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A few hours had passed before Merlin and Arthur mutually agreed to halt discussions for the day. It was nearing time for the afternoon training session, and Arthur needed to get ready soon.

Merlin bit his lip to stifle a grimace when he rose from his chair, quickly turning so Arthur didn't see his pained expression. His head swam for a second but his hand on the backrest kept him from wobbling. He'd figured Arthur would've gone over to his wardrobe to pick out proper training attire, so he startled when he felt the ghost of a touch on his back.

"Merlin," Arthur said quietly, appearing at his side. His eyebrows were furrowed with concern.

The warlock put on a shaky smile. "I'm fine," he answered the unspoken question, pulling away from the chair to prove his point. To his relief, his footing remained steady, and he walked a few steps forward before turning to face Arthur, throwing his hands out to the side in demonstration. "See? No fainting. All good." His tone was perhaps a little more chipper than would be considered normal, and Arthur crossed his arms with a raised brow.

"Tell me honestly: how is your recovery going? Because if coming here so often to work on the draft is hurting you…" He trailed off, and Merlin was hasty to nip that thought in the bud.

"No, no!" He reassured. "I'm really fine. It was just my trip out to see Kilgharrah. It took a lot out of me, that's all," he explained, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Maybe you should save your visits to the cranky lizard for when you're healthy," Arthur suggested dryly, turning slowly on his heel toward his wardrobe.

Merlin nodded even though Arthur couldn't see. "Right. Good idea," he agreed readily. "I should, uh…probably go. George will be here soon and I'd rather not cause him to screw up with your armor just because I'm in the vicinity. See you at training?" He posed the statement as a question, already making for the door. Arthur had been nodding along absently until he registered his last words and poked his head out past the door of his wardrobe to scowl at the warlock.

"Wait, what? Why would you be going to training?" He demanded.

Merlin paused, giving him a glower. "I'm not completely useless as your servant. I can still sharpen swords or polish armor." Those tasks may be time consuming but they hardly required much energy.

"And you have to do that from the training grounds why?" The king pressed.

Merlin shrugged. "I need some entertainment while I work. And it's been too long since I've seen the Knights. Thought I'd say hello."

Arthur snorted. "You always say training looks like a bunch of children playing with pointy sticks."

"Children playing with pointy sticks can be entertaining," Merlin retorted.

"You shouldn't be doing any work until—"

"If I collapse, you have my full permission to lock me in my room for the next week," Merlin cut in, resuming his journey out of the room.

"I don't need your permission to do anything, Merlin. I'm the king—Merlin!" He shouted as the warlock yanked open the door and scurried into the hall to avoid any serious orders. As the door slamming shut behind him cut off Arthur's exasperated yell, he tossed one of the guards an impish grin.

"He's in a marvelous mood today," he commented, just catching the glint of amusement in the man's gaze before heading down the corridor toward the armory. Hopefully someone would be in there who was willing to help him lug some of the armor to the fields. He could barely manage it on his best day. Usually he might use a bit of subtle magic to assist him with the task, but his magic didn't seem to understand the term subtle at the moment.

Just the brief thought of his magic sent a flood of it pouring through his veins, and he stumbled mid-step into the wall. Luckily no one was around to witness the spectacle—not that tripping was such an odd occurrence for him. However, the strong burst of wind whipping at the tapestries was certainly not something he needed anyone seeing.

He clenched his fists, fighting against the swirl of gold that was rising up in his irises, and marched on down the hall. He desperately needed a distraction, and working was the only thing he could think of that didn't involve him using too much energy.

A few friendly faces passed him along the way, but luckily no one tried to talk to him. They likely sensed something off about him even if they couldn't pinpoint exactly what was wrong. It wasn't until he reached the armory that someone tried to engage him in conversation.

"Well, look who it is, fellas! The elusive Merlin," Gwaine called out, adjusting the vambrace he'd just put on and sidling up next to the servant, throwing an arm over his shoulders.

Merlin nearly buckled under the unexpected weight and forced out a chuckle to cover his sudden wheeze. "It's not like I've been hiding, Gwaine," he pointed out. Percival and Elyan approached, the latter still tightening the straps of his armor. The other knights in the room merely sent him a curious glance, but kept to their own conversations. Lancelot and Leon were nowhere to be seen, which meant they were likely already on the field.

