Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One

Merlin sits at the bar, nursing a ginger sour as he studies the room. He’s tasked with keeping a particular eye on a certain noble lord currently on the other side of the reception. Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon, the Duke of Camelot, is entertaining a group of what Merlin can only describe as sycophants: half a dozen vapid men and women hanging on the man’s each and every word. Merlin can’t hear what the man is saying, but he imagines it is about as entertaining as a dull rock.

He shakes his head and takes another drink. He’s letting his personal opinions get in the way. He has a job to do—protect Arthur Pendragon—and he can do it without passing judgement. He hasn’t actually met the man and admits it is unfair to make assumptions based on his limited knowledge. Except that Uther Pendragon is well-known for his hatred of magic and has spoken out against it for years in the House of Lords; that his son would share his feelings is almost a foregone conclusion. And considering how often Arthur Pendragon is photographed at various social events around London, Merlin is fairly sure he’s a shallow playboy as well as an anti-magic knob.

He turns and surveys the rest of the party, a reception recognizing Uther Pendragon for his contribution to the British Museum’s exhibit on medieval Camelot. Each and every person is dressed in enough silks, satins, and jewels to run a small country. Merlin himself is wearing his most expensive suit, a navy-blue tuxedo and vest with a white spread collared shirt and a deep gold tie. He looks the part of a young, rich donor, though he stands against everything Uther Pendragon fights for: magic was banned in Camelot for hundreds of years, something the exhibit makes sure to focus on, and the duke would see it banned across the United Kingdom once again.

It is clear from watching the crowd that they are all, each of them, fellow anti-magic supporters. Merlin has heard enough ignorant comments and rude insults about magic to last him a year. It is frustrating to hear magic criticized by men and women who have no understanding of it and would see him penalized for simply being born with it. They are vain and boorish, even cruel in their calls to imprison or execute magic users, and Merlin can’t wait for the night to end so he can move on with his life.

The people around him are also some of the richest, most powerful people from around the city, and Merlin has saved at least a half a dozen of their lives without them knowing anything about him. It’s his job as an agent with MI-5 to track down magical threats across the country and counteract them. He’s part of a top-secret division known as MI-57, dedicated to protecting the citizens of England from magical harm. Only too often he’s saving the life of people who would see him—and his magic—banned in an instant.

Merlin knows attacking men like the duke is wrong: violence is not the answer. He would much rather that people see the good that magic can do, that it can guide and protect and enrich their lives. Magic cannot persevere and thrive by forceful means; it only frightens people more. And so Merlin must turn against his own people, protecting those who would be his enemies from being harmed by magic instead of using his powers to make the world better, more peaceful and beautiful.

Would he prefer to be wrangling magical creatures in Scotland, or tracking down dangerous artifacts hidden deep beneath London? Of course. But Merlin has another talent beside magic: he can lie. He can become anyone, do anything, tell story after story and people believe him. Which allows him to get close to people and then save their sorry arse. He has saved royalty, MPs, bishops, and even a prime minister from magic, using his magic. And still, he’s the country’s most guarded secret.

He's growing weary of it, though—the constant conflict between his magic, his job, and others who use magic for harm and then resent him for doing his job and stopping them. He’s written his request for reassignment, perhaps to recruiting and training, perhaps to the archive at Avalon, but Gaius talked him into taking one more assignment. Merlin fully intends to turn it in come morning; should Arthur Pendragon prove as much of an idiot as Merlin believes the man to be, he may up and quit so he can move to Wales and be with Kilgharrah in the dragon’s old age.  

Merlin finishes his drink and contemplates ordering a gin and tonic, or even asking for a martini, shaken not stirred. It would definitely go down smooth at the moment given the boring nature of the assignment so far and his rather tedious thoughts about it. But because he’s on duty, he is not allowed to drink, smoke, or engage in personal relations. He snickers into another ginger sour as he considers that last. No worries about slipping up on this mission, not with this crowd.

The reception is on the top floor of a posh hotel; apparently the museum itself was too simple for Uther’s tastes. Three of the walls are floor to ceiling windows looking out over the river. It is a warm summer night, and the city lights shine through the glass. Merlin imagines London alive and well outside: theater-goers leaving their plays and musicals, couples walking along the Thames holding hands, magic-users gathering in Greenwich for community and support. He wishes he was out there enjoying it instead of babysitting a duke’s son.

The minimalist bar where he sits takes up the entire fourth wall, along with the elevator and emergency stairway to the lower floors. From his stool Merlin can scan the entire room. He reaches out with his powers to sense other magic users, particularly those who pose a threat. This party, of course, is clear. Merlin has sensed no one with magic in hours. Until he takes a sip of his drink and feels a sharp tickle in the back of his mind.

Someone else has arrived. Someone with magic.

There is a buzz around the room, a flurry of whispers and glances, though Merlin knows no one else could have possibly felt it. No, they are all looking toward the elevator, where a beautiful woman in an emerald-green gown has stepped out and is slowly making her way through the room. Her dark hair is down, covering bare shoulders; a golden bracelet curls around her wrist in the shape of a serpent. She is beautiful in a cold way, and Merlin recognizes her from the papers just as he did Arthur: she is his half-sister, Morgana Pendragon.

Merlin thinks back to what his briefing had told him about Morgana. She is intelligent, ambitious, but more secretive, preferring privacy over publicity. She had spent some time out of the country, and there is speculation that she had recently fallen out with Uther, though it remains unconfirmed and the reasons unknown. She had not been considered a threat to Arthur at the briefing that morning, but Merlin can clearly sense that she has magic and is holding it back. The entire room can see that she looks displeased to be there.

Merlin stands, buttons his jacket. He taps his earpiece and contacts Gwaine, his backup on the street. Gwaine doesn’t have magic; he works their tech and is the best partner in a non-magical fight that Merlin has worked with. “Morgana Pendragon is here,” Merlin murmurs quietly. Gwaine answers immediately.

“Then she found some way in without us seeing her,” he replies. “Because there was no sign of her until now.”

“What’s the threat assessment?” Merlin asks. He’s weaving his way through the murmuring crowd toward Arthur, his top priority now. His job is to protect against magical threats, and he’s fairly certain that threat is Morgana. Apparently, Arthur’s not-so-subtle bodyguard agrees, for the tall, well-built man who’s been trying to remain inconspicuous and failing all night moves toward Arthur as well.

“Same as this morning,” Gwaine huffs over his comm. “We don’t have a lot of intel on her other than that possible falling out with her father, which either means she’s not that interesting or—”

“She’s hiding something,” Merlin finishes for him. “She has magic.”

“What?” Gwaine’s curse is too loud for the earpiece and Merlin winces.

“Stay alert. I’m pretty sure this is why I’m here.”

“Aye, boss.”

“And don’t call me that.”

The tension in the room increases tenfold as Morgana makes her way toward Uther Pendragon. Merlin moves closer to Arthur; his assignment is to protect him, not Uther, yet Morgana is clearly looking for a confrontation with her father, so why wasn’t Merlin assigned to protect Uther? They wouldn’t leave him unprotected, as Merlin himself had saved the older Pendragon from a magical threat two years ago in the form of a hideous troll. Had the Home Office missed something?

It was actually Kilgharrah who had sent word that Arthur was in danger. He’d not said anything other than the future of Albion depended upon Arthur’s survival, and that Arthur’s survival depended on Merlin. It was an odd statement even for the dragon, who had been speaking more and more of Merlin’s destiny. He said Merlin would be known as Emrys and was destined to do great deeds beside Albion’s greatest warrior. It sounded like nonsense, and Merlin wishes he’d gone to Wales to speak to the dragon himself about Arthur; he has not seen Kilgharrah for several months, and as the last dragonlord he should be more mindful of his duty. But his mother had been ill, and after Merlin had nursed her back to health, he had been sent on assignment after dreary assignment, unable to connect with the dragon and learn more about this mysterious destiny.

