Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clover blooms in the fields
Spring breaks loose, the time is near
What would he do if he found us out?
Crescent moon, coast is clear
Spring breaks loose, but so does fear
He's gonna burn this house to the ground.

~Taylor Swift, Ivy

The sound of screaming intensifies as his vision darkens. He can still spot the mop of black hair and his manservant's—friend’s—scratchy red neckerchief. His body has gone numb, falling limp underneath Merlin’s arms, which were failing to keep him steady. Arthur knew he only had a matter of time before he was lost to the world. Still, he fought to stay awake, even when he wanted nothing more than to fall into the sweet but cold embrace of nothingness. He couldn't abandon Merlin, his friend and life partner, who fought tirelessly to save him.

It was worthless; the emptiness was evident. Memories from his childhood to adulthood played in a loop at the front of his mind. He saw himself as a young boy, running wild through the hallways of the huge castle and getting in the way of the staff. As a teenage boy, he was brooding and rebellious but wanting more than anything to have his father’s approval. As an adult; finally understanding the weight of the kingdom while he loses people over and over again. Not Merlin, never Merlin. His constant companion was always there to lift him when grief threatened to crush his spirit. The one person he trusted most in this world. How could he think to leave him now?

The revelation of Merlin's magic had rocked Arthur to his core. But what truly gutted him was knowing his closest friend had lived in fear all these years, hiding who he truly was. Merlin had endured the terror that Arthur himself would send him to the pyre if he ever found out, constantly guarding his secret even when they were alone late at night, the fire burning low as they shared whispered confessions Arthur would otherwise be tight-lipped about. Merlin and wine near a warm fireplace never mixed well.

The fact that Merlin did not trust even Arthur to accept his magic when he took the throne stung bitterly. Did their friendship mean so little? Was Arthur no different than his father in Merlin's eyes? Hot tears blurred Arthur's vision, and he looked up at Merlin's anguished face. A sob caught in his throat when he tried to speak. He had thought they were two sides of the same coin—a kinship stronger than friends or brothers. Had it all been an illusion on Arthur's part?

"You thought so little of me," he rasped finally. "That I would see you burn?" Arthur grasped the front of Merlin's jacket with the last of his strength, beseeching his friend to understand. "I would rather perish myself than harm you, Merlin. No secret, no magic could ever make me turn against you."

Emotion choked his voice. If these were to be his final moments in this world, he needed Merlin to know that his loyalty and devotion had been forever misplaced. Arthur would have protected him with everything within his power and would have stood against his entire kingdom if needed, if only his dearest friend had trusted him enough to give him the chance. It cut Arthur deeper than any sword to think Merlin still feared him like all the rest, even after everything they had endured side by side.

Merlin let out an anguished wail, the sound ragged with despair. His legs gave out, sending them both crashing hard to the ground. His slender but roughened hands from years of hardship cradled Arthur gently to his chest. Arthur could feel the earth-shattering sobs that wracked Merlin's frame, shaking them both. Through his dimming gaze, he watched as tears spilled unchecked down Merlin’s face, carving white tracks through the blood and dirt.

He wanted nothing more than to comfort his friend, to make one more joke to try and ease some small bit of Merlin's grief. But Arthur no longer had the strength for teasing or lighthearted words. Not when Merlin was breaking apart above him, his world crumbling before Arthur’s fading eyes.

Arthur had seen Merlin in every extreme of emotion before—joyful, anger, solemn, witty, frustrated—but never this depth of hopeless anguish. His elfin features were scrunched up in despair, his blue eyes shining with devastation when they used to glint gold with determination and loyalty for the king he saw as the greatest to ever live.

It broke Arthur's heart to know he was the cause of such endless grief for the man who had always stood steadily, stalwartly, at his side no matter the odds against them. Merlin had defied fate time and again to keep Arthur safe, only to have destiny rip his victory away at the last.

"Merlin," he breathed, trying desperately to catch those stormy blue eyes filled with tears with his own fading gaze to make a connection one last time. "Don't..." But the end of his sentence faded away; the effort was too much. His tongue felt like a stone in his mouth, and his lips were numb and awkward. Shadows steadily ate at the edges of his vision, darkness coming to claim him. He was out of time.

With the last fading bits of life in his leaden limbs, Arthur clutched weakly, but desperately, at Merlin's familiar threadbare brown jacket, wanting to leave some parting gift for his dearest friend—some token to remember him by. His gloved fingers brushed the soft silk of Merlin's dark hair where it curled against his neck, and Arthur cursed himself for still wearing the gloves, denying himself that one comfort all the while life left him.

Arthur poured every last ounce of feeling into his dimming blue eyes, hoping beyond hope that Merlin would understand everything he did not have the breath, time, or strength to say aloud.

I'm sorry I caused you this pain. Forgive me for leaving you alone when I swore I never would. Take care of Camelot in my stead. Take care of yourself—no more reckless risks to your life. Be happy, please, if you can, when I am gone. Forget me if it hurts too much to remember what we shared. You gave me everything, my friend. I wish I had more to give to you in return for your loyalty. Just know—you were cherished. Know you were loved—as my guardian, my conscience, my comfort, and my home. If we meet again beyond this mortal veil, I will tell you all that my foolish pride forbade me here. I will tell you...

As the last faint trace of light left Arthur’s eyes, a single tear leaked down his cheek. With his last ragged breath, the great king died in the shaking arms of the warlock who loved him most in this world or the next.

I love you , Arthur whispered soundlessly with his dying breath, though only Merlin's heart heard his farewell.

They had made it to the Lake of Avalon, where many of his loved ones were buried. Merlin would not let Arthur become one of them.

He could feel Arthur becoming weaker as time went on as Merlin wasted more time. He had used his magic to transport them to Avalon faster, something he had never done before. Arthur was dead weight in his arms, his head lolling back bonelessly to rest against Merlin's shoulder. Blood spilled over Merlin's fingers as he pressed them desperately against the wound, the hot slick sensation turning his stomach. He tasted bile in the back of his throat, acid and sharp. Arthur's breaths came in ragged pants, his face leached of all color, and his sun-bright hair darkened by cold sweat.

Merlin had seen many men die in his young life and had held the hands of knights when they breathed their last. But this was his Arthur , his pratish king, who constantly called Merlin useless even though he relied on him for nearly everything. Panic clawed up Merlin's chest, constricting his lungs. He could not do this; he could not watch helplessly as Arthur faded away in his embrace. What was the point of all his power if he could not stop this?

Heal, his magic screamed within him, surging in anguished denial. Fix this! But the tide of power beat uselessly against Arthur's slowly shutting down body, a body that had housed the brilliant, compassionate soul of the man Merlin loved most in all this world. A world about to turn cold and bleak if the light left those sky blue eyes Merlin had so often followed across reception halls and battlefields.

Desperate, choking on ragged sobs, Merlin curled himself around Arthur's limp form, trying to will his own life force into the failing king. Arthur's gloved hand twitched, rising slowly, so slowly, to close around Merlin's, where it was fisted into the bloodied fabric of Arthur's tunic. Merlin lifted his pain-filled eyes to meet the surprisingly clear blue gaze Arthur turned up toward his face.

Merlin could see it in his eyes—the acceptance. And the grief. Not grief for his own death, but sadness at causing Merlin pain. A weak smile ghosted Arthur's bloodless lips.

"Don't..." Arthur whispered, the word barely catching his breath as his eyes started to lose focus. Merlin let out an anguished wail, the sound torn from his throat in ragged despair. His legs gave out, sending them both crashing hard to the cold earth, the jolt wringing a gasp of pain from Arthur's lips. Merlin tried to cradle his king gently, staunch the bleeding with his own body, keep Arthur warm and anchored, and present just a few moments more. Just long enough—for what? What magic could possibly heal this mortal wound?

Tears spilled unchecked down Merlin's face, white-hot tracks of grief he did not try to bite back. What purpose is it to be stoic now when his world collapsed inward by the second? When Arthur's last breaths ghosted unevenly past blood-stained teeth?

Merlin shook with the force of his sobs, knowing these were the king's final moments—these bloodied, anguished gasps in the mud of Camlann's battlefield. How had they come to this? Destiny could not be so cruel as to give him Arthur's friendship and trust, only to snatch the king away on the cusp of his reign. Not when Merlin had hidden, lied, and shredded his conscience to keep this dollophead safe all these years, only to lose him when honesty finally blazed between them.

Arthur clutched at Merlin's chest, his gloved fingers leaving crimson-stained outlines on his jacket. Merlin grasped Arthur's hand, heedless of the blood and gore, twining their hands in a tangle of slick leather and cooling skin. He ached to feel Arthur's skin on his, to press their foreheads together, and to want his soul to keep Arthur here. But chainmail and armor separated them from all of Merlin's desperate tugging.

He should have told Arthur years ago about the magic thrumming under his skin. Should have trusted his king and the friendship between them, as he now realized Arthur would have trusted him. They had lost so much time. And now Merlin could only rock slowly back and forth, cradling the slackening body in his arms as Arthur's light dimmed moment by moment.

"I'm sorry," Merlin choked out, begging whatever gods would listen that Arthur would forgive him before the end. "I wanted—needed to tell you. I never meant... Please, Arthur..."

But the Once and Future King did not respond, fading fast as blood continued to spill out over Merlin's shaking fingers. This could not be how their story ended—with doubt and betrayal and Arthur dying, thinking he did not hold Merlin's total, unwavering loyalty.

“You're my friend. My king. My everything" Merlin swore fiercely through his tears. "I would do anything for you. I have done such terrible things to keep you safe. Please don't go where I can't follow." His greatest fear, he realized, was losing Arthur forever. His magic surged and spoke inside him, raging against fate's cruelty.

Arthur's fingers twitched as they clung to Merlin's tattered jacket, his brilliant blue eyes heartbreakingly sad behind the haze of pain and protracted death. With his last, rattling breaths, he tried desperately to speak, to tell Merlin something vital that the warlock sensed would shred what little remained of his fractured soul.

But no sound emerged, Arthur's eyes dimming into the glassy, lifeless blue orbs Merlin had gazed into a thousand times before but now never would again. His destiny has gone cold and limp in his embrace.

A wretched cry of pure, primal anguish tore from Merlin's throat, his magic lashing out uncontrolled around him. He clutched Arthur tighter to his heaving chest. Behind them in the weeping forest, trees splintered with a deafening crack under the warlock's onslaught of torment.

The world shifted on its axis, feeling the profound unbalance of losing the Once and Future King. Albion herself cried out as Emrys' power unfurled in a crushing wave of devastation no mortal army could ever hope to withstand. Camelot trembled on her hill, stones groaning as the warp and weft of destiny itself frayed and ruptured.

In the clearing surrounding the bereft warlock, the grasses shriveled, and the very life leeched from their emerald blades. The leaves withered to dust on the ravaged boughs of broken oaks and elms, while wildlife fled in terror from the seething magic saturating the bleeding land.

Some inherent magic deeper than even the Old Religion comprehended understood the injustice of such a loss—the indestructible coin fate had forged, Arthur and Merlin, now cleaved violently in two. And so the earth roared and wept with Merlin's anguish; the warlock was too lost in grief to restrain his power's lament.

For he sensed, as the earth herself did, that the rich magic nurturing Albion's roots would slowly fade and wither with Arthur's life blood, leaving only a hollow, mundane world in its wake. A cold, empty Camelot. A barren destiny for Emrys without his Light to guard and guide. An unbalanced song with only discord and no harmony.

The purest notes of hope in prophecy's intended melody had fallen painfully, jarringly silent.

He screamed until his throat ran raw with blood, and the wind, earth, and sea were screaming with him. His soul twisted and ruptured inside him, torn asunder at Arthur's loss. What purpose was there for Emrys in a world without his king? What meaning for a creature of magic when the mortal future he had pinned all his hopes and dreams upon lay dead and cold in his useless hands? He was nothing without the other side of his coin. Merlin’s chest heaved, his throat shredded from agonized yelling.

“Heal him!” he bellowed hoarsely to the earth, to the sea, and to the Old Religion itself. “You must heal him!” His face marred with tear streaks, but his voice was strong as he commanded for someone, anyone, to grant him his last wish.

“Take me instead!” he pleaded to the weeping heavens. “Let me trade my life for his! Please, please give him  back."Merlin's voice broke on a sob, the wind caressing the two friends (lovers) bonded by destiny's soul magic. One could not exist without the other.

They were in the Lake of Avalon, where many of his loved ones were buried. Merlin would not—could not—let Arthur become one of them.

Merlin flung back his head, magic and desperation welling up to shake the sky. “Heal him!” He commanded the sacred island, his raw power cracking in the air.

The night sky rumbled low and ominous, lightning forking the clouded sky like veins of molten ore in answer to Emrys' impassioned call. Violent winds whipped Merlin’s dark hair, lashing clothes and leaves alike. Around him, Avalon stirred, the ancient magic embedded in the lake and land responding to the warlock’s torment.

He bent over Arthur’s body, hands wreathed in living fire, trying to shield him from the earth's relentless downpour. Merlin shoved his face desperately into the cold hollow of Arthur’s neck, breathing in the beloved scent of sweat and metal and earth still clinging to Arthur’s skin. The smell of life itself as he had known it.

Merlin fisted both hands into the front of Arthur's bloody tunic, wet fabric, and cold mail links, biting into his palms. His magic thrashed wildly around them both now, finally unleashed in its full fury at destiny's sick cruelty.

"Come back," Merlin begged, his lips moving in silent spells against Arthur's ice-pale throat. "Come back to me... We're two sides of the same coin, Arthur. I don't know how to live without you."

He pressed a fervent kiss on Arthur's slack mouth, magic sparking from his lips to sizzle across their joined skin. "Please…" Those eyes flashed pure, burning gold as Merlin let loose a mighty bellow to the lake, the elements, and the triple goddess herself—magic demanding magic yield up its stolen prize. His magic whipped around him, finally letting go. Finally joining the earth where it always belonged.

Gold enveloped them both, and Merlin knew no more.

Chapter Text

I've been big and small,
And big and small
Big and small again,
But still nobody wants me.

~Mitski, Nobody

The very fabric of ancient magic simmered in turmoil, writhing against unseen constraints that sought to contain its power. Like a living thing, it fought and strained, lashing out to penetrate the mystical barriers holding it trapped below the physical earth. 

The Triple Goddess looked on with an impassive face as chaotic arcs of power built within the magical plane, echoing through the Otherworld itself. The turmoil originated from one grief-mad mortal, one whose magic was tied soul-deep to the fallen Once and Future King. But his power had evolved far beyond the warlock's control now—it had taken on a will and hunger of its own.

Cracks formed in the veil, separating the magical realm from the mortal plane. Debris rained down as hairline fractures slowly spread in the veil. The goddess raised her arms, seeking to reinforce the boundaries between worlds before irreparable damage was done.

But the magic only redoubled its efforts, writhing and pounding against its confines with no thought for anything but escape. Escape and retrieve that which had been lost to it. Like owner, like magic, it would not be contained or controlled, not with such a grievous wound festering within it.

The goddess felt something she had never before—something every god shunned the humans for having. Surprise overtook her delicate features, but that was not all. For the first time ever, she felt afraid. Afraid of what will happen if They do not give the mere mortal what he craves. If She does not give back the other half of his soul. She was so, so afraid of what would become of this world if she did not give the Once and Future King back to his Warlock. What a mere mortal can do to Them if he doesn't have his King back!

The magical plane shuddered, then finally ruptured in an explosion of power. Debris from the demolished barrier vaporized in contact with the raging energy now unleashed above. No mortal craft could have withstood that onslaught, let alone an improvised wall of divine will.

The cracks let in a golden beam she had never seen before, the magical energy bleeding outward to saturate the veil. The Goddess summoned the elements under her command in an attempt to counteract it, but her efforts had no more effect than a newborn colt trying to restrain the tide.

The unleashed power had a single purpose: to retrieve what it had lost. Without any resistance, ignoring everything in its way, the magic transformed into a concentrated beam of light. It shot upward with a loud boom, breaking through the sky and carrying two souls beyond mortal reach.

The Goddess watched as the magical energy bled outward, sinking into the very fabric of destiny's loom. The threads of life and fate trembled at its touch, rearrangements subtle but profound, reshaping the intricate weave of time itself.

She studied the new patterns taking form, hidden by possibility. Yes, perhaps this unexpected burst of Emrys' power could be an opportunity in disguise. With the Once and Future King's soul freed from its former constraints, there were now...other options to ensure Albion’s golden age. Other forms of guardianship for the warlock as he fulfilled his foretold destiny.

Her gaze turned upward, following the beam of light still spearing the heavens as it carried Emrys and his fallen king out of reach. It was not time yet for Arthur Pendragon to permanently rejoin the Wheel of Life. Though his thread in destiny's tapestry was torn, remnants of gold still clung to it—hints of the great king he could become once more. If properly prepared, strengthened...transformed.

The barest whisper of a smile crossed the Triple Goddess' face. Without uttering a word, she summoned an ancient presence to her side. Kilgharrah, the last dragon of his kind, bowed his mighty head in reverence before his maker.

"The time has come," she intoned, her eyes flashing with visions of potential futures swirling behind them. "You shall meet them there. Guide the warlock on his journey, and aid the soul wanderer as he regains a physical form..."

She trailed off, images cascading through her mind that were too swift and complex to pick apart. Possibilities spiraled out like endless strands of spider silk. Kilgharrah shifted, talons scraping stone.

"My lady?"

"You shall see, ancient one," she replied, placing a glowing palm on his weathered brow. Magic flowed between them in wordless communication. Kilgharrah's jaws parted in surprise, smoke pluming outward.

"I understand," he rumbled. Eyes glinting with new purpose, he flexed his massive wings. The prophecy he had long protected was shifting and growing. And he would help it take root in whatever form was necessary when the last heir of Pendragon and son of magic were reborn to try again.

For wherever Emrys walked, Arthur would forever follow. Two living branches stem from one magical seed.

Chapter Text

You used to captivate me by your resonating light
Now, I’m bound by the life you left behind
Your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams
Your voice it chased away all the sanity in me

~Ben Moody, My Immortal

"I’d never have a friend who could be such—." Merlin's scornful words died on his tongue as familiar blue eyes locked with his own across the chaotic market square. Time itself seemed to still for a single shocked heartbeat.

