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Chapter Text

The morning had started perfectly. Arthur led his knights through the forest, their hunting party moving with practiced ease between the ancient oaks. The autumn air was crisp, filled with the promise of a successful hunt, and even Merlin seemed less clumsy than usual as he managed the pack horses without incident. 

"Try not to scare away every deer in Camelot this time, Merlin," Arthur called over his shoulder, his tone carrying the familiar mix of exasperation and fondness that had become second nature over the years. 

"I'll do my best, my lord," Merlin replied with that trademark sarcasm, "though I can't promise the deer won't flee from your royal presence alone." 

Arthur rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress his grin. After more than a year as his manservant, Merlin had never learned proper deference - and somehow, Arthur had stopped expecting it. The boy was brave, loyal, and had saved Arthur's life more times than he cared to count, even if he was utterly hopeless at most servant duties. 

The hunt proceeded better than expected. They'd managed to bring down two fine stags when the first drops of rain began to fall. Arthur glanced up at the darkening sky with growing concern. 

"We should head back," he announced, watching the clouds gather with unnatural speed. "This storm looks fierce." 

They'd barely made it half a mile when the first bandits struck. 

The attack came from three sides at once - clearly planned, clearly targeted. These weren't desperate farmers turned to theft, but seasoned fighters who knew exactly who they were hunting. Arthur's sword sang as he drew it, immediately falling into formation with his knights. 

"Protect the prince!" Sir Leon shouted, but Arthur was already moving, his blade finding its first target. 

The battle was chaos. Rain began falling in earnest, turning the forest floor treacherous. Arthur fought with deadly precision, but even he couldn't be everywhere at once. From the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin duck behind a fallen log, sensibly staying out of the way. 

Then Arthur heard the distinctive whistle of an arrow. 

"Merlin!" he roared, spinning just in time to see his servant stumble backward, clutching his side. Without thinking, Arthur abandoned his current opponent and rushed toward him, cutting down the archer who had targeted his friend. 

"Are you hurt?" Arthur demanded, but Merlin's face had gone alarmingly pale. 

"It's nothing," Merlin gasped, but Arthur could see the dark stain spreading across his tunic. 

The remaining bandits, seeing their numbers decimated, melted back into the forest as quickly as they'd appeared. Arthur barely noticed their retreat - all his attention was focused on Merlin, who was swaying dangerously on his feet. 

"Leon, take the others back to Camelot," Arthur commanded. "Tell my father what happened." 

"Sire, you should come with us. We can fashion a stretcher—" 

"The rain's getting worse. By the time we reach Camelot, he could be dead." Arthur was already supporting Merlin's weight. "There's a hunting lodge about a mile east. I'll take him there." 

"My lord, let me—" 

"That's an order." 

Leon hesitated, clearly unhappy about leaving his prince, but finally nodded. "We'll send help as soon as we reach the city." 

Arthur barely heard him. Merlin had grown heavier against his side, his breathing shallow and rapid. The rain was coming down in sheets now, soaking them both within minutes. 

The journey to the lodge felt endless. Arthur half-carried, half-dragged Merlin through the muddy forest, his servant drifting in and out of consciousness. By the time they reached the small stone building, both of them were drenched and shivering. 

Arthur kicked open the door and immediately began assessing their situation. The lodge was basic but dry, with a fireplace and simple furniture. Most importantly, it had supplies - including clean cloth and basic medical provisions. 

He lowered Merlin carefully onto the single bed, noting how his servant's lips had taken on a bluish tinge. The combination of blood loss, cold, and shock was taking its toll. 

"Stay with me, Merlin," Arthur murmured, though he wasn't sure if his friend could hear him. 

Arthur's hands shook as he tried to examine the wound through Merlin's soaked tunic. The fabric clung stubbornly to skin, and in the dim light, he could barely make out the extent of the injury. Blood had mixed with rainwater, creating dark stains that seemed to spread across the entire garment. 

"Sorry about this," Arthur muttered, though Merlin showed no signs of consciousness. 

With growing desperation, Arthur grabbed his knife and began cutting away the ruined tunic. The fabric fell away in sodden pieces, and Arthur reached for Merlin's undershirt— 

He froze. 

The breath left Arthur's lungs as if he'd been punched. His hands trembled as his mind struggled to process what he was seeing. The gentle curves, the undeniably feminine form - this couldn't be right. This couldn't be Merlin. 

But it was. 

Arthur stared in complete shock, his world tilting off its axis. Merlin - his Merlin, his clumsy, sarcastic, utterly male servant - was a woman.  

"By all the gods," he whispered. 

Merlin's chest rose and fell with labored breathing, completely oblivious to Arthur's earth-shattering realization. She was still bleeding, still in danger, and Arthur forced himself to focus on what mattered most - saving her life, even as his mind reeled with the implications of what he'd discovered. 

Everything he thought he knew had just changed forever. 

Arthur stared in complete paralysis, his hands frozen just above Merlin's still form. His mind felt like it had shattered into a thousand pieces, each thought more impossible than the last. 

She's a woman. Merlin is a woman.  

The implications crashed over him like a avalanche. Every moment they'd shared, every jest, every time he'd changed clothes in front of her, every night she'd helped him undress for bed—his stomach lurched violently. 

"Oh gods," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Oh gods, what have I done?" 

She'd been serving him for over a year. Living in the castle. And he—he had been so blind, so utterly, catastrophically blind. 

Arthur's hands shook as he reached for one of the blankets, his movements jerky and panicked. He had to cover her. Had to preserve what little dignity she had left while unconscious and vulnerable. The sight of her—really her—made his face burn with shame and horror. 

How had he never noticed? The delicate bone structure he'd attributed to youth, the way she never fully undressed around him, the careful way she wrapped that red neckerchief around her throat each morning. Details that now seemed blindingly obvious in retrospect. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her unconscious form, though the words felt pathetically inadequate. "I'm so sorry." 

But even as shame consumed him, Arthur forced himself to focus on the arrow wound. She was still bleeding, still in danger, and regardless of what earth-shattering revelations had just upended his world, she needed medical attention. 

His hands trembled as he examined the injury, trying desperately to maintain clinical detachment while his mind screamed in horror at the violation of her privacy. The arrow had gone clean through her side—painful and dangerous, but not immediately fatal if he could stop the bleeding. 

Arthur worked in guilty silence, using strips from his own shirt to create bandages, his touch as gentle and respectful as he could manage. Each time his fingers brushed her skin, he flinched as if burned. 

She trusted me, he realized with growing anguish. She's been lying to everyone, risking her life every single day, and she trusted me enough to serve in my chambers, to be alone with me... 

And he'd been completely oblivious to the incredible courage and danger that trust represented. 

The wound wasn't as deep as Arthur had initially feared, but it was still serious enough to require careful attention. He worked in mechanical silence, his hands steady despite the chaos in his mind. Clean the wound. Apply pressure. Bind it tightly. Simple, methodical tasks that kept him from drowning in the enormity of what he'd discovered. 

But with each gentle touch, each careful adjustment of the bandages, the reality crashed over him anew. 

Merlin is a woman. 

Arthur's breath hitched as he tucked the blanket more securely around her shoulders. Her face, relaxed in unconsciousness, looked so different now that he knew the truth. The delicate jawline he'd always attributed to youth, the long lashes that had made other servants tease him about his "pretty boy" manservant—it all made terrible, perfect sense now. 

"How did I not see it?" he whispered to the empty lodge, his voice cracking with self-recrimination. 

Every memory felt tainted now. The way she'd flinched the first time he'd started undressing in front of her—he'd thought she was just modest or overwhelmed by serving royalty. The careful way she always turned away when he bathed, the speed with which she'd hand him clothes without looking. The way she'd never joined the other servants at the tavern, never shown interest in the kitchen maids who'd smiled at her. 

Arthur buried his face in his hands, shame burning through him like acid. How many times had he been thoughtless? Careless? How many times had he put her in impossible situations without ever realizing what he was asking of her? 

The rain hammered against the lodge's roof, and Arthur found himself grateful for the storm that had forced them to take shelter. At least here, in this isolated place, he could fall apart without witnesses. 

"Gods," he breathed, looking at her pale face. "What were you thinking? The risks you've been taking..." 

If anyone discovered her secret—if his father learned that a woman had been deceiving the court, serving in the prince's chambers—Arthur's blood ran cold at the thought. Uther's views on women in positions traditionally held by men were well known. He would see it as deception, as a violation of the natural order. The punishment would be swift and brutal. 

Arthur's hands clenched into fists. He couldn't let that happen. Wouldn't let that happen. 

But how could he protect her? How could they go back to the way things were, with him pretending not to know? The very thought made his stomach churn with renewed shame. How could he continue to let her serve him, knowing what he knew now? How could he ask her to continue living this dangerous lie? 

Merlin stirred slightly, a soft moan escaping her lips, and Arthur was instantly alert. He leaned closer, one hand hovering uncertainly near her shoulder. 

"Merlin?" he called softly, then caught himself. That name—was it even real? Or just another part of the elaborate deception? 

Her eyes fluttered but didn't open, and Arthur found himself studying her face with new eyes. She looked so young, so vulnerable lying there. How old was she really? He'd always assumed they were close in age, but now he wondered if she might be even younger than he'd thought. 

The questions multiplied in his mind until they became an overwhelming torrent. Why had she done this? How had she managed it for so long? Did she have family who knew? Was she completely alone in this deception? 

And underneath all the practical concerns, underneath the horror and the shame and the worry, Arthur became aware of something else entirely. Something that made him feel even worse, if that were possible. 

He cared about her. More than he should, more than was proper for a prince to care about any servant. He'd always known that, had always told himself it was simply the bond between master and loyal retainer. But now... 

Now he understood that his feelings had been far more complicated than he'd ever allowed himself to acknowledge. 

Arthur stood abruptly, pacing to the small window and staring out at the storm. He couldn't think about that. Not now, not when she was injured and vulnerable and completely unaware that her most dangerous secret had been discovered. 

Merlin's eyes fluttered open slowly, unfocused and glassy with fever. For a moment, she seemed confused about where she was. Then her gaze fell to the bandage wrapped around her torso, and her eyes went wide with panic. 

She looked up at Arthur, then back down at the bandage, then back to Arthur again. Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like a fish gasping for air. 

Arthur's jaw was tight, his blue eyes stormy with something between anger and horror. "Why?" he demanded, his voice rough. "Why did you agree to be my servant? Don't you know how much trouble you could get in?" 

Merlin tried to push herself up, wincing as the movement pulled at her wound. "Arthur, I—" 

"Women aren't allowed to be this type of servant," Arthur continued, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself and lowered it again. "They stay in the castle and do domestic things. They don't train with knights or go hunting or—" He gestured helplessly at her bandaged form. "They don't get shot by bandits!" 

The fear in his voice was unmistakable now, though whether it was fear for her or fear of what this discovery meant, Merlin couldn't tell. 

"Do you have any idea what my father would do if he found out?" Arthur's hands were shaking slightly as he ran them through his hair. "Any idea at all?" 

Arthur began pacing frantically in the small shelter. "My father will have you executed! He'll accuse me of lewd and lascivious behavior, have you flogged or banished from Camelot!" His voice rose with each word, panic evident. 

Merlin went pale. "Are you going to tell him?" 

Arthur stopped his raving abruptly, turning to stare at her. "Of course not." 

A small smile broke across Merlin's face despite everything. "Well then, sire, what's the problem?" 

Arthur stared at her in complete disbelief. "What's the problem?" he repeated, his voice climbing dangerously high. "What's the—Merlin, you've been lying to everyone for over a year! You've been in my chambers, helping me dress, sleeping in the antechamber—do you have any concept of what that means?" 

Merlin's smile faded slightly as she watched the genuine distress in his face. "Arthur—" 

"No!" He resumed his frantic pacing, the small space making his movements seem even more agitated. "You don't understand. This isn't just about my father finding out. This is about—" He stopped, his face flushing red. "Gods, Merlin, I've changed clothes in front of you. I've—we've—" 

"And nothing inappropriate happened," Merlin said quietly, trying to sit up straighter despite the pain in her side. "I kept my eyes averted, I maintained proper distance—" 

"That's not the point!" Arthur whirled on her, his eyes wild with something between panic and shame. "The point is that I didn't know! I couldn't give you the choice to look away or maintain distance because I didn't know you needed protecting from—from me!" 

The raw anguish in his voice made Merlin's chest tighten. "Arthur, you never did anything wrong. You couldn't have known—" 

"Exactly!" He threw his hands up in exasperation. "I couldn't have known because you lied to me! Every single day, you looked me in the eye and lied to me!" 

Merlin flinched as if he'd slapped her. "I had to." 

"Did you?" Arthur's voice dropped to something dangerously quiet. "Or did you just want to play at being something you're not? Did you think this was some kind of game?" 

The accusation hit its mark, and Arthur immediately looked stricken by his own words. But the damage was done. Tears gathered in Merlin's eyes, though whether from pain or hurt, Arthur couldn't tell. 

"You think this was a game to me?" she whispered. "You think I enjoyed lying to you every day? Living in constant fear that someone would discover the truth?" 

Arthur's anger deflated as quickly as it had risen, leaving only exhaustion and confusion in its wake. He sank down in the chair across from the bed, his head in his hands. 

"I don't know what to think," he admitted quietly. "I don't know anything anymore." 

The silence stretched between them, heavy with hurt and confusion. Merlin's breathing was still labored, but there was something different in her expression now—a kind of desperate resolve that Arthur had never seen before. 

"You want to know the truth?" she said, her voice hoarse but gaining strength. "You think being a woman serving as your manservant is the worst secret I've been keeping?" 

Arthur looked up from his hands, something in her tone making him wary. "Merlin—" 

"I'm tired," she continued, fever making her words slightly slurred but no less determined. "I'm so tired of hiding, Arthur. Tired of lying to you every single day about everything that matters." 

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked slowly, though part of him suddenly didn't want to know. 

Merlin's laugh was bitter and exhausted. "You think I've been reckless? You think serving as a woman was dangerous?" Her eyes were bright with fever and unshed tears. "Arthur, I have magic." 

Arthur went very still. "That's not funny." 

"I'm not joking." Merlin's voice was barely above a whisper now. "I was born with it. I've been using it to save your life, to save Camelot, every day since I arrived. Every 'lucky coincidence,' every time I've been in the right place at the right time—" 

"Stop." Arthur's voice was sharp with panic. "Stop this right now. You're delirious from the fever. You don't know what you're saying—" 

"The chandelier that fell just as the assassin was about to strike? The way that poisoned wine goblet shattered before you could drink from it? The countless times I've 'accidentally' knocked you out of harm's way?" Merlin's eyes were blazing with desperate honesty. "None of it was accident or luck, Arthur. It was magic." 

"Merlin, stop making a fool of this situation!" Arthur stood abruptly, his voice cracking with desperation. "This is ridiculous! You can't just—" 

Merlin's eyes flashed gold. 

The fire in the hearth roared to life without anyone touching it, flames dancing unnaturally high and bright. The wooden chair Arthur had been sitting in slid smoothly across the floor to rest against the wall, and the storm outside seemed to quiet, as if the very elements were responding to her will. 

Arthur fell silent, his face draining of all color as he stared at her in absolute terror and disbelief. 

"There," Merlin whispered, her eyes returning to their normal blue as exhaustion overtook her again. "Now you know everything." 

Chapter Text

Merlin's eyes rolled back, and she collapsed against the pillows, her brief burst of energy completely spent. The flames in the hearth settled back to normal, leaving Arthur standing alone in the sudden quiet, staring at her unconscious form.

The silence was deafening.

Arthur sank slowly back into the chair, his legs no longer able to support him. His hands shook as he tried to process what he'd just witnessed, what she'd just told him.

Magic. Merlin had magic.

Every instinct, every lesson his father had drilled into him since childhood screamed that this was wrong, that magic was evil, corrupting, dangerous. Sorcerers were enemies of Camelot, threats to be eliminated without mercy. He'd watched countless executions, had been taught that magic users were fundamentally wicked, incapable of good.

But this was Merlin.

Arthur's mind began racing through memories, seeing them now with terrifying clarity. The falling chandelier—he remembered how Merlin had tackled him to the ground just seconds before the massive iron fixture crashed where he'd been standing. At the time, he'd attributed it to quick reflexes and luck.

The wine goblet that had inexplicably shattered in his hand just as he'd raised it to his lips, only to discover later that it had been poisoned. Merlin had been standing right behind him, those blue eyes focused intently on the cup.

The countless times bandits' arrows had somehow gone wide at the last second, or enemy swords had mysteriously caught on branches or roots. The way doors had opened at just the right moment, or how Merlin always seemed to know exactly when Arthur was in danger, even when he was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh gods," Arthur whispered, his voice breaking. "How many times?"

She'd been saving his life. Not just occasionally, not just when it was convenient or safe, but constantly. Every day, using the very thing that would see her burned at the stake if discovered, risking everything to keep him alive.

Arthur buried his face in his hands, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what she'd been doing. All those times he'd called her clumsy, useless, hopeless at his job—and she'd been single-handedly keeping him alive with magic so subtle he'd never even noticed.

She could have let him die a hundred times over. Could have stood by and watched as assassins struck or poison took hold. Instead, she'd risked discovery, risked death, risked everything to protect him.

The contradiction was tearing him apart. Everything he'd been taught said that magic corrupted, that it made people selfish and cruel and power-hungry. But Merlin—Merlin had been using hers selflessly, secretly, asking for nothing in return. She'd endured his criticism, his occasional cruelty, his complete obliviousness to her sacrifice, and had continued to save his life anyway.

Arthur looked at her pale, unconscious face, and felt something fundamental shift inside his chest. This wasn't the face of evil. This wasn't corruption or wickedness. This was someone who had given up everything—her identity, her safety, her very life—to serve and protect others.

"I owe you my life," he whispered to her still form. "I owe you everything, and I never even knew."

The weight of his debt to her was staggering. Not just one life saved, but dozens. Maybe hundreds of lives throughout Camelot, if she'd been using her magic to protect the kingdom as well as him.

And he'd repaid her by being blind, by taking her for granted, by never seeing the incredible courage and sacrifice she displayed every single day.

Arthur reached out with trembling fingers to gently adjust the blanket around her shoulders, his touch reverent now. She looked so small, so fragile lying there. How had someone so young carried such enormous burdens alone?

The storm continued to rage outside, but Arthur barely noticed. His entire world had been upended twice in one evening, and he was still struggling to find his footing in this new reality.

Merlin was a woman. Merlin had magic. And Merlin had been protecting him with both secrets, risking everything, while he'd remained utterly oblivious.

"How do I protect you now?" he murmured, his voice barely audible over the rain. "How do I keep you safe when I've been too blind to see any of it?"

Arthur couldn't bring himself to leave her side. He pulled his chair closer to the bed, settling in for what he knew would be a long night of watching and waiting. The storm showed no signs of abating, and even if it had, he wouldn't have risked moving her in her condition.

In the flickering firelight, he found himself truly looking at Merlin for what felt like the first time. How had he been so blind?

Her face, relaxed in unconscious sleep, was delicate in a way he'd somehow never noticed. The sharp cheekbones he'd attributed to youth were elegant, refined. Her lashes were long and dark against pale skin, and her lips—gods, how had he never noticed how soft they looked?

Arthur's gaze moved lower, to the red neckerchief that lay crumpled beside the bed, torn away when he'd cut her tunic. She wore that thing religiously, he realized now. Every single day, wrapped carefully around her throat. He'd always assumed it was just part of her peculiar sense of style, but now...

His hand went unconsciously to his own throat, feeling the prominent bump of his Adam's apple. Of course. The neckerchief wasn't a fashion choice—it was camouflage. Another small deception in a life built on them.

More memories surfaced, each one hitting him harder than the next. The way she always found excuses to avoid joining the knights when they went swimming in the river during hot summer days. Arthur had teased her mercilessly about it, calling her modest or squeamish. The other knights had joined in, joking about the "pretty boy" who was too shy to undress around them.

She'd taken their mockery with good humor, deflecting with sarcasm and jokes of her own. But now Arthur could see the careful strategy behind every deflection, every excuse. The incredible mental energy it must have taken to navigate every social situation, every moment of potential discovery.

Arthur remembered the time Sir Gwaine had gotten drunk and tried to drag Merlin to the tavern to "find her a nice girl to tumble with." Merlin had gone bright red and stammered out some excuse about having duties to attend to. They'd all laughed at his embarrassment, never guessing the real reason for his discomfort.

Or the countless times Arthur himself had made crude jokes about women in her presence, never noticing how she'd gone quiet during those conversations, how she'd find something else to focus on until the topic changed.

The careful way she'd always handed him his clothes without looking when he was bathing. The speed with which she'd turn away when he started undressing. He'd thought it was just proper servant behavior, but now he understood it was self-preservation.

Arthur studied her sleeping face, noting the exhaustion that went deeper than just tonight's ordeal. She looked worn down in a way that had nothing to do with physical fatigue and everything to do with the constant vigilance required to maintain her deception.

"You've been so alone," he realized, his voice cracking slightly. "All this time, completely alone with these secrets."

The magnitude of her isolation struck him. She couldn't confide in anyone, couldn't let her guard down for a single moment. Every friendship was built on lies, every conversation a potential trap. And through it all, she'd somehow maintained that bright, sarcastic personality that had drawn him to her from the beginning.

Arthur reached out hesitantly, then pulled his hand back. Even unconscious, even knowing the truth, he felt like he was violating her privacy just by being here, by seeing her in this vulnerable state.

But he couldn't leave. Wouldn't leave. Whatever else had changed tonight, his duty to protect her remained absolute.

Arthur jerked awake in the chair, his neck stiff from sleeping at an awkward angle. For a moment, he was disoriented, forgetting where he was. Then the events of the previous evening came flooding back, and he immediately looked toward the bed.

Merlin's eyes were still closed, but something was different. Her eyes were moving rapidly beneath her lids, darting back and forth as if she were caught in an intense dream. And there was something else—a faint golden shimmer seemed to dance across her closed eyelids.

Arthur leaned forward, instantly alert. As he watched, the golden light grew more pronounced, flickering like candlelight behind her lashes. Her breathing, which had been shallow and labored when he'd fallen asleep, now seemed deeper, more steady.

Curious and increasingly amazed rather than afraid, Arthur's gaze dropped to her bandaged wound. What he saw made his breath catch.

The blood that had seeped through the white cloth during the night was fading, as if being absorbed back into her body. More incredibly, the edges of the bandage were beginning to loosen slightly, as if the wound beneath was... contracting.

Arthur stared in fascination. This wasn't the terrifying, destructive magic his father had taught him to fear. This was something else entirely—something beautiful, natural, almost peaceful. The golden light behind Merlin's eyelids pulsed gently, in rhythm with her heartbeat, and Arthur found himself drawn to it rather than repelled.

Unable to contain his curiosity, he carefully peeled back a corner of the bandage. What he saw made him gasp softly.

The arrow wound, which had been a ragged, bleeding hole just hours before, was visibly smaller. The edges of the torn flesh were drawing together, new skin forming with an almost imperceptible slowness. It was like watching time itself bend, watching her body knit itself back together through pure magical will.

"Incredible," Arthur breathed, his voice filled with wonder rather than fear.

As he watched, the golden glow began to fade, and Merlin's rapid eye movements slowed to a normal sleeping rhythm. The healing had stopped—not complete, but significantly advanced. What should have taken weeks to heal had been accomplished in a matter of hours.

Arthur gently replaced the bandage, his hands trembling slightly—not from fear, but from awe. He settled back in his chair, staring at Merlin's peaceful face with entirely new eyes.

This magic—her magic—wasn't evil. It was a gift. A gift she'd been using not for personal gain or power, but to heal, to protect, to save lives. Including his own.

For the first time since learning the truth, Arthur felt something other than panic and confusion. He felt... privileged. Privileged to witness something so extraordinary, so pure.

Merlin's eyes fluttered open slowly, confusion clouding her features as she tried to orient herself. For a moment, she seemed peaceful, still caught between sleep and waking. Then her gaze fell on Arthur sitting beside the bed, and the memories came crashing back.

Her eyes went wide with terror, and she tried to push herself up despite the pain in her side. "Arthur, I—the magic—I didn't mean to—" Her voice was hoarse and panicked, her breathing becoming rapid and shallow.

"Stop," Arthur said firmly but gently, raising one hand. "Stop looking so scared. I'm not going to turn you in."

Merlin stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, her whole body trembling. "But I—you saw—" She gestured weakly at her bandaged wound, then at the fireplace. "The magic, Arthur. You know about the magic."

"Yes, I know." Arthur's voice was remarkably calm, though she could see the tension in his shoulders. "And I know you're a woman. And I know you've been risking your life every single day to keep me alive."

The terror in Merlin's eyes didn't fade. If anything, it seemed to deepen. "Your father—if he finds out—"

"He won't," Arthur said with quiet conviction. "I won't let him."

Merlin searched his face desperately, as if trying to determine whether this was some kind of trap. When she found no deception there, some of the panic began to ebb, though she remained tense and watchful.

Arthur studied her pale face, noting how young she looked in the morning light filtering through the lodge's small window. "Merlin," he said quietly, "I need to ask you something."

She nodded mutely, still not trusting her voice.

"Last night, I watched you heal. Your wound—it closed up significantly while you slept." Arthur leaned forward slightly. "Have you ever had to use that healing magic on me? When I've been injured?"

Merlin's eyes darted away from his, and Arthur had his answer even before she spoke.

"Sometimes," she whispered, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. "When it was... when it was really bad, and I was afraid you might..." She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

"How many times?" Arthur asked, his voice barely audible.

Merlin's lip quivered. "I don't know. I never kept count. Whenever you were hurt and the physicians weren't enough, I—" She looked up at him with eyes full of fear and guilt. "I'm sorry. I know I should have let nature take its course, but I couldn't. I couldn't just watch you die when I could do something to help."