He watches Morgana approach Uther as he comes up behind Arthur. The son throws him a look over his shoulder, then does a doubletake, eyes wide. He looks Merlin up and down with sharp blue eyes, not in a lascivious way, but as if he recognizes Merlin and can’t place him. He’s never met the man before so he’s not sure why Arthur Pendragon is looking at him like he’s seen a ghost. Still, Merlin nods amiably, notes the bodyguard move in closer, then glances back toward the middle of the room. Uther is standing in front of the dais where he gave a dull speech earlier, and Morgana slows as the crowd parts for her.

“This is not good,” Arthur murmurs to no one in particular. When no one answers, he looks back at Merlin again. “Are you here for them?” he asks, jerking his head toward his father and sister.

Merlin is caught off guard and gives Arthur an honestly confused look in reply. Arthur rolls his eyes. “You’re clearly MI-5,” he whispers, leaning back. “So are you here for me or my father?”

Merlin narrows his eyes at the other man and decides honesty is the best way to gain Arthur’s trust should he need to get him out of there quick. “For you,” he murmurs quietly. “Sire.” It’s not the proper way to address the duke’s heir, but Merlin doesn’t really care to dig the correct way out of his mind.

Arthur snorts as he turns away. “Just Arthur will do,” he tosses over his shoulder. “Since you’re not even close on the title.” Merlin rolls his eyes right back.

Uther and Morgana embrace and hold hands, though Merlin can see the forced affection in them both. And he can sense Morgana’s magic growing, to what end he does not know. He steps forward, placing himself in front of Arthur. The blond-haired man grunts irritably, and his bodyguard moves closer.

“I don’t think it’s me she’s after,” he murmurs into Merlin’s ear. Merlin can’t help but reach up and bat him away as it tickles. “And I can’t see with you standing in front of me, idiot. Move.”

“But should she change her mind and decide you’re a prat, I can protect you better here,” Merlin replies smartly.

The man huffs. “You can’t talk to me like that, you know. I’m the Duke’s son.”

“Right now, you’re just the prat I’ve been assigned to protect, not a fancy title,” Merlin replies. “And I didn’t get the memo about how to address an arrogant arse.”

“You misaddressed me as ‘sire’ so don’t pretend my title wasn’t in your memo,” Arthur points out. “And I’m not arrogant.”

“But you are definitely an arse.” Merlin can’t help but lean into the snarky nature of the conversation. He hadn’t been expecting much from Arthur Pendragon, but in a few words the other man has at least shown himself able to hold his own, if still a bit of a prat. “Besides, you just told me to call you Arthur, like an old friend, so I’m not sure why you’re so worried about titles.”

“I take it back,” Arthur replies. “We are not friends, and we will never be friends. Now move.”

“No, my mistake. I’d never be friends with someone like—” Merlin feels the change in the air too late and whirls around, arms spread discreetly before Arthur, magic ready at his fingertips. Morgana attacks Uther instead, but the Duke stands tall, untouched by her spell.

Arthur takes a step forward, but Merlin pushes Arthur even further behind him, ignoring the bodyguard moving closer. He taps his earpiece and calmly murmurs, “Black fire.”

“That your secret code for danger, then?” Arthur scoffs, but his voice is slightly unsteady. Merlin nods silently as he watches the scene before him. Morgana is staring at her father in shock, and even Merlin is caught off guard by Uther’s shield. A man who is so publicly anti-magic should not be able to block a spell like that. The crowd is silent.

“Magic?” Morgana taunts, eyes flashing in anger. “The man who would ban it is now using it to protect himself? You’re such a hypocrite, Uther Pendragon!”

“No, I’m a survivor,” Uther snaps back. He holds up his wrist, where a silver bracelet glows with an ugly yellow stone. “And this…this is technology, developed to protect men like me from evil witches like you.”

Merlin inhales sharply; he has not heard anything about technology that could block offensive magic like that. If it is true, the world order is about to massively change, particularly with Uther Pendragon leading the way against magic. Maybe Merlin won’t be turning in his transfer paperwork after all.

Morgana appears to bow her head in defeat. She has revealed her secret to the entire room: the daughter of Uther Pendragon, well known for his opposition to magic, has magic herself, and her father has just called her an evil witch. But then she raises her head, her eyes defiant, and Merlin knows it’s not over.

“I wonder if you shared your precious technology with your son.”

Uther’s eyes widen as she turns her head, lifts her hand, and casts a spell straight at Arthur.

Merlin is prepared, though; he is there to protect Arthur, and he casts a shield spell, easily deflecting Morgana’s fireball away from nearby onlookers. The crowd screams and a mad rush starts toward the elevator. Arthur tries to force his way toward his father, but Merlin turns and pushes him back, keeping an eye on Morgana as they move. They stumble as the crowd pulls them along, barely catching themselves from falling in the panicked stampede. Arthur’s bodyguard is separated from them and struggles to get to him against the crowd.

“Red fire,” Merlin whispers into his comm. Gwaine will be calling for backup and containment, trained agents who will take over the scene and manage everything from damage to injuries to witness statements and the media. Merlin’s only job is to keep Arthur alive.

Uther has disappeared into the crowd, and Merlin wonders if more technology is at play. Arthur appears to have no self-preservation skills whatsoever and after searching around wildly for his father, calls out Morgana’s name instead. She turns toward them, eyes widening as she sees her half-brother moving to escape.

“Morgana!” Arthur calls again, the imbecile. She casts a spell at them, followed closely by a second. Merlin throws up another shield and both spells are deflected at the same time, shattering one wall of windows. The night air rushes in and the sound of the wind mixed with the screams of the partygoers is deafening.

Morgana pushes her way through the crowd toward them, sending tables and chairs flying through the air. Merlin holds the shield protecting him and Arthur and redirects the flying objects away from the fleeing guests. When Morgana sees that he is trying to keep people safe, she stops and throws an elderly woman through the broken window into the night sky, smirking evilly as the poor woman shrieks in terror.

Merlin shouts and throws both hands out to catch the woman with his magic and bring her back inside. Only it leaves Arthur unprotected, and Morgana hits her half-brother on the shoulder with a fireball, dropping him to his knees. Merlin turns and sends a fierce stunning spell back at Morgana, blasting her backward over one of the few remaining tables.

She recovers quickly. Morgana Pendragon is clearly powerful, but Merlin is strong enough to hold her back; he has been casting shield spells half his life.  If he wasn’t protecting a target, he could face her on his own and take her out, but his priority is Arthur now. No more injuries, he must not be distracted again. Merlin hauls Arthur up by his good arm and begins dragging him back toward the emergency stairway. The bodyguard is shouting for Arthur from somewhere in front of them.

“Traitor!” Morgana screams behind them, whether at him or at Arthur he does not know. She raises both arms high above her head and begins murmuring in the ancient language of magic.  Merlin does not recognize the spell, but he senses the dark power she is calling, vast and malevolent. Though he rarely uses teleportation, he throws his arms around Arthur and begins the spell. Morgana shrieks in denial and pulls a dagger from her dress, throwing it at her half-brother. Merlin turns Arthur away and feels a stinging pain in his left leg as a swirling vortex of magic carries them away from the ruined reception.

* * *

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

“Where are we?” Arthur demands as soon as they materialize, then turns and vomits. Merlin’s leg gives out, and he collapses to the rocky ground next to the other man with a hiss of pain. Arthur wipes his mouth and frowns at Merlin. “What happened to you?”

Merlin pulls out the dagger Morgana had thrown; not only is his suit is ruined, but his leg is on fire. The dagger must have been poisoned, and he wraps it in his tie before sliding it through his beltloop so they can identify the poison later. Holding his hand over his leg, he murmurs a healing spell, but he’s not as good at healing spells as he is at other kinds of magic. The bleeding slows, the burning pain lessens to more of a dull warmth, but he knows he will need more treatment before it gets worse. He tries to stand but his leg won’t quite hold him; he conjures a staff and forces himself up.

“You’re a bloody idiot, is what happened,” he tells Arthur. He limps closer to Arthur and moves his hand toward the man’s injured shoulder. Arthur’s other arm shoots out and grabs Merlin around the wrist, squeezing tight.

“What are you doing?” Arthur demands, eye wide with fear.

