Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

prologue.

The clock struck midnight, and the peace Merlin had begun to feel in his soul was torn to shreds. Ice seemed to sprout from inside his very core, seeping into every pore of his body. He glanced from the figure in the middle of the ballroom - one, whom no one else seemed to notice - and took a look at his king, toasting to Camelot and all its citizens. And as the air in his lungs escaped him, his body slowly sinking to the hard floors beneath him, all he heard was a voice coming from deep in the earth, speaking as clear as anything.

Emrys.

As Merlin fell unconscious to the floor, multiple knights were on him immediately and it took all of Arthur’s willpower to not rush to his side as well. He tried to quickly regain the attention of the people, taking everyone’s eyes off of his servant, as he watched Lancelot carry him out, Gaius quickly following him. He held up his goblet again, calling for another toast, and as his eyes scanned the crowd, he felt almost empty, because when all their voices rang out, the one he wanted to hear the most wasn’t there. Yet, he smiled for his people and let them toast to his good name.

Arthur Pendragon, king of Camelot.

Chapter Text

PART ONE: EMRYS

i.

He met the witch not long after the battle of Camelot. He honestly hadn’t cared for who had been the champion of the skirmish. The king, Uther, he hated with all his heart, so any misfortune that befell the man was a joyous occasion. The crown prince, Arthur, was, if gossip was to be believed, cut from the same cloth as his father with the exception of his unnaturally good looks - those must be from his mother. And, lastly, the Lady Morgana, a product of Uther’s wayward actions, she too had been rumored to be much like her family, even if she despised them so. 

A servant knocked on the door to his chambers, and he called for her to enter. Two women have collapsed not far from your residence, she had informed, a slight panic in her voice. He nodded once and bade her take them in, prepare beds for them, offer them housing until they were rested again. He was not a cruel man, women in need of help always had a place with him. He went to bed without giving them another thought.

He was reminded of them again after breakfast. One of them had woken up, his maid had informed. She seemed in bad state, she had said, when he had raised an eyebrow. Time to visit his guests.

He entered the guests chambers. The chambers naturally hosted two beds, as his residence did not have space for multiple guest chambers - not that many visitors came by, but it was nice to have the option. However, it was clear that one of them had not been slept in at all. A young woman with blonde hair was sleeping - unconscious - in the other bed. She was beautiful in every sense of the word, fair and slender, even though her skin had seen better days, he was entranced by the sheer beauty of this woman - completely enchanted.

Beside her was another woman with long, dark hair. Her back was to him, and she was clinging to the hand of the blonde woman as if her life depended on it. He stood there for a while, taking in the sight of the women, wondering what had brought them to his doorstep in the state they had been in. His trance was only broken, when the dark-haired woman suddenly spoke to him.

“Thank you for letting us rest here, my lord,” she said sweetly. She sounded young, like she had only just entered adulthood, or maybe even younger. “I’m afraid we don’t have much to give you, and my sister is in so much need of rest. Would it be terribly inconvenient of us to stay just a little longer? I could help about in the household if it can repay just a bit of our debt to you.”

She still wasn’t looking at him, but he felt his voice caught in his throat. The words in his mouth so heavy that it took all the energy in him to muster a reply. “Don’t worry, young lady. I’m sure you’re both in need of rest. Take as much time as you need. I’ll have a maid attend to you, fetch you some clothes and food.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the woman replied. She never once looked at him, and he left the room before his head began to spin more than it already was.

The blonde woman woke up after a week, and he let his servants continue to attend to them, and listened to their reports about her recovery. As he sister got better, the dark-haired woman seemed to have taken to strolling the grounds once a day, and reports came in of their crops growing better than anything they’d seen in decades, old horses suddenly acting like stallions in their prime years and their chickens laying eggs once an hour. He always smiled at the reports and sent them on their way, saying how lucky a year they were having. Once he was alone, he would sigh and wonder how he had come to house two witches.

He entered their chambers a month after their first arrival. The blonde woman was sitting in the bed, colour slowly appearing on her once snow white face. Beside her, the dark-haired woman was sitting on a stool, feeding her stew.

“Sorry for the intrusion,” he spoke softly, his mind slowly becoming muddled again. Aware of the magic whirling about, it was a little easier to remain clear-headed.

“It is alright, my lord,” the dark-haired one spoke, and fed her sister another spoonful of stew, “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I just wanted to thank you,” He spoke slowly, eyes following the movement of her spoon as it scooped more stew from the bowl, “For assisting in the prosperity of my lands. It is turning out to be quite a successful harvest this year.”

“Consider it our thanks for giving us food and a roof over our heads. Most lords would not have been so generous - especially not to our kind.”

“And for no good reason, my lady,” He spoke hastily, as he sensed the sorrow in her voice, “In the time you’ve been here, I’ve seen more good in you than the rest of the kingdom combined. You will always have a place in my residence, I can assure you of that.”

“We thank you, my lord,” she said and put down the bowl. Her sister sank back into her pillows and closed her eyes, sleep claiming her immediately. 

The dark-haired one stood up, turned around and faced him. She was beauty incarnate. Her figure was tall, slender and proud, her head held high as she looked at him with those emerald eyes. She moved closer to him, slowly, slowly, her ruby lips parting slightly and stood before him, looking, reading, measuring his very soul. He could not move, could not speak, could not breathe. Her hand was suddenly on his, soft, so soft, she caressed it, their eyes never leaving one another.

“My lord,” she whispered, “I see in you a wish for the current ways of Camelot to fall away, for it to become something new. Yet, the fires of rebellion have died out,” She leaned in closer, “Let us give you hope, let us reignite them. We can change the kingdom for better. Do not waste away here, my lord, stand by us and become something more, something better.”

“How, my lady?”

“Help me take back my throne,” she breathed, “Help me bring magic back to the lands.”

He blinked, “Who are you?”

“My name is Morgana Pendragon, and I am the rightful ruler of Camelot.”

Agravaine let go of a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. After years of watching life go by, he finally had a purpose. Morgana squeezed his hand and told him of his duty.

In the year between Morgana being found and her inevitable betrayal, Arthur matured a lot. Merlin noticed that quicker than anyone else, because unlike when his father had fallen victim to the effects of the mandrake, this time, Arthur didn’t protest to taking control of the kingdom and becoming regent, when his father proved unable to rule. And though he suffered, both from the loss of Morgana and his father’s mental state, Arthur led well, and Arthur led kindly, just like Merlin had always known he would.

Arthur didn’t hesitate to confide in Merlin and ask him for advice, when he needed it. Hell, Merlin suspected that Arthur would sometimes just ask even if he already knew that he was doing the right thing (‘Though strengthening our army is important, the recovery of our people comes first, don’t you think?’ Arthur would ask, and Merlin would answer as he always did: ‘yes sire’). And Merlin was always ready to help Arthur when he asked for it, and though their relationship changed slightly - there seemed to be fewer opportunities to poke fun at each other, to share their inside jokes and go on impromptu adventures - Merlin believed that it was for the better. Arthur was maturing and growing into the king who would one day unite Albion, and Merlin was proud to be able to be right by his side through the entire journey. And after all the hardships and trials they had suffered through, Merlin thought that perhaps now it was time for the tides to change.

Camelot was rather peaceful during the rebuilding period. No foreign king declared war, no vengeful sorcerer sought to kill the Pendragons, Morgana and Morgause, though in hiding, never made a move, and the few thieves who tried their hands on the treasures of Camelot never made it past the gate. Of course, there wasn’t much of Camelot that needed fixing and rebuilding, since most of what had been destroyed during Morgana’s invasion had already been fixed by the high priestess themselves, as Morgana had ruled. No, the castles, houses and stables were mostly fine. It was the people that needed rebuilding. Many lives had been lost, knights and civilians both, and a new society had to be built for Camelot to survive. Merlin thought that, most of all, what the people needed was someone to believe in. And Arthur was slowly becoming that.

“It is almost winter,” Arthur said on the fifth day of his regency, a small fire had already been ignited in the fireplace as the weather was about to change.

“Yes, sire,” Merlin responded and dressed Arthur, making him ready for yet another day of ruling.

“How is the food supply?” Arthur asked, having told Merlin to have that knowledge by morning.

“Adequate,” Merlin cited the person who had given him the knowledge, “Unless the population grows rapidly in the coming months, we should have plenty for the winter.”

“We were lucky that the immortal army did not need food to survive,” Arthur said grimly, not at all as teasing as he would have said it just a year earlier.