He could tell the moment Arthur realized as well, his complexion paling and his expression twisting in confusion, horror, and then settling on relief. Merlin mirrored the emotions, staring at Arthur with wide-eyed wonder.

“Arthur?” His voice was barely above an airy whisper, as if afraid this dream would somehow shatter and Merlin would be back on that awful Lake holding Arthur’s limp body. Tears welled up as he took in his surroundings. In the same marketplace where they first met, Arthur chased the other all over the place with a mace as the townspeople gathered around to gossip.

He heard a choked noise, and his eyes snapped back to his Arthur again. Millions of questions were reflected in his eyes, but Arthur seemed to collect himself and glance around. With a step forward, the king—no, the prince—grasped Merlin’s arms in a bruising grip, dragging him through the chaos of bustling people going about their way. Merlin could barely see where they were going, his gaze locked on the back of the golden head that he had come to adore.

Merlin blinked back tears, unable to believe his eyes as Arthur strode ahead, a commanding presence that led Merlin along effortlessly, their connection as natural as breathing. The chaotic noise of Camelot's busy market swirled around them: vendors hawking wares, people chatting, and bartering. It was all so wonderfully, blessedly normal.

The lively energy of the market hummed around them, and Merlin couldn't shake the euphoric disbelief and joy thrumming through his veins. His gaze kept darting back to Arthur, who seemed equally enthralled by Camelot in all her vibrant, untouched glory. The prince's eyes shone as he steered them through the familiar organized chaos, recognition and wonder battling across his expressive features.

The market square unfolded before them in a churning sea of common faces that had once laughed and japed at their antics, which felt like a lifetime ago. The townsfolk exchanged curious glances, leaning close to whisper as they observed the prince guiding one of his subjects through the bustling market, an apparent urgency in their mission.

Unperturbed by the curious onlookers, Arthur solely focused on navigating through the crowds, his determined stride unwavering, a reassuring grip around Merlin's wrist. The warm and steady grip provided a stark contrast to the haunting memories that lingered in Merlin's mind—memories of Arthur's limp body slipping through his bloody grasp on the shores of Avalon, where life had drained irrevocably from Camelot's legendary king.

As if sensing the dark turn of Merlin's thoughts, Arthur glanced back over his shoulder, his sky-blue eyes meeting Merlin's own blue gaze for a brief instant. In that shared look, a complete understanding flashed, transcending the limitations of words—the deep relief and gratitude of their improbable reunion, eliminating any immediate need for explanations or questions.

Overwhelming emotion clogged Merlin's throat as Arthur gave his arm a reassuring squeeze and flashed a small private smile just for him. In spite of lingering sorrow and haunting what-ifs, Merlin couldn't stop an answering smile from blossoming across his face.

When Arthur finally drew them into a quiet alcove behind the blacksmith's shop, Merlin couldn't stop his hands from coming up to frame Arthur's beloved face between trembling palms, heedless of who might see the intimate gesture. His smooth fingers ran along the lines of Arthur’s face, taking in the sight of him breathing and so so alive.

Arthur leaned into his warm hands, a small smile playing on his lips, and his face showing a type of peace that hasn't been there since he was crowned king. The emotions shone equally bright in Arthur's eyes emboldened him not to hide his own radiant joy and relief.

"You died," Merlin rasped, tears slipping free to wet his cheeks. "I lost you." I failed you , he wanted to say. But before he could drown in self-blame, Arthur silenced him with a touch, a promise, and a shared understanding that transcended the need for words.

"Yet here we stand again, at the beginning," Arthur uttered, his voice resonating with wonder and promise. His hands came up as if of their own volition to cradle Merlin's beloved face, thumbs tracing sharp cheekbones with reverent adoration.

Merlin's breath hitched at the contact, longing and disbelief warring in his fathomless azure eyes. Eyes that had borne witness to Arthur's last agonized moments, now miraculously gazing upon his king returned to vibrant life once more.

"Arthur..." Merlin's whisper was choked, tears gathering to slip in silvered trails down his alabaster skin. Arthur gentled them away with devoted brushes of his calloused thumbs, even as his own vision swam dizzyingly.

"We have been granted a gift beyond measure, you and I," Arthur rasped, shaking his golden head in awe. "I do not know how and why we have been sent back here, but it must be for a purpose. The fates have woven us an opportunity to reshape our destiny."

He clasped the nape of Merlin's neck, touch searing even through fabric. "I failed you once before," Arthur uttered thickly, remorse and conviction vying in his tone. "I will not squander this second chance. No more will you stand alone to meet the gathering storms."

Arthur's hand shifted to cradle Merlin's jaw with reverent devotion. "You warned me of dark days ahead, and I heeded you not. This time, I shall. Your counsel—your trust—shall be my most valued guide when night closes 'round."

He pressed their brows together, noses grazing and breaths mingling. "You have stood beside me all these years, my truest friend, cloaked all unseen in shadow. But no more." Arthur rubbed away the tracks of Merlin's tears with gentle swipes of his thumbs.

"Take your rightful place at my side, where you belong—honored by all as my closest confidant." Strong hands shifted to grip Merlin's shoulders firmly. "You're more than just a friend, Merlin. You're the courage in my heart, the wisdom in my decisions. I need you by my side, not hiding in the shadows but stepping into the light with me. “You’re not just a servant, Merlin—you are so much more. At my side is where you belong, not one pace behind carrying my burdens alone.”

A brilliant sunrise broke across Merlin's face, joy and magic spilling gold through his eyes. "Till the day I die, my King," he swore fervently, hands coming up to overlay Arthur's, where they still clasped his shoulders like steadying anchors amidst overwhelming tides of destiny.

Merlin felt the strength and reassurance in Arthur's firm hold wash over him like the warmth of an incoming tide. There was none of the typical royal restraint—Arthur held nothing back as he crushed Merlin close, face buried against Merlin's shoulder, his arms tight around Merlin’s hips.

For long moments, they simply breathed each other in, the ebb and flow of relief swelling between them like a living thing, overflowing. Around them, the market carried on heedlessly, but in their small, sheltered bubble, the world consisted only of whispered vows and the hammering of two hearts realigning their rhythm.

When Arthur finally leaned back, it was only far enough for them to meet each other's glistening eyes. Merlin saw his own bottomless emotions reflected back—hope and fear, joy and grief, affection and longing—so profound that words paled before their depth.

Arthur's hand came up to curl gently around the back of Merlin's neck, his touch searing like a brand. "I once told you there was something about you I could never put my finger on," Arthur said roughly, emotion fraying the edges of his voice.

"Now I understand what eluded me then. It was not magic." His thumb stroked across the quickened pulse in Merlin's throat. "It was this—us."

He shook his head ruefully, even as his smile threatened to outshine the sun cresting the citadel's highest tower. "We shall build this new world together, you and I." Arthur's eyes flashed with quiet conviction and promise, mirth carved around the edges. "And damn death, destiny, or any power under heaven if they try to sunder us again before the story is told."

Giddiness surged in Merlin's chest, a spontaneous giggle escaping from his lips as magic fizzed through his blood like sparks from a bonfire. He and Arthur had forged a bond beyond the tangible here, something eternal. Not even time could erode that truth as long as their soulfire blazed.

"Together," Merlin echoed fervently, smiling through his joyful tears. A new era was dawning, with all its potential laid out at their feet. And Albion would rise in their wake.

Arthur closed his eyes, breathing deeply into Camelot's familiar scents: hay and horses, fragrant meals cooking over market fires, the tang of hot metal from the blacksmith's quarters. He etched every vivid sensation into his memory, a bittersweet smile playing on his lips.

This bustling marketplace teemed with life and light, untouched by the dark days ahead. Arthur had lived through the tragedies and betrayals once already; he bore the unseen scars beneath his princely facade. Morgana's slow descent into enemy...his own father slipping into suspicion and madness...dear friends dying by sword and spell…

But somehow Arthur found himself returning to this golden moment before fate’s hammer fell. He had Merlin by his side once more, the two of them alone carrying the heavy mantle of foreknowledge. It was a second chance, but equally a grave responsibility.

Could Arthur sway the course of the future, or would new tragedies unfold regardless? Would he recognize the signs in time, or would fate's current sweep them all over the brink despite their struggles?

The questions whispered darkly at the edge of Arthur's awareness, but he pushed them back. This was still Camelot, whole and prosperous under the summer's glow. Evil had not yet reared its head beyond the borders.

Here, now, his people yet thrived in peace—common folk, knights, and nobility alike, smiling and chatting as they went about their lives. Arthur listened to their laughter, reminding himself what it was he fought for...what he was destined to build alongside Merlin, no matter the cost.

Camelot would shine as the beating heart of Albion. Arthur swore it as the once and future king. But first, he had to save her—and himself—from the crucible awaiting them.

He turned from the window near his desk in the old room, meeting Merlin's unwaveringly loyal gaze. Sometimes looking into those sky blue eyes felt like being laid bare, his deepest and darkest thoughts examined and known.

Yet now, he only felt comforted to be known so deeply, in a way no one had truly understood him before. The corners of Arthur's lips softened, eyes crinkling at the sides as he smiled gently at Merlin. A pretty blush spread across Merlin's cheeks, his gaze darting briefly to the ground, long eyelashes kissing his cheeks, before meeting Arthur's once more.

Arthur's breath caught at the unrestrained affection shining from those sapphire depths—here was the one soul who had seen him at his absolute worst and still deemed him worthy of devotion beyond life itself. That staggering loyalty called to the deepest parts of Arthur's spirit.

He watched in awed wonder as Merlin's signature bright grin slowly blossomed, the one that made Arthur believe angels themselves might weep at its glory. It held no artifice or guile, simply joy and a trace of bashfulness at having the full focus of the king’s ( prince ?) attention.

In the charged space between them, Arthur was prepared to throw caution to the winds and take Merlin's delicate, fae-like face between his calloused palms, kissing those tempting lips silly. He might have done just that if Merlin, the idiot, hadn't chosen that moment to knock over the ceremonial sword stand with a loud crash.

They jumped apart as the priceless relic clattered loudly across the stone floor. Arthur whipped around to pin his clumsy manservant with an exasperated glare that slowly melted into fond amusement. Trust Merlin to shatter the building tension with his signature lack of grace—and yes, he could admit that there indeed was tension between them.

"Honestly, Merlin," Arthur huffed, lips quirking as he took in his friend's flaming cheeks and consternated wince. "If you wanted an excuse to escape my devilishly handsome charms, you could have simply said."

"Prat," Merlin shot back automatically, though his answering smile took any potential sting from the insult. He quickly bent to gather the fallen stand and weapon, handling the engraved sword with exaggerated care while Arthur tried his hardest not to ogle at Merlin’s shapely arse. "Clearly, it was preemptive self-defense against your massive ego crushing me."

Arthur threw back his head and laughed. Just like that, the awkward constraints of charged emotion slipped away, leaving easy familiarity in their wake. This was the Merlin that Arthur loved best—cheeky insults and endearing clumsiness intact.

As Merlin carefully returned the sword to its stand, he shot Arthur a contemplative sidelong glance from beneath his dark lashes. His lips pursed into an endearing almost-pout, clearly deep in troubled thought. Arthur raised a questioning brow at the conflicted emotions playing across his friend's expressive features.

"Alright, out with it," he prodded gently when the silence stretched on. "What's bothering you?" Merlin's nose scrunched up adorably as he worried at his bottom lip with his teeth. Arthur could practically see the gears grinding away in that head of his.

Finally, Merlin sighed, not quite meeting his eyes. "’Sjust...there's so much I've done that you don't know," he admitted quietly. "So many secrets I've kept."

Arthur's breath caught at the shame clouding Merlin's face. Carefully, he reached out to tilt Merlin's chin up, forcing their gazes to lock.

"I think I understand more than you realize," Arthur said gently. At Merlin's startled glance, he offered a sad smile. "You've never been as clumsy at hiding things as you pretended, old friend."

Merlin paled, panic creeping into his eyes. Arthur quickly squeezed his shoulder in reassurance. "Whatever you've done, it was to protect me, yes?" At Merlin's jerky nod, Arthur's smile turned fond. "That's all that matters, then."

"But you don't know everything," Merlin protested weakly. "I've lied, made mistakes..."

"As have I. More than you can imagine." Arthur cradled Merlin's jaw tenderly. "Yet still we stand here, bound together once more by destiny's thread." He brushed his thumb over Merlin's sharp cheekbone. "Your secrets are your own. I'll ask nothing you aren't ready to give."

The answering brilliance of Merlin's smile could outshine the sun itself, his eyes glimmering with suppressed tears. And when Merlin surged forward to envelop him tightly, Arthur knew without any doubt that they would be alright.

There will likely be shouting in the days to come. Accusations flung like knives, slicing old wounds back open. Tempers would undoubtedly flare hot as secrets long-buried saw light once more. Raw emotion might drive them apart for a time.

Yet Arthur harbored no illusions—he and Merlin were two sides of the same coin, bound by bonds both visible and those woven through the very fabric of fate itself. One cannot truly hate their other half. Like binary stars, they would crash together and careen wildly apart, but never fully sundered.

So Arthur simply held firm as Merlin shook with quiet sobs against his shoulder, slender hands fisted in his tunic like lifelines, Merlin's breath damp and hot against Arthur's neck. He carded gentle fingers through his warlock's raven mop and made soft shushing sounds until the weeping ran its course, swaying ever so slightly.

Chapter Text

Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in

~Natasha Bedingfield, Unwritten

The insistent knock on oak startled them apart, shattering the glass bubble they had been wrapped around. Merlin scrubbed hastily at his flushed cheeks, dashing away all evidence of intimate tears as Arthur's familiar princely mask slipped seamlessly back into place. He looked towards Arthur, having an entire conversation with only their eyes.

Merlin pivoted on his heel and strode purposefully across the room, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor as he made his way toward the antechamber. He knew that within its confines lay an inconspicuous door, concealed from casual observers, which concealed a tunnel leading directly to the courtyard beyond. It was a precautionary measure, designed to provide a discreet means of escape should the need ever arise for the prince to flee from his chambers unnoticed.

He looked back once to catch Arthur’s eyes, a small smile gracing his lips. He was rewarded again with a secretive smile of the prince’s own as he made his way to the door. His cheeks warmed with a faint blush, but he quickly shook off the distraction, focusing on the task at hand.

Turning back to face the door, Merlin reached out and grasped the handle, pushing it open with a soft creak. He stepped through the threshold into the antechamber, the familiar scent of polished wood and ancient stone enveloping him like an old friend. Without hesitation, he made his way toward the hidden door concealed behind the closet, his movements guided by muscle memory rather than conscious thought.

As he slipped through the doorway into the narrow passage beyond, Merlin allowed himself to become lost in his thoughts, his mind whirling with the weight of their mission and the countless possibilities that lay ahead.

Going from where they were just now, Merlin wasn’t Arthur’s servant just yet, so it would look rather weird to have a random peasant boy in the prince’s room. He will start working under Arthur… tomorrow. Merlin halted in place inside the darkened tunnel, something he had completely forgotten from the adrenaline and excitement of everything that had happened in the past hour or so.

Lady Helen. Mary Collins. Shit.

His shoulders dropped; he couldn’t do anything about the execution of James, nor could he do anything about Lady Helen being killed by Mary. It would probably be wise to let everything happen as it did the first time around, so Merlin could become Arthur’s servant. Doesn’t mean he has to like it.

He took a deep breath, deciding to think about all of this later. After he has a warm meal with Gaius, it feels as if it has been ages since he shared any moments with the older man. Merlin silently mourns for all of the friends he made who aren’t here yet. They would come, and they would live. Merlin—and Arthur—would make sure of it.

With careful steps and a heart heavy with memories, Merlin found himself standing before the weathered door once more. It had been a familiar sanctuary, a place where he sought wisdom and comfort from the old man who had become like a father to him.

The ache in Merlin's heart deepened as thoughts of his own father, Balinor, flooded his mind. The burden of his father's sacrifice weighed heavily on him, a constant reminder of the sacrifices made for the greater good. Perhaps he should visit Balinor sooner this time, sparing him the tragic fate that awaited him in the future.

As Merlin hesitated at the threshold, emotions swirling within him, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing for the simple warmth and guidance that Gaius had always provided. Merlin had to quash the impulse to simply fling open the barrier keeping him from his mentor's grounding presence. Best give warning of his arrival lest he accidentally give the old man a heart attack by barging in unannounced. He rapped his knuckles sharply three times in quick succession—enough to penetrate Gaius's aging ears where a timid knock might go unheard.

Merlin barely waited for Gaius's muffled invitation before bursting eagerly through the creaking door, words of breathless explanation already tripping from his tongue.

"Gaius! I have so much to..."

He pulled up short at seeing his mentor whole and hale, one silvery brow climbing high at Merlin's buoyant entrance. Overwhelming relief and affection crashed through Merlin like a breaking wave. With a choked laugh, he flung both arms wide to envelop the startled physician in a fierce embrace, noticing only then the lack of stoop to Gaius's broad shoulders and the absence of careworn lines etching his familiar features.

"My boy!" Gaius huffed, steadying them awkwardly as Merlin clung to him with abandon. His weathered palms came up to pat gently at Merlin's quaking back. "What's all this about, then?"

At the fond bemusement coloring that beloved voice, Merlin only squeezed him tighter, his breath hitching dangerously near a sob. How long had it been since he'd heard Gaius speak with such spry energy, warming his words?

Too long...too long by far. Merlin soaked up the living proof of his mentor's restored strength, which thrummed steadily against him. Merlin had been sure he would never see his uncle again. However improbable, here stood Gaius in his prime once more, the two of them reunited by destiny's kind hand.

With a final pat, Gaius carefully extricated himself from Merlin's desperate embrace, holding him by both shoulders at arm's length while keen eyes searched his face. "Now tell me the truth, my boy," he pressed, brow furrowing. "Why do you look so shaken? You look as though you've seen a ghost!"

A watery giggle escaped Merlin’s lips, a nervous response to the accuracy of Gaius's observation. He took a deep breath before telling Gaius about everything, never questioning if it was sensible of him to do so or if he would be believed. It was Gaius, after all. Merlin trusted him implicitly.

