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When it first happened, Merlin ignored it. Or rather, he had more important things to worry about.

Borden had tricked him, exploited his offer to help, only to knock Merlin out as soon as he got his thieving fingers on the third part of the triskelion. Merlin didn’t dare to imagine what Borden would do to the dragon egg if they failed to catch him before he found the Tomb of Ashkanar. If only he had listened to Gaius.

So, yes, Merlin ignored it. Ignored the sharp sting of disappointed hurt at the knights’ display of careless disregard towards him as they emptied the pot of stew he had cooked. Ignored the dread seizing his heart at the prospect of going hungry, familiar as a life-long friend. He would survive a day without supper — had survived much worse many times.

When it turned out to be a joke, Merlin ignored that too. Ignored the surge of anger in his gut, paired with an even harsher stab of disappointment that they would think this funny. He pushed it all away, instead forcing a chuckle as he accepted the plate of stew from Leon.

Focus on catching Borden, forget the knights. Focus on saving the dragon egg, forget the knights.

And maybe this endless mantra was why. Why he didn’t check whether they were truly asleep before following the whispers calling his name. Why he didn’t look back to see if he was followed.

The druids told him that Borden went east, warned him that the triskelion was as much a trap as it was a key. When Merlin turned to leave, the druid who had spoken called him to a halt again.

“Emrys.” Merlin looked back, impatient. “There is one other thing the legends say. ‘Only when the way ahead seems impossible, will you have found it.’”

Another bloody riddle. Merlin smothered an annoyed sound and left without a reply.

The walk back felt endless, the druid’s words repeating over and over in Merlin’s head as he picked his way through the trees. A trap. Not the worst thing, in case they failed to catch Borden. If they did, though, Merlin would have to find a way to convince Arthur to abandon the quest, lest they triggered—

“Merlin.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin, whirling around with magic already surging to his fingertips, ready to strike Borden down. Except it wasn’t Borden he was facing.

“Arthur.”

“Would you care to explain what you’re doing?” Arthur’s tone was deceptively pleasant, but even in the dark Merlin could see steel in his eyes.

“I thought I heard something,” Merlin replied, struggling to keep his voice steady. His heart was racing in his throat.

Arthur hummed. “Is that so? And did you find what you thought you heard?”

Oh no. Arthur must’ve followed him from the start. How had he not noticed that? He was so careful normally. But how much had Arthur seen? Had he heard the druid’s warnings?

The silence grew tense, Merlin’s reply taking too long with his mind caught in a storm of questions to consider. Any mistake would give him away.

“Come on, Emrys,” Arthur pressed, stepping closer. “Lie to me.”

Merlin’s heart dropped, a small gasp escaping his throat. Without meaning to, he glanced down at Arthur’s sword, half expecting to see a hand on the hilt, ready to draw the blade on him. But the sword remained untouched, even as Arthur’s carefully neutral gaze turned to a glare.

“I—” His voice cracked, and he faltered. Years of hiding, of lying to everyone around him, flooded his mind; memories of countless choices he never wanted to make, mistakes that weighed on him with every step he took. Gaius’ scolding words echoing in his ears. The last dragon egg in Albion — possibly the world — in danger, because he’d trusted the wrong man.

Bone-deep exhaustion crashed over him like a tidal wave.

Enough.

“I did find it, yes. The druids told me that Borden is travelling east. They also gave me a warning that the triskelion leads into a trap. We should be careful.” Those last words came out as hardly more than a murmur.

A look of surprise so fleeting Merlin would’ve missed it had he not been watching as closely for a reaction crossed Arthur’s face. For a long moment, they stared at each other in silence, Arthur’s expression unreadable once more.

“Why would the druids want to help us? And if their intentions truly are honourable, why all this secrecy of meeting in the dead of night?”

Merlin shrugged. “Borden stole from them too. I doubt they are overly fond of him.”

“That doesn’t explain why they didn’t approach us openly,” Arthur insisted. He shook his head. “No, they didn’t approach us at all. They knew it was you, specifically, who was coming to meet them. How?”

“They—” Merlin faltered, swallowing around a dry throat. “No-one else would’ve heard their call.”

As vague as that answer was, there were only so many possible conclusions that followed from it. A glimmer of triumph lit up in Arthur’s eyes. It was the same look he wore when he managed to outsmart an opponent, either on the battlefield or in a council chamber, and Merlin’s insides tightened with the realisation that there was no going back now. He was standing on a ledge, and he knew exactly what Arthur’s next question was going to be, driving him forward.

“Why?”

And Merlin leapt.

“No-one else has magic.”

He closed his eyes as the words rushed out of him. His heart thundered as if trying to beat out of his chest, magic buzzing anxiously under his skin. Though it couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, for Merlin an age seemed to pass in terrifying anticipation before he dared opening his eyes again, only to find Arthur’s expression had inexplicably softened, one corner of his mouth ticked up into a small smile.

“No-one else has magic,” Arthur agreed far more gently than Merlin would’ve expected. “Not like you do.”

A wordless nod was all Merlin managed, waiting for the other shoe to drop. His whole body was taut with tension, ready to run or fight or fall to his knees and receive whatever judgement Arthur deemed appropriate. What he wasn’t ready for was nothing. No blade coming to rest against his neck, no angry shouts echoing through the woods.

Instead, Arthur released a wary sigh as he ran a hand over his face. He regarded Merlin silently for a long moment, contemplating. And then he laughed. A breathless, delighted laugh, paired with an incredulous shake of his head.

“Gods, I never expected you to just admit it. I thought I’d have to keep stalking you for far longer; catch you in the middle of it one day, in a situation so obvious you couldn’t talk your way out of it with sarcastic teasing and guileless charm.” He paced a few steps, running his hand over his face once more, then another through his hair. “I imagined we’d have a terrible argument; you’d be angry that I followed you, I’d be angry that you lied to me, and we’d ignore each other until someone knocked sense into us. Probably Gwen.” He came to a halt facing sideways, away from Merlin, both hands pressed to his mouth, fingers locked together.

Merlin stared at him, dumbstruck. It took several slow seconds before his mind kicked back into action. The realisation hit him like a mace.

“You knew?!”

“No, gods, no,” Arthur said at once, letting out another slightly hysterical laugh as he dropped his hands from his face. He drew a deep breath and turned, meeting Merlin’s eyes again. “I didn’t know; I never had any confirmation. But I suspected for a while.”

“Since when?!”

The look Arthur gave him bordered on sheepish. “Since the Dorocha attacked you. Nobody else had survived their touch, not even for a moment. Nobody except you. Somehow you came back from death’s door, healthy as though it had never happened, without ever even reaching Camelot to receive Gaius’ care.” He shook his head a little. “I didn’t make the connection immediately. There was still the Cailleach to think about, and then Lancelot… Suffice to say it took mulling it over for a little while before I finally saw the obvious.”

Merlin exhaled slowly. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I nearly did,” Arthur admitted. “I was furious that you would lie to me, that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me the truth; I was going to give you hell the moment I saw you. But you weren’t around that day, some errand for Gaius, and by the time you deigned to show up again— Well, I realised I could hardly accuse you without proof.”

Merlin didn’t point out that nothing would’ve stopped Arthur from doing just that. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“And now? You have your proof; what are you going to do with me?”

Arthur’s eyebrows jumped up in surprise, before furrowing into a frown. “You don’t seriously believe I would execute you, do you?”

Merlin couldn’t help the desperate scoff that escaped him. “With your current attitude towards magic? Hard not to. If you were so upset that I didn’t trust you enough to tell you, have you ever stopped to consider why that might’ve been?”

Arthur grimaced. “Of course I have.”

“You told me that magic users are pure evil,” said Merlin, sharper than intended.

“I was grieving my father’s death,” Arthur defended, but he softened with a sigh before he went on, “though I acknowledge that I shouldn’t have let it out on you.”

“You’re planning to destroy the dragon egg! The last chance for a dying species, because your father hunted them to extinction!”

It was Arthur’s turn to gape now, taken aback. Merlin wasn’t sure whether his words were what had stunned Arthur speechless, or the fact that he had shouted.

“It’s a dragon,” Arthur said incredulously. “Have you forgotten the last time Camelot faced a beast like that? The havoc it wrought? The innocents who died? You being a sorcerer is one thing, but this egg holds a monster waiting to hatch.”

Merlin flinched, taking an instinctive step back. His breath was shallow, tight invisible binds squeezing his lungs. He sucked as much air in through his nose as he could, vaguely aware that he was shaking as the feeling of suffocation prevailed. A monster. The poor creature hadn’t even seen the light of the world and already it was branded a monster. Not for anything it did, but purely for what it was. The thought stoked a familiar ache inside Merlin, fresh embers to glowing coals.

“—lin! Merlin!” Arthur’s hands came to grip Merlin’s shoulders without warning, concerned blue eyes suddenly only an arm’s length away, boring into him.

“You’re wrong,” Merlin choked out. “It isn’t a monster. It’s not even alive yet.”

