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Chapter Text

"Merlin!" Is the first thing Gwen awoke to when waking up in Arthur's bed. The sun was shining quite brightly, and birds were singing songs. The air wasn't exceptionally cool but it wasn't quite warm neither. She wished to stay in a bit longer but heard a bird hit the window. Gwen practically jumped out of her skin. She blinked the sleep out of her eyes and swept herself out of bed to make a stride for the window. There a raven laid. It's wings looked damaged as if they were cut, and it's beak unusually scarred. She lifted up the window and carefully lifted the bird up into her hands. The raven couldn't fly nor move very well to protest. Gwen carefully put the raven on a small blanket near the hearth. It's wings fluttered as if soaking in the heat, graciously.

"MERLIN!" Arthur's voice rang out from the hall as he stomped in with his hands on his hips. His eyes scanned his chambers until he saw Gwen. "Guinevere. Did I wake you?" Arthur looked apologetic and came to kneel beside Gwen. He was still bandaged from the battle. No serious wounds, fortunately.

"Not at all. However this little fellow sure did." Of course Arthur did wake her, but she didn't particularly mind it. Her finger gently soothed the Raven, it made small pained noises as it moved its feathers. Arthur could immediately see what was wrong with it's wings. The jagged edges suggested a dagger cut through them. "Where did you find it?" He spoke softly with scrunched up eyebrows, and Gwen glanced over at the windowsill. "It flew all the way up here and hit the window." She looked saddened as the beautiful raven made no more noise. "We shall lay it to rest then." Arthur had become more appreciative of the lives of animals because of not only Gwen, but Merlin as well. After the day of almost loosing Camelot to a unicorn curse, he decided to take their lives more seriously. Merlins sensitivity to the creatures was a pain in his arse, but to see Gwen also hold a special place for them, he knew he needed a change of heart. No matter how small.

When he and Gwen had buried the bird sometime later and marked the small grave with stones, he had forgotten why he was shouting before he had entered his chambers.

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"Merlin." Something cold had touched his face. His eyes slowly opened. He saw nothing in front of him but felt his arms clasped to the ground. He was chained with heavy iron. The room was pitch black. He felt something slimy or better yet, goopy on his face.

Suddenly a torch was lit, a figure stood at the entrance door. "Merlin..." The voice sounded soft yet mocking. He heard slow steady steps slap against the cold stone floor. He could see the dark walls covered with brick details. Though he couldn't yet see above him as the figure got closer.

He did however see a woman with dark long hair kneel down in front of him. He couldn't see her face until the hood of her green cloak was pulled down. "Hello, Merlin." Morgana spoke as if she were disgusted. Her eyebrows furrowed her eyes narrowed looking down on him.

"Morgana." He didn't sound suprised. It wouldn't be his first time being kidnapped by her. 

She gave a scoffed hm. "How do you enjoy your chains? I made them for you myself." She spoke mockingly as her lips curled into a disgusted smirk. The torch light lit her face up in a way that even it couldn't provide any heat to her cold features. Merlin held his tongue which seemed to anger Morgana even more.

"What? Are you too good to utter a single word to me?" She grit her teeth and rose up from the floor. "I have plans for you, Merlin." She waited for a reaction from Merlin but got nothing. "You will be my bait for Arthur. Doesn't that sound like fun?" 

"He won't come." Merlin spoke quickly but gave no sign of a reaction. He didnt want her to have that satisfaction. Morgana laughed sarcastically. "Won't come? You underestimate your value, Merlin." She walked around the pillar Merlins chains were bound to. "For whatever reason, a manservant like yourself reins free to do what he likes, whenever, where ever." 

"You're wrong." Morgana made a face. "I'm wounded you think I'm an idiot, truly." She bent down to be eye level with Merlin again. "No servant could ever get away with insulting the king. Much less that one would ever get to go hunting with him and his knights. No, Merlin. If I didn't know any better I would say you two are the best of friends. Whether you admit it or not." Her hand came up to wipe the goo that had fell onto Merlins face prior. His head zipped away to the side to keep her hand off of him. She scoffed. "You won't be stubborn for long, my dear Merlin. I'll make sure if that." Merlin was angry. Why was this still going on. The prophecy. It was still so confusing. Morgana was suppose to die in Camland as Mordred was suppose to kill Arthur. But he didn't, and she didnt die. So why was this still ongoing?

"Why don't you just kill me?" Morgana laughed standing. "Kill you? No. I won't hurt a hair on your body. But you will wish I would have." 

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Arthur had been dressed by George this morning. He hadn't seen Merlin and was quite annoyed by not having his manservant. There was nothing wrong with George of course, he was just...well, unfunny. The jokes about brass could not be anymore mind-numbing than they already were. He needed that usual snark to get himself up and at em' for the rest of the day. It was quite quiet without Merlin as well and King Arthur did not like to be alone with his thoughts. 

Gaius's door opened suddenly as Arthur never bothered to knock, not out of disrespect for Gaius but out of annoyance for Merlin. Speaking of which, "Merlin!" His chest was puffed out and his hands were on his hips once more. He was very displeased with the lack of his attitude prone manservant. He immediately deflated himself when he only saw, "Gaius." He nodded. "Arthur. Is there something you need, my lord? A remedy of some sort, perhaps?" Arthur shook his head, pausing then. "Where is my bumbling toad of a servant?" 

"Have you checked the tavern, sire?" Arthur groaned. "The tavern. Of course the tavern. When I find him, I'm going to throw him in the stocks." Arthur turned to walk away then gave a head nod. "Gaius." Despite his annoyance of Merlin he still remained respectful, I mean who could ever dislike Gaius.

...

"Ho! Hey!" The tavern was buzzing with drunkyards and fighting. Even the occasional dancing between couples. Just joking, no couple would ever enter here. Specifically why Gwaine was here. He was good looking, funny, kind, but did anyone ever go after him romantically? Noo. Only his homicidal ex girlfriend who had teamed up with Morgana to get himself and his friends killed.

Oh well, better luck next time.

"Next ones on me, on me." Gwaine rambled drunk. Percival, and Elyan hyping the man up to chug ale while Leon and Lancelot, like the good babysitters they are, did not. Lancelot had a sip of something though he wasn't really sure what it was. Leon didn't really like to drink, but his refined noble palette had a little bit of wine just to have an excuse to participate in the evening with his friends. Arthur stood behind the 5 of them, really moreso Gwaine. "Enjoying yourselves?" The knights spun around each with different names.

"Arthur."

"Princess."

"Your majesty."

"Sire"

"My lord." 

"If I had known my best knights were as bad as Merlin, I would have made you grand muck out the stables with him." Arthur rubbed his face then put his hand out beside him as if he were shrugging. "So where is he?" 

"Merlin?" Elyan sounded confused as he and the others glanced around at eachother.

"Yes, Merlin. He hasn't done a single chore today. I've had to deal with George all morning." 

Leon shook his head silently feeling bad for the overly pleasing servant. 

"Merlin doesn't drink." Lancelot tilted his head.

"That can't be right. Gaius is always spouting that he's here, whenever he possibly can be." Arthur rolled his eyes annoyed at his Manservants disappearance. 

"No, I would've seen him come in." Gwaine mumbled filling his mouth with ale. 

"I don't think I've ever seen Merlin in here either, now that you've mentioned it." Leon looked a bit worried. Percival nodded. "I've assumed he never had the time to do so."

"Odd." Arthur looked at them suspiciously. "And you lot aren't just covering for him?"

They all shook their heads, Gwaine chuckling. "You think I'd pass up a chance to tease Merlin?" 

Arthur was slightly concerned now. He was sure Merlin would turn up. He knew the man often left without a word for a few hours or so, but not telling Gaius or any of the knights? It was unusual. Where had Merlin gone?

Chapter Text

It had been a day since Morgana had captured Merlin. He was still in his shackles and he hadn't eaten nor had anything to drink since the day before. His muscles ached from the weight of the chains holding him down. He heard the heavy dark iron door creep open. A smither of light peering through ut. "Hello again, Merlin." She took stride in her walk up to the man. "How are you settling in?" Morgana smirked mockingly and held a piece of bread in front of his face as she knelt down to eyes his level. She looked into his eyes and chewed on a piece of the bread. "Mmm. It's freshly made." She was looking at him cruelly then tossed the bread at the floor squishing and dirtyong it with her shoe. "Eat it. You'll need your energy for what I have prepared for you."  

With that, she left as quickly as she came.

Merlin sighed as she closed the iron door behind her when she walked out if the room, which was more like a dungeon. He closed his eyes but kept hearing voices in the space. He knew what they were. They were the same thing that drove Uther Pendragon to the brink of insanity. Except there wasn't just one. If he had to guess, there were at least 100. And they were all dripping with black goo. The straw poppets.

Blue springs of light would peer around each corner. He saw Arthur, Gwen, the Knights, Gaius. It was haunting as they all taunted him. Said he would never get out of here, never escape. The hallucinations, the illusions, weren't real. He knew that, but his mind did not. He had to keep his head held high because what would come next, even the Catha struggled against it. 

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"Gaius." Arthur had walked into the old man's chambers. Seeing the man mixing up herbs into potions. 

"My lord." Gaius bowed his head.

"You told me to check the tavern yesterday, yes?"

"Correct."

"My knights have put me in quite the pardiciment." Arthur slowly circled Gaius with a unsure look on his face.

"They have all swore, every single one of them, that they have never seem Merlin enter the tavern before."

Gaius paused. "And that means?" He glanced up at arthur with his signature brow raise.

"I believe you to be lying to me, Gaius." 

"Lying?" He seemed perplexed. Though that was an act.

Arthur stopped and stood in front of Gaius's herb table. "Do you disagree?" He tilted his head down slightly. Gaius was like a second father to him and he hated calling the old man out, however, Merlin was skipping his duties and he needed newly washed breeches. Going commando wasn't all Gwaine chalked it up to be.

"No." Gaius put his herbs down holds his hands together. "I must admit, I don't know what Merlin gets up to. Always causing trouble, that boy." He shook his head. "I assumed he was with you yesterday until you came by, sire." He looked worried. "I have not seen him since Camlann. It worries my old heart, my lord." 

Arthur's eyebrows furrowed. "Why have you not alerted me of such?"

"You were injured. It was better to let you rest as you could not have done anything being unwell."

Arthur gave a solem nod. "I will send the knights to look for him at once, Gaius."

The old man looked sad but hopeful. "You have my word."

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Druids whispered among once another.

A loud noise rang out through the forest. It was dark in hours and they all sat around the fire for warmth.

Wondering what kind of creature could make such yelps a few of them separated off.

As they got closer to a tall bricked building, one druid recognized the pleads. 

Mordred often snuck out of the castle at nights to see his people once more. And being on the search for Emrys by Arthurs command gave him more than the freedom to do so. Though he hadn't expected to hear Emrys screaming at this hour. Especially not outside of the castle walls.

A black castle stood between him and the cries. Mordred felt a sense of dread. He and the druids who had came along with him, had scaled the tower. Mordred had peered through the towers barred window. It was hard to see into because it was so dusty and unkept.. It was as if he were looking through stained glass that wasn't stained.

He heard Emrys more clearly this time, in agony. Morgana had a single headed snake that kept striking the man over and over again. He couldn't remember the name of such a creature, but he knew it was the most painful experience one could go through to be bitten by it. Especially as many times as he saw Morgana strike Emrys.

After a few seconds passed, Mordred himself couldn't stand to see the sight or hear it any longer. He knew he had to report this to Arthur. Immediately.

But that was short-lived as he was caught by one of Morgana's men.

The druids were hauled into the castle and Emrys screams stopped momentarily as Morgana stepped into the dimly lit throne room. "Mordred. My old friend." 

"Were not friends, Morgana." He retailsted sharply as a man held his arms together tightly. "What have you done to Merlin?"

