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Merlin slept for a week after bringing Arthur back from Camlann. Arthur worried Merlin had somehow imparted his own life force into him, draining himself, but Gaius assured him it was most likely just the level of magic Merlin had used that had exhausted him.
Accounts from the area certainly seemed to confirm that story. People had seen a god, or so they said. When Arthur lifted the magic ban, it passed almost without resistance. Whatever Merlin had done, whatever he’d been, people had seen the divine, and known it was magic itself.
When magic itself woke, he told Arthur never to do that to him again, and called him a variety of names for good measure. Arthur had shoved Court Sorcerer robes at Merlin, and told him to be ready at dawn the next day. Merlin had hugged him so tightly he thought he would break a rib. It was, perhaps, the best moment of Arthur’s life.
Merlin made a better Court Sorcerer than he had a servant, but not by much.
“You can’t teleport out of meetings and say you did it accidentally!” Arthur said.
“Oh, can’t I?” Merlin asked, before teleporting away.
Arthur put his head on his desk, hiding a smile.
Merlin was only growing more powerful.
“I think it’s the not hiding anymore,” he said to Arthur as he worked in fields on the outskirts of Camelot, growing miles of crops with just a touch. He looked down at the stalks of wheat, blowing peacefully, and smiled. “Thank you for that.”
Arthur knocked their shoulders together, not trusting himself to speak.
As Merlin’s power grew, he grew quieter. Arthur needled him, pushed him, was gentle and firm with him in turns, but he only retreated further into himself.
The trend was interrupted when a sorcerer from the town was arrested for murder.
The sorcerer had killed a young girl, an apprentice under his wife’s protection, because he had found out she was in love with his son, and he didn’t approve of her background. He hadn’t used magic to do it, just blunt force and hatred. From what the wife said, it had been leading to this breaking point for years, and he took the same hatred out on her and their children.
It was one of the first times Arthur wished he was more like his father. He would’ve killed the man without a trial if he could.
He was more trouble than he was worth, anyway, breaking out of the holding cell remarkably often, though each attempt took a couple of days. Arthur was fairly certain the only reason Uther hadn’t had to deal with such things was his policy of immediate execution for every suspected magic user he caught.
After a week of this, Merlin came to Arthur and said he had what they needed for this kind of problem.
Arthur followed as Merlin went down to the dungeons with as much steel in his eyes as in his hands. Merlin wore heavy gloves, and the chains he carried seemed to hum with strange energy.
Arthur watched the murderer gasp as the irons were locked around his wrist, and he smelled burning flesh.
“Cold iron,” Merlin said as they went back up to Arthur’s rooms. “It does that. To people like me.”
“That man is nothing like you,” Arthur said.
Merlin looked at him. “Isn’t he?”
Merlin had developed a specific tone of voice, one Arthur recognized from hearing Gwen speak in it for years. It meant he was speaking about Morgana without ever saying her name.
They’d had a few weeks of revelations, and Arthur knew about the poison, the dragon, and all that followed. Merlin was calling himself a murderer, and it wasn’t just because he had struck the killing blow.
“He is not,” Arthur said. He mourned his sister often, sometimes with Gwen, sometimes without. Now was not the time for it. “You’ve made mistakes. So have I. So have we all, that’s what it means to be human. That man chose violence and hatred, Merlin. You fought against it at every turn.”
Merlin smiled at him for the first time in days, and Arthur felt himself relax all at once, tension he hadn’t even noticed draining out of him.
“I am like him, in a way, though,” Merlin said. “If you ever need to stop me, now you know how to.”
Arthur said nothing to that. He knew he would never put chains on Merlin that hurt him, in the same way he had known he would never kill Morgana, that he would never marry Mithian. Arthur was honest in his own head, as much as he could afford to be, and he knew that his care for people made him a better person, but sometimes a worse king. He thought of Merlin’s skin burning away under his hands, and shuddered.
Merlin was more talkative after that, closer to his old self, and Arthur basked in the warmth of it and tried not to think too hard about what Merlin had said.
A week later, a hunting expedition gone wrong led to fewer knights and more wolves than they’d been prepared to encounter.
They’d spread out, and Arthur was semi-isolated, with only beasts for company. He adjusted his grip on his sword, calm.
The animals fought fiercer than he would have expected. Arthur knew wolves didn’t act like this, knew the animals must be only pawns, and he offered a silent apology to each he slew as he tried to keep their teeth away from his throat.
As he slashed desperately, trying to find a glimpse of clear air so he could plan an escape route, the forest around him seemed to grow quiet.
It was only a second of warning, but enough for Arthur to keep a hold on his sword when holy light filled his vision, the wolves around him dropped dead, and the trees felled themselves in a wide circle.
Something golden, glowing, and holding a man by the throat entered the clearing.
“Merlin!” Arthur yelled. “Enough!”
Merlin didn’t look like he could hear him. The man struggled, eyes bulging as he tried to breathe.
Arthur opened his mouth to shout again, watching the look of awe and terror on the man’s face, but he turned to ash before Arthur could get the words out.