Arthur winced, a flicker of regret passing through his eyes, but he shook his head. “It’s too dangerous, Merlin. If given the chance, the creature inside that egg will grow large as a house, with deadly claws and the ability to breathe fire. Such a beast cannot be tamed or controlled, it holds no loyalty to anyone. In a few years, this one dragon could potentially wipe out all of Camelot, and I cannot put my people at risk.”

“What if it could be controlled?”

“Only the dragonlords had such abilities, and there aren’t any of those left.”

“But what if there were,” Merlin pressed, holding Arthur’s gaze.

Arthur frowned. “What are you talking about? Balinor died, you were there. He was the last of the dragonlords — they are gone.”

“Not if Balinor had a son.”

There was a beat of silence, in which Merlin could practically hear Arthur’s mind work. His eyes went wide. He opened and closed his mouth twice without making a sound.

Then, finally, “I didn’t actually kill the Great Dragon, did I?”

Merlin bit his lip and shook his head. “Not exactly.”

“For fuck’s sake.”

The utter exasperation in Arthur’s tone was too much. Something tense and anxious that had been firmly lodged inside Merlin’s chest cracked open. He couldn’t help himself; he burst out laughing, and he continued to laugh until tears blurred his vision, as the weight of a mountain was lifted from his back.

“It’s not that funny,” Arthur grumbled, but he couldn’t quite keep the corners of his mouth down either.

“Sorry, sorry,” Merlin wheezed. “I’m sorry. I’m fine.” He struggled to get ahold of himself, sucking in deep breaths as he fought to contain further giggles. “Fine. Okay. I’m fine.”

Arthur eyed him sceptically, and Merlin very nearly lost it again, earning himself an eye-roll.

“Gods, help me survive this idiot sorcerer. We have a lot to discuss once we’re back in Camelot. You will tell me everything, do you understand? Everything.”

Sobering quickly, Merlin nodded. “Everything, sire. I promise.”

Arthur gave a huff that was more fond than irritated, and turned in the direction of their camp.

“Let’s go then, we have a dragon egg to retrieve.”

Merlin beamed. “Yes, sire.”

And as he followed Arthur through the darkness and trees, Merlin had truly forgotten all about the knights. After all, there were more important things to focus on.

In the end, it was almost laughably easy to catch Borden. The triumph of getting the triskelion back paled in comparison to the euphoria that flooded Merlin at being able to use his magic freely, at Arthur’s command. Granted, it earned him several rather astounded stares from the knights, and five separate instances of half-threateningly muttered “You’ll explain this the second we return to Camelot—” from Arthur, before they arrived back in the citadel with the dragon egg safely tucked away in Merlin’s bag. Even as Arthur made Merlin swear not to hatch the egg, Merlin couldn’t stop smiling.

The peace shattered, of course, behind closed doors. Arthur’s anger, initially forestalled by Merlin’s unexpected honesty, made its long-awaited appearance, bringing Merlin’s guilt-dripping apologies with it. Stories that had gone untold before finally found eager ears, and countless little white lies were scratched off the canvas to reveal a much darker image of the past.

They had that spectacular fight Arthur had anticipated with impressive accuracy, right down to Gwen’s eventual involvement. They had other fights, some of which they seemed to be fighting against themselves rather than each other. Against Arthur’s guilt, and Merlin’s shame.

Somewhat unexpectedly, Merlin also ended up having a brief but explosive fight with Gwaine. What exactly Gwaine was mad about, though, was rather hard to tell — one moment he complained about Merlin not telling him so they could play magical pranks on people, the next he berated him for not being cautious enough and risking his head by letting Arthur find out.

Eventually, Leon intervened, and the knights collectively agreed that Merlin had to be more careful and was not to use any magic around anyone other than them. It was a demand Merlin happily obliged. If the knights had been protective of Merlin before, they were doubly so now — to the point where Merlin was hardly ever alone anymore. It was as endearing as it was irritating, so Merlin accepted their somewhat intrusive shadowing with fond resignation.

A couple of months after Merlin had admitted to his magic, things changed rather drastically once more, when Arthur announced his intention to repeal the ban to the council. The majority of reactions were as disheartening as they were unsurprising, with only a handful of council members expressing support for the idea. Heading the opposition was Agravaine, trying to undermine Arthur’s confidence by drawing comparison after comparison to Uther’s rule.

Arthur wasn’t having any of it.

The day Agravaine grudgingly left Camelot to return to the Du Bois estate was almost as joyous for Merlin as the day the magic ban’s repeal was officially announced to the public. Almost.

“You did it,” said Gaius, just loud enough for Merlin to hear him over the applause.

Merlin beamed, never taking his eyes off Arthur in his golden crown and deep red cape, the Once and Future King in all his glory.

They did it.

“There he is!” Elyan exclaimed not ten minutes later, slinging an arm around Merlin’s neck to drag him over to where the knights were standing in the banquet hall. “The man of the hour!”

“How does it feel, Merlin?” asked Leon.

Merlin shrugged, even as his lips stretched into a grin he had no control over. He wasn’t sure there were words to describe how he felt, so he didn’t bother trying.

Gwaine flagged down a servant, lifted a goblet of wine from her tray, and pushed it into Merlin’s hands, before raising his own. “A toast! To finally having a good reason for a feast.”

“To Merlin finally not working during a feast,” Elyan added, clinking his goblet against Gwaine’s.

“To being who you are without having to hide,” said Leon, giving Merlin a warm, genuine smile.

“And to saving our arses without having to hide,” Percival finished with a wink.

“Hear, hear,” came Arthur’s voice from behind Merlin, making him jump a little.

The knights shuffled aside to make space as Arthur stepped into their circle next to Merlin. He gave Merlin a smile that made his breath hitch, and raised his goblet as well.

“To Merlin.”

“To Merlin!” the knights echoed.

A furious blush rose to Merlin’s face, and he quickly hid behind his goblet. As much as he had wished for this, he was not used to this kind of attention.

“Well, at least I can use magic now to wash your smelly socks,” he quipped, trying to cover up how flustered he was.

But Arthur shook his head. “Actually, I’ve decided to dismiss you from your position as my manservant.”

Merlin’s stomach dropped. “What?”

“Yes,” said Arthur calmly, as though he hadn’t just fired Merlin.

“Why?” Merlin croaked, his throat dry as parchment all of a sudden. “I thought we— You said you—”

“You can hardly work two jobs at the same time,” Arthur interrupted, and it was the teasing edge to his voice more than his words that made Merlin pause. Arthur heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Did you not listen to the announcement?”

“Of course I did,” Merlin defended. Though, maybe, if he was completely honest, he’d perhaps been a little distracted by the unspeakable feeling of finally being free, and the boundless pride he felt for Arthur.

“You did not hear a single word, did you?” Arthur gave him a mockingly chiding look. “With magic legalised, I need an advisor for magical affairs. The inauguration ceremony for the new Court Sorcerer will be held in a fortnight.”

There was a clear implication in Arthur’s tone, but somehow Merlin’s mind just could not seem to process the words. He furrowed his brows, trying to make sense of it.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You, Merlin! You’re the new Court Sorcerer.”

“Me?!” Merlin squawked, loud enough that several of the surrounding people turned to give them curious looks. “But I— I mean I don’t— I’m a servant,” he finished lamely.

“If I can knight commoners, I can appoint one as Court Sorcerer,” replied Arthur smoothly. “Besides, according to Geoffrey, the dragonlords used to be nobility. The council didn’t even put up a fight.”

“You told them about me?!” Merlin hissed. His magic flared out, dampening their conversation to anyone beyond their circle despite the fact that it was far too late for privacy.

“Of course not, idiot. But they agreed wholeheartedly that, should the possibility arise, ensuring the loyalty of a dragonlord would undoubtedly be beneficial for the kingdom.” Arthur grinned. “The council meeting tomorrow should be fun.”

Merlin stared at him. He had half a mind to object, protesting words on the tip of his tongue when a thought came to him. A grin spread over his face.

“So, since we’re leaning into the whole dragonlord thing … are you saying I can hatch the egg?”

“Aithusa, drop it! This isn’t a toy, for gods’ sakes, it’s— Aithusa!” Merlin let a hint of his dragonlord voice seep into the last word.

Aithusa finally released the book, though not before coughing out a little flame that promptly caught onto the pages.

Cursing, Merlin extinguished the flame with a trickle of magic as he strode through the main room of his chambers to pick it up and inspect it. The upper corner was singed, a few pages crumbling away at the edges. Geoffrey was going to kill him. With a sigh, Merlin looked down at the cat-sized white dragon rolling around happily on his carpet.

“What am I supposed to do with you, hm? You’ll get me in serious trouble one day.”

Aithusa chirruped, and Merlin, weak as he was, could not find it in himself to stay mad at her. It had barely been two months since Merlin had called her from the egg, she didn’t yet understand that books were flammable — or that she was occasionally breathing fire. At least it seemed unintentional anytime it happened. According to Kilgharrah, control of her inner flame would not fully develop until Aithusa was at least a year old. Merlin hoped she would come to understand him quicker than that, or he’d have to put protective wards on all his belongings.