“Dead men don’t eat,” Merlin replied, also lacking the teasing tone he could have so easily added. At some point, the jokes and the banter would return, but until Arthur was fully settled into his role as leader, Merlin would not push that side of their relationship. Now was the time for him to be the servant to the crown prince as well as a helpful advisor, nothing more, but certainly nothing less. 

Arthur didn’t reply, but merely nodded in agreement and understanding. When Merlin had first arrived in Camelot, he would have found the atmosphere that had been created uncomfortable, but with Arthur and the way they had grown together as one, he found the silence and quiet understanding between them comforting. 

There was a knock on the door and Leon entered as soon as Arthur had given him permission. The knight bowed before his regent before holding out a letter for Arthur to read. Merlin got only a small glimpse of the letter, wondering why he seemed to recognize the seal, before Arthur opened it and read its contents. 

“What is it?” Merlin questioned after a while, when it seemed that Arthur was no longer reading, but merely staring at the piece of parchment in his hands.

“It’s my uncle,” Arthur answered, and Merlin felt confused. The uncle he knew of was dead - two times over - so there was probably something he was missing, “He writes to inform that he is coming to Camelot within the week,” Arthur continued, and Merlin paid attention to him again, “Merlin, please begin preparing a room - one of the better ones of course - in preparation of my uncle’s arrival. It’s been many years since he visited, and I would be a bad host if he wasn’t given the best treatment.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin answered, absentmindedly, and began to move only to stop, and turn to Arthur again, “What’s your uncle’s name?”

“Agravaine,” Arthur replied, looking out the window, “Agravaine de Bois.”

Merlin left to complete his task.

***

“Why have I never heard of him?” Merlin asked Gaius that night before going to bed.

“Of who?” Gaius asked, absorbed in a book. He was always reading these days - something about tending to Uther's mental state or whatever.

“Agravaine,” Merlin clarified, “I thought Arthur didn’t have any family left other than Uther.”

Gaius closed the book and looked at Merlin through his spectacles, “Tristan wasn’t the only one who blamed Uther for Ygraine’s death,” he explained, “Although Agravaine did not challenge Uther like his brother, he swore not to return to Camelot until Uther was no longer king. He may be returning now that it seems Arthur will be in charge.”

As Merlin went to bed, he thought about Agravaine. Who was he? A mysterious uncle never mentioned before, suddenly showing up when everything seemed to go so well. If Merlin was lucky, the tides truly were changing and Agravaine’s presence would be nothing but positive.

***

It was exactly a week later that Agravaine arrived, and Merlin was the first to greet him. He rode up to the courtyard on a black horse, wearing thick blue robes and matching leather gloves. His few possessions consisted of a bag of gold coins (Merlin assumed they were gold because he was a nobleman) and a small sack of various items. His only weapon was a long dagger with a bejeweled hilt. Merlin recognized the man from the seal on his broché. 

“Lord Agravaine?” Merlin asked the man, and moved down the stairs to greet the nobleman.

“That would be me,” Agravaine greeted with a smile.

“I am Prince Arthur’s servant,” Merlin introduced himself, “The prince is currently in a meeting, but would you like me to show you to your quarters?”

“How very kind of you- oh, you don’t have to!” Agravaine stopped Merlin as he moved to carry Agravaine’s belongings for him, “There’s hardly so much that I can’t handle it myself.”

As Merlin walked Agravaine to his quarters - after making sure his horse was looked after of course, he wasn’t completely incompetent - he found that he quite liked the man. He was nice and friendly, and he didn’t treat Merlin like dirt under his boot. They talked about how Camelot had changed in the last few weeks, and when Agravaine asked about Arthur, Merlin was ecstatic to share how well he had been doing as a ruler. 

“This is it,” Merlin said as they arrived at their destination, “The sheets are freshly changed, there’s a key to the door on the desk and a maid will be bringing up some lunch. If you’d like a bath, I will happily draw one for you.”

“Thank you for the offer,” Agravaine smiled, “But don’t worry. I’m sure the servant of the regent is plenty busy already. If you have some time off, you should relax.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Merlin bowed respectfully, trying to hide his smile as he left, but Agravaine held him back.

“Before I forget,” he said and placed a silver coin in Merlin’s hand, “A tip for your excellent service and company, Merlin.”

Yeah, Agravaine was great.

***

The arrival of lord Agravaine had a positive effect on everyone in the castle. Arthur, reunited with a familiar face, grew happier and his happiness spread throughout the castle and the city. As Agravaine was learning how Camelot worked under Arthur’s rule, he insisted on helping the servants with various chores, and was often found tending to the horses or airing out unused rooms in the castle. He happily chatted with the kitchen maids and gave advice to young squires, and, most importantly, he respected Arthur’s knights.

“You know,” Gwen confessed one evening, when the two of them were alone doing laundry side-by-side. It had been two weeks since Agravaine’s arrival, “I was a bit concerned, when Arthur said his uncle would come. I was afraid that he’d bring a lot of unwanted problems.”

Merlin nodded in agreement. That family had issues.

“But he’s so nice!” She exclaimed, “Other noblemen should learn from him. Yesterday, I saw him polishing his own boots!”

“If everyone were like him, we’d be out of a job,” Merlin joked, but Gwen merely laughed.

“Can you imagine Arthur doing any of his own chores? I don’t even think he can tie his own shoes.”

They both laughed heartily.

***

Merlin accompanied Arthur to visit his father. They did so together every evening they could find the time for it. Merlin would assist the king with changing and washing up, while Arthur would talk to him until the king fell asleep.

“Arthur,” Uther said with a happy sigh, as he saw his son enter his chambers. He was sitting in a chair, overlooking the courtyard, just like he always was, “What a lovely surprise.”

“Good evening, father,” Arthur replied, sitting down beside him, “How are you feeling today?”

“Much better now that you’re here,” Uther smiled, and Arthur started chatting. He never said anything about political affairs. Mostly he talked about how training with the knights was going, what he had eaten throughout the day or other small topics. Meanwhile, Merlin made the king ready for bed, and they both guided him to lie down, as Arthur kept talking to his father about his day. And as Arthur soothed the king to sleep, Merlin erased yet another bad memory of Morgana from Uther’s troubled mind.

Eventually, the king dozed off.

***

It was one of those days. One of those days where Arthur was so incredibly busy that he would need two of him to get half of his duties done. Merlin had woken him at the crack of dawn, telling him that his presence was needed in the lower town, and with a single apple, only half eaten, as his breakfast, Arthur was quickly gone.

Merlin decided that the best thing for him to do was ignore his chores for the day, and assist Arthur in whatever way he could. Arthur would have to hold a speech in the evening, and Merlin was confident enough in his skills that he could write one that would be good enough. He sat down by Arthur’s desk and got to work.

Half a page into his brilliant speech, Agravaine entered the room.

Merlin quickly stood up, “I’m sorry,” he said instinctively, “But the prince is out.”

“I see,” Agravaine said and looked around the room, probably noting its less than pristine state, “What are you doing?”

Merlin understood that Agravaine was simply making polite conversation, but most other noblemen wouldn’t allow a servant to sit at the prince’s desk, let alone write a speech for him. But Agravaine was different, so Merlin didn’t mind telling him the truth.

“Arthur’s very busy today, so I’m writing his speech for tonight’s feast.”

There was a look of surprise on Agravaine’s face, but it quickly turned into a wide smile, “You really are a clever one. I heard from one of the maids that Arthur had a hard time keeping servants around before you. I’m beginning to see why you stuck around.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Merlin said flattered, “I’m proud to be Arthur’s servant.”

“I can imagine,” Agravaine said, and moved to look out the window. Despite the cold, it was a sunny day, and Agravaine smiled fondly as he watched people move around in the courtyard, “I’m sure people have told you that it’s an honor to serve someone like Arthur, but I assume that’s not entirely where your pride comes from.” Merlin made a mental note. Agravaine was about one hundred times more perceptive than Arthur.

“It’s been a privilege to see him grow into such a kindhearted person,” Merlin replied, “He’ll make an excellent king.”

“Yes,” Agravaine said, but then his smile faltered, and he turned to look at Merlin, “I must confess something,” he continued, “As much as I love Camelot and Arthur, I’m not sure I will stay should Uther recover and resume his role as king.”

Merlin’s eyes widened at this, “My lord!” He exclaimed, but upon hearing his own voice, forced himself to calm down a little, “Arthur appreciates your presence,” Merlin continued, almost pleading, “Even if his father were to make a full recovery, it would sadden him to see you leave.”

