Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“What’ll it be?”

Gwaine leaned back in his chair, grinning generously at the bar maid. Given his theory that the better looking the maid, the worse the mead, he was expecting a high quality drop that night.

“We’ll have five more,” he said, holding up all fingers on his sword hand. He was lucky to still have them after the tournament earlier that day. His opponent had come close to parting him with a few of them, but luckily he’d dodged the blow just in time.

His new friends at the table gave a cheer, downing the rest of their cups.

“To coming second!” one with a long red beard and a face to match called out. The rest of them echoed his shout, sloshing drink all over the table.

While the other men may have been having a laugh, Gwaine was quite happy with his second place in the tournament. It was exactly what he had intended to win. The prize money was good, not as good as first mind you, but enough to sustain his living expenses without the attention of being the winner.

No-one remembered the runner up. This suited Gwaine and his drifter lifestyle perfectly well. He’d been wandering for the last year since he turned of age. There wasn’t anything back at home for him to stay for, and besides, he wanted to see more than just his small town.

The grumpy maid returned with their fresh drinks, accepting Gwaine’s coin.

“We’re going to try to tempt Lady Luck on the dice tables,” a stumpy man that Gwaine had disposed of in the early rounds of the tournament said, pointing to the gallery of dimly lit tables at the other end of the drinking hall.

“Nah, I’d prefer to try to tempt a different type of lady,” Gwaine chuckled back. “Although, I will come to watch you lose all of your money.”

The redhead slapped him on the back with a hearty laugh.

Experience told Gwaine that any tavern with that many dice tables wasn’t to be trifled with. You couldn’t win against the house if the house were able to afford ten dice tables, which usually meant that there was some sort of trickery to make sure that the house won. The tables were full despite this fact, the owners probably relying on foolish tourists passing through for tournaments and transit to keep the money flowing.

The staff at the dice tables were vastly different to the bag of sunshine that had been serving his drinks. The girls were pretty and there was a boy as well, far too young for a place like this. He looked of the age where he should be working in a stable or better still, at home with his mother rather than navigating his way around the gambling tables collecting cups. He had ridiculously large ears under a nest of messy black hair. Gwaine watched as he ducked and weaved, avoiding being looked at but paying careful attention to the dice on the tables.

Something told Gwaine that whatever the owners were doing to fix the tables, this boy was being used as part of it.

Speaking of the owners, Gwaine spotted one standing in the shadows, arms folded as he watched the tables. One of the men he’d been drinking with had pointed him out earlier, one of two brothers who ran the massive establishment. They looked more like fighters that had gone out to pasture, both with enormous builds but a bit more meat around the waist than there should be. They looked almost like identical twins, except that one was fair and the other dark.

Gwaine watched as one of his new friends whose name was Egar or Egan or something like that rolled the dice. His roll was good, almost unbeatable by the house. The house dice player paused as if thinking.

“C’mon, ‘urry up!” his new red bearded friend shouted, sloshing his mead on the floor.

Gwaine noticed the young boy watching as the house dice player rolled, pausing to collect a cup from a nearby table.

To the outcry of Egan, the house had won.

The red bearded man shuffled Egan out of the way, throwing his coin onto the table. Obviously the drink was getting to him because he threw far too much down, an amount almost equivalent to what Gwaine had earned coming second in the tournament. The other men whooped in delight, egging him on. Gwaine turned back to the boy, but he had disappeared to some tables up the back, where he seemed to be darting between two tables.

The red bearded man had a terrible roll. The house player flicked a quick gaze over his shoulder to the tables up the back.

“Whatcha waiting for?” the red bearded man yelled, slamming his fist on the table.

“Hurry up and roll!” the squat man insisted, crowding the house player.

The house player glanced back once more, then obviously decided to take his chances and roll.

The roll was bad.

The red bearded man won.

The cheers erupted from the men watching, jumping and hugging each other as the dice player glanced to where the owner was standing, looking suddenly very scared.

Gwaine found the boy in the crowd. He looked as if he had been running back to the table and stopped abruptly when he heard the cheers. His face was completely drained of colour. He too looked towards the owner who flicked his head towards a doorway in the dark corner of the room. The boy slumped as he trudged obediently towards the doorway, followed out by the owner.

Never one to keep his nose out of other people’s business, Gwaine followed.

The doorway led to a narrow corridor. Gwaine was hit with a rush of cold air that meant it probably led to outside. He heard low, angry voices followed by a sharp cry from up ahead, quickening his steps.

He stumbled out to a tiny courtyard, closed in on all sides by stone walls and lit up brightly by the blue light of the moon. It seemed to be some sort of storage area for the tavern with barrels stacked up along one wall, hessian sacks along the other. Standing in the middle was the fair haired brother, the young boy on his knees at his feet. The boy was clutching his face, something dark spilling between his fingers.

“Sorry,” Gwaine slurred, “Just lookin’ for th’ loo.”

“Well it ain’t here,” the man snarled. There was a flash of metal that showed a belt in his hand.

Gwaine staggered forward. He’d been blind drunk enough times to be able to pull off the act perfectly.

“What’s goin’ on ‘ere then?”

“None of your business, unless you want a kickin’ too?”

Gwaine held his hands up on the pretence of backing away, but he just shuffled his feet without losing any ground.

“No mate, I just want the loo.”

The boy suddenly skittered across the ground like a frightened mouse, running straight to a wall. No, to a ladder that Gwaine hadn’t noticed. He had one foot on the bottom rung when the brother caught him by the back of his shirt and threw him like a ragdoll into the barrels opposite. He landed a boot into the boy’s back. The boy yelped like a dog, arching back as the brother swung for a second kick.

The kick never found its target.

Gwaine slammed his shoulder into the man before he could make contact. Both of them tumbled to the ground, Gwaine regaining his bearings faster. He lept straight onto the brother, digging a knee into his gut as he straddled him. The brother grunted in pain. Gwaine threw one punch into his jaw, then another, then another fast hit to his nose. He felt the stickiness of the blood coating his fists from the last hit.

Usually, three good hits would be enough to knock a man out in a bar fight, but the brother was solid and still very much conscious if the moaning was anything to go by. Moving quickly, Gwaine got off the man and gave him a sharp kick in the ribs that he hoped would keep him down a bit longer.

The boy was dragging himself along the ground, aiming again for the ladder. Gwaine scooped him up to his feet and dragged him along, ignoring his whimper. The boy could barely stand, let alone climb that ladder so there was only one escape - back through the tavern.

Gwaine half-carried the boy back down the corridor, peeking out into the dice area. Just as a cheer resounded, Gwaine slipped into the tavern, utilising the distraction if only for a second. Thankfully there was a cloak crumpled on a bench near the door. He grabbed it and threw it smoothly over the boy, tugging the hood up.

“Just stay with me,” he said in a low voice. Without being able to see the boy’s face, he couldn’t tell if he’d heard him. Luckily he was fairly light as Gwaine was taking most of his weight.

“My friend!” Gwaine heard the bearded man call out across the room to him. Gwaine ducked in the opposite direction, tugging the boy along with him. He didn’t need his new friends drawing attention to him right now. They moved into the main drinking hall, thankful for the cover of the noisy crowds after the day’s tournaments.

The maid from before cut across their path.

“Everything alright here?”

“Oh yeah, my friend’s just had a bit too much to drink,” Gwaine said with a laugh, clapping the boy on the shoulder whilst keeping a firm grip on him. He gave her a smile and headed straight for the doors out to the street.

They wouldn’t have long. Gwaine dragged the boy to the rooms attached to the back of the tavern. He opened the door to the room he had rented and deposited the boy on the bed. As soon as Gwaine let go, he rolled onto his side with a groan. The room was dark but for the moonlight streaming through the window.

“Hi, what’s your name?” Gwaine asked, quickly stuffing his clothes into his bag. He grabbed his spare knife from under the bedside table.

“Merlin,” the boy rasped.

“I’m Gwaine,” he said without turning around. They had to get moving. He had no idea what he was going to do with the boy, but once they were out of danger he could take him back to his family or at least to a safer village.

After throwing his own cloak on and slipping his sword out from the underside of the bed, he threw his bag on his back.

“Okay, we’ve gotta go. Can you walk?”

The boy nodded in the dark, pushing himself into a sitting position. He stood up and took three steps to the door before stumbling. Gwaine caught him from behind.

“Whoa, easy there.” He slung his arm around the boy, hooking under his arms and helped him back out to the busy street. The tournament had brought crowds to the town that were still revelling from the days’ festivities.

“There they are!”

Gwaine turned around to see the maid pointing to them. Behind her were the brothers, the fairer one’s face smeared with blood.

“Shiiiiit,” Gwaine hissed. He grabbed the boy and threw him over his shoulder, running through the sparse crowds for the stables.

As soon as he reached the building, the smell of the horse dung hit his senses. Skidding around the corner, Gwaine spotted a stable boy saddling a horse obviously ready for its owner who was leaving the tavern.

“I’ll give you five gold pieces!” Gwaine called out, running to the horse. The stable boy looked up in confusion. Gwaine pointed to the horse with his free hand. “Five gold pieces if you let me take this horse!”

The stable boy considered the offer for a moment.

“Deal.”

Gwaine threw Merlin across the front of the saddle. The boy clung onto the neck for dear life, still enveloped in the massive cloak. He probably hadn’t been on a horse before. Gwaine pushed a small pouch of his winnings into the delighted stable boy’s hands, swapping it for the reins and mounted behind Merlin. He straightened the boy so he was straddling the horse rather than hanging onto the neck.

“Don’t let them get away,” one of the brothers shouted from outside, hot on their heels.

The stable boy gave them a wink. Suddenly, he started yelling.

“Stop! Stop!” he shouted. “Stop - arrrghhh!”

He threw himself into a pile of hay. Gwaine had to admire his commitment to the cover story.

Gwaine gave the horse a light kick and took off out the back of the stables, riding as fast into the forest as the bright moonlight would allow.

They rode for the remainder of the night and into the next morning. Merlin had fallen asleep or passed out well before dawn. Gwaine tugged the cloak he was wearing tighter around him to keep the cold out. At midday they stopped at a hilly spot that concealed a small clearing out of sight from the main road that he had camped at many a time. Gwaine tapped Merlin on the shoulder.

“Hey, little buddy, time to wake up.”

Merlin groaned, then startled so suddenly Gwaine almost lost his grip on him. Merlin let out a shriek.

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re on a horse.”

“Why am I on a horse?!” he asked in a panic.

“Just hold on, I’ll get down first, then I’ll get you down.”

Gwaine dismounted gracefully, keeping one hand on Merlin just in case he let go. He lifted the boy down, setting him on his feet. Merlin started to take staggering steps straight away, crumbling like a newborn foal.

“Hey, take it easy mate,” Gwaine said as he lifted Merlin back to his feet. The hood fell back revealing a stark pale face with dark blood smeared over one cheek. His eyes were the liveliest thing about him, startlingly blue against his dark hair and white skin.

“Are you okay?”

Merlin nodded, taking in his surroundings. The clearing was small, but well hidden by thick bushes.

“C’mon, I’ll clean that up.”

Merlin stared at him, not making any movement towards the ground where Gwaine had laid his cloak.

“Why did you do that?” he asked. Gwaine sat down on the cloak with his bag, unpacking the water and the salve he kept in the bottom.

“Why did I do what?”

Merlin simply pointed back to the direction they came from.

Gwaine sighed. “I’m not sure what sort of life you’ve had Merlin, but big beefheads like that shouldn’t be belting the stuffing out of small boys like you.”

“I’m not a boy.”

That made Gwaine chuckle. “How old are you then my friend?”

“Sixteen.”

“Ha!” Gwaine shook his head.

“You, my friend, are not a day over twelve winters.”

“Am too,” Merlin replied petulantly.

“Okay, how old are you then?”

“Almost fourteen.”

The boy was small for thirteen, but it didn’t look like the brothers were the type to make sure their workers had three square meals and time for recreation. He had felt skinny under Gwaine’s hands as he hung onto him on the horse, all bones and sharpness instead of the pudgy fat boy Gwaine had been at the same age just before he had his growth spurt.

“Okay almost-fourteen, sit down here so I can patch up that face of yours.”

Merlin timidly sat down on the cloak, sitting stiffly upright. Gwaine set out his supplies in front of Merlin, signalling his movements. There was obviously a reason that he didn’t trust people, and Gwaine didn’t want to make him feel any more scared or uncomfortable.

He wet a rag and washed the blood away, revealing a shallow but swollen gash on his bony cheek. Merlin barely flinched, his eyes just twitching as Gwaine applied the salve.

“So, how did you end up working for those bozos?” Gwaine asked as he corked the small jar.

Merlin scoffed. “Didn’t have much of a choice.”

Gwaine offered Merlin some of the water to drink. “It’s a bit stale, but it’s fine.”

Merlin eyed him warily, then accepted the water skin, guzzling greedily.

“So where are your parents?”

The boy shrugged. “My mum’s probably still in my home village.”

“And your da?”

“Never met him.”

Gwaine nodded. It wasn’t unheard of for unmarried mothers to have no other choice but to send their children out to work. Winters could be harsh without bread on the table and small villages could be cruel places to be.

“Where are you from? We can head there once the horse has had a rest.”

The horse neighed in assent.

Merlin shook his head.

“You don’t want to go back?” Gwaine asked. Now this was more complicated. He hadn’t thought past taking Merlin home. What was he meant to do with an almost fourteen year old?

“Can’t,” he said in a small voice.

“Why not?” Gwaine asked.

“I just can’t,” Merlin said more firmly. Gwaine sighed.

“Alright, let me take a look at those ribs.”

Merlin flashed him a startled look. “No . . . they’re fine.”

“Bullshit,” Gwaine replied. “I saw him kick you. C’mon, I know what I’m doing.”

“No!” Merlin shouted. Gwaine held his hands up.

“Okay, alright.”

Maybe he’d try again later. This boy obviously had gone through something to make him that nervous.

“Got anymore water?”

“There’s a creek just down the slope there. I’ll grab us some more.”

The creek was only just a few metres away, blocked out of sight by a few thick bushes. It wasn’t that wide, but the water ran quickly and would be safe to drink. Gwaine had used this camping spot on more than one occasion.

Merlin nodded, handing back the water skin.

“Just call out if you need anything.”

Gwaine trundled down the steep slope, trying not to slip. He thought about what he was going to do with Merlin. Maybe he could take him to Rosie’s over in Longbridge? Sure, he would still be working in the fields outside the town, but she treated those kids like her own and he’d be safe and have somewhere to stay. Not to mention her cooking might even be able to fatten him up.

Unfortunately, not many folk were willing to look after a child that wasn’t theirs without something in return. At least picking fruits and vegetables with other kids his age wouldn’t be as bad as some of the other more dangerous or nefarious options.

He filled the water skin then climbed back up the slope to find his coat devoid of the almost fourteen-year-old he left there.

Maybe he went to relieve himself? Gwaine’s mind supplied even before he started to panic. No, he asked Gwaine for the water. He had distracted him.

Cursing under his breath, Gwaine looked for signs of which direction the boy had taken off in. He saw a broken twig and some scuff marks in the soil in the opposite direction to the creek, so he started in that direction, sliding a large knife out of his pack to cut the bush back. The vegetation was twisted and knotted together here, but at least the branches were thin. He thrashed his way through the bush, hesitant to call out.

Of course Merlin would run towards the area crawling with Saxon bandits.

Gwaine had to give it to him, for a kid that had just had the stuffing kicked out of him, he made some good ground. Just when he thought that maybe he had lost the trail, he found a new clue that directed him onwards. He hacked his way through the foliage, using the knife to knock away stray branches.

He could just make out the voices of men to his right. Gwaine slowed his pace, creeping through the tangled twigs when he saw a flash of the blue cloak Merlin had been wearing up ahead.

Stealthily, Gwaine closed in on Merlin. When he was only an arm’s distance away, he lunged through the bush, grabbing Merlin from behind with one hand clamped over his mouth. He felt Merlin scream into his palm, scrambling and kicking. Realising he was still holding his long knife, he stuffed it in the back of his pants. Gwaine pulled Merlin tight against his body and leaned into his ear.

“Shhh, there are Saxons just over there. I’m not going to hurt you, but if you yell, we’ll be found.”

He gave Merlin a moment to take in what he had said. The wriggling stopped.

“Okay, if I let go, are you going to stay quiet?”

Merlin looked up at Gwaine with his big blue eyes and nodded.

Gwaine released him gently, crouching down beside the boy. He listened carefully, trying to work out which direction the men were walking. Merlin put a foot’s distance between them, but didn’t run.

“They’re heading north. Now, are you going to run off into Saxon territory or are you going to come back with me?” Gwaine asked, arching an eyebrow.

Merlin grunted something that sounded like “come with you” under his breath. Gwaine shook his head with a smile.

“Follow me.”

Back at the camp Gwaine dug around in his bag until he found . . .

“Ah ha!”

He tossed an apple to Merlin, taking the other out for himself. The boy studied the fruit as if it was going to bite him.

“Have you never seen an apple before?” Gwaine asked.

“Of course I’ve seen an apple before,” Merlin bit back. Gwaine grinned. He liked Merlin’s attitude.

Merlin polished the apple off before Gwaine had eaten half of his. He tossed the core into the bushes, wincing at the motion.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take a look at those ribs?”

Merlin shook his head. “M’ fine,” he said, sounding a little breathless.

“We can camp here for tonight. The Saxons don’t come this close to the hills because they think they’re haunted.”

“Are they?” Merlin asked, eyes wide.

Gwaine shrugged. “Depends if you believe in spirits.”

Merlin glanced around. Gwaine hid a smile.

His stomach rumbled.

“Fancy heading down to the creek to try our luck with some fish?”

He led them down the steep embankment, offering Merlin his hand who refused and instantly slipped over. Gwaine laughed which made Merlin’s ears redden even more.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked in confusion as Gwaine stood on a rock in the middle of the creek, long knife in hand.

“Fishing.”

Merlin scoffed, rolling his eyes. The boy wandered a little way down the bank to a bed of reeds, bobbing down with a shake of his head.

An hour went by and Gwaine was wet and muddy but still without fish. Merlin was playing in the reeds, keeping himself occupied. It seemed he had enough sense not to run off again.

A short while later, Merlin called out.

“I think I have enough.”

Gwaine looked up to see Merlin holding up a kind of box-shaped net made from knotted reeds with four small fish shimmering inside it. His mouth hung open.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asked, following Merlin up the bank.

“This is how normal people fish,” he replied dryly. “Not trying to stab them with swords.”

“This is a knife,” Gwaine retorted, sounding every bit as sulky as he felt.

“Still, you didn’t catch a fish.”

Gwaine got a fire going while Merlin squatted with his catch, using Gwaine’s smaller knife to gut the fish. Dusk had started to settle, replacing the daylight with a purple glow.

The boy let out a loud hiss, clutching his hand.

“You okay?” Gwaine asked, leaving the fire to rush over to Merlin.

“Fine,” Merlin said, wincing as he held his hand tightly with his other, pulling into his chest.

“Looks like you cut yourself,” Gwaine said seriously.

“It’s fine, it’s a small cut.”

“Ah, yes, and that’s why there’s blood soaking through your sleeve.

Gwaine pried Merlin’s hand away, pulling him over to the firelight by his wrist. He felt some sort of jewelry or cuff against his hand. Maybe something sentimental from home?

“It’s fine,” Merlin whined, struggling against Gwaine.

“It will only hurt for a moment, but a lot less than if it gets infected. Fish guts aren’t the best for open wounds,” he said lightheartedly.

“I’m fine!” Merlin said more forcefully, trying to pull his arm back from Gwaine’s grip.

“Don’t be a wuss,” Gwaine chuckled, kicking his water skin towards him to clean the cut. “The one on your face had to hurt far more.”

Gwaine wrestled Merlin’s arm under his so it was pinned so he could get a better look. Blood was flowing freely from the wound - hands always did bleed the most. He pushed up Merlin’s sleeve just as he bucked strongly.

There was a metal band around his wrist, thick and smooth except for the faintest writing in a language he vaguely recognised. Merlin struggled against him, trying to pull his arm free but Gwaine had a good grip. He quickly pushed up the sleeve on Merlin’s other arm, finding a matching band.

“What are these?” Gwaine asked, all the humor gone from his voice.

“Nothing, just . . . nothing,” Merlin said desperately. He was still struggling, but Gwaine could feel the fight leaving him.

“I think I know what these are.”

“No . . . no you don’t!” Merlin almost sobbed, shaking his head.

“Merlin, do you have magic?”

The boy burst into tears, hanging his head. Gwaine let go of his wrists, letting Merlin curl into a shaking ball.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Gwaine said awkwardly. He didn’t know whether to pat Merlin on the back or whether that would make the jumpy kid more jumpy.

So he had magic. Magic that was being cut off by the iron cuffs.

“Please don’t take me back,” Merlin begged, speaking between his knees. “They said if I did anything wrong they’d sell me or take me to King Uther to be burned.”

“Whoa, I’m not going to do that,” Gwaine said. Magic wasn’t illegal in most kingdoms, but it wasn’t well liked either. Except Camelot. King Uther despised magic. It was well known that barely a week went past in that kingdom without some poor soul being burned at the stake.

“Here, let me fix up your hand and you can tell me your story.”

Merlin scrubbed at his face with his good hand, trying to regain his composure. Once his breath had stopped hitching, he slowly offered Gwaine his hand which was now sticky with blood. Setting to work, he used a wet cloth to clean the wound.

“You know, usually a story involves a little more talking,” Gwaine prodded.

“I’m trying to work out what to say,” Merlin bit back. “I haven’t exactly told anyone before.”

Now that he had stopped crying, it seemed like he had put his defences back up.

“Why don’t you start with where you’re from?”

“I’m not telling you that, if anyone finds out where my mum is, that’s the first place they’ll look for me.”

“Who will look for you?”

“David and Daryn. The slavers. Prince Cenred. Take your pick.”

“David and Daryn are the brothers?” Gwaine tore an old shirt into strips. The cut was a nasty one and would need packing as well as a bandage.

Merlin nodded. “They bought me off the slavers a year ago.”

“And you worked for them?”

Merlin nodded.

“But, why would they want a sorcerer if your magic is cut off?”

“It’s not cut off, it’s just kinda - it’s like a river that’s trying to flow, but there’s like a dam blocking it off and only letting a tiny bit trickle through.”

“So you can still use magic?”

He scoffed. “Barely. I can create a spark to start a fire. Or enough light so I don’t fall over going to take a piss in the dark. Or, I can tilt a dice to keep rolling.”

“So that’s what you did for the brothers?”

Merlin nodded. “All the dice tables were fixed. I was to let small wins go, actually encouraged to make people win the small bets, but the big bets I was to turn the dice in favour of the house.”

“I knew it!” Gwaine exclaimed.

“Well, not many people did. So many idiots would get hooked by the smaller wins, then lose all the money back to the house.”

Gwaine stuffed the rags against the wound to pack it, then tightly wound a bandage around the palm of Merlin’s hand. The bleeding had become more sluggish, which was a good sign.

“Is that why that guy was angry with you?”

“David? Yeah. It was so busy last night, I couldn’t keep up with all the tables. Then that guy with the beard won all that gold . . . David wasn’t happy.” Merlin gave Gwaine a significant look.

“How did you end up there in the first place?” Gwaine knotted the ends of the bandage together.

Merlin sighed. “Someone in my village told Prince Cenred that I had magic.”

Gwaine furrowed his brow in confusion. “But magic isn’t illegal in Essetir?”

“That wasn’t the problem. Cenred likes to collect sorcerers to add to his private army. My best friend overheard a conversation and came running to me to tell me that someone was on the way to ‘collect’ me.”

“Why would anyone do that? Dob you in, I mean?”

“Because I was a freak,” Merlin said wryly. “People don’t like having a boy around who can chop wood without using an axe or make his mother’s beans grow faster than theirs.”

“So how did you end up with the brothers?”

“I took off without any plan, which was pretty stupid. Didn’t even say goodbye to my mum - I only just got out of the village as I heard the horses coming. I managed to hide in the forest fishing near a little river for a few weeks, but winter hit and the river froze and I had no food or water and I was so cold . . . I made it to a road then I don’t really remember but a merchant found me and took me to a town. He sold me to this man called Jarl. They put me in a cage with a dozen other children ready to take to some city where we would be ‘put to work’. That night I used magic to break the locks. We all got away and ran into the forest. I was running with this older girl but we were both starved and were slowing down.

“They caught the girl and I stupidly stopped to help. I blasted the slaver off her and she broke free but I didn’t see the other one behind me. I think she did, but him catching me gave her a chance to get away. I was spent anyway, I couldn’t keep running. Anyways, my secret was out that I had magic so they slapped the cuffs and collar on me and sold me for a better price to David and Daryn.”

Gwaine took a moment to process the story. He wasn’t naive, he knew just because things like that didn’t happen to people he knew didn’t mean that things like that didn’t happen, but it was a hard story to hear.

“Don’t you want to go back to see your mum?”

Merlin took a shaky breath. “More than anything,” he said. “But I can’t. If I go back, they’ll just tell Cenred again and . . .”

“Okay, it’s okay, we’ll work something out.”

Four years later

“Slow down! Not everyone has legs like maypoles!”

Merlin chuckled, clambering over the rocks in the gully they were crossing.

“Keep up old man.”

“Who are you calling old man, wee-un?” Gwaine teased back. He reached the other side of the gully, catching up to Merlin as they traversed back up the other side of the hill.

“I’m not a wee-un anymore, I came of age last week, remember?”

“Oh, I remember. I’m not going to forget you vomiting down Mary’s bosom anytime soon!”

Just as Gwaine had hoped, Merlin’s ears flamed red.

“You said you wouldn’t bring that up!” Merlin complained, dropping his shoulders. Gwaine laughed.

“You also said you were right to have another drink.”

Merlin groaned, accepting defeat.

“It’s not like you’ve never done anything stupid.”

“You’re right, but unlike you, I don’t have massive ears that go red when I get embarrassed.”

Merlin shoved him playfully, earning a shove back from Gwaine.

If Gwaine had been told that he would be spending the last four years raising a magical child, he would never have believed it. He could only imagine what his own mother would say. He definitely wasn’t the type that should be influencing any young minds. Truth be told, Merlin wasn’t like most children. He was six years younger than Gwaine, but at times he was decades wiser.

He had taught Gwaine the trick with the fish trap which had ensured that they rarely went hungry. He also had a trap for catching rabbits which Gwaine skinned and cooked up for them both.

In return, Gwaine had shown Merlin how to use a sword. He didn’t take to the skill naturally, but his stubbornness meant that eventually he succeeded in becoming proficient in handling a weapon. Gwaine had a sword made for him in one of the towns they drifted through, a lighter blade that he could better handle. He wouldn’t forget Merlin’s reaction to the gift. He fell asleep with the sword next to him in bed that night until Gwaine removed it, lest the clumsy kid stab himself in his sleep.

He’d also tried to get the blacksmith to break the cuffs on Merlin’s wrists. That was the first of many failed attempts to break the enchanted bonds. Each time took its toll on Merlin’s confidence until Gwaine just had a tailor make him several long sleeved tops to hide them instead.

“Urggg, we’re never going to get to Mercia in time. We should take the shortcut.”

Merlin was sweating in the summer heat, his fair skin flushed.

“Merlin, no.”

“But the tournament is the day after tomorrow and we’ll never get there in time.”

Merlin and Gwaine made money in a whole variety of ways - helping on farms during harvest, selling spare fish or rabbits, selling herbs that Merlin recognised in the forest to physicians in the local towns - but by far their biggest money was made through the tournaments.

“Merlin, we aren’t risking it.”

“We’ll be barely in Camelot. Just cutting in for a night. It’s not like anyone from the citadel will be anywhere near a border town.”

“Merlin.”

“Gwaine.”

Gwaine sighed. “Fine. But you’re staying in the room the whole time.”

“What about dinner?”

“Okay, you can be in the tavern for one hour. No drinking.”

“I’m never drinking again after last week.”

Gwaine chuckled. “Famous last words Merlin.”

Gwaine’s nerves were on edge as soon as they crossed the Camelot border at the river. If anyone found out about Merlin, it wasn’t slavers that he would have to be worried about, it would be the Camelot knights and their king who would have Merlin’s head for who he was.

Merlin was right. It was only one night. What could go wrong?

Chapter Text

“This is the best potato soup I’ve ever tried,” Merlin said, shoveling another spoonful in his mouth.

“No my little friend, the one at the Cackling Rooster is the best.” Gwaine had another spoonful of his stew.

Merlin shook his head, pointing at the soup.

“Nah, ‘dis one.”

“Merlin, what have I said about speaking with your mouth open?”

Merlin stuck out his tongue and opened his mouth, showing Gwaine the half-digested soup inside.

“I never raised you to be so disgusting,” Gwaine said with a wry smile before letting out a hearty belch. Merlin smirked as he tore off a chunk of bread for his soup.

The door swung open and the whole tavern went quiet.

Gwaine looked up to see two men who could not have looked any more out of place if they had been wearing pink frilly dresses.

The taller man had tight curly hair and eyes that scanned the room nervously. Gwaine was willing to bet his sword that the shorter and younger looking one was a noble - they probably both were. The straight back and clean blond hair and general sense of proprietary in the way he scanned the room.

And Merlin was staring at him like some sort of lovesick fool.

“Merlin, you’re drooling.”

Merlin jumped in his seat, wiping his face before he realised that Gwaine was teasing. He glared at him with a sneer.

“You’re an idiot.”

“And you’re a fool.”

“I wasn’t drooling.”

Gwaine snorted. “Merlin, I’m going to have to call over the barkeep to bring a mop for that puddle on the floor.”

Merlin grumbled to himself, muttering away as he turned back to his soup.

Gwaine only got a few more mouthfuls of his stew when the doors swung open and silence swept over the tavern again.

Two mean looking men approached the barkeeper. She threw down some coins, but from the way the men responded they weren’t happy with the price. On their travels, Gwaine and Merlin had seen many men like these, wearing leathers and furs and mean smiles, threatening businesses into submission, taking a ‘fee’ for ‘protection’ when really, they were the ones bringing the threat.

Merlin looked at Gwaine with an arched eyebrow. Gwaine shook his head back.

Usually, Gwaine would step in and teach the men a lesson, Merlin helping where he could, which usually involved him starting fights that Gwaine would have to finish. In Camelot’s territory though, Gwaine wasn’t willing to take the risk.

It turned out that he didn’t need to. The stuck-up blonde intervened instead, his companion reluctantly behind him. Gwaine watched with curiosity, but relief that there would be no need to endanger Merlin.

Then the rest of the mean-looking gang walked in. They were equally as beefy as their leaders.

Everyone in the tavern vacated their seats quickly, backing up to the wall with a clatter of wooden stools knocking against tables. These two nobles were about to get their arses handed to them.

Gwaine ran a hand through his hair. These two were outnumbered and could use the help, but they were in Camelot land. Any attention could be the type of attention that could get Merlin found out. Not to mention, this wasn’t just a bit of a biffo in a bar that Merlin was used to. This was a whole gang. He could actually get hurt.

“Looks like you could use a hand.”

The little shithead.

Merlin had stepped forward, into the fight. He’d even used one of Gwaine’s lines!

The blonde wrinkled his nose, obviously taking in Merlin’s skinny build and wondering what he could possibly do to help.

Gwaine grabbed Merlin by the arm, hissing in his ear.

“What are you doing?”

“They need help,” Merlin hissed back. “We always do this!”

“You’re only doing this because you think he’s pretty!”

Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Er,” the blonde interrupted. “We’re all good, thank you,” he said, giving his companion a nod. His companion didn’t seem to agree.

Merlin scoffed. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”

Gwaine and Merlin exchanged a look that said the same thing : This guy is a complete wanker. Merlin suddenly seemed to snap out of the lovesick spell he’d been under.

“And how long have you been training to be a prat?”

The blonde looked taken aback by Merlin’s response. He probably didn’t get put back in his place much wherever he was from. He was probably the son of some wealthy lord, riding horses and hunting instead of doing any actual work.

“C’mon, let’s go,” Merlin said with a nudge of Gwaine’s arm.

“Too much talking!”

Oh yeah. Gwaine had forgotten about the mean men and the gang. The leaders both looked very frustrated.

The one on the left took a swing at the blonde, who dodged the hit deftly. Okay, so he’s a noble that does some swordplay with his other little noble buddies. He skillfully weaved under the man’s arm so that he was behind him and aimed a strong kick at his back.

Gwaine only just avoided a swing at his own head.

“Hey! I’m not even playing!”

He backed up from the fur-clad man, trying to avoid throwing a punch. The man kept coming at him despite Gwaine’s insistence that he’s not in the fight.

“Fine!”

Gwaine picked up a stool and smashed it over the man’s head, dropping him to the ground.

He looked over to see Merlin smashing plates over some other guy’s head with the barkeeper. Gwaine was about to go over and grab him when he was hauled back from behind. He ducked a swing, sweeping his leg out to trip the man up. The adrenaline was starting to build inside him, the familiar force sharpening his senses. An elbow glanced off his chin, but he was able to block the second hit and knee the man in the gut.

A quick look over to his right showed the blonde fighting off two men at once. He was quick and clever in his moves, and Gwaine couldn’t help but be impressed. The taller one was also holding his own, but his style was more mechanical and less artistic. More like the style of a soldier . . .

There were fewer men in the tavern, some having fled while others were groaning on the dirt floor. Gwaine whistled loudly for Merlin who was repeatedly battering a man with a chopping board. They needed to get out of there before the dust settled. The blonde and the taller man could finish off the last few.

Gwaine looked up at the blonde to see him swing a high punch to knock a much larger man on the chin. It connected perfectly, dropping the man to the ground with a thud.

He didn’t notice the guy from the start standing behind him with a blade drawn.

Gwaine surged forward with a shout, reaching out to tackle the blonde out of the way of the weapon.

He was too late.

The knife was going to his hit leg.

He felt a rush of wind push past his elbow and saw the knife and the man holding it forced back into an upturned table. The man hit his head on the table leg and slumped to the floor, the knife tumbling from his hand.

There was a familiar crackle of energy in the air that Gwaine recognised immediately. He spun around to see Merlin hunched over a table, his face screwed tightly in pain.

The first time Merlin had pushed the limits of the binding cuffs in Gwaine’s presence was on a farm they had been berry picking for work. The farmer had converted a small barn into accommodation for all the workers, crowding the space with as many cots as he could fit. They would work hard during the day and sleep all together at night. On their third night there, Gwaine was awoken by Merlin shaking him in terror. He opened his eyes to find the barn full of smoke. They only just got out before flames licked out the door.

Standing in the field Gwaine noticed another worker screaming as she was held back by two others. She had been picking berries with two young boys earlier that day. Two boys who were not in the field with them.

With a stern warning for Merlin to stay put, Gwaine jumped back in through the side window. Thankfully, the boys were just under the window but too short to climb out. He lifted them out to a man who had followed him when a rafter fell, blocking his escape.

He had been making his peace with the gods when a tunnel of water appeared. Just big enough to crawl through but thick enough to protect from the fire. Gwaine crawled through to the outside of the barn where he saw Merlin on his knees, holding his hand out with his eyes glowing as brightly as the fire in the night. As soon as he saw Gwaine, the boy collapsed with a pained cry. The water washed over Gwaine, disappearing into the scorched ground.

For two days, Gwaine had held the writhing boy in his arms. He was neither asleep nor awake, fading between fits of tremors to seizure-like episodes. By the first night he was calling for his mother. Gwaine had been so terrified that he would never wake, but finally, the small boy opened his blue eyes.

Gwaine made him promise to never use magic again - not until they had worked out how to remove the cuffs.

Merlin didn’t keep that promise.

“Look out!” the blonde shouted.

Gwaine’s head snapped up to see that he was pointing to Merlin. The other leader swung a broken stool at Merlin’s head. He got an arm up to block it just in time, but the force coupled with the after effects of doing magic whilst still bound knocked him off his feet. There was a loud thud as his head hit a bench on the way down. He fell to the ground and did not move again.

Gwaine vaulted the table in front of him to rush to Merlin’s side, but the curly-haired man had gotten there first.

There was the chime of metal. The blonde man had a sword held at the other leader’s throat.

Where had he pulled a sword from?

The gang leader held out his hands in resignation.

Without warning, the blonde spun the sword around and knocked the man out with the helm.

“Sire,” the curly haired man called out tentatively.

Sire? Geez, this guy really did have a stick up his arse if he made his companion call him ‘sire’.

Gwaine skidded to his knees next to Merlin when he saw what had caught the curly haired man’s attention. It wasn’t the red mark swelling on the side of Merlin’s face. It wasn’t even the strange angle of Merlin’s forearm.

Merlin’s sleeve had been torn in the fight. His cuff was fully visible.

The curly-haired man pushed up Merin’s other sleeve to reveal the matching cuff.

Cold metal touched the skin at Gwaine’s throat. He looked up to see the blonde holding the sword against his neck, his expression thunderous.

“We do not allow slavery in this kingdom. In fact, we take slavery very seriously.”

Gwaine held up his hands, shaking his head. He felt the pinch of the metal breaking his skin. Wincing, he stilled his head.

“Whoa, he’s not a slave. I mean, not anymore.”

“Then why is he still wearing binds?” the blonde asked icily.

“We . . . er . . . we haven’t got around to getting to a blacksmith. He doesn’t have the key, you see. Slavers don’t usually hand them out.”

“And you would know?” the blonde accused.

“Hey, he’s not my slave. He’s my . . . he’s . . . my younger brother.”

The curly haired man looked between them.

“You don’t look at all the same.”

“He’s adopted,” Gwaine tried. He was usually so good at lying but his worry for Merlin’s condition lying unconscious on the ground was tugging at his mind.

The blonde rolled his eyes at his companion, letting the sword drop slightly.

This was getting dangerous.

“Look, we better get going,” Gwaine said, bundling Merlin up in his arms. It was going to be difficult getting out of the village with an unconscious Merlin without a horse, but maybe one of the gang members left one behind that he could ‘borrow’.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” the blonde said, crossing his arms.

“Well I don’t give a rat’s arse what you believe,” Gwaine replied. Merlin’s skin was getting greyer by the second. He needed to get him out of there before these two idiots realised that the cuffs were magic-blocking and not just a symbol of slavery.

“That’s no way to speak to a prince,” the blonde said with a smirk.

Oh-no.

Oh-no.

Of course he was bloody Arthur Pendragon.

“You will both accompany us to the citadel. When the boy wakes, he can tell us himself whether he is indeed a freeman. Our physician will take good care of him in the meantime.”

There was no getting out of this one. If Merlin had been conscious and able to run, maybe they would have stood a chance, but Gwaine wasn’t going to leave him.

Shit.

Prince Arthur of Camelot and Sir Leon, as it were, led the way out to the horses. There were two very well kept mares tied to the post in the front of the tavern. Some of the locals were dragging the gang members into the stocks that were conveniently located next to the horses. Gwaine carried Merlin over his shoulders, a feat made more difficult after his latest growth spurt and the long legs that came with it.

“What is your name?” the Prince asked, untying one of the horses.

He could lie, but a lie would be harder to uphold. Not to mention, there was no way to tell Merlin what he had said. He made a mental note to come up with some sort of pre-determined fake names for these sorts of situations with Merlin when he woke up.

Whenever that might be.

“Gwaine.”

“And the boy?” Arthur asked, pointing to the body over Gwaine’s shoulders.

Gwaine thought calling him a boy was a bit rich. Arthur didn’t look much older.

“Merlin.”

Arthur nodded.

“Leon, you can take Gwaine on your horse. I’ll take Merlin on mine.”

“It would be better if I take him,” Gwaine said quickly. “Maybe the barkeeper has another horse?”

Arthur shook his head with a wry smile. “And let you run off? For a supposedly innocent man you are looking very suspicious.”

“Okay, tell me this oh-wise-prince. Why would we help you if I was a slaver?”

Arthur folded his arms, puffing his chest out.

“You weren’t going to help me, it was him who stepped forward,” he said, jabbing a finger towards Merlin. “Maybe he was trying to get our attention to alert us to his plight.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Oh my gods. Merlin is not my slave. If anything, I’m the one that gets bossed around like a slave.”

“Well then,” Arthur said smugly, mounting his horse. “You shouldn’t have a problem coming back to Camelot until we sort all of this out. Now, hold out your hands.”

The ride back to Camelot wasn’t very far, but the time went slowly and silently. Gwaine is sitting behind Leon on his horse with his wrists tied together with a rope that is attached somewhere to the horse’s saddle. He was huffing about being innocent until proven guilty but Leon just ignored him.

Arthur had Merlin sitting up and leaning back against his chest, his arms holding the reins around him. Gwaine was at least thankful that he went to the effort to hold Merlin like that. Hanging upside down on the back of a horse wouldn’t have been helpful with his head injury.

Gwaine kept looking over his shoulder to look at Merlin. The bruises were starting to come out on his face. He was unnervingly still. The other times Merlin had used more magic than the bands had allowed he had been a shaking, feverish mess. Gwaine hoped that it didn’t mean he was seriously injured. Maybe seeing a physician in Camelot wouldn’t be the worst thing.

He had heard stories about Camelot, but nothing he’d been told could prepare him for the grandeur of the citadel. He had to admit, it was impressive.

Leon led them through the portcullis to a white stone courtyard. It was bustling with people, some stopping to take in the Prince’s arrival. Servants ran forward to tend to the horses and take the bags. Two guards took Merlin from Arthur, being passed down off the horse like a ragdoll.

Gwaine dismounted clumsily with the intention of following until the rope around his wrists pulled tight.

“Where are they taking him?” he demanded, watching the guards carry Merlin away.

“To the physician,” Arthur responded, as if it were obvious.

“And you should refer to the Prince by his proper title,” Leon added cuttingly.

“Well, can you cut me loose, sire?”

Arthur shook his head, dismounting from his horse.

“No, you’re going to be spending some time elsewhere until Merlin has a chance to give his side of the story.”

‘Elsewhere’ ended up being the dungeons. Gwaine argued with Leon the whole way down there, begging to be left with Merlin. He could only imagine how freaked out he would be if he woke up in Camelot all alone. Leon stoically ignored him, shoving him into a cell and locking the door.

Gwaine paced the cell into the night, ignoring his dinner.

What if Merlin woke up and accidentally gave away his magic?

What if he was scared?

What if he didn’t wake up at all?

Gwaine and Merlin had been staying in a lively tavern in Kent that had a dancing band playing well into the night. After the meals had been cleared away and the drinks had become stronger, Gwaine took Merlin to their room upstairs and settled him into bed with strict instructions to stay while he went back downstairs to join in the fun.

“Do I have to?” Merlin had complained.

“When you’re older, you can stay downstairs all night, but the tavern after midnight is no place for a child.”

“M’not a child,” Merlin replied petulantly as Gwaine pulled the blanket over him. He checked that the candle was far enough away from the curtains so as not to cause a fire and put the water skin next to Merlin’s bed in case he got thirsty.

Hours later, Gwaine had stumbled into the room to find Merlin’s bed empty, only just visible in the light filtering through the door. He threw down his cloak, tossing the blankets on the bed back just in case it was a trick of the light. He spun around, checking the window. It was too small for someone to climb through. He wished he’d had less to drink. If someone had taken Merlin . . .

He heard a whimper coming from near his bed. He followed the sound to find Merlin tucked in a ball underneath, shaking like a leaf.

“Hey mate, what are you doing under there?” he asked kindly.

Merlin didn’t respond, but Gwaine could just make out his startled eyes in the dark. He reached in and hooked his hands under Merlin’s arms, dragging him out carefully. He sat with Merlin on the floor.

“What happened?”

“I woke up, and you weren’t here,” Merlin said in a tiny voice that sounded nothing like him.

“What do you mean you woke up?” Gwaine asked. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Merlin gave an imperceptible nod.

“I’m sorry.”

“S’not your fault,” Merlin sniffed.

“I wouldn’t just leave you behind,” Gwaine said, clapping his hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

“I know.”

Gwaine stood up and remade Merlin’s bed, turning down the blanket.

“Do, do you mind if we push the beds together?” Merlin asked, looking down at his feet. He was all plucky bravado most of the time, so much so that Gwaine forgot that sometimes he was just a scared boy who had been through a lot.

“Sure,” Gwaine said. He arranged the beds and took off his boots, climbing into his side. Merlin tucked himself in the other, his fingers wedging their way under Gwaine’s shoulder. He heard the boy’s breathing even out not long after.

Gwaine was interrupted from his pacing hours later by an old man with willowy white hair. He was wearing long robes that looked too fine to belong to anyone bar a member of the court. Maybe they were here to pass judgement? There would be a trial first, surely?

“Are you Gwaine?” the man asked.

Gwaine nodded.

“My name is Gaius, and I’m the Court Physician.” He looked around to see if the guards were listening. Gwaine thought this was strange behaviour for a member of the court.

“We need to talk about Merlin.”

Chapter Text

Gwaine stepped up to the bars of the cell, closing the distance between himself and the old man.

"What did you want to talk about?" he asked testily.

Gaius unclasped his hands. "As Court Physician, I have examined Merlin's injuries."

"Is he okay? Has he woken up?" Gwaine tried to keep his tone even, but failed. This was the longest he had been apart from Merlin in a long time.

"Not yet. He's - stable. I've treated his broken arm and noticed some very unusual jewelryon his wrists."

Gwaine took a breath, blowing it out through his teeth. He would have to tread carefully here. Until he found out what Gaius wanted, he would have to bite his tongue. One little slip up could be catastrophic for Merlin - and himself.

"Yes, he does."

Gaius nodded slowly, looking down his nose.

"Now usually slaves wear cuffs like that to mark them as such."

"That is true," Gwaine agreed. "Merlin was once a slave."

"But these cuffs," Gaius said slowly. "They have another function, and this is what makes them so difficult to remove."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean?" Gwaine said.

Gaius raised an eyebrow, glaring at Gwaine with wisened eyes.

"However, I think it would be best not to bother the Prince with this matter. He's ever so busy."

Gwaine studied the man's face. What was he getting at. Was he trying to blackmail them? What could he possibly want? It wasn't like he and Merlin looked like they had money, and he wasn't well connected the way some men were, men who could make tax collectors look the other way. Anyway, Gaius looked like a man who paid his taxes without question.

"Given his condition, one would think he wouldn’t want to wake up alone in the heart of Camelot."

"I'm not sure what condition you're talking about, but you are right about that. I said I wouldn't desert him and instead I'm stuck in a cell."

Gwaine rattled the bars to emphasize his point.

"It's fortunate, then, that you have a case of Green Fever and need to be taken to my rooms for treatment."

"I don't have Green Fever -"

The old man held out a small jar, concealed in the sleeves of his robe. In the firelight he could see that it contained some sort of green gunk.

"Apply this to your skin," he said in a secretive, low voice.

"No - what? What is it?"

"Do you want to see Merlin or not?"

Gwaine huffed. What's the worst that could happen using an ointment made by a physician who would know how to poison him without leaving a trace?

He took the jar and opened it. The scent was so familiar and yet he couldn't place it. He dipped his fingers in the thick gel and ran it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Go on, we haven't got all day!"

Gwaine made a face before applying the gel to his hands. He then rubbed it on the parts of his cheeks that weren't obscured by his beard.

"C'mon, more than that. Here."

Gaius tugged Gwaine down by his collar and spread the gel without warning all over Gwaine's face. Looking down at his sticky hands with disdain, Gaius wiped them on Gwaine's shirt.

"There, that's better." He slipped the jar back into his robes and turned to call out over his shoulder.

"Guard, call Sir Leon urgently!"

Gaius turned back to Gwaine with a wink.

A short time later, Leon trudged down the stone path to the cells. He was now wearing his armour and looked every bit the Camelot Knight.

"Gaius, you called for me?"

Leon looked up at Gwaine and winced, taking a step back.

"As you can see, the prisoner has taken ill. Green Fever I'm afraid. Highly contagious."

Leon took two big steps back.

"However, it seems this fellow is only in the early stages."

"Early stages?" Leon gasped. Gwaine wondered what his face was looking like for Leon to react like that.

"In a few days green boils will cover his body and ooze pus that will eat away at his skin until he dies."

"That's horrible!" Leon turned to Gwaine, his mouth hanging open. "Gaius, I shared a horse with him!"

"Not to worry, as I said, it's in its early stages. It's the pus that is contagious. Now it's a common disease in travellers who pass through seaside regions, which unfortunately this young man has admitted to doing. The treatment is a simple remedy that I could prepare right now in my chambers. We could ensure that he is cured before anyone catches the disease."

Gwaine needed to get lessons in lying from Gaius. He had obviously done this many a time before.

"So be it. I'll have a guard bring the remedy down to the dungeons once you finish it."

Gaius hummed, obviously buying time.

"That won't do. The remedy needs to be administered once an hour and kept at a precise temperature. It would be much easier to treat him in my rooms. He could be quarantined in the back room."

Leon thought about this, then nodded.

"Very well."

He made a signal to the guard who unlocked Gwaine's cell. Before Gwaine even got to take a step forwards, iron cuffs were clamped on his wrists, a short chain linked between them.

"What's this for? Didn't you hear Gaius? I'm sick!"

Leon shook his head. "You're also one of the best fighters I've seen. There's no way we are letting you run loose around the castle."

Gaius gave him a shrug as if to say 'what do you want - you're lucky to be out of the cell' which, okay, that was true.

He followed the men through corridor after corridor (Leon was walking very fast, trying to put distance between himself and Gwaine). He tried to memorise the route, noting exits. It was late if the empty corridors and quiet were anything to go by.

They entered a room that smelled strongly of smoke and herbs and peppery spices.

The room was lined in bookshelves that were stacked full of books and jars and strange shaped bottles. There was a large work table piled high with equipment that Gwaine had seen once in an apothecary in Wessex where you could procure herbs that took away all your troubles and filled your head with down.

Through the glass equipment, Gwaine could just spot two small cots, one seemingly occupied. It took all his will power not to rush around the table and check.

"I'll put a guard outside the door," Leon said. "Call me if you need anything."

He gave Gaius a pointed look, then departed hastily. As soon as the door shut, both Gwaine and Gaius let out a breath.

Gwaine ran straight to the cots, seeing Merlin's familiar black nest of hair peeking out from under a thin sheet.

He knelt next to the low bed, bringing both his hands up carefully to settle the chain on the frame of the bed. He reached out to touch Merlin’s pale cheek.

To his relief, Merlin was warm (alive), although he was alarmingly so. Gwaine felt his forehead with the back of his hand. The few times Merlin had used too much magic in the past, he’d developed a bit of a fever, but this was more like the heat he’d feel from a forge.

"What happened?" Gaius asked gravely.

Gwaine didn’t look up, instead leaning over to study the bruises on the other side of Merlin’s face the best he could with the manacles. They had darkened since he last saw him, spreading from his temple to his ridiculous cheekbone.

"There was a bar fight. Merlin blocked a hit with his arm, but he hit his head on the way down."

"That would explain the broken arm and the bruises," - Gwaine's focus shifted to the heavily bandaged limb, "but I think you know that's not what I mean."

He was persistent, Gwaine would give him that. Still, there was no way that he would admit Merlin’s magic to him. While he seemed like a nice guy, they were in Camelot. The King killed sorcerers. Gwaine wasn’t about to put Merlin’s head on the chopping block.

Although, Gaius had obviously worked it out. So what was stopping him calling the King’s guard to take them both away?

When Gwaine didn’t respond, Gaius just sighed and sat on a stool on the other side of Merlin’s bed.

Merlin twitched in his sleep, his head flopping listlessly to the side. Gwaine adjusted the pillow so he wasn’t straining his neck.

“Will he be okay?” Gwaine asked quietly.

“Depends if this fever gets any worse. Has this happened before?”

Gwaine nodded.

“Usually he gets a fever, but not this bad - although it’s been getting worse the last few times. It’s like he’s on fire from the inside. Last time it lasted for a few hours, then he was wiped out for days.”

It had been painful to watch, but not as painful as it seemed to be for Merlin. They’d been at a tournament in the south when Merlin realised Gwaine’s opponent was cheating with an enchanted shield. He used his magic to stop him. By the time Gwaine had managed to finish the fight and get out of the arena, Merlin was on all fours in his competitor’s tent, head ducked between his elbows in pain. Gwaine could only offer his leather vambrace for Merlin to bite down on, watching the boy he cared for like a brother writhing on the ground.

Unfortunately, they had been overheard through the thin tent walls by a sticky-nosed knight who had not taken his loss to Gwaine well. He told anyone who would listen that ‘the rough looking fellow’s squire has been possessed by evil spirits’.

Gwaine had no choice but to sling a barely-recovered Merlin onto a horse and ride them out of town that night. He did have a choice, however, when he chose to steal the sticky-nosed knight’s horse.

He was drawn from his thoughts as Gaius nodded solemnly. He rung out a cloth in a bucket next to the bed and placed it over Merlin’s forehead. The tightness in his face seemed to ease a little.

There was a knock at the door. Gaius stood quickly.

“Hurry, go into that room up the back.”

He pointed to a tiny doorway that looked like it led to a cupboard.

“Just a moment!” Gaius called to the door. He threw another wet cloth at Gwaine.

“What’s this for?”

“To wipe off the pig fat.”

“Pig fat?” So that’s what he had smeared all over his face.

“Yes, it’s pig fat and grass paste. Wipe some of it off and get into bed. If that’s Sir Leon he’s going to expect to see your illness treated and you quarantined.”

Gwaine let himself be shuffled into the small back room, giving one last look over his shoulder to Merlin. He climbed the steps and ducked under the doorway. Surprisingly, there was a small bed and a window. It hadn’t looked big enough from the main room.

Gaius shut the door behind him and called out to let the visitor in. Gwaine ducked behind the door and peeked through the keyhole. He wiped some of the pig fat off his face and hands, leaving a bit on for show.

“Ah, sire, what can I do for you at this late hour? I was just treating the poor young chap from the dungeons. He’s sleeping now.”

Gwaine spotted the prince’s blonde hair. He wandered around Gaius’ rooms, out of the view of the keyhole.

“Yes, Sir Leon told me about that. I’m not sure that it’s safe to have him up here.”

“I can assure you it’s perfectly fine,” Gaius replied. “He has the manacles and Sir Leon posted a guard at the door.” There was a pause. “He seems like a fine young fellow.”

“Well make sure he stays in that room. I don’t want him influencing young Merlin here and coercing him into lying.”

“Of course,” Gaius said.

Arthur let out a long sigh and moved back in view. He rubbed a hand over his face, looking down at Merlin lying in bed.

“I’m starting to think that I may have jumped to conclusions. It’s just that there’s been such a rise in slavery over the last year and I saw the cuffs . . .”

He took a seat in the chair Gaius had vacated at Merlin’s bedside.

“Any idea when he’s going to wake up?”

Gaius moved to the head of Merlin’s bed, blocking Gwaine’s view.

“I can’t be certain. The knock to his head was a significant one, it may take him a while to wake.”

So Gaius knew that Merlin had magic, knew that it was linked to whatever was making Merlin ill, and was still covering for him.

Huh.

“And that disease that Gwaine has - it’s not contagious?”

“We caught it just in time,” Gaius reassured Arthur.

“Well, tell me when he wakes up.”

Gwaine heard the scrape of the stool on the floorboards before hearing the door open and slam shut. He waited a few minutes before emerging from the small bedroom.

“How’s the Green Fever going?” Gaius asked with a smirk as he mixed something at his workbench.

“Surprisingly good for the skin,” Gwaine responded, rubbing a hand over his chin. Gaius chuckled.

Gwaine sat on the stool next to Merlin, pooling the chain on his lap.

“How do you two know each other?” Gaius asked. He poured the contents of his bowl through a sieve.

“We met a few years back. He’s been tagging along with me ever since.”

Gwaine dunked the cloth from Merlin’s head back in the cool water and replaced it over his forehead. His cheeks were tinged pink, but the rest of his skin was still ghostly pale. Gwaine swept Merlin’s sodden hair back.

“He would have been just a child,” Gaius says, an eyebrow arched.

“Yeah, he didn’t have any family.”

It was the easiest way to explain it. He couldn’t tell Gaius that Merlin couldn’t return to his mother from fear of Cenred finding him and using his magic.

“Help me with this,” Gaius said, shuffling over to the bed with a cup in his hand. “It’s a tincture that should help bring that fever down.”

Gwaine nodded. Following Gaius’ lead, he helped hold Merlin’s head up as the old man trickled a tiny amount of the black liquid into his mouth.

“That should do for now,” Gaius said, setting the cup down with a tired sigh.

“Thank you,” Gwaine said. He lay Merlin back down on the cot. “I can watch him if you want to get some sleep.”

“That would be appreciated,” Gaius said, clapping a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder.

Gaius snored like a steam train. Gwaine hoped it was loud enough to wake up Merlin, but so far all he had done was shuffled slightly in his sleep.

Gwaine took a look around the room. The bookshelves were rammed full of books and papers, stacked haphazardly. Books on anatomy, herbs, the human brain, ailments of the feet, remedies for sexual function . . .

Okay, it was like a written invitation. Not that he needed any remedies, his sexual function was just fine, thank you very much. He was just curious . . .

Gwaine slid the book out of the shelf, opening to a random page and -

Nope. Nuh-uh. That was not what he was expecting.

Gwaine winced at the graphic diagram filling half the page, crossing his own legs.

He went to slide the book back when something caught his eye in the space on the shelves. Another book, very old, slipped in behind it.

Gwaine carefully removed it, his fingers tingling slightly as he touched the cover. He had seen writing like that before. It was the same as the symbols etched into Merlin’s cuffs.

This was a magic book. Gaius had a magic book.

Did that mean Gaius was a sorcerer? His interest in Merlin and his magic now seemed to make more sense.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a gurgling sound. He quickly replaced the books and ran over to Merlin.

His head was tipped back as he started to shake. The horrible gurgling sound from his throat was getting louder. Gwaine pulled Merlin over onto his side. Some of the black liquid that Gaius had given him before dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

The shaking continued to become more violent until it became a fit. Gwaine held his hands out helplessly. There was nothing he could do.

He heard hurried shuffling behind him and saw Gaius leaning over the head of the bed. He put his hand on Merlin’s head, following his jerky movements. Merlin let out a low groan, screwing up his face.

“He’s too hot. Get rid of that sheet and loosen his shirt.”

Gwaine tore the sheet away, the chain swinging between his wrists. He loosened the laces at the neck of Merlin’s baggy shirt, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. He was panting noisily, but was still completely unconscious.

“Shouldn’t he be sweating?” Gwaine asked in concern.

Gaius hummed. “His fever hasn’t broken. I think we need to get this shirt off completely.”

Gwaine nodded. He tore the flimsy shirt down the middle, easing it over Merlin’s bandaged arm. It was an awful shirt, but it had been one of only two that Merlin owned. He’d grown like a weed in the past year and they had to buy second hand ones from a market when they’d been skint over winter.

Gaius took the scraps of the shirt from Gwaine and dunked them in the cold water. He then arranged the wet fabric over Merlin’s body. He then opened the window, letting the icy night air into the room.

Finally, after a few more minutes, Merlin’s breathing started to slow down. Gwaine sat back on his heel, blowing out a low breath.

“Why don’t you get some sleep?” Gaius suggested. “I’ll call you if he wakes up.”

Gwaine was ready to protest, but Gaius cut him off.

“He’s going to need you to be alert when he wakes up.”

The old man had a point.

“Are you sure?”

With Gaius’ nod, Gwaine got to his feet and made his way to the back room.

“Thank you,” he said, closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

Years of travelling and sleeping in all sorts of places had made Gwaine a light sleeper, but the events of the last day had obviously caught up with him. The rapid knock on the door pulled him sharply out of a deep sleep with a yell.

“What?” he called out groggily. He tried to remember which tavern he was staying in. He looked around the room but couldn’t see Merlin. Maybe he was sleeping on the floor -

The door swung open to reveal a beautiful woman with soft brown curls, wringing her hands in her apron.

“Gwaine, is it?”

Gwaine sat up in bed, a smile spreading on his face.

“For you, I’ll be whoever you want me to be.”

She shook her head, as if swatting away his nonsense. She spoke urgently.

“Merlin’s awake, and he’s . . . you just better come.”

Merlin.

Oh shit.

He was in Camelot.

The memories of the day before flooded his mind.

He leapt out of bed, only wearing a pair of trousers. While he usually forewent wearing a shirt to bed, having his trousers on meant that he was always ready to go if he needed to run or fight.

It wasn’t very effective fighting off bandits who’ve stumbled across your campsite in your underwear.

Shouting voices came from the main room, but above the din all he could hear Merlin yelling.

"Answer my question! And what have you done with him?"

"Just put the knife down my friend . . ."

Ah great, Arthur was here. That was going to make things far more complicated.

"Ha! I'd never be friends with such an ass!"

Oh no. Merlin was usually a bit mouthy, but knew when to rein it in. When he was of his right mind of course. Which he clearly was not.

The woman stepped aside to let Gwaine rush past her. He almost forgot the steps outside the room and caught himself just in time. He stopped and blinked at the scene before him.

Merlin was backed into the corner of the room near the bookshelf with the sex disease book, holding out a home made knife that looked very similar to the one Gaius had been using to cut up herbs the night before. The prince was standing in front of him, dressed in full armour, holding out his hands. Gaius was rubbing his temples.

"Arthur, you're scaring him!" the woman chastised, following Gwaine down the steps. She stood with her hands on her hips, glaring at the prince.

“I’m not . . . Guinevere - I was just . . .”

Arthur waved his hands around, as if it explained what he was doing.

The woman, Guinevere, scolded him.

“You were interrogating him right after he woke up from a terrible fever.”

“I had to - I had to find out if this man was a slave trader!”

Following Arthur’s pointed finger, Merlin finally looked up. He looked a wreck, hair pushed up on one side, bruises blooming down the other side of his face, bare-chested and pale skin shiny with sweat. His eyes seemed a little unfocused as he swayed on the spot.

“Gwaine,” Merlin breathed out, letting the knife fall to the ground with a clatter. He stumbled forwards only for his legs to give out on the second step. Arthur lunged towards him, catching him before he fell flat on his face.

“Gerrof, I don’t need your help,” Merlin complained, slapping ineffectually at Arthur’s armour.

“Oh, can you walk on your knees?” Arthur retaliated, dragging an uncooperative Merlin back to a standing position. They were almost exactly the same height.

“Here, allow me,” Gwaine offered with a smirk, holding out his manacled hands. Arthur paused for a moment, then virtually dumped his armful of Merlin onto Gwaine. Heaving him up so he was almost standing, Gwaine threw Merlin’s arm over his shoulder, all made more difficult by the chain connecting his own wrists.

“I d’n’t know wha’ happened to you,” Merlin said almost drunkenly into Gwaine’s neck, his eyes still shining with fever. “He thought you were m’ slave master or some . . .”

Merlin snorted, then broke into a fit of giggles which quickly became a wheeze.

“C’mon, let’s get you back to bed.”

Gwaine dragged Merlin the two metres back to the cot, accepting Guinevere’s assistance in getting all his gangly limbs on the mattress.

“Gwaine, wh’s my shirt?”

Gwaine retrieved the now-rag from the bucket of water by his bed and held it up. Merlin squinted.

“Oh. Thas okay - it was ugly shirt.”

Guinevere bit her lip, hiding a smile. Gwaine flashed her a wink, feeling satisfied when she ducked her head shyly. She fitted a pillow behind Merlin’s head.

“Thanks,” he said, grinning dumbly up at her. “My head hurts soooooo much.”

“That would be the large amount of bruising you suffered when you hit your head,” Gaius interjected. Merlin turned to look at him, squinting.

“I know you.”

“I’m not sure that we’ve met before,” Gaius said kindly.

“Nah, I reckon we have. Oh, my aaaarrrrrrm!”

Merlin aborted his attempt to wave, staring at the bandage over it in horror.

“Urg, Gwaine, it hurts!”

Gwaine patted his shoulder, helping to bring Merlin’s arm back to settle over his chest.

Gaius shuffled forward, presenting Merlin with a small bottle filled with a yellow liquid.

“For the pain.”

Merlin scrunched up his nose.

“It tastes like honey,” Gaius added. A grin split over Merlin’s face as he accepted the offering and downed the bottle in one go.

From his expression moments later, it very much had not tasted like honey. Gwen gave Merlin a sympathetic smile, but again was suppressing giggles.

“You,” Merlin said, jabbing a finger at Gaius. “You are a liar.”

Gaius chuckled, taking the empty bottle from Merlin. “Get some rest.”

Merlin nodded solemnly, then leaned towards Gwaine, speaking in a loud whisper.

“Do they know about . . . y’know?”

He waved his good hand around in circles to emphasise his point.

“Err, no, they don’t,” Gwaine said, winking at Guinevere and hoping Merlin’s question just came off as fever-driven ramblings.

“Okay,” Merlin said sleepily, patting Gwaine’s hand. He comically passed out without warning, his mouth hanging open.

“I may have given him a stronger dose,” Gaius said guiltily.

Guinevere winced.

“So, Princess, have you got a key?” Gwaine asked, holding out his manacled wrists. Arthur grumbled, pulling a ring of keys off his belt.

“Gwen, which one is it?” he asked, thrusting the keys at her.

“You poor thing. Are you responsible for keeping this sod organised?” Gwaine joked. Gwen gave him a cheeky smile.

“No, I’m the blacksmith. Sometimes I help out Gaius when my brother is in the forge.”

Arthur clicked his fingers, excitedly. “Gwen can take a look at Merlin’s cuffs.”

The bottom of Gwaine’s stomach dropped out. If Gwen looked at the cuffs, she might work out that they were magical. Gwaine exchanged a panicked look with Gaius.

“Of course, I’d be happy to take a look.”

Gwen gently took Merlin’s good wrist in her hands. She studied the metal, running her fingers over the faint etching that ran around the circumference. She frowned, biting her lip.

“Strange, there’s no key hole or hinge.”

“Yeah,” Gwaine said dumbly. “I think they, like, joined the metal while they were on his wrist.”

Gwen looked alarmed. “That would have burned him horribly!”

“Errrr. . .”

Gwaine tried not to panic. Neither her nor Arthur recognised the language of the old religion - a positive aspect of magic being banned meant that no-one would recognise it.

However, the impossibly smooth metal was hard to explain away.

Thankfully, Gaius had a try.

“In some of the far northern lands, it is said that strong alloys have been developed that stay malleable like clay when they are worked into armour and jewelry and harden over time in the sun. The same technique could have been used to make these cuffs.”

Oh thank the gods. That sounded much more plausible, even though Gwaine was sure that Gaius was lying. He was sure he would have heard of some super metal sword when he and Merlin travelled north two years ago.

“Do you know where he got them?” Arthur asked, leaning over Gwen’s shoulder to study the dark metal. Gwaine shook his head. For the first time, Gwaine noticed that they still looked exceptionally new, despite the fact Merlin had worn them for the past five years.

“He had them before we met,” Gwaine said, hopefully absolving him of being asked any more questions.

“Gwen, can you and Elyan take a look at a way of cutting them off? There has to be a way to remove them.”

Gwen nodded. “I’ll get Elyan to take a look when he gets back from the armoury. He may have seen something like it on his travels.”

Gwaine nodded, trying to force his face into a grateful smile.

He would have to get Merlin out of the city before that could happen.

Gaius left Merlin in Gwaine’s care while he did his morning rounds. Gwaine watched over him, his knee jiggling impatiently as he waited for Merlin to wake. He was trying to form a plan in his head without further endangering his health. If Merlin was well, they could just sneak out in the night, but he was obviously concussed and still recovering from the strange, magic-induced fever. A horse with a cart would be good, but Gwaine had no idea how to get out of the castle, let alone where a horse and cart that could be stolen would be.

Leon had brought their bags up that afternoon. Someone had been sent back to the tavern to retrieve them, which was kind of him. Gwaine had almost forgotten about his feigned disease when Leon had asked after his health, but he remembered in the nick of time.

Merlin kept sleeping through the day, leaving Gwaine with fewer choices in how they were going to get out of the castle. He would just have to wait until dark and carry Merlin out of there. Surely once they were clear of the castle, Arthur and Leon would just forget about them. They could hide in the forest, maybe hitch a ride with a merchant. There were enough trinkets in Gaius’s rooms that were valuable enough to trade for safe passage. He'd feel bad about stealing from the old man, but he didn't have a lot of choices.

They couldn’t find out about Merlin’s magic.

Gwaine was packing (stealing) medical supplies into his bag, ready to leave when the door swung open.

“Can’t say that I’m surprised.”

Gaius set his medicine bag on his work bench, taking his time to remove his cloak and hang it on the hook by the door.

Gwaine didn't even attempt to look guilty.

“We can’t stay,” he said simply.

“He isn’t well enough,” Gaius said, looking down at Merlin. Gwaine sighed, collapsing back in the chair with his head in his hands.

“That will be the last thing we have to worry about if Arthur finds out.”

“He doesn’t have to find out,” Gaius said. “I can keep his magic a secret.”

So the gig was up. They were talking about Merlin’s magic. In Camelot.

Gwaine looked up at Gaius, taking in his lined face. He was stern and he was a wily liar, but he also exuded a kindness that made no sense. He was a member of the court of Camelot - he served the king that killed Merlin’s kind.

“Why would you do that? You’ve only just met us.”

Gaius sat down on a stool opposite Gwaine, looking down at Merlin in the bed beside them.

“Before the Great Purge, I was a sorcerer. Through my position in the court and swearing to never use magic again, I managed to keep my head when many others did not. In those early years, I made it my mission to smuggle out as many magic users as I could. Uther never suspected me.”

Gaius’ talent for lying now made more sense.

“I saved many sorcerers, but many more came to a terrible end.”

Ah, so it was guilt. As good a motivator as any.

“So you’ll help us get out of here?”

Gaius shook his head. “Merlin needs to recover. If he used his magic while wearing cuffs designed to block it, he could have caused a serious injury to his magic.”

“So that’s what happens when he tries to do magic with those things on, he’s injuring his magic?”

“Quite possibly. It is very unusual that he can even perform magic with these on,” Gaius said, taking Merlin’s limp wrist in his weathered hands. He studied the writing, murmuring to himself.

“Nah, the way Merlin explains it, these only partially block his magic, so they let a little bit out.”

Gaius shook his head. “That’s not how the cuffs work. They are designed to block all magic. For Merlin to be able to still access even a small part of his magic with them on is unheard of.”

“So what does that mean?” Gwaine asked. Gaius set Merlin’s wrist back on the bed, covering it back over with the blanket.

“I think it might be best if we ask Merlin himself.”

Merlin woke up just after dinner time. Gwaine got up from the table and sat back on the stool to watch as he started to shift under the blankets before letting out a groan.

“Hey, Merlin, time to wake up sleepy-head.”

“Urg, what happened?” Merlin grunted, still with his eyes closed.

“You hit your head, but no harm done because you don’t have any brains in there. Oh, and you used your magic.”

Merlin moaned, lifting his injured arm up to rub his head, then frowning as the thick bandages got in the way.

“You aren’t telling me off so I either did something really good or really bad,” Merlin said, blinking his eyes open.

“Oh, you’re up.”

Merlin jumped at hearing Gaius’ voice and tried to sit up, only to cry out when he used his injured wrist. His frightened eyes shot directly to Gwaine.

“Merlin, it’s alright. This is Gaius, he’s a physician. And, er, he knows about your . . . “

Gwaine twinkled his fingers. Merlin’s mouth hung open in horror.

“You told him?”

“Not exactly -”

Merlin’s eyes widened as he interrupted.

“Gwaine, where are we?”

“Well, you see, we are in a castle.”

“Gwaine!”

“In Camelot.”

What colour there had been to Merlin’s face drained away.

“Now, you’re perfectly safe, my boy,” Gaius said quickly, but Merlin’s eyes were already darting around the room, looking for a way out.

“Merlin, it’s okay. Gaius used to be a sorcerer.”

“Used to be? You can’t used to be a sorcerer!”

“Well, that is true,” Gaius conceded. “Maybe non-practising is a better way of putting it.”

“Gwaine, why are we here?” Merlin asked desperately, grabbing his shirt.

“You weren’t well. Arthur insisted that we bring you back -”

“Arthur? As in Prince Arthur?” Merlin’s usually mellow voice had become shrill as a sparrow. He urgently clamped a hand over his mouth.

“What, what is it?” Gwaine asked.

Gaius with his physician’s knowledge knew exactly what was happening. He grabbed the bucket with the cold water from beside Merlin’s bed and held it under his chin. Merlin vomited violently, the noise of the contents of his stomach hitting the water making Gwaine want to join him.

Merlin coughed, wiping the last of the vomit from his mouth with his hand. There wouldn’t have been much more than a bit of liquid sitting in his stomach, but it still smelled awful.

“Charming,” Gwaine said, taking the bucket from Gaius and setting it down near the door, far away from them. Gaius fetched Merlin a cup of water, which he downed in one go.

“What do you remember?” Gaius asked kindly, sitting at the stool.

“I . . . um . . .”

Merlin looked up at Gwaine with wide eyes. They never talked about Merlin’s magic in front of anyone.

The first town that they passed through after Gwaine met Merlin was a large town near the northern border of Carleon. Magic was legal in these parts and therefore would be a safe place for Merlin to live. Tournaments and taverns were no place for a boy, and what did Gwaine know about responsibility?

Merlin had clued in to what Gwaine was intending from the moment they reached the town. He begged and pleaded with him, wanting to travel the road with Gwaine rather than being left behind in a safer environment. Gwaine explained to him that it was all for the best, but it wasn’t easy with Merlin’s tear filled eyes.

“Lauren is a family friend from way back. She’ll take good care of you.”

Merlin replaced his tears with sullen anger. He crossed his arms, refusing to look at Gwaine.

With a sigh, Gwaine asked for directions to the tailor shop.

The person he was looking for was out front already, ordering two young boys around who were unloading a cart filled with crates.

Lauren was a big woman with an even bigger voice.

“Ahhh, Gwaine! It’s been years!” She pulled Gwaine into a tight hug.

“Ay, it has been,” he said.

“Well, you were not much older than this little one when I last saw you!” she said, pointing to Merlin.

“That’s actually why I’m here,” Gwaine said. “This is Merlin and he’s without any family. I know you take in youngsters, let them earn their keep and put food in their bellies?”

“Yes, we do,” Lauren said, her attention suddenly on Merlin. She lifted his chin forcefully, tilting his head side to side. Merlin stepped back, swatting her hands away.

“There’ll be none of that,” she scolded. She turned back to Gwaine. “He’s a wee thing. Not much good for unloading fabric but maybe he can do some sewing. Gimme a look at those fingers.”

She snatched at Merlin’s hand, grabbing him in her vice grip. The sleeve of Merlin’s shirt fell back. Lauren’s eyes narrowed.

“What do we have here?”

“Um, yeah, that’s the other thing. He’s got magic, but it’s bound by these cuffs and we can’t get them off. It shouldn’t be a problem, he can’t do much.”

Lauren’s eyes lit up. “A bound sorcerer.” She tapped her chin thoughtfully. “How much do you want for him?”

Gwaine scrunched up his face. “I’m not selling him, I’m looking for somewhere safe for him to stay.”

“Oh, of course,” Lauren said, her tone suddenly sickly sweet. “Oh yes, we would take good care of little Marlin.”

A prickling sensation ran down Gwaine’s back.

“Okay, well, we’ll be back later. I see you’re busy,” he said, motioning to the cart.

“Oh, alright then. If you come by tonight, Donal should be back.”

Gwaine forced a grin. “I’ll see you then.”