The door slammed open without any knock to precede it. The noise made Aithusa scramble to her feet with a startled squeak, dash over to Merlin and scrabble up his clothes to crouch on his shoulder.

“My Lord Merlin,” Gwaine called loudly, sweeping down into an exaggerated bow.

“You are insufferable,” Merlin replied drily.

“No, Merlin, he’s following court etiquette for once,” said Arthur, following Gwaine into Merlin’s chambers with a grin. He glanced around the room and raised an eyebrow. “Did you conjure a hurricane in here?”

“I am packing,” Merlin quipped. “Niall keeps hiding my stuff, so I had to look for a few things.”

“Niall isn’t hiding your things, he’s cleaning up your permanent mess because that’s his job,” drawled Arthur. “I told you, if you just let him—”

“And I told you that I don’t need a servant! Nor do I want one!” Merlin exclaimed, exasperated. He shot a glare at his scattered belongings, and, with a tiny tug of magic, sent them into his pack. “There, all done.” He summoned the bag, and slung it over his shoulder with a challenging look at Arthur.

“Such a rush. At least you don’t have to deal with George.” Arthur laughed when Merlin glared at him. “Let’s go then, our horses are ready.”

For once, Merlin didn’t bicker back. He was eager to leave. So eager, it was only when they passed the city gates that his nervous tension released with a sigh.

Arthur chuckled beside him. “You really would’ve snapped any second, huh?”

“You have no idea,” Merlin groaned, lifting Aithusa from his shoulders and settling her on the saddle in front of him.

In the two months since he’d become Court Sorcerer, he hadn’t had a bloody minute to himself. Demand after ridiculous demand had been laid at his feet by the senior members of the council, most of which regarded him with barely veiled condescension in spite of his new status at court. Politics would be the death of him. Not that he was completely without experience — he’d watched, listened, and advised Arthur in private for years — but being directly involved in the convoluted proceedings of the council had revealed a new kind of exhaustion. So, when Arthur had suggested they join the knights on a routine patrol, Merlin practically jumped at the chance to get out of the citadel for a few days.

“The hard life of a lord is getting to you, eh Merlin?”

“Shut up, Elyan.”

“Yes, my lord!”

“Ugh.” He never should’ve accepted this bloody title.

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur came to his aid. “Leave him be, this trip is supposed to serve as a break, to relax a little.”

“Most people wouldn’t consider a patrol trip relaxing,” Percival remarked.

Gwaine sniggered, while Elyan failed to hide a snort. Only Leon controlled himself, and Merlin decided that Leon was by far his favourite of the knights.

“I am not most people, Sir Percival, I am your King,” Arthur replied promptly, his tone completely serious. This time, it was Leon who failed to suppress his laughter, earning himself a betrayed look from Percival.

The bickering went on as they rode, and though Merlin didn’t join in, listening to the others slowly helped him relax. The familiarity of it, of riding side by side with Arthur, their friends at their backs, soothed Merlin’s frayed nerves. They hadn’t left the city together like this since he’d taken his new position — in fact, Merlin hadn’t left the city at all. He heaved a wistful sigh.

Gwaine, who’d been telling some exaggerated tavern tale, fell silent, and Merlin felt the knights’ gazes shift to him. He kept his eyes forward, petting Aithusa’s head.

“What’s got you all brooding and serious?” Arthur asked. When it came to dealing with Merlin’s moods, he was by far the bravest of the five.

“I’m not brooding. I was just thinking that it’s been too long since we went anywhere.” He shrugged. “It’s nice not to be hounded by council members for a few hours.”

Leon chuckled. “Missing the good old times?”

“A little,” Merlin admitted with a small smile.

“Nothing like patrol duty to make you forget that you’re nobility now!” Gwaine cheered.

Everyone laughed. Even Merlin.

Dusk had painted the sky violet and rust by the time Arthur called them to a halt near a small stream. Scattered rays of sunset breaking through the canopy soaked him in gold as he dismounted his horse.

“We’ll make camp here,” he announced.

Merlin startled, quickly averting his eyes. He scrambled out of the saddle, ducking his head as he felt his cheeks flush. At least no-one had caught him staring. It really wasn’t his fault, though! Arthur shouldn’t be allowed to parade into sunlight like that.

Setting up camp was a well-practiced routine, and even with Aithusa repeatedly interrupting him with curious chirrups, Merlin was the first to be done. It was pure habit, then, to help the others before starting to build a fire. He lit it with a single thought, and despite his bone-deep exhaustion, his lips stretched into a smile.

“Ah, excellent!” Arthur called, approaching Merlin with a grin and clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Since you evidently miss the old times so much, you can cook for us tonight like you used to.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “As if I hadn’t done that either way. None of you dolts can cook a decent meal to save your lives.”

A round of protests followed that statement, and Merlin chuckled to himself as he began their meal. Tuning out the steady chatter from the knights, he prepared the ingredients without magic, and for a moment, it really did feel like nothing had changed since the last time they’d camped like this. Within minutes, smells of vegetables and meat wafted through the air, and it spoke for Merlin’s skill at cooking how quickly the knights’ bantering shifted into incessant questions of whether dinner was ready yet.

“Come on, I’m famished!” Elyan whined.

“It’s a mystery to me how you ever survived on your own,” Merlin replied. “But you can stop yammering now, it’s ready.”

Elyan practically pounced on the plate Merlin held out to him, the other knights following his example just as eager. The last plate was almost in Leon’s hands, when Arthur cleared his throat from across the camp, arching an eyebrow at Merlin in clear expectation.

“Spoiled, lazy prat,” Merlin muttered fondly, rising from his crouch to bring the plate over to Arthur.

“I heard that.”

“Good, you were meant to.”

“Is that how you address your King, Merlin?”

“Evidently so, sire.” Merlin crossed his arms in mock-defiance.

“Just for that you can go feed the horses,” said Arthur.

“And refill our waterskins, while you’re at it,” Leon added, throwing one of them over to Merlin.

An odd sense of deja-vu tugged at the back of Merlin’s mind, a flicker of unease he couldn’t quite place. He opened his mouth to tell them No, but Arthur cut him off.

“Chop-chop!” He shooed Merlin off, grinning as he pushed his own waterskin into Merlin’s hands as well.

Rolling his eyes, Merlin relented. Yet, as he made his round of the horses, the soothing familiarity that usually came with their customary banter failed to emerge. In its place, a nagging sense of disquiet slotted itself between Merlin’s ribs. He tried to shake the feeling, listening to the faint, cheerful voices of his friends drifting over from the camp while he filled the waterskins. It was just them, he reminded himself, away from castle and council and never-ending concerns he was supposed to solve.

When the tension in his chest didn’t ease, Merlin reached for his magic. With closed eyes, he felt beyond their camp, searching for a threat that might’ve triggered his warning bells. He sank into it, reaching further than he normally would despite his exhaustion, only to find that the forest was as serene as the setting sun.

Everything was fine. Fine. Taking a slow, measured breath, he pushed the feeling away. Then, he straightened and marched back into the camp, tossing Arthur’s waterskin into his lap as he passed him.

“Is His Pratness satisfied now?”

“Mmh, yes, quite,” Arthur hummed, holding his empty plate out for Merlin to collect. “That was excellent.”

Simple though they were, the words kindled a glint of warmth beneath the tension, and Merlin’s lips twitched into a tiny smile.

“Yes, it was delicious,” Elyan agreed, Percival nodding along beside him.

“A true delight,” said Gwaine.

Merlin’s smile grew a little, accepting a whole pile of emptied plates from Leon in exchange for the refilled waterskin. But dishes could wait, so he set them aside, crouched down next to the pot of stew — and found it empty.

He froze, the ladle in his hand coming to a halt mid-air. For a moment he struggled for words, mind wiped oddly blank.

“What’s this?” His voice sounded off to his own ears. The unease in his chest hardened like cooling tar, shocked cold by another wave of deja-vu.

“What’s what?” Leon asked innocently.

The first time, all those weeks ago, he’d ignored it. Now it all came flooding back.

“Where’s the rest?”

A hazy image of his mother’s tired smile as they shared a meal that barely fed one. Echoes of never-ending shivers fighting a bone-deep chill that persisted as long as the hunger did. Dread.

Gwaine cocked his head. “What rest?”

Careless disregard, sharp as a blade.

“Oh, I don’t know, my dinner?” Merlin snapped.

“Just use your magic,” said Gwaine, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture.

And just like that, everything went very still. The wind ceased, and with it the gentle rustling of leaves in the treetops above.

“Just use my magic,” Merlin whispered. “Just. Use. My magic. Of course. Why didn’t I think of that? Thank you, Gwaine, for this true stroke of genius. You’re as smart as the council!” The knights shied back when he straightened with a hard laugh, watching him wide-eyed. “What a shame the council is full of fools. Let me put this as simply as I possibly can; magic cannot create something out of nothing. It is impossible. Against the laws of nature.”

