what fresh hell was waiting for him today.

For once, it wasn't the King of Amata stood before him.

The tattooed sorcerer who had helped the king to collar him was called Merv, a haughty, self important and utterly irritating man.

Merlin privately thought the only thing preventing the Sarrum from collaring him and sticking him in his own well was the fact that he was too stupid to disobey the man who had raised him out of some misguided loyalty.

Still, he was glad for it.

For the last week Merlin had been working to make the stupid blighter think he had conquered him, that he had somehow achieved what his own King had thus far failed to, in the short time they spent together.

Head down, Merlin reminded himself, following the sorcerer wordlessly to the training grounds and standing meekly in the chalked out square. Play the game. Todays the day. 

"Today," Merv announced with all the gravitas of a frog in a wooden crown, "We perfect the spells I bequeathed to you, that you might manage to show some value to your master this evening. Are you ready, boy?"

Ready to bring the wrath of Camelot down on Amata? Yes! To cast cruel spells... regrettably, defiantly, but yes.

"Begin."

Magic flooded his veins, warming his face and lighting a fireball in his hand. 

Focus. Breathe in. Do what you must. Do what Arthur would.

A trembling criminal stood before him, chains rattling as he lifted his chin.

Could be a murderer, a rapist, a thief. Evil. Deserving. 

Still, the screams that filled the air as his fire burned through the mans chest joined the choir of the dead in his mind that would never fully quiet.

"Next, again!"

Over, and over, and over. Fireballs, concentrated lightening, arrows of compacted air, weapons made from darkness.

All of it a terrible sin, but the price he would pay, to stop this now, before it went any further.

"You've actually impressed me, Emrys," Merv announced when the last charred, smoking body was tossed into a wagon and taken away, "You may prove worth the trouble yet. But we are not done."

Oh, he knew.

This part would be the true test, if he got through this, his chance would come.

Merlin didn't need to be told to kneel on the stone, didn't need to be warned what was about to happen, even as a great, hulking beast of a man came to stand behind him, raising a whip in hand.

"What is your name?"

A slashing scream of leather, a bruising impact

"Emrys." Merlin said levelly, even as his shirt tore, the lightest slash he would bare this night.

"What are you?"

A slash, a searing agony.

"I am a warlock. A servant."

Not yours, though, never yours.

"Who do you serve?"

Slash. Blood heating torn skin, staining the ground.

"I serve the Sarrum, of course."

Arthur, Merlin thought desperately, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur-

"Say it. Pledge it!"

A stronger arc of the whip, muscle parting over bone.

Merlin rocked forwards but did not scream, heart pounding, "I swear myself to service of the King, the only and true, for all my life may last."

"And what will you not do?"

Gods, they were cutting deep enough he might die again.

Merlin swallowed his pain, lips cracking, "I will never harm the true king. I will always act for Amatas best interest."

"Swear it!"

His spine cracked and Merlin finally cried out, collapsing forwards, "I swear it! I swear-"

A hand on his chin, raising his eyes to meet Mervs, to meet satisfaction and pride, "Then perhaps you are ready. Tonight, you will repeat our lessons. You will pledge yourself, and serve a new age."

"Yes, sir!"

Gods, Merlin wanted to slap the smile off his enemies face, instead he let the guards take him to the physician, let them dunk him in water, stitch his wounds, and dress him in Amatan colours. 

It was time.

The Sarrum sat on his throne, decked in jewels bought with the blood of his people, his courtiers and lords lining the hall in anticipation, his wife nowhere to be seen.

Merlin walked with the expected deference, coming to one knee before him.

"Rise, warlock, face me!"

The air in the room was electric with anticipation. Merlin could feel it, how the fat, greasy men and women in the hall devoured him, thinking only of the conquests he could bring, the wealth they stood to gain. 

"My advisors tell me you have finally bent the knee. You are here now to see how true that stands,"

The Sarrum eyed him with sensible reservation, "Prove it."

Merlin bowed, breathing evenly, "I, Emrys, warlock of the druids, prostrate myself before my king, to vow my allegiance in this life and all lives. To vow to never raise a hand against you, to never stray from this path. I am yours, to aim at your enemies."

Buy it, Merlin prayed, buy it buy it buy it

"And are you willing to demonstrate in proof?"

"Yes, my lord."

He knew what would be asked of him now, just as he had that morning.

The druid the Sarrum had found was one he had already spoken to, mind to mind, like to like. 

The boy showed no fear as Merlin's magic was granted back to him. 

"Kill him."

"Yes, my lord."

Merlin raised a hand, looked the Sarrum in the eyes, and cast his spell.

A flash, smoke in the air-

The faintest flap of wings, and no body on the flagstone. 

By the time anyone realised what he had done, it was too late.

"Go fuck yourself," Merlin snarled, even as guards jumped at him, tackling him to the ground "I'll never serve you, never bow, never break-"

"Wretched creature!" Sarrum snarled "you're going to regret that-"

“They'll come, and they're gonna kill you,” Merlin spat, half crazed, between blows “count on that!”

“You really think Arthur Pendragon won't kill you too?”

“He might kill us both, but only one of us will die!”

The last thing he saw before a hand slammed his head into the ground was the Sarrums furious face going a delightful shade of white.

In Camelot, Mordred sprinted through the castle, barging past anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way, almost falling over as he turned a corner and collided with Percival and a recently scrubbed down Gwaine.

“Oh for fucks sake-” the knight started to snarl but Mordred ignored him, shaking his head so hard it might well give him whiplash.

“Come with me! You need to hear this too-”

The druid seized both mens wrists, their surprise dragging them with him to Arthurs chambers where he slammed through the doors, starling the King and Queen badly enough to send ink spilling clean across whatever Arthur had been writing.

“Sir Mordred what the fuck are you doing?”

“He's alive!! He's alive and he needs our help but damn you he's alive-”

“Slow down!” Arthur commanded, already halfway out his seat, “breathe, Mordred. What are you talking about?”

Mordred sucked in a breath, conscious that every eye in the room had now fixed on him, “Merlin sent me a message. He's alive, but he needs help, or were all in trouble!”