He took Merlin’s hand and walked straight back to the stables where they had tied up the stolen horse.

“Wait, where are we going?” Merlin asked.

Gwaine hadn’t realised how dangerous the world was for someone like Merlin. As soon as Gwaine left, she would have sold Merlin off to the highest bidder.

“You’re sticking with me,” Gwaine said, lifting Merlin onto the front of the horse.

The boy let out a loud whoop. Gwaine chuckled, mounting behind him before riding out of the town.

Gwaine patted Merlin’s shoulder.

“You can say, he already worked it out, and we both still have our heads for now.”

Merlin nodded, licking his lips.

“I . . . I think I pushed that guy away. The one with the knife.”

Gaius’ eyebrow raised.

“Indeed. That would take strong magic, even without the cuffs.”

Merlin shrugged. “I just didn’t want the blonde guy to die.”

“You mean, Prince Arthur?”

“That was Prince Arthur?” Merlin almost shouted.

Gwaine chuckled. “Still got your eye on him?”

Merlin shot Gwaine an icy glare.

“Oh dear,” Gaius said. “Well, it looks like you may have saved his life. You deserve our gratitude.”

Merlin blushed, trying to dissolve into the pillow.

“You’re welcome to stay here until such time that Merlin is back on his feet. I know the back room isn’t big, but I have a spare cot in the loft that you can set up for a few nights.”

Gwaine thanked Gaius and got to work following his instructions to find the cot and set it up. Merlin was dozing off again by the time it was ready. Gwaine tried to carry him to the back room, but Merlin protested, insisting on walking.

By the time they reached the steps, Merlin was sagging so heavily on Gwaine that he just picked him up and carried him the rest of the way, despite Merlin’s whining.

He tucked Merlin into the softer cot and handed him the medicine Gaius had brewed for him. Merlin only just gave Gwaine the empty bottle back before he passed out.

Gwaine set the bottle down on the floor and climbed into the other cot. Merlin and Gwaine had been on many dangerous adventures, but this one topped them all.

He just hoped that everything would work out okay.

Chapter Text

Arthur was bored. Training had finished an hour ago, but he had barely broken a sweat. With half the knights old men and the other weedy spoiled noble boys, the First Knight had no choice but to make the training slow and basic.

He would usually annoy Leon, but he was on duty leading the guards at the main gate.

Filled with pent up energy, Arthur felt like doing something physical. Maybe he’d take Hengeron out for a ride? He’d have to see if the stable hands had repaired her shoe yet.

In a year’s time he would be in charge of a group of knights who couldn’t even last a proper training session. It frustrated Arthur no end. When he was a boy he had looked forward to joining the knights, the big, strong men who protected the kingdom.

Instead he had lazy, overstuffed lords and their sons.

Their techniques were so outdated that they would be in trouble if the kingdom were at war. There was a good reason that Leon had started sending out more guards on patrols rather than the knights. At least the guards knew the pointy end of their weapons.

Seeing Gwaine fight the other day had been exciting. Sure, it had gotten a bit out of hand at one point, but it was fun. He had an aggressive fighting style, adapting to his opponent and using moves that the knights never practiced. He could even see some of that same style the way Merlin fought - Gwaine must have taught him.

His feet led him to Gaius’ rooms. He heard laughter coming from inside. He knocked loudly. No one responded, but the laughter only got louder.

Ay, he was the Crown Prince, why was he waiting to be invited in?

Arthur opened the door to find Gaius’ rooms empty but - there - he could still hear laughter. He ducked his head to see that it was actually coming from the little room up the back. One of those laughs was very familiar, but not one he heard often . . .

“Morgana! What are you doing in here?” Arthur asked, stomping up the steps. He had to stand on the top steps because there really wasn’t much room in the tiny space. There were two beds jammed into the room, with just enough of a gap around them to shimmy out the door. Merlin was lying down in one, propped up on pillows while Gwaine and Morgana sat on the other, his father’s ward with her legs folded up underneath her. They had a deck of cards spread out over the blanket.

Morgana looked up at Arthur with a devilish grin.

“What does it look like? We’re playing cards!”

“Why?” Arthur asked, scrunching up his nose.

She rolled her eyes. “I came to see Gaius about my . . . medicine . . . and he wasn’t here, but I met Gwaine and Merlin instead and they’ve been keeping me most entertained.”

“I bet they have,” Arthur grumbled.

“Oh, it’s nothing like that Princess,” Gwaine laughed. Morgana snorted at the nickname. Merlin gave her a wink.

“We were just teaching Morgana a fun little game we call Dollophead,” said Merlin.

“That’s not even a wo - what are you wearing?”

Merlin looked down at his garment with a smirk, holding his arms out wide. “What? I think I look ravishing!”

“Quite,” added Morgana with a giggle.

“Is that Gaius’ robe?”

“I didn’t have any clothes thanks to Gwaine!” Merlin said, mock glaring at his friend.

“Oh, so it’s my fault you decided to impersonate the sun? You were burning hotter than it!”

Merlin muttered to himself, repeating Gwaine in a childish voice.

“I’m sure I have some old clothes that don’t fit me anymore,” Arthur said. He’d recently started to fill out and leave his gangly teenage body behind, but obviously that wasn’t an issue for Merlin.

“Er . . . thanks, that would actually be helpful,” Merlin said with a smile. Arthur gave him a curt nod.

“Just as long as you promise not to try and slap me again, we can call it even.”

Merlin gave him a quizzical look, then turned to Gwaine. Ah, so he couldn’t remember his little outburst when he first woke up. Arthur smirked, remembering Merlin’s snarky reaction.

Technically, he should have been put in the dungeons, or at least the stocks, but Arthur couldn’t find it in himself to be even in the slightest bit offended. It had actually been pretty funny . . .

“So why are you here?” Morgana asked abruptly. Arthur stood up straighter, looking at Gwaine.

“I . . . um . . . er - Gwaine? I was wondering if you wanted to spar?”

“Spar?” Gwaine asked, raising his eyebrows, the laughter sliding from his face. He exchanged a look with Merlin.

“You know, practice. With a sword. Have you done much sword work before?”

“I’ve done a little,” Gwaine said with a wink to Merlin.

“Good, so, would you like to join me?”

Morgana interrupted, as she always had to do.

“Arthur - don’t you have knights for that?” she asked, knowing full well Arthur’s frustrations with the knights.

“And don’t you have ladies of the court to play cards with?”

Morgana shrugged, conceding the point.

“Yeah, alright. Just give me a minute to get my boots on,” Gwaine said.

“I’ll keep poor Merlin company,” Morgana said, patting his knee playfully. Arthur suddenly felt that leaving Morgana with Merlin would not be such a good idea. She was a Lady after all and shouldn’t be in a room alone with a man, nevermind that he was currently as weak as Merlin appeared to be. It wasn’t right.

He could just imagine what would happen if he tried to tell Morgana that. No, it would be easier to just make sure his father didn’t find out.

“You stay put,” Gwaine said, jabbing a finger at Merlin as he shrugged on his jacket. Merlin petulantly stuck his tongue out.

Okay, maybe he and Morgana would get on fine.

Sparring with Gwaine was nothing like practicing with the knights. For one, once they got to the armoury, Gwaine wandered to a rack and picked up a blunted practice sword, gave it a few swings, then headed out to the grounds. Arthur hurriedly pushed the chainmail he had been about to put on back at the armoury hand and followed him out. He hadn’t swung a sword without armour since he was a child.

Feeling a little bit excited, Arthur faced Gwaine, turning his sword in an arc.

“Let’s see what you’ve got Princess,” Gwaine teased with a wink. Arthur swung his sword, showing off his attacking style. It clanged against Gwaine’s, brought up to block the hit. Gwaine moved like a dancer, spinning back to throw another swing that Arthur saw coming a mile off.

He only realised at the last second that the swing was a feint. Arthur blocked Gwaine’s counter strike clumsily, but effectively.

For the next ten minutes they danced around the field, Arthur matching Gwaine’s showy moves with his own fierce ones. It seemed Gwaine was more than a little handy with a sword. Arthur had to pull out all the stops to counter his moves. Every now and then, his opponent would throw in a hit or block that knights might call underhanded or even dirty, but effortlessly effective.

“Let’s take a break,” Arthur suggested. He threw a waterskin at Gwaine who gratefully accepted.

“Where did you learn to use a sword like that?” Arthur asked, taking a drink from his own water skin.

“Here and there.” Gwaine tipped water over his head and shook out his long hair.

“You’ve got some moves yourself, Pendragon.”

Arthur titled his head to the side, stretching his arms back behind him. He could feel muscles start to fire that would never get used during one of the training sessions with the knights.

“Good to finally get a chance to use them.”

“Oh, are the Knights of Camelot too honorable to fight dirty?” Gwaine teased.

Arthur scoffed. “More like too lazy,” he muttered under his breath.

The problem with having knights of only noble birth was that the best, strongest, hardest working fighters were excluded from the knighthood despite being better suited for the role.

Unless . . .

“Ready to go again?” Arthur asked.

By the time Arthur was walking back to his chambers, sweaty, dirty and exhausted - but the restless feeling satisfied - he had the start of an idea forming in his mind.

“Ah, the lazy lout is out of bed!” Gwaine teased as he burst into Gaius’ rooms. Merlin was sitting at the main table with Gaius leaning over his shoulder, a large book spread open before them. Merlin scowled at him playfully.

“I told you I was fine this morning. You wouldn’t let me out of bed!”

“You’re fine, are you? Your face looks like you fell asleep in a blueberry pie!” Gwaine teased back.

While Merlin looked a lot more lively than he had that morning, he still looked peaky, not to mention the bruising on the side of his face that had well and truly come out.

“Gaius says I’m fine. Just ask him!”

Gaius gave Merlin a slow, raised eyebrow. “I did not say you were fine. I said that it would be fine for you to come and sit at the table for a little while.”

Merlin grunted. Gwaine and Gaius exchanged their own knowing smirks.

“So, doing a bit of light reading?” Gwaine asked, slipping an apple out of the bowl on the bench and craning his neck to read the book. It was in a language that Gwaine couldn’t read, but he sure could recognise.

The language of the Old Religion.

Gwaine stalked back to the door and made sure it was latched shut.

“What are you doing with that out?” Gwaine hissed as he returned to the table.

“Looking for a solution to these,” Merlin replied, holding up his wrists. Gaius had rebandaged the injured one, covering the cuff and hiding it. At least now, with just the one visible, it could almost pass as a piece of strange jewelry.

“You reckon there’s an answer in that book?” Gwaine asked, peering over Merlin’s shoulder. He couldn’t make head nor tail of what it said.

“There might be, and if there isn’t, there are plenty more,” Gaius said, waving his hand to gesture at the shelves lining the room.

Of course he had more magic books hidden.

“Can you even read that?” Gwaine asked as Merlin turned the page, scanning down the cursive font.

“I can,” Merlin said with a frown. “I don’t know how, but I can. Mum must have taught me when I was younger . . .”

“Where did you say you were from?” Gaius asked carefully. He tried to make it sound conversational, but the wringing of his hands gave him away.

It made Gwaine nervous. Why was Gaius helping them? And why was he asking so many questions? What did he want?

Was he going to betray them?

He’d gotten such a good feeling from the old man, and his gut instincts were usually spot on, but there was something not quite right.

“I didn’t,” Merlin said pointedly, not looking up. Not even Gwaine knew exactly where Merlin was from. Even with all the trust that they had built together, that was a line Merlin refused to cross. Gwaine had thought it might have been something to do with how helpless he felt without his magic. The one thing he could do was protect his mother.

Gaius took the hint and did not ask any further questions.

“Arthur, while I’m glad you’re actually taking an interest in the Council for once, I’d like to know what this is about.”

Arthur followed his father through the corridor on the way to the throne room. He was on his way to some meeting with some lord or land owner or someone important. Arthur wanted to ask his father while he didn’t have time to ask too many questions. At dinner, he’d want to know the ins and outs of his idea, and it would never make it to Council.

He was trailing after his father, bustled out of the way by his manservant, Victor. He was a rattish looking man who had an upturned nose and an overdeveloped sense of importance.

“Just some ideas on how to improve the Knights. Ideas that could mean a stronger army and our kingdom better defended against external threats.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with magic, does it?” Uther asked in a low voice. Victor tutted under his breath the same way he always did when the M word was mentioned. Arthur shook his head adamantly.

“Not at all, just small idea.”

“Very well, you can have two minutes at the end of tomorrow’s meeting.”

Arthur grinned, stopping in his tracks as his father and Victor carried on.

His father wasn’t going to be happy about being ambushed with such a radical idea in front of the Council, but Arthur knew there was merit in what he had to say. He just had to get the Council to agree.

Arthur could barely pay attention during the meeting, going over what he wanted to say for his own agenda item in his mind. There was something about a cattle disease and the wall on the south side of the castle needing repairs, but he could hardly concentrate. Victor was sitting behind his father, feverently taking notes and hanging off his father’s every word.

Finally, Geoffery came to the last agenda item.

“Er, finally, we have a proposal from the Crown Prince.”

All eyes turned to the young prince. Arthur cleared his throat. Give him a sword and a swarm of bandits any day over speaking to this group of men with their hawk-like brows furrowed in his direction. He was the youngest at the table by at least twenty years and probably the only one who had held a sword recently.

“Right. Um. Well.”

C’mon Arthur, get it together.

His father’s impatient glare was all the incentive Arthur needed to find his words.

“As you would know, we have lost a number of knights in the past months. Bandit attacks are on the rise, especially in the Darkling Woods which cover a key transportation route for our trade with Mercia. We have no choice but to send knights to deal with these criminals, however, many have fallen as a consequence. We need to bolster our forces.”

“Are you suggesting conscription?” Lord Answerth growled. Arthur knew for a fact he had three able-bodied sons who were of knighting age who had all found loose excuses not to enlist. The lord was always the first to complain about the lack of safety on the road from his lands to the citadel, all while his sons grew fat on his inherited wealth.

“No, I’m not. Losing more of our nobility is not what Camelot needs.”

The words felt salty in his mouth. In reality, Arthur felt that the privileged class owed Camelot their service. Lords and their families who lived luxurious lives in which they wanted for nothing, and yet, they gave nothing in return. Some of the lords around the table had even petitioned for the council meetings to be held once every two months, deeming a monthly commitment too much for their busy schedules of hunting and feasting.

What he wanted to say was that the noble knights were more interested in their titles than their duties. That they were happy to drink the castle dry, but not to make an effort to arrive at training on time. That they would fake injuries to get out of patrols, but be able bodied enough to tumble the servants.

They were spoiled - the next generation learning the laziness of their fathers.

Arthur knew he was not really in a position to point fingers as the Crown Prince, a position of utmost privilege, but at least he took his role as a knight and defender of the kingdom seriously.

“Then what are you suggesting?” his father asked in a warning tone.

“We start recruiting knights from elsewhere.”

“Do you mean other kingdoms?” Geoffery asked in confusion.

“No, I mean Camelot citizens. Just not only the noble classes.”

There was a rumbling around the table at his words. Arthur pointedly avoided his father’s stare.

“Common born knights?” a lord Arthur didn’t know spluttered.

“Oh, come on Arthur,” his father chided. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

His father’s dismissive tone struck a nerve.

“I’m not being ridiculous,” Arthur responded, meeting Uther’s glare. “Unless you want Camelot to get a reputation for having a weak, undermanned army of knights, something needs to be done. Now the nobility are either unable or unwilling to join our ranks,” (he flicked a glance to Lord Answerth) “so we have no other choice.”

“So you want to give farmers and blacksmiths the noble title of a knighthood?” Lord Eddington asked incredulously.

“We don’t have to do that,” Arthur placated. “We could create a new rank in our army that did not carry the same weight.”

The poison of selfishness had spread too far through the knights. What Arthur wanted was to build a new knighthood from the ground up.

“Don’t we have the guards for that?” the lord Arthur didn’t know asked.

“Guards stand at gates. I’m talking about skilled fighters.”

There was a murmur amongst the men at the table.

“I think it is a fine idea,” Gaius declared. Arthur gave him a grateful nod.

“There could be some merit in the proposal,” Lord Answerth conceded. Arthur held back a smirk. Of course he’d be supportive of a solution that saved his pompous sons from being put in danger.

“It would be good to protect our noble blood,” a pink faced lord with a bushy moustache added. “These commoners could complete the more dangerous work.”

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“Very well,” his father grumbled. “You may trial a group of twenty men. I suppose you are volunteering to lead this crew?”

Arthur nodded. His father did not look happy, but with so many of the Council members in favour, he didn’t have a choice. Arthur would hear about this later, but it didn’t matter. He’d gotten his way.

He couldn’t wait to tell Morgana.

Chapter Text

“Merlin, what are you doing?” scolded Gwaine. Merlin grunted in reply.

“What does it look like I’m bloody doing?”

“It looks like you’re carrying a scalding hot pail of water from the fire one-handed while you are still recovering.”

Merlin dumped the heavy bucket on the ground, having lost the momentum he had been relying on to ferry the water from the fire to the bath in the corner of Gaius’ quarters.

Gwaine stomped down the steps from their little room and snatched up the rag Merlin had been using to hold the burning hot handle and carried the bucket the rest of the way with ease.

“You said yourself I stink,” Merlin complained.

“And you do,” Gwaine replied with a smirk. “But the last thing we need is you injuring yourself further and getting stuck here longer.”

He pulled an old wooden-slat screen across to block the view of the bath from the door. The gaps in the slats meant that technically Gwaine could see him, but Merlin couldn’t really see Gwaine. Merlin supposed it was for the safety of Gaius’ patients, just in case one was to fall. The screen wasn’t really necessary with just the two of them in the room - they had seen all there was to see of each other over the years - but there was no telling what time Gaius would be coming back from council and Merlin wanted some protection.

Arthur, true to his word, had sent a servant that morning with a pile of neatly folded clothes. They were a little bit big but seemed the right length and in better condition than anything Merlin had ever owned. He didn’t know what to make of the prince. He couldn’t deny that the feelings that had stirred when he first saw him in that bar were still swirling around somewhere, but things were a lot more complicated now.

Merlin undressed, taking off everything except for the bandage on his wrist. Oh, and the cuffs. He was never fully naked with those cuffs.

“Would that be so bad, to stay a little longer?” Merlin asked tentatively as he sunk into the water. He felt the aches in his body start to melt away. His head was still tender, but whatever using his magic had done had made his whole body ache like he had worked an entire harvest season, but much worse. The reactions he was having using his magic were getting stronger and less predictable. It wasn’t like he used it often - now he even refrained from the smaller spells that he used to be able to do with the bands on, such as creating a spark to light a fire. It was only in emergencies, but those times were definitely taking more of a toll on him.

Merlin could imagine the look on Gwaine’s face from the silence that followed.

“Merlin . . . “

“I just mean, it seems like Gaius knows what he’s talking about when it comes to magic. He might actually be able to help get these things off me.”

Merlin took the soap that sat on the stool next to the tub and started scrubbing at his arms. He was getting the bandage wet, but there wasn’t much to be done for it.

“Or, you could be discovered as a you-know-what and hung in the courtyard. I’m not about to let that happen.”

“But what if this is my chance to finally get my magic back?” Merlin asked.

“What if someone sees the inscription on them and knows what it means?”

“What if I could finally be free of them?”

“What if you were killed?”

“It’s not like I’m alive to be killed!” Merlin shouted back, slapping his hands into the water.

The room was still as Merlin stared at the wooden screen, silent except for his ragged breathing.

“Gwaine, I’m sorry,” Merlin said in a small voice, all the fight having seeped out of him into the stilling waters of the bath. “I didn’t mean that.”

Merlin had tried to explain to Gwaine many times what it was like being cut off from his magic. He could barely remember now what having it felt like. Instead, he was left with this overwhelming feeling of grief. A part of him was missing and he was starting to lose hope that he’d ever get it back.

“It’s okay Merlin,” Gwaine said kindly. He sounded a lot closer to the screen. “I know . . . I know it’s hard for you, and not just the being without your magic part.”

Merlin swallowed thickly, nodding.

The first time Merlin had kissed anyone was not long after he met Gwaine. A stable boy had led him away from the tavern to a haystack and slobbered all over his face. It didn’t last long before Gwaine found them. He was so angry. Merlin followed him back to their room on top of the tavern, readying himself for the beating that would be to come.

“Never do that again!” Gwaine shouted while Merlin stood before him with his chin against his chest, wondering if he was going to whip him with a belt or just box his ears like the brothers used to when they were short on time.

“I won’t,” Merlin whispered.

“You have to tell me - you can’t just wander off.”

Wait, that’s what he was annoyed about?

“So you aren’t angry that I kissed a boy?”

Gwaine spluttered. “It’d be a bit hypocritical if I cared who you kissed, don’t you think?”

Now that Merlin did think about it, he had seen Gwaine follow women and men to those darkened corners of bars and little rooms out the back. And yes, he always told Merlin where he was going and how long before sending him back to the safety of their room.

After that, Merlin had made the most of his opportunities whenever they stopped in a town, spurred on by Gwaine’s advice (a lot of which was completely unhelpful). He did try kissing a few girls, but it was always the boys that caught his attention more, unlike Gwaine who was just interested in anything with legs (and some people without).

Once he was a fair bit older, Gwaine had pulled him aside one night after he returned to their table with his lips pink and hair a mess.

“You know Merlin,” he said, leaning in so close that Merlin was asphyxiated by the stench of ale, “You can spend a bit longer with a boy if you like. As long as you tell me who it is and where you are, you can stay with them and enjoy each other’s company a little while more.”

Merlin shook his head, ducking away to hide the blush in his cheeks. “I can’t.”

Gwaine straightened up. “Why not? If you need pointers . . .”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “It’s not that. It’s just - what if they want me to . . . you know . . . take off my clothes.”

It was Gwaine’s turn to roll his eyes. “That is kinda how most people do it, Merlin. Although, it really depends on the situation. One time . . .”

“Gwaine! I don’t want to hear another one of your sex stories,” Merlin hissed. “It’s the cuffs.”

Gwaine’s eyes tracked to Merlin’s wrists as he nodded solemnly.

They’d had too many near misses with people who were very interested in a bound sorcerer, so much so that now Merlin wore long sleeves at all times.

“Ah, well, you can just say you don’t want to take your shirt off.”

“But what if they don’t want to do that.”

Gwaine shook his head fervently. “Merlin, it’s your choice. With all of this - the kissing, the sex, the taking your clothes off - it’s your choice. If they don’t like it, they can sod off.”

Merlin nodded. It sounded fair enough.

He decided to try his luck at the next town they stopped at. The tavern owner’s son had been staring at him since they had arrived. He was tall and fair and quite handsome in a plain sort of way. Gwaine had been waggling his eyebrows at him across the table all night.

“Oi, that’s my drink,” Merlin complained when Gwaine swiped his ale, again.

“Merlin, I love my drink and I love my lovers, but sometimes the drink and lovers do not mix, do you understand?”

When Merlin rolled his eyes, Gwaine went on to explain.

“You see, too much ale and the old one-eyed snake cannot always be charmed from his basket -”

“Gwaine!” Merlin spluttered, horribly mortified. “I understand. Gods, I understand. Although I don’t know how I’m meant to do anything tonight with that horrible image in my mind.”

Gwaine laughed and slapped him on the back. “Well you’ll have to find some motivating material quickly because he’s coming over now.”

It went well with the boy, until it didn’t. It turned out that not everyone held the same views as Gwaine when it came to having choices.

Merlin jumped when the door to the room he was staying in with Gwaine swung open, letting light flood into the otherwise pitch black space.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Gwaine whispered, kneeling next to Merlin on the floor. He balanced a candle holder on the ground next to them, filling the room with a glowing light. “What happened? Are you hurt?”

Merlin shook his head, scrubbing away the tears that had leaked from his eyes.

“How did you know?” Merlin muttered. He had wanted to gather himself together and get into bed before Gwaine got in so he didn’t have to have this conversation until the morning.

“I saw him come back early to the tavern with a bloody nose and a black eye,” Gwaine growled dangerously. “What did he do to you?”

“We were, you know, in one of the spare rooms and I did what you said and told him I didn’t want to take my shirt off. He got angry and called me a tease and a whole lot of other stuff, then went ahead anyway.”

“Oh Merlin,” Gwaine said, his eyes tracking to the torn collar of Merlin’s shirt. “What happened next?”

“I shoved him off. He only got one hit in before I got him back.”

“Looks like you did a tidy job of it,” Gwaine said proudly. “His nose was pissing out blood. His father was pretty angry when he wouldn’t tell him what had happened.”

“Good,” Merlin muttered.

Gwaine left for a moment, returning with a bowl of warm water and a rag.

“Here,” he said, motioning for Merlin to turn to him. He cleaned Merlin’s split lip and the blood that was drying on his chin. He then wiped down his knuckles.

“Gwaine, am I a monster?” Merlin said hoarsely, staring at the cuffs on his wrists.

“No, of course not,” Gwaine replied adamantly. “Why would you say that?”

“I don’t belong anywhere. Before, when I had my magic, everyone in the village was terrified of me.” Merlin held his wrists out. “If I ever got these things off, I’d still have to hide who I am. I’m still a freak, with or without these thrice-damned things!”

Gwaine set down the bowl and wrapped his arm around Merlin’s shoulders.

“Someday, you’ll find a man who will love you for who you are. Cuffs, no cuffs, magic - it won’t matter.”

Merlin poured water over his hair, as if it could wash away his sad thoughts. He tried to take Gwaine’s advice and not worry about what the future may hold, but sometimes it was hard. And now - with the glimmer of hope that Gaius may find a way for him to finally be free - it was even harder. He knew having his magic back would bring with it a whole raft of new problems, but he missed it so dearly that he couldn’t bring himself to worry about that.

The times where Merlin found himself thinking about the future, he imagined Gwaine wanting to settle down with someone. Not yet, but in many years to come. Merlin knew he would obviously not be able to do the same - unless he found someone who could accept that their partner was an ex-slave who had magic but also had permanent cuffs blocking their ability to use it, making them virtually useless - which was highly unlikely. Maybe he would be able to live in a small cottage near Gwaine and his special someone? They could have dinner together once a week, Merlin could find some work to keep him occupied.

Nope, he needed to take Gwaine’s advice and not worry about all that. Live in the here and now, from town to town, tavern to tavern, tournament to tournament.

Absentmindedly, Merlin reached for the towel hung over the screen and stood up in the bath. It wasn’t really big enough to wrap around himself, but he just needed to get dry and dressed.

It was at that moment that the door swung open. Ah, Gaius was back from his meeting.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea?”

Oh no - Arthur was here?!

Merlin panicked and dropped back into the bath with a splash, towel and all.

“What was that?” Arthur asked.

Merlin cursed under his breath, trying to peek through one of the bigger gaps in the screen to see what was going on.

“I think that was Merlin trying to save what little dignity he has left,” Gwaine said with a smile in his voice. Merlin could see his heavy boots propped up on a stool.

Traitor.

“At least I didn’t leave mine in a tavern years ago!” Merlin fired back.

“Ah, but Merlin, you’re assuming I had any to start with.”

“Oh dear,” Gaius muttered, clearly sounding more amused than he should be. Merlin couldn’t take not being able to see what was going on any longer. He pushed the side of the screen back and leaned over the edge of the wooden barrel bath so only his head would be sticking out.

Gwaine was still sitting at the table, feet up, munching on an apple. Arthur was standing in the middle of the room, dressed like he had somewhere important to be, his cheeks as flushed as the red of his jacket.

“Are you still in the bath?” Gwaine laughed.

“Well, I kinda got the towel wet,” Merlin answered sheepishly. Gwaine cackled while Arthur looked more confused.

“I’ll see if I can find another clean one,” Gaius said, disappearing from sight.

“I should go,” Arthur said, taking a step towards the door.

“Oh, so soon?” Gwaine asked jovially. “I was hoping to hear about your good idea.”

“Well, actually,” Arthur said, turning back towards the room (Merlin groaned. Gwaine was a right twat.) “I was wanting to talk to you about it. It actually concerns you. Today, at the council meeting, my father approved the trial of a group of common born knights, and I was hoping that you would be part of that group.”

“Gwaine? A knight?” Merlin burst out, louder than he’d expected.

He turned to see the look on Gwaine’s face, but in doing so leaned just a tiny bit too far against the side of the bath.

The next thing he knew, he was falling. The side of the wooden bath hit the floorboards with a bang. Merlin had no time to recover before the rush of water evacuated the bath, taking him with it.

Coughing and spluttering, he looked up from the now-flooded floor at the two men who both had their mouths wide open in horror.

Until Gwaine burst into cackling laughter.

“Oh, Merlin, oh . . .”

He almost fell off his chair, only saving himself when he saw how flooded the floor was.

Merlin quickly grabbed the sodden towel which had thankfully landed next to him and covered his modesty as best he could. At least he landed on his stomach and not his back.

“I’m going to go,” Arthur said vacantly, turning quickly to slosh through the water. Gwaine couldn’t even say goodbye - he could barely breathe for laughing.

“What in the goddess’ name happened here?” Gaius shouted, waving a now-insignificant towel as he climbed back down the steps from the back room.

Merlin looked up from where he was sprawled on the floor, wiping the water ineffectually out of his eyes with his sodden bandaged wrist. Gwaine had his face hidden under the table, trying desperately to stop laughing.

“I’ll clean it up,” Merlin promised, trying to simultaneously pick up the screen and hide behind it.

“Oh, you surely will be,” Gaius glowered, watching little corked jars float towards the door in the current that was created by the escaping water.

Arthur couldn’t help but wake up in a good mood the next day. He was going to get his own group of new knights, men he could shape and mould and build into a team of highly trained fighters. He knew his father still considered him too young and untested to be in charge of the noble knights just yet - he would have to wait at least until he was twenty-one - but this was almost better. He could start from the ground up.

He still had to ask Gwaine to join - the aftermath of his attempt yesterday had been on his mind ever since. He didn’t think he would ever be able to unsee Merlin spilling out of the bath, all shining pale limbs . . . no, he had to focus. He had a task to do, and he had to do it well if he was going to earn his father’s respect. He couldn’t be distracted by a clumsy, accident-prone lout with no sense of proprietary.

And distracting he was.

George, his manservant, arrived with breakfast. He was singularly the most boring person that Arthur had ever met. He really hoped that it was just the persona that he presented to appear professional and that outside of his job he actually had a personality.

Arthur ate his breakfast, thinking of which drills he would run at the first training session. Just as he nodded to George to indicate that he had finished, the doors burst open.

“Morgana! Have you heard of knocking? What if I’d been changing?!” Arthur shouted. He clicked his tongue. “You’re seeing too much of Merlin.”

Merlin wouldn’t know what manners were if they bit him in the arse. He knows the king’s ward visited him again yesterday morning, to ‘play cards’. It was a fact that neither he nor Gwaine had called Arthur ‘sire’ in the whole time they had been in Camelot, and this business of spending time alone with the King’s ward behind closed doors . . . it was clear Merlin didn’t know his place.

“That may be,” Morgana said with a smirk, “but it seems like it’s you that has been seeing too much of Merlin.

“What?” Arthur spluttered. He could feel his face burn red despite himself. “George, you may leave.”

Once George had bowed deeply and left with his nose held high, Arthur spun around to Morgana.

“Who have you been talking to?”

Morgana took a string of grapes from the fruit bowl on the table.

“Gwaine. Well, and Gaius. And Gwen.”

“Gwen? How does Gwen know?”

“You should see the state of Gaius’ rooms! Gwen stopped by and ended up helping poor Merlin mop up the water.”

“‘Poor Merlin’ is the one to blame for the water in the first place.”

Morgana rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be so hard on him, he’s had a rough time of it. He’s a sweetie.”

“He’s a menace, that’s what he is.”

Morgana playfully slapped his arm. “Oh, you don’t mean that. Anyways, I’m not here to talk about Merlin. I want to go to the market.”

“So why are you here?”

“I want you to come with me,” Morgana whined.

What she really wanted was Arthur to carry her purchases.

“You can come with me and tell me all about how you got Uther to let you have a troupe of common-born knights.”

“I’ll get my jacket.”

“How many more of these do we have to do?” Merlin grumbled.

“Ay, stop complaining. It’s your fault we’re doing this.”

“It was an accident! Anyways, yesterday you were yelling at me for carrying a bucket of water and today you’ve got me lugging this crap around.”

“Well yesterday we didn’t owe Gaius so much gold -”

“Merlin!”

Merlin looked up, almost dropping his end of the large wooden crate of potatoes.

Morgana was making her way through the bustling market crowd towards them, Arthur trailing behind her.

“Oh, how are you both?” Morgana asked warmly. Merlin and Gwaine set the crate down.

“All the better for seeing you,” Gwaine said with a wink that made Morgana blush and Arthur grit his teeth. Morgana turned to Merlin.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better,” Merlin said, and he did. Apart from being a bit sore and bruised and still having a useless arm, he was feeling a lot stronger than he had a few days ago. He was also genuinely happy to see Morgana. She was fun to play cards with, witty and clever and wickedly funny.

“Good to see that you have some normal clothes on,” Arthur jibed. “Well, any clothes at all really.”

“You should recognise them,” Merlin said, holding his arms out wide. “They’re yours.”

Arthur looked him up and down. “So they are. They’re so baggy I didn’t recognise them.”

Morgana tutted. “Arthur!”

“That’s okay, he’s just surprised I managed to get in his pants so quickly,” Merlin said with a wink.

The slap from Gwaine was worth it for Morgana’s snort of laughter and Arthur’s scandalised face.

He was so easy to rile up.

“What on Earth are you doing, anyway?” Arthur asked, changing the subject and trying to wrestle back control of the conversation.

Merlin huffed. “We’re carrying these deliveries for some farmer’s stall because his assistant is sick, so we can get paid and somehow earn enough money to pay Gaius back for the floorboards that needed to be torn up after I flooded the physician’s chambers. Why, what does it look like we’re doing?”

Merlin was hot and grumpy and his hand was aching from not being able to swap with his injured one and it was only mid-morning.

“Oh, you poor thing,” Morgana said sincerely, patting his shoulder. She turned to Arthur.

“Arthur can pay for the floor. How much is it?”

“Morgana!” Arthur protested.

“Twelve gold pieces,” Gwaine said.

“Twelve? I can’t give you twelve gold pieces,” Arthur spluttered, scowling at Morgana.

She pouted pleadingly. Merlin could tell that she’d used that move many a time before.

“I tell you what I can do,” Arthur said, turning away from her. “Gwaine, I have an offer of work of a sort that will carry a salary of a gold piece a fortnight. Twelve fortnights from now, you’ll have your money for Gaius.”

Gwaine looked at Merlin. They had no intention of staying in Camelot that long, but they had almost no funds left. Gaius would probably not want them staying in that tiny room, especially after they ruined his floor which meant they needed money for board and food as well.

“Yeah, alright,” Gwaine said.

“That’s it?” Arthur asked. “You don’t want to know what sort of work it is?”

Gwaine looked across to Merlin and shrugged. They had done some pretty awful work over the years to get enough money to survive. What could Arthur possibly have cooked up that would be worse?

“Excellent. You will be the first of Camelot’s inaugural trial group of common-born knights.”

Merlin let out a barking laugh. Gwaine’s mouth was hung open in horror.

Gwaine was many things, but a knight he was not.

Chapter Text

“At least it smells better than that place we stayed in when we did the apple picking?”

Gwaine and Merlin were standing in a room that was only marginally bigger than the one they had been staying in at Gaius’. Unsurprisingly, both parties came to the mutual conclusion that it might be best for the boys to find alternative accommodation, given that Gaius now had to sleep in the small room while the floor was being repaired.

Gwen had kindly come to the rescue and found a room for rent in the lower town above the bakery. Room might have been an overstatement, although it did have a window which made it less of a cupboard and more of an inhabitable space. There were two small beds, one pushed up against each wall and just enough space at the foot of each bed to store their packs. Meals could be prepared in the bakery downstairs as long as they didn’t leave a mess.

“It’s also in our budget,” Merlin said.

“What’s our budget again?” Gwaine asked.

“Sweet bugger all.”

“Looks like we have found our new home, then,” said Gwaine, collapsing onto the bed. He propped his hands behind his head, crossing his legs at his ankles with his boots still on.

“Well, that’s definitely your bed then,” Merlin said, wrinkling his nose.

Gwaine pulled his boots off and threw them onto the other bed.

“Oi!” Merlin shouted, picking up the boots by the laces and throwing them back at him. “Those are filthy!”

“You’re filthy,” Gwaine fired back lazily.

“You better get ready,” Merlin said with a smirk. “Don’t want to be late for your try outs.”

“Why do I even need to try out?” Gwaine sighed. “It’s obvious the Princess is frothing over this.” He motioned to himself.

Merlin scoffed.

“I don’t reckon you’re his type.”

Gwaine sat up. “Jealous are we, Merlin?”

“No,” he replied, shaking out the dust from the thin blanket on his bed.

“Better not be. I know you’re keen on him, but Pendragon is nothing but trouble for you. Understand?”

Merlin grunted. “I’m not keen on him.”

“Bullshit. I’m not saying you can’t look, but you know what could happen if he found out about your you know.”

Merlin did know. Didn’t mean he had to like it.

He slumped on the bed, tipping his head back against the thin pillow.

“Why do you look so relaxed?” Gwaine asked.

“I’m not trying out,” Merlin replied. “I’m going to have a snooze.”

“Guess again, you’re coming along. No way I’m leaving you here unsupervised,” Gwaine said, throwing Merlin’s boots at him.

“I’m not a child!” Merlin moaned, rolling pathetically around on the bed.

“No, you’re worse than one!” Gwaine laughed.

Arthur had been worried that no-one would turn up to the try out session. Unfortunately, he had the opposite problem.

Close to fifty men were milling around the field, wearing peasant clothes and equipped without armour. Many looked to be nothing more than farmers, although some looked to be seasoned fighters and he suspected a couple may have even been mercenaries or sell swords looking for a steadier income.

They were talking amongst themselves, some calling out to other men, other were sparing with sticks to warm up or in the case of two young louts, sharpened swords. Arthur presumed practice swords were a luxury the commoners did not have. One man was wearing a steel helmet and no other armour. Another was the size of a giant and evidently couldn’t find a top that fit his arms as he was without sleeves even in the cool autumn weather.

It also seemed that a number of the noble born knights had come to watch, loitering by the castle end of the field, gossiping amongst themselves. Arthur knew he’d need to put on a good show to shut them up. He would have to get this training started soon, and create some sort of organisation in this chaos.

Another problem was that as these men were not nobles, they did not have squires to prepare the equipment.

“Sire, can I help?”

Arthur spun around to the source of the voice calling to him.

“Leon! Oh, that would be fantastic.”

Leon was an old childhood friend of Arthur’s, only a few years older. His family line had been nobles of the court going way back, but he wasn’t like the others. He was a good man and in line to be the First Knight in a few years, and yet he did not rest on his laurels like the rest of the Knights did. If only Arthur could replicate a few more hard working Leons they wouldn’t be in this mess.

“How about we get them into lines to warm up, sire? Then I can start getting the equipment ready.”

“Good idea.”

Arthur looked around. They were going need a lot of practice swords for this many men.

He saw Gwaine lounging around on the grass near the back door to the armoury which opened onto the field, chatting to . . .

Arthur made his way over quickly, Leon following closely behind.

“Oi! Merlin! We need all the practice swords,” Arthur said, pointing to the armoury.

The scandal on Merlin’s face was enough to even get a laugh out of Leon.

“I’m injured, you prat!” Merlin snapped back, waving his bandaged arm.

Arthur shrugged, biting back a smirk. “Use the cart then. Come on, chop chop.”

He turned away, noticing Gwaine move to help Merlin with a clap on the back.

“Not you Gwaine, I need someone in this warm up who knows what they’re doing.”

Merlin moaned like a cow. Arthur and Gwaine left him with Leon to get the equipment set up.

Arthur struggled to get the men’s attention until Gwaine took pity and whistled shrilly, causing the men closest to cover their ears. He grinned smugly, folding his arms and turning to Arthur.

“Right, we might get started. If I could have you in lines of six, we’ll get started.”

It turned out that was too much to ask for. Some men were pushing to be at the front, while others were in lines of eight or still clumped together.

A kind looking man with dark hair had taken it upon himself to try and sort the men around him into lines of six, while Gwaine finally took pity and helped the men at the back.

After far too long, the men were assembled. Arthur tried to ignore the laughter coming from the noble knights at the back of the field.

“Thank you for coming today to apply to join the inaugural group of common born knights in Camelot.”

Arthur turned to Gwaine and whispered under his breath - “We need a better name.”

Gwaine responded with a snort.

“We can only take twenty so I will be looking for the best candidates from today’s session.”

Arthur looked around at the men before him. He worried he may not be able to find twenty.

In the lull he could hear Merlin cursing loudly, dragging a cart full of shields onto the field.

The warm up didn’t go as badly as expected. One man with nobbly knees who looked like he might be a little old to start his career as a knight was injured by a divot in the grass, but other than that most men were unscathed.

He decided to get the men to do some simple fitness exercises to help split the group a bit and get rid of those who were clearly not cut out for fighting. He managed to shed ten men quite quickly with some easy shuttle runs. The giant man with no sleeves was surprisingly agile and kept up in the middle of the field.

Arthur then split the men into sparring pairs. Gwaine had gotten unlucky and been paired with the giant, but seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself and even finding time to have a chat in between strikes. The kind man who had helped the men get organised earlier showed that he was as skilled as he was helpful. He noticed that Gwen’s brother Elyan was trying out and knew his way around a sword in more ways than one.

Merlin lay in the grass on his side, one knee cocked, watching the men all vying for a position in the new troupe of knights. He would get burnt if he lay out in the sun any longer.

A stray mace almost took off Arthur’s head, drawing his attention back to the battling men.

By the time he called an end to the session and thanked everyone for coming, he had twenty-three men in mind.

“Sire! By chance, would you have a moment?”

Arthur paused from taking off his leather bracers. He had refrained from wearing his full armour knowing full well that very few common born men would even possess a chest plate. His years of diplomacy training at his father’s side had at least taught him that armour wasn’t just for protection from steel, but also worn to intimidate. He needed to at least make some attempt to empathise with these men if he intended to lead a group of them.

The man who had garnered his attention was wearing full leather armour with metal vambraces. He was also holding his own sword which was rather shiny.

“My name is Edward and I just wanted to give my thanks for this wonderful opportunity. For too long those of us who have talents and skills that could be used to protect the kingdom but have been prevented in doing so by virtue of our birth. Even though I am practically of noble birth myself, with my father owning several buildings in the town.”

Arthur nodded, letting his face slide into the expression he used for boring visiting nobles.

“Thank you also for coming today.”

He turned away, only for Edward to follow him.

“Those of us who’ve trained in sword craft would be a most valuable asset to the program. I used to squire for Lord Yates.”

Arthur couldn’t help but let his eyes roll ever so slightly. Lord Yates was a flashy fighter who was famous for his long winded speeches which bored everyone to death more effectively than his sword had ever done.

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” Arthur said with finality, looking around for someone new to speak with to shake off the leech.

Of course, the only person in earshot had to be . . .

“Merlin! I was just looking for you!”

Arthur marched over to a perplexed looking Merlin who was dragging the little wooden cart laden with blunt swords.

“You were?” Merlin shrugged and dropped the handle for the cart. “Good, you can haul these. I’m done.”

“Wait, wait,” Arthur said, moving in front of Merlin to stop him. His pale cheeks were as pink as some of the knights after the session. Arthur supposed he had asked Merlin to haul the equipment that would usually be managed by six squires all by himself, and one-armed.

“What if I paid you?”

Merlin’s head whipped up. He licked his lips thoughtfully.

“What, to carry all this junk in and out?”

Arthur nodded. “Each training, you can be in charge of the equipment!”

Merlin snorted, crossing his arms. “How much are you going to pay me?”

Arthur hadn’t actually asked his father about paying anyone apart from the gold piece each common born knight would earn per fortnight.

“A silver coin.”

Merlin blew out a low breath, shaking his head as he pushed past Arthur.

He could probably find a couple of boys in the lower town who would do the work without complaint for half the amount.

“Okay, two!” Arthur called out. Merlin stopped, spinning around on his heel as nimbly as a dancer of the court.

“Three.”

It was Arthur’s turn to snort. It wasn’t unreasonable for the work, maybe a little on the high side, but he could take the wage out of his allowance. Lords knew he didn’t have anything useful to spend it on.

“Okay.”

Merlin’s face broke into a grin.

“What’s got you looking like that cat that’s got the cream?”

Gwaine hung his arm around Merlin’s neck.

“Arthur’s going to start paying me for services rendered,” Merlin said, waggling his eyebrows.

Gwaine turned around slowly to face Arthur, his eyebrows giving Gaius’ a run for their money. Arthur blushed furiously, stuttering his words before he could find the right ones.

“No, that’s not . .”

Merlin burst out laughing. “I’ve got a job carrying all the equipment.” He jabbed Gwaine in the chest. “Why, what did you think I meant?”

“Such a trouble maker,” Gwaine growled, slapping Merlin on the upside of his head.

“Ow!” Merlin complained, although the hit could hardly have hurt. He flashed Arthur a wink just as Leon joined them.

“A good turn out,” Leon said, wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.

“Yes, it was,” Arthur agreed. He was grateful for the change of subject. “I’ve almost narrowed it down I think.”

“Surely you’re going to include Percival,” Gwaine said, uncorking his waterskin. “The big fella.”

Arthur nodded. He wasn’t just one of the biggest men he’d seen, he was also skilled with the sword and seemed to follow instructions well.

“What about the man with the dark hair, the one you were paired with?” Merlin asked Leon.

“Lancelot? Oh, I would strongly recommend he be selected, sire. He was a very good fighter and very gracious with the less skilled men.”

“I liked the look of those two young fellas,” Gwaine said, pointing back towards where the last of the men were clearing off. “Kay and Belvedere or something.”

“They looked a little young,” Arthur said, scrunching up his nose.

“Yes sire, but you can mould young fighters,” Leon added. “Avoid them learning bad habits.”

He had a point.

“Elyan did quite well,” Arthur said, thinking aloud.

“He’s Gwen’s brother, isn’t he?” Leon added with a nod.

“He was good,” said Merlin.

“What about old fancy feet?” Gwaine asked, nodding towards Edward who was now talking Lancelot’s ear off.

“I would prefer not to include him, but having someone who has some sort of link to the nobility could be a good idea.”

Merlin groaned. “He was a wanker.”

The next day Arthur read out the list of names of the men who had been selected to a crowd that had gathered in the square of the lower town. It had been Morgana’s idea to make the announcement there to be more in touch with the commoners whom he would be leading.

It wasn’t just the men who tried out who gathered for the announcement - women and children turned out as well all brimming with nervous energy. Arthur climbed on the back of an apple wagon so that he could actually be seen and heard by the crowd.

Leon had come along, looking very nervous. Knights and nobles rarely came to the lower town unless they were on duty. Arthur himself had spent very little time there. To come without an entourage of guards would be considered foolish. That is, if Arthur had told his father he was going. Which he most certainly did not.

Morgana had followed along with Gwen who was standing with her brother, holding his arm. Gathered with them were Gwaine and Merlin, the latter who was munching on some honey cakes from one of the market stalls.

Arthur got started.

“As you all know, Camelot will have its first common-born knights. If you have not made the list today, do not be disheartened, as the standard of the men who tried out was quite high.”

Arthur flicked a quick glance at Leon. In reality, there were only a handful of very skilled men, and a handful more that had shown promise.

Lancelot had smiled graciously when his name was called, accepting congratulations from Gwaine and Merlin who were standing near him. The same went for Percival.

Gwen squealed when Elyan’s name was called, jumping up and down and embarrassing him terribly. Her antics got a laugh from the gathered crowd and had Morgana almost in stitches. It seemed to ease some of the nervous tension.

Arthur could see why Morgana had suggested to do the announcement in the Lower Town. The mood had lightened amongst the townspeople and he could see how this sort of interaction from the Prince and the King’s Ward could help to strengthen the relationship between Camelot’s crown and its people.

With her compassionate and intelligent insights, Arthur acknowledged that Morgana may even make a good advisor some day when he was king.

Edward cheered loudly for himself when his name was called. Merlin didn’t even attempt to hide his groan.

Arthur called the final name then stepped down from the cart, joining Morgana, Gwen, Leon, Gwaine and Merlin as the crowds dispersed.

“Well that went well,” he said, feeling quite chuffed. Secretly, he had been worried that there would be men at the end, angry that they had not been selected, cursing his name, however the mood was the opposite. It was jubilant and almost hopeful.

“This new knighthood means a lot to the townspeople,” Gwen said, watching as her brother congratulated Lancelot and Percival. “There aren’t many opportunities for common folk to better their place in life. What you’ve done gives people hope.”

Morgana gave Arthur a knowing smile. Even she knew that he hadn’t thought of that when he petitioned his father - all he had wanted was a group of better knights that would give him a challenge - but now he could see that there was more to it than that.

“Well, that sounds like a reason to celebrate!” Gwaine cheered, throwing an arm around Arthur’s neck. Leon squeaked from the casualness of the gesture.

Somehow, Arthur found himself an hour later sitting around a table in the Rising Sun with Gwaine, Merlin, Morgana and Gwen and a group of the new knights, tankard in hand. Leon had insisted on staying, worried about Arthur’s safety in the Lower Town.

“Lighten up, Leon!” Gwaine laughed, sliding another tankard in his direction. Leon glanced over his shoulder before accepting the drink.

“I still don’t think this is a good idea,” he said, mumbling into the ale.

“Psh, you’re surrounded by the best fighters in the Lower Town who you’ve just promised knighthoods and gold - I think you’re pretty safe.”

Arthur gave Leon a look to say he’s right. While Leon didn’t look entirely convinced, he relaxed a lot more after that.

“So what will you be called?” Morgana asked, sipping her cup of wine.

“Commonborn of Camelot Knights?” Gwaine suggested with a wry smile.

Merlin twisted his mouth, taking a sip of his drink, but not before muttering “COCKs for short?”

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed.

The laughter burst from those around the table, wild and uncontrolled.

“Merlin! There are ladies present!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry Gwen,” he said with a bow, giving Morgana a nudge. She threw her head back, laughing in a way that Arthur rarely saw from his almost-sister.

The scandalised expression on Leon’s face was enough to break Arthur’s scowl into a smirk. What Merlin had done was enough of an offence to send him to the dungeons, and yet, it was worth it to see Morgana laugh.

They were joined by other new members of the yet-to-be-named knighthood. Through the conversation that followed, Arthur found out that Lancelot’s dream had always been to be a knight of Camelot, despite originally coming from Mercia. Percival was also originally from a foreign kingdom, but that’s all they found out apart from the fact he was a man of few words.

Once the sun began to sink, Leon insisted on escorting Gwen and Morgana home. By the time he returned, the party were deep into their cups. The tavern was full of noisy shouts and moving bodies. The lower town were out to celebrate, and the presence of the Prince in their pub only spurred them on.

“You are talking rubbish Gwaine!” Merlin shouted, a little louder than necessary. “There is no way you can win!”

His cheeks were already rosy. Arthur himself was feeling much more relaxed after a few pints. He was almost having fun, even.

“Nah, it’s all in the technique.” Gwaine waved Merlin away, rolling up his sleeve.

Percival swapped seats with a delighted Elyan so that he was sitting opposite.

“What’s going on here?” Leon asked, taking a seat next to Arthur.

“Gwaine has challenged Percival to an arm wrestle.”

“Percival?” Leon settled in with a grin. “This should be good.”

Arthur joined Merlin in banging his cup against the table in a rapid tattoo as the two men took their positions.

“Are you ready?” Elyan asked from his position officiating at the end of the table. Both men nodded.

“You’re going down Percy,” Gwaine taunted. Percival’s only reply was a shake of his head and a smile.

“Go!” Elyan shouted.

Whether Gwaine was stronger than Arthur gave him credit for or whether there really was something in his technique theory remained unknown, but he managed to actually hold Percival off for a few moments. Merlin was cheering, practically jumping in his seat as the men gathered around them shouted their encouragement.

After a few more seconds, Percival had obviously decided that the match had gone on long enough. He gritted his teeth and pulled Gwaine’s arm flat against the table without any effort.

The table broke out into cheers, a few coins changing hands.

Gwaine shook hands with Percy, then called over a barmaid to refill everyone’s drinks.

Arthur wasn’t sure when they started the drinking game, but it was Merlin who was to blame. He started singing a bawdy song that other men seemed to know. Arthur quickly caught on that he was meant to drink every time the last line was sung.

Oh everybody knows
Be it not a test
As far as cabbages go
Mary’s got the best

All the men do stare
From stable boys to princes
But if they touch her pears
She’ll have them by the quinces

And if she sees you here
Your plums sure won’t last
So take your flagon of beer
And you better drink up fast

At some point Arthur lost Leon and found himself sitting next to Merlin.

“Nice song,” Arthur said, shocked at the slur in his words.

“Ah, it’s bloody awful it is, but it gets everyone drunk.”

“Have you ever met Mary?” Arthur asked stupidly. There surely must be someone else driving his brain, because it definitely wasn’t him anymore.

Merlin snorted. “If I did, I doubt she’d care about my plums.”

Arthur had no idea what he meant by that. Maybe he had also lost control of his brain.

“You don’t have much fun being prince, do you?” Merlin drawled.

Arthur shook his head. He never spoke of it with anyone, not even Morgana, but lately he had been starting to think more about the restrictions of his position.

“Can’t really,” Arthur replied. “Got to be all like . . .” He waved his hand, searching for the word. “Princey.”

Merlin spat out his ale, coughing and spluttering. Arthur slapped him on the back, at a loss for what to do. He caught his breath, flashing a grin.

“Even when you’re drunk you sound like a posh prat,” he chortled.

“Oi!” Arthur said, flicking Merlin’s ridiculously oversized ear.

Leon slumped into the seat on the other side of Arthur, clearly just as inebriated. For some reason, Arthur found himself disappointed at his friend joining them.

“Arthur, I do believe we’ve had too much to drink,” Leon hiccuped.

“I think Gaius will have something - we can get George to fetch it tomorrow,” Arthur replied.

The music from the fiddlers grew louder. Leon asked the barmaid for some water, fearful that the Prince of Camelot might be about to vomit his guts up in front of his subjects. Arthur felt better almost immediately, but he knew he would need Gaius’ special remedy in the morning.

He looked up to see Merlin and a young chap called Kay, who was one of the twenty chosen, dancing what could have possibly been an Irish jig on one of the tables, cheered on by a few of the other lads. Kay was young, probably the youngest, but was very fit and took on Arthur’s feedback hungrily, improving in leaps and bounds just in that first session.

They were sloshing ale over the crowd below, kicking up their feet and swinging their cups.

Of course, that’s when the clumsy oaf slipped on the side of the table and crashed to the ground.

Arthur was out of his seat in an instant, rushing over to where the crowd was gathered. Thankfully Merlin was lying on his back, but laughing.

“Alright, alright, nothing to see here,” Arthur said, trying to use his most authoritative voice. It must have worked as the crowd flowed away, leaving him to haul a giggling Merlin to his feet.

“Oh, Gwaine is going to be so angry,” Merlin said, examining his arm where the bandage was unravelling out of his sleeve. “He always says I’m a clumsy drinker!”

“I think we better get you home,” Arthur said, spying his opportunity to also leave. He had fun, but the comfort of his bed was calling him.

The cold soaking rain sobered Arthur quickly. He could feel Merlin shivering against him, bumping against Arthur’s arm as he staggered happily down the road.

George was going to have a fit when he saw the state of his clothes. Oh well, the man loved laundry almost as much as he loved brass.

“Where do you even live?” Arthur asked.

“On top of the bakery,” Merlin laughed.

“Doesn’t that wake you up in the morning?”

Merlin let out a low groan. “Every morning! But we get the leftover bread, so that’s something.”

They arrived at the bakery - a tall stone building in the centre of the lower town. The rain started to ease, now just soft enough to stop their hair from drying.

“Are you sure you’re alright? You took a big tumble.”

“I’m fine, just clumsy.”

“Clumsy and drunk,” Arthur smirked, knocking his shoulder into Merlin. The slighter man bumped him back with surprising force. Arthur stumbled into a stack of crates, sending them clattering against the ground. The sound echoed through the dead night.

“Shhh!” Arthur hissed, pulling Merlin into the shadow of the narrow gap between the bakery and the tailor. He glanced back out into the street, forced to squash Merlin against the wall by another stack of larger crates. “If anyone finds me out here at this time of night and tells my father . . .”

Ice cold fingers wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled him forward. Wet lips just missed his own, sliding across his rain slicked jaw in search of their target. In the dark of the lane way, Arthur leaned in Merlin’s attempted kiss. He chased the warmth of Merlin’s mouth, one hand finding the back of his head to steady him while the other slipped down his soaked back. He pressed their bodies together, feeling as if the cold rain had turned to a hot bath as Merlin groaned into his mouth.

Why had he not wanted this? Why had he tried to ignore the feelings that had stirred when he first saw the plucky boy in the tavern brawl?

Just as his mind wandered far enough to wonder if they could go inside to Merlin’s room, the other boy pulled away. He let out a whine of disappointment. Even in the dark, Arthur could sense Merlin’s wide grin.

“What if your father heard of you doing this?” Merlin cheekily asked.

“He’d probably toss me in the dungeons,” Arthur said back in what he hoped was a hushed voice. To be honest, he wasn’t sure what his father would do. Certainly, he would be made to keep any illicit relations a secret, but he had heard of some nobles preferring their sons take a boy who can’t produce a bastard rather than a girl who could. Arthur had been lucky in the past not to cause a scandal, but he knew it was just that - luck.

Merlin leaned back in and kissed Arthur sliding his mouth along his jaw to a point on his neck where . . .oh . . . that felt . . .

Cold.

Arthur opened his eyes to see Merlin nimbly jumping over the crates towards a side door he hadn’t noticed further down the lane.

“Oi!” Arthur hissed, calling Merlin back. “Where are you going?”

Merlin let out a hearty chuckle. “To bed before Gwaine catches me.”

Arthur watched him disappear, then started the long walk back to the castle, hoping that he didn’t run into anyone with his wet trousers making it very difficult to hide the lewd thought lingering in his head.

Chapter Text

Merlin awoke to the deafening sound of the roof falling in. The rafters must have fallen on his head, such was the pain. There was no other explanation. His eyes - it must have been the bright light shining through the missing roof that was making them feel like they were about to burst.

Then there was the banging . . .

“Hey! Geddup! Gaius has called for you both.”

Merlin rolled over with a groan. He had not had a hangover like this since his coming of age.

“Gw’n, you ‘live?” he mumbled into his pillow. The grunt from the other bed was the only reply.

Merlin pushed himself up and sat back on his knees, raking his hair out of his eyes. He wanted nothing more than to roll over and pass out until the evils of his hangover had begun to ease, but they owed Gaius, so if he was calling them, they had to go.

After wiping a damp cloth across his face and wrestling his way into his wet and muddy trousers that he regretted not hanging up before flopping into bed, he staggered down stairs, towing Gwaine with him.

The head baker, a broad chested man named Tommy, took one look at them and tossed two pork pies in their direction.

Gwaine seemed to perk up the further he got through the pie, whereas Merlin had taken one bite and emptied his guts into the pig pen along the way. Gwaine slapped him on the back, offering him a handkerchief to wipe his mouth and not much else in the way of sympathy.

“Where did you get to anyways last night?” Gwaine asked, slipping an apple from the fruit vendor.

“Could ask you the same,” Merlin croaked. He vaguely remembered Gwaine coming in during the very wee hours of the morning.

Gwaine smiled to himself, which meant one thing.

“You met a lass,” Merlin accused, perking up ever so slightly. He could still be drunk. He could still smell the mead and ale that he’d been drinking, it was seeping out of his pores. His stomach revolted again, but now that they were surrounded by the market stalls and not the animal pens, he willed his guts to calm themselves lest he make a fool of himself in front of the whole lower town.

“So what if I did.” Gwaine could barely keep the smirk off his face.

“Well, who is she?”

“Don’t laugh . . .”

“Oh no . . .”

“It was the bar maid.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, wincing at the movement. He was never going to mix mead and ale again, and definitely not with scotch.

“Of course you would bloody be attracted to a barmaid.”

The smell of the raw meats and ageing vegetables were becoming too much for Merlin. Usually the smells of the market evoked a sense of excitement in Merlin, but today the only butterflies in his stomach were those churning up the contents.

“What’s her name?” he managed to say, just for something else to focus on.

“Elsie.”

“Elsie, eh? Was she pretty?”

“Prettiest girl in all the land,” Gwaine practically sang.

If Merlin had been able to open his eyes more than the squint he was managing he would have seen just how smitten Gwaine was. It wasn’t unusual for Gwaine to find a partner for the night, especially after a few rounds in the tavern, but it was unusual for him to be still grinning about them the next day.

“So you haven’t answered my question. Where did you disappear to?”

Merlin held his hands over his stomach as if that would help the pulsing ache cramping his organs.

“I have no idea,” he said raspily. Gwaine shook his head, so he must have believed him.

Had he hooked up with any other boy, Merlin would have bragged to Gwaine the instant they woke up. Arthur though - he knew Gwaine would be mighty annoyed that he had kissed the Prince despite being warned not to. And not just kissing him, making the first move as well. Merlin blushed at the memory of his own boldness, pulling Arthur in towards him . . .

To be fair, he couldn’t really remember the details of their kiss but he could remember the swooping rush he felt in his chest as they pressed against each other because he still had that feeling now thinking about it . . .

“What’s got you blushing?” Gwaine asked, bumping into Merlin’s shoulder.

“I’m not . . . it’s the hangover.”

“Hangover my arse!”

Gaius opened the door and gave them the arched eyebrow.

“I could pickle ginger root just from the smell of you.”

Both Merlin and Gwaine ducked their heads, albeit with a wince.

They followed Gaius into the physician’s rooms. There was something burning on the fire, filling the room with a heady scent and the jars lined up on the top shelf with specimens of parasites and worms . . .

Merlin only just made it to the mop bucket in time.

”Oh, by the sun and moon!”

Gaius wasn’t impressed.

Once he was done and sat back on the mostly repaired floor, Gaius pressed a small bottle into his hand, giving Gwaine an identical one.

“What’s this?” Gwaine asked.

“A cure for what ails you,” he said with a knowing scowl. Merlin uncorked his and downed it, pulling a face at the aftertaste.

“That’s disgusting,” Merlin coughed.

“Says the boy who just vomited in my mop bucket.”

To Gaius’ credit, the effect was almost immediate. His headache no longer felt like a knife scraping against the inside of his skull and his stomach began to settle.

Gaius held out an empty hessian satchel and what looked like a list written on a piece of parchment.

“So, which one of you is better at identifying herbs?”

“Depends what the other task is,” Gwaine said with a grin. Merlin gave him a small shove, still wary of his lingering hangover.

“You couldn’t even identify your own backside,” Merlin said, taking the list and the bag.

“Hey, I am an excellent woodsman.”

“Except, you aren’t.” Merlin folded his arms, looking down at Gwaine. He was quite enjoying the height advantage his latest growth spurt had provided.

Gaius bit back a smile, handing Gwaine another bag. “I guess that you are running my deliveries.”

Gwaine accepted the back with an indifferent shrug. “That’s not too bad. I can manage deliveries.”

”The thing is Merlin, sometimes you have to be prepared to rough it. You never know when you might find yourself under the stars for the night, with nothing but your cloak for a bed.”

A tiny Merlin followed Gwaine down a deer trail, listening as his new companion prattled on.

“It’s important to be able to survive without the luxuries that towns provide us.”

Merlin rolled his eyes, unseen by Gwaine. He wasn’t sure what to make of this guy. Usually he would steer well clear of men like him - fighters always wanted something. More money, more power, more glory - the pursuit of which made Merlin’s magic very attractive. In their short time together though, it became clear to him that Gwaine wasn’t like that. Sure, he was after money, but not riches - just enough to get by. He wasn’t greedy. Just a day earlier he had passed up well paid work at an inn repairing a storm damaged stable to another traveller who had a wife and child in tow and no jacket. He had claimed the job first and had a right to the money, but passed it onto the man who clearly needed the work and the finds that came with it more. Of course, he made the excuse that he didn’t want to tire out his sword hand with the hammer, given that there was a tournament in the next town.

“You see all those rich men who come to the tournaments - they might be able to swing a sword, but stick them out here for a night and half of them wouldn’t survive it.”

Gwaine stopped in a small clearing, plucking a few bright pink berries from a bush and popping them in his mouth.

“We common folk know how to survive.”

He plucked a few more off the bush, tossing them into the air and catching them in his mouth.

“You weren’t born common though, were you?” Merlin asked.

Gwaine missed the next berry, looking back at Merlin abruptly.

“What makes you say that?”

“Dunno. You’re too good with a sword. The way you walk and talk.”

Merlin plucked a few berries off the bush and cupped them in his other hand. He presented them to Gwaine who accepted them with a grin.

Merlin grinned back.

“And I guess there’s that all commoners know that Mapleberries give you the shits.”

Merlin proceeded down the deer trail, patting Gwaine on the arm as he passed, revelling in the swordsman’s horror-filled face.

Merlin chuckled to himself at the memory, plucking a sprig of mint from the shaded ground near the river and carefully stashing it in a small hessian pouch. He consulted his list and laughed again when he saw that Mapleberries were next.

The forests of Camelot were truly beautiful. Even with the cuffs, Merlin could feel the pulse of magic through the earth, humming on the breeze as it wafted through the spring leaves. It was one of the things he missed most about being severed from his magic. He used to love pressing his hands into the dirt and just feeling the flow of energy course through him as if he was just a part of the earth.

There was a wonderfully old wood just outside the village he came from. He used to play with his friend Will in the trees, seeing who could climb the highest. Merlin usually won as his magic had installed a sense of invincibility in him. If he fell, he could call the air to cushion his fall, or ask the earth to rise up and meet him before he fell too far. Of course, if he were caught doing such things he would be in so much trouble, but knowing that he could do it lessened his sense of fear.

As he knelt in the damp grass to harvest some mushrooms that he spotted at the base of a rock, he thought of Will, and as he often did, wondered what he was doing now. Will had been the last person Merlin had seen before he fled his village.

He had actually been gathering herbs, very much like his present task, when Will came hurtling down the hill yelling that Cenred was coming. They both ran through the forest to where the trees thinned out near the village and climbed one that they usually used to spy on everyone when they were bored. He heard the horses before he saw them, kicking up dirt and dust on the horizon on the other side of the village. They scrambled down the tree, Will already dragging Merlin along to a cave that they used to play in, but Merlin pulled back. He remembered the tears in Will’s eyes as he came to the same realisation that he would not be able to hide from Cenred and his army of sorcerers and that he would have to leave.

“I’ll come with you!” Will had pleaded.

“No! You need to take care of your ma. . . and mine,”

Will nodded seriously, tears freely streaming down his face. They had been best friends since as long as Merlin could remember. He wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d ever see the boy again.

Merlin hugged his friend, then tore off back into the forest. He knew he had a chance to lose his pursuers if he could get across the river. It would be hard for them to track him across water, especially with the head start he had while they searched the village for him.

He came to a spot where the water rushed loudly beneath a fallen log that spanned the two banks of the river. The log was covered in moss from being constantly wet from the splashing water. Merlin straddled the log, scooting his way across as best he could through the tears blurring his eyes. His hand came down on a slimy spot on the log and slipped out from underneath him, overbalancing him enough that he tumbled into the river.

As the rushing water pushed him down once, twice, a third time, he thought to himself that this was probably a better fate than being captured by Cenred.

To Merlin’s surprise, he came-to many hours later in what seemed to be a basket woven out of reeds floating in the shallow water. He dragged himself out onto the bank, coughing and spluttering up the water he had swallowed. It must have been his magic, he thought, looking down at the basket, that had saved him. No sooner had he reached dry land did the reeds unravel and return to their upright state. He realised that he was far from home, but where he couldn’t be sure. Although if he didn’t find shelter and warm himself up soon, it would all be for nought.

Merlin let out a deep sigh and rose to his feet. There was no point dwelling on the past. It wasn’t like he could return to it.

“Gaius, I found some elf-cup mushrooms as well,” Merlin declared, slinging the bag onto the table as he returned to the physician’s rooms. Gaius put down the bottles he had been handling and peered into the bag.

“What took you so long?” Gwaine asked. He had his feet up, hands behind his head, looking very comfortable in one of the patient beds.

“I had to walk to the forest to do my job, not just skip around the castle.”

“I’ll have you know that I had to climb six flights of stairs - up and down - four times.”

“If you had done the deliveries in the order I had told you,” Gaius interjected, “You would have only needed to ascend the stairs once.”

Merlin snorted gleefully. Gwaine stuck his tongue out in a move he’d clearly learnt from Merlin.

“In any case, you have done a fine job Merlin.”

Merlin grinned at Gwaine who sneered at him playfully behind Gaius’ back.

“Thank you, Gaius,” Merlin replied smugly.

“Although that bandage has seen better days. Has that got anything to do with the state you were in when you came to my chambers this morning?”

Merlin looked down at his arm. The bandage that had encased most of his forearm was loose, the end trailing off like the sleeve of one of Morgana’s dresses.

Gaius patted a stool, motioning for Merlin to sit down. He took a seat, holding out his arm for the physician to do his work.

Once the wrapping was completely off (Merlin winced at how grubby it had gotten), Gaius prodded at his arm, twisting it this way and that. While it was tender, it wasn’t painful.

“Well I must say, that has begun to heal very well. Almost too well,” he added, with suspicion.

Merlin ducked his head. It wouldn’t be the first time his magic had given him a bit of a helping hand in healing.

“So it’s all better?” Merlin asked, rotating his wrist. It did feel better.

“Pick up that jug from the bench over there.”

Merlin stood and reached out to pick up a clay pitcher from a work bench. As soon as he lifted it from the bench, a jolt of pain shot through his arm. He almost dropped the jug, but managed to hold on with a grimace.

“So not all better,” Gaius said, waving Merlin back to the seat. “You still need to take it easy.”

Merlin groaned as Gaius started to re-bandage his arm. He had rather hoped that Gaius would just leave it off.

“A bit of of extra support won’t do any harm, and besides, do you want to explain how your broken arm healed in little over a week?”

Merlin sighed in defeat. He was right.

The door burst open.

“Gaius, have you got any of that special little potion . . .”

Merlin cursed his little heart for skipping a beat. Even as hungover as he surely was, Arthur Pendragon looked a treat. His mussed up hair and husky voice just made him even more desirable.

And Merlin had kissed him.

By the Three, he’d done some bold things in his life, but not many as bold as that. Still, he didn’t regret it. Sometimes the harsh light of day could make choices made in the hidden shadow of the night before seem foolish or embarrassing, but not this time.

Arthur was a dream.

“Oh Merlin . . . and Gwaine- ” Arthur said, almost jolting to a stop. “How . . . how are you both?”

“Finer than a maiden’s undergarments,” Gwaine replied with a wink. Arthur blushed but quickly regained his composure as he turned to Merlin.

He wondered what Arthur was thinking about last night’s events. Did he regret his choices? Merlin hoped he didn’t, but knew the likelihood of Arthur actually being interested in him was quite slim. They were both drunk, these things just happened. It didn’t mean anything, well, maybe not to Arthur.

Merlin could deal with it. He had no choice but to deal with it.

“And you? Don’t tell me you hurt your arm again?”

Merlin felt an excited shiver at Arthur’s sincere concern, even if he was pretending to tease him.

“I’m fighting fit! Gaius is just refastening the bandage.”

Gaius hummed, wrapping the bandage more firmly than Merlin thought necessary.

“How are you feeling, sire?” Merlin drew out the title with an impish grin.

Arthur groaned, hanging his head back. “I feel like horse dung. Horse dung that has been trodden in,” he said, plonking down on a bench. “How are you two so chipper?”

“We aren’t lightweights like you, your highness,” Merlin declared playfully.

Arthur shook his head in shame, wincing at the movement.

Gaius cleared his throat.

“Says the boy who crawled into my rooms and vomited in my mop bucket this morning.”

Arthur shot up, pointing an accusing finger at Merlin.

“Ha! Where do you get off, calling me a lightweight?” he jested.

“Fine!” Merlin conceded, throwing both his arms in the air now that Gaius was finished. “We had some of Gaius’ medicine.”

Said physician tied off Merlin’s bandage and peered at Arthur over his glasses, one eyebrow arched.

“Sire, don’t tell me you were also a part of whatever these fools were up to last night?”

The Prince of Camelot actually withered under Gaius’ glare.

“Well . . . it wasn’t my idea. I hadn’t meant to stay all that long but then . . .”

“. . . you started playing on the dice tables with Elyan . . .” Gwaine interrupted.

“Only for a little bit,” Arthur said haughtily.

Merlin joined in.

“That’s because you had to get back to compete in the drinking race . . .”

Merlin turned around to wink at Gwaine, who was grinning ear to ear.

“Gaius, that is untrue!” Arthur protested. Gaius simply shook his head and shuffled over to his shelves.

“. . . which you were terrible at and you dribbled mead all down your top!”

Arthur shot daggers at Merlin which did nothing to intimidate, but did a lot to Merlin in other unintended ways . . .

“And then wasn’t it you who tried to stuff a dozen pickled eggs in your mouth?” Gwaine added lazily.

“No!?” Arthur shouted, looking both alarmed and disgusted.

Gwaine tapped his chin. “Huh, oh yeah. That was me. Percy bet me that I couldn’t.”

Merlin burst out laughing. He swore he saw some movement at the corner of Gaius’ mouth, who was busy decanting something from a bottle on the shelf.

“He was right,” Gwaine added thoughtfully. He looked quite disappointed that he had not been able to fit that many pickled eggs in.

“Oh dear, sounds like you had quite the night, your highness.” While it sounded like Gaius was trying to guilt Arthur, Merlin could see that the old man was really just winding him up.

“Merlin, tell him I wasn’t drunk!” Arthur begged.

“Well I could,” Merlin said, biting his lip while looking up at Arthur with his big blue eyes. “But then I’d be lying.”

Arthur folded his arms tightly across his chest while he muttered under his breath, his ears tinged pink all the same.

There was a knock at the door to which Gaius called out for the person to come in.

Morgana entered wearing a dress that was far too elegant for that time of the morning.

“Urg, what is that smell?” she asked, holding her sleeve across her nose.

“Three pickled eggs,” Gaius said, smirking at his own wit.

“Merlin! You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards!” Morgana exclaimed. She strode towards him, but stopped dramatically just before she passed Arthur.

“Uh-ah, no, that smell . . . what did you get up to after Gwen and I left last night?”

Merlin was satisfied to see that Arthur’s face flushed a brilliant Pendragon red. He hoped his own wasn’t the same. It would take a while for the impact of the memory of Arthur pressing him up against the stone wall to fade.

“Merlin got trashed and danced on a table, which he fell off,” Arthur dobbed.

“Oi!” Merlin cried just as Gwaine called out ”You what? You are meant to be taking it easy!”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Gwaine,” Merlin sighed. “My arm is fine. See, Gaius just checked.”

Arthur accepted his potion from Gaius and knocked it back with a wince that told Merlin he expected the bad taste.

“I better get going,” he said, setting the bottle down on the table. “I’m meant to be at training in half an hour.”

“Today?!” Gwaine asked in horror.

“Don’t worry, it’s for the knights. The um . . . other knights. The noble ones.”

