A/N: Hey guys! I'm back again. Um, I know I have plenty of unfinished stories and I am soooo sorry, but I have the attention span of a squirrel and the personal motivation of a sloth, so... Yeah.

This story takes place in an AU where Arthur did NOT die, and he and Gwen finally know Merlin's secret. I have a multi-chapter fic planned, but this chapter can stand alone if I never actually get on with the plot I have in mind. :) Hope you guys enjoy.

Post Season 5

Warnings: None, as of yet.

Disclaimer: Why does anyone actually put these down? this is a fanfiction site.

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Chapter One: Pure Relief

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"Are... Are you sure?"

A silence passes through the seated group of three, only broken by the distant gurgle of a creak and the chatter of birds high above. The trees rustle and whisper, branches reaching like fingers to caress each other, to carve ancient secrets into their skin that can only be measured by their hallow creaks and occasional groans of displeasure when the weather nudges them. Buzzing like insects, like the sound of silence, a thrum of power rushes through everything; the ground, vibrating like the sea itself, the plant life shivering in time, blossoming towards the heavens, the very air, heavy and light and constantly swirling in a magical cadence that sprouts goosebumps over Merlin's skin.

The pair of royals exchange a shadowed but soft look and then nod, a kind smile flashing across dark lips, fair eyebrows pinching only slightly over sharp cobalt eyes. The king and queen watch the warlock with an intensity that has butterflies fluttering in his stomach.

In this moment, Merlin doesn't think he's ever been happier. His eyes crinkle, but only just, muffled by the anxiety pumping through his veins. This is what he's yearned for; his king, his queen, both looking at him, really looking at him, without contempt or fear or betrayal. It's enough to steal his breath and leave his head spinning.

He nods, taking hold of the power in his chest and closing his eyes. The world sparks in response, brushing up against his strands of magic as if to say hello. It's cool and warm at the same time, soothing the throbbing that has followed after his magic since the moment life bled into Arthur's dead eyes. "Byre, ic ábannan þú." He hears a gentle intake of breath. The wind picks up and tousles his coat. "Léaf, íewan ic Uther Pendragon."

Arthur straightening his back is the first thing Merlin sees when he opens his eyelids—aside from the slightly tilting horizon—but he keeps his gaze on the vortex of green buds and brown leaves several feet away as his eyes flash gold. He doesn't want to see their reactions just yet. The look of scared resignation that painted his king's face as he molded a dragon out of camp fire still hasn't been shaken from his mind.

It's only been a week of tentative service and avoided eye contact and slow recovering for them both since an enchanted blade nearly stole Athur Pendragon from them all. Merlin's not even sure they should be out here, preferring the smooth albeit contemplative look on Arthur's face as he lies in bed compared to the sheen of sweat and taut shoulders that speak of the pain the man must be experiencing even while sitting comfortably next to his wife on a picnic blanket. His breathing is slow and strained, as if one wrong inhale will shatter his composure. It makes Merlin's nerves grate, the impulse to ease his master's pain a near constant during their ride out into the forest. Although Gwen's smiles and looks of reassurance serve to calm his heart, he can't keep the turmoil in his head from returning. The tirade of they know, they know, they know assaulting his thoughts since the moment Gaius told him in a roundabout way that Gwen was aware of his secret, since the moment Arthur pulled away from him even whilst dying. He's spent days awaiting the announcement of his execution, at least a conversation about his magic, but all he's gotten is a surprisingly fervent thank you from Gwen during one of the lulls of her work tending to her bedridden husband. At least I'm not dead, he tells himself, but the anticipation is haunting, stealing his sleep, stealing his appetite.

And then Arthur told him to prepare three horses and food for a picnic. After so long of silence, it's not the first thing Merlin thought Arthur would say to him after finding out the truth, but he was too caught off guard to comment on it, instead opting to hurry away with a 'Yes, of course, Sire, right away'. He spent the ride behind the king and queen, watching them converse, all the while trying to stifle the unease stirring in his gut. He'd prepared the blanket and the food and the drink, watered the horses, found a spot not too far away for them to graze, all of it in silence, not speaking unless spoken to. When he wandered to the nearby stream to fetch the water, he nearly crouched behind a tree to vomit. But he forced it down with quick breaths and a touch of magic before immediately feeling guilt, having not used magic since healing Arthur enough to return to Camelot.

Gwen was the first to break his silence, with a wave and a pat on the sheet beside her. He sent a glance at Arthur but the man had his gaze somewhere on a spot on the ground, so he obeyed the queen's request, although hesitantly, hardly daring to breathe.

After several minutes of silence, Arthur swallowed and looked Merlin in the eye. "Show us something."

At first he was confused, but after yet another bout of silence, the meaning behind the words became clearer.

"You mean... magic?" He'd never thought he'd be the once flinching at the word, but he did, surprised at the other two's composure despite the topic of conversation.