"Ah, but you're always holed up in Arthur's rooms these days," Gwaine remarked with a pout. "You never come on patrol anymore." The pout intensified. Merlin chewed his lip, ducking his head. He actually did feel guilty about that. It was his job to protect his friends from anyone who would seek to harm them, and lately he'd been utterly useless in that regard.

"Don't listen to him, Merlin," Percival spoke up, rolling his eyes at Gwaine. "He's just upset none of us listen to his inane chatter while we're on the road."

Gwaine placed a hand on his heart. "And here I thought you enjoyed my stories."

"We enjoy when they end," Elyan replied with a teasing grin, slapping his friend on the back before turning his attention to Merlin. "Don't worry, Merlin. We know you're still recovering. At least, that's what Arthur tells us when we ask."

"I'm fine, really," Merlin repeated for the millionth time. "I just wanna get back to work."

"Is that why you're here?" Percival asked curiously, lifting a nearby sword off the rack and testing its balance.

"Tell me Arthur isn't making you his practice dummy," Gwaine demanded with an expression of dread.

"Arthur doesn't want me here at all, actually," Merlin complained.

"Can you blame him?" Elyan snorted. At Merlin's raised eyebrow, he elaborated in a softer tone. "I just mean…he was really shaken up after you got hurt."

"Panicked as I've ever seen him," Gwaine added.

"It's no wonder he wants you to take it easy for a while," Elyan cut back in. "You mean a lot to him."

"To all of us," Gwaine corrected, Percival and Elyan nodding in agreement.

Merlin bit his lower lip. "Yeah, I know," he murmured, subconsciously moving his hand up to feel around the edges of the sigil underneath his shirt. He liked to keep it with him most days, but he still made sure it was out of sight of prying eyes. He cleared his throat and straightened, stepping away from Gwaine to search for the armor that Arthur stowed here. "I'm just going to polish armor and maybe sharpen some swords, though. Nothing too taxing," he explained.

"How 'bout I help you carry that, Merls," Gwaine offered, doubt that the servant could do it on his own heavy in his tone.

Merlin tossed a grateful smile over his shoulder. "Thanks, Gwaine."

"I'll see you gents out on the field, yeah?" Gwaine told Percival and Elyan, who accepted the dismissal, grabbing the rest of their things and exiting the room. The few knights left in the room were quick to follow, none of them eager to face Leon's wrath for being late. Arthur himself wouldn't show up to training for at least another half hour, but the First Knight was in charge of getting everyone warmed up before he arrived.

As Merlin began gathering everything he would need, Gwaine walked up next to him, leaning against the wall and fixing him with an expectant stare.

"Now, how are you really? And don't give me any of that 'I'm fine' bullshit," he warned. Merlin blinked up at him in surprise, slowly setting down the helmet he'd been inspecting for damage.

"W-What?" He stammered.

Gwaine gave him a look that obviously read, you know what.

Merlin swallowed, avoiding his friend's gaze. "It's nothing I can't handle," he answered quietly.

"Merls, please. Talk to me," Gwaine implored, shifting even closer so their conversation remained private no matter who walked by.

Merlin pressed his lips together, hesitating. He looked down at his hands, which were still resting atop the helmet.

"I'm tired," he admitted, tracing the gleaming metal underneath his fingertips absentmindedly. "All the time. I wake up tired. It's like I'm functioning at half capacity. Or less, even." He let out a weary sigh, running a hand over his face. Gwaine listened intently, his expression serious and attentive with no trace of mirth to be found. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm healing at all, or if I'm supposed to live like this forever."

Gwaine reached out to jostle his shoulder in a gentle manner, leaving his hand there as a gesture of comfort. "It'll get better, Merlin. It has to, right? No way you went to all that trouble healing yourself for nothing."

"If only my magic would have finished the job," Merlin remarked bitterly. According to Kilgharrah, the battering his body took that night in the cave was the type of injury even the strongest magic couldn't fix. He'd have to heal the old-fashioned way.