Arthur stared at the empty, smoking space that had once held a human being.
Then Merlin abruptly stopped glowing and dropped to the ground, and Arthur ran to him.
He checked for a pulse, and it was weak but steady. He scooped Merlin up and went to find the remaining knights. Most of their horses had fled or fallen to the wolves, but one had stayed, and Arthur draped Merlin over its back to bring him to Gaius.
“He was glowing?” Gaius asked, peeling back Merlin’s eyelids and then letting them snap shut again.
“And flying,” Arthur confirmed. “And he looked- what is it the Druids call him?”
“Emrys.”
Arthur couldn’t explain why it felt right. He thought of the glow that overpowered him, how it felt distinctly more than human, and the mingled fear and reverence he’d seen on the dead man’s face before he had disintegrated.
He shivered. “He looked like that.”
Gaius frowned. “The way he’s breathing… his symptoms are almost indicative of internal burns. Similar to people who’ve inhaled steam or been struck by lightning.”
“Can you fix it?”
“His magic will do most of it.”
“His magic is what hurt him!”
“No, losing control is what hurt him,” Gaius said, examining Merlin’s hands. “Since Camlann, he’s been growing more powerful. He’s figured out how to access all the magic of Albion, but his body is only human. It’s too much for it to handle.”
Arthur felt cold. “It’s eating him from the inside out.”
Gaius shot him a look. “You’re lucky he’s not awake, sire.”
“What?”
“His magic is not destroying him. How he’s using it is. Having a sword cannot cut you, only wielding it wrong can.”
Arthur felt a trickle of shame. “Right. So he just has to stop doing that.”
“I fear it may not be so simple,” Gaius said. Arthur wondered if the old man was actually getting more cryptic as he aged.
When Merlin woke a few days later, Arthur ordered him not to use his magic in a way that rendered him comatose.
“It’s not that simple,” Merlin said, and Arthur sighed. It never was.
“Explain it to me then.”
Merlin flexed his hands. “You were in danger.”
“I had it handled!”
Merlin glared at him. “You were in danger, and I just- moved.”
Arthur frowned. “So you can’t control it? Did you make the choice to kill that sorcerer, or did it?”
Merlin didn’t answer, and wouldn’t meet his eye.
Arthur poked him in the arm until he looked up at him. He was glaring, but he also looked scared. Arthur hadn’t seen that expression since that conversation in the woods, tears in Merlin’s eyes and blood on Arthur’s side and their hands laid on top of each other as anchors.
Arthur pushed his own fear down, and rolled his eyes. “Merlin. Just answer the question.”
“You’ll decide I’m too dangerous,” Merlin said, voice steady. He sounded resigned, like this was a fact Arthur just had yet to learn. “You’ll have to stop me.”
“You think I would– what, throw you in the dungeons? Banish you?” Arthur asked, hurt. He knew Merlin knew he wouldn’t kill him. They’d talked about it haltingly, horribly, but it had been necessary.
Merlin looked away. “No. You know that wouldn’t work.”
Arthur thought, suddenly, of the shackles. Merlin had shown them to him, shown Arthur what cold iron could do to troublesome sorcerers.
“You think I’m going to chain you.”
“It would be smart, sire.”
Arthur wanted to scream. He hated when Merlin called him that. The way he sounded, Arthur wondered if he’d been put in cold iron before, and for how long. There were too many of Merlin’s scars he had yet to see.
“We will find another way.”
“You can’t risk that. I could hurt someone. Arthur, I’m more powerful than you can comprehend. If I can’t control what I’m doing-”
“You can,” Arthur said. “You didn’t harm a single knight. You didn’t even harm a horse. Whether you meant to use it or not, it’s still your magic.”
“Arthur, you need a way to stop me.”
“You’re right, I do,” Arthur said, and Merlin’s expression shuttered. Arthur wanted to hit him. “Because you’re going to burn yourself alive. We need to keep you safe, and cold iron won’t help with that. I’m not trading internal burns for external ones. I’ll find another way.”
“You’re being deliberately thick,” Merlin snapped, but Arthur was done. He would not add to Merlin’s collection of wounds. They would find another way.
One day Merlin stopped by to help with knight training, demonstrating how magic could be used in a fight, and what it felt like when it was. Some of the youngest squires had begun to learn, and some were successful enough that Arthur suspected they’d had an inherent gift, one they may or may not have known about before the ban had been lifted.
Merlin selected Arthur to help him with a demonstration, because he was an ass, and Arthur agreed, because he enjoyed knocking the divine personification of magic itself flat on its back when it got too comfortable.
Arthur ended up facedown in the dirt, this time, and Merlin laughed loud and openmouthed as he pulled him up, teeth glinting, eyes crinkling, face flushed.
If Arthur had been able to stop staring, he might not have noticed the burn scars on the insides of Merlin’s cheeks, but he hadn’t been able to, and he did.
It happened again a month later. There were assassins, because of course there were. Their leader was nothing but dust by the time she drew her blade. The others scattered, and Arthur watched the light from Merlin’s eyes coat his whole body as he reached towards one of the cloaked figures.
