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Ghosts have always haunted Arthur Pendragon, even before she was trained in the art of war.
As her father raved and raged about the evils of magic, she saw the ghosts of those her father killed in the corners of her eyes. She held her tongue in those situations, obviously, because anyone with the clairvoyant ability to see the dead was also magical, and she didn’t believe she was spared from her father’s fury. Despite being his only heir since her mother died, Arthur knew she wasn’t immune.
Speaking of her mother…
In the privacy of Arthur’s room, once her nurses had kissed her forehead and bid her a good night, Ygraine DeBois would sit down on the bed next to her, leaning against the headboard. She wasn’t actually here, not really, but the memory of her, the shadow of her presence still pressed to the world, would sit with Arthur and listen to her day, talking to her like a mother should. Arthur would whisper about her day to receptive ears, and Ygraine would brush a ghostly hand through her daughter’s hair and tell her how proud she was. There were no long-winded rants about royal expectations or the dangers of magic during this time, just the loving, affirming echo of her mother.
Part of Arthur felt like she was betraying her father during these moments. After all, magic was evil, yet here Arthur was, talking to her mother in the evenings. Wasn’t that not a dark power of its own, talking to the dead? When she voiced this aloud to her mother, Ygraine’s face became twisted in grief and she adamantly shook her head.
“No, dove, magic isn’t evil. It is a tool, one that has been used for generations. Magic runs in the women of our family. We can see auras, ghosts, sinks of magic invisible to the naked eye. Some of us would get flashes of the future. My particular skill was with seeing auras.”
“What are auras?” Arthur had asked, hanging onto her mother’s every word as she fought down her father’s voice yelling at her to stop, save herself from the corruption.
“It’s like a cloud, or a cloak, around a person. Each person has an imprint on the world and they leave a trail. If a person has magic, we can see it as a golden halo over their personal imprint. It is difficult to lie to aura readers, as lies taint your aura.”
“Why can we see them? What can we do with it?”
“Help people see themselves, their true selves.” Ygraine smiled down at her. “Sometimes, the worst lies are the ones we tell ourselves. We deflect blame and responsibility to hide from our faults, rather than facing them head on. It’s a difficult thing to face our failures, but it twists you if you don’t.”
“Oh.” Arthur leaned back into the mess of pillows scattered along her bed and stared at the muted red drapes dulled by the moon streaking in through the curtains. “Can I see them?”
“I believe so, with training. You can already see the spirits of the dead, which is a talent all its own. Would you like me to teach you?”
Is it treason , Arthur thought, to learn your own power? According to Uther Pendragon, anything that breathed any semblance to magic was treason, and punishable as such. However, this ability was harmless, right? If it could help her people, if it could help her be a good Queen, shouldn’t she learn how to use it? To be the perfect daughter, perfect heir to a kingdom without magic, or to learn her power for good? She was already learning the art of swords and warfare, what was that to the art of the soul?
“Yes,” she heard herself whisper to the room, and she thought she could feel Ygraine’s satisfaction flowing through the air.
“Good,” her mother said, sitting back with a proud smile. “Let us begin tomorrow, shall we?”
—
Arthur was twelve when she’d agreed to learn about auras, and the subsequent weeks were filled with a ceaseless headache as she tried to discern the hazy clouds she’d seen settle over people, as well as juggle her royal duties. She was saturated with exhaustion, to the point where an uncharacteristically concerned Uther sent for Gaius. “Is she ill?” he demanded of the old physician as Arthur was ushered to her bed after a particularly grueling training session. She had forsaken food for sleep this morning, and her pounding head and weak muscles were regretting that decision. She squinted through the light to her father. Dimly, a halo of Pendragon red surrounded Uther’s form, separate from the velvet cloak over his shoulders.
As Gaius moved into her field of view, she focused on the physician instead. A gentle, earthy green clung to him, reminding her of the musty smells of his workshop. And the briefest flicker, for just a second, she thought she saw gold. His eyebrows were pinched with concern as he looked into her eyes, checked her pulse, and had her go through a series of small exercises. “Not a sickness, sire,” he proclaimed after what Arthur thought to be an entirely redundant examination. “She is just overworked. I recommend that she rest for at least the next day, if not two.”
“Overworked?” Uther’s eyelid twitched. “I see. Very well. Arthur, you are to rest for the next two days, and then we will reassess your duties. Maybe see if we need someone else to cover the Knights’ training.”
“I can do it,” Arthur insisted tiredly. “Sire,” she added when Uther’s eyebrow raised. “Forgive me, I have been up late the past few nights. I will not let it interfere with my duties again.”
“See that it doesn’t,” Uther said coldly. “Thank you, Gaius.” With a swish of his cloak, he strode from the room.
“Gaius?” Arthur asked as soon as Uther’s footsteps receded. The old physician looked up from the potion he was brewing on Arthur’s desk.
“Yes, my lady?” Gaius queried.
“What do you know about magic?”
“That is a strange question,” Gaius began cautiously, pinching a sprig of rosemary into the flask. “What is it you wish to know?”
Arthur paused, trying to gather her thoughts. How to explain to Gaius she had magic? She had heard rumors he practiced it before the Purge, but would he turn her in? “I… was wondering if you knew anything about auras?”
“Auras?” Gaius braced his gnarled hands against the table. “I do know some, yes. Why?”
“I heard that my mother could see them. Is that true?” Not technically a lie, Arthur reasoned.
“I don’t claim to know much,” Gaius began cautiously, and Arthur saw a shadow falsehood press into Gaius’ aura. Not quite a lie, but a half truth. “Yes, Ygraine could see them, to an extent. It was remarkably difficult to lie to that woman, she could see right through you.”
“Did Father know?” Arthur pressed.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Gaius said. “He knew your mother had an incredibly sharp mind and took her counsel to heart. She was usually right. I don’t believe she ever admitted to having clairvoyance to him, though. It is a rather closely guarded secret, especially among psychics.”
“How did you know?”
Gaius’ face twitched and he firmly avoided her gaze. “I am afraid I cannot answer that in confidence, my lady. My record has been expunged, and I do not wish to taint it. Why do you ask?”
If there was any doubt Gaius used to practice magic, Arthur didn’t have any now. Gold flickered along the shadows of the lies Gaius was trying to tell himself. It was almost as if the lies made it worse. She pressed on. “What if I were to tell you I could see ghosts, Gaius? And auras?”
Gaius looked up sharply, glancing at the door. “Do not joke about these things, Your Highness,” he hissed. “Lives are at stake the more this is discussed!”
“I’m not joking!” Arthur snapped. “I can see them, I swear!”
“I believe you, unfortunately.” Gaius exhaled and closed his eyes with pursed lips. “Clairvoyance isn’t a common talent, but it is hereditary. It makes sense that Ygraine’s daughter would have the skill, but with your father’s legislation…”
“I know,” Arthur said quietly, gaze falling to her sheets. Her head really did hurt and she felt worn to the bone with anxiety. “Can you help me, Gaius?”
“I can certainly try, Your Highness, but I need your word that it won’t return to your father,” Gaius said, fixing her with tired gray eyes. “I don’t believe either of us will be spared.”
“I can be discreet,” Arthur insisted.
“Good.” Gaius exhaled again and stepped back from his brewing stand, vial in hand. He passed it to Arthur. “Drink this, and we will discuss it later. Right now, you need to rest. No more staying up and reading auras, young lady. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Hmmm.” Gaius scrutinized her for a second as she grimaced her way through the vial, then took the empty glass back. “Now rest. We will practice later.”