Arthur stared at her, overwhelmed once again by the magnitude of what she'd been doing. Not only had she been protecting him from danger, but she'd been healing him afterward, using magic that could see her executed.

"You saved my life," he said finally. "Again and again, you saved my life, and I never even knew. So, I can surely return the favor."

The first rays of dawn were filtering through the lodge's small window when Arthur finally deemed it safe to move. The storm had passed sometime during the early morning hours, leaving only the steady drip of water from the eaves and the fresh, clean scent of rain-washed earth.

Merlin was still weak but insisted she could walk. Arthur had fashioned a makeshift sling from strips of his torn shirt to support her injured arm, and they made their way slowly through the forest toward Camelot. The journey that had taken them an hour in desperate flight the night before stretched into nearly three hours of careful, measured steps.

They spoke little during the walk. What was there to say? Everything had changed between them, and they both needed time to process the magnitude of it. Arthur found himself hyperaware of every wince from Merlin, every stumble, ready to catch her if she fell. She, in turn, seemed almost afraid to look directly at him, as if she still couldn't quite believe he wasn't going to drag her straight to the pyre.

The city was just beginning to stir when they reached the gates. The guards, who had clearly been told to watch for them, looked relieved to see Arthur safe but curious about their disheveled state and Merlin's obvious injury.

"Bandits," Arthur said simply, which was true enough. "We took shelter in the hunting lodge until the storm passed."

The guards accepted this without question—Arthur's word was law, and they had no reason to suspect anything more complicated than a hunting trip gone wrong.

Arthur walked Merlin directly to his chambers, ignoring the curious glances from servants they passed in the corridors. Once inside, he turned to her with an expression of exhaustion and concern.

"Take today off," he said quietly, his voice hoarse from the sleepless night. "Rest. Let your wound heal properly." He paused, then added more softly, "We both need time to... think about everything."

Merlin nodded, still looking pale and shaken. "Arthur, I—"

"Later," he interrupted gently. "We'll talk later. Right now, you need rest, and I need..." He ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "I need to sleep. And think. And try to figure out what happens next."

Merlin hesitated at the door to her small antechamber. "Thank you," she whispered. "For not..."

"I told you," Arthur said firmly. "I won't let anything happen to you. Not ever."

She disappeared into her room, leaving Arthur standing alone in his chambers. For a moment, he just stared at the closed door, still struggling to reconcile everything he'd learned. Then exhaustion crashed over him like a wave.

Arthur barely managed to remove his muddy boots and outer clothing before collapsing onto his bed. His body ached from the awkward night spent sleeping in a chair, his mind reeled from revelations that had shattered everything he thought he knew, and his heart... his heart was a confused tangle of emotions he wasn't ready to examine.

Within minutes, sleep claimed him, pulling him into dreams filled with golden light and impossible truths.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke to pale morning sunlight streaming through the small window of her antechamber. For a blissful moment, she forgot everything that had happened. Then the dull ache in her side reminded her of the arrow wound, and the memories came flooding back in all their terrifying detail.

Arthur knew. Arthur knew everything.

She sat up slowly, testing her injury. The wound was tender but felt remarkably better than it should have after only a day. Her magic had done its work well—perhaps too well.

Her hands shook as she dressed, wrapping her red neckerchief around her throat with particular care. The simple act felt different now, knowing that Arthur understood what she was hiding beneath it. Everything felt different.

As she prepared Arthur's breakfast, her anxiety mounted with each passing minute. What if he'd changed his mind? What if a night's sleep had made him realize the magnitude of harboring a sorcerer? What if guards were waiting outside his door right now?

The corridors felt endless as she made her way to Arthur's chambers, Arthur's breakfast tray heavy in her trembling hands. She braced herself at every turn, expecting to see armed guards waiting to arrest her. But the castle seemed normal. Servants went about their duties, guards nodded to her as usual, and no one looked at her with suspicion or fear.

Maybe Arthur really meant what he'd said. Maybe she was safe.

She knocked softly on Arthur's door before entering, as she had countless times before. "Rise and shine, my lord," she called with forced cheerfulness, setting the tray on the table. "Another glorious day awaits."

Arthur stirred in his bed, mumbling something unintelligible. For a moment, he seemed his normal self—grumpy, disheveled, completely unguarded. "Five more minutes, Merlin," he muttered, pulling his pillow over his head.

Then his eyes opened fully, and she saw the exact moment he remembered. His expression shifted, becoming awkward and uncertain. Color rose in his cheeks as he looked at her, and Merlin felt her heart sink.

But Arthur cleared his throat and pushed through the embarrassment with visible effort. "Right then," he said, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "What's for breakfast?"

Merlin studied his face carefully. "Are you... are we...?"

"We're fine," Arthur said firmly, though he still seemed unable to meet her eyes directly. "Everything is exactly as it was before."

"Is it?" Merlin asked quietly.

Arthur finally looked at her then, his expression growing serious. "It has to be. Our lives depend on it now, Merlin."

The weight of those words settled between them like a stone. Merlin sank into the chair across from his bed. "Do you really think he would...? I mean, you're his son. Surely Uther wouldn't—"

"Kill me?" Arthur finished grimly. "My father's views on magic are quite clear. If we don't both want to end up on a pyre, we need to work together and have each other's backs."

Merlin's face went pale. "But you didn't know. You could tell him you had no idea about my powers—"

Arthur shook his head firmly. "In Camelot, harboring a sorcerer is condemned by death. My father will never believe I didn't know, not after more than a year of you serving in my chambers. He'll assume I was complicit, and even if he didn't..." Arthur met her eyes steadily. "I won't throw you to the wolves to save myself."

The simple declaration made Merlin's throat tighten with emotion. "Arthur—"

"We're in this together now," he said quietly. "Whether we like it or not."

Merlin felt her eyes well up with tears at his words. The relief, the gratitude, the overwhelming emotion of knowing she wasn't alone anymore—it all threatened to spill over at once.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice thick with feeling. "Arthur, I—thank you."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to such raw emotion from his usually sarcastic servant. He cleared his throat and gestured vaguely at her face. "Right, well... no need to get all weepy about it."

Then, as if seeking to lighten the mood, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "You know, all those times I called you a girl, you must have been terrified you'd been found out."

Merlin wiped at her eyes, a laugh bubbling up despite everything. "No," she said, grinning through her tears. "Not by an idiot like you."

"Idiot?" Arthur exclaimed in mock outrage, grabbing his pillow. "I'll show you idiot!"

He launched the pillow at her head with surprising accuracy. Merlin ducked, laughing properly now—the first real laugh she'd had since being shot with that arrow. The sound was bright and genuine, filling the chamber with something that felt almost normal.

"See?" Arthur said, looking satisfied as he settled back against his headboard. "Everything exactly as it was before. You're still insubordinate, and I'm still putting up with it for reasons I'll never understand."

But his eyes were warm as he said it, and Merlin could see the relief there too. They could do this. They could find their way back to themselves, even with everything that had changed between them.

"Now," Arthur continued, nodding toward the breakfast tray, "is that food getting cold while we have this touching moment? Because I'm starving, and if you've ruined my eggs with all this emotional nonsense, I really will have you in the stocks."

Merlin rolled her eyes and stood to serve his breakfast, but she was still smiling. "Yes, my lord. Wouldn't want your royal stomach to suffer."

"Exactly," Arthur said primly, then caught her eye and grinned.

Arthur attacked his breakfast with genuine hunger, and Merlin found herself watching him eat with a mixture of relief and lingering anxiety. Everything seemed so normal, yet she couldn't shake the feeling that someone might look at them and just... know.

"Right then," Arthur said around a mouthful of bread, "I've got training with the knights this morning. Can't let them think yesterday's little adventure has made me soft."

Merlin began collecting the empty dishes, falling back into the familiar rhythm of her duties. "Oh good," she said with mock enthusiasm, "I can't wait to spend the morning polishing armor and swords."

Arthur nearly choked on his ale, color flooding his cheeks as he stared at her. The innocent comment had taken on an entirely different meaning now that he knew she was a woman, and the way she'd said it—with that slight emphasis on 'swords'—made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

Merlin caught his expression and burst into delighted laughter. "Oh, you should see your face!" she gasped between giggles. "My lord, surely you're not thinking improper thoughts about weapon maintenance?"

"Merlin," Arthur warned, but there was no real heat in it. If anything, he looked impressed despite his embarrassment.

"I mean, a sword does require very... thorough... attention to keep it in proper working order," she continued with exaggerated innocence, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Arthur threw a piece of bread at her, which only made her laugh harder. "You're terrible," he muttered, but he was fighting a smile.

As they made their way down to the training grounds, Merlin carrying Arthur's practice sword and shield, they fell into their usual easy conversation. It was almost possible to pretend nothing had changed—except for the occasional moment when Arthur would glance at her with that new awareness in his eyes, or when Merlin would catch herself being extra careful about how she moved or spoke.

They were nearly to the courtyard when Sir Leon appeared, looking relieved to see them both.

"There you are!" he called out, striding over to them. "Arthur, good to see you in one piece. The men were starting to worry." His warm gaze shifted to Merlin, and his expression brightened considerably. "And Merlin! I missed you yesterday, you know. Training just isn't the same without your... unique commentary on our techniques."

Merlin felt a flush of warmth at the genuine affection in Leon's voice, though it was tinged with her new awareness of how carefully she had to guard herself around everyone except Arthur now.

"Well, I'd hate to deprive you of my expert observations, Sir Leon," she replied with a grin. "Though I should warn you, after yesterday's excitement, I might be even more critical than usual."

Merlin settled herself on a bench at the edge of the training yard, watching as the knights went through their drills. It didn't take long before she started offering her usual commentary.

"Leon, stop dropping your guard after you parry—that's how you end up with a sword in your ribs!"

"Percival, you're relying too much on strength. Technique, remember? Finesse!"

The knights took her observations with good humor, as they always did. Over the months, they'd learned that despite her apparent lack of formal training, Merlin had an uncanny ability to spot weaknesses in their technique.

If only they knew why, she thought wryly.

After about an hour, Merlin quietly slipped away from the training grounds, making her way to the armory where Arthur's practice gear was stored. She glanced around to make sure she was alone, then knelt beside the pile of muddy, battle-worn armor from yesterday's encounter.

Her eyes flashed gold, and her hands moved in practiced gestures. The mud and grime disappeared as if it had never been there, metal gleamed like new, and leather straps became supple and strong again. In minutes, what should have been hours of backbreaking work was complete.

Merlin sank back against the wall, closing her eyes and allowing herself a moment of quiet. The constant vigilance, the fear, the weight of keeping so many secrets—sometimes it felt like it might crush her. But now Arthur knew, and somehow that made everything feel lighter, even as it made everything infinitely more dangerous.

She was still sitting there, eyes closed, when Arthur burst through the door.

"Merlin, I need my—" He stopped mid-sentence, staring at his armor. Every piece gleamed like it had just come from the royal forge. The leather was perfectly oiled, the metal polished to a mirror shine, and not a speck of yesterday's mud remained.

Arthur looked from the armor to Merlin, then back again. "How did I never notice?" he said slowly, running his fingers along the perfectly clean breastplate. "Merlin, you really don't know how to hide your magic, do you?"

Merlin opened her eyes and gave him a tired smile. "To be honest, I wouldn't be able to survive this job without it."

"What do you mean?"

Merlin gestured helplessly. "Arthur, do you have any idea what you actually expect of me? I'm supposed to have your armor ready at dawn, your clothes laid out, your meals prepared, your chambers cleaned, your weapons maintained, your horse groomed, your—" She stopped, looking overwhelmed. "I'm one person trying to do the work of five, and half of it requires skills I was never taught. Without magic, I'd have been dismissed—or worse—within a week."

Arthur stared at her, realization dawning. "You've been using magic for... everything?"

"Not everything," Merlin said defensively. "But yes, quite a lot. The armor, the weapons, getting stains out of your clothes that should be impossible to remove, making sure your horse is always perfectly groomed even when I haven't had time to see her all day..." She trailed off, looking miserable. "I know I shouldn't have, but I didn't have a choice."

Arthur was quiet for a long moment, then to her surprise, he started to laugh. "No wonder you always looked so smug when the other servants complained about their workload."

But his expression grew serious quickly. "Merlin, you need to be more careful. Make sure you're completely alone when you do... this." He gestured at the gleaming armor. "If anyone else had walked in just now—"

"I know," Merlin said quietly. "I'll be more careful. I promise."

Arthur nodded, still looking worried. "We'll you have managed this long." He paused, then added softly, "But you shouldn't have to manage alone anymore."

Merlin looked up, surprised by the vulnerability in his voice.

Arthur cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the moment of openness. "Right, well," he said, straightening up and adopting a more businesslike tone. "I suppose I should get cleaned up. Training was... vigorous."

"I'll fetch your bath," Merlin said, rising to her feet and grateful for something normal to do.

She went about the familiar task of arranging Arthur's bath, heating the water with subtle magic when no one was looking, adding the oils he preferred, laying out fresh clothes. It was a routine they'd done countless times before, but now everything felt different.

When Arthur returned to his chambers, he stopped short at the sight of the steaming bath waiting for him. His eyes found Merlin's, and his face turned a spectacular shade of red.

"I... that is... you don't need to..." he stammered, gesturing helplessly at the tub.

Merlin couldn't help herself—she burst into laughter at his obvious discomfort. "Oh, for the love of—Arthur, I'll give you some privacy!" She was still chuckling as she headed for the door. "Just try not to drown yourself while I'm gone."

She could hear him muttering something that sounded suspiciously like complaints about insubordinate servants as she closed the door behind her.

By the time she returned with Arthur's lunch—the cook had given her extra portions again, bless her—Arthur was fully dressed and looking considerably more composed. His hair was still damp from his bath, and he'd managed to dress himself completely.

"Well," Merlin said, setting the tray down and looking him over with obvious surprise, "that's different. Usually I have to help you dress. Did you manage all by yourself, my lord?"

Arthur's face reddened again, and he stuttered, "Well, that's... that's obviously going to have to change, isn't it?"

The awkwardness of the statement hung in the air between them. Everything was going to have to change, in ways both large and small.

Arthur moved to the table and poured water into two cups, then looked up at Merlin with an expression of determination. "Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Eat."

"Arthur, I can't—"

"You can and you will," he interrupted firmly. "You're starving, aren't you? I can hear your stomach from here."

Merlin hesitated. Servants didn't eat with the prince. It went against every rule of protocol she'd learned.

"Merlin," Arthur said more softly, "sit down. Please."

The please did it. Merlin sank into the chair across from him, suddenly aware of just how hungry she was. The cook's extra portions looked even more appealing now that she was allowed to actually eat them instead of just looking at them longingly.

"Thank you," she said quietly, reaching for the bread.

Arthur nodded, but she could see the wheels turning in his mind. They were going to have to figure out so many new boundaries, so many ways of being together that wouldn't raise suspicions while still acknowledging everything that had changed between them.

It was going to be complicated.

Chapter Text

It had been three days since their return from the hunting lodge, and Merlin was beginning to think they might actually manage their new normal when she encountered Morgana in the corridor outside Arthur's chambers.

The king's ward looked absolutely terrible—dark circles under her eyes like bruises, her usually perfect hair disheveled and falling in tangled strands around her face, and her hands shaking so badly she could barely clutch the goblet of what smelled distinctly like one of Gaius's stronger sleeping draughts. The kind he only prescribed when someone was truly desperate for rest.

"Morgana?" Merlin approached carefully, noting how Morgana seemed to be swaying slightly on her feet. "Are you all right?"

Morgana looked up with haunted eyes that seemed to look right through her. "I'm fine," she said quickly, but her voice cracked on the words, betraying the lie. "Just... tired. Haven't been sleeping well lately."

Merlin had seen that look before—in her own reflection, back when her magic had first begun manifesting in earnest and she'd spent countless nights staring at the ceiling, terrified of what she might accidentally do in her sleep. The fear, the confusion, the desperate hope that maybe she was just going mad instead of being cursed with the thing that could get her killed. The way Morgana's eyes darted around the corridor, as if expecting soldiers to appear at any moment, was painfully familiar.

"Morgana," Merlin said gently, glancing around to make sure they were truly alone in the dimly lit hallway. The torches flickered in their sconces, casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. "The nightmares you've been having... things move when you're upset, don't they?"

Morgana went very still, so still she might have been carved from stone. The goblet in her hands stopped shaking entirely. "What did you say?"

"Your water pitcher. It shattered the other night when you woke up screaming. I heard the crash from three rooms away." Merlin kept her voice low and steady. "And yesterday, when you were arguing with Uther about that merchant's execution, every single candle in the throne room flickered at exactly the same moment. The guards noticed too."

"That's not—I don't know what you're—" Morgana's breathing was becoming rapid and shallow, her chest rising and falling like she'd been running. The color had completely drained from her face.

Merlin stepped closer, close enough to catch her if she fainted, and lowered her voice to barely a whisper. "Morgana, you have magic."

The goblet fell from Morgana's nerveless fingers, shattering on the stone floor with a crash that seemed to echo through the entire corridor. The liquid—definitely one of Gaius's sleeping potions—spread across the stones in a dark puddle. "No," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "No, that's not possible. I'm not—I can't be—people like me don't have magic. I'm Uther's ward, I'm nobility, I'm—"

"You are," Merlin said firmly but gently, her heart breaking at the raw terror in Morgana's voice. "And you're not alone. I have magic too."

Morgana stared at her in complete shock, her mouth falling open. For a moment, she looked like she might collapse entirely. "You're lying."

"I'm not. I've had it since I was born, probably. It's been getting stronger, harder to control." Merlin glanced around again, then added in an even quieter whisper, "And Morgana... Arthur knows about my magic."

"That's impossible," Morgana said, her voice rising dangerously loud before she caught herself and dropped back to a whisper. "Arthur would never—he'd have us killed immediately. He'd drag us to the pyre himself if he had to. You're lying, Merlin. This is some kind of cruel joke, some test—"

"I'm not lying." Merlin caught Morgana's arm gently, feeling how she was trembling like a leaf in a storm. "Come with me. Let me show you. Let me prove it."

"No, I won't—I can't—if this is real, if I really have..." Morgana's voice broke entirely.

"Morgana, please. You're scared and confused and you think you're alone, but you're not. You don't have to carry this by yourself anymore. Just... trust me. Please."

Something in Merlin's voice—maybe the understanding, maybe the shared desperation—must have convinced her, because Morgana allowed herself to be led down the corridor toward Arthur's chambers. Her steps were unsteady, and Merlin had to slow her pace to match. When they reached the heavy wooden door, Merlin knocked briefly before entering, calling out, "Arthur? I need to speak with you urgently. And I've brought Morgana."

Arthur looked up from his desk, where he'd been reviewing what looked like reports from the outer villages. He took one look at Morgana's pale, frightened face and the way she was clinging to Merlin's arm like it was the only thing keeping her upright, and immediately set aside his papers. "What's wrong?"

"Morgana's magic is manifesting," Merlin said without preamble, knowing there was no gentle way to say it. "She needs to know she's safe here."

Arthur's eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered quickly, his expression shifting to one of concern rather than fear. "Morgana—"

"This is madness," Morgana interrupted, looking wildly between them like a trapped animal. Her voice was getting higher, more panicked. "Merlin claims to have magic, claims you know about it, claims I have it too—none of this is real. This can't be real. People with magic are evil, they're enemies of Camelot, they're everything we have been taught to fear and hate—"

"Then what does that make me?" Merlin asked quietly, her voice cutting through Morgana's rising hysteria. Her eyes flashed gold—that brilliant, unmistakable gold that had terrified her for months—and the fire in Arthur's hearth roared to life, burning twice as bright as before and filling the room with warm, dancing light.

Morgana stumbled backward, hitting the wall behind her, her own eyes wide with shock and—to Merlin's dismay—genuine terror.

"And what does this make you?" Merlin continued, focusing her attention on the water pitcher by Arthur's washstand. It began to vibrate in response to Morgana's emotional distress, the water inside sloshing violently, before cracking straight down the middle with a sharp sound.

Morgana gasped, pressing both hands to her mouth as if she could somehow take back what had just happened. "No, no, no—I didn't mean to—I can't control it—"

"Hey," Arthur said firmly, moving toward her with his hands raised peacefully, the way he might approach a spooked horse. "Morgana, look at me. Look at me, not at the pitcher."

"Arthur, I'm sorry, I never meant for this to happen—if I've been doing this without knowing, if I've been putting you in danger all this time—" Tears were starting to spill down her cheeks.

"You haven't," Arthur said, his voice steady and reassuring in a way that reminded Merlin exactly why she'd fallen in love with him. "You've been protecting me, just like Merlin has been protecting me. Neither of you chose this, and neither of you have done anything wrong. Magic isn't evil, Morgana—people can be evil, but magic is just... power. It's what you do with it that matters."

"But your father—Uther will have me executed if he finds out. He'll have us both burned—"

"My father doesn't know, and he won't know," Arthur said firmly, taking another step closer. "Morgana, I promise you—I swear on my life—you will not be killed. Not for this. You're in good company here, and this secret will be kept."

Morgana looked between Arthur and Merlin, still shaking but beginning to register that neither of them seemed afraid of her—or planning to turn her in to the king. The terror in her eyes was slowly being replaced by something that might have been hope.

"I don't understand," she whispered, her voice hoarse from crying. "How long have you known? About any of this?"

"About Merlin? Three days," Arthur said, settling into a chair so he'd be less intimidating, less imposing. "About you? About thirty seconds. But it doesn't change anything, Morgana. You're still my father's ward, still family. This secret will be kept, just like Merlin's."

For the first time since Merlin had approached her in the corridor, some of the terror began to leave Morgana's eyes. "You really mean that?"

"I really mean that," Arthur said solemnly.

After Morgana left—still shaky but considerably calmer than when she'd arrived—Arthur slumped back in his chair and ran both hands through his hair.

"Well," he said finally, "that was not how I expected my afternoon to go."

Merlin moved to clean up the shattered remains of the water pitcher, carefully gathering the pieces. "She's going to need help learning to control it," she said quietly. "Maybe we should arrange a hunting trip. Get her away from the castle so she can safely express her powers."

Arthur looked up sharply. "A hunting trip? Merlin, that's—" He paused, frowning. "Actually, that's not a terrible idea, but how would we justify bringing Morgana? It would be highly inappropriate."

"I know it's complicated, but Arthur, she needs somewhere safe to let her magic out." Merlin set the pitcher fragments aside and turned to face him. "If she doesn't use it, it builds up. Gets more volatile. The longer she tries to suppress it, the more likely she is to have... incidents."

Arthur went very pale. "Is that true? If you don't use your magic, it becomes more dangerous?"

Merlin nodded grimly. "It's like trying to dam a river—eventually, the pressure becomes too much and it bursts through anyway. Usually at the worst possible moment." She gestured toward where the pitcher had been. "What happened just now was nothing compared to what could happen if Uther makes her truly angry and she has weeks' worth of suppressed magic ready to explode."

"Gods. Every mirror in the throne room shattering, candles going out, maybe even the ceiling stones cracking..."

"Exactly. Which is why we need to get her somewhere she can safely release that pressure before it becomes unmanageable."

Arthur was quiet for a long moment, clearly wrestling with the logistics. "You're right, but bringing Morgana on a hunt would raise too many questions. My father would never approve, and half the court would assume..." He trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

"Assume what?"

"That there was something romantic happening between us," Arthur finished awkwardly. "Which would create an entirely different set of problems."

Merlin bit back a smile at his discomfort. "Well, thankfully I'm friends with Gwen. She could cover for Morgana while we're gone—say she's ill or resting or visiting the lower town. Gwen's clever; she'll think of something believable."

Arthur's expression brightened slightly. "Gwen would do that?"

"For Morgana? Of course. She cares about her." Merlin paused, then added more seriously, "And I think we can trust her to keep quiet about why Morgana needs the cover story."

"You want to tell Gwen about the magic?" Arthur asked, looking alarmed.

"Not necessarily. Just that Morgana needs some time away from the castle for... personal reasons. Gwen won't pry too deeply if we ask her not to."

Arthur considered this, then nodded slowly. "All right. When should we do this?"

"Soon," Merlin said firmly. "The sooner we help her learn some control, the safer we'll all be."

"I should go," Merlin said, glancing toward the door. "Gaius will be wondering where I am, and I promised to help him with his evening rounds."

Arthur nodded, still looking thoughtful about their plans. "We'll talk more about this tomorrow. And Merlin—be careful what you say to anyone else about today."

"Of course," Merlin replied, then hesitated at the door. "Arthur? Thank you. For... for accepting her. For protecting her."

"She's family," Arthur said simply. "Whatever else happens, that won't change."

Merlin made her way through the castle corridors toward Gaius's chambers, her mind still reeling from everything that had happened. Three days ago, she'd been completely alone with her secrets. Now she had Arthur as an ally, and Morgana was part of their dangerous circle of trust.

She found Gaius grinding herbs at his workbench, his movements precise and methodical. He looked up as she entered, noting her slightly disheveled appearance and the worried expression she couldn't quite hide.

"There you are," he said, setting down his pestle. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about your duties here entirely."

"Sorry, Gaius. I got... delayed." Merlin moved to help him organize the various bottles and pouches scattered across the table. "The sleeping draught you've been giving Morgana—how strong is it exactly?"

Gaius's hands stilled, and he gave her a sharp look. "Why do you ask?"

"I ran into her in the corridor earlier. She looked terrible—like she hadn't slept properly in weeks, even with your remedies."

"Merlin," Gaius said carefully, his voice taking on a warning tone, "I know you have a good heart, and I know you want to help everyone who's suffering. But some situations are beyond your ability to fix."

"What do you mean?"

