Chapter Text
Dawn has barely broken when King Gorwin of Wessex arrives.
The King doesn’t come alone. There is a whole entourage that arrives at Camelot: Gorwin has six Knights of Wessex with him, and two advisors, and a number of servants for all of them. The streets in Camelot are filled with spectators to watch the royal ensemble arrive. There hasn’t been peace with Wessex for decades, and the novelty of the situation has drawn a lot of spectators out of their houses, even at this time of day.
Arthur awaits them in his court, as is proper. However, the knights keep coming in and out to tell him more of what they are noticing of Gorwin’s men, or about the quality of his horses, and Gwaine even came in to tell him of His Majesty’s lovely servants. Arthur had thrown a cup at him, then, a hint which had been well taken.
It takes some time for King Gorwin to make it to the castle. The preparations are immense, and Arthur isn’t unaware of the strain it has put on the servants. Gorwin is to stay for an undecided number of days, which might even turn into weeks. Drawing up a peace treaty is hard and dry work, and the servants have to make sure that all members of Gorwin’s court are treated as nobility. Everyone must do their part, if Camelot and Wessex are to be allies.
It’s a daunting responsibility. Arthur can’t take the risk of anything being displeasing to Gorwin, a man who he knows little about but what little he has gathered from hear-say and some old spywork. Wessex is a strong kingdom, one that won’t ally itself with anyone easily. But with the renewal of a new age, a time in which magic and strength and nobility go hand in hand, Wessex has reached out and offered an alliance.
The consequences of this, however well or ill it goes, are staggering. Arthur is just glad that Merlin has been waiting at his side the entire morning, waiting for King Gorwin to be presented to their court. His steady presence, his customary standing on Arthur’s right hand, is a balm to his frayed nerves.
“My King,” one of the guards finally announces, and Arthur sits up straighter. The Knights that are present take their own positions, and he can see Merlin tilt his head in attention. Everyone knows that today must go well. “I present to you, King Gorwin of Wessex, first of his name.”
The doors swing open.
The first thing that Arthur notices, despite his attention trained ahead and forward, is that Merlin tenses, just ever so slightly, at his side. It’s distracting enough that Arthur almost breaks composure to glance askance at him, but just manages to keep it together to greet the King.
King Gorwin is, to say the least, an imposing man. He can understand Merlin’s leeriness.
It’s not his figure, really; for all intents and purposes, the King stands just about Arthur’s height, head crowned with both a thick nest of dark curls and a simple, gold-leaf strewn circlet nestled into it. He’s conventionally handsome, Arthur supposes, in that merry, knock-back-an-ale-with-the-guards-once-in-a-while sort of way. The way he flashes his teeth at everyone in the room – twice at Merlin, Arthur notices sourly – speaks to a practised charm Arthur has yet to perfect. It’s still too early for Arthur to be smiling; he’d much rather be huddled into his blankets and yet, he has to be present and awake for this procession. Oh, the joys of being the King of Camelot.
Nevertheless, Arthur smiles. It’s forced and looks like a grimace and Merlin will later tell him he looked like he’d had some sort of incurable stomach ailment, but he smiles. Gorwin takes Arthur’s outstretched arm, clasps it, and bodily hauls Arthur into a tight embrace.
“How momentous an occasion,” he booms, only a short distance from Arthur’s ear and rendering Arthur momentarily deaf, “For us to unite this way, my friend. How do you and your dear Camelot fare?”
“Very well, Lord Gorwin,” Arthur says, through his ears ringing. He thinks he hears Merlin laugh and swears internally to cuff the idiot later. “It truly has been a prosperous time for Camelot, a time which will be made no doubt more prosperous by the treaty.”
“Yes, yes, of course!” Gorwin pulls back and claps Arthur on the shoulder hard enough to make one of Arthur’s knees buckle ever so slightly. It’s a good thing he’s still holding Arthur’s other arm in a slightly too-firm grip. “But first, Lord Arthur, we must share a drink. And you must introduce me to your company.” Gorwin gestures to Arthur’s right, to Merlin.
“Of course. Where are my manners.” Arthur smiles, his eye twitching only slightly when he hears Merlin’s voice in his head utter a quiet “nonexistent” in response. “This is Merlin, the Court Sorcerer of Camelot.” Also known as my best friend and the biggest clotpole I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet, he tacks on in his head.
Merlin eyes him only briefly before returning Gorwin’s broad smile with one of his own, the kind that makes his ears stand out even more on the sides of his head. Despite the initial tension, Merlin seems to have relaxed ever so slightly; Arthur supposes some magical rubbish went on under the surface that Merlin will no doubt not be explaining to him, but he’s also a bit relieved to see that Merlin clearly has no apparent issue (yet) with the upcoming treaty talks.
It’s not that Arthur doesn’t trust Merlin’s instincts, or act on them; it’s that he does. Camelot has gained a reputation over the past year of having a notoriously difficult process for nobles to receive Arthur’s seal of agreement, and that process mostly consists of Arthur’s magical evil-detector, Merlin. The second Merlin falls out of trust with anyone, they’ve lost Arthur as well, and Merlin, despite being kind and fair, seems to have tremendously high standards for anyone wishing to make some sort of agreement with Arthur.
Said evil-detector has saved Arthur’s skin many times, but who’s counting.
“Lord Merlin,” Gorwin says, and inclines his head towards Merlin. “Your reputation precedes you, of course. I’m very glad to finally meet you in person.”
“As am I,” Merlin returns easily, his hands tucked behind his back. “Camelot is lucky to count you among its friends, Your Majesty.”
“It only seems natural for us to finally ally ourselves,” Gorwin agrees. “Our laws on magic bind us together, if nothing else. It is time for us to stand together properly, and do what is right for our people. All of our people.”
One of the Knights next to Gorwin shuffles.
Gorwin’s words, at the very least, will make Merlin happy. Some of Camelot’s oldest allies are with kingdoms and lords who still oppose magic, if not blatantly persecute those who practise it. Arthur knows it has never sat right with Merlin, especially not after Arthur changed those laws and gave his most trusted friend one of the most prominent places in his own court. It’s unwise to make enemies, and Arthur doesn’t mean to lead his people into war if he can help it. Merlin stands by him in this, even if he’s not particularly happy about it.
Wessex has a chance of becoming a very powerful ally in both strength of arms and strength of magic, as far as Arthur knows. Magic was never truly outlawed, if also not fully accepted. Recently, however, with Camelot’s influence, it’s something that has been brought to practise far more often.
Merlin’s smile is completely sincere, radiating as brightly as the sun, if a little hesitant. “I’m glad to hear it, Your Majesty. I was wondering, with magic being part of the peace talks… Did you bring any of your own sorcerers? I’d be very happy to meet with them.”
Gorwin is already shaking his head. “They are needed, back in my own kingdom. I didn’t want to bring too many people, and besides, none of my sorcerers are nearly as powerful as you.”
“Perhaps another time,” Arthur says, and brushes his sleeve against Merlin’s as he crosses his arms. There are some sorcerers in Camelot now, working under Merlin as his apprentices, mostly, and their number grows steadily. Still, he knows Merlin itches to meet as many people with magic as he can.
Personally, Arthur thinks Merlin is trying to make up for all the years of hiding. He’s a little offended that people with magic are automatically of so much interest to him, especially since Merlin doesn’t hide his disdain for the art of sword fighting, but he’s come to accept that Merlin just loves being around magic, anyone’s magic. He loves to learn from other people, and to work with other people, and Arthur, no matter how bitter he can feel, would never take that eager joy away from him.
“Certainly,” Gorwin agrees. “Perhaps you could visit us, Lord Merlin, and work with my sorcerers for yourself!”
Merlin brightens a little at that, and Arthur grins. “In the less distant future, however,” he says sagely, “I propose a shared breakfast. I, for one, am starving.”
