Disclaimer: I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to BBC Merlin.
Author's Note: Three months later, and I'm finally able to give you the additional chapter you were (hopefully) waiting for. It took some serious consideration, revision, and reiterations to settle on a version of this chapter that I liked. I kept on going back and forth between ambiguity and a slightly more explicit relationship between our two main characters. Eventually, I decided to let this chapter flow how it would. I hope you appreciate the result! Not long now 'til the end of this story. I have one more full chapter, I think, and then the Epilogue. So, the final count should come in at twenty-four chapters—phew! I hope you enjoy it :)
Reviewers: All 333 of you, thank you!
Rating: T/M
Summary: Three years have passed since Merlin's partial reveal of his magic. On the eve of their assault on Helios and Morgana's forces, Emrys must finally reveal himself in full. Quite without his knowing, it alters the entire course of Camelot's future—as well as his own, with the Once and Future King…[Ambiguous Relationship (Merlin/Arthur)]
"Speech"
Personal Thoughts/Memories (Italics)
.:A Man's Measure:.
By Sentimental Star
VIII: The King's Grace (Part 22)
Merlin could not easily wake after the confrontation with Morgana.
His first conscious memory of the aftermath was the sensation of being carried, someone's arms slid beneath his knees and around his back. The weightlessness that accompanied his separation from the ground was constant and uninterrupted.
-But no, that isn't right, is it? Shouldn't I be the one carrying Arthur?
He sank back into unconsciousness soon after.
IOIOIOIOIOI
The second time he woke must have not been so far off from the first, as the sensation of his body lowering onto something soft momentarily shocked him awake.
"Shh," Arthur's voice murmured. Pressure, slightly warm and chapped, brushed against his forehead, "You are safe, Merlin…"
-Not true. Morgana's still out there, even though Mordred's—
Unable to sustain his energy levels or thinking capacity, Merlin drifted back to sleep, despite the growing edge of panic in his gut.
IOIOIOIOIOI
The third time, Merlin woke to a vague, half-muted conversation swirling around him:
"It's been three days, Gaius! Why hasn't he woken, yet?"
Merlin sluggishly blinked his eyes open, the colors around him sharpening into hazy focus, but shapes and light still indistinct.
Arthur's too loud. What-? Aren't Morgana and Mordred…?
"…takes time, Arthur. Magical exhaustion is not so easily shaken off. The more powerful the bearer, the more severe the exhaustion. Your mother…"
…Mother? Mum's here? But then, does that mean Arthur-?
"…said it would take a few days, but it's already been a few days! How much longer must it take?"
…Days? But if it's already been a few days, then the Saxons—
"…unsure. It is my hope it will be but a few more. You cannot remain here, Sire. If you intend to lift the ban you must be there. Leon, Guinevere, and Bors can convince the Council of only so much."
"But Guinevere and Bors—"
"Your Majesty, until very recently Guinevere was a maidservant. She will have many more battles to fight before the Council heeds her word. And Bors, as a magic wielder, cannot reveal his expertise with the ban still in place. They need you there, Arthur—"
"You ask me to leave Merlin, Gaius. I can't. Not after—"
"—Your Majesty, I say this with deepest fondness and respect…it will not do any good to exhaust yourself on Merlin's behalf. If you wish this kingdom to be safer for him, if you wish to stay by him and have none question why, then you must helm this battle yourself with as much of our support as we can possibly give."
…Camlaan?! But—
There was a heavy sigh from Arthur.
"…I understand, Gaius."
The soft surface Merlin lay on dipped beneath another's weight as a tanned hand came into sharper focus. The scent of leather briefly overwhelmed Merlin's senses as the hand brushed hair away from his brow and a faint pressure touched his cheekbone.
Then those sensations were suddenly gone, and it was all Merlin could do to avoid spiraling back down into panic, unresolved thoughts of battles and dragon-blades ricocheting in his head.