A heavy silence fell between them, broken only by the wooden creak of Gaius settling on his stool. Merlin kept his gaze fixed steadfastly on the cluttered worktable, thumbing empty vials with unsteady hands as he awaited his mentor's judgment.

He could feel Gaius's piercing stare boring into his back. Doubt or even accusation perched ominously on the cusp of being voiced aloud. Merlin's chest, constricted under the weight of his own failures and sins of omission, paraded once more before memory's unflinching eye. Would Gaius, too, find him lacking when weighed against all his innumerable mistakes?

Merlin's breath emerged harsh and ragged, the glass phials clutching desperately in his white-knuckled grip—some feeble anchor against the storm squalling inside him. How would he withstand losing Gaius as the last wall standing adamantly at his side, no matter the bitter circumstances life had hurled against them?

The first hot tear traced a searing trail down Merlin's cheek, just as weathered fingers folded gently over his own where they quivered around his fragile anchor. Merlin dared not look up, afraid to read disappointment in the familiar features he knew and loved.

But Gaius merely squeezed his shaking hands reassuringly, his voice impossibly kind, when at last he broke the fraught silence between them. "Whatever burdens you carry from roads already walked, my boy, we shall face them together." His calloused thumbs swept away the tracks of Merlin's grief with paternal care. "All will be well, you'll see."

The unconditional absolution, in those simple words, rent the last of Merlin's restraint. With a harsh sob, he turned to cling almost desperately to his mentor, the man who had never failed to stand stalwart and supportive at Merlin's side no matter how the storms raged and blustered about them. Not once had Gaius wavered, and Merlin wept in relief now to know that steadfast loyalty somehow yet endured in their second chance.

Eventually, Merlin’s sobs slowed to sniffles, his eyes tinted pink and puffy from the emotional turmoil of the day. He couldn't shake the feeling that there would be many more tears shed in the days to come. Clearing his throat, he steadied his voice as best he could and uttered the words that had been weighing heavily on his heart.

“Arthur knows about my magic.”

Gaius's arms tensed around Merlin the moment those fateful words slipped free of his mouth. Pulling back, his mentor's narrowed eyes swept Merlin's face intently before jumping to the still-ajar door as if expecting Camelot's guards to come pouring through at any instant to clap Merlin in irons.

"He knows what?" Gaius hissed under his breath. "Good gods, Merlin, have you taken complete leave of your senses? Do you wish to see yourself in the pyre before your first beard hairs sprout?"

Despite everything, a watery chuckle escaped Merlin at the familiar dramatic antics as Gaius straightened to pace the confines of his cluttered chamber, one hand worrying through his silver hair until it stood nearly on end. And maybe this wasn’t the best time to mention that Merlin had and would never grow facial hair... ever.

"Calm yourself," Merlin soothed, catching his guardian's sleeve as he strode past in agitation. "Things did not...end well...before." He swallowed against the echoing sorrow those memories invoked. "I know this time will be different."

At Gaius's lifted brow and deeply doubtful scowl, Merlin squeezed the arm under his grip. "Arthur himself told me of the new era we are destined to build together—one where magic walks free once more." His smile trembled, but remained hopeful. "He knows of my gifts, Gaius, yet still he called me friend. We stand now at the brink of change written in the stones since the dawn of Albion by hands far greater than our own."

Gaius searched his face intently for lingering signs of distress before sighing gustily, some of the tension bleeding from his frame. "You weave a fanciful tale indeed, my boy," he murmured. "I pray at least that fate may favor all you hope for come to pass." His weathered palm came up to cup Merlin's cheek, regret softening his tone to velvet. "You, above all, deserve such happy endings."

Joyful tears again pricked hotly behind Merlin's eyes at the abiding warmth and care kindled in Gaius's gaze. Gods, he needs to stop before he becomes a puddle of salty water. Perhaps between the two of them, happy endings might yet be carved from destiny's fickle hands, the sweet balancing out the bitter.

With a watery chuckle, Merlin leaned gratefully into Gaius's steady warmth, soaking up this simple comfort he'd feared had been lost to him forever. How often had he found shelter in his mentor's unassuming chambers, gathering strength from the physician's unflagging support to meet the next challenge destiny threw his way? Too many times to count over the years.

With a bracing inhale, Merlin pushed himself firmly off the bench, his spine straightening with renewed vigor. He knew the path he should choose. What must be done—what he should have striven for long ago—now lay ripe for shaping.

“I take it you already made up your mind, then?"

Merlin turned a dazzling grin on his mentor, marveling distantly that such unfettered happiness felt almost foreign after the long, grim years bearing destiny's weight alone. But now that everything's back to the way things were...

"First things first, a little chat with Arthur is in order to know how on earth we got flung back in time," he rambled on, hastily tacking on. "And obviously, I'll need your invaluable assistance with that."

Gaius let out a snort in response to the unsolicited flattery. "You don't need to ask, my boy. I'll assist you in any way I can." Just as Merlin flashed him another winning smile, Gaius added with a twinkle in his eye, "But, of course, only after you've successfully tackled the leech tank cleanup."

Gaius was merely pulling Merlin's leg, but the sheer horror that washed over the boy's face made the jest entirely worthwhile.

Merlin's eyes widened at the mention of the leech tank, and he gulped audibly. "You're joking, right?" he stammered, a mix of disbelief and dread coloring his tone.

Gaius chuckled, enjoying the moment. "Oh, my dear boy, a bit of jest never hurts anyone. But, in all seriousness, we have important matters to discuss. The leech tank can wait for now."

Relief flooded Merlin's expression, and he managed a weak smile. "You really had me going there, Gaius. I thought my days of dealing with leeches were behind me."

Gaius patted Merlin's shoulder reassuringly. "Not so fast, my boy. The leech tank may be postponed, but it's a duty that even magic can't escape forever."

As they continued their banter, Gaius couldn't help but marvel at the genuine warmth and camaraderie he shared with Merlin. The boy's journey had been filled with trials and tribulations, yet his spirit remained resilient. Gaius couldn't help but admire Merlin's competence, a quality that shone even in the face of the pain he had endured and the weight of destiny he carried. The young warlock had become a silent guardian, absorbing the blows of destiny with unwavering strength.

As Gaius pondered, he found himself wondering if Merlin ever sought solace in discussing the burden he bore. Did he, in some future yet to unfold, reach out to share the depths of his feelings with someone? Gaius knew that the path of a sorcerer was often a solitary one, but even the strongest needed a confidant.

"If not," Gaius mused quietly to himself, "then they will be doing that a lot now. With Arthur by his side, that boy isn't going anywhere—future king or not." The unspoken promise of “friendship” (because really, from the way Merlin talked about the prince, it could be nothing but love. Gaius was old, not blind.) between Merlin and Arthur, the forging of bonds that could weather any storm echoed through Gaius's thoughts.

His contemplation, however, was abruptly halted by Merlin's blunt revelation.

“Oh! There will be an attempt on Arthur’s life by Mary Collins—James’ mother—and we will have to let it happen!”

Gaius stared at the audacious young warlock for a beat, uncharacteristically rendered speechless, before blurting out, “What.”

Merlin ceased his rapid rambling, realizing how that might’ve sounded to the rapidly graying man. “Oh, oops, that’s not what I meant!” Merlin huffed, taking Gaius by the shoulders and guiding him gently towards the bench, lest he fall over in shock. “Or, well, I kind of did?”

Gaius settled onto the bench, still grappling with the whirlwind of whatever Merlin just spouted out. "Mary is going to be disguised as Lady Helen and attempt to take Arthur’s life. I will—discreetly—save him using my magic, for which I will be rewarded by Uther—"

“His royal majesty, King Uther,” Gaius interjected, his tone dry but tinged with a hint of amusement.

“By Uther to be Arthur’s manservant,” Merlin continued, as if he had never heard Gaius's correction. The gravity of the situation sank in, and Gaius couldn't help but marvel at the intricate future that awaited them.

Gaius had almost moved on, ready to absorb the next piece of information, when something Merlin said finally caught up to him. ”You will do magic in front of the entire court!? In front of the King!?!”

Merlin winced, hoping against hope that Gaius wouldn't catch that part. Yet, no matter how old the advisor got, he remained as perceptive as ever. The weight of the revelation hung in the air, and Merlin braced himself for the inevitable scolding that would follow.

Startled silence stretched taut between them at Merlin's blunt pronouncement. Gaius stared woodenly, his eyes bulging, as his mind stuttered over processing those careless words. Perform magic...in front of the king and court alike. Had the boy taken complete leave of his senses?

Before he could voice his blistering disbelief, Merlin seemed to read the direction of his guardian's riotous thoughts. "Wait, let me explain!" he exclaimed, hastily steering the frozen physician over to his workbench.

Gaius sank numbly onto the scarred wood, his shaken gaze never leaving Merlin's anxiously shifting form, feeling 50 years older already. The boy wrung his hands, likely resisting the urge to start his trademark incessant pacing, adopted the anxious movement from Gaius himself.

"I just meant...events must unfold the same as before, yes?" Merlin finally met his stare beseechingly. "At least for now. Until we take proper measures."

Gaius forced words past his constricted throat. "The Lady Helen assassination attempt." Comprehension broke as a disbelieving scoff. "And saving Arthur shall somehow earn you the post of his manservant?" He shook his head in bafflement. "Only by Uther's command could that man reward treason."

"Well, he wasn't to know, was he?" Merlin shot back defensively. "Just believed me lucky in my reflexes." He winced slightly. "But the reward stood nonetheless."

Silence hung between them once more as Gaius wrestled to align this mad tale with reality's constraints. At length, he heaved a resigned sigh. "I suppose past events must play out to ensure present continuity." He speared Merlin with a fierce scowl. "But take care, boy! Such reckless stunts invite disaster."

Chagrin bowed Merlin's shoulders even as rue twisted his mouth. "My very existence does that." He essayed a lopsided grin. " ’Twas worth it, though...to remain at pratty Arthur's side." Fondness warmed the words, arresting Gaius's breath.

Perhaps...perhaps this fantastical story held truths as yet unseen. Gaius clasped Merlin's wrist wordlessly, watching dawn break slowly across his ward's beloved features. What future glories hinge on belief in mad destiny's winding road?

As Merlin's lopsided grin lingered, his sharp features softening at even the slightest mention of the blond prince, Gaius found comforting reassurance in the young warlock's unyielding spirit.

In the candlelit gloom of their shared chambers, Merlin's eyes shone gold with fond memory and keen determination both—a tempered steel behind the youthful optimism as he described paths rewritten by destiny's guiding hand.

Gaius watched the flickering shadows cast across weathered stone, dancing freely as flame gave impulse, and marveled at the capricious uncertainty of all futures unfolding. Even weighted with foreknowledge, could Arthur and Merlin redirect fate's inexorable currents? Or would new storms gather beyond their sight, breaking with unforetold fury?

As Merlin's lopsided grin lingered, Gaius couldn't help but notice a weariness in the young warlock's eyes that seemed older than his years. The burden of destiny, carried with such resilience, had left its mark on Merlin's gaze.

Yet gazing now at his ward, hope and magic personified in this deceptively scrawny frame, Gaius discovered faith kindling amidst doubt's creeping chill. Perhaps between Merlin's power and Arthur's storied legend, they might yet steer destiny toward prophesied unity. At least the lonely years ahead would not find Merlin standing alone against the gathering darkness.

The old physician sighed, tension bleeding from his shoulders, and gifted Merlin with an approving nod. The warlock's answering smile blazed bright with promise. Whatever awaited them, together they would weather through to the golden dawn. Of that, Gaius was suddenly certain down to his bones.

So Gaius merely clapped Merlin's shoulder with paternal affection, content to leave weighty matters aside for a while. The future could wait; for now, enough to treasure this peaceful eye amid destiny's storms. They would meet tomorrow's trials as they had all in the past—side by side, come what may.

Chapter Text

4 big guys, and those gents grabeth on mine own thighs
Bloweth up mine own guts liketh the fourth of july
if 't be true those gents keepeth fucking mine own buttocks then i might just cry

DigBarGayRaps (but shakespearean), 4 Big Guys

Arthur rolled his shoulders, taut joints popping as his biceps flexed. He slammed open the door to his chambers, fully prepared to bellow for Merlin to come massage the cricks from his neck. But then he pulled up short, the command dying on his tongue—for the big-eared idiot wasn't yet in his service.

The golden prince stood motionless, struck by how keenly the warlock's absence cut through him in this moment. When had Merlin's ready wit and gentle ministrations become so vital a balm against the stresses ever pressing upon royalty? Somehow Arthur felt incomplete wandering these familiar halls without his second shadow trailing faithfully behind.

So, instead of doing the very mature and responsible thing of just going to bed and sleeping away the stress of tomorrow, when he will turn twenty summers—once again.  Almost without conscious intent, Arthur's feet turned towards the physicians' quarters. If he could not yet claim Merlin's companionship outright, perhaps simply glimpsing the gangly boy brewing remedies would settle the restless ache inside the prince's chest.

The prince just wanted to see the raven’s face once more; the image of Merlin's unruly hair and mischievous eyes was a balm to the tumultuous thoughts that threatened to engulf him. Arthur's steps echoed through the dimly lit corridors of Camelot, the castle's stone walls bearing silent witness to the unspoken connection that tethered the prince and servant.

Arthur rapped politely on Gaius's weathered door, carefully schooling his features to practiced neutrality. The door creaked open to reveal the court physician hunched over an ancient tome, spectacles perched precariously on his nose. Gaius glanced up, and Arthur felt pinned by that wise, knowing gaze—as if the old man could see straight through to the roiling emotions and unspoken desires the prince struggled to conceal. A poor repayment indeed for the father he wished Uther could have been—the man who truly raised and guided him.

Yet Arthur's stubborn arrogance blinded him to Gaius's sagacity until it was too late. He spurned both mentor and Merlin's frantic warnings, naively believing Agravaine's lies and allowing his wretched uncle to betray them all. The consequences proved insurmountable, costing Arthur the two people most precious to his heart and, ultimately, his very kingdom.

He fought back a shudder, recalling the blackest of days when the Southrons breached Camelot's walls alongside the scorned Morgana. How she sneered in wicked triumph, at last claiming her birthright as the usurped ward's revenge played out in butchery. Arthur could still taste the acrid smoke and hear the anguished screams.

If only he had heeded Gaius's wisdom instead of Agravaine's honeyed lies. If only he'd trusted in Merlin's desperation rather than his own pride blinding him to the truth. So many lives could have been spared, so much anguish averted… His throat constricted with failure's bitter taste. 

"Ah, Arthur, what brings you here at this late hour?" Gaius inquired, voice breaking Arthur out of his dark thoughts, feigning innocence that failed to mask the warmth of understanding in his gaze.

"I, uh..." Arthur stumbled over his words, a rare occurrence for the usually composed prince. "I need a salve for...a bruise. Training accident," he added as an afterthought, the lie hanging in the air like an unspoken truth. 

Gaius arched a skeptical brow, but a conspiratorial grin played on his lips. "Of course, my lord. Right this way."

As Arthur followed Gaius deeper into the physician's chambers, he caught a glimpse of a familiar, lanky figure hunched over a potion. Merlin looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. The prince's heart quickened, an implicit derive passing between them.

"Arthur," Merlin greeted, the hint of a smirk dancing on his lips. "What brings you to our humble abode at this ungodly hour?" The smile breaking across Arthur's face as their eyes met was involuntary and unguardedly affectionate. There stood the missing piece of himself, whole and hale, with innocent mischief still dancing bright as starlight in his summer blue eyes.

Arthur scowled, attempting to maintain an air of royal dignity. "I require a salve. Accidents happen, you know."

Merlin chuckled, the same mirth playing in his eyes that Arthur hadn’t seen in years. Merlin's grin held a glimmer of his familiar impish humor, yet its brightness dimmed under the weight of foreknowledge in his eyes. The years had etched away the naive innocence of youth that once danced in those cerulean depths. In its place lurked the shadows of destinies woven and the bitter ache of secrets kept for far too long.

Arthur felt that loss deeply. He longed for the days when laughter flowed freely from his friend's lips, unburdened by the weight of sorrow. However, the veil had been lifted from Arthur’s eyes, and he now understood why Merlin kept silent.

Betrayals had hurt them both, fueled by fear and nurtured in a soil of suspicion. Yet, the wounds weren't just from deception but also from a lack of trust on both sides. Merlin likely stayed quiet even after Arthur took the throne, not because he wanted to hide the truth but because he wasn't sure if revealing it would be met with acceptance instead of punishment.

Arthur sighed, regret and resolve twining. The past could not be changed, but the future yet stretched unmarred before them. When Merlin was ready—free from secrets and the distrust their bitter fruit so often yielded—Arthur would stand ready to hear him. To finally comprehend the man who stood by him as Albion’s burgeoning beacon through the ages yet to unfurl.

For now, though, they would navigate the present, stepping cautiously toward the yet-unseen future.

“Well, I did warn you to not eat that much, now look! You’re already getting out of shape.” Merlin’s voice cut through his thoughts, a bright smile on his face to let Arthur know he was simply jesting. 

Arthur narrowed his eyes before saying in a kingly voice, “Are you calling me fat? ”

Merlin, feigning innocence, replied, “I didn’t say it!”

“I will show you fat—”

Gaius cleared his throat, efficiently interrupting the two bickering. He raised an Eyebrow of Doom, making both boys feel like scolded children. Arthur, undeterred, playfully puffed out his chest, ready with a retort. Arthur watches Merlin struggle to contain his mirth, sharp cheeks flushed and white teeth digging into his full lower lip. Tenderness swelled in Arthur's chest, affection welling unbidden at this vision of innocence not yet entirely stripped away by hardship and revelations yet to come.

Despite himself, Arthur felt his stern composure threaten to crack, lips twitching traitorously. There was something comfortingly familiar about this gentle gibe and banter. An echo of lighter times when the future yet sprawled untouched before them, horizons broad with hope.

On impulse, Arthur reached out to cuff Merlin playfully around the head, fingers tangling fondly in those unruly raven locks. Merlin squawked, dodging the blow with a flash of indignation, though his offended protest soon dissolved into breathless laughter.