"Nothing quite yet." She circled around Mordred and moved his hair out of his face. "Perhaps he will take your punishment for you. As he did for Arthur, and Gwen." 

Mordred was confused. What punishment? He-

Morgana had stabbed a druid. They fell to the ground and he panicked. "Stop! No!" He tried to use his magic but it felt as if his powers were weighed down. It was unexplainable. 

A second druid fell, then another, then...

he was left.

His eyes watered as Morgana held a bloody bedazzled jeweled dagger in ger hand. She was smiling pitifully. It made his blood boil with anger.

"I'll let him choose. I'm sure he wouldn't take the latter."

Mordred wanted to speak, he wanted to call Morgana names but before he could gets his words out, she left the room.

He was put into a cell. One he could have gotten out of if not for the big beefy man guards.

He had decided to try anyways, however.

And succeeded even though he ended up with a swollen nose and bleeding knuckles. He had gotten the keys successfully and made his way out of the cellars.

He didn't make it far before Morgana caught him.

"Going somewhere?" 

He was stunned. All of that, for nothing.

"Nowhere that concerns you, witch." He was angry, he wanted to fight but knew he could not beat Morgana's dark magic with healing spells or gusts of wind.

"Careful, Mordred. Merlin has already agreed to have me spare your life. Don't make his hurt become even worse than it already is." 

"What?" Mordred was confused. Spare his life? 

Morgana just laughed. Her dagger sped to his throat. He was behind him.

"Go tell your king. Make sure he knows. Bring your finest knights so they can watch me burn him." 

She smiled pushing him towards the door.

"There's always one dead man left to tell the tale." Morgana's mocking laughter rang out and with that, Mordred practically sprinted out of there, running on foot to Camelot. It would be 2 days before he could get there. He was hoping Emrys could hold on a little longer.

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Percival was with Lancelot patrolling the outskirts of Camelot, asking around, still trying to find Merlin.

They were talking to a sweet old lady until a scraggly looking man burst out of the bushes squabbling. 

The two knights drew their swords but a name was uttered from the man's mouth. He looked happy to have found the both of them.

Percival squinted his eyes for a moment and looked unsure as he spoke. "Mordred?"

"Water." He croaked. Lancelot quickly pulled the water canister from his belt and watched as Mordred inhaled the water. Of course he choked and Percival gave him a nice hard smack on the back

"Merlin. Morgana." Mordred was so out of breath from practically running nonstop to Camelot for 2 days straight.

"Merlin is with Morgana?" Lancelot spoke worriedly.

Mordred just nodded profusely.

"Where? We have to-" Lancelot started to move towards the bushes from which Mirdred came. He was prepared to follow his footsteps to lead him to Merlin.

"Lancealot." Percivals hand grounded the man.

"We must alert King Arthur. You're no help to Merlin dead." 

Lancelot weighed his options. On one hand, he would burst into Morgana's lair fully ready to risk his life to save his friend. On the other hand, Morgana was a powerful magic user and he likely couldn't get to Merlin alive.

So he agreed. Percival slung Mordred over his shoulder and the three were off to warn Arthur.

Chapter Text

Merlin was sat against the pillar. It had been a while since he was captured. He really couldn't remember what today's day was. He had definitely been stuck in this room for over a week, however.

Morgana held the one headed snake to his wrist once more as she had done since his capture, but he didn't feel the pain anymore. It was as if his nerves had decided to turn off, to save him the hurt. His body was unusually numb as well. His fingertips tingly as if static danced around inside of them. Of course it could have been the snakes venom but he knew Morgana wouldn't kill him so easily. At least not yet.

Despite Morganas torture, there was no sign of Arthur. All the company he had for now was the mocking blue lights that continously told him he would never get out. He started to believe they weren't lies. His body was tired and hadn't allowed him sleep as his mind was hyperactive of everything around him.

Merlin could tell Morgana herself was getting impatient of waiting for Arthur to turn up. Mostly because she knew if Merlins wounds weren't treated, he would probably die if blood loss or infection. And that couldn't happen if she wanted to use him as leverage to get to Arthur.

After a few hours of sitting alone with the snake, Morgana had came in once more. Since the Mordred incident she had shielded the barbed window completely, Merlin could not tell what time it was that she entered. A torch was lit up by the door and then she knelt beside him.

Morgana didn't talk much due to her distain for the manservant, but she did tried to pry off one of Merlin's chains to clean all the snake bites.

Unfortunately, the chains were stuck on his wrists. As if they were mended to his skin. Merlin didn't feel much of anything, but Morgana looked disgusted as she finally got it to loosen slightly. He could only imagine what had came off of the chain for even her to be grossed out.

Merlin felt Morgana take his hand to have it soaked in the pale of warm water she had brought up with her moments ago.

He saw the clean water turn red and his irritated skin flare up. Morgana had murmured a healing spell just for it to do nothing. Apparently the snake had a magical bite that couldn't heal via magic.

So, he was bandaged the old fashion way. Morgana wasn't happy about addressing his wounds, but once again. He was needed for her plan of taking over Camelot once more.

Neither of them spoke to one another, just hatred filled glances with a bitter coldness in their eyes.

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Arthur and his knights shook the cell bars they were trapped in.

After Percival, Lancelot, and a now unconscious Mordred had arrived to his chambers a few days ago, to warn the king of Merlins capture, Arthur wasted no time to spring into action.

The king had gathered his most trusted knights, including Gwaine, Leon, and Elyan to embark on a rescue mission to save Merlin from Morganas evil grasp.

Gwen wanted to go with the 7 of them, Merlin was her friend too. Arthur had advised otherwise. He had warned her, should anything go wrong, Camelot would need a leader, a queen to guide its people. So instead, Gwen sent a message for Merlin, to be delivered when the men had found him.

Unfortunately for them, a slave trader had intercepted them while on the way to Morganas castle. Arthur couldn't be bothered to remember his name, the man obviously had no respect for royalty anyways. What an idiot. No really, you cannot claim this was out of Camelots territory! He was the king for goodness sakes. 

Arthur and his men had been taken hostage, put into unclean dirty cellars. He would escape, quite easily actually, if only there wasn't a giant mole looking rat thing guarding the cells. No really, the keys were very well in arms reach. He would just have to sacrifice his least favorite arm to get them.

Luckily, his knights were not as risk takery against the animal. Besides Gwaine, he was very well willing to put Arthur's mental plan into action. Especially to get out of this place and save Merlin.

Now that Arthur thought about it, each of his knights here with him today, not of noble blood had been found by Merlin. Granted Lancealot and Percival came as a two for one deal, but hey! They had all at least once been Merlins knights before they became Arthurs own. Everyone here would throw themselves quite literally out of a window just to save Arthur's servant.

To what is the life of a mere servant to that of a kings?

A lot apparently. Because Arthur and his knights had indeed thrown themselves out of the cell windows.

After a feigned attempt to get the keys away from the rats neck, Gwaine had decided that he would take a shortcut instead. Percival had managed to bend the barbed windows and one by one they each hopped through. Hoping not to break anything on the way down.

When Mordred had awaken from being knocked unconscious previously, to seeing the ugly creatures nose smelling around the cells, he had no complaints. And down he went with them.

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Merlin sat in the dark once more. The voices had gotten louder. Morgana had placed more straw dolls, poppets, into the room where she had kept Merlin chained to the floor. The dark goop dripped onto his face.

"Merlin..." He didn't dare open his eyes. He knew what he would see.

"Merlin... it's alright. I'm here." How could someone he had been so close with, so friendly with years ago do this to him. Torture his mind and body constantly.

"Please open your eyes, Merlin..."

His eyes opened slowly and he saw her in front of him. Freya. She looked as she had when she had died in his arms. "Freya." Hos voice was weak and quieted. Her name seemed to come out as more of a croak.

Her hand came to cup his cheek. "You must know you're trapped here. Bound in these chains forever. Like my curse hasfone to me." He couldn't stop himself from becoming teary eyed.

These hallucinations felt so real.

Everyday, for a week or more.

"Until death do us part, once more, Merlin."

With that, her expression shifted into a cruel smile and her shadow snapped at him then disappeared.

His body slumped as much as it could without twisting his arms.

He continued to see those he cared for. Gaius and Gwen. Then Gwaine and Lancelot. Balinor. The hallucinations of Arthur hurt most.

"You have betrayed me, Merlin. Betrayed Camelot. Magic has no place in my kingdom, and neither do you." The blue light of Arthur stood beside the pillar behind Merlin. 

"Morgana is wrong. No one will come to save you."

He felt the light crouch down and whisper into his ear.

"I despise you, Merlin. It would have been best should we have never met."

He felt his body become numb. A final tear slid down his cheek.

"Should I'd had known you have had magic, I would have put you on the pyre. Along with your people."

Merlins heart ached.

"You don't deserve mercy. Magic is evil. You are evil, Merlin."

His eyes sparked a weak golden glow. The light was ripped apart.

No more would he weep for such comments.

He could not differentiate reality from his mind anymore.

"Merlin." Morgana walked inside. She saw the dark circles under his eyes. The streak marks his tears had left on his cheeks. The empty look in Merlins eyes. It filled her with joy to see him in such a state.

She knelt down onto her green cloak. The one he had often remembered her in before the war. Her hand came up to his cheek. The same way Freyas had. "You're not alone anymore. You won't have to endure this pain anymore." Morganas voice was soothing. Comforting. Safe. Compared to many days or torture and mocking the lights had done to him. The biting of the snake, the endless pain he had felt.

As if she could read his mind, she spoke. "I'm real, Merlin." She unclasped the chains. She would have to soak his wrists once more to get them off.

The mind of Emrys had been broken and Morganas weapon had awaken.

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"Where is this castle Mordred? We've been out for hours." Gwaine tried to catch his breath as they had continued to trudge on. No water or food.

"It's a ways away. Near the druids camp." 

"Druids?" Elyan spoke. "So close to Morgana?"

"They follow Emrys where ever he goes, without know." 

"Emrys?" Lancealot narrowed his eyes.

Mordreds mouth came to fit in a fine line. That's right. He only knew of Merlins secret. "He's like their king."

"Their king? I've never heard of the druids having a king." Arthur seemed to form it more as a question. "Though I suppose I've never given it a thought. I've only known them to be a peaceful people. Nothing more."

Mordred nodded. The king and his knights knew of Mordred being in fact a druid. They did not know he held magic, however.

"We should rest here tonight." Arthur spoke and the knights started to gather resources.

Leon and Percival went to hunt for food. Lancelot and Gwaine went to fill up the water canisters as Mordred set up the tents and Elyan gathered firewood.

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"Come Merlin. Sit." Morgana instructed the man to sit in a chair outside of the cellar so she could fix him up. As best as she could. Now that he was compliant or had a lack of resistance she could play dress up however she liked. His eyes had to adjust to the light as he had sat in complete darkness for moreover a week.

His wrists weren't in the best shape even after being soaked in warm water so he couldn't make himself look presentable if he tried.

Morgana combed through his curls. She had to use a rag to clean the dirt out of them. His face was wiped clean as well as his arms and torso. She had put some kind of oil in his hair to make his curls more shaped and define. A single curl fell down onto his forehead. His hair had gotten quite long as well. 

She made him stand to follow her to a wardrobe. His legs were quite wobbily from the lack of use. Out she pulled a dark black leather outfit. It seemed to be crafted quite meticulously. "Put this on." Morgana had traded one of her royal gowns for it. She wasn't even sure it would fit the man.

When he had indeed put it on it fit to his body nicely. Though he wasn't in the best shape since being captured, he still looked very much like a warrior would. The leather looked as if it had crocodile scales sowed onto the leather as makeshift armor. It had a turtleneck value to it. Not quite like his neckercheifs but similar.