—
There was a tradeoff to learning aura reading. The more Arthur practiced, the harder it became to focus on the ghosts. They were usually always there, flitting in her periphery, but now they faded into the background, lost in the colorful auras of the town. They were still there, especially clinging to the graveyard, but Arthur struggled to separate auras from the constant companions of the dead.
And the more she read auras, the harder it was for her to ignore lies, whether told on purpose or unconsciously. They clung to their owner in nauseating waves of grief or guilt or deception that stained her tongue metallic when she passed. It was worse among the sorcerers. Despite her father’s raving, there were still plenty of sorcerers in Camelot, holding their secrets close to their chests. However, there wasn’t much one could do to hide the soul, and the golden halo around their forms shone all the brighter against the clinging shadows the deeper the lie. The golden glow also correlated with strength of power, burning whiter with more raw talent. It was rare for her to see anything beyond a dull copper-gold, so the day she saw a pale yellow surrounding someone’s aura threw her for a loop.
What threw her for a bigger loop, however, was to see it came from Morgana.
Arthur was seventeen, then. Strong in mind, body, and soul, she was quick with her tongue and her blade, skilled enough to border on cocky. However, no one could beat her in a game of wits like Morgana. As Arthur was walking red faced from Morgana’s room after a thorough tongue lashing that would put her governess at ten years old to shame, she saw a brief flicker of gold in the corner of her eye that made her pause, and she turned against her better judgment to watch Morgana.
The King’s ward didn’t seem to notice her, yet. She had her eyes closed, corners pinched in obvious pain, and she pressed her delicate fingers to her temple. As Arthur watched, fascinated, Morgana’s royal purple aura became clenched with slivers of a lie told to herself, and a flare of pale gold danced around her like a halo. Arthur sucked in a breath without meaning to, so struck with shock she was. She must have been louder than she thought, because Morgana’s eyes snapped open to meet hers. “What are you still doing here?” she demanded, voice shrill with pain and… fear?
“I– sorry,” Arthur blustered, trying to wipe her shock off her face. “My, uh–”
“Get out!” Morgana snapped, standing up in a wave of fury. Although she barely reached Arthur’s shoulder (she was still only fifteen, and a late bloomer according to Gaius), she was terrifying, and Arthur immediately obliged.
Morgana had magic, too , Arthur thought to herself as she adopted a princely mask and walked back to her room with her shoulders back and chin held high. How would Uther react to both his heir and his ward holding such dark power? The word dripped with irony in Arthur’s mind. She could barely see a flicker of magic on herself, an aura the same color of red as Uther’s, just less like blood and more like a poppy, with the barest hint of copper gold flickering through the edges. Morgana’s shone with a strength Arthur had never seen. Did Morgana even know? She must have suspected, if the tendrils of falsehood surrounding her soul said anything. Arthur sighed and put her head in her hands once she was in the safety of her own chambers, eyeballing the pile of reports she had yet to sort through. She’d deal with this later.
Later came and went, and Arthur was having a hard time sleeping. She slipped out of bed and wrapped herself in her cloak. The guard stationed outside her door snapped to attention, but Arthur waved him back. Sir Owen, she thought? She couldn’t remember when he’d been knighted, or if it was him. She strode down to Gaius’ tower and knocked, bouncing on her heels as the cold of the night seeped through her cloak. Gaius answered immediately, much to her surprise, and she saw a couple candles burning on the table behind him. “Your majesty,” Gaius said, eyebrows lifting in surprise. “It’s late. How can I help you?”
“I, ah.” Arthur glanced at Sir Owen, standing about five feet behind her. “Can I come in?”
“Of course.” Gaius’ brow furrowed and he held the door open wider for her to slip inside. Sir Owen stationed himself outside and Gaius closed it behind them. “Are you alright?”
“I couldn’t sleep,” Arthur admitted, perching on one of the nearby stools. The familiar scent of herbs and Gaius’ balming presence soothed her more than she cared to admit. “Can I tell you something? In confidence?”
Gaius nodded and shuffled around the shelves, searching for a vial Arthur guessed contained one of his famed sleep tonics. She hoped it tasted better than the one she had last time she couldn’t sleep.
“I, ah. I think Morgana has magic.”
Gaius started, liquid sloshing in a jar he had pulled from the shelf, and he turned wide eyes to Arthur. “Discretion, child!” he hissed.
“That’s why I came here and asked to come in!” Arthur hissed back. “And I’m not a child anymore, Gaius. I’m named the Crown Princess in two days.”
With a deep breath betraying the amount of fear coursing through the old physician’s veins, Gaius straightened with dignity. “Here,” he said, passing the sleep tonic over. He lowered his voice. “What makes you say that, my lady?”
“Auras, Gaius. I saw gold around Morgana’s. Similar to yours, but a lot brighter.”
“Brighter as in lies or brighter as in power?” Gaius’ brow furrowed in thought.
“Both, I think, but mostly power. I don’t think she knows. Her head hurt earlier.”
“I know, Guinevere came by and asked for a tonic earlier by her request.” Gaius sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “This conversation must not leave this room, Arthur. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” A heavy feeling was sinking into Arthur’s stomach.
“Clairvoyance also runs in the Gorlois family, much like the DuBois family. Morgana’s particular branch deals with foresight. However, clairvoyance doesn’t necessarily mean innate magical ability. Clairvoyance doesn’t mean you can tap into the elemental energies of the earth, although generally the skill overlaps. However, sometimes clairvoyance and elemental affinity, what we call sorcery, or magic, come as a package deal. With Morgana, this innate elemental affinity has been suppressed, but I believe as she grows older, it is beginning to express itself.”
“Well, you can help her, right?” Arthur pressed. As much as she and Morgana argued and fought, as much as the two of them knew Morgana was a ward, not a daughter, they felt like sisters. “Like you’ve been helping me?”
Gaius’ expression was sad, but thoughtful at the same time. “I don’t know, Arthur. I fear Uther might discover. It is dangerous enough to practice sorcery, albeit mild sorcery, with you. I fear a ward might not have the same protections the Crown Princess does.”
“Could I help her?” The words were out of Arthur’s mouth before she had a half formed thought to back it up.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Gaius cautioned. “Your own powers are limited at best. You might not understand the intricacies of Morgana’s needs. I don’t believe I do, either, and I’ve been arcanely gifted since I was a much younger man. Back when Uther was Crown Prince, and before.”
“Can I at least tell her?” Arthur pleaded. “It’s really lonely, Gaius. I think she deserves some comfort from someone knowing. I think she suspects I know.”
“Please just be careful,” Gaius said with a long suffering sigh, rubbing a tired hand over his face. “I don’t want either of you getting caught.”
“I will,” Arthur promised.
As she crawled back into bed after returning to the castle proper, a flicker of light caught the corner of her eye. Ygraine DuBois settled onto the bed next to her, thinner around the edges than Arthur had seen in a long time. Her mother had been coming less frequently in recent months. Something about her tether to the mortal world growing weaker. “Mom?” Arthur whispered.
“Yes, my dove?”
“I think Morgana has magic. Gaius thinks so too. Should I tell her I’m clairvoyant? So she’s less lonely?”
“The decision is yours, my dove,” Ygraine said with a soft smile, brushing Arthur’s wispy blond hair from her face. “You have a good heart, and I think Morgana would feel comforted knowing there’s someone like her. Someone who understands.”
“I think I should. I just worry about Father finding out.”