The sound rang as melodiously as bells in the air between them. Arthur committed it to memory like a charm against gathering storms. As long as Merlin still possessed the ability to laugh untarnished beneath these familiar rafters, perhaps the future could unfold gentler than either dared hope.

Gaius looked on with paternal exasperation, though indulgent fondness tugged subtly at his beard. "Boys," he chided lightly. But his eyes crinkled knowingly at the corners. The bonds nurtured between these walls—however improbable—ran deeper than mere duty.

With effort, Arthur schooled his features, clasping hands behind his back in an attitude of noble dignity. "You will show proper respect to your future king," he admonished Merlin, though the reproach lacked true heat.

Merlin offered an exaggerated bow. "Of course, my sincere apologies...your royal pratness."

Before Arthur could sputter out an indignant response, Gaius intervened smoothly. "As you can see, sire, Merlin still requires some polish when addressing nobility. I assure you, he intends no true impudence." The physician raised his brow meaningfully at his ward.

Ducking his head once more, Merlin murmured, "Right, yeah...sorry." But his muted tone could not mask the impish sparkle lingering in his gaze. 

Arthur huffed, his attempt at maintaining offended dignity faltering in the face of the familiar sparks of insolent humor dancing in Merlin's eyes. It seemed some things would remain unchanged, and Arthur found himself secretly relieved. There was a comfort in the continuity of old habits, even as new understandings began to take root.

Turning towards Merlin, Arthur found the warlock already approaching, as if he could anticipate the prince's intent before words took form. A knowing smile played across Merlin's lips as he reached to undo the leather straps securing Arthur's armor. Despite the lack of wear and tear that would come in the years ahead, Merlin's long fingers moved with practiced ease. Deftly, he loosened clasps and buckles, each steel plate surrendering its formidable weight into his steady hands.

Arthur couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath as those tapered fingertips grazed the thin linen at his sides, leaving a trail of sparks across his suddenly sensitized skin. Piece by piece, the protective carapace that shielded the prince from the world fell away beneath Merlin's gentle touch. The metal, once steadfast, now felt like a cumbersome barrier separating skin from skin. Each buckle and clasp released a whisper of anticipation into the air.

Hesitant at first, then with increasing confidence, Merlin's palms slid across Arthur's shoulders, guiding mail and plate to thud muted on the floor. The very air between them changed, heavy with strange expectancy and crackling with possibilities long denied, now perilously close to igniting at last.

As the final fastenings gave way, Merlin's touch lingered. No longer merely efficient, it became almost reverent, as if he were mapping the contours of not just muscle and bone but the unspoken desires and histories that bound them together. Merlin adeptly unbuckled the vambrace and greave, his deft fingers the brushing bare skin with unconscious tenderness. For this fleeting calm, they existed in a sphere apart from all roles and conceits—just two allied souls reveling in long-overdue transparency.

Arthur shuddered, his pulse thrumming wildly and erratically in his ears. Compelled by a restless longing, he felt an irresistible urge to lean into that searing brand of touch. The weight of possibilities, long denied, now hovered perilously close to igniting at last.

The clearing of a voice sprang them apart— again, Arthur noted with a twinge of frustration — awkwardly looking at anything but the other. 

Gaius, though unfazed by the subtle undercurrents between his ward and the prince, carried on as if the moment had not been charged with unspoken desires. "Now, let me see that bruise you mentioned."

Arthur cleared his throat, a fleeting flush coloring his cheeks as he shifted his attention away from Merlin. The physician's practiced hands examined the supposed injury with a sage nod.

"It seems like a mild bruise at worst. I'll prepare a salve for you," Gaius said, oblivious to the currents of tension still swirling in the air. "Merlin, fetch me the comfrey and arnica from the herb cabinet."

Merlin nodded, grateful for the excuse to move away and break the palpable energy that had lingered between them. As he rummaged through the herb cabinet, his thoughts swirled in a tempest of conflicting emotions. Their easy banter and the intimacy of removing Arthur's armor (seriously? Sexual tension while removing armor? How much more pathetic can this get?) resurrected poignant echoes of a bygone era. 

A time when laughter came unforced, the boundaries between prince and servant blurred in unguarded moments of sincere camaraderie. Yet even then, an ineffable distance always remained—Merlin could only be drawn so close before the world's expectations insisted he retreat to his proper station.

Now, with Camelot's future theirs to rewrite, the boundaries blurred further with each passing breath. The weight of destiny's call only strengthened the bond blazing between the two men, rather than keeping them apart. 

Merlin reflected on how far they'd come from the combative nobles and impertinent peasants of their former lives. Hostility and wariness had alchemized into something deeper, steadier, and infinitely more precious than fealty alone could forge. With unspoken trust blazing in each look, Merlin now stood basked in the unguarded light of Arthur's soul—and Arthur in his.

Merlin wondered if Arthur could sense the subtle shifts in the air, the silent conversations echoing through glances and touches.

When he returned with the herbs, Merlin kept his gaze lowered, unwilling to meet Arthur's eyes. Gaius efficiently prepared the salve; the rhythmic clinking of glass vials was a counterpoint to the charged silence. As Gaius worked, he spoke in measured tones, giving Arthur advice on proper rest and care for his training injury.

With the salve ready, Gaius handed it to Arthur. "Apply this to the bruise before sleeping. It should help with the swelling. And don't forget to get a good night's rest, my lord. Tomorrow is a significant day for you."

Arthur nodded in acknowledgement, lips quirking up at the older man’s familiar fussing, his gaze flickering briefly toward Merlin. He shifted from foot-to-foot, feeling much like a child who didn’t know how to ask for things he wanted. The prince swallowed once before looking up at his soon-to-be-manservant resolutely.

“Merlin,” was all he said, knowing that the magic user already knew what the blonde was asking of him. 

The said man only smiled, eyes softening in relief as if he, too, was scared to part with him. That was probably the case, seeing as Arthur did come back from the dead. Merlin turned towards Gaius, who was getting prepared to head to bed, having a few whispered words with him. 

Gaius listened intently to Merlin's hushed words, his expression a mix of concern and understanding. After a brief exchange, the old physician nodded, placing a comforting hand on Merlin's shoulder. Whatever was said between them remained a private exchange, a shared understanding that transcended the unspoken boundaries of sorcery and royalty.

In response, Merlin turned to Arthur, "I will help you with that," motioning towards the salve.

Arthur nodded, relieved that he wouldn’t have to spend the night alone. He quickly erased that thought out of his mind. It’s not like Merlin is going to spend the night in my chambers. The prince cleared his throat before bidding Gaius a good night, wheeling around and marching away, knowing full well Merlin was on his heels. 

Their shoulders brushed as they strolled together, the faint clinking of armor in Merlin’s hands the sole audible accompaniment to their quiet walk. Arthur observed Merlin at his side, head held high, bathed in the gentle glow of candlelight that softened his typically sharp features. Despite his youthful appearance, unburdened by the weight of the future, there lingered a subtle shadow in his eyes, perceptible only to Arthur.

Their shoulders touched, walking side by side. Not merely as servant and master or friends, but as something deeper. The edges of Arthur's lips lifted, his gaze tender as he regarded his longtime companion. Some might even venture to label them as soulmates.

And as Merlin turned his gaze toward him, those expansive blue eyes seeming to hold the entire universe, those who deemed them soulmates would be proven absolutely correct. The unspoken understanding that passed between them carried the weight of lifetimes, and in that quiet moment, the world outside their shared bubble ceased to exist.

Merlin deftly undid the intricate laces that bound Arthur's tunic, smoothly removing the garment from the prince's perspiration-clad form. Placing it over a nearby chair, Merlin returned, now kneeling before Arthur to skillfully unlace his boots. The effortless precision with which he carried out each action never ceased to leave Arthur in awe.

"Merlin," Arthur called out, gently grasping his chin and tilting it upward to meet his gaze. "You do realize you're not my servant yet, right? I can manage to undress myself."

In response, he received a shy smile, Merlin's head tilting like a curious kitten exploring its surroundings. Arthur's heartbeat seemed to reach a crescendo; Oh gods, I think I am having a heart attack.

"I know." Merlin's voice barely rose above a whisper. "But I want to."

Well, forget the heart attack; it felt more like Merlin had just pierced Arthur's heart with a spear. Those simple words triggered more intense bodily reactions than they should have, with his heart squeezing in a surprisingly painful way. Okay, this is definitely a heart attack.

Merlin resumed unlacing Arthur's boots, effortlessly removing them and placing them aside with a casual air, as if he hadn't just nearly induced a cardiac arrest in Arthur with his—his perfect hair that swayed with the wind, his kiss-hungry lips, big blue eyes, ridiculous ears that turned red whenever he blushed, his neck, and oh god, his neck —

Arthur abruptly pulled himself out of his dangerously intriguing thoughts before venturing into forbidden territory. 

Merlin took the salve from where it was previously placed on the desk, raising an eyebrow that looked much too similar to Gaius’ own for Arthur’s own comfort. Arthur gently laid on his stomach, feeling the slighter man move towards him, the bed slightly dipping under his weight.

Merlin dipped his fingers into the soothing salve, the cool texture a stark contrast to the warmth of Arthur's skin. The room was filled with the calming scent of herbs, creating an atmosphere that seemed to cocoon them in a private haven. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows, accentuating the contours of Arthur's strong back.

He began the massage with deliberate intent, his fingers tracing slow, relaxing circles at the base of Arthur's neck. The prince let out a low sigh, muscles yielding under the magical touch. Merlin's hands, skilled and knowing, traveled lower, exploring the landscape of Arthur's spine with a gentle yet firm caress.

The air crackled with a quiet intimacy as Merlin's fingertips mapped the lines of tension, coaxing them to unravel. The only sounds were the hushed whispers of their breaths and the subtle creaking of the floor beneath them. Each stroke carried a silent promise of comfort, a shared language spoken in the secret confines of their private sanctuary.

Merlin's touch became more sensual, a dance of desire and familiarity. His palms glided over the expanse of Arthur's back, teasingly tracing the outline of well-defined muscles. The salve created a slippery trail, enhancing the tactile connection between them. The room seemed to pulse with a muted energy, a reflection of the unspoken understanding that lingered in the air.

As Merlin worked his way lower, kneading the tension from Arthur's lower back, the prince couldn't help but arch into the sensation. The massage was a choreography of pleasure and relief, a tandra of shared vulnerability. The line between best friends melted away in the heat of their shared moment, the magic between them intertwining them in an intoxicating embrace.

He quietly groaned, feeling Merlin’s hands falter where they were slowly massaging his back. Arthur buried his head into his stupidly fluffed-up pillow before more embarrassing noises came out of him. Merlin paused, his hands stilling for a moment, as if the vulnerability of that quiet groan had caught him off guard.

“Arthur,” Merlin's voice was a breath, a whisper that brushed against the prince's senses. Arthur responded only with a hum.

“Turn around; I need to…” His voice faltered momentarily before resuming, “I need to tend to your front.”

Arthur turned over, his eyes meeting Merlin's in a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken desires lingering in the air. The room seemed to hold its breath as the prince shifted, its vulnerability laid bare by the intimate exchange between them. 

Merlin resumed his ministrations, only this time straddling Arthur’s hips. His breath caught in his throat, and his eyes widened as rough hands came up to grasp at Merlin’s thin waist. The warlock didn’t shy away from his intense gaze; his blushing little face endlessly endearing, but his breathing quickened.

Arthur observed the subtle bobbing of Merlin's adam's apple as he swallowed harshly, their crotch pressed together. Merlin’s slender fingers halted in their motion when he felt Arthur’s broad hands creep under his shift, caressing the soft skin of his stomach. 

A little gasp fell out of Merlin’s plump lips, eyes falling shut as Arthur’s hands lifted higher on his body. Even from this subtle movement, Merlin was already flustered, a vivid blush coloring his cheeks and beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

Arthur wasn’t faring too well, either. Pulse quickened, and blood rushed to his cock, pressing against the curve of Merlin’s arse. He subconsciously pushed up his hips against Merlin, fingers going up to play with Merlin’s little nubs. The man quivered against his touch, mouth falling open to let out a squeak, surprisingly sensitive.

“Merlin…” Arthur rasped, his voice unexpectedly husky, as if he needed to quench a thirst he wasn't aware of. “May I?”

Merlin nodded his head vigorously, pushing his chest against Arthur’s war-roughened hands like a trained harlot. 

“Yes, yes, please, Arthur.” The lithe man choked on his saliva as Arthur pinched at his hardened teat. 

With Merlin’s clear consent, Arthur pulled his hands out from under Merlin’s tunic, causing a whine to erupt from his throat. The prince softly hushed him, encouraging him to peel away the fabric veiling the pale skin.

Both of their chest rose and fell in tandem, eyes wandering all over each other’s sweat-slicked body. Merlin’s hands explored every inch of Arthur’s skin, leaning down to press one, two, three kisses on the scars marring his chest. 

A chuckle escaped Arthur's lips as Merlin nuzzled against his skin, his hair, reminiscent of a kitten's fur, tickling him. The little wizard peeked up at him, eyes crinkled and fond. Arthur's hand found its way to Merlin's cheek, his touch feather-light yet charged with an unspoken promise. Merlin's eyes, pools of caeruleus, held a mixture of anticipation and vulnerability.

In the hushed silence, Arthur's lips brushed against Merlin's forehead, a soft whisper of a kiss that conveyed a thousand unspoken emotions. A shiver passed through Merlin, a response to the tender warmth that enveloped him.

Their eyes locked, the silent understanding between them deepening. Arthur's thumb traced the line of Merlin's jaw, a gentle caress that invited a symphony of sensations. Merlin's breath hitched, a tacit invitation hanging in the air.

Finally, their lips met in a slow, lingering embrace. Arthur's mouth molded to Merlin's with a tantalizing sweetness, a union of souls that transcended the physical realm. The universe didn’t split into two, no one burst through the doors to take his lover away; only they existed in this moment. The taste of anticipation lingered, a mingling of shared desire and uncharted territory.

As the kiss deepened, time lost its hold on them, the air pulsating with an electric charge. Merlin's fingers tangled in Arthur's hair, a desperate attempt to anchor himself in the sea of sensation. Arthur's hand found the small of Merlin's back, drawing him impossibly closer.

Merlin slipped his tongue inside of Arthur’s mouth, tongues tangled in a slow and languid dance, each movement an exploration of uncharted territory. The taste of each other lingered, a heady mix of desire and intimacy. Arthur's heartbeat echoed in the quiet room, a steady rhythm that matched the pace of their entwined tongues.

Their hips rolled against each other, not letting go of each other's lips for a moment. Arthur savored each of Merlin's sighs and moans, swallowing them whole.  

Arthur’s hands creeped down from where it had held the back of Merlin’s neck to his arse, reaching underneath his breeches and squeezing, pulling it closer to his own erection. Merlin cried out, effectively breaking the kiss with only a string of saliva connecting them. 

Their connection intensified, a shared heartbeat echoing in the quiet chamber. Their mouths pressed together once more in hunger, not willing to let go of each other. Each kiss carried the weight of unspoken confessions, the promise of a future to come. In that moment, they were not a prince and a sorcerer but two souls bound by a golden string that defied the constraints of Camelot.

Arthur grunted as Merlin bucked his sweet rump against his clothed bulge, breathing heavily against Merlin’s lips.

“Arthur… Arthur, oh God,” The warlock succumbed to husky moans, tears cascading down his inflamed cheeks. Arthur tenderly whispered words of comfort against Merlin's ears, brushing away the tears as they coursed down his face.

Arthur planted his feet firmly on the sheets, bucking hard and rough against Merlin, causing the man to bounce on his lap. He watched Merlin’s every expression, noting how his deep pupils eclipsed the cerulean hue of his eyes. 

"Bloody hell," The exclamation escaped his lips involuntarily as he fixed his gaze on Merlin's flushed face, his eyes glazed. Merlin's eyes gleamed a brilliant gold, and both of their breeches vanished into thin air. Arthur's breath hitched in his throat at the small display of power, his eyes meeting Merlin’s in a mixture of awe and desire. 

The prince swiftly shifted Merlin onto his back, drawing a surprised gasp from the other. Sitting back on his haunches, Arthur admired the blush that adorned Merlin's body. The warlock's chest rose haltingly, back arching, and legs spreading underneath him.

Arthur hungrily took in every detail of the smaller body, every dips and blemish that made up the man gazing up at him lovingly. He mouthed at Merlin’s elegantly slender neck, sucking bruises after another against his pale skin, drawing out hitched moans and whimpers from him.

The golden haired man’s large hands fit against the dip of Merlin’s waist, squeezing tight enough for it to leave a mark. A primal instinct inside of him purred at the thought of his mate wearing his claim on his body. Arthur bit down more firmly on the smooth skin, applying pressure sufficient to mark it with an angry, red impression without breaking through.

Additional tears cascaded, accompanied by hiccups of pleasure escaping his lips. Strong arms enveloped Arthur's shoulders, drawing him closer to the warmth of Merlin's body. Hips surged forward, their rhythm syncing, and the raven’s bare thighs encircled Arthur's hips, removing any inch of gap they had in between. 

The slide of their length leaking precum makes slick sounds, the only other noise besides their moans and gasps was the fire crackling steadily in this place. Arthur reaches a hand down between their bodies, engulfing both of their cock in one calloused hand. 

A muttered curse left Arthur’s mouth, beads of sweat streaming down the sides of his temple. The man underneath him gasped and writhed against his hand’s relentless pace, hips stuttering and arching perfectly under his muscular figure. Merlin's lips shaped his name, yet he couldn't utter it aloud, his own wails stifling the words.

“Arthur…Arthur…” his sweet little mate muttered between loud gasps, “ ‘m gonna cum…Arthur. Oh God, Arthur, I can't…”

Arthur kissed away the tears, caused by sensitivity, encircling his free arm beneath Merlin, lifting him onto his lap without strain. 

“Cum for me sweetheart, come on.” The blonde’s voice was low, rasping against the others’ reddened ears. 

The abrupt exhibition of sheer strength, coupled with those affectionate words softly murmured into Merlin's ears, proved to be enough to make him come undone. Merlin’s body curved, coming all over Arthur’s hands and his own belly with a loud keen. 

His eyes turned gold, shooting spurts of cum, as if he had just undergone a catharsis.