The impact of his words was instantaneous as everyone started talking at once, Sir Leon arriving to find the room in nothing short of chaos until a piercing whistle broke the clamour.

“Explain yourself” Gwaine demanded, “how exactly do you know he's alive?”

“You wont like it.”

“Tell us anyway.”

“He sent me a message.”

“And how pray tell,” Arthur asked, “did a dead man send you a message?”

“Because he's alive, and we both know what that means he can do. He helped a druid escape, to talk to me.”

Mordred held himself tall as he spoke, unwilling to cow “He told me Merlin is alive, but he is collared, and they are trying to break him.”

Gwen fell to her knees. It spoke to the atmosphere that no one moved to help her.

“You're sure?” she asked, “you're sure it was him? Where is this druid?”

"Merlin bespelled him to be a bird, that he might escape. I sent him to Iseldir to be restored but-"

"And how do you know someone else didn't bespell the druid and make him say this?"

“I told you, I'd know his magic anywhere. It's hard to explain, but it feels unique-”

“Like life itself,” Arthur finished, “Iseldir told me that's what Emrys magic feels like. And that's who Merlin is.”

“Yes sire.”

“You knew?”

“All druids are born knowing him.”

“And you didn't tell me?”

Mordred winced, “No, he asked me not to.”

“And since when,” Arthur asked dangerously, “was Merlin your king?”

“He isn't. He's my god, Arthur.”

“So you both betrayed me. Am I wrong?”

“It isn't like that!” Mordred snapped, “and frankly I don't care that you feel that way right now. We have bigger problems. Do you have any idea what it means that he's collared?”

Even Gwaine cringed at that, Arthur turning a peculiar colour as anger almost seemed to ooze from him. 

“You get one chance to tell me why it matters enough to keep you out of the dungeons for treason.”

“Arthur-” Gwen tried but he simply raised his hand, stalking towards the knight. 

“One chance. Persuade me.”
“You saw what I saw in that temple,” Mordred said darkly, “you know he's the most powerful being in existence right now. If he's collared, all that power won't work unless the Sarrum commands it,"

The knight paced the length of the room, brow furrowed "If he breaks Merlin to his control then he could use him to wipe Camelot off the map with a whisper, and all of us with it. In any hands except his own, Merlin is a weapon of mass destruction, one that does not die and as such could go on without sleep, food, water, injury forever. You want to fight that?”

“By the gods,” Leon whispered, his horror mirrored across the room, “Arthur we have to get him back-”

“He's a traitor to Camelot!”

“But right now he's a traitor who loves us enough to risk everything to warn us,” Mordred swallowed,

“we can capture him, bring him back as our prisoner until you decide where your heart lies. But we cannot let him stay there. Collaring Emrys is… it's unnatural. It might even affect the natural order, I can't say, it is unthinkable, it is a worst case scenario, I didn't even know a collar could hold him.”

Arthur stepped back, leaning heavily on his desk, “Its Merlin. How can he be…”

“It doesn't matter. What matters right now is what we do next. Please, Arthur.”

Arthur looked between all of them, eyes moving with the weariness only a king ever truly knew,  “My feelings aside this affects all of us. We all knew Merlin. He acted against everyone in this room. We’ll take a vote.”

He extended his hand then, helped Gwen to her feet, gently wiped the tears from her eyes, “I wont judge any of you. But I won't act without a majority. All in favour of bringing Merlin back to face fair trial in Camelot, raise your hand now.”

Somehow, it was no surprise at all to Arthur when every hand in the room raised, including his own.

“Very well. But we need a plan and it needs to be air tight.”

“I don't know about a plan,” Gwen murmured “but I know something else we’ll need, and someone else.”

“Go, then, to Elyan.”

Gwen kissed her husband on the cheek, sweeping  out of the room gracefully.

“Mordred, go to Gaius, find out what he knows about this... collar and how it works. Percival, have every servant not acting on essential tasks go to the armoury and get our gear in the best possible condition.”

He then turned to Gwaine and Leon, “Leon, your my best strategist and I hate to say it, but Gwaine you know very well how to get places you shouldn't. Do you know anything  of the Amatian castle?”

And so it began.

A sorcerer Merlin talked to once said - better to burn free than live caged.

He hadn't agreed with the sentiment at the time, hadn't come close to understanding why one would choose the pyre over life imprisonment.

Life meant a chance, meant hope.

Or it had. Once.

Turns out eternal life didn't mean eternal healing.

He’d lost track of how many methods of murder had been inflicted upon him since his single act of rebellion.

Starving had hurt, burning hurt worse.

Beheading was the weirdest, he'd been told his head had simply rolled back towards his corpse, which was a rather unnerving image.

Drowning was his favourite, so of course they only did it once.

He'd been blindfolded, bound, gagged and left to sink into the well on a ball and chain. The dark had been cool, peaceful, quiet. No smells, no tastes or wounds or mockery, just the dark, the weight of the water.

It barely even hurt, to drown. It was as simple and kind as falling asleep.

He almost could have imagined peace was waiting on the other side, Lancelot, Will, Freya and his father holding out their arms to him.

Still, laying on the cold altar, Merlin understood now.

Being caged meant a lifetime of hurt, of cruelty at the whim of others. 

It had been days since his stunt in the throne room.

Arthur wasn't coming.

A knife dug into his wrist, slipping through muscle and sawing at bone. 

This one might by the one that breaks him, being pulled apart, piece by piece, unable to cry out - they'd taken his tongue first and cauterised the wound so he'd live longer.

Emrys! They're coming for us- please-

We can't take much more, he said you're here, why won't you help us?

Scratch that, he thought bitterly, that was going to do it.

The voices had started some days ago. He suspected Sarrum had captured more druids, somewhere in the dungeons.

They prayed endlessly, shouting into the void between minds. That was fun, realising he could hear prayers now.

Worst of all though, he couldn't go to them, Sarrum made sure of that. Couldn't even reply, magic sealed as it was.

How was anyone supposed to manage something like this? 

Merlins eyes fluttered, severed hand falling to the floor with a wet thump.