~*~*~*~
There are so many people with them on the royal hunt that Arthur isn’t actually sure they will actually catch anything at all. Between his own knights, as well as four of Gorwin’s, and the servants dutifully tracking behind them, they are loud enough that he can’t even hear the peaceful chattering of birds. Any game that is still around must surely be deaf.
Gorwin has noticed the same thing. “The true problem with the court,” he says, turning to Arthur with an apologetic grin, “is that two kings can never go out by themselves for a good hunt. Can’t even go out for a piss without at least three servants making sure you’ve got everything you need, and two Knights to make sure you don’t accidentally trip over a branch and die.”
Arthur laughs. “We could leave them behind, of course. They can’t ignore a direct command, if we were to give one.”
Merlin was riding a little behind them, but at this, the court sorcerer of Camelot bristles loudly. “It’s unlikely,” he says.
“Well, you’d come with us, of course,” Arthur says, looking back to grin at his friend. “Although perhaps you’d need a Knight of your own to make sure you don’t trip.”
“How gracious of you,” Merlin says flatly, but he steers his horse next to Arthur’s anyway, inserting himself easily into the presence of two kings. He’s never been that intimidated by royalty, anyway, and Arthur flashes him a quick smile.
“What do you think?” Gorwin asks, something glittering in his eyes. “Should we ride ahead with your court sorcerer here? Among the three of us, we’ll surely have enough protection, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think there’s any game left to be worried about anymore,” Merlin says with some amusement.
“Then we’ll just have to find it, won’t we, Merlin?”
Arthur clicks his tongue, and his horse speeds away. He can hear the alarmed noises behind him, his Knights and servants surprised at the sudden departure of their king, but he laughs loudly even as two other horses catch up to him. Merlin has that look of defiance in his eyes, unchanged even after all the years Arthur has known him, and moves up ahead of him, marking their way.
Gorwin rides beside him, and Arthur races him to follow Merlin. Merlin’s path is steady and clear, never too far ahead of them to still have him in sight. Eventually, though, he slows down, and Arthur and Gorwin’s paces dwindle to match him.
“Something’s here,” Merlin says, and raises his hand to stop all of them.
Arthur looks around them. They’re deep into the forest, so far away from their entourage that he can’t hear them anymore. The leaves cast scattered shadows over Merlin’s face, and he can hear their horses pant, but there’s no sound at all. He can’t see any tracks but theirs from here, so he can’t tell if anything is nearby.
“What do you think it is?” Arthur asks him, peering more closely at the nearby trees.
“There’s no tracks,” Gorwin points out, a little further down by another tree. “I don’t think anything has passed this way recently.”
Merlin frowns, and gets off his horse, patting it absently. “I can sense it,” he says, twisting his neck to look around. “It was sleeping, but we’ve disturbed it. I can – it’s here, it must be.”
“Merlin, there’s nothing here,” Arthur says, and follows Merlin’s lead as he dismounts his horse. Gorwin follows their example. It’s not that Arthur doesn’t want to believe Merlin, but it’s hard to think they might be in danger from some creature when there’s nothing to suggest that anything is around. And Merlin is powerful, that much he knows. He might have sensed something a little further away.
“I’m telling you, Arthur,” Merlin says in frustration. “It’s close, and it’s annoyed –”
The creature, whatever it is, charges.
Arthur doesn’t get a good look at it. Its fur is pitch black, unruly and spiky, and the rotund form belies the creature’s speed. He can’t see its eyes or anything identifying some sort of face, but it throws itself towards Gorwin, the one closest to him. Arthur barely has time to grab for his sword, but even in that split second, he knows that there is no way he can push away Gorwin or harm the creature before they inevitably collide.
“ Belūc !” Merlin bellows, his hand raised. The creature is thrown back, and Gorwin stumbles backwards towards Merlin and him, giving enough time for both kings to draw their swords even as Merlin plants himself firmly in front of them.
“Merlin,” Arthur says in caution, and tries to reach for him when the creature shrieks out and comes charging again.
This time, Merlin does not even utter a spell. A golden glow starts to surround the creature before it can even reach them, and Merlin carefully crouches in front of it. Arthur follows, tersely grinding his teeth together as he stands at the other side to guard the creature.
“We should kill it now,” he whispers urgently, concerned that anything can disturb the force that now captivates the thing that wanted to kill Gorwin only seconds earlier. Merlin doesn’t heed his words, though, and holds a hand in front of the creature. His eyes are still glowing golden, and Merlin mutters a few words under his breath.
The creature calms, and sits itself down. Now, Arthur can see that it’s definitely not a normal creature, but rather one of magic. What he thought of as fur seems to be some sort of smoke, its tendrils moving with the brush of the wind. There is still no face, but there is no question that it faces Merlin.
“What is it?” Gorwin asks in intrigue.
“I’m not sure,” Merlin says, and lifts the golden force. The creature remains still, and Merlin smiles brightly. “It’s harmless, though. We just scared it.”
“We can’t just let it go,” Arthur says, gesturing towards – the thing. “What if it kills anyone? The way it charged just now, no man would survive that.”
Merlin hums, but his smile disappears, and Arthur feels increasingly like he’s saying the wrong things.
“I don’t think it’s capable of killing anyone,” Merlin says. “And anyway, I’ve put a spell on it. It should be a little calmer now, and not charge head-first when it sees someone.”
“It could still be dangerous,” Arthur maintains, looking at the creature disapprovingly. “If it’s magical, then –”
Merlin stands up suddenly, planting himself between the creature and Arthur. Mostly, it means there’s a very annoyed Merlin standing rather close to Arthur, his eyes now deep-blue but no less enchanting for it.
“It means what ?” he demands. “That you can’t ever trust it? Or that you don’t trust me, when I say it’s been dealt with? Would you rather still kill it, Arthur?”
“No,” he says, quietly. “I don’t mean any of those things.”
“That’s a powerful spell, isn’t it?” Gorwin asks, still looking at the creature. “I don’t know much about magic, but controlling a magical creature like that, so quickly, I don’t think any of my sorcerers could do that. I would have been dead, if not for you.”
Arthur doesn’t even think about that, anymore. Merlin just does things, and Arthur can’t quite tell what’s hard for him and what’s not, and what should be hard for him. Merlin just shrugs in return, but Gorwin looks at him in fascination, and Arthur’s skin prickles uncomfortably.
“We should get back,” Merlin says, and his expression has softened a little bit as he grips Arthur’s arm. “I don’t think we’ll find any game here either, if this creature has been here for a few days now. Best to find the others, Arthur.”
“Sure,” Arthur agrees easily, and watches for a little too long as Merlin nimbly hoists himself up on his horse again. He casts one last look back towards the creature, only to find it already gone, quiet as the tranquil sky.
Merlin rides in front of them again as they return to the others, and instead it’s Gorwin who keeps us a steady stream of conversation, even as they return.
Both kings have their eyes on the sorcerer the entire time.
~*~*~*~
“Right here,” Arthur says, already weary with the entire world, “it has a note of how many men we should send in case of war with a neighbouring kingdom. Now, the problem is, of course, that there are certain other alliances in place with other kingdoms, and I can’t promise you any aid in that regard. So we will certainly need to write up some sort of amendment –”
“Yes, yes, certainly,” Gorwin says, leaning against a hand and waving away Arthur’s concern. He looks just as exhausted by this as Arthur is. Geoffrey of Monmouth dutifully scribbles away at the parchment before him, his writing having become tiny enough to be illegible to Arthur by now. There’s been a number of amendments and additions already, but the treaty is too important for Arthur to not be part of it. This is easily his least favourite part of ruling, however. And yet, he can’t let these things go unmentioned.
At least his own advisors, as well as Gorwin’s, look equally tired. That makes it a little bit better.
“Now, another matter,” Arthur starts, but Gorwin sits upright.
“Actually, there’s another amendment I think we might need to make to that rule,” Gorwin says, and taps on the table, looking askew at Merlin, whose boredom is also palpable. Arthur elbows him, and Merlin starts, sending Arthur an annoyed glance.