Arthur swore, and jumped over the table towards him.
“Your majesty!” a knight called from behind him, but Arthur ignored him.
Leon grabbed him by the arm before he could get to Merlin, throwing himself in front of Arthur, acting as a wall.
“The floor is smoking where he stands,” Leon said. “Be careful.”
“He won’t burn me,” Arthur said, struggling against his hold, completely certain in a way he didn’t know how to explain.
“You don’t know that,” Leon replied.
“Merlin!” Arthur yelled, foregoing his original plan in favour of doing whatever he could to stop Merlin. “This is your King, and this is an order. Turn it off.”
Nothing happened, of course.
“Why would that work?” Gwaine asked. He had one of the would-be-assassins knocked out at his feet. “He never listens to you.”
“He’s hurting himself!” Arthur yelled.
Gwaine moved towards Merlin, to do what Arthur wasn’t sure, but just then the glow touched the man that had been unconscious at Gwaine’s feet, and he vanished into nothingness.
He must have been the last, because Merlin fell to the ground. Gwaine, already moving towards him, took a few quick steps and caught Merlin by the collar before he could go down.
Leon let go of his arm, and Arthur darted to Gwaine’s side, forcibly taking Merlin off his hands.
“Arthur-” Gwaine started, but Arthur pulled, and Gwaine let go. He stormed down to Gaius’s rooms without another word.
Gwen met him there soon after, and he couldn’t smooth the worry in his face before she saw it.
“We don’t know who they were, and that means they can try again,” she said.
Arthur frowned. “No identifying marks?”
Gwen raised an eyebrow. “Not on what’s left of them.”
Arthur clenched his teeth, and stared at the ground like he could burn a hole through it if he tried hard enough. He couldn’t, of course. He wasn’t Merlin.
“He’s not dangerous.”
“To who?” Gwen asked.
“Any of us!” Arthur snapped.
“I agree,” Gwen said, “but what about those people?”
Arthur sighed. “They were dangerous. They’d have killed us. He only protected us.”
Gwen hummed. “Dangerous, yes. But were they evil? Or were some only following orders because they had no choice? You don’t execute people on principle anymore, Arthur. He shouldn’t be able to either.”
Arthur winced. Gwen was an incredible queen. She brought insight and perspective that he simply couldn’t, and she did it in such a kind and firm way that she could not be ignored. It was terribly inconvenient when he was trying to ignore something.
“He’d only ever hurt those who he thinks mean you harm,” Gwen said gently. “But he can be wrong about that. I’m not saying that he’s dangerous. Only that he’s human.”
“Is he?” Arthur asked, unable to stop himself.
Gwen smiled. “He sees his loved ones in danger and acts without thinking. What’s more human than that?”
Arthur pressed his lips together, his own words coming back to him. You’ve made mistakes. That’s what it is to be human.
He sighed, and settled in to watch Merlin sleep.
It took him longer to wake, and he was shakier when he did, yet his magic flowed from him with the same ease as always. Arthur tried not to think about it, and things went on as usual.
Merlin was by his side for multiple dangerous encounters, and did not start glowing or floating even a little. Arthur dared to hope that he’d gotten it out of his system entirely.
“What does it feel like?” Arthur asked one night, when they were working late in his chambers.
“What?”
Arthur rolled his shoulders, trying to settle himself. His skin felt too tight today, and altogether too small. He wondered how Merlin managed it, containing such power in such a thin shell.
“When you…” he made a vague hand gesture, and Merlin shot him an unimpressed look. Arthur grimaced. “When you burn.”
Merlin hummed. “Not what I’d imagined burning would feel like.”
“Imagine it often?” Arthur asked without thinking.
Merlin looked at him, and every sorcerer he’d seen at the stake flashed through Arthur’s head. He recoiled, stricken.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t- I wouldn’t have. You know I wouldn’t have.”
“I stopped thinking about it almost altogether, after you became king,” Merlin said gently.
Uther was a touchy subject, even now. They argued over him in every conceivable way. Sometimes it was Arthur screaming that Merlin should’ve let him kill his father, and Merlin sitting there and taking it with his eyes fierce and his face pale. Sometimes it was Merlin saying that Uther had been a monster, and Arthur digging his fingernails into his palms so deep he thought he would break skin while he fought to stay calm.
Uther would’ve burned Merlin without a thought, and they both knew it. Arthur would’ve done everything he could to prevent it, and he hoped Merlin knew that, too.
“It feels calm, actually,” Merlin said, interrupting Arthur’s internal monologue. “Like when you’re in battle, and all the training and strategizing pays off, and everything clicks. You’ve felt it too, I know you have. I’ve seen it.”
Merlin stood and walked towards Arthur, leaning over his desk, bringing their faces close together. His eyes glowed faintly, and he lifted Arthur’s sword arm, positioning it in front of him.
“When the weapon becomes an extension of yourself, and all you know in the world is that you will use it to keep what you love safe.”
