The Field of Amaranths - Hydre (2024)

Chapter 1: The Darkest Hour is What Happens When Someone Interrupts Your Vacation

Chapter Text

“I’m dying, this is it, that’s where my immortality ends.” Merlin groans from his spot on the sofa, hiding his head under the weighted blanket Leon got him for Christmas.

The latter raises an eyebrow, not a spark of compassion in his entire self; he quickly returns his attention back to his phone, where, after a few pings, a duolingo ad starts playing.

“You can give my chocolate supply to my students. Tell them the tragic tale of what defeated the mighty Merlin. My wardrobe has to be buried with me, though. There isn’t a single person worthy of my prada collections.” He continues, whining and sulking.

“The owner told you they were closing for the repairs a month ago. And she did it in person! Honestly, you’re probably paying for all her rent and bills at this point.”

“My tea, Leon! Just because you have barbaric taste doesn’t mean that sophisticated people don’t exist.”

“I regret meeting you in that tesco. I was doing better before that.”

“You were buying seven wine bottles. You weren’t doing better, you were an alcoholic.” Leon throws his slipper at Merlin’s face. He’s not quick enough to dodge, and it smacks him right in the forehead.

Their days of Camelot are far behind them; all of it nothing but a telltale - and a crappy TV series that Merlin wrote because he lost a bet - but they both stayed, same and different at the same time.

When Arthur died, Merlin wouldn’t leave the lake for another two months until he gave up and, heartbroken, went back to Camelot, his soul heavier than before, as if all his sins just caught up to him.

Gwen greeted him with open arms, and when he accepted the hug - half expecting to be run through with a sword, his paranoia screaming at him for letting his guard down - she collapsed onto him, sobbing her heart out. He tried to tell her about the magic, but she interrupted him after he choked out “I failed to save him” with a soft but stern “you tried. What more could I ever wish for?”.

It was never spoken aloud between them; all his deeds, all of his power. He would stay by her side just like he stayed by Arthur’s, and she would just nod at him if the chalice that was half empty suddenly became full, or if her favourite dress was mended so well as if there never was a hole in it in the first place.

Years passed; Gaius died, even in his last days trying to guide Merlin. Then Hunith started growing older, and each time Merlin visited her it seemed as if decades were passing for her between every of their monthly visits. And one day Merlin didn’t have a childhood home to return to anymore.

He buried her in the same place where he buried Balinor, decades before. It was hard to find the resting place of his father, but he believed that his parents belonged together, at least in death.

Then Leon disappeared. It was a patrol to the border gone wrong - none of the knights returned, some taken by the Saxons, some killed or tortured beyond recognition.

Percival got wounded a year after that, and, just like that, only him and Gwen remained. It took him a few years to realize something that made his heart drop.

He didn’t change. He didn’t look a day older than twenty five, not a single wrinkle on his face.

And Gwen started growing older without him.

She realized it earlier than he did, but, just like his magic, she never brought it up aloud, at least not until her final days.

Merlin made sure she died of old age, after living a beautiful life - he took it upon himself to carry all that grief and sadness on his shoulders, so she could feel more free than he could ever be, with his destiny still hanging above his head like a noose.

She held her hand in his, wrinkled in youthful, and asked him if he remembered how smitten she was with him when they first met. They joked about their youth, about making fun of the nobles, about spending their free days together, drinking wine and singing until they lost their voices.

And then she, too, passed, leaving Merlin alone in a kingdom haunted by his mistakes and sorrow.

He left a few years later and, like a nomad, walked through the Albion without a plan or a future; his only purpose was to wait.

It took him three hundred years of self isolation and grief to try to move on. Maybe Freya was at fault, because one day he woke up far away from Albion, on the border of a nordic country. The people there were loud and courageous, and, after a week of sulking, he joined them, half expecting to be put in a dungeon or tied up.

Instead, they welcomed him, telling him of a woman who said a great physician will join them.

It took Merlin decades to accept that everything was temporary, and he was forever. It was terrifying, to slowly forget his friends’ faces and voices, to not remember a way home, to realize there wasn’t any Camelot anymore, and it became a legend spread between warriors and nobles.

But the world changed, it became different, and he was there to experience it. And, as he saw the Hundred Year War end, he realized he wasn’t really waiting for Arthur anymore.

Instead of awaiting his destiny, of being nothing but a pawn in a game of gods, he decided to enjoy the time he had to spend on Earth. Kilgharrah was wrong about so many things, and following his advice only worsened his paranoia and trust issues, and trying to change destiny ended up making it happen.

So, Merlin denounced it. He decided that he will live for himself. Almost a millennium of waiting was enough for him to get over all of what happened.

His time in Camelot was nothing but a speck on his immortality. He had known Arthur and others for a few decades; it was nothing compared to the centuries he lived without them.

He lived through the highs and downs of history - through the events that made his heart soar and ones that made him doubt if there were good people there at all.

And then, in the gods-forsaken year of nineteen-thirty-seven, he came across Leon in his local Tesco.

“Seriously, it’s just tea, and the shop will be open by the end of the month.”

“Just tea? And you’re supposed to be Camelot’s first knight? How dare you disrespect our british heritage like that-”

“We’re not British.” Leon scrolls through his phone and reaches for his mug with coffee. When it starts floating away, he grabs another slipper and throws it at Merlin’s face. “And you’re behaving like you’re a pirate out of opium for three days.”

“I deeply regret ever confessing to you about that.” Merlin mumbles, then smiles broadly. “At least I wasn’t sporting a hobo beard during the twenties. If not for your curls, I wouldn’t have known that it’s you in that Tesco.”

“At least I was sporting a beard and not a super-villain type mustache.”

“THEY WERE POPULAR IN POLAND!”

“I can see now why their history looks the way it does.” Now Leon is hit with a slipper.

Merlin lifts his hand up and his phone floats right into it; there’s not much in there, just a couple of emails, some fanfiction updates and a notification about a new series on netflix.

He scrolls down and stops at an email from the traveling office.

“My tickets to Cuba came in! I’m leaving this Tuesday!” He collapses back onto the sofa, his tea-induced depression over. “Finally, a vacation. I’ve waited for so long.”

“Your students will miss you.”

“And I won't miss them!” Merlin snaps his fingers, a Hawaiian shirt, colorful socks and a pair of fancy glasses replacing his pajamas. “Miss Morgan can deal with the history class for next month. I'm going to sip on margaritas, sunbathe and swim in a pool until I become one with the water.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to go to Bratislava with me?”

“Leon, look at me. I am already so pale I may be mistaken for a vampire. I’m going to Cuba and enjoy the sun, because otherwise I’m going to use my magic to make Glasgow into a tropical paradise. And you know what happened the last time I affected the climate because it was too cold for my car to start.”

“Noted.” Leon chuckles. “Well then, I’ll leave you to your depression. I promised my teammates an evening match of League-”

“You’re a disgrace.”

Leon squints at him, but when a slipper he tries to pick up starts floating, he just sighs and shakes his head.

“Well then, have fun in Cuba.”

“I will! Five stars hotel, business class seat in the aeroplane- I’m thriving, Leon. Thriving.”

He was not, in fact, thriving.

“Owwww f*ck, my head hurts.” Merlin groans, trying to stand up. He stumbles, and goes right into a tree. The wind is cold, unusual for such a tropical place. “Mixing arsenic with alcohol to make it slap is a bad idea.”

He shifts his weight, trying to check if all of his limbs are still intact. The last thing he can remember was trying to juggle and breaking something at the beach.

Only then he realizes that instead of palm trees, he’s met with an oak. And instead of the calming sound of the ocean he’s near a stream.

And his Versace blazer is replaced by a scratchy fabric of a linen shirt.

“Not again.” He buries his face in his hands; at least his immortality got rid of his hangovers (though its mostly because of the arsenic, he never came back sick after he ‘died’, but instead spawned back into conciseness fully healed). “Where the hell am I?”

He’s in a forest, that much is clear. The air is fresh and crisp, not tainted by the smoke, as if it’s untouched by humans and their industrial era.

He hadn’t breathed air so clean in centuries; nowadays smoke clings to everything.

He notices how old his clothes look - they’re ratty and dirty.

“Oh no. I’m at a renaissance fair again.”

It happened twice before, and both times it was Leon’s bright idea of a prank.

Well… The second, actually, was both of their fault, because they had a bit too much vodka, woke up in Lithuania in an armor stolen from a British museum and had several new friends from a local fair added on Facebook (and several pictures of them having a duel on the fair’s fanpage).

“Well, at least I did my Duolingo before I blacked out.” Merlin mutters; he has three free freezes, but he doesn’t want to waste them now. Leon always tells him he has a bit of a hoarding problem, but that’s because he’s jealous of all the things that Merlin keeps just in case. He can’t use that sheet of stickers his student gave him, what if he doesn’t like the placement?

“Merlin? MERLIN?” A panicked voice sounds from somewhere in the forest. Merlin frowns.

His stomach grumbles, and, after looking around and making sure he’s not in view of any human, he calls for a bird to come and save him.

A partridge runs towards him, and Merlin pets it on the head before he snaps his fingers.

Now holding a box full of partridge nuggets, he hums happily, taking a slow stroll in the direction of the panicked screams of some man.

His first thought when he sees him is, how realistic do those cosplayers get? and the second is a simple woah.

“Merlin!” The man - a lovely brunette with big brown eyes - runs towards him, stuttering. “You- what? How- You’re meant to be dying.”

He’s speaking in a language that should be dead. He’s not sure when was the last time he heard common brittonic be spoken aloud - not counting his gossip sessions with Leon, because it was ridiculously funny to use a dead language to communicate in a room full of people.

“Sorry.” Merlin shrugs and eats another nugget. “Do you want some? You look like you’re going to faint.”

The man makes a swing at him, but Merlin dodges.

“Oi, watch out, I’m eating here!”

“Merlin, we have to get going.” The man says, and he has a stubborn look on his face that Merlin faintly recognises.

“I’m pretty sure we don’t have to. I’m good staying here, actually. You can go where you want to be.”

The man shakes his head, amused.

“Arthur’s right. You never do as you’re told.”

Merlin freezes and looks at him closely. He spent the last ten years getting a degree in history (he got bored of medicine and pharmacy, and his days as a politician weren’t that good) and took it upon himself to write a book about armor in the late fifth century.

The armor that man is wearing.

The armor that looks fresh new, but is unmistakably real.

The stranger bents down to pick up a cape - red, with a royal crest that knights wore to be recognised on the battlefield.

A crest that looks painfully familiar; one that he and Leon used for the cover of their book of Arthurian myths.

“Sorry, who are you again?” He asks, his throat suddenly feeling dry.

The man stops gathering his things, a frown appearing in his face. He squeezes the handle of his sword and looks up at Merlin, paling slightly as he notices the lack of recognition in his eyes.

“Are you alright? Merlin, it’s me.” He takes a step closer, but Merlin shakes his head. “We were going on a journey to close the Veil, but the Dorocha got to you. We were going back to Camelot while Arthur and the others take care of it. It’s me, Lancelot-“

“Okay, is this a joke? If that’s a prank- it’s great. Nicely done, you can stop now. I have a vacation to get back to, my hotel room must miss me-“ Merlin glances at the man and notices how somber he starts looking with his every word. He shakes his head. “Lancelot. Lancelot du Lac?” He asks, and the man nods.

He bites his lip, because how. Did he perform necromancy now? sh*t, does he owe Leon twenty dollars for their little bet over what he can do?

But- the Veil. That sounds familiar.

“You can’t be Lancelot. He died long ago-“ he stars, but the stranger shakes his head.

“We should go back to Camelot. Gaius will help.“

“No.” Merlin swallows. “The Veil, you said something about the Veil. We have to close it, right?”

“You’re in no shape-“

“I need to close it. Then we can go and… talk to Gaius.”

Lancelot doesn’t look convinced, but Merlin flashes him a smile and it seems to be enough for him to let it go.

They ride through the forest, but after some time, Merlin notices that their horse is starting to get tired, so he jumps from her back and pets her belly.

“You should save that energy.”

“She’s too tired to hold us both. I can walk, that’s what I have legs for!”

He pokes at a tree and opens his hands; a perfect apple falls into his palms, and he takes a bite.

“Have some to spare, my friend?”

He nods and grows one for Lancelot-wannabe - it falls right onto his head, and he yelps in surprise when it hits him, but manages to catch it before it drops on the ground.

“Good to see that no matter what, you still have your spirit.” He jokes. When Merlin doesn’t respond, he shifts on his horse, sitting so he can have a better look at him. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m trying to convince myself that you’re not a hallucination.” Merlin admits, plain and honest.

“I think I’m pretty real.”

“You are pretty, but I don’t know about the real part.”

Lancelot barks a laugh, and nudges Merlin with his foot, almost knocking him over.

“Let’s hope we can deal with this Viel soon enough. It’s going to be fine.”

“You sound like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me.” Merlin deadpans, then sniffs at the air. It became colder.

He summons a ball of light to his hand, shaping it until it looks like a dragon; he lets it fly around them, lightening up the path and keeping them warm.

“I didn’t know you could cast a spell like that.” Lancelot says after a while. Then, quieter, he adds “I’ve never seen you use your magic so freely too.”

“Well, it’s useful, so might as well take advantage of it. Mother Nature didn’t bless me with this for me to waste it.”

“I like your way of thinking.” Lancelot laughs again.

The sunset is coming closer, and although Merlin doesn’t remember much of the Dorocha, he knows they can be banished by light; that’s why they didn’t have to worry about traveling during the day.

“This might be a good place to spend the night in.” Lancelot points to an abandoned wooden hut, and Merlin grimaces.

His taste for luxury really took over as soon as he slept on a real mattress.

They go inside, and, as Lancelot sets their sleeping rolls, Merlin casts a spell and suddenly a mattress appears in the middle of the room.

“Merlin!” Lancelot sounds amused, so he grins at him in response.

“We had a long walk, we deserve a good night's sleep.”

“I don’t know if we’ll manage, with the chaos around. But, I’m not opposed to it.” Lancelot climbs on it, and Merlin can see the realization hit his senses. “It’s so soft- Can you conjure up something like this in my living quarters once we’re back?”

“Only if I decide you’re worthy of it.”

Something inside Merlin is gnawing at his insides - it’s been a Millennium and a half, he’s definitely forgetting something important.

They’re laying on the mattress, ready to fall asleep; the light Merlin made is floating above them in lazy circles.

Lancelot’s brown eyes are focused on him, so he turns to the side with a cheeky smile.

“What?”

“It’s good to see you so free, my friend. I haven’t seen you like this in ages.”

“Well, that’s one thing we have in common, then.” Merlin mutters.

“One day Arthur will see how amazing what you can do is. One day you won’t have to hide anymore.”

Arthur. Right.

Merlin turns to the side and sighs, before closing his eyes. He can feel Lancelot shift under his blanket to get cozier.

They’re woken up in the middle of the night by the sudden cold; the light disappeared, and a terrifying screech is coming closer.

“LANCELOT!” Merlin kicks him off the mattress. The knight groans but when he sees his panicked face, he jumps uprights and grabs his sword.

Merlin doesn’t wait for him to get ready; as soon as he sees the Dorocha, he breaks the door down with one kick and tugs Lancelot to run along into the woods.

The screeching is coming closer, and the overwhelming cold is sending shivers down Merlin’s spine.

He’s forgetting something.

He turns, and the ghostly figure is reaching towards them, pale, half invisible hands spread out-

Merlin takes a deep breath and breathes fire at it. The rest of the Dorocha coming after them screech and flee away, some disappearing into the morning mist as the flames touch them.

“You can breathe fire? Where did you learn that?”

“Oh, it’s from Uncle Iroh from Av- never mind, we have to go.” He casts another spell, and little flames start surrounding them, blocking the Dorocha from reaching them.

After hours of marching in general silence, besides a few jokes from Lancelot that Merlin would make a great dragon - to which Merlin responds that he can actually shapeshift into one if he desires so - the sunrise greets them.

And, with it, few voices. Lancelot nudges Merlin and nods at the flames following them.

Merlin stops the spell and follows his lead.

There are knights - again - and they’re looking around, pretty panicked and definitely tired.

“Lancelot! Where’s Merlin?”

“About that, I have some bad news-“

Merlin jumps out from behind a tree, making a theatrical bow at the knights. The blond guy Lancelot is speaking to freezes, before his expression softens and a smile appears on his face.

“ Mer lin!” He grins, sighing with relief. Other knights start walking towards him, clearly with an intention to hug him, but Merlin can’t recognise any single one of them besides Leon-

Merlin shoots Leon a death glare, trying to communicate to him that while he had some fun with the boys, he had to sleep in an abandoned building in some ratty clothes and transform a partridge into chicken nuggets because there’s no McDonald’s in sight.

“Which one is Arthur?” He whispers, leaning to Lancelot, but he must’ve done it too loudly, because they all pause.

“That would be the one that looks like he’s in crisis.” Lancelot whispers back, but he actually does it so quietly even Merlin has trouble hearing him.

“They all look like that. Do you see what they’re wearing?”

“Merlin? Lancelot? What’s wrong?” The blond steps out of the group. “What happened?”

Lancelot looks at Merlin, then back at him.

“I’m not sure.”

“Well, there’s clearly something really wrong if Merlin can’t recognise Arthur.” One of the men - one with longer brown hair and a slight stubble - voices.

“I’m fine. Everything is fine.” Merlin frowns, crossing his arms over his chest. They don’t look too convinced.

“You don’t know who we are?”

“No, I know who you are. I just. I’m not the best at remembering faces.”

“He thought I died. A long time ago.” Lancelot chimes in, and Merlin turns to him, scowling. A traitor, that’s what he is.

“Can this be the result of the Dorocha attack?”

“Nobody survived it before. Maybe it did something to Merlin.” Leon says, and, thank gods, he must be playing along.

“It’s related to death, right? Maybe it showed him his last moments-“ the muscular knight mumbles, and Merlin has to keep himself back from laughing.

Last moments. Sure.

“Doesn’t matter! I know who you all are, I just need a little. Nudge in the correct direction. Look! That’s Leon! Hi Leon!”

“You can point out Leon but not Arthur?”

“I can’t be bothered remembering Arthur, he doesn’t pay me enough.”

“I pay you fairly!”

“That’s Arthur!” Merlin points at the scowling blonde, then pinches his lips. “Yeah, you look like you’re a part of the bourgeoisie. You have that annoying rich vibe.”

“Excuse me?”

“Besides, I’m good, just a bit rough around the edges! Let’s go close the Veil and then Gaius can fix this because I can’t be bothered to!”

They all look to Arthur, who stares at Merlin, clearly worried. But the warlock holds his gaze, almost as if he’s challenging him to try to make him leave.

“Merlin’s right, as rare as it is. We’re too close to the Isle of the Blessed to turn back.”

And so it begins.

Merlin is going to murder whoever decided it was a good idea to interrupt his vacation, as soon as he can.

Chapter 2: Merlin Talks a Goddess Out of Being Evil, More at Ten

Chapter Text

The air is cold, fresh - especially compared to London, which Merlin visited three months before to give a guest lecture about Arthurian legends at a local university - but with how close to the fire they’re sitting, the smoke starts stinging Merlin’s eyes. Honestly, he’s waiting for the knights to fall asleep so he can cast a quick spell to make it bearable.

It’s inconvenient; to be with them again. He’s used to using his magic in the open nowadays. Most humans didn’t believe it was real anyway, and those who did had crazy stories to tell their friends, about a local history teacher that made his groceries levitate.

He can’t die, so he’s not afraid of that; it’s rather the fact that dealing with hanging or burning on the stake isn’t the most ideal option. And if Arthur would decide to banish him instead, Merlin’s pretty sure all of Camelot would die in a week.

Maybe less.

So, he’s sitting on a log, the farthest from the fire, waiting for those men to fall asleep.

He gathered that the loud one who complained about the lack of good food is - most likely - Gwaine.

One of the knights was talking in a hushed tone, expressing his worries about his sister, so Merlin decided he must be Elyan.

That left Percival. It made sense, when Merlin met Leon in that Tesco they joked about what they remembered from their time in Camelot.

The fact that Percival refused to fight in full armor - he did it without the chainmail - was one of the few things that were almost as clear as day in their memories.

Honestly, he was surprised that he bothered figuring it out - and a bit annoyed that Leon clearly figured it all out before he did, and managed to blend in so well that they didn’t suspect a thing.

When they met, Merlin didn’t even have to try. It was mostly because it was Leon who recognised him, and did so because the Cup of Life, aside from cursing him with immortality, connected him to the magical realm in a vague way, and, just like most magic creatures, Leon became capable of recognising the oh so mighty Emrys from the aura of his power - or, as Merlin liked to call it, his vibes.

Lancelot offered to have the first shift, and Merlin wonders if it has to do with the fact that, despite their rest being cut short, they both slept better than any of the knights. Lancelot looks well-rested too.

Something akin to anger and annoyance boils under Merlin skin when he looks at him, for whatever reason.

He’s still forgetting something.

The knights fall asleep, all but Arthur. Lancelot is far, focused on watching the woods.

Merlin sighs. He has the freezes for his Duolingo, he knew they would come in handy, Leon can piss off, he didn’t have a hoarding problem, he was proven right yet again! But it doesn’t change the fact that he misses the internet.

And, he just finished his third year in Stardew Valley! He spent all this time working on his virtual farm so later he can finally have an epic love story with either Sam or Alex - he hasn’t decided yet.

Life was really unfair. He was pretty sure it hated him, actually.

“Are you feeling better?” Arthur whispers as he sits beside him. Merlin raises an eyebrow at him, the corner of his lips twitching upwards.

“What, afraid you might lose your best servant?”

“Don’t be stupid, Mer lin, George stayed in Camelot.” He bickers, and it feels familiar, even after all those centuries.

“Big day tomorrow, isn’t it?” Arthur’s smile drops, and he looks down, away from him. The Veil- what was it, that made it so scary?

Maybe he should’ve watched that series he wrote a script for. Maybe he should’ve been sober when he was writing it.

He’s pretty sure there wa an episode about this-

“Take care of Gueneviere, for me.”

“Gwen doesn’t need to be taken care of, she’s strong.” He responds on instinct and pauses.

Arthur’s lips are pressed into a tight line and his eyes shine. He’s tense, and although he’s trying to keep up a facade, his body betrays him, making it scarily simple to see his true feelings.

“You know, I always thought you were a brave man-“

“Oi, stop. This sounds like a goodbye.” Merlin squints, frowns, then tilts his head to the side.

“I guess it does. I guess it is.” Arthur swallows, his lip quivers, so subtly that if Merlin wasn’t paying attention he wouldn’t have noticed. “When I give my life to close the Veil, Camelot will need someone to guide her. Father’s health isn’t the best, but I’m sure someone will come to rule over the people with a fair and kind heart.”

“You’re not dying tomorrow.” Merlin argues, and then it clicks.

Why he’s annoyed at Lancelot, why Arthur looks like he’s grieving for himself.

“No one’s dying tomorrow.”

“You’re a fool.” Arthur smiles and nudges his side with his elbow. “But a good one. I’m their ruler, it’s my duty to keep them safe. A good king would give his life for his people.”

“Good thing you’re not a king yet.” Merlin answers, then stands up and stretches. “Well then, it’s time to sleep. Talking to you is quite depressing. And I don’t need that kind of energy right now.”

Arthur looks at him, speechless, while Merlin turns his back to him and, tapping on his water flask, changes the liquid inside into a champagne.

Lancelot sees it and looks between him and Arthur - who can’t see Merlin’s face. Merlin flips him off, and Lancelot’s confusion only becomes greater.

He falls asleep on the ground, cursing at Arthur for being awake.

“Mmmm ten more days, I’ll write myself a doctor’s note. Tell that bitch of a headmaster that I died in a car crash or something.” Merlin mutters in modern english, shifting to his side. Someone shakes him again, before a stern kick is delivered to his side. “Oi, what the f*ck!”

“You’re talking gibberish, my friend.” Gwaine grins at him from above.

“We have to go, make the most of the daylight!” Arthur commands, looking around.

Gwaine offers his hand to Merlin and he gladly takes it, letting the knight pull him upwards.

“You’re feeling better?”

“I’m always feeling better. I’m the best version of myself, it’s impossible for me to feel bad. I don’t make mistakes, I make character development moments- you’re asking if I remember you all.” Merlin purses his lips, shrugs and starts packing.

“So you’re still having problems? Are you sure it wouldn’t be better to leave and help at Camelot?”

“No, you’ll need me. You’re helpless without me.”

“Hard to argue with that. It’s nice having you around.”

“Buy me a drink first.” Merlin winks at him and Gwaine laughs and slaps his back.

“At least your personality stayed the same, no matter what that Dorocha did to you.” He laughs and pulls Merlin forward, towards the others.

Their good mood is leaving them the closer they get the the island.

Merlin recognises the lake - to this day he enjoys going on walks there, although there’s no longer any lake there, just a grassy field, almost as if the Isle of the Blessed never existed in the first place.

Maybe earlier in his life he would’ve been devastated that the Lake of Avalon dried, as if it was ordinary.

Nowadays, he’s used to seeing it as freeing; a confirmation that his fate is in his hands. No longer guided by destiny, no longer tied down by duties he didn’t ask for.

The fog is dense, and the knights are positioning themselves, ready to fend off any foe.

A screech fills the air, and for a second Merlin’s sure that they’re going to get attacked by a Dorocha again; that somehow the spirits learnt how to survive during daylight.

Something big dives in from the air, and screeches again.

The knights shout, scattering. Merlin has a broad smile on his face.

“That’s Chester!” He says, looking at Leon, who stands next to him, his sword ready in his hand. He’s covering Merlin while others are trying to fight the creature.

“What?”

“Chester! See? He has spots on his snout, the ones that make it look like he has a mustache!”

“How- that’s a wyvern, Merlin-“ Leon takes a step back as it flies just above them, “what do you- DID YOU NAME IT?”

“Yeah, of course I did, haven’t I told you that before?” Merlin frowns. “Oh, sh*t, I didn’t, did I? I only told you about Smaug- and it’s a good name! The hobbit was a good book, I was clever for naming it that, not basic!”

Leon pushes Merlin as the wyvern dives in again. It’s wings are spread wide and it screeches and swings with its tail and talons at the knights.

“I can tell it to leave us alone, don’t worry about that.”

Before Leon can scold him about how bad of an idea that is, he whispers in the dragon tongue. He hasn’t used it for a while now; Aithusa is supposed to live as long as his heart is beating, but she avoided him and he couldn’t blame her. The last thing he did for her was transform her into a human so she wouldn’t have to live isolated and in secret.

He’s pretty sure she started a music career.

Upon hearing his call, Chester the Wyvern leaves.

Leon stares at him, looking like he’s on the verge of a heart attack.

“Okay, now that’s dealt with,” Merlin looks up at the sky, still too foggy to see anything, “we can go to the Isle. Arthur’s planning on sacrificing himself, but I won’t allow him to be so stupid. Don’t worry, I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing.”

“Did you tame the wyvern?” Leon asks in a weirdly small voice.

“Duh. Back in the tenth century. It was cool to scare the vikings with it.”

Leon opens his mouth, closes it, then takes a deep breath. He’s looking at Merlin, as if searching for something.

“Are you going to save Camelot?” He asks, then, adds: “are you going to keep Arthur safe?”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? Destiny or not, he’s amusing. I want to study him- remember when I got that psychology degree when I was going through that weird time back in the seventies? It’s time to use it. Also, come on, Arthur might be an ass but he should live. If it angers the gods, that’s all I need.” Honestly, the more Merlin thinks about it, the funnier it is. While being in the past is annoying - gods, he misses bug spray - it’s also a neat opportunity to mess with the whole destiny thing.

Leon shakes his head, then puts his hands on Merlin’s shoulders.

“I trust you.” He says solemnly, and Merlin grins at him.

“I trust you too, Leon.” He says, bouncing on his heels. His friend’s expression softens.

“I appreciate that. It’s an honor to have your trust. You’re a good man, Merlin.”

Arthur runs to them.

“We have to keep moving, we don’t know if there’s more-“

“There’s three.” Merlin says, sniffing. “And they’re close. The forest is quiet. They must be near.”

Arthur looks surprised, but starts listening and stiffens when - as Merlin said - there’s no noise.

“We have to go.”

“It would be best if some of us stayed behind and held them off.” Leon says, staring at the sky, then at Merlin. “You have to go and close the Veil, we’ll make sure you have time to do that.”

Merlin and Arthur both nod; Gwaine shouts and waves at them.

“I found a boat!” He yells, walking into the lake. The boat looks unsteady and old, but Arthur doesn’t comment on it, so Merlin doesn’t either.

Lancelot looks between the knights before he, too, decides to join Arthur, Merlin and Gwaine.

They row in silence; Arthur is looking at the ruins on the Isle with a blank expression, Gwaine is glancing towards the shore, where their friends are fighting the wyverns. Lancelot is staring at Merlin, and the latter is thinking about his ruined vacation.

The sky is dark, and there’s more Dorocha than anywhere else.

The ruins aren’t hard to navigate through, so they easily find the center of them, and with it, a giant rip in the fabric of the universe itself.

Merlin feels his magic nudge him forward, but forces it to keep quiet, tilting his head to the side as Arthur approaches the Veil and starts looking around.

A woman appears - well, it seems like a woman to everyone but Merlin; he can look through her facade, see her true form. After all, he was a godly being himself, so it didn’t take much to recognise one.

She smiles, revealing black and crooked teeth, and Merlin shivers. He needs to invent oral hygiene, fast.

“Who are you?” Arthur speaks, his voice calm and steady. He doesn’t hold onto his sword, but he doesn’t approach her either. Merlin can feel the fear that he’s reeking of.

“I’m Cailleach, the gatekeeper of the Spirit World.”

Arthur swallows, drops of sweat sliding off his forehead. The Dorocha are surrounding them, but they seem to be kept away from approaching by the goddess’ presence.

“I’m the king regent of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon. I came here to close the Veil.”

The woman smiles, all cruel and inhuman, but something in her eyes catches Merlin’s attention.

He had to deal with her after Camelot; he met many of the gods of the Old Religion through the time he spent wandering the Earth.

Cailleach was a cruel god, she liked having humans fear her; but at the same time, she was filled with pain, and her status as the gatekeeper didn’t bring her any joy or amusem*nt.

Her eyes always seemed to be filled with sadness.

“The Veil was opened and the Dorocha are to wreck it as they please. Why would I close it?”

“Innocent people are dying! Children-“

“Why would I care about the living? I only take care of those who have finished their life.” The woman stands closer to the Veil.

Lancelot’s eyes widen as Gwaine shakes his head and, with his sword in hand, runs at the goddess, who knocks him out with just a turn of her head.

Arthur hesitates, but he doesn’t take a step back. He breathes out, then focuses on the goddess again.

She smiles and moves her finger, almost inviting him forward.

“There’s a price, for closing the Veil.”

“I’m aware of it.”

“And are you ready to pay?”

Arthur closes his eyes and takes a step forward-

Merlin knocks him out with a pan he magicked into his hands. He grins at Lancelot, who stares at him, flabbergasted.

“Ha, get Rapunzeled, am I right?” When no one even bothers to react, Merlin cringes. “Yeah, that one was lame, that’s on me.” He lets the pan dissolve and walks towards the goddess.

“I cannot accept you to take his place, Emrys. The gods still have a plan for you-“

“Yeah, f*ck no, I’m not about to sacrifice myself. I mean, I'm sure death is lovely, but I’m not a big fan. We had a divorce though, and it’s really awkward to meet your exes. She just doesn’t want me, thinks I’m not committed to her.”

“For the magic itself, you have the mouth of a fool.”

“For a goddess of winter, you sure are cold.” Merlin bites back, then glances at Lancelot. “We’re closing the Veil.”

“To close it, you need to make a blood sacrifice-“

“Nuh-uh.” The goddess pauses, and, for a second, looks confused.

“What do you mean, nuh-uh?”

“I know damn well that you can close the Veil without a sacrifice, you just demand it as a price. Listen, your issues and self-hatred aren’t my problem, and you should stop making it everyone else’s!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Then beg.” Merlin grins at her.

Cailleach eyes are cold, and they seem to harden at his words. Lancelot moves behind him, trying to get closer to the Veil.

Merlin turns to him and, without spaying a word or even moving his hands, stops him; Lancelot falls into the ground like it’s a quicksand, and he’s stuck in it up to his stomach.

“Oh no, you don’t.” He says. Yeah, now he remembers what he was forgetting. With a scowl, he gives Lancelot a pointed look. “We will talk about this later.” Somehow, it sounds like a threat.

“The young knight has a kind heart, he will take Arthur’s place.” The goddess says, tilting her head. “Emrys-“

“You don’t command me. Camelot is under my protection, and you will not harm it, or anyone else.” Merlin steadies himself. His eyes glow gold, making sure Lancelot isn’t able to move from his spot.

“You’re young and foolish, warlock.” The goddess warns him, but she sounds intrigued. Merlin frowns.

“I’m no warlock. I stand before you as your equal. I’m the magic itself, and you will listen to my orders. I was born to be the highest of the Old Religion, and I won’t stand such insubordination. You took enough lives that weren’t meant to be taken. Close the Veil, or I will close it myself.” Merlin takes a step forward and holds his hand up. “Gods can die, if someone tries enough. Do you want to find out just how powerful I am?”

Her pale eyes are staring into his, a somber expression on her face.

“You aren’t a human anymore, are you? Before, I felt the presence of a boy, not ready to face his destiny yet. Now, you no longer resemble what I saw. How can a human change throughout two nights?”

“You’re making a mistake assuming there were just two of them.” Merlin holds his head up, like a nobleman would.

“You think you can command me?”

“I became the High Priest of the Old Religion when I was but a child. I killed Nimueh, becoming the one who tamed death. What makes you think you can demand a sacrifice from me?”

Cailleach is quiet, and alongside silence the air is filled with a cold wind. She bows her head slightly, her eyes trained on Merlin’s hands.

“I’ll do as you wish.” She smiles softly, a bit sad. “You know the loneliness of a soul too old. I can see it in your eyes, they reflect the pain in mine. May we not meet again, Emrys.”

The Veil closes and vanishes as soon as it does, not leaving any trace behind.

Merlin groans in frustration, then throws his hand out, outstretched, and whispers an old spell; one the goddess taught him herself, long, long ago.

“I free you from your duties as the Gatekeeper. The Spirit World will be safe and closed to those who shouldn’t enter. Go, and bring winter where the Earth demands it.”

She looks surprised, but he can feel her magic shift, the binds keeping her at the gateway of the Veil shattering; the grateful look she sends Merlin is laced with peace and softness.

Her eyes don’t look so sad anymore.

“The winters will be kind and peaceful to you and Camelot, Emrys.”

“I sure hope so!” Merlin shouts as she disappears.

The sky is clear; all of the Dorocha disappeared with the Veil, but now so did the darkness that was surrounding them. The ruins at the Isle don’t look as haunting and scary in the daylight.

The air is crisp, fresh. Merlin breathes it, then turns to Lancelot, still stuck in the ground from waist down.

He rolls his eyes and, with a flash of gold in his irises, Lancelot is launched out of the ground and into the air, falling on his backside with a painful - and surprised - groan.

“I’m divorcing you. Leon’s my best friend now.” Merlin informs him, because at least Leon has some self preservation instincts!” His eyes flash gold one more time, and in response he gets groans from Gwaine and Arthur.

“What happened?”

“I closed the Veil, you’re welcome. You can express your gratitude through money.” Merlin informs Arthur; the king regent is looking around before he walks up to him, his hands shaking.

He grabs Merlin’s shoulders.

“What did you sacrifice?”

“Some of my patience.” Merlin snarks. “You’re all so willing to die you just refuse to communicate. I had a lovely chat with Cailleach, maybe one day I’ll invite her for tea.” He actually did that, they had a tea party every year on the first day of winter, ever since the winter of the century. It was lovely, and she was only a bit mad at him for creating climate change. “Wait, no, you don’t have tea yet. Oh, gods, I can prevent the British museum from ever existing! We can have morals now!”

Should Merlin declare himself democratically chosen - by himself - president of Camelot? He pushes that through aside, but leaves it in the consideration zone.

All three of the knights are staring at him, confused.

“You talked her out of continuing to kill people?” Arthur asks, uncertain. “Did you annoy a false goddess so much she closed the Veil? Merlin, you absolute imbecile, if you insulted her she might wreck havoc on Camelot! Do you want to get us cursed, you idiot?!”

“I believe the actual words you’re looking for are, thank you Merlin for being the only competent person here. I’ll pay you handsomely, you won’t ever have to wear those ratty clothes ever again.”

Gwaine grins at Arthur’s disbelief and grabs Merlin to hug him. The embrace is tight and it makes him feel secure, safe.

“Only you, Merlin.” He laughs, ruffling his hair. “There isn’t a single person as brave as you are.”

“I’m not sure if it should be called bravery. Rather idiocy.” Arthur interrupts them dryly.

“If it works, why question it?” Merlin points. “I told Leon I’ll keep you safe. I can’t have any of you idiots die, I have a reputation to uphold.”

Arthur looks at the sun, the gloomy look slowly leaving his face.

“No one died. Miracles can happen after all.” He turns to the three. Lancelot is standing still, quiet, glancing at Merlin. “I was sure that one of us wouldn’t return. It only proves the strength of Camelot that we can avoid such an obstacle and come out of the hardships of our journey as winners!”

Merlin rolls his eyes. If anything, it proves his strength.

“Let’s just go, I’m hungry.” He groans, taking steps towards the opening in the walls of the ruins. “And we still have to make sure that Leon, Percival and Elyan are alive.”

That is enough to make them move. Merlin thinks about pointing out that Arthur didn’t thank him, but he’s pretty sure he’d be poking where he shouldn’t.

They return to Camelot - the three left on the shore we’re fine after all, and the wyverns, nudged by Merlin’s subtle suggestion in the dragon tongue, left them alone almost instantly - in better moods.

Gwaine is trying to grab apples from the tree, and Merlin lets them drop into his hands with a gentle poke of his magic.

Lancelot smiles at him from where he’s riding by his side, and gets an angry and annoyed glare in return. Merlin clicks his tongue and his horse - Daisy - moves forward, to Leon’s side.

“So, the weather, huh?”

Leon glances at him, his lips pressed into a thin line.

“You kept Arthur safe.”

“Yeah, I think I still have attachment issues from the last time. Besides, who else will people write legends about?”

“And you talked a goddess out of a blood sacrifice?”

“Can you blame her for falling for my charms?” Leon smiles and shakes his head.

“You really are a unique person.” His face is crossed with a serious, concerned look. “About what happened with the wyvern-“ he stops himself. “Maybe it’s better we don’t discuss it, not here.”

“Would be a shame to be executed.” Merlin nods. “You know, it can be nice, to see Camelot again. I missed it. Just a bit.”

“Hard not to.” Leon agrees.

They move quicker than before; with the Dorocha being defeated they can travel after the sun sets, and they don’t need to be adraid of the dark paths in the depths of the forest.

They stop near a stream - the one Merlin woke up near to. Arthur holds the reins, making his horse pause.

“We should stop here for the night, get some rest. Merlin, lead the horses to the water and feed them while you’re at it.”

“I save the world and that’s what I get in return?” Merlin complains loudly. Some of the knights look at each other, a bit ashamed. Arthur’s face is becoming red and the grip on the reins tightens.

“It’s a servant’s work. If you still have so much energy, you can gather firewood too.” He says, his voice growing louder with each word.

“Sire, I can gather firewood-“

“No, Lancelot. Merlin clearly has enough energy to talk back, he can take care of it. After all, what is a bunch of chores for someone who saved the world?” Arthur mocks. Lancelot sends Merlin an apologetic look, but the man isn’t looking at him at all.

He takes the horses and leads them to the stream, whispering under his breath; when Arthur yelps as he trips on a rock and falls face-first into a puddle of mudd, his lips stretch into a smile.

“You’re a far better companionship anyway.” Merlin whispers, petting Daisy’s side. She grunts happily at the affection, pushing her head into Merlin’s body.

He wanders off to gather the firewood, stopping to look at every long-gone plant and insect.

“I miss running water. I miss it so much.” He tells a beetle.

He doesn’t spend much time on his little side quest; with one touch of his hand an entire tree crumbles, leaving a pile of perfect firewood in its place.

With a jenga-like tower of sticks Merlin strides back in the direction of the other knights, and dumps it all at Arthur’s feet.

“Great, you can prepare my bedroll and make a fire.”

“I should’ve let Cailleach take you with her. You’re not as annoying when you’re dead.” Merlin mumbles in modern English, before doing as he’s told.

Honestly, the audacity of those people.

“The French had the good idea, with the whole abolish monarchy thing. How much time do you think I need to make people revolt in my name? Maybe I could establish human rights movement- I CAN MAKE THE SERVANTS OF CAMELOT UNIONIZE!” Merlin shares his idea to Leon, who stares at him blankly. He huffs and takes out the bedrolls, preparing them for Arthur - and casting a spell of itchiness onto the material.

“You wouldn't revolt against Arthur. You’re his best friend.” Leon finally says, and Merlin grins.

“Nah, come on, you’re my best friend. There’s no competition for you, Leon. You win by default.”

Strangely, Leon looks weirdly touched by his words. His smile is broad and genuine, and something tells Merlin that he’s going to use this confession to boast to the other knights about who the favourite is.

“I though, well, that we didn’t have much time to spend together, and most people see me as someone uptight and too loyal to be fun to hang around-“

Merlin frowns.

“I will beat them up for you. Tell me names. No. I don’t need names. I will hunt them down myself.”

“Please don’t.” Leon tilts his head and moves to take care of his own bedroll. “I thought Lancelot was your best friend.”

“Yeah, no, we’re divorced. Friendship ended with Lance, now you’re my best friend. Congratulations on your promotion.”

Leon laughs.

“You truly are a special and extraordinary man, Merlin.” He nudges him. “But now you must resume your duties to the king and take care of our food.”

“You all don’t deserve me.” Merlin groans, but goes to prepare a soup. He’s complaining in modern English about how there’s no spices he can use; and being in the open he shouldn’t use his magic to grow a plant that shouldn’t survive in a cold climate of Western Europe.

The next morning they all start riding towards Camelot again. Arthur leads them to the gates, where they are greeted by a crowd of people.

The peasants stand back as the nobles and other knights of Camelot celebrate their return. There’s a lot of hustle and bustle, and Merlin almost feels right back at home.

They arrive to the stairs of the castle and, damn, Merlin missed it.

He rebuilt it in Pierrefonds, back when he was spending the entirety of the fourteenth century in France.

But it was built from memory, after seven hundred years of not seeing the real deal.

Arthur turns to Merlin and squeezes his shoulder.

“Take the rest of your day off. I’m sure Gaius will be thrilled to see you returned.”

“Uh, sure.” Merlin glances at the crowd surrounding them. “Thank you. Sire.”

The knights follow Arthur inside the castle; Lancelot casts him a worried glance, Leon nods at him with a soft smile, and Gwaine yells an invite to spend the night in the tavern once they finish their duties.

Merlin turns around to try to find Gaius - a new adventure that he’s not ready for - when someone barrels right into him.

The hug is tight and full of emotion; he turns his head to look at the woman grasping the fabric of his shirt.

