Arthur made it his responsibility to ready Merlin for the ceremony. The court and the knights did not know of Merlin's fate; only that they would be joined by a new, noble soul. Thus, Merlin sat in Arthur's chambers, freshly bathed, draped in fine linens, and doused in sweet fragrances. Arthur stood behind him, brandishing shears and razors. With a light touch of his finger to Merlin's chin, the boy lifted his head, displaying his bangs before his king. Taking up the shears, Arthur slowly cut away the curls from his eyes, occasionally taking a comb and running it through his friend's dark locks for accuracy. When he was finished, he took up the razor and held it to Merlin's neck before gently stroking the blade up along his underjaw before proceeding to clean the rest of his face of stubble.

In the end, Merlin's face was smooth and his thick hair was brushed back off of his face and behind his ears. Arthur took his hand and gently placed it over his lips. He explained to him then, what would be done during the ceremony, and what would be said. Merlin nodded with tears in his eyes and a smile on his face as Arthur recited his speech. Then, the king escorted Merlin to the great hall.

The council was all ready and waiting when Merlin was led in by his king. Many members of the court were confused by the boy's fine dress whilst Merlin's closest friends smiled knowingly at the king for his honorable decision. They all watched as Arthur positioned Merlin beside him and his wife, anxiously awaiting the king's announcement.

Arthur stood royally, straight and tall before the court, and took a deep breath. Mentally preparing himself for the varying reactions, he announced his decision.

Recounting his experiences and mistakes over the past few months, Arthur told his subjects of what had become of Merlin and why. He relayed unto the court all of his regrets and his desires for the future. As well, he admitted to the wrongness of Uther's laws and renounced the ban on magic. When his tale was finished, he saw that many of the council members were eyeing Merlin strangely or with hatred, disregarding his noble deeds in favor of only seeing what Uther's blinding film of hatred would let them. Arthur paid them no mind, however, and turned to his dearest friend, receiving a reassuring smile from his wife as he did so.

Arthur placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder, a cue for him to walk forwards with his king. They did so and Arthur let his hand drift down the length of Merlin's arm before he let him go. This meant that Merlin was to kneel, and he did, bowing his head in honor of his greatest friend.

"Though Merlin's sacrifices have taken his senses from him, they did not take his strength," Arthur announced to the court in a hard, determined voice. "He has power beyond imaginable, both in magic and in mind, but, most importantly, in heart. Merlin is the noblest man I have ever had the privilege to know." With that, Arthur drew his sword, smiling as it glittered in the warm light of the hall. "And that is why I, Arthur Pendragon, dub Merlin the grand shaman, groom of the stool," he paused, looking over the gathered crowd as he prepared to deem Merlin something he had not informed him or anyone of, "and duke of Camelot!" He brought his ceremonial sword down upon Merlin's shoulders unflinchingly even as the crowd burst with commotion and dear Gwen gasped from behind him.

Merlin stood as instructed earlier and smiled with glassy eyes, unaware of the roaring council before him. Arthur put his arm around his shoulder, looking proudly at his friend, knowing he would have to deal with his wrath later.

"Do you understand your new duties?" Arthur asked into Merlin's hand later that evening as he helped the newly dubbed shaman prepare for the celebration.

"Aren't I to do all that I have already done regardless?" Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur nodded, straightening the warlock's collar whilst struggling to look at Merlin's attire through his outstretched arm. "And then some."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"Well," the king began guiding Merlin to a chair and sitting down beside him, "as groom of the stool, you are my private confident. I may share any secret with you and trust that it shall remain as such; a secret. You are, in other words, in charge of my bedchambers. You decide who is to clean and to care to it. Whenever we are in this room, all conversations are private."

Merlin hummed in understanding.

"As grand shaman . . . well, it isn't exactly an official status quite yet, but you will be in charge of all magical affairs, unless your decision is overridden by someone of higher standing, like Guinevere or myself."

"Alright," Merlin agreed.

"And, as duke . . ."