"It saved your life. That's enough for me," Gwaine insisted, his voice going a bit gravelly toward the end. He crossed his arms, looking down at his shoes with furrowed brows. "That day…gods, Merlin, if you could've seen it," he said with a laugh that contained absolutely no humor. Merlin observed him silently, wondering what kinds of images he was seeing. He didn't remember much after waking up from his coma. The first solid memory he had was waking in Arthur's bed with Gaius hovering nearby. Everything before that was largely a blur or completely blank. He'd heard about the blood, though. He was very glad he couldn't remember it.

Gwaine scratched at his beard roughly, casting a quick glance at Merlin before returning his gaze to his boots.

"You were dying…right in front of us. It was like a nightmare turned into reality." He lifted his head suddenly, twisting so his entire body was facing Merlin. "I don't think any of us ever imagined a scenario in which we would lose you. It always just seemed so impossible." He shrugged helplessly. "There was nothing I could do, nothing any of us could do but watch. I'll never forget that feeling," he said with a shudder, mostly to himself. "But your magic…" He paused, an awestruck smile slowly creeping up his lips. "It washed away the blood and fear and left hope and relief in their place." Gwaine looked at him then, something proud and fond in his grin. "Your magic saved you. And it saved us. You saved us. You're some kind of miracle, Merls," he chuckled, reaching up to pat his neck.

Merlin leaned into the touch, his own smile shaky as he wrestled back tears. "Yeah, well, my magic might've been useful then, but nowadays it's a right pain in my arse," he claimed with a snort, shaking his head.

"How so?" Gwaine wondered. He looked at the servant consideringly. "I've never really asked about your magic," he noted. "I suppose there's a lot I don't know about that side of you."

Merlin smiled wryly. "My fault on that one," he reminded him, disregarding his question for the moment.

Gwaine tsked. "Nah, you had your reasons for keeping it a secret. You'll never hear me complaining about that," he said graciously. Merlin still found himself marveling over how well-received his magic had been by the Knights who hadn't known. He wondered what the other knights of Camelot would think once they knew, but quickly dismissed the thought, fearing the answer. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. Uther's prejudice ran deep in many of them.

"Thank you, Gwaine," Merlin blurted, causing the man to raise an eyebrow. "For… For being you, and just…you know, accepting me. I did want to tell you. A long time ago. But I was afraid you knowing would put you in danger, like it has for so many other people," he confessed.

"If I learned anything during my travels all those years, my friend, it's that there are many kinds of people in this world, and you gotta learn which ones are the truly bad and the truly good. You, Merls, have always been nothing but the latter in my mind, magic or no," Gwaine insisted, wiggling his fingers in a gesture that was likely supposed to represent magic. It earned a bright laugh out of Merlin, and he pushed at Gwaine's shoulder lightly.

"I'm glad to have such a philosophical friend on my side," he teased, returning to his task. Gwaine was grinning to himself as he ambled over to help pick up as much armor as he could carry, while Merlin cradled the smaller items and polishing supplies to his chest, hoping he didn't drop anything. With his luck, his magic would catch it midair in plain view of the other knights and servants.

As they made their way toward the training field, Gwaine nudged him with his shoulder. "So? What's up with your magic?" He pressed.

Merlin cringed. "Oh. Yeah. Um…I've kind of been having trouble controlling it lately. Nothing too bad…yet…but the last thing Arthur and I need right now is everyone finding out about me. The council would have an absolute field day with that one. Evil sorcerer coerces King to do his bidding," Merlin stated dramatically, rolling his eyes.

Gwaine hummed thoughtfully, briefly giving him a concerned once-over. "Well, it's not like you can stay our little secret forever. They're going to find out eventually," he pointed out, winking flirtatiously at a passing serving girl, who blushed madly at the knight's attention as she scurried past them.

"I know, but the repeal will go much smoother if Arthur isn't simultaneously fighting accusations of being enchanted," Merlin explained with an exasperated sigh.

"I hope the princess plans to tell them how many times you've single-handedly saved Camelot over the years," Gwaine commented with the barest hint of warning.

"I've made plenty of mistakes, too," Merlin reminded him. "No need to make me sound like some kind of martyr."

"Merlin the Martyr. Has a nice ring to it, don't y'think?" Gwaine pondered aloud, accepting the shove he received with merely a laugh. Merlin couldn't help his own smile, but shook his head in disbelief.