He trailed his hand down Arthur’s arm until it rested on his palm, and Arthur held Merlin like a sword.
“I could show you,” Merlin said, and Arthur nodded without even wondering what he meant.
Merlin’s eyes pulsed, and Arthur felt it rush through him, electric and still, sure and deadly.
The pause before the strike, before the sword sunk into someone’s chest, before the magic spilled out, before the danger was gone and he was safe. It was that moment in the heat of battle when cold certainty was all he could feel, when all that mattered was the final movement, when he knew that as soon as he finished this, he could drop his weapons, stop holding the fight and hold him instead.
Merlin dropped Arthur’s arm, and the sensations rushed out of him like the tide pulling back. He leaned forwards slightly, half chasing, half falling, and inhaled sharply. He found his lungs ached, like he’d been holding his breath.
“Er, sorry,” Merlin said, stepping back hurriedly. “I didn’t- sorry.”
I liked it, Arthur thought, but by some mercy managed to bite his tongue.
“Oh,” he said instead.
“You get it now?”
Arthur curled his fingers into a fist, then stretched them out again. Merlin’s magic, Merlin’s feelings lingered in his hands where they had touched. He thought maybe he did get it.
Arthur stood, and put a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. The itching in his skin soothed instantly. He looked at his hand.
Merlin waved his hand in front of Arthur’s face. “Are you losing it? God, I’ll be blamed for addling your brain with magic. Gwen and the knights’ll have to testify to save me, and make sure everyone knows your brain was addled long before I showed up.”
Arthur squeezed Merlin’s shoulder sharply, and he yelped.
“My brain is perfectly fine, thank you very much,” Arthur said.
Merlin shook his head sadly. “See, sire, that just shows how addled you really are. You don’t even know there’s a problem.”
Arthur rolled his eyes, half-heartedly kicked Merlin in the shin, and devoted his (completely lucid) thoughts to memorizing what he’d learned in the last few minutes.
He felt the foreign space in his mind the incursion had left, how alien it felt, but how Merlin too. Arthur knew Merlin, inside out and back to front. He knew nothing of the divine, nothing of magic, and had believed that meant he couldn’t solve this, couldn’t stop it, but it was Merlin, and Arthur knew Merlin.
It scared him, but Merlin being burnt alive by divinity and loyalty scared him more. He would try to learn from this. He had to.
Life continued semi-calmly for a while. As much as Arthur and Gwen aimed to orient Camelot towards peace and stability, battles happened. As their power grew, so did the envy of challengers.
Merlin very seriously told him he couldn’t unite Albion without bloodshed. Arthur didn’t dare say that he didn’t want to unite Albion if human life was the cost.
The battle was clearly going in Camelot’s favour, with Lot’s troops scattered and outnumbered. Arthur seemed to be taking the brunt of said troops, though, likely because he insisted on leading the battle.
Merlin had tried to drug him to stop him. Arthur had switched the cups when his back was turned.
He caught Merlin’s head before it hit the table with a whispered apology, then called Gwen, who was unsurprised but pained by the whole thing.
“I leave her in your capable hands,” Arthur said firmly, and even as he said it he knew he meant his city and his sorcerer both.
Gwen caught and reflected his double meaning, and accepted the responsibility with grace. “I’ll look after her.”
Arthur paused before he left. He knew he’d avoided death because of Merlin more times than he could count, and he was deliberately leaving him out.
“Guinevere,” he said, turning to her, and working the royal seal of his finger. “If anything should happen-”
“No,” she said. “You tried to give me that burden once before, Arthur. It is not mine to bear.”
Arthur hesitated. He did not want to leave the kingdom without an appointed successor.
“There is already precedent for my regency, and I beg you not to make me add to it, but I will if I must,” Gwen said quietly. “I love this kingdom as much as you do, Arthur. I would never let her fall. But I will not be your heir, because you don’t need one.”
She met his eyes, then looked deliberately to Merlin.
“If anything should happen,” Gwen said, “he’ll come for you. You know it to be true.”
Arthur swallowed, and slid the seal back down. The Once and Future King, as Merlin had told him he was. He would remain so in every life.
He thought of this as he slashed at another opponent, and wished, just for a moment, that he hadn’t left Merlin out of this one.
As the thought crystallized in his mind, the light around him changed, and he whirled around to see a familiar golden glow beginning to coalesce into a figure.
As Arthur registered what was happening, the men nearest to him began dropping like flies.
Arthur swore, dropped his sword, and ran full tilt towards Merlin.
“Leon!” He yelled, voice raw and roaring out of him. “Get me up there!”
Leon emerged from a crowd of bewildered knights, and watched as men were thrown in every direction away from Arthur, as the ground beneath Merlin shook and cracked.
Even at his most out of control, Merlin could distinguish between friend and foe, but none of them were safe from collateral damage.
Leon saw the desperation in his face and his sprint, and swallowed any argument, dropping to one knee and bracing his hands as Arthur rapidly approached him.
Arthur ran onto his laced hands, and leapt towards Merlin, who was now floating several feet in the air, surrounded by a swirling cloud of gold.
