-XXX-

Merlin stared down at his hands, which were cupped loosely in his lap as if he were holding a delicate flower. They were pale like the rest of him, calloused and worn down from years of manual labor, and slightly shaky, but power thrummed beneath the skin of his fingertips, his palms. He focused his sight, looking past the physical realm to the mystical one that was shrouded from most people. His eyes remained blue, as he wasn't actually performing any kind of spell, but suddenly he could see veins of gold running along his hands and arms, shining with an ethereal glow and flowing like blood. He curled his fingers, pressing them against an invisible force like squeezing a soft peach. There was give in the space between his fingertips and his palm, but there was also resistance. It was his magic, rising from his very self to ball up in his grip, a weapon ready to be wielded if he chose to grasp and shape it, or a gift to be handed out with a gentle release. It twisted and wove through his fingers, itching to be used in some manner. He inhaled, and the stale magic of the air rushed into his lungs, transforming and flourishing inside him and growing in power until it, too, wished for escape once more. His heart beat slowly, each thump sending a pulse of energy through his chest.

He exhaled, closing his eyes against the urge to burst open like a damaged blood vessel. His magic swelled like a wave ready to crash onto shore, and he gritted his teeth with the effort of holding back the flood. It made his head pound and his ears ring, but he managed. Barely.

His concentration shattered when Gaius called out his name from the main room, and his cupboard was shoved hard enough against the wall to chip the stone, teetering dangerously before it settled back on the floor.

Merlin winced, swaying to his feet just as Gaius threw open the door with a bewildered expression. He surveyed the scene once he'd made sure that the warlock hadn't hurt himself, the Eyebrow of Doom making its predictable appearance.

"What was that?" He questioned suspiciously.

Merlin shrugged, letting his sheepish smile be answer enough. Gaius grunted noncommittally, turning back down the steps. He was familiar with his ward's odd behavior by now and was well-accustomed to being in a state of unrelenting confusion. He found it best to ignore it until it became an actual problem.

"Well, come on, then. I've made breakfast. And you better eat all of it," he warned with a wrinkled finger pointed toward the younger man.

Merlin stifled a sigh of exasperation and sat at the table to eat, knowing Gaius was just trying to look out for him. And he wasn't the only one. It had been a month since he'd woken from his coma, and Arthur still hadn't let him back on the job. Merlin had tried to return to his duties, of course, intent on proving that he was perfectly capable of handling a few chores, but he'd passed out before he'd even made it to Arthur's chambers. Suffice it to say, he'd learned his lesson. Most of his time the past month had been spent in either his room or Arthur's, using this rare opportunity of leisure time to pore over records from before the Purge. He and Arthur together had managed to make admirable progress in their work to overturn the ban. They'd already started on a potential draft of the laws, with each man providing his opinions and ideas of how a magic-friendly society would function. Arthur had seemed wary at first, half-expecting there to be a breakout of anarchy once magic was legal again, but Merlin had been quick to assure him that most sorcerers actually weren't blood-thirsty killers like Morgause. Many of them were like Amelie or the Druids. In fact, most sorcerers barely had enough power to light a candle. It was a very rare thing to be gifted with the ability to fell men with a word. Ástríce was really the most effective spell of attack available to most magic-users, and it often couldn't be used more than once before they started to lose energy.

Arthur had raised an eyebrow at the interesting information, asking Merlin how long it took before he began to lose energy.

"I don't, really," he'd answered with a contemplative frown. "Not unless I'm injured in some way. Or I'm stopping time to save a certain dollophead from mortal doom."

That had earned a goblet thrown well over his head, the intention more to make a point of annoyance than hurt him. He'd still ducked, happy to play along with their routine.

After that, though, Arthur had seemed more confident in their plans going forward. Merlin answered the questions regarding magic whenever he could and delegated the rest to Gaius, who actually had experience living in a time when magic was free. The old physician had been incredibly helpful in their efforts, but he still left most of the work to the king and warlock, sensing this was something they needed to do themselves. It was their destiny, after all.