Well and truly wrongfooted, Arthur made a quick exit, not even sparing Merlin a second glance. Which was good, really, because Gwaine was in the room. And Gaius. And Morgana. If Arthur had made moon-eyes at Merlin, they might have found out, and anyway, it was just a kiss.

It didn’t mean anything.

It couldn’t mean anything.

“We better go too,” Merlin said as he stretched.

“Come back tonight,” Gaius said pointedly. “We can search in my books for that rare herb you were looking for.”

It took Merlin much longer than Gwaine to cotton on.

“We’ll be back,” Gwaine said, steering Merlin to the door.

“Make sure you wash first!” Gaius called out after them. Morgana’s chuckles echoed behind them.

Gaius carried a candle around his rooms as he set to the task of extinguishing all of the others dotted on benches and in sconces. It had been an unproductive night in many ways, and yet something still nagged at him as if he was getting closer to an answer he didn’t yet have a question for.

Merlin and Gwaine had arrived shortly after dinner, ready to begin research on what exactly was holding Merlin’s magic hostage, be it a spell, curse or something more sinister. Gaius examined the dark metal again, which was completely smoothed and unblemished. He could feel the wrongness of the magic binding them, but he could also feel something else - the roar of power fighting to escape. Only a sorcerer of great talent could use any magic at all through such a device, only confirming that Merlin was very powerful.

That wasn’t what was tugging at him like the words to a long forgotten ballard. No, he couldn’t help feel that there was something familiar about the boy. Merlin must have felt it too. What could have been dismissed as fever driven ramblings could not hide that Merlin did seem to recognise Gaius as well, although may have been just as much in the dark as to where they had met.

Gaius set Spells for the New World back on his shelves in its hiding place behind The Manual of Herb Mixtures and Tinctures. He had tried to ask Merlin again about his home, but had been fed some cock-and-bull story about a coal mining town in Mercia. His exchanged look with Gwaine told him that the story was as sturdy as his ladder to the loft, which was not very (he would have to do something about getting a new one built).

There was something about Merlin, Gaius just didn’t know what.

Chapter Text

For the second day in a row, Merlin was awoken to the sound of banging on the door.

“Geddup, Rhen’s wife’s in labour. One of youse needs to help in the bake house.”

Merlin groaned, rolling over to look at Gwaine. Who was still fast asleep. The utter pillock.

He would have to do it. When they’d taken the room, the head baker - a big man with ham shaped forearms called Sye, had made it clear that they were to help out in return for their meals and cheap board. So far, this had entailed the odd trip to the market carrying long boards of bread or unloading the flour deliveries, but now it seemed that Merlin would be baking.

He dragged himself out of bed, cursing the other man and telling himself that he’d make sure Gwaine knew how much he owed him.

Ten minutes later, Merlin was elbow deep in flour as a man called Peg poured water into the massive bowl in a steady stream. Merlin’s job was to mix the flour, something he was not doing well from the way Mary was smacking him in the back with her mixing spoon.

“You gotta get those bits on the side,” she scolded, pointing her long finger into the bowl. “Shoulda got that other bloke you’re rooming with, the one with the muscles.”

Merlin would have found it funny that Mary had a crush on Gwaine if it wasn’t for the fact it was still before dawn. The birds weren’t even up yet.

After hours of kneading and mixing and carrying and more mixing and the sun had brightened the windows, Gwaine finally popped his head in the kitchen.

“Merlin!” he said with a laugh, “What are you doing?”

Hands covered in dough, Merlin growled in response, followed by a similar sound coming from his stomach. They hadn’t been given a break yet, and it didn’t look like they were going to get one anytime soon.

“Working. Seeing as you slept through the knock on the door at arse-o’clock this morning.”

Gwaine winced. “I’ll get the next one,” he said with a wink that told Merlin he was absolutely not going to get the next one. The cheeky bugger slipped a pie from the end of the tray and skipped out of the kitchen.

Only a few minutes later, a young boy came running into the kitchens, puffing and out of breath. He had a shock of red hair and was wearing a peculiar tunic that seemed to have been patched together out of half of a maroon one and half green.

“Out! Out with you!” Mary cried, shooing him away with a tea towel.

“I have to find a boy called Merlin!” he panted.

All eyes turned to Merlin, who dusted off his hands on his pants. They were the ones from the pub and already needed a wash.

“I’m Merlin,” he said, stepping out from behind the bench. He had never seen this boy in his life.

The boy grabbed his wrist and tugged him towards the door. “It’s Sara, Gaius needs you!”

Mary gasped, holding a hand to her throat. She turned to Merlin. “Sara is Rhen’s wife. Go boy, go!”

She gave Merlin a hearty shove out the door that took him a few seconds to recover from before he could run after the boy through the Lower Town.

They came to a small doorway which the boy darted through but Merlin had to duck to make it. Rhen was standing in the tiny kitchen, elbows bent above his head against the wall while an older woman rubbed his back. The smell of blood hit Merlin strongly and made his empty stomach revolt.

Things were obviously not going well.

The boy pointed to a second doorway. Merlin nodded and made his way into the next room, his breath quickening in anticipation of what he might find.

The woman on the bed in the middle of the room was swathed in sheets soaked in blood. He could barely make her face out in the dark, but she was still. Merlin’s heart leapt to his throat. He tried not to think of the worst, that the woman could be . . . it was common after all in child birth. He tried to push the thought from his mind. Gaius was bent over a table in the corner, moving faster than Merlin had ever seen the old man move.

“Gaius,” Merlin said, edging his way into the room. The physician threw a glance over his shoulder, then turned back to the table.

“Merlin! Thank the Goddess! I need you to go into the forest and fetch some valerian, lilyroot . . .”

But Merlin stopped listening because as he stepped closer he saw what was on the table. A babe, covered in its mother’s blood still, breathing ever so quickly. Even in the light of the candle, the babe was still blue. Gaius was rubbing the baby with a soiled cloth, as if trying to warm it up.

“Merlin, Merlin! Are you listening! We haven’t got much time!”

Merlin was listening, but not to Gaius. No - he was listening to something else that was calling out to him. Something that made him reach out his fingers to touch the baby’s chest.

There - he felt it. Something that shouldn’t be there. He could feel another force, trying to dislodge whatever was blocking the poor babe’s lungs, but it wasn’t strong enough. He could do it though, he could just give it a little nudge. . .

The warning sting of pain rocketed its way up Merlin’s arm, but he ignored it. Whatever was calling to him, calling to his magic, was like a magnet, pulling it in the right direction. The burning intensified, tearing through his spine then ripping along every nerve in his body, but he held on until he felt a release, just like a pop.

Where Merlin had expected the pain to also disappear, instead it reached a fever pitch. His muscles seized like rocks, sending him dropping to the ground. His body shook, forcing Merlin to squeeze his eyes closed. He was meant to remember something, something Gwaine told him whenever this happened. What was it? Pass, something about . . . .it will pass.

It will pass.

It will pass.

Merlin could hear a cry in the background. He tried to focus on the unfamiliar noise, the repetitive ring of the sound.

It will pass.

It will pass.

Slowly, the rush of his trapped magic began to ease and the sound of the babe’s cry became louder.

“Merlin, can you hear me?”

He nodded his head, but his body was shaking so much that it was more like a wobble.

“Can you open your eyes?”

Merlin squinted, cracking his eyes open just enough to see Gaius’ white hair dangling over him. He was still trembling all over and his body felt as heavy as lead against the earthen ground.

“Oh, thank the Goddess!” Gaius whispered. “You foolish, foolish boy!”

“Ba’y” Merlin hoarsely whispered, trying to lift a finger to point towards the crying sound.

“She’s fine,” Gaius said, his face splitting into a grin. “You dislodged the fluid that had become stuck in her lungs. She spat it out!”

Despite the fact he felt like he’d been flayed, Merlin smiled with his cheek pressed against the dirt.

Merlin heard the joyous cry of a man and Gaius’ congratulation. He couldn’t lift his head to see who it was, but suspected it was Rhen.

“It’s a girl!”

The man whooped loudly. “Sara, Sara, we have a girl!”

The sound of a woman crying added to the din, sounds of a happy new family. More voices joined in as others entered the room.

“What’s wrong with ‘im?” someone else asked.

“Oh, fainted at the sight of blood,” Gaius lied smoothly. Merlin shifted himself on the dirt, trying to roll over and see what was going on.

A hand clamped on his shoulder, shaking it excitedly. “Merlin! I’ve got a girl!”

Merlin forced a smile, then promptly passed back out.

“Oi, I know you’re awake.”

Merlin cracked open an eye to see Gwaine sitting on his own bed with his legs up, glaring at him. They were in their room above the bakery.

“How’d I get ‘ere?” he asked weakly. Oh, he felt like twice-run-over horse dung.

“Peg and I carried you, on account of you fainting.”

Merlin winced. Maybe Gwaine believed that and he would escape the lecture?

“You utter dickhead. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

Or not.

“No.”

“What were you thinking? Were you even thinking?”

“I was thinking that I didn’t want the baby to die,” replied Merlin shakily. He could still feel his muscles twitching from his magic fighting the thrice-cursed bands.

“Yes, fine, alright!” Gwaine conceded, stomping to his feet. “But what if someone saw?! There were people in the room, Merlin!”

“You mean Sara? She was . . .”

“Resting, but still there. And all those other people in the house! You are damn lucky that the old man is an excellent liar.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Merlin said, trying to push himself into a sitting position but finding his arms had turned to pudding. “Something called my magic.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes in exasperation.

“Something called your magic? What do you mean?”

Merlin thought of the force that spoke to his magic.

“It was like, something inside her. It was already trying to save her, I just gave it a little help.”

Gwaine pushed his long hair back, looking almost like he was about to rip it out. Although he never would. Gwaine loved his hair too much.

“So, are you saying that the baby had magic inside her? That she’s a sorcerer?”

Merlin attempted to shrug. “You’d have to ask Gaius, but yeah, it felt like it.”

Gwaine looked to the roof.

“It’s like you look for trouble.”

Merlin was mildly affronted by the accusation. He didn’t look for trouble. If anything, it was his magic’s fault.

Gwaine plonked down on Merlin’s bed and probed at his forehead.

“How are you feeling, anyway?”

Merlin groaned. “Like shit.”

He felt Gwaine’s big hand on his back, rubbing heavy circles. It was strangely comforting. There was nothing tender in it, the rhythm as rough as Gwaine’s stubble, but it always made Merlin feel better, even more so because Gwaine did it because he knew it made Merlin feel better.

“Is the baby okay?” Merlin asked.

“Baby’s fine. Screaming her little lungs out, but fine.”

“Sara?”

“Yeah, she’s going to be fine too.”

Merlin let out a breath. “Good, that’s good.”

“Want something to eat? Mary sent up some bread and cheese.”

Merlin looked up at Gwaine with wide eyes.

“I know! But apparently she’s got a soft spot for Sara and you helped get herbs to keep her and the baby alive. Well, so she thinks. If she knew the truth, you’d probably have a cake as tall as you are. Or she’d lop your head off with that massive knife. One or the other.”

“What time is it?”

“A few hours after dinner time.”

Merlin tried to sit up suddenly, but instead just flailed a bit in the bed. “I’ve been asleep all day?”

“Asleep . . . or passed out?”

Merlin grumbled.

“When did you last eat?”

Merlin tried to remember, but it seemed like it might have been too long ago. Gwaine took his silence as an answer.

“Right, up you get.”

Gwaine hooked his arms under Merlin’s armpits and hauled him to a sitting position.

“Gwaine! Urg!”

“Are you going to vomit?”

Merlin shook his head, which felt both light and heavy at the same time.

“Great!” He dragged the crate they had been using as a table over to the bed in front of Merlin. Laid on a plate was a loaf of bread (with a large hunk missing), most of a chicken half and a piece of cheese (also with a hunk missing).

“What? I was hungry!” Gwaine protested.

Merlin tore off a piece of chicken and stuffed it in his mouth, suddenly famished.

After taking his fill, Merlin was starting to feel a lot better. Some of the shakiness had faded, although he suspected he would feel the residual effects of using his fettered magic for days yet. He was lucky that he had only needed to use such a small amount - the baby’s own magic had already done most of the work, it just needed the extra nudge his own power provided.

He fell asleep listening to Gwaine talk about Elsie.

“Merlin! Have you got a minute!”

Gwaine and Merlin stopped in the bustling street to find Rhen chasing them down, calling after them. They were on their way to the common knights’ training a bit early despite Gwaine’s protesting. He had tried to convince Merlin to stay in bed and fully recover, but stubbornly Merlin had refused on the grounds that he wouldn’t be paid and it would be better to keep busy than lie about in bed.

“Yeah, is everything okay? How’s Sara and the baby?”

“Great,” Rhen replied, still glowing with joy. “Really great. Actually, would you like to visit them?”

Merlin and Gwaine exchanged a look before Gwaine nodded.

“Lead the way!”

The little earthen house was much more brightly lit than the day before, with candles on every surface. Mary was in the front room, busily setting out a meal on the small table with another older woman. She gave Merlin a warm smile.

Rhen led them through to the room at the back again. Sara was sitting up in bed cradling a small pink baby swaddled in a creamy blanket. Rhen closed the door behind them.

“Sara, this is Merlin, and Gwaine.”

Merlin gave a little wave.

“It’s so nice to meet you properly,” she said with a smile.

“How is the little one doing?” Gwaine asked, pointing to the tiny sleeping bundle.

“Very well, thanks to you,” she said, pointedly.

“Oh no, it was all Gaius. I’m afraid I fainted as soon as I got here . . . not so good with blood you see. I’d make a terrible physician.”

Rhen stepped forward, setting a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin felt Gwaine shift protectively next to him.

“Merlin, it’s alright. Sara told me what you did.”

Gwaine’s hand dropped lower to where Merlin knew he had a knife stowed in his jacket.

“She, too, has your gift.”

Merlin looked up at Sara, watching as her eyes flashed briefly yellow, causing the candle at her bedside to glow brighter for a moment. It wasn’t a lot of magic, but it was confirmation that she was just like he was.

“I . . . I . . .”

Merlin looked frantically to Gwaine whose hand was still in his jacket.

“It’s alright Merlin,” Rhen said in a hushed voice. “We aren’t going to turn you in. We just wanted to know what happened. Our daughter was fading, and then as soon as you arrived - well, Sara felt it. She felt what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything . . .”

“But you did,” Sara interrupted. “I could feel her fighting, I could feel her magic, but I couldn’t help. I wasn’t powerful enough. You were.”

Merlin flushed, not used to having his magic acknowledged. All his life he had worked to hide it.

“She’s strong,” Merlin said. “I just needed to give whatever was blocking her lungs a little nudge.”

“Thank you,” Rhen said reverently, taking Merlin’s hand in his own. “We owe her life to you.”

Merlin shook his head, stepping back towards Gwaine. “No, no, you don’t.”

“Well, you have our deepest gratitude for saving our little Wren.”

“You’ve named her after you?” Gwaine asked, pointing to Rhen. The couple exchanged a knowing smile.

“To all others, that is what it will seem, but our little girl has been named for the bird - just like Merlin. This way unwanted questions will not be asked, but we will always remember that you saved her life.”

Merlin flushed a brilliant red, ducking his head. The rush of blood made him feel a little unsteady after the effects of yesterday’s stunt.

Gwaine moved over to the bed, gazing down at little Wren who was blinking awake with wrinkled eyes.

“Ha, aren’t you a little cutie?” he cooed, giving her his finger to hold. He looked back at Merlin, waving him over.

“She doesn’t bite,” Gwaine teased. Merlin rolled his eyes, moving closer. He was still feeling a little giddy, but he also felt some trepidation in seeing the little girl for reasons he couldn’t give name to.

Gwaine grabbed him and pushed him closer into the spot he had just vacated.

Merlin squirmed nervously as Sara adjusted the sleepy baby so she was better placed to see him.

The babe looked up at Merlin, her face calm and serene. Her eyes flashed gold for only a split second as a lock of Merlin’s hair lifted as if a breeze had blown against it.

“Ha! She’s playing!” Sara laughed, beaming down at her daughter. Gwaine and Rhen joined her, watching the cheeky babe.

Merlin smiled but felt something tighten in his gut. He knew what sort of life lay ahead for the girl, a life of secrets and hiding and fear of being found out - especially in Camelot. For her sake, he hoped things were set to change in the future. That magic was no longer something to fear or abuse.

All he could do was hope.

Gwaine hustled Merlin out of the warren-like house as they had gone from being early to running late. The sun was rudely bright and it gave Merlin a headache.

“You alright?” Gwaine asked for the thousandth time that morning.

“Fine,” Merlin grunted.

“So that’s why you’re rubbing your head?”

Merlin slapped at Gwaine’s arm. “Okay, fine, I have a headache, which you’re making worse.”

“You’re a headache,” Gwaine retaliated.

The training session could not have been going worse.

Not one but two shields had been broken, and with the noble knights watching on again. Edward was refusing to listen to Arthur’s advice and kept flourishing his sword unnecessarily, which had led to him swinging it too far behind him and hitting Percival’s arm as he was in conversation with Leon. While Merlin was patching him up on the benches at the end of the field, Arthur had changed the drill to a formation requiring lines of four which left Kay floundering on account of not being able to work out how many lines a group of twenty would be making.

“Take a break!” Arthur boomed, ignoring the laughs from the noble knights.

He waved the group off towards the benches where Merlin was finishing up with Percival, hanging back to realign the practice dummies.

“They’ll need some time, sire,” Leon said, joining Arthur in straightening the dummies.

“I just wish that lot weren’t here to laugh,” he replied, waving his hand at the noble knights. The lazy men were huddled together, laughing.

“You could order them not to be there.”

Arthur sighed. “But then they would just say that I had something to hide. Or I couldn’t hack it. No, we’ll just have to show them. These men will be better than any group of nobles.”

He set about gathering the practice swords that had been discarded. Really he should have Merlin doing this, but he had looked truly awful when he arrived at practice. His skin was even more washed out than usual and there was a slight tremor that he noticed in his hands as he set up the equipment. He had been stomping around like a bear with a sore head and not at all his usual lively self. Arthur had wanted to ask him what was wrong, but every time he thought of it, he could not think how to start the conversation.

They had not had the opportunity to talk since the night at the tavern, not that Arthur was sure there was much to talk about. He knew Merlin was more . . . worldly than him. As much as it pained him to admit, it was obvious that the younger lad was more experienced than he was. Merlin kissed him with a surety that was probably part intoxication, but also a confidence that Arthur could not hope to possess when it came to . . . that. Give him an army to command or bandits to destroy or a council to speak before - he was fine. But to make a move on someone who had caught his eye was far more terrifying.

Merlin was like no one Arthur had ever met before. He was carefree, but there was something holding him back, Arthur was sure of it. He was energetic and vivacious, all skinny limbs and messy black hair - but Arthur had felt the strength in those limbs as he pulled them close against the wall out of the rain . . .

It didn’t matter anyway - Merlin obviously just saw it as a fling if the way that he was completely ignoring Arthur was anything to go by. While Arthur found himself wishing it wasn’t, he also had to remind himself that it could never be more than that anyway. He was a prince, destined to marry a princess and have lots of little royal babies. His future didn’t lie with a mysterious drifter who made his stomach flip like the jesters who performed for Morgana’s birthday feast.

Speaking of mysterious drifters, Arthur was torn from his day dreaming by a sharp shout that he immediately recognised as Merlin. He looked over to the far end of the benches where Merlin was sitting, polishing a sword at one end of the bench while Edward lazed on the other end. Even from where he stood across the field, Arthur could see the tips of Merlin’s ears flame red just before he angrily tossed a water skin at Edward. The item struck the other man in the side of the head, despite the fact he had been facing Merlin when it happened and must surely have seen it coming. With another shout, this time from Edward, the pompous fighter leapt at Merlin, raising his leather glove to belt him across the face. Merlin rose to meet him, which meant he was struck in the neck rather than across his cheek by the thick leather.

With a strength that defied his size, Merlin shoved Edward hard in the chest, causing the heavier man to stumble back. There was another shout, then a clatter of metal off to the other side of the field.

“Oh shite,” Leon cursed. He looked at Arthur and quickly added, “. . .sire.”

“Oh shite indeed,” Arthur replied, already breaking into a run. For Gwaine, who had been showing Elyan how to feint back where they had been practicing for the day, had spotted the commotion just in time for Edward to take a swing with his fist at Merlin’s head. The boy deftly dodged the blow, ramming his shoulder into Edward’s stomach and taking them both to the ground.

Arthur pumped his arms faster, trying to get to the fight before Gwaine separated Edward’s head from his neck with his bare hands. He was almost equal distance away from them as Gwaine, thankful for the fact he didn’t wear full armour to these training sessions and could actually get some speed up.

Arthur could see Merlin scramble back to his feet, taking advantage of Edward’s slower reflexes to get the upper hand. Arthur spotted Edward’s hand finding the practice sword, but not fast enough to call out a warning. While on his back, the common knight swung the sword wildly, making Merlin leap backwards, sucking his stomach in to avoid being hit by the weapon. The metal tangled in the billowing fabric of Merlin’s oversized shirt and tore through, tearing the cloth despite the blunted blade. Merlin tripped backwards over the water skin and hit the ground hard with an ‘oomf’.

Only a few steps away, Arthur shouted “STOP!”, but it made no difference. Some of the other common knights were rushing over to the fight from where they had been resting, creating a crowd that made Arthur lose sight of Gwaine.

Back on his feet, Edward swung the sword again, his face contorted in anger. Merlin held up an arm, jamming his eyes closed while waiting for the sword to make its impact, only for it to meet another with a resounding clang.

If Edward looked angry, Gwaine was livid. He stood between the two men, Merlin (who was still sprawled on the ground) at his back, his shoulders square and his jaw set in a sneer. Despite his smaller stature, he looked terrifying facing off against Edward.

“You’ll want to be putting that thing down,” Gwaine said dangerously, pointing with his own sword.

Percival helped Edward out, snatching the sword away from behind and tossing it aside like a toothpick. He folded his thick arms over his chest, the bandage from where Edward had nicked him earlier in training on show.

Arthur finally reached the fight, pushing his way through the gathered men.

“Move aside while I teach this whelp a lesson in respect!” Edward cried.

Arthur shoved the last man aside in annoyance, finally reaching the front. Didn’t these men realise he was the prince?

“WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?” Arthur boomed, trying to hide his breathlessness from his sprint across the field, but not his annoyance. He held his hands on his hips, doing his best to exude authority.

“He’s a stupid twat who can shove his water up his arse!” Merlin yelled, back on his feet and lunging at Edward. Elyan and Lancelot struggled to hold him back, while Gwaine shoved Edward away with unnecessary force.

“And he’s an arrogant brat who needs to learn his place!” Edward retaliated.

Arthur held his hands out, demanding silence which he almost got apart from Merlin muttering obscene curses under his breath.

“I didn’t ask for colourful insults. I asked what happened.”

He spoke slowly and calmly, but there was nothing calm about the tension between the men involved.

Both Edward and Merlin were red and straining against their captors - their skin marked pink and purple from where their blows had landed. Gwaine had yet to put down the practice sword he had held, his eyes fixed on Edward.

Merlin spoke first. Well, shouted.

“This tosspot threw his water skin at me and ordered me to fill it up like I was his bleeding servant!”

“That’s exactly what you are!” Edward shouted back in exasperation.

“No, I’m not! My job is to carry out the equipment for Arthur - for the prince,” he quickly corrected. “Not to listen to twats like you!”

“You can’t speak to me like that, you little bastard!”

Like whisky poured on a fire, the fight reignited. Merlin broke free of Elyan’s grip but was caught by Percival who lifted him clean off the ground like a child. Edward grappled with Gwaine who looked like one of the king’s hunting dogs, even down to the bared teeth.

“ENOUGH!” Arthur shouted. “Percival, take Merlin to the armory.”

Percival nodded, carrying a writhing Merlin under his arm. The smaller man slapped at the giant ineffectually as he continued his ranting without taking a breath.

Arthur turned back to Edward. The smarmy git was smirking at Merlin looking very pleased with himself.

Well, he wouldn’t be feeling that way for long.

“Gwaine, you can let him go.”

Gwaine released his grip on Edward’s leather chestplate with a shove and a glare that was sharper than Arthur’s sword.

“Thank you sire,” Edward said, dusting himself off indignantly.

“I wouldn’t be thanking me yet,” Arthur said with a growl. “We still need to have a little discussion about your behaviour.”

Edward’s head snapped up, looking very much like a startled stoat.

“My behaviour? My . . .I’ll admit, sire, that I may have lost my temper a smidge, but surely it is that urchin who should have his behaviour evaluated?” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the armoury to emphasise his point. A loud clang resounded from the building, making everyone including Arthur jump.

Maybe sending an angry Merlin to a building full of weapons was not such a good idea.

Eh, Percival could surely handle it. Surely.

Arthur turned his attention back to Edward.

“Yes, your behaviour. While you may not be a noble, I still expect you to demonstrate the same sense of honor and dignity as a noble, nay, I expect better. That is what we are setting out to achieve, is it not? Showing that it is the measure of a man’s deeds that should determine their nobility rather than their birth. Yet, you have behaved like a spoilt child, expecting to be served hand and foot -”

“Sire, he was sitting around doing nothing -”

“DO NOT INTERRUPT ME!” Arthur shouted. Edward snapped his mouth shut so quickly it snapped like one of Gaius’ books. Even the nobles who had been tittering at the end of the field fell silent.

“As I was saying,” Arthur said, circling Edward like a wolf its prey, “I want the knighthood to consist of honorable and virtuous men. Men who can be responsible for their actions - men who are responsible enough to fill their damned water skin before training!”

Arthur kicked the offending item into the benches.

“As a consequence for your laziness and for starting a fight with one of my staff who is here at my bidding and without whom we would be wasting half of training lugging around equipment, you will be packing up the training session and placing the items in the cart.”

Edward rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to speak, but a well-timed cough from Gwaine seemed to change his mind.

“Yes, sire,” he sighed instead.

“Excellent. Training is finished for today. Edward, you can leave the cart just by the edge of the field here, Merlin will collect it to put it all away later.”

Arthur turned from the dispersing men, steeling himself for the next conversation which he was far more apprehensive about. Telling off the hot-headed twit for fighting one of his common knights whilst trying not to allow those wicked thoughts that had started to visit him at night to distract him was going to prove quite the challenge.

Chapter Text

For such a big man, Percival could be incredibly quiet. He and Merlin occupied the armoury in absolute silence, the common knight serenely leaning against a wall next to the rack which had held a neat row of spears until just a few minutes ago. Merlin was sitting on the stone floor, elbows on bent knees and head resting against another stand that housed shields (those had survived Merlin’s tirade).

Percival hadn’t said anything while Merlin took out his temper on the wooden quarterstaffs and buckets of arrows which he kicked across the room. His calmness must have been contagious, as Merlin’s outburst fizzled out almost as quickly as it had begun, the anger leaking from him like water from a broken jug.

It was so quiet, in fact, that when Arthur burst through the door, both he and Percival jumped, Merlin also adding a few hissed curses.

The prince’s eyes trailed along the trail of destruction as he stepped deliberately through the room, his footsteps marking the even-paced beat that all soldiers have.

“Thank you, Percival,” Arthur said, dismissing the giant man. Percival ducked his head to Arthur before giving Merlin one last look. Merlin didn’t know if it was an expression of solidarity or a wince at the conversation to come. He returned to staring at the patterns made by the straw tossed loosely over the dirt floor.

Once the door had closed, Arthur sat poised on the corner of a bench, arms folded.

“Would you like to tell me what all that was about?” Arthur asked, sounding more than a little exasperated. When Merlin shrugged, the loud groan the prince responded with told that maybe he was more than exasperated. Maybe on the way to infuriated.

“I have just had to cut short a training session in front of half a dozen noble knights, wasting the time of the other nineteen men who have signed up for this, not to mention my own, and for what? A blasted water skin?”

Merlin tipped his head back, wincing as it hit the stone harder than he’d intended. “I’m sorry,” he ground out. “Sorry for ruining your training session, but he was just being such an utter twat -”

“So what, you thought you’d sort it out by starting a fight?”

“I didn’t start it,” Merlin said, pointing a finger. “Is that what he said? Well, great, ‘course you’re going to believe him!”

He knew how this went. He’d been blamed for enough things that weren’t his fault over his lifetime to know how it worked for people like him.

“What?” Arthur bit out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Why are you even asking my side of the story?” Merlin shouted, kicking at the hay with his foot.

Even before he left his village, he was still on the bottom rung of the ladder. A fatherless, bastard child, a little strange and not as strong as the other boys his age (well, not in ways he could show), poor even by the village’s standards - no one would ever listen to him.

He could still remember his terror at being dragged through the village square by James’ father after the nasty boy had blamed Merlin for stealing and selling their chickens to a road trader. He was being pulled along so roughly he couldn’t get his feet under him. The man threw Merlin into the middle of the square and made him kneel, but when he pulled out the horse whip, Merlin couldn’t stop himself scrambling back on hands and heels to escape. That didn’t stop the man, who cracked the whip at him twice before a boy called Will ran from his house yelling that he’d heard James tell another boy that he’d forgotten to lock the coop and had chosen to cover up the mess the fox made and blame it all on Merlin.

There was no apology given to Merlin or his mother who had to clean the skin that had split on his shoulders and neck. No one needed to justify treating the whore and her bastard like the dirt that they were.

Merlin gained some new scars that day, although he also gained a new loyal friend.

“I’m asking your side of the story, Merlin, because I want to know what happened!” Arthur threw his hands in the air, turning his back on Merlin in frustration. “Are you always like this?”

“Like what?” Merlin snarked.

“Belligerent.”

Merlin rolled his eyes towards Arthur, levelling a glare at him. “I am not belligerent.”

Arthur hid a smirk. “Could have fooled me.”

And despite himself, Merlin smirked back.

Arthur pushed off the table and sat in the dirt next to Merlin, leaning back on the same wall with a straight back that could only belong to someone living in a castle.

Arthur restarted the conversation.

“Edward’s a twat.”

“I told you. Gwaine told you. I think even Elyan mentioned something.”

“Yeah, yeah, I knew he was a twat. Maybe just not how big a twat.”

“Would you stop saying twat?” Merlin asked, kicking Arthur’s shining boot with his own worn out one.

“What was that all about though?” Arthur said, and this time Merlin could feel the concern in his question.

“I dunno. I have a headache.”

Arthur scoffed so abruptly that Merlin jolted out of his skin.

“You have a headache? That’s why you caused an all-in-brawl?”

“I didn’t start it and it wasn’t an all in brawl.”

Arthur counted off on his fingers.

“Firstly, I didn’t say start, I said caused. Whether it is your fault or not, you were part of the cause, in that you and Edward were the ones in the initial argument. Secondly, I think it counts as an all-in-brawl when the only men not involved were the three who were taking bets from the sidelines.”

Merlin groaned. “Fine. So go on, aren’t you going to scold me?”

He saw a hint of something in Arthur’s eyes at his question, something that maybe meant he had not put the night at the tavern behind him as Merlin had thought may have been the case.

“Are you going to do it again?” Arthur asked as if speaking to a child who had been caught lying.

“Probably,” was Merlin’s honest answer. It brought a smile to Arthur’s face.

“In that case, I won’t waste my breath.”

They sat in a silence that stretched like the dough Merlin had kneaded in the bakery - thick and heavy until finally Arthur broke it.

“Do you still have that headache?”

Merlin tilted his head non-committedly.

“It’s not as bad, I think.”

“That whack with the gloves can’t have made it feel better.”

Arthur turned to the side, reaching out a calloused finger to trace where Merlin’s neck was still burning. The feeling made Merlin’s mouth suddenly run dry.

“No,” Merlin said, licking his lips, “but putting him on his pompous arse did.”

Arthur chortled, ducking his head so his blonde fringe hung forward.

Merlin found himself wondering why he had thought that kissing Arthur was a bad idea. It was something Gwaine had said . . . wasn’t it . . . but since when did Gwaine know anything about bad ideas . . .

Arthur looked at Merlin through lowered eyes that seemed to be focused on his lips. Merlin let himself fall in towards Arthur as the prince did the same, leaning forward to brace his hand between Merlin’s bent knees.

“What do you want this wanker to do with the cart?”

Arthur leapt back as if he had been burnt at the abrupt intrusion. Merlin groaned, thunking his head loudly against the wall. Of course Gwaine had to walk in at that moment and ruin it.

Gwaine swaggered further into the room, his gaze swinging accusingly from Arthur to Merlin.

“Merlin, you’re going to be late for Gaius.”

There was no mistaking the menacing lilt behind Gwaine’s words. Merlin had heard that tone from Gwaine enough times to know when he was in trouble. He stood up with a grunt, giving Arthur one final look before following Gwaine out of the armoury.

They had only just turned the corner to the narrow stairway that led up to the castle when Gwaine spun around on Merlin, trapping him against the high stone wall.

“What do you think you’re playing at?”

Merlin swatted Gwaine’s sweaty arm away, but the other man caught him by the collar instead.

“I don’t know what you’re on about . . .”

Gwaine pinched Merlin’s ear, causing him to yelp like a pup.

“Ow! Knock it off would you!”

“I told you that kid was nothing but bad news for you, and first chance you get, you’re canoodling!”

Merlin couldn’t help but snort. “Canoodling?”

Gwaine flicked him in the forehead with a technique that always stung like crazy. “You know what I mean. Ten more seconds and I would have been interrupting something.”

“Not that it would have stopped you,” Merlin grumbled.

Gwaine folded his arms, leaning back on the opposite wall with a huff. “You’ve already kissed him, haven’t you?”

“No,” Merlin said, far too quickly. “You saw - you interrupted us . . .”

“Not today,” Gwaine said with a roll of his eyes. “You have, haven’t you?”

“No.” Even to his own ears, Merlin could hear the lie.

So could Gwaine if the way he threw his hands in the air was anything to go by. He ran them through his sticky hair.

“If you keep tugging at your hair like that, you’re going to go bald.”

“Merlin!”

“Gwaine! I’ve got it sorted, really.”

“Oh really?” Gwaine asked. “You, who has a penchant for trouble that not even I can match, have it sorted, do you?”

“It’s just a bit of fooling around,” Merlin said, dodging the sinking feeling in his gut that might have been signalling that he wasn’t being completely honest, least of all with himself.

“Righteo. And the prince knows that? Because the way he was making moon eyes at you suggests that he might be a bit smitten.”

Merlin blew a raspberry. “Hardly. He’s a prince, Gwaine. To him I’m just . . .”

Gwaine cocked an eyebrow expectantly.

“I’m just available. Here for a good time, not a long time.”

Merlin averted his gaze as he heard Gwaine draw in a long breath. It wasn’t that he was being self deprecating, he was just being realistic. Things with Arthur weren’t going to go anywhere - they were just having a bit of fun for the few weeks they had left to pay for Gaius’ floor and earn a bit of cash to take them on their next travels.

Things with Arthur couldn’t go anywhere. Not that there were even things with Arthur - except that one kiss. That was it. And maybe the almost kiss from just then in the armoury. But that was it.

“So worst case scenario, he’s in love with you and when you break his heart he’s going to hunt you down, or he finds out about your special skills and his daddy has you hung or worse. Best case scenario he uses you then throws you away like a working boy?”

“C’mon Gwaine, it’s not like that. You have casual sex all the time!”

“So you’ve had sex?” Gwaine asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide his shock. It was no secret to Gwaine that Merlin was selective about who he let that close.

“No, so what’s the big deal? You do worse, alllllll the time.”

“But I don’t hook up with the son of the man who has made a mission to hunt down my kind! I might be reckless, Merlin, but you’re taking it to a whole different level. You could have any other guy in the whole land -”

“No, I can’t!” Merlin hissed. “I can’t!”

The events of the last few days must have been catching up with him because he felt a sudden wave of emotion that prickled at his eyes. He pressed his tongue firmly against the roof of his mouth to hide his tears from Gwaine.

“Merlin,” Gwaine started, having perceptibly noticed the shift in mood. “It’s just - I’ve kept you safe all these years - I don’t want you to throw it all away for a selfish prince.”

Merlin nodded, biting his bottom lip to stop it from trembling.

“I have to go or I’ll be late for Gaius,” Merlin said quickly, almost running up the stairs towards the castle.

Whether Gaius was tired or he noticed Merlin’s sombre mood, he was quieter than usual during their search for answers in his old musty books. Merlin was about to throw in the towel. Who was to even say that the piles of musty old books held the answer? Maybe this was it for him, a life as a sorcerer without any actual power. Maybe Camelot had it right and he deserved to be punished for his magic? Maybe that’s why fate had left him with cuffs that inflicted pain when he tried to use it.

What was he doing with Arthur anyway? He felt inexplicably drawn to him from the moment he saw the prince, but what was he actually doing? He knew it was stupid to get involved, but something inside him told him to ignore that voice. His thoughts left him reading the same page for almost half an hour.

Once Gaius had discovered Merlin’s talent for languages, he had also made use of their time together to have Merlin sort out boxes of books that had no titles. Merlin would have to read a few passages to gather what the book was about, and then label it. That night, he had only worked through three such books before Gaius told him it was late and he should go.

Maybe even Gaius thought he was useless?

Knowing that he was feeling sorry for himself, but without the willpower to pull himself out of his glumness, Merlin crashed straight into a noblewoman, sending her stumbling back onto a bench that lined the corridor.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t watching . . . I . . . Morgana?”

“Are you blind, Merlin?” she shouted, with a hint of a smirk as she righted herself, smoothing out the masses of fabric she was wearing. Today her dress was violet and just a bit much in Merlin’s opinion.

“I really am sorry,” he said, helping her up from the bench. “I wasn’t concentrating.”

“A lot on your mind?” she teased.

“Lady Morgana!” a deep voice called from behind Merlin. “I heard a scream!”

Merlin turned around to come face to face with a man with a face so serious he wasn’t even sure that the man would be capable of smiling. He was blonde, but unlike Arthur, his hair was ashy and ever so slightly waved. He was built almost like a smaller Percival, except with the straight back that only nobility could have. He looked Merlin over like he was horse dung.

“Is this boy bothering you?” the man asked, stepping between Merlin and Morgana protectively.

“Not at all, Sir David,” Morgana said airily, pushing past his guarding arm. “I just ran into Merlin here, and we were having a chat.” She patted Merlin on the arm, looking back at the knight who seemed to be grinding his teeth.

“Are you sure?” Sir David asked, looking like he was waiting for an excuse to show Morgana just how protective he could be. Merlin exchanged a lightning quick glance with her. Evidently, Morgana didn’t like being made to feel like she needed ‘protecting’.

“Quite sure,” she said firmly.

“I will escort you to your chambers then,” Sir David said, motioning for Morgana to start walking next to him.

“That won’t be necessary. Merlin was about to do that, weren’t you Merlin?”

“Err. . . sure,” Merlin stuttered, motioning down the corridor in the same way Sir David had. Well, not quite the same way. He may have added a little more flourish. And a bow.

“After you, m’lady,” Merlin said, giving Sir David a wink.

They rounded the corner and burst into laughter. Morgana slapped at Merlin playfully, shushing him even though she was being just as noisy.

Not having any idea where Morgana’s rooms were, Merlin followed her lead before they came to a set of grand double doors.

“Well, I bid thee goodnight,” Merlin said with a bow, earning an eye roll from Morgana.

“Or - you could come in for a round of cards?”

Merlin knew he would be in a lot of trouble if he were found in the rooms of the king’s ward, despite his lack of intentions. Although, what had Gwaine said hours earlier? Oh that’s right - he has a penchant for trouble.

“Sure.”

They both looked up and down the corridor before hurrying through the door, slamming it shut before they were seen.

Morgana didn’t have a bedroom - she had a house. There was even a little room coming off to the side. Her bed was bigger than the whole room Gwaine and Merlin shared atop the bakery.

“Shut your mouth before the flies get in,” Morgana teased, taking off her bangles at a gold gilded dressing table.

“Jeepers, if this is how big your chambers are, I’d hate to see the size of Arthur’s!”

Morgana turned around to smirk at Merlin over her shoulder.

“I didn’t mean size like that! I meant his chambers. Because he’s a prince. His rooms would be bigger. Ah, bugger.”

Merlin sank onto the cushioned bench at the end of Morgana’s bed while she smugly hid her giggles (although not very well).

“Oh, I’m sure that you’d want to see the inside of Arthur’s chambers,” she teased, unhooking a well worn gown from where it hung on the front of her wardrobe.

Merlin groaned, sinking his blushing face into his hands. “That’s not what I meant”, he said with his voice muffled.

“You keep telling yourself that,” she fired back, ducking behind her dressing screen. Merlin stood up quickly, turning around.

“I can step outside if you’re changing,” he said, focusing intently on an embroidered cushion on Morgana’s bed.

“Pssh,” she called back. “Merlin, you are probably the only person in this whole kingdom who hasn’t checked out my tits even once.”

“Maybe I’m just really subtle.”

Morgana walked past Merlin’s line of sight dressed in the thick, comfortable looking gown with her hair taken down.

“Merlin - nothing about you is subtle.”

She had a point.

Five rounds of cards and half a bottle of wine later (Morgana had souveniered some of Uther’s finest in a stash at the bottom of her wardrobe), Merlin was reclined on something Morgana had called a ‘divan lounge’, the troubles of his day floating away with each sip.

“So who was that tosspot anyway?” Merlin asked.

Morgana snorted from the chair she was leaning back on, her feet crossed on the table in a move that reminded Merlin of Gwaine and not at all like an almost-princess.

“Sir David? Bleh. He’s been trying it on since we were practically kids.”

“He seems a bit stiff.”

“He is. Such a bore. Uther likes him though. He sucks up to him hoping the old codger will give him my hand in marriage.”

“So romantic.”

“Urg. At least I’d know him though. I think Uther intends to marry me off to some foreign prince to forge alliances or something.”

“Who would you want, if you had a choice?”

“No-one!” Morgana said, taking another sip of her wine. Her cheeks were prettily reddened unlike the splotchy mess that Merlin was sure his own face was. “I don’t want any men governing my life! I want to travel. I want to do something that doesn’t involve smiling and looking pretty.”

Merlin nodded sagely. As much as he felt trapped by his circumstances with his magic and his past, he had some hope that things could get better. Morgana was looking down the barrel at a marriage that could end any freedom she had and tear her away from her home.

“So what has you looking like you haven’t slept in three days?”

Merlin let his head hang back over the edge of the couch thing - the divan.

“Just stuff.”

“So secretive,” Morgana teased.

Merlin wished he could just tell Morgana everything. While he and Gwaine were close, he was more like an older brother or even sometimes a parent. It was nice to talk to someone who wasn’t constantly telling him not to do this or to be careful of that. He knew Gwaine just wanted to keep him safe, but sometimes it just made him feel trapped.

“I had a fight with Gwaine.”

“Let me guess - he doesn’t like Arthur.”

Merlin sat up, squinting at Morgana. “Are you psychic or something?”

Morgana blushed, but just shrugged, hiding herself behind her goblet.

“Call it women’s intuition.”

Laying back, Merlin continued with the parts that he could tell Morgana.

“He thinks it’s going to end badly.”

“He’s right about that.”

“Oi, you’re meant to be on my side.”

Morgana shrugged. “If Uther has plans to marry me off, that’s nothing compared to what he has in mind for Arthur. He’s more trapped than I am.”

“It’s not like I want to marry him,” Merlin said. He was only just of age. Besides, he wasn’t sure that anyone bar the Druids would recognise the marriage of two men, and was pretty sure Arthur of Camelot, the biggest magic-hating kingdom, would go for a magical ceremony.

“Yeah, but Uther isn’t going to want anything tarnishing Arthur’s reputation as a rough, tough, shiny knight. If word got out that he buggered other boys, or they buggered him - or however you guys do it . . .”

“You’re right,” Merlin said, feeling himself sink into the furniture. Hearing it from Gwaine just sounding like a scolding, but hearing it from Morgana, he could see how many ways it could go wrong.

“Still, I’ve never seen him as lively as he is around you - and obviously you are head over heels.”

“Am not,” Merlin muttered, although he was probably just trying to convince himself.

“Just - be careful about it, yeah? And don’t lose your heart over it, or crush his. As tough as Arthur looks, he’s as soft as butter underneath.”

Morgana leaned over and topped up his glass.

“Now, wasn’t it your turn to deal?”

Chapter Text

“There have been reports of rogue traders operating in the flats to the east of the city,” Geoffrey read from a short piece of parchment. “They have been stealing food and other necessities from the outlying villages at night as they ferry their wares in and out of Essetir.”

“What sort of wares are they moving?” Arthur asked. Sometimes these traders were just trying to avoid taxes. Other times it was more serious.

Geoffrey pulled out another piece of parchment.

“It says metal wares, weapons, herbal brews and ointments and amulets, Sire.”

Gaius hummed, looking around at the men gathered at the Council table.

“Those herbal brews and ointments can be dangerous, especially if prepared by someone without proper training. Not to mention the amulets.”

“Could they contain magic?” the King asked. Gaius shrugged.

“It’s hard to say, Sire. It is definitely possible.”

“We’ll send out a patrol,” Uther declared. “Have these men killed or arrested, I don’t care.”

“Sire, perhaps, if you don’t mind me saying, this would be an opportune time to test out the commoners?”

Arthur’s head snapped up at Lord Eddington’s suggestion. The man was wealthier than some kings and had considerable influence for one who held no real position in Uther’s court. He had only one son, David, who Arthur didn’t know much about except that he was a knight and he never smiled.

It didn’t take much to work out Lord Eddington’s reasoning in making such a suggestion. It was the end of winter, a time where it rained more often than not, and the flats of the east would be little more than a swamp. The journey would be hard, the terrain difficult and the traders potentially dangerous. All in all, an unattractive task for a nobleman.

“Arthur, are the commoner’s ready for such a task?” his father asked.

“They are,” he replied, ignoring the scoffs of Lord Answerth and Sir Elric, the First Knight.

“Very well. The commoners will attend to the matter.”

Arthur nodded. While this was the chance he’d been waiting for - the chance to show off his weeks of hard work training up his men - it was also the only chance he would have to prove that commoners could be knights that were the same if not better than the noble born knights.

He hoped that his men were ready. He didn’t fancy facing his father or the rest of the Council if things didn’t go well.

“I don’t think I need to emphasise how important this patrol is. Therefore, I have hand selected those men who I deem most ready.”

Arthur addressed the men gathered before him at the end of their training session. He had chosen to run them through a physically light session, on account of needing the men for the patrol to be well rested, but one that would test how much they had been able to retain. Who was able to switch between formations without looking around at the other men? Which men could use a secondary weapon just as well as a sword? Who could actually manage to ride a horse without falling off?

The gathered men all looked around, all with the same question written on their faces - who would be chosen? Arthur cleared his throat and looked down at the list he had hastily scrawled after the council meeting.

“Accompanying myself and Leon will be the following men: Lancelot, Elyan, Percival, Kay -”

There was a smattering of applause after each name was called.

“Gwaine -”

Merlin let out a whoop as he threw (threw!) a sword into the equipment cart. Edward shook his head unsubtly at Merlin’s cheering.

“And Merlin.”

“What?!” Merlin screeched. He dropped the armful of vambraces he had just picked up with a loud clatter. “I’m not one of these . . . fighty men.”

“I know you’re not one of the . . . .”

Arthur turned to Leon “We really do need to come up with a name,” Arthur murmured before clearing his throat and continuing, “But we will need our horses watered, the camp set up, the food cooked -”

At this a few men let out a chuckle, Edward being the loudest and least jovial. Merlin huffed, setting about collecting the vambraces.

“I better be getting paid for this,” he scowled.

“Of course,” Arthur replied smugly.

Arthur was taking Merlin along because every patrol took a servant. He couldn’t ask Morris - he was too much of a wimp and George, well . . . Arthur just didn’t like him. Not that he liked Merlin! Well, he did, just not like that. Or maybe he did like him like that. Just a little.

Ah, he was in trouble.

Gwaine chomped obnoxiously on his apple, earning himself a glare from Leon. It wasn’t like a bunch of bandits were going to attack them on account of his loud apple consumption. Anyway, he had bigger things to worry about.

Like how he was going to keep Arthur and Merlin apart for the duration of the trip.

Merlin had said that he would try to ‘stay out of trouble’, but Gwaine had known the kid long enough to know that meant as much as he himself saying he would try not to drink. Besides - he’d seen how Merlin watched Arthur out of the corner of his eye. He couldn’t even say the boy’s name without blushing. In all the time that Gwaine had known him, Merlin had never shown as much interest in one particular person for such an extended period of time.

If Merlin could not be trusted to make good decisions and keep his mitts off Arthur, then Gwaine would just have to take on that responsibility himself.

After all, he was all about good decision making. He was the king of good decision making.

Well, he made some good decisions.

Like the decision to bring snacks on what had become a very boring and very cold ride.

Gwaine tossed his core into the bushes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn’t have proper riding gloves - it was rare that he and Merlin came across the opportunity to ride a horse, especially after Merlin grew heavy enough to necessitate two of them. When he was a boy it was easy enough to just sit him on the front of the saddle, slight as he was. Once he started to shoot up it became uncomfortable for both themselves and the horse, not to mention how strange it would have looked for two men to be riding the same horse with a single saddle.

Merlin and Arthur were riding side-by-side to the front of the group. Gwaine couldn’t quite hear their conversation, but there was a lot of laughter on both sides. Too much laughter, if you asked Gwaine.

“Oi, wanna keep it down up there!?” Gwaine shouted.

Arthur spun around scowling, then returned to his conversation with Merlin.

Gwaine looked over to Leon and shook his head with a roll of his eyes, hoping to get some sympathy from the knight.

“May as well announce to the bandits that we’re coming, eh?”

Leon stared at him for longer than was normal, then looked back down at his horse.

Strange fellow.

The group made camp on the edge of dusk in a clearing that was more mud than solid ground.

“We are only a few hours’ ride from the town where the bandits were last seen, but we can’t risk injuring the horses riding through the night. Leon and Lancelot, there are usually rabbits everywhere in these parts. We will need some for tonight’s dinner.”

Leon and Lancelot both nodded in unison, almost as if performing a dance at a feast. Swinging down off the horse, Leon pulled two crossbows from the saddle bags and handed one to Lancelot.

Gwaine wondered what his job would be. He would have like to have a go on one of those crossbows.

“Percival and Elyan, take the horses to the stream to drink. We will also need some water brought back to the camp.”

At least he wasn’t on water duty, although from the size of Percival at least he could carry all the water back in one trip.

“Gwaine, there’s a shovel in one of the bags. Through those bushes should be a good spot.”

No. Surely not.

“I have to dig the toilet?” Gwaine complained. Arthur nodded, not looking up from the buckle he was undoing on his horse’ saddle.

Merlin, the brat, scoffed loudly, hiding a smile behind his hand.

“Merlin, you will need to collect the firewood, unpack and rub down the horses, set out the bedrolls, cook dinner, and clean up.”

The smile slid from Merlin’s face and instead appeared on Gwaine’s.

“What?”

Arthur finally looked up from his task, now that the saddle was free of his beloved horse.

“This is what you’re here for Merlin. You are literally being paid to work.”

Merlin groaned loudly, tipping his head back in the way he always did when he muttered curses under his breath.

“And what are you doing?” Merlin asked insolently. Gwaine heard Leon take in a hissing breath.

Arthur, however, motioned to the centre of the campsite.

“I’ll start the fire. Now, everyone, the quicker we have this done, the quicker we will be warm and fed.”

Everyone set to their tasks, including Merlin who stomped off into the bush to collect wood. Gwaine searched through the bags for the shovel.

Arthur circled around the camp once before coming to the obvious realisation that he couldn’t start the fire until the firewood was collected.

He followed after Merlin.

Like hell he was going to be alone with Merlin in the woods.

Gwaine shouldered the shovel and followed after Arthur.

Keeping his distance, Gwaine ducked behind a fallen log to watch as Arthur approached Merlin.

“Need a hand?”

The gangly boy spun around, clumsily juggling, then dropping the wood that he had collected. He bent over to gather it all up, recovering his snark at the same time.

“Why? Is the Prince of Camelot going to help me gather firewood?” he teased in response. Arthur picked up a twig and tossed it at Merlin, who ducked it easily.

“Fine, I won’t help,” Arthur said with a smirk. “I wasn’t sure if you knew what you were looking for.”

Merlin snorted.
“And the pompous prince does?”

Arthur tossed a dead root at Merlin’s back. He twisted away, but the muddy object still hit him in the back, leaving a mark on his shirt.

“Oi!” Merlin shouted. “That’s my good shirt.”

“Actually, that’s my shirt,” Arthur replied, arms crossed as he leaned casually against the tree.

Merlin stood up, firewood forgotten and slinked over to Arthur in a move Gwaine didn’t even know he had in him. He gripped the shovel more firmly in his fist.

Slipping his thumbs under the hem, Merlin lifted the shirt to reveal far too much skin for Gwaine’s eyes.

“Well, if you want it back . . .”

No. Nah uh. This was not happening. Gwaine hadn’t exactly been a prude when the time had come for Merlin to discover his sexuality. He gave him the talk. He helped him chat up other boys, but that Merlin had also been a boy. A clueless, fumbling, embarrassed, boy.

What Gwaine was watching was very clearly Merlin seducing the Prince of Camelot.

Where the hell had he learned to do that?

Merlin had backed Arthur into the tree he’d been leaning on, pressing himself against the prince like some wanton maiden.

Gwaine looked around the swampy forest. It was almost night - he could make an owl call, couldn’t he? That would surely startle them. Now, what did owls sound like again? Or maybe a wolf - that would be better. They wouldn’t want to be out in the woods like a wolf.

Just as Gwaine had decided that the call of a wild boar would surely be the scariest, Arthur ducked out from where he was trapped between Merlin’s arms. He stepped back, clasping his hands awkwardly in front of him.

“Um . . . I . . .”

Merlin groaned, running his hands through his hair in frustration. He swung around to face Arthur, holding his hands out.

“Don’t tell me, you’ve changed your mind.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin’s wrist, stopping him from pulling away any further.

“No - it’s not like that, I swear.”

“Then what is it like?” Merlin asked, looking away to the side the way he always did when he was trying to hide his feelings.

“I . . . this patrol. I’m in charge. I need to keep focused. I know everyone thinks I started the common-born knights because I was bored, or because I wanted to stick it up the other knights, but honestly, I did it because I know that the way we are doing things is wrong. I wanted to prove that a man should be judged on his merits, not his birth status. It won’t look good if something happens on our first patrol because I was rolling around in the bushes with the hired help instead of paying attention. Not to mention the men who I am here to lead - I owe it to them to do a good job.”

Merlin sighed, letting his shoulders droop as he deflated.

“Urg, that sounds very noble,” he said with a tone of disgust. Arthur grinned, letting his hand slide down Merlin’s wrist so that his fingers found Merlin’s.

“I am meant to be the prince - the most noble of all noblemen.”

Merlin made a gagging noise.

“Alright, fine, be noble. I get it - hands off on this trip. But you owe me, Pendragon.”

Gwaine let out a breath of relief. No, Merlin had not listened to him whatsoever, but it seemed Arthur at least had some self control which meant that for the next few days at least, he wouldn’t have to worry about Merlin getting too close to Arthur.

An owl called out obnoxiously from just behind Gwaine’s shoulder. He ducked just before both boys turned around, eyeing the tardy bird with a glare.

Where were you a few minutes ago?

Luckily, he remained unseen, but he didn’t fancy being found spying on the prince, not to mention how Merlin would carry on if he knew what Gwaine was doing. Using all of his skill as a sneaky, thieving scoundrel, he slunk back through the trees to dig the hole before he was found out.

Damn Arthur and his honorable intentions. Still, that didn’t stop the prince from touching Merlin in a way that sent shivers down his back. His warm hands sliding down the outside of Merlin’s sleeve, the heat enough to radiate through his thin jacket. Arthur’s fingers danced around his own, winding their way up and down his hand until the found -

That.

Merlin winced as Arthur’s fingertips traced the metal around his wrist. He willed himself to stay still. So few people had ever gotten close enough to him to see the cuffs, let alone touch them.

Oh, he hated them.

“How old were you?” Arthur asked, watching as his finger traced the immaculate metal.

“Twelve winters,” Merlin said, speaking the words into his own chest.

“Twelve?” Arthur asked, looking up with his intense blue eyes. Merlin could feel the weight of the world in those eyes, the worries of a prince destined to be a king. “What happened?”

“Ah, well that story is not one that I share,” Merlin said, ducking his head in case Arthur was able to pull the truth from him solely with those eyes. Sometimes, the way Arthur looked at him made Merlin feel as if he’d been laid bare, naked with all of his secrets written on his chest.

What was happening to him? He’d only known Arthur for a matter of weeks, and yet, he had never felt a connection with another person as strongly as the one he felt with Arthur.

“I still don’t understand,” Arthur said, his fingers skating across the smooth metal. “There isn’t even anywhere to attach a chain . . .”

Merlin bristled, pulling back instinctively. It was the flaw in his lies, the clue that always threatened to give him away. He was a fool to think that no-one in Camelot would work it out, let alone Arthur. Completely unblemished cuffs that couldn’t be removed and yet seemed to serve no purpose other than mark him as a slave? It didn’t take much to take the step to realising that it made no sense. Then the obvious culprit would sneak into the equation - it had to be magic.

Arthur was about to work out that Merlin had magic, and the stupid idiot he was, he didn’t even have a sword to defend himself.

If it came to it, he would just have to run and hope that Arthur would be surprised long enough to give him a head start. But Gwaine - he couldn’t leave him behind. Usually when they got in trouble, either he or Gwaine would just take a swing, cause a distraction, do something to buy the time to steal a horse or escape through the tightly woven buildings of the city’s lower town or hide in the forest. Instead, he was stuck in the middle of Camelot’s swamps with some of the best fighters in the kingdom and the son of the biggest hater of magic in all the land.

Gwaine was right - this was far too dangerous. They were fools for staying in the same place so long . . .

“I’m sorry.”

Arthur held his hands out, ducking his head as if trying not to spook one of his beloved horses. “I shouldn’t have brought it up. It can’t be easy to talk about.”

He . . . he was apologising?

“It’s fine,” Merlin almost spluttered out.

Arthur hadn’t figured out that the metal bands around Merlin’s wrists blocked the magic his father had spent twenty years eradicating. In fact, it seemed like Arthur wasn’t thinking about the bands at all.

He was thinking about Merlin’s feelings.

And if Merlin didn’t just fall a little bit more in love with him . . .

“Merlin, I know you have had difficult times in your life and I don’t expect you to share them all with me - it was unfair of me to push you. What I do want is to get to know you better. And, if you want, for you to get to know me.”

“Well,” Merlin said with a mischievous smile. “That’s something I could be supportive of.”

He picked up a stick, recommencing his task that he had been sent into the woods to complete. Tapping the stick against his chin, he regarded Arthur through squinted eyes.

“Ok, I’ll go first. What’s your favourite colour?”

“Red,” Arthur answered, grinning at the playful turn the conversation had taken. He also picked up a stick, a much larger and heavier one than the twig Merlin was holding.

“Yours?”

“Blue.”

Like the colour of your eyes.

Urg, Merlin was so utterly screwed.

“Alright, which common knight do you think is the biggest twat and why is it Edward?”

Arthur barked out a laugh, loud and unrestrained. Merlin joined him, enjoying the light hearted get-to-know-you game while he could and welcoming the distraction from the knowledge sitting like ice in the back of his mind that a game is all this could be.

“Alright men, we have a big day tomorrow. We will leave the horses at a village called Redden tomorrow morning, about an hour’s ride from here. Keep in mind that this is one of the villages that the bandits have ransacked - we will not take supplies from them as they have nothing to spare. From there, we will continue on foot to cross the East Creek.”

“Why do we have to leave the horses?” Kay asked from where he was perched on the log, finishing off the rabbit stew Merlin had cooked up for their dinner. Thankfully, Lancelot had helped him which meant that they were eating hours earlier than they would have otherwise.

“The creek is slow at that point which makes it more of a muddy swamp. The horses won’t be able to cross it.”

Merlin inwardly groaned. Sounded they would be spending the day trudging through the mud.

“The bandits are rumoured to be living just on the other side, having used the swamp as a means of defence for their encampment. Further down the creek runs more quickly - this seems to be where they are loading the goods into their boats to transport to Essetir. I plan to take them by surprise and return to the village, otherwise we may need to wait until the night.”

Merlin exchanged a glance with Gwaine. No horses meant very few supplies which meant a night spent on the hard, icy ground with no protection from the elements.

“Sounds like fun!” Gwaine said with a clap. “Now Merlin, please tell me you packed some wine on those horses.”

Merlin grinned wickedly, jumping to his feet to pull out a couple of wineskins he snuck past Arthur’s watchful eyes. He held them aloft above his head to the men’s cheers and Arthur’s groan.

“If we are carrying our own supplies tomorrow, it would only make sense to make the load lighter,” Merlin declared with a wink. “Don’t you agree, Gwaine?”

“I couldn’t agree more, my young friend,” Gwaine grinned back, catching one of the wine skins that Merlin tossed him across the fire. He tossed the other to Percival who caught it with a nervous glance to Arthur.

“Fine,” Arthur resigned, a hint of a smile on his lips. “But don’t write yourselves off. We have to get up early tomorrow and there are still watches to be done.”

Merlin cheered, skipping over to take his place in the circle around the fire.

Truth be told, two wine skins split amongst eight men did little more than warm their bones, but it did enough to lift the spirits in spite of the hard day that faced them tomorrow.

“I should have brought my pipe,” Kay groused, poking at the fire with a stick.

“That certainly would have livened things up. I saw some interesting looking mushrooms growing in the forest back there.”

The gathered men barked out a laugh at Gwaine’s comment while Kay threw his stick at Gwaine.

“Not that kinda pipe, you lout! The pipe you play, for music.”

“Are we boring you?” Merlin drawled. While the wine hadn’t been much for the rest of the men, Merlin had always been a bit of a lightweight.

“I could sing?” Lancelot suggested.

“I didn’t know you were a good singer,” Arthur said, sitting up straighter. He had sampled a bit of the wine to join in, but his wits were still razor sharp.

“I’m not,” Lancelot said with a wry smile.

“Ha!” Merlin shouted, pointing at him. “Did Lancelot just make a joke?”

The men burst into jovial laughter. Lancelot was a shy man, quietly spoken and immensely respectful. It went to show how the group had bonded for Lancelot to come out of his shell.

“If it’s entertainment you want,” Gwaine said, standing up and stretching. Looking around the circle with a wink, he pretended to undo his shirt.

The reaction was immediate.

“No!”

“Gwaine, put it away!”

“My eyes!”

Gwaine laughed, giving Merlin a pointed wink.

It was time for the thing.

He slipped back to the food bags, taking out what was left of the fruit and vegetables and using the bottom of his shirt to carry them back to the fire. This little trick was a good way to earn a few coins when they were between tournaments on the road and needed to pay for a room or a meal. They had plenty of time to practice while travelling - there was never much to do when camping between villages.

Merlin made eye contact with Gwaine who was now dancing to entertain the men, much to their displeasure.

“Sit down Gwaine!” Percival cried, throwing the empty wine skin at him.

Gwaine ducked it, but stood back up in time to catch the potato Merlin threw at him. The others all laughed at Merlin, cheering him on.

“That’s it Merlin, hit him!”

Merlin threw an apple at him next, which Gwaine caught with the other hand. He pretend to look offended at Merlin for throwing fruit at him.

“What is this, the stocks?”

“You should know,” Merlin called back from the other side of the fire. “You’ve been in them enough times.”

That brought forth another round of laughter from the men. Even Leon, who had just swapped with Elyan for watch duty, was smirking at the scene he had returned to.

Merlin took out an onion and gave Gwaine a nod, who winked in response. Merlin tossed the onion, which Gwaine caught by juggling the apple into the air.

And so, Gwaine began deftly juggling the dinner supplies.

The laughter softened to impressed gasps and a low oooh from Kay.

Merlin slipped the carrot out of the bag and threw it to Gwaine who tossed the potato back to Merlin. He caught it, taking out another potato and a turnip and tossing them both to Gwaine with the one hand in quick succession.

This was Gwaine’s cue to toss the onion and apple back to Merlin, and the sorcerer’s turn to start juggling. Their audience gasped as both of them juggled their food items. Merlin resisted the urge to look over to Arthur, lest he drop something.

With a short, sharp whistle from Gwaine, the next part of their act commenced. With timing that could only come from months of practice, Merlin and Gwaine tossed the items back and forth, earning fresh oohs and even a no fucking way from Kay. Merlin fell into the rhythm, focusing on the beats of each pass, back and forth, back and forth.

Gwaine gave another whistle, giving Merlin a moment to take a deep breath before the next stage. He stopped tossing vegetables to Gwaine, instead introducing each item Gwaine threw into his juggling. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kay leap to his feet. His hands moved rapidly, helped ever so slightly by the touch of magic he used to balance the movement of all the vegetables. It was a fine balance, using just a smidge - enough to help but not enough to trigger the bands into causing the debilitating headaches or making his insides feel like the dough that was kneaded in the bakery.

Feeling himself starting to tire, Merlin went for the big finale. He caught the carrot and potato in one hand behind his back, the turnip and onion in the other. With his pinky, he opened his breast pocket to catch the other potato which left the apple. He bent his knees, hovering to position himself to catch the apple in his teeth.

The men broke into raucous applause. Leon even whistled. Merlin had thought him too noble to even know how to.

“Brilliant!” Kay shouted, clapping louder than anyone.

Merlin and Gwaine took a bow. Gwaine was grinning widely, flourishing his hand like a travelling showman.

Merlin looked over to Arthur who had a face that looked like he’d just been slapped with a fish. With a wink, Merlin took the apple and bit a chunk out, tossing the remainder to the prince.

Arthur may have said that they couldn’t get up to anything more physical on this trip, but it didn’t mean that Merlin had to make it easy for him.

Lancelot had always wanted to be a knight. He was a romantic, and there was nothing more romantic than dedicating your life to an honourable band of brothers who nobly fought for all that was good.

The image he had in his mind was very different from the reality he was experiencing.

While the village they had visited that morning were glad for help, it was clear that they had expected the red capes and shining armour, not the mismatched leather breastplates and swaggering manner of their ramshackle group. Arthur and Leon spoke to the village leader in an effort to assure them that Camelot were taking the threat to their livelihoods seriously, and the presence of the prince surely went a long way to appeasing them, but they were still clearly disappointed.

The pedestrian group then crossed the wide creek by shimmying along a fallen tree that acted as a bridge. Surprisingly, it was Merlin who held the group up. Even though he wasn't actually a common knight, he had no trouble with keeping up with the rest of them trekking across the swamplands, so much so that Lancelot had forgotten that he was there as a servant.

That was until they came to the creek. While the water probably wasn't that deep, it was hard to tell with the murky water. Once Merlin spotted how they were crossing the river, he sat down on the spot, citing that he would just wait and set up camp for when they got back, despite the fact that they didn't have anything to set up camp with, having left it with the horses.

He stubbornly refused to listen to reason, crossing his arms and shaking his head like a donkey. Arthur was starting to get frustrated, which was saying something, considering that he usually looked at Merlin like he hung the stars.

Lancelot noticed the others glancing at each other, the thoughts unspoken but still clear.

If they didn’t get to the bandit camp soon, they would have to wait until nightfall which was not only more dangerous, but also meant they would not be able to get back to the village. It would be a wintery night under the stars with little more than the weapons they carried.

In the end it was Gwaine who took Merlin aside. Barely shielded by a sad looking shrub, Lancelot could see Gwaine gesticulating wildly while Merlin hugged himself, shaking his head. Then they bent over the pack that Merlin was carrying with their water and a few basic supplies, fussing around with something. They returned to the group a short while later, Merlin looking very pale and shaky while Gwaine had his mouth set in a grim line, looking more serious than Lancelot had ever seen him, Merlin tucked closely behind him.

“Let’s go,” Gwaine had said firmly.

Elyan had gone first, followed by Leon, then Percival, then Kay then Gwaine. Merlin scooted along behind him, staying very close and vibrating with what had to be fear. Lancelot followed after them, noticing a rope tied around Merlin's waist. As they got to the other side, he saw Gwaine surreptitiously slip the other end from his own waist and hand it back to Merlin to subtly hide. Lancelot looked away, giving Merlin his privacy.

Whatever his reason for fearing the crossing, the reason was his own.

Unfortunately, he didn't look away in time to stop himself finding out Merlin's other secret.

They reached the bandits camp only a short time later, only to find it completely abandoned.

Lancelot felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Something wasn’t right.

Arthur had the same thought if the way he slunk around the perimeter of the circle of tents was anything to go by. He held a hand up to silence the rest of the group, not that they had needed the instruction.

The fire was still blazing merrily from the circle of stones in the middle of the camp. A pair of boots were sitting on a log, drying.

Wherever the bandits were now, they had left in a hurry. If they had left at all . . .

Arthur motioned for the common knights to group closer together. Lancelot didn’t miss the way he positioned himself in front of Merlin.

There was a crack of a tree branch, then a hiss that drew their attention skywards.

“They’re in the trees!” Arthur cried, all attempts at stealth abandoned.

With a roar, men dropped out of the trees like bears, charging at their group. Arthur ran forward to dispatch of the first man, cutting him down with two strokes of his sword. Lancelot turned to defend Arthur’s right side, blocking an axe that swung far too close to his face.

As the fight gained momentum, the common knights started to be pulled from their tight group until Arthur called everyone back. It was a good strategy - although they were outnumbered by the bandits, they stood a better chance fighting together.

Lancelot drove his sword into the gut of a meaty man that fought with a mace. He sensed movement to his left and tried to draw his sword back to block the hit, but it had snagged on the man’s makeshift armour. Ducking his head to protect himself as best he could, he winced for the blow only for it not to come. Opening his eyes, he saw the flash of a broadsword that he instantly recognised as Gwaine’s. It gave Lancelot the time to tug his sword free and swing at another bandit who had attempted to attack Gwaine from behind.

“Merlin!” Gwaine desperately shouted over the ruckus, “Get back over here, you idiot!”

Lancelot looked over to the opposite side of the fire where Merlin was waving a mace around like a madman. His technique, while unrefined, was highly effective. He was holding off two bandits who couldn’t get close enough to land a hit on him.

With a huff, Gwaine quickly dispatched of his opponent and ran to Merlin’s aid, knocking one man out with the helm of his sword before the other had a chance to swing around. Taking advantage of the distraction, Merlin swung the mace into the man’s back which dropped him to the ground.

With almost all the men now downed or driven away, Lancelot, Merlin and Gwaine found themselves without opponents.

The trio were looking around, working out who they could help next. Percival and Kay were fighting a pair who hadn’t yet realised that the battle was almost over. Leon was chasing away a pair of younger men, sword held high. Arthur stood between Lancelot and where Merlin and Gwaine were, fighting a man who had enough armour on to possibly be the leader.

That’s when Lancelot saw another man creeping up behind Arthur, sword drawn back and ready to swing at the back of his neck.

There was no time.

Lancelot couldn’t do anything but watch.

A flash of gold drew Lancelot’s eye further behind Arthur.

A thunk of a bolt sinking into flesh.

The clang of the bandit’s sword falling to the ground, followed by the thud of his body.

And Lancelot saw it all. He saw Merlin’s eyes turn to gold as he threw the discarded crossbow bolt with inhuman force. He saw Gwaine watching, only to turn around and grab an abandoned crossbow, pointing it in Arthur’s direction. He saw the bolt sink into the man’s back just before his sword started to swing down. And he saw Arthur drive his sword through his opponent then turn around.

To Arthur, and the other common knights, they saw a man who had been about to kill Arthur with a bolt in his back and the weapon in Gwaine’s hands.

“That’s the second time I’ve saved your life, Princess,” Gwaine said with an uncharacteristic wobble to his voice.

He was taking credit. Gwaine was going to take credit for saving Arthur’s life.

For a moment, Lancelot almost opened his mouth to interject, but a vicious glare from Gwaine silenced him.

But - of course.

Gwaine wasn’t taking the glory away from the boy he treated like a brother. He was saving his life. He had automatically reached for the weapon to protect Merlin, something he had clearly done before, and probably more than once.

Because while Merlin’s gift of magic had saved Arthur’s life, it would condemn his own.

Arthur gave Gwaine a grateful nod, opening his mouth to speak before his eyes dropped lower.

“Merlin!”

Arthur ran, dropping to his knees next to Merlin who was curled in a ball, arms over his face. He let out a pained moan that splintered off into sharp gasps. Lancelot sheathed his sword, dashing over to join them.

“Merlin, are you hurt?” Arthur asked desperately, tugging his gloves off with his teeth. Merlin didn’t reply, rocking himself into a tighter ball. Arthur ran his hands through Merlin’s hair, checking his fingers each time, most likely for blood. Lancelot looked up at Gwaine who was biting his lip, apparently not surprised by Merlin’s condition but also at a loss for what to do or say.

Whatever was paining Merlin, his magic must have had some role to play.

“What happened to him?” Arthur asked as he rocked back on his heels, perplexed about the lack of blood and yet the agony Merlin seemed to be experiencing.

“Er, that guy whacked him,” Gwaine said, pointing to the body of one of the men Merlin had been fending off with the stolen mace. The dead man had one of Gwaine’s knives sticking out of his chest.

Merlin hissed loudly and rolled over onto his knees, pressing his forehead into the ground while his arms were pressed so tightly around his torso that it was as if he was trying to stop his organs from falling out.

“There’s nothing wrong with his head. No blood, no bumps. Has he broken a rib?”

“Nah, he’s fine,” Gwaine said hopefully, convincing no-one.

The prince pushed Merlin’s shirt up his back, baring his pale skin. Lancelot was surprised to see the old faded scars left by a whip across his spine. Arthur pressed careful fingers along each of Merlin’s ribs, reaching around where his arms were wound tightly against his gut.

“I can’t feel anything broken, and there isn’t even any redness, let alone a bruise.”

Arthur looked up at Lancelot and Gwaine, puzzled by the situation.

“It could be an internal injury, sire,” Lancelot supplied with a shrug.

“What can we do?” Arthur asked, gently smoothing Merlin’s shirt back down. The poor boy hadn’t even noticed. He had one hand clawed into the mud. It was then that Lancelot saw what was causing the pain.

He had seen slaves with magic-blocking cuffs before when he spent a winter season working as a guard in a citadel in the northern lands. Every morning, the men, women and children would march out through the gate he guarded carrying picks and shovels and buckets to build a new road. Each night, they marched back, shivering cold and dirty faced.

One night, a little boy had fallen on the way back into the citadel, exhausted and emanciated. One of the guards who accompanied them raised a whip when a young girl, barely sixteen, stepped in front of the guard and stretched out her hand, turning the whip to dust.

Lancelot would never forget the scream that followed as she clutched her head, the magic-blocking cuffs rebounding her magic against her. She dropped to the ground and did not get back up.

And here Merlin was, fighting off the same instrument of torture, but still very much alive. Lancelot looked up at Gwaine. The usually unflappable rogue looked worried. Whether he was worried about Merlin’s physical state or worried that someone was about to find out about his magic (or both), Lancelot couldn’t be sure.

“Sire, we need to leave now or make plans to set up camp,” Leon said sympathetically, hanging around the outskirts of the gathered group.

“Just give us a minute,” Arthur said, placing a hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

With a gasp, Merlin rolled onto his back, panting as though he had run up a mountain.

“I’m fine,” he said, scrunching his face up, shielding out the afternoon light with his hand. “I’ll . . . I’ll be fine. Just give . . . . me . . . a second.”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked, looking over Merlin again as if some obvious injury would make itself known.