Even gods fell sometimes, in the old stories.

Maybe his job had finished when he'd stopped the Sarrum killing Arthur in the temple. Maybe it was always supposed to end this way.

Maybe the lives he sacraficed were just an excuse to escape his own torment.

You're the only one who can save us. Wherever you are, please-

God he wished he could have died trying.

Better to have died on the isle of the blessed ten years ago, to have let the poison take him before that, to have just given Sigan his soul or succumbed to the Serkets or had the journey end at any of the many of the horrible, painful, sacrificial moments .

At least he could have been sure then he was dying for something, suffering for something and that at the end it would have been over .

God, maybe it would have been better to have never been born at all.

“I think you've almost learned your lesson,” a harsh voice in his ear, a hand sweeping tears from his face, “maybe this will be the last time you die for me. So I ask you, Emrys, have you had enough?”

I still believe in you and the king. I always will, all of us always always will. So please, find us. Remind us what living is like.

Bring light to this darkness once again. Emrys, make it stop .

Merlins eyes opened enough to focus on his captor, pushing all the hatred and defiance he could into one last glare, unmistakably pinned on his enemy.

The kings lips twisted in displeasure;

“I see. When Merv is done with you, perhaps we will try entombment. You'll give up eventually, or you'll go mad and lose anyway. I'm a patient man, Emrys and you and I both know, he isn't coming. We have all the time in the world, you and I. You aren't going anywhere.”

He wished he could give up more than anything. Had never wanted to throw in the towel more.

Another slap of flesh against the ground, blood spilling over every edge. 

He was going to die soon.

He'd probably die again.

Merlin closed his eyes, swallowed blood and ash. 

Some god he'd turned out to be

It was taking too long.

Six days had passed since the decision to save Merlin from the Sarrum and it was taking too damn long to come up with a plan. 

Amata was a fortress.

“And there's no way we can sneak in- pretend to be servants or something?”

Leon shook his head, “Word is the Sarrum has initiated checks on everyone coming in and out of the castle, his men know every face, including each others. They know Merlin sent us a message, he won't risk losing him now.”

“That's what I don't understand,” Arthur frowned,

“from the research Mordred and Gaius have done the collar lets him decide when to give Merlin access to magic, but he doesn't actually decide what spells he casts. Merlin is a lot of things, but he isn't the sort of person to help the Sarrum.”

“Unless he feels like he has no choice. Gaius told us Merlin was positive we'd never be able to accept his magic. If he doesn't think anyone's coming…”

“Of course we'd come!” Gwaine tapped at the table irritably, “mad as hell sure, but none of us would leave him behind. He won't give up-”

“But he's not immune to pain. Poisons, spells, torture, we've seen it before. Maybe his body can heal death, but a mans will isn't an injury. They can break him down in other ways, make him think the only life he has left is servitude.”

“None of that helps us right now,” Arthur snapped, “we can deal with Merlins feelings later. Here, what's this?”

Leon peered over his shoulder, “I don't know. Its just marked as a tunnel, it could lead anywhere.”

“How many tunnels do spies mark down for no reason? This could be something!”

“Sure, but we don't know that. My eyes on the inside have gone deaf and blind, it could be nothing, could be a trap-”

“Better than anything we've got so far,” Gwaine traced the line, stopping short part way to the castle,

“The entrance is far enough in the woods that someone could take a look- but we're all too recognisable. Trust me, Amata probably has sketches of all of us on every wall. We need someone else.”

“Not Gwen,” Arthur said immediately, “and neither of you are allowed to put the idea in her head. We need someone who is as motivated to find Merlin as we are, who'd be willing to risk their life for him. But the only friend he had outside the castle that I knew of is dead, died eight years ago, and I wont involve his mother either.”

“You don't need to involve her.”

None of them had heard Mordred enter, but he stood now practically over their shoulders, the smug smile of someone with a solution, “Think about it. We don't need someone who loves Merlin. We need someone who loves Emrys.”

Realisation made people look funny, three o’s forming ahead of him. 

“We can't ask Iseldir to die for him-”

“Iseldirs been trying to die for him for years, Merlin won't let him. He will be thrilled to have the chance to help, and no one knows the surrounding forests like the druids!”

In hindsight, the druids were an obvious choice. They could blend in easily with peasant and vagrant populations, slip through forest areas and in dire situations tended to have a trick or two up their sleeves to get away.

Still… a lot could go wrong, and Arthur wasn't keen on letting anyone else die for a man he might well end up trying to kill himself. 

He didn't deserve it, Arthur thought bitterly, Merlin didn't deserve such gentle and honest people sticking their necks out like this, it wasn't fair to do it when they didn't even know who they were risking everything for.

And there it was.

The magic was one thing - a vicious wound but one Arthur was used to confronting, used to experiencing betrayal through and ultimately something his views about were simple.

But Merlin being a person so different to the man he thought he'd known for ten years?

He didn't even know his real name, his true personality a complete mystery and his values utterly unknown and it stung.

Because at some point Arthur had started to genuinely, completely trust him, more than anyone else, more than Gaius, more than Morgana, maybe even more than Gwen.

Hell he- he loved him, he was Merlin for gods sake, he was so intertwined with Arthurs life he'd barely been able to deal with the last few weeks because his absence had been so completely jarring.

He was supposed to be there, the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes and the last man he saw at night.

No one else, not even his wife, could claim that.

He wondered if any of it had meant anything to Merlin at all.

“-thur- ARTHUR”

The king blinked, a hand waving in front of his face and Leon looking at him worriedly. 

“What?”

“We asked if we should contact Iseldir, sire.” 

“Right,” Arthur shook himself, “yes, fine. If he's willing to scout the tunnel and see where it leads tell him we will compensate him handsomely. While he searches I suppose it's time that we come up with a plan for finding Merlin inside.”

It takes three days for Iseldir to report back (and promptly refuse all compensation beyond the safe retrieval of his messiah) and learn the tunnel lead directly into the servants quarters.

The druid believed that they were tunnels used for emergency evacuations of the king and his staff and as such were well maintained and unable to be sealed off like most other secret entrances to the castle.

