Arthur was going to die here.
He had already made his peace with that fact. There was no one who could save him now — Uther had laid the groundwork, and following blindly in his father's footsteps, Arthur himself had all but ensured it.
Arthur shifted his bruised and battered limbs as far as the chains that held him would allow. His knees were on fire where they knelt on the hard, earth-packed floor, and his hands were numb where they stretched out behind and to either side of his body. It had been days like this without reprieve, and though he was wasting precious strength trying to lessen the pain even a little (some miserable part of him still held a hope he hadn't managed to quash), he couldn't take it any more. Anything to find relief. When that didn't work, he retreated into his own mind, determined to make the most of his final moments.
He thought of Guinevere. Lovely, kind, passionate, wonderful Gwen, who he knew was worried sick for him. He hated to cause her any more pain and heartsickness than he already had, leaving time and time again over the many years they'd ruled side-by-side without any guarantee of return. But she was strong. In time, she would recover and become the leader their people needed.
Soon, my love, he thought with an aching sadness. Soon this will be ended, and you will finally have a chance to mourn me. Then you will find peace, and perhaps even happiness once more.
He thought of Merlin next — his endearingly incompetent servant, yet steadfastly loyal friend. He wished he'd been as open with Merlin as he had been with Gwen about what Merlin truly meant to him, but then, Merlin knew him better than anyone. And Merlin certainly already knew all the things that Arthur had never been able to say out loud before — was able to read the lines between Arthur's sharp temper and even sharper tongue.
He thought of Leon, and Elyan, and Gwaine, and Percival, and Lancelot. Arthur didn't play favourites in his court, but he did in his heart. They were more than knights and brothers-in-arms. Like Merlin and Gwen, they were his friends, and oh, how richly he'd been blessed with those. After so many years of hurt and betrayal by those closest to him, Arthur had found his true family. The people who had earned his complete trust, his absolute loyalty, and dare he say it — his love. They would gladly lay down their lives for Arthur and for Camelot, as would most of his knights. Honourable to the last of them, and it made Arthur's heart swell with pride.
Thankfully, they needn't prove their allegiance now for him to know it as truth. It wasn't Camelot in trouble — not yet, at least — it was only her king. And King Arthur had heard enough by now to know that no matter how earnest, how loyal, how steadfast his knights, not a single one would be able to find him before it was too late.
"If only there were a sorcerer alive who didn't hate you, my king," mused a pretty voice, interrupting Arthur's thoughts. He blinked slowly, using all of his strength simply to lift his chin off of his chest.
Morgause smiled down at him, her eyes strangely empty despite it. Not for the first time, Arthur wondered how she was alive. Last he'd heard, Morgana had sacrificed her half-sister to unleash the Dorocha. And that had been many years ago now.
Arthur ran his tongue over his cracked lips, but there was no moisture to be had.
"Where is she?" he rasped to Morgause, his throat sticking with the effort to speak. "Where is Morgana?"
"Missing our dear sister, are we?" Morgause asked as she swept past Arthur across the cavernous, once-resplendent dining hall and over to where a man sat behind a small workbench, still fiddling with some strange object laid in front of him. The man — Ruadan, he'd been called — looked up. Arthur couldn't entirely repress a shudder when the man's golden eyes met his. Ruadan had been the cause of most of Arthur's pain and suffering these last few days, and those eyes had almost always accompanied it.
"Hardly," Arthur replied, wincing slightly as the sneer he directed at Morgause tore a cut on his lip anew. Fresh blood welled slowly from the crack.
He ignored it and continued. "You've said the place is impenetrable to all, save those who possess the strongest of magics. Why bother keeping me alive, then? Why am I still here?"
Morgause turned at that. "Are you so eager to die, young king?" she asked smoothly, a single brow arching as she studied him. "Have we broken you so easily?"
Arthur would spit at her feet if he could. "I am to die anyway," he said harshly, "and you have all but assured me that there is no one with the power to make it otherwise. And so I ask again — why am I still here?"
Morgause tilted her head slightly. "You are correct in that this only ends one way for you. No matter what else may happen, we rest assured in our victory that after tonight, King Arthur of Camelot will be no more. But do not be so arrogant as to think that this is entirely about you. You are not the only one who stands in the way of our vision — of my sister's rightful rule. Goddess willing, there will be more than one death to celebrate before this night is upon us."
When Arthur didn't say anything further, Morgause turned back to Ruadan, her voice now too soft to make out.
Arthur's brows pulled together as he pondered her words. They were using him to lure someone else here? Someone with magic?
It was the most information he'd gotten out of his captors in days. As he was to die soon anyway, Morgause had apparently decided it irrelevant to keep such things from him.
More than one death to celebrate before this night is upon us…
To his unavoidable horror (yet also his weary relief), it seemed Arthur would not be condemned to this miserable existence much longer.
His mind worked sluggishly as he watched Morgause and Ruadan bending over the workbench together, examining the object. When Arthur suddenly registered the deeper meaning behind Morgause's words, his breath caught.
There was someone with magic… who would want to save him?
Against his better judgement, hope flickered feebly back to life, bringing with it a sense of warmth that settled deep in his chest. It began to burn steadily despite the pain and the numbness, and Arthur felt some of his strength return to him. He would see Gwen again. He would live to see his queen, and Merlin, and Gwaine, and—
No.
Arthur extinguished the light with a ruthlessness that would make his father proud. It was laughable, really — a sorcerer who would risk their life to help him? Not after all he'd done to those who practised magic. Not after all he had upheld from Uther's reign.
Even if such a sorcerer did exist, they would certainly have their own designs on the king of Camelot. It would be from one captivity to the next. Surely it was better to die here and now than risk being used for some nefarious purpose against his court or his people.
Or… had Morgause been lying? Intent on lowering his eyes in whatever methods left to her? Perhaps that was all it was… a ploy, a trick — one intended to torture not only the body, but the mind. Morgana, whatever she had been before, certainly had it in her now to order such a ruse. Over the past week, Arthur's body had been broken time and time again at her command, then put back together only to begin anew. Why should his mind remain untouched? Morgana would want to exact her revenge thoroughly.
Besides, she had failed too many times before to be careless now. If such a sorcerer existed, well-intentioned or not, they were unlikely to ever reach Arthur. However this ended for any other poor souls Morgana had her sights set on next, for Arthur, it was finished.
He sagged against his bonds, finally allowing others to see the broken man Morgause had accused him of being. To allow his weakness to show through. But there was no one to see. No one to care.