Morgana had observed. She then pulled out silver armor from a drawer. Merlin had felt the armor being placed on his left shoulder. It covered further down his arm and the back of his neck and upper back.

If Arthur wouldn't save him, Merlin would play the part of Morganas apprentice. Maybe even a second in command if he could learn how to fight. Besides he couldn't question her, his mind certainly wouldn't let him.

Morgana used one of her earrings to pierce his right earlobe. It was a emerald plated with silver around the edges. So far no complaints.

"You look the part. Now you must fight like it." Morgana put 3 jeweled daggers in his new holsters.

"Come along." 

Chapter Text

Woosh. A third dagger hit the bullseye. Granted it was a makeshift version made out of old scraps of wood and stained with berries, but it still got the job done.

"Good." Morgana gave Merlin a cruel smile.

"You're far more skilled with these than with swords."

She circled around the table and pulled out a basket that sat under the kitchens counter. "Warm the pot. I will be in with the ingredients soon."

Merlin hadn't spoken much anymore unless absolutely necessary. The vocal fry of the screams previously was apparent. With the unability to speak without pain, Merlin had opted for the use of physical cues, such as nods of his head to acknowledge what was being said.

He and Morgana had made it a routine to discuss important matters over dinner. Though of course Morgana did the talking. It wasn't like he had much choice in the matter to not attend. 

They often had stew, courtesy of Merlin. He was the better of the two at cooking since he use to join Arthur on hunting trips, serving the king and knights soupy vegetables, which was often met with teasing. He remembered Leon saving him a bowl after the knights and of course Arthur had practically inhaled the food pretending to leave Merlin none. Though, those memories had started fading. And quickly due to the fact his mind was practically eating itself out of fear and helplessness.

He couldn't quite remember the faces of his friends, only those that had haunted him in that cold dark cellar. They were always staring at him, watching. Whenever Morgana left the room they would feed his doubts. He was stuck with her now, she was all he had. Rescue would not happen. It never would. He was alone. He had to do this to survive. Though he most definitely was not living. 

"Merlin, come help me with the basket." 

And with that, off he went.

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A shuffling noise could be heard in the forest. Leaves cracked beneath the weight of whatever stood in the leaves behind the bushes.

Gwaine was the first to notice something was wrong. He slowly picked up his sword from off the ground and tapped the shoulder beside him. Lancealot glanced up to where Gwaines eyes were fixed. Gwaine motioned an alert to warn the others quietly. He then tapped Arthur who groggily awoke from his slumber. "Mmm..?" He blinked the sleep out of his eyes, rubbing them to adjust to the nights darkness.

"Up ahead." Gwaines voice was quiet, uncertain.

The man once aware of what was happening, slowly stood to unsheath his sword while the others awoken by Lancealot followed his actions. The campfires crackling was the only noise they could hear, which was odd. The scenery seemed still, no birds were chirping, the wind wasn't blowing.

There was then crunching of the leaves and the men readied their swords.

A deer ran out spooking the men for a moment until they began to sigh in relief.

Unfortunately, that didn't last long because bandits burst out from behind the trees to launch an attack.

The knights were scattered for a moment fighting off men who were stragglers among the perpetrators.

"On me!" The king shouted as they all stood back to back with their swords in hand. Unlike fighting Camelots rogue dragon a time once before, they had no shields.

The bandits surrounded them, and some held crossbows. "Well well well, if it isn't the king of Camelot. What're you doing 'round these parts, your highney." He barked a mocking fit of laughter, and his goons practically did the same, though many didn't find it funny much at all. The king having their heads didn't sound too pleasing if he were to somehow get away, which it seems Arthur was infamous for doing.

Arthur and the knights stayed silent which seemed to provoke the leader furthermore. "Cat got your tongue, boy? Spit it out! Tell us what yer doing out here before I gut ya!" The man seemed to think of Arthur as nothing more than a lousy boy, unfit to rule a kingdom. He saw a weak coward who lived in his father's shadow.

Arthur didn't quite like that, but he didn't fond being gutted, and without shields that was sure to be true. He had his knights to look after, strong as they were, they were heavily out numbered. "We're looking for someone."

"Who?" The man smiled a knowing smile crookedly, a gold tooth shining in the campfires light. "Your princess need saving?" He made hand gestures of an embrace and smooching sounds. Arthurs face scrunched up at the thought of Merlin in a dress. 

"A serving boy." Arthur disliked calling Merlin just 'a serving boy' because despite their status, they were both close friends to one another, however, he was hoping it would bring the bandits disinterest.

It did not.

"A servant?" The men oohed mockingly. "A king looking for a mere servant?" A sword was pointed at Arthur's throat. His knights tensed. "Do you take me for a fool? You'd better come up with a better excuse that's not as sorry as that." The man smiled unkindly once more. "Looking for smugglers, your highness? You won't get the chance to find any once I'm done with you." 

It seemed everyone had stopped him from getting to Merlin. It had been far too long now, his heart ached at the thought of what Merlin was having to go through at this moment.

It didn't seem like he would get the chance to think about it for much longer, the crossbows fired and the knights didn't have time to react.

Fortunately, the arrows shattered. The wood spilt and dissentigrated into nothingness.

Arthur and the bandits alike were confused for a moment until silhouette appeared by the trees.

Mordred seemed ecstatic.

Druids.

Though Mordred himself would not practice magic in front of Arthur, that didn't mean those alike him wouldn't. 

The druids were a peaceful people, until magic itself was disturbed: Emrys. Arthur was the only one able to save him after all, he would be the only one dear enought to Emrys to clear his mind.

Magic flashed as the knights stared in awe. The bandits were knocked against the trees, many fallen unconscious. Though one had slipped away into the forest unnoticed.

Arthur wasn't sure how he felt about magic. On one hand his father's grief had driven his hatred of such practices. On the other hand Arthur knew Camelots forces had hurt many of magic orgins, many sorcerers just wanting revenge on Uther. The man who had made them into hiding, who had taken away their loved ones, for the soul purpose of them having any relation to magic. Even if they had not been the ones to practice such a thing.

Despite how he felt, however, Arthur was appreciative of the druids help. He and his knights took on the last of the bandits and before long, he and they had come face to face.

Mordred seemed nervous, and rightfully so. He was the bridge between such magical people and Camelots king.

"King Arthur." The leader of the druids bowed. Arthur gave a nod of acknowledgment.

"We have heard of your journey to rescue our Emrys. We would like to be of help."

Lancealot and Mordred both tensed at such a comment.

Lancealot was not familar with Merlins druid name but with context of knowing of his magic, the pieces seemed to fit like a puzzle.

"Emrys?" Arthur seemed confused as did the other knights besides the two. Mordred was practically sweating, trying his best to communicate the fact Merlin had not yet revealed such a secret to the king or his friends, but it came out a jumbled mess in his thoughts. Not well translated to the druids.

"Yes." The druid leader stood straight. "Your friend, your majesty." He paused at the looks of the others. "Or have I misunderstood?" 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Merlin?" His eyebrows raised and his teeth grit in a mockingly smiley expression. "I believe so. We know no one by that name." 

The druid leader glanced at Mordred who seemed as if he would combust. Lancealot bit his lip.

Arthur shifted to see what he was looking at. He could see the nervousness in their body language. "Unless Merlin has a secret identity?" He teased but Lancealot seemed petrified. He knew in this moment his loyalty would have to lie with Arthur or Merlin. He knew he would protect the man he first met at all cost.

Arthur seemed to grow a little uneasy at the looks. The knights shared a glance. Elyan spoke up first. "Well, does he?" 

Mordred began to rock on his heels. "Well." 

Gwaine snorted. "I knew he was special. Who the hell rides in the face of danger without a sword or armor?" Percival seemed indifferent about it all. Everyone seemed to catch on quickly before Arthur did.

He seemed to recall Mordreds comment about Emrys being like a king to the druids earlier in the day.

"So Merlin," he made a motion with his hand, "Is a sorcerer." His face seemed pale and his mouth was dry.

"A warlock actually." Mordred let out a breath. "He was born with magic instead of choosing to practice it."

"So you knew?" Arthur felt like he had been in the tavern for days, his brain fogged and his stomach empty and nauseous.

"So did I." Lancealots voice rang out in Arthur's head. "When I had slayed the griffin, magic had to be used to defeat it." He stood tall, seemingly proud of the feat with his friend.

Arthur felt as if his tongue were tied. It took a moment for him to gather his thoughts. "Did anyone else know and decide not to utter a word to me about this?" 

The others stood quietly. Gwaine grasped Arthur's shoulder. "You can't blame him, princess. His head would have been chopped off if he admitted to it."

Leon piped in. "And if what Mordred says is true, and Merlin was born with magic, that just makes his existance a crime, Arthur." 

His knights seemed fairly content by it, Arthur wasn't really concerned with the socerery himself. More so his closest friend felt the need to hide away from him. In fear. It made him sad, to know Merlin was afraid of him.

Arthur put his feelings aside and held back a sigh. His eyes moved to the druids leader. "Your help would be appreciated. I would like to find my manservant and have a talk with him."

...

..

.

"I want him dead! Camelot is rightfully mine!"

Morgana had slammed her fist down on her cold dark throne. A scout, a spy, an escaped bandit of Morganas pleaded on his knees. "My lady, please. We have tried to capture his highness but-" 

A one headed snake slithered around his neck. "Don't call him that!" She hissed. The man made a choking noise as the snake coiled tightly around his neck. Merlin stood beside Morganas throne, a heavy yet empty gaze on the scene in front of them.

"He- hes-" The man choked a gasp for air. "On his way here. Druids follow him. They search for the boy." Merlin seemed unaffected, his mind further slipping away. Morganas expression shifted. Her hand waved. The snake released slithering to her, resting on her thrones arm. The man choked a breath an inhaled air, exhaling graciously. "Well why didn't you say so?" She said sweetly tossing the man a small bag of gold coins. He looked gleeful but glanced up greedily with a smile. "I assumed risking a life for this information would be more costly, my lady." Morgana hummed and smiled sweetly once more. "As you wish." Her eyes turned from their natural light color to a golden brown. The man shifted into a crow, a scream of agony present. "Now you can spend your days searching and pecking for trinkets." She stood up and grabbed the bird, a pained caw was squeaked out of the man. "You will be their warning. Go now." She tossed the crow off and watched as it flew through the open door.

"As for you." Morgana came to stand in front of Merlin. "I must be sure your obedience stands with me, do you understand, Merlin?" 

His eyes were empty completely now, his thoughts silent.he bent his leg, falling onto one knee. "Yes, lady Morgana." 

She was very pleased to say the least.

...

..

.

Without warning a crow smacked Arthur dead in the face. It clawed and luckily missed his eyes, but left a stroke of blood down the side of his nose. He swatted at the thing until Percivals big strong hands were able to grab ahold of it.

"Looks like we're having roasted bird for dinner." Gwaine chimed in rubbing his hands together.

"There's no time, we're almost there." Gwaine made an audible 'aw' and Arthur wiped his nose on sleeve.

When doing so, he had noticed his armor didn't fit as well as it did like when Merlin had fastened it for him. George did a great job as a servant, almost too well, but Merlin was far better with Arthur's nickpicks and making sure the king was safe. Now that he was on the route to thinking about it, he had wondered if the shine from his armor had meant Merlin had enchanted it. Perhaps some sort of spell or work of magic to protect him further. It made his heart swell, both in appreciation for his friend and in the agony of missing him.

The crow squaked in Percivals hands, and in the end they had decided to let the thing go.

From where they stood, there lay a black bricked castle behind the trees. "That's it!" Mordred whispered. Whether exploring at night was a good idea or not, they would be sure to find out.

Mordred had scaled the tower to try and look through the window like before but found it covered up. 