“What?” Merlin says, and then blinks. “I mean, I’m sorry –”
Gorwin laughs. “I’d like your opinion on this, Lord Merlin. The assistance in battle during a war is, of course, a much appreciated and valued tradition in alliances like ours. But certainly, times have been changing, and some traditions need to be rectified in order to signify this change. So I was thinking, what of the assistance of any battle warlocks? Certainly you are aware of the weight a sorcerer can carry in any war.”
One of Gorwin’s advisors mutters something under his breath to his neighbour, but Gorwin’s smile remains in place, annoyingly perfect. Arthur shares a look with Merlin. Of course he is aware of what an asset Merlin has been to him, and still is, for his magic. And other things, possibly. But mostly his magic. Even when he hadn’t known of Merlin’s gifts, Merlin had been helping him, saving him. Camelot would have fallen ten times over if not for the loyal man that Arthur is proud to call his friend. However, to commit any sorcerers to an ally, even for a short time…
“I will not fight any battles that aren’t Arthur’s,” Merlin says bluntly. “I’m very sorry, Your Majesty, but my place is right here.”
“Oh, of course,” Gorwin says placatingly. “I didn’t mean to insinuate that you, personally, would come to assist. I just know what you’ve meant to Arthur, here, the endless ways you’ve assisted him. Should any magical problems arise in my kingdom, I merely meant that some assistance from other sorcerers might be warranted, if our own can’t solve the issue. Soldiers aren’t the only ones pledged to the kingdom, are they? I thought it might only serve to make all more equal, strength and magic alike.”
Arthur frowns. “We have some warlocks that serve under Merlin -”
“Are apprenticed to,” Merlin mutters under his breath, as unhappy with the thought of having servants as he always has been.
“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur says merrily, and continues, “But I concede your point about the equality of magic that hangs in the balance, still. Our enemies have magic, most of the time. We’ll have to discuss it with the warlocks in our service, before I can add that to our treaty, of course. All the knights have sworn oaths, and if the sorcerers are to act in the same capacity as they do… well, we’ll need to make up something. Perhaps they need to be… knighted, too. Merlin, do you want me to knight you?”
Merlin glares at him, looking horrified at the possibility. “Do I look like another thick, buff oaf of a man for you to hack your sword into repeatedly? No, thank you.”
“It’s not like I still don’t do that,” Arthur points out, and Merlin rolls his eyes.
“I can discuss the point with the others,” Merlin says to Gorwin, completely ignoring anything Arthur has said. That’s not new, either. “Not all of their skills are offensive spells, though, and there are some that aren’t really suited to war, either. I can’t promise you that there’ll be any who can come.”
There are only a few sorcerers who might even have the skills that Gorwin is asking for, anyway. Siofra, in all likelihood, is their most skilled sorceress besides Merlin. Arthur doubts she would like her magic to be promised to another King in the event of war, though. She has never liked violence.
Gorwin slowly nods. “I could come with you, perhaps?” he offers. “Explain the situation? Of course, my own sorcerers would come to your aid too, should you ever need them.”
Arthur has Merlin, so he thinks that is very unlikely.
“Perhaps that’ll be for the best,” Merlin says. “It’s only a small group, seven or so. You could come by tomorrow morning, if that suits you?”
“It certainly would,” Gorwin agrees. “Perhaps you can answer some questions I’ve had about magic, too, if it won’t take up too much of your time. It’s such an intriguing subject. Of course, I did ask one of the servants to give me a tour of Camelot in the afternoon, so I might have to save one or two questions for later.”
Merlin leans forward. “I can guide you around Camelot, Your Majesty. It’ll give you the time to ask your questions while I show you around.”
“That would be most delightful,” Gorwin says, and smiles easily at Merlin. Merlin smiles back, bright and unworried, and Arthur blinks at the sight. Merlin, always so unguardedly helpful and sincere. Merlin, who does not care for anyone’s station and is a joyful bundle of disrespect at the best of times, which seems to sit well with Gorwin.
Arthur should be pleased that they are getting along. Instead, he feels a little left out as Merlin continues to direct that blazing smile at their visiting king.
“Let’s move on,” he says bluntly, and does not, at all, enjoy the way both Gorwin and Merlin are startled out of their little tête-à-tête. That would be far beneath him, after all.
~*~*~*~
Arthur doesn’t actually know where the ever living hell Merlin is.
Actually, he hasn’t known where the ever living hell Merlin has been for the last … well… how many days has it even been since Gorwin arrived in Camelot? The little voice in Arthur’s head says too long, rather petulantly, and he’s starting to agree with that little voice. Mostly because he needs Merlin’s help to write up this speech about the acceptance of magical creatures into local farming villages, and he can’t find the sorcerer anywhere.
It’s rather reminiscent of the days Merlin would skirt around him when he played manservant, actually.
“Merlin!” he bellows, lightly pushing the door to Gaius’ study open. Last time he’d thrown it open, he’d accidentally knocked over three pots behind the door and Gaius had had him scooping up dirt with his hands in recompense. “Gaius, where – where is my…” he’s actually so annoyed he can’t even think of what to say or call Merlin.
“Useless toad? Bumbling idiot? Buffoon?” Gaius supplies helpfully as he idly measures whatever it is he’s measuring.
“Yes! All of those things, thank you, Gaius.” Arthur scowls. “Ever since Gorwin came to town, Merlin’s been … swooning over him like a maiden in love!” And it’s not only Merlin, either; Arthur hates to admit it, but if he hadn’t spent a good amount of time with Gorwin, he would’ve thought the king was enchanted to be as likeable as possible. He always seemed to know exactly what to say at the right times to make Merlin go all quiet and warm and happy.
Gaius just chuckles, placing flower buds on the table before turning to face Arthur. “I have to say I agree, Sire,” he says, with considerably less ire than Arthur. “Merlin’s been shirking his duties here as well. But I wouldn’t take it too hard on him – it is Gorwin who comes and fetches him at all hours to show him around Camelot, or show him magic. I daresay Gorwin’s excitement with Merlin’s novelty should fade quickly, and then we will have our Merlin back.”
Arthur hesitates, chewing the inside of his cheek for one moment in thought. “Fine,” he says sharply, turning on his heel. It’s not like Merlin is Arthur’s manservant anymore, anyway. It’s not like Arthur needs Merlin’s help right now. It’s just that – well, it’s nice, working with Merlin. He, much like Gwen, has an eye for details and people that Arthur can miss somewhere in the bigger story. He likes to sit next to Merlin in the council hall and reminisce over how things used to be – how Merlin used to run magical circles around Arthur in his “clumsy, idiotic way” and how Arthur was “too much of a prat” to notice.
He’s missing that time with Merlin now.
Passing by the windows, he looks out over the courtyard to see the two of them, already looking thick as thieves and standing close. Too close, in Arthur’s opinion, or maybe his opinion’s just marred because he’s used to that being him, at Merlin’s side. It occurs to him abruptly that maybe, just maybe, despite how nice and brilliant and wonderful King Gorwin is, there’s a little part of Arthur that can’t wait to see him gone.
~*~*~*~
“Say, princess,” Gwaine parries Arthur’s blow with his sword, hopping backward lightly as he assumes a much more casual position. Too casual. Arthur groans internally, knowing what’s about to follow: Gwaine talking… and talking… and talking. “Gorwin and Merlin seem to be getting on quite alright, don’t you think?”
Oh good. The one subject Arthur’s been dying to talk about – or not. Actually, he’s grown rather irritated by the whole proceeding. At first, he’d been genuinely happy to see how well Merlin got along with Gorwin, considering the treaty signing was quickly approaching and any sort of suspicious activity would certainly hinder the whole affair; however, he’s considerably changed his tune, seeing as Merlin seems to always be with Gorwin, now.
“That’s King Gorwin to you, Gwaine,” Arthur mutters, lunging toward Gwaine once more to try to get him back into the fray and out of this conversation. Unfortunately, Gwaine easily spins out of the way of his sword and continues going as though he hadn’t been interrupted at all.