Gaius set down the bottle he'd been holding and turned to face her fully. "Lady Morgana is the king's ward, and her... condition... is delicate. You must not get involved in her affairs."

"Her condition?" Merlin tried to keep her voice neutral. "Gaius, what's really wrong with her?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Gaius replied firmly. "Merlin, listen to me very carefully. Whatever you think you might understand about Lady Morgana's situation, whatever you might think you can do to help her—don't. She is dangerous, more dangerous than you realize. And getting involved with her troubles will only bring danger to yourself."

The irony wasn't lost on Merlin—Gaius was warning her away from the very person she and Arthur were now planning to help. "Dangerous how?"

"That's enough questions," Gaius said, his tone brooking no argument. "Promise me, Merlin. Promise me you won't interfere with whatever is happening to Lady Morgana. Some people are beyond saving, and some secrets are better left undisturbed."

Merlin nodded reluctantly, knowing she couldn't explain why that promise would be impossible to keep. "I understand, Gaius."

But even as she said the words, she knew she was lying. Morgana wasn't beyond saving—not if she and Arthur had anything to say about it.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Merlin had barely finished dressing when she heard a soft knock at her chamber door. She opened it to find Morgana standing in the corridor, looking considerably better than she had the day before. The dark circles were still there, but her hair was neatly arranged and her hands weren't shaking. 

"Morgana," Merlin said, surprised. "Is everything all right?" 

"May I come in?" Morgana asked quietly, glancing around to make sure they weren't overheard. "I need to ask you about... yesterday." 

Merlin stepped aside to let her enter, closing the door firmly behind her. Her small antechamber felt even smaller with Morgana's presence filling it, but it was private, which was what mattered. 

"I couldn't sleep," Morgana said without preamble, settling into the single chair while Merlin perched on the edge of her narrow bed. "Well, I could sleep—Gaius's draught saw to that—but every time I closed my eyes, I kept thinking about what you said. About the magic." 

"What did you want to know?" 

Morgana leaned forward, her expression intense. "Everything. How long have you had it? How did you learn to control it? Can you teach me?" 

Merlin took a breath, considering her words carefully. "I was born with it, as far as I know. My mother says strange things happened around me even as a baby. But Morgana..." She hesitated, studying the desperation in Morgana's eyes. "I can try to help you with the basics, but your magic feels different from mine. Stronger. More volatile. The druids might be your best option for real training." 

"Druids?" Morgana's eyes widened. "But I thought they were all dead, or driven into exile." 

"Not all of them. There are still some communities hidden in the deep forests. They understand magic in ways I never could—they could teach you properly, safely." 

"But that would mean leaving Camelot, wouldn't it? And how would we even find them?" 

"We'll figure something out," Merlin said firmly. "But until then, maybe I can teach you a few basic control techniques." 

Later that afternoon, they gathered in Arthur's chambers while he was at a council meeting. Merlin figured it was the safest place to attempt any magical instruction—larger than her small antechamber, and private. 

"All right," Merlin said, standing across from Morgana near Arthur's desk. "Let's start simple. Just try to light the candle. Focus on the flame, picture it in your mind, and let the magic flow gently." 

Morgana nodded, extending her hand toward the unlit candle on Arthur's table. Her eyes flashed gold, and— 

The explosion of power was immediate and devastating. The candle didn't just light—it erupted in a pillar of flame that shot toward the ceiling. The windows blew outward in a shower of glass, the mirror on the wall shattered into a thousand pieces, and Arthur's heavy wooden table split clean in half with a thunderous crack. 

Both women were thrown backward by the force of it, Merlin hitting the wall hard enough to knock the breath from her lungs. 

"Oh gods," Morgana gasped from where she'd landed near the door, staring in horror at the destruction. "I didn't mean—I can't control it—" 

The door burst open and Arthur came running in, clearly having heard the commotion from halfway down the corridor. He skidded to a stop, taking in the destroyed room, the blown-out windows, and the two women picking themselves up off the floor. 

"What in the name of—" He stopped himself, closing the door quickly behind him. "Are you both all right?" 

"I'm so sorry," Morgana said, tears starting to stream down her face. "I tried to do what you said, Merlin, but it just—it exploded. I can't control any of it." 

Merlin nodded, still shaky from the blast. "Right. We definitely need to find those druids. And soon, before you accidentally bring down the entire castle and my father definitely knows it was magic. I think that hunting trip just became a lot more urgent." 

"You think?" Arthur said dryly, stepping carefully around the debris. "Any ideas on how I'm going to explain this to the servants?" 

"Gas buildup in the fireplace?" Merlin suggested weakly. 

Arthur gave her a look. "Merlin, the windows are gone. The table is in two pieces. There's glass embedded in the ceiling." 

"Very... explosive gas buildup?" 

Despite everything, Morgana let out a slightly hysterical laugh. "I think we're going to need a better story than that." 

Merlin looked around at the devastation and sighed. "Arthur, step back for a moment." 

"What are you—" 

"Just trust me." Merlin's eyes flashed gold, and she raised her hands toward the scattered debris. The larger pieces of the shattered table began to move, sliding back together with a grinding sound. The wood grain knitted itself back together, though the deep crack down the middle remained visible—she couldn't make it perfect, but at least it looked like it might have been damaged by a natural explosion rather than magic. 

The glass from the mirror gathered itself into a pile in the corner, and most of the smaller debris swept itself into manageable heaps. The windows, unfortunately, were beyond her ability to repair completely, but she managed to clear away the jagged edges and most of the glass shards from the floor. 

"There," she said, swaying slightly from the effort. "It's not perfect, but at least it looks like something exploded rather than... well, what actually happened." 

Arthur stared at the partially restored room. The table, while clearly damaged, now looked like it might have been split by the force of some kind of blast rather than raw magical energy. "That's... actually quite helpful." 

"I can't fix everything," Merlin warned, gesturing at the still-broken windows and the obvious scorch marks on the ceiling. "But maybe now it looks more like a legitimate accident." 

Morgana was still staring at the destruction with horror. "I did all this with one candle?" 

"One very powerful, very uncontrolled attempt at lighting a candle," Merlin corrected gently. "Which is exactly why we need to get you to the druids as soon as possible. Before you try to, say, warm some water and accidentally boil the entire castle." 

Arthur nodded grimly. "Right. I'll arrange that hunting trip for tomorrow morning. We can't wait any longer." 

"Morgana," Merlin said, turning to the still-shaken ward, "you need to find Gwen and ask her to cover for you. Tell her you're feeling unwell and need a few days of rest—she'll understand and won't ask too many questions." 

Morgana nodded, wiping the last of the tears from her cheeks. "I'll go to her now. And I should pack a bag, shouldn't I? Something suitable for... whatever this is going to be." 

"Nothing too elaborate," Arthur advised. "We're supposed to be hunting, remember? Practical clothes, sturdy boots." 

"Right," Morgana said, moving toward the door. She paused at the threshold, looking back at them both. "Thank you. Both of you. I know this is dangerous for you too." 

"We're in this together," Arthur said firmly. "Go. The sooner we leave, the better." 

After Morgana left, Arthur turned to Merlin with a worried expression. "How long do you think she'll need to stay with the druids? Because at most, I can get us maybe three or four days before my father starts asking questions about where we've gone." 

Merlin considered this, her brow furrowed with concern. "Hopefully a few days will be better than nothing. At the very least, they can teach her some emergency techniques—ways to ground herself when she feels the magic building up, basic control exercises she can practice in private." 

"It's not ideal, is it?" 

"No," Merlin admitted. "Proper training takes months, sometimes years. But even a little instruction from people who actually understand powerful magic could make a huge difference. Right now she's like someone trying to control a wildfire with their bare hands." 

Arthur nodded, then his expression brightened slightly. "Actually, the timing might work in our favor. My father is completely distracted with the tax assessments from the outer villages—he's been buried in ledgers and reports for days. He probably won't even notice we're gone if we're careful about it." 

"That's something, at least," Merlin said. "When do we leave?" 

"First light tomorrow. I'll tell the stables to prepare horses for a hunting expedition, and we'll slip out before the castle fully wakes up." Arthur looked around his still-damaged chambers one more time. "Let's just hope we can find these druids quickly, and that they're willing to help someone connected to the royal court." 

"They will be," Merlin said with more confidence than she felt. "They have to be. I should go get your dinner," Merlin said, moving toward the door. "All this talk of hunting trips is making me realize how late it's getting." 

Arthur nodded absently, still surveying the damage to his chambers. "Right, yes. The usual, I suppose." 

When Merlin returned with the evening meal—again laden with extra portions from the cook—Arthur immediately gestured for her to take the seat across from him at his partially repaired table. 

"Sit," he said, pouring water into two cups as he had at lunch. "Eat." 

Merlin set down the tray but remained standing, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Arthur, why?" 

"Why what?" 

"This," she said, gesturing between them and the two place settings. "Yesterday you never thought twice about me standing there watching you eat. Now suddenly you're insisting I sit down and share your meals. Why?" 

Arthur paused, his hand still on the water pitcher, looking uncomfortable. "It's... it's rude not to offer." 

Merlin scoffed, crossing her arms. "So it was fine when you thought I was a man, but not when you know I'm a woman?" 

Arthur considered this for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes, actually." 

"That's ridiculous." 

"Is it?" Arthur set down the pitcher and looked at her seriously. "When I thought you were a young man, having you stand there while I ate was just... normal. Master and servant. But now..." He trailed off, color rising in his cheeks. 

"Now what?" 

"Now it feels wrong," he admitted quietly. "Like I'm taking advantage somehow. Like I should be treating you with more courtesy." 

Merlin stared at him for a long moment, then shook her head with a wry smile. "Arthur Pendragon, you are the strangest prince in all the kingdoms." 

"Probably," he agreed, pushing the chair out further from the table. "Now sit down and eat before I have to make it a royal command." 

Despite herself, Merlin laughed and took the offered seat. "Well, when you put it like that..." 

As they finished eating, Merlin wiped her mouth and looked at Arthur consideringly. "You'll want a bath before we leave tomorrow." 

Arthur's face immediately flushed red. "No, I'm fine." 

Merlin laughed at his obvious discomfort. "Yes, you do. And you should, because it may be a few days before you can bathe properly again. Unless you're planning to explain to the druids why the Prince of Camelot needs his personal bathing attendants in the middle of the forest." 

Arthur opened his mouth to protest again, then seemed to realize she had a point. "Right. Yes. That's... practical." 

"Exactly," Merlin said, standing up and beginning to clear the dishes. "I'll arrange it." 

She made her way through the castle corridors to find the bathing servants, requesting hot water for Arthur's chambers. The servants, accustomed to such requests, gathered their buckets and heating stones without question. Merlin helped them carry the water up the stairs, though she was careful not to appear too eager to assist—that might raise eyebrows. 

Once the large copper tub was filled and the servants had departed, Merlin glanced around to make sure she was truly alone. Then her eyes flashed gold, and she held her hands over the water's surface. Steam began to rise as the temperature adjusted to exactly how Arthur preferred it—not too hot, but warm enough to be properly relaxing. 

She tested the temperature with her fingertips, nodding in satisfaction. After the stress of the day, the destruction of his chambers, and the weight of tomorrow's dangerous journey, Arthur would need this. 

"Your bath is ready," she called through the door to his bedchamber, then quickly busied herself with laying out clean clothes and towels, trying to ignore how strange it felt to be preparing these intimate details of his routine now that everything had changed between them. 

From the other room, she heard Arthur's muffled response: "Thank you, Merlin." 

The formality in his voice told her he was just as aware of the awkwardness as she was. 

Chapter Text

The pre-dawn air was crisp and cold as they met at the stables, their breath visible in small puffs. Morgana arrived first, dressed in practical riding clothes with her hair braided back and a dark cloak pulled up to hide her distinctive features. She looked nervous but determined. 

"Any trouble with Gwen?" Merlin asked quietly as she checked their supplies one final time. 

"She's covering for me, just like you said she would." Morgana's voice carried a note of guilt. "I told her I needed to go away for a few days but couldn't explain why. She didn't ask questions, just said she'd handle anyone who came looking for me." 

"She's a good friend," Arthur said, leading his horse out of its stall. "And it's better this way. The less she knows about the real reason, the safer she is." 

"I still hate not being able to tell her the truth," Morgana murmured. 

"We all do," Merlin said softly. "But it's to protect her too." 

They managed to slip past the sleepy guards without incident—the benefit of Arthur being recognized meant no one questioned the prince taking an early morning hunting party out. The guards simply nodded and waved them through the gates, probably assuming they were trying to catch game at dawn when the animals were most active. 

Once they were well clear of Camelot's walls and the city was just a distant glow behind them, Arthur turned to Merlin with a practical question. 

"So how exactly are we going to find these druids? The forests around Camelot are vast, and I'm assuming they don't exactly advertise their location." 

Merlin shot him a look that was equal parts amusement and exasperation. "Magic, Arthur. Obviously." 

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Of course. How foolish of me to expect a more detailed plan." 

"I can sense other magic users when I focus," Merlin explained, more seriously now. "And druid magic feels different from mine—older, more connected to the earth. If there are any communities within a day's ride, I should be able to find them." 

They rode for hours through increasingly dense forest, following deer paths and old trade routes that hadn't been used in years. Merlin periodically stopped to close her eyes and extend her magical senses, searching for the distinctive feel of druid power. 

It was nearly midday when they crested a small hill and found themselves looking down into a hidden valley where smoke rose from what appeared to be a small settlement. But before they could even discuss whether to approach, a figure stepped out from behind a massive oak tree directly in their path. 

The man was elderly, with long white hair and robes that seemed to blend with the forest around him. His eyes held the unmistakable golden glow of active magic, though it faded quickly as he smiled at them. 

"Emrys," he said, his voice warm with recognition as he looked at Merlin. "We have been expecting you." 

Merlin blinked in surprise. "You... have?" 

"The earth whispered of your coming. And of the young priestess who walks in darkness, seeking the light." His gaze shifted to Morgana, who had gone very still on her horse. "Morgana Pendragon, you are welcome here." 

Arthur exchanged a glance with Merlin, both of them clearly wondering how the druids could possibly have known they were coming—or that Morgana shared Uther's name. 

"I am Iseldir," the druid continued, moving to stand beside Arthur's horse. "Our people have been preparing for your arrival. Come, there is much to discuss, and the young priestess has much to learn." 

As they followed Iseldir down into the valley, Morgana leaned over to whisper to Merlin, "Did he just call you Emrys?" 

Merlin looked uncomfortable. "It's... complicated. I'll explain later." 

Arthur, meanwhile, was studying their surroundings with the strategic eye of a future king, noting how well-hidden and defensible the druid settlement was. "How many people live here?" he asked Iseldir. 

"Enough," the druid replied with a mysterious smile. "And all sworn to secrecy, young Pendragon. Your presence here will never reach your father's ears." 

After welcoming them to the settlement, Iseldir led them through the collection of simple wooden structures that made up the druid community. The buildings were modest but well-crafted, blending seamlessly with the natural landscape around them. 

"Lady Morgana," Iseldir said, stopping before a small cottage surrounded by flowering bushes, "this will be your home while you stay with us. You'll need privacy and quiet for the work ahead." 

Morgana nodded gratefully, clearly relieved to have her own space after days of barely controlled magical incidents. 

"And for the Prince and his manservant," Iseldir continued, gesturing toward a slightly larger dwelling nearby, "you'll share this one. It has two rooms—quite comfortable." 

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. "Doesn't Mer—doesn't he get his own room?" 

The druids within earshot began to chuckle, and Iseldir smiled with amusement. "Doesn't the Prince need constant tending? We assumed your servant would need to be close at hand for your comfort and needs." 

Merlin pressed her lips together, clearly fighting back laughter at Arthur's predicament. Her eyes danced with mischief as she watched him struggle with how to respond without revealing why sharing close quarters might now be... complicated. 

"I... that is... of course," Arthur managed, his face turning slightly pink. "Constant tending. Right." 

"The arrangement will be quite suitable, I'm sure," Merlin said innocently, though her voice had a distinctly teasing undertone. "I live to serve, after all." 

Arthur shot her a warning look, but kept his mouth firmly shut, clearly not trusting himself to say anything that wouldn't make the situation worse. 

Iseldir, oblivious to the undercurrents of their exchange, simply nodded approvingly. "Excellent. You can settle in, and we'll begin Morgana's instruction at sunset when the magical energies are most conducive to learning." 

As the druid walked away, Arthur turned to Merlin with an expression of mild panic, while she continued to look thoroughly entertained by his discomfort. 

"This is going to be... interesting," he muttered. 

"Oh yes," Merlin agreed cheerfully. "Very interesting indeed." 

Once they'd settled their belongings, Merlin gathered the food rations they'd brought from Camelot and made her way to Morgana's cottage. She found Arthur already there, both of them clearly feeling the need to stay close together in this unfamiliar place. 

"I can make us something to eat," Merlin said, unpacking the bread, cheese, and dried meat they'd brought. "It's not much, but it should tide us over." 

She arranged their modest provisions on Morgana's small wooden table, dividing the portions equally among the three of them. The bread was still relatively fresh, and the cheese hadn't suffered too much from their morning ride. 

"It's more than adequate," Morgana said gratefully, taking her portion. "After yesterday, I wasn't sure I'd have an appetite for anything." 

They ate in companionable silence, the simple meal feeling almost luxurious after the tension of their secret departure and the uncertainty of finding the druids. Arthur seemed to be relaxing slightly, though he still glanced around periodically as if expecting danger. 

They were just finishing when a small druid child, perhaps eight or nine years old, appeared in Morgana's doorway. The girl had the characteristic golden eyes of the druids, though hers sparkled with curiosity rather than ancient wisdom. 

"Excuse me," the child said politely, "but Grandmother wanted me to tell you that we usually all eat together and share the same meal. She says it's part of our way—no one goes hungry while others feast." 

"She sent me to invite you to join us for proper supper. There's stew cooking, and fresh bread from this morning's baking." 

Merlin's stomach rumbled audibly at the mention of hot stew, making Arthur grin. "I think that's our answer," he said. 

The child led them to a large central area where dozens of druids were gathering around several cooking fires. The scent of herbs and vegetables filled the air, and Merlin realized just how hungry their simple rations had left her. 

They were each handed a bowl of thick, hearty stew that smelled infinitely better than anything the castle kitchens had produced in weeks. The first spoonful was rich with root vegetables and herbs Merlin couldn't identify but found delicious. 

"This is incredible," Morgana murmured, looking genuinely happy for the first time in days. 

Arthur nodded in agreement, clearly surprised by how welcome they'd been made to feel. "Much better than bread and cheese." 

The child beamed at their appreciation. "Grandmother says sharing food is sharing life. She'll be pleased you like it." 

As they settled onto the logs arranged around the central fire, bowls of steaming stew in their hands, the druids around them continued their evening conversations. The atmosphere was warm and communal, very different from the formal dining they were accustomed to in Camelot. 

To their left, an elderly woman was discussing the best times for harvesting certain healing herbs with a younger man who listened intently, occasionally asking questions about preparation methods. Near another fire, a group of children were being gently corrected on their pronunciation of what sounded like incantations, their voices blending together in a musical cadence. 

Arthur found himself fascinated despite his wariness, watching how naturally magic seemed to be woven into every aspect of daily life here. A woman stirred her stew with a wooden spoon that moved on its own while she used her hands to braid her daughter's hair. A man nearby had small flames dancing between his fingers as he told a story, the fire shifting colors to match the mood of his tale. 

Morgana was transfixed, her eyes wide as she took in the casual use of abilities she'd been taught to fear her entire life. Here, magic wasn't hidden or shameful—it was simply part of who these people were. 

Merlin ate quietly, feeling a sense of peace she hadn't experienced since childhood. The acceptance, the openness, the complete lack of fear or judgment—it was everything she'd dreamed of but never thought she'd find. 

"It's so different from what we were taught," Morgana whispered, leaning closer to them. "They're just... people. People living normal lives." 

Arthur nodded slowly, his own preconceptions clearly being challenged by what he was witnessing.  

The evening air filled with gentle laughter and the soft murmur of dozens of conversations, creating a atmosphere of contentment that none of them had expected to find. 

Arthur's attention was drawn to a group of children playing near the edge of the firelight. What should have been a simple game of catch had become something extraordinary—they were levitating smooth river stones between their hands, passing them back and forth through the air with delighted giggles. One little boy, no more than six, was making his stone glow with soft blue light while another girl shaped hers into different forms—a bird, a flower, a tiny dragon. 

The casual nature of it was mind-boggling. These children were using magic the way castle children might play with wooden toys, completely natural and unafraid. No fear of discovery, no terror of punishment, just pure joy in their abilities. 

Arthur found his gaze drifting to Merlin, who was watching the children with a soft smile he'd rarely seen on her face. There was a wistfulness there, but also a deep contentment, as if she was finally seeing a world where she truly belonged. Her whole posture had relaxed in a way it never did in Camelot, even in the privacy of his chambers. 

"You look happy," he said quietly, so only she could hear. 

Merlin turned to him, that same gentle smile still playing around her lips. "I feel like I can breathe here," she admitted. "For the first time in... well, maybe ever." 

Before Arthur could respond, Iseldir approached their small group, his expression kind but serious. "Lady Morgana," he said, extending his hand to her. "Would you come with me? The moon is rising, and it's time to begin your instruction." 

Morgana nodded, setting down her empty bowl and rising to follow him. She glanced back at Arthur and Merlin with a mixture of nervousness and determination. "Wish me luck," she whispered. 

"You don't need luck," Merlin said firmly. "You need understanding. And they'll give you that." 

As Morgana disappeared into the shadows with Iseldir, Arthur and Merlin were left alone among the dozens of druids continuing their evening routines. The conversations flowed around them in gentle waves, children were gathered up for bedtime stories, and the elderly settled in for longer discussions by the warming fires. 

"They're just people," Arthur said softly, echoing Morgana's earlier observation. "Families. Communities. Everything my father taught me about magic users was..." 

"Wrong?" Merlin suggested gently. 

Arthur nodded, looking troubled. "Completely wrong. They're not monsters or enemies of the realm. They're just... human." 

Around them, the druids continued their simple evening rituals, unaware that they were quietly revolutionizing a prince's entire worldview. 

When they returned to their shared dwelling, both Arthur and Merlin moved quietly through the evening preparations. Merlin laid out Arthur's clothes for the morning and checked that everything was in order, falling back into the familiar routines despite their unusual surroundings. 

"Good night, then," Arthur said awkwardly, lingering at the entrance to his small sleeping chamber. 

"Good night, Arthur," Merlin replied, disappearing into the adjoining room. 

But sleep eluded Arthur entirely. He lay staring at the ceiling, his mind churning over everything he'd witnessed that evening. The casual magic, the happy families, the complete contradiction to everything his father had taught him. After what felt like hours of restless tossing, he finally gave up and decided to check on Merlin—perhaps they could talk about what they'd seen. 

He knocked softly on the door between their rooms, then pushed it open when there was no response. "Merlin?" 

The room was empty, the simple bed unslept in. 

Concerned, Arthur pulled on his boots and ventured outside. He'd barely made it a few steps when he encountered a young druid woman gathering herbs in the moonlight. 

"Looking for something, Prince?" she asked with a knowing giggle. 

"Actually, yes. Do you know where Mer—where my servant has gone?" 

The druid's eyes twinkled with amusement. "Down by the river, I believe. Follow the path through those trees." 

Arthur made his way down the winding path, moonlight filtering through the branches above. As he approached the water, he could hear gentle splashing. He pushed through the last screen of bushes and froze. 

Merlin was in the river, the water reaching just above her waist, her short dark hair dripping. In the moonlight, there was no mistaking her feminine form, and Arthur felt his face burn with embarrassment as he quickly spun around, his heart hammering. 

Of course. Of course this was how she had to bathe. She couldn't use the communal bathing chambers in Camelot, couldn't risk the other servants seeing her. She probably had to sneak away at odd hours, find private moments when no one would discover her secret. How had he never realized? How had he never thought about the simple, basic needs she had to manage in complete secrecy? 

The guilt crashed over him like a physical weight. All those times he'd complained about his bath not being ready quickly enough, never thinking about when she might have a chance to bathe herself. All those late nights and early mornings when he'd demanded her attention, never considering her own needs. 

He stood frozen, facing away from the river, not sure whether to flee or announce his presence. 

The decision was made for him when Merlin's voice, high with shock and mortification, called out behind him. 

"Arthur? What are you—what are you doing here?" 

He could hear the splash as she submerged herself deeper into the water, and the panic in her voice made his chest tight with guilt. 

"I'm not looking," he said quickly, his voice rough with embarrassment. "I swear, Merlin, I'm not—I was looking for you and I didn't realize—" 

"Just... just turn around and go back," she stammered, the sound of water indicating she was trying to cover herself despite being hidden beneath the river's surface. 

Arthur wanted to leave, knew he should leave, but the words came tumbling out before he could stop them. "Merlin, I'm so sorry. I never thought about—God, how do you even manage? When do you have time for yourself? I've been so thoughtless—" 

"Arthur, I'm use to this. I've had plenty of practice," she said, her voice suddenly weary. "Just give me a few minutes." 

Arthur kept his back firmly turned to the river, his hands clenched at his sides as he struggled with what to say. "Merlin, when we get back to Camelot... you can use my bathing chamber." 

The splashing behind him stopped entirely. "What?" 

"You shouldn't have to come down to rivers at night to bathe. It's not safe." He ran a hand through his hair, still facing away from her. "You can use my room when I'm not there, or... we'll figure something out. Just not this." 

Merlin was quiet for so long that Arthur began to worry she'd somehow disappeared entirely. When she finally spoke, her voice was small and uncertain. 

"You... you want me to bathe in your room?" 

