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“Arthur?” Gwen speaks up from the doorway, tentatively.

Leaning against the door frame, she had been watching her husband, who had evidently sat staring aimlessly outside of the window for longer than she had stood at the entrance to their chamber. Inclining his head towards the sound of her voice filtering through the room, he makes no move to rise from his chair to go to her. Stepping into the bedchamber hesitantly, she glides to his side, placing her left hand on his shoulder in a show of solidarity. Exhaling slowly, his eyes glaze over once more, intent on delving back into the wilds of his mind where she could not follow.

“Arthur, Merlin’s woken up, if you wish to go see him. His wounds are deep, but Gaius is certain that he will be able to heal him,” Gwen informs the King, wondering if this will bring about the reaction she had been hoping for.

“Thank you Guinevere,” Arthur responds lowly, exhaustion thickly laced within his dulcet tone.

“Would you like me to have one of the servants deliver your supper?” she inquires, hoping that he will finally take a meal at all.

“I haven’t the appetite for food.”

Above him, this earns a vexed expression from his wife.

“Darling, you must eat something. You can’t starve yourself until Merlin’s health is fully restored.”

“I have no intention of doing so. I’m simply not hungry at the present.”

“Arthur, you’ve hardly slept, barely eaten, and have yet to leave this room in nearly two days. I’m worried about you,” she reveals softly.

For a heartbeat or two, she anticipates that he will ignore her, as he had done to almost anyone who had ventured to speak with him in the time she had mentioned. However, turning to her with a weary smile, a look of fondness graces over the exhaustion for a brief moment. The apprehension and dread, however, still had yet to leave his eyes.

“Everything that my father taught me, was wrong, Guinevere. He ruled by instilling fear in the hearts of the inhabitants of this castle, as well as all of Albion. Instead of discerning where he failed, I blindly followed in his footsteps, like a damned fool.”

“What-.”

“If I had thrown away my foolish pride and granted Kara clemency, if I had listened to the voice in my head that told me what I set about to do was foolhardy, all of this could have been avoided. My friend, my very best friend, is struggling to remain alive because the idiot felt the need to save my life!” Arthur shouts, then dropping his head into his hands.

Clamping her bottom lip between her teeth, the Queen of Camelot soothingly rubs her husband’s back, praying that this will calm him even just a bit. The tension beneath her fingers does the opposite, however, intensifying the longer she touches him. Removing her hand minutes later, she gazes down at the broken man in front of her, empathizing with his pain. Merlin, who had become a myriad of different roles for various people within the castle, solidifying his place there until his time in Camelot should end, holds a place in everyone’s heart. His sacrifice had taken its toll on everyone who called him friend, most of all, Arthur.

“He will outlast this, you know. Much like yourself, he’s far too stubborn of a man not to.”

“Were he a mere mortal man, he would not have. The blade Mordred slid through him was cursed.”

“Take comfort in the fact that he is not then. It will all work itself out in time.”

Even as she speaks the words, the Queen hopes that it is true.

“He lied to me, for the last seven years, purely for the sake of survival. If he had meant to kill me, he would have long ago. I treated him worse than I ever should have, and still, he sacrificed his own well being so that I would live. If he did this time, what’s to say he has not before? Even further, how can I begin to make up for what has been done?”

Exhaling, Gwen scans the room, disarray present all around. Rather than answering her husband’s query, she begins the task of tidying up. Frustration ever rising, she discovers an outlet, while Arthur continues to think over the entire situation that they have all found themselves to be in. The rustling, much to her displeasure, does little to stir herself out of the restlessness which is fast overtaking her.

While her motions are aiding little with her nerves, the increased movement around him causes an anxious feeling within the King. Rousing himself up from the chair, Arthur paces across the length of their stone floor, making haste toward the door. Reaching for the handle, he looks back to Gwen to find her faintly smiling, which is all of the encouragement he needs to persist with his newest undertaking.

Tracing his path through the citadel, he keeps to the shadows, aiming to be engaged as little as possible on his way to visit Merlin. His departure from his bedroom, would mark the first time that anyone other than Gwen or Leon could attest to being in his presence for over two days’ time. The castle had managed to run smoothly enough without him right in the thick of every happening, but the strain of bearing unexpected weight of his leave had still taken its toll. Many closest to him wondered when he would rejoin them, as his absence could be felt in every corner of the fortress.

Haggard looking, but desperate to witness Merlin with his own eyes, he holds firm to his plan. His worries, which had kept him up for nights on end since the incident, grew ever larger the longer he did not check on the newly discovered sorcerer. Distraught, he had been, in every sense of the word. Gaius had assured him that it would be best if he were not present though during Merlin’s healing. He had done well, he believed, for having remained out of sight for so long. The distance, he acknowledges, as he touches his hand to the door of the medicinal chambers, had been more than he could bear any longer though.

Swinging it open slowly, he finds a half naked Merlin almost immediately, heavily leaning on a table in the middle of the room. Perspiration covering his forehead, a spoon tucked into the crook of his right hand, the man seems determined in his current task; feeding himself. At the sight of Arthur entering the room, his eyes grow wide, a panicked look entering them. The mien reminds the King of that of an animal, absolute that it had met its end. Rather than stepping forward, the blond remains firmly within the entry way, holding his hands up to show he means no harm.

“You look alive,” Arthur states softly, unable to formulate a better sentence.

In truth, alive is all that could be said for Merlin. His eyes, sunken in, remain widened. Sickness, it is evident, has ravaged his body in the most anguishing ways. The normally slight man is even lankier than before, with his skin accented with a sallow tone, rather than its normal pale sheen. Although the image cuts right at his heart, none of it truly matters, because Merlin, his Merlin, is still among the living.

“You look like shit,” Merlin replies, his voice feeble, but sassy as ever.

A small smile forms on Arthur’s lips, despite the anxieties that continue to voice themselves in his mind.

“I haven’t slept in days,” he admits, laying himself bare for the other man to see.

Considering the statement, Merlin glances down at the meal in front of him, carefully utilizing the spoon to stir the contents of his bowl. Peeking back up, he finds Arthur gazing at him with such concern.

“Why’s that?” he replies, taking the bait.

Steadily, Arthur asks, “May I sit?”

The idea in itself is preposterous, especially to Merlin. He knew quite well that if Arthur desired to sit, he could do so whether or not his companion wished him to. It was a privilege that came with being titled, one that the dark haired man had never even so much as glimpsed, except in the King’s company. The two had long decided, albeit silently, that in a certain regard, they had found their equal. For Arthur to request a place at his table, it had suddenly become a matter of significance, as he is declaring a courtesy towards Merlin that he had otherwise never been afforded. Suspiciously, the sorcerer nods, wondering what his friend could be on about.

“You saved my life, Merlin.”

“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he tosses out, coughing at the end of his statement.

Ignoring the snark behind his words, Arthur looks into the deep blue eyes in earnest.

“I realize I’ve never made much of a habit of it before, but I need you to hear this now,” he continues, after a brief pause for emphasis, “Thank you.”

Were it any other person, Merlin would have responded to the words with a quick, “Welcome.” However, this was not just any single person. Nay, it was Arthur Pendragon, professed prat and King of Camelot. The genuine gratitude that he received from the man could be said to be few and far between. If the blond makes it a point to express it, the sorcerer surely would not miss an opportunity to bask in it. Especially when he had wondered whether or not the King had been awaiting him to be declared fit for work, simply to light a pyre with his name designated to it.

“Finally learned those words have you? It’s about time. I was beginning to wonder if you were a lost cause.”

“Merlin, were you not so frail, I would have you thrown in the stocks for such impertinence.”

“After I just saved your life? That’s a pretty poor way to repay someone, don’t you think?”

“What do you believe is a good reward then?” Arthur responds, discarding the gaiety which they had engaged in for the past minute.

Contemplating the question for a moment, Merlin affixes him with an unreadable gaze, before dropping his spoon into his bowl. Diplomatically, the sorcerer crosses his arms with great effort across the table, fastening his eyes on Arthur’s sky blue irises.

“I want nothing from you,

sire

,  if that’s what you’re after. The outcome of the risk I’ve taken is in itself a reward.”

Taken aback, Arthur stares at him with eyes that bely his shock, leaving room for him to become conscious of the effort that Merlin is making simply to remain upright. Leaning forward, he rests a hand on the small of the lankier man’s back, endeavoring to cease his almost immediate descent to the floor. His touch, small in size, but immense in meaning, propitiates Merlin’s emotions towards him.

“Arthur, there’s no need to fuss over me. I saved your life, just as any of your knights would have done. It was not the first time, and if you deign to allow me to live, it surely won’t be the last. You have a particular proclivity for endangering your existence that requires almost constant watch, it seems.”

“Here I thought that was you,” Arthur mumbles, abiding still by his previous action.

The proximity of the King ushers in unwanted thoughts that should have been tucked away for the time being, unfurled in his mind at a later date. However, much to his chagrin, they needle him until a blush appears on his cheeks. Believing this to be a product of a fever, Arthur sweeps the room, searching for a cool cloth.

Spying one on the other end of the room, adjacent to a basin of what turns out to be cold water, he chances removing his hand in favor of retrieving the items. Returning to his side, not a moment later, Merlin rests his tired eyes on the harried blond. Before he is able to lodge a complaint against the idea, Arthur has soaked the cloth in the water, and begins pressing it against the sorcerer’s forehead tenderly. Shutting his eyes, Merlin opts to enjoy the moment, rather than speak out against it.

Gaius, whom had been missing up until this point, quietly presses the door open wide to find this image before him. Surprise quickly relieves itself from his features to be replaced by fondness, for both men in the room. Arthur, whom he had known since birth, and Merlin who he had grown to love as a son, could not have appeared more at ease than they are now. That is, until his movements are noticed, and guilty expressions over take each of their visages.

“I’ll be in my chamber, if either of you have need for me,” he informs, hoping to exit from the private moment as quickly as possible.

Unperturbed by his entrance, the King proceeds to brush the damp cloth across Merlin’s flush skin, unaware of the true origin of the colouring to begin with. The sorcerer has no intention of correcting this however, appreciating the attention that he is currently receiving. Sliding the rag over the length of his shoulders, the intimate gesture persists, blanketed under silence. Minutes tick by as Arthur carries on with the task, until he reaches the end of uncovered skin, at which he replaces the cloth in the basin, moving to sit down beside Merlin once more.

“Thank you,” Merlin murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” comes the earnest swift reply.

Unsure of what else to say, Merlin peers down at his food, the soup having lost its heat earlier during Arthur’s visit. Whilst entirely aware that Arthur has the knowledge of his magic, and still has yet to execute him, he wonders what this could mean for the future. Intrigued by the idea, he turns to find the blond steadily watching him with a mixture of curiosity and affection combined. Unnerved, he swivels his gaze away from the glimpse.

“I understand that there are details which need to be discussed. That conversation, however, is for another time. Know this though, Merlin. So long as I am alive, I promise, you need not fear me anymore. My father, rest his soul, rendered great injustices against your kind. His hatred led to the death of thousands of innocent people. I should have recognized that some time ago, but I confess that out of sheer cowardice, I did not.”

Drifting into uncomfortable silence, Merlin grapples with how to respond, while Arthur presses further.

“You had every right to abhor me, to despise the very ground on which I walked. Instead, you’ve protected me all this time, leading me to believe that my survival had been contingent on the actions of myself or others, rather than yourself. Even now that I have been made aware of your feats, you shirk away from acknowledgement, when any other man would preen beneath it. I admire your humility, but simply put, I do not understand it.”

“When your father

rewarded

me by giving my life over in service to you, I disliked you immensely. That was, until I glimpsed a bit of the man you would one day be. No one is perfect, certainly least of all you. But, from that discovery, I learned to live content in the knowledge that despite your various faults, you were inherently a good person. A person who would one day become the King that your father never had been. Once I acknowledged that, life around you and within this castle was not so terrible any more.”

“What you have done for myself, and I would assume others as well, knowing you, is no small matter Merlin. You deserve recognition, at least.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but I did not do any of it for that purpose, Arthur.”

“All the more reason for you to be rewarded. Your valor and discernment in the face of countless adversities merits recompense.”

“Fine, if you are desperate to remain so obstinate on the matter, give me a few days off. After I’ve healed, of course.”

“How about a few weeks or months, then? I hear you’ve been itching to visit your mother.”

“Always am. That woman is one of the most important people in my life. But, Arthur, my place is at your side here in Camelot. I can only endure so much time away.”

Bemused, Arthur gazes at Merlin with such endearment that Merlin has to turn away, for fear of what he would do to an unsuspecting King lest he hold his eyes any longer within his own. Untested waters the two remain in, as they sit in companionable silence now. Not much later, Merlin’s stomach growls loudly, earning a groan at the reminder of his cooled soup. Squinting over at Arthur, the sorcerer makes a decision.

“Is it safe to do so while you’re still on the mend?” Arthur queries, as if he had read the raven haired man’s mind.

“I’m that transparent, am I?”

“Your stomach just roared, as if it hasn’t been fed for days, and the soup in front of you is cold. I am quite positive that if you can conjure up a thunderstorm, then you have the ability within that bright mind of yours to heat your frigid meal.”

“Astute observation, my lord,” Merlin taunts.

“Well go ahead then. Don’t allow my presence to stop you. It surely hasn’t before.”

Managing to shift so that his arms are secured onto his chair, bracing himself for the inevitable release of magic, and subsequent depletion of his energy stores, Merlin ganders down at his soup, then speaks hoarsely, “

Forbearnan

!”

The King had witnessed magic in practice many times before, but to be privy to Merlin’s own, has become an entirely different affair altogether. Reverence overtakes him, as he spies Merlin look over at him sheepishly, after enacting his power. The emotion that envelops him, his heart ready to burst, surprises him. The golden surge that had overtaken the typically dark blue irises, which he had become so accustomed to over the course of the last seven years, had shocked him, despite being prepared for the possibility of it occurring. Swallowing, as if to clear away an invisible lump in his throat, Arthur endeavors to school his features accordingly.

“Can your body tolerate any food of greater substance?” the King queries, avoiding Merlin’s curious stare.

“I haven’t tried yet. Today is the first time I’ve been out of bed since I was brought home.”

The statement brings forth in the King’s mind a violent image of a mortally wounded Merlin, lain across his stallion, being rushed to this very part of the castle days before. Surrounded by the Knights, whom had outlasted the perils of the battle at Camlann, he had ridden straight to the front steps, only to haul Merlin into his arms after dismounting the horse, so that he could deliver him to Gaius personally. An unexpected tremble reverberates itself through his body, as he wills the memory to dissolve from his thoughts.

“Perhaps I should go request a meal with more to it than liquid filled with boiled vegetables. Is there anything you’d like in particular?”

“The King of Camelot, bringing food to a servant? The world really has turned upside down, hasn’t it?”

“Don’t be foolish,

Mer

lin. I’ll have one of the other servants bring it to us. A King does not engage in the duties of the hired help, unless all of them have perished. Even then, there are lesser subjects for such tasks,” Arthur informs, entirely kidding of course, at least Merlin assumes so by the mirthful expression on his face.

“Have fun besmirching the name of your forefathers then. I’ll be here, eating my soup.”

A jovial laugh emits from Arthur’s lips as he takes himself out of the door, pacing his steps en route to the kitchens. Cook kept food made at all times there, should he or any other royal decide that they were starving at any time throughout the day or night. Convenient, especially in occasions such as this, he thanks those who watch from above that this is so. Happiness having envelopes his countenance, he arrives there with relative ease, while behind him, Merlin puzzles over Arthur’s strange antics.

Aware that the King had finally exited their chambers, Gaius re enters the main room, intent on checking the state of his apprentice. Unlike earlier in the day when he had left him for a brief time to gather a few necessary supplies that had dwindled while the young man had been in his care, color had already seeped back into the gaunt skin which troubled the court physician so. Though a bit more weary than he had observed earlier, the overall mood of the man had greatly brightened, as opposed to at the beginning of the day. Only one difference to his day than that of its predecessor is a visit from the King, which Gaius assumed could  attribute to the betterment of Merlin’s overall well being.

“Arthur’s acting rather strangely, Gaius. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

Strange indeed, the elder man smiles indulgently. Oh to be young and naive, he muses.

“Would you be the same if you had witnessed Arthur stand in front of a sword meant to cause your demise?”

Pondering the idea, chewing his celery, Merlin shudders involuntarily.

“No, I suppose not.”

“Indeed. Were the situations reversed, you would be in quite a state, because he would have lost his life in your stead. We must take comfort in the fact that you were on the receiving end of that blow, rather than he.”

“I think my body would disagree,” Merlin groans out, pain shooting through him as if the mention of the ordeal had brought his suffering to the surface.

“Merlin,” Gaius warns, his eyebrows shooting up to form the arch that made him appear far more intimidating than he had ever actually been.

“I understand, Gaius. It’s just unnerving to me, that’s all. I feel as if I’m in a parallel universe or something.”

“Yes, well, be that as it may, you are not. Though immortal you have become, you must be aware that all of this will eventually come to pass, and Camelot will be no more one day. This is your reality, Merlin. You would do well to enjoy it,” Gaius cautions, eyeing him from across the humble table, at which they had partaken in an innumerable amount of meals and discussions before.

“I will. It will just take a bit of adjustment, I suppose. I’m still astonished that I was able to do magic in front of Arthur, and he hasn’t tried to set me to a stake.”

“As your physician I strongly urge against the use of your magic whilst you are healing. However, that is exciting indeed. Our world may very well be transforming for the better, as the seers have foretold. Should it continue, the dissolution of the magic ban is not far off, I presume.”

“Let us hope that is true,” Merlin replies, mashing a mushy carrot between his teeth.

Slipping into quietude, the pair remain in their spots, comforted by the presence of one and other. The young sorcerer, who had spent the better part of his last few days holed up in his room, unable to move for the searing agony that had wracked his body if he were to try, is grateful for the shared silence in the company of another. When Arthur bursts through the door some time later, arms laden with the largest tray that Merlin had ever seen, his appreciation for the current day increases ten fold.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d prefer, so I bade Cook to ration me a bit of everything which happened to be on hand. Take what you wish, and should Gaius want to, he and I can finish off the rest of it.”

A wide grin stretches itself eagerly across his lips as Merlin unable to contain his cheerfulness at the sight.

“Thank you!” he gushes, reaching forward without hesitation, only to be thwarted by a stabbing pain presenting itself in his right side.

Immediately, Gaius and Arthur ascertain this by a pained expression which envelopes the dark haired man’s visage. As quickly as it appears though, it elusively vanishes entirely seconds later, leaving in its wake an even more exhausted Merlin. Worry etched in his every feature, with Gaius mirroring a similar bearing adjacent to him, Arthur scrutinizes the man intensely. Undeterred by the appraisal, the warlock opts to ignore it, instead reaching for a piece of fruit, in the hopes that it will begin the process of satiating his nearly empty stomach.

For thirty minutes, Merlin indulges his stomach to his heart’s content, until he is fairly certain that he has eaten enough to last him through supper of the next day.

“That was delicious. Much better than that Minestrone soup I ate before,” he declares.

“You love my Minestrone!” Gaius defends jovially, reaching for a sandwich that had caught his attention.

“That I do. But, it lessens in tastiness when it’s the only meal I’ve eaten for nearly three days.”

“I see. Well, next time you need nursing back to health, see if I feed you at all boy!”

“Oh Gaius, your bark is far worse than your bite! You would never allow me to starve even if your life depended upon it.”

“You better hope it never does!” his elderly mentor replies good naturedly.

Sharing a glance with Merlin, Arthur then too takes food from the half-eaten tray, intent on having his first real bit of nourishment in over a day. Gwen would be pleased, to say the least. Remembering her for the first time since he had come to check on Merlin, mentally, he makes a note to apologize to her later. Witnessing him as she had since their return could not have been easy, and still, she loved him through it despite it all. Dispersing the reminder, he hungrily chomps through the chicken in his hand, unencumbered by the light in which those around view him in.

As Gaius and Arthur ingest the left over fare, Merlin takes comfort in the presence of both, even if the pair are otherwise silent. Within minutes, all remainders of sustenance have been devoured, and leave the two sated from hunger. Leaning back in his chair, the blond enjoys the not uncommon feeling of a full belly. Gaius opts to rise from his own, citing the need to walk the grounds to help settle his stomach, which leaves Merlin and Arthur alone once more.

“I suppose I should go back to bed and rest. This day has been a tiresome one.”

“I will take my leave then. Should you need anything, please, do not hesitate to send Gaius for me.”

