Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bells rang wildly, the dark sky above choked with smoke and flame. People ran around screaming. Some carried buckets sloshing with water, others with prized family possessions or important relics, others family members cast over their shoulders, and yet more still with nothing in hand. More bells would have been ringing, warning the rest of the people of what was happening, yet they had already been destroyed.

The back of the castle of Amata was ablaze.

No one knows how it began, but everyone knew who started it. Her name was screamed amongst scared maids and cowardly guards, between people trying to stop her and people trying to hide from her.

The king boasted nonstop when he had captured her and her little dragon. He threw a feast that lasted a week, the main entertainment consisting of various different torture methods and throwing rotten food at her in her pit. To laugh at her and her little dragon, to give her a taste of the hell that was to come.

His advisors warned him against this, saying that she was known to be quite volatile and aggressive. That if she managed to escape, it would bring destruction and ruin to the kingdom, bring its people to their knees. But Sarum just laughed, saying that no magic user could withstand him, that he will “break her over my knee like a green horse”. She would suffer for her existence as the last priestess of the Old Religion. Nothing would stop him from getting what he wanted, and what he wanted was to break her spirit and then her body. To torture the religion of magic to death.

But the dark ragged ex lady of Camelot did not break easily, and from the moment she was put in that pit she planned her escape. She waited for the perfect night to come, like a funnel-web spider ready to pop out.

And tonight was just that night, and she would do just as those advisors said she would.

“She’s coming this way!” A woman screamed.

“Get her in the net!”

“Keep her back!”

“Get ready!”

The gate blocking the way was blasted off its hinge in a violent, bright explosion. Two guards went flying across the way. Screams went up, maids and servants went scampering off like rats off a ship. Out of the smoke and fog, the only thing keeping her upright being rage, vengeance, buried pain, and magic, was the Lady Morgana. In her hand, an old, dingy sword, and yet in her hands could be made of pure magic.

“Where is your king?!” She screamed, looking around at all of the cowering guards and servants. “And his horrible wretched son?”

Everyone looked at one another, wondering who was going to make the first move. Everyone was so shaken in their boots that they failed to notice a frail small, dog sized dragon walking out of the fog, hiding away from everyone, keeping itself behind the woman.

Finally, the guards decided to do the jobs they were being paid to do. One ran forward, holding a net in his hands, his main intent clearly seen to capture, only to be taken out in one swing of Morgana’s sword. One guard hesitated, another surged forward, only to get stabbed in the shoulder.

“Arnold!” A woman cried out, but fell silent when she saw the look in Morgana’s eye. The servant whimpered, before running off.

Morgana groaned as the guard fell to the floor in a heap. “Will no one give me an answer?!” She yelled at the remaining servants, but no one dared to speak up, whether in fear or in loyalty. Morgana sighed. “Fine, I’ll find him myself.”

She barely gave the servants another look as she marched past, the little dragon scampering along behind her.

Not too far from her, an old man marched out of the castle, danger and fury and just a hint of insanity in his coal grey eyes. His crown was old and dingy, tilted off to the side, haphazardly put on. Barely a peach fuzz of grey atop his head, a look of aged madness look in his eye as he marched. The man beside him, a weasley looking man with wire thin glasses, scampered along, trying to talk to the man with the crown.

The weasel like man pushed up his glasses, “Y-your majesty, I really must insist you stay inside—.”

One look into the pit where she was once held confirmed the king’s greatest frustration.

“Lock her back up!” The old man barked, completing ignoring any advice. He leaned against a stone balcony, looking over all of the chaos below. “I want her to suffer for her insolence. And someone put out this fire!”

A few of the guards scrambled off, hoping to make themselves seem useful. Another bundle of servants ran by carrying buckets sloshing with water, even though it wouldn’t do all that much.

The man with the glasses coughed, before clapping his hands together. “Alright everyone, back to work. We’ll have this cleaned up before dinner.” His voice haughtily called out. As if this wasn't the worst damage this kingdom would see. As if its threat was not at its door.

“But sir!” A high ranking guard covered in rubble dust cried out, fear and terror in his eyes. “Six guards are already dead, twenty more are injured!”

“Do we only have twenty six guards?” Sarrum asked with distain, giving the guard the side eye.

The guard hesitated and swallowed. “Well no, but—.”

“Then send more guards!” Sarrum shouted. The guard didn’t need to be told twice, scampering off. “And get me Albin.”

The weasely man pushed up his glasses. “He’s with your son, sir.”

“And where is my son?”

“H-he fled the kingdom when she first escaped. Got injured on the way out.”

Sarrum growled. “Insolent boy. Has no spine. He gets that from his mother, you know. I’ll deal with him after we deal with this.”

Suddenly, a voice full of pure, venomous anger, hiding a burning fury like no one had ever seen, spoke up. "Then I will deal with the one he gets his ghastly looks from."

Both men looked over their shoulder to see a woman marching out of the fog and smoke.

Standing there in her ragged dress and messy knotted hair, she looked like a menace, something that had crawled out of a hole. Well, quite literally. Scraped and starved, ragged black dress torn, dark hair wild. Lost on all of civilization.

“You trying to escape?” Sarrum called to her, drawing his sword, daring her to a fight. “You trying to take that thing with you?”

The little white dragon cowered behind Morgana, of which she rested a hand on her head. “I won’t let you hurt her anymore! I won’t let you hurt me anymore! I won’t let you hurt anyone anymore!” Her words, while noble, hissed with a malice and ice. 

But the old man just laughed. “You don’t get to make those kinds of choices, sorceress.”

Morgana ground her mouth shut. “I will make whatever kind of choice I like, and I choose to end you and your lineage here and now.”

“You will try.”

“Your majesty—!”

But the old man wasn’t hearing it. With speed that was nearly never seen in old men, Sarrum surged at the bedraggled woman.

~

On paper, it wasn’t really a fair fight. On the one hand, you had an old man with decades more experience in combat in fighting fit condition, and on the other hand you had a woman who had been starved of practice and food for months.

He was very good at combat, and Morgana was beginning to regret her decision. But, Morgana had an advantage on her side; her magic and a dragon, and she intended to use it to the fullest of her advantage.

“Aithusa, go!” Morgana ordered, and without a complaint the dragon was off, flapping her little wings into the sky. Amongst the dark sky and smoke, she stuck out like a dove in a storm.

Sarrum and his men began to run towards the door, towards the shelter of the castle, but neither priestess or dragon were going to have that. Without a word on Morgana’s part, Aithusa let out a tiny streak of fire, preventing Sarrum and his scribe from getting back inside.

Rocks crumbled and crashed down in front of the door, nearly crushing one of the guards.

“Shoot down that dragon!” The helper shouted to the guards. The guards were quick, and hastily they lifted their specially suited crossbows and fired.

Nets attached to a solid iron spike popped and spiraled through the air, flying towards the little dragon. One missed, another Aithusa ducked out of the way, but the third managed to hit its intended target.

“No!” Morgana screamed in terror as her poor little dragon crashed to the ground. It was just how they were captured all over again!

She ran to the little dragon’s side, assessing the damage. The net wrapped around her, the fresh red blood of a dragon spilling onto her white scales.

Aithusa wined and cried, and Morgana could see the pale tears the little dragon blinked away. She writhed under her touch, and Morgana feared the iron spike would only go deeper.

A flare of anger burned in Morgana's eye. Without a word, a spell rang out with clarity and strength, throwing both men back through the outer wall. Sarrum managed to stay on his feet, but his poor scribe was thrown off his feet and slammed into the wall. He slammed to the ground with a sickening ‘crunch!’

He did not move.

Sarrum barely shrugged it off as he readied his own sword. “You dare use magic on me, girl?” He barked, getting into a fighting stance.

“You should have killed me when you had the chance.” Morgana retorted, getting to her feet, getting between the old man and the young dragon. The little dragon let out a whine.

“I’ll see to it you suffer for your actions.” Sarrum spat, “You’ll never see the light of day again!” With that, he charged at her again with scary amounts of speed.

She ducked away out of the blade, dirt and gravel sent flying out from under her threadbare shoes. Their swords clashed again.

Clash!

Clash!

Clash!

Duck, turn, swipe, dive, thrust, block. Parrie after parrie after parrie. Through marble archways and stone cobble stairs. Never an opening revealing itself. No matter how long they fought, she never had a chance.

Morgana could feel herself wearing out. Her throat was raw, spit was forming in her mouth. She had used too much energy causing a diversion and in finding this man. Her legs were getting weak.

She felt herself get pushed back again. They were close to her pit now. To the magic torture area, full of many pits and caves just like her own. Of stocks and various torture devices covered in spikes, blades, and bludgeon like weapons. Manacles made of salted iron, stained with the blood of many. Where magic users, men, women, and children, were tortured and mutilated before their untimely deaths. Where so many unspeakable things had been done to her. Things that made her flinch just at the mere memory of them.

Death hung in the air like a rotting stench.

The Sarrum grinned maniacally and slashed at her arm again, and in that moment Morgana knew he had struck something. The searing pain of metal cutting flesh.

Morgana stumbled back, crying out. She clutched at her arm. Blood quickly pooled and dripped through her fingers, and it took all of her willpower for her not to scream in pain.

“I’ll kill your precious dragon!” Sarrum shouted, a mad smile in his eye.

Fear struck her heart. “No!”

The thought of her little dragon lifeless and dead dug up something in Morgana. The push she needed to keep fighting. Morgana swung again, making him hesitate back half a step. But it wasn’t enough.

He took his step and then some. “Get back into your pit!”

She looked back over her shoulder, her feet mere inches away from the edge. The bottom so far down now, she would not survive this fall. 

Morgana looked back at him. The maniacal smile, the fall, the fear, the fury that no, she wasn’t done, this was not her end, it couldn’t be. This could not be the end for her. It couldn’t be, not when she had so much life left to live, so much left to do. She had to bring magic back, she had to keep Aithusa safe, she had to stop Arthur, she had to kill the prince, she had to get her life, her impossible dreams, back.

She wasn’t going back down there. He couldn’t make her. She would rather die than go back in that hole, and if she was going to die, then she’d prefer to die by someone’s hand who earned it. Arthur, Gwen, or even Merlin would do. It would be a far more poetic death if he was the one stabbing her through the gut, finishing the job he started…

With a desperate cry and more strength than she had, Morgana shoved him off, sent him stumbling. Twist, twirl, so close she could feel his words and spit on her skin like a burning acid. She did not bother to listen. She could not listen. Suddenly, a slip, a fall, another desperate cry like that of a small child against their bully, her sword went farther than it had before. A sickening, squelching noise. A horrid gasp. Metal crashing and clattering to the ground, an old body falling not long after.

The fight was over.

The world went silent. There was a change in the air, a strange wind. It was as if the world gasped, wind released from a bottle. Destiny, fate, had changed.

The old king grasped at his gut, at the quickly bleeding wound. Blood in that distinct bright pure red pooled around him and seeped into the gravel and soil. He did not have much time left on this planet. He gasped for air, barely able to breathe, blood quickly rolling out of the side of his mouth.

“You… Bitch,” Flecks of his blood flew and spattered her dress, her face as she lowered herself to his level.

“Pot calling the kettle black, Bastard.” She spat back, kicking away the old king’s sword, sending it scattering across the ground and into some random bush.

The old king chuckled, every crevice in his evil grin, red and bloody. “You’ll never get what you want.” He said dangerously. “No one will ever love you, no one will ever praise you for what you did. You may have a kingdom, but you will always be alone until your dying breath.”

His words stabbed at her heart where his sword could not. But Morgana would not let him see that.

“Maybe, but at least they’ll be rid of you.” With that, she stood up, took one last look, took her shoe and shoved him into the gaping pit. She barely flinched as his body slammed into the rocks below. She didn’t even look to see what horrible unnatural position he landed in. 

He did not move.

Finally, the fight was over. Only then, did she let herself breathe. Only then did she let herself collapse to her knees and let herself revel in her pain, mental, physical, psychological pain.

She looked down at the horrible nasty wound that ran down her arm. She was incredibly lucky he didn’t hit an artery, but that didn’t mean she didn’t bleed. Oh there was so much blood. Too much blood.

With ease, she reached down and tore off one small clean piece of her dress and wrapped it around the wound. It wasn’t much, but it would do. She would have to get it cleaned later, but for now, at least she wouldn’t bleed out and join the Sarum wherever he was.

Aithusa.

The thought popped into her mind with a horrid gasp and leap of her heart. Without hesitation, Morgana stumbled to her feet and ran back to where they once were, back through the horrid gate, leaving the body of the dead king behind.

~

No one was around. No one was in the decrepit, dark side courtyard. In the far distance, she could hear barking orders, something about the bucket chain, putting out her fire. But she didn’t care. All she cared about was the small little white pile laying in the center of the courtyard, motionless and still.

Morgana collapsed next to her. Her only worry was the little dragon. “Aithusa?” She whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Aithusa, please.”

The small creature whined as Morgana pulled the net off of her body, gingerly licking her hand as it grew close.

The salted iron spike poked out of the dragon's soft side like a horrible wilted limb that didn’t belong. Even though fully grown dragons were impervious to damage, it took years of love and care to grow such thick, impenetrable scales. Years the little white dragon did not have under her belt, or wings, in this case.

It would take a lot of medicine and care, but she could get the spike out. She was sure that the wound would heal. It had to. Morgana would not consider otherwise. 

Gently, Morgana finally untied the net from her legs. “Come on Aithusa, let’s get out of here.”

But the poor little dragon just let out a louder whine. She couldn’t move, it hurt too much. And no matter how much effort Morgana could put into it, she didn’t have the strength to pick up the dragon. She was tiny for a dragon, but huge for a human. The size of a golden retriever, and twice as heavy. 

But, before she could think of anything, several sets of footsteps came running her way.

Morgana leapt to her feet, sword at the ready. If she could kill a king, she could kill anyone else who got in her way.

Suddenly, several guards came running into the yard, panicked and loose. No weapons were in their hands, and many were missing pieces of their armor. Some even carried empty buckets in their hands. Clearly, they were going to get more water or more help.

They came to a stop. Regardless of their numbers, they refused to get any closer. Fear soaked tension filled the air. Even though Morgana knew that if those men worked together they could take her down, she wasn’t going to let that stop her. If she was going down, then she was going to take as many with her.

She shakily raised her sword at them. Perhaps it was the blood on her dress, her face, and arms, or perhaps it was the look of insanity in her eye, or the lack of a king, but…

“Where is King Sarum?” One young guard nervously asked.

It was only then that it truly hit Morgana. The king was dead. She was alive. She was free. Free from the tyrant’s reign. Free to do what she truly wanted. Free to try again. Free to live out all those dreams, those passions, those desires she had grown in that pit.

Free.

“Your king is dead.” Morgana spat, a ghost of a smile on her lips. Adrenaline and an odd happiness made her heart leap.

She was too tired to entirely read into their reactions, but she was sure it was a mixture of concern, woe, and an underlying layer of relief. Clearly, they weren’t too bestricken at the death of their king.

“What about the prince?” Another guard asked.

“Gone,” Morgana spat. “I do not know where, but if he knows what’s best, he will not come back.”

Another wave of relief washed over the guards, this one heavier.

“Does... does that make you our new queen, then?” The first guard, the same one as before, asked.

Morgana paused. Her, queen of Amata? It wasn’t exactly what she was working for, what she was intending, but the idea… tickled her.

Yes, yes she liked this idea.

By this point, more and more of a crowd had gathered around them, fearing to get closer, covered in dust and ash and tired to the bone. The fire must have finally been put out. Off in the distance, beneath the now fading cloud of smoke, the beginning rays of dawn were poking their way out from the horizon.

Morgana looked down at the dragon beside her. Yes, she could be their queen. Have a kingdom of her own to rule, to use. Perhaps use it to take over Camelot, perhaps not. Bring back magic to an old, broken, fallen land. An objective that she was reluctant to admit had been put off to the side during her quest to end the Pendragon lineage.

The crowd questioned more and more, lost and without a leader. The decision was made for her.

“Yes, I am.” Morgana rose to her feet and approached the crowd around her. She rested a hand on the little dragon’s head. “Your king is dead!” Morgana called out, the growing crowd falling into fearful whispers, “At my hand. Your prince has fled the kingdom like the coward he is. From this point on I am your queen, and let it be known, things are going to change around here.”

The crowd around her looked at one another with worry and fear, but they could all feel it in the air; perhaps this change would be better. Perhaps they would be free-er under her rule than under their old king.

An old, wise looking man carefully stepped forward from the crowd. In a way, he looked a lot like Gaius, if Gaius was thinner and had a beard. “What are your orders then, your majesty?” The man asked, his piercing green eyes catching her gaze. It was like catching the eyes of her father.

She touched her own wound with a flinch. “I want your best physician to tend to our wounds, and then,” An almost evil smirk formed on her lips. “Bring me my generals and advisors. We have a lot to do."

Chapter Text

Crowns weigh heavy on the heads of those who care.

Merlin didn’t have much interest in being royalty. He didn’t care much for the politics or the court affairs or having everyone watch his every move. To be judged for every action, to be expected of only the best, to be told he had all the freedom in the world, when in fact he had very little. To have what felt like the weight of the world on his shoulders, to be expected to always make the best decisions, when in fact there is not always a good answer for everyone to come out happy. It wasn’t, for a lack of a better term, his style. It’s why he was so comfortable with Arthur leading; he didn’t have to deal with the menial and soul crushing problems. Not to mention the boring things like tax management and wheat distribution: very necessary, but boring as all Hell. Of course there were occasionally moments that were interesting, and there were points where Merlin wished he had the power of a king, but normally the career held no interest to him. He liked doing the simple work and leaving the hard decisions to Arthur.

However, this was one of those moments that Merlin most dreaded and yearned for the crown.

Arthur was looking into the idea of forming an alliance, an alliance with the dreaded King Sarum of Amata. The man’s reputation preceded him as a cruel, vindictive king, but his kingdom’s reputation of fertile crops was more so. While Arthur and the people of Camelot would never admit it (they were, after all, a prideful people), they were in a bit of a crunch. Already the crops were less than promising this year, and droughts were only predicted to get worse and worse as the spring and summer ran on, not to mention the kingdom’s spare supplies were starting to be dipped into. On paper the treaty was to unify a front to fight against magic, but in reality it was to secure a better future for Camelot’s people. 

At the price of magic users the rest of Camelot could be fed. Surely a fair price, right? Arthur thought so, and that made Merlin’s heartstrings tug further than they usually were.

Merlin understood a lot of things, lessons that came with a bitter cost. He understood that sacrifices had to be made. He understood that for the greater good, things had to be given up. Land, food, property, power, people. A king had to give up something in order to gain something. That was life, that was how things worked. The treaty was supposed to be temporary, just long enough for Camelot to get her feet under her again. He did not worry too much for magic users; they had nearly thirty years of experience hiding from the zealots and ignorants, and if push came to shove Merlin would find ways to keep them safe. Perhaps a ‘rogue’ animal attack on the way to Camelot stopping a transport, or a guard ‘conveniently’ falling asleep on the job right before an execution. They weren’t all that hard to do, he did them nearly all the time. But what ate at Merlin’s insides was the seeming indifference Arthur had for those he paid the price for. Even if Arthur didn’t care for magic users, surely he had heard before what King Sarum did to them? The horrible atrocities? Who would ever want to side with him? If Merlin was king, he wouldn’t even dare cast his eyes upon that dreaded king, or even let him step one foot into his land.

While Merlin was sometimes horrible at keeping his people safe (‘for destiny to come to fruition, some sacrifices must be made’ Kilgarrah would always say), these were his people! His kin, his kind! The only people who could truly understand who he was without wearing a mask. Was the life and safety of his kin really worth so little grain?

For Arthur, the answer was yes. Always, and without hesitaton.

It only made the pit in Merlin’s gut grow. Destiny looked harder and harder to achieve if this alliance went through. Trying to convince Arthur that magic wasn’t evil when Uther was alive was hard enough, but with another king sitting over his shoulders, essentially a second Uther, telling him otherwise, who was Arthur to listen to? Sure, Merlin was his loyal manservant and closest friend, but Sarum… Sarum was a powerful king, the perfect mentor figure for a young and unsure king. Arthur always seemed ready to listen to mentor figures, no matter how black hearted they were. 

It only made achieving destiny harder and harder, the future bleaker and bleaker. There were moments late at night, when the world was cold and dark and the sky was starless, for a few moments Merlin could find no hope in his future and his ambitions. At what point would it make sense to rip off the veil of secrecy and finally tell Arthur the truth? How would Arthur react? Would it even make a difference? He would lay there at night and he would fear that no matter what he did within these walls he would fail his destiny, no matter how hard he tried. His heart gripped in panic so hard it was a physical pain, like someone poking him hard in the chest. Like a fight or flight reaction, but his body remained still. Only as soon as he fell asleep, as soon as the sun rose the next morning, those valid concerns would be shoved into the back of his mind and left him to deal with later. Surely something would help him get his destiny back on track. Surely the fates of the universe would help him out in this time of need, surely they would give some kind of gentle push?

Well, that day may have come.

Arthur bit into his buttered toast, chewing the buttery brittleness before swallowing. “I was thinking of going on a bit of a hunt today,” He offered casually. “Help get the knights some accuracy training.”

“Didn’t you go hunting just last week?” Gwen asked in response, her perfect purple dress nearly glinting in the morning light. Her maid was nearly done with her hair. “At this rate there won’t be any animals in the forest left to hunt.”

“I think he’s just trying to avoid that meeting this afternoon, the one with the delegates from Amata.” Merlin butt himself in as he leaned over and poured his king more water. 

Arthur smacked Merlin in the chest in a warning way, but that only made Merlin grin devilishly.

“Oh, so you’re just going to leave them all up to me? Because if that’s your choice, I may just as well send them home…” Gwen dared, giving Merlin her own version of a smirk as she sank her teeth into a slice of apple. In the recent months she had been a fan of the sour granny smith apple, and had been eating them a lot. Not that it was of much of a surprise, it was one of the few foods that was in particular abundance.

That got Arthur’s attention. “Wait, no, don’t. We still need to discuss trade routes with them, no matter how boring  they may be…”

Gwen was about to open her mouth to speak when all of a sudden, the bed chamber door slammed open. Everyone leapt to their feet, the maid squealed in fear. Arthur took his butterknife as a weapon.

“Your majesty!” One of said delegates of Amata came floundering in, a bristly wiry man, followed quickly by two guards trying to stop him and failing. It wasn’t too much of a surprise, the delegate reminded Merlin of a catfish; big eyed and slippery and desperate for approval despite its slimy ugliness. But even two full grown men should be able to catch a fish, especially when it’s trying to enter their king’s bedchambers.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Arthur barked in shock. Only one person was allowed to march into his rooms without knocking, and that was Gwen. Well, Gwen and Merlin. Gwen earned such a permission, and Merlin just took the permission and wasn’t giving it back. 

Arthur moved reflexively to keep his wife safe and sane and kick this man out of his room himself, but Merlin was quicker to the punch.

“This is the king’s private bedchambers and breakfast hours,” The lowly manservant was quick to assume the role as secondary bodyguard, crossing the room in quick strides, stopping the elderly gentleman in his tracks, putting his body between the delegate and the king. “If you need to discuss something with him, you’ll need to get a court meeting later.”

But the old man just looked at him with wide eyes. “But sir, this is important!” He cried out.

“Then we’ll discuss it at the meeting this afternoon.” Arthur replied in annoyance, turning his back on him. “Guards, escort this man out of my room.” He exclaimed with a flick of his wrist.

“Wait, no!” The man struggled more and more in the three men’s grasp. It was only when one of the guards reached out to use lethal force he cried out, “I just received word that King Sarum is dead!”

Dead silence. Merlin, and even the guards paused.

Arthur blinked, turning back to look at him. “Come again?”

The delegate finally shrugged the guards’ grips off and adjusted his coat with a nervous huff. “So rude.” He adjusted himself and shouldered his way again. “I just received this message this morning. Apparently there was a fire, a fight, next thing everyone knows King Sarum is dead at the bottom of a pit and we have a new queen on our throne.” The delegate explained, gripping his hands together.

“Who?”

“Oh god, I’m going to be out of the job…” The old man worried, swaying on his feet as if he wanted to go pacing around the room or faint. 

“Who is the new queen?” Arthur dared again.

The old man stopped and attempted to swallow, his Adam apple bobbing on his neck violently. “T-The ex Lady and Priestess Morgana Le Fay.”

Merlin’s heart fell to his feet and shattered. Hope had lost its feathers and was plummeting out of the sky like Icarus. Where there was once hope for a better future, now looked only worse. Now instead of a horrible treaty, a terrible war could be on their horizon.

This had to be the worst day of his life.

“What?!” Was the only thing Merlin could cry out. It had to be wrong, it had to be a mistake! Surely he had misheard.

Evidently, he didn’t.

“What was she doing in the kingdom?!” Gwen asked, raising to her feet and pulling her hair out of her maid’s grasp. The poor maid let out a little yelp and tried to reach out to finish what she was doing, but with one swipe of a hand the Queen silenced her efforts.

The old man dipped his head. “King Sarum captured her a few months ago and had her in one of the torture pits.”

“And you failed to mention this to us, why?” Arthur dared in a low tone again. He was beginning to sound like a growling wolf, in a way. Merlin knew from past experience that an angry Arthur was not an Arthur to mess around with.

“We were told to use her as a bartering chip in case the treaty wasn’t leaning in our favor.”

“You should have gotten rid of her when you had the chance! Or at least told us you had her!”

Merlin felt like some sort of odd sigh of relief flowed through him. He knew King Sarum was cruel and greedy, but he didn’t expect him to be stupid. Any kingdom with half as much loyalty to Camelot would have killed her on sight. Perhaps now Arthur could see that signing a treaty with Amata wasn’t such a good idea.

“I know, your majesty, I’m sorry! But the king has— had, his own way of doing things and I wouldn’t dare go against them.”

“What about prince Aldus, his son? What happened to him?” Gwen deflected.

“I was told he fled the kingdom capital during the fire. No doubt he is going to be building his forces in retaliation.”

Merlin groaned and rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t have tried to make this easier for us.” He muttered so low under his breath it would have required supersonic hearing for anyone to hear it. Having Morgana on the throne was one thing, but Prince Aldus being alive led to something far more concerning for Camelot and magic’s destiny: choices.

“Anything else that we should know?” Arthur asked, as if he was daring the delegate to try and hold something back again.

The old man swallowed. “No, your majesty. I can only assume beyond this.”

Arthur sighed. “Very well. Thank you for telling us this. Please let us know if the situation develops. You may go now.”

“Yes, your majesty.” Finally, the man bowed and for once without being forced by spearpoint, left, along with the guards that had chased him in the first place.

The moment the door closed, it was like the air in the room was let go. 

Arthur collapsed into his seat with a sigh, the breakfast sitting in front of him all but forgotten. Everyone looked shocked, including Gwen’s maid, who, Merlin had to admit, was not a bright candle in the night. Even she understood the gravity of the situation, and she lived up to the stereotype of ‘a simple minded servant’. 

It took a long time for someone to speak up.

“Well there goes your treaty,” Gwen said oh so casually. “And your hunt this afternoon.” 

Arthur groaned and rubbed his forehead with his hand. “This is not how I wanted my morning to go.” 

“Well, look on the bright side,” Merlin replied, trying to lighten the mood. “At least you don’t have to deal with the delegates anymore.”

The court meeting not two hours later was needless to say… hectic.

It was surprising how fast everyone gathered for this meeting. Anyone who was anyone important was in the throne room that day, and Merlin could have sworn he had never seen so many people in there since Arthur’s coronation. Lords, ladies, dukes, and high ranking knights all squabbled with one another and with close knights of Arthur, wondering just what their king would do to keep them safe from his terrifying sister.

Did Morgana really cause so much fear and concern in a kingdom? Yes, yes she did. 

“And it is in these moments I do not envy you,” Merlin muttered in Arthur’s ear, looking over the nervous crowd. Arthur looked nearly blanched looking at them all.

“When I told Gwaine to gather everyone, I didn't mean it literally,” Arthur whispered under his breath.

“Well, Camelot’s biggest enemy did just get the most powerful army in all of Albion, so obviously everyone wants to hear what their wonderful king has to say.” Merlin explained simply.

“You’re not helping.” 

Merlin shrugged. He wasn’t going to sugar coat it. 

With that, Arthur sighed and stepped out into the room. Without even needing to say a word, the whole room began to go silent. Arthur’s very presence commanded respect and authority. It was in his blood.

By the time he got to the thrones and was joined by Gwen, the whole room had gone silent, ready to listen, baited to hang on his every word.

“Thank you all for coming.” Arthur began, his voice carrying over the entire room, “I understand that you are all concerned. Believe me, I know, and we’re working on a solution, but we can’t do anything if everyone is running around in a panic.”

“So what do we do?” A single lord from the crowd called out, like he had been set up to ask such a question beforehand.

“Our most important concern at the moment is information. Being so far away from Amata, it takes some time for us to gather said information, but we’re doing our best. Currently, all we have is what the first messenger has delivered us, which unfortunately due to distance is already over a week old.”

“It just doesn’t make sense, though.” One of the ladies of the court piped up. “Months of silence, and all of a sudden she just kills the king of Amata? Where were the warnings? Why didn't we stop this?”

The whole courtroom muttered in agreement. 

“Our sources say that King Sarum had managed to capture her about four months ago and planned to keep that information silent, as he planned to use her as a potential bartering chip during our treaty negotiations as well as any other purposes he desired. A foolish idea on his part, but we really can’t blame the dead for their foolish follies now, can we?”

The crowd reluctantly shook their heads. The cruel man made a mistake, and now he paid with his life.

“We don’t know what we are going to do yet, but be on alert.” Gwen explained, her gentle voice like the wing of a dove. Comforting and strong. “We don’t know if it will be a war or a treaty or nothing at all. This is a delicate and important matter, and we don’t want to make the wrong decision.” 

“We have heard that the prince of Amata, prince Aldus, has managed to survive this ordeal and still holds sway over many of the lords of the land, so we may be joining his side in a civil war to help him regain his kingdom in the coming months, if he so desires.” Arthur continued.

“Isn’t he known to be as cruel and vindictive as his father, if not worse?” A voice piped up from the crowd, this one younger and far less experienced, one that reminded the royalty of their manservant if he wasn’t standing right next to them.

The king and queen glanced at one another. “That I have heard,” Arthur replied slowly, “But I have no solid source on these rumors. We will be sending out knights and informants to learn more about the situation, and keep you and the people all updated as we learn more about the situation. That being said, thank you for your time. This meeting is adjourned.”

The muttering voices of the crowd as they slowly dispersed weren’t filled entirely with confidence, but weren’t in doubt either. It took a while before the nobles and knights had filed out, where only then Merlin dared to speak up. 

“That went well,” Merlin finally spoke up as he approached the podium, “Although I’m surprised you haven’t come up with a solution already.”

“These things take time, Merlin,” Arthur explained as he sat down on his throne “There’s a lot of things we have to take into consideration.”

“Of course, but surely there’s no way we would be siding with either one of them, right? Neither option sounds all that well.” Merlin tried desperately to ploy at some thoughts of logic.

“Sometimes we are given two choices that we don’t want to choose between. That is a fact of life.” Arthur said, a hint of bitterness hanging in the back of his throat.

“I know, but surely not prince Aldus.” Merlin felt the panic growing in his throat. There was no way Camelot was going to side with Morgana, but with Aldus? Everyone knows he’s no better than his father. Neither option sounded good.

“Are you really willing to trust that Morgana isn’t going to go to war with Camelot when she has the chance?” Arthur asked, daring a brow as he rose from his seat, getting ready to go.

Merlin paused and shrugged reluctantly. “I guess not.”

“Then we may have no choice but to side with the prince.” Gwen stated rather matter-of-factly before heading off with her husband. “Besides, Camelot is in a bit of a resource crunch right now, we could do with the extra food.”

“But we don’t have to get into their fight. We could always just let them tear each other apart. We could always go somewhere else for more resources.” Merlin tried to explain, tried to follow after them. 

“Do you want to gamble who the winner is?” Arthur asked, coming to a stop and giving his manservant a look. “If the wrong side wins, then Camelot could be in the crossfire next. Camelot cannot afford to go to war with Amata, even if it was at half of its strength.”

“And Camelot will most definitely be in the crossfire if we’re on the wrong side!” 

“Then we’ll make sure Prince Aldus won’t lose.” Gwen explained in that too calm of a voice that really grounded Merlin’s gears. He hated that tone of voice. He knew that that tone of voice meant that there was no room to argue or discuss any further, something of which was lost between them as friends. No longer friends, but servant and queen.

Merlin mentally groaned in frustration, his teeth grounding tight. Great, one magic hating monger in replacement of another. How wonderful.

In a flickering moment, a small part of Merlin really did like the idea of Morgana being on the throne. Call her cruel, but at least she holds up her part of a bargain. At least he and people like him wouldn’t be executed for having magic. Well, he may be executed for a bevy of other reasons, but at least having magic didn’t have to be one of them. He would be executed for his actions, not for who he was.

But, as Arthur turned away to go deal with other pressing matters at the moment, including the more worried lords and ladies sitting on the border of Amata and resource concerns from another bad harvest in the west, Merlin snuffed away those thoughts and concluded that Arthur was right. Morgana would no doubt turn her eyes on Camelot the moment she got a chance. It was only a matter of time before she invaded, and with the full power of Amata’s army behind her, Camelot would most surely be at risk. With Prince Aldus in charge, at least they could try to reason with him. At least Camelot’s and his goals were somewhat aligned. And while Merlin may hate him as a person, he most likely wouldn’t threaten Arthur, which to Merlin was the most important thing.

He hated this option, but surely he was better than Morgana. 

…Right?

It was days, weeks of anxious waiting until the knights returned with what the informants and spies gathered.

Merlin had offered to go along with the knights, but Arthur said no. No, he was more valuable and useful there in Camelot, Arthur explained. Merlin almost wanted to disagree, but what could he use as evidence to prove it? Some days Merlin felt like he was a spy in his own home, and the best spies are the ones who were never known to be there. So too did that go for Merlin, both as a magic user and as Arthur’s manservant.

Arthur had been discussing with the captain of the guard about patrol duties, figuring out how to tighten security, when all of a sudden the door to the office was knocked open. In walked two of his most loyal knights, Leon and Elyan, each carrying a pile of books, notes, envelopes and scrolls. 

Arthur groaned. “Has everyone forgotten how to knock?” He asked the universe rhetorically. He was starting to think that perhaps everyone was taking a bit too many lessons from his manservant at this point.

“You wanted everything we had as soon as we got back,” Elyan explained, dropping the pile he was carrying onto Arthur’s desk with a solid ‘thud!’ “So we got it.” Leon followed suit, nearly shoving a pile of paper that was already on the table off.

Arthur turned to the captain of the guard. “Leave us,” He ordered. The captain bowed and walked out without a word. “What’s all this?”

“Everything we know of what is going on.” Leon explained, adjusting the pile in front of him. 

“This all looks very official…” Arthur replied, nearly intimidated looking at it all. He reached out to touch one of the old worn books. Already new, and they looked like they hadn’t been touched in a long while. Like something he would find tucked in the very back of a library, where the useless and uninteresting books were kept.

“Well they are the official documents.”

Arthur sent them a look. “And Morgana let you have this?”

“She was prepared. When we asked for more information, her delegates came back with all of this in less than a day.”

“Interesting…”

“She said she personally looked over every document before handing them over to us, so quote ‘don’t expect to be getting any war plan secrets’.” Leon warned, adjusting his bag off his shoulder.

“Of course.” Arthur lightly grumbled under his breath, reaching up and pinching his brow. So much for that idea.

“And these,” Leon took off his satchel bag and put it on the table with a bit more gentleness, “are the witness accounts we were able to gather.”

“That’s a lot of accounts.”

“They weren’t hard to get. The people were rattled.”

“I see. Well, we better get started on these, we don’t have much time to waste.” Arthur turned back to Merlin. “Gather the knights you know to be literate enough, we’ll split the load evenly.”

Merlin let out an over-exaggerated sigh. “Time to find out how many knights spontaneously have hangovers...”

“Tell Gwaine that if he doesn’t want to help then he has to be so drunk he loses his vision.” Arthur called after him, getting the room to chuckle. Gwaine’s excuse of having a hangover wouldn’t get him out of work this time.

Merlin nodded with a chuckle and a smile. But, before he could head out, something caught his eye. Laying on top of the giant pile of books, sealed in a rather uncomfortably familiar brown and black wax with a black bear stamped into it, was a rather thick scroll.

“What’s this?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask, pointing down at the roll of parchment.

“Oh, I think it’s a documented schedule of Morgana’s stay,” Elyan explained simply, not giving it much interest.

“Really?”

“It just a schedule,” He shrugged. “It’s not much.”

“Why would Sarum have this?” Merlin asked, inspecting it more.

Leon shrugged. “You heard the rumors. He was rather thorough and meticulous.”

Merlin did not like that idea one bit, especially seeing how thick the scroll actually was. It must have been over two feet long unfurled.

He knew one thing: he needed to read that scroll. 

The scroll was left unattended. Abandoned alone, sitting off to the side like it didn’t even matter. All of the knights and even a few ladies and the queen herself had been gathered into one sitting room and given a book or a letter or a stack of interviews to read. Every couch, bench, carpet and corner was taken up in occupancy. Snacks and even some blankets had been brought for distribution. Some knights and ladies sat with one another, reading the same book. One knight even quietly read to his friend off in the far corner by the crackling fireplace, helping him understand all of the political jargon.Even Arthur was sucked into the book laying on his lap, brow furrowed, somewhat curled into his red set seat, hand gently hanging down to touch Gwen’s head, who was reading another book on the floor after she had been gently booted from his lap. If it weren’t for the insinuation that plagued every note and letter in this room, it would have been a rather cozy scene.

Merlin set down his pitcher of water. It was now or never. No one would notice it going missing for a while, even if they cared. 

He reached out for the scroll. “Can I read this?” Merlin asked quietly, looking Arthur’s way.

Arthur barely looked up. “Sure, knock yourself out.” He replied way too loudly for the quiet room, making Merlin flinch. Some of the knights looked up, just a hairbreadth away from shushing their king.

“Alright, thanks.” Merlin’s heart pumped as he picked the scroll up. He didn’t know why, but this was truly, terribly important for him to see. He had to solve that one itch in his brain; how did she escape? Why? Why now? How?

He hoped this scroll had the answers. 

Without a word, he slipped out of the room and into the hall.

He popped the wax seal and unfurled the scroll.

The entire scroll was, as Merlin quickly confirmed, a schedule. Or at least, Merlin thought it was a schedule. He was sure it was, eighty five percent sure. It was very quickly clear that King Sarum, or whoever wrote this, was either paranoid or cut every corner they could to save room on this scroll. It was clearly intended to be used for quite a long time, far beyond the months Morgana spent down there. 

A table graph of carefully coded messages detailed the events of every day, day by day. It was all very heavily coded, and it took Merlin a long time to decode through luck and assumption, and he was certain not all of it was going to be accurate. It was like reading a book full of complex words or an accountant’s ledger, he had to constantly recheck and change his opinions, and even then sometimes it didn’t make any sense. There were mentions of other names, or things he thought were names, like D or A or KS. Sometimes there were small notes added off to the side, exceptions to the monotony and cleared up confusion every once and a while. Usually they were comments on her behavior that day, or the need to get some more supplies, but sometimes they were exceptional, speaking of opinions of the author and recommendations for the future. It took Merlin so long to decode he didn’t even realize he had sat down, pressing his back against the cold stone wall. 

While Merlin was certain that he wouldn’t be able to figure out every detail this scroll held, the more and more he figured out, the more and more he got confused and horrified. The feeding schedule was so few and far between, the portions measly and low. Guard duty rotations were very close to one another, strict and uncompromising. However, visits were scheduled several times a day by someone named T, or, as Merlin was quick to figure out, something.

T-R, T-RF, T-D, T-P, T-V…

T-W seemed to be the most common of them all.

Something clicked with realization. Merlin put a hand to his mouth.  

T-W equaled Torture: Whip.

He was awash with pain. Nearly every day, there was a T-W. Some, barely a few seconds, others, hours. Some days were mere seconds, whipping the air to keep her on her toes. Other days, it reminded her why she needed to fear. 

There were days where there was absolutely nothing, not even food. They held out for days after being hurt worse than usual before giving her medication. Some days seemed to be ‘experiments’, noted by effectiveness. 

This is what she had to go through? He asked himself in horror. This is what pain she had to endure?

And this was only the written records. Who knew what else he had done to her that wasn’t written down. He shuddered to think of it.

Honestly, if she wasn’t a broken woman, it would be a miracle. Merlin knew many other people who would have caved under this torture, and that included Arthur and Gwen! The small, logical part of his mind was curious to figure out just how Morgana changed after those few months in the pit, but the larger part of his mind sympathized for her, worried for her. 

Mourned for her.

“Ah, there you are. I was wondering where you went.” Arthur’s voice cut through the air like a knife cutting through string, snapping out of whatever world he had been in. Merlin let out a yelp, gently jolting. “What’s wrong?”

Merlin tried to scramble about. In a weird way he felt exposed, like he was caught without a mask on and didn’t have enough time to put it back on. “What? I-I don’t—.” 

“You’re crying.”

“What? Oh.” Merlin reached up and touched his cheek. He didn’t even realize that he was crying. “It’s just this…” He held up the scroll, showing how far he was in it.

Arthur sighed. “Merlin, I don’t know how to help you if you keep falling into fits of tears over every little detail. It’s just Morgana.” He started, as if to lightly chide him for showing emotions.

But Merlin stared at his friend in horror. He felt like he was slapped in the face without even being touched. He was half tempted to stand and slap him himself.

“Arthur, do you realize what this says?” Merlin started slowly, getting ready to stand up.

“I haven’t been able to read it yet, no. Why?”

“It’s Morgana’s personal torture schedule.” He finally rose to his feet, holding it out in front of him. “Arthur,”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. For all the callousness he dug up, it didn’t work all that well. Realization of what he had just said hit like a horse. “Oh my god…”

“He wrote down everything,” Merlin’s voice cracked, “down to the very ounces of food he gave her. If I understand what this is saying, then she’s gone through Hell. If all of this didn’t break her, then he sure as hell changed her.”

“Do you know how much?” Arthur asked with a calmness of voice that worried Merlin.

“What?”

“Does this scroll tell you how much she has changed? Does it tell you how we should treat her differently?”

“I…” Merlin ground his mouth shut and sighed. Despite everything that was listed, there was no indication of a broken psyche. “No.”

“Then we must assume she is just the same as before.”

Merlin didn’t like such a response, but he guessed it made sense in a way. “What do you need?” 

“I was just wondering where you were and how you were doing. The rest of the knights are almost finished with their readings, we’ll be meeting to discuss our findings in the courtroom in an hour. I would hope you would be there, but if you need more time…”

“No, no I’ll be there. I’m almost finished.” Merlin swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing on his thin neck. 

He was going to get through to the end of this. Surely there was something in here explaining how she got out in the first place. What her psyche was like during the end. 

“Very well, I’ll see you there then.” Merlin watched as Arthur’s cape swished behind him, leaving him in the dust. Slowly, some knights slipped out of the room, quietly conversing with one another over what they had just read, but most tended to ignore Merlin for the most part. 

With merely a sigh, Merlin nestled himself into the stone wall, reopened the scroll, and dug further in deep. He forced himself to ignore the schedule, power on through, and find what he needed.

Near the end, Merlin reached a change. About two weeks before she escaped, the traditional coded schedule was traded out for a thick chunk of notes. Morgana had a significant and rapid change in personality. She became particularly withdrawn for a couple of days seemingly overnight, like she was in shock. She didn’t eat what little was given to her, she didn’t move, nor didn’t respond to the usual stimuli. Sarum, or whoever was writing this, notes that it seems to be a promise of progress before all of a sudden she becomes exponentially more violent. It was noted that, along with throwing particularly colorful curses at Sarum and, more specifically, his son, she was starting to figure out how to tear rocks out of the well walls and hurling them at her guards and captors, even with the chains around her wrists. Some injuries were even reported, but this seemed to be of little concern to Sarum. Some guards noted hearing chain creaks through the night along with a person coded as “D”’s whines. Sarum noted this being not unusual, but wanted someone to go check on her shackles regardless. The chain smith said everything looked fine, but he left with a particularly deep bite mark in his hand as payment.

Two weeks later, the entries ended quite abruptly. The scroll was sealed up, and that was the end of it.

Merlin rose to his feet, wiping away his remaining tears. It wasn’t enough in terms of satisfying his curious heart, but it was worth a bit. At least he got a vague idea of the picture he had in his hand.

But by lord, did the picture hurt.

The discussion meeting was long and painful. There wasn’t much more to learn, yet more and more people began to question the idea of getting into an alliance with Morgana or Prince Aldus. No one really needed to be told why siding with Morgana seemed like a stupid idea, but more and more evidence of why joining Prince Aldus was a foolish idea came to light as well, ranging from the rumors that were described of him on the street saying that he killed any woman who failed to meet his expectations of beauty and sexual satisfaction, to official documentation describing the difficult time Sarum had replacing his son’s manservants for not so mysterious reasons. It was clear that this was not a good man, and it was only through being the only heir by blood that he was ever going to inherit the throne. No one thought it was a good idea to join his side, and particularly why. Why join either side if you have the option of just simply avoiding them? If resources were the big concern, there were plenty of other kingdoms to turn to instead. Arthur wasn’t known as a seeker of peace for nothing.

What agreement was made, however, was to explore the options on both sides before coming to a conclusion. See what both sides have to offer and consider whether or not it would be a good idea to join either of them or just build defenses and hold out in case of war.

Perceval was chosen to go talk to Prince Aldus in his refuge out in the lands of King Peridus, a far off neutral territory surrounded by rough mountains and ocean that was honestly faster to get to by boat than by land. Leon and Perceval were the only ones with ocean experience, and Perceval, surprisingly enough, was the only one who had a strong enough stomach not to suffer during the journey. 

‘Worked as a fisherman for quite a few years’, he explained simply with a smile, ‘They would always have me pulling up the nets.’

‘Why does that not surprise me?’ Gwaine commented from his little corner, before getting a gentle smack from Elyan and a laugh.

On the other hand, Arthur didn’t know who to send to Morgana. It wasn’t a brain boggler as to why no one wanted to go. After a few moments of silence, the young knight Mordred eventually reluctantly stood up from his seat and volunteered to go talk to Morgana, much to the surprise of everyone. When asked why, Mordred only said with a pained look, “I feel like she’s going to be the most comfortable with me.”

The next day the king, his wife, and his manservant all watched as the two left for their respective rulers, Perceval to the west towards the docks in Rinadel, Mordred to follow the same direction before having to turn north towards Amata.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Merlin asked, watching the dark haired young man throw his pack over the saddle. Both knights had their own squadron of soldiers to go along with them, but the soldiers working with Mordred looked much more reluctant.

“Of course he’ll be alright, he’s a knight of Camelot.” Arthur said with confidence. But Merlin knew that he was only trying to convince himself. Such a young light to be snuffed out so early if they were wrong.

But Mordred, he looked calm as ever, if only just a touch nervous. That only continued to worry Merlin further. Fears and worries of her seducing the young knight, or having already done so, were the only fears that plagued Merlin’s mind. Hate to say it, but he didn’t fear for Perceval’s safety. He was a big man, he could take care of himself. But Mordred… 

“I could go with Mordred as back up.” Merlin suddenly blurted out, watching him hop onto the horse.

“No, no, he has plenty of men.”

“But—.”

Arthur clapped a hand down on Merlin’s shoulder, getting Merlin to look him in the eye. “You’re going to be more helpful here with us than you are going to be with him. I know you’re worried about him, but Mordred is going to be fine. He’s trained to deal with her, and he has a strong will.” Arthur’s tone said that they were done with the conversation, and that he was final.

Merlin swallowed. That was far from the reason why he was worried about Mordred, but sure, let’s go with that. “Alright,” He agreed somewhat reluctantly, “But if he gets hurt, his head is on you.”

“As they always are.” Arthur replied solemnly, before watching the knights ride off out of the gate.

It was a very long couple of tense weeks to wait through. 

The more and more time went on, the more and more hectic things became. More and more people trickled in from Amata, running away from their new queen. It was all nervous panics, a pretty common practice to happen whenever a new king or queen was put on the throne, even if it was hereditary. If things settled out well with the new ruler then the fleeing nobles would probably return home. It happened even when Arthur was placed on the throne all those years ago, although many citizens were more than quick to come back. But none of these new guests seemed all too pleased with Morgana on their king’s throne, and not many seemed all that interested in going home. She had done nothing to them (yet), but it was better to be safe than sorry, especially if you were quite vocal about being anti-magic. Unfortunately for Merlin, quite a few of these lords and ladies were, and didn’t shut up about it.

Merlin rubbed his temple, listening to this old man rant and rave. Same old story, same old age, same old problems, practically same old voice. It was Uther 2.0. It was practically a broken record at this point. He was about Uther’s and Gaius’s age, and just judging on his personality, he was probably one of Uther’s friends at one point. His wife, a very pretty young lady with blonde hair and brown eyes who reminded Merlin of the stereotype of a milkmaid who uncomfortably for the court was young enough to be the lord’s daughter, only watched silently behind him in uncomfortableness. During the course of her husband’s rant she caught Leon’s eye, and the two sympathetically smiled and shrugged at one another.

“Well? What are you going to do about all of this?” The old man spat at Arthur, of who Merlin could tell instantly was just done with all of this. “You know, if your father was on the throne, he would have gotten rid of her by now—.”

Merlin wasn’t even related to the old king, and he still felt the sting. 

But it was quickly clear that Arthur could take care of himself. “Then you should have asked your king why he didn’t get rid of her when he had a chance, seeing as he had her in his custody for months on end.” Arthur replied coolly and calmly, like a bear trap made of steel.

The old man sputtered, turning beet red. “Excuse me? Well I oughta—.” If there was a superior to Arthur, this old man would have gone out and found them by now.

“We will allow you to stay as long as you need if you so desire, but I am a busy man and I have a lot of people to talk to. If you need to talk to our physician about anything, he can meet with you at any point. This meeting is adjourned.” Arthur bit back, rising from his throne.

At that, the meeting was over. The old man's face was practically pudgy as he sputtered in frustration, but finally he huffed and turned on his heel, walking out. Merlin barely noted as the man reached up and rubbed his chest, but it wasn’t something he bothered himself with. He only felt sympathy as the lord’s wife looked back over her shoulder at Leon and sent him a sympathetic look  before scrambling to catch up to her husband.

“I hate to say it, but I don’t like that man.” Merlin couldn’t help but admit.

“He is above your rank, Merlin, you need to show him some respect.” Arthur replied as he rubbed his temples. It was clear that, while he’d never say it out loud in public, he agreed.

“At least his wife was nice.” Leon spoke up from the side. It was clear that she was more than just ‘nice’ to the bearded knight. ‘Pretty’ would be a better term. ‘Infatuating’ would be the best.

But Arthur cut him to the bit. “Leon, no.”

“What?”

“She’s a married woman.”

“Just because she’s a married woman doesn’t mean she can’t have male friends.” Leon said with a small, reluctant shrug.

“Not if their husbands are that old, rude, and senile.” Merlin muttered under his breath. Arthur gently jabbed him in the gut with his elbow. “What? I’m not wrong.”

“By the way, does anyone know when Perceval should be arriving?” Gwaine asked, taking a step up.

“He should be getting here any minute now.” Just as Arthur said this, the doors to the throne room opened once more, letting a very tired Perceval come inside. He had a bag slung over his shoulder, resting with pages and work.

“Oh, well, speak of the devil,” Arthur muttered, “Perceval! How was the trip?”

“It could have gone better. Daisy got sick on the way back.” The tall knight said a little sadly. Daisy being Perceval’s favorite horse out of the pack, she was always his first choice, and he was particularly fond of her, more than most knights were of their horses. She was less of a steed and more of a pet to the knight.

“Oh I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright, the stable boys and Gaius are taking care of the old girl as we speak.” He explained with just a touch of hurt, gently letting his bag off his shoulder. It was clear that he was sincere about this.

“I can bring her some carrots later, if you want.” Gwen asked, giving a comforting smile.

Perceval’s smile brightened the room just a little. “That would be great, your majesty. Thank you.”

“Well in the meantime, go rest up and get something to eat. We’ll talk about what you brought back this afternoon—.” 

Just then, much to everyone’s surprise, the throne room doors opened again and the young Sir Mordred came walking into the throne room, a scroll tucked into his hand. 

“I’m here!” The young man cried out, his red cape billowing out behind him, scroll raised high. “I’m here.”

Everyone in the room looked on in surprise. “Mordred, you’re back!” 

“That was fast. We were expecting you in three days.” Gwen said with surprise. 

Mordred shrugged as he got to the thrones, breathing hard like he had just run a marathon. He leaned on his knees. “Morgana gave me and my men a bit of a boost on the way home.”

“Are you alright?” Gwen asked.

“I’m fine, really, just a little out of breath.” But Merlin couldn’t help but think that there was more at cost for how quickly he got back home.

Arthur shrugged. “Very well, then let’s just move up the meeting. Let’s start with Prince Aldus’s side. Perceval?”

Perceval nodded, taking a step forward. “Prince Aldus is most definitely preparing to take back his kingdom, but it’s going to take quite a bit of time. He is as prideful, careful, and paranoid as his father, but he’s willing to make negotiations for an alliance.” He explained, holding out his scroll to Arthur to take.

“Well that’s good.” Arthur took the scroll with grace, popping open the brown and black seal and unfurling the parchment.

“But, he has terms.”

Arthur paused. “What are they?”

“First, he wants any and all magic users you capture in the future to be sent to him so that he can 'deal with them’.” Perceval made little quotation marks with his fingers, a slight pained look on his face being evident.

Arthur knew exactly what that meant. “You mean torture and impale them?”

“…Yeah.” Merlin looked at Arthur with wide eyes. Arthur wouldn’t do that! There was no way he would agree to that! …Would he? “He also wants his armies to have free ability to rest and gather resources in our lands, as well as fifty percent of every harvest and sixty five percent of our army’s reserves.”

“Fifty percent—?!” Gwen sputtered, “That’s too much!”

“That’s what he requests in compensation for the death of his father.” Perceval said with a shrug of exasperation.

“His father? He was killed by Morgana.” 

“He is not so convinced that Morgana wasn’t working for us.” Perceval said nervously, looking between the two royals.

A look of panic and ache crossed Arthur’s face. “Surely he can’t think that. Surely he has heard of our pain in having to deal with her. It was the whole reason why we were making a treaty with his father!”

“Well, as he puts it, she is your sister, and blood bonds are stronger than water.” Perceval explained carefully with a shrug, his gaze turning off into a corner. 

“Clearly he hasn’t met my family…” Arthur grumbled under his breath, pinching the bridge of his nose with a sigh. “What does he offer in return?”

“He offers a peace treaty that must be renewed every five years through a jousting tournament, and the promised assurance to take care of Morgana when he takes back control of the capital.”

“So he isn’t even going to hand her over to us?”

“He assures that she will receive the same punishment that you would dole out, but for killing his father he wants to run the trial.”

Arthur looked away, his mouth running flat. Everyone in the court knew that was a lie. While yes, Morgana’s crimes were most likely executable by death, the way the two members of royalty would see it through was vastly different. Arthur would see her execution through as any other criminal would; either by beheading or by burning at the stake. Quick, fair, normal executions. Not something to take with pleasure. Aldus, on the other hand, would do what his father did to magic users; impalement, if not something far, far worse. There was seeing magic as wrong and then there’s amused torture. And, no matter what she had done to them, no matter what depraved things she had done, to Arthur, to Gwen, to everyone, she was still his sister. The memories of a kind woman still haunted him as they haunted Merlin and Gwen and all those who were once close to her. 

The thoughts of seeing her slowly bleeding out on a spike was horrifying to even think about, much less the screams. It took everything Merlin had not to imagine such a thing, and yet it still shook him to his core.

Merlin could see it in his king’s eyes, his heart; it wasn’t worth it. He would only hope that Arthur would listen to his heart inside of logic for once.

“Anything else?” Arthur asked carefully, trying to find some hope in the situation. 

Perceval shook his head just a little. “No, not really. He said that he could discuss further when he got his throne, but he can’t offer crops or resources until he gets the throne. He estimates it will take a few months for him to gather his army and even begin to move on Aldus, but he will give us a variety of resources when he has the chance.”

Arthur sighed, annoyed. That wasn’t something he wanted to hear. “Very well. And what about you, Mordred?” Arthur asked without contemplating more. “What did Morgana offer?”

The young man took a step forward. “Surprisingly enough, she is also up for the alliance.” Mordred carefully explained, extending out a scroll of his own, this time sealed with a blue wax seal. 

A deep, groaning chill crossed the room. “And?”

“And, from what she would tell me, her proposition seems far more reasonable." Mordred continued, keeping himself carefully composed, Optimistic, yet also realistic. "She does have the majority control of the kingdom’s crops and resources, so she can take care of her own army and have plenty to share with Camelot, and doesn’t ask for much when it comes to supporting her army. She has plenty to offer, and is more than willing to give us resources right now for support from our armies.”

“But?” Arthur warned, arching a brow.

Mordred swallowed, hard, his shoulders tensed. “Morgana wants to come talk with us, in person.” He explained, nervously. 

Arthur’s eyes went a little wide. Merlin’s heart dropped like a rock into the ocean. The whole court went into chaos.

“What?” Merlin blurted out for his king. Panic grew more and more in his chest, like a balloon filling with air, a long way away yet certain to pop.

“And she isn’t going to wait for an invitation,” Mordred continued on to pile on the bad news. “She’ll be here in a week.”

Arthur’s eyes finished growing wide. 

“And you didn’t tell her that’s not how things work?” Gwen asked this time, cutting Arthur off once more.

“I tried! But she wasn’t having it.” Mordred cried out. He leaned in a little closer. “I think she did it to cause unrest.”

“Of course she would.” Arthur sighed, and rubbed the bridge of his nose for just a moment. “Well then, we better get ready. There’s a storm coming.”

In the far off distance, Merlin could feel the darkness rising. If only the storm Arthur spoke of was real, then perhaps Camelot could stand strong against this menace coming to knock on their door.

Chapter Text

Merlin groaned, sitting up in his bed. Alertness rolled down his body, washing away the feeling of sleep. He felt sore. He was always sore, whether it be physically or mentally. Today, it was both.

Today was the day. Today was the day Morgana graced them with her dreaded presence.

Merlin had to admit, there was a bubble of nervous, dreaded excitement sitting in his gut. He didn’t know what to expect today, whether it be good or bad. He barely dared to think anything good could possibly come from all of this, but it was worth the chance.

Not that anyone else was willing to think that way.

Talking to Kilgharrah was a bust, and besides, Merlin was having trouble lately fully obeying that dragon’s every command without question or strife. While the old dragon was filled with sage advice, he didn’t seem to care anymore about hiding the fact that he didn’t care about Merlin’s thoughts. It was tiring, to say the least.

Especially including their last meeting.

“What?!” Kilgarrah roared, recoiling in shock. “What do you mean Morgana’s queen?!”

“She killed King Sarum and took the throne of Amata. Now she wants to make a treaty with Camelot, and is coming to discuss it with Arthur within the week.” Merlin explained, standing out in the middle of the forest where the two had decided to meet. It was far, far less convenient for Merlin, needing to slip out of the castle like a shadow and trekking a far distance, but Kilgharrah couldn’t be convinced at the threat of death to go anywhere near that castle, much less the cave underneath it. So, here they were. 

Kigarrah would have furrowed his brow if he could. “Well that most certainly would disrupt the flow of destiny…” The dragon muttered under his breath.

“Perhaps this could be a good thing.” Merlin tried to offer. “Perhaps we can use this to our advantage—.” 

“No.” Kilgarrah halted him, making the small human jolt. “Listen to me, young Emrys. Due to her actions we are at an unexpected crossroad. One path leads to an irreparable change to Destiny, a change that not even I can predict, the other offers us hope in fixing and guiding Destiny on the right path once more.” Kilgarrah explained. “For the sake of your destiny, you must continue to fight Morgana Le Fae on all fronts. Prevent her from stepping foot onto this land.”

“But what about the treaty? What about Camelot’s drought, the people’s hunger? As far as I am aware she’s legitimately offering food, and if we don’t accept this then at this rate we won’t have enough food to last through the winter! People will die!”

“Such is the sacrifice that must be made!” Kilgarrah retorted with a roar that could shake a mountain to its roots. “Whatever you must do, you must not let Arthur make a treaty with her! She will stab you and Camelot in the back without hesitation. Even if it means siding with her enemy, you must not let her in.” Kilgharrah continued, barely giving Merlin the chance to speak, just as he always seemed to do.

Merlin felt like he was on the edge of a cliff, a cliff of frustration. 

“Well I think siding with that corrupt son of Sarum will only make things worse,” He said carefully, tried to argue, tried to let his anger out.

“Choose your next words carefully, Young Emrys.” Kilgharrah growled, getting low. Merlin backed up a little, bowing to the dragon’s might. “We are at the twilight of great darkness here. We must choose our path carefully while the light is still high if we are to make it through these woods unscathed. Even if it is not the right thing, Sarum’s son will bring the better path to fruition for freedom of magic.”

The frustration in Merlin’s heart burned brighter. It seemed so backwards, so wrong what Kilgharrah was telling him to do! The thought of siding with someone who did so many horrific things frustrated Merlin nearly to the point of tears. “And what about the fact that he will ask for magic users in return for food?”

“Then that is a sacrifice that must be made for the future.” Kilgarrah explained with a bow of his head. “I beg of you, do not let her in this land. Do not let King Arthur accept this treaty with her.”

“But—.”

“If you care about Destiny, Camelot, and your people, you will not let her step one foot in Camelot.” Kilgarrah’s words were spoken with a final authority. There was no questioning it, no choices beyond it.

Merlin clamped his mouth shut. Well with that ultimatum, who was he to argue? He couldn’t, no matter how much he wanted to.

Evidently, Merlin didn’t do that. Not that he didn’t try! Kilgharrah could not blame him for not trying. It just wasn’t good enough. No matter what Merlin put to delay their arrival, knocking down trees, blowing out roads, or sending wild animals to scare the horses and drivers, either the caravan found its way around his blockage or soldiers of Camelot themselves cleaned it up. 

He was, however, able to delay her arrival by a day or two, so that was something. Right?

Talking to Gaius didn’t help either, but at least his conversations didn’t cause so much strife in the young man. Everything seemed to cause strife to Merlin, to the point where Merlin was wondering if he had been turned into a rabbit and was going to get a heart attack one of these days from the shear stress.

As Merlin slipped into his clothes, tying on his best red bandana he owned, he knew that he was going to have to face the music eventually. Just how it was going to be all up to him. 

But if Merlin wanted to run he had to walk first. Before he could even begin to face off with Camelot’s most dreaded enemy, he had to go get the king out of his bed first, and before he woke the king up, he had to get his chores done for Gaius. 

His stomach grumbled. And before he went to help Gaius, he had to eat something first. Hopefully something filling, it would distract him for the rest of the day.

It was too beautiful of a day to be darkened by Morgana’s presence.

For the first time in weeks it was a cool day, wind blowing in fresh new air and vain dreams. There were a few small clouds on the horizon, like a fluffy sheep right before being shorn, but nothing that carried the hope of rain.

Morgana’s arrival hadn’t been projected to happen until the afternoon had long set in, so Merlin was sent out to pick up a few things. Just because the afternoon was set to be a special event, didn’t mean that that basic requirements were going to be ignored. Or at least, that was what Gaius said as he shooed Merlin out the door. But, lucky for Merlin, he had company in the form of Gwaine and Leon. Officially, they were sent out to go survey the town one last time to make sure that nothing was going to interfere with Morgana’s arrival, but really they were just going to hang out with Merlin while he completed his chores.  

But even with all of this beauty, stepping out of the walls of the castle still brought Merlin strife.

The stalls that used to overflow with fruits, vegetables, varieties of grains, and even flowers were now beginning to be strained in their wares. Families that once did not have to worry about food now began to argue with farmers and other buyers over prices and amounts. Things that Merlin thought people would never argue over were now starting to fall in short supply in certain places. Wheat, hay, bread and tinder. Two men argued over a bag of potatoes a farmer had, regardless of the fact that it was big enough to last a family for a month, if not good enough to share.

A little boy ran as fast as he could from an angry baker’s wife before he was caught. It wasn’t really a fair fight, as the particularly strong woman lifted the boy up by his ankle high into the air and shouted at him, shaking him like a rag doll until all of the small loaves fell out of his pockets. Not half an hour later Merlin saw a little girl begging a merchant for any spare food he could offer. The merchant only sighed with a sympathetic look, before reaching under his desk and handed her something. A small, bruised apple. Tears welled in the little girl’s eyes as she thanked him, the small apple nowhere near enough to feed her for the day.

Of course merchants still brought food in from other lands, but that food was terribly expensive. Most of the local populace couldn’t afford such rich and exotic foods for long. Even Camelot couldn’t afford that kind of food for forever, most kingdoms couldn’t, hence why treaties were made in the first place.

 In most cases, loyalty is a cheaper price than gold. 

Merlin flinched. One benefit for working for the king was that food was a constant, but that didn’t mean that Merlin didn’t forget what it felt like to starve some days. 

“What’s on your mind?” The voice of Gwaine cut through the dreaded headspace Merlin found himself in. 

“Hm?” Merlin shook away what he was seeing, looking back at the two knights that were standing right next to him. “Oh, nothing.”

“Come on, you have one hell of a thinking face.” Leon said with a smirk, crossing his arms as he scanned the crowd. At least he was trying to do his job that Arthur had ordered them to do. Gwaine on the other hand, that was debatable. 

“Well of course I’m thinking, Morgana’s on her way here.” Merlin tried to deflect the conversation away from him, turning his face towards the sky and the few fluffy puffs of clouds that sat there lazily.

If there was anything, the feel of the breeze brought at least one resolution to his heart.  He reached into his satchel and brought out an apple he had saved away. He had been saving it for this afternoon, but… Without a word, he approached the little girl and held out the apple for her to take. The little girl perked up. With ginger fingers and bright shining eyes, the little girl snatched the juicy red fruit from the palm of his hand and hurried off. Not twenty feet away the little girl reached a woman who looked just like her yet older, and presented the two fruits to her. Whether it be the little girl’s mother or older sister or even a cousin, Merlin couldn’t tell. The little girl pointed wildly over her shoulder in Merlin’s direction, which only got Merlin attention that he didn’t realize he was going to get. The woman sent him a genuine smile and mouthed “thank you” as she hugged the little girl. Merlin could only return with a bashful smile as he turned back to his friends.

“Well that was nice of you.” Leon said, watching that all go down.

“He’s a natural with the ladies.” Gwaine continued with a smirk. He gently jabbed Merlin in the side. 

“Guys…” Merlin warned before turning to head towards the stall selling herbs. His cheeks flushed. Sure, the woman was pretty, with long dark brown hair that rolled past her shoulders and eyes as dark as the most fertile soil, but it wasn’t anything that was going to get him head over heels. Hardly anyone did.

“Come on, she’s a nice enough looking woman. Go say hi!” Gwaine continued to pressure.

“Not every nice gesture has to do with getting into a lady’s underpinnings.” Merlin retorted as he reached the next stall on his list. “Sometimes I just want to be nice. Besides, I didn’t know she was there. For all I knew, that little girl is an orphan, or has dozens of siblings and six parents to take care of her.”

Both Gwaine and Leon’s faces scrunched up. “How would that work?” Leon had to ask.

“Not the point,” Merlin droned as he handed over a couple of coins and took his usual bundle of herbs and spices. It was lighter and thinner than he was used to, but he wasn’t surprised. Without another word he slipped the bundle into his bag. If it wasn’t enough he’d have to go out and find his supplies on his own. “The point is—. Arthur?”

The knights whirled around. There, walking up to them, dressed in his freshly polished armor and freshly dyed cape, hands clasped behind his back, was their king himself. Of course, joined by two knights, but ones that Merlin didn’t care to get to know. He had his friend group, and he was going to stick with it.

“Your majesty? What are you doing here?” Leon asked, settling to an alert position.

“You were taking too long to report.” Arthur explained simply. That may have been his official reason, but Merlin knew that it was really because Arthur was just restless and a bit of a perfectionist. He always was like this whenever a big important meeting was coming up, and today was no exception. 

He was going to make sure that Camelot was the best that it could present itself to be, no matter what. If there was ever a time Camelot had to present itself as strong, it would be now. Camelot would still be strong even if they had to deny Morgana’s treaty.

“Well, everything seems to be in working order. The civilians are as calm as they can be, and there doesn’t seem to be any sign of civil unrest. However, just in case, the guards are on alert.”  Gwaine explained, looping his thumbs through his belt under his own cape. To prove his point he gestured his head over at some guards off across the street, towards two men dressed in the classical armor of a Camelot soldier. Both seemed quite intent on doing their jobs, which Merlin thought was a first. 

“I’m just about finished with my chores for Gaius, so I should be able to get back and finish mucking out the stables before this afternoon.” Merlin explained, gesturing with the bag that hung over his shoulder.

“Don’t worry about that,” Arthur dismissed with a wave. “The new stable boy was a little over eager today and he cleaned out the stalls already.”

Merlin nodded. He knew that Arthur hadn’t hired a new stable boy any time recently, but he wasn’t going to push it. Any chores he didn’t have to do were fine by him.

Slowly, Merlin found himself following along after Arthur as he made his way towards the front gate. Many of the villagers looked as if they wanted to beg their king for food or supplies, but many of them knew that was rude. Most weren’t that desperate yet. However, that didn’t stop a few, the ones who were desperate before all of this went down. Whose bad luck had only gotten worse. 

A particularly old woman gently reached out and took Arthur by the sleeve. “Please, your majesty, anything?”

Arthur glanced uncomfortably Merlin's way, but Merlin knew what it really was. Guilt. Arthur wanted to help, but there wasn’t much he could do with his own bare hands. His power came from the crown on his head, the blood pumping through his veins. He couldn’t summon food on a moment’s whim and make everything better at the wave of his hand, not without becoming a hypocrite. It was a guilt that Arthur carried silently all the time.

“I’ll see what I can do.” He said, before looking back at one of the knights. Gwaine nodded before reaching out and offered the old woman an arm to hold, to guide her away, to where Merlin did not know. Hopefully to somewhere where she could get some food. 

Silence prevailed between the two until they were close to the town gates. If Merlin didn’t know any better, he would have noted that the gate had been cleaned of all ivy and lichen, even polished a little. It looked incredibly nice. 

“You look like you’re thinking,” Arthur commented out of the blue, right as he dismissed the knights that had joined them. 

“Everyone seems to think I’m thinking.” Merlin muttered under his breath.

“You’re not that hard to read.”

Merlin sighed. He didn’t want to do this, but… “Are you sure you want to let her come here?”

Arthur hesitated, before arching a brow his friend’s way. “Again with this?”

“You can’t blame a man for trying.” Merlin said with a shrug, adjusting his bag. 

This wasn’t the first time he brought it up, but it was most certainly going to be his last. Just because he wasn’t officially Arthur’s advisor didn’t mean Merlin didn’t try to fill such a role anyways, even if Arthur didn’t want it. Just because all of Merlin’s previous direct methods of keeping Morgana out of Camelot didn’t work didn’t mean he was all out of options. He still had one move left up his sleeves, and that was Arthur’s direct command. A bit of a puppeteering move, he knew, and he hated every bit of it, but what choice did he have? When it came to protecting Destiny, the Destiny Kilgharrah described, he had to pull out all the stops.

“I don’t want to, but when can you stop a force like Amata? It’s not like you can tell it no.” Arthur explained. The way he said Amata sounded an awful lot like ‘Morgana’, like the two words had become one. 

“Sure I can. ‘Hi, Morgana, you’re not allowed in Camelot. Come back later when you have an invitation, or quit being a murderous scumbag.’ See? Was that so hard?” The words guided off Merlin’s tongue effortlessly.

Arthur had to work against the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I admire your optimism.”

“I’m only telling you the truth.” Merlin smirked in reply. 

Arthur’s smile fell, followed by Merlin’s. Even he knew that it wasn’t that simple, or that easy. 

“Morgana’s stubborn, you know that.” Arthur explained. “She will get what she wants no matter the cost. It’s best to keep that cost as minimal as we can, even if that means a meeting with her.” Arthur was muttering under his breath by the end.

Merlin’s gut clenched. He didn’t exactly know what to do with this information, but he wasn’t going to disagree either. Morgana was stubborn, and she seemed to only get more stubborn as time went on. But that didn’t mean that questions weren’t still left outside his mind.

“You don’t think you’ll be agreeing to a treaty with her, are you?” Merlin reluctantly yet carefully asked, like walking on ice on a freshly frozen lake.

Arthur sighed, before looking long and hard into the woods before them, the mysterious yet comforting shade that covered the road leading into it. 

“If I can feed the people,” Arthur explained carefully, “I don’t care where the food comes from. Even if it comes from Morgana, I must put my people’s livelihoods first.” Arthur explained, before turning around to head back towards the castle. 

Merlin nodded, his hope shattering. So much for convincing Arthur not to entertain this idea of a treaty. Perhaps Merlin was getting sloppy, perhaps he wanted to believe. Perhaps he didn’t like this whole damn plan in the first place. It scared him, excited him in the exact same way. Perhaps, in a tiny, tiny piece of his heart, Merlin was curious to see just what the future would hold when not held in the vice-like grip of Destiny. 

Perhaps he even just wanted to see her again, and that was why he didn’t argue harder. But that was unlikely. Merlin would be just as happy not seeing her ever again, leaving her presence in the red rose tinted history still left in his memory. He didn’t want to see the torn up, ragged monster she had become and taint whatever good memories he had of her left. The Morgana he remembered didn’t deserve that.

But that wasn’t going to happen today. Since when did things go Merlin’s way?

The king paused. “I trust your judgment, Merlin. I would hope that you trust mine to know when a deal isn’t worth the strife.” 

His words cut through Merlin’s worried thoughts like the sharpest knife imaginable. With that, Arthur continued on his way back to the castle, leaving his manservant to finish his chores and gather up what startled thoughts he had.

After coming down from his confusion, Merlin only exhaled the air out of his nose the moment Arthur was long gone. Only the comfort of the village gate and the forest’s shade beyond giving him some reprieve. Reluctantly, Arthur was right. If Mordred was right, then Morgana offered food that could be used to help the people of Camelot through their time of need. It would be a bitter note that had to be swallowed.

No matter if it went against everything the dragon told him. 

Without another word, Merlin turned around and followed Arthur right back to the castle.

The sound of Morgana’s arrival made Merlin’s heart lurch.

“She’s here! She’s here! The dreaded queen is near!” The whispering voices piqued his interest. The rising gray noise of a crowd in controlled chaos began to fill his ears. An exciting, tense buzz filled the air. Ready to spring at a moment’s notice.

With as much restrained interest as he could dig up, he looked out the window. 

It wasn’t much of an entourage, but a carriage carrying the greatest enemy of Camelot didn’t need all that much. Three carriages, one far better designed than the rest rode through the town, parting the people like the red sea. 

He knew she was in there. He could feel it, her magic making tendrils that he could feel with his own. A forbidden pull he refused to accept. 

The heavy gates below creaked open, letting the carriages roll inside. Merlin’s heart beat faster  with anticipation and fear. He was ready for this. He could take her. Yeah, that’s right. He could. Forget the fact that she was now a queen and the priestess of an old religion and had kicked his ass far too many times for him to count, he could take her.

If there was one thing he was good at, it was that he was too damn stubborn to die. He’d just keep throwing himself at her over and over again, if it meant protecting Arthur. Besides, if she tried anything that night, perhaps that would be how he could put Destiny back on track, and at a faster pace! Prove once and for all that magic could be used for good.

If only she could give him that chance.

All three carriages came to a stop, the center one stopping at the stairs. Dark coated horses shook their manes, carriage drivers hopped off, but he couldn’t see her through the veils in the carriage door. 

He had to admit, Morgana turned Amata on head quite fast in its designs. Even the guards and knights that followed along afterwards were dressed quite similarly to Camelot’s chain and plate, something that couldn’t be said for the knights that Merlin had met earlier from Amata. King Sarum had preferred studded leather armor, a selection that let his men be faster and more agile, at the price of protection. 

For all of the horrible things Morgana did, at least she took care of her men. At least, he hoped she did. Perhaps she was making them dress like this to make a mockery of Camelot. He wasn’t sure.

“Come on.” The certain voice of Gaius spoke from behind, a hand resting on his shoulder. “Let’s get to the throne room. She’ll be up any minute.”

“Are we not going to go greet her?” Merlin asked, looking back at him.

Gaius shook his head. “It’s not a luxury we offer out to those who come uninvited.” 

Merlin couldn’t help the odd pooling in his gut, but he ignored it for now. It seemed kind of rude, but he didn’t blame the royalty. After all, Morgana was rude first, coming without an invitation.

Instead, Merlin followed his mentor back to the throne room. 

Back to where destiny ordered him to be.

The throne room was in a bit of a light panic as he arrived, everyone running around, looking for a safe place to stand and watch. Everyone wanted to see the new queen of Amata, see just how much damage the old king had done to her. To see just how far their jewel had fallen from her time as Uther’s ward. It didn’t leave all that much room to move around in, so many people who gawk and stare.

Set up in the center of the room was the round table, metaphorically split perfectly into two right down the middle. On the throne side the seats were covered in red, while the opposite, in brown. Just enough seats on each side for everyone who needed to sit. At least, they hoped. King Arthur already stood at his spot by the throne, dressed in his freshly polished armor and crown, his wife by his side in a distinct Camelot red gown, hair done up, the crown of the queen carefully placed on her head. Everything looked fresh and perfect, ready for the storm that was about to come through their front door.

Merlin quickly bee lined across the room and found his place, standing dutifully by his king’s side, just as he always would. There would be no questioning who his loyalty belonged to. None. 

“Are you ready for this?” He asked Arthur, adjusting his shirt and coat. He wished there was more he could do to make himself more presentable, but it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t a royal, no one was going to be paying him any attention either way. 

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” Arthur sighed.

Gaius was soon quick to join his ward off to the side, standing dutifully alongside worried lords and ladies, as if prepared in case any bloodshed occured. Merlin wished that Gaius could be closer to him, or that he could be closer to him, but that wouldn’t make any sense in the court’s eyes. Only the king’s closest manservant and the queen’s closest maid could stand so close to them. If they had any children, even they may not be able to stand so close. If they had any children, they probably wouldn’t have been invited to such an event anyway. Probably kept with nannies and other servants. Keep them safe from the menace coming their way. 

The trumpets blared and blew their tinny calls, and Merlin knew it was time. The doors opened. 

The entourage and guard led the way, marching in tune to their trumpets calls. Several pairs of knights and guards dressed in brown capes with black insignias on their pauldrons led the way, swords and spears at the ready, marching in tune. Looking ready for a fight if the need ever arose. The knights in red itched at their weapons. The man leading the group, an older gentleman with a crisp short beard and white hair, face hardened by the years yet not sagging with time, dressed in everything the knights were with the only exception being a shield emblazoned with the symbol of Amata, seemed to be the captain of the knights. Delegates, both ones Merlin recognized and did not, wearing rich clothes and carrying scrolls and books followed after them. Some looked nervous, others looked confident. Merlin didn’t entirely understand the need for all those books, but he was sure it had to do with the creation of the treaty.

Finally, the whole group came to a stop in front of the table. Without saying a word, the trumpets still going, those who needed a seat went to their positions at the table, with least important to most important fanning out and around. The closer to the queen’s seat, the more important you were. The captain of the guard stopped on the right side of the queen’s seat, and a particularly old, wise looking man that looked a bit like Gaius stopped on her left. 

Now all that was needed was the queen.

Merlin could feel her magic far before he could ever see her, growing in the air like an invisible, heavy fog. It sent his hairs up on end, a pool forming in the front of his throat. His heart went racing, beating against his ribcage to the point where he swore it would burst out.

“And introducing, Queen Morgana!” The trumpet bearer called, getting everyone’s attention once more. The sound of the creaking throne room doors opening. Unlike the arrival of her men, hers was silent.

This was it. This was the moment they were all waiting for. Time to face the beast, the killer of kings. The lady, the priestess, the new Queen of Amata.

The whole world went silent. Holding its breath in fear.

Dainty shoes clicking on stone was the only sound to be heard as Morgana strode in. 

Merlin’s heart gripped. In his throat, a gasp. He had to work hard not to let his jaw drop to the floor. It was like seeing her at that ball all over again.  

Just as dark and dangerous and beautiful as she had ever been, was Morgana.

She held his gaze as she approached, just like she did all those years ago. Pristine beauty, perfect. The gift from the gods she knew she was.

But there was more to her now. Compared to so long ago, there was an aura of freedom radiating from her. The way she stood, the way she walked, the way she dressed, the way she tilted her head high, even the way her hooded eyes cast their way over the crowd, all expressed her freedom. She dragged freedom behind her like it was made of clouds. She was free from her chains, both physical and mental, from society’s expectations, from even her own clothes. Even her outfit made Gwen’s red dress look like a cage by comparison. 

Her dress had no sleeves, no collar, merely being held up by two strings of silk, like spaghetti made of darkness. Shiny patterned black silk hugged every curve, showing off every asset. There was no petticoat, no corset, just tipping on the edge of indecent and modesty. In all reality, her dress wasn’t much better than a thick chemise. Her once ragged rat's nest of a hairstyle was now perfectly brushed, pulled away from her face before falling around her shoulders, the sparkling presence of an elaborate tiara made of silver and blue jewels nestled perfectly above her brow. Not the crown of the queen, yet, but close enough. Hanging off her arms was a shawl of cobalt blue, just like the sapphires atop her head, trimmed with actual gold thread. Far from the kingdom’s dark and miserable insignia. 

Even the makeup that was on her face was minimal and light, far from the garish caked makeup that she wore when she was with her sister, or even like the perfectly done yet heavy makeup of Gwen. Just a hint of pink lip polish, hardly any eye shadow, barely any coal colored eyeliner. Her necklace was loose and the chains thin, and her wrists hung free and bare of any jewelry, as far as Merlin could see.

On any other woman, it would have been garish and scandalous, nearly underdressed, and yet, on Morgana, it worked. It was perfect. Framed in fabric, and yet equally free.

Even after being locked in a pit for months on end, she was still gorgeous. She still sent his heart racing. Like she wasn’t even touched by time.

For the smallest of moments, Merlin could have sworn her looking gaze was looking for someone. He could have sworn her gaze caught onto his own. Regardless, his gaze dipped away for a flash before returning to her.  

She truly was a stunning woman, and in the way she was right now she looked like she had earned her freedom and her throne. It made it somewhat difficult for Merlin to remind himself that this was not the same Morgana as she was long ago. That she did not deserve the throne she sought and the throne she had already. That she was chaos incarnate, never to be trusted.

Fortunately, that was what Gaius was for.

With a gentle jab to the side, Merlin was finally brought back to reality. The noise of the world around him gave way, crashing around him in a wave of muttered and gossiping whispers as she drew ever closer, Merlin quite quickly realized that he was staring.

“Remember, you’re here to work, not to stare.” Gaius hissed, and Merlin felt the Deja Vu hit him once more. His cheeks burned with shame. Had things truly changed so little over the years, except for the worst? Has he not changed? Had he not matured?

“Arthur, my dear brother. Nice to see you’re doing well.” Morgana called over the round table with a grin, a grin that was a little too cheerful. The whole court room went silent.

“Save it,” Arthur nearly hissed. “We’re here to talk about a peace treaty, not trivialities.”

“Oh so official. Just like your father.” Her voice jabbed at him like a knife in a fight, yet did not hit, like a knight in a duel. 

“It’s what good kings do.” Arthur jabbed back.

“And of course you’re one.”

“I’m trying my best here.”

“And clearly it’s not good enough.”

“Enough.” Gwen’s voice rang strong and clear through the court air. She stood up, joining her husband. “We’re not here to throw insults at one another. We’re here to discuss the matters of Amata.”

The whole court agreed, gently nodding. For just a moment there Merlin felt very haughty, lifting his head in pride, as if to say ‘take that, Morgana! Gwen truly is the only one for this throne.’

“Very well said. Nice to see my throne is suiting you,” Morgana commented lightly, before turning back to her brother, barely giving the queen another look. 

Before either one could get another insult out, the older gentleman on Morgana’s left coughed nervously, before taking a step forward, unfurling his scroll. “As per tradition,” He called out loudly, “We shall start with the requests of Amata. Amata requests—!”

Morgana held up a hand, stopping him from speaking. “Let’s skip with tradition here for a moment. I have some questions first.” 

The older man gobbed, his eyes going wide, but without a word he took a step back. “O-of course, your majesty.”

Morgana cooly put her hand back down before turning back to the king before her. “Are you sure you want to get into this upcoming war, Arthur? Camelot never had any quarrels with Amata before, and I still offer to hold the treaty of the Five Kingdom’s Peace Alliance of 572 in standing. If you get involved with this, then you will earn the wrath of either side if you lose.”

Arthur did not let her see him slightly shift. He crossed his arms over his chest, holding his head with pride. “Let us decide whether it is worth it or not.” He replied carefully, but with confidence. 

Morgana shrugged. “Well you best be careful, then. Don’t go double dipping with others.” She warned. 

“We also want to hear from a more direct source what happened to the old king.” Gwen continued, following in her husband’s stead.

Finally, Morgana looked back at the queen. Once again, she recognized her existence. “So serious, Gwen!” Morgana cried out, “I wonder where all that joy in your soul went when you were my maid.”

Gwen recoiled, looking like she had been slapped in the face. Offense and somewhat fury burned in her eye. Her mouth dared to curl up in a snarl. She tipped her head up higher. “I am plenty joyful.”

“That’s not what I’m seeing. All I see is a woman sucked of her merry, fiery soul and spirit by marrying my brother.” Morgana replied with a smile that reminded Merlin of a snake. So much for those good memories.

“Perhaps that happens when the woman who betrayed you comes into your kingdom without invitation,” Gwen growled back like a lioness of the pride, defending her territory, her people.

“Ladies, please.” Arthur interjected, getting both of their rage filled glares for just a moment. If looks could kill, Arthur would have been nothing but a pile of ashes and a small melted pile of gold, iron, ash, and regrets. “Just as Guinevere said earlier, we are not here to throw insults at one another.” He continued to explain calmly, looking between the two ladies. A cat fight was the last thing the court needed.

“No matter how much you guys want to.” Merlin muttered under his breath. If Arthur was capable of doing it without it seeming improper, he would have reached back and smacked Merlin on the head, hard.  Keep your mouth shut. 

But Merlin was far more concerned with Morgana. Was she looking his way? Was that a smirk on her lips? Did she hear his jest? No, surely there was no way. She was all the way across the room, barely even Arthur heard him speak.

But that smirk… It felt too… pointed, at him. As if she was genuinely amused. 

“Very well,” Morgana replied. Slowly, carefully, with all of the elegance and grace Merlin did not have, Morgana pulled out her seat and sat herself down at the end of the table. Insanity and beauty rolled into one. Far away from Arthur, far away from anyone. Alone on her pedestal of dark glory.

The whole room gasped and whispered amongst themselves. Everyone knew that no one sat down before the king and queen did, no one. It was a dare, a challenge, not to mention it went against all protocol and tradition. See who exactly was the one who had control in this room today. Who was the top dog, who was the one in charge now. Merlin didn’t know exactly what she was doing, but he knew that it was a threat. To incite a reaction.

But Arthur and Gwen seemed the least bit unfazed, or if they were, they were damn good at not showing it.

“Let’s get started, shall we?” Morgana asked, a polite grin on her lips as she gestured at the other side of the table.

The king and queen only glanced at one another. What should they do? In reality, there was only one option. 

“Very well then.” Arthur said, sliding into his seat, adjusting his crown atop of his head. “Let’s get started.”

There were no two ways around it; Merlin was very bored.

While the first stages of treaty discussions were very important, there was one major downside to them; they were incredibly, mind numbingly dull. They were necessary for the rest of the treaty process, but he had no idea what was going on, what was being said. Technical phrasing was as thick as a Bible, and their voices carried no influx of emotion or weight. There was no input to be made from the outside, and there was no explanation to describe what was going on. Thus, he was bored. He had to fight constantly not to run off for some menial task, or even nod off.

But at least Merlin had it lucky; he could leave. He, technically, didn’t have to be there. Arthur, on the other hand, had it the worst, as he had no excuse to miss this meeting and was unable to miss it. Everyone else at that table had a chance to avoid such a meeting if they came up with a good excuse, except for Arthur. If he needed to get up and go to the bathroom, the meeting would pause. If Arthur fell down sick, they’d reschedule. Even Gwen could miss this meeting and they’d still be able to go on. Of course, Gwen never would, but she could if needed. Not Arthur. 

Of course, Morgana was in the exact same spot as him, but Merlin felt it in his bones that if she didn’t want to be here, then they’d be straight out of luck.

She was here because she wanted to be. She wanted something, something that was in this room. Perhaps even someone. 

Honestly, Merlin was somewhat thankful that this was what she had decided to do. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t actually planning on attacking, she was actually being serious about her plans of a treaty. Perhaps that was her plan; to bore Camelot into submission. If that were the case, she was succeeding.

Arthur shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Such were the woes of the active and restless, the kind and kin of Arthur. Merlin knew it; he wanted to get up, he wanted to move. He wanted to walk around and stretch his neck and take a break already, even just stand up and walk around, but he could not. Arthur would not yield before her. 

But at least he knew what was going on. Merlin, on the other hand, did not. Yet another reason on a list of reasons why the manservant had no interest in pursuing a throne; he could never possibly understand everything that was going on right now, nor did he want to. Sure, if he was tied to a chair and forced to learn it in some sort of barbaric school exercise he guessed he could, but he didn’t really want to. It was terribly boring, and it would be more likely his eyes would melt out of his head first like cheaply made candles before that happened. At least right now he could go to the kitchen and get the king some water, he could disappear and go use the bathroom or even go for a walk if he needed to. He didn’t need to pay attention to what was being said, but he did need to stand at attention.

A lot of the court had left not long after the treaty meetings began as well. Many had come to see what exactly would happen between the King of Camelot and his sister, but when it was quickly revealed that beyond the small scandal at the beginning not much more was going to be happening, most left. A few stayed behind and straggled along, but most disappeared to go back to whatever the menial things lords and ladies of the castle did. Even Gaius had left at this point, leaving Merlin to feel particularly offended. 

“My knees can’t tolerate standing for this long,” this, and “I have things I need to do, Merlin,” that. Really, Merlin just knew that the old man was bored, and knew that unlike Merlin, he was allowed to leave. Granted, he did stay as long as he could, but really, Merlin was only human. He still needed support every once and a while, and right now he really needed it! 

He didn’t know how Gwen managed to look and probably feel the least bored out of the trio. She actually looked invested in everything that was going down, her eyes perky and focused, her back perfectly straight. She accepted him pouring out a cup of water with a kind smile, the only thing that seemed to satisfy her palate as of late, but quickly went back to the discussions. Clearly, there was something to this that managed to tick off her interests that kept her hooked. If she were a modern day woman, she would no doubt be an excellent lawyer or politician, able to focus on law lingo far better than most mortals could. 

So, Merlin decided to entertain himself by studying the enemy. Might as well, it was a useful thing to do in case this treaty meeting very quickly got more interesting.

There were twenty four people in her entourage in total; twelve delegates and twelve knights, six of each on either side of her. Most looked old and experienced and battle worn, but a considerable few were young and new. Wet behind the ears, fresh from their apprenticeship. Their hair was short, their faces thin and new and clean shaven. They looked inexperienced, and looked as nervous as they were bored, shuffling down in their seats, twiddling their thumbs underneath the table. Merlin would judge them, but he was doing the exact same thing.

How long did these treaties have to take?

He did not want to look at her. For some reason, whether it be pride or some other thing, Merlin felt it was a personal accomplishment not to look at her. As if it were some sort of game. He would win this, despite the fact that there was no fight at all. He set himself out to memorize every chip in the floor, every nick in the table before him. Every fold in Arthur’s cape, the way his blond hair was smushed under the crown. He had a growing urge to pick off a piece of fuzz resting on his shoulder, and after a solid few minutes of fighting it he did, much to Arthur’s confusion for barely even half a moment.

And yet still, Merlin was bored.

How much longer until a break, Arthur?

Merlin went to the bathroom, got some new water, even wandered around the hall for a couple of minutes, and yet he was still bored. Well, there was one thing that would reluctantly entertain him for hours and would speed up time by a factor of five, but he refused to look at it. He would not stoop so low quite yet. And yet, he was quickly losing that battle. 

Eventually, as she adjusted the low swooping dark silk that was the front of her dress with those perfectly manicured nails, showing off more skin than he had ever seen before, Merlin could not keep his eyes away. He had to continue to watch.

Morgana didn’t seem all that interested in what was happening in front of her either. In fact, she too seemed rather bored, just like her brother. Leaning against her seat rest, her perfectly manicured nails resting on her cheek, keeping her head up. Under the table he could guess that one leg was carefully crossed over the other, one foot perfectly tipped like that of a ballerina. She looked as if literally anything would be more interesting than this, a goddess bored of mortal affairs.

Merlin couldn’t help but reluctantly agree, but at least he had a good view. 

No, bad Merlin. He mentally scolded himself. If he was able to do it without getting odd looks, he would have smacked himself. 

If anyone asked why he was staring, he would have said that he was trying to figure out just how much she had changed during her stay in the Sarum’s torture chambers. If anyone believed him, that was a different story.

The longer and longer he looked, the better the view became. She adjusted in her seat, shrugging her shoulders, flexing her lithe collar bones and letting one chemise string slip down her pale, perfect shoulder. His mouth went dry. Bare shoulders were a weakness of his. Stupid, he knew, but it was better than other things he knew guys were interested in. Not to mention what those shoulders lead to. Her thin chemise of a dress did absolutely nothing to hide the natural voluptuous shape of her chest, and he probably had the best view to ogle her if he so chose. But he refused to look (or at least, very much attempted to, he was only a human man after all).  No, she was more than that. She no doubt was getting that sort of attention from most of the rest of the men in the room, he didn’t need to add onto such crude behavior. He dragged his eyes upwards, where had plenty of time to take in every feature of her face… He squinted. A thin, almost impossible to see cut sliced it’s way under her cheekbone. He didn’t see it before, but now it was all he could see. Freshly scabbed, freshly healing. It mustn’t have been more than three days old. Where did that come from? How did it happen?

…Was she looking at him? 

Merlin’s eyes went wide. Oh gosh, she was. He was making eye contact with her, and she with him. Her malachite gaze was caught onto him. 

His cheeks flushed. Shit! How long had he been staring at her for? How long had she been looking at him? Did he do anything embarrassing? God, he hoped not… He gently moved to hide himself further behind Arthur’s throne, as if it would do anything to help.

Just then, still holding his gaze, Morgana smirked like a cat that had caught the mouse. She found what she was looking for. She leaned up in her seat. 

Merlin’s eyes grew wide, his spine shivered. She was going to make a move.

“I grow tired of these trivialities,” Morgana’s voice rang clearly through the echoing hall, interrupting one poor delegate mid sentence. The poor young man stuttered to a halt, looking rather poorly offended and somewhat scared by it all, yet he did not dare to continue on.

The whole court came to a halt. Breath held in a gasp. 

“I beg your pardon?” Arthur asked, finally blinking back into his body. In the corner of Merlin’s eye, he could see the poor delegate that had been left standing was yanked down into his seat by an older delegate, a man who looked to be related, either a particularly young father or a particularly old brother. Perhaps even a close cousin of sorts.

“I’m sure you have as many questions for me as I have of you, and I’m sure that we can deal with this a lot faster if we discussed it here and now rather than stalling through regulations.” Morgana drawled, rolling her wrist with flair.

Arthur blinked again. “Very well,” He sat up some more, leaning forward on the table. If this was what was going to take to get a change in pace, then so be it. “What happened to the previous king? What happened to Sarum?” 

“Feeling sympathetic for him?” Morgana dared in a low tone.

“We just want to know what happened. All we know are rumors and distant accounts.”

Morgana reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I killed him, of course.” She said as easily as if mentioning what she had for breakfast that morning, or that she had seen a particularly interesting bird while on a walk. “Stabbed him right in the gut and kicked his body right into a pit.”

Everyone in the court already knew this, but that didn’t stop the quiet and shocked gasps. 

“We got that, what we want to know is why?” Arthur pressured, leaning forward.

“Do I honestly need a reason to kill such a scrime like him? The man was deplorable, you and I both know that. It’s honestly better now that he’s out of the picture.” Morgana explained.

“Morgana…”

“Fine, fine. If you insist on a reason, then he and that slime of a son had me locked in that pit for four grueling months, enduring so many horrible things,” She said bitterly, “along with a… friend I had grown quite fond of.”

“A ‘friend’?” Arthur dared.

“She is not my type in any shape or form if that’s what you’re insinuating, but her pain was agonizing to me nonetheless.” Morgana dismissed Arthur’s insinuations. “She is safe now, I assure you.”

“And what about the heir? Prince Aldus?” Gwen asked for Arthur, taking her turn to talk.

Morgana rolled her eyes. “His heartless, cruel joke of a son was unfortunately out of the kingdom at the time of my escape, a flaw in my plan.”

“And what did he ever do to you?” Arthur leaned forward, as if curious, if not a touch bit concerned. 

Even from this distance, Merlin could see Morgana’s shoulders tense up just a touch. As if memories flashed across her eyes. Her lips bent down into a frown for a mere moment, before returning to an angry smile. “Why, he is the reason why I escaped. His father may have been the reason I was down there, but his son is the reason why I got out.” 

“He let you out?” Gwen dared, as if she didn’t believe a word she was saying.

“No, far from it.” Morgana leaned on the table, her elbows resting on the wood before her. “Let me put this simply, Gwen: I crawled and fought my way out of a pit to kill that man. Sarum was an unexpected bonus, but I intend to end his bloodline. Whether it be slow or quick I do not care, and I will not stop until that son of his is nothing but a worm’s feast.”

“I repeat, what did he do to you?” Arthur leaned in more. If it was years ago, he would not work so hard to hide the concern in his voice.

“Nothing you would ever care about.” Morgana shut him down fast, like having a heavy iron door slammed in their face. If Arthur or Merlin or anyone wanted to dig up her secrets and details, they’d need to try harder than that. “Not that you would ever care about a magic user’s well being, much less my own.”

Merlin had to admit, that stung.

“Morgana…” The name spilled from the king’s lips with far more concern than it should have.

“You know, I heard some rumors too,” Morgana quickly deflected away, speaking before Gwen could. She carefully crossed her fingers over one another before her in a steeple position. “I heard on the grape vine that you were making a treaty with the old king Sarum.”

“It was still in the drafting stage,” Arthur explained slowly and reluctantly, giving a mere shrug.

“Oh really? Care to tell me why?”

“Would rather not.”

“Oh come now. I am the kingdom’s new ruling monarch. I would like to hear about this treaty, perhaps we could come to some… arrangement. Get over this boring triviality, use what was already being made.”

“I would prefer if we were going to make a treaty we start anew.” Arthur slowly replied. If Morgana found out what their old treaty was about, which Merlin wasn’t entirely sure if she didn’t already know, it would end very poorly for any discussions in the here and now.  “What is it that you want?”

Now they were getting somewhere. Now they were getting into the meat and heart of this treaty, the arrangement discussions. Merlin grew excited. This was when a king’s skill in debate and negotiation came into play, determining how much they wanted and how much they were willing to give for it. It was a careful dance, back and forth, one that needed to be dealt with utmost precision. This was what would determine if it was truly worth becoming a treaty alliance with Amata, or if Camelot should just look elsewhere.

“Oh, nothing much,” Morgana said with a mere shrug, “just the safety and livelihood of my people.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed slightly. “The people of Amata are not at threat from Camelot, I can assure you.”

“I mean magic users.” Morgana bit back with pride. She leaned forward a bit. “I want you to lift the ban on magic in Camelot.”

The court all pretty much expected this, but nonetheless a some sort of gasp filled the air. So bold, directly to the point! But Merlin… He was surprised. He didn’t know why, but he was. What surprised him more was that he was… happy about it? Progress was progress, even when it came from your enemies.

“What? But why?”

“Honestly, Arthur, you’d think you’d learn by now.” Morgana got up from her seat and started walking around. “Why do you think I have been trying to take over Camelot for so long now? It wasn’t for the throne, I can assure you. My sister and I had no true need to take over the throne of Camelot. We were powerful enough without it, a birthright I did not need. It was only an icing on the cake that helped things fall into place. We just wanted to usurp the throne to help return magic back to its rightful place, to help those who lived with it not live in fear anymore. Nothing more.”

Merlin knew that was a complete and total lie, but he appreciated the sentiment regardless. That at least her mission today was somewhat noble. Granted, none of her actions ever spoke to such nobility, but still. It’s the thought that counts, right?

“And yet you sent the rest of my people into grips of terror, sending ruthless amounts of armies after them and killing them unnecessarily when you had the chance.” Arthur bit back, his hand forming into a fist. He wasn't one to be fooled either.

Much to Merlin’s surprise, flashes of scornful regret crossed Morgana's gaze. “I will admit, there were some unsavory moments.” Her voice softened, and for just a moment her gaze did not meet his. Like Arthur had finally struck something inside of her. But that hurt facade was quick to heal, replaced with the cunning look once more. “But, I intend to make better on it. Allow magic to flourish in Camelot once again, and Amata will help Camelot in whatever it requires, whether it be resources or aid in an upcoming war.”

Merlin gently shook his head. It sounded too good to be true. Since when did their interests align so well?

Gwen opened her mouth to speak, but Arthur cut her off, much to her annoyance. “Magic has been banned as long as we have been alive. I have seen first hand how it can hurt others. You yourself are an example of this. Pray tell, why on Earth should I allow it to be legal again?” Arthur asked, unaware of his servant’s pained looks.

“Because your actions make the monsters you fear.” Morgana snapped back with a snarl, like the head of a snake as it struck in self defense against a much larger predator. “You and your father’s hatred are the very reason why many would turn to such implorable actions. Monsters are not born from the flesh of a mother, it is bred through cruelty and fear cast on by people in power.”

“And yet letting magic go free may let those very monsters go unchecked. That was the reason why my father banned magic, for how its power corrupts people and uses others. How those with magic would treat those without magic as lesser beings, like you so often do.”

Morgana looked ready to get into such heavy debates, but paused and waved her hand. “Fine, fine. If you want to believe all that, fine. Stay in your ignorance. If you don’t want to try and change, then that’s your choice, but that is my only stipulation for this treaty. If you can’t do this one little thing, then there won’t be any treaty and you can try to find food for your people elsewhere.” With that, she turned to her men, pushing off her seat. “I believe this meeting is adjourned. I’m sure the King of Camelot will have a much easier time with his treaty with Prince Aldus.”

At her command, the knights and delegates of Amata began to rise from their seats, as if getting ready to go.

“Wait,” Arthur called after her. 

Morgana came to a stop, the skidding of chairs coming to a halt, daring him to talk.

Arthur sighed and stood up from his seat, meeting her at her level. “For the treaty, magic is still illegal in Camelot’s borders, but any magic user caught will be only banished. Is that better?”

The old man that sat on Morgana's left gestured her down, the closest advisor, who quickly whispered a few words into her ear. Morgana gently nodded to him before returning to Arthur. “Very well. We shall accept this,” She called back to him.

“And what would we get out of it?” Gwen finally managed to get a word in before Arthur, taking the charge.

“I will assure that Amata, once we deal with Prince Aldus, will not go to war with Camelot, as well as be at your beck and call if you need our help. The moment we agree to this treaty, I will send at minimum five caravan wagons of wheat to help Camelot through this time of struggle. Not only that, but after we deal with this nuisance then twenty percent of all of our crops and fifteen percent of our steel resources will be delivered to Camelot every year for an agreed amount of years, unless conditions permit otherwise.” Before Arthur could even open his mouth to speak, Morgana continued. “Honestly, Arthur, you’re getting the better deal here. All you need to do is relax Camelot’s ban on magic and come to our aid if we ever ask for it, and you will get quite the significant amount of resources in return.”

Merlin had to admit, that was a pretty damn good deal, for both Camelot and for himself and Destiny. Arthur would finally be forced to start pulling down the stigmata of magic ever so slowly. With time and a little encouragement, who knew how far they could get? Perhaps in a few years, it would be lifted entirely! Sure, he’d have to deal with the possibility that Morgana could turn back on her word, but what mattered was Arthur beginning the process of lifting the ban. Progress was being made!

Arthur stood in silence for a long moment, a moment of time that seemed to stretch on forever. He looked on at his wife, who without a word gave him a nod. “We still have other conditions to consider and finalizations to be made, but we will consider it.” He replied reluctantly.

The smirk on Morgana’s lips could not be ignored. “Then I hope this meeting will be the beginning of a powerful alliance.” 

Arthur did not like that, but he did not argue it either. “We shall see.” He only dared, before sitting back down.

With that final proclamation, everything seemed to be done. The court began to relax, the meetings seemingly over for now. The foreign delegates and knights rose from their seats, getting ready to go. Servants got ready to escort the queen, knights, and delegates to guest rooms, as per custom tradition. Merlin could feel his breath being let out, the whole ordeal was done. Ripped off like the bandage it was. Now it was back to the regularly scheduled program, at least until the next meeting.

“Oh, one more thing.” Morgana’s voice cut through the room like a spear, catching the attention once more. The whole courtroom came to a stop. Silence fell once more.

“What?” Arthur asked, hand still stretched out to help Gwen rose from her seat.

“I want this alliance solidified.”

It felt like a dare. “How?”

An almost demonic smile crossed Morgana’s satin lips, and Merlin knew this wasn’t going to be good. Like they had fallen into a prepared trap.

“Why, through marriage, of course.”

The court erupted into chaos. Merlin felt like his eyes were about to pop out of his head, his knees had quite literally gone weak. A hole opened in his gut, and his heart fell right into it.  Marriage?!

“What?!” Arthur cried out in a near panic. Marriage?!

Morgana scoffed. “Honestly, Arthur, are you losing your hearing? I said—.”

“No, no, I heard you. What do you mean, ‘marriage’?” His voice punctured every word, nailing it in, needing an answer.

But Morgana did not seem the least bit phased. “I offer my hand in marriage to a man of my choice from Camelot to solidify this treaty and show our alliance in Amata’s civil war. What more do I need to say?” She said oh so casually, as if what she was offering was menial and unimportant.

“In all the years I’ve known you, you haven’t accepted a single suitor’s invitation once to even a dance. Why now offer marriage?”

Morgana lightly shrugged. “Simple, my window of opportunity is closing and my kingdom needs a king and heir.”

But Arthur didn’t buy that. “Uh huh. Now what’s the real reason.”

Morgana lightly rolled her eyes. “Consider it as part of your cost of the terms, something for you to sacrifice for this alliance.” She said with a smirk.

Arthur paused for a moment. “Who do you have in mind?”

With what seemed to be practiced ease, the old man sitting beside her reached into his robe sleeve and pulled out a scroll, handing it to her. “Here,” With nary a care, she gently lobbed it at Arthur. The scroll fell, hopped, and rolled across the table before coming to a stop right in front of him, her new bright blue wax seal face up before his eyes. 

“What is this?” Arthur asked.

“My answer.”

Arthur only glanced up at her as he popped open the seal and unfurled the scroll. Merlin looked on over his king’s shoulder, curious to see who exactly she deemed as the one for her. And yet, no matter where he looked, there was no name. Not even a scratched out mark, or the faint imprint of a dry quill.

Nothing.

“It’s blank!” Gwen cried out.

“I assure you, it’s not. Figure it out for yourself.” Morgana said slowly. She paused for a moment as she turned towards the door, a smirk of amusement forming on her lips. “If you’re smart enough, that is.”

With that, she began to walk out of the throne room. Many of the knights got up, and what guards she had readied to leave as well.

“Where are you going?” Arthur called after, his voice cutting through the noise and whispers.

“I have shared all I needed to share with you, so I am leaving. The offer still stands and my delegates will remain to discuss things further if you so wish, but I leave you to mull it over.” She waved a hand. “Driver, bring the carriages around. We will be heading out tonight.”

A young man that looked around Merlin’s age with long blond hair pulled back with a ribbon and hard worked hands came up to her, confusion and surprise in his eyes. “Tonight? But Your Majesty, that’s nearly a week's ride. We just got here! The horses still need rest!”

But Morgana did not care, merely turning her menthol-like glare his way. “I will deal with the horses. I want as little to do with this place as humanly possible, so if that means we’ll be heading out tonight, then so be it.”

The young man dipped his head. “Y-yes, your majesty.” 

There was nothing anyone could do to stop her. People didn’t even really know if they wanted to stop her. They could only watch as her carefully covered back turned and left through the doors, leaving everyone completely shocked. 

Merlin felt as if he had to do something. Something, anything! This didn’t feel like the end! It wasn’t the plan! She was supposed to attack! He was supposed to fight back! That was how things went, why was everything changing now?

“Morgana!” He cried out against his station and rank. Perhaps Arthur would yell at him, but he didn’t care. He had to try.

He didn’t expect her to stop and look back at him and… smile. It was supposed to be a devilish grin, but there was more to it. More that he could see, but not know.

“See you around, Merlin~.” 

Merlin felt his spine tingle at the way she looked at him, and blushed. Like a snake had crawled into his mouth and went straight for his stomach, it shivered him to his core, set a fire in his belly, and a tiny spark of something struck his gut. Like he knew more than he should. 

Merlin sighed, rubbing his forehead. Arthur and Gwen quietly squabbled on their throne, discussing or arguing about who knows what, but Merlin didn’t really particularly care. All he was relieved about was that the whole meeting was over. 

He thought that would be the end of it when suddenly he felt… another presence in his mind. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling, but it wasn’t Kilgarrah. He had never felt this presence before.

Meet me tonight out in the woods. The illustrious and elegant voice of Morgana bled through his mind like a poison mixed with honey. A luxury he had to deny.

He knew she could feel how much he wanted to say no. With every fiber of his being he wanted to say no. His very presence nearly vibrated with how much he wanted to say no! To go would no doubt certainly mean death, if not misery for him and even more misery for others. It just wasn’t smart.

…But damn his curiosity.

Which gate?

He could practically feel her sinful smile curling on the back of his neck.

Sneaking out of the castle had gotten far too easy for Merlin. When he first arrived in Camelot, sneaking out scared him to do. The idea of being caught and thrown in the dungeon made his eyes dart and knees shake. Over time, it became a source of entertainment, seeing just how far he could push it before the guards would see him. But over time the thrill grew dull. The chill of night no longer sent a thrill down his spine, and the guards were so horribly predictable that it was barely any fun anymore. Even when adding the extra challenge of the full flower moon overhead, it was far too easy. 

Honestly, Merlin was *this* close to telling Arthur about the security, just to add an extra edge of thrill to conquer. But that would be saved for another day. For now, he had other challenges to deal with.

Sliding out of the outer gate like an imprint of a ghost, Merlin disappeared into the bleeding shadows of the forest. He didn’t know how far he had to go into the woods, Morgana never really specified beyond which gate, but he was sure that he would know when he’d get there.

A lone bird, a nightingale he was sure, chirped in the distance.  

The forests of Camelot were both a source of comfort and fear for Merlin. A source of comfort, for it was one of the only places where he could be alone and feel some source of true freedom. He could practice his magic in these woods and almost no one would see him. Fear, because in the night, the forest carried man’s greatest fears in spades. Darkness, mysterious noises, the unknown, other people. Even with magic, Merlin still slightly feared coming out here at night. Who knows what sort of mischievous and ill hearted kind walked these woods when the sun went down?

It was a long walk from Camelot before Merlin saw any signs of human life once more. A faint bonfire flickered behind the protection of the carriages he saw earlier that day, all sat neatly in a circle like a fortress wall around their tents. Within, several voices talked quietly amongst one another, the sounds of their quiet footsteps crunching as they tended to their camp's, horse's, and carriages needs. All trying their best to not disturb their fellow sleeping companions, of which there were many. 

A single large tent loomed on the far side of the camp, alit with light from lanterns inside. Quiet, undisturbed, fit for the one everyone was caring for. 

Morgana's tent. He could feel it. Her magic welled from it like a beacon in the night. A scary, alluring beacon.

Merlin slipped around the camp with ease.  He was less than a shadow at this point, a breeze in the wind slipping through trees and over sleeping bodies. A ghost of a happy life long past.

With one last peek over his shoulder, Merlin stepped inside the tent. 

Stepping inside the tent, Merlin's face was slammed with warm, lavish luxury. Warm lamps flickered with light, casting their warm shadows. Exquisite furs, rugs, and silks draped over tables, chairs, and floor. A small veranda covered with glass bottles half filled with liquids, a mirror covered in a sheen of red silk, books and bottles and small chests galore. Something sweet and strong, like incense and amber with hints of unknown deja vu, drew Merlin in further. Like stepping into a church, or a bordeau. A natural attraction. 

But none of this mattered to Merlin, not one bit. No, it was the only person inside that did.

“Hello, Merlin.” Laying there on the cot-like bed like she was in an alluring painting, pale skin coated in the warm lantern light, seductress smile painted on those now blood red lips, was the sinful lady, now Queen, Morgana. 

Oh she was so much prettier up close. He forgot about that.

Her hair had been let down since the meeting, framing her face perfectly. She was still dressed the same as when she walked into that throne room earlier that day, same simple yet freeing chemise dress, yet now, blanketed in the lantern light, it looked far more… enticing. Thinner, almost see through. Lantern light glinted off of the patterned silk in all the right ways to send any lesser man spiraling. The very fact that she wore a simple black shawl over it did not, in fact, help. 

But Merlin was not any lesser man.

“Hello, Morgana.” Merlin dared, taking her in in all her glory with a light tilt of his head. 

Morgana smirked. “I was wondering when you were going to arrive,” She slipped off the bed, her lithe legs and bare feet barely peeking out under her dress as she rose to her feet, “I was starting to get rather lonely.”

“You have plenty of guards, they would do just fine.” Merlin watched slowly as she crossed the room to a small table, topped with goblets and bottles of crystal. 

“They’re simpletons,” Morgana retorted, picking up a thin, tall bottle from the selection. “And simpletons make terrible company.”

Popping her bottle open, the liquid that poured into a goblet like a river was the color of deep crimson blood, to the point where Merlin wondered for a moment if she had grown a taste for a more macabre desire down in her pit.

“Even simpletons can be a delight to talk to if you know what you’re doing,” Merlin stepped in further, putting his back to the corner.

“Yes, but I don’t care to sink myself down to their level,” Morgana finally put down the bottle, finishing filling up a second crystal goblet. “Care for a drink?”

“Not from you, no.” Merlin shook his head, hands behind his back. That sweet smell in the air, whatever it was, was starting to stick to his mind. 

Morgana shrugged. “Fair enough. I wouldn’t accept anything from you either.” With that she brought the goblet up to her lips and took a sip, crossing her arms and leaning one hip against the table.

The way she curled that loose necklace around her finger, her goblet resting in another hand. She looked like she was waiting for someone to make a move, and was leaving all of the signs open. Which meant that Merlin had to be extra careful and give into absolutely nothing she was doing. Tilting her pale, lithe neck, arching the crest in a way that just begged to be kissed. Hip jutted out, asking to be held.

It wouldn’t be unfair to say that she looked like one of those ‘ladies of the night’ Merlin had seen walking about the further edges of Camelot's town. While many were dressed beautifully and were quite capable of catching a lonely man’s eye, they did not carry the same power, the same aura as Morgana did. No lady did, and it made him ache.

Merlin shook his head and looked away, wrapping his arms tight around his body. He wished he had a goblet of wine of his own to drink, perhaps then he wouldn't cave as easily under her temptings. 

Just as she brought her cup up to her lips again, the shawl fell down her arm just a bit, and something caught his eye.

A flash of white. Carefully hidden under her shawl, perfectly hidden away, was a fresh white bandage, wrapped tightly around her arm. He didn’t see that in court, but it couldn’t be ruled out that it wasn’t there before.

“What happened to your arm?” Merlin asked oh so casually, too casually for this kind of conversation. 

Morgana pulled the goblet from her blood colored lips, pulling the shawl back into place. “Nothing for you to concern yourself with,” She retorted, looking away.

“Oh, but I do,” Merlin's voice dropped low as he took a small step forward again. Daring, testing the waters.

Morgana gave him a cautious look, but did not comment nor move. “A small price for my freedom,” She explained simply, asserting that she would say nothing more on the matter. She quickly smirked in amusement. “You know, most servantry bows to royalty when they see them. Kisses their hand.”

Merlin crossed his arms over his chest. “If I don’t do that for Arthur, I won’t do that for you.”

“Aw, you’re no fun.” Morgana mocked, walking closer to him, bottom lip jutting out. “No wonder ladies aren’t crawling all over you.”

“How do you know they aren’t?” Merlin willed himself to stay still. 

“Oh please, if they were then you wouldn’t be here.” She was close now, but that did not stop her. “You would have already settled down with one, and had a happy life with her.”

“And how do you know I haven’t?” He tried again to lie.

But Morgana was fast to call his bluff. In a blink, she was impossibly close -how she got so close so quickly, Merlin could never guess- and dragged a single perfectly manicured finger up his chest. Fire followed wherever she touched, and against his will he shivered. How she was so close to leaning on him, so close to rubbing her hips against his own, that goblet of wine still being swirled in her opposite hand, that sweet smell in the air, it was mind fogging. His heart hammered rapidly inside his chest, his magic setting all sorts of alarms off inside his head. No! Don't give into this!

But Morgana just simply smirked. With elegant ease, she leaned up on her toes and muttered in his ear, “No happy man in a relationship comes to their enemy’s tent and tempts dealing with the devil.” She smirked, her voice carrying a weight that made Merlin's fingers itch to prove her wrong. Grab her by the hips and prove her so, so wrong. 

His heart was beating so fast that Merlin swore it was going to explode. The smell in the air was intoxicating as she hung close to him, filling every crevice of his mind. She made it hard for this lonely young man to control himself, something that greatly alarmed him. It was as if the aura she gave drove him beyond all logic, seduced him and drugged him far more than any looks, words, drugs, or spells could. For a tiny, tiny, tiny, moment he wanted nothing more than to grab her by the hips and kiss her, taste that wine on her tongue. 

Or kill her, one of those two.

But he would not stoop to that level of low, no. He knew Morgana. She would never consent to a kiss (or being killed, but then again, no one ever did). Not with him, not in this lifetime. Even when it seemed that she was giving off signals, she wasn’t. He knew that. She could turn away in an instant. She did that a lot with quite a few different knights when he first knew her. It was also when he figured out that he wasn’t alone with his desires for her, and that she wasn’t afraid to fight back against those she did not have an interest in. Sure, it earned her the occasional cruel nicknames, but she carried those names with stride and possibly with pride. 

If there was one thing that didn’t change about her, it would be her pride. No one could take that away from her.

Merlin felt the urge to take a step back, but that would mean pressing into the wall of the tent. But that didn’t mean he had to back down. Now all he could see was the small scab on her cheek. Like the slice of an arrow that ran across her cheekbone. 

He wanted to reach up and brush her cheek with his thumb, right under the fresh scab. Cup her cheek, feel the weight of her head in the palm of his hand as she leaned into his touch. Watch her close her eyes as she melted into his embrace, falling into an embrace they both craved. Not leave this tent for the rest of the night, until Merlin would be in trouble with everyone he knew.

But that would most certainly lead to his hand being removed from the rest of his body, if not by Morgana then by Gaius, if not by Gaius then by Kilgharrah, and if not by Kilgharrah then by himself. He had a mission being here, and that didn’t include flirting with the biggest threat in Camelot’s recent history. Sure, he could be stupid, but he didn’t realize that he could let himself be this stupid.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t be curious.

“What caused this?” he asked as his hand reached up, intending to point at the thin slice on her cheek. She pulled her head away.

“None of your concern.” She snipped with scorn as the rest of her body followed, pulling her weight and that richly sweet smell with her. Apparently it was a sore spot for the new queen, and while Merlin would love nothing more than to press on it, he was here for a reason. Even if curiosity begged for an answer.

“What do you want?” He asked softly, not breaking his stance.

Morgana chuckled sardonically. “Merlin, do you not remember our court meeting? I want peace. I want an alliance with Camelot.” She explained, swirling her glass around. 

“That’s what you told Arthur,” Merlin retorted, “Now what are you really here for?”

Morgana’s grin slowly fell into frustration. Reality returned. She pulled away, the mask of desire falling. Now he could see the insanity behind her eyes, and at that his own desires snuffed out as well. She turned her back on him, swinging her goblet of wine around in her hand. By the time she talked again, she was half way back across the tent.

“I want many things, Merlin.” She explained as she turned around. “I want this treaty, I want peace. I want Prince Aldus’s head on a platter. I want Arthur to suffer. But more importantly, at this current moment, I want you to suffer.”

Merlin knew he should be feeling offended, but he didn't. He had gotten too used to the threats to really care about them anymore.

“If you think that’s going to surprise me, it doesn’t. Now what does the scroll say?” Merlin asked with force, crossing his arms. He leaned against the table now behind him, solidifying his stay.

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you?” Morgana asked, watching him do this. Something, a glimpse of a look, returned to her eye, but Merlin did not notice. 

“Perhaps a small part of you remembers what it feels like to be kind to others when they are lost,” He offered with a shrug.

Morgana paused in her sip. “Come now, Merlin. Camelot has only had that scroll for less than a day! Give your fellow men and women a chance.”

“You gave it to Arthur, and he refuses to give it to me.” Merlin explained. He wasn’t entirely lying, but Arthur wasn’t keeping it from anyone either. 

“Oh please, like you aren’t skilled in the art of stealing.” 

“He’s serious about this.”

“And so am I.” Morgana turned on her heel and took a few steps closer to him. That aura, that smell, was back, he could feel it pulling on him again. She was getting close, close enough for if Merlin wanted to, he could reach out and curl a lock of curly dark hair around his finger. “Don’t think I’ll wait around forever. If Camelot cannot supply who I am looking for, my interests shall quickly go elsewhere, and all offers of a peace treaty between us will be cast off the table.”

Merlin’s eyes went wide. No! 

“No!” He bit back far too quickly, too desperately. “I mean, how will we be able to give you an answer if we can’t figure it out?”

That seductive smile curled on her lips again as Morgana chuckled. “That’s kind of the point. To test my new groom to see if he's smart enough to figure it out.”

Merlin knew it couldn’t be true, but… that pull, that aura, that feeling… it wanted an answer.

“And what if your groom can’t figure it out?” His voice came out quieter than he intended, softer, more desperate than he ever would admit.

“Oh, he can. Trust me.” Morgana reached up and cupped his face in her hand, like a claw was holding his chin, pulling his face in tantalizingly close. “He’s the most infuriatingly persistent man I know.”

She was playing a game with him, he was sure of it. Perhaps even a spell, or a warding charm, or that smell hanging in the room. Every time Merlin thought she would put distance between them, she'd get awfully close and touch some part of him. Some aura would pulse over him, make him tempt with doing something he’d regret immediately, and he’d fight it away. She’d walk away, wait a few moments, and do it again, whether she realized she was doing it or not. Like she enjoyed messing with him.

Push and pull, push and pull. Like the waves of the ocean tide. It was infuriatingly alluring, but he would never give into her touch.

At some point during their conversation he had settled in on one of the seats across the room from her after she finally decided to lay down on her cot. He didn’t remember when, but he took off his coat and shrugged it over the back of his seat, far away from her reach. At some point he finally and reluctantly got his own goblet of wine, long after Morgana finished her first and had gone for her second. Being tempted with it for so long, and it seemed to be safe… After properly checking his goblet and never letting her once touch his drink, complete with a glare sent her way, he poured himself a glass from the same bottle she did. 

The goblet she held in her hand must have been her second or third glass at least, he was sure. The lightness of the bottle, the way she draped herself over her cot like she was expecting something more. Merlin was certain that she’d be far more hostile and far more willing to get him out faster if she was less inebriated. She most definitely would not be sending out such alluring signals if she was stone cold sober. He had never seen her drunk before, so it was interesting to see her this way. 

That is, if she is drunk. Merlin thought to himself, Being tortured does some rather odd things to a person.

He quickly pushed those thoughts away. It’s best not to think about that in a moment like this. 

The wine was a very deep, sweet red, with flavors that reminded him oddly of warm plums and black cherries, and thicker in texture than what he was used to. He liked it, like drinking a liquid garnet. Granted, it was much stronger than what he was used to, and considering her new stature it was probably cut with rich honey instead of the normal water he and the fellow servants had to use. It was very good, so he wasn’t going to complain unless Morgana made a comment about it.

But of course, as with many things, stronger spirits brought looser tongues and weaker minds, and Merlin couldn’t help but ask questions that he didn’t ever mean to nor thought to ask. Ironically, he felt more open to talk to her than he did with many of his friends in some ways, and that was even without the need for wine. Perhaps it was because he shared more with her than he did with his friends, or perhaps he was just a fool with foolish dreams.

“So what are you looking for in a husband?” Merlin asked, bringing the goblet up to his lips. He let one leg be tipped over the other, goblet hanging lazily in his hand, taking in his view before him like he was staring into a fireplace and contemplating existence.

Morgana hummed. “Someone who will listen to me. Who will listen to my every command.” Morgana replied after a moment, her bare foot tilting in the air in such a way, taking a sip of her own glass. 

Merlin snorted into his glass. “Good look finding that.”

“Oh I think I already have.” Merlin could have sworn her gaze sat too long dragging over him, but he was already too buzzed to think about it. Man, this drink was strong!

He paused in his sip. “Who?”

Morgana opened her mouth, before giving him a look and clamping back shut with a smirk. “Cheeky man, you nearly got me to tell.” She wagged a finger at him. 

 Merlin shrugged. “Can’t blame a man for trying.”

“No, I can’t.” She muttered under her breath. “But I can blame him for many other things.”

“Like what?”

Morgana put her glass down and rolled in her creaking cot, furs, and fine fabrics, rolling until she was upside down, back flat on her cot. Merlin couldn’t look away, his gaze completely and utterly on her. Her loose chemise of a dress shifted into dangerous territory, tempting to show far more of her chest than she probably wanted, more than just the way the clavicle of her neck pulsed in the lantern light. One loose arm draped over her stomach fixed that. He watched as her hair fell off  the cot like a curly waterfall of perfectly made darkness. Looking directly at him with those piercing eyes. 

“Like poisoning me, killing my sister, ruining my plans over and over again and letting me get trapped in that wretched hole.” Morgana explained with that sharp, inescapable gaze. There was more that she wanted to say, but she had to get a better grip on herself. She would not confess everything to him in a drunken stupor and not even be in a drunken stupor yet.

“If you wanted me to come rescue you, then you should have done something to earn it.” Merlin retorted, but in the dark recesses of his mind, he had to ask: if he knew she was being held by Sarrum, would he have helped her, even if she didn’t do anything to warrant his care? In this moment, even he wasn’t sure.

“As if you knew.” Morgana said bitterly. “Sarum knew how to keep me a secret from the outside world. I was his personal torture toy.”

A long moment of silence went by. The sting of what Merlin had read crept up on him once more. 

“I am sorry for what he did to you.” Merlin finally spoke up after a moment of silence.

“As if you have any possible clue what he and that wretched son of his did to me.” Morgana scoffed, immediately sitting up and pulling her glass towards herself to take a sip of wine, her long dark hair hiding her back perfectly. Not a single inch of pale skin could be seen.

“I read his schedule for you.”

Morgana paused, looking over her shoulder at him hard. “Who did you steal that from?” Her words struck at him.

“Arthur let me read it.” Merlin replied with a shrug. “To be fair, he didn’t know what it was until I told him.”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Of course he didn’t. But what else should I expect from my ever blind brother?”

“He didn’t have the time to read everything you sent him all at once.”

Morgana scoffed, a pained smile forming on her lips. “Even if he did, he wouldn’t have cared about what happened to me. I’ve hurt him too much for him to feel sympathy.” She explained dramatically, tipping the goblet to take a sip once more. 

“Morgana…”

“If you try to lie on his behalf, I’m kicking you out of the tent.” Morgana beat him to it, using her goblet to point a finger at him. 

“Well I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s on that scroll.” Merlin retorted equally as calmly, not bothering to move an inch.

“Always the fun ruiner.” Morgana sighed, putting her glass off to the side again. She paused, humming to herself. Thinking. Pondering. Before he could even react she was rolling again and throwing her temporarily bare legs off the cot. “But, I suppose I can give you a hint.”

Merlin’s heart leapt, running fast as she rose. He thought she forgot about messing with him. As she got closer and closer, bare toes peeking out from under the dark silk dress, Merlin could swear that she could hear his rapid heartbeat. Soon, she was so close that he could feel her warm breath on his cheek. Leaning over him, resting an arm on the table beside him, brushing his skin. Like she was to tell this to him and him alone, no one else. 

“The knife will reveal what the flame has hidden.” She whispered in his ear, her voice filling his mind like the path of a bee. 

Merlin blinked, then blinked again. What? What did that mean? His mind ran wild. There could be so much with what that clue could mean, and perhaps it had something to do with the wine, but he couldn’t think of anything. 

“That’s it?” The words slipped from his lips before he could stop them.

“I gave you a hint. You’re living in luxury.” Morgana explained casually, her shrug tantalizingly annoying.

Merlin huffed, before taking his goblet and knocking back what little wine remained. Probably the last time such exquisite taste would pass his lips, but he didn’t care. Liquid courage, as they say. He barely noted the smirk on Morgana's lips before he pushed past her and got to his feet, brushing his coat off in an effort to remove his presence from him. That one moment of his body brushing past her caused a spark that coursed through his body in a second, and he could not afford to bring it home.

“Aw, is that all you came here for? To use me?” Morgana said with a mock pout, falling into the seat beside where he once sat.

“I told you what I came here for. Now, if you excuse me, I must be getting back to Arthur,” Merlin explained with a shrug, grabbing his coat.

Morgana muttered something under her breath, but Merlin didn’t catch it through putting on his old poor leather jacket. Something about toys? He wasn't sure. He had to get going, before he really would do something he’d regret. Just drinking her wine, conversing with her in her tent in such late hours in the night was enough of a distraction as it is. He wasn’t going to make a fool of himself, he wasn’t going to fall for her muse. He was better than this, her past actions did not warrant a single thought like this.

…And yet, her very close presence was making him crave again, getting stronger and stronger. To turn around, throw off his coat, straddle the chair she was in, take her by the neck to tilt her head for a long night of more than just kissing.

Merlin shook his head again. God, he was a wreck. He really needed to get out more.

“I do hope you accept my offer,” Morgana spoke up, right as he was about to pass through the tent’s opening.

Merlin paused, confused. What did she mean by ‘you’? Surely she wasn’t suggesting he was her groom? There was no way! Even in his buzzed, crush filled state that he could barely shake, he knew there was no way that she thought of him as future groom material for her. She hated him, pure and simple. He poisoned her, she stabbed him, that was how things went. The only thing she loved about him was messing with him, nothing more. He was the worst thing to have happened to her, Merlin was sure of that. No amount of torturing would have made her change her mind on such matters.

He managed to swallow the thick rock forming in his throat. “Well that will be all up to Arthur and your groom,” Merlin finally replied, eventually with a sneer and with far more confidence than he had on stock.

“As I’m sure, although those two agreeing to anything will surely be a miracle.” Morgana's words did not settle Merlin’s nerves in the slightest. He moved to leave the tent again, without another word and without strife. “But Merlin,”

Her tone of voice made him pause again. “What?” He snipped.

“I do hope you know I’m serious about all of this. The marriage and the treaty. I want things to go smoothly between my kingdom and yours.”