IOIOIOIOIOI
Merlin must not have fallen completely back asleep, because a sickening whirl of color dominated his senses for an indefinable amount of time afterwards.
Someone—or maybe two someones—tried to give him food and drink, but his stomach rejected all but the blandest of meals and water. Conversations swirled in and out of his perception: at times there seemed to be one or many presences inhabiting the room…wherever this room was, because it certainly was not his chamber. Brief flashes of sensation—a squeeze of his hand here, a brush against his forehead there—filled the spaces in-between, though none of them seemed to make any kind of coherent sense.
Don't we have a battle to fight? Why is everyone-?
Because he was unable to fully comprehend the events happening at rapid pace around him, Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin when, uncounted hours later, a warm body slipped into the bed behind him, and an arm draped itself over his middle.
Whoever it was must have felt him tense, because almost immediately their grip tightened.
"Shh, Merlin," a face, lightly stubbled with three days' worth and more of neglect, pressed itself against the nape of his neck. Faintly chapped lips slid along his skin. "It's just me."
Arthur.
The name issued from Merlin's lips as a barely audible sob.
Thank the gods…Arthur!
Another weight pressed gently over his hip. Arthur's leg. His best friend was not being shy about his touches.
"Merlin…" Arthur's voice broke as he curled them together.
He tried to murmur some kind of hazy reassurance, reaching back with his free hand in attempt to pat Arthur's cheek. However, as the colors around him blurred, swirling and swirling again, Merlin's hand dropped, and he gratefully sank back into darkness with one final thought.
No battle. We're safe.
IOIOIOIOIOI
The fourth time Merlin woke, he found himself alone.
A dull ache throbbed in his temples. His mouth felt somewhat like it had been filled with wool. His chapped lips stung. And his body refused to coordinate with anything but the most sluggish of responses. However, he was—for once—truly awake.
He had no idea what day it was, or even what time of day it was, but the sunlight spilling onto the floor of, unmistakably, Arthur's room lent a clue.
With a groan, Merlin hauled himself upright, blinking blearily in the mid-morning sunlight.
The linen sheets had crumpled around his hips, the spot behind him that Arthur had occupied last night long since cooled.
Rubbing the phantom feel of his best friend's arms away, Merlin gingerly placed his right foot on the ground, wincing at the knives and razors that shot through it.
Unconsciously, he reached for his magic to ease it…and hissed, aborting the attempt, completely startled by the way it burned through his veins at twice the speed and intensity it normally did.
Mother, Maiden, and Crone…what happened? What did I do?
As there was a decided lack of informants in his immediate vicinity, Merlin warily placed one foot in front of the other as he navigated his way out of bed.
It occurred to him, faintly, that he most likely ought to wear something other than a night shift encrusted with three days (or more) of sweat if he tried to traverse the castle's main corridors but could not be arsed to care. Gwen and Gaius had seen him in worse, after all—
Just as Merlin determined he could, at least, stand on his own two feet, a rustling sound from across the room snagged his attention.
For the first time, he noticed the lid to Arthur's huge cherrywood chest stood ajar, and was, to put it bluntly, a mess.
Random tunic sleeves and breeches legs hung haphazardly out of it here and there. Several jerkins and small clothes had exited the trunk completely and more followed shortly in their wake. One of the now-loose articles of clothing included a finely brocaded, sleeveless overtunic Merlin did not ever recall seeing in Arthur's wardrobe. In fact, several of the pieces that had just made their way to the ground were of shades and styles Merlin did not ever recall seeing before.
(As he had helped Arthur dress nearly every day for the past six years, Merlin felt particularly qualified to assess what did and did not belong in his king's wardrobe.)
At that moment, a sudden, loud thump shook the chest and a highly annoyed warble—slightly muffled by the cherrywood of the trunk—reached Merlin's ears.
He groaned as his sluggish mind made the connection as to who it might be, "Aithusa."