“Will do,” Merlin replies, attempting to stand up for the first time since he had set down to eat his soup hours before.

Whether out of stiffness from lack of movement, or pain emanating from where the sword had severed a portion of his skin, Merlin quickly topples to the floor in a mess of limbs. A cry of indignation escapes him, which prompts Arthur to stride the length of the floor to hoist the gangly man into his arms, a feat which had fast become a regular affair. The feel of the King’s arms holding him up as he carries Merlin, is not lost on the sorcerer. Taking comfort in them, he then allows himself to be placed softly on his bed by the man, the ordeal securing him another look of worry out of the blond.

“Thank you,” Merlin tosses out, before a coughing fit ceases his ability to hold a conversation.

“I’ll go fetch you a glass of water,” Arthur mumbles, desperate for another way to help the ailing man.

With an alternative to inaction found, he marches out of the room, with the aire of a man on a mission. Not too much later, he returns, goblet of water in hand. When Merlin bellows out simply reaching for the cup, Arthur chooses to help him drink, instead of leaving him to fend on his own. Although the gesture is not lost on him, Merlin has little time to give it thought, as another wave of pain crashes through him.

From a chair beside his bed, the king wonders aloud whether or not he should fetch Gaius. Wracked with agony imploding throughout him, Merlin manages a thick, “Yes.”, before he succumbs to the pain once more. Draining the goblet into his mouth before he rises, the blond sets it aside on the nightstand, in favor of searching out the court physician.

As luck would have it, being that his limbs are not what they once were, he has not made it too far. At the sight of a panicked Arthur, before the man is able to utter a word, he knows that something is not right with Merlin. With a speed that his younger companion is unaware that he even possessed, he makes haste alongside the king towards the castle once more.

At the door which leads into their chambers, Gwen’s right hand rests on the knob, as if she is about to enter. Stunned by the sudden appearance of Gaius and Arthur, she quickly moves aside, realizing by their matching expressions that it must be urgent. Without so much as a secondary glance in her direction, the blonde remains hot on Gaius’ heels, as the man grabs a bottle containing a concoction of sorts. One of his own making, Arthur is sure.

Swinging wide the door to Merlin’s room a moment after, the duo find him seized up in pain on his bed. Popping the cork off of the mysterious carafe, he requests that the sorcerer to open his mouth, in which he plans to pour the substance directly down his throat. Through a series of grunts and odd noises, Gaius accomplishes what he set out to do, then recorking it within his hands. Assessing that nothing more can be done, the man turns about and ushers Arthur out of the room, which the former complies with begrudgingly.

Shutting the door in his wake, the physician places the bottle on a shelf at random, then throwing himself uncouthly into a chair below him. Gwen, who had remained in the main chamber, is seated at the table at which they had taken their meal earlier in the evening. Examining her husband from afar, she can spy the agitation in his demeanor, amongst other emotions. Unable to sit, he has opted to pace about the room, his misgivings slowly getting the better of him. In spite of the circumstances, an idea blossoms in her mind, warming her whole body at the thought. Perhaps now Arthur would admit to what he had quelled behind a show of indifference and regality.

“What did you give him, Gaius?” Arthur demands, breaking through the silence that had wound its way through them briefly.

“I administered a brew of my own design, one that he made more potent with his magic. It is merely water infused with Valerian, which is a natural sedative. It will calm him into sleep, where his body can continue to heal.”

“Guinevere assured me earlier that you had sworn to her that he will survive this. From what I’ve been privy to, he seems to only have healed by a fraction. Are you absolutely certain that he will recover?”

“In the Crystal Caves, immortality was bequeathed upon him, Sire. Though he suffers now, eventually the dark magic will vacate his body. Presently, we are subject to a time frame which we are wholly uncertain of, because the origin from whence it came.”

“I see. If there’s nothing more I can do here, I believe I shall return when he is not so incapacitated,” Arthur states, coupled with an expression marked with trepidation to follow.

“I will send word tomorrow if his condition has improved,” Gaius assures the couple.

To the physician Arthur mumbles a brief, “Thank you.” Then to Gwen, “Coming?”

Without stalling to receive an answer, the blonde stalks out of the room, intent on being anywhere but there. A brief, consoling smile towards Gaius is all that the Queen affords him before she scurries off after her distressed husband.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The clash of metal colliding all around reverberates in Arthur’s ears as he fights his way through the thick of the battle. Surrounded by hundreds of combatants, he takes each opponent down that he is met with. The dying light in their eyes does not make it any easier to witness, as he is the cause of yet another loss of life, but still he soldiers on. Acknowledging that they are outnumbered three to one at the very least, he steels himself for what may come to be his inevitable doom soon enough.

As if the heavens had heard his thoughts, at the top of a hill on the right side of the battle, Arthur spies a lone figure. Distracted suddenly by a man having been bodily thrown into him, he jerks in the direction of his assailant, ready again to fight for his life and crown. It is only once he has stabbed his sword through the man’s heart that he is able to track where the strange individual is.

At this time, a brutal lightning storm forms above, out of thin air, one could say. Thunder roars overhead, with lightning bolts striking down those that are perceived to be their enemies. The man with the staff seems to be searching for someone, but again, despite what seems to have been the work of sorcery, Arthur’s attention is swiftly drawn back into the thicket of the battle. Taking down three more opponents who had believed that they had the better of him due to his brief inattention, he then spies Mordred, thrusting his own sword through one of his fellow Knights.

Pacing towards the traitor and the slain Knight, Arthur notices the elder man he had witnessed earlier suddenly appear beside him, now within his immediate field of vision. Before he can say a word to him, he spies the defector who had murdered his own compatriot quickly advancing towards him, his sword bearing clear as to the man’s intent. However, the sorcerer Arthur now recognizes as the Dragoon, blocks his path and allows it to penetrate straight through the middle of his stomach. The astonishment and anger that becomes Mordred gives the King the chance to deal him his final blow.

Once Mordred is no more, Arthur pivots around to find not an elderly man lying in agonizing pain, but Merlin instead.

Brought out of his nightmare, Guinevere shaking him as tenderly as she can, Arthur awakens to himself still screaming out in anguish as he had that day. His voice breaking, offers a respite, which then gives him the necessary push to silence himself. Dropping his head in his hands, his wife rubs calming circles into his back, aware that this could not have been a run of the mill nightmare. Grateful for her ministrations, but needing to take a different approach, the blond jumps up out of bed to walk about the room.

On his night stand, beside their canopy bed, sits a small washing basin with a cloth inside. Dabbing it in the water, he wipes his face, as if this could expunge the memories that he had just witnessed. Heavy respirations continue, until he finishes his task, finding him even more exhausted than when he and Guinevere had first lain down to rest.

“Arthur?” she chances calling out, the mood of the room uneasy enough.

“It was as if we were there all over again. I rewatched the events at Camlann as if they were happening for the first time,” he tosses out roughly, grasping the bedpost nearest his pillow. “That blade was meant for me, and he diverted the blow, as if it were something he had planned.”

Until now, the details of the events at Camlann, were scarcely spoken of. From the moment their party had arrived back at Camelot, with an ailing Merlin in tow, their fears had lied elsewhere. Once Gaius had taken a brief look at him underneath the covering of their makeshift physician’s wing, close to the battlefield, all fears and worries had realigned with his well being. Not a soul in the castle is unaware of the condition of the King’s most trusted servant. However, it had been widely acknowledged that what had happened over the course of the battle, was not to be spoken of in any manner, lest they wish to be sacked or worse.

“He is a very brave man, and one that I am forever grateful to, because his sacrifice allowed your return.”

“That’s just it, Gwen. I feel as if what he has done, shouldn’t have been. Even before, I had prepared myself for the inevitable. The odds of me being able to return were slim to none. That, is, until he stepped in with his,” waving his hands in the air, “magic.”

“Unlike most imbued with powers of his kind, he utilized them for the better.”

“For me, that is. Immortal or not, the type of pain he is enduring at the moment is beyond comprehension, and there is absolutely nothing I can do to change that.”

Defeat, a rare emotion that Arthur now displays so openly, has enveloped him whole. Unable to calm her husband’s mind, the Queen feels it winding its spidery grip around her too, as she wonders again when this will all pass.
 
                                                APGPMEAPGPMEAPGPME

“My ailing grandmother could sprint faster than you lot,” Leon declares jovially, amused at the young knights heaving deep breaths, fatigue ever present in each one.

Treading up beside his most trusted knight, King Arthur regards the scene before him, disgusted at the way the younglings hardly keep pace. Sir Gwaine and Percival lead the pack, guiding them around the practice green, an exercise in stamina, Arthur is sure.

“If I could have a thousand of either of those two, we would be set,” the King declares, avoiding Leon’s kind, but searching gaze.

“Were we to have that many Gwaine’s, every tavern in the Five Kingdoms would go under within six months.”

“A generous allotment of time. At most, I’d give it three,” Arthur jests momentarily, before jaunting out to where the rest of his knights are.

“Sirs Gwaine and Percival, you are relieved till the afternoon,” the King informs, before turning his focus back to his younger charges. “The rest of you, as I have noticed, seem to lack a bit of motivation. So, I’ve decided to give you all some.”

“Sire, we’ve been at it for hours. Perhaps, we could allow them a bit of rest, then send the most eager ones out on patrols?” Leon suggests, knowing what Arthur could be capable of, if left to his own devices at a time like this.

Not one to be so bold, unless need be, Leon allows the idea to simmer in his King’s mind, praying he will take the hint. While undoubtedly a fine leader, and a skilled swordsman, Arthur’s sentiments were well known to influence him during practices and the like, one way or the other. With Merlin injured, his most trusted knight had no doubt as to where it could lead, should Arthur be handed the reins under such emotional duress.

Glancing back at Leon, where Gwaine and Percival too now flank him on either side, Arthur merely nods. Exhaling gratefully, the redhead watches on as his King dismisses the other knights, reminding them that each had better make a better show of training the next day. Directly after, he stomps away, in a dissatisfied huff.

Elsewhere in the castle, Merlin lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind drifting to what Arthur could be doing now. Hardly having been able to leave his room since the man had brought him there the previous night, being put on bed rest had been a blow that has been difficult to endure thus far. Gaius did it out of love, but Merlin is unable to appreciate being forced against his will to remain in the same position for hours, without a thing to do at all. Had it not been for the books residing on his night stand, he would have been bored out of his wits even more so than if they were absent.

A knock at the door sounds out into the humble room, increasing his heart rate, until Gwen reveals herself from behind it. Taking into full consideration the state of his sleeping quarters, as well as the slightly discouraged look at her impending entrance, which Merlin kindly amends his features to vanish seconds later, Gwen enters the room cautiously.

“You don’t look much better than Arthur,” she relays, gracefully seating herself on a crate beside the sorcerer’s bed.

“Is that so?” Merlin begins, about to press himself up into the seating position, until moments later, the bend in his stomach forces him to lie down again.

“He’s hardly slept a wink since we arrived back,” Gwen states, frustration ever present in her tone.

“He mentioned that yesterday,” Merlin replies, trying to make his visage as blank as possible.

“Last night was the first time he’s taken any food for over two days. I worried he would catch an illness if he staved off of food any longer.”

Taking his friend’s words into consideration, Merlin continues to stare up, rather than allow her to see the full weight of the emotions dancing across his face.

“I’m sorry Gwen. That can’t be easy for you, or Arthur,” he replies, his lips speaking more gently around the latter name.

Glancing down pointedly at the man in front of her, whom had been her friend for nearing a decade now, she smiles.

“There’s no need to be sorry, Merlin. Though I am a bit put out that you held such a secret from those who care for you most, you least of all, have anything to be sorry about.”

“Always the optimist, Gwen,” comes the reply, as a montage of all the horrible deeds he had rendered in Arthur’s name plays in his mind.

“Well, I have to be, don’t I? Between you and Arthur, it’s all I’ve got not to wallow in my own pity. I lost my best friend to dark magic. A woman whom I believed would never be capable of harming another, but then would later torture me to the point of near insanity, before my brother died at her hands. My father was killed at Uther’s, long before that, leaving me with no family but those in Camelot. My husband, whom I am absolutely certain loves me, also cannot sleep for fear that you will die, even when you are now immortal! I’m struggling to hang on, for fear that my own grief with swallow me whole, and he is blind to it all. All he sees is you!” she finishes, tears streaming down her face, on the verge of losing it all right then and there.

“Gwen, I’m so-”

A wave of her hand in the air cuts him off, and she rises up from her seat, eyeing the door from which she had accessed his room.

“No, Merlin, I am,” she states, swiping away the perspiration from her eyes, before continuing to speak, “You are my friend, and I should not have yelled at you that way. I feel so helpless while you and Arthur fight your own demons, because it seems to leave me no room to have a chance at making peace with my own.”

“Guinevere-” Merlin begins again, reaching out for her hand that hangs beside him.

“I think I should be on my way. Me bellowing at you about my problems won’t help you to solve yours. I’ll talk with you later, Merlin, I promise,” she responds resolutely.

Despite the comfort that he gives her, rubbing his thumb over her palm for just a moment, without another word, she takes her leave.

In her absence, a new wave of guilt crashes into Merlin, drowning him into a fitful slumber.

MEAPGPMEAPGPMEAPGP

Over the course of the next few days, Camelot castle is bustling ever so more than usual. The return of the Arthur amongst his staff, has marked the end of their mourning period for the fallen at Camlann, and the others injured in his stead, which means it is once again time to take up work which had stalled in that interval. While those around him appear to be more vibrant than ever, Arthur barely clings onto his normal routine, pointedly avoiding the medicinal chambers as he had been during his seclusion from the rest of the citadel. Choosing to dress himself at first light every morning since, Gwen sleeps off the insomnia which persists to plague her during his own nightmares, he readies himself for each new day, taking all one at a time.

Seeking a necessary distraction in any place he can, Arthur engages in multiple training sessions, calls together councils for delegations regarding various matters, joins extra patrols, and even takes to polishing his own armor, once he has exhausted all other means of taking his mind from where it desires to be. Days continue like this, with the King all but offering his own assistance to servants, which leads him to feel the weight of his exertion.

A courier materializes over a fortnight later, much to the delight of those less than ecstatic about their ruler’s meddling, bearing a message from Queen Annis of Caerleon. Delivering it before the council that Arthur had assembled in the wake of his arrival, he relays the news that Annis will arrive in two days’ time to celebrate with the young king and his court over the victory at Camlann.

As the King of Camelot had been made aware of long ago, Annis is a kind, but shrewd woman. Her appearance would not only signal her support for him and his kingdom, but also that she and her own are making a second stand against Morgana and her evil ways. This, Arthur deems, will be diversion enough as preparations are made for the arrival of one of their strongest allies.

However, directly after the news, the ache of worry finally overtakes him, which sends him once again to descend to where Merlin still remains laid up in bed. Gaius, who is chopping herbs at a work table in the middle of the room, eyes him suspiciously when he enters the main chamber. Merely lifting the blade of his common kitchen knife, he points in the direction of Merlin’s room in a resigned sort of manner.

“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur acknowledges, turning his feet to point him in the path that he must take.

“My pleasure, Sire,” comes the reply, tinged with amusement.

Ignoring the obvious interest he had detected in the elder’s voice, Arthur makes for Merlin’s door, then rapping on it loudly. A tentative, “Come In,” is sounded out, which he takes as his cue.

Swinging the wooden barrier open wide, he steps into Merlin’s room, discovering him with a book between his hands. Shutting it behind him, he swivels around to face the thin sorcerer, scrutinizing him while he moves to lean against the wall opposite to the right side of his bed.

“How are you feeling?” Arthur asks, still surveying his features, chronicling the details in his mind.

“Better. Gaius believes I’ll be able to start moving around more now that the dark magic has slowly seeped out from my body.”

In truth, unlike a few weeks before, Arthur can see a partial difference in his friend’s physical appearance at least. Gone is the gaunt skin, replaced at the present with a flushed and darker looking complexion. Having propped himself up, clothed in his normal attire for any given day of the year, Merlin looks as if he could be skiving off of work, rather than healing from a life altering battle wound.

“That’s good,” Arthur commends, exhaling a breath he had been holding onto since he had decided to pay him a visit.

“I’m going mad in here, Arthur, honestly. Whether or not Gaius had given me the go ahead to leave within a day or two, I would have escaped on my own, even if it meant I had to go about my regular duties. Anything is better than being made to waste my time in here.”

Laughing at the comment, despite it creating another bubble of fear in his chest, Arthur can understand it all the same.

Falling into a state of relative ease, amongst the folds of silence, both men gaze at each other curiously. When Arthur can take no more of the quiet, he tells, “Annis will be arriving within two days time. The whole castle is prepping now for their entry through the gates of Camelot. I believe she has an ulterior motive, other than praising us for our victory at Camlann though.”

“Which is?” Merlin queries, one eyebrow raised up in worry.

“To plot against Morgana. With her still roaming free, it can’t weigh easily on anyone’s mind.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Merlin replies sharply, closing his book to further engage in the conversation.

“Well, unknown to Annis, I too have a proposition for her. How she reacts to my proposal will determine how I handle the matter further,” Arthur dispenses, eyeing Merlin even more so than before.

“I know that look. You’ve got something cooking up there underneath that mop of blond hair. What are you planning, Arthur?” Merlin demands, now more intrigued than ever.

Inhaling sharply, Arthur bores his eyes into the dark blue orbs inquisitively holding his own.

“I mean to discuss with her my plans for abolishing the ban against magic.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Horse hooves trotting along atop the cobbled courtyard at the entrance of the castle in Camelot, alerts those nearest to the cavalcade that Queen Annis of Caerleon has indeed emerged through the gates that are the barrier between the citadel and the lower town. Flanked by her most trusted men, Arthur suspects she is accompanied by at least one hundred foot soldiers, as well as her entire court. From the bottom steps which precede the main entrance, with Guinevere on his right, and Merlin at his left, the three await there to greet the kingdom’s newest guests.

Halting the procession just a hair from where the perceived foremost of Camelot’s court are arranged, Annis allows herself to be aided in her descent from her own horse, while Arthur moves to her side.

“Welcome to Camelot, your Highness. I believe I speak for us all when I say that we are greatly pleased by your visit.”

“Hello again, Arthur Pendragon. I take much satisfaction in witnessing with my own eyes that you have remained whole, even in the face of such adversity. I was deeply saddened to hear of your losses at Camlann, but they did not go unrewarded,” she states, wrapping her matronly arms around him into a brief embrace.

“Thank you, Annis. I owe my men a few times over for that victory. Were it not for them, I could not have accomplished it on my own. Enough talk of war for now though, and let us adjourn to the Great Hall. I hear the kitchen staff has prepared a lovely feast for tonight.”

“A warm meal sounds rather inviting, after that long trip. Lead the way, King Arthur,” she responds gratefully, while wrapping her hands around his proffered arm.

Ascending the steps, Arthur escorts Annis into the castle, with the rest of their combined subjects at their back. Merlin walks directly behind, with Guinevere on his own left arm, stepping in time with the former pair just a foot in front. Sirs Leon, Gwaine, and Percival are next, guarding those before them, as others trail.

Once having arrived in the Hall to eat, Arthur seats Annis, while Merlin pulls out Gwen’s own chair, before seating himself to her left. A slight eyebrow raise is all that Annis makes in regards to this strange arrangement, as she is well aware the affection which Arthur affords this particular servant, as are many others in Camelot and the surrounding kingdoms. While the kitchen workers begin placing food before those residing at the large table, Annis turns to survey the rest of the room. As is customary, Arthur opens the feast by formally greeting the castle’s most recent visitors.

“Our friends from Caerleon have graciously taken the time to travel here so that we may partake in their company. As we feast tonight, let us be grateful for their presence, as well as their safe passage to our Kingdom. Now, we shall savor this delicious meal that our very own kitchen staff has dedicated so much of their workload to over the course of this day.”

With the scullery servants sidling back to the kitchen to assemble the next course for delivery, those that have the privilege of tasting the fine food in front of them begin to do so. Over at the head of the table, Arthur glances over to Merlin and Gwen, each of whom are torpidly grabbing at the loads of fare plated for the taking. Annis, however, wastes no time on pretence as she reaches for a sizable portion of game bird, broiled to suit even the most finicky of eaters.

Tucking away a decent amount, the visiting Queen then turns to converse with Arthur, who had remained silent the majority of supper thus far. Aiming to change that, she opens with, “You have a fine kitchen staff indeed, my Lord. This spread has been well worth the wait. If the satisfaction on those of my own castle is to be the judge, I dare say each would agree with my assessment.”