A shadow of sadness flickers across the late Queen’s face and her hand drops to Arthur’s. She can’t really feel her mother’s presence, other than a cold breeze on her fingers, but she leans into it nonetheless. “It pains me to see your father go down a path of such hatred. I knew him as a strong willed man with a black and white sense of justice, but he was wise. He listened, and knew of magic’s place in the world. I don’t know what happened to turn him so dark, but my heart aches for you and Morgana. It hurts that you can’t practice your gifts without fear of death. If I was there, I would instruct the two of you.”
“I know what happened,” Arthur said quietly. “You died.”
“I know.” Ygraine sighed. “I can no sooner reverse death than you. That is not one of our powers. There is one who can, but she cares for the balance of the earth, as she was made to right your father’s wrong. Magic combined into one person, the daughter of dragons. She doesn’t just have magic, she is magic. I’m not saying you should seek her out to bring me back. I’m saying she might be the key to restoring balance to the magic in this kingdom. No better ally than magic herself.”
“Who is this person?” Arthur asked. “Where can I find her?”
“It’s not a matter of you finding her, but both of you finding each other. You are two sides of the same coin. Two halves to a whole. The dead whisper about her coming, as they do about yours. Things will change, my dove, and you will be the spearhead of that change. Soon, you and Morgana will be able to practice your gifts without fear of persecution.”
“When?” Arthur whispered. The ache in her chest, the longing for a future with magic, was strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. Stop being such a girl, she thought to herself, before realizing her error.
“I can’t say for certain.” Ygraine brushed Arthur’s hair again with a cold breeze. “In the meantime, talk to Morgana. I believe the two of you can find comfort in the other’s presence. Keep your senses out for Emrys. That’s her name, magic herself. I’m sure she goes by another, but that’s what the arcanely gifted call her.”
“Well, magic herself must be really stupid if she thinks coming to Camelot is a good idea,” Arthur muttered. Ygraine just laughed and the two of them sat in companionable silence, until sleep finally claimed Arthur. When she awoke, the sun was shining through a slit in the curtains, and Ygraine was gone.
—
Guinevere answered Arthur’s knock on Morgana’s door the next morning. The maidservant wore her usual lavender dress, curly brown hair pulled back with a matching purple ribbon Arthur recognized as one of Morgana’s. Her cheeks flushed with surprise as she saw Arthur, who knew her own cheeks were likely as flushed as Gwen’s. There had been an awkward few months where the two of them had danced around each other’s affections, in which Arthur realized that women were attractive and Gwen was certainly a woman. Who was quite attractive. Morgana had, of course, found the whole situation hilarious, and proceeded to tease the everliving shit out of Arthur. That didn’t make Gwen any less attractive, of course. “Your Highness, how might I help you?”
“Is Morgana here?” Arthur asked, clearing her throat and looking away from Gwen’s searching eyes. “I just wanted to check on her.”
“She is, although she’s feeling ill,” Gwen said. “She had nightmares again last night.”
“I understand,” Arthur said, biting back a comment. “Can you let her know I was looking for her?”
“You can come in, sister dearest,” Morgana’s tired voice echoed through the room. “If only because you will look like a lost puppy if we don’t talk about whatever you wish to talk about, and I wish to maintain a smidge of your dignity.”
“Says the girl who smashes it to bits every time I see her,” Arthur muttered under her breath and Gwen choked back a laugh.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, ‘Gana.”
The door closed behind Arthur as she stepped into the room. The drapes were pulled back from the windows to let in the comforting rays of the sun, bathing a tired Morgana in pure light. Arthur let her eyes wander into the auras and saw Morgana’s was clouded with doubt, but less unsettled than it was yesterday. A very faint, pale yellow halo framed her as well, and Arthur refocused her eyes as Morgana raised an eyebrow. “Well? Are you here to stare at me or do you have something to say? I am quite tired, you know.”
“Right.” Arthur glanced behind her at Gwen, who was bustling with Morgana’s laundry. “I need to tell you something.”
Morgana sniffed. “Anything you can tell me, you can tell Gwen. I trust her with my life.”
Arthur did not miss the blush that spread across the maid’s cheeks at Morgana’s compliment and she bit back a remark that would earn her another tongue lashing. “Right. Well, I know you have magic, Morgana.”
In hindsight, there was probably a better way for Arthur to say it, but the words were out now. Morgana’s smirk fell to fear and her breath caught in her throat. “No,” she hissed. “That’s not possible. I don’t even know I have magic, how could you– you’re not going to turn me into Uther, are you?”
Morgana’s panic broke Arthur’s heart. She had purposefully left her knives, her sword, and armor in her chambers, to try and make herself as non-threatening as possible. The simple fact she was Uther Pendragon’s daughter and heir made quick work of her good intentions, though. “ No, Morgana, gods no. If I turn you in for magic, I’d have to turn myself in, too.”
“What do you mean?” Morgana asked with narrowed eyes. Other than flickering over Arthur’s shoulder to glance at Gwen, who’d stopped her chores in favor of standing in stunned silence, she held Arthur’s gaze.
Arthur sighed and settled on a chair beside Morgana. “Have you heard of psychics? Or clairvoyance?”
“Energy readers?” At Arthur’s affirming nod, Morgana relaxed slightly. “Some. They were respected in my father’s kingdom. Why do you ask?”
“Because it ran in the women of my mother’s family,” Arthur said. She didn’t miss Gwen’s quiet gasp at the mention of her mother. “I’ve seen ghosts for as long as I can remember. I started talking with my mother when I was four, and I can read auras. It’s not inherently magic, but I can see who has magic, and that’s you.”
“Arthur,” Morgana breathed, shock spreading across her face. It was rare to catch Morgana unawares, and Arthur had done just that. “You… are you serious?”
“I am,” Arthur said quietly.
“Oh gods.” Much to Arthur’s surprise, Morgana flung herself off her own chair and into Arthur’s arms, sobs wracking her shoulders. Cloth rustled as Gwen came over and rested a hand on her lady’s back, right below where Arthur held her. “I thought I was going insane,” she said. “My dreams… they come true more often than not, but I can’t say anything because it’s magic, and Uther—”
“Shhh, I know.” Arthur tightened her hold over Morgana, pulling the younger girl closer. “I can’t exactly tell Uther I talk to my mother about my day, have been talking to her since I was at least four, and know of at least five sorcerers amongst his staff, now, can I?”
“ What ?” Gwen choked.
“How can you tell if someone has magic?” Morgana pressed, pulling away to stare at Arthur with an intensity she’d never seen.
“So auras are like a reflection of people’s souls,” Arthur explained. Relief was settling in her heart, the all consuming kind that made her want to weep with Morgana. “Yours is this really pretty royal purple, Gana, but on the edges, like a halo, there is this very pale gold. The lighter the gold, the stronger the elemental affinity, or sorcery, in that person. You’re honestly the brightest I’ve seen.”
“Oh,” Morgana said quietly, eyes shining. “So, my clairvoyance is my magic? Or something else entirely?”
“Clairvoyance is its own thing. Sorcery is elemental affinity, or power from the earth. You have both.”
“Do I have any?” Gwen asked curiously. Arthur swallowed as the girl she thought she loved fixed her with a dark, questioning gaze, as intense as Morgana.
“No,” Arthur said quietly. “I don’t know if you’re clairvoyant, but no elemental affinity. Your aura is this very pretty lavender, though. Kind of like your dress.”
Gwen’s blush definitely didn’t cause butterflies to erupt in Arthur’s stomach. Nope. Not at all. “That’s really cool.”
“It also makes it very difficult to lie to me,” Arthur said firmly and gave Morgana a pointed look. “No more of that, okay?”
“Okay,” Morgana said, rolling her eyes. “I’ll stop lying if you teach me how to control it.”
