Merlin knocked quietly on Arthur's door, far later than the candlemark Arthur had allowed him. He waited there, hand on the doorknob, half-anxious for and half-dreading the conversation he knew was about to take place.

The door jerked open and Arthur scoffed. "Decided to knock now that these are your rooms as well?" he said, walking to the table and handing Merlin the goblet of wine there.

Shrugging, Merlin took it and peered into it, not sure if he should drink or not.

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking." Arthur took the glass and drank deeply, then handed it back to him. "Funny, Merlin, how I find out you've been lying to me for months and suddenlyyou don't trustme. Why is that?"

Merlin set the wine down without drinking. He knew how quickly it went to his head, and he wanted to stay as sober as possible right then, hoping Arthur wasn't too far into the bottle yet, either. "Could be because what I am and what I do is illegal."

"Then I'd say it's a good thing you're not actually subject to the laws of Camelot, or I'd have to turn you in, wouldn't I?" Arthur lectured, obviously struggling to hold his serious expression.

"I don't understand," Merlin said, completely at a loss.

"You're from Ealdor, which, as you know, is in Cenred's Kingdom."

Merlin nodded, still confused. "But why should that matter? I live here, I work here..."

Arthur scoffed, "I'd hardly call it working, but, yes, I thought of that. The thing is, Merlin, I'm not in any particular hurry to fight Cenred's battles for him. Seems I have my hands full here in Camelot without worrying about my enemies' enemies, as it were." He held a hand out to indicate Merlin, as if it weren't obvious.

Merlin grinned. "So you're not going to tell your father that I'm-"

"Let me finish!" Arthur interrupted, his hand slicing the air to silence Merlin, his smirk disappearing. "As Crown Prince, I am allowed a certain amount of latitude in judging such matters. So, I forbid you from speaking of your... gifts. You shall not, unless threatened with death, tell another living soul. Do you understand me, Merlin? No one is to know what I know."

"Arthur, wait," Merlin started to object. There were so many unforeseeable ways he could break that kind of vow without intending to. "There is more you should know before I agree."

"There is nothing to agree or disagree with, Merlin. It is done and that is my final word on the subject."

"I won't tell anyone else, not unless lives are at stake, but there is something you must hear. You must listen to me." Merlin swallowed hard, not knowing if he could really say the words out loud.

"You cannot give me an order, Merlin, no matter how many times you try to." Arthur crossed to the mantle, facing away from him. "I know all I need to."

Wordlessly, Merlin held his hand out, palm up, and thought a small flame into existence. He could tell Arthur this way, and he wouldn't have to find the words.

"Arthur, look at me."

"I'd rather look at this pitiful excuse for a fire you've got going. What happened to your fire-starting prowess, eh?" Arthur said, kneeling at the hearth and poking at the smouldering logs with an iron.

Merlin couldn't believe what he'd just heard, but he wasn't about to challenge the prince's calm reaction. He went to the fireplace, depositing the flame onto the pile of charred wood, but Arthur turned away from him, reaching for a few pieces of wood and tossing them on top of Merlin's flame.

"That should hold us for now," Arthur nodded, finally meeting his gaze. Merlin swore he saw sadness there, this time. "But you'll need to tend to it again soon, Merlin."

"Of course," he answered, his throat thick with doubt. He truly didn't think Arthur was talking about the fire anymore. "Arthur, I-"

"Leave me now." Arthur 's voice was low, and Merlin knew that command well. It was never what the words meant, and he never obeyed them.

"No." It sounded more like a request than a refusal, and he supposed it was. "Are you angry with me?"

Arthur carefully leant the iron against the wall in the corner by the fireplace. "I was. Now? No, I'm not angry, precisely."

Merlin slumped back to the bench and sat, unable to speak. Arthur was beyond angry, then. Beyond caring, had already written him off, perhaps. Or hurt, so hurt he couldn't even say how much pain Merlin had caused him.

Sitting down just beside him, so close that their thighs and arms touched, Arthur stared at the fire.

The brush of Arthur's shoulder against his own sent tingles to his fingertips and up his neck. Arthur didn't seem to notice, but Merlin's entire body was hypersensitive.