“I was going to heal that for you,” Merlin snaps back, wrenching his hand free and motioning at the large burn on Arthur’s right shoulder. “But by all means, suffer in silence.”

“You have magic,” Arthur states rather stupidly, and then frowns and brings his good hand up to his shoulder, hissing in pain as if realizing he was injured for the first time. Merlin doesn’t try again.

“And you apparently have more than one brain cell,” Merlin retorts. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He’s disturbed to feel his hand shaking; he’s had a lot of close calls over the years, but something about this one is different. He wonders if it is the wound from the dagger; his leg feels far worse than it should. “What were you thinking, yelling at her like that? It was like sending up a flare!”

Arthur stares at him. “I wanted to talk to her, try to stop her. At least I didn’t run! Why did we leave?” Arthur looks around the barren landscape.  They are high up on the side of a mountain, the stars glittering brightly overhead. The wind is blessedly mild, but the air is still cold. “And where the hell are we?” Arthur demands again.

“Wales,” Merlin tells him. Arthur looks at him blankly.

“As in the country?” he asks. Merlin rolls his eyes.

“Yes, the country, you stupid prat. We’re in the Cambrian Mountains.” He starts down a nearby path. He knows exactly where they are, though he hadn’t consciously planned on materializing there. Apparently, his subconscious mind brought him to Kilgharrah before he had made the conscious decision to question the dragon himself. He probably should have teleported them to headquarters, straight to the infirmary before turning in his papers.

He raises his voice and calls for the beast as they near his cave. Arthur turns to stare at him, eyes wide again.  “What the hell was that?” he asks, his voice going up a register.

“That was for me, young warrior,” Kilgharrah replies as he exits his cave. They are standing in a small field before the great dragon’s home. Merlin bows as Kilgharrah inclines his head; it is their traditional greeting, and Merlin finds himself relaxing in the presence of his old friend and mentor.

“You can talk to dragons?” Arthur asks Merlin quietly as he stares up at Kilgharrah. “I thought only dragonlords talked to dragons? And that they were all dead?”

Merlin sighs. “Not all of them,” he replies, then grins crookedly as he remembers his favorite film. “At least, not yet.”

“And MI-5 hires dragonlords now?” Arthur asks accusingly. “Dragonlords with magic?”

“When we have to protect people against magical threats, yes.” Merlin ignores Arthur’s intake of breath and turns to Kilgharrah. “It is good to see you, old friend,” he starts. “I hope you are well. You said Arthur Pendragon was in danger and that I was the only one who could protect him. Why?”

“Because it is your job, is it not?” Kilgharrah asks. He leans down close. “And your destiny.”

“You keep saying that. Why does the future depend on him? And why does his life depend on mine?” He once again ignores the look Arthur gives him, refusing to acknowledge the man’s confusion or annoyance. Merlin is equally confused and annoyed by any sort of destiny involving Arthur Pendragon.

“There is no answer to your question, young warlock,” the dragon answers. “It simply is: yours are two destinies forever intertwined for the good of Albion.”

Arthur clears his throat, now watching the dragon with narrowed eyes. “What’s Albion?” he murmurs out of the side of his mouth toward Merlin.

Merlin shakes his head and continues to address the dragon. “I just met him, and I’m not entirely sure I like him, so don’t talk to me about being intertwined. I saved him from being killed by his sister, who, to everyone’s surprise, has magic, but any agent could have done that. Why me, and why him? What’s really going on, Kilgharrah?”

“It is beginning,” the dragon replies. “The witch has revealed herself and the great battle for Albion has begun.”

“What battle?” Arthur asks. Merlin has never wanted to cast a silencing spell more; the man’s questions are ridiculous and his voice grating.

The dragon leans down once more, but this time swivels his head toward Arthur. “Welcome, young warrior. The fight for Albion is the battle of light against dark, good against evil—"

“Love against hate?” Merlin suggests dryly, but the dragon only nods in agreement.

“Indeed. You are two sides of the same coin, and you must work together to bring about Albion’s golden age. An age of peace and prosperity and magic.”

Arthur looks as surprised as Merlin feels, though slightly less skeptical, but before he can say anything, Kilgharrah rises and bows to Merlin once more. “Good luck, Emrys. May strength, wisdom, and honor guide your way. But above all, you must protect one another, as you have before, for only together will you succeed.”

With that the dragon turns and lumbers back into his cave. Merlin sees how Kilgharrah walks slower and sighs. He really needs to make more time for Kilgharrah before it is too late. Yet now the dragon has dropped a riddle in his lap and charged him with…well, something. Not just protecting a noble prat but bringing about a golden age for Albion. Two sides of the same coin—what did that even mean? And why was he calling him Emrys again?

Arthur is staring into the depths of the cave with a mixture of fear and wonder and something else Merlin can’t identify. Until he turns to Merlin with a raised eyebrow. “Did he just call you Emrys?” He says it as if he recognizes the name.

“Apparently it’s my secret future name,” Merlin replies with a shrug. He wonders why that of all things is what Arthur lands on.

The other man nods slowly, studying Merlin with narrowed eyes. “Well then, what the hell was the rest of that about?”

And there it is, the same exasperation that Merlin feels, hearing the dragon’s enigmatic words. Why can’t the beast ever speak plainly? And why did whatever destiny Kilgharrah was going on about involve Merlin and the pompous, anti-magic son of a duke? Why couldn’t it involve a long vacation in Spain with a beautiful companion, a large pool, and expensive wine?

“I’m not sure,” Merlin answers honestly. “He’s been talking in riddles for a while now. But we should get back to London, figure it out later.”

Arthur seems to shake himself out of his stupor. “Yes! We need to go back to the hotel, find my father.”

“There will be people there for him, most likely half the agency by now.” Merlin rolls his shoulders, takes a deep breath. Teleportation spells are challenging; they take strength and concentration, and Merlin is not only injured but distracted by the dragon’s mysterious words. However, he’s also the best at his job; he got them there and he can get them back. He holds out his hand to Arthur, who stares it as if he has no idea what to do.

“Take it,” Merlin snaps. “So I can teleport us back to London.”

“Teleport?” Arthur asks. “You can do that?”

“How did you think we got here?” Merlin wiggles his fingers. “Come on. I don’t bite.” He thinks of Gwaine’s usual comeback in his head—unless you want me too—and smiles to himself. As if reading his mind, Arthur rolls his eyes and takes Merlin’s hand.

Merlin gathers his power, concentrates it in the center of his being. He visualizes his location and speaks the words of the spell. The whirlwind appears and sweeps them up, and when he opens his eyes, they are in the infirmary of the MI-5 building devoted to the magical division, deep below the streets of London. He stumbles again, uses his staff to support himself as his leg is not only on fire but the room is spinning. He must be more injured than he thought for the spell to sap so much energy. Arthur turns and vomits all over the floor again.

Freya, one of their Healers, is there immediately and magics the sick away, then lays her hand on Arthur’s good arm and guides him toward a bed. Another Healer hurries over to Merlin, albeit slightly slower.

“Gaius,” Merlin breathes gratefully, embracing the older man and almost collapsing with relief. “Arthur was injured, he needs your attention—”

“Freya will take care of him,” Gaius replies. Merlin limps to a bed opposite Arthur. “I need to look at you. Merlin, what happened?”

“Dagger,” Merlin tells him, wincing as he puts his leg up. It feels heavy and warm. “Poisoned. I healed it as well as I could in the moment, but it still hurts so there may be some poison left.” He pauses. “It feels a lot worse than a normal injury.”

“I will take care of it,” Gaius tells him. He pushes Merlin to lay down. “You rest, tell me everything that happened. We had word from Gwaine that Morgana Pendragon was there.” He glances over his shoulder at Arthur. “And that she has magic.”

Merlin nods. “She attacked Uther Pendragon. Her own father.” He shakes his head at the thought. “But he had some kind of shield. So she attacked Arthur instead.”

“And you jumped in front of a poisoned dagger for him?” Gaius suggests dryly.

“Not exactly,” Merlin replies. “I conjured a shield at first. Several in fact, except for when she threw a woman out of the window of the 30^th floor.”

