to the world that never let you be

by ImperialMint

Summary:

When Arthur notices the scars on Merlin, he sets off to find out why a servant of all people has such marks and discovers that Merlin might not be all that he seems.

Notes:

Warnings: Mentions of violence, kidnapping (think Tears of Uther Pendragon), skinning of rabbits, magical reveal.
Notes: All lyrics (title and page breaks) come from Laura Marling’s ‘Blackberry Stone’.

Arthur was good at many things. He was a good warrior (one of the best, actually), a good negotiator, a good man (though it had taken him a long time and many people to tell him this and still he didn't really believe it, at least not all the time), and he was good at patience. Well, sometimes. And, really, it was more of him being good at ignoring than being patient, but a Crown Prince wasn't supposed to ignore things, especially when they pertained to his own staff.

What that really meant, though, was that Arthur was good at ignoring things when it came to Merlin. He was good at ignoring the way Merlin would look down at him with a dopey smile, beaming as if the sun had announced Merlin was King of the world when he woke Arthur - every damn morning. Arthur had never known anyone to be so... happy in the morning, but Merlin never failed. He ignored it, of course, and often rolled over in bed to smother the smile that rose to greet Merlin's, because in reality, when you're woken with such a big, happy smile, there was little resistance to follow when you were half asleep.

He'd never admit that though, because he was good at this thing called ignoring, you see?

Arthur was also good at ignoring how Merlin did his chores. His manservant would hum to himself, or tell stupid little stories about children who wandered into woods and met magical pixies, or a lonely old woman who decided to craft shoes for foxes, something to fill the silences on the job. Stories that never actually made sense, but carried an air of nostalgia with them that Arthur was almost one hundred per cent certain Hunith had told them to her son when he was a child.

(It seemed as if there were a lot of things Arthur wouldn't admit to when it came to Merlin as well, for he liked hearing the children's tales, sitting back in his chair as Merlin sat opposite, whittling on about how the field mice collected their winter stores and battled the evil rats.)

So maybe he blamed the last part on his childhood. He'd hardly had any stories about animals growing up. Animals were animals, there for eating and not much else. Ever since the unicorn, years ago, Arthur had paid a little more attention to Merlin's stories and as such used this as an alternative excuse. He had to know whether the twelve-pointer stag he'd hunted when he was fifteen would cause a curse on his firstborn after all, and Merlin seemed to have a vast amount of knowledge on these things.

Just to be safe.

Another thing that Arthur was good at ignoring when it came to Merlin was... well, him. Or rather, the idiotic things he did, such as tripping over his own feet or dropping everything he was carrying. He couldn't help but notice Merlin wherever he was (because Merlin had the kind of aura that just made you know he was there, whether he was slinking in late for morning's council sessions or hiding away from his chores), but the Prince was good at ignoring the faults with his manservant that often made his father roll his eyes in exasperation.

Everyone knew Merlin was full of odd quirks and so it hardly bothered Arthur when he had turned down an invitation to join the Knights in a swimming contest. After all, Merlin was hardly an athlete and even though it was summer at the time, the water of the lake they had chosen was bound to be cold at best.

So no. Arthur hadn't found it strange when Merlin hadn't joined them that time. Nor had he found it strange that Merlin preferred to bathe alone on long camping trips, and not at all on shorter ones. Some people were more private than Arthur - who really didn't care who was ogling his muscles because, well, what good was a Prince when he couldn't make at least one person a day swoon?

Merlin had snorted and called him ridiculous when he'd said as much to his manservant. Arthur thought it was well within his rights to get people to swoon after him, then promptly ignored the 'oh really' swagger in Merlin's grin.

He was, after all, brilliant at this ignoring thing.

He didn't even mind when Merlin scrunched his nose up and shook his head madly after Arthur offered him his used bathwater. For anyone else, such an offer would be an honour. For Merlin, though, it was an insult and Arthur had stopped offering after the third venomous glare he'd received in return.

To that, though, Arthur was slightly grateful. He didn't really want someone bathing in his own filth, but his father had always pressed upon him the need to be polite and offer small rewards to one's servant. Apparently offering them a tub of water, sweat and blood was a great reward, but Arthur had never seen it as such.

Arthur had been so good at ignoring this particular habit of Merlin's until Merlin called unnecessary attention to it.

It had been a teaching session, as it always seemed to be with Merlin, where Arthur was trying to illustrate a point and drum servant skills into Merlin because, despite being master and servant for years, Merlin still lacked in essential skills. Namely, and the product of this ‘session’ (when really Arthur made Merlin carry the pitchers to his room and navigate doors while doing it as opposed to any actual lesson) he couldn't carry two jugs of wine at once.

It wasn't a surprise when he tripped over the top step leading to the hall where Arthur's chambers lay, spilling red wine down his front. There was a beat of silence as both men watched the wine bloom over Merlin's chest before Arthur rolled his eyes, hands reaching to take the jugs from Merlin's hands.

"Really Merlin, how hard is it to walk up some stairs?" Arthur smiled, shaking his head. He ignored the fact that he wouldn't want Merlin any other way and made for his chambers, Merlin hot on his heels.

"It's not my fault someone makes ridiculous demands for two jugs of wine when one would be enough, so that I can't see where my feet are going." Merlin cut himself off as Arthur turned to look at him.

"You finished?" he asked, toeing his door open and moving in to put the half-empty jugs on the table.

"Good, take that top off then, you can borrow an old one of mine."

Arthur may have had his back half-turned towards Merlin, but he didn't miss the stiffening of his manservant's shoulders and the way a hand moved to grab the centre of the wine-blot.

"Off?" he asked, voice a little too casual for Arthur's liking.

"Yes, off. You smell like you've spent the day in the tavern and if you're going to join me then I expect you to change. I have some water behind the screen you can wash yourself off with."

Arthur didn't miss the way Merlin's eyes darted towards the screen Arthur had set up earlier when he'd bathed and then the way they traced to the door. The Prince may have been able to ignore the odd behaviour before, but now his curiosity was piqued and, well, what was Merlin playing at?

"I have to go," Merlin blurted out, making for the door instantly. He had one palm closed on the handle before he continued, "Gaius wanted me to run a few errands before bed and I only just remembered."

Arthur nodded slowly, making sure that disbelief was clear in his nod. It was something he'd strived to perfect when he was eight, but now found it came at remarkable ease. It was clearly hereditary, for Uther was a master at the nod.

With Merlin suddenly gone and the wine losing all appeal, it suddenly occurred to Arthur why Merlin was so secretive about his bathing habits.

"Of course!" he said to an empty room, proud of his sudden revelation. "He's scared of water!"

And while he was good at ignoring some things (almost all of which related to Merlin), he couldn't just let this one slip by.

.
well I own this field and I wrote this sky
.

The day dawned, bright and warm. Breakfast was, as usual, missing, but that wasn't an anomaly to Arthur any more. He generally woke before his breakfast was brought up, but it was always to Merlin - be it a smile or the sound of him shuffling.

Today, however, there was no Merlin shuffling around and Arthur sat up, looking out of the window to check that, yes, it was daytime. He stretched his arms above his head, rolling his shoulders and shaking sleep off when his chamber door banged open and Merlin stood there, leg outstretched and a wooden tray in his hands.

"Um, sorry?" he said, grinning sheepishly as he set Arthur's breakfast on the table. "There was a problem with one of Gaius' experiments this morning and he managed to set alight to... well maybe its best I don't actually say, but I had to help him put it out and that took a long time-"

Merlin cut himself off, shaking his head. "What I mean to say is, breakfast!"

It was Arthur's typical breakfast; meat, cheese, bread and a large jug of water and while he'd usually be sitting down anticipating the food by now, Arthur had a more pressing issue to deal with. Namely, Merlin's fear and how he could tackle it.

Ever since he was, well born really, Arthur had been taught to face his fears. He'd been pitted against his first knight at the age of six (though that wasn't an actual fight so much as a game, one day when Uther had decided to show Arthur how men trained - which promptly ended in most of Camelot's seasoned fighters either showing off to the young Prince or wanting to impart their own wisdom) and slayed many foes by the time he'd come of age. Fear had never been an issue for Arthur, though he supposed he must have felt it, back on his first campaign or during his first tournaments.

The thing was, Arthur didn't remember that fear. Merlin clearly held his fear in his chest, unable to move past it and while that was all very good for a simple peasant, Arthur was the Crown Prince. He couldn't have a manservant who would be afraid to help him rescue someone if they were drowning, or if they had to embark upon some quest through... a swamp.

It was entirely possible, Arthur reasoned to himself. There were plenty of swamps around and knowing their luck, Arthur and Merlin would have to go on a quest to one and Merlin would muck everything up, destroying Camelot in the process.

Or something like that.

Merlin was nosing around the room, hands darting around and picking up scattered clothes and tidying the clutter Arthur seemed to attract. He was humming to himself again, a tuneless song coiling around the room merrily and Arthur broke a chunk of bread from the main loaf, chewing on it, contemplating how to breech the subject as he took his seat at the table.

"What would you do if someone was drowning?" Arthur said instead, around his mouthful. He reached for some gammon, acting casual as Merlin looked over to him, eyebrows furrowed.

"What any normal person would do I expect, try and save the person drowning?" Merlin shrugged his shoulders, returning to his task as if such questions were just part of his job when 'Dealing With Arthur'. And yes, Arthur knew that was capitalised because he had heard Merlin discussing the issue with Gwen in the laundry room, once when he was searching for his missing manservant.

He was not, for the record, a spoilt prat when he hadn't had his breakfast, no matter what Merlin put out on the grapevine.

And, okay, maybe Arthur's scenario had been a little too heart-clenching for poor Merlin, the same person who liked unicorns and cried for people he barely knew. Maybe he'd override his human fears to save someone... so a different situation perhaps?

"What if someone lost something in a river?"

Merlin pulled pillows off of Arthur's bed, starting to remake the covers. He glanced over to Arthur with an odd look on his face, as if he was amused to be entertaining a small child.

"Well, it depends what it is and, you know, on the river. If it's easy to get to I'll get it for them, if it's important then I'll help." Merlin plumped the pillows up, "I don't exactly want to die by drowning if you're trying to figure out some obscure punishment for me."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Yes Merlin, I'm asking you these questions to find out your preferred method of being killed." Arthur paused for a moment while Merlin stilled, eyes darting to meet Arthur's to check the seriousness of the conversation.

"Idiot," Arthur muttered, turning back to his food.

"As long as we're on the same page then Sire," Merlin said curtly, smile tugging at his lips. "Besides, I prefer a good burning any day of the week."

Arthur sighed heavily. "Look, I know okay?" Merlin froze, like a deer in front of a hunter. "So you don't have to pretend anymore or make little jokes like that."

Merlin was silent; his whole body rigid and, honestly, how had he lived so long with such a paralysing fear?

"I'll help you overcome it though," Arthur continued, knowing that Merlin needed reassurance. Fear wasn't a nice thing and, while he couldn't remember it, Arthur could respect people even if they were scared. "There's nothing to be afraid of with water, I'll help you realise that."

All in all, Arthur was sure he was doing a good job in reassuring Merlin that everything would be fine in the end. He was certain he'd said the right things in the right places and was ready to nod at his efforts when Merlin snorted, laughter breaking free from his throat.

Hm. Maybe not then.

Arthur counted five seconds before he decided that it really was enough and he stood, his chair screeching against flagstones, finally silencing Merlin's laughter. They stared at each other for a moment before Merlin bundled up linen in his arms, obviously biting back another round of chuckling.

It wasn't that funny. So maybe Arthur had misjudged something here (and he'd have to think about this a bit further because if Merlin wasn't scared of water, what was he scared of?), but there was no need to laugh this much about it.

"You thought-?" Merlin pressed his lips together tightly, struggling to keep his emotions under control. "You thought I was scared of water?"

Arthur nodded curtly; he couldn't deny it, he'd said it pointedly for all the room to hear. If he took it back now, Merlin would be relentless and not stop poking it until he'd a confession. It was better to admit the fault now than let Merlin grin himself stupid.

Merlin's smile was threatening to split his face in two again so Arthur looked away. So, maybe this once his judgement had been less than perfect, but was that really reason for Merlin to be so happy?

"I know you have a sensitive nose and all," Merlin began and Arthur wanted to argue this point because his nose was perfect, thanks Merlin, and he only ever complained if things smelt really, really bad. "But we can't all take hourly baths in infused baths."

There was going to be some jibe soon, about Arthur's masculinity. Or lack of...

"You take more baths than any woman I've ever known!" Merlin was back to moving around the room, shaking his head to himself with a dopey smile.

"Yes, okay, thank you for that Merlin," Arthur ground out, ripping another chunk of bread from the main loaf and chewing on it, expression thunderous. "I get the point."

He swallowed dryly, wincing as the bread caught in his throat a little. "I could put you in the stocks you know," he muttered, more for old times' sake than anything. It wasn't as if he'd actually put Merlin back in the stocks; if he needed to punish his manservant then the dungeons would be a better place.

Everyone knew who Merlin was now, after all. While before he was just another idiot getting pelted with food, now he was the Prince's manservant who had refused to listen - yet again. There were only so many times you could bash against an impenetrable force before you crumpled, and Arthur knew that pushing Merlin into such a position was ridiculous.

Merlin wasn't a run-of-the-mill servant - something that Arthur wouldn't openly admit that he was grateful for, but he was. Merlin was more of a friend than anything, someone who stood by Arthur through thick and thin (and all the times he had been a complete idiot by Arthur's side, just by staying, all the times Arthur had needed someone there but couldn't ask his men).

Merlin was always there for him, just as Arthur thought he'd always been there for Merlin.

Only, he'd made a massive misjudgement in thinking Merlin was scared of water and, well it was probably hilarious to everyone but Arthur at this moment in time.

"Stop sniggering. You sound like a little girl Merlin," Arthur drawled, sinking lower in his chair. And they said you were supposed to start as you mean to go on? Well this day was just going to be awful then.

Merlin continued smiling to himself as they settled into silence, Arthur finishing his breakfast and Merlin tidying up.

"Your father wanted you to head council sessions today," Merlin said carefully, his voice dropping ever so slightly, as it always did now when people talked to Arthur about his father. They were always so careful, so cautious as to tread around the secrets that Morgana had ripped open and it was grating for Arthur.

Part of him wanted to keep it this way, tuck the secrets and the fact that he had a sister (one pretty hell bent on destroying Camelot now too - and could that have been prevented if Uther had told them? Though that was another can of worms that reminded Arthur of a time he'd pressed his sword to Uther's neck, calling him a liar) away where no one could see.

Then another part, a bigger one, the one that had told him to listen to Merlin, to knight his men, to fight for Camelot, wanted to talk about it. Arthur needed to know about it, why Uther had lied all these years, how long ago did Morgana find out, why had she turned to Morgause instead of him...?

But he was tired. Too tired to do any of that. So Arthur sat back, letting even Merlin walk around the subject, tensed like a cat in a fight, eyes wary of Arthur's reaction. The one person who had seen the very best and the very worst was wary, which had to allude to how sensitive the subject was... and it was the only time Arthur wanted Merlin to grab the bull by the horns and just... be Merlin.

"I need to dress," Arthur said instead, rising from the table and moving to his wardrobe. Merlin was by his side just as he started rummaging for clothes, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.

Merlin helped him very little, as was normal, but they remained side by side, comfortable in the routine they had developed over the years together. Always after breakfast they would run through this routine, manservant close by his master, even if nothing else in the day followed any other. It was a regime of normality and while Arthur never really thought about it, he sought some form of comfort in knowing Merlin would be there for those few minutes.

"I want you to check through my weapons inventory today and take anything that needs mending. I also want you to make sure all my armour is polished fully and any dents hammered out," Arthur said as he made to leave.

Merlin nodded, straightening up. "Yes Sire," he said, standing to mock-attention. "I live to your command Sire!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and let his chamber door swing closed behind him as he made his way to take council. It had been this way for a few days now, since Uther's health had started declining. Arthur took the council and presented a summary to his father, who would then generally agree with what Arthur and the senior members of Uther's council had decided and they would all rest well knowing they had their King's blessing.

And if Arthur found his attention straying from petitioning noblemen in court to the way his manservant was looking around the council chambers half-asleep (everyone did it, it was one of the few things Arthur wasn’t looking forward to as King), then it certainly wasn’t because he was more interested in Merlin’s problems. It was just the fact they were more interesting to figure out than pig farmers and snotty nobles.

.
and you never did learn to let the little things go
.

Talking to his father was tiring. Uther wasn't back to his full ruling capacity and Camelot was lucky if she saw her King for half the week with the state of mind he was in, and so it was often left to Arthur to fill boots bigger than his feet. It wasn't, Arthur had explained to Merlin one night, as if he wasn't up to becoming King, but he had to be the King his father was rather than himself.

Though, Gaius' pinched look and slight downturned lips made Arthur wonder how much longer Uther would be in the right mind to rule at all. In some ways it was far worse than the enchantment that had taken hold of the King's mind months ago because he rarely talked, sinking into himself and shaking his head tiredly, as if he'd given up.

And Arthur had never known his father to give up. Not the man who had conquered Camelot at such a young age and then eradicated magic years after. Not the man who was prepared to join men in battle if they needed him. Never.

They all knew the cause of it, of course. The daughter he'd never acknowledged, his ward whom he had lied to...

Arthur had tried not to think of it, but he could see why Morgana was so angry, so full of hatred towards Uther. She'd been denied a family all her life, made to think she was an outside before she was part of the family. Arthur had struggled with Uther along the years, but at least he had still known he was his father, rather than been denied that bond.

He shook his head. Now wasn't the time to think about it. He had knights to oversee and needed to appoint Leon in charge of them, should he need to be absent for a few days (which was likely, with the way Uther was looking this week).

This meant, though, that he'd need to find Merlin and get him to gather his armour. It was most likely a wasted trip, but Arthur headed to his chambers first, wondering if Merlin was skulking around in there as he’d vanished halfway through the council session, as per usual. And while, traditionally, the armour should be sorted out in the armoury, Merlin had taken a fancy to sitting by Arthur's window, pulling chairs up, and looking out over Camelot while he worked.

How did Arthur know? Well, he'd watched Merlin a few times. All in the name of checking his manservant was doing his job, of course, and if Merlin had chosen to tell him stories of woodland animals helping farmers with their hauls for the year, then Arthur would simply say he'd enjoyed a tale.

The door opened soundlessly and Arthur stuck his head inside. He could hear someone moving about, behind the screen further in his rooms, and could tell simply by the way the person shuffled ever so slightly that it was Merlin.

Arthur was about to say something when Merlin moved from behind the screen, back to Arthur and head turned slightly to the side, as if he was looking for something. His hair was slightly damp and Arthur guessed he'd finally taken the bath Arthur hadn’t had time for but had, instead offered to Merlin over and over again.

Except Arthur's mind only had a few moments to process that before he finally took in Merlin's back. There was a fading bruise, stretched over both shoulder blades and dipping down Merlin's spine. Purple and green -tinted skin mottled over Merlin's back, breaking up the pale tone that Arthur knew was Merlin's normal skin tone.

The bruises could be explained, perhaps. It wasn't so long ago that Camelot had been under attack and they'd all gathered a large expanse of wounds and bruises during their time in the woods and taking Camelot back. Merlin hadn't been with Arthur for the actual take-over, so who knows what had happened to him?

Maybe he fell over? At least, that was what Arthur wanted to think.

Merlin hadn't noticed him yet at least. It felt as though Arthur had been standing there for hours, when it was probably only seconds. The muscles in Merlin's back shifted under the skin as he opened the window, leaning out slightly, evidently giving up on his search (most likely for a top, knowing Merlin).

As the sound of a lively Camelot reached Arthur's ears, his eyes trailed lower down Merlin's spine, to an oddly shaped mark, pitted slightly. It looked as if Merlin had been bitten, or stung by something, but it was too large for Arthur to place a name to.

What on earth had his manservant been doing? Had Gaius been sending him to dangerous places for plants?

And why had he never noticed before? These kinds of things were surely the things you noticed about a friend.

Merlin half-turned and Arthur moved back in the room, heading to the door. He caught a glimpse of Merlin's chest as he was doing so and only just caught himself, pushing onwards until he was sure Merlin wouldn't notice he was there.

Arthur had seen many battle wounds in his time, even wore plenty of his own, but he had never seen anything like the mark on Merlin's chest. It was similar to a burn, except it was a strange shade of red, as if it was brand new. It couldn't be new though, for the skin around looked smooth and healed, as if it had been there for years.

What had Merlin been doing? He was supposed to be a simple commoner from an outlying village. He wasn't supposed to have unfathomable scars or spine-long bruises. He wasn't supposed to hide them from Arthur - at least.

And why was he hiding them? It was pretty damned clear that he wasn't scared of water now, but Merlin didn't come across as someone who was shy of his body, so why was he hiding these marks?

He couldn't ignore this and the curve of Merlin's back pulled him in again, as well as the brief glimpse of his chest. How had he gained such marks? When? Why?

What was it about Merlin that made him push every trained instinct of a Prince aside? Prince Arthur shouldn't care how Merlin got his scars. Prince Arthur should just turn a blind eye, ignore it all.

But this was Merlin.

And, really, that was reason enough.

Arthur was old enough now to think through a plan before he acted. It wasn't something that had come naturally for him and he'd had to work through mistakes to realise it was often needed, but there were times when Arthur valued the fact he'd cultivated this particular skill.

Instead of charging back into his room and demanding how Merlin had been wounded (again and again it seemed), he left to meet Leon. He let the information simmer and was able to think rather than act blindly and then, in hindsight, regret his actions. He sent someone else for his armour and was able to think, to plan.

Arthur was distant as Merlin attended to him, trying to ignore the marks on his servant's skin, hidden by a thin layer of cloth. Because that was all that really hid Merlin's secret; a thin layer of cloth that could so easily be ripped away. How easily his secret could be exposed, except for the fact he'd guarded it well.

Until now. All it took was one tiny mistake, one shift in someone's schedule and the secret would be seen. Arthur had seen it now, he couldn't remove the image from his brain, and he was curious.

Arthur had always been curious about Merlin, from the first day they'd met. Though, admittedly, he'd never thought he'd meet the annoying peasant again after their second encounter. He had been a moment of hilarity in Arthur's life, someone who didn't get the idea of ranks and, well the fact that you couldn't call a prince a prat.

It wasn't that Merlin didn't understand the ideas of ranks, Arthur had learnt though, but it was the fact he cared very little for distinguished ranks. Merlin believed in respect and honesty as qualities to judge people on and openly admitted that he would prefer the good graces of an honest stable worker to a lord or lady.

Arthur had never met anyone like Merlin. He doubted that there was anyone else like Merlin for that matter and was, in a strange way, glad that he could call Merlin a friend.

Seeing the proof of secrets on Merlin's back had been a blow for Arthur. Each time Merlin greeted him or was simply around him, Arthur itched to ask what had happened to him, why had he scars in the first place or just why he hadn't told Arthur?

Perhaps that was what was bothering him the most; that Merlin could carry secrets around him without it even entering Arthur's suspicions. Hell, he'd thought Merlin was scared of water and it wasn't exactly a mystery as to why all he'd got in return was laughter.

Now that Arthur knew Merlin was concealing something, he saw evidence for it with every step they took. Merlin would always bathe alone, always dress alone, prefer to stay out of conflicts when they happened, prefer to negotiate peaceful endings where he could... a hundred little things Arthur had thought were just who Merlin was, but was now wondering if they were a cause of what Merlin had been through.

It still twitched inside of him that he didn't know what Merlin had been through. It was there, niggling in his chest, a constant question of 'how, what, where, why, when?', drumming in time with his heart.

He couldn't ask Merlin in Camelot. He loved the citadel and the lower towns, but he was still their Prince and it stifled him. In Camelot, contained in the stone walls of his kingdom, Prince Arthur needed to represent his people and follow his King. He had to uphold the honour of Camelot and the laws Uther had made, regardless of his own choices.

It wasn't easy. He had to check himself constantly, think about his actions and how they would reflect on others. Arthur had to be so much more than just plain old Arthur, and it was tiring.

When he was with Merlin, however, these things didn't matter. Or rather, they hadn't mattered until Arthur had seen evidence of a crevice between them. To cross the precipice, he had to bridge the gap between Merlin and himself, which meant they had to be equals.

As long as Arthur was in Camelot, he had to remind himself that Merlin was his servant. Just a servant, possibly a friend, but never really acknowledged. People knew they were close, but there was still a gap of rank, no matter how much Merlin preferred to ignore such facts. And yes, they would break tradition again and again, but Arthur wouldn't be able to just ask Merlin blankly about his scars while he was still aware that he was Prince and Merlin his manservant.

It was, as with many things, just the way it was.

So, three days of burning questions and almost breaking his mental capacity later, Arthur requested an afternoon of hunting, alone. Uther was willing to grant it to him and Arthur left the confines of Camelot's lower town with a grim look on his face, his horse's hooves thundering over cobblestones. Just behind him, sitting slightly slumped on his own horse, Merlin rode with a bored look, convinced that they were going to kill some animals for pointless fun.

When really, Arthur was finally going to get his answers.

.
and you never did learn to let me be

.

Arthur watched Merlin stumble through a patch of bracken, a pair of rabbits slung over his shoulder as they made their way back to an area they had noted earlier for setting up camp. He purposefully hung back a tad, letting Merlin drag his feet to the small clearing first, evaluating how exactly he was going to approach the question.

Did he go for a straight attack?

Did he tread around the topic for a bit, feeling out Merlin's answers for another day?

Did he trick Merlin into giving him the answer?

The easiest way would be to blurt it all out, in theory. Arthur had already worked up the courage a few times earlier in the day, but the words had stuck in his throat, clinging there and refusing to come out. A question had never been this hard before, but then again he'd always been bound by his duty before and this - namely Merlin - wasn't a duty.

Arthur stood by a cluster of brambles, watching as Merlin started to build a base for the fire. He'd already laid out their sleeping mats over towards one corner of the clearing and had unceremoniously dumped the rabbit carcasses on top of the mats (and usually Arthur would have a word about this, but he had bigger issues on his mind right at the moment).

He was still thinking of a way to get it all done with when Merlin started skinning the second rabbit.

"So I know you're probably still not listening, but I don't like doing this when it's all eerie and quiet, you know," Merlin muttered, not sparing a glance towards Arthur and instead focusing on his task. "And I know you don't care about anything I've said so far, but can you answer me one thing?"

As he had been for the past hour or so, Arthur hummed in acknowledgement. It was amazing how far the right timing could get you.

"How long are we going to be shooting animals out here for? It's getting cold already and it's not even night yet."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Is it all a bit too nippy for poor old Merlin?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, grimacing as blood began to congeal on his hands. "No, but unlike some, I always leave these 'fun' hunting trips stinking of dried blood. It's disgusting."

Arthur looked over to the slightly mangled carcass of the first rabbit and then trailed his eyes to the second rabbit Merlin held. Unlike almost everyone else, there was no finesse in how Merlin skinned his prey. In fact Arthur was almost certain Merlin just hacked away for a bit until he cut a good chunk of the animal away, ripping the skin off from the meat. And really, Arthur hadn't seen anyone get as much blood down themselves as Merlin managed.

He tried to ignore it, but Merlin had a point about the smell. It was the kind of smell that stuck at the back of your throat too, dripping onto your tongue and into your stomach to settle heavily, pressing against you. It was the scent and taste of war, of the guilty and the corrupted. It didn't fit Merlin, hovered around him like an uneasy cloud of emotion.

"We shouldn't be too much longer. Stay here the night and head back to Camelot tomorrow."

Merlin nodded, returning to removing the skin from the rabbit, before finally placing the carcass next to the first and looking at Arthur.

"Why don't you go change and I'll start cooking these?" Arthur suggested, looking at Merlin. Subtlety, he could do that.

"I only need to wash my hands," Merlin replied, looking around for one of the water skeins they had brought.

"You should change. You'll... attract flies." Arthur promptly ignored the fact that most flies probably wouldn't come hover around them right away and that sitting near the fire was bound to dissuade them, but he needed some good reasons as to why Merlin should change.

It was always easier to let the other person reveal themselves than you to call them on it, after all.

Merlin crouched low, resting his weight on the balls of his feet as he made to stand. He looked at Arthur with a slightly tilted head, questioning the logic of the flies no doubt. Why couldn't he ever just leave things alone?

"I only have a spare tunic, it's a stupid idea just to change into it and then not have anything tomorrow. If I change now I'll never hear the end of your moaning about me smelling or something, regardless of whether I do actually smell or not." Merlin gave a little sigh, looking away from Arthur.

"Fine," Arthur said and maybe it was a little more forceful than he'd intended, but he ignored the slight widening of Merlin's eyes in favour for tying the rabbits to sticks for cooking. No better way to distract oneself from annoying manservants really.

Merlin grabbed one of the skeins before uncapping it, rinsing his hands with controlled pouring. He'd done this before, probably many times, and Arthur wondered if Merlin had resorted to cleaning himself this way in the past while the rest of them had taken advantage of the local stream or pond.

He shouldn't have had to.

Merlin was just shaking pink-tinted water from his hand, the last remnants of rabbit-blood, when the fire spat out an ember, the crack resonating through Arthur's body. It had to be now, the moment he'd confess that he knew about Merlin's secret and-

"And you moan about me? Seriously! Look, I spent ages skinning those rabbits and you've just dumped them in the mud!"

Arthur blinked. No, he still hadn't confessed. Merlin was watching him expectantly as Arthur met his eyes.

"Well I'm not eating the one that's covered in mulch," Merlin muttered, but he reached for the sticks all the same. Arthur knew that Merlin would take the smaller rabbit for himself (which happened to be the mulch-rabbit) and that he wouldn't make a fuss about it other than the banter they shared.

"I got my first battle scar when I was seven." Arthur placed his stick across the fire, resting it next to Merlin's, tied to other sticks they had found into a makeshift spit. The rabbit sizzled slightly as flames hit the meat and it wasn't long before the heavy scent of cooked rabbit began curling around them in the fire smoke.

"I wasn't supposed to be using one of the war axes, but I was curious. I tried to pick it up," here Arthur gave Merlin a little smile, raising his eyebrows. It was clear what had happened. "I dropped it and managed to cut my foot. Most of the scar's faded now, but it's still always going to be there."

Merlin was nodding, fiddling with the sticks above the fire.

"I think that's the thing about scars," Arthur pressed on. He wasn't exactly skilled when it came to being subtle and, well, Merlin was a hard target to do it on anyway, but he was trying.

"What is?" Merlin asked, eyes raking over the slowly-browning meat.

"Well... they all have their own stories. Some of them are silly ones, some are idiotic ones, but they all make up who a person is."

Merlin nodded, "I suppose."

He couldn't do it any longer. Arthur wasn't born to be subtle; he was born a fighter and a fighter got on and did things.