“Sure, sure. But you’ve seen it, haven’t you?” he persists.
“King Gorwin treats Merlin better,” Leon grins, garnering a round of chuckles from the knights. The laughter meets its untimely death with a well-placed glare from the King.
“Well, it’s true,” Gwaine arches an eyebrow at Arthur, weaving in and out of Arthur’s frustrated jabs with ease. Damn him. “Gorwin barely makes Merlin lift a finger. I wonder what on Earth they must be talking about for hours on end in Gorwin’s chambers.”
Arthur absolutely does not want to think about what on Earth they must be talking about in Gorwin’s chambers.
“That’s all I need,” he utters with a sort of irate contempt. “Merlin getting all lazy and refusing to do any work once Gorwin is gone.”
“You do know I’m not your manservant anymore, right, Your Highness?” Merlin’s voice cutting across the field interrupts Gwaine and Arthur’s back and forth, and though the sorcerer is smiling all-too-casually, Arthur knows more than well that there’s a coiled serpent just underneath that damned smile. “So yes, unless the work pertains to magic, I certainly won’t be washing your socks anymore.”
“Not that you were ever good at it,” Arthur returns mulishly, and Merlin just chuckles in response.
“You took King Gorwin to the Lower Town today, didn’t you, Merlin?” Lancelot chimes in, leaning forward against his sword. “I heard from Gwen that you showed him all the way out until the forest line.”
“Oh, yeah,” Merlin rubs the back of his neck. It’s a tell that Merlin’s a bit flustered, but Arthur’s more annoyed by the fact that Merlin seems to have gone a little pink. “Well, yeah, I mean… He was curious, he had a lot of questions. It was nice.”
“I’m sure it was,” Elyan teases, and the Knights devolve into ill-concealed chuckles like a gaggle of tittering gossips. Arthur scowls, noting that Merlin doesn’t do anything to defend himself against the very obvious accusations.
“Are we here to train or are we here to squawk about?” He glares at them, feeling a pang of satisfaction when they all fall quiet. “Am I the only one who seems to care that Gorwin and his entire company are going to be watching us at all times, wanting us to prove ourselves as a strong ally? Do you think it’s a good impression for us to be here, tittering on about what Merlin does in his free time? Get back to training.” He continues to glare at them as they shuffle about, choosing very actively to both ignore Merlin’s raised eyebrow and the terrible, tight feeling in his chest that he can’t seem to shake off.
~*~*~*~
Their evening actually starts off well.
Sometimes, Arthur and Merlin like to crack open the Camelot wine reserves, unwind after hours and hours of dull treaty talk and long magical pilgrimages where Merlin is gone most of the day in order to help the ailing villages outside of the inner kingdom. Sometimes, they don’t see each other for the whole day, but let no one say they don’t compensate by making merry in the evening.
“You utter clotpole,” Merlin laughs, easily ducking out of the way of Arthur’s clumsy hand. “I still can’t believe you said that about his daughter. Did you think he would thank you after that kind of comment?”
“It’s not my fault that she has the eyes of a frog, Merlin!” Arthur complains. “I didn’t say anything untrue.”
“You’re lucky he didn’t hire a sorcerer to turn you into a frog, you prat,” Merlin scolds lightly, but his face is lit up like the moon. He’s grinning ear to ear, suddenly looking so much like the boy who’d first stumbled into the training grounds all those years ago. Merlin’s smile de-ages him, cuts down the years of secrecy and betrayal. “You know, Arthur,” he says slyly, “if you turn into a frog, we’d have to get all the Knights to kiss you.”
“Dear Lord,” Arthur groans. “Why?”
“To see who turns you back into a prince,” Merlin teases. “What do you think? I think Gwaine has the best chance.”
Arthur lifts his head out of his arms, feeling tufts of hair spike every which way. The statement is so horrible that he frankly has to gulp down half the wine in his goblet in order to even fathom it.
“How can you even suggest that?” he exclaims, horrified. “Merlin! Gwaine? I’d rather remain a frog and marry Aurelius’ daughter than succumb to such a terrible fate.”
“As if she would take you,” Merlin grins a sunny grin. “You’d be positively hideous, Arthur. No one would want to kiss you.”
“Oh come on, Merlin, you’d do it.” Arthur makes exaggerated kissing faces as he leans in toward Merlin, who plants his hand over Arthur’s face and pushes back with a cackle. “Or rather, I’d order you to do it.”
Merlin gives him this funny look, a look Arthur can’t quite understand with how much alcohol he’s consumed. It’s soft and amused and a little bitter. Just a little. They sit in silence for a few moments, just looking at each other, but Arthur decides he needs to break it before it consumes both of them.
“You know what he sai– do you know what he said to me?” Arthur swings his goblet with just a little too much enthusiasm, accidentally splashing a little bit of wine over the last bits of roast chicken left on the platter. “He had the gall to suggest that I – I, Prince –”
“King –” Merlin corrects mildly, eyes gleaming gold for a brief moment as he dissipates the wine from the chicken. He’s always going on about Arthur wasting good food, so this is wholly unsurprising.
“ King – ” Arthur amends. “That I, King Arthur of Camelot, ought to perhaps – perhaps add another hole, to my belt!” He slams the goblet down with a profound clatter, once again splashing wine every which way but narrowly missing his food this time. “I don’t need another hole. I’m perfectly – fit!”
“Of course,” Merlin soothes, but he looks amused – far too amused, in Arthur’s opinion. “Why are you taking Lord Aurelius’ words to heart anyhow, Arthur? You beat him into the dirt out there during training. He’s probably just trying to provoke you.”
“Well, he’s not the only one,” Arthur scowls, gripping the stem of the goblet perhaps a little too tightly. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you lately, Merlin, because Gorwin is just so fascinated by all that Camelot has to offer. What he found so fascinating in the pigsty in the Lower Town is beyond me.”
Merlin fidgets, his expression shuttering into something careful, even reserved. Arthur doesn’t like it; it reminds him of the days Merlin would joke about ‘secrets he kept.’ “King Gorwin is a good man, Arthur. He’s not trying to upset you.”
“I know that,” Arthur says through his teeth, irritated. “I’m not irritated with him, Merlin, I’m irritated with –” For some reason, though he has yet to take another bite, there’s something tight and too large in his throat. “Well, I suppose I’m irritated with you.” It’s meant to come out light, maybe even teasing, but it’s perhaps a little too aggressive, because Merlin’s expression only tightens further. Arthur feels vaguely like he’s already mucked up the conversation, mucked up with Merlin again, and if anything, the frustration grows. Gorwin would know what to say. “Not – not that it’s on purpose,” he mutters, trying to backtrack slightly. “But you’ve been with Gorwin all the time. I barely see you around.”
Merlin puffs out an exaggerated breath. “Well, Arthur, I know you want me around to wash your socks with my magic –”
“It’s not about that,” Arthur cuts in tightly. “As much as you bumble around and play fool, Merlin, I enjoy your company. You’re my friend, and one of the only people in the court that I feel like I can… not be the King around.” The wine’s loosened his lips; he doesn’t want to be admitting so much, not like this, but the words are out there now and there’s little he can do to retract them.
A sigh erupts from his Court Sorcerer. “Arthur, I know we haven’t spent much time together the last few days. It’s just that Gorwin has taken an interest in my magic, and he’s been really considerate and open about learning the mechanics of how everything works –”
The tightness sinks down into Arthur’s stomach, where it blooms into something ugly and sharp and overwhelming.
“Has he taken an interest in your magic, or has he taken an interest in you ?” Arthur asks, and it comes out bitter and dark and unrecognisable, once he hears himself. He immediately washes the accusation down with wine, but it’s too late; all the magic in the world couldn’t save him from Merlin’s expression.
“Alright,” Merlin says, first quietly and then louder, again. “Alright, what the hell is going on with you, Arthur?”