“I believe that’s when I got hit,” Arthur chimes in across from them. Merlin had almost forgotten he was there and finds the other man watching them with an unreadable look on his face. He can’t tell if Arthur Pendragon is angry or confused, but he certainly does not look grateful.

Merlin sits up and glares at him. “It was instinct. I couldn’t let her fall to her death. I continued to shield Arthur after that, until Morgana started…” He trails off, turns away from Arthur and lowers his voice as he speaks to Gaius. “I don’t know what the spell was, but it felt like dark magic. And not something she could control. She’s powerful, but not that powerful. She hit me with a knife when I started a teleportation spell to get us out of there.”

Lancelot walks into the room then, wearing a headset and carrying a datapad. He taps his earpiece and speaks. “Yes, they’re both here, Gwaine. They’re safe.” He turns to Merlin. “Welcome back,” he says. “We are certainly glad to see you. There was an explosion at the hotel. The entire floor of the reception was destroyed. Emergency services are working to evacuate and treat survivors.”

Merlin throws his good leg over the side of the bed almost in tandem with Arthur across from him. “I have to go,” he says, and Arthur replies with, “I’m coming with you.”

“What?” ask Gaius and Lancelot together.

Gaius pushes Merlin back to the bed with surprising force. “You’re not going anywhere. I haven’t finished treating your leg.”

“I have to, Gaius,” Merlin pleads. “I can help! This is my fault!”

Arthur makes a noise across from him, and all three men turn toward him. “What?” he asks. “Even I know it’s not his fault. It’s my sister’s fault. She used dark magic, and she couldn’t control it.”

Lancelot walks over and inclines his head respectfully. “Lancelot du Lac, your grace,” he introduces himself. “Undercover operations. May I ask how you know this?”

“Because he just said so,” Arthur replies, gesturing at Merlin with his good hand. “Melrin, or whatever his name is.”

“Merlin Balinson,” Lancelot tells him, but not without a small grin that he hides when he glances at Merlin and finds him glaring. “Our best agent.”

Arthur is looking at him funny again, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. He shakes his head and the look disappears, the mask of arrogance returning. “Yes, I pegged him as MI-5, but I didn’t realize the government employed sorcerers.” His eyes are unreadable, and his voice is just the side of condescending, though it sounds forced, like Arthur is playing a part expected of him.

Merlin bristles. “I’m a warlock. I was born with magic, and I use it to protect people. Such as clotpoles like you.”

Arthur’s eyebrows shoot up. “Clotpole? What even is a clotpole?”

“You,” Merlin replies. “An ungrateful noble prat who believes magic is wrong and would see people like me executed for simply existing—”

“Hang on,” Arthur stops him. He holds up his good hand to the healer tending his shoulder, bidding her to stop, then jumps off the bed and walks over to Merlin. Gaius backs away, the coward. “I’m not an ungrateful noble,” Arthur says, standing before Merlin and meeting his eyes. “Thank you for saving my life. I apologize for appearing ungrateful, but this—” He raises his hand, indicating the room, the people, though not Merlin—“is all rather new to me. And I’ve just been attacked by my own sister, who tried to kill my father.”

After a moment of silence, Merlin nods. “It has been a bit of a crap night,” he admits, and to his surprise, Arthur huffs out a shaky laugh as he nods in agreement.

Lancelot steps forward again.

“Lord Pendragon, were you aware that your sister had magic?” he asks. Arthur nods curtly.

“I was.”

“And were you aware of any threats she had made against you or your father?”

Arthur’s shoulders slump as he returns to his bed to allow Freya to finish healing and bandage his shoulder. Merlin exchanges a look with Gaius. “I was not aware of any explicit threats, no,” Arthur finally answers, then for some reason looks at Merlin as he answers. “There was…disagreement. About her magic. They had an argument, and my father disinherited her. He hasn’t gone public yet, because I begged him to reconsider. I’ve tried to talk to him, to Morgana, but I…” He turns away. “I failed. And now my father’s likely dead because of me.”

This time Merlin jumps down and stumbles over to Arthur’s bed. “It’s not your fault,” he tells him firmly, resting one hand on the man’s knee and squeezing it so the man looks up at him. If he’s also holding himself up so he doesn’t collapse, he hopes no one notices. He’s not sure why he’s so unexpectedly sympathetic, but he would not have anyone feel responsible for what happened that night, not when it was Merlin who had failed. “Arthur, it is not your fault. And we don’t know that your father is...or if he escaped…” He trails off at the look on Arthur’s face.

“You saw what she tried to do to him, to me. We know there was an explosion. How could he possibly—”

He is cut off as Lancelot turns, listening to his earpiece. He whirls back with a nod to his invisible speaker. “We’ve got him. He’s alive and uninjured.”

Arthur’s eyes slip closed as he murmurs his thanks. Gaius makes a noise at Merlin, who returns to his bed, his leg almost dragging now. The small effort of moving leaves him boneless on the table, and he fights to keep his eyes open. Wiping his hand across his forehead, he finds it covered in sweat. He frowns up at Gaius as he undoes the top buttons of his shirt. “I don’t feel so good all of a sudden.”

Gaius touches his face, frowns. “Do you happen to have the dagger, by chance?” he asks, and Merlin can hear the worry in his voice. He motions to his belt and Gaius takes the dagger. He unwraps it from Merlin’s tie and murmurs a spell over it, gasping as it clearly reveals something ominous.

“What is it?” Merlin asks, but his voice sounds weak even to him. He doesn’t think he could sit up and lift his arms even if he wanted to. All he feels is complete, utter exhaustion and a deep desire to close his eyes. It vaguely occurs to him that he must not have removed nearly enough of the poison. “Gaius?”

“You’ve been poisoned by the mortaeus flower,” Gaius tells him. He exchanges a look with Lancelot, who turns and murmurs into his headset. He quickly turns back and shakes his head. “And I’m afraid we are all out of the antidote at the moment.”

Merlin wonders what that means for him. He’s not familiar enough with the mortaeus flower to know how bad it is, how much time he might have. He recognizes it though: it’s the third such poisoning they have encountered in the past two months. Which means they have a suspect now, Morgana Pendragon. And that’s probably why they don’t have an antidote, as it was used to save the others. He tries to remember what they all had in common but can’t concentrate. He’s too hot, too tired, too achy. He really should have turned in his transfer paperwork. Then he wouldn’t be dealing with noble prats, magical secrets, and deadly poisons. He could be in Spain drinking his favorite rioja.

He vaguely hears Gaius and Lancelot talking, hears Arthur interject loudly and insist on something—are they going somewhere? It sounds like Arthur wants to help, but Merlin is not sure what he can do, or why he would want to help a warlock. He’s a duke’s son, untrained in spycraft and without magic. The three men argue, and someone says something about a lab. Merlin can’t help but give into the fatigue and pain and drift off. The last thing he hears is Arthur asking what happens if Merlin doesn’t get the antidote, and Gaius replying with, “Eventually…he will die.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

Merlin awakes slowly, listening to quiet voices nearby:  Gaius, Lancelot, Gwaine. He feels tired and weak but opens his eyes anyway to see a fourth face smiling unexpectedly at him.

“Arthur?” he asks, sitting up, and the man grins again, his smile crooked as he rests a hand on Merlin’s shoulder, gripping tight for some strange reason. He looks exhausted, wearing the same rumpled tuxedo from the reception and sporting a large bruise on his cheek, but he also looks surprisingly relieved.

“Welcome back,” Arthur says warmly, no hint of the prat Merlin remembers saving earlier. “You’re going to be okay, at least according to your healer here.”

Merlin frowns as Gaius steps up beside him. He’s in a bed, in the infirmary. Because he’d been injured, and the injury had been poisoned, and they’d had no antidote for him. But he doesn’t remember much else after suddenly feeling markedly worse. “What happened?” he asks. Lancelot and Gwaine step up to the foot of his bed.

“Quite a lot,” Lancelot answers. “But you’re safe now and the situation is under control.”