“I can’t do anything about your other magic, but I can help with your clairvoyance. Maybe.” Arthur ducked as Morgana went to swat her upside the head and pushed her away. “It’s energy reading, after all. I can help with that.”
“Good, or else you’ll just be wasting my time, and I have much better things to do. Particularly that embroidery lesson. Gwen?” Morgana flounced away from Arthur and settled back into her chair, dutifully ignoring the Crown Princess as Gwen walked over with a small basket of thread and a scrap of cloth. “Go swing your swords or do whatever you do with the knights, Arthur. We can have tea and gossip later.”
“Well, that’s a dismissal if I’ve ever seen one.” Arthur rolled her eyes and stood up, watching Gwen fuss around Morgana. “I’ll talk to you two later.”
“Arthur?” Morgana asked as Arthur put a hand on the door. She turned back to face her sister in all but blood, watching the relief spread over her face. Despite her jabs, Arthur knew she was grateful. “Thank you.”
“Of course, ‘Gana. Enjoy your embroidery lesson.”
—
Arthur was crowned the heir at age eighteen, before an expectant crowd of nobles and commoners alike. It was a formality to put her name down on the line of succession, but it felt much more official to Arthur, now of age. People turned to her with pride and anticipation, and she felt like she would let them down somehow. Uther’s hand settled on her shoulder and his voice whispered in her ear.
“This is your responsibility, Arthur. You protect these people, this kingdom, with your life, dignity, and honor. Remember that.”
Remember your true enemy went unsaid, but Arthur heard it in his voice. With the potential for magic in her veins and the ability to see people’s lies, she had learned that the true enemy wasn’t magic, it was the fear borne from the lies one told themselves and the disappointment from failure. Uther Pendragon was a man full of fear, lies and heartaches wrapped tightly around his blood colored soul and haunted by the ghosts of his decisions, the laws he’d built hanging over his head like a noose. She bowed her head in acknowledgement of her father’s words, to appease his expectations, but in her heart, she knew he was wrong.
Ygraine was appearing less and less frequently now. In the privacy of Arthur’s chambers, she watched the ghostly apparition of her mother, so much thinner and frailer than ever. Arthur was still dressed in her ceremonial robes, although she’d hung the decorative sword over the back of her chair. “I’m proud of you, my dove,” Ygraine whispered. “The future is coming, and you have done so well.”
“Am I doing enough?” Arthur asked, looking at her mother for approval. “It still feels so far away, so unattainable with the skills I have. Will magic ever be free? For Morgana?”
“You’re forgetting Emrys,” Ygraine reminded her. “Magic herself will help you set it free, and she has yet to arrive. Worry not, my dove. She will come soon.”
“It’s not safe for her here,” Arthur said.
“It’s not safe for her anywhere. At least she should help spearhead the change, with you.”
“I suppose.” Arthur swallowed her doubts in a pit that fell heavy in her stomach. She couldn’t be so sure Emrys would even come to Camelot. It was too dangerous.
She had given up hope that Emrys would come, six months after her nineteenth birthday. She was practicing with some of the other Knights, perhaps goaded on by more testosterone than she should have been, but it was satisfying to feel like she belonged. As the only girl among the Knights, even though she was the Crown Princess and heir, she felt like the other men doubted her ability, her strength, even though she could knock most of them flat on their ass. This led her to the present, throwing knives at a moving target run by the seamstress’ son, Willard. She wouldn’t ever hit him, actually, and it was nice to hear the Knights whistle at her skills with the blade. As Willard’s fear painted the air so strong she could almost taste it, an unfamiliar voice cut through the air.
“Come on, that’s enough. You’ve had your fun, my friend.”
When Arthur turned, she was faced with a wisp of a girl, thin shoulders held back and chin held tall. Unruly black hair tumbled down to her shoulders in thick curls, eyes blue as ice staring her down. Her cheekbones were pronounced, whether from genetics or lack of food, Arthur couldn’t be sure, although her simple peasant clothes hung loosely from her thin frame. Her breath caught in her throat at just how attractive this girl was. This, of course, led to feelings that Arthur could not deal with right now, so she shoved them into a box, along with her ability to articulate thoughts, so she just said the first thing that came to mind.
“Do I know you?”
A smirk tugged at the corners of the girl’s mouth. She was beautiful, eyes blazing the color of a glacial stream. Arthur could see the tendons overlaying the delicate bones in her hand as she held it out for Arthur to shake. “I’m Merlin.”
Merlin. Something about the name echoed through Arthur’s being. She bit back a sappy comment as it rose in her throat. “So I don’t know you.”
“No,” Merlin agreed, letting the hand drop to her side once she realized Arthur wasn’t going to take it. Curiosity flickered in her eyes.
“Yet you called me a friend?” Arthur had her own cocky smirk plastered to her face. The dripping condescending tone in her voice caused laughter to ripple through the assembled Knights behind her.
Merlin’s smirk dropped and her eyes hardened into chips of ice. A challenge had been issued. “Well, that was my mistake.”
Arthur’s stomach dropped. How was it that the second she found a cute girl, she took it upon herself to insult her? Might as well continue digging her grave. “Yes. I think so.”
“Yeah…” Merlin’s smirk appeared on her face again with a hint of irony attached. “I’d never have a friend who could be such an ass.”
Arthur’s jaw flopped open. Did Merlin even know who she was? No one had ever spoken to her like that. A chuckle loosed itself from Arthur’s chest as Merlin turned smartly on her heel to leave. “Or I one who could be so stupid,” she called after the other girl. Merlin stopped and turned to fix Arthur with an incredulous look as the Crown Princess stepped closer. “Tell me, Merlin,” Arthur continued. “Do you know how to walk on your knees?”
She pictured the chilling cold of her mother smacking her upside the head once she found out later (she somehow always did), but the chuckles and catcalls from the Knights behind her urged her on. Merlin’s eyes flashed and she lifted her chin higher. “Nope.”
“Would you like me to help you?” Arthur drawled.
Merlin drew herself up to her full height, glaring at Arthur with the fury of a winter sun. Arthur’s heart fluttered a little once she realized Merlin was, in fact, slightly taller than she was. “I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Why?” Arthur said, taking the opportunity to let her gaze wander up and down Merlin’s slight form. “What are you going to do to me?”
“You have no idea,” Merlin said, a grim smirk playing at the corners of her mouth.
Well then. Arthur would be telling a bald faced lie if that wasn’t in the least bit attractive. “Come on, then,” she said, throwing her arms out to the side to expose her chainmailed chest. “Be my guest.” Merlin stood there and took in Arthur’s taunting gesture. “Come on. Come on. ”
It took a second for the other girl to decide, but eventually she did. With her feet square and her fists unsure, as if she’d gotten in few fights in her life, Merlin tried to throw a punch at Arthur. Damn. This girl was either incredibly daft or had a death wish. Arthur dodged easily and caught the fist, gloved hand enclosing over Merlin’s birdlike bones. Arthur was careful to not crush her wrist in her grip as she twisted Merlin’s arm behind her back and leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “I’ll put you in jail for that.”
“Who do you think you are, the King?” Merlin grumbled, struggling against Arthur’s grip.
“No.” Arthur smirked and jerked her head to the guards to come forward and pin Merlin between them. Merlin’s glacial eyes burned as they met her own. “I’m his daughter, Arthur.” As Merlin’s eyes widened, Arthur gestured for her to be taken away.