“It would bring me no pleasure,” Agravaine confessed, “But Uther, I simply cannot forgive him for what he did to my dear sister.”

Merlin looked at Agravaine for a moment and understood. This man knew the true circumstances of Ygraine’s death. Something in Merlin’s face must have given away that he knew as well, otherwise, Agravaine’s next words would have made no sense.

“Regardless of my thoughts on magic, if one believes it to be the source of evil, it would be nothing but hypocritical to use it for one’s own selfish gains. I simply cannot forgive him.”

“My lord,” Merlin pleaded once more, “I ask of you to not make your decision until Uther recovers. Perhaps your love for Arthur and Camelot will outweigh your feelings for Uther.”

Agravaine looked at Merlin in surprise, but then smiled and nodded to himself. “You have a wise head on your shoulders,” he said, “I understand why Arthur keeps you so close. I’ll remember your advice, Merlin, but I think you should be getting back to the prince’s speech.”

Merlin bowed as Agravaine left. He truly was grateful for the man’s presence.

Inside him, his magic was growing unsteady.

Chapter Text

ii.

Gaius saw to the king every day - it had become his primary job since Morgana had been chased from the kingdom. He had seen Uther in almost every stage imaginable, but never had the king looked so defeated, so lost. Gaius did not necessarily hold the king very dear, but years upon years of companionship still had a hold in Gaius’ heart. Perhaps that was why he thought the king’s progression odd - not that Gaius had never expected that the king may recover from Morgana’s betrayal, but it was the way it seemed to happen. Gradually, but still as in bursts of odd improvement. 

It was not always that the king was in the mood to speak to him, and Gaius didn’t mind either way - he was only happy that Arthur always seemed to be able to coax some words from his father. If Gaius wished for anything regarding Uther, it was for the well-being of his son, who was forced to witness his father slowly waste away. Except sometimes, like today, it almost seemed as if Uther had forgotten about Morgana - or at least, in part.

“Are they searching for her?” Uther asked that evening, his voice more like a breath than anything else.

“For whom, sire?” Gaius questioned, as was gathering the empty vials that had once contained the king’s medicine.

“Morgana,” The king whispered, and looked at Gaius like a lost child, “I hope she’s alright.”

Gaius opened his mouth and closed it again. He could not tell if this was the madness seeping in, or the love a father holds for their child. As the king kept looking at him, surely expecting an answer, Gaius couldn’t help but answer: “Every available man is looking for her.”

The answer seemed to please Uther, although a smile never quite found its way to his lips. He moved his gaze to the courtyard again, his fingers shaking as he moved them to fiddle with the Pendragon sigil he wore around his neck.

In the evening, Gaius and Merlin were having dinner together for the first time in a week, and the topic fell on the king, Merlin obviously concerned for Arthur’s sake more than Uther’s.

“It’s an interesting thing indeed,” Gaius told Merlin, whose spoon couldn’t quite seem to find his mouth as he listened to Gaius, “Today the king asked if we were looking for Morgana, because he was worried for her safety.”

“Well,” Merlin said slowly, “He is her father. Isn’t it natural for parents to worry about their children?”

“Indeed,” Gaius said slowly, “But he’s never really asked about her before. If he’s ever spoken to me before, it’s been about Arthur.”

“Perhaps he just cares for his children.”

“Perhaps.”

A few days later, when Gaius went to tend Uther again, vials in hand, the king was standing in front of his window. Gaius made sure to walk a little louder, to alert the king of his presence, without disturbing the man who seemed deep in thought.

“She must be with the druids,” Uther said slowly, “She was always so fond of them. I hope they treat her well.”

“The druids are known to be a peaceful people, sire,” Gaius said, confused as to what was happening and how the king had gotten to the conclusion he had.

“I just don’t understand…” Uther continued, his voice slowly breaking, “How could she betray me like that?” The king collapsed in his chair and held his head in his hand, tears slowly starting to form. Gaius did his best to comfort him, as he tried to figure out what was going on in the king’s mind.

Only two days later, the king surprised Gaius by paying him a visit. His clothes were a little crumbled, but the lack of servants squirming around him told Gaius that he had somehow made it to Gaius without being seen. Depending on how long he’d been gone, Gaius was sure that Gwen must be losing her mind over the king’s absence.

“Gaius,” The king spoke softly, and Gaius bowed ever so slightly, trying not to upset his aging back any further. “I have a question for you, old friend.” He motioned for Gaius to take a seat, and as he did, Uther sat with him. This had never happened before. “I can see that Arthur rules in my stead, but that the crown wears heavy on his head. If I could ease his burden, just for a little while, I would do almost anything.

“But I fear that my mind is not fully up to the task just yet. I want to help him, take the burden off of his shoulders, just for a little while. He hasn’t yet had the chance to accept that Morgana might not return to us, and bears heavy on his mind, I can tell.”

They stayed in silence for only a moment, before Gaius took a breath and asked the king; “You would like to relieve Arthur of his duties as regent?”

“Yes,” Uther said, “Perhaps just for a year, after that, he’ll be king, regardless of my condition.”

Gaius thought about what Uther was saying. The man was far from recovered, he could see it in the way his hands still trembled with every movement. The practical matter of pronouncing Uther as the reigning king for a year’s time was not an issue - Gaius would prompt him to write documents transferring the crown to Arthur after exactly one year. But Uther’s mind was a fickle thing - always had been, even before Morgana. Gaius sighed again.

“I have an idea, sire. However,” Gaius warned, “The consequences are not to be taken lightly.”

“I only want what’s best for Arthur.”

Gaius could only nod, as he told the king of his idea, all the time wondering if this was really the best for Arthur.

Merlin’s relationship with Arthur changed ever so slightly in the following weeks. It wasn’t any substantial change, and in the grander scheme of things, it was probably even a good thing, but Merlin - having gotten quite used to being Arthur’s most trusted advisor and confidant - found himself a little less useful to Arthur now that Agravaine had arrived. Arthur still told him everything, what he’d done during the day, the decisions that had had to be made, what had troubled him, and what Agravaine had advised him to do. And Merlin always found himself agreeing with Agravaine’s advice, and told Arthur as much, when the prince asked of his opinion - because he still valued Merlin’s counsel, always. It just saddened him slightly to no longer be Arthur’s first voice of advice. But he knew he still valued Agravaine’s presence - it made for a good ruler, to listen to as many people as possible, and Merlin was glad, that someone Arthur could trust, had found his way to Arthur’s side in his first time as ruler.

In the midst of the changes, Merlin had begun to feel his magic writhing within him. It wasn’t odd for his magic to respond to his feelings, but he’d though that he had gotten it mostly under control now that he was no longer a child. But perhaps he’d simply never felt the way he did right now. And how he wished he didn’t. Jealousy was not a feeling he was familiar with, and he found it entirely unfounded, since logic dictated that he had nothing to be jealous of. Yet, he would sit late at night in his bed, quietly trying to calm his magic down, trying to explain to his magic, to himself, that there was nothing to worry about.

It was a month after Agravaine’s arrival that the first knight’s tournament, since Arthur assumed his rule, was to be held. And it had Merlin’s magic going absolutely haywire. It saw enemies everywhere; noblemen who disliked how Arthur ruled differently from Uther, visitors from other kingdoms with hidden agendas, random - or planned - accidents caused by any common man. The threats were endless. It was horrible. Yet, Arthur was absolutely loving it. The tournament provided a necessary distraction for the prince regent, who had begun feeling the stress and pressure of ruling. A little bit of fun (as Arthur so annoyingly put it) was much needed and the perfect change in the daily life in the castle.

At least Agravaine shared in his worries, constantly reminding Arthur to be careful, urging him to never be without a trusted knight. Agravaine and Merlin often conspired together to always make sure that one of the round table knights were always close by wherever Arthur went. Of course, the prince was not stupid and told both of them on multiple occasions that it really was not needed. Yet, he technically never ordered them to stop, so they kept assigning him guards around the clock. 

However, if Merlin’s nerves were already in full anxiety mode before the tournament, it was nothing compared to when it began. Merlin’s heart had never beaten so fast in his life, and he could have sworn that when a sword nicked Arthur in the arm, his heart stopped momentarily. He couldn’t possibly endure that for a whole three days, so - he got to work immediately.