"So, care to tell me about your collection of scars?" Arthur's heart beat faster as Merlin's head snapped up and he paused, biting down the sense of excitement that he'd finally - finally! - asked the question.

"They all look very interesting after all," Arthur said, leaving no doubt that these were Big Things Arthur was referring to, not just little battle wounds like the 'first' one Merlin had on his arm.

Merlin's eyes were wide and his hands frozen. For a moment, Arthur could have sworn Merlin gave a pleading glance to the cooking rabbits, almost as if he wanted to swap positions.

But Arthur had him, and now he'd finally get an answer.

Before now, Arthur would have said with confidence that Merlin had never lied to him. There were moments of self-doubt, but he had them with everyone, even the cat he'd smuggled into his room when he was six, hidden away as he wasn’t allowed pets inside. (And that cat who, for the record, was a liar – it had wanted to be Arthur’s pet while there was food hadn’t it! - and Arthur had hated cats ever since that one had walked out of his room despite the begging and pleading he could be a good owner).

Arthur had always thought Merlin was a terrible liar. For example, back when Morgana had been nice (and yes it was a little painful for Arthur to think of it - and by that he meant a lot - but he wanted to think about her, he needed it) and Merlin had hidden his affections for her. Arthur thought he'd known all about Merlin, seeing through the deceptions, seeing Merlin carrying flowers to Morgana, surely proof.

Merlin had lied then, but it was okay because Arthur had known.

Now was different. This wasn't a case of whether Merlin had lied or not, it was a case that, yes, he'd lied, but he was hiding things. A lot more things than a servant ever had a right to hide.

Why shouldn't Merlin hide it though? What right did Arthur have to know every intimate detail of his servants life? Just because Arthur was his master did that give him the right to know what Merlin did in his spare time, how he had gained such scars when, clearly, Merlin did not want anyone to know?

It was too late to eat his words now. What had been said was in the open, hanging between them as Merlin just watched him. He was clearly considering his answer, most likely wondering what Arthur wanted to hear.

And hadn't Arthur had enough of that by now? People telling him that Morgana's blow to Camelot hadn't been that bad, Gaius telling him his father would speed up his recovery soon, Gwen telling him that he would be great and fair and just when really all he wanted to hear was something about the here and now, not what he'd bring, just once.

He was sick of it. Arthur squared his shoulders a little, looking at Merlin and he could tell that Merlin knew this.

"I..." Merlin's voice was hesitant and he ran his tongue over his lips. "You know how clumsy I can be," he tried, smiling a little and looking at Arthur, as if he hadn't just lied.

"While I completely agree, I fail to see what that has to do with... this." He waved a hand, the word 'scars' sacred and unbidden at the moment.

"Well," Merlin started, his voice firmer. Arthur realised he'd settled on his convictions and prepared what he'd tell Arthur and, well, it was impressive really.

It seemed that, in order to preserve his secrets, Merlin could lie quite well. It had taken a few moments, but in that time he'd passed straight through any panicking phase and dissected the question at hand, coming up with an escape of a lie.

Before, Arthur had never seen it. He'd never seen Merlin take down the levels of a question and build them back up into his lie. He'd never thought Merlin could lie and wasn't that the beauty of it all, really? How far had Merlin fooled them all?

But no - that was wrong. This was Merlin. He didn't have a hidden agenda (or he was the world's most patient person in the world, after years of servitude and hardships to still not have reached his hidden agenda, his goal) and he wasn't out for glory. Merlin, the manservant who lacked the right training but would lay down his life again and again just because Arthur was there.

Who did he think he was?

Or should it be more of a question of who was Merlin? Perhaps everyone else had it wrong this time and this was what Merlin was supposed to do, who he was supposed to be.

"I am clumsy when carrying out duties. I get a number of scars all the time and while I'm flattered that you should care so much about me, it's a bit creepy to know you've been watching me when I'm undressed." Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at the cooking rabbits.

Part of Arthur wanted to accept it and close the subject, blame it all on Merlin's inadequacies. Yes, Merlin was an idiot, yes he must have dropped something on himself as he fell to get that scar on his chest; yes he must just have tripped and fallen onto something else for the mark on his back...

"No," Arthur said firmly. Not this time. "You're not an idiot Merlin," he said, and it felt like a relief to finally tell Merlin that. "And neither am I," he added, resting his chin on his hands.

Arthur wasn't sure how much time passed after that, but Merlin stood, turned the rabbits in their makeshift spits and sunk back down to sit on his log, still without having said a word. It didn't bother Arthur more than he already was bothered, because at least Merlin wasn't lying now.

Maybe he'd get the truth.

The fire hissed around the flesh it was heating and it was only a few moments later that Merlin clasped his hands together in his lap and licked his lips again.

"What do you want to know about?"

Arthur raised a brow in question and waited for Merlin to glance at him.

"I mean," Merlin said after he looked up, too briefly for Arthur to feel comfortable. "You said each one tells a story. What story do you want to know?"

His voice was resigned. Arthur had heard men speak this way once they'd been sentenced to a stay in the cells below Camelot and even to their deaths. Was Arthur's question so terrible for Merlin that he'd face it as others did death?

And there was the bile-burning question that haunted Arthur; why?

"On your back. And the one... the burn mark?" How else could he identify it? The image of the angry red skin was forever imprinted on his mind as well as the creeping horror it had brought.

Where had Merlin got it and why?

Too many questions, he needed Merlin to answer. If Merlin didn't answer... Arthur didn't know. Too many things had slipped through his notice, from Morgana to Gaius to his father to Gwen to the merchants in his village to the people... the list was endless. What did he, Arthur Pendragon, really know about anything?

If everything Merlin was had been a lie... or rather, if he couldn't even trust Merlin anymore...

"Right," Merlin said, drawing himself together. He looked up and was, to Arthur's surprise, smiling. "You had to pick the big ones didn't you?" he snorted lightly, closing his eyes with a sigh.

"There never really was a right time was there?" Arthur heard Merlin whisper, but he didn't answer. The question wasn't aimed towards him, or at least it didn't feel as though it was.

Arthur watched as Merlin straightened, still with a slight smile, and knew he'd get the truth.

"It's not a particularly nice story," Merlin said, honesty ringing in his words. "You won't like a lot of the things that have happened and it'll... change some things."

Arthur's skin prickled, but he fought to remain still. Merlin was being honest and, judging by the tone, Arthur was going to actually learn something (and wasn't that just laughable, after all, who learnt from their manservant?!). Outside of Camelot, by two rabbits roasting, Arthur was oddly happy to listen for once.

Morgana would have laughed at the idea. Uther would have scowled, glare passing from Arthur and over to Merlin. Gwen would have smiled slightly and ducked her head. Merlin... well Merlin was here, by his side like he always was.

Like he'd promised (how could Arthur forget that - he was good at ignoring but even he hadn't the power to wipe his mind of strange proclamations made by Merlin).

"And... I'm sorry."

Merlin didn't say what he was sorry for, but Arthur felt the weight settle around him. It wasn't a simple sorry, but carried the air of a thousand apologies, locked up tight in Merlin's chest.

"I have to start my story far back for you to understand, but... there's no point in hiding anything. You have to listen, okay? Just until I'm finished and then... you can do what you like."

Arthur's heart was beating in his chest. This was it; he was going to learn every secret about Merlin, just as Merlin knew everything about him. It was fair, right? He should know these things, be prepared if Merlin needed his help?

Even if he knew well by now that Merlin never needed his help. It was always the other way around, wasn't it?

"There was a man and one day he asked someone for a deal. A deal to give life to someone," Merlin began, shifting his foot through the leaves on the ground. He cast a look to the fire, before continuing. "Only it didn't go how he planned and..."

Merlin paused, his shoulders drooping a little.

"The sorceress took something precious to the man, something he loved so much that he almost couldn't bear it."

The story was a familiar one, almost as if it was woven into every bone of Arthur's body.

"He did something then, something terrible." Merlin ran a hand through his hair. "To give a life, one must be taken in exchange to keep the balance of the Old Religion. I don't know if Uther knew that or not, but... he blamed Nimueh."

Images of his mother, a lie Merlin had told him, rose and Arthur clenched his jaw, biting down the anger. Merlin had lied then? The woman who had held him tightly, spoken softly in his ear, the one he'd convinced himself was just an image conjured by Morgause-

But that meant then that...

"Nimueh traded your mother's life for your own after Uther struck the bargain." Merlin's voice was firm, with no amount of room for arguing. These were facts, words that had been facts for all of Arthur's life, facts that no matter how he wished he could, he couldn't change.

"It was what started the Great Purge, the death of Queen Ygraine."

It was, but everyone had been told that the sorceress murdered the Queen after Arthur's birth, not because of it.

"What has this got to do with anything?" Arthur demanded, unable to stop himself. He didn't want to know the secrets his father had buried. He wanted to know Merlin's secrets, wanted to just know how a servant could achieve such a mysterious air when he had no right to.

"Because you need to understand the story behind these scars," Merlin said softly. "Their story started long before we were born and I need..."

Arthur didn't know what Merlin needed and it didn't seem as though Merlin did either, as he took a deep breath in order to continue.

"The Old Religion likes balance; it's the only reason that I could come up with as to why it happened. Every sorcerer was hunted, man and woman, adult and child, and put to death. You were just a baby and I wasn't even born, but do you know how many people were killed?"

No, Arthur didn't.

"Hundreds. Probably thousands now. And that's just the official count, what about the people who were tortured and killed off on campaigns?" Merlin's voice was bitter.

"And then there's the dragons. He slaughtered them, one by one in glory he said. Whoever kills a mighty dragon will win the Kingdom's honour! And when the dragons wouldn't come, he tricked their Lords."

Merlin was smarter than anyone gave him credit for, Arthur realised. And braver by far; many people were still afraid to look up details on the Purge, preferring to feign ignorance to Uther's great 'cleansing' years.

He enslaved the Great Dragon and ordered more people to be killed. Some stood up to Uther," Merlin's mouth twisted here, a little proudly. "But it wasn't enough."

He turned to Arthur. "Everything needs balance," he said calmly. "Fire, water, air, earth, life and death. Magic isn't any different and with that amount abruptly taken from the world... well, I think it had to go somewhere, didn't it?"

Something about Merlin drew Arthur in. He seemed to be glowing inside - not that that actually made sense but there weren't any other words to describe it - and shifting, as if he was so much more than a boy from Ealdor and Arthur was only just seeing it now.

"So it did. Go somewhere I mean..."

Arthur was supposed to know where the scars were from. That was all. He'd been expecting some sort of fight maybe, down in the kitchens? Or even an attack from an animal when Merlin had been collecting wood or something.

Not this. Never this. Though it fit nicely into place, didn't it?

Arthur knew about balances and the Old Religion. Uther had drummed his magical philosophies into Arthur with his own teachings, pointing out that you should never make bargains with sorcerers. They were cunning, see, and tricksters. They'd pluck your eyes from their sockets if they could and thread them onto the necklace of eyes they wore around their necks.

Arthur could guess what Merlin was going to say, how he was going to admit his crime. He could imagine the way the words formed, how Merlin's lips moved around them. How the muscles of his face changed after he'd said them, noticing Arthur's face (or maybe imagining a reaction there, too scared to actually look into the eyes of his Prince after such an admission). He could guess the way Merlin would flinch if Arthur stood, or the way Merlin would scramble back with a shake of his head and the widening of his eyes-

"I was born with this power." Merlin's voice was flat. "It's not something I'd ask for if I knew what it was like to live without it... but I don't know what it's like without it. I've always been this way, doing magic before I could talk."

Arthur's heart was racing. Where was his sword? Over there, stabbed in the ground. Where was his dagger? Concealed in a small sheath on his hip, as always. Where were his hands? Attached to his arms, like they'd been since he was born.

Like how Merlin's magic had always been there.

"I wanted to tell you," Merlin said quietly, his eyes now looking down at the ground.

Arthur knew he had. There were moments in their history when there had been moments between them, where Arthur felt as if they were as far apart as mountains without really knowing why.

The smell of burning meat caught at the back of Arthur's throat and he felt sick. He turned away from Merlin, not caring that Merlin's face might fall or his manservant might frown. Only Arthur knew that he wasn't cringing away from Merlin having magic. Not completely, but if only for the fact that Merlin was amazing at telling his stories (Arthur knew that better than any)

(not completely at least, and that was because if anyone knew it, he did - Merlin was amazing at telling his little stories).

The wind blew smoke into his eyes and Arthur almost felt like coughing, admitting he felt sick with the knowledge of how close Merlin had come to being the rabbits. How many times had Arthur (almost) lost Merlin to the pyre?

Merlin was supposed to be telling his secrets and answering one simple question.

"How is it that you just seem to bring more questions?" Arthur asked after a pause in Merlin's story.

Merlin was calm as he replied, "I've been told I'm a riddle wrapped in a mystery. All I know is I am who I am and that you promised to keep quiet until I'd finished."

There was something caught at the back of Merlin’s throat, shown in his voice, something that could be likened to power.

Arthur closed his eyes. He had agreed and, for once, he wanted to listen. He’d never had the chance before, not from Uther or Morgana or his teachers or anyone. But here, by the fire, sitting on a slightly damp log, he was just a man, talking to another man.

He looked at Merlin and nodded. He had to know more. For the first time – first proper time at least – he would listen first and then act.

Only it scared him that he hadn’t a clue how he’d act when Merlin stopped talking.

Merlin was quiet for a moment and Arthur could hear the sound of tall grasses being ripped from the ground. A distraction, something that Arthur needed too, but he found himself unable to unclench his fists to fasten around the long stems around his calves. The ripping sound stopped and Arthur imagined the smoke around them had cleared a little - not that there was much in the first place, only in Arthur's mind where it was a funeral pyre rather than tonight's dinner.

Was killing sorcerers as easy for his father as cooking what he'd hunted was for Arthur? Could Uther sit on his throne, content, even though he had just sentenced a man to burn in his name? How could it not weigh his father down with every step he took across the courtyard, mapping the exact spot so many people had blistered and died?

"I grew up in Ealdor; just another ordinary farm boy who could do secret, non-ordinary things. That was the first lesson I learnt in life, to keep it all secret, to never show that I could do spectacular things. Never tell anyone that I could grow and reap a whole harvest before I could even hitch a horse to a plough; never whisper that I could heal someone where all other cures fell before I was old enough to climb trees."

Merlin's voice was soft, regretful. Arthur wondered if there were others out there, wanting to help when Uther had placed barriers around them. Was it possible Merlin could have given Ealdor food when they had none?

But what after? What if it didn't stop at Ealdor and Cenred had caught wind of the prosperous village when he first came into his reign? Surely if he'd know there was a powerful sorcerer able to conjure up full harvests for villages (did it stop at villages even, what about whole towns?), then would he have taken Merlin for himself? Attacked Camelot without fearing they'd run out of provisions on campaign?

And if Merlin could control a harvest as such, what else could he do? If something that took months to cultivate, that needed to be nurtured and tended daily could be done by one man, what else was he capable of?

"My mother wouldn't tell me anything about magic, other than that what I had was a wonderful gift, but I had to keep it a secret. It became a game, really, until I made a mistake."

Was Merlin a killer? Is that why he'd come to Camelot?

"I... used my magic to fell a tree and... it may have almost fallen on someone." That was Merlin; predictable, un-secretive, man-servant-y Merlin. "That and my mum found out Will knew about my magic and... well, she panicked."

The fire was dying down a little, unenthusiastic, and so Merlin pulled another log onto the flames, looking at the rabbit as he did so and adjusting them on their spits. Not too much longer, Arthur estimated, but he wasn't sure whether he'd be able to stomach the meat.

"She sent me to live with Gaius for a bit; see what I could learn from him I suppose. Gaius looked after her when she lived in Camelot and... she did him a favour when he needed to get someone out of Camelot."

It was supposed to feel as though he was unravelling a thread with ease. Secrets were supposed to spill over one another, untangle as they were explained, except all Arthur knew here was that every inch of conversation Merlin waged between them held more and more secrets. Too many for one man, but then again, was Merlin a man?

Uther didn't think sorcerers were men.

What did Arthur think?

"I had to use magic when I got to Gaius' rooms." Merlin scuffed a heel through the dirt between grass clumps, wiggling the tips of his boots. "Even though I'd just seen someone being killed for it; Gaius fell from the balcony and I had to... it was just instinctive, like all my magic."

No, that couldn't be right. Magic was a choice, a corruption of the soul. It festered in you as you skimmed the words of spells, drew upon the evil forces. It forced innocent people into seeing horrible visions and terrible things. It stole from harmless people, killed women and children as it plundered the land, taking what it wanted and leaving devastation in its wake.

Wait? The same magic that could feed people? The same magic that could heal people? The same magic that saved lives and could do who knows what else?

Instinctive. The word sounded foreign in Arthur's mind. Instinctive was Lancelot's ability to fight, Elena's ability for horses, Gwaine's pessimistic strength, Gwen's kindness, Gaius' attention to science, Uther's obsession with destroying magic, Morgana's ability to lie...

Arthur wanted to sink his head into his hands. It was too much, far too much. Merlin's secrets were bigger than he'd thought and - well, how far were they into this conversation? Not far enough, never far enough.

It was clear Merlin was not going to hold back. Why should he? Arthur wanted the truth, didn't he? Why should Merlin lie now when Arthur had already made it clear he won't stand for it? He’d had already asked Merlin not to lie; he couldn't very well take back his own words now, could he?

He wished, for a brief moment as the fire sizzled, charring meat, that he could. Or reverse time, pretend this was a dream, knock himself out and hope it would all go away.

Except he wanted that because he knew he needed this. He needed to know why Merlin was here, why his father was so consumed by his hatred, why Morgana had turned her back on them; too many things.

"I saved your life," Merlin muttered, turning his head to the fire. Arthur wanted to tell him to look away, ignore the flames as they rose a little. The fire was barely above their knees, should they be standing, but it loomed over them nonetheless, powerful and all consuming.

It was licking up Arthur's arms, holding him in place as Merlin wove his story, when it should be Merlin it was pinning, trapping the warlock to his lies, purifying his soul.

"I didn't know Uther was going to make me your manservant, but... we grew used to it, didn't we?" Merlin smiled as if he were remembering one of his childhood stories of mice and foxes. Stories that were so different to the night time tales of witches and wizards adhering to Uther's justice that Arthur grew up on.

"The dragon told me that I needed to be with you anyway. I think that's why I put up with you, because I knew it would get better. And..." Merlin trailed off and Arthur risked a look. His eyes weren't red or even glowing. They were blue, as they'd always been, and Merlin was still a person, still normal.

Sorcerers were normal people too? Arthur had once posed the question to his father and had been laughed at. He'd then left the teaching room, red-faced and embarrassed at his own stupidity.

Of course they weren't. They were minions of the devil, who had his hand around their throat and his voice in their heads. They were driven mad by the evil magic in them, with only one goal of destruction in mind.

"There were moments when I thought you weren't actually that bad." Merlin sounded as though he were biting down the words, trying not to say them. "It's just easier to think I did it for the dragon."

The dragon? The dragon that destroyed Camelot. Had Merlin... better not to think of that, really. It was part of the story and until it was told, it hadn't happened.

"With all this magic in me, it's kind of obvious that I'm not just here to be a servant."

This was it. Merlin was going to kill them all, gut them like he did with the rabbits, rip the skin off with uncoordinated tugs, laugh as he did so and bathe in the victory that he'd defeated Camelot.

"I'm here to make sure you become King. There are prophecies that speak of the Once and Future King, the greatest King ever to rule."

It was a fairy tale, told in the days of the Fallen Kings. One of the few fairy tales Arthur had even known in his childhood; a man who would rise up and take the whole of Albion, but be loved and cherished. Such a feat had never been done, was impossible, yet it was rumoured that the Fallen Kings had prophesised it, rather than told it as a common tale.

"I'm here, by your side, until you become that King. It is who you are, Arthur."

His name stretched between them. Servants shouldn't address him as such. Guinevere did though... Merlin always had (unless they were in a formal setting, because he could pretend he was trained at least), and Gaius tended to prefer his name to any title.

And really, if Merlin did take to calling him by a title as opposed to his name, Arthur wasn’t sure how he'd react. Years together and Merlin never showed an inkling to servitude other than what would pass him by without being slung into the dungeon. Admirable to some, foolish to others, but always appreciated by Arthur.

.
and you never did learn how to see

.

"You met Nimueh," Merlin said casually, the air between them tightening until it was thick again. Arthur's hand slipped from his lap to brush against the tall grass clinging to his boots. Nimueh, the woman who had struck a deal with his father?

He made to shake his head. He hadn't met her; he'd have known. She would have been... different.

Why though? Just because she's a sorceress? Merlin has magic and yet he'd been under all their noses for years. Just because she had murdered his mother? Murderers didn't wear signs, or Uther would be weighed down, unable to walk.

"When you went to get the antidote for me... that flower?"

Merlin's voice was soft and Arthur swallowed. Did an evil man drink poison the way Merlin had? Knowing that he would die either way, Merlin had drunk from Arthur's goblet on mere word that he might be saving Arthur's life. Someone who wanted you dead wouldn't do that. Someone who wanted you dead wouldn't take a goblet meant for the Prince and drink it, knowing it was poisoned in front of the Court ,would they?

And, after so many years, it was foolish to think that Merlin might be simply waiting. You didn't just wait, not after so many opportunities. If Merlin wanted him dead, there were plenty of times at night, or on supposed hunting trips where Merlin could have lied and fabricated a story.

So why?

"Uther didn't want you to know who she was and I didn't even know you'd seen her until Gaius told me."

Merlin had saved Gaius, he'd said. Which meant Gaius knew... had known since Merlin had been in Camelot. It stabbed at him a little, tingling in his chest and nestling. Why Gaius? Was it just Gaius?

Why not Arthur? Even after all this time...

Arthur wanted to reach out, close the space between them (and really, it wasn't that far apart they sat and Arthur would easily grasp Merlin's arm if he leant forward), but he was rooted to his seat, legs felt as though they were moulded into iron as the wooden seat felt suddenly harder, trapping him. He wanted to reach out, shake Merlin from the sorcerer and return to Camelot with a smile, Merlin by his side and the evil-ness, the darkness Merlin held inside of him trapped here.

He hadn't chosen to be a Prince though, had he? Merlin was magic from his first breath in the world; he had a scripted part in the world just like Arthur. They weren't that different, not really. Prince, sorcerer. Arthur, Merlin. Two babies, two boys, two men.

Arthur had seen Merlin bleed, seen him cry and seen him laugh. He'd seen Merlin angry, happy, bored, lazy... too many emotions to name to and surely if that didn't make him a person, then how else was everyone defined? You couldn't pick and choose rules that suited your views and you couldn't waive them just because someone practiced magic, it wasn't just; wasn't fair.

But when had Uther been fair? Had he entered the deal with Nimueh knowing it would be Arthur's mother who would pay the price? Did Arthur want to know that? Merlin had stopped him killing Uther once and it was clear Arthur didn't have the strength to forgive his father, but could Merlin stop him again?

Was Merlin even coming back?

Panic gripped Arthur's chest as Merlin spoke about something, head bowed to the ground, tilted away from the fire smoke.

A sorcerer had no place in Camelot (hadn't Morgana proved that already with Morgause?), but this was Merlin. Merlin who had been with him for so many things, who had stood with a grin as Arthur paraded order after order down to him, taking it with a shrug and a witty retort before walking off.

Nine times out of ten he would do the jobs, but that one time... that small sliver of pure Merlin... well Arthur would never admit it, but he admired Merlin. It took courage to challenge a Prince twice, courage to stand up time and time again and even more to offer advice, act as an equal.

Oh, but Merlin was his equal – if not more, surely? He had all this power brimming under his skin, he was above Arthur. That was why his father had started it all; a sorceress became too strong, manifested her gift in a way that the King did not like. It was why Sigan was executed; they all got too strong, too powerful, but at some point they had been young.

They'd been people with potential.

Like Merlin?

"Gaius tried to explain the power of the Questing Beast to me and I'll try to help you understand."

Arthur remembered the terrible creature that had almost killed him. Of course Merlin would have had something to do with it... had he set the beast upon him?

"It chooses who it wants to claim, being a creature of the Old Religion. If the Old Religion wants to claim a life, all the Questing Beast needs to do is give you one bite." Merlin's voice was bitter, strange to Arthur's ears. "One bite and that's it, not even magic can heal you."

Then why was Arthur here? Why was he sitting here while rabbits were burning and Merlin was spilling his secrets? If this Questing Beast was a missionary from the Old Religion, why was he still breathing?

Anger bubbled in Arthur's throat and he clenched his jaw. This was hard, too hard.

Merlin twirled one of the grass stems in his fingers, the remainder falling to the ground in a flutter of green.

"It bit you," he commented, too lightly. Arthur knew that tone, knew it well. It was the tone Merlin adopted when he thought he glimpsed a unicorn in the forest, when they took down a full-headed stag, when Merlin had to walk away from peasant children scrabbling for food...

It wasn't the concern of a murderer. Uther was convinced it was, that sorcerers couldn't show compassion, understand pain of others, that they were cold blooded killers. Merlin's tone showed he cared. In retrospect, Arthur could add that maybe Merlin could solve some of the problems he was pained by, no matter how wrong it was in the eyes of the law.

Arthur felt the same pain when he saw war-torn lands, children without homes or families. Why shouldn't magic make their lives better?

'The Old Religion corrupts, Arthur. That's why Camelot will follow a New Religion, born from the fires of the Great Purge.'

Uther had told him that so many times, but it had never settled on his shoulders. There was no 'old' or 'new' when it came to religions. At least, not in the terms people knew the Old Religion by. It wasn't a worship it was a lifestyle, a characteristic, a skill...

Something you were born with.

And yet it corrupted, blackened the hearts of the people it touched. What had Gaius done to remove the stain upon his soul? Would Merlin go so far for him as Gaius had for Uther?

Would Merlin watch hundreds die just so he could stay in Camelot, silent and a prisoner?

"There... was nothing we could do. Gaius tried everything, I even tried magic." Merlin was looking at Arthur now, eyes searching. Arthur turned away, watching the outer meat of the rabbits char and blacken past consumption-worthiness.

Imagine if that was Merlin, he whispered to himself. What would you do, would you sit there and watch, upright with your father? Or would you do it here, away from Camelot with a lie on your lips of how you were attacked and how Merlin had died with honour to protect the Prince.

It wouldn't be the first time Arthur had lied for a sorcerer.

Or would he pull Merlin from the pyre, battle through guards and Knights until he reached his charger, pull Merlin onto the horse and ride off for... a future? A future in farming?

A Prince and a sorcerer, fugitives and farmers. It didn't have a ring to it, not really.

"I had to talk to the dragon and he told me about... about an island. The Isle of the Blessed."

Merlin paused, for which Arthur was grateful. The Isle of the Blessed, a cursed isle where the nine priestesses of the Old Religion had danced until their feet bled, until the ground was sodden with their offerings and where they had dragged innocent mortals to their doom, strapped upon a table.

It was a place that rivalled the myths of Sigan in childhood terror, but Arthur had never thought it existed. Not really.

(Then again, they had all laughed about Sigan until the castle literally came alive and Gaius held a blue heart-shaped stone out, eyes wary with Merlin shifting behind his back).

It should shock him that Merlin held conversations with dragons, sought help from it even, but he was numb. And anyway, what could he say to that? Oh, sorry, didn't know you were pally with him, but do you think you could have asked him not to destroy Camelot that time he got out?

Isle of the Blessed. Sacrifice. No, not sacrifice, that was the myth. Evil, no not that either, that was Uther. Mystery? Yes, certainly that.

"He told me that there needs to be a balance maintained. Death is the price of the Questing Beast and to save a life, one must be offered in return." Merlin swallowed heavily, the sound reaching Arthur's ears even though it should have been impossible. "I went to meet the High Priestess of the Old Religion to offer a life for yours."

A sacrifice? Not a myth. The sacrificial isle, not an isle of the blessed after all. A slaughterhouse where people could play a higher power before it turned on them.

And wasn't it ironic that Arthur should have caused both of these deals? That two people, Uther and Merlin, had sacrificed another life just so he could live? It was unlikely the life-death-balance deals were shelled out all over the place even before the Purge, and after Arthur could imagine they were like gold dust... but he'd caused two. Two people had died so he could live.

Was he worth it?

"Nimueh lied to me," Merlin continued, his voice rushed as if he wasn't telling Arthur something.

Let him, a voice said in Arthur's mind. There were some things you just didn't tell anyone, like the way Arthur would think of his mother the moment he got out of bed; how the madness in the Pendragon ancestry looked set to manifest in Uther; how Morgana was his sister; how Gaius was a sorcerer; how Gwen loved Lancelot...

Merlin could afford this one omission. He'd been true to what he'd promised Arthur so far and Arthur could respect that.

"I was willing to pay for your life with my own."

No. Nonononono. That wasn't... no.

He was supposed to sacrifice some innocent, some young woman or little boy; take the years from children with a manic laugh and a swish of his fingers. He was supposed to draw the life from a person with crackling, dark power, feasting on the sudden rush of energy leaving the body, consuming the soul as he challenged the fabric of the world, the powers of life and death.

"You drank water from the Cup of Life and you were healed. I didn't die; Nimueh had let me believe that it was that simple, that easy to just trade one for another..." Merlin's voice was full of regret and Arthur knew only one reason why it could become like that. Nimueh had tried to take someone Merlin loved, the person he loved most. Arthur could see that (and he knew without saying that Nimueh must have chosen Hunith, because who else was there for Merlin to love enough to sacrifice himself for?).

Just like Uther, in a strange sense. They'd both had their loved ones taken by Nimueh, and how strange it was to compare Uther and Merlin.

He wondered if Uther knew the similarities between his son's manservant and himself. Doubtful, for Uther would order Merlin's execution if he knew, but the parallels were hard to shake. Who had died this time so that Arthur could live?

"I went to the Isle of the Blessed, to change her deal."

Not to change her mind, not to destroy her, not to take back the power he'd invested in Arthur...

"She should have chosen me, not my mother, not Gaius, me. That was the deal, me for you, your life for mine, but she didn't stick to it." Merlin closed his eyes briefly and Arthur looked at him, really looked at him.

He was thin, pale and had dark circles under his eyes. This was the big threat Arthur had conjured? Camelot's best kept secret that was going to bring about the destruction of their whole lives?

No, wait. That was Morgana.

"I fought her," Merlin's hand moved to the centre of his chest. "It's how I got this, from a fire-ball spell she threw at me. Luckily for me she underestimated me."

And there it was; the quirk of the lips that showed Arthur this was no ordinary manservant, no ordinary man. It didn't take much for Arthur to see that Merlin had killed Nimueh - what other solution was there? Merlin was alive, Gaius was alive, Arthur was alive and, as far as he knew, Hunith was well.