Merlin was about to roll his eyes, this wasn’t his kingdom by any long shot, but then he caught her malachite gaze. He paused, his eyes went wide. The way she looked at him, draped beside his empty seat, gaze set solid as stone… She was serious. Deadly so. He was pretty sure he had never seen her so serious in his entire life. It almost scared him, to know that she wanted this so badly. To hand over her independent autonomy for the support of the kingdom she loathed. Why, Merlin had no idea, but he feared to know her ulterior motive. He did not dare to hope that she was actually serious for any sort of noble reason.

He had to leave this all behind.

Without another word to spread onto his lips, Merlin slipped out of the tent and into the darkness of the night.

“Goodnight, Merlin.” Merlin heard the dark queen of Amata call out to him. He could practically see her smirk on her lips in her voice. He did not give her the luxury of a response.

As Merlin walked away, he shivered. He could still feel her eyes on his back, even when the camp was long behind him. No matter how many deep, long breaths of crystal clear night air, he could not shake that rich, amber-like smell from his mind, and when he stopped to get a drink of water, he could not wash the luxurious taste of her wine from his tongue. 

He felt… dirty, but reluctantly, not in a bad way.

Slipping back into Camelot was child’s play at this rate. But really, all Merlin wanted to do was go home and rest. He was tired, and ready for a good night’s sleep.

Slipping past Gaius’s sleeping form was still as easy as ever, and honestly it filled Merlin with relief. He didn’t really feel like explaining what he was doing to Gaius so late at night quite yet. He kind of felt like a teenager that had snuck out of his home and to the tavern for the first time to flirt with barmaids too pretty for him to even consider he had a shot with. Not that Merlin had any experience with that, even as a young man, but still. At that moment it didn’t feel like too much of a lie. 

Without making a noise, he was in his room in no time, and into his old linen pajamas in less. With a groan Merlin slipped into the sheets and his old creaking bed, bending under his weight in sagging defeat. He turned over on his side with a sigh. Perhaps some good night’s rest will do him good.

Perhaps it will help him regain his sanity.

In a blink she crawled on top of him, her bare legs straddling his own, a mischievous grin on her lips. Like she appeared out of nowhere, as if created by fog. A creation of his horny imagination. The world around him gone, only she, him, and his bed, which barely felt like his bed anymore. Softer, bigger, worthy for them both.

Looming over him, she grabbed him by the face with both hands, perfectly manicured nails gently digging into his skin. She tipped his head up so high it nearly hurt his neck. Face to face, impossibly close. Chest against ample chest, thigh against thigh, bottom against lap. All perfectly lined up. 

If he could look down, he’d be greeted by the sheerest slip of a nightgown ever seen, made of pale, pearlescent silk that barely hid her body, barely going beyond her thighs.

“Hello, Merlin,” That silky, poison laced honey voice spoke again, a smile on her lips he couldn’t quite place. “Did you miss me? Did you miss our little dance?”

And in that moment, how could he lie? 

He craved her. He craved her in a way he hadn’t for years. Not since he forced himself to give her up when he saw just how cruel and depraved her sister could be. Not since he knew where her loyalties laid. Not since he had to put destiny before his heart. 

His heart ached, his body whined. He hadn’t been touched for so long, and almost never quite like this. Not since the last time he dreamt of this dance. The way her fingers tipped his jaw and brushed his hairline, her weight hovering over his lap, it was like he hadn’t been touched by anyone in his entire life. He sorely missed the intimate human touch. He was aching for more.

“Like the insomniac misses sleep,” The words softly slipped from his lips, his hands reaching up to hold her by her small, lithe waist. “A craving he desires, and yet cannot have.”

“Then tonight he gets his rest.” With that, she closed the gap between them, kissing him deep. She tasted like sweet ambrosia and savory herbs, warm plums and black cherries, like passion and desire and imperfect perfection. Like the food and drink of kings, nay, the gods. A forbidden desire that many fell into just to fight the oppressing world around them, like alcohol, religion, violence, or drugs.

Absolute utter perfection.

His fingers slipped past her sheer nightgown, gripping her by the sides. Soft skin, even after so, so long. God he missed human contact. He missed her. He missed her so much the joints in his hands ached and stung as he squeezed her close. 

Please, just one night. Just one night to get me through this.

Merlin moaned as Morgana pressed ever close, putting her full weight on him, running her hands across him. He could feel as more and more of his clothes disappeared into nothing. Everywhere she touched, more clothes melted away. His nightshirt, his pants, his underwear… Soon, he was nothing but bare. The only thing covering him was his blanket, pooling at his waist.

On instinct, he reached out, grabbed her by the hips and flipped them over, getting her to let out a little squeal, flopping onto the bed with giddy laughter and delight. Now he was on top, he kissed her again, he smiled, chuckled. Melted into her lips as he reached up and dug his fingers into her soft curls.

He knew he never went first for the idea of carnal affairs when meeting someone. He needed far more time with a lady before he ever considered the idea, and even then it wasn’t likely. Some days, he feared that he may never find someone who he felt close enough that he dared to think of this way, like the way he did with Freya and with her.

And yet, tonight, he did not fight this. He reveled in the idea that he enjoyed this. He was willing to let this happen. He was happy. He would take his chance and run, run as long and as fast as he could. Run until reality crashes into him, and enjoy every second of the race.

He felt it as the visage of Morgana ran her hands up his chest slowly, across the barren planes of skin, stopping on the swoops of his neck and pulling him down for another kiss. She tasted like herbs and honeyed wine, sweet and savory at the same time. Merlin felt naked and bare, and yet he did not care. For once, he did not feel exposed. For once, this felt right, and he was happy. Truly, genuinely happy.

She let out a cry of pleasure as his fingers found their place. And for Morgana, for once this felt right too.

Merlin sat up with a hard gasp, breathing hard. 

His hands immediately went to his body, checking for the rough coarse fabric still covering his skin. Just making sure that he was still dressed. Patting himself down, reminding himself of the harsh truth.

Once Merlin managed to regain his breath, which took far longer than it should have, he sighed and slouched against his knees, pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt stuffy, sticky, uncomfortable, and frustrated in more ways than one. 

Where the hell did that come from? 

He hadn’t dreamt of her like that for months, or was it years? The young man couldn’t tell anymore. Time blends together into a monotony when Camelot is in peace. Months could feel like years, or years could feel like days. Regardless, it had been a very long time. As long as she had been gone. The last time he had this dream was the night after he had poisoned her, as if a way to enjoy and apologize to her all at the same time, one last time before accepting reality. That he couldn’t apologize for what he did, that no amount of words and speeches could ever gain her forgiveness, and as such he would never be able to dream of her again. 

Evidently, he was wrong. 

He felt ashamed, in a way. Ashamed and just a little bit sad. Ashamed in what he dreamed. Ashamed in that it was their enemy he dreamed of laying with, and frustrated that it just had to be with her. Out of all of the people to think of, he committed treason in his dreams. Off all the people he would ever consider, man or woman, dead lover or dead friend, he just had to dream of her. 

...God, he hadn't even been this hard since he was a teenager. How lame was he?

Sighing, Merlin looked out his tiny window. The sun was just about to dawn in the distance, just the faintest sliver of gray on the horizon. Morning would soon be here, and another day would start. He could go back to bed, but what extra sleep would he get? A couple hours, tops, and that was if he was lucky. Not much really to rest up with, it would make more sense to just power through and get an early start to the day. 

Perhaps he could read something for his own amusement, he hadn't been able to do that for a while with all of the chores and stress of recent months. Perhaps he should practice some magic, that would make logical sense. Kilgharrah would most definitely suggest that. Or perhaps he should just enjoy the sunrise with Gaius for once, something he always wished he could do just never had the right sleep schedule to do so. It would be a nice way to start off the morning, if they were under normal circumstances.

But really, Merlin just wished he had a little bit more time to rest, when his mind was free of her.

As he walked down the hallway early in the morning, Merlin adjusted his bandana, the coat collar resting odd on the back of his neck, right where his formorroh scar laid. He had been alive for twenty five years, and yet he felt as if this was the first time he had ever worn clothes. It was stuffy, tight, it didn’t feel right. Like he was wearing a set of clothes one size too small. Like his skin was one size too small. If he had the choice at the moment, and it weren’t publicly indecent, he’d wear as little as possible. If he had the time and energy, perhaps he would have made himself a long hot bath and sat in it for hours, loosening up that way. It did sound rather nice.

But no matter what Merlin did that morning, there was an ever present fog sitting on the front of his mind. No matter how hard he scrubbed himself down, he swore he could still smell that rich amber-like smell of her tent. Perhaps it was his lack of rest, perhaps it was his weird dream or stress, but the only thing that his mind could properly think about was the new queen of Amata and the puzzles she brought along with her. How much he wanted to press his lips against her neck and leave a mark, taste that wine on her lips and explore…

Merlin jerked. That's it. No more of whatever that wine was. One glass, and he was already thrown off kilter, feeling stuffy and having dreams with his enemy that left him sexually frustrated. He hated to imagine what he would have done if he had drank more, whether he’d be making those dreams a reality…

Things didn’t get any better when Merlin walked into the king’s bedroom, nor as he helped his king and queen get ready for the day. He couldn’t focus as he made their bed, nearly ran into someone when he brought up food to them. He barely said hi to Gwen’s maid, and nearly grabbed the wrong clothes for Arthur. When Arthur ordered for a bath to be made, something Merlin quickly found he wanted as well, he nearly boiled Arthur's jangly bits in the heat. It got so ridiculous at some points that Arthur nearly threatened to pour a pitcher of (hopefully cold) water over Merlin’s head to wake him up. Not that it would have helped, but the sentiment was there. 

No matter what Merlin tried, he couldn’t get the fog in his mind to leave him alone. She wouldn’t leave him alone.

“Are you alright, Merlin?” Gwen finally asked, cutting through the fog in his mind. Like someone dragged him out of the woods of a dream.

“Nothing!” Merlin blurted out with a jolt. He rubbed the back of his neck as Gwen gave him a confused look. “Sorry, Gwen. I’m fine. I didn’t sleep really well last night. It should go away on its own.”

Gwen merely nodded with a smile. “Well I’m sure no one else really slept well after that meeting yesterday,” She said simply, before turning back to her powder table.

Merlin sent her a small smile before going back to his work, scrubbing floors and letting things settle in his little heart. It wasn’t really the same, he was sure of it. They didn’t feel all that close anymore. It made the days feel just a little more gray.

And in that moment, when Merlin looked up just a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow, when the queen’s maid reached out and took her hair and began to brush, he was met with a surprise. His old forbidden desire stood there instead, brushing Gwen’s hair, laughing as if all was right in the world once more.

A mirage of desire, disappearing in a blink of an eye, leaving nothing but an ache in his heart behind. 

Chapter Text

There was no two ways around saying it: Morgana did something to him. She messed him up, she screwed with his mind.

What was worse, is that Merlin didn’t know how.

Merlin always did hate how he could almost never get anyone to stick in his mind in a romantic or carnal sense, but there were times where it came to his advantage as well. It let him have a cool, calm mind, a logical way of looking at things. He never had to fear for one certain someone when a crisis was in progress besides those he needed to for destiny. If someone had to be sacrificed, he could give them up with a bit more ease.

Granted, it did sting at times. He couldn’t help the jealous burn in his gut when he’d be helping Arthur get ready and watch as Gwen walked in and kiss him on the cheek with a loving smile. How much he reluctantly hated Gwen’s promises when she would catch his pained looks, saying ‘don't worry, you’ll find someone one day’. He hated how her good intentions felt false. He hated the loneliness he felt at night when he had no one to spend the night with, no one to even share a kiss with, much less hold in the night or breathe their name in breathless desire. No sweetheart to think about, to look forward to, to dream about. No crush, no flying interest.

Nothing. It had been like this for years.

But now… now Merlin couldn’t get her out his mind.

Merlin didn’t know if it was a spell, a potion in the wine or that sweet smell in the air in her tent, or even just his old feelings for her being yanked to the surface like a stubbornly large carrot, but that meeting he had with her that week ago had messed him up bad.

Now he couldn’t focus.

Merlin wasn’t used to this feeling, this desire, this distracted fogginess. He felt like a horny teenager, just growing into his age. It was ridiculous, it was repulsive! And yet, he could not stop it.

Even when he had a crush on Morgana all those years ago, it wasn’t this bad. Over the past week, there were times where her name would pop out of nowhere and sit there in the corner of his mind, watching his every move. One leg crossed over the other, warm seductress smile on painted lips, enticingly simple black dress that itched to fall off. While he got dressed in the morning, while he ate, while he did his never ending list of chores, while he washed himself and slept. Her name and presence rested on his tongue, ready to leap forth into the world at a moment’s notice, like it wanted to squeeze its way into any conversation he had, even when it shouldn't be. He’d see a dark haired maid walking down the hallway and all he’d see is Morgana’s retreating back, forbidden hips swaying. A rare flash of purple, and he’d see the swish of her dress. Seeing a list of herbs and ingredients that looked similar to a sleeping draught, and he’d mess up the recipe for a habit that died long ago. Pale green eyes, and he'd hear her laughter ringing in his ear. Even seeing a certain purple flower dancing in the wind, and he’d be thrown back in time to a time when he dared to try and flirt with a lady.

It was honestly a miracle she wasn’t appearing before him in apparitions or some sort, then he’d really consider himself insane. He already was enough as it is.

Merlin laid awake at night trying to chase her from his mind with scorn and malice, but all he’d be left feeling was guilty for her, feeling bad for her when he knew he shouldn’t. When he dreamed he was lucky if she didn’t even play a role.

He was, however, incredibly unlucky.

None of his dreams were anything close to what he had dreamed after their meeting in the tent, but he still dreamed of her. He dreamt of walking with her through a forest of pink cherry trees in bloom, her long and careful dress the same color as the cherry blossom he tucked behind her ear, a modest smile on her lips. He dreamt of watching the stars with her atop the roof of Camelot castle, pointing out constellations as they twinkled, just like her eyes when she smiled at him. He dreamt of walking with her alongside a rocky creek on a foggy day, listening to the water babble, her maiden blue dress tucked into her belt to allow her bare feet free, to let her hop and traverse across smooth boulders like a child on an adventure, holding his hand to keep her steady. He dreamt of leaving a kiss on her cheek during a masquerade festival, where no matter how much she hid her identity in some of the most vibrant blues and reds, he could still find her in a crowd. He dreamt of being her knight in shining armor during a competition, winning her hand for that feast that night, wearing her veil as a token of good luck on his bicep. He dreamt of simply being happy with her, overlooking a cliffside into the ocean, resting their heads on one another as they listened to dragons fly and roar in the distance in an amazing dance in the air.

It was beautiful, it was glorious.

And he hated it. He hated it so much.

If there was one thing that Merlin was certain from his entire life, was that he did not want to dream of her in such a way. At all hours of the day his mind dragged to these thoughts against his will. How he wanted to do things with her that made even the most lovesick romantic gag. How he wanted to do things with her that would make even some of the most sexually liberal blush in shock.

It was alluringly, painfully, annoying, especially when he had more important things to think about. For example, Morgana’s clue! Morgana’s scroll! How to help Arthur with the drought without being caught with magic! Prince Aldus’s treaty! These were all far more important problems than his own, and yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Such was enough for him, he didn’t need any more problems.

The worst part of it all? He couldn’t find a way to stop it. Merlin tried to deal with it on his own, in the dark, quiet privacy of his bedroom late at night when no one can hear him make ugly noises, but it never worked. The clarity afterwards only left guilt and regret to settle in his stomach like a slurry old stew. He nearly felt worse after every round, no matter if his body tried to convince him he would feel better. Getting outside help was not an option either. He would die of embarrassment first if he ever told what was happening to him to anyone, much less Gaius. Gaius, the old man would never stop reminding him of it! He would much rather prefer to find the answer to the problem first before turning to his mentor. Besides, it was probably some sort of obvious potion Gaius would whip up out of the blue to cure all ailments, despite the fact Merlin had never heard of it before and required some rare ingredient he'd need to go on some sort of fantastic adventure to get. No thank you.

Not to mention that a small part of Merlin, deep, deep down, did not want to give this feeling up yet. It liked having someone to dream about for once, even if that someone was his supposed mortal enemy. That small part of him was too lonely to care. 

“Are you alright, Merlin?” The old man’s voice cut through the small hovel and Merlin’s thoughts, cutting the chaos in his mind like a knife.

Merlin jerked back to reality like his soul had been yanked back into his body. “What?”

It reluctantly took him a moment to remember where he was, standing in the middle of Gaius’s hovel. He had stopped to ask Gaius a question, but he was sucked into his world of thoughts before he could. It left him standing there looking like an idiot, and Gaius was watching the whole thing.

“Are you alright? You’ve been glaring at that wall like it insulted your mother.” Gaius said with a small, familiar chuckle. The kind of chuckle that should have brought comfort, and normally did, but not in this moment. Merlin had been too sucked into his thoughts to join in on the fun.

“Sorry, I’ve just… been thinking.” Merlin slowly sank into the bench, slouching in defeat.

“Well we know how well that turns out.” Gaius gently joked. Merlin sent him a look, the kind of look that told someone they were already tired and didn’t have the mental energy to entertain such a thought. “You’ve been distracted all week.”

“I know,” Merlin said with a sigh. Leaning hard into the table, he started picking at the old skull Gaius had laying around, rimming the vacant hole that made its eye socket.

A moment of silence held. The fireplace popped, crackled, and spurned off in the corner. The only noise that was a constant in this warm hovel. One of the only comforts Merlin had at the moment.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Gaius tried again.

Sinfully alluring thoughts of pinning her against a wall and leaving marks on her pale neck flashed across his mind. His cheeks lightly flushed. “Ah, no.”

His mentor knowingly smirked. He had seen that look before over his long years, in the eye of many a lovesick man, especially the ones who loved someone they were not allowed to. For some, it happened as quickly as the changing winds, for others, it happened only once in their lifetimes. He had seen it in his own ward’s eyes twice before, although both lead to heartbroken sadness eventually.

“Does it have something to do with a lady friend? Perhaps a new maid has caught your eye?” Gaius asked with confidence.

Merlin’s cheeks burned red. “No.”

It didn’t work. Gaius’s smirk only deepened, his brow striking higher. “You don’t need to lie to me, Merlin. It's nothing to be ashamed about.”

“But I’m not.” Merlin tried to say with confidence. Trying to force past Morgana’s presence and his embarrassment.

“Alright, alright. If you say so.” Gaius dismissed, waving his hand away. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm always be here.”

Merlin paused. He really did have a lot to say sitting on his chest, and he never really did have all that much time to talk about it. So to have a chance to really muddle through all of the chaotic thoughts didn’t sound too bad. Especially if it was going to help in any way.

“It’s just…” Merlin started again. Gaius smirked. That got him. “It’s about Morgana.”

Gaius arched a brow. “You have affections for Morgana? Again?” Gaius was now certainly pushing buttons on purpose, and doing it with properly buried amusement.

“No!” Merlin cried out. His cheeks burned in frustration. “Why do you have to keep on reminding me of that?”

“Because it’s my job as your mentor to annoy you and remind you of your mistakes.”

“Like I don’t need help doing that,” Merlin groaned, sinking into his seat. Even though he didn’t really feel like being infatuated with the lady in the past was much of a mistake. She truly was quite the gal in her day…

“Well don’t let her distract you from your duties. Remember Arthur still needs help.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” Merlin droned, looking at his mentor reluctantly. “It’s just, the scroll. It… confounds me.”

“Well you’re not the only one.”

“There’s just nothing on it!” Merlin cried out in exasperation. As if saying out loud would do anything to help.

“Yes, I saw it as well.”

“It’s just so frustrating.” Merlin was repeating himself now like an actress on stage that had forgotten her next line, trying to remember what she was doing in a fit of panic.

“Well let’s think about it logically.” Gaius offered, slipping a bookmark into his book and sliding it off to the side. “If there really is nothing on it, it could mean that she isn’t looking for anyone specific. Perhaps she’s looking for Arthur to fill in a name and send them on her way.”

“Like a blank check.” Merlin explained.

“Exactly.”

While Merlin did like the idea, it didn’t match at all the clues she had given him the other night. It had nothing to do with flames or knives, unless he wanted to get really extreme. Morgana was looking for someone, someone specific. Their name was on that scroll, they just had to find it.

The two bounced ideas back and forth for a long time, ranging from the logical to the extreme. Perhaps it was a spell, but neither of them could think of any possible spell that could refer to what they were given. Perhaps the name is hidden a special ink that needed to be exposed to a candle light or a fireplace to reveal what it says. Perhaps the clue is referring to the person it was talking about and not how to find the clue on the paper, although that didn’t make any sense either. No one Merlin knew was hidden by fire, and they would most certainly not be revealed under the threat of a knife. Perhaps it was referring to what had to be done to the paper, as in the paper had to be cut in order to reveal the truth, but that was a massive risk to take if it were the case.

But after an hour of throwing ideas back and forth, no matter how many ideas they had, nothing seemed to fit.

“I’ll look into a few of the ideas,” Gaius explained, stretching as he stood, “But don’t you have to get back to Arthur soon?”

“I do. It’s training day,” Merlin said with a sigh. More dodging practice and sparring. Honestly, he didn’t understand why Arthur made him train with the knights if he wasn’t going to give him some armor as well. It just left him looking ridiculous at times, or at least got him hurt far more than he wanted to. “I have to help him get ready.”

“Well, good luck. And try not to think about Morgana!” Gaius tried calling after him.

“I won’t!” Merlin called back right as the door closed. “If I get whacked in head enough times.” He grumbled under his breath.

Merlin was about ready to break something in frustration. If he saw one more thing that reminded him of her, he was gonna-- aaaand there’s a bouquet of purple flowers in a vase, being carried by one of the maids. Since when was it so common for ladies to be asking for purple flowers?!

Perhaps it had been more common before, but he just never noticed? Merlin didn’t know, but it was something he was now noticing.

Merlin made fists in his hands, his cheeks burning hard as he tried to push all thoughts of her out and miserably failing. He was sick and tired of having her on his mind. Honestly, at this point the infatuation with her was against his will. He wanted nothing to do with her, no matter how much that other part of his mind screamed at him that he very much did. He did NOT want to daydream for the thirtieth time about grabbing Morgana by the wrist, pulling her into that alcove he had just passed and kissing her senseless, thank you very much. He did NOT want to do that brain, stop it! He did not have time for that, he had work to do! He should be thinking about Arthur, not her!

Uh oh, too late. Merlin paused in the middle of the hallway. His breath caught in a huff. Imagining what her lips felt like against his own. How soft they were. The feeling of her eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. How her wrists felt cupped in one of his hands, high above her head. The softness of her hips, rubbing the crest of her hipbone with his thumb through her thin silken dress as he pushed it up to-.

STOP IT!

Merlin finally managed to press on, forcefully letting her go in his mind.

As Merlin trudged up the stairs, his mind eventually relented and drifted to what needed to be done, with the idea of Morgana sitting in the back seat for now. If Merlin was unlucky and unvigilant, then she can sneak back in while he’s doing mundane chores. He had to get Arthur’s armor, his sword and shield, and the training weapons all ready for practice, and then get water in a pitcher and a water bucket, goblets for the water pitcher, snacks, and hand towels. He actively worked to keep her out, keeping his eyes to the floor as he ascended those long stone stairs.

He had to think about this logically. Purge himself of all unwanted emotions, everything that distracted him. Get serious. Perhaps if he did, she would stop bothering him. This was no time to think like a horny lovesick lonely teenager, no matter how some days he felt like that was all he was.

The letter, what did she mean by ‘the knife’? What did she mean by ‘the flame’? Was it perhaps symbolic in a way? Perhaps the knife was actually a sword, and the flame was the color of the person’s hair. Perhaps she was referring to that fiery haired knight that had recently joined Arthur’s ranks, although Merlin didn’t entirely know why. He just joined right before Morgana arrived, and while he was a nice young man, neither Arthur nor Merlin were particularly close to him. They wouldn’t really be hurt or affected if he went to get married to Morgana.

Perhaps she was talking about an occupation. Knives are forged in flames, and the new blacksmithing duo of the village, a brother and sister duo, were very good at their jobs. Although, the blacksmithing brother was already married, so perhaps she was intending for his sister? It wouldn’t surprise him too much, but then again, it wouldn’t surprise him that Morgana would ask a married man to marry her instead, just to dig the knife a little deeper so to speak.

Perhaps it was the method of that which she wanted it to be revealed. It wouldn’t be too far out of Morgana’s reach to challenge her opponents to a risky move to solve her puzzle. Honestly, Merlin would have done the same thing if he was given the chance to make someone solve a puzzle like this.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

But no matter how many times he tried to think about the letter, his mind always went back to the sender. To her silky dark hair, perfect to caress fingers through...

Just as Merlin was getting close to Arthur’s room and to smacking himself in the face, a voice shouted, “MERLIN!”

Merlin lurched. It sounded like Arthur, urgent, bordering on a panic or anger. For many other people this would be a cause for concern, but the only thought that crossed Merlin’s mind was ‘I’m not that late…’

Before Merlin could even hurry his pace, Arthur, half dressed in his armor and his hair a matted mess, came whirling around the corner, looking to be on a hurried mission. When the king’s eyes landed on his manservant, Merlin felt like a child found by its angry older brother. Like a deer in the headlights in a sort of way.

“What’s going—?”

“Come on.” Before Merlin had any say, Arthur had reached out and grabbed him by the bicep, being dragged in the same direction that Arthur had just come from. Merlin didn’t know what was going on, but it worried him. He had hardly ever seen Arthur act this way before. This anger, this fear in his eye, but for some reason Merlin could tell it wasn’t aimed at him. No, it was aimed at someone else, Arthur just wanted Merlin there to see it.

It didn’t take long for Merlin to arrive in Arthur’s room.

“Get in here.”

The moment Merlin slipped into the room with a small yelp, he could see that he wasn’t alone. Gwen, her maid, Elyan, and Gwaine were in the room as well, all looking deeply concerned. Why, Merlin wasn’t entirely sure, but it didn’t really matter. Perhaps when he asked later, he would know that Elyan and Gwaine were actually in charge of the training that day and were discussing plans. Perhaps he would know that they were waiting for Merlin to arrive so that they could discuss what was needed to be gathered and even manage to shove Merlin in some armor.

But it didn’t matter in that moment, and that scared the servant.

“What’s going on?” Merlin asked warily, glancing around at everyone. No one seemed happy to see him. In fact, they seemed kind of worried.

“It’s the scroll.” Arthur explained, not letting him go until he got to the center of the room. His jaw was tight, and Merlin was pretty sure Arthur was looking a little pale in the face.

“I wanted to try something, and this came up…!” Gwen gasped, pointing at the scroll sitting on the side table.

Dread hung in the air as Merlin turned to look at the piece of paper. From the way it was sitting, it seemed so harmless, like it was nothing more than a letter from a loved one. From his angle, it still looked blank, but there was some change to it.

Merlin hesitated to get closer, his feet turning into plumbum. His realization got caught in his throat.

The wax seal had been popped clean off the paper, revealing more of the parchment than before. Tucked underneath where the wax seal once was, a faint hue of blue still behind like a highlighting halo, was a word. A word that struck like a lightning bolt to his heart.

Merlin

It was his name. It was his name.

Merlin's mind screamed. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t move. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if his heart stopped beating. He was stuck in time in an eternal, silent scream, captured in his mind.

‘The knife will reveal what was hidden by flame’

Of course, scrape or pop off the wax seal, which had been melted on by a candle flame, with a knife. The answer was as clear as day, and what it said terrified him to his core. Morgana was asking for his hand in marriage. She wanted him to be her groom.

As if someone had pulled a cork and let water pour over his head in one large wave, all desirable thoughts of Morgana washed away. All that remained was the resistance, the frustration, the fear, a hollow vacant imprint of longing. He wanted nothing to do with her. How dare she ask for him, after all that she had done to him, for all that he had done to her! It made no sense, like driving a knife deeper into a wound.

His mind screamed.

“What does it say?” Gwaine asked warily, looking over his shoulder.

“Merlin.” Gwen’s maid swallowed meekly. “She’s asking for Merlin.”

Merlin’s gut turned to soup. Saying it out loud only made the thought so much worse. Horror, terror, and unwanted curiosity clashed, and it was a horrible feeling.

But Gwaine just laughed, laughed like a man in a panic, palm rested on his forehead.

“She’s screwing with us!” He said in denial, smiling and chuckling like a man faced with fear and didn’t know what else to do. “This is one of her tricks. There’s no way she wants Merlin.”

The whole group expected that Merlin was going to say something about that, even just a simple “hey!” or something of the sort. But Merlin didn’t. He couldn’t.

He merely stood there in silence.

“Merlin?” Elyan asked warily, watching the gears in his friend’s mind whirl wildly.

“No,” The manservant whispered, “No, no no no no no…” He fell onto the couch, grasping at his head, bordering on tucking it between his knees. His heart thrummed against his ribcage like a bird filled with violence. He felt like he wanted to fight something, or run. Run run run, as fast as he could, as far away as he could. Somewhere where she couldn’t find him. Somewhere her touch could not touch him, where her eyes could not find him.

He hated this at every angle. He was supposed to be by Arthur’s side for all time, to protect him from all that comes his way! What did she want from him?! Did she like driving Destiny into the ground? Did she just like torturing him, torturing Arthur? Was this really how she wanted to mock Camelot, ask for the hand of a measly ‘serving boy’, a ‘thorn in her side’?

Why?

“Merlin?” Arthur asked warily, watching his friend desperately work not to fall apart. It wasn’t a common thing to see his friend do.

“I’m doomed.” Merlin whispered to himself.

“Hey, don’t say that.” Gwen said, immediately sitting next to him, resting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. With a comforting touch she brought Merlin up and into a hug. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

Merlin tried to melt into her embrace, but it didn’t work. His heart was still frothed into a panic out of his control, so strong he couldn’t even close his eyes. He could only lean into her hug and hope that it would help.

“I’ll write a letter to Morgana. Surely she can give us an explanation, or at least tell us the truth.” Arthur explained, already turning to head towards his desk.

“Wait, what do you mean, the truth?” Merlin asked, finally looking up.

Arthur paused. “Well no offense, but Gwaine’s right. There’s no way she would want you.” He said with a light shrug.

“Arthur,” Gwen tried to scold her husband, giving him a stern look.

Merlin ground his mouth into a thin, annoyed line. “None taken,” He grumbled under his breath, something only Gwen had heard.

“I mean she hates you.” Arthur explained, “If she does want you to come to her, which is a big if, then nothing good is going to happen. She’s going to kill you. This is most likely a decoy, or a ploy for something else.”

“Well can you think of anywhere else she could have hidden a name on this blank sheet of paper?” Merlin asked, pulling from Gwen’s grasp, gesturing at the dreaded paper sitting on the side table. He did not dare to touch it, lest it proved something more.

“Well—.” Elyan tried to speak up.

“Face it, you guys, we’ve been looking at this paper for a week. She wants me.” Merlin said in dejected, horrified vain, looking at the paper again. As he did this, Elyan crossed the room and tore the letter from the table, wanting to see it for himself. Perhaps if he saw it there may be something else more.

But there was nothing, and there never would be anything else. It only made Elyan droop.

Arthur huffed air out of his nose. “Regardless, I’m going to write to her. I’ve had enough of these games. Either she can tell it to us straight, or there will be no treaty.”

“I think she’s already told you straight enough,” Merlin muttered under his breath, right as Gwen rubbed his back. Merlin felt another hand hesitate over his back before it pulled away, the hand of Gwen’s maid.

“Wait,” Leon piped up. “We should at least reach out to Prince Aldus again, see if we can negotiate the terms to our agreement.”

Arthur nodded. “I’ll get the scribes on it.” He ordered, before turning back to the table. Normally it would be Merlin’s job to write letters when Arthur needed another set of hands, or even when Arthur was bored, but clearly that wasn’t going to be the case here. Arthur wasn’t going to let Merlin even touch one of those letters, most specifically if it was going to go to Prince Aldus. He didn’t need to deal with that strife. Not this time.

“We’ll get through this, Merlin. I promise.” Gwen explained, rubbing her friend’s back.

Guess sparring would be called off for the day.

Dear Morgana,

We finally figured out your secret code. Surely you don’t mean Merlin? We get it, you’re messing with us. We know that there’s no way you would want to marry a simple servant. We are more than willing to offer peace negotiations and an alliance in this upcoming civil war of yours, we even agree to the marriage treaty, but you have to tell us who you’re looking for. We are not mind readers here.

Sincerely, 

Arthur

It took nearly four days to get a response. Three days to get the letter to Morgana by bird, less than a day to get a response by magic. Everyone waited with bated breath in the meantime, and no one was more anxious for a response than Merlin. 

“Why me?” He whispered to the universe that dreaded night, to the voids, to the god, goddess, or whoever was up there playing doll with him. Treating him like a character in a story to throw around and abuse. It was a simple question, he deserved an answer from its incomprehensible mind. 

But he was met with only silence, and silence breeds self misery.

He should have listened to Kilgharrah, should have made sure that Morgana never stepped foot in Camelot. She brought nothing but despair and pain wherever she went, and by asking for his hand in marriage, he was left alone. He almost felt like he had brought this on himself. Perhaps if he didn’t dream of her so much, his name wouldn’t have been found. Perhaps she wouldn’t have asked for him, as if that is how any of this works.

The good news was Merlin quickly stopped dreaming about Morgana after he heard the news. No more dreams about her, no more hallucinations, no more wandering mind, nothing. She no longer bothered him like an insistent dog begging for a treat. However, it didn’t take long for his predicament to become the gossip of the town, and that left him very much alone.

Every maid, manservant, soldier, guard, and more looked at him with curiosity, scorn, or pity. It was like he was no longer a person, but just a figure for their amusement. Everyone wanted to know what he would do, what he would choose, what he would say and feel. He was in the spotlight, his every action watched by everyone, and yet no one wanted to ask him what he felt. All conversations fell to a whisper or into silence when he was around. He was lucky to get some small talk. They would always ask him how he was doing, but never really cared to empathize. They never wanted to actually talk about his woes.

It grew to be crushing after a while, especially when Merlin didn’t know what to do. Arthur and Gwen didn’t know who let the truth out, as it was supposed to be under wraps, but Merlin had a sneaking suspicion it was Gwen’s maid. It wasn’t entirely her fault, she just wasn’t good at keeping secrets.

Even his own friends fell into this problem, having a hard time talking to him as they once did before. A tense air fell between them, waiting for a response, and sometimes it choked Merlin out. Gwen just gave him sad polite smiles for no reason and was far more willing to talk to him when she hadn’t before. Arthur didn’t jab or slap him nearly as often and didn’t pick on him nearly as much. When the knights found out about his predicament, Merlin could see the fear in their eyes. From that point on the knights weren’t so willing to spar with him, yet they found ever excuse for Merlin to hang around. For some reason he felt like they were treating him far more gently than they did before, as if they were afraid to break Morgana’s chosen one. They hung around him like straw in a packing container, and for some reason that made this feeling worse. The only one that still talked to Merlin normally, if not talked to him more, was Mordred. Not that Merlin enjoyed it, good heavens, no, but in this time of stress he would allow it. After all, he was feeling terribly alone.

Perhaps it was the loneliness of not being able to talk to people, or perhaps it’s something else, but the thought of being her groom didn’t feel too bad some moments.

But that was a stupid idea, and he knew it.

Over time, Merlin felt into some sort of numb higher level. His mind was packed with wool and cotton, fuzzy and foggy, soft and irritating. In order to hide and cope with what Morgana had offered, he kept his head in the clouds. He let himself dream of a life different than his own, although what that life was was always different. A fishermen, a hunter, a farmer, a traveling merchant, a circus performer,  or a knight. Just something that would allow him to be where he was at the moment. Avoid what was actually happening to him. Every moment he got, whether he was doing chores or alone, awake or asleep, he let himself dream to escape.

Sure, Gaius told him this wasn’t healthy, and Merlin heavily agreed with him, but there wasn’t much else to do. It was the only thing that convinced Merlin to stay. Otherwise, Merlin would have ran the moment he had a chance. Destiny be damned. 

During those few peaceful moments during the day when his chores were all done (or when he truly didn’t want to do them anymore), Merlin would pull away from everyone, find a secluded spot somewhere, and just let his dreams run free. He felt his best doing it. During the day, a spare room, an alcove, or his room, at night, on the roof to watch the stars. He liked the stars, they helped remind him that his destiny wasn’t so big after all. 

Today, he rested in Gwen’s well tended garden, a small attachment to the castle he didn’t get the chance to visit all that often. Stories around the castle said that it used to belong personally to Arthur’s mother, who dearly loved the garden, and was even rumored to have been buried there. However, after her death the old king Uther let the garden decay in care. Even Arthur barely knew this place existed, and it was only through Gwen’s crowning that she brought back the care to the gardens. Now it was one of Merlin’s favorite places to rest.

A small patch of grass made up the center and was ringed with trimmed box bushes, perfect for ten grown adults to sit in a circle comfortably. Small well made paths wound around the rest, with benches sitting under the shade of a tree sitting in the corner, and a fountain of clean fresh well water sat flush against the wall, drinking water trickling out of the gargoyle’s mouth.  

In that moment, Merlin had tucked himself away in a small patch of grass behind a bush. Laid out on the grass, arms tucked behind his head, potentially taking a nap. 

He could feel the warmth of the sun, letting the heat tickle his face.

For a small moment, he let himself dream. 

For a small moment he was laying on flattened stalks of long golden wheat. The wind gently rustled through it, making waves in the gold. His scythe laid comfortably beside him, its cool metal blade laying haphazardly against his thigh. His wide brimmed hat rested comfortably on his stomach, ready to go on his face if the sun moved out of the tree’s shade. Sweat slicked his skin, free breathing linen cooling him off. Someone laid next to him, her head resting against his chest, fingering a button on his shirt, his arm thrown around behind her back. They’d have to get back to the harvest soon, but for now he had the time to rest. Far away from world bending responsibilities, if only for just a moment… 

Suddenly, Merlin’s sunlight warmth was covered by a shadow. He didn’t need to open his eyes, he already knew who it was. There was only one person who had the audacity of doing it without saying a word, much less being unable to hear him coming beforehand.

“Can you move?” Merlin droned.

“I don’t know, will you get up?” Arthur retorted.

The manservant pretended to ponder it for a moment. “Mm, no.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, before reaching down and yanking his servant to his feet. It didn’t take much effort on the king’s part strength wise, but it felt like dragging a sibling to get up to talk to their parents; not easy. “You shouldn’t be slacking off.”

“Why not? I got all of my chores done.” Merlin replied simply, giving his king a look as he brushed off his clothes.

Arthur looked at him incredulously. “Scrubbed the floors?”

“Yep.”

“Polished my armor?”

“Mhm.”

“Did my laundry?”

“All done. It’s drying.”

“Even—?”

“Yes, I even mucked out the stables, delivered your weapons to the blacksmith to be sharpened, they’ll be done by tomorrow, did the dishes, delivered my supplies for Gaius, and even helped the maids in laundry room with Gwen’s dresses.” Merlin replied with a haughty matter of factness. “Why can’t you and Gaius just accept that I can do my chores on time and let me have a little break every once and a while.”

“Because you never do your chores on time?” Arthur replied bluntly, crossing his arms. “You’re not being paid to laze around.”

“Oh like I’m being paid?” Merlin retorted. “At this rate you’re going to blow my back out by the time I’m thirty.”

“Don’t forget you’re going to be thirty in a few years.” Arthur gently chided, giving Merlin a small smirk. 

The realization seemed to mock Merlin in a way. “Oh god, don’t remind me.” He droned. Arthur chuckled. “Well, what do you need?”

“We just got a letter from Amata. I want you there when we open it.”

Merlin blinked, that nervous brew boiling once again. “Really? Well I—.” He tried to come up with something that let him not go in, to not see that elegant flowing handwriting holding his fate. He wanted to go back to his semi nap, letting himself pretend to not be there.

But that wasn’t an option right now.

“Come on.” Arthur reached out and grabbed Merlin by the wrist, not letting his friend escape from her dreaded demands. If anyone had to be there, it had to be Merlin. No one else. And Arthur wasn’t going to allow him to escape from it.

Dear Arthur,

I am being very serious. The name you found is the name I seek. I appreciate your eagerness for this treaty, but my conditions are firm. 

Once Merlin arrives, I will send ten caravan wagons of wheat and vegetables your way, and another ten after our wedding day.

Sincerely, 

Morgana

Merlin’s mouth scrunched up, his heart perking in curiosity. Her letter was short and simple, as if it was trying to be vague and direct to the point at the same time. The panic that had stewed in his gut the whole time he walked inside did not settle, and it only got slightly worse through her simple demands. The group that had been gathered around in the court room, mainly Arthur, Gwen, Gaius, and some of Arthur’s closest knights and advisors, seemed to have the same looks on their faces, the same thoughts running through their minds. 

All this for Merlin’s hand?

A caravan wagon was nothing to sneeze at in terms of food quantity. Caravan wagons were far larger and heavier than normal wagons, capable of carrying a significantly large amount of loose bulk food all at once. They took eight horses rather than the standard two or four, and usually traveled in long chains with many other wagons of the same kind. They were specifically designed for the transportation of raw supplies for these kinds of trade negotiations. One caravan wagon’s worth of food was enough to give a village a massive feast for a week, but ten? Ten caravan wagons of wheat would take care of the kingdom’s capital through the coming summer for months, relieving the burden on the farmers out in the fields. Another ten would refill Camelot’s reserves and then some. It would last Camelot for a long time, long enough to get back on their feet. Another ten could ensure Camelot’s survival through the winter with ease!

Camelot needed that wheat. They needed that food. 

“That’s a lot of food.” The words managed to force their way out of Merlin’s tight and dry throat, even if he didn’t want say anything.

“It is.” Arthur replied just as reluctantly. But he only looked on with a hard look in his eye, concern and fear hidden away behind the mask of being a king. “Have we heard anything from Prince Aldus?” He asked, looking away from the letter.

“Nothing yet, sire.” A short, bookish advisor explained, gently pushing his glasses up against his face. “We should be expecting Sir Perceval to return within the next week.” 

“Of course.” Arthur dejectedly sighed. “Keep me up to date whether he returns sooner rather than later, and gather up the wheat reserve managers. I need to know how long we need to ration out our food resources and how much are we intaking. This whole treaty business is getting complicated…” 

“Not if we get that food.” Merlin muttered.

He must have said it louder than he thought, because all of a sudden everyone’s eyes were on him. It felt like a crushing blow, the weight of all those piercing gazes resting on his chest.

“What?” The voice of Arthur asked, in shock already. “You’re not honestly going to agree to it, are you?”

“Well—.” Of course Merlin didn’t want to. There were many things that Merlin would rather do than agree to this, up to and possibly including throwing himself off a cliff (whether or not he died because of it was a different story). He wasn’t leaping at this opportunity like a lovesick teenager, but he had to listen to the facts. All that food for the hand of one man? It seemed obvious.

A king had to be able to make sacrifices, and for the good of Camelot this seemed to be one of them.

“Merlin, no.” Arthur cut through all of Merlin’s thoughts, all of Merlin’s expectations and beliefs. “Wait another week, at least. We need to know what Prince Aldus is thinking.”

Merlin reluctantly nodded, but he knew what Arthur was really thinking. It could be seen in the whites of his eyes, the way he turned to look at his wife, his knights. He didn’t want to let Merlin go, no one wanted to let him go. He wasn’t going to let Merlin leave until his back was against the wall. Until he had no other option in store, and even then, that was an if.

“Merlin, please, don’t do it. Don’t make a rushed decision.” Gwen spoke, fear and guilt burning bright. As if she ways saying ‘ Don’t leave us’ .

Merlin swallowed. “I won’t.” He replied, but a small part of him already knew the decision was made. He just had to convince himself and the whole court that it actually was the right decision, no matter how much it hurt. 

As the courtroom dispersed, Merlin knew that he needed advice. He needed someone to talk to, someone who possibly understood the situation better than he did. Someone who could see the whole picture, who knew what the right thing was to do. He didn’t trust his own heart anymore. If he trusted his heart, especially after all he had gone through after she left, then he would be in a world of pain. Selfish, naive pain.

Merlin didn’t want to make a foolish decision. He didn’t want to be in pain anymore, be scorned for his choices. He needed advice, and there was only one person he could think of to give him such advice. 

Gaius. 

True, Gaius wasn’t a prophecy seeing dragon whose wisdom is the best in the land, but Merlin didn’t want to go to the dragon anymore, not just because he was so far away, but because he just didn’t want to talk to him. He was pushed around enough recently, and after Merlin told the massive dragon about the name on the scroll, he shouted Merlin’s ear off for an hour. So, it was kind of understandable that Merlin didn’t really want to go see him again.

Then again, Gaius could have his harsh moments as well, and Merlin wasn’t looking forward to being scolded either, but he was going to take his chances and take the old man over the older dragon. 

Honestly, Merlin wished his mother was here. He wished she was here ever since he arrived in Camelot. It would have made a lot of things easier, a lot more bearable, with his mother by his side. She always gave the best advice about what to do, without judgement or strife. She would not think of destiny, of loyalty, of servitude or expectations. All she would think about is the safety of her son, and honestly Merlin needed that.

But at the end of the day, she wasn’t here. She was back in Ealdor, probably doing chores, helping with the harvest, far too busy to help him anyways. Worse, someday she wouldn’t be there too. If he needed advice, which someday he should not need to rely on, he should turn to those who are near by. Even if they sometimes give advice that goes against everything he doesn’t want to do.

Walking into the hovel left a hard rock in his gut. The older gentleman was sitting on the rocking chair by the fireplace, dressed in a simple working robe in burgundy, reading away in the largest anatomy book Merlin had ever seen. That book had the capacity of being a very deadly weapon, and it held all the information on the human body the known world had gathered up to that point. Seriously, Merlin feared for future medical students and the work they will have to do. The collections of books that big that would have to be stacked in their libraries, how long they would have to search through their collections for answers. Honestly, if only there was some way easier. A faster way to search through books. Perhaps there’s a spell, but Gaius would never use it. Gaius liked doing things the old fashioned way. Said he considered it ‘relaxing'. 

Needless to say, Merlin and Gaius had two very different definitions of ‘relaxing’.

But now wasn’t the time to be relaxed. Now was the time for questions, for answers to queries that needed solutions.

“Gaius?” Merlin asked, peeking out around the creaking front door. 

The older man perked up immediately. “Yes, Merlin?” 

“I need advice.” Merlin managed to force from his lips.

“Of course. What can I help you with?”

“It’s about the treaty…”

Gaius arched a certain brow. “Is there something wrong?”

“Morgana’s responded. She’s offering ten caravan wagons of food, and another ten after…” He couldn’t get the words out. It stuck to his teeth like the thickest of tree sap and honey.  

This greatly startled Gaius. His concerned frown only curled deeper, closing the book that rested on his lap. Gaius peered over the edge of his glasses. “She’s serious?”

Merlin nodded, clenching his hands tight in one another. “She wants… me.” He has to work to spit his name out. God, saying it made it feel all the worse. “And I… I was wondering, should I accept?”

Gaius fully put his book off to the side, looking at his ward hard in the eyes. “What does Arthur think?”

“He doesn’t want me to. He wants to wait until we hear back from Prince Aldus in a week.” Merlin explained gently. 

“Then you should listen to him.”

“But—.”

“Merlin, isn’t it you who told me that destiny required that you stay?” Gaius explained with certainty and question.

“Well yes, but—.”

“Then you should wait until Prince Aldus responds. Leaving now could cause you to make an unnecessary risk. ”

“But the people of Camelot doesn’t have that kind of time.” Merlin exclaimed finally. With an exasperated huff, he continued, “Camelot needs the food, Camelot needs the strength. Not to mention what else Arthur agrees to do if I go! He’ll finally let up on the ban on magic!” 

There was many more things that Merlin wanted to say. While he hated to think it, if Merlin agreed to go, then more progress would be made bringing Camelot to the destiny it was supposed to be reaching than anything Merlin had actively done there. If he left, he may cause more of an impact than if he stayed. 

“So what do you suggest you do? Actually marry her?” Gaius cried out rhetorically, slapping his arm down onto the poor rocking chair.

“No…” Merlin said reluctantly. To do that would mean to leave the only home he had ever known, even if said home made him afraid at night. To marry Morgana would mean to leave all of his friends and family behind, even if they frustrated him to no end some days. 

“Then that settles it.” Gaius explained, going back to his book. As if all was right with the world. 

But it wasn’t. It wasn’t enough. 

Merlin couldn’t help but think about that little girl from weeks ago who hung on the brink of tears, the elderly woman who so much as touched Arthur begging for food, that boy who stole from the baker’s wife. How much pain they must be going through, how many more people are falling into suffering and the brink of ruin as the days go by. Reserves were handed out as much as they could and rationed even further. Only the recent small wave of young harvest foods that grew fast eased the burden just a tiny bit, but it wasn’t enough. The people of Camelot didn’t have much time to wait for him to get through this on his own. 

He just knew that it was going to hurt.

“Alright,” Merlin sighed, letting the death grip go from each hand. But just as he did this, Gaius could see the troubled look in his ward’s eye.

“Your friends and family don’t want you to go, Merlin.” Gaius explained gently, getting Merlin to pause. “You mean more to them than you realize, even if it doesn’t always show. Give Arthur a chance to fix this before doing something that you can’t back out of.”

Merlin gently nodded. “But what about the people? What if he can’t?”

“Then we will find a solution. We always do.” Gaius explained calmly. “You don’t need to do this.”

Merlin’s gut dropped further. They already had a solution, they were just refusing to take it. At some point it would be up to him to enact the solution, whether with Arthur’s blessing or not.

“Alright, I’ll wait another week.” Merlin dejectedly sighed, before turning to head up the stairs.

“Merlin,” The voice of his mentor called after him. 

Merlin paused. “Hm?”

“I do hope you know that I don’t want you to go, either. I don’t think it will be wise, even with all of the benefits she promises. You’re a smart, wise man, my boy, and I’d hate to see that be wasted.”

Merlin tried to swallow the rock in his throat, but it didn’t budge. While he appreciated the compliment, he didn’t entirely believe it. He didn’t believe he was smart, he didn’t believe he was wise. He still felt a child who did not know their place in the world. He didn’t believe he was the adult that he was supposed to be, merely his body had grown enough. He didn’t think he’d feel like an adult until he was all alone. No matter how much logic Gaius gave him, Merlin still didn’t agree with it. 

Trudging up the stairs, Merlin felt like he needed to talk to someone more. He needed a second opinion to convince him. He just… really didn’t want to go talk to him.

The big dragon can be a big pain at times.

Sneaking out that night was supposed to be easy. He had done it many times before, this shouldn’t have been any different. But the reveal of his name on that parchment, the anxious waiting, the pain of knowing it, the numbness that came along with it all, Merlin felt like he was getting sloppy.

That was very evident that night.

“Where are you going?”

“Gah!” Sitting in that same rocking chair in the far corner by the fireplace, dressed in his night clothes, a new different large book on his lap and glasses over his eyes, was Gaius. For a small moment he looked like a grandfather reading stories for children, and yet there were no children to read to. “Gaius! Wh-what are you doing up?” Merlin asked, completely whirling around to take his mentor on head on. 

“You really need to work on his sneaking skills.” Gaius replied cooly, standing from his seat.

Merlin specifically chose not to mention any of the vast amount of times he’s snuck out of the hovel before while Gaius was asleep to do God knows what. “You know I’m not a teenager anymore.” Merlin tried to say, shifting from one foot to the other.

“No, but you have the impulse control of one.” Gaius proclaimed, closing his book. “Where are you going?” 

Merlin wanted to lie, but this was Gaius. It wouldn’t hurt to tell him the truth. “I’m going to go talk to Kilgharrah. Ask him what I should do.”

“What do you mean? Didn’t we already discuss this?” Gaius asked, arching his brow.

“We did, but… I still need more.” 

The look of concern on Gaius’s face was as clear as day in the flickering light of the fireplace, but he did not speak on it. “Alright,” The old man finally relented, “but don’t be out too late. You still have work in the morning.”

“Since when do I don’t?” Merlin muttered before slipping out the door.

Gaius sighed in defeat, watching the door click behind his ward. He understood where Merlin’s concerns were coming from. He knew that his ward needed the support, especially in a time like this. But he didn’t want his ward to make the wrong decision. He has an important role in the destiny of Camelot, and whatever thoughts that may be making him hesitate must be cleared. He was smarter than that, he knew that. He only hoped Merlin knew that too. 

Simply to say, Kilgharrah wasn’t helpful either. 

Merlin found that the rest of the castle wasn’t that much of a pain to slip by. It wasn’t as easy as it normally was, but that was a personal mental block, not the guards stepping up their game. Once again he was proven how easy it was to slip past Camelot’s guards and defenses. He really needed to bring that up with Arthur, this was starting to get embarrassing. 

Trudging into the woods, the only sounds that could be heard was the soles of his shoes. Not even late night birds chirped in the darkness this late at night. The only sound was the sound of his shoes shifting over packed dirt and gravel. 

Finally, he found the clearing in the forest the two had agreed to meet. Somewhere where the forest opened up into an alcove vacant of trees, perfectly fitted for an especially large dragon to land in. By the time he arrived, Kilgarrah was already there, waiting patiently for him.

“Ah, there you are young Emrys. I must say, I am surprised by our late meeting.”

Merlin didn’t respond, merely digging his hands deeper into his pockets. Not that he would disagree, he was very tired. Both physically and mentally, he knew that this was going to get him yelled at more. His shoulders were squared and ready.

“Not talking much, are we?” Kilgharrah gently joked, but Merlin wasn’t particularly in a laughing mood. 

“Morgana responded.” Merlin explained simply. “She wants me.”

Kilgarrah blinked. “What?”

“Morgana is serious in asking for my hand in marriage, and she’s giving a lot for it.” Before Kilgarrah rebuked, Merlin continued, “She’s offering enough food to feed everyone in the capital throughout the summer for my arrival, and after our marriage she’ll deliver enough food for the people to last through the winter.”

“And you honestly believe that she will deliver such promises?” Kilgarrah guffawed, giving Merlin a discounted look. 

“She did seem sincere…” Merlin reluctantly replied, shrugging. Perhaps it was whatever she did to him, but Morgana seemed incredibly sincere when he had gone to visit her inside her tent. 

“Of course she did, all liars of her kind are good at seeming sincere.”

“She is my kind. Am I a sincere liar too?” Merlin tried to retort. 

Kilgarrah did not respond to that. “Why are you here, young Emrys?” Kilgarrah asked with a sigh.

“What do I do?”

“Your most important job is to keep King Arthur safe. I’m surprised you’re even asking this question.”

“But—.”

“Even if she agreed to marry you, even if she agreed to send the food she promised you, there would be no way she would have you as her king. She would be more likely to leave you in a cell to rot into madness than ever loving you.”

Merlin had to admit, that stung. A lot. He hadn’t even thought about what she would do to him if he agreed to marry her, and he had to admit, a small part of him did assume that he would be king alongside her. But Kilgarrah was realistic, he knew the world they lived in, and he knew there would be no way that Morgana would let him be king. She would need to adjust their roles significantly to keep her power over him. 

“You would be far more fit to be a blood bonded guard or even a jester to her than anything that she would ever respect. Accept it, you would be far better fit here than anywhere in Amata. Your destiny is in Camelot, not there.”

“But what about the people?” Merlin tried to ask, forcing through the desert that made his throat.

“The people will endure, just as they always have.”

“And what if they don’t?”

“Then you must find a way to fix it.” 

A large rock stuck in Merlin’s throat. Great, the dragon and Gaius agreed, more work for him to do. More things he had to do. More back bending, more manipulation, more pulling a quick fix out of his ass before regretting it ten days later when he realized what he did resulted in something far worse.

“Destiny will not fail you, young Emrys, but you may fail destiny if you do the wrong thing. You must rely on that.” Kilgarrah tried to say. 

No matter how it hurt, Merlin dipped his head and sighed. “Alright.”

“Good. It’s good to know you’re thinking on the right path again.” Kilgarrah explained, seeming all the more pleased.

Merlin, on the other hand, wasn’t. In fact, he felt frustrated. He was nearly on the brink of tears. He wanted advice, but that wasn’t what he got. He wanted something that would actually convince him to stay, something that would prove to him that he was thinking ridiculous, not some sort of flimsy bandage to make him shut up. Every thought he had for the past few days had been shot down, his own thoughts and interests were seen as unimportant. His opinions weren’t considered, and he was getting really sick and tired of it. 

“Good talk,” Was the only thing Merlin could force out before Merlin turned on his heel and walked away.

“Emrys…” Kilgarrah called after him, but Merlin didn’t stop, for he knew if he did then he would release his frustrations.

Merlin shook his head, taking a deep breath, letting his feet continue to crunch over gravel. Kilgarrah was right. What was he thinking? There was no way he would be her king. He didn’t want to be one either. All of the benefits, the blessings, the advantages of being Amata’s king wasn’t worth being her groom.

That dark, familiar burn returned to his gut. An old destiny was calling his name, a move Kilgharrah would be proud of.

Going to Amata was the perfect opportunity to kill Morgana.

Arrive in Amata, pretend to accept the treaty long enough for Morgana to send back the food to Camelot, kill her, and go home. He could do it in less than a day, if lucky. In, out, gone. Camelot is free from her and fed. Of course, there was the issue of what to do with the throne, as he still didn’t want to give it to Prince Aldus, but that was a bridge he’d cross when he got there. He’d find a suitable replacement and go home. Right now, his priority was Camelot’s immediate future and the threat of Morgana. Kilgarrah was right, the magic users are an enduring people, they can wait a little longer while Merlin went the long route to convince Arthur to let up the ban on magic. 

Even with all of those old illustrious dreams, Merlin still had a hold on logic. Well, mostly logic. He would never admit openly that the idea of being married was enticing. He always did want a pretty lady to settle down with, raise a family with. While Merlin had no interest in being a king, and he had no interest in seriously marrying Morgana, he couldn’t help but admit that there were some benefits too. Especially after seeing some of Arthur’s poor choices being made as of late… Merlin loved the man like a brother from another mother, but there were days where he just wanted to throw a whole basket of freshly polished shoes at him. There were days where he did successfully throw a shoe at him. Not that Arthur ever learned anything from it, but still. 

But a crown wasn’t in the cards for Merlin. He knew that. He knew that if he married Morgana, he would never have that kind of power, to convince a kingdom to change its ways with just his words, and in some ways he didn’t want it. He only wanted to be done with her. He wanted to make sure that she would never be a threat to Camelot ever again, and there were many ways of doing that. No matter their past, no matter the looks and tense moments they shared, it didn’t matter anymore. Morgana was too much of a threat to be left alone and unchecked.

However, the cost of failure was immeasurably high. At best, Merlin would mess up and have to slip back out of Amata, the treaty falling into the gutters. At worst, Camelot would go to war with Amata, or even worse… He actually married her. Well, that was the worst for him, for the case of Camelot that was actually a good thing. By that idea, the treaty would stand solidly. An extra benefit would be the forced progression of destiny. The remaining magic users would be safe. Just that if he did it, he would never get to see his friends again, or be free to do whatever he wanted again. At the cost of his freedom, happiness, and entire life, Camelot would be safe. It wasn’t an ideal option, one that Merlin was willing to try and avoid, but he would, with much bitterness and gnashing of teeth, accept if need be. 

Whether to kill her or to pacify her or to even marry her, Merlin knew that he had to go to Amata. 

Going to sleep that night was the most restless thing he had ever done, torn between what he wanted to do, going to Amata and getting stuff done there, and staying here and feeling like he was doing nothing to satisfy his friends. 

The next day, before Merlin even woke up to go do his chores, Arthur had sent out a letter to Morgana. 

Dear Morgana,

Surely we can offer someone else? We have plenty of eligible lords and knights, even a few dukes, who would be more than qualifying for your needs, not to mention willing. Merlin is but a humble servant, completely unsuitable for the role as a queen’s consort. He has no training, nor any upbringing in the role. He is more trained to be a manservant, to scrub floors and saddle horses and dress others, than to make critical decisions needed to be made by a person of power. We can even offer a higher dowry along with another groom of your choice, with treasures and riches that can help you rebuild your land. Surely you could reconsider your offer? We are more than happy to negotiate our terms.

Please respond as soon as possible. We look forward to what you have to say.

Sincerely, 

Arthur

“My my, Arthur’s getting desperate now, isn’t he?” Morgana muttered her thoughts aloud. Her satin red lips smirked reading over the letter. Her goblet of wine swirled in her hand, the other holding the parchment with a dollop of wax atop. The fireplace across from her crackled, its warm light flickering across her brother’s attempt at elegant handwriting. 

It was clear to her that Arthur was begging at this point. Even if he didn’t want to say it, Arthur did not want to let go of his manservant. Even if Arthur never even realized it, the man was like a baby brother to him, far more than Morgana had ever been a sister to him. Of course, who in their right mind would willingly send their sibling, the one that seemed to be so utterly defenseless and weak, to face the terrifying tigress? No one, that’s who. Especially when there are better offers out there, especially when there are people he could send that could ‘take care’ of her. Strong, fit knights and lords that meant nothing to him in comparison to his little manservant. 

But no matter what Arthur did, no matter how much he begged, Morgana would not cave. In fact, he kind of made it worse. She kind of liked the idea of Merlin tending to her every care, every need. Treating her and tending to her every need like he would for Arthur. Of course, she’d have to break him out of that delightfully endearing sass and defiant charm, but that would not do for her. No, she wanted an obedient servant, one who would do everything she asked of him without question, no matter what. His hands obediently helping her get ready for a court meeting or a ball. Brushing a comb through her curls, tightening her corset, gently laying a cape over her shoulder so tenderly, just like he did for Arthur. For all their bickering, Merlin was a good servant to Arthur when it counted. She would not mind having him for her own.

Anything she asked for, he would do it. Anything.

A small thought tickled the back of her mind. Perhaps he could be a good jester, after all he was terribly witty, and she had heard rumors that he knows how to juggle. Not to mention how silly he looked in that feathery hat oh so long ago. The thought of him being a jester was very amusing.

As for being a consort... Tempting. Very tempting. After all, Morgana was not going to lie; Merlin was decently good looking. If he did something with his hair, he’d might even be considered attractive. She wasn't interested in gangly men, but she wouldn't turn down what she hadn't tried before. 

Of course, Morgana was sure that her definition of a consort was very different and far more scandalous than what Arthur was thinking, but oh well. It was his words, and he couldn’t take them back now. 

But she had far bigger plans for Merlin. Much, much bigger. Truly, Arthur underestimated his cute little manservant’s abilities. He was wasting his talents by keeping him in such a crucially menial position. Merlin had skills, he had talents far beyond just cleaning floors and clothes. For example, he was a terribly good liar. He could lie himself out of any situation, he could tell the truth and it would be perceived as a lie. He could convince anyone that he has sympathy or mercy or even feelings of friendship or love for them when in fact he did not. And she knew for a fact that he was terribly good at convincing people to do things he wanted them to, and if she had that skill working for her, well, this would only get easier. 

Not to mention how good he was at escaping, and at killing. A light sting formed in her throat for just a moment as she remembered such a time. Such talents are… useful. 

No, he would do far better for both himself and for her as her husband, her personal tool to mold as she saw fit. An odd punishment, to be sure, but it was clear to her. After all, they don’t call the wedding ring a ball and chain for nothing, and a ball and chain can be quite useful if used correctly. 

No, she would not hesitate. She only had eyes for Merlin, and Merlin alone. She would have him one way or another, whether she had to manipulate Camelot’s attempts at treaties with Prince Aldus to do it.

Without a word, she got up. Time to plan a little trip to Camelot’s boarders.

“Well? What did he say?” Arthur asked, leaning forward in his throne. The whole court room had been gathered, all sitting on the edge of their proverbial seats. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, the Prince of Amata will have a chance of heart. Hope was the only thing they had. Gwen sat beside him, holding Arthur’s hand as if it would help give some more support. Merlin stand behind him, just as he should, with the most nervous and worried and hopeful look on his face. 

But, the way Perceval stood before him, gently twisting his cape’s end in his hands, that didn’t seem likely.

He had just returned from his trip over the sea. So recently, in fact, he didn’t even have time to stop and get cleaned. He smelled like week old sweat, sweaty horse,  something fishy, and the salt of the sea. Merlin could have sworn there was still some salt caked to the knight’s straw colored hair, and his armor was going to need a serious clean up before it began to rust. 

“He said in the most kind words I can say, your majesty,” Perceval began, trying to act as small as he could for a man as such his size, “To go shove your sword and alliance up your…” 

He made a gesture with his eyes towards the ground, trying to be subtle with what he was saying. 

The whole court’s air fell apart. It felt devastated, it felt incomparable. Merlin felt like the rock that had been stuck in his throat for so long had fallen into his throat. 

Arthur quickly caught on. His brow furrowed. “But why?”

“He was unamused, to say the very least, when he heard that we were discussing with Morgana as well.” Perceval explained, his lips turned down into a small frown. It was clear that he did try his best to convince the prince that it wasn’t what he thought, but it didn’t work. Convincing wasn’t his best skills. 

Arthur’s mouth ground down into a thin, hard line. “Damn it.” He whispered so quietly that only Gwen could hear him. He gave her hand a squeeze. “He must have had spies see her coming this way.” He muttered aloud, rubbing his other hand over his mouth.

Everyone’s hopes fell apart. You could feel in the air, the slouching of shoulders, the sigh of defeat. The hopes of siding with Prince Aldus had fallen through, and there was no way they were going to side with the new queen. They had to find a third solution, for the good of Camelot. However, there were those in the crowd that wondered if it was worth it. Perhaps this denial should be celebrated. There were those that wondered if his promises would come in time to help those who needed it the most.

“So what do we do?” Merlin asked, leaning over. 

“Let’s only hope Morgana agrees to some change in the treaty.” Gwen explained calmly, looking at the rest of the court. The rest of the court nodded. The way she squeezed Arthur’s hand was the only way that she showed just how afraid she actually was. 

As the courtroom dispersed, Merlin wrapped his arms around his waist. All these problems was beginning to give him a little bit of a stomach ache. Either that, or he was beginning to get hungry. When Perceval heard what was going on from Gwaine, hearing that Morgana was being absolutely serious when she asked for Merlin’s hand, the most devastated look crossed his face. 

Hope was all they had left.

To all of their surprise, it took a long while before they got a response. It took nearly a week for Morgana to respond, even with the use of a bird and magic. It should have taken three days, and instead it took twice as much. It was as if she was doing it on purpose, to drag it out, make Arthur and her proposed fiancée uncomfortable and restless.

The only form of entertainment they had now was watching Leon trying to flirt with that old lord’s pretty wife while trying not to be disrespectful to the lord and their marriage. It was a feat, to say the least. Merlin always thought that out of all of the knights Leon would be the most suave, but evidently he was not. The man tripped over his words more than his feet and nearly got into trouble twice with the old coot of a lord. Hell, he made Perceval look suave, and Perceval was anything but suave. He was sweet, sure, humble, certainly, good with kids, most definitely, but suave? Not so much. 

However, Leon must have done something right, as the lady could more often be seen giggling and smiling at the knight’s antics whenever she had the chance. The smile that grew on Leon’s lips was one that made even the kindest brighten. Leon would more often than not catch the knights and Merlin’s smug grins as he walked through the garden with the lady, which only got a pebble thrown their way when the lady wasn’t looking. 

However, while all of these antics was enough to satisfy everyone else and distract them just enough, Merlin was stuck. That small, pin sized hole in his gut grew larger, the darkness inside grew ever darker. He wanted something like what Leon and the lady were doing, even if it was technically wrong. He wanted someone to give flowers to, to be sweet with. Perhaps in another life the woman he was thinking of killing would have been the one he would be giving flowers to—.

No, stop these thoughts. Merlin stamped down on that blooming velleity and regret, hard. He wasn’t falling again into whatever the hell that he was feeling weeks ago. She did not deserve those thoughts, not from him anyway. He made his peace already, his body and its instinctual desires just has to catch up.

That didn’t stop it from hurting, but Merlin didn’t let it stop him. He had a plan, he just had to figure out the details. He just had to determine if he was going to be in it for the long haul, or risk getting home sooner.

My dearest brother,

I will accept no one else other than your manservant. 

The offer for the treaty still stands, but time is ticking. You and Merlin better make your choice soon.

Sincerely, 

Morgana

Everyone who was close to Merlin was tightly bunched around the letter. The empty chasm of the courtroom around hung empty except the tight bundle of people gathered around the end of the round table. All gathered around that single dreaded piece of paper. The scroll of white paper, written in ink as black as night, was as clear as day. 

Merlin felt his gut drop. 

Finally, after all these years, Arthur let out what he’s been wanting to say to her but were never properly allowed to say it. He popped.

“Oh fuck you, Morgana!” Arthur cried out as he recoiled, frustration, anger, and fear layering the undertones of his voice like baklava. 

“Arthur…” Gwen tried to scold, giving her husband a look as he began to pace, putting a hand to his forehead. 

“She’s toying with us, Gwen, she knows that her demands are too high!” Arthur bit back, his hands turning into fists, pressing hard against the polished wood of the round table. His knuckles were nearly turning white. “There is no way he’s going, not when she’s treating us like this.”

“Beg pardon, but isn’t it Merlin’s choice whether or not to go?” Gaius asked, giving Merlin a look, as if it really wasn’t. 

“Well he’s obviously not going to agree, look at him!” Arthur gestured at his manservant, who was standing there looking like he was having a crisis.

But Merlin, stilling standing dutifully as ever, who was still staring at her eloquent and fluent writing, didn’t know what he felt now.  

Every day that passed, the more Camelot was pressed for food. By this point in the spring food should be plentiful, and yet Camelot was still struggling. There was barely enough food to last through to the next harvest, and the reserves were running dangerously low. Without help, a lot of Camelot’s people would most surely not survive the winter. 

Everyone around him, every word pounding into his ears screamed “No, no, no!”

But in the depths of his heart, he whispered “yes”

It wasn’t a choice anymore.

“Tell him, insist that we aren’t taking Morgana’s treaty.” Arthur demanded, pointing at one of the young scribes, who merely jolted in surprise.

“But sir, we can’t wait another two weeks for a message like that.” Perceval tried to say, slightly scared from being in the direct fire of a frustrated king. 

“Then get to the docks and send him that message from there.”

“Uh shouldn’t we send someone other than Perceval? He’s still tired from his last journey.” Gwaine tried to say, gesturing at the knight standing beside him. 

“Yes, please.” Perceval piped up. It was true. Even after a week, he had only just stopped smelling of fish. His feet were still sore, and honestly if he could he would avoid the sea like it was a plague for at least a month. 

Arthur huffed. “Very well.” He turned to another knight, one that surprised the court somewhat. “Mordred, you know the way, correct?”

The young knight, Mordred, nodded nervously. “I know the way well enough.” He reluctantly admitted. He didn’t know the entire way, step by step, but he knew the direction that he had to take. He knew the path far enough. From what he had heard from Perceval from on the way there, just keep following the path, and eventually you’ll reach the sea.

“Then this afternoon you’ll head out with a new message to deliver by bird.” Arthur ordered, turning away to walk towards his throne, his body stiff and still. “You’ll wait at the docks for a return message and deliver it here. That should cut the amount of time it should take.” He slowly sank into his throne.

“But what if he doesn’t respond?” Mordred asked nervously.

“Then you will stay until he does.” Arthur hissed in frustration. At that he hopped from his throne, rubbing his hands down his face as he walked towards the window. He felt like a rat trapped in the corner, risking all his chips on one gamble. Hoping, praying that his gamble would work. 

“Your majesty?”

“Get ready to go. You’ll be going in a few hours.”

Mordred quickly bowed, before turning on his heel and hurrying off. It was only when he was long gone, the sounds of his shoes hurrying away, that Merlin spoke up.

“You don’t need to be so rude.” Merlin muttered, walking up to his king, his frustration evident.

“You’re one to talk.” Arthur retorted. Merlin flinched. Merlin wanted to defend himself, but how would he explain it? How would he be able to explain that Mordred was his friend's doom? Even with this shaking future, Merlin could still only rely on what he knew. 

Before Merlin could even open his mouth to talk, another servant approached the king, this time with an empty scroll in one hand and an ink horn in the other. Time for the king of Camelot to do something he never thought he would ever do. 

Time for the king to beg. 

Mordred decided to go on this trip alone. It would save a lot of time if he went on his own than if he went with a whole group. Besides, he felt far more comfortable in those woods by himself than he ever did with a group. It reminded him of home, in a way. Walking silently through the woods, being one with nature. The forest was always far more familiar than the city ever was, even if it was a part he never visited. Almost as if he expected to turn the corner and see his people’s tents, the silent swishes of robes as the elders and adults walked past. 

Of course, the likelihood of that happening was as likely as Merlin ever liking him again. It was confounding. Even with all of the chances of breaking destiny laid down on the table, he still didn’t like him. He didn’t understand it. He never wanted to hurt Arthur, so why was Merlin so insistent on thinking that he did?

It was a puzzle, and Mordred hated puzzles. Not of this kind, at the very least. 

Mordred sighed. Reaching back, he patted the scroll container that rested on his horse’s saddle. Out of all of the things he had, that was the most important. Despite what foolish and vain thoughts Arthur was thinking, he had to get this delivered soon. Even Mordred knew that this was ridiculous. He even suspected that the king knew that this was ridiculous, he was just trying for the sake of trying. 

But, perhaps if Arthur begged enough, Prince Aldus may change his mind. Perhaps that was what Prince Aldus was thinking all along. He wanted the great King Arthur to beg at his feet. Bend the indomitable king’s neck to his own. 

It wasn’t right. If Arthur had to bend his neck to anyone, there might as well be some benefits that should come from it. If he had to bend his neck to anyone, it should come at a proper aid to his people. To magic users. To everyone. 

As the night fell farther, Mordred grew a little excited to see the docks. He had never seen the ocean before, barely smelled the scent of salt when he reached the fork in the road when he first left to go see Morgana nearly a month ago. He was quite curious to spend some time there. To wait for a letter in response. He didn’t know if there was going to be shelter, but he could make some if need be. It would remind him of home if he did.

But not tonight. The young knight encouraged his horse to pull off to the side of the road. It had gotten late into the night by now, and he and his horse needed to rest. They had gone a long way, and deserved to get off their feet just a little bit. 

With his horse securely tied to a tree, he gathered enough supplies to make a fire. The little flame grew and grew, casting a lonely warm glow off the side of the path. As it grew to as large as the little flame could, the drone of cicadas started rolling in, a noise just starting as summer started to settle in. Now they were on the cusp of the end of spring and into summer, and the temperature was only getting worse. Mordred shrugged off his cape and carefully set it off to the side. His armor was soon to follow. Even as night fell, it was too hot to continue to wear it.

But, even with the heat, Mordred still wanted a bigger fire. Who knew what kinds of things lived in these woods. A fire was very good at keeping those terrible creatures away.

With a small spell ready to help him get himself back to his camp in case he got lost in the darkness, Mordred set off into the thick woods. Crickets and cicadas were there too greet him. A tiny piece of Mordred wished that there was something more, perhaps floating lights. Perhaps insects that had bottoms that glowed, twinkling through the trees. He snorted as he picked up a stick. As if those existed. 

Mordred hadn’t gone far when all of a sudden he could feel a very familiar set of eyes upon him. The danger in the air. A vacuum, a void, a feeling that sent shivers down his spine and the distinct feeling that someone was watching him.

He reached for his sword, but it would be in vain. 

“Hello, Mordred.” 

The young man whirled around, sword at the ready.

Standing behind him, alone, dressed in a silvery traveling gown with sleeves that hung from her arms that nearly glowed in the slivers of moonlight, hair tucked into tight waves that cascaded down her shoulders, crown gone from her forehead, was Queen Morgana. 

Now, Mordred was not stupid, but he felt for a moment that he was. Surely Morgana wasn’t actually here, was she? That seemed ridiculous! He was still in Camelot’s territory, if not close to the boarder. 

“Morgana?” The faint name slipped from his lips, much against his control. His sword lowered.

The woman smirked. “Come now, Sir Mordred, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She exclaimed, taking a walk to start and pace around the young knight. 

The way she talked, the look in her eye, the sharpness of her shape as she stepped from the darkness, the way the decals on her dress glinted in the faint light of the crescent moon, she was most certainly real. The dreaded queen of Amata was standing right before him, and he was all alone.

But Mordred was prepared, or at least he knew the rules of this game. He knew that unlike a certain few of the court, he had no wiggle room for being disrespectful to her. That doesn’t even consider him throwing her off a ledge and breaking their treaty long ago. Their caring past be damned, he cut her off and so did she. To her, he was worse than any of the other knights. Considering his chances, he had to be careful. If he messed up ever so slightly, Camelot may never see him again.

So, it’s best to be polite.

“Your majesty.” Mordred bowed low, just as a knight of Camelot was trained to do. He lowered his sword, putting it back in its sheaf, but his hand never left the hilt. She wasn't getting complete and total weakness from him. 

A deep smirk rolled off her lips. “Glad to know that some people of Camelot have proper manners.” She exclaimed, moving her way more into the moonlight. 

Honestly, Mordred could now understand Merlin’s gobsmacked awe. Some of the knights he didn’t know very well had been joking and laughing about him after the initial meeting, mentioning how the manservant just couldn’t take his eyes off the queen. As they said, Merlin looked a little like an idiot, like it was the first time he had ever seen a beautiful woman. Like a young man who finally realized the beauty of tits. His closer friends were there to rebuke them, defending him or downright saying it was lies.

But now, Mordred could see where those rumors came from. She was awe inspiring. Even after all she had gone through, she was a visage of beauty, the same as he had remembered when he was but a child. But in the light of the moon she looked… paler. Of course she was already pale, but she looked thinner. Sicklier. Weaker. Nearly a pale shade compared to the strength and glory she apparently was in the throne room. A crescent compared to a full moon.

“What are you doing here?” Mordred asked with as much shade as he could muster. “I believe we’re still in Camelot’s boarders.”

“Do you honestly believe that boarders are going to stop me?” Morgana retorted, taking a few steps closer. As she got closer, Mordred could see that she had a shawl of the same silvery fabric as her gown thrown over her shoulders, although it didn’t do much to hide her arms. A faint scab stood out in the moonlight, running down her arm, already fading into her skin. A few more weeks and it would be fully healed. 

“Well you are a queen. I would expect you to know the rules better.” Mordred retorted, watching her come to a stop. He glanced at the wound some more. 

“You have no idea what I shall and must do.” Morgana scolded with a small snark. She pulled her shawl over the wound, hiding it from his view. She would not let another Merlin have his chance to point out her weaknesses. 

“What do you want?” Mordred asked, watching her continue to walk around him. “How did you know I was even here.”

“Please, Mordred, do not underestimate my skills.” She proclaimed, taking a step closer to him. She gave a small smirk. “I have a… proposition for you.”

“Oh?” Mordred asked, crossing his arms over one another. “And why should I listen to anything you have to say? You threatened my men when we first visited you.”

Morgana shrugged. “What you took as a threat I took as normal discussion.” She replied simply. 

“Still doesn’t excuse your actions.” Morgana lightly rolled her eyes. 

“I let your men go, even if they threatened my own men and treated me with absolutely no respect. Doesn’t that count for something?” Morgana retorted in that honeyed wine voice of hers beside him, going directly into his ear, like the voice of a manipulative mother or older sister. A voice that did not belong.

“I repeat, what are you doing here?” Mordred ground. He stood his ground his hands turning into fists.

“Why, I’m here to see you, of course.” She was now behind him again, and Mordred did not like that one bit. He whirled around, trying to keep his eyes on her. “After all, you’re the only one I can talk to.”

Mordred tilted his head up a little. “I am a knight of Camelot. I will always be loyal to King Arthur.”

“And you are a druid before that, your very existence is threatened by King Arthur’s hatred of magic. By helping me, you help your kin and kind.”

Mordred’s mouth closed again. She knew him too well. “And how, may tell, do you plan to help ‘my kin and kind’?” He made quotations with his fingers, whirling around to face her once more. 

A small smirk formed on her lips as she came to a stop. “Siding with that prince is a fool’s choice and you know it.” She shifted the shawl up over her shoulders, bringing warmth towards her. “Arthur needs to see that, and if he doesn’t, I want you to make all treaties between Camelot and that prince an impossibility.”

“And what makes you think I could do that?”

“You’re a smart young man, I have complete confidence you could figure it out.” Morgana replied just as haughtily. She truly did have confidence in Mordred, he was like a little Merlin in his ability to lie. Not nearly as good, but so much more manipulable. 

Mordred paused, thinking. “I could just not deliver this letter to Prince Aldus, or hide his response.” He muttered to himself. A smile of satisfaction bloomed on Morgana’s lips. “But if King Arthur finds out…”

“He won’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you are smart and he is not. The very fact of you being his knight proves that.” Morgana proclaimed, gesturing at the sword that he held in his hand. 

Mordred paused. He looked down at the sword. He had to admit, that was true. He had no idea how Arthur never recognized him, even after all this time, even when Merlin did. Among the many things of his time in Camelot, that was what confused him the most. Perhaps Arthur forgot. Perhaps he never got a good look at his face. Perhaps Arthur did, and he just didn’t care.

But that wasn’t important.

“He hates the very idea of your treaty.” Mordred muttered, crossing his arms and glaring at her. 

“Oh I’m sure he does. But trust me, it’ll be better for him in the end.” She said with a smile.

“Are you talking about Arthur, or Merlin?” Mordred dared. At this point, he didn’t care anymore. He picked up a rather sizable stick laying at his feet. 

Morgana paused. “So you know?”

“Everyone does.” Mordred said with a shrug.

Her pause continued, gears were whirring. “Is he torn?”

“Most definitely.”

A satisfied smile formed on her lips, like she already had something she wanted. “Excellent.” At that, she turned towards the forest. “It’s been a good talk, Mordred. It’s been a long time.”

“I just hoped you had learned a thing or two while imprisoned.” Mordred called after her.

Morgana paused. “I have.” At that, she walked away, back into the darkness of the woods, melting into the darkness like she was never even there at all. 

Mordred swore under his breath. All thoughts of wood gathering were gone as he headed back towards his campsite. What had he gotten himself into? Did he honestly just agree to disobeying the king’s orders? What would Arthur do if he found out? What would Morgana do if he didn’t do it?

It seemed he was stuck between a rock and hard place. He was stuck between believing what he wanted to believe and his loyalty. Because at the end of the day, no matter how much he hated to admit it, he honestly did agree with Morgana. The treaty and the king’s insistence on following through with it was as frustrating as all hell. Everyone knew it wasn’t going to work, but no one wanted to join Morgana, no one wanted to tell a desperate king no. 

But, a lesser of two evils may help Camelot survive.

But damn it, why’d it have to be him?

Not that he didn’t believe what Morgana said, and not that he didn’t believe that this would be the solution, he just hated that he had to be the one to do it. Why is he always the catalyst of these changes? He was sick and tired of it. 

By the time he was done thinking he was back at his camp. His poor horse perked his head up in curiosity.

He patted his horse on the nose. The horse snorted, he sighed. He sat down by the fire, its little flame content where it was. He reached out and pulled the scroll’s container off the saddle. He popped the lid and pulled the parchment out, staring at the manilla cream color he held in his hands. 

Damn it…

Getting down on his knees, he place the scroll onto his little fire. With ease, it went up in flames. 

Arthur rested his head in his hand. His head felt heavy, his soul felt sore. It wasn’t an option anymore. Camelot needed to make a treaty with someone for food, and the only kingdom they could was Amata. It was as clear as day whenever they walked outside into the market, or whenever they looked into their food storage. No other kingdom was willing to or could afford to help. He just really wished it wasn’t Morgana that was on that throne.

And right in front of him was the worst news he could ever receive. 

“I’m sorry, your majesty.” Mordred explained simply. He twisted his cape around in his hand in fear. “I sent three letters, and he hasn’t responded to any of them.”

Arthur sighed in defeat. “It’s alright.”

It had been a solid two weeks since Mordred left for the docks. Arthur had made it very clear in his first letter that Amata should respond quickly, as Camelot was running out of options. He explained the situation very carefully, nearly begging for a treaty between the two of them. He nearly offered his entire army to help Prince Aldus take back Amata, if only for more food in return.

And yet, according to Mordred, there was no response. Prince Aldus wasn’t picking up their calls.

Of course, Arthur didn’t need to know that the silence was a complete and total lie, that really Mordred just spent a week at the ocean and letting his horse wander through the water, but that wasn’t something he or anyone in the court was ever going to know.

It only made Merlin more certain. Something had to be done, something only he could do. He had to go to Amata, for Arthur and for Camelot.

Merlin bit his lip. It was now, or never.

“Arthur,” Merlin piped up, getting the king to perk up from his frustrated head holding. “Can I have a word?” 

Arthur nodded, rising from his seat. The king followed the manservant without a word through the throne room and out the door, far down the hallway to the point where the mutterings of the court could not be heard. A perfectly quiet place, a good place for advisor and king to discuss when sensitive things needed to be said and couldn’t be said in front of enemies. 

“What is it?” Arthur asked, crossing his arms, his brow crinkled in worry.

“About the treaty…” Merlin began to start. 

Arthur shut him down quick. “No, I forbid it.”

“Arthur,”

“I’m not sending you to get married to her.” Arthur grated in a low tone. 

“Her offer will feed all of Camelot for months!”

"It’s a suicide mission and you know it.”

“You know I’m tougher than I look.” Merlin tried to say. 

“No, you’re stupider than you look.” Arthur retorted. “You don’t hesitate to throw yourself at death’s way, and one of these days it’s going to kill you.”

“Really? Says the man who, despite having a literal kingdom sitting on his shoulders, does not hesitate to throw himself into a fight when given a chance.” Merlin bit back. 

“I said no, and that’s final. And if you try to go without my permission, I will personally lock you in the dungeon and swallow the key, got it?” Arthur ordered, pointing his finger at Merlin. “We are going to exhaust every viable option we have, and if that means not forming a treaty with anyone, then so be it. Camelot will find a way to recover our resources, we will. I already sent out messages to kingdoms outside of Albion. We will recover.” At that, Arthur started back towards the court room, believing their discussion to be over.

But Merlin knew the truth. The other kingdom’s weren’t going to respond well. Either they had no interest in being Camelot’s ally, or they were stuck in the same issues as Camelot was. Camelot’s only option was Amata, and they had to get those resources.

“I could try and kill her.” Merlin tried to say.

That made Arthur pause. “What?” He looked back over his shoulder at his manservant, shock evident on his face. “She killed King Sarum, the best swordsman in the land! What makes you think you have a chance?”

Merlin shrugged. “Poison works.”

“No, Merlin.” For a man, poison was a dishonorful way to kill someone. There was a reason why poison was considered a woman’s or an assassin’s choice of death; it was subtle, it was invisible. It was perfect for someone who didn’t want to face their enemy head on in fear that they would lose. Just leave it, and wait. The person could be days gone by the time the poison is enacted. 

“My honor does not matter in the terms of war.” Merlin explained. It never had. He did not care anymore.

“Yes, but then that means that you will be left there.” Arthur replied, taking another few steps closer. “Killing someone is one thing, but abandoning a kingdom without a leader is another.”

“Well then good, I can just put a new leader in charge when I leave. Or better yet, we can just absorb Amata into Camelot.” Merlin tried to assuage. 

“Don’t let Prince Aldus hear you say that.” Arthur muttered. 

Something broke inside of Merlin. The thought of putting him back on the throne hurt worse than thinking of killing Morgana again. “Well screw him too!” 

“Merlin—!”

“No, Arthur! Look at the facts. He does not deserve that throne. He does not care about this treaty, he only seeks to use us. He doesn’t care at all to help Camelot, and by the time he does help us it will be too late. He wants us to beg at his feet before he will give us breadcrumbs!” Merlin sighed. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this, but… “But Morgana… Morgana is willing to help us. Our aid means something to her. She is willing to help us if we give her what she wants.”

“But what she wants is you!” Arthur hissed back. “Don’t you get that? She. Wants. You. Do you know what she wants to do to you?!”

An uncountable list of torturous ways to die crossed Merlin’s mind, some painful, some not so much. 

“I am but one man.” Merlin tried to offer. 

“Yes, but one very important man to this court.” With that, Arthur reached out and patted Merlin on the shoulder before walking back into the throne room. 

To Arthur he thought that was the end of it, and if Merlin wasn’t foolish enough, then he would too. But Merlin wasn’t done. He was going to Amata with Arthur’s permission, and that was the end of it. If that means bringing their discussion in front of the whole court, then so it shall be.

When Merlin walked into that court room not long after Arthur had returned, there was a look in his eye. A look the king recognized very well.

“Merlin…” Arthur warned, recognizing that look. 

“I want to try.” 

“No, I told you I forbid this!” Arthur tried to bite. His frustration knew no end, why did Merlin have to add on it?

“There must be a reason why she asked for me.” Merlin tried to reply calmly, taking a few steps closer.

“Because she wants to kill you! How can you not get through your thick skull?” Arthur shouted, as if giving him an order.

“If she wanted to kill me, she would have done it already!” Merlin shouted back. 

“How do you know?”

“Because I met with her!” Merlin finally shouted. 

A moment of silence rang through the court room. Shock, near horror. Everyone’s attention was on them now. Everyone looked at Merlin. He met with her? How? When? Those questions burned above their heads into the ozone, practically visible to the naked eye. 

“You went behind my back?” Arthur nearly whispered. Even at such a low tone, it could still be heard across the court. 

“It’s not all that hard.” Merlin shrugged.

“I forbade you from it!”

“I did what had to be done!” Merlin bit back. He scoffed and took a step closer, just a piece of the mask he hid behind falling off, revealing who he was for just a moment. “I want peace and safety for Camelot just as much as you do, Arthur. The people deserve it, you deserve it. Are you not tired of this fight? Living day in, day out, same fear hanging over your head. Even in times of peace she still loomed over us like a dark cloud. And you know just as much as I do that siding with prince Aldus is the same thing is as siding with King Sarum, and everyone hated that idea. Even if you hate magic so much that you are willing to ignore what he does to those people, siding with prince Aldus will suck Camelot dry, it’s a step too far. It’s by time it ended.” 

Merlin took another step closer. The presence he made in the court nearly hung heavy, like he warped space and time around him. “You are like a brother to me, Arthur, and I would hate to see you get hurt for a decision you know will come back to bite you in the ass. Let me do this. Let me go take care of Camelot for once. Please.”

But this time, instead of Arthur leaping from his seat, it was Gwen. She rushed from her throne, got close to him, resting her hands on his shoulders, as if to hold him, keep him still. “Merlin, no. If you do this, you may never come back. We may never see you again.” She explained breathlessly, panic in her eyes. 

Merlin sighed. “I know.” He looked up and took her by the arm, looking her hard in the eye. “But she will have every excuse to attack Camelot if you sent any other assassin.”

Gwen blinked. “What?”

“A queen’s fiancée is the perfect person to kill a queen.” He explained quietly with a sad shrug. 

The look of fear did not leave her eyes. “And what if you get trapped?” She whispered. “What if she catches you? What if you can’t kill her? What if she kills you instead?”

“Then it’s what happens.” Merlin sighed. “If she catches me, you must not let her know that I was doing this for Camelot.”

“And what about if she forces you to marry her?” 

“It won’t be forcing if I go willingly.” Merlin replied weakly. “If it protects Camelot, then I will do it.”

“Merlin…”

“You’re willing to give up your freedom, your choice of a bride of your own, your friends and family and home, potentially your life, all for peace?” Arthur finally asked, looking his servant in the eye. A deep, hopeless fear hung in his voice. He knew what was coming.

Merlin gently moved in Gwen’s grasp, looking Arthur in the eye. “I already have sacrificed my happiness for this place a long time ago. I would sacrifice everything I have left to keep Camelot safe.” He explained simply. 

“Merlin, no.” Gwen spoke up, snapping out of her shock, taking her friend by the shoulders again, like she wanted to shake some sense into him. Fear bunched her brow. Concern, worry, and dread. Questions about his happiness and lack there of she did not ask sitting behind her throat. “You don’t deserve this, she doesn’t deserve you!”

Merlin only looked at her long and hard. Long enough that Gwen finally realized the turmoil that ran in her old friend’s mind. “Not everyone gets a happy ending, Gwen." He muttered so quietly, talking to her and her alone for just one moment. "If it means I have to give up my happy ending to let everyone else have a chance, then so be it.”

Gwen tried to think of something to say, but no words came to her. Despair drowned her and welled in her eyes. “Merlin…”

But it was the knights were quick to fill the void Gwen left behind.

“She’s right though, Merlin!” Leon cried out from his corner of the court. “She doesn’t deserve you.”

“She’s cruel and vindictive.” Gwaine joined in.

“Her army killed my family! My little sister!” Perceval cried out. 

“She killed innocent citizens right before our eyes!” Elyan exclaimed from his spot beside Gwen’s throne.

“And did she not try to save your father?” Merlin asked calmly, giving a look Elyan's way. Elyan flinched, hard. His father was always a sensitive spot for him. Merlin could feel Mordred's desire to comment about how she saved him so long ago, protected him and kept him safe alongside Merlin. But now wasn't the time to say it. 

“That was before she went evil. You are not evil. You do not deserve this!” Gwen tried to say again, her hands cupping his face for just a moment. 

But Merlin just calmly reached up and took the hands into his own. “Do not think I am without blood on my hands.” Merlin spoke softly to her, glancing Mordred’s way. He turned to the court and replied, “Do not think I want to do this. If I had it my way I would stay, but Camelot cannot afford my selfishness. If this will protect Camelot, help her people, then I am more than happy to do it.”

“Merlin…” His name squeaked from Gwen’s throat, tears leaking from her eyes. As if her tears would keep him from leaving.

But Merlin merely gave her a watery smile, his own eyes shining. He reached up and wiped a single tear away. “I’ll be alright. I’ll be back soon, I promise.”

Arthur, this entire time was staring long and hard at him, as if trying to read him through. He knew that Merlin wasn’t going to change his mind. He knew Merlin was right, he just didn’t want to admit it. He just couldn’t believe it. But Merlin couldn’t be stopped, he always knew that. It was better if he went with Arthur’s blessing than if he didn’t. 

“The knights are right.” Arthur finally spoke up, taking a step forward, his normally strong voice beginning to strain. “This is incredibly foolish, but they are right about another thing. You are the bravest, and possibly stupidest, man in this entire kingdom, and I should have knighted you a long time ago.”

“You already dressed me up as one once,” Merlin gave him a watery half smirk.

“And I should have committed to it.” Arthur retorted. He crossed the room with certainty and rested a heavy hand on his manservant's shoulder. “Lancelot would be proud of you. And so am I.” 

Gwen took Merlin tight into a hug, as if it would will him to stay. As if to get back all those moments she took her friend for granted. For every moment she looked him over, every time she thought that there would be another chance tomorrow. Perhaps even thinking that she was the reason he was leaving. That she didn’t try hard enough, she didn’t do enough. She wasn't a good enough friend to him after she became queen. Only feeling his tight embrace in return did she know that no, this was always going to happen. The fates just weren't in favor of them anymore.

The whole courtroom sat in silence, taking in what was happening. The choice had been made. 

And for Merlin, it felt like he was signing his death warrant.

Chapter Text

Merlin slipped another bandana into his backpack.

Honestly, a tiny part of him was surprised. He thought that gathering his things should have taken longer, but in reality it didn’t. Even after seven years of living in Camelot, Merlin still didn’t have that many things that he could truly call his own. More than what he came with in the first place, but far less than what would generally be understandable. Most of what he had technically was shared between him and Gaius, and while he was sure that Gaius would let him take anything he wanted, a lot of it he couldn't due to size. He didn’t have many trinkets, and those trinkets that he did generally fit into his backpack or the extra saddle bag he had received last year as a present from Gwen for Christmas. If he had more things to his name he’d leave most of it there in Camelot, but he had so few things that whatever he had he’d probably need for the mission. Most of his clothes, socks, a few bandanas, his spare boots, a few books, a dish set, a few sets of herbs and seeds, the few trinkets he did have, and his spell book. He decided to leave his winter gear behind, as if all went to plan (or even if it didn’t) he wouldn’t be needing it. 

What didn’t fit into his backpack was his Sidhe staff, as the thing was nearly as tall as he was and there was no way on Earth he could sneak it out of the castle in the coming morning, especially with everyone’s eyes on him and the coming emotions. Merlin decided that he’d best leave the staff in Camelot, as while it would come in handy if a fight went down between him and Morgana, he would fear to know what would happen if he failed on his quest and Morgana got ahold of it. Besides, it would be a nice token to return to, a memento in case he didn’t. 

But really, even with the little amount of things he had, Merlin was just trying to avoid the inevitable. Packing, unpacking, repacking again, it was all to delay. As if he spent longer packing, the more time he had. 

Merlin couldn’t help the sigh that let itself from his throat. The inevitable fear and backtracking had been building since he agreed to do this. Doubt began to build as dark thoughts began to build. This was a stupid idea. There was no way he should be going through with this. This wasn’t going to end well for him. If he didn’t die trying to kill her, which was a big if, he most certainly would be killed trying to escape. Even then, even if he did manage to escape after killing her, would he be alright? A part of him knew that no, he wouldn’t be. Killing her would be killing that small part of him that he kept buried, that still clung to nostalgia and the past where friendship dwelled, and the hopes and dreams of a future with someone special. That tiny part of him that didn’t think being a king, or at least a noble, was all that bad. That tiny, tiny, tiny part of him that still dreamed of her at night, that part of him that Merlin tried so desperately to ignore.

But to save Camelot, to save Destiny and to come home, he had to do it. He had to kill her. It wasn’t an option that he was willing to consider, no matter how much he wanted to.

Once again, the doubts returned and continue to trickle into his mind. His throat bound tight, his heart began to thrum in his chest. What if he couldn’t kill her? What would happen then? Would she send him back home, would he have to run? Would he be thrown into the dungeons, or worse, those torture pits?

…No doubt she would most likely attempt to kill him instead. There was no way she was willingly thinking of marrying him. Or even if she did, they weren’t going to be married for long. 

A tiny bit of Merlin scoffed at the idea of Morgana killing him as he slipped his spare pair of boots back into the bag a third time. No, Merlin had to think positively. Sure, Morgana can damn well try to kill him, but it wasn’t going to be easy. He wasn’t exactly all that easy to kill. Trust him, it seemed like everyone and their mother tried. Not that she couldn't give him a run for his money, but at this point Merlin pretty much knew every trick she knew in the book. He knew her moves. He knew her. All of the scars, both internal and external, were evidence of that fact.

Merlin reached up and cupped the lump of a scar on the back of his neck as he stretched, the scar somehow ragged and clean all at the same time. One of the worst things she done to him, pretty much equal in pain to what he had done to her. To be honest, if it was just the pain of the Formorroh that Merlin had to deal with, he would have considered it as a fair and equal punishment for poisoning her, but the after effects… That went a step too far. Merlin couldn't forgive her that, not now. 

Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if Morgana made a considerable effort to make his life Hell. There were just so many variables that Merlin couldn’t know, couldn’t comprehend, especially when she had the resources of a kingdom in her hand. Her having a powerful kingdom under her control and holding the best cards in this treaty made her a powerful threat, and considering her past actions, a likely threat. Not to mention what she may do to him personally. Just because he probably wasn’t going there to marry her didn’t mean he wasn’t probably going to have to stay for a bit. He needed to prepare, and that was what he was going to do.

He had to stop her, he had to…

Merlin was almost so sucked into his thoughts that he failed to hear Gaius call his name, the smell of boiling vegetables and searing meats. The gentle sound of footsteps coming up the stairs. 

Knock knock knock! 

Merlin looked up. “Hm?” 

“Merlin?” The voice of his mentor spoke up, gently opening the door with an interested look on his face. Standing in the doorway was Gaius, there and waiting.

Merlin finished sliding his magic tome into his backpack. “Hi.”

“I see you finished your packing for the third time.” Gaius tried to joke.

“Sorry…” Merlin sheepishly replied. He knew that he should have finished packing half an hour ago, should have gone downstairs and joined his mentor, but it was... hard. Facing the reality of the situation felt difficult, especially when there was no mask to hide behind this time. 

“Come,” The old man gestured, opening the door more for Merlin to leave. “Put your packing off for a little bit, have something to eat. I got us some beef for stew tonight.”

Half of Merlin's mouth perked up in a smile. Beef was expensive, but if anyone knew how to cook and make it taste good, it would be Gaius. Really, anything Gaius made would make him happy, but some meat was like the extra icing on the cake so to speak.

If he was unlucky, he was probably the last nice thing Merlin would be able to eat with Gaius.

No, stop thinking like that. Think positively.

Without a word, Merlin followed the old man down the stairs. The stairs creaked as they walked down in silence, the comforting fireplace crackled and popped. Already laying out on the table was two wooden bowls, each filled with the warm brown steaming brew. More sat in the pot off to the side, away from the crackling fire in the fireplace. Just seeing the steam rolling off the pot was enough to get Merlin’s interests piqued, but the smells now that the door was open… mouthwateringingly delightful.

As Merlin sat down, Gaius slipped over a small, brown paper wrapped package, thin and long, tied up with linen string and sealed with a simple dollop of clear candle wax.

“What’s this?” Merlin asked with half a laugh, picking up the box. He could hear a few things crink and clackle inside, the sound of several small glass bottles rubbing close against one another.

“Consider it as a way to keep contact in case things don’t go entirely as planned.” Gaius explained solemnly with a smile. Merlin felt a small pang in his chest, looking down at the package. “Well? Go on, open it.” Gaius tried to say with an excitement and smile that had been buried under the weight of reality.

Merlin did as he was told, popping off the simple wax seal and pulling off the linen string. Tearing open the paper, Merlin was met with a wooden box. A rather well made wooden box, complete with a sliding lid rather than the hinge lid that was so common. Clearly, this was a well made gift, expensive potentially.

“Gaius?” His mentor’s name stuck to Merlin’s lips as he arched his brow at him, a mere copy of his mentor’s signature skill.

“It’s a calligraphy box, with everything you may need to write letters with. Plus a few things I added as well.” Gaius explained, watching as Merlin slipped the box lid off and open. Inside was several small bottles of ink, each one in different colors of blues, reds, greens, blacks, and even a purple and orange. How that was possible Merlin didn’t know nor care. Tucked alongside it was a short white feather quill and several tiny rods of red, blue, and white wax for sealing any letter.

Merlin flipped the lid. Scratched into the wood on the inside of the lid was two words in a font that was rather familiar to Merlin as Gaius’s own handwriting, ‘Besende (name).’

“No matter where you are, you can write a letter onto a small sheet of paper or any material you can find and you can send it to someone.” Gaius explained with a soft sigh. “I know I haven’t been the best mentor I could have been, but over the years you have become the closest thing to a son to me. And I know that you have grown into a fine young man on your own, but if you ever need any help or if you ever just want to talk, then you can always write. I’ll always—.”

Gaius was surprised when Merlin immediately reached over the table and hugged him close, which caught the old man a little by surprise. Gaius honestly didn’t expect to get a hug, especially something so impromptu, but he wasn’t going to object. Not one bit. 

“Thank you.” Merlin whispered, right as Gaius returned the hug in gentle kind. 

Gaius pat his back twice. “Come now, Merlin. You’re going to knock over the soup!” He said with a chuckle.

As Merlin returned to his seat, the two shared a delightfully normal conversation over Merlin's supposed last meal in Camelot. The upcoming week’s chores, what new medicines people around the castle and the village needed, local gossip, the like. As if Merlin was going to continue to be there the next day, and the next. Like he would be back in a couple of weeks, like he was only going to be leaving for a short vacation. That he wasn’t at worst going to die upon getting there, or worse, stuck there for the rest of his life. 

And for Merlin, it was heaven. 

Ever since the news that he had agreed to marry Morgana got out, rather vocally he may add, a normal conversation hadn’t been something he had gotten from barely anyone. Before most of the people just gave him odd looks like he was some sort of curiosity at a freak museum, but now he felt like that odd child out in the play group. No one wanted to talk to him. All people outside his friend group would want to talk about when he was around was small, menial things, as if trying to avoid the impossibly large elephant in the room. Conversations died down the minute he got close by. Some people hardly ever even tried to talk to him sometimes, like he was a leaper, or an outcast. Best break your ties with them early before they leave you, as they probably say. 

It couldn’t be helped when Merlin would see these people leave the room at the sight of him that sometimes dark thoughts would crawl into his mind in their stead. That they thought that he wanted to do this, that he was eager to do this. Like he couldn’t wait to leave this place.

They couldn’t be more wrong. 

Needless to say, it hurt Merlin like hell. He didn’t want to leave, he really, really, REALLY didn’t. Why didn’t people understand that? Combined with that fact and the completely unknowable future that laid ahead of him, most likely negative, it was almost bordering on unbearable.

The only thing that kept Merlin from throwing himself out of his chair, running up the stairs to Arthur’s room and chickening out of this whole ordeal is Camelot itself. Not that Arthur would stop him, no, probably not. He’d probably openly let Merlin chicken out of the treaty and perhaps even with only one cowardliness joke, if not none at all. But Merlin knew that if he did chicken out, then the people of Camelot would suffer further. If he did this, Camelot would be safe, Arthur would be safe. No other threat is like Morgana, if he deals with her then all of their problems would be solved. 

He had to do this, for Camelot. For Arthur.

But, just because Merlin told himself he couldn’t back out doesn’t mean it made the pain stop hurting. Eventually, this pain and the elephant in the room took a toll on the conversation with his mentor, eventually snuffing it out into silence. The only thing that is able to be heard is the sounds of spoons clinking against the sides of bowls and the slurping of soup.

It was when Merlin was at the end of his meal that there was a large heaving banging on the door.

Merlin didn’t look up, still simply staring into his stew, as Gaius silently got up and went to go answer the door. It was because of this that he missed the almost mischievous look on the old man’s face.

The wooden door creaked open.

“Oh, Gwaine, Leon, Perceval, Mordred,” Gaius asked, in a tone almost real enough that Merlin couldn't tell it was almost staged. “What are you doing here? Is there something wrong that requires some assistance?”

“Actually, we’re here for Merlin.” Gwaine proclaimed.

Now that caught Merlin’s attention. “What are you guys doing here?” He asked, getting up from his seat.

“To pick you up, of course.” Leon looked over Gaius’s shoulder, nearly shoving Gwaine’s face out of the way. 

It was clear now that the knights that Merlin held most dear as friends had ditched their royal Camelot colors and armor for simpler garments, now looking nothing more than peasants in their brown slacks, shirts, and vests. On Gwaine the peasant garb looked normal, almost too normal, but for Perceval and Leon it made them look odd. Like seeing your work friend out of work at the market. Both Leon and Gwaine’s hair had been pulled back with ribbons in low pig tails, and Perceval was actually wearing sleeves for once. Overall, they looked like they were ready to sneak into somewhere, ready to cause mischief and trouble.

“Where are we going?” Merlin asked slowly, glancing at the part of the group that he could see.

“To the tavern, duh.” Gwaine piped back in, shoving his face back into the doorframe.

“Why?”

“Well, consider it to be one of two things,” Leon went in and explained, “It’s either a send off or your bachelor party, because I guarantee you aren’t getting either one of those when you get there.”

“Well…” Merlin hesitated.

“Come on. Let’s have one last night out. One last drink with the guys.” Elyan finally spoke up, gesturing for him to come along. 

“I’m not wearing sleeves for no reason.” Perceval proclaimed.

Merlin thought about it, hard. This was clearly a thought out plan, and Merlin was integral to it. Sure, it sounded fun, but Gaius… Should he spend more time with his mentor, or should he spend some time with his friends? 

He made one look over at Gaius. The old man gave him a smile, and crossing his arms he gave a simple jerk of his head towards the door. That was all the permission he needed.

You know what? Fuck it.

“Alright, let me grab my coat.” With that, Merlin pushed himself back and out of his bench.

All of the knight’s faces lit up with relief. “Great!” Gwaine proclaimed. He turned back to Leon. “I told you he was going to come.” He commented haughtily. 

“Trust me, if he said no I would have made him go.” Gaius muttered in agreement. 

“By the way, should I get disguised or something?” Merlin asked over his shoulder, throwing on his coat.

“Nah, you’re fine. It’s only us who have to wear the disguises.” Leon explained, reaching back and touching his singular short pigtail in reminder. Gwaine also reached back and messed with his own, while Perceval adjusted the sleeves of his coat.

“Gotcha.”

“Oh by the way, Arthur’s meeting us there, so try not to make it too obvious that he’s the king.” Leon proclaimed, holding the door open even wider.

“Really? He’s actually coming?” Merlin asked, tying on his bandana.

Gwaine shrugged. “Princess is the one who set up all of this.”

Now that came at a shock to Merlin. “Really?” He blinked, his eyes going wide. 

“Just because he’s the king, doesn’t mean he’s forgotten how to party.” Elyan proclaimed with a chuckle. “Oh, and if you bring up you leaving, he will most definitely smack you. He already smacked Mordred.” He jerked his head towards the young knight’s way.

At the mention of the boy knight, Merlin could finally see as he stepped into the hallway Sir Mordred, who was dressed in simple peasant garb just like the rest, His his shirt was light blue, and the vest over it was a dark leather. Even his curly hair had been pulled back in some way. Out of the whole group, he was the most disguised. 

“You’re coming as well?” Merlin asked, giving a slightly wary look.

Mordred shrugged those thin shoulders of his. “Sure, why not?”

“Besides,” Gwaine proclaimed, dropping a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’s got to start drinking at some point. Might as well be tonight.”

Merlin couldn’t help but force a laugh, but it wasn’t as strong as he was hoping it to be. “Ah, fair enough.”

“Just don’t stay out too late!” Gaius called after the group, watching them squeeze through the confines of the small hallway.

“We won’t!” Merlin and the other young men unanimously called back, which only got Gaius to chuckle. Watching them walk away, he closed the door to his home. He was going to have to make some hangover potions for the morning. He was glad that Merlin was going to have one last hurrah with his friends before he left. He needed the pick me up after the near month he had been having.

As the group walked down the hallway towards the courtyard, Merlin dropped back until his was in step with Mordred.

I thought Druids didn’t drink themselves senseless, Merlin’s voice echoed in Mordred’s head, keeping his eye on the back of Perceval’s head.

They do when they are trying to keep a cover. Mordred’s voice echoed back.

The lack of response from Merlin as he was pulled back into the middle of the group was all Mordred needed to know that Merlin agreed, or at least approved.

As the group of five headed towards the tavern, Merlin got a quick synopsis of the planned night. Even with their disguises on, the knights and the king will be easy to notice by any sober civilian of Camelot. So, they have to rely on the darkness and people being too drunk to see straight for them to have a relatively normal night of drinking. So, the group will enter the rowdiest, loudest tavern in Camelot, The Black Bachelor, somewhat close to their closing time to give the people inside enough time to get drunk enough not to be able to identify the knights and the king while dressed in peasant clothes. Then, they will drink to their hearts content until the bar closes, where then they will see where they go from there. If they’re not drunk enough, they’ll go to one of the brothels, and if they’re too drunk then they’ll go into the woods. They’ll play it by ear from there, but no doubt it was going to be fun.

It wasn't long until the group found themselves on the streets of the lower parts of the capital town, the loose hobbled cobblestone streets already tripping some of them up even though they were bone sober, and well on their way to somewhere they technically weren’t entirely allowed to go; the tavern.

From the outside and from a distance, the building didn’t look all that different to all of the other buildings around it. Shingled roofs, a second and possibly third level above, a simple wooden door and white washed walls. However, the closer and closer you got to it, the signs were beginning to get clearer and clearer that it wasn’t just a normal merchant’s shop and home. For one thing, while it wasn’t overly loud, it was most certainly noticeable compared to the nearly deathly quiet streets of Camelot at night. They could hear people chattering way too loud, drinks clattering, and wood being scraped over wood. More than one candle was lit in the window, and it was clear that it was brighter inside those walls than it was in most buildings at this time. A simple wooden sign carved with a bubbling stein hung above the door, gently swaying in the nightly wind.

It was only when a man nearly stumbled out the front door and onto his face that Merlin could smell the inside. It smelled of nearly stale ale, and possibly of vomit and urine, but covered up with the strong smell of cedar wood chips and fresh alcohol.

“I don’t know guys,” Merlin swallowed, see just how many people were inside. What if this plan didn’t work?

“Come on, we’re already this far.” Gwaine proclaimed, wrapping his arm over Merlin’s shoulder with glee. “Besides, it’s perfect! The Black Bachelor for a Bachelor party.”

Needless to say, Merlin’s gripes didn’t stop the knights. In fact, with just a little bit of a push, Merlin was inside of the tavern. 

The tavern within was bustling, nearly crowded, with life. It was a simple place, the room filled with all sorts sitting furniture, some simple tables and chairs, some booths, and one private booth in the back corner for those in the village who needed a quiet place to discuss business with their neighbors. Large barrels of ale big enough to easily hold a person inside sat on their sides near the back wall, already spicketed. The only thing separating the patrons from them was a long wooden island with bar stools lined in front of it. Candles and a couple simple chandeliers made the room bright with light.

As it was expected, no one inside seemed to note their arrival, with only one or two patrons nodding their head at Gwaine as he passed by. Gwaine only gave them a nod and a smile back as Leon guided Merlin to one of the more cleaner looking tables in the tavern, right in the center, while Gwaine made his way to the bar. A fair looking well endowed bar maid with double braided blond hair around Mordred’s age soon swept by their table, with one fluid motion picking up what few empty steins remained sitting at the table. As she picked up the last stein, she gave Mordred a wink and walked away with just slightly more sway in her hips. One of the drunken male patron attempted at a shrill whistle as she passed by, ogling her hips far more than everyone else was, but without hesitation or stopping the maid bonked the man atop of his head with an empty stein. The man slumped for a second, before coming back to his senses and rubbing the sore spot, quickly going quiet as his friends jested him.

The knights and Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle, not only at the expense of the drunken fool, but at Mordred’s lightly pink cheeks as he tried to keep his eyes away from the barmaid, but miserably failing.

“Here, sit here.” Leon explained, sitting Merlin down in one of the seats, back towards the bar, before sitting beside him. Quickly, the rest of the knights filed in around him.

“So, what are we supposed to do?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask.

As he said this Gwaine made his return, carrying a tray of steins with him. Setting it down on the table, he slid a stein in front of Merlin, the light brown liquid inside sloshing around and nearly spilled onto his hand. “We drink, of course.”

Perceval and Leon were glad to get their cups, taking their steins eagerly, but Mordred just looked down at the stein shoved into his hands with just a touch bit of confusion, taking a slight sniff. It smelled like honey and alcohol, among many things. 

“I hope you’re not starting without us.” An irregularly feminine voice spoke up from behind them. 

Merlin perked up.

Gone was the royal dresses, elaborately done hair and makeup, and now standing behind him was the handmaiden of Morgana from so long ago. Dressed in her yellow peasant dress, white apron, and simple curly hair now let to fall free. Elyan merely stood up with a smile and took his sister into a hug. 

“Gwen? What are you doing here?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask. 

“I wasn’t going to stay behind in the castle all alone during your stag party, now was I?” She explained with a sassy hand to her hip. 

“I mean, I don’t know…”

“Someone has to keep you all from going insane tonight, and making sure Mordred here doesn’t get alcohol poisoning on his first night out.” She gave a kind smirk Mordred’s way. “Besides, I haven’t done something like this in ages, who knows when I’ll ever do something this fun ever again?” Gwen explained, gently booting her brother out of his seat two over from Merlin.

Merlin chuckled. “Best let Arthur know then.”

“Oh no, I already know.” Another voice proclaimed. Merlin looked up to see Arthur reach around and put a hand on his wife’s shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “She managed to convince me to let her come before I left.”

Surprisingly enough, very few of the drunkards of the tavern even noticed that the king of their land was there, and the ones who did could barely do anything about it, thinking themselves probably insane or seeing things. It mostly helped that Arthur was dressed just like the knights, a vast stark contrast to his normal clothes. Simple, peasant like clothes, with a brown vest over a light blue shirt, a blue shirt that Merlin immediately recognized as the one he gave to Arthur as a disguise so long ago.

It was upon seeing that that Merlin got distinct sense of deja vu.

As the bar maid walked back up, carrying two more chairs with her for the ever growing group, her eyes went wide upon seeing not only the king but the queen as well standing in her tavern, each one dressed like the peasantry. Her mouth gobbed open, before she quickly reached up to cover her chest to adhere to the modesty codes. But Arthur gently gave her a wave to stand down before sitting down next to Merlin, hardly giving her another glance. Without another word Gwen was quick to walk over and explain the situation, wrapping an arm around the young bar maid’s shoulder and whispering in her ear things Merlin could not hear. She handed the barmaid a pouch of silver for her troubles, explaining further. Slowly, a look of understanding crossed the barmaid’s face as she began to relax, gently nodding. With that, she dropped off the chairs and headed back towards the bar, probably to tell the Tavern Keeper what was going on.

“Well, with that settled, what are we waiting for?” Gwen asked, sitting down next to her husband.

Arthur reached down and picked up one of the steins on the table. “Let’s drink like it's the apocalypse.”

With that, the rest of the table cheered. Gwaine raised a stein. “To Merlin!”

“To Merlin!” The rest of them back cheered, raising their own steins. With a clink, they all knocked their steins together and took a chug. 

Merlin couldn’t help the blush that came to his cheeks as he smiled. For a tiny, tiny moment, he forgot why he was here at all.

Merlin was sure that he was never going to do this again, nor did he think that he ever wanted to do this again.

For one thing, while he wasn’t exactly the lightweight Arthur believed him to be, he wasn’t exactly taking the rounds well either. Gwaine had already drank twice the amount Merlin had, and he looked barely hit, while Merlin felt like he was halfway to being drunk. He could already feel that weightless wooziness in his head, that stumbling feeling. If he stood up, he might trip as he walked. The other knights didn’t look like they were faring too well either, including Mordred, who was lightly ordered by Gwen to drink a glass of water between each stein. The boy had only managed to get down two steins of mead so far, and yet he still looked halfway to not being able to stand up straight. Merlin knew with a chuckle that his title of being a lightweight was going to be passed down to the young knight after this night, a title he was not ashamed to let go.

But then again, who was Merlin to be surprised?

It was Gwen, however, that changed the game. To everyone’s surprise, except Arthur, Gwen was actually keeping up pretty well with Gwaine. Perhaps not drinking him stein for stein, but she was holding a close second place.

This genuinely amazed Merlin. When he asked her how she was able to keep up, she merely shrugged and said, “I had a life outside of the castle before I became queen. I learned how to hold my ale.”

The table’s conversation eventually devolved into trading stories, mostly about Merlin and his escapades with the group. How everyone met him, what kind of fun they had with him, shared over rounds upon rounds of endless ale. 

How one time Gwaine had fallen off a wall into a massive hay pile, and all Gwaine could hear from above was Merlin cackling as soon as he knew that the knight was alright, nearly falling in himself. Perceval commented on how the kitchen lady banned him and Gwaine from going into the kitchen before a feast, but they were hungry from sparring, so they snuck above and fished a fully cooked chicken from right in front of Merlin’s face, of which he helped gladly. Elyan commented on a time where the two had raced through the woods on horseback, one of the first times Elyan had ever ridden a horse at a full canter, the feeling of thrill as they thundered through the forest. Gwen commented on the time that they had first met, finding Merlin in the stocks and his bravery for standing up to Arthur and his idiocy in his youth. Mordred shared a somber memory the two shared over properly burying a dead body they had found, completely omitting the fact that it was a man with magic they had buried and potentially the only conversation they had ever had without problems, but it was a touching and quiet moment regardless. Of course, they didn’t need any memories from Arthur, they pretty much knew them all already, but Arthur was more than glad to share stories of Merlin’s heroism, in his own indirect way. The knights were sure that if Merlin weren’t there then Arthur wouldn’t shut up about every single fond memory he had of Merlin, which would take a week to go through. All of these stories were greatly appreciated by Merlin, and he felt rather touched by it all.

But the thing that really got the manservant, the thing that really punched him in the gut, was that he wished that he had known this sooner. That he had done this sooner. Merlin never really had that much time to hang out with his friends outside of work and missions, and he practically avoided the tavern just to avoid Arthur’s jokes and jibes. But now, now that he was here, Merlin wished that he had actually gone before with the knights once or twice. Just so that this wouldn’t be the only time that he could look back on with his friends.

Well, if Merlin thought optimistically, if his plan did work, then this could possibly not be one of the last times he’ll get to do this. He could have a return hurrah party when he got home, to celebrate being finally free from a threat that has hung over Camelot since the start. For being the hero Camelot needed. He could drink his woes away, finally have that drink off against Gwaine that he kept on insisting they have. 

…But then, why did this feeling in his gut and heart tell him otherwise? Why did that pooling mellow, that aching dread, and stubborn fluttering tell him otherwise? He didn’t know why, but it pushed him to the brink of tears.

He couldn’t help but feel a little sad about that.

“Are you alright?” The familiar feeling of Arthur’s hand on his shoulder dragged Merlin out of whatever hole he was putting himself in. Reality crashed around him as the loud cacophony of tavern voices returned.

Merlin gently shook his head clear of the remaining fog. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” He replied, sending Arthur the best half smile he could afford.

It didn’t fool Arthur. The king reached out and patted Merlin on the back, hard. Harder than it was probably necessary, but that’s probably the liquor doing it. “You’ll be alright, I promise.”

Merlin felt a sting in his chest, like a rather large bee had stung his heart. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” He simply replied, before dipping his nose back into his mead.

Before Arthur could rebuke him, out of the blue Leon made a joke. Not something that Merlin caught, but it made everyone else at the table laugh. It was his turn to share a story of Merlin’s escapades, and he had many. Gwen asked a question, of which Merlin still didn’t catch as he began to chug his drink.

“…And you know what they said? Poetry. In order to hide whatever the hell it was that they were doing, they gave the excuse of poetry. And you want to know what these two motherfuckers did, just to keep up that ruse? They literally began to study poetry for months.” Leon explained, pointing at the servant and king. Of course it wasn’t common for Leon to swear, but considering the amount of alcohol they had all been having, it was inevitable. 

Both Mordred and Perceval’s brows shot up in the air, while Gwaine and Elyan let out really hard laughs.

Gwen gasped. “So that explains why I found a book of Lord Robert Frost's work on your bedside table, completely out of the blue!” She exclaimed, looking at her husband with surprise. 

“I thought we were being subtle!” Merlin cried out, pulling his head out of the ale. He wiped the alcoholic foam away with his sleeve.

“Oh come off it, you couldn’t have given more of a weirder explanation if you tried.” Leon retorted, looking directly Merlin's way with a smirk of a smile on his lips.

“Well jokes on all of you, because I actually like poetry now.” Arthur proclaimed aloud, letting his stein fall onto the table with a gentle thump. “Especially when my wife reads it to me.”

“Oh really?” Elyan asked, arching a brow at his brother in law, as if gently joking that his king should choose his next words carefully. 

“Seriously, she has a reading voice to kill for. The looks and personality aren’t bad either.” Arthur proclaimed, giving his wife a shit eating grin. Gwen reached over and slapped Arthur gently on the arm, smiling bashfully, while the rest of the knights rolled their eyes and chuckled.

“Well maybe you and Leon should share poems, since Leon actually also likes poetry.” Perceval commented, gesturing at Leon.

“Really?”

“It’s what happens when you study something other than combat.” Leon proclaimed with a shrug.

“Hell yeah, poetry buddies.” With that, the two high fived.

Merlin couldn’t help but look on with awe from the corner of his stein as he brought it back up to his lips.

So this is what it felt like to be normal. Without the weight of the world and all of its responsibilities on your shoulders. Without having to worry every single day about the lives of your friends, your family, and yourself.

It was really… nice. Content. 

Too bad after tomorrow he won't be able to do this anymore.

Merlin shoved those thoughts away again as he laughed at another joke Gwaine sent passing around. Something about the faces they make when they fight monsters that they find in the woods. He pushed it off into the corner along with the rest of the sad thoughts, tightly bundled them away to be dealt with later on a later date. If he was lucky, he’ll deal with them when he died.

Before Merlin could even consider thinking how soon his death could come, it seemed that Gwaine and Gwen were going to have a drink off… of water? It was water! It seemed that Gwen had found the only way that could convince Gwaine to drink anything other than mead is by challenging him, and since when does anyone have a chance to have a chugging contest with the queen? Not many, so Gwaine had to take the chances when it was given. 

“Chug! Chug! Chug! Chug!” The rest of the knights and some other bystanders chanted, eventually dragging in Merlin and Arthur as well, watching as their queen and knight chugged back steins full of water as fast as they could. The two even stood up in the process, scooting back chairs as if it would give them a better angle. It’s a simple, childish game, but it’s a fun game regardless. A game the narrator remembers fondly from her youth, done with many other girls her age. A game that most clearly has a winner, and the consolation prize is hydration. 

Just as soon as the game started, a winner was found, and it was Gwaine. Could he be clearly considered a winner, with water spilling down his cheeks? Perhaps not, but the goal was to empty the stein with your mouth, not drink every drop.

The moment Gwaine finished he pumped his hands in the air, a grin on his face. “Woo!” At that, Gwaine mock planked to the floor. The small group cheered and laughed at Gwaine’s acting.

“Damn it!” Gwen cried out as she smashed her mug to the table, laughing, only to gently gasp at her own profanity. Mordred rose his eyebrows, but before he could say anything, Gwen held up a finger and said, “Not a word, young man!”

Merlin and Arthur chuckled as they watched Elyan and Perceval pour themselves water to do their own drinking contest. “You know, you’re probably not going to be able to do this again once you get there.” Arthur commented, watching as Elyan and Perceval linked arms and attempted to drink from their steins that way.

“Arthur,” Merlin warned. 

“I’m just saying.”

“Quit trying to guilt trip me.”

“Uh, no.” Arthur picked up a new mead filled stein and took another sip. “I still think this is stupid.”

Inebriation let his words slip. “And I still think you’re stupid, but what's new?” Merlin retorted.

Arthur opened his mouth to argue, but no words came to his lips. Instead, he jabbed Merlin in the shoulder. 

“Ow!” Merlin didn’t know why, perhaps it was the alcohol coursing through his veins, or perhaps it was because it may be his last night there, but he punched Arthur back. Of course, as the men do, it wasn’t long before they were smacking each other incessantly, about a hair breath away from wrestling for fun. 

“Knock it off, you two.” Gwen warned, right before joining the chants once more while Perceval and Elyan chugged away. This time, the larger knight won by a landslide, downing his stein in only a few seconds. Only when Elyan finished with his water, which took a considerable amount of time to do so, managed to ask his sister how she managed to learn such a skill.

Gwen chuckled. “You just got to let it slide down your throat. It takes practice. I used to be better when I was younger, I could take a stein down in five seconds.” She explained with a smile. 

Merlin chuckled. The drone of the tavern fell around them and filled the void once more. It was comforting, to hear the sound of the people of Camelot conversing away after a long day of hard work. All these people, coming here to release some weight off their shoulders for the night, put their stress off for the side for a little bit before returning to their homes. Friends gathering with friends after a long day, just to do it again tomorrow. 

Merlin was about to add in his own story on how Gwen was still just as capable of sneaking food away from her husband, one time even right in front of his face, when a hand gently rested on his shoulder. 

“Come with me.” Arthur exclaimed quietly, his seat grating over the cedar wood floor as he stood up,

Merlin rose from his seat, following without saying a word and merely a wrinkle of concern in his brow. The two left the table and conversation behind, seemingly without notice by the rest. Another wave of laugher washed over the table. 

Arthur gently lead Merlin outside, weaving through drunken patrons and other groups of friends and out of the tavern. The moment the tavern door closed behind them, they could hear reality again. The world was quiet and contempt again. They could fully hear each other now, the sounds of crickets in the distance, an owl hooting farther than that.

It was nice. It felt like Merlin could breathe again. Far more air could fill his lungs again, clearing out whatever was in that air inside. He let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, it’s good to be out of there.” Arthur commented, stretching his arms high over his head.

“It is.” Merlin took a deep breath of fresh air and sighed. “What is it you wanted to talk about?” Merlin found himself asking, giving Arthur a curious look.

“I know it’s busy in there, and I didn’t want to do this in front of the men, but before you leave tomorrow, I wanted you to give you this.” Arthur explained, reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. 

Merlin looked down, a gasp getting caught in his throat. Palmed in the center of Arthur’s bare hand, held out as a gift, just a little bit too big to fit perfectly in his palm, thicker than any coin, made of tarnished silver, and emblazoned with the small shape of a dove, was Ygraine’s emblem. Arthur’s mother’s emblem, outstretched. 

Merlin’s eyes went wide. “What? But…”

“Consider it as a good luck charm.” Arthur explained simply, looking Merlin hard in the eye. 

“Arthur, this is your mother’s emblem. I can’t just take it.” Merlin tried to object. While he loved the sentiment, he couldn't just take it. It was one of Arthur's most prized possession! The very thing that connected him to his mother. There was no way he could take it.

“You can, and you will.” With that Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hand pressed the cool disk of metal into his palm, curling his fingers around it. “Just promise to take care of it for me until you get back, alright?”

The look in Arthur’s eye, the way he practically stared into Merlin’s soul, silently begging, the words got stuck in Merlin’s throat. 

“…I promise.” The words finally managed to break out.

Arthur gave a small sigh of relief and a curt nod. “Good.” He took a step back, releasing Merlin’s hand from his own, the warmth fading in an instant. Adjusting his peasant clothes and without another word, he patted Merlin on the shoulder and went back inside. He couldn’t think of anything else to say, and he wasn’t very good at small talk. He nearly half expected Merlin to follow him inside.  

Merlin, on the other hand, needed to take a breather. Not just because the tavern was very stuffy and Merlin needed the air, but because Arthur had just rested a bit more weight onto his shoulders. He just gave him something very near and dear to him and made him promise to return home. It wasn’t a bad weight, but it was a weight. A reminder that home was calling him, that Camelot would always be there. A reminder to be extra careful. 

Merlin curled his fingers around the disk in his hand, his thumb rubbing the dove embossed in the center. No doubt copying the actions Arthur probably had whenever he felt the loneliness of never having a mother growing up. A feeling Merlin, oddly enough, never had to experience.

Her presence, one of the last things that Arthur had of his mother, now sat palmed in his hand. Whether it be a way Arthur would ensure that Merlin would come home, or in acceptance that his friend may not come home and so needed just a bit of Arthur to go along with him to help him in his final hour, or even feeling that Merlin may needed that extra bit of comfort and strength for his upcoming quest just as it would help Arthur, Merlin was not sure. But he appreciated it all the same. He just hoped he would have the chance to return this to Arthur safe and sound, without scaring memories to be connected.

Merlin took a deep sigh and pocketed the disk. He was going to have to add it to his pack later, he most definitely didn’t want to leave it behind. 

When Merlin got back to the table after taking a few more moments to take in the night air, he was met with the same chaos that he had left, if not more so. At some point while he was gone, Gwaine and Perceval had gotten into a hand slap contest. It was simple game consisting of each player holding the other player’s hand and attempting to slap that other player’s back of the hand as hard as possible. The first one to let go would lose, and neither of these two were going to let go, no matter the pain. It was about the same level of silliness as the spit take game, which Merlin was fortunate enough to see that his group wasn’t drunk enough yet to do that. They may get kicked out early if they started spitting water at each other. 

As Merlin sat down, Arthur perked up. “Well with him back, who wants more ale?” He asked. It was almost as if he was avoiding a tender moment that he knew would come if he leaned into it.

Many of the men at the table cheered, except for Mordred. He looked like he was about ready to take a power nap. “Get some bread for him, he needs it.” Gwen explained in a gentle tone, nodding at Mordred. Bread was good for dealing with too much alcohol, as was a full stomach. Honestly, they should have been eating more the entire night, but each one had eaten various levels and amounts. For Merlin, a full belly of stew was enough to hold the worst of the alcohol at bay. Mordred, apparently, didn’t eat much before they had left. 