Fortunately, whatever was keeping Merlin in the air saw fit to keep Arthur there too, and slowed his momentum enough that he stopped entirely, suspended before Merlin.
Arthur remembered every rant his father had ever gone on about the dangers of magic, every time he’d been subject to a spell he couldn’t stop. The gold surrounded him, choked him, terrified him more than he could admit to Merlin, who would only be hurt.
Arthur also remembered every feeling that had flowed through him from Merlin’s mind, every time Merlin had saved his life, proved his loyalty, made him laugh, looked at him with devotion and trust. He remembered Merlin’s scream as he lay dying at Camlann, Merlin’s burns, and Merlin’s weeks of being comatose.
This was a greater danger, and Merlin would burn himself out entirely trying to defeat it.
There was also the human cost to think of, and Arthur was thinking of it. This was not a wolf attack or a few assassins. This was another kingdom, thousands of men following orders, fighting for their nation. This would not be retribution if Merlin was allowed to see the threat destroyed, it would be a massacre.
Arthur reached out and cradled Merlin’s face—which was a mask of rage and righteousness, the clouds during a storm, the ocean under the wind, the mountains standing tall and sharp—in his gloved hands.
He was grateful for the leather, wondering how overwhelming skin-to-skin contact would be while Merlin’s skin ran with the land itself.
“Merlin.”
He watched Merlin’s hands, as they conveyed claws and talons and bolts of lightning, soften from their outstretched stance and reach to grasp Arthur’s arms, wrapping around his tunic sleeves
“Merlin, it’s me. Look at me.”
Merlin’s eyes, which were the stars as they guided ships to port, the sun in all its blazing glory, forest fires that left the land new, focused on Arthur.
“There you are,” Arthur said, as if he’d just found Merlin wandering around the kitchens when he needed him for something, as if he wasn’t witnessing Emrys and Merlin at once. “I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” Merlin said, and his voice contained thunder and avalanches, the clash of antlers of the red deer, the howl of wolves, and it was a promise that carried all of Albion with it.
Arthur moved his thumb over Merlin’s cheek and found his own fingers to be rippling fields of crops and soft coats of fur, his own arms where Merlin touched him the stone walls of the Citadel and the wooden homes of its dependents, his own eyes the gems pulled from Albion’s mines and the sparking hearths of its houses.
“I need you to turn this off and come down,” Arthur said, and his own voice echoed back to him with every type of music, the animal skin drums of the outlying villages, the triangular harps of the north, the royal trumpets of his court, the humming of the servants and the singing of the operatic masters.
Merlin’s eyes flickered, blue sky creeping in at the sunshine edges, and Arthur wrapped one arm around Merlin’s torso, feeling the forest and the rocky plains.
Merlin’s eyes moved, fire overwhelming them, and Arthur threaded his other hand through Merlin’s hair, feeling the feathers of birds of prey, the thistles of unkept fields. He pulled, forcing Merlin’s burning eyes to meet his.
“I’m here,” he said, and he heard the strike of the blacksmith’s hammer, the woodsman’s axe, the cook’s knife. “I’m safe. You have me. Now turn this off.”
Merlin’s eyes flickered again, and Arthur caught them with his own, aqueducts to Merlin’s lakes, fishnets to his shining scales.
“Arthur,” Merlin said, and his voice wavered between wind and whine.
“Merlin.”
“There’s still- there’s still danger.”
“It's a danger we can handle. What remains of the enemy is already retreating. Let them go.”
Merlin’s eyes went all over blue and all over human, and then rolled back in his head.
Arthur had just about enough time to think oh no, and then they fell.
Arthur got his arm around the back of Merlin’s head to protect it, and assumed the stance he would if he’d been thrown from a horse.
They crashed into the ground in a tangle of chainmail and limbs, clattering as they rolled.
Merlin looked pale and awful, and Arthur cradled him and fought the urge to try to wake him. He knew it wouldn’t work, that Merlin would sleep for days, that Arthur had succeeded but not fast enough.
He thought again of skin-to-skin, and wondered if it would work better. He’d been too afraid to try it, his father’s fears of pollution and corruption ringing through his head, but this was Merlin. Arthur pulled a glove off, and gripped Merlin’s hand in his. Next time—for there would be one, he was quite sure—he would be braver.
When Merlin woke, he asked for Arthur. When Arthur came, he asked “how many?”
Arthur sat, and watched the gold flicker through Merlin’s face. He could not forget what he’d felt, being so close to Emrys. Merlin was not a mortal, not a man, but he was also human. He was kind, and caring, and fair, and guilty.
“We aren’t sure,” Arthur said. “You don’t leave bodies.”
“Don’t bullshit me,” Merlin said, exhaustion in his voice. “You have an estimate. What is it?”
Arthur swallowed. “Around five hundred.”
Merlin made a broken sound, a horrible half-sob of a sound.
“I’ve killed more,” Arthur said quietly.
“In one day? Without differentiation or mercy?”
Arthur looked at him, and thought of Druids, of camps, of raids and fires and children screaming. “Yes. At least all those you killed were soldiers.”