Gwaine blew out a low breath that he had been holding.

“Yeah, just help me up.”

Before Gwaine or Lancelot could move, Arthur lifted Merlin to his feet, holding him steady by the waist.

“Are you sure you’re alright to walk? Where did they hit you?”

Merlin looked at Gwaine, then motioned to his forehead.

“Here . . . and here,” he said, vaguely running his hand over his stomach. “I’m alright though. Leon’s right - we need to get back. I’m damned if I’m going to be camping out without a bedroll.”

Merlin looked greyer than the sludge they served for breakfast in the tavern, but he seemed to be coming back to himself. The effects of the cuffs must have been lessening. Either that, or Merlin was just regaining his composure, hiding the pain behind his grimacing smile.

And so, after relieving the bandit’s camp of whatever food they could carry, they headed back to Redden with the intent to beat the sunset. A very muddy Merlin lagged behind, breathing raggedly and leaning heavily on Gwaine who took pity on him and attempted to piggy-back Merlin.

“Your legs are too bloody long!” Gwaine complained, staggering to the side and almost dropping Merlin. Lancelot noticed how Merlin visibly paled from the sideways movement.

“Down!” Merlin said urgently, scrambling off Gwaine’s back. He just made it off the road to lean against a tree, heaving his guts up against its base.

“Well, it’s good for the mushrooms I guess?” Kay said with a shrug, which earned a chuckle from Elyan.

Merlin dropped to all fours, still coughing the last of it out. Gwaine trundled over, bending over and whispering in Merlin’s ear. Arthur watched with a furrowed brow.

“Maybe we should stop for a bit?” Arthur suggested, looking over to Leon. The older man shook his head.

“It’s too dangerous to be out in these lands at night. We need to push on and get back to the village.”

“I’ll carry him,” Pervical volunteered, stepping forwards. “I’m taller than Gwaine, so it won’t be a problem.”

So it was agreed, much to Merlin’s protest that he was fine, that Percival would piggy-back him the rest of the way. While it had looked awkward with Gwaine, Merlin was dwarfed by Pervical’s massive size. The group made much faster progress and made it back to the village just as dusk settled.

The village elders greeted the group with disbelief, which turned to jubilation at the return of their stolen food. Arthur informed the elders that they should visit the camp site first thing in the morning, taking a cart around over the bridge further upstream, and that they could keep whatever was found.

Soon, a barrel of wine was being tapped and a meal was being scrounged together to celebrate the common knights’ victory.

A chatty woman who wobbled as she walked led the men to a kind of wash house where they would be able to clean up. The village children delivered their packs which had been stored in the stables, containing clean clothes.

Merlin dunked his whole head in the water, looking a little cleaner but no less wiped out. Arthur and the others had already moved into the next little room where the promise of a fire glowed through the doorway.

Gwaine helped Merlin shake most of the water out of his hair with a small towel then sent him into the other room to warm up. Merlin nodded, holding on the doorframe as staggered into the next room.

Lancelot was watching him, wondering whether he should step in and give him a hand when he felt a cold pressure against his neck. Slowly turning, he saw it was Gwaine holding a knife, a vicious snarl on his face.

“Now, you might have thought that you saw something today, but whatever it is that you think you saw, you didn’t.”

“Gwaine . . .” Lancelot whispered.

“If you decide to share with anyone what you think you saw, I will not hesitate to cut your throat.”

“Gwaine . . .”

“Just to be clear - today you saw me fire the bolt from the crossbow, right?”

“Gwaine!” Lancelot hissed. He stepped back, gaining a handbreadth of distance between his throat and the knife. Gwaine made no movement to lower the weapon.

“I swear on my life that I will not tell a soul. Merlin’s secret is safe with me.”

Gwaine relaxed almost imperceptibly.

“I care for Merlin - the last thing I would want is for him to be put in danger. I’m not from Camelot. I’ve seen magic used for both good and evil and know that Merlin would only ever use his to help. I swear, no-one will hear of his gift from me.”

Lancelot’s pledge must have swayed Gwaine’s mind as he lowered the knife, slipping it back into his boot. All that remained was an awkward silence.

“Sorry, for the . . . you know.”

Lancelot shook his head.

“You don’t need to apologise. Merlin is lucky to have someone looking out for him the way you do.”

Gwaine scoffed, slumping back on a stool.

“Someone has to, because that kid doesn’t have a shred of self preservation.”

“I wonder where he learned that?” Lancelot replied with a smirk, to which Gwaine rolled his eyes.

“Suppose I better get him off to bed,” Gwaine said, levering himself back to his feet.

“Why don’t you go join the festivities? I’ll watch Merlin tonight. I’m not much of a drinker anyway.”

Gwaine looked towards the door. They could hear Kay cackling, joined by Elyan’s laughter.

“Are you sure?” Gwaine asked.

“I’ll take good care of him, I promise.”

Gwaine nodded, thumping a heavy hand on Lancelot’s shoulder.

“Y’know, I thought you were a bit of a stuck up knob when I met you, but you really aren’t that bad.”

“Well I thought you were a vagabond drunk, but you aren’t too bad either.”

Both men grinned, the foundations of their friendship firmly laid.

Chapter Text

Just to top off what had been a fairly rotten journey for Merlin, it rained for the last hour of their ride back to Camelot. He was sodden, the rain soaking through his coat and clothing and chilling his skin. To top it off, his headache still hadn’t subsided and he had yet to be able to keep any food down since he used magic to save Arthur’s life.

Was it a stupidly dangerous move to use magic in front of a group of Camelot’s knights? Yes.

Would he do it again in a heartbeat? Also yes.

As Merlin dismounted, his foot slipped out of the wet stirrup, landing him arse-first in a muddy puddle.

It was testament to how miserable he must have looked that none of the other men laughed. Instead, Leon dismounted gracefully from his horse and slipped his hands under Merlin’s arm pits.

“C’mon, up ya get.”

Leon hauled Merlin back onto his unsteady feet. He gave Leon a grateful smile, turning back to his horse to start to unpack the equipment.

“Leave that, Merlin,” Arthur called out, dismounting from Llamrei. “I’ll call some other servants to take care of all that. I’ll walk you to Gaius on the way to brief my father.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin mumbled for the thousandth time.

“Gaius can be the judge of that,” Arthur said, steering Merlin by the shoulders towards the castle.

“Did you want me to come?” Gwaine asked, giving Merlin the eyes. What he was really asking was are you actually okay?

“Nah,” Merlin said, giving him a look that hopefully conveyed I’m going to give some bullshit excuse to Gaius to get him off my back and be in my bed within the hour. “Go see Elsie.”

Gwaine gave him a playful shove, but still blushed furiously.

As Arthur guided Merlin inside, he heard Kay shouting, “Ahh, Elsie eh? When do we get to meet her?”

“So,” Arthur said, once they had navigated the massive stairwell that Merlin definitely did not lose his breath climbing. He noticed that while Arthur’s hands were no longer on his shoulders, the prince had his shoulder pressed close to Merlin’s, ready to help him should he need it.

“ . . . the day after a patrol, my father usually leaves me alone to give me a day off. I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go for a ride?”

“A ride? Arthur, I don’t want to see a horse for at least a month,” Merlin whined.

Arthur leaned in close, speaking in a low voice. “We can ride into the forest for a bit? Maybe take a picnic, find a secluded spot?”

Oh. Oh.

“I think I could manage one more ride.”

Arthur smiled shyly, the tips of his ears blushing red.

“Great. We can leave after breakfast. I can meet you at the stables?”

“Perfect,” Merlin grinned back. If they met at the stables, then he could avoid Gwaine finding out.

He felt a pang of guilt. Gwaine had really saved him with the crossbow at the bandit camp. He hadn’t had the chance to say a proper thank you, and here he was, going behind his back to meet up with Arthur.

Maybe Merlin could change his mind about Arthur. All he needed to do was see how Arthur treated Merlin to know that he wasn’t going to get hurt. As for the magic thing, he’d kept it a secret this long. He could do it for longer.

They reached Gaius’ rooms. Arthur looked back and forth down the corridor, stretching his neck to try and look around the corner.

Merlin giggled.

“What are you -”

Arthur cut him off with a kiss. It was short and sharp and over before Merlin had even realised that it had happened, but it was enough to set Merlin’s lips on fire.

Arthur looked shocked at his own boldness.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Merlin said, unable to hold back the wide grin that stretched over his face.

“See you then,” Arthur replied awkwardly, stumbling off down the hall.

Merlin chuckled to himself as he opened Gaius’ door.

“Merlin!” Gaius called out, peering through a magnifying glass. “I wasn’t expecting you. I thought we would just cancel today’s session after your patrol.”

“Oh thank goodness,” Merlin said, slumping onto the bench. Even though the majority of his sessions with Gaius were used to find a solution to his cuff problem, he was just too wrecked to pour over books for the rest of the night.

He realised the floors had been finished. Arthur had informed both himself and Gwaine that due to the fact they were taking too long to pay for them, which was holding up their repair, he would cover the cost and take the repayments directly from their pay. In some ways, this was worse as Arthur took out less per week than they had been paying Gaius, meaning that paying off their debt would take longer. In other ways this bought Merlin more time in Camelot, and more time to delay thinking about when they would have to leave.

“How did the patrol go?” Gaius asked, peering at a leaf through the magnifying glass.

“Great. Bandits are dead or gone. Village was happy. No one got hurt. It was a success.”

Gaius looked up and stared at Merlin, who ducked his head, avoiding Gaius’ attention.

“Merlin, why do you look like you’ve been using magic again?”

“I don’t look like I’ve been using magic,” Merlin denied, chin pressed against his chest.

Gaius raised his eyebrow. “Your eyes are squinting, you are paler than a lily, and your lips are so chapped that you are clearly dehydrated, which tells me you haven’t drunk or eaten anything in over a day at least from a queasy stomach.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Fine, I used magic.”

“Merlin! What have I said about using magic in Camelot? What has Gwaine said about using magic in Camelot? Forget about that - using magic with those bands on should not even be possible! It should have killed you by now. It could still kill you!”

Merlin took a sharp breath. He knew all of this, of course he did, but it was another thing hearing it all laid out like that. He knew the risks he was taking, and yet, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop. What did it matter if he took risks like that if it saved the life of others? After all, what future was there for him? Even amongst sorcerers, he was unnatural. If he ever managed to remove the cuffs, he would still be a freak. And with them . . . he was a magical slave who couldn’t even do magic.

Merlin looked up to see Gaius’ standing there, devastated.

“Merlin, I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t have said . . .”

“Well, you did.”

Merlin sighed. It wasn’t Gaius’ fault, he knew it wasn’t Gaius’ fault - he was just so frustrated.

“My boy, I can’t imagine how hard it must be.”

And those words, spoken kindly and sincerely by a man who had no good reason to look out for him the way he did, those words almost undid him.

“I have to go,” Merlin said, unable to think of a good reason other than not wanting to cry in front of Gaius.

He was almost out the door when Gaius called out for him to wait. The old man shuffled to his store shelves, then over to Merlin where he pressed three tiny bottles into his hand.

“The blue one is for the headache. Take only a small sip at a time. The yellow and clear ones are for the nausea and dehydration and you’ll need to take the whole bottle.”

He smiled sadly up at Merlin, then pulled the taller boy into a hug.

“I wish you didn’t have to face these troubles, but know that you don’t have to do it alone.”

Merlin nodded, backing quickly out the door before the first tears fell.

Gaius blew out a breath as the door slammed shut after Merlin. He felt awful. He hadn’t meant to be so hard on the boy, sometimes it was easy to forget just how young he was.

Speaking of which, Gaius returned to the letters he had hastily stashed under a book as Merlin walked in. They were years and years old, but by habit Gaius kept them.

Dear Gaius,

Thank you for your letter. We are doing well. My son is getting so big, you would hardly recognise him now. He looks more and more like his father every day. He’s so clever and so helpful in the fields and the forests.

As he gets older though, I worry more and more. His talents are becoming harder and harder to manage. I fear he will outgrow this tiny village soon.

Love from Hunith

Gaius cursed his insistence that Hunith not use her son’s name, nor his father’s, in her letters. It was too dangerous in case Balinor was traced back to her. He was an enemy of the crown after all.

More and more he was beginning to suspect that Merlin was, in fact, the boy in the letters.

Then there was the letter written six years ago.

Dear Gaius,

I wish I was writing to you with happy news. No parent should have to suffer the fate I have fallen to.

Cenred found out about my boy and came for him. His friend warned him and he ran away. I had hoped that he would escape, but Cenred was furious. The soldiers did not relent - they chased him down the way a wolf chases a rabbit, and my poor boy, he fell crossing the river and was swallowed by the water.

I can only find solace in the fact that he wasn't taken to suffer under Cenred. My heart has been wretched in two, never to be whole again.

Hunith

Gaius read over the letters again. Was it possible that Hunith's son survived? If he had, surely he would have returned to his mother.

But what if he didn't? What if he was the wild boy who just left Gaius' chamber?

Merlin took the long way around the less populated passages of the castle, trying to get his emotions under control before running the risk of seeing Gwaine in their bakery room.

“Merlin!”

He spun around to see Morgana stalking down the corridor, a maid trailing behind her. She was dressed in a rippling purple cloak, the hood lined with fur.

She stopped abruptly, speaking over her shoulder to her maid.

“Ann, can you please fetch two meals from the kitchen and two bottles of good wine, and please make sure that no-one sees you do it.”

The maid nodded, eyeing Merlin in understanding before disappearing down a side passage he hadn’t even noticed.

“Morgana, I’m afraid I won’t make good company tonight,” Merlin said with a shake of his head. Morgana strode forward with the determination of a woman who didn’t take no for an answer.

"That's exactly why you're coming with me," she said, leading Merlin to her chambers.

Merlin was about to slump onto the garish day bed he had procured on his last visit when Morgana pulled it out of the way, landing him on his arse.

“Oi!” he cried out at the same time that Morgana tutted.

“There is no way in the seven kingdoms that you are sitting on anything in here until you wash up. There should be a fresh basin of water behind the screen.”

Merlin sniffed his shirt. To be fair, she had a point. He was covered in dry, crusted mud and had not washed after days of horse riding and hiking. He dragged himself to his feet and ducked behind the screen she was pointing to, finding a porcelain wash basin scented with flowers that were floating atop the water. There were linens folded neatly beside it, some smaller and some larger. It was all very fancy.

“It’s not going to do much good,” Merlin called back over the screen, taking one of the small linens and dunking it in the water. “My clothes are filthy and I don’t have any spare with me.”

“Oh, you’re not staying in those,” Morgana replied, as if it were obvious. “You can wash them after you finish and hang them by the fire.”

“What am I going to wear then?” Merlin asked, forgoing the wash cloth and just dunking his whole head in the water. He remerged, toweling down his face and hair to see a very frilly lilac dressing gown dropped over the top of the screen.

“I never wear that. It’s hideous,” Morgana said, before a ripping noise interrupted her. A second item was hung over the screen next to the gown. Merlin pulled them down and held them out.

“Morgana, I can’t seriously wear these! And look what you’ve done, they must be worth a fortune!”

In his hands, he held what remained of a long pair of women’s underwear. Morgana had hastily cut them into something resembling men’s undershorts and ripped off some of the trim to boot.

“Pff,” she replied lazily. “No-one will see you. One of my old maids got them for me. You should see what they looked like before I fixed them. Looked like something out of last century.”

Merlin shook his head, resigning to the fact he had no choice but to obey Morgana.

A short while later Merlin was lazing on his day bed, drinking wine out of a fancy goblet, dressed in a pair of undershorts and a tizzy dressing gown that looked hideous but felt incredibly soft, smelling better than he ever had in his life while his clothes dried by the fire. And to think, he had tried to say no to this?

He had taken Gaius’ potions which were surprisingly effective and combined nicely with the wine to help the tension in his body unwind.

“So, what’s got your knickers in a twist?” Morgana asked, smiling wryly at her little joke.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I had an argument with Gaius. Well, not at argument per se -”

“With Gaius?” Morgana interrupted, almost letting her wine bubble out of her mouth. She was sitting in a large armchair, feet up on the table in a very unladylike manner. “Gaius is so nice!”

“I know,” Merlin groaned, running a hand down his face. “It’s just . . .”

Oh, how he wanted to tell Morgana everything. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, but he had this inherent feeling that she would just understand.

Then he thought of Gwaine and what he would say if he found out another person knew of his magic. Instead, he chose a story close to the truth.

“He was annoyed that I went on that patrol because I’m not a common knight and don’t have the training to wave a sword around like they do, but he doesn’t get that I’ve been in much more dangerous situations before. What did he think I was doing before I came here?”

“He’s just protective,” Morgana soothed, topping up Merlin’s goblet. “He’ll always worry about those he cares about, and it seems he’s quite taken with you. He’ll relax once he sees that you come back in one piece and nothing goes wrong and no-one gets hurt.”

Morgana paused, looked at Merlin over her goblet. “No-one got hurt, did they?”

Merlin bit his lip in thought, then shook his head but unfortunately his delay had already set off alarm bells with Morgana.

“Merlin, how come you went straight to Gaius after coming back from patrol?” she asked in a cool calm voice that reminded him of how she was part of the royal family.

“Um . . . I had to take back some herbs, I collected them from the swamp . . .”

Morgana stared at him without blinking.

“Merlin, you are many things, but a good liar is not one of them.”

“I don’t know why you’re worried about me,” Merlin said, waving his goblet around and sloshing the wine onto the gown. “I’m not the one who almost got stabbed! You should be hassling Arthur.”

“Arthur?” Morgana gasped, standing up slightly in her seat.

“Relax,” Merlin said, waving a sloppy hand. The wine was going straight to his head, the way it often did when he wasn’t feeling 100%. “Gwaine shot the bandit with the crossbow.”

He mimed the action, earning an amused smirk from his drinking partner.

See, he could lie.

“So are you okay?”

Merlin groaned. “I’m fine. Nothing wrong. Arthur was just being a prat.”

“You mean, Arthur was just making sure his little Merlin was ok?” Morgana asked with a knowing smile.

Merlin took a pillow from behind his head and threw it at Morgana, who thankfully had the presence of mind to hold onto her goblet as she ducked.

“You could have spilled the wine!” she exclaimed, scandalised.

Merlin stuck out his tongue.

“Fine, but it is obvious to anyone with eyes that he is smitten with you,” she said, settling back in her chair.

“What about you?” Merlin asked, eager to move off the topic. “Anyone you’re smitten about?”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “I have bigger things on my mind than idiot men and idiot boys who think they can use me as a way to climb up the ladder. It’s like that’s all I’m good for - just some pawn that Uther can marry off to form a strategic alliance or appease some lord. If he thinks I’m going to take that lying down, he’s got another thing coming.”

“What if you weren’t Lady Morgana, just Morgana - what would you do?”

“Learn. I’d get a tutor and learn about other lands. Why there are mountains in some places and lakes in others. I’d want to travel, like what you and Gwaine do.”

“Ha!” Merlin barked. “You would not want to travel like Gwaine and I! Half the time we have to sleep in a stable or a store house, the other half we sleep on the cold ground under the stars.”

“Sounds romantic.”

“Gwaine farting in his sleep is not romantic.”

They both burst into hysterical giggles.

With the combination of rich food and wine, the warmth of the fire and the comfort of Gaius’ potions, Merlin shouldn’t have been surprised that he fell asleep. He woke up with a start, his vision still blurry from sleep. The room was dark aside from a glow from the direction of the fireplace.

Unsure what had woken him up, but glad for the warning, Merlin sat up, trying to get his bearings and figure out where his clothes were so that he could get out of Morgana’s rooms before anyone found him there, when he heard a soft cry.

Morgana was slumped in her grand armchair. In the lowlight, Merlin could see her face scrunched tight, her lips moving in her sleep. She must have been having a nightmare (Merlin had enough experience with those).

Just as he reached out to gently wake her, she let out a shout that startled him enough to land him on his backside on the rug. At the exact same moment, the embers in the fireplace flared, roaring back to life. The flames licked up the mantle, far further and faster than any natural flame should burn. They flared again, this time catching the curtains alight.

Merlin looked back at Morgana who was still tossing her head back and forth in distress in her sleep, still trapped in her nightmares while doing magic. Merlin instinctively reached for his own, but creating water out of nothing was a difficult spell, and not one he was sure he could successfully pull off with his fettered abilities.

Water - he needed water - he needed . . .

The wash basin!

Merlin darted to the screen and struggled to lift the heavy porcelain basin filled with water as the room started to fill with smoke. He fed just a sliver of his magic to take some of the weight so he could carry it without sloshing the water everywhere. The heat of the fire felt as if it were starting to blister his skin, like the sun on a hot summer’s day.

Somewhere through the smoke, he heard Morgana start to scream, but he didn’t have time. He had to put the fire out. His muscles were burning and the smoke had started to scratch at his throat.

He got as close to the fire as he could. There was no way he could throw the basin of water without dropping it, so he lowered it to the ground. He needed a bucket or something!

Merlin covered his mouth with one arm, using the other to empty a large fruit bowl. Scooping the water out of the basin, he threw it at the fire. The water hissed as it hit the roaring flames, steam pushing away the smoke. After three bowls worth, the curtains were no longer alight. Two more bowls and the basin was empty enough for Merlin to throw the rest over the remains of the flames, coughing as the smoke thickened. Satisfied the flames were mostly out, he stumbled over to the window and threw it open, then repeated the same at the next before slumping on the window sill as he drew in the fresh night air.

“Morgana!” he rasped, hoping that she was alright, hoping that she hadn’t been burnt or overcome by the smoke. He had to get to her . . . he had to . . .

A hacking cough behind him, then an arm draped across his back and even through the dense smoke he could smell her floral perfume. Morgana leaned out the window next to him, looking blackened by soot but otherwise alright.

The roar of the flames had been replaced with the eerie quiet of the escaping smoke.

“Merlin,” she gasped, eyes wide in terror.

It’s okay, he wanted to tell her. I’m not scared of your magic - but all he could manage was cough after cough.

The doors burst open and the quiet was broken by the shouting voices of men.

Sir David didn’t mind leading the night time patrol. There was less to do and fewer guards to manage than the day time, and best of all it was quiet.

Usually.

“Sir David! Come quickly!”

Sir David stood up from his seat by the warm brazier in the central corridor.

“What is it?”

“It’s a fire!”

“Send Philip and Bors,” Sir David replied. The last fire had been able to be contained by an upturned chamber pot.

“Sir, it’s serious! In Lady Morgana’s rooms.”

Lady Morgana!?

Sir David almost threw the guard out of the way to run down the corridor, wishing he wasn’t wearing his full armour.

He smelled the smoke before he turned down the last corridor, pushing past a servant who had been watching.

Sir David drew a deep breath of relief at seeing the Lady Morgana in the corridor outside her rooms surrounded by guards. She looked terrified and was in quite a state, but seemed unharmed.

“My Lady,” Sir David said, shooing away the guard nearest her. “Are you alright?”

He offered his arm for her to take, but she turned away.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, but Merlin . . .”

Merlin?

Wasn’t he that wretch from the other day who escorted the Lady to her rooms when it should have been done by himself, a knight?

Sure enough, there the boy was, being detained by two guards holding each arm, although they looked to be holding him up more than stopping him from leaving. Through the black soot, it seemed like he was wearing nothing but a robe.

One of Lady Morgana’s robes.

The philandering bastard!

Without another thought, Sir David threw his fist, connecting squarely with the unsuspecting boy’s cheek. Caught unawares, the two guards holding him also stumbled, dropping Merlin in a heap on the floor. The boy rolled over, scrambling back to his feet in clumsy movements.

“Sir David!” Morgana cried, clutching at his arm.

So now she wants to hold his arm!

This is the boy who has turned her eye from him? The skinny whelp in the ladies’ robe?

“Please, it wasn’t his fault!”

“This man was in your room?”

“Well, yes, but it wasn’t like that!” Morgana protested, standing between them with her arms outstretched.

“We left a candle . . .” Merlin rasped, clutching at his throat.

He was in her room. Alone. Undressed.

Sir David knew what people did undressed behind closed doors.

“Who’s to say he didn’t start the fire?” he accused, turning to his gathered guards for support.

“He didn’t!” Morgana cried, edging further between Sir David and his prey.

“It was an accident . . .” the boy added, leaning forward with hands on his knees.

“Who do you work for?” Sir David asked, pointing a finger at Merlin. “Who told you to endanger the life of the Lady Morgana?”

“I just work for Arthur,” Merlin replied, starting to sound less cocky.

Good. Sir David could take him down another peg.

“I don’t believe you. And get that off him,” Sir David spat, pointing to the burned and blacked robe. Two guards stepped forwards, roughly wrestling Merlin out of the garment and leaving him in nothing but a pair of short underpants.

“Guards, escort him to the dungeon.”

The guards wasted no time in dragging the boy away. He fought back feebly. How could Morgana be interested in someone so weak when she had strong men like himself available?

“No!” Morgana shouted, pulling at Sir David’s arm. “You can’t do that!”

“Dear Lady,” he said, changing his tone dramatically to exude the sympathy he had for her. It was, after all, not her fault that this wretched boy had tricked her. Innocent ladies were sometimes too naive to know the wicked ways of men until it was too late. “You have been through quite the ordeal. I’ll have the guards escort you to a guest room, and have them fetch some maids to keep you company until the morning when we can speak with your King.”

Ignoring her protests, Sir David made his way down to the dungeon. He needed to make sure that boy wasn’t being made too comfortable.

Arthur was still tugging his arm through the sleeve of his jacket as he descended the steps to the dungeons. Mere minutes earlier, Morgana had burst into his room in the dead of the night, sending his hand searching for the sword stowed beside his bed. She hadn’t made a lot of sense, but after hearing the words Merlin and dungeon, Arthur didn’t need to hear much else. On making sure that she was, indeed, alright and gaining her word that she would stay in his rooms and not move, Arthur grabbed an armful of clothes and began striding towards the dungeons.

“Sire!” Sir David said, stiffening as he saw the prince approach. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“What happened?” Arthur asked, getting straight to the point.

“There was a fire in the Lady Morgana’s rooms.”

“How did it start?”

It seemed that Sir David hadn’t even stopped to consider the question.

“I . . . I don’t know sire.”

“Surely that would be an important thing to know,” Arthur said, trying to keep the frustration out of his tone. “I want you to find out as soon as we are done here.”

Sir David nodded then leaned in, despite the fact the nearest guard was well out of earshot. “There was a boy in her chambers. He was in a state of undress, which suggests that he may have been in the Lady’s bed.”

Arthur’s gut clenched. Please don’t let Merlin be the boy . . .

“His name is Merlin.”

Arthur let his head drop. Sir David didn’t seem to notice as he continued on.

“I have him captive in the cells. I intend to speak with the King first thing tomorrow morning.”

Merlin and Morgana? Surely not. Not with what he and Merlin had together.

But what did they have together? Promises and picnics.

Merlin did spend all that time with Morgana, and even from the start they hit it off so well.

Who was Arthur kidding to think that he could beat that kind of chemistry?

Arthur had no idea what Merlin did with the rest of his time - he could have been meeting up with Morgana far before Arthur had made his move (well, Merlin made his move . . .)

“Show me where you have him,” Arthur said, scrubbing a hand down his face. It was too early in the morning for this.

Sir David led Arthur to the cell at the end of the row, the draughty one with the water leaking down the wall that they usually saved for sorcerers. Merlin must have really pissed Sir David off for him to be housed in there.

The knight unlocked the door and swung it open with a loud groan of iron against iron.

“Shall I accompany you sire?” Sir David asked, clearly keen to hear what Arthur had to say to the prisoner.

“I think I may just be able to handle myself, but if I do find myself unable to defend against a chained prisoner, I’ll be sure to call out to you.”

Sir David bowed, probably to hide the scorn on his face. He at least got the hint and returned to the guards who had been playing dice at the entrance of the dungeons which they had hastily packed up on Arthur’s entrance.

Arthur removed a torch from the sconce and entered the cell.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t to see Merlin crouched in a ball wearing nothing but his underwear. They boy had enough sense (or experience in cells) to stay away from the icy cold stone walls and was instead huddled in the centre of the cell. He looked up, his face covered almost completely in soot. In contrast to his pale body, he looked quite ridiculous.

“Arthur,” Merlin said, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times before settling on chewing his lip.

“Merlin.”

Merlin seemed about to say something, but a deep set of coughs interrupted him.

As his eyes further adjusted to the low light, Arthur could see Merlin shivering. He slipped his jacket off and dropped it over Merlin’s skinny shoulders, the strong waft of smoke hitting his nose as he got close.

“Thanks,” Merlin croaked sheepishly. Instead of returning to where he had been standing, Arthur crouched down next to him.

“So.”

“So.” Merlin uncurled slightly, wrapping himself in the warmth of Arthur’s jacket.

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked. Whether Merlin had been fooling around with Morgana behind his back or not, he still couldn’t deny that he cared about him. He should be angry, he knew that, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way.

“Yeah, nothing a good bath and some clothes can’t fix.”

“Speaking of which, where are your clothes?”

Merlin scoffed. “Probably burnt to a crisp,” he said. He looked up at Arthur, his blue eyes startlingly bright against his dirty soot-stained skin. “They were drying in front of the fire.”

“Were they now?”

Arthur tried to keep his voice level, but obviously failed.

“C’mon Arthur,” Merlin said with a smirk. “You can’t actually believe that tosser out there? Me and Morgana?”

Merlin coughed out a chuckle, then looked up at Arthur who was doing a terrible job of keeping his thoughts from his face, because Merlin’s expression suddenly turned serious.

“Arthur - you can’t believe him! Morgana and I are just friends. I’m not even into girls - you know that.”

“How would I know that?” Arthur grumbled, starting to feel a bit stupid. He felt like he was playing a game that he didn’t know the rules for and it was infuriating.

“Geez, I dunno, maybe because I’m madly into you?”

Merlin snapped his mouth shut, glancing away as if maybe he hadn’t intended to say that.

And just like that, Arthur felt like he was back on even ground.

“Madly into me, you say?”

“Oh shut up,” Merlin snapped, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“So, tell me what happened.”

Merlin sighed, pulling the jacket tighter around himself. Arthur held back from scooping Merlin up into his arms and keeping him warm.

“So, sometimes Morgana and I just hang out. Drink wine, play cards, gossip, that sort of thing.” He looked Arthur dead in the eye.

“Just. As. Friends.”

Arthur nodded, the idea of Merlin and Morgana sleeping together suddenly seeming ridiculous. He should have known better, Morgana would have eaten Merlin alive if he ever tried anything like that.

“So, after coming back from a patrol that someone led through the muddiest land he could find, I ran into Morgana. She wanted to catch up, but obviously wasn’t going to let me sit down all muddy so I cleaned up at her little basin thingy, but then my clothes were wet, because I washed them too, so she loaned me a robe - which was absolutely hideous - and then we had some drinks and chatted, but then I was tired and she was tired and Gaius gave me stuff for my headache then I dunno, we must have just fallen asleep and next thing I know I wake up and half the wall is on fire, so I grab that basin thingy and throw it on the fire, then Sir Wankalot comes along and arrests me and apparently has never seen a man in women’s clothing, because he took the robe off me, then again, maybe he just wanted it for himself, but it was a little burnt so I don’t know what he was going to do with it, and now I’m here.”

He took a deep breath and looked up at Arthur expectantly.

Arthur wondered if the more time he spent with Merlin, the more he was going to find himself in situations like this trying to sort out his messes. Part of him didn’t really care, as long as he got to spend more time with him.

“How much trouble am I in?” Merlin asked, chewing his lip again.

Arthur sighed. While Sir David wasn’t a senior knight, one word of a boy in Morgana’s rooms and Merlin would be lucky to get away with a flogging.

“A bit,” Arthur said, scratching his chin.

Merlin coughed again, a deep rough sound that seemed to be settled in his chest.

“Are you sure you’re alright? I can send Gaius,” Arthur said, rubbing his back. Merlin shook his head.

“No Gaius,” he gasped out between coughs. “He’ll be pissed.”

Arthur scrunched up his nose. Why would Gaius be annoyed? Unless Merlin really did have a habit of getting himself in trouble and was not willing to get another lecture. Arthur himself had received many-a-lecture from the man with the eyebrow.

Merlin finished coughing, wincing as his eye twitched. Arthur noticed that one of his prominent cheekbones seemed a lot more pronounced than the other.

Arthur clenched his fist. It would not have been the first time that a knight had taken their frustrations on a prisoner, but seeing the bruise on Merlin, hidden as it was by the soot, made Arthur see red.

He would get Merlin out of this mess even if he had to break him out of the cell himself.

“Just give me few moments,” Arthur said, standing up. “And I’m sorry, I’ll need my jacket back.”

Merlin grumbled, slipping out of the warm garment. Arthur wasn’t being cruel, but if he had any chance of getting Merlin out without his father knowing, Sir David couldn’t know that Merlin was any more than his equipment manager. He gave Merlin a tight smile, then let himself out of the cell, not bothering to lock it behind him.

As he walked down the corridor, he racked his brains to think of anything he knew about this Sir David. He was the son of that Lord on the council - Lord Eddington. He was a bit older than Arthur and to his knowledge didn’t have a wife or family. In fact, if he remembered correctly, someone called David had once sent Morgana a love letter. Arthur remembered teasing her relentlessly about it. If this was the same David, it would explain why he had taken such a personal interest in imprisoning Merlin. Usually a knight wouldn’t guard a prisoner in the dungeon, but the swelling on Merlin’s face and the fact he had humiliated him by throwing him in a cell in his underwear just made Arthur more sure of his theory.

Sir David was in love with Morgana. It made sense why he was so angry with Merlin if he thought he’d beaten him to her heart (or at least her bed).

Little did Sir David know that Morgana had better things to do than waste her time on suitors.

Arthur could use this. A lifetime of politics had prepared him for this moment.

“Sire,” Sir David said, standing up suddenly and quickly hiding the dice he’d been playing in his pocket. “I take it your interrogation was enlightening?”

Arthur nodded casually.

“I wanted to say thank you for making sure my father’s ward was safe,” Arthur said, putting a hand on Sir David’s shoulder. He steered the knight away from the guards towards the brazier at the other end of the dungeon. He didn’t need an audience for this conversation.

“Of course, sire,” Sir David said seriously. “It is my sacred duty to make sure that the royal family, including Lady Morgana, are not harmed in any way.”

Arthur smiled widely, clapping Sir David on the shoulder.

“And you have done a fine job. I will be sure to tell my father of your bravery and honor in saving the Lady and putting out the fire.”

Sir David didn’t even blink at the lie. Good. It would be easier to get him to take the bait.

“You are most gracious, sire.”

“Of course, then there’s the question of the boy.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Merlin is very good at counting shields, but not the sharpest dagger in the armoury.”

“You know the boy?” Sir David asked, eyes widening.

“He manages the equipment for the common born knights that I train. He came along with a fine fighter by the name of Gwaine. Merlin looks up to Gwaine, follows him around. I don’t think he has any other family. I took pity on him and hired him to manage the equipment, set up the drills, a bit like a servant.”

“But sire, forgive me, but he was found in the Lady Morgana’s chambers.”

Arthur chuckled, shaking his head. “You know what Morgana is like, don’t you? She’s so generous and kind hearted - when she found out that Merlin had no family she would talk to him and what do you know, the two of them hit it off. Now they are very good friends.”

“Are you sure that’s all they are, sire?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Merlin is harmless. He’s like a pup. Morgana would never be interested in someone like him, she would much prefer a more manly-man, someone tall and strong like her.”

Arthur had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing when Sir David puffed his chest out and stood up straight.

“But sire, does the boy realise Morgana would never be interested in him?”

“Ah, well, you know how I said that Merlin manages the equipment?” Arthur leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. “There is a rumour that he’s very interested in polishing swords.”

Arthur could almost count to ten before he saw the true meaning of his words take shape in Sir David’s mind.

“Oh. Oh.”

“Yes. It is but a rumour though. . .”

Arthur prayed that Merlin would forgive him for speaking about him the way he just had. He wasn’t feeling great about divulging that information about him, nor about making Morgana seem like a shallow princess, but there was too much at stake.

Merlin’s life may have been literally hanging on that conversation.

“Merlin is a very dear friend to Morgana. I know she would be ever so grateful to you for helping him out.”

Sir David took a deep breath, folding his hands behind his back.

“Sire, are you asking me to lie to the king?”

“No!” Arthur scoffed, waving his hand as if swatting away the dangerous comment. “I’m just saying that I can talk to the King about the incident. I will make sure to highlight your heroism in saving Morgana from the fire. Merlin need not even be mentioned.”

Arthur levelled his best princely look at Sir David, the one he used whenever he wanted to get his way. “I know Morgana would wish to thank you personally.”

It would be a small price for her to pay for saving Merlin’s arse. She could take Sir David for a walk around the Royal Gardens like Arthur was made to do with visiting princesses. He'd probably love that.

He would have to speak to both of them about their late night card games. It was far too dangerous.

It seemed that Sir David was mulling over the proposition of Morgana personally thanking him. After a few moments, he nodded.

"So you will speak to the King, sire?"

"Of course. As far as you are concerned, you have done your duty by ensuring Morgana's safety and reporting to me. Now, if we can get young Merlin some clothes, I don't want a half naked man running across the square, even at this hour."

Thankfully the sun was yet to rise, meaning Arthur could steal a few more hours sleep when he returned to his chambers.

Sir David nodded, leaving Arthur to presumably rustle up the guards to fetch some clothes. Arthur quickly darted back around to the corridor leading to Merlin's cell. He opened the door, quickly crouching next to Merlin who had resumed his curled up position.

"You're being released."

Arthur was knocked off balance by Merlin's flailing arms. They both landed in a tangle on the freezing ground, the torch thankfully not extinguishing.

"Merlin!" Arthur hissed. He hoped Sir David hadn't heard the commotion.

"Sorry, sorry," Merlin said weakly. He scrubbed at his eyes.

"Were you sleeping?" Arthur asked incredulously.

"Must've nodded off."

"Are you sure you don't want me to fetch Gaius?" Arthur asked. It was only a day ago that Merlin was recovering from the strange injuries he received during the bandit attack.

"Just tired," he said.

"Sir David will release you soon. Hold your tongue - no talking back."

Merlin rolled his eyes towards Arthur.

"I mean it. If he tells my father that you were in Morgana's room, I don't know if I would be able to save you the punishment."

Merlin nodded. "What did you say?"

"Made out that you weren't a threat to his chances with Morgana."

A scoff was Merlin's reply.

"She wouldn't touch him with a lance pole."

"He doesn't need to know that just yet. But getting you off the hook relies on Sir David keeping his silence."

Merlin nodded solemnly.

Arthur stood up, dusting off his jacket. He wanted to pull Merlin up with him, to take him back to his rooms and order him a bath, for him to share breakfast and take care of him.

Instead, he had to keep up the facade of an uncaring prince.

"I'll come by the bakery later today after we've both had some rest."

Arthur had almost reached the door when Merlin spoke.

"Sorry for messing up our plans. And - thank you."

Chapter Text

In the purple glow of the dawn Merlin slipped quietly through the alley way door of the bakery, but need not have bothered.

“Had a big night eh, Merls?”

Of course, the bakers had all started work.

“Would you look at the state of ya!” Peg chuckled, throwing a massive ball of dough against the bench with the force of a battering ram.

Merlin realised he must have looked a right mess. He face was probably still covered in soot and dirt from the dungeon floor, not to mention the kindness Sir David showed him in finding pants that were for a child and barely passed his knees, and a shirt that could have fit Percival and fell from his shoulders. That was all without the shiner that was probably decorating his face (also courtesy of Sir David).

“Does Gwaine know?” Merlin rasped, probably adding to the baker’s perception that he had been drinking all night.

Rhen shrugged. “I could hear him snoring up there when I started.”

So there was a good chance he could sneak in without Gwaine being any the wiser. He might be able to hide the whole debacle if he got lucky.

Curiosity got the better of Gwaine. He thought it was fine to let it, considering that he had to deal with other much more unpleasant emotions that evening. Worry. Concern. Anger.

It was curiosity that led him to hide behind the door when he heard the bakers downstairs jeering in a manner that they only reserved for a certain raven haired boy.

(He let out a sigh of relief at the sounds. If they were laughing, that meant Merlin was alright.)

Gwaine waited, as silent as an assassin, as he heard unfamiliar footsteps clomp up the stairs. Just as he started to wonder if it was actually Merlin, the door creaked slowly open to reveal the silhouette he would know anywhere.

Standing in the dark, Gwaine's eyes had adjusted to the lack of light long ago, but it wasn't what he could see that concerned him - it was what he could smell. He had expected wine, ale - even whisky but instead Merlin reeked of smoke. He wasn't dressed in his own clothes either - that much Gwaine could tell in the shadowy darkness.

Deciding he needed some answers, Gwaine stepped out from behind the door.

"Hello Merlin."

"Bloody fucking shit!"

Merlin actually jumped in the air, landing doubled over with his hand pressed to his chest. "What the fuck, Gwaine?"

"Could ask you the same," Gwaine said, lighting the candle that sat on the table between their beds. It wouldn't be needed for too long. The dawn couldn't be far away.

He turned to look at Merlin who ducked his head as soon as the candle lit up the room. Gwaine had dealt with enough Merlin-trouble to know the signs.

"Decided to get some work as a chimney sweep?" Gwaine asked, reaching out to touch the blackened skin on Merlin's ear. The boy ducked out of the way, pretending to busy himself near their bags in the dark corner of the room.

"You always say I'm skinny enough to be one, and tall enough not to need a ladder."

"Well, looks like you've had another growth spurt if those pants are anything to go by."

Merlin looked down at the skin tight pants he was wearing that left the entirety of his calves exposed. In comical contrast, the shirt he wore was miles too big and hung off one shoulder.

He shrugged, as if that would be a satisfactory end to the conversation.

Merlin knew better than to think Gwaine would back down that easily.

When his charge had not come back to their room by the time night had fallen, Gwaine at first thought Gaius must have kept him back late. It seemed unusual, because surely the physician would be able to see Merlin was in no state to stay out late. He wandered up to the castle only to find Gaius equally at a loss to explain Merlin’s whereabouts. With no idea where the boy could have gotten to, Gwaine went back to the bakery in case he had missed him.

The bell chimed at the tavern a few doors away to signal last drinks, and worry began creeping into Gwaine’s thoughts as he waited in their room. Maybe he should have stayed with Merlin. While he enjoyed his time with Elsie that afternoon, they only had an hour walking by the creek before she had to go to work at the tavern (although they had made excellent use of the time they had). He looked out the window at the glow of the light spilling out of his lover’s workplace and wondered if Merlin had found his way there. It wasn’t like Merlin to drink on his own - although he might have run into one of the others; Lancelot or Elyan or even Percival. Surely Elsie would keep an eye on him if he was there?

He decided to go down to the tavern to check. No Merlin, and Elsie hadn’t seen him all night, although she kindly offered to help Gwaine look, which he declined.

Merlin was like a cat. He always showed up.

What Gwaine had not expected was Merlin to show up smelling like a smoked duck in someone else’s clothes moving as if he had aged fifty years in a night.

“So come on, out with it.”

“Out with what?” Merlin asked, toeing off the flimsy, slipper-like shoes that he was wearing. He was still hiding in the dark corner of the room, keeping out of the light of the candle.

“Let’s not do this dance, alright? I haven’t slept, and I’ll wager you haven’t either. Tell me where you’ve been, then maybe we can both get to bed.”

Merlin didn’t reply. He continued to rifle through the packs for something.

“Merlin!”

“What?”

Gwaine had enough. He was tired and cranky and his patience had run out much earlier in the night.

He grabbed Merlin around the scruff of his neck and dragged him into the candle light, ignoring his cursing and struggling as he pushed him down to sit on his own bed.

“Gwaine! Stop it!”

“No, you stop it!” Gwaine shouted, pointing a finger in Merlin’s face. “I know you aren’t a kid anymore, but you can’t just go missing for a whole night in Camelot of all places and just wander back in the morning as if nothing has happened! You could have been attacked or caught for doing . . . you know or . . .”

Gwaine cut himself off, scrubbing a hand through his hair.

“I just . . . are you alright?”

Merlin looked up at Gwaine, his eyes unnaturally blue against his blackened face.

A knock at the door interrupted them.

“Who is it?” Gwaine called out, intending to send whoever it was away.

“Merlin, Merlin - are you in there?”

Was that?

“Morgana,” Merlin rasped, pushing himself up to stand with more effort than should have been required.

Gwaine crossed to the door, sticking his head out.

Sure enough, the Lady Morgana was standing there, dressed in a plain cloak with the hood pulled up to hide her pale face.

“Listen, Morgana, now isn’t a great time . . .”
“I have to speak to Merlin,” she insisted desperately, pushing past Gwaine.

“Let her in,” Merlin groaned, slumping back down on the bed.

Gwaine obliged, shutting the door securely after.

“Merlin, are you alright?” Morgana asked, kneeling before him. Her hands skated over his face, touching a place where Gwaine now noticed his cheek was deformed.

“I’m fine, fine,” he said, swatting her away.

“Alright, someone needs to explain what is going on.”

Morgana ducked her head, looking nervous in a way that Gwaine had never seen the bold woman. She ignored Gwaine, instead taking Merlin’s filthy hands in her own.

“Merlin, I know what it looked like, but it wasn’t . . . it’s not like that . . . you can’t say anything -”

“Morgana . . .” Merlin tried to stop her, but she kept babbling.

“Please, I beg of you not to tell. I can get you gold, jewels,”

What had Merlin gotten involved in this time?

“Morgana . . .”

“It wasn’t . . . it just looked like . . .”

“Morgana,” Merlin said firmly, looking at her dead in the eye. “It was magic . . .”

Gwaine sucked in a sharp, whistling breath. He paced away from the pair, glancing out of the tiny window. Dawn had begun to break over the Lower Town.

“. . . you don’t need to worry, I won’t tell.”

Morgana’s breath hitched as she quickly swiped at her eyes.

“It wasn’t, it can’t have been!”

“It was.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Gwaine saw Morgana shake her head.

“Please Merlin, please, swear you won’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t.”

Morgana let out a sob. “Why would you do that? Why would you keep such a big secret and take that risk?”

“Because I’m your friend.”

“I’m going to have to leave, where will I go?” Morgana said, her voice wobbling.

“I can keep your secret.”

The lady huffed, shaking her head.

“I can’t ask that of you. Hiding magic is treason.”

Gwaine turned around to see Merlin give Morgana a warm smile.

“Is it? I wouldn’t know.”

The stupid, idiotic, moron . . .

Morgana looked up in surprise at Merlin’s sarcastic comment.

“Don’t you dare Merlin!” Gwaine said, storming back to the beds. He was going to do it.

Gwaine dived to tackle him, to stop him, but he already had the candle in his hand.

Making eye contact with Morgana, he let his eyes flash a faint gold.

The flame of the candle turned a bright violet.

Morgana gasped, her manicured fingers hovering over her mouth.

“Merlin, of all the idiotic, pigheaded things you have ever done . . .”

He had just told the King of Camelot’s ward that he had magic.

It was like he had a death wish!

“I won’t tell,” Morgana said firmly. “I won’t ever tell.”

“You better not,” Gwaine said darkly. “Because Lady, or not, I will run a sword through you.”

“Gwaine!” Merlin hissed.

“No, that’s fair,” Morgana said, standing up to her full height. Gwaine had to admit, she could be quite intimidating. “You have my word.”

Gwaine sighed. So much for Merlin’s secret staying a secret.

“I still need an explanation of what in the Goddess’ name happened tonight,” Gwaine huffed, folding his arms petulantly in an attempt to regain control of the conversation.

“Merlin and I were having supper in my room when we must have fallen asleep.”

Gwaine glared at Merlin who held his hands out in defence.

“It was nothing like that Gwaine, I was tired.”

“So I was searching the castle for you while you were eating cake and sipping wine, eh?”

Merlin at least had the decency to look guilty.

“The next thing I knew, I awoke from a nightmare - I can’t remember what it was about but I felt this surge of something.”

Merlin nodded sagely.

“The fire was almost out, then in the next moment it was so high it was licking the roof. If it wasn’t for Merlin we would have been burned alive.”

Gwaine snapped his head towards Merlin. “What did you do?”

“Nothing! I used water from a wash basin, not -”

Merlin twinkled his fingers.

Gwaine grunted in ascent. He was glad to hear that Merlin at least had enough self-preservation not to use his restricted magic for a second time in as many days.

“I’m so sorry Merlin, I froze,” Morgana said, shaking her head. “I did nothing to help!”

“It’s alright, Morgana.” Merlin said, rubbing at his throat. Gwaine realised the only way to put out a fire by tossing water at it would have been to get very close. The fool had probably breathed in an awful lot of smoke.

Feeling particularly useless, and wanting to remedy the situation, Gwaine used Merlin’s cup to scoop some water from their bucket in the corner, then filled his own and grabbed an old rag from their packs. He passed Merlin his cup and sat heavily on the bed next to Merlin, using the rag and his own cup of water to start the job of cleaning the dirt from Merlin’s face.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asked, sounding very concerned.

“You look bloody ridiculous,” Gwaine answered, swiping away some of the thick gunk on Merlin’s brow. “More so than normal.”

Merlin groaned, rolling his eyes at Morgana. “See what I have to put up with?”

“You do look ridiculous, Merlin.”

He huffed, folding his arms. “Well, if I’d had access to water before now, I would have cleaned up just like you.”

Gwaine rubbed at Merlin’s bony cheekbone only to be roughly shoved away as the boy recoiled with a hiss.

“Sorry,” Merlin gasped, shielding his eye. Gwaine gently pulled Merlin back to the edge of the bed, trying to carefully guide his hand away so that he could get a good look at whatever injury he had neglected to mention. Merlin was stubbornly refusing to let Gwaine see.

“Oh Merlin, I can’t believe he did that.”

“Who did what?” Gwaine asked, not bothering to hide the growl in his voice. Morgana knelt back down in front of Merlin and took the cloth from Gwaine’s hands, cleaning Merlin’s face with a gentle touch Gwaine could not have hoped to replicate. To Gwaine’s surprise, Merlin was actually letting her. Getting close to Merlin was never an easy feat.

“Sir David.”

Gwaine had no idea who Sir David was, but he would be finding out.

“Why did he hit you?” Gwaine asked.

“Because he’s a tosser who fancies himself in with a chance with Morgana,” Merlin grumbled, hissing as Morgana pressed the cloth harder against his cheek.

“He’d be perfect if he wasn’t so plain. And boring. And unintelligent. And did I mention boring?”

That got a smile out of Merlin. Now that the sun had brightened the window and Morgana had managed to clean Merlin’s face, Gwaine could see he had a nasty black eye that had stretched the skin tight around his cheekbone.

“There’s also the part about how he threw you in the dungeon.”

“He what?”

“Gwaine,” Merlin complained, tipping his head back the way he always did when Gwaine was embarrassing him. “Please, I’m fine.”

“Did Arthur get you out?”

Merlin squinted at Morgana. “How did you . . . you asked him to, didn’t you?”

Morgana grinned, looking like a cat that got the cream. “I didn’t need to. As soon as I told him you were in trouble, he grabbed his jacket and ran.”

Gwaine shook his head, moving to the window. In the streets below the townspeople were starting their day. He watched as the bakers started to ferry the bread to the market on long boards.

While he was grateful that Arthur got Merlin out of the dungeons, it highlighted how far Arthur was willing to stick his neck out for Merlin.

It seemed keeping Merlin and Arthur apart was going to be harder than just a lecture or two.

“Does anyone know you’re here?” Gwaine asked, looking over his shoulder at Morgana and knowing the answer from her massive cloak that hid her face.

“No. I should get going.”

She stood up, wringing her hands. Merlin placed his over the top of hers, standing up to meet her.

“Morgana, your secret is safe with us.”

She let out a long breath, nodding her head.

“Thank you, both of you.”

Gwaine jabbed a finger towards her.

“And it goes without saying that if you tell anyone about Merlin, I don’t care that you’re a noble or a woman or Uther’s ward - I will run you through.”

“Gwaine!” Merlin cried out. “You can’t say that!”

Morgana chuckled. “You’re assuming that you’d be able to land a blow in a sword fight with me,” she said, winking.

Oh, in another time in another tavern, Morgana would have been exactly Gwaine’s type.

She opened the door, stopping to turn around solemnly.

“Merlin, you have my word that I won’t tell a soul.”

“Thank you,” Merlin said, smiling like a dumb idiot.

Morgana left with a swish of her cloak and a clunk of the heavy door.

Merlin watched her go, not even bothering to turn around as he said;

“So, how much trouble am I in with you right now?”

Gwaine folded his arms. “A lot.”

All in all, Merlin thought he’d gotten off quite lightly with Gwaine. The lecture wasn’t as long as he had expected, and had a lot less swearing than usual. Apparently falling asleep in the bedroom of the King’s Ward was not on the list of ‘Ways to Lay Low as a Sorcerer in Camelot’, nor was getting punched by a knight, sent to the dungeons or being rescued by a prince. Gwaine told Merlin he was banned from leaving their room, to which Merlin argued back that he was an adult and there was nothing he could do to stop him, especially as he was due on patrol in the Lower Town that night, although leaving their room was the last thing on Merlin’s mind.

Once the adrenaline had worn off, he was actually feeling pretty tired and his body ached. Thankfully, the heaviness in his lungs was starting to subside, but the headache that had been threatening to take hold was pounding the inside of his skull. He drifted off to sleep to the sound of Gwaine muttering to himself as he checked his reflection in his sword for any dreaded grey hairs.

He awoke to a dark room, save for the flickering glow of the stubby candle on the bedside table. He would need to buy another one from the market (if Gwaine let him go to the market). They had started to save a little bit of money, not enough to get back on the road, but enough to afford some comforts that they didn’t always have the luxury of. Merlin had a glorious wash with soap that had never been used by another person right before they had left for their patrol to the swamp lands. Actually, he could do with another wash with that soap after his ordeal.

Leaving his thin blanket draped over his shoulders like a knight’s cloak, Merlin shuffled over to the wash basin. The room was so cold he could see his breath in the candlelight. He stripped off his borrowed clothes and took the wash cloth, taking the time to scrub every inch of his skin. Like always, he took extra care around the cuffs to clean the chaffed skin on his wrists, sliding the cloth in the thin gap between the metal and his skin. The acrid smell from the fire had lodged itself in his nose. It was nothing like the warm, inviting scent of a campfire. He couldn’t rid himself of the stench, even after he washed his hair.

He towelled off using his borrowed shirt, then wrapped himself back up in the blanket as he hunted around for some clothes. He was annoyed that his shirt had been ruined - it was the one that Arthur had given him. He thought he might have one of Gwaine’s old shirts in the bottom of his pack, or maybe it was hanging on the chair, or under the chair . . .

The click of the door latch made him jump. It could have been Gwaine, but he was on patrol all night . . . and Gwaine never opened the door that quietly. Merlin pulled the blanket tighter around himself, his heart beating hard as he looked around for something, anything to use as a weapon. Someone must have seen how much they had been working and thought they could steal their earnings, but most of it was going straight to Gaius. Still, Merlin wasn’t going to lose what they did have.

He gripped the nearest object, holding the blanket tight around his naked body with his other hand as the door creaked open. He held his breath, preparing himself to take on the intruder. He just needed to hit him quickly.

The door widened.

Merlin surged forward, swinging his arm wildly.

A hooded figure stepped into the doorway, catching his wrist with sharp reflexes.

“Merlin.”

“Arthur!”

Merlin sagged, letting out a long breath as Arthur slipped in the room, shutting the door carefully behind him. He dropped the hood back over his shoulders, a wry smirk playing on his lips.

“Merlin, how exactly were you intending to fight me with a bar of soap?”

Well, of course it sounded stupid when you said it like that.

“Thought I could get it in your eyes,” Merlin mumbled as Arthur bit back his laughter.

“Ok then. Maybe you could show that move to my knights?”

Merlin poked his tongue out with a sneer.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, tossing the soap across the room into the wash basin with a splash that covered Gwaine’s pack. Whoops.

“I wanted to see how you were faring after last night’s events,” Arthur replied, falling back to his pompous tone.

“Yeah, fine.” Merlin raked a hand through his hair, aware it was probably still wet and flat. He didn’t want to look like a drowned rat.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked, eyeing the bruise that Merlin could feel surrounding his eye. “One of Sir David’s guards had to see Gaius from the smoke, and you were in the room far longer by the sounds of it.”

“Probably because the stupid twit ran into the room yelling like a banshee instead of covering his mouth.”

Arthur pursed his lips, clearly wanting to laugh but trying to remain in his princely persona.

“I also wanted to say thank you,” Arthur said. “It sounds like you saved Morgana’s life.”

Merlin shrugged, ducking his head to hide the blush that Arthur wouldn’t have been able to see in the low light anyway.

“I didn’t do anything.”

Arthur paced to the window. It was a habit of the Prince’s that he could never keep still. Merlin wondered if it stemmed from his training as a knight, to always be on the move.

“Yes you did,” Arthur said firmly. “I hate to think of what could have happened if you weren’t there. Not that you should have been there,” he added.

“Here we go,” Merlin said, rolling his eyes. He instantly regretted it as his headache flared, a driving pain stabbing inside his head, right between his eyes. He jammed his eyes closed, hoping to force the wave of pain to wash over him faster.

“Merlin!”

A firm hand found his back, warm on his skin through the thin blanket.

“‘M fine,” Merlin ground out, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Just a headache.”

“I’m not surprised,” Arthur said. “Looks like Sir David socked you a good one.”

“I would have had him,” Merlin replied, the sting starting to subside.

“I’m sure you would have.”

Merlin looked up at Arthur who was a lot closer than he had been. Even in the candle light, his eyes were as blue as the ocean (and Merlin would know, they had visited only just last year).

“I would have!” he protested.

“I don’t doubt it,” was Arthur’s serious reply. “I’ve seen you fight Merlin.”

Merlin gave a curt nod, vindicated.

“He shouldn’t have hit you. Morgana said you were coughing up a lung from all the smoke and barely able to stand.”

Arthur’s hand ran a smooth circle on Merlin’s back. Merlin bit his lip to save himself from letting out a noise that would have made him sound like a wanton waif.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine, Arthur.”

“Good,” Arthur said, his voice suddenly husky. “Because the real reason I came tonight was because I wanted to do this.”

Arthur pressed his lips softly against Merlin’s, bringing his other hand up to gently cradle his jaw.

Merlin let out that weird noise.

He felt Arthur smile into his mouth.

“What was that?” Arthur teased between kisses.

“Mwuthin,” Merlin replied, not bothering to break away as he spoke. He felt Arthur huff under his hands that had slipped under the Prince’s shirt.

“Sounded like a confused cow.”

Merlin pulled his lips away with a pop, scowling at Arthur.

“I was going to invite you into my bed, but with that attitude maybe I won’t.” Merlin raised an eyebrow in a way that he hoped was seductive but probably made him look more like a confused cow. “Gwaine’s out all night.”

“I know,” Arthur said in a low drawl. “I checked the roster.”

And if Merlin’s cock wasn’t already half hard, those words would have done it.

With a flourish, Merlin threw off the blanket cape.

“Merlin!” Arthur spluttered, frozen to the spot. “Were you naked that entire time?”

Merlin put his hands on hips and nodded, savouring the way Arthur was now the wrong-footed one.

“C’mon, Sire. Otherwise I’ll have to get started without you.”

With a wink, Merlin jumped onto his bed, leaving Arthur to pick his jaw up from the floor.

Two fully grown men in a narrow guest bed was never going to be an easy feat, but between Merlin’s frenetic energy and Arthur’s determination, they made it work. Merlin stripped Arthur down with quick hands, the Prince matching his own nakedness not long after they’d reached the bed.

Merlin pushed Arthur to lay back in the bed before enthusiastically jumping on top of him, hungrily kissing him while he ground his hips against Arthur’s. He didn’t spare a thought for lasting - if he spent they could just go again. They had all night after all.

“You’re not used to not being the one in charge,” Merlin taunted as Arthur wrapped his strong arms around Merlin and flipped their positions.

“I’m a prince, Merlin,” Arthur growled, making Merlin arch as he thrust his hips, dragging his cock along Merlin’s. “I’ve been training to be in charge since birth.”

“And how long have you been training to be a prat?”

Without the space in the bed, they ended up tumbling onto the floor. Merlin cursed as he banged his knee, rolling onto his back.

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked, panting for breath.

“I’m fine! Stop being so chivalrous and get on with it!”

Arthur didn’t need to be told twice. He pinned Merlin down at the hips, a slippery finger breeching him without preamble (and the fact that Arthur had been prepared and brought oil in that cloak of his was hot enough to almost finish Merlin off.)

He opened Merlin up with the same deliberate focus he had when he fought. He found the sweet spot that made Merlin cry out with the second thrust. The prat then added a finger and hit the same spot over and over with the accuracy he had on the training field.

“Stop, stop,” Merlin gasped. Arthur stopped immediately, his face hovering over Merlin’s with worry.

“Sorry - are you okay?”

Merlin groaned, taking the opportunity to get himself back under some sort of control while Arthur was distracted.

“I want to come while you’re inside,” Merlin breathed out.

Arthur let his sweaty forehead drop for a moment against Merlin’s as he let out his own groan. Merlin scrambled to his knees, leaning over the side of the low bed on his elbows.

“Fuck, Merlin.”

“Yeah, that’s what I want you to do,” Merlin taunted, wiggling his arse. His blood was starting to cool a little from the boiling point it had just reached, giving him back some sort of control over his words again.

He looked over his shoulder to see Arthur hunched over, his fingers squeezed around the base of his cock.

Forget startled cow, Merlin let out a noise that would have terrified a bull.

“Arthur,” he grit out. “I want you inside me now.”

“Not going to last,” Arthur whispered, still not looking at Merlin.

“I don’t give a fuck. We can go again. And again.”

Arthur arched back, then with the resolve of a knight going into battle, he crawled over to Merlin, squeezing three fingers in.

“I’m fucking ready!” Merlin hissed, squeezing his eyes closed. He had no idea if he was, but he really didn’t care at that point.

Arthur drove past his rim with determination, but held himself there, the effort of his restraint making his chest shake against Merlin’s back, stuck together with sweat. Merlin tipped his head back, gasping as Arthur nipped at his neck, sliding along his jaw to find the corner of his mouth.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathed, sitting back slowly. Arthur gurgled in his ear as Merlin seated himself fully.

“I can’t -” Arthur gasped.

“You can,” Merlin said, reaching for his own cock when a warm hand wrapped around it.

“Oh, fuck.”

Arthur pushed up into Merlin, then lost all sense of control, bucking against him while his hand furiously worked over Merlin’s cock. Merlin’s orgasm came hard and fast, Arthur’s triggered straight after.

Merlin sagged forward across the bed, Arthur’s heavy body pressing on top of him.

“Urg,” Merlin groaned.

“Mhmph,” Arthur agreed.

In the early hours of the morning, Merlin lay snuggled and sweaty on top of Arthur, somehow fitting on the tiny bed. The time for Arthur to go was nearing, but for now they could pretend.

Merlin had what he thought was a decent amount of sex in the past, but never had he experienced anything like that. For one, he’d never been fucked by the same person more than once, and he had just been fucked by Arthur at least three or four times (depending on how he counted it . . .).

What he’d just done with Arthur was nothing like the drunken, quick fumbles in dark rooms. He felt laid bare before him like he never had before anyone else.

It was almost like Arthur accepted Merlin wholly for who he was.

Almost.

Arthur stroked his fingers through Merlin’s hair, then let out a chuckle.

“I can’t believe you were going to try and fight off a bandit with a bar of soap.”

“Would like to see you fight with soap in your eyes,” Merlin grumbled into Arthur’s chest, snuggling in.

Chapter Text

With not only Gwaine mother-henning him, but also Morgana and Arthur clucking around, Merlin had no option but to rest over the next few days. The consequence was that for the first time in months, Merlin got enough sleep and actually recovered some of the strength he had lost with the bursts of magic he had been using. Gwaine had even taken on some extra work in the bakery to cover Merlin while he rested.

Usually Merlin would be stubbornly ignoring Gwaine’s attempts to force him into taking it easy, but he lost the battle when he attempted to refill the wash basin in their room and ended up having a dizzy spell in the stairs. Peg found him at the bottom, soaked in dirty water with the basin still rolling on its rim.

Gaius had kindly dropped by, forcing all manner of potion down his throat to help his recovery. To help alleviate boredom, he also smuggled a book about dragons under his cloak for Merlin to read during the times he wasn’t sleeping. The pictures were vivid in a way that hinted to having been created with magic.

Arthur had dropped in while Gwaine was out on a mysteriously scheduled patrol on the other side of Camelot. He had arrived with honey cakes and a promise to let Merlin rest, which quickly deteriorated into something that could not possibly be classified as rest but definitely made Merlin feel much better.

He wouldn’t be able to look at honey cakes again without blushing though.

After a week of rest, Merlin convinced Gwaine to let him return to his job with the common knights. His lungs had recovered from the smoke, only plaguing him with the occasional cough. Other than that, he felt more well-rested than he had in ages.

Arthur was in full prince-mode when Merlin arrived at the armoury, so he bypassed the prince to quickly get to work handing out the practice swords and shields to the common knights.

“Merlin! You’re back!”

Percival’s heavy hand landed on Merlin’s shoulder.

“Percy! Did you miss me?”

“Missed having someone around to keep Gwaine in line,” Elyan said, skipping through the queue to nab one of the better shields.

“Oi!” Gwaine called out, aiming a kick a moment too late at Elyan’s heels.

Merlin, Lancelot and Percy stood in the doorway of the armoury and laughed as Gwaine chased Elyan around the practice field, swiping a quarterstaff as he lapped around.

“Lucky Elyan’s a fast runner,” Lancelot said. “Gwaine’s got a nasty swipe with that staff.”

“Doesn’t he ever,” Merlin added.

Percy chuckled. “I suppose he’s not the type to go easy on you, even when you’re sparring?”

“Sparring? He caught me sneaking into a brothel when I was thirteen.”

Percival roared with laughter while Lancelot just shook his head with a smile.

“I just wanted to know what all the fuss was about,” Merlin said huffily. “Couldn’t sit down for a week after that.”

“Just for sneaking into a brothel?” Leon asked as he watched Elyan nimbly jump over the quarterstaff Gwaine was swinging at his legs . Merlin hadn’t realised that he joined the group.

“I may have also been drinking rum and kinda joined a card game too.”

Even Lancelot lost his composure at that.

“I’m surprised Gwaine’s hair hasn’t gone grey from looking after you,” Leon said.

“Can you imagine?” Merlin said in horror. “He would have left me in the first village he saw after he found the first one.”

Their laughter was interrupted by the clank of armour. A troupe of noble knights approached the armoury, apparently also ready for training. Their gambesons matched, each knight wearing a deep Camelot red as opposed to the hodge podge that the common knights had managed to find, and they all bore unique weapons suited to their own hands. Merlin looked to the others who all seemed as puzzled as he was, except Leon.

“Ah, right,” Arthur said, calling out to the group. He gave the First Knight of the noble knights, Sir Elric, a stiff nod. The common knights gathered around Arthur, eyeing the newcomers warily. Well, except Edward who stood so close to them it seemed he was hoping to be absorbed into the nobility.

“We have a different style of training session today. As you can see, we have both the common born and noble born knights here.”

There were murmurs amongst the gathered men. Gwaine had ceased tormenting Elyan and had positioned himself by Merlin’s side, as if the noble knights could smell the magic on him and would try to attack him. Sometimes (most of the time), Gwaine was just too protective.

“We will be running a training drill in the Eastern Forest today. The premise is simple - one team will be attacking, one will be defending. It is not unlike a game you may have played as children. The winning team at the end will be the ones who have saved the princess.”

The men looked at one another, curious about whether they would actually be saving a princess. Merlin was confused. There was no way that Uther would allow Morgana to be involved in a training drill, and to be fair, if Morgana was involved she would be more likely on the end of a sword, not to mention she wasn’t technically a princess . . .

“One team will be trying to protect the princess, the other will be trying to capture the princess. Sir Elric has nominated a squire who will be acting as the princess.”

A chuckle rumbled around the gathered men. The poor squire would have trouble living it down, whoever he was.

“Sorry, Sire,” Sir Elric said in a tone that sounded anything but. “I believe the agreement was that you would be providing the squire.”

“No,” Arthur said through gritted teeth, “you were to provide the squire.”

Merlin noticed the flush rising on Arthur’s face, clearly frustrated that the drill he had planned was falling apart in front of both the common and noble knights.

“That was not what I thought we had decided on, Sire,” Sir Elric replied, exchanging an exasperated glance with his second-in-command, a severe man with eyes so dark Merlin felt them bore into him. “I believed you would be providing the squire.”

“Where, pray tell, would I be getting a squire from when none of my knights have squires?”

Merlin smirked, shaking his head. He could just imagine how angry Arthur was under the simmering surface.

“What about him?”

Merlin looked up, realising every pair of eyes was now on him.

“Me?” Merlin squawked.

“Him?” Arthur looked even more shocked.

“Him.” Sir Ector folded his arms. “Unless you want to sit one of your knights out to act as the princess.”

Arthur furrowed his brow, then gave a sharp nod.

“Merlin is the princess.”

“What!”

The gathered men broke into noisy chatter.

Elyan slapped Merlin on the back.

“Better get him a dress.”

“Oi,” Merlin warned, pointing a finger in Elyan’s face.

“He actually goes alright in a dress.”

“Gwaine!”

Percival held his massive hands out, grinning. “Wait, wait, when have you seen Merlin in a dress?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. Of course Gwaine was going to share the story.

“Last year we may have liberated a few items from some smugglers, then of course had the blooming luck to cross paths with them again in the next village. We knew they’d be looking for two blokes, but not a young couple travelling back home for the winter. Merlin made a ravishing lass.”

Merlin glared while they all laughed.

“What are you so upset about?” Gwaine asked, “I remember you saying that the dress was comfortable.”

“I did not!” Merlin shouted, shoving Gwaine who of course anticipated the blow and dodged out of the way.

Okay, he may have said that, but it didn’t mean he liked wearing a dress.

“My knights,” Arthur shouted over the din. “With Sir Leon.”

Sir Ector called his own knights to his second in command, and then there were men moving in all directions. Merlin started to follow after Gwaine when a hand caught the back of his collar.

“Where are you going?” Arthur asked, pulling Merlin back to where Sir Ector was now waiting.

If only they weren’t surrounded by a few dozen knights, Merlin would have let Arthur drag him straight into the armoury and locked the door.

“Um.”

Merlin bit his lip, smirking at the prince.

It went to show how stressed Arthur was that he didn’t react at all to the move that Merlin knew usually drove him wild.

Instead, he steered Merlin to stand between himself and Sir Ector. Merlin shuffled a step closer to Arthur. Sir Ector may have had greying hair, but instead of making him look weak, it made him look like a wolf.

“Sir Ector,” Arthur said. “Do we stick with the original plan? Your men to protect, mine to capture?”

“Not with this one as the target, Sire,” Sir Ector said, waving a hand towards Merlin. “He’ll probably cheat and sabotage us.”

Merlin saw the muscle in Arthur’s jaw jump.

“What if we protect, and you capture?”

Sir Ector huffed, folding his arms. It seemed he wasn’t holding out a fair deal, but one that would bid his men an advantage.

“Fine,” Arthur ground out. “Merlin gets a head start. We have to find him, then we are to protect, yours are to capture, and you get to send him off straight after we finish here so we have no chance to speak with him. Whoever has the princess after the time runs out wins.”

Sir Ector considered the offer, then nodded, shaking Arthur’s hand. He then turned back to Merlin and gave him a hard whack on the arse.

“Go on then, you heard your prince. Head start.”

How dare he!

Merlin’s mouth was hanging open in shock as he turned to Arthur.

If Arthur was angry before, it was nothing on the level of anger Merlin could feel pulsating from him now.

With an indignant huff, Merlin ducked his head and started heading off past Arthur, but not before whispering a parting comment.

“Come find me, prat.”

Gwaine pushed his way to the front of the men crowded around the inadequately sized map Arthur had laid out in the middle. Now that this had to do with Merlin, he needed all the information he could get.

“So let me get this straight - we’ve got to find Merlin, then keep track of Merlin for a few hours,” Elyan asked, popping up at Gwaine’s shoulder.

“Easy! We’ve got an advantage, don’t we?” Kay said enthusiastically, clapping his hands together. “Innit that what Gwaine does all the time?”

“And the little twerp still manages to get into a mess behind my back.”

Gwaine levelled a sharp look at Arthur. It wasn’t like he could prove anything, but lately there had been a few times where his room that he shared with Merlin had smelled different.

Like someone else had been there.

Arthur looked intently down at the map.

Right. He’d be following that up with Merlin later.

They had to find him first.

Arthur cleared his throat.

“The aim is to find and protect the princess, who in this case is Merlin.”

There were a few chuckles amongst the gathered men. Every one of the twenty common knights had turned out for training that day and were grouped around Arthur, armed with swords and practice bows.

“This is a game of honour - if you are hit with a weapon anywhere here,” Arthur said, motioning to his head all the way to past his groin, “you are dead, be it from an arrow or a sword. If you take three hits to any arm or leg, you are dead.”

Gwaine nodded. He would definitely be taking down at least a few of the noble knights. It shouldn’t be too hard to land a hit on their body.

“We are using this section of the forest,” he said, circling part of the map with his finger. “The Valley of the Fallen Kings forms the northern boundary, the southern boundary is the edge of the forest. The river runs diagonally through this area. It can be crossed here, and here.”

Arthur pointed to a spot just outside the Valley of the Fallen Kings and another point not much farther down.

“Merlin won’t cross the river.”

Gwaine folded his arms, feeling a dozen sets of eyes turn to him.

“Are you sure?” Arthur asked, but what Gwaine heard was why?

“Certain.”

The first time that Gwaine became aware of Merlin’s fear around water took him by surprise. It was only a few weeks after they had met.

It had taken Merlin by surprise as well.

The boy had taken every chance he got to show up Gwaine at fishing, had begrudgingly washed in a stream when told he stunk like the fish he’d been catching and even made little boats to pass the time while Gwaine cooked their catch.

They were moving between Mercian villages, taking a route that crossed a river. The water was fast moving, but shallow, and there were enough rocks that had been dropped into the river to form a safe enough crossing.

If Gwaine had thought it was going to be dangerous, he wouldn’t have risked it. He would have taken Merlin the long way around to the bridge.

Gwaine had crossed first, thinking he could map out a safe route across the slippery rocks and get Merlin to follow. Merlin had taken the first few steps with Gwaine’s jibes about his skinny spider legs until his foot slipped on the edge of a rock.

There were enough rocks that Merlin was safe from falling in the river, but it was like a coin had flipped. Merlin was scrambling without control, panicking with his eyes fixed on the white water of the river passing by the rocks.

By the time Gwaine took the quick steps across the rocks to get back to him Merlin had cut open his hands and knees on the sharp stones.

Even after all those years, Merlin would never tell him what had triggered his panic, but he avoided crossing a running river at all costs. He had crossed a few when they had no other choice, but it took time, patience and a lot of space for Merlin to try and talk himself into it.

Pushing Merlin into anything never ended well.

“Right, well that leaves this section here then. Any ideas where he might go?”

Gwaine had a look at the area. There were some little pointy triangles in a section near the north of the map, on their side of the river.

“Maybe here. Merlin wants us to find him. He knows the other guys are lazy and unfit, especially compared to us, so he’ll probably go where it’s hardest for them to follow.”