Arthur rolled his eyes, though she couldn't see it, trying to mask his genuine concern with his usual manner. "Don't make it sound so strange. It's simply safer than wandering down to cold rivers in the middle of the night. Besides," he added with a hint of his usual sarcasm, "I can hardly have my servant catching pneumonia and leaving me to fend for myself, can I?" 

Another long silence, then the sound of water as she moved closer to shore. "Could you... could you keep facing that way while I get dressed?" 

"Of course," Arthur said immediately. 

He waited, listening to the sounds of her climbing out of the water and rustling as she pulled on her clothes. The night air was cool, and he found himself hoping she wouldn't catch a chill from her impromptu bathing. 

"All right," she said finally, her voice still shaky. "You can turn around." 

When Arthur did, he was careful to keep his eyes on her face. Her hair was damp making it look longer, and she looked embarrassed but also grateful. There was something in her expression he'd rarely seen before—a vulnerability that made his chest tight. 

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For the offer, I mean. I... thank you." 

Arthur nodded awkwardly. "Right, well. We should get back. Long day ahead tomorrow." 

They walked back to their temporary home in comfortable silence, the moonlight filtering through the trees above them. The druid settlement was quiet now, most of the fires banked for the night, but Arthur felt more settled than he had since they'd arrived. 

As they reached their door, he paused. "Merlin?" 

"Yes?" 

"I meant what I said. We'll work something out." 

She smiled then, the first genuine smile he'd seen from her since their awkward arrival. "I know. Thank you, Arthur." 

Once back in their rooms, both Arthur and Merlin fell asleep quickly, the emotional weight of the day finally catching up with them. Arthur slept more peacefully than he had in weeks. 

Morning came with gentle sunlight streaming through the simple windows and the sound of the druid settlement stirring to life. Arthur found Merlin already awake and dressed, looking more rested than he'd seen her in days. 

They made their way to Morgana's cottage, eager to hear how her first lesson had gone. They found her sitting outside in the morning sun, looking remarkably different from the terrified woman who had destroyed Arthur's chambers just two days before. 

"Morgana," Merlin called out, relief evident in her voice. "How are you feeling?" 

Morgana looked up with a smile that was both sheepish and genuinely happy. "Well, I almost burned down half the forest," she said with a laugh. "But Iseldir says that's completely normal for someone with my... intensity of power." 

"But you look better," Arthur observed. "More rested." 

"I actually slept through the night," Morgana said with wonder. "No nightmares, no broken pitchers, no mysterious candle flames. After I used my magic—properly, with guidance—it was like some terrible pressure had been released. I feel... lighter." 

Merlin's face lit up with genuine happiness. "That's wonderful. I told you it would help." 

"Come," Morgana said, standing and brushing off her skirts. "Let's get breakfast. I want to hear about everything else that's happening here." 

They made their way to the central area where the morning meal was being shared. The same warm, communal atmosphere from the night before prevailed, with druids of all ages gathering around the cooking fires. 

As they were finishing their porridge and fresh bread, Iseldir approached their group with his characteristic gentle smile. 

"Good morning," he said warmly. "I trust you all slept well?" 

"Very well, thank you," Arthur replied, then cleared his throat. His pride was clearly bothering him. "I was wondering... is there anything I can do to help while we're here? Hunt, perhaps? I don't like the idea of taking your hospitality without contributing anything in return." 

Several nearby druids chuckled good-naturedly, and Iseldir's smile widened. "That's very generous of you, Prince Arthur, but no offense—we can hunt with magic far more effectively than you could fathom. A deer called gently to sleep and thanked for its sacrifice provides better meat than one killed in fear and pain." 

Arthur looked sheepish, realizing how presumptuous his offer must have seemed. "Of course. I hadn't thought of that." 

"But we are thankful for the offer," Iseldir continued kindly. "Your willingness to contribute speaks well of your character. Perhaps there are other ways you can help during your stay." 

Arthur nodded, though he still looked slightly embarrassed by his oversight. Around them, the druids continued their morning routines, their casual use of magic making even simple tasks seem effortless and harmonious. 

Arthur spent the rest of the morning wandering the settlement, feeling somewhat at loose ends. He was accustomed to having a full schedule of duties, training, and meetings. This enforced leisure, while peaceful, left him uncertain of how to occupy himself. 

His problem was solved when a small group of druid children, perhaps ranging in age from six to ten, approached him with obvious curiosity and excitement. 

"Are you really a prince?" asked a girl with braided hair and bright golden eyes. 

"I am," Arthur confirmed, crouching down to their level. 

"Do you really know how to fight with swords?" asked a boy who couldn't have been more than seven. 

"I do." 

The children exchanged excited glances before the girl spoke up again. "Could you... could you teach us? We want to be knights like in the stories!" 

Arthur looked around and saw several parents watching with amused expressions, clearly giving their permission. He found himself smiling. "Well, I suppose we could start with the basics. But we'll need practice swords." 

The children scattered immediately, returning moments later with an assortment of sturdy sticks they'd gathered from the forest floor. Arthur spent the next few hours teaching them basic stances, simple parries, and the importance of balance and footwork. Their enthusiasm was infectious, and he found himself genuinely enjoying their eager questions and attempts to copy his movements. 

"Remember," he told them as they practiced their forms, "a true knight protects those who cannot protect themselves. The sword is just a tool—honor and courage are what make a knight." 

The children nodded solemnly, clearly taking his words to heart. 

When the sun reached its zenith and the call for the midday meal echoed through the settlement, the children reluctantly returned their "swords" to the forest floor. 

"Thank you, Prince Arthur!" they chorused before running back to find their families. 

Arthur watched them go with a warm feeling in his chest. As the settlement filled with the bustle of lunch preparations, he realized he hadn't seen Merlin since breakfast. Curious, he made his way back toward the river where he'd found her the night before. 

This time, he approached more carefully, calling out as he neared the water. "Merlin? Are you down here?" 

"Over here," came her voice from upstream. 

Arthur followed the sound and found her sitting on a large boulder by the river's edge, casually flicking her wrist toward the water. As he watched, a flat stone lifted from the riverbank, skipped across the water's surface seven or eight times with perfect precision, then gently settled on the opposite shore. 

"Showing off?" he asked with amusement, settling on a nearby rock. 

Merlin grinned at him, her eyes still holding that golden glow. "Just... enjoying being able to use magic without fear for once." Another stone rose from the bank and danced across the water. "It's been a long time since I could just... play with it." 

Arthur watched in fascination as stone after stone performed impossible feats of skipping, each one guided by Merlin's magic with obvious joy and freedom. 

"You look happy," he observed, echoing his words from the night before. 

"I am," she said simply, letting the golden glow fade from her eyes as she turned to face him. "This place... it's like a dream I never dared to have." 

Arthur watched as another stone danced across the water with magical precision, then looked back at Merlin's peaceful expression. "Can I ask you something?" 

"Of course." 

"Why do you live in Camelot?" The question came out more abruptly than he'd intended. "I mean, you seem so happy here. These people understand you, accept you for who you are. You don't have to hide or pretend or live in constant fear. So why choose to stay in a place where your very existence is considered a crime?" 

Merlin's hand stilled, the stone she'd been about to levitate remaining on the riverbank. She was quiet for a long moment, her gaze fixed on the flowing water. 

"You really want to know?" she asked finally. 

"Yes." 

She turned to look at him directly, her expression serious. "Because of you." 

Arthur blinked in surprise. "Me?" 

"My whole life, I've had these dreams, these... visions, I suppose. Of a golden age, a time when magic and those without it could coexist in peace. And in every single one of those visions, you're there. You're the king who will unite the land, who will lift the ban on magic and bring about that golden age." She looked down at her hands. "I came to Camelot because I was meant to be there. Meant to protect you, to help you become that king." 

Arthur stared at her, his mind reeling. "You've been risking your life every single day because of dreams?" 

"Not just dreams," Merlin said quietly. "Prophecy. Destiny. Call it what you will, but everything I've seen has told me the same thing—I'm meant to be at your side. Even if it means living in a place where I could be burned alive for what I am." 

She picked up a pebble and rolled it between her fingers. "This place is wonderful, Arthur. These people are incredible, and yes, I'm happy here. But this isn't where I belong. My place is in Camelot, helping you become the king you're meant to be." 

Arthur was silent for a long moment, processing this revelation. "That's... quite a burden to place on someone." 

Merlin smiled sadly. "Most destinies are." 

Arthur's expression grew serious and solemn as he processed what Merlin had told him. The weight of her sacrifice, her daily courage in the face of mortal danger, seemed to settle heavily on his shoulders. 

"How can you stand to be around him?" he asked quietly. "My father, I mean. How can you serve in the same castle, bow when he passes, listen to him speak about magic users as monsters... knowing what you are?" 

Merlin was quiet for a moment, then a small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Lucky I'm not his servant," she said with a hint of her usual humor. "I'd probably have accidentally poisoned his wine by now." 

Despite the gravity of their conversation, Arthur found himself letting out a short laugh. "Merlin." 

"What? I'm just saying." Her smile widened slightly. "At least you don't spend half your time ranting about how all sorcerers should burn. You mostly just complain about your armor not being shiny enough." 

Arthur shook his head, but he was still smiling. "You're terrible." 

"Maybe," Merlin agreed, picking up another stone. "But it's easier to bear when I remember why I'm there. When I remember what we're working toward." She looked at him seriously. "The golden age I've seen in my visions? Your father isn't in them, Arthur. You are. You're the one who brings peace between magic and those who fear it." 

Arthur was quiet, watching as she absently levitated the stone in her palm. "No pressure then," he said dryly. 

"None at all," Merlin replied with mock innocence, then sent the stone skipping across the water with a flick of her wrist. 

Chapter Text

They were still sitting by the river, the comfortable silence between them occasionally broken by the splash of magically-skipped stones, when an elderly druid approached them. His robes were more elaborate than the others Merlin had seen, marked with intricate symbols that seemed to shimmer in the afternoon light. 

"Emrys," he said with a respectful bow. "The Grandmother wishes to speak with you. Will you come?" 

Merlin stood immediately, recognizing the gravity of such a summons. Arthur rose as well, clearly intending to accompany her. 

"I'm sorry, young Pendragon," the druid said gently but firmly, raising a hand. "This is for magic users only. You understand." 

Arthur looked like he wanted to argue, but Merlin shot him an apologetic smile. "I'll be fine," she said softly. "I'll find you later." 

Arthur nodded, though his expression remained concerned as he watched her follow the druid away from the river and deeper into the forest. 

Merlin followed the elderly druid through increasingly dense woodland, the sounds of the settlement fading behind them. They walked in silence for what felt like half an hour before arriving at a cave entrance partially hidden by hanging vines and moss. 

"The Grandmother awaits you inside," the druid said, gesturing for her to enter alone. 

Merlin ducked through the entrance and found herself in a surprisingly spacious cavern lit by dozens of softly glowing crystals embedded in the walls. At the center, sitting on a smooth stone, was the oldest woman Merlin had ever seen. Her hair was pure white and flowed to the ground around her, and her eyes—when she opened them—held the wisdom of centuries. 

"Emrys," the Grandmother said, her voice surprisingly strong. "Come. Sit with me." 

Merlin settled cross-legged on the stone floor across from her, feeling both awed and slightly nervous. 

"You carry a great destiny," the Grandmother continued. "But destiny alone is not enough. You need knowledge, understanding." She gestured, and an ancient leather-bound book appeared in her hands, its pages yellowed with age. "This tome contains spells and wisdom passed down through generations of our people. It is yours now, to study and learn from." 

Merlin accepted the book with trembling hands, feeling the weight of both the physical object and what it represented. "Thank you. I... I don't know what to say." 

"Say nothing. Simply learn." The Grandmother smiled. "But first, we meditate. You have been running so hard, so fast, for so long. You must learn to be still, to listen to the magic within you rather than simply using it." 

They sat together in silence, and the Grandmother guided Merlin through breathing exercises and techniques for centering herself. Time seemed to lose all meaning in the crystal-lit cave. Merlin felt her magic settle and calm in ways she'd never experienced before, no longer a wild river threatening to overflow but a steady, controlled current she could direct with precision. 

When they finally finished, the Grandmother placed a weathered hand on Merlin's shoulder. "You are stronger than you know, young warlock. Trust in yourself, and in those who stand beside you." 

When Merlin emerged from the cave, clutching the precious book, she was startled to find that night had fallen completely. The forest was dark except for the distant glow of the settlement's fires. 

She made her way back quickly, following the sounds of conversation and laughter. The communal eating area was still active, and she spotted Arthur and Morgana sitting together near one of the fires, deep in conversation. They looked comfortable with each other, relaxed in a way she rarely saw either of them in Camelot. 

Merlin hesitated, wondering if she should leave them to bond without her. Arthur needed allies, and Morgana's friendship could be important for the future she'd seen in her visions. 

But before she could decide, Arthur looked up and spotted her. His face brightened immediately, and he waved her over with obvious relief. 

"Merlin! Finally! I was starting to worry." He gestured to the space beside him. "I saved you some food—it's potato soup. Still warm, I think." 

Merlin settled onto the log beside them, accepting the bowl Arthur handed her. The soup smelled absolutely delicious, rich with herbs and cream. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her she'd missed the midday meal entirely. 

"Thank you," she said gratefully, taking a spoonful. It was even better than it smelled. 

Morgana was watching her with curious eyes. "Where did they take you?" 

"To meet the Grandmother," Merlin said between bites. "She gave me this." She carefully showed them the ancient book. "It's full of spells and knowledge from generations of druids." 

"That's incredible," Morgana breathed, leaning closer to examine it. 

"Speaking of incredible," Morgana continued, sitting back with a genuine smile, "I can't thank you both enough. For bringing me here, for protecting my secret, for risking everything to help me." Her eyes grew wet. "I was so terrified, so alone. And now... now I have hope. I have people who understand. I have you both." 

She reached out and squeezed both their hands. "Whatever happens when we return to Camelot, I want you to know—I'm grateful. More than I can ever express." 

Arthur looked uncomfortable with the emotion but squeezed back. "We're family, Morgana. In all the ways that matter." 

Merlin nodded in agreement, her own throat tight. "We protect each other. That's what we do." 

Around them, the druids continued their evening routines, and for a moment, the three of them sat in comfortable companionship, bound together by secrets and hope for a better future. 

As Merlin continued eating, Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle. "Oh, and I saved you some of the fresh bread from earlier. The kind with the herbs baked in—I know you like that." 

Merlin looked up in surprise as he handed it to her, her expression softening. "You didn't have to do that." 

"Well, someone has to make sure you actually eat," Arthur said, trying to sound gruff but failing entirely. "Can't have you wasting away. Who else would polish my armor?" 

Morgana watched this exchange with barely concealed amusement, a knowing smile playing at her lips. The way Arthur had specifically remembered what kind of bread Merlin preferred, how he'd saved it for her despite his own hunger, the almost protective way he watched to make sure she was eating enough—it was all rather transparent once you knew what to look for. 

And Morgana definitely knew what to look for. 

She caught Merlin's eye for just a moment and her smile widened slightly, but she said nothing. Some things were better left to unfold naturally. Besides, watching the Prince of Camelot be completely oblivious to his own growing feelings was rather entertaining. 

"This is really good," Merlin said, taking a bite of the bread. "Thank you, Arthur." 

The soft smile Arthur gave her in return made Morgana hide her grin behind her own bowl of soup. Oh yes, he was absolutely smitten, whether he realized it yet or not. 

After finishing their meal, Merlin and Arthur excused themselves from the communal fire, leaving Morgana to continue chatting with some of the younger druids who were eager to share their experiences with magic. 

The walk back to their shared dwelling was peaceful, the settlement quiet except for the occasional murmur of conversation from other homes and the gentle crackling of dying fires. 

"So," Arthur said as they walked, "how was your day? Did you learn a lot from the Grandmother?" 

Merlin clutched the ancient book closer to her chest. "We meditated, mostly. And then she gave me this book. That was it, really." 

Arthur stopped walking and stared at her. "That was it? Merlin, you were gone for hours. The sun was still high when you left, and it was completely dark when you came back." 

Merlin couldn't help but giggle at his shocked expression. "Yes, Arthur. That's how meditation works. Time passes differently when you're properly centered in your magic." 

"Hours of just... sitting and breathing?" 

"More or less," Merlin confirmed, starting to walk again. "It's about learning to listen to your magic, to understand it rather than just use it. The Grandmother says I've been running so hard for so long that I never learned to be still." 

Arthur fell into step beside her, processing this. "Do you ever have time to do that in Camelot?" he asked quietly. "Meditate, I mean?" 

Merlin's smile faded, and she looked down at the path beneath her feet. "No," she admitted softly. "I'm usually too busy." 

"Too busy serving me," Arthur said, and it wasn't a question. 

"It's not your fault," Merlin said quickly. "The job itself would keep anyone busy, magic or not. And I can't exactly explain that I need a few hours alone to meditate with my illegal magical powers." 

Arthur was quiet for a moment. "When we get back to Camelot," he said finally, "we'll figure something out. You need time for yourself, time for... this." He gestured vaguely at the book she was holding. "It's important." 

Merlin looked at him with surprise and gratitude. "Thank you, Arthur." 

"Don't thank me yet," he said with a wry smile. "I haven't figured out how to explain to the castle staff why my manservant needs several hours of private meditation time each week." 

Despite the seriousness of the conversation, Merlin laughed. "I'm sure you'll think of something suitably princely and demanding." 

"Probably," Arthur agreed as they reached their door. "I am very good at being demanding." 

Arthur lay in his small bed in the druid dwelling, staring up at the simple wooden ceiling. Sleep should have come easily after the long day, but his mind was racing, refusing to settle. 

He kept seeing Merlin by the river, that look of pure peace and joy on her face as she played with her magic like the children had done. The way she'd smiled when talking about this place being like a dream she'd never dared to have. How different she seemed here—lighter, freer, more herself than he'd ever seen her in Camelot. 

And then there was what she'd said about destiny. About staying in constant danger because of visions of him, of a future where he would bring about peace between magic and those without it. The weight of that revelation sat heavy on his chest. She was risking her life every single day because she believed in him, believed in a version of himself he wasn't sure he could live up to. 

His thoughts drifted to Morgana. He'd never seen her look as healthy as she had tonight—truly healthy, not just putting on a brave face. For years, she'd been deteriorating before his eyes. The nightmares, the exhaustion, the fear in her eyes that she tried so hard to hide. He'd watched her fade, becoming a shadow of the vibrant, fierce woman who had helped raise him. 

And now, after just two days with the druids, she was smiling again. Really smiling. Sleeping through the night. Learning to understand and control the thing that had been tearing her apart. All because she finally had people who understood, who could help her instead of condemning her. 

Arthur rolled onto his side, punching his pillow in frustration at his inability to sleep. Everything he'd been taught, everything his father had drilled into him about magic being evil and corrupting—it was all falling apart. The druids were good people. Merlin was the most selfless person he'd ever met. And Morgana... Morgana was finally healing. 

What did that say about Camelot? About his father's laws? About the kingdom Arthur would one day inherit? 

He thought again of Merlin's face in the moonlight by the river, vulnerable and hopeful. The way his heart had stuttered when he'd accidentally seen her bathing, the protective surge he'd felt at realizing how difficult her life had been. The warmth that spread through his chest when she smiled at him. 

When had that started? When had she stopped being just his servant and become... whatever she was now? 

Arthur groaned softly and covered his face with his hands. He was in so much trouble. 

But as he finally began to drift toward sleep, one thought remained clear: he would protect them both. Merlin and Morgana. Whatever it took, whatever it cost him. They were his responsibility now, and he wouldn't fail them the way Camelot had. 

The nightmare came suddenly, dragging Arthur from uneasy sleep into vivid horror. 

The pyre was in Camelot's courtyard, just as he'd seen so many times before. But this time, it was Merlin tied to the stake on one side, Morgana on the other. His father stood before them, torch in hand, his face cold and righteous as he pronounced their sentence. 

"Magic is evil," Uther declared. "And those who practice it must burn." 

Arthur tried to move, tried to scream, but his body wouldn't obey. He was frozen in place as his father lowered the torch to the kindling. The flames caught instantly, spreading with impossible speed. 

Merlin's eyes found his across the courtyard—not angry, not accusing, just sad. Disappointed. As if she'd known all along that this was how it would end, that he would fail her. 

The smoke rose, thick and acrid. And then the smell—God, the smell of burning flesh, the sound of their screams— 

Arthur jolted awake with a gasp that was nearly a scream, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. The smell was still there, filling his nostrils, making his stomach heave violently. He stumbled from his bed, barely making it outside before he retched into the grass, his whole body shaking. 

The morning air was cool against his sweat-soaked skin. The smell that had triggered his nausea was just breakfast cooking over the communal fires—meat and bread, innocent and ordinary. But in his mind, it was still mixed with the phantom scent of burning flesh. 

Arthur stayed on his knees in the grass, trying to catch his breath, trying to convince his racing heart that it had just been a dream. Just a dream. Not real. Not yet. 

"Arthur?" 

He looked up to find Morgana standing a few feet away, her expression shifting from surprise to deep concern. She was dressed simply, her hair still loose from sleep, clearly having just woken herself. 

"What's wrong?" she asked, moving closer and kneeling beside him. 

Arthur wanted to dismiss it, to say he was fine, but the words wouldn't come. His hands were still shaking, and he could feel the nightmare clinging to him like a shroud. 

"I had a dream," he finally managed, his voice hoarse. "A nightmare. About... about my father burning you. And Merlin. At the pyre." 

Morgana's expression softened with understanding. Of course she would understand—who knew vivid, prophetic nightmares better than Morgana? 

"It felt so real," Arthur continued, the words tumbling out now that he'd started. "I could smell it, Morgana. I could hear you both screaming, and I couldn't move, couldn't stop it. I just stood there while he—" His voice broke. 

Morgana reached out and took his hand, squeezing it firmly. "It was just a dream, Arthur. Just a dream." 

"But it could be real," he said desperately. "If he finds out, if anyone finds out, that's exactly what would happen. He'd burn you both, and I—" 

"But he won't find out," Morgana said with quiet conviction. "Because you won't let him. Arthur, listen to me." She waited until he met her eyes. "You are not your father. You've already proven that by being here, by protecting us, by questioning everything you were taught. That nightmare? That's your fear, not your future." 

"How can you be sure?" 

"Because I know you," Morgana said firmly. "I've watched you grow up, Arthur. I've seen your honor, your compassion, your sense of justice. You will be a great king one day—a king who protects his people, all of them, not just the ones who look or think or live like him." 

Arthur looked at her, this woman he'd known all his life, who was finally able to be herself after years of terror. "You really believe that?" 

"I do," Morgana said, and her smile was gentle but certain. "You're already a better man than Uther. And you'll be a better king. That nightmare? It's never going to happen. Not while you're the one wearing the crown." 

Arthur took a shaky breath, letting her words settle over him like a balm. The fear was still there, coiled tight in his chest, but Morgana's certainty helped ease it slightly. 

"Thank you," he said quietly. 

"That's what family does," Morgana replied, echoing his words from the night before. "We protect each other. And that includes protecting each other from our own fears." 

After Arthur had composed himself and splashed some water on his face from a nearby basin, he and Morgana made their way toward the communal breakfast area. The settlement was fully awake now, with druids moving about their morning routines and the scent of fresh bread and porridge filling the air. 

But it wasn't the food that caught Arthur's attention—it was the sound of delighted children's laughter coming from near one of the smaller fires. 

They found Merlin sitting cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by the same group of children Arthur had taught sword fighting to the day before. Her eyes were glowing gold, and wisps of smoke were rising from the fire, twisting and shaping themselves into intricate forms. 

As Arthur and Morgana watched, the smoke coalesced into the unmistakable shape of a dragon, complete with wings and a long tail. The children gasped in wonder as the smoke-dragon swooped and dove through the air, breathing tiny puffs of flame. 

"Now you try," Merlin was saying, her voice patient and encouraging. "Remember, you're not forcing the smoke to obey—you're asking it to dance with you." 

One of the smaller children, a girl no more than six, tentatively raised her hands. Her eyes flickered gold, and a small tendril of smoke rose from the fire, wobbling uncertainly before forming into something that might have been a bird. Or possibly a very round cat. 

"That's perfect!" Merlin said enthusiastically, and the girl beamed with pride. 

Arthur couldn't help but smile at the scene—Merlin looked so natural with the children, so patient and kind. The morning sunlight caught in her dark hair, and her entire face was lit up with joy. 

Morgana noticed his expression and elbowed him gently in the ribs. "Go talk to him," she said quietly, a knowing smile on her face. "You know, it's okay. To be... that way. I wouldn't judge you." 

Arthur felt his face heat up as he realized what Morgana was implying. She thought—of course she thought he was interested in his male servant. How could she think anything else? 

He bit his tongue hard, fighting the urge to explain, to tell her the truth. But he couldn't, not without revealing Merlin's secret, and that wasn't his truth to tell. 

"I... thank you, Morgana," he managed, the words feeling awkward in his mouth. "But it's not—it's complicated." 

"Isn't it always?" Morgana said with a gentle laugh, giving him a slight push forward. "Go on. Don't let me stop you." 

Arthur walked toward the group, his heart doing something strange in his chest. As he approached, Merlin looked up and her smile somehow grew even brighter. 

"Arthur! Perfect timing. Want to see if you can make smoke shapes? The children have been asking if princes can do magic too." 

The children all turned to look at him expectantly, and Arthur had to laugh. "I'm afraid not. Magic seems to have passed me by entirely." 

"That's all right," said the little girl with the smoke-bird-cat. "You can still watch! Merlin is the best teacher." 

"I can see that," Arthur said softly, his eyes on Merlin's face rather than the magical smoke still dancing through the air. 

