A/N: Warning for dubcon.

were if i could, i would erase your armour
right where you stand, burnished head to heel
by the sun, a veritable god.

i would take the spear and return the lyre,
hear you sing memories of two boys skipping stones
across the sea, of the sweet crunch of figs
between our grinning teeth, of your faltering breath
kissing the shadows of my face.

but i can only stare at your golden back
as you march off to the dance of war-
a pillar of strength, my weakness.
it must be enough to wake to your bloodied hand
on my breast, to hear you call me companion
once again.

Arthur bolts to a sitting position, sudden malicious intent sharply prodding him awake. He blinks into the pale dimness of the tent until his eyes land on a hulking figure sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed. There is something strange about him, and yet familiar, and once his vision adjusts to the light he realizes he resembles Zeldris, only faintly, around the eyes. Everything else could not be more different: his skin is lightly tanned, his hair light and silver-gray, his limbs long and thick. A bit of stubble covers his chin, and his smile is anything but friendly.

"Good morning," he says.

He glances next to him where Zeldris is sleeping deeply. "Don't worry," the stranger says. "He'll sleep a bit longer."

"Who are you?" Arthur hisses. "How did you get in here?"

"I came to check on my younger brother," he responds with a nod towards Zeldris. "We have been waiting for his return, and even when our eldest brother ordered him back, Zeldris still refused. So I thought to come to take a look and see what the hold up was myself." His eyes drag over Arthur and he snorts. "I now understand."

"You're his brother?"

The stranger nods. "I guess he didn't tell you anything, did he?"

Arthur tries to swallow, the dry throat nearly painful. It's true, he knew next to nothing about the man, despite sharing a bed, despite confessing his feelings. Facing that truth stings more than he is willing to admit. "What do you want?" Arthur asks.

"I came to warn him," he explains. "I had figured he was not aware of the danger he was causing, not that he was… well, I must admit I am a bit surprised. I thought Zeldris already loved someone. I wonder what happened?" The blood drains from Arthur's face as the stranger frowns. "Either way, he must return to where he belongs. Would you be good enough to deliver a message?"

The king nods, unable to speak. The tent seems to grow darker as the stranger stands, and Arthur gasps, realizing it's coming from him. It's as if his shadow on the ground has expanded and he feels suffocated by the air itself. His eyes dart to where Excalibur is kept in its case, wondering if it would be possible to reach it in time, if this person has such powerful magic.

"The Underworld is waiting," the stranger says. Arthur shivers at his words. "Fate and death are not toys to play with. The king waits for his return."

"What fate?" Arthur rasps, finally finding the will to move as he tries to scramble closer. "What king?"

But the stranger does not answer, disappearing instead, and the tent is suddenly terribly silent and empty as Arthur sucks in one heaving breath after another.

A second ticks by, then another, and then Zeldris jumps awake. He is on his feet with his sword in his hand, his brow covered in sweat. But most alarming is that same energy now pulses from him, the shadows growing longer and deeper and stretching like cold fingers towards him. "Where is he?" he demands.

"Zeldris?"

Arthur stares at him, the shock of the stranger and Zeldris' sudden animosity making him sick. At once the feeling of dread snaps backward as Zeldris lowers his arm.

They stare at one another for a long moment. Arthur's mind spins as he tries to make sense of what just happened, and then Zeldris turns and grabs his pants from the floor. He watches in shock as he pulls on one leg, then the other, and says, "We should get moving. We are probably only a day's march from Escanor and—"

"Zeldris!" His voice sounds foreign, not his own, but Arthur cannot help the fear that is tightly coiled around his throat. Zeldris has the decency to freeze at his name, his back turned to him, and Arthur studies the muscular back, hoping he will say something to explain all of this.

When he doesn't, Arthur begins to shake. "Who are you?" he demands.

With a deep breath, Zeldris says, "You wouldn't understand."

"I wouldn't… I don't! I don't understand! There was someone here. Who was he?" He pauses again, waiting for him to say something, anything, that will explain what just happened, but Zeldris stays stubbornly silent. "He said he is your brother."

"That is correct."

"You never mentioned you had brothers."

Zeldris gives a humorless laugh. "There is much that I haven't mentioned.

Arthur's confusion sharpens into something almost akin to anger. "You've been lying to me."

Zeldris glances over his shoulder but does not turn. "You've known that since the day you asked me to stay and be your officer," he replies coolly. "You accused me of lying and I've never denied it."

"Not like this! Not like—" His hands grip the blanket still covering his lower half. Zeldris says nothing, and it is everything within Arthur not to hurl something at his back. "I don't understand what just happened. Can you explain to me—"

"I can't," Zeldris says.