He started with Arthur’s chambers, as Merlin would never be able to sleep soundly at night, knowing that all that stood between Arthur and certain doom, were two random guards placed outside his door. History showed him that they rarely prevented any incidents from occurring - more often than not, they seemed to hinder Merlin in doing his job (the protecting Arthur one, not his real job). His handy book of spells provided him with numerous warding spells, each one more powerful than the next. Of course, no spell existed that simply made Arthur immune, untouchable or anything that could somehow be interpreted as achieving immortality - not that that was Merlin’s goal at all. He just needed Arthur to be safe. He also tried to find spells that didn’t turn intruders into frog, petrify them or, in any other way, suggest that magic was used to protect Arthur. In this case also, history showed that magic in Camelot, regardless of its use, was viewed poorly. Merlin would not risk exposure until Uther was gone for good.

That evening, after Arthur had passed out nicely in his bed, he began. He set a magical alarm on the door, a link set to a small charm, which Merlin secured to his wrist. Anyone entering Arthur’s chamber harboring ill intent would set off the charm, making it warm to the touch. 

Secondly, the windows. They were enchanted with an invisible and almost unbreakable barrier. Though the enchantment was easily countered with just a few simple herbs to neutralize it, Merlin highly doubted any assailant would be sporting herbs as part of their outfit.

Lastly, Merlin warded the bed, so that anyone passing the bedframe would be flung into the nearest wall. A small pouch with Merlin’s, Arthur’s and, after some deliberation, Gwen’s hair, allowed for the three of them to be unaffected by the warding. Merlin would have done more, but his nerves were slightly better and his magic was exhausted, so he trusted his work to be enough for now, and left for bed.

The following morning, Arthur spent the better part of breakfast teasing Merlin for being more exhausted than he was. 

“Don’t tell me you were awake like a little child, worrying about me in the tournament,” he said between bites, his tone teasing.

“I wasn’t,” Merlin defended himself, “I was working.” He counted this as a truth. He was working on keeping his king alive (Merlin knew Arthur technically wasn’t king yet, but to Merlin, he had been so for a long time now).

“On what?” Arthur raised an eyebrow, and looked around his chambers for effect, “It is still as untidy in here as it was yesterday.”

“I was helping Gaius," Merlin countered, “With the tournament, we expect many injuries among the knight, potions and salves are prepared ahead of time.”

“Well,” Arthur began smugly, “It won’t be our knights - we will dominate the tournament.” Merlin smiled slightly at that.Our knights obviously referred to the knights of the round table, their little band of misfit knights. Their most trusted friends.

“Won’t you just face each other in the finals then?” Merlin teased back, and was happy to see Arthur continue being smug and confident. A much needed sight after the last couple of days, where Arthur had looked nothing more than stressed out.

“And in the finals, I can prove to Gwaine that he doesn’t hold a candle to my abilities.”

Merlin smiled, “Of course, sire.”

The second day of the tournament started early in the afternoon, and during Arthur’s first match, Merlin began warding his tent. He made it so that anyone without Pendragon blood would forget their purpose for entering. Unfortunately, the warding only worked on non-sorcerers, which was handy for Merlin, because he need not worry about the warding, but of course wouldn’t eliminate all potential enemies. It also became a bit of a hassle, when servants would enter, and then immediately forget why they had been sent, but all in all, Merlin was happy with his work. He was especially happy when Agravaine entered.

“Yes, uncle?” Arthur had questioned, and Merlin could see the magic working, because Agravaine opened his mouth to speak, closed it and opened it again, before looking around as confused as ever. Merlin had to stiffle a laugh.

“I’m afraid I don’t know why I came,” Agravaine said slowly, making for the exit, only to hesitate and look back at Arthur, who merely blinked in the face of his uncle’s odd behaviour. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. Good luck with your next match.”

As Agravaine left, Arthur turned to look at Merlin, who was still wearing a wide smile. “It wasn’t that funny, Merlin.”

“Oh no,” Merlin giggled, and began removing Arhtur’s armor, so he could rest properly, “It really was.”

The final thing Merlin did was make sure that any cheating in the tournament would not affect Arthur. His armor became enchanted to ward off spells (although it would only work once, it should give Merlin enough of a warning to take care of the rest), his sword became a detector to poison, making the blade change color, should it come in contact with any sort of poison (who knew what kind of things people could lace their blades with) and lastly, and Merlin did not account this as cheating, he reinforced his shield to be more resilient, just in case someone thought to shoot him with a crossbow, or anything else that could get through a standard-issue tournament shield.

Now, Merlin understood that his magic was being worn thin with so many complicated spells being cast in such quick succession, but he swears that if it wasn’t for the fact that Arthur’s armour was heavy, and the sun was just really warm despite it being late autumn, he would have been fine. Completely, and utterly fine.

Naturally, Arthur noticed it first. 

“My armor didn’t get heavier, Merlin,” Arthur commented in a light-hearted tone, “Seeing you remove it, one might think that you’re losing muscle rather than gaining it.” Arthur chuckled a little at his own joke, but Merlin could only really produce a light mmhmm in response as he put the armor away as neatly as he could. It still clinked and clanged much too loudly against that rack in his opinion.

As Merlin turned around to go retrieve Arthur’s sword, he found the prince only a step away, his blue eyes searching for something in Merlin’s own. “Are you okay?” Arthur questioned slowly, his voice hinting at concern.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Merlin said, and tried to flash Arthur a smile, but the prince simply frowned, and started removing his gloves. Merlin only managed to tell his feet to move, before Arthur’s hand found his forehead. His feet never obeyed.

“You’re burning up,” Arthur stated, and Merlin had half a mind to tell him he was wrong, but couldn’t figure out what to say when Arthur inevitably argued.

“I’m fine,” he said instead, and Arthur merely shot him a look, before sticking his head out of the tent. In an instance, Lancelot had joined them, the warding on the spell obviously not working, since Lancelot didn’t know why he was here in the first place.

“Lancelot,” Arthur began, “You are one of Camelot’s finest knights, and one of my most trusted men. I have called you here to assign you to a very important mission, are you up for the task?” Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Of course, sire,” Lancelot answered, completely ignorant, “Anything you ask.”

“Excellent,” Arthur smiled, “Your mission is to take Merlin to his room, and make sure he doesn’t leave until Gaius says he’s well enough to do so.”

Lancelot opened his mouth, closed it again, knit his brows together and finally looked at Merlin. A small smile made its way to his lip. “It would be my honour, sire. Come on, Merlin, time to go to bed.”

He walked up to Merlin, firmly linked their arms together, and started walking out the tent. Merlin’s protests of ‘I’m fine’ and ‘I can walk by myself’ seemed to fall on deaf ears.

“What did you even do to get yourself like this?” Lancelot questioned as he plopped Merlin on his bed, and more or less spoonfed him whatever dinner Gaius had found for him. 

“I was protecting Arthur,” Merlin smiled, although it didn’t seem to do the trick. Apparently, the fever was sucking out all his charm.

“When are you not?” Lancelot shook his head, “But what exactly did you do?”

“I warded his chambers… and his tent… and armor, sword and shield,” Merlin confessed, and Lancelot laughed a little.

“That sounds an awful lot like cheating to me,” he teased, and Merlin pouted a little.

“Absolutely not.”

When Lancelot left, Merlin slept for two full days.

***

Merlin woke up in the middle of the day, his fever gone, but his body slightly sore from having been in bed for so long. When he exited his room, he found no sign of Gaius (and since Gaius wasn’t here to tell him to stay, well, Merlin counted himself dismissed from bedrest), so he washed up and headed out into the castle. The tournament was over, and life at the castle seemed to be mostly back to normal - a few visitors were still around, getting ready to leave within the next few days. However, as nothing seemed out of place, Merlin could only assume that Arthur was still safe and sound.

He found Arthur exactly where he expected him to be - settled at his desk, surrounded by documents. 

“Good afternoon, sire. How was the tournament?” Merlin greeted, and Arthur smiled immediately upon seeing him.

“Glad to see you’re okay again,” Arthur said, “And you’ll be pleased to know that I won without much of an issue.”

“Congratulations,” Merlin said, smiling at his king (prince), “May I ask, who you met in the finals?”

“Gwaine,” Arthur said, and Merlin could see him holding back an eye-roll. No doubt that match had not been as effortless as Arthur was trying to make it sound. But a victory was a victory.

“I see,” Merlin said, deciding to move on from the small talk, “What are you working on today?”

“Allocation of the taxes,” Arthur sighed, monetary state affairs were not a pleasure of his, “If we want enough money for the army, we need to prioritize infrastructure less, unless we want to abandon our move for more structural education for children. The council suggested simply raising the taxes, but I’d honestly rather jump off a cliff and-”

“What?” Merlin interrupted, but his mouth caught up his brain.