"What?" Merlin said, sitting up straight and grabbing at Arthur's wrist. He could feel Arthur bite his lip. He scowled. "Why didn't you tell me."

"Because I knew you would refuse!" Arthur argued.

Merlin turned his head more towards Arthur. "Yes! I would have! You know I don't want that!"

"Listen," Arthur tried to coax, "it's just a title. You are now above any man in Camelot. I don't want the people to think that they can pass judgment on you. Gwen, I, and our future heir will still be above you, there's no way that you'd ever—"

"Wait," Merlin interrupted, swallowing. "So, if you and Gwen . . ."

Arthur nodded into Merlin's hand. "You would be sovereign prince."

Merlin visibly paled. Then, with a disapproving air, he turned away from Arthur, letting his hand fall way from the king's mouth.

"Merlin, please," Arthur pled futilely, trying and failing to reach for his hand. But Merlin balled them into fists and refused to feel him speak.

"You know I barely even wanted any titles, Arthur. I don't need this," he said, stretching his arms away from his royal grasp. "Besides, aren't dukes meant to be hereditary? I'm hardly allowed to be deemed as such, am I? I suppose you'll just have to revoke my title," Merlin argued with a smile and short breath as he felt Arthur's weight on his chest, climbing over him to try and grab one of his hands.

In his struggle, the chair tipped over and Merlin fell backward, his eyes going wide. Arthur toppled over him, rolling onto the floor. He crawled back over to Merlin, breathing heavily, and snatched up one of his hands, bringing it to his face. "Oh well," he huffed, smiling at his own victory. But Merlin didn't respond. He didn't even move and his hand felt limp in Arthur's grip.

Panicked, Arthur scrambled and knelt over Merlin. Softly, he shook him by the shoulder, but his half lidded eyes didn't so much as flicker. Then, his own heart pounding, he pressed his fingers to Merlin's neck to feel his pulse.

Holding his breath, he waited for a sign of life, only to be greeted by a mischievous smile and the small rumble of laughter. Arthur sits back on his heels and smacks Merlin playfully on the side of the head. "Oh! You idiot! You had me scared to death!" Arthur yells. Though Merlin can't hear him, he guesses what the rumble in Arthur's chest is about, feeling it as he presses against him to escape his accusing smacks.

Still trying to recover from their laughter, they arrive at the feast together. Arthur leads Merlin to his seat before taking his own, the queen on his left and shaman on his right. It feels right to be sitting between the two most important people in his life, both of them ruling beside him.

Arthur sees to a toast in honor of Merlin, Guinevere, and his loyalists of knights. All of his subjects stand. Merlin, having felt the movement in the room, tilted his head in question. To which, Arthur placed his goblet in his hands. Merlin understood and joined them in standing. Then, unified, all who were present took a sip of their wine before cheering for their newfound shaman.

Merlin is beside himself when food is offered to him. Not only could he not see where his food was, but there was an overwhelming mixture of aromas. Normally, when Gaius would lay down soup before him, he could tell that it had arrived, the steam rising into the air. But now, there was so strong a stench of fine eatery, that he wouldn't have been surprised if someone was holding up a prized, steamed turkey over his head.

What's wrong?" Arthur spelled into his shoulder upon seeing his furrowed brow.

"I don't know where . . ." Merlin started, trailing off, feeling embarrassed. He bowed his head. "I can't tell where the food is or what's been served," he mumbled.

Arthur frowned and patted his friend on the back before taking one of Merlin's hands in his own. Slowly, he brought it to the main dish in front of him. That is the meat. It's duck, he wrote into Merlin's shoulder with his other hand. He gently placed Merlin's fingers on the edge of a warm bowl. The soup. Then another. Pastries. And another. Fruits. And so on until he told him of the pudding.

Merlin smiled bashfully as he took up his utensils. Arthur brought his free hand to lips before he could begin eating. "If you wish, it can be arranged in the same way at each feast," he whispered into Merlin's palm. "That way, you shall always know without aid."

"I would like that," Merlin admitted shyly, not wishing to receive special treatment. His hand was forced, however; he may not want it, but he did need it.