“With me ?” Arthur says defensively. “I’m fine. I’m great! I don’t know what’s going on with you, that you think you need to spend time with some – overeager magic enthusiast –”
“If you haven’t noticed,” Merlin says coldly, “magic is sort of fundamental to me, as a person.”
“Is it? Is it, really ? Because you spent a lot of time making sure I saw past the magic to get to know the man, Merlin. A lot of years. Kind of seems like you were never going to tell me, actually. So I don’t see why it matters so much, and why you want him to fawn over you –”
“Stop this,” Merlin says, pained. Arthur stops. He never wants to see this expression on Merlin’s face, dark and lost. Merlin’s face is one suited to smiling; when he does, his entire being lights up, and Arthur always feels a little better for seeing it. Now, there’s this constricted feeling in his chest, like he’ll wheeze if he speaks, as if he’s taking ill.
Sometimes, it feels like Merlin has enchanted him, except Arthur knows that Merlin never would.
“What, then?” Arthur says, and finds himself leaning forward.
“It’s nice,” Merlin blurts out. “He’s kind, and he’s interested in my magic, and he asks all the questions that you don’t care about. You just tell me to do whatever I need to do, and that’s fine, Arthur, the freedom is good, and I get it, you don’t know enough about it to make any rational decisions, right? It’s better for me to make those kinds of decisions, but Gorwin wants to know why something is better, and he wants me to show it to him, and okay, so maybe he does like me, a little bit. Is that so bad?”
“Yes,” Arthur says, decisively, before he can even really process this outpour of words.
Merlin’s expression flutters shut. “Can’t I have anything?”
“That’s not,” Arthur says, and puts down his wine. He is a little dizzy with it, but the conversation is rapidly sobering him up, and yet the alcohol still buzzes in his ears. It makes it hard to focus, and hard to be honest but also make that look on Merlin’s face go away. And there are some things Arthur can’t name, especially not to Merlin. “I’m not saying that. But not him.”
“Who, then?” Merlin asks, and stands up. Arthur wants to reach for him, and normally, Merlin would laugh and help him up, muttering something about getting him to bed, maybe crack a joke about Arthur’s incapability to do anything for himself. Maybe refer to that ancient time where Merlin would be helping him into bed daily, when they were only a prince and a servant. Now, Merlin doesn’t move, and Arthur falls back into his chair.
Me, Arthur wants to say, but even in his inebriated state, he can’t get the words past his lips. You can have me.
For a moment, he thinks Merlin can see it. There’s always been this underlying conversation between them. There has to be, with the number of insults they hurl at each other on the daily. There is no one Arthur respects more, or verbally abuses more, in his court than Merlin. They both know that fondness underlines every word, that there is a lifelong friendship between them no matter what they might say. Merlin has known, more than anyone, what Arthur means even when Arthur couldn’t acknowledge it himself.
It’s a terrifying thought, that this part of his soul is also laid bare for Merlin. That he knows, and that he simply doesn’t act on it because this isn’t something he wants to share.
“I don’t care,” Arthur says, and Merlin tenses again. “You don’t like him, anyway. I know you. You can’t like him.”
Merlin huffs, but he does help Arthur out of the chair this time. The world wobbles under his feet, and Arthur glares at it. Merlin’s hand is warm on his arm, his grip tight. He’s smiling, now, or at least his lips are tilted the right way, although it doesn’t really feel like a smile.
“You’re such a prat,” Merlin says, but he sounds almost sad.
Arthur doesn’t remember getting into bed, but he wakes up alone.
~*~*~*~
“Look out,” Gwaine mutters under his breath as he parries one of Arthur’s blows without even looking (Arthur hates when he does that). “Here comes His Royal Pratness.” He only says it loud enough for Arthur to hear; Arthur imagines this must be because he knows it would scandalise poor Leon to hear such a slight made against a visiting king.
“What do you have against him?” Arthur questions, half out of curiosity and half out of annoyance that he even has to keep talking about Gorwin. Every minute spent not talking about Gorwin is a minute well-spent, in Arthur’s opinion.
Gwaine shrugs. “Barely see Merlin around anymore with Gorwin constantly whisking him off. He never wants to steal from the kitch– erm… help Percy and me get food from the kitchen, that is.”
Arthur grunts, non-committal. He then plasters on his most winning smile, goddammit, because he’s the King. It’s the one that Gwaine says makes him look like one of the skulls that Gaius keeps in one of his back cupboards for examination, all teeth and no mirth behind them.
“Hello,” he says through the smile, so it comes out clenched and just a little tense. “How may I assist you, King Gorwin? I hope everything is to your liking?”
Gorwin chuckles, a private, low little sound that sends chills up Arthur’s spine. “Oh, everything is certainly to my liking.” Arthur resents every single implication in Gorwin’s words, but he can hardly let a severe case of impropriety jeopardise the treaty.
“Good,” he says instead, sounding like he’s being strangled the whole way.
“Surprised Merlin’s not with you,” Gwaine sounds off behind him, the perfect combination of direct cockiness and careful innocence. Arthur would’ve cuffed the Knight, but he can’t help but be a little curious of the whereabouts of the sorcerer himself. He hasn’t seen Merlin since their argument at dinner, but he’s also far too stubborn to crack first. It’s not him in the wrong, after all (or so he keeps telling himself, but even the voice in his head saying so sounds a little dubious).
“Oh, yes,” Gorwin smiles thoughtfully, leaning against his sword. “Actually, we spent the morning discussing the magical creatures Merlin’s seen in the forest, but I thought I should engage in at least one of the legendary training sessions of the Knights of Camelot during my stay here.”
At this, Leon immediately glows with pride. “Thank you for recognising our efforts, my Lord.”
“Don’t let me stop you, please,” Gorwin waves a hand. “However, I would like to claim the king as my sparring partner, if that’s alright with you.” It’s directed at Gwaine, who lifts his hands in a halfhearted, surrendering gesture before giving Arthur an indecipherable look and ambling off. Arthur blinks back at him, hoping Gwaine can read the betrayal in his expression before he turns to Gorwin with yet another effortful smile.
“Of course. It would be my pleasure,” he says, barely waiting for Gorwin to adjust his grip on his sword before he lunges forward almost viciously. Gorwin reels back, clearly caught off-guard by the aggressive attack, but gathers himself just as quickly to counter the blow. Arthur barely gives the king a moment to breathe or even fathom what to do next as he lashes attack after attack against Gorwin; the scuffling sounds are punctuated by his own harsh breaths as he attacks Gorwin with unprecedented, built-up fury.
Gorwin defends with great skill, which only serves to make Arthur even more annoyed. He is nimble, quickly jumping out of the way of Arthur’s strikes. Arthur lunges, driven to knock Gorwin to the ground before he tires himself out, but Gorwin takes the chance and twists out of the way, and hits Arthur in the ribs.
Arthur falls down, but catches himself before he lies on the ground. He rolls back, getting out of the way of Gorwin’s sword as it plunges into the ground.
He jumps up quickly, raising his sword to defend as it is Gorwin’s turn to attack. Like Arthur, he is ruthless in raining down his attack on Arthur, who is now on the defence and disadvantaged, as he can’t get up to his full height with the onslaught going on. He takes a step back, getting out of the way of Gorwin’s next strike and reacts.
Instead of slicing, he knocks down Gorwin with his elbow. Gorwin certainly didn’t seem to expect that, and he goes down with a muffled “Oomph,” but raises his sword up instinctively to meet Arthur’s. Arthur expected that, though, and moves his sword past Gorwin’s, the end of it now against Gorwin’s neck.
That’s more satisfying than it probably should be.
“I yield,” Gorwin says, after a moment of silence. Arthur stands there, weapon still trained on King of Wessex, but then he breaks his stance and helps Gorwin up.
“Well fought,” Arthur says awkwardly, and Gorwin laughs.