Forcing himself to ignore the pins and needles still jabbing through the soles of his feet, Merlin gingerly placed one foot in front of another, slowly making his way across the cold flagstone floor. He mostly succeeded…until he literally stumbled right into a familiar pair of boots, and promptly decided sitting on the ground would be a far more productive endeavor.
Sure enough, with a flash of a long, white tail and a wiggle of a scaly hide, Aithusa backed herself out of the chaos of the trunk, dragging something with her.
…She promptly tumbled over its side and onto the ground, accompanied by a loud clatter. Another annoyed warble and Aithusa shook herself, rolling out of the heap of mismatched clothes she'd landed in.
Merlin might have laughed, especially when Aithusa, oblivious to his presence, began burbling happily and nosing a coiled-up silver chain across the floor in his direction like some sort of overgrown cat.
Instead, he found himself unable to breathe properly through the sudden hitch in his chest.
When did Arthur…? How-?
Aithusa's damp, cool nose abruptly bumped against the underside of his foot. She got one hefty sniff…and promptly tackled him backwards as she registered his presence, unleashing a flurry of overjoyed chirps and warbles.
As a fire-hot tongue repeatedly laved his cheeks, Merlin laughed and tried to fend her off, grabbing her gently around the middle and hoisting her up in the air, "…Okay, okay! I'm very happy to see you, too—"
She squirmed and twisted, warbling her heart out as she tried to get back to him.
It soon became apparent he was fighting a losing battle. So, he allowed her to scramble down his arms and curl up around his neck, purring deep in her chest as she lightly shoved her snout into the hollow of his throat.
Sitting up, Merlin chuckled quietly, running a finger along her spine, before gently unwinding the filigree chain she had somehow managed to tangle around her talons.
"What have you got there, girl?" he murmured.
(Although he certainly had a guess.)
The mended chain was, of course, no longer strictly silver. Nor was the familiar merlin figurine attached to it. Some talented goldsmith somewhere had found the time to gild the chain and the merlin's wings gold.
Despite its changes, the necklace was, unmistakably, his.
Merlin's eyesight blurred. As a lump formed in his throat, he attempted to clear it and stumbled to his feet, whispering rather thickly, "Come on, girl. I think it's time we go find Arthur."
IOIOIOIOIOI
As it turned out, finding Arthur was harder than it should have been.
Merlin's body still was not one hundred percent functional and gave him a lot of grief as he attempted to navigate Camelot's familiar corridors.
Gods, he thought with a wince, pausing a minute to lean against a wall and catch his breath, if this is how my body reacts after a large magical working—
Aithusa had chosen to totter along in front of him rather than ride his shoulders that morning. Now she circled back and chirped at him, butting her head against his legs and nudging at them with her snout.
"I'm fine," he muttered, taking a deep breath and pushing off the wall.
He found himself subjected to a minute long tirade of shrills and whistles, which caused him to roll his eyes, and carefully crouched down to scoop Aithusa off the ground and into his arms.
Oblivious, she continued shrilling at him, apparently deciding that now would be a good time to subject him to a sound scolding.
Merlin huffed softly.
She's been spending far too much time with Gaius.
Gingerly, he straightened, slowly placing one foot in front of the other as they made their way through Camelot's halls.
As he aimlessly wandered corridors, hoping vaguely to stumble across Gwen or Gaius who could tell him where to find Arthur, a door just a few yards ahead of him suddenly creaked open.
Merlin tensed, magic singing through his blood as battle-honed reflexes reared their head, not yet eased by the apparent return of normalcy.
A figure dressed in a Camelot-red cloak slipped out. At their appearance, Aithusa started squirming, talons scrabbling against his arms. It took the warlock far longer than it should have to realize she was squirming in delight, not fear, overjoyed warbles issuing forth from her mouth.
Her tail, entirely by accident, snapped against his wrist, and Merlin winced, letting her go. Half-gliding, half-falling to the flagstone floor of the corridor, Aithusa scrambled along its length until she reached the figure in question, mewling happily up at him from where she had plopped herself on his boots.
