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Court was as boring as ever. Countless petitioners sought audience with Arthur’s father to discuss mere squabbles, and though Arthur knew that this was an essential part of leading a kingdom, that didn’t mean he had to like it.
His eyes strayed to where Merlin was standing with his back against the wall, looking just as bored as Arthur felt. Despite his simplistic attire and slightly bowed shoulders, Merlin didn’t quite manage to become inconspicuous. It was one of the many puzzles Arthur’s manservant-turned-friend presented, one Arthur was still unable to solve.
“Why must you insist on this specific pasture in the first place?” asked Lord Breiven, one of Uther’s near-ancient advisors.
Merlin rolled his eyes, and Arthur barely held back a snort. Merlin’s gaze promptly darted over to Arthur as though he’d heard him anyway, and he shot him a quick grin. It took all of Arthur’s self-control not to grin back. Merlin’s antics were all that kept him sane some days, but it wouldn’t do for anyone to catch on to their wordlessly shared ridicule of various court members.
Arthur focused back on the petitioners. (He tried to ignore Merlin’s displeased grimace at his father’s denial of the next three requests for support due to a bad harvest. Merlin was too soft-hearted for court, that was nothing new.) Finally, there were only two left; a portly, middle-aged man, and an old lady with white hair and wiry limbs.
Uther gestured the woman forward. “What is your reason for coming here today?”
The woman didn’t bow, her glassy eyes suddenly gaining a frightening edge of focus as she looked up at Uther.
Arthur glanced over to see his own tension reflected in Merlin’s frowning face. Something was off about her.
He sat up straighter, cursing his father’s insistence that he don’t carry a sword when receiving petitioners.
“My daughter was a good, hard-working woman. A loving wife, a caring mother.” She pointed an accusing finger at Uther. “And you murdered her! She ain’t done nothing but serve you, and you murdered her!”
Uther scowled, giving a signal to the knights standing guard at the door. They approached her slowly, hands on their swords ready to draw.
“You are a Butcher King, Uther Pendragon, your line is tainted with blood! No more!” She raised her arms and began to chant.
A sudden wind pushed back the guards, keeping them at bay. Her eyes burned orange as she pointed one hand at Uther, the other at Arthur. Dark green light gathered in front of her palms, and Arthur knew that he wouldn’t survive if it hit him. He made to jump up and dodge, only to find himself frozen and unable to move.
Terror seized him, and his eyes darted towards Merlin again. If he was to die, he wanted to see Merlin’s eyes one last time.
Only Merlin wasn’t there. Merlin was halfway to the woman, not looking at Arthur as he raised his arm, opened his mouth—
“Scield!”
The green light impacted on a golden, glittering barrier, sending crackling light over it. Merlin was facing the woman, his back to Arthur.
Arthur who sat frozen, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Merlin had magic. Oh for fuck’s sake, of course Merlin had magic, how could he have missed it?
“How dare you!” screeched the woman. “Traitor!”
She raised her arms again, chanting another spell.
“Merlin!” screamed Arthur, desperately willing Merlin to get out of her line of fire, to save himself.
But Merlin didn’t budge, didn’t even flinch when another glowing missile crashed against the golden shield protecting them all.
“Stand aside!” she demanded angrily.
Yes, Merlin, stand aside you fool!
Merlin shook his head. “I cannot let you hurt him. Leave, or die.”
Die?! Merlin wouldn’t even kill game on a hunt!
The woman let out a wordless scream and attacked again, but this time Merlin reacted. With a wave of his hand, her spell stopped mid-air, and flew straight back at her. She was thrown off her feet, and by the time she hit the floor, she was already dead.
The wind died down, plunging the hall in deafening silence. The guards stared at Merlin with disbelieving shock.
Merlin turned to meet Arthur’s eyes. The guilt and fear in his face took Arthur aback, though it shouldn’t have been surprising. Of course Merlin would be afraid, seeing how Arthur’s father—
“Sorcerer! Sorcerer in the court!” screamed Uther, his face red with rage. “Seize him!”