Leon and Elyan had both circled the castle to try and find a way in to no avail. The front door was their only option.

They would have to enter. The druids stayed behind as a last line of defense. They surrounded the tower, awaiting to see what would happened, and if they would be needed or not during the accompanied visit.

When creaking the door open, the inside seemed completely different from the outside. It was bright inside, lit by torches and the occasional candles. A small kitchen was to the right side of the room with a long table sat in front of it, many chairs present for seats. A dart board hung above said table with a dagger sticking out of it.

To the left of the room sat a black brick throne with a beautiful red carpet sat in front of it. 

When they cautiously stepped inside, the door slammed shut. They turned to look behind them, pulling at the door handle.

Morganas voice wrung out from where she now sat on her cold dark throne.

"Hello boys." 

"Morgana." Arthur spoke half disbelieved and halfly angered at the sight of her.

The knights held their swords close, standing still where they were.

"Looking for someone?" She taunted with her cruel family sweet smirk.

"Where is he?" Arthur demanded.

"Oh he's safe Arthur, for now at least. Would you like to see him?" She smiled. He didn't believe that for a second.

"Merlin." Morgana called.

Steps echoed down into the tower. A man came down. One who didn't look much like the boy who came to Camelot anymore.

"See? He's just fine. Not a hurt hair on his head. Right Merlin?" She stood and went to demonstrate by brushing his hair back with her hand.

"Yes, my lady."

Arthur's heart broke to see him like this. The knights cringed. Lancealot pained, Gwaine angry, Percival pityful, Elyan hurt, Leon saddened, Mordred guilty.

"Merlin." Arthur croaked out. "What happened to you?" 

He gave Arthur a blank stare before Morgana had whispered quietly into his ear. She sat back into her throne and Merlin took a step forward.

"The lady Morgana would like you all to join her in a feast." His voice was raspy and rough around the edges as if he hadn't put it to use in a while.

Arthur looked between the two of them then at his knights. He turned back to the man who had now become a shell of his former self and spoke with a softness he would have never used many years ago.

"Merlin, come home."

Chapter Text

The dining table was unnervingly pristine.

Each place had been meticulously set—gold-trimmed plates, silver goblets, utensils laid with exacting precision. It would have looked like a royal banquet, had it not been for the chains bolting Arthur and his knights to the chairs.

The bindings weren’t rope. They were forged of a dark iron none of them recognized, smooth yet unnaturally warm to the touch. Whatever magic Morgana had infused them with made struggling pointless.

“Quite the guest treatment,” Gwaine muttered, testing his wrist bonds with a dry scoff. “Remind me to never accept an invitation again.”

Morgana sat at the head of the table, wine glass in hand, swirling the blood-colored liquid with a pleased smile. “I wanted it to feel familiar,” she said sweetly. “Just like old times in Camelot. A dinner among friends.”

“Your memory of friendship is rather twisted,” Leon snapped.

She waved a dismissive hand. “Quiet. You’ll find I’m an excellent hostess.”

Then he entered from the dark steps that were connected to an upper part of the small castles tower.

Merlin. Arthurs plea for him to come home hadn't work out in their favor. 

He moved from the kitchen with practiced grace, holding a tray of roasted vegetables and rabbit meat seasoned in herbs none of them could name. His expression was blank. Not cold—not angry—but eerily void. He could have been any castle servant attending to a meal.

But this wasn’t just any meal. And he wasn’t just a servant; he was Arthur's friend. A friend to them all.

Arthur's mouth felt dry. He opened it, but no words came. There were no jokes this time. No shared glances. No subtle games between king and servant.

Merlin approached Arthur first, setting down a plate in front of him. Their eyes met. For just a second.

That second nearly shattered Arthur's heart.

There was something still alive in those eyes—but it was buried, distant. Like watching someone scream behind a pane of ice.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said quietly, hoping his voice might thaw it.

Merlin didn’t respond. He moved on.

One by one, he served the knights. Not a word. Not a single touch lingered longer than necessary.

Morgana sipped her wine and sighed with glee. “Isn’t he just lovely? Obedient. Efficient. Everything a servant should be.”

“He’s not a servant,” Lancelot growled.

Morgana chuckled. “No, I suppose not anymore.”

The meal sat untouched. No one could eat.

“Tell me,” Morgana cooed, turning her gaze toward Merlin. “Did you ever tell them what you are?”

The room stiffened.

Merlin stood silently behind Arthur’s chair, tray now resting by the kitchen's counters.

“No?” She feigned surprise. “Not even you, Arthur?” She tilted her head. “I suppose it’s time then.”

She stood, slowly, walking over to Merlin. “You’ve been keeping such a precious secret from them for so long. But that burden ends now.”

She placed her fingers beneath his chin, lifting his gaze from the floor to look at her.

“Show them,” she whispered.

He hesitated.

“Now.”

Merlin’s eyes shimmered gold.

A ripple of power shuddered through the room. The torches flickered, then flared unnaturally high. The air crackled.

Mordred’s breath hitched. Gwaine stared, stunned into silence. Lancelot closed his eyes, a sad understanding overtaking him.

Arthur's voice was barely audible. “...Merlin…”

“I said show them!” Morgana hissed louder, pushing him forward.

Merlin raised a hand. A goblet floated from the table, hovered, then crushed itself in mid-air with a thought. Shards of silver fell to the stone floor, clinking like broken bells.

Magic. Undeniable. Ancient. Raw.

How Morgana had found out about Merlin's little secret, well. That was only for her and Merlin to know. For now.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” Morgana purred, stepping behind him like a puppeteer. “So much power, and he didn’t even need a word. Can you imagine what he’ll become once properly trained? Once properly focused?”

Arthur looked up at Merlin again—at the way his hand trembled, how his jaw was locked tight.

“He’s not yours,” Arthur said, finally. “You don’t control him.”

“Oh, but I do,” Morgana said sweetly, brushing Merlin’s shoulder. “You broke him. I remade him.”

Her voice turned sharp. “Did you never notice how your constant belittling, your endless commands, your blind loyalty to your father—didn’t that ever make you wonder what he kept hidden from you?”

Arthur flinched.

“He feared you,” she said. “Feared what you would do if you knew. But now he serves someone who welcomes his magic. Who nurtures it.”

She stepped forward, grinning down past Arthur's shoulder. “You should be proud. You trained him well.”

Arthur shook his head. “No. This isn’t him.” Tears pricked in his eyes, threatening to fall.

Merlin turned away, facing the sink without a word.

The knights sat in silence, watching the man they once knew become a ghost in front of them.

Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away from Merlin, who now stood facing away from him. His hands moved methodically—wiping, stacking, polishing already-clean utensils. Something to keep them busy. Something to do. It was what servants were meant to do.

But not like this.

Arthur had seen Merlin clumsy, sarcastic, full of fire and pride even in the face of danger. This... shell that stood before him, neat and silent, was wrong.

Morgana, meanwhile, watched the knights as if awaiting applause.

“I must say, I expected more of a reaction,” she said. “Perhaps a bit of shouting, accusations of betrayal, you know—drama. But you’re all so... quiet.” She moved back to her seat at the end of the table, not sitting quite yet.

Leon’s voice was the first to break the silence. Low. Wary. “We knew.”

Morgana raised a brow. “Oh?”

Arthur didn’t look away from Merlin. His eyes looking sadly over his shoulder.

“The druid leader told us. Before we came here.”

Gwaine added, “Said Merlin’s magic was old. Powerful. That he hid it to protect us.”

Morgana’s smile faltered for the briefest second. “How noble.”

“You don’t understand him; he's nothing like you.” Arthur said flatly.

“I understand enough.” Her smile returned, colder this time. “I understand that you never would’ve accepted him as he was. That he had to hide. That he feared you.”

Arthur didn’t answer.

Instead, his gaze finally dropped to the plate in front of him—perfectly arranged, just like the rest. Then he looked back toward Merlin, still wiping the same spoon.

“Morgana,” he said, carefully. “What did you do to him?”

She gave a theatrical sigh and walked behind Merlin again, her hand grazing the back of his shoulder as if she owned it.

“I simply removed the rot,” she said. “Stripped away the guilt, the shame, the constant need for approval. What’s left is... potential. Untapped and dangerous.”

“He’s not a weapon,” Lancelot said sharply.

“He is now.”

At her words, Merlin stilled. His hand hovered in the air, spoon halfway to the shelf. Slowly, mechanically, he set it down. Turned.

He didn’t face them yet. But something shifted. The air went cold.

Morgana stepped beside him, voice softer now. “Merlin. Would you mind showing them what you showed me? Just a little. Nothing quite like the stunt you pulled before their arrival.”

He didn’t move.

“Merlin,” she repeated. “Come.”

He obeyed.

Arthur’s throat tightened as Merlin stepped forward from the kitchen shadows, the soft click of his boots against the stone floor the only sound in the chamber. He stopped in front of the table, facing the king and his knights.

Morgana glided over to the table and picked up the small candle at its center.

“Light this,” she said simply, handing it to him.

A pause.

“I said—”

The wick sparked.

No words. No gesture. Just a flicker of gold in Merlin’s eyes—and the candle caught fire.

The flame was steady. Controlled. But it was magic, undeniably so.

Arthur felt Gwaine tense beside him. Even Percival flinched.

Morgana grinned.

“Well done.”

Merlin lowered the candle to the table.

Then Morgana stepped back and said, like tossing a stone into still water:

“Now... do something bigger.”

Merlin’s jaw clenched. He didn’t move.

Morgana’s eyes narrowed. “You will obey me.”

A quiet tremor ran through the room.

Arthur could feel the shift, like the moment before a storm. He looked at Merlin—truly looked. The faint twitch of his fingers. The shallow breath. The way his gaze flicked toward the knights, then away.

A heartbeat passed.

Then another.

And then—crack.

The wall behind Merlin spilt momentarily before coming back together.

Morgana laughed softly, pleased. “See? He learns quickly.”

But Merlin was shaking.

Not visibly. Not violently. But enough for Arthur to notice—the way his shoulders subtly quivered, the twitch beneath his eye. Sweat lined his hairline.

He was fighting.

Arthur could see it now.

Not all of him was gone.

Morgana, oblivious or uncaring, circled the table like a vulture. “With a little more training, he'll be able to burn the city walls. Call storms to devour your towers. Shatter Camelot’s very foundations.”

She leaned beside Arthur, whispered in his ear: “You brought upon your own destruction, and didn’t even know it.”

Arthur horrified, stared as Morgana placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Merlin,” she said gently. “Do you still want to protect them?”

He didn’t answer.

“Then prove it. Use your magic to silence them. They don’t deserve your loyalty. Not after what they let you become.”

Silence.

Merlin stepped back.

A pulse of energy stirred in the room.

Arthur’s voice was hoarse. “Merlin—don’t.”

Merlin turned.

His eyes met Arthur’s—gold flickering against blue.

And something flickered in return.

A beat.

Then Morgana’s expression soured.

“You’re hesitating again.”

She stepped forward sharply, heel striking stone.

“I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed.”

Her hand lifted.

Dark magic coiled in her palm, slithering like smoke—and then solidified into something vile. It pulsed wetly, twitching between her fingers: a small, malformed figure of inky goo, faceless but familiar. It pulsed with life—not life like a creature, but life like a memory twisted wrong.

A poppet.

Merlin’s breath caught.

“No,” he whispered.

Morgana smiled. “Ah. So you remember.”

The goo shifted slightly in her hand, its form warping. It began to hum—a high-pitched noise, like nails on a chalk board. As she gave it a tug—just a small pull—Merlin gasped.

His knees buckled. He caught himself on the edge of the table, nearly knocking a goblet to the floor.

Arthur lurched forward in his chains. “Stop it!”

But Morgana wasn’t listening.

She pulled again.

And the world shattered.