“You’re so gorgeous, ”Arthur breathed, his hand quickening, overstimulating Merlin's softening sensitive cock, bringing himself to completion with a drawn out growl. 

Enveloped in the ecstasy of pleasure, neither of them noticed the reddened glow in Arthur's eyes, shifting from blue to a fierce Camelot red. A low growl tore from his throat, the sound strained, his stomach churning and flipping as if something within him thrashed around, desperate to break free and claim what belonged to him.

He let go of their lengths, arms coming around to hold Merlin close to himself, the blonde's own hips jerking and stuttering against the other. His biceps bulged, veins standing out with the sheer strength of the orgasm, stealing his breath away. 

A tender reverence softened their fevered embrace as the two souls bonded deeply by the Old Religion clung tightly together, bodies melded and hearts laid bare. Each breathless whisper of their names like a benediction, sealing promises forged by destiny’s joined hands. 

Fingertips traced gentle patterns on flushed skin still thrumming with remembered passion, now tempered by emerging awe at the profound connection kindling brightly between two souls too long kept apart.

Arthur pressed fervent kisses to Merlin’s brow, his magic-warmed eyes, the tender pulse point below his ear, as though immersing himself in the wellspring of affection glowing from his warlock’s slighter frame. An answering swell of emotion clogged Merlin’s throat, spilling over in hitched sighs as he twined himself impossibly closer.

No words existed to encapsulate this moment, when years of unvoiced longing and banked desire at last ruptured dams built by doubt and secrecy. But no words were needed. Each knew the truth, read plainly in hands that would not relinquish their hold. Emotion coursed between them along invisible threads binding fast their hearts across whatever trials the future held in store. Destiny herself smiled upon this union no power could put asunder.

At long last, the prince and warlock settled into slumber’s gentle embrace, still wrapped securely around one another. And through the hours their soulfire burned on - an eternal beacon signifying Albion’s golden age soon to dawn.

Chapter Text

Baby don’t you know?
That you’re my golden hour,
The color of my sky,
You’ve set my world on fire,
And I know, I know everything’s gonna be alright.

~Kacey Musgraves, Golden Hour

Arthur blinked awake, the gentle morning light filtering through the curtains and casting a soft glow across his face. He lay still for a moment, relishing the warmth of the bed and the lingering sense of peace that enveloped him. Memories of the previous night flooded his mind—their shared moments, silent confessions, and tender embraces.

Turning his head, Arthur's gaze fell upon the man beside him, his heart swelling with affection at the sight of Merlin's serene expression in sleep. Dark strands of hair framed his face, and a faint smile graced his lips, as if he were dreaming of something delightful.

Arthur reached out, his fingers grazing Merlin's cheek with featherlight touches. He marveled at the warmth of Merlin's skin beneath his touch, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed in the morning air. It was moments like these that Arthur cherished the most—the quiet intimacy shared between them, unburdened by the weight of their responsibilities.

As Merlin stirred, eyelashes fluttering open to reveal those mesmerizing blue eyes, Arthur felt a surge of affection wash over him. "Good morning," he murmured, his voice soft with tenderness.

Merlin's lips curved into a lazy smile, his gaze meeting Arthur's with warmth and fondness. "Morning," he replied, his voice still laced with sleep, dimples showing as he smiled wider. Arthur's heart swelled with affection as Merlin nuzzled closer, seeking out his warmth. He wrapped both arms around the warlock, fingers trailing lazily up and down his back.

"I don't want this moment to end," Arthur murmured, voice still gravelly with sleep. He pressed a kiss to Merlin's mussed hair, inhaling the comforting scent of him.

Merlin hummed drowsily, the sound vibrating through Arthur's chest. "Can we just stay here all day?" Came his muffled request as he burrowed further into Arthur's embrace.

The prince huffed out a soft laugh. "As tempting as that sounds, I fear we cannot shirk our duties so easily." Even as he said it, Arthur made no move to leave their haven of pillows and tangled sheets.

He felt Merlin's sigh, breath ghosting over his skin. "Being destiny's chosen ones is overrated sometimes," he complained without any real rancor. Arthur didn't have to see his face to envision the exaggerated pout. 

Arthur, the prat, only huffed out a indulgent hum, carding his fingers through Merlin’s messy hair. Merlin practically purred at the feeling of Arthur's fingers carding tenderly through his hair. He arched into the touch like a contented cat.

"You're hopeless, you know that?" Arthur said, a smile in his voice.

"Mmm..." was all Merlin managed in response, eyes slipping closed again as Arthur's talented fingers worked to ease any lingering tension from his scalp.

A comfortable silence settled around them, the quiet sounds of birdsong and morning breeze drifting through the open window. This easy domestic intimacy still felt novel, though Merlin knew he could grow happily used to lazy mornings wrapped securely in his prince's embrace.

"I should probably leave, in case a servant comes by," Merlin murmurs, a touch of sadness lacing his words as he contemplates the impending departure, reluctantly preparing to untangle himself from the cocoon of warmth they've woven together. Arthur's arms instinctively tighten around Merlin, a silent protest against the encroaching reality that threatens to pull them apart.

A low, almost guttural growl rumbles from Arthur's chest before he gruffly clears his throat, determinedly ignoring the strange reaction. His response is more resolute than he intended, as he firmly states, "No."

The raven-haired warlock tilts his head upward, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, "No?"

Arthur's gaze softens, a resolute gleam shining in his eyes as he repeats, "No." The word carries a weight of determination that surprises even him. He can feel the faint flutter of Merlin's heart against his chest, a rhythm that seems to synchronize with his own. The thought of letting Merlin slip away, of allowing him to fade into the mundane routine of Camelot, becomes suddenly unbearable.

With a reluctant yet firm resolve, Arthur loosens his grip on Merlin but doesn't release him. Their eyes lock, the unspoken understanding passing between them. Arthur shifts slightly, creating a space for Merlin to settle more comfortably against him. The shared warmth and intimacy become a shield against the looming responsibilities and societal expectations.

"Stay," Arthur insists, the single word laden with a silent plea that echoes through the quiet chamber. He doesn't need to articulate the unspoken sentiments—the desire to prolong the stolen moments, to revel in the sanctuary they've created away from the prying eyes of the court.

Merlin's gaze softens, and a tender smile plays on his lips. The unspoken agreement settles in the air, an acknowledgment that they are each other's refuge in a world brimming with complexities. Silently, Merlin nods, nestling back into the protective curve of Arthur's embrace, the outside world momentarily forgotten.

They remain cocooned in the warmth of shared closeness, defying the outside forces that threaten to pull them apart. In the serene tranquility of the chamber, time appears to stretch, offering them a precious respite—a sanctuary within Camelot's walls where distinctions between prince and servant fade, and the mere act of remaining becomes a profound testament.

A single thought crosses Arthur’s mind: Was I fucking growling ? But before he could dwell on it further, sleep claimed him once more.

Morris hurried down the lengthy hallway, the morning sun barely breaking through the thick clouds. He could sense it would be a scorching summer day, already feeling the sweat trickling down his back, his clothes clinging uncomfortably to his skin. 

Many of the servants bustled around him, preparing for today’s banquet held for the prince’s name day, pushing and shoving their way around each other. It was something the boy was used to, having grown up in the castle as a servant’s child before becoming one himself. 

He was one of the servants that tended to the prince himself, not as his personal manservant, but instead as a training dummy. Which, really, was quite insulting, but what royalty wants, royalty gets. 

And, maybe he was a little jealous of Prince Arthur, but really, who wasn't? The man had it all, that was undeniable. Devastating good looks, the finest fashions and feasts, ladies trailing after him with yearning looks...not to mention being hailed as the greatest warrior in all Albion, and oh, did he mention earth-shatteringly handsome?

Morris smothered a wistful sigh. Who among the servants didn't harbor at least a tiny flicker of envy toward the prince's charmed existence?

It wasn't just the physical gifts like the chiseled jawline, broad shoulders, and startling blue eyes—though gods, those alone were enough to tie Morris's tongue when caught in Arthur's directional path. No, it was the easy confidence and magnetism the man exuded with every crooked grin and casual saunter.

He'd be a liar if he claimed to be fully immune to that disarming, roguish charm himself. Who could resist feeling a few traitorous butterflies take wing in their belly whenever the prince's heavy-lidded gaze swept their way—no matter how fleetingly?

Honestly, it was a marvel how such a devastatingly handsome man could also be cursed with such an insufferable attitude. Because really now? Forcing a poor servant to scamper about like a startled rabbit, nothing but a battered shield to deflect the torrent of flying knives Arthur gleefully launched his way?

However, each wicked blade seemed to just...miss its mark with uncanny precision. Morris frowned, a thought niggling. Was such finesse unintentional? Or did the man merely enjoy toying with his skittish prey for entertainment's sake?

Shaking his head firmly, Morris dispelled the rather unfair thoughts circling like vultures. He couldn't risk the prince's legendary wrath by dawdling—not today of all days. Lengthening his stride, the servant boy hurried toward Arthur's chambers while mentally steeling himself for whatever debasing tasks awaited.

Even after all the careless arrogance and bullying antics, Morris couldn't quite extinguish a flicker of sympathy for Camelot's firstborn. His ma's favorite lecture rang in his head about keeping a servant's nose firmly unpoked into elite affairs, lest it be promptly detached. But ever since he was a lad scampering unseen through the castle corridors, Arthur had awoken Morris's pitying fascination.

For all the golden blessings poured upon him at birth, none could bestow the most vital gift—a mother's tender embrace. The prince drew his very first breath as an orphan, his own life likely the cost of the queen's. While old Gorvine the past Lord Chamberlain would sourly claim the tragic circumstances steeled Arthur's resolve, Morris wondered if they didn't also harden a piece of his heart.

King Uther certainly proved no salve for the wound, his groffness and cold demeanor utterly lacking the gentle affection all babes required. Morris stole a furtive glance over his shoulder, irrationally fearing the mere thought might somehow summon the sovereign's withering glare and set him instantly aflame.

No, poor Arthur walked a lonesome path from the crib. Was it any wonder the man's bravado seeped into arrogance, his boyish jauntiness twisted toward cruelty when he never witnessed tenderness modeled? Morris sighed, resolving to bite his tongue against any coming ridiculous demands. Just this once, he would grant Arthur's princehood its full indulgences (not that he has any right to excuse anyone anything, especially a royal, but shut up) .

Morris came up short before the pair of hulking guards stationed at the entrance to Arthur's hallway, their tree-trunk necks and menacing scowls forcing the servant boy to crane his neck practically upside. Shooting them an awkward little bobbing nod, he scurried quickly between their impassive forms before they could decide to use him as a footstool.

Approaching the heavy oaken door—knowing the prince is asleep and doesn’t like to be awoken by knocking— Morris steeled himself with a fortifying grunt before throwing his whole weight against the unyielding wood. It grudgingly creaked open just enough for his slight frame to slip through sideways. He staggered a bit crossing the threshold, muttering resentfully about the indignity of being the prince's personal target dummy yet somehow failing to bulk up one whit.

Not for the first time, Morris lamented his apparent inability to progress beyond this knobby-kneed, delicate-boned state more befitting a lad of ten rather than his true seventeen years. His ma's favorite refrain about "late bloomers" and "giving it time" rang hollow against the harsh reality staring back at him in any reflective surface.

Just yesterday he overheard Cedric and Gregory placing wagers on whether Morris could still be mistaken for one of the young pageboys if he hitched his tunic up properly. The fiery blush singeing his cheeks had only fueled their raucous guffaws. Meanwhile, any attempt at sprouting so much as a pathetic wispy mustache ended in abject failure within days.

Ah well, perhaps Mother was right and he simply required more patience. Straightening his shoulders, Morris consoled himself that at the very least, no brutish band of ruffians would be able to accuse him of overcompensating!  With that admittedly feeble balm, the waifish servant steeled himself to face the usual gauntlets of princely torment.

Before he could even mutter a greeting—and an apology, for something or the other—he stopped short at the sight in front of him. For a second he was sure that he entered the wrong room, seeing as this castle is a maze of hallways and mysterious doors that lead to nowhere, but no. No, this was the correct room.

This was Prince Arthur’s chambers. With Prince Arthur sleeping on his big royal bed. With someone else. Holy mother of christ. 

This wasn't an unfamiliar sight for Morris, who had unfortunately stumbled upon his fair share of intimate encounters in the past. However, this scene was entirely different. Never before had he witnessed any of Prince Arthur's lovers sharing a bed with him in such a manner—peacefully asleep together.

Morris's mouth fell agape, frozen to the threshold as his eyes hungrily drank in the unexpectedly tender scene laid before him. There in the rumpled sheets lay the bare-chested prince, his golden hair tousled in slumber and expression utterly unguarded. But it was the sleeping figure nestled against Arthur that stole Morris's breath away.

A lithe, raven-haired man rested with his head pillowed on the prince's chest, ebony locks spilling over Arthur's tawny skin. Blossoms of fading bruises and reddened bite marks mottled the bare torso and arms—as if someone, perhaps Arthur himself, had been gripped by passion's ferocity. Despite the marks hinting at earlier amorous intensity, an air of tranquil intimacy now surrounded the pair.

Morris couldn't tear his eyes away, shamelessly gawking at the tender embrace. His heart pounded with astonished curiosity witnessing such an unguarded moment of vulnerability from the proud prince. Had anyone ever seen Arthur so...peaceful? So eased of the imperious airs and burdens that typically weighed his shoulders?

As if sensing Morris's rapt observation, the dark-haired lover snuffled and nuzzled his cheek against Arthur's pectorals. With a contented murmur, the prince instinctively tightened his arms around the slighter form, crushing their bodies flush. He tucked the man's tousled head beneath his chin, seeming to drink in the reassuring scent and solidity of his bedmate like a man dying of thirst.

Morris's throat grew tight watching Arthur bestow such gentle, uncomplicated affection. Who was this man to inspire such uncommon tenderness from the typically uncompromising prince? The tender display awakened a strange yearning within Morris's chest—to be held with such adoring protectiveness, to gift someone else sanctuary within his own embrace.

An unbidden smile tugged his lips as the two lovers slumbered on, oblivious. For this fleeting moment, at least, Camelot's heir was just a man at peace.

Just as Morris made to tactfully withdraw and preserve the lovers' privacy, a spark of recognition lit up his brain like a wildfire. That delicate, bruised torso and tousled ebony mane...he knew that fair skin and lithe frame!

Whipping his head back around, Morris drank in the scene anew, mouth forming a perfectly scandalized ‘O’ as it all slammed into place. That was the same impertinent peasant bold enough to mouth off at Arthur over his callous knife-throwing antics! The mysterious lover was none other than the one who had told the prince off for bullying a poor, innocent boy (i.e Morris himself).

Morris bit back a baffled giggle. Well well, it seemed the Pendragon heir had quite the penchant for insolent cheekiness—and possibly even romantic martyrdom. What else could explain being drawn to someone who so blatantly mocked propriety and tradition by defying the crown prince to his face?

Clearly the key to Arthur's affections was relentless irreverence! Those who groveled to his arrogance or simpered in deference were bound to be coldly overlooked. No, only the brave and audacious souls who stared down that imperious glare and dished back their own rapier wit stood any hope of fanning the flames of desire. Not just beauty and bravery enticed him—he must crave spirit and spark in equal measure or swiftly lose all interest.

As Arthur instinctively pulled his bedmate impossibly closer as if trying to mold them into one being, nuzzling into those rumpled raven locks, a wistful grin quirked Morris's lips. Not just combativeness seemed to have captured the prince's heart. That tender, protective embrace bespoke a gentler depth of feeling...and hinted at a man who longed for an equal partner as much as one unafraid of his legendary prowess.

Well, if nothing else, Morris mused with an inner chuckle, the royal dolts could never claim their relationship suffered from any lack of sparks!

Morris lingered a moment longer, glimpsing the striking composition the two sleeping figures made—muscular gold entwined with night-spun silk, intensity and irreverence merging in an unexpectedly tender tableau. Who could have predicted the famously hot headed prince would find such tranquility in the embrace of the one person bold enough to stare down his arrogance?

Yet as different as they appeared on the surface—royalty and commoner, sword and tongue—perhaps they recognized kindred resonances in each other's spirit. Here lay the force that could reshape Camelot's legacy if their souls intertwined as surely as their bodies. The audacious protector whose quick wits balanced Arthur's brash impulsiveness...and the stalwart warrior whose strength could shelter that brilliant, subversive spark from cruel winds. ( Yes, he likes fantasy romance tales, what about it? )    

As the lovers slumbered on, oblivious to his furtive witness, Morris had the fleeting sense of two shards of a greater whole finally slotting into alignment. With a lopsided smile and shake of his head, he quietly withdrew and pulled the heavy door closed once more on love's improbable pairing. 

Destinies clearly had unexpected paths to forge in the Pendragon reign—and Morris found himself impatient to glimpse what future grails lay ahead for the crown prince...and the elfin peasant with the spine of steel.

Tucking away the vision like a talisman against cynicism, Morris whistled a jaunty folk tune as he made his way back down the shadowed passage. Who knew what marvels the day might bring if the mighty Prince Arthur's heart was softened by irreverent tenderness? Morris chuckled under his breath. Albany the laundress was never going to believe this particular piece of castle gossip!

The grand banquet hall thrummed with eager energy, awash in the warm glow of torchlight that glinted off goblets and silver platters laden with suckling pig, pheasants, and early summer berries. Nobles adorned in rich silks and velvets mingled amongst long, heavy oak tables, their booming laughs and drunken toasts colliding with the notes of the lute player tucked in the corner.

Servants wove expertly between benches, jerked from one task to the next by a lord’s clicking fingers or waved chalice demanding refilling.Merlin's gaze was drawn to Arthur's bright hair, its golden strands catching the light in a way that made the prince's face gleam with a boyish charm. While to some, Arthur might appear pompous and aloof, there was something in his eyes that betrayed a deeper truth. Behind the mask of royal demeanor lay a well of pain and wisdom, born from the weight of his burdens and responsibilities.

Guinevere glided over to stand by him, her presence a welcome respite amidst the bustling excitement of the hall. Merlin couldn't help but be struck by the memory of how young and innocent they once were. Her cheeks were just as rosy as he remembered, flushed with the exhilaration of the festivities, and her brown eyes, which had once lost their sparkle in the future, now sparkled with genuine mirth.