There were guards at the inside entrance, but only two, and they swapped out every six hours.

It was better information than they could have hoped for. It was actual, genuine, hope.

Within hours Arthur, Gwaine, Leon, Percival and Mordred were saddling up, no visible crests in sight, just five men, five friends, with one goal.

And Elyan came to meet them, no supplies in sight, just crossed arms and an unwavering glare.

“Are you sure you wont join us?” Arthur asked, “I know you might be.. conflicted-”

“I'm not conflicted. I know what I believe. Can you say the same?”

“This is about Merlin.”

“Isn't everything?”

Arthur faltered at that, the former knight coming forward to look him in the eyes, no bowing and scraping left in him.

“Look me in the eyes right now and tell me without a doubt, without any hesitance, that when you find Merlin you'll rescue him and set him free, regardless of who he is, knowing that he spent the last decade proving his loyalty to you. Swear it.”

Arthur met his determination head on, “You know why I can't.”

“Then you know why I'm not coming. My father died for Uthers crusade against magic, I wont watch anyone else I love die for it,” Elyan squared his shoulders, “and we both know this is Uthers crusade.”

“I'm still your king, watch your words-”

“Yes, my lord. But don't pretend this is isn't about anything other than your hurt feelings, you aren't Uther, you never have been, and if you act like him it'll break that mans heart.”

Arthur swung up into his saddle, skin burning. “You know Elyan, Gwaine is coming, even knowing my beliefs. Maybe you're not as unaffected as you claim.”

Elyan rolled his eyes, half turned to walk away, “Believe what you want. I know where I stand, can you say the same?”

The conversation rattled the king, even as he checked over the others.

He wasn't a fool, he knew Gwaine probably planned to take Merlin and run, Percival and Mordred possibly prepared to go with him. He didn't know what he'd do if they did.

Hell, he didn't know what he was going to do when they got there either.

It would be so simple to take Elyans view, that Merlin had proved his loyalty over the last ten years and that was enough.

He had, of course he had, but it wasn't that easy.

All his thoughts always came back to the betrayal. Until this was over he'd never be able to look past that.

Arthur kicked his horse into action, the townspeople parting as the group charged through, gates raising at one signal from the king.

All he could do for now was focus on finding him and stopping a war.

They could deal with the rest of it in Camelot.

About five miles from the tunnel entrance the group dismounted, leaving the horses in the hand of a druid sent by Iseldir to confirm their descent and ascent, lest anything go wrong and Camelot needed alerting. 

“You have twenty four hours before I call for aid,” the young man confirmed seriously, “you carry the hopes of every free man with you, king Arthur”

Arthur swallowed, shaking the mans hand “We’ll do our best.”

“Light be with you. I'll be waiting.”

Arthur looked to Leon, his own expression reflected back at him, “Then we best get going.”

The walk to the entrance was held in silence, a tortuously slow trek through the underbrush, pausing at the slightest whisper, breaths held tight, only a handful of blades between them and minimal chainmail in place of armour.

If everything went to plan they'd be fine, they'd get in, grab Merlin and get out, back to the druids to deal with the collar.

It was a pretty big if, though.

Finally though Mordred all but tripped over the metal grating in the ground, bending to yank it clear abashedly.

“We all know the plan. Iseldir believes if we turn left through the servants quarters it should be easy to get to the dungeons,” Arthur whispered,

“If one of us is captured the rest continue, the priority is taking a weapon away from Amata, for the sake of Camelot. I understand if anyone wants to back out, but speak now.”

“Not on your life.” Gwaine muttered, Mordred nodding furiously besides him.

“Lancelot would kill me if I walked  away.” Percival offered genially. 

“And I would follow you to the end of the line,” Leon adjusted his sword, smiling slightly, “we're with you, Arthur. And we're with Merlin.”

“I am proud then, to be your king. We all leave, together, that's an order. Come on.”

Arthur closed his eyes and slid down into the dark.

Moments later four more sets of boots landed behind him, backs straight and faces set. Arthur truly had never been more proud, or more afraid.

It felt like an age before a soft glow indicated the end of the tunnel ahead. The king pressed a finger to his lips, creeping forwards to press an ear to the trap door, focusing carefully.

There was the soft clink of movement, there for a moment and moving on. 

With steady hands he eased it up a fraction, glancing around from his limited view point.

It looked like a communal room, mismatched table and chairs, empty baskets for laundry and dented metal plates stacked for the morning. One guard stood with his back to them in the doorway.

It's the work of moments to slip out of the tunnel, muffle the guard with one hand and slit his throat with the other, dragging him into the tunnel, the others slipping out once he was left to cool in the dark.

Left, Arthur thought, left and down.

They moved slowly by necessity, spaced out to look like servants if any sweeping patrols glanced over them.

If anyone stopped to interrogate them it'd be a lost cause and a painful fight, but there was no choice to be made.

Arthur pushed down every thought beyond putting one foot in front of the other, eyes scanning for the dungeon door and nothing else.

It was painful going, but when his hand closed around the iron door handle it felt like a small victory.

The cells of the Sarrums castle were just as bad as he had feared.

The cold hit him first, sinking into his bones like metal bands, a shiver fighting to clack his teeth.

Then it was the smell- gods the smell. Evidently prisoners weren't afford lavatory privileges, and the stench of piss, blood and vomit lingered in the air like poison.

Mordred looked ready to puke behind him, and Arthur couldn't blame him as they crept down to the rows of cells.

Pale faces stared back at him, clothes torn and hair matted. Some stood, druid symbols burned into their skin, eyes flitting between Mordred and Arthur but never speaking.

One bowed their head, another raised a hand in a gesture of respect, but none of them so much as whispered a prayer, no requests to be freed, to be saved. 

Maybe they were too far gone. Or maybe they knew from Mordred's mind what they'd come to do.

Still, cell after cell proved fruitless until they reached the end, where the heaviest door waited for them, thick, locked in many, many places. 

Arthur didn't even have to ask before Mordred moved, whispering under his breath to tear the metal apart as slow and quietly as he could while they stood watch.