Though he knew he looked weak and battered, Arthur didn't necessarily feel broken. He only felt a grim determination. He would serve his people until his dying breath, whatever the cost. He only hoped they would remember him fondly. His heart lurched as he thought of Gwen, his Guinevere, discovering the brutal nature of his treatment in the days before his death. He prayed the knights would spare her the worst of it—
His heart lurched again.
And again.
But somewhere along the way it had become a rumble, vibrating deep within his chest. He raised his eyes off the cold stone before him to see Morgause and Ruadan exchanging bewildered looks.
Another deep, low-pitched rumble. This time, small showers of dust and pebbles rained down from the crumbling stone walls.
"Go," Ruadan urged, sparing a troubled glance for Arthur. "See to your sister. Perhaps Morgana has arrived early and is in need of your assistance."
Morgause turned and walked swiftly across the chamber without a backward glance.
Ruadan picked up the strange little disc he'd been fiddling with and began pacing around the room, muttering strange words while his eyes repeatedly flashed gold. The chamber was so large that it took the man several minutes just to complete one circuit. He then finished one lap only to start over again, and Arthur couldn't help but follow the hypnotic, rhythmic pacing with his eyes.
The rumbling continued at ever-increasing intervals. The walls trembled faintly with each recurrence.
Watching Ruadan make his fifth tour of the room, Arthur's eyelids began to droop. He was tired. So, so tired. His blood pumped sluggishly — there were probably only so many times a man could have his blood spilt and subsequently returned without deadly consequences — and his body felt cold. Arthur shivered violently one final time before his body went slack around him. It was all he could do to force his lungs to work, to give him the air he craved less and less by the second.
Perhaps it would be best to take a short break, best to save his strength…
Before he could surrender himself to unconscious bliss, the doors at the far end of the hall blew back to clatter against the stone with an almighty bang. Arthur's eyes snapped open but he couldn't see, for an unnatural fog had rolled in, shrouding nearly half of the chamber ahead of him.
Arthur realised he couldn't see Ruadan either when without warning, a strangled cry rang around the room. Arthur squinted, his eyes straining through the dense, swirling mist that was now shot through with veins of darkness. It had been Ruadan's cry of pain, he was certain. Arthur surely knew the man's voice well enough by now.
The sorcerer, Arthur thought with rising panic, for it must be. Unless Morgana had wanted to make a point before finally ridding herself of Arthur for good.
Though his vision swam, Arthur kept his gaze trained forward until finally, finally something stirred in the smoky shadows. He shrank back, wondering if he might yet find a way to end his suffering before he was taken into the hands of another—
Golden eyes illuminated the darkness.
Golden eyes, brighter than the sun.
Dark and light alike shrank away as those eyes loomed closer, moving swiftly now towards Arthur.
And Arthur stared back, unable to tear his gaze away though it pained him. He'd never, not once in his life, felt anything but fear and despair and indescribable pain when looking into eyes such as these. But now, for some inexplicable reason, looking into those eyes… he knew he was saved.
Then the figure stepped out of the shadows and Arthur saw the man behind the eyes.
It was…
It was Merlin.
It was Merlin.
Arthur fell forward, his body hanging limply over the ground by the shackles around his wrists. Merlin was upon him in an instant, nudging his shoulder beneath Arthur's.
"Arthur," came Merlin's panicked voice, "Arthur, stay with me."
Arthur wheezed, exhausted from the effort of trying to lift his head. "Merlin…," he tried, his voice sounding deathly weak even to his own ears, "Merlin, you… you have magic."
A brief moment of silence, then—
"Yes, sire." Merlin's voice sounded tight. A flash of gold and Arthur numbly registered one of his hands hit the floor as it was released from its shackle.
Arthur bit back a groan.
"You… lied to me," he gritted out instead.
Another flash of gold. "Yes, sire."
Arthur couldn't hold back a grunt this time as his other hand hit the ground. Merlin was the only thing keeping him from falling on his face now, and given a choice, Arthur thought he still might choose to lay down and never move again.
But the impossible had happened — the unthinkable. And Arthur was never one to give up, even when the odds were stacked against him.
He tried to look for Merlin, but his vision was growing dim. Arthur might not make it anyway, but now was his chance. He needed to tell Merlin—
"You came for me," was all Arthur managed to get out, hoping Merlin would hear the emotion behind it.
Another beat of silence.
"Yes, Arthur," came the choked reply.
A splash of wetness hit Arthur's face then, the first drop of moisture he'd seen in over two days apart from his own blood, and it felt so beautiful he could cry. Inhaling deeply, Arthur mustered strength enough to utter the words he knew he would be saying to Merlin every day for the rest of his life.
"Thank you."
A wretched sob sounded by Arthur's ear, and a blinding gold suffused his vision. He looked into the eyes of Merlin — a sorcerer, a friend — and felt himself being lifted into the air.
"Don't worry, Arthur," Merlin said, his eyes rimmed red but his golden irises blazing. "You're safe with me."
And Arthur knew it as truth. In Merlin's arms, he let the blackness take him, knowing with surety that he would live to see the sun once more.
The next time he woke, Arthur felt strangely light. The aches and pains that had grown to be a part of him were gone, as was the bone-deep exhaustion. He felt as though he could move a mountain — or possibly eat one.
He opened his eyes to see a weak sun streaming down from the west. Shifting slightly, he realised he was lying on a bed of springy moss with a thick blanket tucked under his chin. The smell of campfire swirled through the air, though a glance showed that the ashes had long been doused.
Bit by bit, Arthur's memories gradually returned.
He had been taken. Straight out of his own audience chamber, no less, with nearly twenty guards and knights surrounding him. The last thing he'd remembered was Merlin's horrified expression as Arthur had been instantly teleported… somewhere, and tortured mercilessly for days until Morgana was ready to deal with him once and for all.
Merlin… who had magic.
Merlin, who was a sorcerer. And an apparently powerful one, too.
Arthur didn't know whether to laugh or to cry. He desperately wanted to be angry, wanted to feel the righteous burn of the rage that should be consuming him at such a revelation, but he couldn't find it within him. Perhaps he might have under different circumstances, but that wasn't for him to know. All he felt now was a sort of quiet relief, both for his life and for the knowledge that if there was anyone that could be trusted with magic, it would be Merlin — even above Arthur himself.
In fact, there was no one Arthur would trust more with such power.
It startled him to realise it, but it was true nonetheless. Arthur huffed out a quiet laugh, then, and raised his head to look for the man in question. When he found the camp otherwise deserted, he sat up and called out softly.
"Merlin?"
There was no reply. Arthur stretched his notably pain-free limbs and stood, inspecting the little clearing where Merlin had brought him.