“No! Father, he saved our lives!” exclaimed Arthur.
“A ploy, to deceive us, to make us trust him! All magic is corrupted, Arthur, when will you learn? I want him dead at once!”
Arthur’s heart dropped. Everything slowed. He met Merlin’s terrified eyes, a scream on the tip of his tongue as he jumped up, desperate to get to him. He still had no sword. Then one of the knights reached Merlin, and just as Arthur’s shout made it past his lips, a blade pierced through Merlin’s chest, bloodied silver glinting in the evening sun falling through the large windows.
“NO!”
Despair swept through Arthur, swept him up, carried him through the room at mind-boggling speed, carried him to Merlin just in time to catch him before his body hit the ground. The sword was still lodged in Merlin’s chest.
“No, no, no, Merlin, look at me, don’t close your eyes, stay with me,” Arthur pleaded, not caring that Uther heard every word he was saying.
Merlin’s eyes, brighter than jewels, found his.
“Ar—thur,” he breathed.
“No, don’t talk, save your strength. Someone call for Gaius! You’ll be fine, Merlin, just stay awake for me.”
Merlin shook his head. “I’m — sorry. — Always wanted — to tell you,” he forced out.
“Shut up, we can talk about that later. Keep your eyes open, Merlin, stay with me.”
“‘m sorry.”
He forced an apologetic, lopsided smile. His eyes stilled. His body sagged in Arthur’s arms.
“Merlin. Merlin! MERLIN!”
But Merlin wasn’t hearing him, jewel blue eyes looking right through Arthur.
Open. As he’d asked.
Arthur saw red. Unbridled rage set his blood boiling, shot through him like lightning. It burned, feeding on the unspeakable agony that threatened to crush Arthur whole.
In one smooth movement, Arthur pulled the sword from Merlin’s back, spinning as he got to his feet, and plunged it through the guard it belonged to. The knight, Sir Ector, hadn’t even tried to defend himself. Just as Merlin hadn’t been given a chance to.
Arthur didn’t wait for the man to fall, ripping the blade out to face the other guard. Sir Bors hesitated just as Sir Ector had, but brought up his sword just in time to block Arthur’s first swing.
“Arthur, stop this at once! What are you doing, Sir Bors, that’s my son!” screamed Uther. “Enough of this nonsense, Arthur! He was just a servant, and a sorcerer!”
Arthur kicked Bors with enough force to send him flying into the wall, then spun to his father. The edges of his vision were still tinged crimson, pure fury drowning out the pain fighting to surface.
“You,” he spat. “This is your doing. He defended us, and you gave the order to kill him! That woman was right, you are a murderer! You are no better than a criminal, if not worse.”
Arthur was barely two steps from his father, his sword raised to strike, when a hand wrapped around his arm, holding him back firmly, but gently.
Leon.
“Arthur, think this through. Merlin wouldn’t want this, he stopped you before.”
Flashes of memories; Merlin pleading with Arthur to spare his father, Merlin telling him he was better than this. Arthur lowered his blade.
Uther spat, “He was a dirty sorc—”
“Shut up!” barked Leon. For a moment, there was stunned silence from everyone, even Uther, then Leon added, “Sire,” though his reluctance was obvious.
Merlin wouldn’t want this.
Arthur’s rage drained out of him all at once, and grief settled around his chest like iron chains. He choked on a sob, turning back to Merlin’s body.
Without conscious awareness, he sank to his knees beside Merlin and scooped him into his arms. Some distant part of him noted that Merlin was too light in his arms, that he really should eat more, only to abruptly realise that none of that mattered anymore because Merlin was dead.
“Arthur, don’t be foolish, come back here at once—“
“If I were you, sire, I’d keep my mouth shut,” snapped Leon. Good, noble Leon who would never dare to disrespect his king.