“What situation?” Merlin asks. He looks up at Gaius. “The last thing I remember is talking about the mortaeus flower.”

“The dagger was laced with an enchanted paste,” Gaius tells him. “You were lucky to not only make it to Wales, but back to London.”

Merlin frowns as he processes the healer’s statement and focuses on what’s probably the wrong thing. “How did you know I was in Wales?”

“Lord Pendragon informed us,” Gaius replies, but Arthur shakes his head.

“Just Arthur, please.” He looks down at Merlin. “I was hoping they might be able to explain some of the riddles we had from your dragon.”

Merlin can’t help but grin at the man over their shared confusion. “And did they? Because I’ve been trying to figure out Kilgharrah’s riddles for a while now.”

“We’re looking into it,” Lancelot replies. He is smiling as he glances at them both, though Merlin is not sure why. “Although as the last dragonlord, you’re probably the best one to—”

“You’re the last dragonlord?” Arthur interrupts. “As in the very last?”

Gwaine answers for him. “There’s only one dragon left,” he tells Arthur, and the disappointment is clear in his voice. “They’ve been systematically killed off by magic-haters over the last fifty years.”

“I’ve already told you I’m not a magic-hater, Gwaine,” Arthur replies with clear exasperation, waving Gwaine off and turning to Merlin again. “I’m sorry, I did not realize you—and that he—”

“It’s fine,” Merlin replies. He’s surprised at Arthur’s statement and wonders why it had come up between him and Gwaine. “We’ll figure out what Kilgharrah was talking about eventually. What happened with Morgana? And where is Uther Pendragon? And how did you counteract the poison if we had no antidote? That’s the last thing I remember.”

All four men look at one another, and Merlin rolls his eyes as he sits up straighter. “For the goddess’s sake,” he says, then points at Lancelot. “Is Arthur’s father safe?”

“He’s under our protection, and rather unhappy about it, I might add.” Arthur snorts and Merlin gives him a questioning glance.

“He’s furious—with Morgana, with you, with all of this,” he indicates the area. “I don’t think he knew the government employed sorcerers. I thought he was going to have a fit when I explained what you had done for me—and how.”

There is something in Arthur’s voice, though, and Merlin is not sure what to make of it, so he asks. “You seem…I don’t know, amused? Am I missing something?”

Arthur sighs. “Sorry, it’s just that my father is an extremely traditional, almost old-fashioned man. I thought that the bonds of family meant something to him, but he turned my sister aside without a second thought when he learned about her magic. And then I was saved by magic.” He shrugs, but Merlin can see the sad set to his shoulders. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? I should be shocked, or angry, or terrified, but for some reason I’m not. I’m only disappointed.”

There is an awkward silence after that. Merlin had not expected such insight and emotion from Arthur,  and he wonders if he underestimated the other man from the beginning. “I’m sorry,” he finally replies. “About your father and your sister. Do we know what happened to Morgana?”

Lancelot nods and continues. “We think she teleported out like you. She may be injured from the explosion. And we know she is powerful and dangerous. She’s now the prime suspect in—”

“The other mortaeus poisonings?” Merlin finishes for him. “Which was why we didn’t have any antidote. So how did we get some? Why aren’t I dead?”

There is another long pause, but Gwaine is grinning, so Merlin looks at him. “What did you do?” he demands, and the other man holds up his hands as if innocent of any wrongdoing.

“It wasn’t me this time!” he protests, and points at Arthur. “He insisted on going too.”

Arthur clears his throat as Merlin swivels his head again. “We broke into the Du Bois labs,” he finally replies. Something tugs at a vague memory in Merlin’s brain, and Arthur nods as if he knows what Merlin is about to say. “Yes, the same ones my uncle owns.” Which is not what Merlin had been thinking but is certainly interesting. “Apparently your people have been keeping tabs on them and knew they were working with this flower. So we went to...borrow some. We would have made it out clean, too, if your supposed tech guy hadn’t tripped an alarm.”

Merlin stares at him, slightly stunned, though he’s not sure what’s more surprising: that Arthur went on a mission to help save Merlin, that they broke into a top-secret lab owned by Arthur’s uncle, or that Gwaine missed something and set off an alarm.

“It wasn’t tech,” Gwaine says, shaking his head. “And my scans didn’t pick up any magic either. If I had to guess, it’s similar to whatever new gadget you saw Uther use at the reception.”

“He said it was technology,” Merlin remembers. “But it looked like magic.”

“Which makes us wonder if Agravaine du Bois might be working with Uther to develop magic-based technologies,” Lancelot offers. “A fusion of some kind, that allows non-magic users to access magic. We’re already looking into it—how to identify it and counteract it.” He pauses. “And how we missed it.”

“Good,” Merlin nods. “Because if they’re fusing magic and technology…that’s a game changer.” And not in a good way, he thinks. Allowing anyone access to magic through technological means could mean the end of both conventional magic and emerging technology. It would change the way of the world completely. He looks to Arthur. “Did you know anything about what your father was working on with the shield he used?”

Arthur shakes his head. “Nothing at all,” he replies. “Since Morgana revealed her magic three months ago, he’s been rather distant—at least, more than usual.” He pauses, lifts his thumb to his chin and taps it as if thinking. “But he’s also been speaking with my uncle more frequently, so it’s entirely possible Agravaine helped develop the shield. He’s as anti-magic as my father.”

“Three months,” Merlin murmurs as he shakes his head; it is a worrying timeline to develop something so advanced, and worse still that they missed picking up on it. “Back to the lab—if you tripped an alarm, how did you get out with the flower?”

Arthur looks away, but Gwaine grins. “The old-fashioned way, of course, with our fists. Your noble is a half-decent fighter.” Which explains the bruise on Arthur’s face.

Merlin protests that Arthur is not his noble at the same time Arthur protests he is more than half-decent. Lancelot stops them both.

“Alator extracted them safely,” he tells Merlin. “Our bigger concern is whether Morgana got the mortaeus flower from Agravaine. The lab was studying it for non-magical medicinal purposes, but it’s the only one in the country currently doing so, which is why we were watching them.” He trails off, the implication clear.

“You think Agravaine is working with them both? Making magical tech for Uther while providing Morgana with magical poisons?” Merlin asks, and Lancelot bobs his head in reply. Merlin gives Arthur a dry look. “Lovely family,” he says. Fortunately, Arthur does not seem offended when he rolls his eyes.

“You have no idea,” the other man says. “It would be perfectly in character for my uncle to work both sides of a feud.” His shoulders slump unexpectedly.

“What exactly happened between Morgana and your father?” Merlin asks. “If you don’t mind telling us. It might help.”

“My father has hated magic my entire life,” Arthur starts. “Morgana…she started having nightmares a few years ago. She finally left Camelot and spent over a year in France with a distant cousin on her mother’s side. She was different when she came back, though it was almost another year before she told us about her magic.”

“Which was when your father disinherited her,” Merlin offers.

“There was a terrible shouting match, and Morgana thought that demonstrating her ability might change his mind.” Arthur shakes his head. “Only he grew even angrier. He told her to leave the next day, and they haven’t spoken since. I’ve tried to talk to them both many times, to get them to see reason, but I failed.” He sighs. “I don’t understand why Morgana would actually attack our father, though. I always thought she was a bit of a witch, but I certainly didn’t think it was literal.”

“Uther did disinherit her, right?” Gwaine asks dryly. “Seems like as good a reason as any with a title, an estate, and millions of pounds on the line.”

“He also supports anti-magic legislation,” Lancelot speaks up. Arthur sighs with a nod, and Merlin has the impression they’ve gone over this already. “He’s donated to several groups who call for strict regulation, even outright bans.” Lancelot looks directly at Merlin. “And it has picked up significantly over the last three months.”

“Yes, most of the people at the party were anti-magic supporters,” Merlin murmurs. “And the other mortaeus poisonings were related, weren’t they? To anti-magic supporters?”

Gwaine snorts but it is Lancelot who answers. “A rich widow who donated thousands of pounds to the same groups and a minor MP who promised he would support anti-magic legislation in the House of Commons. The most recent was the owner of a magical shop in Edinburgh last week.”