Her dark curls are in disarray, and she’s sobbing onto his chest.

“Gwen?” Merlin asks quietly, and she nods.

“I was so scared that one of you won’t return! I made Lancelot promise me to keep Arthur safe!” She looks at him, her brown eyes tearful and wide. “How is this possible? That you all return from a journey destined to take one of you away?”

“Well, Lancelot might’ve promised you to keep Arthur safe, but I had a mission that was way more important.” He hugs her back, holding her head to his chest. “I wouldn’t be able to handle seeing you grieve for someone again. I didn’t want to see you cry.”

It’s Gwen, his Gwen. His best friend, the one who he barely remembers, but the one that greeted him in Camelot and was the first person he became close to.

Even now, centuries later, he’s sure he’s holding her just the same as the last time he saw her. And a distant part of him thinks it feels the same too.

“You didn’t want to see me cry yet here I am, sobbing my eyes out.”

“Those are happy tears. Let them flow.” Merlin whispers into her hair. It’s improper. It’s scandalous, to hold a woman so tightly; too intimate.

But they never were ones to stick to the norms people wanted them to keep living in. One servant who became a queen, and the other who became so much more.

“Actually, Gwen, can you help me find Gaius?” He asks, and she nods; she starts walking towards the side of the castle.

He runs after her.

“Hey, stop running like a frightened doe, I’m too old to be so swift.”

“Then you better get younger!” She laughs, skipping steps to the physician’s tower.

Gaius - or at least Merlin thinks it’s Gaius - is leaning above some potions, looking through the herbal book. He’s mumbling something before he adds three petals of a flower into the mortar and starts grinding it with the pestle.

“Gaius, I brought you someone!” Gwen announces, smiling at the older man.

He looks up at her and notices Merlin, who grins at him and opens his arms as if for a hug.

“Missed me?”

“Merlin! It’s good to have you back, boy.” He takes in his appearance and the unusual confidence. “You closer the Veil. Who-“

“No one.” Gwen says, glancing between them. “They all returned.”

“All?” Gaius’ brows go up. He stares at Merlin in bewilderment. “The Gatekeeper demands a blood sacrifice. You fools, what did you do? What’s the cost-“

“I talked to Cailleach and she agreed to close the Veil.”

Both Gwen and Gaius start staring, and, seriously, Merlin just wants to enjoy his vacation. Why does the universe push him to work and then to suffer the consequences of his actions? He doesn’t want to talk to people and explain things, he wants to sunbathe and drink margaritas.

“That’s impossible.”

“Come on, we all know I don’t care for that word. Anyway, the Veil is closed, the Dorocha are gone, and Arthur is alive. Lancelot was planning on sacrificing himself, though, and if he decided to leave me to deal with all those clowns? Then it isn’t a real friendship. Honestly, Gwen, we have to talk about your taste in men, they’re both so stupid.”

Gwen blushes and whacks him in the arm.

Gaius is still staring.

“You talked a goddess out of killing.”

“I am a charming person.” Merlin says, and turns to his friend. “I’m sure Lancelot would be glad to have a visit from a lovely maiden. You can kick him for being stupid.”

Gwen rolls her eyes but leaves.

Once they’re alone, Gaius sits down and hides his face in his hands.

“What was the price?”

“There wasn’t any. I talked her out of it.”

“You’re as powerful as you are stupid, you foolish boy.” Gaius sighs.

“That’s what’s so amazing about me.” Merlin says. His mentor - is he really still that? Merlin keeps looking at him, trying to remember every wrinkle on his face, the way he moves; he’s searching for something familiar but finds none. His mentor died hundreds of years ago and didn’t leave much to remember him by, except for a bitter memory of asking Merlin to save Uther every time the man was dying or close to it.

“Agravaine paid me a visit earlier.” Gaius says instead of commenting on his nephew’s newfound self confidence. “I’m afraid he might not be as virtuous as he likes to appear. I suspect Morgana might’ve seen Cailleach too. You need to be careful, boy. She must never find out who you are-“

“Oh, for f*cks sake, is this really how it was back then? Hell, I’m like some low quality superhero. The amazing adventures of Merlin. Come on, Gaius, Morgana’s but a girl that’s lost on her head. Maybe it’s not too late for her yet. Maybe. Also, who’s aggravated?”

Gaius lifts his head up and stares at him, again. It’s starting to get boring, in Merlin’s humble opinion.

“Agravaine. Arthur’s uncle?”

“Oh. OH! YEAH! That guy.” Merlin clasps his hands together. “Well, I’ll figure something out. But now, I’m too tired to care. See you tomorrow, if I wake up.”

Before Gaius can ask any questions, Merlin climbs up the stairs and falls onto the bed - it’s stuffed with hay, so he snaps his fingers to replace it with a soft mattress. Same thing goes for his covers - a weighted blanket and a warm duvet replace ratty blankets that scratch at his skin.

Maybe that’s all. He closed the Veil, he delivered Arthur safely to Camelot.

Once he opens his eyes, he’ll be back on a beach in Cuba. Surely.

Chapter 3: The Real Present Is The Place Where Your Friends Are

Chapter Text

When Merlin wakes up he’s not on a beach in Cuba.

He’s slowly getting used to life in Camelot - not many days have passed since his arrival, but he’s been so busy it feels like a year or more.

Honestly, he’s been avoiding everyone out of spite, because the gods just had to be cruel and try to make him socialize like some overbearing parents, too interested in his social life.

Arthur seems worried about how perfectly Merlin does his duties, performing them as quickly as possible, to evacuate himself from the king regent.

And just like that, Merlin is strolling through the lower town - or rather rolling, on the heelys that took the spot of his shoes as soon as he realized how much walking he would have to do, now that he’s a servant again - taking in the view.

He buys some bread with coins he definitely didn’t magic into existence, and gives it to a small girl who’s playing with a wooden doll. She smiles and thanks him so loudly and fast he’s afraid she’ll hyperventilate.

“Merlin! I was looking for you. How are you feeling?” Lancelot startles him, but Merlin pretends he didn’t squeak in surprise.

When it becomes apparent that Lancelot has no intention of leaving, Merlin turns to him and taps on his chin, then tilts his head to show him his jawline and runs his finger across it.

He misses the internet. Maybe tiktok destroyed his attention span, but at least it was funny.

Lancelot stares at him, dumbfounded, and he takes the opportunity to disappear into the crowd.

It doesn’t take him long to get out of the city and past the walls surrounding it. The forest is quiet, and the magic that buzzes under Merlin’s skin likes how real and clean it feels. It’s undisturbed, and nature is probably the only thing he actually missed.

“Hello.” He whispers to a bird landing nearby. He outstretches his hand and it jumps towards it, pecking at his skin. “All right, you’re so impatient.” He focuses on his magic, on the familiar flow of energy surrounding him. It takes less than a word, and there are strawberries in his hands.

The bird gladly takes them, chirping at him gratefully.

“At least you appreciate my efforts.”

He lets the bird fly off and starts going towards the lake. It would take him a while to get there, but with his magic mastered, he doesn’t even sweat. Teleporting became easy after his pirate days; it was really useful back then, with how many times he had to evacuate from a sinking ship.

The water reflects the sky, and he can’t see the bottom of it.

“Freya? Are you there?” He calls, silence being his only response.

He takes a bunch of flat rocks from the shore and starts skipping stones, bored out of his mind.

His fourth stone jumps across the water surface six times and hits Freya right in her forehead.

She falls back inside the lake in surprise, and Merlin yelps and runs into the water to help her out.

As the water starts reaching his knees he decides against swimming and climbs on the surface, standing on it and making wobbly steps towards the spot Freya was emerging from.

He can see fish underneath his feet, as well as algae and shells. The bottom of the lake is dark and grows less visible with each step.

Finally he sees Freya; her hand is just above the surface, so he runs to it and helps her get out of the water.

“MIssed me?” He asks cheekily. She tilts her head; her eyes are inhuman, cat-like.

“I thought it will be a long time until I see you again, after I healed you in that stream several days ago.”

“About that-” Merlin sees a worried look cross her face.

She’s so young, he reminds himself. She’s just as lost at being a goddess as he was back when he first discovered his immortality.

It never became easier, seeing her in the lake. She wanted to be human more than anything, and instead got condemned by their destiny to serve as the keeper of Excalibur, controlled by fate and not being able to create her own.

At least until Merlin got annoyed at the unfairness of it all and dragged her out of the lake mid eighteenth century.

They lived together for a while - both immortal, both trying to refuse to follow their paths. He had enough wealth to grant her a house with a beautiful garden, just like she dreamed.

She still lived there, although she liked traveling even more, now that she didn’t have to hide - or stay in one place. It was their little promise to each other, to send postcards of each new and new-old place they visited.

Freya had over fifty pictures in the city of Vilnius that she visited every few years since the camera was invented. She enjoyed seeing how much of it had changed during the time between her visits.

Truth be told, most old gods and immortals like Merlin blended in with humans. It took him a while to bully them into understanding the beauty of a forever-changing world, but he managed.

Him and Freya didn’t work out, in the end. Merlin was sure that it was love that they experienced, but not the right one.

With him solving The buzzfeed quiz over eighty times and her preferring to be alone, they figured out they misplaced that feeling, or at least took it for something it wasn’t.

Both were young back then; Freya was the first person who saw beauty in his magic, not a tool or a weapon. And he was the first person who was kind to her, who promised her a better future.

And though they didn’t end up being in each other’s lives the way they first thought they would be, they still were close.

When the lake of Avalon dried off and became a grassy field, Freya was visiting Manila with Leon; Merlin sent her a letter about it, and she cried for days, relief filling her body just as it was filling Merlin’s. With heavy hearts, all three of them celebrated their freedom from destiny’s clutches.

“Did I do something wrong?” Freya asks, clutching his forearms, and it's enough to make him shake his thoughts off. She doesn’t look or sound like a goddess, more like a scared girl. Merlin hugs her.

“You never do.” He promises, then a grimace appears on his face. “I think it was me, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

Merlin sits, cross legged, on the surface of the lake. Freya is still holding onto him, floating in the water, her upper body above the surface.

“The details are messy because I miiiight have partied a bit too hard, but I came to a conclusion that I teleported back in time. I’m from the future. That’s what I mean.”

Freya blinks, her pale face becoming a shade paler.

“How many years?” She asks, and he looks away. “Merlin, how many years did you go back?”

“A thousand and five hundred? Or something like that. People kept changing the calendar and its rules, it’s all confusing.” He laughs. “Oh, actually, there’s a funny story about- you’re not looking amused.”

“A Millenium? Why would you-“

“Emrys. Immortal. All that jazz. Magic itself can’t die so I’m just vibing. It’s cool, there’s a lot to wait for. Believe me, you’ll love the future. So many new things to enjoy.”

Freya looks pained, her stoic expression replaced with a terrified one. Merlin cringes; she did become a goddess, but that didn’t mean she was ready to live for as long as one. With the prophecy about Arthur she most likely thought it wouldn’t take that much time.

“I’m there, am I not? Stuck in the lake like it’s a cage.” She whispers, and he pulls her closer.

“No, no. Never. You’re traveling the world. It took me a while to figure it out, but you’re free. You’re your own person, I promise.” He grins at her, and she looks at him in wonder. “You have the prettiest garden too. Full of flowers and fruits.”

“Strawberries?”

“Those were the first ones we planted.”

“I’m glad, then. That it’s not lonely.”

Merlin glances at the lake, then back at her.

Yikes, he feels awkward, but it has to be done.

“About our feelings-“

“I can’t blame you for loving someone else.” He stops at her words and stares at her. With a gentle smile she lets go of his forearms. “You’re hard not to love, Merlin. But we were an experience, to each other. One that I will be forever grateful for.”

“Even so young you’re still wise.”

“I have to be, since you’re not.”

He laughs and brushes hair from her face. Her cheeks are red and she leans into his touch.

“I can free you from your duties.” Merlin says. She reaches and puts her hands on his head, bringing his forehead to hers.

“I have to take care of Excalibur, at least for now. When it lands in its rightful owner’s hands, I will ask you to free me.”

“I think you’ll have to help me wash Arthur’s dirty socks for making me wait for this.” She laughs, soft and melodic, like the first birdsong in spring.

“I appreciate your kindness, Merlin.”

“Of course. I promised you, didn't I? To help you.”

“And I promised that I want to repay you.” She holds their hands together. “Thank you, for freeing me.”

“I haven't done it yet.”

“You already did, just not in the way you think.” She lowers herself into the water. “See you later, Emrys.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, Lady of the Lake.”

His peace and quiet doesn’t last long. Maybe Freya can find a place for him in the lake. He’s sure there must be some.

“MERLIN!” Arthur’s face is red as he runs to him. He sighs, resigned to his fate. He paid so much money for that hotel, it’s such a shame. “There you are, you useless idiot.” He almost growls at him and grabs him by his shoulder. “Where in the bloody hell have you been?”

“I was meeting a friend.” He replies, and Arthur doesn’t seem like that’s what he’s been expecting for him to say.

“You didn’t tell me you had friends.”

Merlin stares at him in disbelief.

“You know my life doesn’t just revolve around you, right?”

“Are you sure that’s a friend and not someone sick or mad? He might not be well, if he wants to have you around.”

“ She’s perfectly happy with hanging out with me.”

Arthur frowns.

“Guenevere was in the castle, working.”

“Of course. Because I wasn’t talking about her.”

Arthur squints and looks Merlin over.

“Your clothes are damp.”

“Amazing observation skills, sire.”

Arthur huffs in annoyance and slaps Merlin in the back of his neck.

“Don’t be too smart, Merlin, it might hurt your brain.”

“My brain already hurts from the lack of tea.” Merlin mumbles in modern English, ignoring a curious look Arthur sends him.

“Now that you’re here, you might want to do your actual job, instead of chasing skirts. I need to prepare a speech for my upcoming birthday ceremony.”

“Then go and write it?” Merlin says, raising his eyebrows. Arthur stares daggers at him, his eyelid twitching in annoyance.

“ Mer lin.”

“Ah. The analphabecy strikes again. Sure, I’ll do my best. I know it might be hard to be illiterate.”

“You bloody moron! The audacity you have is not the one a servant should possess!” Arthur grabs a torch - it’s not lit - and throws it at Merlin, who does a swift dodge.

“See you later, sire. Should I include drawings so it’s easier to read?”

When the king regent looks for something else to throw, Merlin escapes to his private chambers. They look, well, royal. The floor is shining, even if there are some clothes thrown on it. The bedsheets are in dissaray. The wall has a dent where Arthur threw his chalice at. A typical room for a functioning monarch with anger issues.

Merlin writes the speech and yawns. The quill is manipulated by his magic, he’s just telling it what to write down as he cleans the room.

“I miss chat GPT, Arthur doesn’t deserve creative work and real effort.” He mutters, pointing at a broom to start sweeping the dust and dirt off the floor.

Arthur comes in an hour or two later, sweaty, most likely from training.

“You didn’t come to get me ready for training.”

“I was writing your speech.” Merlin says and grins at him. “And look, you can put your armor on by yourself.”

Arthur frowns, a worried look crossing his face.

“It’s not like you to miss my training. Most of the days you’re trailing behind me like a lost dog.” He notices, making the warlock flinch.

He could just tell him what happened, but he’s not in the mood to explain his magic, immortality and potential time travel spell that he might’ve performed while drunk off his ass.

And he’s counting on it being a temporary situation; and the young Merlin wouldn’t be ready to deal with what he can reveal.

“I’m avoiding Lancelot.”

“Lancelot? Really?” Arthur grins, amused, and sits down on his bed. Merlin moves to remove the rest of the armor and store it in the chest by the bed. “I thought you two were inseparable.”

“Well, mister bleeding heart is getting on my nerves. He can go and die in a ditch. He wanted to leave me behind! The audacity! Can you believe this? No, sure, let me handle everything. Who needs a support system! Not me, right?!” He starts pacing around the room. “No, no, let’s just drop all of the burden on my shoulders and leave me alone, with no one to talk to! Honestly, if he wanted to die that hard, I should’ve let him!”

“Merlin!” He turns to look at Arthur. “If you need someone to trust, you can tell me about what’s troubling you.” He mutters, shifting his gaze to the window. “We can’t be friends, obviously, but like I once told you, if I wasn’t an heir to the throne but a simple peasant…”

“You wouldn’t survive if you were a peasant. You’re too used to being a noble.” Merlin points out. He’s sure Arthur would die if he had to empty a dishwasher.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but puts aside any snide comments.

“I’m being honest, if there’s something that’s troubling you, it would be wise to share. You’re my personal servant, I need you to be able to perform my duties.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll be as efficient as always.”

Arthur looks away. His back is straight and Merlin hurts just from looking. Nobles learnt how they’re supposed to walk, sit and rest since they were kids, and slouching was practically beaten out of them.

That’s how it was so obvious which knights of Camelot came from nobility; Lancelot, Percival and Elyan slouched, while Gwaine and Leon held their backs straight, even when they were tired and aching from training.

“Is this about the friend you met?”

Merlin is really, really tempted to tell Arthur that said friend is dead and he’s basically visiting her grave, just to see his reaction.

“No. She’s lovely and maybe one day, when you stop being a prat, I will let you meet her.”

“Excuse me? I’m your superior, it’s not up to you to decide.”

“Go trip on a rock.” Merlin mutters in modern English.

Arthur moves to his desk and looks at the speech.

“This is gibberish! What type of writing is that?!”

“Oh, it’s Carolingian minuscule.” Merlin frowns, then his eyes widen. “Oh, sh*t, it wasn’t invented yet. I forgot Charlemagne lived in the ninth century, I’ll rewrite this, sorry.”

Arthur frowns, his lips part but Merlin rushes to rewrite the speech and doesn’t give him any chance to ask or comment.

“Allright, all done.” Merlin gives him the scroll with the speech, now in the old alphabet, and cleans the desk. “Am I needed for anything else?”

“You may go. Bring me dinner after sundown, now I have paperwork to fill out.”

“And you don’t need my help with it?”

“I can’t have you make mistakes like writing in an imaginary language on them.”

“Carolingian minuscule isn’t a language, it’s- doesn’t matter.” Merlin plays with his neckerchief and looks around.

“Does Gaius know what happened to you when that Dorocha-”

Merlin grimaces. That’s why he’s been such a good servant for the past few days, efficient, doing everything so quickly and so well that Arthur didn’t have much time to question him.

“I haven’t told him about that, sire.”

Arthur pauses and the look of disapproval he gives Merlin is equal to the one Gaius sends the knights when they don’t listen to his advice.

“That Dorocha did something to you, your memory gets weird and you do strange things.” He points to the papers with a speech only Merlin (and Leon) can read.

Merlin calculates for a second. It’s a risk to even comment on that, but, well, it’s not like he can die anyway.

“I haven’t told Gaius yet, because I want to figure it out myself first.” When Arthur opens his mouth to interrupt him, Merlin rushes out: “Noone before survived the Dorocha after it touched them. I could be accused of magic.”

He tries to pretend like he’s scared of the sheer idea, mentally giving himself a high-five on how genius he is.

Arthur stops sorting through documents and bites his lip. It seems that he hadn’t thought about it in that way.

“You didn’t use any of this sort. That’s idiotic.”

“Arthur, you know the laws of Camelot. All it takes is a single accusation. There were innocent people burnt because someone they disliked was sick. And that’s just coincidence. What would happen if people heard of someone who survived the Dorocha?”

He’s quiet, but something in his face tells Merlin that he get’s it. As much as Arthur wants to believe the laws aren’t a mistake and all serious matters are treated fairly, he knows it’s not true.

“You’re not dangerous. You wouldn’t hurt anyone.” He whispers, and he sounds so sure of it that it makes Merlin’s heart ache.

It sounds like he’s considering the fact that it was magic that saved Merlin’s life, he just doesn’t know how and where it came from. The Pendragons were always a bunch of hypocrites.

“What difference would it make? An innocent man burns just like a guilty one does.”

Arthur sighs, a pained look crosses his face. He leans forward on his elbows.

“Gaius wouldn’t do anything to put you in harm’s way.”

“I know.” Merlin looks to the doors, avoiding Arthur’s gaze. “I’ll tell him, later.”

“Well then,” there’s a sound of papers rustling, “you may go now. The knights are also worried about you.”

Merlin doesn’t respond; he walks out and then books it out of the castle; he’s reaching the main entrance, planning to go and hide at Gwen’s house, when someone grabs his shoulder.

He turns, ready to fight, but is greeted by Gwaine’s face. The man is grinning at him and throws his arm around Merlin’s shoulders.

“Do you have some time for an old friend?”

“Don’t you have some duties?”

“Only a report on grain, but I’ve had enough of Leon’s company. I’m sure others are thrilled to hear it out, though.”

“Oh, so I’m just an easy form of escape to you?” Merlin nudges him, and Gwaine laughs.

“You can’t blame a man for trying.”

“Gwaine!” Elyan walks up to them. He nods at Merlin who gives him a friendly wave. “The meeting is starting, get your arse inside.”

“Oh, I would love to, but I’m helping my friend here.” Gwaine pats Merlin’s shoulders. Elyan crosses his arms.

The guards standing at the entrance are looking at them, slightly bored. One is starting to fall asleep, and Merlin wonders just how well trained in it he is, because he manages to do it while still standing straight, and only his breathing betrays that he’s not resting his eyes from the sun.

“I’m still having problems with my memory, Gwaine agreed to help me look for herbs for Gaius.” Merlin tells Elyan. The knight squints, but after a few seconds relaxes.

“Do you maybe need help from someone who actually knows what they’re doing?”

“Oi, I wasn’t always a knight, I have just as much experience of living in the woods as you have!”

“No, now come on, I was traveling for years, I’m great at survival. You were looking for taverns and mead.”

“And yet here we both are, standing equal.” Gwaine laughs at Elyan’s expression. He shakes his head. “Merlin’s already taken, sweetheart. Go and listen to our head knight talk about grain for the next three hours.”

“Sorry Elyan, maybe next time?” Merlin shrugs apologetically.

“Oh, you better.” Elyan groans. “Don’t let him die!”

“I won’t!” Merlin yells back.

Gwaine grins at him and starts walking with him towards the lower town.

The roads are busy, people walking between the buildings, forming a small crowd near some stalls with foods or materials. Some woman is holding her kid’s hand and trying to look through the coats a wandering merchant had spread on the ground.

Merlin stops in front of him too, looking at the colorful fabrics with awe. He knows how to sew, and his ratty clothes are a bit uncomfortable - and definitely not his style.

He grabs the blue fabric, then, after some consideration, also grabs some light green one. Gwaine is looking at him with curiosity.

“Arthur’s making you sew him new clothes now?” He asks as Merlin is paying. The warlock huffs.

“He wishes. It’s for me and Gwen. I thought I could make her a nice dress. And I need something better than this.” To make a point, he grabs the collar of his shirt, showing how old and frayed the fabric is.

“Never seemed to bother you.”

“Or maybe I just never told you about it.” He grins and folds the fabrics in half, then puts them inside his bag.

“Where are we going now?”

“Forest. I wasn’t lying when I said I have to gather some herbs.” Merlin takes a list out of the bag and looks at it.

“And your memory issues? Was that true as well?”

“I have some troubles, but you don’t have to worry about that.”

“You’re my friend, I think I have the right to.” He crouches when Merlin does, and, after he notices how the plant that Merlin grabs looks like, he starts searching for it and harvesting it as well.

It’s a relaxing job, especially for Merlin. He likes being connected to nature; he’s not scared of any insects crawling between the grass, and his magic acts as a natural mosquito repellant.

“You look less stressed.” Gwaine says after they move to another spot, searching for another plant.

“What do you mean?”

“Ah, don’t take it the wrong way, but staying in Camelot seemed to consume you. Every time I saw you, you seemed less happy than before. It’s nice to see you free of paranoia.”

“Yep. It’s nice to not be paranoid.” He sighs, and that much is true. Fifteen hundred years of living can change a person. When being forced to face just how little he can control, Merlin seemed to calm down. What was going to happen was going to happen, no matter if he tried to stop it or not. He was like a Greek hero; his fate was decided for him, and fighting it only brought the destined end of his story closer.

He’s in the same place, but he’s a different person. It feels weird, seeing people who he knows changed at the beginning of their journeys. When he first discovered his immortality, it was like he was stuck in the past and the world moved on without him.

Now it seems to be the other way around.

“I lost my Duolingo streak, though. The green owl will hunt me down, Gwaine. I can’t escape it.”

Gwaine bursts out laughing.

“Maybe Arthur is right and you do spend a lot of time in the tavern. What are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you, one day.” He picks up a flower and puts it in Gwaine’s hair. He smiles.

“Does it look good on me?”

“What doesn’t?” Merlin responds, putting one in his hair as well.

They sit on the grass, letting sun shine on their faces; it’s not very often when Camelot has a sunny day.

“What happened with Lancelot? You’re avoiding him. He told me you were weird this morning.”

“He didn’t trust my plan and tried to kill himself to make the sacrifice. He dared to doubt me, so now I’m treating him like he wanted: he’s dead to me.”

“Damn, that’s harsh.” Gwaine huffs, amused. “And what about the thing you were doing this morning?”

The smile that spreads on Merlin’s face is one that the devil himself would envy.

“Oh, it’s a technique to shape your jawline.” He explains. “And it’s the funniest and most annoying thing. You have to put your tongue on the roof of your mouth and keep it pressed there.”

Gwaine grins.

“Oh, I might just use that.” He laughs. “Imagine how amazed our friends will be.”

Merlin laughs and falls on the ground.

“I can’t believe that Lancelot doubted you, though. You, my friend, are extraordinary. It’s most likely that he wanted to protect you, keep you from risking your life.”

“He didn’t have the right to make that choice. I needed him here.” It comes out a bit more bitter than Merlin wanted. Maybe if Lancelot didn’t sacrifice himself, he wouldn’t spiral down into paranoia and depression. Even after all those centuries, it’s hard for him to forget his lowest points; how he self isolated, how he sacrificed his friendships for something that turned out to be a fairy tale.

Maybe if Lancelot didn’t die back then, Gwen wouldn’t have to suffer when his shade came in and manipulated them all.

Merlin would’ve managed, like he did before, even if it hurt that he couldn’t talk about his magic to anyone anymore, or show how good and beautiful it could be - well, except for Leon, but he can be such a mum friend, he will surely ban Merlin from using it in Camelot for his safety as soon as he sees that he’s, well, using it in Camelot, risking his safety - but he couldn’t bare the thought of seeing Gwen suffer like that again.

Gwaine is silent at his side.

“Lancelot’s an idiot. He knows about something, and losing him would probably drive me insane. He’s the only person I could ever talk about it freely to. Without him, I would lose myself. It would be so lonely. And it’s hard to see something good in that something when the only other people who stayed with me are talking about it like it’s a tool.”

Gwaine looks surprised at his admission. He turns to him, then sits up and reaches to put a hand on his shoulder.

“Then why don’t you share this something with someone else?”

“There are many reasons. People leave. They die. Maybe if Lancelot didn’t know, he wouldn’t try sacrificing himself. They make decisions for me. I never really told anyone.”

“You want to?”

“I’m not sure. It’s hard to say how people would react. It’s a bit selfish, but I didn’t want to risk losing anyone. What if Lancelot was special in that regard?”

“It’s about your magic, isn’t it?”

Merlin stops talking and slowly, really slowly, turns to face Gwaine. His eyes are wide, and he grows a shade or two paler.

“My what now?” He squeaks, the voice inside him faceplanting at how weak and bad it sounds.

“When we were after Arthur and that weird man stopped us at the bridge, he said that magic and strength arrived. And I definitely don’t have any magic.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I didn’t want to force you! I wanted for you to want to tell me. I believe it’s something that’s your choice, not mine. It felt a bit wrong, having it revealed without your consent.”

Merlin is speechless. Even Queen’s first concert didn’t render him so speechless and in awe.

Gwaine is looking at him, his sword but aside. He looks like any knight does, but in that moment, he’s just Gwaine, his friend, one that Merlin might’ve forgotten as the time went, but who was now here, and apparently knew all this time.

Something stings inside him, and his eyes water. He’s over it. He barely remembers his time in Camelot, and most of what he does remember is because he wrote it down and read it enough to know more or less what happened in his past.

But it hurts the same, the thought of how different his life could’ve been if he knew. That he wasn’t alone in this.

“Merlin?” Gwaine’s patient, but he sounds concerned when he bites back a sob. “Do you want to do it properly?”

It doesn’t matter. Merlin’s so used to using his magic in the open, he doesn’t care about reveals anymore. But it feels special; it feels right.

“Gwaine, you’re my friend and a loyal knight to Arthur. I want to tell you about something important. I have magic. I was born with it.” Even after all those years, he knows those words by his heart.

“I didn’t know about that part.” Gwaine muses and shakes his head. He throws himself at Merlin, embracing him in a tight hug. “Thank you for trusting me.”

“This might be a good time to tell you that I’m also from the future.”

Gwaine stills in his arms.

“How? Wait, what’s it like? Do I have a lot of admirers? Did I get as huge as Percival? Oh! Has a lovely maiden gifted me my own tavern for saving her life? Wait, when did you-”

Merlin raises his eyebrows and untangles himself from the hug.

“I appeared here after the Dorocha got me. I lived this life already, but I can’t remember most of it.”

“You must be old, then. Enjoying your younger body, Merlin?”

“Don’t say it like that, ew.” Merlin laughs.

“So, you outlived us all? Or is it because we’re all old and wrinkly like Gaius?”

“More because I lived for fifteen hundred years or so.”

Gwaine stops completely, stiff like a twig. His face downs in horror.

“Fifteen-”

“I’m immortal.” Merlin chirps, after giving his friend an existential crisis.

“You look good for your age.” Gwaine manages to mumble, and Merlin, with a roll of his eyes, nudges him between the ribs with his elbow.

They both lay on the ground, looking at the trees above them.

“I’m so sorry. If I had known tat you were alone and too scared of telling anyone, I would’ve told you.”

“Nah, thank you for giving me a choice, or trying to. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you the first time around. Paranoia and stuff.”

“And stuff. That’s for sure.” Gwaine’s lips twist into a grimace. The birds sing above them, jumping between the twigs and branches. “I can’t believe how lonely it must’ve been, to live so long.”

“You’re making it sound sad, but I enjoy being immortal. At first it was bad, terrifying and depressing, but when you live for so long, you’re kinda left wishing for more. The world changes, no place stays the same. It’s wonderful to be able to experience so much. And I wasn’t alone.”

He doesn’t share Leon’s secret, he doesn’t want to take it from him.

“Did you miss us?”

“Sometimes. But you can’t grieve forever, now can you?” He relaxes, letting the wind brush his hair. “I told stories about you. Wrote a book or two, then a scenario for a series - it’s like a play - when I got really drunk. I spread a rumor that Arthur had hots for his sister, though.”

That’s enough to make Gwaine laugh.

“I also spread a story that you have special powers that are connected to the sun, and you grow stronger the higher it is in the sky.”

“I appreciate being the favourite.”

“I misspelled your name, though.” Gwaine hits him on the shoulder for that.

They look at the clouds together, and Merlin whispers a spell to shape them into various animals, but making it so that only he and Gwaine are able to see it.

“We should head back, Arthur’s probably dying from how incompetent he is without me.” Merlin jokes, and Gwaine lets out a groan.

“Don’t we need two more plants?”

Merlin raises his eyebrow and stomps on the ground, once. Herbs start growing beneath his feet, and he collects them.

“I can’t get over how amazing this is.”

“I can’t get over how you’re not asking questions.”

“Ah, there will be time for that, but not now. And I’ve known for a while now. You don’t owe me any more explanations.”

Merlin lifts Gwaine up with his magic, and the knight grins. His cape should be covered in dirt and leaves, but it’s clean. There’s not a single thing that would point to them taking a break and lazying off.

“You have to tell me some stories about the future, when we have time. We can laugh or cry over it in a tavern.”

“I have to introduce you to co*cktails.”

“I can’t wait.”

And just like that, maybe Merlin can enjoy this little inconvenience to his vacations.

Before they go their own ways - Gwaine to his chambers and Merlin to the kitchen, to fetch dinner for Arthur - Merlin takes a book out of his back and hands it to Gwaine.

“Can you put this in Lancelot’s chambers?”

Gwaine looks at the title and grins.

“It’ll be a pleasure.”

Chapter 4: Quiet before the storm

Chapter Text

“So? What does it say?” Lancelot is pacing around the room as Percival exchanges worried looks with Elyan.

The book he’s holding is thick, the script inside written in such a neat way it doesn’t look as if it was written by a human hand. The letters look the same, they are put in straight lines that seem to be the exact same space apart from each other - it looks weird.

The leathery cover has letters engraved on it, all in gold.

“I, uh, I don’t know how to read, Lancelot.” Percival says, a bit ashamed. He’s rubbing the back of his neck as he handles the book to Elyan, who squints and shakes his head.

“Yeah, I can’t read either.”

Lancelot stares at them in disbelief.

“You shouldn’t judge us, noble knight, you’re illiterate as well.” Elyan points out before he says anything.

“Does Gwen know how to read?” He opts to ask instead. Percival looks at him, puzzled.

“Why not ask Merlin? He’s Gaius' apprentice, and we all know he writes Arthur’s speeches.”

“Because it’s from Merlin. And he’s mad at me. Whatever it is, neither Gaius nor Merlin will answer me, that much I can guarantee.”

“I would suggest Gwaine, but if you don’t know how to read, he definitely doesn’t either.” Elyan perks up. “Leon?”

“No, Leon seems to be getting closer to Merlin.” Lancelot mumbles. Percival nods his head.

“Yeah, Merlin keeps bringing him cookies and pie. They also sparred together, earlier today.”

“Arthur?”

“Do you want to be punished for pissing off his best friend?” Elyan asks, his lips stretching into an amused smile.

“I’m Merlin’s- doesn’t matter. Well then, Elyan? Does lady Gwen know how to read?”

The knight shrugs, looking a bit uncomfortable. He hands Lancelot his book back and grabs his sword, pretending to look for dents.

“Im not sure. She might? We haven’t talked about this. You should ask her.”

“I should.” Lancelot muses, a dreamy look crossing his face. His worries for Merlin ran deep, after all, he was his best friend, and his only confidant besides Gaius. But the prospect of spending time with Gwen was almost as important as Merlin’s well-being.

He searches for her, a candle in hand; he didn’t have much time during the day, so he decided to use the lack of chores in the evening to solve the mystery of the book Gwaine handed him the previous afternoon.

Gwen is humming some folk melody under her breath, folding the laundry. She perks up as Lancelot walks inside the chamber she’s cleaning, a blush covering her cheeks.

“Hello, dear knight. How may I help you? If you’re looking for Merlin, he asked me to tell you that you’re dead to him.” She greets him with a smile. He laughs, although it sounds strained; that’s enough to make her eyebrows rise and forehead crease in worry.

“Merlin’s not really pleased with me right now, is he?”

“I was wondering about that as well. I don’t mean to pry, but it’s not usual for you to fight.”

“No, you’re right. And you’re his friend as well, have been for longer than I. It’s predictable you’d worry and search for an answer.”

“Being nosy doesn’t suit a lady.” She laughs, placing her right hand on her chest. Lancelot huffs.

“It suits a friend. A good one, that cares deeply about others.” He justifies, then sits on the bed. “I was searching for you, to ask a question, my lady.”

“And what might that question be?” She bites, like a fish to a lure. He notices a curious spark in her eyes.

“Do you perhaps know how to read?” He asks, looking away. “I never learnt, neither did Percival and Elyan.”

“I do! Back when Morg- back when I was a personal maid, my lady taught me the basics. Then Merlin came and started giving me lessons as well. He has such a kind heart.” She smiles, nostalgic for their time spent together.

She was going to ask him to resume their lessons, but Merlin seemed so busy recently, always in motion, running errands and doing chores.

“Can you read this?” Lancelot hands her a book. She looks on the cover and raises a hand to her mouth to stifle the laughter that threatens to escape. “What does it say?”

“It’s quite long. What on Earth did you do to make him so mad?” She giggles, then points to the letters engraved on the cover. “A guide for complete idiots and useless, good for nothing friends on how to NOT kill themselves when their friend needs them, presumably leaving him to deal with all those clowns and the burden of his destiny on his own. Eat sh*t, Lancelot. By Merlin.” She starts laughing and struggles to finish reading.

Lancelot stares at the book, confused and bewildered.

“I’m sorry! It’s so improper of me, but I was so worried! Merlin has been so sad and distant lately, it’s such a relief to see he still has his spark in him.”

“That’s for sure.” Lancelot responds, still staring at the cover.

“Do you know what made him so mad at you, then?”

“I think he’s holding grudges for what happened at the Isle of The Blessed. I didn’t trust him and tried to sacrifice myself.” He says, and Gwen stops smiling. She looks at him, worried, her eyes wide.

“You were trying to save everyone. You were doing as I asked you-“

“Don’t blame yourself for this, my lady. I’m not worthy of your worries and guilt, my actions were my own.”

“Do you suppose he will get over this?”

“It’s Merlin, he isn’t best at holding grudges.”

Merlin is so good at holding grudges.

He remembers when king George taxed the tea - his favourite too! - when he was on vacation in one of his colonies in the New World. True, he didn’t think that one act of disobedience (well, there were more than one but really, who’s counting?) would escalate so quickly and to such an extent, but, come on. He wasn’t going to pay more for tea just because some arrogant royal ass told him to!

There was also that time when the count of Hamelin refused to pay him and he convinced the kids of the local villages to go with him on an adventure - it wasn’t kidnapping! And he returned them immediately after he was paid! Okay, maybe that does sound like he asked for ransom, but in his defense! They wanted to go with him, he brought them to the local druids and even taught some of them how to write their names!

All in all, he’s delighted by how miserable Lancelot looks as he’s sparring with Gwaine.

Leon leans over to him from his resting spot; Arthur is showing new recruits how to defend themselves against bandits and probably gloating about his victories over magical creatures.

“I haven’t seen you so mad at Lancelot before. I was convinced you two are incapable of fighting.”

“Come on, Leon. As if you wouldn’t gut him out for disrespecting you in such way. He wanted to leave me alone! Do you know how badly I would spiral with no one to trust? You know! You know damn well!”

Leon looks at the sparring knights and lowers his voice.

“Lancelot knows too? About- the wyverns thing.” He whispers, and Merlin rolls his eyes. He adores Leon, he really does, but he watches too much of the James Bond movies.

“Of course he does.”

“It must’ve been hard, even thinking about losing him and being left alone with this secret.” Leon says, his voice strained. He glances at Merlin, who stops polishing Arthur’s spare chestplate.

“Well, I’m not alone now, am I? It’s good having you here, friend.” He leans on Leon’s shoulder. The knight smiles at him and the tension seems to be leaving his body.

“You’re a good man, Merlin. I’m glad you trust me, considering-“ his voice trails off and Merlin closes his eyes.

“Come on, we’ve been through so much sh*t together. Of course I trust you, I know where your loyalties lay.”

“Oh, we should mock the others about it more often. I’m sure his highness would also find it amusing to reminisce about the time the king married a troll.” He jokes. Merlin snorts.

“Are you trying to be put in the stocks alongside me, Leon?”

“What are you suggesting? I would never betray the king! This is just a… valuable knowledge, for the knights. So they would know how to handle such situations.”

Merlin laughs, and it gains the attention of Arthur, who scowls at him and motions to Leon to get back to training.

“I told Gwaine.” Merlin whispers to Leon as he stands up. The knight nods, a serious expression softening when he looks into his friend’s eyes. “Go? Before Arthur gets a heart attack.”

Leon tries to hide his smile and runs off towards the rest of the knights.

Merlin isn’t left alone for too long - this time it’s Gwen who joins him, and he greets her with a smile.

“Are you still mad at Lancelot?” She asks, and Merlin stutters.

“I deserve to be! The nerve! The audacity he has!”

“I’m afraid it was my fault.” She bites her lip, her eyes focused on the grass beneath them. “I asked him to keep Arthur safe. If anything, I’m at fault for what he wanted to do.”

“Gwen, I love you, but I think we have to talk about your questionable taste in men.” Merlin nudges her. She almost manages to smile. “Lancelot’s decisions are his own.”

“He’s sad, you know? You’re his friend. He loves you dearly.”

“Then he should’ve known why sacrificing himself would’ve been a betrayal that can’t be forgiven.” He picks at the rust on the chestplate, wondering if he can remove it with his magic without Gwen noticing.

“Promise me you won’t be mad at him forever.”

Merlin has been mad at him for almost forever, or at least since he realised that his sacrifice was the first nudge towards his total spiral into obsession about keeping Arthur alive. But Gwen looks at him, and it seems that she’s not really asking.

“Fiiiineeee I won’t. Maybe.” He groans and moves to lean on the chestplate. He nudges Gwen, a sly smile on his face. “Now, come on. For the sake of the argument, if you had to-“

“Not this again.” She stifles a laugh, but it’s in vain. “You first, then.” She challenges.

“Arthur, probably.” Merlin admits. “I see Gwaine as a friend, but he’s not so bad looking. He could be fun. Leon… I mean I tried? We tried? But he’s not really into any of that, he would prefer to eat cake and conquer Denmark.”

“You and Leon-“ Gwen stares at him and Merlin chuckles. “I, uh…”

“Lancelot would be nice too, if he wasn’t so madly in love with you.” He laughs when she blushes and tries to cover her face with her hair.

“Merlin!”

“Now, come on. I told you, fair and honest.”

“Lancelot and Arthur. I can’t decide who I love more, they both mean so much to me…”

“I would say there’s a reason why you said Lancelot’s name first.”

She raises her eyebrows and leans on her elbows.

“Well then, there must be a reason why you said Arthur’s first too.”

“I’m into stupid men.”

She looks surprised at the confession and Merlin tries to remember if gay people were executed for their preferences yet or if it came after Christianity became the main religion in the whole Europe.

“I’m afraid we have a close taste, then.” She finally says, giggling as she does. Merlin snorts.

“I mean, it’s not that bad.”

“At least it’s good to know that I didn’t stand a chance.”

Merlin frowns and looks at her, curious.

“Whatever you mean?”

“With you! Oh, I adored you when you first came to Camelot!”

“You did?”

“Don’t worry, I noticed you might never fancy me the way I fancied you. I’m glad we became friends instead.”

“Yeah.” Merlin looks at the knights; Arthur is yelling orders, the rookies tripping over their feet as they’re trying to follow his instructions. The knights of the Round Table are laughing at them, that is until the king regent turns his attention to them. “If it means anything, I will stay by your side until your final breath, no matter what.”

“It will be an honour.” Gwen hums. They rest for a while; with work done, Merlin puts the - now clean - armor aside and brushes Gwen’s hair, trying his best to braid it. With his magic he summons some wild flowers to grow and weaves them between the hair strands.

“How do I look?” She asks when he’s done, twirling and doing a low bow. Merlin grins.

“Like a goddess of spring.” She laughs and looks towards the castle.

“Time flies too fast in your company, Merlin. I have to tend to my duties.”

“Hard is the life of a servant.” Merlin waves her goodbye and starts poking at the ground with his heels.

“Merlin! Can’t do your duties without talking? I don’t pay you to laze off!”

“You don’t pay me enough to do my work, either.” Merlin dodges a wooden sword that flies his way. “That’s not a way to treat your servants, your highness.”