“I know, I know, it’s boring, but-”

“No, it’s just,” The gears in Merlin’s head were turning, trying to find heads and tails in what Arthur was telling him, “When we looked over the budget for each sector, there was enough for all of that. Did the treasure miscalculate the taxes or something?”

“Not at all,” Arthur confessed, and bit his lip. He was starting to stress out again, “We went over the plan within the counsel, and my uncle pointed out that our distribution of the taxes were not enough for our army.”

“But we-” Merlin stopped himself, gathering his thoughts and subtly correcting himself, “You didn’t change the amount of money the army gets. In the plan, that was unchanged.”

“And that was a mistake on my part,” Arthur sighed again, “With Morgana surely plotting her revenge, we need to strengthen our military prowess, otherwise, we’ll be hopeless in the face of an attack. We don’t have the magic on our side that she does, so we need everything else at full power to even stand a chance.”

Merlin was dumbfounded. He and Arthur had talked for hours about this exact topic a few weeks ago. Arthur had wanted to invest in the future by building better and safer roads to outlying villages, and providing free basic education for every child whose family could not afford the extravagant education offered to noblemen. Merlin had been the one to question the strength of their military then, to which Arthur had assured him that not only could the army still continue to improve with the same budget, but with smarter planning and some pointed education, they could even get by on less. Arthur had been so sure of this, that Merlin hadn’t thought to question it again, because Arthur knew their army better than anyone.

And somehow Agravaine had made him doubt this. How? Why? Merlin could not fathom how this had happened. Arthur had been so happy that he had found room in the budget to improve the lives of the poorest in the kingdom, and now he seemed to have backed down without much of a fight. Merlin wanted to punch him, if not for the fact that Arthur looked as distressed about it as Merlin felt.

“Arthur,” Merlin said softly, moving closer to his king, “If you don’t think it’s right, you don’t have to do it. In the end, you make the decisions. You were the one who said that the army didn’t need a bigger budget. As First Knight, wouldn’t you know best?”

Arthur looked up at Merlin from behind his desk, conflict clear in his eyes. After a moment, he let out a long, deep sigh, closing his eyes and the wrinkles in his face smoothed out, once again making him look like the young prince he was. 

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur said softly, looking back up at his servant, the light back in his eyes, “I needed that.”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin smiled, joy swelling in his chest, “Always at your service.”

Together, they went over the budget again, Merlin ensuring that all decisions made, came from Arthur’s heart.

***

The following day, Merlin accompanied Arthur to the council meeting. The other councilors had long ago stopped questioning why Merlin was allowed to be present during these meetings, but some still gave him looks whenever he entered with Arthur. Officially, he was just there as Arthur’s cupbearer, but Arthur had long since confessed that if he were to tell Merlin about the meetings anyway, they would both save some of their valuable time, if he was just present to begin with. These days, the council merely sighed at the sight of the servant.

Arthur opened the meeting by unrolling his scroll and speaking with the most confident Merlin had ever seen him with, outside of the battlefield. Never missing a beat or leaving any room for questions, Arthur declared his decision before the council.

“I have finalized the allocation of the taxes for the next quarter. Camelot will focus on new initiatives, starting with building better roads to our border villages, and setting up a small school in the capital. The army will not be allocated further funding, but will instead be provided obligatory education about self-provision on patrol, reconnaissance and diplomacy missions to save money on resources. Any money saved in the military department can be granted to any faction upon fair request. The request must be made to the council with majority voting deciding the allocation of excess money from that faction alone. Any excess resources pertaining to other factions will be discussed with the council, but allocated according to the will of Camelot’s ruler.”

Merlin did his best to keep himself from smiling too widely, but oh, how satisfying it was, to see Agravaine’s face, as he realized he had lost a battle of politics to a servant. Sure, the man treated everybody around him as equals, but even he thought it outrageous that their regent was listening to uneducated servants. Merlin didn’t hate the man, but he felt victorious in the battle for Arthur’s most trusted advisor. A battle he had thought he was the only one fighting until this moment, where Agravaine found himself losing.

Chapter Text

iii.

Guinevere almost found herself face to face with the floors of the castle, had it not been for the steady hand gripping her elbow. Even the laundry in her arms were saved from the dirt beneath them.

“Thank you,” Gwen breathed a sigh of relief, and looked at Agravaine, who was smiling at her.

“No problem,” He said, “In fact, why don’t I help you with this. It hardly seems manageable carrying so much that you can’t even see where you’re going.”

Gwen knew Agravaine well enough to know that the man wouldn’t take no for an answer, and dealt him half the pile. Together, they walked towards the king’s chambers, idly chatting about everyday life in the castle. Agravaine told Gwen that he’d seen the new kitchen maid, Maria, sneak off to meet with Blake, an older servant with whom Gwen had always gotten along with. Gwen told Agravaine of their new servant George, who was so straight and candid that the man could hardly understand a joke. She giggled when she tried to imitate the way George had tried to tell a joke without a single inflection of his voice, nor a wrinkle on his face.

They arrived at the king’s chambers, and immediately ceased all talking. The king was awake, sitting in his chair by the windows, slowly eating his lunch. That in itself was an enormous improvement from a few weeks before, when they’d been lucky if they could get him to drink water.

“I’ve come to change your sheets, sire,” Gwen announced, and he looked to her in acknowledgement. Agravaine silently offered his assistance, but when it came to taking care of the king, Gwen knew she had to do it by herself. And she knew how little Agravaine cared for the man, so she sent him on his way.

“She was fond of you,” the king spoke suddenly, as Gwen tidied the bed, the dirty sheets on the foot of it, “I can see why.” Gwen looked at the king, questioning the comment, but not daring to speak up. Any topic of Morgana had always been ill-received, so none dared speak her name, but surely, he could not be referring to anyone else. “You must miss her almost as much as I do.” The king finished, and turned away from her again. It took Gwen a little while to snap out of it and finish her tasks.

Gwen got home later than planned that evening, exhaustion gnawing all the way down to her bones. She wanted nothing more than to just collapse in bed, and sleep for half a day, but a surprise awaited her past her doorstep. Her entire house was filled to the brim with winterflowers, multiple candles were lit on the table, illuminating her small home in a soothing light. The door closed behind her, and Arthur’s arms enveloped her in a warm embrace from behind.

“I’ve missed you,” he murmured in her ear, and she turned her head slightly to kiss him.

“I never went anywhere.” His hold on her tightened. She wasn’t tired anymore.

In the following weeks, the tug-of-war between Merlin and Agravaine continued with Arthur being continuously clueless as to their little rivalry. It was indescribably satisfying, whenever Arthur favoured Merlin’s advice, and stupidly aggravating when he didn’t. He took immense pride in his role in Arthur’s life - now more than ever, but one day, in the midst of their little political war, something occurred to Merlin. In almost every issue there had been since Arthur had declared the new budget plan, the two of them seemed to be on opposite sides. And, of course, disparity occurs even for the most like-minded people, but Merlin found it odd that they hadn’t seemed to agree even once. And some of the issues, he could see where Agravaine came from. He always seemed to favour military power in order to strengthen their kingdom, seemingly paranoid about Morgana’s path of revenge. He also had different views on the different kingdoms, ones that Merlin assumed differed from his own due to their generational differences, where they’d grown up and whether or not they’d met the rulers of the kingdom.

But today seemed different - everything seemed different.

Arthur had been spending some time with Gaius lately, in fact, Merlin suspected that Arthur might be seeing more of Gaius lately than he himself did. Whenever he mentioned it to the king (prince), he always changed the subject, or simply brushed it off. Merlin hadn’t pushed the issue far, and it seemed he didn’t need to, since on that day, Arthur told him everything.

“Plague prevention?” Merlin repeated, as Arthur explained to him his concern.

“Or at least containment,” Arthur replied, “Bigger, neighbouring kingdoms have been troubled by plagues the last few years, resulting in a dwindling population both as a cause of death and migration. Since the kingdoms grew poorer as a result of the plagues, citizens have migrated to richer kingdoms, including Camelot. The richer our population, the greater the risk of sickness spreading within it. If we could take measures to either prevent illness from spreading, or effectively containing it before it spread too far, it could save a lot of people.”

Merlin’s smile was as wide as ever, “That’s brilliant, Arthur!”

“I’m glad you think so Merlin.”

But no one else thought well of Arthur’s plan, least of all Agravaine.