And so he concentrates now, ignores the twinge of pain that accompanies his magic, lifting a hand towards the swirling foliage, and prompts the earth and the wind to form legs and arms and then a head. The apparition hovers a foot above the ground as it stutters in the wind, and Merlin forms a band of gold to adorn the face of cream blossoms. A layer of silvery leaves cover the silhouette's front, deep scarlet petals layering the sides and the arms, earthy leafage for the trousers, the gloves, and finally a blazing red flock of ruffled roses to cascade down the form's spine and spread out into a cloak that ripples in the sunlight like velvet. Merlin purses his lips and lifts the image's chin, broadens the shoulders, forces strength and authority into the posture.

The image is constantly twisting, churning, like a swarm of birds, but retains it's features clearly. A pang of doubt hits Merlin and he hopes it's distinguishable as a person, a very important person, as the late king of Camelot.

The moment of recognition is punctuated by a breathless grunt from Arthur as he climbs to his feet. Merlin relaxes minutely, lowering his hand back into his lap, and chances a glance at his king.

Blue meets blue, a combination of disbelief and curiosity and a hint of fear swimming in Arthur's cobalt. Mouth dry, Merlin nods, softly brushing his magic against the wind, satisfied when the shape of Uther raises a hand in greeting towards his son. The image floats closer and shimmers in the air, dark leaves brushing Arthur's cheek in an imitation of a fond caress.

"Léaf, íewan ic Gwen's fæder, broþor."

Leathery foliage flies from the ground, the trees, collecting to shape a man with walnut chips for eyes, shoulders relaxed, humble, and then quickly rotates to a slimmer form, glimmering silver replacing the worn tan of the torso, more fiery leaves falling like water from the shoulders to construct a similar cloak to that of Uther's. Gwen stands next to her husband and her eyes glisten.

"Oh, Merlin..."

She takes small steps towards the figure, hand outstretched to mingle with the motion of the spectacle. The form of Elyan mimics her motion by raising it's length of silver leaves and brushing her fingertips, wind catching Gwen's curly locks.

Then as quickly as they gathered, the whirlwind of color disperses, scattering in the air, fluttering to land on the king and queen's shoulders, the ground, some floating out of sight, carried by the wind. The forest stills and the singing of birds quiets to occasional chirps. Merlin feels lightheaded, vision blurred, and he reaches up to wipe at the smudges of moisture he hadn't noticed were there until now, a cold grip of uncertainty clutching his heart. For a moment the irrational thought that they're still scared of him rushes through his mind, but the image of Gwen's wet gaze and sad smile cause it to screech to a halt. No, they're not scared. At least not Gwen.

Heart hammering, Merlin flicks his eyes to Arthur's, but the man still faces the place where the mirage of Uther had been, body ramrod straight.

He opens his mouth to say something, he's not sure what, but Gwen beats him to it.

"I don't know what to say... That was..." She turns, looking down at the servant. "...like nothing I've ever... That was beautiful."

Something warm bubbles in Merlin's chest. He gives a timid smile, gaze darting between his king and his queen. She catches on and eyes her husband, reaching out a hand and gently grasping his shoulder. The response is instantaneous, Arthur's head snapping in her direction, and she's quick to whisper something in his ear that Merlin can't quite catch. The pair turns and lowers themselves to sit, Gwen's hand clinging to his arm even after they're seated. Silent support, somehow for both of her boys. Merlin's smile grows a little more.

He meets Arthur's gaze and the smile falters. The cold fear is back at the sight of his master's blank expression, but then light creeps into the man's eyes and he lifts his gaze to meet Merlin's. There's awe and questions stirring in his irises, and something else that Merlin can't decipher. He fiddles with his fingers and drops his gaze to stare at them.

A deep voice clears its throat, nearly making the young warlock flinch, but he focuses on the rough edges of his fingernails, the dirt crusting the crevices, the intricate pattern of his skin.

"Thank you."

This time he does flinch, the words momentarily yanking him back to a lake and glistening red on chain-mail, bloodless skin and lifeless blue. He jerks his head up towards the sound of the voice and forces himself not to flinch a second time, daring to hope...

Yes, there is definitely not fear or resentment in those eyes. At least.

"...For what?"

Arthur looks past him at something over his shoulder, then back to his face. "I'm not sure, but... Thank you all the same."

A smile rides on Gwen's lips, bright, contagious, and it spreads through the group, filling a number of cracks and fissures in Merlin's soul, soft like healing balm, warm like sun rays at high noon. He wants to live in this moment for the rest of his life. His king, his queen, his friends, truly happy even in the presence of his true self. He cannot ask for anything more.

But not all are so accepting.

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A/N: And that's it. It's more of a prologue, really. And it's super fluffy. But I'm proud of it. :3 Hope you enjoyed. Look forward to future chapters, but don't count on them, because I am the most undependable author on this website.

Please share your beautiful thoughts with meeeee. I'll give you cookies.