“I will show you how to treat-“ Merlin dodges again.

“Your aim is off, are you perhaps tired, my lord?”

“You’re unbelievable.” Arthur smiles, breathing hard. He sits down next to Merlin and leans back on the grass. “The worst servant I ever had.”

“Then you didn’t have many of them.”

“I did!”

“Not for long, then. You’re such an ass they’re quitting the moment they smell you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Arthur opens his eyes and stares at Merlin, frowning. With a playful smile, Merlin swats at him with the towel he’s been using to polish the armor.

“That I should draw you a bath.” Merlin does a theatrical display of sniffing the air. “Maybe two.”

“Merlin-“

“Come on, you love me, you royal prat. I’m the best servant for you, no one else is capable of putting up with your neuroticism.”

“I think the time you’re spending in the tavern has rotted your brain.”

Merlin leans to him, teasing.

“Better give me a reason to stop going there, then.”

Arthur grins.

“Oh, I will. The stables need someone to clean them. And of course all the training swords need sharpening-“

“That’s not what I-“

“And the cook surely needs help before my birthday celebration feast!”

“I hope you die. I’m going to let you die. And then I will democratically elect myself to be the next king.”

“Now, now, Merlin, are you drunk again? Or are you just talking nonsense as usual?”

“You’re so ungrateful.” Merlin shoves the armor in his hands and turns to leave. “I’m going to start a class war if you keep disrespecting me like that!”

Arthur’s birthday celebrations are supposed to start next week. So why on Earth is he bothering Merlin with a hunting trip now?

“You should appreciate it. Not many royals would like to spend time with someone of your status.”

“You mean a slave?” Merlin groans, petting Daisy’s neck. She huffs and snorts, happy with the attention she’s getting,

“Oh, don’t be dramatic.” Arthur stops his horse and points his crossbow towards the bushes on his left.

The bolt flies straight into a poor hare’s body. He jumps from the horse’s back on the ground and, with a swift move of his dagger, ends the hare’s life.

“Dramatic. You wouldn’t know what dramatic means. Have you seen how footballers behave after someone touches them during the matches for the World Cup? Or influencers when they have to wait in a queue like a normal person? No. No you have not. You never experienced any dramatic behaviour.”

“Merlin.” Arthur raises his eyebrows, an annoyed look crossing his face. “You’re scaring the animals away.”

“As I should.” Merlin responds, holding his head high. The corners of his mouth twitch when Arthur smiles fondly and rolls his eyes.

They ride through the forest for a while before they stop at a stream. Merlin feeds the horses while Arthur rests on the ground, watching him intently.

“Have you talked with Gaius about…” his voice trails off, and Merlin turns to him.

“I have it under control.”

“Why when a matter is actually serious, you behave like a stubborn knight? I’ve seen you being such a girl so many times, but when something so important happens you try to brush it off?”

“Careful, sire. You may start sounding like you’re actually worried.”

“Don’t be stupid, Merlin.” Arthur’s sighs, his eyes trailing after Merlin as he moves around, checking their supplies.

He picks at the moss, his shoulders tense.

“Oh no, something’s worrying you.” Merlin points out and crouches in front of him. Arthur stares at him for a bit, his lips parted.

“The feast celebrating the anniversary of my birth is coming soon.”

“That’s how it works, yes. Another year has gone by since you were born-“

“Stop trying to be smart, Merlin, it doesn’t suit you.” Arthur bites, but it lacks any spite. “Now if your simple mind can bother to listen;” he swallows, his hands twitching as he buries them in the ground, taking a fistful of moss and ripping it to pieces. “Father isn’t well. Another year of celebrating my birth leaves me wondering how many of them I have left with him by my side.”

Hopefully this will be the last one, Merlin nearly comments, but stops himself at the look on Arthur’s face.

Grief is just a constant part of an immortal’s existence, Merlin has grown accustomed to its presence.

Arthur looks scared of it.

“Everything that’s filled with life grows older and turns to dust.” He hums; the lake of Avalon, replaced by a grassy field. The trees that surrounded the border, dead or cut down, with factories standing in their place. Humans die, animals die, and nature dies and gets reborn too. “You can’t really control which of your father’s days will be the last. Try cherishing the ones that you still have.”

Arthur nods, staring at Merlin. It feels as if the sun itself is ripping into his insides, filling him up until he’s blind from its shine.

“Sometimes,” he whispers, low and raw, “you’re not as much of a fool as one could take you for.”

“I have my charms.” Merlin smiles, and looks at the stream. The horses are busy eating the fodder he brought them. “Or maybe I’m just getting too old.” He jokes, pretending to stretch hurting back like the old nobles do.

Arthur snorts in amusem*nt.

“Don’t get old without me.”

“I won’t.” Merlin answers with a somewhat sad smile. Arthur looks like he wants to ask, but decides against it.

“Let’s go before we grow our roots here.”

“Once again, the Pendragons are fleeing from emotional growth.” Merlin comments, booing at him. Arthur laughs and pushes him on the ground, then runs to his horse. “Oi!”

“Stop being so slow, dollophead.”

“That’s my word!”

“Really? I don’t recall.” He laughs again when Merlin rushes after him.

Maybe being stuck there isn’t so bad after all.

Gaius is raising his eyebrows in disapproval, and Merlin is mimicking him, an annoyance evident on his face.

“Do all your fights look like that?” Gwaine asks from the corner of the room. Lancelot looks at him, but when Merlin huffs when he looks away from the table, he glues his eyes back to the physician and his apprentice.

“I don’t see why you’re mendling into things that don’t concern you.” Merlin scoffs, satisfied when Lancelot looks ashamed.

“I would say otherwise; sir Lancelot deserves to be thanked for being honest with such important matters.” Gaius says, sending Merlin a scolding look. “Why do I hear from him that my nephew had encountered a Dorocha and survived is what truly bothers me.”

“I didn’t want to get a lecture?” Merlin suggests, smiling innocently.

“Try again.”

“Should Gwaine be here for this conversation?” Lancelot asks, concerned. The knight came inside the chambers after him, refusing to go out, joking that he missed some good old family arguments that kept life interesting.

Merlin stares straight into Lancelot’s eyes; the bucket beside Gwaine fills with high quality wine.

Gaius stares at him, appalled, as the gold vanishes from his eyes; Lancelot looks absolutely shocked.

“You should open your own tavern, Merlin. It’s such a shame to see those talents go to waste.” Gwaine laughs, taking a sip.

Merlin chooses not to tell him that it was a bucket where Gaius usually kept fresh leeches.

“Merlin! What has gone into you?! You should be careful, how can you be so careless?” Gaius panicks. Gwaine nods to him.

“Being fair, I already knew, I just chose to stay quiet.” He justifies; Merlin summons him a cookie.

Gaius stares at them both in disbelief; Lancelot sighs.

“Merlin,” he starts before Gaius can go on a rant and scold him for hours for being careless with his magic, “I honestly worry about you. I value our friendship and it pains me to see that something happened and you’re keeping it to yourself.”

“If you valued our friendship, you wouldn’t betray me like that.” Merlin scoffs, baring his teeth.

“Merlin! Lancelot has been nothing but honorable and kind! Telling me about the Dorocha isn’t an act of betrayal!”

“But going into the rift instead of trusting me to find another way to solve the situation is.”

“You stopped me either way!”

“What if I didn’t?” Merlin challenges, rising from his seat.

“My life is worth nothing compared to yours!”

“My life isn’t worth sacrificing yours for! You would’ve left me alone, with no one that would understand that my magic isn’t just a tool, that I’m more than the destiny that I never even wanted.” Merlin looks at Gwaine; the knight stands up and walks up to him, not to protect him but to be close, so it’s harder for Merlin to spiral.

“Lancelot is right, boy. You were needed here and he was trying to make sure you came back. And Merlin’s right that your life, sir Lancelot, is worth more. Arguing won’t solve anything.” Gaius intervenes, his voice loud and stern.

“I can’t believe I lost my Duolingo streak for this!” Merlin yells, storming off.

The doors don’t budge; Gaius’ hand is raised, his eyes glowing.

“Sit down, young man. You kept the fact that Dorocha touched you from me.”

Merlin groans but sits down and pats his lap, nodding at Gwaine to sit on it; the knight gives him a playful smile, seemingly not bothered by the tension in the air.

“So?” Gaius asks, and Merlin stubbornly refuses to speak, instead staring daggers into Lancelot.

He sighs. Maybe Gaius’ disapproval was just his forever weakness.

“I time traveled.”

“You what?” Gaius and Lancelot stare at him in shock. Merlin shrugs.

“I was on a break, enjoying my life, having mojito after mojito. Then BOOM, I’m in the forest, dressed like a poor peasant child. I’m still finishing my new clothes, but Arthur seems set on reducing my free time-“

“You’re from the future?” Lancelot asks, his eyes wide open. Gwaine snickers at his bewildered expression. “You knew?”

“Upset you’re not the favourite anymore?” Gwaine smirks, tilting his head.

“How many years have passed for you?” Gaius asks, ignoring the knights. From the corner of his eyes, Merlin can see that Lancelot, too, is paying attention to his answer.

“Not that many. Only about fifteen hundred or so. I didn’t even live to see the flying cars! Or explore Mars! At least I got zapped here before Markiplayer retired, but still-“

“Fifteen hundred?” Gaius is pale and Lancelot looks sick.

“More or less. Hard to count when I’m busy enjoying my life. Time is an illusion. Gods, Gwaine, I have to think of a way to show you cartoons. I need to complain to someone about the absolute fail that was the season five of Mira-“

“Fifteen. Hundred.”

“Is that too high? Is math that advanced yet? Or do you need me to break it down to simpler numbers?” Merlin asks, a playful smile stretching his lips.

“How did it end?” Gaius whispers. Merlin frowns.

“Let’s just say I’m not listening to your advice, uncle.” He leans into Gwaine’s back. “This time, I’m doing this my way.”

Whatever lets him go back to enjoying his trip to Cuba.

Lancelot hides his face in his hands; his shoulders are shaking.

Gaius is pale and looks at Merlin with something akin to a plea, as if begging for him to start laughing and gloating how naive they are.

Instead, Merlin summons a bottle of vodka and pours it into a wooden bowl.

“Well then, we can do rounds?”

Lancelot sighs and takes the first sip.

Chapter 5: The Wicked Day

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you three got so wasted you let out all of our horses and scared a maid so badly she fell off the stairwell!”

“Actually, it was four of us, we just lost Gaius after we had to fight a goose.”

Arthur looks at Merlin, his face reddening with anger at how unapologetic he sounds. He takes a deep breath and holds it for five seconds.

Gwaine looks only slightly worried about his reputation, his wife grin betraying that he’s more enjoying the mayhem they caused rather than regretting it. As loyal as he is to Arthur, he doesn’t see anything wrong with some harmless fun.

Lancelot looks ashamed, and he’s staring down at the floorboards, not daring to lift up his gaze to meet Arthur’s eyes.

Merlin doesn’t have a problem with it. He feels refreshed! He instantly used his magic to get rid of his and Gwaine’s hangover headache, but not doing so for Lancelot; he deserves to suffer a little.

“I had a stressful week.” Merlin says with a bright smile. The one Arthur sends him in return is down right sinister.

“I’ll make sure to give you another one YOU INCOMPETENT FOOL!” He roars, and Lancelot glances at Merlin, lifting his head up for the first time in the past ten minutes.

“Sire, if I may speak; it’s my fault.”

“I don’t believe that for a second.” Arthur grumbles. “Merlin, I know you have a bit of a problem with how much time you spend in the tavern, but by God, can you control your useless arse for once?”

“Me, an empath, sensing our king is disappointed.” Merlin whispers to Gwaine, who snorts in amusem*nt. Arthur glares at them. “Me, still an empath, sensing Arthur is going to leave me in the dungeons for a week.”

“I bloody should!” Arthur grits his teeth. “In a week like this- Do you know how important my birth anniversary celebrations are? None of you can fathom how great of an event for someone born in nobility it is. You’re a band of disrespectful, unruly, shameless idiots!”

“Hey, we fixed everything as soon as we sobered up! And I apologised to Lydia seventeen times! I even got her medicine, for free!” Merlin argues. Normally, he would’ve caught the maid with his magic, but she already looked terrified when she saw Gwaine trying to rollerblade through the corridor.

He didn’t think she could handle seeing magic after being terrified of boots on wheels.

“I don’t have time for you.” Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and frowns. “Sir Lancelot, sir Gwaine, you’ll do one hundred laps around the training grounds.”

Gwaine groans, not even attempting to hide his displeasure. Lancelot grimaces but nods.

“Merlin, as much as I would like to put you in the dungeon for your insolence, there’s a lot of work to do. Instead of wasting your time on making you rethink your choices, you will clean my chamber, clean the stables, take care of the horses, help in the kitchen and polish all of my armor and swords.”

“One day I’m going to unionize. Then you’ll be sorry.” Merlin sniffs.

Arthur’s face is once again twisted in anger, so all three leave his chambers, off to do their tasks.

Merlin quickly casts an illusion spell; whenever Arthur looks for him to check if he’s doing the assigned chores, he sees that he, indeed, is working hard.

In the meantime, the real Merlin goes off into the forest, changing his appearance slightly, so he doesn’t risk being recognised.

Nobody expects Pedro Pascal in Camelot, after all.

Once he’s out of the lower town and wandering through the forest, he lets the illusion he cast on himself wash off, while still maintaining the one in Camelot.

It was fun, drinking with Lancelot and Gwaine. And even Gaius, although he didn’t handle alcohol as well as they did. It was even better that it prevented them from asking him about the future.

Maybe they did get a bit too rowdy, but that was to be expected, since they never drank any real Slavic alcohol. Honestly, he was quite surprised they were still standing after chugging it down.

But now, the forest. He’s not visiting it for nothing - although he does enjoy going on calm walks around it. It definitely smells better than Camelot - honestly, he’s working on a curse that will make all of the nobles and peasants clean.

Currently though, he’s on a much more noble quest - searching for a perfect present for Arthur.

He kneels in front of a rock and whispers to it; it opens and reveals an unusual gem inside - a bluish diamond, the same shade as Arthur’s eyes, in the shape of a dragon.

He thinks it’s cheesy, but Pendragons do have a dragon in their crest, so he guesses it will do nicely.

He also grows some plants Camelot has never seen before - tomatoes appear, ripe, ready to be picked. Maybe he shouldn’t mess with the timeline by introducing Camelot to the columbian exchange before Columbus himself is born, but at the same time, should he get to be born?

Maybe the world would be better off without him.

And manatees too.

“Emrys?” He groans as a druid pulls at his magic, his voice interrupting his thoughts before he has any say in it.

The magic is filling the air, and so does the hum of the old religion. Druids are connected to it and bring it with them.

It was fun seeing them become hippies in the eighties. After everything, Merlin was still glad that they got to enjoy themselves, even if it took time.

“Hello.” He turns to them, counting the representatives that came to greet him.

“We’ve met before, but I feel the honour in doing it again; my name is Iseldir, I’m the chieftain of this druid clan, leading them in your name and ways, as we’re all guided to do by the Old Religion.”

“Ohhhhhh no.” Merlin gives him a tight lip smile. “It’s great to meet you, big fan, but I wasn’t expecting to be doing any… politics anytime soon. I’m honestly just trying to vibe.”

Iseldir has a piercing gaze, and Merlin involuntarily thinks of the blue eyed stare meme. The man gives a surprised chuckle, and Merlin swears at himself - that’s what made him so uneasy around the druids, the fact that it was just so easy for him to do the magical equivalent of an AirDrop into their minds.

“We’re not here to demand anything, as you are our rightful leader and we trust your doings. But some of us felt the shift in your magic not that long ago, and became curious.”

“Oh, uh, I kinda- I died a bit. The Veil? Does that ring a bell? Well, a Dorocha came and WOOSH right into me. Apparently. So I’ve heard. And then I think that’s what activated my Immortality, now I think about it. But yeah, I was dead and then I woke up and now I’m fine. Do you want a tomato?”

The druids all look at him in wonder, and Merlin cringes. This is probably not what a sophisticated leader should speak like.

“So you came back to life?” A younger druid asks, curiosity evident in her voice. She peers from behind an older druid’s back, clenching his robe, too shy to actually approach Merlin.

He smiles at her and crouches down.

“What’s your name?”

“Aine, Lord Emrys.”

“What a beautiful name. And how old are you?”

“I was born eleven years ago, in spring, Lord Emrys.”

“That’s a big number. I hope all of your eleven springs brought you beautiful flowers.” He cups his hands together and when he reveals them again, there’s a bunch of morning glories in them. “I think those would suit you.”

She giggles and reaches for them.

“Could you make some for my brother?” She asks, blushing. Merlin grins and immediately gives her another armful of flowers.

“Share them with who you deem worthy.” He orders with a bright smile. She nods, grinning back, before she runs back toward where the camp must be.

“You really are of a kind and gentle heart, Emrys.” Iseldir says, his voice soft.

“As people say, the kids are our future.” Merlin responds, standing up. “Actually, Iseldir, if you're already here, I want to ask you for a favor.”

“You’re Emrys, your word is sacred-“

“Please stop with that, it gives off such creepy vibes. Like a cult. I, erm,” Merlin looks at the druids, all of them waiting patiently for him to gather his thoughts. “There’s a boy, Mordred. I don’t know where he’s staying, but I wish for him to be safe. So, if you can, please make sure that wherever he is, druids there know he’s under Emrys’ protection and has to be treated as such. And if you can, tell him I’m sorry.”

Iseldir considers his words for a second, then nods and turns to the forest.

“We shall meet again, when your destiny makes our path cross. Until then, Emrys.”

“I get such heebiejeebies around them, geez.” Merlin groans and turns to return to Camelot.

Days pass, and the celebrations are to begin in the evening. As busy as it is - and with Arthur worried about Uther, who suddenly feels good enough to want to attend the feast - Merlin manages to catch his friend alone, in an unusual moment of peace.

“The traveling jesters came to our lands.”

“Yeah, it seems they did.”

“People are getting excited. Who would be so eager for such a stupid and childish display?”

“I enjoy the clowns- jesters. Or I did, until the killer clown epidemic started. Weird time.”

“As always, you bring your brightness to the conversation by talking your usual nonsense.” Arthur turns from the window and looks at Merlin, frowning. “What’s that?”

Merlin grins, offering him the plate of the freshly baked pizza. He memorized a lot of recipes during the years, and the one for an original Italian pizza was one of his favourites.

It wasn’t that hard getting the ingredients, his magic did most of the work; but it was hard convincing the head cook to let him into the kitchens.

“It’s a gift.”

“A gift?”

“A part of it. I know how much you love eating - your belt says it louder than your words ever will - so I decided to make you a meal! Pizza with double cheese!”

Arthur frowns, but lets the belt comment slip, just for now.

“It looks ridiculous. What in bloody hell is that?”

“It’s from Rome. You know, you can try it. That’s the least you can do, before you hurt my feelings so bad that I go live in the woods.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin, you wouldn’t survive a week there.” He nudges it, still unconvinced. Merlin sighs and takes a bite.

“See? Harmless.”

“Alright then, let’s test if you’re as bad of a cook as you are of a manservant.”

Arthur takes a bite, then another- Merlin yelps in surprise as he practically inhales the slice, quickly reaching for another one.

“I be damned, there is something you’re good at after all!”

“A thank you would be nice too, you know?”

“Merlin?”

“Yes, sire?”

“The belt comment. Go to the stocks. Now.”

Merlin sighs but nods. Before he leaves, he remembers the gift hidden under his jacket.

“Wait, I actually have something more for you.” He reveals a present wrapped in a material of his old tunic.

Arthur raises an eyebrow but takes it and unwraps it.

A red shirt, made perfectly for him, with flawlessly made seams, and amaranths embroidered with a golden thread on the sleeves.

“I took on sewing.”

“Didn’t take you for a girl, Merlin-“

“I will beat that sexism out of you with a slipper.” Merlin threatens. Arthur shakes his head and rolls his eyes before he settles on the necklace.

“That’s-“

“I was gathering herbs the other day and came across Cailleach. She decided I can ask for a gift from her, and gave me this when she heard it’s for you. Said to count it as a blessing, that she wishes Camelot a bright future.” A lie he practiced for long in his room; it’s easier to believe than if he said he found it or bought it.

“She seemed set on killing us, the other day.”

“She was bitter and lonely. She enjoyed my insolence.” Merlin grins.

Arthur sighs.

“And Gaius tested it. It’s not cursed. Just a normal necklace.”

“And out of all things a goddess could grant you, you wished for a gift for me?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Merlin asks, eager and honest. Something in Arthur’s eyes softens.

“Actually, if we were talking about Cailleach…” he stands up and goes to his bedside drawers.

Merlin’s eyes follow his every move, curious, interested.

Arthur gestures for him to sit, so Merlin does. For a moment, it’s just the two of them. For a moment, an eternity hasn’t passed, Camelot never stopped existing, the world didn’t move on.

“I was planning to sacrifice myself to close the Veil. It made me think about mortality, and who I trust.” He looks at Merlin, their fingers brushing as he puts something in his hands. “This belonged to my mother. It’s her sigil.”

“Arthur I can’t-“

“Just… take it.”

Merlin bites his lip, his heart beating faster. He takes it from Arthur’s hand, brushes the bird engraved on the sigil with his thumb, so gently, as if he’s holding the most precious thing in the universe.

“You know what giving this to me means, sire?” His voice is so quiet, words meant for Arthur’s ears only.

It seems like he does, but wasn’t expecting Merlin to, judging by the blush crawling across his face.

“Of course-“ Arthur stutters, clearly caught off guard. “I was going to give it to you before the Veil, but…”

“But I was being weird?”

“Not more than usual.” Arthur smiles, grateful for the distraction. “I mean it, giving this to you.”

“It means you see us as equals.”

“Isn’t that the point of the Round Table? You were there too. I didn’t knight you, because I need you by my side.” Arthur admits, then, “but you were there, alongside Guinevere, and you two truly are- you’re equal to knights, and as brave as any of them.”

“Thank you, Arthur.” Merlin looks down at it.

“And if I were to die, one day- Camelot will need someone who would know how to rule her.”

“Now I’m getting worried, are you under a spell? No way I’m becoming a king-“

“Obviously not! But, you were… given the amazing opportunity to see how a kingdom is run by performing your duties as my manservant. I do consider you worthy of choosing a good ruler for Camelot, if time for that ever comes.”

“It won’t, you’ll live a long and good life.” Merlin promises. He puts the sigil around his neck and under his shirt, to hide it from nosy eyes of Camelot’s citizens.

Arthur’s smile is soft. He parts his lips as if to say something, and for some gods-forsaken reason Merlin suddenly remembers the I love you he mouthed just before his death, one that made it so impossible to move on for three whole centuries.

“If we’re being honest with each other-“ he starts, looking away. Arthur leans back, relaxing into the pillows on his bed.

Merlin isn’t ready to give him the whole truth, but he considers that there’s at least something he should share.

Somehow, even through sharing his magic became easier with time, now, back in Camelot, it’s hard and difficult, and he’s shifting scarily easy into the compulsive liar he had been before.

“I talked with Gaius, about why I could’ve survived.” He did, they figured out it had to be the first time he died, and so his immortality got activated - which more than enough explained the fact that he never got older (at least not without the help of his magic).

They didn’t know how Merlin appeared in the past, though. Ongoing problems, but at least he has one explanation that he lost so many nights wondering over.

But it’s magic, and Arthur doesn’t look ready for that, not yet. Not with Uther alive.

And Merlin, rather selfishly, isn’t ready to share it either.

“Gaius told me-“ half truths, he reminds himself, “that Balinor was my father.”

It’s a damning statement, one that’s just a small part of the story, but also one that portrays how much trust Merlin has in Arthur.

It’s a death sentence.

Arthur’s eyes widen. He clutches at the necklace, but keeps his gaze focused on Merlin, who smiles nervously.

“Balinor the Dragon Lord?” He asks, voice faint.

Merlin nods.

There are implications in that, Merlin knows it, and Arthur must too. He stands up and begins pacing.

“So, you survived because-“ his voice cuts off. Merlin shrugs. He doesn’t know if he should count his immortality as magic, or maybe more as a genetic issue. No matter what, the outcome would be the same. “Does anybody else know?”

“That’s why we got drunk.” Merlin decides to say; he’s not worried for Arthur to accuse Lancelot and Gwaine of treason; more so, he’s hoping that he will be more understanding and won’t continue their punishments.

It’s a lie, but it holds some truth to it. Enough to make Merlin consider it the most honest he had been about his private life, at least to Arthur.

“So… you’re a Dragon Lord?”

“I suppose? Not many dragons hanging around this days, right?”

Arthur’s face is sour. He takes a deep breath.

“I trust you, Arthur. As much as I can.” Merlin says, and it seems that he’s chosen good words, because something in his friend’s gaze softens.

“Do you think that’s why the wyverns didn’t kill any of our men? Or why you could tell how many there were?”

Ah, because for Arthur it’s something Merlin had learnt about a few days prior, not something he had to live with for a long, long time; just another secret to the pile.

“Maybe?” He shrugs again.

“You said you didn’t know your father.”

“I didn’t. If I did, do you think I would’ve came to Camelot?”

Arthur ponders, then stops pacing.

“It must’ve been hard, meeting your father and losing him so quickly, not knowing about who he was to you-“

“He died for a good cause. And I got to meet him, even if the circ*mstances weren’t… great.”

Arthur puts his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, no hatred in sight.

“No man controls the circ*mstances of his birth, nor who his parents are. But he controls who he becomes, and you’re a good man, Merlin.” He squeezes his shoulder. Merlin looks at his lips. “Thank you, for giving me your trust.”

“Thanks for not executing me.” Merlin whispers, ruining the moment. “Also, you still have to go to your council, and there’s a report Leon wanted to give you before the feast starts. And you need a bath. Maybe two.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re right, that might not be enough.”

“MERLIN.” Arthur chases after him with a towel.

Despite everything, they stay the same.

The feast is amazing, much to Merlin’s pride, since he’s been the one ordering every other servant on what to do. Honestly, forget serving Arthur, he has his hands full just because the actual head of the staff got his ankle twisted and caught flu, deciding on Merlin being his substitute before leaving to rest.

Despite being an awful manservant, Merlin knew what needed to be done and was actually thriving in his new role.

The jesters are juggling, earning a scoff from Merlin, who whispers that he can do that too - and he actually can, he did learn that back when he started traveling with a circus troupe in the nineteen twenties!

Finally a man calling himself Gleeman - Merlin snorts, GLEE- - calls for Arthur, sending him a wide grin.

Of course he spews some nonsense about testing his courage, about how strong of a mind Arthur has - and it’s enough to make Arthur agree to partake in his next act.

Merlin leans over Leon’s shoulder, pretending to tend to him. They both watch as Gleeman ties Arthur to a wooden board, one that’s way bigger than the ones knights use to practice archery on, but constructed in the same way as such. He puts an apple in Arthur’s mouth, and he bites into it, holding it in place.

He grins at the audience; his father leans forward in his seat.

Merlin hasn’t acknowledged Uther’s existence in Camelot ever science the Dorocha - or, well, he just didn’t acknowledge it at all since he appeared - but a part of him feels angry at the sheer sight of him. He already misses the previous week, when he was so sick he was bad-ridden.

Leon nudges Merlin, a playful smile on his lips.

“It’s a great way to show courage, to participate in such a dangerous act.”

“It’s called being stupid, actually.” Merlin whispers back. He leans forward to keep the appearance of serving to Leon; he puts some buns and meat on his plate, then fills his glass again. “But we all need some adrenaline pumping in our veins, from time to time. Don’t be mad, but I told Arthur I’m a Dragon Lord.” Leon chokes on his drink, his whole body stiffens. “He’s like a hom*ophobic Christian parent who actually loves their children! Trying to be supportive, I think. More or less accepting? I mean, I’m still here?”

“That’s dangerous, Merlin. What if-“

“Come on, Leon, aren’t you supposed to be on the king’s side?”

“Maybe I had some time to rethink it. Maybe I don’t agree with all of what we were told to believe anymore.”

Merlin squeezes his shoulder.

“I kept my magic secret, if that’s what you’re worried about. And our whole immortality thing. I don’t think he’s ready for that yet.”

“Our-?”

They’re interrupted by a round of applause. Merlin takes a step back, sending Leon an apologetic look.

Arthur takes a bite of the apple and gives the audience a theatrical bow. Merlin grimaces and glances at Uther, worried that Arthur’s gesture might be met with displeasure - especially considering that a person of his standing shouldn’t bow to others, even as a joke.

But Uther sits straight, a proud smile on his face. He nods his head in approval and the night continues.

Gwaine and Lancelot try to talk to Merlin throughout it; the first suggesting to grab a drink together, the other to probably force Merlin to talk about the future, or - worse - about his feelings.

It’s surprisingly easy to avoid them, because Arthur is completely wasted - so bad, that Merlin has to ask himself if he didn’t add some stronger alcohol into the wine by accident.

Uther is the first to leave, wishing Arthur good night and going back to his chambers. Merlin can sense the tiredness lingering in his bones, how heavy his whole body feels with exhaustion.

The council leaves shortly after, probably deeming it disrespectful to continue the celebrations without the king.

Arthur leans on Merlin and asks to leave too; Merlin sends Leon a worried glance, but the knight smiles and brings up his cup, giving one last toast.

“Sweet Mother of Jesus, how much did you drink?” Merlin asks as soon as he manages to get Arthur into his chambers.

“Not that- much? Mooooch. I’m tired.”

“Tired and stupid” Merlin grumbles, helping his friend get out of his clothes. He reaches for the necklace to take it off and put it in the drawer where the rest of Arthur’s jewelry is kept, but he’s stopped. Arthur grabs his wrist and shakes his head.

“Leave it. I want to- I want it with me. Do you have the sigil?”

“Do you want it back?” Merlin reaches for it, but Arthur shakes his head.

“Nooo, keep it. Do you- do you think you can talk to geckos now? Or snakes. Big ones.”

“You need to get some sleep.” Merlin puts him in the bed. Arthur takes less than ten seconds to fall asleep.

Merlin starts to leave and is at the end of the corridor when he hears Arthur’s chambers’ doors open. The man walks out and slowly proceeds to go towards his father’s room.

Merlin shrugs and starts walking down the staircase, when a really bad feeling starts eating at his insides. He stops, turns around.

It’s an eerie feeling, something really unpleasant. He’s forgetting something again, the significance of Arthur’s birthday and Uther’s attendance.

What was about it that was so-

He rushes up the stairwell, tripping over his feet. There’s a sound of struggle, then a painful cry.

Arthur is screaming and Merlin runs in, jumping over two dead bodies of Uther’s guards.

He opens the doors with great force, causing them to slam on the walls.

Arthur is kneeling in front of his father and - even as hatred to the old king fills Merlin’s heart, he still staggers forward, ripping his tunic.

“Get Gaius!” He orders, applying pressure to the wound. Arthur’s trembling, so Merlin repeats again, his voice so loud as if he was roaring at a dragon: “GO GET GAIUS!”

Arthur runs out of the chambers, his footsteps growing faint with each passing second.

Merlin checks the wound - it’s deep, and in an unfortunate place to say the least. He pushes at it to keep Uther from bleeding out.

“Come on, Medieval Hitler, just let Arthur say goodbye, then you can go to Hell where you belong.” Merlin mutters in modern English.

Uther groans, his eyes flutter, and Merlin wishes he was a surgeon with a patient on the table, just so he can see in real life as he flatlines.

He could take a selfie with the heartbeat monitor too, what a waste this situation is.

“My Lord!” Gaius enters the room, Arthur following his footsteps. He’s staggering a little - as much as the stress managed to sober him up, it’s clear he feels woozy. “Help me get him to his bed, boy.”

Merlin takes Uther’s upper body while Gaius lifts his legs - together they manage to lay him down on the mattress.

They’re pacing - Arthur in front of the bed, Merlin in front of the door, making sure nobody enters. Gaius is leaning forward, various potions and elixirs standing on the table beside him.

He stops inspecting the wound; he quickly dresses it with the bandage and turns to the two staring at him.

“I’m afraid the dagger had touched his heart and caused internal bleeding. I’m sorry, sire, but there’s nothing I can do now. It’s just a matter of days- I think the most sensible thing to do would be staying by his side, to offer him some comfort before he-“

“There must be something you can do.” Arthur stresses. He’s fully awake now, fully sober. Merlin thinks he looks like a wild animal.

“I deeply apologise, sire.” Gaius bows his head and leaves the chambers.

Merlin looks after him, but doesn’t move from where he’s standing.

“Aren’t you going to go too, Merlin?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone right now.” He confesses, plain and simple.

Arthur sighs, then sits by his father’s side.

“I cannot lose him. I'm not ready.” He whispers. “Do you think I would make a good king?”

“I'm not that into monarchy, I’m an anarchist- yes. You’d be the best king Camelot ever had.”

“You sound sure of it.”

“I am sure of it.”

Arthur gives him a sad smile.

“Even if I was to be the greatest king Camelot ever had, I would sacrifice it to stay in my father’s shadow, just so I can see him live longer.” He confesses, grasping Uther’s hand.

Merlin stays quiet after that. The sigil feels heavy, like a noose tied to his neck.

They last a couple hours like that, with Gaius entering the chambers from time to time to check on Uther and bring new painkillers - they are really primitive, but they manage to do the work they’re designed to do.

Before dawn, Arthur straightens up; Gaius is changing the bandages around Uther’s chest, his back turned, but he’s still cautious, glancing at Merlin, who’s helping him with the work.

“Medicine cannot help my father. But is there a less… orthodox method that could do it?” Arthur asks. Gaius almost drops the roll of the bandages, clearly startled.

“Not one that I know of.”

Arthur walks to the bed.

“Magic, Gaius. Can magic save my father’s life?”

“Sire, I must caution you against it.” Gaius says, gathering used glasses and flasks. Merlin looks at Arthur, who has a determined look on his face. “It’s too dangerous, can’t be sure to work.”

“Father told me once that you were practicing the Old Religion, before my birth.” Arthur looks at the physician, a plea hidden in his words: “I will excuse you. I will do whatever, but can you-“

“Even back then, my magic wasn’t strong enough. No magic can heal a death wound without dire consequences. A life for a life, that what the Old Religion deems fair.”

“But-”

“He did that with your mother.” Merlin interrupts. He doesn’t want to try to heal Uther. Even if he knows that Morgana was going to try to frame him, it’s no use. He doesn’t want Uther alive.

“Merlin-“ Arthur’s tone turns dangerous, but Merlin meets his eyes.

“What Morgause told you was true. I lied to stop you, because I know you would never forgive yourself if you killed your father. It’s not the type of blood that you can wash off your hands. I know it’s equal to treason to you, I know I was impulsive in my decisions and unfair for keeping the truth from you, but I know you love your father. Your reign shouldn’t start with patricide.”

Arthur is silent, then he looks at Gaius.

The physician stares at Merlin in disbelief.

“Is that true?” Arthur’s voice cracks. Merlin feels bad, for crushing his heart even harder than his father’s deathly injury. But it’s no use keeping it forever. Arthur has to make his own decisions.

Gaius nods, and Merlin can pinpoint the moment Arthur’s heart shatters.

“You lied to me. You knew, all this time- IT WAS MY RIGHT TO KNOW! IT WAS MY BLOODY RIGHT! IT WAS MY DECISION-“

“Would you ever forgive yourself? If you killed Uther that day?” Merlin asks, surprisingly calm. Arthur takes one of the bottles Gaius brought and throws it at the wall. It shatters, the shards hitting the floor like the first rain of spring hits the earth, bringing it to life after winter.

“Sire, it’s my fault. I asked Merlin to-“

“Get out.” Arthur seethes, grinding his teeth together.

Merlin nods and slips out of the room. He hears him scream at Gaius until he follows.

“My boy, you shouldn’t have revealed such a harmful truth in such a hurting moment.”

“He needs to know.” Merlin argues. He jumps down the stairwell, two steps at a time. “The first time, he used magic. It’s stupid that he even thought that there might be a sorcerer who’d want to help, but I did, because I would do anything for him back then. Disguised myself, old as f*ck. Then Morgana placed a cursed necklace that f*cked up my healing spell. Uther dies, Arthur is just convinced that magic truly is bad. And we never tell him that that stranger sorcerer was innocent, because why would we? That’s what we were good at, lying and keeping him in the dark. And creating more problems for ourselves.”

“Where are you going?” Gaius asks when Merlin runs in the opposite direction.

“Gwen! I need someone mentally stable and not an idiot!”

Merlin jumps on Gwen’s bed and hides his face in the pillows they snuck out of the castle.

“I’ve heard what happened.” She says, and Merlin groans. She gives him a soft smile in return. “I must say, I’m surprised you’re not by his side.”

“I got him a reality check and I might get fired. Do you know how hard it is to find a good paying job in a place where CVs don’t exist?”

“You’re worried about him.” She notes. Merlin sighs.

“Well, he kinda did the medieval version of a proposal last morning. And now his dad is dying, and don’t get me wrong, that’s great-“ he ignores the affronted Merlin! “No in-laws straight from hell, unless you count that weird Alabama belonging emo vampire that calls itself his uncle, but Arthur has severe daddy issues, and I told him that Morgause was telling the truth, so I admitted that I was lying to him about that for like, three years? When did I even start working here? Where’s the calendar-“

“Merlin, breathe!”

“And you know, if lying about one thing is a bit of a deal breaker for him, then I may as well pack my bags. Do you think the Germanic tribes in Central Europe will let me live in Rome? I mean, they vandalised it for sure by now, but it’s still fresh, right? I always wanted to see it while it was still, uh, not covered in tourists or the Church.”

“You’re not making much sense.” She muses, then sits beside him. “You mean… much, to Arthur. More than any of us.”

“Not helping my attachment issues, Gwen.”

She ignores him.

“He once told me that he thinks sometimes of leaving Camelot, going somewhere no one knows him. And he admitted he would take you with him.” She says, leaning over, her elbow on Merlin’s back. “It was on our picnic too.”

“He told you about his gay fantasy on your date?” Merlin lifts his head up. Gwen laughs, not really understanding what Merlin said. “Gwen, as much as I hate to admit it, Lancelot might be a better option.”

“Isn’t it an honor, though? To be wanted by the prince?”

“Does your heart tell you it is?” Merlin moves, sitting up so he can look at her. “Gwen, one word and I’m moving out of your way. You’d make a wonderful queen.”

“Funny, you say that as if you really know it.”

“Who says I don’t? I have my special quirks, don’t I?”

She smiles and brushes his hair. He grabs her hand and holds it in his.

“Merlin, Arthur will need you, no matter what. He might be blinded by anger, he might be inconsiderate and arrogant sometimes, but it’s like you’re his other half.” She whispers.

He nods, then jumps out of her bed.

“Well, Arthur isn’t going to leave Uther’s side until he gives us the favor of finally dying, so I can help you around the house now.”

She laughs, a bit shy and embarrassed.

“You shouldn’t joke about the king like that. Arthur loves his father.”

“Actually, fun fact, most kids from dysfunctional families love their parents. It doesn’t mean that love is something that said parents deserve.”

Gwen shakes her head and hands him a broom.

“Go, then. Make yourself useful.”

“Your wish is my command, my queen.”

She hits him with a towel, and he dodges, but after a few tries let’s her win.

Arthur doesn’t call for him the next morning. But he doesn’t ask for magical aid either.

He stays in his father’s chambers, and Merlin feels a bit guilty. He would’ve felt worse if Uther wasn’t just a previous incarnation of Hitler or any other genocidal maniac.

But he does his work nonetheless; cleans Arthur’s clothes, brings him dinner, although he leaves it by the door instead of walking in.

It’s the second morning since Uther’s stabbing and Merlin’s changing Arthur’s bedsheets, when the door to the chambers open wide.

Merlin turns to face them, still attempting to shove the pillow into the fresh pillowcase. Arthur looks at him; his eyes are red, cheeks puffed up. The tears are obvious, but he doesn’t let them run down his face.

The air seems lighter, as if the world sighed with relief.

“My father-“

Merlin nods. Arthur doesn’t need to tell him, he already knows. It’s a wonder how Uther managed to hold on this long

“There- I need to prepare for his funeral-“

“I’ll take care of it.” Merlin says.

“So you can tell more lies? I- there won’t be a speech at his burial ceremony.”

Merlin stays quiet.

“Well?” Arthur rushes, something angry dancing in his eyes.

“Stay with him. Grieve.” Merlin whispers, and Arthur looks as if he was struck. He nods numbly and goes to the throne room.

Merlin sighs; the bells are ringing, announcing the death of the king.

Arthur opens the door to the throne room, surprised to see Merlin sitting in front of it. Rays of sunshine are cast on them; the way Arthur stands in their way makes it look as if he’s a godly being.

“You waited here for the whole night?”

“I didn’t want you to feel alone.” Merlin says, because no matter time and century, it’s that simple.

Something in Arthur’s gaze softens.

“Long live the king.” Merlin says. Somehow, it’s enough to make him laugh.

Chapter 6: Aithusa

Chapter Text

“-and now he’s dealing with the five stages of grief, and let me tell you, the Pendragon edition of them is just anger, anger, anger, more anger and then acceptance. Maybe. I’m not sure about the last one.”

Leon sighs and stops sharpening his sword - granted, as a noble and a knight he could’ve had servants do it for him, but he enjoyed the simplicity of this work and was committed to thinking that there wasn’t a person who would handle his sword better than himself.

But he’s starting to regret this now, because Merlin used it as an amazing opportunity to hold a gossip session.

The boy is silent at his lack of response, then he starts humming some foreign melody - and Leon must admit that he likes it a lot; maybe he should ask Merlin to teach it to an actual musician. It would do wonders at feasts, he justifies to himself.

“It makes sense for the king to feel betrayed.”

Because of course the grief wasn’t about Uther. Leon would die before he admits it, but Uther wasn’t a kind and just ruler; and neither was he a good father.

He is loyal to the king, don’t get him wrong, but he’s loyal to Arthur more; and, besides, now Arthur is the king so-

Leon appreciated what Uther did good - even if it wasn’t that much. He appreciates that after the Druids rescued him, he wasn’t executed, but greeted with relief, even as he was the only one to come back.

He appreciated being promoted to be the head knight too - but, considering that he haven’t spoken a word about Merlin and his abilities, he evidently wasn’t doing a good job.

But Arthur was kinder, he was just and Leon always knew he would be a great king.

Maybe the only person who knew that more than Leon was Merlin.

And that loyalty was the reason why Leon decided to stay quiet and play along; Arthur would forgive him. Maybe.

“I don’t want to chastise you for lying to Arthur about his birth, I think I understand.” Of course he does. He’s doing the same thing that Merlin did! Merlin lied so Arthur wouldn’t kill his father, and now Leon is pretending he’s blind and clueless so Arthur doesn’t kill Merlin!

“Of course you do, that’s why you’re the best. We’re on the same wavelength.” Merlin jumps onto his bed.

Arthur’s sword - the one he was supposed to sharpen - is on the ground. Leon nods towards it.

“If you want to avoid Arthur’s anger, perhaps you should do your job.”

Merlin sighs, then there’s a flash of gold and the sword and sharpening stone rise in the air and do Merlin’s work for him.

