A/N: I was totally supposed to post this hours ago and I very nearly forgot entirely. But here it is!
**EDITED**
Merlin resisted the urge to adjust the circlet of gold where it sat on his head and made his fringe—his hair was getting long, he thought idly, and he should probably cut it sometime—stick to his forehead. It was a near constant struggle not to fiddle with the unfamiliar weight, but he usually managed to hold himself back, knowing that fidgeting was not dignified. Instead he drummed his fingers restlessly against the arms of his chair, quietly enough that it was not noticed by the man currently blathering on about something or other; Merlin had lost track a while back and was too bored by the speaker's monotonous tone to catch up with what was being said.
The council meeting seemed to have been going on for a very long time, but in reality it had probably only been an hour or so. No wonder Arthur had never chastised him for being distracting; he had needed the distraction simply to stay awake. Merlin did not have a completely impertinent manservant to make faces at him. Sadly, Raime was quite well behaved in situations such as these, standing quietly with his pitcher and keeping Merlin's cup full of unfortunately-watered wine.
Sir Gerund cast Merlin a sideways look which was probably meant to remind him to pay attention but wasn't very effective when he was so obviously suppressing a laugh. Gerund had been a godsend in these meetings over the last week and a half. Normally he would not be required to come to these things, having more important things to do such as overseeing the training programs for both the secular knights and the mages, and coordinating all the patrols and guard rotations, but he had taken to attending them anyway.
He sat by Merlin's side, providing moral support and giving advice. He kept up a whispered commentary throughout, reminding Merlin of all the statistics that he had crammed into his head recently or providing pertinent background information if he got lost on one point or another.
Merlin was still hesitant to speak up in these meetings, unsure if he was truly well enough informed to give an opinion, but Gerund had a knack for drawing the topic around to something with which he was comfortable and giving him an in. Merlin was grateful for it, but it was becoming less necessary as time went on and he grew more confident with his knowledge of the kingdom and its condition.
One of the younger council members—Lord Kendell, if he was not mistaken—had spent the last half hour or so prattling on about something that was probably important. Road maintenance, maybe. Merlin kept thinking that surely he would be finished any time now, but he seemed to have only just hit his stride. Merlin leaned back in his chair with a heavy internal sigh of boredom and tried to don that expression that Arthur had perfected, the one that looked politely interested while covering up a complete disconnect from reality.
He had almost managed to slip off into a daydream when the door to the council chambers opened and a young page entered, holding a scroll in his hands. He handed it to one of the councilors, bowed gracelessly in Merlin's general direction, and scurried from the room. The councilor unfurled the scroll and scanned it.
"A missive from Queen Annis of Caerleon, my Lord," he announced.
Merlin smiled at the name; he quite liked Queen Annis, in spite of the army that she had brought to their doorstep and the fact that she had thought him a juggling fool. She was a strong and practical woman, one who was unafraid to admit to her mistakes, and she had become one of Camelot's greatest allies.
"She wishes to reaffirm the treaty that Queen Eleanor made with her late husband."
"Of course," Merlin said immediately. "Send a response straightaway saying that I would be happy to discuss it with her at her earliest convenience."
"On that note, there is still the message from King Olaf to respond to," a councilwoman spoke up, "concerning the disputed territory near the ridge on the northwestern border. And it may yet be prudent to make contact with Lord Bayard about a renegotiation of the trade routes there. If tensions with Mercia grow any further, we may need to close them down entirely."
"Have we heard anything from King Lot?" Merlin put in.
The councilors exchanged looks.
"I do not believe so, sire," Lord Kendell said with a frown. "Why do you ask?"
"We should reach out to him, offer him aid in exchange for a binding peace treaty or his support in future endeavors," Merlin proposed.
The strategy had occurred to him the day before when reading over some information on harvests for the last few years, and on the spells regularly used to strengthen the crops. No one seemed particularly thrilled at the idea, though. Merlin wasn't surprised. They had had some run-ins with the late King Cenred that put their kingdoms at odds, but there had been little to no contact with King Lot over the years since he had taken Cenred's throne.