As she reached him, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips, Merlin felt a rush of warmth flood his chest. Her pale red dress swirled around her as she moved, accentuating the graceful curve of her figure. It was a simple garment, yet it suited her perfectly, the color complementing the warmth of her complexion.

“Merlin,” she greeted him, her voice soft and melodious, a familiar melody that never failed to soothe his soul. There was a hint of shyness in her grin, a modesty that only added to her charm.

"Guinevere," Merlin greeted warmly, affection swelling at the sight of the curly-haired woman before him. He quelled the urge to embrace his old friend, not wanting to alarm her with such sudden familiarity. The thought disheartened him; most of his friends had not yet arrived in this time, and without intervention, it would be years before they appeared. But with his and Arthur's meddling, their friends would return much sooner. 

Merlin's gaze gentled on Guinevere as the burden of accountability weighed upon him. He understood their presence here could have sweeping repercussions, yet he could not bring himself to regret their decision to meddle. After all, they were resolved to reshape the intricate weave of the future itself, to forge a future where their fellowship could unite once more. Preferably without all of the heartaches, and deaths, thank you very much.

For now, he simply gave her a gentle smile, eliciting a rosy blush on her glowing cheeks. A memory surfaced amidst his swirling thoughts—Gwen used to harbor a crush on him. The unexpected recollection made him snort with bemusement, pressing his lips together to stifle a laugh.

Gwen stared at him with barely concealed amusement, her eyes silently questioning what was so funny. Merlin just shook his head, unable to contain his mischievous grin that drew forth a melodic giggle.  

The infatuation had swiftly faded once Lancelot’s noble and dashing looks claimed her attention instead. Merlin couldn’t blame her—have you seen the man? Swoon-worthy didn't even begin to cover it. He may or may not have extolled the knight’s handsomeness within earshot of Arthur, who predictably reacted with jealous grumbles, much to Merlin's endless entertainment.

A pang of nostalgia for simpler times pierced Merlin—days when secret crushes and small jealousies were their gravest troubles. But he quickly shook off the bittersweet thoughts encroaching upon his mind. This time would be different. This time, they would find happiness, all of them together.

Everything he had once done to Morgana, Mordred and countless others had not yet come to pass. He could still keep them from harm, reshape history alongside Arthur for the better. He would open his heart to them in welcome, embracing new allies while granting the people what they had always craved: freedom.

No longer would he serve Camelot as the elusive Emrys. This time, he would stand proudly with Arthur in the light of day as Merlin—his friend and warlock protector. The days of hiding, subterfuge and mistaken trusts were over. With candidness and compassion he would help Arthur build a brighter realm—one where magic and non-magic folk alike could thrive in justice and concord.

The darker-skinned woman disappeared into the sea of eager nobles, their raised goblets signaling their anticipation for the upcoming festivities. Merlin's eyes scanned the crowded hall, seeking out familiar faces amid the bustling crowd. To his astonishment, he discovered Arthur's gaze already fixed upon him, a resolute determination mirrored in those blue eyes.

Arthur flashed Merlin a covert smile, meant for his eyes alone, before smoothly returning to make small talk with the assembled nobles. He placated them with the same indulgent expression he had honed over years at court. With an understated nod to Merlin, the prince then vanished into the swirling crowd, off to carry out his duties.

Merlin watched him go, left to his own quiet musings amidst the convivial din. The warlock lingered pensively on the fringes of the celebratory hall, ghosts of memories swirling through his mind's eye faster than the dancers keeping tempo with lute and drum. So many faces that destiny and his decisions had failed now surrounded him, obliviously youthful and untouched by sorrow. His presence here alongside Arthur's could alter everything—a prospect both thrilling and chilling.

Unease rippled through Merlin as he pondered their bold gambit. What tsunamis might their mere pebble of interference trigger, cascading through time's currents? By arriving in Camelot's past as they had, had they already tore the tapestry of destiny apart—threads unraveling and lives reweaving into unfamiliar patterns?

His throat tightened, imagining the potential for catastrophe. New players elevated while fated heroes fell, a domino cacophony of consequences reshaping the realm's destiny with each toppled piece. Merlin's shoulders bowed under the staggering weight of responsibility. Entire kingdoms, the fates of thousands, now lay precariously balanced upon the blade's edge of their meddling.

Would the Albion they aimed to rebirth even resemble its Golden Age idyll anymore once all was upended? Or might their selfish quest for redemption birth some ghastly, unrecognizable shadow realm instead—an inevitable product of reweaving the meticulously-lain threads of the ancient seers? Merlin's heart clenched. So much had already been lost to shortsighted arrogance and fear. Could he truly hazard unspooling entire nations on a gambler's whim for a fleeting chance to reclaim moments of personal joy?

Merlin’s throat tightened as his gaze lit upon Lady Morgana, raven locks spilling over a gown fine enough to befit her true rank as Uther's ward rather than the condemned sorceress Camelot would drive her to become. Still innocent, still free of hatred and madness. Could he guide her path right this time—help her harness magic's potential for good instead of vengeance? His heart swelled with possibility for all they might yet save.

Mordred too flashed by, still guileless, his lonely eyes not yet hardened by destiny's ( Merlin’s—Emrys’s—) betrayals. And Lancelot—noble, brave Lancelot. How long until their paths crossed again? Gwen glided radiant in silk rather than tattered homespun, her sweet spirit not yet matured by grief. 

Thoughts of Gwaine's infectious laughter, Elyan's steadfast loyalty, Percival's quiet strength, Leon's unwavering honor, Freya's gentle kindness, Will's mischievous grin, and countless others flooded Merlin's mind, each one a beacon of hope in a world marred by darkness. So many fates he yearned to rewrite into joy.

If their gambit succeeded, perhaps the hollow spaces within Merlin's soul might fill once more. And maybe this time, rather than scatter ashes across battlefields, he could gather friends for feasts instead.

Yet another doubt plagued his mind, Arthur . Which really wasn’t that different from his normal day-to-day; worrying about the dollophead for twenty-two hours and sleeping for the other two. This one, however, was deep-rooted in his soul, something he knew he had to address before their—relationship? Courtship? Friendship? Whatever it was; before it became too deep for Arthur to back out.

An icy fist clenched around Merlin's heart as another insidious whisper slithered through his doubts. What if, upon finally baring the unvarnished truth of everything he had done in destiny's name...what if Arthur looked upon him and saw only a monster? And wow , that’s a thought. Merlin didn’t know if he was truly strong enough to lose Arthur once more, this time not to a blade.

After all the lies, deceit, and sacrifices of innocents made in the name of their supposed destiny, Merlin couldn't help but wonder if one day the prince would finally see the darkness he had been trying to hide. So much blood had been spilled, so many betrayals in the darkest times of Camelot. At the time, Merlin had justified them all to himself, but would the King only see needless cruelty?

Merlin's breath trembled as he contemplated the potential fallout. He could almost see the devastation etched onto Arthur's face, the moment when justifications crumbled into mere excuses under the weight of his moral scrutiny. Disgust and accusation would fill every line of Arthur's countenance as Merlin's tarnished honor was laid bare, the stain of sorcerous deeds forever branding him in Arthur's eyes.

In his previous life, Merlin had weathered hatred and isolation, clinging desperately to Arthur's noble cause like a lifeline in the darkness. If even that last glimmer of hope were to be extinguished, Merlin feared his soul would shrivel and decay, irreparably broken with each turn of fate. The weight of loss had already fractured him deeply, and he knew with a chilling certainty that being shattered by Arthur's rejection would leave nothing behind but scorched remnants of his former self.

Could Merlin truly bring himself to confess to Arthur, laying bare the multitude of unforgivable acts that destiny had forced upon him? Each deed more reprehensible than the last, weighing heavily upon his conscience and pulling him further from the light.

When he first arrived at Camelot, Merlin was but a naive boy thrust onto an unfathomable path by the winds of destiny. He had foolishly believed he could defy the ancient powers that controlled their fates. As if his youthful optimism alone could unravel the cruel webs of injustice, persecution, and hatred that his very existence seemed to bring crashing down upon those he held dear.

Poisoning Morgana, betraying Mordred, lying about Arthur’s birth, oh god and his mother...so many regretted choices spurred by fate’s unrelenting machinations. Choices the moral, noble-hearted Arthur might find monstrous, irredeemable.

What if he exposed the fractured pieces only for Arthur to turn away, disgust and rejection shadowing those eyes Merlin desperately hoped could view him with love and compassion instead? Fear of losing the fragile connection they had just begun to rebuild paralyzed his tongue as surely as an enchantment.

Doubt and dread curdled in Merlin’s stomach. Perhaps ignorance might indeed prove bliss if truth only bred Arthur’s scorn...Yet trust demanded honesty, no matter how sharp its cut.

He was given a chance to unburden his soul—to let the festering darkness see light at last. Yet the words curdle and rot inside him. Not for lack of trust does he choke on truth; fear alone has always stayed his tongue.

That cruel specter has stalked his every deed, pouring poison in his ear, warning that honesty would earn hatred rather than grace. And hatred from Arthur would shred his heart beyond repair.

Fear had clenched his throat when magic first bloomed in his soul, discovered first by his own mother. Then destiny bound them—warlock and king—in chains wrought by lies. The deception festered, souring to remorse as Arthur grinned guileless at his falsehoods.

It was fear that drove him to betray those he should have safeguarded as kin. Poison seeping down Morgana's throat as her eyes pleaded for mercy that fear declared too risky. He delivered her broken form straight into Uther’s ruthless hands.

Fear let suspicion take root, his weakness alienating gentle Mordred until the child had no recourse but the open arms of enemies. And all the while the warlock played the doddering fool, letting destiny's bitter currents sweep them all toward shipwreck. Placing blame on Kilgharrah, destiny, and even the Gods, when deep down, he knew it was his own faults, his own choices, that led them astray.

Even now, soul-deep tremors grip his heart, warning that candidness will gain only disgust and rejection. Fear hisses that Arthur will turn cold and distant once his eyes are opened to the stained truth—that his legendary protector is naught but a meek pretender, unfit to stand with the Once and Future King.

But no, he refuses to allow fear to resurface, consuming him until he becomes nothing but a bone-weary sorcerer, praying for death to strike him. 

This time, he would get it right. He was certain he would be welcomed with open arms this time around. Of course, there would be some well-deserved scolding from Arthur, but they would be okay. He had a feeling.

Merlin startled out of his brooding as raucous cheers erupted in the banquet hall, Lady Helen gracing the podium. Arthur's piercing gaze found his, narrowed with worry upon noting the tension wracking Merlin's frame—tension having nothing to do with the secret sorceress poised to strike.

Merlin offered a terse nod before focusing wholly on the lady, tracking her every rustle and glance for signs of impending assault. In his periphery, Arthur's smug expression needled for attention, one taunting brow raised as if reveling in his warlock's distress. Merlin staunchly ignored the prat, a flush burning down his neck. Trust that cabbage-head to preen when dire threats loomed! 

He longed to wipe the supercilious look off Arthur's face, to replace it with a sound kiss planted right in the middle of his mouth. That would certainly wipe the smugness off his face, Merlin mused inwardly, his playful thoughts momentarily tempering his very real fear for the prince's life.

Unfortunately, dwelling on the memory of kissing the prince's plush lips led to remembering the passionate night they shared which only succeeded in deepening the flush on Merlin's cheeks. He shook his head, clearing his throat to refocus his attention.

There would be time enough later to give Arthur a sharp set-down regarding appropriate solemnity when dodging assassination attempts (and to think about certain thoughts). For now, he kept a vigilant guard as the witch prepared for her deadly song, ready to shield his heedless king once again.

Merlin's focus snapped back as the first strands of magic resonated within Lady Helen's song. Cautiously he drifted closer to Arthur, feeling his own power rise instinctively in response to the looming threat. After so many years of vigilance over his recklessly bold king, Merlin immediately noticed how Arthur subtly sat taller, hands slightly covering his ears as Lady Helen's voice climbed in intensity.

Merlin cleverly refrained from using his magic while everyone was still present, biding his time until the king was ensnared by the webs. With a swift, practiced motion, he directed his focus to the chandelier, his magic responding obediently to his command. He willed it to tremble, to sway precariously, until finally, with a powerful surge of energy, he commanded it to fall. And fall it did, crashing to the ground with a resounding cacophony, crushing the witch underneath its greater weight, scattering debris in every direction.

He didn't dare glance around to see if the others had broken free from the enchantment, his focus squarely fixed on the struggling woman wielding a small but deadly dagger. Its blade gleamed in the dim light, poised to strike and inflict fatal wounds with chilling efficiency.

With clenched fists and a heart pounding with adrenaline, Merlin summoned his magic once more. This time, he did so with purpose and determination, channeling his power to manipulate time itself. In a blur of motion, he darted towards Arthur, moving with preternatural speed to intercept the prince before the dagger could find its mark.

With a burst of energy, Merlin reached Arthur just in time, who was already out of his seat and standing, crashing into him with enough force to send both of them tumbling to the ground. The dagger whistled through the air, narrowly missing its intended target as it splintered against the wooden chair with a sharp crack.

For a brief moment, they lay there, their gazes locked in silent understanding. A shared sense of accomplishment passed between them like a fleeting breeze—yes, they had succeeded. Then, Arthur's stern countenance softened into a small grin, stealing the breath from Merlin's chest. It was a rare sight, one that never failed to stir something warm within him.

Their moment was abruptly interrupted by the grating, and irritating sound of Uther's voice, intruding upon their sanctuary. With a reluctant sigh, Arthur pushed himself up and off of Merlin, adopting his usual facade of stoicism. Merlin couldn't help but admire the prince's ability to mask his emotions, a skill that Arthur seemed to possess in abundance.

Uther droned off the same as he did the first time, and Merlin answered without truly knowing what he was saying. His attention was solely on Arthur, and the way his shoulders seemed to tense up, stance becoming wider as if he thought of his father as a threat.

Merlin couldn't shake the feeling that there was something distinctly… draconic about Arthur's behavior. It was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but Merlin, who had spent enough time with Kilgharrah to recognize certain patterns. The way Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, the tensing of his muscles, the hint of a growl in his voice—it all reminded Merlin of the dragon's demeanor when he sensed danger.

However, Merlin dismissed the thought almost as quickly as it came. Surely, Arthur's behavior was just a product of his upbringing, his warrior instincts kicking in when faced with a perceived threat. It couldn't possibly be anything more than that.

To Merlin, Arthur's unease was understandable, even expected. Uther Pendragon was not just Arthur's father; he was the embodiment of a rigid, unforgiving era in Camelot's history, an era marked by persecution of magic and the oppression of those deemed unworthy by birth or circumstance.

In this rewritten era, where Uther still held sway over Camelot's affairs, Arthur's discomfort was amplified. It was a constant reminder of the challenges they faced in steering Camelot toward a brighter future, one where magic was accepted and all were treated with dignity and respect.

Watching Arthur's mask of regal composure falter ever so slightly, as though he were restraining himself from committing regicide, Merlin understood the delicate tightrope they needed to walk in their dealings with Uther. The weight of his father's legacy bore down heavily on Arthur's shoulders once more, but Merlin was committed to standing steadfastly by his side, offering support through whatever challenges lay ahead.

"Come on," the prince grunted impatiently, his gaze fixed intensely on his father's retreating figure. Merlin followed suit, adopting the guise of the same gangly and wide-eyed boy he once was, though his strides now held a confident grace born of experience. The celebrations were winding down as the guards dragged away the lifeless witch, the air heavy with the aftermath of magic and mayhem.

Merlin made a conscious effort to maintain a discreet distance, ensuring no one would question their over-familiarity with each other. The warlock still had no desire to find himself facing the executioner's blade. They continued their silent march until the hallway lay deserted, devoid of prying eyes and curious ears. Only then did Merlin dare to close the gap, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Arthur, the brush of their hands sending a spark of electricity through him.

As they finally reached the sanctuary of Arthur's chamber, their private haven away from the constraints of courtly life, the prince wasted no time. With a sense of urgency fueled by desire and longing, he pushed Merlin up against the door, his lips crashing down upon Merlin's with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

Merlin's head spun with a heady mix of excitement and anticipation as Arthur's lips moved hungrily against his own. The prince's hands were everywhere at once, roaming over Merlin's body with a possessiveness that sent shivers down his spine. It was a familiar dance they had perfected over time, each movement and touch a silent declaration of their desire for one another.

Lost in the intoxicating embrace, Merlin surrendered himself completely to the moment, his fingers tangling in Arthur's hair as he deepened the kiss. Time seemed to stand still as they explored each other's mouths with a fervor born of longing and affection.

As passion threatened to engulf them, a small voice of reason echoed in the depths of Merlin's mind. It whispered reminders of their perilous circumstances, of the ever-watchful eyes that lurked within Camelot's walls. Despite the overwhelming desire to lose himself in Arthur's arms, Merlin knew all too well the consequences of being discovered in such an intimate embrace.

But alongside the cautionary whispers, another voice emerged—a voice that sounded remarkably like Gwen's gentle encouragement. It urged Merlin to bare his soul to the man he had unwittingly fallen in love with. Arthur deserved to know the truth, deserved to know the depths of Merlin's heart.

With a heavy heart, Merlin reluctantly broke the kiss, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he pressed his forehead against Arthur's. Their chests rose and fell in unison, the weight of their unspoken desires hanging heavy in the air.

In the hushed stillness of the chamber, Merlin struggled to find the words to express the tumult of emotions swirling within him. He could feel Arthur's warm breath against his skin, a comforting presence that both calmed and agitated his racing thoughts.

It was as if Arthur could read his mind, for he caressed his jaw gently, tilting it upwards so they could meet eye to eye. Merlin took a deep breath, steeling himself for the vulnerability of confession.

"I want to tell you everything," he began, his voice barely above a whisper, "about who I truly am, about the things I've done."

Chapter Text

Tears stream down your face.
Spring breaks loose, the time is near
When you lose something
You can not replace.
Tears stream down your face,
I promise you I will learn from my mistake.

~Coldplay, Fix you

Brows furrowed, Arthur searched Merlin's face, trying to grasp the weight of his words. "Merlin, you know you can tell me anything," he urged gently, steering them towards the glowing hearth.