If his father knew Merlin had killed Nimueh? By now it wouldn't make a difference, Arthur supposed, but what if...

He cut off the trail before it began. There was no point in dwelling with what ifs. They never ended well.

(Like what if his father had done what Merlin had, stood up to Nimueh and demanded her life in retribution for her trickery.)

But don't you know, young Prince? Them magic-folk, they're bad news. They'll trick you out of your very skin and steal if off your back. Best keep eyes in the back of your head, young man, chin up and watch for them. You can't trust anyone, they could be magic.

That was the pillar Arthur had been brought up on, whispered from the nurses who had cared for him and the servants who had sought to teach the Prince everything he needed to know to live without punishment in Camelot. . Magic couldn't save you, don't be ridiculous! It was evil, corrupt and dangerous. Best to stay away and report anything suspicious.

"I killed her to save you," Merlin said softly and Arthur met his eyes.

He was ready. Throwing down what had coiled around his head, Arthur was ready to listen. He sat forwards a little, nodding his head slightly to Merlin. Merlin had killed someone to save Arthur, without any acknowledgements or need for fanfare.

Magic was just a weapon of a different craft to a sword, and Merlin wouldn't be able to kill an innocent person with a blade. Magic was said to be more personal, closer to the sorcerer than a blade.

If Merlin couldn't kill with a cold blade, why should his birth-right magic be different?

Unlike his father, Arthur would let Merlin talk before he passed his judgement. They needed this, Arthur could feel it, and took a deep breath, nodding again to Merlin as if it meant something.

From Merlin's brief flicker of a smile, maybe it did.

There was a pause, a lull in conversation. Arthur couldn't fathom what was going on behind Merlin's eyes; how his brain worked, how he managed to sit there and look equal parts calm and nervous. There was anger there, sorrow and grief, but also of hope and happiness, and of what Arthur liked to think of as love too.

Because why else would Merlin stay in Camelot? For all these years, he had to have formed some attachment to the castle and its people. Some small attachment at least, though Merlin never did things by half. He had to love Gaius and Gwen, Morgana before she had cut at their hearts, and maybe even a part of Merlin loved Arthur, though he didn't dwell on the thought long enough, nipping it in the bud as soon as it appeared.

Merlin stayed because he... what? He loved Camelot? He had a duty? The only other sorcerers in Camelot were either there to kill someone, trying to hide away (far, far away from the King mind you), Gaius - and Arthur didn't want to evaluate what keeping Gaius as Physician meant, not when Uther was happy to slaughter children yet keep Gaius there.

Of course, not that Arthur had anything against Gaius, it was just Uther was becoming the world's biggest hypocrite and apparently he'd been that all along.

No, focus. Merlin was the issue here; Merlin and his... magic. The word felt hesitant in his mind, as if even his brain was calling for him to run. Magic was wrong, magic was evil, magic was disgusting, punishable by death.

Oh but so was killing a man, and Arthur had done that plenty of times. Just because he was defending himself or defending Camelot or was in a battle (and yes, these were not crimes because they were acts of honour, acts of defence and survival) did not shake the fact that men lay dead because of Arthur Pendragon.

How many men lay dead because of Merlin? And how many of them were innocent people who had dreamt of blue skies, glory and a warm home?

The scar itself Merlin's hand still pushing his shirt up to reveal the mark looked smooth, a deep red in the centre until it faded to a paler pink, the edges just touching pale skin before merging almost seamlessly. Arthur had seen burn marks before, from small lines or circles where a knight or servant had been too careless with a fire, to large, skin-twisting burns (like the physician so long ago, the man with the twisted face and his cure for all ills).

Merlin's was unlike any he'd ever seen though. Perhaps that was because it was caused by magic? But Arthur had seen wounds caused by magic and they were exactly the same as any normal wounds. Fire was fire, at the end of the day, and a burn was a burn.

Except Merlin was born with his power, so did that mean magic affected him differently to other people? When it hit him, did the fire begin its burn before realising exactly who it was up against and curbed its own power, shying away from someone who was, in essence, from the same root as itself? So, if that was the case, did it mean the fire that had caused this burn had been full of hatred, so much so that even the balance of nature and magic hadn't been enough to stop it damaging Merlin how it had.

Just because Uther thought he'd abolished magic from his kingdom didn't mean that there weren't still stories to be told. As a child, before he realised the weight of his kingdom, before he was named Crown Prince, before Merlin, before even Morgana came to Camelot, he'd found books, even coerced Geoffrey to remember (in his own words) the 'good old days'.

Geoffrey had been happy to inform a young prince that the world was all connected. In the Old Religion, there were four base elements, two main forces of life and death and, of course, there was the main foundation of balance. Everything linked together like a weaved basket, pull one thread and the whole thing unravel.

Surely the same principle applied to Merlin and his magic. If the fireball was the same basis as Merlin's magic, then it wouldn't have harmed him as it would have done to a normal person. Assuming, of course, it has been just fire that was thrown, not backed by a spell or… something. He didn't know enough yet, not enough to have all these ideas flowing in his head.

It was just another notch on the count of questions he wanted to ask Merlin. Too many questions and yet he couldn't find his voice, not when he had said he would listen.

"And the other marks?" Arthur ventured, his voice cracking as he spoke. He couldn't call them scars, not really, clinging onto the hope that the marks on his back were just silly things, nothing related to magic. Arthur could lie to himself as well as any man, prince or not.

Merlin contemplated the words, cocking his head to the side to stare at the fire. The rabbit was most likely ruined by now, but Merlin dutifully stood, plucking the spits from the flames and poking at their sides, gingerly plucking at the layer of blackened meat.

"Almost done," he said softly, miraculously. The flames weren't that hot after all, it being only a small fire.

Should Merlin burn then the fire would be far greater, central in the square with heat bubbling through Camelot's castle, warming even the dungeon flagstones for a week.

"I could just tell you that I was attacked and be done with it, really," Merlin said quickly, shrugging his shoulders. "But neither of us are satisfied with half-truths, are we?"

Arthur shook his head. Simply knowing Merlin had been attacked (again, something which he never would have accepted a few days ago) would never settle the need to know. There was a story here - and Arthur knew it would be longer than the story involving Nimueh, even though that one was still playing out, what with Arthur living and breathing twice over.

"There's a lot you have to know for this story. And ... if any of it gets too hard, let me know, okay?" Merlin looked at him, really looked at him. Arthur swallowed; this was bigger than Nimueh, bigger than - however stupid it sounded - life and death.

Merlin rubbed a hand over his forehead, smearing a line of charcoal onto his temple. It was an impossibly dark speck on his face and Arthur was drawn to it, a strange speck where none should be, much like the scars.

Why was it that the imperfections about Merlin drew Arthur to him? Why had it taken this long to see Merlin clearly, to know Merlin for who he was?

Arthur didn't dwell too much on that though. He liked to think he was a good person, but how could he be when it took years before he realised he hardly knew Merlin?

(But that was a lie too because Merlin was good, kind, a friend, someone Arthur trusted, no matter what secrets lay between them - and that was probably one of the hardest and most important admissions Arthur would make.)

"I guess I should talk about the dragon first." Merlin paused, as if he was waiting for Arthur's approval. When he realised he wouldn't be getting it how could Arthur approve of something he had no idea of, he carried on. "When I made the deal with Nimueh, I vowed never to speak to the dragon again. He lied to me too, let me believe that it was as simple as trading one life for another, yet he knew that I wouldn't be the one who had to die."

Arthur scuffed the ground under his boot, trying not to think of fire and destruction, the only things he knew of with dragons. He'd never seen the Great Dragon before it had escaped and while it had been a magnificent creature, you never really tended to notice that when it had the potential to kill you in under a second.

"I had to break that vow though, when Sigan was attacking Camelot." Merlin's voice was dull and lifeless as he was caught in memories.

Sigan, of course. With the gargoyles and the body of Cedric. Cedric who Merlin had warned him about. There seemed to be a common theme emerging titled Times When Merlin Was Actually Right and Everyone Suffered.

"There wasn't any way to stop Sigan so Gaius said I had to go ask the dragon. He gave me a spell that would seal Sigan's soul back into the stone, but on the condition that I would one day free him in return."

Merlin sighed heavily, bowing his head for a moment before looking up sharply. It was the look of a man who had made many hard decisions, a look Arthur had seen reflected in Uther's face, in Gaius' and even his own.

"I had to make that promise. For Camelot more than anything; for you."

Arthur looked up sharply. Merlin did not have the right to pin his actions on Arthur, not now, not ever.

"He didn't trust my vow though, at least not until we came back from Idirsholas. I made another vow then, on my mother's life." Merlin sounded tired and Arthur's anger soothed down a little. Merlin didn't play with people's lives and it was clear that whatever he had done weighed him down, but...

You can't play with life and death. There were few things in the world that did, such as a cat playing with a mouse before it killed it, but most of them stemmed from humanity and humans' greed. Merlin was the least greedy person Arthur knew (and alright, so his manservant liked to sneak morsels from the royal plates, everyone did when they had a chance); but even so, he had no right to decided who lived and who died, no right to bargain with lives.

He almost said something then, but Arthur bit his lip. No, this was Merlin's turn of the story, not his. He'd have his say at the end; tell Merlin that no matter whose name he used, he couldn't disguise what he had done.

Disguise it though... was that what Merlin was doing? Clearly, at the time, he'd believed he was doing the right thing, and Arthur felt his stomach drop as he remembered the Knights of Medhir, how he'd been certain he would die, how he'd even said goodbye, of all things.

"The dragon told me what to do and, in return, I had to free him."

Had to. No choice. Only way. Forced to. So many words to say the same thing, that Merlin had made his choice and the consequences were heavy on his shoulders, draped like a cloak. When you said you had to do something, you were never happy with the choice, but you tried to live with it. You say that you had no choice, that there were no other options when you did something terrible... Arthur used his own share of those moments too, when you had to force yourself onwards regardless of the decision you'd made.

"There's something else too. About Morgana." Merlin stopped, like people always did when they mentioned her name.

"It's okay," Arthur replied and it was. It was okay. He was okay. He needed to know, needed to find out why she had become so full of hate and so bitter. A year couldn't shape a person so much, could it?

"Her nightmares were more than just dreams. Gaius forbade me from talking to her about it, but... maybe if I had..." Merlin shook his head and Arthur agreed. It was too late for 'maybe', far too late.

"She has magic. Mainly to do with the power of Seeing, dreams of the future, but she does have some magical talent."

It should be a blow to the gut that the woman he'd seen as a sister (and was a sister by blood) was a witch. Strangely, it wasn't and, as it was starting to with Merlin, the world was fitting into its correct place without Arthur having fully realised it was out of shape.

"Morgause reached out to her, she was a way for her to be less afraid, to understand her power and... in return Morgause used her in her spell." Merlin was back to ripping the grass up, reaching further in a circle to grasp at green strands.

"Morgana was the source of the enchantment when we came back from Idirsholas. That was why she was unaffected. I... lied to you because I thought the curse didn't work because she had magic. I had to protect her, even if she had no idea I had magic too, that I was like her, I had to help her."

There was the 'had to' again. Had no choice, did he? There was always a choice.

"I had to choose between you and Morgana and it's you every time."

Oh. There was the choice then.

"The dragon told me that the only way to end the curse was to destroy the source of the spell. I... poisoned Morgana. The only way Morgause would lift the spell was when I showed her what poison I had used."

Merlin's head was tilted to the ground, blatantly not looking at Arthur.

For Arthur. It was all for Arthur; the deaths that weighed heavily over Merlin were all for Arthur. And why? Because a dragon had told him?

"Why Merlin?" he asked, unable to keep it in any longer. "What makes you so special that you get to decide who lives and who dies; that you get to bargain with people's lives?"

Whatever Arthur had expected at that, and maybe it was Merlin being rendered speechless or confused, it wasn't the slight smile and shake of head.

"I never got to decide any of that before I came to Camelot. I don't get to decide them until I have to, and it's hard. So hard. Do you know how many people I've seen die? Since I came to the wonderful kingdom, where there's sure to be more possibilities than a tiny village?" Merlin's voice lacked resentment, though if the words had been from any others' mouth they would have steeped in it.

"I was given my magic for a reason and while I never intended for it to kill anyone, I don't regret the things I've done because I can't change them. I've made bad choices and I've made good ones, I've lost people and I've gained people. It's a constant circle and I don't get to decide anything because it's already decided."

Arthur closed his eyes, not wanting to hear the next words.

"Because everything I do is for your future, for the Camelot you'll build, I suppose, but most of all," Merlin paused, sucking in breath, "Most of all it's just to make sure you don't make a complete prat out of yourself and die from evil fairies or Wildren."

And Merlin was smiling. Ever so slightly, but as Arthur opened his eyes, he saw the smile and the clarity with which he'd made such a decision. They still had a lot to go through, but there was no doubt that Merlin was on Arthur's side, that he was Arthur's man through thick and thin, and the thought warmed Arthur.

"Okay," Arthur said, taking what felt like his thousandth deep breath since they'd begun "And you set the dragon free?"

"I... yeah," Merlin admitted, twisting strands of grass together in his fingers, rolling the blades until they meshed together slightly, becoming a ball.

"Surely you would have known what it would do?" Arthur couldn't believe that Merlin wouldn't have known. Any creature locked away for over twenty years would be angry and a dragon certainly had all the power to run a country to the ground, let alone a town - as had been demonstrated.

"What was I supposed to do then?" Merlin looked at Arthur, the ball of grass falling to the ground and under Merlin's boot as he stood. "Should I have let Morgause have Camelot? Should I have let my mother die because I'd been desperate to get an answer from the dragon? Tell me then, oh great Prince, what would you have done?"

.
to the world that you turned your back on
.

Arthur had never heard Merlin be truly bitter or angry. When he had heard the tone creep into his manservant's voice before, it hadn't been directed his way and so Arthur could laugh, smile and joke about how Merlin was finally learning to grow into a proper man.

Yet now that it was, and the full force of it to boot, Arthur wondered how he could have ever missed this Merlin; the man of power behind all the smiles and clumsiness. It was clear that they were one in the same, neither an act that Merlin put on to attract the innocent people – to trick them - and the thought shook Arthur slightly.

Had Merlin ever been tempted? Tempted to turn his back on Camelot, knowing that he could easily destroy the kingdom as the dragon had done? It wasn't as if Arthur had made his life full of delight and wonder, and even if Merlin was on some strange mission to guard him, there had to have been many times when Merlin at least had thought about turning his back on Camelot and claiming his birthright as a sorcerer, free from Uther.

(And hadn't Merlin stopped Arthur from killing his father once? Why hadn't he just let Arthur run the King through and be done with it? No more Uther; Arthur had been convinced Morgause was on his side, a good magic user; and Merlin would have been a free man.)

But going back to Merlin's question, Arthur didn't know. He couldn't say what he'd do because the situation, for anyone else, would never have happened. Merlin created impossible situations, where there was a choice between the hard way or the impossible, but not even magic could see you through the impossible. Merlin was still just a man, even he had limits to what he could do it seemed.

"I tried to get him to agree he wouldn't attack Camelot but..." Merlin's shoulder slumped, but he remained standing. "He's the last of his kind. He saw everyone else die. Can you imagine what that must feel like? To know you're alone in the world?"

Arthur swallowed heavily as Merlin turned his back on the fire. They hadn't tended to it and the flames were barely touching the rabbit now, slinking under the logs they had loaded up and slowly spitting out embers instead.

"I know a little of what he felt. Gaius doesn't know anyone like me and even back at Ealdor I could sense something was different with my magic, but there was that little shred of hope, you know? A little part of me thinking that someone else was just like me, that I wouldn't have to be alone."

Quite frankly, Arthur didn't know, but that didn't matter. He still nodded, moving forwards slightly, as if that small movement would tell Merlin that everything was okay, that he wasn't alone - not now, not ever, no matter what he'd done.

That struck a chord in Arthur; the fact that, yes, he was angry, yes he would think twice for a while before trusting Merlin fully and yes, they still needed to work an awful lot through, but there was an after that. After they'd hashed this out, after Arthur could trust Merlin again, after Merlin had explained everything to Arthur... after it all, Merlin would still be there for Arthur and, though were it anyone else he'd never think it, Arthur would be there for Merlin, making up for all the times Merlin had stood silently to the side, risking his very life just to protect Arthur for nothing.

"I didn't know he would do that though," Merlin continued; profile turned to Arthur. "I didn't want him to hurt anyone, let alone kill them."

Merlin's hands were clenched into fists, a sign that he truly regretted the consequences of what he'd done.

"So I didn't really kill the dragon, did I?" Merlin's head snapped around sharply to look at Arthur, eyes wide. "I mean you used your magic or something, right?"

What else could there be? If Arthur hadn't killed the dragon and Merlin had been the only one able to... though why he'd had to wait that long to kill it Arthur wasn't sure.

Merlin sighed, "It's not that easy. I tried to use my magic on him in Camelot, but it didn't work. Gaius explained it to me - dragon's aren't monsters. They can't be killed by magical means, they're creatures of 'wonder and enchantment', able to use magic themselves and carry down great prophecies. I doubt even all the magic in the world would have been able to kill a dragon."

Arthur nodded slowly, "Like the unicorn? You wouldn't have been able to kill that either?"

Merlin shrugged his shoulders, "I suppose, though why would I want to?" He frowned, "I don't think I've ever heard of a unicorn attacking anything, let alone people."

Arthur smiled slightly, falling easily back into old, good habits. He was slowly realising that he hadn't lost Merlin at all, not in any sense. In fact, it was like he was finally getting to know him, finally being allowed past the outer shell and trusted most of all.

"The Dragonlords, though, they had magic didn't they?" It was so easy to disregard everything he'd been lectured upon when the subject was so interesting. Merlin had proved he wasn't about to mouth off and kill Arthur where he stood, so what was the harm in getting some answers to the questions of their past?

Leaving Merlin behind wasn't an option. It never had been, not even when Merlin had first disclosed his secret, and it never would be. Whatever Arthur had to do, he was beginning to realise, he would do it to keep Merlin by his side. The fierce loyalty his manservant had shown went above and beyond duty, to a degree that Arthur wouldn't hesitate to call him a friend now. His closest friend if truth be told, and he wanted to learn about Merlin and Merlin's world.

Even if that included magic.

"I don't know much about the Dragonlords," Merlin said, shuffling his feet so that he moved forwards a few paces, kicking up some dirt. It left a smear on the toe of his boot and Merlin tried using his other foot to brush it off, only succeeding in making the smudge larger.

"The power of a Dragonlord isn't magic, really... I don't know what it is and I suppose most Dragonlords did have strong magic, but I can't be sure." Arthur nodded, wondering if Merlin had asked Gaius about this or if Balinor had told him when Arthur had been unconscious.

An ember spat out with a crack and Arthur's attention turned to the fire. He wasn't frozen in place any more, no longer held by a conflict of whether Merlin was good or bad (who decided who was good or bad anyway? Weren't they all a little of each?), and so he stoked the embers, drawing them out to finish off the rabbit. Merlin turned to watch the newly awakened flames, his eyes golden-tinted as the flames reflected in them.

"With magic, you can learn it even if you have a small amount of potential. Most of them never even know they have a talent unless they go through something stressful or life threatening, or so Gaius told me. And even then, some people will be able to master spells and other people won't at all and any potential seen in them will just... fade as they forget, I suppose." Merlin's voice sounded wistful, as if he couldn't understand how magic could fade.

Ah, but Merlin was born with his magic wasn't he? Which made him special, so special that he couldn't be anything but a warlock just as Arthur couldn't be anything less than a prince.

"But for a Dragonlord, it's a power that's passed through a bloodline, from father to son." Arthur noticed the crack in Merlin's voice as he spoke. He fixed his gaze on his friend, knowing that eye contact wouldn't be an option at this stage in the story - Arthur could feel there was something important here, behind this part of it all - but he had to know what was showing on Merlin's face.

His features were softened, the barest of smiles on his lips as he looked to their little fire.

"No one ever told me," Merlin said, his eyes catching Arthur's out of the corner, not moving his head yet still managing to see everything of him. "Gaius was the one who did tell me, just before we left Camelot. I had no idea, still wouldn't have an idea if they had their way."

There was a lingering taste of resentment there, but it was long faded, long apologised for. Still, it was clear that whatever Gaius had told Merlin, it had made a great impact.

"When Uther started the Great Purge," Merlin said, (and did all of the stories begin with Uther? It was a reoccurring pattern; yet again, another reason why Arthur wanted to know how many of his father's mistakes had been cleaned up). "He ordered all the dragons to be killed and, as he believed the art of a Dragonlord to be too close to sorcery, he ordered their execution."

Arthur hadn't grown up to tales of Dragonlords, never even heard of them until Gaius had said they needed one. He'd grown up to stories of monsters who took hostages in towers and razed villages, of the dragons (monsters of nightmares), but never the very people who could talk to them, tame them. Even without hearing of their deeds, the way they brought the dragons down from the skies with but a thought, saddened him of their loss, a loss he'd never even have considered had Merlin not told him of it.

He had Merlin to thank for so many things it seemed.

"When it was just the Great Dragon and the last Dragonlord left, Uther convinced him that he wanted peace with the dragon, asking if Balinor could talk the dragon to come to Camelot." Arthur looked away, down to the browning grass at his feet as he knew what Merlin would say next. "Uther betrayed him, chained the dragon and imprisoned him, before ordering Balinor's execution."

Arthur had guessed as much when his father had been adamant that they couldn't trust a Dragonlord. But, you see, that was where Arthur and Uther split paths, for Uther would rather have seen Camelot crumble and his people die than ask a Dragonlord (let alone a magic user! The thought was laughable) for help, let alone beg for his help.

Even though Arthur had begged Balinor, pleaded for him to come in the fashion he had always been trained in - courtly, polite, a little demanding, but never rude or imposing - he had failed. It had been Merlin in the end, really, but at least he'd tried.

Arthur was willing to change while Uther would rather watch his world fall.

"Gaius helped get him out of Camelot," Merlin said and Arthur couldn't help the grin that spread onto his face at the thought.

Before Merlin had arrived in Camelot, Arthur was sure none of this would ever have come to light. Gaius was supposed to be respectable and the number one man in Uther's campaign of magic. And yet now, it seemed that he was more comfortable and more open with the man he used to be - the man he should still be had the Purge not begun (and yes, it still weighed heavily in Arthur's belly, but there was nothing he could do to change the past and he had to accept it, however unsavoury the taste).

"He had help, a woman took him in, gave him a home, a life." Arthur could hear the regret lacing Merlin's words, but couldn't place why it would be there.

"Uther followed him though and he left the village, left the woman he loved and left his life to... well we saw what he'd been living like. Not bad, really, but a far cry from a good life. And he was so bitter, so, so bitter," Merlin said, shaking his head as he moved away from the fire, facing Arthur head on, towering above.

There was a tug, low in Arthur's abdomen, as Merlin spoke. Balinor wasn't just a man to Merlin, that much was clear. Merlin had cried for him, after all, but they'd also spent time alone together, time that Arthur hadn't had and who knows what kind of things they could have talked about.

That was one bond Arthur would never be able to have with Merlin - one of magic. He wouldn't be able to talk about the feel of it, or how he was able to control something... not like Balinor would have been able to.

"The village he went to, the one Uther followed him to," Merlin said, the words leaving his throat quietly, as if they were stuck in his throat. "It was- was Ealdor."

It wasn't an admission or anything near the sort. Arthur could have drawn any conclusion from that should he have wanted to, that Balinor was just a man next door to Merlin, that he was just another face in the group of proud villagers... but he wanted the truth. The numbers were easy to see and Merlin's reaction from the whole trip made sense as it came back in trickles, his silence on their horses, his odd behaviour at the inn, the way he'd grinned as if receiving the best present in the world when he'd taken the wooden dragon statue Balinor had carved for him.

"He was your father?" Arthur said, the words strikingly loud despite the world moving on around them. The fire was still burning, the trees were singing with the wind and there were at least fifteen types of birds calling out, but they all muted as Merlin turned a tortured gaze to Arthur and nodded, his hands shaking slightly as he bit back tears.

Oh, Arthur thought, before, how many other tears had Merlin had to bite back and stuff away just to keep his secrets?

So he stood not to hold Merlin or pull him close, because Merlin was stronger than what Arthur could offer. Instead, he placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder and bowed his head slightly, a mark of respect for a man that he'd never been able to know, and for his son who had never had a chance to mourn.

Arthur had never been one to offer comfort. His idea to cheer someone up was to smack them on the arm, nudge them with a smile and a word akin to 'buck up'. He already knew from experience that Merlin didn't operate on the same wavelength as his knights, to whom such measures would have been more than adequate comfort.

There had been one time, back when Morgana was in Camelot and they'd thought her sure to die that Gwen had come to him one evening. Tears were already streaking down her chin and hands shaking as she'd explained that he was the only one she could think to go to, that her and Merlin weren't as close anymore - not that she'd been able to find him - and the thought of seeing Gaius' sorrowful expression, knowing there was no more he could do...

So she'd come to him, the one man who was probably worse at giving out comfort than some flesh eating monster hell bent on destroying Camelot. It hadn't been easy when she'd almost reached out, as Gwen no doubt would have done were he not the prince, stopping herself at the last moment, eyes shining with new tears.

It had been Arthur who'd wrapped his arms around her in a hug, hoping she could at least find some form of comfort from him. Gwen had twisted in his hold, sobbing and clutching at his chest, and all Arthur had been able to do was bury his head in her hair, whisper false promises of Morgana's health in her ear and keep his arms holding her.

Merlin was no Gwen. He hadn't sought comfort from Arthur, hadn't needed Arthur to be the strong one to comfort him. Instead, Merlin placed a hand of his own over Arthur's, offering the smallest smile before speaking.

"He passed his gift onto me," Merlin said, looking just to the left of Arthur's head, away to the distance.

And even though he must be hurting, to drag up so much of the past, here was Merlin, unwavering and still carrying on. Arthur imagined that even if the weight of the world was suddenly hoisted onto Merlin's back that he'd still be able to walk, hitching the world a little higher and simply look onwards with a smile, saying something stupid about it being a job someone had to bear and how the weight wasn't bad at all, if you shifted it just so.

"After the dragon knocked you out, I heard my father's voice telling me what I had to do." A weak smile passed on Merlin's lips and Arthur felt his hand slip a little, his strength wavering only slightly. The decision to link his fingers with Merlin's was an easy one, and he offered his strength where Merlin's was patched, just as Merlin had done for him so many times.

"I commanded him, forced him to obey and he listened." Merlin's eyes closed at the memory, his fingers twitching under the heat of Arthur's, squeezing just a little. "I granted him clemency, told him that attacking Camelot again would cause his death."

The words took a lot for Merlin to say, Arthur could see that. But who was Merlin to offer the dragon its freedom? He wasn't above the law, in Uther's eyes, and they'd been ordered to kill the dragon, so how had the decision formed, to grant such a creature the right of freedom.

That was easily explained. Merlin, such as he was, didn't fall under any category of Uther's law. He wasn't a subject, having been born and raised in Cenred's former land, and he never could be, not with Uther's ban on magic.

Arthur and the Knights had been the ones ordered to slay the dragon while Merlin was there for Arthur. Not on some noble quest, not on a mission to protect Camelot though that was tagged onto his actions, it wasn't the driving force. While some of the reason her had gone with them might have been guilt for releasing the dragon in the first place, Arthur knew that Merlin had ridden with them to face the dragon for his father and his Prince.

And if anyone had the right to decide what to do with a dragon, it should be a Dragonlord; someone Arthur knew to be exceptionally selfless with more courage than a hardened war horse. Merlin, too, was an ordinary person, not in the sense that he was boring or plain, but that he had been raised a peasant, with extraordinary gifts that he kept hidden. Merlin wasn't swayed by politics, by money or by anything else other than his own beliefs and the love for people around him.

"How did you know he would listen?" Arthur asked softly, eyes searching to meet Merlin's.

"The way the power of a Dragonlord works is that a dragon is unable to resist the command. If I told him to fetch me an apple, he would be bound to." Merlin opened his eyes slightly, lashes barely parting, but Arthur could see the glint of blue in the corner and knew Merlin was looking to him.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. He'd known the sway of power a Dragonlord had, but he hadn't known the full extent; that they could command the dragons to their whims. Uther's fear of them made sense, though that still didn't make it right.

Merlin loosened their fingers, stepping away from Arthur and towards the log he'd sat on before. Arthur expected him to sit back down, closed off, but instead he picked up one end, dragged the log towards Arthur's and looked back around their camp.

"It's easier," was all he offered, before moving to the rabbits. Arthur watched him remove them from the spit, but instead of offering the food out, Merlin moved to their packs, placed the food on a spare cloth he removed from his own bag and wrapped the meat up for later.

Why didn't Merlin use magic? With all these menial tasks and Arthur knowing, why didn't Merlin just mutter his spells and be done with them all? He longed to pose the question, but now was not the time. Merlin still had a lot to tell and it seemed that the answer to this scar was harder than the answer to the one he'd received from (essentially) saving Arthur.

He moved over to their seats, finding a suitable perch on the log where Merlin would be in reach, a firm presence for whatever story he was going to tell. Merlin joined him, his hands resting on his knees as he leant forwards, fiddling with a few strands of grass again.

"Morgause saved Morgana for a reason, not just because Morgana has magic." Merlin looked uncomfortable, but Arthur beat him to it.

"I know they're sisters." Arthur saw Merlin's eyes widen and his lips quirk downwards a little.

"Oh, I didn't realise you knew," Merlin replied. "Though I suppose it's not exactly a secret." He shrugged. "That's the problem when you begin keeping secrets; you start to grab onto them even when they're common knowledge and assume no one will ever find them out."

That was true, Arthur could agree. While his secrets were more linked to state affairs, whenever encountering someone else who was privy to the information, even he was wary. Secrets were to be guarded, held into your chest where they seeped and burnt, but still you could never let them go.

Then when that moment came where you could finally release it, it was hard. No secret was easy to tell, nothing that you'd had to hide could ever be easy to reveal, and if Arthur could give something –anything - back to Merlin, ease the revelations if only slightly, then he would.

"When Morgana came back to Camelot," Merlin began, letting the grass in his hands fall to the ground. "She said that she forgave me for what I'd done, that she understood why I'd had to do it."

Merlin gave a small, bitter laugh, shaking his head. "I wanted to believe her, she was my friend and I'd poisoned her..." He paused, eyes darting across the ground as he frowned lightly. "I just wanted her to know how sorry I was, how I didn't want to hurt her and yet, well, I couldn't have let you die and Camelot fall."

Arthur nodded, wanting to say that it had been the right choice, that Merlin shouldn't have had to make it (because wasn't that a type of choice a king made?), but he couldn't. It was the right choice for Arthur because it had been Arthur's life and home on the line... if a dragon hadn't told Merlin about his destiny or if Merlin hadn't formed a bond with Arthur, would he have made that choice differently?