His tone was calm, measured; it stood in direct opposition to the violent raging of his magic inside him, a furious torrent battering at the paper thin barrier of his skin and self-control, with the lone goal to lash out, to strike.

“If I could conjure food out of thin air, or even just crops, do you honestly believe I wouldn’t have done so? Do you think I would’ve let Ealdor starve, my mother starve, year after year, winter after winter? All those famines that plagued Camelot time and again, do you think I would sit idly if it were within my power to help?”

Raw magic had driven any trace of tiredness from his body, vibrating through him, as his words grew more forceful. It crackled over his skin like leashed lightning, making his hairs stand on end.

“Woah, relax,” Gwaine appeased quickly, producing a full plate of stew from behind his pack. “It was just a joke, your share is right here.”

A ripple of magic burst out of him with a bright flare, upending the plate out of Gwaine’s hands and onto the soft, earthy ground. Aithusa must’ve sensed the charge of magic emanating from Merlin in waves, because a moment later she had come to crouch at Merlin’s side, wings spread in a threat as she growled, baring sharp white teeth at a blanching Gwaine.

“A joke,” Merlin hissed. The air was shimmering with non-existent heat, crackling tension tightening by the second, a matter of time until the last thread snapped. “A joke.”

“Merlin,” Arthur called from behind him, caution heavy as lead in his voice. “They didn’t mean anything by it.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, some small part of him acknowledged the truth of this. A tiny yet insistent voice telling him to stop, to breathe, to calm down. That it wasn’t their fault, that all this anger had been waiting to erupt out of him for days — weeks.

“Yeah,” said Percival, “we were just teasing, like we used to back when—”

“When I was still a servant,” Merlin cut him off, and the tiny voice drowned under cold fury. “And wasn’t that just hilarious, hm? Let’s tease Merlin by reminding him he’s beneath us, by letting him think he’ll go hungry because our wants take precedence over his needs, because we’re knights. Never mind that all of you except Leon used to be commoners yourself. How easily you’ve forgotten what life is like for regular people.”

“We only—” Elyan began, but Merlin didn’t pause his tirade.

“But maybe you were lucky, maybe you never actually learnt what it’s like to live away from the city, maybe you were always sheltered by a castle shadow. Well, I wasn’t. Out in the villages, in places like Ealdor, running out of food is not a joke. It’s reality. People die in that reality. And you—” Anger closed up his throat, and his magic surged unbidden once more, slipping through the cracks in his control. “It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t fucking matter.”

The sky was no longer violet, dark clouds swirling dangerously above the trees as wind whipped through the camp on beat with the pulsing waves of power pouring out of Merlin.

He couldn’t stay here.

The thought rattled him just enough to strengthen his grasp on his magic, to rein it back in not a moment too soon. It protested with a thunderclap, and Merlin tensed.

“Aithusa!” The call was sharp enough to make the knights flinch, and Aithusa obeyed without hesitation, jumping up on Merlin’s extended arm to climb onto his shoulders. Her magic was a soothing touch to the frantic, crackling torrent of Merlin’s own, even as she let out a roar that had yet to grow mighty.

Gwaine opened his mouth to speak, and Merlin’s magic flared. It burst out of him, erratic and uncontrolled, catching on anything of matter and shoving it away with raw force. He had to go.

Without a word, he coaxed another flash of power, deliberate this time, blindingly bright as a hundred lightning bolts. Shouts of surprise mixed with the roaring winds, and Merlin took his chance.

By the time the world was carved back out of the light, Merlin had vanished.

The silence that followed was suffocating. It settled over the camp like a thick cloud, a stark contrast to the brief yet violent storm Merlin had conjured without so much as a word. For a moment, none of them moved, as though Merlin would simply reappear if they just waited a second.

He didn’t, of course.

Arthur was the first to snap out of it, and Gwaine startled from his frozen posture at the sudden movement. He blinked against the dark spots still dancing in front of his eyes, listening to Arthur shouting Merlin’s name into unresponsive woods.

What the hell had just happened? One moment they were having light-hearted fun, the next—

“It was just a joke,” Percival muttered, stunned.

Gwaine swallowed, an all-too-familiar sense of oh no making his chest tighten. He’d done it again, he’d fucked it up. He always fucked it up sooner or later. And now he’d ruined the best friendship he’d ever had, because he just couldn’t get over his own stupidity.

“We have to find him,” said Arthur, already fastening his cloak.

“I don’t think he wants to be found,” Leon replied darkly, and Gwaine looked over to where he stood at the edge of the camp with a frown. It took a second before Gwaine realised that Leon’s hand was pushing against a near-invisible barrier, only the faintest shimmer of gold crackling like fine lightnings splayed outwards from where Leon touched it.

“You’re kidding.” In two strides, Percival was at the barrier, running his hand along as he walked a full circle around the camp. There was no gap.

“Shit,” Elyan breathed. “We’re trapped here?”

“Looks like it.”

Shit, indeed. Gwaine exhaled in a rush, regret twisting his gut.

“No.” Arthur’s tone was full of resolute refusal, as though his royal command would somehow dismantle Merlin’s shield; before anyone could respond, he was stomping to the edge of the camp as stubborn as ever. He smashed his fist into the barrier with such force, Gwaine half-expected to hear the crunch of breaking bones. Instead, smooth concentric circles, wholly unlike the cracked lines everyone else’s touch had created, rippled out from under Arthur’s fist.

Arthur drew back, his brows jumping up in surprise, then prodded the shield again — gently this time. Another ripple of gold, slow and languid, and the blockade warped under his touch. In the blink of an eye, he’d stepped through, the barrier snapping back into place behind him.

Gwaine gaped, marginally aware that the others were doing much the same. A beat of stunned silence passed before he snapped out of it, and raced over to Arthur, pushing against the shield to no avail. It did not yield for him.

“No, no, come on,” he muttered desperately. “Come on!”

“Gwaine.” Leon’s hand was gentle but firm on his shoulder as he pulled him away.

“This was my idea, my fault, I have to make it right!” Gwaine yelled. The echo of his own words hit him like a bucket of cold water. His idea. His fault. Of course Merlin wouldn’t want him to come find him.

He sagged.

“I’ll find him,” Arthur promised with none of his usual bravado. Only a quiet vow nobody dared to question. He left without another word.

The silence that settled in his wake thickened further with every heartbeat, soaked in mounting tension until it crested like a wave reaching shore.

“Fuck. Damn it, fuck!” Thin jagged lines of gold shot out from under where Gwaine slammed his palm into that damned barrier in anger. “It was just— I never meant to— I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

He looked around the camp, silently pleading for someone to tell him that it would be fine, that Merlin would be back before they knew it and all would be well. No-one did, though.

“I never realised Merlin had such a hard life growing up,” Leon muttered despondently, dropping down on a fallen tree and lowering his head into his hands.

Gwaine winced. How had he not realised? Gods, all his talk of how the nobility was blinded by their status, and here he was every bit as ignorant. Merlin’s words echoed in his ears again, and Gwaine’s stomach turned at the truth of them. He hadn’t grown up out in the country. His family had been poor after his father’s death but they’d been poor in a city, where the warmth of neighbours’ hearths reached between walls, and while there was little, there was never truly nothing to eat. But that was hardly an excuse.

“Neither did I,” Elyan agreed.

Percival shook his head, his expression mirroring the horrified realisations falling in place in Gwaine’s mind.

“Did he truly feel— Did he really think we teased him because we thought ourselves better than him?” Gwaine didn’t bother to hide how his voice trembled.

“He never said anything,” Percival protested, but the desperation in his tone revealed the truth he fought to acknowledge. Yes, that was exactly what Merlin thought.

“How could he have?” Elyan ran a hand over his face. “He was a servant, and for all that we joked around together, in the end we did treat him as such.”

None of them said anything further to that, and shame twisted sharp as a blade in Gwaine’s gut. As the moon rose into the night sky, all they could do was wait.

Far beyond the camp, Aithusa’s white scales glittered in the pale light of the stars as Merlin watched her pounce onto a flat rock at the edge of the stream with a delighted squeal. At least someone was having fun. In fact, she seemed thrilled to be allowed near the river for once, even though the water hung still and suspended in a single moment held in place by Merlin’s magic.

Merlin took another slow, deep breath. The air felt like static cloth in his lungs, his exhale carrying tiny sparks of wrought-up magic with it. It was a slow process, but breath by breath, time began to thaw.

Despite the peaceful silence around them, only disturbed by Aithusa’s joyful chirps, Merlin felt anything but calm. He hadn’t lost control like this in— Well, actually, he never had. The last time he remembered his magic slipping from his grasp, he hadn’t had half as much power at his disposal.

The thought was uncomfortable, and he took another deep breath, watching Aithusa far more carefully than her playing at the shore of a shallow brook warranted. The distraction wore off too quickly, so Merlin simply focused on breathing. Measured, even breaths that just would not seem to calm him down.

A sudden nudge against his hand had him open his eyes. Aithusa was staring back at him. He sighed, scratching her chin.

“It’s alright, little one,” he lied with a half-hearted smile.

Aithusa chirruped insistently, glaring out of ice-blue eyes.