Arthur looked at him, then, but Merlin couldn't turn his head to look back at him. What if Arthur saw this, too? He couldn't confess his true feelings, not before Arthur knew everything. Or ever.

Merlin's throat constricted and he closed his eyes, resting his elbow on his knees, dropping his head into his hands. He ached to his marrow, the quiet just as cutting as if Arthur had been screaming.

A hand rested on his upper arm, warm and strong. "There is so much you could do, Merlin."

Merlin heard the regret clearly, because he felt it more keenly than Arthur ever could. "So much I should already have done, I know." Merlin's fingers tightened in his hair, the pull helping him hold himself together. He owed Arthur this conversation, this and many others.

"I didn't say that," Arthur countered, though it sounded as if he had to bite down to keep from saying more.

"You didn't have to; I know I've failed you. I've failed everyone I care about, everyone who died because I wasn't brave enough or fast enough or smart enough to do something when I had a chance. I do try - I'm just not..." He couldn't admit every detail of his shortcomings yet, but he could voice that much truth out loud.

Arthur's hand squeezed tightly on his arm, then released him. "I've felt the same way in combat. If I'd feigned this way instead of that, if I'd driven my horse just a little harder and arrived a moment sooner. I've seen people die because of my mistakes."

Merlin looked up then, still unable to look at Arthur. "Please don't do that. I know what I am." Merlin lowered his head again. "I am what you say, Sire, every word."

"Despite your general distraction, I know you aren't dim enough to believe I actually mean those names I call you, Merlin."

Incompetent, ignorant, clumsy... good for nothing, lacking a spine, a brain, useful skills. It was true. Well, he was sometimes good at cleaning up messes, but he was just as apt to make them unless he used magic and if he did, he was stupid for using it to such a menial end. Arthur's insults hadn't hurt because they'd been insulting, they'd dug in deeply because they were true.

"I know you say them in... anger, or to get me to do better, but that doesn't make them any less true."

"You have been hiding - very well, apart from the occasional need for my unconsciousness - a secret that could mean your death. Even after you knew it, you stayed in the heart of the most dangerous place you could possibly be and kept doing a job you hate. I'd like to know why."

His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure Arthur could feel it. "You."

"Me?" Arthur put a hand on the back of his neck, urging him to look up, and Merlin did, reluctantly. "What do you mean, me?"

Merlin looked at him, finally, and his eyes filled as soon as they met Arthur's. He couldn't help it, he was losing everything, everything that meant anything to him. Even if he stayed in Camelot, things would never be as they were.

"Kilgharrah told me of a prophecy. It says that you and I... we share a destiny. It says if Albion is to be united in peace, I must stay by your side and help you, protect you. That you must reconcile Camelot with magic."

He watched it happen, because he had to. He had to be sure, if it was over.

Arthur blinked and it was like a shield fell between them, Merlin felt so completely cut off from Arthur in that instant. He'd known it was coming and still, it felt like someone had cleaved him in two.

"I came to Camelot seeking knowledge, and in truth, I hoped I'd find friendship as well," he whispered, "You've given me both, and I will always be grateful. I never meant to... I never meant for any of this to happen. If this is my destiny, I don't understand why it..."

"Why it's not easier?" Arthur scoffed. "You'd think those ancient prophets would cut us a break now and then."

Arthur bumped his knee against Merlin's, giving him a small smile and Merlin couldn't help but return it.

"I'll understand if you want me to leave Camelot." Merlin looked at the fire, nodding. "I would be fine. There's plenty of work on farms, and I can always go home."

"You're saying you wouldn't end up in a cave?" Looking up, Arthur nodded at the fireplace. "You are just as unobservant as you accuse me of being, Merlin."

He looked up, noticing for the first time what sat in the centre of the mantle: his dragon statue. He stood and picked it up, looking it over. "You took it from my room?"

"I think it's the only thing you left behind when you moved down here." Arthur came to stand beside him, his arm going around Merlin's shoulders as he reached out to touch the carving. "I suppose I wouldn't mind too much if you wanted to keep it on the mantle. It's not badly done. The rest of your things will have to go in your room, though."

Merlin gaped at him. "You want me to stay?"

"It's been a long day," Arthur said, stretching and walking over to step behind the dressing screen. "I'll bathe in the morning. Bring me clothes to sleep in."