Voices filled Merlin’s ears.

“You’re nothing.”

His own voice—young. Frightened. “I didn’t mean to—please—”

“You’re dangerous. A monster,” hissed Uther, his image towering behind Arthur, even though Uther was long dead.

Gaius now—Gaius, who had always loved him—his voice cold and clinical. “I only kept you because I had to. You should never have come to Camelot.”

“No—no,” Merlin gasped, squeezing his eyes shut.

Then Gwen’s laugh, harsh and biting. “Do you really think we were ever your friends? You were useful. That’s all you were.”

Faces flickered around him like candle flames—familiar, warped. Morgana, smiling. Freya, in his arms, dying. Arthur, turning his back on him.

Merlin stumbled back a step, colliding with the stone wall behind him. The chamber was spinning. He couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe.

The knights cried out, but their voices were distant, warped. Like underwater echoes.

“Morgana!” Arthur roared. “You’re killing him!”

“I’m remaking him,” she said coldly, twisting the poppet again.

Merlin screamed.

The sound tore from him raw and terrible. He collapsed to the floor, clutching his head, golden sparks flickering like fireflies from his fingertips as his magic lashed out blindly—cracks webbing across the wall beside him.

His breathing hitched—shallow, frantic.

Then—

Stillness.

He lay on the floor, face pale and sweat-slicked, limbs twitching. Like a flame about to go out.

Morgana’s smile returned, satisfied.

“That’s enough for now.”

She released the poppet. It melted back into shadow, evaporating into nothingness.

Then, gently—almost tenderly—she crouched beside him.

“Merlin,” she murmured. “I’ll give you one more chance. Just one.”

She reached out and brushed damp hair from his brow.

“Stand.”

He didn’t move.

“Stand—or I put the chains back on.”

Merlin stirred.

Slowly—brokenly—he pushed himself up, first to his knees, then to his feet. His arms trembled beneath the weight of it. The world tilted around him, but he stood.

Morgana smiled, proud.

She turned to the knights, smug. “You see? He’s not yours anymore.”

But Arthur was staring at Merlin.

And in Merlin’s eyes—just for the briefest moment—he saw something.

Fear. Pain.

And under that...

Defiance.

Flickering like a dying star.

Chapter Text

THE DAY BEFORE ARTHUR'S ARRIVAL

They were coming.

She’d known they would. Arthur was many things, but a king who let his servant rot in a dark tower wasn’t one of them.

Morgana sat at the edge of her throne, fingers tapping the armrest as Merlin stood in silence beside her. Word had reached her: the druids had begun to stir. And now the knights of Camelot had crossed the forest line.

They were close.

Too close.

Merlin, ever still, stared forward like a statue.

But Morgana knew better. Beneath his hollow expression, his thoughts sparked and splintered like lightning behind clouded eyes.

She leaned forward, her voice low.

“Tell me the truth, Merlin. When you see him—Arthur—will you betray me?”

He didn’t speak.

So she stood. Walked toward him.

“You haven’t said a word since the outburst in the cell. Not a single flicker of magic without my permission. You kneel when told. Obey every command.” She tilted her head. “But I know what fear looks like. I know what hope looks like. And it lives in the corners of your eyes when you think I’m not watching.”

Merlin blinked.

She smiled coldly. “Let me remind you what’s at stake.”

With a flick of her fingers, the room darkened. A scrying pool of light at the far end of the chamber began to swirl. A vision formed: Arthur and his knights, pushing through the dense woods. Mud on their boots, blood on their hands from fighting with Morgana's bandits. But determination in every step.

Morgana turned to Merlin. “They’re coming for you.”

Silence.

“Do you think they’ll forgive what you’ve done? What you are?” Her voice turned sharp. “You've committed treason. You're allied with the druids. You killed Uther Pendragon, with magic."

He flinched.

“And if I tell them you did it—how many do you think will listen to your truth?” Her eyes glowed faintly gold. “Maybe Gwaine? Lancelot? Mordred?” She paused. “No. Not Mordred. He knows too well what betrayal looks like. And Arthur, oh poor dear sweet Arthur. He'd hate you.” Merlin hadn't killed Uther Pendragon in truth, Morgana did. Merlin had tried to heal the king, but failed.

Still Merlin said nothing.

So Morgana raised her hand.

The scrying pool shifted again.

A new vision now.

Camelot in flames. Knights dead in the courtyard. Gwen weeping over Arthur’s lifeless body. A crown rolled on the stone steps, dripping with blood.

Merlin’s breath caught.

“Do you see?” she whispered. “That’s what happens if you betray me. You don’t just doom yourself. You doom them.”

She took his hand. It hung limp, cold.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said sweetly. “I want you to lead the new world with me. Together, we could reshape magic’s place in Albion. You could be a king in your own right.”

He said nothing.

But his eyes closed.

And that was all she needed.

...

..

.

Morgana stood at the base of the tower stairs, brushing Merlin’s hair back from his face. His boots were polished. His shirt clean. The empty look in his eyes had returned—washed in silence and manipulation.

"Do you remember what to say?" she whispered.

"Yes, my lady," he murmured.

"And if Arthur speaks your name?"

"I will not answer unless you give me leave."

"And if he begs you to come home?"

He paused.

Her fingers tightened slightly on his chin.

"...I will not move."

She smiled.

"Good."

But before this — before obedience had fully hardened into something cold and irreversible — there was the cell.

DAYS PRIOR

The snake had wrapped itself around his wrist again. He didn’t move.

The venom no longer made him flinch. Pain was just another thing to file away with the hunger, the cold, the rot in his arm. The blue lights above him still whispered.

He’s gone. He left you.

Merlin’s lips cracked open. Nothing came out.

He sat slumped against the bloodstained pillar, breath shallow, mind sharper than it should’ve been.

Why hadn’t Arthur come?

Surely he knew by now.

Surely… surely Gaius told him. Or Gwen. Or anyone.

Why hadn’t he come?

The chain tugged as he shifted slightly. Metal groaned against bone.

Then—

He heard the door open.

Again.

Morgana.

She entered like she always did: calm, irritated, efficient. She ignored him at first, lighting a torch and kneeling beside the rusted bucket of water. Her fingers pulled at one of the shackles on his wrist. It wouldn’t budge. She hissed under her breath.

He felt her fingers wrap around his hand, felt the water soak into his skin, turning pink… then red.

The blood rose like fog through the pail.

She didn’t speak.

But he did.

Finally.

“Why hasn’t he come?”

Morgana paused.

“Excuse me?”

Merlin’s voice cracked. “Arthur. Why hasn’t he come?”

She looked at him then, eyebrows raised. For once, she didn’t seem triumphant.

“Maybe he’s not coming,” she said flatly.

“He always comes.”

“He used to. But maybe he’s learned you’re not worth it.”

The words sliced him clean open.

Merlin’s chest shook with breath.

Then—

“You don’t know him.” His voice was hoarse, rising with something between grief and rage. “You think you do. But you don’t. He would never leave me here. What did you do to him?”

Morgana simply dropped the cloth into the water and stood.

“You always make this about him. Still. If I had done something I would have wholeheartedly let you know. I can assure you that.”

Merlin pursed his lips. “He's my friend.”

The pillar behind him shuddered. The blue lights still mocking him exploded in a gust of wind. Magic poured out of him unbidden, wild, feral, reckless. He had to get rid of those hallucinations for the sake of his mind.

“He was my—” Merlin gasped, trying to breathe as the magic burned under his skin, “he was my king. And I failed him.”

The cell rang with silence.

Morgana stared.

And for a moment, just a moment, something like pity crossed her face.

Then it was gone.

“You poor, broken thing,” she said quietly. “Still chasing after a man who’d abandon you in a heartbeat.”

She turned to leave, leaving Merlin's hand in the pail, to soak off the chains bound to his wrist for bandage later.

But then… something shifted.

The wind in the cell didn’t stop.

It curled and twisted at her cloak, like fingers—lingering, unnatural.

Morgana paused.

She turned back slowly. Merlin’s head hung low, his body trembling slightly.

The torchlight flickered.

No... it shimmered. Gold specks rising from the light.

The shadows danced unnaturally against the stone wall, not from wind—but from something deeper. 

Her eyes narrowed.

"You didn't speak an incantation," she said quietly, stepping forward. "You didn’t even raise a hand, yet the wind moved with your pain."

"That wasn’t coincidence.”

Merlin said nothing. His jaw clenched.

She crouched in front of him, inches from his face. Her voice dropped to a hiss. She came to a realization.

“That’s why you’re always there, isn’t it? Every time Arthur foiled my plans—you were at his side. Quiet. Watching. Interfering.”

“You were just the servant. Just the fool.” She tilted her head. “But you were always there.”

Her gaze scanned the dark marks on his wrist, the sparks that still lingered faintly at his fingertips—dull, crackling like dying embers. The magic was still there. Chained. But not gone.

“It was you. All this time... it was you.”

Merlin finally lifted his head.

His eyes glowed faintly gold.

Just for a second.

The chains flared in response, tightening like a vice. The burst of defiance backfired—the runes carved into the iron ignited, sending shockwaves through his arms. He screamed.

It echoed down the stone halls like a blade splitting glass.

Morgana didn’t flinch.

She watched him writhe, watched the gold drain from his eyes, and smiled.

A slow, cold smile.

“So,” she whispered. “The loyal servant was the sorcerer all along.”

She stood tall, cloak swirling behind her.

“Arthur really is more of a fool than I thought.”

Chapter Text

The chamber held its breath.

Dark. Cold. Claustrophobic.

Merlin stood just beyond the torchlight, watching them. Guarding. What exactly? He didn't know.

Morgana's hand ghosted just above his. “You know what I asked of you, Emrys. You know what’s at stake. If you disappoint me again—”

“I remember,” Merlin whispered.

His voice was raw.

She smiled. “Good.”

She turned to Arthur, gloating. “You should have left him in that tower. This is what loyalty gets you.”

With that, she left the dungeon like cell.

Arthur. Elyan. Leon. Gwaine. Percival. Lancelot. Mordred.

All chained to the wall by dark iron, runes pulsing with magic—his magic. Morgana had whispered earlier, “Forged by sorcerers to bind their own.”

They were Silent. Still. Stuck between their world and Morgana’s.

Until Arthur broke the silence.

“…You’re really here, aren’t you?”

Merlin blinked once.

“You’re watching us, but you won’t even speak?”

Nothing.

...

Then Gwaine’s voice, raw but warm. “You saved my life, Merlin. Twice over. You remember that? You fished me out of the Tavern, fought back-to-back with me.”

He chuckled, then coughed. “I thought it was luck. Until it happened again.”

Merlin’s gaze flickered. Briefly.

Leon stirred. “You fought that dragon, the one that reigned over Camelot. I know you did when we all went to fight with Arthur. They were knocked out cold, but I saw it. I saw you befriend him. I owed it to you to keep quiet, Merlin.”

Still Merlin didn’t move.

Elyan shifted against his chains. “When Morgana took Gwen, it was you and Arthur who found us. You could’ve run when we were surrounded, but you didn’t. You stayed. You fought for her. For me.”

He continued.

“You helped me find my sister again. I was lost. You gave me back my family.”

A quiet rustle as Lancelot lifted his head. A long silence, then: Lancelot looked at him—eyes dark and kind. “When I tilted at the beast, and the lance struck true… I knew. No man could’ve landed a blow like that—not without magic. And I never said a word. Not because I was afraid of you—”

His voice cracked. “But because I trusted you.”

Merlin flinched.

"I lost my family a long time ago. You helped me find a new one." Percival's gaze was kind, his voice shaking.

A voice younger than the rest joined in.

Everyone turned.

The boy—now nearly grown—chained like the rest. Quiet. Still. His blue eyes fixed on Merlin. “You saved me. You and Arthur… and Morgana, once. You brought me through tunnels when the knights were hunting us.”