Merlin looks between him and Gwaine. “That last doesn’t track.”

“We’re still looking into it,” Lancelot replies, but he sounds frustrated. “He didn’t survive, so we have little to go on. It could be a red herring, or it could be unrelated, though that seems unlikely. Now that we have a suspect, we should be able to gain more insight.”

“So with the exception of the shop owner, Morgana is going after anti-magic supporters,” Merlin thinks out loud. “Check and see if anything was missing from the shop. Maybe Morgana was looking for something—an artefact, a book, or even a spell…” He wonders about that last spell she’d started, then trails off as all three men stare at him. “What?”

“You’re good at this, that’s what,” Gaius tells him. “It’s why we need you here.” He gives Merlin a pointed look, which Merlin shrugs off. He hasn’t told anyone else about requesting a transfer. Lancelot would be disappointed, as they were good friends and worked well together, but Gwaine would be pissed.

“Anyone could have thought of that, and you would have figured it out eventually.”

“But you’re the one who faced her and put it together.”

“I’m also the one who got stabbed and almost died,” Merlin points out, which earns a snort from Arthur Pendragon.

“He doesn’t accept compliments very well, does he?”

“He’s humble, our Merlin,” Gwaine grins, patting him on the lower leg. Merlin kicks him off.

“Shut up,” Merlin grumbles. “So after a few minor hits, Morgana went after Uther last night. Why now?”

“It was a high-profile event celebrating the legacy of Camelot,” Gwaine suggests. “Perfect opportunity to make a statement by taking out multiple people who hate magic, not to mention the Duke and his gracefulness here.”

There is a heavy silence before Arthur clears his throat. “I suspect that Gwaine is right, and I apologize for my family’s actions,” he says. “My father believes magic can only be used for evil and is determined to see it ended. He didn’t even stop to think about my sister when she confessed that she had magic.” His face breaks a little, and Merlin feels his sympathies go out to the other man, however reluctantly. “But Morgana was a good person, once. It didn’t have to come to this.”

“She made her choices, and you are not responsible for what she’s done,” Merlin tells him. “But now we are. We will watch her, make sure she doesn’t cause more trouble.”

Gwaine snorts again, and they all look at him. “What? Of course she’s going to cause trouble.” He makes air quotes around the last words. “She tried to kill her father and took out the entire floor of a hotel doing it. She’s a supervillain now.”

Arthur frowns. “She’s not evil, she’s angry.”

“Sometimes there’s not much difference,” Gwaine replies.

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Arthur counters, and Gwaine shakes his head.

“We might not have a choice,” he says. Before Arthur can continue to argue, Merlin raises and hand and stops them both.

“We can’t get tied up in arguments of morality. Our job here is to keep people safe from magical threats, and that threat includes Morgana Pendragon now. So, how long was I out?” Everyone is silent until Gaius finally speaks.

“It’s been about twenty-four hours, though you are still not fully recovered.”

Merlin swears under his breath and rubs his face. “Great. So what else has happened since then? Besides our noble prat engaging in breaking, entering, assault, and theft?”

“Hey!” Arthur protests while Gwaine laughs and claps him on the back, welcoming him to the club. Lancelot, as always, steps forward to answer.

“The duke is still under our protection, as is Arthur. We have an alert out for Morgana. We’re tracking all her activity, her history, to learn more about her motivation, her powers, and any other potential targets.” He pauses and looks at the others with a somber look. “There has also been an increase in anti-magic incidents over the last twenty-four hours, with one major protest in London already.”

Merlin swears again and Gaius gives him the same look he gave Merlin as a wayward teen. “Sorry Gaius, but the last thing we need right now are more anti-magic riots. It will only make things worse on both sides after Morgana’s attack. So next steps, then?”

“You stay right here and let that leg heal,” Gaius replies immediately. “You were also poisoned, so you will take the time to recover from that as well.” Merlin opens his mouth to protest but gets a raised eyebrow and stops.

Arthur clears his throat. “I’m not sure what else I can do here. I’d like to go home now that things have settled,” he offers. “Unless you intend to keep me here indefinitely?”

Merlin exchanges a look with Lancelot, who shrugs. Gwaine looks sour, while Gaius’s eyebrow is higher than usual. “We don’t normally hold people here,” Merlin replies with a shrug. “But that’s usually because the threat is over, and we catch the bad guy.”

“Then let’s get this bitch,” Gwaine offers, and Gaius actually smacks the back of the man’s head.

“I’m not staying here until you do,” Arthur replies testily. “I have a bodyguard and he’s very good, not to mention worried. So can someone magic me home or something?”

“We do have cars for that,” Lancelot murmurs, but he looks to Merlin. Merlin knows that look and shakes his head.

“Oh no, I’m not going with him. That’s not how my job works.” Arthur is shaking his head vehemently as well.

“What did Kilgharrah say again about destiny?” Lancelot asks with an air of fake innocence, and Merlin narrows his eyes.

“You’re fired,” he says, but Lancelot only smiles again. Arthur looks ready to protest as well, until Gwaine speaks up.

“What about a calling stone?” Gwaine suggests, looking between them. “Merlin can’t go with him anyway, he’s still injured. So send his gracefulness back with a stone in case he gets into trouble. Magical trouble,” he adds for Arthur’s sake.

“Fine, I’ll take a calling stone,” Arthur says. “Whatever that is. What about my father?”

“He is free to go as well, and we can offer him a stone as well, but…” Lancelot trails off, the look on his face skeptical.

“He won’t take it,” Arthur agrees. “But thank you for offering.”

“Arthur,” Merlin starts, and the man turns toward him with raised eyebrows. It occurs to Merlin that perhaps he should have been using a title this whole time, but already he is simply Arthur, a bit of a prat, not the heir to a dukedom. “I know he’s your father, but Uther can’t know what we suspect about your uncle’s lab working for both him and Morgana. I assume security was scrubbed—” Gwaine nods “—and the guards taken care of?” Lancelot nods and Merlin continues, ignoring Arthur’s confused look. “I must ask that you—”

“Of course,” Arthur stops him. “I won’t say anything. I understand.”

“I’m sorry you have to lie,” Merlin says.

“It’s a lie of omission,” Arthur replies bitterly. “Like all the things my father failed to tell me.” He reaches out, offers his right hand. “And though he would never say it, thank you for saving my life as well as his.”

“Thank you for saving mine,” Merlin offers in return, surprised at the man’s cooperation. Arthur looks like he wants to speak again, opens his mouth only to close it with a nod. He turns toward Lancelot and follows him from the room, laying a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder on the way out. He stops before they leave.

“Let me know if you figure out any of your dragon’s riddles,” Arthur says, and Merlin nods. He watches him go, a strange feeling in his gut.

“Thinking about that grand destiny again?” Gaius murmurs, and Merlin glances up at the healer.

“Maybe,” he admits honestly. “Something tells me that’s not the last I’ve seen of Arthur Pendragon.”

And, truth be told, maybe that’s okay, because there is more to the man than Merlin had thought, and perhaps sharing a destiny with such a man isn’t a bad thing after all.

* * *

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

Merlin does not hear from Arthur for almost a fortnight. He also doesn’t turn in his reassignment paperwork. He’s not sure why he puts it back in his desk, except that something feels unfinished and leaving his position now would be wrong. He always sees a case through, and he knows there is more to what happened with Arthur and Morgana. He wonders if Kilgharrah’s words are influencing him and resolutely does not think about things like destiny and the battle for Albion. Gaius gives him a knowing look when he tells the older man, which Merlin also ignores.

He recovers quickly from the dagger wound and subsequent poisoning, spending his short time in forced convalescence researching magical poisons. Merlin also can’t help thinking about Arthur Pendragon; if he looks up the duke’s son several times, it is only to make sure the other man is safe. He learns that Arthur is more than he appears, certainly more than a one-hour MI-53 briefing. Arthur has a degree in economics, volunteers with a local organization that advocates for fair and affordable housing, and sits on the board of a major charitable trust. Once again, Merlin thinks he might have been wrong about the man as he watched him at the party, judging him unfairly based on incomplete knowledge and his own biased assumptions.