“Thank you. We are indeed quite fortunate, as they have proven their worth a multitude of times over.”

“I’ll say,” Merlin pipes up, once he has swallowed his last piece of meat.

Until now, Merlin and Guinevere had remained all but silent as well, other than a few swift comments to each other or Arthur in soft undertones. Made aware of the lesser man’s continued presence, Annis inclines her head in his direction.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again Merlin. Have you been well?” Annis inquires, which elicits three immediate reactions from her dinner companions simultaneously.

Arthur’s visage forms a pained expression, while the Queen of Camelot loftily glances out towards the other end of the room, and Merlin looks to his King, as if unsure how to respond. Gauging the sudden responses to her few words, Annis discerns there is much more to tell. A frustrated look from Merlin, presumably directed at Arthur, does not go unnoticed by her. However, it does little to sway the following words which tumble from the King’s own lips.

“He just recovered from a nasty wound he received at Camlann, which he acquired in the midst of risking his life for me, again,” Arthur informs, then reaching for his goblet, intent on swallowing a large amount of spirited drink.

“I see. Well done then Merlin. In a world filled with those so easily tempted into disloyalty to fulfill their own selfish desires, you are a rare one. A fact which I am certain that your King and Queen have never neglected to make you aware of. ”

Over the years, the sorcerer in question had learned a vast amount of details about formality and the like, although his mannerisms were never a good indication of having done so. If it were any normal occasion, he would have made a crack about Arthur, teasing him regarding his prattish ways. However, the sombre tone that the conversation had descended into, meant that he had no true desire to do so. Instead, utilizing the diplomatic tact he had witnessed Arthur exude on many opportunities, he dutifully praises him instead.

“Their grace far exceeds that of the more common attitudes towards those of my status.”

In truth, although Annis is a more lenient sort of noblewoman in her own right, never had she allowed a servant to sit through a meal with her. Those on par with she and Arthur had only ever done so in jest or show, up until now. However, being aware of Arthur’s character, she is able to take Merlin at his word, regarding this. To anyone who has been privy to the manner in which he and the former treat each other, would know that Merlin could not be bribed to speak tales of his King’s greatness, instead only relaying the truth.

“Be grateful to have fallen into such a circumstance. You struck gold in your placement here, just as the castle did when you were given in service to Arthur.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Gwen accedes to aloud, dabbing her napkin at her mouth daintily, with the aforementioned man grinning at her from her left. “Without Merlin,” she continues, in a reverent tone that bespeaks the sincerity of her words, “our lives would all be vastly different, and not for the better, in the slightest.”

“Here, here,” Arthur intones, gulping down yet another large sip of wine from his thrice refilled goblet.

A warm smile etches itself into the elder queen’s features at listening to the surety with which the young couple speaks. Sighing in contentment, she swivels her eyes to sway over the room, becoming certain that she is ready to retire for the evening in wherever her temporary chamber should be. A sentiment which many who appear more sluggish now than prior to eating the meal brought to them, seem to share. Before she is able to voice it above the sounds of scraping goblets and small talk, Arthur calls out, “Those who wish to rest would do well to follow members of our serving staff who are on hand outside this hall, waiting to assist every person to their bed chambers.”

Turning to Annis, he drops his voice lower, informing her, “Guinevere has volunteered to escort you to your room. I have posted sentries outside of it, to ensure your protection throughout your stay. Should you need anything, my staff is at your disposal as you see fit.”

“Your kindness is appreciated beyond measure. If you’re willing now Guinevere, I would not turn down your offer.”

Rising from her chair, Guinevere is on her feet, placing a kiss against her husband’s cheek, and then Merlin’s. Another eyebrow raise is all Annis affords to the gesture, before hot footing it after the Queen of Camelot.

With both women having vanished, Merlin and Arthur retire shortly after. Out of habit, the dark haired man follows the blond to his bedchamber, in a slight daze from the wine he had drank. Despite the unnecessary action, the latter allows it, simply out of his own desire to have the man’s company. It feels to him as though it has been ages since either had a proper conversation, much to his chagrin.

Making for his wardrobe as Merlin sequesters the entrance behind them, the King commences the task of dressing down from the formal attire he had donned hours before. Thin, but firm fingers curtail him from proceeding further, longing ever present in the dark blue irises materializing in front of him.

“Allow me,” Merlin breathes, the fruity tang of wine filtering into Arthur’s nostrils.

Though he had progressed through the motions thousands of times over the course of seven or so odd years, his request in this moment lends itself to be of a more intimate nature, and foretells his desire for more than simply undressing his employer out of a sense of duty. Observing the flutter of Merlin’s long eyelashes whilst lodging the suggestion, as well as the slight haze he seems to be functioning under, Arthur decides that should he allow him to do so, it would be ill advised to let it progress any further. Though it pains him to make such a decision, he is adamant that should anything ever occur between them, it would not be when Merlin is anything but sober.

“Go ahead,” Arthur whispers, dropping his hands to his sides.

Nodding, a bit more outlandishly than he would if he were not a tad inebriated, the warlock unbottons and slides off copious amounts of clothing for the man. Unceremoniously chunking each garment once it has been shed, he persists through the task at hand. When it is complete, he steps back, as if to admire his work.

Insistent to see his previous decision through, despite his resolve slipping once the lanky man had his hands so near to him, Arthur moves to seat himself behind his desk. Frowning a bit, but resisting the urge to protest, Merlin takes his well worn place at one of the chairs in front of it. Eyeing the man with the tousled black hair and the easy grin on his face, a clear sign that he needs to be sent straight to bed, Arthur rolls his eyes.

“I think you’re right, about Annis,” Merlin states, breaking his silence.

“How so?”

“Her motives are solid, as is her faith in you. I do not think you will encounter much opposition from her, on any account. She holds you in high esteem,” Merlin divulges, slightly slurring his words.

“How do you figure?”

“Well, when I was seated next to Gwen, despite being the guest of honor, she did nothing to object. She has at least two hundred people with her, and could have easily appealed for me to be removed in favor of seating one of her own noblemen. I am, after all, just a servant.”

“Solid point. She did go so far as to converse with you, as if you were of the status to which your chair position lent.”

“If she were to oppose your proposition, I would be shocked.”

“Let us hope that your prediction holds true then, as your counsel has times before.”

“Indeed,” Merlin murmurs, gazing steadily at Arthur.

Only when Gwen startles the pair by opening the door to their bed chambers, do the two remove their eyes from each other.

“She’s all set now,” she informs, unperturbed at the scene she has entered.

“Wonderful,” Arthur responds, sliding his regard up to her as she moves to retrieve a nightgown from their shared wardrobe.

“Have I interrupted something?” Gwen queries playfully, the remnants of their solace still in their eyes.

Clearing his throat, Merlin shakes his head, in conjunction with Arthur’s voice rising above it, solidly declaring, “No.”

Reluctantly, the sorcerer amongst them rises from his chair, intent on bidding them a good night. It had been a tiring day, his first sanctioned one out of his bed chamber for a decent allotment of time, even. As it draws to a late close, the weight of his presence is more than he is willing to give any longer.

“Not leaving on my account, are you?” Gwen probes, her new attire within her grasp.

“If I stall to leave at a later hour, you’ll find me snoring in the hall by mid morning.”

An elongated yawn further serves to confirm this cautionary statement, and eases the Queen’s mind a bit more.

“There is a spare bed in the disused servant's quarters offset of this chamber, if you wish to occupy it for the night. I’d be much more at ease if you were to use it, rather than venture out on your own, where a number of calamities could befall you,” Arthur asserts firmly.

Pondering the suggestion, Merlin acquiesces seconds later, aware that he would do well to take the offer.

“I’ll send word to Gaius then, alerting him of your presence here. I imagine he would not be asleep yet, seeing as he is unaware of your current whereabouts,” Arthur points out, ascending from his own chair to stride the length of the room, in search of a guard outside of it.

“Thank you Arthur,” Merlin responds thickly, exhaustion creeping up on him briskly now.

Walking out from behind the dressing screen, Gwen affords him a look of fondness, whilst she drops her clothes onto the ever growing pile of laundry that Merlin would be expected to clean at some point in the near future. Scowling at this thought, he begins trudging in the direction of his temporary sleeping place.

“Sleep well, Merlin,” the Queen calls out after him, then making for her own bed, ready to slumber off the weariness aching throughout her own body.
 
                                                                                                             APMEGPAPMEGPAPMEGP

“Revoking the ban on magic?” Annis repeats furtively, astonished at his words.

“Yes, and the sooner I am able to do so, the better,” Arthur replies over their shared midday meal.

“That is a tall order, and one your father would be appalled at. If I may ask, what has caused this sudden deviation in your beliefs?”

“It is not so much sudden, but rather long overdue. What he instilled in me over the course of his rule, as I have uncovered, is how I wish not to be. I will not lead by creating fear in the hearts of those I have been charged with looking after. True loyalty is given to those who are worthy. As it stands, I do not wholly accept that I deserve the fealty of so many, when it has taken me this long to realize that the upheaval which my father wrought upon Camelot was entirely unjustified.”

“Wise words, my young King. Although I cannot predict what the rest of the Five Kingdoms will sanction at the news of your repeal, I assure you that Caerleon will follow suit. Perhaps, this alone will draw Morgana out of hiding?”

“It is possible. Our father’s blindness for those who meant no harm by their use of magic, is what triggered the initial divide. Of course, should she materialize within Camelot, I will be hard pressed not to shackle her in the dungeon for the duration of her life.”

“In doing so, you would need to be certain that you have the ability to keep her there. She would not be the first to escape the dungeons of Camelot, from what I am told,” Annis points out gravely, taking another bite of her salad.

“You are not wrong there.”

APMEGPAPMEGPAPMEGP

As the alliance between Annis and Arthur remains, each having levelled with the other earlier in the day, the pair determine it would be best after such tense conversation that they should take their knights and allow them a chance to stretch their legs. Together, the two assemble a group to traverse outdoors for a bit of fun in the unseasonably fair weather. Adept at the sword, both leaders take to the practice green with their soldiers for mock sparring matches.

Knights hailing from Caerleon and Camelot alike are adorned in armor, scattered across the practice field, moving as if in actual combat. Unlike most of the other warriors involved, Arthur bests every single one of his opponents. With perspiration pouring down his face, which is set in determination, he takes on one after another, only briefly glancing up between wins at Merlin or Gwen. Resting his bum atop a grassy knoll beside their practice green, the former cheers Arthur on safely from his spot, displaced far from the rest of the onlookers.

Occasionally, Merlin too glances over to Gwen, who has more of an eye for this sort of combat than even he, despite witnessing many a training session with Arthur. She, being the daughter of a blacksmith, always found it that much more intriguing as well. Catching him in the act the most recent time, she smiles back at him, not a line on her face betraying anything but adoration. Though the previous weeks had been a testament to their own bond, she had met with him again prior to the welcoming feast the day before, making it clear that she felt awful for what she had said before. Instead of harping upon it, the two found other avenues to trek down, such as unravelling that which bothers her most. Through tears and hand grasps, she had released her pain to Merlin, proving that their friendship once again had withstood intact through tough times. However, the nagging feeling of guilt that had manifested from the undercurrent of sadness in which Gwen had uttered the accusation previously, still has yet to leave his memory.

A heavy boot pressing down onto his hand, dissipates Merlin’s thoughts, and prompts him to cry out in pain. The sound immediately permeates Arthur’s concentration, allowing his most recent sparring partner to best him, and be the first of the day to claim a win against the King of Camelot. However, he cares little for that, as glances over to realize by the indignation and pain evident on Merlin’s face, what had occurred. Charging through the other groups that are practicing, he maneuvers forward as if his body has been lit on fire, garnering him much attention.

Merlin, unaware that Arthur is advancing towards them, angrily spits at the unknown knight, conscious of what this could cause. The man, raring mad now, raises a hand to the younger man, who had jumped to his feet seconds before. However, before he can land a single blow against the gangly man’s face, the blond King roughly grabs hold of his arm and twists it behind his backside, inflicting as much pain as possible.

“If you wish to keep each of your limbs attached to your body, I suggest you not fight me,” Arthur whispers dangerously, having worked himself up into a blind fury.

“Sire, I was only teaching this urchin his place. While the rest of your servants are aiding us, your visitors, he has been seated here, lazing about-”

“Do you believe me unfit to notice whether or not a servant of my own castle were straying from their duties? This man that you determined to be capitalizing upon our distraction happens to be recovering from a life threatening injury, which he acquired saving my life, yet again. You are not even deserving of licking his own boots clean, servant or not. Now, if you wish to leave this kingdom with what little dignity you have brought with you, I expect to see you suited for a duel later this evening. Should you fail to attend, I will make quite certain that your Queen punishes you to the full extent of her authority. Am I understood?” Arthur demands, having now not only the attention of Merlin and the unnamed man within his grasp, but also every single man and woman within the vicinity.

“Aye, sire,” the man gulps, yielding to the challenge.

“Good. Now get out of my sight,” Arthur growls, releasing the man with a sharp shove, in favor of checking Merlin’s hand.

“Thank you,” Merlin whispers, the weight of a thousand eyes upon them.

“Think nothing of it. He should be grateful I’ve delayed his punishment. I will avenge you, that much you can be certain.”

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs in a warning tone, “The last we need is you mucking up relations between Caerleon and Camelot over this. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I am aware, Merlin. However, in harming you he has slighted me as well, which I will permit neither of. Also, judging by the state of your hand, I do believe that he may have hurt you enough to warrant a trip to Gaius. Unless you are able to heal yourself without his skills.”

“For your sake, I’d prefer to be hidden when I put my hand right.”

“Then I’ll help you to the armory and shut you in for as long as you deem necessary.”

Nodding towards him, Merlin allows himself to be lead away from where they had previously been. As they walk, Gwaine and Percival share a grin with Leon, and Gwen smiles softly at the image, while Annis glares at the particular knight who had caused her such shame. She would like nothing more than to grant Arthur full permission to knock a bit of sense into him, despite Merlin’s fear of what that would cause. Once the pair has left, Leon calls for the rest of the combatants to continue their drills, or take a break, should they like.

Meanwhile, the two other men lope to their destination amid easy silence. Once in the armory, Arthur leaves him to his own devices, so that he may be permitted to utilize his magic. A grunt of pain echoes in the air, reaching the King’s ears seconds later, as the bones pop themselves back into place. Whispering, another quick spell, meant to release the throbbing pain still within it, Merlin finishes his work. Flexing his hand, satisfied at what he had rendered, the warlock makes to exit the room.

Outside, he encounters Arthur, surveying the area around him. When their eyes meet, the blond’s then flick straight to his hand. Taking it into his own grasp carefully once more, he presses around to be sure that it has indeed been cured. Once he is satisfied, the King releases his hold on the appendage, sweeping his gaze up to the face of its owner.

“I should get back out there to make sure nothing else goes awry,” he comments softly.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t want you to miss out on all the fun on my account. While you’re felling the rest of the knights around you, I think I’ll go send a letter to my mother. She’ll be glad to know I’ll be there soon.”

A strange look appears in Arthur’s eyes, before they trail over to the path he must take to the practice field. Glancing back, he finds Merlin has yet to step away from the close proximity at which they stand. Reaching up, he musses the dark tendrils of his friend’s hair, smiling at him.

“Try not to find yourself in any trouble while you’re away.”

If Merlin were not so lost in thought, he might have noticed the quake of the knob on Arthur’s throat, or the sadness filling his eyes while he wrestles him into a brief hug. Clapping the thinner man across the length of his shoulders, the King turns to walk away, before he changes his mind.

In his wake, Merlin mutters softly, “You as well.”

APMEGPAPMEGPAPMEGP

A knock at Merlin’s door much later, signals Gwen’s arrival outside of his room. When he moves to open the door, unsure of who to expect, he is surprised to find it is the Queen.

“May I come in?” she requests, sheepishly.

“Of course,” he replies, swinging the door shut behind her.

As she enters, Gwen spies his packing attempts, noting that he has all but finished. Arthur had mentioned that Merlin would be departing soon, which is why she could not wait any longer to do what she has set out. Inhaling a deep breath, she peers up to discover the tall man eyeing her suspiciously.

“You and I have been friends for quite some time. So long, in fact, that I remember the days when you first arrived, and begged for a myriad of disasters to befall Arthur so that you would not have to put up with him any longer, as you once so quaintly put.”

“Gwen-”

“Merlin, please, just allow me to speak my mind all at once.”

Throwing up his hands in submission, he waits for her to press on.

“At one time, I too, held the same views of him. He was a bully and a spoiled prat, as you have enlightened him of more moments than I can account for. While I may have voiced this to him at various instances, it is your influence and actions that are almost solely responsible for who he has transformed into. In that, you two share what he and I will never, for you have tempered his less than desirable tendencies in a way that I never could. I would be ignorant to think that he does not love me, because he has made it quite clear to me that he always will. However, as I am sure he is beginning to realize, I am not the only one who holds a place in his heart. I would be cold, as well as foolish, if I were to condone him concealing such strong feelings for another. If given the chance, it is my hope that you will not dare to do so, either.”

Upon conclusion, she steps forward to pull him into a caring embrace.

Leaving the room straight after, the remaining individual stares off after her, even more on his mind at the present than beforehand.
 
                                                                                                    APMEGPAPMEGPAPMEGP

Per Arthur’s request, rather than taking the journey on foot, Merlin is saddled upon one of the royal stallions the next morning, and rationed more than enough food for one man to eat on a few days’ expedition alone. Having been subjected to the King’s wrath, the man whom Merlin had learned goes by the name of Geraint, bears the bruises of having done so the morning after. Carrying out the task of aiding the sorcerer as a servant would, prior to his departure, he completes his punishment for his transgression the previous day.

As Geraint works, being certain to check that each item is secured to Merlin or the horse between his legs, Arthur speaks to his friend above.

“With the weather in its current state, you should have no trouble arriving in Ealdor before last light tomorrow. I personally saw to it that you are equipped with enough food and water to last you through the next few days. If you should need, for any reason at all, do not hesitate to send for help. I will dispatch someone to you immediately-”

“Arthur, darling, this is not his first trip to visit his mother. He will be just fine,” Gwen kindly reminds from her position on the steps of the front entrance.

“Er, right. We’ll be seeing you, Merlin. Take care, and give Hunith our best,” Arthur adds, awkwardly.

In an attempt to cover his embarrassment, he pats the horse’s left shoulder, electing to then step back to join the rest of the lot who had formed to wish Merlin farewell.

“I’ve inspected every inch of the horse and rider, King Arthur. He is ready to egress,” Geraint notifies, under the watchful eyes of all that care for the sorcerer.

Gwaine in particular, as well as Percival and Leon, had given the man hell since his abysmal treatment of Merlin the previous day. Stationed behind the others in the courtyard, their shared disdain for the fair haired man is evident in the looks of disgust they send his way while he speaks.

“Thank you Geraint. You are free to do as you please,” Arthur dismisses, his good will in rare form this day.

Nodding, the shamed knight opts to disappear from the courtyard entirely, epitomizing on the free range he has now been granted once again. In a suspicious movement, a quick leg swings out to trip the man as he passes the few Camelot knights parallel to his path. However, once he has risen to his feet, it is unclear as to who had done it. Red-faced, he hastens to the ornate double doors, which lead into the castle. Gaius smirks in the direction of the knights humorously, from his spot beside Annis, while the others amidst them remain unawares of the true nature of what had just occurred.

“I’ll see you all soon,” Merlin states, sliding his gaze over his friends, memorizing the image.

With one last smile and wave to everyone, he beckons his horse to press forward, permitting it to take him out of their sights at last.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The trip to Ealdor is a welcome change of scenery, as the walls of the citadel had become stifling in the period of time that Merlin had been forced within them to recuperate. Respiring rather frantically, as if his body is unable to rid himself of the city air quickly enough, his lungs are swiftly replenished with the crisp, cleaner air around him. Grateful that Arthur had indeed insisted that he ride, Merlin urges the beautiful black horse beneath him onward, hoping to make good time there. Although a decent ride, the warlock wishes to make it there before the deadline he had been given, as there is little along the way to encumber him.

Separate from all that had become such an integral piece of the fabric of his very essence, a bit of homesickness tinges the otherwise exciting day. Continuing on, Merlin’s thoughts vary, dallying from one line of thought to another, while he relishes in the relative stillness that surrounds him. Unbeknownst to him, however, as he sojourns forward, his every move is being carefully monitored by a High Priestess of the Old Religion, namely Morgana Pendragon.