They settled atop the plush rug, the fire's warmth seeping into their skin.

"It's difficult to admit," Merlin began slowly, voice quivering under the strain of confession, "but I've done terrible things. Things I regret. Actions I wish I could erase."

Arthur squeezed his shoulder, eyes filled with empathy. "I'm here to understand, not to judge," he assured.

Merlin nodded, throat tight. "I want to tell you everything, but..." He hesitated, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Some of it is unforgivable."

Arthur's gaze never wavered as he met Merlin's eyes with steady determination. "Tell me," he said simply, his voice firm yet gentle. "Tell me every terrible thing you ever did, and let me love you anyway."

And how could he deny anything when Arthur speaks like that? Tears blurred his vision, and he felt the floodgates of his emotions finally, finally give away. His magic sighed as he began to speak, his words spilling forth in a torrent of confession and remorse. 

Merlin recalled arriving in Camelot at seventeen, gazing up at the immense castle with wide-eyed wonder, taking in the crowds of people milling about. He had just passed through the gates when he witnessed his first execution—that of a sorcerer.

"I was rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away," he whispered, a tremor passing through his body in memory. "And when it was over, I felt fear the way I never had before, angry at the senselessness of it all."

Arthur reached out, grasping Merlin's hands where they shook with emotion. Merlin swallowed hard, throat dry.

"It wasn't right," Arthur said softly. "What my father did to those with magic wasn't justice. I see that now." He gave Merlin's hands a reassuring squeeze. "I cannot change the past, but I promise you—when I am king again, things will be different."

I know, magic whispered, just as Merlin felt it. 

Steeling himself, Merlin began recounting the many times he had secretly used his magic to protect Arthur and Camelot. He spoke of paralyzing the assassin sent to kill Arthur shortly after his arrival. Of casting the enchanted light to lead them safely from the caves when they were wyvern-hunting. Of the dragon trapped underneath the castle; The Great Dragon. 

With each admission, Arthur's expression cycled through disbelief, awe, and a newfound understanding. Merlin described diverting the dangers that nearly destroyed Camelot, breaking the spell animating the immortal knights, unleashing the power of the Cup of Life to heal Camelot's fallen.

Arthur's question hung in the air – "You've been protecting me...us...with your magic all along?"

Rather than answering directly, Merlin simply smiled and shook his head, as if the very notion of doing anything else was utterly unthinkable. And perhaps it was. For Merlin, who had devoted his entire life to Arthur, such complete loyalty was second nature. 

His dedication, his unwavering fealty—it was like nothing Arthur had ever witnessed before. It left him breathless, this realization of just how fully Merlin surrendered himself when he gave his heart to someone. How he held nothing back, sacrificing everything without hesitation out of pure, uncompromising love.

In that moment, Arthur saw his lover anew—not just a servant, not just a sorcerer, but a man whose very existence had become inextricably intertwined with Arthur's own. Through every hardship and ordeal, Merlin had been the unshakable constant at his side, sheltering him with powerful magic and protecting him with a fiercely intimate bond.

Words failed Arthur as humility and gratitude washed over him in waves. This noble, selfless man had borne the weight of destiny's call, all for Arthur's sake. How could he hope to be worthy of such profound devotion?

Arthur brought Merlin's hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss against his knuckles - a simple gesture laden with profound meaning, an effort to convey his own devotion to this extraordinary man. As their eyes met again, an unspoken understanding flowed between them, a vow transcending the vagaries of time and upheaval.

A pretty blush tinged Merlin's cheeks at the intimate contact. He ducked his head shyly before a soft huff of contentment escaped him. Drawn like a moth to Arthur's warmth and steadfast presence, Merlin scooted closer until their bodies were flush, soaking in the comfort and solace of their closeness, resting his head on the broad shoulder of his lover. 

A soft sigh parted Merlin's lips as his brow furrowed slightly, struggling to give voice to the darkness weighing on his soul.

"I have done some truly terrible things, Arthur," he began, voice already wavering with emotion. "Things you won't—" His words cracked, forcing him to roughly clear his throat. When he continued, it was in a hoarse whisper around the crackling of the fire.

"Things you won't forgive me for."

He felt Arthur tense beneath him at those haunted words. A heavy silence descended, stretching unbearably as their mingled breaths and the dance of flames provided the only ambience. Finally, Arthur broke through the tense moment.

"Whatever it is you've done, you can tell me," he said, low and resolute. "We will face it together, as we have faced every other trial. Share this load with me, let me help carry it."

Merlin sat up then, needing to meet Arthur's gaze as he unburdened himself of his darkest shames. He searched those beloved eyes and found only acceptance, understanding...and love. Tears fell unbidden down his cheeks, sniffling as he threw his arms around the golden man before him. His form trembled as Arthur held him, firm and understanding of whatever terrible things Merlin had done. I can’t lose this. I can’t lose you.

Arthur stroked Merlin's back in soothing circles, murmuring tender reassurances against his hair. He needed Merlin to truly understand the depths of his adoration, no matter what shameful acts still haunted him.

"Nothing you could have done would ever make me hate you, my love," Arthur vowed, his voice a reverent whisper. He held Merlin impossibly close as the warlock's tears dampened his tunic. "You don't have to tell me everything right now. We have time."

But Merlin insistently shook his head, pulling back just enough to meet Arthur's unwavering gaze with his own pained eyes. "I want to...I have to," he rasped, voice thick with sorrow and a heartbreaking sense of defeat. "The guilt has been slowly devouring me all these years. I need to expel the poison from my soul."

Arthur cupped Merlin's face tenderly, swiping at the tear stains with the pads of his thumbs. "Then tell me, love," he urged. "I can bear the weight of your burdens, just as you have borne so much for me. We will shoulder them together from now on."

Merlin nodded jerkily, steadied by Arthur's gentle strength emanating from their closeness. He licked his lips nervously, drew a shuddering breath, and then the words began tumbling out in a low, haunted tone - tripping over themselves in a desperate rush, as if to finally reunite him with the man he once was before the lies, the betrayals.

He spoke first of Morgana, knowing Arthur deserved the truth, no matter how it damned Merlin in his lover's eyes. The warlock would accept whatever judgment was passed without protest.

"Do you...do you remember when Camelot fell to the sleeping curse?" It was mostly rhetorical, but Merlin still paused until Arthur gave a bemused nod before continuing.

He opened and closed his mouth several times, swallowing thickly around the guilt and tears that threatened to choke him. Arthur gently rubbed his knuckles in reassurance as Merlin struggled to find the words.

Merlin could feel Arthur tense beside him as he reluctantly continued his confession. "I sought out Kilgharrah, the Great Dragon, to ask for a solution. He usually speaks in riddles, but he was reluctant this time since I had broken a promise to him." 

Merlin swallowed thickly before pressing on. "He eventually told me that Morgana herself was the catalyst, the force binding the curse over Camelot. Morgause had performed a ritual tying Morgana's life to the curse's power."

He paused then, letting the weight of his words sink in as the fire crackled painfully loud in the stillness. Arthur's hand went rigid in his grasp - the prince already intuiting the devastating truth Merlin was being forced to voice.

"So to lift the curse...you had to..." Arthur's voice cracked as he trailed off, unable to give voice to that unthinkable act, even after all Morgana had done.

Merlin flinched as if struck, unable to meet Arthur's eyes as he re-lived that agonizing moment. "I had to poison her," he rasped, the confession laced with guilt and misery. The words tasted like ashes on his tongue as his shoulders curved inward, as if he could physically diminish the sin he carried.

Arthur's hands abruptly withdrew from Merlin's, leaving the warlock bereft of his grounding warmth. The silence that followed Merlin's confession was deafening, more damning than any shouted recriminations could be. Part of Merlin longed for Arthur's fury, for accusations and rage to be vented upon him - anything to shatter this unbearable stillness that burrowed into his bones with icy finality.

Yet even as the guilt threatened to crush him, Merlin knew in his soul that he would make the same impossible choice again. Camelot's survival had to take precedence, no matter how it shredded his heart. He had resigned himself to this moment long ago - when Arthur finally saw the magnitude of his sins and judged him.

All Merlin could do now was hold his breath and await the hammer's fall.

"Continue," Arthur uttered at last, his gaze fixed on the flickering firelight. Merlin cleared his parched throat, and with a heavy heart he pressed on. Arthur deserved to know the full extent of his transgressions.

"When Morgause arrived, she demanded that I tell her what poison I had used on Morgana." Merlin paused, throat tight. "And I had every intention to divulge that information...but not before she agreed to call off the knights attacking Camelot."

He trailed off, knowing Arthur could fill in the rest - the agonizing choice, the ultimate betrayal of a friend, being one of the reasons Morgana turned her back on them. They sat in chilling silence as the fire crackled, the weight of Merlin's confession hanging palpably between them.

Arthur remained motionless, his expression carefully guarded. Merlin's heart pounded in his ears, bracing for the judgment he knew was coming. Would Arthur finally see him as the monster he truly was? 

At last, the prince stirred, shifting to face Merlin fully. But his voice, when it came, was not laced with condemnation - instead, it held a solemn understanding that left Merlin reeling.

"You did what you felt you must, to protect our people." Arthur's hand found Merlin's again, gripping it firmly. "I cannot fault you for that, no matter how heavy the burden."

Merlin stared at Arthur, bewildered by his capacity for understanding. "But...how can you forgive such callousness?" he rasped, shame coating his words. "I betrayed Morgana - I let her suffer horribly for Camelot's sake."

Arthur's eyes shone with empathy. "Because I know you, Merlin. I know the weight of impossible choices you've had to bear. You are no monster - you are a man doing all you can to safeguard what you hold most dear."

Even as Arthur spoke those words of absolution, Merlin could see the hurt and pain lingering in his eyes, no doubt thinking of the girl Morgana once was. Pursing his lips, Merlin pulled his hand free from under Arthur's, shaking his head adamantly. 

"You still don't know...you don't know the full extent of what I've done," he choked out, emotions turbulent. "You have to understand that—that there are sins even more unforgivable that burden my soul."

Merlin looked away then, unable to hold Arthur's compassionate gaze as the memories assailed him like lashing waves. He struggled to keep his voice steady.

"I have laid waste to lives, shattered sacred bonds, perverted the very laws of nature itself - all in the name of protecting Camelot...of protecting you." He glanced up, haunted. "What atonement could possibly absolve such transgressions?"

Merlin's whispered words hung heavy in the air - "If you knew everything, you would surely be repulsed by the man before you." A monster, he thought, not a man.

Yet even as he gave voice to that damning assertion, some small, treacherous part of him could not relinquish its fragile hope. It's faith that the man before him, with his profound capacity for wisdom and mercy, might somehow find a way to accept Merlin after he laid bare the darkest, most twisted crevices of his soul.

Arthur was silent for a long moment, letting Merlin's pained admission resonate. When at last he spoke, his voice was low and fraught with emotion.

"I have done things as well, Merlin. Things of which I will be forever ashamed." He paused, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "For a long time, I tried to justify those actions to myself, to lay the blame at my father's...at Uther's feet. To claim he forced my hand."

Arthur's voice cracked then with self-reproach. "But I know better now. The guilt is as much mine as it was his."

The prince dropped his gaze, unable to meet Merlin's eyes as he confessed his own shortcomings to the man he loved with every fiber of his being. Hearing Merlin degrade himself, as if he were nothing more than a pebble underfoot, cut Arthur to his core.

"We have both been forced to make choices that still haunt our souls," Arthur continued, lifting his head to lock eyes with Merlin once more. "But that does not negate the nobility I see burning within you, my love."

Reaching out, he cradled Merlin's face in his calloused palms. "You have sacrificed everything - your life, your very soul - to keep me and my kingdom safe. How could I ever be repulsed by such ferocious devotion?"

Arthur stroked Merlin's cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs, his touch feather-light yet grounding.

"Tell me everything, Merlin. No matter how dark, how damning it may seem to you. I will be the balm to soothe those wounds which have festered for far too long. We will bear the weight of your burdens, together."

Merlin's lips curved into a strained smile as he leaned forward, resting his forehead against Arthur's in a tender gesture. His heart felt fit to burst from the profound love and acceptance emanating from this extraordinary man before him.

More than anything, Merlin wanted to believe the soothing balm of Arthur's words - that his lover could bear to know the absolute depths of his misdeeds and still look upon him with anything other than revulsion. But he knew, deep down, that it would take time before he could fully accept that unwavering grace within his own battered soul.

For now, he would put all of his heart and trust in Arthur, at this moment. He would bare the ragged, haunted corners of his psyche and allow the man he loved to lead him, one step at a time, back towards the light. Towards the redemptive path where he could shed the burdens he had shouldered for far too long.

Drawing a fortifying breath, Merlin pulled back just enough to meet Arthur's gaze, that soft smile still playing at his lips. A world of wounded vulnerability shone in his eyes as he gave the smallest of nods.

"Very well, my love," he said simply. "I will tell you everything."

And so Merlin began recounting his darkest moments - each admission an agonizing lash upon his already flayed spirit. Yet Arthur remained his unflinching tether through the storm. His presence was the steadying force that gave Merlin the strength to pull each sin, one by one, from the recesses of his haunted memories and release them into the world.

It was a reckoning long overdue, yet tempered by the soothing balm of the love they shared - a bond that could withstand the most cataclysmic revelations. And in that sacred space they had forged together by the fire's ember-glow, Merlin slowly began shedding the anguish that had weighed him down for decades uncounted.

For the first time in forever, he could see the glimmers of a future where he was more than the vehicle of destiny - he was a man, flawed yet striving, who could one day find his way towards the light once more.

Chapter Text

take my hand
take my whole life too
for I can't help
falling in love with
you

~Elvis Presley, Can’t help falling in love

The entire castle was a flurry of activity, servants rushing from one end to the other as preparations were made for the annual tournament. Merlin still didn't see the point in brutally besting one's opponent just for the sake of being declared the victor. It all seemed rather barbaric to him. And yet, he could never resist the opportunity to watch Arthur compete - flushed and riding the euphoric high of a hard-fought battle.

Ever since baring his soul at Arthur's feet, unburdening the weight of his secrets and sins, Merlin had felt immensely lighter. As if he alone could take on the world without faltering. Of course, Arthur would never allow such reckless bravado. Despite knowing the full extent of Merlin's magic and capabilities now, the stubborn prat still saw him as little more than a helpless fledgling in need of constant protection.

It was endearingly sweet, not that Merlin would ever give voice to such sentimental notions. He maintained an air of feigned indifference, even as a small, fond smile tugged at his lips watching Arthur swagger past, looking ridiculously handsome even while wearing such simple clothing. 

"Make sure you have my armor polished to a brilliant shine, Merlin," the prince instructed haughtily, somehow managing to look down his nose at his lover despite their identical heights.  

Merlin rolled his eyes. "As you wish, my lord," he snarked back. But there was no real bite to his tone, only the gentle undercurrent of their long-familiar banter.

As Arthur pivoted on his heel to attend to the other tournament preparations, mouth twitching up to a teasing smile, Merlin's gaze lingered fondly on his form for a moment. His heart swelled knowing that this remarkable man now accepted all facets of who Merlin was—both the light and the darkness he had struggled to repress for so long. That unqualified acceptance was the greatest gift he could have received.

With a subtle grin, Merlin hurried down the hallway towards Arthur's chambers. The prince had reminded him time and again that his private quarters were the only place within the castle walls where Merlin was freely allowed to use his magic openly, until it was safe for him to let it out.

Merlin nodded politely to the guards posted outside Arthur's door before slipping inside, promptly turning the lock behind him. These days, Arthur carefully guarded the chamber key, ensuring only he could grant entry—a prudent measure to avoid any unexpected witnesses to Merlin's magical displays.

Moving with familiar ease, Merlin carefully laid out the pieces of Arthur's ceremonial armor across the long table. Out of all his duties, polishing the prince's armor and sword were among the few tasks he truly enjoyed. There was something calming in the rhythmic motions, made all the more satisfying by knowing his efforts helped keep Arthur protected on the battlefield.

With a fleeting golden glow in his eyes and a muttered spell, the fireplace roared to life, quickly bathing the room in a toasty warmth. Merlin tugged off his neckerchief, already starting to work up a mild sweat from the combination of physical labor and magical exertion to come.  

Another whispered incantation sent a polishing cloth levitating through the air to begin working in tandem with Merlin's own hands. His movements were deft and practiced, decades of experience lending an effortless grace to the spheres of reflected firelight dancing across the gleaming plates of armor.

This was Merlin's domain—where he could finally wield his powers without inhibition, without the weight of secrecy bearing down upon him. Arthur's complete acceptance had removed that final, oppressive barrier between them. In these private moments, sorcerer and prince came together in a symbiotic harmony, each thriving by allowing the other to truly be themselves.

As Merlin worked, he couldn't resist peeking a sly grin at the ornate ceremonial sword mounted on its rack nearby. With a subtle flick of his fingers and a flash of gold in his irises, the ancient blade elevated into the air, lazily spinning in a slow circle as if inviting him to begin caring for it as well.

"You really do take entirely too much delight in showing off," a gruff, familiar voice scolded from the direction of the door.

Merlin spun around guiltily, the ceremonial sword clattering to the floor as his concentration broke. Arthur stood leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest in feigned disapproval. But the prince's eyes danced with unmistakable amusement at catching Merlin indulging in such whimsical magical antics.

"Arthur! I didn't hear you come in," Merlin sputtered, cheeks flushing with a mixture of embarrassment and delight at being openly teased for his abilities now.

"Clearly," Arthur drawled, pushing off from the door to saunter further into the room. "And here I thought perhaps you were finally learning some restraint."

Bending down, the prince retrieved his ceremonial sword, holding it horizontally in front of him as he examined the blade idly. When he glanced up again, his expression had softened into one of tender sincerity.

"I do, however, appreciate your dedication to ensuring my armor is properly cared for," Arthur acknowledged. Taking Merlin's hand in his, he guided it to caress the spotless breastplate still resting on the table. "You always have looked after me, even before I understood the depths of your loyalty."

Merlin felt his blush deepen at the solemnity in Arthur's tone, his heart fluttering at the casual intimacy between them now. So much had shifted in their relationship since Merlin's gut-wrenching confessions—barriers of shame and secrecy had fallen away, leaving only two bared souls meeting as equals, bound by a love that transcended destiny itself.