He swallowed hard. “Even knowing what I was. Druid. Magic-blooded. You didn’t turn away.” Mordred's eyes were wet.

Arthur felt his voice speak up. “You saved me too many times to count, Merlin. From poisoned goblets. Daggers. Ill hearted sorcerers and their magic. From myself.”

A pause.

“And at Camlann… you dragged me from the battlefield. Bleeding. Broken. You carried me. Even when I told you to leave me behind.”

Merlin’s fingers twitched.

Arthur’s voice softened. “You protected everyone. And never asked for anything in return.”

He leaned forward; pain etched in every movement.

“I’m not angry at you, Merlin.”

Merlin’s breath caught.

Arthur’s eyes found his, unwavering.

“I couldn’t be. Not after everything. You’ve suffered more than I can imagine. And still, you chose to protect us. Again and again.”

Silence.

Merlin’s hands clenched at his sides. His jaw trembled.

The chamber was still.

Arthur and the others remained chained to the stone wall, their breaths shallow but present. The golden pulse of Merlin's magic had faded, and the cold torches flickered once more with ordinary flame.

Merlin stood at the edge of the dark, one hand trembling slightly at his side. His magic hadn't erupted in a brilliant flash. No one had seen a grand display. But something had changed.

The chains had begun to crack.

Not enough to be noticed by guards or Morgana herself, but the magic binding them had faltered. A link broken here, a weakened rune there. Silent, slow. A rebellion in whispers.

Merlin hadn't moved since the encounter.

Arthur watched him with careful eyes. Merlin could still hear his voice echoing in his skull.

"I couldn’t be. Not after everything. You’ve suffered more than I can imagine. And still, you chose to protect us. Again and again."

The others had gone quiet. Some slumped in sleep or fatigue, others simply waiting. Hope was fragile. Too loud, and it would crack.

Gwaine was the first to speak again.

"Are you there, Merlin?"

A flicker of gold in the dark.

Merlin stepped closer. His eyes met Arthur's, then Merlin dropped to the ground. He knelt beside the doorframe; hands pressed to the stone as if listening for something beneath it.

Leon stirred. "We thought we lost you."

Merlin didn’t respond at first. But he did speak.

Quiet. Raw.

"She showed me a version of you... all of you... dead. Camelot in flames."

Arthur frowned.

"She told me it would happen if I betrayed her."

Gwaine coughed. "Sounds like her."

"She convinced me that if I tried to escape, she'd kill you all, and I was the reason everything burned."

Arthur shook his head. "That isn’t true."

Merlin closed his eyes. "I wanted to believe that. But I was tired. I still am."

A pause.

"But you remembered me. Even when I didn’t speak. You called me back."

Percival, silent until now, said softly, "We never stopped searching for you."

Merlin's hands moved across the floor now; tracing runes carved into the stone. Small, deliberate magic. He didn't chant. He didn’t need to. These walls knew his name by now.

The door remained sealed, but the runes flickered faintly beneath his fingertips. He was weakening the bindings.

A plan. Not loud. Not bold. But present.

Arthur leaned forward, mindful of the chain that still held one wrist. "We won't rush. We follow your lead, Merlin."

Merlin gave the ghost of a nod. Then something passed his face—an ache, maybe even a bit of guilt.

"She still watches me. There are spells in the stones. If I act too fast, she’ll know."

Mordred, barely audible, whispered, "Then we act slow. Quiet. Like roots under earth."

Merlin looked at him.

Mordred’s eyes were clear.

And for the first time in a long while, Merlin didn’t see a prophecy in them. Just a boy. One he once saved.

...

..

.

Later that night, when the guards had done their final pass, Merlin sat outer the chambers with a tray of food he hadn't touched. He had to act normal.

Morgana hadn’t come yet. He wasn’t sure if she would.

He prayed she wouldn't.

But just as his eyes closed...

The door creaked open.

Morgana stepped through in a dark green cloak, not her usual armor. Her expression unreadable.

"Did they speak to you?" she asked calmly.

Merlin blinked. His mind screamed.

"No, my lady."

She walked slowly to him, every step measured.

"Good," she said. "Because they will try. They will plead and beg. But you are above that now."

Her hand reached out, brushing his shoulder as if he were a piece of art she had carved from stone.

"You’re stronger than that. Aren’t you, Emrys?"

He forced the nod.

"Yes, my lady."

But deep beneath the stone floor, the runes began to crack.

...

..

.

That night, Merlin slipped from the chamber.

He moved like a shadow through the winding hallways, magic veiled so faintly it could barely be sensed. Every torch was noted. Every creaking floorboard memorized. Guards were marked with subtle spells of confusion—enough to make them double back, forget why they turned the corner.

A path cleared itself behind him.

He found the storerooms. Took a ring of keys. A healing draught. A cloak to mask Arthur when they fled. He hid them behind a collapsed corridor, lit softly with a spell of illusion.

Then he returned.

The knights were still in silence.

He moved to Lancelot’s side first.

The lock clicked open.

One by one, he began unlocking them. Carefully. Slowly. He murmured old spells under his breath to numb the noise of metal.

When he reached Arthur last, their eyes met.

Arthur gripped his arm. "You're coming with us."

Merlin hesitated.

Arthur’s voice dropped. Merlin could see the raw redness under his eyes. "Please."

The word hung heavy.

But Merlin shook his head. Not yet. Not now.

“I’ll clear the rest of the way. When it’s safe, go. Wait until the third bell tolls. Take the cloaks. The guards won't bother your escape. They won’t see you."

Arthur’s hand tightened. "I won't leave without you."

“You have to."

Merlin looked away.

“There’s something I still have to do."

...

The next corridor was darker. Colder. He moved past Morgana’s chambers like a breath, but she wasn’t inside. A vision pulsed faintly in the glass mirror on the wall—his reflection, twisted, sickly.

He stared at it.

Long enough for the voice behind him to whisper:

"Merlin."

She stood in the hallway.

She wasn't cloaked. No crown. No spells drawn.

Just her. Pale, quiet. Human.

He could kill her. Right now.

His fingers sparked gold.

She didn’t raise a hand to stop him.

“You’ve always been stronger than me,” she said softly.

He faltered.

Her voice didn’t echo like the illusions. It didn’t shimmer like the false Arthur or Gwen or Gaius.

She was real.

The only sweet thing that hadn’t tortured his mind. 

He lowered his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Unable to harm her.

And he ran.

...

When the knights reached the tunnel beneath the castle, they found the path waiting. Lit by soft blue lights shaped like an orb. Guardless. Open.

But Merlin was gone.

Arthur turned to look back once.

The forest waiting in front of him.

Merlin had vanished once more. He had told Arthur to leave him. Arthur had no idea where the man had gone.

But he knew Merlin would refuse to be a weapon again.

Chapter Text

The forest was ancient. Older than Camelot. Older than Albion’s thrones. It whispered with the voices of the past, of druids and sorcerers, of magic left unspoken.

And Merlin listened.

He had made a home in its silence.

A small hollow, hidden by thick moss and twisted roots, guarded by enchantments that spun confusion around anyone who came too close. Birds still sang here. Leaves danced in golden shafts of light. But the deeper one went, the colder it became. The forest remembered pain.

So did Merlin.

He didn't speak often. The forest didn't require it.

When he needed water, he summoned it from the ground. When he needed warmth, he whispered to the fire. When he dreamed, he dreamed of chains.

He did not return to Camelot.

He did not seek Arthur.

But Arthur sought him. Looking aimlessly for a long time. 

...

It began with trade.

A blade left at the forest’s edge. Steel from the royal smithy. In exchange, the next morning, it was gone—replaced by a scrap of parchment. A map. Marked with the next move Morgana's soldiers would take.

Next came a bundle of thick wool and herbs for healing. Merlin left behind a satchel filled with runes and counter-charms to ward off enchantments.

Then a message: Please. Come home.

No answer.

...

The next time Arthur came himself.

He did not bring knights.

Only a cloak, food, and a hope he didn’t know what to do with.

He found nothing the first day. The second, only mist. But on the third, he came to a clearing where the trees bent inward, forming a quiet ring of twisted bark and light.

Merlin was there.

Not the boy he remembered.

The man was quiet. Ragged. His cloak patched from years of wear. His eyes sharp but tired, watching Arthur with a guarded stillness.

“You found me,” Merlin said softly.

Arthur stepped forward. “I had to.”

Merlin didn’t smile. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Why?”

Arthur hesitated. “To ask you to come home.”

“No.”

The word was simple. No anger. Just truth.

“I’m not what I was.”

“You’re still Merlin.”

“No,” Merlin repeated. “I’m something else now.”

He glanced at the bundle Arthur carried. “What did you bring?”

“Food. Letters. From Gwen. From Gaius.”

Merlin looked away. “Put them there.”

Arthur placed them on the stone by the edge of the clearing. He didn’t try to step further.

Merlin’s gaze softened just slightly. “Thank you.”

Then he vanished into the trees.

...

This became the rhythm.

Arthur returned once a week. Sometimes more. Always alone. Sometimes with gifts. Sometimes with words. Sometimes with silence.

And Merlin would appear.

He never asked for forgiveness.

He never offered it.

They spoke like strangers tied by something deeper than blood—something old and broken, still mending.

One day, Arthur asked, “Why do you stay here?”

Merlin didn’t answer at first.

Then:

“Because the forest doesn’t ask me to be anything.”

Arthur sat beside the stone.

“You’re not a weapon, Merlin.”

Merlin finally looked at him. His eyes were clearer than before, but darker too.

“I was. And I might still be. That’s why I can’t go back.”

Arthur reached for him, but Merlin stepped back.

“You’re safer if I’m far away.”

Silence.

“Then why let me come at all?” Arthur asked quietly.

Merlin almost smiled. “Because you’re the only one who doesn’t flinch.”

...

Morgana never found him.

Her magic twisted through the woods, hunting, but it always returned empty.

Only Merlin could choose to be found.

And only Arthur could come close.

The war still raged beyond the trees.

But in this forest, in this quiet breath between chaos, there was a boy made into something dangerous and kind.

And a king who never stopped looking for him.

Even when he knew Merlin might never return.

The slow burn of forgiveness had begun.

Chapter Text

The throne room burned.

Smoke poured through shattered windows. Ash rained down like snow.

Arthur’s sword clanged against steel as he spun to deflect another blow. Blood streaked his cheek, his arm, his ribs—but he stood firm. Around him, the knights fought back-to-back, a dwindling circle of resistance.

Gwen shouted his name as fire licked at the far walls. The people had already begun to flee—those who could. Others were rounded up by Morgana’s soldiers. Magic crackled in the corridors. The castle groaned like it was dying.

Arthur kicked down one of the enchanted guards. "To the gate!" he shouted. "Cover the queen!"

Leon flanked him, wounded but still standing. "We won’t hold it much longer—"

A blast of green light split the air. Arthur turned just in time to see a pillar collapse, burying three men in a crash of stone.

At the far end of the hall, Morgana stepped through the wreckage.

Her eyes glowed.

The air itself seemed to bend around her.

“This throne was never yours,” she said, her voice calm and chilling. “Camelot was built on blood. It’s only fitting it ends with it.”

Arthur raised his blade. “Then take it from me.”

He charged.

Their swords met in a storm of sparks and fury. Steel against magic, will against prophecy. Arthur fought like a man with nothing left to lose. And maybe he didn’t. Camelot had already cracked. He could feel it.

But still—he didn’t fall.

It took three more enchanted warriors to bring him to his knees. Even then, he lunged again. Again.

Until Gwen’s scream stopped him.

Morgana had her pinned. Magic flared around her hands.

“Yield,” she said, “or watch her burn.”

Arthur froze.

