The sound of waves softly breaking upon the shore sent a wave of peace through Arthur's body. He blinked his eyes open to be met with a stare as deep and intense as the sea amidst a storm. The gangly man was backlit by the warm morning sun, causing his ears to appear lit from within and casting his sharp cheekbones into shadow. His hair glinted with highlights of browns and subtle reds amidst the black. He didn't look remarkable in any way, and Arthur wondered why the sight of him caused his breath to catch in his chest and his stomach to clench in delightful knots. He crooked a smile at Merlin, who seemed thoroughly put out by Arthur's sudden return to consciousness (or unconsciousness.)

Heaving a heavy sigh, Merlin flopped down onto the pebbles beside him, close enough for Arthur to feel the heat of his body. "You just won't go away, will you?"

"It's not my fault you've invaded my dreams, little raven."

"I invaded your dreams? How am I to blame for your being a dream walker? I was perfectly happy without being assaulted by 'tall, blond, and built' every day and night!"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at that. "Day and night, hmm? Does that mean I haunt more than just your dreams?"

Merlin huffed again. "Your ego is what haunts me, you arrogant prat, along with the idea of your inevitable company."

"Imagine my inevitable company often, do you? I'm flattered."

"Don't be."

They laid together silently, and Arthur took in the scents and sounds surrounding him - the waves upon the shore a pleasing white noise to the call of birds rustling the leaves of the trees in the forest behind them, and small animals trampled through the underbrush. Merlin's steady breathing beside him and the knowledge that Arthur could spread his fingertips and brush his raven's skin made him giddy beyond reasoning. He wanted to feel the warmth of the sunned skin against his own, to lick the sweat from his brow, and to inhale the scent of the man where it was most potent. The primal nature of his desires frightened Arthur, but the imagination of what Merlin looked like beneath his ill-fitting garments warred with his fears and kept him anticipating every word and action between them. Perhaps it was his recently sated needs, but Arthur had no desire to rush.

As much as he cursed Emrys, his methods had been exactly as he had offered them; pleasure. Arthur never would have thought he would crave the unending stimulation, but Emrys has opened his mind to the raptures of slow, drawn-out fucking, and he wasn't sure he'd ever get the same satisfaction from a quick romp in the horse stalls again. He wanted to take his time being taken apart, piece by piece, to be put back together just as carefully. He wanted to crash and burn. Arthur had never been reckless before - he'd never had the chance. Too much hung on his decisions, his actions, that one wrong move could be devastating. But with Emrys in control, Arthur longed for nothing more than to give in, to let go, consequences be damned. Arthur knew he was heading straight to a precipice, but he had no intention of diverting his course, choosing instead to jump off the ledge and plunge into the unknown. He took a chance.

"You called me a dream walker. What does that mean?" Arthur asked, breaking the silence between them. He glanced at the other man out of the corner of his eye only to catch Merlin doing the same.

"It means you have the ability to walk amongst other's dreams," Merlin said, the tone of his voice indicating that he'd very nearly called Arthur a colorful name in response to his question.

"You mean to say you're not just my own invention?"

Merlin sniffed indignantly. "Hardly. It's a rare and mostly unpredictable gift of magic, usually given to oracles or prophets."

Magic? Arthur felt his heart skip a beat before it began to pound. "What is the purpose of it?"

"What is the purpose of any magic? It is what you make of it. Most gifted with dream walking were only able to witness dreams, to encounter them as if they were a spirit. But there were a few powerful sorcerers who were able to physically manifest and interact within the dreams. Even fewer were those able to change the waking world by their actions within a dream. Many miraculous healings were done this way; a dream walker using magic to treat the dreamer and cure them in the waking world. It was incredibly rare, and most assumed the ability was destroyed in the Great Purge."

Merlin looked at him fully then, his face serious. "Ironic, that the only son and heir of Uther Pendragon would be a powerful dream walker born of magic."

His words were like an icy downpour on Arthur. His blood froze within his veins, and he knew his face had gone pale. "How did you know?"