Lancelot tells him that the team investigating the mortaeus flower poisoning of the shop owner in Edinburgh found evidence of an underground trade in dark magic artefacts that lead them to believe Morgana was looking for something as Merlin had suggested. The shop owner was rumored to have a rare copy of the mysterious Grey Book, a legendary grimoire of magical spells and potions. Merlin doesn’t know much about the book, but it worries him, that Morgana may be searching for such a thing; she could only want it for the wrong reasons.

Merlin knows if there was word of a threat against Arthur, another agent would be assigned to both the duke and his son, but there are no other attacks from Morgana, nor any more mortaeus poisonings. If Merlin had to guess, Morgana was indeed injured in the explosion and biding her time to heal before moving against her father again. And there is plenty of unrest without her: over a dozen people had been hurt by her attack at the reception and anti-magic sentiment continues to grow because of it. There are more protests, with both sides growing vehement, and several agents are pulled from their regular assignments to watch for possible violence.

Merlin is not surprised to see a statement from the Uther Pendragon regarding Morgana’s disinheritance and subsequent banishment from the Camelot estate following her attack on the reception. He is surprised, however, to see a clip of Arthur at a fundraiser in which Arthur calls for empathy and understanding for his sister, wanting only peace for his family. He doesn’t go so far as to denounce his father or the new bill Uther introduces for the execution of anyone found using magic to commit a crime, but somehow Merlin senses it in the man’s words and knows that one day, Arthur will speak out against his father’s beliefs. There’s something about Arthur, something Merlin can’t put a finger on. He again does not think about the dragon’s words to them in Wales. He does, however, ask Lancelot for Arthur’s mobile number and sends him a text.

Good speech. How was the party?

Arthur answers almost immediately. Boring. You weren’t there so good thing no one attacked me.

Merlin grins. Sorry there were no fireballs. I’ll be there if it happens again, though.

I know, Arthur replies, which makes Merlin wonder at the man’s confidence in him, before he laughs out loud at the emojis of a rock and sparkling lights Arthur sends immediately after. It is clearly a reference to Merlin’s magic, and he wonders how the son of Uther Pendragon came to accept magic when his father is so set against it.

Merlin’s first assignment back on the duty roster is relatively straight-forward and perfect for his conflicted mindset: there has been a recent increase in magical creatures emerging into more populated areas, and he is sent to a small village in Wales that is being haunted by a banshee. He stays at the local inn under the guise of a journalist writing a story on the area and its strange happenings, but all the while he sets protective wards while searching for the spirit troubling the town. He exchanges a few more texts with Arthur, several of which are initiated by the other man, and finds Arthur Pendragon to be intelligent, articulate. and quick-witted. He asks real questions about magic, particularly about Kilgharrah and his riddles, and makes dry comments that have Merlin laughing out loud.

He takes an afternoon to visit Kilgharrah, hoping to learn more about his destiny as Emrys, about Arthur, about this golden age of magic they’re supposed to bring about when anti-magic sentiment is soaring to an all-time high thanks to Morgana’s attack and Uther Pendragon’s response. He gets nothing but more riddles and warnings—beware the witch and you would do well to find the Grey Book before her—and certainly no greater understanding of what it is he’s supposed to do and why. He’s never been one to believe in destiny and fate, and the old dragon’s ramblings do little to convince him that Arthur Pendragon is anything more than a man threatened by magic and needing protection from his vengeful half-sister.

He doesn’t have a chance to look into the Grey Book more, but eventually Merlin saves one of the local barmaids from being drowned by the vengeful creature haunting the village and vanquishes the banshee back to the spirit world. The town will never know what he did, but it is one of those missions where he feels good about his job: saving innocent people from dangerous creatures, not saving magic haters from magic users. It had been a nice sojourn in the country, and a much-needed break from protecting people who didn’t always deserve it. He considers throwing away his transfer request, particularly when there are rumors of a lamia in Hampstead; he has fought one before and can still do good. Perhaps he can search for the Grey Book as well, as it seems connected to whatever is going on with the Pendragons.

He's just arrived back at headquarters when the calling stone he’s kept in his pocket since Arthur Pendragon left vibrates warmly. He quickly pulls it out and whispers the spell that allows him to hear Arthur.

“Merlin!” hisses a voice. “Merlin, you idiot, are you there?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “I’m here, clotpole,” he replies calmly, since Arthur sounds anything but calm. “What’s wrong?”

“Morgana is here.” Arthur is whispering into the stone, but it must be cupped in his hand because his voice is loud and distorted. “In Camelot.”

Merlin frantically motions an agent over. “Get Gwaine and Lancelot!” he tells them. “Black fire!”

“Red fire, you knob,” Arthur hisses again. “She’s downstairs blasting things apart. I don’t know what’s happened to my father. How long until you can get here?”

Merlin grabs his jacket. “I can teleport immediately, but where are you? I don’t want to crash into any wards Morgana might have set.”

Arthur swears. “I’m in the panic room,” he says. “Leon pushed me in and locked it, but there’s a secret exit to an extraction point that was built by my grandfather, so I can get out,” Arthur tells him. “But you need to get to my father, not me.”

“She’s after both of you,” Merlin replies, because Kilgharrah had repeatedly said he was to protect Arthur. He hears an explosion in the background. “Arthur, are you okay?” There is a long pause in which Merlin taps down panic; he’s already failed once and doesn’t want to fail again.

“There’s fire,” Arthur finally replies, strangely enough sounding more calm. Merlin can hear him moving and suspects he’s left the panic room. “I need to find my father, help everyone get out.”

“Arthur, no!” Merlin shouts as Lancelot and Gwaine run up. “She’s too powerful, there’s nothing you can do. I need to get you out.”

“And I need to help my people,” Arthur says. There is the sound of another explosion. “So get here now if you want to help!” Merlin can hear something crash in the background and swears when Arthur doesn’t answer. He turns to Lancelot and Gwaine.

“Morgana’s attacking the Pendragon estate. Gwaine, can you teleport?”

Gwaine grimaces but nods; non-magical agents almost always have a hard time with teleporting, even being used to it as part of the job. “I’m ready. Let’s go rescue him.” He’s wearing gauntlets that double as scanners, and if Merlin knows him, a shoulder holster, ankle piece and at least three knives. He turns to Lancelot, who hands them both an earpiece as if he always carries them in his pockets for an emergency.

“Monitor us,” Merlin tells him. “Arthur said there was fire, you’ll probably need to send emergency services. I’ll do what I can if it’s magical in nature and let you know what else we need.”

“I know what to do,” Lancelot nods. “Go, now.”

Merlin takes Gwaine’s hand and is about to speak the spell. “Wait, where am I going?” he asks. Lancelot pulls up a map on his tablet, zooming in close with a satellite feed. For some reason Merlin hadn’t been expecting an actual castle from the Middle Ages, but nods and pictures his destination, hoping he’s not too late as the spell whisks them away to Camelot.

They materialize in a large oval courtyard. A circular drive runs around the edge, and they are standing in the center of the grass next to a bubbling fountain, facing the castle. The road to the grounds continues to a gatehouse behind them, while the grand entrance to the castle is before them.  Merlin knows Arthur left the panic room and will be searching for his father and other survivors inside. He can’t blame the other man when he would do the same and even admires Arthur’s courage considering he is running blindly into a situation where magic could easily kill him.

Gwaine gags and spits before turning toward the main entrance of the castle. It is on fire—green fire. Merlin taps his earpiece. “Fire is magical in nature,” he murmurs. “I’ll do what I can.” He rolls up his sleeves and strides toward the castle, Gwaine at his side. He’s scanning from his gauntlet as he follows Merlin, while also watching his six. Merlin casts a protective spell on the other man, and Gwaine nods in acknowledgement.

Merlin stops and holds up both hands. He draws in a deep breath, pulling his magic in to release it slowly as he murmurs a spell to contain the magical fire. The flames begin to sputter out, but the damage is still done. Green fire burns hot, and the stone face of the castle is blackened in many places; Merlin shudders to think what the inside looks like. As the flames finally die out, he feels a change in the air. Gwaine shouts, and Merlin barely manages to throw up a shield spell behind them against an ugly red fireball.

