xii.

"So blood magic isn't from the element of death."

"Correct."

"It's from the element of life."

"Correct."

"And the element of death is stronger than life?"

Merlin rolled his eyes at the same time as he rolled to his feet. Having never taught before, he was coming to find that he hated it. "No. How many times have I told you? No element is stronger than another. Just different."

"But you said all life leads to death."

"Yes, but death feeds life in turn. Everything has its place. We went over this yesterday."

Arthur stood off the forest floor where they'd been having their lessons the past three days, chucking a twig into the underbrush. Having never been taught by a bad teacher before, he was coming to find that he wanted to strangle him. "How do you expect me to remember anything when all of this is complete nonsense?!" He threw his hands up and stalked across the small clearing, not nearly big enough to put any distance between him and the fairy.

Merlin crossed his arms and leaned back against a tree as he eyed Arthur. "Maybe you would remember better if you actually got some sleep."

Arthur scowled and turned away. "And now you're a physician?"

"You look half dead, Arthur."

"Good. I do not have time to be alive. The first envoy will reach Camelot this afternoon." Arthur closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. Once closed, his eyes begged to remain that way but he forced them open and turned back around. "I'm not going to be prepared enough to fight a war against magic. And my men certainly won't be any better. Come with us."

Merlin raised his eyebrows, as surprised at the invitation as he was at Arthur's sincerity in giving it. But being in some mortals' quarrel, with the noise and violence and blood, made him sick just to think about. "No," he said. He held out his hands to the king. "You're too tired to learn this morning. Let's go back and you should try to sleep before Lord Whomever arrives."

Arthur's eyebrows sunk lower. He was going to have to introduce Merlin to his vassals at some point, and he was not looking forward to it. "Lord William. And I won't sleep. But fine, let's return." He took Merlin's hands and the next moment they were standing in the study.

"You will," Merlin said sternly. "Or I'll call Guinevere to make you. She's been worried about you, too."

"You're worried about me?" Arthur quipped, with such self-satisfaction that whatever real concern Merlin felt was overshadowed by annoyance.

"Only that it won't be fun to antagonize you anymore," he retorted. He gestured out of the room and looked to Arthur expectantly. Normally Arthur would resent being ordered by anyone but his wife, but he was so tired that he could not deny laying down in his bed sounded like bliss.

Merlin followed him all the way to his room, and Arthur shut the door in his face.

The second he was in his bed with his eyes closed, the image of Gwaine's slackened face forced his eyes open. He turned onto his back with a heavy sigh and stared up at the dark wooden canopy.

"Gwaine," he murmured. He gripped the sheet beneath his hands, clenching his jaw against tears. "Forgive me. Please. My good friend, forgive me."

Lord William arrived on an elegant chestnut horse, surrounded by four hundred knights. Arthur stood beside Gwen on the castle steps to greet them. It was a palpable relief among visitors and greeters alike that they made it safely.

"All hail the king!" Lord William shouted, and his knights repeated it in a wave of voices that crashed across the grounds.

Arthur descended the steps as William dismounted and knelt. His knights followed suit.

Close enough to talk at a normal volume, Arthur beckoned William to stand. "We are all glad to see you, Lord William," Arthur said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. William bowed his head. An older man, who had been closer to Arthur's father than to him, William did not look impressive to strangers. But Arthur knew his wit remained sharp as a sword, and his wisdom, along with his experience, was invaluable. Still, the years and war had not been kind to the man. His face wrinkled in new places, and his once-greying hair was now just grey. "I trust your journey was unencumbered?"

"It was, Your Majesty. We give our undying gratitude for your protection of our lands and fortunes."

Arthur smiled and gestured to the castle squires. "Have your men relieved of their armor. The rest of the lords are set to arrive tomorrow, and King Nicholas arrives the day after. Then we shall talk of this dreadful war. In the meantime, let us feast."

The banquet hall was filled to the brim, and many of the knights were forced to spill out to the gardens. Musicians played inside and out, a cacophony of sound intermingled with the voices and laughter and shouts of the knights.

Being the king, Arthur was seated in the main hall. He sat at one end of the long table opposite William, their councils and highest knights between them. The entire night passed in a haze, Arthur giving polite but succinct answers to anyone who spoke to him and picking at the food that was placed before him with no appetite for it. Guinevere was up doing what she did best, charming the men and being a much better host than him. It was Gwen who finally whisked him away, making many polite mitigations on his behalf.