Arthur nodded and hurried off. As soon as he was gone, the rest of the table paused. All their eyes turned to Merlin, even Perceval and Gwaine paused their game to look his way. A sort of silence fell over the group, an excited, serious silence. Like they were waiting for him to do something. 

“Oh no, what have I done?” Merlin asked, trying to joke, slipping into his seat. Some of the knights smirked, but mainly they all remained serious.

“We have a gift for you.” Gwen explained, pulling a thin wooden box out from under the table and sliding it across the way, right in front of him. Plain yet trim in design, it was gorgeous by itself in a way. A perfect box for holding small trinkets in, if he ever had the chance. 

“Oh what? You didn’t have to—.” Merlin tried to start, already still bashful from when Arthur gave him his gift.

“Just take it. It will help you.” Leon replied, pushing it gently forward more. 

Merlin only gave them a look before gingerly opening the thin box. His heart dropped.

It was a dagger. A beautiful dagger, one intricately made and nestled into a swatch of red velvet, but a dagger none the less. He picked up the deadly piece of metal, feeling its weight in his palm.

The dagger was heavy in his hand. It had some heft, but it was perfectly balanced, perfectly gripped. The long, thin blade was unengraved and simple in design, ending on a point. Engraved at the base of the blade was the letter M captured between the jaws of a dragon. The guard was subtly shaped like two bird’s wings, and in his hand the handle was wrapped in light blue calf’s leather, just for him. 

What was with this family and giving people daggers? Merlin couldn’t help but think as he ran his finger over the M. A dreaded memory of what he had to do, what he had already done, crossed his mind. It terrified him. 

It was honestly too nice of a gift. Sure, it came from good intentions, but it was too nice for him. A small part of him never really thought he deserved such a gift like this.

“Thank you, guys. I don’t know what to say,” Merlin replied, even though he had ten thousand thoughts running fast through his mind. So many that he couldn’t even begin to describe them. 

“Then don’t say anything. If it can help you, then use it.” Elyan explained, watching as Merlin slipped the dagger back into the box. 

“I’ll think about it.” Is the only thing Merlin could think to say. If he was going to kill Morgana, he wasn’t going to do it with this. He would not besmirch this dagger with her blood. He would not let good memories be destroyed by plunging this into her heart. He had other ways of getting rid of her.

With barely a shrug he tucked the box into his coat. It stuck out oddly, but it fit into the large pocket sewn inside.

The moment he slipped the dagger out of sight, the table returned to normal. The bright airy conversations returned once more as Gwaine and Perceval went back to smacking the shit out of each other’s hands. Gwaine let out a particularly nasty squeak after Perceval smacked his hand particularly hard, like a silent scream squeaking out. Merlin could see how much he wanted to let go, but Gwaine was a stubborn, stubborn man. 

It was only as Gwaine was getting prepared to do the absolute hardest smack that he possibly could on Perceval that Arthur returned to the table, setting yet another tray before them and a loaf of bread for Mordred. Mordred took the loaf of bread eagerly, while the rest of the patrons took their steins. As he passed around the table, Arthur left a kiss on Gwen’s head as he took his own stein in his hand. To Merlin’s wonder, he didn’t sit down.

In fact, Arthur turned to the rest of the tavern and called out, “Everyone!” Everyone at the table rose, including Mordred and Merlin, presenting their steins to the rest of the tavern (or in Mordred’s case, his loaf of bread). All of a sudden, the voices around the tavern went quiet, everyone paused their conversations, looking their way. Even the tavern master paused his glass cleaning and the tavern maid paused in their serving. All those eager eyes looked expectantly at the disguised king. 

“Tonight we celebrate one man,” Arthur exclaimed, reaching out and resting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin already began to feel his cheeks burn. “A man who tomorrow is set out to go on a noble quest. We celebrate the man he is tonight, our best friend and the heart of our group. We celebrate in hopes that he returns, and if he doesn’t, then to do as best as he can. For a good future and to home. To Merlin.”

“To Merlin!” The table toasted their glasses.

“To Merlin!” The rest of the tavern cheered. Whether or not they knew who exactly Merlin was or what he was about to do, they did not care. Tonight was a night of celebration, and who were they to turn them away?

With a clink of their mugs and loaf of bread, Merlin and his friends took a chug of their ales, the rest of the tavern returning to their conversations like nothing had even happened. 

But that was not the end.

Suddenly, Gwaine started to sing in a low but loud tone, looking at his friends as if he hadn’t had a care in the world. Almost as if habitually, other members of the tavern began to sing along in their own low tones, some more drunkenly than others. The voices grew more and more. 

Someone across the tavern whistled. “By time someone started a tavern song!” They called out, before more and more of the tavern joined in. Until finally the whole tavern was singing along.

It was a common tavern song, about a heavily drunk patron begging to stay after closing hours, but as Gwaine sang it in those simple guttural tones, it came to have almost a second meaning. Normally, the song is a light ditty, a song to be sung around the barrel of ale as it poured out, but now sung so slow it made it sound grandeur-like, deeply hiding underneath the remorse. Something you could keep a beat to while working on a ship. 

It wasn’t long before the rest of the knights and even Gwen began to join in. Arthur had a hard time keeping up, but he quickly got the jist of it.

Who said I want to go?

I still got a pint in me,

a fight left to swing,

a drink one left more.

Let me stay an hour longer,

I won’t be so crass,

don’t let me go home,

to my angry Irish lass.

The whole tavern sang along in one voice, raising their steins as they swayed to the tone. Arms soon wrapped over each other’s shoulders, swaying side to side. Merlin soon found Arthur’s arm and Gwaine’s arm thrown over the back of his shoulders as they joined in the singing. The whole table was swaying, and it wasn’t just the alcohol anymore. It was, overall a rather awe inspiring scene to look at.

Who said I want to go?

I still got a pint in me.

Home may be where the heart is,

but the tavern holds my soul.

Someone lifted up their stein and raised it with a cheer, some ale sloshing out. The rest of the bar cheered with delight.

Merlin laughed. The tears that had managed to get past security and scroll down Merlin’s cheeks were ones of pain and delight; pain in his side from the laughter, and pain in his heart fearing that he’d probably never be able to do this again with his friends.

Merlin quickly wiped the tears on his cheeks away before anyone could notice them, smiling at anyone who looked his way. 

Let me stay an hour longer,

I won’t be so crass,

don’t let me go home,

to my angry Irish lass.

The final verse finally put away the people of the tavern, the whole room cheering and raising their steins up in the air. It was such a hustle and bustle that no one noticed the bar maid at the front door, talking to a couple Camelot guards.

As everyone came down from their highs, her clear, bell like voice called out over the crowd. “Sorry guys,” The bar maid yelled, “Guards say it’s closing time. Close your tabs and go home.”

“You heard the girl!” The barkeeper, with a bristly mustache and a belly, chest and shoulders about as broad as one of his barrels, “Go home!”

The people of the crowd all groaned and booed, but reluctantly began to get up. The more sober of the crowd managed to get to their feet faster than those who were nearly nearly passed out drunk, but everyone was reluctant to leave. Some swayed, some tripped, some fell flat on their face. Some people even laughed at their misery before helping them get back up. To Merlin’s surprise, none of the knights or even Arthur made a comment to go against this rule, as if they truly were just another simple patron of the tavern. It felt odd to Merlin. 

Either that or it’s the ale settling in his stomach. Also, had the tavern always been swaying like that, or is that just him?

As the crowd began to thin, Arthur stopped the bar maid to pay their tab, silently handing over a bag of money enough to pay for everyone’s tab in the bar and then some. Merlin couldn’t hear what Arthur was saying to the bar lady, but the smile and nod she gave him made him think it was some sort of thanks.

Watching the knights make their way towards the door, Merlin quickly knocked back the rest of his ale before leaving the empty stein amongst the rest.

Slowly everyone, including the stag party, stumbled out into the streets. Many of the patrons in the bar dragged their way into the darkness, probably back to their homes or some safe corner to sleep off the ale, while a few still hung around the door like dogs waiting for scraps. 

“Well, that was fun.” Arthur proclaimed, stretching his arms and popping his back.

“You say that now, we’re all going to have massive hangovers tomorrow.” Merlin proclaimed. He rested a hand on his slightly upset stomach, trying to will it to go away without magic.

“Says you.”

“No, he’s right. We’re going to regret this tomorrow.” Elyan backed him up. He stumbled, leaning on his sister for just a moment. Gwen smiled and rolled her eyes. 

Arthur shrugged. “Gaius can fix us up something.”

Suddenly, there was a few gasps of surprise. “Your majesties!”  Two voices called out in surprise, getting a couple of drunken patrons to perk up. The whole group whirled around, and were presented with the form of the two guards, standing at the doorway to the bar. Each one completely abandoned their posts at the door and hurried the group’s way. 

“Oh no.” Gwaine muttered. 

“Please, keep your voices down,” Arthur took a step forward and gestured at the guards, looking around at the other drunken people. “No one knows that we are here, and we’d like it to stay that way.”

“Of course.” The first guard nodded, bowing lightly. He had a nice beard going for him, and he was older than most guards were. Clearly a higher in command for the guards. 

“But what are you doing here?” The second guard asked in a higher, younger tone.

“We are treating the groom of Morgana Le Fae to a stag party, warrior’s send off sort of thing and are trying to keep it as normal as we can, so it would be best if no one knows that we’re here. Understand?” Arthur gave the younger guard a look, as if to ensure that he understood. 

“Of course. Do you need an escort?” The second guard asked, glancing at the queen. Gwen laughed at something Elyan said. The brother and sister were now fully leaning on each other, sharing in a moment of joy between them.

“No, it won’t be necessary.” Arthur explained. “The knights will be all that we need.”

The first guard nodded again. “Alright, your majesty. If you need anything, the Camelot guard will always be there to help.” 

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” Arthur nodded before turning back to his group.

With that, the guards bowed and headed off, each one glancing back over their shoulders at the king and queen, as if they really should leave their monarchy unprotected. Merlin wouldn’t entirely blame them, after all, no one in the group was sober enough to really be a good defense and protection. 

“So, what do we do now?” Gwaine asked, walking up and stretching his shoulders. Out of the whole group, he seemed to be doing the best on managing his alcohol. If problems arose, which wasn’t likely, he’d probably be the one to take care of it. 

Arthur looked over at Merlin, who was chatting with Leon and Mordred about something. “Remember my stag party?” He asked, not looking away. 

“Yeah? Why?” He arched a brow.

Arthur smirked. “We need to get him near a body of water. Preferably deep.”

Gwaine smiled an almost devilish smile as he knew instantly what Arthur was saying. “Leave that to me.” With that, he got up and headed towards the rest of the group. “Let’s not head back quite yet.” He proclaimed, resting an arm around Merlin’s shoulder. “Come on, the night is still young and so are we!” 

Merlin and Leon glanced at one another, completely confused as to Gwaine’s antics. Only Gwen had a modicum of an idea as to what was going on inside Gwaine’s mind, and at that she smirked.

“Where do you want to go?” Merlin finally perked up, looking his friend in the eye.

“While I would normally say that it's the bachelor’s choice, I say we go into the woods.” Gwaine gestured with his head towards the town entrance, where the dark gaping maw of the forest laid beyond. The group could just barely hear the sounds of crickets chirping, the moon lighting up the ground between the branches.

In all honestly, the woods didn’t look all that bad tonight. It looked peaceful and serene. 

Merlin shrugged. “Alright.” He said, “I’m not going into a brothel with Gwen around.”

Mordred nodded vigorously. “Agreed.”

“What’s this I hear about a brothel?” Gwen perked up, walking alongside them with stride.

“It was another option we came up with earlier,” Arthur quickly explained. He chuckled a little. “But I think we’re a little too drunk to go now, thanks to you and Gwaine’s drink off.”

Gwen smiled. “You’re welcome. Those girls would swindle you out of all your money and clothes in your state, and I might just join them.” Arthur gave Gwen a look of shock and little bit of offense, before Gwen laughed, “I’m just kidding. Maybe.” She wiggled her eyebrow at him.

Arthur groaned and rolled his eyes, but he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed her in a hug. “You are going to be the death of me,” He proclaimed in a low tone, just for her and her alone. 

"Oh please," Gwen chuckled drunkenly, resting her head on his shoulder as she nestled into his embrace. "You get yourself into enough trouble without my help."

“So where are we going for in the woods?” Merlin asked, looking back at the group as they passed through the outer gate. While the woods were fun when in a group, it wasn’t exactly smart to go in without a plan. Especially when you are halfway drunk. 

“To the lake!” Gwaine was quick to proclaim, pointing a finger in the air.

“Sounds like fun.” Gwen replied, not even lifting her head from Arthur’s shoulder. 

Leon arched a daring brow at the queen. “You’re going to join us, your majesty?” He asked. 

Gwen snorted. “You wish. Someone’s got to make sure your clothes stay dry.” She replied just as easily. 

“I’ll probably sit out too,” Mordred proclaimed, gently holding his stomach. “I’m not feeling too good.”

“Don’t worry, Mordred. You’ll get used to it eventually.” Gwaine proclaimed, turning on his heel to look at the young knight for a moment.

“And become a bar trawler like you? I think not.” Mordred retorted.

Gwaine mocked being hurt, but the rest of the group laughed, linking arms over one another’s shoulders as they made their way towards the lake.

By the time the party arrived at the lake, the moon was high in the sky. The conversation had jumped from fishing to hunting to Merlin’s antics while hunting, the knights and Gwen laughing at the idea of Merlin literally being unable to catch a rabbit even though it was already half dead and unable to escape.

Merlin was about to let out a groan of annoyance when Mordred cried out, “Hey, there’s the lake!”

Merlin perked up. Peeking through the tree line just a hop, skip, and a jump away, was the body of water they were searching for. The nearest lake to Camelot, during the day it was an excellent place for locals of the village to visit and cool off. The large pool of water laid quietly in the forest, the only spot for miles where the ground and floor had access to the sky. The moon’s near full glow rippled on the water, barely a wave crashing against the shoreline. A large rock Merlin distinctly remembered the knights jumping off of before now stood over the water like a pale guard, jutting into it at nearly an angle. Other large rocks laid off to the side, and nestled between two large rocks was the silty mud, clear from footprints that looked anything human. It was lower in level than usual due to the drought, but it still looked like it held most of its water.

The knights all gave each other looks.

“Last one in is an idiot!” Immediately one knight cried out, before all of a sudden all of the knights and Merlin were stripping.

“Oh my God, you are all insane,” Gwen chuckled, arms crossed and made no moves to stop them. She watched with delight as Arthur quickly stripped off his shirt, then without a word gestured at the rest of the knights.

Merlin reached down and began to carefully pull off his boots and put them somewhere dry. He had already slipped his coat off with ease, along with his bandana. He never minded being one of the last to get in the water, although there was the occasional exception. For now, in his drunken state, he’s willing to take it slow and not vomit into the lake.

However, where Merlin expected to hear the sounds of drunken men splashing their way into the water, the group around him suddenly went quiet. He could feel the bodies of the knights slowly surrounding him, mischief in their intent.

He didn't even bother to look up. “What are you guys doing?” Merlin asked as he slipped off his second boot.

All of a sudden and with a yelp, his feet were off the ground. In fact, he quickly found himself hanging in the grasp of four of the now half dressed knights, Arthur and Leon at his hands, Perceval and Gwaine at his feet. Merlin looked up to the devilish looking smiles plastered on his friend’s faces as his limbs hung from their grasp.

“What are you—?!”

“Alright, on the count of three,” Arthur yelled, the knights quickly adjusting until they were ankle deep in the water. “One,” Merlin began to get swung, rocking to and fro the lake water, “Two,” The rocking was getting stronger, “Three!”

With a yelp, all of the arms let go of the servant and Merlin was flung in the air. For a moment, all Merlin was a spiral of limbs and twisting spine floating in the air, until finally gravity grabbed him and dragged him into the water. 

Ker-splash!

Merlin fell into the water, falling deep.  His elbow smacked a smooth rock at the bottom of the lake, but it didn’t hurt much. He didn’t hit it that hard, and even if he did, the alcohol in his system drowned out the pain. 

Well, at least he was awake now.

With a light struggle, Merlin managed to get to the surface and to his feet, where all of the knights and Gwen were laughing hard. Arthur could barely stand upright through his wheezing, and Gwen could barely hide her mouth behind her hand. 

Merlin spluttered and spat. “What was that for?” He called back, making his way towards the shore. The knights continued to strip themselves of their clothes and threw them on the rocks, only making their way into the water once down to their undies for the queen’s sake. 

“Well, since you are going off to marry my sister, I figured that you needed to follow the standard traditions of marrying into the Pendragon family.” Arthur proclaimed with a smile, pulling down his pants. 

A realizing smile sprouted on Merlin’s lips as he groaned. “God, how could I have forgotten that.” Merlin shook his head, remembering Arthur’s bachelor party years ago. 

Apparently in the Pendragon family, there is a tradition where any man getting married will be thrown into the largest body of water during his bachelor party. Doesn’t matter if you are a Pendragon or if you are marrying a Pendragon girl, the man is getting thrown into the drink. After learning about this tradition from a rather drunken Arthur during his own bachelor party, Merlin had helped throw Arthur into the very same lake, much to the same reaction and amusement. 

“Well, now my socks are soaked.” Merlin proclaimed, pulling one sock off his foot and hurtled it at the shore. “As is the rest of me.” The second sock flew over their heads as well.

Suddenly Gwaine popped out of the water beside him. “Well, the good news is you aren’t an idiot now.” He proclaimed, pushing the loose locks of hair out of his face.

Merlin smiled before reaching down and peeling his now soaked shirt off, bundling it up in his hands, and chucking it at Arthur, who was now making his way into the water. The shirt hit its target in the chest with a ‘splat!’, getting Arthur to look at him with shock.

“You will not do that again.” He lightly ordered, chuckling.

“I still got pants, watch me.”

Even as Arthur began to run into the water, Merlin managed to pull his pants off in lunge in the water, only coming up to the surface and hurling the dark burlap pants directly into Arthur’s face.

Arthur sputtered and fell back a moment, before finally the game was afoot.

“Get back here!” He cried out, diving into the water only after throwing the pants to the shore. 

Merlin let out a laugh, and as he dived into the lake the fun began. The knights all began to splash one another, trying their hardest to make the biggest wave with their arms. It wasn’t long before Arthur finally caught up to Merlin, who when caught was lifted into the air and thrown into the lake once more, this time without smacking any rocks on the bottom.

Staying under the water, Merlin reached out and grabbed Arthur by the ankle, dragging him down as well before getting up to the surface. The moment Arthur got to the surface, Merlin smirked.

“Hey, clot pole!” Merlin shouted, before using both of his arms to make a massive wave of water aimed directly at Arthur’s retreating back. It was only with a touch of magic that Merlin managed to completely soak the king, throwing him off balance. Not two seconds later Merlin’s own foot was grabbed and pulled under the water. With a yelp, his leg lifted up into the air like he was a freshly caught trout and leaving the top half of him still in the water.

“Caught one!” Leon praised, holding Merlin’s struggling ankle high, only letting Merlin go after he managed to struggle out of his grip.

Perceval and Gwaine eventually made their way out of the water, their feet splattering on the rock and forest debris, and ran for the rock over looking the lake. With a running start they jumped off and smacked into the water, making great waves to splash the others. Even Gwen let her bare feet dip into the water, watching the guys go hectic like twelve year old children in a pool party. Mordred merely leaned down and let his wooing head rest, listening to the cheers of delight and the gentle lapping of water. Gwen made sure that Mordred was still eating his loaf of bread from the tavern, which was nearly finished. 

It was only when the moon had begun to set into the horizon and everyone’s bellies were beginning to complain of the egregious amounts of alcohol they had consumed that Gwen proclaimed it was time to go. 

“Hate to be the bringer of bad news, but Mordred is about to pass out and you have work tomorrow,” She called out over the water, getting a look from her husband as if he was tempted to splash her too. 

Slowly but surely, one by one, everyone pulled themselves out of the water and onto the shore, each daring and moving as if to push another into the water.

Merlin dragged his soaked body out of the water towards his clothes, still in a soaked lump of a pile on the ground. He picked up his still soaked shirt and looked at it. With a smirk he spun it around several times between his hands, turned, and essentially whipped Arthur on the back with it. Arthur let out an almost unmanly yelp as he flinched around, getting the rest of the knights to chuckle.

“That’s for throwing me into the lake,” Merlin called out with a smile, unrolling his shirt and attempting to pull the sticky fabric on.

“And this you do to the man who’s paying for your night out?” Arthur called back, giving Merlin a look. 

Merlin shrugged, smirking. If it weren’t for the group around him, he was almost certain that he’d be smacked up upside the head for his antics.

Once everyone was dressed, the group threw their arms over one another’s shoulders, singing merry tunes as they made their way back to the castle. Merlin felt the heavy arm of Arthur thrown over his shoulder along with the heavy of Gwaine over the other. It would be an odd sight to see, the king drunk, singing happily alongside his servant, his queen, and his knights, but that was just something that happened in Camelot. It’s what made it different than any other kingdom in the land.

That is why Merlin loved this land so. It may not be the biggest kingdom, or the most powerful, but it held the most soul. This was why he was willing to fight, and this was why, no matter how much it hurt him to do so, he would kill Morgana the next time he saw her.

Chapter Text

When Merlin awoke to his bedroom bathed in darkness, or really a better term would be returning to his consciousness, he was met with the worst earsplitting headache and upset stomach of his life. Needless to say, he was hung over. His nightclothes stuck to his skin in all the wrong ways, his skin felt weird and unclean, and his bed and blanket felt stuffy and uncomfortable as he was draped in a rather awkward position. Like someone had dropped his body like a sack of potatoes on his bed over the night, one arm caught under his body and one leg spilling onto the floor. He was halfway on the floor at this rate. He didn’t know how he got back to his room or how he changed into his nightclothes or even how he had got back to the castle. He had blacked out not long after seeing the gate leading to the entrance to town and couldn’t remember a moment afterwards.

Oh well, Arthur would probably be more than happy to tell him what happened after he left for—.

Oh.

Oh no.

All the weight and realizations suddenly hit Merlin like a horse’s front hooves to the spine, and he felt the overpowering need to vomit. Leaning over, he was thankful to see in the darkness that someone had left him a bucket beside his bed, and with that Merlin revolted whatever remained inside his stomach from the night before. And then did it again. It was gross, he was fully aware of that, but honestly that was his punishment for trying to drink his woes away. Just because he was no lightweight didn’t mean that he had an iron stomach, especially when it came to crippling news.

After he was done vomiting, he felt a little better. A little was the key word. It wasn’t enough, but at least he wasn’t nauseous for the time being. 

With a moan of discomfort, Merlin smushed his face into his pillow. He didn't want to get up, he really didn’t want to get up. He wanted to go back to sleep, pretend none of this had happened, like tomorrow wasn’t already here. But the glories and wonders of sleep were not coming back, no matter how much he wanted them to. 

So, with a groan, Merlin sat up and looked out his window. 

For all that Merlin could see, which was very little, he was awake before the sun was. The sun was still just barely hiding behind the horizon, with only the tiniest of slivers of sunlight peeking through. Nearly ready to bloom into the pales pinks and faint blues before spilling with yellows of the dawn. 

If it was any other day, Merlin would be thankful for this. If it was any time he was sober this would be a rare treat that he could use for himself, and if he was drunk any other time he would be able to get adjusted to the light while still coping with recovering, but now… the pain was elsewhere. Now, the pain rested in his heart, like an old pain that never had the time to recover.

Today, he was going off to confront Morgana. To marry her, to kill her, to do something, anything, but perhaps never seeing his home again.

Merlin couldn’t help it as two small tears scrolled down his cheeks. Just because he made this choice didn’t make it hurt any less. 

But, much like many things in life, he needed to get moving.

With reluctance, Merlin threw his legs over the side of the bed. His stomach immediately disagreed with his decision, the nausea returning. The bucket immediately made a return again, and Merlin was greeted once more with the disgusting taste of bile sitting on the back of his throat.

Slowly, after making sure he wouldn’t vomit he made it to his feet. Looking around, Merlin found sitting on his bedside table a small vial filled with a murky snot yellow colored liquid and a large glass and pitcher full of water. Two of the best remedies to a hangover. 

With a grimace, Merlin popped open the little vial, plugged his nose, and chugged back the disgusting contents. He knew exactly what went inside one of these bottles, he made a dozen of these nearly every weekend, and while everyone who took it swore by its effectiveness, none of the ingredients were pleasant. Honestly, it was one of those cases where it was better to live in ignorance. Unfortunately, Merlin was unable to do that. It nearly made him vomit again just trying to force the slimy liquid down his throat, and the moment every drop was gone he slammed down the vial and chugged his glass of water, draining it dry. 

With a sigh, he glanced around his room and assessed his situation. His clothes from the night before sat in a wet, sad looking pile in the middle of his floor. They emanated a faint mildewy smell, and so did he. Before he did anything else that day he should get those cleaned, along with himself. 

Judging by the sun, which continued to creep over the horizons, he still had a few hours left before he had to start the day. Normally, if he had this kind of time he’d spend it taking his time getting ready for the day, or reading. Perhaps even make himself a better breakfast than a few bites of cold oatmeal, eat it while it was still hot.

But for once, there was something Merlin wanted to do. Gaius, being a morning person more than a night person, had a bit of tradition to “start the day off on the right foot,” as he would say. This consisted of going out onto this patch of open aired wall in the castle that overlooked the town of Camelot and watching the sun rise with a warm pot of tea. Now, being a night person, Merlin never had the time or the sleep schedule to join him, no matter how many times Gaius offered, and when for some reason he did wake up early, he never used that time to be with his mentor. He always assumed there was going to be another time, another tomorrow to look forward to.

Well now, now there wasn’t. Now Merlin wanted to spend as much time as he could with Gaius, make the most of his day worthwhile.

Slowly, down the creaking stairs and through the silent common room of the home he had lived in for the past seven years, Merlin slipped out of his room and out of the hovel. No one lurked the halls this early in the morning, and those who did were mere zombies without a soul, not truly awake yet. This was something of which he was grateful for. Even the guards of the previous night’s night shift didn’t seem to be human, being so tired that they barely recognized or acknowledged him as he passed by.

The growing sunlight made Merlin hesitate and flinch away like a vampire in, well, the dawn. But, unlike a vampire, Merlin managed to trudge on, making his way up the stairs and onto the wall over looking all of Camelot. 

There, leaning alone against the wall, looking out over the still slumbering town, was his mentor. Gaius. Still dressed in his simple white nightgown, his long white hair barely brushed enough to be presentable. It was a rare sight for Merlin, and one that he did not question. 

With silent, cautious steps, Merlin walked up beside him. He gently leaned against the wall beside the old man, of who did not react all that much, merely bringing his cup of warm tea up to his lips.

Most of the town was still cast into darkness, but Merlin knew that it will soon begin to lighten up. The town still slumbered for a few minutes more. Gaius didn’t say a word, only gesturing at the pot sitting beside him. Steam curled from the pot’s spout, and a cup and a bowl sat there beside it, waiting. One empty, the other filled with tea leaves. Simple tea leaves, nothing like the complex blend Arthur would sometimes ask for when wanting a pick me up or to wind down with, but it gave a pleasant simple aroma none the less.

Merlin reached down and picked up the empty cup, reaching into the bowl and picking carefully some of the dried leaves. “How’d you know that I was going to come and join you?” He asked nonchalantly, picking up the tea pot and began to pour himself a cup.

“I didn’t.” Gaius explained simply. "I always left a second cup, just in case you ever had the time to join me.”

Merlin felt his heart ache with a jump, his actions hesitating, the hot water nearly spilling out of the cup and onto his hand. “Oh.” Was all that left Merlin’s lips, gently putting down the pot back where it came from. Only one thought plagued Merlin’s mind now, and it hurt him like the devil; he should have joined Gaius sooner. Like going out to the tavern with his friends, he should have done this sooner.

But, Merlin was sure of one thing. He was sure that when he got back to Camelot, he would do this again. This would be the first thing he did, and he would do it every single morning, no matter what. He would never take the moments he had with his mentor granted of ever again.

The teapot sat down between them with a gentle ‘clack!’ against stone. 

Not another word was shared between the two of them as Gaius brought his cup to his lips. He gently blew on the rim before taking a sip. Steam sprouted from his cup in a full blow, curling into the sky before dissipating into nothing.

Merlin watched as the water in his cup slowly turned into the color of tea, that faint grey brown green that said it was done. The color at its strongest, where without any way of pulling the leaves out he’d have to just endure the bitter flavors of oversteeped leaves.

He brought the cup to his lips. It was a bitter flavor, yet full. The flavor was strong, and as the hot liquid rolled down his throat Merlin could already begin to feel himself beginning to wake up. If only it weren't for the nasty headache that still sat behind and between his eyes he'd feel a little better, but even then that was beginning to fade. Those knights and gangly lords were right, for all the grossness the ingredients were, it was effective.

“I made both you and the knights something to deal with your hangovers.” Gaius explained, taking another sip of his cup.

“I saw.” 

“Did you take yours?”

“I did. Don’t want to leave without my dignity.” Merlin’s cracked voice broke from the silence as he took another sip of his tea, the full flavor rolling over his tongue once more.

“Good. It’s really not something you want to leave behind.” Gaius joked, looking his ward with a smile.

A laugh hung in the air for just a second, before it fell once more with a plop. The only thing hanging in the air now was the chirps of morning birds, and even then, even those felt a little different. Hollow and distant, like of a memory of a distant land. As if for the first time in a long, long while, Merlin genuinely noticed their song. He heard the birds, don't make any mistake on that, but they had always been a background noise. He never cared enough to listen. And yet, on this wonderful morning, he could hear the sharp chirps of some sparrows calling in the distance, reminding their loved ones that they have survived another night once more.

“So, you all ready to go?” Gaius asked innocently enough.

“Yep.”

“All your things packed? Your book? Your extra pair of boots?”

“Everything.”

“Just don't want you forgetting anything.”

“I don’t have much to forget.” Merlin tried to joke.

Gaius laughed, but the laughter did not return to Merlin. The young man only stared down into his cup for longer. A heavy, sticky, dreaded silence fell on them once more. Reality was a cruel, persistent mistress that cannot be chased off.

“Things will turn out alright, Merlin.” Gaius explained slowly, reaching out and resting a hand on Merlin’s own.

Merlin looked up with a nearly sad look in his eye. “How do you know?” He whispered, on the brink of fear.

“Because you’re you. If there is anyone who can make the best of the situation, it would be you.” Gaius explained with as much confidence as he could, a proud smile in his eyes. Another bird chirped in the distance, joining in the song. 

A half broken smile hung from Merlin’s lips. “Thank you, Gaius.”

“Here, come here.” Gaius put down his tea cup, reached out and wrapped his arm around Merlin’s shoulders, pulling him in and letting him rest his head. “It will be alright. I promise.”

Merlin didn't have the heart to argue, just letting himself stand there with his mentor, letting the warmth of his tea cup seep into his hand and the warmth of the only father figure he ever known to flow into his head, fully taking his embrace.

The air hung heavy between them as the sun slowly began to peek out more and more the tree tops and the rooftops. Slowly, the sun began to creep over the kingdom, shortening shadows, warming the land, caressing its warmth over their faces. Slowly, ever so slowly, like ants coming to peruse the land after a storm, people began to poke their heads out of their homes.

The town of Camelot began to wake up. 

Finally, Gaius pulled away. “Come. Finish your tea. While we do not like it, we must get ready for the day.”

Merlin nodded, swallowing hard the hard rock left in his throat. With a shove, he left the wall behind, picking up the half full pot of water with him. The way back to the hovel was a long but silent trip between the two, the cup in Merlin’s hand soon drained of tea as he sipped. He wished he could have another cup, but the water had since gone cold and his leaves had given up all the tea they could muster. Perhaps if he had time, he could make himself some more before it was time to go.

Stepping inside the hovel, Merlin was quickly reminded of what chores he needed to do. Wash himself off, clean and dry his clothes from the night before, get changed, do chores for Gaius one last time, and make sure he had everything.

Merlin hesitated in his step, taking in the room again. The fear smacked him again. All this, the home he had spent in for years, he had to leave. Pain flared in the joints of his hands as he realized what he had to do. A sharp oddly stinging pain in his knuckles that he had no idea where it came from. 

Gaius walked up beside him, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Come, I’ll get you some water ready.”

“Thank you.”

Getting ready nearly went by in a blur. A rather sharp, slow blur. Time felt like it both went by in an instant and at an agonizing crawl, which for Merlin didn't seem to be an impossibility. One minute he's glaring at his bed, considering crawling back under the sheets and sleeping until the sun began to set, the next he's washing his clothes from the night before and getting dressed. One minute he's helping make morning potions and tinctures for the patrons of the castle, running up and down stairs to deliver them at record time, the next he's slowly and carefully checking his pack's contents. One minute Merlin’s slowly sliding a warm wet rag down his arms and over his body, over the occasional faint old scar, savoring the heat, the next he was shuffling down the stairs, his backpack slung over one shoulder, ready to go.

Merlin landed on the last stair with a ‘thud!’ that seemed a bit more official than the rest. He looked out across the room, across the room that he had grown to consider as his home. The books, the herbs, the tables, the insistent mess, everything. Even the weird skull sitting off on the table that he still didn’t really understand why Gaius owned it or who said skull it belonged to. Everything, home. 

“So, this is it then.” Gaius walked up, taking his ward in for what felt to be the last time. 

Merlin nodded numbly. He couldn't dig up the words to speak for the longest time. Silence fell. It hung in the air like his wet clothes in his room as they were drying, absolutely stifling of sound and conversation.

“I’ll be back in a couple of weeks,” Merlin tried to offer.

“Right, of course. As a hero, no less.” Gaius tried to continue. But it didn’t really work, not really.

The air that hung between them was stiff, as if something wanted to happen before it was too late. Something that you couldn't do when someone was long gone and potentially never to return.

“Oh, come here.” With that, Gaius reached out and pulled Merlin tight into a hug.

The young man was surprised, but leaned into the hug. He took in every aspect of it, the way he held his mentor in his arms, the way his mentor held him, the smells, his heartbeat, everything. Everything that mattered, everything that he’d need months from now when he’d be stuck somewhere without any human contact, probably stuck in some dungeon without barely any light.

Slowly, his body bent to fit.

“I’m going to miss you.” He whispered, squeezing his mentor just a little bit more tightly.

“Oh don’t think like that!” Gaius said with a laugh. “You’ll be back in no time.”

The control Merlin had on his emotions broke once again. Two tears landed on his pseudo father’s shoulder as he squeezed just a little bit tighter. He didn’t want to think it, but there really was no guarantee that he would be returning. He may just die while trying to complete this mission.

Deep down, it terrified him, but it had to be done.

Eventually, the two had to let go. If Merlin so wanted to, he could continue this hug later, before he left. 

Without a word, the ward and mentor walked out to the courtyard, as if it was the last time they were going to be there.

Merlin pushed these ideas to the side once more. Surely he would be back soon. Surely.

The agreement was made the day prior, far before all the packing and partying went down. Travel arrangements were needed, and thus they were decided. 

Merlin, much to his annoyance, would be traveling with three knights, a four horse carriage, and a squadron of soldiers. One knight would stay with Merlin in Amata until the wedding, while the other knights and the squadron of soldiers would return home with the rest of Merlin’s ‘dowry’ (no matter how many times Merlin REFUSED to call it that). They would hang just outside the capital’s sight for a day or two to wait for Merlin to ‘do the job’, but if he needed more time then the group would leave and Merlin and the knight would find their own way back home after he had finished. Of course, if something went wrong, the knights would find out and break Merlin out, but in that case then they would not be acting on Camelot’s behalf. Until things died down they would be acting on their own and would not be able to return home, acting as independent agents, but such was the price of protecting Camelot’s favorite manservant.

With all of this, it would take just about two to four days to get across Camelot to their northernmost port, spend half a day there, maybe less, and another four to six days to get to Amata’s capital. If they were lucky, they would get to Amata’s capital in less than a week, and if they were extremely unlucky, just over two.

Granted, this was the compromised solution. If Arthur had it his way, he would have gone with Merlin himself with his entire army to back him up, but unfortunately the needs of the court and kingdom and overall logic disagreed.

Merlin, on the other hand, was on the opposite side of the spectrum. He thought that he could have gone on his own. Just give him a horse and maybe a mule to carry his things, and he’d be all set. He’d probably get to Amata faster if done so. After all, the smaller the group, the faster they went.

But, ironically enough, it was the visitors from Amata that would say this would be a bad idea.

“Oh you don’t want to do that, boy.” A rather bored duke from Amata drawled from his corner when he heard Merlin’s request. With absolutely nothing better to do, a lot of the old lords and ladies of Amata had gone to hanging around Camelot’s court with wine or some smokeable drug, listening in on the meetings and occasionally putting their own biased opinions in. It had become quickly wise to ignore their drunken or drugged out comments, but occasionally a rather wise thing was said. After all, leave a monkey with a pen and eventually they'll write an epic, right?

“And why’s that?” Arthur asked, arching a brow.

“When you’re in Camelot territory it’s all well and fine, but once you get into Amata’s territory it’s a whole different story.” The lord's dramatic and drawn out voice, like that belonging to someone who had drunk far too much rum, proclaimed with certainty.

“That land is infested with bandits!” An older lady shrilled garishly, finishing powdering her nose. “You’d be lucky to last a day without running into bandits or kidnappers. Armed to the teeth and with nothing better to do, I’m sure they’d even attempt to attack the queen!”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “So that’s why she had a slice on her cheek…” He muttered under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

No matter how much Merlin insisted that he could go on his own, Arthur was not going to let him. While on the outside Merlin was a little annoyed, deep down, he was secretly glad to have some friends come along. At least he wouldn’t be alone to face Morgana, even though it would make it a little harder for him to complete his task. Friendship was always loved for the lonely sorcerer.

Walking out into the courtyard, Merlin was greeted by the party he was to leave with that morning. A squadron of thirty soldiers were preparing supplies, gathering them onto the rather large closed roof carriage. While all of the knights Merlin was good friends with volunteered to go with Merlin on this quest, only three could go. Camelot could not afford to have all of her best knights go, after all, and it nearly turned into a fight over who would leave and who would stay. Eventually, it turned out to be Leon, Gwaine, and surprisingly enough (and much to Merlin’s dread) Mordred who were the winners of the decision. All three knights were gathered out in the courtyard,  getting their own horses ready, each one dressed proudly in the Camelot red and golds.

Merlin came to a stop beside Arthur, who, for once in his life, was already dressed, proving to Merlin that no, Arthur wasn't incapable of dressing on his own, he's just too lazy and liked making Merlin work. Decked in his chainmail, his fresh red cape thrown over his shoulders, but no crown today, watching the last minute packing be finished. It couldn't exactly be told whether the look on Arthur's face was his attempt at trying to not look hungover or absolute despair, as his was brow furrowed, his eyes were squinting, and his arms tucked carefully over his stomach. Possibly a combination of the two.

“I really don’t need a carriage,” Merlin muttered, watching several soldiers and servants load up bundles of food and tent supplies atop of the carriage.

“It’s good for supply transportation.” Arthur replied quietly, far more quietly than Merlin expected. Something that suggested that there was no arguing here or now, especially so late. “Go load your things. You’ll be leaving soon.”

Without a word and with only a little bit of pain, Merlin did as he was told, going down the stairs. It was this odd feeling of dread and hope. He reached into his pocket for Arthur’s medallion, making sure it was secure. He wasn’t going to leave it behind.

The guards and soldiers gently nodded as he passed, but no one said a word. He passed Gaius as he was making his rounds, dispensing the hangover cure to anyone who needed it. Gwaine, as usual, declined it with a smile, but the others accepted it with relief. Mordred especially looked relieved, as he popped open the cork and took it one gulp, only to immediately regret it and nearly throw it up. Merlin wouldn't smile at his pain, but he wasn't going to feel bad either.

Easily flicking the door latch open, Merlin opened the carriage door open. With a one arm swing he threw his bag through the carriage door. In the darkness inside the dark wooden box, there was two benches inside, one pressed against each wall, lightly plushed and covered in cheap velvet. With barely a bounce, his bag landed on the bench facing towards the horses.

Merlin barely noticed as Gwaine walked up behind him, the gentle sound of armor being strapped down. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Gwaine asked, giving Merlin a look.

“Yes, I am sure.” Merlin sighed, starting to get annoyed. Seriously, was everyone becoming Arthur lately?

“Well if you ever reconsider, just let us know. Arthur told us that if you reconsider we’ll turn back on the spot.” Gwaine explained, adjusting his pauldron.

“I will consider that.” Merlin proclaimed as he closed the carriage door with a snap. The latch fell with ease.

“Is everyone ready?” Arthur called out, descending the stairs with Gwen by his side, who had finally managed to get herself into a clean purple dress and not look so terribly hung over, trying not to squint in the sunlight. Turns out, trying to drink stein on stein with Gwaine can have repercussions resulting in the worst hangover you'll have in your life. She had already taken two of Gaius's hangover cures and was trying desperately to keep herself looking calm, composed, and dignified in front of her subjects, but for her friends and family it might as well be written on her forehead: do not try to drink stein for stein with Gwaine.

It was also written on Mordred's forehead, except Mordred did not do as good of a job being quite as composed as Gwen, and his word was LIGHTWEIGHT.

The whole group of soldiers, knights, and Merlin turned towards Arthur. Those who were closest nodded to one another, looking around to see if anyone disagreed. They didn’t have any room for anyone who wasn’t ready. 

“As you know, this trip is of great importance.” Arthur proclaimed over the small crowd of soldiers, his voice wavering at first before growing stronger. The hangover cure was working. “Your objective is simple: get Morgana’s proposed to Amata’s capital safe and sound. That is your only and top priority. Anything necessary to keep him safe is allowed, even turning back. The knights Leon, Gwaine, and Mordred will be in charge of the trip in that order, so you will be listening to them. Trust their instincts. They are trained for this.”

“The trek to the capital of Amata is long, arduous, and filled with danger, so only stop when necessary.” Gwen continued, taking a step forward. “The carriage has been loaded with plenty enough food for the week journey for you all, just don’t be wasting it. You will need to refill your food load at Amata, but if things go well you will have plenty of food on the way back. Forage and ration if you must.”

The knights and guards all nodded, listening to every word.

“This is a very important mission, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of why, but in case I must, the safety of Merlin is our top priority.” Arthur continued, glancing his manservant’s way. “He is a valuable asset for both Camelot and Amata. Anything happens to him, and this whole treaty falls through. His safety is your top priority. Do whatever it takes to keep him safe, even if it means returning to Camelot. We will find another way to get him there if we must try again, but we cannot try again if he is dead.”

The guards and knights all nodded again, warily eying one another. Gwaine reached over and patted Merlin on the shoulder, who took it like a lead rock. Merlin didn’t know if that feeling in his gut was a flush of embarrassment, appeasement, some odd mix of the two, or a queasiness of dread. This was probably the first time Arthur had ever talked so highly of Merlin before, and Merlin didn’t know how to feel about it. Don’t get him wrong, he enjoyed it, but his cheeks burned like he was embarrassed. He didn’t know if there was even a word to describe such a feeling. He always assumed that the first time Arthur would ever compliment him would either be when he was on his death bed or the apocalypse had arrived. Neither was a good mental image.

But, while Merlin had been listening, he didn’t want to be useless. There was still work that needed to be done. Making himself useful, Merlin found his way towards the front of the carriage, checking the harnesses of the four horses. Everything had to be nice and tight, perfectly positioned. Too loose, and the carriage may fall off. Too tight, and the horses would be irritated and possibly even hurt, rubbed off of fur and hair. It was a delicate balance, something Merlin had learned from Arthur during his first months in Camelot. 

Finally, Arthur's speech came to an end, and Merlin found himself on his last horse. Soldiers and servants milled around him once more, of which Merlin did not pay mind to.

“Merlin, may I talk to you for a moment?” A voice asked, getting Merlin to look up. Standing behind him was Arthur, a stern, worried look in his eye. Without a word, Merlin followed him towards the steps of the castle, back to where Gwen and now Gaius were standing. 

“What is it?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask. He had hardly ever seen Arthur like this when they had first met, but it was becoming more and more common as the days went by.

“I know that this is very important mission, but I just want you to know that… Even if you don’t manage to… deal with her, come back to Camelot. Please.” There was just enough of a hint of desperation in Arthur’s voice, just a tiny touch, that got Merlin to pause. Arthur had never begged in his life, not to anyone over anything, not even for his own life, so to see him like this was a little odd.

Merlin looked on in shock. He didn’t know how to react, but a joke might just work. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said 'please' in your entire life.” He said with a crack.

“Oh why you—!” At that Arthur took Merlin by the head and into a noogie. Merlin couldn’t help but laugh just a little. For a small moment, he could forget why he was there in the first place. For a small moment, it was life, back to normal. Enjoying his time with the man he called his best friend.

“Arthur,” The voice of Gwen cut through the moment like a knife made of pure reality. "it’s time." 

Merlin felt his heart crash. The moment had to end. The truth had to return. Destiny needed to get back on track, the sooner, the better. But damn if Merlin wasn't a little annoyed at Gwen at that moment. It took only a moment before Arthur released Merlin from his grip. In a flash, the laughter was gone. 

When Merlin finally came to his senses, he could see Gwen, the queen that she was, dressed in a perfect purple dress, missing her crown yet the way the sun glinted off her hair did far enough as a suitable replacement, standing before him. His mentor standing beside her, his robe of scarlet reaching his feet, hands tucked into his sleeves. Both looking tired, although for vastly different reasons.

Merlin decided to turn to Gaius first. After all, he was his mentor, his father figure in a way.

“Gaius,” Merlin tried to say through the thickness of saliva his throat.

“Oh Merlin,” Once again, Merlin was dragged into a hug, hugging his mentor once more. Merlin melted into his warmth again. Once more, he did not want to let go. But like many things, he had to. Once more, he felt like a vacant void. 

He turned to Gwen. Her turn to finally say goodbye. But before he could give something akin to a proper formal goodbye, as would be deserving of a queen, as would be expected of all servants, as something Merlin resigned himself to believe to give, Merlin found himself in a tight hug as she lurched forward. It nearly caught him off guard. Her fuzzy curls of hair brushing his cheek, her rough silk dress bending to make sure she would be able to hug him.

“Be safe, Merlin.” She whispered in his ear, sounding almost on the edge of tears herself.

Merlin hugged her back. A pessimistic part of his mind whispered that it was probably the last hug he was ever going to give her. 

“I’ll try.” He whispered back, his voice lightly cracking. 

One second, two, three, and Gwen pulled away before she let tears fall on his coat. The moment he pulled away, Merlin could see the tears welling in her eyes, sparkling in the sun.

“Oh wait, don’t cry!” Merlin tried to laugh, reaching up and untying his bandana. “Here.”

Gwen smiled as she took it, dabbing at her eyes before trying to hand it back to him. “You’ll probably want to take this with you.” She choked on her words, trying to form a watery smile.

But Merlin wasn’t having it, shaking his head. This time, it was his turn to give a gift. “Keep it, I have plenty. Just make sure to clean it before I get back, ok?”

“Merlin…” But the words hung dead on Gwen's lips.

With a gentle bow to his queen, Merlin turned and headed towards the carriage. A single tear gently rolled down Gaius’s cheek.

“Do you think he’ll be alright?” Gwen asked, holding the bandana up to her eye again, turning to the old man standing beside her.

“He will be. I’m sure of it.” Gaius proclaimed, reaching up with his sleeve and wiping his own tear away.

Merlin tucked his hand into his pocket and rubbed the disk sitting heavily on his thigh. He could feel the impression of a dove under the pad of his finger. Out of everything, he wasn’t leaving this at home. Out of anything, if he lost it, he would be more devastated than ever. It was worth more to him than his entire salary for three years, both literally and figuratively. For all of Arthur's close friendship and treatment, he did not pay Merlin enough. Merlin was quick to decide that when he got back, among the many things that he was going to do, he was going to demand a pay raise. And a vacation day, a whole week of vacation. After this, he was going to need a rest.

“Come on, slowpoke.” Gwaine called out from the carriage driver’s seat. 

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Merlin called after, his voice laced with an underlying annoyed tone. Not that he was annoyed at Gwaine, just the whole situation.

Why did Morgana have to ask for him? That had been the question Merlin had been asking the universe since he figured out who she was asking for, that he had been asking all morning. But by now, he didn’t really expect to get an answer. Even if he knew, he would never forgive her for it. But it was what was needed to be done.

With a heavy lurch of his stomach, Merlin threw his body into the carriage with a hard yet swift swing, hopping onto his chosen couch. The carriage seat barely had any give to it, but that was expected. Even with padding, these seats were supposedly never comfortable. He'd have to talk to Arthur about that when he got back, yet another thing to add to the list.

Before he could even reach out and close the door himself, a soldier walked by and closed it for him, latching the door from the outside. 

He was locked in.

“Are we ready?” Merlin asked, leaning his head out the open window, watching Gwaine crawl down.

“Almost, the princess is getting his horse.” Gwaine explained with a hop.

That caught Merlin with surprise. “He’s coming with us?” He had to ask.

“He’s coming as far as he can in half a day’s trip. He’ll turn back once he has to.” Leon explained, riding up on his chestnut horse. 

“Arthur didn’t mention that before.” Merlin muttered, furrowing his brow.

“It is a very recent development.” Gwaine said, gesturing with his head towards the other side of the courtyard. Merlin looked. There, looking like his stomach only slightly disagreed with the decision, was Arthur on the back of his own horse, Valor. The pristine picture stereotype of a horse shook his dark mane, looking just as proud as the rider that rode him.

Honestly, Merlin felt touched. 

“Let’s go. We’re burning daylight.” Arthur called out, turning his horse fluidly around to face the courtyard. Sitting high and proud on his horse, like the king he was supposed to be. Leading his people to an uncertain future.

"Hyah!" Merlin could hear the driver snap the reins. The soldiers marched, the horses began to trot, and the carriage groaned to a start. The wheels began to turn, and with a lurch the caravan was off. Merlin was off.

Merlin peeked his head out the window. Standing at the top of the steps, waving as they watched the carriage roll away, was Gwen and Gaius and all those knights who weren’t able to come with him. Many servants paused in their jobs and chores to watch him go, the same sad look in everyone’s eyes.

Merlin waved at them as he left them behind. He could barely see them wave back as he disappeared through the castle gate. 

The streets were quiet as they traversed through the town. It was too early in the morning for many people to be out and about, and most definitely too early to be awake and alert, but enough were awake to watch them leave. It wasn’t often that a carriage was used through the town of Camelot, especially with so little warning. So many of the peasants parted like a wave and watched in interest. Many waved at their king as he rode by, and a few more at whoever was inside the carriage, unaware of who exactly was inside. Any who did know immediately realized what was going on, causing looks of concern and realization at the potential loss of one of the favorite people of the community. Merlin tried to wave in return, but it didn’t help him get through the burning of his cheeks. Everyone was looking at him, and honestly, Merlin didn’t know how he felt about that. There was no doubt he was going to be the talk of the town before lunch. 

He just had to get to the forest, then he would be alright. Then it would be smooth sailing from there, so to speak. 

At least they weren’t leaving in the middle of the day. Merlin wouldn’t be able to bear all those eyes on him if they left during the hustle and bustle of the mid day lunch crowd. All those eyes staring at him, a myriad of thoughts behind their eyes. Merlin didn’t mind too much being in front of crowds, but that was usually because many of the people’s eyes weren’t on him, they were on their king. Merlin melted into backgrounds like butter on a hot skillet, so to have eyes on him was not a common occurrence and usually not a good one. 

Oh well, at least he could hide inside his box.

The moment the caravan was out of the village, passing through that gate, a small weight lifted from Merlin's shoulders.

As time went on, the king and manservant passed the time by idly chatting through the carriage window, watching the world around them. Watching the sun twinkle between the emerald of the trees leaves, hiding from the suns ever-present, ever growing glare. Surprisingly enough, Arthur gave Merlin a lot of advice about what to do when he got to Amata. What to look out for, how to check for traps, how to slip past guards, and how to get on Morgana’s good side, which basically boiled down to “smile and stay silent”. Merlin didn’t really know about the last piece of advice, he didn’t know if it would even work or if he could physically be able to do it, but he appreciated the advice regardless. It never hurt to get a refresh. After all, since Arthur couldn't be there, the best he could do was mentor his friend. 

As the sun rose higher and higher, Arthur wiped sweat from his brow. Many of the other guards and knights made similar movements, consistently reaching into their packs for their water skins, carefully tucked away to be kept out of the sun’s heat. 

It was official, summer was here, and it was coming with no concern.

Capes were being taken off. Armor was becoming a massive pain to wear, what was twenty pounds felt like forty. The smell of horse sweat and human sweat stuck to the air and everyone nearby. Feet were getting sore, bodies were feeling sluggish, and everyone was glancing the stream beside the road with yearning eyes. Even Merlin wasn’t faring too well, and he supposedly had it the best. The carriage box had gotten stuffy and hot even when all of the windows were open. Merlin even grabbed another bandana to wipe sweat from his forehead, and he was ridiculously close from needing to get a shirt change, or a spell to stop him from physically melting. It was like he had been doomed to ride inside an oven.

Honestly, Merlin was tempted to crawl out the window and just sit on the roof to watch the world go by. It may be cooler up there than inside. 

It was so hot that many of the soldiers opted to carry their water bottles and water skins in their hands rather than leaving them on the carriage. There's no point in having to continually pick up and take off the water packs when they were just going to get hot anyway. Might as well hold them. Even the horses were having a hard time being controlled whenever they’d come across a trickling stream of water that would cross the road in a trickle. 

Needless to say, the day was hot, and was only getting hotter. 

It was only when the sun was at its highest point that Merlin knew that Arthur had to go, but... for a small moment Arthur didn’t stop. It made Merlin hope a little bit that perhaps Arthur had just forgotten, that he was ignoring his own words and was coming along farther. That maybe, just maybe, he could come with him to Amata, and help him on his quest further. 

However, the moment that the group came along a larger part of the stream, Arthur held up his fist, and at a moment’s notice the caravan came to a halt. Horses shook their manes and licked their lips, men reached into their packs and drank the last of their water. If they didn't stop soon, they'd start dropping like flies.

“We’ll stop and take a break here.” Arthur ordered, turning to Leon with a look.

Leon nodded. “Everyone! We’re breaking here!” He relayed the message much louder, much to the relief of everyone. Merlin could hear the waves of relief pass through the crowd, the sighs, the exclaims, the muttering between friends.

In a flash, many of the soldiers dropped their things like sacks of rocks and burst off to the stream to get water. Even Gwaine used the last of his bottle’s worth to dump everything entirely over his head, completely drenching his head and luscious hair in water, before hopping off his horse and making his own way towards the stream. Horses that weren’t held back instinctually made their way towards the stream, and many a soldier had to make way for a horse to lean down and drink. Even Merlin hopped out of the carriage to get some water for his own water skin, making sure to stay upstream and away from the horses. He wasn’t going to drink horse spit.

Dropping his hand into the cool stream, absolutely reveling in temperature drop, Merlin felt as his water skin slowly fill with water. Honestly, he was tempted to just dunk himself in, or at least his shirt. It would be a welcome respite from the heat, although if he did it he would eventually be miserable again. What is cold does not stay cold forever, an annoyance Merlin found hard to deal with without magic. Perhaps he could just dunk his bandana in and just laid the fabric over his face...

Merlin was so sucked into making sure he got every drop of water that he could into his water skin that he failed to notice someone walking up beside him, leading a horse.

“This is where we part ways.” Arthur’s voice explained from behind. Merlin looked up. Arthur was standing beside him, holding Valor by the reins and letting him get a drink before he did. Valor took long slurping sips as he dipped his head into the stream, his ears perked with glee. You could see he was content with the cool water, as was everyone else. 

Merlin looked back at Arthur expectantly. “Are you sure?” Merlin just had to ask.

Arthur nodded sadly. “This is the last time I’m going to ask. Are you sure you want to do this?” He asked, looking his friend in the eye. There was a weight in it now, almost desperate in a way. As if he would respect his friend's decision, but it was clear that he had his own preferred option.

Merlin sighed. For all the times people had asked him that question today, his answer did not change.

“I’m sure.”

Arthur sadly nodded. “Then best of travels for you.” He began to turn away.

"Arthur, wait.” Before Arthur could get a word of argument out, Merlin stood up and hugged him. Despite Arthur’s insistent yet unspoken 'no hugging' rule, Merlin wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time. He probably never took a no for an answer in his life if he genuinely didn’t want to, and this was one of those moments. If he was going to die on this trip, or if he never saw Arthur again, then he wasn’t going to do it regretting never getting a hug from his best friend first. 

At first, Arthur patted his arm awkwardly. Not that he didn’t enjoy the hug, it just felt odd to be doing it in front of all of his men. There was certainly more than just one set of eyes on them, and Arthur had no interest in being seen as soft. But, the longer that Merlin held on, the more Arthur’s macho man persona crumbled until he eventually tucked into the hug as well.

It lasted a long time, far longer than what was usual for a hug. 

“Come on,” Arthur finally managed to pull away from Merlin with a chuckle, “You’ll be back in no time. There’s no need for this.”

Merlin felt like disagreeing, but he overall won in the end. He got his hug. "Fine, fine. But I'm finishing this hug when I get back."

"I'm sure you will." Arthur replied with mockery.

Finally, all of the kings horses and all of the kings men were done getting their water gathered. Bottles and jugs were filled to their brims, everyone got their last sips from the source before they had to keep going. Regardless of the fact that they were always going to be trailing beside this stream, they didn’t have the time to waste meandering because of the heat. Merlin found himself diligently helping the walking soldiers find ways to keep their water cold as long as possible, tucking the water skins and bottles in the shady parts of the carriage. As he had wondered, he dunked his bandana into the water and wrapped it around his neck to keep him cool. He expected it to only last for so long until he'd have to re apply water.

As he was doing this, Merlin noted out of the corner of his eye Leon and Arthur having a discussion. Merlin didn’t know what was said between the two, but it seemed important enough based on the way Leon’s brow crinkled. With one last final word Leon nodded, before turning away to start getting ready.

"Are you heading off?" Merlin couldn't help but ask, watching Arthur throwing himself back onto his horse.

"I need to get back. We have much to do." Arthur explained, his gaze casting over the forest.

Merlin nodded. "Then safe travels."

"Safe travels."

With a wave, Arthur and the few extra guards that had come exclusively for him bid their farewells with the rest of the party. With reluctance, after watching Arthur and his guards disappear down the road, Merlin hopped into the carriage once more. His book and pack were still resting on the bench where he had left them before, right before the group had stopped.

“Is everyone ready?” Leon’s voice called out from outside the carriage. Before Merlin could even open his mouth to speak, the carriage door popped open and in hopped Gwaine, complete with his pack, a semi drunken grin, and all. 

“Gwaine? What are you doing?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask, watching Gwaine bend over to squeeze in.

“Arthur wants one of us in the carriage with you at all times, and I pulled the long stick today.” Gwaine said with a grin, adjusting into the hard bench across from Merlin.

“Well best of luck getting comfortable in here.” Merlin chuckled. "It's not easy."

“You underestimate my ability to sleep anywhere? For shame.” Gwaine said with a smirk, before adjusting himself on the opposite bench lengthwise, as if ready to take a nap. “Wake me up when we get to the campsite, or if you need some obligatory Gwaine time.” He said with a smirk and an affectionate wink, before settling down on his back and closing his eyes. 

Merlin smirked and rolled his eyes. Typical Gwaine. With a shudder and a jolt, the carriage and the group carried on. The forest outside the carriage began to surge forward, leaving the small alcove they had rested in behind. 

Merlin sighed and ran his hands down his face, feeling reality rest on his shoulders once more. It was up to him now. If he wasn’t careful, he wasn’t going to be going home. 

No. Enough of that pessimistic thoughts. Banish them to the dark pits from whence they came! He was coming home, no matter what. No matter what he had to do, he was coming home, treaty or Amata be damned.

Oh, if only he realized that he was lying to himself, and that Destiny was laughing at his face. 

Morgana rubbed her forehead with a groan. 

Trapped in her office, it was miserable how she was spending her few moments of respite and peace like this. For the past day and a half she had been having a massive headache, and no amount of water nor sleep could satisfy its desires. She didn’t exactly realize just how much work it would take to get this kingdom into shape, and with Camelot dragging its feet with the treaty, it was only getting more and more frustrating. It was inevitable that her frustration was going to form into some physical shape eventually, and it's finally arrived.

Truly, Morgana was finding it much more difficult to run a kingdom than she supposed. For Camelot, the kingdom practically ran itself, but for a kingdom like Amata, it needed a bit more hands on work to prevent it from falling apart. She had to deal with politics, which she had to be delicate with considering the lords and their personalities and where their allegiances laid between her and that annoying Prince Aldus. Scraping every last sign of King Sarum and his degenerate son from this castle and getting it cleaned up was a hassle and a half, and trying to figure out how to deal with criminals was nearly a full time job. To top it all off, the advisors were insisting that she find a respectable groom and were criticizing her choices with Camelot’s treaty every single meeting she had. ‘Oh that’s too much of our reserves for a manservant’ this and ‘Camelot doesn’t deserve that much resources’ that and ‘you should pick a respectable man of noble or royal blood, here’s five shitty options’ whatever. If it weren’t for the fact that if she kicked out all of those who spoke against her she would have no advisors left, Morgana would have fired them all on the spot for criticizing her choices. 

It was truly annoying, and honestly Morgana was beginning to regret her decision of becoming queen. Being a royal, while had its benefits, wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. It wasn't just pure power and nothing more. You’d think she’d already learn this when she first took over Camelot, but Morgause was the one in charge really. Even Morgana was willing to admit that she was more of a representative during those days. She may have worn the crown, but Morgause was the brains. She was a face for the kingdom, a front, to claim the consequences for her sister’s actions and pretend they were her own. Morgana wasn’t even really sure anymore what was even her choice and what was her sister’s. The same could be said for the second time she took over Camelot, merely running on pure instinct and memory, although she didn't hold the throne for long then either.

For a small moment, Morgana wondered how Arthur dealt with all of this when he first became king. He probably cowed to his advisors, or they would be kissing his feet. Maybe both, depending on the advisor. A certain manservant came to mind there, just as he did as the days went by. Sometimes more scornfully, others more favorably. 

Just then, there was a knock at her door.

Knock! Knock! Knock!

“Enter.” Morgana called out, barely looking away from her window.

The door creaked open. “Your majesty?” A high pitched voice spoke up. It was one of her maids, a very young woman Morgana had little time nor interest to learn her name. Learning how to quickly run a country and clean out every remnant scrap of an old cruel king took work and time, and she did not have time or interest to make friends.

“What is it?” Morgana asked coolly, turning to look at the maid. She was a plain young woman, a short lass with hair the color of smooth bricks pulled back in a bun to reveal her round face, thin lips, and grey eyes.  Her hands were tucked behind her back, as dutifully as ever. She looked as if some of her ancestors were from the Celtic tribes. 

“You have a visitor. Gorangon, the Earl of Kent. He sends this as well.” With that, the maid revealed her hands, revealing a small wooden box full of sweets and spices. The perfect gift for a potential suitor. “And might I say, he is not a bad looking gentleman.”

Morgana felt her interests fall. That was why she had a headache. Her fourth in person potential suitor in two weeks.

“I see.” Morgana replied, turning away. “Tell Earl Gorangon that while I appreciate the gifts, I will not be accepting any suitor requests at the moment.”

“Of course. Is there any reason I should tell him?” The young maid asked, bowing. 

“Tell him that I am uninterested, that I am awaiting the response of another suitor before I will pursue elsewhere.” Morgana replied, turning her gaze at the world outside.

“The man from Camelot?”

Merlin, Morgana’s mind echoed. A small smirk formed on her lips. “Yes, him.”

“Beg pardon, but it’s been a week, and there’s been no response. The guards have not seen a signal sign of them. Perhaps—.”

“I am not paying you for your opinion, young lady.” Morgana replied cooly, giving a glare her way. The young woman silenced herself immediately, eyes wide, lips pursed. “Camelot is taking its time, and that is their free given right.”

“But—.”

“Until they either send a response, I will continue to believe that they are coming to a decision.” Morgana scolded. She turned away coldly. “Tell Gorangon what I said. You are dismissed until needed.”

The maid nervously bowed before making her way out of the room. For one small moment, she looked like she was bordering on crying.

The moment she heard her office door closed, Morgana sighed. She didn’t intend to be mean, but with her ear splitting headache and her sheer level of annoyance, it was inevitable. 

She must have a sensitive soul, Morgana thought to herself before continuing to look out the window.  Before her very eyes, she watched as servant and carpenter worked to dismantle the worst of the torture machines in the ‘garden’ just outside her window. Apparently King Sarum had his office overlooking where he tortured his victims, and now, being the leader of this land, she was forced to look at it. Forced to remember what she went through. Forced to remind the people that at any moment she could throw them into these places just as much as they were forced to stand by and do nothing as their friends had to go through it.

This would not do. 

Morgana didn’t know what to do with this land, much like how she didn’t know what to do with this kingdom. She could only hope that when Merlin arrived, things would begin to fall into place.

Merlin could smell the sea far before he ever saw it. 

For the past couple of days, the group had been traveling towards the northernmost dock of Camelot, with varying levels of weather. Gwaine, true to his word, miraculously had been able to doze the rest of the hot day on the thin bench until the group had found a good campsite. Of course, he couldn’t fall asleep all that well that night, but it made a perfect set up for the first night shift.

As for Merlin, he tried to make himself useful in whatever way he could. Gather firewood, unload supplies, the works. He tried to talk to people as much as he could. It worked somewhat to distract him, but it took Leon to shove him down onto a log and to stop trying to do everything under the sun that Merlin’s thoughts came rushing back until he went to sleep that night.

In order to distract his mind and away from the concoctions of emotions it had been facing, when talking to someone didn’t work, of course, Merlin had been reading some of his books. Sure, the light inside of the carriage had left much to be desired, but he could still read when the weather was good. 

Today, Leon was riding with him. He made good conversation, something that Merlin greatly enjoyed, especially as the weather got worse and worse. It started out a nice day, but a thin veil of grey clouds soon covered the sky and blinded the blue. Like a thin blanket of unprocessed cotton had been stuck to the sky and left there like a blanket over the world. When conversations fell, Leon pulled out his own book (a poetry book as Merlin gently chided) and began to read. 

Every time Merlin peeked up from his book, the forest of trees had been slowly thinning out into a craggily, rocky coast. The dirt turned sandy, the trees grew thin and sand blasted by ocean wind, and larger and larger rocks and boulders were forming up until those rocks became cliffs off in the distance. Song birds and hawks turned into seagulls and sea hawks, oak forests turned thin. It wasn't long until the very sound of the carriage going over the land changed from hard dirt to soft sand. It was a growing distance.

Merlin had never seen the ocean before. Even though it was always something for his bucket list, there wasn’t really much of a reason to visit when he was with Arthur. Camelot’s coast never was of great importance as Camelot didn’t have much, nor was it in much of an advantageous point for trade. Including his non existent vacation days, Merlin never had the chance to go, although he always hoped. 

Camelot really only had one official port, and even then that wasn’t as a proud bustling fishing and trading town like that which belonged to queen Annis’s people. Compared to Queen Annis's port and town, which was aimed at the mainland and brought in a lot of trade and import supplies from the mainland, Camelot's was barely even a fishing town. Amata sat in a similar boat (so to speak) with Camelot. Amata’s coast mostly sat behind a mountain range, separating many of the villages that sat on the coast from the rest of the kingdom. While Merlin appreciated their autonomy, they weren’t exactly critical to Amata’s rule. Mainly, Amata was a kingdom on the other side of those mountains tumbling into their plains. Fertile and heavy with water, an absolute envy of Camelot.

At some point, the carriage had come to a halt. Merlin barely noticed it he was so enraptured by his book, curled up on the bench so as to be pinned against the wall and bench, but the moment he did he looked up. The outside sound was both vacant and full. Soldiers chatted idly, horses stood idly or attempted to eat the scraggly grass. Leon was still enraptured by his book across from him, but didn't look so keen on getting out. Merlin could hear Mordred and Gwaine discussing, only to be responded by a rougher, gruffer, somewhat more annoyed voice. Like the kind of voice that had been salted and jerkyified by time, who had seen plenty of insane experiences and didn't have time to tolerate the company of others. From what Merlin could hear, they were discussing with the local fisherman prices for some extra food, bartering with what they had on hand. Extra food didn’t hurt for a trip like this, and this was where it was needed the most. 

Merlin pulled himself out of his corner and peered through the window. The carriage was almost leaning against one of the few trees in the area, and off in the distance he could see a sliver of ocean between the old tree and the door. Just a sliver of a bluish grey on a pale grey horizon. The closest he had ever been to the ocean, just a short walk away.

This was his chance.

“Hey, am I allowed to hop out?" Merlin asked, looking back at Leon. "I’ve never seen the sea before.” He could barely hope to contain his excitement, already itching towards the door.

Leon looked up from his book, his brow furrowing. “Once Mordred and Gwaine are done we’ll be moving,” He explained cautiously.

“It’s not like you’re going to leave me behind.” Merlin retorted, taking this as his permission. Flicking open the carriage door lock and letting it swing open, he followed soon followed and let himself fall to the ground. He landed with a hop, sinking further than he would in dirt.

“I’m starting to think we should!” The sound of Leon’s voice called after him as Merlin left the caravan behind. 

With near excitement, Merlin hurried down the foot worn path towards the ocean coast. 

Leon sighed with a chuckle before tucking back into book. Finally, he had a moment to himself.

...

Five seconds went by until Leon figured that if there was ever a time to get up and move, now would be it. Sliding a bookmark into place, Leon stretched his back and reached for the door. He could go with a good stretch. Getting to the ground, he realized this was a good decision, as his back immediately complained and one of his legs had fallen asleep.

As he watched Merlin walk down the path, he couldn’t help but think about their plan and how much it had changed in the very last minute. 

The path for their journey from there on out was relatively simple. Keep the Cragged Mountains to their right, and keep following the trail north until they reached the White Mountains. There, at the meeting point of the two mountain ranges, would be where Amata’s capital would be. Was it the most direct path? Absolutely not. There was a path nearer to Camelot they could have taken that was faster. Their current direction added nearly half a week onto their schedule with lots of potentially annoying terrain. But that was the point, as Arthur had explained; make the journey just uncomfortable enough so that Merlin would be more willing to go home than stay in Amata. Besides, it would get them a good idea of the terrain more than if they took a direct path. On their way back, they would take the direct path home. A hero’s journey, in a way.

Leon didn’t exactly agree with the plan, a longer amount of time meant they had a higher chance of running across bandits, but he didn’t really have a choice. It was Arthur after all, and his word was king. They would run across bandits eventually, they may as well plan it out strategically. The soldiers were highly trained men, they should be able to handle a few off handed bandits or two.

Leon sighed and stretched. So long as they keep Merlin safe, and he discusses with Gwaine and Mordred a good strategy, they’ll get through this safely.

Gravelly sand crunched beneath Merlin’s boots. Whispy grasses rattled in the wind as he passed, gently slicing his palm as he ran his hand over them. The sound of the ocean grew louder and louder, crashing waves against the shore.

He took in everything around him. How his boots dug into the wet gravely sandy coastline. How the water foamed for just a tiny moment before crashing into the ground and returning to water. How the seagulls laughed and dove, skittering across the shore and looking for food like gangly teenagers trying to look innocent. The water soaked dock jutting out into the water in the closing distance, a lone sailboat with sails that had once been white but had faded to a light gray bobbing alongside it. Nearly blending into the sky above. 

Merlin took a deep breath, coming to a stop. Feeling the wind tickle his face, ruffle his hair, taking its fresh saltiness into his lungs. Just a touch of sting and bitterness to it, enough to wake him up and clear his head.

The crest of the ocean rolled to his feet, right to the edge, seeping into the sandy gravel before retreating. A tiny crab nearly the same color as the sand and the water scuttled away. Merlin's gaze returned to the sea.

People had always said his eyes reminded them of the sea, but he had to disagree. Deep, calm, wise, a pale grey with a touch of blue, frothed with a touch of white. Proud and bright, yet holding a deep sadness. 

The ocean reminded him of his mother’s eyes. 

People throughout his life noted that he inherited a lot of his looks from his mother. It was basically a joke at this point that if they knew Hunith, then they knew he was her son. Even Arthur commented on it at some point, mentioning he shared his cheekbones with his mother. Perhaps he inherited more from her than Merlin believed. Not enough, he personally thought. He could have inherited her wisdom, her calm way of seeing through a situation... but he didn’t. 

But at the coast of the ocean, in the color of his mother’s eyes, he couldn’t spiral down into a pit of dread. No matter if he wanted to, the ocean’s grasp wouldn’t let him. It was… calming. He almost didn’t want to leave. Like the ocean called his name, even though he had never seen the sea before. He had heard that his name came from the word Myrddin, which means ’sea fortress’, but Merlin wasn’t sure. If he survived, he’d have to check. If it was, it would make sense. People say names have a certain strength over the person it is attached to. A sea fortress always stood on the edge of oblivion, guarding against the endless water, never to fall in.

Such an ironic fate if he did fall into such cold depths, for the water held so many of those who he lost. Perhaps not the sea directly, but every drop of water eventually ended up here.

Perhaps… Perhaps in some sort of dreaded future, one where he couldn’t leave Amata’s lands, he could move to one of those shoreline villages. A quiet life on the coast, where the rain never stopped. In a small quaint village, that reminded him just enough of Ealdor. Where every day he stepped out and he was greeted with a color that matched his mother’s eyes. Where he could be away from Destiny for just a little while. 

Just for a little fresh air, some reprieve.

Slowly, he could hear someone walking up to join him. Leon. 

Merlin didn’t even look the golden haired knight’s way as he came to a stop beside him, greeting the ocean as it rose to greet him. The knight crossed his arms over his chest.

“Beautiful.” Merlin couldn’t help but say.

“Mm, I don’t know. I personally prefer the mountains.” Leon shrugged. His gaze was torn to the left, where cliffs began to grow and tower over the beach and waves below. The perfect place for a large animal to launch itself off of to take flight. 

Merlin smirked. “Well we’re going to see a lot of those.” He replied, following Leon’s gaze. 

A silence fell between them, filled by the sound of crashing waves. Seagulls cried and laughed, taking off after being disturbed.

“I know you’re getting sick and tired of people asking if you’re ok or if you want to go back, so I’ll ask a different question: is there anything I can do to help?” Leon asked, giving his friend a hard look. He knew how annoyed his friend was getting with the pestering questions by this point, but nothing they did seemed to help him, no matter what they tried.

“Not really.” Merlin sighed. He spoke up after another moment of silence. “Just… is it wrong to be scared?”

Leon shrugged, his brow furrowed. “No. I’ll be honest, I’m scared half the time whenever we go on these missions. Nearly everyone is. But that’s what makes someone brave; the brave continue to do what is must even when scared. It’s our job, it’s what we do to help others.”

Merlin closed his eyes. What Leon failed to explain was how to deal with the occasional feelings of distress in his gut caused by this fear.

Another moment of silence passed between them, listening to the sounds of the waves crashing into the shore. The seagulls continued to laughing into the distance, continuing their search for food. Waiting there for so long the little crab crawled from where he once was back towards the two and towards his tiny home in the sand.

Leon sighed. “Well, looks like Mordred and Gwaine managed to get some more food. Are you ready to go?” He asked, glancing Merlin’s way one more time. 

“Give me a few more minutes.”

Leon nodded, before turning away to head back towards the carriage, to help Gwaine and Mordred with whatever food they managed to procure. “Come join us when you’re ready.” Leon offered over his shoulder before he hurried off.

Merlin’s attention turned to the ocean once more. He watched as another wave crashed against the shore, before the water crawled up the shore and barely touched his boot, as if like a friend. A friend reaching out and giving their fellow person a comforting touch before they did something that required a lot of courage. Like that the touch of a loved one, reaching from beyond the grave to comfort the living once more. 

Merlin took a step back. With a sigh, he turned his gaze away from the ocean and towards the mountains in the distance.

Capital of Amata, Morgana, here he comes.

Morgana leaned against the stone railing and cast her gaze over her kingdom, feeling the rain laden wind gently caress her face. Clouds covered the morning sky, the first storm officially starting to roll in. It wouldn’t be long until rain came. 

He was coming. She saw it. 

She had to admit, while she was reluctant to take off her bracelet and let herself be tormented by potential nightmares, what that maidservant said did ring a chord with her. It had been an unsettling long amount of time since Camelot had sent one of their desperate letters to beg her to change her mind, and she didn’t know what they were thinking. More specifically, what Merlin was thinking. She couldn’t care less about what Camelot was thinking except be a little entertained watching them scramble around like chickens with their heads cut off, but Merlin… Merlin was what she was most interested in. What was he thinking, what was he planning on doing. The enigma that was him, the potential threat of him, she could not afford not to know, not to plan for.

Of course, sending a letter to ask for an update would be the coward’s way. That would suggest desperateness, and even if she was, she wouldn’t let Camelot know that. Not in any way shape or form. No. If she wanted to know what Merlin was doing, she would have to find another way.

Good thing she was a seer.

The risks of horrible debilitating nightmares were there, she was quite well aware of it, but maybe, if she was lucky, she could possibly see what Merlin was doing. And for once, she was lucky. She saw in her dreams a singular carriage being lead by a squadron of soldiers and three knights guarding the way, with one precious man inside, being attacked.

As always, she woke with a gasp, but now she knew. She had a plan. But Morgana needed to know. She had to know if they were alright.

Fortunately, she had that ability too.

“You called for me, ma’am?” A particularly male voice asked. Morgana looked back over her shoulder. Standing in the doorway to her bedroom, helmet held dutifully in one hand and dressed in clean armor, was a gentleman of some years older than her, barely beginning to streak grey in his cleanly cut pale brown hair. It was one of her highest generals, the captain of the city guard, and he was hanging his head and gaze cleanly away to keep her modesty. “Or is this a bad time?” He asked, holding his hand up to his face like a horse’s vizor to keep his view explicitly away from her.

“No, you’re fine, Sir Tadeus.” Morgana exclaimed, picking up her silken robe hanging off the back of her couch. She didn’t need to be quite so indecent in front of him, even though she had been far more indecent when she presented herself before the kingdom of Camelot. Of course, she had a reason for that, to send certain people spiraling, but that was beyond the point now. Along with wanting to be polite and letting his queen keep her modesty, Morgana knew that Sir Tadeus was a quite loyally married man, and if it made him uncomfortable to see another woman in her nightgown then she would not push him. In fact, Morgana nearly praised his loyalty as much to his wife as he did to his queen. With ease she slipped on the wine red robe over her creamy silk nightgown, and with visible ease the pepper haired knight relaxed. 

“What is it you need, your majesty?” The knight asked with an accent Morgana could never place, but it was not bad. It had a rough clip to it, like something that belonged to a group of lawless people attempting to find law. Of a group of people pioneering a new land that needed heroes to protect them from those who broke the law. It was quite endearing.

“I need you to send out some spy guards to Camelot’s boarder and some into their territory, especially on the path near the mountains. I want confirmation knowing if Camelot is coming and of their safety.” Morgana explained, tying off her robe with a knot.

Sir Tadeus arched his older brow. “Wouldn’t it make more sense to come from the straight path from there? How do you know they’re coming from the mountains?” He asked, crossing his arms.

“I can just feel it.” Morgana replied cooly yet softly. She stepped toward her fireplace, where Aithusa slept. The little dragon barely stirred as Morgana reached down, bent down, and began to prod her fire. Sparks and light probed the air, flying off for just a moment before disappearing into nothing.

“And if they aren’t there?” The knight asked. 

“Then have them wait in case of problems. I have a feeling that we are not done with our bandit problem, and we don’t want to give a bad impression to our guests, now do we?” She gave him a look. 

“No we do not, ma’am.” Sir Tadeus shook his head, before turning to face the door. “Do you need me to fetch your maid for you?”

“She will come when it is her time. You may go.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” And without another word and merely a bow, the knight turned and hurried off. 

Morgana smiled. She had to start planning. She had to get some things into place before her future husband arrived.

Merlin was grumpy. 

To say it simply, his mood had only been growing worse and worse since they had left the ocean, and this morning had only made it worse. Not only had Merlin woke up on the absolute wrong side of the bed pad with a rock shoved into his spine, but he messed up and burnt his breakfast, he accidentally sank a foot into the river while cleaning his bowl and thus getting one foot soaked, and the weather was quickly turning downhill. First it had brought in a nice cold wind the day before, but today it brought in the dreary skies. To top it all off, Merlin found that his butt was quickly becoming sore and numb from sitting on a hard bench for so long and he was not allowed to move.

No matter how many times Merlin insisted that he can ride his own horse or even walk, thank you very much, Leon and Gwaine wouldn’t allow him. It was “safety and security” this and “we don’t want to lose you” that. Reasonable yet stupid reasons, Merlin personally thought, but at this current moment it was the knights who were in charge, so what they said goes. So here he was, stuck in the back of a carriage and was hating every single damn second of it.

Those first few days the ride had been somewhat fun. It had been fun to look out into the world around and not need to control a horse himself for once, not to mention the butt numbness after a while of sitting on a saddle. But as time went on, it became more and more evident that there was good reason why Arthur never used these things. The carriage was slow, dark, bumpy and stuffy all at the same time. It was really more like he was traveling in a crate more than anything. One particularly large rock or dip in the road, and Merlin would be half jostled off of the hard bench no matter where he sat. Not to mention he couldn’t enjoy the sounds of nature outside his window, only the sounds of horses hooves and wheels rolling over packed down dirt. For some it could be a relaxing sound, and perhaps even to Merlin too, but he couldn’t take a nap if every time he tried to fall asleep he’d be nearly thrown from the bench. 

He missed listening to the birds, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. He missed the feeling of a horse beneath him, feeling its heartbeat and presence and riding as one. Granted, in this weather the horse would probably be very sweaty and smelly, but that didn’t really matter to him, he was used to that. He grew up with a horse and a cow right outside his window and a goose at the foot of his bed, he was fine with animals. 

The only upside and downside to this journey was, just as Gwaine explained, he was joined at all times by a knight in the carriage. It was to ensure his protection at all times, while the others kept constant guard on the road. The three knights agreed to rotate every day, so that everyone had a chance to ride in the carriage for fun. 

Even with all of the weather and being bumped around like a doll, Merlin could tolerate it. Riding with Gwaine or Leon led to either quite funny or quite pleasant conversations. However, today he wasn’t riding with either of his friends, no. On the third day, he was riding with Mordred.

Needless to say, the young man annoyed Merlin to bits. At this point, it had nothing to do with Destiny or the like, it just reached a point that anything Mordred did got him annoyed. He could just sit there and do nothing and it would annoy the snot out of Merlin, but at least it wouldn’t be as bad as if Mordred tried to talk to him.

Unfortunately for Merlin, Mordred tried to talk to him.

Let it be known that Merlin did try. He did try his best to be a good person, to be nice. But all of the events leading up to his, being stuck in an uncomfortable box with Mordred, the turmoil, Merlin was at his wits end. He tried to ignore the young knight to the best of his ability, digging his nose quite deep into the book that sat on his lap. Occasionally Mordred would chirp up with something, commenting on what he saw, but Merlin would just pretend that he didn’t hear anything. For a time he was successful, but as the day drew on and the sky grew heavy and dark with rain, it became harder and harder for Merlin to read and harder and harder for him to ignore the young knight.

With a final sigh, realizing that he could barely see the words on the pages anymore, Merlin tilted his head and leaned his head against the window pane.

They were back in the forest now, the trees had slowly become a combination of oak, birch, and pine as they slowly rose in altitude. To their right was the mountain range they were looking for. Mountains loomed outside their carriage window, scraping against the dark grey sky like jagged teeth.

“Alright, what’s wrong?” Mordred came to ask out of the blue, right as the carriage jostled once more. Was it a jostle, or was it thunder, Merlin couldn't be sure.

“What?”

“You have been explicitly ignoring me this whole time, and it’s getting old.” Mordred proclaimed, leaning forward in his bench. The young man looked determined to get Merlin to open up and talk to him, and now that they were basically locked in a box together, there was no escaping now. Well, Merlin wasn't quite so interested in giving in and opening up so easily.

“Well what do you want from me?” Merlin sighed. 

“Some conversation would be nice.” Mordred shrugged, leaning forward. He should have asked Leon for one of his books, because without conversation, this ride was getting boring.

“Look, you trying to be nice to me isn’t going to get you anywhere.” Merlin retorted, giving Mordred a look, turning on his bench so that he was fully laying on it.

“Oh I know that, I’ve been trying for a while now and it still hasn't worked.”

“Then why don’t you just give up? We’re clearly never going to be friends.”

Mordred merely shrugged. “Never say never.”

Merlin ground his mouth shut with an annoyed glare, not giving him the luxury of a response. Silence reigned once more. With a huff, Merlin tried to shuffle down and maybe, possibly, attempt at taking a nap while riding. He really didn't have any other options if he was going to be this petty. The carriage jostled once more, nearly knocking Merlin off. He had to let one leg hang down to keep himself from flying off and making a fool of himself, but other than that he seemed to figure out how to sleep.

Then, just as Merlin thought he was starting to fall asleep, Mordred perked up again.

“So when are you going to tell her about your magic?” Mordred asked nonchalantly, as if he was asking what they were going to be having for dinner that night, or how the kids were doing.

Merlin stiffened in his seat. If he had a drink, he would have choked on it. The carriage shook. “Wow, you get real deep for small talk.” He retorted. Of all the things Mordred could ask, this was what he picked?

“Well if you won’t talk to me any other way, then might as well dig deep.” Mordred said with a shrug. It was a genuinely honest question. Whether or not Merlin was going to kill her (which Mordred somewhat hoped he didn't) the key to their relationship, the treaty, and his own sanity relied on how Morgana dealt with learning her new fiancé was the most powerful sorcerer known to mankind. It wasn't an option to keep this knowledge from her anymore. Whether it to be to kill her or, hopefully, to help her in some way that would also benefit Camelot, keeping his magic a secret from her was only going to drag out pain. Honestly, it was a miracle she hadn't already figured it out. 

So, if Morgana had about the same level of awareness as her half brother did, then it would be up to Merlin tell her. Or, if he didn't, then Mordred might.

Merlin sighed. “I don’t know,” He replied reluctantly. The question hung on his mind, but he was sure that if he did tell her, verbally or visually, she wouldn't live long enough to use this knowledge against him.

“You want my two cents?” Mordred asked.

“I will pay you a gold piece not to.”

“You better tell her sooner rather than later. You wait any longer, and I genuinely think she’d kill you.” Mordred replied, leaning back in his seat. 

“Oh, and she isn’t going to kill me for the vast slew of crimes I’ve done against her?” Merlin retorted. Honestly, it wasn't an impossibility. It was very much her style.

“Well she did offer her hand in marriage to you. Perhaps she didn’t think of you as a threat to her power.” Mordred offered as a beacon of optimism compared to Merlin's black hole of pessimism and bitterness. 

“Great, so I’m a trophy of war to her.” Merlin muttered sarcastically, sinking in deeper.

“Exactly. A trophy husband.” 

“I’m not going to be her husband.” Merlin grated. 

“Beg pardon, but isn’t that the reason we’re going?” Mordred asked, leaning forward for a moment. He might have been a little hard of hearing in court, but he thought killing her was a last resort option, not a certainty. Why would Merlin risk such a thing?

“I’m going there to kill her.” Merlin replied, "that was the plan all along." Just as he said this, thunder snapped across the sky like a scolding warning. A flash. One drip of water smacked the window, two, three.

"Uh oh." The carriage driver muttered. And like all the gods had tipped over a bucket, fat heavy raindrops crashed from the heavens, pounding against the roof and window panes. Merlin watched as soldiers scrambled for their things. Gwaine outside the carriage window immediately reached into his saddle pack and pulled out an oiled leather over cape, smushing his hair down as he threw it on. It wouldn't do to keep him completely dry, but it would be enough to prevent him from getting pneumonia.

“Huh, first summer rainstorm.” Mordred muttered, reaching up to close the top window panes. 

“Bit late if you ask me.” Merlin grumbled, although he did enjoy the sound of the rain pattering against the roof and windows. Patpatpatpatpat went the rain against the window, trickling down and quickly cooling the glass against Merlin's neck.

The two felt as the carriage came to a stop for just a moment, as soldiers began to pull their rain gear out of their packs, those oil skin coats and cloaks that no one honestly believed they were going to need to use. Thank goodness for Gwen’s insistence to be over-prepared. 

It didn't take long before the carriage began to move again, this time at a little faster pace. The sooner the group found a dry spot, the better.

“You don’t really want to kill her, do you?” Mordred finally asked after a long moment of silence, looking at Merlin warily.

“What makes you think I don’t?” Merlin replied scornfully.

“She was once a friend.”

“You know as well as I do that she lost those privileges.” Merlin bit, trying to shuffle down in the bench again. Now that the windows were closed the carriage was going to start getting warm and cozy soon, all the better to take a nap in. 

“Well you know as much as me that anyone can earn back their place in good graces.” Mordred tried to offer before getting cut off. 

“After what she’s done to Camelot, to the people she’s hurt with her sister, I’m surprised you think I should give her another chance.” Merlin retorted, his gaze piercing through the young knight. He huffed. “She chose her side. She could have done anything she wanted, and she chose to attack Camelot. She chose her side, and I chose mine. Alright? End of story.” With that, Merlin turned on his butt, propped his legs up on the other side of the carriage, and dug his head against the other wall like an ostrich determined to go to sleep.

What little made of Mordred’s smile immediately dropped. He thought he was starting to make strides in breaking through Merlin's sour temper. He thought that maybe, just maybe, he could get the manservant to see things from a different angle, that maybe, just maybe, it would be best for him to spend some time in Amata and maybe learn more about how she's changed. Not that he didn't want Merlin to leave Camelot, no, but perhaps it could get Merlin to get his head out of his destiny obsessed ass and see the clear picture. That life doesn't have to revolve around Camelot, that every action he takes doesn't need to involve Destiny. That sometimes Destiny is wrong, that people can change. That maybe, just maybe, if he considered actually marrying her, a different outcome may occur, potentially better than what was going on now, instead of potentially making a very, very dangerous enemy.

Evidently, that wasn't going to happen. Not now, at least.

At least it was very clear where Merlin stood, no matter how frustrating it was.

Why does it feel like trying to do anything with him is like taking one step forward and two steps back? Mordred thought to himself before curling up and trying to sleep as well. 

The two fell back into silence once more for a long, long time. Thunder rolled in the distance once more, growing closer and closer. Occasionally, Mordred could see a flash of light outside their window. The sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels was intermixed with the sound of pattering rain against the roof and splashing of boots, hooves, and wheels in puddles of mud. It was comforting, and for a little while it helped the two calm down a bit. For a bit the two were able to actually rest, and Merlin honestly considering pulling his blanket out of his backpack. 

But before Merlin could do so, the carriage came to an slow halt.

Merlin was jostled awake. Sitting outside the window was but a humble sign, low to the ground and nearly covered in bramble. The sign nearly blended into the underbrush of the forest around it, but it was clear what the sign said: Lord Lugh’s territory, a lord in Amata. 

They were on the edge of Amata.

“Welp, here we are.” Leon explained over the sound of rain, gesturing at the sign. “Crossing this, and we’re in Amata’s territory.”

"You ready?” Mordred couldn’t help but ask. 

“Why do you guys keep asking if I’m ready?” Merlin muttered in frustration, reaching for his pack. “Yes, I’m ready.”

“Then let’s get going.” Leon nodded towards the carriage driver. With a click of a rein, the carriage groaned as it surged forward.

“At the rate of the amount of times we’re stopping, we’ll get to Amata by the time summer is over.” Mordred muttered.

Merlin hated how he smirked at the young knight’s joke, because that meant he liked it. That meant that he was already falling for the young knight’s attempt at friendship, and he knew the moment he let his guard down, Mordred was going to come up and stab Arthur behind the back. He could barely wait for such a day to come, just so that he could stop being so anxious about it. After all, anxious feelings were a lot like nausea: at some point you just wish the bad thing would happen so that you can stop feeling so miserable. 

Unfortunately, Merlin smirking also meant that Mordred had something to latch onto, something to get his hopes up. 

Mordred opened his mouth again, but Merlin caught him to the bit. “Don’t.

“Don’t what?” Mordred asked innocently enough.

“Don’t think I was laughing at your joke.”

“You did smirk.” Modred couldn’t help but say.

“That was because it was universal knowledge.”

“Tell that to Gwaine and Leon. They’re the ones who are so reluctant to keep going.”

“And you’re not?”

“I know that once you set your mind to something there’s no stopping you, and that it would be better to just help you and not get in your way than to try and convince you of otherwise.” Mordred explained plainly, leaning back in his seat.

“Then why do you?”

Mordred shrugged. “Trying to get some conversation.”

With an exasperated sigh, Merlin reached into his pack, pulled out his blanket, and with only a look turned to try and go back to sleep.

Mordred sighed, before turning in his bench and leaned back. He could have turned on the lantern with a simple fire spell and ask Merlin for a book to read just so that he could stop annoying him, but he felt that asking him the question would only make the problem moot. So, he settled down in his bench too, turning his blanket to take a nap.

It wasn't even half an hour of rest before the carriage came to a halt once more, this time very abruptly. Mordred nearly stumbled off his bench, and Merlin would have laughed if it weren’t the concerned murmurs going on outside. He could hear the driver mutter something to someone, and a horse beginning to trot on by. Something was going on. Someone heard something.

Merlin poked his head out the window. “What are we stopping for now-?” Merlin was about to ask sarcastically.

He didn’t get one second to push his head out before a hand pushed his head right back in. “Keep your head in,” Gwaine hissed as he rode by, his sword already drawn as he rushed past with his horse at a trot. 

More and more sounds of guards drawing their weapons and readying their spears could be heard outside the carriage. Before Merlin had any time to react, Mordred had leapt to his feet and his sword had been drawn, crouching towards the door.

“Get back,” He hissed, gesturing for Merlin to push to the opposite wall. Merlin did as he was told. 

The silence was stifling. The only thing people could hear was the rain gently pattering against the road. Everyone's hearts raced as they waited.

Gingerly Merlin reached down into his pack and pulled out his new dagger, his other hand reaching for Arthur’s emblem. Mordred’s grip tightened on his sword, his breath shook as he gently exhaled.

The silence held for so long, until…

Thunpk!

A cross bolt arrow lodged itself in the wall of the carriage, simple and clean arrowhead poking through the wall right where Merlin’s head had been not long ago. 

Merlin flinched, and all of a sudden, the fight began. Simple, dark clothed bandits came shouting from the woods, crashing into soldiers and knights. Metal clashed, men shouted and screamed as they fell, all sounds muffled by the pouring rain. It was a battle.

Merlin felt his throat hitch as Mordred thew himself from the carriage, slamming the door closed behind him. “Stay put!” He shouted back, “and I mean it!”

Without hesitation, the young knight ran off to help his fellow soldiers.

Now, Merlin wasn’t a fool, but he wasn’t going to listen to Mordred either. The young man was going to get killed out there!

Shoving his head out the window, Merlin was immediately met with the pounding of rain and shouts on all sides. He looked around. The soldiers of Camelot seemed to be taking it better than the bandits, but at any moment, in weather like this, anything could change. These bandits knew the land better than they did, and they may be trained better for rain and the terrain.

Thunder rolled, the wind changed. Camelot needed an extra boost.

Merlin looked up. There, dangling precariously over the road, perfect for his needs, was a potential widower. A large dead chunk of a tree branch tucked between a few flimsy branches, ready to fall and ever so conveniently crush someone at any moment, hence their nickname “widowers”. They killed loggers all the time, why can’t it kill a bandit at an inopportune time in the rain? It just needed a little… convincing.

With a flash of concealed gold, the trees twisted and groaned, moving just out of the way to let the branch fall with a sickening snap! 

With a scream or two, another bandit was taken out, right before he could strike Mordred in the back. Mordred only was able to whirl around just in time to see Merlin lower his hand, but it was enough for him to know. He nodded, only getting a nod in return before Merlin had to duck his head back inside before another cross bolt lodged itself in the wall of the carriage. It wasn’t much, but it was enough for Mordred. Perhaps things could change with time. 

It wasn’t long before the trained soldiers and powerful knights of Camelot managed to chase off what remained of the vicious ragtag group of bandits, but not without some damage to themselves. Fighting in the rain doesn’t give advantages to anyone, only the most desperate and foolish would try and the experienced would have to deal with slipping in puddles and being weighed down by armor. 

It was an exhaustive fight.

With the last of the bandits realizing this would be a fruitless endeavor and running off, disappearing into the woods, the whole group let out a sigh of relief.

At last, Merlin could make himself openly useful.

“Am I allowed to come out?” Merlin called out the carriage window.

“Yes,” Leon sighed, wiping his forehead of rain and sweat, only to leave a watery streak of blood behind. 

Without even a second of hesitation, the carriage’s door clicked open and Merlin hopped out, letting himself into the soaking rain, where he was immediately soaked.

“What was that?” Merlin asked, looking up at the knight on his horse. Both the horse and her rider were soaked beyond recognition, lion’s mane colored hair plastered to his head.

“Bandits. The rest ran off.” Gwaine shrugged, leading his horse up. His own dark hair was plastered to his head in stringy rivulets, like he had just walked out of a shower. In a way, he looked a lot like a wet dog. Soldiers passed behind him, helping each other out and assessing the situation.

“I can see that.” Merlin looked down at the few bodies on the ground. Blood gently flooded away in the small muddy trickles running down the road. “You know I’m not useless in a fight.”

Leon shrugged. “Sorry, Arthur’s orders.”

“And since when have I ever listened to him?” Merlin arched a brow in a joking manner.

A small smirk grew on Gwaine’s lips, dripping with water. “Fair,” He wiped what water and plastered hair he could out of his face, only for it to get replaced not three seconds later.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle we didn’t lose any men.” Mordred proclaimed, walking up. He had blood on his sword, but whose it was not clear.

“That’s because these weren’t experienced bandits, they were new.” Leon explained. With a huff, he hopped off his horse to join his friends on the ground. His boots splashed in the mud.

“And desperate.” Merlin explained, watching a soldier gently kick a downed bandit, as if he expected the body to just melt away in the rain like a stereotypical witch. “They would have done a lot more damage if they knew what they were doing.”

Before Merlin or Mordred could open their mouth to speak, probably to comment on their desperateness or their bitter reasons to be, a guard ran up. “Sir, we have a full count.” The guard explained through his soaked mustache.

“What’s the damage?” Gwaine asked, being the closest.

“Most of the soldiers are alright, but Trevor twisted his leg in a mud puddle in a fight and Gregarious has been shot through the shoulder.”

“The driver?” Merlin asked.

The soldier nodded. “Yes, sir.”

That wasn’t good. Despite how easy it looked, driving a carriage was no easy feat. You couldn’t just pick up the reins and expect the horses to listen to your every command, especially on a four horse team where every horse might not be able to hear you. It requires training to keep all those horses in line and the carriage on the right track, and that wasn't experience many people had.

“Have them both brought inside the carriage. Examine them and see what needs to be done.” Merlin explained over the sound of the rain. He should also grab his coat, but at this point, it wasn’t really going to help much.

“Yes sir.” The soldier nodded again and hurried off. The sky flashed, and thunder rolled in the distance again, this time, closer.

“We should set up camp soon.” Merlin muttered, looking at the sky. “The weather’s getting worse at this rate, and if we don’t get dry soon we’re all going to have colds.”

“The scouts said the next available campsite room would be another two hours ride, and we need to deal with the dead.” Mordred tried to say, wiping wet curly hair out of his face. He gestured at the dead bodies on the road.

“Leave them. We don’t have time to give them a proper burial, not in this weather.” Leon explained with a pained look. 

Mordred looked concerned. “But… what about their souls?” He asked. Everyone knew that if you didn’t properly bury a body, their souls would not find rest. Besides, carrion animals loved dead humans, and no matter if they were your enemy, it wasn’t right to just leave them for them to eat.

“Don’t think I’m happy about this either, but we need to get Merlin to Amata as soon as we can, and this weather does not afford good timing for burying or burning the dead, and we can’t take the bodies with us.” Leon explained with a concerned look.

“Don’t worry, if the bandits are as loyal to their men or as persistent in their attacks, they’ll bury the dead or someone else will.” Merlin tried to assuage, but it didn’t seem to do much for the young knight.

“And if not, we’ll bury them on the way back.” Gwaine explained, resting a hand Mordred’s shoulder. This didn’t do too much to comfort the young knight, but it would have to do. Out of the corner of their eyes, they could see a young soldier and the driver, an older gentlemen with straw blond hair and a mustache, get loaded up into the back of the carriage.

“Hope you like sitting next to each other.” Gwaine commented to the two riders before turning to the rest of the group. “We’ll be leaving within the hour!” He called out over the sound of pounding rain.

The soldiers all grunted in tired response.

“Come on.” Without a word, Merlin headed back to the carriage, hopping in with ease. As he got inside, he could see the bandaged soldier trying to deal with the driver’s wound, much to the driver's hissing and annoyance. In the soldier's defense, he knew the proper idea of taking off the driver’s wet clothes, revealing the fresh, bleeding wound to the air. However, the soldier was having a hard time getting the bandage to stay on the wound, and the driver was not helping one bit.

Merlin’s instincts as a physician’s apprentice immediately took over. “Here, allow me.” He took the gauze from the soldier’s hand and gently gestured him away. The soldier only nodded, before watching on as Merlin wrapped the carriage driver’s shoulder. The carriage driver, Gregarious his name was, hissed, trying to keep any sign of pain down. 

“You should be alright,” Merlin muttered, inspecting the bleeding wound with every wrap. “The arrow went clean through, it's not bleeding horribly, and I see no broken bones.”

“Still hurts like hell though,” The driver’s rough voice muttered. He didn't give a look Merlin's way.

“That I’m sure.” Merlin said with a small smirk. “Just change the gauze out daily and keep the wound disinfected. Boiled water and some mild soap will do in that regard, but let the water cool down before cleaning the wound. We might need to do a few stitches once we get to a resting point, but that shouldn’t be too hard.” He replied on instinct, keeping his eye on the small wound continuing to bleed yet slowly disappearing under layers of gauze.

“You know surgery?” The driver’s gruff voice asked, arching a brow Merlin's way.

Merlin was no master surgeon, but he knew enough from working Gaius. He's helped sew up much worse, once even on Arthur after Arthur had fought with the wrong buck one hunting season. “I’ve helped enough.” Merlin shrugged. 

The driver huffed. “It’ll do.” He replied before turning away, resting his head on the carriage wall.

Merlin took this as a sign of agreement as he rose to his feet. “Does anyone else know how to drive a carriage?” Merlin asked to Mordred, who at some point had hopped into the carriage while Merlin was cleaning up the wound.

Mordred's brow furrowed, "I don't know, Gwaine was mainly in charge of the carriage components. Leon was in charge of the soldiers." Without another word, he opened the door to the carriage and shouted for Gwaine, trying to keep as much rain out.

“We have my apprentice, but the boy isn’t too experienced.” The driver explained, sitting up, reaching up to cup his wounded shoulder.

“He’ll need to drive then. You’re in no condition to drive, or be in this weather.” Merlin explained, looking up as a flash of light struck outside the window. Seriously, what god had they pissed to make the weather so inconvenient and strong? The storm was going to wipe out entire villages and fields at this rate.

“What do you suggest then?” Gwaine asked as he arrived, peeking in the doorway.

“Honestly, he can ride inside the carriage with Mordred and me tonight, if that’s alright.” Merlin sent a look Mordred's way.

Mordred shrugged. “Sounds good to me. What about him?” He gestured at the soldier with the sprained ankle, who looked on eagerly.

“I’ll check him next, but he seems alright at the moment. If he’s good, he can walk as soon as tomorrow, if not, he can ride either with us or on the spare horse.” Merlin explained, turning back to Gwaine. “If I can gather some materials, I can ease the driver's pain and reduce the chance of infection further.”

“Can you get the resources around here or when we stop?” Gwaine asked, gesturing at the woods.

Merlin shrugged. “It shouldn’t be too hard either place, they’re pretty common plants, but I would suggest sooner rather than later. The longer we take, the more likely he is to get an infection.” He explained, gesturing at the driver. The driver did not seem too happy with this idea, giving a look to Gwaine.

Gwaine nodded thoughtfully. “Just keep your wits about you. We shouldn’t stay too long here, and with this weather you’re only more vulnerable without armor.”

“Since when have you all been concerned about me not wearing armor?” Merlin asked as a joke.

“Since you got hurt last time you went on a mission.” Gwaine tried to reply in the same humorous tone.

Merlin flinched, remembering the wound on high his thigh. Yeah, he would admit, some armor would have helped there. Honestly, it was a miracle that he didn’t die of blood loss that day, it was awfully close to an artery. Fortunately, whether it be magic or just pure luck, the knife didn't go deep enough, and Merlin lived to suffer another day. 

“Mordred, you have experience identifying herbs. Why don’t you go with him. We’ll get things ready to go here.” Leon poked his head in as well, hearing the conversation from outside. 

“Only if Merlin would let me.” Mordred replied, giving Merlin a side eye. 

Merlin knew that he really had no choice in the matter, so he shrugged. “The more eyes the faster.” He said reluctantly, before throwing on his coat. He was going to need it.

With a nod, the two headed off. It didn’t take too long to find the herbs that Merlin needed, even though the small quest was generally spent in silence. After that fight, not even bickering could be done. 

Of course, being away from the group meant that Merlin could use a drying spell, but in this weather what good would it do? He’d be soaked the moment he returned to the group. At least he was confident that Camelot was getting some well needed water now. 

Eventually, Merlin and Mordred found what they needed. It wasn’t much, but the herbs were capable of taking care of a person or two for a few days. At least until they got to Amata, where then the driver could get some proper treatment.

“Are you going to use a healing charm as well?” Mordred couldn’t help but ask.

“If I can,” Merlin replied, tucking the final herb into his small side bag. Thunder cracked above as the clear shape of lightning flashed, and if it weren’t possible, Merlin could have sworn the rain got harder. “We should probably start heading back.” He muttered, turning towards where they had left the group.

“Mhm. I think my underwear is soaked.”

“You’re covered in thick armor and a cape. Imagine how soaked I am.” Merlin replied with a smirk. 

“Oh yes, but you have spare clothes you can get when we get back to the carriage, I don’t have a spare set of armor.” Mordred replied with just as much of smirk and bite.

Merlin shrugged. “Eh, we can dry it off in the morning.” 

“What, and be caught with magic? I think not.”

“Then we’ll dry everyone’s clothes. They won’t notice if everyone is dry.”

Mordred shrugged. “Fair enough. That is, if the rain ever stops.”

"Knowing our luck, it's anyone's game."

With a reluctant chuckle being shared, the two sludged back to the carriage and caravan. By the time the two returned, the bandits bodies had been neatly dragged beside the road, layered up in the driest spot they could find and layered with a light layer of leaves and dirt. It was the least the group could do, and if they came back this way, they could do a more thorough burial. 

“Got everything you need?” Gwaine asked, looking up from his saddle pack.

Merlin nodded. “We should be good to keep going, so long as things go well and we don’t hit too much bumpy terrain.” He replied.

“Well, I can’t promise you anything there.”

It wasn’t long before the group was once again driving off. By this point Merlin had changed into warm clothes, letting his sopping wet set lay out flat on the floor of the carriage. Not that it would help much, but it was better than bundling them up into a ball and calling it a day. For Mordred it was similar, although he was still stuck with a wet set of armor. Wet armor was a pain, and unfortunately Mordred didn't have the luxury of having a second set or taking it off. Fortunately he didn’t take his cape out with him into the rain, so he had some sort of semblance of a warm blanket to cover himself with while in the carriage. As time went on it was inevitable that everyone in the carriage was going to take off their absolutely soaked shoes and socks, and while it wasn’t a pleasant smell at all, it was better than letting their feet stew in wet boots and socks and get pruny and possibly get the chance of a disease. That wasn't going to happen, not with Merlin's tutelage.

It wasn't long until the carriage grew warm and cozy under the warmth of the four bodies packed inside, to the point where Merlin cracked the top windows open just a little to let some heat, smell, and steam out. So what a little rain got in, it was welcomed.

It wasn't long until the carriage driver was snoring in his corner of the carriage, completely and dead asleep. His favoring of his right shoulder wasn’t subtle in the slightest, and every time they hit a particular bump or dip, he flinched. The soldier, tucked in beside him, seemed to be faring much better than his buddy, although still very much asleep. As Merlin confirmed while they drove, the man’s foot wasn’t sprained or broken, merely bruised. He would be alright, he just needed to stay off his feet for the night and maybe the morning. 

In Merlin’s lap was his dinner bowl, slowly being filled with mashed and crushed herbs. Granted, Merlin would have preferred using a mortar and pestle, but a spoon in a wooden bowl had to make do. 

It was when Merlin was mostly through his herbs that the soldier spoke up. “How’s it going?” He asked groggily, looking up from his nap. In all honesty, Merlin wasn’t entirely sure if the man was awake, and was just asking in his sleep, but the look in the young man's eyes was enough to confirm.

“It’s going well.” Merlin replied, dropping more herbs into the bowl. At him speaking, Mordred perked up from his book, which Merlin had decided to offer over. Lantern light wasn't exactly great on his eyes, but it wasn't terrible. 

“Be honest, will he be alright?” The soldier asked, giving Merlin a look that told him to be as gently honest as he could.

“He will. With this he’ll be a little numb and sore in that shoulder in the morning, but he’ll be alright.” Merlin explained, gesturing with the bowl, filled with the mashed goo. This seemed to appease the soldier, because with a nod the soldier fell right back to sleep.

It was only a few moments after the soldier was back to resting that Merlin let out a sigh. The carriage hit a bump in the road, causing the soldier to roll his head and the driver to flinch.

Mordred barely looked up. Do you need help with a sleeping charm? His voice echoed inside Merlin's head.

Why would I need that?

To ensure that they get a good rest until we get there, and so that you can make the healing charm in peace. Mordred offered.

Merlin pondered it for a moment. Despite the fact that it annoyed him to admit it, the idea was smart. That would be helpful.

Without another word, the two magic users got to work casting their charms, one to sleep and one to heal. With the soldier and driver peacefully asleep and healing, Merlin had the time to work on his herbs in peace.

It didn’t take long for Merlin to be nearly done, complete with his semi sticky, herbal paste. Without a word, Merlin slid the carriage window open and jutted his head out into the rain. The rain wasn't getting worse anymore, but it wasn't getting better either. The soldiers that were walking and even the horses looked tired and sad, and he was pretty sure he saw one slip in a puddle for just a moment.

“We should find a good place to stop soon, just to be safe!” Merlin called out to the completely soaked Leon riding beside his window. “I got to apply some ointment to his shoulder, and trust me, doing stitches back here at this pace will only make it worse.”

Leon nodded and yelled back, “Got it!" before turning to two others on horseback, guards designated to be scouts for their party. “Ride up ahead and see if you can find a good spot to stop for the night!”

“Yes sir!” with that the two scouts and their horses ran off, the hooves thundering over puddles and land.

“We should hear back soon," Leon replied over the roar of the rain. "Once we get to a good spot to settle down you can start working on them while we set up camp.”

Merlin nodded, and with a mere duck he tucked his head back inside. It was comforting inside the back of the carriage now.

Morgana flipped a page. A strike of light flew against the grey sky outside, and sheets of rain smacked against the common room window. She was curled up in her new-but-not-really-new, velvet covered couch with a homemade knit blanket, nose in a tome explaining Amatan history. The fireplace before her popped and crackled comfortingly. To Morgana, she was safe inside her new home. Aithusa, laying at her feet, was curled up contentedly, her freshly done clean white bandage glowing bright in harmony with her clean scales in the fire light. She looked so content and peaceful, sleeping like that. Like a loyal dog on the doorsteps of their home, waiting for their master to come home.

Thunder rolled again in the distance. For a small moment, Morgana wondered how Merlin was holding up in this rain. Surely he was feeling it, a long awaited storm carrying rain towards the lands of Camelot. A pretty late storm, considering how little rain had hit the area all spring, but it seemed the gods had found that dropping all the late rain all at once was the solution to satisfy. Flood whatever withering crops they had. The gods had an odd sense of humor, especially when it came to Destiny.

Just then, there was a knocking at her door. Aithusa immediately perked up, giving out a faint chirp in question.

Morgana looked up. “Enter.” She called out. There, coming in from the outer halls, still drenched in rain and dressed in an oilskin coat, hair still dripping with drops of rain, was the captain of the guard, Sir Tadeus. “Well? What is the state of Camelot?” Morgana asked, turning towards the man dropping water on her new rug.

“Our extended guards have found the caravan of Camelot heading up the path around the mountains, just as you said. They should be here within the week or less, depending on the weather.” He explained, tenderly trying to brush off the rain without getting it where he shouldn’t. 

“Good.” Morgana turned back to her book and flipped the page. Aithusa seemed excited yet satisfied, before curling down to fall asleep once more.

“It should be noted that before my men arrived, the caravan had to deal with a group of bandits.” Sir Tadeus explained, taking another step forward politely.

Morgana’s heart lurched. The dragon and herself looked at each other for just a moment before she asked, carefully hiding her concern, “Are they alright?”

"For the most part. Their driver was injured, but my men were able to confirm that he will be alright.”

“Did they deal with the bandits?”

“They killed a few. Their bodies will be buried in the morning once the weather makes it more capable.” Sir Tadeus explained. 

Morgana let out a sigh of relief. Dealing with the dead isn't a fun process, but so long as it's done, it wasn't much of a problem. “Good.” Morgana nodded. “Is the reconstruction of the back of the castle complete?”

“As far as I am aware, it is. Is there anything else that needs to be worked upon?” Sir Tadeus asked, like he was a common servant.

“Do not concern yourself with it. Tomorrow I’ll have the servants work on cleaning this place from top to bottom.” Morgana explained. Even though she had been here for a couple of months already, and had already had this castle cleaned raw and revealed its hidden beauty that had been buried under years of scum build up, that does not mean that she didn’t want to make a good first impression. After all, this was supposed to be her future husband coming their way, she wasn't going to give him firing ammo to mock her.

"Very well ma'am. Have a good night." At that, the knight turned and walked out the door.

Morgana didn't have the chance to say good night before the door closed behind him. She huffed. Rude, but misunderstandable. He probably wanted to get home to his wife.

With a shuffle, Morgana settled down to plan. She knew she needed a place for him to stay, somewhere for him to sleep. Somewhere fitting, somewhere suitable. Somewhere to make him know exactly his position, somewhere where he knew exactly how much she was worth to him. 

Morgana glanced at the second door in her room and smirked. It would take some cleaning, but she knew the perfect place to put him.

With a smile, she shuffled down in her couch, rubbed Aithusa on the head as she settled onto her lap, and went right back to where she was reading.

Shouts of agonizing pain echoed through the forest. Again and again, and yet nothing was being done to help him. In fact, they were advised against it. None of the men outside the carriage spoke, merely trying to eat their food while their friend was getting fixed. After all, it was the reality of surgery.

While it was gruesome and gritty and agonizingly painful, Merlin took his time pulling a sewing needle and boiled linen thread through broken skin. While it caused pain now, he wanted to make sure that the wounds would be kept closed now while they healed, along with the gauze to keep them clean.

With the numbing ointment applied not long after the screaming had died down, and a barely noticeable healing spell to make it tolerable, it soon was enough for the driver to sleep without a problem. Merlin would have to keep an eye on that wound, but he was confident that the driver would be alright. As he joked, he’d get to keep his arm for another day.

No one else laughed.

Although, cleaning up the bloodstains was going to be a bit more of a challenge, but that was for future Merlin to endeavor. He’ll clean it up when he has the chance.

With a sigh, Merlin finally emerged from the carriage. The rain had finally begun to calm down, barely a drizzle. There was some points you could see the sliver of the moon above as the clouds began to depart. The rain was leaving, for now.

Packed around the carriage was several different fires and a few large tents, each packed around with guards and knights huddled in fresh blankets, new sets of clothes, and warm capes. They hadn’t thought it was necessary for the tents earlier in their trip, after all it takes longer to put up a tent and take it down than to just sleep under the stars, but after the rain they weren’t taking any chances. They also weren’t going to be taking chances with a night shift, which was barely going to be necessary. Even with new warm toasty sets of clothes, everyone was going to sleep with one eye open. 

This was not Camelot’s land, this was somewhere new.

Merlin reached up and wiped his brow with a rag. His hands were covered in blood, but honestly it could have been worse. He had seen worse over his time with Gaius. Some things… just weren’t worth reminiscing on, not unless Merlin needed a way to vomit on command. Honestly, he didn’t think intestines would wriggle so violently when they’re outside the body, and yet they do. 

In the distance, Leon stood up from his spot by a warm, comforting fire and made his way towards Merlin, with Gwaine following suit not long after.

“How is he?” Leon asked, coming to a stop before Merlin.

“He’s in pain, but he’ll be alright.” Merlin explained, continuing to try and wipe his hands on the rag. A couple of the guards and Mordred that he had help hold the driver down soon popped out of the carriage as well, each one with a pale, ghastly look on their face. Even after working such jobs as they did for so long, hearing a man shout in pain was enough to remind someone what pain is. The guards, still in somewhat of a daze, trailed off towards the comfort of friends and the fire, while Mordred joined the rest of the knights.

“I recommend he stays in the carriage.” Mordred spoke up, getting the attention of the others.

“For once I agree with him.” Merlin explained reluctantly. “It would keep him dry over the night, which is what he needs. He needs a safe, dry place to heal, especially in the early days of healing.”

“Do you think he’ll be alright for him to drive tomorrow?” Gwaine asked, his arms crossed.

“I think it will be alright for him to ride in the front and guide someone else on how to drive until we get there." Merlin explained. "The doctors in Amata may be able to care for his wound further, and by the time he gets back to Camelot he should be alright. Although, he will be probably favoring that shoulder for the rest of his life.”

Gwaine shrugged painfully. He knew that kind of effect too well. "Very well. Someone will wake him up in the morning when we get time to go."

“In the meantime, we got your stuff in our tent and dinner made if you want any.” Leon explained, gesturing his thumb at the smaller tent set up. It was meant for only a few people, only for the knights and the one they were going on this whole mission for.

“No thanks, I’m… not all that hungry.” Merlin explained. He looked down at his hands. “Do we have any water?”

“There’s a stream nearby.” Leon gestured with his head across the way.

“Thanks.” With a nod, Merlin trudged off. It wasn’t until he was on the far side of the camp that he could hear the rapid roaring of a stream much fuller with water than normal rushing by. Breaking through the thin tree line, flecks of water fell from the trees above. He was careful to get down on his knees, one wrong slip on a patch of mud and he’d be taken down stream. He already fell in once earlier this morning, he didn't need to do it again. This morning, it was funny, if he fell in this time, it might be deadly. Fortunately, the extra pressure of water helped him wash the blood from his hands. If only he could use that same kind of pressure to wash the blood off the carriage when he got back... Perhaps a spell could do it...

Merlin's mind trailed off as he stood up. He’d have to deal with the stains at some point, might as well start now. 

Cleaning up bloodstains was a hassle, especially on surfaces that couldn't be dunked into water. Considering the amount of times Arthur had gotten into fights, Merlin's been up to his figurative elbows in blood stains, and they only got more annoying to deal with on hard fabric surfaces, such as couches and the like. By the time Merlin was done with the hard elbow grease and cleaning spells, what few clouds had remained had all but disappeared, revealing the crescent moon high in the sky. The drone of crickets chirped in the darkness, and as if right on time, an owl hooted in the distance. It was now fully nighttime. 

Honestly, Merlin knew he needed to eat something, but all he wanted to do was go to bed. Trudging through the camp, most of which was starting to succumb to their sleep, Merlin made his way towards the closest most and smallest tent. Most of the things inside were bare and necessary, the collections of the things that belonged to a knight. He was sharing his tent with his fellow knights tonight, several to the tight confines of the tent. Absolutely nothing compared to the luxuriously large travel tent that belonged to Morgana, all those weeks ago. Honestly, a tiny part of him wondered what it would feel like to sleep on some of her soft pelts of fur, perhaps on her lounge couch. Not on this thin hard mattress pad and thin blanket, exposed to the cold with only his closest friends to keep him warm.

At least he was sleeping with his friends. That was more than what he could say for Morgana at the moment.

The moment Merlin slipped into the tent, he was greeted by the fellow knights. Gwaine had decided to bring a deck of cards with him, and they were all gathered around a small lantern someone had brought. One of the only proper lanterns the group had, but they were useful under the right conditions, such as it’s raining or you’re in a small tent and don't want to set everything on fire. 

Honestly, while Merlin wanted to play with his friends, he was sorely tired. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Making his way towards his stuff in the corner, not wanting to disturb their game, Merlin paused. Right next to his backpack and unrolled mattress pad and neatly folded blanket, was a familiar flower, somehow not crushed during the setting up process of the tent. Lonely, it stuck up oddly, as if waiting for him. Raindrops still resting on its dark purple petals, a string of flowers sitting up on a tall stock with leaning pride. Like a reminder from a time long past, a long, painful reminder. When he wanted to show how happy he was to have someone home, when he thought he didn't make an irreparable mistake. 

Sitting down on his things, he gently reached out and touched the petal. So soft, so smooth, like brushing someone's cheek. An old raindrop rolled down and landed on his thumb like a tear.

Merlin failed to notice the knights watching him do this. How they noticed the pained look on his face, that look of doubt, that look of uncertainty. Of hopelessness, of being stuck in a corner with no good way out.

“Is Merlin alright?” Gwaine asked, leaning forward across the covered flames of the lantern. His question was turned to the rest of the group, but part of it was intended to be leaned towards Mordred, seeing as how he had been with him most of the day and with him during the attack. 

“I don’t know, he’s been like this for weeks.” Leon replied in stead of Mordred with a furrowed brow.

“Perhaps it’s just stress?” Mordred tried to offer. “We are basically treating him like a sacrificial sheep at this point.”

“If he’s a sacrificial sheep, then he’s a wolf in sheep’s clothing.” Gwaine couldn’t help but mutter. Merlin was no sheep, he could serious butt if he wanted to. 

“You know I can hear you, right?” Merlin’s voice cut through the darkness of the tent on the other side, getting the knights to jump startled. While he was mostly cast in the flickering darkness of the corner, the group could barely see that he was getting changed for the night, just finished pulling his nightshirt over his head.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.” 

The three knights all apologized out of sync. Their conversation quickly went elsewhere and their gaze turned away, at least until Merlin had changed and was long asleep. 

Merlin gently sighed, before leaning down and pulling his blanket up to his neck. “Goodnight,” He called to them.

“Goodnight.” The three replied unanimously.

Merlin rolled off to his side, his thin blanket up to his chin.

God, he could not wait for this trip to be over. Any day now, he would be in Amata and with one swift motion could complete his mission. Amata would be free from under her tyrannical rule. Camelot would be free of a tyrant's rule. Arthur would finally be free of the biggest threat of his life, nothing else would compare to her level of threat to him. Merlin would finally able to complete a part of his destiny. And then and only then could he go home and be with his friends again. 

The thoughts sat heavy in his heart. The flower brushed his hand, reminding him just who he'd have to kill in order to complete his destiny, and what part of his past and his heart he'd have to ignore. Without another thought, he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

Morgana, on the other hand, found herself in the midst of a nightmare.

Her body shook, shivered, and curled in her silken sheets, her face contorted into a grimace. Tears attempted to leak down her cheeks, her body contorting under her blanket across the vast expanse of her bed. Her prophecy bracelet jangled against her wrist, incapable of helping her through her nightmare this time. For not every nightmare Morgana had as of late was a prophecy. Sometimes, nightmares were truly nightmares, and sometimes they reminded her of the past.

“Are you feeling better, sister?” Morgause asked, barely casting a look over her shoulder as she worked on something before her on her personal desk. Her tattered blood red dress was the only sign of color that could be seen throughout the dark hovel, shining in the light from the window. Morgana couldn't see from her cot that she had been in for the past month or so what her sister had been working on, and she never really cared to learn. She could hear chirps outside the walls of the hovel they were currently staying in, where exactly, Morgana did not know. All she knew was that, for the first time in a month, she wasn't in terrible pain and had regained full control of her bodily functions, not having gone in and out of conscious in about a week or so.

Morgana clutched at her head, sitting up in the simple cot of a bed. Still dressed in a simple linen nightgown she hadn’t changed out of for who knows how long, she finally felt able to move. For the past month her mind felt foggy, like something was playing fiddle with her mind, like cotton had been shoved in beside her thoughts, amplifying and muffling at the same time. She could barely breathe most of the time, going in and out of consciousness.

She rubbed her throat. After all this time, it still felt sore, like she had been screaming into a void, wishing for someone to hear her. Like someone had held her throat in their fist for too long, leaving bruises on her larynx.

“I think I’m alright. I can at least stand,” Morgana replied, throwing her legs over the side of the cot, feet meeting the dirt floor of the hovel. 

“Good. Then tomorrow we’ll begin practicing wide scale curses.” Morgause proclaimed, still not looking up from her work at the table. Still not by her sister’s side to tend to her wounds. 

Morgana paused, her heart gripping. “Wide scale curses? Aren’t those for large territories?” She couldn’t help but ask. 

“Of course, we may need to use them in order to take over the whole of Camelot.” Her sister’s tone of voice was too chipper for what she was saying. "We need make them pay for what they did to you, to us."

But for Morgana, it was concerning. It was like no time had changed after what had happened in the castle, as if Morgause hadn't considered a different path. “What about my friends? What about Merlin?” She tried to say, standing up and taking a step forward.

Morgause paused, her shoulders stiffening. “What about him?” Her tone was low and bordering on dangerous. 

But Morgana wasn't having that. She could still try to appease to her sister's good graces if only given the chance. “I don’t want to hurt him. I don’t want to hurt any of  them,” Morgana tried to say, taking a step forward.  She stood her ground before her sister, but her stance was beginning to waver.

“Are you serious? After all that he did to you?” Her sister’s tone was turning icier. She still didn't turn to look at her.

“But…” Morgana breathed. Yes, she did remember. She remembered how he didn't have to say a word to tell her the truth. She remembered feeling heart broken, trust betrayed. She remembered her throat closing, the way her heart began to race, trying to get more air. She remembered the tears in his eyes, the way he held her as she fell apart. She remembered him, who he was. A friend, one of her closest. Something more than just a friend to her. Someone who surely had good reasons for what he did, right? No man who willingly wanted to hurt someone would cry and hold them in his arms as they died. Not without a good explanation... Right?

“He hurt you, didn’t he?” Morgause hissed, finally turning around to look at her. “He attempted to kill you, did he not?”

Morgana didn’t want to say it. She didn’t want to remember that. It broke her heart every time her mind faded to those dreams, or when the pain flared up again. She wanted to remember how he touched her, the first and probably only time they ever shared more than just grasping a wrist or fingers. The first and only hug they had ever shared. She didn't want to think about how he hurt her, she wanted to know why. She didn't want to think about how she was betrayed, that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to fix this. Maybe he had a reason, a reason he didn't have the time to tell her, or something, anything... Anything would do, she just had to know.

“But surely there was a reason, right?” Morgana tried to say, “Surely he wouldn’t hurt me without good reason. I thought I heard him explain—.”

But her sister just shook her head, blond curls gently bouncing. “You are such a fool.” She muttered, closing her eyes.

Before Morgana could try to respond, she soon found her throat beginning to close up, like it would when she would be on the brink of tears. Her heart beat faster and faster, feeling more and more frustrated, until Morgana quickly realized she couldn’t breathe. A ringing quickly grew in her ears, she couldn’t hear the world outside. No birds, no wind, no fireplace, nothing. All she could hear was her rapid heart rate and her wheezing breath. 

Like the world went silent, watching her die again. And of course, Morgana panicked.

“What…?” Morgana tried to say more but merely gasped in a panic, collapsing to the floor. Hands and knees dug into the dirt as she tried to breathe. She didn’t have the time to think about what her sister had told her, why she didn’t respond to her questions. Why she didn't try to explain what she heard Merlin say.

Slowly, a set of feet covered by a red dress crossed her gaze, the long red dress of her sister.

“You are still recovering from the hemlock poisoning.” Morgause explained all too calmly, towering over her. Never getting down to comfort her, her voice too calm for her words. As Morgana struggled to gather a single breath, she missed the golden glare in her sister’s eyes. “Your breath will regain soon.”

Morgana wheezed. She couldn’t think of anything but the pain. She couldn’t think, her mind was purely in survival. Semantics were gone.

“He did this to you,” Morgause explained calmly, watching as tears leaked out of her sister’s eyes. “He hurt you when he had other choices. He did this to you, not me.”

Morgana was too in pain to wonder what she meant by that. She couldn’t think, she couldn’t do. 

She needed to survive.

Slowly, a cold hand reached down and caressed Morgana’s back as she wept in pain. The pain continued to burn, the world was turning darker and darker. Yes, Merlin did do this to her. He caused her this pain. She only needed a reminder of the things that he was capable of doing. Forget asking why, forget the tears shining in his eyes, forget the way he held her one last time, forget everything she might have heard him say during those last minutes of consciousness, about vessels and curses and the like.

He did this to her. He hurt her. He broke her trust, he didn't care about her enough to tell her why he was doing this. He just hurt her and held her like nothing was wrong. It didn't matter why he did or what reasons he had, the end did not justify the means. Not to her. 

She should forget him.

Forget him.

Forget him.

Forget him.

FORGET HIM.

And then, silence. The ringing stopped. Her heart rate went back to normal. She still couldn’t breathe, but it was coming back now. For all those feelings she felt for him before, there was now an aching, pulsating, painful void of a broken heart. 

The silence of the room was stifling.

“It’s just you and me, my sister.” Morgause’s cool yet comforting voice explained, rubbing her hand down her sister’s spine. “No one else will help you.”

“No one else,” Morgana finally replied through lack of breath.

The tears finally stopped as her breath returned. She looked up at her sister with cool indifference. There was a spark of a fire burning in Morgana’s eyes now, one that of rage. A rage that Morgause could continue to cultivate and grow. Turn her into a ready and willing weapon.

But Morgana did not care. She did not notice to care. She had her anger, her pain, and that was all that mattered.

Morgause was right. He didn't care about her. She was going to burn that precious Camelot of Merlin’s to the ground, and leave him last so that he could watch her do it. Hold him before his death, watching his world crumble around him as it did for her.

They all would pay for turning their backs on her.

Morgana woke with a light gasp. Tears wetted her cheeks as she tried to remember where she was. 

It took her a long moment to remember that no, she wasn’t in that dreaded pit anymore. King Sarum was gone, and so was his son. She had a kingdom of her own to rule.

Outside the castle, the haunting wind howled and rattled her windows, as if the world was on the cusp of rain once more. The sky was dark, there was no crescent moon or stars tonight. It was the kind of weather, the kind of night, where all Morgana would crave for was a warm someone to snuggle up with. They were rare feelings, the same level of rarity as waking up to rain in the morning or seeing the first batch of snow streak past the street’s lantern light, but when they sprang up the desires held tight.

When she was but a child on nights like this, she’d crawl into bed with her father, and when she got older she’d ask Gwen or even Arthur to stay with her, if she got desperate enough. Morgana didn't care, and she was desperate. She wouldn't even poke Arthur for fun the next morning for it. It was still some of her fondest memories.

But now, she had no one. She hadn’t had anyone for a long while, not since she left Camelot. No, Morgause was unwilling to share a bed with her when she got scared, saying that it was a little concern to deal with. Morgana had agreed with her for the longest time, but recently... that wasn't the case.