His fingers slackened on the hilt.

He looked at Gwen—brave, terrified, ready to die beside him—and something in him shattered.

He let the sword fall.

The clash ended. Silence followed.

And then the throne room wept.

Morgana turned. Slowly. She walked up the broken dais, the hem of her dress sweeping through blood and soot.

She sat on the throne.

“I’ll give your people a choice,” she said. “Kneel or die.”

Behind Arthur, a boy who’d tried to raise a sword wept as he was dragged away.

Morgana smiled.

“Camelot belongs to me now.”

...

..

.

The wind stirred the leaves in Morgana’s forest.

And from within it, Merlin listened.

He had built his shelter in silence—hidden between roots, protected by wards only those he allowed could see. To others, the place was a dead patch of overgrowth. Twisted branches. Hollow trunks. A graveyard of forgotten things.

But for Merlin, it was refuge.

He did not light fires. He did not speak aloud. He hunted when needed, gathered when he could, and bartered with those few daring enough to seek him.

Rumors spread quickly in the south: of a shadow that traded knowledge for warmth. A phantom draped in ragged cloaks who could offer secrets—if the price was right.

Arthur found him just after dawn.

He came alone.

Merlin did not greet him. He stood beside the edge of a stream, hands submerged in the icy water, washing blood from his fingers.

The sound of the forest was louder than either of them.

Arthur stepped forward. Quiet. Unsure.

Merlin did not look back.

“…How are they?” he asked, voice hoarse from disuse.

Arthur froze.

“…Gwen is safe. Gaius, too. We’re in hiding—north, past the lakes. Leon’s watching the borders. The others… they’re recovering.”

A pause.

“Mordred hasn’t spoken much. But he asks about you.”

Merlin’s hands stilled.

He let the stream carry away the crimson in silence.

“Camelot fell,” Merlin murmured. “I felt it. The moment her spell broke through.”

Arthur nodded. Shame darkened his expression.

“She waited until we were weakened. Picked off allies from within. Those loyal to the crown tried to fight back.”

He swallowed.

“She killed them, Merlin. In the courtyard. In front of the people. When they wouldn’t kneel.”

Merlin’s breath caught, just faintly.

Arthur stepped closer. “I can’t take back what you went through. I know you don’t trust me.”

“I trust you,” Merlin whispered. “But I don’t trust myself.”

Arthur didn’t answer.

Merlin turned then—slowly. His face was thinner, paler. The circles beneath his eyes were deep and purple like bruises. But his magic hummed, alive and waiting behind his bones.

Arthur met his gaze.

“I came to make a bargain.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow, barely.

“Trade for trade,” Arthur said carefully. “Like the others. You give what you’re willing, I give what I can.”

Silence stretched between them. A leaf fell between them, golden and crisp.

Merlin’s voice was soft. “What is it you want, Arthur?”

“I want my kingdom back.”

Merlin looked away. Toward the trees. Toward the direction of Camelot.

“I am not a kingmaker.”

“No,” Arthur said, stepping beside him, “you’re something greater. You always have been.”

That name flickered in Merlin’s eyes—always.

“I can’t go back,” he said. “Not like before. Not as a servant. Not as your shadow.”

Arthur didn’t flinch. “Then don’t. Come as yourself. As Emrys.”

Merlin said nothing.

But his eyes fell to the satchel Arthur carried. The faint scent of parchment and herbs inside. Supplies. Offers.

“I need information,” Arthur said. “About the runes she’s using. About the towers she’s raised on our borders. I need a chance.”

Merlin nodded once. Barely.

“You’ll have it.”

Arthur exhaled—like a man who had been holding his breath since the fall.

“But I’m not returning with you,” Merlin added. “When the battle begins… I’ll decide then. When it’s mine to give.”

Arthur accepted it with a nod.

Because it was more than he'd hoped for.

…

..

.

That night, as the moon rose pale and thin over Camelot, Morgana stood at the foot of Uther’s old throne.

Blood stained the carpet. Her hand dripped with magic still simmering from her latest sentence.

A man had refused to kneel.

She’d given him one chance.

Now the guards dragged his body from the hall. The people in the courtyard below didn’t cheer. They watched in silence. Tight-lipped. Furious.

Fear sat like iron over their hearts—but so did fury.

She saw it in their eyes.

And she welcomed it.

“Let them hate me,” Morgana whispered. “Let them come. Let them burn for their loyalty.”

She turned to her priestesses.

“Ready the army.”

…

Back in the forest, Merlin traced the scars on his palm as he sat by the stream again, cloak drawn tight against the cold.

He did not weep. Not yet.

But he knew something terrible was coming.

And when it did, he would have to choose.

Not between Morgana and Arthur.

Not between loyalty and power.

But between who he had become—

—and who he had once hoped to be.

...

..

.

Night had fully fallen by the time Arthur stepped back into the cave.

The fire was low, the air damp and quiet save for the gentle whisper of rain tapping against the mouth of the cave. Gwen was seated near the flames, her hands curled around a cold cup. Gaius sat beside her, his expression heavy with quiet grief. Mordred leaned against the far wall, his eyes fixed on the entrance, as if waiting for someone else to appear behind Arthur.

When Arthur entered, the silence deepened.

Gwen rose slowly. "Was it him?" Lancelot sat up with hope in his eyes.

Arthur nodded. His face was unreadable.

"And?" Gwaine asked. He stood off to the side, arms crossed tight. He sounded angry, but his eyes were red.

"He's not coming back," Arthur said quietly.

Gaius looked away. He said nothing.

Gaius voice was soft. “He was just a boy when he came to Camelot.”

“And now?” Gwaine muttered. “He’s a ghost.”

Mordred pushed off the wall, approaching slowly. “Did he say anything about me?”

Arthur hesitated, then met his gaze. “He remembers you.”

“I looked up to him,” Mordred whispered. “The druids speak of him as Emrys. A protector. A savior. I thought…” He trailed off. “I thought he might stay.”

Arthur placed a steady hand on his shoulder. “He watches over us still. Just… from a distance.”

They fell into silence once more.

Then, as if summoned by the sorrow hanging in the cave, the shadows near the entrance shifted.

Merlin didn’t walk in.

But the stone floor lit faintly beneath their feet.

A warding rune. Gentle. Old.

Then another—just beyond the fire.

Fresh water shimmered into being in a stone bowl. Warm bread. Dried meats. Roots and herbs laid out on clean cloths.

A soft glow passed through the cave, flickering like starlight.

And then… a presence.

A girl stepped from the mist.

Not from the entrance—but from the very air.

Freya.

She was not solid. Not a ghost. Not flesh. Somewhere in between. She wore one of Morganas old dresses.

Gwen gasped quietly. Mordred stood, though unsure why.

Freya approached Arthur, cradling something in her arms.

Excalibur.

She smiled faintly, her voice soft as mist. “I keep this for him. But he wanted you to have it now.”

Arthur took the blade with reverence. He didn’t speak.

Freya looked at Mordred then, her expression kind. “He hears you. He sees all of you. But the forest is his safety now. His sanctuary. He cannot leave it. Not yet.”

Mordred blinked quickly, nodding.

Freya turned. Her image already starting to fade.

And before she vanished completely, her voice echoed one last time:

“He protects you all still.”

Then the cave was just a cave again. Silent. But warm. Fed. Guarded.

And in the forest, far beyond their reach, Merlin stood alone beneath the stars.

Watching. Protecting.

Silent.

Present.

A shadow against the trees.

...

..

.

Far beyond the forest, in the heart of the throne room once gilded by Camelot’s honor, Morgana stood draped in black and silver.

The court had changed. The red banners of Camelot had been torn down, replaced by green and onyx. The circular table—Arthur’s symbol of unity—lay shattered beneath her boots.

She addressed her gathered ranks. Soldiers of the old kingdom, mercenaries loyal to coin and chaos, sorcerers bound to her cause through fear or fury.

“Camelot is fractured,” she declared. “The people cry for a king who has run from them. But I—” she raised her voice, cold as iron, “—I will give them strength.”

One of her knights, armored in bone-pale metal, knelt. “And if they don’t obey?”

Morgana smiled. “Then they will burn.”

Outside the castle walls, smoke already curled above villages that had resisted. Civilians who would not kneel were silenced. The market square had become a place of public judgment—some fled, others fell.

And Morgana, ever watching, waited for Arthur to crawl back into the light.

She wanted him to come.

She wanted him to see what she had made of his kingdom.

...

Meanwhile, in the cave, the group readied themselves.

Excalibur rested at Arthur’s side. The food Merlin had conjured had been shared and preserved for travel. Gwen laced her boots in silence. Gaius packed herbs and bandages. The knights adjusted their armor.

Arthur stood apart, hands resting on the sword that had once lived beneath water and legend.

“Today,” he said, “we reclaim what was lost.”

Gwaine nodded. “Let’s hope she doesn’t expect company.”

“She expects everything,” Arthur replied. “But she won’t expect him.”

...

They breached Camelot at dawn.

Fog clung to the streets as Arthur and his knights slipped through the hidden tunnels beneath the castle—those same paths Merlin once wandered alone. They emerged into a city held hostage. Morgana’s banners flapped in the wind. Her men patrolled the courtyards.

Camelot didn’t welcome them—it watched them. Quiet. Wounded.

Gwen and Gaius helped usher citizens into shadowed shelters. The knights took their positions, waiting for Arthur’s signal.

But when the moment came—when Arthur stood at the gates, drawing Excalibur to lead his charge—

Morgana’s forces poured from the keep like a flood.

Too many.

Steel clashed against steel. Magic ripped through the stone.

Arthur fought his way toward the courtyard, his men flanked and falling. A blast of ice-magic shattered the ground near Leon. Gwaine shouted a warning. Percival swung his blade through the air, but they were being surrounded.

“Fall back!” Arthur shouted. “We can’t hold—”

Then the wind changed.

A shadow blotted out the rising sun.

A cry shattered the sky.

Kilgharrah.

The Great Dragon roared as he descended from the clouds, flames trailing his wings like the sun itself had caught fire.

He swept low, a wave of fire breaking across the enemy lines.

Morgana screamed from the throne balcony, rage twisting her features. She raised her hands—

“Aithusa!”

From the towers, a white blur dove down—smaller, faster, furious. The pale dragon shrieked and locked her gaze on Arthur, diving with a cry of desperation.

Morgana roared. “Burn him!”

Aithusa spiraled downward.

And then—

A voice rose beneath her.

Steady. Sure.

“Aithusa—hiérna me!” (Hear me.)

The white dragon stilled in the air.

Another voice followed—older, deeper. The magic behind it was ancient, bound in blood and language long forgotten.

Aithusa hovered, confused. 

From behind Arthurs knights, a figure stood.

Merlin. Cloaked. Hood down. Eyes blazing gold.

He extended a hand toward her.

“Who do you think hatched her?” he shouted across the courtyard. His voice rang like thunder. “Who do you think gave her a name?!”

Morgana froze.

Aithusa whined low in her throat, circling once.

Then—gently—she turned in the sky and flew to Kilgharrah’s side.

Two dragons now hovered above the battlefield.

And beneath them, Merlin strode toward Arthur, fire still in his wake.

Arthur blinked, sword slack in his grip. “Merlin…”

“I told you,” Merlin said, voice quiet now, gold still burning behind his eyes. “You'll have it.”

Arthur gave a shaken nod.

Merlin turned to face Morgana’s army.

And the final battle for Camelot began.

The courtyard burned.

Flames licked the stone walls where Morgana’s army had once stood proud. Now, half of them fled beneath dragonfire. The other half stood frozen—staring up at Merlin.

He moved like light wrapped in shadow, each step pulsing with magic that the earth itself seemed to remember.

From her perch on the throne steps, Morgana watched.

Her expression—once sure, once smug—twisted into disbelief.