The country girl of the same hardy, fragile beauty of an alpine meadow had the audacity to walk away with a straight back and chin held tall, despite having gotten her ass kicked and pinned between two guards. She was little more than a thin wisp of skin and bone, but there was a hidden strength that lurked beneath her pale skin. Arthur narrowed her eyes as she was escorted away and exhaled, letting her gaze sink into the aura lines in the air to get a better look at Merlin.
The auras beside her, the Knights, were familiar, but the second she turned her eyes to Merlin, her entire vision was flooded with searing white light. Even though she had to have been at least a hundred feet away by now and hidden behind a building or two, Merlin’s presence lit up the spirit world like the sun. The purest, whitest gold Arthur had ever seen, the corona stretching for hundreds of feet instead of a thin halo around a soul. Merlin’s aura was a pale sky blue twisted with a kind of grief Arthur had seen around Morgana, but much more pronounced. The grief of hiding, of lying to the world and yourself every day just to fit in, just to feel sane. As she looked closer, she could have sworn there were faint silver threads crossing the tapestry that was Merlin’s presence, unlike anything Arthur had ever seen. She was, without a doubt, the person Ygraine had told her about. Her other half.
Emrys.
Magic herself.
—
Their next encounter, Merlin lost absolutely none of her snark. She didn’t seem to learn from the first time, firing insults with a tongue as quick as Morgana’s, albeit rougher around the edges. Seriously, what were these insults? Arthur thought as she swung a mace over her head. Merlin had goaded her into a fight in the marketplace, and although it wasn’t necessarily becoming for the Crown Princess to chase after peasants, something about the defiant smirk on Merlin’s face drove her to try. Arthur was, after all, one of the best fighters in Camelot. Surely she could hold her own against this girl, magic be damned. Because who in their right mind would do magic in broad daylight in the middle of Camelot?
Merlin, apparently.
Arthur kept her gaze partially flooded with auras, but even that was nearly overwhelming. Merlin nimbly dodged the mace and narrowed her eyes in Arthur’s direction. The aura around Merlin flared and Arthur swore she saw a flash of gold in Merlin’s gaze. Whatever Merlin did washed over her, and she stumbled. The Crown Princess, kingdom renowned fighter, almost lost her footing in the marketplace and she felt the mace wrap around itself, a rope she was certain wasn’t there before wrapped around her ankles and she crashed down.
I could take you apart in one blow, she had arrogantly said.
I could take you apart in less than that, had come the cheeky reply, all sunshine and smiles. Arthur was beginning to realize in a fair fight, Merlin would have decked her in two seconds flat without batting an eye. Which was infuriatingly attractive of her.
In the end, Arthur had won, and Merlin was once again frog marched to prison. “There’s something about you, Merlin,” Arthur called after the girl’s retreating back. “I can’t place my finger on it.”
As Merlin disappeared out of sight (although her aura was never going to disappear, Arthur realized, as she had been lying in bed the night after meeting Merlin and was still blinded by the sheer power of the girl’s presence), Arthur made a vow to never, ever let Merlin and Morgana meet. She didn’t think she could survive the maelstrom that would follow.
—
News flash.
Sometimes, a rather beautiful woman comes to the castle and enchants the entire court for the sole purpose of killing Arthur after putting everyone to sleep. Sometimes, a certain country girl with enough magic to topple mountains and kingdoms in a single breath lets some of that magic loose in the middle of said court , effectively killing the enchantress and saving Arthur’s life. Arthur could still feel the searing heat of Merlin’s hands on her arms as the thin wisp pushed her out of her chair, the knife thudding above her head. She remembered her father, surprise clouding his voice, proclaiming Merlin her new servant (she hadn’t had one of those in a while). She remembered Merin’s outraged expression, and the satisfaction that curled in her gut.
Unfortunately, having Merlin in the castle, and another clairvoyant down the hall from Arthur, meant that Merlin and Morgana were bound to meet. One night after Merlin had been dismissed and Arthur was neck deep in reports, Morgana had sidled into her room with the biggest smirk on her face. “So,” she began, perching on Arthur’s bed. “Merlin.”
A flush gathered itself behind Arthur’s neck and she resolutely refused to look at Morgana. Suddenly, grain reports had never been as interesting as they were then. “What about her?”
“She’s something else, isn’t she?” Morgana asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone insult you as thoroughly. Myself excluded, of course.”
“I hate her,” Arthur grumbled. “I don’t know why Uther made her my servant.”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the teeny tiny detail that she saved your sorry royal ass,” Morgana said primly.
“That’s one of Merlin’s insults,” Arthur grumbled.
“I know.” The smirk was audible in her voice. “I’ve been talking with her some. She and Guinevere get along very well, which is good. Merlin doesn’t strike me as having a lot of close friends. Which is terrible, because she’s got a heart of gold and a soul to match it.”
Arthur sighed and set down the report to dedicate her full attention to Morgana. The mage was watching her curiously, the cautious halo of gold around her soul burning brighter than Arthur had ever seen. “I’m assuming you know she’s got magic too?” Arthur asked wearily.
“A metric ton of it, if I do say so. What do you see when you look at her?”
“An infuriating country girl with no sense of manners, class, or propriety,” Arthur said, turning a page.
“We get it, you think she’s attractive.” Morgana waved a hand and smirked at Arthur’s flush. “What about her aura?”
“What about it?”
“Does she sweep you off your feet with its intensity?”
“No sweeping off feet is being had, ‘Gana, but yes, it’s very strong. Stronger than I’ve ever seen,” Arthur admitted. “Or Mother, for that matter.”
Morgana arched an eyebrow. “Queen Ygraine has something to say about it?”
“Of course she does,” Arthur snapped, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like she told me to keep an eye out for magic herself or anything. It’s not like I can see her aura clear as day from where she’s sleeping in Gaius’ chambers right now, or the fact that her magic is literally seeping into Camelot’s bones and she doesn’t even know it. It’s quite terrifying, honestly, the amount of power that stick of a girl has. Looking at her, you couldn’t tell at all, but she could bring the kingdom to its knees with a flick of her finger and not break a sweat.”
“Oh.” Morgana tilted her head to study Arthur. “Is she really that powerful?”
“Yes, without a doubt,” Arthur said. “I don’t think we should tell her about your magic yet. Or mine, for that matter. We don’t want to scare her away, and she has to know Camelot is dangerous enough as it is.”
“I don’t honestly think anything can scare her,” Morgana muttered.
“That’s what worries me,” Arthur admitted.
“Aww that’s sweet, you’re worried about her,” Morgana said in a sing-songy voice that made Arthur’s teeth grind. “She sure is quite the damsel in distress, all skin and bones, waiting for a very strong and capable princess to come rescue her–”
“Morgana!” Arthur leapt out of her chair to chase her adoptive sister down, but with a flash of Morgana’s eyes, she tripped over her own two feet. “Stop just… stop, okay? I don’t– I don’t know what to do, honestly. She shouldn’t be here. She shouldn’t be sticking her head out like that. It’s dangerous. ”
“It’s dangerous being any sort of magical here, but yet here we are,” Morgana pointed out. “Trust her. She’s a lot more capable than either of us think. She’ll be fine.”
“She’d better be,” Arthur muttered. She didn’t miss the soft, knowing look Morgana threw her as she brushed her fingers over Arthur’s shoulders, then swept out of the room in a rustle of green silk.
—
Merlin must have had some sort of clairvoyant ability, even if she didn’t know. She very frequently spoke of “funny feelings” which ended up being the latest episode of pissed off sorcerer out for revenge or some other catastrophe waiting to befall Camelot that week. Although Arthur openly dismissed most of these claims as Merlin just being dramatic (which she was, to Arthur’s credit), most of the time the dismissal came to bite her in the butt. “How are you doing this?” Arthur asked her one day, flopping to the forest floor after a particularly unfortunate bandit encounter. Merlin had warned her they were being watched. Arthur hadn’t listened, and had bruising all up and down her body and a cut across her arm in return.