Morgana sat up, looking around the cold emptiness of her room. All the luxuries, tapestries, couches, rugs, marble and more, and it all felt cold and lifeless. Dark, scary, looming over her. She felt like a child scared of the dark. The wind howled outside her window once more. 

In her most base desires, she wanted someone to hold. Someone to protect her for just a small moment, so that she could stop defending herself for once from a world that was relentless.

Then, something chirped from the end of her bed. Morgana perked up.

Sitting at the end of her bed, looking at her a little too expectantly and alert, was Aithusa. Looking like a cat that had done something, and yet something the master could not find out. Like she knew more of Morgana’s condition than she should have.

“Did you…?” The words died on Morgana’s lips, confusion on the forefront of her mind now. Surely there was no way she could have. Surely not. Sure, the little dragon was capable of suppressing memories when the memories of the pit got too strong, of Prince Aldus's touch and presence, but there was no way she was able to conjure such nightmares. Surely not, right?

But Aithusa calmly tilted her head off to the side. As if she was saying ‘why mother, I haven’t a clue what you are saying’, and lying directly to her face. As if she didn’t know from months of practice how to prod through Morgana’s memories, how to bury and expose them at the same time with nothing but a puff of warm air.

Morgana let out a sigh. She couldn’t prove anything, and she could use the company. With a pat, she gestured for Aithusa to come closer. “Come here.”

The dragon chirped. She was more than willing to crawl under the sheets and cuddle beside her. In fact, she did it with delight. It was a little odd, after all the dragon was the size of a large dog now, and wings were terribly odd to manage with, but the two made do.

Morgana pulled the little dragon close in a hug, treating her like a pillow to completely envelope in arms and legs, but it wasn’t enough. Only human touch would drive away this feeling, this craving, entirely. Someone to hold her as she held Aithusa.

Thunder crackled, lightning flashed. Aithusa made a chirp as Morgana jumped as she held on tighter. On second thought, a dragon could make a good substitute. It was odd to cuddle with scales, but she didn’t mind. She was quite used to worse.

But, as time went on, sleep did not claim her.  While Morgana craved the release of sleep, she didn’t seem to be able to get any. Lightning flashed again outside her window, casting a faint glimmer of light across the room before casting it into darkness once more. She couldn’t help but wonder what her dragon induced dreams were trying to say.

While she would never say it, Morgana was shaken. The way she saw things was starting to be questioned again.

Morgana thought Morgause only helped her see the truth, and she did. She helped that scared little girl become strong. She cured her, she saved her. She healed her and protected her from her terrifying prophetic dreams. No one would ever cared for her like she did. No one would ever protect her or make her see the truth like her sister did. 

…And yet, a tiny part of Morgana couldn’t help but wonder what that dream really meant. She couldn’t help but dread what it meant. What old memories and worries it reminded her of. 

Like just how little she truly knew about her sister, and what her sister did when Morgana wasn't paying attention.

For the second time in her life, Morgana felt like she was on the start of a long road of self discovery, and she didn’t know why. Perhaps it had everything to do with the little dragon she decided to take in, or perhaps it was the trauma of the pit finally knocking something into her or some combination of the two or it was Aithusa's doing or what, but she didn’t like it. She didn't want to go down this path again, she didn't want to question and reforge herself again. She didn't want to fix herself again like a china doll broken for the third time. She didn't want to question the moral pedestal she had put her sister on, admit to the fact that she wasn't a perfect person or even a good person, even to her sister. She didn't want to think about that, and yet... that golden glimmer in her sister's eyes that she missed in the panic... there had to have been a reason, and it wasn't to heal her. So why...?

Morgana sighed before finally falling back asleep. 

...Damn you, Aithusa.

When Merlin woke up the next morning, he was greeted with sun gently shining beams through leaves, fog, and the tent blind. He could hear men talking outside and the clinks of food bowls and mugs, gently talking and traversing around the fire. Potentially making themselves useful, trying to get things done before the start of the day, before their continued travels. A hum of voices that Merlin could not pick a single one out.

He rubbed his eyes of eye sand and gunk. He felt sore and achy, but that wasn't a surprise. His bed at home wasn't a luxurious, down filled mattress that of like royalty, but at least it wasn't sleeping on the hard forest floor. Even a sleeping pad didn't help with that. Oh well, at least he wasn’t wet. Having his things continue to be wet throughout the day would be an absolute pain, especially if it rained again.

Merlin yawned. He was all alone inside the tent, everyone else outside with the rest of the soldiers. A part of him wondered why no one had woken him up, and another part of him wanted to curl back up and go to back to sleep for a little longer in peace, but he knew that so long as that little sliver of golden sunlight was streaming through the gap in the tent entrance, he wasn’t going to sleep. A morning blessing and a curse, in a way.

Crawling out of his blanket and the smaller tent, Merlin was greeted with the whole camp full swing into breakfast. Bowls of porridge and large mugs full of tea had been poured out and passed around, and many a soldier were gathered around newly lit bundle of warm fires and were already head deep into their food, idly chatting about the day ahead. Barely anyone gave him a look, and those who did gave him polite smiles and waves of good morning.

Merlin squinted, feeling sore and stiff. How long had I been asleep for? He wondered. He had been one of the first to go to sleep the night before, and now it was clear he was one of the last to wake up. 

He rubbed his eyes again in the sunlight. The mixture of pine and oak trees dripped with droplets of rain, a steamy fog gently hanging over their camp. A bird called out in the forest, only to be replied by another. Mourning doves, he thinks they are. The mountains they had been encroaching upon the other day before the clouds had absolutely buried them now loomed high over their heads, tall peaks that poked out of the ground like teeth of a massive, dead beast. Off in the distance, Merlin could see the sloping valleys that gently inclined before being cut off by the cool stoned jagged mountains bursting from the ground and standing tall above everything else around them.

Now, Merlin could see why this mountain range was known as the Cragged Mountains. Or was it the White Mountains? Merlin honestly didn't know, it was too early for this.

“Hey, look who’s up,” The familiar voice of Gwaine called out. Merlin looked up. There, standing on the other side of camp over a terribly old log stump, all in various stages of being dressed, was the three knights all looking at him. 

Merlin was somewhat aware that he was still in his night clothes, but honestly, he didn't care. He was too tired to care. Give him half an hour, a cup of tea, and maybe a slap to the face to wake him up, and then he'd start caring. Without a word he made his way over, bobbing and weaving through soldiers, horses, and pack supplies. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” He asked, giving his friends a look. He knew he looked like a mess, but that didn’t matter at the moment. Only half of the soldiers were awake enough to realize his state, and the rest were as much zombies as he was.

“You didn’t seem to be sleeping all too well last night, so we let you rest a little longer.” Leon explained calmly, taking a sip of his tea. Compared to the other two, he was completely dressed in not only his clothes but his armor as well, and had seemingly already finished eating. He must have been the first one up this morning, if not had been on a late night shift.

Merlin’s brow furrowed. Funny, he didn’t remember any bad dreams. But who was Merlin to look a gift horse in the mouth? “Thanks,” he muttered sleepily. As he yawned again, a soldier walked up and handed him a bowl of food and some tea. Merlin took a sip, looking down at the map before them. The tea wasn't great, but he wasn't going to complain. “So, what’s all this?”

“Planning the travels for today.” Mordred explained before scooping an extra large helping of porridge into his mouth. He was half dressed in his armor, and while not as awake as Leon or Gwaine, he was most certainly more awake than Merlin was.

“The good news is according to this map, if we use this trail instead of the one we are currently on, we can potentially cut a couple days off our trip. That is, considering the weather and anything that may have happened in the road." Gwaine explained, gesturing to the map. Exactly where he pointed was a small rock, supposedly where the camp was, and there, up the road was a deviation on the path that did show promise to getting towards Amata sooner. Anything that would help them get to Amata sooner would be helpful.

“But?” Merlin arched a brow.

“But the weather last night may be making the upcoming roads a bit more unmanageable, we aren’t exactly sure. We sent the scouts ahead.” Leon explained, gesturing towards down the road. Merlin could see from where they were that it wasn't a too horrible idea to consider. Some time the night before the rain must have returned again, as there was plenty of forest debris covering the road and plenty of mud and puddles for the carriage to fall into.

“You might need to hop out and push every once and a while.” Gwaine explained with a  chuckle.

“With my experience of getting Arthur out of bed in the morning, it will be a breeze.” Merlin replied in stride. 

The knights all chuckled. Even they knew how difficult it was to get Arthur up in the morning. It earned Arthur absolutely no points of mercy of relentless picking on by Merlin and Gwaine. After all, "dainty princess and his pea" wasn't a bad nickname for Arthur that didn't exist for no reason.

As they laughed, Gwaine scooped up the map with one fell swoop, proclaiming, “Well, better start getting dressed. We'll be leaving once we get the camp taken down.”

Merlin groaned. "Can't even give me time to finish my food, can you?"

"Nope!"

Merlin sighed, chuckled, and scooped a big scoop of porridge in his mouth before hurrying back to the tent. While true, he could eat inside the carriage, he knew it would never end out well. Besides, his food would be cold by then. It was probably best to eat what he could now and snack on the road. 

At least they didn’t have long now.

Chapter Text

“Someone’s following us.”

Leon perked up.

The troupe had been traveling for a few days at this point, and honestly it had been going uphill since, both literally and figuratively. The group had been slowly traveling uphill through the forest valley, a pace that while they wouldn’t notice in the moment, looking behind them, the group could see the incline that they had made on the way up. Not fast enough to be noticed while walking, but fast enough to see the incline behind them whenever they had a peek through the trees. As the trip continued, the mood of the group seemed to lighten as well. The weather lightened up, the jokes got funnier. Pranks were even pulled from time to time. The men grew light and jovial, it felt no longer an obligation to be here but a quest even for the most humble of soldier, a grand and daring quest through new lands to new futures.

Everyone seemed to be feeling better, including, much to some surprise, Merlin. Even he, who it had been clear for weeks was nervous about the whole Queen Morgana thing and what awaited him at the end of the line, seemed to have found some sort of ray of light to hold onto amongst the worry and fear. Sure, he still looked like he carried the concern on his shoulders, mind you, and every mention of Amata or the kingdom’s queen would have him casting nervous glances around, but occasionally, Leon would catch him smiling or talking earnestly with one of the soldiers or knights, and once he even caught him full on laughing at one of the pranks. Not chuckling, full on laughing. He was always eager to be of help whenever he had the chance, no longer curled up a ball of worry and woe. He shared stories with the soldiers, listened to their jokes and weird senses of humor. He pulled a prank on Gwaine once, soaking just the tip of all of his right socks while he was asleep. He even shared some light hearted conversation with Mordred every once and a while, a grand feat, even for him.

Perhaps it was the thinner air or nice views, Leon wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t going to complain. He was glad that his friend was doing better.

However, that didn’t mean they were out of the woods yet (so to speak). After their last attack, the group was ever on alert, although that was slowly falling apart at the moment. They weren’t going to take any chances again being caught off guard. They were lucky they weren’t dealt badly the first time they were attacked, who knew how lucky they were going to be the second time around.

Speaking of which…

“What was that, Mordred?” Leon asked, looking back over his shoulder.

Riding behind him, his worried gaze fully turned towards what was behind them, was the younger knight Mordred. With the carriage on their right and lazily surrounded by guards, the knights were prepared for any attack that may come their way.

“I saw movement running in the woods.” Mordred explained again, watching as Leon pulled his horse back to ride side by side with him.

“Where?”

Mordred pointed back behind them, right where the road was gently disappearing into nothing, squeezed into the forest brush and the incline. “I saw it out of the corner of my eye. I don’t know what it was, but I thought it was bipedal.”

Leon squinted. An uncomfortable feeling crawled in his gut. After the last bandit situation, he didn’t want to take another chance. Besides, who knows who or what lived in these woods? Bandits were a likely option, but Leon had seen enough over his years as a knight of Camelot, a dark cryptic bipedal monster did not fit outside the realm of the question.

“Tell Merlin and Gwaine, I’ll let the men know to keep an eye out.” Leon explained, before bringing his horse back farther to try and twist around the back of the carriage.

Mordred nodded, before he trotted up close beside the carriage and knocked on the partially opened window.

The two inside were laughing about some sort of story, a particular story including Gwaine, Perceval, Elyan, two kids, three wheels of cheese, and a particularly angry flock of geese. No, it doesn’t make much sense to Mordred either, and he can’t quite recount the tale with the same level of joy and enthusiasm as Gwaine can. Perhaps one day he will learn that skill, but that day is not today.

The moment Mordred’s knuckle knocked on the glass, the two perked up. It didn’t take long for Gwaine to shuffle over and push the window open further.

“What’s up?” Gwaine asked, giving the young knight a jovial look, still coming down from his high of laughter.

“I just saw something move behind us. I couldn’t get an exact look, but Leon wanted me to let you know as he alerts the men.” Mordred explained, gesturing behind him. The two men inside the carriage gave each other a worried look, their brows furrowed.

“Keep your eyes peeled for anything in the tree line.” Gwaine explained, “I’ll keep an eye on Merlin in here.”

“It’s not like I haven’t already.” Mordred mumbled under his breath.

On instinct, Merlin reached for his pocket and the medallion that sat inside. Like an old habit, Merlin could feel the worry he had been fighting off for the past few days begin to bubble up again. He really didn’t want to deal with bandits again, he was honestly getting sick and tired of it. He had other things to deal with.

The closer and closer the group got to Amata, the more and more Merlin’s emotions conflicted. On the one hand, he was actually a little excited. Finally, he could actually get some things done. Finally he could actually cause some change. But on the other hand, Merlin couldn’t shake the feeling of worry in his gut. Well, it was a two pronged worry, now. On the forefront was this thing that may or may not be following them. No matter if he didn’t like the young knight, which even then Merlin was finding himself relaxing on since the first bandit attack, Merlin trusted Mordred’s skills as a knight. He was a perceptive young man, and if he saw people moving through the forest, whose to say something wasn’t out there?

However, the realization left a sort of tickle on the back of Merlin’s neck, one that until they found out who was in those woods following them, would not clear away.

The second prong was the task for the future, dealing with Morgana. He still had next to no knowledge about what is going on there in Amata, next to nothing of which he could form an overly convoluted plan with (of which could honestly be solved with a simple knife stab). He knew nothing, and being out here wasn’t helping.

“Hey Gwaine, do you know how much longer till we get there?” Merlin asked, getting Gwaine’s attention from the other window, where he had been discussing with Leon.

“A day or two, tops.” The knight replied, before turning back to Leon.

“Is this your version of asking are we there yet?” Mordred couldn’t help but ask in jest, arching a brow.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Oh my god you two.” Leon chuckled. “Can you two not argue for five seconds.”

“We’re not arguing, we’re debating. There’s a difference.” Mordred curtly replied, head tilted high in pride.

The other two knights chuckled in return, shaking their heads. “In all seriousness, do you know when we’re going to take a break?” Gwaine asked, this time giving a look to Leon.

“Next chance we get. I plan for within the next hour, but honestly I’m not sure when.”

“Should we send out the scouts?”

“Not right now. I want everyone to stick together at the moment, just to make sure that we don’t lose anyone. When we get to our break we can send double the amount of scouts to see up ahead.” Leon explained, looking back behind them again, as if trying to catch the movement himself.

Gwaine leaned over a little bit more, until practically his head was sticking out of the window. “Be honest, do you honestly think he saw something?” He couldn’t help but ask in a low tone.

Leon pondered for a moment, giving a look Mordred’s way, before he nodded. “I trust him. It never hurts to be a little paranoid in these kinds of situations, and I got the feeling we’re not in safe territory yet.” He explained with earnest. Never would he question the young knight's rank, skill, or worthiness. The knight had a solid head stuck firmly on those young shoulders of his and a good heart, probably better than the rest of theirs. He trusted and had complete and utter faith in Mordred, let no one question that.

Gwaine nodded. "Right, then we'll keep an eye out." At that, he reached out and closed the window with a sigh.

Gwaine really didn’t want to deal with more bandits, but Leon was right; Mordred’s perceptive vision is one could be trusted. Last time they were lucky due to rain, and if there was anything his mother always said, it was that luck always wore out eventually. Gwaine always considered himself a lucky guy, that Lady Luck always smiled in his favor, but he knew that one day that luck would run out. One day he might drink a bottle too much, or maybe he’d be tortured for information beyond what he could handle. It was only a matter of time.

However, he hoped that Lady Luck would continue to smile on them for just a little bit longer.

“So, what are we going to do?” Merlin asked, casting a look Gwaine’s way.

“Right now we’ll do what we can; keep an eye out and wait,” Gwaine explained, crossing his fingers over his lap and leaning back, as if planning to rest and plan. No more jovial jokes for the time being.

Merlin sighed, before leaning his head against the window and looking out at the outside world.

It was honestly a gorgeous day outside. The sky was bright and blue, the wind was gently whistling through trees, the birds were chirping, the sound of rushing water, everything was nearly picturesquely perfect.

The forest around them was thick, choked with underbrush. As if the forest has been untouched by hand, old and wild and completely imperceivable. As if molded to hide the rest of the forest, the river, and some of the sky from those traveling the long road. Crammed with dark emerald ferns and bushes of Kelly green. Occasionally there would be a parting in the underbrush, revealing hollow voids that lead into deep dark expanse of hidden forest, filled with shade, shadow, moss coated rocks and cool dirt and debris one could dig their toes into. The kind of forest that a child would love to play in, with plenty of room to run and be free in. Merlin even saw a deer once. All this loomed over by those titans of semi smoothed, white capped mountains, scraping the sky to the point of changing the course of clouds, gently scraping its teeth across the fluff like one would drag their teeth across their paramour’s stomach and neck in a night of passion.

Merlin paused. The idea caught him off guard, and while he thought of the concept on his own, imagined being a part of it, the person he wished to do with was like a vacant void. Like kissing nothing, a cloud. A person that was not a person at the same time. A woman with no name, no identity, no soul, nothing that made them a person. A vacant stand in for Merlin to find someone to fill in with.

Wavy dark hair tilted back in a silent moan flashed across his mind for a moment like lightning across the sky, before it disappeared, leaving him vacant once more.

The carriage bumped. Seriously, he had to get his nose out of those books.

Merlin wondered what it would be like to climb such a peak, look down at the tiny, tiny world below, perhaps watch the sunrise from a father horizon, melt from the deepest red into its classic yellowish white. The sky slowly turning blue as the world slowly began to wake up as he and his companions made their way back down the mountain to join the world once more.

It wasn’t long, much to literally everyone’s delight, until the group found a nice spot to rest for a little while; a cleared out jetty close to the river just large enough to get access to the calm waters, held on by both sides with bushes of wild berries. Small enough for a small, temporary campsite.

“We’ll take a break here!” Leon called out the group as soon as they came across this spot, which got many exclamations of delight from the rest of the group. Almost immediately packs were dropped, followed not long after by those who carried them, landing on their butts to free their feet from soreness for a few moments.

“Lunch?” A few hopeful soldiers asked, their eyes full of hope like teenagers on a camping trip.

Leon smiled. “Yes, lunch.”

The soldiers cheered, immediately followed by a few soldiers leaping at the carriage and scrambling up for the food packs above, shaking the carriage and those inside with their weight.

The group was running low on food by this point, with very little smoked meat from home and no fish from the docks, but at this point the group didn’t care. There was a certain of level of travel where the low amount of food was seen as a benefit, as it meant that the group could move faster without having to start being desperate to find more calories. Many hikers and travelers may understand this feeling as they began to get near town and their packs feeling light compared to their start. After all, food is one of the heaviest, bulkiest part of a camping trips needs, and if you have the choice between walking to a village and running, where a plate of delicious warm food, a warm hearth, and a warm bed with your name on it would greet you, which would you prefer?

Oh well, at least they still had some ale left on hand.

With a chuckle, Merlin and Gwaine pulled themselves out of the carriage to join the throng of their comrades. Gwaine himself threw his body from the carriage door and to the back like a spider monkey, eager to help the soldiers sort out the food. Help determine whether or not they want to eat what remains of their meat now, or save it for dinner or even breakfast the next morning with the bowl of oats. After all, smoked deer jerky is a really good way to start any morning. Well, it was good any time of day. Mmmm, protein…

Merlin, on the other hand, took a lazily hanging bucket or two off the carriage and brought them down by the river.

The brook they had been riding alongside all this time had since turned into a shallow rocky river, bobbing and weaving through rock and forest, occasionally peeking through for the road to see, such as now, but never out of hearing range. Such as now, where the river was just off the cliff, clear water rushing by with great fervor. Perhaps if Merlin wanted to and had the time, he could float down the river in delight, although his bottom would inevitably disagree when he eventually bumped into a rock. Perhaps if he had a floating device, something lighter than a boat…

A wave of laughter went up behind him, something about some joke that concluded in calling Arthur a donkey. Merlin chuckled to himself, dipping the second bucket into the stream. Such fond memories crossed his mind, pranking Arthur. He’d have to do that more when he got home, that would surely put a smile on his face.

Turning back to the group, Merlin put the buckets of water down in front of the first two horses of the carriage, letting them drink eagerly without being unhinged. Another one of the horses reached out and nibbled at some brush. Listening to the horses slurp and chew away, Merlin looked up.

The soldiers lazily pulled wild raspberries and blueberries from the bush and dropped them into their mouths, jesting, laughing, and looking like a merry scene expressed in oil paintings and mosaics from ancient times, Greece and Rome. Of dryads and Dionysus and the joys of fleeting youth.

Merlin shook his head. He should seriously get his nose out of Leon’s poetry book more often.

Before Merlin could even reach down to take the buckets and refill them, a rather scrawny young man ran up and grabbed them.

“I got em sir!” The young man cried out, picking them up and scurrying off. He was barely a man, could still be called a boy, arms practically noodle thin. It was a little concerning how skinny he was.

“Well—.”

“Just let the boy do it.” A voice spoke aloud, getting Merlin to look up. Still sitting atop his spot on the driver’s seat, sandwich in one hand, other arm in a sling, was the carriage driver. “It builds character,” He proclaimed, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

“Think it will get him some muscle too?” Merlin called back.

The carriage driver smirked. “Perhaps.” He replied through his chews.

Merlin’s stomach grumbled. Well, if he wasn’t going to help the horses, then the least he could do was get himself some lunch. He was hungry too after all!

The soldiers were passing around loaves of bread and blocks of cheese, intent on making themselves some cheese sandwiches to fill their bellies rather than all the berries. After all, it wasn’t advised to eat all of the fruit off a berry bush in one go, it can lead to a nasty stomach ache. Blueberries were not the most agreeable fruit out there when eaten alone.

With nearly a snap, Merlin pulled a blueberry from the bush with a yank and popped it into his mouth. The flavor burst in his mouth as he crushed it between his molars. Tart, yet not unpleasant. Could be made into some good jam or jelly. The seeds, however, were definitely going to get stuck in his teeth eventually. As Merlin popped another blueberry into his mouth and chewed, he took his bandana off and picked a couple handfuls more, carefully picking only the juiciest and ripest of the bunch. Just for when he got home. Perhaps he could grow some blueberry plants outside the hovel, as a side project. If not, they’d make a good snack.

“Hey, Merlin!” A voice called out over the crowd. Merlin perked up. Sitting across the way, munching on a handful of berries, was Gwaine, waving him over. With ease, Merlin slipped through the men and sat down next to his friend.

Gwaine held out his hand to Merlin, something hidden inside. “I snuck some deer jerky. Don’t tell the others.” He chided with a smile.

Merlin’s mouth watered as he snuck the piece of meat into his palm. He may not like hunting all that much, but deer jerky is really good. Smoky, chewy, filling, almost fun to gnaw on. Add a few berries and a few slices of sharp cheese on the side, maybe a slice of bread, and you got yourself a really good filling snack for the road.

He tore off a piece of the jerky with his teeth, chewing on the tough texture. Rich, salty, smoky flavors coated his tongue, a tougher texture than the beef jerky Arthur was such a fan of. Deer jerky was also significantly cheaper too, seeing as you didn’t need to spend resources raising a cow to be slaughtered.

“So,” Gwaine spoke up, just finishing chewing his jerky. “What’s the first thing you want to do when we get to Amata?”

Merlin had to take a moment to finish chewing his jerky before swallowing. “Well, I think I would need to go see the queen…”

“Let’s say we aren’t going for that. What would you do?”

Merlin hummed, pondering. He hadn’t honestly thought about it, considering actually exploring the land of Amata. He had heard the capital was beautiful and that the people were friendly, but beyond that he hadn’t a clue. Everyone always says people of a community were nice, it’s a universal human thing.

“I don’t know.” Merlin replied, “I don’t know much about Amata. Maybe go to the markets and people watch?” He offered, tearing another piece off of his jerky.
Gwaine nodded, humming. “I’d go find a place and get some local delicacies. See what culinary gifts Amata has to offer.”

Merlin chuckled and rolled his eyes. Of course, always thinking of food. “Looking for that apple tasting like cheese?” He joked. Ever since Gwaine had that dream his friends were relentless with their descriptions, hurtling apples his way to make him check for ‘cheesy’ flavors.

“Hey, I want to try their ale too. I heard they know their way around the barrel.” Gwaine argued with a cry.

“Yeah, so do Camelotans. Ale isn’t all that hard to make.” Another voice perked up, it was Mordred, coming back from where the scouts were getting back from their trip.

It didn’t take long after him for Leon to approach, map in hand. “Good news. According to the scouts and the map, we’ll be in view of the capital by midday tomorrow.” He proclaimed with some excitement.

Merlin’s heart leapt in nervousness, yet an odd sort of excitement as well.

“Oh thank goodness! This trip seems to have dragged on forever!” Gwaine groaned, tilting his head back with a smile.

Leon chuckled, gently shaking his head. “We’ll travel for a few more hours and we’ll take up camp for the night. Perhaps, if things go well, we might even get some hunting done, have some venison or rabbit for dinner tonight.”

“You better not make me carry the carcasses again.” Merlin muttered, throwing a chunk of recently acquired cheese into his mouth.

“And I thought you were going to volunteer?”

The group chuckled, continuing to enjoy their lunch as the troupe continued to settle in for lunch. Little did they know that as soon as the sun went down, things were about to get messy.

As the sun began to set, it was quickly agreed that a campsite needed to be found soon. It wasn’t long before the group found such a thing, a large enough open space for them to set up camp for the night. With the mountains towering over their heads turning scarlet shades of yellow and red, it was now or never. With sighs of relief, the group slugged off their bags and set to work.

It didn’t take long before the tents were set up, a couple fires were going, and dinner was being made. Merry stories were shared around, and the last of the ale was drank. For tomorrow they will arrive in Amata and complete half of their journey, before reloading food and turning back, hopefully with enough food to feed everyone in Camelot.

As the sun finally set, the mountains turning dark and the sky filling with stars, it was inevitable that people will start seeking sleep. After all, the sooner you sleep, the sooner you wake up, and the sooner you will get to Amata. Like waiting for Christmas morning, in the most warped way of thinking.

However, news of something following them throughout the day had only grown stronger. Now a few of the soldiers had seen something or someone move out of the corner of their eyes, yet whenever they had gone to check, there was no one. While it worried many of the soldiers, but Merlin hoped that maybe this was nothing more than just paranoid concerns of a tired group seeing things out of the corner of their eyes. Nothing more.

However, it never hurt to be too prepared…

“I want double the amount of people on guard tonight, as well as everyone to have their weapons close by. While I would like to hope that everything is alright, I have a bad feeling about these woods,” Leon explained before the men broke up to finish cleaning up and heading off to bed, giving the thick forest around him a nervous look. The soldiers followed likewise. An owl hooted in the far, far distance. “I’ll take the first watch with the first group. Gwaine and Mordred figure out who’s going to take the next watch.”

“You know, I can take a watch too.” Merlin muttered, sitting on his log near Leon’s feet, his bowl of freshly caught rabbit stew nearly empty.

“Considering how poorly you’re sleeping at night, that’s not an option.” Leon gently chided. The group chuckled. “Alright, you’re all dismissed.”

With that, the group conversations sprung up again. Everyone was excited for what the next day would bring, what sights they would see. Being outside of Camelot was a rare occurrence for many who were not merchants, and for soldiers it was an even rarer occurrence for them when the area they’re walking into isn’t hostile. It would be a nice change in pace.

Some of the men wanted to meet with the local ladies at the brothel, while others wanted to hit up the market Amata was well known for and buy trinkets and gifts for their wives and children back at home, perhaps some lace or silk or even an embroidered dress the people of Amata are known for. Some wanted to hit up the tavern, while others just simply wanted an afternoon off to do what they wanted. Perhaps even get a warm bath in a bath hall compared to freezing their nuts off in the river for the past week. Sure, mountain water may be clean and pure, but it’s terribly, terribly cold, even in the summer.

“Well, I’m going to turn in early so I can help with the early morning shift get breakfast ready.” Merlin groaned, stretching his back as he stood up. Without a word he dropped his bowl into the cleaning pile; he’ll help with cleaning duty in the morning.

“I think I’ll join you, I’m a bit tired.” Mordred replied, standing up from his log as well, stretching his back.

“Alright, have a good night you two.” Gwaine called after them, sinking his teeth into his bread loaf. If either of the knights or any of the soldiers said anything else, Merlin couldn’t hear them as soon as he entered the tent.

With a plop onto the ground, Merlin rolled out his bedroll onto the dirt, careful to make sure that there was no rocks where his spine would be or any insects to smush. Smoothing it out, his blanket and pillow were quick to follow from his pack. On the other side of the tent Mordred decided to peel his armor off first before putting down his sleeping gear, personally glad to be free of the heavy chains and padding underneath. They weren’t fun, and if it weren’t for the fact that Merlin had grown used to the smell of sweaty armor from Arthur and the other knights, he’d be gagging.

Reaching into his pack, Merlin pulled out his dagger and placed it beside his pillow. It never hurt to be careful.

With a yawn, Merlin didn’t even care to change out of his clothes, just taking his coat, boots, and bandana off and carefully folding them away.

“Alright, good night,” He proclaimed, tucking his legs under his blanket and leaning back into his bed roll. It was nothing compared to an actual bed, but at least he wasn’t sleeping on cold hard dirt.

“Good night,” Mordred replied, still pulling out his stuff.

With a sigh, Merlin laid on his back, closed his eyes, and expected that the next time he would open them the early dawn rays would be waking him up.

A minute went by, then two, then three. Mordred was done unpacking now, done getting changed. He was in his bedroll now, and trying to fall asleep.

One, two, three…

…

…

…

Merlin groaned. Why wasn’t he asleep yet?

Now, Merlin usually prided himself on how fast he could fall asleep. He could fall asleep standing up if he wanted to. But for some reason, no matter what he did he just couldn’t sleep. No matter how he twisted and turned, there was a sort of nervous excitement brewing in his gut. Finally, after all this time, after all this antsying around, Merlin could finally get some work done. He would finally see Morgana again, and end this once and for all.

…Once he made a plan for himself.

Merlin had to admit, he had been putting that off for most of the trip.

He could go with something simple; wait for Morgana and him to be alone, which may take a while but would be inevitable, and stab her. However, that would mean using his dagger, and he really didn’t want to do that. Besides, if the did that, then
He could poison her, again, but he could only trick someone like that so many times (once, in case anyone was counting). There would be no way she would let him get near her food.

An accident would be the best solution to the problem that would give him the best chance of escaping a free man, but it would take time to set up. Perhaps he could invite her for a ride through the forest and get attacked by a bear or something. Perhaps even magically control one to attack her and him. But that would suggest that there’s bears in the area…

He could try to push her down a set of stairs again? Make it seem she tripped on her own skirt? No, that didn’t do the job last time he tried it. In fact, it only made the situation worse. Not that she ever knew it was him, but still.

A full out magic attack would work, but… There would be no way he could go home after that.

Merlin ran his hands down his face. This was harder than it looked.

“What cha thinking about?” Mordred piped up from his side of the tent.

“Just planning on what I’m going to do tomorrow.” Merlin replied, sighing towards the low hanging tarp ceiling.

“You’re not honestly planning on killing her right now.”

“When else would I?”

“I don’t know, but it just doesn’t seem smart when you’re about to fall asleep.” Mordred commented. “Besides, it still seems like a suicide mission.”

“Mordred…” Merlin warned, but before he could retort, Mordred shushed him.

“What—?” Mordred shushed him again. It took a moment before he hissed in the lightest tone mustered, “Listen.”

Wanting to humor him, Merlin did. The two listened, and for a while all they could hear was the classic noises of a camp. All they could hear were the sound of the fires crackling outside and the quiet friendly mutterings of familiar soldiers.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

…Where did the birds go? The crickets?

Mordred sent a worried look Merlin’s way, of who sent the same look back. The two sat up. Mordred slowly reached for his sword, pulling it out of its sheaf.

A twig snapped. Merlin snatched for his dagger.

Before anyone had the chance, all hell broke loose.

Suddenly a wave of men shouted as they swarmed the camp like a living flash flood. Weapons and bodies clashed, fists, swords, and guts. Horses whinnied and screamed as they struggled, men shouted, fabric tore and metal clashed. The fires grew brighter and brighter.

With a tearing, painful to hear rip! Merlin’s side of the tent had been sliced open, getting Merlin to yelp in surprise. Standing on the other side was a young man plainly dressed in dark clothes of browns and blacks, armed with a dagger jammed in the fabric, looking back at Merlin in surprise. He did not expect to see another face on the other side.

The young man raised his dagger, looking intent to stab. 

Merlin’s instinct wanted to plunge his dagger’s blade down into the bandit’s shoulder, but he didn’t get a chance. Charging around him, Mordred had the man hanging off the blade of his sword faster than Merlin could react. The man’s groan as he looked Merlin in the eye haunted him. Emerald eyes looking back at him, wide with fear. As if he realized far too late that this was not worth it. That he had so much to live for, but he made a horrible mistake. He was here of his own volition.

It struck Merlin to the core. Another pair of old emerald eyes flashed across his memory, tears welling in them as they realized what had happened to them, as their lungs began to close up once more. 

The man slid the ground with a thump, painfully groaning as he curled in on himself. He wasn’t dead yet, for all his wounds in his gut were for, but that wasn’t the problem at the moment.

“Come on!” Mordred shouted, grabbing Merlin by the arm and yanking him from his shock.

Scrambling for the entrance, the two threw themselves from their small tent and into the throng of combat.

It was absolute chaos outside. Soldiers dressed and half dressed were duking it out with bandits, some succeeding, some not. Some were running around and out of their tents, some were throwing weapons to one another, and yet more were trying to trying to find some way of getting their armor on while fighting.

One of the soldiers ran by screaming, his night clothes on fire as he ran for a source of water. A splash from the river followed a few seconds later.

Leon clashed swords with a bandit, using his foot to kick him off before he saw Merlin and Mordred in the middle of the fire fight. “Mordred! Get Merlin out of here!” He ordered, before swinging his sword in an attempt to finish his bandit off.

“Come on,” Mordred tried to reach out and grab Merlin by the arm, but it was no use. Merlin’s gaze was on another problem.

A bandit, who had just come from the inside of the tent Merlin had just been in, had something tight in his grasp. The object, metallic in color, flashed in the campfire light as he ran by. With a dropping heart and wide eyes, Merlin recognized that flash. It was Arthur’s medallion!

“Hey!” Without question, Merlin took off after him across the camp and chaos, faster than Mordred could grab at Merlin’s sleeve.

“Merlin!” Mordred cried out after him. He swore under his breath, took a quick prayer, then took off after him.

For how scrawny the bandit looked, he sure was a speed demon. It took Merlin quite a bit to catch up to him, having to use his magic to bring a tree’s root to the surface to trip him. The bandit let out a yelp, stumbling, before getting fully tackled in the back by Merlin. With a twist and a shove the bandit managed to peel Merlin off, but with a solid punch Merlin knocked the man clean in the nose. The bandit stumbled back with a cry, dropping the amulet into the dirt. Merlin’s eyes glowed gold. The bandit barely had a chance to cry out before vines reached out and snatched him by the legs, pulling him high up in the air.

“Let me down! Let me down!” The bandit cried out, still flailing wildly as more and more vines trailed up him. He looked like the hanged man tarot card in a way, one leg being the one that carried all of the weight, the other leg dangling wildly. 

“Why should I?” Merlin hissed, his eyes still glowing bronze. His dagger tightened in his fist.

“Merlin!” Mordred shouted from behind him. “Leave him!”

With just as fast as the vines grew Merlin sliced the bandit down with his dagger, letting him drop to the forest floor. The bandit groaned.

“Come on, we have to help the others.” Mordred commented, gesturing back to the group.

Merlin could barely nod now. Turning on his heel, Merlin left the bandit there to think about his actions, buried in the forest debris and pain. He’ll have a massive headache in the morning, that’s for sure.

The moment the two got back to the camp, they found most of the chaos had gone under control. Gwaine had two bandits face down in the dirt tied up, and Leon was still fighting with the bandit, seemingly the leader.

With one, two swings Leon knocked the bandit’s weapon out of his hand, sending it flying, and had his sword pressed to his throat.

“Don’t even try,” Leon growled, holding his sword tip towards the bandit’s neck. The bandit stumbled back, his hands being held up in surrender.

Finally, one by one the last of the bandits either surrendered or ran off into the woods. The group let out a dreaded sigh of relief. Finally, the fight was over.

People reached out and patted each other on the back, trying to figure out who was alright, doing a head count.

Without even saying a word, Merlin immediately set to work.

Much to Merlin’s relief, Mordred and Leon’s paranoia paid off. The majority of the wounds weren’t horrible, and while painful, they could be recoverable.

However, there was a few soldiers wounds that really worried Merlin. Each one had been the most unsuspecting when attacked, and each one looked as nasty as the last. What really tickled the rest of the party was that two of the seriously injured weren’t even their own men, they were a bandits. Against their word, Merlin dragged the dying man that had attempted to attack him in his own tent to the rest of the wounded. He didn’t explain, even when Leon asked, he just mulled around the wounded, attempting to help those he could. Without a word Mordred dragged another injured bandit to the pile, adding to the growing injured.

Leg stabs, shoulder stabs, gut stabs everywhere. All of them would be considered somewhat lucky if they saw the next morning, and the morning after that.

Merlin did his best to tend to their wounds, but stab wounds were nasty business. A minor healing charm may be enough to staunch the bleeding and get through the night, but he’d have to give them something stronger if they were going to be guaranteed their happy and healthy survival.

Merlin managed to wrangle a few of the soldiers who had stronger stomachs than the others to help him staunch blood and clean wounds. Those who didn’t have stronger stomachs were set to get linen thread and emergency repair kits and boil them, as well as bandages and more. The smell of boiling fabric took over the whole camp, a better smell than that of fresh blood.

Honestly, a not so small part of Merlin was thankful to Mordred. He saved his life back there.

It was only due to his perception earlier in the day that they were able to come out of this attack so well. Who knows how well it could have gone if he hadn’t noticed them?

Merlin shuddered to think about it.

The shouts of pain that went through the camp as Merlin tried to seal up wounds was only beaten by the sound of barking orders from Leon and Gwaine, attempting to try and fix their camp and get it back to working order. Putting tents back up, doing inventory, calming the horses, figuring out if anything that was damaged should be fixed now or should wait until they’re on the road. Basic inventory, the like. Those who couldn’t even hold their stomachs while being close by to such injuries were taken by Mordred to go find the herbs Merlin needed for the healing paste. All in an attempt to keep Merlin from not being distracted from his work.

Finally, Merlin got to the bandit. The young man wasn’t looking too good, still grasping at the wound in his side, but Merlin was surprised to see no one had helped him yet. No one had undressed his injury or helped staunch his blood.

Without a word, Merlin reached down and began to push up the bandit’s shirt. The young man swatted at his hand, attempting to scoot back to no avail.

“Relax, I’m just trying to get a better look at the wound.” Merlin gently pushed up the blood shirt, exposing the clean strike deep into the side. “May I ask, do you feel any nausea or burning sensation?” Merlin asked, looking up at the young man. 

“No.” The young man nervously replied.

“Good, good.” Merlin hoped that this meant that no major organs had been stabbed, but without any good way of getting in and looking, he had no choice but to hope and pray that sterilizing the wound and sewing him up would help him. Gut wounds can either be fast killers or really, really slow killers. As Merlin got his needles and supplies ready, he hoped his skills would ensure neither possibility.

So, Merlin set to work doing that. The young bandit screamed just like the rest of the injured when Merlin slowly poured what reminded of their watered down alcohol rations onto his wound. It was going to hurt, but at least it would numb the pain a little when he started sewing it up.

Once Merlin got into a rhythm, he sort of fell into silence, which left Merlin antsy. He had been able to have some sort of friendly chat with the other soldiers, helping distract them from the pain. Well, he had to work with what he got here.

“So, what’s your name?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask. But the bandit didn’t respond, turning his head in the other direction. Merlin continued to thread linen through his wound, pulling it tight.

“Tenny.” The bandit’s young voice managed to force a swallow. God, he mustn’t have been much older than Mordred.

“Well, Tenny, care to tell me why you were so willing to stab me in my bedroll?” Merlin asked retortedly.

Tenny flinched. “I wasn’t aiming to kill.”

“You were still going to stab me.”

"I needed the money.”

“How come?” The bandit didn’t respond again. Merlin pulled the thread through once more, this time tighter. “You do know that I’m the one holding the needle keeping your organs from spilling out, right?”

“My sister… she needs to pay twice the amount of her dowry back in order to get out of her engagement. I told her I’d help her. She’s only seventeen…” The bandit hissed, pinching his eyes closed as Merlin sewed him up more.

“I thought the marrying age is eighteen?”

“She’ll turn eighteen next month, and the day after, she’ll be a married woman.” Tenny explained.

“Have you tried contacting your lord about the situation?”

“Her betrothed is our lord.”

“Is he allowed to do that?” Merlin asked, gut tied in a knot.

“No, but no one’s going to stop him.” A flash of anger and scorn crossed the young man’s eyes.

“Oh.” Merlin paused in his gruesome sewing for a moment. This was one of those moments where being a king would be handy, to put a stop to this treatment. “Anyone else you can talk to?”

“Our duke is too busy, and I fear the queen.”

“I mean, who doesn’t?” Merlin muttered, snipping off thread.

“Do you know her?”

“Of sorts.” Merlin shrugged, snipping off some final thread. “I’m… going to Amata to get married to her. Here, sit up.”

“Wow, you must be some really important lord then.” Tenny commented, flinching in pain as he sat up on his arms.

Merlin shook his head as he grabbed some clean, now dry, bandages. “No, not really.” He replied, reaching around to wrap the young man's stomach.

“A valiant knight?”

Merlin shook his head again. “Nope.”

“A… long lost bastard prince of Camelot, sent off into hiding after the king thought you were a threat to his son’s place to the throne and then used as a bartering chip when you finally got your rightful heritage to ensure you don’t take the throne of Camelot?” Tenny said very quickly.

Merlin lightly smirked. “No, although that would be funny.” What a story would that be if that were the case! Being Arthur’s actual brother? What would everyone think of that? He was sure that Arthur would smack him around as much if that were the case.

“Well then, what are you?”

“I’m just a personal servant of King Arthur that she asked for.” Merlin explained simply. After all, it was the truth. He wasn’t worth much in that regard.

“Wow.” Tenny sat there in awe, as if trying to solve the puzzle sitting before him. “We just thought since the carriage was nice and you had all these soldiers you’d have some nice loot.”

Merlin shook his head for the third and final time. “No, no. Only little old me.”

“You don’t look that old.”

“I feel old.” Merlin retorted. At that, Merlin finished tying up the gauze, getting ready to get to his feet. “Alright, that should do it. When the group is done making the healing paste I’ll come back around to apply it, just—.”

Tenny reached up and grasped Merlin by the arm. “Wait. Be honest; what are the chances I’ll see my sister again?”

Merlin paused. He didn’t know what to say. How could he be honest, and tell a man that he may die overnight? “I—.”

“Here’s those herbs you wanted, Merlin.” Mordred immediately interrupted, walking up with his cape full of herbs. Several other soldiers followed, holding their own bags full of herbs to be rendered down into a paste.

“Please. Besides my father, I’m all she has.” Tenny tried to explain, pleading exasperation in his eyes.

Merlin paused, gently nodding. “I’ll see what I can do. Just rest for now. I’ll give you some numbing paste to help you sleep.”

“Thank you.” The words were nearly a whisper on Tenny’s lips as he leaned back with a sigh.

Merlin merely nodded as he headed towards the fire, his thoughts gone numb in order to prevent himself from falling into stress and woe (although it wasn’t working out too well for him). He didn’t think he’d be having to make this paste again so soon. At least this time he had extra hands to help him.

Inspecting the herbs that the men and Mordred brought back, Merlin nodded. It wasn't the highest quality, but it would have to do. Every second was precious when tending to the wounded. Having the other soldiers grind up the herbs while Merlin turned it all into a giant pot of sticky, goopy gunk would most certainly cut down on time. In what felt like no time at all, Merlin was stirring around in one of the clean pots a white, goopy substance with a wooden spoon.

As Merlin showed the strong stomached soldiers how to unwrap wounds and apply the paste, using Tenny as his subject, his mind drifted elsewhere. If there were bandits so close to Amata, what would the situation be like when they got into the capital? Would there be bandits and thieves running through the streets? Would buildings be destroyed and and the supposed beauty and luster faded away?

To Merlin, it was like a bad omen.

Throughout the whole camp, no one wanted to talk. Their jovial attitude had been smothered like the flames of their fires. Even working to relight the flames didn’t help the situation.

Finally, Merlin and the other soldiers were done tending to the wounded. It wasn’t perfect, and Merlin had no idea if what he was doing was even right, but it was what he knew what to do.

With an aching sigh, he slowly sank down onto one of the logs that had been dragged in to sit on. It wasn’t long before Gwaine joined him, sipping on some of the tea Merlin had made to tend to aching wounds. He probably would have been drinking his ale if it weren’t for the fact that it had been used up. Not even he was safe from getting injured, however in his case, it was twinking his arm after bending it too fast in response to a bandit’s sneak attack from behind. It was hardly an injury compared to many others, so he remained silent. It would probably be fine in the morning, if not by the next afternoon.

“How is it?” Gwaine asked, giving his friend a look. The flickering light fluttered over his tired face, making him look old and young at the same time. Ageless, in a way.

Merlin sighed. “I don’t know. Gaius never trained me this far in battlefield surgery.”

“You’ve done your best.” Gwaine explained, reaching out and resting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Yet I feel like I could do more.” Merlin replied quietly, desperation in his voice. He was no medical physician or surgeon, but what he did know was magic. Magic that he wasn’t allowed to use brazenly. He didn’t know how many were going to survive if he didn't get them a stronger healing charm at some point, but stronger healing charms require physical ingredients of which Merlin did not have at the moment. He could only hope and pray that someone in Amata was more experienced in medicine that could help them, or had the materials he needed.

“Merlin…”

But Merlin wasn’t going to give him the chance. “I’m going to bed, again. Have the watch guard keep an eye on the injured. Come get me if anyone starts looking worse.”

Gwaine nodded. “Have a good night.” He called after him.

Merlin didn’t know how to respond as he slipped back into his tent. The only thing he could see in the darkness was the hole in the wall, letting in what little light from the outside it could.

The hole of his tent hung open like a yawning, gaping maw. A gentle howling wind met them outside, rustling the leaves and leaving Merlin that much more paranoid. Who knows what could come through that hole while he slept?

Merlin pulled his blanket up to his neck. He scooted as far as he could from the hole as he could. Sure it would be a pain for whenever Gwaine came in to sleep, but he would just have to deal with it when the time came.

If Merlin couldn’t sleep before, he sure as hell couldn’t now.

Mordred was riding with him today. Leon didn’t trust the roads enough anymore to consider riding in the back of the carriage, so it went to the other two.

Merlin didn't sleep very well, leaving bags under his eyes. Nothing horrible, but he did not look bright eyed and perky as a fresh daisy. He crawled out of his tent that morning feeling just as sore as he did the night before, before being dealt with bad news.

One of the men had died the other night. The odd thing was, it wasn’t one of the ones that Merlin had been tending to, it was one who Merlin thought had been fine. Despite the fact that he was covered in blood, three bandits had died by his hand, the soldier showed no signs of being injured, and went to bed after the clean up like it was no big deal. His fellow tent mates however realized the horrifying truth when they went to wake him up the next morning and found his bedroll and blanket soaked with blood, his body pale and cold to the touch. He had bled out in his sleep, with barely a cry or a memorable last word to his name.

Merlin’s gut rolled at the news. Regret washed over him. He should have had a full physical check done of all of the men, whether they looked injured or not. He should have had the men check for injuries, even if they said they were fine. As soon as he found out, he had what men who Mordred and Leon set to burying the dead to do full physical examinations, ensure that no one else was injured from the night before. He wasn’t going to have anyone collapse on the remaining path to Amata.

Most of the injured men were healing quite nicely, including Terry, who despite being stabbed through the gut was awake and alert enough to actually help tend to the other injured. It gave Merlin a little hope, even in the aftermath of one of their own’s death.

It made the other soldiers growl and scowl at the sight, some even glaring Merlin’s way for daring to help him. Why did a bandit have to survive, but not one of their own? It was a question that hung on Merlin guiltily, the same kind question that hung on him whenever someone died in Gaius’s or his care.

Why did a noble and kind person have to die in his arms, when the cruel and corrupt continued to live?

Well, it wasn’t always up for Merlin to decide, even if he wished it could. While he could offer a lending hand, he was not the Grim Reaper. He did not get to always choose when people lived or died.

Tenny and the other injured bandit stumbled along behind the group, despite Merlin’s wishes, his hands bound before him as he walked alongside his fellow captured brethren. He was still injured, but he could walk at least. A couple of the more injured soldiers were laying on top of the carriage, resting in the now empty food bags.

The whole group was silent, the only sounds were the sounds of footsteps, carriage wheels, and horse shoes. There were no stories, no conversations, no jovial jokes passed through the caravan. No, it was all spent in tired, defeated silence.

All they wanted to do now was get this trip over with.

Inside the carriage was no different. Laid splayed out on his lap, being sown up with the same needle that sewed up torn up flesh just the other night, was the knight’s tent. It was the only thing Merlin could do to try and not think about the man they had left behind, buried in a barely marked grave alongside the dead bandits. After all, in death, no one can tell you apart.

It left a hollow burden on Merlin, one of regret, that Merlin cannot do anything to fix this.

All his weight, his burdens, his realizations, hit him fully in the chest. If all went to plan, then death was not done being doled out. There was still one person he needed to get rid of, but it was not going to happen gleefully. It never was. He might have volunteered to do the job, but he wasn’t going to do it with a smile on his face or in a cheerful mood.

“You alright?” Mordred’s voice perked up across the carriage, finally making Merlin shake his head and come back to reality. He came back to himself still sitting there was his needle half poked through the thick tent fabric, looking like he had zoned out into his mind.

“No.” Was all Merlin could muster to say.

“Well I got that part.” Mordred muttered. Silence fell between them once more, filled with the now familiar rumbling sounds of the carriage. “It’s not your fault Theo passed. You didn’t know.” Mordred started, looking like he wanted to reach out and rest a hand on his friend’s knee.

Merlin pinched his eyes closed. That was the same thing Arthur told him when Will passed, and no matter how many times people told him that, it did nothing to help him to ease the burden of the guilt.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Mordred offered again out of the silence.

“I could have helped him.” Merlin’s voice was quiet, filled with defeat. Again he tried and again he got so close to success, and yet he failed. But… that was all in the past. He couldn’t do anything about it now. Taking a deep sigh, he replied, “I’ll be ok. I promise.”

Mordred nodded, but Merlin knew that he was going to need at least a few days until he got himself back to a semi copable shape.

In the recesses in his mind, as the silence grew louder and louder, Merlin’s thoughts wavered to what he had to do coming up. Seeing so much death that morning, it put a dampener on what he had to do.

“We’ll be there soon.” Mordred’s words could only do so much to comfort Merlin this time around.

Merlin couldn’t help but admit that a tiny part of him, a part of him that he didn’t want to listen to, told him that killing Morgana would be unwise. Bandits don’t come without reason, and if Tenny’s problems were enough to send him into thievery, then who knows who else is willing to do go to such lengths? Perhaps the rest of his team had the same reasons for attempting to rob them. Not that it was right to try and kill someone for what they had, but still. They shouldn’t have to resort to thievery in order to get the money they need. It was a sign of a kingdom under duress, and that probably came from the sudden violent change in power. If Merlin threw another wrench into the recovery process of the kingdom, then whatever strife the kingdom was going through right now might be increased tenfold if he didn’t have a plan on who to take her place, and he had no plan to do that. He couldn’t run a kingdom just being dropped on his lap, and he didn’t want to give it back to Prince Aldus. So, in this metaphysical problem that was brewing inside his head, his only options were keep her alive, or doom Amata. Not even Arthur could help this kingdom if he handed it over to him. It needed a leader of its own in its time of change. Someone who knew what they were doing, someone unfortunately like Morgana.

For all her threats of Camelot, she was a very good leader. She had proven that time and time again every time she came to take over Camelot.

The rest of the morning went by in a blur. Merlin was careful to sew up the rest of the tent, ensuring the new seams weren’t going to come loose on the trip back. It wasn’t pretty, but it was going to work. Gwaine would not let him hear the end of it if the seam tore open in the middle of the night and dropped the tent down on top of them. He had seen worse, and honestly it could be funny in the moment, but a pain in the ass afterwards. He hoped that they wouldn’t have to go through that.

“Hey Merlin,” Mordred spoke up, right as Merlin was folding up the tent.

“What?”

“Look out the window.”

Merlin did as he was told. Off in the distance, poking in between the cracks of the trees and fading in from pale blue of the sky before forming color, was the mountains that marked the far boundary of Amata’s territory. The Cragged Mountains (or was it the White Mountains? Merlin still wasn’t sure). They were getting close to the meeting point between the two mountain ranges, where Amata’s capital sat. Before Merlin could look away, a man and his ox drawn cart came trundling up the road, nodding at the carriage and the soldiers, tipping his cap at the driver before continuing onwards.

Merlin could only watch on in interest. They were getting close now, he could feel it. He could only hope that the man and his ox must live somewhere nearby, he feared what the remains of those bandits would do to him.

Slowly, as the group came across more and more forks in the road, they ran across more and more people. The roads grew larger, smoother, better maintained. Hell, there was even a torch lamp or two for the road. By the time they could see signs of homes, farms, and the like, the forest beginning to thin out in some places, the roads were beginning to bustle with people.

Just how big is this kingdom? Merlin couldn’t help but wonder, leaning his head out the window.

Families, farmers, wagons and even other carriages shared the road with them now, bustling with life like ants approaching and leaving the entrance of their hive. Just so, so many people. Far more people than those who took the roads of Camelot, and absolutely none of them were coming from or going down the road they had just come from.

“Hey, Leon.”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think we might have gone on the wrong road? No one seems to be going where we came from.” Merlin explained.

Leon shrugged, pulling his horse out of the way of a horse drawn carriage. “Maybe,” He half lied. He was still wondering what Arthur was thinking sending them the long way around at the very beginning, but he wasn’t going to tell Merlin that. At least they didn’t have to deal with traffic.

“Hey, we got company up ahead.” Gwaine called back. The whole group perked up.

Leaning up against a very old chunk of wall was a large group of people. A patrol, a very, very large patrol. Or, perhaps a checkpoint would be a better term. It surprised Merlin to see that for once they were outnumbered two to one, this time by a group of men that Merlin wasn’t completely terrified to see. Perhaps worried would be a better term.

Most of the men were dressed in armor that corresponds with guards, armed with simple spears, but there was one or two that were dressed in armor belonging to a knight. Each and every single one of them clothed with a startling new blue cape or tabard. Like each wore the color of morning glories atop themselves, yet barren of an insignia.

“Blue?” Merlin muttered, looking Mordred’s way, “I thought Amata’s colors were brown?”

Mordred shrugged. “Maybe Morgana got bored with brown?” He tried to offer.

Merlin shrugged in return. He wouldn’t be surprised. In his own humble opinion, blue was definitely better than brown.

They didn’t get much farther before one of the men on the horses started riding towards them, intent and certainty in his eyes, getting followed by a few soldiers.

“Halt.” He commanded, his voice certain and strong, like how Merlin imagined a Roman centurion general would sound like. In fact, the closer and closer he got, the more Merlin could see that this man most definitely had some Roman ancestry, complete with the roman arch nose, sun tan skin, broad shoulders, and proud eyes, along with trimmed dirt brown hair and freshly shaven strong jaw. It wouldn’t be too far off to imagine him as part of the high ranks of the Roman Empire.

The group, as anyone would when being commanded by a Roman general, did as they were told.

“You have a plan in case this goes south?” Mordred asked, giving him a wary look.

“I’ll think of something.”

“Uh huh.” Mordred replied in a tone that let Merlin know that he did not believe him for one second.

Honestly, Merlin didn’t really believe himself either.

“State your name and business.” The knight in blue asked, coming to a stop beside the window and Leon.

“We are the convoy from Camelot, we’re coming to deliver the queen’s suitor for our side of the treaty.” Leon explained, holding his head high with pride, with every bit of the confidence of knowing that they were meant to be here. Like two proud cultures clashing.

One of the foreign soldiers snorted, as if what was said was funny. A twist formed in Merlin’t gut. The knight in blue looked back over his shoulder and glared at the soldier, who immediately fell silent.

“Is something funny?” Leon asked, arching a brow.

“No, no. It’s just some of my men don’t know when to keep their noses out of other people’s business.” The knight explained, continuing to glare at the soldier until said soldier took a step back, bowing his head. Only then did the knight turn back to look at them all. “My apologies about my men. My name is Sir Zarrus. I have been sent by the queen to escort her fiancé and his entourage to the castle.” He explained, reaching out as an offer to shake their hands.

Leon and Gwaine shook his hand, while Mordred merely bowed. Merlin didn’t exactly know what to do, as no hand was offered to him. Little rude, but he wasn’t going to say anything. He was quite used to it by now.

“We have injured men who could do with seeing a physician.” Leon explained, gesturing to the men on top of the carriage and on the horses.

“We’ll have our best sent down as soon as we arrive at the castle. May I ask, which road did you take?”

“The road by the mountains.”

Sir Zarrus’s brow furrowed. “Really? Why? Everyone knows those roads are infested with bandits. You honestly should have taken the road through the fields, would have saved you a few days. We could have even got you an escort.” He explained, gesturing at another fork in the road they had passed on the way there.

The whole group looked over their shoulder at the fork. The way they came up from was the fork on the left, and most of the traveling people were going down the right fork, the fork that was much better tended to, flatter, smoother, well lit and, by the sight of a few guards going down that way, much better protected. It was like choosing between the helpful fairy and a dark witch; it was very obvious which path they should have picked.

Merlin sent a glare Leon’s way, who merely ducked his head to avoid him.

“If you know there are bandits on the road, why doesn't the queen deal with it?” Merlin asked, giving his attention on the knight in blue.

“We are working on it, but due to the area’s complex terrain, there’s lots of nooks and crannies they can hide in. For now we tell locals to avoid those roads or travel in large groups.”

“We lost a man on those roads.” Gwaine explained.

Sir Zarrus nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry for your lost then. May we hope his death was not in vain.” The knight raised his hand, as if gesturing to continue. “Shall we finish your journey on a good note, then?”

Leon nodded, and without a word the carriage and crew urged forward. The soldiers in red were soon blended in with soldiers in blue, the walking troupe getting to talk to one another. Soon, jovial conversation struck up, and the darkness of the roads was left behind somewhat. A few of the blue soldiers helped the injured walking to walk easier, with the one blue soldier on horseback offering to hop off for the soldier who had been stabbed in the shoulder. Of course, none of this was offered to either of the injured bandits, but it didn’t matter much now.

The group had to squeeze off to the side in order to allow for the now constant flow of traffic through, with many people on foot, horseback, and by cart making their way to and from the main road of the capital. Many moving much faster.

“We do have a few of those bandits to deliver to the queen so that she can pass sentence to them.” Leon continued to explain, gesturing towards the back of the group where the tied up bandits were being kept.

“A couple of them are badly injured,” Merlin explained, jutting his head out once more. “They’ll also need to be seen by a surgeon.”

Zarrus arched his brow. “You helped treat some injured bandits?” He asked calmly, looking Merlin in the eye. Not in an entirely judgemental manner, although there was some judgment in his eyes, yet curious regardless. As if brazen judging his moral character like a Greek philosopher.

“You’ll have to forgive him, his mentor is a physician.” Leon interjected before Merlin could even open his mouth to speak.

“Ah, I see. A follower of the Hippocratic oath.” Zarrus offered, of which Merlin silently nodded at.

“Hippocratic of the hippocratic oath.” Merlin muttered under his breath.

“Pardon, what was that?” The knight asked, giving Merlin a confused look. As if he genuinely didn’t hear the thing that Merlin said.

Merlin shook his head with a half attempted smile. “Nothing.”

Zarrus nodded, turning back to Leon. “We’ve been dealing with the bandits since our old king was around, but the territory by the mountains has always been difficult to manage. Sometimes I think they enjoy the easier job of taking supplies from hard workers than actually doing the hard work themselves.”

“And what about the ones that are desperate? The ones that need the money quick?” Merlin butted in.

“These men and women choose a life of violence, harm, and murder to get what they want, when we offer plenty of ways of helping them if they fall on hard times. It is our job to protect the people from dying and having their livelihoods being taken from them. If you wish to question their morals, fine, but their actions are inexcusable.” Sir Zarrus explained with crisp order and tone. It was clear that there was no arguing with a man of the law such as him.

So Merlin, being the neutral lad that he was, decided to remain silent on the matter. The man wasn’t technically wrong, especially after what they had just gone through the previous night, but it wasn’t exactly the kindest response either. Besides, Merlin had done worse, he didn’t have much room to argue.

“So, beyond bandits, how have things been?” Gwaine offered to ask, trying to hop off onto a different topic.

“Well since she legalized magic the people have been cautious.”

“Aka the warlocks are running the place now.” Gwaine muttered cynically. Leon sent Gwaine a look, but did not send a word. What Gwaine believes is his business, even if it didn’t exactly align with what Leon or what some of his other friends believed.

Gwaine, surprisingly enough, despite his care free and jovial attitude, was not a merciful man with magic and magic users. It alway surprised Leon, because Gwaine wasn’t even the worst in this regard. It wasn’t even Arthur, and Arthur was the man in charge of the rules! The person Leon thought to be the most hostile towards magic users was actually Perceval of all people. Perceval! Sweet, lovable, absolute unit, perfect for hugging Perceval! It did make sense, his whole family, his beloved sister, was killed by a certain magic user’s magically enchanted immortal army, but it was still surprising to see the calm and kind man be absolutely relentless when it came to magic. It wasn’t that Leon was entirely in support of magic users either, but Leon made it his mission to judge someone by their actions, not by what they use. It just happened that most magic users didn’t use magic for good, so the two arguments kind of lined up. Regardless, it made Leon and some of his other friends like Merlin and Mordred worry from time to time, seeing their friends like this. What if one day the two found out one of their friends had magic? How would those two react? Not that Leon actually thought any of his friends had magic, but the thought was still there.

It made Leon worry sometimes.

“Actually, the queen has been working on making sure that people follow the rules, even if they think they deserve to be above it.” Zarrus explained, giving a look back to the group. A few women walked by as he said this, carrying their wicker baskets with them. They waved, they smiled, they giggled at his charming grin, and overall looked like they were having a good day.

“Pardon?” Leon asked, arching his brow. Ladies were not going to distract him from what was just said, although it might distract Gwaine.

“We’ve had some problems of some warlocks acting out of place and taking what they want, believing that the queen, now that she’s lifted the ban on magic, will let them continue their actions. The queen disagrees.” Zarrus explained slowly, as if such discussions were odd on his tongue. He was not used to talking like this, and yet there was loyal tone to it as well.

“Really?” Mordred replied, surprised.

Merlin’s brow furrowed. While yes, it did sound like a wise decision, that didn’t sound like something Morgana would say. At least, not the Morgana he knew. The Morgana Merlin knew would absolutely put warlocks and sorcerers over the common people. She would not care, she had her people, and she would demand that their treatment would be better than ‘the simple peasantry’.

Perhaps with her as queen she learned how to be more sensible, or perhaps she saw something in her time in the pit that changed her mind. Perhaps it was something else, Merlin didn’t know, but he didn’t have the time nor the care to find out.

He had come for a mission, and self seeking curious questions weren't going to change that.

“She probably just doesn’t want people to rise up against her.” Gwaine offered, if not a little cynically.

“Probably.” Zarrus agreed. “I will say, she surprisingly enough hasn’t executed many people. Our dungeons are a bit full at the moment, though…”

“How so?” Leon asked.

“Her memory is impeccable, and those who hurt her are many.” One of the soldiers piped up from the back.

Ok, now Merlin was confused. Who was this Morgana, and what had she done with the real one? The Morgana he knew would not hesitate to execute anyone who so much as slighted her. What is this about her being merciful? Well, perhaps the dungeons being merciful wasn’t exactly the right term, but it most certainly wasn’t a death sentence. Perhaps she had some sort of dark ritual planned for them…

“Oh don’t get me wrong, she can be terrifying if she wants to be. Those that she has executed… I have seen many things in my time on this job, and let me just say, what she has done to those who have earned a death sentence makes me shudder.” Zarrus explained, a grimace crossing his face.

Several of the blue clad soldiers did just that, shuddering at the thoughts.

“She hands out death sentences sparingly, but to those who she does, they learn to regret their decision.”

That only made Merlin’s gut clench further, and yet that part of his heart that wanted to agree with what was coming leapt at it, as if to tell that part of him that was reluctant to do this ‘see?! She is a bad queen!’ It made his gut lurch.

Merlin and Mordred gave each other nervous looks. Mordred, feeling the immediate need to change the subject, piped up, “So what’s with the new blue uniforms? We thought Amata’s colors were brown.”

“They were, but the queen decided to change that, said that brown wasn’t a good sign for the future of our land.” Zarrus explained, picking up his cape to look at the deep shade of blue.

“I personally like it.” Merlin piped up.

“Well of course you would, you’re like one of two people in all of Camelot to wear blue, the other being the queen.” Gwaine replied, smirking.

“Just because Gwen and I have good taste doesn’t mean you need to be salty about it.” Merlin replied in equal mocking jest, tilting his head up haughtily. So what if no one else in Camelot wore blue! Merlin liked his blue shirts and bandanas, thank you very much.

The gates to the main town were coming into view now, stone walls carefully built with archery towers every hundred feet, a menacing iron gate being held open for public transit. Tall and thick and overgrown with ivy, the wall and those on it were ready for any raid. Several soldiers walked across the top of the edge. Ready to keep anything, or in. Soldiers stood beside the gate, letting villagers and merchants pass through, and it could quite quickly be heard the sounds of the town inside.

“Well, you’re going to fit in quite nicely here. Our people tend to like their colors.” Zarrus said with a smirk, sending a look Merlin’s way. “She’s also working on changing the symbol of the kingdom, but she hasn’t come to a complete decision quite yet.”

The symbol of Amata, or supposedly now the old symbol of Amata, had been the bear, striking a fearsome pose and roaring as it rose on its hind legs to strike at any enemy. A fearsome predator, a king of the forest. It was a fine symbol, if not intimidating. Symbols of a kingdom were meant to be a sort of advertisement for the kingdom and the ruling family, meant to explain the morals and viewpoints of a kingdom, if not also reminisce on a key point in their history.

For example, Camelot’s old symbol had been that of three crowns, as the kingdom had originally been formed and ruled by three brothers. However, when Uther took the throne by force, he took his wife’s symbol; the dove, a symbol of peace, purity, prosperity, and spirituality. Perfect for a kingdom ruled by a loving and sweet couple, seeking only the best for their people. However, when Ygraine passed and Camelot in its rage exterminated all the dragons and captured the Great Dragon, it seemed only the more fitting to have such a symbol, along with taking the last name ‘Pendragon’. An intimidating yet strong creature, dragons are known to be noble and protective, wise and vain, potentially selfish and stubborn in their views, and can be very, very aggressive if angered. Especially when the symbol shows a specific dragon rearing on its hind legs and spewing flame, like being choked by a chain.

Symbols carry power, and some can be more intimidating than others, especially when connected to certain color pallets. The only way to be scarier and let your fellow kingdoms know you mean business would be to have your symbol be the wolf or a mythical creature like the questing beast, and that just might as well be plain on the nose.

“What about a dragon?” Merlin offered sarcastically in jest. If Morgana wanted Camelot so much, why doesn’t she just remake it?

“You joke, but rumors say that it is one of the options on the board.” Zarrus explained, in equal test.

“So she’s going to copy Camelot. Wonderful.” Gwaine explained, rolling his eyes.

“Do not worry, I’m sure the advisors are working with her on the matter. I’m sure they’ll come up with something fitting for the land without treading on any toes.” Zarrus explained, gesturing at the soldiers standing in the gate. “Well, here we are. The capital.”

The group came to a halt once walking inside the gates of the town, where there they could see the whole capital completely unobstructed.

“Wow.” Left Mordred’s lips. “That is one big castle.”

That was a bit of an understatement. Even being on the outside of town and being at the base of not one but two mountain ranges, the castle of Amata, sitting on the base of and cutting the capital off from the mountain behind it, had to be huge. Probably twice the size of the Camelot castle, it could have been carved out of a miniature mountain, that was how big it was. Made of a white stone akin to maybe marble and topped with light colored shingles, Merlin could tell even from this distance that there was far more detail and design in the castle than what could be seen at the moment. Clearly, this castle was a creation of love, talent, and persistence of many, many years and hands.

Which seemed so incredibly odd for King Sarum.

While King Sarum had a near barbaric approach to combat and his army’s armor, his castle and capital were quite the opposite. Merlin would have never had guessed the dreaded, near demonic King Sarum would live in a place such as this. It was too… fairytale-like for him. Too clean.

Speaking of fairytale like, the town was gorgeous. It reminded Merlin a lot of the town of Camelot, but with larger roads and slightly taller buildings. The townhouses in Camelot have two floors on average, with three being a rare sight, but here it was two to three were a common sight. It nearly felt like the buildings were standing tall and guiding directions, looming like the mountains that loomed above the kingdom. Windows were boxed with flowers, vines of blooming ivy and moss grew on the walls. It was picturesque, like something he would see in a painting. 

The carriage trundled over cobble roads, horse hooves striking the flattened rocks, echoing off the walls. People passed on their left, staring at the scarlet capes and spears as they passed. A few of the locals waved at the group as they passed, but mainly they were waving at the ones in blue, friends of Zarrus and soldiers that had joined them. No one waved at the ones in red, or completely ignored them.

What really surprised Merlin was the differences between the people of Camelot and the people here, was most specifically in the way these people dressed. In Camelot, the people preferred the clothes to be purely functional and let focus to be had on the person, with embroidery and designs being only an occasional design choice for the most persistent of women for their favorite dresses.

For the people of Amata, that seemed to be the exact opposite. It was clear that these people were not minimalists, they were obsessed with detail and color.

The men had shirts with cuffs absolutely smothered in bright, hand sewn embroidery so tenderly sewn on by loving hands, making each shirt like a fingerprint and a masterpiece. If the men wore vests or hats, which seems to be more common than in Camelot, the point was even more so, with a bevy of designs crossing them and even up their back like an insignia.

For the women, every edge of their dresses, aprons, collars, and sleeves had embroidered designs sewn into them, and they weren’t all consistently the same. One woman wearing a paisley blue dress had bright yellow songbirds embroidered in flight and song into her collar and a one large bright blue one carefully sewn onto her apron to make it match, while a young lady wearing pink was absolutely covered in a rainbow bouquet of flower decals. One woman that Merlin saw while she was walking away was wearing a cream colored gown, whose back of her skirt had a literal trail of large roses carefully embroidered on to the point it looked like she had sown actual roses onto her dress, with sleeves, collar, and hair holding bandana to match. Like the most impressive wedding gown Merlin had ever seen. He couldn’t find one person wearing a plain brown shirt or skirt around here, and if he did, they were not local.

“Wow.” Merlin breathed. If he ever had the time, perhaps he’d buy a swatch of their embroidery on a bandana and bring it home, if only to have a tiny piece of their beautiful art. Like he was a silly little tourist, or a merchant bringing home a gift from far away lands to his wife and kids.

The streets bustled with life, but it didn’t feel the same at home. It didn’t feel like it did back in Camelot. But, Merlin supposed it never would.

It was painfully beautiful, and absolutely nothing like how Merlin imagined a land ruled by King Sarum would look like.

“Are we sure we’re in the right place?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask. A small, cynical part of his mind thought if it was, there was no way that Morgana could be here, that she did not deserve a place as nice as this.

“What do you mean?” Zarrus asked, arching his brow.

“I mean, this doesn’t look like this place would belong to King Sarum. I mean that castle alone looks too pretty.”

“Oh it is, just the queen has gone for vast efforts to clean it.” Zarrus explained. “You should have seen it when he was alive, it was horribly under taken care of. So much soot that it was nearly black in color. My father, even said he hasn’t seen this color since he was a child.”

“Not to mention overgrown!” Another soldier chirped.

“Trust me, while it is nice on the outside, not everything about that castle is pretty. It’s got its past to deal with too.”

Merlin silently nodded. He wouldn’t believe anything he was seeing if he didn’t see the darkness this place held. After all, every cloud has a silver lining, but every light has its shadow, and a place as beautiful as Amata had a dark, horrid past.

He knew that too well.

As they grew closer and closer to the castle entrance, weaving through the maze of streets, Merlin tried to remember the path they came down. It was a difficult mess and made his mind buzz, but he tried regardless. All they needed to do was find the main road, and he’d be alright. He’d be able to find his way back out if he knew the way to go.

He had to work hard not to get distracted by the spires of architecture or the flowers and traveling food stands. The smell of warm delectable foods that wafted through the streets and through the carriage door, trying not to be overwhelmed by it all.

In a way, it reminded Merlin of a field of tulips, blooming out from under the weight of heavy snow. Being buried for so long, the people of Amata now had a chance to bloom again to their full potential. But the look in people's eyes, the way they looked at the carriage and the soldiers passing by, the people were not in full bloom quite yet. They still had plenty of fear left in them.

It wasn’t long until the group found their way to the main gate, the stone wall blocking out anyone from the capital into the main castle. Merely two guards stood outside the gate, dressed in the same new deep blue uniform, holding spears in their hands to prevent anyone from coming in. The moment the soldiers saw their carriage and Sir Zarrus they pulled their spears out of the way, letting the mixed entourage through the opened iron wrought gate. For a mere moment there was darkness as the stone wall passed over them, and then they were in the courtyard.

It was a massive void before the castle, mainly filled with gravel and cobblestone, surrounded on all sides by walls and small windows. It was predominantly circular, but there was two arches to the left where it could be seen that there was more empty room to be seen, however, a thick iron gate stood in the way and was closed and kept shut, like the mouth of a demon. Merlin could practically feel a dark aura coming from that way, as if death was common and familiar in that direction. Already a dark smudge against the light colored stone around him.

Welp, now he had a growing list of where to avoid. Great.

When the carriage came to a halt, and before Merlin could even reach for the lock on the door and hop out into the new world, a manservant dressed in what would be considered plain clothes by Amatan standards, his leather coat only slightly embroidered with simple swoops and bends of yellow, ran up and opened the door.

“I got it, sirs,” The young manservant exclaimed, sounding eager to be useful.

“Thank you,” Merlin and Mordred each said, spilling out of the carriage and into the bright sun. After being in the forest for so long, seeing the sun again was like coming out of a cave. “Whoa.”

Merlin had to crane his neck just to take in the whole castle with ease, covering his eyes with his hand. Upon closer inspection, Merlin could see the castle wasn’t all one consistent design. Almost hodgepodge in style and time, slowly grown bigger and added to as time needed it. It was a sturdy and thick castle, looming over the land like a guardian or a menace. Like a castle that had stood here for a long, long time, added onto over the years until they got what they had today.

Stairs loomed over them, trailing upwards towards the large doors standing above. Splitting in the middle, the stairs split into two different directions before turning back into the same direction, as if to allow more traffic to flow up the stairs when events came.

Sir Zarrus chuckled, watching Mordred and Merlin gawk away. “And here I thought you came from Camelot,” He offered, hopping off his horse as another manservant took his reins.

“We haven’t seen a castle as big as this one before,” Leon explained, looking between the knight and the castle. Even he was gobsmacked by the sheer size of the castle.

“Would you like for me to get your things?” A maid asked, hurrying to the group. She was a rather young lass, a maid with hair the color of smoothed bricks pulled back to show her round face, thin lips, and grey blue eyes shining eager and alert.

“No thank you,” Merlin replied, reaching back into the carriage for his pack on the ground.

“Very well.” The maid bowed, taking a step back. “I shall let the queen know you’re here. May I have your name?”

“Merlin, from Camelot. Hopefully, she should be expecting me.” Merlin explained, swallowing his pride.

The maid’s eyes went wide, a small gasp forming in her throat. “You…” The words died on the woman’s lips before she managed to regather her composure, bowing slightly. “Of course. I will let her know.”

Before Merlin or Leon or anyone else could say anything, before asking for her to get the physician for their injured and wounded, or that they needed directions to get anywhere, the maid hurried off, picking up her skirt and hurried through a door peeking between the stairs.

“Best of luck in there.” The servant perked up from above, helping soldiers unload supplies from the roof of the carriage, “She hasn’t accepted any of the previous suitors.”

“Previous suitors?” Merlin asked, his brow furrowing. What did he mean by ‘previous suitors’?

“You haven’t heard? There’s been quite a few young men who have come to try and ask for her hand in marriage. Every single last one of them, turned down.” The manservant explained, before turning and hurrying off.

Merlin felt something queasy drop in his stomach. Questions that he shouldn’t be allowing to swirl inside his head, did.

Did he get the memo wrong? Were they too late? Had she already picked someone else?

No, he could work with this. It doesn’t matter if she already has a suitor, in fact that might be good. She could marry him, have him take the throne, and then kill her. Yeah, it would work for everyone! He could go home and spend time with family and the kingdom would have a ruler! Everyone wins!

…But, if that was the case, he had no reason to be here. He’s supposed to be here to marry her for a treaty, for food, and if that is the case, then… what’s the point of this whole journey? Camelot would not gets its food, they would not need to lift the ban on magic. Things would go back to the way things were, except no positive change. Sure, Morgana would be gone, but nothing else. He would be back on square one.

Merlin shook his head. Things were getting too confusing. He already had a headache, and he didn’t want it growing further. He just needed to head inside and sort things from there.

“So, before we go inside, should we figure out who is going to be staying with Merlin?” Mordred piped up, getting the attention of the rest of the party.

“Well I’m not going to be staying long…” Merlin replied, giving a look at the foreign soldiers.

“Mordred’s right though, we need to discuss it.” Leon replied, stepping up. “Who knows if things may go south?”

Merlin nodded, that was fair. He’d hate to be here alone with her for who knows how long.

“We might as well leave it up to Merlin to decide.” Gwaine piped up, everyone’s gaze turned his way. “So, who’s going to be staying with you?”

All of a sudden Merlin felt like he was on stage in front of a whole crowd. Honestly, he wished that they had discussed this sooner. He had to pick between three of the best Camelot had to offer, and he hadn’t a clue who to pick on the fly. Needless to say, he was torn. There was Gwaine, who could always put a smile on his face even in dark times, which would be valuable if he was sworn to be stuck with her for who knows how long, Leon, the most knowledgeable of court affairs and how to work the court, which considering Merlin’s lack luster skills could get him out of trouble a lot, and Mordred, who despite having the least amount of friendship with Merlin, was the most knowledgeable about the situation. He knew what was going on when the others didn’t, he didn’t have to hide or lie about anything to him, and that was incredibly valuable.

“I… I don’t know.” The words spilled from Merlin’s lips, which was honestly the truth.

“Well then, why don’t we pull sticks?” Gwaine offered, looking back at the group. “After all, it worked for the carriage ride.”

“Sounds good to me.” Leon shrugged.

Gwaine without a word reached into his pack and pulled out three sticks. Just simple, small sticks, something you would find on the side of the road. Nothing special. Shoving them together and evening them out, Gwaine scrambled them around in his hand so that not even he knew which one was the longest.

“After you,” Gwaine offered, holding his bundle out for Leon to pick from.

Leon gingerly did as he was told, reaching out and pulling a stick out of his palm. He sighed. “Darn.” He held up his tiny stick for them all to see.

Gwaine was the second one to reach out and take a stick, resulting in a fairly long looking one. It was getting hopeful…

Until Mordred pulled out what had to be the longest looking stick Merlin had ever seen.

“Welp, looks like Mordred’s staying.” Gwaine commented, taking his stick and slipping it back into his pack for potential later uses, like a crow with his treasure.

“Is that alright?” Leon asked, giving Merlin a concerned look. He looked as if he was about ready to hop on the band wagon to take Mordred’s place, if only Merlin said the word.

Merlin sighed. He supposed that since he didn’t know who to choose in the first place this was kind of his own fault. If he didn’t like the choice given to him by random chance, he should have picked. But, oh well. It wasn’t like they were going to be here very long.

“He can stay with me.” Merlin nodded.

"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on you." Mordred said with a patient smile, knowing the turmoil in Merlin's mind.

Merlin's gut squelched. Not his first choice, but he can't take it back now. "I'm sure you will." Is all he could say in response.

“Well with that out of the way, let’s head on inside. See what we’re dealing with.” Leon explained, gesturing at the long steps ascending before them.

Throwing his bag over his shoulder, Merlin mocked, "Let's not keep the queen waiting," Before he took his step towards the first step. But, his foot would not move beyond it. It was like starting at the climb of a mountain; he just needed to start walking. But who knows what will meet them at the top?

“You ready?” Leon asked, reaching out and resting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“At this point, how could I not be?” Merlin muttered.

Gwaine smirked. “Come on. We’ll be right beside you.”

The three knights and manservant ascended the stairs in sync, scarlet red capes swaying, ready to greet whatever may meet them at the top.

Just like the rest of the castle, the architecture, and the people, the door was not skimped out on design. Ornately carved with designs, animals, and moments of human history, the door must have been the magnum opus of at least several artists. All made so as to welcome guests into the caverns that present themselves inside.

Before Merlin could reach up and take either of the door handles or even so much as knock, the doors swung open like a gaping maw, creaking and groaning under their own weight. Standing on the other side was another servant, this one more formally dressed than the others. This gentleman, who looked to be at least two decades older than Merlin, what with his thin dark hair and trimmed beard with speckled grey in it, was wearing a humble dark brown coat with light green embroidery on the sleeves like vines and a white shirt with simple stars on the collar. More formal than the other manservants and maids, yet still very clearly a servant.

“Oh, hello,” the man’s silky smooth voice replied, glancing between the whole group, giving a quick bow. “Forgive my manners, I was told you were all down in the courtyard.”

“Don’t fret, we were just impatient.” Leon explained with a patient smile, holding out his hand to shake.

“As I heard, you gave poor Hecate a heart attack.” The man said with a gentle chuckle, taking the shake in kindness. “Oh where are my manners? My name is Therin. I am the butler of this castle, the queen’s secretary. And I assume you are Merlin?” The man asked, looking Merlin in the eye.

Merlin nodded. “I am.”

“Well then, wonderful it is to meet you. It will be a pleasure to get to know and work with you in the coming future.” Therin explained, holding his hand out for him to shake.

Merlin really didn’t want to shoot this man’s politeness down, so he just reached out and shook his hand in return. “I'm looking forward to it.” He lied.

The man clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Well, I must say, the queen is currently in a meeting at the moment with her advisors, and normally I would be bringing you to the seating room, but she expressly told me that upon your arrival I should have for you to be brought straight to her. Would you like for me to get someone to gather your things?”

“Ah no, I’m good.” Merlin gestured with his bag, hand still firmly on his arm strap.

“Are you sure? It looks quite heavy.” Therin tried to offer, polite brow scrunching into concern.

“Looks can be deceiving.” Merlin replied.

“As I’m sure.” Therin replied with a gentle chuckle. “Well, if that’s the case, if there is nothing else you four need, then let’s head on back, shall we?” With a gesture, the butler lead the way.

Without a word to argue, the group of four trailed along behind the butler. Finally, Merlin had a chance to fully take in the architecture around him, or at least as much as he could while trying to keep up with someone. For all of his proper manners, Therin was a speedy walker.

The roof above them was tall, looming with pointed arches. It was far taller than ever need necessary, like that of an elaborate church, but it was impressive regardless. Carpets of exquisite colors and patterns rolled beneath their feet, and carefully carved furniture made of dark stained wood lined the wall, tables, chairs, and more, topped with vases full of flowers or pieces of art. Sculptures of scantily clad women and men filled in slots specifically for them in the wall, along with suits of armor and age old weapons, axes, swords, spears and the like, and almost no guards!

Merlin smirked. This was going to be too easy! All he had to do was wait for the perfect moment to strike, and he could deal with this once and for all. He could even go home today—.

Aaaaaaand there’s the guards dressed in blue. The moment they turned the corner, guards were everywhere, nearly two for every corner. The very, very tight security Merlin was expecting, and they did not look so foolish as the ones in Camelot. But, that, Merlin knew, would need to be proven. After all, the guards of Camelot look vigilant too, but by practice they were as oblivious as the rest.

Turning down a few halls, the group eventually came across a large set of double dark doors. They weren’t as big as the throne room door they had seen at the entrance, but it was impressive regardless, double doored and would be opened with heavy brass loops.

“Well, here we are. The meeting room. I will let you in in just a moment.” Without even waiting for them to consider turning back now, Therin reached for the brass loops and pulled open the doors. The doors creaked as they opened, revealing what stayed on the inside.

What they were met with was a frenzy.

The room inside was cozy and simple in design, mostly designated towards the large table sitting in the middle of it. It looked like a darker version of the round table, darkly stained and oblong in shape. Several old, scraggly men sat around the dark stained table, scuffling around like rats in a burning barn. Scattered pieces of paper scattered across the table, and many of the men were talking over one another, not even attempting to listen to what the others had to say. No one looked like they had a shred of an idea as to what they were doing, with many seats left vacant, including the seat right next to the queen.

Sitting at the end of the table, in the largest, plushest seat there, was Morgana, just as gorgeous as ever.

Two fingers gently rubbed her temple as she sighed, eyes closed, the crown of the queen was tilted on her head at an angle as she sighed. She looked rather bored, or like a mother who had given up trying to control her dozens of children as they destroyed everything in front of them. Like she needed two fingers of a nice brandy and a lie down while her husband took care of the kids for an hour. Even the two guards standing vigilantly behind her looked bored with this conversation.

It would probably be for the best to come back later when she wasn’t bordering on a foul mood and a migraine.

Merlin quietly started to walk backwards, the knights looking ready to follow.

“Ah, Merlin. I was wondering when you were going to arrive.” Her voice called out over the room, silencing every other voice like wind over a candle flame. Extinguishing everything, leaving only a wisp of smoke behind.

If Merlin didn't know any better, he would have said Morgana lit up with some sort of dark, gleeful delight, eyes shining like emerald stars. As if finally, finally something good happened in her day, her week. Finally she had a release from the chaos of the meeting, the highlight of her day. Finally, change had arrived.

Merlin's cheeks flushed. It was quite sudden when Merlin had the distinct sense that everyone was looking at him. Every single eye was on him. Everyone was looking at him.

Everyone.

And for one of the few times in Merlin's life, he had no idea what to do, and had no one to turn to.

Chapter Text

When Morgana saw Merlin standing in the doorway, she could honestly say she had never been so excited to see someone in her entire life, and yes, that did include her sister. 

Up until that moment Morgana had been dealing with what remained of her abysmal collection of advisors, the ones who weren’t so foolish to tell her straight to her face that they didn’t respect her rule. There weren’t many, but she made do. 

She had summoned them to help her deal with the problem of some rumors swirling around, saying that some dukes along the northern boarder were threatening to side with Prince Aldus, the boarder that hung alongside King Odin’s land, along with various other problems of the day. Or at least, that was the plan for the meeting when she had called her advisors, however all the men in the room had absolutely no interest in discussing the matters she was concerned with. As far as she was aware, all they were concerned with was maintaining their positions of power in the court. All thinly veiled as discussions of what the lords want, but absolutely no concern over what the people needed or what to do about the dukes.

The longer and longer she heard these men bicker like the old children they are, the more and more Morgana knew she was going to have to put getting new advisors as a higher priority, because these old men were getting absolutely nowhere. Perhaps some fresh blood in the court would do some good, of different walks of life. She didn’t know, but she would have to work on it, sooner rather than later.

But in the moment, all Morgana wanted was to take off this heavy crown, have a stiff drink and take a break. 

However, when she saw Merlin standing in her doorway, looking at her wide eyed and slowly backing out to avoid her, her heart sprung into action like an old rusty wagon that hadn’t moved in weeks. She finally had a proper excuse to escape this tediousness!

“Ah, Merlin,” She called out over the room, silencing the old bickering, getting him to come to a halt. “I was wondering when you were going to arrive.”

The poor young man looked like a deer caught by a hunter in the woods, eyes wide, no thoughts. Just purely filled with instinct and fear. No idea on what to do, in desperate need of help.

She watched him swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing on his pale, unmarked neck. “Hello, Morgana,” He managed to stiffly reply. His fingers shifted and danced over the backpack’s arm band. 

Morgana couldn’t help but grin a devilish grin. She could see how much the silence and attention was making the poor little wall flower uncomfortable. He never was one for the limelight unless incited it first, if he knew what he was doing in that limelight, and that was terribly rare. 

“Nice to see you finally arrive.” She called back, slowly raising from her plush seat. His gaze was completely on her, and that was what she wanted. 

Merlin could not look away as her shoes clicked across the large tile floor, passing behind chairs of advisors. Her gaze completely and totally set on him, completely ignoring everyone else.

He swallowed, hard. How many times was he going to forget how pretty she was? How many times was she going to take his breath away until he remembered just how cruel she could be?

He hated to admit it; the way she dressed really suited her. 

Compared to a month ago, Morgana’s gown and outfit was still regal and unique, and yet now even more so. Dark navy velvety fabric hugged every curve before splaying out and turning into a train, a shallow swooping collar covering her chest and leaving her arms bare, and thin silver lines like chains embroidered into the dress, hugging her high around the waist and falling around her hips and thighs. Silvery jewelry hung from her ears, neck, and bicep, occasionally dotted with sapphires. His gaze paused at her lips; they were the darkest maroon color he had ever seen. The heavy, almost purple color made her eyes pop. The delicate, multi jeweled tiara resting on her brow completed the whole look.

A perfect outfit for the queen of Amata in her new homeland, high and proud, and it showed. 

“I’ll just have Therin show us around—.” The adorably awkward manservant offered, pointing back towards the front door, where Therin was nowhere to be seen.

“No need.” Morgana replied. She turned back to the room with an eager grin, delightfully ready to be rid of this dreadful conversation. “This meeting is adjourned, gentlemen.”

The advisors did not like this.

“But, but your majesty, the lord’s treaties! The trade routes!” A random advisor, one with wisps of white hair and clearly used to the cushy job of an advisor, cried out.

“I said this meeting is adjourned.” Their queen hissed through her teeth. The advisors fell silent, merely sending nervous glances at one another. As if she had done nothing, she turned back to the visiting group, smile returning. “Well, let us get going, shall we?” She asked, calmly gesturing out towards the hallway.

The men all silently agreed, and Morgana was patiently delighted to see that they followed along behind her, her guards trailing along behind them like needy and loyal puppies.

Despite Merlin’s stiff efforts to try and put someone between them, Morgana was determined to and succeeded at saddling up beside him as they walked. If his reaction upon walking in was any sort of amusing to her, which it was, then Morgana was not going to allow him to escape the lime light. She was absolutely chuffed to bits to see how uncomfortable he was in a position that he was not prepared for. Used to, maybe, but prepared for? Absolutely not. Being glued to Arthur’s side meant that he was more often than not in the edges of the lime light, and he had done enough stupid things in front of the court to Arthur that he surely wasn’t afraid of being in the center of attention. However, it was always with Arthur nearby, ready to dump the attention onto in case he ever wanted to escape into the shadows, which was often.

Needless to say, Morgana was not going to let him do that. She was not going to allow him to melt into the stone and shadows like he was so proficient at in Camelot. If he was going to be her fiancé and eventual king, then the people were going to need to see him as she saw him.

Honestly, Morgana was, in a weird sort of way, excited that he was here. Finally, she didn’t have to be stuck in this limbo, things could finally start working for her, she could finally start working on the third step of her plan. Now that he was here, she could finally solve some issues and get them off her back, most specifically those annoying advisors telling her to find a suitable husband. That she needed a ‘suitable king to deal with all of the important things’. 

Psh. As if. She knows what she wants to do, and she will do it, damn anyone that gets in her way. She will fix this kingdom all on her own. She does not need help to forge her empire. She does not need someone to fight her wars for her. 

So what she’s buried up to her neck in paperwork and wished that she could appreciate the comforts that come with her title more often, that was just the growing pains. She’ll figure out her schedule, she’ll get used to it. She doesn’t need help in the form of a spouse. Nope. Not at all. She’s got this. She just needs a fiancé to keep those pesky other suitors at bay and keep them from bothering her while she does the real work, and why not one that she can easily toy with and hold over Arthur’s head? One that she could use as a wall of meat, to do her bidding. After all, he was only a manservant, what harm can he do?

She does not need help. She does not need someone to offer just a little bit of genuine support. She does not need someone who can represent her in meetings so that she can, for once, just sleep in and get a full eight hours of sleep. She does not need someone to deal with smaller issues so she can have a lunch without being interrupted every five minutes. She does not need someone to cover for her so she can take at least a couple hours a day off to read a book and not suffer from burn out. She does not need someone of her own level, of who she could properly trust, to discuss issues of the kingdom with, a second mind to bounce ideas off of and see problems with a different mindset to come to the best solution, and she absolutely does not need someone to comfort her at night when running a kingdom got too tough, and if she did, she would not say a damn word. She would rather fight tooth and nail than ever admit she needed help. She doesn’t need help.

Nope. 

Definitely not. 

She just needed her wall of meat, her puppet toy. 

“So, how was the ride here?” Morgana asked eagerly, giving Merlin a look. If it wouldn’t get his pet knights into an absolute hissy fit, she would have brushed her arm against his shoulder, just to see how he would react. Instead, she resisted the urge to scratch at the light pink freshly healed wound on her arm. The physician said that doing so would cause it to scar worse, and Morgana was not going to have that.

“Fine,” Mordred replied before Merlin could even open his mouth. 

“Hectic.” Merlin replied instead, his tone more grating. His tone sounded annoyed, but in lack of him rolling his eyes back to glare at Mordred, it was clear that he was annoyed about something else.

“Hectic?” Morgana asked curiously, arching a brow. Perhaps whatever it was that had happened on the road caused Merlin to be so annoyed?

“We got attacked by bandits. Twice.” Merlin explained, his tone absolutely pulling at how annoyed he was. Like horses pulling at their reins, eager and ready to run and trample. 

Morgana looked the man beside her over. Funny, she didn’t see any injuries on him. 

“We lost a man when we were nearing town,” the knight Leon continued to explain, trying to cover for Merlin’s attitude. Not that Morgana needed him to, in fact, she found it quite amusing. An annoyed Merlin was not something she had seen often, even with everything Arthur had done during their friendship.

Every pore of Merlin’s being exuded how much he didn’t want to be here, and Morgana reveled in it. Because if he didn’t like being here, then Arthur didn’t like him being here, and that meant that her plan was working. 

“Some of our men were injured, they’re being tended to now by some of your physicians.” Leon continued to explain, tucking his hands behind his back like the noble he was. 

“Oh dear,” Morgana replied, her brow calmly furrowing. She didn’t even hesitate anymore when she heard of injuries, her mind already spinning for habits she had formed. “I’ll have my men check it out. Tell me, which road did you take to get here?” She cast her look Merlin's way, hoping that he would speak up this time. 

“The path by the base of the mountains, by the river.” Merlin reluctantly explained, finally admitting to her gaze trailing over him, taking in the changes. 

That made Morgana’s brain pause, and as such her feet. “You took that route?” She couldn’t help but ask, arching a brow Merlin’s way. Didn’t Arthur know better than to send Merlin down that way? 

“What’s so wrong with that route?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask, crossing his arms, furrowing his brow.

The queen huffed. “I have only been ruling this kingdom for a month and a half now, and even I know that that road is infested with bandits. Honestly, I’m surprised you weren’t attacked more often.” She explained, beginning to walk again. 

“Yeah, I wonder that too.” Merlin grumbled under his breath, turning away. As if the trip wasn't dragged out enough as it was. Morgana sent a smirk his way; patience was not Merlin’s most well known talents. He had talents and other advantages in other areas, but patience was not one of them.  

“Well perhaps if you payed attention in court you would know these things.” Morgana gently jested, right as they passed a window filled with sunlight. The way the sunlight framed his face, filling his sea grey eyes like sunlight on the waves, the way he walked with purpose in every pore of his being, the way he carried himself when Arthur was not around. She smirked, lifting her head high in pride. She could imagine that glinting golden chain of a crown on his head already. 

In doing so, she missed the way he took her in in the sunlight, how her crown of dainty silver and gold threads intertwining around sapphires, and pearls glinted in the sunlight. How she looked like a rightful queen, and how it made his cheeks blush and his eyes roll. He had to get some better control over himself. 

“We handled ourselves quite well. We even captured a few of those bandits for you to deal with as you so wish.” The knight Leon offered, hoping to put things back on track. Morgana smirked. For people like them, proper manners were as natural as walking. She was going to need to work on that with Merlin.

“Will this be a continuing thing every time you visit, or a one time thing? Because I do not need Camelot doing my job for me and my men.” Morgana asked calmly, arching a daring brow the knight’s way.

Leon bowed. “My apologies, but we did not want to tread on any toes when dealing with issues in your territory.” Leon’s words and tone bordered between being polite and dangerously offensive.

Morgana hummed, thinking for a moment, before continuing on, not even commenting on his attitude. “Very well. I will deal with them properly when I have the time. I’ll have my men throw them into the dungeon.”

“Very good.” Leon gently nodded.

Before Morgana could continue onto other such matters, such as terms of the treaty or places of stay or even the return trade she had in store for them, Merlin perked up.

“Two of them are also in need of medical attention.” He explained quite quickly, giving her a gaze. If Morgana didn’t know better, which honestly she would not be a fool for thinking, she’d think that he was testing her. 

Morgana pursed her lips, a small flare of frustration burning inside her. She had a lot of things to deal with right now, Merlin. She didn’t need him to keep on jumping in with his comments, throwing off her plan for the conversation. But she would deal with it as she would with anything else.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and sighed. “Very well. I will have them attended to as well, as after your men are treated first.” Morgana somehow managed to force out.

Leon nodded. “We appreciate the help.”

“Where are we going?” Merlin piped up again, once again throwing off the flow of the conversation. 

“Why, I’m showing you around, Merlin. I thought that was obvious,” Morgana replied with tone, as if gently poking him. 

“Wow, the queen is showing us around,” The young knight Mordred tried to be charismatic, but neither Merlin or Morgana were paying attention. To Morgana, she was just reveling in how much her staring could make Merlin’s big ears burn.

“What about the food you promised Camelot?” The knight named Gwaine asked expectantly. 

Morgana looked over her shoulder. The rugged, long haired knight, who carried himself with the confidence of a knight yet none of the formal training and restraint of nobility and his own unique strain of cockiness and glare, had his hand resting on the pommel of his blade. Not enough of a threat to be formally declared as one, it could be nothing but a habit, but Morgana understood a prepared threat when she saw one. 

“Of course, business first. Follow me.” At that she turned them down the corner she had already been planning to turn down. If they wanted to completely pass trivial conversation, that was fine by her.

While the poor knight Leon went on and on about the specifics of the treaty, how they had set things up with one knight remaining behind to keep an eye on Merlin’s safety and ensuring that the treaty would be upheld on Morgana’s end until the wedding, what plans they had with the food, Morgana wasn’t paying attention to any of it. She knew that she should be, and her mouth offered polite responses like she was, but really she was paying attention to Merlin.

No, for all the occasional glances she would catch him doing, he looked like he was planning something. Like a little scheming gremlin. Or at least, trying to plan. Nothing in his eyes was catching on, no plan that he could come up with seemed to stick. The way he glanced back at her soldiers walking behind them, the way his gaze caught at every elegant doorway and flowing stairwell, how his gaze was counting the maids and manservants as they passed, she could see he was trying to come up with some convoluted and overly complicated plan to take her out. It was a very… Camelotian trait of his, and one that Morgana unfortunately recognized in herself. Why have one step when you can have twenty? 

Perhaps it had to do with the other recent attempts on her life, but it was so obvious what he was doing. It was as plain as day, so obvious in fact Morgana was surprised she didn’t notice it sooner when she was in her younger youth: he was trying to figure out a way to kill her. But unfortunately for him, Morgana ran a tight ship and an even tighter security. 

If it weren’t for the fact that he nearly succeeded once, she would have genuinely laughed at his attempts. For the sake of manners, she would not call him out on it now. No, she’d wait until they’re in private. 

He probably had a lot of expectations that were ruined the moment he stepped though the door. He probably thought that the kingdom would be in shambles in her rule. He probably thought that she would be messy and uncoordinated. He probably thought that she would be actively in the middle of planning an attack as they spoke. He probably thought that she was going to throw him into the dungeon the moment he walked through that door, or attacked him without any provocation. He probably thought that she would prove herself to be a menace and thus have to publicly ‘defend himself’ while he has the moral high ground. 

But oh no, oh no no no. 

Poor little Merlin would not find himself in her dungeons quite yet. She fancied herself a lenient and merciful queen. Not to mention that the dungeons were a little full at the moment until she figured a more… creative and fitting form of punishment for those who had earned her ire. Here, as the queen of Amata, Morgana wanted a new clean slate to work with. She would give Merlin a few chances to work with, but only a few. He would have to work very hard to earn her darling graces again, but that did not mean that he didn’t amuse her. 

From there on it didn’t take long for them to reach the doors leading to the overhang looking over the royal stables. 

“Well, here we are,” Morgana explained, gesturing towards the glass doors in the middle of a tall windowed wall. Nearly floor to roof was made of strips of windows, some of which were stained, letting in some colored light. Before she and the group even reached the doors, two servants ran up and opened the doors for them. Into the sunlight once more, the group found themselves on a rather large stone terrace, with little furniture around. Morgana lead them to the stone hand rails and edge, where they could see below the prize they had worked so hard and had given up so much to get. “As promised, ten wagons of wheat and vegetables for you to take back to Camelot.”

The knights and manservant all lined up at the edge, taking in the view carefully. 

There, sitting in the middle of the square box of a very large horse stable, revealed to the sun and shade, carefully set up and ready to go, was ten very large wooden wagons made of thick wood and covered with tarps pulled tight. Caravan wagons filled with fresh vegetables, unprocessed wheat, and even some fresh fruit.

“Whoa,” The word spilled out of Mordred’s lips. The light of the sun casting a healthy glow on the very young man’s lightly tanned cheeks. 

“That’s a lot of food,” the second knight, Gwaine, couldn’t help but say. The sun made his chocolate brown hair look nice enough to run fingers through. The knight Leon beside him gently nodded, his golden curly mane absolutely glinting in the light of the sun, almost looking like that of someone touched by a sun god. 

But Morgana wasn’t paying attention to any of them. No, she only had eyes for 

Merlin. The way the sunlight glinted on his pale skin, highlighting those prominent cheekbones and thin jaw of his, his hair looking nice enough to run fingers through, he looked like an annoyed son of a trickster god. Despite the fact that it seemed to amaze the rest of his entourage, Merlin seemed to look only more annoyed to see the food down there. Like she wasn’t living up to his expectations, whatever they might be. 

Did he expect her to be a bad queen? Did he expect her to not know what she was doing? Did he expect her to be actually calling a bluff, that she didn’t have all the food? 

Morgana didn’t know, and honestly, she didn’t think Merlin knew either. Perhaps it was just a case of the crummy Mondays. He’ll get over it. Maybe.

“Are you sure your people will be alright with us taking all this food?” The knight Leon asked, turning his gaze towards her. There was a genuine concern in his eye, as if he was worried that if they did take the food, then the people of Amata would begin to starve, just as the people of Camelot were.

It nearly made Morgana feel something, a warm touch inside her chest. Perhaps not all of the knights of Camelot are bad. Well, there was one that genuinely wasn’t bad, in fact he had quite a good heart, but he was dead now, twice over. She used him as a puppet for her own gains, like he was nothing but a tool.

Morgana’s heart stung at the empty ache that showed itself for just a moment. No, she would not think about that right now. She had more important things to attend to at the moment.

Morgana shrugged proudly.  “Well we aren’t called the Bread Basket of Albion for nothing.” She explained with pride. It was true, at least somewhat. 

Morgana had learned over her time in the pit and as the kingdom’s ruler that the not so small kingdom of Amata had a unique variety in food supply. Being one of the largest kingdoms in all of Albion and due to their varying yet high altitude, wheat wasn’t the only thing the kingdom grew. In fact, in some places they weren’t capable of growing wheat, yet food and supplies were produced regardless. 

In the valley territories, where the land was fertile, flat, and right at the edge of the forest that fought tooth and nail against being cut back, they produced quite the amount of wheat, along with some fruits to bolster the need for wheat of the kingdom. In slightly higher climates, where the people were able to squeeze between the trees some farmable territory, the people grew vegetables, fruits, and supplied lumber as well. If they lived high enough, they supplied strongly in cheese, eggs, and meats. The people of Amata loved to cultivate their fruits and vegetables as much as their wheat, and were heavily determined to have a varied diet besides goopy gruel as a meal each and every day. Each different dukes and duchesses sector relied on other sections to bring in what they could not provide on their own, and as a result a flowing trading system formed. Like that of veins in the human body, with the capital as the heart and brain. It was a delicate trading system that passed throughout the kingdom that eventually resulted in a massive surplus that the kingdom could use to trade with other kingdoms.

Honestly, Morgana was proud of it all. 

“I’m sorry, what’s this ‘we’?” Merlin finally spoke up, gaining the attention of everyone in the group. There was a determined glare in his eye, arms crossed tight across his chest.

Morgana’s brow furrowed, genuinely confused. “My kingdom of course.” She  replied. What more would could be obvious?

Merlin gave just a tiny chuckle, the meanest of smiles crossing his lips. “Oh right, I forgot that you pretend this kingdom is yours.” 

Morgana blinked, gently recoiling in shock. Ok, wow, that stung. For all that she had done and gone through, you’d think he’d at least respect the fact that she had earned her throne.

Apparently not. 

Before Morgana or any of his friends could speak up, before Morgana could even consider having her guards throw him in the dungeon for his insult, if only just for a little bit, Merlin walked back inside with all of the audacity that he walked out with. 

No one responded until the glass doors closed behind him with a bit more force than necessary. It was only then that Morgana realized that her mouth was still hanging open in shock. She quickly changed that. 

“Wow, okay,” Was the only thing that managed to leave her mouth, followed by a concerned chuckle. Seriously, if he was going to become her new fiancé, then that sour attitude would need to be dealt with, pronto.

“I’ll go after him,” Mordred immediately offered, and with only a worried glance her way and without her permission, he hurried off after the manservant. The moment the door closed, she could see the faintest shade of scarlet cape through the window inside.

“I am so sorry about Merlin,” Leon immediately spoke up, eyes wide with a nervous look, once again attempting to smooth things over. He seemed to be the only one actively trying out of the whole group, or at least the only one succeeding. “He’s been having a stressful week.”

“Do not apologize for him,” Morgana immediately cut him off. If there was anything she knew, was that flinging around apologies for those who wouldn’t mean it if they were in person, were useless. “His action are not your own and they are somewhat understandable. While I wish for better, I expect nothing less.”

“Well still—.”

“Should we go after him, your majesty?” One of her guards spoke up, taking a step forward, his spear glinting dangerously in the light of the noonday sun.

Morgana help up her hand calmly, getting her men to come to a halt. “No. Leave him be for now.”

“I’m starting to think we should leave you here with Merlin,” The knight Gwaine muttered Leon’s way, as if attempting to remain quiet yet not succeeding.

“Hopefully Mordred can calm him down.” Leon responded, trying to be quiet as well. 

So Mordred is the knight that is to remain with him… Morgana pondered to herself. While it wasn’t exactly necessary, she did look forward to it with great interest. She was curious to talk to him more, see how he would react to her new land where his kind could be free. 

But that would be for a later time. 

“Pardon me, gentlemen.” Morgana walked up to them, clapping her hands together, “While I would have loved to have this discussion in the presence of my proposed fiancé, I suppose now would be as good of a time as ever to have this discussion. Let’s talk treaty business.” 

The two knights looked at one another and nervously nodded, only casting another glance towards the door before protruding an agreement scroll from their possessions.

Morgana sighed. No more fun, it was time to get back to business.

When Merlin finally turned enough corners to not know where he was and had finally let out enough steam, he came to a stop. He let out a forced sigh, letting go of his breath ever so slowly. 

Breathe in… breathe out…

This was going to be harder than he thought. What was he said was stupid and he knew it. No matter if he came here to kill her or marry her or some other plan, annoying and offending Morgana wouldn’t help in any way. He was going to get thrown into the dungeons for that one, he was certain. Hell, even Arthur would have punished him for a comment such as that.

He just… He couldn’t help himself. Yes, it was shitty excuse, but it was what he had to offer. Just the morning’s problems, the way she kept on looking at him like he was a new play thing of hers to mess with, the whole talk of treaty business, the way he couldn’t make a single scrap of a plan to get rid of her, and the way that she was absolutely nothing how he imagined her to be, it drove him up the wall.

But, despite the turmoil in his mind, there was one clear thought that was overpowering all of them. Why was she staring at him?

Almost every time he’d look over, she’d be looking at him! Like she was judging him, keeping an eye on him. Granted, she caught him plenty of times staring at her, but that wasn’t the point! Not once did she let him leave her side, like a magnetic pull. He was about five seconds way from booking it to hiding behind Leon’s cape like a child by the time he figured out that crude way to break off. 

Sitting down on a random old plush bench against some random stone wall, Merlin put his bag on the ground and leaned against his knees, running his hands down his face. He reached into his pocket and felt for Arthur’s medallion, feeling the dove imprint through the thin fabric of his pants. 

What would Arthur do? Merlin couldn’t help but wonder, letting out a sigh. Well, he probably wouldn't have insulted a queen in the first place, especially someone like Morgana, and then left before taking the punishment for it. It was stupid and he knew it.

Merlin sighed. What was he going to do?

"Well that was a stunt.” A voice spoke up. Merlin perked up. Walking up to him from the hallway they had come from was Mordred, hands neatly tucked behind his back.

“I know, I couldn’t help myself.” Merlin replied, looking down at his hands. He still didn’t mean to snap, but now he had no option on to fixing it. He knew that if he walked back there, Morgana’s Cheshire like grin would only greet him and drive him up that wall again.

“We could tell. I came here to find you.” Mordred explained calmly, shrugging his shoulders.

“Charming.” Merlin retorted.

“You should be thankful, Leon would have scolded you.” 

Merlin chuckled to himself. “Yeah, don’t want to piss off the older brother.”

It was a joke amongst the group that Leon played the older brother role of the group, trying to keep everyone out trouble and playing the obedient child. Not that he didn’t occasionally join in on pranks and shenanigans, he was just better at getting out of trouble. It was a heavy earned title, though, as older brother title once belonged to Lancelot, and no one wanted to remind themselves of that pain. 

Mordred chuckled. "Gwaine’s not happy about any of this.” He noted, slowly sitting down beside him. Even he noticed the older knight resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. 

For the Druids, that would have been immediately a sign of aggression, but then again, the Druids had a lot more signs of aggression than the rest of Albion had, and it took a lot for them to return said sign of aggression. Slow to anger and slow to respond, but ever vigilant, a motto Mordred remembered from his youth. Well, younger youth, he was still the youngest knight after all.

Merlin huffed. “Yeah, no duh.”

“He doesn’t show it well, but he’s nearly as grouchy as you are.” Mordred retorted with a chuckle.

“Hey!”

“Don’t lie, you have been a sour butt this whole trip.” Mordred retorted. He wasn’t wrong, nearly everyone had noticed Merlin’s somewhat annoyed attitude at some point or another. Even Merlin knew it was getting a little much at some points, but you try spending every waking moment knowing that at the end of the line, you are being sent to get married to the woman who would happily, gleefully bury a dagger in your spine, and that you wanted to do the same thing in return? That, at any moment, you may never get to go home, where death may be a more merciful option. You wouldn’t be sunshine and rainbows either. 

But that didn’t always excuse crappy attitude. After all, Merlin hated it when Arthur took his crappy attitude out on others as well, and Arthur had the entire weight of a kingdom on his shoulders. If Arthur wasn’t allowed to be grumpy, then neither should he.

“Perhaps I have been a bit frustrating.” Merlin explained with a sigh. “What happened after I left?”

“I think Leon and Gwaine are trying to smooth things over, or at least Leon. He’s the only one actively trying to be sensible.” 

“I’m trying to be sensible.” Merlin tried to defend himself.

“Yeah, and failing.”

“Well next time you try having a civil conversation with the woman who has tried to kill you several times that you’ve been convinced into marrying, all while she’s ogling you.” Merlin retorted with wit, jerking his head off in the way where they had once come from.

Mordred arched his brow. “She was ogling you?” He asked, confused. He didn’t see her ogling him, only giving him the occasional glance. If anyone was ogling, it was Merlin! Then again, Mordred was in the back of the group, he didn’t see much. 

“It sure as hell felt like it.” Merlin muttered, leaning forward against his arms and knees. 

Mordred shrugged. “Touché.”

“I’m just giving her a taste for what is coming up.” Merlin muttered under his breath, sighing. “If she keeps on acting like this, then I’m going to continue to be annoying.”

“Does that mean you’re seriously considering this?” Mordred asked, arching a brow. “You’re actually considering getting married to her?”

Not that Mordred would ever admit it, but he did honestly prefer that option over the two stabbing each other. Why, he wasn’t sure, perhaps it was an old humor from the first time he met them. He wasn’t sure. 

“No, but I have a feeling that I’m not leaving today. I need more time to figure things out, maybe.” Merlin explained with a sigh.

“Well if I have to start acting like a mediator between you two, I’m going to treat you like children. Lock you each in your own room and call it a night.” Mordred replied with haughty pride. 

For some reason, the idea of Mordred grabbing both Morgana and Merlin by the earlobes and throwing them into their room like little children was pretty funny to Merlin. He had always threatened to do it to Arthur, even in front of foreign delegates and advisors, and while he never had the chance, the idea still made him laugh.

For one small moment, he was weak, for one small moment, he laughed a little. 

Merlin’s faint laugh echoed through the halls, calling to his location. For most who did not care, his laugh was nothing more than background noise, but to those looking for him, it was like a bonfire in the night. Like seeing light in the distance, it drew those who were seeking it near. 

It didn’t take long for the sounds of two sets of footsteps to draw near. Only a moment after they could hear the footsteps, the familiar friendly face of Leon rounded the corner, followed quickly after by Gwaine.

“There you two are,” Leon exclaimed, letting out a sigh. “You two are harder to find than you think in this place.”

“Sorry, wasn’t really thinking.” Merlin muttered in response. Genuinely, he did feel bad for running off, at least as far as he did. For a place as large and imposing as the castle of Amata, it most certainly did not waste the room it had. Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if people got lost easily in here. 

Hopefully, when the time came, he didn’t get lost either.

“Well you’re lucky she seems to be merciful today, cause her guards seemed ready to run after you.” Gwaine explained, letting out a puff of air to push some of his hair out of his face.

Merlin lightly shuttered. The idea of having all those guards chasing after him just for insulting Morgana didn’t sound good. He’d have to work to control his tongue in the future, he may not be so lucky next time. A part of him, deep, deep down, knew that that would not last forever. Some day, some time, at some point Merlin did not know, his tongue will betray him, and insult her once again. He could only hope and pray that on that day, she might find it funny.

“What did you guys talk about?” Mordred asked, glancing between the two standing knights.

“Treaty paperwork, mainly. She should get back to us with a signature, where then we are able to take the food and head back to Camelot.” Leon explained, crossing his arms. It was a simple enough process, one that Leon hoped to get done sooner rather than later.

“How long do you think that will take?” Mordred asked.

“Knowing royalty, a week.” Merlin muttered under his breath, looking away. 

“Merlin…” Leon gently scolded, giving the manservant a look.

“What? Gwen has to pester Arthur into doing paperwork on time.” Merlin retorted. 

“Yeah, that’s because princess needs reminding every once and a while.” Gwaine chided.

Merlin wasn’t wrong, most members of royalty were known to be slow when it came to these kinds of things. For example, King Sarum’s original treaty with Camelot was already two months in the making when Sarum died, and they were supposedly halfway through the process. Now granted, Morgana seemed to be much faster than her fellow royals, but this slowness was not without reason (or at least, not completely and total laziness). Most royals also had a lot of things on their plates, and treaties and paperwork take a lot of time. It’s not something they can just skim over and call it a day, they have to read every word and make sure that they aren’t being swindled. However, there was still that element of laziness as well, and it was very easy to tell a king stuck in laziness and gluttony compared to a king that was actually busy and hasn’t had the time to read the treaty. 

Arthur sat between the two extremes. He’s a busy king, but he has his lazy moments. He occasionally needs encouragement in order to read dull paperwork, usually by Gwen with… amorous rewards. It’s best to stay out of the room during those times, and Merlin quickly found that if Gwen is whispering in Arthur’s ear after he’s been trying to read paperwork for an hour, he really should conveniently offer to go muck out the stalls or go see if Gaius needs any help. He already had enough awkward encounters with several people, he really didn’t need any more.

“Speaking of time, how’s your planning going?” Leon offered, dropping his voice a little. You never know who may be listening.

Merlin sighed. “If I’m going to be able to do anything, I’m going to need time. I need to learn more about this place, about the security. I don’t intend to stick around after the deed is done,” Merlin explained, his words hanging heavy in his stomach as he spoke. As if the more and more he said, the more and more real the reality grew.

“Well realistically, if she signs the paperwork by tonight, we plan to leave tomorrow morning. Is that enough time?” Leon offered, arching his brow.

Merlin shook his head. “I’m not sure.”

“Well you have until tomorrow morning to find out.” Gwaine commented, shrugging his shoulders.

“If you need any help, let us know.” Mordred offered. 

Merlin nodded, but silently, he knew that he could have no help. If he killed her and got caught, it would be he and he alone that would and should take the burden of the weight. 

However, just being in her presence, the feelings changed. He didn’t know if he had the strength to do it. He still felt like he had to do it, but the obligation felt different. A fear bubbled under the surface, a fear Merlin did not want to go through. To see those malachite eyes, those eyes that once shone with a brightness that filled Merlin’s day with joy, looking back at him dead and cold as blood pooled out of her body… it made his heart shiver with a cold and a warning.

Some part of this fear must have crawled onto his face, because Mordred reached out and rested a hand on Merlin’s shoulder and asked, “Are you going to be alright?”

Merlin took a deep breath and nodded. “I just need a breather.”

“Well, why don’t we explore the town? Help you learn a thing or two about this place, maybe get something to eat.” Mordred offered, getting to his feet. It’s at least a somewhat smart offer, and food definitely helped get people’s minds on the right path.

“Yeah, I’m hungry.” Gwaine replied, looking eager as he crossed his arms.

“You’re always hungry,” Leon retorted. The whole group chuckled. “Come on, let’s go gather our things.”

Merlin, still chuckling, rose to his feet. He had to admit, he was also feeling a bit peckish. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and a nice lunch would most certainly help to calm the nerves a little. 

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Merlin made to turn towards the way he hoped they came in. What he wasn’t expecting was for not two seconds later to see the one person he didn’t want to see so soon walking up the hallway, her elegant gown and guards trailing behind her, a scroll tucked into her lithe fingers. Looking every bit like the queen that she was.

The moment she laid eyes on him, a startled yet happy grin grew on her lips, as if she too wasn’t expecting to see him again. However, her realization was far more elegant than his would ever be. “Ah, there you are, Merlin. I was beginning to wonder where you had ran off to.”

Merlin’s gut dropped. In fact, he was sure that everyone’s gut dropped. The way her gaze held onto him left Merlin’s spiraling in woe, wondering just what she was thinking about. However, there was one thing that Merlin saw that was clear; a look in her eye that warned him, ‘don’t run off again’. 

Merlin felt an elbow gently nudge him in the back, as if telling him to do something. “Sorry about that,” Merlin managed to stutter, coming to his senses, “I just needed to release some steam.”

“As I saw,” Morgana replied, walking ever closer. She came to a stop right in front of him, her gaze held high as she looked him over. A small smirk crossed her maroon lips. “Well, so long as you’re feeling better, perhaps we can discuss your side of the treaty then.” She offered, looking him in the eye.

Merlin swallowed on the hard rock in his throat.

“Perhaps later, your majesty,” Leon jumped to the rescue. “We would greatly appreciate some time to relax a little before we get our work done, get some food, unpack our things.”

Merlin was about to let out a sigh of relief and silently thank the knight, but then Morgana had to open her mouth again.

“Of course, but won’t you be sleeping on the road?” She asked, arching her brow in such a way.

The whole group paused. Questions welled, with one being the most prominent.

“Pardon?” Merlin managed to ask, arching a brow.

“On the road back to Camelot, of course. You’ll be leaving as soon as you have the food gathered and ready to go.” Morgana explained, looking each of the knights in the eye as she continued. 

“Well that all relies on getting the preemptive conditions agreed upon…” Leon started.

Without hesitation, Morgana held out the scroll in her hand to Leon. “Will this do?” She asked calmly, her gaze now on the bearded knight. 

Leon blinked, looking down at the scroll. “Don’t you need to swing it by your advisors?” He asked, glancing back at Gwaine who merely shrugged.

“My advisors are not the ones making the final decisions of this kingdom, Sir Leon, and what you offer is solid and sound. No injuries or harm can fall upon any party members directly involved in the treaty by any other party member, the treaty will be properly signed and finalized once the marriage is complete, however both sides must be willing to offer a lighter form of aid in case of an emergency until the union has been met.” Morgana explained, watching as Leon unfurled the scroll. It was clear that she had actually read what was on the page, or at least had a decent understanding of marriage treaties. A pre-treaty, if you will. 

Leon scanned the bottom of the page, where there, sure enough, in elegant lettering was the Queen’s signature and stamp; a simple blue blob of wax, free of a symbol.

“Well, we were planning on leaving tomorrow morning…” Gwaine slowly offered. “Our men are in need of rest.”

“Oh of course, but you said so yourself, your people are starving, correct?” Morgana asked, arching a brow Gwaine’s way.

Gwaine immediately shut his mouth, turning away as if ready to scold himself. He really should watch what he was saying around Morgana, for she could easily twist a few words around in order to use against them all.

Merlin couldn’t honestly believe what she was doing. Well, he could, he was seeing it happen right in front of his eyes, but he still couldn’t believe she’d have the audacity to do it. It was thinly veiled, but it was clear: she wanted them gone. Morgana wanted them to take the food and leave. Treat it as a drop off mission and high tail it out of her lands. 

After all, Camelot cannot hold Morgana accountable for breaking the treaty she had just signed if they do not know.

As Morgana continued to tensely discuss with Leon and Gwaine about when would be a proper time to leave, a familiar presence poked around inside Merlin’s head. One that Merlin wished wasn’t poking around.

You seem… distressed. The calm, overly bright voice of Morgana echoed inside his head, reminding him that he was in her territory now.

What are you doing? Merlin’s voice hissed back, as if fighting for his mind. He sent a glare her way. 

Getting rid of them. Her voice calmly echoed back. There was no smile on her face, and yet Merlin could practically see the calm look of satisfaction growing. 

That only seemed to make Merlin more angry. Why?! They’re my friends!

I do not wish for them to be in my lands.

You’re making to be a really rude host. Merlin jabbed.

And you’re making to be a rather rude guest. Morgana retorted. Before Merlin could retort further, she continued. Keep up your attitude, and things will get ugly, and I will use force to kick them out. Do not test me.

Merlin’s jaw tightened, his lips thinned, eyes boring holes through Morgana’s head. His hands made fists. Mordred sent a worried look his way, seeing the obvious signs of a mental conversation going on, but he couldn’t know what was being said. Despite it being one of his gifts from being a Druid, he couldn’t tap into others conversations. Not only would it be rude, but it was impossible unless he was invited. 

…Fine. Merlin hissed through his proverbial teeth.

The smallest of smiles crossed Morgana’s lips, as she turned her attention fully back to Leon. 

“Look, I understand your men need rest,” Morgana started, her voice cutting clean through whatever carefully crafted response Leon had been giving her that she had been ignoring. “And I am in full support that, but your men must also understand that your people are in need this food. I am more than willing to offer support and aid in reloading personal supplies and the preparation of the food for the journey so as to give your men a few hours of free time and rest, but I do not want to give your king the chance to say that I am dragging my feet with this treaty. If offering any sort of help will help you in this way, then I am willing to offer it.” Morgana explained, looking Leon dead in the eye.

Leon sighed in defeat. He knew that no matter what he said, the queen was not going to change her mind. The best he could do is argue for some more time. Sending a look Merlin’s way, he replied, “Very well. Our men are still dispersed throughout the city and we will need a few hours to regather them, but if you are willing to offer aid, we will be able to leave by tonight.”

The grin growing on Morgana’s lips was strong. “Very good. I’ll see to it that your supplies will be ready for you to go by tonight, and that your men will be ready for transport.”

“In their condition?” Gwaine asked, arching a brow.

“Spells can hurry the healing process, and without anyone important inside, I’m sure they would be more than willing to ride inside a carriage, will they not?” Morgana offered, arching a brow.

“I’m… sure they will.” Gwaine managed to force the words out of his mouth. He hated the idea that his men were being exposed to magic, even just simple healing magic, and it showed. However, he would not lie; he would be glad to know that they would heal a little more. 

“Good. Well, I’m going to get back to my meeting, if you have any questions, feel free to find me and ask.” Morgana replied, giving them all too charming smiles to really make the group uncomfortable. 

With a quick turn, the queen and her soldiers trailed off down the hall, leaving a grumbling party in her wake, sending glares at her back.

“Well that throws a rock into the plan.” Leon muttered, crossing his arms tight over his chest.

“The men won’t like to hear about this.” Gwaine muttered, copying his friend’s actions.

“Well look on the bright side, at least you two will get home sooner.” Mordred tried to offer. Always the optimist.

The look the other two sent back to Mordred was not a pleasant look, quickly shutting the young man up. 

“We still have a few hours,” Merlin covered for the young knight. “The men may not be happy about it, but at least we can still get some time to ourselves.”

“We can still go get something to eat.” Gwaine offered. “I heard that there’s some good taverns on main street.”

“Yeah, sounds good to me.” Mordred replied, shrugging.

“Then let’s go.” 

Walking down the hall, Merlin couldn’t help but let his mind fall into some bitter feelings, a feeling he was sure was to be shared by the rest of the group. He was hoping, nay, expecting just a little bit more time with his friends, and here was Morgana, demanding more and more out of them than they were willing to offer. They should have had more time. Heshould have had more time. Time was the thing he craved almost as much as friendship, family, and freedom, and she was taking it all away from him. 

In some way Merlin felt like a bitter old man, and he was done with it.

Before the group could even walk out the front door once more, a voice called after them, like a lasso being wrapped around Merlin’s ankle.

“Oh Merlin, before you go, may I have a word?” The illustrious voice of the queen called out after them, getting the group to come to a halt.

The knights and manservant warily glanced at one another. Without a word, Mordred joined Merlin by his side, ready to complete the duties that he had pulled sticks to do; protect Merlin. 

“That means alone, sir Mordred.” Morgana retorted, giving the knight a look.

Leon, Gwaine, and Mordred’s eyes went wide. If they left Merlin alone with her, who knows what exactly might happen? Probably nothing good. For Merlin, though, this might be his chance. 

Gwaine opened his mouth to object, but Merlin cut him off.

“Go on without me, I’ll catch up.” Merlin replied, gesturing for them to keep on going.

“A-are you sure?” Mordred asked, still standing at the ready. Out of everyone in the group, he knew the most of what level of threat both of them could be towards one another. They could tear down the castle and everyone in it with their fights if they wanted to, and that wasn’t smart.

“I’ll be alright, I promise.” Merlin replied, giving Mordred a look. I won’t try anything so soon, his voice echoed inside the younger man’s mind. Mordred shakily nodded, before retreating to join the rest of the knights. 

“Well, if you need us, we’ll just be outside.” Gwaine offered, gesturing at the door. If he had it his way, he’d be within eyesight of Merlin, ready to defend if the need be.

“Have a good lunch,” The queen Morgana called after them, her cat like smile still on her lips. The knights and manservant continued to share their worried glances until finally the knights had slipped out of the front door.

The moment the creaking front doors of the castle closed with an echoing thud, Morgana turned back to Merlin and said, “If you want, I’ll have the servants take up your things.”

“I’m good.” Merlin replied bluntly, his grip tightening on his backpack strap.

Morgana paused, the look on her face of just a touch of confusion. “Pardon?”

“I can keep a hold of my things. Don’t want anyone to mess with it.” Merlin explained, sending her a pointed glare. He knew what he was saying, and she knew it too. 

“Come now, Merlin, if anyone is going to mess with your things it’s going to be me.” Morgana offered, taking a step closer. They did not need to pretend for much longer now. They could be who they really wanted to be.

“Exactly.” Merlin’s tone was low.

Morgana looked like she had more to say on the matter, but instead just lightly sighed. “Very well. But if you start complaining about your back, don’t come to me.”

“I won’t.” Merlin scowled. He wasn’t going to complain ever about the work and burdens he had to carry, at least not around those who could use such a pain against him. 

“My, someone really is in a sour mood today.” Morgana said calmly, arching a brow his way.

“Gee, I wonder why?” Merlin muttered. There was a million and one reasons, if she guessed, she would be probably at least a little right.

“You had a choice to come. I did not force you.” Morgana said calmly yet sternly. If he wanted to blame her for the reason he was here, he would have another thing coming.

“I’m fully aware of that, but you’re making it one hell of a bitter choice to choose.” Merlin replied with just as much bite.

“Aw, no one else willing to help the corrupt kingdom of Camelot?” Morgana mocked lightly.

“Camelot is not corrupt and you know that. Arthur ensures that there is justice for everyone in that kingdom, and he is far better than Uther ever was.” Merlin immediately hopped to Camelot’s defense. It was his home, after all. 

“It still has a dark past.”

“So does Amata. Your point?”

“You just seem to like to ignore what your oh so precious king has done in his past,” Morgana replied in too much of a sing song kind of voice, turning as if to guide him in another direction.

“Oh don’t pretend to be all high and mighty.” Merlin spat, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, like you do? Because last time I checked, the righteous don’t poison their friends.” Morgana hissed low.

“The righteous don’t attempt to suck their friends souls out and use them like puppets either.” Merlin growled back. 

“Um, your majesty?” A nervous voice broke through the tense argument. The two looked up. Standing there was a humble young servant, a young man with tousled blond hair, sun kissed freckles on his tan cheeks, and nearly buck toothed teeth. In a way he reminded the two bickering sorcerers of a well loved donkey, in a way.

“What is it?” Morgana asked in an annoyed tone.

“The advisors are asking when are you returning, so they can continue their discussions?” The young man asked, twisting his cap in his hands nervously, the embroidery on it reminding Merlin of golden wheat, ready to be harvested.

The moment those words left his lips Morgana rolled her eyes hard, muttering under her breath. Something about them ‘being useless, greedy, good for nothing scoundrels’, Merlin didn’t entirely catch it. With a pained, forced sigh, Morgana screwed on a smile and replied, “Soon. I’ve been wanting to introduce my new fiancé to them eventually anyways.” She managed to say, before gesturing Merlin’s way.