He cut that thought off. Merlin and he hadn't liked each other when they'd first met. They'd been two different people to who they were today - not quite grown up and still putting feelers out in the world. No matter what you were told, you couldn't change those opinions of a person unless you learnt them yourself and there was no way that Merlin would let someone simply tell him how to think, let someone form opinions for him.

They knew each other too well know, far too well, though it had taken Arthur a long time to realise this and fully accept it. Even now, with the magic and Merlin's secrets, it didn't impact on how they knew each other, how they could work together and spend hours in comfortable silence, picking unspoken words from a conversation of gestures and looks.

"Something wasn't right and I followed her out of Camelot one night. She met with Morgause in the woods, and while I couldn't hear the specifics of their plan, I knew they were up to something." Merlin ran a hand over his eyes with a sigh. "I'd wanted her to use her magic for good. It's why I helped her escape to the Druids once. I couldn't help her, but I could find people who would be able to."

Arthur frowned; "When did she go to the Druids?"

Merlin looked at him in slight surprise, as if the thought that Arthur didn't know seemed strange now. And wasn't that something to laugh about - the fact that Merlin was surprised Arthur didn't know the specifics of his life? That was good, much better, how it should be between friends and... well, whatever they were.

There was a frown on Merlin's brow and Arthur read the look well; Merlin was trying to remember. "Everyone in Camelot thought she'd been kidnapped by the Druids," he said, slowly and thoughtfully.

Arthur nodded his head, remembering. It was part of the reason they'd ridden to all known Druid settlements once Morgana had been missing and the damage left by the dragon had been sorted.

"You know how you say I'm not exactly the stealthiest of people?" Merlin asked suddenly, looking at Arthur with a small smirk. Arthur nodded, raising an eyebrow. "Well, Morgana knew I'd been following her and I was captured by Cenred's men when I tried to run."

"Cenred's men?" Arthur asked. He'd known Morgause had been in league with Cenred during Morgana's reign (well, rather that she'd taken what she needed before killing him), but he hadn't realised that their allegiance went further back than the Castle of Fyrien.

"Morgause was working with Cenred during the battle following Morgana's return," Merlin said, filling the slight blanks that were left.

No longer did Arthur feel that he had to wait and have the story told. This wasn't just a tale any more, but a fact. These things had happened, Arthur had witnessed them, and now that he knew more of Merlin, had heard what he was capable of, he was free to question him. Their balance had wavered through the conversation, but it was becoming more even with every word shared.

"She left me in the wood, chained up." Merlin shifted his leg, bumping Arthur with the boot he'd smeared mud on earlier. "Magic wouldn't work against the chains so I suppose she used some sort of spell, though I should ask Gaius if he knows anything that would resist magic."

Arthur knew of a few instruments in the vaults - manacles, chains, ropes, and various chaining materials that had been used to trap magic users during the Purge and hold them against their will. They were gathering dust now, but Arthur was sure should Uther believe they were needed, he wouldn't hesitate a second. Just because Merlin didn't know of such objects didn't make them any less real, any less fear inspiring (to Arthur at least)

"I ended up surrounded by serkets, unable to do anything to get rid of them. What magic I could use would only work on one at a time and it was inevitable that one would get close enough to sting me." Merlin twisted around on his log, this time pulling his shirt up to reveal the mark on his back.

Arthur almost reached a hand out to touch it, but paused, snatching his hand back before it really moved.

"It's okay," Merlin said softly, "You can touch it."

Arthur's hands were trembling slightly as he reached to touch the scar on Merlin's back. There was something different in this moment, here with Merlin. Something was in the air, almost calling to him, pressing against him and telling him that this was the right thing to do. The first touch was a little too hard, jabbing into the skin by the mark with the tip of his finger, but Merlin didn't flinch away.

"Sorry," Arthur muttered, before placing his fingers over the slight indentation by Merlin's spine, smoothing his hand over the skin.

It was warm, perhaps a little warmer than the rest of Merlin's back, but then again Arthur was sure his own hands had heated considerably. He knew what scars felt like, old scars, and it was clear that this had been marking Merlin's skin for a while, but there was something different - something extra about it. He smoothed the edge with his fingertips, feeling goose bumps rise to his touch, before he covered the mark with his hand.

It was intimate, an acknowledgement of so many things. The loyalty Merlin had shown, the depths to which he would go for one man (for a destiny only proved to him through words of a dragon), a friendship, and maybe even Arthur's own faith in Merlin.

How strange it was to think that, when Arthur had never shown Merlin his faith in him before now. But he had, in a sense, because whenever he'd needed him, Merlin had been there, by his side even though he was just a servant. Merlin had been through more almost all knights, just because he was there for Arthur.

Who had been the one to pull Arthur up and tell him that it hadn't been the time to mope, that he had to do something for his people when Morgana had taken Camelot? Who had just admitted that he'd killed for Arthur and would do it again without any remorse? Whether he'd known it or not, Arthur had needed Merlin through those times and while there was so much to make up for, Merlin could stand by his side, free for all to see now, because Arthur knew and understood.

"I called the dragon," Merlin said and Arthur pressed the heel of his palm a little more against his skin, eyes closed as he could feel Merlin's back vibrate as he talked. "He healed me, but I had to get back to Camelot."

Merlin's shirt was bunched up around his neck, his arms hanging awkwardly, Arthur noted as he opened his eyes. It was a small sacrifice, but one nonetheless just so Arthur could feel his scars.

They weren't even important, not really. Just a mark on the flesh, nothing to be so damn curious about. If he'd known his curiosity would have led him here, would Arthur still have pressed and asked?

Yes. A thousand times yes. It was hard, knowing all of this, having everything finally revealed like a blindfold being pulled from his eyes, but it was right somehow.

"One day I'll take you on a dragon ride." Merlin half-turned; Arthur's hand skimming across his skin to rest against his ribs. He was smiling, privy to a joke Arthur was about to understand. "It was how I got back to Camelot and... well that comes later. But one day I'll take you."

The notion that Merlin had ridden a dragon - the Great Dragon to boot - tugged at Arthur's lips. Of course Merlin (the man who'd cried over a unicorn) would ride a dragon, something traditionally one was supposed to run from. Who needed tradition anyway? It was overrated, stuffy, and not needed for Arthur's future court.

He could feel Merlin's breathing steady under his hand, in, out, constant. Who said sorcerers weren't humans? Arthur had proof right here under his palm, with a heartbeat and breath with blood running through Merlin's veins and a story to tell, just like every other man.

"I returned to Camelot," Merlin continued, shifting slightly again so that his shirt was less bunched up around his neck, falling down over his back. Arthur's hand lay still as the fabric fell onto his arm and he looked at Merlin, moving his hand away.

"Morgana placed the Yew staff in the tombs of Camelot to raise the dead." Merlin's own hand followed his, catching his fingers just as they slid over a rib bone, pressing their palms together for a moment. "She took credit for it after, but I destroyed the staff and you were able to fight where it mattered."

Merlin shifted, side stepping and shuffling at the same time until he sat next to Arthur, sharing one log bench now. Their legs pressed against each other as Merlin settled their hands between them, never quite stilling the movement of his fingers as they danced shapes over his skin, on the back of his hand, up his fingers. Arthur tried to read the shapes, figure out if they were letters or just nonsensical babble.

Except nothing was nonsense when it came to Merlin.

"Morgana was the reason for your father's illness at that time too," Merlin said quietly.

They'd got off lucky then. Arthur said as much, thinking back to the history of illness in the male Pendragon line. Maybe it hadn't driven Uther to the edge then, but what about this time? Morgana had gone so far this time, who was to say that Uther would ever recover?

"This time it's not just a root you can burn," Arthur said, once Merlin had explained. "He's not going to get better."

The shapes on his hand stilled.

"You can't know that," Merlin said. "Gaius says he's getting better, it just takes time. I can't say that he'll ever be as good as he was, but times change. We can't all get things back, but we can take what is in front of us and make the best of it."

Arthur imagined that Merlin was tracing their names, over and over. Tracing the names of all the people they knew, the people who rooted them to the ground. There was so much responsibility that lay on his back, so much of that that too lay on Merlin's. There was always the option that they could just throw it all away now, run away and... and what?

"Sometimes," Arthur said softly, admitting more than he ever had before, "I wish that I could just leave. Pack up somewhere, pick any place where they've never even heard of a Camelot and just live there. Grow my own food and grow old without any burdens."

Merlin's fingers tightened around his hand as he stifled a snort of laughter. Arthur looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"No you don't," Merlin answered, smile on his lips. "Sure it might pop up in that head of yours, but you never actually think about it. I saw you in Ealdor, there's no way you'd ever be happy with a life like that."

A huff of laughter escaped Arthur's chest. Merlin was right. He hadn't bought it for a moment, in true Merlin-fashion.

"Fine, you've got me." Merlin tapped the back of his hand, urging him on. "I don't want to leave Camelot, especially not to go and grow my own food." Merlin sniggered. "But... sometimes it's nice to wonder what it would be like."

There was probably no one else who would understand that. Uther was never a prince of Camelot, but an invading king; he'd never grown up with a kingdom resting on his shoulders. He'd never felt the dawn of his reign, knowing that you couldn't be anything less than brilliant or else he would let his people down.

Merlin did though. He understood the burdens perfectly, as if his life was fitted perfectly to Arthur's own.

"Is there enough room in that head of yours for all this wondering?" Merlin traced swirls and lines onto Arthur's wrist, inking invisible lines deep into Arthur's skin.

"Morgana tried to kill you, you know?" he said casually. "But I have a bit more of my story to tell before that," he added as Arthur stiffened, his fingers drumming out strange little beats against the bones in their hands.

.

but I couldn't turn my back on a world

.

"Remember... when your father sent out patrols to look for the large group of bandits?" Arthur thought that Merlin should have been more specific as there were often patrols for large groups of bandits, but he could guess what particular patrol he meant.

"Just before Morgana's birthday? When you acted strangely on the way back?" It was something that had always bothered Arthur, the abrupt change of Merlin's behaviour, but he hadn't been inclined to discuss it so Arthur had (eventually) let it drop.

"The arrow didn't just pierce your armour. It went through your armour and I had to remove the head from your back." Merlin's fingers had stilled and so Arthur began to trace his own shapes, odd disjointed letters like the ones he remembered on the Round Table of the Fallen Kings.

"You were dying and I tried to heal you but I just..." The words tumbled from Merlin's mouth as Arthur traced his symbols and letters.

"I don't know why, but my magic doesn't heal you. Maybe I don't know enough powerful spells or maybe I wasn't supposed to use my magic for healing but..." He turned his head away, clearing his throat. "You were dying," he said simply, turning his head back around, showing Arthur his profile.

How many times had Merlin suffered without Arthur knowing?

"A man approached me, asked why I was sad. I told him about you, that I couldn't do anything to save you. He healed you and told me his name was Taliesin."

Arthur nodded; he knew the name. It was a fairy tale, placed with the legends of the Fallen Kings. A man who had foreseen such wonders, been the caretaker to the birthplace of all magic, advisor to the greatest Kings Albion had ever seen.

The Kings, while they had existed, were surely not as brave and wise as they were in legend. And Taliesin was sure to be an imagined image for story telling purposes, nothing more. That was what was to be believed, but every story that had ever been told to Arthur, every story he'd poured over in the night, in secret, was suddenly real. It had happened, these kings had lived and breathed on the same earth where he was now.

They were sure to have had their flaws, as any men did, but the kings Arthur had grown up reading about were suddenly so much wiser, so much more real... thanks to Merlin.

"He took me to the Crystal Caves and the crystals showed me visions of the future." Merlin's mouth was downturned, unsavoury. "I'd seen visions from crystals before and they're terrible things. I spent so long after that obsessed about whether my visions were coming true and when they did it was almost too late..."

Merlin took a deep breath. "I caused Morgana to fall and hit her head."

Before, Arthur would have shouted at Merlin, hated him for what he had done. But how could he now when his own sister would sooner kill him while this man here, with his hand warm and firm in Arthur's own, would die tenfold so Arthur would live? Before, Arthur might have blamed Merlin for what had happened, but now that he had an explanation and he understood, he knew Merlin had been trying to do the right thing, even though it had harmed Morgana.

"Uther asked Gaius to do anything, even use magic - though he never said that outright."

Of course he didn't. Uther would never openly admit it, but he'd use magic to his own gain when he could, wouldn't he?

"He confessed to Gaius of Morgana's relation to him," Merlin admitted and Arthur shut his eyes against the admission. He was the last to know, always.

"I wasn't supposed to hear, but you know what I'm like." A smile accompanied his words, but Arthur couldn't quite join him.

"I forced the dragon to give me a spell to heal her and, once she was healed, she went to go kill Uther." A snort escaped Merlin and he shook his head. "Even almost killing her didn't change the visions and they happened anyway."

His hands returned to curling patterns, lazily now, more sure of themselves. "She's been planning ways to take the throne since then, teamed with Morgause."

Arthur was tired. He could feel the evening drawing cooler around them, edging into darkness ever so slowly, and he knew he should place another log on the fire to last them the night. Even so, he didn't move, counting the number of breaths he shared with Merlin, feeling the light press of fingertips on his hand.

She was his sister. No matter the wrongs that had been done against her, could she not have seen past that?

"Morgause acknowledged her," Merlin said quietly, as if hearing Arthur's thoughts. "I think that was all she really wanted."

Arthur could see that. Uther was a hard man to love, but he'd openly shown affection for Arthur. Morgana had never had any of that, no mother to usher her into adulthood the way his father had (albeit slightly coldly) led Arthur into his. Morgana had been alone and she'd turned away.

But why him? Why did she want to kill him?

"How did she try to kill me?" he asked, heart hammering in his throat. He knew he wouldn't like the answer, but he had to know.

Merlin nodded, answering to Arthur's request as he had done so many times before, this time spelling out 'Arthur and Merlin' for the world to see on the back of Arthur's hands. The words soaked through Arthur's skin, into his blood, carrying straight to Arthur's heart.

"There was a bracelet she gave you, the one when you were on your quest." Merlin drew his fingers away for a moment, encircling Arthur's wrist as much as he could, pressing against the skin in remembrance of how the bracelet (yes, Arthur could remember the one he was referring to, the good luck charm Morgana had pressed onto him) had kissed the skin there months ago.

"It's why I came after you. Well, why I found Gwaine and then came after you really." Merlin's fingers curled, stroking along the back of Arthur's hand, tracing over traces of scars, minute in comparison to his own.

"How did you know that it was..." Bad? Evil? It was a bracelet, what could it be called?

"Right before you left I noticed the bracelet and there was something odd about it," Merlin began.

"Of course you'd know all about odd things wouldn't you?" Arthur said, under his breath. It drew a smile from Merlin, his fingers tapping lightly against Arthur's knuckles in reprimand for interrupting his story.

"Gaius helped me look for what the stone was and we discovered that it was designed to literally suck the life from you. And I'd say it worked a treat judging from the fact that you were about to be gored by wyverns by the time I got there." The words were smooth and Arthur could remember the hazy memories of his journey to the Forbidden Tower, how he hardly remembered it. He'd shaken off the bone-tiredness as an effect of the quest, but hadn't been able to find a reason why he'd gotten better after Merlin had arrived.

(Or maybe he'd just thought that seeing Merlin had revived him somewhat, falling into the role of a Prince as opposed to a Knight on a quest. Knights were allowed to get tired and show their weaknesses on their own, but a Prince in front of his people? It was one of the first lessons Uther had installed in his son and Arthur, sometimes regretfully, would never forget it.)

"From what I gather," Merlin's fingers were circling again, following veins and bones, his eyes staring down at their joined hands. "And from what Gaius helped me work out, Morgana worked magic over the time you were gone to weaken you, using the bracelet and a special box as a link."

Arthur didn't like the way Merlin's face had darkened. It was a look he knew well, one that was full of hidden regrets and crumpled 'but what if...'s. He'd seen it on his own face, seen it on the face of his knights, but he'd never have thought to see it on Merlin's face.

It didn't suit him. He looked bitter and cold, a far cry from the Merlin he knew, the Merlin who had linked their hands and drawn patterns over his skin. This man full of regrets and close encounters wasn't a man Arthur knew - wasn't a man he wanted to know either.

"You can't change what's happened," Arthur murmured. Their fire hissed in agreement, flames simmering as they lapped around the last of the wood. "What's done is done and-"

"I know," Merlin interrupted. He hung his head slightly, tilting his body until his shoulder met Arthur's. "I know and it's something I keep telling myself over and over again, but... if we hadn't got there, or if Morgana had been more ruthless or-"

"Stop it." Arthur gripped Merlin's hand, twisting until his hand lay on top. "You got there in time, as you always seem to do. And if there's a next time, you'll do the same. Remember," Arthur chided gently, loosening his grip, "You promised me you'd always be by my side. You can't take that back now."

Shaking his head slightly, Merlin shifted where he sat, somehow moving along the log a little until he could rest his head against Arthur's shoulder. His hair, where it brushed Arthur's neck, left a line of prickled skin, tingling at the touch.

"You know the old stories," Merlin said, his voice low and vibrating through Arthur.

"You'll have to be more specific," replied Arthur, staring at the fire. Their hands, while still, were pressed together still, and Arthur tipped his head slightly so that his ear just brushed the crown of Merlin's head.

"About the Fisher King, how he still lives," Merlin clarified.

Arthur nodded. Of course, in his fairy tales, the Fisher King had laid waste to his own land, wrapped up in envy and greed. Geoffrey had set the tale to the accepted 'right', gently pointing a young Arthur (so full of nonsense as Uther had said and, upon Morgana's visits, back when she had Gorlois for a father, with his brain stolen and his head in the clouds) to a book that detailed the kindness of the King, and of how his magic connected him to the land. About how a mortal wound had been inflicted upon the King and, in perfect reflection, the land had suffered too.

"I met him, when I was separated from you and Gwaine." Arthur wondered if Merlin would ever stop amazing him and he doubted it with every fibre in his being.

"Your quest, he said, was also my quest. He gave me something, telling me that I'd need it in Albion's time of need." Merlin gave a slight shake of his head, "I mean, he said that I'd need it soon, water from the lake of Avalon."

Sacred water, water that had been purified by the gods of the Old Religion themselves. The lake of Avalon, the gateway to the afterlife, the dwelling place of the Sidhe, a place where many had tried to find in their lifetimes, before the purge at least.

"In return, I gave him the bracelet I'd taken from you." Merlin paused, leaving Arthur to trace along his knuckles. Merlin didn't have to say it, not when it was clear there were so many people he'd killed or lost over the years he'd been in Camelot. Just because this passing had been different made it no less of a burden for him.

And this water. Was it something Merlin had already used, against Morgana and Morgause perhaps? Arthur would have to be blind and stupid not to realise by now that Merlin had played some (name, the biggest) part in defeating the immortal army, but had that been the reason the Fisher King had given Merlin the water?

He didn't even want to contemplate the fact that there could be a greater threat than what Morgana had thrown their way.

Instead, Arthur knew it was time to ask Merlin the questions that had been pouring through his mind ever since he'd left the throne room after Morgana's 'coronation'.

"Why would she do that?" He didn't even try to hide the pain in his voice, knowing that Merlin wouldn't judge him for it.

Not like Uther. Before Morgana's betrayal, Uther would have seen it as a weakness and now... well now Arthur was unsure if he'd even look up in response. Uther was a broken man, running through the motions of being King but hardly taking up the reins.

"She was scared and alone," Merlin whispered. "She had these powers, was born with the ability to see things and the potential for magic, only to be told that magic was wrong and evil." Merlin tucked himself closer to Arthur, the evening drawing cooler around them.

"We all made bad decisions, too many bad decisions and none of us could admit that we were wrong and do the right thing."

Arthur was about to ask what the right thing was when Merlin drew his hand back, pressing their fingertips together absent mindedly.

"Not that I know even now what the right thing is. Should I have told her about my magic? But what then - if she'd still ended up where we are now, things would be worse. Camelot might have fallen and you..." Merlin took a shaky breath, fingers sliding back between Arthur's, sealing tightly together. "It's like you said; you can't dwell on these things. It's done."

He had to agree there. While Arthur could never imagine how Morgana (and Merlin, because Merlin surely felt the same before he came to Camelot... maybe even since he'd been in Camelot) had felt to know she was the very thing Uther hated, he understood her drive. To learn you'd been lied to your whole life, by the very man you'd come to see as a father figure.

But there were parallels here, weren't there? Merlin had already admitted that he'd lied to stop Arthur killing Uther when he'd told him about Nimueh. Uther had lied to him too, lied about his mother's death. He was, in this way, like Morgana.

Only, Morgana had turned to Morgause while Arthur had Merlin. Morgause, who was filled with hatred and ideas of revenge and destruction coiled around her skin, and Merlin who had bared all for Arthur, who was pressed to his side where, quite honestly, he belonged.

Side by side, in step, together, name it how you will. Merlin had been there since day one, but Arthur had only just opened his eyes to see it, opened his arms to embrace it.

"Gwen saw her doing magic," Merlin said. He was playing with Arthur's fingers again, almost lazily. Twilight was creeping in now, a blue-grey sky muting the sun and silhouetting the trees. Somewhere around them a fox barked, an ugly sound that brought back the rush of the trees and the world around them.

It didn't burst their bubble, though. Not even mentioning Gwen's name had done that. Instead, the noises of the world circled them, the last calls of birds falling to the silence of night time, falling to the mysteries of the night.

"I can only think that then Morgana knew Gwen suspected her of sorcery or something as the reason she planted that poultice and convinced Uther that Gwen had ensorcelled you." Well that was news to Arthur. Merlin added, in after thought, "I can't think of another reason, at least."

"Morgana? You really were in the tavern the whole day, what about that old man?" Arthur frowned as Merlin pulled his head up, a small, secret smile dimpling his cheeks as he looked at Arthur.

"I went to visit Gwen in the dungeons after she was sentenced to death," he began and Arthur recognised the pull of a new story. Just how many threads were there to what should have been a simple question about scars?

And how many unheard stories had Merlin brushed over? Not that it mattered anymore - they had all the time in the world to share them, Merlin and his secrets and Arthur with his fairy tales and hopes, admissions that he would never trust with anyone but Merlin.

"I asked her if she knew who could have set her up and she mentioned she'd seen Morgana smiling as she was being dragged away. That and Morgana could easily have led Uther to you."

Arthur remembered Morgana visiting him, of how she'd taken a sudden interest in his love life and gone so far as to make suggestions, pushing and pulling Arthur into the shape she wanted him to be.

"After that, I had to do something and I asked if Gaius could make an identical poultice." Merlin's fingers skimmed over his hand, almost as if in controlled excitement.

This wasn't like the other secrets, not quite. There was humour here, a realisation that Arthur was somehow missing. Merlin waited, no doubt wanting Arthur to connect the dots himself, a slightly smug smile growing on his lips.

"You weren't in the tavern at all," he muttered blankly, shaking his head. How could one person be so reckless, so thoughtless to their own safety and yet so brilliant at the same time?

Merlin let out a small laugh, tucking his head back down to rest against Arthur, his voice echoing into the woods around them. A few birds tittered back and the trees swayed in reply, ignorant to the shaking of Arthur's head.

"How many times," Arthur said softly, turning his head so that he had a tilted view downwards of Merlin's face. "Just how many times have you done something so stupid to save someone and yet got nothing in return?"

A shrug was all Arthur received in return.

"We don't deserve someone like you." There was a knot inside Arthur's stomach as he said the words, clawing in his belly as if saying the words would force Merlin away. As if saying them aloud would make Merlin leave, let him realise that, well actually, he was underappreciated in Camelot, thank you very much, and he was off to another kingdom.

(And the idea of Merlin leaving scared Arthur more than he'd care to admit, had scared him even before he'd know Merlin's secrets, before they'd come to this clearing.)

But Merlin just smiled, clutching at Arthur's hand and pressing their sides together.

"I don't care," he replied, voice firm and even. "I'm not going anywhere."

Arthur's voice stuck in his throat. "Good," he managed, barely a whisper. "Good."

It wasn't easy to draw back the face of 'Dragoon the Great', but when Arthur did, he remembered it now with a tinge of cold fear. He remembered what he'd almost done, how he'd led Dragoon - Merlin - from a dungeon to the stake, how it was at the very last moment that the sorcerer had escaped.

"I was going to kill you," he said quietly, voice resigned. Merlin's head left Arthur's shoulder and cool, evening air hit the space, unwanted and uncomfortable.

"I had a plan," Merlin replied, slipping his hand free of Arthur's and picking up a few thick logs to place on their dying fire. "Gaius had a potion for me, we were just a little bit late in the handover, that's all."

How many near misses had there been? Arthur hardly wanted to think about it, but just how many times had Merlin almost died, almost been hurt, almost sacrificed himself (over and over and over) just for Camelot.

No, not even for Camelot. For Arthur, for Hunith, for Gaius, for Gwen, for Morgana even. For the people in Camelot, not the city itself, but the peasants and the nobles, people no matter who they were or where they came from. For people he loved, for people he hardly knew.

Was Merlin capable of fear? Arthur had mastered it to the highest degree possible, but he still felt it. He could still feel the sting of worry when he charged into battle, burying it deep inside of him as he fought for what he loved. As a knight and Prince, Arthur may have mastered his control of his fear, but that didn't mean it had vanished entirely.

Merlin though... could he feel his power thrumming through his body like blood? Feel the pound of magic alongside his heartbeat and just know, beyond doubt, that he could do anything? Did he stand knowing that, with a simple summon of power, he could level the whole of Albion?

Merlin dusted his hands off on his legs, shifting the logs around on the fire with his mud smeared boot, standing back to survey his work for a moment.

He wasn't fearless. Arthur remembered Ealdor, how Merlin had confessed his nerves. Why lie then when there was no need to? And, except for the one he'd built around him his whole life, Merlin was a terrible liar.

"The plan worked," Merlin said, voice pitching indignantly as if sensing Arthur's thoughts. "It was a perfectly good plan."

Flames began to stroke the edge of the fresh wood and Merlin moved off again, past the circle of light and into the shadows cast by trees. Arthur's eyes could still track him, but in the dim haze of twilight, he seemed much less human, pale skin flitting about as he fiddled through their bags for something. The darkness made Merlin's movements a little too fast, a little sharper, a little unreachable.

Arthur moved on the log, shifting forwards slightly. He wanted to call Merlin back, reach out and draw him back to the story, but he couldn't. They weren't in the castle, unbound by titles and opening themselves up to each other. Arthur wasn't comfortable with the idea of ordering Merlin around now, commanding him to return because... because...

Because he felt suddenly alone on the log? Because he was cold now that Merlin wasn't pressed to his side? Because he'd never realised how much he'd relied on Merlin and now that he was gone (stretched to a fantasy creature in the darkening night), he was missing him as sure as a limb?

He couldn't say those things. Not just because he would be a King and not just because Merlin used magic.

With Gwen, a relationship was comfortable. He loved her, yes, but he could see that she was torn and knew one day he'd give her up, no matter how far away that day was. But that was okay, for now, because it was in the future, something he didn't have to contemplate (not at the moment at least when he had to think about his father passing on Camelot and the business with Morgana), and he could pretend, safe and easy with Gwen here and now.

Merlin, on the other hand, was a completely different matter. If Arthur was honest with himself, it scared him to know the full extent of Merlin's loyalty and devotion. He wasn't scared of the power or the idea of a relationship, but what would he do if Merlin ever chose to leave? If Merlin ever lost his love for Arthur, saw something in the man he'd protected for so long and decided enough was enough.

(After all, Arthur didn't know how many people Merlin had killed for him, but it still weighed on Merlin like a chain. There would surely be a time when Merlin turned a cold shoulder, shaking his head and walking off. A time when he'd decide enough was enough and Arthur wasn't worth it anymore, realising he never really had been.)

So no. Arthur couldn't ask those things of Merlin, couldn't tell him to come back to the circle and sit by Arthur's side when Arthur was safe with Gwen and Merlin was still by his side.

"Here," Merlin stepped into the light of the flames, a bowl in his hand. "I thought we might as well eat the rabbit up now, so here you go. It's not much and I would have done a stew or something, but it should do us for the night."

Merlin's knee brushed against Arthur's as he sat back down, shoulder-to-shoulder once more. His meat-greased fingers didn't take Arthur's hand, but they still left shiny trails as he skimmed his fingers over skin, passing the bowl over.

"Who else knows about your magic?" Arthur ventured. Merlin still had his story to tell, but the atmosphere was broken slightly. It wasn't a conversation for dinner, not when there was still so much that Arthur wanted to know (about Morgana, about Merlin, about the Cup of Life).

"My mother," Merlin began, swallowing his mouthful. There wasn't much meat on either of the rabbits, but it was enough, slightly stringy and a little hard to stomach. "Gaius, as I mentioned. Will knew, before... well you know."

Arthur nodded, picking at some of the meat.

"Then there's Lancelot," Merlin said quickly, taking a bite of rabbit after. "And Gilli... you know the man Uther fought in that tournament?"

Arthur nodded absently, dismissing any thought about whoever Gilli was to focus on the main issue at hand.

"Lancelot?" he asked, placing his empty bowl on the ground and wiping his hands on his breeches.

Merlin frowned, discarding his own now-empty bowl and moving to untie his scarf, taking Arthur's hand a moment later.

"Use this," he muttered, wiping his own hands on the other end. "And yes, Lancelot. I met him when there was that griffin see, and-"

"I know, he saved your life." Arthur felt as though there was something bitter in his mouth, which was ridiculous. Lancelot had known about Merlin's magic, perhaps, but that didn't mean anything other than he knew. It wasn't like Gwen, Merlin was with him, not Lancelot, as always, as he'd promised.

"I had to enchant the lance he used to kill it, but he'd heard me cast the spell. I didn't even know he'd realised until he was leaving Camelot." Arthur studied Merlin's profile as he moved his jaw slightly, the tendons shifting to the side as he looked down at the ground.

"I'm glad he knows," Merlin said slowly, "But if he hadn't seen me use magic, I would never have told him."

He turned to face Arthur, one hand still tangled in the dirty neck scarf and the other moving to twine with Arthur's hand again.

"Mordred knows too, as do some other Druids and... people." Merlin frowned at the last word, as if it wasn't quite right. Arthur supposed it was the best way to sum up 'others' who knew, like the Fisher King and Taliesin to name but two.

The sting of knowing Lancelot had shared Merlin's secret was lessening as Merlin tightened his grip, shifting once more until he was shoulder-to-shoulder. He didn't lay his head on Arthur though, turning until Arthur could see his eyes.

"I'm nearly done," he said, eyelashes fanning as he blinked slowly, drawing his eyes down. "But there's a lot to this part and there's a bit to explain."

Arthur nodded, unsure of what else he could say. He had his questions and knew that, at the end he'd have even more, but now wasn't the time to answer them.