Arthur didn’t turn the entire way to his chambers, though he heard the faint echo of footsteps following him. He set Merlin down on his bed, uncaring of the blood staining the sheets.
“Arthur?”
Leon sounded hesitant, careful, as though he expected Arthur to shatter at the slightest sound.
Arthur shook his head. He couldn’t talk right now. Instead, he reached to brush a strand of dark hair out of Merlin’s eyes. Eyes that were closed now, making it look like Merlin was merely sleeping.
The sound of new footsteps approaching quickly, then a gasp.
“Merlin.”
Arthur looked up at Gaius, seeing his own grief mirrored in the physician’s face.
“Is he—”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I wasn’t fast enough, I couldn’t—”
“Enough of that,” Gaius cut him off, even though his voice was choked with unshed tears. “You should not blame yourself. I thank you for trying to save him at all. If you allow, I will take his—”
“No!”
The denial slipped out before Arthur could help it. He couldn’t even bring himself to apologise for it.
“You can’t take him. Not— not yet, Gaius, I can’t— Please.”
Gaius regarded him seriously, then sighed and nodded. “Say your goodbyes in your own time, sire. I will return for him tomorrow.”
Arthur couldn’t meet his eyes, staring down at Merlin’s pale, too-still form on the bed. It hurt. It hurt more than anything Arthur had ever felt. He couldn’t breathe, drowning in that horrible, ever-growing ache.
The door flew open.
“Arthur, tell me it isn’t true, Merlin isn’t—” Morgana broke off with a gasp. “No.”
He didn’t turn to look at her. His eyes were swimming in tears, blurring Merlin’s face. There was blood on his forehead where Arthur had touched him. Merlin’s blood. Merlin’s blood that clung to Arthur’s hands.
“Oh Goddess have mercy,” Morgana whispered. Then, much, much angrier, “We cannot let Uther get away with this. We cannot! Do you hear me, Arthur? … Arthur!”
“No. We won’t.” The words felt like nails in his throat. “He will pay for this.”
His voice broke on the last word.
“Oh Arthur,” Morgana breathed, sounding frail all of a sudden. “I am so sorry. I know he meant the world to you.” She squeezed his shoulder. “We will get justice for him. I promise.”
Arthur didn’t respond, and Morgana left quietly. He barely registered how the door opened again, followed by a pained cry that sounded like Gwen, and muffled words in Lancelot’s low voice, soothing her.
Eventually, though, there was another hand on his shoulder. Leon telling him that he’ll post guards at the door that were loyal to Arthur, not Uther. The door closing one last time, then Arthur was alone. He hadn’t moved the entire time.
Merlin looked so peaceful, so calm. So utterly unreachable.
He took Merlin’s too-cold hand, his tears fell at last, and Arthur’s fragile composure crumbled completely. His shoulders shook with silent sobs, then with not so silent sobs. He wasn’t sure how long he weeped, only that eventually his tears dried up, and his voice gave out, leaving a burning ache in his throat. It was nothing compared to the agonising hurt in his heart.
Merlin was gone. Taken from Arthur in a mere moment, because he had stupidly saved Arthur’s life. Why did he do that? Why hadn’t he let the woman kill them, after everything Uther — and by extension Arthur — had done to people like Merlin?
Merlin was gone and Arthur had never even told him how he really felt. They had been friends, yes, and Arthur was fairly sure Merlin had known that. At least he had done his best to let him know. But he’d never dared to take it further, too afraid to ruin what they had, to make it awkward — or worse, for Merlin to feel obligated, pressured to accommodate Arthur’s wishes against his own. Because Merlin had always been stupidly loyal, and he’d always done whatever was necessary to keep Arthur good and noble.
“You idiot,” Arthur choked out. “Who’s gonna keep me in line now? Who’s gonna tell me I’m being a clotpole? I need you, Merlin. I need you but you left me, and I don’t know what to do.”
There was only silence in response.