Chapter Text

Arthur woke on their third morning at the druid settlement with an inexplicable sense of unease settling in his gut. Something felt wrong, though he couldn't put his finger on what. The feeling was strong enough that he dressed quickly and went to find Merlin. 

He found her by the river again, the ancient book open in her lap as she studied its pages in the early morning light. 

"Merlin," he said without preamble. "We need to go. Now." 

She looked up, immediately reading the seriousness in his expression. "What's wrong?" 

"I don't know. But something feels off. We need to get back to Camelot." 

Merlin didn't question him further. She simply closed the book and stood. "I'll get our things." 

Within the hour, they were riding hard toward Camelot, leaving Morgana in the capable hands of the druids with promises to return for her soon. The journey that had taken them most of a day to complete at a leisurely pace, they covered in mere hours, pushing the horses to their limits. 

They clattered through Camelot's gates just as the sun was beginning to set, and Arthur's sense of urgency proved justified. A guard immediately approached them. 

"Sire, your father has been looking for you. He's... not pleased." 

Arthur exchanged a quick glance with Merlin before dismounting. "Where is he?" 

"The throne room, my lord." 

Arthur strode through the castle corridors with Merlin trailing behind, trying to prepare himself for what was coming. He pushed open the throne room doors to find his father pacing, his expression thunderous. 

"Arthur!" Uther's voice echoed through the chamber. "Where in God's name have you been? Three days without word, without explanation—do you have any idea how irresponsible—" 

"We were hunting, Father," Arthur interrupted, keeping his voice level. "We tracked a particularly elusive stag and got carried away with the chase. I apologize for not sending word." 

"Got carried away?" Uther's face was red with anger. "You are the Crown Prince of Camelot! You don't simply disappear for days on end without informing anyone of your whereabouts! What if there had been an attack? What if I had needed you? What if—" 

Arthur stood still and took it, the verbal lashing washing over him with practiced ease. He'd learned long ago that arguing only made it worse, that the quickest way through his father's tirades was to simply endure them with appropriate contrition. 

"You're right, Father. It was irresponsible. It won't happen again." 

"See that it doesn't," Uther snapped. "Now get out of my sight. Go to your chambers and stay there for the rest of the evening. I don't want to see you until morning." 

"Yes, Father." Arthur bowed and turned to leave, Merlin following silently behind him. 

The walk to his chambers felt interminable, but finally they were through the door and alone. Arthur let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders now that they were in private. 

"That was..." Merlin started, then seemed to search for words. 

"Typical," Arthur supplied dryly. 

"I was going to say impressive," Merlin said softly. "Arthur, I'm proud of you. You took that verbal lashing really well. Stayed calm, didn't argue, didn't let him provoke you into saying something you'd regret." 

Arthur felt his face heat up at the unexpected praise, a warmth spreading through his chest that had nothing to do with embarrassment. "Thanks," he mumbled. "I'm... used to it." 

The admission made Merlin's expression shift from proud to sad, her eyes filling with a compassion that made Arthur look away. Before the moment could become too heavy, his stomach let out a loud, protesting growl. 

Both of them stared at each other for a moment, then Merlin laughed. "Right. When did we last eat?" 

"This morning. Before we left." 

"I'll get you some food," Merlin said, already heading for the door. "Try not to collapse from starvation while I'm gone." 

Merlin made her way through the familiar corridors toward the kitchens, relieved to be back in Camelot despite everything. The castle felt different now—more oppressive, more dangerous—but it was still home. 

She was just leaving the kitchens, laden with a tray of food, when she nearly collided with Gwen coming around the corner. 

"Merlin!" Gwen grabbed her arm, her expression a mixture of relief and worry. "Where have you been? Where is Morgana?" 

"Gwen, I—" 

"Don't you dare try to brush me off," Gwen said firmly, her voice low but intense. "I've been covering for her, saying she's ill, and I need to know she's all right. Where is she?" 

"She's safe," Merlin said quickly, glancing around to make sure they weren't overheard. "I promise, Gwen, she's perfectly safe. But I really need to get this food to Arthur right now—" 

"Fine," Gwen said, though she didn't look happy about it. "But we will talk tomorrow, Merlin. Properly. Because Uther has been asking for her, and I had to get Gaius to tell him she was too ill to leave her chambers. He won't accept that excuse for many more days. We need to get her back here soon, or people are going to start asking questions we can't answer." 

Merlin felt her stomach drop. "How much time do we have?" 

"A day, maybe two at most," Gwen said. "Uther wanted to visit her himself today, and it took everything Gaius and I had to convince him it was too risky, that she might be contagious. But he's suspicious, Merlin. We're running out of time." 

"I understand," Merlin said. "I'll talk to Arthur. We'll figure something out." 

Gwen studied her face for a long moment, then nodded. "She really is safe?" 

"I promise. She's in good hands." 

"All right." Gwen squeezed her arm gently. "Go. Before that food gets cold and Arthur has both our heads." 

Merlin hurried back to Arthur's chambers, her mind already racing through their options. They'd gotten back just in time, but now they had a new problem. 

When Merlin returned to Arthur's chambers with the food, she found him staring out the window, his expression troubled. She set the tray down and relayed what Gwen had told her. 

"A day or two at most," Arthur repeated, running a hand through his hair. "We need to get Morgana back immediately." 

"I'll go," Merlin said without hesitation. 

Arthur turned to stare at her. "What?" 

"I'll go get her. Tonight. If I ride through the night, I can reach the settlement, get Morgana, and be back before lunch tomorrow." 

"Absolutely not," Arthur said firmly. "It's too dangerous. You'd be alone, in the dark, and exhausted from the journey—" 

"Arthur, think about it," Merlin interrupted. "Uther would definitely notice if you disappeared again right after getting scolded. But no one pays attention to servants coming and going. I can slip out, get Morgana, and slip back in without raising any suspicions." 

"You could get hurt. Bandits, wild animals—" 

"I can protect myself," Merlin said pointedly, her eyes flashing gold for just a moment. "With magic, remember? I'm probably safer alone in the forest than most of the knights would be." 

Arthur opened his mouth to argue further, then closed it, clearly recognizing the truth in her words. "I don't like this." 

"You don't have to like it. But it's the best option we have." Merlin's expression softened. "Arthur, I'll be fine. This is what I do—protect the people we care about. Let me do it." 

Arthur was quiet for a long moment, the internal struggle clear on his face. Finally, he let out a defeated sigh. "Fine. But I'm helping you prepare. And you take my fastest horse—she'll get you there and back quicker than any other mount in the stables." 

"Arthur, I can manage—" 

"I know you can," he said, his voice rough with concern. "But I can't just sit here and do nothing. Let me help. Besides," he added with a weak attempt at humor, "I need to prove I can survive on my own for one night without you." 

Merlin smiled despite her worry. "You really think you can manage?" 

"I dressed myself this morning at the druid settlement, didn't I?" 

"Barely." 

"Merlin." 

She laughed softly. "All right. Help me get ready, then." 

Arthur insisted on going to the stables with her, personally saddling his fastest mare and checking every strap and buckle twice. "She's loyal and sure-footed," he said, stroking the horse's neck. "She'll get you there safely." 

"Thank you," Merlin said quietly. 

Before heading out, Merlin slipped down to Gaius's chambers. The old physician looked up from his work, immediately reading the determination in her face. 

"You're going somewhere," he said. It wasn't a question. "You just got back Merlin." 

"I know. I'll be back by morning." 

Gaius studied her for a long moment, then moved to his stores and began wrapping bread and cheese in cloth. "Take this. You'll need your strength." 

"Gaius—" 

"I don't need to know where you're going, Merlin," he said gently, pressing the bundle into her hands. "Just... be careful. And come back safely." 

"I will," she promised, hugging him briefly before hurrying back to meet Arthur at the stables. 

Arthur was waiting with the horse, looking like he wanted to argue one more time. Instead, he just said, "Be safe." 

"I will." 

"And Merlin?" He caught her hand briefly. "Come back." 

The warmth in his voice, the genuine worry in his eyes, made her chest tighten. "I promise." 

The night ride was long and exhausting, but Merlin pushed through, using small bursts of magic to keep herself alert and to guide the horse safely through the darkened forest paths. By the time she reached the druid settlement, the first hints of dawn were lightening the eastern sky. 

Morgana was awake and already dressed when Merlin found her, as if she'd somehow known to be ready. 

"Merlin? What's wrong?" 

"We need to go back. Now. Uther's getting suspicious about your illness, and we're running out of time." 

Morgana's face fell. "But I've barely started learning—" 

"I know," Merlin said gently. "But we'll come back. I promise. This isn't the end, just... a pause." 

Iseldir appeared as if summoned, his expression understanding. "The young priestess will always be welcome here, Emrys. When it's safe, bring her back to us." 

Morgana hugged several of the druids goodbye, her eyes bright with tears, before mounting behind Merlin on Arthur's horse. 

The ride back was even harder, with the added weight and Merlin's exhaustion catching up to her. But she pushed through, using magic when necessary to keep them moving, to ensure the horse didn't falter. 

They made it back to Camelot just as the sun was fully rising, slipping through the gates with the early morning traffic. Merlin got Morgana safely to her chambers, where Gwen was waiting with obvious relief. 

"Thank God," Gwen breathed, pulling Morgana into a tight hug. "Are you all right?" 

"I'm fine," Morgana assured her. "Better than fine, actually." 

"Well, try to look a bit sickly for the next few hours," Gwen said practically. "Uther wants to have lunch with you to 'check on your recovery.' I'll help you look appropriately wan." 

Merlin left them to it, stumbling back to her own small chamber and collapsing onto her bed. She'd done it. Morgana was safe, back in time, and no one was the wiser. 

She allowed herself exactly two hours of sleep before forcing herself up to attend to Arthur's morning needs. She found him already awake, pacing his chambers anxiously. 

"Merlin!" He crossed to her immediately, his hands hovering as if he wanted to check her for injuries but wasn't sure he should touch her. "You made it. Are you all right? Is Morgana—?" 

"We're both fine," Merlin assured him, touched by his concern. "Morgana's back in her chambers. She's having lunch with your father this afternoon to prove she's recovered." 

Arthur sagged with relief. "Thank God. I barely slept worrying—" He stopped himself, looking embarrassed. 

"I'm sorry I worried you," Merlin said softly. 

"Don't be sorry. Just... don't do it again anytime s oon." He gestured to his rumpled bed. "And for the record, I survived the night on my own. Barely. But I did it." 

Despite her exhaustion, Merlin smiled. "I'm very proud of you, my lord." 

"Shut up, Merlin." But he was smiling too. 

Arthur looked at Merlin's exhausted face, taking in the dark circles under her eyes and the way she was swaying slightly on her feet. He made a decision. 

"Right," he said firmly. "I already had a bath drawn for you." 

Merlin blinked at him in surprise. "Arthur, I'm fine. I just need to—" 

"You need to eat, bathe, and rest," Arthur interrupted. "In that order." He gestured to the table where a generous lunch spread was already laid out. "I had food sent up already. I'll be having lunch with Morgana and my father, so you'll have the chambers to yourself." 

"But Arthur—" 

"That's a command, Merlin," he said, though his voice was gentle. "Eat. Bathe. Rest. And that's not a request. I'll be back in a few hours," he said, pausing at the door. "And Merlin? Actually rest. That means sleeping, not polishing my armor or organizing my weapons or whatever else you think you should be doing." 

"Yes, my lord," Merlin said with a small, tired smile. 

After Arthur left, Merlin sat at the table and ate ravenously. She hadn't realized just how hungry she was until she started eating. The bread was fresh, the cheese was good, and there was even some cold chicken that she devoured with unladylike enthusiasm.  

When she was done she turned her attention to the now cold water Arthur had prepared for her. He used his magic to heat the water, ensuring she would have her preferred bath.She glanced at the closed door before stripping down quickly and sinking into the hot water with a grateful sigh. Arthur had remembered exactly how she liked it—not too hot, but warm enough to ease her aching muscles. She let herself soak for longer than she probably should have, feeling the exhaustion of the long night ride slowly seeping out of her bones. 

When she finally climbed out and dried off, putting on the clean clothes she'd brought from her own chamber, she felt considerably more human. Her hair was still damp, hanging loose around her shoulders since she was too tired to braid it properly. 

She looked at Arthur's bed—large, comfortable, with thick blankets and soft pillows. She just wanted to sit for a moment, maybe rest her eyes for a few minutes before Arthur returned. 

Just a minute, she told herself, perching on the edge of the bed. 

The mattress was so much softer than her own narrow cot in her tiny chamber. And the pillows smelled like Arthur—like leather and soap and something indefinably him. 

She'd just lie down for a moment. Just to rest her eyes. 

Within seconds, Merlin was fast asleep, curled up on Arthur's bed with her damp hair soaking his pillow, completely oblivious to the world around her. 

Arthur returned to his chambers a few hours later, the lunch with his father and Morgana having been mercifully brief and uneventful. Morgana had played her part perfectly, looking appropriately pale and weak while assuring Uther she was on the mend. 

He opened the door quietly, half-expecting to find Merlin organizing something or pretending she'd been resting when she'd actually been working. Instead, he found her genuinely asleep in his bed, curled on her side with one hand tucked under the pillow. 

Arthur stood frozen in the doorway, caught completely off guard by the sight. 

Her hair was damp and had grown a little longer since he'd discovered her secret—he realized now that she must have been cutting it regularly to maintain the appearance of a young man. Now that she wasn't bothering. 

He found himself desperately wanting to see it even longer, to see what she'd look like if she never had to hide again. The thought was so vivid it almost hurt—Merlin with hair falling down her back, wearing a dress instead of servant's clothes, free to be herself without fear. 

But that was a fantasy, and they lived in reality. 

Arthur quietly gathered his training gear, moving as silently as possible to avoid waking her. She needed the rest more than he needed her attendance at practice. He paused at the door, looking back at her sleeping form one more time, then left, closing the door softly behind him. 

At the training grounds, Arthur was going through sword drills when Leon approached, wiping sweat from his brow. 

"Where's Merlin today?" Leon asked, glancing around as if expecting to see her sitting on her usual bench with her usual commentary. "I've gotten rather used to him pointing out all our mistakes." 

Arthur didn't miss a beat, transitioning smoothly into his next strike. "Helping Gaius. There's been some illness going around—nothing serious, but the old man needed an extra pair of hands." 

"Ah," Leon nodded, accepting the explanation easily. "That's good of him. Though I have to say, training is rather dull without his witty observations." 

"He does have a talent for pointing out the obvious," Arthur agreed dryly, though there was affection in his voice. 

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Leon said with a grin. "He has a good eye for technique. Better than half the knights, if I'm being honest." 

Arthur thought about Merlin's magical talent, her ancient druid book, her destiny intertwined with his. "Yes," he said quietly. "He does." 

Leon gave him a curious look but didn't press further, and they returned to their drills. But Arthur's mind kept drifting back to his chambers, to Merlin sleeping peacefully in his bed, her dark hair spread across his pillow like she belonged there. 

Arthur returned to his chambers after dinner, having eaten with his father and several visiting nobles. The meal had been interminable, filled with tedious political discussions. 

He opened his door quietly, expecting—hoping, perhaps—that Merlin would be awake by now. 

She wasn't. 

She'd barely moved from where he'd left her hours ago, still curled on her side in his bed, her breathing deep and even with exhaustion. She must have been more drained from the journey than she'd let on. Of course she was—she'd ridden through the entire night, retrieved Morgana, and ridden back, all without complaint. 

Arthur stood there for a long moment, watching her sleep. The bed was certainly large enough for two people. They could share it without even touching, maintaining perfect propriety. And his back was already protesting at the thought of sleeping on the hard floor. 

He took a step toward the bed, then stopped. 

No. 

He couldn't do that. Merlin had fallen asleep thinking she was alone, thinking she was safe. To climb into bed with her—even innocently, even with the best intentions—would be a violation of that trust. She'd given him so much: her loyalty, her secrets, her very life placed in his hands. The least he could do was respect her enough to let her sleep undisturbed. 

Even if his entire body was protesting the decision. 

With a resigned sigh, Arthur gathered up the extra blankets from the chest at the foot of his bed, along with one of the spare pillows. He made himself a makeshift bed on the floor near the fireplace, as far from his actual bed as the room allowed. 

The floor was exactly as hard and uncomfortable as he'd anticipated. The blankets provided some cushioning, but not nearly enough. He shifted, trying to find a position that didn't make his shoulders ache. 

From the bed, Merlin made a small sound in her sleep, something between a sigh and a murmur, and Arthur found himself smiling despite his discomfort. 

She was safe. She was resting. That was what mattered. 

He'd survive one night on the floor. After all, he'd made her survive far worse for far longer. 

With that thought, Arthur closed his eyes and tried to sleep, the sound of Merlin's gentle breathing the last thing he heard before exhaustion finally claimed him. 

Merlin woke sometime in the deep hours of night, her mind fuzzy and disoriented. The room was dark except for the dying embers in the fireplace, and for a moment she couldn't remember where she was or why she felt so drained. 

Then it came back—the night ride, retrieving Morgana, the exhaustion of using so much magic to keep herself alert and safe. She was in Arthur's bed. Arthur's chambers. 

She turned her head slightly and saw a shape on the floor near the fireplace. It took her tired brain a moment to process what she was seeing. 

"Arthur?" Her voice came out rough with sleep. 

The shape stirred, and Arthur's voice came back, equally rough. "Merlin? Are you all right?" 

"What are you doing on the floor?" She pushed herself up on one elbow, squinting at him in the dim light. 

"Sleeping. Or trying to." 

"On the floor?" 

"Yes, Merlin. On the floor." 

Even through her magic-exhausted haze, that seemed ridiculous. "Get in the bed, you idiot." 

"Merlin, I can't—" 

"Arthur." She fixed him with a look that, even half-asleep and barely visible in the darkness, carried unmistakable authority. "Get. In. The. Bed. It's your bed, you're the prince, and I am too tired to argue about propriety right now." 

"But—" 

"Now, Arthur." 

There was something about the command in her drowsy voice that made Arthur obey before he could think better of it. He gathered his blankets and pillow, moving slowly as if giving her time to change her mind. 

When she didn't, he carefully eased himself onto the far edge of the bed, keeping as much distance between them as the mattress would allow. His heart was hammering in his chest, every nerve aware of her presence just a few feet away. 

"Thank you," he whispered. 

But Merlin was already asleep again, her breathing evening out almost instantly, apparently unbothered by the fact that they were sharing a bed. 

Arthur, on the other hand, lay rigid on his side of the mattress, hyper-aware of every sound she made, every small shift of the blankets. This was entirely improper. Completely inappropriate. If anyone found out— 

But she'd ordered him into his own bed because she'd seen him suffering on the floor, too exhausted to care about scandal or propriety. She'd been concerned about his comfort, even in her magically-drained state. 

Arthur's face burned with embarrassment in the darkness, grateful she couldn't see him. Here he was, the Crown Prince of Camelot, lying stiffly in his own bed like a nervous squire, while his servant—his female servant who he definitely had complicated feelings about—slept peacefully beside him, completely unconcerned. 

It was going to be a very long night. 

But as he lay there in the darkness, listening to Merlin's steady breathing, Arthur found that despite his embarrassment, despite the impropriety, despite everything—there was nowhere else he'd rather be. 

He was absolutely, thoroughly, completely in trouble.

Chapter Text

Arthur woke slowly, consciousness returning in gentle stages. He was warm—warmer than he usually was in the mornings. And there was something soft against his face, the scent of herbs and smoke and something uniquely Merlin filling his senses. 

His eyes opened, and it took him a moment to process what he was seeing. 

Somehow during the night, they'd gravitated toward each other. He was curled around Merlin's back, one arm draped over her waist, his face buried in her hair. Their legs were tangled together under the blankets, and he could feel the gentle rise and fall of her breathing. 

Arthur knew he should move. Should pull away before she woke and found him like this. But he couldn't make himself do it. 

When was the last time someone had held him like this? When was the last time he'd been close to another person without armor or formality between them? His father had never been affectionate—Uther Pendragon didn't believe in coddling, in soft touches or gentle embraces. Arthur couldn't remember the last time his father had hugged him. Perhaps when his mother died, when he was too young to remember? 

So instead of moving, Arthur closed his eyes and pretended to still be asleep, allowing himself this one stolen moment of closeness. Merlin was warm and solid in his arms, real and alive and safe. He could feel her heartbeat, steady and strong. 

He breathed in the scent of her hair—she must have used the lavender soap from his bathing chamber—and let himself imagine, just for a moment, that this was normal. That he could wake up like this every morning, holding someone who cared about him, who he cared about in return. 

Merlin shifted slightly in her sleep, and Arthur tensed, prepared to feign sleep if she woke. But she didn't wake. Instead, still deeply asleep, she tightened her grip on the arm he had wrapped around her waist, pulling it closer to her chest, holding onto him like he was something precious. 

That simple gesture—unconscious, instinctive—hit Arthur hard. His throat tightened, his eyes burning with sudden tears that he had to fight to hold back. When was the last time anyone had held onto him like this? Like they wanted him close, like his presence brought them comfort? 

Not Arthur the prince. Not Arthur the future king. Not Arthur the warrior or the heir or the disappointment who could never quite live up to his father's impossible standards. 

Just Arthur. 

He buried his face deeper into Merlin's hair, blinking rapidly against the tears threatening to spill over. His chest ached with an emotion he couldn't quite name—longing and gratitude. 

She trusted him enough to sleep beside him. To hold onto him. To let him hold her. 

Arthur knew he should move, should put distance between them before she woke and the moment shattered. But not yet. Just a few more minutes. Just a little longer to pretend that he could have this—could have her—for more than this stolen moment in the early morning light. 

So he held her, and let her hold him, and allowed himself to be vulnerable in a way he never could be anywhere else. And if a few tears escaped to dampen her hair, well, she was asleep. She'd never know. 

Arthur sat up, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "You should have woken me." 

"You needed the sleep," Merlin said simply, beginning to arrange the plates. "Besides, you don't have any meetings until this afternoon." 

Arthur climbed out of bed and moved to the table, then paused when he saw Merlin starting to retreat toward the door. "Where are you going?" 

"To give you privacy to eat?" 

"Merlin, sit down," Arthur said, gesturing to the chair across from him. "We've been over this. You're eating with me." 

"Arthur—" 

"That's an order," he said, though his voice was gentle. "Sit. Eat." 

Merlin rolled her eyes but complied, settling into the chair. They ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes before Arthur spoke again. 

"I was thinking," he said, spreading jam on a piece of bread. "You should take some time today to meditate. With Morgana, perhaps. She could probably use the practice as well." 

Merlin looked up in surprise, her eyes widening. "You... want me to meditate? Here?" 

"In Morgana's chambers," Arthur clarified. "It's the most private place in the castle—no one would dare enter the king's ward's rooms without permission. And it's just meditation, not active magic use. The Grandmother said you needed to learn to be still, to center yourself." He met her eyes seriously. "You said yourself that you never have time for it. Well, now you do. I'm giving you time." 

Merlin stared at him like she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. "Arthur, I... thank you. That's incredibly thoughtful." 

"Yes, well," Arthur said, unable to keep a small, pleased smile from his face. He was rather proud of himself for thinking of it. "Can't have my servant not performing to my standards." 

"There it is," Merlin said with a grin. "I was wondering when you'd remember to be insulting." 

Arthur's smile widened briefly before he continued more practically. "I have training with the knights this morning, so I won't need you until later. But I do have to attend dinner tonight with my father and some visiting nobles from the northern kingdoms, so I'll need you there for that." 

"Of course," Merlin said. "What time?" 

"Dinner's at sunset, so come back around an hour before to help me dress properly. You know how particular my father gets about appearances when we have important guests." 

"I do," Merlin agreed. "That gives me most of the day, then." 

Arthur nodded, then his expression turned more serious. "That book the druids gave you—the ancient one. Are you keeping it somewhere safe?" 

"It's hidden in my chambers," Merlin assured him. "Wrapped in cloth and tucked under a loose floorboard. No one would think to look there, and even if they did, it just looks like an old journal." 

Arthur nodded, satisfied. "Good." 

They finished eating, and Merlin stood to clear the dishes. "I should go find Morgana then. See if she's interested in some... meditation practice." 

"Take your time," Arthur said. "Just don't forget about dinner." 

Merlin paused at the door, looking back at him with an expression that was equal parts gratitude and something softer, something that made Arthur's chest tighten. "Thank you, Arthur. For... everything." 

"Just don't let anyone catch you," he said, trying to lighten the moment. "I'd rather not have to explain why my servant is spending hours alone in my father's ward's private chambers." 

Merlin laughed. "I'm sure the gossip would be very creative." 

After she left, Arthur sat back in his chair, staring at the closed door with a satisfied expression. He'd done something good, something that would help Merlin. It felt right. 

Merlin guided Morgana through the breathing exercises the Grandmother had taught her, helping her find that still, quiet place within herself where magic existed not as a wild force but as a gentle current. They sat cross-legged on the floor of Morgana's chambers, the afternoon light streaming through the windows as time seemed to lose all meaning. 

Morgana struggled at first, her mind too active, too worried about control and consequences. But gradually, with Merlin's patient guidance, she began to relax into it. Her breathing deepened, her shoulders lowered, and the tight knot of anxiety Merlin could sense in her magic began to ease. 

They meditated for hours, breaking only briefly for water and to stretch their legs. Merlin found herself sinking into the practice as well, feeling her own depleted magic slowly replenishing, settling into a more balanced state than it had been in months. 

The sun was beginning to set when the door opened and Gwen came bustling in, stopping short when she saw them both sitting on the floor. 

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt—" Gwen paused, looking between them with curious eyes. "What are you two doing?" 

"Meditation," Morgana said smoothly, standing and stretching. "Merlin was teaching me some techniques Gaius recommended for managing stress and anxiety." 