"You know, I used to crave recognition. Back when Arthur was Prince and I was just his idiot manservant. I'd finally found a purpose for my gifts and the dollophead never even knew I was saving his life or his kingdom at every turn," Merlin recalled, and his expression quickly soured. "And then I realized that I didn't give a damn about recognition as long as I could keep Arthur safe," he murmured. He felt Gwaine's curious yet understanding gaze on him. "With Morgause and Agravaine and losing his kingdom multiple times over, I just wanted to protect him from it all. Help him be the king he's meant to be. That's what I crave now." There was a certain peace that had come with that realization, even as his secrets had threatened to disturb that peace. Now that Arthur knew the truth, Merlin could serve him without fear. It was a much more blissful feeling than being recognized for his accomplishments could ever be.

"You're a good friend, Merlin. Can't say I know anyone else willing to go to such lengths for someone else," Gwaine remarked. They had exited the corridor onto the grass at that point and could see Leon pairing up the knights for a warm-up spar. The First Knight noticed them approaching and did a double-take when he noticed Merlin accompanying Gwaine, but he was quick to shake off the surprise and resume his commands.

"I am not just his friend," Merlin stated softly as they reached their destination. Gwaine set down the small pile of armor on a bench and shook out his arms before turning to face Merlin, waiting for him to say more. Merlin gazed out over the field, not really seeing anything, his mind on a certain blond back in the castle. "I am his servant, 'til the day I die," he declared faithfully.

There was silence for a moment as Gwaine took in the serious tone, then the knight slapped him lightly on the back.

"Then I hope you're his servant for a very long time," he replied with an affectionate smirk, ruffling Merlin's hair as he stepped away. "I should get over there before Leon carves a hole in me with his glare," he said, pointing his thumb over his shoulder. Leon did have a rather stormy expression on his face, and Merlin waved Gwaine off with an amused grin.

"Yeah, yeah, go on. I'll cheer for you."

Gwaine gave him a mock salute, then jogged off across the field, leaving Merlin to his voluntary chores. Merlin slumped onto the bench with a sigh, picking up the chest plate and resting it in his lap. As he dipped a cloth in polish and started to work, he let his thoughts drift.

His magic leaked invisibly into the air, catching the wind and carrying pieces of him into the forest beyond the citadel. As clearly as if he were walking through the trees himself, he could feel the gentle thrum of life underneath the earth and amongst the branches. Squirrels skittered around in search of nuts; a doe lazed in her den, waiting for dusk; dry leaves rustled in the breeze, threatening to fall from their high perches with the change in season. Magic hummed through all of it, echoing back along to where Merlin sat on his bench.

He smiled subconsciously. When he allowed himself to let go like this, the pounding beneath his skin lessened, his magic content when it gained its freedom. He wondered how far he could go without ever moving. He hadn't ever tested it, afraid that if he went too far he'd never be able to come back.

"I've never seen anyone look so happy to be polishing armor," an amused voice spoke up suddenly from his left. His magic snapped back into him in a rush, nearly knocking the breath out of him. He huffed, turning to scowl at the grinning king beside him.

"Don't you have people to be knocking around?" Merlin said irritably.

Arthur was still pulling on his gloves as he replied, "I do. Are you going to actually watch or are you just going to daydream the whole time?" He teased.

Merlin shrugged. "It's not like I'll miss anything. I've seen you train so many times I could probably fight you myself."

Arthur's abrupt laugh was genuine and loud, his head being thrown back with the force of it. The sound briefly drew the attention of the others on the field, but they were quick to resume their stances under Leon's watchful eye.

Arthur's grin nearly split his whole face, and Merlin was torn between being offended and giving in to the urge to laugh himself.

"You? Fight me? Now there's an image I can't get out of my brain," Arthur remarked.

Merlin dropped the hand holding the polishing cloth onto the chest plate, glaring up at him. "Need I remind you that I could flatten you without a word, Sire?"

Arthur waggled a finger at him, still sporting that infuriating smile. "It wouldn't be fair if you used magic. Hardly an even fight."

"I'd hardly say pummeling me into the dirt all these years for your amusement was fair, either," Merlin muttered.