“Fine, it will be alright,” Merlin amended, earning himself another prodding noise. “I don’t know, Aithusa. It’s not safe yet, not while my magic is like this.”

She cocked her head.

“I’m trying! It won’t settle.” Merlin ran a hand through his hair. “It never felt like this before, I don’t know—” He sighed.

Aithusa clambered into his lap, clumsily nicking his tunic with her claws on the way, and he scooped her into his arms. He held her warm body close as he kept breathing until the river flowed normally at last, and leaves rustled gently over their heads. But though he was in control again, his magic hadn’t quite settled. It still buzzed in his veins, furiously humming with echoes of rage.

Gods, but he was angry. The force of it took his breath away as anger surged white hot inside him, even as hurt twisted painfully around his heart at the same time. They blended together, memories of bleak winters layering over past patrols and sneering nobles, until he was left with nothing but diffuse chaos. He wasn’t sure anymore who or what he was angry at. Where all this pain came from.

“I don’t know what to do, ‘Thusa,” he whispered. “Gods, what am I supposed to do?”

Aithusa nuzzled closer with a sad chirrup, the only response she was able to give. In this, Merlin was on his own.

The forest was eerily quiet around Arthur as he followed the tracks he hoped were Merlin’s. Already he felt like he’d been walking for longer than seemed plausible, given that Merlin had barely a handful of minutes for a head start. So, when he finally caught a glimpse of pearl-white wings, Arthur swallowed a sigh of relief. He slowed his approach, carefully quiet as he watched Merlin cuddle Aithusa with gentle affection despite the tension clinging to his shoulders.

For a moment, Arthur considered to simply leave them be. Perhaps Aithusa was Merlin’s best companion, perhaps Arthur was only going to make it all worse. He dismissed the thought almost immediately, the idea of turning his back on Merlin sending ice through him.

Selfish.

But at the very least, Merlin deserved an apology. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Arthur stepped out between the trees.

“Merlin.”

Merlin’s reaction was as disheartening as it was unsurprising. He shot to his feet and whirled around, Aithusa scrambling up on his shoulders with an angry hiss, and though nothing noticeable happened, Arthur felt the familiar tingle of magic whisper over his skin.

“Arthur,” he replied through gritted teeth. His whole body was taut, and he visibly struggled to keep his emotions in check. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Cautiously staying where he was, Arthur did his best to assume their usual teasing tone to reply, “And leave you to sulk in the woods by yourself? I don’t think so.”

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath, hands balled into fists as he glared at Arthur. “I’d much rather be alone than having to put up with you. Leave.”

That did sting a little.

“You don’t mean that.”

The frustrated noise that escaped Merlin’s throat was half-growl, half-groan. “I don’t want you here, Arthur. Go away.”

Alright, it stung a lot. Still, Arthur didn’t quite buy it. He watched Merlin silently for a moment, taking in the rigidity of his posture, the slight tremble of his hands betraying the fury that clearly still simmered beneath Merlin’s careful restraint. And maybe it was wishful thinking on Arthur’s part that Merlin was as drawn to him as he was to Merlin, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that leaving would be the wrong choice, that Merlin didn’t truly want him gone. That he was once again trying to protect Arthur with far too little regard for himself.

“You won’t hurt me,” said Arthur far more confidently than he felt.

“I could,” Merlin snarled. “I want to.”

“I know,” Arthur replied soothingly, raising his open palms in front of him like he would to reassure a frightened animal. “I know you want to.”

“Then leave!” The shout was accompanied by a gust of wind whipping past them, nearly dislodging Aithusa off Merlin’s shoulder.

Quenching the urge to retreat to a safer distance, Arthur shook his head.

“Ever since we first met, you have faced my temper with stubborn courage. Even when you were the last one to deserve it, you let me vent my anger, again and again, because it may not have been fair but it was what I needed. What sort of friend would I be if I didn’t do the same for you?” Slowly, carefully, he inched closer, earning a tiny growl from Aithusa. “I came to apologise, on behalf of the knights as well as myself. It was a tactless prank, and I am sorry for allowing it.”

“A tactless prank,” Merlin scoffed. “Well, that’s one way to put it. When I said I missed the good old times, I didn’t mean the part where you treat me like I’m beneath your notice.”

Arthur bit back an automatic denial. As if Merlin had ever been beneath anyone’s notice — even when Arthur had done his utmost to ignore him, Merlin had gotten under his skin.

“And it’s just me, always just me the perpetual peasant,” Merlin went on without pause. “You know, I thought, when you knighted them, that it’ll be nice to finally have some knights who treat me as their equal — Mother, I really couldn’t have been more wrong. Do this Merlin, do that Merlin, there’s no more of the food you cooked, Merlin!”

Arthur winced. He could have prevented this, had thought about it even. Why hadn’t he? Stupid.

“I don’t expect you to understand. You never knew hunger, and bless the gods for that, but them? They should know better. But no. From the moment they knelt before you they were Knights. Respected from the get-go, because they can swing their swords like every other thick-skulled prat son of a noble.”

The air crackled, charged with unreleased magic that sent gooseflesh over Arthur’s arms.

“For them it never mattered that they used to be commoners, not in your eyes, not in the court’s eyes, not even in their own eyes. They took to it like fish to water. No wonder the common people started being wary of me the moment I became Court Sorcerer — the knights have shown well enough that it doesn’t matter in the slightest whether someone was born noble or not. Once they have a title they’re all big-headed pillocks! Except I’m not!”

A gust of power snapped out of thick air, catching on leaves and branches and pushing them outwards in a perfect circle around Merlin. Arthur stood his ground.

“I haven’t forgotten life as a regular person, I still care! Maybe that’s why the whole council looks at me like I’m a pig wandered in from a barn, but if that’s the price I pay then so be it.”

Despite his best intentions to hear Merlin out fully, Arthur couldn’t help himself then.

“What do you mean ‘the council looks at you like you’re a pig’?” he cut in, aghast.

“Oh please,” Merlin sneered, and the faint shimmer of gold began to drown out the blue of his irises. “Are you telling me you haven’t noticed? They hate me, Arthur.”

There was no doubt in his words, only bitter certainty.

“Not all of them, I suppose, but the majority. If you thought I had a knack for turning your titles into insults, you should listen to your esteemed councilmen using mine. They may have accepted my place in court, thanks to Balinor’s ancestral line, but they respect me about as much as Uther respected Gwen.”

Arthur wasn’t sure whether it was him who was trembling or the earth itself stirred by Merlin’s power. He was reeling, helpless like the leaves caught in the shivering winds whirling in endless circles around Merlin, faster and faster. He knew the council had its faults, but how could he have missed this?

“To them, my upbringing as a rural peasant is an insurmountable obstacle that renders me incapable of offering anything of worth to them. Except the magic, of course. There they expect miracles. Do you know how much of my time in the last two months has been taken up purely by explaining why one ridiculous request after the other is impossible for me to fulfil?”

Despite the winds whipping around them, the heavy pressure in the air was mounting to a point where it was hard to breathe. Scorch marks skittered like dried cracks over the soft forest floor, black and burnt, though Arthur felt only gentle warmth instead of heat.

“They want everything, even though they still scrunch up their noses at the mere mention of sorcery like it’s something foul. Well, I can’t give them what they want!”

Merlin’s voice had risen to a shout, harsh and vicious. His eyes flashed, and the wind howled with all the rage buried in them.

“Their prejudice is proven right day after day, because magic cannot do what they ask me to do, so to them I will always be nothing but a peasant, while the common folk looks at my robes and retreats. It’s complete bullshit and I’ve. Had. Enough!”

The small clearing exploded. Arthur shielded his face with his arms as anything loose on the forest floor was swept up and blasted outwards, turning twigs into bolts and leaves into blades. Tree trunks cracked and groaned as they bent under the violent torrent of rampant magic tearing through them. Even Aithusa gave a fearful shriek, the sound of it coming from too far to the side, but Arthur could not look out for her now, with the world being wrenched from its hinges.

And yet, Arthur wasn’t thrown off his feet. Even as wind whipped through his hair, bit at his eyes, as pebbles and branches tore into his cloak flapping wildly at his back, he himself remained inexplicably untouched.

Or perhaps not so inexplicably at all.

Squinting against the tempest growing stronger and stronger around Merlin, Arthur steeled himself, and took a step forward. As untouched as he’d been left so far, it took effort to move against the rush of wind and power. One arm still raised to protect his face, he reached out with the other, seeking Merlin in the eye of the storm.

In the midst of it all, Merlin’s eyes were unseeing, eclipsed by blazing gold and blazing fury, while tides of quivering gold poured from every inch of his skin. He was magnificent. Terrifying. And through the vibrating mists gilding the night, Arthur finally saw him clearly. Features worthy of a god, etched with misery.

It spurred Arthur forward, and he broke through the front of the storm in no more than a heartbeat. Never taking his gaze from Merlin’s face, he reached for him, blind fingers sliding down his arm to circle his wrist.

“Merlin.” The name was drowned out by the ceaseless gale as soon as it passed Arthur’s lips.