With each bolt that dropped to the floor Arthurs unease grew and he stepped over to Leon,

“This is too easy,” he whispered, “something should have happened by now.”

“I agree,” Leon mouthed back, “be careful.”

The final lock slid free, sweat beading the druids brow as he stepped back, the door creaking open.

Inside, a cavernous room waited for them. Circular, not unlike the temple, high ceilings supported by black pillars, chains strung from countless hooks in the ceiling, the walls, the floor, all leading back to their anchor in the middle.

Mordred turned and vomited after one look, unable to enter the cell, hanging back with pale face, unable to speak.

Arthur forced himself to approach, to take in every detail.

Merlin was on his knees, arms pulled painfully outward to either side, hands hanging limply.

He no longer wore the clothes they'd watched him die in, the fabric replaced with a black tunic that swamped him, hanging off a too thin frame, his head hanging down to hide his face. 

He didn't look injured, but that didn't mean much. Not with his gifts.

Arthur drew level with him, realising then what weighed his neck down.

The collar. Thick obsidian, no visible latch,  tight to his throat. 

Gods. No one deserved that. 

No one.

“Merlin?” he asked, voice hoarse, “can you hear me?”

The servant barely stirred, head lifting just slightly, eyes still closed as he instinctually chased Arthurs voice.

“Leon,” Arthur ordered, “find a way to get these chains down. Now.”

Leon and Percival moved without further prompting, hands skimming the walls, Gwaine left to come closer, shaking slightly in horror as he gently cradled his friends head in his hands. 

“Mate you gotta work with us here, open your eyes?”

A beat. A flicker. Merlins eyes slid half open, hollow and empty, aimlessly drifting to their shoes.

It was wrong. It was… 

Everything about it was wrong.

A clank signalled the chains release, Merlins arms finally able to sink to his sides as he toppled forwards into Gwaines arms. 

“He's not responsive. We'll have to carry him,” Gwaine murmured, already scooping the servant up, “Arthur-”

“Lets go,” Arthur moved quickly, glancing over Mordred,“are you okay?”

“The pillars are obsidian,” the druid choked out, “makes us sick-” 

“Yes it was designed for your kind.”

Click boom, Arthur thought internally.

The Sarrum stood at the end of the corridor, smug victory written across his face, a small army behind him, “You have something of mine.”

“Get fucked-” Gwaine spat, before Leon quickly kicked him, face grave.

But, well, Arthur agreed, “Get fucked,” he echoed, “he's coming with us.”

“Anyone else getting a bizarre sense of dejavu? How exactly do you plan to get past me? The druid, your only real ace, can barely stand, and the rest of you… well you're just not that good.”

“Try me,” Arthur drew his sword, “declare war on Camelot, I dare you.”

But the Sarrum just smiled, shrugging, “Okay. declare war. You're already here, at my mercy. If I kill you now I can simply, ride into your citadel and take it. I already took your greatest weapon, what do you really have left?”

“My people would never bow to you. And I certainly won't die at your hands-”

“No. You'll die at his."

The Sarrum raised a leather gloved hand and clicked. Just one click. One tiny gesture.

Gwaine shouted as Merlin vanished from his arms, re-appearing on one knee, black smoke wisping off his arms as he landed, head bowed but eyes undeniably, completely gold.

“You sick bastard,” Mordred took a weak step forwards, “you perverted-”

“Yes yes I'm sure this is very sad for you,” the Sarrum laughed, “up you get Emrys, show them.”

Merlin straightened, giving Arthur the final, undeniable proof of what he was.

There was no pupil left in his eyes, just solid, dull gold. He didn't even seem aware of where he was, let alone what he was doing.

Percival had to wrap an arm around Gwaine to stop him flying at the enemy, shaking with rage.

“Are you really going to let him control you, Merlin?” Arthur called out,  “right about now I expected some babbled explanations, maybe some grovelling. You never shut up, so go on, let's hear it.”

Merlin just.. Stood there. Lifeless. 

The Sarrum raised a hand, and Merlin raised his.

He never made a sound. Not so much as a whisper.

But the knights were flung backwards, pinned to the wall with pained grunts, heads tilted up to avoid some unseen, choking force.

“Merlin,” Arthur called again, even as his palms grew slick and his heart thudded in his chest,

“I know… i know you probably think the worst of me. I don't blame you for being angry but this isn't their fault. They don't care that you have magic. Only I do. So if your going to kill someone-”

with a deep breath, Arthur dropped Excalibur to the ground, stepping forwards, arms wide, “kill me. I'm right here.”

Merlins hand swung to point at him, encased in fire, staring sightlessly ahead.

“Cute, Pendragon. Very noble of you.” Sarrum snorted, “but it makes no difference to me what order you die in.”

“You heard him,” Arthur goaded, ignoring Leons frantic gurgling behind him,

“but know, this. There are hundreds of people out in the world, and in this dungeon, that seem to think you're a hero. Now, I think you're an idiot personally, and I'm really, really mad at you. But if there was ever a time I wouldn't mind being proved wrong… this is it,”

Arthur took another step forwards, “this is your big chance. Prove to me that magic isn't evil, that it's a choice the wielder makes.”

Another step forwards. The druids moved closer to the bars, bruised faces rapt with attention.

“Prove to me that you are not like the man holding your leash, or Morgana, or Morgouse or Nimueh or any of them.”

It was a miracle the Sarrum was letting him talk this long, but who knew how long his entertainment would last?

He had to make this count, preferably before the knights passed out. 

“Prove to me that you're still the idiot who picked a fight with a prince on his first day in Camelot and drank poison for a man he surely hated,”

Arthur was almost to him now, close enough to feel the heat from the fire searing Merlins palm,

“Merlin, I need you to show me you're still in there. Because the man I knew wouldn't hurt me. Merlin would never.”

It was all he had. A reckless, stupid and utterly insane plan. 

He didn't even know if he believed a word he said.

But he did believe one thing.

Merlin wouldn't hurt him. If he did, then the creature in the collar wasn't Merlin anymore.

