PPS, And the oneshot grows into episode-scene rewrites, sort of…

Liftlic, pt 2

1.1 (Dragon's Call)

Arthur was pinned to his chair with shock and cobwebs.

Lady Helen was not Lady Helen. She was almost crushed under the vast wooden chandelier – and throwing a knife at him, with magic and as much deadly accuracy as he ever used in target practice.

Sharp blade – glittering point – certain death.

A matter of days only since he'd passed through the Whispering Wood, so his mouth and mind shouted – whispered – one word.

Merlin!

Time slowed. The knife carved the air, inexorably drawing closer - closer–

The liftlic appeared, black-haired and half-naked, bounding effortlessly and barefoot through the hall between the tables. Easily he overtook the airborne blade and gave it a playful flick, self-satisfied glee lighting sapphire eyes that connected to Arthur's. Then disappeared past Arthur's seat and behind his range of vision.

Arthur blinked and time slammed into its proper pace. The knife slammed into the back of his chair, quivering inches from his ear and shoulder.

Gasps and screams and the dying rattle of a witch were distant. A gust of air curled across Arthur's face, bringing with it the scent of hay and sunflowers and a subtle laugh. He sat stunned as the king bawled orders and recrimination to the rest of the room, nobles and servants.

"What luck!" Uther exclaimed finally, wrenching the knife out of the wood of Arthur's chair.

"It wasn't luck," Arthur managed, still stunned; he'd expected to die, and then he didn't. He didn't bother turning his head in the direction Merlin had disappeared; apparently no one else had so much as glimpsed the air-spirit.

Did I just use magic?

"What then, a guardian angel?" Uther mocked.

Something like that… And definitely, something to remember.

1.3 (Mark of Nimueh)

One month after Arthur had inadvertently called his liftlic to Camelot to save his life, he deliberately called his liftlic into Camelot to save his life.

Down in the belly of the citadel, dripping and dank in the cistern-tunnels, his sword was useless against the creature Gaius had called an afanc. It didn't speak, it didn't negotiate; he panted from the endless useless cycle of attack and retreat.

The torch guttered as he ran and swung and stumbled, the bodies of his men littering the rough shadowed floor.

Despairingly he fell back before one last swipe of those monster-nightmare claws and fangs-

Arthur screamed, "Merlin!"

The sweaty-pointy ends of his hair stirred with a breath of hay and sunflower. His fall was leisurely slowed – and as he dropped, another hand closed over his on his torch. Merlin's body glittered reflectively for a moment – then he and the torch blazed forward.

The afanc was engulfed in flames, wildly flickering in the rush of wind the liftlic brought – it shrieked and writhed and collapsed still burning.

Arthur hit the ground, and bit his tongue.

The corpse charred and crumbled, stilling and extinguishing.

And in a moment, the survivors of the troop he'd brought with him surrounded him, exclaiming and querying, "Well done, sire! What a throw! What aim! Are you all right, sire? Are you hurt?"

Behind the furthest-crouching knight, Arthur looked up to see Merlin standing, hands on his hips over the waist-edge of the hide trousers. Eyebrows up as if to ask the same thing, but lips quirked in a triumphant grin.

"I'm all right," Arthur said to all of them, grasping the hands outstretched to pull him back to his feet. And to one specifically he added a heartfelt, "Thank you."

Merlin gave a glad little bounce on his heels, and disappeared.

1.4 (Poisoned Chalice)

Arthur had no notion of poison, drinking his father's wine from the goblet gifted him by King Bayard of Mercia. Even as his vision blurred and his legs stumbled and refused to hold his weight, he only registered confusion.

Not fear. Not dread. Nor pain…

The pain came later, slithering through the darkness and twining about his veins til his throat was hoarse and his heart exhausted from screaming. Stop – oh make it stop. MerlinMerlinMerlin! Inside his own head, apparently, because his ears heard something else.

"Oh, Arthur…"

"What in the name of all that's holy are you?"