"What king do you serve?" Arthur moves to place one foot on the ground, kneeling on the bed with the other, as he tries to pull whatever dignity he can find together. "He said your king had been waiting. Is it Escanor? Do you serve him?"

"I don't serve Escanor."

"But you don't serve me either." Arthur stops again, waiting for him to deny it before rushing ahead, "There is another player for Britannia? Who is it?"

He watches as Zeldris clenches his fists before slowly opening them again. "It's not like that."

Furiously Arthur clambers to the side, yanking on his own pants. "All this time you've been here, fighting on my behalf, and for what? Have you been trying to usurp me for your real king? Steal my secrets, sell me out to another?"

In the corner of his eye he sees Zeldris shake his head. "Who I am has nothing to do with your crown."

"I don't believe you," Arthur growls. He moves to stand in front of Zeldris, who is looking at the floor, his boot forgotten in his hands. "If not my crown, then what? All anyone wants is power. You and your king must be the same."

Finally Zeldris looks up, his movement sharp, and their gazes connect. He looks angry and hurt but Arthur cannot care because his own is too heavy to bear. "You wouldn't understand," Zeldris repeats.

"Then help me understand!" he shouts.

Slowly, Zeldris stands. His eyes are dark, darker than Arthur had ever seen: the flecks of green are gone and only pools of black ink remain. He thinks of the long shadows in the tent, the malice that brushed his skin when his brother sat at the end of the bed, the way he vanished without a trace. None of it makes any sense, and his confusion spoils into fear as he takes a step backward. "What are you?" he whispers.

"I am a god of the Underworld."

Arthur shakes his head. "What does that mean?"

"It means I am not human."

There is fire in his throat and blistering tears threatening to spill, but Arthur refuses to allow it. A lie, now? "What are you saying?"

Zeldris huffs and looks away as Arthur frowns. Something heated pricks the back of his throat at the dismissal. "How dare you," he whispers. "After all that we've done—you would tell me such a lie?" He lifts his chin, gritting his teeth as he tries to keep his rising fury at bay. "I am a king. You are my soldier, do you understand? I am the king of Britannia—"

"My eldest brother is the king of the Underworld. He judges souls for Paradise or punishment."

"You're lying."

"Estarossa deals with those who wrong other humans. He is quite adept at it. I am the god of Piety. I punish souls who defy the gods."

"You're lying!"

Both are startled by the vehemence behind Arthur's shout, but he rushes on, "You're sick, you're insane! I will have your head for such a blatant lie, you—"

Zeldris moves, faster than should be possible, faster than any human could possibly move. Arthur is pressed to the mattress, a hand gripping his throat, and as Zeldris looms over him the shadows grow long again. "You idiot," he hisses. "You threaten a god, and do you know what happens to you? Do you know what I could do to you now? What I will do to you when you die?"

His fingers squeeze at his throat, the other hand pinning Arthur's wrist to the mattress. Arthur tries to struggle, his free hand pressing to Zeldris' shoulder, but it is immediately obvious that it is futile. The strength and power emanating from Zeldris is more than he had ever felt from anyone, and Arthur knows instantly that Zeldris could break him if he chose. Fear shivers up his spine, and he takes a stuttering breath, staring at the change that has overcome him.

It's not simply his eyes that have changed: everything about Zeldris is different, sharper, his presence in the room filling it as if to strangle him before the hand pressing his windpipe does the job. Confusion and anger and fear leave the taste of metal on his tongue, and as Zeldris sneers down at him, he sees nothing but a stranger. Zeldris had held him this way the night before, a blade at his throat, and Arthur had been willing to give his life for his touch. Arthur could see the struggle within him then, knew that Zeldris would never hurt him. But that Zeldris has been replaced by a monster.

"Stupid mortals," Zeldris says. "You don't understand anything. You're nothing, just a piece in a game that began before you were born and will continue after you are dust. Merlin, Escanor, me… you are surrounded by those who would harm you or keep you safe and you're too blind to know the difference."

Arthur's eyes go wide. "How do you know Merlin? Are you saying Escanor—"

"Shut up!"

His arms are shaking, but his grip on Arthur never wanes. "You don't know the forces at play," he hisses. "Merlin is using you for her own end. She wants you to be king to usher in an age of darkness."

Arthur grows more furious, trying once more to break away. "More lies," he bites back. "With Excalibur I will bring peace to Britannia."

"She is the daughter of the god of shadows! Do you not listen!" Zeldris' eyes wince with his fury. "You wanted the truth last night, so here it is. Escanor is waging this war for her. He is her lover and she has tasked him to lose to you but now he will not, because he knows what evil she will bring. You are fated to die, Arthur. You should have died weeks ago, and I intervened in your fate, and now…"

Zeldris' voice twists, and when Arthur feels wetness on his face, he realizes Zeldris is crying. His own tears break through then, a sob sticking in his throat. It is so unbelievable, the whole tale, and yet did he not see the magic with his own eyes? Time and again he had wondered who Zeldris really was, where he came from, how he could sense things so sharply and be so skillful with his weapon. How he had ended up so suddenly in his midst, the air of nobility and the training of a prince at odds with a soldier-for-hire looking for someone. Someone Zeldris had never explained or looked for any further, once he had agreed to serve him.