It was as simple as that.

“Cute speech,” Sarrum turned to Merlin, hand falling to his side, “but I'm bored now. Kill him.”

Merlin's hand lowered to hover over Arthurs chest, just barely holding back from lighting his clothes on fire.

“I'm sorry,” Arthur murmured, only to him, only for him, “for everything. I was so horribly unfair to you, when really I've always known exactly who you are.”

Tears slipped from the warlocks eyes, sparking like liquid gold in the firelight. Arthur moved, pressed his chest to Merlin's hand.

“I forgive you Merlin. Whatever you choose. You're my friend. I truly believe that.”

There was no pain, no burning flesh. Just warmth, gentleness, heating his heart beneath his shirt. Merlin's face twitched, tilting, eyes glowing brighter and fading. 

His hand pressed harder, but the fire just flickered harmlessly over the kings skin.

“You're my friend,” Arthur repeated, “and I could never hate you. Please.”

“Kill him damn you-”

Merlin's eyes flared with power and Arthur braced for the end, every muscle tightening, Gwen shining in his memory-

A great creak, the swinging of hinges.

Arthur blinked.

Every single cell stood open, every manacle fallen from flesh and rising, flying through the air and pinning the Sarrums guards, who cursed as they choked against the walls, metal slicing through flesh, the Camelot knights released and unharmed.

The hand on Arthurs chest dropped away, turning to the Sarrum, Excalibur flying into a fist still cloaked in fire.

“Emrys-”

“My name is Merlin,” the servant snarled, eyes now a pure, untainted light, “and if you really thought I'd ever kill Arthur Pendragon you never understood what you wielded at all.”

It takes one blow to sever the kings head from his body, one sweep of his arm to burn it to cinders with the bodies of his soldiers.

The Sarrum died on the cold, stained earth, just as lifeless and afraid as all the others.

Merlin stood for a moment, chest heaving, then his knees collapsed from under him, Excalibur clattering to the ground for the second time that night.

Arthur had no idea what to do with any of it, even as his knights came and stood beside him, staring.

Merlin hadn't even muttered a spell, and had singlehandedly killed a small army in a matter of seconds.

All because Arthur had said please.

The king wanted to drop to the ground with him, maybe never move again as guilt and grief slammed down his throat.

But movement caught his eye before he could break, the freed druids.

They stepped through the dungeon in a group, all moving towards Merlin like moths to a flame.

The first to reach him was a little girl, barely six summers old, a terrible wound across her face.

She reached out, laid a tiny, scarred hand on the collar and began to murmur in the old tongue.

One by one, the other druids followed, hands touching the stone and when space ran out, simply reaching to touch his back, then to link with each other, the murmur growing to a chant as each of them poured what little power they led forward.

It really was no surprise when Mordred stumbled forwards to join them, arms linking to close the chain, eyes closing and head bowed as if in prayer.

Merlin choked as the collar shattered, the pieces floating and disintegrating as if they'd never existed at all.

The druids didn't let go as it was destroyed, if anything pressing closer, holding him, sinking to their knees.

This was reverence, religion, recognition.

Merlin sobbed as they prayed around him, holding him, holding each other.

Holding hope.

Finally though, Merlin stumbled to his feet, turning at last to face them.

What was said would be lost to time, some things too sacred, too private to be spoken aloud.

But it was clear every druid heard him loud and clear, and when he moved through the crowd there was not a dry eye among them.

Somehow, he still found ways to surprise the king though.

Arthur never would have imagined that Merlin would still play the role he'd suffered in all the years they'd been together, but Merlin came to stand before him, and bowed more deeply than any time in his life, the statement clear.

The druids were loyal to Emrys.

Merlin was loyal to Arthur.

Always had been. Always would be.

Arthur did the only thing that made sense.

He reached out, yanked the other man to his feet and crushed him to his chest, arms pulling him as close as he could, his face pressed into dark hair, both of them biting down sobs. 

“That's more like it!” Gwaine laughed, throwing himself forwards and wrapping arms around both of them, Percival, Leon and Mordred soon joining. 

The druids stood protectively around them, but the group felt utterly unafraid as they embraced, and Arthur, for just a moment, was completely content.

Leaving Amata was both incredibly easy and incredibly complicated.

Arthur had gone immediately to locate Merlins primary tormentor, the man he called Merv, but had found only empty chambers and an open trapdoor.

Arthur felt then he had a duty to seek out the Queen and inform her in no uncertain terms that her warlord husband was dead, and that any move to take revenge would be met with utmost hostility.

She'd taken it with more grace than expected, and merely blessed their leaving, glancing over Merlin with a faintly disgusted expression, calling for a cloak to cover the scar the collar had left at this throat.

“It shames me, that I allowed his cruelty for so long,” the Queen said, fixing it at Merlin's throat personally,

“he was a brute to me, too. Perhaps this is not so terrible an ending. Go in peace. I'll make no move against Camelot or the druids.”

It was all they could ask for.

They stumbled from the castle towards the clearing where the druids waited, shouts soon going up as the prisoners were reunited with their friends and loved ones. 

Arthur was tempted to stick around for Merlin's sake, they were his people, but he seemed as eager to go home as anyone, perhaps more so.

There would be so much to talk about. So many issues to address.

Arthur was still angry, was still owed many explanations, so many that it made him want to tackle the idiot clean off his horse.

But… it could wait.

Until they'd all bathed, had hot meals, embraced their loved ones, proved to Elyan that they finally understood.

Gwaine hadn't believed Arthur when he'd announced that plan, confirming he'd intended to bolt with Merlin at the first opportunity.

“I'm not saying all is forgiven,” Arthur said sternly, “but I'm saying I'm ready to listen. It's not like I can burn you anyway.”

“True,” Merlin almost cracked a smile, “trust me, Sarrum tried. Kinda sucked though.”

“Waste of good fire wood then. Merlin… we have a lot of work to do. I'm willing to do it. But you only get one chance, banishment is still on the table.”

“I understand, truly. Thank you.”