It was hardly any different from the hundreds of sites Arthur had set up camp with his men before; the thickly clustered trees offered ample shade, and the faint sound of burbling water suggested a shallow stream nearby. Unfortunately, there was nothing to tell Arthur where he was or how long he'd been there. He didn't even know if he was in his own kingdom.
He'd been dressed in a fresh set of his own clothes — a simple tunic and breeches that felt more regal than the most fanciful of formalwear after the tatters he'd been reduced to wearing before. There were no horses or supplies, nor any other people — not even the army Arthur thought he might awaken to after being rescued from an impenetrable fortress. Surely Merlin hadn't come alone?
Shock registered again when Arthur found his sword propped up against a tree. Had Merlin retrieved that as well? Risked his life in that place for a simple sword?
However he'd come by it, Arthur was pleased to find it returned to him — just a sword it may be, but he held a strange attachment to it nonetheless. In one of his darkest hours, it had affirmed his place as the true king of Camelot. He quickly buckled the belt and scabbard to his waist, resting a hand on the pommel and breathing easier for the familiar warmth beneath his palm.
Arthur called out for Merlin once more, and this time was greeted by the faint sound of crashing through the underbrush.
At least he needn't worry that it was anyone but Merlin.
And indeed, it was Merlin who appeared between the trees, head down and arms full of kindling. He stumbled slightly, and Arthur moved forward to help.
Merlin's head immediately snapped up, his eyes flaring golden before retreating back to their usual shade of blue. He lurched to a stop and smiled weakly, seeming hesitant to come closer.
"Arthur — you're awake!"
"I am," Arthur agreed, studying Merlin as he deposited the tinder on the ground.
Face drawn despite a tremulous smile. Bloodshot eyes ringed in purple. Skin ashen. Posture slumped. Hands trembling.
Simply put, Merlin looked terrible. Was this what came of using magic? Arthur closed the gap to put a hand on Merlin's shoulder and peer into his eyes.
"And I know that by all odds I shouldn't be," Arthur continued seriously. "What happened to you?"
Merlin's tentative smile faltered. "Sire, do you— do you not remember?"
Arthur only stared, waiting for Merlin to explain.
"Where you were?" Merlin prompted. "Who I… what I am?"
Arthur's brow furrowed. "Of course I remember — not likely to forget a few days of excruciating torture, am I? Though I'll admit to losing track of time in the midst of the worst of it. And just as I was about to die, you came for me. Now I'm here, miraculously healed with barely a sore muscle to show for it. What else am I missing?"
Merlin nodded faintly. "No, that's… about it." He nodded again, swaying dangerously on his feet.
Before he could fall, Arthur darted forward, propping his shoulder under Merlin's and helping him stumble towards a fallen log. Merlin gave him a strange look.
"Aren't you angry, sire?" he asked, letting out a shaky breath as he eased into a sitting position. He watched Arthur carefully, the look of grim acceptance on his features obviously expecting the worst.
Arthur inhaled deeply, crisp air swirling down to fill his lungs, and met the other man's anxious gaze.
"About your being a sorcerer?"
"Warlock," Merlin corrected, his eyes immediately widening in panic at having done so.
Arthur couldn't help the quiet snort of laughter that escaped him at Merlin's inability to shut up, even at the worst moments. If possible, Merlin's eyes went even wider.
"The difference being?" Arthur asked, kicking at Merlin's foot with a boot.
Merlin's mouth opened and closed several times before he spoke.
"Well, it's… you really want to know?" At Arthur's short nod, he continued. "It means I was born with magic. I've never had to study it, necessarily."
Arthur propped his chin on his fist as he thought that over. Born with it? Now that was new. He didn't think Merlin had any reason to lie now, but it was a possibility he'd never considered.
"And is that why you're all…?" Arthur gestured vaguely to Merlin's person. "Like this? Horrid-looking?" he clarified at Merlin's confused expression.
Merlin narrowed his eyes. "In part," he said cagily. "You were in pretty bad shape" —an understatement if Arthur had ever heard one— "and that was after breaching the stronghold."
"Ah, yes," Arthur said, "I've been meaning to ask. When are we meeting up with the others?"
Merlin frowned. "Others?"
Arthur folded his arms over his chest and graced Merlin with an unimpressed look. "Keep up, Merlin. The army? You know — the knights? The infantry? The physicians? The tradesmen? The—"
"Just me," Merlin interrupted. "Neither the Council nor the Round Table knew where you were. I knew they'd never reach you in time, and I couldn't risk them seeing—"
Arthur held up a hand. "Hold on. I know what I saw, and I was taken into a fortress guarded by at least three full companies. Maybe even half a regiment. And that wasn't including the sorcerers, who assured me that there was only one way in and out of that Hall. Beyond the physical fortifications, I overheard Ruadan saying the place was guarded with powerful sorcery. You mean to tell me there isn't even a contingent waiting to meet us? How on earth did you get inside to find me?"
It was Merlin's turn to look unimpressed. "Magic."
"What do you mean?" Arthur asked sharply, in no mood for Merlin's cheek. "Even Morgana needed armies behind her."
"I don't," Merlin said simply, studying the forest floor. Then he looked up at Arthur with a challenge in his eyes. "Look, I'm not proud of how I handled it, but I was angry. They'd taken you not ten paces away from me. I wasn't about to waste time when I knew you would be close to death, and those I couldn't put to sleep I had to deal with. Morgause was dispatched easily enough — she was just a Shade — and the other sorcerers that Morgana managed to scrounge up were unprepared. I don't think she was honest with all of them about her plans to lure me there. It's a good thing Morgana herself hadn't managed to arrive yet, though, or I may not have been able to both thwart her and heal you of your injuries. Getting out was the easy part — once I destroyed the artefact held by the sorcerer guarding you, I was able to create a direct route to the outside."
Arthur blinked slowly, his mind scrambling to catch up with Merlin's verbal outpour. He still didn't understand half of it. One man against an army? Against an entire stronghold? It was preposterous, at best. Disturbing, at worst.
It would mean Merlin truly was… powerful. Very powerful. Arthur paled, realising the implications.
"So you… just you," Arthur managed to get out, his fingertips digging into the rough bark beneath him. In all his years as a prince, a knight, and king, he hadn't come across much that had fazed him, let alone left him grasping for words. This was beyond his wildest expectations.
"Just me," Merlin agreed quietly. His face fell. "I'm sorry I lied to you. I realise that after you became king, I should have found a way to tell you. To trust you. I just… didn't want you to hate me."