Somehow, Merlin still heard him. Bright burning eyes snapped to Arthur’s, and for a moment, everything else fell away. Merlin’s pulse fluttered under Arthur’s fingers, stuttered as Arthur skated his thumb over and back over the soft skin in a slow arc.

“I hear you,” Arthur murmured. “I’m sorry it took so long, but I hear you now, Merlin. Let me fix this.”

A heartbeat of roaring silence passed, Merlin’s gaze piercing right down into Arthur’s core. And then, with only the faintest sigh escaping Merlin’s lips, the rush faded. The world quieted slowly around them, trees straightening back up tall as the wind shrank to a whisper.

At long last, gold bled back to blue.

Arthur willed a small smile. “There you are.”

The words seemed to snap Merlin out of whatever trance he’d fallen into, and he jerked away, his face contorting with horror. Two steps was as far as he managed before he stumbled, and only Arthur’s grip on his wrist kept him from tumbling to the ground. The momentum of the tug carried them both; Arthur swayed forward as though to follow Merlin’s retreat, while Merlin was yanked past his feet and straight into Arthur.

They crashed together with enough force to knock a short breath out of Arthur’s chest. It was pure reflex that Arthur caught him, his free arm wrapping around Merlin to pull him close and keep him steady. Merlin tensed in his hold, remaining motionless for a beat, then another — until, all at once, he melted against him.

Arthur felt Merlin’s hand settle on his waist, hesitant and soft, returning the embrace with none of the confidence he usually displayed. It made Arthur ache. Letting go of Merlin’s wrist, he put his other arm around him as well, his fingers sinking into soft dark hair as he cradled the back of Merlin’s head. And maybe he squeezed a little too hard, forcing the tiniest noise from Merlin who had his face buried in his neck, but it did nothing to satisfy the overwhelming need to keep Merlin close.

The moment couldn’t last, of course, and when Merlin began to pull away Arthur let him go reluctantly. Not entirely, he wasn’t sure he could stand it. But he did his best to keep the hand on Merlin’s shoulder light, nothing more than a lingering echo of the tight hold he’d released him from.

A few long seconds of silence dripped by.

Just when Merlin looked about to speak up, however, a different sound tore through it. High and sharp, Aithusa’s cry shattered the fragile tension between them as she hurled herself at Merlin, nearly knocking him off his feet.

“Yes, yes, I’m sorry,” Merlin spluttered, fending off Aithusa’s affections with some difficulty. “I’m fine, I promise! ‘Thusa, it’s— Aithusa, enough! I’m fine.”

A shudder ran up Arthur’s spine at the low, gravelly tone of command that had Aithusa stilling at once. He wasn’t sure he’d ever truly get used to Merlin’s dragonlord voice. He willed down the feeling welling up in his gut, and watched as Merlin soothed Aithusa back to happiness.

“Go play, little one.” Merlin set Aithusa down gently. He straightened with a quiet sigh, and the soft slope of his shoulders tightened as she scurried over to the shallow river. Then, barely above a whisper, “I’m sorry.”

Arthur startled. “What? No, Merlin, this—”

“I could’ve harmed you.”

“But you didn’t,” Arthur insisted, reaching for Merlin’s shoulder once more to turn him around. “You didn’t.”

Merlin scowled at him, his bottom lip trembling slightly.

Using the gentlest pressure, Arthur led him to sit at the top of the slope falling towards the stream. It said something about how miserable Merlin must be feeling that he went without protest, settling on the soft, earthy ground, swept completely clean of the debris of leaves and branches that would usually cover the forest floor. Arthur sat down beside him with a heavy sigh, trailing his eyes after Aithusa who was happily splashing in the water.

“I’m the one who should apologise,” Arthur began, his voice soft. “Not just for what happened at the camp, but for a great number of things I apparently failed to notice.” He forced himself to meet Merlin’s eyes. “Talk to me. Help me to be better, the way you’ve done since the day we met.”

The tiny quirk of Merlin’s lips sent a rush of relief through Arthur.

“I provoked you into a fight in the middle of town.”

“Yes, well, it took a little while before your approach bore fruits,” Arthur quipped back, before turning serious again. “It did, though. So help me one more time, Merlin, tell me how to fix this.”

Merlin’s shoulders bowed under invisible weight. “I don’t think this is something you can just fix.”

“Maybe not, but I’ll be damned if I don’t try at least. Please, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Am I hearing things or did you just say please?”

“Merlin.”

Heaving a heavy sigh, Merlin turned to Arthur. “It’s not that simple. I’m not even sure myself what’s wrong. It’s— I’m a mess, Arthur, it’s all a mess, and I don’t know where to start.” He shook his head and looked away again.

Arthur watched him for a long moment, considering. Merlin had mentioned a number of concerning things, but he was right that they weren’t the kind to be easily fixed. But Arthur had never cared much for easy, especially where Merlin was concerned.

“Are you unhappy as Court Sorcerer?” he asked finally.

“No!” Merlin exclaimed. His face fell. “Yes. But that’s not—!” He scrunched up his nose and shot Arthur an unhappy glare. “It’s more complicated than that.”

“Alright,” Arthur replied, reaching for Merlin’s hand without thinking. “Explain it to me then.”

Merlin frowned; first at Arthur, then at their joined hands. He didn’t pull away, though, which Arthur decided to take as a good sign. If anything, the touch soothed Arthur’s worry while Merlin kept frowning silently, his thoughts unreadable beneath.

“I never wanted a title,” Merlin said finally. “Not because I didn’t want to help and advise you, but I just never thought I needed one. Now I have one, and instead of making things easier, it only made everything more complicated.”

“Because of the council?”

Merlin nodded, then winced and shook his head instead. “Yes — no. It’s not just them, though they are prejudiced pricks. It shouldn’t matter whether I was born rich or poor. To anyone! But it does, it’s like— It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

He sighed, voice going quiet. “You repealing the ban was always my silver lining. Even when it was nothing more than a fantasy, it was the one thought that gave me hope, a single ray of light cresting the horizon.”

He laced their fingers together, straightened Arthur’s ring, turned it too far to straighten it again. Arthur let him.

“I thought, you learning the truth would be the hard part. Making you see that magic could be good, convincing you that the ban could be lifted safely and keeping you safe until you got there; that was my destiny. And it happened, magic is free, and I cannot begin to describe how amazing that feels, Arthur, but at the same time … Nothing is like I thought it’d be.”

His expression was pained, bitter unhappiness carved into the tight muscles around his eyes, the downturned curve of his lips.

“That silver lining, that ray of light on the horizon? They are nothing but new battles to fight. And maybe it’s my fault, maybe my expectations are what turned them into that, but I thought—”

Merlin fell silent, tension radiating off of him. Gently, Arthur squeezed Merlin’s hand to encourage him to go on. When he finally did, the words came as barely more than a whisper.

“I thought we would do this together. It doesn’t feel like we are doing anything together anymore.”

Arthur’s stomach dropped. His throat was too dry, his voice hoarse as he managed to ask, “What? What do you mean by that?”

“Haven’t you noticed? I suppose you wouldn’t have,” Merlin replied, his eyes turning painfully sad. “Ever since you lifted the ban we hardly even see each other. You have your duties as King, I have my duties as Court Sorcerer, and every free minute either of us has is filled with more things to do, more problems to solve, requests to fulfil. And I get that those things are important, that they take precedence, but I—” He broke off and shook his head.

“What?” Arthur whispered, his heart hammering in his throat. “But what?”

“But I miss you. I miss us and the way we had each other’s back.”

Arthur’s heart shattered. It cracked in two, splintered to pieces, because Arthur had missed Merlin every single day, and Merlin didn’t even realise. Merlin thought Arthur hadn’t noticed.

“Being Court Sorcerer and helping to bring magic back to Camelot should feel like a victory, but it doesn’t,” Merlin went on, oblivious to Arthur’s inner turmoil. “Not if I’m doing it without you.” He gave Arthur a sad smile. “I just— I thought we would do this together.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Arthur surged forward into Merlin’s space, and pulled him into a tight embrace. His eyes burning, he struggled to swallow the lump in his throat.

“We do, Merlin, we will,” he rasped. “Gods, I miss you too. All the time, I keep turning around to tell you something and you’re not there.”

It was a relief when Merlin’s arms came around him, too, gripping him back just as tightly.

“You’re right,” Arthur went on. “Things haven’t been going the way they should have. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you were on your own. I wanted to give you space to settle into your new position, to make your own choices without me hovering over your shoulder.” He squeezed him tighter, then drew an arm’s length away, keeping his hands on Merlin’s shoulders. “You are the most independent person I know, and after everything you’ve done for me I wanted to leave no doubt for anyone that I trust you completely. Because I do trust you completely, you know that, right?”

“I do know that,” Merlin replied, his smile losing some of its sadness. “You wouldn’t have let me hatch Aithusa if you didn’t.”