Merlin sighed and shoved whatever mush Gaius had served him into his mouth, forcing himself to swallow past the foul taste. He didn't know how his mentor could stomach his own meals. Sometimes they were absolutely atrocious—not that he ever told him that. He didn't want to hurt his feelings. Besides, he knew how miserable it was to live on an empty stomach. He was grateful for any food he received. That was one thing Arthur would never understand. Thankfully he had Guinevere at his side to help him with issues common to the poor folk. She had a way of connecting with the people of the lower town and outer lands that was unparalleled in court. Everyone loved and trusted her, and Merlin knew how much Arthur valued her input and advice in such matters.

Gwen had visited Merlin frequently over the past month, but her fretting had lessened somewhat once he became semi-mobile. Instead of coming around to inquire about his health, she now came around just to chat and catch up, much like they used to do when she was still a servant. It was a relief to fall back into the familiar pattern. They'd drifted apart slightly once she'd become Queen—due in part because of her busier schedule and partly because Merlin had begun to feel weighed down and isolated by his secrets—but nowadays it felt just as it had during his first few weeks in Camelot. Merlin felt all the lighter for it, and he made sure to hug her at the end of every visit, which she accepted gladly.

"Are you alright, Merlin? You've got a weird look on your face," Gaius commented mildly, interrupting his daydreaming.

"That's just my face," the warlock replied absentmindedly, finishing off his breakfast with a lick of his lips. Realizing he'd just insulted himself, he quickly added, "I was just thinking of my meeting with Arthur today. We're discussing which spells can be considered too dangerous to allow. I mean, obviously there are plenty of dangerous spells. Most of the spells I use are dangerous," he pointed out. "But things like curses? Or, gods forbid, love potions! Those definitely shouldn't ever be legal."

Gaius hummed in agreement, looking thoughtful. "Magic can be quite ambiguous in certain situations. The new laws will have to take that into consideration."

"What do you mean?" Merlin asked, leaning forward on folded elbows. Gaius matched his position.

"Well, the lovesick girl desperate to make her crush return her affection might resort to such a course of action as dosing him with a love potion. It doesn't necessarily make her a bad person, simply a misguided one. So what does the law say? Should she be given a slap on the wrist? Sent to the dungeons? Executed?" Gaius proposed hypothetically.

Merlin ran his tongue along the back of his teeth as he considered. It sounded a lot less black and white when he put it like that. Gaius nodded, sensing his newfound hesitation.

"Just something to think about, my boy," he said lightly, patting Merlin's forearm as he stood. "I've got to get started on my rounds. Is there anything you need before I go?"

Merlin shook his head, collecting the dishes to clean them. As he stood, his legs trembled. He placed a hand on the tabletop so he didn't list to the side, hoping Gaius hadn't seen the lapse. The last thing he wanted was to be put back on bed rest, especially with his next plans in mind.

"I'm good. You go. I'm sure your patients are eager to see you," he responded with a teasing edge to his voice, knowing full well that many of said patients dreaded the moment Gaius would show up at their door with a stinking vile in hand.

Gaius gave him an unimpressed look, and Merlin hurriedly busied himself with the task of cleaning in order to escape his stare.

-XXX-

-XXX-

Merlin was sitting cross-legged on the ground when Kilgharrah showed up in their usual clearing, his breaths coming in short bursts as his body struggled to recover from the relatively short horseback ride. Though a month had passed since his coma, he still had a long way to go before he returned to his normal self. He could get around the castle without help now, but it usually required an irritatingly slow pace and a lot of leaning against the nearest surface for balance. His limbs were often shaky like he'd just finished climbing a mountain, and breathing became difficult if he exerted more energy than his body had to offer. He went to sleep early and woke up late and still never felt charged and ready for the day. His existence in general was taxing at the moment, but he was working through it as well as he could. Helping Arthur with the repeal helped. It made him feel useful when he felt so useless in every other aspect. Perhaps his friend had realized he would struggle with idleness, and that's why he'd given him the task in the first place. That or he just wanted Merlin to be involved. Likely both.

Despite his body mimicking that of a newborn foal these days, his magic was the complete opposite. He practically vibrated with raw power, the likes of which he'd never felt before. Each day, the power inside him increased, and he had no idea how to control it. Hence, Kilgharrah.

"I expected you to call eventually," the old dragon mused without inflection, settling down across from him.

Merlin looked up from where he'd been staring at his hands, something he did so often lately. He couldn't help but imagine the sweet relief of flicking his fingers and watching the magic flow out of him in bursts of light.