"I'm a liflic. You can call me Merlin. And I'm Arthur's."

"An air-spirit? Whenever can he have had the opportunity of finding you? What do you mean, you're his?"

"Does that matter? What can I do for him? This is a dread poison, I can feel it…"

"The poison was derived from the morteaus flower – I found a petal inside the goblet he drank from. So Arthur can only be saved by a potion made from the leaf of the very same flower, and it can only be found in the caves deep beneath the Forest of Balor. The flower grows on the roots of the Mortaeus tree-"

"Okay, thanks!"

"But it also says- Oh, goodness!"

"Here you are. Morteaus leaf."

"That's – oh, my. It is indeed. And how did you – ah. Air-spirit, of course. Very good, then, I'll be just a moment to concoct the potion."

Arthur wanted to groan, to curl up or stretch out – he was on the patient bed in Gaius' chamber, but he knew the other voice, too. Merlin – who had shown himself to Gaius for Arthur's sake. And the pain coiling in his gut, rattling in his skull, kept him paralyzed and voiceless.

"There was a woman there, outside the cave."

"A woman?"

"She looked young and beautiful, but she wasn't. She was powerful, and she was waiting."

"For Arthur?"

"For someone…"

"She didn't see you, did she?"

"Old man, don't make me laugh – did she see me?!"

"No need to call me that. My name is Gaius."

"Nice to meet you, Gaius. I'm glad Arthur has others to take care of him."

"Hm. There, it's ready. We just need to-"

"Needs a touch of magic, too, don't you think? There's magic mixed with the poison."

"What are you – oh. I didn't notice that. I suppose… I didn't have time to notice that. Which is probably a very good thing, for Arthur. It might have been days, otherwise, before…"

The potion smelled of hay and sunflowers. Arthur's head was lifted; there was liquid at his lips and he opened his mouth to swallow willingly. It was cool, sliding down his throat, tingling through his veins, flushing the winding pain right out through his skin in a wave of sweat.

Then Arthur could groan, and roll to his side, and open his eyes.

Merlin was frowning in concentration, hovering over Gaius' shoulder as he sat next to Arthur. The old physician cocked an eyebrow, and tilted his head toward the liftlic.

"Care to explain, sire?"

Arthur sighed and closed his eyes again. Maybe after he slept for a while, he'd feel like telling Gaius that story. No need to say goodbye to Merlin, if he was never very far away…

1.7 (Gates of Avalon)

Arthur had never felt this way about anyone before. Sophia was soft and gentle and enchanting… literally, enchanting…

He might not have minded, except that her eyes burned bright red, rather than the gold of magic he publicly resisted and privately explored. That color red, dangerous as fresh blood, inhuman in a malevolent way, sent a flood of dread through him like poison.

Like poison… like poison…

Merlin, help, as his thoughts and soul submerged.

He was drowning. Sinking slowly, silt oozing into his chainmail, his scarlet cloak swirling in the water like blood. Though his eyes were closed, he could see it. Water lapped at his lips and teased his nostrils with the air he could not have…

But then the water parted, and the scent of hay and sunflowers caressed his face. He breathed – and opened his eyes.

He was underwater – everything around him distorted, the sunlight fractured on the surface less than five feet above him as he lay in the mud. A shadow moved between it and him-

Sapphire eyes gleamed. Full lips smiled, pressed together against the insistence of the water around them. Black hair waved gently wild in the water-current-

Arthur's pulse spiked. How was an air-spirit underwater?

His entire body convulsed to get his feet under him, pushing his weight upward to standing in the water, head and chest above the surface to breathe on his own – he must have closed his eyes against the silt-particles suspended in the lake; Merlin was gone when he opened them again, his whole body heaving for air.

"Father!" Sophia stood right in front of him, crimson-eyed and gaping in shock, ripples of the water lapping at her neck. Aulfric postured on the shore, his voice stentorian as he shouted some language Arthur didn't recognize.