"Why would we do that, my Lord?" someone asked. "Escetia has been no friend to us."
"That is true. But Escetia's harvest was not very successful this year, nor the two years previous," Merlin pointed out, sitting forward in his seat and leaning his elbows on the table. "Her people are struggling to make ends meet. They are having trouble just feeding their children, let alone paying their taxes to the crown. The royal coffers are all but empty, with little hope of refilling them. Carthis, on the other hand, has not had a crop failure in decades. If we offer our assistance to King Lot in the form of blessings on his fields and spells to promote growth, then he will be in no position to refuse our generosity. He will not be able to risk turning away a potential ally as powerful as Carthis, not when he is struggling to maintain his hold on the throne."
There was a scoffing noise from somewhere down the table. It was no surprise to identify the skeptic as Lord Ellison. The majority of the council had been warming up to Merlin over the last week or two, their initial wariness fading as they observed Merlin's actions and did not find them lacking. Granted, he had yet to have his authority tested and he had not yet encountered any real crises, but they had to admit that he was handling himself better than they had expected, less like a country bumpkin and more like a Lord. Ellison and Tennison were the only ones still holding a serious grudge against him.
A good deal of Ellison's ire, Merlin thought, came from jealousy, as his tongue had become sharper and his dissention louder since he'd seen Merlin accomplish the impossible on the mage's training field.
Ellison might be prone to fits of immaturity and pettiness, but Merlin didn't have to rise to the bait. Instead he bit his tongue and turned to face Ellison, determined to address whatever issue he would come up with as calmly and as reasonably as possible despite the Lord's argumentative attitude.
"Do you have something that you wish to say?" he asked politely.
Ellison sat up straighter, glancing around at his peers before looking Merlin boldly in the face.
"I just don't think that you know what it is you're proposing. I mean, diplomacy is hardly a skill that is often taught to servants," he sneered with a laugh that his father shared.
Merlin clenched his jaw until a muscle jumped in his temple. Really, he was surprised that it had taken this long for mention of his past to be made. He had been waiting for this moment for a week and a half, since the morning after his coronation when he had told Raime of his former employment. But just because he had expected this did not mean that he would stand for it.
"You forget yourself, Lord Ellison," he said sharply. "And you forget that you are speaking to your king."
Ellison stopped laughing then as a hush fell over the room but he did not drop his gaze. Instead he raised his chin defiantly, but Merlin was not intimidated by it in the least.
"My years as a servant may not have fostered diplomacy," he said, "but they did teach me humility and respect. Lessons which you, Lord Ellison, have clearly yet to learn."
Ellison flushed, a scowl darkening his face, but Merlin did not give him time to retort.
"The way in which I made my living does not make me any less than you. A man's worth is not defined by his rank or the number of titles which he has to his name, but by his actions. I have known men of common birth who were more noble than any knight, and I have known knights who did not deserve the honor that had been bestowed upon them. Yes, I spent eleven years as a servant, but that has no bearing on whether or not I am fit to rule this kingdom.
"And if you still worry for my qualifications, then fear not. It is not as if I was just a kitchen wash boy," he continued into the silence. "I served a Crown Prince for seven years and a King for four more, all while apprenticed to a renowned physician and scholar. Do not think me unfamiliar with the ways of court simply because I was not raised to them. I have spent the last eleven years immersed in the running of a kingdom. I am not nearly as uneducated as you seem to think. Your noble upbringing does not make you in any way my superior, and I will not be looked down upon in my own court. Not even by you, cousin."
There was a shocked murmur from those gathered and Ellison stared at him for a long moment, his brow furrowed and his expression unreadable. Merlin realized that it was the first time that he had acknowledged their relation. Well, the first time that he had acknowledged it out loud. He had thought about it a great deal since he had gotten to Carthis and realized that he had kin whom he had never known existed.