Merlin shifted his weight a little, the sound of his foot hitting the wooden bowl on the floor adding to the shift and hiss of the fire. A smile came to Arthur's mouth, hesitant and just a small one, but it was acknowledgment enough that Merlin was still Merlin, no matter what was peeled away from his secrets.

"As you know, Morgause had been working with Cenred. Now, either Cenred found out about the Cup of Life somehow or Morgana revealed its location to Morgause, who then passed it on. I think the second is more likely because Sir Leon is the only one who knew where the Cup was." Merlin brought Arthur's hand onto his lap, untangling their fingers before smoothing over the lines in his palm with both hands.

"Cenred sent his men out, they shot you in the leg and they got the Cup." Merlin tapped along the pads of Arthur's fingers, eyes tracing sword callouses and tiny cracks in the skin. "I was supposed to look after the Cup, the Druid leader told me to." He paused. "But you were hurt and I couldn't really care about the Cup as much."

He said it in such an offhand manner, as if that level of caring didn't matter. Did Merlin know that Arthur hadn't felt this degree of open and raw emotional dedication before? At least not in this way, not in the way that Merlin would do anything for him.

It was scary, horrible, and yet brilliant at the same time. It was as though he was falling deeper and deeper into a well, butterflies swirling in his stomach and yet knowing that there was a pile of soft cushions at the end, that he'd be safe and comforted after it all.

Or at least, that was how he could describe how he felt for Merlin, the part he could at least put into words without simply gesturing, unsure how to explain.

"I couldn't heal you, again." Merlin's hands stilled, four points of warmth pressed to Arthur's palm.

There was something behind the tone, as if Merlin had failed somehow.

"Merlin," Arthur said, drawing Merlin's head up sharply, eyes wide at his own name. "It doesn't matter." Arthur couldn't help the smile that slipped onto his face, but it was ridiculous that Merlin of all people should feel regretful he couldn't do something for Arthur, considering everything he'd already done.

"You don't have to be perfect, you don't have to be able to do everything and master it to perfection." He took Merlin's hand, wanting him to really understand what he was trying to say. "You don't have to do everything because you already do so much more than I could ever have asked for, wished for."

To me, Arthur added silently, you're already more than enough, more than able.

"I don't want you to be perfect," Arthur confessed, dropping his head forwards until he was the one resting on a shoulder, feeling the heat from Merlin radiating to his own body. "You said... you said that we're to walk side by side. If you become this perfect person, this man who can do everything wonderfully then..."

Arthur stopped, cutting his own words off. One day it would happen, he knew it. Merlin would see Arthur for who he was, see his flaws and realise he wasn't worth Camelot.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, placing a hand either side of Arthur's head and drawing him up, looking into his eyes with a soft, sad smile. "How many times do I have to say it before it gets in that thick skull of yours?"

His eyes crinkled as he smiled, such a familiar sight that Arthur expected the lurch in his stomach before it came.

"It doesn't matter if you're perfect or if you're a mess. I'm here, like one side of a coin is for another." Merlin lowered his eyes slightly, still smiling. His fingers curled into Arthur's hair, gently smoothing over skin, and the weight that had built itself around Arthur began to lessen, falling away with Merlin's smiles.

He didn't want safe. He didn't want comfortable, because his relationship with Gwen would quickly fall out of those things, becoming mundane. Arthur would drive Gwen to Lancelot without realising it and Gwen would drive him in his own destruction, unaware.

And it was this time that Arthur believed Merlin wholly, realising that he wanted to much more than a relationship he would be waiting to end.

There was more of the story though, and Merlin needed him to know before he could share his own secrets, before he could tell Merlin that he loved the nonsensical stories he told when in Arthur's chambers, before he could admit he smiled whenever Merlin struck up a tuneless song to fill calm silence in a room.

Before he could be truthful to himself, shedding away expectations and half-filled hopes he had come to accept because he hadn't been prepared to plunge in alone.

Except he wasn't alone now, was he? Merlin was there, always and forever.

The hoot of an owl, a little early perhaps, but just another sure sign that night was creeping, sailed on the wind, brushing against Arthur in another reminder that they had all the time in the world. There was no rush here, no time constraints at all.

Arthur had had to lobby for this time, quiet whispers to Uther about how he needed this time. When his father had finally responded (with tired eyes belonging to a man with one foot in the grave, not to a king such as Uther), he'd given Arthur the time easily, waving him off without a word, but it had taken almost an hour for the words to sink in for the approval.

Orange light filtered over their clearing, the fire crackling happily. It was strange, how such a small little area could suddenly hold so much of Arthur's life in its wake. This small bit of the forest around Camelot wasn't governed by the King or by the people, it belonged to him and Merlin now.

(And, maybe one day - a day that was looking closer to the future than ever before - the whole of Camelot could belong to him and Merlin, flourishing by its King and Warlock, unlike even the stories of the Fallen Kings or the Fisher King.)

Did they have names for Merlin in legends? Did Merlin walk easily in stride with the myths of the past or was he unknown, free from books and stories told by campfires in the dead of night. And if Merlin was so devoted to him, what did they call Arthur? Did he have a name?

A gentle touch to the side of his cheek reminded Arthur that Merlin wasn't finished. His hands were still curled in Arthur's hair, fingers stroking slightly as he thought. Each press of Merlin's fingers soothed the questions from Arthur's mind, soothed the worries and the thoughts of what might happen once they left their Sanctuary. Here and now, was what they seemed to say, just here and now.

.

for what I like wouldn't let me

.

"I know how Morgause made them immortal," Merlin said, his hands slipping from Arthur's head, trailing to his neck and resting on his shoulders.

Before Merlin had joined him in the clearing, Arthur had taken off the light armour he'd worn and had left an open-necked shift on. It exposed his neck and collarbones, Merlin's fingers unusually warm as they traced across bone, curiously following the dips across Arthur's shoulders.

"There once was a sorcerer, long ago," Merlin said casually, like in his story of the badger family, the one he'd told two weeks ago. "He placed a drop of each of his soldiers' blood into the Cup of Life, granting them immortality."

His tongue flicked out from his mouth, parting his lips as his eyes traced the muscle of Arthur's chest.

"Morgause did the same. When we were in the caves I talked to Gaius again, confirming what we suspected," Merlin said and then suddenly his hands were gone, the air around pressing to Arthur's chest unwelcomingly, too cold where there should be heat.

Arthur's eyes tracked Merlin's hands as he shifted back onto the log, profile facing Arthur as his hand trailed through his own hair, interlocking at the back as Merlin hung his head.

"The Fisher King gave me water from the lake of Avalon, saying that it would be needed soon." Merlin's voice was thick, heavy with the weight of yet more stories. Arthur refused to think of them as secrets, because they weren't anymore. Merlin was baring them all, open and ugly for Arthur to judge as he saw fit.

But just when you think there's only one more story to go...

"I was trying to find out what the water could do to help, because what else could the Fisher King have meant?" His voice was low, almost as if he was speaking to himself. Arthur waited, pressed against Merlin at the knee, but no more.

"It gave me the help I needed, but so you understand, I need to go back a little bit." Merlin's hands loosened, slipping to the nape of his neck. He stared out into the darkness, eyes reflecting a speck of flame and then nothingness.

"You probably won't remember, but there was a bounty hunter once in Camelot. He'd captured a Druid girl." Merlin's voice was monotonous, eyes seeking the darkness and not Arthur.

While he'd have liked to say that he remembered the occasion Merlin referred to, he couldn't. So many people passed through Camelot with a Druid or suspected Druid, and there was also the regulars who returned time and time again.

"I looked at her, alone in the rain and I just... it could have been me, so, so easily. Gaius told me not to," he pressed on, "But I couldn't just leave her there." His voice was a little desperate, as if hoping Arthur wouldn't judge him for his actions.

What was there to judge? Not that Arthur had any right to, not really considering how much he owed to Merlin in the grand scheme of things, but also because Merlin had helped someone in need. Arthur had done the same many times, going against his father in some cases. Just because it was Merlin, should he be punished for wanting to help?

"I took care of her for a while, giving her food and keeping her hidden while they searched for her." Merlin smiled just for a moment, remembering a part of his life Arthur would never get to know. And that was okay, strangely. Arthur didn't need to know this segment he'd missed, not when it was written all over Merlin's face how he'd felt.

"She told me she had a curse on her. I thought she meant her magic." Merlin stopped, looking to Arthur with a pained gaze. "I was going to leave Camelot with her. Take her somewhere away from the city, where there were mountains and a lake and we'd live... maybe not happily, but certainly good enough."

Arthur tensed, aware of his heart pounding and hands clenching. For all his talk of being there for Arthur, Merlin had been prepared to just go?

"She ended up leaving by herself." Merlin's eyes locked on Arthur's, holding his question's back with a mere look. There was no spell that could be this powerful, Arthur knew, so he stilled his tongue, curbed his anger (though why should he be angry? It was Merlin's life after all) and waited.

"Her curse," Merlin continued, hands leaving his neck and settling in his lap. "Wasn't her magic at all. Someone had cursed her to kill evermore, turning her into a creature when night struck. She turned into a Bastet."

Arthur dipped his head. Now he could remember, though he hadn't even thought to draw a connection between the Druid girl the bounty hunter had pressed them to find at the time and the winged beast. His father had mentioned it off handedly, but by then the beast - the Bastet, the woman Merlin was willing to leave Arthur for - had vanished with a wound struck by the Prince himself.

Oh.

"The only reason you stayed then..." Arthur couldn't say it. He couldn't condemn himself, couldn't push Merlin to the edge. Merlin had chosen Arthur, yes, but not at his own decision, but Arthur couldn't let the words slip past.

A gentle touch to his wrist started Arthur and he turned sharply, almost afraid of what he'd seen on Merlin's face.

"I found her and I took her out of Camelot, to a lake. I couldn't let her die in Camelot, not where she'd been so afraid." Merlin's touch tightened, a reminder that he wasn't done. In a roundabout way, Merlin would answer his questions, but Arthur just had to have a little faith.

"She told me that she'd find a way to repay me one day before she died. I set her out to sail on the lake and burnt the boat before returning to Camelot." His story was rushed here, skipping over his own feelings - again - and doing what he always had, returning to Arthur.

"I know now I never would have gone. Or rather, I might have made sure she was safe, but I would have come back." Merlin sought to look into Arthur's eyes, catching his gaze and... well how could Arthur not believe that? Not when it was the same face that had told so many truths this evening, and why should the drawing darkness change anything?

"You think I'd have chosen her over you," Merlin said softly. Arthur didn't have to say anything, not when Merlin's fingers were pressed against the inside of his wrist and could feel his pulse dancing through his body.

Merlin smiled. Arthur stiffened again.

"The lake Freya was carried out on," Merlin began (and Freya, such a pretty name for such a sorrowful girl), "Was the lake of Avalon. When I broke the glass containing the Fisher King's gift, I saw her in the water's reflection and she asked me to see her."

In all their chaos, in all their calamity, had Merlin gone?

"She had something to give me, a sword that deserves its own story when I'm done with this one." Merlin was calm, back to trailing his fingers against Arthur's, as if he hadn't just told Arthur that he'd almost left.

"Arthur," Merlin said patiently, "I saw her again, at the lake. And I still came back, doesn't that tell you something?"

He was sure Merlin felt the lurch in his heart, smallest finger still curved around his pulse.

"I wanted to save her, but sometimes you just have to accept you can't do everything. We all have our moments where we think that we can't deal with things, but I know I can now."

Merlin had already had his choice, had his moment to turn around and realise that Arthur wasn't worth his weight. It wasn't about his feelings for Freya, not really, but the fact that Merlin had chosen him, had been prepared to leave and been offered a choice and chosen Arthur.

(Because no matter what he'd said before, Merlin had never mentioned this waver, this moment where he'd honestly been about to give Camelot his goodbyes.)

But Merlin would not falter now, his stride toe-to-toe with Arthur, through the worst. He'd had his stumble, had cause to hate Arthur and still been there. Arthur had had his moments, but he knew now that this - whatever existed between them - wasn't just for the here and now, but for the big future. Merlin was going to be there, always.

Such a thought should be daunting, but it settled on Arthur gently, curling around his body as Merlin traced patterns on the back of his hand again.

"I'm sorry," he said, apologising for a thousand things at once. For Freya, for what he'd felt for her, for doubting Merlin's loyalty (yet again, but his story was hardly an easy one to stomach), for everything he'd done to lead to this moment even. Too many things to apologise for and yet not a single one crumpled and festered, rotting their relationship.

"She wasn't happy," Merlin said simply. "She is now, at peace and grateful for what I did."

Arthur leant against Merlin, sighing.

"When did things get so complicated?" he said with a huff of laughter, shaking his head.

Merlin smiled too, nudging their shoulders. "Probably around the time out great-great-grandparents were born or something. Always something to do with the older generations, and they're dead anyways so we can curse them all we like."

That was true, Arthur supposed.

They remained in comfortable silence, their hands still, but linked together again. Another hoot sounded from the woods as the nightlife started to emerge, the shuffling of foxes and badgers starting to pick up as well as the chirping of crickets hidden in the undergrowth.

"You mentioned a sword?"

Merlin's teeth flashed firelight in the darkness as he smiled.

"Not just any sword," he replied, tugging Arthur's arm a little. "Excalibur, the finest sword ever made, bathed in dragon's breath and to be wielded exclusively by Arthur Pendragon himself."

As Arthur made to question the existence of such a sword, Merlin added, "Well, almost exclusively. We had a few hiccups along the line."

"Right," Arthur said. He was ready for the next part, the tale of Excalibur or whatever Merlin might title it in his story.

A lull passed between them and Arthur looked to Merlin, wondering if he was still here. It was a long story he was telling (a story of his life, really) and while Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he needed a break, there was something about the story that he needed to know now. Like, for example, how he'd never seen 'his' sword, but - more importantly - there was still so much he needed to know about Merlin.

"See," Merlin picked up again, "This is where it all gets a bit jumbled. I don't know whether to carry on or tell you about Excalibur or even the Cup of Life..."

Arthur shifted, his elbow brushing Merlin's side, cutting off his speech.

"You can tell me in depth about this sword later, but just let me know enough that I won't be lost." The need to know about Merlin was greater than even a fabled weapon.

"Alright then," Merlin muttered, "I suppose we can do that." He wrapped his fingers around Arthur's wrist, pressing each finger in turn against the skin there, humming thoughtfully. He nodded once before turning to Arthur, ready to continue his tale.

"A weapon made of a dragon's breath has the power to slay any foe, mortal or not. Excalibur was forged by Gwen's father before the Great Dragon burnished it in his fire." Arthur nodded, happy to believe something like that had happened.

"And he did it because you're a Dragonlord?" he asked simply, expecting only a nod.

Merlin's eyes widened, eyebrows lifting. His fingers slackened around Arthur's wrist as he shook his head slightly.

"No," he began hesitantly, "This was a long while before all that."

Perhaps if he was given more time, Arthur would have considered the fact that Merlin had just dismissed himself as the last Dragonlord offhandedly.

"I just asked him to." It was said as if it really was that simple to ask such a request. "And it took some persuasion, but he granted me the request." Merlin's fingers slipped down to Arthur's hand, linking their fingers and resting there, content. "And the rest can wait," he said, looking away to the fire, shadows falling over his face.

Night had almost enclosed them fully now, stars stretched out in the sky above them. It was a clear night, one that should have been crisp, but for the fact they were sharing heat now. This wasn't a spell or an enchantment, but the truth running under his skin, drumming in time with Merlin's heartbeat, Arthur's own heart answering the call.

Merlin's eyes were half-closed as he tucked himself against Arthur, legs bending a little more under him. Their hands were still linked, pressed together, shifting from the space between them to Merlin's thigh. Arthur could feel the heat under Merlin's trousers, seeping from his skin and straight to Arthur, as if they were the only two existences in the whole world.

It went like this - Arthur took what Merlin gave and Merlin took what Arthur gave. It was easy to see now that they were constants together, in an equilibrium, together. The notion behind it wasn't hard to grasp, even if he hadn't heard all that Merlin had done it would have been easy to consider.

He'd said it before, to Merlin even. There was something (and no, not the magic, not the fact he'd saved Arthur time and time again, not the fact he'd been keeping secrets) about Merlin that drew Arthur in, weaving them together like strands of a basket, overlapping and almost inseparable. If one of them should fall, and perish the thought that Merlin be the one to fall - not that he valued his life so little, but it was Merlin - then the other would go down too, that much Arthur could say with confidence.

After all, Merlin had been down time and time again and it was just a matter of Arthur following him now. Something that he'd be more than happy to do, had done before in the past at times, but never had he made a pledge to it.

"When you enter into a contract with the Cup of Life in exchange for immortality," Merlin said, switching effortlessly from the topic of Arthur's sword back to that of the battle they had recently faced. "You become the living dead. No mortal weapon can slay the undead, save for Excalibur."

A log shifted on the fire, belching a cluster of embers into the sky. They floated up, free and unafraid, mimicking how Arthur felt. For the first time since Morgana had taken Camelot, he didn't feel like a Prince, didn't feel like the world was resting on his shoulders. This wasn't, for once, Arthur's place to take charge and passing the reins to Merlin (so to speak) was easier than he'd ever have imagined. Merlin understood him, even better than Arthur did himself, and it while it was scary to have someone know you so well and trust you implicitly, Arthur had trusted Merlin with his life before today and his judgement no longer wavered.

He would have been lying, of course, if he he'd said that there hadn't been moments of doubt, particularly when Merlin had first disclosed his secret. But Arthur wasn't like his father. While Uther would have simply clapped Merlin in irons and wave for an execution while spitting in anger, Arthur was the man who'd helped a Druid boy, risked his life even. He was Uther's son, yes, but he was also Ygraine's.

And it was easy to forget about Ygraine, Arthur didn't even know that much about his mother. All he knew was that she had sought help and trusted magic enough to let it give her a child. Despite all the consequences, he had been born of magic. Arthur may not feel its power inside of him or understand anything to do with magic (not like Merlin, never like Merlin who was the embodiment of wild magic itself), but without magic, Ygraine would never have given her life for her son.

Magic was Arthur as Merlin was magic. Destiny, fate, fortune, the gods... whatever you call it, they had been fashioned to fit together neatly, like pieces of the finest crafted lockets, the clasp fitting for one fixture and one alone. Merlin and Arthur; two sides of something whole with their hands clasped on their logs.

Another flurry of embers were spat out, catching on the air and rising with the smoke. Merlin's eyes tracked them before he continued, voice low in the night.

"I asked Kilgharrah to take me to the lake of Avalon and he warned me that once I was finished with Excalibur to put her where no man could wield her." Shadows played across Merlin's face and Arthur wondered if they were playing on his skin as they did to Merlin's. A dip in his cheek where there was none, hiding the circles around his eyes (had Arthur been working him too hard too or was there another reason to Merlin's tiredness), marking the crinkles above his cheekbones.

He always smiled, no matter what. And that, Arthur thought, was amazing in itself.

"Freya passed Excalibur to me and I returned to the caves. Not even Gaius knew anything, before you ask. In the end, only Lancelot knew about my plan and that was because I needed his help."

As before, Arthur felt the sting that it had been Lancelot by Merlin's side and not him.

"You wrote to him, to summon him?" Arthur asked, trying to keep the sting from his voice. He wasn't sure that he hid it, but Merlin simply curled his fingers against Arthur's palm reassuringly.

"He's a great Knight, as you well know. And a good man," Merlin added, nodding to himself. "But yes, I asked for him to help us."

Merlin breezed over the details from the arrival of Gwen, Leon, Lancelot and Percival, briefly mentioning the Round Table in the castle of the Fallen Kings. For the whole time he was talking, Merlin's hand never left Arthur's and he was beginning to think that he'd always expect it whenever talking to Merlin from now on.

It wasn't that the contact was grounding in anyway, but the feel of human skin, to know that there was someone beside him, understanding and sincere, was a greater gift than anything Arthur could have thought of himself. There were no lies, no hidden meanings in what Merlin was saying because, as silly as it sounded, Arthur could feel it, seeping through their skin with every word that Merlin spoke, pressing into his body with every breath.

"We were all equals at the table and I'm pretty sure you don't need me to tell you that there was something... different when we sat at it." Merlin's voice had dropped again, as if imparting a terrible secret. "It wasn't magic though, more like..."

Merlin stopped, unable to voice the words.

"Trust? Loyalty?" Arthur asked, and then, quieter, "Love?"

Their eyes met for the barest of seconds, Merlin looking down at their hands after turning to Arthur.

"All three I think. And more, but you can't put it into words. I don't know how they used to work the Round Table in the days of the Fallen Kings, but I'd imagine it was built upon those foundations." Merlin shifted, gripping Arthur's hand a little tighter.

"Without any prophecies or destinies, I would have known in that moment that you will be the greatest King Albion will ever see." His grip didn't slacken, but it wasn't painful. It was honest, just how Merlin's words were stripped of lies or disbelief.

"How can one man know that?" Arthur said. Merlin had mentioned it many times during this talk, the fact that Arthur was 'destined' for greatness, to take the whole of Albion (which hadn't been achieved ever in the history of the land) under his rule. Even for the people who had put their faith in foresight and written these prophecies must have had their blind spots, so why was it Arthur that was told he was to be this great king?

He didn't feel great. He loved his people and knew he would rule them with all the fairness he could muster - especially with Merlin by his side - but even so, he was just a man. And, like every man, he had his strengths and weaknesses. These prophecies, had they seen him as a man or an image?

If he had been seen as an image, surely he would ruin Albion?

But if they'd seen him as a man... with all his flaws and humanity...

"I believe in you, as you know." This time Arthur nodded, his cheek brushing Merlin's shoulder as he tucked his chin into his chest, looking down to his lap.

"And, for me, that's enough." A huff of air left Merlin's nostrils as he gave a slight snort of amusement. "It does sound a little farfetched and maybe we should spend some time looking into the validity of the source." Merlin paused, "And cross out the ones that were made by sorcerers who possibly could have been a little bit insane?"

Arthur smiled, "What about the ones made by animals?"

Merlin turned his head a little, his temple pressing to Arthur's as he raised his head. They were close, close that Arthur could see every line of Merlin's face, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes and the lines that marked the countless frowns he must have expressed. Arthur wondered what his own face documented, whether the frowns outweighed the smiles or vice versa. For Merlin, the smiles pressed down on the frowns easily.

"I think Kilgharrah would oppose to being called an animal for some reason," Merlin said after some consideration. "But he's ever so slightly..."

"Slightly what?" Arthur asked a beat later, after he realised Merlin wasn't quite going to finish.

"I..." Merlin's words failed him. Arthur felt the movement of his jaw as he spoke, weighing his words. "I honestly can't answer that." Again, he paused, before, "You should meet him, you really should."

Merlin pulled his hand free of Arthur's, twisting until he faced Arthur properly, straddling the log now instead of sitting on it. He placed a hand on each of Arthur's shoulders, resting there as if his touch was familiar (and in some ways it was).

"Then you can see what I mean, because he's hard to describe-"

"Merlin," Arthur cut in, his favoured hand pressing to Merlin's thigh. "You still have a story to finish and the last time I met this dragon of yours, I drove a weapon into it. I don't think it would appreciate seeing me."

It wasn't that he was afraid of the dragon, but he'd rather keep all parts burn-free for as long as possible, thank you.

His hands didn't fall because Arthur caught them, slotting his fingers against Merlin's.

"I know," Merlin said quietly, looking down at the log between them. "It's just hard. She..." he sucked in a breath, "She was our friend."

"I know," Arthur said softly, shuffling on the log until he too was straddling their seat, Merlin's legs caught between his thighs and the wood, looking ridiculously thin compared to Arthur's. "I know she was."

"In the caves, I asked Gaius how the immortal army had been defeated before," Merlin said, his wrists curved over Arthur's shoulders, fingers curled just so they gave the barest of touches to Arthur's skin. Despite the fabric between them, Arthur could still feel the touch, a little further away, but no less meaningful.

"He told me that the Cup needed to be emptied of the blood inside it." Arthur nodded, placing his hands on the log space between them. The wood was cold, far colder than skin, and the texture was alien to him.

"After you Knighted Lancelot and the others, he asked me what I was planning." Merlin was looking down, fingers tapping slowly against Arthur's shoulder blades. "So I told him that I needed to empty the Cup of Life and he said he's find a way to get me to it."

Arthur wondered how easy it had been for Merlin to have Lancelot's help. He knew now that Merlin wouldn't have asked help of Lancelot, preferring to keep him safe most likely, but how had he felt that Lancelot would offer his services so easily? It wasn't hard to remember the despair they had all felt, how they had all buried it deep down, pledging a cause to get Camelot back or die trying (with major emphasis on the die trying part, unfortunately).

"Which is why you didn't take out the warning bell then," Arthur said, voice low. He didn't like to remember the panic he'd felt when the bell had tolled, more of Morgana's army streaming down to the cells.

(And Arthur didn't like to remember the fear for Merlin and Lancelot he'd felt. He'd wondered if they'd been killed - brave, noble Lancelot and stupid, headfast Merlin - and turned his attention from the battle for a split second, hoping, praying to any gods of any religions, that they were alive. Safe had been too much to ask for, considering, but if you were alive, there was always a chance.)

"No," Merlin agreed, still pressing his fingers lightly against Arthur, as if playing to a song inside of his head, silent music floating around them by the firelight.

Maybe Merlin could hear a song, one that the fairies in Arthur's childhood stories used to sing. Songs of magic and wonder, winged fey calling to others to join them in their feasts, their celebrations. Did such songs exist? If they did, would he ever be able to hear them? The music of the fey had been something that sent Arthur into his dreams, wondering if it was a fast tune, or slow and melodic...

But those were just childhood notions. Before he'd begun sword training, Arthur had been trapped in a life of stories and fables, marking pages of picture books with mud stained hands, dirty fingers from re-enacting scenes around the castle grounds.

That was something he'd never told anyone and, once Uther had found out his four year old son could sneak off from his caretakers to play in the dirt, he'd soon put an end to the stories in Arthur's imagination. It wasn't long after that that Arthur had received his first proper lesson on why magic was evil, marched in to stand by his father as he passed judgement on a man accused of magic. It was a small mercy that Uther hadn't let Arthur watch the execution, but the man's haunted eyes as his sentence passed had haunted Arthur's fey-less dreams for months.

Then he'd turned to training and found it was something he was good at and, until Merlin came along, he'd been happy with his arrogance at his side.

"We were down in the cells, fighting. You know that," Arthur added hurriedly, thumb pressing against a bit of bark that had loosened slightly on the log. He pressed his nail under it, curling the digit and the bark came free with a dulled sound.

He'd told Merlin what had happened in the dungeons when Merlin had offered his (excuse) reason why they hadn't taken out the warning bell. Merlin had muttered something about not being able to get there, being seen before and then mumbled something else before revealing that it had been Gaius who injured Morgause enough to get to the Cup and so destroy the army. It had been a babbled, long-winded (with air, fancy words and some lies) explanation and Arthur had been tired enough to accept it, glimpse over the gaping holes.

Because, really, what could Merlin and Lancelot have done against an immortal army and Morgause? Gaius at least was able to do magic so it had made sense that he had been the one to injure Morgause enough to slip past her.

It hadn't made sense, not when you really thought about it, but why would Merlin have lied?

Now, though, things were fitting, sliding smoothly together through the honesty in Merlin's voice.

"But... I didn't tell you how worried I was. I mean," Arthur said. "I didn't exactly think about it," and he hadn't, hadn't really taken time to think about the worry he'd felt for Merlin because, strangely enough, there had been bigger things pressing on his mind, but... "But I was worried. More than worried."

Arthur's head jerked to the side, almost involuntarily, and he flicked the scrap of bark away, eyes searching the floor around them for a focus point, something that wasn't Merlin, something easy to think about, something that didn't require an examination of his feelings. That is, if they were his feelings. He hadn't really thought that one out yet.

Merlin, as always, understood what he was saying, tightening his hands on Arthur's shoulders, smoothing his fingertips in little gestures, little points of comfort.

"Lancelot helped me get to where Morgana had the Cup, though it took a while." Arthur could hear the twist of Merlin's lips, the slightly-bitter smile that would be on his lips. "I'd thought it would have been easier, to get to the Cup. I mean, I know there would have been guards, but... I don't know." Merlin paused, his fingers lifting from Arthur.

"I guess you never know what to expect until you do it," he finished, one of his hands moving so that the side lay against Arthur's shoulder, his fingers pressing against his neck, seeking the steady, grounding beat of his pulse. His eyes were focused on Arthur's collar, looking at the skin yet miles away, lost in thought.

It struck Arthur then that Merlin needed this contact as much as he did. To remind Merlin that his secrets were safe, his life was precious and that he could finally reveal everything to someone living. To someone meaningful to him, someone who was more than just a blank face.

"I was about to knock the Cup off of its stand when Morgause entered the hall. Lancelot had hurt his arm badly," Arthur nodded, remembering the deep wound Lancelot had mentioned in passing he was still suffering aches from on their first day of training. "She threw me against a wall and probably would have hurt me more if Gaius hadn't used his magic to push her away."

And by hurt, Arthur knew, Merlin meant kill.

"Gaius' magic might have been strong, before the Purge, I don't really know. He hasn't used magic in a while, though he managed to destroy a manticore's dimensional portal a little while ago." Merlin paused, glancing to Arthur as he realised that this was something Arthur didn't know.

"Oh," he said, a little sadly, as if he'd come to expect that Arthur knew everything now (and wasn't that a nice feeling? To be part of Merlin's world fully, know everything about him and be trusted upon it).

"There was a manticore," Merlin said quickly, "The one that woman - Alice - said poisoned your father?"

Arthur vaguely remembered the events, his father lying ill and a woman pleading for him to understand she'd never meant to do it.

"Gaius knew her when they were younger, before the Purge. They learnt magic together and we had to destroy the manticore after she was imprisoned. Gaius dealt with the box, the dimension portal it needed to survive, while I distracted the manticore." Done. Again Merlin had summed up extraordinary events in simple sentences, making it seem as though a manticore out to kill the King was nothing but an ordinary occurrence.

All things considered, though, perhaps it was...

"Anyway," Merlin pressed on, fingers idly tracing Arthur's neck. "Gaius cast a spell to push Morgause away, but it wasn't strong enough to harm her. I used my own magic on her, though I'm not sure how much I hurt her." There was little regret in Merlin's voice here. Perhaps there was an inkling, because for all her crimes and sins, Morgause had been a human, but it was surrounded in Merlin's judgement, his loyalty to Arthur and Camelot.

"She might be dead," he said, eyes unfocused again, lost in memory. "I don't know. I don't know if she'll live, even if she was alive when Morgana left. I don't know if we'll see her again and, more importantly, I don't know if she realised it was me who used magic against her the second time."