Unlike the lanky man riding beneath the cover of forest trees, she resides in her hovel, hovering over her cauldron. Spying him epitomizing the picture of near perfect health atop his horse, sends her into a fit, which leads to her hurling the cauldron to the ground out of rage.

“How is it that even when I have him so certainly within my grasp, he manages to escape from it, no more worse for the wear?” she growls out to no one in particular, as she is alone, again.

While she would never dare to admit it, a minute part of her had kept Agravaine around simply because she cannot stand the constant silence. Having been locked up for far too long, she had taken great pleasure in his inconsistent presence afterwards, because it had at least given her someone to converse with. How she missed the days when Gwen had been at her side nearly every waking moment. Shaking the thought from her mind, she carries herself over to a chair, throwing herself down in a heap.

“If I am to rid the world of you, Emrys, it seems I need to be a bit craftier,” she admits aloud to the open air of her dingy home.

Meanwhile, Merlin continues on his journey, none the wiser of her intent.
 
                                                     MEAPGPMEAPGPMEAPGP

With Merlin having been out on medical leave from his position as Arthur’s servant for so long, the fact that he is absent from Arthur and Gwen’s room in the morning after he has departed, does little to weigh on their minds. As the second day of his trip progresses, however, it becomes inherently apparent that there is a gap where he should be. The awkward silences that only he could fill with quick humor, or the tense moments when he could hold Gwen’s or Arthur’s gaze to calm either into relief, is easily sorely missed. By first light of the fourth day that Merlin is gone, the Knights of Camelot hold a collective hope that the sorcerer will return soon.

Although the King had always been a bit over the top, in anything that he does, there had always been this silent guiding hand of sorts, easing his ferocity when it becomes a bit much. While it may have taken others in the citadel a few years to catch on, once Merlin had arrived, the Knights became fully aware of his effect on their former prince turned King. From the moment that he had proven his worth, up until now, he had rarely ever left Arthur’s side. The blond may grouse about him loudly, on multiple occasions, but the second he disappears, the King becomes a less likable version of himself. This person, they all agree, reminds them too much of the pompous young prince whom they had previously known, in a time when Merlin was not around to counteract his prattish tendencies.

On the fifth day, sunlight streams through glass windows, illuminating the filled Council Chambers, back in the castle of Camelot. Surrounded by an array of advisors, council members, and the highest ranked knights alike, Arthur awaits with baited breath their answer to his statement, which had filtered through the air moments before. With Merlin away, and Arthur refusing to waste any more time, he had called together another session, to discuss his removal of the ban on magic.

“My Lord, what you propose courts treason! Your father-”

“Is no longer the residing King. I will make this clear once,” Arthur thunders, causing the aside conversations and sudden vocal condemnations from select individuals around him to cease abruptly, “If there are any here who refuse to accept what will come to be, you may be excused from your position in this court effective immediately, free of harm. I have no room in my retinue for those unwilling to understand the importance of the repeal, or any decisions that may follow.”

For a moment, Arthur sweeps his gaze around the room, meeting every pair of eyes with his own, challenging each to promptly disburse, should one disagree. The advisor who had criticized his announcement, a weedy man whom had been a part of the court for longer than Arthur had been alive, rises from his chair. Hostile leers ghost his movements, but he does not back down.

“Forgive me, but what you propose is insanity, my liege. If you see no wrong in what you are considering, I can no longer remain a part of this Council. Good day, my Lord. May you not live to regret what you intend to do.”

Sauntering haughtily past the guards, the elderly man leaves. In his wake, Arthur glances around the room once more, gauging the others reactions. Suspicion and curiosity are glossed over the visages before him, in varying degrees, but none so openly opposed as their former peer.

“Is there anyone else here who wishes to excuse themselves from the duties to which they hold?”

For a moment, the air is tense, as the inhabitants of the hall sit in wait. After what is easily more than five minutes, Arthur resumes speaking.

“I will assume that all of you have questions, which I will answer to the best of my abilities. For those I am unable to, you may direct to Gaius, our Court Physician. As with various other topics, he is quite knowledgeable on the subject of magic, and the like,” Arthur informs, taking a breath before continuing. “I understand that this is a situation which can make all apprehensive, owing to the fact that there are many who sympathize with the vein my father took. I can assure you all though, this is not a decision I have come to lightly. However, from this point on, despite what your feelings towards the matter may be, I expect an open mind regarding what will occur. Those who wish to do harm will find a way, with magic or not. Those who utilize magic for ill intent will be punished according to the new laws, which will go into effect, forthwith. In time, I believe that this will bring our Kingdom into an age of prosperity that has not been seen for over three decades.”

Ending his monologue, Arthur’s eyes are drawn to Gaius’, who nods towards him in a show of approval. Beside him, Gwen reaches up to thread the fingers of her right hand through his left, intent on doing much the same with her own silent gesture. Aware of the weight of multiple pairs of eyes on him, he gazes back steadily, breathing a slight sigh of relief. The road ahead will be anything but easy, he silently acknowledges. However, the support he feels surrounding him is enough to make him believe that even without Merlin there, together they can achieve the next level of peace in the kingdom that he wishes to bring about.

From that point, delegations last the remainder of the day, with Gaius aiding in drafting the laws that will govern Camelot once the abolishment is enacted. With each provision suggested, and subsequently revised, the trepidation in the room eases that much more.
 
                                               MEAPGPMEAPGPMEAPGP

True to Arthur’s logic the day before, Merlin does indeed make good time in the fair weather. Having taken a quick kip the night before, he had set out again in the wee hours of the morning of the succeeding day, unable to sleep longer than a few hours. The closer he finds himself to Ealdor, the more he urgently pleads with his horse to speed up. As soon as he reaches a clearing that allows him to spy smoke curling up from the homes that reside in his destination, he urges his mount forward one last time, desperate to bridge the final gap.

On the outskirts of town, Merlin slows his good-natured stallion so as to pace him through a cool down on their walk to his mother’s cottage. Dismounting onto the familiar dirt road, the two tread towards Hunith’s home. Having rushed a bit more than he had meant to, Merlin finds himself entering Ealdor midday, rather than in the waning hours of the evening. Small children, he holds no knowledge of ever meeting, watch furtively as horse and rider pass by the humble houses on either side of the main street through Ealdor. A few older folks who recognize the sorcerer, raise their hands in greeting, although some more readily than others. Despite their previous familiarity with him, the sight of a member of the royal household in Camelot is never met with the absence of at least a shred of unease.

Finally halting in front of the home of his youth, Merlin immediately busies himself with caring for Aurelian, the horse whom had accompanied him on his journey. The sound of his arrival has not been dismissed by Hunith’s ears, and soon she meets him outside, engulfing him in a long, motherly embrace.

“It’s good to see you Mum,” he mumbles against her shoulder, stooped down so that he can reach her at all.

“You as well, Merlin. Until I received your letter, I was not altogether sure I’d ever see you again,” she responds somberly as she pulls away to survey him more closely.

“Well, there’s no need to worry anymore. Gaius patched me up and now I’m better than ever.”

Lifting the saddle off of the dark horse, he sets it down against the outer wall of the small home.

“I will continue to be concerned for you well being as long as I shall live. Now finish up here so you can join me for a meal inside. You can bring me up to speed with your life in Camelot then, instead of beneath the heat of the day, hmm?”

“Yes mum. I’ll be right there,” he responds, reaching into his pack for a few treats to give Aurelian.

Once the horse is set, he throws his saddle bags over his shoulders, following after his mother inside. Shutting the door behind him, Merlin finds Hunith seated at the table, filling his plate. Crossing over the well tread wooden floor, he takes his belongings to his room, before returning to take up another seat next to his mother. Tucking in, the two enjoy the food before them, blanketed underneath easy silence. Only once their plates are empty do the pair return their attention to each other.

“From the letter I received from Gaius, I gathered there is more to what happened at Camlann than he was able to let on. Care to enlighten me as to what that might be?”

Pursing his lips under her steady gaze, Merlin nods slowly.

“Without going into too much detail, I can confidently say that you’ll never have to worry about me dying ever, I suppose.”

Confusion clouds her countenance, until a thread of realization knits itself through her.

“A mortal man would not have survived what you have persevered through, would he?”

“No, Arthur would not have,” Merlin concedes softly.

“Oh Merlin,” Hunith exclaims empathetically, reaching out to cover his large right hand with her own two.

“It’s alright, Mum. Arthur is safe, Mordred is gone, and when I find Morgana, she will be dealt with. That will be the end of it all, and everyone I love will be safe.”

Scrutinizing him for a moment, Hunith breathes a sigh of relief, and thanks the Gods for their mercy.

“My son, you are a rare one indeed. If I were not aware of the cruel person that Morgana has become, I would fear for the vehemence in your voice when you mention her name. However, I am no fool. She has grown into a cold hearted woman, and is a threat to our world as we know it Do what you must, but take care not to allow your heart to harden, darling. Once it has been done, it is irreparable. That is a heavy burden to carry for a lifetime, much less an eternity,” she explains, holding fast to the grip she has on his hand.

For the first time since he had been healed, tears prick to his eyes. The weight of all that has come to pass, brings all of his emotions to the surface now, threatening to burst out of him like a waterfall.

“I never asked for any of this. I only meant to save Arthur, not become immortal,” he whispers, allowing a brief pause in attempt to gain control, before continuing with, “One day, all of you will be lost to this world, and I’ll be all alone, Mum,” he whimpers, and then the dam breaks.

As she had done when he was small, Hunith wraps her arms around Merlin, stroking her hands through his raven hair as he cries. Wrenching sobs permeate the otherwise silent room, while she continues to hold onto him, unsure of how to approach this whole ordeal. Soon, she joins him too, weeping for the person that will one day be just as he described. Though she has no doubt that he could befriend nearly anyone in any lifetime, those he has in his life now are the ones his mind will forever cling to, as they are the individuals whom have shaped him into who he has become.

Once a good bit of time passes, and the tears have ceased flowing, he lifts his head up to clean his face off.

“I realize I should be grateful for being able to save Arthur’s life. For a time, his continued existence will be enough for me, in exchange for this burden I now must endure. There will come a day though, when I will be required to bid him a final farewell, and no matter how far out, I will never be ready for that time to come,” Merlin admits softly, his red rimmed eyes trained on the table rather than anywhere else in the room.

Biting her lip, a small tender smile threatens to reveal her opinion on the matter as she regards her son. His time in Camelot had changed him indeed, but even as the years had flown by, he still holds his heart on his sleeve. Though he refuses to admit it aloud, she is aware of exactly what him uttering these words marks. She wondered though, did Arthur?

“No one is ever ready for those that they love to leave this world, especially when they are sure to be left behind. I may never fully understand what you will undergo in the future, but I have witnessed those I love pass before me, and what I have gleaned from my personal experience is this. Remember the good times. Hoard the memories away in your mind as if they are buried treasure, because one day they will become so. Bask in every moment of happiness with those you love most fervently. Above all else, Merlin, never forget that they will always remain a part of you, in here,” she points out, pressing her finger softly into the spot on his chest where his heart lies beneath his skin.

When the weight of her finger has been removed from his body, he rewards her with a bittersweet smile in return for the advice.

“Thank you mum. I didn’t mean to show up on your doorstep, wailing over what I can not change.”

At his apology, a dark undercurrent enters Hunith’s eyes, before she chooses to reply.

“Merlin, you may be a grown man in the eyes of the world, but you are still my son. Never apologize for speaking of your burdens with me. I will always be here for you, in any way that I can be.”

As a child, his mother had been the only person he had ever trusted explicitly. Will had been his best friend, and as such, was privy to many details of his life that others were not. Even then, there were still parts of him that he had only felt comfortable speaking to his mother about. She had been the only constant in his life for much of its duration, a fact which placed herself in the role of his strictest confidant.

“I will never be able to thank the Gods enough for allowing me such a wonderful mother.”

“Or I such a fantastic son.”

Reaching out his arms, Merlin pulls Hunith close, indebted to those who had bequeathed her to him. When they break apart, both wipe away a few scant droplets which had escaped from their eyes as they had embraced.

“I’m sure you’re thoroughly exhausted from your ride here. I’ll clean up the meal, if you wish to lay down for a while.”

“No, no. I’ve done enough sleeping. Gaius had me on bed rest for the past few weeks.”

“For good reasons, I hear,” she replies smartly, standing up on her feet to clear away the meager spread.

“Yes, well, there is only so much lying around I can do,” he declares, following suit before continuing with, “I feared I’d finish half of Camelot’s library while laid up in bed. Once I was able to sit up properly, or lie awake for hours on end without feeling pain, Arthur and Gwen sent servants to keep me well stocked in all sorts of literature. It was about the most entertaining part of my time spent sequestered in my room.”

Smiling openly now, the thought of the King and Queen purposely having servants supply him with books is more than enough to confirm her growing suspicions.

“Arthur and Gwen are good to you then. Few monarchs give thought to the condition of their servants.”

“Arthur and Gwen are not typical monarchs,” Merlin replies, almost to himself, as his thoughts hover over the pair for a moment.

“How is Arthur doing?” Hunith asks, while pretending to be interested in the dirty dishes she is washing.

“As good as one can be, I suppose. He hasn’t been the same since,” he pauses to exhale, “Camlann.”

“I should think not! If the situations were reversed, how do you think you’d feel?” she points out, eyeing him in much the way Gaius had before.

“That’s as good as what Gaius said.”

“Well your uncle is right. Arthur is just as important to you, as you are to him. Anyone with eyes could discern that,” she points out in a more gentle tone.

“Now you sound like Gwen.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. She’s a smart woman, whose kindness could rival your own.”

“Mum!” Merlin exclaims, blushing a bit at the doting tone of her voice.

“What? I’m merely stating fact. What you have done to protect those around you, including those whom you care for most, is enough for me to know that.”

Swallowing a bit, flashes of the times he had been driven to kill someone, or hurt them for the sole sake of Arthur’s protection, threaten to drown him. The haunted look that creeps over him is not lost on his mother, as the guilt slowly sluices over him. Until now, he had shut it all out, for review at a later date. Underneath his mother’s searching gaze, however, it is easy to remember each of his misdeeds in thorough detail. He had never been one to hide his transgressions from her as a child, even if it meant a swat to the bum. Now a grown man, having done far worse than steal a sweet or two, this trait seems to increase exponentially.

“You cannot blame yourself for the actions of others. If they meant to harm you or someone else, I would never judge you for what you had to do,” she relays astutely.

Clearing his throat, Merlin looks up at her.

“Gaius has seen what I am capable of, and now so has Arthur. It has always been my fear that if you truly saw me for who I have turned into, that you would be ashamed.”

“How could I ever be ashamed of you, Merlin? You may have had your hand forced into violence, but you have not, nor will you ever be a cruel person. I know you, and your heart. The rest is unimportant, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Thank you Mum,” Merlin responds, pausing to consider something, before pressing forward, “Do you mind if I go for a walk? I’ve been stuck inside for far too long, and the countryside out here could rival any stretch in Camelot.”

Were his mother the type to force him to lay himself bare at her behest, he would have. However, she is not so ignorant to believe that she should plead for him to do so. Everyone, as she had come to know long before his birth, has secrets. Intent on affording him his privacy, Hunith nods, in conjunction with her response to follow, “Of course. I’ll be here when you return.”

“I’ll see you in a bit then,” he promises, his voice fading as he shuts the door in his wake, leaving his mother behind to ponder him intensely.

MEAPGPMEAPGPMEAPGP

Nearly two weeks from the moment Merlin had set foot outside of the gates of Camelot, the rulers of the Five Kingdoms are gathered within its citadel for a momentous occasion. Scribes and those who had wished to be privy to the exchange, fill the room, while the reigning monarchs in question border the table set in the direct middle of the room.

“Sire,” Geoffrey of Monmouth prompts, his voice resounding above the steady thrum of anticipation in the chamber, “place your name here.”

“Thank you Geoffrey,” Arthur says, bringing his mind back to the present.

Reaching down, quill in hand, he writes his signature at the top of the scroll of parchment with a flourish. Visions of Merlin dash through his thoughts, as he steps back. Just as Arthur had done, Queen Annis of Caerleon, Lord Bayard of Mercia, Lord Godwyn of Gawant, and Lot, King of Escetir render their signatures below his, binding their Kingdoms each to the terms put forth by the newest treaty. Once the last quill has been removed from the parchment, the King of Camelot breathes a sigh of relief as a certain weight dissolves from atop his shoulders.
 
                                                   MEAPGPMEAPGPMEAPGP

No one could deny that Merlin enjoys his visits with his mother. In fact, in the seven or so odd years that he has been in Arthur’s employ, he had travelled to his childhood home a scant three other times. As much as he adores her however, the time spent in Ealdor takes its toll on him. Unlike in Camelot, with only so much in the village to do, Merlin quickly becomes a bit more antsy with each sunrise he witnesses in Ealdor.

During the days that follow his arrival, the warlock settles into a schedule of sorts, mostly to keep himself entertained. In the mornings, just as he does for Gaius on occasion, Merlin ventures out to gather herbs. Should his mother be well stocked, he opts then to make his way to the nearest river to fish. Relishing in his time outdoors just after the sun ascends over the horizon, he then returns for the rest of the day, ready to spend time with Hunith. Throughout the remainder of his stay, he helps her prepare meals, or relays funny anecdotes from his time in Camelot, all the while keeping himself as busy as he is able. With no one even remotely close in age still within the village, coupled with the pang of guilt that surges through him at the thoughts of Will, he silently refuses to make friends with anyone in town throughout his short visit.

When nearing the third week of Merlin’s stay, Hunith resigns herself to the fact that even though she enjoys having her son home, he is close to driving her stir crazy as well. Before she can propose that he return to where he had made his home in recent years, however, a knock resounds throughout the cottage the very morning in which the idea occurs to her. Rising from her spot beside the otherwise empty hearth, she is greeted upon swinging the door open wide to the glowing face of Arthur Pendragon.

“Hello Hunith, may I come in?” he queries, his eyes probing behind her as if searching for someone else.

“Of course Arthur. Merlin is out right now, but you are welcome to wait for him here.”

“It’s just as well, actually. I had hoped to catch you before he realizes I’ve arrived.”

“Have a seat then. I’m not too sure how long we’ll have before he returns. City life has spoiled him with much to do at all hours, it seems, because he has hardly slept a wink the whole time he’s been here. Is everything alright back in Camelot?”

“Yes, it is. It’s spectacular, actually. I almost sent a courier to deliver the message, but then decided against it, travelling here myself instead. I did not wish for anyone else to relay this message to Merlin but me. As of a few days ago, the ban on magic in Camelot is no more, as well as the rest of the Five Kingdoms,” Arthur informs hurriedly.

Shocked, Hunith remains unmoving, as if her mind is still processing the information. Another moment later however, she leans over and embraces Arthur as if she has known him his whole life.

“I cannot possibly thank you enough for everything you have done for him,” she whispers, now allowing a steady stream of tears to fall down his back.

Minutes later, Hunith releases him, then moving to sit upright once more. Regaining her composure, she rises from her chair.

“Can I offer you any food or drink? It’s not exactly on par with what you are accustomed to eating in Camelot, but it will quench your hunger or thirst in a pinch.”

“Yes, please.”

While she prepares a meal for Arthur, out of the corner of her eyes, she examines him covertly. The last time he had been within her home, it had been on less than pleasurable circumstances, as he and Merlin were passing through. The two, it is clear, are never too far from their next dangerous quest, much to her displeasure. The lines of worry that had etched themselves firmly into the skin of his countenance are more prominent than before, which tell the tales of the hardships he has since faced.

Breaking through the silence between them, he clears his throat before speaking up, “I do not wish to pry, Hunith, but I do have a proposal for you.”

“My Lord?” she recites, almost out of old habit, rather than intent.

“Would it be outlandish for you to relocate to a larger city, perhaps Camelot even?”

Taken aback, she nearly drops the vegetables in her hands. Meeting his earnest expression, her reply is stunted by Merlin bounding in suddenly, finding the scene before him.

“I saw your horse outside, and knew it could only be you. Arthur, what are you doing here?”

A smile more radiant than even the sun brightens up the face of one Arthur Pendragon, trailed by a mischievous smirk.

“You’ve been away for over a fortnight, and this is how you greet me?” the blond counters, rising to his feet at Merlin’s rapid entrance.

The warlock exhales, happiness evident in his every feature.