Merlin’s expression flickered, then shuttered.
“What are you going to do?” He asked.
“Better, next time,” Arthur said.
Merlin frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I think I can get you out of it sooner. If you show me again what it feels like, it’ll help me be sure.”
Merlin stared at him incredulously. “That’s it? I killed five hundred people!”
“Approximately,” Arthur interjected.
“You’re an idiot.”
“You’re an idiot.”
“I’m dangerous!”
“Merlin!” Arthur snapped. “If you want to be locked up so badly, you are perfectly capable of doing it to yourself! It wouldn’t even be the strangest thing you’ve done this year, I doubt the court would bat an eye. You’ve really not been dissembling their ideas of crazy old wizards, you know.”
“I’m extremely youthful,” Merlin said, then, “is that what you want me to do?”
“Wh- lock yourself up? Why would I want that?”
“Because you are good and kind,” Merlin said, “so you don’t want to chain your…”
“Friend,” Arthur said, bemused.
“Aw, sire,” Merlin said, then sobered again. “You don’t want to chain me. But you are also just, and care about your kingdom, and you know I am dangerous. If I- if I put myself in irons, it solves both problems.”
“Is your head legitimately filled with straw? Has Gaius checked that, in all the time you’ve been working with him?”
“Better than filled with air and inflated until my royal tunics won’t fit around it,” Merlin said.
“Merlin. If you were truly so concerned, you’d have locked yourself up after the first time. Why didn’t you?”
Merlin looked at him fiercely, unashamed. “Because your life is worth more to me than anyone I might hurt.”
Arthur knew. He’d felt it, in Merlin’s mind, in Emrys’ voice, but it was different to hear him say it.
He cleared his throat. “Exactly.”
“What?”
Arthur shrugged. “I, personally, enjoy being alive and wish to remain that way. Merlin, do you think I’ve forgotten how many times you’ve saved my life?”
Merlin blinked in a way that implied he did think that. Arthur dragged a hand over his face.
“I haven’t, and I won’t. You’re right that I care about my kingdom, and that I try to be a good king. A young king suffering a sudden violent death with no heirs is generally not good for the kingdom.”
Merlin opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Arthur continued in a rush, “and anyway, what kind of just king would I be if I chained the person who’s done more for me and for Camelot than anyone? You once told me an unhappy king does not make a better ruler. You also told me I have a choice as to how I rule. I choose with you.”
Merlin closed his mouth.
Arthur smiled. “I meant what I said, Merlin. I know everything you’ve done. And I don’t want you to change.”
“Alright,” Merlin said faintly. “But- Arthur, you can’t do nothing.”
“Quite right,” Arthur said. “Which is why I’ll do better next time.”
“How?”
Arthur shifted forwards, arms braced on his knees.
“Find that feeling, and I’ll show you.”
Merlin closed his eyes. When he opened them, they flickered with gold.
Arthur reached out, and put his hand over Merlin’s, skin on skin, feeling Merlin’s magic find him, greet him, settle as it felt his pulse and his calmness. Merlin’s eyes snapped back to blue.
Merlin stared at him. Arthur shrugged. Merlin made a face, and Arthur grinned.
“You are Albion, as the Druids say. I am Albion too. You were born to be its magic, I was born of its magic. It recognizes me.”
“Why didn’t you do that before I killed five hundred people?” Merlin demanded.
It was a fair question, and one Arthur did not want to answer.
Merlin watched him very carefully for a moment, then said, “oh.”
Arthur felt shame hit him in the chest, coil sickly in his stomach. It made him angry, made him want to yell and throw things and push Merlin away, but their hands were still together and he didn’t want to lose that.
“I wasn’t scared of you,” Arthur said, but it was half a lie and he knew it. Merlin was magic, and Arthur had been scared of the magic.
“It’s fine,” Merlin said, half turning away. “It’s fair.”
“It’s not!” Arthur snapped. “It was my father’s voice in my head, Merlin, not mine. It wasn’t because of anything you’ve done, it was because I saw magic and thought of danger, so no, that’s not fair.”
To his surprise, Merlin was smiling. “What?”
“Bring magic back to Albion, and unite it,” Merlin said. “That’s what you’re meant to do, fated to do. When I’m like that, it’s not in Albion, it’s in me. It’s fractured.”
He moved his hand to curl his fingers through Arthur’s, and Arthur watched the calmness in his face, the odd wisdom Merlin sometimes possessed. Arthur had thought for a while that the magic explained it, but it didn’t. It was all Merlin, his faith and his passion and his certainty.
Merlin squeezed his hand “This is how you bring it back to Albion, how you bring it back together. And you’re smart enough to figure it out, kind enough that you understand why, and brave enough to do it. You don’t have to be perfect and unafraid, Arthur. You are everything they said you’d be and more.”
Arthur watched Merlin, the way he was filled with so much faith it seemed like sacrilege to even consider disagreeing, and the anger and shame drained out of him at once.
“So you think it’ll work, then?”