“As noble as it is, sire,” one of the councilmen said, “The plan is too comprehensive - it would require more resources than we currently have available.”

“I understand that the plan cannot be implemented right away, and that it will take time, but I believe that if we want to advance our kingdom, we need to invest in the people. This means education, health and proper housing. This needs to be our first priority.”

“Arthur,” Agravaine’s voice was deeply serious, using no title to address Arthur, as the other councilmen did. They’d been discussing the issue for hours and any resemblance of support from any of the other councilmen, was slowly squandered by Agravaine, his final statement delivering the killing blow. “The kingdom you seek to create is a noble one, all of us can see that. However, it is an idyllic fantasy. This is no slight towards you, do not mistake it like that, but young rulers, like yourself, have a tendency to want to change too many things too quickly, wanting to create the perfect kingdom.

“This is why you must take the advice of your elders. The world is rarely so kind. It gives you hope, only to vanquish it, when you least expect it. This endeavor will undoubtedly only result in failure and a waste of resources and your good nature. Rather stop here before you get disappointed and it’s too late to go back.”

Merlin wanted nothing more than to speak up, tell them they were all wrong. Arthur was meant to change the world, but looking at his king (prince), he could tell that the fire was out. Inside him, his magic ignited.

“Am I so wrong to want to change things?” Arthur asked, late at night. He was sitting on the bed, staring at seemingly nothing. Merlin had made all preparations for Arthur to go to sleep, silently hoping that his mood would be better in the morning, but the prince could not rest.

“No, Arthur, you’re not,” Merlin said, hoping Arthur could feel his sincerity. He knelt before Arthur, trying to catch his eyes with his own to convey his faith in him, “You are a good person, and you’ve always believed that the kingdom is its people. Not everyone sees it that way. I know you feel defeated now, but you’ve already done so much to change this nation. The plans for the school and the new roads, things are already changing. Perhaps, when they see how much good that does, it will be easier for them to see your vision.”

“But what if they’re right?” Arthur said, his eyes uncharacteristically glossy, “What if all the changes I’ve made fall through?”

Merlin could see the slight tremble in Arthur’s hands and moved slightly closer, resting his own hands on top of Arthur’s, trying his best to comfort him, “I can’t see the future, Arthur, but I don’t believe all your efforts will be in vain. As long as we keep trying, we’ll get to the Camelot you envision. Even if there are missteps along the way, we’ll figure it out.”

“I hope you’re right, Merlin,” Arthur sighed, leaning forward until his head rested on Merlin’s shoulder, “I really hope you are.”

In the end, Merlin made Arthur sleep with a little subtle magic.

Arthur was still fast asleep, when Merlin entered his chambers the next morning. This wasn’t unusual, but Merlin wanted him to rest for as long as possible. He moved about his chambers quietly, preparing his clothes of the day and setting up his breakfast. The door opened, and it was probably because of the magic Merlin had used on him the night before, that Arthur did not wake to the sound of his uncle entering. But Merlin certainly would have, had he been asleep, with the way the charm on his arm heated up.

“Ah, Merlin,” Agravaine said, his tone light and friendly, “I simply wanted to see Arthur. I feel perhaps that I was a little harsh towards him yesterday.”

Merlin wanted to say something clever, or anything at all, but his mind could only focus on his burning wrist and Agravaine’s face that, for the first time, seemed insincere and untrustworthy.

“But you understand, right?” Agravaine continued, “If Arthur is to, eventually, become a great king, he needs to understand that not everything is smooth sailing. We must protect his heart, so he can continue to rule with the compassion he has shown so far. I know that you, as well as I, only want the best for Arthur.”

No, Merlin thought, what he wanted for Arthur was not the same as Agravaine. What he was to Arthur was not the same as Agravaine. Merlin would never doubt Arthur in the way Agravaine did. The pain in his wrist flared, and he had to rein his magic in.

“You’re right,” Merlin said at last, “I want what’s best for Arthur, nothing more, nothing less.” He kept his eyes on Agravaine, trying to read him, assessing him as if he were a whole new person. “I’ll tell Arthur you dropped by.”

“Please do,” Agravaine said softly, “I do not wish to make him feel inadequate, when I only have the best of intentions for him.”

He left graciously, and though the charm’s magic surely had died out, Merlin could still feel the burn on his wrist. He stared stupidly at the door for a moment longer, before waking Arthur from his sleep.

Arthur didn’t work on any new initiatives after that, but put his heart into making the two new projects work. He personally appointed scholars to teach in various subjects, and made sure all eligible children got the invitation to join the school. The whole project wouldn’t kick off properly until spring, but still, Arthur planned small events for children to make them excited for the school, and even had some of his knights perform fun activities.

He helped plan the construction of the new road, discussing with various laymen, when the best time for building would start, what kind of gravel was best and what methods were most efficient. And through it all, Merlin could see how the citizens of Camelot grew to love Arthur, how they slowly let down their guard around him and let him into their lives. How they started to see just how different Arthur was to his father. Pride swelled in his chest.

***

It was lunch time, when the doors to Arthur’s chambers burst open, and the charm on Merlin’s wrist flared up. He turned around, fully expecting Agravaine to be standing in the doorway, instead, he found Gwaine striding towards them at alarming speed.

“Arthur,” Gwaine spoke, the anger in his voice not concealed in the slightest, “You will march your royal ass to the training grounds, right now, or I will start doing some very unknightly things, that I can assure you, I will not regret.”

Had Gwaine seemed just a little less serious, Arthur would probably have told him off with a joke, but Arthur simply sighed as he put down his fork, and followed Gwaine out of the chamber. The charm faded as the three of them left for the training grounds.

Merlin wasn’t quite sure what to expect, as Gwaine offered no explanation whatsoever. Upon entering the training grounds, it all appeared quite ordinary, knights were training, squires were running around attending to their duties. A few off-duty serving ladies were enjoying the eye candy. They even spotted Leon, sparring with a slightly older knight. And Leon must have been tired, because he seemed very much on the defensive - a feat only achieved these days by the knights of the round table and Arthur himself.

Close to Leon, Merlin spotted the rest of their knights, all of them observing the match closely. Percival was standing, hands firmly on the hilt of his sword, glaring daggers at the knight engaged with Leon. Lancelot was sitting on a pile of items, while Elyan was wrapping his arm in bandages… what?

“What happened to Lance?” Merlin questioned. He wanted to help Elyan, but it seemed he had it under control.

“Bastard over there was using Lancelot to test how sharp his sword was..”

“What!?” Both Merlin and Arthur exclaimed.

“Should’ve seen Leon’s face though,” Gwaine said, he would, undoubtedly, have been laughing, had he not been so angry, “Tried to knock some sense into him, but the bastard flung a mace into his shoulder. I would have chopped his head off, if not for Percival.”

And then Merlin understood why Gwaine had been sent to get Arthur. It wasn’t like Gwaine to rely on Arthur for things he surely had an easy solution for (giving the knight a good bashing). However, the others must’ve convinced him to get Arthur, both in an effort to de-escalate the situation, but also to get Gwaine out of the way, lest he cause more trouble.

Merlin looked back to Leon, and could now see why he was on the defensive. It was his swordarm that had been hurt by the mace. Arthur was quick to intercept, grabbing the first sword he could find, stopping the fight by parrying another of the knight’s blows.

“I think that’s enough,” Arthur spoke, and the knight scoffed at the prince.

“It was just a little bit of fun, sire. Nothing more. I was simply adhering to sir Leon’s wishes of a sparring match.” The knight grinned, and took a step back. He wasn’t foolish enough to go against Arthur’s word.

“Of course,” Arthur said slowly, “Just a bit of fun. Tell me, sir Brandon, are you just proficient with sword and mace, or do you favor other weapons as well? A strong fellow like you, you must favor heavy artillery.”

The knight beamed with pride, and Merlin had no idea what Arthur was thinking.

“You are quite right, sire,” Brandon replied, “I’m quite proud of my skills with hammers - they do real wonders when you’re hunting bear or other large prey.”

“Excellent,” Arthur smiled, and turned towards the equipment rack, the eyes of Merlin and the knights following him closely. Arthur didn’t use a hammer. What was he thinking? He pulled two hammers off the rack, to Merlin, they looked the same. But so did swords, so there was probably a difference.

“Which would you prefer, my lord?” Arthur said, the sarcasm seemingly lost on Brandon, but not on the knights. Brandon chose one with ease, leaving Arthur with the other. Arthur smiled and turned his back to Brandon, approaching his knights instead. He handed the hammer to Percival. “I’m sure Gaius is bored with his lack of patients today,” he said, when Percival raised an eyebrow, “Have fun.”