“The stories of your strength aren’t exaggerated,” he says, and turns. “I’d like to think I put up a little more of a challenge for you, but I suppose you don’t merely have the strongest sorcerer.”
Arthur follows his gaze, and sees Merlin standing there, looking at the practise fields; he’s leaning against the castle walls, his arms folded in front of his chest. It is not the first time that he has stood there, watching the Knights; often, Arthur would cheerfully wave at him before a practise session, enjoying Merlin’s laughter as he pummeled any unknowing young Knights-to-be and intimidated squires.
He can’t quite tell who Merlin is looking at now, though. Gorwin, however, raises his hand in greeting, and Merlin inclines his head.
“You wouldn’t even manage Merlin in a fight for two seconds,” Arthur says, and doesn’t know why he feels the need to.
“No,” Gorwin agrees. “Perhaps if he agreed not to use magic.”
Arthur laughs. “He wouldn’t. He’s useless with a sword. I swear, he’d cut off his own two legs before he’d even manage to swing at you.”
“Surely he’s not that bad. Wasn’t he your manservant for a long time? I assume you must’ve taught him some basics in swordfighting.”
“He refused to learn,” Arthur tells him with some amusement bleeding into his voice. “No matter how many practise sessions I put him through, he remained as horrible as ever. Now I know he didn’t actually ever really need it, I suppose, but at the time, I just thought he was hopeless.”
“Merlin!” Gorwin calls out, and Arthur’s Court Sorcerer makes his way over, frowning between the two of them.
“Do I even dare to ask what you were talking about?” Merlin asks, and Arthur slings an arm around his shoulders, feeling bolstered by the thought of earlier times, when Merlin was still his bumbling idiot at most rather than a well-respected Lord of Camelot.
“Your horrible skills with a sword,” Arthur says cheerfully.
Merlin sighs, but he doesn’t push Arthur off. “I saved your life with a sword more often than you realise,” he points out, and maybe he has, but that won’t keep Arthur from teasing him about it. “Anyway, I’m not even a Knight, so I don’t see why I have to carry around a pointy bit of metal.”
Arthur, for one, knows that Merlin definitely takes some pride in the hand he had in the creation of Excalibur.
“You’d take us down with a single word, couldn’t you?” Gorwin asks.
“Less than that,” Merlin tells him cheekily. “I’d have you on your back before you could even think about accepting the challenge.”
“But,” Arthur hastens to add, “he won’t, because you’re a visiting King, and he respects your status.”
“Wouldn’t I?” But Merlin is smiling, now, in seemingly a better state than he’s been for a little while now.
“I certainly wouldn’t mind putting you on your back,” Gorwin blurts out, still with that stupid, stupid smile, and Arthur barely even registers that he’s sliding his sword back out. The world goes funny and white for a second; he hears one of the Knights – Elyan, he thinks – suck in a sharp breath behind him.
You take that back, is on his tongue, but Merlin beats him to it.
“Challenge me, then,” Merlin says, calm and clear. He looks unbothered – too unbothered, in Arthur’s opinion – but Merlin’s interjection gives Arthur a moment to clear his head and lower his hand. He looks away as he does, not wanting to look at Gorwin, not wanting Gorwin to look at him.
Gorwin seems to realise that he’s crossed some sort of invisible line, because he backs down with the verbal equivalent of surrendering hands.
“O– Oh, and of course by that I mean, in battle,” he’s quick to clarify, looking around at the circle of Knights. Some look more tense than others, but they loosen their postures when Arthur jerks his head into a tiny nod. “I apologise. I didn’t mean for my comment to come off unbecoming.”
“It’s quite alright,” Merlin pardons him easily. “But let it be known, King Gorwin, that there are many other ways I could quell you in battle. Dangling from the ceiling, buried alive, air slowly being wrung out of your lungs…” His eyes awash with gold, Merlin stares almost peacefully at Gorwin. Arthur swallows, wondering if he ought to intervene, but not particularly wanting to. “But of course, there’s no need for that. You are as much a friend to me as you are a friend to Camelot.”
Mouth agape, Gorwin just stares at Merlin. “Right. Right, of course, you… Yes.” He looks a little stunned, perhaps due to this being the first time he’s been on the receiving end of the very real threat that Merlin poses. One of Arthur’s favourite moments to witness is the moment Merlin’s image in a stranger’s head goes from bumbling village idiot to masterful Court Sorcerer.
Merlin tilts his head slightly to look back at Arthur; all that’s left of the gold now are speckles that catch the mid-afternoon sun.
“I’ll be heading back first, then,” Merlin says with a faint smile. “I promised Gaius I would help him try to make a potion variety of one of my healing spells.”
He’s barely departed from view before Gorwin turns to Arthur.
“I have a request for you.”
“Hm?” It’s the most that Arthur can afford the other while being neither nice nor rude. After all, he’s still furious with the other’s behaviour toward Merlin.
“I would like your permission to take Merlin back to Wessex with me.”
Arthur’s barely listening to him, still under the impression that Gorwin isn’t saying anything of much value, so the request almost goes over his head.
Almost.
“What?” he asks, turning on his heel abruptly. He cannot have heard correctly. Merlin, leaving Camelot? Leaving Arthur ? The idea is preposterous. Merlin would never abandon the kingdom and travel to Wessex, of all places. He’d never travel anywhere else, actually. “You – what on Earth are you talking about?”
“Actually, Arthur.” Gorwin sidles an arm around Arthur’s shoulders, and Arthur resists the tremendous urge to knock it off immediately. “My sorcerers barely hold a candle to Merlin. I would greatly appreciate his guidance, if he would be so inclined as to impart some wisdom upon them. You see, with Camelot becoming an ally of Wessex…”
He keeps going, explaining something or another, but Arthur is already losing track of the conversation. His head is spinning at the very thought of Merlin leaving, of Merlin going all the way to Wessex with Gorwin, the same Gorwin who’d just been so openly untoward… Of Merlin not being there in the mornings, chatting with Gaius as they strip flowers from stems. Not exchanging gossip with Gwen in the hallways where the sunlight streams in through stained glass and turns his skin red. Not stealing Arthur’s belts with bellowed laughter only to return them with an unholy number of added holes.
“No,” Arthur blurts out, cutting Gorwin off. The other pauses, frowning at him with consternation. “Er, that is, I don’t know. Merlin would,” he falters. “It’d be up to Merlin. I suppose. He should have the last say.”
Gorwin nods, contemplating this. “Our sorcerers aren’t just merely pretty faces around Wessex, of course, and my own sorcerers are used to a stricter environment than you’ve been enforcing. That said, I’m sure Merlin would rise to the task, and might perhaps thrive in it. Can I count on having your blessing if he says yes, Arthur?”
Like I’m giving his hand away in marriage, Arthur thinks, panic searing sharp and sudden through his blood.
“Er – sure. If that’s what Merlin wants,” he responds woodenly.
Surely, it isn’t what Merlin wants.
Surely, Merlin won’t agree to this.
~*~*~*~
Geoffrey of Monmouth is, quite literally, surrounded by papers as he draws up the treaty between Camelot and Wessex. It doesn’t seem to bother the elderly scribe; he’s humming contently as he scribbles down whatever remarks Arthur or Gorwin make.
He’s the only one who seems not to notice the underlying tension.
“I did say that I could go, Arthur,” Merlin says, and Arthur hates this, hates the patient tone that Merlin has adopted, like he’s explaining things to a toddler. Merlin is sitting rigidly against the back of his chair, uncomfortable and not quite meeting Arthur’s eyes. “It is only for three years, after all. The least we can do is make sure that Wessex’s warlocks are properly trained, if we can’t send them our own when they need our aid. Besides, it’s a chance to spread magic even further, to other kingdoms beyond our own. King Gorwin has promised me that I can travel when I’m there, and that there will be plenty of new sorcerers for me to teach.”