Arthur wasn’t sure whether he’d fallen asleep or whether he’d just been staring unseeingly into the darkness. Night had fallen hours ago, suffusing the room in nothing but pale moonlight, and he hadn’t left his place at Merlin’s side.
Something had stirred him now, though. For a moment he tensed, listening into the silence for the traitorous sound of footsteps, of someone coming for them. But the castle was silent.
It was then that he felt it. It couldn’t be a breeze, for the curtains around Arthur’s bed were still as ever, though the feeling resembled one. A faint tingle trickling over Arthur’s skin, a buzz at the back of his mind. Gentle. Familiar.
Arthur straightened, trying to figure out where it was coming from, what it was. There was nothing in the darkness, nothing but Merlin’s ghostly white face and — and a glimmer of gold, floating right above his chest.
It was merely a speck, like a spark jumping from glowing embers, but it was there.
Arthur inhaled sharply. Irrational, futile hope squeezed painfully in his chest. It couldn’t be.
As though it had heard Arthur’s doubts, the speck grew. It stretched, turning from speck to glowing wisp, splitting into strands; one reaching down towards Merlin, the others fanning out over him like rays of a golden sun, radiating vibrating warmth.
The tingles turned to shivers, something indescribable settling beneath Arthur’s skin, sinking into his bones, his heart. His next inhale brought a comforting smell, a smell that was so unmistakably Merlin, he hesitated to let go of his breath for fear of losing it again. He could almost hear Merlin’s voice echoing in his head, flashes of Merlin’s eyes flaring in his mind.
Memories.
Merlin, laughing. Merlin, chastising him with poorly concealed concern. Merlin, telling him that he was capable, that he had faith in Arthur.
Merlin, smiling at him with that smile he gave no-one else.
Arthur was surrounded by golden light; dozens of threads curled around him — some thin as blades of grass, some thick as rope. They wrapped around Merlin, filled the whole room with light and warmth and magic.
It was breathtaking.
It was magic the likes of which he’d never seen, which he never would’ve considered possible after growing up with Uther’s hatred. Magic devoid of ill-intent, pure and bright.
Magic full of life.
“Please,” he whispered, without knowing whom he was addressing. “Please, bring him back to me. I’ll do anything.”
The light pulsed, and the power of it had Arthur exhale in a rush. Although there were no words, Arthur understood.
“I’ll set you free,” he promised, aware that it was an oath he could never break. “I give you my word as Crown Prince and future King of Camelot, magic shall be free once more, under my protection. Just—” He let out a breath. “I love him. Please, bring him back to me.”
For a moment, everything stilled, as though time itself had halted while the gods considered Arthur’s plea, and Merlin’s life hung in the balance like the final chip to even a scale.
A rush of wind whipped through the room, tearing the curtains loose and rattling the window. The magic flared brighter as the tendrils withdrew from Arthur, from the room, and surged towards Merlin in a twisting cascade, lifting his lifeless form from the bed, wrapping him in gold.
The hum in Arthur’s ears grew deafening, and even through closed lids the light was blinding.
And then it was over.
Arthur blinked into the darkness, bright spots dancing before his eyes. He didn’t dare to breathe as he reached blindly for Merlin’s hand.
“Merlin?” he whispered.
For one terrifying moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, a gasping breath, a flash of golden eyes, and every candle in the room flared with fresh flames.
“Arth’r?”
Merlin’s eyes were wide and blue as sapphires, and Arthur didn’t think.
Merlin’s lips were soft and pliant under Arthur’s, and Arthur couldn’t think.
His heart was thundering as it stitched back together, threaded by the feeling of Merlin’s pulse under his fingertips, of grave-cold skin warming with a flush. The hollow space in his chest filled with tickling, bubbling warmth, driving out the horrible ache, breaking the chains around Arthur’s lungs.
It was heaven.
It was magic.
It was Merlin, alive in Arthur’s arms.