Arthur nodded.

“Alright. We will break into four groups. Each group will have a leader. I will have the first group. Leon will have the second. Lancelot will have the third, and Percival - the fourth.”

Gwaine blew out a breath of relief. The last thing he wanted was the responsibility of another four men while he tried to find Merlin.

“The game ends when you hear the horn. Leaders, with me.”

Gwaine tracked back to the equipment shed while the men excitedly completed their final preparations. Even if it was just practice equipment, he wasn’t going to be caught under-armed if he had the chance to take down a few knights.

And Arthur never said anything about blows that weren’t from a weapon. He should be able to get an elbow or two in, maybe even a stray fist before he dealt the blows that would end their game.

It didn’t take long for them to find Merlin’s trail. They hiked up a rocky hillside, shaded with thick forest trees. Gwaine found himself in Arthur’s group with two keen and eager young knights called Gregory and Thomas, who, when he thought about it, looked a lot like brothers if not twins; and a hairy man they called Hermie who had never said a word in Gwaine’s presence.

The competitiveness between the common and noble knights heighted the practice game to feel as tense as if they were hunting bandits. Arthur was a man possessed, eyes darting through the trees to look for any movement. Gwaine wanted to beat the noble knights, but not as much as Arthur by the looks of how he was moving.

Hermie tracked Merlin using a technique Gwaine had never seen before that involved touching a lot of dirt. Whatever he did, it paid off because only a short while later, Thomas whistled shrill and short, almost exactly like a bird, to call the rest of the group to the top of a rock.

Gwaine scrambled to the top of the hill, beating Arthur to his satisfaction. He looked down the other side to see Merlin lounging on a log, one leg hanging off the side and swinging lazily. He looked up and gave Gwaine a wave.

“Found me. Are we done now?”

He swung his long legs over the log and got up, shaking out his jacket which he’d been using as a pillow despite the crisp forest air.

“Not quite,” Arthur said, his eyes scanning over Merlin the way Gwaine’s had just done to check he had all his limbs. “We’ve still got a while yet. We have to protect the princess until the horn sounds.”

Merlin groaned, throwing himself dramatically back against the log. “Why am I the princess? Why can’t I be the prince? Or the king?”

“You’re lucky you’re not the jester,” Arthur jibed back, dragging Merlin up by his wrist.

Gwaine chuckled.

“Except to be a jester you have to actually be funny.”

Merlin stuck his tongue out at Gwaine, flipping him a rude hand gesture to boot.

“Merlin! Such unsightly behaviour for a princess!”

Arthur stifled a laugh at Gwaine’s teasing. The two young common knights also hid their smiles with ducked heads.

“Now c’mon, it’s time for the next part of the plan.”

Gwaine did not like the next part of the plan. Well, he liked part of it - the part where he, along with most of the common knights, went on the attack.

“It’s not enough to just beat them, we need to show them just how much better we are,” Arthur had said during his impassioned speech earlier, just before they broke into their teams to start the war game.

“The best defence is a strong offence, so after we find the princess, we are going to pick off as many of their knights as we can until the horn sounds.”

“What about Merlin?”

This was the part of the plan Gwaine did not like.

“One team will be hiding with him deep in the forest, waiting the game out while the rest of us take out the noble knights.”

Gwaine didn’t want Merlin out of his sight in a forest full of noble knights, but he knew Arthur’s plan was sound. If Merlin came with them to hunt knights, the chances were that he would be captured by them, losing the commoners the game.

Still, he’d prefer that they stayed away from his magical, trouble-attracting ward and definitely far enough away not to see what he had hidden under those long sleeves.

Just as planned, Percival’s team were waiting at the mouth of a small gully that would be easy to defend with five men.

“That was quick,” Percival said by way of greeting, clapping his hand against Gwaine’s.

“That’s why we’re the first team,” Gwaine said smugly, dodging the swipe from the larger man.

Percival had his work cut out for him with his team - Arthur had definitely chosen Gwaine’s least favourite men to guard the princess. His team was made up of Edward, who was still as much of an arse as when he had started the fight with Merlin. Some of the cocky young lads had wisened up under Arthur’s leadership, but Edward’s ego seemed to be impenetrable.

Along side Edward was a snivelling weasley man called Simon who may have been skilled with knives, but was weak as they come and always last in anything to do with running.
Tapping his hands rhythmically against a rock was a dark young man called Rufus, who Gwaine suspected would have preferred to be telling tales of knights as a bard rather than being one himself. Lastly was the youngest and smallest member of the group, Pip. Gwaine didn’t actually mind Pip, he listened and he fought like a vicious dog over a bone, but he needed a few more seasons in him to come into his strength.

Arthur seemed to have his own doubts as he surveyed the group, then looked back to Merlin who was pelting a tree trunk with a fern branch he’d picked up on their walk down the hillside, taking out his obvious frustrations with the situation. Gwaine couldn’t blame him - only hours earlier Merlin had been gloating to anyone who would hear it about his afternoon off, even if it meant he would have to return to pack everything up when the war game was finished. Now he was a princess in an exercise he had no interest in and he had to clean and pack away all the blunt swords and shields at the end.

“Percival, you know the orders. Stay out of sight until you hear the horn.”

The big man nodded, taking on the role of doing nothing hiding better than Gwaine would have. If Arthur had told him to hide for the whole game while the others got to run around with swords, he would have been livid.

When it came to nobility, Percival had the trait in spades.

As much as he hated to admit it, Gwaine was having fun. Sure, taking orders from a prat like Arthur was a bit annoying, but he couldn’t dispute the fact that the prince was very good at what he did. It wasn’t long before they found the first group of noble knights, six men stalking through the forest with the stealth of a boar. From their position behind a small mound, Arthur and Gwaine could have doubled back around and cut them down from behind, but instead Arthur gave no signal until it became obvious that he intended to take them head-on.

As foolish as the plan was, a thrill ran through Gwaine as he jumped out from his hiding position, just as Arthur did the same from the other side, to see the sheer surprise dissolve into panic as Gregory and Thomas closed in behind them, Hermie keeping a look out from a few paces back.

Arthur threw up his sword to take a powerful swing at the biggest knight, leaving Gwaine to fight the one next to him. He dispatched his opponent with two swings, landing him flat on his back and winded.

Gwaine leaned over him and elaborately tapped him in the guts with his sword.

“Gotcha.”

The knight let his head thunk against the damp earth, looking relieved to be out of the game and a little annoyed at being so easily beaten.

Gregory and Thomas took down an opponent each, working together as a team in an impressive display of skill. As Gwaine turned to check on Arthur, the prince slapped the broad side of his sword against a muscly knight’s back, the big one already sitting dejected on the ground, clearly having already been “killed”.

Hermie took care of the last one with a well-thrown spear that Gwaine had never seen the man carrying.

Nodding his head at the six downed knights, Arthur let a small smile slip through the serious facade.

Arthur wasn’t just out to show up the nobles.

No, this was about something more.

Something more that Arthur had to prove.

Gwaine was a betting man, so he would happily have put ten gold pieces down to bet that whatever this was about, it had at least something to do with his father.

They came across a group of three more sulky nobles who had been dispatched by “the tanned one with the hair” and another knight hopping around who had apparently been injured and was going to avenge the death of his kinsmen, until Gwaine whacked him on the arse with his sword, claiming it as a mortal blow.

Arthur had levelled him an unimpressed glare that could barely hold back the smirk playing on his lips.

So of course they had to hear the crashing noise of someone tearing through the bush at high speeds.

A noise that couldn’t possibly mean something good in a game that was all about stealth.

Arthur held out his sword, signalling to Gwaine and the others to stand in formation behind him. As much as Gwaine hated taking orders (especially ones that had him standing behind another man), Arthur’s demonstration of how his triangle formation was effective at the last training session had been very convincing. With only five men at his side, he had managed to fight off ten opponents, Gwaine, Leon and Elyan among them.

Gods be damned, Gwaine was coming to realise that he might actually be starting to respect Arthur.

Then he thought of what he suspected the man of getting up to with Merlin and his anger returned.

Much better.

There was a yelp and a stumbling crash and a small flash of brown and red came tumbling out of the bushes. Arthur raised his sword, but Gwaine knocked it away with his own, recognising the boy, dread starting to swirl in his gut.

“Pip, what happened?”

Pip jumped to his feet, wiping the sweat from his brow. He was puffing like a horse after a joust.

“Percival told them not to go together and the idiots went anyway . . . could have bloody held on for a few hours or just pissed where they were . . . didn’t even face different directions, both got snuck up on from behind.”

Arthur groaned. “Let me guess - Edward and Simon.”

Pip nodded, hissing as he muttered under his breath. “Stupid wankers. Sorry Sire. But they are. Then that bloody oaf with the mean eyes cheated.”

Pip’s voice was so shrill, Gwaine winced.

“Cheated! Can you believe it! Noble my arse. Sorry Sire.”

Arthur kicked at a tree root while Gwaine swore under his breath.

“How did he cheat?” Thomas asked.

“When he realised we were down two men, Percival took the main opening to the valley alone, while Rufus and I took the other side. I saw him, I swear, I saw Percival hit that big mean fella square in the chest, but the cheat just pretended like he’d missed!”

Arthur let out a frustrated yell, turning away from the other men.

The problem with the war game was that unlike a tournament or a melee, there were no witnesses. It relied on honour.

And Arthur was starting to realise that you couldn’t win a game of honour if your opponents didn’t show any.

It was a good thing that Gwaine had a frivolous relationship with that virtue.
Something told him they were going to need to bend the rules a little.

“So that’s when Percival starts yelling to me to start running, to go find you. At first I didn’t want to run away, but he was right, wasn’t he? Otherwise there would be no way to tell you that they had Merlin.”

And there it was.

It had only been a game for Gwaine until he heard those words.

They had cheated to capture Merlin.

Merlin, who would have seen it all unfold and would be giving them absolute hell was now surrounded by nobles, some of whom may even have seen cuffs like Merlin’s before.

Nobles who might find out about Merlin’s magic.

Gwaine knew it was unlikely, but there was still a risk, and not the kind he was happy to take.

Risking Merlin’s life was always where he drew the line.

Still, it surprised him to hear the next words uttered by the prince;

“Let’s get the bastards.”

“Where do you think they’re headed, Sire?” Thomas asked as he tried to keep up behind Gwaine. Arthur was leading ahead, setting a cracking pace. Pip was keeping up just fine, despite having already run the length of the forest.

“They’ll try to use the river as a moat. It will be an easier position to defend when there’s only two points to cross.”

Dread clenched Gwaine’s stomach.

“They’re going to make Merlin cross?” he asked, trying to keep the concern from his voice.

Arthur stopped for a moment, glancing back over his shoulder with a look that reflected Gwaine’s own worry.

“Well, they’re going to try,” he said with a wry smile. “With any luck, they won’t get the chance.”

Arthur’s theory seemed to prove correct when they came across another group of knights, seemingly patrolling the path towards the northern part of the river.

Instead of the usual convoluted instructions, Arthur merely gave Gwaine a nod.

“Let’s make sure they know who they’re dealing with,” he said with a snarl.

Gwaine had always intended to fight dirty. He didn’t need to think twice about sneaking up behind a noble knight with armour worth more than all the gold he had ever earned in his lifetime. He certainly didn’t need to consider hitting him in the soft part of his stomach under his ribs with the hilt of his sword, even though all he needed to do was touch his blunt blade to the spot. And really, once he’d done that, it only made sense to also throw his shoulder upwards into the man’s chin, earning a squealing yelp and a harried “fine, fine, you’ve killed me, I’m dead!” from his opponent.

It was Arthur who he didn’t expect to take the fight down to that level. The fair prince swung an elbow hard into an arrogant noble’s jaw, knocking the man to the ground like a sack of wheat. He then jabbed his sword into the man’s gut none-too-gently before throwing his weight at an oncoming attacker, making sure that his knee would find the man’s kidney.

Pip was equally livid, showing his vicious fighting style by taking down a knight double his size with a sword he had liberated from Arthur’s downed opponent. The other three common knights fought off the remaining nobles who seemed to almost give up rather than face Gwaine and Arthur’s wrath.

“C’mon,” Arthur called out to the group, waving them back to the path. “We haven’t got long to find Merlin again.”

“Hmmmf fwahh hmm hf!”

Merlin wished they could understand what he was saying. That was one of his better insults, mainly because that cheating second-in-charge bore more than a passing resemblance to wilddoeren.

That knight with the curly hair had started it. Apparently he didn’t appreciate Merlin’s mouthing off. He’d only been pointing out how cheaters never prospered, seeing as that was what they were after what they did to Percival. Still, even with the cheating, it took five of them to beat him.

He must tell Arthur that.

That curly wanker with the tiny nose then made a crack about how princesses should keep their mouths shut because they were only good for one thing, and it wasn’t talking.

Now, of course Merlin being a lot cleverer than this man had to set him straight, but it turned out he didn’t appreciate having it pointed out that no woman would find his opinions endearing, especially given that he wasn’t really cutting it in the looks department.

He may have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for the laughs he’d earned from the other nobles. Proving his ill-intent towards those he viewed as weaker than himself, he shoved Merlin hard against a tree.

Unfortunately, this also proved the curly haired knight’s shortsightedness in judging others as weaker than himself, as Merlin used a move that Gwaine had taught him long ago to duck out of his grip and take out his knees from under him.

Merlin surmised that this is what any princess would have done, therefore he was staying in character.

On realising that the closest knights to him were either kneeling on the ground or laughing, Merlin did the next thing a princess in his situation might do.

He ran.

He got pretty far, he really did. Merlin was an excellent runner, those gangly long legs of his good for something.

The problem was that he ran a little too far, straight into the next group of knights.

The one with Sir Elric.

Merlin had barely skidded to a stop when he was picked up around the waist by no other than Sir David and held down while Sir Elric ordered his arms tied behind his back. Merlin’s breath caught as he regretted giving the knights an excuse to get anywhere near his wrists.

He’d already dug his hole, he may as well keep tunnelling through to the other side.

As Sir David came to bind his wrists, Merlin fluttered his lashes.

“I see you’ve done this before,” he whispered with a coy wink.

Sir David made fast work of looping the rope around Merlin’s wrists, doing his best to not make any contact whatsoever.

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief. His mouth could get him into such trouble, but it also did a good job of getting him out of it.

The curly haired knight finally caught up once Merlin was sat on his arse trussed up like a pig.

“You! You filthy, half-starved bastard son of a whore . . .”

Some of the knights stood by and watched as the curly haired man rushed at Merlin, his face a shade of puce that Arthur would be proud of.

Thankfully, some of the others held him back, looking to Sir Elric for direction.

The head knight rolled his eyes.

“Sir Jacob, would you please calm yourself?”

Sir Jacob huffed, turning to glare at Merlin with a scowl that was probably meant to be intimidating.

“If you keep undressing me with your eyes, I’m going to catch a cold.”

Yeah, Merlin should have expected the gag. Still, they didn’t have to use his own neckerchief. He really needed to speak to Arthur about how Camelot’s finest were treating a princess.

The worst bit wasn’t the gag, per se. Walking while gagged was no fun, especially the whole trying to breathe bit. It was how off balance he felt without his hands. Merlin never realised how much he needed the swing of his arms to keep upright.

Then Merlin heard the water rushing and his remaining good humour vanished like sand through a sieve.

He was not going to cross a river with these men, especially bound like this.

As they approached the bank of the river, Merlin saw where they meant to cross. The bank was raised slightly from the river below, the banks covered in a vivid green moss. The rocks looked like they had been there an eternity and weren’t shifting any time soon, but it made no difference. The rush of the water, the crisp white foam it made as it battled its way over the obstacles in its path - it raised the hair on Merlin’s arms.

“We will make our stand on the opposite side of the river,” Sir Elric announced. “Sir Jacob, Sir Rory, you will carry the princess across. Sir David, Sir Harold, you are to keep watch. Everyone else with me.”

The mean one, Sir Rory, grabbed Merlin firmly by the scruff of the neck, sending a sharp sting of pain down his spine.

“Hmmf! Hmmmm!” Merlin protested, digging his heels into the muddy soil. He scrambled to find some purchase, but instead just dug up the earth below his feet.

Sir Rory tightened his grip, digging his fingers deep into the back of Merlin’s neck.

“Stop it,” the knight hissed.

If Merlin were to recount how it happened, he couldn’t say. It wasn’t like the time when he was a child - he could remember exactly how terrified he was as he fell into the icy water.

He knows Sir Jacob had grabbed him and was trying to wrestle him over his shoulder while Sir Rory tried to pick up his legs. He had just tried to make himself feel too heavy, in the hope that his thrashing would make them drop him on the bank.

A blow hit him sharp across his shoulder blade, then another. Merlin had just tried to avoid the painful third hit when suddenly he was falling.

He hit the water like a stone.

Chapter Text

First the cold surrounding his body took his breath away, then his lungs were robbed by the water that they hungrily sucked in instead of the air they needed.

He was flipped over and again until he lost sight of the light above the water. The sting of rocks and fallen logs scratched up his skin, but it didn’t matter, because what was the point of skin if he drowned?

Merlin thrashed against the bonds that stopped him from using his arms to claw his way back to the surface. Gwaine was going to be so angry, after keeping him safe for all these years, only for him to die from what was basically a game. A silly drill.

The gag was drowning him faster, both stopping his mouth from closing and drawing more water in through the fabric. He had barely had any time with Arthur. Finally, to fall in love only for it to be too late.

He had always been so scared of water after his near death experience as a child, but now he had so much too lose, he had more to be scared of than getting wet.

Arthur heard Gwaine behind him, but he knew these woods better than the other man and reached the river bank first.

Just in time to watch two knights and Merlin all drop into the rushing river.

Merlin who had been contorted into a shape that looked a lot like someone who had their hands tied behind their back.

Moving with nimble speed, Arthur pulled off his boots in two smooth movements, not breaking his stride before jumping into the water, a few body lengths downstream from where Merlin hit the water.

He ducked under the water, but it was too muddy to see anything except a flicker of a blue light . . . and was that . . . ?

Arthur threw himself towards the light and the shape he had seen with a quick few strokes. His hand connected with something that was covered in fabric and soon he was dragging Merlin to the surface, Arthur’s arm firmly banded around his chest to keep his head above water. With a howl of fury, he ripped away the gag around Merlin’s mouth.

How dare they? How dare they?

“Merlin! Merlin!”

Aside from the pull and tug of the river, Merlin wasn’t moving. His eyes were closed and Arthur tried not to think about how cold he felt in his arms.

“Oh gods!”

Arthur caught sight of Gwaine thrashing towards him. Not wanting to let go, but struggling to keep the bound man afloat, he allowed Gwaine to take hold of Merlin’s arm while he shuffled around to the other side.

“Sire! Over here!”

On the bank, Pip and Elyan were waving them over, which meant that Lancelot’s group must have arrived as well.

Arthur and Gwaine struggled to get Merlin to the bank. The water kept beating against them and they were all still wearing their jackets dragging them down. It was a relief when they finally got close enough for Elyan and Pip to drag him from the water. Gwaine and Arthur scrambled up after him.

“Merlin!” Gwaine shouted, crawling on hands and knees to where Elyan was laying Merlin on his back. His long hair was sopping wet, plastered against his head. “Oh gods, Merlin! No no no no!”

Arthur scrambled to the other side, tapping Merlin’s cheek. He had to be okay. He had to. It was all Arthur’s fault, he should never have suggested that Merlin participate in the drill.

He should have kept Merlin safe. He should have protected him.

He should have told him how special he was.

He should have said that he loved him.

“Flip him on his side!” Pip shouted, whacking Arthur on the arm. Arthur for once followed the order, letting Pip position Merlin’s head so his chin tilted out from his chest. Elyan slipped a knife through the bonds around Merlin’s wrists, letting his body slump into a more natural position.

Water spilled out of Merlin’s mouth right before he jolted with a wet, hacking cough. Arthur grabbed Merlin’s shoulders, twisting him further so the water could run out from his lungs. The coughs became stronger as Merlin’s body went from floppy and lifeless to taut and shivering.

Gwaine let out a low wail of relief as he folded on his elbows, draping himself over Merlin’s legs while his wet hair swung forward to cover his face.

“M fine,” Merlin groaned, waving a hand ineffectually in Gwaine’s direction.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Gwaine said croakily. “Everyone says it will be the drink, but I’ll bet it’s you stopping my heart that does it. ”

“Just keeping you on your toes, old man,” Merlin said in a rasping voice, jamming his eyes shut as he winced as if he were in pain.

“Merlin, are you hurt?”

Merlin’s eyes eased open and found Arthur’s.

A small smile slipped across Merlin’s mouth.

Arthur was overwhelmed with an instinctual urge to lean forward and press his lips against that mouth.

That urge was somewhat subdued when Merlin lurched forward and spewed out more of the river water.

Arthur took the cloak someone shoved into his hands and spread it over Merlin. He rubbed his hands over Merlin’s back, trying to get some heat into him. He tried to push away the jealous stirrings in his chest when Pip did the same for his arms.

A sudden shout of angry voices turned Arthur’s attention back to where the noble knights were standing only a few paces away.

Well, not all of them were standing.

Since enlisting Lancelot as a common knight, he had admired the man’s skill in his sword work. His footwork was some of the tidiest in the group, and his technique with a shield showed dedication to the art of fighting. Still, Arthur had wanted to see something more from Lancelot. That something extra, that killer instinct. He worried that in the heat of battle, the knight would not have that fire in him that was needed to win the fight.

It seemed that he need not have worried.

Sir Jacob was on his arse at Lancelot’s feet.

Lancelot’s face almost matched the red of the blood streaming from his opponent’s nose, his teeth gritted into a growl Gwaine would have been proud of.

The noble knights were in uproar. Some were trying to grab Lancelot, but the common knights were already there, pushing them back.

Cleverly keeping their heads, most of the common knights had kept their weapons and shields up, although they were landing blows with much more force than needed. A few of the noble knights had waylaid their weapons in the commotion, making themselves easy targets.

Arthur both couldn’t give a toss about the war game and wanted to win it more desperately than he’d ever wanted to win something in his life.

They would pay for what they had done, and that payment would include humiliation.

Arthur stormed through the fight, shoving a noble knight out of the way and into Kay’s sword. He noticed that another of his common knight groups must have arrived, probably unaware of what had happened but eager still to join the fight.

It wasn’t hard to find Sir Elric, standing on the riverbank, shouting useless comments to his men. Arthur could have struck him down from behind without the man even seeing him coming.

Too bad for Sir Elric, that wasn’t Arthur’s style.

With a forceful swipe, Arthur knocked the shield from Sir Elric’s loose grip, sending it flying into the river.

That caught his attention if his shell shocked expression was anything to go by.

“Sire, what are you doing?” he asked.

“What, you didn’t think that the game was over just because you and your men almost killed my man I so kindly offered in order to run this exercise, did you?”

Arthur swung lethally at Sir Elric’s head, feeling a thrill of satisfaction when the First Knight almost fell over trying to get out of the way of Arthur’s blunt sword.

“Or maybe you thought that it would be over after your men showed their ineptitude in keeping one unarmed, untrained, rake-of-a-boy under control for less than an hour.”

Arthur swung again, this time at his legs. He knew Sir Elric moved like a market cart, and his blunted blade made hard contact against his thigh.

“Shame that doesn’t count as a killing blow,” Arthur snarled. Sir Elric was breathing fast, eyes darting towards the rest of the fight as if he hoped that one of his men might come to his aide.

The noble knights might be stupid, but none stupid enough to insert themselves in a battle with an angry Arthur.

Sir Elric struck his blade towards Arthur’s left side, but it was painfully obvious that they both knew who was going to win this fight.

Arthur had had enough. He feinted left, then with Sir Elric off balance he spun through so he was close enough to the man’s side to thrust his elbow first into his ribs, followed by a sharp fist under his jaw. He dropped to the ground. Arthur wasted no time in pinning his sword against the knight’s chest.

“You’re dead.”

If any knights, common or otherwise, had thought the war game was over, they certainly did not have any doubt that it was still on after Arthur’s actions. Blunt swords clanged and flesh hit flesh as the fights got less tactical and more heated. Pip used his speed to circle around the back of the melee and put himself on Sir Rory’s blind side. With a hearty roar, the kid ran forward and jabbed his sword straight into the massive knight’s gut. The Second Knight looked down with disbelief.

“That’s twice you’ve been killed, you lying piece of shit!” Pip shouted.

Pip didn’t even get the chance to duck before he was stuck across the face with a heavy gloved hand. The blow knocked him clean off his feet, although the small knight rolled with the fall, righting himself almost immediately.

Sir Rory had his arm lifted for a second go when a hand closed around his thick arm.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think the rules allowed for reincarnation.”

Arthur glared down the Second Knight, despite the man being taller and far uglier. Sir Rory sneered at the prince. He was stupid, but it seemed that even he could see when he was beaten. He threw Arthur’s arm away, spearing his sword into the dirt in a rage.

Without looking away, Arthur tilted his head towards his shoulder.

“Alright there, Pip?”

“Taken worse off me Ma for stealing her apple pies.”

Arthur bit back a smile as Sir Rory kicked at a tree.

Just in time, the horn sounded. Arthur wasn’t sure who had been put in charge of it, but they had impeccable timing.

The fighting extinguished like water thrown over a fire. Arthur looked around, proud to see that most of his men were still standing.

Still, the fire that burned within him was a long way from going out.

“I want everyone assembled on the training grounds, both my knights and those that call themselves noble - NOW!”

He glared at Sir Elric, not caring if he was overstepping. These men were representing Camelot, and in just over a year, he would be leading these men.

“Geez, so bossy.”

“Merlin!” Arthur shrieked. “What are you doing up on your feet?”

Merlin, who was standing next to Arthur, looked down at himself, feigning confusion.

“Should I be walking on my hands?”

Arthur groaned, rolling his eyes. Merlin did look a lot better than he had only a short while ago. While he was still looking a bit peaky, his eyes were back to their usual sparkle and he was upright, even if he was swaying a little. His hair was starting to dry in a messy nest that made Arthur want to simultaneously smooth it down and run his hands through it to mess it up more.

“No, you idiot. You should be resting.”

Merlin blew a raspberry. “Boring. I wouldn’t have been able to see Pip thwack that big clotpole if I’d been resting. Or Gwaine tying Sir David to a tree.”

“He what?”

Merlin bit his lip, trying to suppress a giggle but doing a terrible job of it.

“I think he was a bit aggrieved about the whole tying-me-up-and-knocking-me-in-the-river thing.”

Oh dear. What had Gwaine done?

“C’mon,” Arthur said, taking the excuse of leading Merlin towards where he’d last seen the rogue knight to hold onto his arm. And if Merlin nuzzled in closer as they walked, Arthur wasn’t going to complain.

Sir David was hanging from a tree branch.

By his ankles.

“Let me down!” the knight shouted. Gwaine stood with his arms folded by where the end of the rope had been tethered, tied in a complicated knot around a lower branch. Elyan was watching on, his hands clamped over his mouth, eyes bright with delight.

“Sire!” Sir David cried desperately on spotting Arthur as he swung around, the momentum spinning him as he swung. “This man will not release me! The horn has sounded!”

“Surely a Knight of Camelot could escape some mere rope?” Arthur inquired. He had thought fleetingly of cutting Sir David down until he realised that Gwaine must have reason to think that this was the knight that tied up Merlin.

“Gwaine,” Merlin said, still holding onto Arthur’s elbow. “C’mon, let him go.”

Gwaine didn’t move, his steely gaze watching the knight swing as he bellowed complaints.

“Gwaine,” Arthur said, levelling him a look. Gwaine rolled his eyes with a huff, yanking at the end of the rope sticking out of the complex knot which unravelled it instantly, sending Sir David into the mud. The knight wrestled with the tangle of rope until he was sitting up.

“You could have killed me!” he shouted, smudging the mud out of his mouth. The claim was a bit dramatic in Arthur’s opinion given he fell from knee-height to the ground.

“You could have killed Merlin,” Gwaine growled back. Sir David seemed to be smart enough not to challenge Gwaine, who more resembled one of the rabid guarding dogs that he’d seen Mercians use.

“C’mon,” Merlin said, ambling over to Gwaine. He tugged the other man’s arm in a way that reminded Arthur of a child pulling along a parent in the market. “It’s a long walk back.”

The training grounds were abuzz with the sound of fifty men milling around, divided clearly into two groups. Arthur noticed that Percival had organised the common knights to put away their own weapons, saving Merlin the task. He was grateful for the big man’s thoughtfulness. Merlin had tried very hard to put on a brave face on the trip back, but he was practically hanging off Gwaine by the time they reached the training grounds. Arthur couldn’t stop himself from looking over at him every few minutes, until he noticed Gwaine notice him.

Arthur stood at the end of the field, letting Leon whistle to gain the knights’ attention. The men stopped talking immediately, gathering around. Given this was a joint exercise, Arthur should have waited for Sir Elric and addressed the men together, but his respect for the so called First Knight had plummeted to the point where he really couldn’t care less about offending the man his father trusted with their knights. He also couldn’t see the First Knight anywhere.

Part of Arthur had wanted to stand up in front of the noble knights and lecture them about the meaning of nobility, berate them about their ineptitude and embarrass them for bungling the task so badly.

Honestly, he wanted to tear them limb from limb for endangering Merlin.

Instead, he got to the point.

“Common knights, raise your hand if you were killed.”

Arthur counted as four men put their hands up - Edward, Simon, a young knight called Warren and finally Percival, who proudly raised his hand whilst keeping his steely gaze locked on Sir Rory.

Four out of his twenty men.

“And the other knights?”

Many reluctant hands raised.

“Oi!” Elyan called out, pointing to a haughty looking knight who had posture that even that old deportment tutor Uther had fatefully tried to enlist for Morgana would approve of. “I got you. Stick your hand up, you cheat!”

With a huffed comment to the man to his right, the knight lifted his hand barely to shoulder height, his flushed red face betraying the nonchalance he was trying to display.

There were more noble knights than common to start with - thirty one to twenty - but no matter which way you looked at it Arthur’s men had killed seventeen noble knights and left fourteen remaining which meant that -

“Common knights are the victors.”

He dismissed the men without further ado to the raucous cheers of the common knights.

Leon clapped him on the back, a wide grin spread across his face.

“I know technically, Sire, that I am a noble knight, but I am very glad they were beaten today.”

“Our men worked hard today, and every day before. They had each other’s backs. They worked as a team.”

“Maybe you should tell them that, Sire.”

Arthur noticed his father’s manservant, John, lingering on the outskirts of the training field. He groaned, doing his best to avert making eye contact with him. Maybe he could give him the slip, then he could walk Merlin home, make sure he was feeling alright -

“Sire! Sire!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. John was obnoxiously committed to his role and had no shame in yelling across the field to make sure Arthur heard him.

He supposed he would have to debrief with his father eventually.

“Sire, your father requests a meeting in the throne room immediately.”

John loitered next to Arthur, looking back at the castle, standing like a sheep dog ready to herd.

Arthur exchanged a mournful glance with Merlin, who looked back at him over his shoulder while Gwaine manhandled him back in the direction of the Lower Town.

The reason Arthur hadn’t been able to find Sir Elric on the field is because the sly bastard had gone straight to the King. He stood before the throne, chest puffed out like a pigeon.

His father sat on the throne, leaning to one side with an expression that he probably thought was neutral but did nothing to hide his simmering fury.

“Father,” Arthur said with a small bow. “Sir Elric,” he addressed with a tilt of his head.

“Arthur, I hear you had your war games today,” Uther said, eyeing him carefully.

“Indeed Sire, we have only just concluded them.” Arthur turned to Sir Elric, “I dismissed your men, I hope that was alright,” he sniped. “It thought it best when I was unable to see you down at the field.”

“This is true, as Sir Elric was here, explaining to me what happened,” Uther cut in, in way of defence.

Arthur faced his father with a fake smile.

“Ah, so he explained that the so-called noble knights cheated and still managed to lose, almost killing a Camelot civilian in the process.”

“Arthur,” Uther warned, rising slightly in his seat.

“Father, I don’t know what Sir Elric has told you, but I have reports from my men of the noble knights cheating. . . ”

“Arthur!”

“ . . . fighting without the honour befitting a Camelot knight . . .”

“Arthur!”

“. . . almost drowned my . . . my equipment manager . . .”

“ARTHUR!”

Uther burst to his feet, his face as red as his cloak.

“That is enough!”

Sir Elric coughed beside Arthur. Smug bastard.

Uther took a moment to compose himself before taking his seat again.

“Sir Elric has informed me that the commoners resorted to brawling during the training exercise.”

“The Common Knights played within the rules, and it wasn’t as if the Nobles were being fair.”

“There is no such thing as Common Knights and Noble Knights, Arthur. Just Knights and common men who have shown their true colours today.”

Arthur felt his hackles rise, a prickling sensation rushing down his back.

“My men fought with more honour than any of the nobles showed.”

“Those nobles are your men, Arthur!”

“And I will be ashamed to lead them if that’s how they fight!”

“If you keep talking, you’ll be lucky to ever lead them!”

“Father, as King, surely you have to care about the pitiful excuses of men who call themselves Knights of Camelot! Mercy help us if we ever have to go to war!”

Uther shot out his seat, face as red as his cloak.

“Guards! Take the Prince to his rooms. He is to stay there until the order is given!”

Arthur glared at his father as the guards roughly dragged him to his chambers.

Having destroyed a chair, a candle holder and the candle, two bowls and an ornament that he never really liked, Arthur was now slumped on the floor, leaning back against his bed.

How could his father be so blind? These were the men who were awarded the honour of protecting the Kingdom, and they were nothing more than cowards who were easily beaten by Arthur’s men who had only been trained for a matter of weeks. If Mercia or Essetir decided to march on Camelot, they would be doomed.

Arthur scrubbed his hands through his hair. His father wasn’t blind. No, he had made a greedy decision to support the nobility of the court rather than do what was better for the people.

He would not be like that. He would rule as an honest king.

He ignored a knock on the door. His stomach rumbled, but he also felt too wound up to possibly eat his dinner.

A portly woman crept into the room, holding a tray. Arthur didn’t spare her a second glance, instead waving his hand for her to place his food on the table. She did so with a loud clunk.

Expecting to hear the door open and close again, Arthur was surprised to see that she was barricading the door with a chair, tipped to brace against the handle.

Arthur leapt to his feet, storming towards her.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

She rushed towards him, slapping a hand over his mouth with surprising strength.

It was only then he got a good look at her.

Sparkling blue eyes. Mischievous smile.

“Do you think you can be quiet, or do I need to keep my hand over your mouth,” he asked, making Arthur blush furiously at the memory of the last time he himself had asked Merlin that same question.

“Merlin!” Arthur whispered, taking in just what he was wearing.

He had one of the outfits that the older maids favoured, complete with a bonnet and long sleeves. It was a good choice, it was hard to tell that it was him underneath. He’d also done something to make him look a lot fatter around the middle.

“Merlin, have you been laying into the honey cakes again?” Arthur joked.

Merlin just rolled his eyes, untying his bonnet. Next, he undid the laces at the front of the dress.

He was undressing.

“Merlin!” Arthur hissed, grabbing his wrists. “You can’t be serious! There are guards right there! We’ll be caught!”

Merlin quirked an eyebrow seductively and let the dress drop to reveal a short slip that was weirdly bunched up around his middle. It was stretched tightly over something, much the same as how Arthur’s pants were now feeling.

“Isn’t that half the fun?” Merlin teased.

He lifted the hem of the slip and lifted it up to reveal - a rope.

Around his waist, from under his armpits to his hips, Merlin had coiled a thick rope.

Arthur huffed out a laugh, shaking his head while Merlin showed off his weird undergarment.

“You are unbelievable,” he said, helping Merlin to unravel the rope. It soon became apparent that as Arthur was unravelling the rope, Merlin was becoming more and more naked.

“Come on, eyes up, let’s get the job done,” Merlin said, tipping Arthur’s head up by the chin. “The boys are waiting at the tavern.”

“The tavern?” Arthur asked incredulously.

“They need to celebrate their win, and they need their captain with them!”

Arthur unravelled the last of the rope to reveal Merlin standing in only his undershorts and those blasted cuffs. The boys could wait.

He leaned forward and captured Merlin’s mouth in a kiss that became more and more desperate. Merlin melted into his arms, letting go of his false bravado.

“Are you ok?” Arthur asked breathlessly, whispering in Merlin’s ear as he peppered more kisses along his jaw.

“I’m fine, Arthur,” he groaned, but without his usual annoyance at being mollycoddled.

“I could have lost you today.”

“But you didn’t,” Merlin said, nuzzling into Arthur’s neck. Arthur ran his hands over Merlin’s back to feel the slightest jolt as he ran a hand over a bump in the skin of Merlin’s neck.

“Arthur,” Merlin protested as Arthur spun him around, inspecting his back. Livid welts, like claw marks, marred the back of his neck. A reddened bruise was blooming on his shoulder blade.

Arthur pressed a soft kiss to the marked skin on his neck, moving downwards to do the same to the bruise on his shoulder. Merlin shuddered under his touch.

Arthur pulled back.

“Sorry, am I hurting you?”

“Definitely not,” Merlin said in a rasping, low voice. Arthur smirked, pleased that for once he was the one driving Merlin wild.

He moved around to check for injuries to Merlin’s front to find a whopping great bruise covering most of his knee. Arthur sunk down, pressing a kiss to the tender spot and causing Merlin to make a sound that was not unlike the one Arthur made when he was winded in a training drill.

“Arthur, if you don’t stop the guards are going to wonder why there’s a maid walking around with something extra poking out from under her apron.”

Arthur chuckled, looking up at Merlin through hooded eyes.

“Oh fuck, nup, you are too distracting! I did not dress up as a blooming maid in front of half the knights for nothing!”

“The others saw you?” Arthur chuckled, rising back to Merlin’s level.

“How do you think I got the rope wound on?” Merlin said, throwing his hands up. He tugged and adjusted his under shorts, cursing under his breath. “Now come on and help me get dressed again.”

“You’re not climbing down the rope?” Arthur asked in surprise.

“Pff. As if. That’s way too much work. I’m going out the way I came in, otherwise the guards will be suspicious. Now, I’ll hold the other end, while you start climbing.”

“Are you sure you can hold my weight?” Arthur asked, eyeing Merlin’s wiry arms.

“Yes, yes, c’mon.”

Arthur didn’t like this plan at all.

He liked it even less when it was evident that no, Merlin could not hold his weight, nor did the common knights measure how much rope they had provided.

Arthur was still picking hay out of his hair when Merlin skipped down, maid’s clothes bundled in his arms and now wearing his normal brown pants and blue shirt.

“I need a drink after that,” he said, leading Merlin towards the Lower Town.

Chapter Text

“Another drink?” Elyan asked, ruffling up Merlin’s black hair.

“Oi!” Merlin said, swatting his hands away. “As long as you’re paying.”

Merlin playfully knocked his shoulder into Arthur, who sat next to him on the long tavern bench. The group of common knights had been given a special table tucked around the corner, out of sight of the main hall. It awarded the prince some privacy and meant they could make as much noise as they liked.

“Oh, alright, get me one too,” Arthur conceded. A heavy hand landed on Merlin’s shoulder before a body obnoxiously squeezed between them.

Gwaine. Of course.

“Right there, Merlin?” he asked, eyeing Elyan.

Merlin rolled his eyes, groaning theatrically. “I haven’t had that much to drink!”

“You’ve had three ales and a sweet wine.”

Merlin aborted the sip he was about to take, slamming his tankard on the table. “You’ve been counting?”

Some of the gathered knights laughed, Elyan included.

“Sounds like someone’s in trouble.”

“If you keep it up Merlin, he might send you to bed early without your supper!”

Merlin glowered, taking an overly large sip of his ale in petulance. Gwaine wriggles his elbow into Merlin’s side, digging into his ribs uncomfortably.

“Ow! S’not like you can talk,” Merlin says, shoving Gwaine’s arm away. “Who do you think taught me how to drink?”

His comment gets another laugh from the table.

“I had to pull you out of a river today, don’t make me also pull you out of a gutter.”

“That’s exactly why I should be drinking! I almost froze to death in that river. Even Gaius would prescribe a bit of whisky to warm up.”

Gwaine sighed, as if steeling himself.

“Well, we better do this before you get too drunk.”

He hauled Merlin to his feet, dragging him by his upper arm to the side of the bar.

“Ah, are you buying me a drink?” Merlin grinned, watching as a pretty woman put down a dish cloth and approached them, walking around the end of the bar.

“Best behaviour,” Gwaine hissed under his breath before breaking into a ridiculous smile that was very un-Gwaine.

“Merlin, I’d like you to meet Elsie. Elsie, this is Merlin.”

“Ho ho, the famous Elsie!” Merlin chortled, delighted to finally meet the woman who had stolen Gwaine’s heart. Gwaine glared at him.

The woman’s lips quirked into a smile. She was unlike the women that Gwaine usually consorted with on their travels, even more so because he was seeing Elsie on a regular basis. She had a round fair face adorned in sprinkled freckles, framed by dancing red curls, and the strong build of a woman who spent her days lifting kegs of ale.

Her smile was warm and comforting.

Merlin couldn’t help but like her instantly.

“I mean, Elsie, it’s so nice to finally meet you. Gwaine has told me so much about you.”

“Oh really?” she said, lifting a cheeky eyebrow while turning to Gwaine.

“All good things, my love,” Gwaine said.

“He just goes on, and on, and on!” Merlin added.

Gwaine stomped on his foot.

“Ow! What was that for?”

Elsie chuckled, a deep hearty sound that made Merlin smile.

When Gwaine had first told Merlin that a woman had captured his attention, he had pictured another loose limbed, skin flashing woman who would twist Gwaine to her needs. Elsie seemed nice.

And even more startlingly, Gwaine seemed happy. While the man was usually quick to smile and easy for a laugh, Merlin had only rarely seen him smile like he was now.

“I thought you said you weren’t drunk?” Gwaine said, slapping Merlin across the back of the head.

“Hey! I almost drowned today!”

“So I heard,” Elsie said with concern. “Are you alright?”

“Fine, fine,” Merlin assured. “Nothing a warm fire and dry clothes couldn’t fix.”

He ignored the way Gwaine winced, the same way he was ignoring much of what had happened that day . . .

“Here -”

Elsie leaned back over the bar to do something, turning back with a short glass of amber liquid.

“Something to warm you up.”

Merlin accepted the glass and grinned at Gwaine, who looked less than impressed.

“I like her.” He slung an arm around Elsie’s neck, laughing heartily.

“Well I’ve heard a lot about you too Merlin,” she said, with a wink to Gwaine.

“Oh no,” Merlin groaned. “He didn’t tell you about that time I fell asleep in the wrong wagon and though I’d have to join that troop of travelling performers? I was so scared, I was crying and everything. I mean, I can juggle, but frilly clothes just don’t suit me.”

Ok, so maybe Merlin was a little drunk.

Elsie burst out laughing, and even Gwaine was shaking his head with a smile.

“No, I didn’t, but you just did.”

Merlin laughed, and held up his glass.

“Well, here’s to the happy couple!” he said, downing the glass of liquor in one. Elsie downed her own half-filled glass of pale liquid. Gwaine begrudgingly joined in.

“I’m glad you’re feeling ok,” Elsie said. “And it was so lovely to meet you.” She turned to Gwaine.

“Have you got a moment for a quick chat?”

Merlin smirked, winking non-too-subtly at Gwaine.

“I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it,” he said, skipping back to the table.

He squeezed back in next to Arthur who was arguing animatedly with Kay about whether he possessed the skill to roast a chicken.

“I’m telling you, you would starve if you were a commoner!”

Arthur scoffed. “It can’t be that hard! You just, get the raw chicken yeah? Then you put it in the oven and bam, roast chicken.”

Kay cackled, rocking back almost too far in his seat. Percival caught the back of his chair, righting it before the poor guy smacked the back of his head open on the stone floor.

Arthur finished his ale, then snatched Elyan’s and finished that too, much to Elyan’s protest.

“How are you feeling?” Lancelot asked Merlin from where he sat opposite.

Damn Lancelot and those kind eyes. He just wanted to forget about the whole day, and here the common knight was, being all caring.

“Yeah, fine . . . good . . .” he grinned. “Couple o’ stupid knights aren’t gonna get ‘better o’ me.”

Merlin rapped his knuckles on the table excitedly. “Anyways, I hear . . . I heard you showed ‘em what happens to anyone who messes with a commoner!”

“That he did!” Arthur agreed, slapping a hand down.

Lancelot blushed at his uncharacteristic display of anger earlier.

“Don’t be embarrassed, I heard you were like . . . bam, bam bam!”

The shy man chuckled at Merlin’s enthusiastic description.

“Well, they needed to learn some manners.”

Merlin and Arthur both laughed at Lancelot’s modesty.

The night went on in a blur of shared laughs and sticky beer slopped over the table. At some point Merlin snuggled into Arthur’s side, feeling nice and warm and cosy and only just a bit hazy . . .

Arthur’s head was pounding. He lifted a heavy hand to his forehead, hoping to scrub the pain away.

Bang bang bang.

There it was again - that pounding.

But it wasn’t in his head.

There was actual banging.

Arthur sat up, regretting the movement as the room spun wildly. He realised the room he was in was definitely not his own. For one, it was freezing, apart from a warm something glued to his hip.

Merlin was slumped over his stomach, drooling on his bare stomach. He didn’t have much of a choice but to lay on top of Arthur seeing as they were in Merlin’s tiny bed, which barely had enough room for one person. How anyone could sleep on a bed so small was beyond Arthur’s understanding.

“Merlin,” Arthur groaned, shutting his eyes against the dim light starting to glow through the window. “Merlin, get the door.”

“Nnn,” he grunted back, not even lifting his head.

“Merlin. You have to answer the door.”

“Y’ans’rit,” he mumbled, burrowing his face into Arthur’s chest.

“I can’t.”

Arthur wasn’t entirely sure of the hour or exactly where he should be, but he had enough sense to know he shouldn’t be exposing the fact he was in Merlin’s room.

“Ngnn,” Merlin moaned, peeling himself from Arthur and stumbling over to the door. He tripped over his boots that were abandoned on the floor.

Arthur watched Merlin go. He waited until Merlin was about to open the door to stop him.

“Um, Merlin?”

He turned around, hair pushed up in all directions.

The effect was absolutely adorable.

“Pants?”

Merlin looked down to see that he was in fact completely stark naked. Not that Arthur was complaining about the view - his lithe body looked absolutely stunning from behind in the early dawn light. Merlin shrugged and grabbed a towel that was hanging from the back of the door and wrapped it around his waist.

He ducked his head out of the door and spoke to someone briefly before closing the door again, turning back to Arthur and chewing his lip.

“So, that was Rhen,” Merlin said, covering his eyes with his hand. He must have had a bigger headache than Arthur. How much had they drunk last night?

“He just wanted to let me know that Gwaine is on his way home.”

Arthur sat bolt upright in the bed.

Merlin’s bed.

The tavern.

He checked under the blanket. Yep, he was definitely also naked.

(How he and Merlin had managed to do anything last night was a mystery given how blind drunk they had both been.)

“Shit!”

Arthur fell out of the bed in an undignified tangle of blankets, scrambling around the clothing scattered on the floor and willing his eyesight to come into focus.

Merlin watched him absently, shuffling over to the wash basin in the corner. Arthur heard water splashing as he pulled on his pants (his undergarments were still lost in the piles of discarded clothing).

Merlin cried out.

“Oh shit!”

The shout made Arthur jump. He looked up at Merlin who had his hands tangled in his own hair, eyes wide.

“Gwaine’s coming home!”

“I know!” Arthur shouted back, pulling on his shirt. It was backwards, but right now that didn’t matter. Gwaine had made it very clear on many occasions that Arthur was not to touch Merlin, and Merlin was looking thoroughly shagged right now.

Gwaine was going to kill him.

Aside from escaping a murderous rogue, there was the small problem of Arthur needing to find a way to break back into his room before the servants came to wake him and the guards realised he wasn’t in there.

“No, I mean he’s going to come home,” Merlin said, waving an arm towards the door. “And you . . .” He waved the same arm towards Arthur - “ And . . .”

He motioned towards his own body, devoid of clothing.

“I fucking know Merlin! Now help me get out of here before he cuts my balls off!”

Arthur’s loss of composure seemed to snap Merlin into action. He started throwing clothing unhelpfully in Arthur’s direction.

“These aren’t even mine!” Arthur hissed, throwing Merlin’s pants back at him.

“He’s going to put me in a bloody chastity belt,” Merlin cried in horror, sticking his head out of the window.

“Is he there? Can you see him?” Arthur asked desperately.

Merlin shook his head. Then he froze, swearing colourfully.

He turned back to Arthur and hissed.

“He’s here!”

Arthur ran towards the door.

No, he had still left too many clues in the room.

He ran back to the bed, shoving one of his boots under his arm. Where was the other one?

Merlin ran to the door. Merlin ran back to the window. Then he ran back to the door.

Then back to the window.

“Oh fuck, you have a bite on your neck,” Arthur groaned. Merlin tried to look at it, which obviously, he couldn’t.

“Put your neckerchief on or something!” Arthur hissed, throwing the ratty garment in his direction.

Arthur had pants on, a backwards shirt, his underwear stuffed in his pocket, his cloak under his arm with one of his boots, his other one hanging from his teeth.

He ran to the door when Merlin hissed at him.

“No! He’ll see you! He’ll already be in the bakery!” Merlin flapped his hands like the chickens he saw at the markets. He was only wearing his underpants and a neckerchief.

“URgggg!” Arthur replied. “Where the hell am I meant to go?”

The window didn’t have any bloody curtains, so he couldn’t hide there. The beds were so small Arthur doubted he would even fit under them.

“The door!” Merlin hissed, shoving Arthur closer to the door that Gwaine was about to walk through. “Hide behind it, then I’ll distract him and you can slip out.”

As the Prince of Camelot, Arthur had been trained since he was a boy in strategy. His father had brought him into the Council rooms when the knights discussed plans of war, teaching Arthur the art from a young age.

This was not, in any way, a sound strategy.

In fact, it was lunacy.

It was a strategy nonetheless, and the only option for Arthur to avoid being hung up from the maypole in the Lower Town by his underwear (which he wasn’t even wearing).

He hid behind the door and held his breath.

The door swung open not a moment later.

“Gwaine! There you are, I was wondering where you had gotten to, I’ve been so worried, but then I remembered you were probably with Elsie? Were you with Elsie or have you been at the tavern this whole time? Of course you were with -”

Merlin jumped at the slamming door. Arthur could feel the sweat start to dampen his armpits. He bit down on the boot still dangling from his mouth.

If this was going to work, he’d have to get out of the room quickly.

Arthur tucked his fingers in the gap between the door and the frame, then slowly started to lift the latch. He just needed to open it enough to slip through, no use letting too much light or a draft in that could attract Gwaine’s attention.

He could hear Merlin babbling behind him.

That’s it, Merlin. Distract him just a bit longer.

“I just couldn’t sleep, maybe you were right that I drank too much - my stomach has just been so unsettled all night so I was about to take a walk -”

Arthur slipped the door open almost a shoulder width.

Just a bit further.

A deep voice as cold as ice froze him in his tracks.

“Going somewhere?”

Fuck.

Arthur turned around to see Gwaine storming towards him, brows furrowed and teeth bared like a wolf.

In trying to fumble the door open, Arthur accidentally let go of the latch which slammed shut again.

Open the door and run. No, protect himself from Gwaine. Run, fight, run - no . . .

Arthur didn’t get the chance to decide before a flurry of limbs shot between himself and Gwaine.

“Don’t hit him!”

“Merlin, get out of the way!”

Gwaine was wrestling Merlin, who was still only partially dressed. Arthur didn’t know whether to try and help him or get away.

“Just listen Gwaine!”

“I told you, I warned you!”

Gwaine had Merlin around the waist, but his long limbs were still blocking him from getting to Arthur.

“Arthur, run!”

“Don’t you dare!” Gwaine growled.

Arthur, as a prince, was chivalrous, brave and fearless.

He also wasn’t an idiot.

Hoping that Merlin would be okay, he shot him one last glance then squeezed his way out the door and ran down the stairs, praying that Morgana would be in enough of a good mood to help get him back into his room.

Merlin let out a grunt as he was dumped on his own bed. He scrambled around in the sheets that still smelled like Arthur.

“Gwaine!”

“No, shut up!” Gwaine shouted. “I don’t want to hear it!”

Merlin managed to get onto his knees. He could probably count on one hand the number of times he’d seen Gwaine this angry. He wasn’t even this angry when Merlin blew all their money on a lame horse back in the northern lands. To be fair, he was only fourteen and the seller took him for a ride. It was just a shame that was the only ride that he’d be taking.

“But, we just -”

“You just what Merlin?” Gwaine snapped at him. “Just what? You were just fucking the Prince of Camelot when I told you clearly not to do it?”

“But -”

“But what Merlin? He’s different? He’s not like the other nobles, the ones who fucking tried to drown you yesterday?”

“He is!”

Merlin shot to his feet. With the bed behind his knees, it left him very little space between himself and Gwaine. He might have been shorter than Merlin, but he felt half his lanky height with the way Gwaine seethed at him.

“Is he now? So what did he say when you told him the truth about these, huh?” Gwaine hissed, grabbing Merlin roughly around the wrists.

Merlin tried to pull away from Gwaine’s grip, but he couldn’t.

“I was going to -”

“You were going to?” Gwaine asked, arching his eyebrows menacingly. “Right, so you were you going to tell me about that, or just wait until the guards came to take me to be hung.”

Merlin gasped.

“Wwwhat?”

The smile that stretched slowly over Gwaine’s lips was not at all friendly.

“Oh, so you were only thinking of yourself,” he said, nodding his head thoughtfully. “That’s understandable, considering the whole world revolves around you. Of course you wouldn’t have thought that putting your life in danger would also put me in the shit.”

And truth be told, Merlin hadn’t thought about it like that.

“Geez, that Princess must have a golden dick to risk all that.”

“It’s not just sex,” Merlin said, finding his voice. “With Arthur, it’s more than that.”

Gwaine laughed. Loud and harsh and jarring against Merlin’s ears.

“Merlin, it’s time to wake up! He can literally have any princess in the land! Educated, pretty, from noble families like him. You are nothing but an itch he is scratching, a chance to annoy his father, slum it with a commoner before he settles down with some gorgeous girl.”

“It’s not like that!”

Merlin slapped his hands over his ears, shaking his head. He couldn’t listen to this.

“Pack your things. I’m sending you back to Essetir. You can stay with Frank, he’ll get you some work in the tannery . . .”

“What?! You can’t - you can’t send me anywhere!” Merlin pushed his chest into Gwaine’s, who didn’t move an inch. “I’m not a kid anymore!”

“Then stop acting like one! I didn’t waste the last four years only for you to fuck it all up now!”

“Is that what I am? A fuck up?”

“Only when you don’t do what you’re told!”

Merlin shoved Gwaine with his hands, leaving no room for misinterpretation.

“Fuck you, Gwaine. You aren’t my father. If you think I’m a fuck up now, imagine how bad I’d be if you were.”

Merlin was trying to push Gwaine’s buttons, but still he didn’t expect the hit.

He dropped hard to his knees on the uneven boards, one hand clamped over his stinging jaw.

“Merlin . . .” Gwaine gasped, the anger completely dissipated from his voice.

Merlin didn’t wait to see what he had to say. He stretched out a hand to grab the shirt and pants that had eluded him earlier and ran out the door.

Luckily the rising sun was promising a warm morning because Merlin hadn’t had the presence of mind to grab any boots. He wandered the markets as they set up, barefoot and jacketless and probably looking as haggard as he felt.

Someone called out to him jovially, but he didn’t turn around. He had to get out of the city.

Merlin ran along the streets of the lower town to the south gate, then kept running.

He stopped in a glade not far into the forest and sank into the long grass between the spring wildflowers. Merlin dug his fingers into the dirt, willing his magic to connect with the thrum of energy he knew lay beneath the soil. It used to calm him as a child, forging that connection. Whether it was reminding himself that he belonged to something bigger or just the rush that never failed to make him feel good - he wasn’t sure. He felt the stutter of something, but the blasted bands were still blocking him, cutting his magic off from grounding back to the earth.

Merlin collapsed onto his elbows and let out a loud sob. His body heaved as the next cry tumbled out until he couldn’t hold back.

The whole argument with Gwaine had left Merlin completely rattled, but two words rattled around his head over and over.

Fuck up.

Because, it was true, wasn’t it? For all of Gwaine’s efforts saving him all those years ago, feeding him, clothing him, keeping him alive - it was all for nothing. What did Merlin have to show for it? He was an unsettled drifter who had never held a job longer than a season, nor a friend other than Gwaine (and now that was over), and definitely not a relationship. He had no money, no standing in society and no real future. That wasn’t even mentioning the fact he was a bound sorcerer - the most useless kind. If he had his magic, at least he could do something, even if it was just making fields of crops grow like when he was back in his village. He’d be better off having no magic - then he could just lead a normal life instead of hiding and running.

Gwaine was completely right about him. He was a fuck up.

Shit, and Arthur. Merlin felt something, he really felt like he could love Arthur, but of course he was stupid enough to believe that it was the same for both of them. Of course it wasn’t! Arthur was a prince. He had options. Why would he want a useless peasant like Merlin? An ex-slave with no prospects.

And he didn’t even know about the magic.

Merlin pressed his jaw into the cold, dewy grass where it throbbed and stung. Gwaine had never hit him. No matter what he said or did, he never raised a hand to Merlin, and defended him against others who had done so in Gwaine’s place.

He had pushed Gwaine too far this time.

Merlin’s body ached. He stretched his arms out into the long grass, trying to ease the tension in his shoulders, sitting as far back on his heels as he could. Why was he so sore?

Oh that’s right, that river disaster was only yesterday.

It felt like a week had passed since then.

And all at once, it felt like no time had passed at all.

The bruises on his back throbbed and he felt the phantom burn of the water filling his lung and he couldn’t get enough air, he couldn’t breathe . . .

He dug his fingers into the earth again, hanging on for dear life.

You’re on land, don’t be stupid, just take a breath you idiot.

He wheezed in a deep breath, pressing his forehead almost painfully into the ground. He should have known that it would bite him in the arse, pushing it all away instead of giving himself time to deal with everything that had happened. His answers to everyone’s concerned questions yesterday were quick and followed by a smile.

”Just thought I might take a dip in the middle of winter.”

“Oh, I’m fine. No harm done that a bit of whisky can’t fix.”

“Nah, I didn’t get hurt, unless you count my pride from being made the bloody princess.”

“I’m not scared of rushing rivers that take me back to the time I’m pretty sure I died running away from a group of knights very much like the ones that tossed me in the water just before, I just didn’t want to get my hair wet.”

Part of him embarrassingly craved Gwaine just giving him a rough hug and telling him it was all going to be fine, just like when Merlin was the kid he’d been claiming he no longer was. What a foolish thought. He’d be lucky for Gwaine to even speak to him again.

He’d been so looking forward to coming of age, to ‘being a man’, but what did that even mean? And what did it mean for him? Was he meant to go off on his own now, forge his own path? Where would he even go? He didn’t even know if he’d survive a day without Gwaine protecting him.

And look how you’ve thrown that back in his face.

But Arthur - he simply couldn’t control himself around Arthur. Being around him felt . . . it almost felt like having his magic back.

All the things that felt good seemed to be the things he wasn’t allowed to have.

It was all just a bit much, Merlin thought, as he slumped down the rest of the way, letting the cold of the early morning dew seep its way into his clothes.

“If Arthur looked like something the cat dragged in, then you look like something it spat out.”

Merlin peeled his eyes open to see the backlit head of a woman peering down at him. She was dressed in a stunning emerald riding cloak that shimmered in the sunlight.

“Morgana.”

He sat up, scrubbing away the headache that had settled him behind his eyes. The side of his clothes that had been lying in the grass was drenched, and the hand that ran through his hair got caught on something sludgy.

He barely felt like he’d been asleep at all - the anxious thoughts that had been plaguing him just before he laid down were still fresh in his mind.

Morgana folded her cloak under herself as she sat on the now-dry grass next to Merlin.

“What time is it?” Merlin asked, squinting at the brightness of the day.

“Just before mid-morning.”

So it wasn’t that late. That would explain why Merlin still had his hangover.

“What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same,” she said with a smirk. “But as it turns out, I believe I know the answer.”

She offered her water skin, which Merlin couldn’t refuse. His mouth felt like he’d been licking the tavern floor.

“Arthur is still under arrest in his room, so he’s making a show of it by staying put for the guards. Still, he sent me out to check on you.”

Merlin ducked his head. Did Arthur really care that much about him, or was Morgana just trying to make him feel better?

“So, I headed out for a little morning ride, and who do I come across but Gwaine, frantically searching the forest.”

Merlin flinched, curling further into himself. Morgana shuffled closer, bumping her shoulder against his.

“Are you okay?” she asked in a voice so kind Merlin felt his eyes start to prickle again.

“Fine,” he said, pulling his arms tighter around himself.

“You liar.”

She pulled him against her, holding him in a firm hug. Burying his face in her neck, he breathed in her Lilac perfume as he let the tears silently fall.

“Oh Merlin, whatever’s happened, you know we all love you, right?”

Merlin shook his head, ashamed that his sobs were no longer silent. Morgana’s elegant fingers stroked his filthy hair. He leaned into the touch, trying to slow down his hitching breaths.

“Don’t be silly. From what I heard you had twenty men all fighting for your honour yesterday.”

Morgana pressed her chin against Merlin’s head and whispered in his ear - “Although, I don’t know whether any of that honour is left if those love bites all over Arthur’s neck are anything to go by.”

Merlin snorted through the tears, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He was so grateful in that moment for Morgana. A lady of the court, the King’s ward, sitting on the ground holding her wet, muddy peasant of a friend, just because he needed it.

He didn’t deserve her.

“Everything’s a mess,” Merlin sniffed.

“Let me guess - you’ve had a fight with Gwaine over Arthur?”

Merlin nodded. “It was bad, Morgana. We’ve never fought like that.”

Morgana straightened, pulling Merlin to sit up too.

“Well, nothing’s going to get better sitting here. You need to talk to Gwaine. Then probably to Arthur.”

Merlin let out a quiet howl.

“It’s all such a mess. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

“Just start with talking to Gwaine. Take it from there.”

Merlin groaned. “I just remembered, I was meant to be doing deliveries for Gaius this morning.”

“Not to worry. I sent George instead, although Gaius still wants to see you for a check over. He heard about you falling in the river yesterday and was saying something about making sure that idiot boy survives despite his best attempts to get himself in trouble.”

Merlin winced. Morgana leaned her shoulder against his, taking a deep breath.

“Actually, while I was there this morning I told him about my magic.”

Merlin spun around to face her, eyes wide. “Did you?”

She nodded, grinning maniacally. “He was very kind about it. He gave me a couple of books to study from. I was thinking maybe you could help me, we could find somewhere out of the way . . . “

“Of course!” Merlin cried, wrapping his arms around Morgana and tackling her to the ground. She yelped, shoving Merlin away playfully.

They settled lying down next to each other, Morgana’s black curls splayed out around her.

“I wasn’t sure if you would want to, because your magic is trapped. I thought it might be . . . you know.”

Merlin did know.

“I’m not going to lie, some of it might be hard for me, and I have never learned any magic out of a book so I might be useless, and I barely know any spells, but I’ll be there to help if I can.”

Sliding her hand into his own, Morgana gave a squeeze.

“C’mon, it’s time to get going.”

She stood up and hauled a lazy Merlin to his feet.

“Alright, jump on.”

That’s when Merlin noticed Morgana’s shining black horse, tied up to a tree at the edge of the clearing.

“You’re going to make me ride behind you like some sort of maiden, aren’t you?”

Morgana smirked, vaulting into the saddle with practised ease.

“More like a wench.”

Riding through the forest with Morgana was a thrill like nothing he’d ever done before. She was a skilled rider, navigating her horse between the trees smoothly. Merlin clung on for dear life as they thundered along, trying to match Morgana’s movements leaning side to side.

Just as they approached the eastern gate that was nearest the citadel, Morgana slowed the horse to a halt.

“Now, be brave and use your words,” she said. Merlin followed her line of sight to see Gwaine speaking to the guards at the gate, pointing in the other direction.

Merlin gave Morgana a kiss on the cheek and slipped down from the horse.

“Let me know if you see him . . . Merlin!”

Gwaine abandoned the guard he was speaking to, rushing toward him like a man possessed. Merlin instinctively took a step back, cringing immediately.

“Sorry -”

“I didn’t mean -”

Gwaine skittered back, putting distance between them.

“No . . .”

With his words failing him, Merlin instead stepped closer into Gwaine’s space to show him what he was trying to say.

“I’m not . . . I just have a massive headache and I’m hung over, and I haven’t washed and I’m dirty and muddy and probably stink and I’m so sore . . . I just wasn’t ready for a bone-crushing greeting.”

“I shouldn’t have hit you,” Gwaine said solemnly.

“I think in this situation it was very much deserved,” Merlin said with a sigh. “Look, maybe we shouldn’t do this here,” he said, looking around at the people who were going about their business entering and exiting the city through the gate.

Gwaine nodded. “Let’s head back.”

They walked in silence, thankfully only running into one trader that they knew on the way. They slipped quietly through the bakery and up the stairs until finally Gwaine closed the door behind them and they were left alone in their room.

Merlin’s heart was thudding in his chest, signally nerves he didn’t know he had about the conversation to come.

Gwaine slumped to sit on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees.

“I’m so sorry, Merlin -”

Merlin waved him away, dropping a cloth in the water basin.

“No, it’s me who should be sorry. You were completely right.”

Merlin wrung out the cloth and scrubbed at his face, wincing as he rubbed the bruises. He heard Gwaine moving around the room.

“No, I was bang out of line.”

Dropping the cloth back in the water, Merlin turned his back to Gwaine as he made a fuss of drying his face. His stomach was twisted in knots.

“It’s fine, I’m pretty tired. I think I might just go to bed for a bit.”

He hadn’t realised Gwaine had moved so close until he was tugging the drying cloth from Merlin’s hands.

"Merlin, those things I said about you - I didn't mean any of it."

Merlin forced a false smile. "Even the parts that were true?"

He glanced up only long enough to see Gwaine shake his head.

"C'mon, sit down."

He motioned towards his own bed. Merlin took a seat, Gwaine landing heavily next to him.

He saw that Gwaine’s hands were shaking. Merlin lifted his gaze to see that Gwaine looked as washed out as he felt.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

Gwaine took a shuddering breath, closing his eyes.

“Elsie’s pregnant.”

Elsie’s pregnant. Merlin took a moment to let the words wash over him.

So she was cheating on Gwaine? No, hang on, that wasn’t it -

“You’re going to be a father?” Merlin blurted out.

Gwaine nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. Merlin noticed for the first time that the stoic man’s eyes were rimmed with red.

“Oh,” is all Merlin said before he enveloped him in a tight hug. Gwaine lost all composure, crying freely on Merlin’s shoulder.

Gwaine was going to be a father. He was going to have a little baby, as small as Wren had been.

“Are these happy tears or sad tears?” Merlin asked, rubbing Gwaine’s back. He felt his solid body shrug.

Merlin pulled back, holding Gwaine by the shoulders so that he could look at him in the eye.

“But you love her, you love Elsie?”

Gwaine nodded with a sniff.

“Then this is happy news!” Merlin laughed, grinning from ear to ear. “Gosh, I’m going to be an uncle!”

Gwaine took a deep, steadying breath, wiping the tears away with his sleeve. He spoke quietly.

“And the first thing I do when I find out is punch the closest thing I’ve ever had to a . . .”

Merlin and Gwaine had always struggled to find names to define their relationship. To most, they were ‘friends’. Sometimes they claimed to be brothers, depending on who they were talking to. What Gwaine did for Merlin was closer to what a parent would do for their child, and yet, that didn’t quite encompass their interactions either.

“Gwaine,” Merlin said kindly. “It was nothing.”

“It wasn’t.”

Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Let me guess - you think that you’re going to be a bad parent because we got in a fight. Right?”

“I shouldn’t have hit you,” Gwaine said, in a much stronger voice.

“And I shouldn’t have continually lied, gone behind your back, said the things I said and put us in a life-threatening situation, but I did. We lost our tempers at each other. It happens.”

“I’ve never hit you before.”

The shame hung heavy on Gwaine’s shoulders.

“And I’ll bet you probably aren’t going to do it again after all this fuss.”

Gwaine tugged at his hair. “I’m not fit to be a father.”

“Pssh,” Merlin tutted. “That’s completely untrue. You don’t know how many times I’ve wished I had a father like you. When I was younger, I mean!” Merlin added hurriedly. “Because obviously there’s only five years between us and that would be a little strange to have such a young father, not that I ever knew what my father was like . . .”

“You’re babbling,” Gwaine said absently.

“So I am. What I mean is that you will be a great father. You’re kind and compassionate and okay, maybe you’re just a little overprotective but I know it’s because you care. You care so much, Gwaine, for all the people around you. That’s why everyone always flocks to you. You are strong and tough, but instead of using that to intimidate like so many other men I’ve met would, you use it to protect the people that matter to you. You are an amazing person, Gwaine. That baby is going to have a father who loves them no matter who they are or what they do, and fuck, now I’m crying!”

Merlin covered his face, overwhelmed by emotions that he’d kept well hidden for a long while. He'd often thought about what would have happened to him if Gwaine never rescued him, but he didn't just free Merlin from that gambling hall all those years ago. He looked after Merlin, he cared for him.

When Merlin had no one else who cared about him, Gwaine had. Gwaine had loved him.

It was Merlin’s turn to be dragged into a rough hug.

"Look at us, blabbering like a couple of babies," Gwaine said thickly into Merlin's ear.

"You started it," Merlin sniffed. He rubbed his palms on his knees, pulling himself together.

“So how’s Elsie doing?”

Gwaine broke into a warm smile. “Good. She’s really good. She says she’s three months along.”

“That’s so good.”

Merlin had so many questions.

Does that mean you’re staying in Camelot?
Are you moving to her place or will you have to find a new place?
What’s going to happen to me?

Instead, he stayed his tongue.

“Merlin?”

He looked up to find Gwaine watching him carefully, eyes narrowing.

“You look like shit.”

He felt like shit too. The headache was back with a vengeance and his stomach was cramping.

Merlin scoffed. “Thanks. I thought we were done with the insults.”

Gwaine ignored his deflection.

“When was the last time you ate?”

“Um . . . .”

“If you have to think about it that hard, it’s been too long. Stay there, I’ll get you something from downstairs.”

As Merlin lay back on Gwaine’s bed, his thoughts turned to the next conversation he had to have. His headache peaked as he wrestled with the dilemma that was his relationship with Arthur.

He had decisions to make, but they could wait until after he had a bit of a kip.

Chapter Text

Merlin rolled up his sleeves. He picked up a small stone from the ground and turned to throw it at the glimmering shield. It wobbled, but the stone bounced off, just as the last four had.

He gleefully looked over to Morgana.

“That’s a record!”

She gasped and relaxed, letting her hands drop. Her face was sweaty and her hair was a mess, but she too was grinning.

“It’s feeling easier.”

Merlin jogged over to her, holding out a waterskin. She took it gratefully. Even with flushed cheeks and sweat-matted hair and wearing only a plain blue gown that Merlin suspected may have belonged to her maid, Morgana looked as regal as ever.

While Morgana had a drink, Merlin bent over to flip through the magic book they had open on the ground.

“Did you want to try that fireball spell today or wait until next time?”

“I think I’m a bit spent,” Morgana said breathlessly. She flopped down on the grass, leaning back on her hands and tilting her face towards the early spring sun.

Merlin popped a leaf in the page and closed the book, wrapping it a cloth before stuffing it in a satchel. There were so many spells he wished he could try.

“So, when are you going to stop avoiding Arthur?”

Morgana’s directness never failed to catch him off guard.

"When I work out what I'm going to say to him."

It was true. Merlin had been avoiding Arthur. Everytime he thought of seeing him, he got a headache. Before Gwaine’s news, he was sure he was still going to try and keep going with whatever it was they were doing, but now there was so much more at risk. What if it all went wrong and something happened to Gwaine? What if he was pulled into Merlin’s troubles? What would happen to Elsie and the baby?

Merlin tossed a rock at a tree, satisfyingly striking it in the centre.

“I’ll go find him after this.”

In the end, it was Arthur who found Merlin. He intercepted him from behind while he cut across the courtyard, closing one hand over his arm and startling Merlin.

“Ah, Merlin, have you got a moment to talk about those new shields?”

“Of course, sire,” Merlin replied with a nervous smile, letting Arthur lead him into the castle. He pulled Merlin quickly through the corridors, nodding at the well-dressed nobles and servants they passed. It was taking a risk, being seen together like they were, but then again it may not have been out of the ordinary for the Prince to be dragging a staff member through the castle.

He pulled them down a quieter corridor with a quick glance in either direction, then stuffed Merlin through a doorway.

They were in a small guest bedroom if the small bed and bare furnishing was anything to go by. The curtains were drawn closed, casting the room in a greyish light.

“You seem eager to see me,” Merlin joked, turning in Arthur’s hold so they were face to face.

“Couldn’t let you avoid me yet again,” Arthur replied, not attempting to hide his hurt.

Merlin nodded. “Fair.” He turned away to walk over to a small desk pushed against a wall, sliding up to sit on it.

“What’s going on Merlin?” Arthur asked, following him across the room to stand between Merlin’s knees that dangled from the desk. He skated his fingers over the lingering bruise on Merlin’s jaw, frowning.

“What’s this from?”

Merlin shook his head with a loose smile. “Nothing. Slipped up the stairs at the bakery.”

Arthur leaned in to kiss the line of Merlin’s jaw bone, gently grazing his lips from his chin to his ridiculous ears.

He couldn’t believe he was about to do this.

“Stop, just, stop for a minute.”

Arthur stepped back as if Merlin’s words had burnt him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and the hurt in his voice made Merlin almost crumble in his resolve and push Arthur back onto that bed.

No, he had to steel himself to do this or he was never going to do it.

Just like he’d run it over in his head.

If he thought about it too much . . . no, he just had to say the words as he’d practised.

“I . . . we need to talk.”

Merlin tried to clear his thoughts, hoping the blood would start to return north back to his brain.

“Where is this going?” he asked, which was not how he had practised starting this conversation in his head.

“What do you mean?” Arthur asked, taken aback.

“With us. Where is it going?”

Merlin looked away, no longer able to take the worry in Arthur’s clear blue eyes.

“Like you’ve always said,” Arthur said, the princely confidence lacking in his voice. “We’ll just take it day by day.”

“I think I might have been wrong,” Merlin replied quietly.

He dropped his head, hearing the rustle of Arthur’s jacket as he moved abruptly.

“What’s brought this on?” Arthur asked, his hands closing around Merlin’s forearms just above the cuffs. Arthur never touched them if he could avoid it, knowing just how sensitive Merlin was about them.

“I’ve been selfish. I’ve only been thinking about myself, but I’ve realised that I need to start thinking about other people a bit more.”

“Merlin, I’m not following,” Arthur said, starting to sound annoyed.

Of course, he was saying this all wrong.

“Okay, so what happens if we get caught? What’s your father, the King of Camelot going to do if he finds out that you’re buggering a male who is not only a commoner, but also a bastard? I’d be lucky to be banished.”

Not to mention what would happen if you found out that I have magic.

Arthur’s grip became firmer on Merlin’s arms.

“I wouldn’t let him near you,” Arthur promised. Merlin nodded in agreeance.