Going to the armoire, feeling as low as the flagstones, Merlin pulled out a pair of Arthur's pyjama trousers, his hand stopping on a second pair for himself. He rubbed his fingertips over them, the softness and warmth calling to him.

"Get yourself something, too," Arthur said from behind the screen, though how he knew, Merlin had no idea. "We'll send to the market for nightclothes of your own tomorrow."

"No prancing around naked for me, then," he asked, his face heating despite the fact that it was meant to be a jibe at Arthur.

"Not unless you're prepared for the consequences." Arthur said lightly, reaching out from behind the screen. "Now give me those and go to bed before you fall over and I have to carry you there."

Merlin smiled as he placed the pyjamas into Arthur's outstretched hand. "Thank you, Sire."

He turned down Arthur's bedding, then ducked into the antechamber and lit a candle. He stripped off and stepped into Arthur's nightclothes for the second time that week.

Arthur was clearly trying not to be upset with him, though just how upset the prince was, Merlin couldn't guess. He might never forgive Merlin, might only be keeping him close so he could keep an eye on him.

Or maybe Arthur just needed time, more time to process and accept. As much as Merlin hated to wait silently, he would do it. He would earn Arthur's trust again, no matter how long it took. And then break it all over again with thewhole truth?

His hands went to his thighs, fingers curling into the soft material. It felt like he was somehow touching Arthur, like if he just held on tightly enough, Arthur wouldn't be able to slip away from him. Merlin blew out the candle and silently swung the door open on its hinges with a thought. Arthur's room was dark and quiet, save the sound of the prince's breathing.

As he listened to the inhalations evening out, he realized what Kilgharrah had been saying all along, though he'd never once heard it: He wasn't the one who would complete Arthur. Arthur was the one who would complete him. And if that never happened, if Merlin had ruined everything... he'd be alone again.

Arthur mumbled something in his sleep, his bed creaking as he turned over. Merlin could see Arthur's shoulders and hair catching the flickering light from the fire. Even now, he wanted to touch, wanted that smooth, glowing skin against his own. His cock hardened at the thought, and he pressed his arm against it, sighing at the sweet pressure. How he could be aroused after the week he'd had was beyond comprehension.

He closed his eyes, willing away the desire, but when he opened them, Arthur was still there, bare to the waist, covers kicked low around his hips, arms wrapped around his pillow. The firelight licked up his back and over his arms, orange and yellow against tanned skin. The angle brought to mind Arthur training in summer with the knights, all of them stripped to their trousers in the heat, pulling their strikes because none of them were protected as they usually were.

Merlin didn't compare. Arthur would never look at him like this; He was nothing to look at.

It was ridiculous, thinking of Arthur like that, ridiculous and pathetic. He refused to behave like some love-struck chamber maid, simpering and drooling all over her master's feet. He would never let Arthur know, especially not now.

He closed his eyes and let his tears fall. He pulled the blankets higher around his shoulders and pressed his face into the damp pillow-case, thinking how some men had earned his tears.

If they remained- well, friends, he wanted to think, - then Merlin would do his duty, his job, and forget all the rest. He had to - no one could live with this kind of gaping hole in their chest for long.


The King returned to court a week later, his scars miraculously healed and no one the wiser, or no one speaking up if they suspected something, which Merlin thought likelier.

Arthur was being a prat again, full-fledged and with a vengeance, it seemed. Merlin had already mucked out the stables, groomed the horses, cleaned out the fireplace and done the Prince's laundry by the time Arthur asked where his dinner was. He'd seemed thoroughly unimpressed with Merlin's list of chores as well, though Merlin would like to have seen him doing it all before supper and still being awake enough to go to the library afterwards.

He'd begged off each day for a few hours in the afternoons, when Arthur was training or holding court with the King, with the excuse that he was trying to find the ancient prophecy Kilgharrah had said included the two of them.

He'd also asked off every night after the evening meal, something Arthur complained about, but he didn't ever say no.

When Merlin had been dismissed, he'd go to the tower and check on Gaius, grab his book of magic and head for the library.

It made him sneeze.