The silence stretched on for an uncomfortably long moment, but Ellison did not respond.
"You said something earlier, my Lord," a portly council member with a mustache who had never shown a preference either way as far as Merlin was concerned spoke up carefully, as if afraid to break the tense moment, "about gaining King Lot's support in future endeavors. What future endeavors might you have in mind, sire?"
"As was mentioned previously, the tensions with Mercia are escalating," Merlin said, finally tearing his gaze away from the still-inscrutable expression of his cousin. "If we do end up at odds with Bayard, it might be prudent to have an ally whose aid we can call upon should we need it."
"I hardly think we would," Lord Melbourne said. "Carthis has never been so outmatched as to call for help."
"It is always better to have allies and not need them than to need them and not have them," Merlin reasoned. "Either way, Lot would be in our debt and we could collect in any way that we see fit."
"I could have the Court Scribe draw up a missive for you, sire, if you wish," Lord Kendell offered.
"See that he does. I will review it tomorrow. Council dismissed." There was a great clatter of wood on stone as chairs were pulled back from the table, but Merlin spoke over it. "Lord Ellison, if I could have a word?"
Ellison, in the process of following his father out of the chamber, stopped at his call. He exchanged a few terse words with Lord Tennison and then turned back, his expression politely blank. Merlin waited until all of the other members of the council had cleared out of the room before he spoke.
"Ellison, I—"
"You called me cousin," Ellison cut across him.
Merlin sighed, moving to run his fingers through his hair only to find a crown in the way. He dropped his hand and began twisting the signet ring around his thumb instead.
"You are my kin, Ellison," he said, feeling uncomfortably vulnerable but determined to press on anyway. "And I don't know about you, but that means something to me. I always wished that I had a bigger family when I was growing up, but it was just me and my mother. Aside from her, you are the last family that I have. You are really the only tie that I have to this kingdom. And I don't want you as my adversary."
Ellison did not respond, crossing his arms over his chest and looking elsewhere. Merlin wished that he would look him in the eye; maybe then he would be able to see that Merlin was sincere in this, that this was not just some political ploy, but Ellison seemed determined to avoid his gaze.
"Look," Merlin tried again. "I know that you and your father do not believe that I deserve the throne or that I will be able to rule well, and I understand that; believe me, I have doubts enough for all of us. But I assure you that I will rule better if I have the full support of my council."
Ellison sucked his lips in for a moment, thinking.
"The people do seem rather enamored of you," he said, the admission sounding like it had been dragged out of him against his will.
It made Merlin smile tentatively; to hear that from someone like Gerund or Mordred was nice, but there was always the possibility that they were just being reassuring. Coming from someone who was so set against him, it was almost guaranteed to be the truth.
"Really?" he asked.
"Though I can't imagine why," Ellison grumbled.
Merlin bit his lip to keep from laughing; Ellison sounded a great deal like a young Arthur in that moment, trying his damnedest to keep from sounding like he had just complimented Merlin. They stood in awkward silence for a minute, avoiding each other's eye and trying to think of something else to say. Merlin got the feeling that pushing the issue would do more harm than good at this point.
"Well, just think about it," he said awkwardly. "You are my cousin. And I would like to have the opportunity to know you as such."
Ellison looked like he might be chewing on his tongue. He gave a jerky nod and then turned abruptly on his heel, disappearing out of the council chamber with his head down and his shoulders tense.
Merlin watched him go, hoping that he had made enough of an impression to change his cousin's mind.
Arthur spent much of the days following his return to Camelot shut up in Gaius' chambers, pestering the old man with questions and being in the way and generally interfering with his daily business. Gaius answered all of his queries willingly enough, though sometimes with a touch of trepidation or exasperation depending on the topic and the time of day and how long Arthur had already been underfoot.