“Hm?” Merlin looked over from where she was rifling through a medical bag pressed into her hands by Gaius before the two of them left.
“How do you seem to know about every single catastrophe before it happens? You act like one of the most idiodic people ever, but you’re really not, are you?”
A dusting of pink danced across Merlin’s picturesque cheekbones as she settled next to Arthur, taking her arm with no regard for the royal person so she could cast a critical eye over it. “Well, you see, my lady, some of us have eyes and ears, and we happen to be quite good at using them. You may be dexterous in body, but not in senses. Well, dexterous in body most of the time.” She peeled back the sleeve surrounding the gash and Arthur had to bite back a string of curses.
“Well, one of us has to be nimble, because it certainly isn’t you,” Arthur grumbled. She very firmly looked everywhere but Merlin, suddenly finding a single leaf the most interesting object ever. “Seriously though. How do you do it?”
“I dunno,” Merlin said with a gentle shrug. “I just listen to my gut, I suppose. It’s usually right.”
“I’ll say.” Arthur stole a glance as Merlin took out an assortment of cloths from her satchel and dipped them in water. “You’d better know what you’re doing with that.”
“Oh, shut up, out of the two of us here, who’s trained the most with Gaius, hm?” Merlin swatted her shoulder with one of the cloths before dabbing at the blood with a firm but gentle touch. “Oooh, this is gonna need stitches.” She wrinkled her nose and pressed the flat of her palm into the gash. “Apply pressure to this, will you? I need to start a fire to clean this properly.”
“Making me do all the bloody work?” Arthur quipped, taking the rag from Merlin. She definitely didn’t flush when their hands brushed against each other.
“Oh, I suppose you want to sew yourself back together?” Merlin fixed Arthur with her piercing glacial gaze and quirked an eyebrow as she gathered loose sticks and stones to form a simple fire ring. “I’ve done it before, and would not recommend.”
“What, sew yourself back together?” Disbelief dripped from Arthur’s words. “That sounds terrible, Merlin! What were you doing by yourself to warrant needing to sew yourself back together?”
“Oh, you know me, clumsy as all hell,” Merlin said. “It wasn’t too bad, but I wouldn’t do it again in a heartbeat.”
Arthur didn’t say anything and instead just frowned as she watched Merlin bustle around the fire. In way too short an amount of time, there was a decent flame going and Merlin was putting rags, thread, and a needle in the fire to sterilize. Did Merlin actually need to stitch herself? Had she actually done that? The thought of someone else doing it was bad enough, but being in pain, bleeding out, and trying to stitch with a steady hand? Cold sweat broke out on Arthur’s forehead and she forced herself to fight down the feeling of ick and intense protective surge. With danger in Camelot every other week, maybe it would benefit Merlin to have someone with her? A guard, maybe? For her own protection, obviously, she was clumsy enough to need someone looking out for her.
As Merlin worked to stoke the fire, Arthur switched her gaze to the soul realm around her and let the intense golden glow of Merlin’s presence settle around her like a warm embrace. She’d gotten used to the blinding intensity of Merlin’s power, but even so, it took her breath away. It was stronger in nature, if that was even possible, as if the very earth itself fed it. Merlin hummed to herself and Arthur saw a simple thread of golden energy dance around the flame. Did Merlin know she was using her magic? She had to, if the fire was reacting.
“Careful, my lady, you’re thinking too much.” Merlin smirked and settled down next to Arthur with the pot. Her simple brown skirts settled among the fallen leaves and pine needles as Merlin leaned forward and brushed Arthur’s hand aside to check on the wound herself. Her fingers were deft and steady. Blood blossomed under her fingers, which was absorbed by the warm rags pressed to Arthur’s arm, and soon she fished out the threaded needle from the pot and pressed the two edges together. “I have some peppermint, but we can get you poppy when we get back to Camelot, okay? Try to relax.”
Arthur barely felt the needle pierce her skin, too engrossed by the heat of Merlin’s hands on her arm. She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly as Merlin’s gentle fingers pushed the skin together. Even though she couldn’t see, she could picture Merlin’s eyebrows drawn in concentration, her thin lips pursed in thought. She was bent so close, Arthur felt the tickle of her unruly curls on her exposed skin and she suppressed a shiver. Following Merlin’s hair was the warm, tingly embrace of Merlin’s magic as it settled itself into Arthur’s skin. Almost immediately, the pain seemed less bad, less biting. When Merlin finally pulled away, Arthur opened her eyes and watched the other girl work to sterilize the needle, wrap up loose sinew and dismantle the fire ring. Her mindless chatter filled the clearing, bright and chipper like the magic that permeated the air around them, and Arthur prayed to any god who might be listening to protect Merlin. She didn’t think she could handle watching the spark of Merlin’s presence on the world fade away.
—
Merlin’s confession of magic in front of the entire court took Arthur’s breath away in an overwhelming urge of self righteous desire to protect the idiot in front of her. To Merlin’s credit, the warlock stood with her back straight, chin lifted in defiance. Her blue bodice and long brown skirts were askew from what appeared to have been a mad dash to the throne room. The braid she’d pulled her curls in was unraveling and matched the frenzied determination in her gaze. Arthur cursed quietly to herself. Why did Merlin have to be so selfless, damnit?
A joke about Merlin’s mental facilities fell from her lips as she threw an arm over the other girl’s shoulders. The chuckles of the court were far away from her ears as Arthur began to herd an obstinate Merlin out of the room. She felt Morgana gaze dig into her back, urging her to do something about Merlin , and Arthur couldn’t agree more as she swept Merlin into her chambers and shut the door behind her. “What were you thinking ?” she hissed, whirling to face Merlin. “Are you looking for a death wish?”
“It’s not Gwen’s fault,” Merlin snapped, folding her arms in front of her and glaring at Arthur. “She shouldn’t die because of it.”
“So the other option is sacrifice yourself?” It took all of Arthur’s self control not to raise her voice. “Why?”
“Because it’s not her fault,” Merlin muttered. “She shouldn’t be hurt by my decision.”
“God damnit Merlin.” Arthur took a deep, steadying breath and studied the maid in front of her. “How am I supposed to protect you if you sacrifice yourself at every turn?”
“Well that’s my job, for one,” Merlin muttered under her breath, but Arthur caught it.
“I’m sorry, could you repeat that?”
“I could.” Merlin locked her jaw and refused to speak.
“What a stubborn idiot you are,” Arthur said, throwing her hands up. “How the hell are you supposed to be Emrys, the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth, and protect Camelot if you’re dead before either of us get the chance to?”
The silence in the room was deafening. Arthur watched the moment her words registered in Merlin’s mind, the way she went stiff and all the color drained from her face. “What?” Merlin whispered, grabbing the table for support. “You know?”
“Yes, Merlin, I know.” It was out in the open now. Arthur plowed on. “How could I not? Your aura it… it’s like the sun, Merlin. It stretches all across the citadel, sinking into Camelot. Strengthening it even though she would kill you in an instant. You breathe the power of the earth like it’s your lifeblood, and you’re its champion. Of course I know, Merlin.”
“I… hang on.” Merlin braced herself on the table to still the trembling in her hands, although it translated violently to her shoulders. Arthur felt the express urge to wrap an arm around her thin frame to steady her. “My aura. Arthur. You’re clairvoyant? And you know ?”