The dust always made him sneeze, that and the musty smell in the tiny room where the oldest books and scrolls were kept, which is where he found himself every night that week. There was no comfort to be found in that room, cramped and full as it was with hundreds of mouldering parchments in small square cubby holes lining every wall. He felt like he was in a honeycomb, without the sweetness.

Somewhere in here, Merlin would find the instructions for the binding of souls. He didn't dare cast within the tiny room - the parchment and skins were far too fragile and Geoffrey always reminded him to keep the door open, more out of concern for the scroll than Merlin, he suspected. He did, however, castbefore he entered, and this was where his spell had indicated the instructions for binding of souls could be found.

The seeking spell was almost Merlin's favourite thing to cast, and no wonder, given his tendency to misplace, well, everything.

The table and chairs were proportionately-sized for the room - far too short for Merlin's legs. His knees pressed tightly up under the table if he sat there, so he chose to sit cross-legged on the icy floor instead, though he did cast a warming charm on the one flagstone beneath his bum, aiming very carefully, and that did wonders for the chill that crept in as soon as he stepped foot in the scroll room.

Geoffrey checked on him so often he had to actively bite his tongue not to scream at the nosy man. He already knew everything about everyone in the citadel, couldn't he be satisfied with that and leave the ancient history to Merlin? But Merlin would just shrug and shake his head, unroll another scroll and shake his head again, and, apparently satisfied that he wasn't destroying valuable knowledge, Geoffrey would soon leave him to it.

Being careful to replace each paper where he'd gotten it, Merlin read until his vision was blurry and his eyelids wouldn't stay open. After the first night he'd spent in total frustration, he'd found a language revelation spell in his book of magic. It worked a charm, and he cast it upon himself each night, spending hours upon hours deciphering ancient writing, hoping upon hope that he'd somehow, miraculously, find it.

When he finally saw the words "soul-binding," he could hardly believe it. He jumped to his feet, spreading the parchment carefully on the table, using the smooth stones Geoffrey had given him to weigh the corners down so he could better read. The lettering was tiny, though surprisingly in English, the text itself so formal and stilted Merlin felt as though he were reading a religious text.

He was, he supposed, in a way, for this was a ritual of the Old Religion. From the beginning of the document, intent was emphasized. If either party doubted his own or the other's intentions, the binding would not hold fast. The same seemed true for unwillingness to bond, ignorance of the bond or its purpose and the incompletion of the ritual.

Merlin took a deep breath as he began the section on the ritual itself. He'd imagined all sorts of heinous things - sacrifices and blood-letting - because this was the Old Religion and his only experiences with it had been violent or involving some cold, callous rule that only made sense to those enforcing it.

What he found as he read on was quite the opposite.

To begin the ritual, both candidates must purify themselves, spending one night in solitude together. They must each bring nothing to an uninhabited location, be cleansed in a natural body of water, dressed in white linen and left on their own to fend for themselves until morning. No preparations may be laid or servants may be present.

Though they may speak to one another, they may speak to no one else during the ritual.

At dusk, they would be allowed to touch - at that Merlin sucked in a breath. No, not allowed. Required. Oh, God, not... it wasn't dark magic they were going to perform.

Merlin continued reading, holding his breath and biting his lip so hard he could feel the sting even through his haze of shock.

Required to touch, to share breath, physical bodies joining fully as the incantation was spoken and their souls locked together. Merlin took a step back, then another, and stumbled on the uneven floor, falling hard on the cold stones, flailing arms taking a few scrolls with them on the way down.

He sat, stunned, unable to move.

"Any luck finding that recipe for rat stew? I'm a bit over-tired of the old one, you know." Arthur stepped into the low-ceilinged room, smirking as he saw Merlin sprawled on the floor.

"I didn't give you the afternoon off so you could kip a nap in the library, Merlin. Bloody hell! This room is smaller than your own, and that floor can't be as soft as your bed."

Merlin rubbed the back of his head where he'd knocked it against the shelves, quickly gathering up the scrolls and taking Arthur's offered hand to pull himself to his feet. "Ha bloody ha. Did you need something, or did you just come to make fun of me?"

Arthur glanced at the table where the scroll lay spread and anchored for the entire world to see. Merlin felt as though his clothes had suddenly disappeared and left him standing there naked.
Naked and aroused.