Merlin, parting his lips with a quiet sigh to let Arthur in. Merlin’s hands coming up around Arthur’s neck, his fingers sliding into Arthur’s hair.
The sudden realisation of what he was doing hit Arthur like a mace, then. He pulled away abruptly, his heart hammering for entirely different reasons now.
“S-sorry,” he stammered.
Merlin blinked at him, looking slightly dazed.
“What?”
“I’m sorry, I was— You were— I would never want to do something you don’t want, Merlin. I forgot myself for a moment, I apologise. Please, forgive—”
“You didn’t,” Merlin interrupted. His cheeks were flushed red, and Arthur could’ve wept at the sight, the memory of lifeless white skin still vivid in his mind.
“I— What?”
“Do something I don’t want — you didn’t.”
Merlin’s cheeks turned even redder as he said it, which was distracting enough that it took Arthur a moment to parse the meaning of Merlin’s words. When it finally sank in, his jaw dropped, his thoughts blanked completely, and all he managed was a feeble, “Oh.”
Merlin gave him a lopsided smile, before pushing himself upright with a pained groan. He looked around the room, eyes widening a little when he realised where they were, then frowned.
“What happened?”
Arthur winced. Even thinking about it sent a sharp jab of hurt through his heart.
“You died,” he replied, barely above a whisper. He felt a new lump form in his throat, his eyes burning with tears he’d thought had run dry. “You died and there was nothing I could do.”
Merlin stared at him, his expression caught between shock and disbelief.
“But … I’m here,” he said finally.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur nodded. He stared down at his hands, fiddling with the edge of the sheets. How to explain?
“There was … a light — magic — it was everywhere.” He hesitated, glanced up at Merlin. “I begged it to bring you back. I promised to set magic free if only it brought you back. The gods must have granted my wish.”
“Arthur,” Merlin breathed.
“I will keep my oath, Merlin; magic will be free — you will be free. I swear it,” he said with conviction.
“Your father—”
“Uther’s reign has brought nothing but pain and violence for thousands of people, it is time for that to end.”
He held Merlin’s stunned gaze, determined to erase any doubts from Merlin’s mind. Finally, Merlin gave a slow nod, his expression turning thoughtful.
“You won’t be able to do it alone,” he said.
“I know,” replied Arthur. He reached for Merlin’s hand, squeezing it gently. “But I won’t be alone — I’ll have you by my side.”
Merlin beamed. “Always, sire.”
Arthur smiled back, then added with a small shrug, “And Morgana probably has a full-fledged plan to topple Uther from the throne already prepared.”
The sound of Merlin’s laughter made Arthur’s heart swell with happiness.
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
They fell silent, then, Merlin’s hand still resting in Arthur’s, neither of them looking away from the other. It might’ve been seconds, minutes, or hours, Arthur wouldn’t have known the difference, before Merlin finally blew out a breath and straightened.
“It’s the middle of the night, you should—” Merlin broke off when his gaze fell onto the bloodied sheets. “Oh. I can fix—”
“You need a bath,” declared Arthur. Judging from Merlin’s surprised face, it wasn’t as reasonable of an idea as it seemed to Arthur.
“Did you miss the part where it’s the middle of the night?”
“I am the Crown Prince, Merlin, I can order a bath whenever I want.”
“Don’t you dare wake some poor servant over this,” Merlin threatened, but his tone was too fond for it to come across properly.
“Do you prefer to walk around like a bloodied cor—” Arthur couldn’t finish the word, his throat closing up with an echo of that unfathomable pain that had engulfed him when he’d held Merlin’s dead body in his arms.
Of course, Merlin (being Merlin) understood immediately. He put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, ducked his head to catch Arthur’s eyes.
“Arthur, look at me. I’m alive. It’s fine.”
“It isn’t fine, Merlin,” Arthur rasped, but he leaned into the touch regardless.
Merlin sighed. “You’re right, it isn’t — can’t say I liked dying — but I’m back.”