The dim light and quieter noises of the corridors felt both like a salve and an oppressive weight on Arthur.

"My dear," Gwen pressed gently, walking arm-in-arm with him. He shook the fog from his head and looked down at her. "You cannot go on this way. Take tonight and tomorrow morning to rest as full as you can before the smaller vassals arrive. I will tend to Lord William and his knights."

He was too tired to argue. He let Gwen lead him to their room, and once there she helped remove all the formal outer layers of his garb until he was only in linen undergarments.

"I will tell Havor not to disturb you tomorrow morning." Guinevere kissed him and left.

He sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window. His bed chambers were on the opposite side of the castle as the festivities, but he could still hear muffled noises of music and excitement. He lay down, convinced that he was finally exhausted enough to sleep for more than ten minutes at a time.

Not so. He awoke in a cold sweat, Gwaine's screams still ringing in his ears. He grabbed his trousers from where Gwen had laid them on a chair and yanked them on as he stormed out of the room.

He had told Merlin to stay away from the feast that night, to which the fairy had responded that he would have never gone in his thousand years of life. Arthur did not know if that was true; if he had truly stayed away or, even if he had, whether he would be in his room or flown off somewhere into the forest. He didn't care. He barged in and, seeing Merlin, fell heavily into the chair by his fast-breaking table.

Merlin turned from the window, nothing interesting there anyway without view of the festivities, and looked at the disheveled king. When Arthur simply sat with his head in his hands and said nothing, Merlin strayed closer.

"Greetings to you, too," he offered.

"Merlin," Arthur groaned.

The genuine anguish in his voice gave Merlin pause. He swallowed all the teasing remarks he had on his tongue. "Yes?"

"There must be a magic to make someone sleep, no? Or at least unconscious, surely."

Merlin bit his lower lip, trying to pinpoint the awful feeling weighing in his chest. Uneasiness? Annoyance? No… he could see it as only pity, an emotion he had never had towards a human. "There is not, Arthur. Why not just lay down and sleep?"

"Because I can't!" he bellowed, looking up. The dark bruises under his eyes only accentuated the anger in them. "Do you think I haven't tried? I cannot close my eyes without seeing his face, without seeing that ungodly act I took upon him! And the worst part is, I cannot tell! Not even Guinevere can know where we were, the things we went through." He dropped his head back in his hands, too weak to hold his head up on its own. He closed his eyes, fighting back tears of grief and anger. "Please," he whispered. "Please, Merlin. Let me sleep."

Merlin stepped forward, reaching his hands out. He hesitated, palms hovering above Arthur's head, before he buried his fingers in the king's hair.

His locks were softer than Merlin thought they would be. He brushed one hand back, grazing his fingers through the gold shimmering in the candlelight. Arthur quieted under his touch, though he trembled, whether from emotion or exhaustion or something else, Merlin could not determine.

"Magic that touches the mind can make the caster go mad," Merlin said softly. "Even a fairy. I am sorry for what you had to do, but make no mistake, Arthur—you had to do it. You were not harming your friend, you were saving him. And I was there. So… if you need, you can relieve your burdens to me, and I will gladly take them." Arthur stood up, forcing Merlin to step back. He stood aside, fully expecting Arthur to march out of the room. Instead, he sat on the bed.

Merlin continued to stand until Arthur gestured, without looking up. The fairy held back a reluctant sigh and sat on the uncomfortable straw-filled mattress. Then, Arthur surprised Merlin even further. He opened up.

He talked about meeting Gwaine, about their adventures together in and out of battle, about Gwaine being there for him in the wake of his father's death. He did not say it, but Merlin could hear clear as day that Arthur had loved him. So he stayed quiet, and listened intently, and thought he understood—truly understood, not just knew—the love Dryads held for humanity.

When the candles were burned nearly to their wicks, and the room flickered between dimming flame and darkness, Arthur was asleep against the feather pillows. Merlin lay in silence beside him, watching the way the shadows transformed his face. A grotesque monster one moment, and a handsome solemn man the next. He reached out and brushed his fingers, ever so gently, over his hair.

"Good night, King Arthur," he murmured. He turned around, tucking his hands under his head, and closed his eyes.