“You’re not too fond of hugs, as I recall, so-” Merlin begins, before the motion of Arthur gathering him up in his arms to swing him about the room, ceases his train of thought.

Smiling affectionately at the pair, Hunith witnesses with a certain mirth crinkling in her eyes, the look of utter astonishment in her only son’s face. Setting his feet firmly back on the floor, Arthur musses up the dark tendrils curling every which way over his cranium, amused at the mien on Merlin’s face.

“Arthur, are you feeling well?” Merlin demands, reaching up a hand to press against Arthur’s forehead.

His slightly taller counterpart cannot help but be genuinely fearful of all of the calamities that could have possibly befallen the man in his absence, including becoming the victim of one too many enchantments of ill intent.

“I am perfectly fine,

Mer

lin. Ecstatic, really,” Arthur assures, batting away the well meaning hand.

“So I can see,” Merlin responds, turning his skeptical gaze upon his mother, quirking up an eyebrow.

Shaking her head, she states, “You’re on your own there, Merlin. He arrived this way.”

“Terrorizing my mum while I was out, did you? I can only imagine what you’ve said to her.”

“If by terrorize you mean offering her a home in the castle, then yes, I did,” Arthur shrugs nonchalantly, beneath Merlin’s appraisal.

Pivoting to face his mother, she nods in affirmation. Astounded, Merlin’s eyes flit between her and Arthur, uncertain whether or not he should hug one of them or both. As he does this, she witnesses the brief look of a man entirely besotted, before his glance rests solely on her. Masking his previous emotions, he looks to her with pleading eyes.

“Will you do it mum, will you come live in Camelot?” he requests, certain that she would be far safer in close proximity to him.

Although she would never admit it, Arthur’s invitation is a blessing in disguise. Her body is not what it once was, as it enjoyed reminding her each morning, with the popping of her knees as she gets out of bed. Living in Ealdor had become her way of life, for many years. It would be foolish of her to expect to be able to live alone there forever though. That, and the thought of living closer to her son is more tempting by the second.

“I could hardly refuse such a generous offer,” she voices aloud, easing her companions minds’.

The declaration tugs a smile across her son’s face that nearly rivals the intensity of the one he had given Arthur earlier when he had tread through the door.

“I can have your bags packed in less time than it would take a whole army, if you’d like Mum. You could ride back to Camelot with us, couldn’t she Arthur?”

Without his own eyes ever leaving the warlock’s face, Arthur answers, “If it would please her, then I would like nothing more. However, before we may entertain that journey, I would like to request that you accompany me on a brief excursion. When we swing back around in our return to Camelot, she may join us then. Does that sound agreeable to you, Hunith?”

“It sounds lovely. That will give me time to prepare myself.”

“It’s settled then. We should be away no more than a few days at most. If you have no other plans here, Merlin, I suggest we leave as soon as we eat with your mother,” the King responds, clapping a hand on Merlin’s shoulder.

If Merlin is suspicious as to the nature of their next mission, he does not dwell on it. Nodding, he reluctantly walks in the direction of his room, leaving behind the warmth of Arthur’s hand on his body, in favor of retrieving what he will need for the mysterious trip ahead.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Can you imagine the vein pulsing on Arthur’s forehead if he were required to wait a second longer to depart for Ealdor?” Gwaine murmurs near Gwen’s left ear, earning a titter from her.

The Queen of Camelot, as well as her most trusted knights, watch from the top of the front steps as Annis and her court maintain preparations for their impending departure. With the treaties signed and plans discussed, after a well enjoyed stay, the Queen of Caerleon and her own are finally leaving after their near month stint in Camelot. A ruler gone any longer than that risks being overtaken by another greedy leader, which is something she would never permit to happen to her beloved kingdom.

“I believe that it is a good thing indeed that he left when he did, or the tedious hum in the courtyard at the present would drive him mad. He would all but pack Annis’ belongings himself, if it meant that it would bring him closer to Merlin,” Gwen replies, a slight smirk on her face, besmirching her composed expression.

“Too right you are, Your Highness,” Leon concurs from behind her, sniggering quietly.

“The next time Merlin declares he’s leaving on a trip to visit his mother, I will gladly strap Arthur to his horse as baggage, myself,” Percival states flippantly, as if he were discussing the weather.

The thought of Percival doing just that sends the small group into a collective fit of laughter that can no longer be hidden behind stately mannerisms. With Gwaine guffawing outright, to Guinevere’s bubbly giggles, it is no surprise that the lot catch the attention of Geraint as he passes through the courtyard. Any intention of engaging the small group is quickly quelled when he spies the glints of disdain that mirror across each of them at the mere sight of his presence. Holding firm to the items in his grasp, he continues to aid the rest of his former kinsmen in loading up their baggage.

___________________________________________________

Slowing the horses to a steady walk as they steer them closer to the edge of the nearest tree line, Merlin looks over at Arthur. The questions swirling in his mind, scream at him silently, begging to be asked. Each one dies on his lips though the second he witnesses the calm poise with which Arthur is holding himself, and the relative ease that has smoothed out the normally tense man. Feeling the gaze of his counterpart, the blond glances up, meeting his eyes for the first time since they had set off. Desperate to cover as much ground as possible, he’d given no chance for small talk once he’d taken the lead. Never to be out done by anyone, especially Arthur, Merlin had urged Aurelian to match the king’s horse stride for stride.

Dismounting, the two move in tandem towards the gurgling river that flows just beneath the cover of the forest around them. Holding firm on the reins, both men guide their mounts to the water’s edge. Loosening their grasps on the lead lines, each of them tether the horses around a tree, leaving enough room for their steeds to move as they please. While Merlin turns tail nearly straight after to set up camp, Arthur remains behind, crooning to his horse for a moment. That is, until he hears the sound of Merlin dropping the saddlebags to the ground. Glancing over at the sorcerer, Arthur’s eyes trail after him, finding that he has already begun the motions to assemble camp. Rather than leaving him to it, the blond gives his horse a final pat, and moves to help his friend.

A surprised huff is all that the dark haired man affords in response to spying Arthur aiding him. Once the bed rolls have been spread, the firewood and kindling have been gathered, the two settle on the ground, intent on devouring a portion of the food that had been packed for their late dinner. Bread in hand, Merlin swallows a piece, before turning to Arthur, with a look filled with suspicion.

“How much further will we need to go?”

“Another day’s ride, at least,” Arthur responds easily, before biting into a piece of cured meat.

“Do you plan on enlightening me as to where we’re going?” Merlin inquires, taking another bite out of his portion of the loaf.

“You’ll know it when we get there.”

“So I’ve been there before then?”

“Yes,” Arthur replies shortly, his eyes not meeting Merlin’s now.

A normal servant would have chosen to take that as a sign to remain silent. However, a normal person, Merlin had never been.

“Is there any particular reason that you set out alone, without even Leon or Gwaine to accompany you? Bandits could have found you, or Morgana-”

“Gwen raised similar concerns, but I felt it was worth the risk.”

The crackling of the fire between them is the only sound around for miles after this statement. Taking in what has been said, Merlin lapses into silence, mulling it all over in his head. For a brief span of time, Arthur follows suit. That is, until he doesn’t.

“While you’ve been away, much has changed in Camelot. Geraint, after repenting for his atrocious behavior, has chosen to stay with us, rather than return to Caerleon. He figures he might be able to learn a thing or two from us, and he might, one day. You have been freed of your bond of servitude to me. I figure it’s high time you were, really, considering that you are nearly the worst manservant in the world. Barring your willingness to die for me, of course. Also, there’s the small matter of the magic ban having legally been lifted,” Arthur recants, refusing to pause, lest Merlin should attempt to interject before he finishes speaking.

“I’m no longer your servant?” Merlin demands indignantly.

“Out of everything I’ve told you, that is what caught your attention? Goodness Merlin, if I didn’t know how bright you were, I’d take you for a simpleton!” Arthur exclaims incredulously.

“You’d know about being a simpleton, wouldn’t you?” Merlin cracks, with little humor in his voice.

“I wonder how that could be?” Arthur parries darkly, his happiness suddenly deflating.

This is not how Arthur had intended the conversation to go at all. He had replayed it over in his head more times than he would openly admit. Stunned at the disdain in Merlin’s voice, the king falls mute. Once again, silence slithers around them like a snake in the grass, with neither looking away from the other now. Merlin, of course, can only stay silent for so long. When he does speak though, it’s with a resignation of sorts, as if he is expecting the worst.

“Why are we here, Arthur? What business could you and I have so far from Camelot?”

Sighing, the blond exhales, his eyes now breaking away from the dark blue ones he has become so fond of.

“I intend to seek out an audience with the Disir.”

“What for?” Merlin asks, rather taken aback.

Of all the things that Arthur could have told him, that is about the last string of words he would have expected to tumble from his friend’s mouth.

“Firstly, to find out if they mean to will another assassin to plot my untimely demise. Secondly,” Arthur exhales heavily, “to apologize for my transgressions against those innocents who I willingly slaughtered in the name of bigotry and ignorance.”

“That is all well and noble, but what if they take out the middleman and execute you right on the spot?” Merlin admits, fear suddenly taking over his whole being.

“If I were truly meant to be dead, I believe there have been a fair number of opportunities since Camlann to make it so, especially during your elongated absence.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Merlin concedes, now staring pointedly at the fire.

As the lines of worry smooth out across Merlin’s visage, the king regards him from the other side of the flames between them, figuring that this is about as good of an opening as he is going to get.

“I’ve spent the better part of the past two months merely sitting and thinking. Most of it, admittedly, has been about you,” Arthur states into the silence, pausing for a moment to let the admission sink in.

Looking up, Merlin eyes the way Arthur’s lips purse, as if there’s more. Breaking through the solitude once again, Arthur rewards his hypothesis with a conclusion.

“It would take me years, perhaps a whole lifetime, to apologize for all of the wrongs I have ever committed. Though I may never be able to right every mistake I’ve ever made, I would be taking leaps and bounds if I could start by correcting mine with you. I’ve been an absolute prat, and a clotpole, or whatever you deign to spit out in the heat of your anger. I deserved being called all of that and more, because I treated you the worst out of any one that I have ever met. Yet still, you’ve stood by me as a friend, under the guise of being my servant, protecting me all the while. Even though you pretend as if it is a small matter, any other person we know would whole heartedly disagree. Putting up with me is not easy, but you’ve done a fine job of it for much longer than any sane person should. With that being said, your keen eyes and mind would be an asset to Camelot, and I would be honored if you would become a part of my council, permanently. If you will not allow me to reward you in any other way, please, at least let me give you the position of Court Sorcerer and Magical Magistrate.”

Stunned into silence, Merlin regards Arthur with the trained eye of someone who has known him in every facet of the journey that has led him to the man he is at the present. Absentmindedly swallowing, Merlin looks to the forest floor, unsure of how to respond. He had spent the better part of the minutes before sleep each night he was away, wondering what would happen when he should see Arthur again. In each scenario, this had definitely not been a part of those thoughts.

“You expect me to accept, don’t you? That’s why you asked my mum to stay in Camelot, isn’t it?” Merlin queries impassively, his face giving away nothing.

“Your residence in the castle is not contingent upon you taking the position. However, if you do not wish to have it, then I will be forced to fill the position with another, less talented sorcerer. From what I understand, there are not many of your caliber in the entirety of the world, much less the Five Kingdoms. Regardless, it is your decision to make, and yours alone, Merlin. I merely feel that you deserve it more so than anyone, after all that you have done for me, as well as Camelot.”

Inhaling and exhaling slowly, Merlin considers Arthur with a ferocity that would quell meeker men than he. Among the revelations that the king had in his times of intense solitary thought, one had stuck out to him above all. His friend had the power to smote him at any given second, and he was completely unaware of this for many years. His strength of mind rivals that of his bravery, which was in itself much more than any single person Arthur had ever known before. Despite having the power in the beginning when they had met, Merlin chose to stick with what hand he had been dealt, and eventually grew into where he had been placed. A lesser man would have killed Arthur in a fit of rage, if they had known him in his darkest hours, rather than leant a hand countless times to the ill informed princeling.

Minutes tick by, until Merlin cracks a slight smile, his eyes dappled with mirth. Uncertain of what to expect, Arthur waits for him to speak.

“I will agree to take it, on one condition,” Merlin informs, now grinning wildly.

“What is this stipulation of yours then?” Arthur demands, training his face not to show the anticipation his whole body feels.

“I am the only one allowed to pick my ceremonial dress robes.”

Caught off guard, Arthur’s face breaks its bearing as he throws his head back into an unbridled fit of laughter. Merlin joins in too, and suddenly the tension that has permeated their evening swiftly depletes itself with each second that they chortle longer. Minutes later, the two gaze at each other with bright eyes, and all that has been left unsaid is but an undercurrent between them.

With the evening waning slowly into night, and the sun now well below the horizon, the pair feel the exhaustion of the day more so than they had before. Putting away his food, Arthur moves to lay down on his bed roll, stretching out in contentment. Following suit, Merlin unceremoniously lies down on his own, propping himself up on his right shoulder to face Arthur. Mimicking the warlock, the blond does the same, albeit reluctantly. Sleep, he imagines, will be far easier out here where the weight of endless to do lists does not press upon him.

“Do you plan on hiring a new manservant when we return to Camelot?” Merlin asks, his eyes betraying only a hint of sadness to them.

“I hadn’t given it much thought, really. I’ve had much more pressing matters, while you’ve been lazing about these last few weeks.”

“If you had wanted me to stay, all you had to do was ask,” Merlin states absentmindedly, while rubbing a hand over his face.

Rather than reacting to the candid line, Arthur rolls onto his back, locking his sights on the stars above. With trees over them, only so much of the night sky is visible. What he can glimpse though is enough to give him something else to occupy his mind with for now. Despite having thought about how to broach the untouched subject nearly a hundred times in the still of the night, actually approaching it is a moment which instills more fear than a good bit of his past tournaments ever had.

“Goodnight Arthur,” Merlin’s voice murmurs, and the sound of him turning over too, pierces through the air.

A sigh of frustration exits Arthur’s lips, before he replies, “Goodnight Merlin. Sleep well.”

A poignant pause, and Merlin replies with, “You too.”

Minutes after, slowed breathing is the only sound emitting from the brunet. At some point later, Arthur dozes off, contemplating the day ahead.

Unsurprisingly, that day comes bright and early, when Merlin rises unbidden. The ruckus of him moving about though does little to sway Arthur to his feet straight away. Lying there, he listens to the sounds of Merlin’s bed roll being folded together, and the saddle bags being checked one last time. Assured that everything is within them, the scraping sound of the pouches being lifted atop Merlin’s shoulders are preceded by his footsteps carrying him towards their mounts. Only once his companion has left the immediate area, does Arthur sit up and look around.

Despite having slept more than he had in many previous nights, the anxiety of what he is about to do had not left him, even in his dreams. Stretching his arms over his head, he appreciates the calm dawn that they have been greeted with. The sun just barely risen above the horizon now, has begun to illuminate all that is around them. By the time that Arthur has wrapped up his own belongings, Merlin has returned, looking a far bit more subdued than his prior movements seemed to have lent.

“Good morning. I’ve got some breakfast, if you’d like it.”

Nodding, the two trade off the items within their grasps, leaving Merlin to pack the remainder of what had been left behind from his earlier venture of doing so. Biting into the apple he had been handed, Arthur watches after Merlin as he walks, conscious that his eyes are not the slightest bit urged to look away from the other man’s backside. Smirking to himself, he turns away, sticking a pin in that thought for a later time. Hopefully, within this life, he worries darkly.

The severity of what he hopes to achieve this day comes back to him with startling clarity. Should this go wrong, Gwen would be a widow, and Merlin would be one in his own right. Despite the tight lipped treatment that Arthur had given to his emotions regarding the sorcerer, he is not so ignorant to the fact that his best friend returns them in equal measure. It is only a matter of time before that is revealed. However, should anything happen to him, he is aware that he is it for Merlin. Perhaps in his life span, Merlin would find others who he could come to love, some day. The thought of leaving behind those two whom he holds most dear in the world now though, is enough to rattle the calm exterior which Arthur assumes to exude at nearly every hour of the day.

Before Arthur can further dissect this maudlin thought, he hears Merlin’s boots just behind him. Turning around, he finds a serious expression across his face, and dark blue eyes boring into him. These moments before the blond chooses to do something he feels could be one step closer to him getting killed, only serves to make the lines of worry in his visage crease ever more.

“Ready?” Merlin breathes evenly.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Nodding, Merlin turns to the direction of the horses, leaving Arthur to follow in his wake. Were it just any other day, Arthur may have commented on the role reversal aloud. It had happened before. Although he had never been entirely meek, there had always been a fear in the way the warlock moved, and now the blond realizes as to why. This change in demeanor is merely the product of the truth of who he is finally being brought to light.

Stepping up beside Hengroen, Merlin offers a helping hand up, which Arthur accepts readily. Once atop Aurelian, he trails his sight over to find Merlin hopping up onto the horse with confident ease. Soon after, they are off. Just as yesterday, the two ride their horses as hard as possible, hoping to make good time. Now with the knowledge of where they are heading, the sorcerer no longer needs to be given direction as to where they’re going.

The ride is arduous, but Merlin has become accustomed to being on a horse, after the years of countless missions in which he had ridden out on one for Arthur’s sake alone. Although he had not particularly cared for the beasts as a young man, as the years have gone on, he’s developed an affinity for them. Now, the act of riding has become almost second nature to him, dare he say almost enjoyable.

Bringing Aurelian and Hengroen to a halt some time later, both men once again dismount almost simultaneously. While the brunet guides the horses to tie them up, Arthur begins removing his weapons. First, his sword. Then, the knives from within each of his boots. By this time, Merlin has found his way back to the king. Spying what the blond has begun to do, he treks over and offers his assistance.

“Allow me,” he requests evenly, his voice refusing to betray a hint of emotion.

Dropping his hands to his sides in a show of acceptance, Arthur allows Merlin to finish the task of pulling off the remainder of his battle armor. Discarding all of it to sit beside Hengroen and Aurelian, the two look up at each other for a moment, their minds drawing strength from the resolution they both see in the other. Faltering for only a moment, the king allows his forehead to drop and  rest against Merlin’s, as he breathes in the air around him. Shocked, the sorcerer remains there, determined to be whatever Arthur needs in this moment.

Reaching out his right arm, the blond places it on the thinner man’s left shoulder, gripping it as if this will give him the necessary strength to carry on.

“Whatever happens, Merlin, please never stop being who you are. Never let the world change who you are, because-” Arthur stops when a finger is placed at his lips briefly, before it is removed just as hastily.

Until now, Arthur had kept everything bottled up inside, as he always had done. When faced with the prospect of marching to his uncertain future again, however, the thought of refusing to give into his emotions in his possible last moments this time seems ludicrous. Merlin, however, seems to be having none of it. His eyes which had remained impassive are now filled with a fierce glint of emotion, and suddenly the Arthur’s resolve has been renewed in part by this alone.

“Arthur, this is not goodbye. You have to believe that. More to the point, you’ve always told me that no man is ever worth your tears.”

Although it had been an attempt at humor, Merlin is aware that when a wry smile stretches across Arthur’s lips, it has not brought the desired effect he had hoped it would.

“Yes, well, I believed that until you,” Arthur murmurs, his eyes never leaving his counterpart's.

If Arthur weren’t about into walk to what could be his own execution, the thought never would have occurred to Merlin. At least, not the part where he acted on it, in the least. However, with circumstances as they are, the sorcerer takes this as a now or never situation.

Reaching upwards, Merlin slides the thin fingers of his right hand up to cup Arthur’s left cheek, using the rough pad of his thumb seconds later to softly stroke the length of it a few times over. For a brief second, the man in front of him closes his eyes, before opening them again to gaze longingly at the person across from him. The conversation with Gwen before he had left for Ealdor comes to mind for a split second, and Merlin suddenly understands it all too well. She had known Arthur’s feelings for him, as well as his for Arthur. Neither had openly acknowledged them, but nevertheless, they have been evident to one who knows them both all too well.

“Make it through this, and we’ll have much to discuss,” Merlin whispers, bestowing a firm kiss against his king’s lips, almost as if to seal an unspoken promise.

Instead of pulling away, as he had intended for Arthur to do, however, the man steps forward confidently. Without breaking their kiss, he wraps his arms solidly around the sorcerer’s midsection, almost as a solemn plea to remain where they are just a bit longer. Acquiescing, the brunet slides his other hand around Arthur’s head and pulls him even further into his own personal space. For a moment, the world falls away, and all that matters is the love between them. That is, until reality hits, and air is required to continue living.