“It’s more than just that,” Arthur insisted. Inside him, fear was battling with the overwhelming need to make Merlin see just how much he meant to Arthur. “I don’t simply trust you to have no ill-intent. I trust your abilities, and far beyond that, I trust your judgement. I hoped that by giving you free rein, your position would be strengthened. Clearly that was a miscalculation on my part, and I swear to you that the council will realise how little their opinions mean to me compared to yours.”

“Arthur—”

“No, Merlin, I mean it. How could you ever think that I wouldn’t notice every second of your absence? You have been by my side for more than five years, and despite your absolutely insufferable incompetence as a servant, I have come to rely on you for far more important things than clean armour.”

Merlin blushed and tried ducking his head, but Arthur cupped his cheek to force his gaze back up.

“Shouldn’t you be the one telling me that I wouldn’t make it a day without you? Because you were right, I’ve missed you by my side from the moment you weren’t with me day in day out. You’re—” The words got stuck in his throat. Was this really worth the risk? What if he ruined everything with it?

“I’m what?” Merlin whispered. Beneath the resigned sadness in his eyes, Arthur thought he saw a glimmer of hope.

“You’re you,” he breathed. And without letting himself think, he closed the distance between them.

By now, Arthur had experienced more than once how Merlin’s magic could make the world stop spinning. This wasn’t that. There was no windless whisper of magic in the air, no soothing tingle ghosting his skin, yet the world slowed. Time thickened from water to honey without even a trace of magic around them.

Merlin’s lips were chapped and dry and slightly parted in surprise. It turned what would’ve been a chaste press of lips into something much more vulnerable. And Merlin was frozen.

A rush of panic shot through Arthur. He made to pull back, praying to all the gods that he hadn’t ruined the best friendship of his life, when Merlin suddenly — finally — moved. Panic turned to heat in an instant, and Arthur failed to quite swallow a moan. Any embarrassment he could’ve felt was swept away when Merlin groaned in response, twisting his fingers into Arthur’s hair. A light press of Merlin’s tongue pried open Arthur’s mouth. This time, Arthur didn’t bother to fight the noise that rumbled through his chest.

For several endless moments, Arthur was floating. His hands found Merlin’s face, the back of his neck, his waist to pull him flush against Arthur, warm and solid. He could’ve gone on like this indefinitely, so when Merlin finally broke the kiss, Arthur chased after him with a whine.

Merlin laughed. A bright, happy sound that warmed Arthur’s core more thoroughly than any hearth ever could. He looked at Arthur with something akin to awe.

“I never thought—”

“Well, you’re an idiot,” Arthur cut him off, pressing another kiss to his lips — brief and actually chaste this time.

“Prat,” Merlin shot back.

Arthur cupped Merlin’s cheek, then, causing him to still with laughter still lingering on his face.

“We’ll get there, Merlin,” Arthur said, voice soft. “We’ll reach that horizon of yours, I promise. Together.”

The radiant happiness on Merlin’s face faded at that, morphing into something wistful, but the smile that lingered on his lips was genuine. For the first time since they’d made camp, the silence that fell was comfortable.

There was more to say, Arthur knew. Issues they had hardly scratched the surface of that had to be resolved one way or another; issues rooted in politics and duty — and issues of far more personal nature. Issues that weren’t just between the two of them. As much as Arthur wished they could just stay in their private little world here, eventually they’d have to return to the others.

“Are you ready to go back?” he asked, keeping his tone as light as he could. The knights were probably losing their minds, confined at camp by Merlin’s barrier.

Merlin knew it too, if his long-suffering sigh was any indication.

“We can stay here a little longer if you want,” Arthur offered, brushing a strand of hair out of Merlin’s eyes. “Or take a midnight stroll, talk some more, just the two of us.”

He waited patiently as Merlin gnawed on his lip for several seconds. Though things between Merlin and the others were best resolved sooner rather than later, if Merlin needed more time, Arthur was not about to push him. He of all people knew that it was better to let your temper cool off fully before any attempts at reconciliation.

“No, we should go,” Merlin finally sighed. Tension seeped back into his shoulders as he got to his feet and called for Aithusa, who came scurrying over to them at once.

Arthur took Merlin’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “It will be fine.”

As if to confirm his words, Aithusa nuzzled her snout against Merlin’s cheek, making him laugh as he gently pushed her off. To Arthur’s surprise, she promptly turned to him instead, nearly losing her footing on Merlin’s shoulder as she tried to stretch over to bump her head to his.

“Looks like she’s forgiven you,” said Merlin with a soft smile while Aithusa settled back around his shoulders.

Arthur squeezed his hand. “Just you wait, I’ll be her favourite before you know it.”

Aithusa gave an outraged huff, and Merlin laughed a real laugh. Arthur relaxed. Somehow, they were going to figure this out, he was sure of it.

Merlin felt the camp through his magic long before the light of their fire became visible through the trees. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done when he’d stormed off, but if the faint thread of power flowing from him was any indication, whatever spell he’d cast was still in place. Now that he really considered it, it was rather odd that Arthur had come to find him alone.

The answer became clear as soon as the camp — and with it the barrier around it — came into sight. Merlin winced inwardly, a tiny twinge of guilt tugging at his insides for having imprisoned the knights in such a way. It wasn’t like he’d done it on purpose. But he’d been agitated, and his magic had taken his raging need to be left alone a bit too literal. Except…

“How did you manage to get through?” Merlin asked, perplexed.

Arthur shrugged. “It let me.”

“It let you,” Merlin repeated under his breath, furrowing his brows. In all honesty, it wasn’t all that surprising. His magic had always reacted different where Arthur was concerned, a curiosity Merlin had always ascribed to their shared destiny. Though, maybe, his own feelings played into it as well. Just a little. At the very least, this little quirk of his magic had kept Arthur safe throughout his earlier outburst, so Merlin decided to simply be grateful and not dwell on it.

When they were nearly at the edge of camp, Merlin’s steps slowed of their own accord. Where he had been calm just a moment ago now sat a knot of nervous tension under his rabbiting heart.

“Merlin?” Close as they were now, Arthur kept his voice low.

Merlin gave no reply. Between all his other frustrations, he hadn’t really allowed himself to remember what had triggered his outburst in the first place. Now, seeing the knights — his friends — sitting around a low and neglected fire, ghosts of hurt and anger renewed like whispers inside him.

A squeeze on his hand dragged him back to the present, and he blinked at Arthur’s concerned expression. They hadn’t spoken about the incident on their way back. In fact, they hadn’t broached the subject at all besides Arthur’s initial apology.

“You don’t have to talk to them if you don’t want to,” murmured Arthur, stepping into Merlin’s space to run a soothing touch along his cheek.

“Don’t I?” Merlin’s voice was sharp with sarcasm.

“No,” Arthur maintained. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

Right. Nothing he wasn’t ready for. Right. Following a slow, deep breath, Merlin exhaled sharply, and walked out of the shadows of the trees.

The reaction was instantaneous from all four of them, their heads whipping around as soon as they heard the steps. Gwaine was the first to jump to his feet, his face contorted with guilt as he strode halfway over to them before abruptly stopping in his tracks. Merlin didn’t have to look over at Arthur to know that he was glaring.

Behind Gwaine, and looking no less contrite, the other knights had stood up as well, though they had the good sense to stay where they were. Gwaine’s eyes flitted from Merlin to Arthur and back to Merlin several times before he let out a tense breath that sounded like a surrender.

“At least let me apologise, please. Afterwards you won’t ever have to speak to me again, I know it doesn’t change anything and I swear I won’t bother you, but—”

“Woah, hang on!” Merlin interrupted, taken aback by Gwaine’s vehemence. “Why would I never speak to you again?”

Gwaine wrung his hands. “I fucked up. And I’m so sorry, Merlin. You’re right, I should’ve known better, but I fucked up and I understand if you’re tired of my bullshit—”

“Stop, Gwaine, stop!” Merlin shouted, throwing up his hands, palms out. “What the hell are you on about?! Yes, you fucked up, and I’m bloody well pissed at you — all of you — but that doesn’t mean I’ll never speak to you again!”

Silence rolled over the camp like morning fog. Gwaine’s face was a frozen mask of shock and disbelief, and for several slow seconds Merlin didn’t dare break eye contact with him. When he finally did, a glance to the others revealed that they seemed as surprised by Gwaine’s outburst as Merlin was. Well, at least that.

Heaving a sigh, Merlin dropped his hands and shook his head. “If you think you can just quit being my friend to get off the hook about this, you are sorely mistaken.”

“No, that’s not—”

“Well then stop assuming things, you pillock,” Merlin snapped. “Or do you truly think so little of me, that I would end our friendship over you being an inconsiderate pillock? That I’ll never speak to any of you ever again?” He glared at each of them in turn. “You’re my friends. And by the gods, you are absolute idiots and half the time I wonder why I put up with any of you, but you’re still my friends. Now sit your stupid arse down so we can talk about this like adults.”

With that, he stomped over to the fallen log where he’d left his pack, reviving the dying embers in the fireplace with no more than a pointed look as he sat down. A moment later, Arthur joined him on the log, while Aithusa jumped off his shoulders to settle on the ground barely two steps away. It was a subtle but touching display of support — from both of them — and Merlin felt his anger cool a little.