Arthur’s answering nod tipped Merlin over the edge. All of the stress that had been building since her arrival in Camelot seemed to pile on at exactly that moment, because all the color drained from her face, her eyes rolled back into her head, and she crumpled to the floor.
“Merlin!” Arthur surged forward and caught Merlin before she could smack her head on the table or the floor. “Hey, hey, come on, you idiot. Wake up. We don’t have time for this, we gotta save Gwen, remember?”
“Ugh get off,” Merlin groaned, pushing futilely at Arthur’s chest. Arthur didn’t budge. “I just… hang on, give me a second.” Merlin curled into a little ball and took deep, trembling breaths. Arthur was acutely aware of the way Merlin’s heart raced in neck where her hand rested on the smaller girl’s shoulder. “Okay… recap. You’re clairvoyant, you know I have magic, you know my Druid name , and you’re not going to torch me?”
“Yes,” Arthur said firmly, gripping Merlin’s shoulders. “You’re safe. But Gwen won’t be for long. What did you do?”
Merlin grimaced. “It was a simple charm in an herb sachet. I put it on her window and it worked. Guess it worked too well.”
“Okay,” Arthur said slowly, because leave it to Merlin to put together some herbs, imbue it with a spell, and cure an incurable disease. “Did—“
The rest of her question was cut short by Morgana storming into her chambers. “Arthur!” she called furiously, sweeping over to the table in a flurry of navy blue silk. “We need—” She stopped when she saw Merlin slumped on the floor, simultaneously pale and flushed. “Merlin! Are you okay?”
“Yeah…” Merlin said faintly, going to stand up, but Arthur held her steady. “I, ah, just tripped?”
Arthur rolled her eyes. “Merlin got done telling me how she used a sachet and a simple charm to cure an incurable disease. Not by choice.”
“You know too???” Merlin squeaked as Morgana turned to face her.
Morgana snorted. “Of fucking course I know, Merlin Emrys. Arthur and I are both clairvoyant. Now, what are we doing to save Gwen? What’s your plan?”
“Well, ah…” Merlin shook her head violently. “Gaius and I think the sickness is magical in origin, and—”
“Of course it is,” Arthur muttered, and Morgana smacked her upside the head to quiet her.
“—and we need to do a little more research, but we need to do something.” Merlin took a shaky breath. “Probably needs to be taken care of with magic. Good thing I’m here?”
“Right,” Arthur began. “I’m gonna give you the rest of the day off to do whatever research you need to do, okay? ‘Gana, I can’t control what you do. What do you think you can do?”
“I’ll help Merlin,” Morgana said, lifting her chin up defiantly. “You deal with Uther and buy Gwen some time, okay?”
“Okay,” Arthur nodded. “Meet me back here when you get information, yes? Now go.”
“Can… can you let me up?” Merlin asked meekly, nudging Arthur’s firm hold on her shoulders. Arthur flushed, having forgotten about the fact she was cradling her maid quite close, and lifted her arms up to help Merlin to her feet. Already, she missed the burning heat that made up for Merlin’s slight presence in her arms. “Thanks,” Merlin coughed, her own flush dancing across her cheeks. “Well, Morgana?”
The two girls linked arms and left Arthur’s chambers, Merlin shooting Arthur a confused look over her shoulder as she left. Arthur didn’t move from the floor for a few seconds and instead opted to take deep breaths to calm her racing heart. This was a poor time to gay panic over holding her crush in her arms. She could handle that later. Once her breathing and unhelpful heart were under control, she pushed herself to her feet and went to deal with Uther. Hopefully they could buy Gwen time.
—
It was an afanc, according to Merlin’s efforts. Morgana had left late that night in favor of sleep and updated Arthur on the situation while Merlin had stayed up. The warlock had barged into Arthur’s chambers bright and early the next morning with dark shadows under her eyes and a fevered light in her eyes. “It’s poisoning the water,” she said by way of greeting, yanking the curtains back and tying them with surprisingly dexterous fingers despite her obvious lack of sleep.
“Merlin, have you perhaps heard of knocking?” Arthur grumbled, covering her face with a pillow.
“Pardon me, my lady, perhaps I should let you sleep in and handle the creepy magic monster poisoning the water on my own?” Merlin deadpanned. “It honestly wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to deal with something magical on my own. Good thing fire and air are my closest friends, I guess.”
“Merlin!” Hearing the other girl talk so flippantly about her power woke Arthur up fully and she reflexively turned to the door. “Someone could hear!”
“What, the guard asleep in front of your door right now?” Merlin shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”
Arthur forced herself to take some deep breaths and restrain the urge to strangle Merlin. The girl had no sense of self preservation. “It’s poisoning the water, you say? Where is it?”
“Dunno, somewhere in the sewers.” Merlin stopped bustling around the room and tilted her head in thought, one of Arthur’s riding vests over her arm. “When I went and looked last night, it was by the well in the lower town. All wriggled flesh and claws and one of the nastiest things I think I’ve ever smelled, and I grew up on a farm.”
“You… you know what, I am going to choose to ignore that statement and address it later after we’ve killed the damn thing,” Arthur said weakly and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Are you actually trying to get yourself killed?”
“Not particularly, but better me than you,” Merlin said. “It was a scouting mission.”
“I am once again choosing to ignore that statement,” Arthur said through gritted teeth. “How do we kill it?”
“Oh, you know.” Merlin looked Arthur dead in the eyes, and Arthur’s heart nearly stopped as they flickered gold, and a tiny butterfly made from pure fire danced across Merlin’s fingers. No incantation, just a pure manifestation of thought, and of course Merlin would summon a fucking butterfly. “It’s a creature of earth and water, right? A little fire and wind should do the trick. Good thing you have me!”
Seeing Merlin’s eyes casually burn with the same color of magic as her soul, well, that definitely did things to Arthur’s heart. And the butterflies in her stomach. She swung out of bed and strode over to Merlin with a hiss, closing Merlin’s fist over the butterfly. “Maybe save the tricks for the actual monster? Help me with my armor, I’m gonna deal with it now.”
“I think you mean we.” The gold faded from Merlin’s eyes and she brushed past Arthur to the chest where she stored Arthur’s armor. “Last I checked, you couldn’t summon fireballs or windstorms out of thin air.”
“Oh my god,” Arthur groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose again. “When we get back, you’re going straight to bed, got it? There’s no way Merlin, on at least a few hours of sleep, would be talking this flippantly about something that could get her killed if the wrong person walked in.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Merlin said dismissively. She struggled under the weight of Arthur’s armor and plopped it unceremoniously on the chair next to Arthur. “At least eat before, yeah?”
Arthur chose to ignore the fact two of her sausages were gone, along with her roll. Merlin was, essentially, skin and bones bound with half the magic of the universe, she could use some food wherever she found it. Merlin bustled around Arthur in between bites and tugged the chainmail over her head, tightening straps on her gauntlets and greaves. Once her armor was situated, Merlin carefully handed Arthur’s sword over. “Are you ready?”
“I suppose.” Arthur unsheathed her sword and twirled it in her left hand. “Just… stay behind me, okay?”
“If you insist,” Merlin said with an unconcerned shrug and fell into step beside Arthur as she sheathed her sword again and walked out of her chambers.
The walk to the lower town was fortunately uneventful, save for the subdued bustle of the market. Sickness hung in the air the closer they got to their destination, and with a simple gesture from Merlin, they slipped behind the well and down into one of the grates leading to the sewers. Arthur wrinkled her nose at the scent of must, slime, and waste as it clung to her nose. “Stay close,” she whispered, sidling in front of Merlin and lifting her sword aloft. “Do you have a torch by chance?”