"Have you found something, then?" Arthur asked, starting to lean down over the parchment to read it. "What's this?"

"Oh, nothing, it's-" Merlin brushed the stones onto the table and rolled the parchment tightly, tucking it into a cubby at the top right of the room, hoping he'd be able to find it again later that night. "I think it was just something Geoffrey left out."

"Uh huh," Arthur said, shrugging. "Well, if you're not making progress, why don't you run along and fetch my dinner from the kitchens before it actually ices over?"

Merlin grabbed his satchel and made for the door, though Arthur's hand on his arm stopped him. He looked up and saw Arthur grinning.

"I was only joking about the rat stew, you know."

"Oh, yes, I know you love my original recipe best!" he grinned, ducking out the door and fleeing to the kitchens as fast as he could.


Merlin could be downright imbecilic when he was nervous, excited or upset, which is exactly what made Arthur so damned curious about the scroll Merlin had hastily stowed away in a conveniently easy-to-remember cubby.

Well, and he had seen the words "soul binding" at the top of the parchment when he'd glanced at it, before Merlin had swept it out from under his nose.

Arthur only had to open three scrolls before he found what he was looking for.

Soul binding. Well, that was something new, and altogether un-Merlin-like. He skimmed through the paragraph explaining the purposes and appropriate circumstances for the spell.

The Old Religion had some strange ideas of romance if it thought binding your soul to another's was some sort of ritual appropriate for "intimate partnerships."

Then again, it sounded far more considerate and well... focused than any of his own affairs had ever been. There hadn't been many, and the few had been brief, fun flirtations. All but one had been with visiting nobles, and that had been a knight who patrolled more than he stayed in Camelot, as it turned out.

But this was about long-term,permanent binding of souls. This was about giving yourself to another person, trusting them with everything you are and accepting them, accepting their trust as fully as you gave yours.

There was no talk of submission or degradation, no one partner more or less than the equal of the other.

Merlin couldn't be thinking of doing this with someone, could he? How could he have found the time to meet someone and fall so far in love that he would willingly become that person's future?
The thought tripped into another, his own future, himself as King.

Oh, God. The seventh Rite. Arthur had studied the Rites, he'd read the histories, and he knew that rarely, the seventh Rite involved another person, someone close to the heir. It was usually a spouse or beloved friend, someone who would rise to the throne with the heir, but not rule with them.

He'd never imagined it would be that way for him, since he had no lover and only ever confided in his father. And Merlin.

Merlin, who was a Dragon Lord and very probably also a sorcerer, powerful enough to ascend the throne alongside Arthur.

Merlin, who apparently shared his destiny, who would help him usher Albion into an age of united peace and prosperity by binding his soul to Arthur's and receiving Arthur's binding as an equal.

He stepped back from the table, leaning on the nearest shelf, his shoulder pushing against the dusty scrolls.

No wonder Merlin had fallen on his arse.

Brushing the dust from his hair and shoulders, he went back to the scroll, reading from the beginning, slowly, in case Merlin decided to do a better hiding job later that night.

The ritual was very like the one he had undergone for his quest to the Perilous Lands, cleansing and being dressed all in white. After that, though, things became somewhat more heated.

He tried not to substitute himself and Merlin every time the scroll referred to each bonding candidate, but by the time it gave permission for sharing breath, Arthur's trouser laces needed loosening. He purposefully thought of Merlin's reaction, of how shocked and offended he'd seemed, of how nervous he'd been even sharing a pallet when they'd made camp the week before.

The joining of bodies was impossible not to picture, though. He closed his eyes and imagined Merlin willing and eager beneath him, those teasing expressions he saw all day long replaced with heat and passion, with longing.

He could almost feel Merlin's skin against his own as they fit together like two pieces of the same puzzle. He'd thought of it before, how seamlessly they matched, Merlin's sharp angles and expressive eyes, looking up at him with pure, uninhibited trust.

Geoffrey's footsteps clicked on the stones, heralding his approach, and Arthur quickly rolled the parchment and tucked it back where Merlin had left it.

He'd read it all, the ritual was simple enough, but it was going to be anything but simple getting Merlin to comply and be completely willing about it.