Of course he’s magic. How long will my suffering be? Leon fights with the urge to flinch away, but at the same time, it’s fascinating.

And despite what other knights think, he can be fun! He’s curious, he’s smart, and he has amazing hair! And he’s being responsible - because he always has to be, sometimes it’s like he’s babysitting a bunch of unruly children, not trained warriors.

Merlin trusts him, and whatever that Dorocha did to him, it was clear he changed afterwards. And he gravitated towards Leon; only recognised him among the knights - not Arthur, not Lancelot! Him! - and immediately trusted him with his magic, as if Leon knew all along.

So he played along, as if nothing was weird and out of place - and besides, he deserves some entertainment.

He was sure that Merlin wouldn’t harm any of them. He was loyal to Arthur, in a way that bordered on devotion, and always looked for a solution when they had a magical problem. It only fit that he was magical too.

Currently, Leon’s biggest quest is finding out what exactly changed. Merlin is still Merlin, that much is clear. His number one theory is that he’s from the future - it would make sense, the way he was adamant that the knights were long dead, and his comment during the feast, one about their immortality could explain why he only recognised Leon.

But it would mean that they lived for so long that the memories of their friends’ faces faded from their minds.

“When did I become immortal again?” He asks, and Merlin stops humming and makes a vague noise.

“I think that was when the Druids found you? There was something like that, right? I mean, the only sure way for a mortal to gain immortality is to drink from the Cup of Life, and you never said if you encountered it again after you vanished from Camelot, so it had to be that one time under Uther’s regime, right?” Merlin mumbles, something under his nose and then turns to face Leon, a curious look on his face. “Wait, did you encounter it after Camlann?”

“I don’t think so. It had to be the time with the Druids. Never seen it again.”

Merlin snorts and turns to lay on his back.

“I hid it. Actually, I should’ve known it could make someone immortal after that whole fiasco with Rasputin. I mean, it was long long due for me to learn about the fact it could do that, but still. And boy, was it hard convincing Cailleach to open the Veil just to throw him in there before the Russian caught onto the whole immortality thing. I was in more trouble than when I accidentally got kidnapped by the Hungarians.”

“It’s amusing.” Leon decides, with a soft smile on his lips.

“What?”

“That no matter how much time will pass, we will still learn new things, make discoveries that we should’ve made sooner. I mean, it had to be after a lot of winters until you discovered that the Cup of Life can grant immortality!”

Merlin grins.

“The nineteenth century was a wild time.” He agrees. Leon tries really hard not to have a breakdown. So that’s at least a Millennium and a couple hundred years of living. Well, at least he’s not alone in this.

“Lots of things to see.”

“Yeah. We should stick together this time. Maybe we can try some new things, visit other places than we did before. Perhaps go to America before the Europeans do.”

Leon has no idea what that means, but he nods anyway.

He looks at the sword hanging in the air, now perfectly sharp, then at his own, still good but not as much as Arthur’s.

“Merlin, could you… finish what I managed to work on mine? It’s not as sharp-“

“Yep, sure, everything for you.” Leon’s sword flies out of his hands.

It looks fascinating.

“I started growing potatoes. I knooow they’re not native, but maybe then people won’t go to Peru. I also started growing corn somewhere near the verge of the forest, just so we can make popcorn to eat in dramatic situations.”

Leon doesn’t really know what potatoes or corn is, but it sounds like food, and if the pizza thing that was served at the feast is anything to come by, he shouldn’t reprimand Merlin and instead be thankful.

“So. You told Gwaine about this?”

“He knows I’m from the future,” ah, so Leon was definitely right with that one, “but I haven’t said anything about you. You can trust him, but I know you would prefer to have a choice and I’m not going to out you. I’m better than that.” Merlin closes his eyes. The swords are put gently on the floor, and Leon can feel a tug of magic when he grabs them. Somehow, it doesn’t feel evil at all.

“I believe if you told him about the Cup of Life, he would join us. To be immortal together.” Leon laughs, and it sounds like a strong possibility. He doesn’t think anyone else really would - maybe Elyan, he loves to travel - but Gwaine for sure would enjoy living a long life, seeing more than anyone would ever imagine.

“He would become an astronaut and go to the Moon, and then we would have to hear for the rest of eternity about how he’s better than us.”

“Yeah. The Moon.” Leon squints. Had- had it happened? Or rather: will it happen? People flying among the stars?

They’re quiet, and there’s something peaceful in the way that Merlin’s making amaranths grow from the cracks in the walls, red and Green filling up the space.

“Do you think I did the right thing? Telling Arthur about his birth?”

“I think… you should’ve done it sooner. He’s hurt, and it probably did the thing you wanted to avoid. I think if you hadn’t revealed that you lied,” Leon stares at the flowers, so full of life, created out of nothing, “he would’ve searched for a way to save the late king. You lied to him because the truth would’ve meant Uther’s death. And then you told the truth and it did.”

“Morgana would’ve killed him anyway.”

“Perhaps.” Leon stretches. “We all have blood on our hands. All we can do is try to make sure it’s the right one.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as right blood to coat your fingers with, Leon.” Merlin snorts, a bit amused, even if the thought is gruesome and heavy. “It’s the baby Hitler paradox. Who knows what would’ve happened if you killed him? There probably would be another maniac.”

Leon doesn’t look forward to seeing that part of human history.

“Can you get rid of the plants? It will look suspicious to have them.” He nods towards the amaranths.

“Sure.” Merlin nods and the flowers turn into golden dust; it takes the shape of a lion for a few seconds, then it disappears.

They sit for a while longer; Leon lays on the bed beside Merlin, and realises he had to magically replace his mattress with one way nicer, softer and much more comfortable.

Another win for the best knight in Camelot.

“Are you still angry at Lancelot?”

“A bit.” Merlin admits. Leon closes his eyes. He only can wonder; a world where they didn’t come back from the Veil with as many people as went to close it. He wonders; Lancelot defeated the griffin, and magic was the only thing that could do that. Perhaps he knew all along - it made sense.

And Merlin’s anger made sense too, if that was the case. A world where his best friend, the only person who knew about his magic sacrificed himself - Leon wondered how alone he must’ve felt.

“You saved him.”

“He was my friend once.” Merlin muses, looking at the ceiling. Leon opens his eyes and looks at it too: paintings appear on it, ones that look like an idyllic landscape. Maybe it’s one of the places Merlin saw during his travels. “I think it was his death that finally broke me. I just couldn’t do it anymore. Every person I loved kept dying, and trust was something I couldn’t afford.”

“Well, that won’t happen here. You’re not alone.”

“Yeah. Glad to have my immortal bestie beside me.”

Leon glances at Merlin, a bit ashamed. It’s not knight-like to lie, but he guesses he’s already lying to protect Merlin, so he’ll play his part as long as it’s needed.

Merlin hears the commotion in Gaius’ chambers before he’s able to see what’s happening. Someone is speaking in a hushed tone, words too quick to decipher from afar.

After a bit, a man storms out of the physician’s tower, his expression dark and disappointed. Merlin swiftly gets out of his way and sneaks inside, looking at Gaius.

His mentor looks worried, and that can only mean magic - or oldman Cedric of the lower town drank three doses of his medicine instead of one, again.

“Who was that?” Merlin asks, because honestly, fifteen hundred years is A LOT. He can’t remember most of those events. He’s still unsure if the Goblin incident that granted Arthur donkey ears happened before or after Uther’s death.

All of it is a blur, unfortunately.

“His name is Julius Borden. He used to be my pupil, before the Great Purge. As you know, I was spared by Uther and stayed in Camelot as a physician. Borden had to escape and I never saw him again, that is until now.”

“What did he want?” Merlin frowns. Gaius looks at him, a look of understanding crossing his face.

“He’s searching for the key to the Tomb of Ashkanar, where the last remaining dragon egg is rumored to be.”

“Aithusa.” Merlin whispers in wonder.

“So it has happened before?”

“To be honest, I don’t remember sh*t.” Merlin grins when Gaius’ lips twist in disgust at the last word. “I obviously found her, but I made the great mistake of leaving her in Kilgharrah’s care. He’s an awful parent, never should’ve trusted him. There won’t be any joint custody now-“ Merlin pauses.

Ah. Kilgharrah. That’s who he was forgetting all this time.

“It’s not safe to-“

“Gaius, with all due respect, I lived for longer than this civilisation has existed. Believe me when I tell you that nothing bad will happen. I won’t allow it.”

“You’ve grown too prideful, boy.”

“No, I just understand the capabilities of my powers and myself.” Merlin holds his chin high. “I’ll go and find him. A quick trip to the Tomb and back.”

“Borden can’t be trusted. He’s a dangerous man, and even with Uther dead, there’s rage running through his veins, and I’m afraid his hatred has consumed him fully.”

“Poetic.” Merlin yawns and walks to his room. “I’ll find him tomorrow then. He’s desperate, from what you’re telling. I doubt he’ll be gone from Camelot until he gets what he wants. And I’m going to use it to my advantage. But only after getting a full eight hours of sleep. It’s more important.”

Gaius looks at him in clear exhaustion at his antics. Clearly, he was counting on Merlin maturing with age, but instead got an eccentric neveraging grandpa.

When the sun rises, Merlin follows through his duties as if nothing’s happening. He brings Arthur breakfast, helps him put on clothes - not before giving him instructions how to do it himself, for what he earns a slap on his neck - and tells him about the meetings he has to attend.

There’s tension between them still, and Arthur refuses to look at him. And yet, the necklace Merlin gave him is still there, hanging from his neck, not hidden under his shirt like Ygraine’s sigil that Merlin’s wearing, but visible to all.

“I’m sorry.”

“I figured that much.” Arthur’s response is dry, but his eyes flicker to Merlin’s. He huffs and turns towards the window.

“He wasn’t a good man, but he was your father.”

“And yet I let him die upon learning that not only he, but you lied to me.” He frowns, and his eyes appear a bit glossy. “Maybe if I had struck him that day, Morgana would’ve never become what she is now.”

When Merlin doesn’t answer, Arthur turns to him.

“She always had a kind heart.”

“Her hatred towards Uther was stronger than her values.” Merlin justifies. He really doesn’t want to deal with the new king’s emotional crisis. He already lost his Duolingo streak and had to eat bland food.

“You’re right, Merlin. It was her hatred that corrupted her.”

“You think that if you killed your father that day, she wouldn’t be like that?” Merlin wondered, because, hell, that’s some complicated, high effort thinking there.

“If I was born of magic-“ Arthur pauses. “Do you think she was born like this too? I thought that Morgause was the one that poisoned her with magic, because it’s something you learn, but what if that was a lie too?”

Merlin looks at Arthur’s lips, as if the answer will be there. He dares to meet his eyes, blue like an unforgiving storm.

“I think that might be true. Her dreams were prophetic. I think she always had it.” Merlin doesn’t turn from him, even though it’s tempting to do so. The conversation isn’t fun. “You were born out of a magical deal. One life for another. Your father just didn’t like the prize.”

Arthur is silent, looking at Merlin as he’s seeing him for the first time.

“Answer me truthfully, Merlin. How are you sure that’s how it went? Because it sounds like you know that the prize wasn’t something my father agreed upon, but he had to know that someone will die.”

“Well, it’s because the gal who did it was a proper bitch.” Merlin mutters. When Arthur frowns, he sighs. “The Questing Beast.”

“The Questing Beast?”

Its one of the few memories of his time in Camelot that are almost crystal clear in Merlin’s mind.

“You were dying. There was nothing anyone could do. So I went and searched for her. The high priestess. I can’t remember her name, something like Nimoa. Anyway, I agreed to her terms. A life for a life.”

Arthur frowns, and if Merlin was naive, he would’ve said he looked worried.

“She tricked me. I offered her my life, but she tried to take my mum’s. Then, when I confronted her, she tried to take Gaius’.”

“You’re all here. Who died?” Arthur asks, and he sounds strangely timid, as if the story is too big, to terrifying for him to handle.

“She did. She attacked me, and I accidentally- poof. She was gone before I knew what happened.”

“You accidentally killed the high priestess. One of the most powerful sorceresses that exist. You did that by accident.”

“I’m a very lucky person.”

Arthur frowns.

“It wasn’t your duty.”

“I’m a physician, I kinda have to save your sorry ass from dying.”

Arthur lets the comment slide.

“It’s not your duty to give your life for mine.”

“You’re my friend. I didn’t want to lose you.”

And maybe that’s enough for Arthur, because his expression softens. He comes closer to Merlin and puts his hands on his shoulders.

“You have a good heart. Never let that change.”

Merlin nods, and something about those words is painful, and familiar in a way that hurts his entire self.

Something inside him pesters at him; the lies are easy for him to create and tell, but a part of him needs to be at least partially honest. And maybe it’s the way Arthur looks at him that urges him to say:

“There are things I hid from you. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I don’t want to lose you, and I don’t want to hurt you. I can’t tell you what they are, but I want you to know that I have secrets. And I trust you enough for you to know that they exist.”

Arthur looks confused, but nods, a look of understanding appearing just after the angry one.

“Alright. I think… There are some things I’ve kept from you as well.” He ponders for a moment. “I appreciate that you trust me. If only that way.”

Merlin feels guilt, but lets it go. He’s here on a mission, and he’s sure that one day, he’ll tell Arthur, properly.

And probably be put in the stocks for days.

He turns to leave, grabbing the empty plate, but Arthur holds him for longer.

“Merlin, do you think that Morgana…” his voice trails off.

Merlin shrugs.

“Maybe.”

“That’s enough for me.” Arthur decides and lets him leave.

He doesn’t notice that Merlin took his key to the Vaults with him.

The day is slow, and after completing his chores, Merlin visits the tavern, looking around.

“If I was a depressed recluse with issues where I would go?” Merlin mutters to himself before his eyes settle on the newcomer sitting alone in the corner.

He sits down beside him with a bright smile on his face; the man doesn’t seem to appreciate his company. A shame.

“I’ve heard you’re looking for a dragon egg?” Merlin whispers; Borden stiffens, but doesn’t move to leave. “I’m Gaius’ apprentice.”

“He sent you to chase me off? A kid, really?”

“Quite the opposite. He told me not to help you. I just enjoy doing things my way.”

Borden looks at him, frowns and has the look that tells Merlin he already won.

“Annnnd I have the key to the Vaults.”

Borden’s eyes widen and he quickly ushers Merlin to be quiet.

“Can you lead me there?” He asks and is met with a shrug.

“There are servants’ passageways, we can do this really quick. In and out. That’s what she said. Anyway.”

The man looks confused, but he’s more focused on the keys than on the strangeness of their interaction.

He follows Merlin into the night, knocking out the guards with his magic.

“You know, you’re not gonna convince anyone magic isn’t bad if you use it to be a menace. Seriously, you can just distract them, no need to use force.”

“You’re young, you’re too soft to understand.” Borden stands in front of the vault’s door, and twists the key in the lock. It opens, and they’re greeted by gold and gemstones.

Merlin grimaces at some of them, recognising a few cursed items and artifacts stolen from the Roman soldiers hundred of years ago. He pinches his nose bridge in annoyance. He should probably get rid of them. And return some of those to the Italians before the British get any ideas.

“There it is.”

“It looks stupid.” Merlin decides, looking at the Triskelion. Borden doesn’t seem to mind him. “Great, good job buddy, now we can rescue the egg!”

“Dragon egg is a powerful item.” Borden whispers. “I could use it.”

“Hey, you’re being all weird and creepy, and you’re doing a startup to a monologue, which isn’t a good sign-“

Merlin gets knocked out before he can react.

He wakes up in the morning, sore and with a bruise on his temple.

“I guess that’s what I get for being reckless.” He mutters, before looking around. He’s still in the Vaults, and it doesn’t seem as if much time had passed.

Casting a spell to make himself invisible, Merlin stands up and sneaks past the - still unconscious - guards.

He stops for a second and checks their pulses. They’re alive. The wave of relief that washes over him is as big as Arthur’s ego.

The physician’s tower is locked, and Merlin doesn’t want to explain that his little mischief proved to be a problem. Despite being a god of the Old Religion, he’s still human, in a way. Of course he would get knocked out once he put his guard down.

He’s too used to being invincible.

“Alright, I’ve made some oopsies.” He chooses to not say a word to either Gaius nor Leon about his involvement. Perhaps it’s for the best.

Not feeling great about spending the night outside - there’s no spray for mosquitoes! He doesn’t look forward to becoming a blood buffet! - he decides to bother Gwaine. He won’t mind sharing a bed, for sure.

Unfortunately all the chambers look the same, and the concussion he must have is making it even harder to tell them apart. So he, feeling resigned, grabs the handle for the first door he finds and comes inside.

Lancelot immediately sits up upon hearing the noise of the door of his chambers opening. He looks spooked, a dagger in his hand, but he puts it down as soon as he sees Merlin.

“Merlin? I haven’t seen you since-“

“Yeah, yeah, move over.” Merlin jumps on the bed and sneaks under the covers. “The bed in Gaius’ chambers is sh*t, f*cking hell, do you know how old I am? It’s not good for my back at all. At my age, it’s crucial to get enough sleep. And it has to be good.”

Lancelot looks confused, but he lays back down and discovers that there are more pillows than there were before. He turns to Merlin.

“How did you get those?”

“Magic.” Merlin yawns. “Seriously, my head is killing me and you’re yapping too loud.”

Lancelot stills, and Merlin groans, because of course he wants to ask questions. Maybe avoiding him wasn’t a good tactic after all.

“Your age, huh? You’re a grandpa now?”

“Call me that again and I will make you regret living in the first place.”

Lancelot laughs.

“It’s good to see you like this, even if you’re older. I’m glad to know that you found a way to be as happy and deranged as you deserve to be.”

“Hard not to find yourself when you have an eternity for searching.”

Lancelot hums.

“Did you ever have children?”

“What the f*ck kind of question is that.” Merlin feigns offense, but ultimately he just shrugs. “Only one, but we’re not really on speaking terms. I was, uh, an absent father.”

“Did I ever get to have-“ Lancelot trails off.

Merlin closes his eyes and hugs the pillow close to his body.

“Nah, you were an ass and died at the Veil. f*ck you for that, by the way. That’s why Leon’s my best friend now. Then Gwaine. Then Gwen. Congratulations, you’re not even in the top three.”

Lancelot doesn’t respond; he’s staring at Merlin, a petrified expression hidden by the shadows of the night that stretch across the room. Merlin doesn’t seem to care, he mumbles something and makes himself more comfortable.

Lancelot doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

They are both woken up by a commotion on the courtyard. Merlin is first to get out of the bed, his ruffled hair and creased clothes betraying how good his night sleep was. With one snap of his fingers his clothes are replaced by new ones; he spent what little free time he had on working on them. His shirt looks better than what most nobles wear, and maybe wearing a shirt and a decorative vest that are clearly from another century’s fashion isn’t best for blending in, but he has had enough of his ratty clothes.

He has standards now.

He opens the door, Lancelot following after him, and comes across Elyan and Percival. Both of them stare at the two; Elyan lifts his eyebrow.

“Well, that’s interesting.” He quips, smiling at them. Merlin grins and shakes his head.

“He wishes.” He says, before his expression settles on something more serious. “What’s happening?”

“Someone broke into the Vaults and stole something, that’s all I know.” Lancelot sends Merlin a pointed stare, but he politely ignores it and focuses on Percival.

“Is Arthur up yet?”

“The guards were knocked out, they woke him up and alerted him to the theft as soon as they regained consciousness.”

Merlin nods and bids them goodbye. He can hear both of them congratulating Lancelot on them making up.

Arthur is wide awake, his shirt put on backwards.

“Where have you been, you moron?”

“I spent the night at Lancelot’s, just woke up.”

Arthur’s face twists in annoyance.

“And what are you wearing? What’s that supposed to be?” He pokes at the decorative buttons of the vest.

“I was tired of my tunic. It’s old, scratchy and itchy and has holes where it shouldn’t. I’m making myself presentable.”

“I can tell that much.” Arthur coughs and looks away. “We have to go to Gaius, ask him about what was stolen.”

Merlin frowns. So he’s not escaping scolding anyway.

“What were you doing at Lancelot’s chambers? I thought you were… mad at him.” It doesn’t seem that it was what he truly wanted to say, but it’s what he settled on. Merlin shrugs.

“I was aiming for Gwaine’s, but I got lost.”

“So you had a sleepover with one of my best knights like a child?”

“Geez, Arthur, if you want me in your bed that badly, next time I’ll go to your room first.”

Arthur’s face does a funny thing; he starts blushing, but then his whole face goes red, and it’s clear that after being flustered for a second, he’s set on being angry.

“MERLIN!”

Merlin laughs and runs from him, sprinting towards the physician’s tower as if his life depends on it.

Arthur catches up to him and puts him in a headlock, forcing him to apologize. They are interrupted by a worried Gaius.

There’s a book on the main table, and Merlin runs his fingers on the page it’s open on.

“The stolen item was a part of a special key called the Triskelion. Legends say it opens the Tomb of Ashkanar, where the last dragon egg remains.”

“We must destroy it, then.” Arthur says, frowning. Merlin flinches beside him, and he turns to the warlock, an apologetic look on his face. “You’ve seen how much pain and destruction a dragon can bring.”

“So you’re going to continue your fathers legacy and slaughter magical creatures? It’s an egg, that dragon isn’t born yet and you’re already sentencing it to death.”

Gaius looks at Merlin and slams the book shut.

“Merlin, watch your tongue.” Be careful, he seems to be saying.

Arthur doesn’t seem proud of his decision, almost regretful.

“With Morgana on the loose, we cannot risk for any enemy of Camelot to gain such an advantage.”

“It’s a baby. Morgana wouldn’t be able to control it, no one will-“

“No one but you. And that would put you in danger.” Arthur says, his face grim. “There are people who would cross every border, commit every crime, to get their hands on a Dragon Lord. You’d become an asset, and you know there are people who would use it. It would be as if you’re putting a bounty on yourself.”

“No one has to know.” Merlin argues.

“The word travels quickly. Let’s say we come back to Camelot with a dragon. You’re caring for it, controlling it so it doesn’t cause any harm. I trust you Merlin, I will agree that you have a good heart and if anyone would be able to change such a beast into something kind, it would be you. But people will start talking, and soon someone who is not to be trusted will learn of your inheritance. A Dragon Lord with a dragon. That’s too dangerous.”

“You’re worried they might kidnap me?”

“I’m worried they might use you against me.” Arthur confesses, looking into his eyes.

“And you think that destroying the egg will prevent that?”

“Even if someone does learn about who your father was, nothing will come out of it. What’s good of a Dragon Lord without any dragons around?”

Merlin sighs, ready to argue, but Gaius interrupts him.

“We don’t know what Borden might use it for too. A dragon egg in the wrong hands could become a dangerous weapon.”

“Then it’s decided. We will ride at noon.”

“Great.” Merlin groans and opens the door for Arthur. The king sends him a sorrowful look, but it doesn’t spare Merlin from the ache in his heart. “I’ll join you after preparing potions and herbs for the journey.”

“I will meet you in my chambers.”

Merlin closes the door, the herbs hanging on it swaying to the sides. Gaius raises his eyebrow, a disappointed look on his face.

“Your actions have cost the egg’s safety, boy. I told you that you should leave Borden alone, that he’s a dangerous man. You know I don’t mean you any harm, Merlin-“

“I know, I know. He took me by surprise. I haven’t been knocked out in so long, Gaius.” He starts gathering everything they might need for their journey.

“You should’ve left those things alone-“

“You know damn well that I’m physically unable of minding my own business.” Merlin groans and puts his head on the wall. His bag opens and medicine and herbs start floating inside it by themselves.

“Merlin! You foolish boy, can’t you pack your things normally?”

“I am. This is my normal. Gods, I need a vacation. A proper one. Gaius, I’m giving you a medicine textbook. You do NOT need that many leeches. You don’t need them at all!” Merlin scoffs at the jar standing on the shelf where the poppy seeds he was reaching for are.

“Actually, it might be a good idea to learn some future medicine.”

“Proper term is modern.” Merlin chimes in and finishes packing the bag. “sh*t improved. But there’s much more newer sicknesses. Don’t get me started on allergies-“

“You’re trying to distract me from the fact you were foolish and let Borden steal the last part of Triskelion.” Gaius notices. Merlin grins at him.

“And it worked. No more scolding, bye.”

He runs out, Gaius’ yelling after him.

The borders of Cenred’s kingdom look just like any other part of the forest, apart from the feeling in the air - magic, one that wasn’t destroyed but enslaved. Merlin moves closer to Leon when his anger causes the trees to shake.

The knights look around, uneasy, but shake it off as the wind acting up in an unnatural way.

“We will camp here.” Arthur decides, leading his horse to the pond. There’s a fallen tree nearby, and he ties Daisy to it. “Merlin, gather wood for the campfire and prepare us some food.”

“I’ll go with you.” Lancelot offers. Elyan and Percival send each other matching grins. Arthur frowns, so the knight justifies. “We’re near Cenred Kingdom’s border, there might be patrols of his knights nearby. It’s best that someone keeps Merlin company.”

They don’t argue, and so he follows Merlin further into the forest.

“You look uneasy, my friend.”

“The magic here is different. It’s crying. Cenred’s enslaving magic users, and nature feels it.”

“I’m sorry for that.” Lancelot muses, leaning down to grab a piece of wood. “It must feel horrible to experience grief of other sorcerers.”

“Magic is supposed to be free. Even in Camelot the Earth doesn’t seem so sad.” He touches it, a few flowers sprouting under his fingers.

Lancelot hits him with a stick, and Merlin turns to him, a scowl on his face. He grabs one too and swings at him in retaliation.

“What was that for?”

“We’re supposed to be gathering wood, not look nostalgic. You could use your talents to help us, but you’re leaving all the hard work to me.”

“Well, you’re a knight, aren’t you? Woe me, pitiful servant without a dagger to my name. If only a strong, handsome knight would help me instead of smacking me with a stick.”

“This is no stick, that’s the most honorable weapon one can hold.” Lancelot points his stick at Merlin and laughs. “Fight me, if you dare.”

“May your knife chip and shatter or whatever.” Merlin moves, dodging his friend’s attacks.

He trips on a root, and when Lancelot approaches him, a triumphant smile stretching his lips, Merlin touches the ground with a grin; a branch stretches out and reaches for Lancelot, holding him upside down by his legs.

“That’s cheating.”

“No, it’s called winning.” Merlin smacks him with both sticks. “You should try it sometime. Unless you want me to carve you these into a cane.”

Lancelot swings at him, but misses.

Merlin lets him fall on the ground and helps him get up.

“That was nice.” He decides, returning to gathering wood. Lancelot laughs.

“Indeed.”

They manage to get a lot of it - Merlin dries the damp sticks with his magic, so they don’t have to waste their time on searching for dry ones - and start walking back to the camp.

“Something is bothering you.” Merlin notices when Lancelot is quiet for a longer time. The knight looks at the trees, green and full of life.

“The first time you lived, I wasn’t here, right?” He glances at Merlin, his brown eyes warm, warmer than cozy blankets and nights spent around the fireplace in winter. “I should’ve died to close the Veil. You changed that.”

“I just don’t care about that whole destiny shmuck anymore. I want to do as I please, that’s all.”

“And yet you stay in Camelot, even though you could travel around the world.”

“It’s not my destiny that’s keeping me here, and you know that.”

Lancelot smiles; it’s soft, friendly. He knows. He sees it in the way Merlin looks at Arthur, the way they bicker and argue; he sees it in the way Merlin braids Gwen’s hair and does laundry for her, arguing that she has other chores to do and he’s done with his; he sees it in the way Merlin sneaks sweets out of royal kitchens and gives them to the knights.

Perhaps it’s nice to see his childhood home once again.

“The first time- I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”

“I was more angry at you for leaving me alone. It would’ve been less painful if I died that day. You would have so much support and people who understand. I was completely alone.”

“What about Gwaine?”

Merlin hums, shifting slightly to keep his balance even.

“I had no idea he knew. I never realised it.”

“Never?”

“Lancelot, I am furious at you because you left me alone. Or would do that. Whatever.” Merlin shakes his head. “I had no one else. My magic started being just a tool, and I’ve made some awful decisions. I always wondered if it would be different with you around.”

“And is it?”

Merlin smiles.

“I guess we’ll find out. For what it’s worth, as angry as I am, I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m glad I’m here too.” Lancelot nods, then nudges him. “Come, let’s race. Whoever’s last has to clean the dishes.”

“We both know Arthur will make me do that either way! Hey!” Merlin chases after him, laughing.

His chest feels light in a way it hasn’t for decades.

They manage to get back to the camp and Merlin starts cooking as soon as he hears the first complaint from Arthur’s lips.

“Seriously, you behave like a stereotypical Slavic father. If you’re hungry it’s better not to speak to you.”

“I’m your king, and so you shouldn’t speak to me like that.”

“I’m sorry, your majesty. Do you need me to use easier words so you’d understand?”

Gwaine bursts out laughing and reaches for the bowls.

“Merlin’s right, sire. A hungry man is an angry one. So let’s get to eating!”

They sit down on the fallen tree and eat the soup Merlin prepared. It’s one he learnt during his stay in Poland during Easter time. He’s lucky they don’t question the fact that he got chicken eggs seemingly out of nowhere.

He gets his own bowl and sits down, but Arthur stops him before he can eat.

“You have to feed the horses.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Go, they can’t be hungry.”

“And I can?” Merlin grumbles, but goes to do as he’s told. He glances back towards the knights; they start moaning and making weird faces, nodding to themselves. “Assholes.”

Merlin goes back to find the cauldron almost empty. Sighing, he takes a bowl and fills it up with what’s left - only for Arthur to come and grab it, and eat all of it in one swallow.

“Delicious.”

“Yeah, seriously, maybe you should become the cook’s apprentice.” Gwaine echoes. Elyan nods at him and gathers the leftovers with his spoon, cleaning the cauldron out of any scraps.

Percival pats Merlin’s back, and Leon gives him his empty bowl.

Lancelot is looking at them from the side, a playful smile on his face. Merlin glares at him, but the knight just laughs at his offended expression.

“You can clean the dishes now, Merlin. We all ate.” Arthur tells him, and Merlin drops all the bowls on the ground.

They stare at him, but he pouts and, crossing his arms over his chest, sits on the ground.

“Give me my portion.”

“I’m afraid there’s nothing left, mate.” Gwaine says, amusem*nt in his voice.

“It was simply too good.” Percival agrees.

Merlin scowls at them.

Finally, Lancelot gives him a bowl they hid behind the tree, an apologetic smile on his face. Merlin flips them all off and inhales the soup.

They laugh at how quick he’s eating, and even more at how quickly his frown was replaced by a bright smile.

The night is silent, and Gwaine is the one keeping the first watch. He nudges the fire with a long stick, humming to himself as the night continues.

Merlin stirs in his sleep, before groaning and sitting up.

“Nightmares?” Gwaine asks, trying to set the stick on fire.

Merlin shakes his head.

“Need to piss. And someone’s calling.”

“I don’t think pissing is what you should’ve led with.” Gwaine whispers, a bit alarmed. “Who-“

“Druids. Ugh, I don’t want to.” Merlin groans and hides his face in his hands. “I’ll be back in a few.”

“What? Wait, it’s dangerous. You can’t go out there alone.”

“Gwaine, I have my charm, remember?”

“Still-“

“I can make people unconscious by looking at them. I’ll be fiiine.”

Gwaine doesn’t follow him, but only under Merlin agreeing that if he doesn’t return in an hour, he will wake up the rest of the knights and go after him.

There’s a familiar group waiting for him further into the forest.

“Iseldir.” He greets, bowing his head slightly. The leader of the group mirrors his gesture.

“Emrys.” He smiles, and Merlin tilts his head when he notices movement behind his robe. “Our paths have crossed again.”

“It seems they did.” He crouches and reaches out. “Hello, Aine.”

“Lord Emrys! You remember my name!” The girl squeals in delight and rushes towards him. It seems to be enough for the rest of the Druids. They come closer, smiles on their faces. Merlin reaches into his pocket and focuses for a second. His eyes flash gold and then there’s chocolate in his hand. He gives it to Aine, who looks at it in wonder.

“Try it. It’s sweet.”

She takes a bite and squeals.

“Caden!” She runs towards a boy, a bit younger than her. “Try it!”

Merlin smiles. As much as he’s not a great father, he doesn’t hate kids. Otherwise he wouldn’t become a teacher.

Because he definitely didn’t become a teacher for the paycheck. He has degrees! He finished med school. Seventeen times!

“Lord Emrys, if I may,” Iseldir guides him towards the center of the circle that formed around them, “the man you’re following, he stole from us.”

“The Triskelion.” Merlin guessed, and the curt nod that Iseldir gives him proves him right.

“We were helping him, and believed he needed our aid. We don’t have it in our nature to bring harm. We’re peaceful and it’s often that we help those with magic and no place to call theirs.”

“Iseldir, I don’t blame you for wanting to do what’s right. I let my guard down and caused him to complete it. You’re not at fault here.”

Iseldir nods and raises his hand when the group starts talking in hushed tones.

“I appreciate your understanding, Lord Emrys. We came here to warn you, because as much as the Triskelion is a key, it’s also a trap. You mustn’t let the egg be destroyed.”

“I won’t.” Merlin promises. The chieftain sighs and brings his hands forward, as if blessing him.

“Our legends, legends help by our mothers and our ancestors, they speak of the tomb and that only when the way ahead seems impossible will you have found it.”

“Another riddle. Great.” Merlin grimaces. “Thank you anyway. Before I go, I have one question, if you’ll humour me.”

“What is it that you need to know, Lord Emrys?”

“The boy. The one I told you about-“

“Ah, do not worry. He understands and wants to apologise as well, for anything he might’ve done to anger you enough to earn your punishment. He appreciates that you care enough to reach to him.”

“Yeah, I don’t want him to be isolated or lonely. I know what that does to a person.”

“He’s thankful for your offer. Emrys’ protection is one of the highest honors we can imagine.”

“I’m glad.”

Iseldir nods and gestures for his people to leave.

“Until we meet again, Emrys.”

“I hope you have a safe journey, wherever you’re going.”

Merlin returns to the campsite and lays back down. Gwaine nudges him with his foot.

“What?”

“How did it go? What did they want?”

“Just something about the tomb. Nothing to worry about. It’s not like they’re dangerous. They’re just really f*cking creepy.”

Gwaine laughs and leans backwards.

“Well then, let’s hope they let you sleep until sunrise comes.”

“It’ll be much easier if you stop talking. Or do I need to make you?”

“Oh, Merlin, you know I’m always open for that kind of interaction.” Gwaine responds, smug as ever. Merlin rolls his eyes at him and goes back to sleep. There’s an exhausting journey awaiting them.

They manage to spot Borden’s camp, but it seems abandoned. Arthur pats his horse’s neck and leads her forward.

He squints and a frown forms on his face.

“Sire?” Leon prompts, but Arthur raises his hand to silence him.

“We’re near.” He says, jumping down and tying Daisy to a tree branch. The knights follow his lead.

“The campfire is freshly out. There are still some sparks in the wood.” Elyan notices. They follow the trail further, and it leads them to a cave. It goes underground for a while, and ends with a body of water and a waterfall cutting their path short.

“Great.” Percival voices, looking at the walls surrounding them.

“Seems that we reached a dead end.” Arthur concludes, something wary in his voice. He walks closer to Merlin. “Are you alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I thought- maybe you’ll have some weird feeling?”

“You’re asking me if I’m sensing the egg.” Merlin deadpans, and Arthur shrugs. “You’re a king and I don’t go around asking if you can sense other condescending idiots-“

Arthur’s dares to sush him.

“Really, Merlin. No need to be dramatic, all you had to say is no, I’m as useless as always.”

“I hope something will strangle you.”

“Careful, you’re speaking treason.” Arthur bickers, but his mood shifts. “We’re in a dead end. There’s nothing further out, it seems.”

Merlin walks closer to the waterfall. Iseldir’s words, as cryptic as they were, start making sense in his head. He reaches out and dives into the waterfall, crossing it to the other side.

“It’s a tunnel!” He yells, waiting for them to follow. When they don’t, he realises the water is too loud, so he pokes his head through it.

Gwaine yelps and falls into the water, slipping and landing on his back.

Arthur barks a laugh and looks at completely soaked Merlin.

“It’s a tunnel, the waterfall was hiding it from view.” Merlin says, disappearing once again. Slowly, one by one, the knights follow him to the other side.

After they manage to go through the cave, they end up on a hill; the tomb is visible in the distance, a glorious thing, kept secret for all those years.

Merlin’s pretty sure there’s a McDonald standing there nowadays.

“Careful.” Arthur reaches for his sword before they go down the hill. The forest is quiet. The knights glance at him and, when he gives them a subtle nod, unseath their own swords.

An arrow flies by Merlin, almost getting caught in his ear. He jumps to the side and looks around.

The knights notice Borden first; wielding a crossbow, he quickly recharges it and shoots at them again.

“I thought he was weak!” Merlin gasps, seeing how quickly the man is able to get another arrow.

“What gave you that impression?” Arthur barks, taking cover. Merlin yelps.

“The fact that most magic users don’t have food nor do they believe in physical exercises? How is he able to recharge it that fast?”

“He must be using magic.” Artur growls and tries to creep closer to the man. Merlin jumps behind a tree, sneaking past the knights. Percival kneels on the ground, groaning.

“What happened?”

“He shot me.” He gasps, clenching at his wound. Merlin rushes over to him and slaps his hands away.

“Don’t remove the bolt, you’ll bleed out. We have to disarm him.”

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid.” Gwaine mutters, before winking at Merlin. “We could use some help.”

“Of course we could. But I doubt we will, unless Merlin befriended another homeless guy he never told us about.” Elyan groans.

Lancelot pokes at Merlin’s shoulder and nods. Then, he tackles Arthur to the ground.

“Take cover!” He shouts, the knights following his lead as another arrow flies by.

Merlin glances at the crossbow, his body pulsing with magic; it flies out of Borden’s hands and shatters on a tree.

“He tripped, he lost his weapon!” He reports to the knights, all of them laying on the ground, groaning.

“Lancelot, what in the bloody hell was that?”

“I wasn’t going to let you lose your head, sire. Percival is already wounded, we needed to be carefull.”

“But not by tackling me!” Arthur huffs. He looks around, and is quick enough to notice Borden disappearing between the trees.

“He ran away. We have to follow him!” Merlin says, standing up from his hiding spot. Arthur shakes his head.

“No, we’ll camp here and then we will catch up to him tomorrow.”

“But-“

“Sir Percival is wounded. We’re setting a camp, that’s an order from your king.”

“More an order from an ass.” Merlin grumbles, but ultimately does as he’s told.

Merlin comes back from gathering the firewood to an unusual silence. His footsteps become quicker as he rushes towards the campsite; the knights are laying around, and if not for his paranoia he would’ve sworn they’re sleeping.

He checks the food; the cauldron stands on the side, exactly where he left it. Taking a bite, he notices the usual bitterness of mandrake. It’s a half assed job, in his opinion, to use this type of poison.

Arsenic is way better, because it doesn’t have a smell or taste. Maybe if the knights actually had some brain cells of their own instead of sharing one with him, they would’ve noticed that soup isn’t supposed to taste like that.

Merlin sighs as he feels his body react to the poison; his vision becomes a blur and his mouth is insanely dry.

“No time for fun.” He reminds himself - no one should judge him, in his opinion. He became almost immune to alcohol, of course he had to find something stronger.

His body should reset as soon as he dies, but poison might make his dying last a while, and he can’t afford that with everyone but Leon being mortal, prone to meeting Death herself if left untreated.

So, as any logical and pragmatic person would do, Merlin cuts his throat open and awakens a minute later, completely clean.

He snaps his fingers to make the blood evaporate and moves to heal the knights. It’s not strong - although it’s better than before. It took him time to bother to learn healing spells and do them properly, mostly because his immortality made it so they were useless to him. But during the Black Death epidemic, he worked tirelessly on improving his healing skills.

As soon as he takes notice of blood returning to the knight’s faces, he starts walking towards the tomb.

“You’re a proper asshole.” Merlin informs Borden as soon as he sees him. The man doesn’t even turn to face him - rude - too preoccupied with his evil scheme.

“You don’t understand boy, the power that this place holds is ancient, stronger than anything you could ever imagine.”

Merlin thinks of his Aithusa. It is true, there’s certainly a lot of power and strength in his little girl, and her music is amazing.

She forbade him from telling his students about how talented his daughter is and how he’s just so proud of her, and he spent all year pouting and asking why she doesn’t want his support. She blocked him for a month for that, which he decided was fair after all.

“I think you’re the one that has a problem with understanding things. Do you seriously think that this place isn’t secured? There must be traps everywhere-“

“Quiet! I won’t listen to some insolent boy.” He opens the entrance and is promptly knocked out by the gas that starts filling the chamber.

“f*cking great.” Merlin mutters, materializing a gas mask on his face. “Go on vacation, Merlin. It’s just a tea shop, why are you crying it’s closed for a month, Merlin? Go to Cuba for a year long break from teaching, Merlin. Should’ve f*cking went with Leon to Bratislava. Or just stayed at home. Bothered Freya for a bit. But nooo, I had to do it my way.”

He continues forward and sees the egg, white and as big as his head, standing on a pedestal in the middle of the room. He takes the mask off and chucks it into the corner of the room.

“It’s real.” Merlin hears from behind him. Julius Borden stands a few meters away, breathing heavily.

“Seriously? Can’t you just die?” Merlin groans, but Borden disregards his comment, instead opting for walking closer to him.

“Think about it, boy! With a dragon at our command, we can live like kings! No one will ever order you to serve them. You’ll be free.”

“I actually enjoy being a servant. Yeah, I know, weird, I think I’ll have to talk about that with my therapist.”

“Don’t be a fool. You cannot possibly enjoy the way he and the rest of his kind treats those like you. You’re nothing but a serving boy to him, one that will be replaced as soon as you’re not of use. But if we work together, we can have Camelot at our feet. A weapon like that-“

“That’s not a weapon. The dragon is to be left alone to live freely, not to be used for destruction.” Merlin growls, stepping forward towards the egg. “I’m the last of the Dragon Lords, and I order you to leave it alone.”

Borden scowls. Merlin feels his magic before he uses it to strike him; he sends him flying to the wall and pins him to it with his own magic, then he takes the egg from the pedestal.

Immediately, the room starts shaking, and there are multiple cracks forming on the ceiling and the walls.

Merlin runs past Borden to the entrance and manages to escape before the room collapses into a bunch of rubble.

He ticks the egg away into his bag, covering it with spare clothes and neckerchief.

“MERLIN!” Leon is first at his side, looking perfectly fine. The rest of the knights struggle to catch up to them, clearly still feeling the effects of the poison in their bodies.

Arthur steps forward, looking at the rubble laying around. He glances at Merlin, who’s dirty with dust but otherwise unharmed.

“What happened?” He demands, something in his voice dancing on the edge of worry and fury. Strangely, Merlin knows that the humm of rage in the king’s voice isn’t directed at him.

“The Tomb was a trap. The moment Borden came inside, it all collapsed.”

“Are you alright?” Lancelot asks, and Gwaine rushes to stand in front of Merlin and look him over.