"Hate you," Arthur repeated faintly.
Merlin nodded tiredly. "Or to, you know… execute me," his voice broke at the end, ruining the half-smile he tried to send Arthur's way.
Arthur observed his servant — his friend who had just done the impossible — and hated that Merlin would ever find cause to fear him. Was Arthur truly so callous a king that Merlin would fear for his life, even after everything that had transpired?
"Merlin," he began, failing to keep a note of incredulity out of his voice, "I'm not going to execute you. And as much as I wish I were, I'm not even angry."
Merlin looked up at that, surprise painting his features.
"Truly," Arthur said gravely, hoping to get his point across the first time without Merlin playing the obtuse manservant they both knew he was not. "I know I haven't been exactly… welcoming of magic, but neither have I renewed my father's vigorous warpath to extinguish each and every whisper of sorcery. Even before now, I'd like to think you needn't have feared for your life. I have had the misfortune of unthinkable betrayal from some of my closest allies, but believe me when I say that I have never doubted your loyalties. And now… I have much to consider." Arthur paused, considering the weight of his next words. "Perhaps… perhaps there are some things that need changing in Camelot. For the betterment of all of her people."
Merlin's answering smile was practically blinding.
"I don't want to mislead you," Arthur continued, hoping Merlin would understand the nuances of what lay ahead. "Change is slow to enact, and hatred for magic has bred and festered in Camelot for many years. It will take time, and there will be many who disagree with my decision. But I decree to you now, by the power vested in me as King of Camelot, that the war on magic is officially at an end. The battles that remain before us… well. You and I will face them together — as we always have."
Merlin nodded slowly, overwhelming understanding written in his expression.
"I'd like that," he said finally, looking at Arthur like he'd never seen him before. "Thank you, Arthur."
For once, Arthur couldn't find it in him to tease Merlin about looking the part of the gaping country bumpkin. Whether or not he could put it into words, something within Arthur knew that this was a momentous occasion.
"No, Merlin," he replied, clasping arms with his dearest, truest friend. "Thank you."
"Where are we exactly, anyway?" Arthur asked as they worked to erase all signs of their presence from the sparse campsite the next morning.
"Edge of the Northern Plains," Merlin replied, tripping over a tree root in the process. The man still looked like death, and Arthur wondered again how he'd gotten into such a state. Magic use must be more exhausting than it looked — perhaps that explained why Merlin was so clumsy all the time.
"I was still in Camelot?" Arthur asked after a moment, registering surprise that he hadn't recognised a fortress in his own kingdom.
Merlin shook his head. "Not exactly. The fortress was actually in Nemeth, near the border to Deorham. You've been unconscious for a few days."
"Nemeth?" Arthur repeated incredulously, pausing to look at Merlin. "But that's south of Camelot. How is it that we're by the Northern Plains?"
Merlin shrugged lightly. "We had to go around. Morgana will be looking for you, and taking the direct route would have only led her straight to us. I'm not… we aren't strong enough for a confrontation right now. We went through parts of Escetir and Mercia before making camp outside of the Perilous Lands last night. Don't worry, I sent a message to Gaius. He's informing the Court on your behalf that you've escaped and will return as soon as you can manage. Now that we've crossed the border, I expect we'll run into a Camelot patrol soon. They've been doubled since you were taken."
Arthur scrubbed a hand over his face, taking it all in. At this point, he couldn't even manage to be surprised at the distance Merlin had somehow covered with an unconscious Arthur in tow.
Merlin only watched him through bleary eyes, looking like he might fall asleep where he stood.
"Clearly, you're in no state to continue," Arthur finally said. "If we're crossing into the Plains, there is an outlying village only a day's walk from here. We'll follow the trail east until we reach it."
Merlin made a noise of protest. "We need to get you back. Your kingdom is without a king—"
"If it's as you say, they are already awaiting my arrival. A few more days will do no harm — Guinevere is more than capable. Besides, what's to stop Morgana from snatching me straight back out of the citadel?"
Merlin's expression darkened. "She won't be trying that again, sire. I've made sure of it."
Arthur nodded slowly. "It's settled then. We make for the village."
Merlin only sighed his agreement, trudging wearily behind Arthur as they began travelling eastward, further from the plains and deeper into the forest. As they walked, they fed themselves with parcels of dried fruit and cheese from Merlin's pack and drank from waterskins they'd filled in the stream.
The journey gave Arthur time to think. To consider.
Despite much of his suffering coming at the hands of magic, it appeared that many of his triumphs had, too. Arthur may not be the shrewdest of kings, but he strived to be a fair one. He took all he knew about Merlin and considered every interaction for not what it had seemed to be, but for what it might have been in actuality. Thinking back to all of the circumstances he had attributed to prodigious luck (or, if he were being honest, perhaps the very will of the gods for his kingship), he began to see Merlin's hand in every fallen tree branch, every caved-in tunnel, every fortuitous disarming of an opponent. Merlin, who had been with him nearly every day for the past eight years, riding side-by-side to and through danger more times than he could count. How had Arthur not seen it before?
He could admit that early on, he had often considered Merlin inept as far as servants went, lacking the formal training and years of experience that usually precluded serving the royal household itself. And though he picked on Merlin for it sometimes, it had never truly mattered whether or not Merlin was good at his job. It had simply been nice to have someone around who didn't always treat him with the rote servility that came with those who were good at their jobs. Or those who only wanted something from him. With Arthur, Merlin was just… Merlin. And Arthur supposed that had he not been a prince and then a king, they would have gotten on all the more quickly.
Still, he never would have believed Merlin could hide a secret such as this. Being what he was, why come to Camelot at all? Why stick around, serving Arthur, when he believed he could be found and executed at any moment? The number of times Merlin had come to him with a hunch that turned out to be right, or a feeling that led to an otherwise impossible finding, and Arthur had dismissed it without a second thought… All because he was the master and Merlin, the servant.
A hot prickle of shame rolled down his spine. How many times had he dismissed Merlin simply because he wasn't a knight or a noble? Shouldn't he have learned better by now? Gwen would be disappointed to hear—
Merlin's too-weak voice suddenly interrupted his brooding. "Arthur."
Arthur glanced over to where Merlin seemed to be struggling beneath the weight of his own meagre pack. "Merlin?"
"I just wanted you to know… I'm sorry. Not only for lying to you, but for all you've suffered because of me. Because of people like me."
Arthur blinked. "Merlin, I don't expect you to apologise for the actions of others."
Merlin only shook his head, suddenly gasping for breath. "Some of it… my fault. When we get back to Camelot… a lot to talk about."