If Morgause knew about Merlin's magic, there was so much damage she could do. She could ferret him from Camelot, summoning her hounds through whispers and simple folk, paid to tell a pretty story and fabricate the proof. She could force his hand, maybe, to protect Arthur at the cost of his life. She could bring about Merlin's destruction so easily, far too easily, and that knowledge settled uncomfortably in the pit of Arthur's stomach, cold and ugly.

Merlin sighed, his breath ghosting along Arthur's neck, cold compared to the warmth of the fingers at his pulse point.

"I got to the Cup, spilt the blood from where it was contained and, well, you know how it ended." Arthur nodded. He'd told Merlin about the 'amazing' disappearance of the soldiers, before Merlin had led him to believe it had been Gaius who was mainly responsible.

"Morgana entered the hall then," Merlin said slowly, after a brief pause. The fire shifted next to them, embers drifting upwards again. A shuffling noise came from across the way and Arthur recognised the shifting of a badger cete, passing through without thought to the impact words such as these might have had should they be human.

"She told us that it wasn't the end, but the beginning," Merlin said grimly, "Before destroying the hall."

.
and I have no reason to reason with you
.

The words hurt, Arthur could see that. The hand that hadn't been tracing Arthur's neck slipped from his shoulder, slowly, to rest next to Arthur's on the bark. It was just a twitch of the hand really before Arthur joined their hands again, smoothing over knuckles and the dorsal.

There still hadn't been time to mourn Morgana, not properly. During their stint between leaving Camelot and returning to conquer, Arthur had played Morgana's betrayal through his mind, but he'd never really accepted it. Merlin had made him realise that he could think of her later, but so far the only 'later' he'd been able to have had been at night, by which time he was too tired to do anything but fall onto bed.

He took a deep breath, knowing that the conversation would become painful. Merlin's revelations, while the idea of them may have stung (or rather that Arthur hadn't been privy to Merlin's secrets and Merlin had suffered so much, so alone), what Merlin had done hadn't cause pain, hadn't been hateful, hadn't done anything to hurt Arthur.

Morgana on the other hand... Arthur remembered how Uther had encircled his arms around him, in private two days after returning to their Kingdom. Morgana had planned to kill him, publically, told Uther as much.

Where had the woman he'd loved as a sister gone? How ironic was it that, the moment she realised she had a full blood tie to the name she'd (perhaps secretly) acquired in relation to Arthur, she became a traitor to them, solidified in her need (and was it a need?) for revenge.

The only person in the world that would understand was here, hands seeking for Arthur as Arthur sought for his.

"Can we talk about Morgana?"

It hurt, to say her name, but Merlin nodded. This time, it wasn't just for Arthur, not just for the truth. Merlin needed this too and, for the first time, Arthur could be there for him, properly, exactly how it should be.

"She suffered for years," Merlin began, his head falling forwards until all Arthur could see was dark hair, ruffled slightly at the back. "Gaius suspected she had some power, due to her nightmares."

Arthur could remember the nights when he and Morgana's rooms had been closer together, soon after she'd moved to Camelot. He'd heard her calling out into the night, pitiful sounds, frightful and sad, but everyone had simply muttered how the poor love was missing her father. Her cries had chilled Arthur's nights and he'd simply laid there some nights, listening to her sobs as he tried to figure out what sort of person this Morgana was.

(By day she was a cold, stoic girl, pale and commanding, but by night she was a fearful child, wanting nothing more than the end to her tortuous nights.)

"He forbade me from telling her about my own magic and..." Merlin paused, his fingers stilling against Arthur. The silence stretched between them and Arthur tucked their fingers together a little more, as if his mere presence could destroy the memories.

"I think I had the chance, more than once," he said softly, eyes reflecting their fire and the stars. Merlin looked as if he was miles away, planets away. "To tell her that is. I could have," he added, looking away from Arthur as if ashamed.

What should Merlin be ashamed of? Arthur didn't know what it was like to carry a deadly secret around from birth, be told to keep it secret and live with the fear of execution over his head from dawn to dusk, but he could hardly imagine it was easy to divulge such information. He knew, too, that if he had not sought Merlin out, backed him up and told him that there was no room for lies (not any more, never again), then Merlin's secret would still be his own, hidden and locked away from Arthur until... when? Whenever Merlin deemed necessary it seemed, but that could be years away yet.

But to be ashamed of not sharing something you'd held like a second skin, well that was ridiculous. Though it was easy now to say you should have done something, should have been there, should have told Morgana and maybe, just maybe, you could have prevented all this, Arthur knew that, at the time, Merlin had made a decision following his instincts. And who knows if Merlin revealing his powers to Morgana would actually have helped, and he said as much, softly.

Merlin nodded, "I know." He looked down, eyelashes casting feathered shadows over his cheekbones. "But I can't help but wonder... I have a horrible feeling," he paused again, the words caught in his throat.

Arthur waited. Whatever it was that Merlin wanted to say, it was clearly difficult for him. It sounded as if it was a newly fledged idea, something that perhaps Merlin hadn't had time to think over for himself yet, and to be telling someone else about it, particularly if you had spent the evening baring your soul for them. It was hard and Arthur respected Merlin greatly for what they'd gone through.

"There were times when I ignored the Great Dragon," Merlin began tentatively, sounding the words out as if he hadn't thought them over, played with them in his mind. "But for the most, I listened to his counsel. He told me about our destiny, of how, even if I chose to ignore it, we'd still find our paths crossing."

Merlin smiled briefly, his thumb resting on top of Arthur's hand as he tapped it gently. "I wonder if the dragon only called it destiny to make it sound more appealing. No matter what, we were never going to be forced together, by a spell or fate or something like that, but we'd always end up merging somehow." Merlin shook his head, smile slipping. "But the fact is, I listened to him. We had our disagreements and there's a lot I needed to know, but I listened."

The last word was stressed with a meaning Arthur couldn't quite grasp, but he ran his fingers over Merlin's hand, tilting his head a little to brush against the hand that lay at his neck.

"He suspected Morgana, told me that she'd end up betraying Camelot. I didn't believe him, but I wonder if that was part of the reason I never told her about my magic." His voice was almost torturous, a thousand different regrets and questions floating out into the night air.

"It sounds terrible, but part of me must have agreed with the dragon." Merlin removed his hand from Arthur's neck to run through his hair, head bowed. "But she was my friend and I tried to be there, but all I did was mess things up even more."

Arthur wanted to console him, reach out and reassure him that everything would be okay. Only, it wouldn't be, not with Morgana missing in wake of Camelot's destruction, not with her vow of revenge, not with everything Merlin had told him. To say everything would be okay was a lie, a stupid, foolish lie, and Arthur wouldn't.

"You did what you could," he said instead. "Merlin, you can't know everything. You thought you were helping her, doing what was right. Did you tell her to seek revenge against Camelot?"

He needed Merlin to understand this. If Merlin understood it, then maybe he could begin to understand it too, understand what Morgana had done and why she had turned her back on them.

"No," Merlin sad, sadly, without looking up. It was enough for Arthur to lean forwards, pushing against personal space boundaries, until he was staring at Merlin's hair, close enough to see individual strands, even in the darkness.

"Then you can't blame yourself," he replied and Merlin looked up slowly, eyes hesitant.

They stayed like that for a few moments, simply staring at each other. The world moved around them still, birds and animals living their lives while the trees rustled in a slight breeze. They were unaffected by what Morgana had done, did not care for the conversation that was taking place near them, and it was strange to think of that.

What had these trees seen? How many conversations (life shattering ones at that) had they witnessed? They stood tall, proud almost, impartial to Uther's rule or Arthur's realisations. They didn't care for the crimes of magic or the punishments of sorcerers, instead they cared about the sun and the rain, roots seeking what they needed.

Much like a tree's root, Arthur's hand sought Merlin, fingers tangling upon instinct. He'd never held hands with someone before - at least not properly - but Merlin was what he needed now. And, by the way Merlin's shoulders drooped slightly, he'd wager Merlin needed him too.

"You don't think you're to blame, do you?"

Arthur didn't know how to answer the question and it lay heavy about him. No, he didn't blame himself, but there was something there. Should he have seen the signs? Were there any signs to see? Apparently there had been plenty of incidences, but none he'd been privy to.

"No," he said, looking over Merlin's shoulder. He could see the vague outline of a bush and then nothing, only darkness.

"I don't blame myself, but I can't help from wondering." Merlin squeezed his hand encouragingly, shifting against Arthur's legs as he moved forwards a little. Their foreheads were a short space apart, improper for a man of Arthur's stature and a servant, but they'd thrown titles out of the window hours ago.

"She'd been betraying us since she returned," and Merlin nodded to the almost-question, clarifying it for him. "How can one year take away a lifetime with us? I know she was scared and Morgause accepted her but..."

He couldn't say the rest, letting the words fall out with a sigh. He wanted to ask why Morgana was happy to turn her back on her family and trust the word of someone like Morgause so easily. It had taken Arthur years before Morgana had trusted him properly, but Morgause could do it in under a year?

"Morgause gave her a bracelet, back when she challenged you to a duel. Gaius told me that the bracelet seemed to have a healing charm on it, one that prevented her nightmares." Merlin paused, his mouth twisting into something unsavoury. "I've seen the future and it's enough to drive you to insanity. If that was what Morgana went through every night, I can't blame her for wanting some kind of solace from the visions."

Did that mean Merlin forgave Morgana for abandoning them and joining Morgause?

"That doesn't mean I think she was justified with what she did," he said hurriedly, turning Arthur's hands over in his own. "It's just once she found Morgause, I suppose there wasn't much reason to look for another answer."

They should have been there. Arthur had wondered about Morgana for weeks, wondering what drove her to Morgause in the first place. Even knowing now that Merlin had poisoned her hadn't explained everything - for why had the enchantment been placed on her in the first place?

If they had been there though, what could they have done? Morgana would have still had her nightmares (and Merlin agreed they were horrible things) and what else could they have done? Nothing, was the answer.

Besides, it wasn't as if they could go back and change the past. Not even magic could do something like that, Arthur was sure, or else Merlin would have certainly used that power.

(Or maybe not, because this was Merlin and Merlin wouldn't abuse his power in such a way... but another sorcerer then. Or had it been done and they just didn't know?)

"Can you go back in time, change things?" Arthur decided to ask, looking to Merlin for an answer, something that seemed so natural.

The look he received made his stomach lurch. It was one of sadness, of consideration and one that told Arthur his answer without the words being spoken.

"No," Merlin said anyway. "I don't think I'd do something like that even if it were possible though."

He paused for a moment, closing his eyes and turning his head to the side.

"I wouldn't try for Morgana," he said, the words only just audible. "Never for her, but..." Arthur knew the words next. "But for you... maybe."

The words weren't a comfort in any sense. Instead, Arthur grit his jaw, moving his head back and pushing back on the log slightly. He didn't untangle his hands, but Merlin's motions stilled at his intent, at his clear disapproval at the answer.

"Never." Arthur said firmly. "Not for me, not for anyone." He forced his jaw to soften, forced himself to look Merlin in the eye. "Whatever happens in the future, never even try."

Merlin looked at him, a frown creasing his brow as if there was a question he couldn't comprehend. But why didn't he get it? Maybe to Merlin turning back time wasn't that much of a feat, but for the rest of the world...

If, for Arthur, Merlin reversed his death, what then? If, for Arthur, Merlin reversed someone dying, or someone killing or someone doing something at any time of the day, when did it stop?

But, mostly, the thought of Merlin going against the power of time itself scared Arthur. He said there had to be a balance with the Old Religion, and if he changed a time line, what then? If he rewrote a day of the world, did the time get taken from him?

Merlin thought that he wouldn't be able to go on without Arthur, but he hadn't quite realised yet that it was Arthur who wouldn't be able to live without him. And maybe, now, amongst the bitter betrayal of Morgana, it was time he told Merlin.

"What did you think of me when we first met?" Arthur asked, still leant away from Merlin. The words were considered before Merlin shrugged his shoulders.

"I suppose that you were a massive prat and a bully." He paused. "But you've changed a lot since then," a smile tugged at his lips. "At least on the bully subject, the prat one, not so much."

Arthur fixed him with a stare, "Careful now, or you'll be sleeping in the mud tonight while I take both bedrolls."

Merlin rolled his eyes and it was almost as if they were in another time, any other day, any other hunting trip. Merlin nudged him with his foot and Arthur gave a reluctant smile, shaking his head slightly, enjoying the break in their conversation.

"I thought you were an idiot," he said and noticed the smile slip off of Merlin's face. "When I thought about it later though, I guess there was a bit of admiration." Arthur glanced to Merlin, who was watching him raptly now.

"It's not every day someone comes up to you, practically tells you you're a bully and then has the audacity to try and throw a punch..." he smiled a little at the memory, so long ago now. "Then I thought you were a big simpleton when Gaius asked my father if you could be let out of the dungeons. He told him you have a mental affliction," Arthur added on the end with a smirk.

"Oh so Gaius is the one responsible for that is he? Mental affliction," Merlin muttered, frowning.

"It's come in handy in the past though," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow. He didn't know all the times Merlin had used magic, but now that he knew most of the idiotic behaviour was probably covering up from a life-saving event, Arthur was quite happy to keep up the 'mental affliction' business, at least to his father.

Well. Not that Uther would probably think of anyone but Morgana and Morgause if anything magical happened, and that was supposing, too, that he was still fit enough to rule and didn't delegate it all to Arthur.

"I suppose it has." Merlin looked away for a moment, off into the darkness around.

"What is it?" Arthur asked. He could do that now, could ask Merlin what was going on and Merlin would tell the truth.

"Nothing," was the quick reply, and Arthur didn't believe him for a second.

"It's obviously something." He shuffled forwards, tilted at the waist, until he could see Merlin's eyes clearly, even in the dim light offered by the fire.

Merlin didn't look at him though, at least not at first. His gaze was fixed down at the ground, down by Arthur's boot. There was nothing fascinating down there (they both knew that, after a conversation like the one they'd both had, the ground had become a fixture in their lives. Arthur knew this ground now, knew that by his boot was just a patch of drying mud and a pathetic clump of grass), but Merlin looked at it for a while before he spoke.

"I just..." He stopped again and Arthur felt impatience swell up, ever so slightly. After all, Merlin had revealed a secret that could have had him killed and other instances following that line, what could be so hard about what he had to say now?

"I didn't like it. I don't like it," he amended quickly, "When you call me an idiot."

Arthur was silent for a moment, digesting what had been said. Nobody liked being called an idiot (especially when they weren't one), but what he'd said was more loaded than just a simple dislike. How many times had Arthur called Merlin an idiot unjustifiably? Yes, there were times when Merlin had been an idiot, but he was willing to wager that they were far outweighed.

He had a choice now. To cross a bridge and say how he really felt about Merlin (not that he knew, but he could talk and think), or to simply apologise and cut the cord before it was formed. The latter was more appealing, despite how cold hearted it sounded. Arthur didn't talk about feelings, he didn't think about feelings and he certainly didn't show his innermost feelings.

But... this was Merlin.

That, Arthur had realised, was a reason all in itself.

"I know," he began, fingers catching on the bark of the log again, nails sliding under a patch, trying to work it loose. It was something to do, something to think about while he bared himself.

"You've never been an idiot. I mean, you've done stupid things," he gave a brief smile of all the times Merlin had tripped or spoke out of turn - to name just two. "But you're not an idiot."

He swallowed, throat strangely dry all of a sudden. And now he was looking at the ground - mud and grass combination still the only thing around - while Merlin's stare pressed against his cheek.

"You're brave. Even though you have your magic, you've never been trained for conflict other than the sessions we have." A wry smile wormed its way into the open then, settling between them, memories of Arthur literally beating training into Merlin. "And yet you're still always there aren't you?"

Arthur gave a small shrug of his shoulders. There was a reason why he didn't talk about 'feelings' and that reason was because he was crap at it. But he'd already started now and Merlin had finished his story, so why should Arthur be allowed to stop?

"I also think that you're clever." He risked a glance to Merlin at that point and saw his wide eyes, as if he as amazed to hear what Arthur was saying. Had he really been so careless towards Merlin before this?

"You sort a lot of things out, don't you? And you always know the right thing to say to me when I need to hear it. Amongst the inane babble of course," he tagged on, feeling a little too exposed, a little too raw.

Was that how Merlin felt every time he'd revealed his magic? Raw, open, too open? It was a strange feeling because Arthur desperately wanted to keep these feelings hidden (like a Prince was supposed to; Princes don't wear hearts on their sleeves for they're to be Kings), but there was an itch, an urge, to say them. For Merlin to finally know, for Arthur to finally say.

He shifted on the log, nudging Merlin's legs as he did so. They were resting almost limply now, as if all the energy Merlin contained was focused solely on what Arthur was saying, as if they were the most important words he'd ever heard.

"I've always known those things about you though," he said, returning to digging his nails under the bark of the log, to pressing the soles of his feet into the mud and to focusing on the hiss of the fire. To do anything else (to focus on Merlin) and he'd lose the already frail words.

(It was silly, really. He was supposed to be a brave Prince, scared of nothing and conqueror of all. Only, words were the backbone of fear, weren't they? To be afraid of words - with all the things they could imagine up, all the stories, all the lies, all the truths - was a more righteous fear than that of magic, or that of sorcerers, but Uther would never understand that. His father had always seen it as a weakness, not the display of emotions, but the fear they might bring. For Uther, fear was more corporeal, embodied in the flesh of anyone who even dared think of magic.)

"I just..." he broke off, digging furiously under the small gap the bark had let up. It eventually gave, suddenly, and his hand slipped a little, scraping against the bark. He curled his lip at the sting of pain and started when Merlin took his hand carefully.

"Look what you've done now," he muttered, head bent over their hands, inspecting the scrape. "What did the poor log ever do to you?"

Arthur smiled and Merlin looked up, curiously. It was almost as if he was trying to figure out a puzzle, or that he was wondering if Arthur would continue.

He would.

"I've never told you about it." He paused. "I never talk to anyone about stuff like this, as you know, but... it's come to the point where I have to tell you, hasn't it?" Merlin's hand gripped a little tighter, his gaze shifting as if he had no idea what Arthur was about to say.

"The truth," Arthur began, stopping to regain his stride. Why was something like this scarier than fighting bandits? Well, he thought, facing bandits was a given and he'd trained for it. Saying this to Merlin - with those horrifying, terrible words - and needing him.

"The truth is that..." he could still turn back, even now. "I... Need you," he grated out, looking out into the settled darkness. "I need you to... be by my side. I need you to tell me when I'm being a prat, I need you to be there when I need someone to tease." It was easier now, now that he'd found his stride and Merlin hadn't torn himself away in disgust.

"I need you to help me build my kingdom, to be there for Camelot, for her people - our people," he amended quickly, gritting his jaw. "So all the times you've said you're going to be there for me, and all the times you said that you'll help me... it's my turn now."

He grasped Merlin's hands, pulling him closer. Their noses were a fraction apart, eyes locked together as Arthur placed one hand on Merlin's shoulder, curled against his neck.

"I'm going to be there for you. When the world is against you and you need someone to talk to, when the pressure of Camelot is too much, when Gwaine gets drunk and forgets that he's not staying in Gaius' quarters and you need someone to kick him out, even." Merlin smiled at the last point, his free hand coming up to rest on Arthur's wrist at his shoulder.

"I'm going to be by your side, just as you're going to be by mine, and while I can't promise I won't be a prat, I trust you more than anyone else." From the widening of Merlin's eyes, Arthur guessed that he hadn't expected that. Trust was an important thing for Merlin, that much was clear. He'd spoken of his secrets, but never once begged for Arthur to simply just trust him. He'd asked him to, but never begged.

Not that he'd needed to ask in the first place. Arthur had always trusted him, though they'd had their hiccups.

"You've got more to learn from Gaius," Arthur carried on, against the frown that appeared on Merlin's brow at the mention of his teacher. "But when I'm King, I want you to sit by me and... advise me."

Merlin struggled with a smirk then and they both knew that what Arthur really meant was for Merlin to keep him from being too much of a prat, being someone who could turn into Uther (when he was on the case of magic), being someone who wouldn't care.

"So I need you. Just like you need me." He swallowed thickly. "What do you say?"

For a horrible, frightening moment, Arthur thought that Merlin would pull away, laugh and shake his head. His thoughts were unfounded though as Merlin smiled, dropping his eyes and nodding.

"I say whatever you need to hear," he said softly with a twitch of his lips. His words were sincere, with the subtle edge of mocking Arthur had come to expect and enjoy, that Arthur missed whenever he hadn't seen Merlin for the day.

He couldn't say when Merlin had become a needed fixture of his day. Perhaps it was when Uther had appointed him as his manservant, or perhaps after the tenth time they'd saved each other. Maybe it was when Merlin had faced bandits, dragons, beasts and humans all set to maim and kill, or when Merlin was ready to put his life on the line for his friends again and again.

Between Lady Helen (or at least the witch) throwing a knife at him and Merlin dropping all of his guard out here in the clearing, Arthur's life had consumed Merlin, making it impossible to live without him.

He was annoying, loud, idiotic and far too kind for his own good sometimes, but those weren't bad things. Never bad things when Merlin would storm into the room, blinding grin in place to turn the day upside down, never awful when he'd rouse Arthur with the same thing again and again, never evil despite his magic.

Neither had spoken for a while now, bathing in the dying embers of the fire and looking at each other, mapping out the flecks and blemishes in the other's face. The darkness smoothed away some of the lines, but the important marks (all the smiles, the memories of the good times) could be traced, small lines and wrinkles Merlin had earned.

As he had smoothed over the scars earlier, Arthur ran his thumb over Merlin's cheek, dipping ever so slightly into the crinkles by Merlin's eye. He stilled his hand, resting the bridge of his palm on Merlin's cheekbone, gaze softening as he noticed the look in Merlin's eyes.

It wasn't devotion. Devotion made it seem as if Arthur were some god, some ethereal being who should be worshipped, but he was only a man. Merlin wasn't devoted to him (not like the people of Camelot were, but he was a prince - future king - above all to them) and never would be, because he took Arthur as he came, saw him behind the crown and the false words. He knew that Arthur could feel fear and horror, that he could bleed like any other man or woman and that he could love and care, both for a kingdom and individuals.

There was respect, but Merlin had always held him in respect, especially when he (they, because Merlin had always been there too) had made the right decisions. Decisions such as giving townspeople back their money in hard times, sitting with a soldier who was gravely injured and had no one else on the battlefield, caring for his people in ways Uther had never quite managed.

It wasn't that Uther was a bad king - on the contrary he had brought peace to Camelot and continued to rule justly and fairly (for those without magic at least). He genuinely cared for his subjects and was willing to lend aid to those who needed it, or at least offer suggestions when it was impractical to send direct aid.

It was different for Arthur though. His father was half-blind, executing magic users and ignoring the issues closer to home. And Arthur had wanted to blame Morgana's decisions on Uther at first (because she could have had it all; a brother, a father, a kingdom to love just as her kin did, but instead she'd been left with nothing), yet he couldn't. Uther did what he'd believed right and so had Morgana.

That didn't mean what they believed was right was right for the rest of the world. In trying to eradicate magic, Uther had caused so much pain and suffering. He'd ripped families apart on a quest for revenge, turning into the very thing he loathed the most, turning into someone who did what had been done to him, albeit in a different form.

Merlin sighed, his breath fanning against Arthur's cheek. He smelt of fire smoke, rabbit and mud, much like Arthur himself probably did. There was no announcement of his magic, no distinct smell or odd body feature. Uther hadn't been good at finding sorcerers, he'd simply been lucky and picked on the weak and scared, moving to suspicion and deeper fear and hatred later on.

"Thank you," Arthur said, hoping that Merlin could see everything in his eyes, of the choices he'd made over the evening and the time that would dawn with his coronation. He wasn't thanking Merlin just for his reply, but for everything they'd said, everything that had passed between them.

Merlin's lips opened slightly and at their proximity, Arthur heard the curious little sound they made as they parted and he glanced down. A ghost of a smile appeared as the hand at Merlin's cheek jerked a little, against the other man, and Arthur met Merlin's eyes again, burning full of questions.

It wasn't Arthur, though, who negated the space between them, pressing the smallest of kisses to the corner of Arthur's jaw, at the juncture of his neck. It was barely even a touch of lips, but it sent a shock though the whole of Arthur's body, caused his heart to beat furiously as he glanced sideways to Merlin.

Merlin began marking a trail, leaving a ghosting touch from tiny kisses, along Arthur's jaw with a pause at his lips, turning his attention to the other side of Arthur. His nose left a smooth line, a constant compared to the peppered kisses, so Arthur waited, knowing that even when Merlin stopped this wouldn't be over. Between them, it was more than casual, simple touches. Every finger pad held a shared story, each kiss told of the truths they had shared. A million ways to repeat their promises, cast them in stone to last forever; their promises of each other, forever.

"You mean so much," Merlin whispered, resting his forehead against Arthur's temple, the angle awkward but not uncomfortable. Arthur could feel the flutter of eyelashes and the slight brush of lips on his cheek so he closed his eyes, wondering what he'd ever done to deserve this, to deserve someone such as Merlin.

.
but I'd understand that the world does what it does
.

"So much," he repeated tilting his head to kiss Arthur's brow, like a mother may to her son. It was a tender kiss, different to the promises along his jaw. This kiss spoke of meaning, of the tenderness and kindness Merlin gave to him. And though it was chaste, innocent, there was a deeper press of lips, as if reminding Arthur that there was so much more than the kisses he'd received so far.

Gently, Merlin tilted Arthur's head with his hands, warm pressure points under his jaw. Two kisses were placed, one on each eye, that spoke of a bright future, one they would create together with the people they loved.

Merlin's eyelashes brushed the bridge of his nose, lips pressing to the tip for a brief moment before Merlin was suddenly gone, out of Arthur's space completely. He opened his eyes slowly, searching for a meaning behind why Merlin had left, before he saw the smile and the tilt of Merlin's own chin, knowing what he had to offer in return.

Tiny kisses were first, uncertain against slight-stubble. He traced Merlin's jaw, committing it to memory - just like he would with every other inch - before clutching at Merlin's hands, jittery despite all odds.

"It's always been you," Arthur said to the kiss on Merlin's brow, understanding now his emotions of the past years, seeing beyond his attraction for Gwen. Gwen was nice, yes, but she could never compare to Merlin. No one could and it had always been about Merlin. Arthur had simply adopted his father's blindness and never looked beyond the surface.

He made his own promises of the future against the thin skin of Merlin's eyelids. He pulled back with a smile, moving to make the last kiss he needed to, against the tip of Merlin's nose. A simple kiss, without flattery or embellishment; a kiss of honesty.

"I don't need you like that," Merlin said, his voice low and cautious. Arthur understood.

"I know. And neither do I, but I still want you." His voice was calm, eyes locked on Merlin's a short distance away. They'd parted, hands the only skin touching now, but they hadn't gone far. If he wished to, with the slightest movement he could be pressed to Merlin's skin, but there was one last point to address.

They needed each other, yes. They were going to be there for one another, always. But that didn't mean they had to commit themselves to each other, that they didn't have to pursue more than a friendship.

That wasn't them though. Their path was together, joined for eternity. Merlin's eyes betrayed his feelings, so much so that the hope that Arthur wanted to continue was practically swimming in his eyes.

"I had to-" Merlin began, only to be interrupted.

"I understand. This isn't an obligation or a reward," and yes, Arthur noticed the twitch of humour to Merlin's lips there, "Just me and you."

"How it should be," Merlin murmured and Arthur moved forwards, just a twitch, to kiss Merlin's mouth gently, lingering for a moment before pulling back.

Shadows flittered around them, minute specks covering the stars. The bats moved quickly, streaking through the darkness, but they caught Arthur's attention for a moment. How did it feel to constantly be on your toes? To flitter about in every direction, curve upwards at a slight moment's notice, to be able to change direction so fluidly? It was how Merlin had operated, ever since he'd come to Camelot; ever since he'd been born.

They weren't going to make quick decisions now, though. Some situations called for them, but they didn't have to make this one of those situations. They didn't have to rush towards a goal, didn't have to speed past anything, but could just relax, finally. Whatever they had nurtured between them could stay there, gently growing. There were no quick decisions, no hurried choices or weighted lies. It was Merlin and Arthur in their little world, waiting.

Arthur didn't know if things would change when the sun rose. It wasn't something he'd been given a lot of time to think about throughout their conversation and he didn't want to think about it now; not when Merlin's hands were warm and soft in his own, tightening their hold just before they kissed.

In this kiss, a proper kiss, Arthur committed himself to Merlin. It didn't matter that he wouldn't say it aloud or even make Merlin aware of the fact, but as one of Merlin's hands came to curl on his bicep, Arthur made a silent pledge. He'd be there for Merlin, as he'd said, but he'd also love him, in more ways than one.

It was hard to even think about it, but the slide of Merlin against his lips eased the doubts and calmed the fears. Arthur wasn't an emotional person - or at least wasn't the sort to openly display his emotions, the personal ones. If ever there was need to think about something personal, he'd put it off for later, carry on with whatever it was until he was backed against a wall and had no other option but to think about it.

So, for once, he was going to think about it when he had other options. It would be easier not to think, just to push against Merlin and sink them down, but that didn't have a meaning. If Arthur didn't think then the whole night would have been a waste. Sure he'd found out about Merlin's scars, but unless he processed it properly, took things slowly, what had it all been for?

Because it was easy to see now. He loved Merlin, in the sense that he was a close friend and needed him, but also in the sense that he could grow to love him, romantically and wholly. There was a link between them (a 'destiny' Merlin had said), but it was just growing. It needed care and attention, like all links did; it wasn't something Arthur could afford to throw away.

They still had issues to address, but after all the talking they'd done, there was plenty time for more.

"What will happen-" Merlin began, pulling back for a moment. Arthur met his gaze, pupils dilated, before he moved forwards, a hair's width away from Merlin.

"We don't need to think about that now. Camelot and everything else can wait for the morning, for once." Arthur's reply was hurried, but he needed Merlin to see the significance of this night, to realise that yes, things would change when they got back, but they could have this time perfectly to themselves.

Merlin smiled, kissing Arthur and then drawing back. "Okay," he said, "But just so you know we haven't finished."

"I don't think we ever will," Arthur said. Merlin let out a huff of laughter, breath smoothing over Arthur's lips like a caress.

At this proximity, Arthur could see the tiredness on Merlin's face and the shadows under his eyes. It was late; the moon was high, just a sliver above barely providing any light, and their fire was dying down to embers now. Their conversation had been loaded and emotional, so Arthur knew why Merlin was so tired. And even though common sense told him to go to sleep, he couldn't give this moment up, not just yet.

They kissed again, slowly and a little hesitantly. It would be easy to compare Merlin's kisses to someone else (Gwen, the Lady Vivian to name just two), but they weren't really comparable. He'd never kissed another man before either, but even so... Merlin was different.