Merlin spent the rest of the feast with a smile stuck between his cheeks. He enjoyed the succulent food, most of which he had never been granted the opportunity to taste before. Many of his friends passed by his chair, speaking to him with messages of congrats and updates on their lives. Arthur would occasionally take up his hand and tell him something that had happened at another part of the room.

When the celebrations came to an end, Arthur escorted Merlin out through the crowd. As they passed through the corridors, Merlin felt someone hook their foot around his ankle and then suddenly his world was spinning. He stumbled, trying to right himself, arms flying out before latching onto Arthur's sleeve. The king's other hand came up and abruptly stopped him, making him feel nauseous. Hurriedly, Arthur walked him onwards, ushering him along with a hand to his back.

"Who was that?" Merlin asked quietly after a few moments.

Arthur didn't answer, only quickened his pace.

"Arthur?" Merlin asked tentatively as he was nudged into Arthur's chambers. The king let go of him and Merlin could only assume that he had begun to pace. A slender hand on his shoulder made him jump and he became aware of Gwen's company for the first time. She brought his hand to her lips.

"It was Lord Malcom, he—"

Arthur snatched his hand away from Gwen, making Merlin flinch. He had to concentrate to feel what Arthur was saying, he talked so fast. "He is no lord to me any longer! He doesn't even deserve to be a serf! He's distastefully disrespected someone of higher ranking than him and he shall be punished—revoked of his title! And don't you dare try to pardon him, Merlin! Even if you show Mercy, he has, by disrespecting you, in turn disrespected me and my decision as king!"

"Arthur," Merlin argued, trying to follow after him as he stormed further into his chambers, "you must practice some patience and . . . leniency. You were once in a similar state if mind as he. Magic is new and frightening to these people and you must give them time to learn of its neutrality."

Again, his hand was snatched up by the king. "It still remains that he has stooped to low levels—tripping a new member of the court like a jealous child! He disrespected you! This isn't out of fear! You didn't see his face! This is out of utter ignorance and refusal! I might have not understood magic but I respected the Druids! I met them courtly and battled with honor against them!"

Merlin's breathing began to quicken as he struggled to both understand Arthur's rant and take in all that was being said. He figured Gwen must have tried to intervene because he could feel Arthur looking over his shoulder at the queen. His grip was tight around his wrist and it made him squirm; that he had caused such uproar within the court and between the royal couple. Gwen placed what was meant to be a comforting hand on his shoulder, but Merlin's eyes glazed over with guilt and woe.

"Yes, but you had to learn that respect! Surely, Uther hadn't advised you to make peace with the Druids! Surely, he did not show honor when he slaughtered children and destroyed families! You had to develop and learn before you were able to see the human in those your father treated as monsters! These people, your people, need that time as well! Do not strip a man down to worthless for one, naive act of prejudice!"

"He tried to humiliate you!" Arthur shouted. Merlin could feel his hot, angry breath on his hand. "Not only did he blatantly ignore your status, but he used your blindness against you to make you seem like the fool! He acts in cowardice!"

Somewhere along the line, the dam broke and Merlin felt Arthur's breath falter as the king noticed the tears leaking through Merlin's defenses. Gwen's grip was tight on his shoulder and Arthur's was loose about his joint. Taking a shuddering breath, he continued his argument. "And, when you left me—when you left me to die because you were too afraid of what magic could do, of what few out of many had done with it, was that not in cowardice? Did that not leave me humiliated? You speak of disrespect because I noble merely acted out against change, when you let the past blind you so much that I was left for dead! You wanted me dead, Arthur! And now . . . now you're trying to make up for by punishing people who think the same as you had . . ." Merlin's words faded into hiccupping breaths. Arthur's hand was frozen, cupping his wrist and Gwen had pulled away, either to cover her mouth or leave the scene, Merlin guessed. As he shook and wept, he wished that Arthur would move, that he would say something. Merlin felt alone for a long moment and he would have held his breath if he wasn't so devastated. Part of him, for once, wanted to be left alone, wanted to be abandoned in his dark, silent world, because he was afraid, petrified of what would happen next.