Arthur drew up short, pulling Merlin to a halt alongside him. "Stop. You can't go on like this. What's happening to you? Is it magic?"
Merlin blinked once, apparently missing the question. "Sorry that it took… so long to find you. Took Gaius and I several days to track down… didn't know the magical strongholds still existed…"
And Merlin fell to his knees, inadvertently pulling Arthur down with him.
"Merlin — talk to me," Arthur commanded. "What's happening?"
Merlin continued to babble, ignoring Arthur or else unaware of him now.
"He was so weak, so close to death. Have to hold the spell. Can't let Arthur die. Once and Future King. I'm sorry, Gaius. Gave him my strength to heal… would have been lost. Need him to live. Tell my mother… forgive me."
Arthur inhaled sharply. Merlin had done something to… what, give Arthur strength to heal? Some kind of magic. It only made sense — Arthur knew he'd been on the brink of death, and not only had Merlin dismantled an entire fortress by himself, but he had kept a grievously-injured Arthur alive for days while on the run from Morgana.
Merlin was closing his eyes now, growing too weak to stay conscious.
This was not part of the bargain. Merlin was not allowed to trade his life for Arthur's.
Arthur shook Merlin's shoulder roughly. "Merlin. Merlin, wake up!" Merlin groaned softly and his eyes fluttered open. "The spell," Arthur continued. "Whatever it is, you need to end it. I am healed. I am well. Stop now, before you kill yourself!"
Merlin only closed his eyes again, a soft sigh pushing past his lips. Arthur looked around, wondering if he'd be able to carry Merlin to the village in time. Perhaps there was a physician there, or… a band of Druids, or something—
Several things happened at once.
Merlin's eyes shot open, gold flaring to life. Where Arthur's hands touched him, Merlin's skin burned.
A heavy thud behind Arthur.
Arthur only had time to turn and glimpse a fallen figure before men were rushing out of the trees before him.
Arthur drew his sword, crouching protectively over an incoherent Merlin. As it always did in the heat of battle, Arthur's mind wiped blank except for a sudden, intense focus on the situation before him. He quickly calculated a plan of defence, noting the position of each and every adversary around him.
The first man fell with a cry as Arthur's sword slashed him open from shoulder to waist. The second went down only a moment later when Arthur immediately drew his sword back to parry the blow he'd anticipated from above, ramming his other elbow into his surprised opponent's throat.
The third attacker was upon him in an instant. The fourth. The fifth. They each fell with cries of anguish, and Arthur readied himself for the sixth while trying to not trip over Merlin.
He began to take small injuries as he grew tired. The hot blood coursing through his veins kept him from feeling all but the worst, but he knew that time was now of the essence. The more blood he lost, the slower he'd be able to react — which would cost him his life if he weren't careful. His and Merlin's.
The only reason Arthur had been able to withstand the onslaught as well as he had was the tree at his back, reducing the fronts of attack from four to three. Still, one man against twenty was no small task, and with Merlin beneath him and lacking a shield, Arthur was at a severe disadvantage. At least his enemies, too, had to contend with navigating the bodies of their fallen allies to reach him.
As Arthur faced another pair of attackers, he felt Merlin stir slightly beneath him. The mercenaries in front — for they wore no obvious symbols or insignia — went down without feeling the bite of Arthur's sword. Arthur pressed his advantage, certain that Merlin would be unable to keep it up for long.
In the end, it didn't matter. Merlin had managed to drag himself to a sitting position against the tree, but Arthur dispatched the last of their opponents with measured blows, taking a few more shallow gashes upon his arms and torso in the process. As the last man fell, a scream of fury rent the air.
"No!"
A flash of light was the only warning before Arthur was thrown back to hit the ground hard beside Merlin. He tried to scramble to his feet but was thwarted by some sort of invisible force.
"Where is he?" screamed a familiar voice. And then Morgana, in all of her terrible beauty, was bearing down upon them from over a crest in the distance. Once in front of Arthur, she halted, bestowing him with an expression of deepest loathing.
"Where is he?" she queried again, looking positively mad in her fury, her unkempt hair trembling around her face. "Where is Emrys?"
Arthur could only regard her with confusion as Morgana held his gaze intently, completely disregarding Merlin at his side.
Emrys? He'd certainly never heard the name before. Except…
Unbidden, a memory surged forward of Morgana herself. She'd been standing before his throne, threatening him with his death in a long-recorded history of attempts, before her magic had inexplicably failed her. Not even Emrys can save you now, she'd said.
Morgana screamed again, snapping him out of his reverie. "It does not matter!" she cried. "Farewell, dear brother."
Arthur could only watch as she held out her hands and her mouth began to form around strange words. Beside him, Merlin shifted weakly.
"I am here, Morgana," came Merlin's voice. The forest quieted as he spoke, the land itself breathing a sigh of relief. "I… am Emrys."
Morgana paused, finally looking at Merlin, and a cruel laugh bubbled from her lips. "You? A fine jest, Merlin, but I am not so easily fooled. You are nothing more than a servant, and by the time I'm through with you, you'll wish you'd never been that."
In lieu of replying, Merlin held out a hand. Without even a whisper, his eyes flashed a blinding gold and Morgana was thrown back with a shriek. Arthur belatedly realised he could move his muscles again when he turned to see Merlin lying slumped over, now completely unconscious. Arthur reached desperately for Merlin's neck, a wave of powerful relief washing through him at the proof of a pulse — weak but steady. His relief quickly turned to alarm to hear the beginnings of Morgana stirring from wherever she'd landed.
Arthur tightened his grip on his sword and pushed to his knees, knowing the effort would be futile. Morgana was a powerful witch, and simple steel would not fell her. But he had to try. Whether or not Merlin was the person she'd sought, Morgana would no longer be satisfied with Arthur's death alone.
Arthur took one last look at Merlin and sent a quiet, fervent plea to any god who may be listening to at least spare Merlin the consequences of Arthur's cursed bloodline.
Before Arthur could wrap his other hand around the hilt of his sword to face his doom, his fingers brushed the skin of Merlin's wrist and an unexpected jolt went through him.
He couldn't say why he did it. Instead of preparing to face Morgana, Arthur turned and wrapped his fingers fully around Merlin's wrist. Then, guided by some innate knowledge (or perhaps the sense of blind hope that refused to be crushed, no matter the insurmountable odds), Arthur gathered all of his strength, and pushed.
The results were immediate. Arthur collapsed to the ground, his mind suddenly hurled back into that cold, barren Hall that had been his dungeon and his body failing around him. In his place, Merlin bolted upright.