Merlin arched a brow. Why would she want to introduce him to her advisors? It’s not like he’s going to be playing a critical role in her court. Just because he’s here to marry her, doesn’t mean that he’s going to be playing any important role. Hell, knowing her, she probably would forbade it!

The servant nodded, gave a polite goodbye, before turning and trotting off. 

“Well, we best not keep them waiting.” Morgana explained, gesturing down the hall. “Care to lead the way?”

“You are the one who knows this place better than I do.” Merlin retorted, crossing his arms over his chest.

Morgana let her hand fall before she shrugged. “Very well. Follow me.” 

Walking side by side with the queen of Amata really ground at Merlin’s gears. Not that he was angry, but because he hated silence. Or at least, was comfortable with silence when in the presence of others. The only person he was comfortable sharing silence with was Gaius, and even then, that was usually eventually filled with conversation. Merlin never had a moment of silence with Arthur, and when he did it was usually because they were forced to, whether it be meetings or hunting. Even then, Arthur had a habit of leaning over and whispering in Merlin’s ear with side comments from time to time, much to the annoyance of Gwen who would quickly jab Arthur in the side for it. So this bitter silence was absolutely driving Merlin nuts.

Especially when the silence let in plenty of nasty thoughts to formulate in Merlin’s mind.

“So, what’s this I hear about you having other suitors?”  Merlin asked bitterly, finally looking Morgana’s way. Her hands were carefully folded over one another, her walk prim and purpose. 

However, when she heard his tone and question, a sort of malicious grin grew on her lips. 

“Aw, is someone a little jealous?” Morgana asked, like she was mocking a child, “Does someone not like the idea of a queen having eyes for more than one person?”

Merlin kept his voice as calm as he could. “I am only here to fulfill a treaty. If you’re off dalliancing with other men, then I have no purpose being here.” Merlin scowled back, his lips pulled back into a snarl. He would not admit, not even to himself, but he did not like the idea of her being off with other men. He refused to think about the small thought brewing deep in the dark recesses of his mind, whispering ‘if I can’t have her, then no one can’. 

No. He would not submit to that. 

Besides, he wasn’t exactly wrong, now was he? This whole treaty relied on Merlin getting married to Morgana, and last time Merlin checked, that required that Morgana be single. If she wasn’t, then she was already breaking her side of the treaty before it even got started.

“Aw, well you’ll be happy to know that I sent them all away. I have no interests for others who serve me no purpose.” Morgana explained, turning to face the rest of the hall with her head held high.

Merlin huffed. She says that as if he’s actually going to serve him. “If you think I’m going to serve you, then you’re as much a fool as the rest.” He retorted, shifting his backpack on his back.

Morgana smirked. “Oh Merlin, I am no fool.” Her voice was calm and certain, dangerous when it came out of her.

Merlin didn’t like it one bit. “What do you want?” He asked, done with the trivialities of it all.

“As I told the manservant, I want to introduce you to my advisors.” Morgana explained, turning around a corner. Merlin followed.

“Oh joy.” Merlin rolled his eyes. He could already imagine it now; she would have him serving these old men drinks and snacks while they tried to argue with her on bills or policy disagreements, only to be ignored over and over again. Best to learn how they like their tea now rather than later.

“Trust me, I’m not excited either.” Morgana muttered in return as they walked into the more open hallway that lead towards the conference room. 

Some hallways in the castle seemed thinner and taller, like the ones that had trailed along the outside wall, like the halls they had just come from. There were other halls that hung lower and wider, set up with more impressive and durable collections of art, clearly meant for a heavier flow of traffic. Older in design, with the archways added later on as decoration rather than for structural integrity.

This hallway just so happened to loosely connect the throne room, the banquet hall, the dance hall and the conference room, as Morgana explained it, as well as being the main hall that lead to everywhere else. Passing by an elegant staircase that trailed upwards, looking exactly like how Merlin imagined something out of a fairytale would look like, Morgana proudly pointed out that up above leads to over looks over the castle, as well as other various rooms such as painting rooms, music rooms, waiting rooms, library, offices, and more. Above those floors is the guest rooms, and above it all is the living quarters of those who lived permanently in the castle and the towers. Stairs leading downwards lead towards the more maintenance and work side of the castle, including storage of a variety of types, the laundry rooms, kitchens, loading and unloading court yards for supplies to be stored, servants quarters, and below it all was the way towards the dungeons.

All the while, Merlin is listening to it all, gobsmacked. Just how big is this castle?

But, before Merlin could ask such a question aloud, they were back where they were once before; outside the doors to the conference room.

“Well, are you ready?” Morgana asked, reaching out for the door handles.

“For what?” Merlin asked, fighting the urge to cross his arms.

“For the start of your new life.” Morgana replied, before swinging the doors open into the room beyond. Sitting on the other side, like they hadn’t even moved from their spots or barely even noticed the queen had been gone, was the same advisors as before, continuing to bicker away. However, the moment the door opened everyone in the room perked up and stood up, clearly at the sight of the queen.

“Your majesty,” A few of the voices droned in sync, watching as the queen marched in with purpose, trailing towards her seat across the room. Many of them stared at Merlin as he trailed along behind her, wondering just who this man was that got the queen so excited. 

“This won’t be long, gentlemen,” Morgana explained, coming to a stop at the other side of the table, her two personal guards coming to a stop in their respective spots behind her. “Before he has to run off to deal with other matters, I would like to introduce you all to Merlin, the representative of Camelot and my new fiancé.” Morgana gestured beside her, where, still holding his stuff in his humble backpack, was little ole Merlin.

“Hello,” Merlin muttered, raising his hand to wave.

Now that he stood on the other side of the court table, Merlin could get a proper look at everyone. There was room for twenty four people to sit at this table, with plenty of room to sit thirty. Fourteen of the chairs were empty, resulting in only ten advisors remaining. Each and every single one of them looked practically identical, with pudgy bodies that had refrained from actual work for years, clean shaven yet saggy faces, and thin, wispy white hairs atop each of their heads. Some were blessed with more hair, others were not. Some were blessed with better vision, others, not so much.

However, each and every one of them made it quite clear that they did not like what was standing right in front of them. Many of them leaned over and whispered to one another, judging Merlin quietly. Like girls gossiping in the town square whenever they saw an ugly girl, the girl of the weekly gossip. It was a rather silly idea, one that Merlin would have laughed at, if he wasn’t in the firing range.

This was not taken lightly by Morgana. “Well? If you got something to say, spit it out. Say it for all of us to hear.” She commanded, gesturing at one of the advisors, her head held high.

The table quickly grew silent, until one of the many clones spoke up.

“Are you sure this is wise, your majesty? After all, he is only a servant.” The gentleman said calmly and haughtily, his voice oozing with superiority. His gaze dragged over Merlin like the look a supposedly righteous man gives a brothel worker during the day when walking the street, before showing up at her door once the sun went down. “You can do so much better than him.”

Merlin’s back shivered. Rude. 

However, Morgana was not having his attitude, at all. “Are you questioning my authority, Lord Sennes?” Morgana asked, her voice equally laced with venom and poison. 

“I am only saying, he is a servant, not worth much. Servants don’t know anything about the manners of being a royal consort, much less how to be a ruling monarch. I mean, look at how the King of Camelot is doing with his queen, practically drooling over her like some sort of harlot.” 

Before Merlin could even utter an angry word on the queen of Camelot’s defense, he was quickly cut to the chase. “Pick your next words very carefully, Lord Sennes, or you will not be able to speak at all.” Morgana’s voice carried an icy edge that would make Amatan winters look kind and soft. 

Lord Sennes quickly learned his lesson, shutting his mouth immediately. The rest of the table muttered amongst themselves, but the point had been made. 

“I thought you didn’t like Gwen.” Merlin muttered, leaning over to Morgana.

“I don’t, but I would rather her be on that throne than to ever agree with him.” Morgana muttered back, hissing with a sigh. For once, her frustration wasn’t turned directly at the man standing beside her, but at the people before her.

It was very clear that if this would be Merlin’s court, he would have them all kicked out immediately. He did not like a single one of them. He’d hire a whole new court to work with, perhaps some younger blood, people who came from who came from every corner and every lifestyle sitting at his table. But that was never to be; these were not his advisors, they were hers, and what she chose to do with them was her own business. 

As Morgana introduced him to old man after old man, Merlin’s mind began to meld them all together. At the end of the day they were all the same. Same wants, same thoughts, nearly same opinions. These were just the ones Morgana tolerated enough to say that she had advisors, when in reality she wasn’t listening to a damn thing any of them were saying. Merlin wouldn’t. After all, they were all selfish men. 

The only difference was Lord Sennes’ glare at Merlin as Morgana finally got to explaining about him, which made Merlin glare right back at him. If he was not going to be bullied by Arthur of all people, he was not going to be bullied by this lord. But if Morgana chose for him to be on her court, then there must be some reason he can’t argue against him.

By the time they got to the last one, Merlin was tired of them. Luckily for him, Morgana’s fingers reached up and pulled him off into one of the far corners, near the door and away from the advisors.

“So, what do you think?” Morgana asked in a low tone, her arms and perfectly manicured nails crossing over one another. If Merlin wasn’t foolish, he’d actually think she was curious about his thoughts.

Merlin shrugged. “They seem to be only interested in themselves.” He offered, not particularly interested.

“I know, but I have to make do with what I got at the current moment. I’m working on getting some new advisors to fill the empty spots.” Morgana explained. Merlin could already see the way she glared back at Lord Sannes’s spot, wondering just who she could find to replace such a male hag.

Not for long, Merlin couldn’t help but think to himself. 

“Well, until five I have to deal with courtly matters, and then can I deal with you trying to kill me, so feel free to explore the castle at your own leisure.” Morgana continued to explain nonchalantly, as if what she said didn’t throw any of Merlin’s plans out the window.

Merlin came to a halt. “Excuse me?” He sputtered, not wanting to believe that he had been caught off guard. He was surprised to hear her say such a thing, and yet, at the same time, he wasn’t. 

“Don’t think I don’t know about your scheme, and before you go off and blame poor little Mordred or whatever, he didn’t. You’re just that obvious.” Morgana explained, her lips growing wide with a sinister grin. She had been doing that a lot today, as if she loved having the high ground over him. 

“I wasn’t—.” 

“Oh Merlin, don’t lie. It’s so unfitting for my new fiancé.” Morgana mocked, her lips growing wider and wider in their cat like grin. Like she had him cornered, quite literally. 

Merlin huffed. Fine, if she wanted to drag the cat out of the bag before its time, then so be it. “Fine. Do you want to deal with this now, or later?” Merlin muttered, glaring daggers into her eyes. He no longer needed to hide behind as much of a mask as before.

Morgana paused, as if she didn’t expect that kind of response. “Well before you try, you should know a thing or two.” She explained, turning so that her back fully faced the advisors.

“Oh?” Merlin asked. Her guards didn’t seem any the wiser as to what the queen and manservant were talking about, but Merlin knew that if he tried to do anything, they would fly across the room and kill him before he’d finish the job.

“One thing you should know is that when people are trying to kill you, is to have something over them.” Morgana explained, holding her fingers together as if she was holding a thread between them. “I have a series of what you may call ‘fail safes’ where the simple matter is if you manage to kill me, Camelot will suffer far worse than what it is going through right now.” 

Merlin gawked. “What? How?”

“Do you honestly think I’m going to tell you?” Morgana huffed a chuckle. Another smile grew on her lips. “However, I’ll give you a little bone. Not that you can do anything with it, but regardless. Quite a few of my failsafes are self set curses, carefully curated towards you.” Morgana explained, jabbing a perfect finger into his chest. It sent a small sting through him. 

Merlin growled, his fingers turning into fists.

“Not to mention the other benefits of being queen. You see these guards? At any moment I can call them and have you hauled off to the dungeons, so pick your words very carefully.” Her grin was nearly evil in a way. He could practically see the horns growing off the top of her head.

Something in Merlin grew and grew. Frustration, he was pretty sure it was.

He was done.

This was all too much. This was a mistake. Merlin honestly should have come sooner, when the knights were gathering intel long before they agreed to this treaty, see what he could have learned then. To only learn this now, that she had ways to make Merlin pay if he killed her, it was too much! So much wasted time that he could have used to help Camelot, so much strife, sent down the drain.

“Fine,” Merlin spat, turning his way towards the door. “If I can’t be honest with my fiancée, then I’m leaving.”

“Ah ah,” Morgana’s singsong voice called after him. “If you leave, then Camelot won’t get its food or supplies.”

Merlin came to a halt. His mouth went thin. 

Damn you, Morgana.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Merlin turned around and walked back to her. Every single muscle in his body was tense, his jaw was tight.

“What is it you want to do to me?” Merlin asked through his teeth, hands stuck firmly at his side.

“Why, I thought it was obvious, Merlin. I want to marry you.” Morgana explained calmly, the grin on her lips strong and confident. 

“Right, and make me your king?” Merlin asked rhetorically. 

“I’m glad to see you catch on easily.” Morgana continued to smile, a smile that was getting really old for Merlin.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Great. A king of nothing. Fantastic.” He muttered under his breath. 

“If you are always going to be a pain in my side, you might as well stay by my side.” Morgana explained with a light shrug.

“I could say the same thing about you.”

“Now now, Merlin, watch your words.” Morgana replied, taking a few steps closer. “Until we’re married, I can do whatever I want to you.”

Merlin felt the words well up in the back of his head, and before he could even stop him from say it, he heard himself say, “Ah yes, where afterwards I can do whatever I want to you, so best keep delaying that wedding.”

Morgana paused, her cheeks paling ever so slightly. In fact, she gawked. For a small moment, there was fear in her eyes. For a small moment, she retreated, and Merlin took it as his chance to escape. 

Without another word, Merlin turned around and hurried off out of the conference room, leaving Morgana red in the face and in shock.

No one spoke up until the door closed behind him.

“Is everything alright, your majesty?” One of the advisors piped up, one of the younger, kinder ones. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something.

“He seems to be quite the grouch.” Another advisor muttered aloud, after the queen did not pipe up.

“Are you sure it is wise to consider such a man for the throne?” Yet a third advisor asked, and yet it all fell on deaf ears.

The advisors got no answer in return. Morgana’s cheeks burned hot. She was a bit miffed that he insulted her in front of his friends, but in front of her advisors? That he insinuated such a thing, that he could treat her like a puppet instead? Trying to deal with her kingdom with these fools was hard enough, but now she had to deal with them potentially not listening to her because one servant reminded them of her real rank. 

All because one stubborn manservant decided to be a sour puss. 

Morgana slowly took a deep breath, before figuring out how to screw on a neutral look on her face and turning back to her advisors. “Nothing, gentlemen. Let’s get back to our meeting.”

Without another word and with terribly stiff shoulders, Morgana walked back to her seat and settled in, ready to think of a plan to put Merlin into his proper place.

Under her heel.

Merlin hesitated on the other side of the doorway, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing inside his head. 

He knew it was a lie. Even tied through holy matrimony he could never get a proper grip on her. He could never control her, even if he wanted to. Sure, he wanted her to change from this callous dark path, but he wasn’t going to use her like a puppet. He would never. He could never.

He hoped he would never.

Merlin ran a hand down his face.  He really needed to get a firm control on his emotions. They were seriously getting out of hand at this point, and at some point they were going to bite him on the ass.

But, before his words were going to bite him on the ass sooner rather than later, he was going to have at least a nice lunch, maybe an earlier dinner first. After all, it had been nearly half an hour since he had last seen his friends, and he was really starting to get hungry!

Tredging out into the courtyard, Merlin found the carriage still standing there, now empty of supplies and the horses unhitched. In fact, the only person there was a singular manservant, seemingly fixing the holes in the wall of the carriage after their previous bandit attacks.

“Hey,” Merlin called out, getting the young man’s attention. “Have you seen any knights around, wearing red capes with the symbol of Camelot? They should be near by,” Merlin explained, gazing around the court yard to no avail. No red capes in sight.

“I believe they went out to the town, looking for food.” The young man explained, pointing with his tool towards the front gate, which still stood imposingly open, looking once more like a gaping maw.

Merlin sighed. So much for waiting. “Right, thanks.” With merely a wave, Merlin dredged out into the complicated maze of streets of Amata.

The moment he crossed the threshold, the sound of the streets returned to his ears. Voices stacked on top of voices, wagon wheels, horse hooves, bells, everything. Even some instruments faintly plucking away in the distance. 

Walking down the street, Merlin kept his eyes peeled for red capes. Anyone wearing the symbol of Camelot, he was sure to warn them that they would be leaving soon. Not that they would be happy, hell, Merlin expected some shouting and glares. He had been riding on personal graces up to this point, and his little stunt with helping Tenny the bandit did not help his graces with many of the soldiers. In fact, Merlin was pretty sure that a few of them were ready to yell at him when Merlin began to help the young man, and the only reason why not was because Leon and Gwaine were standing five feet away, still dressed in literally bloody armor.

Seriously, there is a reason why these two have their own nicknames as ‘the Lion’ and ‘the Drinking Demon’ for a reason. You do not fuck with Leon and Gwaine, you do not fuck with their friends, and you definitely do not fuck with Merlin or Mordred, the equivalent of the best friend and baby brother of the group, respectively. 

As Merlin squeezed through the crowd, he was met with the same colorful people as before. Dresses and coats of greens, faint blues, burgundy reds, and even some dull purples from time to time. A woman passed by him, wearing a wide brimmed hat with a long point on the top that drooped into an almost curl. It was a brewer’s hat, or as they were known in Camelot; a witch’s hat. Ten points to anyone who would guess why those kinds of hats weren’t common in Camelot. However, in Amata it seemed that the people were far more interested in hats, and that kind of hat was one of them. Many of the people in town were wearing hats, from simple caps to shawls to well embroidered veils to even a few people wearing cloaks. Not that it was impossible to find people with their hair free to the wind, it just seemed equally as likely to find people wearing hats as it was not. 

In fact, Merlin quickly decided that they were quite adorable! One lady’s extravagant wide brimmed witch’s hat was absolutely dripping with lace, the base wrapped with a very long velvet ribbon and hung with small charms. In fact, there was several women wearing hats such as that, all in an attempt to keep the sun out of their eyes. Some with smaller brims and had barely a point, while others had wide brims and simpler lace. Some were even in vibrant colors, such as red and white, reveling in their color. 

For a small moment, Merlin wondered if Morgana would have a hat like that. 

However, before he could continue to try and imagine Morgana wearing such a hat, a flash of a familiar red caught Merlin’s attention. He hurried his pace, his heart leapt.

There was his friends! 

“I thought you said we were going to meet outside the castle,” Merlin called out after them, a smile growing on his lips.

The whole group turned around, smiling upon seeing who it was walking their way. Gwaine, as usual, had his lucky stein in his hand.

“Hey, we are technically outside the castle,” Gwaine retorted back, holding his other hand out, as if for a hug.

“That was a bit longer than a word.” Leon chuckled, arms casually crossed over his chest. They were standing outside of a tavern looking building, very similar to the tavern Merlin and the gang had gone to for his bachelor party, but far more willing to be in a more respectable side of town. More cleaned up, trimmed. There was two floors atop the ground floor, suggesting rooms for sleeping in could be up for rent. 

Merlin wondered for a tiny moment how comfortable they could be before turning back to the group. “I know. She wanted to introduce me to the advisors.” He explained, saddling up beside Gwaine. Gwaine patted him on the back in the one spot he could over his backpack.

“Were they as annoying as they looked?” Leon asked. After all, he was never one to completely assume, but there were cases where it was incredibly hard not to.

“Yep, just as annoying. One of them even insulted Gwen,” Merlin explained, much to the surprise of the rest of the group.

“Really?” Mordred asked, arching a brow. “Should we go over there and beat him up?”

Merlin shook his head. “No, no. Morgana already scolded him enough on the matter.” 

Now that made Gwaine’s brow arch really high. “Really?”

“She didn’t like the insinuation he had that servants can’t make good rulers, which was what he was mainly saying about me.” Merlin explained with a small dejected shrug. “I will admit, she is planning something. I don’t know what exactly, but she is planning.”

“Well are you surprised?” Gwaine asked, getting the rest of the group to chuckle. 

“Next time, Mordred, you’re going to have to stay with him.” Leon explained, giving the young knight a look.

“I can take care of myself.” Merlin huffed, mock pouting by crossing his arms. “Clearly, I already did.”

Merlin completely and intentionally failed to mention how he insulted the queen again, this time far worse. 

A smirk formed on Leon’s lips. “We know, but regardless, it doesn’t hurt to have back up.” 

Merlin looked down at Gwaine’s drink. “Isn’t it a little too early in the day to start drinking?”

“Do you really think that is going to stop me?” Gwaine retorted with a smile, bringing his drink up to his lips. “Besides, it’s good. These people know their way around the barrel.”

“Let me try.” Merlin held out his hand in a gimme sort of way. Gwaine handed over the mug without a word, and Merlin brought back the mug for a deep chug, letting the pale ale burn down his throat. He was going to need the alcohol to help him get him through the day. 

“Hey there! Unless you’re paying, you better slow down.” Gwaine chuckled, reaching out and taking the mug from his friend’s hand.

“Damn Merlin,” Leon chuckled, “Intending on getting drunk?”

“I need at least something before I face her again.” Merlin replied, wiping the foam from his lip.

“Well, we’re already here. Why don’t we get something to eat?” Mordred gestured at the sign above them, the smell of good food wafting from the inside. The smell of freshly cooked chicken, roasted potatoes, steamed broccoli and more wafted through the door and passed their noses, delightful smells for wary travelers.

“Sounds good to me. I want to try some of that bluebell mead before we leave.” Gwaine commented, reaching out to push the door aside. He was going to need a new drink after Merlin got a hand on his own.

“Bluebell mead? What is that?” Mordred asked, following along after.

Gwaine shrugged. “The hell if I know, but I want to try it.” He replied, before dipping into the cacophony of the tavern beyond. Merlin and Leon chuckled, the knight reached out and patted Merlin on the back, and delved into the tavern as well. Looking for good food to scare away an angry queen.

Merlin ran his finger around the cold rim of his metal mug, filled with light brown ale,  lightly foamy.

Leaning against his hand, cheek pushed up to his cheekbone, he wasn’t interested in his food at all. Their lunch, two small loves of freshly baked bread, a pale block of cheese, and a whole well cooked chicken, skin crunchy and meat juicy, did not appease him. He wasn’t hungry, mentally. Physically, he very much was, but his mind fought against it.

The calm drone of the tavern around them was comforting in a way. Warm, cozy, the tables old and well used, yet still managing to be at least a little clean. Small, round, perfect for a small group of friends to eat their food around. There were a few stains in the old simple wooden tables, but it wasn’t too much to complain about. After all, it was lunch rush hour, the tavern owners probably didn’t have time to clean between every guest that came in through their doors. 

The rest of his table was having a nice conversation, laughing and chuckling away, but Merlin’s heart was not in it. No, he was too nervous.

“Hey, you gonna eat?” Gwaine asked, gently poking Merlin in the side.

Merlin perked up. “Hm? Oh, no. You go on ahead.”

“You haven’t even eaten your bread,” Leon explained, gesturing at the food on Merlin's plate. True to his word, Merlin’s slices of bread were untouched, as was his freshly cooked chicken and few roasted potatoes covered in a thick brown sauce. It was a delicious looking meal, warm, homey scents with hints of rosemary wafting to his nose, but Merlin’s heart was not in it. After all, so too was the smell of sweat and ale.

“Sorry, I’m just not hungry.” Merlin tried to say.

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast, and you’ve had two steins of ale. You need something else in your stomach other that. You know how Gaius would scold you for that.” Leon pressured, reaching across the table with a comforting hand. 

Mordred nodded, digging into his slice of bread. “He’s right, you gotta eat something, otherwise the ale is going to hit twice as hard.” He explained between bites.

Merlin couldn’t help but smirk. “Speaking from experience?” He asked pointedly at the young knight.

The other two chuckled, before turning back to Merlin. “Is there something wrong?” Leon asked, giving Merlin a look.

“Well, besides the obvious,” Merlin started with a sigh, “I’m just nervous. I’m not ready to go, quite yet.”

It wasn’t entirely wrong, but it also wasn’t entirely right either. Merlin still struggled with the thoughts of killing the queen, not only dealing with the gamble of testing Morgana’s bluff on her own self set curse, but whether or not he was capable of doing it at all. Hell, the very idea of her setting up a curse on herself that if Merlin killed her would cast Camelot into more destruction made Merlin wonder, is she the reason why Camelot is suffering right now? Was she the reason why the people are starving? 

He couldn’t be sure, and that was what worried him. 

“Well, think of it like this.” Leon explained, swallowing his bite of chicken. “If things go well, you can always catch up to us. We’re leaving a horse for both you and Mordred, so you can get out easily.” 

“Plus, knowing her, you might just annoy her so much she may send you home.” Gwaine explained, pulling his mug from his lips. The other two chuckled.

Merlin couldn’t help the small smile crawling across his lips. Their advice didn’t really help in the matters that concerned him most, but he would take what he could get. 

“Thanks, I’ll try to annoy her to death.” Merlin retorted, and as if on habit, he reached down and picked up his slice of bread. It was only the moment his teeth sank into the rosemary hinted bread that Merlin realized just how good the food was, and how hungry he really was.

Leon smirked as he munched on one of his potatoes. It was good to see Merlin at least eating.

Before another word could be said, the bar maid walked up, an older woman with pulled back blonde hair who was clearly the wife of the tavern owner, with wide hips and a well sturdy chest. She looked like a kind woman, with smile wrinkles on her cheeks and a shine in her brown eyes. Her embroidered apron of simple yellow flowers was stained with ale markings, as was her paisley blue skirt. Her white peasant shirt, not yet, with a simple brass ring hanging on a leather strip around her neck.

“So, how was your meal?” The bar maid asked, placing her hands on her wide hips.

“Very good ma’am,” Mordred replied immediately, looking up from his chicken. 

The bar maid smiled. “Well good, you’d hate to see such fine young men such as yourselves going hungry.” She explained, before turning to walk away.

“Wait,” Leon called out, reaching into his pouch for his money. After all, they had to pay for their food, of course.

“Oh no, no need. It’s on the house.” The woman explained with a patient smile. 

Leon looked on in shock. “Well surely we can pay such a nice meal?” He asked, looking at his friends. They all nodded in agreement. 

“Just make sure this treaty goes well with your kingdom, and it will be alright with us.” The lady explained calmly with strength, before turning back to her bar. The group watched as she walked back to the bar, where, without even being touched, a clean metal stein slid from its spot across the bar and into her hand, her eyes flashing gold, before setting the stein under the spout to be filled. 

Like it was absolutely nothing to bat an eye at.

Gwaine immediately paused. His face contorted into a conflicting look. Never had Merlin seen such a confusion, between wanting to keep drinking in a vain attempt to forget what he just saw, and wanting to throw his mug out the window.

“Gwaine…” Leon muttered in a low tone. 

“You saw what she did,” Gwaine nearly hissed, brow scrunched and mouth turned down in a frown.

"We're not in Camelot. It's legal here." Leon warned.

"It's still magic," Gwaine muttered low. He was explicitly trying to keep his gaze away from the bar now. The two leaned forward towards one another, their voices low and tone as they tried to keep their argument private. It was clear that Gwaine was unhappy, trying his best not to cause a scene, which was what he was really good at. Leon on the other hand was trying to make sure that Gwaine didn't cause such a scene for treaty purposes.

Merlin and Mordred glanced each other’s way, wondering just what was going to go down. To Merlin, he was surprised. Sure, he knew that magic was legal in Amata, he just didn’t expect it to be so common so soon. It wasn’t like it was out and about on the street firing a rainbow of fireworks into the sky on a daily basis, but it was there, and that was what surprised him.

Morgana’s lifting the ban on magic wasn’t just a superficial proclamation, it was actually happening. This was the world that Merlin wanted to bring to Camelot, this was the world he wanted to live in, and she had made it happen. 

Morgana, evil, insane, Morgana, did that. 

It made Merlin wonder, his gut clenching further. Amata was potentially the only place in all of Albion now where doing such a small thing was acceptable, and it only weighed on Merlin further.

It didn’t take long for Gwaine and Leon to rise, a sort of agreement found between the two. Gwaine didn’t look like he was going to get up and march out of the tavern with a loud huff, but damn if he looked like he didn’t want to. His hands gripped his favorite mug protectively; it was clear that he wasn’t going to get more ale from her, at least, not so quickly. A man torn between his love and his hate, and today, his hate won. 

Leon gave a sympathetic yet tired shrug at the other two. “Let’s just finish our meals.” He explained, getting back to his food. 

The rest of the meal was spent in silence as the group tried to eat as fast as they could, not only to eat their food while it was still warm, but to get out of there. Gwaine was the fastest, being done a full five minutes before the rest. Leon still left a couple silver pieces behind for the lady, along with Mordred a few coppers he had on hand, but Gwaine did no such thing. He merely just left with as much quiet dignity as he could. It was probably the best he could offer.

It made Merlin wonder; if Gwaine couldn’t accept magic, the most chill, fun loving man Merlin knew, whose to say the rest of Camelot would? If Merlin did kill Morgana, then Amata may fall just as far as Camelot. People like the bar maid would be in danger of getting into trouble, and people like him would not live a life of freedom ever again.

It made Merlin worry as he knocked back the rest of his ale.

By the time the returned to the castle, Merlin’s stomach was full of food and ale. Well cooked crispy chicken, mashed potatoes, and some really nice bluebell ale that had a lighter, sweeter flavor to it than stereotypical ale. The alcohol sat low in his stomach, burning like it was getting ready to course his body. His head felt lightly fuzzy, but his thoughts were still clear. The ale kept his body loose. The sun was setting, and Merlin’s mood had lightened considerably. 

At least, until he walked into the courtyard.

The moment the group walked into the courtyard, they were greeted by the view of most the men gathered up, finishing the final touches in getting the carriage and ten other carriages ready to go. Hitching up horses, closing doors, tightening down tarps and mats. Everything they needed to go.

Merlin felt his gut drop. The alcohol sloshed. 

So, this was really happening, huh. Merlin didn’t know how he felt about it, but it wasn’t a good feeling. Reminders suck a lot. 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Leon asked, reaching out to rest a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. 

Merlin nodded. “I will.” He looked up with a screwed on grin. “We’ll catch up to you once we’re done. Just get the food out of here.” He explained, gesturing at the caravan wagons. 

Gwaine nodded. “Alright” he gave a look Leon’s way, as if confirming something. “We’ll wait until tomorrow on the edge of the forest, then we’ll continue on back to Camelot.”

“Stay safe.” Leon continued. 

“I should say the same thing. Can’t sew you up if you get hurt.” Merlin laughed weakly, nervously. Without another word Merlin pulled the two into a hug. Feeling the metal armor underneath their red capes, Merlin was glad to feel two arms wrap around him in return. 

But, they had to let go eventually. In kind, Gwaine and Leon turned around and gave Mordred a hug as well, although it wasn’t as serious or feverish as the one they gave Merlin. After all, even if the plan didn’t go well, Mordred was going to come home. 

Merlin and Mordred watched from the tops of the stairs as the knights walked down. The injured men were piled inside their carriage under the setting light, the last checks were made, and the group from Camelot got ready to march once more. An escort dressed in blue met them at the gate, ready to help them weave their way through the capital. 

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” Mordred asked, watching as Gwaine turned his horse around and barked some orders.

“They should, if they follow the correct path home.” Merlin replied, raising his hand in a wave. Leon and Gwaine gave a wave back, before turning and starting the trail out of the castle. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Mordred asked, giving his friend an earnest look.

Merlin did not respond to that. He did not want to respond to that, because if he did then he’d have to be honest. He’d have to tell Mordred that no, he was not alright. He was not ready. He did not know what to do. He didn’t know who to trust in this place, especially the knight standing next to him.

After all, destiny says that he is to side with Morgana and kill Arthur, and yet… the knight has proven his loyalty and his good heart over and over again… Merlin did not know what to do.

So, he did not speak. 

He did not stop waving until he could no longer see the last Camelotian soldier. He was finally left all alone, alone in the newly born darkness of Amata, alone to face his self set objective. 

To kill the Queen of Amata.

“I’m going to find my room and drop off my things,” Mordred commented, gesturing with his own pack. “Do you want me to take your stuff as well?”

Merlin shook his head. “I first have to find out where I’m going to be staying. Probably the dungeons.”

Mordred rolled his eyes. “She’s not going to put you in the dungeon.” He groaned, looking back at Merlin with a look.

“You sure?” Merlin asked, arching a brow.

“She’s not that mean.”

“Have you met her? Have you met me? She’s going to stick me in the dungeon.” Merlin retorted, gesturing at himself. 

“I think you have too little faith.” Mordred tried to argue, not getting very far.

Merlin shrugged. “I’m just being realistic.”

“Well realism sucks then.” Mordred retorted, before turning on his heel and turned off. “We should meet up for dinner later.”

“Definitely, if I’m not in the dungeons!” Merlin called after him. Mordred flipped a bird over his shoulder Merlin’s way, which only got Merlin to chuckle as he turned to go down a different hall. 

He didn’t know exactly where he was going, but he really didn’t care. Exploring the castle as the sun was setting was rather a pretty sight. It cast colors aglow on the pale stone that usually wasn’t seen during the day, and Merlin rather enjoyed it. So what if his back was hurting from lugging all of his life possessions around all day and still hadn’t found where he was going to be sleeping tonight, he enjoyed the views.

While Merlin was walking down a random hall, wider in walled and lower in roof, he hadn’t been paying attention. Before he realized it was there, thin fingers wrapped around his wrist, and against his control and a small yelp, Merlin was yanked off his feet and path.

He was pulled into a tiny alcove in the castle wall. 

“Why is there always small alcoves in castle walls?” Merlin groaned, “And why do you always drag me into them?”

“How dare you.” Morgana hissed, emerald eyes burning with fury, still dressed in her court gown, although the crown was gone. “How dare you undermine my authority.”

“You don't really need my help doing that.” Merlin retorted, crossing his arms, keeping his wrists out of her reach. “And how did I do that now?”

“You insulted me in front of my advisors. I was more than willing to let you have your time being annoyed when we were in front of your knights, but never in front of my advisors.” Morgana hissed, awfully close. She was genuinely mad, as Merlin could see. 

“If I can’t be honest, then what are the people to believe?” Merlin retorted. All thoughts and concerns about the whole complexity of the matter went right out the window. 

“These people are my people now. They listen to me.” Morgana scowled, a single strand of hair falling in front of her face, like the first thread on a shirt, threatening to completely unravel.

“From what I’ve seen, that’s just the opposite.” Merlin replied.

Morgana growled up at him, her head arched back just enough to remind her that no, she could not look him eye to eye. Damn his height. She needed a good set of heels to deal with him.

“Honestly, if these people were anything like the people of Camelot, I’m surprised they haven’t rioted yet.” Merlin retorted with a complete and absolute lie. The people of Amata actually seemed pretty chill with the queen, especially if the bar maid had anything to say.

“Well they aren’t going to. They know what it means to be loyal.” Morgana hissed back. 

“They know what it means to be afraid of a tyrant ruler. Just like Sarum, just like Uther, just like you.” Merlin’s words continued to sting and stab with every word said. 

Morgana was sure that she was going to crack her teeth with how hard she was grinding them together.

“I am nothing like them.” She hissed, her burgundy lips turned up in a snarl. 

“Prove it. Because I have no other reason to believe any word you say, after everything you’ve done to me, to my friends, to Camelot, everyone. Why should I?” Merlin replied in a low, calm, angry tone, like that of a wolf before pouncing.

Morgana opened her mouth to speak, but one look into Merlin’s sharp glare she knew that he was serious. She could procure the best speech known to man and he still wouldn't listen so long as it came from her lips. 

He needed hard evidence.

Her mouth closed. Without a word, she reached out and grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him down a hall. Her grip was painfully tight, he wouldn’t escape without help. Maids and servants actively threw themselves out of the way as Morgana marched down the hall and up a set of stairs with him in tow, scared by the furious look in their queen’s eye. It took a moment or two until he was led into a small room, with a simple yet imposing door. It turned out to be what looked like an office, with shelves of books, chairs, and a very detailed, very expensive desk. The longer they were in there, the sooner Merlin realized that it was her office. The setting sun outside barely casting any light into the room now. 

“Leave us.” She barked at the two maids dusting the books, and without a word they hurried out.

“Rude.”

“You don’t get to be royalty without being a little rude.” Morgana replied, letting go of his wrist and walking around her desk.

“Highly doubt that.” Merlin muttered, walking in some more. 

“With what experience? Arthur, the man who batted you around relentlessly like a cat’s toy? Or Uther, the paranoid magic killer?” Morgana retorted, arching a brow his way. 

“Gwen seems to be doing a good job at being a queen and she isn’t rude.” Merlin replied calmly, giving her a look. 

Morgana scoffed. “She doesn’t do much on that throne except give sage advice and look pretty.” She replied just as cynically.

Merlin knew that he could nobly defend Gwen, mention that Gwen had been begging Arthur to build a small forge for her so that she could keep smithing, but Arthur was stubborn, that she was quite capable of drinking everyone under the table if she so wished. Or… He could use her own words against her.

“Isn’t that what all queens do?” Merlin replied, leaning in a little closer.

“Not this one.” Morgana growled back. “I actually do my fucking job.”

“Clearly not, everyone out there is afraid of you!” Merlin cried out, gesturing at the window. “Look, if you’re going to rule a kingdom, then you have to be a good ruler! It’s the people’s right to have one! They deserve to look up to their leader, not be afraid she’ll turn on them and use them for her own petty selfish needs!”

“And what do you know about being a good ruler?” Morgana hissed slowly. Her heels clicked as she got closer, a venomous hiss on her lips. “You are nothing but a servant boy. You know and are nothing.”

“I’ve learned enough from Arthur, and he’s ten times the ruler you’ll ever be.” Merlin replied calmly, looking down at her again.

Morgana felt the urge to slap him rise up in her chest. She could practically feel his cheek in her palm. 

“He is a coward, just like his father.”

“Just like you.”

“This land is mine to rule, and I shall do with it as I see fit.” Morgana continued, her hand formed into a fist like she was ready to reach up and grab him by the bandana. 

“This land is barely yours! I’ve been here for less than a day, and I can see that your court is in shambles, and from what I saw, you aren’t willing to listen to what few advisors you have! You keep this up, they’ll all turn and run. The kingdom will crumble at your feet.” 

“My kingdom does not need a few selfish advisors in order to run smoothly! I do not need anyone to help me run this kingdom! In fact, things would be going fantastic if I didn’t need to deal with anyone, much less inheritance rights and you!”

Speaking of inheritance rights… “You have even less claim to this throne than you do to Camelot’s throne.” Merlin retorted, leaning against the back of one of the office seats. 

“I did win it through trial by combat, same as how Uther got his throne.” Morgana replied haughtily, holding her head high in pride. She was still proud of her actions against the previous king.

“And clearly he wasn’t a good fit for the throne either!” Merlin shouted back, taking a step forward.

“I’m trying to actually care for these people, for our kind, and your insistence on believing that I am the bad guy here isn’t going to help anyone!” Morgana shouted in frustration. 

“Oh well sorry for believing that after you stuck a soul sucking worm in my neck to make me kill my best friend!” He shouted right back, pointing at the scar he still had from Gaius ripping the head out.

“It’s actually a small snake.” Morgana couldn’t help but admit in a low tone.

“Oh whatever.” Merlin grunted, turning away. He didn’t want to deal with the stupid semantics, they didn’t matter! Not right now!

Morgana forced a sigh out of her nose. “Look, I’m trying to make this work. I don’t care about Camelot all that much anymore. I’m trying to run this kingdom well for my new people.”

“I’m sure the prince would disagree.” Merlin retorted, turning to look back at her again.

“You already know that he is no fit for the throne.” Morgana replied cooly, sitting down in her office chair. 

“I know from rumors and heresy. I don’t know any facts about him.” Merlin replied, arms crossed tight across his chest.

Morgana’s jaw ground down. “The Sarum’s son is just like Arthur.”

“And that’s a bad thing?” Merlin asked rhetorically, arching a brow. 

“In that he is exactly like his father.” With that, Morgana sighed and got up. With a snap of her fingers and a flash of gold, several of the scrolls pulled themselves from their spots on the shelf and floated over to him. “These are just some of the most recent reports I’ve found in the files. The man is closer akin to a monster than a human.”

Several scrolls floated in front of Merlin’s face, practically peer pressuring him into reading them all. With blind abandon Merlin reached out and snatched one, his eyes glancing over the report. It was hard to read, in the darkness, but he could make do just a little bit. 

“He has no care for any life he deems as lesser than his own, and that doesn’t just include our kind and kin.” Morgana continued to explain, gesturing into the air with her hand. “Under his father’s freedom he has been a menace to his own society and the people who live in it, and not to mention what else he did to people who don’t bow before him.”

As Merlin continued to scroll down the list, he got more and more amazed and shocked. He couldn’t help but agree with her. If what he was reading was true, then King Sarum had to smooth over practically entire villages being terrorized by his son and his gang of close friends as they traveled around the land “patrolling”. Another scroll mentioned having to “silence” peasants over their complaints over what Aldus had done before it was heard from other kingdoms, including assaulting a tavern keeper’s wife before burning down the tavern, resulting in the death of two drunken patrons, their tavern keeper’s home, and all of their revenue. This was just one report, and there were several more floating around Merlin’s view. 

To Merlin and his pessimistic view, it sounded similar to what Morgana and her sister did to those who got in their way. Killed.

“The man is bloodthirsty, sadistic, and insane.” Morgana continued with a sigh, letting the scrolls that Merlin wasn’t holding to come to a rest on the table. 

“Sounds like you two would get along just fine.” Merlin proclaimed, putting down his scroll. “Why don’t you marry him instead?”

Honestly, Merlin knew this wasn’t smart to say. In fact he knew it would be quite cruel. But he couldn’t help it, like the end of a rope slipping through fingers that were already bloody and torn from trying to hold on. It was inevitable to slip from his lips.

He had, in the modern terms, lost all of his fucks left to give. However, he wished he did. 

Morgana whirled around, a scowl so strong it could make death’s judgment look like a child’s decision. In a whirl, she was around her desk and close to his face, a look of fury, disgust, and fear in her eyes. Merlin didn’t even know how she got so close so fast. Her chest was nearly leaning against him, he could feel the decals on her fine dress brushing against his thin shirt, her breath on his lip as she spoke. They were so close that if one wavered, they would kiss.

“Don’t you dare compare me to that filth,” She hissed in a low tone, looking him dead in the eye.

Merlin leaned back. “Why? What is he to you?” He asked, his warm breath bouncing off her cool, perfect cheeks.

“Someone who I’d like to see on a rotating spitfire. I would rather throw myself onto a burning pyre than marry that man.” Finally, Morgana pulled away, turning to lean against her desk with a sigh. “He makes you look like an angel.” She finally spoke up, looking him hard in the eye.

“Didn’t know that was possible.” Merlin muttered under his breath. Even he knew that he wasn’t a kind man all the time, especially as of late. That he could do better, try to be the young man he once was. But watching your friends and family die in your arms and nearly dying several times yourself to someone of who you once considered a friend kind of makes a gentle heart turn to stone. 

Not that he didn’t try. He really did try to help others, but sometimes he felt like he was’t able to do enough. Like he was powerless to fight the forces of destiny. If he freed a warlock one week, they may get caught the next. Feed someone one day to keep them from starvation, next week they die of an illness. Save a young man one day, he grows up to kill his king the next.  Try to save a crush from her nightmares, and instead kill a whole tribe of druids. Every time Merlin tried to do something good for someone other than Arthur, and destiny finds a way to punish him for it.

Morgana sighed, trying to be calm. “In my experience these past few months, people like you are blind. Believing that they are doing the right thing, they believe it. It is noble, until you realize that they can’t even see what is in front of them of their face.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say in response. “Well what do you suggest I do then?” He couldn’t help but ask.

“Pull your head out of your ass.” Morgana replied bluntly, with none of the eloquence of a queen. 

“You say that as if you don’t need to either.” Merlin replied, “as if you aren’t blind of your own kingdom’s needs. That your people are so afraid of you that they resort to thievery in order to save their sister.” Merlin couldn’t help but think of a better chance to bring up Tenny’s woes, however, he probably should have brought it up at a later time.  

Morgana thinned her lips, her eyes narrowing into a glare. “Alright, that’s it.” Morgana snapped, hopping from her desk. That was it, she was done. He was done. Merlin needed to face his own punishments of his words. He needs to cool off in his room, before he made her do something she wouldn’t be able to fix. 

Morgana reached out, her lithe fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist like rope or a shackle, and with barely any effort, dragged him out into the hall. Merlin could only follow, lest he lose his hand if he did not. 

“Where are we going?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask, his legs dragging along behind her, as if he didn’t he be thrown off his feet. By now, it was dark outside, and the only sources of light were the candles and lanterns that hung on the wall. Light then dark, light then dark. 

“To your room. You won’t be leaving for the rest of the night.” Morgana replied bluntly, turning a corner.

“Wouldn’t the dungeon make more sense?” Merlin asked, confused as they passed a stairway leading downwards.

“Either way around you won’t be able to get out easily.”

“We’ll see about that.” Merlin muttered. He already had three spells to break the lock on the door on its own on his mind, just to piss Morgana off. 

“Try it and I will personally put a sword between your shoulder blades.” Morgana said bluntly, not even looking back. 

“Try that and the treaty’s getting called off.”

“Shut up.” Morgana simply scowled, not even looking back to send such a look his way.

Maids and servants watched in interest as they trudged down the hall, completely confused as to why the queen herself was dragging a stranger down their halls like a mother would with their child. Not that the stranger man couldn’t fight back physically, he looked to be of good enough stock to do so with ease, but surely there was more that was keeping him in her grip. Perhaps he wanted to be in her grip, or perhaps she blackmailed her fingers around his thin wrist. Perhaps she was stronger than she looked.

The queen smirked. She had the perfect thing to keep her new fiancé in line. In fact, if she were in a better mood, she would have thought it funny, the perfect irony. Like a twisted, diluted version of the most iconic stereotype story of a fairytale. A twist on a princess being kidnapped by a dragon. 

They turned around a corner and rounded up some stairs, where there they were met with the frames of three doors. No windows except farther down the wall, the walls lined with brightly glowing candles and lanterns, each door was equal in design, yet equally regal. Each one double doored. 

“Oh you’re going to love what I have in store for you.” Morgana commented, looking back over her shoulder to send him a look.

Merlin’s interest piqued. “What? An enchantment?”

“Nope. The perfect guard. Someone to keep an eye on you, keep you in check.” With that, she opened the third door for him to go in.

Merlin gasped, loudly. He yanked his hand from her grip as he ran inside.

Never, ever had he been so glad to see someone alive before, and that did include Arthur. The moment he saw those white scales, his heart exploded with joy. She was bigger than the last time he saw her, about the size of a particularly large dog (or a particularly small pony), a little more beat up than last time, but there was no mistaking it. It was his little girl.

“Aithusa!” 

Morgana watched on as the young man threw his bag off to the side without a care, fell to his knees, and let the dog sized dragon leap into his open arms. He hugged her tight, tears beginning to scroll down his cheeks as the dragon screamed in delight, wriggling and wagging and shaking in his arms. Shaking and shaking and shaking, like that of a dog after the owner had been gone for so painfully long.

“Are you ok? I was worried sick! I thought I lost you…” Merlin cried out barely but a whisper, his worn heart bleeding in joy.

When Aithusa had disappeared, Merlin spent a solid month in a panic. The little dragon that was the closest thing to a child and pet he ever had, and like any responsible parent and pet owner, he lost his mind. He ran around everywhere looking for her, screaming his voice raw calling out to her. He spent a full week in the woods looking for her until Arthur had found him and dragged him back to Camelot. Merlin couldn’t sleep some nights he was so worried for her. Some days he feared that she was gone for good. Only Kilgarrah’s comforting words saying that she was a dragon, that dragons were quite resourceful,‘young dragons can go on explorations for months and be fine’, and that he would feel it when she died were the only comfort that he had to keep him going.

Merlin was just glad that, for once, Kilgarrah was right.

He rubbed and scratched and hugged her all over, just making sure that this was truly his little girl that he was holding his arms. That she truly was safe and sound. Tears streamed down his cheeks, and for a solid moment Merlin let himself forget why he was even here at all. 

All the annoyance, all the pain, all the strife and stressing and woe, was worth it to have her back in his arms. 

Morgana, on the other hand, looked on in shock. Most of those who saw Aithusa were scared or wary to go near her, as if she was a wild wolf that had been tamed. Those few who were brave enough to get close enough to her did not touch her, and if they did, they did not hug her tight and treat her like a long lost favorite pet. To hug her, treasure her, to put her on a high pedestal above everyone else. It was odd, and Morgana didn’t know how to react to it.

After wearing herself out of delight, the little dragon leaned forward and rested her head heavily against his shoulder, her weight fitting perfectly into the crook of his neck, a some sort of symbol of solidarity. She licked his ear and his tears away. Merlin laughed a pure laugh.

Morgana, on the other hand, blinked. 

“Wait, you know her?” Her voice cut through the moment like a rock tumbling down a mountain.

“Of course I do. I hatched her from her egg. She’s basically my child.” Merlin explained nonchalantly. The little dragon reached up and licked his cheek again, wiping away another tear. 

“Only…” The clues locked into place. Morgana’s face paled in the light of the hallway. “You’re a dragon lord.” She said accusingly.

“Does that really surprise you?” Merlin asked, arching a brow at her. His face was cast in shadow, and arching his brow only made his sharp facial features sharper, making him look like that of an old spirit.

“What else have you not told me?” Morgana asked dangerously, stepping into the room. 

“Plenty.” Merlin scowled back, going back to baby talking the little dragon, rubbing her all over. 

Honestly, this whole trip was worth it just to have her back. 

Finally the little wriggly dragon calmed down enough in his arms. He ran his hand down her side until he found… bandages. “Oh my god…” He whispered. Accusations clicked. He looked up at Morgana, his brow furrowed in a growl. “What did you do to her?” 

Morgana recoiled, putting a hand to her chest. “You honestly believe I did this to her?! She’s been with me for the past few months, I cared for her!” Morgana screeched, horror and shock in her eyes. “She got hurt in the scuffle for her freedom.”

“Some job you did taking care of her.” Merlin scowled, reaching for the bandages. Aithusa yelped, but did not move.

“You didn’t care enough to come and find her!” Morgana shouted back. 

“I tried my best! I tried so hard to find her, to hear for her calling. She always came back, and then she didn’t…” Merlin flinched away, as if he was in pain. His eyes squeezed tight, nearly ready to start falling with tears at a moment’s notice. “If you didn’t take her, then she wouldn’t have been hurt.”

“And if you did your job properly, she wouldn’t have had to suffer.” Morgana shouted back.

“It’s not like I could. It’s not like I could explain to Arthur any of this. That I can’t tell him most of what I go through in my life.” Merlin explained, getting to his feet to look her in the eye. 

“Oh yeah, like what?” Morgana retorted, her hands landing on her hips. 

“Why should I tell you?”

“Because I deserve to know!”

“This is my secret! Not yours!”

“What are you not telling me?”

“You don’t need to know!”

“Tell me!”

Something snapped inside Merlin, like the last piece of thread holding onto sanity. For in one moment, his grip on his mask broke.

Merlin snapped his head up, looking her dead in the eye. His eyes glowed like two rings of gold in the shadow of his frustration and freedom, slamming the door behind her shut without anyone touching it, breaking them off from the outside world. His glowing eyes was the only light in the room. “There, happy?!”

But, like the aftermath of a great flood, Merlin knew that things had permanently changed.

Morgana looked on in horror, a broken look in her grass colored eyes. “You have magic?” She asked, her voice fragile. Desolate despair, a pain drenched fury, a mournful rage, an understandable sadness, and a tiny bit of understanding and curiosity. All of these burned in her eyes as she tried to understand, tried to wrap her brain around what she just saw.

There was no going back now.

“I was born with it.” Merlin said scornfully, his eyes fading back to blue. The room was completely in darkness. He had never spoken so truthfully before to her.

“That’s impossible. You never—!” Merlin gave her a look that made her shiver to her core. Explained everything that needed to be said. “You lied to me.” Morgana continued, taking a step back. 

“I lied to everyone.” 

“You knew! You knew what I was, you knew what I wanted, and you still did nothing!” She shouted, gaining her confidence again. Tears pricked at her eyes, and yet she forced them back down. She took a step forward into the dark, her eyes slowly adjusting to the lack of light.

“Because I had to! Because it is my job to keep Arthur safe from everyone who may threaten him, including myself!” Merlin shouted back. “I’m supposed to protect him from everything that may threaten him, get rid of what threatens his life! That is my job!”

“That is not your choice to make!” Morgana took another step forward. She was close now.

“Yes it is!” Merlin shouted back. "I am Emrys! Destiny has made the stupid decision to make it my job to protect Arthur, and I can’t do a single damn thing about it!”

And just like that, it was all out. There for the world to see.

Like the dam was empty, Merlin finally felt a light feeling of hollowness in his chest. He knew what it was. It was freedom. Freedom from the weight of lies, of carefully crafted masks of being nothing more than a fool. The wings were unfurled, the bird was free from its cage. Now, he was free to be who he wanted to be, who he truly was, to his greatest enemy. 

He could look her dead in the eye and she would know exactly what was looking back. Not a fool, but a sorcerer. An equal on every level. 

However, there was a cost that came with that freedom. Releasing the water from the dam always leaves carnage in its wake, and water can never be put back behind the dam. Secrets can never be taken back, and the look in Morgana’s eyes, Merlin knew that maybe, just maybe, he should have kept this secret.

His heart had never sunk further than as he watched her eyes burn gold in the darkness.

You know, Merlin did expect to be at some point to be thrown through a wall. Considering her volatile nature and his own sour attitude as of late, it was inevitable. He just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Honestly, it wasn’t the first wall that hurt the most. It was the second wall on the other side of the hallway that did.

From darkness into light, he stumbled, rolled, and crashed into the second wall. He could feel every organ in his body squish against his spine, all the air in his lungs and possibly his soul were knocked out of his body. Merlin gasped, hard.

Rubble crumbled around him as he let out a small groan. Down the hallway, a maid and a servant, who had been trying very hard to mind their own business, ran off screaming, watching their queen’s wrath be conducted on someone once more.

Quite literally everything hurt. Merlin couldn’t get air back into his lungs, it quite literally hurt to breathe. This wasn’t the first time he’s ever been thrown around like a rag doll and had the air knocked out of him, and he hated it.

Every. 

Single. 

Damn.

Time.

When Morgana poked her head out of the new hole in the wall, she looked a little surprised to still see Merlin alive. As if she expected that to kill him, or at least injure him far more than it did. Honestly, Merlin couldn’t disagree. While yes, he was in pain, he expected far worse. He expected to be bleeding, he expected to be barely conscious. Granted, that didn’t mean that there might not be any internal bleeding, but regardless. Honestly, beyond the aches, he felt fine. He had a lot of fight left in him. 

This pissed off Morgana.

“Hey, wait a minute—.” Merlin tried to say, raising his hands in defense before his face.

With a scream Morgana picked up something with her magic and hurled it his way. Merlin barely had time to flinch as he raised an invisible shield in front of him, blocking the broken pieces of rock. Mere inches away from his face.

“Will you knock it off?!” He shouted, keeping his hands in front of his face. 

“No! You’re supposed to be my doom!” Morgana shouted back, her eyes continuing to burn gold.

“You kill me, and the treaty is off.” Merlin tried to dissuade her, but it was no use. 

“Screw the treaty! You were going to do it to me!” Morgana threw another object his way, this time a vase. Merlin flinched as the porcelain material smashed into the stone beside his head, shattering into pieces.

“You offered this whole thing!” He shouted back, scooting to try and get to his feet. 

“And clearly that was a fool’s error on my part!” Another object of indiscernible origin smashed by Merlin’s head. He flinched again. He scrambled to get to his feet, and yet it could not be done. Every time he tried, another object smashed by his head. He was trapped. 

Every time, smash, smash, smash.

Through the fight, the two failed to notice the chirping on the other side, of a small dragon, desperate and scared. 

As Morgana rounded to exit the door, to face him on closer, Merlin scrambled to get to his feet, leaning against the grit of the wall. There was one thing for certain: he wasn’t going to tolerate this.

His teeth gritted. No. He was not going to be her rag doll. He did not need to suffer needless injuries just to hide his secret. He didn’t have to hide anymore. He didn’t have to run anymore. He didn’t have to pretend to be what he is not. He could actually stand up for himself now, like he always wished he could have.

He was not going to die from her wrath. 

He pushed himself off the wall, standing high, standing face to face with Morgana. His eyes glowed gold. The two failed to noice as the little dragon ran by, trying to avoid this damage in fright. No, their attention was only on the other. 

Several rocks now floated around him, crunching down into perfect projectiles to throw her way. Perhaps, if he did accidentally kill her, he could make it look like an accident. Perhaps a rock hit her on the head when she threw him through a wall.

“You keep this up and the treaty will be called off,” Merlin warned her as one of his rocks exploded. As if telling her that this was her last chance to deal with this civilly. As if he hoped she would pick otherwise.

“As if you care,” Morgana retorted with a huff. She pulled a dagger out of the folds of her dress, a mad look in her eye as she made her rocks fly by her head like a very scary halo.

Merlin reached for his pocket, touching the amulet resting on his thigh once more. As if he was asking Arthur’s mother for strength to fight, to win. To do what was needed to be done. 

He pulled out his own dagger. He hoped he wouldn’t have needed it, but if push came to shove, he would use it. All he had was a knife and his magic.

He could take her. He had to, if he wanted to get out of this alive.

At that, Merlin threw his rocks her way, just as she tore a remaining chunk out of the wall to block. Pure magic crackled in the air as two great titans of magic clashed.

It was a fight to behold.

Aithusa scrambled down the hall, desperate through her pain. She knew the nice doctor told her not to get active while her wound still healed, but she needed help. Her friends needed help. The people she loved needed help. She had to find someone, anyone, who could get these two to stop fighting and not hurt each other. 

She looked around left and right, down every hall she passed. Maids, servants, no, no… None of them had the word power or physical power to stop either of them. No, what she needed was a noble, or a knight. Yeah, a knight, she thinks, might do.

Scrambling down a set of stairs, her wound twinged as she habitually used her wings to soften her fall. But she would not stop. She had to save them. If they would not listen to her, perhaps she can find someone who can.

Running into the grand hallway, Aithusa was greeted by a group of men. 

It was a whole… what was that word, gathering? Gaggle? What term was proper for those men clad in shiny armor? A jingle? Aithusa liked jingle; its the sound they made when they walked down the hall, they jingled. Some of the men were dressed in the old leather armor they had when they were scary and hurt her, others wore shiny new armor of chains, and yet, not one, Aithusa deemed, seemed cable enough to stop Morgana and Merlin from tearing each other apart. 

Wait. The red one! He’ll do! He looks like someone who could get those two to stop fighting. He practically emanated magic, so if anyone could stop them, he could. 

Without even waiting or hesitating to consider otherwise, Aithusa scrambled over, reached up and chomped down on the red cape.

“What—?” The knight looked down, his curly dark hair nearly bouncing as he whirled around. He was greeted by the sight of a large dog sized white creature, with a long tail, a bandage around its torso, and no horns to speak of, yanking on his cape.

He had never seen one before, and yet Mordred knew immediately what it was; a dragon.

“What’s the matter, little one?” Mordred asked, getting down to lean his hands on his knees before her. 

Aithusa tugged on his cape, whining and whining and whining some more. She was not going to move until the knight followed her. Damn the fact that she couldn’t talk.

“Oh, don’t mind her. She does that sometimes,” One of the other, more experienced knights replied, gesturing her off with nary a care.

But Mordred… Mordred sensed something else. He couldn’t mentally talk to the little dragon, at least he didn’t think so, but he could sense worry emanating from her. Heck, he didn’t really need his skills in order to know that. There was an utter panic in her eyes.

She pulled again. At this rate she was going to tear his cape right off his shoulders. 

“Just leave her be, she’ll leave you alone eventually,” the same knight explained. 

Aithusa dropped the cape and let out a loud chirp, followed by a whine. She gestured back from where she came from, her claws skittering across the floor. Surely this knight will help her! Surely he can sense that something was wrong!

Mordred was about to do what the knight told him to, until there was faint cry in the distance. All the knights perked up as a couple maids ran by, screaming about something that Mordred didn’t catch. 

“What’s going on?” A few of the knights muttered to themselves, confused.

But Mordred knew. That got the message across. 

Mordred, without question, ran off, ran after where the little dragon and those maids had come from. Aithusa eagerly followed behind, down the dark hallways lit by candles. 

Another set of maids ran by, screaming. He tried to ask anyone who ran by what was going on, but no one stopped to explain. A manservant, still carrying his linens in a basket, scrambled along behind them. 

“What’s going on?” Mordred asked, finally reaching out and grabbing the man by the arm, finally getting a servant to stop.

“The queen’s gone crazy!” The servant cried out, before managing to shuffle from Mordred’s grip and scramble down the rest of the hall.

Mordred looked back. Damn it, Morgana, he hissed to himself before continuing to run faster. Because he knew that if she was mad enough to make all these maids and manservants scramble for their lives, then Merlin was not far and the second half of the equation. Like water and an alkaline metal. 

If these two killed each other, then the treaty would be all for nothing. The magic users of Camelot and potentially all of Albion will be in danger. Camelot might even go to war with Amata! Who knows how many people might die if these two killed each other?!

Dodging and weaving through maids and servants, trying not to get run over, Mordred kept running. His gaze was ever on the little white dragon, praying that she knew where she was going, that she knew what to do. 

Just as Mordred reached a stairway that split into a Y shape, with him being on one of the prongs of the Y, he heard some shouting across the way. Before he could do anything, he watched a wall smash open, a familiar body flying through the air like someone had sent him from a rocket before smashing into another wall. Rock and dust crumbled around him as he crashed.

“Merlin!” Mordred cried out in alert, watching as Merlin scrambled to his feet, disappearing into the dust. Mordred threw himself down and up the steps, wishing he had the same wings the little dragon did. They would come in great handy at the moment. Without hesitation, Mordred squeezed his eyes shut and ran into the dust. 

It took a little while, but eventually Mordred found the other side. It was absolute destruction. Everything was destroyed and ruin, broken and smashed, but that didn’t matter to Mordred. He watched as the deranged eyes of Morgana burned gold as she slammed Merlin’s body into a wall, the stone cracking as he collapsed. Amongst the sounds of rocks being broken, there was the faint sound of bone cracking. 

“What are you two doing?!” Mordred cried out, hearing Merlin groan.

To put it simply, Merlin was not looking good. To be fair, Morgana wasn’t looking too hot either, her hair quickly gone frazzled and streaked with stone dust, her gorgeous court gown torn was in some places, and a scrap across her temple was bleeding profusely, but it was’t anything comparable to Merlin’s condition.

Merlin looked three fourths of the way beaten to a bloody pulp. Covered in cuts and bruises, his clothes torn in several places, a sort of panic in his eyes as he tried to keep them open. Honestly, it was a miracle he didn’t have a black eye yet. It probably had to do with the fact that he was thrown through not one, not two, but three walls now, one of which was a significantly thicker than the others. 

Merlin looked over his shoulder, seeing who was coming. He was in pain, but he was not done yet. With a flare of gold, Merlin’s knife shot out of his hand and towards Morgana’s neck. As fast as his own, Morgana’s did the same. 

A knife magically pressed against each of their necks, each ones eyes glowing gold.

“Knock it off, both of you!” Mordred shouted, finally reaching where they were. He coughed a little on the dust, but he would not let it stop him. 

Aithusa chirped in agreement.

“He started this!” Morgana shouted, pointing at Merlin with her free hand, like a child telling their parent who was in the wrong.

“You threw me through a wall first!” Merlin tried to shout back, but the pain was making it difficult. He was now running on magic and pure spite.

“You said you came here to kill me.” Morgana hissed, her eyes burning brighter. 

“You said it yourself first.” Merlin hissed right back.

“I said knock it off!” Mordred shouted again, this time he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He took a step between the two, holding his hands out just in case they decided to get physical. 

Mordred didn’t know what to do. He was lost. He had no clue. So, he tried to do what the Druids were always known for; mediators of peace.

He turned to Merlin first, the one who had come here to kill her. “Merlin, you know as well as I do that this will not end well.” Mordred started. “If you do this, who knows what might happen? Amata may go to war with Camelot! Arthur might get hurt! Please, think about it!” He desperately pleaded to the manservant, trying desperately to get him to drop his knife.

His words seemed to do absolutely nothing for the sorcerer, until Merlin’s gaze fell onto the little dragon. His gaze snatched down to her, to her big puppy dog eyes. The little dragon whined, as if saying ‘please…’

The gears whirled inside his head, his heart melted a little. Thinking, thinking, thinking what he could with what little energy he had left.

With sigh, Merlin let go of his magic, his face falling into darkness, his dagger clattering to the floor at her feet. Morgana barely reacted to it, her eyes still burning bright. Her dagger was still pressed against his throat. 

“Morgana, think this through.” Mordred explained slowly, taking a step closer. 

“I am,” Morgana hissed right back, the dagger pressed against Merlin’s neck, digging in more. Her gaze set solidly into the cold ocean blue gaze glaring right back at her, as if to dare her to complete the job. As if he did not care if he died. 

“If you kill him right now, then you know Arthur will side with Prince Aldus. They will tear Amata to shreds. There will be no mercy on their part. There will be no mercy for our people. Our people will continue to die. Think!” Mordred begged, now turned completely to her.

“Without his precious Emrys, Arthur and Camelot will be defenseless against my wrath.” Morgana replied, her eyes still burning with anger. “There is nothing they could do to stop me!”

“You forget that I’m here to protect him. I’ll stop you before you even could.” Mordred warned.

A wry smile smirked on Morgana’s lips, as if she was amused. “And you seriously expect me to believe that? That you’re willing to protect this… lying, traitorous, hypocrite?” She spat out her words, insulting Merlin with every drop she had.

“Don’t test me.” Mordred replied, reaching for his sword, his hand squeezing around the handle.

Morgana snarled, her second hand getting ready to raise to take on the young knight. She could take on another. Surely. 

It was a three way stand off, and at this rate, no one was going to come out alive. Something needed to be done, and there was one person who could do it.

The creature of light and hope chirped to alert, grabbing everyone’s attention. Everyone looked down. Standing there, right in the middle, barking and chirping and just trying to get everyone to stop fighting for five seconds, was little Aithusa, eyes shining as the biggest puppy dog eyes they had ever seen. As if begging, pleading, please, she didn’t want anyone to get hurt. She just wanted this fighting to stop. Like a child watching their parents relationship fall apart before their eyes in one nasty argument. 

Please, just make it stop.

“‘thoos…” A faint, weak voice spoke up. The little dragon perked up. Collapsed against the wall behind her, bloody and beaten and covered in dust, was her Dragon Lord. Emrys.

The little dragon whined and bark-chirped again, shuffling towards Merlin. She licked his cheek of stone dust, tasting like marble, before turning to face Morgana. Her loyalties laid with those she cared about, but in this case, the loyalty towards a beaten, bloodied Dragon Lord triumphed over all.

“Aithusa…” Morgana whispered, absolutely, heart breakingly, betrayed. She didn’t care much for Mordred in the moment, only the little dragon. The little dragon she worked so hard to care for, of who she spent months in a pit with, of who she spent so long in that pit for, was siding with the man who had been planning to kill Morgana. 

The young dragon whined, dipping her head, but she did not move. She loved both of them dearly, why did they have to fight?

“Is he who you want?” Morgana asked, as if demanding the little dragon to pick a side.

Aithusa whined and pattered her feet, looking back between the two with an utterly desperate look. She didn’t want to choose! Why was she making her choose? It wasn’t fair! She loved them both so!

And yet, the little dragon did not move. If she had to choose, she already made her choice.

Morgana’s face contorted into that of frustration, burgundy colored lips tasting of stone dust pursed then snarled, tired eyes fired away like a forge giving its all one last time before fading back to green. Her knife clattered against the floor. 

“Fine. Stay with him.” She spat, before turning and walking away. She paused for a moment before an absolutely furious glare turned back, "Oh, and by the way? The treaty? Called off!"

The three remaining watched as the queen turned on her heel and lightly marched and limped down the broken, dark hallway, as if none of the damage they had caused was even there. Gently holding her side, trying to pretend as if nothing was wrong. Continuing to hold onto her dignity as the queen she was.  

The moment Morgana was gone, Merlin let go. No longer was he able to keep himself composed, his weight turned to mush. If he could have lost all composure and body shape and turned into a puddle of goo and magic, he would have. He slouched further into the wall.

Mordred let out a heavy sigh of relief. “I’m starting to understand how King Sarum died.” He muttered, releasing his sword from his grip. He would be concerned more about the treaty and what Morgana had just said, but at the moment he was honestly thankful that his negotiations worked. 

“Morgana’s anger is something to behold…” Merlin coughed hard on the stone dust. Aithusa licked his cheek again. 

“I thought you were supposed to be the most powerful magic user?” Mordred retorted, giving his friend a gentle look.

“She…” Merlin coughed up stone dust. “knows how to fight, and she was very angry.” Merlin very well that hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn, and Morgana's scorn burns brighter than the sun.

Aithusa let out a whine and rested her head on his lap. A bloody, dust covered hand reached up to cup her face.

“I’m sorry, Aithusa, you didn’t… deserve to see all… that.” He ran his fingers down her head and down her small horn nubs, before the pain was simply too much. 

Before their eyes Merlin’s head slumped, his arm fell to his side, and his eyes fell closed. 

Mordred’s heart dropped. “Merlin?” He reached out and shook Merlin’s shoulder. No response. “Merlin?!”

Again, no response. 

Aithusa chirped, standing up and sniffing his face. With wide eyes filled with concern looking directly at Mordred, Aithusa whined loudly. She couldn’t speak, but the look in her eyes was universally clear. 

He was hurt. Seriously hurt. 

Getting down on his knees, Mordred pulled the limp body of Merlin from the wall. The cracked and broken stones in a vague shape of his torso and head were dark with his blood. Large bleeding scrapes ran down Merlin’s back, tearing his coat to shreds. But that wasn’t the worst of it all. From what Mordred could see there was a massive crack on the back of Merlin’s head, potentially even skull cracked.

If Mordred knew anything in his life, he knew that that was not good.

In a panicked state, Mordred fished a piece of blue quartz out of his pocket. He had gotten the ingredients for a stronger healing charm for the men in the physician’s office while in town while the rest were getting bluebell ale, but Merlin was top priority.

He held out a hand towards Merlin’s wound. “Gehælan,” Mordred chanted, over and over again. He could feel a pull coming from his own magic, his eyes glowing gold. 

Aithusa followed suit, breathing warm air over her lord.

As they chanted and breathed, the little blue rock in Mordred’s tight grip began to crumble away into a dark dust, indiscernible from the rock dust around them. Slowly, the scrapes along Merlin’s back sewed together just enough. Together their healing spells managed to sew the broken pieces of skull together before Mordred’s eyes and, unbeknownst entirely to them, healed Merlin's brain just enough so as to ensure brain damage wasn’t going to cripple him. He would, however, be waking up with one hell of a headache. 

With a slow, ragged gasp, Merlin groaned.

“Oh…” Came from his lips.

Mordred let out a sigh of relief. “Oh thank the goddess.” He whispered, collapsing back against the wall. Aithusa, delighted, reached up and licked Merlin’s cheek again, but he barely reacted.

He blinked his eyes barely open. He groaned, and despite his pain, there was one thing in his mind.

Perhaps if he was in a better condition, Merlin would think this through. That maybe, just maybe, he could work this out. But no, he was stuck purely in survival mode. He was aching in pain, everything hurt, his mind was foggy, and there was one thing his purely instinct mind could think, the same thing that he had been thinking for about a week and a half now.

This was a mistake. 

Slowly, Merlin shifted to his feet, leaning against the bloody wall where he once sat. With a shift, Merlin dragged his leg in the other direction, towards down the hall. 

“Where are you going?” Mordred asked, watching as the man who had been beaten to a pulp rise from the floor.

“I’m leaving.” Merlin’s ragged voice replied, his body leaning against the wall. He looked barely strong enough to stand.

Mordred panicked. “What? No!” He replied, easily hopping to his feet, running around to face him.

“If that is but a fraction of what is to come, then I’m not staying.” Merlin replied, grasping at his side. His eyes were filled with pain and certainty.

“What about the treaty?” Mordred asked, desperate now. He knew that things were bad, but surely they can do something! Anything!

Merlin paused. “I’ll find another way to fix this.” He offered, taking a shaky step forward.

“You don’t need to fix everything.” Mordred tried to argue. “Let me talk to her, let me try.”

“Why? So you can encourage her to finish the job?” Merlin hissed through his teeth. His lip was bleeding, trickling down his face like drool in the dark.

“No! I-I don’t know, but we can’t just give up now. Our kind are depending on it.” Mordred tried so desperately. 

Mordred wanted this treaty to work so badly. He wanted it to work so that maybe, just maybe, the last of the Druids would have a home to live in. He wanted to be like the bar maid down in the tavern, he wanted Camelot to be this way too. He wanted to help make the world where what remained of his people could be free. Part of him even wanted to stay in Amata just so he could live that life. He wanted that future so badly, and if Merlin left, especially in his condition, then there was no chance in hell it would happen.

Merlin paused, still holding his side. He could barely walk now. “At least let the physician see you.” Mordred offered, reaching out for Merlin’s arm.

“I’ll fix myself when we get back to the carriage.” Merlin responded, continuing to shuffle against the wall.

“No, you are barely able to stand on your feet. You’re bleeding!” Mordred replied, gesturing at, well, all of him.

Merlin did not respond now, continuing to walk. But Mordred had enough of it. Without a word, he hurried to get in front of him. Merlin tried to go around him, but it didn’t work.

“Mordred, move.” Merlin’s tone grated low.

“No. Both Arthur and Morgana are going to kill me if I left you to go around like this.” Without even waiting for his chance, Mordred reached out and slung Merlin’s arm over his shoulder, the older young man not having the energy to fight back. Without waiting for Merlin’s vocal agreement, Mordred turned them around and made slow progress back to Merlin’s new room. Little Aithusa guided the way.

Slowly making progress down the hall, in what little light he could see by, Mordred was not entirely surprised. Awe might be better word. It was absolute chaos. Walls were broken, stone was cracked, fine furniture destroyed. Smashed bits of dust, rock, porcelain and detritus covered the floors. The hollow sound of wind of the night blowing through broken windows rustled the torn blinds. Candles were snuffed and snapped, and most of the damage was masked by darkness.

It was chaos, and it was caused by more than one person.

“What did you say to her?” Mordred asked, looking over at a shattered table.

"I did what you said; I told her the truth.” Merlin muttered, leaning more and more on the knight. “She didn’t like that.”

“So she threw you through a wall?” Mordred asked. 

“Several. I threw rocks at her.” Merlin coughed. He didn’t seem so proud now, now that he was hurt. 

“Merlin…” Mordred warned, almost like a disappointed brother.

“What? She threw me through a wall. I think all rules ‘don’t hit a lady’ got thrown out the window.”

“Quite literally.” Mordred nodded at a broken window they passed.

Merlin rolled his eyes. He was so tired right now. He just wanted to go home, please. He didn’t want to be here anymore. He didn’t want to stay. Every time he got into a fight with Morgana in the past he always went to Gaius to get fixed up, but now that was not possible.

Merlin nearly tripped over a loose rock, only to get caught by Mordred. Aithusa chirped, nearly yelped as he nearly fell on top of her.

“We’re nearly there,” Mordred replied, seeing the darkness finally lighten up on the end of the hall, where there he could see the start of the destruction.

With a shuffle, they finally reached their end destination. The two glanced warily at the massive gaping hole in the wall, leaving it vacant and clear into Merlin’s room. It was nearly comical, in a way. Like that from a slapstick story meant for children.

The door to Merlin’s new bedroom hung wide open, and with his foot Mordred kicked it open further. Aithusa squeezed in first, before Mordred shuffled in, nearly dragging Merlin now. With barely any grace, he dropped the manservant onto the large bed like a sack of potatoes.

Mordred wiped his brow. Damn, Merlin was heavier than he looked. “Now don’t move.” He ordered, looking down at the broken man in the darkness. He couldn’t see if he was planning anything, but he knew Merlin well. Even beaten halfway to Sunday, he wasn’t done yet. 

“Mordred…” Merlin warned, slowly, slowly sitting up. He was looking a little better now, but he still wasn’t in great condition. 

“No, I’m serious. I’m going to find a maid and get her to get a physician. You are in no condition to do anything.” Mordred ordered, turning to look at the door.

“Isn't that my choice?” Merlin asked, arching a brow. Aithusa hopped up onto the bed, sitting right next to him.

“We can fix this, I swear. You just can’t run off.” Mordred said, resting his hand on his brow. He didn’t know what to do… what to do…

A moment of silence went by before anyone spoke up again.

“Can I at least get some water?” Merlin asked, as if it was a nonchalant thing to ask. “My throat is caked in dust, and I want to clean myself off so I can see what I’m doing.”

It was too harmless of a request for Mordred to know that Merlin was thinking of something hinky. 

Mordred immediately knew what was up. He knew that the moment he left to get that water, Merlin was going to try and make a break for it. If Merlin ever made up his mind, he was going to do it. However, water was important. He was covered in dust, and if the physician or even Merlin himself was going to fix him, the wounds needed to be cleaned. Stone chunks and dust would not be compatible with the body, and it would only lead to more problems. 

Mordred hated how he wanted to agree. So, he scrambled around the room to find some.

The fireplace was cold, and it would take a while to light it. The servants probably didn’t think Merlin would be arriving so soon, and Mordred didn’t want to try. So, Mordred carefully looked around the room in the darkness. Eventually, he found a metal pitcher sitting on a low table, right at Mordred’s shins of which he smacked into, but there was no water inside. 

Mordred groaned. He knew exactly what was up. Merlin was going to use this as a chance to escape. Have Mordred walk away, run off and leave Mordred behind. A stupid decision on his part, but you couldn’t exactly expect a man who had been beaten to a pulp to come up with a complex plan. He was like an animal, running on instinct. 

The logical choice was to take Merlin with him to go get water. Hell, even drag him down to the physicians instead. However, in Mordred’s eyes, he was in no condition to walk. But he also couldn’t just leave him. Merlin’s slippery and sly, like an eel. Even in his condition, if Mordred wasn’t careful then Merlin was going to slip right on out.

So, what was Mordred to do? 

Mordred pondered for a moment, before realizing he was going to have to take a risk. He was going to have to hope that Merlin’s condition would be just bad enough that he would reconsider and stay in one spot.

“Alright,” Mordred huffed, giving a glare Merlin’s way. “But you stay here, alright?”

“I’m not leaving.” Merlin lied, watching carefully as Mordred snatched up the empty pitcher and made his way towards the door.

“I mean it,” Mordred tucked his head through the door.

“Do I look like I’m moving?” Merlin could only retort as the door closed behind him. The muffled sound of footsteps running off down the hall could be heard from the other side. 

One second, two seconds, three seconds…

Merlin slowly, shakily got to his feet. He hissed, holding back a shout of pain as he grasped for his shoulder. Alright, his shoulder may be cracked. He’d have to work on that when he got back to the carriage. He couldn’t take his things, he’d only hope and pray that Mordred would get them for him. While he did not trust the man with the fate of destiny, there was enough kindness there that, if Mordred was going to follow, he would bring his things.

A gamble of destiny, of which Merlin did not care. He was too much in pain to care. 

Aithusa, seeing this stupidity, whined. She hopped off the bed, desperately hoping that she could stop him from leaving. 

“Aithusa… stay.”

Aithusa instead whined louder, stamping her feet, as if ordering him to stay. But it didn't work. After all, she was only a tiny dragon.

“Aithusa, I’m ordering you. Stay put.” Merlin’s words carried a familiar weight, a weight that Aithusa could not argue with. She could not fight it, and no matter how much she wanted to follow after him, Aithusa could only whine as her master stumbled out the door.

Mordred ran as fast as he could to do get the water. He didn’t know where to get any, so he ran all way until he could find another room, hopefully occupied. If it’s occupied, it has water. It took Mordred a few chances, but eventually he found such a room, complete with roaring fireplace and comfortable furniture. If Mordred had the time, he’d take it all in, but he did not.

Scrambling, he snatched up the pitcher, of which he thanks the goddesses was full, dropped his own empty pitcher, and ran back out. Water sloshed, splashing onto his hands and the floor, but Mordred did not care. He had to get back as fast as he could. He had to stop Merlin from leaving.

When he came across the hallway, he couldn’t help but hope. There was no sign of Merlin walking around, the doors were still firmly closed! Yes! He was still there!

When Mordred threw open the door, his heart dropped. 

No he was not. Merlin was gone. All that was left behind was his backpack and Aithusa, whining in concern. 

“Son of a—!” Mordred shouted in frustration. He knew he shouldn’t have left him! He knew he shouldn’t have! He should have done something, put some furniture in front of the door or tied his cape around the handles! Something! Anything! But no, he was too focused on speed to think about that.

With a huff, Mordred dropped the pitcher onto the nearest table, water sloshing out. His heart was racing, he knew he needed to act fast. Merlin wasn’t going to last that long. He was going to collapse mid step from his injuries if he doesn't get help soon. Who knows how far he had gotten?

Mordred ground his teeth. When he finds him, he’s going to smack Merlin snotless for being so god damn annoying. For all his obsessions with destiny, he is now blind. Possibly literally. Possibly lost in the castle, or even in the streets. He is going to die from his stubbornness if this keeps up, and damn if that was going to happen on Mordred’s watch.

Without another word and leaving the whining Aithusa behind, Mordred ran out, intent on either finding the broken manservant himself, or someone else who could.

The little dragon ran to the window, over looking the glowing town below. She could only hope that he’d find her lord soon.

Chapter Text

The door to the queen's office crashed open, smacking the wall behind it with nary a care. Morgana leaned against the door way in defeat, sighing heavily, closing her eyes. She ran a hand down her face, smearing stone dust and makeup with the tips of her fingers.

She sighed.

That could have gone better.

Hugging her side, the tired queen hobbled to her chair, gently tripping over her torn gown. Step, limp, step, limp, step, limp.

An old stitch in her side was flaring up, but once she got something to drink and a sit down, it should go away. Hopefully. 

Crashing into her seat behind her desk, Morgana knocked her head back and let out a breath of air. She didn’t want to move, just let herself be still for five seconds.

…

Hoo boy… When Merlin wasn’t holding back, he really wasn’t holding back. The way his magic wrapped around her, the way his eyes glowed like the sun… Honestly, there was a few moments during the fight that Morgana thought that he was seriously going to hurt her. He gave her a run for her money. The amount of times she had to dodge rocks being thrown at her at sling like speeds and avoid being thrown out a window was far too many times to be comfortable. Feeling his magic clash against her own in a fight to dominate. Finally Morgana understood that feeling she always felt when she was around him. It wasn’t an aura, it was his magic. A powerful force, calling out to her as it crashed into her own, as its owner snarled at her name. 

But every time she threw him through a wall, he got weaker and weaker. Every second that went by, her magic got a stronger grip on him, the better she felt. The stronger she felt.

A small smile crawled on her tired face. She needed that challenge.

But… Morgana couldn’t help the small feeling that if it weren’t for the fact that she had thrown him through a wall first and Merlin wasn’t on his best game, that fight would have ended very, very differently. 

With a dead heavy arm, she reached up and picked a piece of loose rubble off her hair. Thank goodness she wasn’t wearing her crown, otherwise that might have been damaged, much like her pride. For the fact of the matter is, while she did survive the fight, she did not win. It was, at best, a draw.

Honestly, all Morgana really wanted to do was end the day, go back to her room and take a rest. Sleep until tomorrow morning, where then she could tackle the repercussions of her actions. Honestly, she was so exhausted she could sleep in her office. Grab a spare blanket, curl up on her couch, and sleep until dawn rose. Call Aithusa to come cuddle with her, help her forget the stress of ups and down this day brought. But no matter how much she craved it, she still had some work left to do, and that must be finished first.  

With a heavy sigh, Morgana opened her eyes.

Sitting on the temporary replacement desk before her was he stack of letters she had been promptly ignoring all day, along with a fresh stack of bills, reports, requests, and goddess knew what else. Every time she left, it seemed, more and more paperwork piled up on her desk. People needed to be paid, people needed to be taxed, people needed to be lead, and people needed her word to be said. Honestly, if someone had told her that leading a kingdom involved a lot more paperwork than she thought, she wouldn't have believed them, but now sitting in front of her was the evidence, plain as day. 

With a slight groan Morgana leaned forward against her desk. She was too sore to move, and yet needed a drink. She was not used to such a fight, she had expelled enough rage today. Sure, she had fought harder before, she had fought all her life, but a fight with such painful emotions… no, that was new. To fight the truth with realizing pain, to take on what her own lies her whole life was. She was drained. Come back tomorrow, and she might be the same again. 

With a flick of her wrist and a flash of gold, a bottle and glass goblet across the room rose without being touched and floated to her hand. Out poured a pale white yellow wine, soft and sweet and Morgana found that it enjoyed resting on the crest of her tongue.

She took a sip. Ah, perfect. Just what the queen ordered.

Morgana achingly leaned back against the plush arm rest, rolling the glass around in her hand, a scornful regret in her eye. Without her protective shell of rage and anger, worn out from the fight, she was forced to confront emotions and thoughts she locked away. Things she did not want to face, realities that she did not want to believe were true. A tear pricked her eye. Pain, anguish, a scared girl cracked through her facade.

But Morgana would not let her out. She was not that little girl anymore.

A tiny thought in the back of her mind said that she should apologize, but she quickly ignored it. He deserved to be thrown through a wall. Honestly, being thrown through a wall was a light sentence! If Aithusa and Mordred didn’t stop her, she possibly would have killed that rat! A part of her still considered that idea, but she was too tired to fulfill that fight on her own.

Sure, she had the power to kill him. She now had countless ways of disposing of him, from the prolonged and cruel, to the quick and efficient, to the magical and the mundane. But many were off her list. To have him executed by any other hand seemed wrong. 

If he were to die, and that was a big if, it would be at her own hand, with the very magic he left her alone with, and if she was smart and patient and manipulative enough, feeling the same pain of betrayal she had felt all that time ago. 

But, that may be harder than expected. Especially now that she knew that he was Emrys. 

The ache in her joints burned again, her heart gripping, as if to scorn her for such thoughts. She didn’t have that amount of time and emotional energy to concoct such an elaborate, time consuming scheme. No, in all actuality she didn’t want to kill him. He was far too useful to her alive than dead, not only in his personal skills, but in treaty potentials.

Besides, death was too good for him. Death did not deserve to earn him in its bony grasp quite yet. Her grasp was far better. 

Not to mention she had a kingdom to run, things to do. She had people crawling all over her, and she had to whip this kingdom into shape. Like cleaning up a horribly messy house party, it would take a lot of time and effort to mold this kingdom into what it needed to be; a powerhouse and a haven of magic. If she couldn’t have Camelot (and whose to say that she still wouldn’t in the future), then this would be the next best thing. Like it or not the people of Amata are now her people, and despite how much she hated to admit it, Merlin was right. They needed a good leader. Their terribly long streak of insane, bloodthirsty rulers had to end, a new leadership had to rule, and if that bloodshed had to end with her killing Sarum then so be it.

But Morgana knew that it would be an uphill battle. She wasn’t stupid nor was she foolish. Her past wrath against Camelot with her sister earned her a title as overly harsh and needlessly cruel, among many things. Her actions with the people showed this as a possibility as well, regardless of legalizing magic. Her streets prowled with soldiers and guards, and she knew quite well that everyone was afraid that at any moment she could fly off the handle and take her wrath out on Camelot or some other unsuspecting kingdom, causing a bloodshed they did not want.

This would not do. No one loved or respected a queen that took her anger out on others so easily, and whether she was willing to admit it that was what she wanted; love and respect. She hadn’t had much of that over these past few years, and even before then it didn’t feel earned. She wanted to earn the respect, the love. And she did genuinely try. She tried to bring the world that she would have loved to grow up in. A kingdom where magic was free, everyone had the choice be who they wanted to be.

However, ruling a kingdom is hard, very hard, and wears on the soul when someone rules alone. There are problems she has to deal with on a daily basis, and they were many. Many of which wore on her emotions more than sandpaper on wood. Morgana knew that there was easier ways of dealing with issues, many of which result in death. If she wanted to, which she very much did, she would deal with these issues the same her sister would so long ago. With blood running through the streets like a river. 

But… Morgana did not want to be her sister. It was a harsh realization, but being what her sister wanted her to be resulted in only pain and misery for herself. 

If being the woman she was got Morgana stuck in that dreaded pit, then she wasn’t going to be her anymore. She had to be better, she knew that. 

But being better was hard, especially when she had such baggage weighing her down that she wasn’t willing to let go. She still understood what actions she and her sister took, even though she didn’t always agree with them. Sometimes, she stubbornly thought, they were necessary.

But Morgana needed to do things the ‘better’ way now.

If Morgana wanted a place in the history books, which she did, she had two options: continue on her original path, become a queen just like every other bloodthirsty queen in the history books, which seems to be most notable queens in the history book, or be better. Perhaps it would not solidify a page in the history books for herself, but it would spit in the face of those who told her she could and would not do it. Prove history wrong, prove Uther wrong, prove Gwen wrong, prove Arthur wrong, prove Merlin wrong.

Morgana picked up a letter, looking it over. She took another sip. A message from a lord. It looked important. She started one pile, ones that she would tend to. 

She picked up another letter, but her thoughts did not pay attention.

…It was very tempting. She had to admit, she would pay anything just to see that look on Merlin’s face when he realized what she was doing. To prove to him that she was better than him, to prove to him that he was wrong. That he should not just judge someone based on past actions, on theories and the gossip of others. That he was not allowed to be the judge, jury, and executioner of destiny and fate’s broken, flawed, and biased design. 

Once Morgana realized what she was looking at, she immediately tossed the letter to the side. She recognized the handwriting, it belonged to a lowly prince in a far northern kingdom that had already sought her hand in marriage before, when she was but a fair maiden of Camelot. He was just as desperate now as he was back then, even though Morgana was sure she had heard that he had already gotten married a few years ago. Another suitor, trying to come and be her king. Another lowly lord or fourth born prince, trying to find a faster way to higher power. Someone who was looking to take the power that she worked so hard to get and treat her like any other queen; a useless, dull heir breeder. 

Morgana had no interest in that. She would not become what her closest childhood friend had become. 

Merlin was her choice, and she would be better than any queen her time. She would play a crucial role in the court, deciding what to do with her people and leading the kingdom to a beautiful, wonderful future. One that Destiny didn’t even think of.

But, Morgana wouldn’t just leave him with nothing to do. He wasn’t going to be an indentured servant or left in the eternal agonizing limbo of betrothal, left for people to always question ‘when’s the day finally coming?’ Oh no, she was very serious when she said that she was going to marry him. He would be her king, whether he wanted to be or not. After all, as she knew, a crown is a prison of a different design. A shackle worn atop the brow, not around the ankle. One that came with responsibilities, and shook the weakest wills to their base desires. Many kings and queens had fallen into it before,  and it was inevitable that it would happen in the future as well. 

But Merlin was not weak. She knew that. Their fight and arguments proved that. Compared to many others, he had one of the strongest wills she knew. His will, persistence, and determination made even Arthur’s shake and quiver, and would shatter Gwen’s in a few heartbeats. He would not cave into delights and pleasures, he would do the job properly. 

He would be a good king. He would do what she wanted of him perfectly, like a well crafted doll. He was the perfect candidate for what she wanted. With the way things stood between them, she would be the one to have power between them, she would be the one in charge. He would be, in a sense, the queen in the relationship; a pretty face for the people to look at while she took care of business. A wall for people to throw their frustrations at while she dealt with the important matters. She just had to hope that Merlin never opened his eyes to his true potential, just as he hadn’t with many things in his life. If his relationship with his title as Emrys has anything to do with it, then it would be likely that he wouldn’t realize his complete strength until he was on his deathbed. 

He would be the power, the wall of meat that she needed to protect herself from those she did not want to see. He was perfect to keep those she did not desire, those she feared, at bay. Close enough to keep those she did not want away, but not close enough to hurt her again. 

Besides, the irony was… too perfect. In every aspect and way. If Destiny would not give her what she wanted from her youth, she would take it. She would answer her own prophecies. She would be what she wanted to be, she would take what she wanted, and he was coming along with her whether he wanted to or not.

Now, how to convince him to do it? How to convince the man that she had thrown through a wall that she still wanted to marry him? 

Morgana hummed, it seemed difficult. Her anger had come around to kick herself in the teeth, and deep down she did feel bad about it. While her fear was founded, her actions were not. She knew that. A small part of her did regret it, and she would not do it again. It just wasn’t advantageous to her at the moment. She vowed that; she would not lay another hand on him unless the situation necessitated it. She would think it through. She would not be like her father before her; flying into a blind rage at those who sought her harm. 

Not to mention her own words… In a fit of anger she had called off their engagement just as it started. No doubt in his mind he was free to leave, and that just would not do. 

Sweet talking only got someone so far, and whatever it was they shared in her tent those weeks ago seemed to mean nothing now. It was nothing but a false facade brought on by alcohol. There was no way that he would let her so close again, to touch him, to feel his energy once more. Only a man that hates her so much being drunk off his mind or under the influence of something in some way would let her do that. Especially now.

Perhaps she really should apologize…

Morgana flipped through the rest of her letters, a couple for her to address, most being flimsy proposals of marriage. Most she would give to scribes to respond to, telling them that her interests were elsewhere. Others that she had already talked to before she would tell them as she had said before: she had already found a suitable man that she wished to marry and would not question it. There were even a few that she didn’t even bother anymore with, and simply threw their unopened letters into the fire. She would not deal with their strife and arrogance, believing her to be a tease and a harlot of a queen. They were cruel fools, and she wasn’t going to deal with them anymore. She would have to tell this to her messengers, to not allow any more letters to grace before her until they learned some manners.  

With barely another look, Morgana threw another letter into the flames, this time with a bit more force. She already told Lord Urien six times already that she had no interest in marrying a man almost old enough to be her father, and she wasn’t even going to give him the dignity of a seventh response. Even if this was all for a treaty and a contract marriage with absolutely no interest in anything more, she still had standards. 

She already had her choice within the castle, even if he was showing to be a bit frustrating. She wasn’t surprised, not really. He was giving up his whole life to be here, and she would be legitimately concerned and suspicious if he came into this eagerly with a giant grin on his face. However, she was also right to be prepared, or at least know how to bluff. Merlin was not a man to take an option he did not like, and at the moment his preferred option is leaving her in the dirt six feet under. 

If she can keep him from figuring out the truth about the so called enchantments, then she can potentially delay him for long enough to convince him not to kill her. Or, control him. After all, now that she knew what he really was, he made all the better to be a puppet she could control. Now not only to keep him from killing her, but to use him as a weapon.

Morgana took a sip of her drink. 

She couldn’t control him like she tried to before. There were no more formorroh left, and mind enchantments were incredibly difficult and relied on the person not having a strong will and constitution. Merlin was strong in both, if their fight had anything to say about it. And honestly, boiling him down to nothing but a soldier just wouldn’t do for him. No, he would do better as an assassin, at the very least. 

Perhaps brainwashing would do…

Before Morgana could think of anything else, the door to her office crashed open. Morgana barely had the chance to be startled before the young knight Mordred came running in, a panicked look in his eye.

“Merlin’s missing!” The young knight cried out, leaning against the back of a chair, eyes wide with fear.

“What?” Morgana replied loudly, raising from her chair, putting down her paperwork. As she got to her feet, two guards ran in, both looking ready to try and stop Mordred from whatever insanity he might be starting to conduct. Just as ever loyal as they should be.

“I just checked all over the castle, and no one can find him! He’s really hurt—.” The young knight tried to start, panic continuing to grow in his throat.

Morgana barely heard another word the young man said before turning to her guards and ordered, “Get Sir Tadeus and the guard to search the town, I want him found now.” Her brow, still covered in dust, was furrowed and certain. Her tongue tasted like marble as she barked her orders. For all of her injuries and pain, control was something she still had in spade.

The two guards bowed, “Yes, your majesty.” The both droned, before turning and hurrying off.

Morgana leaned against her desk, sighing in defeat. Great, another thing to add to her plate. Of course he would run off, of course he would. Make things ten times harder for her, just because he could. If he got back to the entourage of Camelot, then things would only get worse. She could only hope and pray that the streets were just as confusing for him as they were for her.

“There is no way he’s going to marry you now.” Mordred proclaimed, sinking into his seat.

“He’ll come around.” Morgana dismissed him with a wave of her hand, turning to look out her window into the darkness of night. The pale light of the sliver of the moon hallowed out her face, making her look tired. 

Mordred immediately gawked, looking on at her torn back in shock. She couldn’t honestly be saying that! After all she had done! “You smashed his skull against a wall! It was cracked! He could have died!” He cried out, leaning forward.

That made Morgana pause. She could see her own eyes looking back at her in the reflection in the window, concerned and shocked. A tiny crack in her facade. “What?”

“The little dragon and I—.”

“Aithusa.” Morgana immediately cut him off.

Mordred halted for a moment, the look of offense on his face overbearing as he repeated her name. “Aithusa, and I had to fix him up, it’s the only reason why he’s even upright right now.” Mordred continued to explain, rising to his feet. Not that Morgana noticed, she was looking out the window now.

Morgana’s brow furrowed as Mordred continued to rant and rave, but she heard none of it. No, she was sucked into her own mind palace. Her lips pursed. She knew that her emotions as of late were a bit wild, but she hadn’t considered she’d let herself go that much… She thought he could handle it. He looked fine the last time she saw him. He was fine! He had been through much worse, surely! 

…Right?

Morgana glared back, glaring at her fireplace filled with burnt letters. Her choice was out there on the street, apparently dying, and despite the fact that she shouldn’t give two damns, she couldn’t help this weight that was sitting in her gut because of it.

Mordred could only hope that the guard would find him soon, before he died on his feet.

The plan had been simple.

Escape the castle, get to the knights just outside the capital’s boarder, high tail it back to Camelot. That was it, no more, no less. The rest can be dealt with later, when his mind was back in one piece.

At the moment, Merlin’s mind was barely working.

There was no thoughts, no reason, no nothing. Just pure instinct. To Merlin, it nearly felt like something else was driving his body instead, and his own consciousness was taking a backseat. Like his very magic was trying to keep him alive, was driving his body. Fighting did not work, so after getting a second chance, it took the chance to run. 

Merlin honestly didn’t know what to do, but now that he was on the streets he really didn't have much of an option anymore. He just had to keep going. 

The first part of the plan was easy. No one stopped him while he was leaving, although a few servants gave him worried looks as he passed. Not that he had the mental strength to care at the moment, no. He was in too much pain to care.

However, the moment Merlin managed to slip out of the gate and into the town, slipping into the darkness of night, he found himself hopelessly lost. If the streets were confusing when the sun was up, then it was an absolute labyrinth at night. 

The ringing sound of hollow voices of people still wandering the streets late at night echoed in Merlin’s head, like his head was a bell and someone was treating it like a toy. That alone should have made him stop, but he kept pressing froward. The light of lanterns flared and haloed, harsh and bright, making him flinch. The streets seemed long, winding, and complex, the buildings loomed above him in the darkness like judging giants, and every step Merlin took seemed to feel heavier and heavier. Every bone ached in his body as he stumbled past peasant and civilian, probably looking like a beaten up drunk patron. He could feel blood trickle down his temple, down the corner of his mouth, and yet he did not stop to wipe it away. 

Merlin didn’t know where he was, and now he was horribly lost.

He just had to keep moving…

Merlin stumbled into a corner of a brick wall, his shoulder flaring in pain. He gasped, flinching. Yep, definitely sprained, if not cracked. He paused, trying to get his breath back. For a small moment, he had control over his body.

Mordred… 

The young man’s name echoed in his mind. He had left the young knight inside. He left Aithusa. How could he? How could he leave them? How could he leave them to her wrath?

For a small moment, Merlin paused and thought. He leaned heavily on the brick wall. 

He had to think.

Much to his annoyance, Aithusa was doing well enough in Morgana’s care. From when he saw the little dragon, she was clean, well fed, and well tended to. In a moment of delirious realization, Merlin realized that she was the ‘friend’ Morgana had been talking about during her explanation to Arthur when she went to Camelot to discuss the treaty. To Merlin’s reluctant chagrin, she did care about her.

Besides, Morgana held no power over Aithusa, so if the little dragon didn’t want to be around her, she could leave. As well as that, Mordred was also there. While Merlin did not trust Mordred with Arthur or Morgana, he also knew the young man had a very soft spot for animals. If there was anyone he would trust Aithusa’s care to in that castle, it would actually be Mordred. 

He did not trust Mordred as far as he could throw him, but he could trust Aithusa. If Aithusa trusted Mordred to grab him in a time of emergency, then Merlin could too, at least a little bit. 

But Merlin needed to go, even if he didn’t want to, he needed to go. Whatever was controlling his body was slowly regaining control. With a final thought, Merlin pushed himself off the wall, and thought to himself that if Mordred knew what was good for him, then he would leave as soon as possible. Do not dance with a snake.

Merlin was already on borrowed time, if Morgana so chose then she wouldn’t have to do much to end him.

One push, and lights out. 

For how much Merlin was willing to die for Arthur, at the end of the day he didn’t want to die. There was a difference, and if Merlin had the chance and choice he was not going to knock on death’s door quite yet.

Well, his magic had a chance, and it made its choice for him. He was out of here. This was his last chance to run off the stage of this horrible play, escape the main role that was most surely going to get him killed. 

He grasped at his side, nearly wheezing. All this walking, and he was only putting more stress on his body. He was in pain, and he didn’t have the time nor the energy to heal his wounds.

Rounding another corner, Merlin mentally beat himself up. 

This was stupid. He knew it was stupid. Coming here was the dumbest idea he had ever agreed to. Why did he have to listen to that part of him that thought that things could be better?! That he could make things better?! Idiot! Now he was lost in a town he did not know and with no friends or allies. 

But wallowing in self pity won’t save him now. No.

He had to keep going. 

As Merlin kept stumbling down a street, hoping and praying that he will eventually find a way out of the darkness in this maze, the one thing he hoped not to see rounded the corner. 

Guards. Knights. 

The moment they saw him Merlin’s heart dropped. They were looking for him.

“There he is!” One guard called out, before turning and shouting for the other guards to follow. 

Merlin took off running, or at least he tried to. Whatever it was that had been pushing him for so long was beginning to run out. He stumbled, crashed into walls, and yet still kept on going. He looked like an injured animal trying to escape the hunters. 

At this rate, they were going to catch him. 

His magic pulsed under his skin, faint like a heartbeat, trying to keep his broken body together just long enough so he can run. Just long enough to escape them, to buy time he was already overdue on. 

He could feel it, his magic tempting to come out. But what good would that do, except make more problems for him? Just telling Morgana about his magic got him thrown through a wall and then some, imagine what the people on the street would think? Not to mention if that knowledge got to Camelot. 

If that knowledge got to Arthur… Merlin shivered to think about it. He would rather take the wrath of Morgana again over facing Arthur if he knew the truth, especially in his condition at the moment. 

Merlin scrambled around another corner, hoping it would lead the way out. Why did the streets have to be so confusing? Where even was he—?

Merlin’s heart stopped and dropped. It nearly rolled and wallowed in the bottom of his gut, dropping like a lost coin, never to be found again.

It was a dead end. 

It was a motherfucking dead end. 

Nothing but tall brick walls on all three sides around him, with nothing but the faint smell of rotten food and urine to greet him. Merlin’s delirious, barely conscious brain had ran him into a dead end street, and now there was no way out. There was no way for him to go. 

Merlin sighed, hanging his head in defeat. His body screamed in pain, his mind screamed to keep fighting, but he knew he was done for. There was nothing he could do, or at least, nothing that wouldn’t get him into even more trouble than he already was. If he fought, he wouldn’t last long. If he gave up, he was going back to the castle, where she was no doubt waiting. If he used what little remained of his magic, he would probably die on the streets instead. He was utterly exhausted, and there was no way he would survive if he tried to fight his way out. 

From behind him, footsteps came running, growing louder by the second.

Slowly, Merlin turned around, looking on in absolute beaten defeat. 

The group chasing him consisted of three guards and a knight, each one dressed in blue, which looked more like black in faint light of the flickering lanterns on the street. All around them the remains of the bustling streets watched on in concern, but no one moved to help. They were just curious to see how exactly this would end. Just like the citizens of Camelot, watching another one of their fellow neighbors try to escape Uther's cruel law. 

However, there were a few differences between here and in Camelot. For example, not a single one of the guards pointed their spears his way, in fact none of the guards had any on them, their hands empty and bare. If Merlin had the mental energy to question it, he would, but no, he was more worried about how the edges of his vision were starting to turn black. 

Merlin was sure that he looked like the embodiment of defeat, but at the moment all he wanted to do was rest. His soul wanted to fight, but his body wanted to collapse. Fall apart like a box full of spare parts. Just sleep, right then and there. 

The knight, whose cleanly trimmed, barely speckled grey pale brown hair and semi thin face reminded the delirious Merlin of… maybe an older, more grown into his looks Will? No, not at all. Nothing like him. Maybe a relative, but most definitely not Will. That was it, he was beginning to see things now. If he could, he would definitely chuckle.

“Merlin,” The knight called out calmly, taking a step forward, hands open and steady. Like how one would approach an unbroken horse in the pasture, wild and ready to pounce. How this man knew his name was anyone’s guess, but Merlin didn’t have the mental energy to think about it. He could barely think how this man's accent reminded him of one of those characters in those plays Arthur likes, the ones with vigilantes and bounty hunters who wanted to uphold the law in a lawless land, against bandits and naredowells and the like. 

Like the kind of crowd Merlin both fit into and despised. 

“I know you're hurt, and I know you're scared. But if you just come with us, we’ll get you some help. We’ll get the physician, you'll be alright. You're safe.” The knight offered, one calm leather covered hand outstretched in friendship, the other on his sword, “I promise.”

Merlin didn’t know what do to, what to think, but what he did know was that he couldn’t do anything else. 

Cautiously, Merlin held his arms up in surrender. He was done. He knew it. He ran away like a coward, and here was his punishment. There was nothing else that he could do. At least if he went down this path, he might be able to live to see the next sunrise. 

Without hesitation, a couple of the guards ran up and got ready to handcuff him. A soldier reached out and roughly grabbed Merlin's wrist. It took all Merlin's effort not to scream, and in all honesty, it didn't last long. The gasp that came out of his throat was ragged and sharp. 

“Don’t. He’s can’t run off anywhere.” The knight proclaimed to the guards, taking another step closer. “Just help me get him back to the castle.”

The guards all nodded, before throwing Merlin’s arms over their shoulders. The moment they took his weight, Merlin knew that the darkness was going to claim him once more.

God damn it... 

Against his will, the darkness around his eyes completely took over, and his consciousness dipped into nothing once more. His body slumped, and the guards had barely a chance to keep him upright before he fell onto the cobbled streets like a limp log. 

The last thing Merlin thought was that he hoped he would wake up again. If not, then perhaps he’d have the chance to punch that god that decided to give him this mess of a destiny in the face sooner. 

“Do you think he’s alright?” Gwaine’s voice spoke up from the silence.

In the silence of the forest, the question hung like a hanging man on a tree. Ominous, silent, still, yet the most noticeable thing there if you were paying attention. It was in these kinds of moments that Gwaine still felt like a child, small and afraid. Not that he would let his friends or enemies know that he felt such a way, but it didn't drive the feelings off.  

The fire the group had built not two hours ago flickered its warm light on the faces of the dozing and the awake, the only light for a long, long distance. The only other light to be found was the moon and stars. The whole group had parked on the side of the road, a well tended to road that cut the forest and a farmer's field off from each other. The moon’s pale glow cast light across the empty grass field to their right, cool in color as it gently rustled in the wind. Crickets chirped in a drone in the warm summer night. 

Leon, dropping another set of logs onto the fire, sighed. “I don’t know.”

“He should have met with us by now if…” Gwaine let the words die on his lips. After all, they were joined by many soldiers of Amata, surrounding on all sides in a sleep wishing daze. If Merlin were to have shown up, they would have noticed by now.

But Leon knew what Gwaine meant, and the dusky haired knight barely even considered the idea. “Merlin’s a planner. He won’t put himself in danger without knowing all the facts. I’m sure he’s fine.” He offered dismissively, turning his head away to not look Gwaine in the eye.

“But—”

“Let’s just put our efforts towards getting this food back to Camelot.” Leon interrupted, still not looking Gwaine's way. “Mordred is keeping an eye on him, and Merlin is keeping an eye on him. They’ll take care of each other.”

Gwaine pursed his lips. He hated how stubborn in his thoughts Leon could be when he was afraid. It was awfully similar to Arthur, although Arthur wouldn't give them to air such concerns and grievances. He supposed there could be some benefits to not considering the worst outcomes, but they were knights: it was their jobs to deal with the matters when the worst arrived. And besides, Merlin and Mordred were like brothers to him. He would only hope someone would give him some more comforting words to tell him that they were alright than just dismissing his concerns.

But Gwaine sighed. He wasn't in the mood to argue, snap, or sass tonight. “I hope you’re right.” Gwaine sighed, before leaning back against the trunk of the tree he had situated himself under, turning his gaze out towards the farmer's sleeping harvest and road, where he hoped to see some of his closest friends come running.

And yet, there was nothing. Only the gentle sway of the unripe wheat in the wind, the perfect area for children to play in in the late night. 

A small flinch crossed Gwaine’s face in the firelight. Memories of his own childhood scattered across his mind. A young man, nearly a boy, Gwaine left behind when their mother died, hoping unable to take care of him anymore in the absence of their father. He hadn’t talked to him in years, hardly expected to ever see him again. Granted, he had made a new family in Camelot, but once someone is family it is hard to him to let them go. Family and brothers was one thing Gwaine appreciated, he would hate to lose more. 

Especially when he has the choice.

When Sir Tadeus walked up to the queen’s office door, he could hear some quiet yet heated argument coming from the other side. What exactly they were arguing about, he was not sure, nor was it his place to know. If the queen was in an argument with someone, then that was their place to do so. What was his job was to report in to the queen about her fiancé, and that was that. 

The moment his knuckle raptured against the door, the quiet arguing on the other side went silent. 

“Enter.” The muffled voice of the queen called out from the other side. 

Tadeus swung the door open with certainty, his gaze quickly casting over the whole room. It was only one other person in the room with the queen, the red cape wearing, young looking knight, the one that came in with the queen’s fiancé. He hadn’t been able to yet learn his name, but he was sure that would be done in time.

“Ah, sir Tadeus,” The queen exclaimed, looking almost somewhat relieved to see someone new standing in the doorway, someone who might just be able to change the course of their argument. “What’s the news?” 

Tadeus carefully tucked his hands behind his back. “We caught him in the streets. Ran himself right into a dead end.” He explained, shaking his head. “Poor guy fell unconscious the moment we started bringing him in. The physician is already getting a good look at him.”

“Oh thank goodness.” Mordred let out a sigh of relief under his breath. 

Morgana scoffed. “Stubborn as usual.” She muttered, before turning back to Sir Tadeus. “Have the physicians continue to tend to him in his room, and I want two guards outside each of his doors at all times.”

Sir Tadeus bowed, glad to be getting out of here as soon as he could. “Yes, your majesty.” He replied, before turning to walk away. 

“I’ll go check on him.” Mordred immediately offered, turning to walk away.

The moment he was three steps away from the door, Morgana spoke up. “Wait.”

Mordred paused in the doorway, giving her an expectant look. His brow bent down, as if in caution and concern. 

Slowly, Morgana rose from her desk. “How bad was his condition after I left?” She asked, as if trying her best to control her concern. In the night cast shadow of the room, Mordred couldn’t see her brow furrowed into a frown.

“There was blood on the wall, and I believe his skull was cracked.” Mordred replied shakily, tilting his head as he fought shivering at the memory. “I had a piece of blue quartz for a greater healing spell on me, but it was only able to do so much, even with the little dragon’s help.”

Morgana gently nodded. She didn’t know enough about healing spells to argue against him. She never had been good with healing magic, her sister never bothered to teach her. Said there was ‘more important spells to learn’. Even when she tried to practice on her own, when the bleeding and scabbed wounds were piling up across her skin, she only seemed to enact more pain than healing. She was better at healing poultices and tinctures, identifying herbs and plants that helped with wounds. Purple den nettle stopped bleeding, Wild Garlic helped with digestive problems, and tea made from the flower of the blue bugle helped with respiratory problems…

Morgana felt herself falling into the recesses of her mind when something Mordred said caught her attention. 

“Still doesn’t give you a right to throw someone through a wall just because he told you about his magic.” Mordred muttered under his breath. He was leaning against the back of the seat in front of him now, crossing his arms. Even in the dark and flickering flames of the fireplace, she could see his brow scrunched into frustration. As if he barely realized he was talking aloud anymore, just saying whatever it was on his mind.

Now that got Morgana to pause. “Excuse me?” Her brow arched high, glaring his way.

Mordred’s eyes went wide. He came back to realization. “What?”

“You knew?!” Morgana couldn’t help but screech, leaning forward on her desk. The look of fury on her face only looked more dangerous in the light of the flickering fireplace. “You knew the bloody servant had magic, and you didn’t say anything?!”

“Considering how you reacted, that was probably smart,” Mordred retorted as calmly as he could. He was not going to rise to her anger like how Merlin did. It was probably the whole reason why he got thrown through the wall in the first place.

Morgana growled. “Did you know he was Emrys too?” She asked, her fingers curling around nothing into a fist, pressing it into the back of her chair.

“I knew since the first day I met him.” Mordred retorted, holding his head high. “I knew since the day you and he rescued me from the clutches of King Uther, where if such knowledge of his abilities got out he would have been just as likely to executed as I was, thus plunging Camelot’s future into darkness.”

Morgana finally closed her mouth. Her throat was tight with frustration as she recoiled in betrayal. For a small moment tears threatened to sting her eyes. How many truths was she going to learn today? What’s next; Aithusa could talk? 

“You knew I was trustworthy, why not tell me?” Morgana asked in a low and slow tone, as if fighting against the thought of crying. As if she was talking to someone else instead.

“It wasn’t my secret to spill.” Mordred explained simply. “There was too much riding on his secret being kept. If I was the one that ruined destiny, I could never look my tribe in the eye.”

“And now you can’t look your tribe in the eye because of him.” Morgana retorted with a bitter bite.

“Could say the same about you too.” Mordred replied just as cooly. Before Morgana could even open her mouth to speak, Mordred turned back towards the door, not giving her the time of night anymore. 

Morgana’s mouth ground down into a thin line, frustration flickering across the fireplace as the door clicked to a close behind the knight. Her eyes pinched closed. 

Damn it. This day was not going the way she planned. It was going in almost the exact opposite way of how she planned. 

With a huff, she snatched up the goblet sitting on her desk, long abandoned since the news, and brought to her lips. Sip and drink until she could no longer taste the alcohol and her head began to buzz with a fuzz. She needed it after a day like this.

The halls were vacant and void as Mordred made his way towards Merlin’s new bedroom. Someone had relit what remaining candles still clung to the tall, cavernous walls, but it only worked to show the chaos of what came through before. No one had dared to start cleaning up, lest another fight broke out and ruined all their hard work.

Tiny broken pieces of glass crunched beneath his boots, occasionally kicking small enough rock down the hall. His cloak snagged on a broken piece of table, laying on its side, the legs sticking up in the air like a dead insect. Dead carnage, like that of an old battlefield, when the fires were out and the bodies were starting to get cleaned up. He half expected to see the torn remains of tents, blood stained cloaks covering bodies of those who tried to escape, arms stretched out as if to grasp some last strings of hope.

But no. There was none of that here.

Mordred paused, trying to control the shivers in his spine. It had been years since that day, and yet when those memories rose to the surface he felt like a small, helpless child again. Not listened to, unwanted, surviving because he needed to. Because his life was worth more than to just be another statistic. Another tally in the body count. That’s what his father always said, at least.

He pushed the thoughts off to the side. No, now’s not the time to think about that. He had more important things to do, like trying to keep the one person under his protection from dying. 

With some force, he forced his feet to continue walking, making extra careful sure to not step on the remains of glass and rock, like they were the bodies of the fallen. 

It didn’t take long for Mordred to return to the start of the destruction. The hole in the wall down the hallway yawned in the darkness, flickering with a faint light the rest of the hall didn’t have. Someone must have lit the fireplace in Merlin’s room. 

His feet were moving on their own now as he made his way towards the thankfully unbroken doors, two figures standing outside the door. He caught out of the corner of his eye a young man pass by the vacant hole in the wall, however what else beyond that he was not sure. Whoever was in there, they were putting out the lights.

As Mordred got closer, he could see a little better who was standing on guard. A knight and guard in blue. The captain of the city patrol and guard, Mordred presumed, judging by the mud on the knight’s boots. His arms were crossed over his chest, a calm furrow in his brow in the darkness. The kind of sympathetic look a guard gives when faced with a woeful prisoner. 

It was only when Mordred was three paces away that he caught the attention of the two, just as the door clicked open. Out trailed three people; a man, a woman, and a younger man, a young teenager by the looks of him. A husband, a wife, and their son, each one dressed in different levels of physician garb. The older gentleman, bald at the top with hair white on all sides, had the most blood on his garb, followed by his wife.

The knight’s attention was torn between the two, giving Mordred a solid, brow turned down look before turning towards the physician.

“How is he, Bolin?” The knight asked, his accent clipping and strong.

The physician sighed, wiping his hands with a blood stained rag. “Well, what can I say? Besides being thrown around like a rag doll, he should be alright, physically. Nothing he can’t recover from. Mentally, I’m not so sure.” He explained, his eyes not meeting the gaze of either knight.

“The wounds have been cleaned up and we had to do a few stitches, but at the moment he just needs sleep. I gave him some medicine to help with that, he should be out for a day or two. He shouldn’t be going anywhere, whether he wants to or not.” The man’s wife piped up, finishing clipping her medicine bag closed.

“Good. I’ll have some guards keep an eye on him regardless.” The captain nodded, letting out a sigh. He looked like his night had already been long, but was only going to get longer.

“I can keep an eye on him,” Mordred piped up, “after all, it is my job.” This caught the attention of the knight and the physician’s family, all staring at him. The gaze that potentially felt the worst was probably belonging to the other knight, his gaze sharp and direct. It didn’t leave for an almost painfully long time, and Mordred nearly crumpled under it.

“Of… course.” The physician said slowly, eying between the captain and the red caped knight. “Well, we must be going. I’ll leave security details to the two of you.” 

The family hurried off in silence, barely giving a glance back between the two, hoping that they wouldn’t hear any shouting as they left. 

The moment their footsteps faded into obscurity, the captain let out a sharp sigh and turned towards the guard. “Take the night off, Colinsky.”

The looked uncomfortable and disgruntled, but upon hearing his name he perked up. “But sir…”

“You heard Elizabeth, he’s not going anywhere.” The captain explained. While his voice wasn’t harsh or stern, the look on his face was enough for Mordred to know that this order was not one to be argued with.

The guard gingerly nodded. “Of… course, sir. Have a good night.” Slowly, the guard turned and walked towards the clean end of the hallway.

It was only when he was gone too that the captain turned to Mordred. That gaze was still in his eyes, sharp and orderly. Not scary, in a way, not yet. It could get scary, it wasn’t there yet, but it was a gaze that caught and kept Mordred’s best attention.

“So, you’re the knight Camelot assigned to him?” The captain asked, gesturing at the door with a sharp flick of his head.

Mordred swallowed and lightly nodded. “I am.”

“I must admit, your friend is persistent.” The knight explained, his tone growing lighter. “Nearly outran me and my men, even in his state.”

Mordred couldn’t help the feeling of relief flowing through him. He’d hate to be at the business end of this man’s fury. He had a distinct feeling it wouldn’t be like the anger of other superiors he’s had to deal with this past week. Very cool and sharp, like a slice of porcelain. 

“You should see him when he’s actually putting in effort.” Mordred managed to lightly chuckle. 

“This isn’t effort?” The knight asked with an arched brow. 

Mordred shrugged. “He’s a complicated man. Doesn’t take care of himself as much as he should.”

“Speaking of which, why weren’t you there to protect him when the queen got into one of her moods?” The knight asked calmly, looking Mordred sharply in the eye. There’s the reprimanding Mordred was waiting for.

“Like I said, Merlin is a slippery man. He hates to be followed around, prefers to do the following instead. He more often than not can handle himself, has for several years. I just wanted to give him some space to depressurize before things got serious.” Mordred answered as honestly as he could. He wasn’t lying, Merlin was everything like that and more, but Mordred also wasn’t going to admit that he himself also needed to depressurize too. After all, he hadn’t had any alone time for nearly a week, and it was starting to effect him. 

A small, sharp smirk formed on the captain’s face. “Well then, I don’t mean to tell you how to do your job, but you may want to work on keeping an eye on him. Don’t want him to get injured again, do you?”

Mordred shook his head, before he paused. “Wait, you mentioned the queen’s moods. What do you mean by that?”

The captain sighed, looking over his shoulder. As if looking to make sure that no one was coming. He leaned in close. “The queen is known for… not having the best control of her emotions. It's not common, but every once and a while she just... snaps.”

"Snaps?"

"Like a saltine."

“How do you mean?” Mordred asked, arching his brow. He knew women had far more freedoms when it came to expressing their emotions then men did, it was one of his biggest ires about being a man, but from the few times he got to know Morgana in the past, she was a generally calm woman who didn’t let her emotions get easily known. She held her cards close to her chest, so to hear her not having such control over her emotions seemed odd to the young knight.

“The queen is not always known for having the best days.” Tadeus explained, giving a small glance around. “Most of the time she is fine, but if she has a bad day… it’s best to stay out of her way. You were lucky today, she was in an exceptionally good mood when you arrived.” 

“I don’t think she’s ever been so excited to see Merlin in her whole life.” Mordred offered, memories of just that morning’s excited grin crossing his mind, the way she didn’t let him leave her side as they walked down the hall. God, was that really this morning? It felt like weeks ago. 

“Well the queen works in mysterious ways, but she’s got a pretty solid head on her shoulders.” The captain explained. “I for one think she’s doing a good job, considering she’s had no previous training.”

“But not everyone thinks she's doing a good job?” Mordred asked cautiously.

The captain gently shook his head. He gave a look back towards the hallway before he continued in a lower tone. “Not everyone is happy that King Sarum is gone. A lot are, but you’d have to be living under a rock to not hear about the Queen’s past actions against Camelot. I wouldn’t be lying if I said that my wife is a little worried that any day I’m going be shipped off to war.”

“But… the queen hasn’t talked about war.” 

The captain shrugged. “And we are pleasantly surprised for it. But that doesn’t mean the people aren’t in the wrong to assume that any moment that may change. Once they hear about today, I’m sure those fears will be returning.”

Mordred couldn’t help but silently agree. After everything that they had gone through, the proclamations, the fights, the shouting, he didn’t know where the future laid. He could only hope that Morgana wasn’t going to kick them out while Merlin was still in his unconscious state. Mordred might have gotten stronger since his kid days, but he was nowhere near the strength of those like Arthur or Perceval. They could carry an unconscious full grown man with ease, Perceval especially so, but not Mordred. He would pull something first.

Besides, Mordred couldn’t help but want to hope that maybe he could work things out in Merlin’s stead. Perhaps he could fix this broken marriage before it even started.

The captain suddenly piped up. “Well if he’s any good with that magic he has, I’m sure he’ll be alright.” He explained with a shrug.

That got Mordred to pause, his gaze turning to worry. “He doesn’t—.”

Tadeus gestured for Mordred to stand down, like he was one of his soldiers on patrol that night. “I’m not going to say anything to your superiors if that is what you are worried about, but I know what I saw. His eyes flashed several times while we were chasing him, and right before he passed out. He must have been using everything he had to keep himself together.”

Mordred nodded shakily, not really comfortable with the feeling of trust. “He did get hurt badly,” He admitted reluctantly, as if that would do anything to cover up suspicions. He knew it wasn’t going to work very well, the captain saw what he saw. There was no going back from it now, not without more bloodshed. The only thing the young knight could do was hope and pray it didn’t get out further.

“As we saw.” The captain replied. “Like I said, best to stay on the queen’s good side.”

Right as everything fell into silence, Mordred realized he never learned this man’s name. 

“Mordred.” Mordred jutted out his open hand, ready for a shake.

The captain’s glance looked down at it for a moment before his signature smirk returned. “Tadeus.” He replied, finally uncrossing his arms and returning the gesture. “Well, I got to go report to the queen. You going to go do your job?”

“Probably should.” Mordred said with a shrug, turning towards the door. The other side had been silent this whole time, but Mordred knew that it wasn’t always a sign of things going alright.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it. My men are stationed on either end of the hallway. If you need any help, just shout, and they’ll come running.” Tadeus said with a smile, before turning to walk away.

“Good to know.” Mordred called after him, but deep down he knew that if he was shouting, there wasn’t really much two guards could do to help there. At best, the guards on the ground floor would need to be called, where a rope of hastily tied sheets would be gently rustling in the wind. At worst, the physician.

The door creaked as Mordred opened it. The room inside was incredibly dark, besides the faint streams of light coming from the moon outside. Barely any light to discern the room from, but from what he could, he could see Merlin’s form on the bed.

Mordred had always heard people call others ‘pale in the moonlight’, and he had seen such people when he was on patrol on full moon nights, but to say that Merlin looked close to that of a ghost would be an understatement. His body had been cleansed, cleaned of blood, grime, and dust, and covered in a simple white night shirt, but it only seemed to make his condition worse. It only served to help show the contrast between the injuries and bandages against his skin.

He looked so… small, resting in the middle of the impossibly large bed. Laying there with his hands by his sides in one of the most unnatural sleeping positions Mordred had ever seen, looking more akin to a corpse in a morgue. In the light of the moon, it was a contrast of practically black and white, of the duvet against his skin.  

From what he could see that wasn’t covered in the dark duvet and night shirt, fresh bandages covered Merlin’s exposed body, wrapped around his temple, his torso, his arms and fingers. Almost none of his skin was exposed besides his face, and what was made Mordred’s gut turn into a puddle. Old and new wounds layered themselves over one another, some harmless, others severe. If there was scars, Mordred couldn’t see them.

Laying at the end of his bed, resting against his feet and curled up like a sleeping dog, was the same little white dragon that helped him heal Merlin. Aithusa, Morgana said. 

The moment the door clicked behind him, the white dragon lifted her head up, tilting her head. She let out a small chirp, confused. She didn’t expect to see anyone else that night, much less a knight. The nice lady explicitly said that no one was to disturb Merlin's rest. 

Mordred gently gestured his hand at the little dragon, gesturing for her to stand down. “I’m just here to keep an eye on him.” He whispered, letting go of the door handle. His steps were nearly silent as he crossed the large rug on the floor. 

Without a word Mordred slowly sat down on a dark padded chair across the room, hands clasped before him, his gaze not leaving Merlin for a second. Like looking at a body on an autopsy table.

Seeing how helpless Merlin looked, wrapped up in bandages, it worried the young man. If Emrys himself could be taken down by Morgana, then what hope did he have if she ever decided to turn her wrath on him? It wasn’t an impossibility, especially considering how quickly she turned from grinning like a demon to beating the snot out of her fiancé.

Mordred was so focused on being worried about the whole situation that he barely noticed the little dragon pulling herself off the bed, towards the knight’s way. He was only brought back to attention when the weight of a small head was rested on his lap. He looked down.

She whined, looking up at him in concern. As if to ask, “will he be alright?”

The thought pressed in on Mordred’s mind, mixing with his own queries. He reached up and ran his fingers down the crest of the little dragon’s head. “Don’t worry, he’s been through worse before.” He managed to say, a small smile forming on his lips. As if trying to convince himself as much as her that things were going to be fine. 

It was getting late by now, and the darkness wasn’t helping keep Mordred awake. He didn’t know when he fell asleep that night or how, especially in such an uncomfortable position in uncomfortable armor. It was some point between when the little dragon had fallen asleep and when the moon had moved just enough to take its gaze away from Merlin’s near porcelain skin, casting the whole room once more into deep, dark shadow.

Mordred was still not yet used to how long it takes for the sun to rise in the mornings, even after nearly a week of riding through the land. During the day, by the time he saw the sun, it had been three hours since the sunrise. Most of Mordred’s day revolved around the sun, so having it cut for a chunk of the day wasn’t pleasant. 

Needless to say, Mordred found himself waking up rather late that day. The only real reason why he woke up was because of the quiet scraping noise coming from across the room. He sat up with a jolt, nearly a gasp. His gaze immediately magnetized towards the other wall. In return, he caught the worried gaze of a mason workers looking back, worried that he had awoken the sleeping knight. Mordred’s gaze immediately turned to the bed. 

He let out a sigh of relief. He was still there. Still fast asleep, just like how the physician’s wife said he would. Not even moved an inch. 

Just like a corpse. 

The uneasy feeling returned to Mordred’s stomach as he slowly rose to his feet. The only thing that assured the young knight that the manservant wasn’t dead was the gentle rise and fall of his bandaged chest, the occasional glancing of eyes beneath their lids. Even in the warmth of daylight, the young man didn’t look too well. To be sure, he did look better than he did the night before, and most definitely better than right after his fight, but he wasn’t completely free quite yet.

Relieved to see that Merlin was still resting, Mordred was immediately reminded of the soreness of his own body. Sleeping on a chair in armor was not a smart move, and Mordred could feel the weight punishing him now. Like he had fallen asleep with a backpack full of rocks on his back, but all over his body. He remembered making fun of Gwaine for doing nearly the same exact thing and how he couldn’t stop complaining for an hour about how sore he was, well now it was his turn. 

He knew that he should be keeping the armor on, especially when he was technically on duty, but at that moment Mordred couldn’t care. He was too sore to care. If Merlin woke up in his state, there wasn’t much he was going to be able to do to fight back, and if it was anyone else, well they’d have to get through the rest of the castle to get to Merlin. Besides, what good would armor do against being thrown through a wall?

Slowly, Mordred reached up to change out of the heavy metal chains. For a small moment he wondered where the little dragon had gone off to, but it wasn’t a big concern for his at the moment. She had probably run off to some other part of the castle. 

The moment the chainmail was off of him, Mordred let out a sigh of relief. The feeling of the weight being quite literally lifted from his shoulder was satisfying beyond compare. He let the heavy pounds fall to the floor with a metallic ‘thump!’

He rubbed his eyes, pulling his shoulders. Fortunately for Mordred, he didn’t have much planned for the day. Just keep an eye on Merlin. 

In the light of day, Mordred was able to get a good look at the room Morgana had set up for her new fiancé, and honestly, Mordred was surprised and a little jealous.

Clearly, the queen had gone full out with the new colors of her kingdom, especially with decorating this room. No expenses were cut short in ensuring this room was up the best that could be acquired. All the furniture looked new, newly polished, stained, and carved. Everything that had been impossibly dark the night before was now in a deep hue of blue, reminding Mordred a lot of a morning glory. Blue drapes, blue duvet, blue rug, blue blinds around the bed. Each one trimmed with or held neatly together by a sunflower yellow sash. It nicely accentuated the pale grey color of stone the walls were made out of and the dark stains of the wood, a deep, rich brown. The only thing that wasn’t blue was the couches in front of the gently burning fireplace, which were made of wood and covered in a patterned fabric of great detail, mainly consisting of browns and greens. Nicks were evident across the exposed carved wood, and in some places the threads were almost bare. They were clearly older than the rest of the room’s furniture. 

Slowly, Mordred made his way towards the windows. A lot of them were quite tall, letting in tons and tons of bright morning light. Making his way towards them, he was greeted by the sight of a couple of doors, seemingly opening up to nothing.