“Good. Now for the love of god stop being so morose. You could have called me a dollophead at least ten times by now-”

“I was thinking prat actually-”

Arthur swiped at him, finally  pulling a laugh out of his chest as they mounted their horses, and a sigh of relief from the others.

None of them knew what lay ahead, each knight had their own histories with magic to address too, and Arthur was sure Merlin would want to address Mordred's hero worship before it ticked him off too much but…

Well you just didn't get better proof of concept than the display Merlin had pulled off.

If not even a curse could force magic to be evil unwillingly, perhaps there was hope for them yet.

Arthur spurred his steed towards Camelot, and towards the future.

Chapter Text

Summer had come to Camelot once again, and the sun shone down on the city with a fierce vibrancy.

In the midst, weaving through stalls, servants, farmers and nobles, a lone figure half ran towards the castle, arms full of books, hair longer than it once was, tied back neatly, his clothes subtly finer, a neckerchief not quite able to hide the ridged scarring about his throat, but no less dignified for it.

“Late again, Merlin?"

The man in question cackled, glancing over at the blacksmiths, where the former Sir Elyan worked the forge, a young apprentice poking warily at the coals as his master waved,

“As ever!” 

“You know they won't wait forever, even for you -”

“See you at the ceremony!” Merlin laughed, ignoring how his friend rolled his eyes as he turned back to grab his apprentice before the young man could stick his hand directly into the blazing fire, even with the shimmer of protection around it, reflected in the kids eyes.

The world was truly lighter these days, in the months past the events at the Sarrums castle.

Merlin sped past the laundresses, hovering fabrics dropping to the ground as mistress Fraser scolded young Lacie-

“I know you can charm the laundry but what will that teach you-”

“It's faster , miss! And he used to do it-”

Merlin picked up his pace before he could be spotted at the end of the girls accusatory finger, laughter catching in his throat, stolen by the wind.

Finally, the steps were in sight and he darted inside, half flying up to the physicians chambers, books spilling from his arms onto the table in front of his most unimpressed former mentor.

“You’re going to be late Merlin for gods sake!"

“I’ve been told. Would you sort these out?”

Gaius raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing, “How much of Arthur's money did you spend-”

“See you later, Gaius!”

His unimpressed huff followed Merlin as he hurried out, down the corridor, dancing around guards and servants, the corridors wide, airy and cleaner than he'd ever seen them, sunlight reaching every corner of a place once so stepped in grief and hatred it seemed to reverberate through the walls.

 Man, teaching George a spell to remove dust was seriously paying off, Merlin made a mental note to give him one for brass polishing too as he arrived at the oak doors of the king's chambers, flinging them open carelessly and getting a goblet launched at his head for his efforts.

“That,” Merlin snapped without real ire,“was rude. That could have hit me! And to think, I came to help-”

King Arthur crossed his arms, “That was the idea, hence me throwing it. And as you can see, I don't need help-”

“Learned how to get dressed by yourself finally?”

Arthur's eye twitched, “George helped me.”

“Ah, that explains it.”

Merlin waved his fingers, the goblet sinking back onto its place on the table as he crossed over to Arthur, hands reaching automatically to smooth the lapels of his jacket, “I swear you mess this up on purpose.”

“Maybe I just like being reminded of old times.”

“Why, Arthur, do you miss me?”

Arthur glared down at him, eyes glittering, "I miss bossing you around, obviously.”

“You still boss me around-”

“But now you never listen, you used to at least pretend to.”

That, he couldn't deny.

Merlin grinned, stepping back, “How far we've come my lord!”

“How far indeed.”

Arthur closed the distance between them unexpectedly, crushing Merlin to his chest in a fierce embrace, "I'm proud of you, Merlin. You've earned what comes next more than anyone I've ever done this for.”

“I love you too, you prat.”

Arthur shoved him back, “and you've ruined it-”

“Awww can the big scary king not admit that he cares about someone-”

“I’ll show you big and scary-”

Someone cleared their throat, the two freezing, hands raised, to turn to sir Mordred in the doorway, who looked suspiciously like he’d been standing there for far too long.

“Apologies, sire, my lord,” Mordred stammered, face red, "I was sent to get you but it seemed rude to interrupt and well…”

“We should burn him,” Merlin said, turning back to Arthur, “Nice burning is great for the festivities!”

“We banned that last year though. Public stoning?”

“Banned by Gwen three months ago. Banishment?”

Arthur clicked his fingers, “No more Emrys!”

Mordred's mouth fell open, “Excuse me?!”

“You heard the man, no Emrys!” Merlin said with outward glee, "You're banned, begone!”

“B-but then how can I take you to the Great Hall?”

“I’m sure lord Emrys will be fine with me guiding him,” Arthur said dryly, “off you go, we’re coming.”

Mordred bowed, mutiny in  his eyes as he turned on his heel and left, the pair stifling laughter in his wake. 

“Seriously though,” Arthur asked, “are you ready for this?”

Merlin smoothed down his tunic and, after a moment's hesitation, undid the neckerchief, tying it about his wrist instead, “I'm ready.”

And maybe that was something like pride in the kings face as he strode towards the doors, holding them open for Merlin to step through after so many years, side by side towards their destiny.

Finally, the moment had come. 

Merlin thought back, as he stared up at the doors to the Great Hall, to the first time he had come to Camelot. 

He had come into this hall then, the first time he saved Arthur. It had been darker, colder, and he had been so unsure.

He could picture his past self standing beside him, so small and angry at a world that denied him his birthright-

He really knew nothing back then, in hindsight, every view he'd ever held had been changed in ways he'd never have been able to fully comprehend.

But maybe that young boy wasn't completely gone, he thought as he touched his wrist, maybe everyone was just the amalgamation of the people they once were, a thousand ghosts that wanted to be more, to get it right next time.

Maybe he'd look back in ten years, in fifty, a hundred, and think the same thing about the him who was about to cross the threshold once again.

Maybe that was okay.

The boy he was would never be able to do what he had, he certainly wouldn't wear his scars proudly, knowing now what they truly were.

Proof that power was dangerous, had to be respected, understood, yes, but more importantly it was proof that Merlin Emrys loved Camelot, had died for Camelot.