"Get off – don't touch me!" He shoved Sophia's hands away as they fluttered to land on him like agitated bats, and began to slosh his way to shore, furious enough to spit.

Abruptly the temperature of the water dropped, nearly to freezing, congealing around his legs like cold gravy. He paused out of necessity and looked back – ephemeral blue light illuminated the surface of the lake, and the forest beyond was a blur of dark green-black.

The blue lights danced closer, slower – and he saw that they were tiny beings, with fangs and enormous ears and elongated feet that they dipped in the lake. The nearest one was wearing a sort of crown, and Arthur's heart went as cold and slow as the water. He couldn't feel his fingers; he had no idea if there was a sword at his belt or not.

Not that it would do any good…

These were the people whose stories he'd feared, trespassing into Merlin's wood. The ones who'd fill their bargains with loopholes, and require souls in payment, and kidnap a person for a hundred years during a single unwary nap. The faeries. The sidhe.

"We were promised…" Such a gravelly voice from such a tiny, delicate thing sent a shudder of revulsion up Arthur's back. "The soul of the greatest prince of all, in return for passage to immortality for the beloved daughter."

"Father?" Sophia shouted from further into the lake, and began to splash her way toward Arthur.

"Here he is – I delivered!" Aulfric protested, from the shore.

"Who is it then, that interferes with the ceremony?" the sidhe king wondered.

A hand touched Arthur's shoulder softly, and he nearly toppled over in the knee-deep water again, startling in surprise. When he turned Merlin was smiling kindly into his eyes, bare feet not quite touching the surface of the lake, hand still extended, and he ignored the others to speak to Arthur alone.

"Come."

Arthur never was so glad to take a person's hand. Warmth spread down his arm from the contact, down his legs, and he was able to swish through the last waves to the shore, Merlin wafting along at his side.

"A liftlic?" the sidhe king rasped, sounding incredulous.

"My lord, I protest!" Aulfric bleated. "My daughter's enchantment on the prince-"

Sophia had almost reached him, her sodden dress dragging unattractively at her figure, turning her from an angel into a bog-ghost.

"My claim supersedes theirs," Merlin said softly, angled toward Arthur but facing the hovering sidhe-king. His hair wasn't even wet – he didn't look like he'd been touched by the water at all. "Ours is an older and more binding contract. They can't use him. You can't have him."

Arthur felt like smothering his friend in an embrace, but he was almost afraid to move. He alone was mortal; they three were not. All his authority and skill meant nothing here.

Hells, was he glad he hadn't broken that staff.

"I can't have him?" the king demanded, subtly threatening.

Merlin's smile was small and impish. "Perhaps when my debt is paid and our bond is broken, I can bring him to you myself?"

What? Arthur began to rethink his relief and gratitude.

The wings were nearly invisible behind the king, but the edges showed when he twisted his blue body with skepticism. "You are immortal – you have no need to buy entrance to Avalon."

"That is true." Merlin gave a little bow – of acquiescence and respect, not fealty.

"My lord, we are your kin!" Aulfric interrupted, gesturing between himself and Sophia. "How can you listen to such a-"

"Silence!" the sidhe king hissed, giving his feet a flick of a kick that spoke to Arthur of deadly impatience. "You were sentenced to mortality for the crime of murdering your kin. Your offered recompense cannot be claimed by you, and is therefore rejected by us. Be thankful I do not take her soul instead, and begone!"

He made a shoo-ing gesture at them; Aulfric curled protectively toward Sophia, and both of them disappeared.

Arthur took the opportunity to lean toward Merlin's ear and murmur, "Can we get the hell out of here?"

Merlin made a reassuring motion with one hand, his attention remaining upon the nearest of the tiny blue sidhe, the king.

"And your name, liflic?" the sidhe said imperiously in his scratchy-dangerous voice.

"I am Merlin."

"Hm. I cannot deny, we have noted Arthur Pendragon, and we crave his presence in Avalon."