It wasn't entirely a lie, which made it easier to sell. Gwen nodded, accepting the explanation readily. 

"Well, I'm afraid I need to interrupt your peace," Gwen said apologetically. "Dinner with the visiting nobles is in less than an hour, and we need to get you dressed properly, my lady." 

Morgana sighed but nodded. "Of course." 

Merlin took that as her cue to leave. "I should go help Arthur as well. Thank you for today, Morgana." 

"Thank you," Morgana said meaningfully, and Merlin knew she wasn't just thanking her for the meditation. 

Merlin found Arthur in his chambers, already attempting to dress himself and making a mess of it. His formal tunic was half on, and he was scowling at the complicated lacings. 

"Need help?" Merlin asked with amusement. 

"I was managing perfectly well on my own," Arthur said defensively, even as he gratefully let Merlin take over the lacings. 

"Of course you were, sire," Merlin said, her tone absolutely not mocking at all. 

"Merlin." 

"Yes, my lord?" 

Arthur rolled his eyes but couldn't quite hide his smile. 

Dinner was as tedious as Arthur had predicted. Merlin stood along the wall with the other servants, ready to refill wine or fetch anything needed, while Arthur made polite conversation with nobles who seemed far more interested in discussing potential trade agreements than anything genuinely interesting. 

Merlin's stomach growled quietly, reminding her that she'd only had breakfast and a few bites of bread all day. But servants didn't eat until after the nobles were finished, so she waited patiently, watching Arthur navigate the political minefield with the skill of someone who'd been trained for it his entire life. 

When dinner finally ended and Arthur excused himself, Merlin followed him back to his chambers. Fall was coming early this year, and the evening air already carried a chill. She immediately went to build up the fire, adding logs and kindling until flames were crackling merrily in the hearth. 

"Merlin," Arthur said, and when she turned, he was pulling wrapped parcels from his pockets with an almost sheepish expression. "I saved you some food. The roast was actually quite good tonight, and there was this cheese that I thought you'd like." 

Merlin felt warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the fire. "Arthur, you didn't have to—" 

"Yes, well, I did," he said gruffly, handing her the parcels. "Can't have you starving while I stuff myself at dinner." 

Merlin unwrapped the food—tender slices of roast beef, a generous portion of sharp cheese, and even a small honey cake—and smiled up at him. "Thank you." 

"Just eat it before it gets too cold," Arthur said, but his voice was gentle. 

As Merlin ate, Arthur busied himself with removing his formal jacket and loosening the restrictive collar. When she'd finished, he cleared his throat awkwardly. 

"I could send for the bathing servants if you'd like," he offered. "You spent all day meditating, you should—" 

"It's your turn for a bath," Merlin interrupted with a smile. "But I'll stay and keep you company, if you'd like." 

The offer surprised them both. Merlin hadn't quite meant to say it, and Arthur looked equally startled by his immediate response, "I'd like that." 

They stared at each other for a moment, both seeming to realize the intimacy of what they'd just agreed to. 

"But you stay behind the privacy screen," Arthur added quickly, color rising in his cheeks. "Just... we can talk. While I bathe." 

"Of course," Merlin agreed, equally flustered. 

The bathing servants came and went, filling the tub behind the ornate wooden screen that blocked the bathing area from view. Once they'd left, Arthur disappeared behind the screen, and Merlin heard the splash of water as he settled into the bath. 

"So," Arthur said after a moment, his voice carrying over the screen. "How was the meditation with Morgana?" 

"Good," Merlin said, settling onto a chair where she could talk to him but couldn't see anything. "She's getting better at centering herself. The Grandmother was right—she just needed guidance." 

"And you? Did it help?" 

"It did," Merlin admitted. "I feel... more balanced than I have in a long time. Thank you for suggesting it." 

"You're welcome," Arthur said, and Merlin could hear the smile in his voice. 

They talked for a while—about nothing and everything. Arthur complained about the visiting nobles and their tedious conversation. Merlin told him about a particularly complicated spell she'd been reading about in the druid book. It was comfortable, easy, intimate in a way that had nothing to do with physical proximity and everything to do with trust. 

When Arthur finally emerged from behind the screen, wrapped in a dressing gown with his hair damp and tousled, Merlin helped him into his nightclothes with the same efficiency she'd helped him dress earlier. But there was something different about it now, something softer in the way they moved around each other. 

"Good night, Merlin," Arthur said as she turned down his bed. 

"Good night, Arthur." 

Merlin returned to her own small chamber, immediately feeling the difference. Where Arthur's room had been warm from the roaring fire and spacious enough to move comfortably, hers was cramped and cold. Her bed was a narrow cot with a thin mattress that had seen better days, nothing like the soft luxury of Arthur's. 

She lit a single candle and carefully retrieved the ancient druid book from its hiding place under the floorboard. Settling onto her uncomfortable bed, she opened it and began to read, studying the elegant script and complex spell work by flickering candlelight. 

The spells were beautiful—intricate weavings of intent and power that made her own instinctive magic seem crude by comparison. She read about healing magic that could knit bones, protective wards that could shield entire villages, and transformation spells that could change the very nature of matter. 

After an hour, when her eyes began to strain and the candle had burned low, Merlin carefully returned the book to its hiding place, making sure the floorboard was secure. She changed into her nightclothes and crawled into her narrow, uncomfortable bed, pulling the thin blanket up to her chin against the chill. 

As she lay there in the darkness, she couldn't help but think of Arthur's bed—warm and soft, and the way they'd woken tangled together that morning.  

With a sigh, Merlin closed her eyes and tried to sleep, wondering how she'd become so accustomed to comfort in such a short time that her own bed now felt unbearable. 

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Arthur had been fighting the cold for three days, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that he was getting worse rather than better. Merlin had noticed the subtle signs—the way he'd been rubbing his temples during breakfast, the slight flush to his cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold weather, the occasional cough he tried to suppress during training.

"You should rest," Merlin had said that morning, watching Arthur struggle into his armor with less grace than usual.

"I'm fine," Arthur had insisted, his voice slightly hoarse. "It's just a sniffle. I have duties to attend to."

And attend to them he had, pushing himself through training with the knights despite his obvious fatigue, sitting through tedious council meetings when he should have been in bed. By the fourth day, even Arthur's stubborn determination couldn't hide how poorly he looked.

It was during a meeting about winter provisions that Uther finally noticed. The king looked up from the reports spread before him and frowned at his son.

"Arthur, you look terrible."

"I'm fine, Father—"

"You're pale as death and swaying in your chair," Uther interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. "Go to your chambers. Rest. I'll not have you collapsing during court."

"But the provisions—"

"Can be handled without you for one day." Uther's expression softened slightly, the closest thing to paternal concern he ever showed. "Go. That's an order."

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it and nodded. "Yes, Father."

Merlin, who had been standing along the wall with the other servants, immediately moved to follow as Arthur left the council chamber. The prince's steps were less steady than usual, and Merlin could see him shivering despite the heavy fur-lined cloak he wore.

Outside, the first real snow of winter had begun to fall, fat flakes drifting past the windows and covering the castle grounds in white. The corridors were cold despite the braziers placed at intervals, and Arthur's teeth were chattering by the time they reached his chambers.

"Right," Merlin said firmly once the door closed behind them. "Into bed with you."

"I'm not an invalid," Arthur protested, but his voice lacked conviction.

"No, you're just a stubborn idiot who ignored a simple cold until it became something worse." Merlin moved to build up the fire, adding extra logs until it was roaring. "The kitchen is making soup. And you're having a bath."

"Merlin—"

"That wasn't a suggestion, sire." Merlin fixed him with a look that made Arthur blink in surprise. "You're sick, it's snowing, and you're going to let me take care of you or I'll fetch Gaius and he'll make you drink something that tastes like old boots."

Despite feeling miserable, Arthur couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "You're very bossy when I'm ill."

"Someone has to be. Now sit down before you fall down."

While Arthur collapsed into a chair by the fire, Merlin went to arrange for bathing water. The servants arrived quickly, filling the tub behind the privacy screen with steaming water. Merlin added a generous handful of lavender to the bath—he'd learned from Gaius that the herb could help with congestion.

"Come on," Merlin said, helping Arthur to his feet. "Let's get you in the bath before the water cools."

Arthur was too exhausted to argue. He let Merlin help him undress, which would have been mortifying if he'd had the energy to care. The hot water felt like heaven against his aching muscles, and he sank into it with a grateful sigh.

"Just relax," Merlin said. "I'll be right back."

But instead of leaving, Merlin moved behind the privacy screen. Arthur heard the sound of water being poured into a basin, and then Merlin's hands were in his hair, gentle and careful.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked, though he didn't pull away.

"Washing your hair," Merlin said simply. "The lavender will help clear your head. Just... let me take care of you, all right?"

Arthur closed his eyes, too tired and achy to protest. Merlin's fingers worked through his hair with practiced efficiency, massaging his scalp in a way that eased some of the pounding in his head. The scent of lavender filled the steamy air, and Arthur felt himself relaxing for the first time in days.

"There," Merlin said softly after rinsing the soap away. "Better?"

"Mmm," Arthur managed, which Merlin took as agreement.

After the bath, Merlin helped him into clean nightclothes and bundled him into bed with what seemed like every blanket in the castle. Arthur's headache was still pounding behind his eyes, and he grimaced as he settled against the pillows.

"I'll be right back," Merlin promised. "I'm going to get you something from Gaius for that headache."

Arthur nodded weakly, already half-asleep.

Merlin hurried through the cold corridors to Gaius's chambers. The old physician took one look at him and began preparing a tonic without being asked.

"How bad is he?" Gaius asked.

"Bad enough that Uther sent him to bed," Merlin said. "He has a terrible headache and chills."

"This will help with both," Gaius said, handing over a small vial. "Make sure he drinks all of it, and keep him warm. The fever should break by morning if he rests."

"Thank you," Merlin said, already turning to leave.

But instead of going directly back to Arthur's chambers, Merlin made a quick detour to her old room. The space was exactly as she'd left it—cold and cramped and empty. She knelt by the loose floorboard and pulled out the ancient druid book, flipping through the pages quickly.

Healing spells, she thought desperately. There has to be something—

But there was nothing for simple illness. The healing spells in the book were for wounds, for broken bones, for magical ailments. Not for common colds.

She was about to close the book when a spell caught her eye: a charm for heat retention. It would keep warmth trapped in fabric or bedding for hours, far longer than normal blankets could manage. It was perfect.

Merlin memorized the words quickly, then returned the book to its hiding place and hurried back to Arthur's chambers.

She found him exactly where she'd left him, curled under the blankets and shivering despite the roaring fire. His face was flushed with fever, and he barely opened his eyes when she approached.

"Here," Merlin said gently, helping him sit up enough to drink the tonic. "Gaius says this will help."

Arthur drank it obediently, making a face at the bitter taste. "Tastes like old boots," he mumbled.

"I warned you," Merlin said with a small smile.

Arthur settled back into the pillows with a sigh. "Still cold," he complained, his voice drowsy. "Why is it so cold?"

Merlin made sure he was tucked in properly, then placed her hand on the blankets and whispered the spell she'd learned. Her eyes flashed gold, and warmth spread through the bedding like sunlight breaking through clouds.

Arthur's eyes were already closed, but he let out a contented sigh as the chill finally left his bones. "Better," he murmured. "Much better."

But he was asleep before he could finish the question, his breathing evening out into the deep rhythm of healing rest.

Merlin stood watching him for a moment, making sure the spell had taken hold. The blankets would stay warm for hours now, keeping the fever from settling too deep into his bones.

"Sleep well," she whispered, settling into her own cot to keep watch through the night.

The snow continued to fall outside, blanketing Camelot in white, but inside Arthur's chambers, all was warm and safe.

--

Merlin woke sometime in the deep hours of night to the familiar sound of the fire burning low. She slipped quietly from her cot, padding across to add fresh logs and stoke the flames back to life.

As the fire flared brighter, casting renewed warmth into the room, she turned to check on Arthur. Her chest tightened with concern—he was shivering again, curled tightly under the blankets that had lost their magical warmth.

She moved to his bedside, reaching out to place her hand on the covers to recast the heating spell. But just as her fingers touched the fabric and she began to whisper the incantation, Arthur stirred.

"Merlin?" His voice was rough with sleep and illness, his eyes barely open.

"I'm here," she said softly. "The spell wore off. You're cold again."

"Thirsty," Arthur mumbled, trying to sit up and immediately grimacing at the effort. "So thirsty."

"Here, let me help." Merlin slipped an arm behind his shoulders, supporting him as she reached for the water pitcher on the bedside table. She poured a cup and held it to his lips, letting him drink slowly.

Arthur drained half the cup before pulling back with a sigh. "Thank you," he said, his eyes already starting to drift closed again. "You're always... taking care of me."

"That's my job," Merlin said gently, easing him back down onto the pillows.

"No," Arthur said, fighting to keep his eyes open. "It's more than that. You're... you're more than that."

Merlin's breath caught, but Arthur was already slipping back toward sleep. She waited a moment, then placed her hand on the blankets and whispered the spell. Her eyes flashed gold in the darkness, and warmth flooded through the bedding once more.

Arthur let out a contented sigh, his shivering finally stopping as the magical heat surrounded him. "That's nice," he murmured drowsily. "Your magic... always taking care of me."

He was asleep again before Merlin could respond, his breathing evening out into the deep rhythm of healing rest.

Merlin stood there for a long moment, her hand still resting on the blankets, watching the peaceful expression return to his face. Even in his fevered state, Arthur trusted her magic, trusted her to keep him safe and warm.

"Sleep well," she whispered, before returning to her own cot.

But sleep was slow to come. Arthur's fevered words echoed in her mind: You're more than that.

She tried not to hope what that might mean.

Arthur woke the next morning to pale sunlight filtering through the windows. His head still felt heavy and his throat was raw, but the terrible aching chill had left his bones. The fever had broken sometime in the night, leaving him weak but clearheaded.

He turned his head to find Merlin already awake, stoking the fire and moving quietly around the room so as not to disturb him.

"Merlin," Arthur said, his voice still hoarse but stronger than the day before.

Merlin turned immediately, a smile of relief crossing her face. "You're awake. How do you feel?"

"Like I've been trampled by horses," Arthur admitted, "but better than yesterday."

"Good." Merlin came over to press the back of her hand against his forehead, checking for fever. "Much cooler. The fever's broken."

"Thanks to you," Arthur said quietly. "I remember... bits and pieces. You took care of me."

"Of course I did," Merlin said, pulling her hand back with a small smile. "Now, let me get you some breakfast. You need to eat to regain your strength."

"I should get up—"

"You should stay exactly where you are," Merlin interrupted firmly. "I'll be right back."

She slipped out of the chambers and made her way toward the kitchens, relief making her steps lighter. Arthur was going to be fine. A few more days of rest and he'd be back to his usual demanding self.

She was rounding the corner near the main hall when she nearly collided with King Uther himself.

"Your Majesty!" Merlin immediately bowed, stepping back respectfully.

"Merlin," Uther acknowledged, his sharp eyes studying her. "You're Arthur's manservant. How is my son this morning? I heard he took ill."

"He's better, sire," Merlin said quickly. "His fever broke during the night. He's still recovering, but he's much improved."

"Good." Uther's expression remained stern, but there was genuine concern beneath it. "You are taking proper care of him, I trust? Ensuring he rests?"

"Yes, Your Majesty. With the help of Gaius's tonic and proper rest, he should be back in fighting form within a few days."

"A few days," Uther repeated, his tone making it clear this wasn't a suggestion. "You will ensure my son takes those days to recover fully, Merlin. I don't want him pushing himself back to training before he's ready. The boy is too stubborn for his own good."

Merlin couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. "Yes, sire. He is rather stubborn."

Uther's eyes narrowed slightly, but there might have been the faintest hint of amusement there. "See that he rests. And if he gives you trouble about it, you have my permission to inform him that it's a direct order from his king."

"I will, Your Majesty. Thank you."

Uther nodded curtly and continued on his way, leaving Merlin standing in the corridor feeling slightly stunned. It was easy to forget sometimes, beneath all his coldness and rigidity, that Uther did care for Arthur in his own way.

She continued to the kitchens, where the cook immediately prepared a tray with warm porridge, honey, fresh bread, and herbal tea.

"For Prince Arthur?" the cook asked sympathetically. "Poor lad. Tell him we hope he feels better soon."

"I will," Merlin promised, carrying the tray carefully back through the corridors.

When she returned to the chambers, Arthur was sitting up in bed looking mutinous.

"I should be getting up," he said immediately. "I have training—"

"Your father has commanded you to take a few days to recover," Merlin interrupted, setting the tray down. "His exact words were that you're too stubborn for your own good and I'm to ensure you rest. And if you give me trouble about it, I'm to remind you that it's a direct order from your king."

Arthur blinked in surprise, then slumped back against the pillows with a resigned sigh. "He actually said that?"

"He did. I ran into him in the corridor just now. He was quite concerned about you."

Arthur was quiet for a moment, processing this. "Well then," he said finally. "I suppose I have no choice but to follow orders."

"That's very wise of you, sire," Merlin said with barely concealed amusement, bringing the tray to his bedside. "Now eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

Chapter Text

The next day, Merlin was still clearly unwell, though her fever had reduced slightly. Arthur found himself slipping naturally into the role of caretaker, bringing her tea and honey when she woke, sitting by her bedside while she dozed fitfully.

"I should get up," Merlin said weakly around mid-morning. "You have duties—"

"Which can wait," Arthur interrupted. "You're still sick. Rest."

He made a trip to Gaius's chambers for more tonic, enduring the old physician's knowing look with as much dignity as he could muster.

"He's improving," Gaius said, preparing another vial. "The fever should break completely by tomorrow if he continues to rest."

"He will," Arthur promised. "I'll make sure of it."

He spent the morning in his chambers, ostensibly reviewing reports but mostly just keeping Merlin company. She slept on and off, occasionally waking to sip tea or take the tonic, and Arthur found he didn't mind the quiet. There was something peaceful about simply being in the same space, knowing she was safe and cared for.

Around noon, a servant knocked to inform him that his father required his presence for a council meeting. Arthur reluctantly left, but not before making sure Merlin had fresh water and the fire was well-stoked.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he promised.

The meeting dragged on interminably—discussions of winter provisions, border patrols, trade agreements. Arthur found his attention wandering, wondering if Merlin had woken, if she needed anything, if her fever had worsened. Uther noticed his distraction but attributed it to restlessness after being confined while ill, which Arthur didn't correct.

By the time the meeting finally concluded and dinner was served, Arthur was anxious to return. He asked the kitchen to prepare a hearty stew—something more substantial than soup, a sign that Merlin was recovering—and carried the tray back to his chambers himself.

He opened the door to find Merlin no longer in bed. She was sitting in a chair by the fire, fully dressed in her usual servant's clothes, her eyes closed in what Arthur recognized as meditation. Her face was still pale, but the flush of fever had faded, and her breathing was steady and even.

The door closing behind him broke her concentration. Merlin's eyes opened, and when she saw him, a genuine smile lit her face.

"You're up," Arthur said, setting the tray down on the table with perhaps more force than necessary, his heart doing something complicated in his chest at that smile.

"I was feeling better," Merlin said, her voice still slightly hoarse but much stronger than yesterday. "I thought I'd try meditating. The Grandmother said it could help with healing."

"Did it work?"

"I think so. I feel... clearer. Less foggy." Merlin stood, swaying only slightly. "Is that dinner?"

"Stew," Arthur confirmed. "You need to eat properly to regain your strength."

They sat together at the table, and Arthur watched with satisfaction as Merlin managed to eat a proper portion this time, not just picking at her food. The color was returning to her cheeks, and she seemed more alert, more herself.

"Here," Arthur said when they'd finished, offering the vial from Gaius. "One more dose."

Merlin drank it without complaint, making only a small face at the taste. "I think I'm nearly recovered. Another day or two and I should be back to normal."

"Good," Arthur said, and meant it. Though a small, selfish part of him was disappointed that she'd be well enough to sleep in her own bed soon.

Which reminded him—he should check if the laundry had finished washing her sheets. Should ask if clean linens were available now. Should make arrangements for her cot to be properly made up.

Arthur did none of those things.

Instead, he busied himself with clearing the dinner dishes, adding logs to the fire, preparing for the evening. If no one mentioned the sheets, if he didn't ask about them, then there was no reason Merlin couldn't continue sleeping in his bed. Just until she was fully recovered, of course. Just to make sure she stayed warm and comfortable while she healed.

And if a deeper, more honest part of him desperately wanted to wake up with Merlin in his arms again, wanted to feel the warmth of her against him, wanted that moment of perfect rightness before the world intruded—well, he didn't examine that too closely.

"You should rest," he told Merlin as the evening grew late. "Even if you're feeling better, you need proper sleep to finish recovering."

Merlin nodded, already looking tired from the day's activity. She changed into the nightshirt—his nightshirt—and climbed into bed without argument.

Arthur watched her settle in, remembered how she'd felt in his arms last night, and made his decision.

He wouldn't ask about the sheets. Not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow either.

Arthur settled at his desk with the maps and reports his father had given him during the meeting. Border patrol routes that needed reviewing. Supply manifests for the winter stores. Trade proposals from neighboring kingdoms.

He should have been focused on these matters. They were important—the kind of responsibilities that came with being crown prince.

But he found his eyes drifting repeatedly to the bed, where Merlin lay curled on her side, facing away from him. Her breathing was already deepening, becoming slower and more even as sleep claimed her.

Arthur forced his attention back to the maps, tracing the patrol routes with his finger. But a few minutes later, he was glancing over again, watching the rise and fall of Merlin's shoulders beneath the blankets.

He was stalling. He knew he was stalling.

Last night had been... Arthur didn't have words for what last night had been. Waking up with Merlin in his arms, his hand on her bare skin, the way she'd fit against him so perfectly—it had felt like something out of a dream. Something he shouldn't want but desperately did.

And now he was about to climb into that bed again, knowing what might happen. Knowing that in sleep, without conscious thought to stop him, he would probably reach for her again.

Arthur set down the map he'd been pretending to study and picked up a supply manifest instead. The numbers blurred before his eyes.

Another glance at the bed. Merlin had shifted slightly, the blanket slipping down to reveal her shoulder. She looked peaceful. Comfortable. Safe.

In his bed.

Arthur's heart did that complicated thing again, the one that made his chest feel too tight and too full at the same time.

He turned back to his papers, determined to actually read something this time. But his mind kept wandering, kept imagining the moment when he'd finally give in and join her. Would she curl against him again? Would his traitorous hands find their way beneath her nightshirt, seeking the warmth of her skin?

Would she mind if they did?

Arthur shook his head sharply, trying to dispel those dangerous thoughts. This was Merlin. His servant. His friend. Someone who trusted him to take care of her while she was vulnerable and sick.

He shouldn't be thinking about the softness of her skin or the way she fit in his arms or how right it had felt to hold her.

But he was thinking about it. Had been thinking about little else all day.

With a sigh, Arthur forced himself to actually focus on the trade proposal in front of him. He read through it carefully, made notes in the margins, considered the implications for Camelot's economy.

When he looked up again, at least an hour had passed. The fire had burned lower, and Merlin's breathing had the deep, steady rhythm of true sleep.

She was fully asleep now. Had been for a while, probably.

Arthur could safely go to bed.

He stood slowly, setting aside his work and moving quietly around the room to prepare for sleep. Changed into his nightclothes. Banked the fire for the night. Poured fresh water into the bedside goblet.

All the while, his heart beat faster, anticipation and nervousness warring in his chest.

Finally, there was nothing left to delay with. It was time.

Arthur approached the bed, looking down at Merlin's sleeping form. She looked so peaceful, so trusting.

Taking a breath, he carefully climbed in beside her, settling on his side of the mattress with deliberate space between them.

For now.

He knew—they both probably knew, on some unspoken level—that the space wouldn't last. That by morning, they'd be tangled together again.

And Arthur found he was very much looking forward to it.

Merlin woke slowly, awareness returning in fragments. Warmth. Safety. The steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear.

Her eyes flew open in the darkness, and she realized with a jolt where she was—her head pillowed on Arthur's chest, one of her hands resting against his ribs, their legs tangled together beneath the blankets.

Heat flooded her face. This was... this was so far beyond appropriate she couldn't even begin to process it.

She should move. Should extract herself carefully and retreat to her side of the bed before Arthur woke and found them like this.

But Arthur's arm was wrapped around her, holding her close, and his chest was so warm beneath her cheek, and the steady beat of his heart was the most soothing sound she'd ever heard.

Merlin bit her lip, torn between propriety and the overwhelming desire to stay exactly where she was. When would she ever get another chance like this? To be close to Arthur, to be held by him, to pretend—just for a moment—that this could be real?

She knew she was being foolish. Dangerous. But her fever-weakened defenses couldn't quite muster the strength to care.

Instead of pulling away, Merlin carefully snuggled closer, pressing her face more firmly against Arthur's chest. She felt his arm tighten around her in response, even in sleep, drawing her more securely against him.

Oh, that felt good. That felt right in a way that made her chest ache.

Merlin closed her eyes, trying to memorize every detail. The warmth of his skin through the thin fabric of his nightshirt. The rise and fall of his breathing. The faint scent of leather and metal that clung to him even after bathing. The strength in the arm that held her.

She could feel herself drifting back toward sleep, lulled by Arthur's heartbeat and the safety of his embrace, when she felt him stir.

Merlin immediately went still, keeping her breathing deep and even, feigning sleep. Her heart was pounding now, but she willed herself not to move, not to give away that she was awake.

Arthur shifted slightly, and Merlin felt his hand move—sliding from where it had been resting on her back to the nape of her neck. His fingers found the place where her hair was growing longer, the soft strands at the back of her neck that now touched her collar.