"Yet you let me do it anyway," Arthur pointed out. Merlin side-eyed him, unable to argue against that.

"I don't need magic to beat you," he lied, giving off a faux air of confidence.

"If that were the case, I'm sure you would've done it a long time ago."

"I would hate to damage your fragile ego in such a way, Sire."

Arthur nodded along indulgently. "Well, next time you feel up to a spar, let me know. I'll be happy to let you prove yourself."

Merlin gulped, not liking the mischievous twinkle in the king's eye. They both knew perfectly well how that fight would go.

"I'll hold you to that," Merlin responded reluctantly, already dreading the very idea.

"Great." Arthur grinned a little too brightly, then walked off to join his knights for training. Merlin watched him go with pursed lips, tempted to trip him up just to take his overinflated ego down a notch, but he didn't dare. Not only were there too many witnesses at this time of day, but his magic was too unpredictable. He might end up throwing Arthur halfway across the field if he wasn't careful. The thought of accidentally hurting Arthur made bile rise in his throat, and he hurriedly turned back to his task.

He wasn't sure how he'd go about learning to control his magic, but it needed to happen sooner rather than later. The problem was, he wasn't sure there was anyone who could help him. He was unique even amongst other sorcerers. No one could match him in raw power, which meant no one knew how to control the amount of magic he had pumping through his veins.

Morgause was probably the most qualified to teach him anything, given that she was quite powerful herself and a fully-trained High Priestess of the Old Religion. She certainly knew more about magic than he probably ever would, which was part of the reason she was so hard to pin down. Sometimes he felt like an infant in comparison to her, like she was running circles around him while he struggled to catch up. If she were aware that her great enemy was no more than a country peasant thrust into a world of destiny with barely a clue as to what he was doing, she'd probably laugh her arse off.

Merlin wondered what she could've possibly stolen from the vaults that she thought would aid her in winning Camelot's throne. Was it an object of great power? A weapon strong enough to kill him? Or perhaps a way to figure out his identity, which she desperately desired. Did it have anything to do with him at all?

He frowned as his thoughts bounced around, unable to come up with any solid conclusion. He needed to go down to the vaults himself and put up more wards—not that they'd helped much the first time. He was sure there must be some way to figure out what she'd taken. If he wandered close enough to the hall that eventually led down to the vaults, he could vaguely sense the dark presence she'd left behind. Magic sometimes left traces, and she was powerful enough to have done so when she broke in. Perhaps the remnants of that magic would give him some clues. He wasn't great with scrying spells, but he could give it a shot. Once Arthur deemed him healthy enough, anyway. For now he had to bide his time. He'd be no use if he overextended himself and fell into another coma.

Training passed by in a blur as he worked. At some point he finished polishing the full set of armor and let himself relax instead, sliding down onto the ground so he could lean against the bench. He mostly watched Arthur, studying the way he fought with a level of skill that was far more impressive than those around him. Lancelot was really the only one who could beat Arthur at his best, but even that was a rarity.

Despite Merlin's claims that Arthur had a ridiculous ego, the king was actually quite a good teacher. He didn't brag and strut around like he was better than everyone else. He genuinely cared about making sure his knights had all the training they needed to be capable defenders of Camelot. He paid close attention to everyone, from a skilled fighter like Lancelot to the newest recruit. If he knocked someone down, he helped them back up again and gave them pointers that would help them improve. Whatever hell Arthur put the knights through during training, it was all for a good purpose. And the knights realized that, which was why they followed him.

By the time training was finally over, everyone looked dead on their feet. Sweat plastered their hair to their foreheads, but they all traded friendly insults and shoves as they made their way off the field toward the armory. The only ones who lingered were the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur.

Merlin was about to go over and offer the king a waterskin, but Gwaine approached before he could attempt to stand, collapsing onto his back next to him with a pained groan.

"Ugh, Merls, help. I think I bruised some internal organs," he complained, resting a hand over his abdomen.

Merlin grinned, then smacked him on the stomach, eliciting a very high-pitched yelp from his friend.

"Merlin!" Lancelot spoke up before Gwaine could retaliate. The knight was striding over with a wide smile on his face, the others following behind more slowly. Merlin looked up at him, having to squint against the sun.