Chills slithered down Arthur's spine, but Merlin moved his hand inches only to rest on Arthur's forearm, and he was warmed again. "As I said," his voice was mild, and rock-certain. "When my debt is paid, and our bond broken, I can bring his soul to Avalon. And no, not in payment for immortality, but sharing my own with him."

Wait – what?

"Once," the sidhe king hissed. "And future?"

Merlin gave the same little saucy-formal bow. "Even so."

"Liftlic, you presume."

Careless shrug of gossamer-butterfly shoulders. "Then I apologize, and we will withdraw."

His hand on Arthur's arm pressed lightly, and Arthur began to back away from the sidhe king, well aware that he should not turn his back. At some point he would want to avert his eyes, though, because watching such things disappear from sight was said to have ominous consequences, also. If you walk away, don't look back. If you back away, don't look at all.

He was aware, though, that the rest of the minute blue lights skittered about in a hazy-anxious cloud for a moment. And Merlin was moving with him, rather than disappearing to dance the air-currents of the world.

"Wait."

They paused. Arthur wasn't sure whether to be pleased or nervous. He didn't actually understand what Merlin was bargaining for.

"If he comes to us freely, if the both of you come to us freely, you may both remain. Freely."

"Thank you, my lord," Merlin said, his tone respectful and betraying nothing of triumph or defeat for Arthur to base any guesses upon. "It may be many long years, as the humans reckon them…"

"That is all one to us, you know that. Farewell, Merlin."

"Til then, Your Majesty."

The blue glow faded, and Arthur was left with Merlin in the darkening forest. What time was it? What day was it? He realized he was soaking wet, wearing chainmail, and had no idea how far from the citadel he was. Merlin flitted while he slogged.

Irritably, he said, "So you've sold my soul, then?"

"Of course not, Arthur. Your soul isn't mine to bargain – rather, I am yours. I only got the sidhe-king to agree to allow you to join the immortals in Avalon when you die."

"You mean," Arthur said slowly, trying not to trip over vines that twined his ankles and sprang away from Merlin's, "that if I decide to break that staff, I'm going to die and they get my soul?"

"Please don't break the staff," Merlin said, the plea velvet-strong and thrumming with emotion. "I want to help you when you need me. And when you're done, and not even I can save your life one last time, then we go as comrades into a never-ending paradise. Forever, or for a while… beyond the veil, the souls of men can never return, but from Avalon… someday, it may be. You my master and I your happy servant, through the ages."

"Someday I'd come back to live another life?" Arthur said incredulously.

Merlin shrugged, giving a self-conscious little skip. "Both of us?"

"That's…" Arthur struggled with words that were too heavy and ill-defined to describe his feelings. "Something to think about, that's for sure."

Merlin flashed him a grin, curling his fingers around the back of Arthur's arm. "Come on, I'll walk you home."

Hay and sunflowers blew in Arthur's face, and his feet stumbled over the cobblestones just outside the citadel's open gates, the guards alerting to his sole presence. Another gust blew his cloak around one shoulder – clean and dry, like the rest of him.

It seemed to him like he might be the one who owed a debt.

1.9 (Excalibur)

Seated on the cold hearth in his chambers, Arthur bent over his knees, eyes squeezed shut, arms slowly losing sensation in a tight band around his shins. Misery threatened to pull him apart – radiating hotly from a place just below his breastbone.

Heartache was the least of it. Loss and regret only half. Responsibility and all that came with it would press him til he couldn't breathe, like a boulder on his chest that couldn't be displaced.

He was king.

Expected, for all his life, but not like this. Not so abruptly and violently. Not while he'd been sleeping and his father fought the challenge for him – and lost. And the challenger dead also – long dead, according to Gaius.

Whom he could no longer trust.

His heart pulsed with loneliness, and another sob strangled him.

A different sort of weight settled across his shoulder-blades, a strong and comradely arm, coaxing him to lean, to rest – and without bothering to open his eyes to identify the person who'd dared enter his private sanctum to disturb and assuage his grief, he obeyed.