The king's hand slowly fell away from him, abandoning him in the void, making him feel incredibly isolated and vulnerable. Then, nearly startling Merlin out of his skin, trembling arms wrapped around him, holding him tight as if Arthur was afraid that Merlin would fall again, right through the floor, never to be seen again. His own limbs shaking, he held Arthur in return. He could feel him muttering apologies into his shoulder, causing his heart to flood with guilt and woe and regrets, burning like boiling water inside his chest.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Arthur pulled away, looking intensely into Merlin's unseeing eyes, gripping his shoulders firmly. His hands slid down Merlin's arms until he cradled one of his hands. So sorry, he spells. I have wronged you. I have hurt you for life. I have—

Merlin balled his hand into a fist, holding Arthur's firmly. "Don't do this," he breathed through his tears. "Don't . . . Just let me forgive you."

He let Arthur write again. How could you?

"Because you have forgiven me."

Gwen eventually took them both by shoulder and lead them to the table where all three of them could calm themselves. Merlin seemed to be half asleep, nodding off every few moments. Gwen was visibly shaken by the ordeal, especially Merlin's horrid but true accusations against the king. Merlin could even sense her unease. Arthur was exhausted as well, but he knew sleep was far from him, his own wrongdoings churning uncomfortably in his mind.

Gwen poured some cool water into glasses, Merlin being blind and Arthur too shaken, to hopefully help draw them out of their stupor. Merlin seemed uninterested, only seeming to occasionally bring the cup to his lips without actually drinking from it. Arthur took large gulps, trying to wash away the lump in his throat. Gwen took small, frequent sips, monitoring her husband and friend.

As they calmed, Arthur slumped over in his chair, resting his head on the table. Blinking his bleary eyes, he looked up past his folded arms, noting how tired his friend looked. Then, he rolled his head to the side to look at his queen. "You better take him home," he uttered.

Wordlessly, Gwen agreed, standing and taking Merlin by the hand. Groggily, Merlin followed, shuffling behind her as she guided him. Arthur watched as he was taken home to slumber, hopefully wishing that he would rest easier than he would.

When Merlin woke, his head ached and his eyes burned. He rubbed at them furiously and mentally berated himself. Gaius had warned him about sleeping with his eyes open, but he didn't always realize that he was doing so, and last night's distractions hadn't helped him any. After avoiding a lecture from Gaius, he slipped out of the physician's chambers, not wanting to sit and groan whilst Gaius tutted into his hand.

He'd come a long way since his trauma, now able to walk to select locations without aid. He knew how to get to Arthur's chambers easily. The kitchens, the great hall, and the throne room are simple as well, not to mention Gaius's chambers, his usual point of reference. There were a few other places he could get to if he trailed his hand along the wall. Otherwise, he preferred to be lead or accompanied, lest he get lost in his own home. He didn't trust himself outside. There weren't as many familiar landmarks for him to anchor onto and far too much open space that was difficult to navigate, not to mention the scores of people hustling and bustling this way and that.

He shook these thoughts from his head as he came close to the king's chambers. He briefly acknowledged that he was recalling his memorized routes primarily to rid his mind of memories pertaining to the night before. He hoped that, if he acted as though the matter was not so serious, it would be as such. It's not that he didn't mean what he had said. Arthur's actions were cowardice, but Merlin didn't blame him. The king had been victim to much trauma involving magic. It was only natural that he would react to it negatively. He could only be glad that the king was noble and understanding enough to demand an apostasy in amends to his errors and misjudgment.

"Enter," Arthur called out upon hearing a soft knock on his chamber door.

He looked to his wife when nothing happened. She offered him a thin lipped smile as he clambered to his feet. "Must be Merlin," he muttered.

Opening the door, he welcomed Merlin inside.

Merlin fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve as Arthur guided him in, his hand cold as he pressed on. He felt Arthur ask, Have you eaten? into the small of his back. When he replied in the negative, the king sat him down and offered him a plate of fruits, leftover from his own meal. After a moment of trepidation, Merlin began to pick at the berries and slices that were given to him.