Then his fingers began to move, gentle and soothing, stroking through those longer strands at her nape. The touch was so tender, so careful, as if she were something precious.

Merlin's breath nearly hitched. She had to focus all her willpower on keeping her breathing steady, on not reacting to the shivers of pleasure running down her spine.

It felt so good. Too good. Arthur's fingers moving slowly through her hair, occasionally brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck, sending sparks of warmth through her entire body.

She wanted to arch into the touch like a cat being petted. Wanted to sigh and press closer. Wanted to tilt her head to give him better access.

But she couldn't. If Arthur knew she was awake, if he realized what he was doing, he would stop. And Merlin desperately didn't want him to stop.

So she lay there, perfectly still except for the rise and fall of her breathing, her face pressed against Arthur's chest while his fingers traced gentle patterns through her hair. Every stroke sent tingles down her spine. Every brush of his fingertips against her skin made her want to tremble.

This was torture. Beautiful, wonderful torture.

Arthur's other arm tightened around her, holding her even closer, and Merlin felt his chin come to rest on top of her head. He was surrounding her completely now—his arms, his warmth, his scent, his touch.

Merlin had never felt safer. Had never felt more wanted. Had never felt more like she belonged somewhere.

Even if it was a lie. Even if it was just Arthur's unconscious comfort-seeking in sleep. Even if it meant nothing to him.

For now, in this moment, Merlin let herself pretend it was real.

And prayed she could keep her breathing steady until Arthur finally drifted back to sleep.

Arthur's fingers continued their gentle exploration, threading through the soft strands at Merlin's nape, occasionally trailing down to the sensitive skin of her neck before moving back up again. The rhythm was hypnotic—slow, soothing circles and soft strokes that made Merlin's whole body relax despite her determination to stay awake.

She wanted to memorize this. Wanted to stay conscious and aware of every second, every touch, every moment of being held like this.

But Arthur's touch was too gentle, too perfect. Each stroke of his fingers through her hair sent waves of drowsy contentment through her body. The steady beat of his heart beneath her ear, the warmth of his chest, the safety of his arms—it was all combining to pull her inexorably back toward sleep.

Merlin fought it, trying to focus on staying awake. But Arthur's fingers kept moving, kept stroking, kept creating that blissful sensation that made her thoughts grow fuzzy and soft around the edges.

Her breathing, which she'd been carefully keeping even to maintain her pretense of sleep, began to naturally deepen. She felt herself sinking, felt the pleasant heaviness spreading through her limbs.

Arthur seemed to sense the change. His fingers slowed their movement, became even gentler if that was possible, as if he were deliberately trying to soothe her into deeper sleep. His other arm held her more securely, keeping her safe and warm against his chest.

Merlin's last coherent thought was that she should resist, should stay awake, should hold onto this precious moment for as long as possible.

But then Arthur's fingers made another slow, gentle pass through her hair, and she was lost.

She drifted off with a soft sigh she couldn't quite suppress, her body completely relaxed against Arthur's, trusting and safe in his arms.

And if Arthur noticed that small sound, if he realized she'd been awake after all, he said nothing. He just continued to hold her close, his fingers still moving gently through her hair, until he too finally fell back asleep.

Arthur woke to the pale morning light filtering through the curtains, and the first thing he became aware of was warmth. The second thing was dampness.

He looked down to find Merlin still curled against his chest, her face pressed to his nightshirt, fast asleep. There was a small wet spot on the fabric where she'd been drooling in her sleep.

Arthur's lips curved into a smile so wide it almost hurt.

She was drooling on him. Merlin was drooling on him, completely relaxed and trusting, her hair mussed from sleep and from his fingers running through it for what must have been an hour last night. He'd held her close all night, had felt her breathing gradually even out as his touch lulled her back to sleep.

It was perfect. She was perfect.

Arthur let himself have one more moment of this—Merlin warm and soft in his arms, the intimacy of morning, the precious illusion that this could be his every day. Then, reluctantly, he began the careful process of extracting himself without waking her.

She stirred slightly as he moved, making a small protesting sound, but didn't wake. Arthur slipped out of bed and immediately noticed how his nightshirt clung to him, slightly damp with sweat. They'd been pressed so close all night, generating heat between them despite Merlin's fever having mostly broken.

They both needed to wash.

Arthur moved quietly to the door and flagged down a passing servant. "Bring bathing water to my chambers," he ordered in a low voice. "Quickly and quietly. And breakfast in about an hour."

While he waited for the water, Arthur poured some from the washing basin into a bucket, along with fresh water from the pitcher. He stripped off his nightshirt and used a cloth to give himself a quick, efficient wash—nothing thorough, just enough to feel clean. The full bath would be for Merlin.

The servants arrived with the tub and hot water, and Arthur had them set it up behind the privacy screen as quietly as possible. He added lavender again—it had helped her breathing, and besides, he liked the way it made her smell.

Once everything was ready and the servants had left, Arthur approached the bed. Merlin was still sleeping peacefully, her hair spread across his pillow, one hand curled near her face.

"Merlin," he said softly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Time to wake up."

She stirred, her eyes fluttering open slowly. "Arthur?" Her voice was rough with sleep but much clearer than it had been yesterday.

"Good morning. How do you feel?"

Merlin considered this, doing a mental inventory of her body. "Better. Much better, actually." She sat up slowly, and Arthur was pleased to see she didn't sway. "My throat doesn't hurt as much."

"Good. I've had a bath prepared for you." Arthur gestured toward the privacy screen. "We were both... rather warm last night. I thought you'd want to wash."

A blush crept up Merlin's cheeks as she apparently remembered how closely they'd slept. "Oh. Yes. Thank you."

"Breakfast will be here soon, so don't take too long," Arthur said, standing. "I'll help you to the bath."

He guided her behind the screen, making sure she was steady on her feet. "Can you manage?"

"Yes," Merlin said, that adorable blush still coloring her face. "Thank you, Arthur."

Arthur retreated to the other side of the screen just as he heard a knock at the door. Perfect timing.

He opened it to find a servant with the breakfast tray—porridge with honey, fresh bread, fruit, and tea.

"I'll take that," Arthur said quickly, taking the tray before the servant could enter and potentially see or hear Merlin behind the screen. "Thank you. That will be all."

He closed the door perhaps a bit more firmly than necessary and set the tray on the table. From behind the screen, he could hear the gentle sounds of water moving as Merlin bathed.

Arthur busied himself with arranging the breakfast dishes, trying not to think about what was happening just a few feet away.

Trying. And mostly failing.

But at least this time, he had drooling-on-his-chest as a happy memory to distract him.

Chapter Text

By the third day, Merlin was clearly recovered—her fever completely gone, her cough reduced to the occasional tickle, her energy mostly returned. But Arthur was still hovering, insisting she stay in bed and rest, bringing her tea and checking on her constantly.

Merlin tried to hide how thrilled she was by this treatment. Another day of just lying around in Arthur's comfortable bed, being pampered and fussed over? She should protest more. Should insist on returning to her duties.

But instead, she just smiled and accepted the tea Arthur brought her, settling back against the pillows with a book she'd borrowed from Gaius.

She was nearly dozing off again, warm and content, when a familiar cramping pain twisted low in her abdomen.

No.

Not now.

Merlin sat up carefully, recognizing the telltale signs. Her monthly courses had arrived, and of course they would choose now, when she was recovering from illness and sleeping in Arthur's bed and had no privacy whatsoever.

She needed supplies. The special tea that helped with the cramps. Extra cloth. And she needed them now.

"Arthur?" she called out. He was at his desk, reviewing some document or other.

"Yes?"

"I'm feeling much better. I think I'll get some fresh air. Just a quick walk."

Arthur looked up, frowning. "Are you sure? You shouldn't overexert yourself."

"Just to the lower town and back," Merlin assured him. "I promise I'll be careful."

Arthur still looked uncertain, but he nodded. "Don't be gone long."

Merlin dressed quickly once Arthur turned back to his work, grateful for the heavy winter clothing that would hide any accidents. She slipped out of the chambers and made her way to the town as quickly as she could, purchasing the necessary supplies from a discreet merchant she'd used before—special herbal tea, extra cloth, a few other necessities.

The cramping was getting worse, and by the time she returned to Arthur's chambers, she was moving more carefully, one hand pressed to her lower abdomen.

She opened the door to find Arthur pacing, his face tight with worry.

"Where were you?" he demanded the moment he saw her. "I checked with Morgana, I asked the guards—no one knew where you'd gone!"

"I'm sorry," Merlin said sheepishly, closing the door behind her. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"You said a quick walk! That was over an hour ago!" Arthur ran his hand through his hair in agitation. "What if something had happened? What if you'd collapsed somewhere?"

"Arthur." Merlin set down her bundle and looked at him directly. "I got my monthly courses. I needed to... buy supplies."

Arthur stopped mid-pace, his expression shifting immediately from anger to understanding. "Oh. I... oh."

The tips of his ears turned pink, but to his credit, he recovered quickly. "Are you all right? Do you need anything? Should I get Gaius?"

"I'm fine," Merlin assured him. "It's just... uncomfortable. But normal."

Arthur looked at her for a long moment, then his gaze shifted to something behind her. "Would you like a bath? I had one prepared."

Merlin turned and saw the filled tub behind the privacy screen. She couldn't help but giggle. "You already had it filled? Arthur, you don't need to keep ordering baths for me."

"Well, I thought—" Arthur looked flustered. "You've been sick, and—"

"You take it," Merlin said, still smiling. "It's already prepared."

"It's too cold now," Arthur grumbled. "The water will have cooled while I was panicking about where you'd gone."

Merlin raised her hand, her eyes flashing gold briefly as she whispered a warming spell. The air in the room immediately grew warmer, and she felt the temperature of the bath water rise as well.

"There," she said. "Now it's perfect. Go on."

Arthur looked at her for a moment, something soft in his expression, then nodded and moved behind the privacy screen. Merlin heard the sounds of him undressing and climbing into the water.

She looked around the room, her gaze landing on her cot. Still no sheets. The laundry really was incredibly slow during this illness outbreak.

Though... if she was honest with herself, she was grateful. Another night in Arthur's bed, in Arthur's arms. She shouldn't want it so much, but she did.

Her stomach growled, reminding her she'd missed lunch while shopping. Merlin moved to the table where Arthur always kept some basic food—bread, cheese, dried fruits. She helped herself to some bread and a handful of dried apples, eating slowly while listening to Arthur splash in the bath.

Eventually, he emerged, dressed in fresh clothes, his hair damp. He looked at her, seemed to consider something, then said, "I'll be right back."

"Where are you—" But he was already gone.

As soon as the door closed behind Arthur, Merlin grabbed her bundle of supplies and hurried behind the privacy screen. She worked quickly, arranging the cloth properly in her underwear to manage her courses. It wasn't the most comfortable solution, but it would work.

By the time she finished and returned to the main room, straightening her clothes, she heard Arthur's footsteps in the corridor. She quickly settled back at the table, continuing to eat her bread as if nothing had happened.

Arthur entered carrying a small cloth bundle, looking almost embarrassed.

"Here," he said, setting it on the table in front of her.

Merlin opened it to find an assortment of sweets—honey cakes, candied fruits, even some chocolate.

She stared at them, then up at Arthur. "What is this?"

"Don't girls like sweets during their... monthly?" Arthur said, his ears pink again. "I thought it might help. With the discomfort."

Merlin felt something warm and overwhelming bloom in her chest. He'd gone to get her sweets. Had thought about what might make her feel better and acted on it.

She laughed, but it was a delighted sound, not mocking. "Arthur, that's... that's really thoughtful."

She picked up one of the honey cakes and took a bite, then held out a candied fruit to him. "But I know you have a sweet tooth too. You should share them with me."

Arthur looked surprised but pleased. "I only got them for you."

"And I'm sharing them with you," Merlin said firmly. "Come on. One sweet won't hurt."

Arthur smiled—a real, genuine smile that made Merlin's heart skip—and took the offered candy.

They sat together at the table, sharing sweets in the warm room, and Merlin thought that even with the cramping and discomfort, this was still one of the better days she'd had in a long time.

"I need to report to my father. He wanted an update on the winter patrols."

"How long will you be?" Merlin asked, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"Hopefully not long. Father's meetings have been shorter lately—I think even he's feeling the cold." Arthur moved toward the door, then paused. "Will you be all right? Do you need anything before I go?"

"I'm fine, Arthur," Merlin said with a soft smile. "I have sweets, remember?"

Arthur's lips quirked up at that. "Right. I'll be back soon."

True to his word, Arthur returned less than an hour later, but this time he was carrying a covered tray. The smell of roasted meat and vegetables filled the room as he set it down on the table.

"That was quick," Merlin said, looking up from where she'd been reading by the fire.

"The meeting was mercifully brief." Arthur began uncovering dishes. "And I brought dinner. The chef has moved the winter meal up an hour due to the weather—apparently it's costing too much to keep the great hall heated for extended periods. Everyone's been told to take meals in their own chambers when possible."

Merlin moved to the table, taking in the generous spread. Roasted chicken, root vegetables, fresh bread, and what looked like a berry tart for dessert. "This looks wonderful."

"The kitchens are still doing their best, even with the cost-cutting." Arthur pulled out a chair for her—a gesture that made Merlin's heart flutter even as she tried to tell herself it meant nothing. "My father's concerned about the winter stores lasting until spring."

"It has been a harsh winter," Merlin agreed, settling into the chair. "The snow keeps coming."

Arthur took his own seat across from her, and they began to eat. The food was hot and hearty, exactly what was needed on a cold winter evening.

As they ate, Merlin found herself studying Arthur's face in the firelight. There was something peaceful about this—just the two of them sharing a meal in the warm room while snow fell outside. No servants hovering. No noble expectations. Just... them.

"What?" Arthur asked, catching her stare.

"Nothing," Merlin said quickly, feeling her cheeks warm. "I was just thinking... this is nice. Quiet."

Arthur's expression softened. "It is, isn't it?" He paused, then added, "I'm glad Father implemented this policy. It's more... comfortable this way."

Merlin hid her smile by taking a sip of wine. Arthur was glad. Which meant he wanted to spend time with her like this, in private, sharing meals and quiet evenings.

"How are you feeling?" Arthur asked, his voice gentle. "The... discomfort?"

"Better now," Merlin admitted. "The tea helped. And the sweets," she added with a smile.

Arthur looked pleased with himself, and Merlin couldn't help but think how endearing he was when he was trying to take care of her.

They finished their meal in comfortable silence, and when Arthur poured them both more wine, Merlin realized she was perfectly content. Warm, fed, safe, and spending the evening with Arthur.

Even with the cramping and the complications of her monthly courses, this moment was perfect.

And she had the whole night ahead of her—another night in Arthur's bed, another chance to wake up in his arms.

Merlin tried not to look too happy about that prospect as she accepted the wine Arthur offered her.

That evening, Merlin changed into her nightshirt—Arthur's nightshirt—and climbed into bed first, as had become their pattern. She settled on her side, facing away from Arthur's side of the bed, and closed her eyes.

But she wasn't sleeping. Not yet.

She listened to Arthur moving around the room, the familiar sounds of him preparing for bed. Banking the fire. Pouring water. The rustle of fabric as he changed into his nightclothes.

Merlin kept her breathing slow and even, feigning sleep, even as her heart beat faster with anticipation.

Finally, she felt the mattress dip as Arthur carefully climbed into bed. He settled on his side, and Merlin could feel the warmth of him even across the small distance between them.

She waited. Forced herself to count slowly, to give it time, to make it believable.

One hundred. Two hundred. Three hundred heartbeats.

Then, as naturally as she could make it seem, Merlin rolled over in her "sleep" and snuggled close to Arthur, seeking his warmth the way someone might unconsciously seek comfort in the night.

She heard Arthur's sharp intake of breath, felt him go still for just a moment.

Then his arms came around her, pulling her close against his chest. Secure. Gentle. Deliberate.

This wasn't the unconscious cuddling of sleep. This was a choice.

Merlin's heart was pounding so hard she was sure Arthur must be able to feel it. She kept her breathing even, kept up the pretense of sleep even as every nerve in her body was alight with awareness.

And then—oh, then—she felt Arthur's lips press softly against her forehead. A tender kiss, barely more than a brush of lips against skin, but unmistakable in its meaning.

Merlin's breath nearly hitched. She had to fight with everything in her to keep still, to not react, to maintain her facade of sleep.

But her mind was reeling.

Arthur had kissed her. Had pulled her close and kissed her forehead like she was something precious, something cherished.

Arthur liked her.

Arthur had feelings for her.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no.

Merlin's chest felt too tight. Her thoughts were spinning in dizzy circles.

This was wonderful and terrible all at once. Arthur cared for her—truly cared for her in a way that went beyond friendship or duty. The Crown Prince of Camelot had feelings for his servant. For a woman with magic in a kingdom where magic was punishable by death.

What could possibly come of this? Even if Arthur's feelings were real, even if hers were reciprocated, what future could they possibly have? He was the prince, heir to the throne. She was a servant hiding her true nature from everyone in the castle. He would be expected to marry a noble lady, to form political alliances, to produce heirs.

And what about when he became king? Would he change the laws about magic? Could she ever tell anyone else the truth about who she was? Would she spend the rest of her life pretending to be a man, hiding in the shadows of Arthur's life?

But even as these practical worries flooded her mind, her heart was singing.

Arthur liked her. Arthur wanted this. Arthur was choosing to hold her close in the darkness, to press tender kisses to her forehead, to let her sleep in his arms night after night.

He knew who she really was—knew about the magic, knew she was a woman—and he still wanted her here.

That had to mean something. That had to matter.

Merlin lay perfectly still in Arthur's arms, his lips still resting gently against her forehead, and felt her heart break and soar all at once.

She had no idea what would happen next. No idea how this could possibly work.

But for now, in this moment, she was safe in Arthur's arms. And he cared for her.

Everything else would have to wait until morning.

Merlin woke slowly to warmth and the familiar feeling of Arthur's body pressed against her back, his arm draped over her waist, holding her close. They'd gravitated together again in the night, fitting together like puzzle pieces.

But then she became aware of something else—something firm pressing against her backside through the layers of their nightshirts.

Oh.

Heat flooded Merlin's face as she realized what she was feeling. It was just a natural morning thing, she knew that. Men woke up like this sometimes—it didn't mean anything. It was just... biology.

But knowing that didn't make it any less mortifying to be pressed against it.

Merlin tried to carefully wiggle away, to put some distance between them without waking Arthur. But the moment she moved, she felt Arthur stir behind her.

Then he went completely rigid.

"I—" Arthur's voice was strangled as he clearly became aware of the situation. He immediately released her and scrambled backward. "Merlin, I'm so sorry, I didn't—it's not—I mean, it just—"

Merlin rolled over to face him, her own cheeks burning. Arthur looked absolutely mortified, his face scarlet, unable to meet her eyes as he continued to stutter apologies.

"It's perfectly normal," Arthur was saying, his words tumbling over each other. "It doesn't mean anything, it's just—mornings are—I would never—"

He looked so distressed, so embarrassed, that Merlin's heart ached. She couldn't stand seeing him like this, fumbling for words, thinking he'd done something wrong.

Without thinking, Merlin leaned forward and pressed a quick, soft kiss to Arthur's cheek.

Arthur's words died instantly. He stared at her, eyes wide, his mouth still open on whatever he'd been about to say.

"It's fine, Arthur," Merlin said gently, her own face still warm. "I know it's just... a morning thing. You don't need to apologize."

Arthur continued to stare at her, one hand slowly rising to touch the place where her lips had been. His expression was a mixture of shock, confusion, and something else—something tender and wondering that made Merlin's heart race.

"You... you kissed me," Arthur said, as if he couldn't quite believe it.

"On the cheek," Merlin clarified quickly, suddenly realizing what she'd done. "Just... to make you stop apologizing. You looked so distressed, and I—" Now it was her turn to stumble over her words.

"Oh," Arthur said quietly. Then, after a pause: "Oh."

They stared at each other in the dim morning light, neither quite knowing what to say. The moment stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things.

Finally, Arthur cleared his throat. "I should... get dressed. I have training this morning."

"Right," Merlin said, relief and disappointment warring in her chest. "Training."

Arthur climbed out of bed quickly, moving to his wardrobe with perhaps more haste than necessary. Merlin stayed where she was, her fingers touching her own lips, still feeling the ghost of Arthur's cheek against them.

What had she just done?

And why did Arthur look so pleased about it?

Arthur finished dressing in his training clothes, strapping on his practice armor with practiced efficiency. He glanced over at Merlin, who was still sitting in bed looking slightly dazed.

"Do you feel up to coming to training?" he asked, his voice carefully casual. "You don't have to if you're still not feeling well."

Merlin blinked, then nodded quickly. "Yes. I mean, yes, I'd like to. I'm feeling much better."

"Good," Arthur said, and there was genuine warmth in his expression. "But dress warmly. It's freezing out there today."

Merlin climbed out of bed and went to her small collection of belongings, pulling out her warmest clothes—the heavy wool tunic and thick breeches, the lined jacket that Arthur had insisted she take from the castle stores weeks ago. She layered everything on, grateful for the warmth.

As she was finishing, Arthur approached holding something in his hands.

"Here," he said, offering her a pair of leather gloves. They looked well-made, lined with soft wool on the inside. "You'll need these."

Merlin took them, surprised by the quality. "Arthur, these are—"

"Just put them on," Arthur interrupted, already turning away to find his own gloves.

Merlin slipped the gloves on. They fit perfectly, and the wool lining was incredibly soft and warm against her skin. She looked up to thank Arthur and stopped.

He was pulling on his own gloves—a pair that was clearly worn, with visible holes in the fingertips and fraying edges. They were the kind of gloves that should have been replaced seasons ago.

"Arthur," Merlin said softly, her chest tightening. "Your gloves..."

"These are fine," Arthur said quickly, flexing his fingers and deliberately not meeting her eyes. "They still work well enough. Now come on, before Leon starts training without me and I never hear the end of it."

He headed for the door, but Merlin stood there for a moment longer, looking down at the good gloves on her hands, then at Arthur's back as he waited by the door.

He'd given her the better gloves. Had chosen worn, holey ones for himself rather than let her hands get cold.

It was such a small thing. Such a simple gesture. But it made Merlin's heart feel impossibly full.

"Coming?" Arthur asked, glancing back at her.

"Yes," Merlin said, her voice slightly thick. She moved to join him, her hands warm in the gloves he'd given her. "Thank you, Arthur."

"It's nothing," he said, but his ears were turning pink again. 

Merlin smiled, recognizing the deflection for what it was. "It's not. Thank you. For the gloves."

Arthur just smiled as his hand brushed hers briefly as they walked, a gesture so light it might have been accidental. 

They stepped out into the freezing corridor together, Merlin looked down at her gloved hands again and felt something warm settle in her chest.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

Merlin woke slowly, awareness returning in layers. Warmth. Safety. Arthur's arms wrapped securely around her, holding her close against his chest.

She kept her eyes closed for a moment, savoring it. The steady beat of his heart beneath her ear. The rise and fall of his breathing. The way his hand rested on her lower back, fingers splayed possessively even in sleep.

This wasn't accidental. This wasn't unconscious cuddling in the night.

Arthur had chosen this. Had climbed into bed when she asked, had pulled her close when she reached for him, had held her through the entire night.

He had feelings for her. He had to. Why else would he hold her like this? Why else would he give her his good gloves and go to the kitchens himself to get her food and kiss her forehead in the darkness?

Arthur cared for her. Not just as a servant. Not just as a friend.

As something more.

The realization made Merlin's heart race. All this time she'd been falling for him, terrified it was one-sided, convinced she was imagining the looks and touches and tender moments.

But she hadn't been imagining it.

Arthur wanted her too.

She felt him stir, his breathing changing as he began to wake. Merlin opened her eyes and found herself staring directly into Arthur's sleepy blue ones as his eyes fluttered open.

They were so close. Inches apart. She could see the flecks of gold in his irises, could count his eyelashes if she wanted to.

And before she could think, before she could second-guess or talk herself out of it, Merlin leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

It was brief—barely more than a peck, a brush of lips against lips. But the effect was immediate.

Arthur's eyes went wide. His entire body went rigid with shock.

Merlin pulled back, suddenly mortified. What had she done? What had she been thinking?

"I'm—" Arthur started, his face turning bright red. "That was—you just—I mean—"

He was stuttering, words tumbling over each other, and Merlin felt something crack inside her chest. He was going to reject her. Was going to say it was a mistake, that they couldn't, that she'd misread everything—

Hurt must have shown on her face because Arthur suddenly stopped mid-stutter. His eyes went soft, searching hers, and whatever he saw there seemed to decide something for him.

"Merlin," he said quietly, and then his hand came up to cup her cheek.

And then he was kissing her.

Properly this time. Not a quick peck but a real kiss—his lips moving against hers, gentle but deliberate. His hand cradled her face like she was something precious, his thumb brushing her cheekbone.

Merlin's eyes fluttered closed. Her hand came up to rest against his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath her palm, as rapid as her own.

This was nothing like her impulsive peck. This was Arthur choosing to kiss her, choosing to pull her closer, choosing to show her without words what he couldn't seem to say.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing harder, Arthur rested his forehead against hers.

"I'm sorry I made you feel rejected," he murmured. "You just... surprised me."

"I surprised myself," Merlin admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't plan to do that."

"I'm glad you did," Arthur said, and the honesty in his voice made Merlin's heart skip. "I've wanted to kiss you for... I don't even know how long."

"Really?" Merlin's voice came out small, hopeful.

"Really," Arthur confirmed. His hand was still cupping her face, his thumb tracing gentle patterns on her skin. "I'm completely gone for you, Merlin. Have been for ages."

Merlin felt tears prick at her eyes—not from sadness but from overwhelming relief and joy. "I thought I was imagining it. That I was reading too much into things."