He had been especially reluctant to speak of Merlin's many accomplishments over the years. He seemed to feel that Merlin would rather tell Arthur all of that himself. However, as Arthur pointed out to him, Merlin was not there to tell him and it was unlikely that he would be returning to the kingdom any time in the near future. If Arthur was to get the whole story, then he would have to do so through other means, and the only informed source left to him was Gaius himself.
And so Arthur was slowly being filled in on all that had happened in his kingdom over the last eleven years without him ever being aware of any of it.
With every story, every revelation, every tale of danger and selflessness, Arthur's respect for Merlin grew. The man had singlehandedly done more for him and for his kingdom than anyone else could ever claim to have done, even the most accomplished and dedicated of his knights, and he had done it all without the slightest expectation of appreciation or acknowledgement. He had held himself back, smiling and laughing self-deprecatingly whenever Arthur had insulted him or half-jokingly called him useless or a coward, all the while knowing that he was the most powerful person in the entire land.
He could have done anything. He could have torn the kingdom to the ground with a single word or less and had all of that wealth and power to himself, but he had stayed his hand and knelt on hard floors and darned Arthur's socks. Instead of taking all that he was fully capable of taking, he had risked his life to protect those who would have killed him in return for his kindness.
True, Arthur's pride did take a bit of a beating upon realizing exactly how many of his supposed triumphs could not actually be attributed to him at all, but he couldn't bring himself to be angry about it. Nor was he surprised by the altruism of Merlin's actions; if there was anyone whom he would have expected to be content not to take credit for his own heroic deeds, it would be Merlin, and he could not begrudge him the gratitude he was due for his efforts.
Arthur was humbled, so incredibly humbled, by the extent of Merlin's dedication to him. It had always been evident in his actions but it was even more staggering in light of what he now knew. He had never done anything to deserve the sort of faith that Merlin had in him, but he found himself becoming more and more determined to make himself worthy of it. He would not let Merlin down, not after everything the man had sacrificed for him and his kingdom.
There were some holes in Gaius' narrative of the time Merlin had spent there, moments in which he was holding something back, when there were things that he would not divulge, and Arthur had a feeling that there were even more trials in Merlin's past, ones that were personal enough to make Gaius uncomfortable with revealing them without Merlin's permission.
It saddened Arthur greatly to know how much Merlin had undergone in the pursuit of his safety, to hear of how Merlin had suffered in silence, bearing his grief without a word of comfort. Arthur did not think that he would have been able to stay so strong for so long without the sort of support that Merlin had constantly offered to him.
He had always known Merlin to be a much stronger man than most would have given him credit for. He was resilient and resourceful and practically fearless in the face of any danger no matter how great, a steady and unwavering source of support and comfort for all of his friends, and deceptively intelligent when he felt like showcasing it.
But Arthur would never have guessed, not even with everything that he had learned thus far from Gaius and from Merlin himself, that he would be the most powerful magic user ever to walk the earth. Gaius had informed him that, according to the prophecies, it was Merlin's destiny to become the greatest sorcerer to ever exist, past, present, or future. That Merlin was Emrys.
And Arthur had heard that name once before.
"Guinevere," he called across the room, sprawled out as he was over his bed and too tired from training to bother with getting up. "You know that I have been speaking with Gaius recently?"
"If by 'speaking with him,' you mean 'holing up in his chambers for several hours a day,' then yes," Guinevere responded dryly, coming to lean against the post at the foot of his bed and crossing her arms over her chest. "It must be fascinating or you wouldn't spend nearly so much time in there and leave me to deal with the council alone."
"You're handling them well. And I have learned a great deal," Arthur said. "Do you remember when we took back the citadel from Morgana?"
"Which time?" she asked in an innocently curious voice that was belied by the wry half-smile on her lips.
Arthur made a face at her, not needing the reminder of how many times he had been ousted by his erstwhile friend and sister.
"The second," he specified grumpily. "When she was allied with the warlord Helios."
"I remember," she said. "What does it have to do with your talks with Gaius?"