That magic had a heart. 

Merlin took a deep breath, straightened his back, and pushed open the doors as those inside rose to their feet.

Rows upon rows of people filled the hall, servants he’d once worked with, nobles who loved him, nobles who still missed the old ways and sniffed as he walked.

The knights sat towards the front with Gaius, not a dry eye among them, Gwaine with some stolen kerchief in his hands as he waved, Hunith with her arm wrapped around Percivals for support as she beamed, Mordred and Elyan shoulder to shoulder and grinning like fools.

Leon bowed his head, though he was sat, sporting a spectacular injury from a griffin that got too friendly upon the species reintroduction to Camelot with greater dignity than most.

There were even druids in attendance, a small sea of them mingling with the people of Camelot, pride and joy shining like beacons in their minds as they pushed a single thought towards him;

Love

The love of a people freed, who saw their saint walking among them with the face of a friend. Pure, reverent, unexplainable.

And yet, all of it was nothing compared to the two waiting at the end.

Gwen and Arthur stood on the dais, shining in the splendor of gold regalia, arms out and waiting to grip a hand each and pull him to stand before them.

A hush fell over the crowd as Arthur stepped forwards, not a sound to be heard beyond his voice;

“Today marks one year since the legalization of magic in Camelot,” the king began, “healing has been slow, but remarkable, as the wounds of my fathers legacy have finally come to close, and a new era has come before us. I am proud to see before me people of all walks of life, of every talent, and every faith. I wish I could say I managed to pull all of this off on my own, but I’d be a poor king if I didn't acknowledge what it truly took to get here,”

Arthur reached out, gently pulling Merlin to stand by his side,

“You have all come to know this man, as I have, in a different light since the end of the purge. But it is a truth rarely admitted that the groundwork for unity was laid by him years before we ever even considered it."

"Without him, we would never have made it to this day, to the kingdom we are growing, to the lives we now live. I certainly would be dead many times over, a life debt I may never be able to repay. But I can start with this;”

Merlin sank to his knees before his king as Excalibur was drawn, throat tight as he felt its blade rest on his shoulders not to condemn- but to sanctify once and for all.

“Today, I unite the lives you have lived and sacrificed for Camelot, and recognise you, and all your innumerable faces borne for the crown. I name you Merlin Emrys Ambrosious, Lord of Magic, Court Sorcerer, Lord Ambassador of the druids and living Saint, to all who breathe this day because of you. Rise, Lord Merlin, and be anointed.”

Merlin stood to the deafening roar of the crowd, stepping into the arms of Gwen as she kissed his cheek, turning to face Camelot with his true face, his every face, and find destiny come at last.

Late that night, after a lengthy feast and music that would carry long into the day, Merlin found himself curled in the window of his old bedroom, watching the stars in the dark as Arthur stepped in.

“Wondered where you disappeared to,” the king said softly, "you've had a long day.”

“It’s been wonderful.”

“But something's bothering you?” 

Arthur sank down opposite him, nudging him with a foot, “Talk to me. What's wrong?”

“Today, I got everything I've ever wanted, more than, even,” Merlin said slowly, “and all I can think is… it's too good to be true. Part of me thinks I'm going to wake up in the dungeon, and all of this will have just been a beautiful dream in death.”

“The Sarrum is dead, Merlin. I saw him die, we all did.”

“I know. But all the same, if magic can bring me back from death about a hundred times, creating all this isn't so farfetched.”

Arthur hummed at that, following his gaze to the stars, “Well, how about this, say you’re right, you wake up there again. You know what happens next already. We come, I come, and we end it, all over again. Merlin there won’t be a single lifetime where I don't come back for you, angry yes, but always coming. Always.”

“You can't know that-"

“I do. Because even when I wanted to hate you I couldn't, and I really, really tried. It can’t be done.”

Merlins lips half lifted, brow still creased “And when our enemies come for us? They're going to be bolder now that I've been declared, we don't have any more tricks up our sleeves. Morganas already sent a vow of annihilation-”

“Whatever happens, we will do what we always have, run headfirst into it, then let you save the day-”

Merlin kicked him, and the king laughed, not even bothering to swipe back,

“But seriously. Merlin in one year together we've undone the damage of our forefathers, mended rifts centuries old and recognised Amata as a kingdom of Camelot. No one has ever done  any of that before, we've never been better prepared to face what lies ahead than we are now, between our living immortal saint, prophecies, magical swords-”

“And if it doesn't matter? If the Camlaan prophecy still comes true and we fail anyway?”

“Then we die knowing we tried our best, which is all any man can do, and let our story become the legend that guides those after us.”

Merlin frowned at him, “You can be surprisingly wise you know, for a dollophead”

“Merlin-”

“Given I’m immortal I'll probably be the one telling those legends you know. I'm gonna tell everyone that King Arthur was a short, brutish, severely mentally deficient sidekick-”

“You know the stocks are still perfectly legal right? Even for gods?”

They both laughed at that, the sound carrying into the night

“I guess there's no point worrying about any of it until it comes,” Merlin said finally, “thank you, Arthur, for everything.”

Arthur stood, dragging him to his feet ,“You won't be thanking me for long, I left Gwaine with a barrel of ale and your mother-”

“Maybe Camelot doesn't need a king after all-”

Though neither quite knew it at the time, their unity would begin the age of Legends, an era of  Brittania renowned for unity, peace, magic and glory.

Arthur Pendragon, the once and future king, would pass years later as an old man in a battle against the newly invading anglo-saxons, and would be mourned as the last great king of an ancient land.

Merlin Emrys would leave Camelot, vowing to use magic only to heal from that day, and heal he would, through every war, every landscape, a figure never photographed, never caught nor seen, but a whisper of gold and the kindness of a stranger, even as magic was forgotten, it's goodness would not be.

Centuries beyond that, in a time past today, in a world wiped clean of technology, and modernity, when man was starting over, looking for a new age and a new hope to guide them, Arthur would rise again, and Merlin of Ealdor would be waiting to meet him.

All would be well. And all was.