“And there is the problem. You could end up risking your relationship with your father, or your crown.”

Arthur shook his head, but Merlin continued. He had to keep going.

“Camelot needs you to be its ruler. I can already tell you will make a fantastic king, but not if you throw it away over a tumble with a commoner.”

“Merlin, that isn’t what you are to me -”

Merlin cut him off, waving his hand dramatically. He was almost there . . .

“- And what about all those people who know about us - Morgana, Gwaine, I’m pretty sure Gaius has worked it out too . . .”

“Merlin!”

Arthur’s outburst made Merlin jump. He could feel Arthur’s fingers clinging to his arms, as if trying to hold onto him even though he could see he was slipping away.

His voice was thick with emotion. “Are you saying you think we should split up?”

Merlin smiled sardonically. “Were we even really together, Arthur?”

He didn’t expect his words to cut as deep as they had. Arthur pushed away from Merlin, letting out a huff of breath. He stood by the covered window, staring at the curtains.

“So all this, it was nothing to you?”

“No!” Merlin jumped off the desk. He paced towards Arthur. “By the Three, that’s exactly why I want to stop now.”

He stood behind Arthur, sliding his hands around his firm waist.

“Whenever Gwaine asked I’ve always said it’s only sex, it’s just physical -”

Merlin felt Arthur’s stomach tense under his hands.

“ - but it’s not, is it?”

Needing to see Arthur’s reaction, Merlin slipped under Arthur’s arm to face him.

“I’m falling hard for you Arthur, and if we do this any longer, I don’t know if I’ll be able to say goodbye.”

Arthur swiped a hand over his mouth and turned his gaze to the ceiling.

“So this is it, then?” he choked out. Merlin pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to prevent his own tears. After a moment, he had pushed them away enough to speak.

“I don’t want it to be, believe me Arthur. In another lifetime, if we could have stood a chance at being together, I would never be saying any of this. But think about it - how would we ever work? Sneaking around like this, hiding it from your father. How long until he finds out?”

“I’ll talk to him . . . I’ll . . .”

Merlin smiled sadly. “Arthur . . .”

They both knew the answer. It was no use. Uther would accept a mistress for Arthur, a woman, maybe part of the lower nobility.

He would not accept a bastard boy who didn’t even have a place to call home.

Arthur covered his face with one hand, the other on his hip. He wondered if Arthur was taught to stand like that, to make him look more regal. When Merlin heard him sniff, he tugged his hand down, pressing his forehead to Arthur’s.

“I don’t understand how we can just stop,” Arthur sobbed, burying his face into the crook of Merlin’s neck. All he could do was bite his own cheek to stop himself from unravelling.

“We can still see each other, yeah? As friends?” Merlin said, tasting each word carefully as it left his mouth. He just had to hold it together.

Arthur shook his head. “I can’t ever be just friends with you,” was all he managed to choke out.

Merlin nodded, feeling his resolve fall away like sand. Not seeing Arthur at all was something he hadn’t prepared for. He wanted to say more, he wanted to tell Arthur he loved him, that breaking things off with him was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do, harder than even turning his back on his home.

Instead, he fled. He threw himself out the door and down the corridor, sprinting out the first doorway he could find into the courtyard. He ran and ran and ran until the streets were no longer paved and the air smelled of mud and industry.

He ducked between two buildings he didn’t know and ran along the back, staggering and puffing until he slid down a wall behind a barrel, hidden from any passers-by.

Once he knew he was alone, he let the tears come.

He had done the right thing, he knew he had done the right thing, but it felt so bloody awful that Merlin was second guessing whether it was the right thing at all. Burned into his vision was the sight of Arthur’s face, red and puffy with tears, tears that he had caused.

Merlin wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He had done the right thing. If he’d stayed in Arthur’s bed, it would only be a matter of time before his secret was uncovered. Then everyone who knew of his magic would also be at risk.

“Who goes there?”

Merlin jumped, scrubbing at his face.

“Merlin? Is that you?”

Gwen peered over the barrel Merlin was hiding behind, dressed in a heavy black leather apron.

Only then did he notice the smoke billowing from the building and the strong smell of iron. Of course, he was at the back of the forge.

“What has happened?” Gwen asked, full of concern. She rounded the barrel with eyes wide and worried.

Merlin scrambled to stand up.

“Nothing, Gwen, I’m sorry, I’ll be off.”

“Oh, but Merlin, you’re upset,” she said, grabbing his arm in the firm grip of someone who worked all day bending metal.

“No, I’m fine,” Merlin said, wishing nothing more than to be alone. He should have run the other way into the forest.

Gwen clicked her tongue. “Please, let me make you something warm to drink.”

Merlin shook his head, but it seemed like Gwen wasn’t someone who heard the word no very often, or at least didn’t listen to it. The next thing he knew he was being dragged into a small home at the back of the forge, decorated in flowers and bright colours that just screamed Gwen. There were two beds, one shielded by a screen while the other was set out closer to the door. In the middle sat a stunning metal table that bore designs etched into every inch of its surface.

“Our father made that,” Gwen said, motioning to the table. “Come, sit down.”

Merlin took a seat, scrubbing at his face with his sleeve to try to make himself look less of a mess.

“I’ll be back in a moment,” Gwen said, disappearing through the door that must have led to the forge, if all the hissing and clanging was any indication.

Merlin took the time alone to pull himself together. He barely knew Gwen, aside from their occasional chats in the marketplace or time spent together at the tavern with the others. He couldn’t blubber on to her about the ending of his illicit affair with the bloody Prince of Camelot.

He looked around the cosy room. Gwen must live there with Elyan, he thought. Would he live somewhere like this if he were to ever settle down? Maybe he could get a small place somewhere with Gwa- no, not with Gwaine because Gwaine was going to have a baby with Elsie . On his own, yes - he could get a room on his own. He would collect some possessions too, things to put on the shelves.

Gwen returned with a tray of steaming tumblers followed by -

“Elyan!” Merlin greeted, hoping that his face was no longer a splotchy mess and that his enthusiasm would hide that he’d just been crying like a child.

“Merlin!” Elyan replied. His voice was a little too cheery which meant that he had fooled no-one. Or, more likely, that Gwen had told him. “Good to see you mate!”

Gwen handed Merlin a cup which smelled of cinnamon and apples.

“It’s mulled cider. I make it once or twice a week. Well, I don’t make the cider. I just make the mulled part, the spices and that . . .”

“Gwen?” Elyan interrupted, an exasperated smile on his lips.

“I’m babbling. I know,” she said, biting down her own smile.

The siblings sat down at the table with him, each taking a different side.

“Lovely weather, isn’t it?” Gwen said brightly.

Merlin nodded. As stagnant as the conversation was, he was glad not to be talking about what had just happened with Arthur. With Gwen, he may have, although he didn’t really know her that well. With Elyan there, definitely not.

For an awkward moment, no-one spoke until Gwen unsubtly cleared her throat.

“Now?” Elyan hissed. There was a thunk, which Merlin took for Gwen kicking him under the table, which was verified when Elyan grimaced.

“Merlin,” Gwen said, all false cheer, “we are actually glad you dropped in because we’ve been meaning to chat to you.”

While she spoke, Elyan got up and walked behind Merlin, who tried not to turn around and instead keep his attention on Gwen. The two of them were acting very strangely and it had started to make him feel nervous.

“Oh yeah?” Merlin replied timidly. “What about?”

Elyan returned carrying a small rectangular box of some sort wrapped in a brown leather cloth. He placed it on his lap under the table as he sat down, eyes glancing to the door. The movement did nothing to steady Merlin’s nerves.

“Look, Merlin, at the river, when we pulled you out -” Elyan took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment.

What on Earth was this all about?

“Gods, never make me do that again.” He shuddered, before continuing. “Merlin, what I’m trying to say is that I saw your cuffs, when I cut your bonds, I saw them and I know what they do.”

Merlin stood up so abruptly he tipped his cider over. He tripped over his chair, desperate to put some space between himself and Elyan.

“Merlin, it’s okay,” Gwen said, also jumping to her feet. She held her hands out like she was trying to soothe a startled horse. Elyan rounded the other side, subtly blocking the back door.

It wouldn’t stop him. If it came down to it, he’d take on Elyan to escape, to survive - because that’s what it would come down to if Gwen and Elyan were about to make his secret known.

Merlin spun around desperately. There had to be another exit. The window - but too small.

The door to the forge . . .

“Merlin, please,” Gwen begged. “We just wish to talk.”

He didn’t want to burn. That’s what they did in Camelot to sorcerers, he’d heard all the stories. He was such a fool to stay.

Merlin ran at Elyan, trying to use his quick feet to turn at the last moment out of his grip. It worked, Elyan moved the wrong way, but he felt a tug at his damned baggy shirt. Like a fish, Elyan reeled him in, pulling him against his body with his strong arm scarred with shiny burns from the forge braced over Merlin’s chest.

“No, no, please let me go!”

“Merlin!” Elyan shouted. “We are not turning you in!”

“I knew I should have done all the talking,” Gwen huffed, stomping towards them.

“I don’t understand . . .” Merlin said, wriggling against Elyan’s arm.

“Ah, would you stop?”

“Can you blame him?” Gwen said with a scowl. “You’ve scared him half to death, after I already told you he was upset!”

“Well what was I meant to say?” Elyan sniped back.

“I don’t know, maybe starting with telling him that we only want to help him and that we weren’t going to tell another soul about his secret?”

“You’re not?” Merlin asked, ceasing his struggling.

“Do you promise not to run away until we’ve shown you something?” Elyan asked. Merlin nodded.

If he had to run again, he’d go through the forge.

Elyan let go, and all three of them took a deep breath.

“Can we sit back down?” Gwen asked sweetly as if he and Elyan had not just been wrestling and she hadn’t been arguing with her brother.

Once they had retaken their seats, Gwen snatched the covered box from her brother.

“We understand how scary it must be having anyone know about your secret. We promise Merlin, we are your friends, we would never put you in danger.”

“Sorry,” Merlin said quietly.

“No need to apologise, we can’t even imagine what your life has been like. What Elyan was trying to say” she said, shooting a glare at her brother, “was that we thought this might help you.”

She pushed the box forward towards Merlin.

“Thank you Gwen,” Elyan said through gritted teeth. “I was just saying that I’ve travelled around the kingdoms a year ago before I returned to Camelot. I’ve seen cuffs like yours before, and I know they can’t be broken solely by any means we have in that forge there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder. “But you know that,” he said kindly.

Merlin nodded. The first thing Gwaine had done after escaping the gambling house was to take Merlin to the nearest town’s forge. Merlin had been unsure that a hammer and tongs would be of any use in breaking his bonds, but Gwaine had been so certain.

The blacksmith’s hammer had blunted on the first strike and the cuffs burned Merlin so badly it was almost as if he had put his wrists into the forge’s fires.

They didn’t try again for two years. Another blacksmith with herbs and trinkets dangling from their shop’s roof had claimed to know how to break them.

He ended up breaking Merlin’s arm. Gwaine broke his nose.

“Our father kept this hidden during the Purge.”

Merlin carefully slipped the leather wrap from the box.

It wasn’t, in fact, a box, but a book.

Tracing his fingers over the embossed letters, Merlin read the old tongue that the words were written in.

“The Magic of Metals,” he translated.

Undoing the clasp and flicking through the pages, Merlin’s hopes were confirmed.

“This is a book about imbuing metal with magic?” he asked, looking up with wide eyes.

“It is,” Gwen said, pointing to a slip of paper that had been tucked into one of the pages.

“We can’t read the language of the Old Religion, but this page seemed to look like it might be helpful.”

Merlin flicked past the methods for making swords unbreakable or baths that could warm the water they held to the marked page.

In the centre was an image of cuffs linked with what could have been a glowing rope.

It was entitled Methods of Magical Containment.

“This is it,” Merlin whispered. This was the answer to the question that he had been asking since that fateful day during his twelfth winter.

“You can have it,” Gwen said, clasping her own hand over Merlin’s.

“Thank you,” he said giddily. “Thank you, thank you so much! I have to, I have to go!”

Elyan stood up, pulling Merlin into a one-armed hug.

“Sorry to give you a fright,” he said.

“Nah, no worries. I could have taken you anyways,” Merlin said with a wry smile.

Elyan barked out a laugh. “Hardly!”

He hugged Gwen and accepted the satchel that she had stowed the book in, recovered in the leather wrap.

He had to see Gaius.

“Gaius!” Merlin shouted, pushing the door open to his rooms. “I . . .”

The physician was not alone. Morgana was in the room, accepting a purple tonic from him that seemed to glow a little.

“Merlin!” Gaius shouted, waving a hand at him. “What have I said about knocking? I am with a patient!”

“It’s alright Gaius,” Morgana said with a smile. “It’s just Merlin.”

Merlin kicked the door closed and dumped the satchel on Gaius’ work bench, sending a bunch of herbs and some spices scattering.

“Merlin! What in the Goddess’ name?”

“Look!” he said, fervently flicking through the pages to find the one Gwen had marked. “Look! Look!”

Gaius and Morgana both leaned in to read what Merlin was pointing at.

“Merlin!” Gaius gasped, holding a hand to his mouth. “My boy, this is what we’ve been looking for!”

“Bindanan - is this actually how to get rid of those horrid cuffs?”

Merlin bit his lip, looking expectedly at Gaius.

“It is,” Gaius said.

Merlin whooped with joy. Finally! After so many years. He bounced around the room, Morgana holding his hands and joining him as they jumped in circles.

“Wait! Wait!” Gaius shouted, still with his eyes on the text. “It is not that simple.”

Merlin stopped his celebrations immediately. “What?”

“It says here that those cuffs were likely imbued with blood magic. They can only be broken with that same blood.”

Merlin slumped onto a bench. And just like that, his hope had been shattered.

“So what does that mean?” Morgana asked.

“It means we need to find who cursed Merlin’s cuffs and make them remove the curse.”

Merlin dropped his head into his hands.

Morgana sat next to him, gathering her skirts. “Merlin, do you remember who did this to you?”

For the second time that day, Merlin regained consciousness to find himself staring up at those crudely constructed bars of the slavers’ cage.

This time he had the sense to stay still and listen to the voices speaking outside. The first time he had tried to get up and panicked when he found the space not even big enough to stand.

Panic and magic were not a great combination, even less so on an empty stomach.

Merlin heard the shuffling sound of boots on gravel, a gruff voice grumbling to another.

“Would ne’rer have thought the drowned rat would’a caused that kind o’ trouble,” the man said. “Look at ‘im! Half-starved he is, Rav thought he were dead lyin’ on the road like that.”

It hadn’t been Merlin’s smartest move to walk along the road, but desperate times had called for desperate measures. After falling in the river running away from Cenred and his men, his magic may have saved him, but it could only do so much. In the middle of winter food was almost impossible to find in the snow covered forest, let alone shelter. He had been using his magic to keep warm, but his magic demanded a price, one that scavenged leaves and the odd tiny fish had not been enough to pay.

A shadow darkened over Merlin as the other man leaned over the cage. Merlin kept his eyes closed, pretending to be asleep.

“And you’re saying this kid is the one that did all that?”

“Yep!” the first man replied with a chuckle. “Di’nt even know ‘e had magic, and ‘e’s got piles of it! Blasted the billio out of Rav, sent him flying o’er in the stables like he’s swattin’ away a fly. Slammed ‘is hands into the ground and made it shake like nutin’ I felt before, knocked down a whole row of cages. Still got some’a our men out there chasing the escaped stock down.”

Merlin grit his teeth. Stock. That’s all the other poor people captured to be sold were to these men. The guilt he felt at throwing the slavers across the street absolved.

“So that big man wit’ the axe who keeps bangin’ it on the cages comes at him, wavin’ that crazy axe around and the kid throws a fireball - a freakin’ fireball - at him. Misses him it does, but then the whole tavern’s a’blazin’. Next thin’, the kid’s eyes roll up and he drops like a sack o’spuds.”

Merlin forced his body to stay slack as he felt something jab at his back.

“Is he still alive?”

“Dunno. The big one with the axe said to just watch ‘im until she gets here.”

“You mean her?”

Before Merlin could arch around to see who they were looking at, the creaky door was swung open.

“Ahh, ‘e’s been awake this whole time,” a grizzly looking man with a patchy beard and even patchier teeth said. He grabbed Merlin by the scruff of his neck and dragged him from the cage.

Knowing that he was only running on fumes, Merlin closed his eyes to dig out whatever magic he could still use when an ice cold voice sliced into his mind.

“I wouldn’t.”

Standing in front of him was a woman dressed in slick leather armour that was far too extravagant for the slave town they were in.

Merlin could feel the magic seeping from her, bristling against his own.

“Stand him up.”

The two men hastened to obey, wrestling Merlin upright. He’d tried to fight, but he could feel the giddiness of unconsciousness pulling at him.

If he didn’t eat something soon, he wasn’t sure that he was going to wake up again the next time he passed out. He hadn’t had a decent meal since he ran from his village weeks ago and since then had fallen in a river and nearly drowned and spent night after night in the freezing cold winter forest.

As if she could read his mind, the woman gave the other red-bearded man a kick and pointed at the hunk of bread he had torn off and was about to shove in his mouth.

“Give him that.”

The man grunted quietly, but seemed to know better than to disobey the woman. Merlin stuffed the bread in his mouth far too quickly and ended up choking. The other man slapped Merlin hard on the back with a smirk.

The woman ducked her head to Merlin’s level, her long blond waves swinging forward.

“Better?” The question was void of any concern for Merlin’s welfare. He didn’t answer, gulping down the bread before it could be taken from him.

Seemingly satisfied that Merlin wasn’t going to keel over, she stood back up to her full regal height.

“Hold his arms out in front of him.”

Before Merlin could react, the men grabbed him, forcing his arms into position. The bread wasn’t enough for him to get the energy back that he needed to pull forward his magic, but he could still kick and scream.

The woman approached him holding a small dagger that glinted in the sunlight. It didn’t seem like the type of weapon he’d expect to be used to kill him, but he still didn’t want it anywhere near his skin.

To his surprise, the woman held out her own hand and dragged the dagger across her palm. She then used her bloodied hand to pick up a pair of bracelets - no, they were cuffs. The dark metal was incredibly smooth, almost impossibly flawless. She began chanting in a language Merlin didn’t recognise. He felt the men beside him shrink away.

While she chanted, she opened one of the cuffs. Merlin’s magic flared, too weak to be effective in doing anything but make Merlin’s skin crawl.

He realised why his magic reacted when the first cuff closed over his wrist.

He couldn’t breathe.

It was like when he fell in the river, so cold that the air was robbed from his lungs.

The second cuff burned, like his skin was being peeled away from his wrists, up his arms and towards the rest of his body. Merlin let out a guttural whine as he dropped to his knees.

The pain was like nothing he had ever felt before, because never before had he been cut off from his magic.

“Make sure he’s on our cart first thing tomorrow. We leave for Essetir at dawn.”

Merlin lay in the cage whimpering through the night while his magic burned, trapped by the cursed metal cuffs. He curled in on himself, his wrists held tight against his chest as he listened to the voices from the tavern grow louder and more raucous. A fire burned brightly as the voices carried into the street, increasing in volume as their owners walked past his cage.

He jumped when a key scratched the lock and the door to his cage was swung open. He barely had time to spin around when he was dragged out and thrown onto the dirt road.

“Thought that crazy witch had claimed him?” one man said, sounding skittish.

“We’ll be long gone before she finds out - long gone and rich!”

“She’ll kill us. Or if she doesn’t, Cenred will. Isn’t that where this one’s going?”

“Relax,” the second man said, dragging Merlin to his feet. In the firelight he saw that it was the same man from earlier that day, the less chatty one. The strong smell of rum lingered on his breath. “They won’t know. Silly bitch did all the hard work for us - do you know how much a bound sorcerer goes for?”

The other man seemed to be debating with himself until his shoulders slumped in resignation.

“Fine. Just be quick about it.”

They bound Merlin with normal ropes, giving him a sharp jab in his hollow stomach when he tried to resist. He was slung over the broad shoulder of a man who was far from acquainted with bathing.

“So who’s our buyer?”

“A couple of brothers I met in the tavern. They showed me the gold, they’re good for it. We’ll hand the kid over in the woods just through there, then take off before anyone knows. That much gold - we’ll be able to sail to a new land!”

Merlin closed his eyes and longed for the time before Cenred and his sorcerers had invaded his village, back when his mother could hug him and make everything alright.

Chapter Text

Gwaine bit into the apple he was eating, holding it in his mouth while he unlaced the new vambraces he had purchased from Elyan at a fair discount. They were lighter than he had expected, and yet when Elyan had tested them by smashing them under the forge tongs as hard as he could, they didn’t even mark!

He would have to find a way to repay the man.

Around him the other common knights were taking off the various pieces of armour they had managed to scrounge for themselves over the past few months. Most were ill-fitting, second hand or made from leather, but slowly they were starting to look more like a band of knights and less like a band of bards.

Gwaine stacked his practice sword next to the others in a pile at the side of the field nearest the armoury. The men were getting better at making Merlin’s job easier by keeping their equipment in some sort of order.

Speaking of Merlin, Gwaine hadn’t seen him during set up. Although, he himself had been running late after checking in on Elsie . . .

“Gwaine! You can put the swords away today!” Arthur snapped, stomping back across the field.

“Geez, what’s got Princess’ knickers in a knot?” Gwaine groused, taking another bite from his apple. Percival shrugged.

“I don’t know, but I reckon we should all thank Leon for being the bravest of all of us.”

Gwaine nodded. The Prince had turned up to training in the foulest of moods and put young Kay on his arse within the first minute of sparring. When it had come time to partner off for the next drill, Leon had stepped forward and offered to be Arthur’s partner.

The poor man was now sitting on the grass, rubbing his shoulder while Elyan tried to delicately remove his armour.

Surely Arthur wouldn’t be that angry about Merlin shirking his equipment duties. Unless there was something more at play . . .

“Morgana, what are you doing here?” Arthur called out. Gwaine looked up to see the King’s ward coming out of the armoury, clearly looking around for something. Or someone.

“Have you seen Merlin?” she asked without stopping her search, her eyes scanning the assembled common knights. Arthur grunted in response and kicked the head of a practice dummy clear across the practice field.

Arthur was angry. Merlin was missing. Morgana was frantically looking for him.

Oh no. Merlin, what have you done now?

Just as the king’s ward by him, Gwaine stepped out in her path.

“Morgana, what’s going . . .?”

Morgana stopped, giving Gwaine a glare that said not now, then tilted her head towards the path back to the Citadel.

“Don’t worry mate, I’ll do the swords,” Percival said, giving Gwaine a push in the direction Morgana was indicating. Gwaine sighed and scooped up his new vambraces, wondering just what the hell was going on.

Morgana cleverly waited until they were in the busiest and noisiest part of the Citadel’s square where anyone would be hard pressed to overhear their conversation before she started speaking.

“Have you seen Merlin today?”

“Not since early this morning, he left to . . . he left to meet you?”

Morgana tugged at a curl of her black hair as she pulled a veil over her head. In the shade as they were it would make it more difficult for anyone to recognise her, although not infallible.

“We did meet, for some practice. Then, we talked.” She bit her red-stained lip. “I think he might have broken things off with Arthur.”

Gwaine sighed, then nodded slowly. Well, that explained a few things. Namely, Arthur’s shocking mood.

“What, just out of the blue he called it off?” Gwaine asked. As much as he hated to admit it, Merlin and Arthur seemed to truly have feelings for each other, maybe even serious feelings. The fact he’d pursued the prince after it caused so many arguments was testament to that. Merlin had never taken the smarter option in the past, always choosing to follow his heart not his head, and Gwaine hadn’t expected this time to be any different, despite his own warnings.

“Well, not really out of the blue - look, I don’t have the full story.”

“Did you see him after? Has he been missing since he spoke with Arthur?” Gwaine asked, darkly beginning to form a fear of why Merlin couldn’t be found.

Surely Arthur wouldn’t do anything to hurt Merlin? But what if Merlin was stupid enough to tell him about his magic?

“Gwaine, I saw him afterwards,” Morgana said firmly, guessing what Gwaine had been thinking. “He was fine, well, he looked like he’d been crying, but he was alright. He had this book, I don’t know how or why, but he said Gwen and Elyan had given it to him. A special book.”

No wait - a magic book? Gwen and Elyan knew of his magic too! Gwaine threw his head back with a growl and ran his hands over his face, quickly stopping when he realised he was drawing attention to himself. The citizens of the citadel returned to their business scurrying around the square.

“It’s okay Gwaine, they would never tell. I’ve known Gwen since I was a child.”

She grabbed Gwaine’s forearm and gave it a hasty shake before dropping it and regaining the appropriate distance necessary between them so as not to attract attention.

“I need you to focus. There’s more.”

“Go on,” Gwaine said, bracing himself.

“The book had instructions for how to remove his cuffs.”

Gwaine snapped his head towards Morgana, eyes wide. Never had they found any information about the magic imbued in that metal. Now there was a book about it? They could get them off, after all this time, they could fulfil Merlin’s utmost wish . . .

“The problem is, it needs the blood of the sorcerer who put them on him.”

Of course it did.

“Does he remember who it was?” Gwaine asked? He could find them, he could track them down and force them to do the spell or ritual or whatever it was. Maybe Merlin would remember a name or a description? They would be made to take off those wretched cuffs. Sorcerer or no sorcerer, his sword could be very convincing.

“I asked him and he ran out of the room. I haven’t been able to find him.”

“Fuck,” Gwaine hissed, looking around the square as if Merlin would be in the crowds.

“Do you know where he might go?”

Gwaine thought about it for a moment.

“Yeah, I think I might.”

Thankfully it was a mild day, not sunny but also without the rain and wind that would make this walk very difficult for a Lady in a dress of a thousand layers. Gwaine had urged Morgana to return to the castle, but she had refused, citing that Merlin was her friend too.

While Merlin wasn’t fond of streams or rivers, he was infatuated with woodlands. Gwaine had often wondered whether he had grown up by a forest, for only when they were surrounded by tall trees and the scent of damp soil did Merlin ever look to be at peace.

As they trekked through the tall oak forest, Gwaine’s ears picked up the repeating sound of metal hitting metal. If the way Morgana tensed was anything to go by, the Lady had also heard the sound. Wordlessly, they both headed into the thick scrub in the direction of the noise.

From a distance, Gwaine saw a figure bringing a heavy tool down on a log. The movement was awkward, almost as if he wasn’t moving the other half of his body. With a few more steps, it became clear that the figure was definitely Merlin, and the movement was awkward because he was bringing the tool down on his own wrist.

Gwaine broke into a run just as Merlin shouted out in frustration and threw the tool at a tree before kicking at the log he had just been using as a bench.

“Merlin!”

The boy in question flinched at Gwaine’s voice. Taking the last few strides needed to close the gap between them, Gwaine grabbed Merlin by the arm and pulled his wrist into view.

He took a deep breath in relief, then another few to make up for the sprint.

While his wrist on either side of the cuff was red and swollen and a little bit grazed, the skin was mostly intact.

“What, did you think I was trying to hack off my own arm?” Merlin snarled a little breathlessly.

“Desperate men can do desperate things.”

“Wouldn’t matter if I did hack off my arm,” Merlin said hoarsely, eyeing what Gwaine could now see was a hatchet. “Couldn’t make me any more useless.”

Gwaine clicked his tongue just as Morgana caught up. She sagely took the hatchet from Merlin’s watchful gaze and tucked it into the folds of her many skirts where it disappeared like magic.

“I wasn’t trying to cut off my arm,” Merlin grumbled, as if it should have been obvious.

“What were you trying to do?” Morgana asked calmly, sitting down on the log.

Merlin tugged his arm out of Gwaine’s grip and paced away, shrugging his shoulders.

“I’ve never tried to get them off myself. Always been someone else trying.”

That was true. Although no-one had gotten more than one strike in before being shot six feet into the air.

“So they don’t blast you away?”

“They don’t need to,” Merlin said darkly in a voice so low, Gwaine wasn’t sure he was meant to hear it.

He took a good look at Merlin. He was upset, of course, but his skin was whiter than bleached linen. His shoulders were hunched in, although they didn’t hide the way his body trembled.

“Gods, Merlin!” Gwaine said, grabbing him by his shaking shoulders and pushing him to sit down next to Morgana. Sure enough, when he got a quick glance at Merlin’s eyes before he looked away he saw that they were glassy and washed out, like the colour had been leeched from them.

The same that they always were when the cuffs punished him for trying to use magic. It seemed they could also mette out the same punishment for when those they enslaved tried to break them off.

What a truly cruel device they were. Gwaine was hoping even more strongly that Merlin would remember who put them on him so that he could separate their head from their shoulders.

“So fucking close!”

Both Gwaine and Morgana jumped at Merlin’s sudden outburst. He lunged at the tree which had taken the abuse of the hatchet, letting out a roar as he slammed both his fists into its bark. Gwaine was on his feet ready to pull him back but Merlin had already turned away, scrubbing his hands through his hair as he paced. When he turned, there were tears in his eyes.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he said. Whether he was talking to Gwaine or Morgana or even himself was unclear. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Merlin had faced more hardships in his short life than many could even imagine. He wasn’t the kind to always take them on with stoic indifference. No, he’d rage and complain and cry and rant and then it would be over and he would bounce back.

But not like this.

Gwaine had never seen him like this..

He had never seen Merlin give up.

It terrified him.

Morgana ended up being the one to stand beside Merlin, to walk with him in his despair. She followed his pacing steps with a calm reverence that only the nobility could hope to emulate.

“What do you mean, Merlin?” she asked. Gwaine really did not want to hear the answer to that question. To know that the boy he had raised as a little brother was in such pain was almost too much for him to bear.

“I . . . I don’t know!” Merlin sobbed, sniffing loudly as he turned his eyes skywards. He stopped his pacing, resting his hands on his hips. “I just can’t keep doing this, getting my hopes up only for everything to fall apart.”

“Is this also about what happened with Arthur?”

Merlin nodded, his face reddening as he bit back the tears.

“Please, just leave me alone.”

He slumped against the tree he had scarred only moments earlier, burying his head under his arms the way he always did when he wanted to shut the world out for a while.

Gwaine sat next to him, letting his shoulder bump Merlin’s.

“You’ve been asking me to leave you alone for years. By now you should know that I don’t listen.”

Morgana sat down on the log that Gwaine had vacated, and they waited.

Time dragged slowly as they listened to the hitching sound of Merlin’s sobs, only interrupted by the occasional crow cackling in the distance.

For once, Gwaine couldn’t think of anything to say. When Merlin was still a child raging against the unfair cards fate had dealt him, Gwaine would tell Merlin how brave he was, that life could be unfair and that hard times only meant that better things lay in the times ahead. Now, firmly entrenched in those times ahead, the promises of better things seemed more hollow than ever.

Finally, Merlin’s shoulders stopped shaking as he drew in deep breaths. Gwaine placed a heavy hand on his back.

“C’mon, I’ll take you out for a nice dinner at Elsie’s.”

They walked Morgana back to the castle in silence, then headed to the Lower Town just as night began to fall. Merlin barely spoke the whole way, his head down as he trudged along next to Gwaine. He hoped he would perk up with a warm fire and a bit of food.

Gwaine held the tavern door open for Merlin, then followed him inside. Without breaking her stride, Elsie served the plates of pork stew she had been carrying then met the two of them at the door. Gwaine pulled her in for a quick kiss, then let his eyes roam over her rounded belly. When he was away from his love, he felt anxious about what the future would hold, but every time he saw Elsie and his child growing within, any worries fell away and he was flooded with excitement for his little family.

Elsie’s eyes weren’t on Gwaine though.

“Oh love, come, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Elsie held her arms out to Merlin, taking him by the elbow to lead him out the back. Gwaine hadn’t noticed until she had pointed it out, but Merlin’s face was filthy, the only clean parts being where tears had streaked away the dirt.

Merlin let himself be led away, shoulders stooped but still towering over Elsie. Gwaine took his usual table near the fire to wait for them to return. Hopefully some of Elsie’s kindness would help cheer Merlin up, because Gwaine was out of ideas for how to help him out of his pit of despair.

The tavern was fairly busy with winter’s chill starting to lose its bite and travellers returning to the roads. He watched as Old Tom poured drinks behind the bar. Gwaine and Elsie had talked about what they would do when the baby was born. Elsie wanted Gwaine to work at the tavern. She would be busy with the baby and Old Tom would need the help. She was also worried about the dangers of being a knight (especially a common-born one). Gwaine just couldn’t see himself working indoors after years of roaming adventures. After all the work he had put into the new knighthood, he didn’t know if he could just give it up.

Merlin sat down opposite Gwaine looking much fresher and clutching one of Elsie’s honey cakes, Gwaine gave her a wink as she returned behind the bar. Every time Gwaine brought a bag of her cakes home, they would mysteriously disappear by morning, the only trace being the crumbs all over Merlin’s bed.

“Elsie’s going to bring us some stew,” Merlin said, chomping into his cake.

“So, are you gonna to tell me what happened between you and . . .”

He waved his hand, knowing Merlin would understand it as meaning Arthur. They were in public, after all, and it would not be wise to be overheard using his name.

Merlin huffed, shoving the rest of the cake in his mouth. Gwaine waited until he had swallowed it and started talking.

“It wasn’t going to work. It was better to cut it off now than drag it out.”

Gwaine could hear the pain of everything Merlin wasn’t saying in the few words he did.

“I’m sorry Merlin. I know I might not have been too keen on you two together, but even I could see that there was something special there.”

Merlin nodded, twisting his face away.

Elsie quietly set two tankards of mead on the table, letting her hand trail over Gwaine’s shoulder as she left.

“What about the other thing - what you found out with Gaius.”

Merlin took his mead and downed two big gulps. It was going to be one of those nights then. To be fair, Merlin getting drunk and giving his mind a bit of a break wouldn’t be a bad thing for one night. Gwaine would just have to keep a close eye on him.

“Only the one that put these on me can take them off.” Merlin rubbed his wrist and took another sip. “Something about needing her blood.”

“Do you remember who she was?”

Merlin shrugged.

“I never found out her name. She had blonde long hair, dark eyes, looked like a warrior or something. She was working with Cenred.”

Gwaine nodded thoughtfully. A blonde sorcerer would be hard to find, but one that could fight and had links to Cenred narrowed it down considerably. Maybe he could spend a bit of time around Essetir to get some information? He could speak to Elsie, the baby still wasn’t due for three more months. If all went well, he’d only need to be gone for a month, maybe less. If he could find the sorcerer he could talk to her, find out her price. A sorcerer who could fight may not be persuaded by a sword, but if it came to that, Gwaine would do what it took to free Merlin.

Merlin didn’t need to know of his plan, Gwaine decided. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to handle another disappointment.

Sure enough, after a warm meal and a few cups of mead Merlin was looking considerably better. Well, less broody at least.

“This pastry is sooo good. Better than ol’ Mary’s, but don’t say I said that because she’d probably knock my head off my shoulders with that thingy she’s got. The thingy to make the dough flat -”

“The rolling pin?” Gwaine supplied. Merlin nodded, letting his head rock back and forth so far that it could have almost detached if he didn’t take care.

“Yeah, that. Sometimes I think she likes me, not like that mind you because she’s ooooold, just normal likes me, but then she goes and throws stuff at me and so maybe she hates me, I don’t know.”

Gwaine shrugged, taking another bite of the apple pie Elsie had served up. Merlin had been getting steadily drunker as the night progressed, but Elsie had provided ample rich foods to soak up the alcohol and after a word with Gwaine had started to water down Merlin’s drinks. While it was good for Merlin to forget his troubles for a while, ending the night with his head in a horse trough would not help.

Looking around the tavern, Gwaine wondered how soon he could leave on his quest. His story would have to be something that would not make Merlin come after him. Maybe something to do with the baby? Or there was always the engagement. He had been waiting for the right time to propose to Elsie, but maybe he could say he was preparing some sort of surprise for her, fetching a special gift or something of that nature. That should keep Merlin and Arthur off his back.

He hoped he could be lucky enough to find the sorceress quickly. Maybe he’d speak to Gaius before he left and see if the old man had any hints.

Gwaine couldn’t tell what swayed his gaze in that particular direction, but he found himself looking at two men sitting at the back of the tavern who he had hoped to never see again.

“Merlin, get up,” he hissed, glancing towards the bar. He had hoped to catch Elsie’s eye but she was busy with another customer. He couldn’t wait, he had to get Merlin out of there as quickly and quietly as he could.

“Why?” he asked, pointing dopily to his half finished pie. “I’m still eating.”

Gwaine stood up, pulling Merlin out of his seat as he rose.

“Oi! My pie!”

“Shhh!” Gwaine hissed, glancing over Merlin’s shoulder. While they had garnered the attention of the table next to them, it seemed that the rest of the tavern was too loud to hear Merlin’s complaints.

“I’ll get Elsie to make you a big pie later,” Gwaine promised. “But we have to go home now.”

Merlin pouted.

“Is this because you think I’m drunk? I’m not drunk.”

Of course, Merlin collided with Old Tom and sent a tray of drinks crashing to the floor.

“Oh no!” Merlin cried.

Sending silent apologies to Tom and Elsie, Gwaine grabbed Merlin and dragged him out the door.

As they reached the far side of the Lower Town, Gwaine dared to think that maybe they had gotten away unseen. Merlin complained while he was dragged on a round-about route, designed to assuage Gwaine’s paranoia.

“Why are we here?” Merlin asked, looking around the square where the tailors and dressmakers would be setting up stalls in just a few hours.

“Shh,” Gwaine said. He just needed to be sure before they could head back to the bakery -

“I told you Daryn, I told you it was him.”

Emerging around a corner with a cackle was a fair haired man, followed close behind by his darker haired brother.

“That’s a good memory there, Daamin. What’s it been, six years?”

Gwaine looked over to Merlin whose half-lidded eyes were now opened wide.

The men were not as broad in the shoulder as they had been when Gwaine had last seen them. Gravity had pulled their bulk from their chests to their stomachs, stretching their jerkins. They were taller than he had remembered them though.

So far, they were ignoring Merlin, which meant they didn’t recognise him. Gwaine hoped to keep it that way.

“You took something from us,” the fairer brother said, stepping forward. “Cost us a bit of money, that did.”

Bringing Merlin to an isolated place was a stupid idea. There was a knife stowed in his jacket and another in the side of his boot. If he could get Merlin to run, maybe he could distract the men long enough to give them the slip or even intercept a patrol.

“Think you could be paying us back with some extra for our troubles,” the other brother added. “How much did you get for the whelp?”

“But hold on,” Daryn said with a cackle. His eyes locked on Merlin. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

As the fairer brother stepped forward for a better look, Gwaine tugged Merlin behind him.

“It is!” Daamin said with glee. “Ha! You kept him!”

“Look at you!” Daryn said. He pointed at Merlin who was trying his best to hide behind the shorter Gwaine. “All grown up now!”

Pressed against Gwaine’s back, Merlin was trembling. He had never talked about his time as the brothers’ captive dice fixer, but Gwaine had always suspected that what he’d walked in on that night six years ago was not an isolated incident.

“Well, in that case, we’re taking back what’s ours.”

“He was never yours, you filthy swine,” Gwaine hissed.

Despite Gwaine’s snarl, the brothers advanced forwards, backing Merlin and Gwaine up against the side of the tannery.

“I must say,” Daamin drawled with a cocksure grin aimed squarely at Merlin. “Camelot is the last place I thought I’d find a little shit sorcerer like you.”

Gwaine saw the first punch from the other brother coming. He blocked the second too, but he ran out of limbs on the third hit and had to roll with the force of the blow. He could not go down, he needed to stay on his feet. He would not let them get to Merlin.

He aimed a sharp kick at the fair one’s ribs, then threw an elbow at the dark brother’s jaw which didn’t down him but had him staggering back. A flash of metal turned his head back towards the darker haired brother until he heard Merlin cry out. His body crashed into Gwaine’s shins, almost unbalancing him.

Stepping over Merlin to position himself between him and the brothers, Gwaine turned back to where he’d seen the flash of metal to find it pointed at his face. Daryn snarled, swiping blood from his clearly broken nose. Even in the moonlight, Gwaine could see that his blow had found its mark.

“Unless you want me to cut that pretty face of yours up, you’re going to let us take back what’s ours.”

“And unless you want me to slit your throat, you’re going to crawl back to whichever hole you came from and never set foot in this city again.”

With a hand that had lost the tremors from only moments earlier, Merlin held the knife from Gwaine’s boot to Daryn’s throat, his arm looped around from behind.

“Lookie here, little lamb thinks he’s a wolf now,” Daamin taunted, although he remained still. “He doesn’t have it in him.”

“Don’t I?” Merlin said darkly. His eyes flashed gold.

Daryn cried out, dropping the knife he held pointed at Gwaine as if it had burned him. Gwaine was quick to kick it away.

“Leave,” Merlin hissed in Daryn’s ear. He lowered the knife, darting back to put some space between himself and the man. Gwaine grabbed Merlin’s arm and pulled him close as the brothers put their own space between them. Each party watched the other until the brothers had backed away to the crossroads where they turned and left with a parting curse.

“He can’t always protect you!” Daamin shouted.

Once they turned the corner, Gwaine let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

“Shit,” Merlin said just as he swayed to the side. Gwaine caught him before he hit the ground, relieved to see that he was still conscious.

“C’mon, let’s get you home.”

Edward slipped out of the tannery stables, the girl he had met there long gone with a few of his coins before the commotion had started outside.

And to think he had tried to run when he heard the shouting! If he had, he wouldn’t have overheard a very interesting conversation about a sorcerer in Camelot, nor would he have been able to peek through the gap in the siding to see just who this deceitful sorcerer was.

Suddenly, the evening had become much more satisfying.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure you don’t have any idea what this is about?” Arthur asked as he threw the blankets back with more force than was probably necessary. Lately he had taken to sleeping in as long as he could get away with. It wasn’t that he was tired, more that he was finding it harder to grasp the motivation to start his days.

“I’m not sure, Sire,” George dutifully responded. “His Highness merely sent word for you to attend Council at once.” The servant flipped through the garments in Arthur’s wardrobe, efficiently pulling out a shirt and pants which he draped neatly over his arm.

Arthur scrubbed his hands through his hair. It didn’t sound like his father would have good news waiting for him.

Arthur didn’t give George time to announce his presence to the Court, instead choosing to throw the doors open with a little more drama than was needed early in the morning.

“I’m here,” Arthur said in way of greeting. His father looked up from a map that was spread over the heavy oak table with a sharp glare.

“Took you long enough,” Uther sniped, drawing himself to his full height. “While you were having a lie-in, Sir Elric and I have been working on what to do about a possible threat to Camelot.”

Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes. Sir Elric was Uther’s idea of a perfect First Knight. He was loyal to the Court, told his father exactly what he wanted to hear and never disputed a word he said.

Someday, Arthur was to replace him. Uther never missed an opportunity to remind him of how he would never measure up.

“What threat?” Arthur asked, taking the bait.

“This morning some travellers arriving in the Citadel reported a large army marching on the city, coming from the north east.”

“From Essetir?” Arthur asked, puzzled. “King Redmond is marching on Camelot?”

King Redmond had no quarrel with Camelot, nor the means to procure an army large enough to march on the citadel.

“We just received word, Sire,” Geoffery said, holding out a scroll. “King Redmond is dead. It is his son, the new King Cenred who is thought to head the army. From the reports it seems they are at least four days away.”

“Cenred? All he cared about when he was here last year was wine and brothels. I couldn’t even get him to attend a training session with the knights. He’s no warlord.”

Sir Elric shrugged. “Maybe that’s what he wanted you to believe, Sire.”

“Are you implying that I could be fooled by that snivelling rat?”

“Enough!” Uther interrupted, his face a shade of puce that would worry Gaius.

Arthur ignored his father’s frustration. He leaned over the map, observing where the markers had been placed and how they lay in relation to both Camelot and Essetir’s citadels.

“We have to evacuate these villages,” Arthur said, pointing to some small dots on the map. “They are right in the path the army is likely to take.”

Sir Elric shook his head. “We can’t afford to tire the knights with such an arduous journey, especially if a siege is imminent. I have already sent my knights to look for any scouts in the Lower Town which is far more important- ”

“We need to at least warn them!”

“Arthur!” Uther warned, slapping his hand on the table. “I’ve had enough of your soft-heartedness!”

Arthur would not be deterred. He was right, and his father would for once listen to him, even if it killed him to do it.

“Ellendell is our biggest grower of potatoes! If we send word now, they could have enough time to evacuate to the Citadel with their harvest, which could bolster our food supply during a siege and prevent Cenred’s army getting their hands on any food.”

Arthur could tell the exact moment that Uther saw the sense in his argument from the way his scowl eased from his lined face.

“Fine. Send some of those commoners you spend so much time with.”

Arthur bowed his head and left quickly, George in tow. Once they were out the door, he inclined his head towards the servant.

“Send Gwaine, Lancelot and Elyan to Ellendell. Tell them the situation. I expect them to return by nightfall. If the villagers leave immediately, even with carts, they should be able to make the Citadel by tomorrow night. Get the rest of the Common Knights rounded up too, I want them on the training field in an hour.”

George nodded, unfazed by the long lists of tasks to complete in an impossible time frame. George may have been a bore, but he could make miracles happen when they needed to.

Edward whistled as he walked through the Lower Town. He had woken up in a great mood, then remembered why when the events of the night before came flooding back.

Merlin was a sorcerer. That annoying, irritating whelp of a kid was a sorcerer.

The morning had been spent productively considering what he would do with his newfound information. He did consider keeping it until the perfect moment arose, but Edward was a man who believed that life was what you made it. Waiting for the perfect moment to come could leave him waiting too long, and also risked Merlin being uncovered by someone else.

No, he would be addressing the King directly. That very day.

He passed by the tavern to see a group of Noble Knights tying their horses out the front, making a show of ensuring everyone knew of their presence. This is what a knight was - someone who commanded attention, who people knew was important by the armour they wore and the gold they spent.

“Good day to you,” Edward chirped, tipping his hat.

“Fuck off,” Sir Rory said, yanking at the knot he had tied in his horse’s reins.

The other knights gathered around him laughed, but it would do nothing to deter Edward’s happy mood.

“Now now, is that any way to speak to your future colleague?”

“What in the King’s name are you talking about?” another knight who Edward did not know said, leaning against the post.

Edward smirked. “Well, I figure it’s the least the king could do when I tell him that I know the name of a sorcerer that’s been living in Camelot under his very nose.”

That caught their attention. Sir David’s head snapped towards Edward, eager to know more.

“Who?” Sir Rory demanded, folding his arms.

“Nah-uh, I won’t be telling. I don’t want you lot going running off to beat me to the King,” Edward said.

He walked away with a smirk, turning back at the last moment.

“You could say that the Prince knows him very well. They’ve been spending a lot of time together. He’s probably put the poor Prince under his spell.”

Edward relished the whispers of “do you reckon it’s that little black haired kid?” and ”What’s his name? Kestrel or something?”

As it turned out, the King was not holding court that day. Edward was furious. Now he had told the Knights, they could just tell the King. He shouldn’t have told them his clue. He shouldn’t have told them at all.

Edward saw Sir Elric emerge from the corridor leading to the Council chambers. The First Knight strode purposefully towards the Courtyard.

“Sir Elric!” Edward shouted. “Sir Elric! I have word of a sorcerer living in Camelot!”

Sir Elric paused, his long black coat swishing with the momentum of his half turn.

“Tell the clerk. He will pass it on.”

Sir Elric continued towards the courtyard.

No-no-no, Edward needed to see the King who would ask him what he wanted in return. He would tell the king that he wanted to be a Noble Knight, and the King would grant him his wish.

He was so close. He couldn’t be turned away.

He needed something drastic.

“It’s Merlin!”

Edward couldn’t help but smile when Sir Elric froze, turning ever so slowly.

“What did you say?”

“You don’t think he’s actually going to tell the King, do you?” Sir David asked, his head turned towards the Citadel. It had started off as a good day. They had just been told to hang around the Lower Town, to keep an eye out for spies. The guards had been sent on patrol in their place. It seemed some of the common knights were also up to something because he’d noticed a few of them galloping away on horses as he and the other knights walked to the tavern.

“Probably,” Sir Rory chuckled.

“You know, I always thought that fellow was a bit of a tosspot, but looks like he might actually have some balls after all,” Sir Jacob commented, stroking his red beard.

“Do you reckon he’ll get made one of us?” asked Sir Harold.

Sir Jacob responded with a scoff.

“Unlikely. Nobility is something you are born with. A peasant will always be a peasant.”

“What about Prince Arthur’s little experiment?” Sir Harold asked.

A chorus of groaning rang out amongst the gathered knights.

“Vagabonds, farmers and losers - the lot of them.”

“I don’t know what the Royal Brat is playing at,” Sir Rory scowled.

“Ah, let the Prince play with his little toys. It stops him from making us do all of those ridiculous training drills.” Sir Jacob grinned. “There has been far less running and far more time off since he started playing with his dirty faced play-knights.”

“True,” Sir Rory conceded.

Sir David had also noticed far less rigour in their training. While the other knights seemed to be enjoying it, he had been concerned about the effects on the squad. The newer knights barely knew any of the battle formations and they hadn’t had a proper spar in weeks. As much as he hated to admit it, Prince Arthur’s knights were getting stronger and stronger while the noble ones were getting slacker. He was fairly sure Sir Jacob wouldn’t even last a two minute sword fight without needing to stop for a break. The gap between the two groups had been made more evident from the disastrous Princess Rescue drill. That Gwaine fought with skill Sir David hadn’t seen in the ranks of the knighthood for years (even if he was a scoundrel). Merlin, unarmed, had almost managed to evade not one but two groups of knights - and he wasn’t even part of the Common Knights’ crew.

And by the same time tomorrow, he would probably be burnt at the stake.

He pushed away the ale that Sir Rory had ordered them all. They were meant to be looking for some kind of scout from Essetir, but instead they were drinking at the tavern.

Ever since he could remember, Sir David had always known that he would become a knight. He had been so looking forward to joining the group of courageous men that bards sang ballads about, songs of valour and virtue and bravery to keep the people of Camelot safe, those weaker than themselves.

His thoughts wandered back to the skinny kid who had caused so much trouble for Sir David. Did he like Merlin? Well, no. Did he want to see the boy burn?

Over his years in Camelot, he had seen many-a-sorcerer executed in the courtyard. Each time, hundreds of people would be gathered in the square to watch the spectacle. Sir David, as a knight, would always have to stand with the other knights, lined up in their armour as a show of strength.

Each time, he would find the same stone gargoyle to stare at. Its wing was chipped, but his eyes would not leave the statue until the sorcerer’s screams stopped.

“Do excuse me, I feel unwell.”

Sir David rose suddenly to his feet, clutching his head.

“You can be such a woman,” Sir Rory said as he rolled his eyes.

“I’ll just go see Gaius,” Sir David trailed off, following his feet away from the tavern. He ignored the sniggers from the other knights as he stumbled away.

He wasn’t sure where he was going, just that he had this overwhelming sense to get away.

No, he didn’t like Merlin, but he knew him too well to watch fire strip his skin.

He thought of the Lady Morgana. If what Prince Arthur said was true, she would be devastated to lose her friend.

Sir Elric burst into the throne room, pushing Edward forward.

King Uther looked up, annoyance carved into his features.

“This man knows the whereabouts of a sorcerer. One that is very close to your son.”

Being eight months pregnant made walking quickly very difficult.

Working in a tavern meant that you heard all manner of goings-on shared in the dark corners with ale flowing to loosen men’s lips. Usually, Elsie kept those secrets to herself, as all good bar keepers should.

The news she had just heard had hit far too close to home and had to be shared as a matter of urgency.

She had thrown her apron at Old Tom and scurried out the back of the tavern with barely time for a goodbye.

Sir David was standing at the practice fields watching that massive commoner lead a series of drills that had to be Prince Arthur’s work. The men moved in unison, almost hypnotically.

The sun was high in the sky, burning the back of Sir David’s neck and glazing sweat on the men training.

Sir David laid eyes on Prince Arthur, leading his men across the field.

He had always wanted to be a brave and noble knight. Now was his chance.

“Hi Mary,” Elsie panted, not stopping for chit chat. She took the steps up to Gwaine’s room with care, with both feet on the step before taking the next one. Finally, she reached the top and knocked loudly.

Merlin answered the door, a big, oblivious grin on his face.

“Elsie! You didn’t climb those stairs, did you? Gwaine’s not even here -”

Elsie pushed Merlin backwards into the room, shutting the door behind her. She had been hoping to find Gwaine and tell him. He would know how to break the news to Merlin.

There was no time - she would have to tell him herself.

She wrung her hands together. The poor boy was starting to look concerned, his eyebrows pinching together.

Gwaine wouldn’t even get to see him one more time.

“Are you alright? Is the baby . . .”

“Merlin,” she said, grabbing his hands. “They know. They know you’re a sorcerer.”

Merlin pulled his hands out of Elsie’s own. He backed away, the colour draining so quickly from his face that Elsie feared he might faint.

“Listen to me Merlin - you don’t have much time. Someone might be telling the King right now.”

“Oh shit,” Merlin gasped, his hands coming up to his mouth. He took some wobbling steps backwards, leaning against the wall for support.

There wasn’t time for Merlin to go into shock. Elsie saw his pack dumped at the foot of his bed and picked it up, shovelling the clothes hanging out of it back in.

“You have to leave! Where has Gwaine been stashing that money?”

“No, it’s for you and the baby,” Merlin said. His words were detached as his impossibly blue eyes darted around the room.

“We can get more -”

“No.” Merlin shook his head vigorously, snapping back to himself. “I can’t. I won’t. I’ll . . . I’ll be fine.”

Whether he was trying to convince Elsie or himself, she couldn’t be sure. She untucked her change pouch that she used for customers in the tavern from her pocket and slipped it into Merlin’s bag while he was distractedly tugging his boots on. It wasn’t as much as what Gwaine had saved, but it would at least be enough to get out of a tight spot.

Elsie spared a thought for her love. Gwaine would come home from his emergency patrol at night to find Merlin gone without even so much as a chance to say goodbye. He would be devastated. They were as close as brothers, closer even.

“Merlin, I’m so sorry.”

The boy scrubbed his hands over his face, running them back through his hair in a very Gwaine-like gesture. He sagged.

“I always knew it could come to this, one day. I guess you could say I’ve been waiting.”

“Where will you go?” Elsie asked. “I can tell Gwaine, he can meet you there.”

Merlin shook his head with a sad smile as he stood up, shouldering his pack.

“He belongs here with you. Besides, it’s better if you don’t know. If they come looking for me, you won’t have to lie.”

Elsie didn’t know Merlin that well, but she could see Gwaine’s influence on him. Loyally protecting those that mattered to him is something Gwaine would do, and a trait she hoped her child would share.

“Thank you for helping me, even with the . . .”

He waggled his fingers.

Elsie smiled kindly. “Magic or not, you are still special, Merlin.”

She reached up to give Merlin a hug when a knock on the door interrupted them.

Elsie broke their embrace and pushed Merlin behind her, holding a finger to her lips. She motioned to him to hide out of view of the door. He ducked down, face blanching white.

She needed to get the guards off his trail. Just act normal.

Taking a deep breath, Elsie opened the door halfway.

Merlin pressed his back against the wall, holding his breath even though he was sure the thud of his heart would give him away.

Elsie resisted the temptation to look at him as she opened the door halfway.

This was it. This could be Merlin’s last moments of freedom. Hiding behind a door in a room above a bakery.

“My Lord,” she said, dropping into as much of a bow as she could with her inflated stomach.

My Lord?

Oh no.

He watched through the gap between the door and the frame as hands closed around her arms, stopping her from sinking any lower. Gentle, strong hands adorned in fine rings that Merlin would know anywhere.

“Please, Elsie, there’s no need.”

No, no, not Arthur!

Merlin pressed his fist into his mouth to hold back the pained sound his heart tried to make.

What a cruel twist of fate that it be Arthur to lead him to the pyre. Then again, he wasn’t foolish enough to ever believe that fate had been on his side.

Still, Elsie valiantly held her ground.

“Are you looking for Gwaine? Sorry Sire, he’s not here, he hasn’t gotten back from that patrol you sent him on yet. I’ll be sure to tell him to call in when he gets back.”

She started to close the door, but Arthur stopped her with a slap of his hand against the wood.

“I’m actually looking for Merlin. It’s really important. Do you know where he is?”

He knows.

Merlin tipped his head back against the wall, trying to stop the tears that threatened to leak from his eyes.

Did Arthur hate him? If he didn’t after Merlin broke his heart, he would definitely hate him after finding out that he had kept his magic a secret - that he was a dirty, filthy sorcerer. Maybe it would be easier this way, for Arthur at least. If he was going to be executed, it would be easier for Arthur to watch if any lingering feelings he may have had for Merlin were replaced with hatred.

He was going to the pyre.

Merlin clutched the wall as his legs wobbled.

He would beg Arthur to end it swiftly, by his sword. He didn’t want to burn.

Would he grant Merlin that last wish?

Maybe if Merlin ran - fought against him - he might be lucky enough to be killed swiftly.

Gwaine wouldn’t have to watch.

He was torn from his thoughts by a cough.

Clearing her throat, Elsie shook her head. “No sorry, I haven’t seen him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Sire, I was about to take a nap, I really am tired.”

She shrugged apologetically, looking back over her shoulder towards the bed, but catching Merlin’s gaze. Her eyes were like steel, her resolve unwavering. She thought they could still fool Arthur and send him away.

Elsie didn’t know how stubborn the prat could be.

“It’s important,” Arthur urged.

Merlin tried to peek through the crack in the door to see Arthur’s face, but the angle wouldn’t allow it.

“I’m sorry, Sire, I just don’t know,” Elsie said, more firmly.

What if Elsie got into trouble for hiding Merlin? What if something happened to the baby, or to Gwaine?

“Please -”

It was time to stop hiding.

“It’s okay Elsie,”

Merlin stepped out from behind the door, head hung to his chest.

A sudden shuffle of movement met by another just as fast brought Merlin’s head up.

Arthur had stepped into the room only for Elsie to stand between them, fists curled at her side.

Merlin tugged on her arm to pull her gently aside, but the woman was as strong and stubborn as Gwaine.

“Elsie, please -”

“No, I will not move! If he wants to arrest you, he’s going to have to come through me.” She jabbed a finger in Arthur’s direction. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur didn’t look frustrated at Elsie’s protest. He looked heartbroken.

“Please -” Arthur started, but Elsie cut him off.

“The law is unjust! Merlin is as evil as a sunflower! Just because he has magic, you’d see him tortured to death -”

“No!” Arthur shouted.

“Elsie, please,” Merlin tried, his voice cracking.

“Like so many others before him!”

Arthur slammed the door shut behind him, trapping the three of them in the room.

“I’m here to help him escape!”

Those words silenced Elsie.

“Oh.”

Merlin dared to look up at Arthur through his watery eyes.

“Escape?” he choked out.

Arthur nodded earnestly.

“Sir David came to warn me.”

“Sir David?”

Sir David hated him!

Arthur could only shrug.

“But . . . but why would you help me?” asked Merlin.

Elsie cleared her throat.

“I’ll wait downstairs.”

“No, it would be better if you returned home,” Arthur said, regaining his authoritative tone. “I cannot promise that everything will go smoothly, and I will not have you implicated in all of this mess.”

“But -”

Merlin stepped in.

“Please Elsie, for me.”

She sighed, conceding defeat. Holding out her arms, she pulled Merlin down for a hug. He wrapped his own arms around her, trying not to think about how much he wished he could do the same to Gwaine.

“You be careful, yeah?” Elsie said. “You have a little niece or nephew to meet.”

Merlin chuckled wetly. “I can’t wait. Can you, can you tell Gwaine . . .”

Tell him sorry for getting into this mess.

Tell him thank you for looking out for him all these years.

Tell him . . . tell him.

“Tell him I love him.”

Once Arthur had helped Elsie down stairs, he returned, shutting the door firmly behind him. He stood with his hands behind his back, looking every bit the prince he was.

“So.”

“So.”

Both of them started to speak at the same time.

“We haven’t got much time -”

“Arthur, I wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t -”

“It won’t take them long to find where you live -”

“It’s all so complicated -”

Merlin was broken from his babble by Arthur grabbing his shoulders. He sagged, resisting the urge to crumple into Arthur’s chest.

When Arthur spoke, his voice had lost all its normal surety.

“We have to get you out of here.”

Merlin shook his head, then nodded. Not until he was faced with the prospect of leaving did he realise that he saw Camelot as his home. He’d settled in, made friends. He’d found Arthur.

Now he would have to leave it all behind.

“I’m so sorry Arthur.”

Merlin had lost the fight to keep his tears at bay. It didn’t matter anymore. Chances were he would never even see Arthur again.

“Oh Merlin.”

Strong arms wrapped tightly around him. Merlin buried his face in Arthur’s neck, sobbing as Arthur whispered in his ear.

“Shhhhh, it will be okay. It will be okay. I won’t let them take you.”

“I don’t want to go,” Merlin said into Arthur’s neck. He inhaled Arthur’s scent of sun-kissed sweat and sandalwood soap, trying to catalogue it in his mind so he could remember it.

“I know, I know. I don’t want you to go. Once things settle down I’ll send word. Is there anywhere you could hide for a while?”

Merlin shrugged his shoulders. The place that raced to the forefront of his mind was Ealdor, his childhood home. Maybe if fortune favoured him he could see his mother again?

Or what if she wasn’t there, what if . . .?

“I’m not sure . . . I can . . I can send a letter when I find somewhere.”

Merlin felt Arthur draw in a deep breath. His arms wrapped around him more tightly, as if he could physically stop Merlin having to leave if he just held on.

“This is why, isn’t it?” Arthur said, his voice only just above a whisper.

“Why what?”

“Why you broke things off with me.”

The way he said those words, not like a prince but like a boy confused and lost, made Merlin’s heart ache. He had been telling himself that Arthur would get over him quickly enough, that their relationship hadn’t meant as much to him as it had to Merlin, but he knew now that wasn’t true.

“I couldn’t tell you, I couldn’t tell anyone . . .”

“Shhhh, it’s alright.”

“But it’s not,” Merlin said, rubbing his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder. A warm cheek pressed against his ear.

“But it’s not.”

Mary was having quite the day. First, the wagon had arrived with the week’s delivery of flour. She had barely finished ordering Sye to unload the trailer when Elsie had arrived, looking ready to pop. She had seemed flustered and didn’t stop even when Mary told her that that beau of hers wasn’t home.

But that wasn’t the last visitor of the day. The Prince, actual Prince Arthur, walked in without so much as knocking (although, he was royalty, so Mary supposed he didn’t really have to knock).

That wasn’t the part that got her attention, no. It was what he was wearing. That blue cloak that Mary had seen whip around the corner of the stairs that led to the boys room many a-time. The blue cloak that belonged to Merlin’s secret beau. The one who’s face she had never seen, but who was always sneaking upstairs when Gwaine wasn’t home.

Which meant that Merlin was boffing the Prince!

Quite frankly, Mary was impressed.

After a lot less noise than the two of them usually made up in that bedroom, Mary heard the clomping of their boots on the stairs. She quickly grabbed a bowl, pretending to knead dough rather than eavesdropping.

The Prince emerged first from the stairwell, towing Merlin behind him by the hand. Now if that wasn’t the sweetest thing she’d seen in the last moon . . .

Mary curtsied awkwardly. Her knees weren’t what they used to be after carrying sacks of flour all day.

“Good afternoon Your Highness, and . . . Merlin.”

Merlin looked paler than the flour Sye was unloading.

“Are you alright? You’re looking a bit peaky.” He’d always been a bit of a sickly boy, that Merlin. He was lucky to have Gwaine looking out for him.

Sye hoisted another bag onto the pile of flour forming in the storeroom. He wiped the sweat from his brow, looking confused. He pointed towards the door.

“There’s a whole lot of knights riding up the road.”

Merlin did his best to turn paler again while Prince Arthur snapped into action, looking out the window up the road.

“What is going on?” Rhen asked, tossing a tea towel over his shoulder.

“We need to get Merlin out the back way,” Prince Arthur said, watching the road outside. Merlin? Surely it was Arthur who would be having to sneak away? What was going on?

“Um, Sire, there is no out the back way.”

There was only one way in or out of the bakery - the side door into the alleyway.

“Merlin? Why do we have to get Merlin out?” Sye asked.

“It doesn’t matter,” Rhen said firmly. “If we need to get him out, we get him out.” Ever since his little girl was born, he’s had a soft spot for Merlin. Protective, almost. Those herbs that the kid collected must have really saved her.

“No, I’m not getting anyone into trouble,” Merlin said, shaking his head as he stepped away from the Prince. He looked around the room, at Sye, at Rhen, and then at Mary. It looked like the poor lad had been through the ringer.

“I’m a sorcerer.” As the words left his mouth, Merlin swayed on the spot, steadying himself against the table just as the Prince stepped in, holding a proprietary hand on his back. With the added assurance, he continued on. “I’m so sorry, I’ve gotten you all involved -”

“It doesn’t matter,” Rhen repeated sharply. Mary had never heard him speak with that tone, but she could echo the sentiment.

Mary was old enough to remember before The Purge. She could remember enough to know that the laws were unjust, that magic was not evil and that people did not deserve to be killed for something that quite frankly had nothing to do with Uther Pendragon. If people wanted to harvest their crops with magic, what was it to him?

Quite frankly, she couldn’t wait until that old codger was out and the young Prince was made King.

She rolled up her sleeves.

“Right. This is what we’re going to do.”

Mary peered out of the high window, balancing precariously on a stack of flour sacks as she watched Prince Arthur address the knights. The First Knight stood at the front, with the six other knights behind him, the big ugly one at his right hand.

She had to give it to the Prince - he was a good actor.

“Prince Arthur, fancy running into you here,” that First Knight guy announced, four other knights gathering around him in the narrow alleyway. “What, pray tell, are you doing here?”

“Same thing you are, I presume, Sir Elric,” he grumbled, feigning annoyance. “He’s not here.”

Sir Elric smirked, looking over his shoulder at the ugly big knight on his right. People had begun to stop in the street to watch the commotion.

“What’s happening Mary?” Rhen hissed, trying to peer through the gap in the bricks.

“Shh!” she hissed. She looked around the bakery. Merlin was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Sye?”

“Moving the wagon, like you said.”

“Good,” Mary said, turning back to the window. Sir Elric stepped forward, speaking again.

“Forgive me, Sire, if I wish to conduct my own search.”

If there was any doubt that Arthur was Prince, it was quashed when he drew himself to his full height imperiously, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So, the word of your Prince is not enough?”

Sir Elric licked his lips.

“Not when said Prince has his judgement clouded by his -”

Mary gasped when the knight waved a hand southwards. How dare he!? To insult the Prince like that, not that it wasn’t true, but still!

“I said I have searched the building. He is long gone.” Mary couldn’t see Prince Arthur’s face, but she could tell he was speaking through gritted teeth.

‘And how did he know to run?” the knight growled back.

“If you have something to say, say it!”

Mary turned around to look down at Rhen, who was checking the covering he had thrown over the wheelbarrow they used to ferry bread around the Lower Town.

“Are you done?” she hissed.

“Just about,” Rhen replied, making sure that the special load within could not be seen.

“Get going now!” Mary whispered, shooing Rhen out the door.

Out the window, the scene had gotten more heated. Mary noticed that Sir Elric and that massive knight next to him both had their hands on the helm of their swords. She hoped that it would not come to blows. The Prince was a fine swordsman, but here he had no back up, against seven of the king’s knights.

She spotted Rhen wheeling the barrow out the door behind the Prince, keeping his head low as if he were off to make deliveries. Mary held her breath as he made his escape, getting the barrow almost out of the other side of the alley way when Sir Elric called out.

“Oi, you! What have you got there?”

Oh no!

The knights stomped towards Rhen who quickly jumped into action and pushed the loaded cart faster. He would have been caught had Prince Arthur not stepped in between them, sword drawn. Damn the tiny window! Mary couldn’t see what was going on from the tight angle. With a grumble, she climbed down from the flour sacks and hurried outside.

That big second knight had lunged at Prince Arthur, sword swinging wildly. The Prince blocked his swing effortlessly, wrapping his sword in a graceful arc that disarmed the brute.

He turned to Rhen.

“Run!”

Rhen didn’t need to be told twice. He took off with the cart, only to be blocked by two of the knights who had run around the building to cut him off. Rhen reeled back, pulling the cart back towards the bakery, the cover still tightly tucked around its load.

Those bastards wouldn’t be getting Merlin, not on her watch.

Mary hauled a sack of flour from the mostly unloaded wagon and with a strength she didn’t know she had, heaved it over her shoulder as she ran at the knights. With practice hands, she tugged at the thick cord that held the sack shut and threw the sack past Rhen. It didn’t land far past the wheelbarrow, but it did exactly what she had hoped for. A thick white cloud of flour billowed into the mouth of the alley way, blocking all visibility.

“Go!” she shouted at Rhen, giving him a slap on the rump. Not one to be told twice, Rhen pushed the wheelbarrow through the flour cloud, not needing his eyes to navigate his way around the corner.

Mary ran after him to find the fight between the other knights and Prince Arthur had spilled out the other side onto the street. The Prince was on the defensive, fighting Sir Elric and two other knights but losing ground. Dodging a swing that came far too close to his face, Prince Arthur stumbled back, dragging the fight further towards Rhen’s escape route instead of away from it.

The two flour-coated knights emerged coughing from the alleyway, running after Rhen. Mary dithered, looking for a way to slow them down when something, or someone came barrelling into them. The three of them tumbled to the ground, the newcomer being quickest to recover to his feet.

It was Pip, Lizzie’s boy from the chicken keep. He caught a staff tossed to him by Gregory who worked in the stables, who was armed with a similar staff. With a nod to each other, they raised their weapons and faced the knights.

Mary turned back to see that Arthur was no longer fighting the other group of knights alone. He had been joined by Thomas and that blacksmith with the sister.

The Common Knights had arrived.

Time for the next step.

Mary slipped back towards the bakery. She had hoped that Arthur and Rhen would be able to draw the knights further away, but if they waited any longer they might lose their chance.

Just as she’d feared, a knight was left lingering at the alleyway leading to the bakery door, looking around disinterestedly. He was young and not the sharpest looking fighter, but even a young, stupid knight could yell loud enough to alert the others.

Sneaking around to the front of the building, Mary took in the scene set up before her. A wagon filled with straw had been moved to a position that would seem inconspicuous to most, and yet was carefully positioned. She let out a sharp, shrill whistle. A head with raven hair popped up at the high window, followed by a set of gangly limbs. First to drop from the window was a tightly filled pack. It landed on the edge of the wagon and flipped over, landing on the hard ground with a thud.

Both Merlin and Mary winced. She had told Sye to make sure it was centred under the window.

With a quick wave of her hand that meant hurry along before the stupid knight turns around and sees you, Mary encouraged Merlin to make the jump.

Holding her breath, Mary watched as Merlin plunged from the window, landing heavily in the pile of straw. Finding a booted leg sticking out out of the stack, Mary pulled on it, dragging Merlin out of the wagon and onto the ground. He spat straw out, wincing as he made his way to his feet. Mary glanced over to the guard who was looking right at them.

He watched them quizzically until it finally dawned on him that maybe Merlin might be the boy that they were searching for. Mary watched as the panic stretched his mouth wide.

Oh dammit.

Just as the knight started to yell, a thick hand clamped over his mouth. Sye held the knight firmly to his chest and gave Mary a nod.

“Get him out of here!”

Mary picked up Merlin’s pack and held the straps open, letting Merlin slip it on quickly.

“Go!” she shouted, shoving Merlin in the direction of the path to the Darkling Woods.

Merlin didn’t wait. He ran like his life depended on it, which, it did.

Chapter Text

It had not stopped raining since Merlin had left the Citadel. Two whole days and nights of rain. In some ways, the rain was everything Merlin could ask for. The rain washed away his tracks, and the ground was too muddy for the Camelot Knights to follow on horseback anyway.

Mostly, Merlin thought, the rain could get stuffed. His skin was soaked through, and so was everything in his pack. The rabbits and fowl had taken cover, leaving him nothing to hunt for food, and he’d only managed to find a few berries and three mushrooms that hadn’t been damaged by the torrential downpour. His stomach was chewing itself up with hunger, and yet he had to keep trudging through the mud. Merlin was quite sure that he hadn’t even made it past the Camelot borders, despite walking for two whole days. The mud shortened his steps and the weight of the rain dragged him down.

He had been trying to avoid the towns and villages, keeping to the forest, but there was no point avoiding being found out and killed by the knights if he died of exposure first. He was fairly sure that notice of his arrest would not have reached the outer towns and villages, not with this weather, but he wasn’t sure it was a risk he was willing to take. He could hear Gwaine’s voice in his head.

Don’t be a fool Merlin. Keep off the roads and out of the towns.

Distracted, Merlin’s boot slipped on a muddy rock, sending him skidding and landing on his hip. He lay on his side, catching his breath as the rain continued to pelt him.

He lay there longer than he should have in the mud that was so cold it may as well have been snow. Maybe it would be better if he just didn’t get up? He had no one, nowhere to go and no idea what he was meant to do now.

That’s enough now, eh Merlin? Time to get up and keep on keeping on.

Leave me be, Gwaine.

Where would be the fun in that? C’mon, get up.

But I’m so tired.

You can sleep when you’re old and wrinkly. Let’s have you, lazy daisy.

“Fine,” Merlin said aloud, rolling onto his front before dragging his knees under him. He staggered to his feet. Just as he straightened, the rain started to ease, revealing the shadow of a town in the distance.

He took it as a sign and headed away from the forest, slowly trekking towards the hope of a roof over his head.

“Blimey, that rain coming in from the north looks brutal. Perfect timing!” Gwaine chuckled, leading his horse towards the stables.

“I could not agree more,” said Lancelot. It had been a slow ride escorting the villagers and their carts of potatoes from Ellendell, but they had arrived in the nick of time given the darkening skies drawing over the citadel.

They turned the corner to the stables only to find Percival waiting with Elsie, who was wringing her hands in her apron that barely made it over her stomach anymore.

“Elsie! What are you doing here?”

Gwaine got his foot caught as he tried to almost jump from the horse, sending him stumbling gracelessly from his mount. That heavy weight that had settled in his gut told him that something was wrong.

“Is it the baby? Is everything okay?”

Elsie shook her head, then nodded quickly.

“The baby is fine Gwaine, it’s not that.”

Elsie looked nervously towards Lancelot and Elyan who had dismounted their own horses and come to Gwaine’s side.

“Can we talk in private?”

“Where’s Merlin?” Lancelot asked abruptly.

Elsie flinched.

Oh gods, Merlin!

“Where is he?”

Elsie looked up to Percival, looking for an answer that the big man did not provide. Gwaine could see that his fellow knight’s jaw was clenched tightly, the muscle bulging against his skin.

“I guess you will both find out anyway,” she sighed, motioning towards Lancelot and Elyan. Elsie moved to Gwaine, taking his rough hands in her own small ones.

“I don’t know how, but Edward found out about Merlin.”

She looked up at Gwaine with clear green eyes which had lost their sparkle.

“Found out . . . you mean his . . .”

Elsie nodded, her eyes darting towards Lancelot and Elyan.

“They know,” Gwaine huffed, dropping his head as the truth of the situation started to sink in. He pulled his hands from Elsie, scrubbing them over his face.

“Where is he?” asked Gwaine without looking up.