His weight was supported. His forehead found the crook of someone's neck, and the warmth and presence of a strong lean flank against his side – silent and unassuming – released his tears.

He wept for what he'd never had. He wept for what never would be. He wept with a child's self-pity, with a man's knowledge of his own imperfection and the consequences of his mistakes that his people would bear. It exhausted him, and cleansed him.

And only then did he wonder who. Not Gaius. Not Leon, or any of the others – not even Gwen.

Arthur inhaled hay and sunflowers, and relaxed still further on the exhale. Oh, of course. Maybe it was his loneliness, more than any conscious word, that had called out – and this one would understand loneliness.

Merlin's fingers were slowly combing and petting his hair, and it was soothing. He said in a low voice that held no merriment at all, "What happened?"

Arthur sighed. Reached to wipe his eyes, and straightened away from Merlin's arm and fingers, speaking in awkward, jerky sentences with long pauses. "My father was killed this afternoon. A stranger came, three days ago. Wanted a duel, to the death. One of my knights was quicker – and the second day, my father held me back from taking the repeated challenge. Someone else died, and today… Today my father fought and died in my place. I didn't even know it til it was over."

"And now you are king," Merlin said, with the same soft understanding.

Arthur made a sound that was almost another sob, and twitched something like a shrug. "I'm not going to be a good one. I can't be good enough. I'll never be what he was, and you know I want to change things, but there are risks with any change and people will be hurt and everyone will doubt me and question me, and that might weaken the kingdom and there might be wars…"

Merlin exhaled through his teeth, not really a shushing noise, something unusual but still calming. He breathed deeply and slowly, and Arthur found himself matching those breaths. He wiped his eyes clear again and no more tears blurred his vision. Another thought occurred to him and he glanced down at his plain white shirtsleeve, rubbing his chest and checking his hand – but no, Merlin's orange iridescence didn't rub off.

The liftlic rose from the hearth and flitted about the room, all gangly elbows and knees when he was moving at a human's pace. He straightened the bedclothes with a wave and a ripple; he cleared the table – and the floor – of dishes with a sweep and a couple of deft scoops with his bare foot and quick catches. He tidied Arthur's strewn laundry light-hearted and fleet-footed, and it occurred to Arthur that he might take a lesson in methods of improving and organizing his kingdom.

Merlin then disappeared for a single instant, to reappear seated once again on the hearth beside Arthur before he had a chance to react. He held out Arthur's goblet, brimming with a deep-golden liquid.

"Drink this," he said. "It'll be better for you than the wine you've got here."

Arthur didn't question, only sipped. It was like drinking honeyed steam – warm and viscous, but not cloying. It trailed heat down his throat, curled around his heart, dissipated through his blood outward toward fingers and toes, lapping lassitude through him like a steamy fragrant bath for the inside of his body, rinsing him clean and free without rising to fog his head at all.

"Mmm," he managed.

"Isn't it?" Merlin answered with a quirk of a smile. "One more sip, Arthur – you'll feel better, I promise."

He was right. Arthur had no idea what was in the drink, but it clarified thoughts and lulled physical tension til it didn't seem to matter anymore. The ache eased, and the sorrow was gentle around his heart, and he drank half the cup in slow swallows. Merlin said nothing, just sat and breathed and the loneliness was gone and the doubt was gone. A hard knot in the center of his chest was teased open by the liquid warmth and Arthur began to speak, unself-consciously, stories of his childhood, memories of his father, dreams he used to have that got lost in the pace of hard work.

And Merlin understood, even if he wasn't human. Now and then he filled a pause with some observation he'd made, some memory of his own that was alien to Arthur's experience – yet somehow exactly the same.

The knock on the door was unexpected, but Arthur felt no shock or surprise – or when it creaked ajar and it was Gwen's voice that intruded.

"My lord? May I come in? Lady Morgana sent me to see that you were all right, but I heard voices…"

Arthur looked at Merlin, who raised his eyebrows to express interest and curiosity – but willingness to bow to Arthur's wishes, too, a readiness to disappear in a sprint to the wind.