"You weren't imagining anything," Arthur said softly. "I'm just terrible at this. At saying what I feel."

"You're doing fine right now," Merlin said with a watery smile.

Arthur smiled back, that rare, genuine smile that transformed his whole face. Then he kissed her again, soft and sweet, and Merlin thought that maybe everything was going to be all right after all.

They had no idea how this would work. No idea what the future held.

But for now, wrapped in Arthur's arms as morning light filtered through the curtains, Merlin had never felt more certain of anything in her life.

After a moment of perfect contentment, Merlin suddenly groaned and buried her face against Arthur's chest, her hands coming up to cover her face.

Arthur's arms tightened around her instinctively, concern flooding through him. "What? What's wrong? Did I—was that not—"

"How are we supposed to sleep together now?" Merlin mumbled into his chest, her voice muffled.

Arthur's brain stuttered to a halt. His entire face went hot, heat flooding from his neck to his ears. Sleep together. She'd said sleep together. In the same bed. After kissing. After—

He opened his mouth but no words came out. His mind was a complete blank, just static and the feeling of Merlin pressed against him and the memory of her lips on his.

They lay there in silence, Arthur's face burning, his heart racing, trying desperately to form a coherent thought.

Finally, Merlin lifted her head to look at him, her own face flushed with embarrassment. Their eyes met, and Arthur saw his own uncertainty reflected back at him.

"Like... like we have been," Arthur managed finally, his voice rougher than usual. "Why would it change?"

Merlin blinked at him. "Because we just kissed."

"I know," Arthur said, his face somehow getting even hotter. "I was there. I mean, I was... actively participating."

A small, nervous laugh escaped Merlin. "You were."

"So we... we keep doing what we've been doing," Arthur said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. "We sleep in the same bed. We hold each other. It's just... now we also know that we both want to be doing it. Instead of pretending we don't."

"But won't it be weird?" Merlin asked. "Now that we've acknowledged it?"

"Probably," Arthur admitted. "But it was already weird, wasn't it? We were already sharing a bed and waking up in each other's arms and pretending it meant nothing."

"That's true," Merlin said quietly.

"At least now we can stop pretending," Arthur continued. "We can just... be honest about what this is."

"And what is this?" Merlin asked, her voice soft but steady.

Arthur's heart hammered in his chest. This was it. The moment to put words to what had been growing between them.

"I don't know exactly," he admitted. "But I know I care about you. More than I should. More than is sensible or practical or appropriate." He paused, gathering his courage. "I know I want you here. In my bed, in my chambers, in my life. And I know I don't want that to change."

Merlin's eyes were bright, her expression soft and wondering. "I want that too."

"Then nothing has to change," Arthur said. "Except maybe... I can kiss you goodnight now. If you want me to."

"I want you to," Merlin said immediately, then blushed at her own eagerness.

Arthur smiled, feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders. "Good. Then we'll keep doing what we've been doing. Just... with more honesty. And kissing."

"And kissing," Merlin echoed, a smile playing at her lips.

"Is that all right?" Arthur asked, suddenly needing to be sure.

"Yes," Merlin said, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Yes, that's more than all right."

Arthur pulled her closer, relief and joy flooding through him. They'd figure out the rest later—what this meant, where it could go, how they'd navigate all the complications.

Merlin made her way through the castle corridors, her heart still fluttering from that quick kiss she'd given Arthur. She couldn't seem to stop smiling, even as she forced herself to focus on the tasks ahead.

First stop: the kitchens. She gathered some fresh bread and a wedge of cheese for Gaius, knowing the old physician often forgot to eat when he was busy with his work. Then she detoured to the woodpile, gathering an armful of logs.

By the time she reached Gaius's chambers, her arms were full and her cheeks were cold from the winter air.

"Merlin!" Gaius looked up from his work bench with surprise. "What's all this?"

"Supplies," Merlin said, setting the wood by the fireplace and the food on the table. "You've been working so hard, I thought you could use some help. And you need to eat."

Gaius's expression softened. "That's very thoughtful of you, my boy."

Merlin still felt a small pang at the "my boy," but she pushed it aside. Gaius didn't know the truth, and telling him felt too complicated right now when everything with Arthur was so new and fragile.

They fell into an easy routine, Merlin grinding herbs while Gaius mixed tonics and explained what each ingredient did. It was peaceful, familiar work, and Merlin found herself relaxing into it.

"You seem different today," Gaius observed after a while, studying her with those sharp eyes that missed nothing. "Lighter, somehow."

Merlin felt her cheeks warm. "Do I?"

"Yes. Something good must have happened." He paused meaningfully. "The prince is treating you well, I hope?"

"Very well," Merlin said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Arthur's been... he's been good."

Gaius hmmed but didn't push further, for which Merlin was grateful.

After about an hour of work, Merlin excused herself. "I should go check on my old room. Make sure everything's still in order."

"Of course," Gaius said. "Thank you for your help, Merlin."

Merlin slipped into her old room, closing the door firmly behind her. The space felt strange now—too small, too cold, no longer really hers. She'd been sleeping in Arthur's chambers for so long that this felt like visiting someone else's room.

She moved to the loose floorboard and carefully retrieved the magic book hidden there. Settling on the narrow bed, she opened it and began to read, her eyes flashing gold as she absorbed the spells and incantations written on the ancient pages.

After a while, she set the book aside and dealt with her more practical concerns. The cloth from her monthly courses needed to be disposed of properly. Merlin bundled the soiled fabric together and whispered a spell, her eyes flashing gold as flames consumed the evidence, leaving only ash that she scattered out the window.

She changed into fresh clothes from the small collection still stored in her room, then opened the window wider to air everything out. The cold wind rushed in, clearing away the stale air and any lingering smells.

Satisfied, Merlin hid the book again, took one last look around, and left.

She was making her way back through the corridors when a hand suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her into a small, unused storage room.

"Morgana!" Merlin gasped as the door closed behind them.

Morgana was practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes bright. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Don't play coy with me," Morgana said, her smile widening. "The perfume. Arthur. How did it go?"

Merlin felt her face heat up immediately. "It... went well."

"Well?" Morgana leaned closer, studying her face. "Just well? Come on, Merlin, give me details!"

"It was nice," Merlin said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably. "He liked it."

Morgana's eyes narrowed, a knowing smile playing at her lips. "Did you kiss?"

Merlin's expression must have given her away because she didn't even get a chance to answer before Morgana let out a delighted squeal.

"You did! You kissed him!" Morgana grabbed both of Merlin's hands, bouncing slightly with excitement. "Oh my God, tell me everything! When? How? Who kissed who first?"

"Morgana!" Merlin laughed, unable to contain her own joy. "It was this morning. I sort of... kissed him first. Just a quick peck. And then he kissed me back. Properly."

"I knew it!" Morgana pulled Merlin into an enthusiastic hug. "I knew giving you that perfume would work! Arthur's been pining after you for ages."

"He has?" Merlin pulled back slightly to look at her.

"Oh, please. It's been painful to watch. The longing looks, the constant finding excuses to be near you, the way he lights up whenever you enter a room." Morgana squeezed her hands. "I'm so happy for you both."

Merlin felt tears prick at her eyes, but they were happy tears. "Thank you. For the perfume. For understanding. For... everything."

"That's what friends are for," Morgana said warmly. Then her expression turned more serious. "But Merlin, you need to be careful. If anyone finds out—"

"I know," Merlin said quietly. "We know. It's complicated."

"Very complicated," Morgana agreed. "But if anyone can figure it out, it's you two." She smiled again. "Now, I want more details. What was the kiss like?"

Merlin laughed, feeling lighter than she had in ages. "Morgana!"

"What? I'm invested now!"

They both dissolved into laughter, and Merlin thought how lucky she was to have Morgana as a friend. Someone who knew her secrets, who supported her, who was genuinely happy for her.

Even with all the complications and impossibilities ahead, in this moment, Merlin felt nothing but joy.

After leaving Morgana, Merlin made her way to the kitchens, still smiling. The cook looked pleased to see her.

"What can I get you, dear?"

"Lunch for two, please," Merlin said. "Something hot. The prince has been working hard on paperwork all morning."

The cook prepared a generous tray—roasted chicken, vegetables, fresh bread, and two bowls of hearty soup. Merlin carried it carefully through the castle corridors, her heart beating faster as she approached Arthur's chambers.

She balanced the tray on one hip and knocked.

"Come in," Arthur's voice called from inside.

Merlin entered to find Arthur hunched over his desk, surrounded by scrolls and documents. He looked up as she entered, and his whole face brightened.

"You're back," he said, as if he hadn't been sure she actually would return.

"I said I would be," Merlin reminded him, setting the tray down on the table. "And I brought lunch."

"You're a blessing," Arthur said, standing and stretching. He winced slightly. "I've been staring at tax assessments for hours. My eyes are crossing."

They settled at the table together, falling into easy conversation as they ate. Arthur complained about the tedious nature of border patrol reports, and Merlin told him about helping Gaius with tonics, carefully leaving out the part about Morgana.

When they finished eating, they both sat back, comfortable and full. The room was warm from the fire, the afternoon light filtering through the windows, and for a moment they just looked at each other.

Arthur's gaze dropped to Merlin's lips. His face immediately went red, and he quickly looked away, but not before Merlin saw the want in his eyes.

He was thinking about kissing her. Merlin could read it in every line of his body—the way he leaned slightly toward her, the way his fingers drummed nervously on the table, the way he kept glancing at her mouth and then forcing himself to look away.

Something bold rose up in Merlin. Something reckless and wonderful.

She reached for her goblet and downed the rest of her water, then stood. Her eyes flashed gold briefly as she whispered a spell, and she heard the distinct click of the door's lock sliding into place.

Arthur's eyes widened. "Merlin, what—"

But Merlin didn't let him finish. She crossed the distance between them and settled herself in Arthur's lap, one leg on either side of his thighs, her hands coming up to frame his face.

"Oh," Arthur breathed, his hands automatically coming to rest on her waist. "Oh."

"Is this all right?" Merlin asked, even though she could feel Arthur's heart hammering beneath her palms.

"Yes," Arthur said immediately. "Very all right. Extremely all right."

Merlin smiled, and then she kissed him.

Not a gentle peck this time. Not a quick brush of lips. This was thorough and deliberate, her mouth moving against his with growing confidence. Arthur made a small sound in the back of his throat and pulled her closer, one hand sliding up her back while the other tightened on her waist.

They kissed until they were both breathless, until Merlin's fingers were tangled in Arthur's hair and Arthur's careful composure had completely shattered. When they finally broke apart, both gasping, Arthur's lips were swollen and his eyes were dark.

"That was..." Arthur started, then seemed to lose the ability to form words.

"Thorough?" Merlin supplied, slightly smug.

"Very thorough," Arthur agreed, his voice rough. His hands were still on her waist, his thumbs rubbing small circles through the fabric of her tunic. "You can do that again. Anytime you want. Just so you know."

Merlin laughed, feeling giddy and powerful and completely in love with this man. "Good to know."

She leaned in and kissed him again, softer this time, savoring it. Arthur's arms came fully around her, holding her close, and Merlin thought that this—right here, in his arms, in his lap, kissing him in the warm afternoon light—this was everything she'd ever wanted and never thought she could have.

"We should probably unlock the door," Arthur murmured against her lips after a while. "Someone might try to come in."

"Let them knock," Merlin said, kissing along his jaw. "You're busy with very important paperwork."

Arthur laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest where Merlin was pressed against him. "Is that what we're calling this?"

"Very important," Merlin confirmed, pulling back to look at him. "Crown business."

Arthur's expression softened, one hand coming up to brush a strand of hair away from her face. "I'm completely gone for you," he said quietly. "You know that, right?"

"I'm starting to figure it out," Merlin said, her heart swelling. "And just so you know\... I'm completely gone for you too."

Arthur smiled—that rare, genuine smile that transformed his whole face—and pulled her into another kiss.

The paperwork could wait.

Everything else could wait.

For now, they had this perfect afternoon, this stolen time, and each other.

And that was more than enough.

Chapter Text

Merlin woke slowly to warmth and the familiar feeling of being wrapped in Arthur's arms. She kept her eyes closed for a moment, savoring it—the steady rhythm of his breathing, the weight of his arm around her waist, the way they fit together so perfectly.

"I know you're awake," Arthur murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

Merlin smiled against his chest. "How did you know?"

"Your breathing changed." His hand moved gently up and down her back. "And you're smiling. I can feel it."

Merlin tilted her head back to look at him. Arthur's hair was mussed from sleep, his eyes still heavy-lidded, and he looked so unguarded in the morning light that it made her heart ache.

"Good morning," she said softly.

"Good morning," Arthur replied, and then he leaned down to kiss her—a gentle, sleepy kiss that made Merlin's toes curl.

They lay there for a long moment, neither wanting to move, until they heard shouting in the corridor outside.

Arthur groaned. "What now?"

More shouting, then running footsteps. Arthur reluctantly extracted himself from Merlin's arms and went to the door, opening it to find a servant rushing past.

"What's happening?" Arthur called out.

"Blizzard, Your Highness!" the servant called back. "Worst in decades. The King's ordered everyone to shelter in place. All duties cancelled until it passes!"

Arthur closed the door and turned back to Merlin, who had sat up in bed. "Well. I suppose we're not going anywhere today."

Merlin moved to the window and pulled back the curtain. Snow was falling so thick she could barely see across the courtyard. The wind howled, driving the snow sideways.

"That's... a lot of snow," she said.

"Indeed." Arthur came to stand beside her, close enough that their shoulders touched. "Looks like we're trapped inside together."

Merlin glanced at him and saw the small smile playing at his lips. "You don't seem too upset about that."

"I'm not," Arthur admitted, his ears going slightly pink.

After they'd dressed and eaten a quick breakfast from yesterday's leftovers, Merlin said, "I should check on Morgana. Make sure she's all right."

"Good idea," Arthur agreed. "I'll work on those reports while you're gone. Try not to be too long?"

The way he said it—almost shy, almost asking—made Merlin's heart flutter. "I won't be."

She made her way through the freezing corridors to Morgana's chambers, shivering despite her heavy winter clothes. When Morgana opened the door, Merlin could see her breath misting in the air.

"Merlin! Come in, quickly." Morgana pulled her inside. "It's freezing in here. The fire isn't helping at all."

The room was indeed frigid, despite the fire burning in the hearth. Merlin looked around, assessing. "The wind's getting in through the windows. And the stones are so cold they're pulling all the heat away."

"What can I do?" Morgana asked, rubbing her arms.

Merlin bit her lip, then made a decision. "I can teach you. A warming spell. And some fire magic to help keep the flames going stronger."

Morgana's eyes lit up. "Really?"

"Really." Merlin moved to the center of the room. "Watch carefully."

She whispered the warming spell, her eyes flashing gold, and immediately the air in the room began to heat. Morgana gasped as warmth spread through the chamber.

"Now you try," Merlin said. "Feel the magic inside you. Let it flow out with the words."

They practiced for hours, Merlin guiding Morgana through the incantations, correcting her pronunciation, helping her control the flow of magic. Morgana was a quick learner, and by the time they heard a knock at the door, she could reliably warm a small area around herself.

Gwen entered carrying a tray, and she was shivering violently, her lips nearly blue. "L-lunch, my lady."

"Gwen!" Morgana rushed over. "You're freezing!"

"The servants' quarters are so cold," Gwen said through chattering teeth. "And the corridors are worse."

Morgana looked at Merlin, then back at Gwen. "You should stay here. Room with me, like Merlin and Arthur are doing."

Gwen's eyes widened. "My lady, I couldn't—"

"You can and you will," Morgana said firmly. "Go get your things. We'll keep each other warm."

Gwen looked like she might cry from relief. "Thank you, my lady."

After Gwen left, Merlin said, "I should go. Arthur's probably wondering where I am."

"Thank you," Morgana said warmly. "For teaching me. For everything."

Merlin made her way to the kitchens, grateful for the warmth when she finally arrived. The cook looked up and immediately began loading a tray.

"For you and the prince," she said, piling on generous portions. "And Merlin—I'm sorry about the other day. Not giving you enough food."

"It's all right," Merlin said. "I understand. With the winter, you're rationing."

The cook laughed. "Yes, but not for essential staff like yourself! You work hard taking care of the prince. You need proper meals." She added an extra loaf of bread to the tray. "Here. Make sure you both eat well."

Merlin carried the heavy tray back through the frozen corridors, arriving at Arthur's chambers slightly out of breath. Arthur looked up from his desk as she entered.

"There you are. I was starting to worry."

They settled at the table to eat. It was slightly awkward—they kept catching each other's eyes and looking away, both hyperaware of the new dynamic between them. But they pushed through it, falling into easier conversation as they ate.

After lunch, Merlin realized she needed to change her monthly cloths. "I should check on Gaius," she said. "Make sure he has enough supplies."

Arthur nodded. "Don't be too long in the cold."

Merlin took half a loaf of bread and made her way to Gaius's chambers. The old physician was hunched over his workbench, wrapped in blankets, and the room was frigid.

"Merlin! What brings you here?"

"Brought you bread," Merlin said, setting it down. "And I'm getting you more wood."

She gathered wood from the corridor stores and built up Gaius's fire, then—after checking that the door was firmly closed—let her eyes flash gold as she whispered a warming spell.

"Merlin!" Gaius scolded, but his tone was more relieved than angry. "You shouldn't—"

"You'll freeze otherwise," Merlin said firmly. "Just don't tell anyone."

Gaius sighed but didn't argue further. "Thank you, my boy."

Merlin slipped into her old room, quickly changed her cloths and clothes, and burned the soiled fabric with a whispered spell. Then she hurried back to Arthur's chambers, grateful for the relative warmth.

She found Arthur doing pushups in the middle of the room, his face red from exertion. He glanced up as she entered.

"Can't just sit all day," he panted. "Need to stay active."

Merlin smiled and busied herself tidying the room while Arthur continued his exercises. She gathered up his dirty clothing and carried it down to the laundry.

The laundry room was blessedly warm from the constant fires needed to heat the water, and the servants looked up gratefully when Merlin appeared.

"Oh, bless you," one of them said. "We were dreading having to trek through the castle to collect laundry."

They handed Merlin her sheet for her cot—finally returned from whenever it had been sent out. Merlin took it, thanked them, and returned to Arthur's chambers.

She looked at the sheet, then at her empty cot, then at Arthur's bed where she'd been sleeping for days now. After a moment's hesitation, she shoved the sheet into the bottom of her clothing chest.

She wasn't ready to go back to sleeping alone.

While Arthur finished his workout, Merlin focused on a spell she'd been reading about—one that conjured water. It took several tries, her eyes flashing gold repeatedly, but finally a stream of clean water appeared, flowing from her hands into the bathing tub behind the privacy screen.

She added a warming spell, heating the water to a comfortable temperature, and called out, "Arthur! Your bath is ready!"

Arthur appeared, sweaty and breathing hard from his exercises. He looked at the full tub, then at Merlin. "You... how did you...?"

"Magic," Merlin said with a smile. "Now get in before it cools."

Arthur bathed while Merlin tidied more, trying not to think about him naked just a few feet away behind the screen. When he emerged, clean and dressed in fresh clothes, Merlin took her turn.

The warm water felt heavenly, and she took her time, washing away the day's grime and the lingering discomfort of her monthly courses. By the time she finished and dressed, she felt much better.

"What time is it?" she asked, emerging from behind the screen.

"Nearly dinner," Arthur said. "I'll come with you to the kitchens."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," Arthur said simply.

They made their way to the kitchens together, and the cook loaded them up with two trays of hearty stew, fresh bread, and slices of apple.

Back in Arthur's chambers, they settled at the table. Arthur carefully divided the food, but when it came to the apple slices, he pushed them all toward Merlin.

"You should have them," he said.

"Arthur, they're for both of us—"

"You need them more," Arthur insisted, his ears going pink. "With your... monthly thing."

Merlin felt her heart melt. "Thank you."

They ate in comfortable silence, the room warm and cozy while the blizzard raged outside. When they finished, Merlin leaned back in her chair and said, with a cheeky smile, "So... what about our after-dinner kissing?"

Arthur went red, but he stood and held out his hand. Merlin took it, letting him pull her up and into his arms.

The kiss started gentle, Arthur's lips soft against hers. His hands rested carefully on her waist, proper and chivalrous. But as the kiss deepened, Merlin felt one of his hands tentatively slide around to her back, his touch light and uncertain, as if he was afraid she might object.

When they finally broke apart, Arthur was blushing furiously but smiling.

Merlin thought his shyness was absolutely adorable. Here was Arthur Pendragon, the prince who could command armies and face down enemies without flinching, turning red and nervous over touching her back while kissing.

"You can touch me, you know," Merlin said softly. "I won't break."

"I know," Arthur said, but his ears were still pink. "I just... I want to do this right."

Merlin smiled and pulled him into another kiss, and this time Arthur's arms came more firmly around her, holding her close as the snow continued to fall outside.

It was perfect.

As the evening wore on, the temperature in the room began to drop despite the fire. Arthur added more wood, but the blizzard outside was relentless, and the cold seemed to seep through the very stones.

Merlin watched Arthur shiver as he returned from the fireplace and made a decision. Her eyes flashed gold as she whispered the warming spell, the same one she'd taught Morgana earlier.

Immediately, the air in the room grew warmer, the chill dissipating like mist in sunlight.

Arthur stopped mid-step, his eyes widening. "That's... better. Much better." He looked at Merlin with gratitude and something else—something heated that had nothing to do with the spell. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Merlin said softly.

They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other. The room was warm now, comfortable, and the firelight cast dancing shadows across Arthur's face. Merlin felt something bold rise up in her chest—the same reckless confidence from earlier when she'd climbed into his lap at lunch.

She moved toward him deliberately, watching his eyes darken as she approached. When she reached him, she placed her hands on his chest and gently pushed him backward until he sat on the edge of the bed.

"Merlin—" Arthur started, his voice rough.

But Merlin didn't let him finish. She climbed onto his lap, straddling him, her legs on either side of his hips, and captured his mouth in a fierce kiss.

Arthur made a sound—surprise and want mixed together—and his hands came up to grip her waist. Merlin kissed him thoroughly, deeply, pouring all her feelings into it. Her hands tangled in his hair, her body pressed close against his.

When she finally pulled back to breathe, sitting back slightly on his lap, she felt it immediately—the unmistakable evidence of Arthur's arousal pressing against her through their clothes.

Arthur's face went scarlet. "I'm sorry, I—that's not—I didn't mean to—"

"Arthur," Merlin said softly, her own cheeks warm but her voice steady. "It's all right."

"It's not appropriate," Arthur said, looking mortified. "I shouldn't—you're just so—and I—"

Merlin pressed a finger to his lips, silencing his stammering. "It's a natural response. I'm not offended." She smiled slightly. "If anything, it's... flattering."

Arthur looked at her with such a mixture of embarrassment and desire that Merlin's heart skipped. His hands were still on her waist, his grip tightening slightly.

"You're going to be the death of me," Arthur said quietly. "You know that, right?"

"I certainly hope not," Merlin replied, leaning forward to press a softer kiss to his lips. "I rather like having you alive."

Arthur's answering laugh was shaky, but when he kissed her again, there was less hesitation in his touch. His hands moved from her waist to her back, pulling her closer, and Merlin thought that maybe they were both learning—learning how to be honest about what they wanted, learning how to navigate this impossible thing growing between them.

Eventually, despite the warmth and comfort of their embrace, Arthur glanced toward the window where the darkness was complete except for the white blur of falling snow.

"It's late," he said reluctantly. "We should probably sleep."

Merlin nodded and climbed off his lap, immediately missing the closeness. They moved through their evening routine—Arthur banking the fire while Merlin changed into his nightshirt behind the privacy screen, both of them acutely aware of each other in a way that was both new and familiar.

When Merlin emerged, Arthur was already in bed, the covers pulled back on her side in invitation. She didn't hesitate this time—no pretending to sleep first, no careful fiction. She simply climbed in beside him.

The moment she was settled, Arthur's arms came around her, pulling her close against his chest. Merlin sighed contentedly, tucking her head under his chin, her hand resting over his heart.

"Wait," she murmured after a moment.

Her eyes flashed gold briefly as she whispered a locking spell. The door's bolt slid home with a quiet click.

Arthur tensed slightly. "What was that?"

"Locked the door," Merlin said simply. "Just in case anyone tries to come in. We don't want to be discovered."

She felt Arthur relax, then press a kiss to the top of her head. "Good thinking."

They lay there in the darkness, listening to the wind howl outside and the fire crackle softly in the hearth. The room was warm from Merlin's spell, the bed was comfortable, and they were safe together.

"This is nice," Arthur murmured after a while, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back. "Being snowed in with you."

"Even though we're trapped inside?" Merlin asked.

"Especially because we're trapped inside," Arthur admitted. "No duties. No interruptions. Just... us."

Merlin smiled against his chest. "I like the sound of that."

"Me too," Arthur said softly.

His hand continued its gentle movement on her back, soothing and tender. Merlin felt her eyes growing heavy, the warmth and comfort and the steady beat of Arthur's heart lulling her toward sleep.

"Merlin?" Arthur's voice was quiet in the darkness.

"Mm?"

"I'm glad you're here. I'm glad you're mine."

Merlin's heart swelled. She tilted her head up to press a kiss to his jaw. "I'm glad I'm yours too."

Arthur's arms tightened around her, holding her close, and Merlin thought that even with all the complications—the secrets, the impossibilities, the dangers—this was worth it.

Being held by Arthur, being wanted by him, being his—it was worth everything.

Outside, the blizzard raged on, burying the castle in snow. But inside Arthur's chambers, locked safely away from the world, they had each other.

And for now, that was more than enough.

Merlin drifted off to sleep in Arthur's arms, warm and safe and loved, while the snow continued to fall.

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