“I don’t see any cuts, but maybe we can help you out-“

“I’m fine.” Merlin glances at Leon, who nods subtly.

“Perhaps our dear friend didn’t even get to cross the entrance before Borden activated the trap.” He voices, the rest of the knights calming down.

“Yeah, I was too late.”

“And yet you rushed to the tomb to stop him, without any weapon in hand, while we all were unconscious. You’re truly a wonder.” Elyan muses, grinning playfully.

“That was brave of you.” Percival nods, and Merlin blushes and waves his hand.

“It was better than risking him getting the egg. Who knows what he might’ve done with it.”

“That’s true. Well, Merlin, perhaps you deserve a day off, once we’re back in Camelot.” Arthur says, and Merlin beams at him.

“f*cking finally! Gwaine, you’re taking me to the tavern as soon as we’re home.”

“Can I join?” Lancelot asks; he’s joined by the rest of the knights. Merlin laughs and nods his head enthusiastically.

“This quest deserves some good celebration!” Gwaine announces, and the knights cheer with him.

Merlin glances at Arthur, a painful pang in his heart as he notices his worried look.

“Will you be joining us, sire? Or are those types of gatherings not for your royal taste?”

“My taste was ruined years ago, the moment you were hired. And someone has to keep an eye on you, to make sure you’re not bringing shame to your titles.”

“We will make sure to bring shame to yours, then.” Merlin laughs and steps forward. “Let’s go, I’ve had enough of this forest.”

“Merlin, I wanted to say, I deeply regret your loss. It must be hard.” Arthur says, standing in Merlin’s room. He looks out of place between all the herbs and books, like a child in a… well, mostly everywhere that’s not child safe.

Merlin grins.

“I thought you wanted the egg to be destroyed?” He teases, but Arthur doesn’t reciprocate.

There’s some guilt in his eyes.

“Even if I thought it was for the best, I wanted to tell you that I understand that it was a big loss for you. I can imagine what it’s like being the last of your kin.”

Merlin bites his lip.

“You asked me about Morgana.” He starts. Arthur looks at him, confused. His blue eyes are stormy with emotions, feelings deeply hidden within. But even after a whole Millenium, Merlin can still read him like an open book.

“What does she have to do with that?”

“You’re right, that if the dragon egg got into the wrong hands, it would become dangerous. Perhaps if she got it, she would’ve used it against both Camelot and me, as the last Dragon Lord. If she learnt about me, she would’ve used it as a leverage.” He says, dark curls falling on his forehead. He glances at Arthur from underneath them, blue meeting blue.

“But?”

“But at the same time I can't help but wonder, if she can be helped. I see your kindness, Arthur, and I know you’ll be the greatest king in all of Albion. Perhaps the day will come that she will see that too.” Merlin says, and he knows it’s true. To him, there never was a king equal to Arthur; a king who married a peasant, who treated his people equal, who tried to learn and change, even if he was destined to leave this world unfinished, a symphony cut short, stopped in the middle. “I was scared for a moment, that your reason for chasing after the egg would be to destroy it out of malice. I appreciate that you weren’t trying to do that to continue your father’s legacy. And I’m glad you’re here with me now.”

“I just couldn’t let you feel as if you’re alone.” Arthur repeats, and Merlin looks into his eyes, his chest warm with feelings long forgotten. “Perhaps, in the time of peace, we will find another dragon egg, and you’ll be able to raise it as your heritage promises you.”

“Perhaps one day Morgana will return home.” Merlin says back, and Arthur nods.

There’s nothing more but their companionship, and it’s enough for them to last a while like this; next to each other, two reflections of the same soulmate.

Their moment is interrupted by a loud meow.

“Who’s that?” Arthur bends over to look under Merlin’s bed. Two large blue eyes stare back at him, and then a fluffy white kitten pounces at him, swatting at his face with its paws.

“Oh, I adopted a cat. You know, to deal with the grief of losing the only thing that could’ve connected me to my father. Don’t make that face, you look constipated. Her name is Aithusa and he’s my daughter now.”

“Ask Gaius to check you for brain damage. I’m afraid the collapsing room must’ve caused a stone to fall on your head.”

“Woah, you’re so funny. Delightful.” Merlin picks Aithusa up and smiles at her as she starts purring loudly and rubbing her little head to his chest. “Look at her.”

“You can’t possibly keep it.”

“Remember when we destroyed the last known dragon egg in existence? One that I, as the Dragon Lord, felt incredibly connected to and wanted to protect? Remember-“

“Your day tomorrow is no longer off.”

“What? No, you can’t do that!”

“I’m the king. Seriously, Merlin, you’re such a girl.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. At least I’m not an arse.”

He laughs and runs out of the room, Aithusa in his hands, zooming past the knights and nobles as Arthur chases after them.

Chapter 7: Please don’t break up with your girlfriend as your friend stands there and watches

Chapter Text

“Do you have to bring her everywhere with you?” Arthur purses his lips in dismay. Merlin, who was busy serving him wine, pauses and then swears loudly as the glass overfills and the alcohol spills on the blanket they all are sitting on.

Gwen giggles and pets Aithusa behind her ears, earning a playful meow in response.

“Gwen could ask you that about me.” He argues with the king, before he sets the bottle aside and takes Aithusa from Gwen, lifts her up and then lets her climb to sit on his shoulder. Both Gwen and Merlin flash Arthur a smile when they notice how red his face has gotten. “Besides, Aithusa’s my little girl. My lovely daughter. I cannot bare to be apart from her.”

“You don’t trust Gaius with her?” Gwen asks, a bit surprised. Merlin frowns.

“I don’t trust Gaius with anything alive. And he doesn’t like her because she broke a batch of his potions.”

“So this cat is a danger to my physician’s work. Fantastic, you should get rid of her before dawn.”

“Arthur!” Gwen looks at him, appalled. She’s wearing a green dress with lilacs embroidered on it, a work Merlin is really proud of. She declared it to be her favourite dress as soon as he gave it to her.

“I just never took Merlin for someone who would keep an animal. Especially since he barely can take care of himself. How can he be trusted with another life?”

“I mean, you’re still here, and Aithusa is way easier to care for than you are. Maybe I should get rid of you, your majesty.”

“Careful, Merlin. You’re speaking treason.” Arthur teases, but there’s no heat behind his words.

Merlin sits down beside Gwen after he finishes serving them food and lets Aithusa jump back on the ground.

“Oh, Merlin, could you braid my hair again? It looked wonderful when you did it-“

“Your word is my order, my lady.” Merlin bows to her in a theatrical manner, and Gwen laughs, covering her lips with a hand, but not really hiding her smile.

Arthur coughs.

“What about me?” He asks and Merlin grins.

“Well, sire, if you want me to braid your hair, all you have to do is ask.”

“Bloody idiot, I mean you should be focusing on me too. Serve me food properly.”

“It’s on the plate just in front of you. Do we need to call an oculist? Get your eyes checked?”

“You’re speaking nonsense again.” Arthur notes, but takes the plate and starts eating while Merlin braids Gwen’s hair.

He wovens some flowers between the strands, and claps his hands as soon as he’s done.

“It’s lovely. Thank you, Merlin.” Gwen smiles at him and takes a bite of one of the fresh buns he brought with them.

“It would be lovelier if your parasite of a pet didn't steal sausages.”

“She only took one.” Merlin defends her. Aithusa purrs loudly.

“Yes, exactly. She only took one. My lord, you cannot be mad at such a gentle and beautiful creature.” Gwen joins him and lifts Aithusa up, holding her in front of Arthur’s face.

The king sighs loudly but, under Gwen’s expecting stare, caves in and pets her.

“Huh, her fur is surprisingly soft.” He mutters and glances at Merlin with a sly smile.

“If you say you’ll commission someone to make a fur coat out of her I will skin you alive myself.” He threatens. Aithusa yowls in Gwen’s arms and jumps back to Merlin’s. “Oop, she doesn’t like you, it seems.”

“Nonsense.” Arthur scoffs. He squints, frowns and looks at the cat again. “She just takes after you, unfortunately.” He decides, glaring at his manservant.

“That’s why I’m so proud of her.” Merlin declares and pets her little head.

They bicker and laugh, and Merlin lets himself enjoy the simplicity of it. It’s hard for him to not acknowledge the nostalgia filling his chest when he thinks about his long gone past. It was the three of them, before there was Lancelot, before there was Gwaine, before there were other knights; even before he became so close to Leon. Memory of his two very first friends in Camelot is a warm one, like the first sunny day of spring after a harsh winter.

The gaping hole that Morgana is supposed to fill is present, and though Merlin doesn’t feel it as much, all his memories of her corrupted by the sheer hatred and guilt, it’s obvious Gwen and Arthur are missing her still.

They start gathering their things back to the basket they brought them in - or rather, Merlin and Gwen do that while Arthur stands aside, watching them work and scoffing when Merlin insults him and calls him lazy.

There’s something tense in the air, and when Merlin looks at Arthur, it becomes obvious; as if aware of being caught on watching Gwen dust the blanket off and fold it, the king looks away.

“Guinevere…” Arthur starts and stops just as suddenly, as if the words are stuck on his tongue. She looks at him, her smile as sweet as honey, and stops her work, giving the blanket to Merlin.

“Yes?” Merlin watches them from the side, frowning at how tight Gwen’s smile becomes. The corners of her mouth wobble, and she turns to Arthur, giving him her full attention.

“As you know, I’ve always proudly declared my intention on marrying someone not because of their status or riches, but out of love.” Gwen puts her hands behind her back, squeezing the material of her dress. She looks at Arthur, her chin up, a display of perfect confidence. Merlin’s lips are pressed into a tight line.

Arthur closes his eyes, then reacher forward - Gwen puts her hands in his, her smile soft and kind, albeit a bit sad.

“You’d make a perfect queen for Camelot and her subjects.” He states, placing a hiss on the back of her hands. “But it would be unjust to ask for your heart, when it already belongs to someone else.”

Gwen’s gaze softens, and she brings his hands to her lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles.

“Arthur, tell me two words and I’ll be yours.” She promises, and Merlin has to look away.

Arthur stops her and splits their hands apart.

“I love you, with all my heart.” It’s a promise of his own, a pledge of loyalty he doesn’t intend to ever break. “But you should marry out of love too. You and Lancelot,” she gasps and looks down, ashamed, “are two parts of the same soul. It would be unfair of me to split you apart, when you so clearly belong with each other.”

“Arthur, if you only ask, I will never look behind.” She says, but it’s clear how relieved she feels, her eyes shining bright.

“I know.” His words are stern, confident. “But you should marry out of your true love. What you and Lancelot have is one in a lifetime. Many people never get to experience that. Guinevere, pursue this love and cherish it with all your heart.”

“With all my heart.” She repeats, then looks up at him and plants a kiss on his cheek, just by the corner of his mouth. “Arthur, you were an amazing experience. Thank you.”

He holds her hands, squeezing tightly, before he sets her free.

“I wish you that he loves you just as much as you love him.” Arthur says, and Gwen smiles at him, before glancing at Merlin.

“I wish you find someone who is the other part of your soul.” She smiles knowingly and Merlin avoids her eyes. “Perhaps they’re closer to your heart than anyone ever was.”

Arthur looks confused at her words, so Merlin intervenes, walking to Arthur and jabbing his elbow between the king’s ribs. Arthur curses and Merlin swats at him.

“Did you seriously take me to your breaking up picnic?! Are you even normal? Who’s emotional support was I supposed to be? Because if you counted on me being on your side, then you miscalculated. Gwen’s the real one, she was my first friend here, I will follow her until I die.”

Arthur charges at Merlin, knocking him off his legs and on the grass below. Aithusa hisses as she falls with them, jumping before they all hit the ground. She trots over to Gwen, waiting patiently to be picked up.

“Obviously you had to be here, you bloody idiot.” Arthur grunts, trying to hold Merlin down while he struggles to get out of the headlock he’s in. “You’re my manservant, and you’re the girly one, I decided it was a good idea to have someone who gets the whole emotions thing-“

“Oh my- the whole emotions thing? That is not how normal people talk. And I already have to do so much labour while underpaid. I’m not being your therapist too, the list of my chores is too long for that.”

“Would you stop-“ Arthur growls when Merlin manages to get out of his hold and crawl back a few meters. “You idiot-“

“You clotpole, who breaks up with someone while their friend just stands there watching?” Merlin mocks, grinning at how frustrated Arthur becomes. Gwen giggles from above them. “Ohhh, suuuuure, let’s say intimate things while Merlin sits on the side and looks pretty. What am I, a potted plant? I’m not here to be a decoration, why would you ever bring me to something like that-“

“Oh, Merlin, please be a bit more gentle with your words.” Gwen says, and Arthur smiles triumphantly, just for a second, before she continues, with a playful smile of her own. “I don’t think his majesty really thinks about it at all, when he plans anything. No matter what, he always considers you’ll be there, by his side.”

Arthur glares at both of them, while Gwen helps Merlin stand up.

“If we were to be wed, I’d imagine he would ask me with you in the room.” She jokes, and Merlin chokes on his spit, a memory of a secondhand embarrassment crossing his king and heart like an arrow.

“I cannot believe you’d laugh at my expense. Gueneviere, I’m afraid my useless idiot of a manservant has corrupted you.”

“Take the L.” Merlin says, before Arthur grabs his leg and pulls him down.

Gwaine laughs so hard Merlin’s scared he will spill all the mead. He tilts his head backwards and slams his fist on the table.

“It’s not that funny.” Arthur grumbles, crossing his arms and glaring at the knight.

“No, no, I think it actually is, sire.” Elyan says with an apologetic smile. Percival seems to be drowning his laughter in his own pint, looking away from their king to not choke on the drink from laughing.

Lancelot sits on the bench next to Merlin, hiding his face in his hands, an amused smile stretching his lips.

Even Leon is grinning, coughing into his fist to hide his laugh.

“I should banish all of you for this display of lack of respect!”

“Sure, but you’d have no one to put up with you. Sire.” Lancelot says, earning a solid pat on the back from Gwaine.

“And they say nobles have etiquette! My lord, weren’t you taught how to care for such delicate manners? I was under the impression that royalty knows how to end a courtship in a more… dignified manner.” Percival asks, a cheeky smile on his face quickly hidden in the alcohol.

“Sire, with all due respect, but why on Earth would you bring your manservant to watch you end your relationship with lady Gwen.” Leon’s eyebrows are high, and it’s obvious how hard he tries to contain himself from joining the others in mocking Arthur.

“Exactly! Even my split ups from lovers were more well mannered.” Gwaine quips, before nudging Merlin and glancing at his mug. Merlin sighs and rolls his eyes; Lancelot looks at them, sighs loudly and stands up.

“Although I love lady Gwen, sire, you know I wouldn’t stand between you!” He declares loudly, all attention on him.

Gwaine’s mug is magically filled up to the brim with alcohol once again. Knights look away from Lancelot long after gold vanishes from Merlin’s eyes.

“I said what I believe in, and it’s that the purest form of power is the one a true love grants. Sir Lancelot, Guinevere is a woman you’re lucky to be fancied by.”

Lancelot laughs and nods his head; Elyan grimaces.

“Can we not talk about my sister?”

“We were talking about gods-awful break ups, actually.” Merlin says, and Arthur scowls at him in a way that suggests he needs to prepare for additional chores in the morning.

“It reminds me of the time I had to flee from a lovely lady butt-naked, in the middle of a winter solstice.” Gwaine laughs, and all heads turn to him. Content with the attention, he decides to elaborate. “Said lovely maiden had an overbearing father who was a cow breeder. When he found a lover in her bed, he would drag them to his barn and brand them like a cow.” Gwaine sighs. “I lost good boots there.”

“Maybe if you got a brand like that you’d be less careless.” Elyan quips.

“No, he would’ve found a way to make it seem fascinating.” Lancelot laughs, and Gwaine nods enthusiastically.

“Come on, gentlemen, don’t tell me you don’t have embarrassing stories about your love escapades. Don’t let me and the princess be the only ones that are laughing stock.”

“I traveled with a lovely pair seven winters ago.” Elyan starts, leaning on his elbows. “Lovely people I’ve met at the coastline, they were the descendants of a Roman general who was stationed there before the empire collapsed. It, uh, turned out that one of them was a selkie and… it didn’t go great.” Elyan grimaces. “I offended her and had to run for my life.”

Gwaine bursts out laughing.

“Aren’t they part seals? Did you-“ he starts laughing again when Elyan gives him a somber nod.

“When I first met my wife I tried to impress her by cooking. She got sick afterwards and avoided me for weeks.” Percival mutters, a nostalgic smile pressed on his lips. “She would never let me come close to preparing food after that, and especially - and even more - after I almost burned our home down when I was boiling water for a soup.”

“Your intentions were good.” Leon assures him with a kind look in his eyes. When they all turn to him, he shrugs. “My only encounter with courting was when a visiting noble had expressed her interest in me. She left flowers by my door every single day.”

“You forget that she was seven.” Arthur’s laughs. “A child fascinated with a knight in shiny armour.”

“Truly an abhorrent taste.” Merlin speaks out, rolling his eyes. Gwaine grins at him.

“What about you? Does our dear friend have such a story?”

“I recently hit my ex-wife with a stone on her forehead and she fell to a lake because of that.” He ignores how everyone gets quiet. “And it was moments before our break up too.”

“Wait, hold on for a moment.” Elyan looks at the knights, then at Merlin. “You have a wife?”

“Had.” Merlin corrects.

“Why didn’t I know about this?” Arthur demands, frowning. His face is slightly red.

“Because we weren’t really a couple? It was short-lived, but I promised her a house with a garden full of strawberries. Maybe a girlfriend would be a better word, but with how we promised each other some things it seemed to be more. Well, anyway, we’re over so-“

“There’s no way you had a romantic interaction with a woman.” Everyone turns to Lancelot, who doesn’t seem ashamed at all of his words. “Merlin-“

“Was she the one you were visiting in the forest after the Veil was closed?” Arthur asks, and Merlin turns to him, clearly surprised he remembers.

“Yes. Her name is Freya.”

“Why did you end your relationship?” Percival asks, leaning closer.

“We just weren’t meant to be like that. I’m the other side of a coin for someone else.”

“How romantic.” Gwaine smirks and leans forward, nudging Merlin with his shoulder. “Can I be the object of your adoration?”

“Alright, that’s enough, you’re all running fifty laps around the training field tomorrow morning.” Arthur decides; the knights groan and Gwaine earns a playful punch to his arm.

“May we meet her someday?” Percival asks as they stand up and finish their pints of mead. Merlin tilts his head to the side.

“Freya?”

“She must be a wonderful person, if she was ever loved by you.” The knight’s smile is a gentle thing, the look in his eyes turning melancholic. It doesn’t take much to gather that he’s thinking about his own wife.

“I’m sure she would love to meet you.” She wouldn’t, the first time Freya met Leon she apparently recognised him without any introduction - something about being a goddess of the lake and how strongly it connected her to Albion and Camelot - and immediately went for the biggest stick she could find, then she chased him around for six hours, before they both collapsed in a field of nettles.

“Merlin!” He gives Percival an apologetic smile, earning an honest laugh in return.

The days were passing by, and between Lancelot officially starting to court Gwen and Arthur drowning in paperwork, it seemed as if Camelot was entering a point of stability, where all is good and in the correct place. It only served to make Merlin’s time here easier.

There’s some tension with king Odin, but it’s something that was hard to avoid either way, since he seems dead set on getting rid of the Pendragon dynasty.

Even the patrols are calmer now that Arthur’s king. Merlin suspects it has most to do with the fact that he hasn’t burned a single sorcerer since he took over the kingdom, and tried to reach out to the Druids, offering them peace.

“That finishes the report on the grain supplies for the winter in the northern region.” Leon announces, and Merlin kicks Arthur’s leg to wake him up. He jolts awake with a yelp and glares at his manservant, before he turns to Leon and nods at him to show his gratitude for his research.

“Thank you, sir Leon. That can conclude our meeting.” Arthur gets ready to deliver the closing speech Merlin wrote to him the evening before, but is stopped by one of the members of his council.

“Your majesty, Druids have been spotted near the eastern border of the forest. Some say they want to enter the lower town.”

Arthur’s lips are pressed into a thin line. Merlin fills his goblet with wine.

“The Druids have proven themselves to be peaceful people. We won’t be prosecuting them. If they wish to enter Camelot’s walls, let them be.”

“Your father would never-“ one of the lords stands up, his face turning red. Gwaine puts his hand on the handle of his sword, and Merlin notices other knights following his example.

“I am not my father and I don’t wish to follow in his footsteps. I won’t be standing in the late king’s shadow when I clearly have my own to cast.” Arthur interrupts him, voice loud and clear. “The Druids, despite being wronged by Camelot, helped us many times. Sir Leon wouldn’t be with us, if he wasn’t nurtured back to health by them.”

Leon glances at Merlin, but he’s busy staring at Agravaine. The man is looking at Arthur intently, an amused smile dancing on his lips. He plays with his own goblet, tracing the intricate design on it with his finger.

His eyes widen a bit at Arthur’s words, but no other reaction escapes him.

“Sire, we don’t wish to question your word, but Druids won’t follow our laws. They only follow the Old Religion.”

“We cannot let pagans into Camelot’s heart!” Other lord agrees, furrowing his brows.

“How dare you speak like this to your king?” Gwaine growls, unsheathing his sword. He takes a step forward, his goblet falling over and spilling the wine over the table. Lancelot glares at the lords and doesn’t move to stop Gwaine from approaching them.

“Silence.” Arthur’s voice is loud, and he stands proud, his eyes never leaving the lord’s who had spoken against him. “Sir Gwaine, while I appreciate your readiness to defend my honour, there’s no need, as this matter needs to be addressed, even if some of my council question my decisions.”

“Creating peace between Camelot and the Druids might be a wise move for the kingdom’s future. With threats such as Morgana, and the tension on the border with king Caerleon’s kingdom, an alliance with the Druids will be a good move strategically. They might refuse violence, but they know ways of magic better than most. We cannot rely on only Gaius and his apprentice’s knowledge every time a new threat is present.” Leon speaks, silencing the hushed voices of the council members. “If not out of trust, we should contact them for the usefulness of their skills.”

“Such an ally will make Camelot stronger.” Lancelot agrees.

Gaius coughs and raises from his seat. He bows to Arthur, before addressing the rest of the council.

“If I may; what sir Leon said is true. While Merlin and I took on studying ways to defeat magical threats, there are some that only people who still follow the old religion might be able to help with. The Druids have proven themselves to be a useful ally even before the Great Purge. They hold no hostility towards his majesty.”

“Should we trust someone who used to practice sorcery before his majesty Uther showed him the correct way?”

Arthur’s neck snaps in the direction of the younger council member; a young noble who was allowed to join in as a substitute for his father, who got injured on last week’s patrol. He covers under the king's glare, but tries to hold his chin high.

“Gaius is one of the most trusted people in this room, and a great value to my kingdom. Without him acting as Camelot’s physician and being the main reason for identifying magical threats, this place would’ve fallen to the likes of Morgana years ago. Undermining his work is an insult to the royal household.”

Merlin sighs and fills his goblet again, then steps aside and takes a jug from the vase he’s serving it from.

“If you wish to establish peace with the Druids, sire, I might suggest sending their leader an invitation to discuss the specifics of such a treaty.” Gaius says, bringing the attention back to the topic at hand. Arthur nods curtly and turns to Leon.

“Sir Leon, as you were saved by them, it’s only right for you to be the representative of our council in this matter.”

“It’s an honour.”

Merlin coughs, because, judging from Leon’s expression, he doesn’t consider it an honor at all, and is clearly debating if being accused of treason would be worth jumping on Arthur for even thinking of that idea.

“You’ll take my useless manservant with you, if anything, to entertain them.” Arthur grins at Merlin, who starts choking on his saliva.

“Sending a peasant serving boy? Sire, even if it’s a mission to contact the Druids, they might think it’s offensive to be addressed by someone with no title nor noble blood.”

“Merlin has been my closest advisor for years now. His opinion is valuable, and as a peasant with no ties to nobility he may be treated with more trust. We need to show the Druids that Camelot values her people, no matter who they might be.”

Arthur ends the session, glancing at Merlin, who holds his hand on his chest, in the place where the sigil rests. When everyone else leaves and it’s just the two of them, Merlin approaches Arthur, who sits leaning over the maps of the borders.

“That’s some great trust.” He grins, sitting next to him and taking a swing of one of the goblets.

“I trust you, and I trust Leon to keep you safe.”

“And is there a reason for that?” Merlin raises his eyebrows. Arthur coughs.

“You’re a Dragon Lord. I figured that you’re the closest to a magical creature Camelot has, and thus it’ll be easier for you to gain Druid’s trust and connect to them.”

“You know I don’t like them, right? They’re all creepy and have that blue-eyed stare.” Merlin shivers and earns a nudge between his ribs. He glares at Arthur, who rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a girl, honestly.”

“Why won’t you go, then?” Merlin ignores his comment and pushes. “One could say you’re just as-“ he makes a vague noise and flickers his fingers. Arthur grimaces.

“I don’t know how to approach the subject of my birth. I wish that their leader would help me understand some things.”

Merlin tilts his head to the side.

“Is it only because of that? You’re a great king, Arthur, although I shouldn’t be telling you that in case your head grows as big as your waist.” He laughs at the offended gasp and the slap on the neck he gets for his words. “I believe you want to establish peace in your kingdom, and I believe that offering peace to the Druids will bring more ups than downs, but isn’t there something more to that?”

“I wish to let Morgana know that she can be forgiven, still.”

“She killed civilians.”

“Morgause twisted her.”

“Not magic?”

Arthur presses his lips into a thin line.

“Magic gave her the power to do what she deemed just.” He decides on saying. “You’re a Dragon Lord, and I don’t see any evil in you.”

“You don’t?”

“I know you. No matter your secrets, I know who you are inside, and it gives me hope.”

“Being a Dragon Lord without a dragon is quite different from being a sorceress.” Merlin says, sounding uncertain. Arthur shrugs.

“Then call me selfish and let me confide that I wish for my sister to come home and let go of her hatred.”

Merlin sees the way his eyes shine. He fills his goblet with wine and does the same to the one he claimed as his, then brings them together.

“You’re a good man.”

“A good man who let his father die because of a lie he fed him.”

“A good man that Balinor, the last Dragon Lord, hurt by Uther Pendragon beyond repair, was ready to give his life for.”

“Sometimes I forget how truly wise you are.”

“I’m just sounding smart because all you can compare me to are knights and yourself.”

“Idiot.” Arthur swings at him and Merlin dodges.

“Prat.” He laughs, and lets the king chase after him.

Merlin and Leon start their quest two days later. Searching for a Druid camp isn’t hard, especially with Merlin’s magic and their connection to him.

“I really preferred when they started smoking weed and were too high to contact me.” He complains and Leon huffs in amusem*nt.

“They aren’t that bad, my stay with them was rather pleasant.” There’s something tense and worried in his voice, and Merlin has to sympathize. Leon’s past as Uther’s first knight might be an issue towards how trustful Druids will be. Even if they helped him, it didn’t erase all the raids on the camps Leon took part in.

Something moves in Merlin’s bag and he takes his eyes off his friend.

“No f*cking way.” He groans, before opening the bag. Aithusa meows loudly at them and nearly startles Merlin’s horse. He glares at her. “I told you to stay at home. What are you doing here, young lady? Do you wish to be grounded?” He takes her in his arms and lets her climb onto his shoulders, using magic to control the reins so the horse is still moving.

Leon frowns.

“She followed you?” He doesn’t question Aithusa’s presence that much because, just as the rest of the knights and the castle’s staff, he quickly became accustomed to Merlin being followed by the white ball of fluff.

“She’s clingy.” Merlin smiles at her. “I would shift her into a human, but it would be hard to explain why I have a toddler.” He laughs.

Leon feels his day becoming longer. Of course it’s not a normal cat. With Merlin suggesting he made her have this form, it would mean-

Oh gods. The dragon egg didn’t get destroyed. Merlin had to hatch it. Who normal calls their cat Aithusa? That is not a cat name.

Leon is close to falling off his horse upon the realization that his life just became even more complicated. At the same time though-

“Can I be her godfather?” He asks, and Merlin giggles.

“Who else?”

Leon grins and lets his horse come closer to Merlin, reaching out and petting Aithusa’s head.

“Who goes there?” A voice reaches them. It sounds young, too confident for his own good.

Leon glances at Merlin who shrugs and shakes his head, feeling the tug at his magic.

From between the bushes, a boy comes out, holding a rusty sword and pointing it in their direction.

“Lord Emrys!” He whispers in wonder, and immediately throws his weapon on the ground. Merlin grimaces.

“If Leon didn’t know, you could’ve had me executed just now.” He says drily. The boy looks up at him, an embarrassed blush crawling onto his cheeks. He bows his head low, dark curls falling on his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Lord Emrys.” He apologises, words quick on his tongue. Merlin waves his hand at that and starts looking around.

“We’re here on behalf of his majesty King Arthur Pendragon of Camelot.” Leon states, following Merlin’s gaze. The young boy nods quickly.

“Are you from Iseldir’s settlement?” Merlin asks, and the boy nods.

“I used to live with Aglain’s people until-“ he cuts himself off and bows his head. “I wish to apologize, Lord Emrys, for my words towards you and whatever I did to bring your anger onto my people.” He recites, as if he practiced it many times before. Leon glances at Merlin, who chokes on air.

“Mordred?” He asks, sounding unsure. The boy bows his head again and Merlin has to restrain himself from facepalming into the nearest tree.

Was I really beefing with a toddler? He probably doesn’t know how to count yet- wait, he’s living in the forest. He definitely doesn’t know how to count, Merlin’s thoughts are scrambled and he continues to stare at the boy.

Aithusa mreows at them, demanding attention. Merlin scratches her under her chin absentmindedly and tries to collect himself.

“I’m, uh, glad you’re doing good. Sorry for that. It was- it was my bad, honestly. There was this dragon and…” his voice trails off. “Don’t trust overgrown lizards who speak in riddles. They are wicked and are just as bad as an average Minecraft YouTuber.”

“Mordred, there you are.” A woman appears in front of them and grabs him by the shoulders. “You cannot run away like that.” She looks up and her eyes widen. “Lord Emrys!”

“Hi, that’s me. And that’s Leon. Who is a knight of Camelot. Which probably should act as a reason to NOT speak my title so loudly.”

Leon gives them an awkward wave.

“I don’t mind.” He promises when the woman pales.

“We’re here on behalf of King Arthur and we wish to speak to your leader.”

“You’re our leader, my lord.”

“Your other- you know what I mean. Your chieftain.” Merlin sighs and, when she gives him an enthusiastic nod, follows after her.

The camp isn’t big; Iseldir’s group is one that’s constantly moving, never in one place for too long. The tents are made from magically crafted materials, more durable than any produced by an ordinary human. There’s a big fire pit in the center of the camp, with racks for drying meat built around it.

The Druids stop in their tracks as they enter, all approaching Merlin but not touching him; he wonders briefly if they all feel the change in his magic, how much stronger it is now he’s not a mortal anymore.

Iseldir greets him, and Merlin isn’t surprised at all that the chieftain looks as if he’s been expecting them.

“Lord Emrys, I see you have kept the white dragon safe.” He says, bowing his head. Merlin smiles and gives Aithusa to Leon, who stares at her, a bit nervous.

“She’s in good hands.” He declares and clasps his hands. “But we’re not here to ask you for help or to discuss her, we’re here in the behalf of King Arthur.”

“His majesty is asking for the leader of the Druids to come to Camelot. He wishes to pursue a peace treaty between his and your people, and establish new ties between the Druid community, ones not strained by the sins of his father.” Leon speaks out, trying to hold Aithusa in place.

“Our leader?” Iseldir glances at Merlin who scowls at him. His lips stretch into an amused smile. “I will go in his place, if he wishes me to. Peace with the Once and Future King is something we strive for. We forgive Camelot the past of her people, if her king wishes to bring peace to Albion and be guided with kindness towards those of us, who don’t deserve to be hurt.”

“Can I go with you?” Mordred asks from the side, but Iseldir shakes his head.

“Now is not the time. Soon, when everything is prepared.”

Mordred looks at Merlin.

“But I’m under Emrys’ protection!”

“But now Emrys has a duty to his king. Patience, boy.”

Merlin laughs gently and ruffles Mordred’s hair.

“We will meet again by the end of this lunar circle.” He promises, and the boy beams.

“Well then.” Iseldir nods. “Guide me to Camelot, and let us start walking towards a future brighter than our past.”

Chapter 8: Queen Annis

Chapter Text

Merlin swears loudly, trying his best to look like a sad, pathetic, weak and helpless knight; he’s running through the forest, promising to make Arthur’s hair green for making him agree to this nonsense.

The armor is heavy, and - listen. Merlin's magic. Why would he ever bother with exercises when he can just look at something and it bends to his will? And even if he enjoys walks through nature, it’s vastly different from being chased while wearing the atrocious knight attire.

He runs into a ravine, looking around for a way up - it’s not that he doesn’t trust Arthur, it’s just that he knows how competent he and his knights are.

An ax flies straight at him, so he ducks and runs deeper into the ravine, so far that the knights that are chasing him won’t be able to turn back.

“Trapped, are we?” One of them taunts him. Merlin looks around, frowning before he spots what he’s looking for. One of the men that were chasing him falls down with a scream, an arrow in his back.

Finally, the familiar red of Camelot’s knights’ capes appears between the branches.

“That’s the idea, stupid f*cking idiots.” Merlin grins and takes a step back.

The army that was chasing him around is cornered, and he flips them off as the knights start coming closer.

Arthur nods at him, and Merlin guesses it’s the only way his feed will be acknowledged.

The fight is quickly over; with the terrain being an advantage to Camelot’s people, the enemy is defeated without much struggle. Even Merlin manages to land a hit or two - but only after Lancelot distracts some knights so he can use his magic to help himself with a sword.

“Because of your raids on Camelot’s territory, you’re under arrest and your fates are to be decided by the council.” Arthur recites, coming closer to the captured knights.

Merlin stands on the side, eyebrows raised. He leans on the stone wall of the ravine, taking a break to catch his breath - it’s not like Arthur needs him right now.

One of the people they captured stands out - he doesn’t bat an eye on his fallen friends, his chin is held up, and his back straight. He had the attitude, and that only screams trouble.

Agravaine, who was standing back, cowering behind a tree like a coward, drags him in front of Arthur with a sly smile on his face.

“Your majesty, look what we have here.” He pushes the knight so hard he falls on his knees; that action earns him a snarl from the prisoner.

“He comes with us. We’ll deal with the prisoners when we get back to Camelot.” Arthur decides, turning away. Agravaine stops him, and Merlin frowns.

“I fear this is no ordinary prisoner, your highness.” Agravaine reaches to the man’s neck and rips a necklace off of it, then gives it to Arthur.

Merlin doesn’t need to come closer to know what that must be; Ygraine’s sigil that’s hanging around his neck, hidden underneath his clothes, almost burns when he thinks about it.

“Well, well. It’s an honour to meet you, your highness.” Arthur mocks with a smile.

Lancelot and Gwaine come closer to Merlin; they’re far enough to not disturb the king.

Merlin coughs; his eyes turn gold as he looks down, and soon he hands Gwaine an apple, a normal looking one, that has no deal growing in a forest full of pines. Fortunately, no one questions it, too focused on the pair in front.

“What’s that?” Lancelot whispers as Gwaine bites into his treat.

“An apple.”

“Not that. What did Lord Agravaine give to Arthur?”

“A royal sigil. Basically, the guy’s a member of the royal family. Might be the king, even.” Merlin whispers back.

“That can mean trouble.”

“No, that can mean we will get to do something interesting. If I have to speak to one more Druid I’m becoming a terrorist.” Merlin yawns. “Politics have been bloody boring lately.” He complains. Gwaine nudges him.

“I thought you wanted less work?”

“Exactly. I want a vacation. The one that was taken from me and which I absolutely deserve. I was wronged. And it’s not like boring politics means less work for me. Who do you think writes all Arthur’s speeches and declarations? Do you know how awful it is to come up with ideas to make those old f*cks left from Uther’s reign compromise? And don’t let me start on the Druids. Emrys this, Emrys that. They say they want peace with Camelot and that they respect Arthur, but Iseldir asks me for advice and my thoughts every time he has to open his mouth.”

“I thought that Arthur’s decision to make peace with the Druids and invite them to Camelot would make you happy.”

“Maybe a few centuries ago it would.” Merlin grumbles, before he sighs and takes the armour off. “Lancelot, take this and let’s go. I can already tell you who Arthur expects to make a campsite for the night. And cook you dinner. And feed the horses. You know what? Once I’m back in Camelot, I’m talking to Gwen and we’re forming an union. The disrespect-“

“ Mer lin, would you bother to do your job instead of gossiping like a young maiden seeing a knight for the first time?”

“The next time you’re in a mortal peril, I’m going to stand aside and remind you of every embarrassing thing you ever did.” Merlin promises, but listens anyway and climbs out of the ravine. The knights look at him; even the prisoners seem impressed by how quickly he scaled up the ravine’s wall. “I’m going to wait for you up here while you go around!” Merlin waves at them, then flips Agravaine off as soon as he turns back to Arthur, probably to complain about his manservant’s insolence.

It takes the knights a while, but they arrive at the camp - it’s fully set, and Merlin grins at them from where he’s standing, busy preparing food.

“Took you long enough.” He quips; Lancelot moves to help him, taking a spare knife Merlin brought with himself and peeling a potato - which Merlin introduced to Camelot’s citizens’ diet a week or so prior.

Gwaine hovers around, but doesn’t help with cooking; Merlin doesn’t find it in himself to blame him, the knight is of noble blood, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. Introducing him to cooking would end up in a disaster.

Percival and Elyan shrug and join Lancelot and Merlin; Percival brings water while Elyan tries to start the fire; Merlin whispers a spell to help him out.

He side-eyes Arthur and Agravaine - they’re standing together, and it’s obvious that their conversation isn’t pleasant.

The knights laugh and joke; Percival spills some of the water on Elyan, causing him to scream in frustration when the fire gets extinguished.

Merlin moves closer to the royals; Lancelot sends him a questioning glance, but he waves him off.

“Perhaps he doesn’t see it that way.” Merlin hears Agravaine’s voice, hushed but stern and confident. “I fear it’s no coincidence that all this has happened since Uther’s death.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur’s forehead creases in frustration; his tone is dangerous, challenging.

“Arthur, your father was a strong king. His enemies feared and respected that strength.”

“Are you saying I’m not worthy of that respect?”

“No, sire, not at all. There isn't a citizen of Camelot who would not lay down their life for you. But your enemies...to the enemies of Camelot, you are still untested as a king. You must send a clear message that any action against Camelot will be met without mercy.” Agravaine looks for Arthur’s reaction, something sly and curious hidden in his eyes.

Lancelot turns his attention to the conversation too, leaning over Merlin’s shoulder to hear it better.

“Did we not achieve that here today?”

“No sire, not enough. Not enough to deter the likes of Odin and Bayard and the countless others who cover Camelot’s wealth.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“I suggest... I suggest that we force him to accept a treaty on our terms. He must withdraw his men from our land, return our territories to us. He must surrender Everwick”.

“He'd rather die than agree to such terms.” Arthur argues, and Merlin nods. Damn royals, they are too proud to give up. He’s seen it way too many times.

“Then you are left with no choice.” Agravaine speaks solemnly, but Arthur takes a step back, appalled..

“I can't just kill a man in cold blood.”

“Arthur, you must do what you need to do to assert your authority on this land.”

“Well, there must be another way. My father’s ways were cruel and unjust, I cannot simply follow in his footsteps. Uncle, look and see how much suffering he has caused to everyone around him-“

“There's no other way. Think on it. Decide by tomorrow.” Agravaine leaves, not listening to Arthur’s pleas.

Merlin nudges Lancelot to go and look as if he’s minding his own business.

He approaches Arthur.

“Arthur-“

“Not now, Merlin.”

Merlin scowls at him, displeased.

“I’m your main advisor in forming peaceful relations with the Druids and yet you don’t want my advice on something like this? Arthur, your uncle makes no sense! And he looks like a discount Severus Snape. That’s enough of a red flag.”

“I really don’t have time for your nonsense, Merlin.” Arthur’s voice shifts into something low and dangerous, threatening.

Following the golden rule of knowing when to stop being nosy, Merlin shrugs and goes back to cooking as if nothing had happened. When Lancelot sends him a worried glance, he just rolls his eyes.

The night is over way too quickly - Merlin tosses and turns in his sleeping bag, one that he enchanted to be as comfortable as a bed with a mattress worth millions is. Lancelot, Leon and Gwaine also have been granted this gift, and judging by how they’re whispering about five more minutes, they seem to like it.

He decides to crawl out of his little comfort zone and join Arthur - he grabs him a flask full of fresh water and sits beside him while the rest of the camp slowly wakes up.

“Are you done throwing a pissy fit?”

“I’ll throw you into the river if you won’t stop being an idiot.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and nudges him gently.

“You look as if the Dorocha touched you.”

“I haven’t slept. Been thinking about my uncle’s advice.”

“And?” Merlin prompts, then immediately regrets it upon seeing Arthur’s expression. “You want to draw this damned treaty?”

“I have to show my strength. Camelot needs a strong ruler-“

“Are you sure you just don’t want to prove to yourself you’re worthy of being Uther’s son?”

Arthur scowls.

“My father made mistakes, but he was a great king.” He looks away from Merlin when he doesn’t answer. “Speak freely.”

“I’m not fond of the idea of losing my tongue to your temper tantrum.” Merlin grumbles, but nods. “He was cruel, not strong. Strength comes from being able to do the right thing, not from killing every person you deem to be a problem.” Merlin kicks a rock, trying to remember any examples, but he ends up empty. He remembers that Uther was a cruel person, but it’s hard thinking of an actual situation proving it.

He’s seen people just as violent and evil during his immortal life.

“Caerleon won’t sign it. You know it.” He speaks again, dropping the subjects of Arthur’s late father. The king seems actually grateful for that; Merlin suspects he has a lot of inner turmoil with the whole situation still. He doesn’t expect Arthur to come to terms with how bad Uther was, not so soon.

“Then he brought it upon himself.”

“Come on, Arthur. This isn’t who you are. He will see it as an attempt at humiliating him. It’s a bad idea.”

“You have no idea what it’s like to make these decisions. Decisions that will shape the future of this land.”

Merlin snorts.

“I quite literally do, you dollophead.” He mumbles, poking at the grass. “You just think in stupid.”

“Judging by your decisions, stupid is what you are. So stick to what you know best.” Arthur snarls, annoyance making way to his voice.

Merlin watches him helplessly, wondering if he will have to suffer the consequences of telling him about Uther’s lie about his birth forever.

At least with his magic it didn’t last a week. Granted, it’s because Arthur died, but still, he wasn’t mad for this long. Seriously, Merlin doesn’t want to work through all the mistakes he made in his youth.

“What’s this?” Caerleon scoffs, his lips stretching into a pitying smirk. He holds himself like any king does, even when he’s chained up and stripped of his royal insignia.

Leon opens the scroll and shows it to the prisoner, who raises his eyebrows, the smirk still present on his face.

The first knight looks at Merlin and catches his eyes; he shakes his head, slowly.