"You know I would do anything for you, Arthur," Merlin murmured reverently. "As I always have."

Lifting their entwined hands, Arthur brushed a tender kiss across Merlin's knuckles, his eyes shining with the same steadfast devotion. "And I for you, my brave warlock."

Then, with a sly grin, he tossed the sword back toward its rack—allowing Merlin to levitate it the rest of the way with a subtle flash of gold in his eyes. "Now, shall we see about putting that magic of yours to more...productive uses before the tournament?"

Merlin chuckled, a surge of affection bubbling within him as Arthur pulled him closer by his belted waist.  "You never do quit trying to distract me from my duties, do you?"

"Not a chance," Arthur rumbled suggestively, claiming Merlin's lips in a searing kiss.

Merlin hummed against the kiss, pressing himself closer to the broad figure of his king, letting himself fall into his warm embrace. Their mouths moved together in a sensuous dance, tongues tangling with fervent need as decades of yearning finally found unbridled expression.

Merlin felt utterly consumed by the sheer depth of devotion he held for this incredible man - his other half, his destiny embodied. Arthur cradled him with a reverent tenderness, as if Merlin were something infinitely precious to cherish and safeguard always.

Before the ardor could escalate further, Merlin tore his mouth away with a sharp gasp, dragging in lungfuls of air. His eyes fluttered open, irises darkened to sapphire pools of desire when his gaze met Arthur's. The adoring, molten look brewing in those beloved depths stole Merlin's breath anew, a breathless giggle of giddy affection escaping him.

Blushing furiously, he buried his burning face against the curve of Arthur's neck, muffling his self-conscious laughter against the prince's skin.

"Who would've guessed I could turn the greatest sorcerer to ever live into such a giggling, flustered maiden?" Arthur teased, though his tone overflowed with husky warmth. He pressed soothing kisses along the shell of Merlin's ear, echoing chuckles rumbling through his chest.

"Shut up, you prat," Merlin managed to squeak out through his unrestrained glee. But there was no real rebuke in his retort - only rapturous astonishment at this new freedom they shared.

For too many years, they had been forced to temper their connection, diluting their bond with propriety and painful half-truths. But now, in the wake of Merlin's unburdening and Arthur's unconditional acceptance, they could finally allow the full depth of their destined union to detonate around them like a star being born.

Still chuckling, Arthur tipped Merlin's face up to recapture his swollen lips in another fierce, lust-laden kiss. A muffled moan escaped his mouth as Arthur's hands trailed up to Merlin's hair, drawing him close until it seemed their identities blurred, merging into one seamless entity. While the other hand cupped his arse, and squeezed.

Merlin's hands clenched the fabric of Arthur's red tunic, pulling him closer as he pressed his lips against the prince's. With a pleased grunt, Arthur responded eagerly, his tongue meeting Merlin's with a hunger that sent shivers down his spine. It was like a delicious sweet, and Merlin found himself lost in the sensation, unable to think of anything else but the intoxicating taste of Arthur's mouth.

Merlin moaned softly into Arthur's passionate kisses, losing himself in the fervent heat of their embrace. But a nagging sense of unease plucked at the back of his mind through the sensual haze. He was forgetting something important...what was it?

Arthur's drugging mouth trailed from Merlin's lips to the hinge of his jaw and back again. But even as the prince stoked the banked fires of desire, fractured images began bleeding through - swords, shields...snakes.

Snakes !

With a sharp indrawn breath, Merlin tore himself away from Arthur's questing lips, ignoring the dismayed grunt that followed.

"Valiant!" Merlin exclaimed, breathless, his chest rising and falling with the rush of realization. "How could I have forgotten?"

Arthur's brow furrowed in confusion at the sudden change in topic. "I don't appreciate another man's name coming out of the lips I was just kissing," he remarked, a hint of bemusement coloring his tone.

The prince had to tilt away to avoid getting whacked in the face by Merlin’s fervent shaking of his head, “No, you prat! Valiant! The guy that killed Sir Ewan using his enchanted snake shield!”

Merlin's words finally registered and Arthur straightened, the playful glint vanishing from his eyes as they sharpened with recognition, hands tightening on Merlin’s hips. His features twisted with disgust as he recalled how a man who called himself a knight could act with such dishonor.

“Ah.”

He reluctantly drew back from Merlin’s arms, and strode over to his desk to look through the reports handed to him by Uther. He should have a list of all the people who registered just as he did every year. Merlin’s presence behind him warmed him more than the crackling fireplace did as he sorted through his papers before finally getting his hands on the right one. 

“Let’s see if he has registered yet, if he has it must mean he is already inside the castle.” In the flurry of everything that had occurred, and in the midst of their budding relationship, they had forgotten about Valiant, a man who had unjustly killed an innocent being and claimed victory for himself. 

Arthur began sifting through the stacks of parchment, Merlin mirroring his actions on the opposite side. The warlock's endearing look of intense concentration as he scanned the records coaxed a fond smile onto Arthur's lips.

It was strictly forbidden, possibly even against the letter of the law, for a servant to be permitted access to such official documents and inner workings. Yet, here they were. As they always have been, and so much more.

"Here," Arthur announced, tilting the parchment to show Merlin the offending name and signature. "It seems Valiant has already made himself present at the tournament site."

Merlin's features pinched adorably as he studied the record, no doubt trying to recall if they had unwittingly crossed paths with the brute at any point during the preparations. Arthur felt a surge of affection at how utterly focused his beloved sorcerer became when faced with a puzzle to untangle.

"It's a wonder how we've managed to avoid crossing his path until now," Arthur mused aloud, only half-joking.

It’s really not a wonder as Arthur has been busy with more pressing matters (namely, his overwhelming infatuation with Merlin and his quest to find the perfect courting gift. But who's keeping track?).

He watched raptly as Merlin's rosebud lips pulled into an instinctive pout of contemplation. Unable to resist any longer, Arthur leaned in to steal a soft, chaste kiss before trailing his mouth higher to dot a second kiss on the upturned tip of Merlin's nose.

As expected, the warlock's cheeks blossomed into an utterly endearing display of bashfulness at the tender gestures. Arthur felt his own face stretching into a besotted grin utterly unbefitting of a sovereign.

Part of him ached to simply run away from it all - away from the harsh duties and presences that would forever cast looming shadows. To whisk Merlin off to a remote farm where they could simply be, without fear or burdens.

But they each had roles to play in shaping a better future, responsibilities that could not be shirked despite any fleeting wistfulness for quieter intimacies. 

Arthur and Merlin remained locked in that intimate moment for a few breaths longer, foreheads pressed together as the warlock released a deep, contented sigh. The simple, habitual gesture spoke volumes of the comfort and solace they found in each other's presence.

Reluctantly, they parted with a shared, meaningful glance - a silent communication passing between them, acknowledging the need to shelve private intimacies for the moment. Responsibilities awaited that could not be ignored, no matter how tempting the thought of shutting out the world entirely.

With a subtle nod, Merlin settled himself at the table, rifling through the various records and reports related to the tournament. Arthur watched the familiar scrunch of concentration etch itself between the warlock's brows before turning to make his own preparations.

Moving towards the chamber door, the prince paused to address the guards stationed outside. “No one is to bother me unless it is an important matter,” he requested, keeping his tone neutral.

One of the guards nodded in acknowledgment of the unembellished order, no further questions asked. Shutting the door behind the two figures, and turning towards Merlin. Striding over to his beloved, Arthur affectionately ruffled Merlin's raven locks, enjoying the brief opportunity for casual affection. He settled himself on the table's edge beside the warlock and began scouring the documents in earnest, focused on pinpointing exactly where that sniveling snake Valiant might be lurking.

After several moments of tense silence, punctuated only by the crackle of parchment, Arthur finally broke it with a weighty question.

"What did you do the first time around?" The prince kept his tone even, not wishing to put Merlin on the defensive. "To stop Valiant's treachery before?"

Merlin immediately pursed his lips, guiltily averting his gaze in that telltale sign he was being evasive. "That's...not too important," he mumbled unconvincingly. "We could come up with something else to expose him this time."

The warlock's words carried such naked hope that Arthur nearly didn't have the heart to push further. Nearly. But he would be remiss as both a strategist and Merlin's partner not to demand full disclosure, no matter how reckless the previous actions might have been.

"Merlin." Arthur kept his voice low but allowed an edge of commanding sternness to bleed through. "The truth."

Arthur had to smother a smug smirk at how swiftly Merlin's mouth had opened at the command, clearly intending to ramble out the truth, before the warlock caught himself. With a disgruntled huff, Merlin's lips snapped shut again, that adorably petulant scowl etching itself into his fine features.

The prince wordlessly steepled his fingers and fixed Merlin with an expectant look, resolute in his willingness to sit in silence all day if needed. He was near certain the warlock's caginess stemmed from having put himself in unnecessary peril - a tendency they absolutely must rectify now that Arthur had been clued into Merlin's magic.

A kaleidoscope of emotions played out across the sorcerer's face as they entered a subtle battle of wills. But finally, Merlin sighed in resignation, shoulders slumping slightly as he prepared to come clean.

"Fine," Merlin huffed out, the petulant edge to his tone somewhat undermined by the adorable twitch of his nose that Arthur couldn't help but be endeared by. "I snuck inside Valiant's chambers to get a closer look at his shields, and I...may have cut one of the serpent heads off to show Gaius."

Arthur's jaw dropped as the warlock admitted his actions with casual nonchalance, as if infiltrating a knight's personal quarters and committing treason were mere trifling errands. As if he hadn't blatantly put his own life at grievous risk through such recklessness.

The prince could only gape at his beloved sorcerer, a wild jumble of emotions warring within him - awe at Merlin's unwavering courage, exasperation at his utter disregard for self-preservation, and a sickening lurch of heartache at all the past perils Merlin had clearly faced alone.

Just how many more instances had there been like this? How many other times had this beautiful, loyal man knowingly thrown himself into harm's way without a second thought, driven solely by his need to protect Arthur and Camelot?

Merlin had confessed to some of his sacrifices, yes. But a nagging voice deep within told Arthur there were still so many shadows and burdens his lover had yet to unearth from that brilliant soul.

"Er...after Sir Ewan's death, Valiant had every intention of killing you next," Merlin continued in a careful tone, as if sensing Arthur's emotional turmoil and seeking to soothe it. "So...I may have enchanted the serpents to emerge before he intended them to."

He paused then, worrying his full lower lip in a way that utterly derailed Arthur's spiraling thoughts for a beat or two. Until the warlock's next admission brought the severity of the situation crashing back down with jarring force.

"In front of everyone in the arena."

Arthur sucked in a harsh breath, his mind spinning as he absorbed the magnitude of what Merlin had dared. "Let me get this right," he ground out, struggling to keep his tone level. "You infiltrated an armed knight's private quarters. You committed theft. And then you, a servant with no obvious combat ability, thought it wise to brazenly display your magic in front of all of Camelot?"

He knew his words carried more accusation than intended, but he couldn't help it. The thought of Merlin being caught, arrested, or even executed for such a heedless act caused his heart to clench in his chest.

To his surprise, rather than shrinking from his recriminations, Merlin met Arthur's thunderous expression with a look of sheepish amusement.

"Well, the last part is no surprise coming from me, really," he quipped with a lopsided grin. "I did used to have an awful habit of mouthing off even when I absolutely shouldn't."

Arthur released a strangled noise that may have been an aborted laugh. Trust Merlin to try and lighten the mood, even now. But it did have the intended effect - some of the vise-like tension bled out of the prince's shoulders as that spark of sheer Merliness disarmed him yet again.

Reaching out, he enveloped Merlin's hands with his own, thumb stroking over the jut of delicate knuckles. Arthur drank in every detail of his beloved's face, reading not even a shadow of remorse or fear there.

Only that steadfast, almost transcendent peace that came from following one's destined path without falter or compromise.

"You're right, of course," Arthur murmured, the heat of an oath thrumming through his words. "I shouldn't be surprised by anything you do to protect me and all you hold dear. Clearly, you have always been willing to defy even the gravest sanctions in service of that duty."

One calloused palm cradled Merlin's jaw, fingertips tracing the beloved arcs and hollows with reverence. As if mapping a path to trace with lips and tongue later. But for now, it was enough to simply be here - tangled in this suspended moment of vulnerability and fearless love.

"Arthur...you must know I don't blame you for anything," Merlin whispered, leaning his cheek into the prince's steadying touch. "I did what I had to...what I wanted to do, in order to keep you and Camelot safe. I would have done anything, no matter the risks."

A lump formed in Arthur's throat at the warlock's shattering declaration. Pulling Merlin's chair to face him, he dropped to his knees, still holding Merlin's hands, pressing gentle kisses to each knuckle as he drank in his lover's surprise.

"Merlin, I..." Arthur's voice caught. "I don't think I've truly expressed how grateful I am to have you. You've been my truest friend, standing by me even when I was utterly boorish."

Merlin gave a watery snort, tears already pricking his lashes, the endearing way he always responded.

“I was ignorant for far too long, clueless in the comfort of my lavish living, not caring of those suffering. Utterly blind to the man devoting everything to me, even when I didn't deserve it.”  Arthur stilled Merlin's protests with a look. "No, let me say this. Your magic, your wisdom, your strength…are all the things I have been blind to, chose to be blind to.

“You have drunk poison, caught an arrow, hit with spells, kidnapped , all for me, and I have done nothing but disregard you. Mock you because I was too afraid of what my feelings truly meant, because I was too afraid of losing the one thing dearest to me.” Arthur brushed the tears from Merlin's cheeks with his thumbs.

"You've made me a better man, a better leader. You've shown me wisdom, humility, and the strength of your convictions. Without you by my side, I would have fallen into arrogance and tyranny long ago.

“I have said many things about magic, and you stood by and bore it all even when it killed you inside. Once, I had thought magic to be evil, for what it had done to my mother, and Morgana. But how can that be, when you , the most selfless and kindest man I have ever met, have magic? I have misunderstood it, and judged it too quickly, without giving it any chances, all because of what Uther had taught me. It had only led to our family’s ruin.”

His voice is watery, clogged with tears as he takes a deep breath, feeling Merlin’s hands brush his blonde hair aside, stroking his face gently. He is patient, knows that Arthur needs to say his piece. Arthur loves him all the more for that.

“The things I have done have no excuse, the things I have said cut too deep, but still I ask for your forgiveness. For everything I have done, for being ignorant, and clueless to those who truly matter to me, who truly love me.” He gives Merlin a wobbly smile, bumping their foreheads together as the other man sobs and sniffles against him. His voice is a whisper, when he next speaks.

“I have many regrets, but I was given this second chance, one of which I do not deserve but I am sure as hell going to make use of. I want to give all of our people the chance to simply live without fearing for their lives, to simply have the pleasure of being able to breathe without being hunted down. I want you, Morgana and all those who have magic to live freely, and I will make it happen, if it is the last thing I do.” 

Merlin is shaking, breath coming in little gasps as he stares wide eyed at Arthur, his mind blank but his heart filled with love for the man that is laying himself open to him.

“Oh Arthur…”

But Arthur only shakes his head, “I have only one thing to ask…will you forgive me? For all of the things that I have done, for everything that I should’ve done.”

Merlin tried to speak but only a choked sound emerged. Instead, he pulled Arthur close to press a searing kiss, puring all of his love, trust and devotion to this brilliant man. 

"Always," Merlin finally whispered, resting his brow to Arthur's. "I will always forgive you and stay by your side. For you are not only my destiny, Arthur Pendragon, but my other half. All of what I am—magic and soul were made for you for as long as you will have me."

Arthur’s shoulder’s dropped, for the first time truly without stress, and grinned, pressing kisses all over Merlin’s soaked face. “I am so utterly, and ridiculously in love with you” the golden haired man murmured against Merlin’s soft lips, feeling it stretch into a face-splitting smile, giggles escaping his throat.

“I love you too,” the warlock whispered, as if it were a secret for only their ears to hear. “I will always stand with you, wherever it is you are, and I will forever love you.”

“As will I, to the end of times and beyond.” Their faces were truly ridiculous, unable to control their glee, snogging at every chance as if they were still teenagers.

“Get up, cabbage-head, it looks like you're going to propose." Though said teasingly, Arthur could tell the idea appealed to Merlin.

"Oh, I'm not going to propose," Arthur hummed, noting the flash of disappointment in Merlin's eyes. "Not until I've properly courted you, and taken you to bed."

Merlin flushed deeply at the implication. Arthur grinned, pulling Merlin closer until their foreheads touched. He nuzzled his nose against Merlin's, relishing how flustered yet content Merlin looked in his embrace.

"Let me do this right, my love," Arthur murmured huskily. "Court you the way you deserve–with passion, and without any secrets between us.” 

Merlin was rendered speechless, his breath catching at the blazing intensity in Arthur's eyes. He could only give a tiny nod, overwhelmed by the depth of emotion flowing between them in that intimate moment.

Arthur's heart swelled as he pulled Merlin into a searing, loving kiss that conveyed all the desires, hopes, and everlasting devotion they had longed to express for so long. Merlin's plush lips against his own felt like coming home after an arduous journey. As if he had finally found the missing piece to complete the puzzle of his life.

Kissing Merlin was utter bliss, like Arthur had found his safe harbor after being adrift. Holding Merlin close in his embrace made him feel whole and content in a way he had never experienced before. As if some deep, intrinsic part of himself had been returned after years of absence.

The tenderness, the lingering caresses, the fervent yet gentle way their bodies slotted together - all spoke of familiarity and tenderness. 

Ever so gently breaking apart, they stared at the other, grinning like little children. 

“I like when you call me that,” Merlin whispered, as if telling him a secret. “I like when you call me your love.” The red on the apple of his cheeks darkened, painting a beautiful picture swirled with rosy-white, contrasting with the darkness of his hair. The bright blue of his eyes shone with love, passion, home. A shy smile formed his lips, as if the man before him was embarrassed of his confession.

Arthur stroked his cheekbone, watching as Merlin nuzzled into it, giving the man before him a crooked smile. “Then I shall call you so from now on, my beloved.” He watched as the red traveled down from his cheeks to his neck, knowing that it spread down to his chest.

— — —