"Arthur, what did you do?" Merlin asked frantically, his golden-ringed eyes filled with panic. "Why are—"
"Morgana," Arthur gasped out, rolling to his back. "She's there. She's—"
Merlin required no further explanation, throwing up a hand to deflect the sudden burst of magic that vaulted towards them.
"You!" Morgana screeched, her beautiful face contorted with rage. She spoke harsh words and threw another burst of magic that Merlin waved away with ease. "It is you? You are Emrys?"
Above Arthur, Merlin nodded solemnly. "That is what the Druids call me, yes."
Arthur shifted uneasily, again made uncomfortable by the alarming lack of knowledge about events right under his nose, and immediately winced. Contenting himself to listen, he found he could breathe easier when he lay still.
"And you, Morgana," Merlin continued, "have been allowed to amass power unchecked for far too long. I should have ended you long ago, but I held out hope for your blackened heart to beat with love and kindness once more. It is my fault that so much misery and destruction have been wrought by your hand. You have betrayed yourself, and in doing so, you have betrayed us all."
Morgana's lip curled. "You speak to me of betrayal?" she snarled. "What of when I, frightened and alone, came to you and Gaius suspecting I had magic whilst still living in the house of my father? After suffering for years at the hands of prophetic nightmares. Is it not betrayal that you could not find within you a single word of comfort, when you are no different than I? Instead, you send me on a fruitless game of seeking for answers, bringing destruction down upon a band of peaceful Druids in the process. The very people you claim to want to protect."
Arthur blanched, remembering the night they'd rescued Morgana from the Druids. But she had been kidnapped…
"And when you poisoned me, Merlin?" Morgana continued, pointing a shaking finger at him. "Was that not betrayal?" she hissed.
Arthur blinked in shock, looking to Merlin for confirmation. Merlin's fingers twitched where they rested at his side, and his countenance was grave.
"I've made many mistakes," Merlin replied, the hardness in his eyes belying his calm exterior. "Those among them. But the difference between you and I is that I admit to them, atone for them, and try to do better. You have had every chance to do so, but you're so filled with hate and bitterness that you think only of yourself."
"How can you stand by him?" she countered, gesturing roughly to where Arthur sat beside Merlin. "Stand for him? Like Uther before, he has only perpetuated the fear and persecution of our kind."
Merlin was already shaking his head. "He hasn't, though. Don't you see? Arthur is a good man and a good king. I've always seen the best in him. You've only seen what you wanted to see. What you expected to see. He is my friend, and I have nothing but faith in him for the future of Camelot and for all of Albion. He is destined to be king. I believe you, on the other hand, already know of your destiny… and my part in it."
Morgana suddenly paled. She opened her mouth then closed it again, seeming to consider something.
"This will not end well for you, Merlin Emrys," she said finally. "Give me Arthur and I swear, you will never see nor hear of me again. Camelot will be yours to do with as you please. Think of the change you could enact. The freedom."
Weak as he was, Arthur was having trouble keeping up, but there was no mistaking the fear in Morgana's eyes. He knew the desperation of an enemy when he saw it. Why had Morgana changed tactics now, when Merlin was clearly not to be swayed?
"Think," Morgana urged at Merlin's silence. "You would have the peace you so desperately crave. No more blood would have to be spilt, save for one man. Tell me it does not tempt you?"
Arthur ground his teeth together as she spoke. Could she truly hate him so much? He had loved her like a sister even before knowing she was one in truth.
Merlin, meanwhile, had assumed a fighting stance that seemed strangely out of place on a man without armour, placing his open palms forward. "You cannot have him."
Morgana waited before speaking, her eyes travelling over Merlin's face intently. Searching. Once she'd decided he was set in his resolve, her face went white with fury once more.
"You will regret this decision. Things will only grow more difficult from here. What is one man compared to the lives of thousands?"
"I pity you, Morgana," Merlin replied quietly, his eyes sad. "I fear you will never understand the power of love and friendship, having none of it for yourself."
"Enough!" Morgana screamed, a sudden wind tearing at the trees and whipping up fallen leaves and branches around them. Arthur's cloak was blown back only for a second before he and Merlin were spared by some invisible barrier. "It matters not! You will pay, Emrys, for the murder of my sister and betrayal of our kind. You may be my doom, but there is nothing to say that I am not also yours."
Arthur knew what was coming the moment before it happened. Little though it would do for him, he reached for his sword, but Morgana was too fast. A sound like breaking glass rent the air, and Merlin was thrown back against the tree behind him, pinned by an unseen force as Morgana stalked forward.
"I thought you would be more powerful, Emrys," she mocked, her mouth curving into a cruel smile beneath shimmering golden eyes. "But perhaps love and friendship have made you weak."
As Morgana wrapped a hand around a struggling Merlin's throat, Arthur tried to lift his sword. His sluggish muscles prevented him from raising it more than a few inches before Morgana's boot came down over the blade, crushing it back to the ground. She didn't bother to spare a glance for Arthur, her attention entirely focused on the sorcerer before her.
"No," Merlin choked out. One of his hands shot up to wrap around Morgana's slender wrist where it clutched at his throat. "It hasn't."
Suddenly, the world went quiet. An odd, crackling sensation filled the air. The hair on Arthur's body felt as if it stood on end only a second before—
A blinding, obliterating light obscured Arthur's eyes, and Morgana screamed out in agony. The resulting shockwave of the strike made his head spin and his ears ring. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, he watched as Morgana ripped herself away from Merlin, a ruined patch of skin still smoking on the back of the hand that had been around Merlin's throat. Blood dripped steadily towards the ground from her wound, and the air wafted the horribly-familiar scent of burnt flesh.
Merlin staggered forward, rubbing his throat. He'd made it two steps before Morgana was throwing up her uninjured hand, spewing words of fire. Merlin countered with a twist of his wrist. Morgana's flames turned to steam before Arthur's eyes.
"End this now, Morgana!" Merlin yelled, his face a hard mask. "You cannot hope to win. You have underestimated me for the last time."
Where Merlin stood, strength and authority seemed to roll off of him in dizzying waves. Had Arthur truly been so blind so as to not see through this self-assured man before him playing the idiotic servant for all these years? Or had using his magic so freely brought out something in Merlin that nothing else could?
Morgana bared her teeth at Merlin in response, something of a darkness consuming the air around her, eating away at all it touched.
"Never. I will no longer live my life in fear, Emrys. I will receive what is rightfully mine!"