And why shouldn't he be different? It was more honest, their kiss, and Arthur felt more open than he'd ever been. It was how Merlin made him feel every moment of the day, but it didn't scare him. He may not have realised it before, but now that he could see how open and alive Merlin made him, it was also as though he'd realised the safety that came with that.

Through thick and thin, he'd had a protector. One who was going to be there for his life, just as Arthur would be in return. He wasn't a prince to Merlin, but just Arthur the idiot who needed saving again and again. That was why this was different; they were equal.

(He could go on about how Gwen and the noble-born ladies he'd been romantically involved with were equal, but they weren't. The noble ladies may have genuinely liked him, but Court was a vicious place where any foot on the next rung of the social ladder was the goal of everyone under the royal family.

Gwen wasn't like that and as much as Arthur loved her, realistically they couldn't work. She wouldn't challenge Arthur - unlike Merlin - unless she had no choice but to challenge him, when she thought there was no other option but to say something. While Merlin would voice his thoughts, Gwen would wait. It was for that reason Arthur knew it would never work; he couldn't wait, but Lancelot could.)

Their kiss broke and Merlin gave a slight sigh. Questioningly, Arthur brushed fingertips against Merlin's cheek, seeking his eyes. Had he done something wrong? Was this not what Merlin had wanted at all?

He wasn't used to feeling this out of his depth. Usually Arthur was in charge, in command and knew everything that was going on. When he was with Merlin, it was as if he was floating in air, unsure where the wind would take him next, but unwilling to let the sensation go. It wasn't bad, but he wasn't used to feeling out of sorts, not understanding.

Though wasn't that the point of a relationship? A proper one, to understand the person you're committing yourself to and work with them until you fully understand them? So no, it wasn't a bad feeling, but a new feeling, something he wasn't quite used to yet.

"We shouldn't be doing this," came Merlin's voice, low and thick with undeterminable emotion. Arthur's pulse began to race. Was that it? Everything over before it had begun?

"What do you mean?" he asked, voice a hoarse whisper. He had no courage on this shaky ground, but he wasn't ashamed to admit it. What better man to lose his courage to than Merlin?

"I want this, you, us, more than anything, but I can't..." Merlin broke off, tilting away from the knuckles laid bare on his cheek, turning to the darkness and away from Arthur.

"What? You can't what?" Arthur wouldn't let him, not now. He knew Merlin, knew his secrets and his desires. He knew what kind of a man Merlin was and he understood, which was the most important thing. He wouldn't let Merlin get away with this, just because it may look like an easier route or not be the 'best' thing.

How could he know what the best thing was anyway? He couldn't, not unless he'd tried. Merlin had been through tougher things, far worse than being with Arthur. So why wouldn't he try for this?

"I can't just have one night." Merlin's eyes were shut tightly, face shadowed.

A soft, warm smile curled Arthur's lips. He moved his hand again, to press against the bare nape of Merlin's neck, pulling him gently back round to face him.

"I'll give you every night for the rest of our lives if you want," Arthur began, voice low, "But don't turn away before we've started."

It was sickening, really, how soppy Merlin could make him. How Arthur would be willing to give his nights away for Merlin with just a blink of an eye. And, more importantly, how he'd be willing to say it aloud, to the person it was about.

Merlin shook his head slightly, "But what about your father? Gwen? Camelot?"

The look in Merlin's eyes was a look Arthur knew well. He'd seen it in looking-glasses in the morning, before anyone was awake. He'd seen it in his younger self, mainly, but the look occasionally returned, especially now that Uther was ill again. It was a look of doubt and honest fear, a look that Arthur hated, but without it - what was he? If he didn't have his fear, if he wasn't scared of the mistakes he could make when he was alone, was he even a person anymore?

Uther thought sorcerers were the evil of the land, but what about the people who forgot their fear? What of the people who buried it down so far that they couldn't remember it any longer and never questioned what they might be doing, whether their actions were for the good or their own selfish needs?

Arthur questioned himself. Not on simple things like had he signed the right document or was what he'd done good enough, but he questioned himself on what he could do better, what he could do for his people. Uther, to a degree, hadn't questioned himself for some time, but that was okay now, because Arthur was there to step up to the plate. Thanks to the people around him (and Merlin, Merlin was the driving force), he was ready now.

"Unless there's a miracle, my father won't get better." Merlin turned his lips down as if to make a remark about how that wasn't true, but Arthur didn't want to hear it and so he paused. No lies, just the truth, and Merlin looked into Arthur's eyes again.

"I knew it ages ago; Gwen's not going to love me forever. I've seen how Lancelot looks at her, and how she looks back at him in secret." Arthur closed his eyes for a moment because, yes, he might not feel as he did for Gwen before, but they'd loved each other in a different way.

They'd still been lovers, in essence, and realising you'd never have that was painful, no matter the circumstances. It was just he had something much better now, something more and true. The pain would last for a short time, passing as all things do in their natural way.

Merlin was looking at him now, as if he was a beacon of light through a bog. The words were what he'd wanted to hear, truthful and yet full of promise and future.

"Don't even try to deny that Camelot needs us. Without you we'd all be flattened by now," Arthur said, smiling. The answering smile Merlin gave was blinding, and he leaned towards Arthur, pressing their lips together slowly, relishing in the contact.

"No more obstacles?" Arthur asked gently, ridiculously. There were always going to be obstacles, but they'd overcome them. When Arthur questioned, Merlin would answer and when Merlin doubted, Arthur would reassure. Always.

"Not out here," Merlin dipped his head in agreement, planting a small kiss to the side of Arthur's mouth.

"Good," Arthur said.

The night fell thick around them as the fire slowly dwindled, the embers dying one by one. It was still warm, but the heat would soon be gone and it was Arthur's signal that they needed to sleep.

"We should go to bed, " Merlin said, as if reading his thoughts. Arthur's hand was still at the base of his neck, fingers trailing along the fine hairs there while Merlin placed his own fingers on Arthur's knee.

They stared at each other for a few moments, neither wanting the moment to end, before a wisp of wind breezed next to them, sending a chill between them. It spurred movement and Arthur set off across to the pile of bedding, bringing Merlin with him.

They set the bedding out to share, covers overlapping each other on the ground and blankets padded around the both of them, bodies curled together. It wasn't a perfect position - in fact Arthur was sure he's have a bad back in the morning from the rock he was currently half-lying on - but Merlin was tucked against him, limbs fitted to Arthur's as if they'd been made as a matching pair.

Sleep didn't settle at once, so instead Arthur looked up at the stars. They were beautiful and amazing yes, but they only held his attention for a little while, before he turned back to Merlin, eyes raking over his shadowed features. No matter the light, no matter the angle, Arthur couldn't imagine ever growing bored of looking at Merlin. He was expressive, true, but even when he was dreaming up stories of magical woodland animals and miles away from the present day, Merlin was captivating.

"What are you thinking about?" Merlin asked huskily, sleep half-claiming him. The fire had died down to ashed embers now, a few glowing speckles in a mass of snowy-grey and charred black. The moon set some light down, but most of what Arthur could see (imagine) of Merlin was from the memories and touches he'd compiled, all firsts of many.

"You," he said in reply, giving a little snort of laughter as Merlin jabbed an elbow into his ribs. "I honestly am," Arthur added, voice drawing to a serious tone. "Enjoying the moment I suppose."

And not thinking about returning to Camelot was the unadded thought, but Merlin could hear it. Had always been able to hear what Arthur had never said, really. Merlin tucked his knees up a little higher, pushing himself up a little until he was tucked in the crook of Arthur's neck, lips close to his ear.

Things were certain to change when they returned to Camelot, it was unavoidable. But they could think about that tomorrow, when the sun rose and their night was a happy memory. When all they could see was the truths and forget that the lies had ever existed. The lies didn't matter anymore, not when Arthur had gained so much with the truth.

"Thank you," Merlin said softly, his voice muddied by sleep. Arthur felt his own eyes draw down, the pull of sleep too much to resist now.

"You don't need to thank me," he murmured in reply, laying a kiss on Merlin's head, soaking in the warmth they shared now, content to fall into a deep slumber and forget about the world.

.
but I whisper that I love this man, now and for forever
.

Arthur woke slowly, eyes blinking away the sunlight. A breeze floated on his cheeks and it was so very like any other hunting trip that he was suddenly unsure that the night before hadn't been a dream.

Slowly, almost afraid to look around the clearing just in case Merlin had slept across from him, far away and out of reach, much unlike he'd been in Arthur's dreams, Arthur propped himself up. Relief flooded through him as he saw Merlin, curled up with his back to Arthur, clutching the blankets they'd shared to his chest, fast asleep still.

There was no malice on his face while he slept. Uther had often said that you could tell who a sorcerer ws by watching them sleep. They had no souls, or at least corrupted souls, and they'd sleep with a grimace or twisted smile, the only proof of their trechery and danger to the kingdom. There was no evil look to Merlin, just a slack mouth, lips curled a little and eyes screwed shut against the sun's morning rays.

Letting Merlin sleep (he never took a day off after all and Arthur knew that when his manservant was late, it was usually down to Gaius needing his help than oversleeping), Arthur slid from their makeshift bed, packing up what he could. Usually he would have had Merlin do it, but Merlin had already done so much. And while packing up a camp wasn't a lot, Arthur couldn't let it slide. He had to start somewhere and if he didn't start off small, how could he pledge to be the best he could be? If a king was prepared to overlook the manual tasks, what did that mean for his people?

The sun had risen even higher by the time Merlin rose, the shadows under his eyes lightened and face brighter than it had been for weeks. Arthur was standing by the remains of their campfire, kicking through the ash with his foot to make sure the embers wouldn't spark off again, but mainly it was to give himself something to do.

"You should have woken me," Merlin said, rubbing his eyes and pushing back the blankets. He walked over to Arthur's side, slotting into the space perfectly.

And because it was so easy, so right, Arthur wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. His foot was still kicking around the pool of ashes and Merlin wrapped his own arm, resting his hand on Arthur's hip, supporting him. As always.

"Nothing's changed since last night," Arthur said after a pause, setting his foot down. It didn't matter that it would be covered in ash and charcoal, but Merlin, who he could focus on now, did matter. "Even when we're back in Camelot, everything that happened last night... I want it to change everything from before."

Merlin's smile was sad and he reached out to stroke Arthur's cheek, pressing a lingering kiss against his lips before pulling back, regretfully.

"What?" Arthur asked quietly, moving forwards where Merlin moved back.

"It can't change," Merlin replied slowly, burying his forehead against Arthur's shoulder, hands moving to wrap around Arthur, stroking his back through the material of his tunic. "Everything I've done carries a death threat and everything I'll continue to do is just the same."

Was that it then? After everything that had been said and done, all it equated to was something not worth mentioning? Just sweep it under the carpet, all because of Uther?

"If you think I'd ever let my father-"

"It's not that," Merlin cut in, his fingers pressing to Arthur's shoulderblades. "I know you'd never let anything happen, but Camelot isn't ready yet."

Merlin hadn't thought he was ready though, had he?

"I'm not saying I'll ask my father to bring magic back," Arthur said, hands cupping the back of Merlin's neck, drawing him closer and moving to cup his face. He looked at Merlin, eyes never tiring of looking at him, memorising him. "But if you think you can just go back to being alone, you're wrong."

He'd called Merlin many things before, but he'd never known the man behind the image then. There was so much more conviction to the one word 'wrong' than there had been in all the 'idiot's put together. He knew Merlin now and he knew he was wrong. His words meant something and Arthur knew Merlin realised it too.

"Things are going to change," he repeated, voice level. "You're not getting out of your duties, though you may lack certain skills."

A flash of annoyance crossed Merlin's face and Arthur fought down a smile. Merlin was still the exact same person as he was before, Arthur just hadn't seen all of him. He'd been cast in shadow before, but now he was free, bearing his scars like every man and holding his secrets high. And it was this man, the one who was bared for the world to see, that Arthur knew he loved.

"But if you need to do something, you'll come to me. You can talk to Gaius, Lancelot and whoever else you need to, but I want to be there." Merlin's face softened. "Even if it's just to stomp about my chambers while you go on some ridiculous mission to capture a lock of hair from a unicorn or something. I've had enough unicorns for a lifetime thank you," Arthur muttered, the words still sincere.

"I'd never let you get out of something like that," Merlin replied, smiling again. It was still a small smile, but one that Arthur felt proud for putting on his face.

"I want you to attend council too." Merlin's eyebrows rose in surprise and Arthur continued. "Obviously you won't be allowed a seat and you'll have to serve me... but I'd like you there so I can ask of your opinion when we're in private."

Merlin clearly needed time to adjust to the new request and he looked away. Suddenly, Arthur wasn't sure he'd stepped in the right place, made the right move and tightened his grip on Merlin's neck slightly, curling his hand at the back and smoothing his hands over the skin of Merlin's back.

"You don't have to," he said hurriedly. The last thing he wanted to do was force Merlin into anything and council sessions weren't, perhaps, the most enjoyable of things.

"No, it's not that," Merlin assured him, eyes bright and smile wide as he looked back to Arthur. "I just... well you're looking to me for advice? Me? The guy who stumbles over everything and cares far too much for woodland creatures?"

Arthur nodded. "The man who's saved my life and-"

"Oh shut up," Merlin said, rolling his eyes. "That's only who I am part of the time you know. My life doesn't completely revolve around you." He smiled, the words lighthearted.

"Well you should change that quickly then," Arthur said, hands slipping down Merlin's side. "After all, I'm the most important person around and you are my servant you know."

Moving from their embrace, Merlin laughed, giving a mocking bow before helping Arthur to fold up the blankets.

"Of course Sire, whatever you wish, Sire." Merlin sighed through a smile, shaking his head a little as he watched Arthur pack up the blankets.

"I never thought this would be possible," he said, catching Arthur's eye. He took the pack Arthur offered to him, slinging it onto his back. "I never thought I'd still be friends with you after I told you, to be honest."

Arthur was slightly offended by the words and said as much. Merlin shrugged his shoulders, "Well you can harly blame me for it, but I suppose you would have come around. You can be decent when you want."

Darting forwards, he kissed Arthur again, drawing his bottom lip between teeth and lightly sucking. The kiss wasn't particularly long, but it differed to everything Arthur had known before, which seemed to be the running theme with Merlin.

"I suppose we need to head back then," Merlin said as they parted, eyelashes brushing Arthur's cheek as he leant his head in for a moment. "Can I tell Gaius you know?"

Arthur started walking, the sword he had strapped on a short while ago feeling heavier than it had for years.

"You can tell whoever you want Merlin," he replied, half-turning and smiling as Merlin stumbled through the bushes - just as he had the night before. "It's not exactly up to me who you trust and if you want Gaius to know, then you should tell him."

Gaius had been there when Arthur couldn't. Moments in their timeline made far more sense now; Gaius standing up for Merlin time and time again, even to the point of admitting sorcery just so he could save Merlin. He respected Gaius and had grown up with the man and knew Merlin couldn't have chosen a better person to place his trust in. Arthur would never come betwen them, not when they all meant so much to each other now.

"It is though, in a way." Merlin was beside him now, hands tucked up by his shoulders, holding the straps of the pack. "It's our secret really, because my magic's there for you."

Arthur didn't agree. Merlin was there for him, not his magic. He explained it to Merlin, who nodded thoughtfully.

"I guess so, but it's all the same isn't it? My magic is me, I'm magic..." It was far easier now to accept the words and Arthur wondered if he'd known about Merlin's magic long before, only to have his father's lessons installed so deep that he'd forgotten what he'd seen. It had taken someone to force him to see for him to realise it made sense.

Merlin's fingers bumped against his as they walked and Arthur smiled.

"I suppose it is isn't it," he murmured, catching Merlin's fingers with his own, curling their hands together. The contact didn't last long - it wasn't practical - but it felt right, comfortable and something that Arthur needed. How he'd managed to get along without the touches before, Arthur had no idea.

They walked side-by-side, enjoying the warmth of the sun. Bird-song filled the gaps in their conversations, knitting the journey together with smiles, however ridiculous that sounded.

"You're turning me into a sap," Arthur muttered, directed to Merlin. The words had been barely audible so it was unlikely Merlin had heard exactly what Arthur had said, but it didn't stop the smile forming on his face.

"There," Merlin said, eyes fixed ahead of them.

Arthur followed his gaze to see the familiar turrets of Camelot. His heart leapt, as it always did when he set eyes on his home, but there was something different this time.

"Our home," Arthur said, drawing his eyes away from Camelot and to Merlin.

They moved together, covering the land between them and the castle, and despite all they'd said, Arthur could feel Merlin tense up. This time, words wouldn't be enough and Arthur knew he had to show Merlin how much he meant to the whole of Camelot.

Perhaps a talk with Lancelot was in order.

.
to your soul as it floats out off the window
.

Arthur wished that he could see Lancelot at once, but as soon as he and Merlin passed the guards at Camelot's entrance, they nodded and sent a runner ahead, informing him that the king wanted to see him as soon as possible.

"Seems like a prince's work is never done," Arthur muttered to Merlin, receiving a roll of the eyes in return. He smiled a little, passing under the portcullis with Merlin a step behind.

Camelot fell into place around Arthur's shoulders then and the severity of what they'd done hung around Arthur's neck. They'd had a moment of complete honesty, of Merlin confessing to 'crimes' that could have given Arthur every right to slaughter him. Arthur would never turn against Merlin, but back in Camelot there was no way for Merlin to be acknowledged as anything more than his manservant. Though Arthur wouldn't view him in the same way, everyone else would.

Merlin didn't seek for any reward for what he'd done - he hadn't even wanted acknowledgement for anything until Arthur had forced it out of him. There was nothing that Merlin wanted. He didn't seek money or status, a rarity if Arthur had seen one (but that was Merlin all over, really, even without factoring the magic in) and there was only one thing he could want for.

But he couldn't plan that now. For now, Arthur had to watch as Merlin stomped off to visit Gaius, turning back to smile at Arthur halfway up the stairs. Arthur smiled back, unashamed. He didn't need the approval of nobility anymore - hadn't needed it for weeks now. Arthur could choose his friends and allies however he wanted and if the council could accept commoners as knights, they'd eventually come around to seeing Merlin as more.

Though they were still discovering what this 'more' entailed. It would be a long process and Arthur was under no illusions that it would be easy... but he had Merlin now. That was enough.

Uther was pleased to see him, sitting up a little in his throne, shoulders relaxing. Arthur didn't know what Morgana had said to their father (he could say it now, still with the sting of betrayal, but the words weren't forbidden any longer), but she had stripped him down, made him vulnerable and open. He could see the worry clear on Uther's face at times, and the relief when Arthur stood before him.

Morgana had tried to kill him, Merlin had said. More than once. Had she threatened his life to Uther? Said she would slaughter his son in front of him? Like the sorcerers Uther believed in rather than the true magic users? Whatever happened to Morgana now, it was of her own making. Arthur could see the choices she'd made and why she'd done the things she had... but if it was a question of forgiveness then no. Arthur would never forgive her for what she'd done.

He spent time with his father, discussing trivialities of the hunt. Uther hadn't minded that their game had been eaten the night before, merely rose a little shakily from where he sat, clasping Arthur on the shoulder and inviting him to walk.

"I know I've placed a heavy burden on you recently," Uther said as they reached the doors. "And I know that things will get harder before they get better, but..." Arthur noticed that his father's eyes were clear, shaken from whatever he'd sunk into since Morgana. "I'm sorry. Truly sorry."

The doors swung open as Uther nodded to the guards, but Arthur waited a moment, watching his father walk away. His shoulders seemed far smaller now, his stance bent and yet he'd still been able to reduce Arthur to feeling like a child again with his words. Not in an awful, gut churning feeling as usual, but unsure of himself, grabbing at praise he'd never needed before, but once he'd got it...

He couldn't build his kingdom upon anger and misery. Morgana had tried and would probably try again, but Arthur would let that go. Merlin had saved Uther time and time again, surely that was a lesson to learn from? If Merlin could save the man who persecuted his kind and would kill him, Arthur could love his father and accept the apologies for the lies he'd told.

Usually, Arthur would have headed back to his chambers after meeting Uther once coming home, but this time he had someone to talk to.

Lancelot stood on the training field, a hand cupped over his eyes as he shielded weak sunlight from his face. From his vantage point, Arthur could see the smile on his knight's face. He followed his stare over to where Percival was shaking his head and where Leon looked down to an axe embedded heavily into the ground. Evidently Percival had been a bit over enthusiastic and sunk the axe down further than he'd meant to. Arthur had a feeling none of them had been able to dig it up. Gwaine was sitting on the ground, looking highly amused by what was going on, polishing his sword slowly.

He took a moment to watch his knights, slinking into the shadows of the castle. Elyan moved forwards to clap Leon on the back, saying something that Arthur couldn't hear. It was wonderful to see how the other knights had taken to his men, despite their heritage. It was just another step forward for Arthur's Camelot, leaving behind the prejudices of the past.

Which was why he needed Lancelot right now.

He was about to make his way across the green to speak to Lancelot when the man's head turned around and he caught Arthur's gaze. Somehow, he sensed that Arthur didn't want to alert the others and slipped from the field, following Arthur as he backtracked into the castle.

"Sire?" he asked cautiously.

Lancelot was Arthur's man through and through, but Arthur knew he'd always choose Merlin first. Which was why he could trust him; that and he also knew of the magic.

"I need your help," Arthur said, glancing around and determining that they were alone. Lancelot nodded slowly.

"I need you to talk to the knights, Leon, Elyan, Percival and Gwaine." He looked around again before leaning closer, startling Lancelot a little. "To find out what their stance on magic is. I'd do it myself, but I fear I wouldn't get an honest answer."

And why should anyone give him one? To everyone bar Merlin, he was Uther's son to a tee, including stance and hatred on magic.

"And what is the answer you wish to hear Sire?" Lancelot asked, equally quietly. His eyes were guarded and Arthur knew he would defend Merlin to the last should Arthur's intentions prove against him.

This reassured him. Lancelot was too good a man. He had his vices - they all did after all - but he was loyal and willing to risk everything, even his life, to protect a friend. Somehow it didn't feel like losing Gwen when he knew Lancelot would be there for her, and Merlin for himself.

"It has to be kept in uttermost secrecy, but I want a law proposal drawn up to be instated almost soon as I'm crowned." Arthur swallowed. This was as close as he'd ever get to telling anyone other than Merlin what he'd feel and it had to be right.

Lancelot was studying him, dark eyes directly staring at him. No one but the king was allowed to look at Arthur in such a manner, but he was glad for it. Before when talking about this, he'd had Merlin there, a hand in his and wide eyes focused on him, as if he was the only person in the world. Lancelot's look was similar, but his was focused on Arthur's intentions rather than the buried meaning.

"For Merlin," Arthur said quickly, unafraid to meet Lancelot's challenging stare. "So Merlin can be safe and given what he deserves."

And though Lancelot was just a knight, a common man who had come to Camelot's call for help (Merlin's call, because Merlin had thought their plan through while Arthur had been shattered on the ground) and served a man he could so easily hate, Arthur needed his approval. He needed to know that what he wanted for Merlin wasn't a stupid dream, that he could - they could - restore magic to Albion.

"Of course Sire," Lancelot said, a smile slipping onto his face. His eyes softened and he nodded. "I assume we're keeping this from Merlin?"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow, relief flooding through him. "Of course, he got to keep his secrets, why shouldn't we have a bit of fun too?"

.
to the world that never really let you be
.

Lancelot turned away from Arthur, his mind swimming in thought. He'd been given his orders, odd ones considering where they were, but it brought a true smile to Lancelot's face, the first time he'd been able to smile in front of Arthur since they'd won Camelot back.

It wasn't that he disliked Arthur, on the contrary he was a good man and Lancelot respected him greatly. He considered himself a friend to the prince, but his loyalties had to lie with Merlin too. If there was ever a choice, Lancelot would have thrown his gauntlet down for Merlin, despite all costs, because no one else would, not really. Even Lancelot didn't know the extent to which Merlin had sacrificed himself time and time again,

Even though he didn't know exactly how much Arthur knew (had Merlin told him the full story or had Arthur seen something? Had Merlin just let it slip or had they both faced up to their fears?), it was clear he knew something. It wasn't Lancelot's place to judge whatever had happened between them or what should and shouldn't be said, but he was now in a position where he could help two people he respected.

They'd all been on the same side before, but the side had been twisted slightly. There had been the cold truth, the uncomfortable truth that Merlin was the real hero and the one to save them all, time and time again, and then there had been the image. The image of lies and clouded judgements that Lancelot hadn't agreed with, but it hadn't been his place to seek.

He knew what it felt like to harbour a secret that could get you hurt, though the revelation of his own secret had merely caused his exile. Merlin's secret was a thousand times worse, of course, and he'd done so much, risked so much, that Lancelot couldn't compare to him, not really. No one could. No one was loyal to Merlin in the same way they were loyal to Arthur and Uther and Lancelot had sworn to protect his friend, the one man who had saved them all.

(And that was just scratching the surface; what had Merlin done that he didn't know about?)

He hadn't been there for Merlin when he could have been. It wasn't a regret, but Merlin had been through a lot and the only person who had been through almost all of it too was Arthur. If he knew about the magic now, there were no two better people to support each other.

Lancelot had chosen not to be there for Merlin before, but so much had changed since then. No longer was he a peasant, Arthur was practically king (in all but name), even Merlin was opening up about his secrets... perhaps it was time to accept his own faults. He had to accept that he'd left Guinevere, accept that he couldn't run away from anyone anymore and accept that he'd got what he'd wanted and that it wasn't suddenly going to be ripped away.

He could start by mending the crack between him and Arthur. They both loved Gwen, but Lancelot knew Arthur was a good man, one of the best considering what he was trying to do for Merlin. If it was losing, he could accept defeat from his friend.

The training ground was much as he'd left it, some knights training off to the side while his 'group' were clustered around Percival, still laughing at his strength. They weren't segregated, though it may look it, but Leon needed to train them all up to Camelot's standard and so had been teaching them separately before they'd join the main army.

He went to Gwaine first. He was set a slight way apart from the others, on the ground in the sun. He smiled as Lancelot approached, eyes drifting back to where Percival was now attempting to pull his weapon out.

"I'm glad that one's on our team," he said, cocking a grin as he shifted to look at Lancelot properly. "You look serious, has something happened?"

Although Gwaine seemed like a happy-go-lucky kind of person, Lancelot knew there was more to him. He didn't hide behind a persona, but he wasn't just a drunkard who liked to laugh. He was noble down to the core, a good and honest man who had given it his all time and time again. And, most importantly, he'd pick up his sword and run to be there if Lancelot even so much as suggested a friend was in trouble.

"Nothing bad," Lancelot replied. "Just... how do you feel about magic?"

He'd lowered his voice considerably, aware that even if Gwaine turned around and blurted out that he was a sorcerer, they were still in Camelot and these issues could get a man killed just for whispering about views.

"Are we speaking on or off record?" Gwaine asked, glancing around them as he shifted closer.

"Off record," was the quick reply and Lancelot watched as Gwaine nodded, looking down at the ground.

"I was raised outside of Camelot and I've seen a lot of things. Magic... it doesn't bother me." He frowned, "Well at least the non-evil, non-murdering kind. I'm not too fond of the things that are going to eat me, though some of them provide quite a fun challenge." He gave a small chuckle, but the smile on his face didn't quite reach his eyes and Lancelot knew the jokes were over for now.

"Even if I didn't approve of magic, I don't agree with Uther's policies." Gwaine's eyes were sharp for a moment, as if judging Lancelot. Lancelot let him, staring back unabashedly. He had nothing to hide, especially not from a friend.

"But then again Uther banished me so I might not in best favour of anything he decrees," Gwaine said, smiling widely.

"Would you support a new decree, one to return magic?" Lancelot pushed. He had to know these answers because Arthur and Merlin needed them. That was the reason why he'd come back - to help a friend who needed it.

It didn't matter that he couldn't love Guinevere or hadn't done everything right in the past, he could do great things now. They all owed Merlin and, just as he had given them their lives, they'd give him his freedom.

Gwaine's eyes were wary as he stared at Lancelot. Unsure of what exactly Gwaine was looking for, he remained still, holding eye contact.

"I would," he said at last, nodding curtly. Lancelot clasped his shoulder, whispering his thanks as he stood.

He wouldn't be able to talk to all of the knights now, but he could get away with discussing the issue with Leon without rousing interest. He had to get each of them on their own or else it was pointless.

Percival's axe had finally been retrieved from the ground and so Leon turned easily when Lancelot called his name.

"Can I ask you something?" Leon nodded to the words, leading them a small way apart from the group. It drew curious looks, but it was easy to assume they were talking tactics rather than illegal practices.

"Do you believe magic is evil?" He asked, watching as Leon's face lost its smile, drawing into thoughtfulness.

It was a while before he replied, but it didn't trouble Lancelot. Leon was the kind of person who thought his answers through thoroughly, evaluating a situation. It was what placed him in high regard with the knights and even the king, but it also meant he had more reason to believe against magic than towards it, having served under Uther his whole life and aware of the dangers of magic.

"I believe that magic can be evil," he began, darting a questioning look to Lancelot.

"But..." he prompted Leon gently, knowing that there was more to what he'd said.

"But I owe magic my life." There, plain and simple; an acknowledgement that it could be used for good. "If the druids hadn't let me drink from the Cup of Life, I'd be dead."

Lancelot nodded. Wasn't it so like Uther to take what he wanted from the magical community, thinking he could keep it better hidden than even the druids. What had he wanted the Cup for? To place in in the vaults away from view and to gather dust. What had the druids wanted? To help people, to heal and save them.

Where was Uther's malicious sorcerer in that?

"Would you agree to bringing it back?" Lancelot questioned and looked away as Leon shot him a sharp look, eyes narrowed, slightly challengingly.

"What do you mean?" he said neutrally, crossing his arms and looking around.

"Would you support a proposal to allow magic back in the land?" Lancelot asked again, meeting Leon's gaze firmly. He wouldn't explain why he was asking, that was for Arthur and Merlin (it was their secret, not Lancelot's, to share), and let Leon and the others think what they like.

"You'll never get backing while Uther is king," Leon said curtly, almost coldly. His expression softened a little after and he leant forwards, "But if we are discussing this under Arthur, then I believe it's worth discussing it, at least."

Lancelot nodded, thanking Leon. The older knight called the others together to say it was lunch before throwing a look back to Lancelot, nodding slightly. With a smile, Lancelot knew he was giving his support, silent though it may be.

Camelot was still dangerous, but Merlin was gathering protectors without knowing it. He only had two knights to go before reporting back to Arthur, but he had a feeling he knew their answers too.

.
you did always say that I was going places
.