He opened his mouth and said, "Come on in, Gwen. There's someone I would like you to meet."

2.3 (Nightmare Begins)

"Merlin?... Oh, there you are."

"You called and I answered, beloved lord and mas-"

"Don't call me that, I told you."

"Okay, Arthur… so you needed me?"

"Not really me… The thing is, there was a disturbance earlier this evening. No danger, I don't think, but Morgana is pretty shaken. Morgana is-"

"Your father's ward. A Seer, if I'm not mistaken."

"Yeah… She has magic, then, you can tell? It's for sure?"
"Why?"

"My father hated magic. You know that. There was a lot of death, and a lot of fear, the whole time we were growing up, and Morgana still feels… like we're all going to think she's some kind of monster, for having it. No offense."

"Why should I be offended?"

"Right, then… never mind. But the thing is, I can ease off on the consequences for magic-users who are caught, but I can't change the law yet, I've only been king for eight months and I don't have the support I need on the council or among the knights. Things are changing, but gradually, and Morgana's not very good at patience or at listening to me, so I thought… maybe… if you talked to her?"

"Does she know about me?"

"I never said. And I don't think Gwen ever told anyone about meeting you, though I'm pretty sure she talked to Gaius, just for… information about your kind. Tell Morgana I sent you, so she won't be frightened."

"Very well, sire. I'll tell her magic is beautiful and hers is a gift and waiting is worth it and you're already an excellent king and it won't be long til everyone can see that and trust you to make the right decisions and support your choices-"

"Yes, all right, you don't have to… rabbit on like that."

"I like making you turn that shade of red, Master."

"Merlin!"

"All right, I'm going…"

"Merlin!"

"What?"

"Don't just – appear, in her bedchamber. Make sure you knock on the door first and wait for her to open it and invite you in."

"Because that's polite for females?"

"Because that's polite for humans."

"Does that mean I'm being rude every time I answer your call without going through the door first?"

"Don't look so pleased about it. And Merlin… good luck."

Epilogue

It was rare that Arthur was the only one standing at the Table, around which sat his most trusted friends and advisors, his wife and queen, and her onetime mistress. But he had an announcement to make that would affect the whole kingdom as well as allies and enemies, and he had to begin with these select friends. He'd need their comprehension and acceptance before they could move forward with public knowledge.

He sent his gaze questing the circle, one to the next, slowly and surely, without speaking – all met his gaze without disturbing his silence. Beginning with Lancelot at his left, and ending with Morgana beside Guinevere on his right, both of whom knew what he planned today.

"I think all of you have anticipated this day for a long time," he began contemplatively. "Some, longer than others. Some of you have been with me since before the release of the Dragon. Through the Troll Invasion… and the chaos that was the signing of the Albion Accords."

He paused, and Gwaine punched Percival's shoulder in some private celebration of remembered triumph; Percival ignored him.

"Some of you have suspected, some of you have guessed – and I'm quite sure that some of you bribed or blackmailed those who knew for privileged information." Arthur ignored the glance that passed from Elyan to Guinevere, though he couldn't quite keep the quirk from the corner of his mouth. It wasn't important; the newest of his knights – and his brother-in-law – was exceedingly discreet. "Some of you are also guilty of the same crimes as I am – of making use of magical defense against our enemies."

Tristan smothered a sudden snort behind his hand; Isolde blinked innocent serenity from his side.

"But this day – this day, Camelot is set to officially proclaim the revocation of the Ban on magic. A recognition of the rights of citizenship of all magic-users, their protection from prejudicial harm, and a welcome of all such who wish to come or return to Camelot from other kingdoms."

Arthur took a deep breath; no one said anything because they'd all discussed this goal for months, and all were in concert in striving towards it. It was a relief. A triumph.