"There's something wrong with me," he whispered, his lungs hastily replacing the lost oxygen.

"There is nothing wrong with you," Kilgharrah countered matter-of-factly.

Merlin scowled. "Then what do you call this?" he demanded, raising his hand in a lazy gesture toward the tree line without breaking Kilgharrah's gaze. Instantly, a large oak was ripped out by its roots, slamming back into another and breaking apart into splinters like a shattered vase. The raging sound of it echoed through the clearing, and a flock of birds flew for the safety of the open sky with cries of indignation.

Kilgharrah's chest rumbled deeply with something akin to laughter, but his eyes held a gravity that stilled Merlin from making a surly comment.

"Ι call it power, young warlock. It is time you realized that word is not synonymous with wrongness," he declared gently, lowering his head to get closer.

Merlin jutted out his chin as tears stung his eyes, the affectionate tone washing over him with absolution he didn't know he'd needed, maybe since the day he was born. All his life he'd feared his magic as much as he'd loved it, always aware that others saw his gifts as a curse, something to be scorned. They would've seen him as a monster had they known. They still might, when the day comes.

"I can't control it, Kil," he claimed thickly, wiping away a lone tear of frustration that had managed to escape.

"Control isn't something you can master in a day. It takes time and practice," Kilgharrah chided.

"I had to learn control when I came to Camelot. I should already have it mastered," Merlin argued.

Kilgharrah made a noise of disagreement, shifting his weight. "You didn't learn to control your magic, Merlin. You learned to bury it," he stated.

Merlin blinked, a heavy feeling settling in his gut. The words were like a punch in the face, but he quickly realized the truth in them. He'd been repressing his magic for so long that it felt like second nature, and now it was seven years later and shoving his magic down deep no longer seemed to be a viable option.

"But why does it feel like this?" He questioned desperately. "Ever since the cave it's like I have more magic than my body can hold. If this keeps up, I'll out myself as a warlock by the end of the week!"

Kilgharrah raised an imperious brow. "You are a being of pure magic, Merlin. As you've grown, so too has your power. But instead of nurturing it, you've been pushing it down and pretending it doesn't exist. So the pressure built and built until—"

"Until the cave," Merlin blurted out, eyes widening in realization. Kilgharrah huffed at being interrupted, but nodded in confirmation.

"As I told the young king, performing a spell of such magnitude ripped open the seal you'd placed over your magic to keep it repressed all these years. You managed to heal yourself of that wound, but the amount of power you unleashed cannot simply be tucked away into a box with a locked lid. It needs to be shaped into a controllable force," he implored.

Merlin's mouth twisted. "How the hell do I do that?"

Kilgharrah's teeth flashed in the semblance of a smile. "That, my lord, is something you'll have to figure out on your own."

Merlin didn't bother holding back his groan, flopping onto his back. "That's just perfect."

-XXX-

-XXX-

After visiting with Kilgharrah, Merlin headed straight for Arthur's chambers, practically having to crawl to get there. It was embarrassing to have people see him move like an invalid, and he didn't appreciate the pitying glances or sympathetic offers of assistance. He was grateful they cared, of course, but he just wanted everything to go back to normal.

He attempted to barge into Arthur's room like usual, but he ended up falling into the door with a grunt, barely keeping himself from face-planting once he was inside. He pulled up sharply when he came face to face with George, who had apparently been on his way out. The servant froze upon seeing the warlock, his breath stuck in his throat. Merlin pressed his lips together awkwardly, stepping to the side to let the terrified man pass. George took the cue instantly, scurrying away without a word. Merlin frowned, slowly closing the door behind him before facing the room.

Arthur was sitting at his desk, as was a common occurrence at this time of day, and his expression was stuck in a cringe.

"That was painful to watch," he said bluntly.

Merlin sighed, dragging his feet over to sit across from his friend. He plopped down and slumped in the seat, dangling his arms over the armrests defeatedly.

"He's never going to get over the fact that I'm a warlock, is he?"

Arthur winced sympathetically. "It could be worse. He could have run out screaming."

Merlin's eyes lidded. "Thank the gods for small miracles," he drawled blandly, earning an amused chuckle from the king.

"Don't worry about George. He'll get used to it soon enough. Besides, it's nice having a servant who knows. That way we don't have to worry about him overhearing our conversations," Arthur pointed out, ever the pragmatist.