Breaking apart from the lip lock, Merlin stares at his friend wistfully, while Arthur’s bearing is much more content. Respiring, their chests heaving up and down as they do, the two remain standing close to one and other. Only when Merlin moves to fix Arthur’s mussed up hair, does he realize his right hand has been intertwined with one of Arthur’s own this whole time.

“After a kiss like that, I absolutely expect you to return to Camelot. No excuses,” Merlin murmurs, before he steps further away to give Arthur some space.

“If I can help it, I will avoid death a bit longer. Especially now, knowing to the full extent of what I have here, in this life,” Arthur admits candidly.

Responding in kind, Merlin declares, “Whether it is in this life or the next, you’ll always have me. This much, I promise you.”

Nodding, accepting the words for what they are, reins Arthur back to the task at hand. They had dawdled long enough, and soon the sun will set. Reaching for Merlin’s left hand, he clasps his right around it, then guides him forward to the cave of the Disir.

As he had the last time, Arthur takes care not to tread on anything that may or may not be important. Although he is terrified, with Merlin at his side, he feels less so. If he could choose any way to go, Merlin right next to him would be the way. Gwen, he is sure, would understand his reasoning.

Once they have entered the cavern, both drop to their knees before the Disir, waiting to be spoken to. Hands still clasped firmly together, each is relying on the conjoinment as a source of strength. The heavy weight of three gazes upon them, their breathing is the only noise they allow to pervade the air.

“Emrys,” a voice states into the stillness, before another quickly follows with, “Arthur Pendragon.”

“Merlin Emrys,” chimes the third voice.

“King of Camelot,” the first calls out.

“Dragonlord,” the second states into the cacophony.

“Husband of Guinevere and lover of Emrys,” the third adds.

“Court Sorcerer and Magical Magistrate of Camelot,” the first chirps.

“You two dare enter this hallowed ground, when even in this moment, you have defied the will of the Goddess?”

“Our decisions are meant to be final, Emrys.”

“How dare you stand in between our decree!” the trio scream.

Holding firm, the pair remain bowed before the three women, waiting for a turn to speak. As the shrill accusation disappears from the air, neither chances moving an inch.

“Have either of you nothing to say for yourselves?” the first asks, suspiciously.

Taking this as his signal, Arthur snaps his neck to stare up at the Disir, but does not rise from where he has placed himself.

“I have apologized once before, but I come to you again, because since that time I have been humbled even further. I wish to share what I have learned, and ask after your forgiveness for what I have done in the name of fear and bigotry.”

“Continue, Arthur Pendragon.”

“We are listening.”

“As is the Goddess.”

Squeezing his hand, Merlin silently urges him to begin.

“I cannot begin to express the regret I feel for much of the injustice that I have allowed within Camelot. Unlike my father, despite the actions I have rendered against countless of those with magic, I never fully believed that it was inherently evil. Somewhere buried deep within me, I knew that I was in the wrong for slaying otherwise innocent people, especially when it was clear that they did not have a shred of ill intent within them. What I did was horrendous, and unjust. I shall not ask for what I have done to be excused, but rather, forgiven. I should have seen the error in my father’s ways long before the truth was thrust upon me. However, regrettably, I did not, until now. Magic, as I have been made aware, is neither good nor bad. It is the person who wields it that determines for what purpose it will be used. This is why I have made magic legal again in every corner of each land which I have even a shred of influence. I realize this will in no way make up for my grievous errors, but it is my hope that this will foster a new era of peace between magical folk and non magical alike.”

The cavern is silent, as the last sound of his voice echoes throughout it. Merlin looks between each of the women above them, silently pleading for them to reconsider their judgement this one time. A thrum of magic pulses through the room suddenly, weaving through each of its occupants, all except for Arthur, who is unaware of its presence. This sudden burst gives Merlin hope, even if he does little to react, other than to witness intently how the Disir choose to. For a terrifying second, all is silent, until the woman in the center of the three, speaks.

“Though Emrys has thwarted the will of the Goddess, she is pleased by what you have done in the aftermath.”

“By showing up here of your own accord, you have shown that indeed you are a changed man,” the conduit to her left states.

“This is why, we shall be lenient, this one time,” the woman on the right informs.

“Go, and enjoy the rest of your days.”

“Should we come to call,” the woman to the left begins.

“We expect our judgements to be followed,” the third to the right speaks.

“Is that clear?” the Disir bid.

In unison, without hesitation, both Merlin and Arthur deliver a strong, resounding,     “Yes!”

“You both have been warned.”

“You are being given a second chance, Arthur Pendragon.”

“Heed our warnings, and do not waste your remaining time.”

“Good bye, Arthur Pendragon and Merlin Emrys.”

“King of Camelot.”

“The Last Dragonlord.”

“Husband of Guinevere and lover of Emrys.”

“Court Sorcerer and Magical Magistrate of Camelot.”

“Rulers of Albion.”

Nodding solemnly, Arthur rises, guiding Merlin up beside him. Together, they lope out of the cave, leaving the Disir behind them.

Once out of the cave, and well away from it too, Arthur drops Merlin’s hand in favor of reaching up and grabbing his face for a breathtaking kiss. Startled, but not displeased, Merlin responds in kind, fervently moving his lips against the ones pressing into his own. Quickly, the two twine around each other, the adrenaline that remains in their veins still egging them on. Before long, Arthur has Merlin pinned against a tree not far from where their horses have remained tied up for the duration of their visit with the Disir.

Minutes later, the two come up for air. This time, neither steps away from the other.

“I love you,” Arthur utters breathlessly, without precedence.

“I love you, too,” Merlin replies, equally as fiercely.

A minute passes as they regard each other openly, seemingly no longer hidden behind any secret at all.

“How quaint,” a voice calls out, fracturing the moment.

Breaking apart, Arthur reaches for his sword, at his recognition of the voice, while Merlin strains to find her. Suddenly, Arthur is thrown into a tree by an unseen force, which causes him to drop his sword to the ground.

“Hello, brother,” Morgana greets, not a hint of happiness nor remorse in her voice.

“If you wish to live Morgana, you will put him down, now,” Merlin dispenses, his tone more threatening than Arthur had ever heard it.

A slight shiver coils itself through Morgana, but she still does not comply.

“Hello, Emrys, or should I say, Merlin? You may have eluded me on many occasions before, but this time, I knew exactly where to find you. People are made so transparent by love.”

“If you so much as put one small scratch on his body, I will make the pain I inflict upon you that much more excruciating.”

“You think that you can terrify me into submission, Merlin, you?”

“Enough of this,” Merlin exclaims, through with the games.

Quickly, he dispatches a flurry of spells under his breath, which grasp Morgana hostage within his magical grip.

“I do not much like the idea of killing you, Morgana, I really don’t,” Merlin informs, his eyes never leaving hers, as he stands directly before her now, “I didn’t the first time, and despite all that you have done, even now I don’t. You have become a product of the environment you were subjected to by Uther, which I regrettably became an accomplice to, for a brief time. If I had been privy to all that has come to pass, I would have gone against Gaius’ wishes to keep you in the dark. I admit, I have committed erroneous misdeeds against you, but if you are willing, I am offering you a chance at redemption.”

Eyeing him with such disdain, Morgana whispers, “Do you really believe I am so foolish that I would take you at your word? The last time I did, you were desperate to force your idea of justice onto me, without giving me the option to comply. Were it not for Morgause, and your pitiful love of Arthur, I would have perished at your hand.”

“Were it not for Morgause, I would never have been forced to do such a thing to you. If I could have prevented it, I would never have let her near you, Morgana. You were my friend. She used her blood tie to you for her own nefarious purposes, turning you against those in Camelot who cared for you.”

For a moment, Morgana considers this, glaring at him as she does. Arthur continues to remain vigilant, while watching on keenly from behind his sister, in his position on the tree. Intent on not breaking up whatever is happening in front of him, he listens instead.

“While you may be able to justify the misdeeds you have rendered against me, nothing can absolve you of countless innocents who were allowed to die under the guise of protecting Arthur from the truth, when really, you only meant to save your own hide!” she screams, unable to do much else underneath the bindings that Merlin has wrapped around her.

Remorse sluices over Merlin’s features, making Arthur aware that he hadn’t thought that, in the least.

“If I had been able, I would have saved them all. At least, the ones who were not intent on killing Arthur. Those deaths will haunt me, for the rest of my life,” Merlin sighs, his voice heavy as stone.

“Release me, and I may cut your grief short then,” Morgana whispers, as if she were offering to bake him his favorite treat.

“Unless you can circumnavigate immortality-” he starts, before the screeches of an outraged Morgana fill the air.

“HOW?”

A weary smile plays at Merlin’s lips, as he chooses how to answer.

“I have you to thank for that, actually. By draining me of my power and then sealing me in the Crystal Cave, you unknowingly condemned me to my fate. I am destined to walk the earth, for all of eternity now.”

“There’s really no getting rid of you, is there?” Morgana mutters, almost completely to herself.

“I suppose not,” Merlin replies, his eyes glazing over.

Wilting, Morgana remains seated, within her restraints. For a moment, the hum of the earth is the only noise in the air. Breathing in and out, Arthur views his sister with new eyes, as the realization of all that has been done to her washes over him. When she lifts her head to lock gazes with Merlin again, he can see the resolute position of her shoulders.

“What is your idea of redemption then, Emrys?” Morgana hisses, disliking the words upon her lips.

“You may come back to Camelot with us, free of harm, under one condition.”

“Spit it out, Merlin.”

“You must permit me to siphon away every last drop of your magic, so that I can be sure you will not use it for any wicked scheme you might concoct, such as one to harm Arthur, or other citizens of Camelot.”

If Morgana had expected something, it certainly had not been that. Her jaw drops momentarily, leaving her mouth gaping. Regaining her composure, she leers at him defiantly.

“I would just as soon rather die than allow someone to take my magic, especially you. If you cannot die, well, at least Arthur can. Neither of you deserve a happy ending, after all that you two have done,” she spouts out scathingly, spitting in his face as she does.

Then, on a last whim, she nods toward Arthur, throwing him against a tree just behind Merlin. Willing Excalibur to him, Merlin grasps it, and thrusts it through Morgana. While her blood spills all around her, the sorcerer moves quickly to Arthur’s side, prepared to heal him in whichever way he can.

When the blond man becomes conscious once again among the living, he looks around to find that night time has fallen over them, and Merlin is staring into the fire before him as if it holds all of the answers. At the notice of Arthur stirring, the deep blue eyes flick over towards him, a serious expression still on his face.

“Did you sleep well?” he intones softly.

“Is Morgana-” Arthur begins, trailing off when he spies a large tomb like structure paces away.

Covered in vines, and surrounded by the best that nature has to offer, the rocks stand up as regal as the woman who had been encased in it.

“She would have killed you Arthur. I had no choice,” Merlin responds, choking up with emotion as his voice breaks.

Breaking his concentration away from the gravesite, Arthur scoots over to where he has the ability to wrap his arms around Merlin.

“If I had never betrayed her, if I had only told her who she was, then maybe I could have saved her. Uther was a tyrant, which I had realized nearly the moment I stepped foot into Camelot. She wasn’t wrong, Arthur. There was so much I could have done, and now the culmination of years worth of wrong doings has come to fruition. I didn’t want to murder her but, I couldn’t let you die at her hand,” Merlin finishes, now pouring tears again.

“You are not solely at fault here, Merlin. I am too, whether unknowingly or not, an accomplice in her undoing. I allowed Uther’s hatred to poison me for so long. If anyone is to blame for what she became, it is me.”

“I tried to right the wrongs between us.”

“She was too far gone, Merlin. You could have offered her the moon, and still she would have requested the sun as well. Her sole goal was to cause you and I as much pain as she had endured. Reconciliation was futile.”

“I just wish I could have prevented it, like with Mordred’s betrayal. I held the fate of the Kingdom in my hand, and I wasted so many opportunities to save genuinely good people.”

“Don’t be daft. As much as you may have orchestrated without me aware, no one man can possibly be held accountable for each and every action of those around him. You did what you could with the information you were given. That’s all anybody can ask for, really. Dwelling on the cemented past distracts from the present and inevitably the future as well.”

“You’re right,” Merlin admits.

Leaning back into the comforting embrace around him, Merlin closes his eyes, a content hum sounding from the depths of his throat as he does. Nuzzling against the firm chest behind him, he wills his doubts away, in favor of bringing himself back to his current reality. Taking the sudden change of mood in stride, Arthur holds him a bit tighter. A haze of exhaustion gradually overcomes him the longer that he and Merlin remain there, curled around each other. However, a single thought disrupts his descent into a peaceful sleep, causing him to bolt upright. Jolted forward at the sudden motion, Merlin looks about wildly, searching for any potential threat that could have descended upon them in their varied states of relative unconsciousness. Once he has assessed that there is no immediate danger, he turns to look up at Arthur, and finds him staring down at the man within his arms.

Without prompting, Arthur blurts out, “What did the Disir mean by calling you the last Dragonlord?”

In lieu of a reply, Merlin rises to his feet in a resigned manner, albeit somewhat awkwardly still, as he had been entangled with Arthur’s limbs seconds before. Entirely aware that his every action is being watched, the young dragonlord glances down at Arthur and offers him a hand up. Taking it swiftly, Merlin pulls the man to stand upright next to him. Releasing his grip, Merlin begins to walk out to a clearing which lies just outside of the first line of trees. Confused, Arthur trails behind him, bewildered but intrigued nonetheless.

Out in the open, with no other immediate signs of human life for at least a day, Merlin begins speaking in a tongue that the King of Camelot has never once heard. It is guttural, but elegant, in the strangest possible way. Once the words end, there is silence, except for the quickened respirations from both men. Until, suddenly, the sound of wings beating above fills the air overhead. Before long, a dragon that Arthur thought to be dead, drops before them.

His serpentine eyes gazing down on them, Kilgharrah surveys them both, taking in their mannerisms. Rather than directly answering his Dragonlord, the elder dragon bows down before them, particularly towards Arthur. After a moment, he rises again, facing the young king.

“You have done well, Arthur Pendragon. The Golden Age of your reign, which has been sought after by many, seems to have just begun.”

“That is my hope,” the King admits softly, still overwhelmed by the very large reptile in front of him.

“As for you, young Warlock,” Kilgarrah begins, swivelling his eyes so that they are directly staring down at Merlin, “I expect you to make the most of what you have been given. The Disir are not so easily forgiving. I do hope you understand that what you have done is not something to be repeated.”

“I do,” Merlin admits solemnly.

“See to it that you do, Merlin. Guard what time you have been given with utmost care, because one day it will not be as it is now.”

“Should I be worried?” Merlin asks, his eyes flitting briefly over towards Arthur.

An amused smile envelopes the dragon’s face, as he peers down at the two men.

“Your greatest threats have been subdued, but one should never become so complacent as to believe that more could not manifest some day.”

Sighing, Merlin throws up his hands in the air.

“I suppose I shall have to resign myself to the fact that Arthur will never truly be safe.”

“The future is ever changing, as you have become aware.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Merlin agrees.

“Enjoy what time you have been given. I am sure we will be seeing each other again. Aithusa will be needing guidance now that Morgana is no longer alive. Between you and I, there may be hope for the Dragon race yet.”

“Thank you Kilgarrah.”

“No, young warlock, thank

you

. Were it not for your tenacity in the face of such formidable opposition, we would be having a very different conversation right now. It is because of you that Arthur lives and Camelot prospers.”

“I had a lot of help,” Merlin responds honestly.

“Be that as it may, nothing would have occurred without you. Take care Merlin, and you as well, Arthur Pendragon. May your reign be as fortuitous as the Seers of old predicted long ago.”

A brief nod, and the dragon has extended his wings, preparing himself to take flight. Whispering a spell, Merlin shields both he and Arthur from the backlash the air around them will create as Kilgarrah takes off. Once the dragon is well above them, and the atmosphere around the pair has settled, he drops the barrier between them both and the outside world. As the gold recedes from his eyes, Merlin turns to catch Arthur ogling him with unadulterated awe in his face.

Running across the distance between he and Arthur, the brunet man tackles his liege to the ground, holding him in a grasp that could only allow for the pair to engage in a sound session of fornicating. Arthur, unsurprisingly, has not a single complaint against this.

Hours later, after exhausting their physical facilities much more than either wishes to admit, the pair return fully clothed to the campsite. With a wave of his hand, Merlin lights the nearly snuffed fire, before pulling Arthur down to the ground so that both can get a few decent hours of sleep after their sound session of love making. Easing down to the ground behind his lover, Arthur falls into the most peaceful sleep he’d had in months.

The next morning, the two wake up to find that the day has gone on without either of them. Spying the sun high in the sky, the pair realize that they had slept right through the whole of the morning, as well as the better part of midday, with neither of their bodies willing to give up the rest that either so desperately seemed to need. Hopping onto his feet, Merlin declares aloud, as Arthur stirs behind him, “I think I’ll go check on the horses.”

Sitting up, Arthur merely grunts a bit, in a show of understanding. Leaning against a well placed log behind him, the blond wipes away the remnants of eye gunk still blocking a part of his vision. Allowing his body a brief moment to acclimate itself to the new day, he then rises to his feet, stretching his arms and legs. Not long after, Merlin returns, looking a bit more awake than before.

Extending his arm out, he offers Arthur food and a water skin. Gratefully, the man takes the proffered items, and tucks into them accordingly. Dropping down beside him, Merlin too does the same. Silently, they enjoy the calm around them, the heat of the day just barely managing to make either of them sweat.

“As much as I have enjoyed our time away, if we’re to get your mother settled in Camelot, then it would be best to leave sooner rather than later. I do still have a kingdom to run,” Arthur states more imperiously than he intends.

“You’re right,

Sire

.”

“Of course I am. I didn’t become King by my dashing good looks alone.”

“Is that what the minstrels tell you?”

“Possibly. However, I seem to remember a time or two when you’ve said something to the effect.”

“Yes, well, I’ve found it best to avoid complimenting you too much, lest your ego should expand exponentially more.”

“You didn’t seem to refrain from uttering flattering remarks last night,” Arthur murmurs into Merlin’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine immediately.

“Well, I-,” Merlin begins, sputtering, now.

“In fact, I seem to remember quite a few occasions where you spoke many, rather fervently against my skin.”

.                 Deliberate kisses are trailed against the back of his neck, exacerbating the chills across his body.

“I knew I should have remained silent,” Merlin grumbles half heartedly.

“What fun would that have been? I quite enjoy you using that mouth for something other than insolence.”

A swift nip at his ear, and a whimper later, Merlin has had enough. With an agility that Arthur had no idea his former manservant even possesses, the sorcerer quickly flips over, and pins him to the ground, hard. Unlike the night before, when it had been soothing kisses and loving embraces, this time is different.

As equals, the two move, furtively branding each other with kisses whose heat could rival that of the extinguished fire beside them. The pair hold onto their counterpart, as if either is afraid the other will vanish within the next instant. Quickly the world falls away, and neither has a mind to cease stoking the building flames between them.

Hours later, after a session of lovemaking so loud, Merlin is quite certain it was heard by the likes of Ealdor even, the two collapse. Sweaty, and exhausted now, Arthur eyes Merlin with profound amusement. Spying the look on his lover’s face, Merlin chortles a little, before daring to ask what he means by it. Without even a single word, Arthur knows exactly what is on his mind.

“As I’m sure you’ve realized from the copious amounts of visiting royals you’ve met over the years, it is not uncommon for those of nobility to take up a bed warmer other than their betrothed, or a consort, even. A long time ago, before Morgana had found Morgause, and Gwaine had even arrived in Camelot, I made a blunder of my own. At least, I thought I had, at the time.”

Merlin’s eyes darken perceptibly, but still, Arthur presses forward with his monologue.

“On one particular occasion, a visit I hardly remember now, I do recall one thing from it all. Morgana had caught me spying on you bending over, and had a fit. This was before Gwen you see, and I was much more of a randy adolescent than I’d like to admit. I never treated those I bedded with horrible manners, mind you, but still. She had already taken a liking to you, and threatened me rather extensively regarding your virtue. Apparently you had her fooled into thinking that you needed some sort of protecting. Over the years, as I’ve come to discover, she was not the only one.”

“Oh really?” Merlin replies, a hint of humor now reaching his eyes, despite the mention of the now deceased sorceress..