"Do you remember what Morgana said to me, just before she moved to attack, before she realized that her magic wasn't working properly?" Arthur asked, pushing himself up to lean on his elbows.
Guinevere's brow furrowed in concentration as she looked back over the memory, searching for that moment. She shook her head.
"She said, 'Not even Emrys can help you now.'"
"You're right, she did," Guinevere said, gripping the bedpost and biting her lip as the memory came back to her. "What could she have meant by that? We never knew anyone named Emrys."
"Apparently we did," Arthur corrected her with a significant look.
It took a moment for her to make the connection, but then she gasped.
"You don't mean to say—" she started in astonishment. "But Merlin was there, wasn't he? He was standing right next to you. It couldn't possibly be him."
"It is, according to Gaius. Morgana knows of Emrys, but she does not know of his true identity. She only knows what she has heard, namely that Emrys is destined to be her doom."
"But what does that mean? That name, Emrys," Guinevere asked.
Arthur sat up entirely, scratching at the back of his head; he was still a tad bit uncomfortable with the thought of being the subject of a prophecy, any prophecy, much less one with such monumental and far-reaching effects. That his life could be even more predetermined than it already had been, royalty as he was, was galling, and that the task set was even more daunting than simply being king scared him more than he would like to admit. He reached for Guinevere's hand and tugged her down onto the bed with him, pulling her close against his chest.
"It is apparently a term of Druidic prophecy," he said with a put-upon sigh, resting his chin on the top of her head. He explained about all that Gaius had told him, about the incredible importance of the destiny the two of them shared, and about Merlin's immense power.
Guinevere sat quiet in his arms for a while, taking it all in.
"So Morgana knows all of this except for the fact that Emrys is Merlin?" she asked, and Arthur nodded. Guinevere chewed on her lip again, looking worried. "Do you think that she'll find out it's him? You said that the Druids know of his identity, that they recognize him. Surely there will be plenty of people of Druidic heritage in Carthis. What if word gets back to her?"
Arthur tightened his hold on his wife, clenching his jaw against the sudden rush of fear brought on by her question; he had not considered that, that Merlin might be in danger from Morgana should knowledge of all of this reach her ears.
"We will just have to hope that it doesn't," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "Or, otherwise, that he is powerful enough to hold his own against her. And from what I have been told, he is more than her match. Legendary power, remember? He'll be fine, I'm sure of it."
"Have you heard from him at all?" she asked, worry still heavy in her tone.
It had been weeks, after all, and she knew as well as he did that no correspondence had come from Carthis.
Arthur had been waiting for the official notice of Merlin's coronation, for the usual attempts of a new monarch to renegotiate old treaties and form new alliances, but there had been nothing. Merlin hadn't reached out to Camelot, to him. Arthur didn't know if it was because Carthis' court was unwilling to treat with Camelot at all due to her stance on magic, or if the silence was because Merlin was still hurt by Arthur's reaction.
From all of Gaius' stories, it sounded as though Merlin's loyalty to him was fairly unshakeable, and backed up by prophecy no less, and so the former reason seemed more likely, but it didn't stop Arthur from wondering if Merlin was angry with him. He would wait a bit longer to let Merlin get settled into his role.
"I'm sure we'll hear something soon," he told his wife instead of voicing his thoughts. "In the meantime…"
He placed a quick kiss on Guinevere's cheek, then another just behind her ear. A third kiss, this one on her neck, brought a smile to Guinevere's face and she pushed at him playfully. He grinned into her skin and trailed his lips back across her jaw until he could claim her lips.
They were jolted apart only a moment later by an abrupt knock on the door, which opened without waiting for his call.
"My Lord, you are needed immediately in the throne room," a small page called urgently, sounding a little breathless, as if he had run all the way here.
"Why? What's happened?" Arthur demanded, disentangling himself from his wife and reaching for his sword.
"They've caught a witch, sire."
Arthur's insides froze solid.