“What about your apprentices here?” Arthur demands, and can feel Gorwin’s eyes on him, but he can’t care about that, now. Not in the face of Merlin leaving. “Your duties to Camelot? I’d thought –”
That he wouldn’t want to leave, mostly. Merlin has been his staunchest supporter since he first came to his side, and there’s so many times that he only ever believed he could be King because Merlin scoffed at Arthur’s doubt. Merlin has brought him here, no doubt, has told him about destiny and fate and how theirs is intertwined and all of that, and Arthur had taken to mean that he’d stay. Merlin believed so much in them, in him.
Arthur just doesn’t understand.
“Arthur,” Merlin says a little hopelessly. “We’ve done all we can, haven’t we? The destinies, the prophecies. This country is flourishing. I don’t actually need to be here to protect you, anymore. And if we want to spread magic, truly make a change everywhere, maybe this is the next step. It makes sense, doesn’t it?”
Maybe that’s all it comes down to. Merlin, all his life, has been commended by ancient prophecies to protect Arthur. Of course, they are friends, but Merlin hadn’t really ever had a choice in the matter, had he? No wonder he didn’t want to stay forever. How could he have left?
“Three years,” Arthur says, in astonishment.
“No more than that,” Merlin adds, hastily. “And I’ll write to you, and I’ll come visit.” He is pleading, Arthur realises with a jolt. Merlin hasn’t only been confined to Camelot, to Arthur’s side; he is now all but begging Arthur to get some reprieve from his destiny. To shape the world of magic somewhere else, where it will do more good. Of course, Camelot is peaceful these days. It’s taken years of work, and now Merlin does not feel as commanded by prophecy as he once was.
Merlin is pleading to leave. His eyes are bright and sincere, and how could Arthur ever refuse him such a thing?
Gorwin has been quiet through the entire encounter, but when Arthur meets his gaze, the King of Wessex stares back at him resolutely. Suddenly, he wonders if Gorwin knows the turmoil that is sweeping through Arthur’s head, tearing him asunder, taking away all that he knew he had for sure. A dark thought grows, a whisper of maybe he is doing it on purpose, and right after that, maybe he is doing it to weaken Camelot, but Arthur waves it away. Camelot can survive without Merlin, although it’s odd to even consider the thought.
The chambers are quiet as dead, Arthur only notices when he looks back to Merlin. Loyal, steadfast Merlin, who didn’t abandon him all the times he probably should have. Merlin, the only man in the castle who will tease about turning him into a frog, with a grin that takes up his entire face.
Geoffrey of Monmouth has his quill and feather dipped into the ink, waiting for his answer. An amendment to the final version of this peace treaty. Now to include Merlin’s services as Court Sorcerer, for the duration of three years.
“Alright,” Arthur says eventually, and tries to ignore the heavy pit in his stomach.
Merlin blinks, almost as if he didn’t expect Arthur to accept. Then he smiles, genuine and unguarded. It breaks Arthur’s heart to see it.
The ink dries on the paper, and Arthur feels as if he has signed away the only thing he has ever truly cared for.
~*~*~*~
There are very few people in Camelot who truly know Arthur beyond who he is to them, as a King. It is a necessity that Arthur had learnt early on. Of course, Uther had always told him that a King must be a separate entity to his people. Not a man, but a symbol. Yet, it’s not a lesson that he really understood until he became King.
Merlin is one of them. He’s not the only one, though.
“I thought I’d find you here,” Leon says in lieu of a greeting, as he sits down against the bannister. Arthur sometimes comes here, particularly when he wants to not be found.
Therefore, he glares at Leon, although he doesn’t quite mean it. If Leon came to get him, there must be something serious going on. “What do you need?”
“Nothing, sire.” Leon crosses his arms. “What do you need?”
The counterattack catches Arthur off-guard. “What?” he asks, glare dissipating into a look of confusion. “What do you mean?”
“Well, Sire, if I may be so bold,” Leon hesitates. “The Knights and I … well…” He clears his throat. “Sire, Merlin is leaving tomorrow.”
“I’m aware,” Arthur says, trying to come off detached. He doesn’t think it works, judging by Leon’s expression.
“Sire, it may not be my place, or any of ours, but you’re our brother first, and our King second.” Leon says firmly. “You and Merlin have been by each other’s sides for many years, and have been through a tremendous ordeal – many tremendous ordeals, actually, some of which the rest of us may not even know about.”
Arthur thinks back to his quest for the Mortaeus flower. He thinks about Merlin in the form of the blue light, guiding him, of what Gaius told him about Merlin calling out for him in the throes of the fever. He thinks about how he’d felt languishing in the cell, waiting for Merlin to die until Gwen had offered them both a way out.
“Where are you going with this, Leon?” Arthur questions, but the edge to his voice crumbles away. He isn’t sure how he feels right now himself; he feels a little lost, a little vague… afraid.
“I’m not sure myself, Sire,” Leon admits. “I – we just want to make sure that this is the decision you wanted. That sending Merlin with Gorwin… is really the best solution for all parties.”
“What choice have I,” Arthur lowers his head, resting his forehead against his palms, “when Merlin has already made his decision? He doesn’t have to remain tied to Camelot or his destiny.” Or me, he thinks.
“Sire, with all due respect, you’re wrong about having no choice,” Leon says, so bluntly that Arthur just blinks at him, befuddled. “Merlin had many opportunities to leave. By your own admission, he even defied the dragon’s commands several times. He could have left Camelot, and you, many times. I’m sure that you gave him plenty of reason to,” he jokes, and Arthur glares at him heatlessly. “Merlin stayed because he cares about everyone in the kingdom, and especially because he cares about you. You could change his mind.”
Arthur’s heard many people say the same words to him, in a variety of ways and languages. It doesn’t make it any easier to hear.
“It doesn’t change things, Leon,” Arthur says after a moment. He sees Leon start to argue, but he lifts his hand to bring the other to a pause. “You don’t understand. Magic …” The words are difficult to admit, but if not to Leon, then who? “Magic is still… foreign and frightening to me. Of course I trust Merlin,” he feels inclined to admit, though it’s obvious. “But after everything I’ve been through, with the magic-users who have tried to kill either me or those I care deeply about, it’s … difficult for me to trust it.” He rubs at his chest idly, annoyed at the ache he’s feeling. “I think that my hesitation to believe fully in magic hurts Merlin. He wants me to be on the same page as him, but… it’s taking time. A lot of time.” Arthur exhales out a slightly shaky breath as he looks back at the knight, unwilling to reckon with what he knows is a too-bright glimmer in his own eyes. “I don’t think Merlin wants to… I don’t think Merlin should have to wait for me to catch up. If he wants to dedicate his life to spreading magical knowledge, I can think of no one better, no one I would trust more to teach others, than Merlin.”
Leon processes this for a moment. “If anyone should teach budding sorcerers, it should be Merlin,” he agrees solemnly. “But are you sure you should commit to sending Merlin away for three years?”
“It’s been done,” Arthur murmurs, folding his arms over his knees. “The treaty has been signed. I can only wish that Merlin gets out of this everything that he hopes to.”
Leon studies him cautiously, but nods. “I hope you’re correct, sire. On a more strategic note, Camelot is doing well enough to maintain the borders, but it won’t be long before the others learn of Merlin’s absence. We must show that we’re not vulnerable without Merlin.”
Arthur claps Leon lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about that, Leon. We’ll work on strengthening our borders and increase the number of patrols over the next few years to compensate for Merlin.”
“Well, it’s true that you’ve been showing off long before Merlin came to Camelot,” Leon jokes. As he stands up, he bows his upper half toward Arthur reverently. “Sire, if it becomes difficult for the next few months, at least, I and the other knights will always be here for you… if you should have need of us.”
“I understand.” Arthur swallows back a knot of emotion, gripping Leon’s forearm tightly before releasing. “Thank you, Leon.” The Knights’ loyalty has always been unwavering; that much, he can count on. Two of the only constants he’s been able to depend on is their brotherhood…. and Merlin’s loyalty. Without Merlin, he knows he’ll be relying heavily on the Knights for the next few years, even if he doesn’t make it obvious.