“Yes. Gwaine, in particular, has been quite creative with ways that he will harm me, should I hurt you in any way. The other knights have more subtly made a mention or two, but none so brazen as his own declarations. Normally, I would not entertain such blatant disregard for my authority, or my well being, but I am aware that they only truly mean it if I were to cause you heartache. Which, by the way, I never plan to. So, you can call off your best mate and little entourage from their casual threats.”

“How long has that been going on then?”

“Oh, a few years. I never really bothered worrying over it though, because I may be an arse, but your well being has always been one of my top priorities. You were my manservant, as well as my best friend. Even if your heart had never belonged to me, I would have made certain that the person who holds it is quite aware of the situation, as Gwaine and the rest felt the need to do to me.”

“The situation?” Merlin queries, an eyebrow raised up in amusement.

“That should one tear fall from your face, I would have no problem with substituting their body as a moving target for my knights in training. They’ve got horrible aim still, despite my tutelage, so it would no doubt hurt at least a bit.”

At this, Merlin smirks, remembering their first meeting, which gives him an idea.

“That boy I saved from your clutches when we met, he did something to merit your ire, didn’t he?”

Taken aback, Arthur nods, before replying with, “Yes, actually. He insulted Morgana, speaking ill of her, with lewd gestures included.”

“I see.”

For a moment, a tentative silence falls between them, before Arthur speaks up again.

“I was only thinking, when you caught me regarding you earlier, how ridiculous and unfounded their notions of you were. If anyone needs protecting, it is certainly not you.”

“No, instead, it’s your arse who always seems to have someone with a vendetta against you. It’s a full time job, I tell you.”

“Well, it’s about to become a hare easier, I imagine, considering all of your secrets are now out in the open.”

“We shall see,” Merlin smiles, hoping he is right.

Shortly after bathing themselves in the river, horseplay included, the two ready themselves to set off for Ealdor.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"It was good of you to do all of that," Merlin states, his eyes pointedly staring at the fire burning in between them.              Since neither had told Hunith of a shift in their relationship, the two had been keeping a fair distance from one another the whole way home for the sake of propriety, thus far. The sudden return to the less open versions of themselves has Merlin becoming more reserved with each passing second that the charade continues. It also makes him wonder whether or not this is how it is to be once they're back in Camelot. The thought alone makes him inwardly hope to increase the length of time it takes for their group to reach home, should that be so. At least out in the great wide open, away from whispers and prying eyes, he has the space to enjoy a more relaxed version of the man he had fallen in love with years prior.             Despite Hunith's presence, the two find themselves gravitating to one and other as they always had when the pair thought she had gone elsewhere. In his heart, Merlin knows that it is wrong to wish he could hoard away more of Arthur's time, being the fact that he is the King and all. That truth doesn't stop him from occasionally having delusions of doing so, however.             Having become attuned to the array of Merlin's moods, Arthur is inherently aware that something is off, but he is unsure as to what. Up until they had gotten to Ealdor, Merlin had been relatively carefree, compared to his normal demeanor that he clung closely to in Camelot. The young man he had met with the free smiles had disappeared some years ago. Only in his presence did Arthur witness even the slightest bit of return to the person that Merlin had once been. Silently, the blond decides to make it his mission to make sure these rare occurrences turn up more often, now that the worst is behind them.             Privately, Arthur is aware that even though their greatest worries have been vanquished or put to rest even, there is still much to clean up in the aftermath. The brief interlude the two had shared before gathering up Hunith had laid the groundwork for the future, but he is under no delusions that it means everything will be perfect from here on out. While the King had an inordinate amount of time to puzzle out the darker portions of his mind, during Merlin's recovery and subsequent absence, Arthur is sure that knowing Merlin as well as anyone truly could, the lanky man had yet to do much the same.              "I did what any good statesman would do, and nothing more," Arthur replies, willing Merlin's dark blue irises to his own.              When Arthur and Merlin had arrived in Ealdor to retrieve Hunith, the village itself by that time had finally received word that magic is to be legal. As a ruler, the young king has always placed his best efforts into being a man for the people. In doing so, his subjects have a certain respect for him that Uther had not considered as a monarch himself, nor dared to think he would have. This admiration for him made them more likely to approach him, rather than skulk away at his presence.             In Ealdor, a throng of adults hailed him over, before politely requesting that he take the time to answers their questions. This, much to his dismay, was not the last instance that such a thing would happen on their return home. In fact it happened thrice over, which only detained them further. Naturally, with this being his first public appearance amongst the citizens of Camelot, since he had enacted the repeal, they had questions.             Frequently more so than they would if it were only Arthur and Merlin, the trio had brought the small procession to a rest, because Hunith is not accustomed to the arduous trips that the two young men are. In almost each place they stop, the King had been met with enthusiastic claps to the shoulders, or mothers thanking him in their childrens’ stead, as well as a select few who hung back from the majority. Merlin, who is by far and large used to being observant for the sole sake of his or Arthur's survival, had redoubled that, because his mother is with them. While he is ecstatic that most everyone has taken to the ban being lifted, the few that are not so happy about it continue to remain a mental thorn in his side.             "A humble Arthur Pendragon? Who would have thought," Merlin teases, now affording the monarch a glance.             "I have my moments," Arthur parries weakly, unsure of what to say now that he has gotten the sorcerer's attention.             The two regard one another quietly, with an intensity that comes with knowing the pitfalls and passions of a person so intimately. For his part, Arthur had enjoyed the divergence from the litany of life in Camelot, as well as the chance to be with his dearest friend. Even though they had become lovers, their relationship had never been founded on ideals like love, even if every bone in his body would sing for the sorcerer if only he would ask. Indeed, he would never deny that he could no more help his love for the brunet than the sky could help being blue, or the grass being green. However, one thing he had sorely missed most in Merlin's time away was the easy camaraderie the two had shared over the years. In truth, the thinner man had been his first friend, which would not change, regardless of whether love had now become involved.             Clearing his throat, Merlin glances over at his mum. She had been knackered from the day's ride, and thus chose to lie down earlier than the previous night. Noticing the furtive glance towards Hunith, a thought occurs to Arthur. Rising from his side, the blond walks over to Merlin, offering his hand to the man in front of him. Without reservation, Merlin grasps it, before allowing himself to be hauled up into a standing position. Keeping hold of his left hand, Arthur leads them to the lake they had made camp near, before releasing his grasp.             Looking around, he does the first thing he can think of, and picks up a rock which he plans to skip over the calm water. When his makes it no more than one hop across the previously placid body of water, he turns back to Merlin expectantly, finding a bemused expression on his face.              "That's the best you've got, Pendragon?"              "You think you can do better then?" Arthur demands, grateful that Merlin had taken his actions in stride.              "A blind man with one arm tied behind his back could do better than that!" the sorcerer exclaims goodnaturedly, while searching the ground below for a smooth stone to use.              "Is that so? Well, let's see if you can do better, Mer lin."              Glancing over at Arthur, Merlin finds the genuine smile across the blond's face intriguing. For a brief moment, a warmth bubbles up in his chest, which allays his fears about the future for the time being. Tearing his eyes from him, he returns to the task at hand, until he spies the perfect stone directly below him. Swooping down, he plucks it up into his fingers, rubbing the pads of each one across it, before turning back to the direction of the lake.               Standing before the water, he inhales slowly, eyeing it with trepidation. The last time he had done this, it had been him and Will. Echoes of Will teasing him because his first try at skipping rocks had fallen flat, his stone having done much as Arthur's had a minute ago, filter through his mind. 
              "Have you never skipped rocks before?" Will asks, after his fit of giggles had subsided into a more somber expression.
 
              "This would be a first," Merlin mumbles, his eyes downcast to the gravel beneath them.
 
              "Well, it's not so hard, once you get the hang of it," Will states, attempting to console him.
 
              "Who taught you then?" Merlin demands, suddenly wondering if this is the sort of stuff  he had been missing out on, because his mother had refused to send him to the village's school.
 
              "My Pa," Will informs, looking away from the sudden sadness his friend displays.
 
              So it hadn't been a thing most school children learned, but something his father might have taught him, if he were around. Feeling the weight of loss again, Merlin looks away, fighting back tears that even at twelve, he felt shame in shedding over a man he had never known.
 
              "I can teach you, if you'd like?" Will offers.
 