“Did you feel it?” Merlin asked. “When you brought me down?”
Arthur swallowed. “Like everything is much more than itself.”
Merlin nodded. “It’ll work.”
The next time it happened, Merlin was the one to first realize there was a danger.
It was a normal patrol, walking with his knights, ribbing Merlin, Gwaine talking everyone’s ears off. It was a short patrol, just the areas around the castle, more of an excuse to socialize than anything particularly useful.
Arthur noticed something odd about the forest sounds, and stopped for a moment to listen. He knew these woods inside-out, had grown up hunting them. He knew their seasons, their stages, their smells, sights, and sounds, and something was strange about the latter. It was quieter than usual, the birds shriller, the wind toneless.
He hung back, letting Gwaine’s chatter get further away, and strained his ears.
Merlin appeared next to him half a second later. “What is it?”
“Shh.”
Merlin squinted at him, irritated, but Arthur shot him a look that said no, seriously, and Merlin stayed quiet.
“Arthur,” he hissed suddenly. “There’s magic here.”
“Threatening magic?”
“I think so.”
Arthur removed his gloves. Merlin looked afraid. “Are you afraid?”
“Only of what I’ll do,” Merlin said.
“Stay by me.”
Merlin glanced at him for just long enough to say “always,” before directing his eyes to the forest again.
A girl emerged from between the trees, hand stretched towards them, eyes golden.
“Sefa?” Merlin said, and she looked at him, eyes flickering with terror and regret.
“You need to go.”
“You know I can’t.”
“My issue isn’t with you, Merlin. Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”
Arthur was distantly aware of the fact that he couldn’t move, which was maybe an advantage at that moment, as he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stop himself from laughing at that.
“If your issue is with Arthur, it’s with me,” Merlin said quietly. “I don’t want to hurt you either.”
From Sefa’s face, and the fact that he had some control over his body again, Arthur assumed Merlin’s magic was showing in his eyes.
“You,” she breathed.
“Me,” he agreed.
Sefa’s face twisted. “I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for Arthur with power that felt sad, and sick, and lethal, “but Guinevere took my family. Now I’m going to take hers.”
Something sharp and invisible tore through Arthur’s left side a moment later, and he cried out as he felt his skin and flesh split along with his sword belt.
It was a superficial wound, but given the placement, he was not surprised to see Merlin immediately start to glow.
Sefa was in Emrys’ grasp in a second, and she began to sizzle and scream.
Merlin would never forgive himself if he killed her, Arthur knew that. He thought of his father, of Morgana, of all the horrible things they had done and stopped each other from doing. The age of revenge was over. This was the age of Albion.
Arthur threw himself bodily at Merlin, and grabbed his face with bare hands, putting himself between the two sorcerers.
He felt Merlin then, his fear, his flashbacks, his care. He felt Sefa too, her grief, her betrayal, her love and hatred for Gwen.
“Enough,” Arthur said, and he carried the land in his voice and his fingertips.
Merlin stopped glowing. Sefa stopped screaming. The forest went still and silent, then the natural noises flooded back, and Merlin stumbled.
Arthur caught him, held him up. “You alright?”
“Are you?” Merlin asked, craning his head around to see Arthur’s side.
Arthur turned to show him the new scar. He’d felt his body knit itself back together the second he’d stepped into Merlin’s range.
He turned to Sefa, one hand firmly on Merlin’s arm, holding him up and holding him back.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he said. “I’m sorry about Gwen, too. We’ve all had to do difficult things, the last few years, to protect the people we love.”
Sefa’s throat worked. “I’ve no right to ask,” she said, “but kill me quickly. Please.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“You’re not?” Merlin said, and Arthur squeezed his arm sharply.
“She’s not going to do that again.” He turned to Sefa. “You’re not, are you?”
She shook her head, eyes wide.
“You can’t know that,” Merlin said, warily.
“I can,” Arthur said simply, and he did. She was of Albion. “In the same way you can sense it when we enter sacred space, Merlin. I know.”
Merlin met his eyes, something deep and affectionate and all-consuming swimming in their depths. “She tried to kill you.”
“Merlin,” Arthur said. “What happened last time you refused to believe someone had changed? Or last time we executed someone?”
He felt Kara and Mordred in the air, tasted the sting of Merlin’s grief mixing with his own. God, he hoped these senses weren’t permanent, he’d never get anything done, and he did not want to know what his knights were feeling all day, especially given the way Gwaine had been eyeing Percival lately.
Merlin seemed uncertain, but Arthur could feel the tipping point. “Trust me,” he said, and he could feel it when Merlin made the conscious decision that he did.
Sefa was looking at him with wide eyes. “I- what are you going to do with me, then, sire?”
Arthur looked at her, and felt around in her heart. She was breathtakingly loyal, to her father first, but to Gwen second, and there were enough complicated feelings tied to the Queen that Arthur felt suddenly sure that banishment would be the wrong thing to do.
“I’m going to take you to Guinevere,” he said. “You need to talk to her. If you’re satisfied by what she has to say, well, she hasn’t had a maid since you and I do think she needs one.”