He paused for a moment, his hand hovering over the plate, a grape loose in his grip. "Hello, Gwen," he said.

The queen looked to her husband with wide, bewildered eyes.

"Your perfume," Arthur quickly explained.

Gwen rested her hand on Merlin's shoulder in greeting, looking impressed with his enhanced, remaining senses.

"Come on," Arthur said into Merlin's somewhat sticky fingers once he was finished eating. "We want to show you something."

Scoffing at the king's choice of words, sarcastically wondering to himself how exactly anything could ever be shown to him again, Merlin stood and let his king and queen guide him from the room.

They didn't go far.

"Where are we?" Merlin questioned, confused as to why they had only moved a small ways down the hall before stopping and stepping into another room.

He was left unanswered and, somewhat irritated with the lack of communication, allowed Arthur to walk him further inside. He stopped him a little ways into the room and brought his hand to his lips.

"This was . . . Merlin, we were meaning to give this to you yesterday, but then . . . Well, anyways, I know I can't right what I did wrong . . . You were right; I was a fool and a coward and I . . . I've been thinking a lot about what my mistakes have done to you . . . nothing I can possibly do can make up for what I did, and I'm beyond sorry . . ." Arthur took a deep breath and Merlin closed his eyes as guilt tickled his mind. "I was just thinking, with your new status and all . . . you deserve more than this, I know, but there isn't any gift that could equal all that you have given me over the years . . . so . . ."

"Arthur, you're babbling more than I do," Merlin joked. He felt Arthur smile. "Honestly, it's hard to concentrate on what you're saying."

"Sorry," Arthur huffed. "As I was saying, these are . . . these are your new chambers."

Merlin froze, shuddering at the unfamiliar space around him; the void that he had yet to commit to sensual memory. "My . . . chambers—what?"

"You're of an incredibly high ranking now, Merlin, and this is closer to where you'll be performing your duties."

"I . . . what about Gaius, and my things? I . . ."

"Gaius can have all that he wants, and your belongings can be brought up here easily enough."

"I don't know . . . Thank you! Of course, I'm grateful, but . . ."

"You don't have to take it, honestly. However, I do wish to give you this, regardless of where you lay." Arthur took Merlin by the shoulders and maneuvered him over before gently coaxing him into a sitting position.

A chill went up Merlin's spine as he was seated, sinking into the chair that seemed to give only slightly, enough to curve comfortably about him. He leaned back, hands on his lap, and let out a breath. "Thank you," he said sincerely. It was an incredibly comfortable chair and smelled of freshly carved wood.

But Arthur brought his hands away from his lap and lifted them up, resting them gently on the arm rests.

Merlin felt tears prick at his eyes as he felt the small, intricate details carved into the wood; small images of animals, beasts, and people, all only about the size of his fingertip. He wedged his digits along the varying indents whilst his heart fluttered wildly about in his chest. Suddenly, he lifted one hand, holding it out to where he believed Arthur to be standing.

With a smile, Arthur explained, "I saw the way you always touched things, like you were deciphering them. So, I had this made for you, hiring the best whittlers, carvers, and craftsmen to perfect it."

Gwen came and rested her hands gingerly on Merlin's shoulder as he continued to rub at a small section of the carvings.

"Each one is different," Arthur elaborated. "I figured it'd make your time less boring."

Forgetting about the chair and yet thinking only of it and what it meant, Merlin launched onto his feet and wrapped his arms around Arthur's neck, crying into the king's shoulder. "I'm sorry. Thank you, Arthur. I'm so sorry for what I said last night. I never . . . you're not a coward—you had every right to—"

"No," Arthur said, and Merlin could tell just by the rumble in his chest. He offered his shaking hand. "I had absolutely no right to leave you there." He then crushed Merlin in a tight embrace, thanking destiny, fate, or whatever cruel power there was for having the smallest bit of mercy and letting Merlin live.