“You expect me to sign this? To humiliate myself before you?”

“You invaded our kingdom and took what did not belong to you.” Agravaine says when Arthur stays quiet.

Merlin scoffs from where he’s standing between Gwaine and Lancelot; his friends sent him a questioning and worried glance, but he ignores them.

All this for a piece of land. Humans just can’t change, can they?

Suddenly, he’s overwhelmed with the sense of melancholy; he misses Freya, his Freya, the one that made him play those stupid Facebook messenger games and won every single time. He misses living on their own plot of land, surrounded by a huge forest, all protected by magic to the extent that mortal humans couldn’t even perceive it.

Basically, he decided a part of the forest in Scotland belonged to him and made up a spell that hid it from the mortal world, only so he didn’t have to buy it, rent it or pay taxes for it.

It was a great plan. No fighting for lines doodled on a map, no government officials bothering him.

But no, he has to be stuck in this situation, with people arguing about a plot of land that doesn’t have anything in it. There’s no villages, no towns. The only valuable thing about it are the possible investments.

He wants to abolish monarchy - and any systems at all - so bad. Anarchy isn’t bad, as long as people are guided by an actual functional moral compass.

“And if I do not sign?” Caerleon asks, his voice proud and loud.

“Then you will pay, with your life!”

“So dramatic.” Merlin whispers. Lancelot’s lips twitch as he tries to contain a smile.

“And who makes those terms?”

“Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.” Arthur responds, speaking for the first time since the conversation began. He steps forward, his sword ready in his hand. Merlin straightens his back.

“Very well.” Caerleon pushes Leon’s arm and steps forward to kneel on the ground. “Then make it quick!”

“Think what you’re doing, Caerleon. This treaty could seal a truce between us. There would be peace. Like there was between your father and mine.”

“I am not my father, and you are not Uther. Do you really have the guts to kill me?”

“You leave me no choice.” Arthur says, voice devoid of emotion. Merlin tenses.

“You do not choose anything, boy. It is I who choose to die, and I alone. Now, get on with it.”

Caerleon bows his head; Merlin's hands twitch. He’s seen it many times before; it’s a humiliating execution.

He sighs.

“So be it.” Arthur nods, rising his sword. Merlin curses and jumps in front of it before he can strike.

Arthur stops himself last second, when the sword is already in motion - it slices into Merlin’s shoulder, causing him to curse loudly.

“Merlin, you bloody idiot!” He sputters, looking in disbelief at the display of irresponsibility and disobedience.

Merlin scoffs; he can feel the Fate grinning at him. He never was a big fan of hers, but he hopes she appreciates the show.

“Spilling blood won’t solve anything.” He says; the knights around them seem unsure of what to do.

Most look concerned about the fact that Arthur’s sword is still in Merlin’s shoulder. Lancelot tenses and is seemingly frozen mid-step, his arms outstretched as if he had been trying to catch Merlin before he intervened.

Gwaine has his hand on his sword; Leon does too, uncertain of who he should defend.

Agravaine looks shocked and stricken, as if Merlin slapped him.

“He’s right. You’re not Uther. You’re King Arthur Pendragon. Do you wish to start your reign with a war against a grieving Queen?” He clutches at the wound, but doesn’t move from where he’s standing.

“You let a servant speak to you this way? Step out of line and show such disrespect?” Caerleon taunts, still kneeling. He doesn’t seem moved by Merlin’s bravery, but a bit curious.

Arthur frowns and pulls his sword out of Merlin’s shoulder; he presses his lips into a thin line when his manservant doesn’t even flinch.

“You’re out of line, Merlin.”

“You told me to stick to what I know best. And you know damn well that it’s not minding my own business.” Merlin shifts from one foot to the other, trying to keep balance. His fingers, clutched at the wound, are coated in red. “At the very least he deserves a fair trial. Violence hardly ever solves anything.”

“I’m your king.” Somehow, Arthur sounds unsure. He clenches his fist, and his hands shake so badly that Merlin’s surprised he didn’t drop the sword yet. “As the ruler of Camelot, I must make difficult decisions. Kindness isn’t what he deserves.”

“Then what will happen once the news about his death reaches his Queen? Dead politicians only lead to more trouble than they’re worth.” Merlin crosses his arms over his chest, hissing as he moves his shoulder.

Agravaine looks shocked and seems to be fuming with rage. Lancelot sighs, but his sword away and joins Merlin.

“Sire, what Merlin speaks of is true. You’re risking war when we shouldn’t take part in it. There are bigger threats out there, and we should be focused on creating partnership with other kingdoms, not enemies.”

Arthur’s face is twisted in a grimace, and he looks enraged, but, after a few seconds, he points his sword at Percival and Leon.

“Seize Caerleon. We’ll take him to the castle.” He turns to the rest of the knights. “From now on, he’s our prisoner. The council will decide his fate.”

He turns from Lancelot and Merlin; the latter finally collapses onto his knees; Elyan rushes to him, bandages in his hand.

“That was too risky to be worth it.”

“I’m sorry, did you want to die in a pointless war? Over some guys’ dick measuring contest?” Merlin snorts and shakes his head; his shoulder is pulsating with pain now, but he had it worse.

His friends watch him carefully.

“I haven’t seen you so outspoken.” Elyan muses with amusem*nt.

“I say disrespectful things to Arthur everyday.”

“Not like this. I haven’t seen you disobey him so openly, in such an important matter.”

Merlin shakes his head; he knows there will be some consequences - mainly in the form of Arthur’s anger - but he feels like he did the right thing.

Merlin is dismissed every day for the next three days just after he wakes Arthur up. His method of anger and punishment seemed to settle on avoidance.

And so, the warlock makes sure to do best with his new free time. If Arthur wanted for him to feel as if he was being punished, he should’ve made him serve him more than usual.

Gwen joins him in his little adventures around the town; he’s mostly showing Aithusa around, if she ever wanted to sneak out. The children of Camelot adore her, and ask Merlin for permission to pet her soft fur.

“I think you did good.” Gwen whispers, putting a flower in Merlin’s hair. He smiles at her.

“Be careful, I might get a head as big as Arthur’s.” He jokes. Her mood visibly sours at his name.

“Has he talked with you about his decision to end our relationship?” She asks, a bit out of sudden, causing Merlin to frown.

“Did something happen?”

“I don’t know.” She sighs, turning her face towards the sun, eyes closed. She looks like a queen, with her sun kissed skin and flowy dress. “He visited me last night, and was behaving strangely.”

“I thought he stopped courting you so you can be with Lancelot?”

“I thought so too! We were in an agreement on that, or so I thought.” She bites her lip, worried look crossing her face. “But yesternight he told me that even our friendship is inappropriate, and that now that he’s king he must be careful of who he’s seen with.”

“What.” Merlin is surprised by how harsh his voice sounds. He turns to Gwen, a storm approaching a lonely ship that’s swimming through unknown waters.

“I believe he was talked into such nonsense, but- maybe my feelings for Lancelot truly hurt him? Maybe I was mistaken? But if so, why would he be the one to refuse me? Unless he always felt this way?”

“You’re overthinking it, Gwen. I’m pretty sure it’s Agravaine’s influence. f*cker’s shady.” Merlin mutters; at her questioning gaze, he explains. “He advised Arthur to kill Caerleon.”

“He’s imprisoned, though?”

“I jumped in front of him when Arthur tried to behead him.”

“Merlin!” She looks at him, even more worried. “You could’ve died.”

“I wouldn’t.” He says, offering her a bright smile. “Now, despite Arthur being a clotpole, has anything else happened?”

“You’re so nosy. Gossiping like an old widow.”

“How do you know I’m not one?” He quips and Gwen shakes her head.

“Well, Lancelot asked me to keep him company tomorrow.” She says, a dreamy smile appearing on her face.

In some ways, their relationship reminds Merlin of the characters from Lalaland. When that movie came out, Merlin spent a whole week complaining to Freya about it and how much he didn’t like the ending - when Leon chimed in that he thought the ending was actually good and suited the story, Merlin cursed him to become bald. And added hair removal cream into his shampoo bottle, just to be sure.

Gwen and Lancelot he remembers were like this - a tragedy, two souls who so clearly belong together, only to be separated and never be with each other again. It always left him with a bitter taste and an ache in his heart.

Gwen loved Arthur, he knows that even now, fifteen hundred years later. It’s something he remembers clearly, how good of a wife she was, and how she became an even better queen. But her gaze always lingered on Lancelot’s empty chambers, and he knew that some of that love remained in her heart, even if she devoted it to Arthur.

He will fight everyone and everything to be sure she’s happy this time around.

“Is he taking you somewhere?”

“He wanted to show me a stream nearby.” She giggles; Merlin gives her a sly smile in response.

“The same one we visit to do our laundry in?”

“Merlin, please be nice, Lancelot doesn’t know Camelot as well as we do. Let him show me around and look at things through his eyes.”

Merlin shakes his head, amused.

“It’s cute, really! To think he found it and went, oh, I need to show this place to my beloved Gwen, for as the water sparkles just like her eyes do when she laughs. And you’re going to sit there, thinking about all those dirty socks we cleaned in this fresh water.”

“You’re awful.” She laughs and pouts with playful disapproval.

Merlin shrugs helplessly, shrieking when Aithusa, bored with the utter lack of attention, bites into his arm.

“You little- Little Miss Mischief, I would appreciate if you behaved.”

“She’s just a kitten, don’t be rude.” Gwen takes her from his arms and gives her a kiss on the nose. “She’s the most wonderful creature.”

“Takes after her father.” Merlin takes her from Gwen; Aithusa purrs and nudges him with her head. “See the similarities?” He asks, putting her face next to his.

Gwen shakes her head, laughing.

“Like two droplets of wine from the same pitcher.” She decides, petting the cat’s head.

Maybe losing his vacations in Cuba was worth it after all, Merlin thinks as he looks at Gwen.

Arthur is making it really difficult not to miss the twenty-first century.

He swings at the dummy Merlin’s holding with all his might, not caring that his servant trips and falls.

“Why are you so angry?” Merlin whines, dodging the swing. His arm hurts, and the pain in his shoulder is throbbing - he couldn’t just heal it, that would raise too many questions to his liking.

“Angry? I’m not angry. This is controlled aggression.”

“Behold, he speaks! I thought you forgot how to address me, sire.” Merlin mocks, yelping as the blade lands next to his legs.

“Are you going to jump between me and the dummy too?” Arthur asks, completely ignoring him. Merlin huffs and pushes himself off the ground.

“See, you’re telling me that your aggression is controlled, but I seriously doubt that if you’re just going to stare at me as if you’re planning my execution.”

Arthur’s expression darkens, and Merlin uses it to rub salt into the wound;

“Caerleon isn’t yet executed, and I was hoping to hear a thank you for preventing war.”

“The council is still deciding on what to do with him.”

“Don’t tell me you regret not killing him.” Merlin huffs, offended. “I can see it, you know? You’re convinced you’re being weak by showing mercy, but you know I did the right thing.”

“You risked your life.”

“Nothing new.”

“It’s the second time you prevented me from killing someone. At least this time you didn’t lie to my face.”

Merlin groans.

Is Arthur going to bring up the Ygraine incident until he dies? Because if so, Merlin might do Mordred and Morgana a favor and do it for them.

“Sire?” Leon’s voice interrupts their disagreement. He looks stressed, and boy oh boy, Merlin doesn’t like the look on his face. “A messenger arrived.”

“What is it?” Arthur asks, focusing on the first knight. Leon looks to the side, then at Merlin.

“An army. They crossed our border at first night.”

“Whose?”

“Cearleon’s queen’s.”

Merlin stares at Leon in disbelief. Arthur turns to him, grimacing.

“It seems I should’ve executed him in that forest.” He states dryly. Merlin refuses to meet his eyes.

Instead, feeling uneasy, he slowly considers all options. Sure, Caerleon was taken prisoner, but the custom would be for the queen to send a messenger and try to compromise. Sending an entire army wouldn’t work, because Arthur could just execute their king for such a bold move on their end.

“When was the last time you checked on Caerleon?” He asks, Arthur’s brows furrow.

“Five days ago, when we returned to Camelot.”

Merlin bites his lip and starts walking towards the dungeons. Intrigued, both Arthur and Leon follow his lead.

As Merlin suspected, the cells are empty. When he sniffs at the air, he can smell the faintest bit of magic.

Arthur halts, staring in disbelief at the empty space.

“I don’t understand.” He says, and it sounds strangely weakly.

Merlin tries to collect his thoughts; Agravaine seemed strangely set on Camelot going to war. Why else would he try to convince Arthur to execute Caerleon?

Merlin saved the king’s life, but somehow his queen still decided to invade Camelot; why would she do that if she knew her husband was taken hostage? Starting a war would be too great of a risk.

“Merlin?” Leon asks, something weird in his tone.

“Someone broke him out.”

“I can see that.” Arthur snaps, patience short. Merlin shakes his head. “He’s probably marching on Camelot this instant.”

“No, there’s something weird about this.” Merlin kneels on the ground and takes the iron cuffs in his hands; they are broken open, but there’s no dents or any other sign of a tool. As if they opened through force. “Look at those.”

“Magic.” Arthur whispers, and Leon tenses beside him. The king traces the edges of the cuffs. “Wouldn’t cold iron take care of it? Sorcerers aren’t able to escape it.”

Seems like Uther knew something about magic all along.

Merlin snorts.

“Sorcerers? Maybe. But a witch? Especially a High Priestess?”

“Morgana.” Leon mumbles, looking twice as terrified.

“What do you suggest?” Arthur turns to Merlin, who contemplates for a while.

“It seems like Caerleon was set free by Morgana, most likely. But it still wouldn’t make sense for him to start a war against Camelot. Especially since, as Leon said, it’s the queen that pointed their army towards Camelot.”

“We don’t know for how long he’s been missing.” Arthur mumbles, frustrated.

“If that’s of any compensation, I think we’re dealing with the queen, not with him. Chances are, he’s not with her yet.”

“We must meet her and try to end this peacefully.” Arthur decides, sighing. “Leon, call for a council meeting. We must address it as soon as possible.”

The forest is quiet, with how many humans are in it. Although the morale is high, there’s some tension in the air, and it’s clear that nobody wants to face queen Annis - Merlin found out her name during the council meeting a day prior.

Leon tussles his hair and barks a laugh at his offended expression; one that quickly melts into something soft and amused.

“With Percival’s strength, we will stop an army!” Elyan raises his tankard and toasts it with Percival’s.

“They will run as they see that he doesn’t wear sleeves, even to his armor.” Merlin laughs, taking a sip of his drink. He notices Arthur, who’s staring at them from his tent, a longing look on his face.

“I’m sure it’ll be over soon. It’s just a misunderstanding.” Lancelot says, sitting down with a slice of bread in his hand: “Caerleon is alive, even if he managed to escape. There’s no need for his queen to start a war.”

“I don’t know, losing our hostage might be a cause for concern.” Gwaine says, stealing Elyan’s tankard and emptying it with a few gulps.

“We should all get some sleep.” Arthur’s voice rings above them, before the king disappears inside his tent.

They quiet down, staring at the spot he was sitting in.

“Is he alright?” Gwaine asks, directing his question more or less at Merlin, who shrugs helplessly.

“Honestly, who knows.” He sighs. “He’s probably feeling guilty.”

“Maybe it will be a good way to address the fact that we need to change our dungeons a little. Almost every single person that’s out there somehow escapes.” Leon says on a resigned tone of voice. Merlin snorts.

Merlin tends to Arthur’s armor while he leans over the map of the attacked territory, contemplating his moves.

It’s late at night, the voices of the knights quieted down as more and more of them went to sleep, getting rest before the battle. Queen Annis’ army has a camp just outside of the forest, and it seems she’s set on fighting.

Suddenly, Elyan enters the tent and looks at Arthur; he’s followed by the rest of the Round Table.

“Sire.” He looks around and straightens his chest. If Merlin didn’t know, he would think he’s an actual noble. “We want you to know that there is no man among us that wouldn’t die for you. We made our pledge, and we wear the Pendragon crest with pride. Tomorrow, we fight in your name, sire. For freedom and justice in this land.”

“Thank you, Elyan. Thank all of you.” Arthur bows his head to them, and looks as they exit his tent to go to theirs.

“They mean it.” Merlin says, leaning over the chestplate he’s been polishing. Arthur looks away.

“I’ve never once questioned their loyalty. I do wonder if I deserve it.”

“They choose who they serve. And they chose you. That means something.” Merlin puts the armor away and yawns.

“I don’t know if I did the right thing. We don’t know why queen Annis is attacking. Sending them to battle-“

“They know how much you care about them, and that it’s not an easy decision, to send them to war.”

“I don’t-“ Arthur stutters - it doesn’t happen often, but with how touched he is by their gesture and loyalty, it’s obvious his emotions are running rampant. “I would’ve made a mistake, if I killed Caerleon. But now he’s escaped and missing, and it could’ve been avoided if I set my pride aside and wasn’t set on planning an execution to show my strength.”

“Like Lancelot said, it’s just a misunderstanding. Talk to Annis before the battle and she’ll understand that her king isn’t dead and that this is just idiotic.”

“Maybe. You put too much faith in the good will of others.”

“The world would’ve been a way worse place if no one trusted anyone.”

Merlin puts on his poor person cloak - one that’s devoid of embroidery and fancy decorations, a plain one he once stole from Arthur’s wardrobe - and sneaks into the night.

A squeaky meow catches his ear and he sighs with resignation.

“I told you to stay at home.” He tells Aithusa, who meows in disagreement. “It doesn’t make sense, snowball. Why would Annis try to start a war if Caerleon wasn’t dead, just taken hostage? And why would she wait for almost a week if her husband being taken hostage is such a big deal? She could’ve demanded for us to set him free.” He mutters in modern English, pacing around.

Aithusa bites into his hand, displeased with his anxiety.

“After this, I’m going to the Bahamas. No. Australia. I want to see their special little animals before the British make them go extinct.” He boops her nose. “I’ll take you with me. Maybe then we’ll go to Morocco and we’ll try to let an elephant let us ride it. Should we invent planes? Or do we rely on teleportation magic? Because we might end up stranded with the second one…” he moves between the trees; his eyes shine gold; his footsteps are soundless, as if he’s nothing but a ghost.

“There it is.” He lets his magic fade as he sneaks between the enemy’s tents, his eyes focused on the biggest one.

There are guards standing in the entrance, so he goes to the back of it.

He sets Aithusa on the ground and points to the material.

“Dragon lesson number one!” He announces happily. She squeals in excitement. “Think about fire and focus on it. Imagine something you really want to watch burning. For me, it’s Arthur’s dirty laundry and Gaius’ leeches. Then focus that energy and imagine it exiting you. Right. There.” He pokes at the material; Aithusa takes a deep breath, which looks comical when she’s a cat; Merlin’s unsure if he’s ever seen a cat take a deep breath to blow the air out at all.

The fire she breathes creates a big enough hole for him to sneak through; he extinguishes it with a flick of his wrist, then crawls inside the tent.

“What is the meaning of this?” The woman standing in the middle of the tent asks. She reaches for her sword and points it to Merlin’s direction.

“Hi, I’m Merlin.” He bows to her. “I was wondering why you’re trying to start a war.”

“Insolence!” She leaps to slap him, but Merlin easily dodges her attempt. “Who are you to dare to speak to me?”

“The idiot who jumped in front of the sword to save your husband?” He takes his neckerchief off and tucks at his collar to show her his wound.

Queen Annis stops, intrigued, although her face is still twisted in anger.

“To save my husband? His body was delivered to me with a wound only a coward could create! He wasn’t slain in battle, but like an animal! And you dare to lie-“

“Wait, Caerleon’s dead? f*ck.” Merlin yelps when the sword is back at his throat.

“Who are you? A spy? I will show you how death can be a mercy, once I land my hands on your king-“

“Woah, no. No, no. Ew. I would never be a politician. I mean, I was, but it was during my experimental era, you know? I wanted to get new experiences and all that- you’re losing patience. Right.” He bows to her, careful to avoid the tip of her sword. “I’m a physician and a manservant. Unfortunately. Arthur can be a bit of an ass sometimes. Most of the time.”

Annis looks him up and down.

“And you come to me without a weapon?”

“I don’t like them.” He steps from one foot to the other. “Arthur didn’t execute Caerleon. We’re a bit confused, actually. He escaped the dungeons. He was taken hostage for raiding Camelot’s land, but he wasn’t killed. We found those.” He closes his eyes as he reaches into his pocket; with magic, he summons the cuffs that were binding Caerleon’s wrists.

“We found them in the dungeon after he disappeared.”

“This cut wasn’t made with a weapon.” Annis mutters, looking at the broken cuffs. She presses her fingers against the cold iron.

“Someone with magic had broken it. Your majesty, what do you mean that your husband is dead? Last time I saw him, he was put in the dungeons and his fate was yet to be decided.”

“I was informed that your king has executed my husband in the forest, like a coward. A group of men has brought me his body.”

“He was alive. We suspected he may have reached you and that’s why you decided to lead an attack, but then it wouldn’t make sense. So we thought he was on the run and you decided to attack Camelot for capturing him, maybe.”

“I’m leading an attack to avenge his death.”

“But we didn’t kill him.” Merlin argues. He shows her his wound again. “I quite literally stopped that.”

Queen Annis looks at him, contemplative.

Aithusa pokes her head inside, trotting over towards Merlin. She nudges his leg, her tail curling around it.

“Sorry, my daughter demands attention. She’s possessive over what she owns.” He explains with a soft smile. Lifting Aithusa up, he’s met yet again with Annis’ eyes. She sits down, intrigued, and points with her sword to the spot in front of her.

“Sit, boy.” He follows her order and lets Aithusa curl on his knees. “I don’t know if what you’re presenting is courage or stupidity.”

“One does not exclude the other.” Merlin chimes in helpfully.

“Hm.” She once again takes his whole self into consideration. “You say your king did not kill my husband, but instead imprisoned him, and then somehow, with the use of magic, my husband escaped without anyone in Camelot noticing. And yet he’s dead.”

“He had to die when he was out of the castle. No knight has harmed him.”

“You speak highly of them, for someone of your standing. As if you know them.”

“I do.” He leans back on his elbows. “Whoever killed king Caerleon, they were doing it against king Arthur’s orders.”

“But he wanted to kill him.”

“He did, but I stopped him.”

Annis hums.

“Not every king would be so merciful to let you live for an act of disobedience.”

“I did the right thing.” Merlin says, looking her straight in the eye. His gaze doesn’t waver, and neither does his confidence. “And yet Caerleon still died and you decided it’s Arthur who has to pay; you’re ready to start a war over an act he didn’t commit.”

“You believe someone killed my husband on purpose and let me believe it was the Pendragon’s spawn that did it?”

“Arthur wants peace. His reign is already unstable with how many wrongdoings Uther committed.”

He doesn’t know why Annis lets him speak; she looks interested, as if he got rid of her boredom. The fact that she decided to hear him out and not slay him the moment he entered the tent is curious.

“Something about you feels strange. You don’t speak like a noble, but you possess the courage of one. And you don’t speak like a peasant either.”

Merlin considers it, weighing his options.

“I survived a Dorocha attack. It did something strange to me, one could say.” He decides to reveal a bit of his secret; it only causes queen Annis to look even more curious.

“So you are a fool, but one of the lucky kind.” She leans in her seat, putting her hands on her lap. She looks proud, royal. Dangerous. “You must know I’m letting you speak without losing your tongue because I already suspected that something was amiss. Some of my men who returned from Camelot’s little ambush had told me of your courage.”

“Then why would you try to start a war?”

“Once I received my husband’s body I was left under the impression that your king killed him after my men had left to reach me.”

“Why on Earth did you act as if I was lying?”

“I wanted to know how much you’re worth.” She says calmly. “It seems that I’ve been lied to, if you speak the truth.”

“Morgana.” Merlin whispers; it’s now pretty clear. Agravaine must’ve let her sneak into the castle, free Caerleon and then kill him and claim that Arthur did it.

It seems that Queen Annis has reached the same conclusion.

“You must be careful with her, your majesty. She’s of the dangerous sort.”

“You speak as if you had fought against her.”

“I speak as if I knew her once.” He corrects. Annis closes her eyes and sighs.

It seems that they worked it out. Merlin pats himself mentally on the back. Another good job; another problem solved by Camelot’s resident warlock. He will avoid being sober for a week as a prize for himself.

He deserves this and more.

Two knights bring disheveled looking Arthur inside the tent. They pause when they notice Merlin, who waved at them with a pleasant smile.

Annis stands up and marches towards them.

“What is the meaning of this?” She demands, looking at the young king; who is too busy staring in disbelief at his manservant.

“Your highness, I’m here to call off the battle. However you think you’ve been wronged, I want to take responsibility for my actions and propose an alternative. I invoke the right of single combat. Two champions will settle this matter between them.” He stutters out, still taken aback by Merlin’s presence.

“Morgana killed Caerleon and framed you.” Merlin informs him before Annis can respond to his proposal.

He stares at them both, slowly moving his eyes from Merlin to Annis, who nods sternly.

“Your fool is a brave one. Keep him close, king Pendragon. Despite his mental affliction he has a heart that knights can be envious of.”

Merlin sighs in relief and hugs Aithusa close.

“He is one of my best men.” Arthur admits.

Annis hums; her guards still hold Arthur and keep him from moving.

“That said, I still want to take on your offer. You may have not killed my husband, but you’ve tried to and would’ve, if it wasn’t for this boy. And you still kept him in your dungeons and let him die under your watch.”

Arthur presses his lips into a tight line.

“There will be no war; you have my word that Camelot won’t be attacked. But I still demand to settle this between two of our trusted champions, as you suggested.”

“What are your terms, your majesty?”

“Just that you make sure to put the bravest and strongest of your knights against my champion.”

“Thank you, your highness.” Arthur bows. Merlin stands up to join him.

“Announce your champion by noon tomorrow.” Annis orders and turns her back against them.

They are led outside the camp and released. Their walk back to their own camp is awkward and quiet.

“What on bloody earth were you thinking? She could’ve given out an order to kill you the moment you somehow showed up in her tent!”

“I think I intrigued her enough to not do so.” Merlin shrugs and pets Aithusa. She purrs happily, still proud of herself for her first fire breathing. He makes sure to note in his mind to celebrate it when they’re back in Camelot. Maybe he’ll shift her into a human for a bit, just so she can eat chocolate in horrendous amounts. She deserves to be spoiled. “And it worked out!”

“You went behind my back”

“I helped.”

“You’re not the king! You’re not supposed to make decisions for me!”

“Oh, really? Because you went to her to propose a duel, while I went there to discover what had happened! Get off your high horse, clotpole. If I hadn’t shown up before you and talked with her, and actually got to the middle of what happened, she would’ve given you harsh terms. What if she demanded half of Camelot as a prize for winning?”

Arthur is silent for a moment, and Merlin can feel his frustration grow.

“What is wrong with you? Why can you just never let me be?” Arthur growls.

“I’m your friend! I’m trying to help!”

“Oh, that much I know. You’re making decisions for me. You’re being just as controlling as-“

“Don’t you f*cking dare.” Merlin snarls, low and dangerous, akin to when he’s using the dragon tongue. Arthur huffs in annoyance, but looks taken aback by his fury.

Merlin likes to do silly things, to be eccentric and have fun. But he has lived for longer than Albion has existed. He saw people kill and die. He saw the epidemics, he saw wars that no human mind should comprehend.

And he stood aside each time, helping but not intervening, because he was controlled by his destiny his entire life, and the thought of something holding him back again, weighing down on him, nothing but a burden, was a terrifying one. He wanted to make his own decisions and for others to do that too.

He saw how gods looked at humans as if they were nothing but playthings, and he was scared of that; he played god once, tried controlling Arthur’s fate, and failed.

He wasn’t trying to do it now. He was making his own decisions; it’s not his fault they go against Arthur’s. He’s not trying to control him! He’s trying to control his own life.

“How long are you going to hold against me that I lied to you about what Morgause showed you?” He asks instead. Arthur clenches his fists.

“You took that truth from me. It was my decision to make, even if it ended in patricide. And you took the decision about ending Caerleon’s life from me too. You make your own decisions and put them onto me-“

“You know bloody well that I’m not trying to control you. Do as you please. I made a mistake by lying about your birth, but saving Caerleon’s life was my decision. It’s not my fault it went against yours, but I wasn’t trying to control you!”

“It’s not your place to make those decisions, when will you understand?”

“But it is my place to make sure my friend doesn’t die from his own stupidity.” Merlin growls, annoyed with their entire conversation. He turns from Arthur and starts walking quicker towards the camp.

“And now you’re avoiding me.”

“Seems like you could use to taste your own medicine.” Merlin looks away. Aithusa shifts in his arms, meowing in discontent. “You have no right to accuse me of controlling you. I’m helping so you can make good decisions. Because you’re apparently pretty awful at those. Because when you have to think for yourself, you decide to be awful to Gwen and tell her you’re ashamed of your friendship, apparently!”

“What? I’m not-“ Arthur pauses. “It has nothing to do with this.”

“I’m your friend, Arthur. But you’re making it really difficult sometimes.” Merlin mutters, sighing and sitting down on a rock. “I am sorry about lying about your mother.” He finally says, again.

He wonders how much angrier Arthur would be if he knew that Merlin - at least the past version of him - really did try to control some parts of his life. Granted, Merlin wasn’t making decisions for Arthur, but thinking he could control his fate had given him some comfort when he was confronted with the fact that he couldn’t control his.

“I know. You apologized enough times already. I just… I can feel it weighing down on me, on my reign. If I had known, maybe I would’ve spoken against father sooner and-“

“Let’s head back to the camp.” Merlin says. They return to their tent; Lancelot, who’s awake, keeping watch, raises his eyebrows at their upset expressions. Merlin shakes his head and turns to his sleeping bag, crawls inside and falls asleep.

The morning comes quickly, and Arthur decides to be the one to face Annis’ champion. Agravaine smirks, clearly pleased with that, and Merlin wonders if he knows about how Morgana’s plan failed, and the duel is one for honor, not for Camelot.

The knights try to offer themselves as candidates, but Arthur’s decision was made the moment he went out into the night to ask Queen Annis for the duel.

He avoids looking at Merlin as he announces he’s going to fight.

They don’t talk til Arthur has to prepare for the duel.

The king gives Merlin his ring before it starts.

“Give it to Guinevere, if this day shall prove to be my last.” He puts it in his hands. “Tell her I’m sorry.” It seems that Merlin’s words stuck with him. He supposes it’s better than nothing.

“I’m sorry for not telling you about going to Annis.” Merlin says, looking at Arthur’s lips. Arthur’s eyes flicker to Merlin’s.

“You helped.” He decides, then smiles playfully. “I’d rather hear an apology for taking your demon cat with you. I have no idea how you snuck her in-“

“She followed. I found her yesterday.”

“As nosy as you, then.”

“If I ever leave she will take my place. A worthy replacement.” Merlin laughs, and Arthur shakes his head.

“Maybe she’ll actually be enjoyable to be around.”

Merlin punches his arm, and is shoved in return. For a moment, they let themselves forget about their argument.

“Merlin?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you, old friend.” Arthur shakes his hand. “If anything happens… I’m entrusting Camelot to your and Guinevere’s hands.”

The sigil feels heavy against Merlin’s skin. He knew the significance of it when he accepted it, but never expected for Arthur to actually bring it up. The ring that’s resting in his palm also feels strange.

He knows it fits Gwen’s hand. Maybe that makes it a little more morbid and real.

“I won’t wish you good luck. I know you’ll win.”

Arthur seems grateful.

“At least one of us does, then.”

He exits the tent; it’s Agravaine who brings him his sword. Merlin frowns; there’s an enchantment on it, one of the vicious kind, but nothing he can’t handle.

He subtly nods his head at it while looking at Gwaine and Lancelot. They nod in understanding - if he needs to use magic, they’ll cover for him.

Both armies approach each other and create a gap in between; Arthur goes there, waiting for his opponent. Merlin swears when he sees him; it’s a giant. He’s taller and more muscular than Arthur.

The warrior attacks Arthur and knocks him to his knees; his blows are strong, quick. Arthur rolls out from under him and slices his cheek; the man brings his hand to it and, when he sees blood, howls in anger.

Suddenly, as Arthur lifts his sword to block another swing from his opponent, it falls on the ground; it seems that he can’t pick it up.

Merlin looks through the army and sees Annis, looking at the whole spectacle in disdain. She catches his eyes and slowly shakes her head.

Oh, so Morgana must be near.

Merlin feels as if he should shiver at the thought, but he faced opponents much greater than she. Perks of living too long.

He turns and covers his eyes; Lancelot comes to his aid, embracing him as if he was bringing him comfort, and not shielding him from view.

Arthur’s opponent’s sword drops too, and they start fighting without them; Arthur manages to push him off the rocks and throw a punch; after enduring a couple to his body and face, he manages to push the man over by tripping him; he lays on the ground, trying to get up, but is stopped when Arthur manages to reach for his sword and hold it at his throat.

The king looks around; he holds Merlin’s stare; now that his magic isn’t needed, he detangles himself from Lancelot’s embrace.

Arthur throws the sword aside and stands up, unsteady and wobbly, but still offers his hand to his opponent.

Merlin glances at Annis again; she looks at Arthur with approval.

A test, one of what kind of man Arthur truly is. His decision when he captured Caerleon was influenced by both Agravaine and Merlin - one talked him into being ruthless, the other stopped him from executing the foreign king.

This decision was his own.

“You are victorious, Arthur Pendragon.” Annis announces between all the cheering on Camelot’s side. Merlin watches her approach Arthur. “Let my kingdom enter an era of peace with yours.”

“Thank you, your highness.”

“There is something about you, Arthur Pendragon. Something which gives me hope for us all.”

“Your champion, your majesty. He didn’t fight to kill me.”

“Just like you spared him, he was ordered to spare your life.” She says, and finally looks at Merlin.

“You couldn’t have known what my decision would be.”

“I had the faintest idea. After your foolish friend’s visit, I considered his words. You don’t strike me for a heartless killer. May we use this moment to mark a new beginning between our kingdoms.”

Merlin walks towards them, but stands on the edge; doesn’t approach them until Arthur nods at him to do so.

“What about Morgana? She was watching over this duel, was she not?”

“She’s a foe that knows her strength.” Annis says, and Arthur looks around, a bit hopeful and worried.

It’s been a long time since he saw his sister.

“Is she still here?”

“Confronting her would not be a wise choice.”

“If we’re right, she killed the king.” Arthur says, grimacing. Annis shakes her head.

“Morgana is a high priestess, Arthur.” Merlin chimes in; at the questioning look he receives, he explains, “Morgause’s death meant that someone new would take her position as one. That would be Morgana. And that means she can’t be killed with a mortal weapon.”

“Didn’t you accidentally kill Nimueh?” Arthur asks. Queen Annis stares at them in disbelief. She looks at Merlin as if she’s searching for something.

“Technically she caused her own death.”

“Morgause died-“

“Killed by Morgana. To open the Veil. Not a natural death.”

“So our greatest enemy is immortal.”

“She might not know it?” Merlin tries. Arthur doesn’t look pleased with that.

“It is true, the high priestess possess an immortal life.” Annis says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That's why I couldn’t just turn her away.”

“You’re letting her believe that you think Arthur killed your husband.” Merlin whispers; the queen raises her chin.

“The duel will be a good excuse as to why I’m not proceeding with the war. For a queen honour is worth more than any land will ever be.”

“I appreciate that.” Arthur bows and forces Merlin to do the same. “I’m deeply sorry about your loss.”

Queen Annis nods and looks at Merlin.

“Thank you, boy, for trying to save him.” She says; Merlin stares at her; a royal thanking a peasant wasn’t really normal.

Pleased with herself and the conversation, Queen Annis walks back to her people and leaves them alone.

Arthur sighs.

“I would hope to speak to Morgana, but I doubt this is the place.” He whispers. Merlin nods in relief; for a moment he is scared that Arthur will run off soon after hearing that she’s nearby. “Keep this all a secret. Let Morgana think she’s smarter than us.”

“Let her underestimate us?”

“Exactly. Maybe you’re not as stupid as you seem, Merlin.”

“Aaand the moment’s over. Of course.”

Chapter 9: Why would you be a servant of two masters when you can just serve

Chapter Text

Around the year 883

The wooden ship stops at the coast of Kyiv with a loud thud; the plank hits the sand and gravel and slightly bends over the weight of the horses that are being led down onto the land.

Merlin watches the Arab merchants go further into the market, praying that he won’t lose sight of them - the first horse they led into the city could be useful. Merlin was considering buying it the moment he saw it enter his ship.

The leader of the merchant group Merlin helped travel to Kyiv hands him over a few sheets of paper and two bottles of perfume. It’s not much - it’s definitely far from the golden coins they usually use - but Merlin asked for those luxury items when he spotted them among the others.

It’s been a few years since he joined the Varangians. The idea of exploring the continent was tempting - and seemed to be the best way to keep him from returning to the lake of Avalon and sitting there for the next decade.

He considered joining the group of Normans he lived with at the beginning, but when he heard that they were planning on making their own kingdom on the borders with the Franks’ one, he very smartly decided to join the group that was traveling east instead.

Their boats are such interesting things - it’s not so easy to construct something that can travel through both sea and rivers.

But just as Merlin wanted to leave the west because of all the politics and kingdoms, those two seemed to follow him around.

At first, when Freya used a spell to transport him to the Old Continent, far from Albion, he wasn’t that amused. He spent some time with the Vikings at the very beginning, then joined the Franks after one raid on their lands left him behind; then, a few years later, he joined the Vikings again.

The Franks were fun to be around for a while - devoted Christians they were, Merlin found himself actually enjoying their work. Mostly because of the schools that were created near the monasteries and how easy it became to get a book without being worried about possibly ruining the only copy of it.

He never joined the scriptorium, but he knew their work well. Days spent bent over a piece of paper, slowly writing down the letters and feeling absolute despair upon making a mistake.

His edition of the Bible had one of those silly little prayers written on the end page; the monk was thanking the Lord that his job was over.

Merlin bought it only because of that: something about it made him smile and feel that familiar nostalgic pang of guilt.

He never met the person who wrote the golden letters on the front page and the beautifully decorated iniciales, but he liked to imagine they would understand each other, if only just a bit.

Thanking the Lord - or gods - that their job was done. Well, Merlin’s wasn’t. Not yet. Arthur could come back any day, even if three centuries have passed already.

With devoted kings came humility, humbleness. He saw them wearing blue clothes - never grey, even if there was gossip of those who were so humble they dressed like peasants - and leaving all the fancy jewelry hidden in their rooms. They built churches and monasteries and weren’t interested in showing off their wealth in the way Merlin remembers from Camelot.

No big feasts, no colorful crowns and jesters. Then again, their belief of becoming closer to Heavens by sponsoring a church after church explained a bit what they deemed more valuable and important.

Merlin needed a break from the kingdoms, though. So when the Normans attacked the Frank empire on the northern border, he joined the hoards of vikings and left with them to the icy coasts of their motherland.

He liked exploring, and was quickly deemed an useful asset in their little community for his physician skills. He followed the group that started sailing along the rivers deep into the east side of the old continent.

Brutal and terrifying they were, but also efficient and clever. Novgorod quickly became their capital as the leader of the group Merlin was sailing with declared himself the ruler of those territories. A merchant filled city only pushed the new country to grow and get stronger.

Merlin felt a bit salty about this whole new country thing - he joined their exploration because he wanted to escape kingdoms, not join a new one - but he was left to do as he pleased, and it was enough to please him.

He helped the Arab merchants get to the Varangians territory. Crossing the continent wasn’t an easy task, but it became manageable with a good boat and an ability to sail through the rivers.

Merlin nods to the merchant one more time before he leaves for his little house.

It’s far from his room in Gaius’ tower - from what he remembers anyway - but it’s his, and that’s enough.

He opens the door, knocking three times, and is greeted with an annoyed huff.

Aithusa sits at the table, the thick layers of furs and coats thrown over her shoulders. Her hair is cut uneven, and Merlin has to bite his tongue to not comment about how she should’ve just waited for him to do it.

Her piercing gaze is settled somewhere behind him.

“Something for you.” He gives her the perfume bottle; it’ll be worth a lot soon, with how things are going.

The nobles are starting to become less and less humble again, no longer interested in appearing poor to please the Lord. When a rivalry for showing off their luxurious items appears again, perfume and other stuff that Arab merchants sell is going to become more and more valuable.

“I didn’t ask for that.” She responds, eyeing the bottle. “Is it poisoned?”

“It’s perfume. It’s supposed to smell pretty. Ladies of higher standing love to use it. I thought you might like it too.”

“Then you’re just proving that you don’t know me at all.” Aithusa huffs, turning away from him. “Me and what I want.”

Merlin sighs.

“You know why I don’t allow you into your dragon form. So you can maybe stop trying to insult me and make me feel bad.”

“Why would I? You should feel bad.” She leaves the bottle on the table and goes to lay in her bed near the fireplace. “All the gifts won’t change what terrible father you are. So stop trying to fix it.” She snarls, covers herself with a woolen blanket and turns to face the wall.

“It’s not my fault, just like I always tell you. Kilgharrah was supposed to take care of you. And it’s your fault that you came to Morgana! If you hadn’t, then maybe she wouldn’t feel powerful enough to go at war with Camelot.”

“Then you should’ve just destroyed my egg rather than hatching me and then leaving.”

“I was trying to follow my destiny.”

“Does saying that make you feel better?” Her voice is bitter. “Just leave. That’s what you’re good at.”

She doesn’t understand - of course she doesn’t. No one understands how important Arthur was and still is.

The perfume bottle stands alone on the table and Merlin leaves the house.

At first, after Camlann, he avoided Aithusa like fire, ordering her to stay away, to never get close to Camelot ever again.

He didn’t see her until all of what he knew had fallen, disappeared in the past, slowly becoming less and less of a part in history, rather just a myth, a legend.

He called for Aithusa and kept her in a human body ever since he joined the Normans. He told himself that it’s not because he’s trying to atone for his sins. There is no guilt because there shouldn’t be one.

Arthur was just more important.

He tried to give Aithusa a hoard, tried to create a bond that was too damaged to be fixed.

He tried to be something better, to prove to himself that he can do good while waiting for Arthur.

Aithusa didn’t appreciate being human; she longed for her wings and scales, even if they were aching with every her move, some grown in under her skin; her dragon body was botched, imperfect.

She missed it, but Merlin decided it was safer to hide what she really was; with time, most of the world turned against magic. And then, even later, it was forgotten, considered a story for children, nothing real.

Merlin wasn’t prepared for how long he would grieve; maybe immortality made it different, harder to process. He put the blame on himself, but a part of him resented Aithusa, searching for a scapegoat, for something to point at and say, it wasn’t just me.

And even as decades passed, it all always came down to arguing. No matter the gift, no matter the place and story, it always ended with Aithusa pointing out that Merlin is unable to care about anyone but Arthur, even long after his death.

Year 1581

The harsh Russian winter makes London’s weather seem sunny and warm, Merlin thinks as he’s returning from his trip to the eastern harbors..

The merchant's life wasn’t the best he could live, but it paid off his taxes and other expenses.

“Why won’t you just use your magic?” The Druids would’ve asked, treating him like just another god, as always.