…Arthur blinked down at her, a decided lack of guards accompanying him as he pulled the wooden door shut behind him with the snick of a latch. Tiny claws gripped the leather of the king's breeches as he knelt beside the dragonet, her chirps growing more insistent as he picked her up with a gentleness that belied his height.
"Greetings, little lady," bemusement colored Arthur's soft tone as she chirped delightedly at him, clambering up his arm to perch on his shoulder and sniff at him. He laughed, bright and unhindered, if not a bit disbelieving, as she stuck her nose in his ear and snuffled him in response, "What news? Is our Dragonlord awake?"
Aithusa just snorted at him, a small ring of smoke kissing his cheek as she withdrew. Burbling contentedly, she turned around once. Twice. Then settled on his shoulders, carefully curling her tail part way around his neck, and, with her forepaws over her snout, promptly fell asleep.
Until this moment, Merlin had been unable to utter a sound, captivated by and in disbelief of the scene playing out before him. Now he emitted a strangled laugh that he immediately tried to muffle by clamping a hand over his mouth, lest it sound too hysterical.
Arthur jackrabbited up, completely startled when the sound broke the silence of the otherwise empty corridor.
His eyes widened as they landed on Merlin and he took one, faltering step towards the warlock, voice cracking when he spoke, "Merlin…I-"
Merlin simply walked straight up to his best friend and buried his head in the older man's shoulder, overwhelmed by the implications of Arthur's interactions with Aithusa. In broad daylight. In Camelot. Without a guard in sight.
A startled Arthur stumbled backwards into the door behind him, slightly dislodging the dragon kit on his shoulders who grumbled and stirred, but eventually settled. At last, awkwardly, the king lifted a hand to ruffle Merlin's hair, his fingers lingering there as he murmured, "Merlin…?"
Merlin muffled a watery laugh in Arthur's shoulder, skating his fingers down his beloved friend's half-outstretched arm. He pulled back, intending to glance up at Arthur with an explanation on his lips…when his fingers met with a piece of parchment that crinkled beneath them.
Surprised, the warlock blinked and stepped back, gently grasping Arthur's hand and turning it over. In it, his king carried a partially rolled up scroll.
"Arthur…what's this?" he murmured.
He blinked again as Arthur suddenly dropped his gaze to examine the floor, a faint red hue bridling his nose.
Merlin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Arthur?" he prompted, squeezing the other young man's hand.
His best friend cleared his throat and glanced away, red creeping into his cheeks. "Here," he thrust the scroll into Merlin's hand and withdrew his own to clench his arms around his stomach. "This is for you. It's the latest draft of a new law I intend to enact as soon as possible."
Vaguely bemused and slightly put out that he had not received more of a greeting after…however long he had been unconscious, Merlin accepted the scroll and untied it, letting it fall open in his palms.
The title leapt out at him: Magical Decree (it read).
As if from some point very far off, he continued to read the missive he held in his hands:
We, Arthur Pendragon, by the power vested in us, by Magic's choice and the Council's decision, in order to prevent further bloodshed, despair, and injustice, do hereby decree all magic users within our realm of Camelot shall henceforward be free to practice their skills and abilities as subject to the magical laws and statutes set forth by our most-beloved Court Sorcerer, Merlin Emrys—
Merlin's gasp strangled on the end, and he could read no more, as his throat muscles locked, and his eyesight went blurry with tears. Shifting his (suddenly trembling) stance to accommodate for any possible loss of footing, Merlin slid down the wall at his back and buried his face in his hands, cheeks wet with tears.
He felt Arthur's fingers gently encircle his wrist as his best friend knelt in front of him, causing Merlin to glance up at his king. It took a moment of belated realization for the warlock to understand Arthur was checking for his pulse.
"I'm fine," he murmured shakily. "Only—"
Arthur's thumb and forefinger suddenly caught his chin, tilting it up gently. Before Merlin could quite comprehend what was happening, Arthur gruffly sealed their lips together, muffling Merlin's second gasp against his mouth.
TBC