In hindsight, maybe it wasn't the best idea to tell Gaius of everything that had happened while the physician was bending over a naked flame. Nor was it probably the best way to tell him by blurting out 'Arthur knows I'm a sorcerer', sending Gaius into a frenzy, both to gather supplies so Merlin could run and to try and put the fire on the desk table out, courtesy of the frenzied rush and the upturned flame holder.

"Gaius!" Merlin said hurriedly, grabbing the closest goblet and throwing it over the flames.

Years ago (maybe months, it was hard to tell when exactly he'd matured enough to control impulses), Merlin would simply have cast a spell, hardly thinking. He knew better now though and besides, Gaius would probably have a heart attack if Merlin inflicted that on him as well as everything else.

"He's okay. I'm fine, Arthur..." Gaius pulled up sharply, looking Merlin dead in the eye.

"Perhaps you better explain it from the beginning then instead of barging in and scaring me half to death?" Merlin nodded slightly sheepishly as Gaius shook his head, the pair of them moving to a workbench to sit, opposite each other.

"He asked me about the scars I have, from Nimueh and the serket sting." Gaius nodded, aware of the wounds as he'd treated them personally.

"I couldn't lie to him," Merlin said, voice persistent, as if he had to convince himself that what he'd done was right. He knew Arthur didn't hate him, wouldn't betray him and have him put to death, but Gaius had always been so firm on the subject of keeping his magic secret. He was capable of making his own choices, but if he had to trade one person away of accepting him to gain another, it wasn't fair.

Gaius must have seen the emotions on his face (Merlin was never very good at lying, not really) and rapped his knuckles against the table, drawing Merlin's attention.

"You did what you felt was right. I can't say when you should have told Arthur, and you said he's okay with everything..." he trailed off, offering a smile. "You have nothing to worry about, just tell me the rest."

So Merlin did, disclosing briefly what he'd told Arthur, how Arthur had reacted (keeping out the numerous touches, the closeness they'd developed, because it was private, secret almost) and what he had planned next.

"It takes a great deal of courage to do what you did," Gaius said, a soft smile on his face. "And I believe you're right; sometimes you just have to tell the truth. There was no 'right' time for Arthur to know your secret and you took a great risk in telling him."

"I trusted him," Merlin put in. "Though there was a moment when I wondered if he'd ignore me. I needed him to listen and, well, he's not very good at that all the time is he?"

Gaius gave a bark of laughter, smile spreading to his eyes.

"I just wanted to tell you," Merlin said. Gaius nodded seriously, standing and coming to sit next to Merlin.

"I'm glad you did. You need him and I only fear that we're going to have tougher times ahead with Morgana outside of Camelot. Who knows, maybe there was a better time in the future once, but you made your decision and look how it turned out." Gaius wrapped his arms around Merlin, drawing him close.

"I feel better," Merlin admitted into Gaius' shoulder. "I mean, I can finally talk to him."

Gaius pulled back and Merlin smiled. "It's stupid, after all it's only Arthur."

Gaius shook his head, proud smile finding its way onto his face once more. Merlin had surprised him again and again, with his half-thought through plans and quick thinking, his ability to react to what was around him and, most of all, his heart and ability to see the best in people. Revealing his magic could have gone so wrong, but here he was, having trusted Arthur and he'd finally gained that trust and shed his lies.

"Of course. Just Arthur," Gaius agreed, though they both knew that - for Merlin - it would never be 'just' Arthur.

.
and that you wouldn't have it any other way.
.

 

Lancelot had to wait until training was over to talk to Elyan. They were alone in the armoury, Elyan looking over a few blades that Leon had asked him to, wondering if he'd be able to re-forge them to straighten out a slight calibration error that had a few knights handling them incorrectly.

"I can see what he means," Elyan said, handing another sword over to Lancelot, who then deposited them on a wooden table. "The balance is off. Someone's been careless and either not bothered checking then when they were made or been attacking them with hammers or something."

Elyan's mouth was twisted downwards unhappily, fully in work mode. Although he was now a knight, old habits were impossible to shake and he kept up a lot of smithy work in his spare time, mainly sorting out the remains of the armoury under Leon's instructions.

"For an immortal army, they were rather happy to waste resources," he said, running a hand over the sword rack, frowning at the numerous gaps.

"They had magic," Lancelot began tentatively, pushing the swords on the table closer together, resting against the wood.

"Yeah," Elyan agreed, testing another sword. "But magic only gets you so far doesn't it? It's just another tool to use really, like a hammer. You can do a lot of things with a hammer," he said, glancing to Lancelot with a raised eyebrow.

"You're not bothered by magic then?" came the question and Lancelot waited, hand resting behind him and against the swords, cool metal soothing and a reminder of everything he now fought for.

"I don't know really," Elyan said, shrugging and replacing the sword he held, picking up another. "I mean it's bad in some ways and I've never seen it used for good..."

"So you wouldn't agree with a decree supporting magic?" It had almost been too good, Lancelot supposed. He'd almost had all of the knights, but there was bound to be one that blankly refused.

"I'd support it," Elyan shot back furiously, turning to face Lancelot fully, sword hanging at his side. "If it stops people being executed left, right and centre for crimes they didn't commit, then I'd support it. Magic can't all be bad and the only alternative is to continue the king's hatred..."

Elyan looked away and Lancelot remembered. Gwen's father had been accused of sorcery. Uther had killed him in cold blood, as a traitor, and just because Elyan hadn't been there was no excuse for the loss a son felt. Full acceptance of magic could come later, but Elyan wanted to stop others feeling the pain he had.

"Thank you," Lancelot said, drawing a curious look from Elyan, before he returned to his work.

"I won't ask then," he muttered as Lancelot made for the door. "But just be careful. I've grown to like you, you know."

Lancelot nodded. He'd always felt as if he and Elyan had some kind of space between them, due to Gwen, and while it may still exist, they were more than just acquaintances now. They were team mates, friends, comrades... knights of Camelot. There wasn't any room for space, not now when Camelot was half-ruined still and Arthur was already planning motions of his own.

Arthur would never usurp the king, but he'd begun to truly think for himself. In asking Lancelot to do this task, he was breaking fully away from Uther's shadow and proving to the people who'd been cast aside that he was the great man everyone else preached him to be. He was offering a hand to those stuck in the darkness, doing something Uther would never allow.

The fact that he'd considered it would have been more than enough to prove to Lancelot that Arthur would make the greatest king of all, but he'd blown all expectations Lancelot had set out of the water by pushing for this on Merlin's behalf. Arthur cared, truly cared for a servant, cared for his subjects and cared for those who had persecuted him because of his father.

Now he only had Percival to see and Lancelot made a trip to the kitchens to pick up a jug of ale and some goblets, planning to spend a bit more time than just the one conversation. Percival was a good friend and they hadn't seen much of each other recently, and if there was one certainty in this life it was that Percival was an excellent man to keep on your side.

.
and you did always say that one day I would suffer.
.

"Cenred used magic," Percival said after Lancelot had asked his question.

Nodding his head, Lancelot replied, "To an extent, yes."

It wasn't that he cared more for Percival's opinion than the others, but he knew Percival the best. He'd lived and fought with him, laid his life in his hands and trusted him deeply. He wouldn't turn to dislike if Percival didn't agree with the reforms, but there would be a notch in their relationship, an odd gap in their friendship.

"My mother used to tell me stories of the Old Religion. Stories about gods and goddesses who would look after the land and the people." Lancelot waited, silently, as Percival spoke. He'd hardly discussed his parents before and a memory this personal would be hard to recount aloud.

"We didn't follow the Old Religion," he added gruffly, shifting in his chair with both hands wrapped around the goblet Lancelot had provided earlier in the evening. They were at the small table in the barracks they had been allocated, not too roomy, but still fine for any noble.

"I tried praying to the gods briefly, after they were slaughtered." Lancelot looked away, understanding the pain. "I didn't expect anything of it and nothing happened. Healers from nearby villages came and..."

Percival broke off, looking Lancelot in the eye. "They'd trained with a camp of Druids in the art of healing. Everyone who would have died in a few days following the attack lived thanks to their talents."

He took a sip of ale from his goblet. "I suppose if you were asking me my views on Uther using magic then I'd never agree to a reform in the law, but I know that's not going to happen."

He was sharper than most people gave him credit for and Lancelot knew Percival was more comfortable talking to him when they were alone. Despite pledging loyalties, Percival was the sort to remain quiet, watching and leaping in with his heart rather than words. He was a true friend, though perhaps a little rash at times.

"If you're asking on Arthur's behalf though... you didn't really need to come ask me." Percival smiled. "I pledged my full loyalty to the prince and I trust his judgements. As well as yours," he added, raising his glass and half-toasting Lancelot.

After that, Lancelot had all the information he'd need. He would talk to Arthur in the morning, let him know where his knights stood. It wouldn't guarantee any action to take place immediately, but it would set in place a new future, one that showed Arthur as a man who cared for every single one of his people, despite everything he had been raised to believe.

So Lancelot sat back in his chair and took a sip of ale, beginning a tale he'd heard in an inn once, about a beautiful princess locked away in a tower, guarded by a dragon. And if he thought of the princess in his mind as Guinevere... well, it was just in his mind and no one else had to know.

.
you did always say that people get their pay.
.

Evening approached far too quickly for Arthur's liking and he exited yet another council session (thankfully just on the rebuilding of the lower town, something he barely needed to contribute to) as the sun was setting.

Merlin had to have been in his chambers at some point, for the bed covers were thrown back and pillows plumped. The rest of the room was perfectly clean, fire stoked and taking the chill from the air. A jug of water sat in the centre of the table, two goblets at its side, so Arthur took a seat and poured himself a drink.

He was just contemplating what to in this odd moment of spare time - something he hadn't had for ages - when his chamber door opened and Merlin entered, back first and carrying a large platter of food.

"Dinner!" he announced cheerfully, setting the mountain of food on the table before nodding at his handiwork. "I even checked with the kitchens and they said your father's already eaten so I know you won't be called away for dinner."

When was the last time Arthur had taken supper with Uther? They might have shared meals a few times since Morgana's reign, but those times had been strained and Arthur too busy to remember them properly.
The last time they'd had a proper meal, as a family, would have been when Morgana was still in Camelot.

"You don't have to hover," Arthur stated, glancing up at Merlin as he reached for a drumstick. "Sit down and help yourself."

Merlin obeyed, dropping into the chair opposite Arthur's and reaching for the food. They shared the plate in the middle, picking from it in companionable silence.

"I talked to Gwaine earlier," Merlin said around a mouthful of bread. "The knights are settling in well, though apparently they're all missing you."

Arthur snorted, finding it a little hard to believe. While the knights respected him, they were often glad when he wasn't around as Arthur tended to work them hard and relentlessly, while Leon was more willing to stop for short breaks.

"I don't think I'll be back for a while yet," Arthur admitted, lounging back in his chair and stretching his legs. His foot tapped against the edge of Merlin's boot and he shared the smile Merlin shot him in return.

"Gaius says the work on the lower town's reaching its completion?" Merlin asked, wiping away crumbs from his chest absently before turning his attention back to Arthur.

Arthur nodded, licking remnants of a tomato from his lips. "Everything's been going smoothly so far and the lower town seems almost back to normal. It finally looks like everything's settling down now, back to how it should be."

Merlin nodded. "It's going to take time for everything to heal properly though," he said softly. "But Camelot will be better for it."

They fell back to silence, the only background noise the sound of the fire, little flames crackling around small logs. Arthur's mind was drawn back to the night before and how vulnerable they'd both been, out in the open world, alone.

Now though, they were different. They'd both built themselves back up to be who they were, not just Arthur-and-Merlin. They were the prince and his manservant inside of Camelot, but even with the distinguished roles, they'd both changed.

Was it the truth that had changed them or the admittance that they would never just be two friends? Saying that things were simple between them was like saying a boar wouldn't go for the charge when it could, but before the truth and Arthur needing to know, they'd been happy to let questions lie and let everything else just sit without probing.

In their roles at Camelot, the Camelot after Merlin had divulged his secrets, they'd have to pretend, to play a part against the core values Uther had set down. And while that should bother Arthur, it didn't in the slightest.

He'd lied for Merlin before and he'd continue to do so until the day he died.

Despite all that though, there wasn't anything to show for Merlin's trust. Arthur could say he accepted Merlin over and over again, but it was nothing but empty words, and Arthur Pendragon was a man of action.

That was why he'd asked Lancelot to gather the names of supporters so that when the time came, Merlin could slot neatly into the public place by Arthur's side without problem. There would be those who would oppose the change, of course, but if anyone could convince people that magic was good as well as evil, then the job fell solely to Merlin.

"You should get some sleep," Arthur said, hunger satisfied and sleep creeping upon him. He could tell that Merlin was tired too, just what he'd expect from the events of the past day.

"You need it more than I do," Merlin said, but he didn't argue, following Arthur's lead as he stood and walked to the door.

"Bright and early," Arthur said, a hand on the latch to the door, stilling as he waited for Merlin's answer.

A hand covered his own and he looked at Merlin, smiling a little tiredly.

"Bright and early," Merlin repeated, threading his fingers through Arthur's as he placed a small kiss against his lips. It was the barest of touches and yet it sent a shiver through Arthur's body, as if Merlin had poured his magic into him, to bind them together tighter than any destiny ever could.

He left then, their hands moving as one to open the door, and it was a long while before Arthur drifted off to sleep, thinking that it wouldn't be so bad if he was bound to Merlin for the rest of eternity. Nonsensical thoughts, of course, but if it had to be anyone... he'd choose Merlin.

.
but I'd understand that I'd never let it go
.

If he'd been expecting everything to change, Arthur was sorely disappointed. Merlin still greeted the day with an overly-cheery phrase while flinging back the curtains and Arthur still rolled over, not quite ready to wake. Merlin still moved about the room, tidying automatically where he could, and he'd still brought up breakfast.

"You know," Arthur muttered, still half asleep and the words thick as they came out. "You could just... just..." He blinked blearily, finally sitting up and stretching his arms above his head.

"Just what?" Merlin prodded gently, pouring out a goblet of water and turning to face Arthur, beaming.

"Magic it," Arthur replied, the word 'magic' lowered in tone as if he could be punished for merely saying the word now that they were back in Camelot.

Merlin took a sip from the goblet, not at all minding that it was supposed to be Arthur's breakfast and, consequently, his drink. Arthur didn't mind though, edging off the bed and moving to pour his own drink before sitting down and tucking in. He gestured for Merlin to sit too, rolling an apple across the table.

"Well," Merlin began, picking the apple up and palming it. "I guess old habits."

Pausing from tearing up a slice of ham, Arthur quirked an eyebrow and Merlin conceeded.

"Even though you know," Merlin began, looking down to the apple in his hands, "Doesn't mean that doing magic in Camelot is suddenly okay."

Arthur frowned and opened his mouth to argue the point, but Merlin shook his head slightly.

"Your father still has the death penalty for it and anyone who sees magic is almost certainly going to report it. Remember the incident with the Witch Finder?" Merlin shook his head. "Gaius almost died because of what I did, I can't let that happen to anyone else, lest of all you."

They sat in silence for a few moments and Arthur understood. It was partly why he had to find out whether his knights were behind his future plans (and how annoyed was he that he couldn't give Merlin what he needed right now, but with Uther how he was, nothing good would come of Arthur even suggesting a more open policy on magic), and find out soon. If he could at least tell Merlin that, one day, he could be his own man, then Arthur would feel somewhat happier. Not brilliant, but better than having done nothing.

Instead, knowing that he couldn't tell Merlin just yet, he chose to focus on the other snippet Merlin had let slip.

"Aredian?" he questioned lightly, just as Merlin bit into his apple.

Flushing slightly, Merlin nodded, chewing slowly. "In his defence," he muttered around the apple, "He wasn't too bad at his job."

Arthur shook his head in disbelief. Just how many times was Merlin going to stand (or sit) before him and list off another time he'd brushed shoulders with death? How many times was Arthur going to be surprised, again and again and again, just when he'd thought there couldn't be more.

"I don't think I want to know much more, do I?" he said instead, picking up another slice of ham as Merlin half-snorted into his apple, grin spreading across his face.

"Probably not," he admitted, basking in the renewed strength of their relationship.

He would be lying to himself, Arthur thought, if he said that he hadn't noticed the distance growing between Merlin and himself lately. Even before Morgana had betrayed them, Merlin had been drifting away, crushed under his secrets and the people he'd silently lost.

Now that Arthur knew the stakes, now that he knew how much Merlin meant, how much Merlin needed him, he wasn't about to let go. There would be times when they clashed and times when they needed their own solitude, but Arthur wasn't going to let Merlin fade away. Even if he had to fight for it, Merlin would remain by his side, despite anything anyone thought or did. Things weren't going to be easy, not even when Arthur would change Camelot's view on magic, but they'd both fight for it, together.
"Take the morning off," Arthur said suddenly, rising from the table and moving to his wardrobe. "I need to speak to Lancelot about a few things so you might as well see if Gaius or someone needs help."

For a moment, Merlin looked crestfallen, as if Arthur had kicked a puppy. It was gone when Arthur amended his sentence with a small smile.

"I'll need you back for lunch though. I want to talk about the knights' training scheme and I wanted to know what you thought about a few things, considering you spent more time with Gwaine and Elyan back in the caves." Small, white lies, but Arthur wanted the news to be a surprise.

Merlin nodded slowly. "Of course. Shall I bring lunch too?"

Shaking his head, Arthur pulled out clothes suitable for training and moved behind the dressing screen, changing quickly. He stepped out and Merlin handed him his sword and belt, almost instinctively.

"Thank you." Merlin smiled in return, his hand warm against Arthur's as he lingered after taking the sword, pressed between the cold metal of the blade's hilt and Merlin.

"I'll see you later," Merlin said softly before moving back, collecting the breakfast platter and moving off, away and out of the room. And while, as a servant, Merlin should have waited for Arthur's dismissal, laden him with 'sire's and 'my lord's, Arthur smiled stupidly at the door, a small smile, one seemingly reserved for Merlin on his face.

With their lunch confirmed, it was easy for Arthur to go about his day, patrolling the lower town for a few hours before returning to the training grounds, singling out Lancelot easily. Arthur nodded to his other knights, drawing Lancelot away from the grounds and over to one of the tents set up just off the grounds.

"I know I haven't given you much time," Arthur began, only to be cut short by Lancelot.

"It was enough time, Sire," he said, nodding his head slightly. "And while there still may be a few prejudices to overcome, your knights will support you, no matter what."

Without realising it had been there, a huge part of Arthur relaxed and he smiled at Lancelot, thanking him.

"And if they realised that it was Merlin, and also knew about what he'd done, I know that they'd support you even more." Lancelot stood firm, every bit as noble as he'd tricked them into believing, years back now.

"Thank you," Arthur said quietly, facing a man who had avoided him for so long.

He wasn't fooled into thinking their relationship was that of the easy camaraderie they had shared when Lancelot had professed himself to be a nobleman's son. Too many things had changed in their lives with one issue they hadn't touched; Guinevere. Now, though, Arthur knew what he had to do.

"You need to speak to Gwen," he said softly, drawing away a little. Even though he had Merlin (always had, always would), Arthur couldn't deny the fact that he loved Gwen, had loved her in the way he thought he would always be able to, the way a husband loved his wife.

He didn't know what his relation was or could be with Merlin. They had kissed, pledged their lives to each other, but whether that meant they would be romantically linked for the rest of their lives... Arthur couldn't say. He wanted that, but he couldn't expect it. Still, he couldn't pledge his love or life to Gwen knowing she wasn't all that he wanted. He wanted Merlin, needed him, for Merlin was something Gwen never could be, at least for him.

But she could be everything Lancelot needed. Lancelot was everything she needed and Arthur couldn't stand in the way of that anymore. Gwen might love him and Lancelot may respect him, but enough was enough.

Lancelot looked as if he was about to dismiss what Arthur had said, but he lay a hand on his knight's shoulder, looking him dead in the eye.

"I'm not denying that she loves me or that I love her, but I'm not what she needs and she can never be what I need." Arthur hoped Lancelot understood what he was trying to say because this was as close as he's stretch himself to saying it in black and white.
"I've seen how you look at each other and we both know that if you had stayed with us after rescuing Gwen..." Arthur shook his head with a curl to his lips, open and honest. "Well we both know that I would never have stood a chance."

He could have stayed, could have marched Lancelot to Guinevere that very moment or he could have fetched Gwen here, but instead Arthur left. He was so used to being in control, so used to having people do what he wanted, it was strange to think that Lancelot might not take his advice. Merlin had made him realise, though, that sometimes he couldn't control everything and his place was not inbetween Lancelot and Gwen anymore.

His place was where it should have been years ago, acknowledged properly for all to see; beside Merlin.

With the support of his knights, Arthur drew himself up and left the training grounds, waving across the grass to the men milling around. On another day he would have stopped to talk and train, but today he had a lunch appointment, one far too important to miss.

Arthur caught a few servants milling about, asking them to spare some time. They nodded and rushed to do his bidding, some picking their way to the kitchens and others heading in another direction.

Satisfied, Arthur walked through the castle, heading for his chambers and Merlin. He was already there, sitting at the table and staring blankly at the wall, lost in his own little world. Arthur saw him start slightly as the door shut behind him, turning with a smile before looking past Arthur.

"Sorry, did you want me to get lunch?" he asked, rising to his feet as Arthur shook his head.

"I have a surprise. Come with me," Arthur said mysteriously, smirking as Merlin looked doubtful.

As they moved through the castle, Merlin kept up a stream of conversation, interjected every now and then with Arthur's replies. It mainly focused on how annoying Arthur could be at times, but extended to how they weren't having lunch at all, rather some ridiculous quest around the castle for one ridiculous reason or another.

"You do talk a lot of nonsense, you know?" Arthur said conversationally as they reached a curved staircase, the one Arthur knew led to the highest peak of the castle. "Right, do you trust me?"

Merlin's eyes widened before he drew in on himself, serious. "Of course I do," he responded, questioningly.

Arthur smiled in return, unsheathing the small knife he kept at his hip. Merlin jerked back slightly in response, but he relaxed when Arthur cut a large strip off the bottom of his tunic before resheathing his knife.

"You do know even with magic that's going to take time to mend, right?" Merlin said dryly, lips pressed together.

"Can't you just magic up a new one?" Merlin shrugged, narrowing his eyes incredulously. "Well you're a little bit useless then. Look, come here."

And perhaps Arthur couldn't blame him for being a little sceptical about the whole thing, but Merlin did eventually shuffle forwards, looking between the material in Arthur's hand and the stairs behind them.

"You're going to blindfold me, aren't you?" he muttered as Arthur spun him around, tying the makeshift blindfold tightly and grasping Merlin's hand.

"You did say you trusted me and I promise you won't be disappointed," Arthur said lowly, stroking a thumb over the back of Merlin's palm.

Merlin tightened his grip briefly, smiling even though he was looking away from Arthur.

"I might rethink what I agree to in the future then," Merlin muttered as he was pulled forward, Arthur slowly leading their way up the stairs.
The walk was slow, with Arthur moving around until he was practically pushing Merlin up the stairs. Merlin himself was wary, taking small steps and testing the stone before he put all his weight down, clearly uneasy about Arthur's plans. He'd already mentioned that he didn't think it was a good idea, but Arthur had laughed off his worries, shaking his head.

"But it's old and un-used," Merlin protested, slowing his pace down even further and referring to the tower.

Although he wouldn't be able to see it, Arthur rolled his eyes and squeezed Merlin's shoulders gently. While that much was true - it was the highest tower in the castle and took a while to get up there and though offered grand sights, it was otherwise useless to Uther and that was what made it perfect for what Arthur had planned.

"That's the point," he whispered in Merlin's ear. "It's a secret, our secret."

Merlin scoffed, but he also softened under the words and picked his feet up, a little more confident now.

They reached the top a while later, both slightly breathless. Arthur pushed Merlin out past the doorway and wind whipped through their hair for just a moment, before dropping. Sunlight rushed to fill the gap the wind had left and the warmth was pleasing, tingling on their skin and welcoming.

This particular tower opened out in a larger space on one side, one large enough to accomodate the little table and chairs Arthur had requested to be set up. Platters of food lined the table, mostly Merlin's favourites, but a few of Arthur's too. Where the table had been set up, there was a gap in the wall, a large segment of it cut out so that you could see out at the views without standing.

Arthur steered Merlin over to the table, carefully seating him before he removed the blindfold, taking his own seat and handing Merlin a plate.

"Help yourself," he commented simply, beginning to pick at the platters for his own lunch, waiting to hear what Merlin thought of it all. As he did so, his fingers brushed Merlin's and they shared a smile, a small moment just for themselves.

He was silent after that, so Arthur waited patiently. While he could have simply blurted out his plans to Merlin in his room, told him how magic would be legal again and Merlin could be free once Arthur was king, it was less than Merlin deserved. If Arthur could, then he'd have simply repealed the ban already, no matter how unwise that might have been.

There was still food left when they'd finished, so Arthur pushed it to one side, aware that they'd have to take it back down if they didn't want it to spoil too quickly. He then stood, offering a hand to Merlin, to lead them over to the wall of the tower, to look past the stone turrets and down at the kingdom Arthur had grown up in.

"You can see everything," he began, shifting so that Merlin was between the wall and himself, able to see everything Arthur wanted to point out.

There was the citadel, with the portcullis and drawbridge just in view, slightly overshadowed by another section of the castle. People milled about the castle, content in their day-to-day activities with no idea of the monumental move Arthur was making high above their heads.

He then pointed out the lower town to Merlin, the markets set up and the people there too. Life was simple for them, just out of poverty. Arthur remembered stories of the time his father had conquered Camelot, of how the people never wanted for anything. Magic had made the land prosperous and no one had ever felt the sting of an empty belly.

That much was almost true for all subjects in Camelot as the poorest were never left to die, but they were still subject to much squalor and poverty, thousands dying each year from plague or starvation, to name just two, from all over the kingdom. Magic had been able to help, Arthur had read in old stories, tomes hidden away and that Arthur had merely assumed were all fairy tales.

Merlin had opened his eyes to the truth, that good magic wasn't just a story.

As Arthur told little stories of his childhood - there, over out on the east, can you see? that's where I got my first true wound from a hunt - Merlin laughed, living through the moments. Arthur could feel the happiness practically radiating from him, but whether that had anything to do with his magic or Arthur just wanted to feel everything that Merlin did, he wasn't sure.

Though he didn't know how long they were there for (perhaps Merlin had stopped time itself, shrinking the world down to just the two of them), Arthur never wanted the moment to end. He wanted Merlin to see Camelot how he did, see how much he loved his kingdom and so, knowing all of that, understand why Arthur was going to bring magic back.

He made sure that Merlin had seen everything before he rested his mouth next to Merlin's ear, voice low.

"This is our Camelot," he said, feeling Merlin shudder under the touch. When he tried to turn and face Arthur, Arthur simply pressed against him and lay a kiss on his cheek.

"You need to look, promise me?" Merlin sucked in a shaky breath before he nodded, so Arthur relaxed his grip a little, still pressed to Merlin's back as they looked out over the turrets.

"I can't give you anything now," Arthur began, tilting his head until his forehead rested against Merlin's shoulder. "But when I become king, I'm going to remove the restrictions my father placed on magic."

Merlin made to move again, but Arthur stilled him by turning his head and shifting slightly, reminding Merlin of the promise he'd made.

"I can't show you how much to you mean to me right now, but one day you'll be able to look upon our kingdom and see people who have had to hide their whole lives be free. You'll be able to see how much magic means to our kingdom and how we've all suffered without knowing it." Arthur took a deep breath, hands shaking slightly with the need to tell Merlin how much he meant, how Arthur would shape a new world for Merlin if he had to.

Arthur had once said that he would leave Camelot and relinquish his entitlement to the throne for Gwen. He had meant his words, or thought he'd meant them, at least until now. For Merlin, he wouldn't abandon his kingdom, but forge a new one of peace and prosperity. For Merlin and the love that was growing, he'd stay and defy his father no matter the cost, because he understood what was right and what was wrong.

"Arthur," Merlin whispered, voice full of want and need and he half-turned. Arthur let him, shuffling forwards at the change in position until he had Merlin against one of the turrets, back against the stone.

"I can't prove anything right now," Arthur said, voice husky as he moved forward. "Despite how much I want to, to show you how much you mean to me, to Camelot-"

He was cut short by a kiss against his lips, Merlin moving forwards suddenly, hands moving from where they'd been resting against cool stone to grip Arthur's head. Where his hands lay sent a chill through Arthur's body, though it was less because of their temperature and more for the fact that they were Merlin's hands.

"Think of this as a promise," Arthur gasped as Merlin pulled back, nose against Arthur's cheek and mouth slick with their shared saliva. While Arthur couldn't see him, he knew that Merlin would be flushed, a pink tinge to his wet lips and eyes wild with emotion.

"A promise," Merlin whispered, kissing Arthur again, sloppily yet controlled, dragging down every barrier of Arthur's self control.

"That I'll return magic to the land," Arthur said when Merlin drew back again, hands tilting his head back so that Merlin could move down to his neck. As his tongue smoothed down over his Adam's apple, teeth slightly grazing the skin before he moved back up Arthur's neck, Merlin's lips curled in a grin, something secretive meant for Arthur alone.

"I never wanted for anything," Merlin admitted a moment later, pulling back fully and with a sigh. His tongue rested on his lower lip, jaw slackened slightly and eyes fixed on Arthur as though he was the only force in the world.

"I know," Arthur replied softly, closing the space between them for a series of small kisses. "Which is why I have to show you in something outside of the two of us."

Merlin seemed to understand, for he let Arthur turn him back to face Camelot once more.

"I want them to know how much you mean to me, about how much you had to sacrifice." Merlin nodded at Arthur's words. "I want the people who live in fear to be able to look at Camelot with hope, not with anguish at those they've lost."

"I understand," Merlin whispered, looking back at Arthur over his shoulder. "And thank you," he whispered, kissing the hand Arthur had lain on his shoulder gently.

They shifted again, Merlin cradling Arthur's head with both of his hands. His eyes were full of warmth and Arthur knew, with more conviction than he'd ever felt, that this was right, this was where they were meant to be, shaping the future of their Camelot.

"It's almost like a destiny," Arthur said lightly, a smile on his lips as Merlin's eyes crinkled.

There was still so much standing between them and their Albion, and their bond still so fledgling and new to the world that Merlin simply nodded, understanding what Arthur couldn't bring himself to say just yet.

"Almost," he mumbled, hands moving down until he could link his fingers with Arthur's. "We'll just have to see."

The laughter that bubbled from Arthur's chest was genuine and free, something only Merlin could have brought from him. And no matter how it ended - they all had to die someday after all, that much was something that he had to accept - and no matter what obstacles they all had to face, he had Merlin at his side, now and for forever.

.
and I couldn't turn my back on sweet smelling Blackberry stone
.