"Ah, yes. Our conversations about magical law and foreign wars and Morgause's sneaky plans. I'm sure George isn't freaking out at all."

Arthur grimaced, tapping his quill against the desk. "We really do have a lot going on, huh," he remarked with far less panic than that sentence required.

"I don't suppose we could spirit away in the night and tell everyone we went hunting?" Merlin tried.

"I don't think Gwen would buy it. She knows how much you hate killing all the poor little creatures of the woods."

"You never even kill anything anymore."

"Only when you're with me. Can't have you breaking down in tears."

"I'm always with you."

Arthur gave a mock sigh of displeasure. "And what a shame that is."

Merlin laughed, throwing a piece of paper in his face which Arthur took without flinching.

"Shut up, prat! You love having me around," he claimed, the corners of his eyes scrunching up with his smile.

"That's debatable," Arthur muttered, but his lips were twitching upward. He shoved a piece of parchment across the desk, changing the subject. "We received another one," he said, rolling his eyes in exasperation.

Merlin turned the paper around so he could read it, quickly mirroring the king's expression. "You've gotta be kidding me. Urien again? When is he going to give up?" He questioned, skimming what seemed like the millionth letter the man had sent to Camelot. It was the same as always: a long tirade imploring Arthur to see sense and support his claim to the Essetiran throne. There were never explicit insults to Arthur's character, but they were heavily implied. Lord Machen clearly had a thing or two to learn about diplomacy.

"I don't think he understands the phrase 'give up.' If he did, we might not be worrying about a war in the first place," Arthur grumbled.

"Did you send a response yet?"

Arthur nodded. "Sent a raven this morning. I eagerly await his next attempt to sway me," he said sarcastically.

"At least he's not declaring war on you," Merlin commented with a shrug.

"No, he'll just wait until he has all of Essetir at his command to do that," Arthur replied resignedly.

"Rhys could win," Merlin protested defensively, but they both could hear the doubt in his tone.

"Only if I help him." Arthur exhaled heavily, rubbing at his forehead. "It's seeming like that's the way this is going. The last thing Camelot needs right now is to enter a war on foreign lands, but we might not have a choice. Urien becoming king would only spell trouble for us."

Merlin leaned closer, pulling Arthur's hand down and squeezing it reassuringly. "You're not alone in this, Arthur."

The king's smile was weak but sincere. "I appreciate that," he murmured genuinely.

"And if it's Morgause that's worrying you, don't. She won't step foot in Camelot. Not while I'm still alive. I'll sic Kilgharrah on her if I have to," Merlin promised, only slightly joking. Dragons weren't made to be weapons of war, but he thought Kilgharrah might enjoy the prospect of roasting the sorceress.

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. "That would be an interesting sight."

Merlin sat back with a grin, satisfied that he'd lifted a bit of the burden from his king's shoulders. There wasn't much he could do these days, but he was always capable of that.

A cool breeze blew in through the open window, ruffling his hair and carrying the scent of the town. He glanced outside, cautiously stretching his senses beyond the castle. The earth felt sleepy, like a dog curling up in preparation for a nap. He hummed contentedly.

"The weather's beginning to turn. It'll be harvest time soon," Merlin noted, settling back in his chair.

Arthur followed his gaze out the window, nodding absentmindedly. "I suppose that'll be another thing to add to the to-do list."

"Being King isn't as glamorous as you'd thought it would be, huh?" Merlin teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Not quite. But I do so enjoy the perks," Arthur said with a smirk.

"Oh, you mean like bossing around the rest of us," Merlin guessed with a nod of faux-understanding.

"Precisely," Arthur quipped, eyes glinting with amusement.

"To think my other half is such a pompous arse," Merlin lamented.

"While mine is a clumsy idiot. The gods really do have it out for us," Arthur returned.

They shared a knowing glance, each one fighting off a laugh.

Merlin's joy withered when his magic sent a gust of air swirling into the room and around Arthur's head, ruffling his hair. At the same time, a fire burst into existence across the room in the hearth, the warmth of it quickly spreading to where they sat.

Arthur jumped—either from fear or surprise, Merlin wasn't sure. The blond ran a hand over his hair, glancing inquisitively at the blushing warlock as he sat straighter in his chair, his muscles tense as if preparing for a fight.