Of course, curiosity was strong. With only a little caution, Mordred opened the doors and into the sunlight. It was a small stone balcony, overlooking the whole kingdom! With eagerness he stepped out onto the balcony and leaned against the rail, feeling the wind gently caress his face. The view had to have been one of the best Mordred had ever seen, and that did include that one time he crawled to the top of Camelot castle. He could see all of the sparkling capital town from there, as well as the emerald forest and growing fields beyond. The courtyard loomed below, reminding Mordred just how high up they were. He couldn’t hear any of the voices, but he could see them bustling around, colorful little people doing their daily chores. 

To his left and right, looming behind the castle, was the mountain range, still capped with their snowy peaks. A thin line of mighty peaks that guarded the kingdom from the ocean just on the other side. 

It was a shame Merlin was still in bed, he’d love this view. 

Just as Mordred was about to look back, he felt something brush against his hand. Looking down, it was the little dragon, Aithusa. She let out a giddy croon.

“Oh hello there, where did you come from?” Mordred couldn’t help but ask, reaching down to pat her on the head. “I would have thought you were off exploring.” 

The little dragon looked over her shoulder at the bed, where Mordred could now see some of the edges of the blanket had been disturbed.

“I see,” Mordred replied, “You hid under the bed when the sun came up to get some extra shut eye.”

Aithusa eagerly nodded, before letting out a big yawn, revealing small canine like teeth. In a moment as fast as they were shown, the faster they disappeared as she closed her mouth, looking up at him expectantly. It reminded Mordred of a cat or dog yawning; it should be terrifying to see all those teeth specifically designed to tear flesh apart, and yet when they did it it was cute. 

Mordred couldn’t help but chuckle as she lightly stamped her feet. “Alright. Let’s get going then.”

When he turned back to the room, the little dragon stumbled after him, as if she was trying to stop him from leaving. But long legs barely tripped over her as he made his way towards the door, ready to go on a search for some food for himself and the little dragon. There was two sets of doors sitting near one another, one double set, the other single. Mordred knew that the front door to Merlin’s room was the double door, so to wherever the single door lead to, Mordred didn’t know. He’d have to check it out when he returned. 

It was only the moment they reached out for the door handle that the little dragon came to a halt, whining. Her big puppy dog like gaze catching onto him. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Mordred asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

Aithusa whined again. She looked back at Merlin, as if the simple gaze would explain all the problems.

“Don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere. He’ll be right here when we get back.” He explained before muttering to himself under his breath, “Hopefully.”

But that did not seem to appease the little dragon. In fact, Mordred was pretty sure that it wasn’t what she was thinking at all. With another look between the two she whined louder. She tried to bark and chirp, as if attempting to talk, but it wasn’t working. It only seemed to make her seem more frustrated.

Mordred looked up to see if it caught the attention of the mason workers working on the wall, which it had. A couple of the men were looking over with concern, just wondering what was going on.

Before Mordred could even open his mouth to talk, he felt another presence pressing on his mind. Thoughts that were not his creation swirled with his own, lighter, more child like. It shuffled through his mind like it was looking through a pile of papers for a memory. An inkling of an idea crossed Mordred’s mind. Was this what it felt like when he communicated mentally with someone else? 

Memories of conversations of times long past were carefully plucked from his childhood, where one of the leaders of the village explained the concept of Dragon Lords to the group of children gathered for their daily lessons. Memories of how the old man calmly explained how such could command a dragon to do whatever it is that they wished, and the dragon would have to obey, no matter what. 

Other memories twirled around the corners of the thoughts, such as the story of Gerendor the Heartless, the only dragon ever to break the bond between dragon and Dragon and Dragon Lord, killing his own Dragon Lord in the process, but those were stories for another day.

Suddenly, things clicked into place. A look of realization crossed Mordred’s face.

“Merlin’s a Dragon Lord, isn’t he?” Mordred asked calmly, returning his gaze towards the little dragon. 

The little dragon nodded. 

“And he told you to stay before he left and got himself knocked out, didn’t he?” 

Aithusa nodded again. 

“I see.” Mordred hummed to himself and pondered for a moment. It wouldn’t be easy to get the little dragon to leave her allowed location, and even if he could pick up the little dragon, which wouldn’t be easy, Mordred didn’t know what would happen if he did so. Would she get hurt if she left such a range?

“How about this,” Mordred offered, turning to the little dragon. “You keep watch over him, and I go get food. Does that sound good?” 

The little dragon chirped and nodded, liking the sound of the plan. There wasn’t much the little dragon could do, but she could keep an eye on her lord.

“Alright, I’ll be right back then.” With that, Mordred hurried off to go find something to feed a growing dragon and a knight who hadn’t managed to eat any dinner the night before.

As the days went by, the mason workers slowly filled the gaping hole in the wall, slowly covering the stark reminder of Morgana’s wrath.

Merlin stayed in bed for all of the day and into the next, recovering from his wounds. Mordred and Aithusa would often times watch from across the room, content on eating their food quietly and entertaining themselves. Aithusa seemed to deem it quite fun to take one of the pillows from the couch and wrestle with it, where she only stopped when she almost knocked a vase off of a table. 

Mordred, on the other hand, sought to it to gather information. Gathering what few things he needed from his own room, the same simple guest room he stayed in the last time he came to this kingdom, Mordred satisfied himself with asking questions to every manservant, maid, knight, or guard that came up and asking them about the land and how they feel about recent events, before writing notes about the situation at hand. An almost diary, if you will. He wouldn’t call it a diary, as that would suggest personal feelings and contemplation, but he had to get a clear picture so that he could keep his head on straight. 

Or even on at all. 

So far, his quickly growing list looked like this:

• Morgana is trying her best, and is relatively succeeding, at running the kingdom, however she is struggling. 
  • Most advisors are not helping her to the best of their abilities, and even if they are, she’s not listening.
  • Several sections of land are rumored to wanting to leave, however, solid proclamations have not yet been made. 
  • Her mental state is not helping.
• She doesn’t let many get close to her, and apparently her mood can be volatile (needs to be confirmed though). No one knows for certain why. Sir Tadeus, the captain of the guard, suggests trying to stay on her good side. I will try to do this.
  • Apparently, what she did to Merlin is not the first time. Apparently she’s done the same thing to three others; two guards and a maid. The maid was thrown through an open door and only suffered some cuts and bruises, however she quit hours later. One guard was thrown through a wall in the horse stalls, and the other was thrown out a window. He did not survive. 
  • Rumors as to why she acts cold and distant vary across the board, from her always being like this, to stress, to alcoholism, to use of magic (unlikely, but not impossible), to wandering womb syndrome (what even is that? Wombs don't wander), to she's still recovering from the trauma from the pit. No one knows for certain what happened to her down there, as anyone who does either is imprisoned, dead, or in exile, but there are plenty of rumors, some of which make me shudder. If only half of them are true, then no wonder she is stressed. 
• Her rule is quiet. The people do not know what she is planning before she does it. She hasn’t done anything yet against the people, but the people are still worried.
  • King Sarum apparently wasn’t a quiet king when it came to the matters of his court. People knew months in advance before he did anything, whereas Morgana does not let people know beforehand before she does something. 
  • Combined with the stories of her attacking Camelot, the people worry that she will one day just up and proclaim war without warning. 
• Most people do not outright object to her rule, there are parts that they like, but they are not eager about it either.
• Magic is still a strained subject for most people, with reactions across the board. 
  • Perhaps this reaction might be due to my connections with Camelot, may want to change and go somewhere else before continuing such questions. 

Mordred gently tapped his pen against his chin, leaning back in Merlin’s desk set, wondering what else he should add to the list. He couldn’t think of anything at the moment, however that could easily change at a moment’s notice. He always kept his notebook on hand, just in case he ever had to jot down some notes.

He was glad Gwaine taught him how to read and write. When Leon and Gwaine learned that most of the group didn’t know how to write, they had set out with the help of Merlin and Gwen to teach them. It had been a rather fun day, learning how to write, although Mordred had to admit it was kind of difficult. Gwaine was the one who helped Mordred, and honestly Mordred’s life had gone for the better since. No longer did he have to stare at sheets of paper and wonder what the little scribbles meant, he could actually know. It was like knowing the key to a secret symbolism.

He wondered what it would have been like if the Druids from his tribe insisted on having a stronger written language. Not many of them knew how to read and write, and many of their stories and lessons weren’t written down unless incredibly important. Perhaps a lot more of those stories would have been saved if they were written down.

Or they would have burned up, just like the rest of them. 

At that thought, Mordred put his hands on his knees and hopped to his feet. Nope. Not going to think about that today. Not right now. Nope, just going to shove that off into a box and lock it. Save it for a later day.

Instead, he turned his gaze towards the second set of doors leading out of the room. He had seen some maids and manservants come from that way, so clearly it lead to a room. What room, Mordred did not know, and he intended to rectify that right now. 

Opening the door, Mordred found himself in a room semi similar in design to Merlin’s bedroom, but without any sleeping furniture. It was a rather comfortable looking sitting room, complete with tall bookshelves, desks, a couch or two gazing the fireplace with a low set table before it, and dark emerald drapes covering the walls. It made the room look dark and cool, like the dark crevices of a forest after the sun had fallen behind the peaks, yet had not set for the night.

It was a clean, elegant room, but just like Merlin’s room, there was nothing that suggested someone was properly living in it. No personal knick knacks, no portraits hanging over the fire, no sprawled out sets of paper. It was as if it was all set up for someone to come in and paint a portrait of it. 

Across the room, exactly across the door leading from Merlin’s room, was another door, exactly like it. Once again, Mordred’s interest was piqued. Strolling across the room, he reached for the door handle, only to find it locked. Before Mordred could do anything beyond that, he was startled by a voice.

“Sir Mordred?” A high pitched, feminine voice spoke up. The knight perked up. Standing in the doorway leading from his room, was the maid with the round face and red hair. Hecate, he thinks her name is? “Beg pardon, but what are doing trying to enter the queen’s chambers?”

That got Mordred’s attention. “This is the way towards the queen’s chambers?” He asked the rhetorical question.

The maid nodded, brow continuing to furrow. “Yes? She doesn’t allow anyone in except for her maids.” She continued to explain. 

Mordred didn’t need to know beyond that, Morgana’s privacy was her own, but he was still curious. However, the moment he opened his mouth, the door to the common room opened, revealing the person in question. 

“Leave him be, Hecate, he’s merely doing his job.” The calm, clear voice of Morgana proclaimed behind him, making both maid and knight whirl around in surprise. 

Dressed in a simple gown of blue, embroidered in white, to Mordred, Morgana looked as tired as Merlin was. While she carried herself properly, shoulders strong and head held high, there was a look in her eye that spoke to her soul’s tiredness. In her hands she held a stack of letters, carried carefully in her perfectly manicured hands. She must have just come from her office.

“Your majesty!” Hecate said in surprise, before giving a deep curtsey. Mordred, on awkward instinct, gave a small bow. “I was just—.”

Morgana held up her hand. “I know what you were doing.” She explained calmly, barely looking the woman in the eye. “And while I appreciate the loyalty, it does no good to be so feisty. So long as he isn’t trying to enter my quarters, he is merely doing his job.” 

The maid nervously nodded and bowed. “Y-yes, your majesty.” She didn’t look up until either of the other two spoke.

Morgana let out a gentle exasperated sigh. “Leave us.” She ordered, gently giving a stern look towards the maid.

The maid swallowed and nodded, bowing once more. “Yes, your majesty.” She replied, before turning and hurrying away. It was only when the door she left through closed behind her that anyone spoke up.

By the time the door closed, Morgana noticed that the knight she knew as Mordred was still bowing to her, albeit awkwardly. Like he was frozen into position, bowing nervously.

“You don’t need to bow to me, Mordred,” Morgana’s voice dropped a little as she turned towards her bedroom door.

“Forgive me, I don’t really want to be thrown through any walls.” He immediately retorted.

Morgana paused. She sent a glare back his way. “I’m not going to throw you through any walls.”

“I’m sure Merlin would disagree.” Mordred retorted quietly, keeping his voice under his breath. Luckily for him, if Morgana caught it, she didn’t say a word. “You don’t have to be so mean to her,” Mordred continued to offer, crossing his arms, giving Morgana a look. 

“It’s not her job to protect my quarters.” Morgana replied just as simply, not catching his gaze, “She shouldn’t be reprimanding you like she’s the head matron.”

The moment of silence that followed and flowed between them was stifling. Mordred felt his hands returning to his sides awkwardly. He hadn’t talked to Morgana since the incident, and had made no attempts to do so. Part of it was out of duty to Merlin, the other was out of spite and a small bit of fear. He still didn’t want to get on her bad side, and wanted to give her a few days to calm down. Honestly, he wanted to give her just a little more time.

“I’ll just get going, then.” Mordred offered, turning on his heel with a thumb jerked over his shoulder.

“Wait.” Morgana’s calm, orderly voice called after the knight. Mordred came to a halt, but did not say a word. “How is he?”

Mordred shrugged. “He’s still asleep.” He offered simply, gesturing back at the doorway. He didn't know what else to say. 

“Is Aithusa still with him?” She asked, taking a step closer. There was an earnest look in her gaze, as if the thing she cared about most in that very moment was the little dragon that she talked about. 

Mordred shrugged again. “She is. Can’t leave the room until Merlin wakes up, though.” Another moment of silence went by as Morgana nodded. “I should really get back to him…”

She didn’t give him a word of affirmation, her only note of approval was the hard nod she gave his way. The moment Mordred was gone, she let out a sigh. Not even a week here and he was treating her like the rest of them. 

She paused, looking at the second door in the common room, the one across the way from her own. The door that lead to his room.

She really should go check on him, and yet, her feet did not move.

Now that she had calmed down, Morgana had somewhat, a little, just a tiny bit, regretted beating him senseless. She saw the bloodstain on the wall. If Mordred was to be believed she had really hurt his head, cracked his skull and knocked his brain around like a marble. The kind of damage that can really change a person. If it weren’t for healing spells being instilled quickly, who knows who would have woken up? Would he have even woken up at all?

However, no matter if her hand hesitated towards the door handle, she couldn’t take a step further. It didn’t feel right. Not just with Mordred in there, but… It seemed a bit out of character for her. Not to mention, just a touch creepy. 

Imagine if he woke up while you were standing there, the idea popped into her mind without permission. Needless to say, it would be a very awkward encounter, among many other things. No, no. She doesn’t need to check.

With a turn, she headed towards her own room instead, the flash of her eyes unlocking her bedroom door without the use of a key.

The moment she stepped inside, Morgana felt her heart give a little release. Her room was one of the only places in the whole of the castle where she could be at peace, most especially during days like this. Some days all she wanted to do was be left alone, but that wasn't much of an option for a queen. Queens, rulers, need to be constantly available, even if they don't wish to be. Even if they needed time to perfect the mask of which they wore, even if all they wanted to do was scream. 

It took all of her effort to keep a perfect face while her guests were here, and these past few days were putting a strain on her. Morgana was tired.

With a sigh, Morgana sat down on her bed, the stack of letters she hadn’t been able to get to back in her office in her hands. After that conversation, she had no interest in reading them anymore. 

A bottle of wine sat on her vanity table, alongside bottles of perfume and cake tins of make up. 

Morgana let her hand fall to her side. No, she didn’t need a drink. Drinking won't help her in a time like this, even if it would give her that familiar warm feeling in her gut that always chased away for a few minutes the fear and give her a little courage. What she needed was a nap.

With a flick of her hand and a flash of gold, the doors to the room locked and the blinds closed. Her bedroom was soon enveloped in shadow, just enough darkness to allow her to sleep.

“Guards,” Morgana called out the door as she began to unlace the top of her dress, knowing the men standing outside could fully and well hear her. “I am going to be taking a nap for an hour. If anyone comes wishing to speak with me that is not cripplingly dire, tell them to come back in an hour’s time.” She ordered simply.

“Yes, your majesty.” The muffled voices of the guards called back, not that Morgana gave it much notice.

With a simple shrug, Morgana’s blue silk dress slipped off her body, revealing only her cream white chemise underneath. Slipping off her shoes and letting down her hair, Morgana felt her soul getting ready more and more. With near eagerness she crawled into her impossibly large bed, and for a small moment, Morgana felt like she could breathe. 

She wished she could have little Aithusa by her side, but with her staying firmly in Merlin’s room, that wasn’t going to be possible. So, instead Morgana reached out, grabbed one of her pillows, and wrapped herself around it. It wasn’t anywhere near comparable to an actual warm body sharing her bed, but it would do for a short nap.

It didn’t take long for sleep to envelop her, but not before she wondered just when her fiancé-to-be was going to wake up.

If he was going to wake up at all.

Chapter Text

When Merlin finally woke up, he was greeted by a feeling of being enveloped in softness.

He groaned, gently shuffling in his blanket before his body scolded him for doing so. Where was he? He felt sore, but not as sore as he had once been. More so a soreness of someone who hadn’t used any of their muscles for a few days. 

“Glad to see you’re awake.” The sound of Mordred’s voice called over the room, getting Merlin blink rapidly to try and get his eyesight back. 

Sitting across the room on an old couch with a book on his lap, quill in one hand and ink pot in the other, with a large dog sized dragon sitting at his feet, was Mordred, looking as comfortable and right as ever. He wasn’t dressed in his armor, only a clean red shirt and dark brown slacks, his boots set off beside the seat. He looked as if he belonged in his spot. 

“What happened?” Merlin muttered, his bandaged hand reaching up to touch his forehead, bandages meeting bandages. He felt like someone had run him over with the horse drawn carriage they had come in on. What time was it? What day was it? Hell, where was he?

He felt like he had been asleep for days in the same exact position. In fact, Merlin was pretty sure he feels exactly how he felt when he was poisoned by that drink that was supposed to be for Arthur; sore and bedridden for days. 

“Well, Morgana threw you through a wall, you blacked out, woke up, and then in what I assumed to be absolute delirium, you decided to run.” Mordred explained simply, setting down his ink pot and quill. Aithusa immediately perked from her spot by his feet, immediately making her way towards the bed to peek at him from over the edge. 

“All I can remember last is the guards seeing me.” Merlin muttered, his throat impossibly sore. He felt like he hadn’t had a drink in days. He could really do with some water. 

“According to them you weren’t able to run far before you collapsed.” Mordred continued to explain, getting up and crossing the room with strides. Merlin barely noticed as the knight picked up a water pitcher and began to pour him some water.

Merlin groaned, letting his head fall back against the headrest before flinching in pain. “Damn it.”

“Watch your language.” Mordred retorted, before holding out the metal goblet for Merlin to take.

“I thought you were supposed to be here for my own protection?” Merlin asked with a look, before taking the goblet. The moment the water passed his lips he took deep heavy gulps of water. Just feeling the water roll down his throat was enough to give him some relief. There was no better way to describe it than as soul quenching.

Mordred shrugged. “I can’t protect you from your own idiocy.”

Merlin glared at him again as he took his goblet from his lips. “You’re the one who told me to tell her about my magic.”

“Yeah, I didn’t expect you to tell her after mocking her to her face. That is like quite literally poking a bear before opening their cage!” Mordred cried out, giving Merlin a look.

Merlin didn’t really need the analogy, but he was right. “Yeah, I know. It was dumb.”

It was a long moment of silence as Merlin finished his glass of water, contemplating what it was that was going to happen from there. “Well, what are we going to do now?” Mordred offered.

Merlin arched a brow. “We?”

Mordred shrugged. “You are stuck in bed for the time being.”

“Why do you want to help me? Everyone knows you don’t like me, and everyone knows I don’t like you.”

“Well, besides the fact that is my job and duty, I’m still trying to be your friend.” Mordred said just as pointedly, 

Merlin sighed. Before he opened his mouth to speak, a knocking at the door arrived. Before either of them could get up from the bed, the door to the bedroom opened and in popped a familiar head to Mordred.

“I heard squabbling from the hall. I assume the queen’s fiancé is awake?” The face of an elderly gentleman very familiar to Mordred poked inside the doorway, much to Merlin’s surprise. 

“He is, for the most part.” Mordred replied casually, barely moving from his spot. “Although he is being stubborn as usual.”

A dark, almost sad look crossed Merlin’s face. “No I’m not.”

“Well it does seem stubbornness does seem to be your key trait.” The older gentleman said with some jesting, putting down his large leather bag.

“No, I’m not her fiancé.” Merlin reiterated, shuffling in the bed. Surely he had heard the news. Surely the queen had told him?

Everyone paused. “What?”

“She called it off, remember?” Merlin looked towards Mordred’s way, as if asking for him to confirm his side of the story. Sure he was knocked around like a marble, but surely he remembered hearing that too, right? That she had given up the treaty?

Mordred merely shrugged. 

“Well then you better discuss with the queen about that, for I think she might have other intentions.” The physician explained with barely a care towards Merlin’s concerns, continuing to shuffle through his supplies until a small dragon bumped his leg. “Oh hello, little one.” The physician patted the little dragon atop her head, at which she crooned at.

Merlin couldn’t help a little smile crawl across his lips. “Seems she likes you.” He  said with a chuckle.

“Well the little one has been an excellent patient of mine in the past.” The physician explained before giving her a final pat. “I’ll check on your wound later.”

For a strong moment Merlin couldn’t help but wonder if he was dreaming still. Everyone was so nice here, it didn’t make sense. He was nothing but a dark blemish on their cheerful attitude. He had only been awake for a few minutes, and the world didn’t make any sense to him. 

“Oh where are my manners?” The physician continued, holding his hand out for Merlin to shake. “My name is Bolin, I’m the royal physician.”

Merlin gingerly took the man’s hand and shook it. He lightly flinched, his shoulder’s flaring with pain. This did not go beyond the gaze of the physician.

“Well before you go round two with her again, let me check your wounds.” Bolin explained, before reaching into his bag for supplies.

The inspection of wounds went on in silence. Mordred sat on Merlin’s bed, along with Aithusa. Both watching as Merlin got checked over by the physician. Bandages slowly peeled off his body, revealing healed and mostly healed wounds. Some wounds stuck to the bandages, sticky and red. Wounds that still needed a few days to heal. It was clear that the blue quartz Mordred used to heal Merlin’s head wound was still working, but it wasn’t done quite yet.

“I must say, you are immensely lucky to have no broken bones. Most people in your condition would have cracked their skulls like an egg.” Colin explained, barely even looking up from his look. 

The manservant and knight looked at one another with desperate looks, as if their ruse was soon to be uncovered. “Yep, pretty lucky.” Merlin managed to let out a light chuckle.

“Tell me, are there any spells that I should know about that may have hindered or accelerated your treatment?” Bolin once again barely looked up from his work as he readjusted the bandage.

Both knight and manservant perked up. “Wait what?”

“The queen explained the situation to me, do not worry. My lips are sealed.” The physician’s lips gave the tiniest smirk before turning back to his work. Even if the two wanted to speak up about it, there was nothing they could say.

“Take off your shirt.” Merlin did as he was told slowly, revealing the remaining bandages, bruises, and scars too far gone to heal. “Do you feel dizzy, weak, or numb?” Bolin continued to ask, reaching out for a bandage wrapped around Merlin’s torso.

Merlin shook his head. “No, nothing that points towards internal bleeding.”

Bolin arched his brow. “So you know your medicine.”

“I used to be the physician’s apprentice along with being King Arthur’s manservant.” Merlin explained with a shrug.

“A taxing job, I’m sure.”

“Well I didn’t get much free time.” Merlin made a light comment, flinching as one of the bandages caught on a wound that still needed to heal. “I just feel like I’ve gone through a particularly brutal training session.”

“That’s not surprising.” The physician commented, before pulling off the remains of the bandages. It was only when he was almost done wrapping around a new set that he spoke up once more. “You have seen a lot of combat, haven’t you young man.”

Merlin didn’t want to talk about how the older gentleman knew his chaotic lifestyle, but he also wasn’t one to turn away help. He didn’t exactly have the chance to do so, now did he? “It comes with the job.” He explained with a shrug, turning his gaze towards the window and the bright blue day that sat beyond.

Mordred’s brow furrowed. Under the bruises, Merlin's skin was lightly scattered with faint, pale scars. Burn scars, knife scars, injury scars, scars that he couldn’t even identify.  It wasn’t as if he was covered with them, but there was more than he expected to see. 

Everyone who lives life has scars, even if you live a peaceful, soft, quiet life. It’s inevitable. Sometimes scars show up for literally no reason. Now, Mordred would be the biggest liar if he thought Merlin lived a quiet life, that’s not possible when you are Arthur’s ever eager manservant, meant to do literally everything with. A taxing job such as that always inevitably ended up with more scars than what you may see on another servant or a wealthy merchant. However, there was more than Mordred expected. 

This wasn’t the few and minimal scars that are seen on a normal manservant of the same caliber as Merlin, with burnt fingertips and small gashes of a knife slip. This wasn’t the vast horrifying array of scars of someone who had been thoroughly tortured or someone who had taken one too many beatings, but was more akin to the scars of a knight’s or a hunter’s lifestyle. An occupation and lifestyle of which a lot of scars are an inevitable outcome and should be accepted.

‘Scars of experience, of a life well lived’, as his mentor would say when he was a child. 

However, scars like these weren’t usually seen on the body of a manservant, and even with Merlin’s weird situation with Arthur, Mordred didn’t expect so many scars. It kind of looked like Merlin treated himself like a wall of meat when all other options failed. It was scary, and it was worrying.

“Where did these come from?” Mordred asked, gesturing at, well, all of him. 

It took a moment for Merlin to respond. “Around.” He explained simply, more intent on watching what the physician did than admit his scars history to Mordred. 

“Why didn’t I see those during your bachelor party?” 

Merlin shrugged. “Too dark, too drunk, I suppose. Even I wouldn’t have been able to see my scars under those conditions.”

“Does Arthur know?”

Merlin swallowed. Yet another sensitive spot, both physically and mentally. “He does. He was there for about half of them.” He explained, reaching up and running his finger over three raking scars on his shoulder, like that from an animal. 

“Ah.” Mordred fell into a small moment of silence before speaking up again. “Do the rest of the knights know?”

Merlin shrugged. “Some do, some don’t.”

“Gwaine?”

“Knows I’ve tumbled around more than the average person. Leon’s seen some of them, but not all. I’d say Elyan and Perceval are the only two now who don’t know at all.”

“This one looks nasty.” Mordred pointed at the one on Merlin’s chest, a burn wound left by fiery magic what felt like a lifetime ago. When he was still technically a boy himself. 

“Yeah, that one hurt.” Merlin lightly flinched under his touch and gaze. 

“Well, to prevent any more scars, I recommend getting a good night’s rest and keep doing whatever it is you were doing.” The physician recommended, right as he finished wrapping up his final bandage.

Merlin nodded, he shifted in his bed. He wanted his night shirt back, thank you very much.

At that moment, Mordred decided that he had work to do. “I’m going to go talk to Morgana.” Mordred proclaimed, getting up from his seat.

“And talk about what?”

Mordred paused. “Well, surely she would be eager to know that you’re awake.”

“What, so she can throw me through another wall?” Merlin muttered half under his breath, arms tempted to cross over his chest.

Mordred wanted to scold the injured manservant for thinking that, but upon self reflection, it wasn’t an impossible scenario between the two. “Regardless, she’s going to have to know eventually.”

“Well, if you are going to do that, I am going to go back to my studies.” The physician explained, rising to his feet, slipping what remained of his supplies back into his work bag. “So far your healing is right on schedule, if not a little faster, but I would still suggest bedrest for another day or so. If you feel up for it, perhaps if you know some healing spells you can use them?” Bolin offered, giving Merlin a look.

Merlin hesitatingly shrugged. “I know a few.” He reluctantly admitted, not looking the man in the eye.

“Well then use those to take care of some of those wounds. If you feel your health deteriorating or if you need anything, just have your knight come and get me.”

“Mordred’s not my knight,” Merlin quickly interjected, shifting in his seat.

The physician’s mouth curled in a small smirk. “Well beg pardon, but that is the whole reason why he came here, is it not?”

Merlin closed his mouth, and by the time he opened his mouth to speak again, the physician was already closing the door behind him, and Mordred was long gone. He let out a sigh, turning towards the only other living member in the room: Aithusa, and she was a whirling concoction of emotions.

“Well,” Merlin sighed, moving to get out of the bed, “I suppose it’s just us two now.”

However, the moment Merlin’s foot touched the floor, Aithusa let out a loud chirp. Merlin flinched, lifting his feet, however the moment he let his feet touch the floor again Aithusa chirped again, bordering on a growl. It was in that moment that Merlin knew what she was doing.

“You’re not going to let me out of this bed, are you?” He asked rhetorically, looking the little dragon dead in the eye. The little dragon shook her head no. 

Merlin let out a sigh. So much for getting things done.

After Mordred and the physician left, Merlin didn’t have much to do. For hours he sat in that room with nothing to do, with only Aithusa to keep him company. At some point Merlin managed to convince the little dragon to let him walk around the room, but she was stubborn with not letting him leave the room. Aithusa was still understandably miffed about being ordered to stay in the room against her will for a few days, so if she was forced to stay in the room, then so did he. On top of that, she wasn’t exactly a cheerful companion at the moment. Every time Merlin would so much as glance at the door, she would glare his way. As if to say ‘you’re not allowed to leave this time’. Not that there was much that she could do to stop him, but she’d find a way. After all, she might be small, but a tackle is a tackle, and Aithusa was great at tackling things. 

So, all that Merlin was left to do was to tend to his wounds and keep the little grumpy dragon entertained, who Merlin found that she a lot of fun crawling under the blinds and popping her head out from beneath them, so that it looked like she wore a veil, or a cloak. She looked silly, and she knew it. 

The wounds that covered Merlin’s body weren’t horrible. They had healed a lot during his sleep, however if he wanted to make sure that he didn’t get a slew more of scars, then he’d have to do something now. The bruises and small scratches didn’t really bother Merlin, and thus he didn’t deal with them, but the larger ones were much more concerning and would take a lot longer to deal with. Well, it was a good thing that it seemed that all he had was time. Once he was done, all that remained to remind him of being thrown through a few walls was the soreness, scrapes, bruises.

Merlin was tempted to start unpacking, but if he did so then he would have to repack when he was eventually ordered to leave. However, he couldn’t stay in the bed forever, so Merlin found himself reading books that he had already read again while sitting on the couch. It got a little repetitive after a while reading the same story he had just finished, but it helped stave off boredom for a bit. However, eventually even that began to become boring, and thus Merlin became fascinated with exploring the room (within Aithusa’s permission, of course).

The moment he had woken up that morning, Merlin was surprised by the size of the room. He wasn't able to see its size nearly quite as well the first time he came in, but now in the daylight he was met with a room large enough to hold three of his old bedrooms. With large windows to let in streaming daylight, and plush couches made ample room for him to laze around in, the room felt both cozy and grandeurous. The walls were rather plain of artwork, and the bookshelves were rather empty of books or any other sort of doodads. All the desk held was some paper and the ink that Mordred had left behind, but no pens. As well as this, there was plenty of room for more furniture and artwork, but overall, the room was pretty nice. 

Not that Merlin was going to enjoy it for long, but regardless. 

Mordred was right, the view outside his window was beautiful. If he was going to be staying here, he would never take this view for granted. Like watching the world from the clouds. But, considering that as soon Morgana knew he was awake he was going to be sent off, he might as well enjoy it while he can. It was a view that he could never forget. 

Watching the golden hours dip over the kingdom, casting every quaint little house and cobbled street in a beautiful orange-red glow. Amata was a beautiful city, and Merlin had to admit, a small part of him would miss it when he was gone. He wished that he had any sort of artistic talent so that he could paint this beautiful view and keep it for himself.

It was only when the sky had long since started to fall dark and the fireplace had been long since lit that Merlin heard someone knock at his bedroom door, something that finally pulled his view from the city. 

He cast a look back at the couch, where the little dragon sat in her massive pile of pillows. “Am I allowed to open the door, your highness?” Merlin asked Aithusa with all the sarcasm he could muster. 

Aithusa gave the most graceful nod she could muster, as if she was grand queen of all of Albion. Merlin chuckled as he made his way towards the door; with her sass she could be. When Merlin opened the door, all he found was a tray of warm food sitting there on the other side, as well as a fresh pitcher of water

He looked over his shoulder and gestured with the tray. “You hungry?” He asked rhetorically towards the little dragon, who immediately nodded eagerly. 

The moment Merlin put the tray of food onto the low sitting table Aithusa hopped eagerly, couch shaking from her weight. Merlin supposed that if he was to stay here longer, which he highly doubted, he would have to get used to that.

The tray consisted of two bowls and one plate. One bowl was filled with a warm, thick, pale yellow soup, probably loaded potato soup, and the other was filled with chunks of raw meat, probably deer. The plate had several thick slices of toasted bread on it, most likely for the soup. 

“This is yours,” Merlin gently pushed the bowl full of raw chunks of meat towards Aithusa’s side of the tray, “And this is mine.” Merlin pulled the bowl full of soup towards his way.

Eagerly Aithusa dug into her food, trying to eat chunk after chunk of meat as politely as she could without dropping anything onto the ground. She wasn’t always successful, but that was their little secret. 

Merlin couldn’t help but watch as she scarfed away her food, watching her ribs and the bandage that wrapped around her. It wasn’t very hard to see that, despite having just over a couple of months to recover, she still wasn’t doing so well. She was still thin, she was still injured. She hadn’t eaten well at all while down in that pit, and to Merlin that just would not stand. 

Her well being was supposed to be his job to take care of, and he failed in that regard. He failed to take care of her, and because of that she got hurt. Because of his inaction, he left her with Morgana in a pit for her to be injured and starved. 

And that just would not stand for Merlin.

“Aithusa…” Merlin started, pulling his spoon from his lips. The little dragon paused for a moment, looking up from her meat. “Look, I’m sorry about what happened to you.”

Aithusa chirped, tilting her head off to the side. If a dragon could look confused, she would right then.

“It’s just it’s my job to keep you safe, and I didn’t do that. I’m sorry.” 

Aithusa properly came to a stop now, leaning back onto the couch in thought. She chirped a little, confused, but the puppy dog look she sent his way was enough to speak volumes. “At least you’re here now.”

Merlin could only muster her a smile and a small thank you before returning to his food. It would take him a while until he could forgive himself for losing her. It would take him a while to forgive himself for a lot of things, but at least he could start here. Besides, whenever he was going to be shipped out, he could take Aithusa with him. The idea made him feel a little bit better. Granted, where exactly he was going to put Aithusa when he got home was going to be a bit of a problem, but nothing he couldn’t sort out. …Even if it meant keeping Aithusa in the little hovel until she was too big to fit through the door, like another prison.

Merlin shoved the thought to the side. It was a puzzle for him to deal with later.  Besides, he had to sort out his priorities. 

His first objective was ensuring the future and security of Camelot. He had to ensure its safety, everything else was optional. If that meant that he had to stay and not kill Morgana, then so be it. At the base of all bases, Arthur, Camelot, and everyone who lived there’s safety was what was required. Everything else was extra benefits. 

The second priority was to kill Morgana, even if that meant stranding him there in Amata. Morgana having an entire army on her side and a past full of anger aimed directly at Camelot, was not a good thing. The only problem was who would take Amata. He wasn’t going to leave Amata to Prince Aldus, and he wasn’t going to leave it completely leaderless. At the very least, if he managed to kill Morgana, he would try to offer to Arthur to absorb Amata into Camelot. It wasn’t an impossible idea, many kingdoms did it all the time, but he understood why Arthur might be skeptical of the idea. Camelot suddenly growing in size? It would make Camelot a potential threat to other kingdoms! 

At the absolute worst, he’d take up the role as ruler, at least until he could find a suitable replacement. There was no way that he could see himself being a good ruler. Even after working alongside Arthur for so long, for some people it's just natural talent. The people of Amata need a ruler of which leading is a natural talent, not someone whose best skill is blending into the background like a snake into the forest debris.

If there was a way he could pacify her without killing her, that may be the more ideal solution, but how would he do that? 

A dark idea crawled inside Merlin’s gut, one that he immediately slapped away. He could find a way to get rid of her magic. Perhaps a spell or ritual… But it was a cruel thing to do, like chopping off someone’s arm and leaving them in the woods to be eaten by bears. Merlin wasn’t going to stoop so low. No, he wouldn’t. He would not become her. He would not leave her like how she left him; cold, alone, and feeling like something was missing from his very soul. It wasn’t right. 

The third priority was going home. No matter how much it hurt, home had to come third. No matter if Arthur told him that Camelot could find another way to survive the drought, Merlin’s happiness and that small happiness his friends got from him was not worth the potential hundreds of lives lost from starvation. If he found a way to keep Camelot safe and how to get rid of her, then and only then would he go home. 

The dream was to do all three, but honestly, Merlin didn’t know how. If Morgana’s threats were true, then if he killed her then Camelot would be in trouble. He didn’t know exactly how, and he wasn’t particularly sure he wanted to incur such a fate without at least knowing what it would be. Was it just a tight security? A contingency plan? A self set curse? Merlin didn’t know. Merlin didn’t know a lot of things, and it was by time he set out to learn. 

By the time he came to this conclusion, most of Merlin’s soup was gone. If there was ever a time to start getting information, now would be it. 

Getting to his feet, he started to make his way towards the door. As was customary, Aithusa leapt off the couch and nearly barked at him to stop. No matter how many times Aithusa tried to stop him at his feet, trip him up, he kept on trying to go. Even if it was getting a bit annoying.

Merlin sighed, coming to a halt. “Aithusa, I’m sorry for keeping you in here.” He explained slowly, looking down at the little dragon. “If you want to go, then you can go. But I’m going out.”

While Aithusa appreciated her newly gained freedom, that didn’t stop her from trying to stop Merlin.

The moment Merlin stuck his head out the door, however, he was immediately greeted by the sight of two exceptionally burly, exceptionally tall guards, each one armed and probably ordered to keep him in his room and looking him dead in the eye. There was no way he was sneaking out, at least not this way.

His lips ground down into a thin line before immediately closing the door. “Well, there’s always tomorrow.” He proclaimed, looking back at the little dragon.

Aithusa held her head up high and mighty, as if she was proud of herself. At least she was allowed to leave. 

“Oh don’t be so smug. It’s getting late, and you need to go off to bed.” 

Aithusa chirped, before hopping to her feet and trotting off towards the single door. With surprising skill Aithusa opened the door handle and let the door swing open, letting her trot into a room that Merlin was surprised to see on the other side. It was a whole other room in there!

“Where are you going, little one?” Merlin called after her with a chuckle, watching as the only thing he could see in the dark room was her pearlescent body. Aithusa only chirped in response as she hopped up and opened another door on the other side, causing a room to be revealed that looked awfully similar to his own, complete with warm glowing fireplace.  Merlin only had barely a chance to figure that out before the door closed behind the little dragon without anyone touching it.

Like magic. Morgana's magic. 

The realization sent a cold strike down deep in Merlin’s stomach: it was Morgana's room. Just across one small room was the person he was supposed to kill's own bed chambers, and for Merlin, the odd chill did not leave him. It was an odd feeling, and one that Merlin didn’t really want to deal with at the moment. 

Well, like many things and feelings, it can always be locked away and ignored with a good night’s rest. Like many other things in his life, and honestly Merlin was kind of eager to get to know this bed. Ever since he woke up, the large bed fascinated him so. It was three times as big as his bed at home! Who needs that much bed? He could sleep three people in it, easy. He had no idea why he would have three people in his bed, but it did offer a lot more room than he did back at home. 

Slipping into his night clothes, again, Merlin felt the woes of the day melt away just a tiny bit. Forget about the guards outside the door, forget wondering what that room on the other side of the door is, forget the fact that he’s basically imprisoned inside his own room. Forget it all. That’s all for him to deal with tomorrow. After all, tomorrow was only a day away.

Merlin crawled into the large bed, having to take a few crawling steps for him to actually get into the center. With ease, he tucked himself under the comforters and quilt.

It was really fucking comfy.

He stared off into the ceiling, hands clasped together on his lap on top of the comforter. Everything in its entirety was incredibly soft. The bed was soft, the pillows were soft, the comforter was soft, everything was soft. So soft he nearly sank into its fluffiness. It was like he was wrapped in clouds, that’s just how comfy this bed was.

He had never slept in something so nice. Never. Not once in his life. Honestly, if he had a bed as quarter as comfy as this bed was, he’d be happy. 

He sighed. This… this was the best thing ever.

…

…

…

…So why was Morgana giving it to him?

Merlin immediately sat up, glaring at the door. His hand clenched the fabric. 

There was no way this was just her being nice. Morgana didn’t do ‘nice’. Not anymore. Not after throwing him through a wall. Whatever this was, it was a ploy. A move to get the upper hand over him. 

He pulled the blankets off. 

Did she lace poison into his pillow? Did she try to leave some sort of charm or object to slowly drive him insane or slowly kill him while he slept? Was she trying to lull him  into a false sense of security so that when the time came she could just simply kill him with ease while he was asleep? Or was she simply trying to bug him?

Merlin immediately pulled himself out of the bed, glaring at the door. Even when she wasn’t there, she continued to irk him, continued to drive him insane. Without a word, Merlin slipped into his shoes. He had some work to do.

He had checked everywhere. Under the pillows, under the blanket, under the mattress, under the bedframe, behind the blinds, under the couches, everywhere. Not a single damn charm or relic. It was more insanity inducing than if he found something!

It ruled out the idea of slowly driving him insane through magic, but it didn’t drive out all of the other options. Such as driving him paranoid insane through normal methods. But Merlin wasn’t going to fall for that, oh no. He wasn’t Uther, he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t falling for this stupid trick again.

Reaching into the bed, Merlin took the duvet and a pillow with him. Wrapping the duvet around himself and making himself look like a very old toddler, Merlin adjusted himself and looked for a different bed. He did consider a couch, but what if something was hiding in it? No, he would not take the chance. So, instead, he laid down in the center of the carpet, back facing the fireplace. 

He’d rather sleep on cold hard ground than succumb to her guises.

The fire crackled and popped before him as he poked it with a stick. One of the problems of sleeping on the cold hard floor in front of a fire was, well, he was sleeping on the cold hard floor in front of the fire. It was bright, it was warm and cold the same time, the floor was hard, and honestly the bed was calling his name. But no, he would not give into it. He would not give into her tricks, at least not before knowing her plan. 

One thing’s for certain, he and Morgana could not go around avoiding one another any longer. He was not going to be locked inside his room any longer, not without hearing it from her. He needed to get answers, and he was going to get them as soon as he could.

Not that he was looking forward to getting those answers, good heavens, no, but it was what was needed to be done. He was tired of living in the dark, he was tired of being useless. Only the others knew how much time he had wasted here so far, he just wanted to be done with this business already. 

Leaning down, Merlin turned his back towards the fire. He was getting real sick and tired of Morgana. Hell, he was sick and tired of this whole trip. He was sore, he was tired, and he had only been here for one day. If this was going to be his foreseeable future, he didn’t want any part of it! 

It was the perfect mindset for someone who needed to kill someone, and if he just dealt with the guards outside his door…

No.

No, it was time to think. 

Merlin pulled his blanket up to his chest. This had gone far enough. Mordred was right, he had to think this through. At most if he did this wrong, it would only spell disaster for Camelot. Who knew what would happen in the future? Merlin couldn’t afford that chance. He already tried to kill her while defending himself who knows how long ago, and that didn’t work. 

Honestly, Merlin didn’t know what to do. Logic and that small part of him from what felt so long ago now begged that he not kill her, but what else could he do? Actually marry her? 

Out of everything that he was uncertain about, Merlin was certain of one thing: even if Morgana did marry him, which he highly doubted, he wasn’t going to be Amata’s king. There was no way she would give him such a thing. She didn’t even think of him so highly to give him such a curse. There was no way. The flaring aches of his wounds reminded him of that every single time he moved to breathe. 

She may like that he was here, but not for any pious reason. She wanted him here to use him, to take her anger out on so she didn’t take it out on her kingdom.

If he stayed, he wasn’t going to succeed at what was needing to get done. Killing her will cripple a kingdom and condemn a second one to certain doom. Well, maybe not certain doom, but Amata wouldn’t do so well, that’s damn sure!

Amata would only stand strong with Morgana in charge, and Merlin hated to think it. 

He refused to think that she could be good. He refused to. He did not want to look at the evidence sitting right in front of his face, that she has changed from her time in a pit and her time as a ruler. That she has lived a changing life away from them just like himself, seeing different sides and different views than himself and somehow let her world view change. He had enough personal experience with her to know that if he gave her such a chance, he would get stabbed in the back like how he stabbed her in their younger youth, just to grin while she watched the life died in his eye, to see the same betrayal in his eyes too. Except this time there would be no pain of betrayal, just the aching pain in his stomach that whispered hollowly in his ear like a dry, hot wind, “I told you so.”

A queasy ache formed in his stomach. He did not want that happening. It was just as scary a thought as her forgiving him, because at the end of the day he wouldn’t believe it. He didn’t deserve it. 

The last thought his sleep craving mind thought was because if he can’t forgive himself, then how the hell would the person he hurt would?

Merlin looked up from his ancient tome when he heard her laugh from the other side of the doorway. Whatever he was reading didn’t matter anymore, not when he got to hear such a sound. Sure it wasn’t melodious and sweet, like that of the laughter of Gwen. It did not remind him of church bells and bubbling streams, like that of Freya or other young maidens. It could even be considered harsh at times, but when his wife laughed like that, it was genuine. It came from her soul, a soul happy and free, and that was what counted.

His lips curled into a smile when he watched his wife walk into the throne room, followed by a trail of her maids and ladies in waiting. She was smiling, eagerly. Talking to the maids about fabrics and meetings. Things to be dealt with at a later date, perhaps during a ride in the forest or during a picnic out in the gardens. 

She carried herself like angelic queen, high and proud. Gorgeous in her silver colored gown, sash of Amatan blue crossing over her shoulder and towards her waist, golden glinting crown of the queen of Amata resting atop her head. So happy, so free. Free from the pain of their past. A beauty, a goddess, a living piece of art that made Merlin’s heart swell every single time he was reminded that he was married to her. 

His dream girl from so, so long ago, was finally his. 

The moment her eyes landed on him his heart fluttered in a dance, just as it did every time. His smile could not grow wider as he watched her lips, her malachite eyes twinkle in the light. He could watch her smile all day and never get bored for a moment.

“Hello, my dear,” He heard himself say, as if it was perfectly natural do such a thing. It fit better on his lips than her own name. His well dressed arm, connected to a well dressed body in richly blues and an intricately detailed vest, reached out as an open invitation for a hug as she walked close. “How was your day?”

“It was alright,” Morgana explained with a smile, letting herself get pulled in around the waist. Her arm naturally draped itself over his shoulders, looking down at him. “I did miss you, though.”

“I missed you too,” Merlin couldn’t help but reply, and he meant it. He genuinely meant it. After all, he had a lot of catching up to do, all those years where she was never by his side, where he had hurt her and cast her off. He wanted to revel in every moment he had with her, and thus he did. 

It was nearly instinct when he reached up and pulled her down carefully, his intentions clear and concise. The feeling of her soft lips against his own, the taste of savory herbs and mint, reminded him of home. Hell, more than any physical place he ever called home ever did. 

Home was in the feeling of her lips against his own. Home was the feeling of her hand in his own. Home was her warmth cuddled up beside him every morning, the feeling of her arms wrapped around his waist like a life line. Home was the way she said his name whenever she was in bliss from passion in bed, and how her name slipped past his lips when he rose to his own high. Home was listening to her strong voice address the court, in front of everything they had worked so hard to fix and change. Home was catching her proud smile every time he addressed the court, proud of the king, the man, she had married. 

Wherever she was, home was right beside her. 

"I love you," He whispered into her lips, bringing a hand up to her cheek and brushing the delicate skin.

"I love you too," She whispered right back, her warmth settling down onto his lap as she sat, deepening her kiss to depths Merlin loved. He could feel her smile. The feeling of her fingers in his hair, caressing his scalp in ways that she knew made him turn into puddles of goo, only added more to the feeling of love he had for this woman. 

He had her in his arms, and he would never let her go. He would never take her for granted ever again. 

Merlin awoke to the sound of someone knocking on his door. A thin, light rapture, polite and yet loud enough to wake someone. 

“Sir? Are you awake?” A muffled voice Merlin did not recognize called from the other side. 

Merlin lightly groaned, peeking his head out of the the fluffy blanket. No, he wasn't awake. He didn’t want to be awake. He wanted to go back to sleep until he could no longer feel any pain, or until his body couldn’t take being so still anymore. He wanted to go back to the false reality in his dreams, filled with old hopes and desires, where things just went so easily. Full of lies in a vain attempt to make himself feel a little better.

But, as the knocking on the door grew louder, Merlin knew that he was going to have to get up. 

Everything hurt as he stretched. Perhaps sleeping on the floor wasn’t a good idea, especially in his condition. If there was going to be a next time, he would take the couch. 

Scrambling from the floor, Merlin stumbled towards the door until he managed to stand upright.

The door opened with a creak. “Hello?” Merlin asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Standing in the doorway was an unassuming gentleman, plain in looks and clothes, with a silver tray topped with food in his hands. Brown hair, brown eyes, no beard, same height. He wasn’t a bad looking gentleman, he just wasn’t the most handsome man Merlin had ever seen either. (For all the shenanigans and issues Camelot had, for some reason, everyone in Camelot was either good looking or ridiculously good looking. Something must be in their water, and it wasn't always poison.)

He was the kind of man that was perfect for blending into a crowd, a perfect servant. In his hands he held a tray, where a plate of breakfast meats and a bowl of chopped up fruit was there to greet. 

Before Merlin could even comprehend who this man was, the man nodded. “May I come in?” 

Silently, Merlin opened the door wider. The manservant walked in with crisp, proud strides. Looking ever dutiful as a manservant. Like this man was born for his job.

“I brought you breakfast,” The manservant explained, putting the clattering tray down onto the low table in front of the now dead fire place.

“Thank you,” Merlin ached as he watched the man do this. “What's your name?”

“Aaron.”

“Nice to meet you Aaron.” Merlin held his hand out to shake.

The manservant looked at his hand oddly before reaching out and shaking it cautiously. It didn’t seem like he was prepared for such a thing to happen, and his hand was cold. At least it wasn’t clammy. 

The moment Aaron’s hand fell away, Merlin felt the room get stuffy. So much for friendly conversation. Might as well make himself just a little more presentable before having to deal with more people. 

Finding the nearest mirror, Merlin found a ghastly, tired figure looking right back at him. His dark hair a fluffy mess, he had bags in his eyes, and he looked as sore as he felt. Yep, besides the bruises and cuts, just another Tuesday.

Aithusa was nowhere in sight. Now that she had her freedom she was probably going to not come anywhere near close to this room for at least a few days, which Merlin understood. After all she was a freedom seeking little dragon, being cooped up in a single room must have been torture for her. He’ll have to apologize to her later about that.

“Were you… sleeping on the ground?” The voice of Aaron asked, gesturing at the massive pile of blue duvet and pillow on the floor. From his angle, it looked like a child had made the pile and was still tucked inside. 

“I did.” Merlin reluctantly replied. “Why?”

Aaron paused for a moment, blinked, before shrugging and responding, “Well, at least that makes making the bed easier.”

Merlin nodded before sitting down on the couch where the food sat. It was a bowl of fruit, filled with various different kinds of fruits and berries. Blackberries, blueberries, strawberries, chunks of orange and green flesh which reminded Merlin of the flesh of a watermelon. He had never seen this kind of fruit before, but hey, he was never one to turn down an opportunity to try new food. Besides, he was hungry.

“Will that be all, sir?” Aaron asked as politely as before, hands tucked behind his back like the polite, obedient servant Merlin never was. 

“Please, I am no knight.” Merlin tried to offer.

Aaron’s brow barely furrowed as he continued. “Then may I ask what would you like me to call you, so that I may call you as such appropriately.” 

Merlin barely had to ponder before popping a piece of green melon flesh into his mouth. “Just call me Merlin.” He proclaimed, chewing on the crisp yet soft fruit piece, a sweet and bitter flavor at the same time.

Aaron’s brow furrowed deeply, as if he didn’t expect that. “Alright… Merlin.” Aaron tried to form his lips around the name, but it just seemed too awkward for him to do.

Merlin nodded, it would have to do. He took another bite of fruit, this time of a different melon’s orange flesh. This one was sweeter, but not as sweet as the identical green melon flesh. It was nice. Merlin’s teeth eagerly sank into its juice and sweetness again. If he stuck around, which he still doubted, he would have to ask for more. A sip of water washed it all down.

“Have you not unpacked, sir?” Merlin perked up. Aaron was beside his backpack, holding it up and showing its weight. The remaining blankets and pillows had already been pulled off the extravagant bed, leaving it looking oddly bare. Like looking at a skeleton. “Sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin returned to his breakfast. “What’s the point? I’ll be gone by the afternoon.” He muttered nearly to himself, as if he wasn’t expecting a response to be given to him.

Aaron pursed his lips, brow furrowed again as he looked on in concern. “Beg pardon, but why? You just got here.”

Merlin shrugged. “I’m sure the queen won’t be wanting me to stay here any longer than she has to.” He explained simply before returning to his fruit.

Before Aaron could open his mouth to ask why, there was another knocking at the door. Both manservants perked up. 

“Coming,” Aaron hopped to his feet, crossing the room in quick strides. Merlin could only watch on, taking his sips of water. Fruit, while delicious, only did so much to fill a stomach. He didn’t know who could be on the other side of the extravagant door, but honestly he expected it to be Mordred. After all, he hadn’t seen him yet since he left to talk to Morgana yesterday, and he’d like to discuss a few things with him.

However, it wasn’t Mordred on the other side. Two guards were standing at the door, as well as a maid. The maid whispered something into Aaron’s ear, far too quietly for Merlin to hear, before the two nodded in some sort of agreement. While the maid hurried off, the two guards came in through the door. 

“What’s going on?” Merlin asked warily, eying the two guards in the doorway. He wasn’t particularly sure, but they looked awfully familiar to the ones who caught him trying to sneak out the other night. 

“Her majesty requests your presence as soon as you are available.” Aaron simply explained, hands clasped before him. He didn’t look scared for Merlin’s sake, in fact he looked quite eager. As if he was ready to be rid of Merlin and ready to send him off so that he could be left alone with his chores.

“And the guards?” Merlin arched a brow.

“Just want to make sure you don’t run off again, sir.” One of the guards explained, a small smirk crossing his lips as if his words entertained him. 

Merlin sighed. Again with the sir thing… “Right, of course.” He proclaimed, slapping his hands down onto his knees. Might as well get this over with. 

Merlin groaned as he rose to his feet. Just because he wasn’t dying anymore, didn’t mean he wasn’t sore. In fact he was pretty sore all over his body, and he was sure that he was going to be sore for at least a few more days. Even with all of the healing treatment the physician and himself had done, soreness would remain. With a particularly sharp ache in his shoulder, Merlin left the room and the manservant Aaron behind to do his chores, ready to face the terror Morgana was sure to throw at him on this wonderful morning.

Left behind, not a single strawberry on his plate was touched.

The guards lead Merlin down the achingly tall halls, not once letting them out of their sight. Every other guard they passed kept their gaze on Merlin, never once giving him a chance to run. It felt like everywhere he looked he was met with the gaze of another guard. They would not let such a slip up happen again. He wasn’t going to make a break for the entrance this time, not on their watch. 

Mordred probably told them all about me, Merlin dejectedly thought to himself. The young knight probably has made every plan towards either escaping or killing the queen ten times as hard. It would have to be another thing to add to the list of things to deal with. 

Twisting hallways left and right, down sets of stairs, they went. The castle floor plan was starting to get familiar, but it wasn’t enough for Merlin to be proficient with the way. No doubt Morgana already knew every nook and cranny that hid in these walls… 

Maids and manservants hardly ever looked their way, explicitly keeping their gazes towards themselves and not towards the situation that was walking down their halls. Not that Merlin couldn’t feel their gaze on the back of his head, he nearly expected it, but it still made him feel odd regardless. 

It didn’t take long before Merlin found himself standing before the humbly imposing door of Morgana’s office. Before Merlin could do anything, one of the soldiers reached forward and knocked on the door, loud, certain, and strong.

“Enter.” The muffled voice called back from the other side, this time a voice that Merlin knew quite well. The soldier opened the door, revealing the other side. 

Without a word, Merlin was nearly shoved inside by the injured shoulder, nearly stumbling and grasping at his pain. 

The room he had been shoved into was fairly small. Well, small would be a subjective term, as the room was about as large as Arthur's bedroom back in Camelot. It was, however, one of the smallest rooms Merlin had been in in this entire castle. Low roofed with walls lined with ornate bookshelves, desks, and plush seats galore, the room was quite evidently an office. Leaning against the only window in the entire room, behind the main desk, was a lonely telescope, tipped haphazardly upwards towards the sky. Off in the corner, freshly scrubbed, was a cauldron, and a small desk had been converted into a potion crafter's desk. The only thing completely familiar to Merlin in the entire room.

But that wasn't what caught his attention the most. 

Sitting at her desk on the other side of the room, the most imposing thing in that room, dressed clean and proper in an revealing elegant emerald gown and looking like absolutely nothing had happened the previous days, crown carefully placed on a pillow off to the side, was Morgana. 

“Ah, Merlin. Thank you for coming.” She said with a calm, orderly smile, no longer the unrestrained glee or the absolute fury he saw the other day. Her hair was carefully pulled back from her face with a ribbon and left to fall in large curls down her back and shoulders, it showed off her ruby red lips and eye shadow in all the best ways. Not even a scratch on her perfect face, and here was Merlin, looking like had been dragged out of a ditch after a drunken bar brawl. 

Not wanting to be too disgusting, Merlin quickly got to his feet and brushed himself off. Standing off to the side, looking far more awake and alert than Merlin did, was Mordred and Aithusa. Mordred was completely dressed in his armor and cape, and looked ready to do some training. Looking as if they had been having a serious conversation with the queen prior, perhaps being the whole reason why Merlin was even there. Aithusa, standing beside him, looked eager and perky, probably coming here just because that was where the people were.

Morgana gestured at the guards and the door with a calm hand. “Leave us.” Without a word, the guards bowed and left the room one by one. “That includes you two.”

Both Mordred and Aithusa looked at Morgana in shock. “Are you sure?” Mordred said in a warning tone. After all, the last time he left those two alone, a part of the castle had been blown to smithereens. 

“I promise, Merlin will be returned to you in one piece.” She explained calmly, barely giving Merlin a look. 

The knight and dragon glanced at one another, as if silently debating whether or not to believe her, before reluctantly turning and heading for the door as well. 

The moment the door closed, silence overfell both sides. On the outside, the little dragon and Mordred waited for just a moment, just a moment to really ponder if they could trust Morgana’s word.

A moment of quiet silence passed, before the little dragon stood up and shook her body off like a wet dog after a bath. As if throwing off the bad vibes, she seemed comfortable and confident, ready to hurry off.  

Mordred looked down at the little dragon. If a little dragon thinks that things will be alright, you would trust them too, wouldn’t you? And if it weren’t the queen and her new fiancé that were causing the chaos, then why not you?

“You want to go cause some shenanigans?”

While the dragon couldn’t exactly smile like a human, her wagging tail was enough of a devilish grin to be sufficient. And like an older brother and a younger sister, they were ready to go, as the term would say, raise hell and start some chaos.

~

Merlin huffed, crossing his arms. The office was quiet now, leaving only the two of them in the silence. It was overbearing to some points, just the tension that was left between the two of them, only cut by the sound of the small fireplace crackling away.

“Good morning,” Morgana said quietly and calmly, putting her pen down as she finally broke the silence. No smile crossed her lips, and yet there was a warm curiosity that filled her eyes. “How did you sleep?”

“About as well as someone who was thrown through a wall could.” Merlin muttered somewhat angrily.

Morgana looked a little taken aback, but she was not surprised. “I see. Well, did the physician get a look at you? You’re looking better this morning.”

“He did.”

“Did you get dinner? Breakfast?”

“What do you want, Morgana?” Merlin cut her off, giving her a sharp look. He did not have time to deal with trivialities, and he knew that Morgana did not care for them.

“Alright, straight to the point.” Morgana muttered under her breath. She adjusted in her seat, fixing her back, like she had been thrown off her game. She gestured at the seat across from her. “Please, sit.”

Merlin did as he was told, sitting in one of the plush guest seats that he was unsure if it was new or not. It wasn’t anywhere near as nice as Morgana’s seat, but it was something nice. “I need to start packing.” He explained, taking a couple of chances to push his seat around. It felt odd on the other side of the table, not being able to scoot in. 

“About that.” She leaned forward, crossing her fingers in front of her. “I know our argument brought our arrangement into question,”

“That’s an understatement.”

“I want to continue with the marriage treaty.” Morgana explained bluntly, getting directly to the point she wanted to.

Merlin blinked and somewhat recoiled. “What?!” Merlin somewhat cried out in surprise. 

“Well don’t act so surprised,”

“I think I have every right to be surprised! You threw me through a wall! You threw knives at me! You called it off!” Merlin continued to cry out, leaning forward in his seat. 

“A… rocky start to all this, I must say.” Morgana couldn’t help the pun, especially when it was right there. “I must admit, that wasn’t my best moment. I do apologize, sincerely.”

Merlin had to say, her apologizing hit him harder than the wall did. Morgana? Apologizing? Since when did she ever have such modesty? Needless to say, Merlin didn’t believe her, at all. Since when did she ever bow her head first? Even before she went evil, she never caved first. It was a trait Merlin liked about her in their youth. She never apologized if she did not think she needed to, even if it was to save her honor. If she thought she was in the right, she stood by that fact, aggressively so until the other side either caved or somehow changed her mind, which was an even rarer event. In fact the only time Merlin could ever remember her apologizing was as a ploy, a distraction to help young Mordred sneak out of Camelot. 

Even if now in this moment Morgana felt it proper to apologize for pure manner reasons, Merlin did not believe that she felt guilt for her actions, especially after so little time. If there was anything for her to feel guilty about, it wouldn’t be this.

“You shouldn’t apologize when you don’t mean it.” Merlin sneered, leaning back in his seat, arms crossed.

“But I do.” Morgana replied calmly, if not with a little bite.

“No you don’t.” Merlin bit back. His mouth scrunched into a sort of shape. “I thought they told you it’s bad luck for a queen to lie.” He replied with some sort of bile in his voice, letting his built up emotions drip through. His mind was messed up, tired, and stressed, all he wanted to do was to sleep, thus the best emotion to surface was near acidic frustration. 

Morgana ground her mouth down into a frustrated thin line, yet she was still calm. “Let me rephrase it then. I do not apologize for my feelings, my frustrations, my anger, and my pain, and I never will. You deserve my pain and the pain of everyone you have ever hurt for that stupid destiny you stubbornly, blindly insist on following. However, I apologize for the actions that resulted from those feelings last night. That I do regret doing.”

“And what good will this apology do you? What if I still don’t want to get married to you? What if I don’t want this marital abuse?” Merlin felt his throat tighten for just a moment, as if for a small moment tears were going to come to his eyes. He forced them back down. He would not cry over this of all things. 

“And I completely understand that.” Morgana replied, just as calmly as ever. “It is your free right to leave if you so desire.”

“Great—.” Merlin slapped his hands down onto his knees, ready to push himself to his feet and to go back to his room. He had some packing to do—.

“But,” Her calm voice cut him off, like she was holding up a hand. “By giving up this arrangement you give up the treaty, or at least make the progress and strength between it much weaker. Not to mention this kingdom will be left without a king for longer.”

Merlin snorted. She was back to her jokes. “Well I’m sure finding a suitable king won’t be too hard to find.”

“You’d be surprised.” Morgana lightly muttered under her breath, looking over at her fireplace filled with burnt letters. “Look, I made an error yesterday. I let my emotions and stress get the best of me, I will admit that. I’m not eager about this marriage either, but this treaty is more important than the both of us. Camelot needs Amata as much as Amata needs Camelot, and I won’t be changing my conditions. Camelot will get its food, and Camelot will get Amata’s support.” She held out her hand for him to take, palm up. “All I ask is for your hand in marriage, and to not try to kill me?”

Merlin glared at her hand. He could kill her right this moment. Honestly, this would be the perfect time to. Throw her out the window and to the grounds below. He was supposed to be heading home now. He was supposed to be bringing peace finally to Camelot, no matter the cost.

And yet… That tiny part of him… that tiny part of him that Merlin had learned to ignore so long ago because destiny was more important than his own heart, told him… No. No, don’t do it. It told him that she was right, and more so, he was in the wrong. He was being stubborn, near sighted, and foolishly so. Camelot and her people desperately needed her kingdom’s help, and by killing her, he could be putting everything in jeopardy.

Besides, if he did so, he could never get back what he had hated to lose the most all those years ago.

And yet, Merlin had been through enough in his short life to know that Morgana was a threat. He had the scars all over his body to prove it. He lost his magic to prove it. He had the memories, the fresh bruises, to prove it. So forgive him for not being enthusiastic about this set up.

“Forgive me for being skeptical.” Merlin hissed. “You and your sister hurt thousands. You killed without mercy. At best, you should be seen before Camelotian trial, but we all know that’s not going to happen.”

The look in Morgana’s eyes seemed almost… defeated. Concerned. “I see you need more convincing,” She replied, letting her hand fall. “Does Arthur know you’re here to kill me?”

“He knows that I am going to do what it takes to keep Camelot safe.” Merlin replied simply, his voice low in tone.

“So he does know.” Morgana leaned back in her seat. “You know, now that I know what you are, I would have thought you’d be more willing to agree when Arthur mentioned that he’d be lifting the death penalty on magic.”

Merlin shifted. He had to admit, deep down, she was right. The lift of the ban on magic was nice, but there was more at stake here than just magic. There was the lives of a whole kingdom of people, his best friends, were at stake as well. 

“Magic has lived in secret for as long as I have been alive, it can do it for a few more years while I figure out how to convince him to release the ban completely.” Merlin said simply, not even shifting in his seat.

“And yet the path he is on, do you honestly think he’s going to change any time soon?” Morgana explained, looking Merlin in the eye. “The clock is ticking, Merlin, a second generation could be impacted by this hatred of magic, and that will make it only harder for us to change the course of destiny.”

The mention of destiny perked at Merlin like someone had poked him with a needle. “What do you know of destiny?” He asked, tempted to lean forward, yet held himself back. 

“I know that destiny is cruel, and that it should be broken.” Morgana said scornfully, looking Merlin hard in the eye. “Why else do you think I agreed so wholeheartedly when I received the news that Camelot was willing to make a treaty? I thought that through it, we could challenge the fate destiny has for us, to a new and better future. One where happiness might actually be an option. One where we both don’t have to sacrifice everything we have and die to get the future we crave for.”

A rock settled in Merlin’s stomach, slowly attempting to remind Merlin more and more that he was kind of in the wrong. That she was speaking exactly to his heart, and his own sheer stubbornness was now just getting in the way. 

But damn it, if Merlin wasn’t known to be stubborn, then he wouldn’t have done a lot of things in life. Stubborn, ambitious, cunning, and mischievous, all words used to describe Merlin if they truly knew him, and if he wasn’t stubborn to himself then he wasn’t going to be stubborn on this. 

“And what if he doesn’t agree to me staying? What if he realizes that he doesn’t want this? What then?” Merlin asked, his gaze staring hard at her. 

“He can do nothing. He is not in control of treaty discussions anymore, you are.” Merlin baulked a little, but Morgana continued. “By coming here, you became the sole decider of whether or not this treaty will work. Your actions will decide our kingdoms futures.”

“Why?”

“Because I want no one else. There is no one else Camelot can send to satisfy their side of the treaty.” Morgana explained simply, presenting her hands open for him, as if he could reach out and grab something from them. 

“But why? Why do you want me, of all people?” Merlin asked, leaning forward in his seat to the point he was leaning on the desk, the back of his throat filled with the reminders of all the pain the two had thrown at one another. Physical pain, emotional pain, betrayal at every turn, lies, mistrust. Every fond memory was tainted with a lie, every smile was tainted with a secret smirk. Why on this god forsaken Earth did she want this mess of a man? 

Morgana shrugged. “Why not?” 

“That’s not a good enough answer.”

Morgana arched her head back and sighed. It took a moment before she spoke up again, this time looking him dead in the eye. “Have you ever heard the term, ‘keep your friends close, but your enemies closer’? I have no friends, Merlin, and I have no enemy greater than you.”

She failed to mention how delicious the irony would be in more ways than one, how fittingly cruel it would be to take the man who Arthur was so horribly fond of. His best friend, his brother, his other half to his coin. A soul mate made purely by the needs of destiny.

How it would make that old broken part of her from so long ago smile once more. 

“That’s all?” Merlin asked, arching his brow. He didn’t believe her for one second. 

Morgana shrugged. “Well, there is other benefits to having a husband. Such as keeping pesky suitors and judgmental old crones at bay.”

“I never thought you’d cave at such a thing.” Merlin retorted, crossing his arms.

“Being a lady under the care of an overly protective Uther who had just barely reached marrying age is a much different thing than being a queen of a powerful kingdom who needs an heir.” Morgana explained, her fingers itching towards her paper to fiddle with it. 

Merlin arched his brow. “An heir?” He asked, working his very hardest not to blush or show any sign of interest. No, he refused to. Forget those base desires, young man, they are not for you.

“Something we’ll deal with at a later point.” Morgana rolled her eyes, adjusting herself in her seat. “The point is, the future lies in your hands, you do not need to hide behind your puppet king anymore.”

“Arthur is not my puppet.” Merlin retorted with nearly some bite. “He is my friend, my king, and I would like nothing more than to serve him, even if that means dying while doing it.”

Morgana paused in shock. She could see it in his very soul; he meant every word. He genuinely considered Arthur as a friend, despite everything he had done to him. Despite every bucket placed on his head, despite every use as a target in sparring practice, despite being called less than nothing to his face and being a very threat to his existence, he still considered the man his best friend. It threw Morgana a bit for a loop. 

“You are willing to sacrifice all that you are for a mere fool? Your magic alone makes you worth thrice as much as he is, not to mention your skills and… other aspects.” Her eyes trailed over him for a moment, but Merlin was too focused on her words to care. 

“Three times zero still equals nothing.” Merlin scowled, mostly at himself. He knew how little he was worth to her. They all knew. He wasn’t worth much at all. 

Morgana leaned back a moment, taken aback by his sour disposition. Seeing this look on his face that made her wonder just how little does he consider his own worth? 

“Do you honestly think that I think of you so little?” Her voice carried a weight that was unfamiliar to Merlin, one that if Merlin didn’t know any better he’d think it was concern. Just a tiny bit.

Merlin shrugged, looking away to look out the window. “You said so before. ‘You know and are nothing’?”

“Well things change when you’re stuck in a pit.” Morgana replied, “And I hate to break it to you, but I lied.”

Merlin paused, looking up. “How so?”

“A servant is worth just as much as a king. Each one has their role, and while the king may wear more formal clothes and his job is tied to his heritage and rank, the best are equally servants to their people as a servant is to their king.” Morgana explained, sounding so much like the Arthur Merlin knew from their youth. The one who was determined to be friends with every manservant and peasant, even when his father went against him. It was an odd feeling, to hear it coming from Morgana, and that Arthur had long since grown up.

Besides, Merlin had grown up too, and he knew more about the world than those almost naive proclamations portray.

“A king cannot be easily replaced, a servant can be.” Merlin replied bitterly. Arthur had already proven that with that… guy before. He couldn’t even remember his name, but the point still stood. Merlin could be easily replaceable. He couldn’t help but wonder if Arthur had already found a new servant for himself, perhaps one that didn’t argue and wrestle at every given moment.

“And that is where your unique value shines.” Morgana asserted. “You are Emrys, our fight the other night made that quite clear. Your value as a magic user is incomparable to anyone. If the old destinies are to be listened to, then no one can replace you.”

“That is why I’m here. Emrys is supposed to be Camelot’s protector from anything and everything, to help bring back magic to Camelot. No one has ever been as much of a threat to Camelot and to bringing back magic as you. Camelot and Arthur can take care of themselves against literally anyone else, but you? You’ve shaken Camelot to its knees twice already. Without you, Camelot would be free.”

“And you would be out of a purpose in destiny.” Morgana replied. “If you only value yourself based on what destiny has given you, then your value is tied to an end goal. It makes you nothing more than a tool. You are many things, Merlin, but you are no tool.”

“I have no choice. With you there to constantly remind them of a bad magic users in the world, they will not notice good actions made by magic users.” Merlin replied, leaning back in his seat. 

“And if you do kill me, then they will have no incitement to let up the ban.” Morgana asserted. “They will think themselves right, that magic cannot be good. You will have to work twice as hard to convince them otherwise, and perhaps not even succeed. It is better to force them to realize their error than to appease them.”

“Debatable.” Merlin muttered under his breath. 

Morgana was frustrated, but she knew that she had one last card to play. One last thing to point out to prove to this stubborn man that his choice will have consequences.

“Very well. However, if you so insist on attempting to kill me, ask yourself this,” Morgana leaned forward, capturing his gaze dead in the eye. “Why are you so willing to bite the hand that is feeding you? It was Camelot who asked for this treaty in the first place, were they not? I gave them what they asked for, and they gave me the same. My advisors were willing to let your people starve, saying that your hand and this treaty was not worth the food I gave. I gave it anyway because I know your value. You threaten the stability of my kingdom and the safety of our kind by the mere thought of killing me. You threaten the chance of a world that may never accept magic for a destiny we have already proven is not completely whole.” She rose from her seat, looking down at him cooly. “Think about the consequences of your actions before you cast the die.”

Merlin ground his mouth shut. Finally, there was no way for him to fight it; he cannot kill her. No matter how bitter it made his tongue taste, he could not kill her. With her in charge, there would be at least one place on Earth that still accepted magic. He hated to say it, he hated to think it, but she was right. 

And what was more so, was that he only had one option left. If he could not kill her, he could not go home. Camelot will suffer slowly, and Amata would crumble. Two powerful, beautiful kingdoms, each with a unique culture and people of their own, may fall apart and die. Like two withering flowers, broken from their roots. 

He could not go home, and he hated that so much. But, it was what he agreed to do. It was a bitter tincture he had been trying to avoid swallowing, avoid having to take, but now he had no choice.

He said he came here willing to sacrifice everything to protect Camelot, his very being, and he was honest.

“You still have to answer for your actions.” Merlin spat, an angry, cat like glare still in his eyes.

“I would think four months in that hell is enough.” Morgana jerked her head towards the window, where down below her pit sat. Merlin had never seen it, but… he didn’t need to know. 

“I know what they did.” He spoke up after a moment. 

“Oh Merlin,” Morgana replied oh too sweetly, as if almost slick with icing and poison. Her smile was filled with pain as she looked back at him. “You have no idea the pain I went through.”

Words began to form in Merlin’s mouth, a resolute, dejected realization came to fruition in Merlin’s heart. But, even then, a not so tiny part of his mind scraped at the walls, trying desperately to fight what was going to come out of his mouth.

But the choice had been made. It was set in stone. 

“Fine.” He snipped. “Fine, I will…” The words got stuck in his mouth. He couldn’t believe he was actually saying it.

But Morgana just cooly raised an eyebrow. “What? You will what?” She asked, leaning forward. 

“Marry you.” Merlin forced out. “I will marry you.”

God, he felt sick to his stomach. The desperate clawing did not stop. Silently, inside his mind, he whispered, at least until I can find a way out of this, just in an attempt to keep the clawing from tearing him apart.

But her calm, nearly delightful smile caught him off guard. It nearly caught the clawing monster in his stomach off guard, nearly made it stop and hesitate, wonder about what she was thinking. “Wonderful.”

He hated how those words cooled that part of his stomach. 

Before Morgana could turn away or send him off or whatever a queen was capable of doing, Merlin spoke up again. “However, I do have a few stipulations of my own.” He immediately replied.

Morgana put down her pen again. “Of course.”

Merlin swallowed. “No more throwing me through walls or floating knives or whatever else you decide to use to attempt to kill me with.”

“I had assumed that was a given, but very well. You have my word.” Morgana calmly replied in a very calm tone, soothing like thick milk rolling down his throat.

“You must let me out of my room without guards following me everywhere.”

“Again, another given, but alright.” Morgana said with a slight shrug. “However, I would suggest bringing guards with you if you decide to leave the castle grounds again.”

“Why? To keep an eye on me?” Merlin retorted. 

“That, and you may get lost again.” Morgana lightly smirked. Merlin’s mouth ground down into a thin line. “But I’m sure you’ll know your way around eventually.”

“Wonderful.” Merlin mocked, rolling his eyes.

“I would also suggest that you tell me if you plan to leave the capital, as well as where you plan to go.” Morgana continued, picking up her papers and tapping them against the table, neatening them out. 

“Why?”

Morgana merely shrugged. “I may want to join you, or I may have to deny your plans.”

Merlin let out a soft groan, leaning his head back, exposing his neck. “Of course.” He muttered under his breath, although Morgana could hear it.

Morgana only stared at Merlin’s pale, unmarked neck for a moment before continuing, “Anything else?”

Merlin cooly glared her way. If, just if, he was going to be stuck here against his will, then he was going to take every advantage. This was not Camelot, after all, no one knew him here. He wouldn’t be hiding behind any masks. He would not be who he was not here. If he was going to be here, it would be an all or nothing situation.

“Let me use my magic.” He said simply. 

Morgana pursed her lips, pausing, thinking. It caught her off guard, although at the same time it was expected. After finding him out, it was a whole new world for her to consider. “Counter offer; you are allowed to use magic, but you must ask me for permission first.”

“Why?”

“I do not want Arthur to find out and retreat out of this treaty before it is solidified.” Morgana replied simply, as if it made all the sense in the world. 

“You mean you don’t want Arthur to call off the marriage?” Merlin countered with an arched brow.

“If he finds out you have magic, who knows what he will do.” Morgana replied, leaning forward in her seat to reach more paperwork off in the corner.

“I thought you said that since I came, I’m in charge of treaty negotiations?” Merlin continued to keep his brow in the air.

“There are still things that he has control over.” Morgana replied, picking up her pen again. “Believe it or not I want this treaty to go well. I want it to succeed. It would bring great benefit to both kingdoms and our kind, and I hoped that you would share that opinion.”

Merlin wouldn’t admit that a part deep down inside, where he stored thoughts that didn’t agree to destiny’s views, he did agree. 

“I do have one question.” Merlin interrupted her writing again. 

Morgana let out a small sigh, but looked up regardless. “Very well.”

“Wouldn’t marrying a commoner make you lose your title? After all, Uther nearly disowned Arthur for wanting to marry Gwen.” Merlin explained, the memory of Arthur shouting at his own father and trying to keep Gwen in his arms as she was pulled away flashed across his mind. So much he was willing to give up, just for one woman. For a small moment Merlin remembered his wish for a love like that.

“Do you see anyone willing to take the throne from me?” Morgana asked coolly, arching a brow his way.

“I would think the prince would count.” Merlin replied with a shrug.

“The prince knows full and well that I will do to him what I did to his father tenfold.” She explained, finally going back to her writing. At the name of the prince, the conversation was done. She was busy doing her work, and yet she did not chase Merlin off. As if, in some small way, she enjoyed the company of others. As if she enjoyed his company. 

Thus, Merlin was cast into silence with nothing to do. Normally, if this happened with Arthur, Merlin would fall back into a state of chores. He would go off and find a chore to do, perhaps clean laundry or maybe, just maybe clean his room. That wasn’t likely, though; Merlin did not mind mess as much as others did. He had other, more important things to deal with.

But now, in the moment, Merlin didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to tread on anyone’s toes. Hell, he was kind of sick and tired of chores. If he was going to be here, he wanted a new chapter of his life to start. He wanted one that he could properly sit down, be more than just a servant. Plan, learn, be. Perhaps even recreate himself as what he once was before he went to Camelot, as even he will admit that he did not like what he was now.

But that will take time to do, and right now, Merlin was curious. He was curious about what she was writing, letting herself be surrounded by paper.

“What are you writing?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask. 

“A list of people.” She replied, not looking up.

“A hit list?”

“A guest list.” She replied simply as she wrote down another name.

Merlin reached out and picked up a sheet, the names and lands listed complex and long. “Who are all of these guests? I don’t recognize any of these names. Some don’t even look like they’re local.”

“They’re nobles and royals of every kingdom within a month’s ride or boat trip from here, along with other notable figures.” Morgana explained, reaching forward and grabbing the sheet from his hand. 

“That’s a lot of people.”

“Royal weddings are more than just simple soirees, Merlin, they’re highly revered public social events. To not invite someone above a certain rank would be considered a deadly insult.”

“And since when did you care about how other people look at you?” Merlin retorted, leaning back in his seat. 

“Since I have to a ‘good queen’ and form political alliances.” She mocked, sending him a look. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“You know that not every one of these people will attend, right?” Merlin replied, crossing his legs.

“Oh I’m sure they won’t, but it’s the proper manners. It would be more of an insult not to get an invitation than to not come.”

Merlin blinked, shaking his head. Of his personal opinion, he’d almost think the opposite would be true. “I really don’t understand royalty sometimes.” He muttered under his breath. 

“Not everything makes complete sense, I will admit to that.”

“Why are willing to put so much effort into this? Can’t we just get a priest, say a few vows, and call it a day?” Merlin asked, pushing his shoulders high into his ears in a shrug. 

Morgana looked up from her paper again, this time with almost a smirk in her eyes. “Come now, Merlin. That would just be improper. Weddings of our caliber are social events of the year, and incredibly helpful to get to know your royal neighbors.” She said with a smirk. “Besides, why do the little thing when we have the money to go all out?”

“All I’m saying is that it feels like a waste.”

Morgana finally put down her pen again, crossing her fingers carefully once more before resting her head against them. “Merlin, do you know how many people go into making a royal’s dress?”

“Pardon?”

“Depending on the dress, farmers, shepherds, and or hunters supply the base materials, sometimes from far away places. Weavers or tanners take the raw material and turn it into useable fabric. That material is then sent to dyers, who dye the fabric with other materials collected by or sold by merchants. Then that fabric is washed and cleaned by laundry people, who collaborate with dyers to ensure the right color. Then that fabric is sent to a seamstress and her team, who then make the dress by hand to the right specifications to perfection. That’s not including lace, which is often worth five times its weight in gold, and other detail materials, up to and including precious jewels and diamonds, which have a whole slew of other people tending to. That’s at the very minimum thirty people getting paid handsomely for their crafts, talents, and time, and that’s just one dress. That’s not even including your clothes, food, decorations, or literally anything else about the wedding or daily life that goes on in this castle. Even I don’t know exactly how many people will be touched by this wedding, but I am guessing hundreds to thousands, and I assure you, every single one of them is being paid very handsomely.”

Merlin’s mouth gobbed open. Honestly, he didn’t know how to respond to that. He hadn’t thought about that at all, and the thought boggled him. Even though he went everywhere with Arthur, he never really worked with the management of money. It was Arthur’s territory, and Arthur never really bothered to bring it up. For Arthur, there was always something more important. Money was just not something they ever talked about. 

“There are two kinds of bad ruler, Merlin: the ones who are unnecessarily frugal and the ones who don’t pay their people what they’re properly worth. I intend to be neither.”

Merlin’s thoughts soured for a moment. “I would think there’s other kinds of bad rulers,” Merlin mumbled under his breath, thoughts turning towards two certain old kings, destroyers of culture. 

“Oh but of course, but when dealing with your people, hoarding the money away for a small wedding seems rather pointless, now doesn’t it?” Morgana replied, writing down another name. “Besides, it will be a good celebration, the people deserve one.” At that, she writes down a couple more names onto her list, one of which perks Merlin’s interest. While Arthur’s was at the top of the page, clear and certain, this one was not. It was shaky, hesitant, as if she was daring herself to write it in the first place. A name she almost didn’t want to write.

Prince Aldus

“I’ll send out the invitations once we figure out the date.” Morgana started, getting up from her seat, tapping the papers against the table to neaten them out.

“You’re inviting him?” Merlin asked, pointing at the name. 

Morgana paused, looking down on it. Fear smoothed her face into one of hesitance, before she let out a sigh. “Like I said, deadly insult. One wrong look can taint his honor, and he has high prices to regain such an honor.”

“How do you know that?”

“Personal experience.” Morgana muttered, walking around the desk, taking her papers with her. “Trust me, you don’t want the story.”

However, the pained look in her eye, the way she cast her gaze towards the floor, how her shoulders tensed, Merlin knew that he absolutely did want to know the story. He had seen her act towards people she hated, but this was not the same. This was not even the same kind of fear she held towards Uther, Arthur, or even himself. 

No, this was different. This wasn't a ‘I want to tear your head off and leave it on a pike for the crows to pluck out your eyes’ kind of fear, this was a ‘I will actively go out of my way to make sure he is never near me again’ kind of fear. The kind of fear that sends someone into an emotional turmoil, the kind that changes a person. The kind that consumes and warps a person’s soul if left unchecked. 

“Morgana, what did he do to you?” Merlin tried to ask, turning in his chair to look at her.

Morgana hesitated. “You wouldn’t care either way.” Her voice shook for just a tiny, tiny moment.

“Morgana…” But Merlin didn’t get to continue before Morgana opened the door. 

“You are excused.”

The look in her eye, Merlin knew that he would get no more words out of her. He would not get an answer as to why she feared that prince today, and perhaps not for a long, long time. No, she would only tell someone who she truly, intimately trusted, and that was no longer him. If it was years ago, she probably would have ran right into Gaius’s home to tell him her woes about the prince, just as she did with her magic. Not that Merlin did well with that either, but still… 

He would have tried. He would have tried to comfort her, he would try to do something. If a man made her that afraid, then the Merlin he once was would have gone directly to Arthur, and the two of them would have moved mountains to keep her safe.

But he wasn’t that boy anymore, and she wasn’t that girl. This was a whole new world, and if she was afraid, she wouldn’t tell him. 

Sighing, Merlin rose from his seat. One last glance as he passed, he walked out the door. The door quickly closed behind him.

There was no guards outside waiting for him in the large echoing hall. There was no one nearby to point him toward his room. He was all alone. 

By the time he got to his room, after only a few wrong turns, he was feeling only a little calmer. He was still stressed, to be sure, but it was a different stress now. 

He still, at his heart of hearts, wanted to go home. Even if home wasn’t entirely safe for him, even if it wasn’t totally accepting of what he is, home was still filled with people he loved and cared for. Friends, family, and more. After all, that was the whole reason why he was here: to protect them. To protect his kin. 

Home was calling, and it was a strong call. It made him think, made him question, made him barter and hope. That maybe, perhaps, if things could go well, he could find a loophole. Perhaps he could marry her, and then in a formal arrangement, he could live in Camelot as a representative, perhaps. 

What’s a little bit longer? After all, he could be patient too. 

The moment he pushed open his door, Merlin was met with a familiar sight. Sitting on his bed was Aithusa, clearly done with whatever shenanigans she had been up to with Mordred. Merlin didn’t know what those shenanigans were, but he was sure he was going to hear about them later.

Aithusa perked her head up and looked up at him with those big baby eyes. Merlin sighed. “Your choice of mother is a pain in my ass.” He replied, closing his door behind him.

Aithusa didn’t say anything, only rapidly wagging her tail. She truly did look like an eager dog when she did that, although she would be the smartest dog Merlin would have ever known if that was the case.

He reached out and petted her head, rubbing the nubs that would one day become horns. Perhaps as magnificent as Kilgarrah’s, perhaps more. After all, Kilgarrah was stuck in a cave for twenty years, surviving off of rats and bats to eat. Surely that would cause some tarnish on the dragon's looks. Honestly, it was a miracle the massive dragon hadn’t died of starvation sooner. No wonder he was grumpy; Merlin would be grumpy too if he wasn't allowed to eat a good meal for twenty years.

Before Merlin did anything else, he knew that he needed to write a few letters. Walking over to the ornately carved desk that sat flush against the wall, complete with an ornately carved seat, Merlin checked to see if there was any paper. There was none sitting atop, but pulling open the drawer, Merlin was pleased to see that there was a stack of parchment ready to go, along with his gift from Gaius; his writing box. Neatly tucked away.

A small squelch crossed Merlin’s gut; he would have to talk to Aaron later. He was most definitely sure that he hadn’t even bothered unpacking from yesterday, and for all of his habits of living in Camelot, he was not ok with people going through his things. Besides, now he had no idea where all his things were!

It took him a solid minute or two to figure out where all of his things were, including his magic tome and other books, which he found to be in his bedside table alongside his gift dagger and Arthur’s pendent. With a snatch, Merlin scooped up the pendent and slipped it back into his pocket. He was ashamed to realize that he hadn’t gone looking for the thing after he had woken up, and he had a whole day and night to look for it!

Merlin shook his head. What was he coming to? 

Sighing, he sat down at his supposedly new desk. Reaching in, he pulled out two sheets of parchment and the box of various inks. He danced his fingers over the bottles of ink, carefully considering, before selecting the classic black ink, settling down to write his letters.

The first was addressed to, actually, his mother of all people. He needed her to know what was going on, that perhaps sooner rather than later her only child may be getting married. He’s only saying maybe, because despite everything, if he found the chance to get out of this, then he was going to take it. Regardless, above all else, if there was anyone who was out of the loop the most and who needed to know, it would be her.

“Besende Hunith,” He whispered, and with a flick of his wrist and a thought of his mother, the letter was off. 

The second one was to Gaius, explaining his safe arrival in Amata. He selectively chose to not mention the part of her throwing him through a wall, after all Gaius would scold his ear off through letter if he did, but did mention that she was acting rather odd in a way. However the most difficult part to write was how to carefully explain to Gaius that no, he might not be going home. For all the old man talked about, as the things were going, Merlin would have to stay. Advice would be helpful, as it always seemed that the old man had good ideas that Merlin never thought of. Perhaps he could help him figure a way out of this.

With a seal, he rolled up the scroll and flicked it into the air, “Besende Gaius.” And just like that, the letter was gone.

Merlin sighed, leaning back in his seat. He had still yet to see Aithusa or Mordred at all that day besides that one small moment in Morgana’s office, and it was halfway through the day already. Honestly, he should have talked with Morgana on the rules of the castle, because he had no idea on what to do. While yes it was dumb to say, he didn’t want to get punished just for not knowing what to do or even how to get food.  

Needless to say, but if he was going to stay here for a while, then he was not going to let her down for throwing him through a wall. Not only was it funny, but it was a good way to mess with Morgana. 

He could finish unpacking, but after Aaron had gone through his things, most of what was still needed to be done wasn’t much. He could save it for later, if Aaron wasn’t going to do it first. 

The least he could do is explore the castle where he has the chance, before Morgana found some rules to keep him from not. 

He turned towards Aithusa, who was still dozing off on his bed. “Hey, Aithusa.”

The little dragon perked her head, looking at him curiously. 

“Do you want to show me around the castle? We can go exploring a bit.”

Aithusa’s tail began to thump rapidly against the bed, as if she just looked excited to be there. With a chirp of agreement, the little dragon leapt to her feet and hopped off the bed. It didn’t take her long to be waiting excitedly by the door.

Whatever adventure and shenanigan plans she had with Mordred had fallen through when he was summoned by some of the blue wearing knights, so she was more than excited to do something fun today. If it meant hanging out with one of her favorite people then all the better.

Merlin chuckled, getting to his feet. He was glad to see that Aithusa wasn’t holding his accidental captivity of her against him anymore, of if she did, she wasn’t making it shown at the moment. Perhaps later she’ll remind him, but not at the moment. 

Aithusa waited patiently for Merlin to open the door, letting them out into the hallway.

“Well, where do you want to start?” Merlin asked The mastiff sized dragon pointed her nose towards the corridor to their left. “Alright then, lead the way!”

Aithusa eagerly hopped to her feet, hopping down the way. 

Side by side, lord and dragon. Off to explore their new home.

Chapter Text

Merlin always enjoyed a good, long, peaceful walk. 

They always gave him one of those rare yet precious moments of peace he craved so much. Where he could let his magic be free, feel it mingle all around him, like a dog set loose from its leash and let to explore. Feel it infuse into the air, into the marble pillars and stone walls, until it inevitably settled around him in a thick, comfortable, calming blanket, releasing his stress for at least a small moment. The ritual-like exercise cleared his mind and often gave him a sense of clarity, letting him process things better.

And he had a lot to process.

With everything going on, topped with the mind boggling decision to actually agree to marry Morgana of all people, his mind was off in a fuzz. Whether he made the right decision and if he could get out of it if he was wrong. How his body conflicted between the logical mind’s proclaimations that he had to find a way out of this, that his promises were nothing but a ruse until he found a way to end this once and for all, and his deeply buried heart’s whispers, saying ‘is this really that bad of an outcome?’

Such thoughts scrambled Merlin’s mind to the point where he did not even know where to start. 

It confused him, worried him, it made him dread the future, but under it all, he was… excited would be the wrong word. It’s the same kind of feeling as someone might feel looking over the edge of a cliff and not being able to see the ocean below through the fog. How far away it was, whether there were jagged cliffs there to greet him, or no ocean at all. The irrational desire or impulse to jump, knowing it’s perfectly safe to do so, but choked fear of questioning ‘what if it isn’t?’ Forbidding himself from jumping, but all the same, craving the fall. It was an odd feeling, and Merlin didn’t even know how to begin to process it. Let alone what to think of it.

Well, that was what the walks were good for.

Forcing himself out of his mind, Merlin tried to focus on taking in the views around him. Honestly, he thought that he’d get used to the beauty this castle had on offer, but every time he rounded a corner he was still met with awe.

In many of the important halls the roofs were tall and arching like a granderous cathedral, while others relied on shorter roofs filled with carved coffered detail to capture its audience. Sculptures of animals and people and carefully carved pillars made of marble held up the roof with effortless ease. Grand staircases curled through doorways and in front of hallways, leading towards other parts of the castle. Detailed tapestries and gorgeous paintings hung on walls alit with the light of streaming of large, occasionally stained glass windows, filled with elegant designs of red, yellow, and blue, of abstract symbols and swirls. Gorgeous colorful rugs trailed along the floor like a path to guide those who wander. Doors made of a rich dark stained wood cut whatever rooms they came across neatly from the hallways, offering privacy to those inside.

Merlin had to admit, whoever designed the great castle of Amata had excellent taste in architecture. While Merlin wasn’t a big architecture nut, he was greatly interested in all of the details that surrounded him. It kept his eyes and mind busy, even when he came to a stop. It’s a trick that he learned when he was coping with many other overwhelming situations; overwhelm his mind with details or chores. It was either that, or he’d bury himself under research of any kind. It worked with most situations, however it does have its limits.

Much of what caught Merlin’s attention the most was the tapestries and paintings that hung on the wall. According to the pattern, there was room for one large tapestry or painting between each pillar, many of them consisting of events or people. Each and every one more detailed and vibrant than the last, to the point where Merlin could nearly hear the picture, see movement. Thick oil paintings of robust boats sailing across stormy, frothing waters, silhouettes of horrifying monstrosities reaching their tentacles out of the water in the distance, dragging unsuspecting folks into the inky depths. Paintings of battlefields of armies mid clash, men screaming, bodies falling, blades and armor stained with blood. Golden fields mid harvest woven into tapestries twice as long as Merlin was tall, people swinging away with sharp scythes, its repetitve action Merlin could nearly hear. A painting of a unicorn greeting a lone knight out in the middle of an emerald colored forest, its pearlescent coat shining with its own light, the knight leaning back in shock and awe. A tapestry of women gathered in a circle, creating a variety of fabric projects together as they gossiped in delight, their husbands played their instruments and drank from their steins merrily nearby. A self portrait from the creators of these tapestries, rugs, banners, and clothes. 

Each and every piece told a story, and one by one they filled Merlin with awe. It helped greatly to lift his mood. The only thing that caught him off guard was when the pattern was occasionally thrown off. Where there was probably once a painting or a tapestry, there was none, leaving only empty hooks behind. Merlin couldn’t possibly guess what once hung there, but knowing this castle once belonged to Sarum, it was most definitely removed for a reason. 

Probably nothing good, Merlin thought to himself. While macabre curiosity always got the best of him, and no doubt he would ask around to find out where such pieces were kept, only Aithusa’s curiosity distracted him from the moment. 

Aithusa chirped, hopping down another corner. She looked back over her shoulder eagerly, as if calling out for him to follow her.

Merlin chuckled, having to hurry his pace. “Wait up, Aithusa!” He called after her.

Aithusa, of course, did the exact opposite. The moment he got close enough she continued to bound down the hallways, leaving him behind. Honestly, Merlin was delighted to see how happy and eager she was to show him around, but he’d like to take the time and take it all in, thank you. He still barely knew where he was going at the moment, and he wanted to take it all in!

At this point in the day, Merlin rarely ran across any maids or manservants. It was, after all, nearing lunch time. Every maid and manservant he passed by had trays of food in their hand, or were making a beeline towards the kitchen.

Part of Merlin wanted to go join them, but another part of him made him question. Would he be welcomed? Unlike Guinevere’s rise to Queen, these people don’t know him, and he’s being completely blindsided by his role in Amata. Even if they were to get married, he wouldn’t be surprised if Morgana gave him chores anyways. 

After pondering for a moment, not even looking away from a large painting of a hunt, Merlin came to the conclusion that he’d prefer to explore the castle a bit more before getting something to eat, or finding out that he has chores already. After all, to him he felt like he had just eaten only an hour or so ago, and Aithusa didn’t seem interested in eating at all. No presence pressed on his mind, demanding to let them go explore the meat storage room, nor any grabbing of his shirt and dragging him to the kitchen. If Aithusa wasn’t hungry, he could wait an hour or two more before he ate again. 

Honestly, this castle had to have been the most beautiful castle Merlin had ever been in. Granted, he had only been in less than a handful in his entire life, but still! He could feel the castle of Amata was a passion project to some very ambitious architects and artists over the years, and every time Merlin rounded a corner he was reminded of it. It was awe inspiring, in every sense of the word. 

By the time Merlin caught up to Aithusa, the little dragon was waiting eagerly at a crosspoint in the castle, tail wagging feverishly. She was clearly eager to show him something, and for once was willing to wait for him. 

“What are you so eager to show me?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask in a laugh as he caught his breath, if only for just a moment. Aithusa only chirped in response, still waiting eagerly for him. 

It was an outer hallway Aithusa had decided to stop at, the wall lined with windows letting in streams of light. The left lead towards more hallways and a staircase leading downwards, and to the right lead towards an intricate, very large set of doors. 

Two grand doors stood tall against the wall down the way, cupped with exquisite white stone sculptures and carvings on either side. It wasn’t nearly as tall or as grandurous as the doors leading into the throne room or the dining hall, but it was very pretty. It was clear the room on the other side of these doors signified or held some importance to the creator of this castle, and while the hallway was vacantly empty, it was well kept.

There was no question about it, both to himself and Aithusa: the door was far more interesting.

Stepping up, Merlin felt the wood under his fingers. There were two stone statues, one of a rather scantily clad man and the other of a scantily clad woman on either side loomed over him, akin to guardians, safeguarding what’s on the other side. Each one wearing blindfolds over their eyes, the man holding a sword, the woman holding a scale. There was an inscription carved into the frame around the door, of which Merlin noted to be in Latin, though he did not know what it spoke. Despite the fact that he knew how to read, Latin was not one of his strong suits.

Lustitia caeca est, qualis carnifex est. Scientia est quae dat visum.

Merlin looked down at Aithusa as a slow mischievous look dawned on his face. Looking back to the door with a deep breath, he proclaimed, “Well, this looks like a good place to start.”  With that, he shoved the double doors open, creaking and groaning under their own weight, until they could swing open on their own. As the pair stumbled inside, taking in the room Merlin’s breath hitched. His eyes went wide as he let out a soft “Whoa.”

The two of them had stumbled their way into potentially the largest library Merlin had ever seen.

Compared to Camelot’s stuffy basement, where only a lone old senile caretaker would look at the books, here it seemed the books were out in the open and carefully curated, available for anyone who wanted to stop by and take a peek. 

Large windows, some of which filled with abstract designs full of color, let in tons of light, filling the room with a warm, gentle glow. The roof was empty of chandelier or other lighting material, relying on the sunlight that streamed through the windows. Streaming light onto the tall, dark shelves of leather bound books, each window having a couch under it for optimal sitting. Walls upon walls upon walls of books to his right and left, shelves upon shelves filled to the brim. Down the center were several sets of tables, perfect for anyone to sit down and read, and at the very end of the library, once again piled around with what looked like a two story tall wall of shelves full of books, was a fireplace crackling away. In front of it had to be the largest couch Merlin had ever seen. It was big enough to seat several people all at once! 

Merlin had to admit; King Sarum may have been some of the worst scum of the planet, but he had an impressive collection of books, and took very good care of them.

It was almost unfair, that the cruelest have the most beautiful homes. That the cruelest have the nicest lives. 

Well, now it was his home, so what did that say about him? He carefully decided not to think about that too much.

Merlin immediately turned to Aithusa, wagging a finger her way. “Now no fire in here, got it? Everything in here is very flammable and valuable, and we don’t want it going up in flames, okay?” 

The little dragon nodded her head vigorously. No fire, got it. For his consideration, no magic as well. Who knows what it would do in a place like this?

The man and dragon’s steps echoed against the marble floor, the shelves looming over them like giant embodiments of knowledge. Each shelf filled brim to brim with books upon books upon books, and Merlin wanted nothing more in that moment than to read every single one of them. 

Merlin enjoyed reading, it was yet another thing that made him odd amongst his friends and fellow servants. Not only did he know how to read, which was very uncommon to begin with for someone of his background, as a peasant in some backwater village such as Ealdor, it’d be unlikely he’d have such an education, let alone want to. And yet, he enjoyed reading. He knew nearly every book in Gaius’s large collection cover to cover, and then some. It was a good pastime, when he wasn’t practicing his magic or doing his endless amounts of duties as Arthur’s servant.

But his reading selection wasn’t exactly the most diverse. Merlin enjoyed learning of medicine and the body, but… there was always more out there to learn and read. There was the library down in the basement of Camelot castle, like previously mentioned, but it wasn’t much to shake a stick at. It was mainly just old records and lineage accounts, nothing much for entertainment unless you like researching the lineages of the nobility and royalty of Camelot. Useful if looking for a prospective groom or bride for your noble daughter or son, but not very entertaining. At least, not for Merlin.

But these books weren’t just records, oh no, they were so much more.  The subjects spanning from history to the sciences, to philosophy to poetry, to fairy tales and true stories galore. So many kinds of books, Merlin wanted to read them all! He wanted to throw himself into every world, every story, every book described, if only to escape the one he was in right now. 

He ran his fingers over the leather covers, fingers rippling over leather binders embossed with gold flakes. Detailed, embossed, with swirls and flowers, elegant letters of languages he both recognized and didn’t. So, so many books…

His fingers paused, and slipped a random heavy leather bound book off the shelf. Nearly an inch thick and embossed with golden flakes, with designs of flowers and swirls on the front. So tenderly cared for, just like every one of its kind.

He looked down at the book, cracking the spine open with a creak. He wanted nothing more than to curl up on one of these couches with something warm to drink and read until the light fell. Perhaps if he had the chance, he could read a chapter or two before he left. Perhaps he could take a few of these books back home with him.

 If he went home.

Merlin paused. Not that Morgana was going to give him any time to read. She’ll probably give so many chores that he’ll be up to his large ears in work, having to work day and night to get it all done. Who needs a comfortable bed when you aren’t going to sleep in it?

But, at the moment, there was no chores, and there was no harm in peeking, right? As far as he was aware, they were alone. Not a servant or lord nearby to tell them otherwise.

The first page of the book was a rather detailed painting of a scene in a fairytale, a scene of a peasant walking down a road with six animals in tow, although Merlin would admit, the artist had to work on their drawings of animals. He had a deer, a donkey, a dog, a cat, a crow, and some sort of water fowl creature he could not describe, and Merlin was quite sure he had never seen a cat before with such a human looking face. Perhaps that is to be mentioned in the story beyond, or perhaps the artist needed to go find a cat before attempting to draw one. 

A Collection of Amatan Folk Tales, Transcribed by The Advisor of King Tereus, Lord Serason

Merlin had never heard of such names, but he supposed that they belonged to a king before Sarum. Perhaps Sarum’s father or grandfather. It did not matter much in the grand scheme of things. After all, these stories were technically not his alone, they belonged to all of the people of Amata. They are as much his mother’s and his own as they are the peasants and lords and ladies. He just simply transcribed them. Well, someone had to do  it, Merlin supposed, but it fascinated him so. If this land was to be his new home, he might as well learn their stories. After all, folk tales were the people’s way of recording their own history, and teach the lessons they deem valuable to their children.

He flipped the page, starting into the story.

The Farmer’s Lament

There once was a poor farmer, who seemed to be down on his luck. He had six animals under his care; a cow, a donkey, a cat, a dog, a crow, and a duck.

“That’s one hell of a duck,” Merlin mused to Aithusa under his breath, looking back at the picture. He was sure of the artist’s intention in context, but the piece itself could have been drawn a lot better. 

Aithusa chirped at something, but Merlin did not look up. He was too enraptured with the book in his hands. Too enraptured by the story, too curious for his own good. 

Well the farmer was so poor that one day, he decided to take his animals to market and see what price he could sell them for. He had first sent his son, but his son could not bear to part with even the meanest of ducks…

“What are you doing, Emrys?” A serene but familiar voice spoke up. A voice he knew to be equally dangerous and enticing. 

In a startled yelp, Merlin nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around to face his name-sayer.

Standing there behind him, in all her glory, still dressed in the same emerald colored, silver embroidered, alluringly low square neckline gown as she had on earlier in the day, still missing her crown, hair carefully pulled back in a half tie, keeping her hair out of her face without sacrificing looseness, was Morgana. She had an almost bemused look on her face, as if she had absolutely intended on scaring him, or if she didn’t, then she was amused he hadn’t noticed her sooner. 

Honestly, for Merlin, being in such a previously good mood and being scared out of his socks couldn’t bring himself to actually be annoyed, like he would have been earlier. Somehow, in some way, Morgana had managed to sneak up behind him and scared his heart into nearly leaping out of his chest. If he were older, he’d be worried he’d have a heart attack!

“My gods, Morgana,” Merlin huffed out , snapping his book shut, “What was that for?! And what are you doing here?!”

“I believe I asked you that question first.” Morgana quipped, raising a quizzical, bemused eyebrow as she took a small step forward, still as calm as the ocean before a storm. 

For a small moment, Merlin felt trapped against the bookshelves, back pressed against their spines as he took a step back. A familiar smell lingered through the air. Faint, but unmistakably there. Sweet and strong, similar to amber, but not. It didn’t stick to his nose like amber. Familiar to a part of him deep down inside, but as far as he was aware, he had only smelt it in Morgana’s tent.

Perhaps in a past life he would have been delighted by the situation, stuck between a bookcase and a pretty woman, but that sort of thing never happened to him. Maybe to Arthur, if he’d ever visited the library, but he’d never do such a thing. Arthur just wasn’t interested in books enough to go down the stairs into his basement, and it was fairly difficult to sneak up behind him with his hoity toity knightly training.

Besides, who would want to be trapped in the library with your notoriously dangerous -albeit beautiful- fiancé you just agreed to marry who knows how many hours, not even days, ago? 

“Aithusa and I were exploring and we came across this place.” Merlin just explained simply, looking back over her emerald colored shoulders, desperately glancing for an escape route. Now would be a perfectly convenient time for one of the book-keepers, or masters of the library to come in...

“And so you decided to peruse my selection of books?” Morgana teased slightly with a smirk, tilting her head and leaning a touch forward as her curiosity evidently deepened. She took another, bolder step forward as Merlin had nowhere to go, trapped.

It was only then that Merlin realized she too had a rather large book in her hands, tucked into the crook of her arm. The book was made of an old, plain, undecorated and uncolored leather, barely a word written onto the front. It was untouched, dusty, just like most of those books in Camelot’s basement. Probably a set of old harvest and tax records, if Merlin had to guess.

But that did not matter. No. He was stuck, or rather pinned, into a tense moment. Merlin’s first instinct was to lie, and he’d gotten quite good at it over the years. His talent at lying, followed by his talent of blending into backgrounds like nothing, was what got him out of a lot of sticky situations, and knowing Morgana, a sticky situation may just be possible. But what was he to gain out of it? If he was caught in a lie, whatever it may be, the result may be worse than what he was trying to avoid in the first place. Besides, there was nothing to lie about, not anymore, was there? If they were to be married at some point, this would be his library too. The idea flared in his stomach again, he didn’t know what to make of it. What would be so wrong with perusing the library anyways? He must have something to do with his days. 

And after all, weren’t most of their secrets already in the air at this point, right?...

…Right?

 An air of uncertainty breezed over him, the same feeling he always had around her. A feeling of secrets, of the hand hidden behind the cards. A mask of feelings he was becoming very… intimate with. 

“I-I did.” He briefly glanced away, having to take a moment before he looked back only to be enraptured by her breathtaking stunningly green opal eyes, Merlin managed to force out, “I apologize. It’s just I’ve never seen so many books before.” Merlin gestured at the grand room around them, looking at it all in awe. “Especially ones not in a dark, musky place.” 

Morgana hummed to herself, eyebrows scrunched together adorably as her lips pursed with a puzzled, questioning look. “Truly?” She asked as she tilted her head to the other side. 

Merlin swallowed and nodded, brow furrowed. On the surface he was calm and collected, no different than before, but underneath was a different story. He was mentally scolding himself as his breath hitched, utterly captivated as a piece of her dark hair fell perfectly out of place, cascading past her eyes just so. His finger grip grew tighter around the book he’d been reading earlier in his hand, keeping it by his side. He stiffened slightly, almost imperceptible to the eye, as he struggled to keep his hand from reaching out and brushing the hair behind her ear. 

And yet, all Morgana got was silence.

Curious, but not very interested in his silence, Morgana let the matter go. With barely a sigh of unsatisfied amusement, Morgana stepped back and turned around, giving Merlin room to breathe once more. 

His eyes fluttered closed with relief, letting out a sigh. That was too close for comfort. He’d hate it if she knew just how easily she could send him spiraling.

Morgana was just about to walk away, head back to the dreadfully dull meeting that was waiting for her in the meeting room, when she recalled a distant, wistful memory, long ago from her time back in Camelot. Like a loose thread, plucked from the edges of her mind, tucked away for so long she had completely forgotten about it until it unthreaded itself from the rest.

She had been passing down a hallway, to do what or go where she does not remember, when she stumbled upon a younger, ganglier Merlin carefully curled into a seating alcove. Either on one of his very few breaks or just simply hiding from Arthur, he was reading quite vigilantly from a book. She never found out what the book was, she didn’t stop long enough to ask, but he was so adorably fascinated by it, his eyes filled with fascination and curiosity. She had never seen any members of the one of any upper class so enraptured by a humble book like he had been. His eyes alight with a shine and determination like that of an eager young student. Morgana had to admit, she thought it quite cute at the time, but she’ll keep that thought to herself, locked away. Safe. Never to see the light of day again. Such things were not for her, after all. 

“You really like to read, don’t you?” Morgana asked, delicately looking back over her shoulder, her gaze driving in hard. There was a touch of bemusement there, but under it all was a serious drive. Curiosity in its purest form. 

Merlin’s heart gripped again, cheeks lightly flushed as he eyed her with slight suspicion. Carefully, he shrugged. “Reading is one of the only ways to learn more about the world.” Merlin explained reluctantly, “I wouldn’t know much at all if I didn’t know how to read.” 

There was a small, vulnerable, desperate edge to voice, one that Morgana had an inkling wasn’t something she wanted to unpack just yet. So, blinking twice, she opted to ignore it. Besides, she had more to deal with at the current moment. Most specifically, all of the gathered knowledge she had on him now…

Merlin couldn’t possibly know what gears were whirling inside her head as she seemed to debate something with herself, but before he could even move to escape with his little dragon in tow, Morgana sighed. “I’m going to regret doing this, but…”

Merlin felt himself take a small step forward. “What?”

She gestured with her chin and the book. “Come with me.” 

Merlin hesitated, watching her walk away, disappearing around the shelf. He could follow her, or he could make a run for it. After all, it could be a trap…

“I’m not going to throw you through another wall,” Morgana’s annoyed voice called out from the other side of the shelves.

Well, curiosity killed the cat, and with a proclamation like that, what else was Merlin to do? With a scramble and a shrug Aithusa’s way, Merlin followed after her, with little Aithusa following him.

The sounds of their shoes and Aithusa’s claws clicking across stone floors echoed around the room, Merlin’s gaze continued to face upwards as they passed more and more shelves. Just judging by the size, design, and the amount of light streaming in, Merlin wouldn’t be surprised if this room was once a chapel, and had since been repurposed from a place of worship into a place of knowledge. Or perhaps reverse; perhaps chapels were designed with this place in mind. 

As Morgana led him deeper and deeper into the library, he couldn’t help but wonder what she was doing. Not once did she look back at him, and as they passed more and more shelves, she didn’t think to speak up. It wasn’t that there was an unapproachable aura coming from her, but not a word came from her crimson colored lips either. A silence that was both approachable and yet unbearing. Like following an emerald guardian of the forest; unyielding, unapproachable, and yet not dangerous.

With her in front, his gaze continued to take her in. Now that she was standing in front of him and the adrenaline of her scaring the socks off him had worn off, he was rather taken by her dress. It was a beautiful cool emerald in color, as mentioned, but it was it’s elegant embroidered with silver threads that captured his attention the most. Swirling from the base in a way that reminded Merlin of snakes, or wisps of magic, the embroidery trailing more and more upwards until it got near her rather nicely shaped rear– stop it!

Flush quickly crawling up his neck and towards his ears, Merlin leapt at the chance to talk, picking up his pace to pull his gaze away from what he was not supposed to be looking at and walk alongside her instead.

Aithusa followed them in a hop, careful not to get in front. The tension between them was palpable, nearly visible to the naked eye, and she did not want to be the one to break it.

“Don’t you have a meeting soon?” He asked, striding alongside her, keeping his eyes explicitly forward. He won’t stare at something that Morgana would have an easier time noticing him doing…

“They can wait.” Morgana replied nonchalantly, not even looking back over her shoulder. 

Merlin snorted. He supposed she was right. She was the queen, after all, and whatever the queen chose to do with her time, everyone else catered to. Not that it was nice to waste all the old coots time, they don’t have much left, but she was the queen. Somewhat tyranical, yes, but she was allowed to do whatever it was she desired. 

As they walked closer and closer to the large looming bookcase, the large and elegant fireplace growing larger and larger, Merlin couldn’t help but let his curiosity grow. Just what was she to show him? A book? A shelf? Perhaps she really was giving him some chores to do, really making him work while he was here. It would make sense; he was still technically a manservant. Perhaps she just wanted to rub things in, really show him who’s in charge of it all.

But by the time he came to a stop, Morgana was casting her gaze across them all, a single manicured finger carefully scrawling across the spines as if she was considering which book she wanted to read.

“What are you looking for?” Merlin asked, arching a brow.

Merlin wasn’t able to see the self satisfied smirk that crossed Morgana’s lips when she found what she was looking for. “This.” 

At that, she pulled a book by the spine, where then Merlin could hear a very loud KEEERCHUNK !, like a heavy door being unlocked. Aithusa’s eyes went wide, pattering her feet with excitement.

Before their very eyes, the bookshelf swung inwards, revealing a tight, twisting, dark staircase. Aithusa was mighty pleased. She had not seen many secret doors in her life, but she greatly enjoyed the idea.

“Whoa,” he whispered. Not for the first time that day, Merlin was utterly speechless and in awe. The mechanism was certainly fascinating, for both Merlin and Aithusa.

Morgana tipped her head inside. “Come.”

Merlin did as he was told, following her down the spiral staircase. It was tight, barely wider than Merlin’s shoulders. The group had to go one by one, with Morgana in the front, Merlin in the middle, and Aithusa in the back. The further down they went, the darker it got. Feeling daring, Merlin whispered under his breath, and a ball of blue light glowed in his hand, casting shadows on the cramped stone walls.

Morgana looked over her shoulder, arching a scolding brow.

“What?” Merlin asked incredulously, arching an eyebrow back in response.

“I thought I told you to ask before using your magic,” Morgana replied coolly, turning her gaze back towards the stairs before her. 

“If you think that I was going to follow all those rules, then you are sorely mistaken.” Merlin equally retorted. Besides, it was just a light spell. He’d prefer not to trip on her dress and fall down, who knows how far, thank you very much. At least he’d bring her down with him…

As they trailed lower and lower, Merlin was soon greeted by a thick, ancient energy, wafting from below. Like a low hanging, heavy fog. Aithusa chirped; she could feel it too. Before Merlin could even open his mouth to ask, the tight confines of the staircase suddenly opened into a vacant void, revealing a dark room, almost impossible to see. It was large enough that Merlin’s small ball of light wasn’t enough to fill the space. With a slightly brighter flash of gold, several small blue balls of light floated around him. The glare on Morgana’s face only grew stronger as the orbs gently floated into the room. In their light, Merlin could see the edge of darkly stained wooden bookshelves, full to the brim with books. 

It was a smaller room than the one above, with a lower roof and tighter walls. Cozier and darker rather than the grandiose and light. Like the comparison between a cathedral and a well built cabin in winter. Fat, heavy tomes sat on dark oaken shelves and were noticeably well cared for, yet the room was dark, cold, and carried a certain staleness, as if it hadn’t been entered for weeks. On the very edge of his light, Merlin could see a table, paired with a few simple yet sturdy looking chairs. 

“So Sarum had a secret library inside his library?” Merlin asked, casting his bemused gaze around. His voice did not echo inside of the room, almost absorbed into it. Muffled, in a way.

“Not just any library, a magic library.” Morgana proclaimed, reaching up and twisting the torch handle that hung beside her head. 

“I’m sorry, what—?” To Merlin’s surprise, all of a sudden several amber colored crystals sitting in torch holders all blinked to life, casting the room in a cozy orange glow. What was once dark and barely lit was now filled with light. “Whoa…” 

Letting go of his spell, Merlin could take in all of the room, and it filled him with awe. The room was hardly a quarter of the size of the grand library above, but Merlin could understand now why there was such an attraction. Shelf upon shelf was shoved tight with books, some spilling out onto a table sitting in the center of the room. Across the room was a single empty fireplace and a smaller couch sitting in front of it. Perfect to fit only two people in its embrace. It wasn’t grandeurous and mighty, it wasn’t spectacularly detailed, but it did do the job, and it seemed to be well cared for.

“All of these books pertain to knowledge relating to magic. Mostly combat magic, but there are other categories as well, such as culture and magical creatures.” Morgana explained calmly, stepping off to the side to let him enter. 

Merlin’s feet seemed to walk on their own, his gaze taking in everything around him. There were so many books! Thick books, thin books, short books, tall books, plain books, extravagant books, the whole lot! Every shelf was packed with them, precariously shoved in to get as much in as possible, making use of every square inch of room. Some even stacked up on the floor and on the table, some even filled with loose sheets of paper and notes. But what really got Merlin’s attention was the sheer energy in the air.

He could feel the arcane energy permeating from the shelves, infusing every piece of furniture, saturating the air. Many of the books exuded magic, intertwined with it, interfused with the hanging air. Like they sung with a magical power all too familiar in his bones, as if they themselves were blessed with a touch of magic too,Imbued with a sliver of their owner’s magic cores, a part of their very souls. Many of the books were Grimiores, tomes, much like the one Gaius had given him within days of arriving in Camelot.

But… This was a kingdom notoriously known for banning magic! Arguably worse than Uther himself! Why would he have all of this? Uther would have had all of these books destroyed them the moment he found them, surely Sarum would too if they thought the same way? So how did all of these books survive?

Merlin came to a pause, looking back at her with a confused look. “But I thought Sarum hated all things magic?” He asked, brow furrowed and deep. Was there something he was missing?

Morgana gently shook her head, a slight bitter expression crossing her face. “No, he didn’t. He hated those who had power.”

Merlin paused again, looking back. “What?”

Morgana gently sighed, pushing herself off the wall and took a step forward. “Unlike Uther, who somehow had the decency of only using magic as an absolute last resort,” Morgana rolled her eyes, “Sarum was a bit of a hypocrite in that regard. He had no qualms of fighting fire with fire.” Morgana paused, letting her words sink in, searching his eyes as realization dawned his features. 

Tilting her head down, gaze to the trim, she continued, “All he wanted was power, and for him, magic was power, and those who so much as had a chance of overthrowing him were a threat to his rule, and he took threats very seriously. He only gave power to those who were unfathomably loyal to him or those he knew he had control over, and even then, if he ever caught wind of them even thinking they had enough power to take him on…” She paused, holding her hand up. 

A breath held between them for a moment, a thin, fragile, icicle of a moment, before she snapped her fingers. “Gone.”

Her gaze met his own. Morgana had to give him credit, he did not flinch at her story. His face was smoothed cool, almost emotionless, mouth turned down in the slightest of frowns. Suppose that’s what happens when someone lives under the tyranny of Uther for so long. However, he could not hide completely how taken aback he was. His eyes, dark under the shadow of an amber colored crystal, were windows to his soul. Like a tiny crack in his facade, his perfect, jester-like fool’s mask. He wasn’t surprised, no, but he wasn’t expecting such an answer either. What he was expecting, if he was expecting anything at all, was beyond Morgana’s reach. 

Morgana huffed, a smirk on her lips, as if in laughter, but there was no humor in her eyes. Only bitter resentment. At the man who lied to his people about magic and then had this room built for near daily use, and at the man before her, for being so damn good at lying and hiding he didn’t know when to stop.  

He supposed it made sense, from the few stories and plenty of rumors he had heard about the old king, being power hungry made complete sense. A dreaded, uneasy sense, but it made sense.

“So, did he know magic?” Merlin carefully asked, arching a brow. It was a ridiculous question to ask, but if Sarum was as Morgana explained, it wouldn’t be too surprising. Magic was a tool, a powerful tool at that. If a man such as Sarrum wanted something, then magic would have been an easy solution. 

Morgana shook her head with a cool gaze. “No, the old fool had no affinity for it. He simply broke those that did and turned them against their own kind.” Merlin could tell Morgana’s distaste as she continued. “King Sarum didn’t ban magic because he thought it warped people’s minds, but because he knew damn well it could be used to threaten him, and could also be used to bolster his own power. King Uther was cruel but, but King Sarum was sadistic. Two very different mindsets.”

“So he could have…?” Merlin asked, letting the silence speak for him.

Such a thought was terrifying; Morgana, merely a pawn for a kingdom known for its sadistic and power hungry ruler. Not only did Merlin think it wrong, but… to imagine what Sarum could do with that kind of power against any kingdom. Against Camelot, against Arthur… He instinctively reached for his pocket, where Arthur’s pendant sat. Yet again, he was thankful the old man was dead. 

“He would have killed me before he used me in such a way.” Morgana replied, not looking his way. “You know, there are rumors…” she paused, taking a step closer, “That he once broke the mind of a kind and gentle father, warped him so horribly that he tore apart his own children and wife with his bare hands and teeth, up to and including a babe freshly born.”

Merlin felt sick to his stomach with that image in his mind, he couldn’t imagine what it would take to break someone that badly. His impression of King Sarum hadn’t been good before, but somehow it only worsened. There was a hard rock in his gut suddenly wanting nothing to do with this room.

The feeling of homesickness welled in his throat further. To return home and back to a time of simpler troubles, with allies, friends, and family to support him in his time of need. Merlin had seen death before, plenty of it. He watched bodies turn to ash on a bi-monthly basis, heads being separated from their owners, and watched insides come spilling out of bodies on a battlefield, but with friends it made the burden of death easier. Such a story like what Morgana described would have never happened in Camelot, not even while Uther was in charge. If it did, Arthur surely did not share such stories.

Some stories were not meant to be shared, and Merlin felt that this was one of them.

“But those are only rumors,” Morgana shrugged nonchalantly, the world returning to them once more. “And I had found that Sarum was quite proficient at greatly fleshing out stories. Plus, I’m sure you, the great Emrys, have heard plenty of gruesome stories. What Sarum had on offer was nothing compared to yours.”

That did not help Merlin. Memories of Gwaine finding his drinking buddy's body in a barrel of ale came to his mind against his will, gut split open by a knife, body equally bloated and devoid of blood. The way Gwaine crumpled to the ground, clutching his head in horror, wasn't a memory Merlin like the dwell on. 

He shook his head. “So you’re saying it's possible?” Merlin shakily asked, catching her gaze once more. 

“I’m saying it’s equally possible it’s not.” Morgana equally retorted. “The old king had a great panache for exaggerating details. Perhaps such a man did exist, and perhaps he was used against his own family, but I highly doubt he ate his own children and wife.”

Merlin glared at her. Her words did nothing to comfort him, and perhaps that was the whole goal. Make him not completely disgusted, leave enough doubt and comfort, but not enough to make him forget where he was. What she could have potentially gone through. Perhaps not as much as they did, perhaps more. What memories of horrors resided in her mind.

But, Merlin wanted to deflect from that. Please. No more horrors for the night. No more trips down the dark avenue of memory lane. 

“So why are you showing this room to me?” Merlin quickly asked, looking around once more, turning his attention back to the books. Distractions do a good job of keeping out intrusive thoughts, especially off topic conversations. Merlin learned that long ago, when the weight of destiny started to make his shoulders sore. 

Morgana shrugged. “Because you probably would have found your way down here and got yourself stuck if I didn’t show you first, and I’m not going to let my fiance and Aithusa starve to death within your first week here.” She replied without much care, leaning against the closest shelf.

Merlin scoffed it away. “I would have thought you’d despise letting me have access to all this.” He replied with a look. 

His fingers reached up to touch the spines of the books, leather meeting his fingers. A small spark called back to him, as if to whisper ‘Pick me! Pick me!’. Drawn to it, its magic was calling to him. The tiniest of smiles grew on his face.

“I do, which is why you aren’t allowed to be in here without my presence.” Morgana replied simply, barely sending him a glance of calm superiority before going back to inspect her nails. 

Merlin paused to a jolt, and rolled his eyes. “Of course.” He muttered under his breath. There it is. There’s the cost of admission. There’s the reason why he knew this was too good to be true.

“It seems only fair.” Morgana replied with a shrug, “After all, I’m sure the great and mighty Emrys wouldn’t be able to leave if I left him with complete freedom to the room.” But Merlin wasn’t paying attention anymore. He was paying more attention to the books before him. 

There were just so many he wanted to sit down and read! ‘An Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures’, ‘A Beginner’s Guide to Magic’, ‘An In Depth Analysis of Combat Magic’, ‘The Late Age Prophecies of the Druids’, ‘Early Age Rituals of the Priests and Priestesses of the Celtic Religion’, ‘Care of Magical Plants’, ‘Messages from the Stars; The Art of Astrology’, and so many more. No rhyme or reason to the sorting, but it didn’t matter to Merlin. 

So, so many books, and Merlin wanted to read every word.

For a moment his fingers hesitated over a book, as if it called out to him. The spine read ‘Dragons and Their Lords’ , written in a swirling golden font on dark stained leather, stamped with the imprint of a dragon’s head below. For one small moment, Merlin felt like he was at home. Well, not at home, but somewhere accepted. Somewhere he wanted to belong, at least for a little bit. A place that accepted him whole, completely who he was. A feeling he didn’t think he felt his whole life.

He was so enraptured by the book under his fingers he did not notice Aithusa and Morgana walking behind him, giving him a bemused look. 

“Care to start a fire?” Morgana’s voice asked from behind. Merlin finally tore himself away from the book to see the dreaded queen draping herself onto the couch with elegance and ease in front of the dead fireplace. The only place in this room that was the darkest of it all.

Merlin sent her a look. “With what flint and steel?” He asked rhetorically, although he was serious at the same time. He didn’t see a set of flint and steel anywhere. On top of all that, he explicitly told Aithusa not to use her fire in here. That was too much of a risk. Besides, the remaining logs in the fireplace were too cold and burned to be lit by flint and steel, he would need kindling, and he didn’t see any kindling either. 

Morgana lightly shrugged. “I give you permission to use magic.” 

Merlin huffed. “Well if you want it so bad, then why don’t you do it?” He asked with a bite, walking up to lean against the dead fireplace. Carefully carved, swirling cold marble seeped all the warmth out of his body through his thin coat. He crossed his arms over his chest defiantly.

But all Morgana did was give him a patient, smug smile. “Aw, the great and mighty Emrys, unable to start a little fire?” She teased with a mock pout and a hand placed over her chest as she leaned back in her seat, her gaze curled with playful, devious amusement. As if she held all the cards. 

He didn’t need to know her own magic was still recovering from their little… Tryst… Those few nights ago. 

Immediately Merlin glared her way, taking after his mentor and arching a strong, annoyed brow. Honestly, he should have just done it before just to spite her. It was far less humiliating that way. 

And yet, Morgana kept that smirk on her lips, not even hesitating his gaze. As if she was one to challenge him, as if she was willing to go to toe with him again. It annoyed him, and at the same time, deep down, it amused him as well.

With a surge of pride, Merlin let out one of his own rare smirks. Fine, if that’s the way she wants to play, then he’ll play.

Without even looking away from her, without even speaking a word, without even removing his arms from their crossed form or even twitching a finger, his eyes flashed gold. Two sparks, then Foom! The logs burst to life, popping off old flakes of ash that curled into nothingness. Fresh curls of flame roared to view, licking the tops of the fireplace with an energy and passion that would have never come from conventional means. 

Aithusa let out a cheerful chirp, and with nearly a skip and a hop she plopped her bottom right next to the fire on the cold stone before it and curled up into a ball. Absolutely and utterly content with the warmth to come. Completely and utterly unaware of the returning palpable tension between the two. 

Mixing with the scent of burning oak, Merlin could catch that amber-like scent from before, ever so faint, but there. Merlin could only watch as Morgana’s calm, sinful smirk grew in the light of the fireplace, her face aglow in the warm light, pale chest and neck dangerously empty of marks. Once again, looking like a dangerous desire he knew would be the end of him. 

“There, happy?” He asked in a low, near guttural tone, arching a brow.

“Much,” Morgana replied haughtily, and with that she broke the tension between them, turning her gaze towards the fireplace. 

Merlin let his breath go, his eyes fluttering closed, the warmth of the fireplace crawling up on him. It was a nice warmth, he had hardly noticed that the library around them was a touch bit colder than that of the room above. He was sure that once the fire got things going, this room would be much warmer, much more cozier than the room above. 

He finally looked down at the little dragon as the old logs cracked and popped, the little dragon who seemed to be enjoying the familiar warmth. He let out a small sigh. At least someone was having fun. 

Turning his gaze back towards the couch, Merlin was met with the vision of Morgana, tucked into the right side of the couch, leaned back, yet sitting like a lady. Her emerald silk, silver embroidered dress glinted in the light of the fireplace, cast in a warm, flickering, comforting glow. Her half pulled back hair framed her face perfectly, her calm gaze, once again turned to him, shining with the light of the fireplace. Nearly heart touching. 

“Come, sit.” She instructed, patting the couch beside her, right where she had left the left side of the seat open and unobstructed. Just enough room for another body to sit.

“I am not your pet.” 

Morgana carefully arched her own brow. “Whoever said you were?”

“Well you certainly are treating me like one.” 

“Well unless you’d like to sit on the floor, I’d like to show you a few things before I have to go back to tend to my advisors.” Morgana explained, resting the big book she had just carried down with her on her lap, fingers carefully curled over its spine. 

With an annoyed look, Merlin reluctantly crossed the remaining space and stiffly sank into the couch, trying to put as much distance between him and her. It was a surprisingly comfortable couch, plush and firm at the same time. Not solid enough that his bottom would go numb if he sat for too long, and not too plush that he’d sink into it and never be seen again. Not too hard, not too soft. Just right.