Sefa stared at him, mouth open. “If I’m satisfied?”
“She is the most forgiving, most loving person I have ever known,” Arthur said. “So yes, if you are satisfied.”
Sefa closed her mouth, opened it, closed it again. “Yes,” she said finally. “Thank you.”
The other knights had circled back to find them by now, and were eyeing the situation with hands hovering over hilts.
Their entrance to the clearing had rather overwhelmed Arthur, clamoring emotions and voices working at his head.
“Finish the patrol,” he heard Merlin say. “We’ll meet you at the Citadel.”
He should’ve been irritated that his knights took orders from Merlin, but he was not.
“You have got to help me turn this off,” he said to Merlin as they walked back.
“I’ll do my best,” Merlin said, grinning. “Sure you don’t want to poke around in Geoffrey’s head a bit first? I’ve always wondered what goes on up there.”
They bickered all the way back to the castle, and Arthur was distantly aware of the warm glow of Sefa’s slowly relaxing mind as she followed.
The town made him nearly fall to his knees as they approached, and Merlin winced. “Right. Okay. I’m going to shield you.”
“How?” Arthur asked, gasping around the noise in his head, hundreds of emotions shouting to be known. His people, part of him, part of Albion.
Merlin rolled up Arthur’s tunic sleeve, and grabbed his arm, skin-to-skin. The world quieted to only him and Merlin.
Merlin was looking at him very strangely. “That worked, didn’t it?”
“Yes. Not a terrible idea. Makes sense it would go both ways.”
Merlin made a noise like he had just cut himself off from going into hysterics.
They made it into the Citadel with little issue after that, and brought Sefa directly to Gwen.
Arthur felt the spike of panic and love from his Queen even through Merlin’s shield, felt memories of Morgana settle over her like disease-ridden blankets.
“It’s alright,” he said. “Just- talk to her. She’s under your jurisdiction.”
Gwen looked at him, eyes wide and wild. “What is going on?”
“I tried to kill him, Merlin stopped me, Arthur stopped Merlin, and they brought me back here so I could forgive you for killing my father, because you’re the closest thing to family I have left,” Sefa said.
Gwen turned to her, eyes heartbreakingly hopeful, hands clenched into fists by her sides. “I- I see.”
“You don’t but that’s alright,” Sefa said. “Neither do I, really.”
Gwen turned, not to Arthur, but to Merlin. He nodded to her, gave her a subtle half-smile, and then an extremely unsubtle thumbs-up.
Gwen turned back to Sefa.
“Right!” Merlin said cheerfully. “We’ll be off then. Just have to, um, write a speech or something. See you later, Gwen.”
“Or something?” Arthur asked as Merlin dragged him down the hall towards his rooms.
“She doesn’t care,” Merlin said, pulling them in and closing the door.
As soon as it was shut, he said, “you love me.”
It wasn’t a question. Arthur blinked at him. “You’re alright.”
“It wouldn’t work both ways,” Merlin said, slowly and deliberately sliding his hand down Arthur’s arm in a way that made him shiver, “if you didn’t.”
He reached Arthur’s hand, and relaxed his own so he could slide their fingers together.
Arthur reached out, examining the emotions Merlin was presenting him with, and the ones swirling around that must be his own.
“Oh,” he said.
“Oh,” Merlin replied, somewhat mockingly but too breathy to be really cutting, then shoved him back against the door and kissed him.
Arthur felt Merlin take his magic back, take the magic back, because all magic was his, and so was Arthur, really. The only feelings he was left with were his own, deep, affectionate, all-consuming. He felt it as they went from the divine personification of magic and the Once and Future King back to Merlin and Arthur, felt as the physical took precedence over the spiritual once more, felt the humanity in their love and in their lips.
Arthur felt it as he brought magic back to Albion, and he smiled.
“I love you too, you prat,” Merlin gasped as Arthur moved to kiss his jaw, his neck, down to his collarbones.
“Works out, then,” Arthur said, as he tucked those words away in his heart.
Merlin was covered in scars, as Arthur had suspected he might be. He mapped them in his head, with his mouth, and swore to ask about them later.
Arthur’s bed was very comfortable, and they lay in it for quite some time.
“We should figure out how that works,” Merlin said after a while. “The skin-to-skin thing. And really, I need to be able to stay in control when you’re not there, too. I wonder if you can return the magic to me on your own, in case I’m unconscious when you get it? Or-”
“Merlin,” Arthur said, “shut up.”
“If it happens when you come into contact with my magic,” Merlin continued, unimpeded, “it would have happened last time, so it must be the touch that actually-”
Arthur rolled over and kissed him hard, biting lightly as he drew back. Merlin blinked the haziness out of his eyes.
“Uh,” he said, eloquently.
“That’s going to be very useful,” Arthur said, grinning. “If I had known that all it would take to get you to stop talking-”
He was cut off by Merlin’s lips on his once more, and sighed. Damn. Well, he thought, as he leaned into it, perhaps it was fitting that this, too, worked both ways.