“I don’t know,” Elsie said in a small voice. When Gwaine’s head shot up, she hurriedly added, “he got away. We don’t know where he went, but he got away.”

Gwaine fell to a crouch, hiding his face before letting out an anguish-fueled howl. Lancelot moved to Elsie’s other side, taking her elbow as a tear fell from her cheek as they watched Gwaine’s grief. Still, she stood stoically tall, determined to tell the story.

“He was unharmed when he left, almost exactly a day ago. He should be almost at the borders by now. The Knights have been searching the Lower Town and some of the townsfolk have been reporting patrols going out to the south, east, and west but not yet to the north, no-one knows why. They’ve yet to return.”

“They’re hunting him?” Gwaine snapped. He knew it wasn’t Elsie’s fault, he knew, but he could feel his emotions spiralling out of control. He was filled with such a surge of anger, crashing against a wave of fear and it left him feeling sick.

“He’s smart, and strong, he’ll make it to safety.” Lancelot consoled, although the waver in his voice left to question just who it was he was trying to reassure.

Gwaine couldn’t stand by and hope that Merlin would be safe. Snapping to action, he strode back to his horse and snatched up his sword.

“Gwaine, what are you doing?” Elyan asked in a low voice.

Fastening the sword to his hip, Gwaine replied.

“I’m going to find Arthur and make him act like a fucking prince for once and call off the patrols.”

He didn’t care whether Arthur hated or loved Merlin, Gwaine would make him do the right thing, by word or by sword, he would get the prince to help Merlin.

Percival broke his silence.

“You might find it a bit difficult to get into the dungeons with a sword.”

“What?” Gwaine’s response was echoed by the other two knights.

“The King threw him into the dungeon with the rest of them.”

“The rest . . .?” Elyan asked.

“Mary, Sye, Rhen, Pip, Gregory, Thomas - they all were thrown in the dungeons by the Knights for helping Merlin escape.”

All of those people, commoners, to show uncommon bravery. For Merlin.

“You’re saying that Arthur helped Merlin?” Gwaine asked in disbelief. Deep down, he knew Arthur was a good man, but to go against his father and the Noble Knights to save Merlin? That was risking a lot more than the embarrassment of failure.

“He fought off the Knights and created a distraction so Merlin could get away.”

Elyan let out a low whistle. Indeed, Gwaine was impressed. He could very well have saved Merlin’s life with his treasonous actions.

Merlin. Where would he go? There was nowhere that they had called home together, but maybe he would return to the place he called home as a child. Gwaine cursed himself for not pushing harder to find out where he had come from. Merlin had always been so secretive about his mother, and never spoke of a father. He didn’t even know which kingdom he came from, but he hazarded a guess that it was a small farming somewhere north with cold, harsh winters. He knew too much about chickens, and was always able to keep dry in the snow.

He would be so scared. For almost the last five years, Gwaine had been by Merlin’s side. They had barely spent a night apart that whole time.

“Come, Gwaine, come back to mine,” Elsie said kindly. “The King’s Knights are still at the bakery.”

Gwaine stood up. He felt as if his legs were not his own as he walked along next to Elsie, her arm slid into the crook of his. He looked back over his shoulder, just in case.

Merlin staggered into the tavern in the centre of the town, clothes so sodden that they clung to his body. He could still feel the mud caked on the side of his neck. He ducked his head to avoid the stares at his appearance.

The tavern was larger than Elsie’s, which was common amongst the larger towns that neared borders. They were popular amongst traders and travellers, and far enough from the capital’s eyes (and tax collectors). The air was thick with smoke and the scent of ale and something warm and beefy that filled wooden bowls on some of the tables.

Merlin moved straight to the bar, ignoring the complaints from the other patrons as he brushed past them in his saturated clothes. A gruff man with a bushy dark beard and eyebrows to match met him from behind the bar, grunting.

“Some stew, please,” Merlin said, dropping his wet bag at his feet.

“A silver piece,” the bar man said, looking at Merlin like he wouldn’t have the money to pay for it.

Which, to be fair, he didn’t.

“Please, I can work for it -”

“Don’t need no workers,” the man replied, turning away with a huff.

Merlin sagged against the bar. He hadn’t eaten a meal, decent or not, since breakfast two days ago. He would never make it across the Camelot border into Essetir if he didn’t eat something substantial soon.

He dug through his bag, hoping to find something of value that he could trade the barman, or maybe even one of the other patrons would give him money in trade for something of his. He found clothes and undergarments, all soaking wet. A knife, but he would prefer if he didn’t have to give up his only weapon so early in his journey. He stuffed it into his boot, and returned to rifling through his bag. He found a woven belt that might be worth a copper piece or two.

Merlin’s fingers found a soft leather item that did not feel familiar. He pulled it out of his bag to discover a small brown pouch which he recognised as the one Elsie wore at her hip. He opened it.

He almost whooped out loud. Bless that beautiful woman.

It was mostly copper and silver, but it was enough to pay for a meal. It was maybe even enough for a room. No, he needed to be smarter and not spend it all at once. He didn’t know how long it would be until he had the opportunity to earn more money. He could find somewhere to sleep tonight if he had food in his belly.

Moments later, Merlin was curled protectively around a bowl of stew at a small table in the back corner, eating slowly enough that he could stay out of the drizzle as long as possible.

He scraped the bowl clean, the soup and warmth of the tavern doing wonders to melt the ice in his bones. With his physical needs taken care of, he was no longer able to push away the painful thoughts that needed thinking. Thoughts of his mother and whether he was foolish to return home and invite danger to her doorstep, or his greater fear still; that she may not even be there. Thoughts of his magic, still locked away with no way to free it. Thoughts of Gwaine and his baby that Merlin may now never meet.

Thoughts of Arthur and whether he would ever love anyone the way he loved him.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Merlin had spent money (that he didn’t have much of) on food he couldn’t afford to waste, he would be worried that he would lose his dinner.

Thinking about Arthur tied his stomach in knots. It was funny how something that was so unclear a mere few weeks ago could be so clearly obvious now. He was such a fool to push Arthur away. He only did it to save the hurt that would inevitably be caused if Arthur found out about Merlin’s magic or if Merlin ever had to leave, and here he was, in that exact situation despite trying everything he could to avoid it. If he had known that this is what destiny had in store for him, he would have spent those last few days with Arthur and enjoyed what time they had left instead of leaving them both hurt and hollowed out.

Eventually, the stares of the woman collecting glasses became hmrump’s which in turn became the barman from before asking Merlin to buy a drink or leave. He had stayed a number of hours, but it was well into the night now and time for him to find a sheltered spot to sleep. Merlin had already thought about the most likely place to find shelter while stretching out his meal, and so he shouldered his pack and headed out into the rain.

Probably due to the fact that the town was near a main road, the stables were so large that they were made of two buildings, joined in an L shape. One building was a lot older than the other and seemed to be held together with twine and tar. The other looked every bit the afterthought, tacked on to provide extra space.

The lights were out, meaning that the stable boys either didn’t sleep there, or those that did were already asleep. If he could creep in quietly and leave before dawn, he could avoid being found out. The stables seemed big enough and dark enough that he could avoid being noticed, if he was careful.

Merlin slipped into the older section, using a door that barely hung on its hinge. He hoped that the driving rain would drown out the sound of the metal creaking. It was almost pitch black inside, except for the slivers of light where the moon and the rain came through the roof. The older section was larger than it appeared from the outside, containing eight stalls and surprisingly no horses, although he could hear their snuffling snorts. They must have been housed in the newer section where the roof didn’t leak.

Choosing the stall nearest the door and therefore furthest from the horses and possibly the stable boys, Merlin curled up in the old hay, avoiding the leak that dripped through the patchy roof. He took off his jacket and hung it over his pack, hoping to at least dry it out a little. His clothes, while muddy, had at least dried somewhat in the tavern. Glad to have a roof over his head, albeit a leaking one, Merlin curled up and fell almost straight to sleep.

Forward, back, block, side, swipe, block.

Back, back, block -

“Would you just bloody sit down!”

Arthur sighed, resting his hands on his hips. Mary added a hastily whispered sire to the end of her request.

“I have to keep in shape.”

“Sire, I don’t mean to be morbid, but I don’t think there’s any fitness requirement for the chopping block.” This time it was Pip who spoke. Arthur supposed it was his father’s way of insulting him, putting him in a cell with the commoners, but instead it served the opposite purpose. It reminded Arthur of just how much he still had to lose.

“Somehow, I think that everyone might be a little too busy to worry about executing anyone.”

“What do you mean?” Rhen asked. It was the first thing that the man had said since they were thrown in the large holding cell together two days earlier. He had been sorrowfully curled up in the corner, refusing to join in the conversations between Arthur the others. Mary had whispered to Arthur on the first knight that his wife had recently had a baby. Arthur could not imagine what it would be like waiting in a cell knowing you may not get to watch your child grow up.

“King Cenred is marching on Camelot as we speak. He should be crossing the border any day now.”

Pip sat up like a startled stoat. Mary swore under her breath.

“They’re attacking the castle?” Thomas asked. The young knight had been stoic over the past couple of days, keeping his head when many would not have while waiting on death row.

Arthur nodded. “The way I see it, everyone will be too busy setting our defences to organise the execution of a few commoners and the Prince of Camelot.”

“Surely you don’t think the King would behead you as well?” Mary asked, her wrinkled eyes stretched wide.

To be honest, Arthur wasn’t sure if his father would execute him. On the one hand, he turned against the Noble Knights and helped a known sorcerer escape against his father’s orders. A known sorcerer that had been in Arthur’s employ for months.

(He could be grateful that his father had not found out just how close he and Merlin had gotten.)

On the other hand, Arthur was Uther’s only heir - and they were heading into a war. Surely his father would do what he could to protect the Pendragon legacy.

“So what, you think they’ll let us out when the attack starts?”

Arthur shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Or we’ll be left here to rot,” Mary suggested.

“What if Cenred captures the castle?” Pip asked.

What if indeed. Arthur did not want to be sitting in a cage like a prized pig waiting for that eventuality.

Arthur looked at the lock on the barred door. He needed to find a way out. He scoffed as he realised that Merlin would have been able to do it with a word. Or maybe not. He didn’t know exactly what those cuffs on his wrists did, whether they completely cut him off from magic or just made it harder to use it.

He had to admit, when he found out the truth from Sir David, there had been other feelings nudging aside his fear for Merlin and desire to protect him. Feelings like anger and betrayal and hurt. Two days in the dungeons had also given him a lot of time to think though. Time to consider just how cruel a punishment Merlin had been dealt. To be a sorcerer and have to hide what he was, to fear for his life and yet still not even have the use of magic that condemned him - what an unfair fate.

Arthur wondered where Merlin was now. He hoped that he had gotten away. Surely if he had been captured, his father would have paraded him past Arthur in the cells, taunting him.

He had to hope that Merlin had made it.

Merlin drifted from the depths of his slumber, nearing the surface of wakefulness, but something seemed not right. He was still tired, he wasn’t ready to wake up but there was something tugging at his mind to wake up.

He gave in and forced himself out of his deep sleep into the region before waking when he realised what was wrong.

Something was touching him. Touching his cheek.

He woke up with a shout, scrambling backwards on elbows and heels.

Looming over him was a face, up lit with a yellow glow.

“Oh boy, you’re even prettier with your eyes open.”

The young man the face belonged to sat back on his haunches, smirking. He had freckles spotted all over his face and a shock of dark red hair that was visible even in the low light.

“Who are you? What . . . wh . .why, why did you?”

Merlin touched his cheek where he felt the ghost of the man’s (boy’s) fingers.

“I just wanted to see if those gorgeous cheekbones were just as sharp as they looked!” he said, delighted.

Merlin’s eyes darted around as he started to regain his bearings.

He was in a stable. He was sheltering from the rain.

Taking in the man’s sun-freckled face, peasant clothing and the horse reins that had been fashioned into a belt around his waist, this must have been one of the stable boys Merlin had been trying to avoid.

He had been found and now he was backed into a stall with no magic.

Merlin did, however, have his dagger stashed in his boots, which he still wore.

“What do you want?”

“Now you’re getting it,” the man said, running his tongue along his grinning lips. “I was thinking, you’re in my stables taking shelter, but you haven’t paid any gold for your accommodation. Maybe payment could be made in another way, eh?”

The boys eyes roamed over Merlin, his smirk widening.

Merlin wasn’t fool enough to think that he would never accept such an offer. There had been times where he and Gwaine had been so skint that he was fairly sure Gwaine had resorted to such methods to get a roof over their heads. Whenever Merlin had questioned how they could afford the room that kept out the winter chill or the loaf of bread that saved them from hunger, Gwaine had reassured him that it was merely a mutually beneficial deal - he had needs and if he got something out of tumbling the inn keeper’s wife while the inn keeper was away, all the better for them. It still left Merlin feeling uneasy and gave him extra motivation to find other ways to make some coin.

He was fairly sure there would be a time that he would say yes to such a proposition, a time where he would be desperate enough, but that time wasn’t that night. Not with the memory of Arthur’s lips on his still freshly seared in his mind.

“No, I’ll just be leaving,” Merlin said forcefully. He snatched his jacket and pack, then rose to his feet, towering over the man.

“Frog, stop being such a fucking creep,” another voice said, emerging from the darkness. Another lantern showed a second man, this one looking slightly older with his dark hair sticking up on one side. “Get back to bed.”

The first man, Frog, rolled his eyes dramatically. “I was just kidding around.”

He looked up at Merlin with a glint in his eye. “Unless, you want to, that is?”

“Nah, I think I’ll be right,” Merlin replied, just as the second man grabbed Frog by the collar and dragged him to his feet.

“Go calm Bessie down like you’re supposed to be doing and stop being a little pervert.”

Frog stomped off back to the main stables leaving Merlin with the newcomer.

“Sorry,” Merlin muttered, shouldering his pack. He made to leave quickly before the older stable boy could give him any grief.

“Oi, oi, you ain’t going to find anywhere to sleep out there,” he said, catching the sleeve of Merlin’s shirt. “The wind’s picked up too. You can stay with us until dawn, then you best be gone before Stable Master gets in. C’mon to the new bit, the roof is going to fall in here, I tell you.”

Merlin hesitated, weighing up his options.

The man clicked his tongue. “I ain’t going to try and fuck you. And Frog won’t try anything now, not unless he wants to be sleeping in the rain for a month.”

He stomped back into the newer part of the stables, muttering to himself under his breath about randy wankers and interrupted sleep.

Merlin jumped as a gust of wind battered the loose boards on the side of the barn.

Right then, he thought, following the man. If it came to it, he still had his knife stashed in his boot.

They passed restless horses that Merlin unnervingly couldn’t see. In the sliver of moonlight that came through the gap in the door, he saw a pile of hay strewn with two bodies.

“Don’t forget, outta here by -”

The man was cut off by an earsplitting crash. Merlin’s feet left the ground, he jumped so high.

“Fuck a duck!” the man shouted, drowned out by the neighs of scared horses. Merlin turned around to see that the roof of the old stable had fallen in.

“Oright, everyone up! Settle these horses!”

It was going to be a long night.

Lancelot dropped into the seat opposite Gwaine. His foot hit something under the table which on closer inspection seemed to be Elyan, snoring loudly.

“You could have gone easy on him,” Lancelot said. Gwaine grunted.

“Shouldn’t have been drinking with me if he couldn’t handle it,” he mumbled. His eyes were red rimmed, which Lancelot suspected was less to do with the drink and more to do with the sorrows he was trying to drown.

“He’ll be okay, you know,” Lancelot said. “He’s strong.” With a soft smile, he added, “you taught him to be.”

Gwaine scoffed, scrubbing at his nose. It did nothing to hide the new tears that leaked from his eyes.

“I should have been here.”

“And then what?” Lancelot asked. “You could have stopped all of those knights by yourself? You would have ended up in the dungeons with Arthur, or worse. What would Elsie have done then?”

Gwaine sniffed, turning his cup in his hand.

“He didn’t take a tent, and the rain . . . he always gets sick. Too bloody skinny he is. He always gets this cough . . .”

Lancelot nodded. It had rained relentlessly for the last two days. He had been just as worried about how Merlin would be faring in the weather.

“I was going to find that sorcerer, the one that bound him,” Gwaine blurted into his cup. “I was going to make her free him.”

Lancelot nodded, sorting through the information. They must have found out how to get Merlin’s cuffs off.

“And I’m sure Merlin completely agreed with you risking your life and abandoning your love and almost-born babe to do so.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes, conceding the point.

“He’ll be okay, Gwaine.”

Truthfully, Lancelot was just as worried as Gwaine. If Merlin managed to evade the Camelot guards, he would only then have bandits, slavers, mercenaries and thieves to worry about on the roads.

And that was only if the boy had been lucky enough not to be heading north towards Cenred’s army.

“C’mon, I think maybe you’ve had enough to drink.”

Gwaine huffed. “Barmaid’s been watering them down anyway, as if I wouldn’t notice.” The whisper of a smile played on his lips.

Lancelot winked at Elsie who had been casting a watchful eye over Gwaine all night.

“She’s a keeper, that one.”

Gwaine’s smile widened.

“That she is.”

“What’s the problem here?”

Morgana growled, folding her arms over her chest. She had worn a rather low cut dress down to the dungeons, hoping that if all else failed, she could use her womanly charms to persuade the guard to let her through, but of course she managed to find the only guard in all of the dungeons who happened to be of the same orientation as Arthur and Merlin and paid no attention to her breasts whatsoever.

Now one of the King’s stupid stuffy knights was getting involved.

“The Lady was trying to visit the Prince in the dungeons, but I’m under strict instructions not to let anyone through, Sir David.”

Sir David?

Indeed, when Morgana turned around it was the very same knight. Well this couldn’t get much worse. He may have a soft spot for her, but surely by now he’d realised that his affections were not returned, and even if he hadn’t, a rule breaker he was not.

Sir David nodded. Now that Morgana looked at him more carefully, she saw that he looked tired. No, more than that, worn out. The usual surety he carried from knowing that he was better than everyone else was gone.

“That is true, but the Lady Morgana is the King’s Ward.”

“Sir Elric said . . .”

“I know what Sir Elric said,” Sir David cut off. “I am a knight after all.”

Ah there it was, that cocksure confidence, but there was something different about the way he spoke. It was almost as if he was putting on the air of indifference.

“Sorry, Sir David. It’s just that . . .”

“I’ll take her down myself,” Sir David said, “to reassure you that she will be safe.”

The three of them standing in the corridor were all very much aware that the King would not be upset about Morgana visiting Arthur for reasons of safety, but the guard at least knew when he was fighting a losing battle. He let out a long sigh and opened the gate.

Sir David muttered his thanks and took Morgana by the arm, as if he were escorting her on a walk through the gardens. Only once they were down the steps and around the corner did Morgana speak.

“Thank you,” she said. “I won’t tell Uther that it was you who let me in, if I am found out.”

Sir David smiled sardonically. “I think that’s the least of my worries,” he said, more to himself than to Morgana. He did not elaborate, and Morgana did not push her luck, but she did wonder what that comment was about.

He led them to the larger cells at the back of the dungeons where Morgana saw a few of the townspeople, a couple of the Common Knights and . . .

“Arthur!”

“Morgana?!”

Arthur leapt to his feet, staring at her incredulously.

Morgana ran forward, grasping the bars. Arthur looked . . . alright really. He was a bit scuffed up, dirtier than she’d ever seen him and had a few scrapes and grazes on his face and arms, but otherwise he looked alright. In fact, he almost looked like a commoner without his armour or even his fine doublet.

“Uther wouldn’t let me see you. Sir David here was kind enough to have a word with the guard.”

Arthur turned to Sir David with a fondness that surprised Morgana. He gave the knight a serious look, before almost bowing to him.

“Thank you,” Arthur said, his voice wavering with emotion. “If you hadn’t . . . you gave us the chance for him to get away. If you hadn’t . . .”

Arthur ran a hand over his face, composing himself. “If you hadn’t, Merlin would have been captured for sure.”

Sir David nodded, his face flushing red.

Morgana’s mouth hung open. Sir David tipped Arthur off?

“But you hate him!” Morgana blurted out. “I thought . . .”

“I was jealous of him, but, if it isn’t too bold of me to say,” Sir David said, glancing up at Arthur, before continuing, “I may have had things around the wrong way.”

It was Arthur’s turn to flush.

“I’ll just wait around the corner, my Lady,” Sir David said, giving both her and Arthur a short bow before giving them some privacy (well, as much privacy as could be afforded in a cell full of people).

“Are you okay?” she asked, clasping Arthur’s hand in her own through the bars. He nodded, then shrugged.

“I’m okay. Physically - I’m fine. I just . . .”

Morgana nodded. She knew exactly what he meant.

“You’re worried about Merlin.”

Arthur nodded, his jaw clenched tight in the way he did whenever he was trying not to cry.

“How are you?” he forced out, gripping her hand tighter.

“The same. He was my best friend, my only friend.”

Arthur made a noise. “Then what am I, hey?” He pretended to look offended.

“Psh, you’re definitely more like an annoying brother.”

Arthur perked up, seemingly happy with his position in Morgana’s life.

“He was more than a friend to you, though,” Morgana said, rubbing her hand along Arthur’s forearm. She glanced up at the other occupants of the cells. A man with hams for arms stared up at the ceiling and started whistling, while a woman struck up a ridiculously loud conversation with one of the Common Knights about the rain.

Arthur smiled indulgently at their poor attempts at giving them privacy.

“They all helped him to escape. They risked their lives for him.”

“He’s a pretty special person,” Morgana said, tears stinging her eyes. She wiped them away hurriedly, sniffing in a very unlady-like manner. “Did he say where he was going?”

Arthur shook his head. “I don’t think he even knew.”

Morgana nodded. He would come back, she knew he would. This couldn’t be it.

“He’s strong,” she said, repeating the words she’d told herself over and over the past few days. Arthur nodded in agreement.

“Did you . . . er . . . did you know?” he mumbled, scratching at his collar.

“Yeah, I did,” Morgana said carefully. “But there’s more to that story that I’ll tell you once you’re out of here,” she promised.

She had decided the day Merlin left that she would tell Arthur of her magic. Morgana couldn’t pretend that her courage was in part bolstered by the fact that Arthur had defended Merlin despite finding out about his magic, but it was more than that. How could Arthur heal the damage of Uther’s purge once he was king if he didn’t know anything about magic and the good it could do? She had always felt so useless as a King’s ward - she had no role in the Court, nor was she truly part of the Royal Family - but maybe this was her role. To show Arthur that magic was not evil.

“What’s it like up there? Any word on Cenred?”

Morgana scoffed, folding her arms. “Yeah, like Uther would let me anywhere near that war room.”

Arthur levelled her a look.

Ah, so he knew that she hid in the servant’s corridor and listened to the Council meetings through the vent whenever Uther wouldn’t tell her something.

“Fiiiiiine. Cenred’s army was hampered by the rain, but they think by noon today he’ll be on Camelot lands.”

Arthur threw his head back, looking to the roof as if it held the answers to get out of this mess.

“Has he cleared the Lower Town?”

“What do you think?”

“Fuck! They’re going to be slaughtered.”

Morgana shook her head. “No they won’t. I told Gwen, who has told Elyan, who has been telling your other knights. They’re knocking on doors today to get everyone prepared to leave. I think they plan on setting up camps in the forests to the south, then if everything goes to shit here, they can at least escape to Nemeth.”

Arthur blew out a breath of relief. She smiled giddily at him.

“What?” he asked, rubbing his cheek as if he had something on his face.

“Nothing. I just can’t wait until we have a king that cares as much about his people as you do.”

Arthur flushed a brilliant red as he flicked Morgana’s arm playfully.

“My Lady,” a red-headed man interrupted with a deep bow. “Is there any word on what the King intends to do with us?”

She shook her head, turning her full attention to him. “To be honest, I believe he has too much to do in preparing for a war to even consider your fates. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he lets Arthur out once Cenred gets close. He’s not fool enough to keep his best fighter locked in the dungeons.”

“If he wants me to fight, he’s going to have to release everyone,” Arthur vowed.

“My Lady,” Sir David interrupted, emerging from where he had been hiding away. “We need to get back.”

Morgana nodded, turning back to Arthur to give him an awkward hug through the bars.

“Be careful,” he said in her ear.

“You too,” she whispered back.

They broke apart with forced smiles.

This would be over soon. She wouldn’t let Arthur rot in the dungeons.

“Thank you, M’lady,” the red headed man called out. “Thank you for evacuating the Lower Town. I have a wife and baby who may be saved by your warning.”

Morgana smiled, feeling less useless than she had in days.

“Thank you. I’m sure you’ll be reunited again soon.”

Morgana looped her arm in Sir David’s and trekked back up to the castle.

“Thank you,” she said, just before they reached the steps. “For saving Merlin, for letting me see Arthur. I feel I may have misjudged you.”

Sir David tilted his head.

“I don’t believe you did, my Lady. I have a lot of thinking to do about the man I was, and the man I will be. Hopefully the latter will be judged more kindly.”

Morgana grinned.

It seemed like whatever was affecting Arthur was rubbing off.

Merlin woke up with a foot squashed up against his cheek and an elbow in his back. He extracted himself from the pile of hay and bodies and rolled onto the earthen ground. Scrubbing at his eyes, he looked around the stables to see that the damage from the storm was a lot worse in the light of day. The older stable boy/man was already awake, tugging the beams of wood out of the mess that used to be the roof.

Merlin gathered up his pack and his jacket and stood up awkwardly. Should he say goodbye? Should he just go?

“Change of plans,” the stable boy/man said without looking up from his work. “You stay for a couple of hours and help me clear this shit up, I give you four silvers.”

Four silvers. That would pay for food and a rough place to stay for months.

“Done.”

“What’s ya name?”

When Merlin hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “Do I just call out Oi You?”

“My name is Rhen.”

“Like the bird? Stupid name. I’m Billy.”

Billy held out a hand which Merlin shook.

“Right, let’s get moving.”

By mid-morning Merlin’s calves were aching from ferrying wooden planks and shingles and things he had no idea about up and down a ladder to Billy who was on what was left of the roof making repairs. He had also managed to turn down Frog’s advances three more times.

“Wren, you’re so strong! What sort of work do you usually do?”

Merlin shrugged the handsy boy off his shoulders, escaping up the ladder and out of his reach.

Billy chuckled to himself as he watched from above.

“That’s why we call him Frog.”

“What do you mean?” Merlin asked, handing a stack of shingles up to him from the top of the ladder. He tried to climb down in a way that made his arse move the least amount possible, not that it stopped Frog staring.

“Jumps on anything that moves.”

The rest of the stable boys broke into peals of laughter. Merlin rolled his eyes, not caring about being the butt of their jokes. In a few hours he’d be gone and unlikely to ever see them again.

Merlin carried another stack of shingles up the ladder and held them out for Billy, but he was distracted by something on the horizon in the north. His body stiffened.

Merlin’s magic tingled from beneath the barrier of the restraints. Something was wrong.

Billy drew a deep breath, then shouted loudly.

“SOLDIERS! SOLDIERS!”

The laughter stopped. Merlin craned his neck from his position on the ladder, but couldn’t see anything.

Billy kept shouting as more and more people from the village started to realise something was wrong.

There was a wet thunk, then Billy was falling from the roof, landing hard on his back with an arrow sticking out of his chest.

He didn’t move.

The screaming started.

Villagers began running every which way, one of them knocking into the ladder as Merlin scurried down. He fell hard on his arse.

With his hands against the soft earth, Merlin could feel it. The thundering of the hooves of lots of horses. An army of horses.

He scrambled to his feet, scooping up his pack from where he’d stashed it in the doorway to the stables. Merlin had to get out of there. He looked around for an escape route. The forest was far, and in the wrong direction back to Camelot, but it was looking like the only escape route.

Merlin started running, trying to weave between the panicked villagers. A man was running with a wheelbarrow, which knocked into a woman with a sack over her shoulder. Some people seemed to be trying to run for the nearby hills, but without any cover they would be exposed until they could scale to the other side.

He ran ahead, leaping over an upturned barrel, his bag swinging hard against his back. The bloodthirsty shouts of men grew louder. Merlin turned around.

Essetir. Merlin would recognise that black standard anywhere. It made an appearance in his nightmares often enough.

Fighting against frozen limbs, Merlin darted from the main street. It would take longer to run through the back lanes, but he could not be caught. He could not be found by Cenred and that wicked witch of his.

He ran for his life.

Heart thumping in his chest, Merlin ducked under a washing line. A sheet tangled around his head. He wretched the damn thing off him only to collide with a body.

No armour, no metal his mind registered. Just a villager. Just . . .

”Rhen!”

Of course he had to run into Frog.

Just as he reached out to push him aside, a soldier stepped out from the gap between the houses behind Frog, sword drawn.

Merlin’s eyes widened in fear. He grabbed a handful of Frog’s shirt and tugged him backwards behind the sheet.

Frog shrieked as the soldier’s sword tore the sheet in two.

“Run!” Merlin shouted, pushing Frog ahead of him. They rounded the corner of a pig pen, Merlin slowing only to grab a pickaxe that rested against the post. They turned another corner and Merlin stopped dead, hiding up against the wall.

“What are you doing?” Frog hissed, looking back over his shoulder. Merlin ignored him, listening for the soldier’s steps.

Wait.

Thump thump

Wait.

Thump thump

Wait.

THUMP THUMP

Now.

Merlin swung the pickaxe and connected with the soldier’s helmet with a clang that ricocheted through his arm. The man fell back with a shout, dropping his sword. Quick as a whip, Merlin grabbed it and ran toward Frog, sword in one hand, axe in the other.

“Holy shit, Rhen!”

“Go-go-GO!” Merlin shouted, pushing Frog along. He had bought them time, and stripped the soldier of a weapon, but there were many more where he came from. Merlin followed Frog through a narrow passage way, looking back to make sure the soldier wasn’t following.

They spilled out into what seemed to be a market place. Merlin’s eyes were desperately for the exit when Frog’s cold hand closed around his forearm and tugged him towards an alleyway that Merlin hadn’t even noticed. They had taken only a few steps into the muddy passage when a door swung open into the narrow space and a screaming woman spilled out, chased by a soldier, then another.

The soldiers looked up.

“Kill them.”

One pinned the woman against the wall as she screamed while the other stalked towards Frog, sword raised.

With a shriek, Frog curled away giving Merlin the space to surge forward. He raised the sword in his off hand, meeting the soldier’s. Just as he had hoped, all his attention was on the sword, so he didn’t see Merlin swing the axe until it had hit the gap under his armour at his hip.

“You fucking swine!”

He dropped to his knees with a yell, taking a swing at Merlin which he mostly managed to avoid by jumping back.

Alerted by the shout, the other soldier let go of the woman and drew his own weapon. Merlin tossed the axe back towards Frog, hoping he at least had the sense to pick it up. He may not be able to use it, but he could stop anyone from using it on Merlin.

“How dare you! Filthy peasant! Where did you get that sword?”

He swung his weapon in a downward arc toward Merlin’s head.

He only just managed to duck the blow in time, spinning to the side, then completing the turn to swing his own sword at the soldier.

“From a soldier with more skill than you,” Merlin taunted. The man blocked Merlin’s hit, throwing his elbow upwards to hit Merlin hard in the chin.

Merlin staggered back, ignoring the sting of the blow and the taste of blood that had filled his mouth. This soldier wasn’t going down easily, and he’d lost the element of surprise. He had to think!

They can’t chase you with one leg said a voice in Merlin’s head that sounded a lot like Gwaine.

He was right, he didn’t need to kill this man or beat him in a sword fight. He just needed to . . .

Merlin feinted a high swing. The soldier, clearly underestimating his opponent, drew his sword to meet Merlin’s with enough force that it would have sent him flying into the wall. At the last second, Merlin withdrew his attack and lunged at the meaty part of the man’s thigh, driving the sword in as far as he could (which wasn’t very).

The soldier screamed and dropped to one knee. Merlin let go of the sword, leaving it impaled in the man’s leg like a stuck pig.

“Fuck, Rhen. I thought you were hot before!” Frog gasped, watching as the man writhed in agony in the mud.

“Run!” Merlin shouted, pushing Frog back the way they came.

Merlin had lost his bearings and had no idea where the forest lay, but he couldn’t shake the sense that they had been corralled back into the main town. They spilled back out into the market place to find it swarming with black clad men, the wall of screaming and shouting hitting his ears with full force.

“Oi, you!”

No sword. No axe. No exit.

He only had one weapon left.

Merlin raised his hand and pushed.

The soldiers who had been running towards him were thrown back, landing at the same moment Merlin’s head felt like it had split in two.

“Rhen!”

Merlin could hear Frog shouting behind him, but they didn’t have time. They had to run.

He forced himself to his feet, clinging to his new companion.

“Get us out of here,” Merlin gasped, giving Frog a hard shove with one hand and clutching at his head with the other. The headache was worsening, blurring his vision to the point where he could barely make out light and dark. He felt himself pulled along by shaking hands when suddenly those hands disappeared, replaced by a dull thud.

“Frog?” Merlin shouted, his voice screaming and yelling. A rough hand grabbed his hair, yanking his head back and exposing his neck.

He was caught. It was over.

It would be quick, at least.

He thought of his mother, who he would never get a chance to see again. He thought of Gwaine and the warmth and protection he gave. He thought of Arthur and his golden hair and strong arms, making Merlin feel safe and loved.

“Stop!”

Merlin’s skin crawled before his mind even had the chance to recognise that voice. He had only heard it briefly, but it had haunted him ever since.

Forcing his eyes to focus, Merlin squinted at the golden-haired woman before him. His stomach swooped as she took on form, exactly as she looked in Merlin’s nightmares.

“My my, I never thought I’d see you again. And look, all grown up too!”

Chapter Text

Morgause huffed, sitting astride her horse on the top of the hill as she watched Cenred’s men flood into the village.

“How long will this take?” she grumbled, looking up at the sky. It was nearing noon and they still had a long way to go if they wanted to make Camelot by tomorrow, especially if any of them found liquor in the village.

“They won’t be long,” Cenred drawled with a smirk. “Just let them blow off some steam, get something to eat, lift their spirits.”

Morgause groaned. He had a point. The rain had done the army’s morale no favours. They had spent days camped in the wet and the mud and were more than a little restless. Morgause, of course, had been in her magically-enhanced tent and been quite comfortable indeed, but even she was growing tired of this expedition. While Cenred’s army had greater numbers than Camelot’s, they would still have to break down their defences on their own soil. Morgause knew she was powerful, but there was only so much that she would be capable of before her power tired out.

The breeze picked up, ruffling her long blonde curls, and that’s when she sensed it. Like a familiar tune sitting on the wind. Magic. Not just magic, her magic, which didn’t make sense how anyone else could have her magic, unless - but no.

She hadn’t performed that spell in years. The sorcerers she had bound would be long gone by now, either by foul play or from having their magic contained for that long. No-one could survive more than a few months with bound magic.

Morgause felt it again, her own magic, intertwined with another’s.

“Where are you going?” Cenred called out as Morgause urged her horse down the hill to the village.

She paid no mind to the soldiers ransacking food stores and looting houses (although she thought setting them alight was unnecessarily cruel).

There - she felt it again. Her own magic being rebounded back to her. It was definitely one of her bindings, and she was starting to get an impression of who it might be. She had only met the boy for a few fleeting moments, but the magic had rolled off him with the powerful waves of a tempest. She had never felt anything like it before, or ever again.

She steered the horse into the central marketplace, eyes scanning the scene while she felt out with her magic for even the barest flicker.

In the end, it wasn’t a flicker but an explosion. Her own magic blistered against her skin as a dozen of Cenred’s men were thrown into the air, landing hard on the other side of the marketplace.

Standing (well, not quite standing) in the newly vacated space was a black haired man, clinging to another with hair the colour of blood.

It was him. The snarky boy with the waves of magic who was stolen away in the night.

Another soldier came up behind the red-head and struck him on the head with the end of his sword, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. He grabbed the other man’s black hair and exposed his pale neck, bringing his blade against it.

“Stop!” Morgause boomed, reaching out with her power to arrest the momentum of the sword. She dismounted, throwing the reins to a soldier who was standing around watching. She approached the man, motioning for the soldier to keep a hold of him.

“My my, I never thought I’d see you again. And look, all grown up too!”

The man looked up at her. He wasn’t as grown up as she had first thought. His jaw had hardened and his shoulders had broadened, but he still looked impossibly young for a sorcerer of his power (and she could feel it now, standing so close, connected as they were. His eyes were not the bright blue she remembered, but dulled, almost a dirty grey colour as if whatever had made them bright had been washed away.

Morgause grabbed his arm, pushing up his filthy sleeve. The cuff was still there, intact and whole. She nodded to the soldier holding him to do the same to his other arm, which looked identical. She could feel the enchantment still holding his magic in place, and yet he was able to use his to throw those soldiers across the market.

Although, Morgause realised, taking in the man’s appearance more carefully, it seemed like it was at a price. His brow was furrowed, his jaw clenched and he was trembling as he grew paler and paler by the second.

She grabbed the young man by the chin in a firm grip.

“All this time, you’ve managed to survive. How?”

He glared back at her with all spite he could muster despite looking like he was ready to faint.

“It matters not,” she said, releasing him. She patted his cheek. “What matters is that you’ve found your way back to me, right in time as well. You see, taking down Camelot was going to be a lot of effort for just one sorcerer, but it seems I won’t be using my magic to bring the city down. I’ll be using yours.”

The young man did swoon at that, held up only by the soldier who was still gripping his hair. Still, he hung onto consciousness, fighting to stay kneeling while his eyes rolled dangerously back.

“I won’t do that,” he hissed.

“Oh, but you won’t have a choice,” Morgause smirked. “Geweald.”

A thin chain shot from Morgause’s outstretched hand and looped between the young man’s cuffs to chain them together. As soon as the ends connected, it glowed orange. He hissed, biting down on his lip as Morgause focused on the connection. The soldier released him, shouting as if he had been shocked.

Morgause gasped.

His magic felt like nothing she had ever experienced before. Morgause had bound many sorcerers. Most had not lasted that long after binding, but long enough for her to use their magic as if it were her own. Everyone had a limit, even she herself, as a high priestess, had a limit - that was the point of binding another’s magic. It extended what she would be capable of herself.

She couldn’t feel where the limit lay with this sorcerer. It felt like falling into an ocean without being able to see land anywhere.

A theory started to take hold in her mind that maybe, just maybe, his magic didn’t have a limit. It stirred an excitement in her that she had not felt since learning to use her own magic.

Just as Morgause started to consider the possibilities of having access to such a vast source of power, she felt the magic thicken, from free flowing to something akin to molasses, sticky and slow.

She snapped towards the boy, her features sharp.

“What did you do?”

He smiled up at her, blood staining his teeth.

“You can’t have it.”

How did he do that? The spell cast over the cuffs was absolute. The sorcerer should not have any control whatsoever over their magic, and yet, here this boy was, stealing back his magic.

How dare he!

Morgause’s magic lashed out like a whip, striking the boy across the cheek. He fell to the side, catching himself on his elbows while his wrists were still bound to the orange glowing chain. An angry red welt was burned onto his cheek, which Morgause eyed with satisfaction.

If she couldn’t take his magic by one force, she’d take it by another.

She remounted her horse, dropping the curse that linked her magic to the cuffs to hiss a spell that should have made his arms and legs feel like pudding. Morgause smirked with satisfaction as he writhed on the ground, unable to sit up.

“Lift him up to me,” she ordered the soldier. Although she wasn’t their commander, they all knew better than to deny her authority. For those that forgot, there was always a rather public and bloody reminder that usually quietened anyone who questioned following the orders of a female warrior-sorcerer.

The boy didn’t submit to his fate quietly. He spat curses and shouted obscenities, some of which Morgause had never even heard before. She arranged him so that he sat in front of her on the horse. He was filthy and smelled of dirt, but he was far too valuable to allow anyone else to carry him. A quick spell at least took care of the smell.

“Call the men back to camp. They’ve had that fun. We move on in an hour.”

Morgause felt the boy fall lax against her halfway back to the camp. Although he had most likely passed out, his body still shook. She catalogued it with the other reactions she had noticed after he had used his magic against her binding. He shouldn’t have been able to use it at all, but it eased her mind to know that it had consequences. The fatigue, the way he paled and looked like he was battling to keep the contents of his stomach down, the shaking - and what appeared to be some sort of pain in his head from the way he squinted. At least if he caught her off guard and was able to squeeze out a bit of magic, he wouldn’t be able to get far, not with those ailments.

She rode into camp, scattering soldiers who were too slow to get out of the way. She only slowed down as she reached the grander tents at the centre. Morgause felt the body on the horse in front of her start to shift from the change in movement. At least he’d be easier to move if he was conscious.

Cenred swaggered out of his tent, grinning salaciously, followed by the guard who had obviously alerted him to Morgause’s return. He chuckled gleefully, clapping his hands.

“I thought you didn’t approve of pillaging and plundering, and yet, you’ve brought back your own prize.”

Morgause rolled her eyes. She often wondered why he chased the kingship, when he would be far happier drunk in a brothel. He had no vision, only the goal of seeking more power, power which he had no idea how to keep. Without Morgause telling him what to do and how to do it, he would have been killed years ago by a sailor in a tavern.

After recasting the enchantment to tie his cuffs to her magic, she unceremoniously dropped the boy off the horse, who wobbled on unsteady feet before having the sense to grab the horse. Morgause gracefully dismounted next to him, keeping a firm grip on his upper arm.

Cenred let his eyes rake over the boy, lingering far too long in all the wrong places. She felt the boy shudder in her grip.

“I must say, you have excellent taste, once he’s cleaned up a bit.”

The king stroked a finger over the welt Morgause inflicted on his cheek.

Morgause couldn’t have had the reflexes to stop him even if she wanted to. Quick as a whip, the boy headbutted Cenred in the nose, his extra height on the king giving him the perfect angle. Cenred yelped, one hand shooting up to catch the blood that spurted out. Incensed, he raised his other hand to strike, but Morgause was ready. She conjured a shield, blocking the angry blow.

Cenred snapped his head furiously towards Morgause, blood dribbling from under his hand.

“Stop your tricks!” he seethed. “You can find another plaything, this one won’t be alive for much longer!”

“This one will win us the war,” Morgause countered calmly. The sorcerer shook his head, still believing he had some say in the matter.

“What?” Cenred asked, looking over the boy again. “This whelp?”

Quite the number of soldiers had gathered around, watching the spectacle.

“Not here,” Morgause answered, tilting her head towards his tent.

She never let Cenred in her own domain. That would require trust, something the two of them did not share.

Cenred stomped off to his tent, leaving Morgause to follow. She conjured some regular ropes to tie the boy’s hands together. The end flew into her hands, giving her something to tug the sorcerer behind her. While the binding spell was more secure, it was tiresome to hold actively for long periods of time.

The King threw the tent flap open, leaving Morgause to catch the canvas before it hit her in the face. She pulled the boy in after her and arranged the flap to prevent any prying eyes, casting a quick ward to give the tent a buffer to keep stray soldiers away.

Cenred stood in the centre of the high-roofed tent, arms folded across his chest. There were clothes all over the ground, the hilt of a sword poking out from the piles.

“Eddie hasn’t been in to sort out this mess yet?” Morgause asked pointedly. Since his father’s death, Cenred had made no effort to change from a bratty prince into the leader of Essetir.

“Oh, he’s been in, but he was busy,” Cenred smirked. Morgause rolled her eyes. Of course he would spend the morning buggering his servant instead of doing something productive. It wasn’t like they were currently marching on the biggest citadel in the land or anything.

Cenred clapped his hands together.

“Anyways, enough of my exploits and more of yours. This one must be hiding something special under those rags if you’re expecting me to let that, ” - he pointed outside the tent to where the headbutting had occurred - “to slide.”

Morgause rolled her eyes.

“I prefer my men to be, you know, actual men,” Morgause sneered.

Cenred gave the sorcerer another look.

“Ah, he looks old enough. Does he speak?”

“He does,” the sorcerer growled. “And he says that if you put anything of yours anywhere near him, he will bite it off.”

Morgause’s mouth quirked. The boy was troublesome, but oh, it was worth it to see Cenred’s reactions. It took real guts to stand up to a king, or real hatred.

Cenred grabbed the boy by his mud-stained shirt and attempted to lift him off the ground, which wasn’t made easy by the fact that the boy was far taller than him.

The boy didn’t flinch or even break eye contact.

“Do you recognise him?” Morgause asked curiously, interrupting the tension between the two of them. Cenred shot a glare at her, then studied the boy again.

“Should I?”

“I don’t know, you did chase him into a river.”

The boy looked away at Morgause’s words. Ah, a touchy subject then. He was half dead when they dragged him in.

Cenred squinted, dropping his grip of the sorcerer.

“The small kid with all the magic?”

Morgause nodded. “And look.”

The boy pulled away from her grip, but she grabbed his arm roughly, forcing him to turn back to Cenred. She was a knight, after all, and strong enough to overpower the half-starved boy without magic.

Morgause shoved his sleeve up to show the cuff.

“He still has them?”

She nodded. “Which means I can do this.”

The high priestess repeated the spell to bind his magic to hers. The orange glowing chain looped back through his cuffs, drawing another gasp from the boy.

A thrill of anticipation ran through her. She had controlled other sorcerers’ magic before, but they were nothing like this. For them, it was more like redirecting a small stream, being able to move the trickle of water in a different direction.

WIth this boy, there was so much magic that she almost didn’t know what to do with it. It flowed through him with such force she was surprised he could function at all. Then again, he probably couldn’t even feel it, cut off as he was.

Once she felt she had a strong enough connection to his magic, she uttered a spell.

“Cume thoden.”

She had expected a breeze to flow through the room. What she hadn’t expected was a whirlwind to blow so strongly through the tent that she had to stagger her stance to save herself from falling over. Cenred had grabbed the tent pole which only threatened to bring the whole thing down on them. She ended the spell and abruptly, the wind stopped.

There would be even more work for Eddie to do now to tidy up the mess. A pair of Cenred’s small clothes were now hanging from the top of the tentpole.

The sorcerer was on his knees, pressing his head against the ground. He was moaning through what sounded like gritted teeth, slapping his bound hands into the dirt.

“What just happened?” Cenred demanded, furiously fixing his greasy hair.

“That was what we will use to win this war. I can control and use his magic.”

“But aren’t you a high priestess?” Cenred taunted. “Why do you need his magic?”

“Because you have an undisciplined army who are going to need me to clear the way to get them into the citadel. This way, I won’t be spent before I even make it to the throne room to kill Uther. I’ll use his magic to destroy Camelot, then, when he’s all used up,” she said, motioning towards the boy. “I’ll still be at full strength.”

Cenred nodded thoughtfully. He was probably less than pleased with the notion that Morgause would be at full strength at the point of the battle where they would take the castle. Trust was not shared between them, after all, but he need not have worried. She had no interest in the throne.

There were two goals that Morgause sought out to achieve in this thrice-damned war, to find her sister and to make Uther Pendragon pay for his crimes. While Cenred would want the soon-to-be-former King of Camelot to be killed quickly and decisively, Morgause had plans of her own.

Uther would suffer for his sins.

As for her sister, she would take her back to the Isle of the Blessed. Maybe they could work together to bring the sacred space back to its former glory. She could teach her magic, or in the unlikely situation that she had none of her own, she could teach her the ways of the Old Religion.

“Alright, put him in The Cage,” Cenred said, prodding the boy with his foot.

The Cage was literally that - a cage that held prisoners, deserting soldiers, prostitutes and villagers unlucky enough to have caught a soldier’s eye as they passed through.

“He stays with me,” Morgause said firmly. “I will not risk such a powerful tool in that cesspit.”

“You think that you can handle him?” Cenred asked with a cocked brow.

Morgause sent a crackle of magic down the connection the glowing chain forged between her and the sorcerer. He let out a shout as it stung his wrists, pressing his forehead harder into the dirt.

“I’ll be sure to keep my distance,” she purred, letting her eyes roam over Cenred’s bloody nose.

The swaying movement of the horse was lulling Merlin to sleep despite his best attempts to fight against it. He had barely any sleep the night before, bound with ropes and magic to the post holding up Morgause’s tent while she slept on the cot only a few feet away. He noticed that there was a bed roll laid out on the floor on the other side of the tent, but she must have changed her mind about allowing him to sleep in comfort when he vomited on her. He was fairly happy with his aim, given that he had almost no control over his body after the violation of having his magic hijacked like that. Really, it was her fault that he was sick.

The high priestess had to drag Merlin from Cenred’s tent back onto the horse for the rest of the day’s journey. The next day he was still feeling weak, still feeling the nausea settled deep in his stomach, the jolts of Morgause’s foreign magic gurgling sickeningly through his veins.

Merlin tried to hold his head up to observe his surroundings. They were near the citadel, maybe even in that forest where the ill-fated drill pitting the Common Knights against the Nobles had been held. A new wave of anxiety flooded his body, realising just how close they were.

The attack would be tomorrow.

“We camp here,” Morgause called out from behind Merlin, halting the army of soldiers. Cenred trotted past them, hissing under his breath.

“I don’t need you to give orders.”

“My mistake, Sire,” she replied, her voice dripping with disdain.

She called a soldier over to drag Merlin off the horse, which he did roughly. Merlin struggled to his feet, hands still bound by rope in front of him. The ordinary rope was a relief. It seemed that whatever the spell was that Morgause used to bind his magic to her, she couldn’t maintain it indefinitely.

Merlin pulled against Morgause as she wrestled him across the camp site. She was strong and easily had the upper hand, but he didn’t have to make it easy for her.

“You keep this up and I’ll tie you to the tree by your neck like a dog,” she hissed in his ear, her hand squeezing hard around his forearm.

Merlin looked around the campsite. It was crawling with soldiers, buzzing with the anticipation and nerves of the fight to come. Being tied up like that in the middle of the camp all night? No thank you.

“I thought so,” Morgause smirked. She dumped him like an insolent child on her arse while she used magic to erect her grand tent. As uncomfortable as it had been the night before tied up with the woman who stole his magic, he was glad to be out of the elements and inside the tent.

He had even scored a meal of some sort of sloppy soup and a crust of bread. Clearly she understood the link between magical strength and physical strength.

Although, it hadn’t all been comfort. When he refused to give her his name, she took away the blanket that had been draped over his legs. Even inside the tent, it had been a bitterly cold night. He hoped he didn’t get sick from it.

It was silly to think about preserving the health of his body. It wasn’t like it would matter. Not after tomorrow.

Merlin feared how much of himself would be left after the battle. Either Morgause would wring him dry of his magic, and with that, his life, or he would be forced to kill those he loved, which he knew he could never recover from. His best option lay with a quick death at the end of a weapon - before his magic could be used to harm those he loved - and he would be on the lookout during the battle for any way to make that happen.

He would not kill Gwaine.

He would not kill Morgana.

He would not kill Arthur.

Merlin scanned his eyes over the camp, looking for an opportunity, any opportunity, to stop himself and his magic. Morgause had left his hands tied, but he was free to move if he could stand up quickly enough. He looked for a sword left lying around close enough to get to before Morgause could catch him. For a loaded crossbow in the back of a wagon. Something, anything, to stop the horror of what would happen if Morgause stormed Camelot with his magic.

He wasn’t expecting to see the Second Knight of Camelot striding into the camp. Not tied up. Not as a prisoner like him, but like he was meant to be there.

Like he was working with the enemy.

As if he had sensed Merlin looking at him, they locked eyes. Sir Rory’s mouth dropped open.

Out loud, to no-one in particular:

“How did you manage to get the Prince’s bedwarmer?”

Merlin was on his feet before he realised, surging towards the treasonous knight. His hands were tied, but it didn’t matter. He’d drawn blood from Cenred the day before.

“YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!”

Sir Rory pushed his sleeves up, moving to meet him. Just as they almost met, a bright blue shield sprung between them, blowing them both back a few staggering steps.

Cenred stomped onto the scene, followed by a half dozen soldiers.

“What is going on?”

“I would also like to know.” Morgause positioned herself at the side of the shield, eyeing both Merlin and Sir Rory with interest.

Merlin huffed. They wouldn’t get any information out of him.

“You didn’t realise?” Sir Rory drawled, looking back over his shoulder to Cenred. “Merlin here is Prince Arthur’s favourite plaything.”

“Fuck off!”

“Merlin?” Morgause said, sounding the name out. “That’s what you’re called? No wonder you wouldn’t tell me!”

Merlin looked away from her determinedly.

“Is that true?” Cenred asked with amusement. Sir Rory seemed emboldened by Cenred’s attitude.

“They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I don’t know how the King didn’t see it. You dangle him in front of Arthur and he’ll do whatever you want.”

A loud clap made Merlin jump. Cenred clapped his hands together again, grinning that slimy grin of his.

“Well this is an exciting development.”

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek, trying to tamper down the fresh anxiety that was crashing over him in waves. What would they do now they knew Merlin’s connection to Arthur? Would they make Merlin hurt him with his magic? Or would they try to make Arthur surrender his kingdom?

He needed to stop them before it got to that point.

Morgause grabbed Merlin by the back of the neck and dragged him into the now-erected tent.

“Well, well, aren’t you full of surprises, Merlin.”

She threw him to the ground and crouched in front of him, her leather pants squeaking as she bent forward.

“You’re a brave one, I’ll give you that. You’re probably thinking right now of how you can sabotage us tomorrow, maybe you’re even thinking of sacrificing yourself to stop us, but I can tell you now you won’t get the chance. Cooperate and I’ll consider not killing the dear little prince slowly while you watch. Don’t cooperate, and well, I might just try to see how far your magic can go. I’ve been trying out this little spell, and I can’t wait to see how it works with your magic. Cwealmnes”

The pain hit him like a bolting horse, stealing his breath from him. He twisted and contorted as he tried to escape from the violent agony flaying at his every nerve. It felt like his skin had been peeled back and a thousand knives had been dug into the tender flesh.

When the curse released its hold on Merlin, the pain relinquished bit by slow bit. He gasped for air as he was hauled into a sitting position by the high priestess then dragged backward to the pole that he would surely be tied to again. His shaking body made it harder for her to wrap the ropes around him, but with a muttered curse she managed it.

Merlin tried not to drift off. It would have been so easy to fall into the abyss, but the likelihood that he would live another night was slim. He wanted to enjoy some time with the people he loved, he deserved that much.

Merlin conjured images in his mind of practising magic with Morgana in the meadows just outside the Citadel, laughing as he dodged the sticks she levitated at him. Of Gwaine throwing his arm around his neck and singing a bawdy ballad just to embarrass him. He thought of Arthur running his hands over Merlin’s hips as he leaned in for a kiss.

He drifted off to sleep thinking of those he loved.

Chapter Text

Morgause rose with the sun, alert and ready. She had struggled to fall asleep with her mind running through last minute plans, but somewhere in the middle of the night she had dozed off.

Merlin was still asleep, chin dropped to his chest. It was a shame, what she was doing to him, really. He was a sorcerer, a magic user. Here she was, taking revenge for Uther’s Purge, for all the magic users who had been abused by doing the same thing. Still, he was the cost to seek revenge for all the others. One life for thousands.

Truth be told, he was starting to grow on her. He had spirit, a fire that burned no matter how filthy and downtrodden he was, not to mention that magic. It was nothing like Morgause had ever felt.

That magic was the reason why it had to be him.

If, somehow, he survived what she was about to drag him through, maybe she could keep him around. Still bound, of course. Morgause doubted that he would forgive her quickly enough to let him loose with control of his own magic, but she could still have him along for the ride, with his magic under her control.

“Rise and shine,” she said, clanging her sword against the tent pole. Merlin jumped awake, eyes blinking blearily with the remainders of sleep.

Cenred’s vast army assembled in the cover of the trees, just at the edge of the forest. They weren’t the most skilled fighters and his knights were better at tavern brawls than anything resembling strategy, but they were ruthless and they were many.

Morgause said the spell that linked her magic to Merlin’s and drew her sword. She wouldn’t be able to wield it the way she normally would with Merlin sitting in front of her, which would also slow her horse down, but she didn’t feel right without a weapon in her hand. They were heading to war after all.

She leaned forward to speak in Merlin’s ear. He tried to pull away, but tethered and magicked to her horse as he was he really didn’t have any room to move.

“Ready to destroy Camelot?”

Morgause relished the way the boy stiffened under her grip. She looked over to Cenred who was frothing like a rabid dog. He gave her a nod and raised his sword in the air.

“For glory!”

“We should be in the forest, with the others,” Elsie protested, but Gwaine was having none of it. He led her through the castle to the only place he ever visited within its walls.

“I just want him to make sure everything is alright. There’s no physician in the forest.”

“Gwaine! I told you, Molly said the pain was normal.”

He needed some more assurance than could be given by the woman who sold honey cakes at the market.

Gwaine knocked on Gaius’ door. To his surprise, it was cautiously opened by a familiar looking woman with a green headscarf pulled down around her shoulders, her dark hair falling around her finely lined face.

“Er, hello, can I help you?” The woman’s eyes saw Elsie’s stomach and she threw the door open wide. “Oh, please come in, sit down, sit down.”

Gwaine held the door for Elsie as the woman escorted her to the chair by the fire.

“I’m fine, I swear, I’m fine!”

A stocky young man with scruffy brown hair around Merlin’s age emerged from the small room at the back of Gaius’ chambers.

“So, where is Gaius?” Gwaine asked, surveying the man who was doing the same back to Gwaine. There was a cocksureness to his stance, even though he appeared poorer than most peasants from his worn clothes.

“He’s just overseeing some final preparations - I think they’re setting up in the banquet hall for the siege, he said.” The woman looked distressed, shaking her head.

“And you are?” Gwaine enquired. He leaned on the back of Elsie’s chair.

“My name is Hunith, and this is Will.” She motioned towards the young man. “He’s my . . . travelling companion.”

“Urg, don’t say it like that,” Will protested. “That makes it sound weird.”

“But that’s what you are,” Hunith said with an eyeroll. She turned back to Gwaine and Elsie. “Gaius invited me for a visit, it has been so long since I’ve seen him, but it was too far to travel alone so I asked Will here to escort me. He’s like a son to me.”

She dropped her gaze, but Gwaine saw the tears in her eyes.

“Of course,” she continued, regaining her composure. “Had I realised that there was an army following us to attack the Citadel I might have postponed my visit.”

Will scoffed at Hunith’s facetiousness.

“So, how do you know Gaius?” Elsie asked with a hand slowly running over her belly.

“He’s my uncle. I haven’t seen him since -”

Their conversation was abruptly interrupted by the clang of the warning bells.

Gwaine looked down at Elsie who returned his startled expression.

“Surely not already!”

He ran to the window which overlooked the courtyard. Sure enough, soldiers swathed in red were scattering in all directions, carrying baskets of bolts and crossbows and all manner of weapon in every direction.

Gwaine’s heart leapt to his throat. He shouldn’t have brought Elsie to the castle, but all reports said they had days left, not hours.

“We aren’t going to make it back to the forest,” said Gwaine, redundantly.

“We should get to the Banquet Hall,” Hunith said, snatching a basket from the ground. She tipped out the ash that filled it and started stuffing all manner of medical supplies into it. Will took the knife from Gaius’ bench and shoved it into his belt. Gwaine had made sure that he was armed to the hilt at all times since news of the invasion had reached him.

The four of them hurried through the passages of the castle as fast as Elsie could go. Gwaine was in the lead, holding Elsie’s hand while Hunith followed and Will brought up the rear. They got lost three times, having to ask for directions from the throngs of people rushing past, finding somewhere to hide from the battle brewing outside.

Finally they reached the Banquet Hall where they found Gaius ordering servants to set up cots. Gwen was set up at the only part of the banquet table that hadn’t been moved, tearing sheets into bandages. Gaius finally noticed them.

“Hunith! Oh, thank the Goddess, I wasn’t sure if you’d make it down here from my rooms. It wasn’t supposed to start so soon!”

He clasped Hunith’s hands in his own weathered ones. She squared her shoulders.

“Tell me how I can help. I still remember what you and mother taught me.”

There was a fire in her words that reminded Gwaine of someone, but he couldn’t pick who.

Hunith was set to work diluting medicines ready to administer. Will was sent to help set up the cots.

Gaius turned back to Gwaine and Elsie.

“And what will you do?” Gaius asked, his gaze flicking to Elsie’s stomach.

“I’ll stay here,” Elsie said.

The castle was far too dangerous. If the Citadel was to fall, Cenred’s army would be raiding the castle. Everyone still within its walls was at risk.

“No.”

“Gwaine, I won’t make it to the forest in time. Not waddling like this.”

He pushed a hand through his hair. She was right, they should have gone straight to the forest to hide. Coming to the castle was a mistake, even if there was no way for him to know that the army was already upon them.

“Gwaine, there is an escape route that we can take, should things come to it,” Gaius said in a low voice.

It was the only option they had.

“Besides, I can be useful here.” She motioned towards Gwen, still furiously tearing up strips of fabric.

Gwaine cupped Elsie’s soft face in his hands and kissed her, pouring all of his love for her into the kiss. He pulled away, gazing into her eyes.

“Who would have thought I would have found my true love in a tavern, huh?” he smiled, pushing a strand of her copper hair behind her ear.

“Probably everyone who knows you,” she replied cheekily. “It is where you spend most of your time after all.”

He laughed, giving her a tight squeeze.

“I love you - both of you,” he added, speaking to her belly. “And I’ll see you soon.”

“You come back to me,” Elsie warned, tears brimming in her eyes. “Or I’ll kill ya.”

Gwaine laughed heartily, his spirits lifted as he broke away from his love. He didn’t look back, but he heard Elsie ask how thick do you want these? behind him.

Just before he left the room, he grabbed Will by the arm and pulled him aside.

“What?” Will asked, not caring for niceties.

“I know you have Hunith to look out for, but that woman over there is the love of my life and carrying my first born child. Please, if you could just look out for her . . .”

He looked like a farm boy through and through, but also like a fighter, like the sort of man Arthur would have recruited as a Common Knight. He gave Gwaine a curt nod.

“Aye, I’ll do what I can.”

Gwaine slapped him on the shoulder in thanks. He slipped out the doors, drawing his sword.

Had Arthur been around to command them, he may have considered rejoining with the Common Knights. As it were he had no fealty to Camelot, to the King that sat on the throne or to the nobles of the castle.

He could, however, make sure no-one got through the corridor to the Banquet Hall.

Arthur was racing around the cell like a caged rat.

He needed to know what was going on.

He needed to know if the horns and bells meant the battle had begun.

He needed to know why his father had left him locked in a cage when there was a foreign army attacking the city.

“Oh, thank the Goddess,” Mary cried out. Arthur looked up to see Morgana running towards the cell, flipping through a ring of keys.

“Morgana!”

Her hair was braided into a thick plait. She wore men’s clothes, dark brown trousers and a white shirt so fine it could have been made of silk. A sword was strapped to her hip.

“Which one is it?!” she cried, thrusting the keys at Arthur. He fumbled through and found the right one, passing it back so she could open the cell.

“What’s going on?” he asked as they all filed out.

“Cenred’s begun his attack.”

Morgana was breathless, eyes darting around. “It’s so lucky that we cleared out the Lower Town. Arthur, there are so many of them. They attacked so quickly. We were barely prepared.”

Arthur swallowed and nodded. He heard the words she didn’t say.

Arthur, I don’t think we can win this.

“The walls?” he asked, striding towards the stairs. He was vaguely aware of the others following behind.

“They’ve held so far.”

“My father?”

“He’s in the Council Chambers with the rest of the council. He’s shouting at everyone.”

They left the dungeons and Arthur led Morgana to his room.

“Morgana, do you think you can get me into my armour?”

Morgana finished fastening the last buckle when suddenly the entire castle shook. Arthur grabbed her as the stone rumbled, dust cascading from above.

“What was that?!” Arthur cried.

His door flung open. Leon skidded in, face sheened in sweat.

“Sire! Thank the gods that you’re here. They have a sorcerer!”

“Shit!”

Arthur ran to the window, but it faced away from the main battle. Armies they could fight, but they had nothing to match magic.

He ran out of the room, Leon and Morgana trailing after him.

“Where are you going?” Morgana shouted.

“I need to see what’s happening!”

He stopped, turning to her.

“I need you to go to the Council Chambers, or to Gaius -”

“No -”

“You’ll be safe!”

“No!”

Arthur held her, wrapping his arms around the woman that was like a sister to him.

“Morgana, I need you to be safe.”

“I can fight!” she said, struggling against him. Arthur pulled back to look at her. Morgana stared him down, even as her green eyes were brimming with tears.

“If anything should happen . . .”

Morgana shook her head vigorously.

“Shh, if anything should happen to me or my father, you need to lead Camelot.”

Morgana scoffed, wiping at her nose.

“As if Uther would ever name me as an heir. I’m just his ward.”

Arthur shook his head. “You’re more than that to me, Morgana.” He took off his ring that had his royal seal and gave it to her, pushing it into her hand. “I name you as my heir.”

Morgana sobbed, looking at the ring in her hand. “Don’t you dare give this to me. As soon as this battle is over, I’m giving it back to you.”

Arthur nodded, biting back his own tears. “Alright.”

He pulled her in tightly, hugging her. “I love you, Morgana.”

She chuckled wetly. “What have you done with Arthur?”

Arthur squeezed her tighter. “I never told him when I had the chance. I’m not going to make the same mistake with you.”

They pulled apart reluctantly, suddenly aware of Leon’s presence.

“Be safe,” Arthur said.

Morgana replied with a smirk. “You too. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Merlin slumped against the horse’s neck, breathing in the familiar smell that blocked out the stench of burning and blood. His body was trembling.

The wall of sound washed over him, the clang of metal against metal, the bloodcurdling last screams of men.

“Baelbracu!”

Merlin cried out as Morgause’s magic plunged into his own, tearing at it and ripping it from his core. He felt the heat pass by his face as another fireball launched at the battlements.

He struggled against the ropes that tied his wrists to the horse’s reins, but the spell Morgause had cast over his body pinned his legs astride the horse.

He felt her draw in breath to shout another curse, so he did the only thing he could and threw his body back against her arm as she repeated the fireball curse. He screamed as he watched the fireball fly wayward into a clump of Cenred’s men, the victory lessening the pain that shot through him.

“You stupid fool!”

Morgause grabbed him by the back of the neck and shook him like a disobedient puppy.

She hissed in his ear.

“For that, it will be your magic that kills Arthur. You can watch him die by your hand.”

Merlin turned his head back to her lazily, disoriented by the pain.

“I won’t do it.”

She grabbed his jaw in her firm grip, twisting his head the wrong way. “As if you’ll have the choice.”

Arthur burst into the Council Room, cape billowing out behind him. His father stopped shouting, turning an even deeper shade of red as he laid eyes on his son.

Many of the usual faces were around the table; Sir Elric, Geoffrey of Monmouth and a whole lot of other men who hadn’t seen battle in a very long time. Lord Eddington and that other noble that Arthur didn’t like were noticeably absent, which didn’t surprise him.

Arthur knew Leon was somewhere behind him, looking after his back as always.

“We need to bolster the forces on the Eastern Wall. It’s our weakest point and where Cenred is most likely to try to break through.”

“You have no right to come in here and give orders!” his father boomed, clanging his sword against the table.

“And you had no right to leave me trapped in a dungeon while the castle is under siege!” Any respect that Arthur had remaining for his father vanished when he chose to lock him up and leave him in the dungeons, vulnerable to Cenred if the castle should fall.

“I am the King, not you!”

His father pointed his sword at Arthur across the table.

“And if you need to remind us all of that, clearly you aren’t doing a very good job of it!”

“You have no right to speak to me like this!” Uther strode around the table as the other nobles watched. He faced up to Arthur, jutting his chin into the Prince’s face. “I can strip you of your title, I can renounce you as my heir!”

The vein in the size of his head stood out like a snake. Arthur stared down his father, not breaking contact with his grey-green eyes. He felt a rush of adrenaline knowing that he was standing up to the King and finally, finally, he had his attention.

“None. Of that. Matters!” Arthur growled back in a deep voice. “If we don’t win this battle, it doesn’t matter! There won’t be a Camelot to rule. What matters now is making the right decisions, not titles and positions.”

“You have no idea what you are talking about!”

“And neither do you, so would you just shut up!”

Uther’s mouth hung open as if Arthur had struck him in the face. The room was so quiet it was comical in contrast to the roars of the battle outside.

None of Uther’s nobles were noble enough to back their King, not in the face of Arthur’s rage.

Arthur strode forward and surveyed the maps laid out on the table, hands on his hips.

“How many men does he have?”

“Ten thousand, Sire,” Geoffrey answered. Arthur scrubbed his chin with his thumb. Camelot had six thousand, but that was only if they could be mobilised quickly enough caught off guard. Still, from the defensive position, victory was achievable.

“What’s our strategy? Where are the knights?”

Sir Elric looked away, withering under Arthur’s scowl.

“You have to understand, Arthur, with the attack happening faster than anticipated, the knights were not able to get into position in the Citadel . . .”

He couldn’t fucking believe it.

“So what you’re telling me is that the Noble Knights of Camelot, in her hour of need, are hiding in the forest because they couldn’t get out of the tavern fast enough before the gates shut?”

Arthur kicked at a chair, sending it skittering across the boards. That meant that Camelot’s army was out there with almost no leadership, no plan, no idea what they were doing. Good men who stood no chance because their supposed commanders were stuck outside the castle.

He wheeled on his father.

“I warned you! Lazy, useless knights!”

Arthur raised his fists, ready to slam them into the table when a steady hand closed around his bicep.

Leon.

He was right. Arthur took a deep breath. They didn’t have the time. Camelot’s soldiers were dying.

“And what of this sorcerer?”

His father paled at his words, which fed Arthur his next question.

“You know her, don’t you?” he accused, jabbing a finger at his father.

“She is a high priestess. Her name is Morgause,” Geoffrey supplied, seemingly not phased by undermining the King. “She is strong, but even so, the reports from the soldiers show her to be even more powerful than she ever has been.”

Arthur hissed a curse. This was one of the problems with outlawing magic - they had no defence when a sorcerer sought to harm Camelot (and they had plenty of reason to).

“Could she bring down a gate?”

Geoffrey grimaced. “With the strength of the balls of fire that she is throwing already, she could definitely bring down the gate.”

Fuck.

Arthur turned to a cluster of guards standing at the edge of the room.

“Send word to the knights stationed on the Southern Wall that they are to send half their soldiers to the Eastern Wall. We need archers on that sorcerer, Morgause. If we can bring her down before she brings the wall down, all the better.”

The three men nodded, setting off at a run.

He turned to Sir Elric.

Arthur felt the muscles in his neck tense as he looked at the man who had hunted Merlin like a dog, who would have dragged him off to be executed if he hadn’t been stopped. The man who had let the name of the Knights of Camelot be stained with the deeds of selfish men and greedy nobles.

But as he said to his father, that didn’t matter if they didn’t have a Camelot after today.

He schooled his features, swallowing down the rage that burned inside him.

“Sir Elric, take the King to the Throne Room. It is the most easily defensible room in the castle, and there are two secret passages . . .”

“Behind the throne and behind the tapestry, yes, I have been doing this since before you were born.”

Arthur bit back his retort. They didn’t have time for bickering!

“You can’t order me to go anywhere!” his father shouted.

Arthur shouted back.

“No King, No Camelot. Just think about someone other than yourself for once!”

And so, the King, Sir Elric and three other knights left to barricade themselves in the Throne Room. Uther had left in a huff without pausing to say goodbye, even though there was a very real chance they would never see each other again.

No matter. Arthur had bigger things to worry about than if he ever saw his father again.

Geoffrey had volunteered to attend the Banquet Hall where apparently Gaius had set up his hospital. Arthur hoped that he survived it all - he could do with a man like Geoffrey on his Council.

The other nobility of the Council had fled down the siege tunnels.

That left Arthur and Leon to head to the battlement of the Eastern Wall. Arthur swore he would stop Cenred’s army and that wretched sorcerer from breaching the castle even if was the last thing he did.

Arthur had been in battles before. He had seen the brutality of war first hand.

It did not prepare him for the scene as he reached the battlements.

The sun had not yet reached its zenith, and yet the sky had darkened from the smoke billowing from the fires burning their way through the Lower Town. One of the castle towers had caught alight, the stone scorched black as the flames licked their way along the roof. Seeing his kingdom torn apart felt like having a part of himself torn out with it.

Part of the battlement that ran atop the Eastern Wall had collapsed, the crumpled pile of stones blocking soldiers from moving from one side to the other. He could see the panic in Camelot’s soldier’s faces that were trapped on the far side.

The sea of black swathed men was visible even before Arthur managed to lean over the battlement wall. It made his throat constrict seeing just how many of them there were, almost twice the troops that Camelot had in her army. Their song of chanting and weapons banging against their shields chilled Arthur’s spine. They still hadn’t managed to breach the wall, but with that kind of army it would only be a matter of time. A soldier rushing past with a basket of arrows bumped into Arthur. Leon pulled him down to crouch against the wall.

He exchanged a look with the experienced knight.

One that said What the fuck are we going to do?

A soldier sat ducked-down behind the wall next to him, reloading a crossbow with shaking hands.

“Here,” Arthur said. The soldier couldn’t hear him over the cacophony of banging and bashing, so he snatched the weapon from him and loaded the crossbow quickly with practised hands.

The man looked up. Arthur spotted the moment he recognised the Prince from the way his mouth dropped open and he stammered his thanks.

Leon peered through a gap in the stone.

“Sire, we need a strategy.”

Arthur nodded.

Think, Arthur, think!

Cenred would be trying to get his men into the Citadel. They were clearly targeting this gate.

“The other gates are all defended, aren’t they?” Arthur asked. Leon nodded.

So it wasn’t a diversion. Cenred believed he could get in through this gate. But how?

Arthur risked a look over the stone wall. He was scanning the army for a battering ram, usually easy to spot from the space needed to move it through the crowd. He saw none. No ladders either.

He saw back down just as an arrow whizzed past his ear.

“They’re going to use the sorcerer to blast open the gate.”

Leon looked puzzled at the prospect.

“But the Eastern Gate is the smallest, why would they try and push that whole army through the smallest gate?”

A thought dropped in Arthur’s mind like a stone. He stood up, still in a crouch and shouted urgently to the other soldiers.

“WHERE’S THE SORCERER? DOES ANYONE SEE THE SORCERER?!”

The men defending the wall scuttled into action, crouching behind the stone, searching the moving sea below, looking for a needle in a haystack.

“Sire?” Leon asked, sounding worried.

“She’s going to bring the whole wall down.”

As the words left Arthur’s mouth, he came to a second realisation.

They were on the wall.

From Leon’s wide eyes, he seemed to have made the same realisation.

“Move! Retreat! She’s going to bring the wall down!”

Leon and Arthur shouted, Leon to the men on their side, Arthur waving his arms to the men on the other. They could still retreat if they backed up to the Northern Wall.

The battlements were almost clear when -

“Sire, SIRE!”

The soldier who Arthur had helped load his crossbow was gesticulating wildly, pointing into the crowd.

“The sorcerer! I see her!”

Arthur rushed to the gap in the battlements where the soldier stood and looked to where he was pointing.

Riding a broad, black horse was a figure dressed in black armour, long blonde hair flowing out from under a helmet. Morgause. There was some sort of bundle on the front of her horse, but from the top of the battlements Arthur couldn’t make out what it was.

He snatched a crossbow that had been discarded and loaded a bolt, positioning himself near the basket.

“Sire, what are you doing? We need to get down!” Leon shouted.

Arthur lined up the shot as best he could. The crossbow was not his weapon of choice, but he’d used one hunting many a time. He’d killed a stag with one only a month ago. This was no different.