Meanwhile, the knights had followed Merlin’s command without hesitation. Even Gwaine had shaken his stupor and, with a distinct air of confusion, returned to his seat.

Drawing a deep breath, Merlin looked around their little circle. Looked at each of his friends wearing shamefaced frowns, the caution in their eyes as they watched him in return. At Arthur, who gave him a small encouraging nod, the faintest hint of a smile ghosting his lips.

Lips Merlin now knew the taste of.

Even as tense as he was, the memory sent a shudder down his spine. Now wasn’t the time to think about Arthur’s lips. Moving against his, parting under them— Merlin resolutely pushed the thought away, but it took a second before he managed to pull himself together.

“Right,” he began, only to pause again. A beat passed, then he admitted, “I’m not quite sure what to say, honestly. It would be a lie to say that I’m not angry about what you did, though I do apologise for my magic getting a bit … wilful. That’s why I left.”

“We figured as much,” said Percival, sounding far too small for a man of his size. “Even then, you kept us safe. Thank you.”

The others nodded in agreement. Merlin wasn’t sure how to respond, so he didn’t. A few moments ticked by, then Leon cleared his throat.

“We’re sorry, Merlin. Truly. The prank we played was tactless and inconsiderate. I am ashamed to admit that I never paused to consider whether it could be offensive.” He bowed his head. “Whether I grew up with the comforts of nobility or not, as a knight I am sworn to serve all of Camelot’s people and it is my duty to aid them in their hardships even if I was fortunate enough to never experience them. I failed you in this.”

“We all did,” Percival added. “And you were right, we should’ve known better, but we didn’t think.”

“We meant to cheer you up,” Elyan went on. “You said you missed the old times, so we thought what better than a joke we had played before? Obviously that was a terrible idea, and in hindsight it’s even worse that we pulled that prank back when—” He trailed off, guilt drawing his features with deep lines.

“When I was still a servant,” Merlin finished for him, watching all four of them wince with bitter satisfaction. “Still factually beneath you.”

“Yeah,” Percival muttered. “We never should have abused our higher standing like that. You were always our friend, Merlin, you were my friend before I ever became a knight. We should’ve treated you better. We should have realised what lines we were crossing with our teasing, but we didn’t. There is no excuse. We are sorry.”

A beat of silence, only disrupted by the crackling of the fire, passed between them, followed by another, and another. And through all of this, Gwaine hadn’t said a word, keeping his head bowed low between hunched shoulders. Merlin watched him a few moments longer, before the quiet grew heavy enough to nudge him on.

“Gwaine?”

Despite Merlin’s gentle tone, Gwaine flinched violently. When he met Merlin’s eyes, his face was screwed up in miserable, defensive anticipation. It pissed Merlin off like nothing else, but the flare of irritation that shot through him was streaked with vicious, traitorous affection.

“Got nothing to say?” Merlin asked, holding Gwaine’s gaze. “Not worth the effort, maybe?”

That got a reaction, much more easily than Merlin had expected.

“No! Fuck, no, don’t—” Gwaine ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say! Everything they said, except I knew these things! The prank was my idea, and you’re my best friend, and I should’ve realised—”

“Yes!” Merlin yelled. “Yes, you should’ve realised. Yes, it was a shit idea. We can all agree the situation is overall suboptimal. Now stop whining and be better. You expected me to give up on you not two days after we met. I didn’t. I never did, so don’t you dare to walk out on me, you thick-headed idiot!”

Gwaine’s face shuttered. “It’ll happen again. It always does. It’s only a matter of time before I fuck up again, maybe worse next time. I tried better, so many times, and it never sticks! Not for me.”

“I don’t care!” Merlin shot to his feet, fists clenched at his sides.

Ah, but he was angry again, for entirely new reasons. A soft touch to his wrist was all that held his next scathing words under his tongue. Arthur.

Merlin took a deep breath, blindly seeking Arthur’s hand to ground himself. He fixed Gwaine with a glare.

“I don’t care if you fuck up, Gwaine. I just need you to try. That’s all. Try, and don’t fucking run away. Can you do that?”

And finally, Gwaine’s hard mask melted, giving way to something raw and fragile. “I’m so sorry, Merlin. The way I treated you without even realising—”

“Yes, well, now you realised. All of you,” said Merlin. “And if you do it again, I’ll turn you all into toads for a week.”

A second of perplexed silence, then the tension broke all at once. It rushed from them in sharp exhales and breathless chuckles, until all that was left was a lingering echo of caution and regret, reminding them of the fresh, fragile balance that now tethered between them.

“So…” Elyan stretched the word into a question.

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I accept your apology.”

He felt Arthur squeeze his hand, but before he could even begin to turn around, he found himself nearly tackled to the ground. It was a miracle that he didn’t actually land on his arse, but somehow he kept his footing through two stumbling steps before Gwaine’s momentum ran out and they came to a swaying halt. Gwaine had his face pressed into Merlin’s shoulder, arms locked tightly around him in an almost desperate embrace.

Perhaps Arthur was right and Merlin was truly a sentimental fool, but it was this more than any apology that made things slide back into place. Without a thought, he hugged Gwaine back, sure and simple. At their feet, Aithusa gave a happy chirp of approval.

The moment Gwaine pulled away, Elyan was there to take his place. He was followed by Percival, who hugged him with gentle caution, as though he was fragile, before stepping aside for Leon.

“We should all get some rest, we rise early tomorrow,” said Arthur once Leon released Merlin out of his protective embrace. “Make sure the fire is properly fed for the night. Percival, you take the first watch.”

As the knights went about gathering some more firewood now that Merlin’s barrier wasn’t keeping them contained, Arthur led Merlin over to sit on Arthur’s bedroll. Before Merlin could even begin to ask a question, Arthur handed him a ration of dried meat.

“Eat.”

On cue, Merlin’s stomach rumbled, and he abruptly became aware how hungry he was. Shooting Arthur a grateful smile, he unwrapped the meat and began to eat. It was more delicious than dried meat had any right to be.

Focused entirely on his meal and fending off a would-be-thieving Aithusa, Merlin hardly noticed Arthur moving about. He did startle though, when Arthur dropped Merlin’s bedroll right beside his own. Pausing his chewing, Merlin raised a brow.

“You’re moving my stuff?”

Arthur gave him a look that Merlin knew to mean “don’t be obtuse” and promptly went to retrieve Merlin’s pack as well. And really, that shouldn’t have made Merlin’s heart flutter the way it did. It shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t stop smiling as he finished his meal.

It was barely a minute later that the knights returned, and Merlin grew still, half excited, half anxious with anticipation. For a few moments, it almost seemed as if none of them would notice — then Leon halted, his eyebrows rising almost to his hairline. Noticing Leon's reaction, the other three knights followed his gaze. To Merlin’s surprise, Elyan and Percival broke out in matching grins before promptly turning their backs, and, after giving Arthur a small yet approving nod, Leon followed suit. Only Gwaine eyed the two bedrolls Arthur had arranged side by side with a thoughtful frown.

A tense moment passed, the quiet broken by the other three knights fiddling around in the background. Gwaine stepped closer and looked up at Arthur, who met his gaze with a slight twitch of his eyebrow that almost dared Gwaine to question him.

But Gwaine merely narrowed his eyes and said, “If you break his heart, Princess, I’ll make you regret it.”

Merlin nearly laughed out loud, and only narrowly managed to smother it down to a quiet snort.

Arthur, on the other hand, stared at Gwaine in utter bewilderment. Before he could retort, however, Gwaine's serious expression had already given way to a broad grin. Without another word — but not without shooting Merlin a salacious wink — Gwaine turned on his heel and sauntered over to his own bedroll.

"What the—” Arthur muttered, shaking his head.

With a soft laugh, Merlin reached for Arthur’s hand and pulled him down to sit beside him.

“I think he just gave us his blessing,” Merlin murmured as he pressed a smiling kiss to Arthur’s lips.

“I think he threatened me,” Arthur replied, but his protest lacked any heat.

Merlin laughed again, and began to ready himself for sleep. Before long, the camp fell quiet as only Percival remained seated by the fire to take the first watch. With Aithusa finally settling down in a tight curl at his feet, Merlin stretched out on his bedroll.

It felt strange to lie down so close to Arthur. Strangely intimate, strangely exposed; their friends barely a few steps away, their faces barely a hand’s width apart in the dark. It felt fresh and fragile, delicate like a dew-frosted flower. Fresh and fragile, yet it was as natural as breathing to lean in, to brush their lips together.

All of a sudden, Merlin felt just like he had all those weeks ago, facing Arthur between shadowed trees in the middle of the night. He was standing on a ledge, at the edge of the horizon. Only this time, he was not alone.

Happy, tingling warmth swelled in Merlin’s chest as Arthur laced their fingers together. Merlin smiled, pressed another kiss to Arthur’s lips and felt Arthur smile in return.

Together, they were reaching for that silver lining.

Together, they leapt.