There was a pause as witch and warlock sized each other up. The sky was now blanketed with dark, roiling clouds, but no rain yet fell. It was as if the world around them held its breath, awaiting the fallout of a power that should have never been entrusted into the hands of mortals.
Merlin squared his shoulders, looking every bit the same as any of Arthur's bravest, truest knights as they marched to the battlefield.
"And so you shall," he replied softly, a sort of finality in his tone that carried and swelled as his words rippled over the land, bouncing upon the trees and the clouds and multiplying upon one another and filling Arthur's ears until he wanted to cower and cover them with his hands.
Then Merlin's eyes were burning golden once more. Except now, instead of warmth and safety, they promised only ruin and destruction. The power of the sun contained and condensed until it had no choice but to devour.
The ground trembled and the earth groaned, deep and bottomless. A flash of fear crossed Morgana's face before she let out a horrible, primal scream and threw both hands into the sky, uncaring of the blood that dripped down over her face.
Arthur could only watch in awe (and certainly not abject terror) as the two mages before began trading deadly bursts of magic. He'd hardly even seen magic up close before, and now...
Lightning poured from the heavens and fire spewed from the sky. Trees burst into flame and were extinguished just as quickly, and the ground exploded over and over until the air was hazy with dirt and debris. It was as if the gods themselves had come to do battle, heedless of the carnage around them.
The only place to remain free of destruction was where Arthur lay, trapped in his own frail, helplessly ordinary body; there, the ground stayed miraculously untouched.
He had no gauge to determine how the battle fared, but his confidence in Merlin never wavered. Even with the devastation around him, Arthur could barely tear his eyes away from Merlin's face, lined with an ancient fury despite his youth. A man who had shed his humility and decided that he was ready to be known. A man who had made himself small in the first place, all in service to Arthur and Camelot. Merlin. Arthur's servant, the sorcerer.
Arthur might have laughed if he were able.
The tides became clear when Morgana suddenly fell back, her chest heaving and her body wracked with tremors. Her porcelain face was streaked with blood and tears and her lips still moved soundlessly as she attempted to lift her hands, but Merlin was already moving towards her. With only a few words, Morgana was forced back several more steps before stumbling to her knees.
Merlin wasted no time — he darted forward and dropped to his knees in front of her, placing his hands gently on either side of her head. The words he next spoke were calm, yet contained an aura of that same, invisible power as he began something of a chant.
Morgana, for her part, now seemed frozen in place. Then her eyes widened in fear and she began to plead.
"No — stop. What are you doing? Stop! Emrys — Merlin — please!"
But Merlin's chant never faltered, and Morgana's expression gradually twisted in sorrow. Slowly, and without knowing what compelled him, Arthur began to drag himself closer.
Sinuous words still spilling from his mouth, Merlin held Morgana's head tenderly, unexpectedly gentle in the face of the destruction they'd just rained down. Though he knew it wasn't so, Arthur was reminded of a lover's embrace as he drew level with the pair.
Then Arthur had the strangest urge to grasp one of Morgana's limp hands.
As soon as he did, a surge of something knocked him flat on his back. Arthur was immediately overcome with an excess of sensation. His skin was aflame. His ears were ringing. His heart was pounding. His gut was twisting and he turned his head just in time to retch violently on the ground.
The sensation passed only moments later, leaving him shivering through the aftershocks. When it had gone entirely, Arthur found that the crippling weakness of before had unexpectedly vanished with it.
Arthur sat up quickly, finding Merlin already on his feet and speaking quietly to a sobbing Morgana.
"I'm sorry, Morgana. I truly am. I hope that, in time, you will forgive me. Find your way — regain your humanity — and someday, perhaps, Camelot will welcome you home."
Whatever Merlin had done, Morgana did not appear any further harmed than she had before. Her hand still bled freely, and the marks she wore now were all made in the battle preceding the magic that had bought Merlin's triumph. Arthur regarded her with confusion as she lurched to her feet and stumbled blindly away from them, no longer attempting to fight back. No longer attempting to even speak.
"Morgana?" Arthur called out hoarsely, unsure why he even felt the need.
Merlin only shook his head. "She won't answer. Give her time. It's still fresh."
Not knowing what to make of that, Arthur simply watched until her retreating form was almost too far to make out. Though by all accounts he should feel nothing but disdain, a strange sense of sadness rose within him at the sight of her haggard, hopeless form disappearing into the trees from whence she came. He pitied the woman and sister she'd been, he supposed.
Merlin seemed unable to watch her at all, keeping his eyes trained on the wreckage of the forest floor around them.
Staring a few more moments after his only remaining kin, Arthur cleared his throat, intending to suggest that they make haste for the city. It was then that he noticed his sword lying at his feet. He made to pick it up, but nearly dropped it again after glimpsing his reflection in the blade. It was his face, yes, but his eyes…
His eyes were golden.
The blood drained from his face.
"I have magic?" he whispered fearfully, shaken to his core by the revelation. He'd been able to reconcile Merlin's magic, even when it seemed to transcend beyond all natural reason, but this… it terrified him more than anything he'd ever encountered.
"Not truly," Merlin said, striding over to stand beside him. "But you were born of it. And you are of Morgana's blood. I only thought it might be easier…" Merlin paused, his eyes lingering on Arthur's face. Whatever he saw there, Merlin laid a soothing hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I should have warned you, but it just sort of happened. I modified the strength spell I performed on you earlier, and instead caused it to drain Morgana of all of her magic and transferred it to you. At least, I hope it did."
"I'm a sorcerer now?" Arthur asked in an unnatural voice, trying and failing not to reveal how panic-stricken he was at the prospect.
"No," Merlin said quickly, concern etching his brow. "You were not destined to wield magic. It will dissipate soon, I believe — a few hours at most. Look—" Merlin gestured to the sword, " —Look again. See? Already back to normal. It was a strange sight, though, I'll admit."
Arthur studied his reflection, and the terror that tore at his heart began to ebb slowly away.
His eyes were blue — not a single speck of gold remained. He released a shaky breath, and Merlin smiled knowingly.
"Do you do that often?" Arthur asked quickly, eager to distract both himself and Merlin from the fact that after everything he'd been through in his life, he'd just about had a breakdown at the very idea of possessing magic. "Create new… things?" Arthur waved his hands like he'd seen Merlin do earlier to demonstrate (Oh gods, he couldn't accidentally use it, could he?). Arthur immediately pulled his hands back to his sides. Merlin just snorted softly.
"Sometimes," Merlin replied ambiguously. "It seems to just kind of happen when I need it most. But it's usually only for your needs," he finished, cracking a small smile.