"It is always wise to know one's enemies," Merlin said with a hint of malice.

"You're a druid then? A sorcerer?"

Merlin only snorted in response. The sun was setting behind the mountains, and Arthur knew he'd wasted too much time in his own head. He needed to act quickly or Merlin may never forgive him for the sins of Uther Pendragon.

"I am not my father, you know," he said quietly. He turned his head to the side, catching and holy Merlin's gaze with his own and hoping the other man could see his sincerity. "I know more than anyone how wrong he is about magic. His grief made him bitter and resentful, and he took out his hatred for himself on your people. I cannot change what he has done however much I want to, but that doesn't mean I wish to carry his hatred inside of me. I have seen how the druid people live. I have witnessed magic in both simple and terrifying ways, but I understand that the magic itself is pure. The only threat it holds to Camelot is the threat Uther himself created of it by senselessly murdering those who can wield it."

Merlin seemed taken aback by his confession of disrespect for his own father, but Arthur wasn't finished. Something Merlin had said planted a seed in his head, and he felt in his heart that the idea was true.

"You said that I was born of magic. I won't ask how you know because I don't find it important. My father never intended to tell me, but his secrecy was shattered by a high priestess named Nimueh - the very sorcerer who my father blamed for the death of my mother. She told me the truth before my father had her beheaded for my father's crime. If I was born of magic, then I cannot truly hate that which has made me. And perhaps the circumstances of my birth are what have allowed me to walk in dreams. Maybe this is the universe's way of bringing the world back into balance. If what you say is true, Morrigan, then I have been given a gift and I do not intend to extinguish it within myself."

The sky gave way from colors of fire to the dark impending twilight and Arthur felt himself slipping away. He reached out to tangle his fingers with Merlin's, reveling in the solidity and warmth he found there, using it to anchor himself for the last few moments of sleep. Tears welled in his eyes, but he refused to let them fall for fear of tainting the dream world with his sorrow and shame.

"When I am King of Camelot, I will lift the ban on magic. I will do everything within my power to undo the damage my father has caused. I promise you, Merlin."

I promise, Emrys. Mordred. Freya. Will. Hunith. I promise.

As he watched, Merlin began to disappear, but his hand remained in Arthur's even as his voice was carried away in the wind.

"I hope to see that day, Arthur."

Arthur knew the dream had ended, that Merlin was probably far away and waking in his own place, wherever he may call home. But the hand clutched in his own was real, as was the body against his chest, and the soft breath blowing in his hair. His face was buried where neck met shoulder, and he breathed in Emrys' scent, feeling calmed by the familiarity of it and the feeling of being held. He was surprised to feel the sting of tears still in his eyes. Emrys was still beside him, but Arthur knew he was awake. Not wanting to break the fragile truce that seemed to have settled between them, Arthur didn't speak. Instead, he breathed deeply, inhaling as much of Emrys as he could to savor the moment before it inevitably ended.

The chest against his own was practically smooth, with supple skin and lean muscle. Emrys' palms were as large as Arthur's own, but his fingers were long and slim. The column of his neck was slender and Arthur felt the chords of his throat flexing beneath the skin as he swallowed, his adam's apple bobbing delightfully against Arthur's ear. He couldn't help nuzzling further into Emrys, and the arm beneath his head flexed almost imperceptibly. Everything about Emrys' body seemed to contradict the enormous power it contained. The man was thin as a rail and obviously hadn't put much effort into building a muscled physique as Arthur had. It almost felt as though, if Arthur weren't careful, he could break the fragile being with his bare hands. It was heady to know this man held so much power over him when Arthur could easily take him on physically.

Emrys released his hand, moving it to run his fingers along Arthur's stubbled jaw. "Pendragon," he said. His voice was soft with sleep, and the gravel quality made Arthur shiver pleasantly. "I know you're awake."