However, there wasn’t much room on that couch, and with every shift he made he dared to brush his knee against her own. It didn’t take long before the inevitable fate came, and a familiar spark coursed through him as their knees brushed. If Morgana was displeased by this, she had not made it known. She didn’t even move her knee away.

Not once did Morgana take her gaze away as he sat, a bit of a bemused smirk krept on her lips. As if she was amused by Merlin’s resistance to comfort. It was only when he had settled in that she spoke up. 

“What would you like to read?” She asked crisply, giving him a certain look.

Merlin arched a brow, giving her a look. “Pardon?”

“What is something that you always wanted to know about magic?” Morgana reiterated herself, calmly, as if she was talking about fabrics for a dress or explaining something to a child. Completely and utterly harmless, and it somewhat threw Merlin off guard.

Merlin pondered carefully, brow furrowed, humming softly. He knew that to Morgana, such an answer would not be so simple. No, it was more akin to a riddle than a question. Nevertheless, it was a gauging tool to determine Merlin's threat level. The answer he gives would be the difference between the knowledge he craved so dearly being locked away or gaining access to it all.

On the one hand, if he asked for books on combatant magic, like powerful enchantments, rituals, or curses, it would come across as preparing for a fight. A round two of their duel, only this time he'd be prepared. She'd never let him down there again. On the other hand, if he chose something like entertainment magic, fairies, or the lifestyle of unicorns, he knew that what little respect he had from her would wither away. She'd likely laugh at him on the spot. His cheeks would burn to the point his ears would fall right off. Sure, she'd let him read whatever he'd want, but she would laud it over him until they were long into the afterlife. 

He didn't want to be laughed at; he wanted some form of respect from her, and Merlin needed to retain what little there was now if he was to be stuck here. Heaven knew how little he had with her already. In Camelot, Merlin had little respect when speaking due to his position, but... If he was going to be stuck here, he would hope to change that, at least in Amata. Who knows how the servantry and nobility would treat him here once they all discovered his background, or depending on what Morgana's planning, how he was going to work with them.

“History.” Merlin finally decided. Simple, yet useful. Potentially harmless enough for Morgana, potentially powerful enough for Merlin.

Morgana nodded gently, as if she wasn’t surprised by his answer. With nary a look Morgana got to her feet, carefully gliding around the couch and towards the shelves behind her. The elegant expensive folds of her dress barely skimmed his poor quality pants before brushing away. Merlin could only watch, arm slung over the back of the couch, as Morgana’s seductive hips swayed with each step, shoes clicking and her dress swishing behind her. She expertly scrawled her fingers across the spines of a shelf to his left, carefully searching for just the right book. It took only a few moments before her eyes lit up and her face broke into a devious grin, before careful hands slid the perfect book from its spot, leaving a vacant void shaped just like it behind. Her mischievous grin did not leave her face until she came back to the seat, settling down beside him.

With a haughty smile, she marched her way back to the couch, lithe fingers curled around the book in her hand. Her grin did not go away as she plopped down beside him, the couch bouncing slightly under her weight, her knee gently brushing his own for just a tiny moment once more. 

“Will this do?” She smirks as held the book out for him to take. It was a dark blue, linen covered book, standard in size and about an inch thick, embossed with plain but decorated lines with a simple yet cheerful engraving of a mountain range and sweeping valley.

Merlin gave her a quizzical look before he reached out and took the book into his hands. Written above the embossed golden mountain range and valley in a rather strong font was the words,

A Beginner’s History and Understanding of Magic in Albion, written by Priestess Angelica Cadestra

Merlin let his hand and the book in it drop to his lap. “Really?” He asked rhetorically, his brow arching deep as he gave her another incredulous look. She looked like a smug kitten, innocently sitting next to him, back prim and poised like she had never committed a sin.

“You’d be surprised how many books there are on the subject.” she says in an amused voice, shrugging, smug smile still evident. “I just figured you’d want to start with the basics.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I’m not that dim.” He muttered, turning the book over in his hands. The same kind of mountain was embossed on the back, including its own valley range, the few thinnest lines of birds flying over the horizon.

“Oh really?” amusement was crystal clear in her voice, as Morgana’s smirk grew stronger. With a haughty look, she adjusted herself in her seat, leaned forward and asked, “Then tell me; who’s the sorcerer who is believed to have invented up to fifty percent of all currently known magic spells?”

Merlin balked. What kind of question was that?! “Oh come on, that’s way too obscure!” He cried out, nearly leaning back in his seat at an instinct. His back brushed with the arm rest.

Morgana’s smirk only grew stronger. “Alright, fine, when do historians believe magic started being used in Albion?” She quizzed again, the smirk not leaving her features, the spark of dastardly mirth and the light of the fire still sparkling in her green opal eyes.

“Uh…” Merlin paused, his mind pulling a blank. Gaius had never mentioned once when it was believed magic started. Not once! But Merlin wasn’t going to be one to back down from a challenge, no. She wasn’t going to hold him out on this. “When the people first arrived?” He asked, hesitantly.

Morgana’s smirk was now almost devilishly evil. “You’re guessing.” 

“I am not.” 

“Yes you are.”

“Am not!”

Morgana huffed. “Alright, fine. Then where did those people you say come from?” Morgana leaned forward on her knees with a look of satisfaction, like a cat who’d finally cornered a mouse. A smile to rival one too, had it been in amusement and gest.

Merlin opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out. His mind was pulling a complete blank, and there was nothing he could do to fix that. He could not pull information like that out of the nothingness of his mind, he had nothing to work with. Like trying to create art when you have no supplies and no inspiration. Like a teacher telling their student to write an essay, without giving them any guidelines.

“From the mainland?” He tried on his last chance.

He let out a sigh. She was right. He knew nothing.

With a look of satisfaction, Morgana leaned back into the couch corner and sent him an almost charming smile. “See? Start with the basics. Go from there.” She explained, and at that she threw her arm over the arm rest until she was sprawled onto the couch like the perfect embodiment of relaxation. Away from the crown and the oppressive weight that it carries. Only her legs, crossed until they were a healthy distance away from Merlin’s own, despite the tightness of their confines, was a sign of inner pensivity. 

The only way she could get her legs farther away from his own was if she leaned on him. 

Merlin had to admit, this was a nicer arrangement than what he was expecting, and for a small moment he was too curious with the book on his lap to care. Morgana continued to talk about something else, but Merlin was too fascinated with the book on his lap. 

With barely a look back at her he cracked open the tome to the first page, the leather of the spine creaking somewhat under lack of use for who knows how long.

For as long as there has been an Albion of which we are standing on, there has been magic, and so long as there has been magic, there have been people and creatures who used it.

While no one knows for certain who or when people arrived in Albion or even why, what is certain is that magic came along with them. Magic is an ancient, difficult art, and yet it has been seen as devastatingly useful since time immemorial. Greeks, Romans, Egyptians, Mesopotamians, Gauls, Celts, Saxons, and cultures beyond have used magic to help bolster the daily lives of everyone, rich and poor, powerful and powerless. Magic is just as useful and just as intricate as the laws that make reality, capable of being used both with and against them. However, the people of Albion have since made their own spice of magic since coming to the lands of Albion, a kind of style that is unique to this very island. One that took generations upon generations to forge and perfect. A magic that relies on the balance between life and death, connecting the spiritual to the physical, it stands on its own two feet as one of the most powerful kinds of magic a human can conjure. A history full of trial and error, of empires rising and falling, of monsters blooming from the very Earth, magic has had a long past on this little island we call home.

 

“Of course, I could lock this room up, make it only accessible to me…” Morgana’s drawl cut through Merlin’s mind like a snake slittinging its way through a field, finally gaining his attention once more after she had lost it for a while. She was leaning back in her seat to reach out and brush her fingers over his shoulder, trying to get his attention once more. Listing more and more incredulous things to see if he really was paying attention. 

Merlin’s head jerked up, gaze turned into the flames of the fire. Despite her teasing jovial tone, Merlin felt his heart clench in an ice-like grip. His body went on alert, stiff and ready to fight. Deep down he knew that she was joking, but her daring to take away what he had craved for so long was enough to put Merlin on a grated, desperate, almost angry edge.

“Morgana,” He spoke. Morgana’s eyes went wide, her body jolted. His voice was low, even, deathly calm. His mouth was curled thin, his jaw set tight, keeping himself from forming into a snarl. He resolutely refused to look her way, the flames of the fire cast a shadow onto him that made him look like an ancient, angry god. 

Morgana let out her breath. She could feel it in the air as his familiar magic shifted into a dangerous, archaic force. What was once light, warm, and jovial, turned dark and cold, heavy and tight, all condensed and pressing in on her from all sides. A strong shiver rolled down her spine, straightening her up, nearly shaking her body, the warmth of the fire immediately crushed under his weight. Like she was sitting next to the oldest of dragons, or before an ancient, primordial being from the darkest corners of the night sky. She almost expected to see her breath curl when she breathed, if she could breathe. Her lungs were being squeezed from the inside, filled with something more. Like she was floating in the center of the darkest of thunder clouds, her lungs filled with ozone, the air around her crackling with electricity, ready to gather in one sky sundering strike. For a solid moment she could see his magic boil under the surface in his eyes, acquiring a warm sheen under his familiar blue, like an ancient volcano erupting under the surface of the coldest ocean waves. 

A cold drop condensed in the center of her stomach. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing, that tiny voice inside her head whispered. He was unaware of the power exuding from his very soul, unaware of how he didn’t have to raise a finger or even look at her to make her feel like she was at the bottom of the ocean. It sent the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up on end, her skin tingling under the pressure. She could feel it. Lightning was about to strike. 

“I know you may think this is funny,” Merlin started, slowly, carefully, his voice dropping low. Deathly calm, with an underlayer of fury. “But I did not have the same luxuries as you had. I did not have someone to help me connect with our culture and history. I have no other way of learning about any of this. Do not toy with me on this matter.” By the end, Merlin was nearly growling, teeth clenched tight.

Morgana’s jovial, mischievous tone had been squashed. A small look of concern flickered across her face. She hadn’t realized her joke would shake him up as much as it did. 

“What about Gaius?” She carefully asked, leaning up to try and get him to look at her. Surely he would have told him something, right? After all, he was his mentor! He kept everything from Morgana, he knew magic, used it before Uther banned it. Surely he would have shared something. It was his job, not only in a past life, but as Merlin’s mentor. 

But Merlin only shook his head, and just like that, the oppressing weight around them lifted. Morgana could finally breathe again. Even Aithusa looked a little more relieved, letting out a satisfied sigh in her sleep. 

“All he gave me was help with my gifts, not the culture.” He explained calmly, his gaze turning back towards the book in his hands. The words blended together now, their meaning not coming to him.

“Doesn’t seem very fair,” Morgana pondered aloud, her fingers twisted through the air as if it had a lock of hair in it. Concerned and miffed that her jest didn’t land exactly how she imagined it would.

A sour, familiar feeling returned to Merlin’s heart. “Yes, well it’s kind of hard to practice a culture when there’s no one else to practice it with you, lest they be executed alongside you on the pyre.” Merlin replied somewhat bitterly, snapping the book shut. The reminder of culture that he never got to experience, the fear of having this room taken away from him, left a sour string in his heart.

“Merlin…” Morgana started, as if she was going to apologize. But Merlin shrugged it off. He knew her too well. She didn’t apologize unless there was something to gain from it.

“And what do you get out of this?” Merlin asked carefully, his gaze trying to take in her features, trying to read on her face what she would not say with her lips.

But Morgana just looked confused, and if Merlin didn’t know better he’d actually believe her. “Pardon?”

“You said you despise me having access to this kind of knowledge, so what do you want from me for letting me have access to this whole room? Make me work ten hours a day, scrubbing the floors? Wait on you, hand and foot?” Merlin asked, his voice filling with more and more bitterness. 

Morgana was taken aback by this change in tone from him. She had to admit, while the idea did sound nice, him carefully tending to her hand and foot every night, them and them alone, that wasn’t what she was thinking at all. “What makes you think I want something?” She asked, her voice rising.

Merlin scoffed. “Oh come off it, you always want something.” He muttered, leaning back in the seat.

Morgana paused for a moment, before she shrugged. “True.” She admitted, before letting her hubris fall. “But Merlin,” She started again, leaning forward from her spot. “I’m not showing you this room just to get something from you.” She explained softly.

“Then why? Why taunt me with the very thing I am?”

“Because, Emrys, you are the only person in this entire castle, and possibly whole kingdom, who can appreciate everything this room holds as much as me.” Morgana’s voice carried such a serious tone that it caught Merlin off guard. It was an almost lonely look in her eye, alone to share a burden with. A feeling Merlin knew all too well.

“The only person?” He finally asked after a pause, arching a brow.

“As far as I know, you are the only one who can take being thrown through three stone walls and be fine enough to walk around with ease three days later, and that’s not because of Arthur’s workouts.” Morgana leaned forward for a moment, as if trying to reach out to him. “Emrys, only a man of your caliber would enjoy a room such as this as much as I, and while I do have restrictions on when you can be in here, it would be foolish to not let you enjoy it every once and a while. You are not going to be a prisoner in your own home.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed, scoffing as he replied in a near growl. “This is not my home.” He sent her a sharp glare. Merlin intended to set the record straight. She seemed to think he was eager about their situation, that he was going to embrace this, and in the case he found a chance to escape this treaty, to nullify her, that he would ignore it. 

“Not yet, but if we’re going to get married it’s going to have to be.” Morgana replied carefully, almost dangerously, casting him a sharp side eye. She knew more about his plans than he let on, she knew how precarious their arrangement was. She intended to set the record straight.

At the mention of their marriage contract Merlin’s mood finished souring. Whatever semi jovial cat and mouse game they had between them immediately fell through, and Merlin was no longer interested in playing. 

“Right, forgot about that.” At that, Merlin moved to get up.

Morgana shuffled on the couch, watching him get up. “Merlin…” She called after him, a mixture of an order, a question, and a concern all rolled into her voice. 

But Merlin was done. “I don’t think your advisors would like to be held up for much longer, your majesty.” Merlin retorted icely, turning to her with a hard gaze, shutting down whatever Morgana was going to say. “Come on, Aithusa.”

Aithusa chirped in confusion, but did not object when getting up. 

Morgana let out a huff of frustration, but reluctantly got to her feet. With a wave of her hand the fireplace extinguished behind her. After all, a fire breaking out down here would be devastating. 

The trudge up the stairs was silent, with Merlin leading the way with a march. It was painfully silent through the darkness, as Merlin didn’t even bother to light his own little ball again. Aithusa occasionally tripped on the stairs, and to Morgana’s chagrin she nearly ran into her. 

It was only when they exited the small staircase into the light and grandeur of the library once more, and once the small doorway had closed behind them with an echoing KERCHUNK! that either of them spoke up again. 

“Oh, by the way, Emrys, ” Morgana piped up, making her way around Merlin’s side to face him, “I’m holding a feast tonight. I expect you to be there.”

Merlin’s brow furrowed. “What? Why?” He didn’t expect there to be a feast tonight, and he would have appreciated some more of a heads up from her when they had first met up that day.

“So that I can properly introduce you to the court, and properly announce our engagement.” Merlins lips pursed, but before he could retort anything, Morgana held up her hand. “Understand that I know you are not pleased with the situation, but it is necessary, and needs to be done.”

“Why, so you can parade me around like a prized French poodle?” he asks incredulously, giving her a hard look in the eye. He was starting to get sick of this, if he knew her at all he knew he was going to be the equivalent of a toy for her to show off. As if to say, ‘Look at what I got, Arthur!’

Morgana scoffed, the beginnings of her ever so classic smirk growing on her lips. “Please, you’re no poodle. You’re more of a Bouvier des Flandres than anything.” Morgana replied in a humored tone.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Goodbye, your majesty .” He proclaimed as turned on his foot to continue to march towards the library doors.

“No, wait.”

Merlin came to a halt again, this time he whirled around to look her in the eyes. “What?”

“You know as well as I do that the upper crust have their traditions,” Morgana explained calmly, taking a step forward, closing the room between them, “and they are important for a situation like ours.”

“Oh, you mean to shut down people thinking the treaty is over because you threw me through a few walls?” Merlin asked testingly. He crossed his arms over his chest with some difficulty with the book still in his hand, with an utterly unimpressed look on his face.

Morgana sent him an annoyed look. “Yes.” she grated through her teeth as she took another step forward, sending him a pointed look. “Look, not only is an announcement party meant to show to the people that the treaty with Camelot is still in effect, but it is to introduce the people to who their future king is. They need to meet you, and it’s not going to be on our wedding day.” She replied, using a single perfectly manicured finger to poke him in the chest.

Her touch sent a small spark through Merlin, but he was still caught on the words she spoke. “Again with the king thing…” He muttered under his breath with a puzzled, frustrated look on his face, his gaze searching her face for answers. 

“It is an important event, and as an upcoming member of royalty, you’re going to have to get used to that.” Morgana’s tone took a slightly sharper turn, taking another step forward. Now the room between them was small, and Merlin could quickly begin to see how the darker flecks of green in her eyes caught the light from the window, like a spider web made of annoyance and sunlight, of moss and michevery.

“And what if I don’t get used to it?” He asked, holding strong to that eye contact. Not twenty minutes with her, and he was already getting annoyed. A new personal record.

Morgana shrugged, but she did not look away. “Well that’s up to you, Emrys, but you’re still going to come. Because if you don’t, I’m going to drag you there myself. Your choice.” Her voice carried a weight that Merlin knew he could not object to, because every word she spoke was dead serious. Finally, Morgana knew she got her point across. She did not wait for Merlin to give her a response before turning to walk around him, her body a polite distance away from his own. “I have to get to my meeting, Emrys . I’ll see you at dinner.”

With that, Morgana broke the tension between them and made her way around his body, her heels clicking across the marble floor as she made her way towards the library door. All Merlin could do was watch the emerald dress trail behind her, the dark waves of her hair swishing side to side as she left him behind with the books he so desired.

It was only when the doors closed behind her that he let out a sigh. The silence that hung in the air was palpable. 

Finally, Aithusa chirped from his side, as if to ask, ‘do you want to continue exploring?’

But Merlin looked down at the little dragon, taking her in. She looked so eager and so interested to keep on exploring, but Merlin’s heart just wasn’t in it anymore. For now, he just wanted to be alone, alone with his own annoyances.

“Sorry, Aithusa. We’re going to have to finish our tour later.” Merlin dejectedly sighed, turning to look back at the secret library door. He couldn’t even pick out the secret door opening book even if he tried, and even if he had the energy to try, he didn’t want to at the moment. He’d have to wait for another day, another time.

Aithusa chirped again, confused. Well if they weren’t going to explore the castle, then what were they going to do?

“If you want, I can go with you to get some food, but I want to read this.” Merlin gestured with the book, before throwing his gaze back over his shoulder at the doorway. “Heaven knows when I may get another chance.” 

Aithusa tilted her head off to the side. He did make a fair point and that’s his choice, but what was she to do while he did that? Sit around and twiddle her wings? She didn’t know how to talk, let alone read! She was fine sitting by the fireplace and listening in on Merlin and Morgana’s conversation, but it’s nowhere near as entertaining as spending time with someone, and sitting there watching someone read was no fun. There’s only so many naps she could take in a day, and those old advisors scared her, plus Morgana didn’t want her to distract her. If Merlin was to be of no entertainment and Morgana was going to be busy for the next who knows how long, what was Aithusa to do?

Well, there was Mordred. Perhaps she could go find him again. Surely he could be done with whatever it was he was doing, perhaps he could be some entertainment. Perhaps the knights in blue would be more entertaining as well, but some of them were a bit scary to Aithusa. 

But, anything was more entertaining than sitting with someone while they read books.

With a final chirp, Aithusa hopped to her feet, her decision made. Merlin could only watch as Aithusa trundled along out the door, clear and intent on her mission to leave Merlin to his books.

Merlin let out a sigh. Aithusa had the right idea. Going on her own little adventure and leaving him to his own devices was probably smarter at this point in time. Besides, he didn’t lie to her. He didn’t know when he’d next be able to go down there, and there was nothing he wanted to do more than to read this book he still held in his hands.

Cracking open the book once more, Merlin was once again greeted by the jovial introduction, and once more Merlin was taken into a world, a history, that should have belonged to him. 

For as long as there has been an Albion of which we are standing on, there has been magic, and so long as there has been magic, there have been people and creatures who used it…

It didn’t take long for him to sink down onto the couch before the fireplace, curled up into a sort of ball as he read that book cover to cover faster than he had ever read a book his entire life.

Chapter Text

Merlin smoothed down his shirt for a fifth time in a row, keeping his gaze solidly on the mirror before him. 

Clean blue shirt, his favorite red bandana, and his comfortable leather coat. It wasn't much, but it was a fine look for a formal dinner. At least, it always worked for Arthur. He never commented on his outfits for feasts, unless he was planning to force Merlin into wearing one of those ‘special servant clothes’ as a punishment. For Merlin, it was the best he had, and if Morgana wanted to complain about it, then she could go right on ahead. He had nothing better to offer for an occasion such as this. All he had was his wit, his charm, and his never ending amounts of sardonic sass. 

Merlin let out an anxious sigh, his hands instinctually reaching towards his hair. To be honest, Merlin didn’t know what was in store for dinner that night, and while he didn’t particularly care about Morgana’s presentation of him, he didn’t want to make a bad first impression either. He didn’t want his hair to be the usual 'dark mop' as Arthur mocked. If he was going to be forced to go to such a dinner, then he might as well look his best, right?

Besides, he couldn’t help but feel the servant in him squirm. He should be doing something, not standing around doing nothing. At what point would he be properly introduced to the staff? At what point would Morgana assign him his own chores to complete? Surely she didn’t expect him to stand around and do nothing all day for the rest of their lives. He’d probably inevitably self-combust if that happened. 

Aithusa chirped from her spot across the room, trying her best not to get herself dirty again as she waited anxiously in excitement. Clearly, whoever she had spent her time that afternoon with also put in the time to ensure she was going to be pleasantly presentable for the party as well, cleaning her off and redressing her in a new set of bandages. 

Merlin let out a chuckle, watching her antics in the mirror. “Well at least someone’s excited to go,” He muttered under his breath before continuing to rake his fingers through his hair. It was just not obeying him tonight.

Well at least he had the time to mess with it, as he wasn't going to be going anywhere until a servant came up to grab him. Apparently him going in with Morgana to the feast hall and not a moment before was serious business, and they wouldn't let him in to try and get a scope of the place. 

“Oh but you must wait in your room!” Aaron explained, deftly turning Merlin on his heel, arm wrapped around his shoulder as he escorted him back the way he came.

“Why? It’s not like anyone will notice.” Merlin tried to reply, giving Aaron a look.

“Oh, but once they do, they won’t let you leave.” Aaron explained, pushing his voice with grandeur. He finally came to a pause. “Think of it like this. You know how it’s bad luck for a groom to see his bride in her wedding gown before the wedding? Same idea.”

Merlin gently nodded, although still confused. “Alright, I suppose.” He replied reluctantly, right as Aaron lifted his opposing weight from his shoulder.

“Great, fantastic. Well, I hope you can find your way back to your room?” Aaron asked, giving a look back over his shoulder at the growing crowd starting to lead into the dining hall.

“I can,” Merlin replied reluctantly, “But one question, is there anything I should change into?”

“Oh no, you look fine! I just need to go deal with my sister on some matters, I’ll be up to escort you down when it’s time.” Aaron proclaimed, giving Merlin a wide smile before heading off into the crowd, weaving his way through like he was nothing but the thinnest wisp of wind. 

Merlin sighed. It had been almost an hour since then. What was taking everyone so long? Maybe he got the wrong message. Maybe they forgot about him. How mad would Morgana get if he leaned into this forgetfulness? Maybe-.

BangBangBang!

The heavy, angry knock at the door made Merlin jump. Aithusa came to a halt from her shenanigans and chirped in confusion, tilting her head to the side, but Merlin made it to the door all the same. It was nothing like the polite knock of Aaron that morning. So who could it be? 

Upon opening the door, Merlin paused. Standing on his doorstep was an older, grouchier looking gentleman, short, pudgy, and wide, hair gone white and beginning to go bald at the top, and plenty of moles covering his grouchy face. He reminded Merlin of a stump, or a fat old mushroom, or a fat old stump covered in mushrooms. A fat old stump who hadn’t smiled since the day he was born.

Merlin was taken aback a little by him, but he wasn’t to be thrown off. “Oh, hello. I’m—.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know who you are. You’re the queen’s new boy toy.” The old man grouched, chewing on something in his cheek. He had a voice like that of an annoyed tree; old, deep, rough, and full of grooves, and he was missing half of his teeth.

Merlin lightly recoiled, confused. “Boy toy?” He asked himself under his breath. “Uh, where’s Aaron?”

“The hell if I know. Probably off dealing with his sister in the kitchens.” The old manservant grumbled, giving Merlin an annoyed once over. If he had any complaints, which he probably did, he didn’t say anything about them. “Lazy boy. Completely useless without his sister.” He continued to grumble under his breath. 

All of a sudden, Merlin felt the sudden urge to defend the young man. “Well I think he’s a fairly decent manservant, and a very kind man.” He heard himself say. Very generic things to say about someone, but he wasn’t wrong either. 

The old man scoffed, turning away, rolling his eyes. “Of course you do.” He muttered, annoyed. “Well unfortunately for you, he’s not here, and you’re needed downstairs.”

Merlin sighed. Suppose he had to face the music at some point. “Right, of course.” Merlin adjusted his coat one last time. “Care to lead the way?” 

The man grumbled, but with an angry hand he sharply gestured for him to follow. Aithusa chirped, and with a hop she got to her feet and promptly trotted out the door before them. She, after all, didn’t have to wait to go into the dinner hall. She wasn’t the one marrying the queen of Amata. 

Merlin, on the other hand, continued to dread, especially as he followed the man out. The man did not hesitate to avoid the damaged areas of the castle, not afraid to barge right through where Merlin and Morgana had fought not only a few days ago. Most of the hall had been cleaned up, but the now empty aftermath was still there. It was the only place in the castle with no art, no furniture, and barely any light. The very sight of the gaping holes in the walls made Merlin’s few bruises left ache.

He needed a way to distract himself, and fast.

“So, what’s your name?” Merlin quickly scrambled to ask, trying to hurry up with the old man, who despite his age and height was a quick old geezer.

The old man grumbled something under his breath, as if insulted that Merlin would do such a thing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.” Merlin tried again, hurrying up once more. 

Without any warning or alert, the old man came to a halt so fast Merlin nearly crashed into him. He had a horribly ugly look on his face, and it was aimed directly at him. He didn’t even have time to hurry back before the man started on him. “Look, pretty boy , just because you’re marrying all the way up to the top doesn’t mean you get to laud it over everyone. People like us work for a living, and we don’t need to be patronized for it.”

Merlin felt his body pause with a lurch, wholly and utterly confused. He just asked for the guy’s name! He didn’t think that was patronizing. He didn’t think he could patronize at all. Now Arthur, he could definitely patronize someone, but he’s more likely to insult someone directly to their face than to believe he’s doing something nice for them. He’s an all or nothing kind of guy in that way.

“You do realize I’m a manservant, right?” Merlin asked slowly, arching a brow.

This did not improve the old man’s mood, but at least it did not make it worse. “Oh great, even better.” The old man grumbled, rolling his eyes again. “Gonna think you’re one of us, gonna understand our pain…” The man continued to grumble under his breath before continuing to march down the hall, nearly leaving Merlin in the dust.

Merlin let out a huff, before picking up his stride. For a strong moment, he decided that he missed Aaron. Sure Aaron may have gone through his things without asking for permission and acted like the kind of suck up manservant that drove Merlin up the wall, but at least he wasn’t a total grump like this guy.

And yet Merlin couldn’t help but take the insult to heart. Was it patronizing to ask for someone’s name? He didn’t think it was. He’d have to ask Mordred later. He could ask Morgana, but it didn’t seem to be a smart idea. She probably wouldn’t care either way.

It didn’t take them long to reach the dining hall, where Merlin could already hear the bustling sound of voices congregating inside. The doors to the dining hall were large, larger than the doors leading to the library, and almost as big as the doors leading into the throne room. Large, imposing, it was clear the room inside was big and meant something to the people. The door was carved with designs of many scenes, some of men on horseback fighting for their lives, others of scenes of great feasts in progress. Some of the designs were so far out of Merlin’s reach that Merlin could barely see what they were. He’d need to learn how to sprout wings and fly to see them better.

But he wasn’t able to do that at that time. Off to the sides of the grand door, servants of all sorts spilled in and out of small servant entrances, carrying full and empty trays of food, pitchers, napkins, and various other things any of the higher ranking members of society wanted. Several straggling low ranking lords, knights, and maybe even a duke or two continued to make their way towards the main entrance. But the moment Merlin moved to head that way, the old man, who had still stubbornly refused to tell Merlin his name, put a grubby calloused hand in front of him.

“Wait out here.” The old man said before turning to leave, not even looking back over his shoulder to give Merlin a look.

Merlin only looked on in concern. “What?”

But the grumpy old manservant didn’t bother to stop. Before Merlin could reach out and ask, the old man had hurried off down the hall, leaving Merlin alone in the wave of voices and bodies.

Merlin let out a sigh. So much for the help. He felt like a net of old fish that had been dumped there by an annoyed fishmonger, wanting to be rid of his catch so that he could go home for the night.

Despite being in a hall of bodies, Merlin felt terribly, horribly alone. Not even Aithusa was there to be some sort of company, and he hadn’t seen Mordred all day. He had no other friends other than those two in the castle walls, and he was horrible at waiting patiently alone. People watching only did so much to entertain the young man, and while he enjoyed looking at the embroidery and taking in their designs, it wasn’t enough to settle his restless heart. It was after the fiftieth embroidered dress went by that Merlin was tempted to say ‘screw the rules’ and take a peek inside when he heard someone call out his name.

“Ah, there you are, Merlin.”

Merlin perked up, and immediately felt his heart leap in dread, his breath catching in a gasp in his throat. 

He always thought himself a man of logic, cool, control, but Morgana always seemed to dress in a way that specifically made him fight with himself on all levels. He didn’t think she would be one for eloquent gorgeous outfits, especially considering her garish looks while she was out in the wilderness, but apparently so long as she had someone to do literally everything for her, she was capable of dressing in a way that somewhat harked back to her days as the ward of King Uther. 

Once more her make up was light and airy, her colored lips reminding Merlin of the soft petals of a perfect peony, her eyes carefully hooded in shadow and eyes lined with coal like lines, making her emerald opal eyes pop. Around her neck and hugging her bicep were extravagantly expensive necklaces and bicep cuffs of the most perfect silver,  studded with jewels of blue. Nothing choking, but equally elegant. Her dark, wavy hair had been carefully piled up in curls around her head, loose yet strong, perfectly topped with a dainty yet heavy looking crown Merlin had not yet seen, made of gold and embezzled with jewels of a deep shade of blue. The crown of the queen. But all of this held nothing compared to her dress.

 The dark blue gown that she had picked for the night was very similar to that of what she wore when she arrived in Camelot. Simple, freeing, waist hugging, chest revealing in all the right ways to send Merlin’s cheeks flushing red like a rose, except this time no shawl was to be found to offer any sort of modesty. Instead her sleeves were made out ofa pure lace, faint and elegant, like an ancient spiderweb mixed with flowers. It was simple and elegant at the same time, dainty yet expensive. It seemed that dark colors were a necessity for her, and yet every inch of the dress was covered in a complex design of flowery lace, the calling card of Amatan fashion. In this case,  the lace was of the same color as the dress, where instead of giving the dress detail, it gave it texture. The only difference in color was the golden yellow lace down at the bottom of her hem, accenting the dress perfectly. 

For one small moment Merlin wondered what the texture of her hips would feel like under his fingers before he mentally slapped himself. No, stop it!  

“Ah, hello, Morgana.” Merlin stiffly replied, trying to keep himself composed. It was somewhat difficult, but he managed enough. 

But the look on Morgana’s face was squished up, confused. “What are you wearing?” She asked, her gaze trailing over him slowly, as if taking in every thread he wore. 

“My clothes?” Merlin looked down at himself, the faded blue shirt, his old red bandana, his well loved leather coat. This was the best he had. He never thought his clothes were bad, he rather enjoyed them! They were comfortable! She had seen him wearing such an outfit earlier that day!

Morgana scoffed, reaching up to take the hem of his coat, inspecting every inch of his outfit. “Oh no, this is a formal event. I will not be seen with you wearing these ill fitting rags.” At that, she snapped her fingers, and a maid immediately appeared by her side. She turned to the maid. “Were there any lords or knights who have left who were anywhere near close to his size?” Morgana asked calmly, giving Merlin a gesture of her head. 

The maid took one look at Merlin before replying, “Most of the lords and knights took their clothes with them when they left.” She explained, her voice smooth and silky, yet not enrapturing. “Well, there is Lord Kelegin, but he may be too big.”

“We’ll make do.” Morgana replied, before turning back to Merlin. “Follow her, she’ll set you up with a much more suitable set of clothes for tonight. Then, we’re going to get you set up with the seamstress, so you can get some more proper attire. I will not be having my future husband looking like he came rolling off the street.” Morgana explained, before gesturing for Merlin to hurry off. 

“Even though he did?” The maid muttered under her breath.

Merlin’s cheeks burned as he dipped his head. He knew he didn’t have the greatest looks, but he didn’t think he looked like he came from the street… 

However, as he did that Merlin just happened to have missed Morgana’s annoyed glare, not aimed at him, but at the maid now leading him away.

“Just go with her. We will wait until you get back.” Morgana ordered, before giving the maid a very careful look. 

“Yes, your majesty.” The maid nodded and bowed, right as Morgana turned and walked away. It was only when she was long gone when either of them spoke up.

“So where are we heading off to?” Merlin asked nonchalantly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Just come with me. We don’t have all night.” The maid replied with a quip, before guiding Merlin through the maze-like halls of the Amatan castle. Where? He did not know.

Merlin shuffled and shrugged. He had to admit, he did not like being shoved into someone’s old clothes. 

Anna, as Merlin found out the maid’s name was, had dragged him off into some relatively unused room of the castle. It looked like a spare bedroom, formal and neatly cared for, but a lot of the furniture was covered in dust, as if this room hadn’t been entered for weeks. The moment Merlin had entered, he had to sneeze. There were some personal effects to suggest that someone once lived there, but for the most part it looked the same as any other room anyone would live in. 

But Merlin did not care about that at that moment, no. No, it was the clothes he was wearing, and the way they were annoying him.

On top of the fact that this coat was an ugly shade of mustard, not his best color as he would say so himself, it was too big for him, hanging off his shoulders and leaving him looking like a child wearing an adult’s coat, the belly so large it had to be pulled in with a heavy belt around his gut. The embroidery around the collar and cuffs was a combination of a nasty shade of umber orange and muted forest green, made into swirls that reminded Merlin of choking vines. To top it all off the coat had a distinct smell of mothballs and another sour odor, one that Merlin just couldn’t place. It wasn’t pleasant.

He was looking forward to the moment once this was all over, so he could shrug this thing off and never touch it again. 

Once Merlin was done being strapped and pinned into his new coat, he had been once again dumped at the entrance of the dining hall, once again left alone to his own devices, now with even less people gathered in the hall, only the few remaining maids and manservants still shuffling around to get the last minute things prepared. 

Merlin leaned against an empty part of the wall and shuffled in his coat once more, feeling a small irritation coming. Yep, he could not wait until this was all over, so that he could throw this thing off and into a fire. 

On instinct, Merlin reached into his pocket and pulled out his bandana, wrapping it around his throat once more. Anna had made him take it off earlier, but Merlin wasn’t going to care. It was his signature trait, and damn it, he was going to wear it.

Once he finished tying it off, Merlin was once again contemplating the idea of making a run for it when he heard two familiar voices walking down the way, making him perk up.

It was Mordred, dressed to his best in his clean armor and fresh Camelot red cape, and Morgana, discussing something as they made their way towards the dining hall entrance. Dread settled in Merlin’s stomach. He felt the need to be on his guard rise in his stomach once more. Who knows what they were talking about? Treaty ideas? Spells? Himself? He didn’t want to think about it.

The first one to notice him was Mordred, and honestly, Merlin kind of wished he didn’t. The suppressed smile that crossed the young knight’s lips as he got closer and closer was enough to prove to Merlin that he did indeed look like an idiot. 

“I was wondering where you were,” Mordred called out from the distance, which immediately got Morgana’s attention to turn his way. Merlin’s cheeks burned hot. No, he didn’t want her to see him too! He looked ridiculous compared to her! Why couldn’t he have just worn his normal clothes? They looked fine. 

“Save it.” Merlin muttered in response, like that of an annoyed relative telling another off. 

“You look like a child wearing hand-me-downs.” Mordred muttered, unable to help the smile that was growing on his lips.

“Shut up.” Merlin retorted right back.

Merlin and Mordred were going to continue their brother-like bickering when Morgana hummed a thoughtful hum. 

“What?” Merlin growled desperately, his cheeks burning red. He felt like he was wearing that stupid hat Arthur made him wear, a laughing stock, again. He was already prepared for her to start laughing at him. 

“You don’t actually look too bad.” Morgana replied calmly. Without a word she reached up and tucked his bandana into the coat, making it look more like an ascot. “I do have to say though, mustard yellow is not your color.”

Merlin shrugged. At least they agreed one something.  “I tried telling Anna, but according to her this was the only thing that was formal enough.” 

Morgana arched a brow, looking him in the eye. “Who?” She asked, smoothing out his shoulders.

Now it was Merlin’s turn to arch his brow. “The maid?” He asked. “You don’t even know her name?”

“There’s too many for me to remember all of their names.” Morgana dismissed it simply, as if the maid meant nothing to her. In all honesty, she probably did mean nothing to her.

“Well you could make an effort.” Merlin muttered, giving her a look. 

“I have a lot more important things on my plate to deal with than remembering all the names of the hundreds of maids and manservants that work in this castle.” Morgana continued to explain calmly as she finished adjusting his coat, before finally taking a step back, taking in his form completely.

Merlin decided it. At that moment, he was sure that if he was going to stay here, regardless of whether or not he was going to be king, he would remember each and every one of their names. The people who worked here deserved that much at the very least. 

“It isn’t your best look,” Morgana continued, keeping her gaze solidly on him, “But it will do for tonight.”

“Glad to know you like it,” Merlin muttered under his breath sarcastically, but deep down he was kind of thankful that she wasn’t laughing at him. He was probably going to get enough of that tonight from all of the other lords and ladies and whatnot. 

Just as Merlin muttered that under his breath, the sounds of a few trumpets blared from inside, and as if in a rush everyone that was passing around them hurried to find their places. Like rats running to hide when a farmer opens the barn door, desperate not to get caught by the farmer’s cat.

Morgana straightened out her back and fixed her crown, priming herself for what was to come. “That is my cue,” She explained, giving Merlin a look as she smoothed out her dress once more. “I am going to go in first, where from there I’m going to introduce you to the crowd. Do not come in until those doors open again, do you understand?”

Merlin gently nodded, although he could do without the patronizing. Perhaps that old man was right. 

Morgana then turned to the young knight standing beside him. “Mordred, you’ll need to go through the servant doors to get to your seat. The servants will show you the way.” 

Mordred’s brow furrowed. “Aren’t I to stay with Merlin at all times?” He asked, giving Merlin a side look.

“If you can let Merlin walk around the castle alone without company for most of the day without him dying, then he can take care of himself for a few minutes.” Morgana quipped in return before standing in position in front of the grand doors.

Mordred gingerly nodded, unable to really argue against that, before quickly adjusting his own armor. He reached up and patted Merlin on the shoulder. “I’ll see you inside then,” He muttered, before turning and heading off towards one of the servant doors to slip in undetected.

Merlin nodded, “See you there.” He replied, although he didn’t really want to. On habit he turned and stepped off to the side, closer to the servant’s entrance off to the side. 

Morgana let out a deep breath, her shoulders settling into position. “Oh, and one last thing,” She replied calmly, not looking his way

“Hm?”

She gracefully tilted her head back and gave him a smirk. “Don’t make a fool out of me.” is all Morgana said in the most serious tone ever mustered to Merlin before the sound of violins began to play and the doors swung open, revealing to the crowd inside their queen. 

With proud steps and her head held high, Morgana stepped into the music, navy and yellow gown trailing behind her like a night drenched waterfall of lace and fireflies.

Before Merlin could even get a peek inside, the heavy banquet hall doors closed with a mighty ‘ thud! ’, muffling the music once more. 

Merlin sighed. Once more, left all alone. Again. Only this time there were no people in the hall to people watch anymore, he was just left there to bear the echoing cavernous halls alone. Only the sound of the muffled music and the careful carvings of the door were there to comfort him, and before long even the music came to a halt.

All the sound inside went silent, like the whole world was holding its breath, before a single voice spoke up.

“Tonight, we are gathered to celebrate Amata taking a great step forward to achieving a better future,” Merlin could hear Morgana proclaim to the crowd, her voice somewhat muffled by the door. “For the past month my advisors and I have been in contact with Camelot, working on making a treaty that would benefit both kingdoms greatly in their times of need. For now not only does Amata gain a powerful ally and magic grows one step closer to being accepted, but Amata also gains a future king.” 

The crowd began to whisper, even Merlin could hear it through the doors, but that did not seem to deter Morgana in the slightest. 

“We were unable to announce his arrival sooner due to some issues,” Morgana continued, voice still carrying strong over the crowd. “So instead we gather here tonight to welcome him instead. He is of a humble background, known for his wit, intelligence, and overall esteemed place in his community. He is trained under the art of medicine by his mentor, the court physician of Camelot, as well as in many other fields.”

Merlin’s mind whirled with thoughts. She was honestly introducing him to the crowd? He thought that she was just going to drop his name and drag him in, not explain his whole story to them. To be honest, Merlin didn’t know whether to be touched by the gesture or to be embarrassed as she explained his peasant background, growing up in the land of Ealdor and working for Arthur. He couldn’t help but notice that she was also carefully avoiding their strained history and his other… ‘talents’. Why, he did not know, but he would not have long to wonder.

“...A personal friend and manservant of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, an ally in magic, and now my new fiancé. May I introduce to you all, Merlin, from Camelot.”

With that, the doors swung open once more.

If the library was like a chapel with a new found purpose, then this room was like a cathedral redesigned. Stairs dipped down from the entrance into the hall, allowing for the roof to loom even higher over the guests. Some of the floor continued to dip further, while some continued to stay at the same level, allowing for a sub level to exist in the already dipped hall. Great pillars of marble held the arching roof up, intricately carved with flicks, swirls, and little angels to the point where Merlin could stare and marvel for hours. A massive tapestry hung at the end of the room, empty of a symbol yet made of a massive pristine blue and trimmed with yellow, filled what would have been empty space. Bare windows lined with drapes made of cobalt blue all along the right side streamed in what light it could, revealing a marvelous view of the mountain range behind the castle, trailing towards the south, the sun casting its setting lights as much as it could inside, setting the mountains in a golden orange blaze. 

As for where people sat, four great long lines of tables lined the floor of the hall, filling both the upper and lower areas of the room, each one sat by dozens of people, now standing and staring right at him. Platters upon platters of food and drink ladened the tables, filling it nearly to the brim. Across the way, facing the door and everyone, was the grand high table, sitting on a platform just ever so slightly higher than everyone else. Just so that it could stare down at all of their subjects. Standing before it, as if she fit perfectly into it all with elegant ease, was Morgana, gaze forever stuck on him and him alone.

All this for the dining hall? Merlin couldn’t help but wonder to himself. It was a gorgeous room, and yet it felt a little… empty. He couldn’t help but wonder what glory the throne room would look like, he hadn’t had a chance to visit it quite yet.

Merlin was so sucked in by the grandeur of it all that he nearly forgot to walk. It was only with a glance Morgana’s way and seeing her poised yet sharp gaze that he remembered, and with as much grace as he could muster he walked in. 

It was in this moment that Merlin realized that he did not have a natural grace to him, or if he did he was not able to conjure it at this moment in time. He felt like a fool in front of the wise, as if he had no idea what he was doing (which, to be honest, he didn’t). Like he didn’t belong, no matter how hard he tried. He tried speeding up his step, it felt too fast, slowing it down, now he was too slow. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, to keep them by his sides or to put them behind his back. He tried straightening his back and fixing his step, but all it made him do was feel like strutting like a rooster. He looked like an idiot and he knew it.

All of this was not helped by the fact that Merlin realized that quite literally everyone was staring at him. Now, Merlin was not a man afraid of being in front of others, but the sheer amount of people, all staring at him with the same kind of judgmental gaze, made Merlin want to shrink back and hide. The moment he stepped in through those doors, the people knew who he was, and they were judging him for it. Like a council of elders, wondering if this was truly the proper course of action, whether he was worthy of their queen’s hand, or if the queen was just insane for picking him.

He could feel all of their eyes on him, every gaze, every gossiping whisper made about him. Lords and ladies dressed in all sorts of elegant and colorful coats and dresses leaned over and muttered into one another’s ears, smarming away about whether or not he was worthy of the throne

He knew their whisperings, their looks. Just his mere stumble was enough to get them to whisper allegations about him, the rumor mill already beginning to whirl away right in this very room. Rumors about her, rumors about him, rumors about the knight that trailed along behind them as the doors to the dining hall closed behind them all. What could be said one moment would be awashed across the room in a matter of minutes by fine clothed lords and ladies alike. 

It felt near unbearable, and if it had been up to Merlin, he would have liked to be sucked up into the floor and never seen again. Of course, with his skills, that just might be possible, but Morgana would probably hunt him down herself and drag him back by the ear. 

“Merlin,” His name rung through his ears, spoken sternly by a rather familiar voice. “Focus on me.” 

With a shaky breath, Merlin did as he was told; he cast his gaze forward and made eye contact with his new fiancé. Her head tilted high, her gaze never leaving him. Darkly gorgeous, dangerously lithe, the embodiment of the minacious queen she was. 

“Relax,” Her voice took a softer tone now, just a touch. It was such a strong gaze that Merlin almost couldn’t look away. 

Before long he found himself before her, stepping up to stand before her eye to eye. He could feel it in the air, their magic swirling around like two heavy winds, intermingling  to make a thunderstorm. When he came to a stop in front of her, to his surprise she held out her arm, waiting to wrap around someone else’s. Merlin gingerly presented his own, and like something out of a dream from his youth, she took it.

For a strong moment, even though he was in front of a crowd of all of his new peers, Merlin was surprised by the warmth, the pressure. He was surprised how small her arm was compared to his own, how it fit into the crook of his arm so perfectly. The pale skin, the faint scar, compared to the hingy dingy color of yellow on his sleeve. The way her body pressed closer to his own than it probably ever had before. How she was taller than the last time they had ever been so close. She must be wearing heels for such a special occasion. 

As the dark curls of her hair brushed past his coat, Merlin could take in a thin, light smell, mixed with something dark and sensual. Like peonies and bergamot, daisies and incense. A light and a dark side, dancing with one another, swirling around until it sent Merlin’s head into a spiral. Part of him wanted to lean away, another part wanted to lean in closer and find out what the smells were. Both instincts he strove to ignore.  

Just her presence, her being, sent a spark down his body, satisfying a craving that he didn’t remember he missed. The feeling of a body embracing his own, in contact with him.

Before Merlin could realize it, the two began to walk, Morgana beginning to lead him around the table towards where they needed to go. It nearly caught Merlin off guard, and if it weren’t for Morgana he would have tripped and fell.

As they rounded the table, Merlin was aware of only two seats unoccupied, one of which was elegant and profound, detailedly carved as the front door and plushed with blue velvet, and the one beside it as ‘humble’ (although Merlin wouldn’t call it humble) as the rest of them.

His own. 

It sent a rock to sit in his gut among the many others that had piled up over the day.

Before Merlin could even move to sit, Morgana let go of his arm. As she reached for her glass, so too did the rest of the room. Merlin, in a scramble to fit in and not stand out with the rest, reached down and plucked his goblet from the table. 

Beside him, Morgana raised the glass up to the room. She opened her mouth as if to give a long toast, before closing her mouth and giving out a small sigh. “To better futures.” She explained simply at last, giving a toast to them all. 

“Here here.” Some advisors beside her proclaimed, raising their glasses to their sips as the room began to cheer. It was a polite clap, not filled with fervor and passion. Many of the people raised their glasses to their lips and took a sip, some taking more sips than others. As the voices returned to their conversations and the ambient noise of the room returned, Merlin let out a sigh of relief, and as everyone took their sips, Merlin went to set down his glass.

Merlin almost didn’t notice when Morgana carefully leaned over and whispered in his ear with a vice, “Drink the wine.” 

Merlin raised an eyebrow still holding onto the goblet in his grip, as he started to reluctantly bring the glass to his lips.

“What, would you like me to check if it’s poisoned ?,” Morgana muttered under her breath as she brought her own glass to her lips. Merlin had to strain his ears to hear her, but it was just loud enough for him to pick it up.

Merlin immediately pulled the glass away from his lips at her words, sending her a glare. “You keep bringing up such things, and I’ll…”

“You’ll what?” Morgana said challengingly in response, a dangerous, smirking glare in her eye.

Merlin sent her a glare right back, putting the goblet back down. So much for trying to make this night work. 

“If you’re going to keep on bringing it up, then this marriage isn’t going to get anywhere. Now is it?” Merlin scowled, right as two servants came up to pull out their seats as the crowd began to settle in.

The ambient sounds of the crowd started to pick up and grew louder, as jovial conversations and even some music began to play, the light, dainty sound of violins and fiddles beginning to sing from their strings. 

“Yes, and  you were the one who agreed to this arrangement.” Morgana reminded him with a smirk, he had no room to talk. With all of the grace of a queen unbothered, she elegantly settled herself into her seat like she hadn’t said a word to irk him. 

Merlin pointedly ignored her  as he settled himself into his sea, while the servants presented their meals. If it weren’t for the way her smirk sent him up the wall, he’d be uncomfortable with being served. Being attended to by servants made him feel like a child who barely knew how to dress themself. It was sort of humiliating and if he had it his way, he wouldn’t be getting used to this any time soon.

The plates that were set before them were covered in food; awfully  familiar to a feast found in Camelot. A slab of steak perfectly cooked,  nearly half the size of his forearm, placed  right in the middle, with roasted green beans, steamed broccoli, and roasted baby potatoes on the sides. His goblet had a  pale yellow wine in it, which he had still yet to take a sip of.

Iit wasn’t just a meal, it was a hearty feast. 

Merlin genuinely paused. He had never eaten such nice food like this his whole life. Most of what he had on offer was porridge and gruel, with a flat texture and little to no flavor, with the occasional soups and stews for dinner, hunks of pork or chicken cooked to the point of being rubbery and chewy, with pieces of raw veggies or fruit for lunch. He never had enough time to properly sit down and cook a meal, and while he loved Gaius and loved his cooking, Gaius was no master chef. So forgive Merlin for being a bit hesitant on how to approach his meal.

“What, do you need someone to cut your steak for you?” Morgana jabbed with a judgemental look.  Her asinine voice carried in an enticing yet jovial tone that was clearly intended to be vaguely taunting.

“I can serve myself just fine.” He hissed right back before he picked up the silverware —actual silver!— and hacked off a piece of the beef. In his rush he hadn’t even bothered to look at the color of the steak inside, a healthy light pink, or take in its juiciness and texture when he sliced into it before popping it into his mouth to chew with a pointed look.

The moment he did though, his eyes went wide. He leaned back in his seat. This wasn’t the first time he had eaten beef before, but this was the first time it tasted so good . His teeth sank into the warmth with ease, the juice mixing with just a touch of skillet searing and seasoning, like a mixture of smokiness and depth without losing the flavor of the meat itself. Nothing like the overly powerful smoky flavor from the expensive beef jerky in Camelot market, or the near impenetrable chewiness of something Gaius would make. Merlin was nearly in such awe of the meal that he nearly forgot to chew. 

“Wow,” From across Morgana Mordred spoke up through his chewing, “I must say, I got to give compliments to the chef. This is really tasty!” He proclaimed with a smile.

“I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear that, but Mordred, remember to not talk while you’re eating. It’s bad manners.” Morgana explained politely. Returning her attention back to her plate, she picked up a piece of steamed broccoli and slipped it past her lips. 

Merlin chewed his food slowly,  savoring each and every detail he took in and swallowed before he grumbled under his breath. “This is rich coming from the woman who forgot what a hairbrush was for a whole year.” He looked all for the world like he hadn’t meant for her to overhear. But he definitely had. The volume of the crowd picked up to the point their conversation could  be kept private. He’d always been pretty good at making snide subtle remarks. .

Morgana’s jaw dropped as she jerked her head to him from her meal. Merlin watched as she pursed her perfect lips, ready to  spit the most vile of response.

“Perhaps you have it confused for your own measly mop of hair,” A small sneer started to contort her face.

Merlin reached up and brushed a lock of hair out of his face. “Or perhaps you were just copying your sister. You know, like a puppet?” Merlin snapped back, rolling his eyes with a snarl, reflexively twisting his own face at her expression.

Morgana let out a haughty huff. “Oh wow, did the temperature just drop, or was it just your icy personality?” 

“I don’t know, maybe it’s just you and your icy soul.”

The two of them sat there, glaring at one another, their food forgotten for the moment. The tension in the air was so strong it nearly snapped with a crackle of lightning. The world around them gone, just ready to fight.

Right as Morgana was going to return in kind,  the sound of silverware clattering against a plate one, that could barely be heard from the buzz of the crowd. “Oh my god, you two.” Mordred’s voice droned, cutting through everything before it could even get off the ground.

Both perked up. “What?”

“Not even a minute and you two are already arguing. Is this what it’s going to be like the entire time?” Mordred asked, leaning forward to look at them both. Some of the advisors sitting around him gave him some dirty looks, but overall they remained silent on the matter.

“Well…” Merlin began to start before getting interrupted. 

Mordred shook his head. “Look, I’ve only been here for less than a week, and I can already feel a migraine coming on from both of your arguings, so let’s make a deal. You two can argue to your heart’s content, you two can argue until the cows and dragons come home, you two can destroy half of the castle for all I care, but only when I’m not in the room. Deal?”

Merlin and Morgana looked one another in the eye. For a silent moment, the both of them knew that Mordred’s compliance and insistence were probably one of the only reasons why they were even there. In a silent conversation, they came to an agreement.

With a glance Mordred’s way, Merlin gave a silent yet reluctant nod.

“You’re right, Mordred,” Morgana began to apologize, much to the surprise of both of them. “We shouldn’t be dragging innocent bystanders to watch our arguments.”

“That didn’t seem like a problem to you last time...” Merlin mumbled under his breath.

Morgana immediately whirled around once more, an absolute vile look on her face. “Oh? Says the one who can’t trust anyone except his loyal beau.”

Merlin’s mouth dropped open, ready to snap back with just as much sass before Mordred beat him to it. “Hey, what did I just say?”

They both stiffened and froze, and had the humility to look ashamed. “Sorry.” They both replied in unison.

“Good.” At that, Mordred finally turned back to his meal. “Now eat your food, or otherwise I’m going to put myself between you two.”

“Yes, dad.” Merlin rolled his eyes as he turned back to his food. What he failed to notice as he picked up a roasted baby potato was the smirk Morgana worked to suppress as she raised her glass to her lips once more. 

The pale yellow wine spread across Morgana’s teeth as she took a sip, sweet and savory at the same time. Thin, tickling the tip of her tongue, rolling through her mouth until it splashed down her throat. Like she was drinking a bright spring day in the garden, wind rolling by, sitting under a tree with a fresh basket of apples and pears, a bubbling brook of spring water nearby. Crisp, light, cleansing, and did not overstay its welcome on her pallet. 

For a solid moment, their part of the table was silent amongst the full chatter of the hall. For a solid moment, everything was peaceful between them. Just the three of them eating food, enjoying their dinner.

But of course, the moment either one of those two opened their mouth to say anything, the other was sure to follow with a quip or a remark. Mordred wasn’t sure who said the first word or what it was even about, but the other quickly followed until they were quietly bickering away again. They were so into their bickering that Merlin didn’t notice that he had picked up his wine and taken a sip from it, something he had sworn not to do.

And of course, Mordred had to watch. He watched as the two continued to bicker at the dinner table, as if the whole of their people wasn’t in front of them watching this go down. Not only was it improper, it was also kind of sad. He knew this rage these two had for one another was merely a scab, an ugly scar. A way for them to protect their hearts from being betrayed again by someone they considered once close, but it hurt them and the people around them as well.

Emrys' once bleeding heart that trusted everyone it met and sought to help people, even those that were destined to betray him, had now hardened and nearly turned to stone, only once in a blue moon dripping with the love he had. All in preparation to do what was needed to be done at destiny’s command, like a loyal, brainless, soldier, or a horse that had been broken of its spirit. Like some sort of backward logic; to help people, he had to not care about them. 

Morgana’s once golden heart that had a strong moral compass and the want to do good and be free had now turned black and charred on the outside, scared and scarred on the inside from the world’s relentless beatings and destiny’s condemnation, of which it showed in pure forms of anger and insanity. More likely than not to keep those who had the potential to hurt her, and most definitely those who had already hurt her, six paces away. A defense tactic she wasn’t even aware of.

If there was one thing Mordred was going to do before he left, he was going to get these two to open up at least a little bit. He was going to crack that stone heart open, scrub that char off. They were going to apologize of their own free will, whether they liked it or not.

Amata deserved the people who they once were, not who they are now. They deserved a brave woman who wasn’t afraid to do what was necessary and damned the consequences, they deserved a man who sought to do what was right and did not let anything stand in his way of a good, strong future. The people of Amata deserved the people who rescued him and protected him when he was a child, not who he was faced with as a near-adult.

“Really, Emrys?” Morgana hissed, her head so low she kind of looked like that of a pit viper. “Is that the best you got?”

“Oh I’m just getting started, Your Majesty,” Merlin bit right back, his face pulled into a tight snarl, lips pulled back to show his teeth.

“Hey,” Mordred hissed, leaning over to the point of nearly leaning into Morgana’s meal. “What the fuck did I just say?”

Both looked up from their argument, looking at him in shock. Mordred swearing sober was about as scary as finding a bear in the wilderness: disproportionately rare, but shockingly terrifying. It was almost as terrifying as Leon swearing.

“What?” Merlin asked, brow furrowing low. 

“About not arguing in front of me?” Mordred managed to hiss in a low tone. “It’s bad enough to argue in front of me, but in front of them?” With that, he jerked his head towards the crowd, where it was noticeable that quite a few of their lower-ranked nobility were watching them. 

The two looked over at Mordred, then at the crowd, before looking back at one another. “Sorry.” They both proclaimed sheepishly.

Mordred shook his head before settling back in his seat. Why must he be the parent of these two? He’s not even a complete adult yet. He wasn’t even old enough to get married yet, and yet now he has basically two kids to deal with.

With that, the dinner at their table fell into complete silence, and this time it stuck. It was a stark contrast to the warm conversations of the feast going on around them, but at least it wasn’t arguing. Perhaps a few of the advisors at the table were giving them annoyed glares for disturbing their meal, but by most their conversation went unnoticed.

Perhaps the dinner would have been silent for the rest of the night, but fate just happened to not let things go so quietly. It never did. 

It was when dessert came out that Merlin noticed something was off. It was a gorgeous yet simple dessert, light and fluffy meringues topped with strawberries and blueberries, a delightful yet simple treat to be sure. It was supposed to be topped with a fine sprinkle of sugar, yet, there was something off with Morgana’s. In the light of the candle before her, some of the crystals of sugar sparkled. Like tiny flecks of the purest crystals were thrown across her dessert. He had never seen sugar sparkle quite like that before, much less glint in the light like stars.

Merlin watched as with careful elegance, Morgana hacked a piece of the merengue off and got ready to lift it to her lips, completely unaware that something was off with her dessert. 

Like glass…

Merlin’s gut lurched, eyes going wide. Immediately, habitually, his hand reached out to stop her. 

“Morgana, wait.” He proclaimed in a low tone.

Morgana pulled the silver fork from her perfect lips, an annoyed look growing in her eye. “What?” She hissed, annoyed, emerald eyes growing dark from anger. Ready for round three of bickering.

“There’s something on your fruit.”

All of a sudden the annoyance in Morgana’s eyes melted away for a bit of bemusement. She huffed, and a small smirk grew on her lips. “I do believe it’s called sugar, Merlin.” She shuffled in her seat, ready to start eating again. “Honestly, even with your stature, I would have thought you’d know what sugar would look like.” 

Merlin held his hand up again, this time closer to her face. “I think it’s glass.” He explained calmly in a low, deathly tone, not once taking his gaze from her.

Morgana paused again, pulling her lips from her fork again. “Excuse me?”

Merlin gestured at the plate before her. “Just shine a light on it.”

With a wary yet annoyed look cast his way, Morgana dropped her fork with a clatter. Barely even speaking, she muttered a spell under her breath. A gentle pull, a flash of gold in her eyes, and a small ball of pure white light glowed in the palm of her hand, the size of a small apple. 

Holding the pure ball of light over her plate, Mordred from the other side couldn’t help but look on in curiosity. The whole table around her, interested to see what she saw.

There. Sure enough, the grains of colorless delect began to sparkle under the light, glittering in count as she moved the ball of light around. Sparkling like no piece of sugar ever had before. 

Both Merlin and Mordred’s brows furrowed in worry. As she continued to move the ball of light around, they could see sparkles on their own plates as well. Nowhere near as much as what was on Morgana’s plate, but it was there.

Without hesitation, Morgana leapt to her feet with such force the table clattered. “Everyone, halt!” Morgana ordered loudly, her voice so strong it nearly cut the room in half.

Everyone fell silent, their gazes turned towards the queen. Overwhelmingly complete. Not a voice spoke, not a string plucked,  not even a faint  whisper. The silence was nearly edible itself.

Morgana barely took a deep breath before continuing. “I regret to inform you that it seems that my dessert has been poisoned with ground up glass, and I am unsure if anyone else’s desserts have been contaminated as well.” 

Gasps of shock and awe washed through the crowd, as people immediately began to push their plates away from them. Some people even began to look a little sick, ready to throw up their whole meals in an attempt not to die.  

“Now do not be alarmed.” Morgana continued calmly, her gaze not once giving away a sign nor hint of fear. In fact, she looked almost used to it by now, the attempts on her life. “I believe this was a personal attempt, so in all likelihood your desserts are untainted. However, we will be taking no chances. The servants will be taking all of the desserts away now and will be returning with suitable replacements to cleanse our pallets. I assure you that even if you did manage to ingest some glass, small quantities will not kill you. Unless you managed to scarf down your whole dessert before the servant had the time to place it down before you, I do not believe you will be in any sort of danger. However, if you begin to feel any signs of severe discomfort in your abdomen or have any bloody stool, please see the royal physician immediately. We will let you know when more information comes to light.”

The moment Morgana leaned back from the table, the roar of the crowd grew once more, now bordering on a panic. Merlin let a lead weight grow in his heart as the humble servant behind him reached down and picked up his plate, toting it away. 

Such a waste…  He couldn’t help but think, although he wasn’t going to touch the strawberries. All that food, into the compost, simply because of a little glass.

However Morgana, completely indifferent to the crowd’s chaos, turned back to her guards. “Have Sir Hervell and Sir Tadeus gather a group of men to search the kitchens. Search everywhere, most specifically the pastry section. I want to know what’s going on in there.” Morgana ordered in a careful, low tone. She wasn’t mad, yet, but she did demand an answer. She was going to be mad at whoever was responsible for this. 

“Yes, your majesty.” The two guards bowed, before hurrying off to do their respective duties.

Then, as if nothing had ever happened, Morgana calmly tucked her skirt under herself and settled back down in her seat. She was deadly calm, as if nothing had ever happened. As if she had just given a menial announcement to the court, not a terrifying proclaimation about a gruesome attempt on her life. 

Ground up glass was no joking matter. It was a terribly difficult ‘poison’ to make and use, however when done right it could cause one of the most painful ways to die. While ground up glass wasn’t a poison in a normal sense, dealing its damage in a more physical sense rather than doing it by chemical compound, it did just as much nasty work. Ground up glass tore all the digestive organs into a razed mess, leaving the poor ingestor to die a slow, agonizing, bloody death. Merlin hadn’t seen it used first hand, but he had read the book on poisons and the whole chapter on it. 

The problem with ground or crushed glass was that the size of the pieces made all the difference when it came to their effectiveness. Too small, and they wouldn’t cause enough damage to the stomach and intestines to kill anyone, only pain, and too big and the ingestor would notice the gritty, sharp texture before they even swallowed a bite. It had to be a specific size, just barely above the size of a sugar crystal, which required careful grinding practices to get just right. However, when done right, there was no simple and direct ‘cure’ for such a ‘poisoning’. There’s no flower petals or roots that could stop the pain and agony, and usually by the time people attempted to send it back up the way it came, the damage would be just the same as if they let it run through the body. All even the best physicians could do was hope and pray the ingestor ate too little, or that their death was swift. 

Whoever did this job knew what they were doing.

It’s a careful, malicious, devious, cunning, downright cruel way to kill someone, and just exactly like something Merlin would do if he hated someone that much and had no reason to keep them alive. A couple names sprung to mind, yet sadly they were already dead, and no matter how hard he tried Merlin couldn’t add Morgana’s name to that list.

But, that didn’t mean that others didn’t put her name on the list for him.

I see someone’s taken a page from your book. Mordred’s voice echoed inside Merlin’s head.

Merlin didn’t give him the dignity of a response, merely sending the deepest glare he could the young knight’s way, picking up his wine glass and taking a long sip. 

Merlin had to admit, though. Barely even a week here, and it was already feeling a lot like Camelot, what with all the chaos going on. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was the things that happened in a week, then what sorts of things were going to happen by the time the wedding rolled around.

Before Merlin could even scold himself for even thinking about the wedding with even a modicum of fondness, there was a crash. Some people perked up, but most chose to continue on with their conversations. It was right as people began to think that servants would clean up the mess that muffled shouting began, screams from a maid, followed by more things crashing. Someone, a man, was begging someone to stop, but whoever was causing the scene was dead set determined on their course.

“What is going on—?” Morgana muttered under her breath, pushing herself to her feet with Merlin and Mordred following suit, brow furrowed low right as the doors to the dining hall crashed open.

Before anyone could stop her, in came marching a woman, mad, with what looked to be a demonic, hate-filled glare in her eye. Frazzled blonde hair fell out of her hair bonnet, her stain-covered, full-bodied apron just barely hiding a dark maroon dress underneath, embroidered with tiny yellow canaries in flight.

But that wasn’t what got everyone’s attention, oh no. It was the rather large kitchen knife she held in her grasp. 

“Knife!” Someone screamed, but it didn’t do much to change anything. People were already scrambling to get out of her way, screaming, shuffling, shoving themselves tightly into corners to try and avoid her wrath. People started throwing themselves out of their seats, some even over the table or underneath it. 

Guards began to scramble to stop her, but the sheer size of the crowd got in their way. They would not get there before it would be too late.

“We don’t want your kind!” The woman screamed, right as she raised her knife.

“Look out!”

As the knife flew, time slowed to a crawl.

Quite literally for Merlin. 

Everyone around him slowed in time, even his own body felt sluggish and heavy in a way. Like he was stuck in a dream, the very fabric of magic bending time around him. 

Huh, been a while since this happened, Merlin thought to himself, watching the blade glint in the light of the candles. Slowly twisting through the air, its aim true to hit its mark if nothing was done to stop it. 

Her expression caught in surprise, a spell on the tip of her tongue. She would not be able to finish it before the knife got to her.

Merlin looked at the knife once more. He had two options in front of him; pull her away, or let the knife hit her. At the course it was going now, there was no question it was going to injure and maime her quite severely, if not kill her. If such a thing happened, if he let her take the knife to the face, then he would be free from this dreaded contract. He wouldn’t have to marry her, Amata and Camelot would be free of her potential threat, and he would be able to go home.

…But if he did let her die… he would be stranded there in Amata, no way home and burdened with a kingdom, all on his own. Or worse, a civil war might break out on his hands. Riots would form in the streets, lords and dukes that were once neighbors would go to war with one another in a desperate grab for power. Or worse yet, Prince Aldus would return and take the throne. All of the progress done would be for nothing. Everything would go back to the way things were, including the ban on magic. Hundreds, thousands of lives would die. And no matter what happened, if Morgana died, then Camelot would not be pressured to lift its ban on magic. Amata would no longer be a safe haven for magic. The hopes and desires Merlin had for the future, all of the energy and time and soul he poured into this Destiny, into this hopeful future, could be put back years. 

If not forever. 

Merlin made his choice. 

Without a second thought, Merlin reached out and yanked Morgana out of the way of the flying knife.

As his hands wrapped around her waist and pulled her close, time returned to normal. Without hesitation her full weight slammed into his chest, sending them both stumbling back, arms instinctually wrapping around her. Her warmth pressed against him, held in his arms, the two were knocked off their senses and their breath. Breathing hard, clinging to one another as if the other could hold them steady in a storm. 

Merlin looked up, breathing hard. Where Morgana’s head once was was now an incredibly sharp kitchen knife, dug firmly into the wood of the seat, blade still shaking from the impact. The tip of the knife, carefully buried into the face of a wooden knight on horseback, forever pinned into a recoil position by blade and wood. 

Without hesitation Mordred leapt into action. He hurled himself over the table and threw himself at the woman, scarlet cape flying. By the time he reached the woman he was greeted by two large burly guards. Without hesitation, all three of them leapt at the woman, slamming her to the stone floor. 

The woman screamed in fury and pain, her arms twisted behind her back, one guard’s hand in the woman’s dirty blonde hair as her kitchen bonnet fell off. She tried to struggle, but nothing could be done as Mordred quickly produced rope he had on hand, the other guard getting down to stop her from kicking him. She merely tried to scream louder.

“Get off me! I can’t breathe!” The woman screamed as the three of them forced her arms behind her back, with Mordred tying her up with rope. None of them let up on their pressure.

“Why am I getting a sense of deja vu?” Merlin muttered aloud, his gaze still firmly set on the woman screaming out on the dining hall floor. He was so shaken up by all of it he had not realized he was still holding Morgana close  in his arms, as if it was nothing more than a habit. 

For a small moment he felt bad for the woman. For another small moment, he thought it odd that this was the second time he reluctantly saved a Pendragon from getting stabbed with a knife being thrown at them while at a feast. If he had a gold piece for every time it happened, he’d have two gold pieces, which isn’t a lot, but it was weird it happened twice. 

“Well there’s one key difference.” Morgana breathed shakily, her chest rising and falling against his own, her breath tickling his cheek, her bodily warmth pouring into him.

“What’s that?” Merlin asked quietly, softly, looking down at her in confusion. Her shining nude colored lips were parted just so, perfectly kissable. She had lost her crown at some point, and her hair was beginning to fall into her face in front of those malachite eyes of hers. A tiny part of him wanted to reach out and brush it away.

She shifted in his arms, pressing into him as she rose ever closer to his lips. “You’re still holding me.” She spoke sotto voce, her voice like warm honey laced with poison. She had yet to pull away from his grasp. 

Without any hesitation, his senses returning  to him like the wave of a cold storm, driving out all warmth in his soul,  he let her go. For one small moment, there was a void in his arms, as if he missed the feeling for just a moment, but he shook it away. 

With a blink, reality returned.

The crowd around them had  slowly began to settle down as more and more blue colored guards filed in the door, the worried tone of fear still hanging in the air. Most of the attention now was aimed solely on the woman in the center of the room. 

The woman was, despite being pinned to the ground, still trying to escape. However, despite her struggling, she  had since gone quiet, the guards and Mordred still pinning  her down. Her body was shaking with a fury Merlin had rarely seen before. It scared him, disheartened him, but deep down, he was also curious. Why did this woman want to kill Morgana so badly? Sure he heard that some of the citizens weren’t happy with their new queen, and sure he understood why he wanted to kill her, but this random woman? Surely there’s a reason, deeply buried past her fury. 

But before Merlin could even express this idea to anyone, a cool glare crossed Morgana’s face. The kind of face a ruling monarch makes when they have a decree to give, one that makes Merlin pause in fear.

Perhaps it was just a hunch, but… at the right angle, through the angry glare in her eye, the pinned woman looked a little familiar. She had a face perfect for blending into a crowd. The kind of face perfect for a servant.

At that, Merlin lurched to his feet, hurrying to stop Morgana. 

“Wait.” He tried to say, hurrying to her side. “Don’t.”

Morgana did not stop in her pace. “Don’t try to stop me, Merlin.” Morgana growled, giving him a side glare as she continued to march around the table.

“Morgana, please.” Merlin tried again, trying to keep up with her.

“She tried to kill me!” Morgana hissed, finally coming to a halt, furious glare boring into Merlin’s head. “What else am I supposed to do?”

“Let me handle this.” Merlin tried to calmly reply, finally putting his body before hers, as if it would do anything to halt her in her tracks.

“You can’t just befriend everyone.” She hissed, warily eying the woman around him. 

“Well you don’t know if you don’t try.”

Morgana scowled, but took a step back. Might as well let him see the follies of his optimism. “Then go right ahead. See how well it goes for you.”

Merlin was a little surprised by how little resistance she was giving, especially as he took in how she carefully crossed her arms, but he wasn’t going to not take the chance. 

Calmly, Merlin turned around and made his way towards the woman on the floor. The tense pressure of the room welled around him, nervous whispers and glances he knew were completely focused on him. Mordred, who was holding a knee to the small of the woman’s back as he kept the knots closed, gave him a sympathetic look, yet not one word came out. The woman, furious though she may be, had since calmed down since her shouting, yet her chest still heaved. In a way she reminded Merlin of a deer trapped in a cage, heaving and waiting for just the right moment to fight her way out of their grasp. 

Well, there was always one place to start.

“You know, I don’t think that was very smart.” Merlin started, getting down on one knee in front of the woman. “I mean, this is a very crowded hall…”

“Oh shove it.” The woman immediately snarled back, once again fighting against her captor’s grips. Both guards and Mordred worked to keep her down. For a small woman, she sure was strong!

Merlin wasn’t particularly surprised by her response, but it still took him back a bit. 

“I’m trying to help you here.” Merlin tried again, trying to keep his voice in a calm tone.

The woman barked a laugh, pressing her cheek onto the stone floor. “Oh yeah? If you wanted to help me, then you shouldn’t have dragged her out of the way.” The woman snarled, her eyes flaring in fury.

Merlin paused. “I can’t let you just kill her.” Merlin started softly, as if it would do anything to convince her otherwise. As if it would do anything to convince himself.

“She is a curse on this land,” The woman spat, flecks of spittle flying out, struggling once more. “Killing King Sarum, bringing back magic. She’ll doom us all!”

Her voice carried across the hall with what meager power it could, only reaching the closest of lords and ladies.

“Come now…” Merlin tried again, feeling the urge to take a step back. The more and more this woman talked, the more it stung him in return. Like a bee’s stinger being dug deeper and deeper into him; it would only cause more and more pain for the striker. 

“And don’t you think you’re good enough to rule this kingdom either,” The woman hissed, the fire in her eye glowing brighter. “A servant and a magic user on our thrones? Pathetic. You’ll doom this kingdom before it can reach a golden age.”

Merlin blinked. In that moment, he realized  that they were probably thinking the same thing, like two blades of a helix striking together. She was as bad as Morgana said  she was going to be.

With a calm look, Merlin looked over his shoulder. “She’s all yours.” He proclaimed, getting to his feet and dusting his hands of this mess. If the woman wanted to be like this, then fine. 

And just like that, it was like handing her over to a snake. Morgana cooly rose from her seat, approaching the woman, not once taking her eye off of her. The sharpest glare he had ever seen her make was in her eye, and that did include all those that she made towards him. Her shoes clicked across the cold marble floor, and as she walked the room fell into a deathly silence.

“What is your name?” Morgana asked, her voice loud and strong over the crowd of onlookers.

“What’s it to you?” The woman spat, sending back her own glare.

Morgana sent her a burning glare. “Because your punishment will be quite worse if you don’t tell me.” She replied calmly. Too calmly. She did nothing to hide the danger, the threat that flew underneath.

The woman hesitated and looked away, as if carefully planning before she proclaimed, “Joan.”

The smallest yet evilest of smirks crossed Morgana’s lips. “Well Joan , I don’t know if you consider your actions brave, but what you’ve done and what you’ve said are quite foolish.” Morgana replied calmly, her glare growing more and more. “Attempting to kill me, insulting and belittling my fiancé, insulting my kin… all quite foolish.”

Joan growled and struggled against the guards holding her down, all in vain. A brave face put on, but in the back, Merlin could see something growing in the woman’s eye: fear. 

True, pure fear. 

Slowly, Morgana lowered herself down to the woman’s level, looking her dead in the eye as she took her face into her hand. “You are going to feel the very pain that my so-called ‘wretched kind’ had to go through. You are going to suffer just as my kind and I have suffered, and if it so fits me, I’ll make it worse.” She turned her cool, menthol like gaze towards the guards holding her down. “Take her to the pits. I will deal with her shortly.”

The guards and Mordred nodded, and with ease they lifted the woman to her feet. The woman screamed out obscenities as she was dragged out of the room, but Merlin couldn’t hear them anymore. The crowd was muttering too loud with one another for Merlin to hear anything. Only the last thing he saw was Mordred sending a sympathetic look back over his shoulder Merlin’s way before following the two guards into the hall beyond.

The moment the door closed there was an empty, queasy feeling in Merlin’s stomach, one that made him worry. He wasn’t sure whether this feeling just wanted to vomit, or run. But the only thing he could think about is if Morgana was capable of and willing to put people through the same pain she had gone through, then who’s to say what else she was willing to do?

It sent his mind into a spiral, clouded and foggy. He had begun to think that perhaps the dangerous facade she gave off was merely that, but clearly, after tonight, he was wrong, again. She was just as insane as she had ever been, just as dangerous as she had ever been. 

If she was willing to put a complete stranger through the same pain she was, then what’s to say what she would do to someone like him? 

It sent such a spiral of worry that Merlin only realized Morgana was talking to the captain of the guard, the knight who had brought him in when he had tried to run. The pepper haired man looked a bit sheepish, as if he realized his failure and was ready to step up to the plate and take responsibility.

“This is the third attempt on my life, Sir Tadeus, I won’t tolerate more failure.” Morgana explained calmly, her glare never once letting go. As if the chaos of the crowd around her didn’t even for once mattered to her. 

“I know, your majesty,” Sir Tadeus dipped his head low. “I will discuss with Sir Nordien about the matter first thing in the morning.”

“I expect a report by lunch.”

“Yes, your majesty.” At that, Sir Tadeus bowed and hurried off. Merlin watched as he made some sort of gestures at the remaining guards, barked a few orders, and what guards remained nodded and headed off towards their duties. 

The remaining crowd was slowly beginning to settle down, but Merlin’s heart still burned with the events of the night. He couldn’t stay for any longer. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

Without even a word, Merlin pushed himself towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Morgana immediately asked, a hand reaching out for him. Confusion and concern crossed her face, as if she didn’t understand why he was leaving.

“I’ve lost the rest of my appetite.” Merlin only replied simply, and through the last of the chaos Merlin walked out and into the hall. Hoping to leave the chaos of the night behind. 

Merlin didn’t know when he started walking or how long he had been walking for, but by the time Merlin’s mind finally calmed down, he had trailed his way into his bedroom, the old stuffy yellow coat gone and thrown into some random corner to be hopefully never found again.

Merlin was about to walk into his room and contemplate trying to go asleep when he heard a bit of sniffling coming from inside. It sounded like someone was crying!

The moment he opened the door, Merlin was greeted by the sight of Aaron the manservant, sniffling, attempting to keep himself from crying, hand under his nose to keep himself from snot. The room was cleaned and the fire was lit, but Aaron was in no fit mood to keep on working, and was stuck frozen from cleaning up the small pile of books Merlin had brought up earlier on. 

“Aaron? What’s wrong?” Merlin immediately asked, closing the door behind him and hurrying to close the space between them.

The manservant looked a little surprised to see Merlin standing there, as if he hadn’t expected for him to come at all. “Oh, I’m sorry, sir, I was just sent up to help you get ready for bed, but…” Aaron sniffed once more.

“What happened?” Merlin asked again, reaching up to place a hand on the young man’s shoulder.

The man sniffed, a new, fresh wave of tears perking to his eyes. “I tried to stop her,” He tried to say through a  broken voice, “I tried to tell her it was foolish, that it was wrong, but she wouldn’t listen to me.”

“Whoa, who? Who did you try to stop?”

Aaron finally looked up, a pained grimace on his face. “My sister, Joan.”

Merlin’s eyes went wide, everything clicking into place. Now he knew where he recognized her from; she looked just like her brother. “You mean the woman they just took down to the pits? That was your sister?” He asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, just to make sure.

Aaron sniffed as he nodded, wiping his nose with his own pocket square. “I’m sorry, sir. But I don’t think I’ll be able to work with you for much longer.” With that, he hurried out of the room as fast as he could. 

Merlin could only watch in concern as the door closed behind him. He let out a sigh. For all the walking he did, the moment he mentioned her name, everything came welling back up to the surface. The concerns, the worries, the fear that he did the wrong thing.  It was starting to give him a headache, or worse, a migraine. 

He reached up and ran his hands through his hair, letting out a sigh. Perhaps if he went outside the castle walls and got a breath of fresh air, maybe then he’d know what he should do. But if he did that, then who knows how easily he would get lost in the darkness of those woods?

Merlin was just about to start heading out the door again when there was another knocking at his door. 

“Merlin? Are you in there?” The familiar voice of Mordred called out from the other side, a worried tone in his voice. “I just saw your manservant leave—.”

Before he could get any further, Merlin opened the door. “What are you doing here, Mordred?” He asked, his voice and brow low.

The young knight’s hand was still up, as if he was about to knock. He let his hand fall back to his side. “When I got back from delivering the assassin, Morgana told me you left. It’s kind of my job to check in on you.” The young knight replied, letting himself in with an annoyed look. 

“I’m fine, if you have to ask.” Merlin replied, closing the door behind him. He wasn’t honestly expecting the company, but he wasn’t going to object to it either. “Aaron should be the one you should be worried about.” 

Mordred came to a stop and turned around, arching a brow. “Oh? How so?”

Merlin pursed his lips for a moment, contemplating, before leaned in close. “That woman who attacked Morgana is his sister.” He explained in a low tone of voice, as if to keep things on the down low. As if anyone else in the room would be listening in on them, even though they were all alone.

Mordred looked on in surprise, eyes going wide. “No,” Merlin nodded. “Well, where is he?”

“Retired early for the night.” Merlin replied with a shrug. “Didn’t seem like he wanted to talk much about it.”

A look of realization crossed Mordred’s face, as if he was reminded of something. “Actually, that's what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Merlin arched a brow. “You wanted to talk to me about the manservant I’ve had for less than a day?” He asked incredulously.

“No, about his sister’s actions.” Mordred sat down on the couch. “You came here saying that you want to kill Morgana. And yet tonight you saved her life? What is going on?”

Merlin let out a slow sigh. He knew that he was going to have to talk about this at some point, but he didn’t expect it to be so soon. Well, he had to face the music eventually, might as well start now.

“Remember my discussion with Morgana this morning?” He asked carefully, slowly sitting down beside the young knight.

Mordred’s brow furrowed in concern. “Yeah, she kicked us out. Why?” He replied, giving him a look. 

“I agreed to marry her.”

The young man rolled his eyes. “Obviously, that’s the whole reason we’re here.” He replied incredulously. “That’s why we had that feast, or did you forget her speech?”

“I mean it this time.” Merlin described carefully, the words feeling no better on his tongue now than it did earlier that day. The same monster that wanted to crawl out still dug at the walls of his stomach, a reminder of the day’s earlier pain.

Mordred’s brow furrowed, his eyes going wide. He would not dare to say that his heart was leaping in hope, lest it somehow put it out like a soufflé being taken out of the oven too early. “What?”

“Unless I come across some way to pacify her, I genuinely don’t see a better option for Camelot and Destiny than to marry her.” Merlin continued to explain, reaching forward to pick up an abandoned goblet still filled with water. He knocked back the water with a sip, letting the cool water pour down his throat, as if in an attempt to reach mental clarity. He drained the goblet and reached out for the pitcher. Perhaps some fresh water would quell the fighting beast in his stomach.

While Mordred watched on, the young man couldn’t help but be utterly confused. He just spent a whole week riding with this man, hearing how he was planning to kill her the moment he had a chance, but the moment he did and he’ll let the chance slip through his fingers? Not that Mordred was entirely sad about it, but it didn’t seem very ‘Merlin’ of him.

“But you said that killing her would get her out of the picture. No more threat if she doesn’t exist.” Mordred tried to understand, mind fuzzling with the answers.

“You know Morgana’s got some plans up her sleeve in case of something like that, and she knows me too well.” Merlin sighed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she put a curse on herself so that if she dies then Camelot suffers.” He explained cynically, making his way to his feet.

“So you’re actually willing to marry her?” Mordred asked, watching the manservant make his way towards the drawers, where hopefully his one set of measly night clothes resided.

Merlin paused, face grimacing, his hand hovering over the cool metal handle of the drawer. “It’s complicated.”

“Well, so long as I don’t need to help clean up brain matter from upholstery, I’ll support you.” Mordred said with a shrug, and he meant that. Despite the fact that he was a knight, he still did not like violence. Or at least, lethal violence. 

“Thanks,” Merlin couldn’t help but retort with a light eye roll. Trust him, if he was going to be killing anyone, dealing with brain matter wasn’t going to be a problem. There would be much bigger matters to attend to first.

“So, what do we do now?” Mordred couldn’t help but ask, giving Merlin a look that reminded him of tiredness. Of looking for a way forward, yet not finding it.

“What do you think we do?” Merlin replied, popping his head through his nightshirt, “We help Morgana plan a great big Amatan wedding, and keep her alive until then.” 

“You could say that again,” Mordred proclaimed, before leaning back into the couch with a sigh. 

This was going to be harder than they thought.

Merlin sighed, rolling in his self made bed.

He couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t the fact that he had reluctantly convinced himself to sleep on the couch (he still didn’t trust the bed), it wasn’t the fact that he was worried about what was happening to Morgana’s attempted assassin (although he did), it wasn’t even the fact that he was still reeling over what had just happened that day, no. It was his damn curiosity about that magic library.

He knew Morgana told him not to go in there all by himself, but… he was too curious. Damn the consequences if he was caught, for something as important to him as magic, he was willing to take the punishment, no matter what it was. If he knew what he was doing and all the expertise of sneaking around in Camelot had anything to say, he wouldn’t be caught at all.

With a slip off of the couch and into his boots, Merlin quietly padded across his room and pushed himself into the hallway. The only sound he made was the sound of his bedroom door creaking open, his footsteps silent over the remains of the carpeted floor. 

The farther and farther he got from his room, the darker and darker the castle got. Most of the candles and torches on the walls were extinguished, and what few people he saw were predominantly guards on patrol, none of which noticed Merlin slipping through the shadows, or if they did, they did not say a word. The only light of which Merlin could guide himself around the castle was the light of the moon outside, streaming through the tall windows, pale shadows of light compared to the strength of the sun. It gave the castle a rather ghastly, ghostly look, and Merlin half expected to see a ghostly visage of an old dead king or lady come floating through the walls at any moment. 

Without Aithusa to lead the way it took Merlin a while to find the place he was looking for. All of the hallways looked similar in the dark. It took a few wrong turns, but eventually Merlin found the library once more, the twin statues standing on either side of the doorway now both haunting and beautiful when bathed in moonlight and shadow. The dark wooden door loomed over him like a menace, as if judging him for coming at such a late hour.

But Merlin did not let that stop him, oh no. His determination would not stand for that. If he wasn’t going to be sleeping tonight, then the least he could do was read. He always did that whenever he couldn’t sleep back in Camelot, and who knows? Perhaps the couch in the library would be more comfortable than the one in his room?

With a creak and a groan, the great doors to the library swung open slowly, revealing their treasures inside. 

Stepping inside, the library quietly loomed over him, the glow of the moon through the windows casting the room into a ghastly glow. Like he had walked into the remains of a giant’s rib cage. The fireplace on the other side had since gone cold, and what colors may have come through the colored glass windows had since been traded out for a moon pale glow. 

Gliding across the room, Merlin ignored all of the shelves he passed. There was only one shelf that interested him, and it was across the way. It called out to Merlin, like a messenger waiting at home. One single book being the key to Merlin’s desire. His hand slipped over the spines, each one identical to the other. There must have been fifty or so books on these shelves, and he couldn’t decide which one was the one to pull. 

“Welp, might as well try them all,” Merlin thought to himself, before reaching out and pulling a spine. He slipped a book out as far as he dared before slipping it back in. Slipping and placing books until he found the book that carried with it a stronger weight, the book to cause the familiar KERCHUNK! Of the secret doorway being opened.

With merely a look back over his shoulder to see if anyone was following him, Merlin slipped down the staircase and into the darkness below, the energy calling out to him like an old friend. His footsteps echoed as he walked down the tight staircase, not bothering to summon a light as he meandered down into the darkness, hands resting on the cold stone walls to guide him.

The moment his feet reached the bottom, he reached out instinctively for the torch handle Morgana had twisted to turn all the crystals on. His hand touched nothing for so long until… he grazed a smooth cylindrical piece of metal. Like that of a torch handle. 

Gotcha. With that, he twisted it. 

The orange crystal blinked to life, beginning to cast a warm glow, however unlike when Morgana did it the whole room didn’t come to life, revealing the tomes of knowledge Merlin so craved to know. Instead he was left with a single sliver of warmth to work with. 

Oh well, he could work with this. He didn’t need the whole room to be lit up anyways. 

Without nary a care as to where to start, Merlin plucked a random book off a pile stacked neatly in the corner, cracking it open immediately. It didn’t matter to him where he started, so long as he did. So long as he knew how to get down here, he was going to take his chances. 

A Comprehensive Exploration of Magical Beasts

Fire Salamanders: Equal to that of the length and size of a horse, Fire Salamanders can be a dangerous animal to face. While on the surface they are nothing more than a massive salamander, these monsters can be a severe threat to anyone and anything they come across. With wet, shiny skin as black as night with bright markings of red and yellow, it is nearly impossible to miss one of these animals while out in the woods. Their claim to magical fame comes from the slime they excrete on their skin, which not only works to keep the animal moist when out of water (which it will often do when on the hunt for food large enough to sustain it), but can be used for self defense. The Fire Salamander can catch this slime alight and bathe their body in fire, deterring any would-be predator desperate enough to try and hunt them. If the predator is not so deterred, a Fire Salamander may spit at the creature, which has similar properties of that of the slime they excrete across their bodies. This can be a concern, as under the right conditions, such as a drought or near harvest season, one wrong move can set a hard year’s work, a forest, or even a whole village up in flames. 

If you come across such a beast while out in the forest or working in your field, it is best to remain calm and back away slowly, then report it to the authorities to deal with them. Several shots from a long ranged weapon, such as longbows, can make quick work of such a beast, but best be careful, because they will retaliate if you are noticed. Authorities of several countries have been hard at work getting rid of the beasts, and as of writing this in most of the land they have been eradicated, however some kingdoms, like that of Amata and Daobeth, the monsters have been more difficult to manage due to their terrain.

Fire Salamanders are not native to the Island of Albion, with only one being brought over King Taleius as a part of his move to the island in 206. It is unknown exactly where he received it from, but some speculate a land or a world that is far more climatized and used to fire than our own…

Merlin was curled up against the wall under a single glowing crystal and near the end of the segment when a calm, familiar voice caught his attention. 

“I see you like to ignore my rules.” 

Merlin gasped and reflexively crouched to his knees, ready to stand. “Morgana.” He breathed, standing up. 

While Merlin had his guard up, what he was greeted with was a different Morgana than what he saw at dinner. This wasn’t the woman he bickered with at the dinner table, or the one who haughtily showed him this library. This wasn’t even the sultry, seductive woman he met in the tent all those weeks ago, who sent his mind spiraling, or the confident queen who went toe to toe with Arthur during their days of the treaty. No.

Merlin could nearly see bags forming under her eyes, her skin a shade paler than usual. Her shoulders slouched just a touch. Her wavy hair was undone of any style and falling haphazardly around her shoulders, and her simple white nightgown was covered by a thick black shawl.

She looked… tired, in the flickering crystal light, and Merlin was not prepared for this kind of Morgana.

“What happened?” He couldn’t help but ask, his voice filled with too much earnesty than what he should afford. 

Morgana shrugged. “She resisted. What else is new?” She explained, looking at the couch like she wanted to plop herself down onto it and go to sleep.

“She isn’t…?” Merlin couldn’t get the words out of his mouth.

“No, she’s not dead.” Morgana explained, letting out a sigh. She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, her other arm carefully wrapped around her waist in a sort of attempt of a hug.

“Then why do you look like you’ve seen death taking a bath?” Merlin asked, arching a brow as he rose to his feet. Merlin expected to get a snippy response, something deflective, something to tell him to go off on himself. Something to get her to act as her usual self. 

But what he got was not her usual.

“Sometimes the mental cost can take a toll on the physical.” Morgana explained calmly, tiredly, with a tired look, as if she expected Merlin to understand. 

A part of Merlin did, but he couldn’t think of why it would relate to this moment. He had his suspicions, mere wisps of thoughts, but it was too late in the night to weave those thoughts into something solid for him to work with. 

“You’re just as cryptic as Kilgarrah…” He found himself muttering under his breath, but this time Morgana did not seem to notice.

No, instead she was sucked into her own world, as if she had a message to deliver when she found him down here. Not a spark of frustration or anger flowing through her at that moment.

“If you’re going to ignore my rules, Merlin, then please, don’t let anyone see you doing it.” Morgana’s voice carried a sort of desperation, a craving that Merlin couldn’t see under the singular crystal light. 

“Why? It’s not that you need the respect.” Merlin retorted, as if expecting her to have her classic comeback at the ready. 

“Respect is hard to earn when no one wants to give it, and it’s harder to keep when their queen’s own groom won’t respect her.” Morgana explained simply, and in that moment Merlin knew that she was not up for games. She was too tired for games at the moment. Her soul was too tired for them.

Merlin decided not to respond, keeping his words to himself. It was better to remain silent than to get into another fight, especially this late at night. Perhaps he should just leave and deal with this in the morning…

“I know you want to kill me,” Morgana explained slowly, taking her steps forward one by one. “I know you think I am not fit to rule, I know you think that I will attack Camelot as soon as I wring this treaty for all its worth—.”

“How do you know all of this?” Merlin halted her immediately, sending her a look as if to challenge her.

“Because I know you, and I know what I would have done if I had taken this kingdom a year ago.” Morgana explained before she sighed. “But trust me when I say I’m serious about this. This is for the best. You will have a good life here.” 

A small rock formed in Merlin’s throat, as if he didn’t know how to think about all of this. As if he didn’t want to think about how this place was to become his new home, no matter what. 

”How do you know?” He managed to force himself to ask, his eyes shining in the light of the orange crystal. 

Morgana didn’t respond, she merely bunched the folds of her shawl in her hands. “I don’t want you to be in a prison in your own home.”

Merlin sighed. There it was again. Calling this place ‘home’. It was too late in the night to argue on that part. But the honesty was refreshing. 

“Look, I’m sorry for coming down here without you,” He found himself admitting, which to be fair to him he hadn’t expected he’d be saying to her of all people that day, “I’ll ask for permission next time.”

Morgana gently shook her head. “What’s the point? This place calls to you. It’s best not to ignore it while it does.” She explained cryptically, as if the library itself was a living place. 

Merlin gently nodded his head. He opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. Nothing fit. But, he couldn’t stay down here for any longer. No, sleep was finally calling his name.

He let out a sigh. “Goodnight, Morgana,” Was all that he could muster up to say, tucking the book he had under his arm and made his way towards the stairs.

The woman in question did not bother to give him a response, only heading up when she could no longer hear the sound of his footsteps in the staircase.

Morgana let out a sigh, the darkness of the stairs enveloping her, squeezing her without any of the benefits of being in a squeeze. A good strong part of her hoped that Aithusa would be in her room when she got back to her room, she could really use the company right about now. She could really use another body to share the comfort of her bed.

It was nights like these that Morgana really didn’t want to spend alone.

When Morgana got back to her room, she found the door to Merlin’s room firmly shut, no sign of light coming from underneath the doorway. Probably all curled up in his bed, cast away from nightmares and the lot.

Morgana sighed, the door to her own room closing behind her with a ‘click!’ To her luck and small delight, the little dragon she had been hoping to be there was curled up on her side of the bed, content and perfectly asleep, even after all of the night's events. It wasn’t much, but Morgana would take any body to cuddle with rather than no body, especially when she knew only more nightmares were to greet her as soon as she slipped under the covers.

The only thing she heard in her dreams that night was Merlin’s cheerful laugh, as if all was right in the world, and the woman’s screams and curses from the pit down below.

Chapter Text

There is a time where even the strongest walls crumble into dust. Where even the mightiest warriors fall on the battlefield. Without care and support, even the mightiest castles fall. Without being vigilant, even the greatest empires crumble. Even the strong and independent needed to be saved.

This time, it was Morgana’s turn. 

She was numb.

Terribly, horribly numb.

Her body had been ripped away from her, autonomy be damned. Her very soul was ripped apart, pieces scattered to the wind. Voices echoed inside her head, and yet she did not hear any of them. Thunder echoed inside her, and yet no flash of lightning could be seen. No, she was nothing. A doll cut from its strings. A body without a soul.

Her black dress was mere scraps, caked with dirt and grime. Her hands, calloused, broken, and cold, laid loose and empty on her lap, tightly bound in dark metal shackles. Hair unwashed for months, blemished skin unprotected from threat and foe for goddess knows how long.

No, there was a soul inside, but it was shackled. Caged. Withered and silenced. Its power was severed from her, like a rope for a flood gate. For months not a single spell would come to her aid when she called. She was slowly withering away, her soul slowly being siphoned out of her, drop by drop.

Not an ounce of her body moved at her command. No jests came to mind, no complex plans. All she did was stare at the cobbled stone wall before her, and even then she took in nothing. Staring into nothing, like an empty void.

She could still feel his touch, his cold, grimy fingers touching her skin—slipping past the folds of her dress. The prince's horrid grin was the last thing she remembered before fading to unconsciousness. She would have shivered at the memory, but she hadn’t had the energy to do so.

From above, laughter like that of a gaggle of crows trickled down, but Morgana did not pay it any note. She would normally fight off their insults with threats and witty comebacks, but no more. It didn’t matter to her. She didn’t have the energy, the will, to respond.

“Oh come on, do something!” A shrill, exasperated voice called out from above right as Morgana was smacked on the head with an old, overripe tomato as if she was some animal in an exhibit. The mush of the meat of the fruit seeped into Morgana’s hair, staining, dripping, slipping down her scalp and down her neck. 

And yet, the priestess did not move. She barely craned her neck upwards.

The ugly sound of a few ladies and their entourages cackled above, patting one on the back for her excellent aim. Morgana could barely see them, only occasionally the wave of an arm or a lock of loose flowing hair giving her a visual clue to their presence. She knew who they were, they came every day after lunch. The perfectly primmed ladies of Amata and their horde of attendants, none of them ever daring to stick even a perfectly manicured toe in closer, in case their toy ever had the chance to hurl something their way in return. A return present, back to the sender.

Beyond them, the sky was gray, choked with the weight of infinite clouds. The loose cobbled rocks around her pit dripped with water, wrung from the mud after the beginning snow melt. No green, no blue, only brown, black, and gray as far as the eye could see. The kind of day that brought no natural joy, only misery, and annoyance. Not that a bright spring day would have helped Morgana’s soul, but at least she wouldn’t be so wet. Not soaked, but water seeped into her torn, black, poor linen dress, seeped into her skin. It was hard to stay clean and dry when she didn’t have access to her magic and was forced to stay outside, but she supposed that was the point.

For a small moment, Morgana craved the days when she was with her sister, out in the wilderness, free from all responsibilities and woes. Free to travel wherever they so wished. Free to sit by the edge of a creek and listen to the sounds of the forest. The clear and cool babbling brooks, the soft rustling of the wind in the emerald trees and brush, the chirping of birds, hopping from branch to branch. Flowers of all magnitudes of colors blooming in the crevices of sunlight, entire fields painted in soft pinks, blues, and yellows. To have one of her few hugs, her warmth, her presence, her strength. 

All that, gone.

What Morgana would kill just to hear the sound of a single bird song.

Aithusa chirped, and whined in concern, resting her head on Morgana’s lap. With her own dark, salted iron collar around her throat, there was only so much she could do to help the only friend she had at the moment. All she could do to help was be there for her, to stand with her as they rode through the storm together. 

The laughter continued as a seed dripped down her face. Thin, sweetly sour juice trailed down her temple like a streak of thin blood. Morgana did not reach up to wipe it away. She was already lost to the waves.

“Aw, no response?” A random, feminine voice called from above. “No grand threats on how you are going to destroy our lives? No colorful descriptions on how you plan to desecrate our corpses?”

Another wave of crow-like cackles flowed overhead, but Morgana did not respond. Her glazed gaze merely stared before her as those ladies above continued to cackle as if laughing at their own joke. Laughing, laughing, laughing, until even those sounds faded into nothing and silence.

“Oh dear, I think she’s finally broken.” Another voice called out, different than before. A flash of brown coiffed curls dared to peek over the rim of the pit for just a moment before disappearing once more.

“Oh, that’s a shame. I rather liked toying with her.” One of the ladies proclaimed, a voice Morgana knew, as if the woman at the bottom of the pit was nothing more than a horse at the race track on a losing streak. If Morgana was in a better state, she would have scowled at the woman.

Duchess Perissa, the betrothed fiancé of Prince Aldus. The crème de la crème, the best of the best, the pick of the litter of Amatan nobility. A beauty, a gem, a noblesse always dressed in the best gowns Amatan seamstresses and fashion had to offer and never letting herself be seen in anything less than perfection, with a soul rotten black to boot. Betrothed to Prince Aldus since they were sixteen, the woman traipsed around those castle walls like she’d already been crowned queen. Loving to prove her superiority over those she deemed inferior, shoving it down their throats. She especially enjoyed mocking the torture victims, always coming in with her gaggle of an entourage after the day’s punishments were over and enlisted her own kind of torture. Normally Morgana took it as a chance to practice her comebacks, and if she’s lucky enough to have a chance to throw one of their own disgusting droppings back. 

But nothing came to Morgana. 

There was nothing. Merely an empty, all-consuming fog inside her head, choking out every thought, her very soul. Just… nothing. 

If only the Duchess knew what her fiancé’s hands were capable of, was a fleeting question that crossed her mind, before it got swallowed back into the dark fog. Or perhaps she’d already know and doesn’t care . Morgana wouldn’t be surprised either way. 

Their crow-like cackling only continued to echo inside her mind, a cruel reminder of the life she once lived inside Camelot walls. Of the silks and gossip she once enjoyed, of luxuries and vices that no other man nor woman could afford. All gone in a flash of gold.

With an ache she pulled in on herself, pulling her knees to her chest. Their laughter grew and grew, louder and louder, stronger and stronger. More people were laughing now, mocking her, punishing her. Ladies, gentlemen, all gathered around her pit, coming out of the fog to laugh at her misery. Their laughter being the only thing in her mind now, filling every crevice until it could find no more. 

Strangers, enemies, enemies who were once friends. She could hear Gwen’s laughter, hidden by a hand as she tried to keep her queenly composure. Arthur’s laughter, pulled through a sneer. Knights, Uther, Sarum, Aldus, more. 

Morgana tucked her head into her knees, begging for this all to stop. The entrance to the well grew higher and higher, darker and darker, until it was like that of the mouth of a great dragon. 

She was all alone. No one cared about her. No one loved her. No one was there to save her as two large, cold, rough hands reached out of the darkness and dragged her in. She could barely let out a scream before the dragon’s maw slammed shut and she was cast into darkness. 

Morgana woke with a gasp, eyes shooting wide in the darkness.

Her thin nightgown clung to her skin with sweat, her divine duvet tangled in her legs, sweaty, and yet she shivered. She felt empty and alone, yet cramped and stifled at the same time. Like too many bodies were pressed too close to her, and yet there was no one there. No maid, no manservant, no friend, no enemy. 

No one.

Morgana shook in her sheets, pulling her heavy silken duvet up and around her.

Even though they were fading, she could still feel his hands on her. His cold, palpable, calloused hands. Reaching out, touching her, touching her far too much as she faded into nothing. 

She would rather take the stinging memories of the whip digging deep into her back and nearly passing out from the exhaustion than the ghostly mirage of those hands trailing across her body. 

“Aithusa,” Morgana quietly gasped, calling out for her one and only true friend in this whole castle, possibly the whole world. The only being there who could help her carry this burden. 

The blankets beside her rustled, and before long out popped the head of little Aithusa, chirping in knowing concern. As if she knew why she was just woken up from her bundle of warmth and fluff. 

Morgana reached out and ran a hand down the little dragon’s face, cupping it on the side. “Sorry Aithusa, I didn’t mean to wake you,” She whispered, the only sound she could muster to make. A single tear threatened to pour down her cheek, but Morgana quickly wiped it away. No. Not tonight. 

Aithusa crooned in response, merely scooting in closer and settling her fairly large head onto Morgana’s lap. Her warmth, the pressure, the continued rhythm of her breathing, slowly calmed Morgana down. A warm, comforting reminder that it wasn’t the whole world that hated her.

She let out a shaky sigh. In a room so big and grand as her own royal  bed chambers, she had never felt so small. 

The thinnest rays of sunlight were beginning to peek through her closed blinds. The palest streak of a mountain bathed in pale pink morning light caught her eye, not bright enough to blind her, yet strong enough for her to notice. Not bright enough to warm her room, just enough of an omen to remind her that the day was coming. 

In the far, far distance, the birds were just beginning to wake up. Their faint and lilting songs began to whistle through the air softly, ready to start another day.

It was just enough to pull Morgana out of the grasp of sleep.

Slowly, Morgana slipped her legs, and then with some hesitation, her body, out of her bed. With every careful step the soles of her bare feet met the cold stone floor, sending the smallest of shocks through her spine. With shaking ease, she picked up her thick black night robe laying at the edge of her bed and wrapped it around herself, tying it off tight around her stomach. Her arms naturally found their way around her waist as she took slow and careful steps into the vast expanse of her room. A cavernous hollow, the empty expanse doing nothing to help ease the nightmares. 

Digging her toes into the old ornate rugs lining the floor, Morgana paced the room, trying to calm herself. It was the only thing she could do to keep herself from going nuts.

She could not shake the dreams, she couldn’t shake the present mirage of the hands reaching out for her. No matter how many breathing techniques, no matter how hard Morgana tried to empty her mind, the hands would not leave her alone. 

Ironically, all she wished for was a warm, strong pair of arms to wrap around her, squeeze her until the feelings of those hands faded away into nothing. A chest, a shoulder to tuck her face in and a warm body to wrap around and hold, strong arms to reach out and squeeze in return. Like the arms of a father or a brother, a friend or a lover. She didn’t care. Ground her, return her to reality before letting her go once more to face the day. She wanted a discussion with someone, an actual discussion with an equal, something to chase these horrid feelings away. A boring advisor meeting, a menial conversation with a maid, a bickering match with Merlin, anything. 

If Merlin himself marched in through that door right that moment and squeezed her tighter than he had ever had before, muttering dull, menial things that meant nothing at the end of the day, his warm breath in her ear, then she would not complain. Perhaps she’d even let herself cry. If it could get that hands, the cruel touch to leave her alone, she would take it. 

Holding her fragile heart together as he whispered soft, endless words of praise and endearment in her ear, in an ancient forgotten language she had no way of knowing, but filled every crevice of her soul. Warm, deep, soft, strong, a silver-toned voice that every once and a while betrayed an accent beyond her knowledge, able to envelop her in the kind of warmth she hadn’t felt since she was but a ward in Camelot. Fill her soul with a quiet, comforting golden glow, a pure essence of magic, of life. A kind of warmth that would hold her together like the strong yet lithe pair of arms around her. It would be home.

Bringing her back to reality. Anchoring her to the Earth. Putting her soul back. Open her eyes, give the world color. Taste, smell, sound, sight. It didn’t matter. Just make her feel something real. 

Slowly, she paused. She closed her eyes in pain. 

Morgana squeezed her arms tighter around her waist, trying to trick herself that she was being held. For a tiny golden-eyed flash of a moment, the sting of Hemlock clutched her throat, and for a single breath, she wheezed. Striking pain flashed. With a gasp, she remembered why she forced such dreams into the darkest corners of her mind to wither up and die.

“No,” Morgana scolded herself, her fragile voice barely above a whisper, her lips painfully pressed thin. “No, he will not help you. He will never help you. He must never know your pain, lest he uses it against you again.”

No, she did not need him. She did not need anyone. She just needed to get herself under control. 

Alone. 

With a shaky sigh, Morgana stole a glance into her corner. In the darkness of dawn it could barely be seen, but Morgana knew where it was. A full-length mirror, made of freshly polished silver and framed with carefully carved old wood. She stopped herself in front of the mirror and took in the visage of the woman on the other side.

Looking back at her in the mirror was a scared little girl. Terribly small, a robe and nightgown much too big for her frame. Arms wrapped tightly around her waist, shoulders slouched, wild mane of dark hair and mess. Absolute defeat pouring out of every pore. Pale and red, puffy eyes looking small. Tired, teary-eyed, defeated. 

This was someone who couldn’t defend herself when the time truly came down to it, over and over again. Someone who couldn’t defend herself against any attack, friend or foe. This was the face of someone who could do nothing, even if she was prepared. Even if she knew that their wrath was coming. 

Pitiful. Weak. Useless. Hopeless. Unsuitable for a queen.

Carefully, Morgana reached up and wiped the remaining tears from her eyes. She would not be her anymore. 

Leaning back, she closed her eyes.

Count to three, just like Morgause taught you. Remember how you got out of there…

Morgana let out a deep breath, forcing out a sigh. Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to go back to that day, remind herself just what she was capable of.

Three...

“Should we tell the king?” The first female voice asked, as if mildly curious. Like someone had found a dead pet fish in a bowl much too small for such a pet to live in. 

The endless amounts of laughter was gone now, as if it had never been there in the first place. The only thing that remained was the small group of ladies and their maids, still gathered around for their entertainment, their giggles trailing out into boredom.

“No, no. He wants to continue to toy with her a bit longer.” An older, more mature sounding lady replied, although she hardly sounded interested in the things going on around her. As if she hadn’t been interested in anything in years, since she had been a child. 

“Ooooh, perhaps we should tell the prince?” An overly eager voice replied, higher in pitch and energy. Naive, in a way. “Oooh, I’m sure he’ll be pleased.” 

“Perhaps the king will let me take her. Oh, she’d make such a wonderful maid,” The ever so familiar voice of Duchess Perissa replied far too eagerly. Bits of pebbles began to rain down from above, drizzling down on top of Aithusa’s head. A hand was reaching out to peer over the corner edge. “Or perhaps he’ll take her as a mistress, although I’ll hardly understand why. She’s hardly a looker.”

Two…

Finally, face still turned on high, Morgana could see another face, gaze meeting her own dull gaze.

Just those eyes, wide and brown and placed perfectly on a perfectly coiffed heart-shaped face, without blemish or fault, framed in bouncing blonde curls, matched perfectly with a look of superiority, were enough to make milk curdle. An absolutely gorgeous woman, with a soul rotten to the core. Who had never seen pain and anguish in her life and reveled in it. Who found causing pain to others as a form of entertainment, with nary a consequence. 

The antithesis to Morgana in almost every way.

At the thought Morgana’s face slowly curled into a snarl.

One.

No.

No, this was not going to be her end. These stone walls were not going to be the rest of her life. These chains will not hold her until her very end. 

She was no plaything, she was no weak fool! She was the dreaded Lady Morgana, priestess of the old religion, killer of King Uther, shaker of kingdoms. She was not going to take this silently. She was not going to go quietly into the pages of the history books as nothing more than a broken, sniveling whelp. She would not be the sorry excuse for the last priestess of the Old Religion! She was not going to be the plaything for these spoiled ladies to throw tomatoes at, for a disgusting king to destroy, and a gruesome prince to break. She was a menace on this planet, a force to be reckoned with, and she will not be treated as any less. She will not let herself down and be any less. Every second of her life she fought, and she was not done. Because if no one is going to help her, save her, then she could not fail herself. She could not afford to.

She was going to get out of here, and she was going to kill Prince Aldus. Slowly, painfully, with every moment of agony she could think of conjuring. Physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, magically. Everything he and his father and his fiancée had ever done to her, she will do back a hundred fold. She was going to destroy everything he had ever touched. She was going to make him watch his world burn around him until there was nothing left, and then and only then, will she put an end to his sniveling, miserable excuse of an existence. 

She was going to get out of here, crawl up these cobblestone walls herself if she had to. 

And they were going to feel her wrath.

With a snap of sudden movement, more movement than she had made in a week, like a patiently waiting crocodile in the Nile suddenly leaping for its prey, Morgana tore a loose rock from the wall of her well and hurled it at the sky. A small dark spot against the gray, soaring, flying, for one solid moment before returning to the Earth with a dull ‘thump!’

It didn't hit anything, but it caused enough chaos. The ladies immediately screamed like children, scuttling back. “She’s throwing rocks at us!” One screamed, her voice high pitched and girly.  “Guards!” 

The ladies and their entourage screeched like rats as they ran off, scared of the things being thrown at them. Screaming for protection from the dreaded monster in the pit. Bending like paper the moment their precious little entertainment decided she was done being their ploy.

In their desperate attempt to escape, one knocked down a basket full of the poor-quality food they had brought. All ammunition to hurl her way. It tipped precariously before it smacked, crashed against the stone well walls, once, twice, before landing face first on the ground, its contents flying out this way and that, splattering into laps, faces, and stone. 

Morgana paused. She blinked, once, twice, face bespeckled with flecks of the old food. The smell of overripe fruit invaded her nose. Potatoes, tomatoes, apples, and pears, crushed and smashed across the ground. Bespeckled reds, mildewy oranges, tarnished yellows, and semi-sickly greens. Aithusa sniffed the remains of a fruit by her foot. Some were too rotten to eat, but some were still good enough to satisfy.

For the first time in a while, Morgana shifted. Her dark, dirty dress dragged across the floor, the chains on her wrists clinked. Carefully, daintily, with inner born elegance, Morgana reached out and plucked a bruised apple from beside her knee and held it up to her face. The last sound she heard was the fading echoes of the ladies screeching, disappearing into the stone walls of the castle above.

For the first time in weeks, Morgana smirked. A spark grew in her malachite eyes.

She’ll rain down her hell. She’ll make them pay. All of them.

She’ll make sure of it.

With a sigh, Morgana softly let her breath go. Her once tightly wrapped arms fell to her sides, her shoulders relaxing into something more comfortable.

Upon opening her eyes, the pitiful little girl was gone. Any sign of weakness was crushed, hidden away behind a serious, stern look. Sharp and strong, steel and clear. A queen stood before her now, head held high, shoulders straight and perfect, the smallest of cunning smirks on her lips. Perfectly framed in the most luxurious of fabrics, the elegant nightgown slipped across her lithe frame, made for her and her alone. No longer a pitiful girl, but a mighty queen. Unbreakable, impenetrable, perfect. That is all that she will ever be.

She will never let herself be any less.

With certainty, Morgana turned back to her vanity, gently shrugging off the dark robe and letting it pool to the floor. Slipping one bare foot over it, she settled in front of her desk and reached out for her lipstick bottle, the deepest, reddest shade ever produced.

Time to put on her armor. No one will ever touch her again.

Chapter Text

When the sun had finished rising, Morgana had fallen back into her usual form. When a small army of maids arrived two hours later, bringing an early meal, by then the mirage of the hands were mostly gone. It usually took hours for them to completely disappear, but it was palpable. Now that the maids were there, it was paramount she keep herself in control, especially after the other night’s less than stellar introduction of her betrothed.

The speech she had given to Amata the previous day had been short but to the point. This had been the third attempt on her life since she had taken the throne, and up to that point she had been lenient, patient with her new people. She understood that the people of Amata may not be entirely pleased with her choices, but acting so rashly is not the answer. From now on things were going to change. Starting that day, security was going to tighten around the castle, and all incoming traffic would have to be checked before continuing. If it was necessary, she would begin doing background checks on every one of her members of staff, and use whatever force it takes to get rid of those who dare to threaten the throne again.

She knew Merlin was sending her a glare from behind as she spoke, but she gave him no heed. He would not attempt anything foolish in front of a whole crowd of witnesses.

Draping herself on the couch, Morgana watched as the maids silently got to work; dusting, cleaning, arranging the bed, trimming the fire. It was as if they were more quiet than usual, trying to hide what signs of gossip hid just behind their lips. As a maid threw the blinds open, letting in the streaming morning light, the only maid Morgana managed to remember, Hecate, placed down a tray of breakfast foods before her. A bowl of chopped-up fruit, toast with butter and honey, and a pot of steaming tea. She gave only the slightest of nods as the maid bowed. 

Without hesitation Morgana plucked a slice of toast from the tray and she sank her teeth into it. Her eyes melted closed. Warm and delicious, as always.

With a sigh, Morgana leaned back onto her couch, taking in the room around her. 

Even though it had been two months since she had risen to power, it still took her back a moment or two every morning to remember where she was. She knew her room once belonged to the late Queen Lorie, King Sarum’s late wife, and all the Queens who came before her, but even then sometimes she was amazed by the luxury. The room itself wasn’t nearly as impressive or as large as the king’s bedroom, but that was fine by her. She liked this room much better, it didn’t carry as many horrific connotations as the room she’d thrust upon Merlin. 

The room itself was a similar design to the King’s chambers; thick stone walls with a semi-tall ceiling, long windows on the far side overlooking the northern gardens and training yards, each with drapes of deep blue being pulled apart by the maids to let in the morning light. With her bed to the right of the room and back to the common room, it was like an inverted design of the King’s bedroom, minus the balcony that led to looking out over the entrance courtyard and kingdom. There’s elegantly carved chairs, tables, closets, and dark stained bed-posts that made up most of the furniture, adorned in embossed blue damask silk. A large, a very old tapestry of a boar hunt hung on the opposite wall of the windows, a delicately sewn visage of several fully armed knights on horseback in a dark forest, armed with spears and clashing in mid-battle with several of the horse-sized, wiry furred, long tusked beasts. One of the boars, however, was special; its tusks, attempting to dig into the side of a white horse, were sewn with a golden thread, which glinted in the morning light. 

Minus the tapestry and the new drapes, the rest of the room was left relatively untouched from when Morgana first took claim. She had found the old tapestry hanging out in one of the hallways, and was so fascinated by it that she had it brought to her room to hang on her own wall. A little flicker of her own touch, just to make the room feel more like her own. 

Not long after Morgana had started her reign, Morgana found herself in a mess deeper and more complex than she had ever imagined. It had been clear since the day she arrived that Amata was different from Camelot, yet it took her taking the throne of the land for her to realize it. Perhaps it was because of how she took the throne and her personal connections to the land, but there was more to it. Amata was a vastly different beast of a kingdom, with different laws, traditions, and social expectations for their rulers. The people of Amata expected far more from their monarchs than the subjects of Camelot, and it weighed heavily on the lonely Queen. 

One of the worst weights of it wasn’t even anything physical, but it was the emotional burden. Emotions that she had long since been accustomed to burying away in a dark corner of her mind, never to see the light of day again welled up inside her like a freshly broken spring. Mixed with new emotions and feelings that came with the sovereignty of Amata, the concoction nearly choked her, leaking out of her mouth in the form of hollow smirks and defensive snark. 

For example, Morgana still wasn’t comfortable with all the hired help invading the privacy of her room. Not only was the increased physical contact with practically strangers not high on her interests, but she was not used to so many people being on her beck and call at one of the most vulnerable hours of the day. She was used to one person tending to all her needs, a single maid of whom she could confide in, who knew her tastes, quirks, and preferences. Who could read her thoughts like a book, who could comfort her when the nightmares got worse. 

It’s nothing like the ten highly efficient maids working systematically, practical clones of one another, uniformly dressed the same way every day. Each one would barely look at her as they tended to her supposed needs. Like Morgana was just another delicate part of the furniture, not a person.

Morgana mentally scoffed. Not that she needed their friendship, none of them ever offered such a hand towards her anyways. Not like she did. Their company did not do much to drive away the nightmares. Not like hers did. They were mere servants, and they knew their place. She didn’t even bother to know their names well enough to think of them fondly, she would barely be able to pick out their faces in a crowd. She couldn’t imagine them with warm smiles that would never fail to ease her, nor did her heart leap with delight when she heard their giggles, and she certainly couldn't look forward to a day with them in the markets, picking silks and ribbons for new dresses –No. Never again. That life is behind her.

But even the finest work horses had eyes, ears, and thoughts, just because they weren’t friends with her didn’t mean they had none of their own. She knew their glances, the speculating looks, especially during the first weeks of her rule, when she was still trying to get herself under control. 

Why is the Queen up so early? Why does she flinch at our touch? Why does she bite our head off for something so small? Why does she not want our company? Why does she not listen to our advice? The rumors must be true, she is as cruel and heartless as they say she is. Maybe she’s never had a heart to begin with…

Royalty and nobility are more often than not the hottest sources of rumors and gossip for the servantry and subjects, Morgana knew that for a fact. As a result she knew the moment the crown was placed atop her head a whirlwind of rumors formed, revolving around the hows and the whys. But Morgana was used to it. She grew up in the hot bed of gossip, in the eye of the largest gossip storm Albion had seen, and she had grown quite proficient at controlling such gossip to her will. Or at least, how to not let others know what is going on inside her mind, how much or how little the gossip affected her, how much she did or did not know. She knew, in the court of Amata, at such a critical moment of her career and life, she had no room to show weakness or fault. She could not afford such luxuries. She never had, not even in the court of Camelot. She had to fight to get where she was, and she would continue to fight so long as she lived. She would not give her enemies the pleasure to see her fall, and so long as she gave a strong face, those who sought to see her crumble would not have the satisfaction of certainty. 

She could not change what happened, nor could she change how her body and mind reacted to what little memories she had, but she could control her own actions. She could make it seem like nothing ever happened. She could keep her head held high, her eyes cast forward, and make herself the dark embodiment of the nickname she had been given by her subjects, the whispers she’d hear from the maids and manservants when they’d assume she’s out of earshot and yet perhaps the only nickname she actually liked.

The King Killer.

Now granted, it wasn’t easy at first. It wasn’t easy forging such a dark, impenetrable, powerful mask, and it wasn’t always easy keeping it on, but she had learned. Morgana hardly let anyone touch her when she first came into power, but over the months she had slowly grown to allow some contact. After all, it was fairly difficult to put a corset on all on her own, and getting dressed for a court affair is considerably different than how one would dress for gathering herbs behind one’s hovel. No matter how much she did not like the help, she could not turn it away. Not now. Not yet. Eventually, but not yet. 

Well, there are some benefits to the help, Morgana privately thought as she slipped a freshly plucked grape past her teeth, her leg carelessly crossed over the knee, her arms draped over the back of her couch. Without her even saying a word, several of the ever dutiful maids presented dress after dress, trying to decide what she was going to wear for the day. Shining silks of white and green, river like satins of blues and reds, the lightest chiffons money could buy, dyed the lightest pink one would ever see. Like a single petal of a perfect peony. Light, loose, cooling, all perfect dresses for a perfect, warm, summer day, such as the dawn suggested. The kind of dresses a love sick princess would wear while wandering her father’s well tended gardens, dreaming about her knight in shining armor coming to ask and fight for her hand. 

But Morgana was not interested in such follies, such lies. She was no fairytale princess, this was reality. This was the real world, and a queen had no room for such games. She was uninterested in even pretending to amuse such stories, and with a slight shake to her head and a careless wave of her hand, every single dress was all sent away.

“Bring me my black gown,” Morgana proclaimed over her shoulder as the maids dutifully returned her dresses back with detached expressions, “The one with almost no embroidery.” 

Looking away Morgana picked up another grape, and while not directly looking at the maids she could see out of the corner of her gaze as one of the maids couldn’t control her rolling eyes. Her friend gently elbowed her in the side.

“Are you sure, your majesty?” Another rather plain looking maid asked, nervously glancing the Queen’s way as she pulled the dark gown out of the closet. The dress in her hands was thick, rigid, made of almost itchy satin and had almost no form or shape to it. It was a traditional Amatan first week mourning gown, one that the Queen would wear if someone close to her had recently died, say a brother, a father, or her husband. It wasn’t the kind of gown one would wear willingly, especially on a day like today. “This is the third time you’ve worn this dress in two weeks, won’t the dyes start to bleed soon?”

“Let me deal with the dyes,” Morgana replied dismissively with a wave, as decidedly dark dyes were inconsequential to her, “Just hand me the dress.” 

“But–.”

“What about this armless one, Your Majesty? It’s got a high collar for modesty.” A maid with a heart-shaped face and caramel brown hair offered, presenting a similar dress. It was similar to the first in that it was black, but otherwise it couldn’t be more different. It was simple yet hugged her shape, a full skirted black dress of satin silk with very subtle floral embroidery across the very high collar and skirt. Simple, form fitting, elegant, what was most notable was the abundant lack of sleeves, the top ending right at the shoulder. It was a half mourning gown, specifically designed for the summer months. 

“I don’t care for a high collar if my arms will be exposed,” Morgana leaned forward with her eyebrows furrowed, having taken a proper look at the elegant yet modest dress.

“But your majesty, it’s already horribly hot outside, and old man Gregory predicts it is only going to get hotter.” Another nameless maid spoke up, peeking around the closet door, holding crinolines in her arms. “If you’re going to wear black, you may need ways to cool off.”

Morgana arched a cool brow the nameless maid’s way. This was more of a conversation with these girls than she had had her whole time there, their boldness surprised her. “And what does this Old Man Greggory know about predicting the future?” She asked cooly, leaning back comfortably on the couch to take the girl in. 

The nameless maid wavered under Morgana’s gaze but did not hesitate to continue. “Not much, your majesty,” She began after a moment, “but he’s quite proficient in knowing the weather. He’s predicted the weather every day since we were kids and has hardly ever got it wrong. He’s so accurate the whole town revolves their day around his predictions.”

Morgana hummed, brow furrowing. She must admit, while she had no interest in being the center of attention that day, she was far less interested in passing out from the heat. If this ‘Old Man Gregory’ was as good at predicting the weather as he was, then turning down his advice would be foolish. 

After a moment of silence, she nodded. “Very well. I’ll change into the sleeveless one. But hand me a shawl as well, a black one.” She proclaimed, moving in her seat to stand up. 

“I apologize, your majesty, but your black shawl is still being repaired.” The nameless maid with the crinolines replied, dipping her head down in a bow.

Morgana’s mouth turned into a frustrated frown. “What is taking those girls so long?” She asked, vexed,  turning to look at the rest of her maids. Her mood was reaching  close to their limits. Wisely picking up on this the maids all bowed their heads, trying to make themselves seem smaller, trying to get back to their chores and out of her gaze. Trying to get out of the line of fire of her possible ire.

It was a short, tense moment of silence before anyone spoke up.

“Sorry, Your Majesty, the tear cut through some complex lace designs. It’s taking the royal seamstresses longer than expected to get it fixed,” A brown-haired maid with a spray of freckles across her nose proclaimed, the only one brave enough to speak up. 

Morgana huffed through her nose. It took all of the control she had not to snap at the maids for being so careless with the shawl in the first place. While it was frustrating, there wasn’t anything any of them could do about it. Not unless they were the seamstresses who made the very shawl itself.

After a long moment and settling down at the makeup table, Morgana ordered, “Very well. Hand me a blue shawl then.”

The maid bowed deep as a silent sigh of relief flowed through the room. “Yes, your majesty.” One breathed, the rest echoing in suit.

And thus, the same song and dance began. The Queen and maids fell into their routine, preparing the Queen for the coming day.

Morgana let herself drift into her mind as soft, worked, yet dainty hands danced across her body,  helping her out of her nightgown and into the different layers of the newly chosen outfit. It was very much akin to putting on armor; layers upon layers of protection to keep out the outside world. To make her seem strong, impenetrable, perfect. Keep out the cruel, unforgiving world, never let them see what lurked on the soft inside.

It was a routine that Morgana had grown back into, and deep down, a part of her relied on it. This was, on average, all the human contact she got. Having a well made cotton chemise slipped over her head, crinolines and a corset to follow, it was all she got in terms of human touch.

As for the corset, Morgana found that Amatan women like their corsets far more than in other lands, both under their dresses and on display. While Morgana was not always the biggest fan of such hosiery, she did not object to them either. The royal seamstresses were experts at their craft, and Morgana could never find a complaint about them besides mobility and flexibility. They came with benefits as well, like being a protective layer of pseudo-armor, catching blades in whale-bone. Most importantly they helped hold her up when she found it difficult not to curl into herself when out in public, helping the illusion of a stronger front. They were secure, strong, like a forever hugs stronghold.

They also made her bust look especially good, so there’s that bonus too.

What wasn’t fun was the tightening of said corset, and it was during said moment that Morgana saw from the corner of the mirror an older woman came walking into the room. 

The woman in question carried an aura of authority with her, her angular face only starting to begin to wrinkle and not a grey hair out of place on her tightly pulled back bun. She was dressed in a rather plain, dark gown, similar to what Morgana was planning on wearing herself, except it was complete with a crisp white apron laced with white flowers. In her hands was a small leather book, and perched on her nose was half moon glasses, hanging off a golden chain. 

A hard worker and not a single funny bone in her body, Morgana instantly recognized the older woman in the mirror  as the Head Matron. 

“Good morning Your Majesty,” The Head Matron bowed before Morgana before turning her gaze towards the rest of the room. Carefully inspecting the girl’s work, scanning for a single thread or speck of dust out of place. Heaven help the girls if she found one. “Girls.”

“Good morning, Head Matron,” All of the maids replied in unison and in kind, each giving a small nod of their head and bow before turning back to their tasks.

“Good morning, Lavinia,” Morgana replied, right as the maid tightened her corset again. “What is my schedule for the day?” She managed to groan out, trying to regain herself. Having one’s organs squished into place isn’t always fun. It was the only reason why she didn’t wear corsets all the time. 

The Head Matron nodded, barely giving any note to the gasping sounds the Queen made when the maid pulled the strings again. With a crisp flick, she flicked open the small leather book, revealing a meticulously written list in the most neat font ever imaginable. 

“After breakfast this morning, Your Majesty,” The Head Matron began, perching her glasses on her nose with bone-thin fingers. “You will have a quick meeting with the farrier in the stables regarding some new horses, followed by your morning meeting with your advisors. Your paperwork and supplies are in your office. Then it will be lunch, which is serving lamb stew, followed by a meeting with the Prince Avenis.”

Morgana rolled her eyes as the maids helped her into her first layer of crinolines. “Oh, fantastic,” She muttered, inspecting two necklace chains a maid silently showed her, one silver, one gold, before picking the silver one. 

Morgana knew very little about the Prince, other than that he was low on the hereditary rank of his mainland kingdom, the fourth born out of seven. With no other traits or notable reputation to speak of, she wasn’t interested in talking to him, especially right now. She knew what he was looking for here. He was looking to make himself a name, marry up the ranks. It wasn’t new, both the practice and for Morgana, but it was getting rather annoying. She was utterly uninterested in talking to the prince, but if it must be done to get him off her back, then she would. If only to get the word out to the world that she was no longer looking for a spouse. She had already found one.

“If all goes well, you’ll have a couple of hours of free time before dinner, which will be serving roast beef, peas, and potatoes.” The Head Matron continued, before putting down her book. “And as of yet, you have nothing scheduled for after dinner. Would you like me to pencil something in?”

“No, thank you, Lavinia.” Morgana proclaimed, not looking away from the older woman in the mirror as the maid pulled on the corset strings one last time. “What does Merlin’s schedule look like?”