And then he remembers: Arthur has never been able to read Zeldris' heart, unlike every other human he had ever encountered.

His lip trembles, thinking of how he wanted to usher in the age of men, and yet it was all just a game for the gods. And now Merlin, who he had trusted, just like Zeldris.

"Get off of me," he chokes out, pushing against the man or demon or god, whatever he claimed to be. "Get away from me!"

Arthur pushes him with all his strength, managing to scramble to his feet as they both stand staring, struggling for breath. "Just try and kill me then," Arthur snaps. He takes a step forward and pushes on his chest, knocking him back. "I'm not afraid of you, or any of you gods. You can all go to hell."

"Stop it," Zeldris warns.

"Or what? You'll kill me? Do it. Kill me and take me to the Underworld. Give me my punishment for defying you so-called gods." He pushes Zeldris again, who takes another step back. "I'm not afraid of you!" Again Arthur pushes him, so Zeldris falls back and bumps against the table. "Is this the great god of the Underworld? Is this what I should fear? You only have power because the humans give it to you, and I will take it back!"

He throws his hand to strike him, but Zeldris is too quick. Arthur is grabbed and Zeldris crashes his mouth to his, drawing a surprised shout from the king. They kiss furiously, each gripping the other's arms and hair, pushing and pulling and fighting as their lips and mouths slide together. His mouth is hot and the kiss nearly hurts, their teeth knocking together when Zeldris yanks his face to the side to deepen the connection.

Instead of disgust, however, Arthur feels exhilaration. His goal to overcome the gods and reign as king of men is so close, and if he must die as Zeldris says, then let it be at his hands, he decides. Let the Underworld itself come for his soul, and when his arms go around Zeldris to pull their hips flush together, he groans in triumph when the demon's cock presses hard and thick against his own.

Zeldris pulled back at the sound, and Arthur huffs a laugh. Their mouths are barely an inch apart, and he can feel Zeldris panting against him. "Do it," Arthur whispers. "Kill me, take me, do whatever you want. None of this matters, right? It's all just a game."

With a jerk he is bent over the table, his head slamming into the wood hard enough to make him see sparks for a moment. Zeldris grips his hair and tugs painfully, and once more Arthur is reminded of their night before. Zeldris had pinned him here too, as Arthur had whispered he loved him, their hearts beating as one before moving into each other's arms. Now he fights as best he can until the shadows weave around his body to hold him still as Zeldris squeezes his hand around the back of his neck.

"You want your punishment, mortal?" Zeldris says coldly. "Want to know what awaits you in the afterlife?"

A hand grabs at his pants and pulls, the fabric coming free to leave him naked and exposed. "Let go of me!" Arthur shouts.

Zeldris leans over him, the solid weight pressed to his back. He feels his lips teasing on his ear, and Arthur shudders despite his boiling anger. Then his length presses against his backside, still covered with the fabric of his pants, and Arthur's fists clench against the table. "Can you even do it, Zeldris?" he taunts.

"Shut up," Zeldris hisses. But Arthur can hear the tremble in his voice, and he listens to Zeldris' stuttered breathing as he grinds against his backside. At once that uncomfortable tightening in his chest squeezes tightly, and he closes his eyes to shield himself from the emotion that swells, unwelcome and unwanted.

Zeldris grips his hip with one hand, the other dragging along his spine. It is all he had wanted, Zeldris' touch, taking control and being the one to come to him, to seek pleasure from him, and Arthur's legs tense in anticipation. Then he feels Zeldris fumble for a moment before the head of his cock presses between his cheeks. A tear falls from his eye and trails down his face to pool on the table beneath him as Zeldris nudges against him, inexperienced. Words rise in his throat as he tries to hold them back— I want you, I need you, I love you —all of it nothing but his own bitter naivete and foolishness. But as Zeldris enters his body, he bites back the desire to give over to his feelings, his heart and head arguing to decide if he will respond to Zeldris' touch or fight him.

Another tear slides down as the cock slowly fills him. If he is to die, can he not have this one thing? Can he not enjoy Zeldris one last time? He is a king with the weight of war and many lives on his shoulders, a king without a kingdom, just a sword of power and the empty promises of liars and gods. So he surrenders to his emotions, relaxing his body as Zeldris sinks against him, accepting his fate.