“You came back,” she breathed. “After everything.”

Merlin’s eyes found hers. There was no cruelty in them.

Only truth.

“I was never yours to keep.”

With a scream, she launched a wave of green fire.

Merlin raised one hand.

Emerald met Gold in a blinding crash of power.

The ground cracked beneath their feet. Windows shattered. The sky dimmed, thunder shook the ground.

“Fall back!” Arthur called to his knights as the blast scattered soldiers across the court. He held his ground, sword raised. “Give him space!”

Morgana leapt down the stairs, her cloak ablaze behind her, striking again.

This time, Merlin didn’t block.

He absorbed.

The flames curled around him—touched his skin—then disappeared into nothingness.

She faltered.

“You’re stronger,” she hissed.

“I’m whole,” Merlin said.

He threw his hand out. Vines burst from the courtyard earth, ancient roots from druid forests, wrapping around her legs. She burned them to ash with a scream, but it gave him time.

Time to run.

Time to leap beside Arthur.

Arthur didn’t flinch.

Their backs touched, just for a second.

King and sorcerer.

They turned in perfect rhythm—Arthur parried an incoming blade, Merlin swept a soldier off his feet with a gust of wind.

Arthur spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s good to have you back.”

Merlin smiled faintly. “Let’s hope you still feel that way in an hour.”

Gwen watched from behind a barricade as the two of them fought—synchronized, relentless, unstoppable.

“They’re…” she whispered to Gaius.

“Two sides of the same coin,” the old man said softly.

Morgana screamed in fury.

She slammed her palms to the earth.

Dark tendrils erupted—shadows rising from cracks in the stone, reaching for Arthur.

But before they could touch him—

Merlin stepped forward.

He didn’t shout. He didn’t flinch.

He simply spoke.

“He is not yours to take.”

Light exploded from the ground, shattering Morgana’s curse like glass.

She stared at him. “You’d still die for him? Even now?”

“He's my destiny,” Merlin answered.

And he moved toward her.

The courtyard fell still—just for a moment.

Morgana stood opposite Merlin, her arms shaking but her eyes alight with a terrible, desperate fury.

She didn’t speak.

She only raised her hand.

The sky cracked.

A sound like breaking glass echoed across the courtyard.

And suddenly—they were no longer in Camelot.

Arthur staggered. So did the knights, Gwen, Gaius—everyone caught in the spell. Around them, the stone faded into a shifting, unnatural twilight. It wasn’t just Merlin’s mind Morgana twisted now.

She let them all in.

Illusions bloomed like flowers of rot.

“Merlin?” Gwen whispered.

They turned—and saw him.

Kneeling. Trembling.

“Merlin—!” Arthur called, but the words warped in the air, twisted like smoke.

Because Merlin wasn’t seeing them anymore.

Not truly.

He saw Gwen, hands bloodied, eyes cold. “You never belonged at Camelot,” she said. “We kept you because we pitied you.”

He flinched.

He saw Gaius, his father figure, back turned. “You lied. Again and again. And you wonder why I couldn’t trust you.”

He gasped, backing away.

He saw Freya—sweet, smiling Freya—her dress soaked in blood.

Arthur stood over her, sword drawn.

“No!” Merlin cried. “No, that’s not—”

“You should’ve told me what she was,” Illusion-Arthur said. “You forced my hand.”

Merlin fell to the ground. Shaking.

Then he saw his father—Balinor.

Dying.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin whispered, a wooden dragon appeared in his hand.

But behind him, Arthur’s voice again—sharp. Harsh.

“No man is worth your tears, Merlin. Not even your father.”

The real Arthur’s voice broke through the mist: “Merlin!”

But Merlin couldn’t hear him.

Morgana walked toward him, expression soft. Like a lullaby her voice sang sweet soft melodies.

“I’ll protect you,” she whispered. “They never deserved you. But I see you. I’ve always seen you.”

She reached out her hand.

“Come back to me.”

Merlin’s breath was shallow. His fingers twitched with magic, but it sparked and died. His lips parted—but no sound came out.

He looked so small. So young again.

Not a sorcerer. Not Emrys. Just a boy who had tried too hard for too long.

And now he was breaking.

“Merlin,” Arthur whispered—real, shaken, grounded. He stepped forward, sword in hand. “Look at me. Please.”

But Merlin was lost in the fog of falsehood.

And Morgana—

She turned her gaze to Arthur, triumphant.

“You couldn’t save him.”

And Arthur—

Arthur ran.

Not toward Merlin.

Toward her.

Excalibur sang through the air.

Morgana’s eyes widened. She turned to cast—

But too late.

Steel met flesh.

She gasped.

Arthur drove the blade through her chest, straight into the heart of the magic.

There was no scream.

Just silence.

And then—

The illusion shattered.

The courtyard returned.

The sky cleared.

Morgana crumpled to the stones, eyes locked on Merlin.

“You’ll… never… be free…”

Her last breath left like smoke in winter.

And she was still.

But Merlin didn’t rise.

He remained kneeling.

Still trembling.

Still… hollow.

...

The wind moved softly across the courtyard.

Ash and dust floated like snow, the echoes of battle long faded. The air still held the charge of spent magic, of grief not yet spoken.

Morgana’s body lay still. Unmoving. Her war ended not with fire—but with silence.

And Merlin…

He hadn’t spoken.

Not since the illusion broke. Not since her voice whispered her last lie.

He remained kneeling in the center of the courtyard, his hands hanging limp at his sides, his eyes fixed on a space far beyond Camelot’s broken towers.

Arthur knelt beside him.

No sword. No crown. Just a man beside another.

“Merlin,” he tried gently.

No answer.

Behind them, Gaius stood with Gwen. Her hand was on his arm, trembling slightly, while her other covered her mouth. She hadn’t cried—she couldn’t, not yet—but her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

Gwaine, quiet for once, leaned against a broken wall, his own shoulder wounded but ignored.

Mordred stood a few paces off, his hands clenched. The boy’s gaze never left Merlin. There was awe in his eyes still, but now too—a terrible ache.

“Let him be,” Gaius murmured softly spoke to the others.

Arthur didn’t move.

He simply reached out, hand resting on Merlin’s shoulder. No pressure. Just presence.

“I’m here,” he said.

No titles. No commands.

Only truth.

A few steps away, Percival and Elyan were helping the injured through the courtyard. Camelot’s people, freed from Morgana’s grasp, were slowly emerging. Pale. Dirty. Wounded. But alive.

Leon and Lancelot began raising the banner that had fallen during the siege. Red cloth fluttered faintly in the breeze. Gwen turned, lifting her chin.

“The people need to see hope,” she whispered. “Even if it’s just the banner.”

Inside, in the throne room stripped of Morgana’s influence, Lancelot and Gaius began setting up makeshift beds for the wounded. Gwen followed soon after. The quiet of rebuilding began.

But outside, Arthur still knelt by Merlin.

And slowly—so slowly—Merlin blinked.

His lips parted, voice rasping like leaves in autumn.

“I saw her die.”

Arthur nodded. “You did.”

Merlin swallowed. His hands curled weakly against the stone.

“But I didn’t want her to.”

Arthur closed his eyes. “I know.”

“I thought…” Merlin’s voice broke. “I thought if I just listened. If I just obeyed. Maybe she'd stop hurting everyone. Maybe she'd stop hurting me.”

“She used your heart against you,” Arthur said. “And you still fought her.”

“I didn’t win.”

Arthur looked at him gently. “You’re still here.”

Merlin looked down at his own hands as if they weren’t his. “I don’t feel like me.”

Arthur glanced up at the stars overhead, barely visible now through the parting smoke.

“Then we wait. Until you do.”

Merlin didn’t answer, but for the first time, he didn’t look away.

A breeze stirred his hair.

Arthur stood and held out his hand slowly.

Merlin looked at it.

It took a long time—but eventually, his fingers curled around Arthur’s.

Arthur pulled him to his feet, and Merlin leaned heavily against him, hollow but standing.

They stood together.

Two sides of the same coin once more.

Chapter Text

The castle stones still bore scars—cracks running like veins through the corridors, remnants of the siege—but they held firm. And so did the people.

It had been a year since the last battle. Since Morgana fell. Since Merlin collapsed in Arthur’s arms, empty and shaking.

Now, Camelot was rebuilding.

The sun filtered through the high windows of the throne room where laughter echoed once more. Banners hung again from their rightful places. Knights trained in the courtyard below, the clang of swords returning as a comforting rhythm.

Arthur sat slouched at his chambers desk—no crown today—reading over trade documents with a frown. Across from him, Merlin lounged in a chair, chewing on a stalk of wheat and trying to look more helpful than he actually was.

“You could at least pretend to be useful,” Arthur muttered.

“I’m moral support,” Merlin replied without looking up. “You'd weep if I left.”

Arthur tossed a parchment at him. “I’d celebrate.”

Merlin grinned. “Liar.”

There was comfort now in their banter. A familiar rhythm. Not perfect, but real.

After a long pause, Arthur said without lifting his eyes, “You know… the people have been asking for a court sorcerer.”

Merlin blinked. “Oh?”

Arthur looked up at him. “I was thinking of asking you.”

A beat.

Then Merlin grinned crookedly. “Who’s going to be your manservant, then?”

Arthur gave a tired, amused sigh. “You can do that too.”

Merlin’s smile faded just slightly, voice quieter. “You’re serious?”

Arthur nodded. “It’s time.”

For a moment, Merlin didn’t speak.

Then: “What if… I see things again? What if I can’t tell what’s real?”

Arthur set the papers down. “Then you’ll have people beside you. Gwen. Gaius. Me. We won’t let you fall again.”

Merlin swallowed.

Arthur stood, walking over. “You saved us. Not just with your power. But with your heart.” He pat Merlin's shoulder.

He paused. “You are real, Merlin. And you are enough.”

...

Later that evening, Merlin sat in Gaius’s chambers, a warm cup of something bitter in his hands.

“Sleeping draught,” Gaius explained gently. “Mild, but it should help with the dreams.”

Merlin nodded slowly. “Thanks.”

Gaius rested a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve come far, my boy. Don’t forget that.”

...

In the courtyard, Gwen cornered Merlin with a thread and needle in hand.

“I made you something,” she said.

He blinked. “Is it cursed?”

She rolled her eyes and tied the purple neckerchief gently around his neck.

“Royal color,” she said. “Fitting for Camelot’s most stubborn hero.”

He flushed slightly, tugging at the cloth. “It’s… nice.”

“Don’t ruin it.”

“I’ll try.”

She smiled and held up scissors.

Merlin groaned. “You’re going to cut my hair, aren’t you?”

“Absolutely.”

Moments later, she was shearing off the tangled mess with care. She even managed to trim his beard until it no longer resembled a forgotten mop.

When she stepped back, Merlin raised a brow. “Do I look like a court sorcerer?”

“You always have, Merlin.”

...

That night, as the stars lit the sky, Arthur and Merlin stood on the balcony next to Morganas old chambers.

Arthur gestured toward the rebuilt courtyard. “Magic is no longer outlawed. I signed the edict today.”

Merlin looked at him slowly.

“For you,” Arthur confirmed. “And for Camelot. If they trust me, they’ll trust you too.”

Merlin’s throat worked. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Start with ‘thank you, Your Majesty’?”

Merlin laughed.

Then, silence.

Arthur broke it. “You’re not alone anymore."

Merlin nodded.

Arthur ruffled Merlin's hair keeping him in head lock.

"Ow, ow, ow! Arthur!"

Arthur eventually let go smiling, Merlin as well with his newly messed up hair.

"Always be you Merlin, always."

The stars watched over Camelot, and for the first time in a long time, they shone without fear.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t finished.

But it was home.

And Merlin—scruffy, strange, wonderful Merlin—finally belonged there.