Sir Brandon didn’t see it coming. Arthur had some squires escort the poor man to the physician's quarters, likely to be treated for multiple broken bones.

“I must say,” Gwaine smiled, the anger having seeped out of him immediately, when Percival had struck the first blow, “I didn’t know you had it in you.” He glanced at Arthur, who was assessing the damage done to Lancelot and Leon.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Arthur replied, returning Gwaine’s easy smile “I didn’t do anything.”

“Of course not,” Gwaine laughed, and then turned to throw himself at Percival, “But Percy here surely did. What a show, you really showed him, big bear.”

Arthur shook his head, and let them have their fun. He turned back to Leon’s shoulder, the knight having run out of protests at the prince attending to his injury. After a bid of prodding, Arthur gestured Merlin over to bandage his shoulder. As Merlin put his hands on Leon, he could feel the heat radiating from the damaged area. He didn’t like the look of it, but as long as Leon rested and kept an eye on it, it would be fine.

“Did you seriously challenge him with an injured shoulder? And on your sword arm no less?” Arthur asked incredulously. Merlin agreed with Arthur - it was a dumb decision, and Leon was anything but.

“You can only listen to a man insult your friends for so long, before one starts taking action.”

“What do you mean? What did he say?” Arthur asked, and Merlin shook his head. He could imagine.

“He’s a pure-blood, sire. Need I say more?” Leon looked eyes with Arthur, and the prince backed off, gritting his teeth.

“This is the first time someone didn’t stop at throwing insults, right?” Arthur looked around at the knights, “Right?” He asked again, a little more forceful this time.

“To this degree, yes,” Elyan answered, and Arthur turned to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, usually they throw insults, and then try to move it to the field. Which usually ends badly for them and not us. Sir Brandon actually did the same thing a few days ago, and Lancelot embarrassed him thoroughly in front of his friends. Probably why he tried to give himself an advantage today.”

Arthur sighed again, putting his arms at his hips and looking to the heavens. “Anyone else acting like this, I wanted you to report it to me. However,” Arthur held up a hand and the grunts of protest, “You may deal with the issue yourself, if you find fit. I just want to know about it, when some noblemen start questioning your actions.”

“Arthur, princess,” Gwaine smiled, throwing an arm around the prince, “This is why we follow you.”

***

“So, let me get this straight,” Merlin said. They were sitting in Lancelot’s room, one he shared with Elyan, tending to the cut on his arm, “You handedly defeat a knight in sparring, and he gets so mad he swings his sword at you and his mace at Leon?”

“You know,” Lancelot chuckled a little, and watched in fascination as Merlin uttered a spell which turned the cut into the faintest of scars, “When I was fighting him, I was holding back.”

“Really?” Merlin exclaimed, a big smile in his lips.

“Yeah,” Lancelot laughed, “They just want to show their friends that we’re not better than them - or at least, that much better than them. So I was going to drag it out, take a few hits before ending it, but he was down with just a couple of blows.”

Merlin laughed heartily, and the two of them talked until it was time for Merlin to attend to Arthur again.

***

In the days leading up to the winter solstice, the castle was flooded with visitors from all around the kingdom. Lords and ladies came with their offerings to the king, eager to attend the solstice feast. Merlin rarely saw Arthur these days. Instead, he was busy attending to two nobles, whose rooms were right next to each other. There was the lord Johan, who required very little of Merlin’s time, insisting that he could take care of himself, and only required assistance with drawing baths and any occasional laundry. The man even fetched his own meals from the kitchen, and would often insist on Merlin helping himself to some fruit or bread, whenever the servant was around. Merlin quite liked him.

Then there was lord Henry. He was less fun. Things were never in the right place, the food always tasted bland, the room was subpar, the bathwater too cold. All the time Merlin saved in attending lord Johan, was spent attending lord Henry. Unfortunately, he couldn’t say he was all that surprised. Arthur hadn’t assigned him to lord Henry, only Johan, but when Merlin discovered that one of their new additions to the royal household, George, was assigned to lord Henry, Merlin had pulled some strings, and assigned George to attend the king instead. The new manservant was baffled at the honour bestowed upon him, but other servants had assured him that his skills were more than suited to see to the king's needs. And Gwen would assist him, of course.

Merlin was happy he’d taken the burden off George, when lord Henry struck him the first time.

“Are you completely daft, boy?” Henry roared, but all Merlin could hear was a ringing in his ears, “I asked for breakfast, and you serve me chicken? Who in their right mind eats chicken for breakfast?”

Merlin wanted to say that he really didn’t see the issue, and that Arthur could eat chicken for all his meals and never complain, but he’d rather save himself another strike.

“I’ll find something more to your tastes, my lord,” Merlin bowed slightly and quickly cleared the table of the offending chicken, and headed towards the kitchen.

He passed Lancelot on the way, “Hey,” Merlin called out to him, and Lancelot happily bounced towards him, “Share this with Elyan, won’t you. It’d be such a waste to throw it out.”

“Oh, absolutely,” Lancelot grinned, and took the plate from Merlin’s hands. Merlin swore that Lancelot’s good mood cured the ringing and the heading creeping in on him. “I’ll see you later in the field?” Lancelot acquired, before taking off. And Merlin smiled back. He would be there, no matter what.

The breakfast Merlin brought up this time was passable, and Merlin went around the room, making the bed, gathering the laundry and putting any little item back in its place. When he was done, lord Henry had eaten what he found palatable, and Merlin began clearing the dishes.

“You’re Arthur’s serving boy, correct?” Lord Henry said, studying Merlin as he went about.

“That I am, my lord.” Merlin replied, and the lord made a small nod of approval. Merlin was out the door, before the man could get any funny ideas.

***

The knights of Camelot were holding an internal mock tournament. They always did so the day of the winter solstice, using only wooden swords. They fought together in pairs, usually pairing up with their roommate. Most knights lived in the castle, few having housing elsewhere, as the young men usually had been born and raised outside the citadel. With so many knights and a finite number of rooms, it only made sense that they share. It also made for some good bonding between the knights - or some excessive rivalry.

For the round table knights, Lancelot was paired with Elyan, while Gwaine and Percival fought together. Though Leon’s shoulder had healed nicely (with a little subtle help from Merlin’s magic), Arthur had barred his knight from attending, and Camelot’s First Knight was forced to serve as referee instead. Leon probably didn’t mind all that much, since his usual partner, Arthur, wouldn’t be able to attend anyway.

The rules for the mock tournament were simple - if any of the knights stepped out of the arena, through force or will, or should they find themselves restrained, the pair was eliminated. The tournament was fun in that way, since the knights were forced to watch their teammates back - a feat which came easy to some, and not to others. Oh, Merlin was excited to see their knights win. He was so sure they would.

The tournament was not as highly spectated as the official ones. It was mostly servants and a few bored nobles who came to watch. Merlin had found the best seat to view the tournament, a tall ledge, wide enough for two people to observe the arena.

“Mind if I join you?” Gwen asked as she arrived, and Merlin patted the seat next to him.

“Here to cheer for your brother, my lady?” Merlin asked, and Gwen gave him a little look at the title, before answering the question.

“Of course,” She said, and they both clapped as the first two pairs took the stage, “He’s really grown since becoming a knight.” She smiled fondly in Elyan’s direction, though her brother didn’t notice. “And what about you, here to cheer for Lancelot?”

“And the others as well,” Merlin said, and Gwen gave him another look.

“I’m sure,” She said teasingly, “But we all know Lance is your favorite.” Using Merlin’s nickname for him to really drive home her point.

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin teased back, “You like him too.”

They both laughed, and caught the attention of Lancelot and Elyan, who simply shook their heads at the two giggling servants.

After less than an hour, the first round was over, and their four knights had advanced with ease. Merlin and Gwen cheered loudly, whenever they entered the arena. Gwaine especially was feeding off of their applause, and made a show of pushing another knight out of the arena - all while Percival was watching his back, shaking his head fondly at his partner.

“How’s lord Henry treating you?” Gwen asked during the small break between rounds.

“Could be better,” Merlin said, making Gwen worry, “Could be worse.” He smiled reassuringly, and it eased her mind. “I can tell he holds back, because I’m Arthur’s servant, so I’m glad George isn’t attending to him.”