"Hey, Lance. That was a good training session. I always love to see Arthur lose a bout once in a while," he greeted, casting a glance at Arthur in time to catch his eye roll.

Lancelot offered his hand, which Merlin quickly accepted. His head rushed as he was hauled to his feet, which meant he ended up leaning against Lance once he was standing. The knight steadied him with hands on his shoulders, looking him over with concern.

"You alright?" He asked quietly.

Merlin nodded, rubbing at his temple with one hand while balancing himself against Lancelot with the other. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Just got a little dizzy," he muttered, forcing a reassuring smile.

"How have you been, Merlin?" Leon inquired from where he stood on the other side of Arthur. "It's been a while since I've seen you."

"Been kinda busy, I guess," Merlin answered sheepishly. "Sorry I've been missing out on patrols," he added sincerely.

Arthur snorted. "You realize it's not actually your job to go on patrol, right?"

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "It's not yours, either, but you still go," he retorted.

"A king's job is to defend his kingdom, Mer lin."

"Which you can't do if you get ambushed and killed by bandits," Merlin countered.

"Hasn't happened yet." Arthur shrugged noncommittally.

"Because of me saving your royal arse!" Merlin reminded him with a laugh.

Arthur held up his hands in surrender, conceding the point with an amused smile.

"I still can't believe we never noticed you using magic on patrols," Percival commented, joining in the conversation.

"Merls can be a right sneaky bastard when he wants to be," Gwaine quipped with a smirk, dragging himself to his feet and stretching out his back with a wince.

"It was pretty difficult, actually," Merlin admitted. "I always had to wait until all of you were too distracted to notice, but it seemed like at least one of you was always looking my way."

Lancelot reached up to ruffle his hair. "That's because we wanted to make sure you were safe," he said honestly.

Elyan scoffed good-naturedly, crossing his arms. "Why would you have been worried about his safety? You knew about his magic the whole time," he pointed out.

Arthur cut in before Lance could respond. "If there's one thing I know about Merlin, it's that he'll find a way to get into trouble with or without his magic," he remarked with exasperation.

To Merlin's indignation, Lancelot nodded with mocking solemnity. "Very true."

"Hey!" Merlin exclaimed half-heartedly, pulling back from where he'd been leaning against his friend.

"Oh, come on, darling, you know they're right about that."

Everyone froze at the sound of a new voice, none of them having realized anyone had approached. The Knights looked past him, and Merlin whirled around in an instant, a bright grin overtaking his features when he saw his mother standing before him, a traveling pack slung over one shoulder. She had her hands on her hips as she returned his grin in equal measure, her eyes shining with the threat of tears.

"Mother," he breathed. The next moment he was rushing over to her, scooping her into a great bear hug with no regard for his current physical limitations. She laughed in delight as he spun her around once before gently placing her back on the ground. Her hands moved to either side of his face, and she looked up at him like he was a shining star.

"Oh, my sweet falcon. I've missed you," she whispered, a single tear escaping and dripping down her cheek.

Merlin placed his hands over hers, his smile hurting his cheeks from the mere force of his joy. "Mother. You're here," he said uselessly, letting out a wet chuckle of relief and happiness.

She smoothed her thumbs across his cheekbones. "Thought it might be time for a visit. I wanted to make sure you were okay," she explained in a murmur.

Merlin inhaled shakily. "You heard."

She nodded sorrowfully, giving him a heartbroken sort of smile. "Gaius wrote to me. I'm so sorry, Merlin."

He shook his head, hastily wiping away his tears. "Don't be. Everything's okay," he promised.

She grasped his chin gently. "I'm your mother, Merlin. I know when something's bothering you," she chided in a soft tone.

His mouth opened, then closed again, finding he didn't even want to argue. He wanted to talk to her, to rant about everything that had been happening lately—with Arthur, and Morgause, and his magic—knowing she would listen with a kind and understanding ear. She knew him better than anyone, and he needed that desperately in that moment.

Merlin leaned down until his forehead touched hers, closing his eyes as he did so. "I'm glad you're here, Mother," he whispered.

She separated from him only to place a light kiss on his brow. "I'll always be here when you need me," she promised, wrapping him in a tight hug.

And for the first time in a month, Merlin's magic was completely quiet and sated beneath his skin.

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