He didn’t want to use his magic to cover for everything - it made life too easy. After a millennium, he deserved to have something exciting going on - even if that thing was working with normal, mortal people.

It was exciting, for the most part. Far from the life with the Vikings - he will forever miss his friend Harald, who helped him with taming the wyverns after Merlin showed them to him. They caused so much trauma to their fleet, as they should - but he should’ve suspected that once Europe stabilized, the times would become slower-paced too.

A wandering merchant, one with so many stories that there’s not enough hours in a year for him to cover them all. He isn’t treated best - just as the rest of the merchants aren’t - but traveling gives him opportunities to see more, to meet new people - even if some of them are entitled snobs who looked down on him because he’s a “townie” - to live a little.

He’s afraid that the conflict around the Smolensk region - and generally in the area - would end in the Arkhangelsk harbor being closed or out of use until the situation gets more stable.

It’s obvious that the conflict between Sweden and the Commonwealth is only growing stronger, and with Moscow getting in the way, it’s a matter of time for a war to start.

And especially now, since the atmosphere in the Moscow empire is becoming more and more somber. Merlin is surprised his crew was even let into the harbor as the news about the tzar’s son’s death spread among the people.

“What happened?” He asks back in Arkhangelsk, unpacking the wool he brought for sale. An older woman, wrapped tightly in seven layers of coats, coughs and looks to the side.

She seems a bit thrown off by his accent, and Merlin grimaces at that - he hasn’t spoken Russian in a long time, so he guesses it isn’t as good as it used to be.

An old lady is the best source material for the newest gossip, though, so he prays his accent doesn’t make him seem unworthy of the latest news in her eyes.

She touches a decorative shawl he has on display, the wrinkled hands stained by time shaking slightly as she brings it closer to her eyes.

“The green would be a fine compliment to your eyes, madam.” He says, offering her another shawl.

Her head is already covered by at least three, but if he knows something about this stuff, it's that it’s never enough.

Especially during harsh winters. Layers are life-saving.

She gives him an honest smile and, once again, looks around.

“The rumor says that the crown prince had died after a few days of being sick in his bed. A tragic story, really. It’s been told that the tzar, in his greatness and glory, hasn’t left his side the entire time.”

“Probably wanted to check if his son was really dead.” A boy chimes in, poking around Merlin’s stall. His ratty clothes - and the utter lack of respect - out him to be a peasant, or at the very least a lower class townie.

“It’s the tzar you’re speaking of, boy. Watch your tongue before you lose it.” The woman chastises him, hitting his head with the back of her hand.

“Ow! That’s probably what he did. Some say that he hit the prince until he stopped moving.”

“It’s discipline. The young tsesarevich was being punished for his insolence, his majesty had to have a reason for-“

“First he beats the tsesarevich’s wife until she loses their child, then he beats his own son until he falls sick and dies. Who will continue the dynasty now?”

“The rumor says that the girl was disrespectful. But what to expect of someone of her standing. That’s what happens when the marriage isn’t properly arranged. And to think the young prince dared to speak out! No wonder he would get punished for that! Tzar has another son, the dynasty will continue.”

“His other son has a mental affliction. The only thing the dynasty will do is die off.” The boy pouts, and the woman raises her hand and smacks him again.

“Stop saying such disrespect! The insolence of today’s younglings!”

“I don’t think punishing kids by beating them is a good thing.” Merlin interrupts. “And, if the gossip is right, it only proves that it’s a terrible idea.”

“Terrible idea suit for a terrible tzar.” The boy mumbles, so quiet that the woman misses it, sparing him from another hit to reprimand him.

“Do you have kids, sir?” She asks him instead, and Merlin blinks.

“A daughter, why?”

“How’s your relationship with her?”

Merlin grimaces, too slow to control his expression. To his disdain, the woman gives him a crooked smile.

“You see? Maybe if you reprimanded her correctly, she would know how to respect her father. If she has no respect for you, what kind will she have to offer to her husband?”

“She’s not interested in marriage.”

“Of course! The English ladies, too spoiled to be wanted by any self-respecting man anyway!” She turns from his stall, hits the boy one more time and leaves.

Merlin looks at the shawl she was holding, now creased and spread over his stand. So much for him folding every item into a perfect square.

Weeks later, when Merlin returns to England as the winter comes - and with it, the harbor was closed due to slowly freezing over - he still thinks about the tzar’s son.

He opens the doors to his cozy little apartment and lets himself in, stomping on the floor before entering, to get rid of the snow and not drag it inside.

The wooden panels are already rotting, without any additional water.

Aithusa doesn’t even look up from the book she’s reading - he got it made personally for her, with a white dragon on the cover. Nothing fancy, it’s a published travel journal of a German noble, but he figures it’s better than nothing.

“Trips to Moscow will become harder in the next few months.” He says, hoping for her to entertain him with a conversation.

“How so?” She asks, still not looking up.

“The tzar killed his son. Beat him until he got sick.” He takes off the thick winter coat and puts it on the chair. He leans on it, facing Aithusa.

“Finally found a father so bad that it makes you feel better about yourself?” She looks up. “It’s not unusual. Most nobles these days kill each other, no matter if they are family or not. At least this one thing the Pendragons got right.”

“Someone died, Aithusa.” He chastises her, but it’s of no use.

“They’re mortals. They always die. Some just quicker than others.” You robbed me of that, her attitude seems to be saying.

Merlin grimaces.

“I thought about going to the New World. You remember potatoes, right? The stuff I bringed from there?”

“The bland and weird plant nobody wants to eat?” She raises her eyebrow at him. Merlin ignores her.

“I thought, hey, maybe you want to go with me? See new places, I’m sure you’ll love it. Most of the land is wild still, you could stretch your wings-“

“I don’t like what they’re doing.” She decides, then clarifies: “The nobles. They’re buying land that they don’t own and are wreaking havoc. I’d rather stay here.”

“Change of surroundings could be good.”

Aithusa bites her lip. Her long, pearly dress makes her look like a noble. Even if she isn’t that good with etiquette, Merlin is sure she’d do wonders in a royal court.

“I was thinking about leaving.” She admits and Merlin smiles broadly.

“Where? I can get my ship any day you need. Or, I can use my magic. Whatever you prefer-“

“Alone. I want to live by myself. Travel for a bit.”

She looks ashamed and uncertain; she has a reason to be scared of admitting that. One word from Merlin and she would have to stay by his side.

But, Camelot was long, long past them, as was the person Merlin once was. His pride was different now, and he got better with dealing with his paranoia.

That’s the main reason why he opted to stay close to people, to behave like any other person, to live an ordinary life; to not forget how it was to be human once.

The gods easily disconnected from the mortals, too prideful and egocentric to bother understanding and appreciating them.

The kings did that too; gods in mortal form, believing to be above anyone else.

Once, he would’ve commanded Aithusa to stay - so he could keep an eye on her, distrustful of what she might do if left alone.

Now? Now he’s just lonely and tired.

“I see.”

“And?”

“I believe… I believe I kept you from being your own person for too long now.” He sees how she shifts in her seat at his words, the strands of her white hair, tied with an old ribbon she usually used as a bookmark, falling out of the braids and onto her shoulders and face. “Aithusa?”

She nods, just to show that she is listening; she always does - why wouldn’t she, when his words are her law.

He can command her to stop breathing if he wants to.

Merlin looks outside; the snow starts falling again, covering the streets and buildings. He’s searching for something, something that’s just there, but after setting his eyes on Aithusa, his gaze softens.

“Be happy. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you with that.”

“I understand.” She isn’t offering him forgiveness; their relationship is too broken to be mended fully.

But, as she smiles to herself, subtly returning to the book Merlin got her and turning away from the conversation, he thinks that maybe one day they will be able to look each other in the eyes again.

Year 1793

He was in Austria when the news about King Louis the sixteenth execution arrived. The royal court immediately went to action, and soon every servant knew that a war was being considered.

“If common folk gets the idea that they can just execute their monarch, what will it mean to the balance of this world?” Otto, a young boy who came to the county for his studies, says.

Merlin gently slaps his wrist with his quill.

“Focus.” He chastises, pointing to the Latin text they are translating. “You cannot even use the nominativus without making mistakes. You’re here for studies, not for gossip.”

“Is it gossip, though, my lord? It’s normal to be worried about politics in such troublesome times. And Austria had treaties with France; important ones, considering that the queen came from here.” A gentle voice sounds from behind them. Merlin doesn’t try to contain his grin at the amused tone of it.

“Lady Freya, how nice of you to accompany us.” He smiles at her, then, in the Old Tongue, whispers. “They’re finally abolishing monarchy. Imagine. And we’re stuck here.”

“You wanted to be a teacher, my dear.”

“I wanted a degree. The job part was an accident.”

“Most of your jobs were accidental.” She quips and he sighs.

That much is true. He doesn’t exactly remember, but from what he said before and written down, his employment under Arthur started when he saved him: an accident, just like Freya said.

Then his job as a merchant - an accident, too.

Then he worked as a physician for a while - and it was only due to the epidemics that wrecked the country in the fourteenth century.

Then, a merchant. Again.

A scholar, for a bit, after he landed in France.

He was also a shepherd for some time, after he decided to start his own farm.

“At least I’m paid decently.” He decides and Freya rolls her eyes.

“Lord Ambrosius,” she laughs, “is money the only thing that matters?”

“No, but cakes are.”

“Funnily enough the rumor says that the French queen said something similar.”

“Do you want to join the masses? France must be in shambles with so many people experiencing bloodlust.”

“It could be fun to see.” She shrugs. Merlin can’t blame her - Freya isn’t exactly fond of nobility - and, in all fairness, he isn’t either.

Too many times he was a witness to human greed for more power.

“Alright then,” he switches back to German and looks at his student. “Get this done, I’ll be back on Friday.”

“But, Master Ambrosius, I need-“

“You don’t need my help, I know you go to watch autopsies instead of studying. You’re wasting my time.” He waves his hand. “Translate the rest of the text and I will talk to other professors about letting you pass without bothering so much with Latin, since you cannot comprehend it.”

Otto seems offended and impressed at the same time.

“Where are you leaving, Master?”

“To a beautiful land of Not-Your-Business.” Merlin says and offers Freya his arm; she takes it and leans on him.

“Let’s go watch French people go feral.” She whispers with an amused smile.

That, Merlin can get accustomed to.

Currently (V Century, A.C.)

“Five more minutes Freya.” Merlin mumbles, trying to turn in bed, only to realise he’s not in it. In fact, he’s not in eighteenth century Austria or France either.

But he is bound with chains, which definitely reminds him of those times. Gods, he hopes the French proletariat never changes.

“You’ve been a thorn in my side for far too long.” A voice to his left sounds. He turns towards it, a bit disoriented still.

Morgana looks like a rabid dog. She’s snarling at him, her gown is ripped and her hair is tangled beyond saving.

She’s holding a knife, and she’s definitely a person Merlin doesn’t trust with sharp objects.

“Long time no see?” He tries to sound casual, but, judging by her face, it’s of no use.

She smiles, cruel and sad*stic.

“Soon I won’t have to see you at all.” She taps the tip of the blade with her finger. “You’re always in my way, always acting as Arthur’s shadow, being inconvenient and annoying. You condemned by sister to a slow and painful death-“

“Do you want me to brush your hair?”

“What?” She stops her monologue in a genuine surprise. Merlin shrugs.

Morgana is intimidating, but she’s also a twenty year old woman. A child, really. Some of Merlin’s students were nearing thirty and he still couldn’t see them as anything but preschoolers.

Merlin saw and had to deal with people far more cruel than her.

And, her hair is in a desperate need of professional help. And he’s pretty sure there’s no hairdressers in the entire kingdom.

“Your hair is really tangled. It must be annoying. I can brush it for you.” He offers, wincing in sympathy when she brings her hand to it and tugs at a loose strand.

He did grow out his hair every now and then. When he first left Camelot, he was so depressed he stopped caring about himself. He was brushing his appearance aside for so long that his hair started reaching his waist. He had to cut it off because it was a tangled mess - beyond saving. So much for matching with the Franks’ royal dynasty.

“How dare you speak to me like that?!” Morgana roars, slapping him. Merlin winces again, then shrugs.

“Listen. I’m tired, you’re… unwell. Let’s call this a day.”

“You are in no place to speak to me this way. I can do whatever I want to you now.”

“Believe me, once you read enough dubious romance books and fanfiction this doesn’t sound like a threat.”

“I can rip you apart-“

“Please stop talking.”

Morgana growls, inhumane, wild, feral. She puts the knife to his throat and pauses when she doesn’t see anything in his eyes. There’s no fear; neither there’s pride or stubbornness. Merlin just looks at her, curious, and something in his eyes must send her off the edge because he backs away.

It’s unsettling, how her face twists into fear for a couple of seconds, before it’s replaced by rage.

“Don’t look at me like that!” She throws a glass flask at the wall.

Merlin wonders what she saw in his eyes.

She avoids looking at him, acting as if his presence burned her like a pyre.

“You kidnapped me. I kinda have to look at you.” Merlin sighs and lulls his head to the side. The chains are uncomfortable, and he can feel the cold iron stinging his magic - not that it does much. For any magic user, like the Druids or Morgana, this would be a sentence; they wouldn’t be able to reach for their magic.

Maybe living for a Millenium and then some more had more perks than Merlin ever thought of, because he can feel his magic buzzing under his skin, and the only thing cold iron actually causes is a mild annoyance.

He wonders, how blind Morgana is? To put him in chains made to restrict magic and yet not think about it. Pure coincidence, but one so funny he almost snorts.

He sees her move to the dusty table standing in front of the mirror - she takes out a little jar from it and looks at it, wistfully.

He grimaces. Fomorroh. He’s not the biggest fan; last time he saw it was when he lost a bet with Leon and they took it to the extreme - they planted a Fomorroh in his neck to check if he can fight it off. He ended up acting as Leon’s maid for a day or so before his magic reacted and took care of it.

Merlin learnt two things that day: one, he’s finally strong enough to not fall under the Fomorroh influence for longer than twenty four hours, and two, he should never make bets with a guy who spent a century living off of gambling.

To his surprise, Morgana doesn’t cut the creature’s head off. Instead, he sets it aside and keeps the jar closed.

“Who are you?” She asks, slow and annoyed. There’s something strange in her voice, and if Merlin didn’t know better, he would say she sounds frail, uncertain.

He tries his best to believe Arthur - he doesn’t remember any version of Morgana that was good and just. But if his friend is adamant about her being kind once, he’ll try to believe it.

“I’m Merlin? Do you… not check who you kidnap?”

“You’re not- Merlin isn’t like this. He’s a loyal fool.” She still avoids looking him in the eyes. “You look at me the same way Old Gods look at mortals.”

Oh, it’s always the eyes, isn’t it?

Merlin shakes his head and gives her his best condescending smile. He pulls at the chains but doesn’t free himself. Not yet.

“You haven’t met many of them, how would you know?” It’s the truth. Cailleach is the only god Morgana had encountered. Merlin met a couple during his travels - and some of them became his somewhat friends - but it was known that most gods stayed out of the mortal realm. Maybe for the better, if some of the rituals were to go by. Merlin still feels sad about all the Lamias. Granted, at first it was hard, but as he lived on and met more and more people who were treated unjustly, he came to understand that Lamias were just victims, nothing more.

“You have the same grief in your eyes as the gatekeeper.” Morgana says, sounding like a girl who’s about to be scolded. “You seem older.”

Merlin is curious, he’ll admit it. He had to tell Gwaine and Lancelot - and Gaius too, but he doesn’t count - about his situation.

He can’t let Morgana find out about his magic. It’s too dangerous. But, maybe there’s something that might guide her on the right path.

He tries to imagine the girl she must have been once. A girl who rescued a Druid boy, risking her life to do an act of kindness. A girl who came with him to Ealdor to fight for it.

It’s fuzzy, almost gone; the memories feel like a breeze, soft and impossible to catch.

He eyes the Fomorroh and hopes for the best.

“You’re clever and sly. What brings you to that conclusion, pray tell?”

Morgana tries to keep her composure. She shifts to the side and takes a step closer towards him.

“You look at me the same way the Gatekeeper did when I killed my sister. Last time you looked at me in any way close to this was when you used my trust and poisoned me.”

Merlin squints. That does sound like him - he’s not proud of his paranoia, but what’s done is done.

“I honestly don’t remember.”

This is enough to cause Morgana to shake off any fear. She stares at him, fury crossing her face before it sets on a way calmer confusion.

“How can you not-“ she sputters, grabbing at her hair and tugging it. “You poisoned me, when Camelot was under a spell! Everyone was falling asleep and you- Morgause saved me!”

Ohhhh, he remembered writing about that one. Honestly, Freya was way better at remembering those things, mostly because she was reborn to be a goddess, and therefore more accustomed to immortal life - with a never fading memory at its core.

Merlin was just yeeted into it; one day he was mortal, the next he wasn’t.

“I told Morgause the antidote. You were, uh-“ he tries to snap his fingers, but his hands have fallen asleep from being bound too tightly and kept up for at least twelve hours by now. “The conduit? I don’t bloody know, the spell was put on you. The host! You were the host, and to save Camelot I had to make Morgause get rid of the spell. So I kinda, yeah… to be fair, there was also a giant dragon that told me to kill you or Camelot will die. I don’t work that well under pressure. I mean, I came to Camelot to study under Gaius, not to be involved in some royal drama.”

She slaps him, frowning.

“Morgause wouldn’t- you’re a liar! You’re lying! Morgause told me the truth! You poisoned me and she had to fight for my life-“

“I’ll admit, I am a liar, but back then we were friends. I think? So why on Earth would I hurt you?”

“You kept my magic a secret from me. Your words mean nothing!”

“You were Uther’s ward! I panicked!”

Morgana looks as if she’s getting ready to straight up gut him, but takes a deep breath and manages to keep her composure. Maybe a noble never stopped being a noble.

“Why would I believe you?”

“Because-“ Merlin looks to the side. For the first time in a long time, he feels unsure. “Because Arthur still loves you. He thinks there’s good in you, still. He let Uther die when he could save him. Or at least try to. He speaks about wanting to reach out to you constantly-“

“You’re lying-“

“Morgause told the truth. About his birth, I mean. Arthur is trying to understand this. Understand your people. You’re not going to make Camelot accept magic by starting a war or using it only to sow destruction.”

“If they can’t love me, they will fear me-“

“Easy now, classic movie villain number six.” Merlin shrugs. “There’s more out there than ruling. More than power.”

Morgana glances back at Fomorroh, but she’s intrigued. She looks at Merlin, finally having the courage to look him in the eyes once again. He can feel her magic reaching out, and lets it, only a bit.

She gasps and backs away, coughing and gasping for air.

“You’re-“ she frowns and looks at her hands. They’re shaking. “You aren’t mortal anymore.”

Merlin grimaces. This whole trip back in time is just going to make him relive his issues.

“Bingo.” He offers her an award winning smile. “I got cursed and kind of… stayed alive.”

“You’re from the future.” She whispers, then scowls. He wonders how ancient his soul must feel to her. “Is that how you knew about my plans?”

“Hey, I got here after the Veil, I’m still trying to find my footing. You’re not the center of my life, you know?”

Morgana ignores him.

“How long have you lived by now? A century? Two?”

“Fifteen.” Merlin says, seeing her eyes widen in surprise and compassion. He notices some sympathy in there too - and maybe self-pity. So she must know, then. He can’t imagine how hard it was to tackle the whole immortality bit while slowly going crazy from hatred and paranoia. “There’s more to it, I promise.”

“More to what?” Her voice, while still threatening, doesn’t sound vicious and dangerous.

“To life.” He tugs at the chains holding him. “There’s so much more to see, to experience. Camelot isn’t the only thing out there. Civilisations rise and fall, people change and stay the same no matter how much time passes. Power isn’t worth it. It’s not worth losing yourself for.”

Morgana is quiet. Merlin doesn’t doubt that if he didn’t let her magic see a bit of him, she wouldn’t believe a word he’s saying.

“What about me?”

“You don’t have to be alone.” He says, avoiding a straight answer. She looks contemplative.

Maybe it’s because she must’ve recently found out about her own immortality. He can see it in her eyes - she’s hesitating. He wonders if his words make her believe that she’ll live as long as him, and they’ll fix what happened between them. Maybe it’s merciful to let her believe that, for now.

“Go.” She says. The chains that were holding him up fall from his wrists to the floor.

She doesn’t turn her back to him - he understands that. He doesn’t deserve her trust. She doesn’t his.

“If you’re immortal, you should know how to kill me. Why won’t you try it?” She challenges, prideful. There’s something sad in her voice.

“Because maybe Arthur is right, and his sister is still there, just too blinded by hatred to see the love that’s waiting for her. You can be ruthless the way Uther was. Or you can choose your own destiny.”

She grits her teeth and throws a chair in his direction.

“Get out!” He follows her order, but pauses at the door. For whatever reason, he says:

“I would love to take you with me to see the northern lights one day, if we ever stop being enemies.”

She closes her eyes and lets him leave. Something akin to hope blossoms in Merlin’s chest at that.

For once, he wants a story with a happy ending.

The Fomorroh lays on the table, undisturbed.

Merlin tires to shake mud off himself and winces when some of it lands in his mouth; he could’ve used magic, but didn’t want to risk it, in case Morgana decided to watch him.

He falls into the bog again, the muddy water reaching his waist.

“Merlin?” Gwaine’s voice rings in alarm from between the trees. He smiles and gives him a wave.

Arthur is with him, and is the first to rush to him.

Merlin stumbles out of the bog and spreads his arms.

“Still alive!” He announces proudly. He’s going to say more, but is promptly cut off by Arthur, who barrels right into him and closes him in a tight hug. “Sire?”

“I’m glad you’re alright.” Arthur says, his chainmail and cape now smeared in mud. Merlin, although still surprised, hugs him back, grinning from ear to ear.

“I’m glad you came to rescue me.”

“I did too.” Gwaine says, pretending to pout but he sounds more amused and relieved than anything.

“What actually happened?” Merlin asks, a bit confused. He spent a lot of hours unconscious, had a heart to heart talk with Morgana, and then got let go into the forest.

“We got ambushed. I tried to reach you, but you were gone.”

“Morgana took you.”

“I know that.” Merlin scoffs and flicks a spec of mud at Gwaine. “She let me go.”

“She- She let you-“ Arthur sounds and looks confused.

Merlin nods.

“Yup.”

“It has to be a trick.” Gwaine says, unsure. He looks at Merlin, searching for some clue, something that might betray that he’s under a spell or cursed. Merlin, as a way to show that he’s not only not under Morgana’s influence, but also completely sane, brings the pointer finger to his lips and then runs it along his jawline.

Gwaine snorts.

“Alright, that’s our Merlin.”

“What does that gesture mean?” Arthur steps back and looks between them. Gwaine grins.

Then, slowly, puts his pointer finger to his lips and then runs it along his jawline too.

Arthur’s groans.

“Alright, you’re both bloody morons.” He walks back to his horse and turns around. “Merlin, you’ll ride with me.”

“Aye aye, sire.” Merlin saluts and runs to him.

“How did you escape?”

“Like I said, Morgana let me go.” Arthur stares at him for a good while, and then he turns to lead his horse, Merlin can’t help but notice the faint smile on his face.

“Did she find out about your father’s legacy?”

“You know, sire, you can just say Dragon Lord, the world won’t explode, and Gwaine knows anyway.”

“I knew first too.” Gwaine yelps when Arthur smacks his horse and causes it to go off track, trying to shake the knight off.

“Did she?” Merlin shakes his head.

“She might not be lost yet. Paranoid? For sure. Unkept and absolutely deranged? Most likely. But not evil. I suspect her pride prevents her from seeing the blood she has on her hands.”

“In her hatred towards my father, she’s on a way to become ruthless, just like him.” Arthur says. When Merlin turns to look at him, it’s clear how tired he must feel.

He’s not sure how long he was gone for, but it seems that it was a while; his hair is a tangled mess, his eyes are sunken and his hands shake. Arthur is nothing but a king, ready to pull up a facade and keep everyone from noticing his worries.

Yet, Merlin is able, like always, see right through that and know that he’s troubled by something, with no words spoken between them.

Soulmates, Freya once called them, when they spent an especially harsh winter together, reminiscing about that they remember - that was when Merlin realised that Freya’s memories never fade.

Two sides of the same coin, he remembers her saying - a part of him knows those words by heart; just how many times have people said that about them?

“She is as vicious as Uther. But she can do good, too. To stop being scared, she strives for anger.” Merlin takes notice that Arthur doesn’t speak a word about him disrespecting the late king. He glances at Gwaine, who is uncharacteristically quiet.

He returns his attention to Arthur; he can feel the king tensing.

“You could’ve been as cruel as your father, and you chose another path. Before, I would’ve been scared that you’ll execute me for who my father is.”

“I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“And I didn’t want to put you in that position.” Merlin quips back, relaxing.

“Merlin’s right, princess. You’re a great king, and it’s an honour to serve you, sire, but you weren’t raised to be kind. It’s a great thing to see you pave your own way, instead of following your father’s.”

“I suppose I’ve met people who made going against my father’s ideals worth it.”

Gwaine grins.

When they enter Camelot, they’re greeted by the rest of the knights; Gwen is among them, pushing against the crowd to reach them first.

“I was so worried!” She says, squeezing Merlin’s hand. “Never do that again!”

Arthur looks at them, amused, but there’s something sad in his eyes when he looks at Gwen; Merlin supposes it's unfair to expect him to lose his feelings for her this quickly.

“Thank you, your majesty, for bringing him home.” She says to him, and he gives her a sharp nod in return.

They escort Merlin to Gaius’ tower and, with one last order from Arthur to return to his duties the next day, leave them alone.

“It’s good to have you back, my boy.” Gaius hands him a bowl of warm broth and offers a kind smile. “You were dearly missed.”

“I tried to convince Morgana to reconsider what she’s doing.”

Gaius raises his eyebrow; Merlin cringes. That’s a look of disapproval if he ever saw one.

“She knows that I’m immortal and came here back in time.”

Gaius stands up, his eyes wide open.

“Boy, did your old age take away all your caution? That’s dangerous! She might use it-“

“Yeah, yeah. She might use it against me.” Merlin scoffs. “She knows of her immortality. You don’t know how terrifying it is. No matter how much power you want, eternal life is scary. You advised me against telling her about my magic when I was a young boy, and her loneliness took part in turning her away from what’s good. I wanted her to know that she’s not alone, even if we’re far from friends.”

“That’s foolish-“

“I’m magic itself, Gaius. I can kill her if I want to. She’s not a danger to me anymore. But she’s not fully gone, I can feel it. Before, she acted under Morgause’s influence. Now that she’s gone, Morgana has to act and think for herself. If we leave her alone and only treat her as a threat, she will become one. Compassion, that’s humanity’s strongest weapon.”

He saw that so many times, too. Soldiers who played soccer with their enemies, who sang Christmas carols’ together and shared what limited food they had. People who fought for rights of those left behind by the rich. Civilians who risked their lives to help others, who did what they could, even if they seemed powerless or were punished for it.

Kindness and compassion always were humanity’s strongest weapons.

They are what being human means.

Gaius sighs, clearly unhappy with his decisions, but it seems that he understands it’s no use arguing.

The door to the tower snaps open and hits the wall with such force that the herbs that are hanging on it fall down - Merlin stops them with magic.

Leon bursts into the room, then, when he takes notice of Merlin’s glowing eyes, glances at Gaius and the open door, takes off his glove and chucks it at Merlin.

It hits him on the forehead and causes him to drop the herbs.

“No magic in the open.” Leon scowls at him, then bows his head at Gaius. “Madeline from the Lower Town needs to see you, her waters broke and I’m not equipped to be scarred that way yet.”

Gaius looks at him, stunned. He glances at Merlin, before the eyebrow of disapproval makes way on his face.

The first knight? Seriously? He mouths, and Merlin shrugs with an amused smile. Instead of answering in any way, he snaps his fingers, causing all the mud that clinged to his skin and clothes to disappear.

“Lady Madeline needs you, dear uncle.” He sing-songs, and Gaius huffs, taking his leave.

Leon walks over to Merlin and hugs him closely.

“I’m almost offended you didn’t come to my rescue.”

Leon snorts.

“You’re kidding? Merlin, my brother, I knew you’ll handle it without our help. I was trying to keep Arthur from coming after you.” He groans. “The knights think I gave up on you. Arthur is going to kill me during training.”

“Hey, at least Gwaine and Lancelot can help you out. They’ll understand- no, wait, I haven’t told them that you know. I think.”

Leon looks the same way he did when people stopped putting cocaine in Coca-Cola.

“Anyways, you were right. About me not needing help. I let Morgana know about the immortality bit. Not the whole stuff, I don’t think it would be a good idea yet.”

Leon looks a bit too devastated to Merlin’s liking.

“She’s not fully evil yet! I can give you a full list of what she did and didn’t do yet! Or at least, a few key points. Sure, she killed Annis’ husband in hopes of getting Camelot into war with her, and she opened the Veil with the help of her sister, but other than that the only person who she targeted to this day was Uther!”

“And now she might try to target Arthur.”

“Not if we guilt trip her enough first.” Merlin taps his chin. The chairs walk over to them and he takes his seat, offering Leon to do the same. “She definitely knows about her immortality. I need power point, how do I explain it without it?”

“Your plan?” Leon looks a bit calmer now, bordering on amused. Merlin nods enthusiastically.

“My Make Morgana Have a Zuko Arc Plan! First step is making sure she doesn’t, you know. Murder civilians and all that. It’s easier to do redemption if she’s not a war criminal.” He thinks back to how she looked at him. He took notice of the compassion in her eyes when he let her discover his immortality. “She wants power, but more than anything, she wants acceptance. That’s where it all is coming from. But with such a fragile mind, she’s still going to need help to cut ties with her wrong crowd, so to speak. I fear that Agravaine’s influence may be too great to break her from this quickly. She got manipulated by Morgause and now it’s happening with him, again. Only this time she’s thinking that, because of her magic, she’s the one in control, while he’s fueling her hatred and paranoia.”

Leon presses his lips into a narrow line.

“How does one deal with a person spiraling down into madness?” He looks down and smiles when he sees Aithusa, readying herself to jump onto his lap. He pats his thigh and she jumps, then curls on his lap and purrs happily. “I remember Morgana’s kindness. I cannot comprehend why and how she became so cruel so easily.”

“Because she sees the world as her enemy, so she feels justified to lash out. Remember that one kid from my class?” Leon hums and Merlin continues. “She was such a nice kid, but the world never was kind to her in return. And when she saw that her kindness was wasted on people who were ungrateful, she became a bad kid, right? No one wanted to talk to her, to understand her. Most adults just put a label of a problem child on her and moved on. Talking really helped. Showing her that there is kindness waiting for her. She needed to be understood, not to be turned away. I think we should consider Morgana as such. A young woman who simply lost her way because of her experiences.”

“Actions speak louder than words.” Leon agrees. “You might be onto something, old friend. Maybe there’s still hope for her.”

“And if it doesn’t work I’ll just kill her.” Merlin shrugs and Leon gapes at him. “Hey, manslaughter is always an option.”

They’re interrupted by the door opening wide once again; and once again knocking herbs off the wall.

Lancelot bursts in, Gwaine following behind.

Merlin, again, uses his magic to catch the herbs from falling on the floor.

“SIR LEON, LOOK, A DRAGON!” Lancelot yelps and throws his cape at Merlin’s face.

“Where?!” Gwaine yells, pushing Lancelot aside and running inside the room with his sword ready in hand.

Leon hides his face in his hands.

“You’ll be cleaning those herbs and gathering new ones.” Merlin grumbles and uses his magic to lift the cape off of him. Leon tugs at it and brings it back down.

“No magic with the door open.” He reminds.

“Oh, for f*cks sake.”

The two new arrivals pause and look at them.

“Sir Leon, whatever you saw, I swear on my knighthood - no - on my life, that Merlin is loyal to Arthur and would never pose a threat to this kingdom.” Lancelot rushes to say, bowing, but keeping his hands wandering to his side, ready to reach for the sword.

“If you even think of doing something, you’ll have to fight me first.” Gwaine exclaims, pointing his sword at the knight sitting with Merlin.

“Just close the door.” Leon says, muffled by his hands. Lancelot, a bit confused, does so.

“Uh, hi guys.” Merlin says, lifting the cape off himself with his magic again, this time not interrupted. He waves at them.

“Merlin, my friend, no offense, but did you tell sir Killjoy over there? Never took you for someone suicidal.” Gwaine snorts, still wary. He doesn’t put his weapon away, but stops pointing the blade at Leon.

“Uh, Leon is- ah, I’m sorry,” he tells Leon, getting a sigh in response. He turns back to Lancelot and Gwaine. “Leon is like me.”

“Magic?” Lancelot looks contemplative.

“An Old Religion God?” Gwaine asks, his eyes wide.

“Immortal.” Merlin finishes, then gives them a bright smile. “He drank from the Cup of Life. We spent a lot of time separated, but met each other again sometime in the twentieth century. Good times.”

Both knights look at Leon, who doesn’t confirm Merlin’s words, but doesn’t deny them either. He just sits with his face still hidden, utterly disappointed in all of them.

“Oh.” Gwaine sits on the table. “That actually explains a bit.”

“It does?” Leon lifts up his head.

“You knew that Merlin would be alright, that’s why you didn’t want us to look for him!”

“Too bad we can’t tell that to Arthur.” Lancelot sums up and Leon groans.

“What did my life become?” He asks Aithusa, who mreows at him.

“Oh, and technically Lancelot was right, there is a dragon here, I think I forgot to tell you about her.” Merlin points at Aithusa.

“WHAT?”

“I’m her godfather.” Leon brags, petting her fur.

Arthur takes a few sips of the wine and glances at the stack of reports on his desk, wincing.

Merlin grins.

“Why are you so tense about them, you know you’ll make me look through most of them while you slack off anyway.” He teases and Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Careful, Merlin, you’re speaking to your king.”

“Nah, I’m speaking to my friend. How’s that?” Merlin grins and busies himself cleaning. As much as he enjoys using his magic to do it, sometimes it’s soothing to do it by hand.

And maybe he needs that soothing human normalcy after spending a whole day with the three knights. Discussing his magic while being scolded for being reckless wasn’t fun.

As wasn’t explaining Leon’s and his plan to redeem Morgana.

Strangely, being with Arthur meant he got to be domestic. It was calm and pleasant, their little routine.

“I guess I’ll allow it, as your friend.” Arthur admits. Merlin stumbles in surprise. Maybe his kidnapping really took a toll on him.

“Oh no, you’re being serious. That means something’s bothering you.”

Arthur rolls his eyes and picks up a blueberry - Merlin started growing them and introducing to Camelot a few weeks earlier. The head cook was impressed with him finding a “new plant” in the forest.

He throws it at Merlin, who catches it right into his mouth.

“You’re a fool.”

“And yet you want my advice.”

Arthur hums.

“I suspect that there’s a traitor among my men. No one but us knew the route we were supposed to be following, nor out manoeuvres. And yet, someone had to tell, and it endangered many lives, including yours.”

“You’re suspecting someone betrayed you.”

“In times like this, I fear you’re the only one I can trust, Merlin. My only real friend.” He sighs. “Sir Leon served under my father, and I fear he might be attached to his way of ruling. All other knights, although I shouldn’t doubt their loyalty, could’ve been threatened or convinced to turn from me, especially because of my latest mistake.”

“You didn’t kill Caerleon, though.”

“But I was considering it, and I hurt you in the process. I’m not stupid, Merlin, I know some of them are only loyal to me by proxy.”

“By proxy?”

“Because they’re loyal to you, and you never once tried to leave my side.” Arthur admits.

“Who do you think the traitor might be?” Merlin asks, trying to prepare Arthur’s bed for the evening.

The king sighs.

“I’m not sure.” Arthur sighs and leaves his seat to pace around his room. “Maybe it’s one of the knights that wants to kill me.”

Merlin puts away some of Arthur’s clothes that were laying around on the floor - seriously, how can he run a country when he creates so much mess trying to choose one of seven identical shirts to wear?

“Maybe it’s you.” The king laughs and Merlin stops cleaning, and instead stares at him, trying his best to look offended.“Don’t look so worried, Merlin. I don’t really think it’s you.”

“Mhm.” Merlin hesitates. “Actually, Morgana was able to bring a creature of dark magic when she kidnapped me. I managed to change her mind, but if I didn’t, you’d have every right to be suspicious of me.”

Arthur frowns and stops moving.

“You didn’t tell me that-“

“I didn’t want to worry you. And nothing happened.”

“You’re loyal to me, though. How would a creature of dark magic change that?”

Merlin hums and returns to putting Arthur’s clothes away.

“It’s called a Fomorroh. You cut off its head and put it in the neck of your victim. That drains their free will and leaves them obeying the order you give to the creature.”

Arthur is quiet. Merlin closes his eyes.

“I’m fine.” When the king doesn’t move and just stares at him, clearly worried - and he can’t really tell if he’s worried about himself or him - Merlin walks over and tugs his bandana - the neckerchief is scratchy and old, and he has style now - down, presenting his neck to Arthur.

The king presses his fingers to his skin, feeling at it, leaning so close that Merlin can feel his breath on his neck.

They balance together, moon meeting sun, the whole world dimming when they’re so close together.

Arthur takes a step back and coughs.

“You’re right, there’s nothing under your skin.”

“Good to know.” Merlin whispers and turns away. He crouches to pick up boots laying under the wardrobe and puts them away.

“What do you think about Percival?” Arthur asks, still flustered. He sits down at his desk and looks through the paperwork that’s been gathering dust for the greater part of the week.

“Very big.” Merlin squints.

“Does that make him a traitor?”

“Wasn’t his family killed by Cenred’s army? Doubt that he would be all buddy-buddy with Morgana since she’s allied with Cenred’s kingdom.”

“You’re right. And he has pledged his allegiance. I shouldn’t doubt him. It’s wrong of me.”

“Can’t blame you for being paranoid when so many people tried to kill you.”

“It’s because they want my power.”

“Or because you’re condescending and an absolute ass.” Merlin grins and ducks down when a goblet flies his way.

“Elyan didn’t ride with us.” Arthur speaks again as Merlin walks to collect the goblet he threw at his head. “Could he be the traitor? My father killed his father. I find it hard to believe that Elyan would think ill of me, but… I cannot trust anyone, can I?” Arthur mumbles and frowns, looking at the document he grabbed. “The Druid Leader sent a letter regarding a delivery of rare herbs. His camp collected them last week, when they were traveling near the southern border.”

“Gaius will be glad, if you’ll accept Iseldir’s offer.”

“It might ease my subjects too. They’re not open to the presence of the Druids yet, but establishing strong ties with them would make it easier.”

“I can take care of this.”

“Because you’re a Dragon Lord.”

“No, because I’m a physician.” Merlin snorts. “Although the Dragon Lord part is convenient when it comes to making sure that Druids trust me. Trust us. I suspect that, just like people of Camelot, some of the Druids might feel uneasy about the peace treaty with your kingdom. Better to send them a peasant than a knight.”

“Right.” Arthur writes something down and moves to another document. “So? Elyan?”

“He wouldn’t betray you. Nor would he betray Camelot. Even if he doesn’t feel tied to it, he knows how greatly Gwen cares about it. And about you, too.”

Arthur nods.

“Even then, I think that you’re the only person I can trust.”

“Even with my secret?” Merlin reminds him. Arthur leans back. The chair touches the wall behind him and he looks outside.

Merlin misses the modern towns and cities, all lit up and full of movement, of life. Camelot seems empty at night.

“Even with your secret.” Arthur confirms.

“I’ll tell you. Soon.”

“I’ll trust you even if you don’t.” Arthur decides and returns to the paperwork. He scoffs. “Now, make yourself useful and draw me a bath.”

“What, can’t tolerate your stink after all?”

“I do not stink!”

“And I don’t add new holes in your belts. Come on, sire, I thought we were trying to be honest with one another.”

Another goblet flies by Merlin’s head and he grins, already running away from his friend’s rage.

Chapter 10: Morgana’s kidnapping tendencies

Chapter Text

“What’s the future like?” Gwaine asks, leaning forward on the table.

“I’m not answering that question.” Leon chooses to say, bringing the pint to his lips. Sure, he may be a stuck-up, but being under so much stress as he is lately deems him deserving of taking a break. Or several.

The tavern isn’t full, even though it’s evening - it might be because of Leon’s presence. People of Camelot didn’t want to anger a knight. For the longest time, Uther allowed them to behave as they pleased.

Noble status was preventing them from dealing with any consequences of their actions.

Leon never partook in harassing drunks and fighting peasants for spare coins, but he knew very well that in their eyes, it didn’t matter. He was a knight, an important one at that, and they could get in trouble for crossing him.

It didn’t seem like a problem Gwaine had, though. He was switching from paying attention to Leon to gossiping with the bartender or bantering with some casuals.

“It must’ve been hard, living for so long.”

“Living is, most often than not, hard.” Leon chooses to say. Lancelot nods in understanding, waving to get more mead.

“Still, my friend, I cannot imagine bearing immortal life as a human. Merlin has… his talents, to help him. Magic is meant to last long.”

“So is human life. Or the impact it leaves.” Leon tries his best not to laugh. It feels as if his honour is leaving with every word he speaks, but knight values he damned, this may be the funniest thing that happened to him since Arthur grew donkey ears. Or since Uther married a troll.

“Say, is the Cup of Life still around?” Gwaine asks suddenly, rejoining their conversation. Lancelot sighs.

“I don’t remember what happened to it.”

“Do you reckon it still works?” Gwaine tried to sound nonchalant and Leon sighs.

“Merlin knew that you’d jump on the opportunity to live forever.

“Can’t blame me, can you now? It would be nice. The future has much to offer, from what I’ve heard.”

“It certainly does.” Leon takes another sip and puts the pint back on the table. “If you ask Merlin, he’ll probably help you find it and join us.”

“Sir Leon, are you sure we're in the right state to discuss such a thing?” Lancelot chimes in, pointing to the pints, refilled by the scrawny boy that’s balancing between the tables, helping the clients with more alcohol.

“I suspect this might be the most sober sir Gwaine has been in weeks.” Leon chuckles and Gwaine gasps.

“I bet Gwaine would ride a motorcycle in the future. Dangerous beast for a dangerous man.” Merlin says as he joins them. He reaches to the bartender for a pint of his own.

“You think I’m dangerous, mate?”

“Not more than I am. But danger is often associated with how attractive someone is.” Merlin winks. Lancelot chokes on mead and starts coughing furiously. His coughs are interrupted by the laughter he tries to subdue. Leon smirks and shakes his head, trying to pretend he’s not amused by Merlin’s words at all.

Gwaine grins and flips his hair to the side.

“Well then, a toast. To us. To danger. And to the future!” He drinks and closes his eyes.

“Would you really like to be immortal? That’s a never ending life we’re speaking of. It’s not always fun.”

“Imagine being sentenced for life.” Lancelot laughs. “You’re bound to spend the rest of your life in the dungeon! A king would order. And you’ll need to try to escape or wait for Merlin to get you out.”

“Why do you think I would get them out? I would put them in there. It’s a great joke.” Merlin’s laughter joins Lancelot’s. “I don’t take part in rescue missions, I create the need for them.”