Arthur shook his head, rubbing his stubble against the other man's neck as he did so. Emrys hummed and the sound rumbled through his chest and throat, washing over Arthur and echoing in his ears. He brought his own hand up to tangle in the man's hair, reveling in the softness of it running between his fingers. Emrys took Arthur's hand back into his own.

"You're hurt," he said, rubbing over the pads of Arthur's pin pricked fingers.

"It's nothing," Arthur replied immediately, voice muffled by his position against Emrys' neck. "I've had far worse, believe me. Once you've almost been disemboweled… needle pricks are quite harmless."

Emrys didn't speak. He simply pulled Arthur's fingers to his mouth, brushing his lips over each tip. Arthur felt the magic flow from his lips and through his fingers like a gentle warming sensation. He flushed, making a small mewling sound at the gesture. His hand was released and Emrys all but squirmed away from him, leaving Arthur's head to thump indelicately against the furs. Arthur blinked in confusion at the sudden loss of contact, flailing in his darkness trying to find his bearings.

"I must seek council with the Dragon," Emrys said from somewhere close by. He sounded guarded, and Arthur knew their tender moment was long gone. "Mordred will fetch you for breakfast. I shall return this evening for you, I suspect we'll have much to discuss."

Mordred came for him not long after Emrys left, almost as if he'd been waiting just outside for the sorcerer to leave. He removed the enchantment from Arthur's eyes, and, unlike Freya, his hands soothing and gentle on his face and eyelids. He ran his wrist against Arthur's forehead, and his lips twitched downwards in a frown.

"You need food. Come, let us go find Will for breakfast before we set out to harvest."

Will provided them with fresh fruit and berries slathered in cream and honey. Used to eating meats and cheeses at every meal, Arthur was thankful for the assortment of food the druids preferred. He was content to harvest with Mordred and would hopefully be able to remember the plants when he returned to Camelot so that he might continue to enjoy fresh fruits more regularly once he left. Mordred happily showed him the various shrubs to gather berries from and when to know the fruits were ripe enough for harvest. They chatted amicably as they filled their baskets, with Mordred curiously asking after the practices of the Knights of Camelot. Arthur taught him about the knight's code, the tournaments, and the duties they performed in and around the kingdom. He even felt free enough to mention what he would change about knighthood when he took the throne. In Arthur's eyes, anyone willing to lay down their life for Camelot was worthy of the Pendragon crest, but his father believed only noblemen should have the privilege. Arthur didn't necessarily see knighthood as a privilege, more of a sacrifice, a service to the kingdom. For Arthur, honor wasn't tied up in titles. Honor was demonstrated, it was fought for, not handed down through the generations like a priceless heirloom. A man's character could not be determined from heritage, but from one's own actions and ideals. He had known too many dishonorable and cowardly nobles who were not fit to bear the responsibilities of their titles.

Mordred understood him all too well, for he claimed it was the same for those with magic. The magic itself was pure and good, but some used it for evil purposes which tainted it and turned it dark. Under Uther's threat, more and more sorcerers had turned the Old Religion into something to be feared, not for the natural power and beauty of the earth, but because of the power of vengeance and desolation they sought.

"I'd always dreamed of becoming a knight," Mordred said quietly as they carried their full loads back to camp. The trail they walked was well-worn and serene, with the call of native birds and sunlight filtering through the light foliage above them. "Growing up, listening to my father's stories of them was inspiring. I was sure it was my destiny to serve with the sword and shield. If I didn't have magic, I think I may have been, what with my father being a noble. But this gift… I wouldn't give it up for anything. I've helped so many people, and I have a connection with the earth that not many can understand. That's the true magic."

Arthur was silent for a moment, considering the promise he'd made to Merlin. Taking a deep breath, ready to take the plunge, he said, "perhaps there's still the chance to become a knight. You're an honorable man, Mordred, and I would be grateful to have you in my court when the time comes."

The look of astonishment on Mordred's face was almost laughable if it didn't sting so much to know the very idea of what Arthur proposed being implausible.

"You would do that?"