Years, without Merlin. It’s still unfathomable.
Leon takes leave of him, then, but Arthur has not a moment of quiet again before Merlin himself joins him. Arthur really needs to pick his contemplative hideaways better.
“Thought I’d find you here,” Merlin grins, but it doesn’t have the same vigour as always. It’s understandable; even if Merlin is looking forward to going with Gorwin, he’s still been in Camelot for years. It can’t be easy for him either, saying all of the good-byes and see-you-soons to everyone he cares about.
And now, Arthur realises with a sinking feeling, it’s his turn.
“Merlin, if you give me some sort of … sappy goodbye, or…” he threatens halfheartedly, but Merlin just smacks him across the upper arm. It’s a treasonable offence, or it would’ve been if Arthur isn’t slowly realising that he’s dearly going to miss these casual instances of contact. And it’s not like he’s ever punished Merlin for the hundreds of other treasonable offences he has pulled.
“Don’t worry, Arthur, I know your mind can’t keep up with a long, poetic farewell, so I’ll keep it short.” Merlin smirks at him, and Arthur feels the tension melt away from his bones. If this keeps up, he might be in real danger of shedding tears.
Arthur scoffs. “I don’t want a goodbye, Merlin. You’ll be back after three years. Three peaceful years, during which I’ll find myself a capable manservant who isn’t nearly as much of a dollop head as you.”
“I’m not even your manservant anymore!” Merlin exclaims with an exasperated eye-roll. “But you’re right. Three peaceful years without a royal clotpole bellowing my name up and down the halls every time he can’t find his own thumbs.”
“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur flings his arm out haphazardly, managing to clip Merlin across the head. They scuffle for a few moments, shoving at each other like a pair of toddlers, before Arthur manages to ensnare Merlin underneath his arm in a vicious headlock.
“You know,” Merlin smacks at Arthur’s arm to be released. “If I could use magic, you’d never win a single one of these again.”
“Perhaps,” Arthur says smugly, releasing Merlin from his trap. “But I suppose you’ll never know, because you wouldn’t dare use magic on your king.”
“Maybe not… Unless I wanted his trousers to fall down in front of an entire council meeting,” Merlin drawls innocently, and Arthur just stares at him blankly before making an outraged sound.
“That was you?” He lunges to grab again, but Merlin weaves effortlessly out of the way with a sparkling laugh. Damn sorcerer. “Sir Conrad couldn’t look me in the eye for weeks!”
Merlin cackles. Arthur holds onto the sound, even though he still has half a mind to strangle the other.
“One of these days, I’m going to jail you for treason, Merlin,” Arthur threatens, but he’s grinning like an idiot.
“You can try,” Merlin says, his grin broadly plastered across his face. “God, I’m never going to forget your face after that. You were so mad, and you had no idea! The only good thing that came out of not telling you was those moments, honestly.”
Arthur slings an arm around him, although his smile fades. Merlin and he don’t often talk about the secrets that Merlin once kept from him, if only because they’d talked about it so often right after Arthur found out. He had spent days shouting at him, telling him to leave, telling him that he’d exile him for what he’d done.
Merlin had never taken him seriously. Every day, he’d turned up by his side, silent and pale. They’d both been hurting, in the light of Merlin’s secret and the reason he’d had to keep it, but he had always stayed, even when Arthur hadn’t wanted him to. And then, the conversation had come, and Merlin had explained everything. Even without Arthur’s abundant questions, that would’ve taken several days.
And then Arthur had made him his Court Sorcerer, and Merlin never had cause to leave again.
“I’d throw you in the dungeons if you pulled down my pants in front of my men again,” Arthur says. “Sorcerer or not.”
Merlin shrugs lightly, careful not to sling off Arthur’s arm. In fact, Merlin only presses himself a little closer against Arthur, and when he does release himself, there’s an expression on his face that Arthur has only seen a handful of times. He still can’t quite read it.
“We need to talk,” Merlin says apologetically.
Arthur sighs. “What’s there to say? You’re off with Gorwin tomorrow, and I won’t see you for three years. You already gave me the name for someone to fill the position of Court Sorcerer – sorry, Sorcer ess – while you’re gone, and Gaius agreed. It’s not like I’m going to try and change your mind, Merlin.”
“You haven’t tried at all,” Merlin says. “But I know you don’t want me to go.”
As if that’s a secret. Arthur’s outburst during the treaty certainly had made that abundantly clear. The thought of Camelot without Merlin has Arthur’s chest aching painfully, but he won’t use that as a reason to make Merlin stay. Not when he wants to go.
“Don’t presume too much, dollophead,” Arthur says, but Merlin just smiles painfully and looks down, avoiding Arthur’s gaze.
“I need you to know something before I leave,” Merlin starts, and leans against the bannister, tracing the stone carefully. “I’m not leaving because I want to, Arthur. Camelot is my home, as much as it’s yours, and you know I would defend it with my life, if need be.”
Arthur starts. “Is Gorwin making you?” he says, rage bubbling up. “Because if he is –”
Merlin laughs. “No, no, of course not. Gorwin’s an honourable man. He asked me, and I don’t think he even expected me to say yes at all. He spent an awful long time asking me to be sure, and whether you would agree to it. No, no one could make me do anything I don’t want to do.”
“So why, then?”
“You,” Merlin says, and turns to look at him. “Because, Arthur, the thing is, no one could make me do anything. And yet, you and I, we’ve been commanded by destiny and prophecies and fate our entire lives, even when we didn’t know it. Sometimes, I didn’t even know if I made my own choices. I’ve grown past that, but sometimes, I still find myself wondering. How much of our lives are fate, or chance, or something we’ve actively decided for ourselves?”
Arthur blinks. “I don’t know,” he says. “I haven’t thought about it that much.”
“I know you haven’t,” Merlin mutters, and pushes his shoulder against Arthur’s fondly. “But it’s stuck in my head, and I can’t get it to go away. And leaving Camelot, even for a short time, is nothing that would be in any prophecy about me, you see? And then I can come back, and it’ll be my choice to return to you. It won’t be fate, it’ll just - be because I want to be here. With you. For the rest of my life.”
“Oh,” Arthur says.
Merlin exhales. “Yeah,” he says, and shakes his head in amusement. “And because I want to make sure that you are sure, Arthur. About what you might be feeling. I know what you’ve been discussing with the Knights, about Gorwin and me – and it’s been a little amusing, but you’ve got to know, of course. When I come back, Arthur, I want you to be sure about what you want my place to be, in your life. Besides your sorcerer, obviously. It’s been years, and I know you’re an utter arse, and that thinking too hard will cause you a sprain, but I just want you to –”
“I don’t know what you are saying,” Arthur tells him, because he does, of course he knows what Merlin’s saying, but he never expected it. Especially not now, when Merlin’s going to leave. It’s hard to follow what is going on, but if Merlin is asking him, then – what, exactly? Why would Arthur need to think about what he wants?
Merlin snorts. “You know,” he says, vaguely. “Clotpole. Be careful, or I’ll pull your pants down again.”
“You’re welcome to,” Arthur says, before his brain has caught up to him.
“Right,” Merlin says, a little strained. “I’m just going to ignore that. Three years, Arthur, honestly. I hope you’ve come up with something better by the time I’m back, but I’m a little doubtful.”
Arthur puts a hand over Merlin’s. “Your hands are like a girl’s,” he says, because they are. They’re soft and pale, unlike Arthur’s, whose calluses come from practising with a sword every day.
“Thanks,” Merlin says dryly. “I’ll covet that forever.”
But he twists his hand around, anyway, and curls his fingers around Arthur’s.
~*~*~*~
The day after, Arthur watches as Merlin rides for Wessex. He watches until he can’t see Gorwin’s entourage anymore, and then stands there for another hour before Gwaine comes to get him for a council meeting.
That is the last time Arthur sees Merlin for two years.