"Therefore, in the interests of clarity and honesty, I'm going to introduce you all to the person you might have suspected or guessed at, our magical aid in so many endeavors. Our good luck and guardian angel. He is a liftlic, an air-spirit, and I want each of you especially to trust that his loyalty and integrity is far above question."

Gwen's smile threatened to burst beyond her wide cheeks. Morgana was smirking around the table, Gaius' eyebrow was stern, and Gwaine sat up straight from his slouch in expectation.

Arthur said, "Merlin?"

The touch of a draft was scented with hay and sunflowers, and a warm presence breathed at his shoulder.

"Yes, Master?" Merlin said breezily. Gwen giggled.

Arthur turned to lay his hand on Merlin's bare glimmering-orange shoulder, to demonstrate to his most trusted that they could trust this being of magic, also. But Merlin already rested one forearm over the back of Lancelot's chair, his other hand raised nonchalantly to his hip over the waistband of the hide trousers that clung to the shape of his form.

"Hello, Merlin," Isolde said in her dusky, suggestive voice.

She wasn't the only one. Leon gave a nearly-formal salute, and Gwaine tossed off a casual, "Mate…"

Merlin sent a mischievous smile around the table, and swayed close to Arthur to murmur, "They all promised to act surprised when you introduced me."

Arthur was disgruntled, a bit. "I had a speech."

"I know, I heard. I helped you write it, remember." Merlin's eyes widened playfully at Arthur's glare. "Before I met Tristan. And those four down there."

Arthur rolled his eyes and faced the curve of the table again, most of his friends grinning or outright laughing. "So… there you have it. My grand secret that wasn't a secret. All of my success is due to my command of this magical creature-"

"That's not true," Merlin protested. "What I did was details, Arthur. This is your kingdom, and your reign, and you've earned the hearts of everyone at this table, all on your own."

"I'll drink to that," Gwaine said suddenly, raising the goblet that was in front of him, as in front of everyone. Because Arthur had planned a toast as well, and of course he couldn't be allowed to control even one aspect of this meeting.

"Oh, wait!" Merlin said excitedly. He flickered – Gwaine flinched reactively, and several people around the table exclaimed over the fact that the crimson-tinted wine in every goblet was now clear-golden.

Merlin beamed at Arthur. "No one else has had this but you, Arthur. But we should share it with them, now, don't you think?"

Arthur couldn't quite hold back his smile. It had occurred to him, when he'd thought about the toast, but he usually abstained from making frivolous requests of his unusual servant. "What did you do with the wine?"

Sapphire-blue innocence. "I drank it, of course. Couldn't let it go to waste, could I?"

Someone – Tristan – groaned an obscenity. "A drunk liflic, now what?"

"He doesn't look drunk – is it possible for an air-spirit to get drunk? I'm taking you to the tavern tonight to find out," Gwaine promised.

"Shut up, all of you," Arthur ordered. "Raise your hands and chalices and join me in drinking to an extraordinary friend of Camelot and one of the best men I've ever known – Merlin."

"Oh, no," Merlin's immediate protest arrested the most eager to drink in mid-gesture. "Not to me. To all of us. To Camelot. And to a golden beginning."

"I'll drink to that?" Gwaine repeated, eagerly impatient.

"You'll drink to anything," Percival said.

Arthur gave a nod that released the toast, and everyone drank – exclaimed, and kept drinking whatever it was that Merlin brought from wherever he brought it.

Merlin put his hand on Arthur's shoulder – chainmail and cloak – and bent close to say into Arthur's ear, "I'm not lonely anymore. Not ever. Maybe you won't believe me, but what you've done for me is far more valuable than anything I could ever do for you. Thank you."

Arthur's grin felt vibrant; his whole life felt vibrant. And when his time was come, he knew that he need not fear death, because his friend would be with him, through and beyond to whatever adventure waiting them, in and past Avalon.

A/N: Okay, that felt like kind of a stupid ending to me, but I wasn't feeling particularly brilliant or witty when I wrote it. If you want to message me with quippy one-liners, I may choose one and upload it…