Morgana strides out from one of the wings of the castle, dark hair flying behind her as she casts another spell. Merlin blocks it once more, turns his head to see Gwaine behind him. “I need to face her alone, can I send you in for search and rescue?”

“I’m not picking up anything else, can you sense if she’s alone?” Gwaine asks, and Merlin reaches out, senses nothing, and nods. “Go ahead, then.” He grins insouciantly. “I’ll do your job and find Arthur.”

Merlin rolls his eyes as he holds one hand out against Morgana, then touches Gwaine on the shoulder with the other. He quickly murmurs the words to the teleportation spell and a whirlwind carries the other man into the entrance of the castle, where he stumbles before darting inside. Morgana screams in a fury and throws both hands out at Merlin, and he stumbles backward under the force of it, but his shield holds.

Standing up straight, he faces her as she walks closer, as if stalking her prey. She is beautiful, but there is a fragility to the power she is wielding. It is coming from a place of deep hurt, of fear and anger. Which makes her strong but vulnerable. He senses her reaching out, trying to parse his powers just as he is gaging hers. He remembers what Arthur had said about her, that she had been a good person once, and that he didn’t want to hurt her. For some reason, Merlin wants the same.

“Who are you? Are you Emrys?” she shouts. He starts in surprise, as that is a name that he has heard only from Kilgharrah. Since there’s no hiding his reaction, he answers honestly.

“I have been called that, yes,” Merlin replies. “Morgana, I know what happened. Arthur told me—”

“He told you what?” she laughs. He senses her gathering her magic and braces himself for whatever attack comes next. “That I have magic? That the man I once called my father was so disgusted he disinherited me because of it? That I tried to kill that man?”

“No, he said you are a good person,” Merlin tells her. “He doesn’t want to hurt you and neither do I.”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about hurting me,” she smirks. “You should worry about yourself. And your precious destiny with my dear brother.” There is a beat of silence where Merlin wonders how she could possibly know about his destiny with Arthur, before she lashes out, flinging both hands forward with fingers spread wide, and with them dozens of spears of pointed flame. That’s a new one; Merlin flings up the strongest shield he can, hoping it holds against such dark magic. The tiny sparks of fire explode against his magical shield, though to Merlin’s shock he can still feel them as hundreds of tiny points of heat against his skin. He looks at her in surprise, then settles grimly into a defensive stance. He quickly catalogs everything he knows about counteracting dark magic, then blocks another spell as their magical battle begins.

She has grown stronger since he last faced her at the hotel, or perhaps more desperate. They are more evenly matched now. Morgana’s only advantage is also Merlin’s weakness: she fights with a reckless despair, while he holds back, not wanting to hurt her. But deep down he knows that someday, he will have to; it is his shared destiny with Morgana now, that one of them will destroy the other.

Magic flies around them, wrecking the courtyard of the castle as rocks tumble and explode, while trees and bushes burn. Merlin soon senses Morgana flagging; he wonders how long she can continue to cast such strong spells and if he can outlast her in order to defeat her without killing her. The battle continues: the water from the fountain threatens to engulf him, but he easily casts it down into the ground. He sends roots from the dirt to circle around her, but she cuts them with a slash of her hand and a streak of red fire. Spells fly back and forth, and Merlin is forced to admit he has not faced such a battle in all his time with MI-53.

And then he is distracted, just as he was at the hotel. Only this time it is by Arthur, stumbling from the castle carrying his father in his arms. Gwaine staggers out with a young woman, Arthur’s bodyguard behind them with a man who likes like he could be the woman’s brother. They are all coughing, covered in dirt and soot and blood. Several others follow behind them, equally disheveled. Uther Pendragon is limp and unmoving, and the heartbroken look on Arthur’s face is what stops Merlin and allows Morgana a hit, blasting him off his feet and across the courtyard to tumble onto the drive, rocks grating into his face and skin. Arthur screams his name, or perhaps Gwaine, and he hears Morgana laugh. It makes his blood run cold.

Standing quickly, Merlin plants his right foot solidly before him and calls upon all the power he can summon from the ground beneath him. It courses upward through his body, strong and warm, and with a guttural shout he throws out his arms before him and casts his magic at Morgana, freezing her in time. It is a difficult spell that he has only used one other time, in practice, and the effort leaves him panting as he limps toward her on a twisted ankle. He taps his earpiece as he stands before her. She is not strong enough to break this spell, and she knows it, glaring at him with raw fury in her eyes.

“Lancelot,” Merlin says, drawing a deep breath. “I’ve got Morgana in a time lock. We need a lot of backup here—healers for Uther and the staff, iron cuffs for Morgana, cleanup and containment for the castle and possibly—" He hears the police sirens and helicopters overhead. “Iseldir’s team.”

“Copy,” says Lancelot. “Scrambling teams now. Alator will bring Morgana in, Gaius is teleporting with several healers, and Iseldir is already on his way. Well done, Merlin.”

“You too,” Merlin murmurs, turning toward where Arthur has set his father on the ground, holding him close around the chest.

“I haven’t even left the room,” Lancelot points out. “You did all the hard work.”

“You have no idea,” Merlin tells him. “She’s strong, Lance. I think there’s more going on here than we know. She’s been trained by someone with knowledge and power, someone who—”

He is cut off by the sound of a whirlwind and an almost otherworldly screech.  He turns to see a blond woman standing in the ruined courtyard, her face red with fury. Before he can respond, she blasts him backward, her magic strong and effortless as she strides toward Morgana.

Merlin lands hard not far from Arthur, breath knocked right out of him. Gwaine is instinctively pointing his gun at the woman, though he knows magic well enough to know his shot would be reflected back at him. Arthur looks up at the blond woman, his eyes wide in shock.

“It’s her,” Arthur hisses. He shakes his head, heated anger flashing in his eyes. “Of course! She must have turned Morgana!” He reaches out to Merlin with one hand. “That woman attacked me as a child. Merlin, you have to—"

Whatever Arthur intends to say is lost as the blond witch pummels them with spell after spell. Merlin stands and casts a shield, but she is strong, far stronger than Morgana, not someone Merlin can stand up to for long after already fighting one fierce battle. Once again, his main goal becomes to keep Arthur safe; he is somewhat surprised at how strongly he feels the need to protect the younger Pendragon.

Tapping his earpiece, he contacts Lancelot once more. “We need backup now, Lance. We’ve got another sorcerer attacking.”

“Incoming,” Lancelot replies, and almost instantly multiple vortices appear and deposit more members of MI-53: Alator and his team; Gaius and several healers; Tristan and Isolde, the agencies best undercover spies; and Iseldir, their public relations agent, who will manage what the media and public learn about the attack. It gives Merlin strength and hope to see so many come to their aide, and he strides forward, leading them toward the blond sorceress.

She must realize she is outmanned and overpowered. She casts a raging wall of fire between her and Merlin’s agents, then turns toward Morgana and begins murmuring a spell. She is clearly buying time to break Morgana out of her time prison. Merlin begins bombarding the line of fire only for it to absorb anything he throws; Tristan and Isolde attempt to go around, and it only grows longer and higher. He looks at Alator, who shakes his head; there is no quick and easy way through the fiery shield.

“Stop her!” Arthur shouts from the ground behind them. “You can’t let them get away!”

Merlin contemplates casting a spell that might allow him to walk through it, begins to murmur the words until without warning the wall of fire drops. Morgana is standing with her rescuer, free of the time lock. She holds up a dagger, much like the one that hit and poisoned Merlin. Beside her, the blond witch has her hand on Morgana’s elbow, head bowed down as if exhausted.

“This isn’t over, Emrys!” Morgana shouts, though she sounds weak from her imprisonment. She throws the dagger, but half a dozen sorcerers bat it away easily with magic. Not so easy to disrupt is the teleportation spell that roars to life around the two women, whisking them away from Camelot, free and safe, and leaving behind nothing but ruin.