Once Zeldris is fully sheathed inside him, Arthur again tenses, expecting him to begin to thrust and stretch him painfully. But instead Zeldris shifts closer, his mouth pressing in an unexpected kiss to his shoulder. There is a slight burning as he waits for him to move, and when Zeldris finally pulls back his cock tightens almost painfully, his body on fire with the exquisite sting.

Arthur shifts his stance, spreading his legs a bit to allow him closer. Zeldris begins to move, the drag too slow, too deep, but Arthur gives a breathless moan with each pass. It is as pleasurable as it is torture, and the discomfort melts into a need that has him moving to meet each thrust, their hips slapping together as their groans entwine.

Soon he is fucking him hard, and Arthur does not care what he looks like, who he is, what it all means. The desire for more consumes him, and he moans Zeldris' name with one particularly hard thrust. Zeldris grips his hips tightly as he pumps inside of him, the sounds he makes fueling Arthur's lust. He pulls at the dark magic pinning his arms, desperate to grip his own cock that is bobbing with a pulsing ache beneath him.

Zeldris pushes inside, pressing against a spot that has Arthur's head falling back and his mouth dropping open in a silent moan. "Do you need to come?" he asks.

"Yes," he gasps. No more lies.

"Me too." He feels Zeldris press his forehead between his shoulder blades. "I need you. I need you."

"Do it," Arthur groans. Zeldris rocks his hips, grinding in and out, and he moans. "Yes, just like that. Just like that."

Their bodies move together, grinding, pulsing, until Arthur is nearly sobbing with painful ecstasy. He feels the magic on his arms snap away and immediately he pushes up on his hands, tilting his hips up and back to meet Zeldris, relishing the way the demon cries out. He reaches down to grasp his cock and just as he starts to stroke himself furiously he feels Zeldris begin to empty inside of him, the hot seed coating them both and relieving the aching friction so his body is slippery as it moves in and out. Finally Zeldris pushes once more inside, stilling, and Arthur lets go his own release with a cry. His hand is coated as he shoots over himself and the table, bending over as his body shakes with spasms.

Zeldris eases his cock out, and Arthur lays weakly on the table, taking a moment, then another, then another, to wait for his heart to stop pounding and the pulsing to subside. He is filled with an undeniable shame, but also excitement, love and lust and agony tumbling inside his chest. Arthur reaches back for Zeldris, but finds him gone. Once his thoughts clear he listens carefully, expecting a fatal blow to come, and when it does not he straightens carefully and turns around.

Zeldris is standing across the room, at a large basin on the dressing table, carefully washing the evidence of what just happened away from his body. His eyes are focused solely on his task, and when Arthur walks unsteadily over to him, Zeldris hands him the soap without even looking. Arthur swallows thickly and takes it, making quick work of his own wash. "Thank you," he whispers.

Zeldris looks away, over his shoulder, but before he does Arthur sees him blinking back tears. The air is tight and uncomfortable, so unlike him, unlike them, that Arthur feels his own tears rising. Everything has changed now, and he isn't ready, he decides. Not for this to end, not for death, not for any of it.

"I'm not going to kill you," Zeldris says quietly.

"Isn't that what you were sent to do?"

He sees Zeldris wince. "Yes. Escanor does not want to kill you himself. He knows that it would infuriate Merlin. He has asked me to do it. It is my duty, as Piety of the gods," he finishes with a bitter laugh.

"I don't understand," Arthur says. His voice is small, like a child's, but his sorrow overcomes his shame. "Why would she do this?"

Zeldris takes his arm but still will not look at him. "Merlin is not to be trusted. I've seen her manipulate others, including myself. She… she has caused great harm to me, and to others. Others I care for."

There is a heavy pause. Arthur considers his accusation, but it is overcome as he remembers something else. "He said you already love someone," Arthur whispers.

Zeldris bows his head, struggling to breathe. "I did. I do," he says, so quietly he can barely hear. Arthur cannot see his face, but he can hear the tightness in his voice and feel the tension in his body, as if he is breaking. "I am the god of Piety," he continues softly. "I punish humans who defy the gods. In exchange for this gift, I cannot feel. But I could, with her, and with you…"

Arthur frowns. "With me?"

"With you…"

Slowly he turns and presses his palm to Arthur's chest, pausing to press against his pounding heart. "With you I can feel," he murmurs. "I don't know why. I can feel everything, just like I could with Gelda—but she has been gone for such a long time, and I don't know when I will see her again…"

There is pain in his voice that makes Arthur's heart squeeze. "You love her," he sighs.

"I do," he says, nearly a whimper. "And I love you too."

Arthur cups his face and forces his gaze to his. Then he leans forward, sealing their mouths together, and Zeldris clings to his waist. They hold one another tightly before moving together to the bed, choosing to ignore fate a while longer.