“I agree with you there,” Gwen said, her eyes on her brother, rather than Merlin, “He’s a good kid, takes his duties seriously and can be quite hard on himself, if he finds any flaws in his work. I fear his mind would break under someone like lord Henry. You’re tougher, when it comes to those things.”

“But only those things?” Merlin teased, and Gwen finally looked at him, feigning a look of insult.

“Oh, shut up.” She said, and bumped their shoulders together.

“How’s the king?” Merlin then asked, the second round of the tournament beginning. They heard Leon signal the beginning of the match.

“Better,” Gwen breathed, “But he’s still shaken, his mind clearly frayed. He’s been asking to see Morgana lately - it’s hard to tell him, she isn’t here.”

“I’m sorry you have to go through that, Gwen,” Merlin put an arm around her, “I know, you cared for her too.”

Gwen put her head on Merlin’s shoulder and together, they watched the tournament and their knights advance to the finals.

As Leon announced that the finals would take place in ten minutes, the two servants cheered loudly for them, Gwaine and Elyan both making a small bow in their direction, while Lancelot and Percival wished the other one luck in the finals.

“And what’s going on here?” A voice Merlin recognized said from below them asked, and he rolled his eyes, knowing lord Henry wasn’t looking at them.

“Every year on the winter solstice, the knights of Camelot hold a little tournament, where they fight in pairs. You’re just in time for the finals, my lord.”

Lord Henry scoffed, “They fight in pairs,” He muttered disapprovingly, “And who came up with that stupid idea?”

“Prince Arthur did,” Merlin countered, “He wanted to give his knights an incentive to work on teamwork, since missions are done in groups.”

“Is that so,” Lord Henry eyed the two servants on the ledge, and Merlin subtly held on to Gwen. He was a little worried about what the lord would do, should they stray too close to him. Merlin highly doubted the nobleman would climb the ledge himself, so here, they were safe. “And which knights are in the finals? I have a nephew, who’s always been quite an adequate swordsman.”

“Well,” Gwen started, “Over there, by the waterpost, is sir Lancelot and sir Elyan, and right next to sir Leon, I’m sure you recognize him, is sir Gwaine and sir Percival. Those are the pairs, who’ve made the finals.

Lord Henry scoffed again. “I’ve never heard of them before,” he said harshly, “From what small houses do they come from?”

Gwen and Merlin shared a look. “They don’t.” Gwen answered, and Henry turned fully to look at them.

“Excuse me? Only noblemen may serve as knights. It is their privilege. What, pray tell me, serving girl, is the meaning of this?”

Gwen held onto Merlin now, “Prince Arthur saw goodness and honour in them, and they’ve pledged their loyalty to Camelot and the throne. Just because they aren’t nobility, doesn’t mean that they are undeserving of fighting for the kingdom.”

Lord Henry held her gaze, before turning toward the arena again. Gwen leaned against Merlin and breathed a sigh of relief.

Despite Lord Henry’s presence, the two of them still cheered enthusiastically for their friends as the tournament began. Both pairs started off with friendly blows, and though they couldn’t hear what they were saying, they were surely spitting friendly insults back and forth at each other. As more time went by, they got more serious, and Gwaine was the first to launch a serious attack on Lancelot, which was expertly parried.

Though swordfighting was very low on Merlin’s list on enteries, even he could see how the knights had improved during their stay in Camelot. Their movements were more precise than before, the force behind blows carrying more weight. A glance at Leon showed how proud he was of them as well. He’d been overseeing their training, teaching everything he knew to ensure that other knights wouldn’t look down on them. And for the most part, they had succeeded. Despite the few incidents here and there, the other knights of Camelot liked the addition of the four outsiders. Some had taken more time than others to warm up to them, but they’d gotten there. Most of them at least.

The eliminated knights were cheering just as loudly as Gwen and Merlin, a few clearly favoring one pair over the other. Gwaine’s drinking buddies cheered every time he charged at Lancelot, while Elyan’s friends cheered, when Percival’s advances were blocked. A few servers looked like they were about to swoon every time Percival flexed his muscles, or Lancelot’s hair caught the wind. It was a spectacle for everyone.

The match was decided, when Gwaine charged in against Lancelot, who had been pushed to the edge of the ring. Lancelot ducked to blow from Gwaine’s wooden sword, pushing forward to block a blow from Percival, leaving Elyan free to catch Gwaine unawares from behind, pushing him out of the arena. Leon signalled the end of the match and applause arose for the winners. Merlin was starting to feel his palms sting with how much he’s been clapping, but he didn’t care, he was having a wonderful time.

And then he saw lord Henry, stalking towards the castle.

He quickly excused himself, jumping down from the ledge and running after lord Henry. He didn’t trust the man.

“Such an unsightly display,” He heard him say angrily, as he passed through the castle halls, Merlin fearing in what direction he was headed.

“I’m sorry, my lord?” Merlin tried to question innocently.

“Commoners playing at knights. Is there no pride left in this kingdom?” He turned a corner. Arthur’s chambers were just within reach.

“My lord, I really don’t think we should bother the prince regent. He’s so incredibly busy at the moment and-”

“Shut up, boy!” Lord Henry turned around so quickly, Merlin hardly stopped in time, and he certainly didn’t see the fist coming. Lord Henry aimed his fist right into his stomach, punching all the air out of Merlin, who doubled over in pain. “Let that be a lesson to you.” And then he was off again. Gritting his teeth, Merlin tried to push the pain aside and followed after him once again.

Lord Henry pushed the open the door to Arthur’s chamber so forcefully, that the vase on the table fell to the floor and shattered, the lilies Merlin had put there that morning, left to wilt on the floor. Arthur was standing by his wardrobe, likely picking an outfit for tonight’s feast, and he looked at the lord with an alarmed expression. The charm on Merlin’s arm was burning again, but he ignored it and turned to the angry lord once more.

“My lord,” Merlin tried pleading again, “I really don’t think now is the time. The prince is clearly busy-”

Arthur held up a hand, and Merlin stopped. He gave Arthur a look of I tried, and hoped his king (prince) understood.

“What seems to be the matter, Lord Henry? You seem quite upset,” Arthur inquired diplomatically. Lord Henry straightened his back slightly, puffing out his chest slightly.

“Your highness,” Lord Henry began, getting his temper under control, “I have just witnessed a sight unworthy of Camelot, and I implore you to address the matter immediately.”

“Of what do you speak?”

“There are peasants among your knights, sire. Commoners who taint the good name of all the noblemen, whose honour and pride is to serve-”

Arthur once again held up a hand, this time making lord Henry hold his tongue.

“Is that the issue, which you bring before me?” Arthur asked, his tone of diplomacy cracking slightly, “That there are commoners among my knights?”

“Yes, sire,”Lord Henry puffed up his chest again, “In all of Camelot’s history-”

“Did you watch the mock tournament?” Arthur interrupted, and the lord was taken aback.

“What?”

“Did you watch,” Athur said again, and took a step closer to him, “the mock tournament?”

“I did, sire.”

“Now, I wasn’t there, so you must correct me if I am wrong, but all the knights of Camelot attended, correct? With the exception of sir Leon and myself of course.”

“That is correct, sire.”

“And all the noble knights found themselves losing to these four peasant knights, who all made it to the finals, correct?”

“That is also correct, sire.” Lord Henry took a step back.

“Then I must be stupid to not understand why you are questioning the knighting of what are clearly the finest knights in this kingdom. Do you not want the citizens to feel safe, and for children to sleep well at night? Do you not want to strengthen our kingdom and have the power to defend against our enemies?”

“That’s not what I’m saying sire, I simply question the nobility of-”

“What you question is your own faith in the throne. I suggest you do not speak ill of my knights anymore, unless you wish to lose your title. Perhaps then, my knights can be granted nobility, as we will surely be one short.”

Lord Henry quickly excused himself, slamming the door behind him, while Merlin stayed with Arthur.

“You shouldn’t threaten the nobles like that,” Merlin said softly, as he began picking up the broken vase. The lilies quickly dispatched in Arthur’s pitcher.

“I know,” Arthur said and slumped in a chair, “I’m just tired.”

“Try to enjoy the feast tonight,” Merlin said and moved to the wardrobe next, “It’ll help take your mind off things for a while.”

“It better,” Arthur said, and tried to force a smile, “God knows, I need it.”

***

The banquet hall grew quiet, so quiet, Merlin swore Arthur could hear his heart beat in his throat. An unexpected guest had made his appearance, ready to attend the festivities.

The king approached Arthur, a crown resting upon his head.