The Head Matron paused for a moment, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Beg pardon, your majesty?” 

“My fiancé. Has he mentioned any plans for the day?” Morgana explained, feeling the small fingers of the maid dance across her back as she finished tying off the corset. 

“As far as I am aware, no. Although if you’re hoping to schedule something in…” The Head Matron trailed off, prepared to pull a small special fountain pen out of the spine of her book, ready for any last minute notes she may need to take.

“No, no,” Morgana pondered for a moment, humming to herself. If there was anything she knew, it was that a bored Merlin was a dangerous Merlin. A bored Merlin could be left to scheme, to plan, to find weaknesses in armor, in carefully laid plans. She wasn’t going to let that happen. “Are the knights by chance training today?” 

“Every day between breakfast and lunch.” The Head Matron explained simply.

Morgana nodded. “Good.” She proclaimed, turning around with a hand on her stomach the moment the girl was done lacing her up. “After breakfast, send Sir Mordred to my fiancé. Tell Sir Mordred I want him to introduce Merlin to the knights, and help him get a feel for how they work. Let Sir Tadeus know of their arrival. If he needs anything, let me know.” Morgana lightly ordered, taking a step forward. It wasn’t nearly as intimidating without any shoes on. 

The Head Matron nodded. “I will let him know. Is there anything else that can be done?” 

Morgana pondered for a moment before turning back to the maids helping her get dressed. “Have the kitchen switch the lunch and dinner menus. I’m longing for more solid foods for lunch today.”

The Head Matron bowed once more, back straight and pristine. “Of course, your majesty. I will let the kitchen know.”

Morgana gave a curt nod before sighing, settling down into her chair at the table. With only a nod, she closed her eyes, waiting for the hands to apply her makeup. 

And thus, another day began. Another day of political affairs, court affairs, trifles, and so much more. Another day of molding this kingdom into her dream, packed with a list of things to do that only seemed to grow more and more as every day went by. Full of menial and difficult choices to which only she could give the answers. 

Before she slipped out the door and to her first appointment, Morgana picked up a red bottle. It was a plain bottle, with only a picture of a dragon’s head and a flower on the front, and it was filled with a rather pleasant smelling perfume. It reminded her of amber, except less sticky, with a hint of floral at the end. She didn’t know what the perfume was, but Aithusa rather enjoyed the scent, and if Aithusa liked it, who was she to argue? 

As Morgana sprayed her last spray and took one last glance in the mirror, for a small moment, she felt pity for her old self, for thinking this kind of life is an easy one. To carry the weight of a kingdom on her shoulders while pretending to not let the woes of her past affect her was… well, it was difficult. 

But she had her plans, her ambitions, her goals. She would see them through whether it was the last thing she did, and damn anyone she was going to let her be seen as weak.

She wasn’t, and she never will be again. 

Morgana tapped her fingers against her cheek, casting her gaze out the partially stained glass windows. The two guards who stood behind her seat worked not to shift in their stance, watching on like silent gargoyles, ever present observers waiting for the moment to strike or to be dismissed.

It was too nice of a day to spend inside, Morgana knew it in her bones. The sky was clear and bright, with just barely a hint of wispy clouds. While it was most certainly warm, a good breeze and some shade from a tree would make it rather comfortable.

On days like this Morgana knew she would love to spend it out in a garden or in the woods, spending time with her sister as they gathered herbs or practiced spells. Learning about the priestesses and all their secrets as she dipped her feet into a crisp, cool stream. Letting herself lean back against a tree root and listen to the birds sing for just a moment. Then just imagine, just for a tiny, tiny moment, that things were alright.

Unfortunately and bitterly for Morgana, her sister was not there, and for all the beauty this castle had, it did not have a garden. No, instead she was stuck with her advisors and their incessant, meaningless meetings.

The advisors had told her that once she got into the groove of things, the meetings would begin to wane off. They would be a bi-weekly occurrence, a check in service to see how things were going. Simple, efficient, giving Morgana plenty of time to do what she wanted.

It had been nearly two months since she took the throne, and the near-daily meetings hadn’t stopped, and didn’t look like they were going to stop any time soon. 

To be fair to the advisors, which Morgana rarely was, she was still in the early stages of her rule. On top of needing to settle into the rule King Sarrum had left a lot to change, let alone fix... The advisors hadn’t given her a time frame of when exactly these meetings would begin to die down, and she supposed from their point of view they still had a lot to work on with her. After all, running a kingdom is no small feat, and as ruling monarch, every single decision that concerned the kingdom, great or small, had to be run by her first. It didn’t give Morgana much time to plan or do anything that she wanted to do with the kingdom, but it was understandable. 

Morgana understood all of this, and she would be willing to bite her tongue on her annoyances if it weren’t for the fact that about eighty percent of the meetings she had didn’t feel all that important and almost all of her advisors had little to no interests in helping her ensure the kingdom is well taken care of. Every day was the same thing; they’d squabble with one another about trivial court affairs, then argue fruitlessly with her about the decisions she had made on her own, proclaiming that she had to run such things by them before making them into fruition. 

It was, more often than not, a big waste of time.

The only thing that had changed about the meetings was the number of advisors in her court, which had dropped from twenty down to the now measly eight. Morgana wasn’t too dismayed to find out that two had quit the day before, after the chaos at the announcement dinner. Not that she minded, but it did slowly move the need to find new advisors higher on her priority list. While Morgana already didn’t care much to listen to their opinions on certain matters, advisors were useful, or at least they were supposed to be. 

On paper, advisors could be great tools for a ruler for a whole variety of reasons. For a naive, indecisive ruler who had difficulty making decisions, such as like Arthur, advisors could help him with different viewpoints and advice, to help him determine the best course of action. For a new, foreign ruler, such as like Morgana, they could be vital sources of information about the kingdom from all sorts of matters and areas of expertise. Areas of knowledge that she didn’t have the past experiences to already know and didn’t have the time or ability to learn on her own yet. It was the only reason Morgana hadn’t already fired the whole lot and hired a new set of advisors already. 

Of course, no ruler needs to listen to their advisors, and more often than not are told not to rely on them for everything (they are, after all, only advisors), a good selection of advisors can be a powerful tool. Their wisdom and expertise unparalleled, a good, well picked selection of advisors could be a ruler’s closest confidants, the closest thing a ruler could consider to colleagues. A good advisor board could help a ruler bring or maintain a time of peace and prosperity in their land, and in the best cases, they could even be some of the closest people a ruler could consider as friends. 

Or they could be like the advisors Morgana have; an old slurry slew of old men and old views, stubbornly trying to hold onto what measly scraps of power they still have. Who look at their ruler as nothing more than a tool for their own gains, kissing ass just enough to get away with what they want. No better than the slime on the back of slugs.

“Your majesty, are you even paying attention?” Suddenly, a rather annoyed, haughty voice spoke up from the blue.

That, ironically enough, did get Morgana’s attention. 

“Excuse me?” Morgana perked up, turning back to the table before her. Every time it took her a little by surprise.

The meeting room wasn’t much, a semi dark room with thin, partially stained windows and dark stained wooden plank roof, the furniture mainly consisting of a massive oval-shaped table in the center and twenty or so decently carved, semi plush chairs. Strewn about this table was all sorts of papers, books, goblets, pitchers, brass plates with half eaten selection of fruits, berries, a chicken leg, and a half drank wine bottle or two. A complete and total mess that hadn’t been cleaned, only made through months of chaos. 

But for Morgana, her attention was on all the advisors before her that were staring at her. Each and every one of them, a mixture of looks spread across their worn, wrinkled faces. Annoyance and disgruntlement thinly hidden under a plain facade. She didn’t need magic to read their thoughts, their hidden annoyances and wishes for their old king back. Only a couple of the advisors had looks of genuine curiosity in their eyes, and even then, they could be easily missed.

With a scramble, Morgana sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, as she shuffled through the few half-scribbled notes she had before her. “I’m sorry, can you repeat yourself?” She asked calmly, turning to the advisor who had been talking.

The advisor, an old, short, wiry-haired man with an odd lump on his nose, forced a sigh through his teeth, clearly frustrated. “We must discuss matters concerning the treaty with Camelot,” He explained slowly, “Most specifically your fiancé.”

“What has he done to earn your ire, gentlemen?” Morgana asked calmly, reaching up to rub her temple with two fingers. She could feel a headache coming on, one that water was not helping relieve. The complaints were beginning to get to her. She knew at some point she was going to have to drown them out, but that day was not today. Unfortunately she was still not completely confident in her ruling and standing with the kingdom, and reluctantly still needed to listen to them. She also knew, with time, that will change. 

“Well it isn’t exactly him, per se, but the marriage treaty as a whole…” Another, bookish, thin, and slightly less annoying advisor began, scooting in his chair and shuffling the papers before him like he was getting ready to stand up and read a speech he had prepared. 

“If this is about me seeking a better suitor, I’m afraid that my decision is final.” Morgana proclaimed, fast and clear, shifting herself in her seat to situate herself higher, ready to send a frosty glare to each and every one of them.

“That’s the problem, your majesty!” Another, slightly younger advisor proclaimed, one who still had some color in his rare full head of hair and was not as scared of her glare as the others. “Not only do we know nothing about the marriage, but your spouse is unfitting for the role as a king!”

This had been a constant topic of very loud annoyance since the day Morgana offered the idea, and it had only gotten worse as time went on. At first the advisors were pleased to hear their Queen was planning to take a spouse so soon after taking the throne. They called her intelligent, wise, smart for planning ahead, patting themselves on the back like they were the ones who came up with such a plan, thinking that they could have her wrapped around their pinkies yet. However, the moment they heard her complete plan, those smiles quickly fell into frowns. Compliments turned into words of concern, and then thinly layered insults. 

“Even if you were willing to marry this… commoner,” The older advisor with the crooked nose continued, face curling like he had eaten the most sour lime in existence, “Currently there is no tangible grounds on which to consider it an admissible marriage treaty. We did not receive any paperwork upon his arrival.”

“And I highly doubt we’re ever going to,” One of the advisors muttered so quietly that Morgana couldn’t pick them out, but their words were clear enough.

“With no legally binding treaty, we cannot guarantee the usefulness of this arrangement, and with your… betrothed being a commoner, that concern only rises.” The advisor with the full head of hair tried to explain, his mouth turned into a frown, the early signs of frown wrinkles forming on his face.

Morgana sighed dangerously. “I will send a letter to Camelot’s king requesting another copy of the paperwork this afternoon. We will get a response.” She explained, sending a look to each and every one of her advisor’s. If they think that this will be their way of making her back out of the treaty, then they are sorely mistaken. 

This was one of her biggest frustrations she had with her brother; he was horrid when it came to paperwork. Arthur always had been, all the way back to their days under the royal tutors. He was horrible with his paperwork, never able to turn it in on time. The only reason why their old tutor didn’t just drop him and focus solely on teaching Morgana was because he was the crowned prince, and Uther would have had their head if they did such a thing. 

Of course, with something as delicate as a treaty as their own, she would have thought that he’d be much more diligent when it came to the paperwork. After all, his precious kingdom and manservant were hanging in the balance. You’d think he’d care more.

Another thought squirmed around in Morgana’s mind, one that made far more sense. Perhaps it wasn’t even Arthur’s fault for the loss of paperwork, perhaps it was Merlin who conveniently ‘left it behind’. After all, one didn’t need a marriage treaty when they plan to execute their bride, or just to simply annoy her. 

Morgana’s mouth scrunched up. She’ll have to check later. Either way around, the not so glamorous side of a marriage treaty was already proving to be a pain in her ass. 

“Regardless of if we do carry on,” The advisor continued, the mask of indifference barely able to hide his look of annoyance and disgust. A commoner ? On their throne? It was already bad enough a woman was on it, but a commoner… “We have to assume we’re following a standard marriage treaty, which I may remind you doesn’t go into effect until you and your fiancé are married.” 

“I know quite well how marriage treaties work, thank you, Lord Tarsin.” Morgana replied icily, sending the lord an extra hard glare. Out of all of her advisors, she was ready for this one to quit the most.

“Well, you haven’t done much preparing for the wedding.” Lord Tarsin continued, their glaring match growing stronger. “We barely have a guest list to approve, the extra hands haven’t been ordered. You haven’t even announced a date yet.”

Morgana rubbed her eyes, letting out a strong sigh. “Yes, well you will have to forgive me, as planning a wedding and running a kingdom are both time-consuming tasks.” She replied indignantly, knowing exactly what this lord was thinking. That she should be spending her time on more lady-like things instead of ruling a kingdom. That if she were marrying a noble or a royal, he’d already be managing the kingdom while she took care of decorations and other such frivolous things. Things that Morgana would never admit aloud to the present company that she did want to do. 

Lord Tarsin opened his mouth for another snide response. “Well—.”

“If time is your issue, Your Majesty,” The advisor sitting closest to Morgana cut Lord Tarsin off mid word, his voice calm yet clear, filled with intentions of true advice and wisdom, “Perhaps you can have one of the higher ranking maids plan your wedding. Perhaps the Head Matron can take some of the burdens.” 

Morgana turned her attention to the man. Tall like a beanpole, thin like a stick, dressed in modest, elegant maroon robes and blessed with long silvery white hair and an even longer beard, Lord Placidius was the oldest advisor there, and quite frankly one of the only two that Morgana had even a modicum of respect for. Perhaps it was because he was often a calm force in this room, letting the others squabble with each other while he just calmly drank his single cup of tea while waiting for them to get back on topic, or perhaps it was his offerings weren’t as selfish and intolerable of Morgana’s wishes and visions. In fact, he often had rather reasonable advice for her, as well as being a valuable resource towards her learning the traditions, history, and details of Amata she probably would have never learned. While Morgana did not always agree with the suggestions he made, she felt the least dread when listening to his advice, and he was never offended when she turned down his offer. Out of all of the advisors, he was the one Morgana would least like to see go. The only reason why she would even consider the idea was because he reminded her a little too much of Gaius, and that brought its own slew of pains.

Several seats down, Lord Tarsin sent Placidius a glare, but he did not continue. In the game of advisors, seniority and favoritism beats all. 

Morgana, on the other hand, was mulling over the idea. While she did not like the idea of having herself be merely shunted from her role as ruler for something like planning a wedding, she was also once a little girl too, one who dreamed about her wedding day down to the smallest detail. She would much rather do all the work of planning her wedding on her own, but she knew such a feat may not be possible, at least not within a reasonable time frame. Running the kingdom was already a full-time job (no help from the advisors), and she had heard long ago from other ladies and nobles that planning a wedding can be a full-time job on its own. Add atop her own plans, she wouldn’t have any time to even take a bathroom break! 

With everything she had to do, Morgana forced herself to face the facts; she had to stretch out and get some outside help. Again. 

Letting out a deep sigh, Morgana turned to Placidius and calmly replied, “I will talk to her about it. I make no promises on such matters, but perhaps she can deal with menial paperwork and supply gathering.”

Placidius nodded thoughtfully, stroking his beard, satisfied with the answer. “It would also put us at a great deal of ease knowing when you project the wedding to be.” He continued calmly, arching a simple brow.

Morgana nodded and immediately replied, “I will get back to you on a specific date, however, I plan for our wedding to be in two months, possibly three at max. No matter what, I plan for it to be well before the main harvest, so we will have plenty of time to prepare with no distractions and our most distant of guests can return home before the first freeze.” She turned back to the rest of her advisors. “Is there a problem in that, gentlemen?”

The remaining room of advisors carefully looked at one another, muttering and whispering thoughts to one another, scribbling notes, until eventually they all reluctantly nodded.

“Sounds reasonable,” Placidius nodded thoughtfully. “Quick, efficient. I’m sure Camelot will enjoy that.”

“Not unless you want to count it as the perfect time for others to invade,” A grouchier, rougher voice grumbled. 

With a stern jaw, pinched eyes, mouth turned down into a permanent frown, and battle scars across his face, this was Sir Cardaff, the second oldest and most respected advisor in this court. Even Morgana respected him a bit, far more than most of the others. He was once the captain of the knights and a high ranking general in the army, a well-decorated hero for Amata. He wasn’t a fan of Morgana and made that very clear, but he was loyal to his homeland, and as he said, so long as Morgana did her best to take care of it, he would help her. Morgana respected at least that much, plus, he would be proficiently helpful if Morgana ever chose to go to war with anyone. However, despite the fact that he had long since retired from active duty, Sir Cardaff still saw the world through the slits of a helmet viser, and had a nasty habit of judging every suggestion with the ideas of the army and foreign invasion in mind, which while useful, had its time and place. This was not one of them, so Morgana sent him a warning look. 

Sir Cardaff returned it in kind, but did not continue his words. He did not need to say much more.

“Speaking of which, your fiancé.” The bookish advisor at the beginning who had planned a speech and yet never got to read it cleared his throat, adjusting himself in his seat again, his round glasses hanging off the edge of his nose as he dropped a rather comically large, thick book onto the table. 

Morgana lifted her head, internally groaning as he flicked through page after page of old, yellowing paper, the sound growing monotanous in her ear. She knew what was coming; a bookish speech about lineages and class differences, the lack of education, and so much more. She had heard it so many times already that it was starting to get rather tiresome.

“If you are so insistent that he is to be our new king,” The bookish advisor explained with a cautious lilt, flipping to the page he had in question. “Then the man should be at least trained for the job. It says here in Rule Book Volume One that every king who comes into the job must be trained adequately for the job before his crowning, where until as such a reagent will rule in his place.”

Morgana felt the magic inside her well, her fingers itch against her fine dress. She wanted to summon the book to her to see just what her advisor was talking about, and some of the pages rustled at her command, but she did not bring it to her. The advisor’s arms were too thoroughly pinning the book against the table. 

“Now of course if he was to remain your suitor indefinitely or to be your reagent…” The advisor trailed off, his eyes glancing down into his book to avoid her gaze. His insinuation hung in the air like smoke from burning wet wood.

Morgana shifted in her seat, adjusting herself. Here was where her carefully laid plan became a gamble. An estimated gamble, a planned gamble, but a gamble nonetheless. One that Morgana was already getting an inkling was not going the way she planned, but she refused to listen to that little voice.

Morgana knew the rules, or at least the rules of the past. Once she married, all of her power would go to her spouse. However, the rules never said that her husband of choice had to use said power. She knew Merlin never did well in the limelight, preferring to work in the shadows of the court, only coming out in center when the shadowy corners were not large enough to hide the glint of his eyes.  His game was fragile, a cunning work of cloak and dagger, but then again, so was hers, and she reveled in his biggest weakness, the weakness he’s had since the day she met him: underestimating himself. Truly, after learning that he is Emrys, it only bolstered her idea further, that while he is powerful and everyone around him would see that, he didn’t see it in himself, and potentially never would. From all the stories she had heard of him, he should have broken her with a snap of his fingers, and yet at every chance, he let himself be thrown around like a rag doll. Her fiancé of choice had no self confidence, and considering all the years he spent under Gaius’s tutelage and cleaning up after Arthur’s cape tails, she never expected him to.

Of course she had no intentions of leaving him useless, he was too smart, too bright, too useful for that, but this is where her plan thrived; to have a king of who is strong enough to keep other weakling welps at bay, but weak enough, blind enough, to not even realize he was just a puppet. It was a delicate, fragile plan, like threads of a frozen spider web, one that if she pulled too tight or too loose could have the entire plan shattered to pieces,  but if done correctly she could have her cake and eat it too. She could have her toy and her power. Her mockery of Arthur and of Destiny would be utterly complete. 

But first, she had to convince her advisors.

“A reagent has no power in the court,” Morgana began slowly, her carefully voice even. “No power in making decisions or management in the kingdom. At best, they’re an unofficial advisor, at worst, they are nothing more than a ball and chain. No, that would not do for Merlin. While I do not expect him to thrive at his future job, I also do not intend for him to be floating around these halls with nothing better to do. He will have his place.”

“But—!” The bookish advisor cried out, beginning to scramble to another page, another tiny law that would stop her plans.

Placidius leaned forward, making himself known again. “Regardless of his position in the court,” He interrupted calmly, his attention completely and totally turned to Morgana, “he is still going to be a member of royalty. If he is to be your husband, king or not, then he should at least be trained for the title he is to receive.”

The bookish advisor piped up again, not as easily silenced as Lord Tarsin. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say!” He cried out desperately, flipping through more and more pages of his book. “He has no skills in the court, no manners befitting for even a low-ranking lord, no knowledge of our traditions or laws. He isn’t even trained for combat. I mean for Heaven’s sake, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t how to write a proper letter!”

“While I wouldn’t exactly word it like that,” Placidius continued with a calm, careful look back at the advisor before turning to Morgana, “He is right. A king, or a Queen’s suitor, cannot afford to show faults, let alone be useless, no matter the situation. It would reflect badly on you and the kingdom if such. We were lucky with last night, but who knows how long that will last?”

“You all make good points, gentlemen,” Morgana replied, looking them all each in the eye. “But you hold too little faith in my choice of fiancé. This is the personal manservant of King Arthur we’re talking about here, and I’m sure at least some of you have heard how close those two were.”

“In one way or another.” Another advisor muttered like it was some sort of inside joke, this one with a face like a pug and a belly like jelly. A couple of the other advisors nodded, one of them silently snorted.

“Not only does Merlin have his own personal talents,” Morgana continued to explain, choosing to ignore their comments, “but the two of them went everywhere together. The man is proficient in many things, and King Arthur relies on him greatly. He has plenty of experience in both war and court affairs, as well as knows how to write. He will not be completely useless in that regard.”

“Yes, but he is a servant.” The bookish advisor pushed, adjusting his glasses. “He has no innate skills in management, no diplomacy or negotiating skills. He has no manners, no carrying presence of a king, no knowledge of our kingdom or our history. And even if he trained with the great King Arthur himself, I highly doubt he’s a proficient fighter, much less knows how to lead armies. The people need a leader, and a competent one at that.”

“Perhaps Prince Avenis this afternoon could do the job…” The final advisor, a bald man in his fifties who hadn't said a word this whole time, leaned over and proclaimed in the pug-faced advisor’s ear. Unfortunately for him, he was rather used to a louder presence in the room, and thus his side comment meant for one ear was heard by all.

Morgana’s sharp glare could burn holes through walls. In response, all of the advisors slouched down a little. When the Queen got a look like that on her face, someone was going to get hurt. 

“You have all argued long enough on how ill-fitting my chosen fiancé is,” Morgana proclaimed icily, slowly rising to her feet. The bald advisor scooted down in his seat, as if trying to hide from her fiery glare. “And I will not hear another word on the matter. The only reason why I am even letting this prince Avenis into my home is to send a message to the rest of those who ignore my answer. If you so much as think that I will seriously entertain this Prince Avenis’s proposal for marriage, Lord Edgrell, you can kiss your place at this table and in the kingdom goodbye.”

A moment of silence went by, where no advisor even dared to try and speak up. With a too wide, too dangerous grin, Morgana asked, “Am I understood?”

The bald advisor was now nearly halfway under the table, barely the top of his shiny head visible to be seen, burning red like a ripe tomato. It was only in the silence that he should have responded in that he shuffled his way back into his seat, grumbling to himself sheepishly. 

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that. What did you say?” Morgana asked in a too-sweet voice, tilting her head just so.

“Yes, your majesty.” 

“Good,” With that, Morgana leaned back, sitting down in her seat once more, her face smoothing out into one of indifference. Her dangerous grin was gone. “Then it is settled. I will hear no more complaints about my fiancé, most specifically about him being here. I have made my choice, and I will not be changing it.”

The rest of the advisors glanced at one another, but they all reluctantly nodded. 

“We’re just trying to tell you, your majesty,” Placidius spoke calmly, garnering Morgana’s attention. “If you want your betrothed to be useful to this kingdom, as you say, then he is going to need a lot of training before the wedding.”

Morgana felt a small genuine smirk grow on her lips. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be glad to know that I already have Sir Hervell working on that. Merlin should be training with the knights this very moment, and if not, then he will be very soon.” 

Sir Cardaff nodded approvingly, arms crossed across his chest. “My apprentice is a fine knight, and a good teacher. He’ll whip him into respectable shape.” 

“But that’s only the beginning,” the bookish advisor continued, pushing his slipping spectacles up his nose once more. “He needs a teacher, someone to teach him the ways of the court, someone to—.”

Before he could continue to ramble off everything that Merlin was going to need to learn, Placidius cut him off. “We could get a private tutor for him, there are a few that can be contacted. However, they usually work with children, and they aren’t skilled in teaching them how to rule…”

The rest of the advisors nodded, agreeing. Yet another mud slick in the way of progress. 

Morgana sighed. It was about to seem frustratingly hopeless to appease these men and the law when an idea tickled the back of her mind. A rather curious, taunting idea. One that could be either massively annoying and potentially property damaging, or massively entertaining. It would take a lot of time, but if done right, she could mold the manservant into her image of the perfect king.

“I will teach him,” Morgana replied abruptly, getting the whole room to look at her in surprise.

The bookish advisor, still standing there over his book, blinked in confusion. “Beg pardon, your majesty?”

Morgana carefully shrugged. “Merlin has a… unique way of learning things.” She explained with a pause, trying to dance around the knowledge of Merlin’s magic. “He has unique talents.”

“As the rumors say,” Sir Cardaff muttered somewhat darkly, insinuating to the day of Merlin’s arrival. 

Morgana chose to ignore this. “When Merlin learns the way he is accustomed, he picks up things fairly quickly. I have had the most experience with him, and I am the ruler of this kingdom. He will have the best chance of learning what he needs to for his future role under my tutorage.” She explained calmly, shrugging her shoulders. 

The pug face advisor sputtered, shifting his shirt. “But-but your majesty, regardless of his rather hostile feelings towards you, with what time? With all the meetings and wedding planning, what time will you have to teach him the nuances of the court?”

“I’ll think of something,” Morgana replied, before smirking. She tapped her fingers against the table. “After all, the best way to learn is through experience, and I’m sure we can cut a few of our advisor meetings out.”

The room of advisors went up in an uproar of shock. “But your majesty—!”

But Morgana was not going to listen to their complaints and wails of bad treatment. With a calm hand held up, she continued. “Unless a crime has been committed, someone declares war, or someone is dying, then from now on, we will only be having advisor meetings in the afternoon on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, with the occasional Sunday, if I so wish. Is that understood?” The careful she sent around the room was one meant to not be questioned.

The room grumbled, but one by one they all agreed.

Morgana grinned an almost smirking grin. “Excellent. With that out of the way, I suspect this meeting is over, is it not?” She asked in a not so asking way, reaching out and neatening her small pile of notes.

“Well—.” One of the younger advisors piped up, reaching for his own notes with his own objectives for the day written down.

“I think we could do with a break, your majesty,” Placidius admitted, standing to his feet. “These old knees need to move around once and a while, lest they lock up.” A couple of the other older advisors agreed, with Sir Cardaff standing up with a rather loud groan.

Morgana nodded, “Very well.” She said, right as she looked out the nearest window to her. It could have been her imagination or her mind playing tricks on her, but from the corner of her eye she could have sworn she saw a flash of blue passing by. A rather familiar blue. Her intrique was piqued.

“Take five, gentlemen.” Morgana proclaimed, before standing from her seat. Smoothing down the black satin of her dress, she picked up her shawl and began to make her way towards the door, her guards immediately following her.

“Do you mean five, or fifty?” The pug-faced advisor grumbled poutingly under his breath, right as Morgana passed behind him, his words being drowned out by the drone of the free advisors. He reached out and plucked a grape from one of the plates of snacks before them.

Normally Morgana would do something small to the advisor for such a comment, a simple spell to make him choke on his water or the like, but she did not give him any heed today. She was too curious about what was going on down in the training yard.

“I still don’t understand why Morgana is sending us to go see these knights,” Merlin asked, striding alongside the young knight, the young Aithusa cheerfully trotting in tow.

Merlin hadn’t exactly slept well the night before. Along with sleeping on the couch (he still didn't trust the bed quite yet), the fresh memories of the announcement dinner and Morgana's swift response still on the front of his mind. Without having to worry about Arthur in his direct presence, he was unused to having to face the thoughts alone, and they kept him up for hours after he had tried to go to bed.

His biggest concern of the day, unsurprisingly enough, was magic. He thought that being in Amata would afford him one luxury amongst all of the downsides, that being he was somewhat allowed to use magic. However, with the previous night’s encounter, that was up in question again. Things already didn’t seem well enough already, if the people of Amata knew he had magic as well, especially so soon, he was sure it wouldn’t end out alright for him. Already he was earning enemies by his actions here, and he hadn’t even been here for a full two weeks.

He promptly chose to ignore his other actions of the night, especially as he passed yet another guard. Nope, he wasn’t going to think about her warmth, how her lithe hands clung to his coat, how the small of her back felt against his palm. Nope. Nah ah. 

Push out those thoughts, you idiot, Merlin mentally scolded himself. She’s a power hungry psychopath. Save such thoughts when you find someone to actually love, someone who won’t throw you through walls when they get mad. 

It was these kinds of constant personal reminders that made a man like Merlin grumpy in the morning, and the fact that it was Mordred who had practically dragged him out the door to “go training with the knights” made it only worse. 

Speaking of Mordred, the knight in question simply shrugged, a look of just a hint of curiosity on his face, almost oblivious to Merlin’s mood. “I don’t know, the queen just told me to come and get you and introduce you to the knights.” He explained, shifting his sword on his side.

Crossing through the castle didn’t take them very long, but it still amazed Merlin how large this castle was. He and Aithusa must have explored for hours the previous day, and yet there was still more of this castle that he had yet to see. More halls, more rooms, more intricately carved pillars, more intricately made paintings, tapestries, and rugs. There was so much to this castle to explore, nooks and crannies to memorize, that he was sure that he could be still finding new things a decade after living here.

Unfortunately for Merlin, there were other things that stole his attention. It was a rather abrupt detail he noticed, that whenever the two of them passed anyone, many of them servants, maids, or guards, they gave him far more attention than what he was used to. For most it was staring or abruptly turning their eyes towards the floor to avoid his gaze. For a long moment Merlin thought that there must have been something on his face Mordred failed to point out, but that was when the nods or even the light bows began. It was unnerving, it put Merlin on edge. To be noticed by so many people, to be the focus of attention, he wasn’t used to that. He was used to blending into the wall, not being gawked at like a freak of nature. Well, sometimes he did feel like he was a freak of nature, but hey, no one noticed that. It wasn’t painted on his forehead in big red letters, but now it felt like it did.

For obvious reasons, it wasn’t exactly something Merlin was used to, and he didn’t really know how to react. Was he supposed to do; bow back? Just keep walking? Stop and say hi? He didn’t really know.

Mordred, Merlin’s somewhat confused and ever so slightly nervous voice echoed inside Mordred’s head, getting the young knight to perk up from his belt adjusting. The manservant in question did not seem to react, his gaze still on the hall before them, but it was evident that he was the one to ask the question. Why are people staring and bowing to me?

Mordred didn’t know what Merlin was talking about and was about to say as such when a maid walking by, a young lady carrying a basket of fabric, look up and see Merlin walking her way. With a sudden shift, she stopped in her tracks and bowed, lightly, before  continuing to go where she was going. It looked fairly normal to what most servants did whenever they saw their king or Queen. 

Mordred lightly shrugged. “Well, you are the Queen’s fiancé,” he replied out loud, not bothering to deal with the telepathy. “I’m sure they’re just getting used to it.”

Merlin let out a soft sigh. He was hoping to be subtle about his issues, but clearly, Mordred had other plans. 

“But I don’t want them to bow to me,” He hissed, low. “It feels wrong.”

Mordred shrugged again. “Well, unless you find a way to break off this marriage contract, you’re going to have to get used to it.”

Merlin’s mouth screwed into a frown, determination in his eye. Yet another reason to find a way out of this marriage. He was no superior to anyone, and did not want to be treated as such. Like he said so long ago, he had no interest in the flexing power of a king, and if he could help it, he would continue to work in his shadows. 

Merlin had to admit; he was curious about the knights of this land. 

He knew the knights of Amata were a respectable fighting force, the whole of Amata’s army was under Sarum’s rule, but Merlin knew there was more to a man than just their skills with a blade. If he was going to work with them for the seemingly long term, or get their aid to help him out of this marriage contract, he had to know them well. He had only met a couple of them, and that was hardly enough time to truly get to know someone. To put it simply, he didn’t know what to expect. He didn’t know what their training was like, how they worked together, or how’d they react to him. Would they be more relaxed and friendly, like his friends back in Camelot, or would they be serious and humorless, or worse, look down on him? He didn’t know.

He was especially cautious when it came to magic. Just a few months ago they would have chased him down if they knew he had magic. That kind of mind set didn’t just go away overnight, so it would have to be something he’d keep an eye out for. Find the ones who only did it for the orders, and who did it because they felt it was right. If he was going to be stuck here, and that was a big if, that was something he had to know. 

…Perhaps he could even find if a few are lenient towards magic, but would be willing to help him take down the queen if the chance ever came. 

“Do you know anything about them? The knights?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask, watching as Aithusa bound ahead in excitement. Apparently, she was excited to see the training yards as well, occasionally looking back over her shoulder to chirp in excitement before continuing to hurry off down the hall. 

Mordred shrugged. “I’ve only met a few,” He replied simply, tucking his hands behind his back, “but they seem polite enough. You’ll have to meet them if you want to know more.”

Merlin sighed, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Great,” He breathed, turning his gaze away. The cool metal of Arthur’s pendant brushed against his fingertips, the distinct figure of the dove pressing into his thigh, striking a pain in his chest he knew to be homesickness.

A not-so-small part of Merlin wished that his friends were here, but their duty was to Camelot. Whether to rule it or to protect it, their jobs were more important, no matter what. Merlin would have it no other way. No matter how much he wished for their company, their obligations were to Camelot and the destiny that relied on it. Not that the knights wouldn’t come if Merlin asked. They’d drop Arthur in the middle of the woods if they got word Merlin wanted their aid, they even did it once before, but it wasn’t their duty. The protection of Camelot and Arthur was more important than anything else, even over the manservant’s desire for companionship.

With another brush with the pendent, Merlin wondered what Arthur was doing at the given moment. It felt odd not being by his side for so long, not doing endless amounts of chores or helping him with his every need. He made fun of Arthur for it at the time, but now, there was a sort of empty, anxious feeling sitting in his chest. Like he had forgotten something, and yet he did not know what. 

Well, he knew what, he just couldn’t get it back. Not unless he played his cards right, which was beginning to look more and more difficult by the day. 

Merlin sighed. All he knew was that when he got back to his room after today, he was going to send them all a letter, just to let them know he was alright. Perhaps even send them a bottle of mead or wine, something that let them know he was thinking of them. It would be nice to hear from them again.

As the rather odd trio descended one of the lesser favored stairwells in the castle, it didn’t take them long before they had reached a somewhat plainer hallway. The windows were large, the roof low, and there was no art or careful architectural art anywhere. There was the occasional sculpture or flare carved into the stone archways and entrances, but other than that it was fairly plain. A hallway left from the times when the castle was much smaller, and architectural designs were much different. 

As they approached a humble set of double doors, Merlin could begin to hear the faint sounds of weapons clashing and men talking. The very familiar sounds of men in training. 

Merlin felt his heart leap in anticipation and fear, and that only grew more and more as Mordred pushed the double doors open and let them out into the sunlight. 

As his eyes adjusted to the brightness of the day outside, Merlin could feel the sweltering heat of the day pressing in on his skin, and the sound of conversation and combat grew louder. Somehow, he could have sworn it was warmer here in Amata than it was in Camelot. Suppose that makes sense when you get closer to the sun. 

Regardless of the heat, it didn’t seem to slow the test of skills. It was an awfully familiar sound to Merlin. Part of him expected to open his eyes and see his friends training down in the field below, sparring with Arthur in more and more ridiculous ways. Blindfolded, with one hand behind his back, standing in a hole, feet tied together. Laughter, just on the brink of springing forth.

But upon blinking the sunlight out of his eyes, Merlin was met with the view of a very different training yard than the one he was used to. 

They were at the top of a very large stone balcony, with a half circle cut out of the walkway and a smaller half circle extending from the crest, with two sets of stairs curling down into the arena below, made of gravel, grass, and hard-packed dirt. Beyond that was a small field, cut off from the forest beyond it by a low-hanging cobblestone wall. Maids and servants passed by, occasionally casting their glances into the training fields to see the daily training before hurrying off. Some servants and higher-looking nobles would even stop and watch what was going on, sometimes even gathering together to discuss things, with one group being a fairly large gaggle of ladies and their handmaidens off the center platform.

In Camelot, many of the ladies and duchesses would spend plenty of their time watching the knights spar out in the fields, occasionally sending cat calls if they ever saw something they liked. Examples would include when a knight would bend over to pick up a fallen weapon, or when they’d do an extra impressive more. It received a mixture of responses from the knights, with respectful smiles from knights like Leon or Lancelot, to grandeur smiles and bows from knights like Gwaine and Elyan, to cheeks flushed pink like that of Perceval and Mordred.

At least some things don’t change, Merlin thought to himself, taking in the views of their light pink and purple dresses and carefully done-up hair. Ladies who had nothing better to do with their time than to wander around and take in prospective suitors and gossip. It was entertaining at times, but Merlin’s attention was quickly taken to the knights in the arena, and the man standing on the center platform, to who Mordred was leading him.

The man in question was dressed in the captain’s chainmail armor and plate, a fresh blue cape spilling from his broad shoulders. He was a tall, older gentleman, his grey peppered hair was cut formal and short, a cleanly trimmed beard, and a strong arched nose. His arms were crossed over his chest as he watched the men carefully, looking for any signs of improvement. 

In a way, he kind of looked like Arthur if he was far older; serious, and stern, but knew what he was doing and was respected for it. He radiated respect and order, in that regard. 

Before Merlin could even think of anything to say, the deep voice of a man who had seen many years of war and bloodshed asked, “Can I help you?” He didn’t even look their way.

“Ah…” Merlin tried to say, but nothing came out. Nothing felt right.

Before Merlin could do anything, the older man turned around and looked him in the eye, ice blue meeting grey. Suddenly something clicked in the older gentleman’s eyes, and a small smile grew on his lips.

“Ah, you must be Merlin,” The deep-voiced man proclaimed, holding his hand out for a shake. “Our future king. I was told to be expecting you.”

Merlin cautiously took the handshake but met it with stride. “I wouldn’t say king, but yes,” Merlin explained, more surprised than he should have by the knight’s strong grip.

“I heard from my men. Impressive, saving our Queen from that assassination attempt.” He explained. Merlin couldn’t help but give a thin-lipped smile. He wasn’t quite as used to compliments as he was to insults. The old man immediately turned to Mordred. “And you must be Sir Mordred, Merlin’s guard. I’ve heard a lot about you from Sir Tadeus.”

Mordred took the hand in stride. “Pleasure to meet you, sir,” Mordred said eagerly, eyes shining.

The old man wired a careful grin, chuckling. “Careful now, such eagerness might be taken advantage of.” Mordred gave a light nod, taking a small step back as his arm fell to his side. The older knight turned back to Merlin. “I assume you’re here to meet the men?”

Merlin gave a small shrug. “I’m here at the behest of the Queen, to do what I’m not exactly sure.”

The older man nodded. “I see. Well, it never hurts to get an early meeting with your men. They’re currently sparring as a warm-up before combat training, but I’m sure they’ll be more than glad to meet you.” The man began to walk towards the stairway before he paused. “Oh, forgive me for my manners. I am Sir Hervell, captain of the knights.”

Mordred’s eyes went wide. “Wait, the Sir Hervell? Of the Savage Forest?” He asked, taking a step forward.

The knight arched a brow, a small smirk growing on his lips. “I am.”

“You’ve heard of him before?” Merlin asked, arching a brow. How did Mordred know about this man and not him?

“He’s one of the best knights around, Merlin.” Mordred quickly explained before turning back to the older knight. “Born and raised in the Savage Forest, he fought in the battle of Caern River. He and his men held the bridge for an hour in locked combat until reinforcements could arrive.”

Hervell let out a deep chuckle. “You know your history, young man.” He explained, giving the young knight a once over.

“You’re practically a legend, your disarming skills are second to none. I’m willing to bet you could take on King Arthur himself.” Mordred continued eagerly.

Hervell chuckled, his arms still crossed over his chest. “Don’t be bettin’ too much on the old folk, young sir. These days I do more training and supervising than combat.” He explained with a sigh, turning his gaze back towards the men in the field. Some of which were turning their gaze their way. 

“Well still. You’d never know until we find out.” Mordred offered with a shrug. 

The old man smiled. “I appreciate your optimism. If we ever the chance, perhaps we can find out.”

Mordred sent him a smile, before starting to make his way down the stairs. Before Merlin could start down the stairs, Merlin felt a hand rest on his shoulder.

“Oh, and by the way, young man,” Hervell slowly mentioned, coming to a stop beside him, “Be careful. These men need a lot in order to be loyal, and that might cost something you may not want to part with.”

Merlin felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck. “Right, good to know.” With that, he followed the older gentleman down the stairs and into the yard. On instinct, he reached into his pocket and rubbed Arthur’s pendant between his fingers once more. What he would give to have some of Arthur’s courage right about now.

Well, if he could get the knights of Camelot to be his friends, then perhaps this won’t be so hard either. 

To what Merlin could see, there were about thirty to forty knights in the training field, each one in a smattering of different kinds of armor, along with ten to twenty younger-looking men dressed in lighter armor, and several servants running around, maintaining the whole training field.

The moment Merlin got to the bottom of those steps and came to a halt beside the older gentleman, many of the men were already paying attention but were still working on their forms.

“Gentlemen, round up,” Hervell called out in an orderly tone, quite familiar to that of Arthur’s. 

Knights and squires across the field did as they were told, and within a moment of time, all thirty to forty had gathered around him. Any servants among them had quickly made their way towards the stone walls beneath the stairs, some even hurrying inside small doors towards storage rooms and the like. 

Aithusa plopped her bottom down between Mordred and Merlin, looking eager and excited as ever.

“This is Merlin.” Hervell continued loudly, gesturing at the once manservant beside him. “I’m sure you all remember him. He’s the man who saved our Queen during that attempt last week and her future husband. He’s here to train with you all and get to know you better. You’ll be listening to him in the future, so be nice. But not too nice.” He said with a smile, an almost teasing, dangerous smile.

The men before them chuckled, but it wasn’t exactly a friendly one. Merlin felt himself feel a little wary of it all, a little intimidated. But since when had that stopped him? If it didn’t stop him from being intimidated by Arthur, then it wouldn’t stop him either.

“We will also be joined by one of Camelot’s finest, sir Mordred.” Hervell continued. As he said his name, Mordred nodded. “He will also be training with us today, so best show him what Amatan knights are made of, alright?”

“Are we sure he’s a knight? That boy barely looks older than a squire!” A random voice called from the crowd. The men all laughed, and Merlin couldn’t help but note Mordred trying to hide his blushing cheeks.

“What? Camelot getting desperate now?”

“They’re getting younger and younger every year!”

The knights continued to laugh at them, rambling and generally ignoring them. Mordred looked like he was about to try and find an excuse to leave, bending his head in shame. He already got picked on enough by the knights of Camelot, who was to say he was going to get any respect here? 

“I’ll have you know Sir Mordred here is a good knight,” A loud and certain voice called out over the crowd, the group immediately going quiet in surprise. “And one of his best men.”

Mordred looked up in shock, eyes wide in surprise and just a little bit of hope. Merlin?

The manservant in question’s gut was tightly tied in a knot, the gaze of all of these powerful men bearing down on him with an impossible weight. There was no question who had spoken up, and he was the center of attention. But there was no going back now, and Merlin wasn’t willing to.

“While yes he is youthful, that does not belittle his skills as a knight, as well as his skills and his courage. I have seen him do things that knights twice his age never would dare do, and whether that be bravery or stupidity he has the talent to stay alive. He has earned his place as a knight of Camelot.”

A lot of the knights were silent now, including Mordred, staring at Merlin in shock. Since when did Merlin have such a commanding voice? Not even Merlin knew, but he wasn’t going to let these men belittle Mordred and himself for being foreigners.

He let out a shaky breath.

The knights all looked at one another, taking in what had been said. Some of the knights muttered amongst one another, whispering words that Merlin hadn’t an inkling to know. One by one, though, they all fell silent, turning back towards their captain to hear further orders.

“Well said, sir,” The captain replied, reaching out to rest a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. It didn’t help the nervous feeling in Merlin’s gut. “You heard him, gentlemen. I want you to treat Sir Mordred how you would any other knight that has come to join us. You know King Arthur is good about picking his men, and an even better trainer. It’s best not to antagonize one of his knights.”

The knights out of the field muttered and whispered amongst one another, but not one dared to try and speak up against it.

“Alright, back to your sparring. I’ll be around in just a minute to check on your progress, then we’ll begin quarterstaff training. Understood?” Hervell asked, giving all of the men a pointed look. 

“Sir yes sir!” The knights and squires called back before quickly the group disbanded. It wasn’t hard to hear their mutterings with one another as they returned, some giving Merlin a look back over their shoulder.

Hervell finally removed his hand from Merlin’s shoulder. “I’ll be going around in a bit. Feel free to join any of them or ask them any questions. If you have any concerns, come see me.” He gave Merlin a nod, before turning and beginning to slowly walk around the training field. His gaze never left his men for a moment, like a hawk watching its prey, or a wolf watching its pups play. 

Merlin let out a shaky sigh. This was going to be harder than it looked. 

It was only when most of the knights had disbanded and returned to their sparring that Mordred saddled up beside Merlin. “What was that all about?” He asked in a mutter, giving Merlin a look.  

“There’s a difference between brotherly picking on and outright disrespect. I’m not letting them disrespect you while I can help it.” Merlin replied in a low, shaking tone, as if he was surprised himself for standing up for the young knight.

Mordred gently nodded. “Thanks. I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve done for me.”

“Don’t mention it,” Merlin said with barely a side look. “Well, might as well face the music.”

With that, the two made their way into the crowd. 

As the knights got back into their groove, Merlin couldn’t help but note the things they were doing. Most of the knights who had squires with them, younger men of who Merlin had to admit some looked close to Mordred’s age, were practicing with their apprentices, helping them improve their skills with the blade. A couple of knights had their squires spar against one another, calling out advice and orders for the younger men to heed. Off against the walls were about a dozen young boys, the oldest barely being a decade old while the youngest looked as young as six, trailing along behind servants with pitchers and buckets of water, towels, and any other things the knights may need.

They must be the pages, Merlin thought to himself. Pages are the level lower than that of a squire, the traditional starting point to the career of a knight. Most traditionally the sons of nobility and royalty were sent from their homes at a young age to work for the families of already well-established knights and mostly did chores to help lessen the load on squires and the servantry. They were basically no better than servants at that moment, and it was intentional; it was meant to teach them to be humble of their rank. Being a knight made someone a force of reconned with, and without a good moral code, it would be a terrifying feat. A page was not just to train for combat, it was to mold their character as well into men. 

A small, wiry smile formed on Merlin’s lips. He couldn’t help but wonder if Arthur had to go through such chores when he was younger. Probably not, considering his inflated ego. 

The traditional path to knighthood in Camelot was a bit different than that of other places, a tradition that started after so many knights were lost during the war on magic. For Camelot, so long as they knew how to fight and were of noble rank, they could become a knight. Camelot would supply the things they may need, and if they needed any more training, then they would work with the other knights. For a long while, many knights did not have squires, but it was only in recent years did that tradition start to pick back up, including with Mordred as Arthur’s squire. 

Well, he was really a squire to all of the knights, but at the end of the day, he was Arthur’s squire first. 

As two trailed alongside the stone wall, watching all the sparring going down, Merlin couldn’t help but wonder where to start to introduce himself. Sure, he recognized a few from the feast or from wandering around the castle, but he knew none of their names, and he most certainly didn’t know anything about their personalities. At the end of the day, a good first introduction all went down to who he was going to introduce himself to first, and how they were going to react.

It was only when they had gotten through a partial amount of the crowd of sweaty metal and swinging blades that Mordred recognized a truly familiar face.

“Sir Tadeus!” Mordred called out, hurrying his pace. Merlin perked up, trailing along behind him with a curious look. 

Seriously? Merlin couldn’t help but think to himself, Mordred already knows someone here?

The knight who Mordred called out to was currently taking a drink before starting his sparring with his partner, his helmet tucked under one arm and a wooden stein in the other, drinking from. The gentleman was of some years older than him, with pale brown hair just barely beginning to grey, trimmed neatly on the sides yet flowy on the top, with a light beard barely discernable from the rest of his face. 

To Merlin, he looked… familiar, but it was going to have to take a couple of seconds to figure out from where. 

The knight in question looked over his shoulder with an inquisitive look before lighting up with a smile, immediately putting his goblet down onto a nearby bench. It was only when he passed into a small shadow that Merlin remembered where he met him; he was the one who caught him when he tried to run away.

“Ah, Sir Mordred.” The knight called back, a smile on his face, hand held out to shake. “Nice to see you finally arrive. Going to take up that offer to spar?”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Mordred replied, coming to a halt before him to take the handshake before turning back to Merlin. “Merlin, this is Sir Tadeus, one of the generals in the army and captain of security for the city.”

“Oh, we’ve met before,” Merlin replied with certainty, holding a hand out for Sir Tadeus to shake. 

The knight sent a small smirk to Merlin’s way. “We have.” The knight replied as he returned his grip. “I’ll have to say, you gave my men quite the chase. You’re one slippery bastard, I’ll give you that.”

Merlin gave a small, sardonic smirk. “Well hopefully there are no hard feelings,” He replied with a shrug. 

“Oh no, none at all. You gave my men a good exercise, and it’s not like I can have hard feelings with our Queen’s fiancé.” Tadeus gave a small laugh through his grin, making Merlin’s cheeks flush. 

“Well, Merlin’s here to introduce himself to the men, get to see how things go around here, and maybe even train with us,” Mordred explained, giving Merlin a look. 

“Oh? You’re a knight?” Sir Tadeus asked, arching a brow.

Merlin shook his head. “Ah, no. I was the king’s personal manservant.” He explained simply, keeping his head up. 

Tadeus’s brow furrowed. “Well, that’s a shame. You definitely have the commanding voice of one.” He explained, before turning back to the knight he was sparring with. With a wave of his hand the other knight nodded, walking away to some other part of the field for the time being. 

Merlin flustered a little. “Just because I wasn’t a knight, doesn’t mean I don’t know how to talk.” He offered, taking a step forward.

“Many people know how to talk, not so many know how to have a commanding voice,” Tadeus explained, looking back over his shoulder to give Merlin a look that he couldn’t quite place. A look of comfort? Security? Jovialness? He wasn’t entirely sure, but it wasn’t a negative look by any means.

“Well when you’re the manservant of the King Arthur, you tend to pick up a thing or two,” Mordred explained, gesturing Merlin’s way. 

Tadeus nodded knowingly. "He’s a natural leader, that one is.” He explained, right as a page, a lean boy barely the age of seven, hurried up and handed him a clean towel. He gave the young boy a smile and a quick thanks before turning back to Merlin, wiping his face of the sweat. “So, what do you want to do today? Just watch us spar, or join in? Because if you want to join in, you may want to get yourself a set of armor.”

“I think I’d rather prefer to watch, for the time being, see how things work around here first,” Merlin replied, slowly sitting down on the long bench beside the water bucket and wooden steins. Looking ever so much like the manservant that he was. 

“Very well, then you can watch while Mordred and I spar,” Tadeus explained with a smile, turning to look Mordred’s way. 

“Ah, so I’m getting replaced?” A muffled, somewhat ringing voice called out. The knight Sir Tadeus had been sparring with before, still wearing his helmet atop his head, trundled up to them. “You should have told me we were breaking up.” He proclaimed, putting a mock hand of hurt over his chest. His armor was not nearly as clean as Sir Tadeus’s  was, but it was well made and didn’t have nearly as many dings or damage in it as Sir Tadeus’s had. Newer, but less maintained.

Tadeus rolled his eyes, but his smirk did not leave his lips. “I’m just introducing our new friends to how things work around here. You can take a break until we start quarterstaff training.”

“Oh thank God,” He proclaimed with a sigh, slumping down onto the bench on the other side of the bucket with a heavy clatter. Merlin could practically hear the smile on his voice as the knight reached up and pulled off his helmet, where he was met with a young, jovially handsome man, with a young jaw with a very light afternoon shave, loose dark brown hair, frazzled and matted from the helmet, dark blue eyes, and the smile belonging to a mischievous prankster. “Tadi likes to run people to the bone when he spars with them.” The knight explained, picking up a wooden stein and began to pour himself water from the pitcher.

Tadeus sent him a sort of pout. “I do not,” He retorted, right before he gestured for Mordred to follow him to start sparring. Mordred followed suit, keeping his helmet tucked under his arm. The moment they reached their sparring spot, a worn-out line in the grass, Tadeus explained the rules.

“Now, we go until either the time is called, a weapon is knocked out of someone’s hand, or someone gets knocked to the ground. We’ll start off easy, but if you feel more comfortable doing something more complex, go for it. Stay within this little area, just to make sure you don’t run into any of the other knights. Those two over there will call it out if you start moving out of our designated spot. Got it?” 

Mordred nodded affirmative, slipping on his helmet as Tadeus did so. Raising their weapons, they bowed to one another, tapped swords, and got down into a ready stance. Waiting for someone to tell them to start.

The knight beside Merlin raised his arm dramatically into the air, getting ready to let it fall like some sort of judge. “Aaaaaannnnnddddd…! Begin!” The knight beside Merlin called out, swooshing his hand down to his knee. 

At that, their sparring began, gently shuffling back and forth, testing their opponent, testing the soft spots. Mordred tentatively swung for the older knight’s sword, and at that, Tadeus swung back. Red and blue, swinging away. 

The knight beside Merlin let out a sigh and a chuckle before turning to him. “The name’s Dinadan. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He proclaimed, holding his hand out over the bucket for him to shake. Merlin took the shake with a polite smile. 

“A real jokester, that one is,” Tadeus called over before Merlin could introduce himself, knocking away Mordred’s blow.

“Aw, don’t ruin my fun,” Dinadan called back, letting his hand fall onto his lap. 

Tadeus shrugged with a smile before making his own attempt to swing at Mordred’s stomach. The younger knight leaped out of the way, leaping back nearly a foot before swinging his sword to block the attack.

“A joker?” Merlin repeated, giving the knight beside him a mirthful look.

“Only the finest jokes, pranks, and terrible puns a knight can make, if ever possible,” Dinadan explained with a grin. 

Merlin couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I’ll keep your skills in mind if I ever need help to prank anyone.” He offered. He was already beginning to like this knight.

Dinadan’s grin did not go away. “I look forward to it.” He replied, picking up his stein of water. “The old king didn’t like it when I pulled pranks on the others, but that never stopped me.” He explained with a wink before bringing the goblet to his lips.

“Really? I would have thought that the terrifying King Sarum would have put the kibosh on that sort of thing.” Mordred replied before blocking Tadeus’s swing at his side. Their swords gave a resounding ring. 

“He only didn’t like it when I did it to his favorite knights,” Dinadan explained with a shrug as he took his stein from his lips. “Besides, they were sticks in the mud. Weren’t really fun to prank anyways.” 

Merlin shrugged. He knew a few knights like that back in Camelot. Not any of them he knew closely, but they were the ones that took things a bit too seriously, and most certainly acted a lot superior than everyone else. They weren’t really fun to talk to or even be around, but they got the job done when a job needed to be done.

“And now that they’re gone…?” Merlin asked, arching a brow Dinadan’s way.

“With your permission, I can prank those who remain,” The knight replied with a large, insinuating grin. Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought. It was only when he began to wonder how Morgana would react to the pranks that Dinadan spoke up again. “But enough about me, let’s talk about you. Tell me; do you know how to fight?”

Merlin shrugged. “A little.”

“What he means to say is that he can kick ass.” Mordred retorted, right as he blocked another one of Tadeus’s blows.

“Mordred,” Merlin tried to say, giving the young knight a warning look. While he appreciated the confidence boost, it wasn’t exactly true. Sure, he could use magic, but that really didn’t count when it comes to fighting with knights. It wasn’t entirely fair to them, and  he didn’t know them well enough to trust them with that yet… 

But Dinadan was still curious. “Oh really?” He perked up, arching a brow. “What kind of ass do you kick?”

Merlin shuffled in his seat. “Well…” He wasn’t one for bragging, but it didn’t seem like something he was going to get out of. “I’ve managed to chase off a few bandits before.” He offered with a shrug.

“He’s actually pretty good with a few weapons, whenever he actually decides to use one,” Mordred replied semi vaguely, giving Merlin another look as he dodged another one of Tadeus’s swings.

Both Tadeus and Dinadan gave Merlin an incredulous look. Merlin’s cheeks flushed as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. 

“You didn’t use weapons?” Dinadan asked, his voice hitting a higher pitch in confusion. “Like hand to hand combat?”

“Well—.”

“He also didn’t wear armor, even though we asked him to,” Mordred continued, using the two knight’s confusion to his advantage, swinging at Tadeus’s shoulder. For once, he managed to land a blow. Tadeus sent him a look. He was not going to be able to do that again.

“You didn’t wear armor?!” Dinadan cried out, continuing to turn to take in the servant before him. 

“Just what kind of manservant were you?” Tadeus asked his final question before  turning his attention fully back to his sparring match. “You sound more like a bodyguard that can sew than a servant.”

Merlin lightly shrugged, his ears still burning bright red. “Arthur did take me everywhere with him, and he was prone to getting into scuffles. Might as well learn a thing or two.” 

He wasn’t wrong. Arthur did get into a lot of fights, some his fault, some not. But Mordred also wasn’t entirely wrong; perhaps he should have worn some protection from time to time. Would have saved him from quite a few scars…

“Well, if you’re going to spar with us, then you best get yourself a good set of armor,” Dinadan explained with a smirk.

Merlin immediately furrowed his brow, immediately pulled from his thoughts. “What? Why?”

“Because if you’re going to be working with us, you’re going to need protection. We don’t tumble lightly around here.” At that, Dinadan jerked his head towards the two knights sparring before them. 

“As I can see,” Merlin replied, watching as the sparring fight began to heat up.

Both Sir Tadeus and Mordred were fully in the moment, completely ignoring what was going on around them. Mordred was holding his ground against the older knight, using youthful speed and strength to push the older knight back. However, Tadeus had almost a lifetime of experience under his belt and was holding his ground just fine. Just because he wasn’t in his prim and prime did not mean he was out of shape!

Mordred swung his sword around at the wrist before going for the older knight’s shoulder, making Tadeus take a step back. The older knight shook his head, but swinging his sword around, he did not back down.

By this point several other knights and squires were watching on as well, taking steps back to allow the two knights an almost circular area to spar in. The two knights were circling one another now, testing the free area they have to roam in. 

Just as Mordred went in to swing at the older knight’s leg —in an attempt to knock him off balance, Merlin wasn’t sure— Tadeus decided to prove just how much the knights of Amata tumbled. Without hesitation he knocked Mordred’s weapon off and rammed into the young knight with his shoulder, hard. Mordred was immediately knocked off balance, and unlike the older knight, stumbled backward and fell to the ground with a ‘clash!’

Both Dinadan and Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle at the now prone knight. A few of the other knights and squires were tempted to clap, but mostly it fell into a wave of chuckles.

“You alright, Mordred?” Merlin called out to him, watching Mordred groan on the ground. He was about to get up and help him get to his feet, but he was quickly beaten by Tadeus

“Yeah, I’m good,” Mordred called back, groaning as he was lifted to his feet by the older knight. He may be a lean-looking knight, but that certainly did not mean he was weak!

“Should have listened to Gwaine;” Merlin said with a chuckle. “Don’t hesitate when you have the chance, and watch your step.”

Mordred was just about to pull off his helmet and stick his tongue out at the manservant when another voice perked up.

“Wait, did you say Gwaine?” A spectating knight perked up, taking a step forward into the sparring ring. He was still wearing his armor and helmet, but his voice was young.

Both Merlin and Mordred paused, giving one another a cautious look. Did this knight know him? Did Gwaine pass through here in the past, before he became a knight? Was he in trouble with this land? They didn’t hear about any problems when Gwaine first arrived…

Merlin was the first to perk up. “Yes? Why?” He asked cautiously, standing to his feet.

The knight continued to take a step forward, empty palm up. “This Gwaine, does he wear a wedding ring around his neck, from his father?”

“Do you know him?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask, crossing his arms over his chest.

To his surprise, the knight reached up and pulled off his helmet. Merlin felt a small gasp grow in his throat. The young man, who looked to be around Mordred's age, looked awfully familiar to the Camelotian knight in question. Loose, semi-long dark brown hair fell in front of eyes that Merlin knew belonged to his bar loving friend, his face shaven except for a small mustache. There was a sad yet eager smile crossing his lips and settled in his eyes. 

“My name is Sir Gareth. He’s my older brother.” The young knight explained simply. 

Both Merlin and Mordred looked at one another in shock. 

I didn’t know Gwaine had a brother. Mordred’s voice echoed inside Merlin’s head, confusion and concern evident. 

He’s very hard pressed to mention much about his past. Merlin explained, turning back to the knight in question. I think I’ve heard him say it once before.

Should we believe him?

“I-I know that it might be hard to believe, but I have proof.” At that, the young knight Gareth began to reach into his armor’s collar, as if to fish something out. “When our father died, Gwaine left home before I did. He took our father’s wedding ring with him, along with the family symbol, and after our mother died of illness, I took our mother’s.” At that, he managed to fish out what he was looking for, presenting the ring to them both. “See?”

Both Mordred and Merlin leaned in to take a look. It was a wedding ring, thinner and far more dainty than that of Gwaine’s ring, and there, sure enough, was the same arrow-like metal shard. Just like the charm Gwaine hung from around his neck. 

“So it would seem,” Merlin found himself saying, looking up to look the knight in the eye. 

The young knight gave him a sad smile. “I haven’t heard from him since we were kids.” He explained, “Tell me, how is he?” Gareth asked, tucking the ring and charm back into his armor.  

“Well he’s a knight of Camelot now, and a good friend of mine,” Merlin explained with a shrug and a comforting smile, “He even came to drop me off.”

Another sad look crossed Gareth’s eyes, this one stronger. His mouth turned down into a frown for just a moment, as if he had lost an opportunity. 

“Oh.” The word spilled from his lips. He reached up and touched his chest, right where the ring and charm would be hanging. “W-well, is he alright?”

Mordred shrugged, feeling bad for the young man. “As right as he can be. Has a bit of a drinking habit, but it doesn’t get in the way of his job, so Arthur lets him keep doing what he’s doing.” 

“He can drink us all under the table,” Merlin continued with a chuckle, “And handles hangovers like a breeze.”

Gareth smirked and chuckled, his eyes shining. “I’m not surprised, and anyone who is friends with my brother is friends with me.” He exclaimed, taking off his glove and holding his hand out for Merlin to shake.

Merlin smiled. The young man in question looked so much like his brother, and while there were some similarities they were not the same. Where Gwaine was an embodiment of swagger and confidence, this young man was less so. He probably couldn’t drink his brother under the table, or potentially even keep up, but a part of Merlin figured that Gwaine’s chauvinistic qualities would shine inside this man as well.

He took the young man’s handshake with stride. “It’s nice to meet you, Gareth.” He replied, before letting Mordred do the same.

“Well with that all cleared up, let’s get back to sparring, shall we?” Tadeus proclaimed, who had been silent this whole time. 

The remaining knights nodded and began to turn back to their own sparring spots. It didn’t take long for many of them to get back into the groove of things, leaving only the men of Camelot, Tadeus, Dinadan, and Gareth standing there, still conversing about menial things Merlin couldn’t catch.

It was utterly delightful, going a lot better than how he was expecting it to go. But one thing began to itch on the back of his mind. These men had been here for years, working under King Sarum’s rule, obeying his every command. If that was the case, then why weren’t they actively fighting against Morgana? Why didn’t any of them leave with Prince Aldus? After all, by birthright, Prince Aldus was the next one to inherit the throne, and isn’t their duty to protect him and ensure he gets his throne? After all, that was what Arthur’s knights did when Morgana took over the throne. Why wouldn’t they?

“Say, I have a question.” Merlin heard himself pipe up before he could even consider stopping himself.

“Shoot.” One of the knights replied casually, as if Merlin's question didn’t carry much weight.

“Why didn’t any of you leave with prince Aldus?” 

All of the knights paused. Every one of them turned to look Merlin’s way. Their once jovial and friendly auras immediately washed away for that of which felt somewhat bitter, scornful, and simmering anger. Mordred, on the other hand, just looked at Merlin with wide eyes, on the brim of asking aloud, ‘seriously? You want to ask that now ?’ 

“Pardon?” Tadeus asked, his brow furrowed low, his mouth turned down into a frown.

Merlin lightly shrugged, scrambling to save himself. “I know the Queen doesn’t have the most favorable of a reputation around here, and you don’t exactly agree with all of the rules she’s enlisted, so why didn’t you go with him when he left?” He explained carefully. He wasn’t entirely wrong, per se, but he didn’t want to piss off his new fledgling friends so quickly. 

The knights of Amata looked around cautiously at one another, muddling and murmuring over the question. It seemed that most of them weren’t particularly interested in speaking up. 

“Because no matter how much we don’t like the Queen, we like Prince Aldus even less.” A voice beyond their group proclaimed.

The whole group perked up. Walking towards them from the field, still dressed in his complete garb from the work day, was the knight Merlin and Mordred had met on their first day there. The one who reminded Merlin of a Roman general, complete with his broad shoulders, proud eyes, strong jaw, tall presence, and Roman arch nose. 

“Hey, Zarrus, how was patrol?” Tadeus asked, spiking his sword into the dirt to lean on it, the other hand resting on his hip. 

“Boring,” Zarrus explained, coming to a stop at the bucket by Merlin’s side. He began to pour himself the water, but the amount inside was running low. Without hesitation, he turned to Merlin and nearly ordered, “Can you get us some more water? We seem to be running low.”

Merlin felt himself jump. He wasn’t surprised, but in an odd way, deep, deep down, he felt a little... offended? Was that was this was? After only two weeks, and he was already getting out of shape.

Before could even open Merlin mouth or move to do so, Tadeus beat him to the punch.

“Actually, Zarrus, he’s here training with us,” Gareth explained, walking up and patting Merlin on the back. 

Zarrus turned to the older knight, giving him an incredulous look. “Really? We’re training servants now?” He asked, crossing his arms. 

“Well he is the Queen’s fiancé, so he will be our future king.” Tadeus retorted, just the faintest smirk growing on his lips. 

Sir Zarrus arched a brow, quickly turning back to Merlin. “You are who the Queen is marrying?” He asked rhetorically, putting his full attention now on the man he once just dismissed as nothing more than a servant.

Merlin felt more of the offense rising in his throat like a bile, but worked to keep it down. It wasn't smart making bad impressions on his first day. “We met on the road, how are you surprised by this,” Merlin replied in a careful, even, almost dangerous tone. Just the tiniest sliver of insinuation one would ever hear.

“I assumed that young Mordred here was the Merlin we had heard so much about, and that you were just his servant. She did not tell us she was marrying a manservant.” Zarrus explained haughtily, gesturing Mordred's way. Mordred's brows rose high, putting his hands up to demand he be left out of this. 

Merlin couldn’t help but a small smirk form on his lips. “Trust me, no one is more surprised than I am.” He retorted, standing up to his full height. He was still a couple of inches shorter than the knight, but it did enough.

“Oh come now, Zarrus, give him a break.” Dinadan proclaimed, standing up as well. With a clap of his hand on his shoulder, he handed Zarrus a fresh mug of water. "It’s a feat he’s even here to train with us at all."

Merlin dipped his head at the words. 

Zarrus took the water without a word of thanks. “Then I’m sure we’ll have to catch him up.” He replied cooly before knocking back the water. Merlin nodded, taking his gaze away. Well, he wasn’t going to be instant friends with all of them. Perhaps one day, but not today.

“Well according to sir Mordred here, he knows some moves.” Sir Tadeus piped up, gesturing Merlin’s way.

Zarrus arched his brow once more.  “Oh really? Well, I suppose we’ll have to see.” He replied, the smallest hint of a smirk forming on his lips. “And as for your question about Prince Aldus, well, he wasn’t exactly the noblest of men.”

Gareth nodded sternly. “The prince abandoned his kingdom in its time of need. About ten men left with him, but we generally agree he’s not worthy of the throne.” He explained, his arms crossing over his chest.

“Not to mention his personality wasn’t much to be desired,” Dinadan muttered, although if it was supposed to be under his breath, it didn’t really work. 

Merlin arched a brow. “Oh? How so?” True, he had heard the stories and had seen the evidence, but to hear it from their own mouths was what got Merlin the most interested. It helped him get a better picture of these men, whether they would be willing to help him in the future if he asked. 

Dinadan scoffed, reaching behind Zarrus for his own pitcher of water, arm not hesitating to brush against him several times. “You want an analogy? Try taking all of the worst parts of a stereotypical pratty prince, take any of the good traits he might have and throw them into the trash, add a cunning haughtiness, and amplify what’s left tenfold.”

Merlin nodded, a squelch forming in his stomach. He couldn’t help but think of Arthur  a little bit, how he couldn’t think of any desirable traits being found in the man. True, as time went on and the two grew closer, Merlin knew that not to be true, Arthur did have some redeeming traits to him, but to imagine him ten times worse made Merlin impulsively scowl. 

“Oh, that sounds horrible.” Mordred piped up, giving Dinadan a concerned look. 

“Man was more spoiled than raw meat left out in the sun for a week.” Dinadan continued with a nod, giving Mordred a sympathetic look.

“Was one cunning bastard, though,” Zarrus explained with a faraway look in his eye, gently nodding. “Absolutely terrifying when it came to battle strategy and infiltration. Could destroy a kingdom from the inside out if given enough time. Plus  he was excellent at the game of chess.”

“Well that’s not comforting at all,” Mordred proclaimed darkly, and Merlin couldn’t help but silently agree.

The Roman knight shrugged. “The prince also never had to actually use his skills before either, much less against his own kingdom, so I’d be surprised if he’d be able to do anything.”

“Let’s hope he never does.” Sir Tadeus proclaimed, pulling his sword from the dirt. “I’d hate for a civil war to break out.”

Merlin generously nodded. Yet another reason why he’d have to be cautious about pacifying Morgana. If she was at her full strength, she could probably take on an insolent prince like Prince Aldus, but if lost her power, then this kingdom could be at the brunt end of a civil war, and the ones who would pay the price would be the people. Not a good combination. 

“Well on that cheerful note, I have to go check in with the captain. I’ll be back in a bit.” Zarrus proclaimed, pushing himself off and towards the staircases leading up to the balcony. 

Just as Merlin was about to look down at his shoes or anywhere else around the training yard, Dinadan gently jabbed him in the side with his elbow. There was a mirthful look on his face. “Watch.” He ordered, before pointing at the retreating Zarrus.

Merlin and Dinadan turned their gaze towards the retreating knight. It wasn’t entirely noticeable through his blue cape, but Merlin could see that his scabbard and belt were falling loose, oddly thumping against his side, slipping lower and lower. The air held dense around them as Merlin held his breath, waiting for what was to come.

Just as Sir Zarrus began to pass by the last remaining knights, his sword and scabbard finally fell out of their grip, dragging his belt down with them. Zarrus immediately yelped in surprise, but before he could do anything his already lifted leg came down between the belt and the ground, tripping him up by the sudden pull. Flailing, Zarrus reached out to try and grab something that would stop him, grabbing the edge of an empty barrel used to hold spare weapons. However, it wasn’t enough to stop his descent, and Zarrus dragged the barrel down with him, resulting in a bevy of crashes and clattering. It was all tied together when a wooden rod, a javelin, precariously swayed and hovered for the longest moment before falling atop Zarrus’s head with the most iconic ‘bonk!’ sound one could hear.

The moment the clattering all came to a halt, Dinadan laughed, hard. The kind of laugh that is so distinct that you could pick it up from across a field and say, ‘yep! That’s Dinadan!’ He was laughing so hard it nearly brought a tear to his cheek, holding his stomach in both arms. The rest of the field laughed as well.

“Oh, that’s the best one this year!” Dinadan proclaimed, wiping the tear away with a finger, the largest grin still on his face.

Many of the other men in the courtyard began to laugh as well, and as Zarrus untangled himself from the weapons and his own belt, he couldn’t help but chuckle in agreement. The sound of the javelin against his head was alone funny enough, but the fall and the barrel coming down with him? All the funnier, even if he was the butt of the joke.

With all the laughter around him, Merlin couldn’t help the grin splitting from his lips and the laughter coming from the back of his throat. "What did you do that for?" Merlin could help but ask through his laughter.

Dinadan continued to brush away some tears. "Oh, Zar can be a bit of a prick some times, and sometimes he needs to be taught a lesson, but mostly because pranking him just never gets old." He chuckled some more. "Besides, we can't have him making fun of you on your first day!"

Merlin couldn't help but grin. Oh, they were going to be good friends, he knew it. Despite everything Merlin had hoped, not to grow attachments to this place and figure out how to leave, as the laughter rang in his ears, he couldn't help but think that perhaps things here wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Right as Zarrus began to move to get to his feet, Sir Hervell made his way towards the front of the training field, hands tucked behind his back under his cape, right beside where Sir Zarrus fell. Even he had a chuckle on his lips, just the smallest of grins.

“Careful, Sir Zarrus,” He started, watching as the knight got to his feet, “You know better than to be the butt of Sir Dinadan’s jokes. Keep a better eye on your sword next time.”

Sir Zarrus nodded and bowed. “Yes sir.”

Hervell nodded before turning to the rest of the yard. From the sides, servants and squires/pages were beginning to pull barrels out from the storage room, full of long, sturdy-looking staffs of wood.

“Alright, men,” Sir Hervell’s orderly voice called out, gathering the attention of all of the knights who weren’t distracted by Sir Zarrus’s escapade, “grab your staffs. We’re going to be working on our blocking techniques today.”

The knights began to do as they were told, putting down their weapons and making their way toward the barrels to pick out their weapons of choice. The sound of friendly conversation filled the air once more, jovial and occasionally dotted with laughter. Even Mordred went to go join them, continuing to talk to Sir Tadeus about small things around. 

Merlin was going to stay where he was sitting and watch for the time being until Dinadan came to a stop. 

“Are you going to join us?” He asked, giving Merlin a curious, inquisitive look. As if he was actually wondering if he was going to be joining them.

Merlin sent him a confused look back. “I thought I needed a set of armor.” He replied, gesturing at the other knights.

“We’re just practicing at the moment. We usually take our armor off during practice, especially on hot days like this.” Tadeus explained, gesturing at the other knights with his head. True to his word, a lot of the other knights were beginning to take off their gloves and armor, and some even their underlayers and shirts. “Besides, we’ll go easy on you.” He said with a smirk, before turning away.

“Come on,” Dinadan held out the quarterstaff for Merlin to take. “Let’s see what you got.”

Merlin gripped the pole with a smile, hopping to his feet. 

Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Morgana could hear the sounds of wood clashing and men talking long before she could see them. 

The stone balcony overlooking the training area was bustling with servants, squires, and any of the few remaining members of nobility that hadn’t decided to flee alongside their prince that fateful night. Many of them she did not heed any mind, but they most certainly heeded her, quickly scuttling to get out of the way of her and the guards that trailed behind her.

No, Morgana’s attention was on the training courtyard, and the absolutely massive gaggle of ladies and maids gathered around to take in the view below.

Sure, Morgana had seen ladies do this back in Camelot, every once and a while she was one of those ladies. She was known to occasionally stop by and taunt Arthur’s way about his teaching prowess or his technique, always with Gwen by her side. She would even occasionally throw words of encouragement some of the younger knights’ way, or even Merlin’s way if he was being used as target practice that day. 

Five or ten was most common for such groups of women ogling well-toned knights, but this time? There had to be at the very minimum fifteen fine young ladies and handmaidens, if not more. Each one giggling and whispering to one another like little maids at the market, filled to the brim with gossip. Something down in the courtyard was really garnering their attention, and that perked Morgana’s interest. 

The closer and closer Morgana got to the group, the more and more she could hear their whispers. They weren't as quiet as they thought they were being, especially as another wave of not-so-suppressed giggles passed through them. If the men down in the courtyard could hear them, she wouldn’t be surprised.

Holding back for just a moment, she let herself listen to their gossip.

“I heard he used to be a peasant boy before Uther hired him to be his son’s personal secret guard, pretending to be a manservant so he could go everywhere with him.” A lady in a bright peony pink gown whispered behind her hand fan to her maid, her translucent veil embroidered with dainty flowers held in place by a simple silver circlet. 

“No, no, I heard he belonged to King Cenred’s court before he became Arthur’s personal manservant and that they trained in the dead of night, under the cover of darkness.” Another lady in simple blue cotton-like gown with simple white lace trim piped up in reply, her fan beating rapidly to keep the heat from her face.

“I heard they did more than just training,” A maid piped up from beside her lady. “A little sausage sword fighting, if you get my drift.” She sent her lady a cheesy grin. Her lady, in response, gave her a gentle sister-like smack on the arm.

“I don’t care what he did with the King of Camelot, he’s got some serious back muscles.” One of the further ahead ladies proclaimed, giving the ladies in the back a smirk.

“Oh, he can throw me over his shoulder any day of the week.”

A louder wave of ‘ooohs’ and surprised giggles passed through the crowd, gathering Morgana’s attention once more. Something was going on down there, and Morgana was curious.

With a halting hand behind her, Morgana took a step forward into the crowd, leaving her guards behind. “What’s going on?” She asked the closest maid, a young woman who looked to be the oldest of the group. Slightly older than the Queen, she had mouse brown hair and bright blue eyes, a strong dash of freckles flicked across her face like someone had dipped the end of a paintbrush in brown paint and quickly ran their thumb over it to spray her face with color.

The maid turned in surprise, gasp caught in her throat and eyes were blown wide for just a moment. “Oh, your majesty!” She cried out before forcing her voice back down. She gave a small curtsey in return, garnering the attention of a few of the ladies and maids around them. “The future king and that knight from Camelot are working with our knights.”

“And shirts are getting taken off,” Another louder, bolder voice called out from the front, from one of the maids leaning against the railing. Bolder, less afraid to show her amusement. 

Okay, now Morgana had to go see. 

With certain strides and barely a brush against shoulders, Morgana cut the wave of ladies in two, and with careful fingers she leaned against the balcony, allowing herself to see what was going on down below. What fear the ladies and maids had for their Queen did not last long before they closed in behind her, all jostling to get a view.

A flush of pink crossed her cheeks. Damn, they weren’t kidding.

In the growing heat of the summer day, many of the knights had taken off their armor in an attempt to cool off. Of course, as their training went on, perhaps because of the large crowd of single ladies they had gathered with their training, many of them had started to take off their doublets and even their shirts. 

Every single one of them, fit as a fiddle, an absolute buffet for the eyes. Firm muscles glistening in a sheen of sweat, biceps and forearms, six packs and pecks, shoulders and necks, backs and thin waists trailing down to their pants. A plenitude of fine bachelors for single ladies to gawk and gaze over. Even Mordred could be included in such a group, having long since grown from a small child into almost a fine young adult. The perfect specimen for any maid his age to gawk over.

But Morgana had her eyes on one and one alone.

When Merlin first arrived in Camelot, and really the only time Morgana ever properly noticed him, he was not much more than a walking stick bug. A combination of not being done with puberty yet and life on the farm not doing him well left the young man not much to work with. His cheeks bordered on being hallowed, and his cheekbones poked out like knives, making his large ears all the more prominent and awkward. His fingers were thin, and more often than not Morgana would catch him trying to keep them warm. Any time she would brush fingers with him, they would be as cold as ice. His fashionable baggy clothes could only do so much to hide the fact that if he took off his shirt he was one missed meal away from showing his ribs and how sharp his elbows were. It was a miracle sometimes that he wouldn’t collapse out of exhaustion, or that he could even keep up with Arthur. Honestly, Morgana should have seen it as one of the first signs he had magic, as no normal man with that little muscle mass could have kept up with Arthur ‘I haven’t missed arm and leg day since I was eight’ Pendragon for hours on end every day without eventually dying.

She knew that he had changed over the years, she could tell that the moment he walked into her tent all those weeks ago. His cheeks had filled out ever so slightly, and his skin became a healthy light pink. Still pale, but not borderline sickly. His hair was fluffier too, healthier, yet still neatly trimmed. There was nothing that could be done with his cheekbones or ears, they were downright supernatural, but at least they weren’t almost sticking out of his face like needles anymore. Not to mention she could feel some muscle under the thin fabric of his poor linen shirt, could see it in how he filled out his baggy clothes, but she never had a full view of how much he had changed.

Now it was very, very clear. Arthur hadn’t been leaving his manservant in the dust since day one. The boy had grown into a very, very fine young man.

From what she could see, which was quite a lot, his body was lean. Not skinny, lean. He had muscle, oh most definitely, but it wasn’t like the muscle Arthur or the other knights had. He had smooth abs and a toned stomach, carved back muscles, and a delicious neck built for speed. Smooth and near hairless, besides a thin strip of hair underneath his navel leading below his pant line. The only thing that still remained familiar to his upbringing in a farming village was his biceps and fairly broad shoulders, no longer bony but very well toned. He was like a fine filet mignon, or a well trained cheetah. Lean, almost lithe, compact, and yet built. He wasn’t  as beefy as those knights he was so fond of as friends, but that didn’t mean he was going to be left in the dust. Oh, most certainly not.

The changes weren’t just physical either. He was standing taller, his shoulders back, head held high. Off to the side of the training circle, he swung the wooden staff in his hand around fluidly and with ease, not stumbling over it like the fool she was so familiar with. He was confident, proud, strong down to his soul.

To Morgana, he was acting like he was in the right place to be. He acted as he belonged. No longer held down by Arthur, he could show just who he really was, what he really was. That he had every right to be here and train with these men as any other knight. No, as more than a knight.

A king.

Morgana smirked to herself. However, the more and more she took in the view, the more and more she saw. The more she realized.

In the noonday sun, bare and shirtless, even if they were small and almost impossible to see from such a distance, there was little Merlin could do to hide his injuries. His old scars.

A round stab wound of a scorpion’s sting, buried in his back. Tucked amongst smooth skin, a very old, well-tended to burn scar planted directly on his chest, faint and nearly invisible. A small round scar on the back of his neck, where the Formorroh had buried itself and had been dug out. A dozen faint, thin, silvery scars of blades, arrows, animal claws, and more dragged across his skin, tucked away in the most inconspicuous of places all over his body. Thrown over his shoulder, swiped around his side, scattered across his chest. All this paired with a fine dose of dark purple and green bruises covering his body, all from their fight almost a week ago. 

Beaten and battered, and yet still standing strong.

This young man was not grown, he was forged.

Morgana lifted her head high, cheeks flushed. She blinked a couple of times. None of the scars or bruises seemed to hold Merlin back or give him any pain, but it was still something she had to file away. The biggest question that sprung to her mind was why hadn’t he healed those wounds yet? He had the magic to do it, he should be able to do it with ease. True, Morgana knew from personal experience that scars were harder to fix, even with spells, but he was Emrys for Pete’s sake. There was no way that stubborn mentor of his wouldn’t have taught him how to heal all those wounds when they were fresh and far easier to heal. Or better yet, how would he not have found it out by himself? He knew magic, so why?

But that was a question for another day. Merlin’s turn was up, and he was sparring off against another one of the other shirtless knights. A quite handsome young man with mouse brown hair and a bright young chin. 

Stepping into the ring, with natural ease Merlin twirled the quarterstaff around with one hand. With a smirk, he called out something to his opponent, a jest no doubt, but Morgana couldn’t hear it over the high-pitched giggling and whispers around her. Whoever the other knight was, the ladies were also a fan. 

With a tip of her head, Morgana watched as the captain of the knights, one of the only ones still dressed in his impressive armor, raised his hand, hand straight, ready to drop in a slicing motion. The two steadied their stance, readying their grips on their staffs, not once taking their eyes away from the other.

The air held tense for a moment, and then it fell. “Start!”

At that, the two were off. Before their eyes, the two men went at it, their quarterstaffs clacked and clashed. Twirling around, back and forth, striking at one another with practiced ease. It was clear that Merlin was acting as the defense, but it seemed intentional on his part. Every time the captain nodded, the two changed roles, changing between offense and defense. Nod, Merlin’s taking offense, nod, Merlin’s taking defense, nod Merlin’s on offense again. Swinging his staff with practiced talent, striking at the knight with ease. Nothing too complex compared to what the other knights did, but nothing too elementary either. 

Crack! Crack! Crack!

With a nod, they changed their moves, Merlin’s careful yet experienced hands slipped against the smooth wood into a wider stance, ready to defend himself. He took a neat step back, then another, letting himself be struck against. Not one staff strike went against his body, all of them went against the weapon he held.

It was by the twentieth strike that the captain held up his hand, fist tight, silently ordering them to come to a halt. The manservant and knight in the circle came to a halt, lowering their staffs to their sides. With the formal order of the captain, the two bowed to one another and began to walk off the field, making room for the next pair to come in and train. The moment they were out of the ring they were smiling and laughing, reaching out to pat each other on the back, like they were already old friends.

Morgana smiled to herself. He seemed to fit in with the knights just fine.

Time to throw some chaos into this party.

“Who knew the manservant of the great King Arthur knew how to fight?” Morgana called out over the courtyard, her voice straight and strong, clear as a smirking bell. 

Everyone looked up from their tasks, in shock. To Morgana’s secret glee, he whirled around the fastest.

He was blushing, his cheeks turning red. His eyes were wide, and Morgana could watch the gears whirling around inside his head as he turned his face towards her. He had to get a handle on himself. He would not make a fool of himself in front of his new friends. He would not make a fool of himself in front of her. He could not afford to, his heart wouldn’t be able to take it. 

She was like something out of a fairytale in the daylight, a haunted, twisted fairytale, but a fairytale nonetheless. Surrounded by the gaggle of giggling maids and ladies, hiding their smiles and cheeks behind their hands and fans, she stood out amongst the rest. Not just by her proud, devilish-like smirk, but in her court-qualifying dark regalia, consisting of just the dark underdress that hugged her very form. Simple, functional, but alluring with its lack of sleeves, revealing her pale arms and shoulders for all the world to see. 

The only one who dared not hide her smirk of satisfaction, the only one who did not dare to look away, was Morgana, and that was just the way she liked it.

Internally, Merlin groaned, like that of an old ship on the sea. Now, Merlin would have thought that this would have been something he could easily recover from, however with a gentle gust of wind, he quickly realized that he had no shirt on.

The blush on his cheeks quickly grew to his ears, and Merlin promptly had the urge to find his shirt. 

Whirling around, Merlin was horrified to see that where he had put his shirt was completely and utterly empty. He could have sworn he had left his shirt on the bench, right next to his bandana…

Merlin didn’t have the time to start scrambling through the shirts on the bench before Mordred jabbed a boney elbow into his side.

“What?” Merlin hissed, sending the younger knight a look.

“She’s waiting for you to respond,” Mordred hissed back, jerking his head towards the balcony.

Merlin whirled around. There, sure enough, was Morgana, waiting expectantly with the most haughty look one could muster, a smirk perfectly placed on her blood colored lips. The kind of look one would make when they knew they were pushing all the right buttons.

“I learn quickly,” Merlin retorted after a moment, ready to reach out and grab at least his bandana to cover himself. “Besides, you already know I can hold my own.”

Morgana’s devilish grin did go away, in fact, it grew just a little bit more. “That I do.” At that, a whisper struck up in the back of her mind, as well as all around her from the ladies and their maids. An idea bloomed, and she wasn’t going to ignore it.

Slipping out of the gaggle of ladies, not once breaking her gaze from Merlin, she carefully lifted the edge of her dark skirt and began to descend the stairs.

“Your majesty?” Sir Hervell asked, waiting for her at the bottom of the steps. The moment she was within distance, he held out his hand for her to take, ready to help her down the final steps like any proper gentleman would. “I didn’t know you were coming by, I would have had my men make themselves a bit more presentable.”

“Thank you, Sir Hervell,” Morgana replied, taking his hand graciously, gently descending into the yard like a rose of darkness. “And nonsense, there’s no need to cover up a good show.” She sent a glimpse and a smirk Merlin’s way before turning up to face the ladies above. “Isn’t that right, ladies?”

The colorful colored ladies and maids above giggled and cheered in delight, some hiding their smiles behind dainty hands and fans, others were not so modest. They looked half ready to offer tokens of appreciation for the men at a moment’s notice, throw their handkerchiefs or their own petticoats to the wind.

Several of the men’s cheeks flushed red, including that of her fiancé, while others absolutely reveled in the attention. Grinning in delight and puffing out their chests, looking more like proud peacocks by the second. The knight Merlin had been sparring with even bowed grandeourously with his staff, much to the delightful cheers of quite a few ladies. Clearly, he was a favorite with them.

Merlin turned his head towards the ground, face towards the gravel. Of course she was going to make an embarrassment of him in front of his new friends, of course she would. But now he had no way to escape, and he still couldn’t find his bloody shirt! He knew he had left it around here somewhere…

But Morgana’s attention was not on him for the moment, it was on the captain beside her. “So, what are we practicing today?” She asked, taking in all of the bare-chested knights before her. Tall and proud, ready to be examined.

“Quarterstaff training, defense,” Hervell explained, walking alongside her, doing his own inspections. Under his gaze, the men stood taller, prouder, shoulders straighter. “We’re halfway through our practice regimen at the moment, shouldn’t be another hour. Then, we’ll work on perfecting our skills.”

Morgana gently nodded. “I see, and what about my fiancé? How’s he holding up?” She turned back to the captain, voice dropping low by the end for only the two of them to hear.

“He’s doing well, getting along well with a few of my men already. The troublemakers and oddballs of my men, but good men.”

Morgana felt a small smirk grow on her lips. So far away from home, and already falling into the same old habits. She couldn’t help but think to herself as she cast her gaze back his way and his continued struggles to find his shirt. Merlin had most certainly had a type.

She turned back to the captain. “And what about combat?” Morgana continued to ask, continuing to keep her voice low. “How’s he doing there?”

“Well I haven’t seen him spar yet —you’re going to need to get him a good set of armor, by the way— but he’s pretty handy with a quarterstaff. King Arthur must have trained him well.” Sir Hervell explained calmly, giving the Queen a certain look. The kind of look one would give someone when they knew they were treading into the touchy territory.

Morgana turned back to look at Merlin. He had partially hidden amongst the throng of his new friends, whispering away about something she couldn’t hear. But the way he stood there he fit in amongst them so well, just how he did with his gaggle of friends back in Camelot. Like he belonged. Although the average height of this group was smaller than that of the knights of Camelot. Blame Perceval for that. 

“Yes, I suppose he has,” Morgana muttered quietly under her breath, before brushing past the captain. “And I suspect he’s making himself at home?”

Merlin shrugged. “As much as I can be, being away from home.” His voice dipped near the sour end of the spectrum as she made her way closer to him. He had given up looking for his shirt now, tucking his hands behind his back.

“Oh come now, don’t be like that. I can already see you’re… fitting in.” She said with a devilish grin, the two knights that were standing in front of Merlin moving off to the side as she made her way closer. She could see his Adam’s apple bob on his neck as he swallowed. He did not dare to glance down at his own half-nakidity.

“Gotta admit, Your Majesty, he knows his way around fighting. Still has a lot to learn before he’s able to defend you if the time ever came.” Sir Tadeus spoke up from the side, finishing sliding his head through a simple dyeless linen shirt, embroidered with grey moons around the collar, much to the disappointment of a few ladies above. 

“Oh I’m sure she doesn’t need that,” Merlin proclaimed, garnering Morgana’s attention once more. “The Queen is quite the swordswoman herself. She can defend herself just fine.”

Morgana sent him a dangerous smile, with just a hint of pain underneath. “Complimenting me already?” She asked, taking another step closer to him.

Merlin shrugged, turning back to the bench to grab his bandana. At least he could cover his neck. “It’s not a compliment if it’s a fact. I’m sure you all knew this already.”

Morgana clicked her tongue, ready to turn away. It was only when he leaned over, side to side, that he muttered, “The knights have deemed it necessary for me to tell you that I need to get a good set of armor.”

“Yes, I’ve heard. And a better fitting shirt, I’m sure.” Morgana replied, taking a glance down at his bare chest with only the slightest of eyebrow wiggle. Even when partially covered with a bandana, he was still a sight to behold; scarred pecs and all.

But Merlin simply rolled his eyes with a light scoff. “Why must you always find it necessary to criticize my style?” He asked, his cheeks beginning to burn under her hungry gaze.

“Because you can do so much better,” Morgana explained with a scoff of exasperation. “I mean I know yellow isn’t exactly your best color, but you can dress better than the same shirt and bandana every day.”

“Don’t diss the bandana.” Merlin quietly proclaimed, where at that he finished tying it off around his neck. “Besides, perhaps I’d try other styles if I ever got set up with that seamstress."

Morgana’s face lit up calmly. “Ah yes, thank you for reminding me.” She reached up and tapped him on the nose with a pointing finger, her smirk returning. “I knew you were good for something.”

“Is that all you need?” Merlin asked, arching her a daring brow.

"For the moment, yes. Although I might need you later.” She said with a wink, before turning and heading back to the captain of her knights. “And I’m sure you’ll take good care of him?” She asked, arching a careful brow.

“I’ll have in him fighting shape by the time your wedding comes around, your majesty.” Sir Hervell proclaimed with a calm smile, “However if you have plans for his training, both in combat and in other fields, may I ask you to run them by me? It takes some time to get a man into knightly shape, and we’re already several years behind.”

“Think you can squeeze the training into a month or two?” Morgana asked with an arching brow. 

“I’ll see what I can do. Figure out where his training is at the moment and go from there.”

“Perhaps your men can help teach him when your schedule is too full?” Morgana couldn’t help but offer.

“Oh no, my schedule isn’t the one that’s going to be too full, it’s his.” The captain gestured his head Merlin’s way. “And you know me, your majesty, I like to train all my men myself.”

A kind smirk grew on Morgana’s lips, keeping her eyes to the floor. “You’re going to be a terrible pain to convince to retire one day, aren’t you?” She proclaimed, looking up at him. 

Hervell couldn’t help the smile that grew on his face. “You’re going to have an easier time killing me, ma’am.”

Morgana let out a small laugh. “You and Merlin both.” She proclaimed, before starting to make her way back towards the stairs.

However, when caught the sight of the barrel half full of quarterstaffs, yet another idea sprung to mind. She smirked, before making her way towards it. “Sir Hervell, how exactly would you determine the skills of a combatant before you continue training?” She asked carefully, reaching out and pulling one of the smooth poles of wood out of the barrel. It was nearly as long as she was tall, the wood sanded down and polished to silky smoothness. 

Morgana planted the pole beside her as she turned back to look over her shoulder, hand placed firmly on her jutted-out hip. It was pretty quiet now in the ring, even by the gaggle of ladies’ standards up above.

Sir Hervell shifted, obviously confused about where she was going with this. “Well, I would start with having him spar with one of my knights and observing his technique with several different weapons, before determining where we need to improve.” Sir Hervell explained, he and the rest of the men watching the Queen run her hand down the thick shaft.

“Could you do that right now?” She asked carefully, glancing at Merlin’s way with a smirk. 

Merlin felt a feeling pool in the bottom of his gut. He already knew where this was going…

Sir Hervell cautiously nodded. “I suppose so, although I would have to get my men into suitable suits of armor…”

“Oh, no need,” Morgana proclaimed as she made her way into the center of the ring, reaching down and pulling the corner of her skirt up and tying it in a knot, allowing people to see her crinolines and her feet. “I’m sure we can work something out. Isn’t that right, Merlin?”

She twirled the quarterstaff elegantly in her hand before gripping it tightly, pointing it Merlin’s way. A few of the knights couldn’t help it but give daring ‘ooh’s’, now as utterly enraptured with what was going on as the ladies above.

“What are you doing?” Merlin couldn’t help but ask with the lightest of hisses, taking a step forward.

Morgana shrugged. “Sparring, of course.” She said with a dark smirk, pulling her hair out of her face with a golden ribbon she procured, her eyes glowing gold for just a moment. Her neck was practically pearlescent in the noon day sun. “It’s been a while since I last sparred. I fear I may be getting rusty.” She said in an overly dramatic tone as if she didn’t believe what she said for one minute.

Merlin scoffed, taking in the swoop of her neck. “Why do I not believe that?” He muttered under his breath but made his way towards the ring regardless. There was an exciting pressure in the air as he stepped up, twirling his quarterstaff as well.

“Your majesty, are you sure you want to do this?” Sir Hervell immediately spoke up, hurrying his way towards the ring. “I mean, I can always have one of my men give an example…”

“No, no, I’ll be fine. Just observe his skills, and report back to me a good training regimen.” Morgana dismissed the knight before raising her quarterstaff before her.

Sir Hervell sighed but did not continue to argue. “Are you ready, Merlin?” He asked cautiously, giving Merlin a look, one that Merlin was sure that if he didn’t want to do this, the head knight would find a way to get him out of there.

But honestly, Merlin was eager for the chance of a rematch, even if it wasn’t magic related. He may not be the most proficient in the weapon, but quarterstaffs were one of his strong suits, even more so than Arthur’s. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but he enjoyed the weapon for its subtle elegance and weight. It got particularly entertaining how Arthur refused to show sparring practices with him anymore with the quarterstaff, simply because he had a good chance of kicking Arthur’s butt with it. 

With a smirk of his own, Merlin twirled his quarterstaff before gripping it with both hands in a ready stance. “Ready.”

Sir Hervell sighed, but stepped out of the ring and raised his hand regardless. The air held eager with excitement, everyone nearby watching with curiosity. Ready to see who would win this match; the Queen or her new groom. Would the newcomer earn his place, or would the Queen defend her title?

With one hand behind his back and the other raised in the air, there was barely a tense moment of silence before Sir Hervell let the hand fall and yelled “Spar!”

And thus, the fight began.

Morgana was quick to take offense, taking advantage of Merlin’s hesitation. She swung at his head, missing it by inches before Merlin returned in kind. He slammed the tip of her quarterstaff into the dust with one end of his staff before quickly closing the space between them, attempting to smack her in the shoulder with the other. He just missed it, however, when Morgana scrambled backward, followed then by her attempting to swing upwards between his legs, Merlin only just leaped out of the way in time.

The crowd oohed, watching the two circle another. Merlin widened his grip on his quarterstaff, a determined glare in his eye. Morgana merely smirked, swirling her staff around, 3before taking the attack once more, their quarterstaffs crashing once more.

Klack! Klack! Klack! Klack!

Merlin had to admit, the longer they fought, the more times she swung at him, the more he noticed there was more to her in this fight. There was an inner, frustrated rage in the way that she swung, one that she kept contained as best she could. For what reason, Merlin was unsure, but it didn’t seem to be exactly aimed at him. No, he was just her punching bag.

It was only when Merlin could feel the rush of air as the end of her quarterstaff rushed by his face that he decided to start taking this seriously. He wasn’t her punching bag, he wasn’t her anything. If Morgana wanted him to be her fiance, then she better learn that she couldn’t just smack him around however she liked.

Smacking her pole away, he swung for her knee, making her stumble back in surprise. Swinging again, he knocked her pole away, regaining the ground he had lost. He slid through the dust, trying to get for her back, constantly keeping her on her toes. She ducked, blocked, slid out of the way. Every strike he could see more and more frustration grow in her eyes, and yet he did not stop. 

He just fought back, again and again, until he had her against the ring’s edge. One more knock and he’d knock her out of the ring, claiming victory.

Hoping to push her out, Merlin tried to shove her, but Morgana was prepared. With a loud 'klack!', the the two were pressed together, quarterstaffs locked together in the strike. Equal pressure on both sides, trying to push the other off.

It was only then that Merlin noticed that scent again. That deep, amber-like smell, the one he smelled in her tent and similar to her perfume the night before. Like a ribbon of red silk and velvet, it filled his mind. Like wine as deep and powerful as wine the color of garnet, or a warm fireplace lighting up a room in the single hours of the night, when only those filled with lust and desire are awake.

Still trying to press her off, Merlin couldn’t help but look down at her lips for a moment, wondering if it would be wrong to lean down for a kiss…

He must have relaxed into the movement, because it didn’t take a moment longer until those very same lips smirked, and Merlin was knocked back, hard. Merlin let out a yelp, stumbling, tripping, and eventually falling into the dust.

The crowd around them erupted into applause, politely congratulating the Queen on her skills. Some were disappointed, but they were going to be disappointed either way. No matter who fell, one of them was going to be made a fool. 

Morgana let out a huff of exhilaration, breathing hard as she brushed the dark locks of hair out of her face with a smile. “How was that, Sir Hervell?” She asked with a dark smile, turning towards the older knight.

“Very good, your majesty, although next time may I suggest you not knock my men around?” Sir Hervell replied, watching as his new queen made her way towards Merlin.

“I’ll try to keep that in mind,” Morgana replied with a chuckle, before leaning over the still collapsed Merlin. 

Merlin groaned in pain, sitting up on his elbows before the bemused look of Morgana blocked out the sun. He really should be getting used to having his ass be knocked around.

“Having fun down there?” Morgana asked, towering over him with a smirk. The sun gave her a halo of light, like a sinister angel. 

“No,” Merlin groaned, sending her a small glare. “You know, I don’t think sparring includes knocking someone out.”

“Well next time, don’t be so focused on your opponent’s lips to not pay attention to what they’re doing.” She replied with a smirk, and with that, tapped him on the forehead with the end of her staff, giving him a resounding ‘bonk!’

“ Ow.” Merlin winced, although it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as having the wind knocked out of him.

Morgana, on the other hand, merely smiled at Sir Hervell as she slipped the quarterstaff back into the collection barrel. “I’m sure you’ll help him improve his skills before the wedding?”

Sir Hervell just smiled and lightly bowed. “Most certainly. Although, I don’t think all of his faults exactly have to do with combat…” He gave a gentle nod in Merlin’s direction, who was now being helped to his feet by Dinadan and Mordred. 

“Are you saying he was going easy on me?” 

“I’m saying you have your charms, Your Majesty.” Sir Hervell covered eloquently, before guiding her to the stairs. “Now, I hate to send you off, but we really must be getting back to our training.”

“Oh very well. But you will update me on his progress as it comes in, correct?”

“I’m sure he will be able to defeat even you and King Arthur alone by the time I’m done with him.” Sir Hervell said with pride, right as Morgana started back up the stairs.

“I look forward to it.” She replied, before leaving the men to their devices.

It was only when the Queen was gone that Hervell turned back to the knights. “Take five, everyone, then we’ll pick back up where we left off. Manassel, Rigal, you’re up next.” He ordered, before hurrying off to talk to one of the servants standing off to the side.

The moment he did, the group descended into idle chatter, searching for water, food, and places to sit.

“Gotta admit, don’t like her one bit, but you two have some serious chemistry.” Dinadan proclaimed, bringing his wooden stein to his lips. 

Merlin nearly choked on his drink. Him? Her? “Wait, what? No, no. No way. No.” The only thing he reminded himself of was injuries and fights, hiding away all of the fading fond memories he had of her behind aches, pains, and scars. 

Dinadan wasn’t the only one of the knights to arch a brow at him. Not that Merlin noticed, but regardless.

“You know, you all would have made an excellent knight in Camelot,” Merlin proclaimed, desperate the change the subject, giving Dinadan and Tadeus a look. 

Gareth arched a brow. “Really?”

“Really. King Arthur will let any man become a knight, so long as they prove themselves worthy first. Only the best and most loyal will do.”

“Huh. So why he’d never make you a knight?”

The knights nearby chuckled, but it was a serious chuckle. Genuinely curious about the answer Merlin had to say.

Merlin shrugged. “He never asked.” He proclaimed, before raising his stein to his lips. 

“Well, that’s dumb.” Gareth proclaimed from the other side, sinking his teeth into an apple. “You’re clearly talented enough, and you definitely have the heart of one.”

“To be fair, the knights did ask Arthur to give me such a title,” Merlin said with a shrug.

“Your brother nearly threatened Arthur to make it happen.” Mordred proclaimed, sitting down beside Merlin. “Perceval nearly begged.”

“So why not?” Gareth asked, taking a sip of his water, “If there was such approval, why not become one of his knights?”

Merlin shrugged. “It’s just not where my talents are interested in.” 

“I think Arthur just didn’t want to separate from his precious manservant.” Mordred proclaimed in an overly dramatic voice.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Arthur just didn’t want me getting hurt, that’s all.”

“Yeah, and how well did that do for you?” Mordred asked, gesturing at Merlin’s body. Even with how small and faint they were, his scars were still noticeable by the most observant. 

“Well imagine how much worse it would be if I was a knight, having to go on patrols and running the chance of getting into a fight every day. Hm?” Merlin equally retorted, arching a brow at the young man. 

“At least you’d get a set of armor, and some proper combat training.”

“And what good would that do me?”

“I don’t know, perhaps you’d become perceptive enough to figure out where your shirt went.” Mordred proclaimed, before reaching behind him and pulling out the red piece of simple linen fabric, the very shirt that Merlin had been looking for.

Merlin immediately snatched it into his hands, sending an annoyed look Mordred’s way. The rest of the knights chuckled, amused. It was a good day when one could get two pranks in. 

Above them, their Queen continued to watch Merlin jest with the knights, laughing about something she could not hear. 

She had to admit, a part of her was glad he was getting along so well with them. It would help him settle in easier if he had friends. 

However, it took a cunning mind to know a cunning mind, and Morgana knew that Merlin still had those plans to get rid of her still stuck in the back of his head. Carefully searching for that perfect loophole, a flaw in her armor. He was ambitious, determined that way, cunning, stubborn, merciless, and almost selfish in another. The ambition was a noble, useful trait to have, but damn if it didn’t get annoying from time to time. The same went for obsessiveness and manipulation; excellent traits for someone who needed to get a job done, but terrible for someone trying to pull their head out of their butts. 

He was like a snake hiding in the grass; an excellent predator, if you are not the prey.

She had hoped that if she showed how life could be for him, then perhaps he could lighten up. He’s here for her benefit, for her use, but that didn’t mean that he was going to get nothing out of this little arrangement either. She’s just the one to gain more out of this than he was. 

But perhaps that was going to be a bit more difficult than it looked. 

Morgana sighed for the fifteenth time in the past five minutes. She would reach up and rub her temple, but doing so would actively show her annoyance. 

I had to get out of lunch early for this? She thought to herself, where annoyed would be an understatement to describe her mood.

Prince Avenis of Schuwake of the family Karehet, fourth son of King Renaus and eighth in the lineage overall. A bland, unassuming man, he was a bit pudgy, obviously well fed, face round and cheeks puffy, head topped with a mess of mousy, muddy red hair carefully slicked back. Judging by the hairline alone he had to be five or so years older than herself. His clothes were ornate yet unimpressive, the best thing he had in his closet that didn’t quite exactly fit him anymore. The two guards he had with him were dressed in old and meager armor, were also equally out of shape, and did not look to be half as interested in keeping their payer protected. The only thing that took this man from unassuming to disturbing was how wet his lips were, grossly shining in the light from the outside world. Morgana didn’t need for him to even speak for her to know he was not someone she wanted to talk to, and the moment he opened his overly wet mouth confirmed it.

“It would be my honor to offer to take your hand in marriage in these uncertain times.”  He continued to proclaim, his overly dressed arm waving around in the air, but Morgana was barely paying attention at this point.

Where is that blasted idiot? Morgana thought to herself, drumming her fingers carefully against the edge of her seat. I summoned him nearly fifteen minutes ago! 

Now, Morgana had a plan when she had come into this meeting, a careful, yet fairly obvious plan. It wasn’t a complex plan, or even a difficult one, but like he always did, Merlin was already messing it up for her. One of the many, many reasons Morgana insisted for Merlin to be in Amata so early before their wedding was to chase off creeps such as Prince Avenis, who are the biggest annoyance and frustration to her plans and her business. Every single one of their begging requests for her to change her mind and marry them instead wasted valuable time and resources, not just for her, but for her servants and her advisors well. Valuable resources that she could be using to forge this kingdom in her image, or even to just get another hour of sleep, and she would not have it anymore. 

Her plan had been that as soon as she explained that she already had a fiancé and showed proof of it, Prince Avenis would back off and send the message around to his other greedy friends, finally seeing their prospects were fruitless and would turn their gaze elsewhere. However, that required Merlin actually being there. She had invited Merlin to lunch after she finished with her meetings, but he never showed up. That was all fine for her, but when Prince Avenis demanded that they get on with the meeting, she sent Merlin a more urgent invitation, and yet still he did not join her. Now when she really needed him, he was nowhere to be seen. 

For the goddess’s sake, Merlin, just because I beat you doesn’t mean you need to be sore about it… Morgana thought to herself, sending a glare towards the door. She was beginning to lose faith that he was going to show up at all. 

She took a careful breath. “Prince Avenis, I can appreciate your eagerness,” She proclaimed carefully, trying to plaster on her best smile, “But it seems that you are mistaken from the last few letters I sent; I’m not interested.”

Her proclamations, however, did not deter the prince in the slightest. In fact, he seemed to double down more.

“Of course, but you are an unmarried Queen, are you not? Surely you are in need of some way of… securing your lineage to the throne.” Prince Avenis continued, casting his gaze over her like she was some sort of honey-baked ham. He was so close to licking his overly wet lips that Morgana felt a disgusting chill roll down her spine.

Fortunately, she was not the only one disgusted by this move, as one of her guards leaned down to whisper in her ear, resulting in her only tilting her head. “Shall I have him escorted out for the day?” The soldier asked softly, gesturing at the prince with his eyes.

“No, no. He’ll only come back tomorrow.” Morgana hissed with a slight level of bitterness. “But have one of the maids go looking for my fiancé again, he was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. And don’t let him be able to turn it down.”

The soldier nodded. “Yes, your majesty.” He replied before he hurried off to go find a maid. 

Morgana turned back to the prince before her, plastering on her smile again. “Prince Avenis,” She proclaimed, leaning forward against the table, carefully folding her fingers over one another. “You’re not helping your case here. I told you I’m not interested. I would hope that a… gentleman, such as yourself, would respect such decisions of a queen.”

“And I heard you, Your Majesty, but I believe you may want to hear me out.” The prince proclaimed, his voice turning low, his measly attempt to make himself dark and dangerous. He shifted his pudgy body, and leaned carefully against the table, attempting to copy her actions by folding his fingers over one another. “I know about your past, the rumors.” He began, sending her a careful look. On anyone else, she would think the look would be dangerous, but on him, it was laughable. 

Morgana had to work hard not to smirk, or even let out an exhale of a snort. “Oh? Such as what?” She asked with mock curiosity.

“Just your murderous tendencies, the way you killed not only King Uther, but King Sarum and innocent people as well." Morgana lightly flinched. "Your ruthless ways of taking over kingdoms. The way you convince people to join your side… no matter the cost.” He gave her a brow wiggle, insinuating more he was careful to not say. “Impressive, if not reputation tarnishing. Now I assume that not all of them are true, you wouldn’t be standing here today if they were, but you do not have a favorable reputation, my Queen.”

Morgana tilted her head carefully, taking him in. While yes, she did hope to improve her reputation, she did not hope to do so by burying her past. She hoped to do so by proving her point right to everyone who had ever considered her actions wrong, to do better in the future by doing what she wanted, not anyone else. To build a land where magic users and those who worship such magic, like herself, would have a free place to do so. That the pages of history would look back on her and say, 'yes, she did some bad things, but the good she did in return was worth it'. 

However, there were other ways for a woman to improve her reputation, faster, cheaper, but were not... ideal for Morgana, and she had a sneaking suspicion that that was what he was aiming for. 

“And how would you suggest I remedy my 'tarnished reputation'?” Morgana asked, trying hard not to glare.

It seemed to have worked, as the prince eagerly shifted in his seat. “Well, there are many things a Queen such as yourself can do, one of which including marrying someone of a more… favorable reputation.” The prince smirked to himself, as if he had said something clever. He licked his lips again. “Now of course it will be a blemish on my own reputation, but I’m sure people will be willing to overlook that once we get married and you settle into your role.”

“My role?” Morgana repeated, arching a brow. 

“Why yes, as the mother of our children, caretaker of this castle.” Morgana felt sick to her stomach. “I’m sure once we have a couple of kids your reputation will be right on track. However, we’ll have to get started sooner rather than later. I mean, your prime is already behind you! Of course, I’m willing to overlook that…”

Morgana could no longer hold back her ire. She felt a deep scowl burrow across her face. At first, she was annoyed by the man, despised him, but now she just downright hated him. While she did not mind and quite liked the idea of having kids of her own one day, the way this man described it made Morgana know that she would have no say in the whole process. She would be stripped of what power she had worked so hard to get, and reduced to nothing more than a silent pretty face and a baby-making machine. 

She was not going to let that happen. 

If she was going to relinquish even a crumb of her power, it would be to someone she specifically chose, perhaps even someone she believed deserved it. Someone who she believed that she could easily take it back from, or someone who was just unaware of the power she was willing to give him. Someone who could give her that better reputation, but not by her having to latch onto his good reputation. No, someone who, when given the chance, proves himself just as good as the rest. Who is smart, wise, cunning, and ambitious in all the right ways. A partner who shared her vision of making their small part of the world a better place.

That was not this man. This man was a fool. A greedy pig who only craved power and would squander and waste it once he had it, and if it weren’t for the fact that it would be an absolute mess to clean up for the maids and would leave a terrible stench for days, Morgana have already blasted prince Avenis into a billion tiny pieces. 

She could do so much better than this man, and in a way, she already had.

Well, Morgana thought she had, but he was taking so long to get there! If there was ever a time when she needed Merlin to show his rebellious side, now would not be the time. Not that she dare think it, but she needed him. This meeting would have been done twenty minutes ago and with much less annoyance if he were here when she asked. If he were here, she could get back to what she wanted to do, and be rid of this issue once and for all.

Well if Merlin is going to be a sour puss about all this, then I’ll have to do it myself, Morgana thought as she adjusted in her seat.

“Prince Avenis, while I appreciate the offer,” Morgana let out of her dangerous grin, the one she reserved for those who needed to know quite fast that they needed to leave sooner rather than later, “I was hoping not to stain your honor. I have already picked a future husband for myself, and I will not be reconsidering.”

The prince recoiled, eyes wide in surprise. Insult was evident, but he was trying to hide it. However, he was nowhere near as good at the task as others she knew.

The prince coughed, adjusted his shoulders, and regathered himself. He licked his lips nervously. “I see. M-may I ask who?” He asked carefully, hands gathering on his lap. He looked ready to go find this proposed fiancé and see if he was worthy enough to fight, or back down.

Morgana was about to open her mouth and say that he wasn’t here, that he was currently dealing with other important matters, but at that moment a door to the meeting opened with a creak. Everyone looked up right as Merlin walked in through the side door, cleaned up, dressed in a new set of humble clothes, and carrying a book. His back was hunched, his head was down, looking no better than an invisible servant again. None of the confidence or show of worth he had on display when he was working with the knights was to be seen. Like he was back in his old humble servant guise, like he knew he didn’t belong.

But for Morgana, a humble servant Merlin was better than no Merlin.

“Merlin,” Morgana immediately proclaimed with perhaps too much eagerness, her gaze completely set his way. There was almost a bright shine, relief in her eyes. Finally, he was here!

As fast as the light grew in her eyes, the prince was suddenly judging him, and Merlin suddenly felt like he was under fire. 

“Hello?” He asked, eyeing them both with an arched brow. He felt like he had walked into a conversation of people talking about him. Which, in some ways, he suppose they were.

“Him?” The prince asked Morgana with such a tone of disgust that it could be felt in the air. Like a slime, or a smog. Thick hanging, disgusting, wanting nothing to do with it. 

But Morgana was having none of it. “Yes, him.” At that, she promptly hopped from her seat and hurried to his side, looping her arm through his own with such speed it surprised the manservant, leaning in close to the point where he could smell her illustrious perfume again. “We just announced our engagement last night, I apologize that the news didn’t reach you sooner.” She continued to explain, trying to force a happy grin on her lips.

Merlin was so surprised by the grin on Morgana’s lips and the tightness with which she clung to his arm that he didn’t know what to think. Obviously, whoever this person was annoyed her so much that she was willing to cling to him like a life preserver. He didn’t know what that could mean, but he was not one willing to find out. He had to do something, at least.

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve met.” Merlin proclaimed, before unceremoniously tucking his book between his legs and holding out his wrong hand to shake with the prince, his other arm still tightly being held in Morgana’s clutches. 

The prince only arched a muddy brow at the hand, not even moving to take it. “I see,” He proclaimed disgustedly, before straightening himself out, turning back to Morgana. “What are his credentials, his family lineage? What land does he come from for him to have such egregious manners to a member of royalty?”

Merlin felt himself recoil. For all of his years working with Arthur, he had never been so… looked over in his entire life. Like he was less than the loose chicken bones left after a feast. “I—.”

“What his credentials are do not matter, Prince Avenis,” Morgana cut Merlin off, shifting herself forward as if in a way to put Merlin out of harm’s way, “what matters is that he is my fiancé, and I will not be reconsidering.”

Prince Avenis scoffed. “What does he give you? What advantage does this poor pauper bring to your kingdom?” He demanded, gesturing Merlin’s way.

Morgana’s already cold glare immediately turned frosty. With ease, she slipped out of Merlin’s grip and started walking slowly towards the prince, not once breaking eye contact. Judging by the prince’s wide eyes and scuffling backward towards his own bodyguards, he was intimidated by it. 

“What he offers, Prince Avenis of Schuwake, is a crucial alliance between my kingdom and the kingdom of Camelot, which is incredibly advantageous to me. Completely unlike your kingdom, whose one of the smallest on the mainland and hasn’t been able to win a war since your father became a drunken coward and his middle son having no spine, because oh yes, I know about your past too.” Her eyes carefully narrowed, not looking away once. 

The prince leaned back in shock, sputtering. “Why I oughta—.”

“What? You’re going to what?” Morgana couldn’t help the grin that came to her lips. “You are in my land, Prince Avenis, you hold no power here, and even if you did, your power would be so menial and useless that even the lowest scullery maid would laugh in your face.” She came to a stop so close to him he nearly tripped and fell onto the floor. It was evident that she was just as tall as the man, and with her heels, even taller. With a final glare, turned cooly back to the men standing behind her seat. “Guards, get this man out of my sight. He is no longer welcome in my kingdom.” 

Her two guards bowed. “Yes, your majesty,” They replied at the same time, before turning to the prince.

But the prince stood his ground, his mouth turned into a sort of furious pout. Before the guards could even get their hands on him, he flinched them away, adjusting his ill-fitting coat as he turned to the door. “This isn’t over, you selfish whore.” He proclaimed, pointing a finger at her.

“Oh, I think it is.” Morgana calmly replied with a smirk, before calmly turning back to her guards. “Feel free to manhandle him as much as you need, gentlemen. Just don’t get his pretty coat all messed up.”

The prince did not like this, continuing to struggle against the guards, his own guards unable to do anything to stop them. He continued to scream obscenities and curses at Morgana long after the door was closed and he was dragged down the hall. It was only when neither of the two could hear him that either one of them spoke up.

“Well, he was nice.” Merlin muttered sarcastically. Morgana scoffed, turning back to her seat at the table. “You needed to see me?” He asked, arching a brow.

“Yes, about twenty minutes ago,” Morgana explained in a calm tone as she reached the table, sending him a glare. “One of the many reasons why you are here, Emrys , is to keep men like him at bay. I would hope next time when I tell you to come, you come.”

“That could be worded better.” Merlin muttered under his breath, adjusting the book in his arm.

Morgana’s nose wrinkled. “You have been hanging around the knights too much.” She replied, between settling down in her seat.

“I only met them today.”

“I mean in Camelot as well.” Morgana replied with a scowl, before adjusting the papers that sat on the table before her. She had to get ready for her next meeting, she did not need to be arguing with him.

Merlin rolled his eyes, but did not move to leave or please. “You know, considering your reputation, I’m surprised men are even asking for your hand in marriage.” He retorted, putting his book down on the table. 

Morgana paused. She opened her mouth to say something, but it was a moment’s pause before she continued. “Have you ever heard of Queen Olga of Kiev?” She asked carefully, malachite eyes boring into him.

Merlin reluctantly shrugged. “The Viking Queen whose husband was torn in half length-wise by their enemies, and who she absolutely decimated in return?”

Morgana half smirked. “So you do know some history.” Merlin shrugged. “She’s been canonized as a saint now. The patron saint of widows and converts.”

“And revenge, I’m sure.” Merlin continued sardonically. “A patron saint you would enjoy.”

Morgana chose to ignore his comment. “When she was alive, Queen Olga got marriage proposals all over the place. She turned them all down, even escaped an offer by making the offerer her godfather.” She continued to explain, tucking her hands in front of her.

“Smart lady.”

“Emrys, I know you are not, how shall I say, the average man,” She smirked to herself at her own joke, “and are not quite so interested in power, but when it comes to most men, those who are greedy for power will do anything to get it, even attempt to marry a dangerous foe.”

“As I saw.” Merlin muttered under his breath as he picked up his book to turn away, choosing to ignore the irony of her words.

“Merlin, I mean it. Next time I summon you—.” 

“I’ll come sweaty and disheveled at your beck and call.” Merlin finished for her, coming to a halt to look her dead in the eye. 

Morgana felt a small smirk crawl to her lips. “So long as you have your pants on, I don’t entirely mind.” She replied her graze trawling over him for a moment, taking him completely in. “Now if you excuse me, I have paperwork I need to attend to, and I’m sure Sir Hervell has some more workouts for you.”

Morgana didn’t even need to look up to see the dismayed look cross Merlin’s face. “Yes, your majesty,” Merlin muttered under his breath, before turning to walk out the door. So much for being helpful. “Have a good afternoon.”

Morgana didn’t say anything in response, but she sure did watch him walk away. Watch him walk into the light of the castle, the last thing she saw was his retreating back. The way his hands casually shoved their way into his pocket, the way he carried himself so flawlessly. For a long moment, she couldn’t get the idea of his delicious bare back out of her mind. How he hid his body so well under those poor clothes. It was a shame that he hid himself away, mind and soul as well under a blanket of self doubt. 

Despite his proclamations (and she must admit, her own as well), he was far more than just a measly manservant. He was more than that, heart and soul. She had to admit, things around him just felt easier, the air around him felt lighter. Even in his constantly annoyed mood, he always made her feel better, ever so slightly. Like his very magic lifted a burden from her shoulders just by being in the room with her. Like she actually enjoyed bickering with him, an equal to wrestle with. 

Or perhaps he was just easy pickings, the easiest toy of which she can get the most satisfying reaction out of. But whatever it was, whenever she was around him she could feel the walls, the identity she worked so hard to perfect, both crumble and solidify. She was who she wanted to be around him. 

He was useful, but he was far from perfect. Far from where he needs to be. If he was going to be royalty, then he needed to start acting like it. Start carrying himself like one, start presenting like one, start talking like one. He needed to be more than just a manservant, he needed to be a royal. A king. 

She needed to get him into shape.

Chapter Text

Merlin thought he knew Morgana. 

They were good friends once, after all, and even when they weren’t, he still knew her well. But just this past week that was proven wrong to him.

There was something different about her, something Merlin could see and guess, but could not understand. Some days Morgana seemed to be her usual, ten-steps-ahead self with her demon-like smirks. But in just a snap of her fingers, such a state would disappear. Harmless things, small things could set her off with no rhyme or reason, leaving her in either a fury or her leaving the room at a moment’s notice. Some days she wanted everyone’s eyes on her and dressed to impress as if to shame Aphrodite herself. On other days she wanted no one to see her. There were even moments when Merlin was sure that Morgana was pretending that he didn’t even exist. She let almost no one touch her, and those who did were usually women. But even then those were few and far between. 

When he found her outside in the western courtyard that day, he could tell that it was one of those days where she wanted no one to see her.

Aithusa didn’t like coming to this area, the area he now knew was nicknamed ‘The Gateway to Hell’, always stopping by the doorway with a whine before coming to a halt. Sure, Merlin could order her to come along, but he would never do that to her. Not with those big kicked puppy dog eyes. That just seemed wrong.

Merlin had to admit, the area gave him the willies. While he wouldn’t exactly avoid this part of the castle, he also wasn’t particularly interested in getting close either. But for Merlin, curiosity got the better of him every time. It was like a rough, angry, out-of-place scar compared to the beauty of the castle. A black smudge of coal against a masterpiece. The embodied difference between angelic, holy good, and demonic evil.

He was curious, as he was every time. 

The wind blew hollow when it flowed through. All color seemed sucked out of the area, the whole world somewhat dead. Chains hung loosely off of planks of dark wood, machines of destruction long since falling silent. Deep, steep holes littered the area, resembling the remains of someone attempting to find the right spot to dig a well and didn’t bother to fill them back in. The ground was covered in chunks of painful gravel, and in the most desperate of spots, wisps of dead, water-starved grass and lichen grew, peeking out of crevices of stone.

As he approached, there was a heavy, choking ache of death and the absence of life sitting in the air. Merlin was surprised to learn that there is a difference between the two feelings. One can exist without the other. Similar to the difference between an old battleground or a graveyard, versus a room full of complex machinery and metal. One still pursued life, even growing off of death, while the other hadn’t even been graced by life’s touch. 

Unfortunately, this area was both. Absent of life and heavy in death. Void, hollow, wind swept through. Even the forest beyond the torture area seemed intimidating and dark. 

He’d hate to think what this place would look like when it was in full operation. The idea sent shivers down his whole body.

In fact, one of the only signs of life in the whole area was Morgana herself, standing there, alone against this void like a glowing torch in a storm. As if grey is dark when cast in the light, but might as well be as fresh and white as snow when standing in compared to a black hole. Even on such a warm and bright day, she was covered head to toe in a plain black dress, not a single inch of skin showing. All he could see was her face and hands, not even her illustrious neck. She looked ready for a funeral, but for who or for what, Merlin did not know. The only color on her was the thick shawl made of blue silk draped low over her elbows, ready to cover her up further if the need arose.

If Merlin didn’t know any better, he’d think she was in some sort of mourning.

“I would suggest you stay away from this place, Merlin,” Morgana called back, not looking away from the destruction. 

“Oh?” Merlin completely ignored her words, continuing to walk closer. “Why’s that?”

“I'm sure you know many of our kind died here, tortured for that dreaded king’s amusement.” Her head carefully tilted upwards, as if she was holding grace in front of the menace before her.

“I would have figured you would have loved to see me in one of these.” Merlin gestured at one of the pits. “Go through the same things you did.”

The look Morgana gave him struck him at his core, pain, and certainty filled her eyes. The wind swayed a lock of hair in front of her face as she slowly replied, “No matter how I feel about you, Merlin, I would never wish this kind of pain upon you.” Her voice spoke with such certainty that Merlin found it difficult to argue with her. After what he had done to her, despite all of the rage that was still in her towards him, she wouldn’t wish that upon him. 

It struck a chord inside him.

“I would have thought you said you hated me.” He replied softly, not even attempting to break his gaze from her.

Morgana let out a weak scoff. “If I hated you that much, I wouldn’t have asked for your hand in marriage.”

Merlin shrugged. He supposed that was true. But, he had the scars to prove otherwise in so many other ways. His hand reached up and palmed the fomorroh scar on the back of his neck, scratching it gingerly. 

“So, who do you hate?” He carefully asked, giving her a side eye and an arching brow. 

A thin smirk crossed her face, and a small spark of the malicious nature he knew was in her sprung to the surface. “Most of those I hate are dead. One left to go.” 

Merlin pondered that for a moment. As of late, he knew that she hated Prince Aldus, that much was very clear. As much as she hated his father, or her own. Every sign of their presence had been scrubbed from the castle and either stored away, never to be seen again, or burned to ash. 

“What about Arthur?”

Morgana adjusted herself, flinching before cooling off. “I have come to find that there are far worse people in this world than that of Arthur.” 

Merlin felt his heart leap. “Oh?”

“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t hesitate to kill him if I had the chance, but he’s no longer at the top of the list.”

His heart fell to the ground with a thud. “Oh.” There was no way to hide the disappointment in his voice, even if he was willing to try. Back to square one. But, there were ways to make sure it didn’t lead to a full-on fight. “You do remember that one of the qualifications of the treaty is that none of the parties involved are allowed to get hurt, right?”

Morgana nodded. “I do.”

“So…?”

“Do not worry. Your precious king is safe from physical harm.” Morgana said, a hint of her sass shining through. Merlin was about to let out a sigh before she continued, “However, I can speak nothing for the emotional damage of losing you.”

Merlin did not speak for a long time. He didn’t like being reminded of that. It still reminded him of how much he wanted to get out of this, and yet every door seemed to be closing in his face. Despite the fact that home wasn't safe for him, home was home, and Amata was not home for him yet. 

Even though the silence was stifling, neither of them made any attempt to move. Neither one was willing to be the first to leave this place behind. 

“So you pushed him into this pit?” Merlin asked casually, as if he was asking her about a quilt or a potion she made as a side project. 

Morgana gently nodded. “The very same one he kept me and Aithusa in,” She replied, gesturing at the closest pit before her. It looked to be the only one that had any proper upkeep, compared to the other pits, which were falling apart. 

“Sounds a bit ironic.” 

“I prefer the term, ‘poetic justice’.”

Merlin shrugged. Fair enough.

“What brought you here anyway?” Morgana asked, giving him a look. “I know you didn’t come down here just to talk about my well being.”

“I wanted to take a break from reading for a bit,” Merlin replied reluctantly. It was true, but he was also plagued by curiosity. 

This was the only place in the castle that truly showed the ugly history this kingdom came with. In Camelot, it was a little easier to disguise it. Hide the chopping block, disassemble the burning pyre. Let the rain wash blood and ash away. Never visit the historical archives, tucked deep into the basement. Don’t talk to the locals. With enough time, you could walk into Camelot and never be aware of its horrific atrocities.

That wasn’t nearly so easy with a castle having a custom-built torture arena.

Her lips twitched. “In the magic library, I’m sure?”

Merlin shrugged. “You did say I could go down there the other night.” He replied, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

“Yes, I did,” Morgana let out a sigh. “But perhaps I should be giving you more to do. After all, a king shouldn’t loiter around uselessly.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. This again, with the king thing. Morgana must really be entertained with the concept. He knew he wasn’t going to be her king, but seriously, what was with her and this cruel joke? He was anticipating the day she dropped the shoe.

“What do you suggest? Chores? Labor? Drudgery?” 

“Perhaps you should go train with the knights.” Morgana offered carefully.

Merlin shrugged. “Sir Hervell and his knights are dealing with some sightings of bandits today.”

“Hm, I hadn’t heard about any bandits,” Morgana replied, brow carefully furrowed. “Or at least I hadn’t gotten any reports on any recently.”

At that moment, a memory of his own encounter with bandits rushed across Merlin’s mind, his eyes widened as he gasped. “I forgot about Terry!”

Morgana’s brow furrowed again. “Who?”

“One of the bandits that had attacked us. He was the one who almost stabbed me. He got injured in the fight, badly.”

“Well if he nearly killed you, I suppose I should do something about that,” Morgana explained carefully, turning back to the torture field with a thoughtful look.

“He did not know who I was. He doesn’t deserve an extended punishment.” 

“I was actually thinking of freeing him,” Morgana replied. Merlin sent her a look, where he was met with a smirk like she was joking.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “He was trying to steal from us to help his sister, to help pay off her dowry to get her out of her forced engagement. He has less than a month left.” He scowled, turning to look back over his shoulder. A massive urge to leave grew in his chest, ready to run off and help the young lad.

What he failed to notice was Morgana’s furrowed brow as well. “Who is she engaged to?” 

“One of your lords,” Merlin replied off-handedly, before turning to hurry off. But before he could get one step off, Morgana spoke up.

“Are you sure he was telling the truth? He could have just been trying to make sure you didn’t kill him.”