Apart from shooting directly downwards instead of across a field.

And the distance.

And the gravity pulling his bolt off course.

And the fact that their lives all depended on this shot.

He focused on the golden hair that cascaded over the sorcerer’s shoulders. With any luck, he would find something vital where the helmet and armour did not meet.

Arthur breathed in. He pulled the trigger release.

With a thwip, the bolt was gone.

The horse reared.

“You’ve hit the rump, sire,” the soldier who spotted Morgause shouted, squinting at the surging army below. The noise was becoming deafening.

“Shit!”

Morgause was trying to calm the beast while hanging onto whatever the thing at the front was. It seemed heavier than Arthur had first thought from the effort she was putting in.

Quickly, Arthur loaded another bolt. They needed to bring her down before she brought them down.

“Arthur, we need to go -” Leon warned.

“Just one more go!”

If he could bring her down now, then Cenred had no way in. It could be enough to turn the whole war. There were plenty of food supplies within the Citadel, tunnels to escape, clean water to drink. Arthur could bet that the people of the Lower Town had taken everything they could with them. How long could Cenred’s soldiers last without food? It was a tried and true tactic and one Arthur was happy to give a go if it meant victory.

He lined up his next shot and spied out of the corner of his eye another crossbow also aimed in the same direction. The soldier who stayed had his own crossbow aimed at Morgause.

“On your three,” Leon said to Arthur’s right, another crossbow in his hand.

“One. Two.”

Arthur took a deep breath in. One off-target bolt into her horse could be a stray arrow. Three bolts not making their target and Morgause would know she was being aimed at.

One of them had to take her down.

“Three.”

Merlin yelped as a sharp sting branded his inner thigh. He looked down to see a crossbow bolt embedded in the saddle, his pants sliced neatly. Only a graze. Not enough to put an end to this.

Behind him Morgause jolted as Merlin heard the unmistakable sound of another bolt hitting flesh. She let out a roar, crossing her arm in front of Merlin to yank the bolt out of her opposing bicep.

Someone was shooting at them.

He looked up to the battlements.

Another thunk.

There was too much smoke.

The horse pitched forward.

He couldn’t see who was up there.

They were thrown to the side.

But he knew. He could feel him. Arthur was up there.

How could he feel him?

Merlin’s ear hit the ground first, followed by the rest of his body in quick succession. With his hands bound, he could do nothing to break his fall. He felt Morgause’s knee in his back as she tumbled over him.

The ground was so loud against his ear, or was that his ear thumping and ringing?

He forced his eyes open.

Morgause was lying in front of him, pulling herself back up, but what caught his eye was the dagger she had attached to her right hip.

He would not hurt Arthur with his magic.

Merlin lunged, grabbing at the weapon with his bound hands. His fingers scrabbled around the hilt messily, too messily. Morgause twisted back, but too late. Elbows in the dirt, he tugged the knife free.

Stab himself, he could stop Morgause using his magic.

Or stab her . . .

Merlin’s split second of indecision gave Morgause her opportunity. A leather-clad elbow crunched into his jaw. His grip on the knife slackened, and then it was gone.

“Too slow, Merlin.”

Morgause hauled him to his feet with a fury-fueled strength and forced his head up the battlements. His left knee buckled, but she had an iron grip on him. The orange chain reformed through his cuffs.

“Time to see what you’ve got.”

Merlin’s last thought as his magic ripped through him was Not Arthur.

Leon coughed. His mouth felt dry, like it had been coated in chalk. He wiped at it, surprised to find something coating it. What was that?

He opened his eyes but could see nothing but grey. No, that wasn’t true. There was something, shifting in the distance.

What happened?

He fell. Leon remembered falling, no, he remembered the ground disappearing from beneath his feet and falling. It was a sensation he had never felt before and could do well with never feeling again.

He fell. From the top of the battlements.

Leon rolled over, realising that the ground underneath him was in fact cobblestone. The Castle Courtyard, to be exact. He pinched the back of his hand.

It hurt.

He wasn’t dead.

How wasn’t he dead?

Arthur!

Filled with a new motivation, Leon scrambled to his feet, pleased to find that beyond some disorientation, he was completely unharmed.

How did Morgause bring the entire wall down? Geofferey had suggested that she might be able to bring down the gate, but where did she get enough power to bring down the whole wall?

A distant battle cry snapped his head towards the source of the dust. Through the cloudy grey, he could see a mass of black, getting darker and darker. Closer and closer.

A hand clamped on his shoulder and tugged.

“Leon! Move! They’re coming through!”

“Arthur!”

The Prince also seemed uninjured, although completely coated in a light coloured dust.

How did they both survive? They were standing on the battlements when the wall completely collapsed.

“C’mon! To the Throne Room!”

The first faces emerged from the dust cloud, clambering over the rubble that used to be the Eastern Wall with swords held high.

Leon pushed at Arthur, shoving him up the castle steps.

Gwaine wasn’t proud of his tactic for finding out what was happening out there in the battle, but at least he was only asking the less injured patients for information as they were walked, carried or dragged into the Banquet Hall.

Each one, he’d ask the same question:

“What’s happening?”

”They outnumber us three to one!”

“No-one’s giving us any orders, we’re getting slaughtered!”

“They have a sorcerer! She’s killing us!”

He kept his position, sword raised, ready to fight off Cenred’s whole damn army if need be.

Then came the crash that shook the very ground the castle was built on. Gwaine hung onto the wall as the castle shuddered. He could hear the screams from inside the Banquet Hall.

The doors flung open. Morgana hung out of the doorway, her messy braid swinging wildly.

“What the fuck was that?”

“I don’t know?” Gwaine responded.

Morgana ran past him, searching for something. He followed, finding her at a window. He flung the other pane open and stuck his head out.

It was hard to tell with the cloud of ash or dust or whatever it was, but the window seemed to face the wrong direction to see what was going on.

“Look!” Morgana gasped, craning her neck towards the left. Gwaine twisted in the same direction.

The entire battlement wall was gone, replaced by a pile of crumbled stones. Soldiers wearing black poured through the gap that was left like beatles.

Gwaine’s attention was brought back to the corridor by the sound of many sets of boots on the stone floor. A soldier passed by them supported another with an arm slung over his neck, blood pouring from his ears. A stretcher followed with a weathered man clutching at a knee.

“Gwaine!”

Percival passed the man he’d been carrying onto another soldier as he stopped to greet Gwaine with a bracing hug.

“So good to see you, mate,” Gwaine said. Percival was covered in a white dust, but looked unharmed.

“Lancelot is just behind,” Percival said, pointing over his shoulder. He turned to Morgana.

“Err, my lady . . .” he said, blushing furiously. Gwaine would have made fun of the big man under any other circumstance. He could face an army and almost certain death, but put a lady in front of him and he crumbled.

Morgana gave him a quick smile in return, but was interrupted by Lancelot rounding the corner, face glossy with sweat and eyes wide. Gwaine could see that he’d had time to put on his second-hand armour that Gwen had fixed for him.

“Lancelot, are you alright?” Gwaine said kindly, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He’d seen shell shocked men before, those that saw the horrors of war reappearing over and over in their minds.

“There’s a sorcerer -” he said, pointing down towards the courtyard.

“Yeah, that blonde knight,” Percival said with a scowl. “She brought that wall down like it was sand.” Lancelot seemed to not have heard him.

“Blonde?” Gwaine repeated. There was a blonde sorcerer that hewas looking for.

“Lancelot, what is it?” Morgana pressed, placing a hand on the distressed knight’s arm. It wasn’t like Lancelot to be so shaken, he was usually the calm one, level headed in any crisis.

“She . . she has Merlin.”

“What?!” Morgana and Gwaine gasped at the same time. When Lancelot nodded, Gwaine let out a pained cry.

“She’s the one that did the cuffs,” Gwaine almost wailed. “How dare she. How dare she!”

Morgana jabbed a finger at Lancelot.

“Explain.”

Lancelot looked up, but did not make eye contact. His face was drawn.

“I was on the ground helping to fortify the gate when I saw through the gap - a bolt struck her horse, then three more. At first, I couldn’t see who she held on the front of her horse, but when it threw them . . . they rolled off and . . . . it was Merlin. I shouted, but of course he couldn’t hear me. There was a tussle, he went for a weapon I think, but she stopped him and she did something to his wrists, to those cuffs, something with this orange rope or chain -”

Lancelot was breathless as he finally made eye contact with Gwaine.

“Just . . . how powerful was Merlin?”

Gwaine shook his head. He didn’t know. They rarely discussed Merlin’s magic. He’d gotten the impression it was a sore point, given the fact that Merlin had almost no access to it. He wasn’t sure if Merlin himself had any idea how powerful he was, although he remembered Gaius saying that Merlin shouldn’t have been able to use magic at all with the cuffs on.

“Why do you ask?” said Morgana. Of course, she would probably have a better idea of Merlin’s magic than Gwaine did, not that anyone else knew why.

“I think it was his magic that brought down the wall.”

“What?!” Gwaine roared. “Just because he’s been driven out by that ignorant bastard - he would never -”

“Shhh,” Morgana interrupted, holding a hand out to Gwaine. She gave him a stare that reminded him that she had been brought up with royalty.

“I don’t mean . . . I think she’s controlling his magic.”

“How do you know?” Morgana asked as she scrunched up her nose. She seemed to be trying to put some pieces together. “How do you know it wasn’t just her magic?”

Lancelot sighed deeply, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“I should be dead. All of us should have been dead, all the soldiers and knights and everyone who was at that gate. Instead, as the wall collapsed, we were all thrown back by this force, lifted off our feet and thrown clear back to the castle steps. Even the landing was gentle. It felt, whatever carried us, it felt like . . .it felt familiar.”

“So Merlin, he protected you?” Percival asked.

Of course he did. Gwaine’s heart soared. That was a good sign. Even if that bitch had Merlin, he was fighting back.

“That sorcerer might not have as much control over him as she thinks.”

Gwaine couldn’t help but let out a pained chuckle. “She’ll soon find out that kid is impossible to control.”

Morgana gave his arm a quick squeeze. Gwaine thought he had hidden his worry better.

“So what do we do now?” Lancelot asked.

Morgana drew a sword which Gwaine hadn’t even noticed that she had been wearing. Actually, what was she wearing?

“This is a good look for you, Morgana,” Gwaine winked. She flashed him a sneering smile.

“I can hardly save Camelot while worrying about tripping over my skirts.”

Lancelot and Percival drew their own swords.

“Great. Kill the evil sorcerer. Get back our Merlin. Sounds like a good plan.”

Arthur skidded into the Throne Room, Leon hot on his heels.

His father was looking out of the window, his face ashen. Sir Elric jumped from where he had been surveying a tapestry, almost dropping his sword. The other knights were nowhere to be seen.

“She’s coming. We need to get you out through the servant’s passage.”

Arthur manhandled his father towards the small gap behind the tapestry, hidden by the pillar. His father pushed back.

“No! I will not run and hide! This is my kingdom!”

His father was a stubborn mule.

“So that’s what you’re going to do, is it?” Arthur shouted. “Just tell the sorcerer it’s my kingdom and she’ll leave, yeah? Cenred too?”

The doors flung open again. Arthur whirled around with his sword, ready to face Morgause and Cenred. Leon took position beside him.

Instead, Gwaine and Morgana stumbled in, followed by Lancelot and Pervical who turned his attention straight away to barring the door. Gwaine regarded Arthur cautiously, then raised his sword to cover Percival and Lancelot as they worked.

“Morgana!” Uther sounded scandalised. “What are you wearing?”

“Oh do keep up,” she huffed, storming into the room. “Arthur, there’s something you need to know. It’s the sorcerer . . .”

“Morgause.” Arthur said. He ignored the hiss from his father. Something told him that he knew more about this sorcerer than he was letting on.

“Yes, Morgause,” Morgana repeated dismissively. “She has -”

A loud crash in the corridor was the only warning they had, but it was enough for Gwaine to pull Percival and Lancelot back just in time. The doors blew off their hinges, clattering against the walls with such force Percival had to duck as they bounced back at him.

Morgause. She strode in with her head held high and blonde locked dancing over her shoulders, dragging something behind her. A half dozen soldiers trailed in her wake, blocking the exit. Well, one exit.

Arthur held his sword in position, ready to strike. He shifted in front of his father, trying to push Morgana behind him as well, but the stubborn woman had her own sword out. Leon stood on the other side of her, ready to protect the King’s ward and the closest person Arthur had to a sibling.

Lancelot and Percival were off to the side, holding back Gwaine who looked like a bloodthirsty hound on a leash. What had Morgause done to make him so angry?

“Now, now, Arthur, no need for such hostility. I have brought something of yours after all.”

She threw a body to the ground. It tumbled, rolling over to rest face down, but Arthur didn’t need to see his face to know who it was. He’d recognise the shape of those shoulders anywhere.

“Merlin!”

Arthur rushed forward and pulled Merlin onto his back. His heart jumped to his throat as he took in his lover’s battered state. He had hoped that Merlin had been able to get away, maybe find his home village again.

He was going to kill Morgause.

“Merlin,” Arthur called, cupping his hand over Merlin’s tacky cheek. His face was coated in a mask of sweat and blood and filth, concentrated at his temple and his ear. His eyes eased open, pale blue and focused on Arthur’s own.

Then Morgause muttered words foreign to Arthur’s ear, Merlin tensed under him and those eyes turned a golden yellow.

“Arthur!”

He heard Morgana’s scream as he was thrown back at a hurtling speed, only to stop just as suddenly. He opened his eyes to find a stone pillar an inch from his nose. The force holding him released and dropped him. He landed on his feet.

So she was trying to use Merlin’s own magic.

And Merlin was shoving it back in her face. Arthur could not have been prouder of his strong-willed sorcerer.

Then Morgause roared.

Merlin, who had been so still, thrashed violently against the ground. His long fingers scrabbled at the floorboards as he writhed, face screwed tightly shut. His jaw was clenched firmly shut, not giving Morgause the satisfaction of screaming.

She was hurting him, with his own magic.

Arthur ran, but Morgause was faster.

She closed her gloved hand around Merlin’s neck and lifted him to his knees.

Arthur skidded to a stop. It was a threat, a clear one at that.

One more move, and Merlin would suffer for it.

His clothes, Arthur realised, were the same ones that he’d been wearing when he ran from the bakery, only torn and stained with mud and blood. An orange rope looped around Merlin’s wrists between those cuffs of his, moving and shimmering with magic.

He was going to kill Morgause.

She bent down so she could speak into Merlin’s ear. He was still panting from the torture she had just put him through.

“Are you going to behave? Or maybe should we give some of my own magic a try on that one over there?”

She pointed a finger at Gwaine who was barely being held back by Percival and Lancelot combined, spitting curses at her. Cleverly, Arthur noticed that Percival and Lancelot had started to edge further from the Essertir soldiers and closer to Arthur, Morgana and Leon. His father was somewhere behind him and he had no idea where Sir Elric was, nor did he care.

Merlin’s eyes tracked slowly to Gwaine, then back to Morgause.

“Good.” She turned to the room. “He’s learning.” She turned Merlin so he also faced the room, still on his knees. She held him against her leg with a hand pressed against the hollow of his neck, and the other dug into his hair, places she should not be touching him. He knew it was deliberate, she had somehow found out what Merlin meant to him and was teasing Arthur.

He was going to kill her. He just needed to work out how to get Merlin safely out of her grips, then he would run his sword through her gut like the pig she was.

“Now, Uther, start talking.”

The King scowled at Morgause, stepping forward with a swish of his cloak. “Talking? What do you mean talking? I have nothing to say to sorcerers.”

Morgause rolled her eyes. “No? Well, maybe I should start then -”

A flurry of movement to the side caught Arthur’s attention. Gwaine broke past Lancelot and Percival. His sword swung and came a hairsbreadth from connecting with Morgause’s shoulder when he too was thrown back by magic.

Just like Arthur, he stopped before he hit the wall, falling slow enough that he could land on his feet.

This time though, Merlin let out a pained cry.

Morgause let Merlin drop to the floor. He hit the boards with a thud, landing on his side. Arthur reached out to catch him, but a shock of pain rippled through his body, dropping him to his own knees. The pain was intense enough to take his breath away, but over before Arthur could gasp.

That definitely wasn’t Merlin’s magic.

“Oooh, he didn’t like that,” Morgause cooed. She looked down at Merlin who was curled up at her feet and thankfully still conscious, although Arthur didn’t like how slow his movements were getting. At least that horrid orange chain was gone.

“See Merlin, that’s how it’s done.” She turned to the room as if she were a lord or lady addressing the court. “I can’t trust dear Merlin’s magic when it comes to betraying his friends. Destruction leading to the fall of Camelot is one thing, but it seems he struggles a bit with the more face-to-face part of his job.” She squeezed his neck more tightly, drawing a whimper from Merlin. “And if anyone else gets any smart ideas, I may not be ready to kill Merlin yet, but I sure can hurt him.”

Arthur was going to kill her.

“See Arthur,” Uther hissed, standing behind him. “Magic corrupts! There’s no such thing as a good sorcerer!”

“Because you make it that way!” Morgause fired back. “How many sorcerers have you killed Uther? How many innocent lives lost because of your mistakes? Your secrets?”

Arthur turned to his father who had paled several shades at Morgause’s words. “Father?”

Of course a king would have secrets, but what sort of secrets did Uther have that Morgause would know?

The sorcerer chuckled. “For one, Arthur - did you know that Uther used magic to help your mother conceive? No?”

What? Arthur turned on his father, who was shaking his head.

“Arthur, I didn’t.”

“Don’t lie!” Morgause spat. “He was so ignorant, so arrogant that he thought he could create a life and defy the Triple Goddess, that she would not ask a price, but she did - and when she took that price he killed thousands in retaliation.”

Arthur had watched his father lie on a daily basis. He watched him lie to farmers who brought their concerns about the safety of their farms. He watched him lie to foreign kings and queens about the strength of their allegiance. He watched him lie to their people when he spoke of the evils of magic.

One thing Arthur had learned to tell was when his father was lying.

His father had used magic.

“A price?” Arthur breathed. “What was the price?”

Uther was still shaking his head, eyes looking everywhere but at Arthur. “That’s not what happened! Magic stole her from me!”

Stole her.

His mother.

The price Uther paid for an heir was his mother’s life.

Arthur took a step away from his father. He looked down to find his sword raised and pointed at Uther.

“You traded her life.”

“I did no such thing!” Uther cried, stepping forwards. Arthur’s sword tip met the chain mail at his gut. His father looked down in horror.

“Arthur” Leon warned.

“You killed her!”

“I loved her!” Uther fired back. He looked on the verge of tears, but Arthur couldn’t care less. His father had traded his mother’s life only to continue his line, then killed thousands of magic users when he didn’t like the consequences.

It was Arthur’s birth that had killed his mother.

A hint of emotion wavered Morgause’s voice.

“You loved her so much that you impregnated another woman only months before you traded away your wife’s life.”

Hang on, what?

His father had an affair? There was a child?

Morgause looked directly at Morgana.

Morgana who was just under a year older than Arthur.

“No . . .” Arthur whispered, because how dare he. How dare Uther?

He pressed his sword more firmly into his father’s mail.

“So you not only killed my mother, but you also cheated on her? And then, just to make matters even worse, you lied to Morgana? To me?”

He looked at Morgana, standing on his other side. Her hands were over her mouth. She looked shocked, but also not as shocked as he was. Maybe a part of her had always known?

“All this time you’ve treated her like an outsider, and she is your daughter!?”

Uther reached out, his fingers stretched towards her.

“Morgana . . .”

Morgana stepped back, holding her arms close to her body. Her hands were shaking.

Arthur blocked Uther’s path, his jaw set. All his life, Arthur had done everything he could to make his father proud, and none of it had ever been enough. Still he tried and tried, hoping his father would finally see virtue in his efforts.

It seemed his father knew nothing of virtue.

“Leave her alone,” Arthur growled.

“Arthur . . .” his father begged, but Arthur raised his sword.

“Shut up! Just shut up!” He needed to think!

Morgause had Merlin trapped and Cenred had invaded the castle with his army and his father had lied about Arthur’s very existence and caused his mother’s death and Morgana was actually his sister and Arthur just needed to stop and work out how to get everyone including Merlin out of there safely.

Merlin had stilled on the floor, his eyes slitted open. It was hard to tell with his face so stained, but he looked even paler than before.

“There’s one more thing,” Morgause said softly. It was Morgana who had her attention. “The other woman, your mother, is also my mother.”

Oh no.

Morgause was Morgana’s sister?!

He ran his non-sword hand through his hair as he exchanged a look with Leon. The fact that his best friend looked just as shellshocked as he felt was heartening.

Morgana’s sister had Merlin bound and pinned by his neck.

And Morgana was also Arthur’s sister.

Arthur’s head was spinning.

“Morgana,” Morgause said, and she was smiling. That snake was smiling.

He just needed to think. Morgause had stormed the castle, but not with Cenred, he was nowhere to be found. So what did she want?

“Come with me, Morgana. You and I, we are alike. We are family.”

There was no way Morgana could fall for that. Arthur reached for her, for his sister, his fingers brushing her arm, but she only had eyes for Morgause.

“You have magic too, don’t you?” Morgause asked hungrily.

Arthur felt it, how Morgana stiffened.

He looked at Morgana, and Arthur wondered why he didn’t see her royal blood earlier. The poise of her chin, jutted out just enough to give her a proud defiance that made her look every bit the princess she was.

Then her eyes flashed gold and the candles in every scone flared brighter.

“Morgana,” Arthur breathed.

She had magic. Morgana, his sister, had magic.

And she hadn’t told him. Just like Merlin.

It didn’t matter though. Before Merlin, maybe Arthur thought he would have cared, but when he found out about Merlin’s magic he came to the very fast realisation that all that really mattered in life were the people you loved, and that he would fight for them despite any archaic, prejudiced and now hypocritical laws.

“I can help you,” Morgause promised.

“No,” Arthur countered, closing his hand over her arm. She didn’t look at him, still focused on his new sister. “Morgana, don’t listen to her.”

“He doesn’t understand you. You don’t have to be alone in this, though - I can help you.”

Arthur tugged her back.

His father shouted out, as if anyone cared about what he had to say.

“Morgana! She can’t be trusted!”

“And you can?” Morgause fired back. “Oh, don’t worry Uther, I haven’t forgotten about you. If you think you are leaving this room without facing justice for your sins, you are sorely mistaken.”

Morgause held her hand out again to Morgana.

“He murdered innocents, children, just for being special like us. Come with me. You can live freely, away from all of this.”

“Morgana, she’s hurting Merlin. She’ll hurt you. Please,”

Morgana shifted like she was in a trance, her eyes transfixed on her new sister. She started to pull out of Arthur’s hold towards Morgause.

For the last half year, since Merlin had arrived and broken down his self-imposed walls, Arthur had finally started to feel like he was connecting with Morgana in a way that they never had growing up. He had been so sure earlier that day that they had taken their bond to a new level, one where Morgana would take an important place by his side, especially now she was his sister.

“Morgana, I love you.”

Finally, she looked at Arthur. Her eyes were cold as she shrugged out of his grip.

Arthur’s heart seized painfully in his chest, taking his breath away. She couldn’t betray him, Morgana would betray Uther, but not him.

He refused to believe it.

Then Arthur felt the push of something repel him away as Morgana moved to stand by Morgause’s side, her mouth curled in a smirk.

Chapter Text

Earlier that day

After breaking Arthur out of the dungeon, Morgana went to the one place where she could make herself useful - the hospital set up in the Banquet Hall. She had been moving cots with a nice young man called Will when Gaius and Geoffrey approached her sheepishly. They had been chatting, it seemed, and needed to speak with her urgently, and privately.

As it turned out, they felt that the moments before Morgause and Cenred’s invasion was the perfect time to spill some of the biggest secrets in Camelot, namely that Uther was her father, making Arthur her brother and her a princess. While Geoffrey waffled on about whether it was her or Arthur who stood as front runner to the throne (which Morgana couldn’t care less about - Arthur could have it), it did seem that between the two of them, they would have a lot more power to oppose Uther, maybe even enough to block or change laws (Gaius added with a knowing look).

Gaius also slipped in that Morgause was likely the sorcerer who had bound Merlin’s magic as a child, and that she was also Morgana’s sister.

The pair of old schemers had hoped that by telling Morgana the truth she might not be as shocked when Morgause inevitably spilled the beans and used it to try to attract Morgana to her side, not that Morgana ever would ditch Arthur like that.

Uther could rot in hell, though.

Then she saw Morgause drag her best friend through the doors, bloody and beaten with his magic being abused under her control and she lost the last of any sympathy she might have had for her sister.

Although, Gaius and Geoffrey’s warning did put Morgana on alert, and this is how she got the piece that she was missing.

Geweald

Morgause said it once, right before she tried to hurt Arthur with Merlin’s magic, but once was all Morgana needed.

Morgause was using the spell to control Merlin’s magic through those thrice-damned cuffs.

Her supposed sister may have been looking pretty smug, but it was clear as day that Merlin was blocking her control of his powers. How, she had no idea, but Morgana was fairly sure that if things went south, Merlin could at least give her a few second buffer if Morgause decided to use his magic against them.

When Morgause couldn’t get Merlin to hurt Arthur and Gwaine with his magic, she did the last thing that Morgana needed for her plan to work - she released her spell on Merlin’s cuffs.

Ignoring Arthur as he found out that she wasn’t just like a sister to him, but was an actual sister to him, had been hard, but she had to put on the act. Arthur was a terrible liar, and she couldn’t let Morgause know what she was planning.

The thing was, Merlin might have rushed out of Gaius’ chambers all those weeks ago when he found out that his cuffs were bound to the sorcerer who put them on him, but Morgana did not. She and Gaius had stayed and studied the text and found out a few key facts.

The wording of the curse, when more carefully translated, actually equated to the binding magic can only be controlled by the caster’s magical blood.

Gaius had insisted that this wording meant a sorcerer with the same magical blood as the caster could control the cuffs as well as the caster. A tall ask when the sorcerer was unknown, but one that had just become a lot easier, especially as Morgana was fairly sure that her magical blood was on her sister’s side rather than Uther’s.

It had become easier again now that Morgause had given Morgana the words of the spell.

Morgana shrugged Arthur’s hand off her shoulder, ignoring his hurt for the moment. Soon, if everything went well, he’d have Merlin back in his arms.

Using a little bit of magic to push Arthur out of harm’s way, she approached her sister, looking at her carefully, taking in her features. Her eyes were as dark as mahogany and her hair such a contrast to Morgana’s own, but they shared their fiery personalities, not to mention their magic.

And after this moment, that would be all that they shared.

She raked her eyes over Merlin slumped over the floor. Morgana schooled her features to show indifference or even disgust at his plight, but a fire burned within her at seeing what her supposed sister had done to her best friend.

“Sister,” Morgana said, reaching out to embrace Morgause.

Take the bait.

Take the bait.

She took the bait.

Morgause leaned in for a hug, her smile wide.

At the last second, Morgana grabbed Morgause’s shoulders and dragged her down, slamming her knee up into her face. With all her strength, she threw Morgause towards the wall away from Arthur and Leon, and away from Lancelot, Percival and Gwaine. She couldn’t care less about Uther. Morgana was quite proud of the strength of her throw as Morgause tumbled across the boards with a cry. She didn’t have time to admire her work though. The Essetir soldiers had decided to finally rush forward.

Morgana thrust her hand out towards Merlin, curled up on the floor. She would have to apologise later.

“Geweald”

She gasped as she fell into the ocean of Merlin’s magic. It felt warm like a lake on a summer’s day, and yet as powerful as a winter’s storm. Morgana felt it wrap around her, recognise her even.

The chain that formed to join the cuffs on Merlin’s wrists turned from a violent orange to a golden yellow. He gasped, lifting his head and locking eyes with Morgana.

How did Merlin ever control all of this power? Morgana felt heady with it, the rush of it pushing against her own magic, raring to get out.

Morgana pushed her hand towards the ceiling over Morgause’s head, just as her sister got to her feet. She barely needed to utter the spell before Merlin’s magic realised her intent and jumped forward, eager to help.

“Abrecan!”

Instead of causing a small distraction as Morgana had intended, half the ceiling collapsed, completely blocking Morgause and her soldiers from everyone else. It wouldn’t stop her - the tell-tale flash of magic that caught Morgana’s eye meant it wouldn’t hold Morgause back for long, but for long enough to escape.

Morgana spun around to see that the men were standing there, dumbfounded. Arthur was gaping like a fish. Uther looked ready to pass out and that Sir Elric was nowhere to be found, probably having already run off through the servant’s passage. Gwaine was on his knees, shielding Merlin from the rockfall while Merlin tried weakly to push him away.

“Right. Grab him,” she said, pointing to Merlin. “Keep us close - I can stop that bitch getting back his magic but only if I can hold my own spell on Merlin’s bindings to block hers.”

When no-one moved, she shrieked.

“Well, COME ON!”

Arthur jumped into action, moving to pick up Merlin when for a second it looked like he and Gwaine might actually engage in a tug of war over who would carry him. Thankfully, Percival shoved them both aside and scooped him up, slinging Merlin over his shoulder.

Lancelot threw aside the tapestry, holding it open to reveal the servants’ passage.

“Go first Arthur, you know the way,” Morgana commanded. Her brother gave her a serious nod, then ducked his head, sword drawn and led the way, Leon hot on his heels. Percival went next with Lancelot and Gwaine making sure he didn’t hit Merlin’s head on the way through the narrow space. Just as Morgana ducked her own head, Uther grabbed her arm.

“Morgana, you need to -”

She shoved the King away, pinning him to the wall bordering the passage way with Merlin’s borrowed magic.

“I don’t need to do anything you say, Uther. I’m allowing you to follow us for Arthur’s sake, but you come near me again and I’ll show you just how fearsome I can be without magic.”

Morgana released him, rushing to catch up with Merlin and Percival and make sure that the binding spell was still in place. She heard Gwaine and Lancelot behind her. The walls of the tunnel were rough and unfinished under her hands and she had to take care not to stumble in the dark.

She couldn’t believe that pig. That hypocritical, adultering, lying, coward of a pig.

Urg.

There were more important things to worry about. She cast a light, sending it to the front for Arthur to use.

Morgause was still alive. Cenred was out there somewhere. There were soldiers crawling everywhere. She could deal with Uther later.

After a few minutes Morgana saw a light up ahead. It brightened, then dimmed again. Percival came to an abrupt and silent stop. Arthur must have been checking out whether the coast was clear. Morgana ducked down so that she could look at Merlin eye to eye from where he hung halfway down Percival’s back.

“Merlin,” Morgana whispered, brushing the gunky hair from his face. “How are you doing?”

His mouth stretched into a lazy smile, half squashed against the giant man’s back.

“Hanging in there.”

She let out a quiet chuckle, which Merlin echoed.

“That was terrible. Honestly, worse than your egg jokes.”

Morgana hovered her finger over the golden chain that quivered between Merlin’s wrists.

“I’m sorry -”

“Nah, that was brilliant,” he grinned, cheek dimpling. “Anyways, it doesn’t feel anything like when Morgause did it. Your magic feels much better. I don’t mind you having control.”

“I must tell Arthur that you like someone else being in control,” Morgana teased, giving Merlin a cheeky smile. The blush of his visible ear would have been adorable had it not been crusted in blood.

“Now who’s making terrible jokes!” Merlin scoffed.

It felt nice, having a laugh, safe in the tunnel while everything was literally falling apart around them.

A short whistle that Morgana knew to be Arthur’s wiped the smile from her face as they started moving again.

The passage way ended on the second floor on the same side of the castle as the Banquet Hall, but one floor up. Morgana could hear the shouting and clanging of fighting outside the castle as they wove their way through the corridors and down the steps. It seemed the Essetir soldiers hadn’t yet made it into the castle, but that wouldn’t take long.

Compared to the muffled quiet of the corridors, the Banquet Hall was a buzz with frantic activity. Morgana was gladdened to see that only a quarter of the cots seemed to be occupied meaning that casualties had been minimal so far.

Arthur didn’t stop though, and the group rushed past the beds to a small room up the back that Morgana often saw servants rush in and out of during feasts. Their procession caused quite the stir amongst the patients and helpers (which really, made sense considering that the Prince of Camelot was leading a giant man carrying a sorcerer, followed by the King’s ward wearing pants, trailed by some Common Knights and the King following like some sort of squire.)

“Put him down here,” Arthur said, clearing linen from a table in the small room. Percival gently lay Merlin on the table who immediately tried to sit up.

“Oh no,” Gwaine said, pinning his heavy hands on Merlin’s chest. “Not until Gaius sees you.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin whined. He pushed weakly against Gwaine, giving up and slumping back against the table. Lancelot gently swiped a wet cloth across Merlin’s face, clearing away the muck.

“Can we get rid of these?” Arthur asked, pointing at the ropes wrapped around Merlin’s wrists above the cuffs. He looked at Morgana. “It won’t interfere with the spell?”

Morgana shook her head. Without further ado, Arthur slipped the knife from his belt and sliced through the ropes. Merlin sighed and let his arms drop to the side. Morgana watched curiously as the golden chain stretched to accommodate him. Arthur slipped his hand into Merlin’s, his thumb stroking over the back of it. Lancelot was still cleaning Merlin’s face, which was scrunched in a grimace.

“Merlin!”

Gaius scurried into the room, his eyes scanning over Merlin’s battered body.

“M’fine,” Merlin grunted, but the physician was too experienced to be fooled.

Then his focus narrowed in on the binding spell looped between his wrists.

“Everyone get back,” Gaius said, pulling Arthur and Morgana backwards with surprising strength.

“No Gaius, it’s not Morgause’s spell,” Morgana protested. Gaius stopped, raising an eyebrow as he watched the golden chain shimmer. “I kind of, improvised.”

“This is your spell?” he asked, pointing to the chain. He pursed his lips and nodded with his eyebrows raised. “Impressive.”

The pride Morgana felt at that word made her burst into an inappropriate smile. He was impressed with her, with her magic! No-one other than Merlin had ever praised her for anything other than her ability to look pretty and behave like a lady of the court.

“You should have seen her Gaius. She saved us.”

Oh, not Arthur too! Morgana blushed furiously, banging her shoulder into her brother’s. He bumped her back, giving her a fond smile.

“You almost had me fooled though,” Arthur said under his breath.

“She had me fooled,” Gwaine admitted from where he stood cradling Merlin’s head. “Bloody brilliant though.”

“Well, I think it’s time for some more brilliance, don’t you think?” Gaius said, giving Morgana a knowing look. She nodded.

Finally.

“Let’s start preparing.”

Morgana and Gaius started their preparations.

Uther was spouting off in the corner, waving his hands around like the mad king he was.

”Morgana, I will not stand by and watch you succumb to magic!”

Quick as a whip, Morgana responded “Then don’t watch!”.

Uther slumped back in his seat, but kept shouting at her. It was affecting her focus. She needed to get this exactly right or she could really hurt Merlin.

Percival, ever the intuitive one, must have noticed how much it was throwing her off. The big man carried the King out of the room, chair and all.

That was better. Now she could concentrate.

As Morgana read over the spell in the magic book again with Gaius, making sure she had the pronunciation right, she heard someone shouting in the main hall. Elyan burst into the room, sweating and eyes wild.

“Arthur, there you are! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!”

Arthur straightened up from where he’d been holding Merlin’s hand while Percival wrapped the wound on his head.

“What is it, Elyan?”

“Our knights are on the steps out the front keeping Cenred’s men out of the castle, but there are so many doors - each time we block off another entry they find one more. We can’t keep going like this, we need a plan.”

The words that he left unsaid were we need you.

Morgana knew she was being selfish, but she didn’t want Arthur to go. It was too dangerous, Cenred’s army was too big and Morgause was still out there somewhere. Arthur could be a pompous arse but he was her brother, and she loved him.

He smiled at her before pulling her into a tight hug.

“See you soon, yeah?” he said. Morgana nodded into his shoulder. He gave her a kiss on the cheek adding, “Look after him, yeah?”

She nodded. She would look after both her boys.

As soon as she had finished what she had to do, she would come and find Arthur. Her magic may not have been as refined as Morgause’s, but she was powerful enough and could put up a strong shield.

Not that Morgana would tell Arthur that. If he knew she intended to follow him into battle he’d have a conniption.

The room was full of people but they had the decency to manage to avert their eyes everywhere but towards Arthur as he bent over Merlin to say goodbye. Morgana tried not to listen, but noticed when Merlin realised what Arthur was doing and tried to pull himself up by his grip on Arthur’s chain mail.

“Shhh, Merlin, I’ll come back.” Arthur’s voice wavered.

Merlin sounded the strongest he had sounded since they found him in the throne.

“No, no, you are not going!”

“I have to. I can’t abandon our kingdom.”

“No,” Merlin said, grappling at Arthur’s arm. “No, no, no -”

“Camelot needs me.” Arthur made a face that Morgana had seen him make before everytime he was trying not to cry. He would have his tongue pushed against the roof of his mouth, holding back his emotions.

“Take me with you! Please, Arthur!”

Morgana bit back the tears as Merlin latched on to Arthur. Gwaine stepped forward, his own eyes red-rimmed as he pried Merlin’s hand’s from Arthur’s armour. When he realised that he wasn’t going to be able to keep his Prince from fulfilling his duty, he broke down, sobbing into Gwaine’s chest. Arthur left the room in a hurry, Elyan, Leon, Lancelot and Percival following him into battle.

Gwaine was half sitting on the table with Merlin almost in his lap, letting him sob his heart out while he rubbed his back. She could hear Gwaine whisper into his ear, he’ll be okay, you’ll see him again soon, he’s a good fighter.

Morgana wiped her own eyes, then gave Merlin her own short hug. She pulled away, cupping her hands around his ridiculous cheekbones to hold his gaze on hers as she spoke.

“Merlin, we need to do this. Right now, the best thing you can do to protect Arthur is block your magic from Morgause, permanently. Are you ready?”

Merlin took in a deep hitching breath, getting himself under control. He nodded, a new determination written over his face.

“Yep, let’s do it.”

Morgana settled on one side of the table, Gaius next to her by Merlin’s head with the spell book propped open on his forearm. Gwaine stood opposite with his hand resting on Merlin’s shoulder.

This was it. The spell would be the hardest one that Morgana had ever tried, and there wasn’t even the opportunity to practise first.

Who was she kidding attempting such a hard spell? Maybe Gaius should try, he used to practise magic, Morgana knew that for certain.

She inhaled sharply as a hand closed slowly around her own that had been resting on the table. Merlin looked up at her, smiling with his stupidly cute grin.

“You can do this, Morgana. I know you can.”

Morgana blew out the breath she had been holding, nodding. He was right, she could do this. Every spell she had learned with Merlin from that book she had mastered. Her sister was a high priestess, albeit a selfish and greedy one, but there was no doubt that she was masterful with magic, and Morgana had that same blood running through her own veins.

She could do this.

She had to do this. Merlin was counting on her. Camelot was counting on her.

Morgana closed her hands over the metal cuffs on Merlin’s wrists. He flinched.

“Okay?” she whispered. He nodded. She knew he was so sensitive about anyone touching his bindings. Morgana could understand why after seeing them used to violate his magic. She shut her eyes and concentrated on finding her centre.

A few moments later, Gaius whispered some words, too quiet for anyone but Morgana to hear. She repeated the words, thankful for the prompts. She repeated the next line, then the next when she felt the cuffs start to vibrate ever so slightly. At Gaius’ instruction, she repeated the spell. The vibrations were joined by a humming sound. The third time through, the metal was buzzing. She felt Merlin jolt against her. It must have been hurting him. Without waiting for Gaius, she repeated the spell again, her voice finding a strength in her urgency to get the job done. The fifth time she felt the metal expand, then crack against her palms.

Merlin gasped. Morgana’s eyes flew open. Did the spell work? Or was she just hurting him?

His back arched, thrusting his chest upwards. Gwaine scrambled to keep a grip on Merlin as his eyes lit up brighter than the sun in a bright blue sky.

“What’s happening? Gaius!”

The old man flipped quickly through the book with a furrowed brow.

“I don’t know!’

There was a loud crack and both cuffs cracked open. The left one fell off by itself. Morgana ripped the right one off, tossing it to the floor with a clang.

“Merlin!” Gwaine shouted, shaking him by the shoulders. His eyes were open but it didn’t seem like he could hear them at all. Morgana reached forward and lightly slapped his cheek, desperate to get her friend to snap out of whatever was happening to him.

The table that Merlin lay on began to rattle, dancing on the stone floor like a spider. Gwaine grabbed Merlin, half dragging him off the animated furniture when he drew in a loud gasp. His eyes turned back to a vivid blue, then rolled back into his head. He slumped against Gwaine, no longer conscious.

“Merlin!” Morgana shouted. “Gaius, do something!”

Gaius already had his bag open, un-stoppering a bottle that smelled absolutely putrid. He thrust the offending item under Merlin’s nose.

Within a heart beat, Merlin’s nose scrunched up and he shifted in Gwaine’s grip, trying to get away from the smell. His eyes shot open and Morgana was sure that unless her eyes were playing tricks on her, they had never been that blue before.

“Phoar Gaius, what is that? Gwaine’s socks?”

The three carers let out a collective sigh of relief. He was alright.

Merlin rolled his head on his neck. “Oh, geez, that feels weird.”

“What does?” Gwaine asked, looking as much like the concerned parent as he always did.

Merlin shuddered, then wiggled his fingers. “It’s all tingly and gooey.”

Then he burst into a fit of giggles.

Morgana looked at Gaius with an eyebrow raised that almost matched his own. Surely the spell hadn’t affected Merlin’s mind?

Merlin jumped up off the table unsteadily. Said table promptly turned into a grey speckled donkey.

Gwaine yelped and leapt back. The donkey looked at him and brayed. Merlin obliviously rolled his shoulders, then looked down at the donkey.

“What’s that doing there?” he asked Gaius. He took an unsteady step towards Morgana, arms thrown wide to give her a hug, but in reality she ended up catching an armful of gangly limbs and bony elbows.

“What’s wrong with him?” Gwaine asked, slapping away the donkey who was trying to chew his sleeve.

“I’m not completely sure . . .” Gaius said slowly, which meant that he might have some idea. As if an updraft had suddenly appeared under Gaius, his hair blew upwards, then dropped back down again.

Gwaine thankfully took an increasingly heavy Merlin out of Morgana’s arms and propped him up against the wall. He grinned goofily, his head swaying.

Then Gwaine’s pants turned a lurid pink.

“He looks drunk.” She had seen Merlin drunk enough times to know that this was an intoxicated Merlin. Soon there would be singing.

“He might just be,” Gaius said warily. “I think he could be drunk on his magic.”

“Is that possible?” Morgana asked. She didn’t think that when people were said to be ‘drunk on power’ that it meant literally.

“Nah, I think he might be right,” Merlin said, still smiling like a loon. “It feels so good though.”

He skipped forward, then planted a sloppy kiss on Morgana’s cheek. “Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you and thank you again!

Merlin took Morgana’s hands in his and spun her in a circle. Despite the gravity of the situation (of maybe because of it), Morgana laughed.

“Careful Merlin, might I remind you that you are still injured!” Gaius shouted.

Merlin threw his head back and laughed. “Pain is a mental construct, Gaius!”

“I can assure you that blood and bruises are not!”

Merlin ignored Gaius in favour of galloping around the room, stopping to give the donkey a pat before launching himself at Gwaine who caught him mid-air. Merlin wrapped his long legs around Gwaine’s back, who was clearly struggling to stay standing with the monkey wrapped around him.

“Bloody hell Merlin! What are you doing?”

“C’mon Gwaine, I know you are happy to see me with my magic back!”

Gwaine bit back a smile. “I’d be happier if you weren’t trying to climb me like a tree.”

Gaius cleared his throat.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better Merlin, but I really need to clean that head wound.”

Merlin sighed dramatically, sliding down Gwaine’s body like a pole.

“Fine!”

He looked at the chair Gaius was pointing to, then coughed. The rickety wooden chair turned into a blue velvet covered armchair that almost put Uther’s throne to shame.

“Merlin!” Gaius chastised.

“That wasn’t me!” Merlin said, dropping into the chair. He sighed contently. “It’s my magic. It’s not my fault if it does what it wants.”

“Oh dear,” Gaius said, dabbing a wadded up cloth on the wound at Merlin’s temple. He hissed, biting his lip.

“What happened to pain is a mental construct?

Merlin poked his tongue out.

“Well at least he’s still a brat,” said Gwaine.

To be honest, Will had been a little suspicious of the letter Hunith had received inviting her to Camelot. He knew of Uncle Gaius, Hunith had talked of him, but Will could only remember him ever visiting her once, not long before everything happened.

He would have escorted Hunith anyway, but his suspicions made him even keener to see what this Uncle Gaius was up to. What did he want from Hunith?

They had become quite close afterwards, Will taking care of a single mother without a child, Hunith needing someone to dote on. It was nice.

Though, it wouldn’t fill the hole that had been left.

Will had been re-wrapping a bandage around a soldier’s head (seriously, how was this man’s head so round? He could barely get the thing to stay on properly) when all the commotion started. A blonde fellow with shining armour and a nose that just had to be noble rushed into the hall, followed by the biggest man Will had ever seen with another bloke thrown over his shoulder.

Following him had been the Lady Morgana who Will hadn’t seen leave. She had been helping out all morning, working like a servant and speaking in hushed tones with Gaius and that other old fella. After her were two long haired men, one kinda pretty and one who looked a lot like Gwaine, and a tall curly haired knight.

If the excited whispers of “It’s the King, it’s the King” ringing out around the hall weren’t enough to tell him, then the fancy clothes and bloody crown around his head probably would have given away who the last one in the parade had been.

The group rushed into the little room at the back, hidden by a screen wall. Will watched as the big one fetched Gaius.

“Are you finished yet?”

Will jumped as his patient huffed, folding his arms. He quickly wound the bandage around his head, making a bigger mess of it than before, then tucked the end in.

“All done mate.”

Leaving his patient to prod at his uneven bandage, Will moved on to strip a bed closer to the back room to see if he could get a glimpse of what was happening in there.

Sitting outside the room in front of the screen was the King, looking like a sad sack in a chair. His kingdom was being invaded, it was probably fair that he had some feelings about it.

The blonde dude left, wiping his eyes like he was crying or something. Most of the others left with him.

Then there was a bright flash and was that a donkey?

Right, something weird was going on in there.

Will walked into the room to find . . . a donkey. Morgana was leaning against a wall, her hair coming out of its braid. Gwaine stood next to her with some of the most hideous pants he had ever seen, watching Gaius tend to a patient sitting in a very fancy chair, securing a bandage around his head with much more skill than Will had.

Then Will laid eyes on the patient and felt an immediate tug on his mind, like he’d been down to the market and forgotten something from his mother’s list.

No. It couldn’t be him. Will saw . . . he saw it happen . . . he saw . . .

Then the boy looked at him and he saw his eyes widen with realisation.

“Will!?”

His reaction was visceral. He stormed forwards and grabbed the boy by the front of his shirt, pushing until his back hit the wall.

“Who are you?!”

“Will, it’s me, Merlin!”

“You ARE NOT Merlin! I saw you - him - I saw him die!”

He was yanked back by strong hands and pinned on his back. Gwaine had his knee in his chest.

“Alright Merlin?” he called back over his shoulder through gritted teeth.

“THAT IS NOT MERLIN!” Will screamed, pushing at Gwaine. He managed to shove him off and roll out from under him. Morgana stepped between Will and whoever that boy that was wearing Merlin’s face was, her eyes fierce.

“You need to calm down.”

Will stomped forward only to bump into an invisible wall.

“Morgana, it’s okay,” the boy said. He stepped around her and flicked his hand towards the wall, which disappeared. Just because he had magic, it didn’t mean . . .

Will was panting hard. This couldn’t be him, it couldn’t! He died, and if he didn’t, why hadn’t he come back? There’s no way the real Merlin would have stayed away that long. He was dead.

Will approached the boy, touching his ridiculous ears. They looked the same as Merlin’s had as a child, maybe even bigger. The boy flinched slightly, but tried to stand still as Will examined him. He was older, probably just a year shy of Will. He was taller though, far taller and less stick-like. Will moved around to his back and lifted the back of his tunic. The boy drew in a sharp breath, but let Will look.

It was stretched and paler, but it was still there. The scar that ran outwards from Merlin’s spine in a jagged line. They had been hiding from Old Man Simmons in his shed when they decided to make a run for it. Merlin jumped up suddenly but didn’t see the nail sticking out of the wood until it had torn a messy line in his back. Hunith had to stitch it back together while Merlin bit his lip, determined not to cry in front of Will.

He let the tunic drop back down and moved back to where he could face the boy. The others were silent, watching Will, although he could feel Gwaine’s eyes on him like a protective hound.

“Show me.”

A small smile crept over the boy’s face as he cupped his hands together. When they parted, a butterfly as blue as his eyes took flight, flittering in wide circles.

The same spell Merlin had shown Will when he first found out about his magic.

Will met Merlin’s eyes, which were brimming with tears.

It was him. It was Merlin.

Will threw his body at him, wrapping him in a tight hug and squeezing the air from his lungs. Merlin held on tight and sobbed into Will’s neck.

“Stop crying, you girl,” Will said, his own voice choking up.

“Nothing wrong with being a girl,” Merlin replied with a sniff.

Will pulled back, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“You died Merlin. I saw you fall into that river. You hit your head on a rock. You couldn’t have survived that.”

Merlin looked up at him, his mouth pulled into a solemn line.

“I shouldn’t have. It was my magic, it saved me.”

Will took in a shuddering breath. He had spent many days and nights cursing the magic which had condemned his best friend to his fate, and yet it had also rescued him.

“Why didn’t you come back?” Will asked, hating how wounded he sounded.

Merlin sniffed. “They were still looking for me, Morgause and Cenred and the guys that Gwaine saved me from . . . I knew the first place they’d look would be Ealdor and I couldn’t put you and mum in that sort of danger.” He looked up at Will quizzically. “What are you even doing here?”

“Well, that is a long story. Gaius, care to explain?” Will asked, turning around to the physician.

“I think that can wait,” Gaius said with a wry smile. “There’s someone else who would be dying to see you.”

How could Will have forgotten? He had been so swept up in his own emotions that he’d forgotten who he had travelled to Camelot with.

His face broke into a massive grin. He waggled his eyebrows at Merlin whose eyes went wide as he realised who it must be.

Massive, drenching drops of rain fell suddenly from the ceiling, stopping just as abruptly. Gwaine shook his hair out like a dog, cursing Merlin under his breath.

“Sorry,” Merlin said, flapping his hands excitedly. “Where is she?”

Will pointed out to the main hall. Merlin ran, well, he tripped, stumbled into the door frame then ran off.

“Is he drunk?” Will asked.

“Kind of,” Morgana replied. “We should probably keep an eye on him, actually.”

They left the donkey to chew the curtains and followed Merlin. There was a shrill shriek, then the room was full of blue butterflies that burst into golden stars. They were most concentrated near the door, where Hunith and Merlin sat on their knees, hugging each other tightly. Hunith was wailing while Merlin stroked her hair that had come out of its wrap.

“Just going to check on Elsie,” Gwaine said, ducking away. Morgana wiped her eyes.

“So why are you here?” she asked. He’d met her earlier while they set cots up. She didn’t seem like a noble in some ways; she was kind and considered other people’s needs, but she had the air of someone who always got what they wanted.

“I believe that is something I can answer,” Gaius said, folding his hands together. Will leaned in. He wanted to hear how this had all played out too. How had Merlin come to be in Camelot?

“You see, Hunith is my niece. I knew she had a boy with powerful magic, but that he had died some years back.”

Morgana gasped, a hand covering her mouth.

“And that boy is Merlin? Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“I didn’t know for certain. Hunith never named the boy in her letters, for fear that he could be identified if he were ever found out. I only met him the once when he was very small, and alas I couldn’t remember his name. Merlin was skittish whenever I asked about his past and wouldn’t tell me where he was from. I didn’t want to get Merlin or Hunith’s hopes up until I was sure, so I invited Hunith for a visit. That way, if she saw Merlin and didn’t recognise him, she would be none the wiser and no-one would be hurt. If she did, though . . .”

They all looked towards Hunith and Merlin who were squeezing each other tightly, rocking back and forth.

“You did good, Gaius,” Morgana said, giving him a sly smirk. Will noticed that the old man’s eyes were glossy with tears.

“Will!” Merlin shouted out, waving him over. Will chuckled, almost jogging to join them.

Just as he reached out to lift Hunith to her feet, a loud crash was joined by the ground shaking. People screamed as dust fell from the ceiling, hobbling from their beds in their panic.

Merlin seemed to snap out of his daze. His eyes were wild as he looked around.

“Arthur!”

He shot to his feet. “Mum, I swear, I’ll come back, there’s just something I have to do first.”

Oh no, they weren’t going to lose Merlin so soon after just finding him again. Will grabbed his arm at the same time as Hunith.

“Merlin, love, you need to stay here. It isn’t safe out there.” Hunith spoke with a surety, as if her words would be strong enough to stop Merlin doing anything stupid, but they both knew that look in his eye.

Merlin gave his mother a kiss on the cheek, then gave Will a bracing hug.

“I’ll be back. I promise.”

He ran off through the doors without so much as a sword in his hand.

“Where’s Merlin?” Will turned to see Morgana standing next to him, her brow furrowed.

“He ran off, said there was something he had to do.”

Her expression resembled that of a tempest, darkening clouds against a rolling sea.

“That self-sacrificing idiot! Those two deserve each other!”

And without another word, Morgana stormed off after Merlin (although Will noted she had a sword).

Hunith was trembling, although Will could tell that she was also just about to grab a sword and run off herself to protect her son. He wrapped an arm around her, shaking his head. What was Merlin doing?

That’s when Gwaine approached.

“Where’s Merlin?”

“He ran off, then Morgana ran after him.”

Gwaine let out a wretched howl, his hand finding the hilt of his sword.

“That bloody idiot! And she’s not much better. All that magic has addled their brains!”

And Gwaine ran off after Morgana and Merlin.

Will looked at Hunith. What had Merlin done to make all these people run off into an invaded castle swarming with enemy soldiers for him?

Chapter Text

Merlin strode through the stone corridors. He didn’t need to run, his magic knew exactly where he was going. It fizzled through his body, making his fingers twitch and his spine shudder. It was too much, the feeling of all of it back at once, urgently rushing through him and pulling Merlin towards its purpose, echoing over and over as it roiled and crashed. He felt overwhelmingly excited for no reason, to the point that it almost made him feel ill.

People parted around him, young servants running from the fight or injured soldiers limping their way to Gaius. As Merlin reached the staircase that led down to the grand foyer at the front of the castle, his magic gave a strong tug, almost pulling him off his feet.

As if the noise of the fight that had grown to a deafening volume and the soldiers shouting in the foyer weren’t enough to tell him, Merlin could tell that this was where he needed to be.

Where Arthur was.

Peering over the stair railing, he could see a small crowd of soldiers pushing against the doors from the inside, Thomas and Gregory shouting frantic orders at them to bolster the door. An ugly statue of a dog was being dragged across the stone to be stacked against a bust of Uther himself.

At least he was making himself useful.

While they seemed to be effective in blocking off the door, they were also giving Merlin no way out. His magic was making it pretty obvious that he needed to be on the other side of that door. He could just blow the wall apart, but that would give Thomas and Gregory another entry to defend. Instead, Merlin continued down the corridor and turned left to find a row of windows with Hermie perched in one, a quiver of arrows at his feet as he fired into the army below, reloading with mechanical speed.

Merlin looked out of the window next to Hermie. Cenred’s men had filled the rectangular courtyard like black tar, pushing and shoving against the Camelot soldiers and knights who were on the steps, defending the doors to the castle. Merlin’s magic found Arthur immediately, at the front of the knights on the steps, hacking soldiers down as the army surged against him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Percival with a mace, doing his own damage to any Essetir soldier who tried to approach the smaller door to the left of the front castle wall, Elyan defending the one to the right with his own longsword. Leon was at Arthur’s side as always, using his shield to protect Arthur’s flank.

Cenred was still horsed, loitering behind his army waving his sword around as if he was actually part of the action.

Camelot’s knights were fighting valiantly, but they were losing. Despite having the higher ground on the steps, there were just too many of Cenred’s soldiers pushing forwards.

They needed to even the odds.

With his magic rushing through him like adrenaline, Merlin climbed onto the window sill.

“Whatcha doing there?” Hermie asked, pausing his assault on the soldiers below. His weathered face pulled tight with concern.

Merlin could understand why. It was a long way up.

“Saving that royal prat.”

Merlin jumped.

A ball of wind exploded beneath him, knocking soldiers clear in a perfectly circular radius. Merlin landed in a crouch, his magic creating a buffer of air to soften his landing. He wasn’t sure if he was acting on impulse or if his magic had well and truly taken the reins, but it didn’t matter.

Either way, Cenred was about to get what was coming to him.

Merlin took a deep breath and gathered his magic. It swarmed him, making him feel intoxicatingly dizzy. It was too much to hold, but that was okay because he had somewhere for it to go. His eyes flashed gold as he slammed his palms against the flagstones. Power pulsed through him. The ground rippled out from Merlin’s hands like a rug being shaken out by a servant. Soldiers were knocked to the ground, thrown sideways and every which way. Horses cried out, throwing their riders as men screamed, while Camelot’s men stayed safe on the steps.

It was chaos.

Merlin smirked.

Just as he’d hoped, some men turned and ran. Not enough to turn the battle, but Merlin was just warming up, after all. His magic had been trapped for over half a decade.

Cenred’s horse was bucking without a rider, which meant he was on the ground somewhere amongst his men. Merlin could worry about him later.

Merlin stood up, flinging a soldier who dared run at him with a sword to the side with no more than a flick of his head.

Some more soldiers from the Black Army were starting to notice him, turning away from their assault on the Camelot soldiers on the steps towards Merlin standing to their side.

Good.

The Camelot forces seemed just as unsettled by the chaos, seeing as they probably couldn’t see what caused the ground to move like that. Arthur was still standing on the steps, barking orders as he swung his sword, hair plastered with sweat, looking every bit the warrior, his skin shining from the effort of saving his kingdom.

A tingling sensation skittered down his back that had nothing to do with his magic and everything to do with that image of his prince. By the Three, what Merlin would like to do to Arthur once this was all over.

His magic threw him off balance as a sharp reminder of the task at hand.

Right, he could think of that later.

He needed to get rid of more of Cenred’s men. His magic moved, as if reading his thoughts (which, it probably could, given that it was a part of him).

Merlin pushed his hands towards the water pump in the courtyard, then made a pulling motion towards the army. His magic leapt to obey.

Water burst from the pump, shattering it as it gushed out sideways in a thick column. The force of it swept the men who were just getting up back off their feet. More and more rushed out, creating the force of a river as it carried men away and back out of the gates. Merlin dodged the scattering soldiers to get closer to the steps. It may have been his magic, but he still had no desire to be near fast moving water.

Look up.

At the bidding of his magic, Merlin looked up to see stone gargoyles on the castle eaves. He swatted his hand, sending a blast of magic to break one of the heavy structures free. The resounding crack caught the nearby soldiers’ attention.

“Fucking move!” a commander shouted as the gargoyle tipped forward and dove into the army below. Men scattered as the stone shattered into pieces.

Well that seemed effective.

Merlin called on his magic and swatted both hands towards the rest of the stone gargoyles. This took considerably more effort as he felt the resistance of the combined weight of the stone against his magic, but with a deafening boom, they all broke free.

The chorus of the army’s shouts and war cries morphed into screams of panic and fear.

Just a little push. There.

Crash. Crash. Crash.

One by one, the gargoyles fell onto the army below like bombs from a catapult. Men were felled by the broken stone, those that were left standing only able to run away.

When the tenth gargoyle was dropped onto the men bringing the battering ram through the crowd, Merlin looked up at Arthur.

Well, that got your attention.

Arthur stood slack mouthed on the steps while the fight raged around him. Thank the goddess for Leon’s shield or Arthur would have been hit.

While Merlin was flattered that he had managed to strike Arthur dumbfounded, he also very much wanted the clotpole alive. He was too far away to shout out at him, not that he would have been heard over all the men screaming for their lives running away from the crazy sorcerer.

Arthur needed to get back to the stabby-stabby.

Merlin waved his arms around as if using an invisible sword. Arthur squinted back at him in confusion, looking around as if waiting for something to happen, but the only thing that was going to happen if Arthur didn’t get back to fighting was one of Cenred’s men getting the better of him.

Urg. Surely he didn’t think that Merlin was doing a spell.

Thankfully (well, sort of thankfully), a mace swiped close to Arthur’s hair which broke him from his trance. Arthur twirled his sword in his hand and shoved it into the man’s hip, dragging it back to slice across his comrade’s neck.

Merlin gave Arthur the thumbs up, to which Arthur unfairly rolled his eyes. Then, he gestured with his free hand to the remaining soldiers, as if wanting Merlin to fix the problem.

As if he hadn’t already started working on that. The less committed soldiers had turned and run, which meant only the Essetir knights and blood thirsty fighters were left in the army, which, understandably, weren’t the ones that Merlin would have chosen to still be fighting, but at least there were less of them in total.

Bringing his magic back to the surface, Merlin focused his attention on the skies.

This was probably why he didn’t see the blow coming. He was sent flying into the castle wall.

Merlin’s back slammed into the stone with a bone rattling force. He scraped down the wall to slump in a heap on the ground, the wind knocked out of him as he struggled to breathe.

Desperately, he looked up, already knowing who he would see.

She was posed like a queen addressing her court, standing on the ruins of one of the larger gargoyles only a stone’s throw from where Merlin lay.

“Tsk, Merlin, you have so much to learn about magic. Didn’t you know that Morgana’s spell to bind those little cuffs of yours to her weakens the further you are apart?” Morgause looked around mockingly. “And I don’t see my dear sister anywhere. Geweald>”

Merlin rolled over his hip so that he was on all fours, his shirt sleeves rolled up and his wrists on display as he forced his breathing back under control. Struggling as he was, he relished the flash of anger in Morgause’s dark eyes when she realised that the cuffs were gone.

His magic was back under his command.

And his magic wanted him to slap his hand on the ground.

Merlin obeyed, watching in awe as it cracked apart, running from his hand at a blistering pace towards Morgause. She barely had time to jump off the stone before the crack raced to it and blew the remains of the statue she stood on apart. She rolled to the side, getting up quickly. Merlin took the opportunity to scramble to his own feet, drawing himself to his full height.

They faced each other, her dark eyes narrowing before she broke into a smirk that reminded Merlin so much of Morgana’s that it hurt.

“Well, well, the little bird has his magic back.”

Merlin instinctively scratched at his wrists as his magic flared beneath his skin. He stopped as soon as he saw Morgause’s gaze drop and notice the movement. Her smirk widened.

“How does it feel?” she taunted.

Merlin sneered. “Why don’t you see for yourself?”

He threw his palms forward, sending a blinding golden burst towards Morgause. Only just before the spell impacted, she shouted for her shield which absorbed the blast and exploded.

Well, at least she wasn’t smirking anymore.

“What spell was that?” she hissed darkly.

Merlin scoffed, his own gleeful grin plastered on his face.

“Surely you should know, being a high priestess and all?”

To be truthful, Merlin had absolutely no idea whatsoever what spell he had used for any of his antics in the courtyard. His magic had taken control and was answering Merlin before he had even thought of what he wanted to do. It was both thrilling and terrifying.

They each took a slow step in the opposite direction, stalking in a circle while not taking their eyes off each other. Soldiers scattered back, taking more interest in the magical battle than their own.

Don’t give them her to recover, Merlin heard in a voice that sounded like Gwaine’s in his head. Once you attack, hit again and again. You may not have the technique, but you have the speed.

Gwaine had done all he could to impart what he knew about fighting, drilling Merlin at every opportunity. While swordfighting wasn’t exactly like magically battling a high priestess, Merlin supposed some parallels could be drawn.

As he took his next slow step in the invisible circle they were walking, Merlin threw his hand towards Morgause.

Unfortunately, Morgause had the same idea.

Merlin’s fireball came hair-singingly close to Morgause who ducked it only just in time. The flash of magic thrown in retaliation stung the edge of Merlin’s shoulder. He clasped it, backing away as she chanted another spell.

He shoved his hands up, hoping that his magic would answer. A glimmering purple-tinted shield sprung to his defence, taking the barrage of whatever Morgause had thrown at him. Merlin braced against the force of her spell, gritting his teeth.

Pressing her advantage, Morgause threw another spell at him, then another, battering his shield and forcing Merlin back towards the castle wall. She was getting closer, and he was being pushed back. Soon she would have him cornered. Merlin knew he could shove her back if she would just let up for a moment, but Morgause threw blast after blast at him.

Merlin wasn’t sure if he could maintain the shield and throw a spell - his magic felt strong but it was a stranger to him, surging and ebbing at its own will. He and it had lost their connection and it was all Morgause’s fault.

She robbed him of something that was as much a part of him as his heart.

Focusing on his anger, Merlin tried to shove his magic at Morgause while holding the shield, but he could feel his control clumsily slipping. The strike was fired off, but the shield slipped from his outstretched fingers. Morgause swatted his poorly aimed spell away, retaliating with a curse that hit him hard in the side.

Oh, he knew this one.

He knew he was screaming, but there was no way he knew to be able to stop. His magic was battering against his skin like it was being boiled, desperate to escape but paralysed by Morgause’s curse. Merlin urged it to push through, not caring what damage it would do to his body.

A wash of cool magic doused the fire within his own as it wrapped protectively around him. Familiar, cool magic.

“YOU!”

“Hello, sister.”

Merlin’s magic hissed like steam rising when water was thrown on a fire. He forced his eyes open.

Through a glittering emerald screen he saw Morgana with an arm outstretched in his direction, her green eyes blazing at her sister. With her shirt billowing around her and hair trailing in the wind, Merlin had never seen anyone so fierce.

“It’s not too late Morgana,” said Morgause darkly. “I know you feel loyalty to Uther after all of these years, but he doesn’t care for you. You belong with me, we are the same, and there are others like us out there. That is where your loyalties should lie.”

Morgana scoffed. “Don’t lecture me on loyalty, just because you have no-one to be loyal to! I couldn’t give a flying fuck about Uther.” The shield glowed more brightly against the overcast skies as Morgana stepped towards Morgause, looking down at her sister.

“You have hurt my friend and tried to hurt my brother,” she said, her voice as sharp as glass. “And those two idiots I am loyal to.”

Morgause’s face shifted into a snarl. Her arm arched behind her like an animal ready to attack. Morgana braced for the hit. Her words may have been strong, but even she knew her magic was outmatched.

Merlin’s wasn’t.

The burst of wind wasn’t what he’d been expecting, but it was effective in knocking Morgause off her feet. Merlin grabbed Morgana, pulling her back towards the castle steps, weaving between soldiers as they were buffeted by the wind (but not knocked down by it). The gale was starting to get stronger. Merlin could barely see Morgause fighting to get back up.

The wind got stronger, pulling more energy from him. Merlin tried to stop the spell - Morgause was down and it had done what it should have - but instead his magic skittered away from him, hurt from Morgause’s torturous spell.

“Is that you?” Morgana shouted, looking up. The clouds that had already gathered were turning black at an alarming speed. A flash of lightning cracked from the sky, grounding in the centre of the courtyard and sending blinding sparks in all directions.

“I don’t know!” Merlin shouted back. Rain pelted down with the abruptness and ferocity of a bucket of water being dumped on one’s head. Morgana shrieked as Merlin tugged her through the scattering army away from Morgause, holding the other hand ineffectually over his head.

Another crack of lightning caused a ruckus near Percival’s gate.

For the first time, Merlin started to fear that his magic would hurt one of his friends. He tried to rein it back in, but it pulled away from him, striking another lightning bolt that landed near Arthur.

Morgana let out a squeal. Merlin’s heart leapt into his throat. No, no, no, he thought, scrambling to pull back his magic, but it was too strong. He was going to bring the whole castle down, just as Morgause had said, and there was nothing he could do about it. His magic had been trapped for too long and like any wild animal it wanted its revenge.

Thunder pounded through the sky with deafening beats.

No, no, no!

He felt a flash of his magic tear through the court yard and explode against the parapet.

“Look out!” Merlin shouted, stretching his hand towards the men on the steps below. Elyan and the other common knights were shoved off the steps just as the stone crashed against them.

Morgana was staring at him with wild eyes. He couldn’t blame her for being scared of his magic, because Merlin was fucking terrified. As a child, his magic had felt a bit wild and unruly, but also like a friend, always by his side. He knew the bond between he and his magic was unusual. He didn’t need spells, didn’t need words to direct it to his intent, it just did it.

It didn’t feel like that anymore. His magic was angry. It didn’t feel like the friend he’d known in childhood at all. It was going after Cenred and Morgause, even if it brought down all of Camelot along the way.

Merlin pushed against Morgana’s sodden sleeve. She had to get out of here, she had to get away from him.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” she shouted over the storm.

“I can’t stop it!”

He shook his hands out as if the magic was still stemming from them but it was surging from his every pore, finding its way out any way it could.

Merlin tried to push Morgana away again but stumbled, losing track of where the ground was. He dropped to his knees, crumbling under the weight of the storm.

“MERLIN!”

A solid weight skidding into his side, smelling of ale and sweat and the warm smokiness of a hearth. Instinctively, like he had since that fateful day they crossed paths five years ago, Merlin clung to Gwaine with the hope that he could save him.

“Gwaine, I can’t stop it, I can’t!”

They knelt facing each other as Gwaine took Merlin’s face in his hands. Merlin’s eyes were jammed shut as he tried to ride out the pulsing waves of magic that were battering through him. His magic still stemmed from inside him, and he could feel the connection between himself and the storm, but it was like watching a tourney from the stands. He could see it all happening, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Merlin, look at me!”

He dropped his head tighter to his chest, panic squeezing at his heart like a vice. He was going to bring this castle down and kill everyone in it.

“No, you won’t.”

Had he said that out aloud?

“You won’t Merlin!” Gwaine said. “You won’t because you’re strong. Open your eyes, Merlin.”

He couldn’t resist Gwaine’s deep, even voice. It was the voice that had reassured him every time he had stumbled over these past years and told him he could go on, and it had never been wrong.

Merlin opened his eyes. Gwaine’s were staring at him with an unnerving intensity.

“You are strong, Merlin,” he said, emphasising each word. “Stronger than your magic.”

“I’m not!” Merlin shouted. Because his magic might have been cheeky and mischievous as a child, but now it had grown into something monstrous and wild. It was too much and whatever Gwaine said, he wasn’t strong enough.

“You are, because you have to be.”

And wasn’t that the truth.

Gwaine was right - he really didn’t have any other option. He had to be stronger. He had to get his magic back under his control. Killing Arthur and Morgana and Gwaine and Percival and Elyan and Will and his mother and Gaius and everyone he had come to know and love . . . there was no way he could let that happen.

Instead of resisting the barrage of his magic against his body, Merlin leaned into the sensation. He fell through it like jumping into a fast flowing river, but this time, he swam.

Merlin pushed his arms through the waves of his magic, clutching at the tangled web of threads as he dragged it into his chest. He followed the threads to pull more and more of it back until the resistance started to disappear and it began to come away easily. Finally, his magic submitted to his control, unthreading itself from the storm and settling against him like one of Arthur’s hunting dogs that had been taught to heel.

Gasping for air as if he had just dragged himself on the bank of a river (and he was wet enough to have been in one), Merlin dropped forward onto his elbows.

“I told you,” Gwaine said, relief colouring his voice. He grabbed Merlin around his shoulders and gave him a quick shake, loosening the water dripping from his hair. “You bloody did it!”

Wet hair pressed against his neck as Morgana made her own relief known. “Trust you to have disobedient magic,” she breathed into his ear.

Merlin was shaking, but he wasn’t cold. Finally, his magic was back where it should be. It felt warm humming through his body contently, buzzing with an energy that his body didn’t share.

Accepting the arm that Gwaine offered, Merlin got to his feet. Gwaine’s hair was slicked back, his clothes were just as soaked as Merlin’s were and there was a smudge of blood on his cheek but otherwise he looked unharmed.

Just as he pulled himself to his full height, Merlin was almost knocked off his feet by someone in far too much armour barrelling into him. His magic sang as Arthur grabbed him, pulling him uncomfortably tight against his chainmail.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” Merlin repeated. He could feel Arthur’s anxiety, not just figuratively but in a very literal sense. He could feel Arthur’s heart pounding, the knot in his stomach, the dark thoughts chasing each other through his head. It felt so strange, almost like he had a connection into Arthur’s very soul, but he didn’t.

He didn’t.

Arthur released him, his eyes fixed on the bandage around his head which was probably in very poor shape at this point.

“Why did you come out here, Merlin?” Arthur asked desperately. His clear blue eyes pleaded with Merlin.. “You should have stayed in the castle where it was safe.”

“I came because this is where you were,” Merlin said simply.

Arthur shook his head, water dislodging from his darkened blonde locks.

“You’re an idiot.”

Merlin looked at Arthur fondly, tilting his head to the side in a coy smile. “But I’m your idiot.”

“Well, both of you idiots can get back then,” Morgana warned, yanking at Arthur’s arm. Merlin looked up to see that the Essetir Army were reforming ranks, building a line to defend and attack from. Camelot’s knights were doing the same, creating their line to defend the doors to the castle. Arthur shuffled back, taking Merlin with him and trying to push him to the back, but Merlin was having none of it. He stood his ground at Arthur’s side, Gwaine on his other and Morgana next to Arthur. They faced Cenred who was at the front of his men for the first time, snarling fiercely. He stalked back and forth like a wolf while Morgause stood as still as a statue, one hand on her sword. Merlin felt Arthur tense as he noticed Sir Rory standing behind her, his Camelot colours traded for Essetir blacks.

“I thought we would be facing a real army,” Cenred declared, lifting his voice for all to hear. He tilted his chin, glaring at Arthur. “Not a bunch of weak farmers led by a brat who thinks he’s a prince.”

Merlin’s magic flared. Arthur must have felt it because his hand closed around Merlin’s wrist.

“Love the leather, Cen,” Arthur jibed back casually. “Maybe you could be a tanner if this whole king gig doesn’t work out. Ah, but then you’d have to actually do a day of honest work, which is probably a bit much for you.”

There were a few subtle titters from the men in the lines of the remains of the Black Army. Even Morgause’s expression changed, although it was only from a scowl to a sneer.

Cenred struck his sword against his shield a few times, the clanging silencing his men. He turned on Arthur, schooling his expression.

“Tell me, Arthur,” he said, a lecherous grin replacing his anger. He then turned to Merlin and let his eyes rake over him the way he had in the camp, but this time he was making sure everyone knew what he was doing. Merlin resisted the urge to look away, even though his skin was crawling. He felt Arthur’s hand drop to the hilt of his sword.

“What did your father say when you told him your whore was a sorcerer?”

Arthur lunged forward but was caught by Merlin and Morgana both. Cenred chuckled, spurred on by the hissed taunts that spread through his army.

Morgause rolled her eyes, standing next to Cenred.

“When you’ve finished measuring your swords, I’d like to get this over and done with. Places to be, you know how it is.”

She gave a signal to the army which sent the first row into a crouch and the second row raising a line of crossbows. A command of fire! and the resonant twang of crossbow bolts releasing broke the peace.

“Rude,” Morgana groused, stepping in front of the Camelot line. Arthur made an aborted move to pull her back but she stood her ground.