“Thousand years old and yet still a child.” Leon bickers. His mead magically disappears from his pint. He squints at Merlin, scowling when he sees gold fade from his irises.

“So, once again: what are the chances of you finding that Cup and giving it to me, mate?” Gwaine leans on his arms and winks at Merlin. The warlock cackles and nods.

„Give it time, there’s no need to rush just yet.” He takes a sip. “But, I might try pulling some strings. Just in case.”

“Hear that, sir Leon? You’ll never get rid of me.”

“Careful, sir Gwaine. You’re not immortal yet.” Leon teases. Merlin notices how relieved he seems, and can’t help but agree. Immortality can be lonely. The thought of the three of them having each other this time around seems amazing.

“What about you, Lancelot?” Merlin smiles at his friend. He looks down into his mead and chuckles.

“I doubt I was made to live as long as you, friend.”

“He would live forever if his lady did too.” Gwaine laughs and Lancelot shakes his head.

“I’m afraid some of us were created to be mortal. No matter what, I’m glad I can be a part of your life, even a fleeting one.”

“Boo, stop with the sad stuff! Tonight we live!” Merlin raises his pint. “Tomorrow? Tomorrow I will invent food that isn’t bland!”

Merlin wakes up in the middle of the forest, Aithusa curled on his chest.

“Alright, adding wolfsbane was a mid idea.” He groans, trying to gather his thoughts. Seems like his body still isn’t ready for poison. Before his whole time travel accident he could take way more than one vial of poison. Now a few drops leave him feeling as if he’s been drinking for two weeks straight.

He sits up, waking Aithusa who mreows in disagreement over being moved from her resting spot.

Amaranths surround them, fresh, newly grown. Merlin can sense his magic’s influence in the ground.

“That’s… strange.” He touches one of the flowers, but it falls apart into a golden dust. “Huh.”

He can sense the magic in the area, tingling at his fingertips. It’s tempting to pull, but he decides not to.

Instead, he lifts Aithusa up and looks around. He’s not that far from Camelot, just enough not to be noticed.

“What was I thinking?” He wonders, trying to remember. Leon left early to train, Lancelot left after that to rest. Gwaine and him had a drinking contest and Merlin added poison to his mead so it wasn’t unfair.

And then-

And then he woke up in the middle of the forest.

Through the trees, he sees a clearing. The moonlight shines at the grass growing there, basking it in silver.

Something in there seems to be calling for him; not unpleasant, more… familiar.

He comes closer, standing at the edge of the clearing, his eyes wandering to the night sky. It’s so clear without the smog that usually hides it.

He hasn’t seen it like this since the industrial era started.

“It has been a while since you called me, young warlock. I grew to worry that something had happened to you.”

“AH! SWEET GODS IN ALBION!” Merlin shrieks in surprise and falls back. Aithusa hisses at the giant dragon sitting in front of them.

“Now, young warlock, I believe this is no way of greeting a friend. Or perhaps something did happen?” The creature yawns. “I’m not used to having so much peace with you around. Is there a reason why you didn’t need my help?”

“You’re what I forgot about!” Merlin exclaims, jumping in place in excitement. “It was eating me from the inside! I can’t believe I forgot about a whole dragon!” His expression turns serious.

He steps in front of Aithusa, gently pushing her behind, trying to hide her from view.

“I have a bone to pick with you! You complete and utter buffoon! You imbecile! You took advantage of my trust, fed me some bullsh*t about a destiny I didn’t want, and then made sure I got so paranoid and codependent that the thought of failing Arthur and my destiny made me insane! I wasted all of my youth believing into something that never came! GoLdEn aGe Of aLbIoN my ass! And as if it wasn’t enough, you basically trapped me in a self-fulfilling prophecy! I’m no Greek hero, you don’t get to treat me like that! You know what your behaviour is called? It’s f*cking grooming!”

He takes a deep breath as Kilgharrah watches with an unnerving gaze.

“It caused me to lose myself! I couldn’t see how to live knowing that I failed. I was mourning for three centuries! If I wasn’t immortal, all this destiny and prophecy smuck would cause me to waste my life! And, oh, let’s talk about my immortality, shall we? I never asked anyone for that! Nobody told me about the immortality bit! Do you have any idea how terrifying it was to see everyone around me aging and dying while I stayed the same?”

“I sense you’re not the young warlock I know anymore.”

“I sense you’re a piece of sh*t!” Merlin sits on the ground and grumbles.

Kilgharrah leans forward and sniffs the air around Merlin. His eyes widen in shock and he backs away, spreading his wings in surprise.

“Your soul is older than before.” He bows his head, curiosity sparkling in his eyes. “It rivals one of a god.”

“Good, it would be embarrassing if it didn’t, since I am one.” Merlin groans. “Aren’t you supposed to be cryptic? You’re the most useless dragon I’ve met, and I lived for a looong time.”

“Careful, warlock. Even if you’re older, you still should address other beings of Old Religions with respect they deserve.”

“But you don’t deserve any respect.” Merlin smiles innocently when Kilgharrah growls in annoyance.

“So you’ve been brought back. For whatever reason?”

“For mixing alcohol with poison and some flowers.” Merlin sighs. The dragon seems to be ignoring his every word.

“It must be to kill the witch.”

“Oi, oi! No. Bad dragon!” A rain cloud appears above Kilgharrah’s head and in a matter of seconds, he’s soaking wet. “No killing!”

“Young- warlock! Stop this madness!”

“We’re not killing anyone yet!”

Kilgharrah pouts, then snarls.

“At least you did one thing right and managed to let Uther die. I hope it wasn’t peaceful, and I regret I wasn’t there to eat his heart for killing all of my kind.”

Merlin hides his face in his hands. He just wanted to go on vacation.

“You’re not the last one anymore.” He says, then points at Aithusa. Her body shifts and grows, until a dragon replaces the cat.

Kilgharrah’s eyes widen once more. Aithusa takes advantage of his shock and pounces at him, making an excited yipping sound. Her tail curls around Kilgharrah’s claw and she bats at it with her paws.

“You casted a spell on a dragon… so she looks like a cat?” Kilgharrah stares at him, offended. “This is disrespectful to my kind.”

“You’re disrespectful to my peace and quiet.” Merlin ignores the agitated growl that leaves the dragon’s throat. He claps his hands and motions for Aithusa to follow him.

She trots over and nudges at him. For a dragon, she’s rather small. Not bigger than a dog.

He whispers a spell and she’s looking like a cat again.

Kilgharrah watches them in disdain, then turns away.

“Heed my words, warlock. Kill the with before she becomes a bigger problem than she is.”

“Morgana doesn’t need to follow the path that fate wants her to. She can choose her own.”

“Then why did she take the old physician?”

Merlin pauses. He looks at Kilgharrah, a dangerous glint in his eye.

“What?”

Merlin runs into the physician’s tower, only to find it empty. He swears loudly and continues running, this time to Arthur’s chambers.

He’s unsure why he chose to go there in such a crisis; maybe it’s instinct.

“Someone took Gaius.” He manages to say between gasping for air. Arthur, who a second ago was stirring in bed and mumbling about sleep, jumps out of it and reaches for trousers.

“He’s not in the tower?”

“No.”

“Did you see who could’ve taken him?”

“I was out with Gwaine.” Merlin paces around the room. “It could’ve been Morgana.”

“But she let you go after she kidnapped you. Why would she take Gaius instead?” Arthur puts on his shirt and gets his sword.

“I don’t know!” Merlin cries out. Aithusa nuzzles into his chest. He squeezes her gently. “I need to find him.”

“I’ll go with you.”

“Camelot needs her king. You can throw yourself in danger so recklessly.”

“So can’t you.” Arthur says, then tosses Merlin his bag. “Go prepare the horses.”

Merlin waits for Arthur in front of the castle’s doors, trying to soothe Daisy and Blackberry. They sense his anxiety and respond in kind, so it takes a while.

Arthur takes the reins and jumps on Daisy’s back in one smooth move.

Merlin does so with his horse, glancing around.

“Are you sure he got taken?” The king asks, something unreadable crossing his face, like a moving shadow. Merlin turns to him, sharply.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Lord Agravaine had told me that he has suspicions about Gaius. I told you before that there might be a traitor around us.”

“And you honestly think it’s my uncle?” Merlin snarls, digging his heels into Blackberry’s sides. The horse moves forward, snorting in displeasure. “You cannot be serious.”

“I didn’t. I don’t doubt his loyalty. He’s proven to be a loyal and honest friend to both Camelot and myself.”

“Then why-“

“Your majesty!” Someone calls. Both men turn; Merlin grimaces when he sees Agravaine, running towards them with a panicked expression.

“Uncle.” Arthur greets him, nodding his head. Agravaine bows to him and tries to catch his breath.

“The royal physician has vanished!”

“I know, Merlin and I were going to look for him.”

Agravaine stares at Merlin, and the warlock quickly notices the frustration he tries to hide.

“Surely we must search his chambers first? I’m afraid it is my fault that he’s gone. He might’ve heard of my suspicions and chose to leave. The gate’s guards told me that they saw him leaving. One of our horses is missing from the stables too.” He bows again. “I came to you as soon as I heard.”

Merlin scowls and opens his mouth, but Arthur is quicker.

“Let’s check Gaius’ tower. We may find a clue as to where he is.” He leans to Merlin. “The sooner we humour my uncle, the sooner we can go.”

Merlin grits his teeth but nods anyway, jumping off of his horse and tying her to a fence nearby.

“Don’t leave. Be ready.” He whispers, getting a neigh in return.

The chambers are just as Merlin saw them - empty.

But Agravaine doesn’t seem to think so; he looks around and makes a surprised sound.

“Sire!” He opens a chest and presents it to Arthur. “His things are missing. Many of the potions and herbs are gone.”

“We use them regularly, it’s normal that we run out. That’s why I’m so often running to the forest. It's my job to gather herbs and ingredients, my uncle’s legs are too old to handle so many of such trips. If we’re lacking, it’s because I didn’t refill our stock yet. That doesn’t point to my uncle running away at all.” Merlin argues. He’s honest, too. It’s a part of his week to run between the castle, the sick patients and the forest. It’s not unusual for him to be behind his duties from time to time.

“That’s… that is a logical explanation.” Agravaine agrees, displeased. Arthur huffs.

“We must go, then. Pardon us, uncle.”

He turns towards the door, but Agravaine stops him again. He gives him a book he lifted from under Gaius’ bed.

“And what about this?”

Arthur looks through the pages, a somber expression adorning his face. Something in the way his stand shifts seems to be taunting to Merlin.

“It’s a book of sorcery.”

“Because he helps to defeat magical threats. He’s done it for years.”

“It’s a spell book, Merlin.” Arthur says, glancing at Agravaine, who stands beside him, proud.

“It’s mine, then.” Merlin says, glaring at Arthur.

“I know you love your uncle, and we will find him. I won’t have anyone executed for merely reading, especially if they’re not a threat to my kingdom.” He nods at his uncle. “Lord Agravaine, thank you for bringing this to my attention. You may leave now. I have to speak to my manservant.”

Merlin stares at him in disbelief.

They’re silent until Agravaine leaves. Arthur turns to him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? What are you going to do now? I thought you were better than your father!”

“I am.” To his surprise, Arthur doesn’t get angry or frustrated with Merlin’s disrespectful words. “I am aware that I’m a being of magic myself. My father was wrong to act with violence towards those who partook in sorcery. It’s dangerous, but mass executions won’t create a strong leader, but a feared and hated one.”

He closes his eyes and takes Merlin’s hands into his.

“But I must stay in Camelot. I cannot leave it. My uncle might become suspicious, and I can’t risk the council and other nobles turning against me.”

“So you’d rather let my uncle die than cross Agravaine? It’s clear he planted it! And if not him, then someone else!” Merlin cries out, trying to escape Arthur’s grip. The king squeezes his hands.

“There’s red dust on the floor.”

Merlin frowns.

“What about it?”

“It’s iron ore. One can find it at Ridge of Chemary.” He says as he lets go of Merlin’s hands. Arthur crouches, licks his finger and runs it on the floor. As he said, it’s covered in red dust. “Take two of my knights and go find him.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll try to ease the gossip. Lord Agravaine’s suspicions might become a source of danger to Gaius. I must keep the situation under control. If everyone sees that he’s missing and is suspected of betrayal, the consequences might be… ugly.”

Merlin nods and leaves. He turns and glances at Arthur.

“Thank you, sire. For believing me.”

He runs to the part of the castle where the knights of the Round Table have their chambers and knocks on Gwaine’s doors.

The man opens and squints, clearly still suffering from their drinking contest. Merlin touches his temple and in an instant he’s sober and completely awake.

“Ridge of Chemary. Do you know where it is?” He asks. Gwaine nods.

“What happened? You look shaken up, friend.”

“Someone took Gaius. Arthur has to keep the court from gossiping, because someone is trying to frame my uncle as a traitor.”

“I’ll go with you.” Gwaine takes his sword and grins. “Just like old times, aye? No fancy cape, no armour.”

“What’s happening?” They turn to see Percival. He’s wearing chainmail. And holding his sword.

“It’s in the middle of the night, what in bloody hell are you doing awake at this hour?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Decided to train instead.” He shrugs and looks at them. “You’re all shaken up. What happened?”

“Gaius got kidnapped.” Gwaine says.

Percival looks at Merlin and squeezes his shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Shall I help?”

Merlin and Gwaine look at him. The warlock nods and Gwaine frowns.

“He doesn’t know about-“ Gwaine makes a vague move with his right hand, whispering. Merlin shrugs.

“We need help.” He looks away. “And I trust Leon and Lancelot will keep things under control here.”

Percival looks confused at their little conversation, but doesn’t interrupt them one bit.

One Gwaine nods sharply, he tenses and looks at Merlin.

“Gwaine will guide us. Let’s go.”

“Thank you for agreeing to come with me.” Merlin whispers, leaning towards Gwaine. The knight grins and pets his mare.

“At this point you should know that where you go, I follow. I didn’t become a knight and stay in Camelot because of Arthur.” He pauses and sighs. “Well, at first. By now he’s a man I would be proud to die for.”

“Let’s not do that, though.” Merlin shakes his head at him. “Percival, how are you feeling? If you have insomnia, I can get you medicine for it once we’re back from our quest.”

The knight squints and grimaces.

“Worry not, Merlin. I can manage.”

“I’m your physician. If not as a friend, then I’ll worry because of my job. I can’t have people doubting my skills.”

“What skills?” Percival teases.

Gwaine laughs. Perhaps it’s easier to not be as worried as they should, because Merlin knows that Gaius should be fine.

But that leaves him questioning his decision to not only let Morgana live, but also to let her know about his immortality.

Maybe Gaius was right and it was reckless and childishly stupid of him.

Before the sun rises, they manage to find their way into the mines. All three of them sneak through the narrow halls of it.

“Knowing our luck, some weird magical creature will jump at us any minute now.” Gwaine whispers, trying to lift the mood. Percival hits the back of his head with the palm of his hand.

“You’ll bring bad luck on us by spilling such words so recklessly.”

They end up in a wider hallway, one leading to a chamber. The stones around them are covered in red dust, and there’s a distinctive smell in the air.

Aside from iron, Merlin can smell blood and sweat.

“Great.” He grunts, bending his knees to be ready. Gwaine and Percival lift their swords.

There’s a man waiting for them; he’s as tall as Percival, if not taller, and has characteristic tattoos on his chest. It isn’t a Druid symbol, but it is an Old Religion one.

Merlin groans.

“He’s from Catcha. Gods, really? Those guys are so annoying to deal with. In the future, most of them became psychiatrists. They're so creepy. Helpful, but still.”

Percival raises his eyebrow while Gwaine tries to prepare for the upcoming attack.

“Hey, big guy, how about we don’t fight?” Merlin tries to negotiate. The man doesn’t speak; instead, he smiles and holds up his blades.

“I think we’ll have to fight this guy, Merlin.” Percival whispers, sounding a bit sorry. Merlin sighs.

“I think we’ll have to kill this guy, sir Percival.” He responds, shaking his head in disappointment.

The man moves and tries to attack; Percival takes the blow and manages to hold him off. Gwaine glances at Merlin and nods subtly; the warlock tilts his head, his eyes flashing gold, and suddenly the warrior trips and falls, failing at his attack.

His dagger ends up penetrating his thigh, in a particularly unlucky place.

“We have to go.” Merlin says, leaving the fallen warrior behind. Percival and Gwaine glance at each other, before following him into the tunnels.

They come to a fork in the tunnel.

“I can’t see where each path leads.” Merlin whispers, annoyed. He feels magic around, and the smell of iron is slowly becoming overwhelming.

“Gwaine will take this one, I’ll go with you.” Percival instructs, but Merlin stops him.

“No. You go with Gwaine. I can sneak pretty well when I’m by myself. No need to worry about me.”

“You don’t even have a sword.” Percival notices, biting his lip.

“I don’t need one. I’m not here to fight, I’m here to rescue my uncle.” Merlin starts moving forward; glancing behind, he sees Gwaine stop Percival from going after him. The knights whisper to each other, before they disappear in the other tunnel.

As expected, Merlin doesn’t end up alone.

Morgana is leaning on a wall, nonchalant and weirdly calm. She grins once she takes notice of his arrival, and spreads her hands to the sides, showing that she doesn’t have a weapon. Not that it matters, because her whole self counted as one - just like Merlin, she doesn’t need a sword to be dangerous.

Merlin sighs.

“Why.” He asks, because he thought she would rethink some of her life choices after his little reveal. To his surprise, she doesn’t move to attack him, though she’s very obviously wary of him.

“I wanted to reach out to you. This seemed like the best way to get your attention.”

“Can’t you just write letters like a normal person?” She gives him a sly smile. He gathers she’s toying with him, testing his patience. Besides, with how her mental health looks, she might've thought it was a good idea and a great way of contacting Merlin.

“A letter wouldn’t assure me of getting a response.” She raises her eyebrow. “You might’ve ignored it, or showed it to Arthur.”

“So you kidnap my uncle instead.” Merlin deadpans.

“Oh, do not worry your little head about that. He’s fine, even if he deserves to suffer for blinding me to my gifts all those years.”

“You hired a Catha priest. How in f*ck did it strike you like a good idea? You know their special talent is mental torture?”

“Oh, so the old man could’ve gotten roughed up a little.” She scoffs, playing with her dress. Her eyes never once leave Merlin. He’s aware of how careful she’s being. “I didn’t order them to harm him. At least not permanently. But, as you must know, I have my own personal problems that I need to deal with.” Her eyes meet his, ice colliding with a stormy sky. “Even if I‘ll consider your words and my plans, I still have to be careful. There’s a warlock that might be my doom, if the gods let him. I don’t want to be killed yet.” She gives him a sour smile. “I wish to not be killed at all. After all, there’s much to see, isn’t there?”

“Maybe the warlock won’t attack you if you stop being evil?” From her expression he guesses that she doesn’t see herself and her actions as evil. “You might be misguided by your dreams.”

“I’m a seer, Merlin. I know your foolish mind might not be capable of understanding such a concept, but my dreams are actually prophetic visions.”

“Uh-um.” Merlin raises his eyebrows and glances at the ceiling. “And how’s that working for you? From what I know, trying to go against prophecies is a bad idea in general. They either happen or they don’t. You just need to live your life despite them.”

Morgana waves her wrist, whispering a spell, and a bigger rock appears for her to sit on. She does the same spell again, summoning one for Merlin.

He gratefully sits down and yawns.

“I haven’t slept all night because of you.” He informs her. She ignores his words, instead opting to try to entertain her curiosity.

“You speak of prophecies as if you know them.” She notices, squinting at him. Merlin looks at his nails.

“I might’ve been informed about some.”

“By that dragon that told you to poison me?”

Merlin stares at her before remembering that he did mumble about it when she captured him last week.

“He was dead set on manipulating me. Told me that Arthur is supposed to create a peaceful, equal and just kingdom. And that you will cause his death and therefore cause this era of peace to never happen.” Merlin frowns. “Arthur is supposed to be guided by a guy called Emrys.” He notices how Morgana’s hands start twitching after hearing his name. “He did a bad job, if you ask me.”

She leans forward, her eyes shining bright.

“What happened in the life you lived through?” She asks, her voice devoid of viciousness. She’s behaving like a curious child, not a dangerous sorceresses.

“You succeed. Partly. You killed Arthur.” He’s not surprised when her lips twist into a barely contained smile. The lack of snarky comments make him suspect that she’s trying to stay respectful, probably because of his immortality. As a high priestess, she has to respect gods, and if he’s not mortal, then that’s what he must be in her eyes, at least in some ways.

“I did?”

“Well. An accomplice of yours did. Emrys couldn’t save him, it was too late. I couldn’t either.” He sighs, his heart heavy with burden too old and too great to be carried for as long as he has been doing it. “And I couldn’t save you.”

“Why would you try to do that?” She asks, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Because I blame myself for letting you become this. I loved the person you were, but I no longer remember her.” He refuses to meet her eyes. “All I can remember of you is the monster filled with hatred and paranoia, one who only wants power.”

“All I want is for my people to be free.”

“No. You want to rule. You’re too much like Uther. You have more in common with him that you’d like to admit.”

“Funny. You’re actually not the first one to say that to me, you know?” She crosses her arms and leans backwards. Her chin is tilted upwards, and her back is straight. Merlin can imagine with ease a crown in her hair, or a circlet. She looks royal, even dirty with dust and coal.

“Why did you want to meet me, Morgana.” He decides to cut to the case. He’s not short tempered - really, he’s not - but the annoyance creeps back, alongside his other bad habits. It crosses his mind how easy it would be to strike her down. He can kill her without moving from his place, and she doesn’t even know it.

“Tell me about the future.”

“You can’t be serious. I’m not going to betray Arthur and tell you all the details of how you can win.”

“No.” She shakes her head and pouts her lips. “I mean future. Tell me of it. Not one that any mortal born in Camelot can know. Tell me about the world that’s waiting out there. You said there’s more to it than power. Prove it.”

It’s a challenge, he knows it. For a person who lives her life day by day, the distant future holds no value. And yet, she’s curious about it.

“We all persist.” He starts, because that one thing is more true than any other. “There’s some bad stuff happening. Some good.” He shrugs. “Cooking gets better. There’s so much music and culture. Oh, there’s this thing, the Festival of Colours. People listen to some live music and throw colorful powder at each other. You have all those classes you can take. With the internet, it’s easier to learn than ever before. Right! The internet is this weird thing that connects all people all over the globe - oh, right, you believe the Earth is flat, well, it isn’t - and you can use it to communicate, to draw, paint, create stuff or seek information - it’s hard to explain. There’s so many animals. One time there was a war against Emus - it’s a type of giant bird. It was fun.”

“You’re not making much sense. I should’ve figured that even millennia would not change that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Merlin grins. “The point is, no matter what and how, there’s much to see, to live through. Things change, sometimes fast, most often slow. It takes time before it becomes better, but it’s worth seeing.”

“And I should give up on taking my rightful place as Camelot’s ruler for some unclear future. Some festivals and new ways to gather information.”

“No. You should give up on trying to take over Camelot because it’s the right thing to do.” Merlin taps his finger on his chin. “And because I think it would be fun to experience some of history with you.”

“Well, what stops me from taking over Camelot AND experiencing the future with you by my side? I can rule and then, when I’m bored of it, go and enjoy my immortal life.”

“Holy crap you’re so hard to talk to.” Merlin groans and jumps on his feet. Morgana flinches, just barely, and slightly lifts her hand, ready to attack. “I don’t know why I want you to change, alright? I guess you were kind once, because that’s how Gwen and Arthur remember you. But for me, the only memories I hold of you are of a monster as bad as Uther. I shouldn’t care about this. I don’t even know why I try to entertain you. I should’ve taken Gaius back home without saying a word to you. I was supposed to be on vacation! I was enjoying myself! And instead of having fun, I lost my Duolingo streak, there’s no internet or technology, my favorite book won’t be written for hundreds of years, and the worst of it, I can’t help but care about people who are long dead.”

Morgana is quiet.

„If you cannot remember any other version of me, why try? Why reveal such an important secret?”

“Because Arthur misses his sister.”

His words seem to shock Morgana. She opens her eyes wide, and covers her mouth with her hand. Merlin can’t help but wonder if Morgause convinced her that no one could ever love her for what she is; that Camelot would rather see her burn than forgive her.

“Perhaps there was a time when you were much better than I ever was.” Merlin continues. There’s one memory, a forgotten one that he doesn’t really remember that clearly, but it mattered once. “When a Druid boy asked us for help, you did so without hesitating.”

“Maybe I felt that he was of my kind.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you just didn’t want to watch a child die because of hatred he didn’t deserve.” Merlin coughs. He never told anyone about this, and even if he doesn’t remember the exact event, he knows what happened, because he spent over three centuries wondering what he did wrong. “We were to let him out of the city. Arthur helped.”

“You were late that evening.”

“I was considering letting him die, then. I was afraid of what he might do if he grows up filled with hate towards Uther. Can’t blame him now, that bloody monster killed his uncle. But I was afraid that he might target Arthur too, like so many before.”

“But you came.”

“You did too. Point is, I’m no better than you. The longer you live, the more mistakes you make.”

Morgana seems to be deep in thought.

“And you honestly think that Arthur would give me a second chance?”

“Yeah. I know he won’t replace your sister, but he’s your brother. And you could show him that magic can be good. And think of all the pranks you could do. I bet we would all appreciate it if he woke up with donkey ears again.”

“You remember that?” She can’t help but ask. Merlin bursts out laughing.

“One of my fondest memories! I wrote it down so many times just so I don’t forget!”

Morgana sighs.

“I cannot promise you anything, Merlin. But I will say, your foolishness is convincing.”

“So… you won’t kidnap people just so you can talk to me again?”

“Well, how else can I do that?”

“Visit me? Or send me a letter? Like a normal person?”

“Oh, but I am anything but such.” She laughs, and for a second, Merlin can see a glimpse of the person she must’ve been before.

“May the next time we see each other be more peaceful.”

“Or may it be when I become your queen.” She taunts. Her voice echoes through the empty halls, confident and stern.

A man appears and Merlin pauses. Another catha, dressed in ceremonial robes and wielding a staff.

Merlin sends Morgana an unimpressed stare.

“Lady Morgana, I have found information about Emrys.”

“Really, Morgana? I thought you weren’t mentally torturing my uncle. You said you ordered them not to harm him.”

“Oh, shut up. I have my own agenda, and as I said, I ordered them not to harm him permanently.If I want to see the future you’re talking about, I must first survive. Gaius can count is as a form of payment for drugging me all those years to keep my magic dormant.”

“You know what, I’m not going to defend him for that, but I think you might be forgetting that he was trying to keep it a secret from Uther.”

“I had the right to know!”

“And look how well it turned out for you.”

She scowls and points her hand at him, outstretched and fizzling with magical energy.

“I might listen to you and try to understand, but don’t you dare speak to me this way.” She threatens, then turns to the catha priest. “Well? What did you find? Don’t mind him, he’s a fool who can be a good company, as it turns out. When he’s not trying to cross me, that is.”

Merlin rolls his eyes and shakes his head in disappointment. Alator looks at him, clearly searching for something. He turns to Morgana again.

“I’m not going to work with you and help you spread your cruelty. I saw what that man believes in, and the world that Emrys wants to create. I do not have his powers, but I believe in the same thing. My kind and I dream of the world he will build, and we will gladly give our lives to help.”

Morgana’s gaze darkens and her lips twist into a grimace.

“I thought you valued loyalty, and yet you turn on me and refuse me information that might save my life.”

She raises her hand and Merlin takes a step between her and Alator.

“Morgana. What good will killing those of your kind do? Is freeing the magic users and giving them justice not what you wanted? Or are you blinded by your need for power?”

“You don’t understand. Emrys is my doom. I’m a seer, Merlin. I saw him in my visions. Even if you believe they don’t matter, so many of them came true. If you want me to live, to change, I must kill Emrys first.”

“That’s just a Druid legend! No offense, man.” Merlin turns to Alator, who frowns but nods, silent. “And what if I’m right? What if those visions are just a self-fulfilling prophecy? I told you. I tried to stop you from turning from Camelot after a dragon told me that would happen, and I only helped to cause it.”

Morgana stands still, her hand raised, but doubt appears in her eyes. She screams and the wall behind Alator and Merlin explodes, several deep cracks appearing in it and spreading towards the ceiling.

“Go. Now!” She orders, fury and despair ringing in her voice. Merlin grabs Alator’s wrist and yanks him forward.

“Until we meet again, Merlin.” He hears her voice clear in his mind, and sighs in relief. He can sense her anger and all different twisted emotions, but there’s something akin to hope between them.

They stop in front of the entrance to the cave system; Alator bows deeply.

“Oh, no. No, no. Stand up. You don’t bow to me, really. I’m just a guy.” Merlin says, flustered. The catha nods and stands up, but his head remains hanging low.

“My words towards the witch were the truth. I know the burden you carry, because I carried one that’s similar, for my whole life. I had to run, people hated me, avoided me. I know what you feel, but I must assure you, you are not alone.”

“Thank you.” Merlin sighs in relief. “I have to come back to my king, he can’t survive without me.” He chuckles.

“Shall we meet again, Emrys, it’ll be an honor to give my life for yours.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Merlin assures him and points towards the forest. “I must go, have a safe trip back to your cult.”

The catha looks surprised, but lets him be. Merlin runs further out, searching for his friends.

He spots them tending to Gaius; Agravaine is with them, all greasy and looking like his usual self - the off-brand version of Snape.

While Percival takes care of Gaius, helping him sit on the horse, Gwaine looks around, sword in hand, awaiting for either Merlin or an ambush.

The warlock steps forward.

“Careful, friend, you might take my eye out with that.” He gives Agravaine a mocking smile. “My Lord, I wasn't aware you were joining us.”

“I simply felt bad for assuming that the royal physician is a traitor and wanted to fix my mistake.” He responds, glaring at Merlin. His eyebrows are knitted into a worried frown, and he’s glancing at Gaius from time to time.

Merlin squints but leaves him be - he’ll deal with his bloodlust later, when no one will suspect him for murder.

“How is he?” He asks instead, walking to the horse that’s carrying his uncle. Gaius is breathing and seems more exhausted than hurt.

“Alive.” Gwaine breathes and grins. His hand lands on Merlin’s shoulder. “I was scared for a moment that you might not be.”

“That’s true. We were getting ready to go back to the tunnels and search for you.” Percival agrees.

“Aw, you guys. If it was Arthur he would forget about me and leave me there to die. And if it was Leon he would tell you to leave me alone.” He grins in delight when Gwaine starts laughing.

Percival looks slightly confused.

“Arthur wouldn’t leave you behind. You’re his closest friend.” He whispers in reassurance and nudges Merlin with his elbow. “But when it comes to Leon… he cares, he’s just…”

“Old-timey.” Gwaine adds with a broad smile. “Otherwise he would agree to look for you.”

“Did you meet Morgana?” Percival asks, stopping their jokes. Agravaine perks up from his horse; Merlin shrugs, trying to not look wary of the noble sitting a few meters away.

“Nope. Just a catha priest. He left me alone. Probably got scared.”

“Oh yeah, there’s so much to fear.” Gwaine grins. “You could’ve complained to him until he died.”

“You’re the worst.” Merlin decides and jumps on his horse. “Let’s head back home. His royal…” he glances at Agravaine and bites his tongue before the usual prattness slips out “majesty must be worried sick. Especially with his own uncle missing.” He adds.

“Nice save.” Percival whispers, shaking his head in delight. He looks at the entire crew. “Merlin with Gaius will ride in the middle. I’ll go in the front, Lord Agravaine shall ride behind me. Sir Gwaine, you’ll be covering our back.”

The physician’s tower seems buzzing with life now that the whole kidnapping fiasco is over. As Gwaine and Percival went to give a report about how it went to Arthur, Merlin busied himself with helping Gaius.

“Fifteen hundred years of living and I still haven’t met someone so stupid. Uncle, you have magic! You could’ve blasted them away!”

“I’m old and my talents are not as strong as yours are. And revealing them would do more harm. I wouldn’t be able to fight against a catha priest.”

“Then you should’ve contacted me. Honestly. And I’m the risky one?” Merlin frowns and stops pacing. Gaius is laying in bed, carefully tucked in under several newly magically acquired covers. Even if he wasn’t thrilled with Merlin’s adamance about giving him a proper resting spot and creating blankets out of thin air, he seems happy with how soft and fuzzy they are.

Aithusa is in a good mood because of that as well, curling against Gaius’ side, enjoying the soft material.

Merlin’s ready to rant and complain even more, but he’s stopped by the door to the tower opening.

Thankfully, it doesn’t hit the wall with such force that the herbs fall. He spent two days restocking those after Leon, Lancelot and Gwaine decided to ruin his hard work.

Arthur stands on the other side and slowly enters the room.

“Glad to know you’re back safe.” He nods to Merlin, who rolls his eyes and gets ready to leave - the king has his ‘ this is a serious matter that will probably help with how emotionally stunted I am’ face. “Gaius.”

“My Lord.”

“It’s good to have you back.” He bows his head. “I came here to apologise for not being a part of the rescue mission.”

“There is nothing to be sorry for, my boy. You don’t need my forgiveness because you never have wronged me.”

Arthur sighs and looks at Gaius, before slowly nodding in acceptance.

“My uncle sends his regards. He, too, is deeply sorry. For misjudging you”

“I’m glad you weren’t affected by his worries, your majesty.”

Arthur glances at Merlin; he does it so quick that it’s easy to miss, but it’s there nonetheless. There’s fondness in his eyes when he speaks.

“My most trusted advisor seemed convinced about your innocence. Who am I to brush aside his concerns, when he has never yet failed me?”

Gaius gives him a grateful smile.

Arthur coughs and grabs a chair to sit on. He looks at Merlin, this time properly.

“Could you leave us alone for a moment?” He asks, his eyes shining.

Merlin leaves without saying a word, only giving Arthur a slight nod in response.

He’s pacing through the castle’s corridors, his magic buzzing under his skin, an itch that never comes away, begging him to create.

He lets a little blue butterfly appear in his hand, then lets it go, and watches it flutter further away.

“Merlin! Hello!” He turns, grinning when he sees Gwen.

She’s holding flowers in her hands - a gift from Lancelot, Merlin assumes.

“Hi. I see our dear friend is keeping you entertained?”

“Im must say you’re right in that regard.” She sighs and gives him a soft smile when he makes a questioning noise. “I do love him.”

“But not as much as you love me.” Merlin teases. Gwen leans into it and takes one flower out of the bouquet, then puts it behind Merlin’s ear.

“Of course. There is no competition strong enough to take your spot in my heart.”

“Strong words, my lady. Almost as strong as yourself.” He offers her his arm. “Shall we?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” She laughs, her voice resembling a melody, one from childhood, both nostalgic and comforting. “I’ve heard you were a part of the rescue mission?”

“A part? I was leading it.” Merlin smiles and pokes her shoulder. “Why, are you missing our adventures?”

“I must admit, a bit.” She squints and nudges him with her elbow. “A tiny, tiny bit. But who knows? It’s never boring with you. I don’t need a quest to appreciate your company.”

“You, my lady, are as sweet as honey, with your kind words and the yearning for chaos that hides behind them.”

She giggles and lets go of his arm. He watches her run towards the staircase, before grinning and chasing after.

When they are out in the courtyard, Gwen turns around to face him.

“Lancelot was a bit upset that you took Percival and Gwaine with you, but not him.”

“Well, I couldn't risk having that idiot sacrifice himself for the cause or something.” He says, and chuckles at her look of disbelief.

“Merlin! For how long will you complain about that?”

“Until I die. And everyone knows no gods or demons want me, so I guess the answer is forever. The eternity and beyond that.”

She shakes her head, but is clearly more amused than upset.

“I have to do the laundry, then I have to make a new sword for Elyan. He managed to shatter his previous one.” She sighs. “Honestly, brothers are idiots.”

“Perhaps you’re right. Or perhaps it’s only your brother.” He laughs when she shakes her head. “Well then, good luck. I’ll go gather some herbs, maybe try to find some fruits and spices. My dear Gwen, the food here is so basic it’s hurting me. I bet that most of Camelot would collapse and die if they tried Mexican food.”

“Have a good day, Merlin.” She giggles and looks at the flowers with a dopey smile on her face. Merlin assumes that her chores must not seem like chores with Lancelot hovering nearby, ready to fill her boredom with pure love. Before he’s exiting the courtyard, he can already see the knight walking towards Gwen, so fast as if they didn’t just see each other.

Merlin whistles and starts walking further away, subtly using his magic to guide other people’s attention away from the pair, granting them some privacy - he’s sure that Lancelot will appreciate that Leon’s sword suddenly got rusty and therefore he had to busy himself with finding a new one instead of calling for a training session.

He bows to the town’s baker, who offers him a sincere chuckle.

“Back so soon, are ye?” She nods her head slowly, a playful disapproval painted on her face.

“If nobles would stop being nothing but trouble then I might finally have some time to myself.” He groans with a cheeky grin. “And it wasn’t as soon as I would’ve liked.”

“Your uncle’s alright?”

“Yep. Enjoying some quality time with his highness.”

“Ah, so you were blessed with freedom?”

“Gotta gather herbs. Unfortunately, with Gaius gone and kidnapped we’re behind with restocking.”

“One day missing and so many problems already.” She laughs and offers him a slice of freshly baked bread.

“Oi, I’m not going to serve my patients stale medicine. It’s unhealthy. And I like gathering herbs. Gets me away from Arthur.”

The baker laughs.

“No wonder why you’d want to get away. The royal kitchens don’t feed you at all. Look at how scrawny you are. I can throw ye over my shoulder like a sack of flour.” She offers him another slice. “Us, peasants, we know how important it is for our work to be decent. That royal cook - I wouldn’t be surprised if she fed ye servants the same things she throws to pigs”

“For the sake of my head, I won’t comment on that. But it’s true that her pie is tasteless.”

The baker makes a vague gesture of see? I told ya and returns to work.

Merlin exits Camelot’s walls and continues his march towards the tree line, greeting various farmers that are returning from their day in the fields.

After he crosses through the edge of the forest, he lets his magic run wild, growing all the herbs he might need and more.

It was a good day, no matter how difficult. Gaius got rescued, Arthur still trusts him, Morgana might be reconsidering things, and, most important, Kilgharrah is too far to grant him a headache and be his usual self - an absolute manipulative annoyance.

His thoughts come to a halt when he feels gentle Druid magic prodding at them, more curious and mischievous than dangerous.

“Lord Emrys!” A voice greets him, and a familiar boy jumps out of the bushes. He has leaves and bugs in his hair and he’s holding a stick with a bundle tied at the end of it.

“Mordred.” He greets, relaxing when he sees his bright smile. The Druid boy is full of devotion, as most of them are, but he reminds him so much of his students that for a second he feels back at home, in a badly ventilated school with air so awful it causes acne. “What are you doing here? That’s a bit far from your camp, is it not?”

“I thought it would be easier for you if I came here. I know that you’re busy with your duties, and a trip to the camp might’ve been more of an inconvenience than anything.” He bows his head, a bit too low to Merlin’s liking. It’s how nobles get greeted. Ew.

He stares at Mordred, a bit puzzled. Why would it matter if Merlin went to the camp? Why was Mordred waiting for him? Why did he decide that Merlin must want to see him?

Oh.

“Oh, I promised to Iseldir that I’d see you at the end of the month, or something like that. Didn’t I.”

“Of course! Lord Emrys, I packed everything, I’m ready. I’m a good student, I promise I’ll listen to you and obey your orders.” He seems to be reciting that part, and he’s very obviously buzzing with excitement. Merlin can feel his magic - it’s full of joy and wonder, so childish but filled with much potential. “I can’t believe it. I’m glad you’ve decided to forgive me, Emrys. I can’t- I’m under Emrys’ protection. That’s so awesome.”

Merlin stares at the bundle hanging off the stick Mordred is holding, at his clothes - he’s wearing a torn and tattered cloak and his clothes look more like something a common peasant would wear than a Druid. He’s wearing a grey tunic, familiar to the old rags Merlin used to wear, and he very clearly chose clothes that cover his Druid tattoo.

To think of it, if Merlin didn’t know, he wouldn’t be able to tell that Mordred is a Druid - maybe aside from his piercing gaze. The blue eyed stare all Druids share is waiting for Merlin in his nightmares.

Mordred looks determined, a bit shy, and definitely happy.

Uh-oh. Merlin thinks. Did I promise to- no. No he can’t think that.

“Um, hi. Mordred, you left your camp.”

“Yes. So you wouldn’t have to look for me. I heard that the royal physician had been kidnapped and I assumed that’s why you didn’t pick me up from the camp last night.”

“Pick you up…” Merlin’s voice trails off. Mordred looks at him, tilting his head to the side.

“You told chief Iseldir to find me. I’m under your protection. Yesternight you were supposed to take me to Camelot so I can fulfill my duty and follow your guide.” He bows his head slightly.

“Oh.” Merlin grimaces slightly. Maybe he should’ve been more clear about that. “Did your previous camp treat you well?”

“They weren’t amused with me, because I angered you, Lord Emrys. Iseldir’s camp has been kind, but wary, because they’ve heard of your wrath and that I wronged you in some way.”

Merlin really, really can’t afford to feel guilty. He’s supposed to be on vacation! He flew to Cuba so he could avoid being responsible for kids! And he’s already busy with Arthur and his job.

“Listen, Mordred, I think there was some miscommunication. You are under my protection, but I wasn’t going to take you to Camelot with me. I mean, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I just wanted for you to not be excluded by other Druids because I was throwing a pissy fit that one time-“ he stops when he sees the look on Mordred’s face.

The boy doesn’t look angry and hateful. He seems resigned, his head hanging low, his eyes glassy.

His cheeks and ears are red in embarrassment, and Merlin doesn’t need to use his magic to sense his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Emrys. Please don’t feel insulted by my behaviour and actions. I should’ve realized-“ oh, gods, he hiccups. Merlin bites his tongue.

Mordred looks very close to crying, and he starts sniffing and - did Merlin really spend centuries painting this kid as the ultimate villain? He’s an orphan too - how could he be so hateful towards a kid whose parents are dead, uncle was killed by Uther with him barely escaping the same fate, and then losing any friendship he might’ve had with other Druids because Merlin decided to listen to Kilgharrah.

“Hey. I said I wasn’t going to take you with me. Past tense. But… I think it might be nice having you around.” Mordred’s head shots up so quickly that Merlin can hear something crack in the boy’s neck. “Call me Merlin. Magic is still illegal, and Morgana definitely has spies. Also, that’s my actual name, so I would say it’s way better. And you don’t need to devote yourself to me, be your own person. Unless you’re going to commit murder. I’m afraid only I can do that.”

Mordred nods, staring at him in awe.

“Thank you, Emrys. Merlin. I promise I won’t disappoint you.”

“I’ll try to do the same for you.” Merlin says, and sighs.

With herbs in hands and pockets, he starts walking back to the castle. Mordred follows him, jumping and giggling, barely containing his - very obvious - happiness.

It’s the biggest f*ck you towards Kilgharrah. Merlin justifies, occasionally glancing back at Mordred. The boy is giggling when a familiar blue butterfly lands on his nose.

The embodiment of evil surely seems pretty innocent.