Arthur nodded, fighting to keep his composure.
“If it’s so important to you, I could, ah—” Merlin gave him an unsure look, lifted a hand and wiggled his fingers. “—a bath. If that’d be alright with you.”
It took a moment until Arthur understood what Merlin was suggesting. He gave an exaggerated gasp.
“Merlin, are you saying you’ve been cheating at your chores?”
“No! I would never!” exclaimed Merlin, a mischievous glint in his eyes belying his words.
“Go ahead then, magick yourself a bath,” ordered Arthur as he got to his feet.
After hours of sitting still, every bone and joint in his body ached. His spine popped several times as he stretched.
“Oh, and perhaps a fire, while you’re at it,” he added.
Merlin rolled his eyes. “As you command, sire,” he drawled, turning to the fireplace.
Sapphire irises flashed gold and Arthur’s breath caught. Merlin’s magic. It was beautiful — Merlin was beautiful.
Arthur forced himself to turn away, wary of making Merlin uncomfortable, of driving him away.
The bath was conjured quickly — far more quickly than Merlin had ever prepared one of Arthur’s baths — and Arthur was careful to keep his back turned when Merlin shed his clothes.
They talked while Merlin washed; well, mostly it was Arthur telling Merlin the full story of what had transpired after Sir Ector had stabbed Merlin. How he had killed the knight without a moment’s hesitation, how he would’ve killed Uther, too, if it hadn’t been for Leon. How he had brought Merlin’s body to his chambers and refused Gaius’ attempt to take him away. How Morgana had come, how he’d all but ignored Gwen and Lancelot and Leon.
“They’ll be overjoyed to see you,” he said quietly, just as Merlin shrugged on some of Arthur’s own clothes, clean and pinked from the hot water, damp hair falling in loose, spiky curls around his face.
“I’m not so sure, Gwen might hit me for putting her through such grief,” Merlin joked somewhat weakly. He hesitated, arms dangling awkwardly at his sides, then added, “I suppose I should go.”
“No,” came Arthur’s immediate response, perhaps a bit harsher than he’d intended.
Merlin blinked at him, taken aback.
“You can’t— If Uther sees you— You aren’t safe until he is dealt with,” he said, hating how desperate he sounded. “I— Stay here, for now. You can have the bed — magic or not, you need rest after losing so much blood.” He swallowed nervously, but his concern for Merlin’s safety outweighed any pride or awkwardness that would’ve kept him from saying his next words. “Once again, I would never take advantage of you. I will sleep on a chair, or the floor, or—”
He was cut off by a firm press of lips, the warm weight of a body — of Merlin’s body — against his. A startled gasp escaped him, and Merlin took advantage, prying open Arthur’s lips with the tip of his tongue.
Arthur melted. His eyes slipped closed, and for several blissful moments there was nothing on his mind other than Merlin and how they fit together in all the right ways, as though they were made for each other.
Merlin’s pupils were blown wide when he pulled away just far enough to break the kiss.
“Shut up, prat,” he panted, resting his forehead against Arthur’s.
“Yeah, alright,” Arthur breathed back.
Merlin laughed, bright and delighted, and leaned in again.
“So, you’ll stay?” asked Arthur between kisses, breathless.
Merlin glanced towards the bed, eyes flaring with magic, and he grinned. Arthur didn’t have to look to know that the sheets were clean and fresh, keeping his gaze on Merlin instead as gold faded black to blue.
“You are breathtaking.”
He hadn’t meant to say it out loud. The look of startled surprise on Merlin’s face, slowly turning into a beaming smile was worth it.
Arthur pulled him closer, pressed their lips together once more.
“Never leave me again,” he whispered. Pleaded. “Stay with me.”
“Always.”
A promise to match Arthur’s oath, ringing with magic. And, for just a moment, Arthur could see it then; Camelot, full of magic once more, full of life.
And Merlin by Arthur’s side.
Full of magic.
Full of life.