Arthur tried to laugh, but it came out more of a grunt. "Yes, well." He cast around for something else to say, finally landing on a topic that seemed much safer. "That spell you did earlier? Giving me strength to heal and killing yourself in the process?" He waited for Merlin's nod. "Don't do it again, you absolute idiot."
Merlin smiled in earnest this time, his eyes crinkling in the corners. "Only if you don't go dying on me again."
"Half-wit," Arthur muttered under his breath.
"Clot-pole," Merlin replied cheerfully and at full volume.
Arthur whacked him playfully upside the head. "Still king, you know."
Merlin made a show of rubbing his head and shrugged, still smiling hugely. "Still your lazy, incompetent servant."
Their eyes met for a moment before Arthur was suddenly laughing and couldn't stop. Merlin joined him, doubling nearly in half and clutching at his sides. Arthur wiped at the tears that streamed down his face, unable to tell which of the deep parts of himself was currently being unearthed. Fear or exhaustion? Sadness or joy? Relief? Perhaps all of that and more. He didn't dwell on it — the last few days had been harrowing enough, and he already felt as if he'd taken leave of his senses well before the present.
Arthur pressed his fingers to his eyes and took several deep, steadying breaths to bring himself under control.
Merlin was doing the same, but with better success. He was the first to speak.
"We should keep moving," he said, glancing once over his shoulder. "I don't think Morgana is in any state to return, but I wouldn't put anything past her right now. Besides, your kingdom is waiting. I expect we'll make it back to the city in only a few days' time now that we don't have to worry about outrunning Morgana and her men."
Arthur felt another pang of sadness at the mention of his half-sister, but he shoved it to the back of his mind and sighed dramatically. "Of course. If only that magic of yours was actually useful for something, Merlin, perhaps we needn't have to walk like commoners all the way back to the city." He nudged Merlin's shoulder playfully to show that the barb was in jest.
Merlin scrunched his nose and opened his mouth before going unnaturally still. A sheepish expression crossed his features.
Arthur rolled his eyes and remained silent, content to let Merlin stew until he was ready to share whatever harebrained thought he'd had this time.
"There is a way we could get back faster," Merlin finally said, "though I doubt you'll like it very much."
He muttered something else under his breath, but it was too low to catch.
"Well?" Arthur prompted. "Out with it then. I doubt much could surprise me now. Not after the week I've had."
Merlin only bit his lip, studying Arthur as if he was considering whether or not Arthur could handle it. Well — offence taken. Arthur drew himself up.
"Is this an Emrys thing?" he asked irritably, attempting to goad the man to speak. "We still need to discuss that, by the way—"
"No," Merlin interrupted, suddenly looking more than a little uncomfortable. "It's more of a… Dragonlord thing."
Arthur froze, and barely kept his jaw from dropping.
"Like… like the man we enlisted to save Camelot from that dragon?" he asked when his faculties had returned to him. "Balinor, was it?"
Merlin nodded hesitantly. "Yes, that's the one. He… he was my father."
Of course he was.
Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. "And that means you're…?"
"Yeah."
Arthur took a moment to think it over, but truly, his decision was already made. It wasn't as if the world hadn't already been turned upside down — what was one more upheaval? Perhaps it would set things to rights this time and life would make sense again.
Inwardly, Arthur gathered his courage against the unknown. Outwardly, he waved a hand impatiently.
"Well then don't just stand there, Merlin," he ordered. "Get us home."
It was Merlin's turn to appear taken aback, staring at Arthur with utter disbelief. Arthur was pleased to see Merlin looking unnerved at Arthur's apparent nonchalance over the situation at hand.
"Of course, sire," Merlin said, still watching Arthur warily out of the corner of his eye. Arthur kept his face smooth as Merlin stepped forward, his shoulders rising on an inhale—
The next words to issue from Merlin's mouth sent goosebumps breaking out across Arthur's skin. Merlin's voice had dropped to a deep, guttural growl as he called to the heavens in a set of strange, harsh syllables. Arthur looked on, wondering if the surprises would ever end.
Curiously, Merlin's eyes never once turned the colour of magic. Whatever this was… it was something else.
And then they waited. Arthur was beginning to question if anything at all was to happen when the sound of wind reached his ears. It took several more moments for him to realise that it was the beating of wings.
Very, very large wings.
He soon spotted it in the sky; the dragon that he had once faced after it had ravaged Camelot. The dragon that Merlin had told Arthur he'd killed. Beside it was another dragon — a much smaller dragon that gleamed pure white in the afternoon sun.
Arthur eyed Merlin sideways, but the man was too focused on the dragons before him. Arthur's astonishment at the sight of the creatures gave way to disgruntlement as he again thought of all of the things that had been hidden from him, right under his kingly nose. Was there anything Arthur did know in truth?
"Merlin," Arthur called out of the side of his mouth.
"Yes?"
"You have some explaining to do."
Merlin flushed and ducked his head. At least he had the decency to appear chastised.
The dragons landed some distance away in a small clearing. When they found the spot, it was all Arthur could do not to gape in astonishment while Merlin greeted — honest-to-gods greeted, with actual words — both dragons like old friends. It was even more difficult when, after speaking to Merlin, the larger of the two dragons — Kilgharrah, Merlin had called it — addressed Arthur directly.
"It will be an honour to carry you, Once and Future King of Albion." Smoke poured from his nostrils as he inclined his great, scaly head to Arthur.
Arthur looked at Merlin, then, and knew that Merlin could read the question in his eyes. King of Albion? Merlin only smiled mysteriously before turning to climb onto the Great Dragon's back, settling himself, and watching Arthur expectantly.
Arthur sighed and followed, resigning himself to a lifetime of surprises where Merlin was concerned. The last thought Arthur had before the dragon ascended and everything else was swept from his mind was another one of disgruntled annoyance; Arthur was going to have to find a new servant.
As if Merlin could read his thoughts, he suddenly let out a shout of pure, unbridled joy.
Clinging on for his life behind Merlin, Arthur couldn't help but let out a shout of his own.
When they made it back to Camelot, perhaps Arthur would take his chance to shock Merlin, for a turn, by admitting the stirrings of immense pride he felt for his friend — not only now, but for every time Merlin had followed him into battle and stayed by his side. The gratitude for just how much Merlin had risked for so very little in return. The joy, too, that swelled at seeing Merlin finally unburdened and thriving in his element.
Maybe.
If that didn't work, there was always armour to be polished, boots to be shined, swords to be sharpened, clothes to be mended, stables to be mucked…
Arthur smiled to himself, thinking that he might just get used to the idea of Merlin having magic, after all.