"…Merlin? What was that?" The words were spoken warily, and Merlin folded his hands together, willing his magic to cooperate just this once and to stop making his life so difficult. He wanted to lie, to come up with some reasonable excuse that would pass off the incident as a joke of some sort, but he pushed the urge away. He'd made a vow. No more lies. He had to repeat it often so he didn't lose his way again, but he still struggled with cutting out the habit entirely.

"I've…kind of been having some trouble…" He inhaled deeply, tapping his thumbs together nervously. "…with my magic."

Arthur frowned. "What kind of trouble?" He pressed.

Merlin avoided his gaze, not wanting to see the fear there that he expected to follow his answer. "I can't seem to control it like I used to. It's… There's too much of it, and I just—" he made a noise of frustration, gesturing vaguely—"I can't keep it all in all the time. Sometimes there are accidents."

Arthur was silent as he considered the explanation, his eyes never straying from Merlin's face. "Like with George?" He wondered, his tone oddly curious for someone who had just heard the most powerful warlock in existence was having difficulties controlling his magic.

Merlin hesitantly looked over at him, noting the complete and utter lack of any fear in his steady gaze. There was concern, certainly, but nothing that pointed to Arthur being afraid. He relaxed minutely.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Like with George."

"How long has this been going on?" Arthur asked.

"Since the cave." Merlin bit his lip briefly. "I'm going to fix it, Arthur. I swear," he said vehemently.

Arthur's expression softened. "Nothing about you needs fixing, Merlin."

Merlin swallowed against the heavy wave of emotion that threatened to crash over him. It was so similar to what Kilgharrah had said in the clearing, and his mind whirled as all his expectations of Arthur's disgust and reproach crumbled into dust.

Arthur cleared his throat. "But I am concerned. Does this hurt you in any way?"

Merlin blinked, having to take a moment to process the question. "Um…no. It doesn't hurt. It's just a bit of a nuisance."

"I can imagine," Arthur remarked, glancing toward the fire still blazing happily in the hearth. He paused, thinking over his words. "Or perhaps not," he allowed, sending Merlin a wry smile.

"I spoke to Kilgharrah about it earlier," the warlock admitted. "He was as unhelpful as ever," he joked, but it fell flat amidst his anxiety.

"He didn't offer any solutions?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "He said I needed to learn control, but he didn't give me any ideas on how to do that," he complained.

Arthur pursed his lips, twisting the quill between his fingertips. "I wish there was some way I could help," he said quietly.

The corner of Merlin's mouth lifted in the ghost of a smile. "I know. Thank you. But this is just something I'll have to figure out on my own," he surmised, unintentionally quoting Kilgharrah.

Arthur didn't seem content with that response at all, but he didn't argue. Instead, he dropped his gaze to the desk, his eyebrows pinching together.

"Why didn't you tell me before now?" He asked, not accusing, simply confused and perhaps a bit hurt.

Merlin's chest constricted. "I didn't think it was a big deal at first. I thought once I began to recover from the coma that my control would return to me, but my magic's only become harder to keep inside as my body's grown stronger." He hesitated, and Arthur's gaze flicked back up expectantly, waiting for him to finish. "And…I didn't want this to cause any setbacks with the repeal," he murmured truthfully.

Arthur's frown deepened, and he stood and rounded the desk with quick strides, dropping into a crouch next to Merlin's chair. It was reminiscent of the night Merlin had revealed his magic. Just as he had then, Arthur enveloped his hands with his own, squeezing them reassuringly.

"Merlin, there is not a thing you could say to ever make me change my mind about repealing the ban. The decision is final. Magic and its people— my people—deserve to be free. This repeal won't be slowed or stopped or negotiated. It's happening, as soon as we get done writing these laws," he declared firmly.

Merlin nodded forcefully, sniffing away his tears. Relief bloomed in his heart, both for himself and for all the other innocent magic-users out there. He was glad they wouldn't have to suffer because of his issues. He should've known Arthur wouldn't go back on his word—not that he'd really believed he would, but fear had a tendency to cloud his judgment.

Arthur used Merlin's knee to push himself up, brushing a quick hand over the warlock's hair before returning to his seat.

"Now," he began, his voice turning business-like, "What say we work on some laws?"

-XXX-