Merlin shrugged and whispered into her palm, her eyes flickering the briefest gold. A tiny dragon made out of dancing flame wove around her fingers and alighted on Arthur’s armor. She flinched, expecting searing heat (because fire was, in past experience, hot ), but the air was a warm, gentle caress instead. “What, are we cuddling the afanc to death?” she murmured.
“I could burn you too, if you want,” Merlin shot back, rolling her golden eyes. “Wait until you see how cuddly the afanc is.”
“I still can’t believe you went and scouted on your own ,” Arthur said, earning a low chuckle from Merlin, and the three of them continued down the sewer tunnel.
Arthur wasn’t sure how long they walked, absorbed by the constant drip of the water off the sewer walls. She occasionally flicked her gaze into auras and could find nothing but hers and Merlin’s. About an hour into their trek, Merlin suddenly stopped and turned her golden eyes behind them. “Arthur,” she breathed, thin fingers reaching around Arthur’s arm, and she jerked her chin behind them.
The first thing Arthur noticed was the smell. Sickness and decay clung to this creature, a monster of twisted flesh, four clawed legs, and a gaping mouth ready to consume. Arthur’s vision was still in auras and she was nearly overwhelmed by a nauseating wave of twisting emanating from this creature. Its soul was fragmented, stitched together with lies, half truths, and an incomplete existence. She used Merlin’s grip on her arm to pull the warlock behind her, then raised her sword and charged.
The fight was over surprisingly quick. As her sword arced across the afanc’s skin, Merlin’s voice rose with a fragment of power brought straight from the earth and the dragon on Arthur’s shoulder lunged at the afanc. Searing heat blasted across Arthur’s face, along with a breeze from nowhere, and as she brought her sword swinging down on the afanc’s neck, it exploded into unbound fragments of energy that whisked away on the breeze. In the dying embers of the dragon, Arthur turned to see Merlin’s hand outstretched, eyes blazing gold and the language of the earth dying on her tongue. She stumbled forward and Arthur’s arm shot out to catch her. “You alright?” Arthur asked, alarmed at the heat emanating from the girl.
“I— yeah.” Merlin shook her head abruptly and resummoned the dragon with a flick of her wrist. “That magic… it was wrong . It pushed against mine.”
“But you won,” Arthur said, raising an eyebrow.
“Obviously, prat,” Merlin muttered. She tilted her head. “Are you okay? I wasn’t the one who charged a magic danger creature with a sword and had a fireball blow up in their face.”
“I’m fine,” Arthur said and rolled her eyes. “It’ll take worse to knock me out.”
Merlin muttered something under her breath.
“What was that?” Arthur asked with a singular eyebrow raise.
“Nothing, my lady,” Merlin said with a false sing-songy voice. “Just thinking about the training that you’re missing right now in favor of wandering the sewers. Let’s go, you prat.”
Merlin slipped out from under Arthur’s arm and tugged her along until Arthur got her feet moving. Part of her was tempted to see how much effort Merlin would put into making her move, but opted for speed instead. With the death of the afanc, it was useless to hold Gwen captive. She had to clean up that mess in court.
Once the two of them returned to the citadel, Arthur sent Merlin to get changed and deal with chores, then she herself strode into the council chambers. She looked a mess, most likely, with sewer sludge on her armor, face, and hair. She didn’t miss the scandalized looks members of the court sent her, a woman, in such a state. Morgana looked shell shocked. “What is this?” Uther asked coldly, eyebrows raised.
“Father,” Arthur began, bowing to the king. “Forgive my lack of decorum, but I recently returned from scouting the lower town. I had heard whispers of a beast lurking in the sewers, poisoning the water with its skin. I encountered a creature made from rotted flesh, with clawed feet and twisted red skin.”
“What?” Uther’s eyes went wide and he gripped his throne with white knuckles. “Did you take any guards?”
“No, forgive me, but time was of the essence.” Arthur ignored the murmurs of the court in favor of looking her father in the eye. In the corner of her eye, she saw Morgana staring at her, eyes wide with shock. “It was a decent fight. My sword didn’t seem to work that well against its skin, but there was a draft from a nearby tunnel that caught the flame on my torch and cast it over the creature. Between that and a well placed strike, I was able to defeat it.”
Uther gaped at Arthur for a few seconds, eyes burning with all the things he wished to berate her for, but under the watchful gaze of the court, he instead turned to Gaius. “Gaius, what manner of creature is this?”
“It is an arcane creature, sire,” Gaius confirmed. “An afanc, a creature of water and earth summoned by a powerful mage. This could perhaps be the work of Nimueh, as it takes a mage of considerable skill to summon such a beast. It was fortunate that the flame caught, as fire and air are the only way to take it down.”
“If it was the work of another, more powerful mage, and the death of this creature starts curing the citizens, then perhaps it wasn’t Guinevere after all,” Arthur said. “Father, if the curse begins to lift by tomorrow, perhaps it would be prudent to release Guinevere, as it wasn’t her fault.”
“I…” Uther took a deep breath to subdue the flash of rage across his face. “Very well,” he bites out. “Gaius, I expect a detailed report of the plague by the morning. Arthur… go clean yourself up, for God’s sake. What are you paying that maid for?”
Arthur ignored Uther’s comment and bit back the urge to state that it was him who instated Merlin, after all, instead opting for a brief bow. She caught Morgana’s gaze as she turned to leave. The other woman’s eyes were filled with shining relief, and she mouthed a thank you as Arthur left the council chambers.
Arthur’s room was only half cleaned when she returned and a fire smoldered gently in the fireplace. On the rug in front of the fire lay curled a bone tired Merlin, breath rising and falling steadily in time with her thin shoulders, and on a nearby chair sat the pale, spectral form of Ygraine, looking down at the warlock with a fond expression on her face. “Idiot,” Arthur muttered, shaking her head with a smile. She tugged a blanket off the foot of her bed and gently draped it over Merlin’s shoulders.
“You did well, my dove,” Ygraine whispered to Arthur. “You saved many innocent lives today.”
“It wasn’t just me,” Arthur said, settling down on the rug next to Merlin. Seeing Merlin’s peaceful, angelic face, she was unable to resist the urge to tuck a stray curl behind Merlin’s ear. Her heart fluttered as she felt Merlin lean into her touch, and she opted to keep her hand on the other girl’s shoulder. “It was her.”
“Both of you,” Ygraine said. “You are each other’s other half, you know. You’re at your best by each other’s sides.”
“I know. I didn’t before today, but…” Arthur trailed off and brushed her thumb over Merlin’s shoulder. “It worked really well, having her magic. Having her. I felt like I fought and worked harder with her there. She’s truly remarkable.”
“You both are.” Arthur could almost hear the Queen’s gown rustle as she settled on the rug beside them. “You have a long road ahead of you, but it will be made all the better by having each other. Take care of her, and yourself, okay?”
“Okay,” Arthur said. “I think Merlin has the take care of me part covered. Someone has to take care of her.”
Ygraine pressed a gentle kiss to Arthur’s hair, and the three of them sat in silence together, wrapped in the warmth of the fire and each other’s presence. At that moment, Arthur knew that no matter what happened, there was no one she’d rather have at her side than this insolent country girl with half the power of the universe at her call, under the gentle guidance of her dead mother. Princess, warlock, queen, bound by love transcending the grave and prophecy. Arthur pressed a gentle kiss to Merlin’s head and leaned into her mother’s presence. As willing as she was to take on the world, she was going to enjoy this quiet moment for as long as she could.