"Is it so hard to believe? Did you think I would leave here and then hunt you down for sport? You are my friend, Mordred, and I would see no harm befall you at my hand."

Mordred shook his head. "I cannot ask you to choose between your kingdom and one man. I wouldn't dream to let you do something to endanger yourself."

"What if I didn't have to choose?"

Mordred stopped walking to look at him in continued disbelief. "What are you saying, Arthur?"

"Nothing I can say for certain, only in the aspiration that I can help your people when I become King."

The other man's face softened and he looked close to tears. He opened his mouth to respond but didn't get the opportunity. Arthur's vision went dark, disorienting him. He fell to the ground, fruit and berries crashing down around him and rolling away from his outstretched hands.

"Those are bold and treasonous words for a Pendragon," Emrys said with ire. Contrasting the vehemence in his voice, he stooped next to Arthur's prone form, lightly brushing the blond hair from where it was strewn about his face.

Arthur batted his hand away and tried to stand, but felt his legs were heavy and his head swam. "Why must you always use dramatics? I was being sincere."

"Good intentions do not excuse fallacy. Do not give hope where there is none." Emrys dragged him up roughly by the arm. "When you leave here you will give us up to your father, have no mistake about that."

"Emrys," Mordred tried, but he was cut off once more.

"You know nothing," Arthur snarled. "Haven't you already admitted I am not what you thought I was?"

"You cannot expect me to believe you would lie to your king. I am under no illusion of where your loyalties lie, Arthur Pendragon, Crowned Prince of Camelot! You'll turn into your father the minute the crown touches your head."

"Have you so little faith in me, after everything?" Arthur felt his heart ache in his chest and his breathing grew tight. Do I really mean so little to you?

"It is never in a druid's best interest to place their faith in the mercy of a Pendragon. Your father made damn sure of that."

"My father is a good man, but that does not mean he is infallible."

"Infallible? I consider genocide more than a simple, unfortunate mistake!"

"I'm not claiming my father is justified or that he was right in his actions, we both know that's a lie! I'm saying that I cannot change the past." Arthur held his head high, looking in the direction he desperately hoped Emrys was standing in, attempting to look the man in the eye with his sightless ones. "I cannot fix my father's mistakes, but I will also not be held accountable for them because they were not of my invention. I can try to change the future, and I will try my best to do what I feel is right."

Emrys was radiating resentment and disbelief, and his voice was hard when he asked "and what does that entail?"

"I won't make promises I don't know if I can keep. Change will take time, but I am certain the people of Camelot are not as hard-headed and stubborn as their current King. All I ask is that you remain hopeful. I know that hope is a lot to ask of you and your people after the horrors you've lived, and I can only wish it hasn't run out by now."

"And what would you do for my people?"

For you? "Anything I can."

Emrys harrumphed, but didn't refute the statement. He turned on his heel and stalked away and Arthur was glad for it. His heart beat frantically inside his chest from their verbal brawl, and he was dizzy. He felt a gentle hand on his eyes, restoring them, before moving on to his forehead. He sighed at the coolness on his flushed skin.

"Arthur, you're burning up!" Mordred exclaimed. "Why didn't you tell me you were coming down with a fever? You should be in bed!"

Arthur opened his eyes to see the worry on his friend's face. "I'm alright, just got a little excited is all. I'm sure it's nothing."

He made to pick up the fallen harvest from his basket when the fig he was holding flew from his hand. Mordred waved his hand and collected the tumbled fruits, using magic to pile them back into the straw basket.

"Come," he said, beckoning with his fingers. The baskets floated up and through the air, heading down the path towards the encampment. He turned back to Arthur with a frown. "You're going straight to bed."

Arthur rolled his eyes, the motion making his vision swim and his stance falter. His head really did feel stuffed with cotton and he was rather tired. "If my physician insists," he said jokingly. "Although I must warn you, I'm a terrible patient."

Mordred chuckled at that. "I would expect nothing less from you, sire."