             "Thank you Will," Merlin mumbles, wiping away the tears that had traitorously fallen down his face.
               It was only until his childhood best friend had shown him how that he had been able to get the hang of it, without magic, of course. Although he had been tempted then, his Mother had made him promise if he was to make friends with the other village children, then he would abstain from practicing even the slightest shred of it in their presence. Looking out over the expanse of water, he turns to his side, in the way that Will had once done. When he catches Arthur's eye just before he releases, the open emotions on his face alert him to the fact that this is more than a simple act, any longer.               Once he has thrown it, Merlin steps back to watch. Across the water, the stone hops, until it reaches where the moonlight is unable to shine. A burst of triumph shoots through him, and he jumps up in the air with excitement. When he glances over at Arthur again, he finds that worry is quickly replaced with a look of fondness.               "So, I suppose we can add skimming stones to the list of strange feats you manage to accomplish?" Arthur queries, quirking up a bemused eyebrow.               "What can I say? I'm a man of many talents."               "So you've told me."               Searching for another pebble, Arthur is determined to make it at least a bit farther than he had in his first go. Truthfully, the last time he himself had done this was with Morgana, in the earlier years of their childhood. There was a time when the two had enjoyed leisure activities together, where they didn't quibble at the slightest difference of opinion. That period had passed though, as they had aged up into their older adolescent years, before made aware that they were indeed kin.              Once he has another throwing stone in his hand, he turns to find Merlin staring out into the trees, his mind far gone from the time and place as. The sound of footsteps draws the sorcerer out of his reverie though, tugging his line of sight to Arthur once more. The distant look slowly dissipates, leaving a sad, but fond look of his own that appears to be directed at the King himself.               "Here goes nothing," Arthur states aloud, purely to garner Merlin's attention to himself further.               Mimicking the way Merlin had stood before, he steadies his hand before hurling the stone towards the water. This time, despite his valiant efforts, his chosen rock doesn't even have the decency to take pity on him and hop even once. Instead, as soon as it graces the water, it begins its descent to the bottom of the pool below it.               "That was-" Merlin begins, before he is cut off by Arthur stating in disgust, "Awful."               "Yeah, I'm not sure even my magic could have fixed that," Merlin states in a playful tone.               "Would you have even bothered to try?"               "At risk of inflating your ego even more?" Merlin pauses, pretending to ponder doing so, before replying with, "No, not a chance."                A look of mock vexation appears on Arthur's face before he gets an idea. His eyes become heavy lidded, and sultry, which suddenly has Merlin's cheeks heating. Stepping closer in determination, the blond steps up right beside the warlock, which does little to squelch the sudden fire lit inside of him. Slowly, Arthur moves to stand behind him, resting his hands lightly on Merlin's hips. Breathing softly against the brunet's ear, he then whispers, "Well, if that's the case," he begins, trailing off as he is rewarded with a moan that would make his knees quake, were it not for the fact that he has another agenda in mind.               Reaching up, he quickly grabs Merlin in a headlock, before the sorcerer knows what has happened. Rubbing his fist into the dark tendrils on top of his head, he pulls him down to the ground, where the two begin an intense wrestling match with each other. Gone is the wanton desire Merlin had  openly displayed, leaving in its stead pure glee as he and Arthur tumble over the soft grass beneath them. Some time later, when Arthur has effectively pinned Merlin to the ground for the umpteenth time, the two agree to a truce. Disentangling, the couple lie on their backs, to gaze up at the stars above them.                "Camelot was far less interesting when you were away," Arthur admits, casually intertwining his left hand with Merlin's right across the space between them.                Another time, Merlin might have made a jab at him, ribbing him about the candid line. However, at the mention of home, the previous sadness seeps back into his mind once again. Holding onto Arthur's hand, he squeezes it, treating the touch as a life line. Deeper down in the depths of his mind, Merlin feels guilty about his thoughts, because rationally he believes he should be insanely happy now. He knows that the outcome could have ended up far different, but it hadn't, thus he should be content. Should be, and are, however, do not necessarily always coincide.               As a new gust of guilt crashes into Merlin, Arthur stares up at the stars, elated to have his best friend back. His company had been sorely missed by many, for various reasons, but no one had wished for his presence more than the King. Something, perhaps a longing to memorize his face yet again, pushes the blond to slide his gaze over to the warlock. Rather than meeting the visage of a man at peace with the world, he finds a haunted look that few ever truly have. Further anguish enters Merlin's eyes as he realizes what Arthur has witnessed.               Ripping his hand away from the strong grasp it had been in, Merlin jumps up to his feet, but not before Arthur is able to stop him with a tender touch on the small of his back. Turning to face him, Merlin's heart is beating erratically, wondering what on earth he can possibly say. He had never been good with talking about his own problems. He preferred to help others with theirs. Only when he could no longer take it had he gone to his mum for reassurance, back in Ealdor. Even then, she hadn't been privy to the full extent of the sins weighing on his heart.                "Merlin-" Arthur begins softly, attempting not to scare him away.                "I think it's time we retire for the evening. Morning will be here soon" Merlin states, willing his eyes to look anywhere but at his companion.                "Merlin-" he repeats, unperturbed by the way that his friend is trying to deflect him.                "If you wish to stay up, be my guest. Goodnight, Arthur," he bids, in a clipped sort of manner.                Treading away in the direction of the camp site, Merlin leaves Arthur behind, wondering what had caused such a quick departure. Following after him shortly, the King decides to forgo discretion, and wrap himself around Merlin before he falls asleep. Half tempted to shirk away from him, the sorcerer thinks better of it, a bit of the tension in his body calming at the other's touch. Shortly, despite his mind loping down avenues of forgotten memories and guilt ridden thoughts alike, he finds himself pressing himself fully against Arthur, before falling slowly into a dreamless sleep.               When the sun peeks over the horizon, bringing dawn to the world around them, Merlin is the first to rise. His mother, who had not stirred at all during the night, is slow to get up after him. Arthur follows last, but does so resignedly, despite his desire to address the previous night. With Hunith awake though, and a home to return to, he pushes it into the back of his mind to revisit at a later date.               The remaining distance between them and Camelot is scant, and soon they are within eyesight of the castle. Turrets and open windows greet the three travelers on their re-entry, which is a welcome sight compared to the countryside they had all become acclimated to seeing for varying degrees of time, respectively. By Arthur's trajectory, the party should have been able to reach the citadel within four days, at the very latest. However, it was not meant to be so.               For the first time since they had left Ealdor, Arthur is grateful to see so many smiling faces. Pacing Aurelian and Hengroen through the streets of the lower town, the three marvel at the waving and cheering around them, their own people greeting them as if each has known them personally for the whole of their lives. Merlin, who is straddled in front Arthur, ducks his head and focuses on guiding the palace stallion to their destination. Being known as a servant still, he is not required to do anything by social standards, and the quieter man epitomizes on this. Meanwhile, the King himself acknowledges everyone that he is able to as they ride past.               Entering the prominent arch ways, all three breathe a sigh of relief, as the horses move towards the front steps with excitement at familiar surroundings. Gwaine and Percival happen to be walking through the courtyard deep in a conversation, when they spy their King and his Merlin. Noting the exhaustion, but overall chipper manner Arthur seems to exude, both silently thank the gods for this. When the two steeds halt at the edge of the front steps, both Knights move into action. While Percival goes to help Hunith dismount, Gwaine chooses to aid Arthur and Merlin.                "Welcome back, Merlin. You are definitely a sight for sore eyes," he states, giving a hand to the sorcerer.                 Swinging his inner leg over the backside of the horse, Merlin allows Gwaine to catch him before he hits the ground.                 "Are you not happy to see me as well?" Arthur demands, his face pulled into a faux sulk, as he drops down to the ground on his own.                 "Hello to you too, Princess," Gwaine affords, a brash wink directed at him shortly after.                                  Chuckling, Merlin goes to his mother so that he can carry in her belongings, but is stopped by a hand pressing on his left forearm. Looking up, he meets Arthur's steady gaze. Hunith turns away from the pair, choosing to walk up a few steps to give them space.                  "I'll send for one of the other servants around here to help her. She’ll be set up in the East tower-"                  "Arthur, it's fine. There's no need to have another servant do what I can just as easily," Merlin responds soundly.                  While Arthur wants to deny him, the determination in his voice wins the King over. After all, he still needs to speak with Gwen. Nodding in ascension, he crowds the man further, placing a kiss on Merlin’s left cheek, which strangely elicits a look of surprise from the warlock. Ruffling his hair, the blond then steps back, watching as Merlin strides off to go about the task he has set out to do.                  “If you need anything, you know where to find me,” Arthur calls out behind him, which Merlin hears, and nods in his direction.                  Ignoring the pointed looks of interest in his direction now, he turns back to where Hengroen is standing. A movement out of the corner of his eye pulls his gaze over to Geraint, who he finds milling around. An idea strikes the King, so he beckons the slightly younger man forward. Apprehensively, Geraint does as he is bid.                  "Hello Geraint. As you can see, we're back, and I am in a bit of a bind. My previous manservant is no longer available to remain in the position, so I will need time to find a new one. In an attempt to remedy this, I am requesting that you attend me as a manservant should for a brief time, until you can formerly be knighted here in Camelot."                      Indignantly, Geraint looks over at Merlin, who is now helping Hunith up the stairs.                   "What's wrong with the one you've got now? He seems to have healed up just fine."                    Other than Merlin, no one had ever questioned him with such insolence. Regarding him with a steely gaze, raising his eyebrows to denote his displeasure, Arthur replies with, "He has been given a promotion, and will no longer be required to assist me."                    "Of course," Geraint mutters, knowing better than to challenge the idea further.                    "You are here on a trial basis, Geraint. I can just as easily send you back to Caerleon should you prove to be less than exemplary. More to the point, if you give Merlin any sort of trouble, you will find me to be far less lenient with you then. Am I understood?"                    Realizing the predicament that he has found himself in, as well as cursing himself for walking through the courtyard at the time he did, the younger blond nods reluctantly.                    "Good man. Now, if you will be so kind as to take in the remainder of our property, I would be grateful. Find me later, and I will debrief you on what being my manservant entails."                     Walking away in a huff, Geraint stomps over to the other side of Hengroen, to retrieve the remaining items strapped to the horse. Intentionally ignoring anyone's gaze, the demoted former knight quickly disappears shortly after. Stepping up beside him, Gwaine claps his King on the back, grinning like a madman.                    "That, my dear King, was brilliant."                    "Your approval means the world to me, Sir Gwaine, truly," Arthur states dryly, with a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.                     Together the two men climb the stairs, with Percival not far behind them now. After helping Hunith down, he had gone to alert the stable boys that they were needed. Now, he trails after them, quickly catching up with his long legs.                    "Have Sir Leon visit me, if you should see him," the King states.                    "Percival and I shall go seek him out for you then."                    "Thank you," Arthur replies, before stepping towards the well worn path to his chambers.                     When he opens the door to his shared room with Gwen, he finds her reading a book in a chair by the bed. Looking up, the Queen marks her page, before getting up to run into his arms. Even after a few years of marriage under their belts, the two adore each other as if they were only courting. The relationship had become a steady constant in his life, just as his friendship and eventual love for Merlin had. Him falling for his best friend had not changed the emotions he holds for her. If he were being honest, the way in which she had dealt with the revelation had only made him love her more. Holding her tightly, reveling in the softness of her touch, Arthur breathes in the familiarity that is his wife.                    A few minutes later, the two break apart from their embrace. Not before they steal a loving kiss from one another, of course. Stepping away from her, Arthur finds himself the object of her scrutiny. He is sure now that even without explanation, she is certain that he acted upon her words. A grin encompasses her features when he pivots around to face her once more.                     "I take it your trip to Ealdor went well?" she queries, aware of the answer even before the last word leaves her lips.                     "Would I have returned if it hadn't?" he replies, affording her a grin, before seating himself at his desk.                     "I suppose not. I'm surprised Merlin isn't bounding in behind you though. I assumed the pair of you would be tied at the hip now that you've got him back here."                     "While we were in Ealdor I requested that Hunith come here to live. He offered himself up to help her to her new room, most likely in an effort to avoid me, but he can't do that forever."                      "Avoid you?"                      Looking up from sifting through the stray paper work on his desk, trying to make sense of it all, he nods.                     "Last night, he was acting strangely, so I took him down to the lake we had made camp by. We skipped rocks, wrestled a bit, and then ended up star gazing. At one point, I had glanced over at him and he looked distraught. Before I even had a chance to ask, he was up trying to get away from me. I tried to find out what had upset him, but he refused to talk about it. He allowed me to hold him, whilst falling asleep, but as far as conversation goes, he has avoided it at every turn since."                     "That's very odd."                     "He has been rather melancholy this year. Which I can understand as to why, now. He seemed ecstatic from the moment I arrived to see him in Ealdor though, so it was hardly noticeable again until last night."                      "Hmm. Well, as you said, he can't avoid you forever. I'm sure he'll speak about it when he feels ready to. Perhaps last night was just not the time?"                      "Maybe so. I'd like to think that we've come to a point where he can be more transparent with me. For all the talks we’ve had in regards to our thoughts or emotions, he has heard a good deal more about mine than I ever have of his. He keeps his opinions of himself or his circumstances close to his breast, whereas in regards to anything else, he is as forthcoming as Gwaine about his blatant alcohol abuse."                      Moving to Arthur's right side, Gwen places her hands comfortingly on his arm.                      "Perhaps what Merlin needs is time. I imagine that given recent events, he is still processing the sudden changes to his life. The whole of his recovery time, he either had a book in his hand or spoke with anyone within the parameters of his chamber, from what I understand."                      "Hunith mentioned he had rarely slept, and kept himself busy the whole time he was staying there, as well."                      Sifting through parchment still, the vision of Merlin’s pain so thoroughly present in his eyes continues to pierce his concentration.                       "It seems to me that he's purposely avoiding introspection, for one reason or another."                       "I think you're onto something, Gwen," Arthur states, collecting a bundle of papers and tossing it to the far left corner of his desk for further review later.                       Sitting back, momentarily, an idea occurs to him. Rising to his feet, a kiss to Gwen, and he is out the door once more.                        Elsewhere in the castle, Merlin has begun unpacking Hunith's possessions by hand, despite her fussing over him for doing so.                      "Merlin, darling, there's really no need for you to help me now. Arthur has made certain that I want for nothing."                       At the mention of the King of Camelot, a bashful grin graces Merlin's facial structure.                      "I'm really glad that you're here Mum," he replies, continuing to help sort her through her belongings.                      "So am I, Merlin," she responds, shaking her head at his unwillingness to cease his piddling.                      Silence engulfs their day, as the sorcerer waives off her light hearted protests against his aid. Some time later, when nearly everything is unpacked and put away, a knock sounds at the door. When Merlin moves to open it in his mother's stead, he finds himself face to face with Geraint. The displeased look on his face is enough for the warlock to know that Arthur must have sent him. Merlin feels a slight bit of pity for the man. Not enough though that it displeases him to see the foolhardy knight thrown into a situation that might humble him even the slightest bit.                    "The King has requested that you and your Mother join he and the Queen for an evening meal, if it so pleases you both," he informs, a glimmer of a sneer in his eyes.                    "Thank you, Geraint. You can tell him we'll be there shortly," Merlin responds, biting his lip to keep from laughing at the sudden change in circumstance.                    Nodding, the shorter blond turns on his heels, clearly displeased.                    Once the door is shut, Merlin pivots around to find his mother regarding him.                    "That man did not seem to like you much."                    Laughing, Merlin responds, as he shuts the drawer in which he had been putting away her clothes, "He probably never will, truth be told. Arthur caught him wrongfully assaulting me during a training session one day, and has not let up on punishments for him since then."                    "That would do it, I suppose. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened?"                    "It's nothing to worry about, Mum. He stepped on my hand, but I put it right shortly after. He might have gotten in a swing or two, if I were so inclined to let him, but I never had a chance to make that choice. Arthur stepped in, and then that was that."                    A comfortable silence settles between the two for a moment before Hunith states aloud, "Arthur cares a great deal for you, doesn't he?"                    Looking up to meet his mother's warm gaze, another blush flurries over his cheeks.                    "If you're asking, I doubt that I need to elaborate, Mum."                    The sudden resistance to explanation is all that Hunith requires for her to know that whatever Arthur's feelings towards Merlin are, they are surely returned by her son.                   "We best not be late for dinner. Fond of you or not, it's rude to be tardy," she lightly chastises, rising from the wooden chair she had occupied for the better part of the evening so far.                   "Me, late?" he gestures to himself dramatically, "Never!"                   The waggle of his eyebrows and intonation both tell Hunith the answer to his statement is quite the contrary. Sighing, she shakes her head and leads the way out of her new room.                   Outside of the Great Hall some minutes later, they are met by Arthur and Gwen, who are both patiently waiting for them. When Merlin spies the King, he finds himself being studied intensely, before the light blue eyes shift to greet Hunith.                   "Before we sit down for our meal, I wonder if I might borrow Merlin for a moment. There's something that I think he should see before we dine. Would that be alright with you two ladies?" he asks, glancing between his wife and Hunith.                    Merlin is certain that Arthur had told Gwen about whatever he has planned, because with a warm smile, she immediately agrees. Hunith does so straight after, giving Arthur a large grin, before allowing Gwen to lead her to where she shall be seated to eat supper. Concurrently, Arthur diverts Merlin's attention to follow him in the opposite direction of where Hunith and Gwen had gone. Suspiciously, Merlin trails after his King.                    "Arthur, can't this wait until later?"                    "It most likely could, but I'd rather it didn't."                     "Where are we going?" Merlin queries, still following behind Arthur as he presses forward.                     "Follow me, and you'll see."                     Dissolving into quiet grumblings, Merlin does, stopping only when they arrive in front of a door entirely foreign to him. Expectantly, Arthur gestures for the sorcerer to open the door, which he does in confusion. When his sight into the room becomes unhindered, he finds himself in a large chamber, much like Gaius' own in a different area of the castle. Scattered around the room is various furniture, with a large ornate desk at the very back of it. Turning to look at the blond, he gestures at the room.                     "What's all this then?" the sorcerer demands.                     "Your new work space,” Arthur informs nonchalantly.                     "Mine?" Merlin whispers incredulously, glancing back to survey the space once again.                      "Yes, yours. With your appointment as Court Sorcerer, as well as Magical Magistrate, you will have a lot of extra duties on your hands. You need a space of your own now, just as Gaius has his."                      "I'm not even sure what else to say, except, thank you, Arthur," Merlin admits, still at a slight loss for words.                       "You're welcome. Now, as much as I wish to tarry here, I believe we have people waiting on us to commence the evening meal."                       "So we do," Merlin replies, stepping out last to close the door behind them.                       When Merlin and Arthur enter the dining hall, the warlock is not prepared to be met with an elaborate feast, as well as the whole of Camelot's court. However, that is exactly what he finds.                       "Geraint made it seem as though it would just be the four of us dining together tonight," Merlin states accusingly.                       "So he is good for something then," Arthur murmurs, more to himself than Merlin.                       Looking around, Merlin becomes aware that throughout the whole room, there is only one open chair. The spot in question is directly next to Arthur's right hand. Beside him, the King is glancing at him eagerly, waiting for him to walk to his clearly designated seat. In the back of Merlin's mind, alarms sound, as the whole of the room follows not just the King's movements, but his own as well. When they reach the head of the table, Arthur pulls out Merlin's chair for him, which he seats himself in even more reluctantly, before being pushed in by the King himself.                      "Hunith, it pleases me greatly for you to take the seat beside Merlin's right hand. You are single handedly responsible for raising this man, and I can think of no one I'd like more to take that spot next to the guest of honor than you," the King says, while watching Merlin’s emotions morph from worried to horrified.                       "Thank you, Arthur," she beams, ignoring her son's indignation.                       "Guest of what?" Merlin sputters, regarding Arthur ever more distrustfully now.                       "You heard me, Merlin. You may not admit that you deserve at least one feast in your honor, but that will not stop me from having one occur. Now, if you would be so kind as to oblige me this night of revelry in your name, you will continue to remain seated by my right hand, where you belong."                       Heat rises in his cheeks at the clear implication in Arthur’s words, despite only a select few being privy to them being said. The excitement in his eyes is what makes Merlin cave quickly, more so than anything else. Nodding, he faces the rest of the room, promptly.                       "Now that our guest of honor has arrived, we may begin our evening," Arthur begins, addressing every single person in the room.                       "Firstly, I should let it be known that this man beside me has pleaded countless times for a night like this to be nothing more than a fanciful thought, rather than an actual event. This has only cemented my belief further that it should take place. Secondly, from this moment forward, I expect him to be given the respect that another member of Camelot’s court would be. Although he may not yet be titled, he is by far the bravest man I have ever known, and has served our kingdom with due diligence. Merlin deserves to be commended for his efforts, and his bravery in the face of such strong adversity. This leads me to my final announcement. In honor of all that he has done for me, as well as Camelot, I shall be hosting a tournament in his name. Once the tournament has ended, with a victor crowned, a ceremony of greater importance will be held. In a fortnight, Merlin will publicly become Camelot's Court Sorcerer and Magical Magistrate. Now, in honor of this man's feats, let us dine together, and be grateful that surprises come in all forms."                       Seating himself once more, Arthur is met with an approving nod from Gwen, and a gaping Merlin.                      "You might find yourself encumbered with flies if you choose to leave your mouth open much longer, Merlin," Arthur murmurs.                      Shutting his mouth, indeed, Merlin remains silent through most of the meal. In truth, he is not sure what exactly he can say. Gaius, who is seated not far from the rest of them, is beaming at him and Arthur as well.  Knowing that the brunet is not one to enjoy being caught off guard too much, the King leaves him be, allowing him to speak only if he wishes to.                      Wine flows in ample amounts, and even though he is given the opportunity, Merlin turns each offer down. Nearly everyone else in the hall does just the opposite though, and he finds himself enjoying the sight of those he knows best allowing themselves to let loose just a bit. Other than Hunith, every single person in the room has been a part of the castle for ages, so they all have a kinship with one and other in some form. Even certain counselors who are not a part of the knights are seen downing more than a goblet or two of the sweet yet tangy mead proffered to them.                      Next to  him, Arthur too has chosen to stave away from drinking himself into a less than sober state, as have Gwen and Hunith. Gaius, however, does just the opposite. Hours later, Arthur orders a few of the more sober knights to help the elderly Court Physician back to his chambers. At her brother's antics, Hunith merely shakes her head, before bidding them a good evening shortly after. Though Merlin wishes to walk her to her room, the hand resting on his thigh gives him cause to consider other avenues.Only when the plates have all been cleared away, and Gwaine, Leon, and Percival in particular have clapped him on the shoulder or the back, does Merlin consider retiring for the evening as well.                      Rising from his chair, the brunet notes that Arthur and Guinevere follow directly behind him. A sudden thought occurs to him, which makes him turn around, nearly causing both the King and Queen to smack directly into him, as well as each other.                                       "Is everything alright Merlin?" Guinevere queries, confusion on her every feature.                       Before Merlin can pose the question, however, Arthur is reaching for his hand.                       "You're not a servant anymore, Merlin. You are free to sleep wherever you choose."                        Knitting his eyebrows together, he looks from Gwen to Arthur.                       "Are you saying what I think you are?" he demands, looking between both of them again.                                       "Did you really think I would lie with you a few times and then be done with you? Don't be daft, Merlin. I love you, Merlin, just as much as I love Gwen. Were it reversed, I would not expect her to sleep alone either. Unless you have some sort of objection, I have every intention of you taking up a portion of our bed from this night on. Guinevere here agrees with me."                                        "It's just-"                       "It's what, Merlin?" the blond demands softly, placing a kiss on his hand.                       "Is it wise to be so open about such sleeping arrangements?"                       "Anyone who could possibly care is inebriated or retired for the evening, for one. For two, if you think this is the most ludicrous bedding arrangement you've ever heard of, then you simply have turned a blind eye to far worse that happens in other kingdoms. Some monarchs bed their sisters!" he states, instantly shuddering at the thought shortly after.                        Turning to Gwen, Merlin scrutinizes her, before asking, "This doesn't bother you?"                        "If it did, I never would have suggested you relay your feelings to Arthur in the first place," she informs him.                         A sudden swelling in his heart, not unlike what he has felt before for Arthur, blooms up inside of him like a flower reaching for the sun. Engulfing her in his arms, as Arthur had when he arrived at Hunith's previous place of residence, Merlin swings her about the corridor. When he places her back on the ground, her face flushed now, he bends down to plant a kiss on her left cheek.                                          "You beautiful, wonderful woman. Thank you for everything, really," he gushes, then helping her fix her hair which had been somewhat mussed up by his actions seconds ago.                         "You are more than welcome," Gwen murmurs, glancing up at Merlin with nothing but respect and admiration.                         From behind them, Arthur witnesses the exchange with amusement. While he is aware of what each of them mean to him, he hadn't stopped to ponder what the two could feel for each other. Although the situation is a unique one at best, he hopes that they will all be able to find a common ground with each other, founded on communication and mutual understanding. Watching the pair together, he wonders, could he be lucky enough to find that the two greatest loves of his life love each other as well?                         When Guinevere had betrayed him before, there had been no communication, and he had been made a fool of in front of every single person whom he had ever known. She had kept the nature of her feelings for his former knight to herself, and despite the fact that dark magic had a hand in his false return, it had still burned him that she could have considered going behind his back at all. She had made a mistake, which she had fully admitted before. All of the trust he ever placed with her had been lost that night, and only slowly has it returned, whether others are aware of that or not. The emotions inside of him now though are a far cry from disgust, but rather buoyant happiness, verging on hope.                         He is soon brought from the depths of his reverie by the discovery that both Merlin and Gwen are staring at him, wondering where his mind has gone. Smiling at them, praying that this will reassure each that everything is alright, he reaches for Guinevere's hand.                        "Now that we are all in agreement, I would like to catch more than a few winks of sleep, if that's alright with both of you?" Arthur queries.                        Intertwining his own fingers with Gwen's, Merlin glances over with a slight cheeky smirk, "Lead the way, Sire."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Traipsing through the corridors of Camelot castle, Merlin finds himself avoiding any specific person's gaze. Since the feast only a few days before, whispers and all too curious glances have followed him. Before, he had been on good terms with everyone, and they had all cared for him as a person. Now, he feels more like an enigma than anything else.

Eyes cast down to the floor, entrenched in his thoughts, Merlin is unaware of where he's going. A moment later however, his body collides with that of another, and he is sent straight to the stone beneath him. Groaning, he looks over to find Gwaine splayed out on the ground beside him. Quickly, he springs to his feet, offering his friend a hand.

"Alright there Merlin?" Gwaine asks, as he brushes himself off.

The dark eyes surrounded by wavy hair throw him a glance that could best be described as worried.

"Yeah. I'm sorry for plowing into you like that," Merlin apologizes, his eyes avoiding the calculated gaze.

"No need to apologize. Have you got anything to do at the moment?"

"I wish," Merlin breathes, his shoulders sagging a bit.

Years ago, he would have been grateful for a day off, but now, he just wishes to be allowed to help in some way. However, Arthur had given out a near castle wide proclamation that Merlin is not to help prepare for the upcoming events in any way, which needles the raven haired man to no end. Regardless, few are daring enough to go against the King's wishes. This results in the kind hearted sorcerer being frequently shooed away from any activity which could possibly require actual labor.

Noting the way his friend's demeanor dampens a bit, Gwaine throws his arm around his shoulders.

"You look like you could use a drink, my friend," the knight states.

For a brief moment, the warlock contemplates it, but only just.

"Thank you for the offer, but I think I'll pay a visit to Gaius today," he responds, extricating himself from the man.

"I'll see you around then. Take care of yourself, Merlin," Gwaine says, with a final pat to the back.

Turning around the corner, his cloak and hair billow behind him in farewell.

Left with only his thoughts, Merlin continues his trek down towards the medicinal chambers. Sauntering down the corridors, people openly and covertly gander at him, some more discreetly than others. Annoyance bubbling in his chest, he moves swiftly to where he desires to be.

Reaching Gaius' chambers, he takes a deep breath before entering. Since their home coming, he had yet to speak with the Court Physician. Part of him had been worried about how to explain the whole situation with the sleeping arrangements, and the other was owing to the fact that he secretly worried his uncle would treat him differently as well. The last thing he can handle is another person whom had known him for years, acting as if he were anything more than who he had always been. Then again, a deeper part of him knows his worries are entirely unfounded.

When he pushes the old wooden door wide open, he finds his uncle and mother seated side by side, doing what seems to be work together. Their eyes find him almost simultaneously, and each greet him with near identical grins. A warmth unbidden spreads throughout his body at the sight, grateful not for the first time that Arthur had invited his mother to stay in the castle.

"Finally decided to grace me with your presence, have you?" Gaius demands good-naturedly, despite the ever discerning gaze being thrown his way.

"Yeah, er, sorry about that," he responds awkwardly as makes his way to the work table.

"I assume there has been a change in your sleeping arrangements, considering you have yet to reside in your room since you've come home."

"I meant to tell you, Gaius, I just wasn't sure how to."

"Did Arthur set you up in a larger chamber of your own then?" Gaius asks, curious as to where Merlin had slept this whole time.

Looking over at Hunith, Merlin finds her eyes sparkling up at him, waiting for an answer.

"Not exactly. You see," Merlin pauses, grabbing a stool to sit down on, while beginning to stare intensely at the vials on Gaius' workbench, "I've been sleeping in the Royal Chambers."

"The Royal Chambers?" Gaius repeats, raising an eyebrow, before glancing over to Hunith.

His mother, to her credit, looks like she is about to burst at this confirmation.

"The thing is, Arthur and I are sort of together," Merlin mumbles, just barely loudly enough for Gaius to make out intelligible words at all.

"Forgive me, but my ears aren't what they once were. What did you say, my boy?"

Although Merlin is quite certain that his mentor gets the gist of what he is attempting to convey, out of respect, he humors the elder man.

"Arthur and I are in love, as he and Gwen are."

Gaius pauses, as he glances back at Hunith, before taking notice of Merlin again.

"I see. So, you're sleeping in the same bed as the King and Queen, I take it?"

"Yes, I am," he nods solemnly, searching Gaius for any hint of displeasure.

Just when Merlin thinks he’s about to receive the dressing down of his life, the man who had become a father figure to him, breaks out into a large grin.

"Well, it's about time. You and Arthur have been dancing around each other since the pair of you laid eyes on one another. If Guinevere takes no issue with it, then far be it from me to disapprove of the circumstance," his elder replies, matter of factly.

Beside her brother, Hunith is covering her laughter politely with her hand, despite the mirth dancing in her eyes.

"Gwen has no problem with it. She's been lovely about it all, really," Merlin admits, blushing harder than he ever had in front of Gaius and his mother.

"I would expect nothing less of her. She is one of the kindest young women that I have ever had the privilege of knowing. If you're happy, Merlin, then that's all that matters."

"Gaius is right, Merlin. I've said as much to you as well," Hunith states, nodding in agreement with her sibling's assessment.

"Thank you both. I don't know what I ever did to deserve either of you, truly."

"We feel the same way, I assure you," Gaius responds, with Hunith nodding emphatically beside him.

A welling of emotion stirs again, and tears threaten to spill from the sorcerer's eyes now. Willing them to remain stagnant, he pointedly stares down at the work in front of his mother and his uncle.

"So son, what have you been up to today?" his mother queries, realizing he seeks a diversion.

"Not much of anything, really. Arthur has deemed it necessary to order the entire household staff to make sure I do not involve myself in a single preparation for the tournament, nor any day to day chores. It's maddening, really."

Giving Merlin a brief assessing gaze, Gaius gives him a conspiratorial grin.

"Technically, I was not privy to that particular edict, so I suppose it would be alright if you went out collecting herbs for me. You can hardly strain yourself procuring plants for me, I think. How does that sound?"

"That sounds lovely. Thank you, Gaius!" Merlin exclaims, jumping up in excitement.

His mother smiles at his reaction, before shaking her head.

Grabbing for a piece of parchment, Gaius scribbles down a list of all that he'll need, and hands it to Merlin, along with a leather satchel for storing them in. A quick embrace for each of them and the lanky man is out the door before either can give him a proper farewell.

Shortly after, Merlin goes out of the castle, and into the light of the day.
 
            Heavy snoring reverberates through the air, which alerts Arthur that he isn't far from Merlin now. Gaius had said that Merlin agreed to go out looking for herbs, alone, and could undoubtedly be found not far from a certain stream just outside of the citadel's grounds. He had expected to find Merlin dawdling in the task, because he truly has nothing to hail him back to the castle in a timely manner, other than perhaps supper. What he hadn't accounted for was finding Merlin lying splayed out on the ground, snoring away, as if he hasn't a single care in the world.

Truthfully, the sight brings relief to Arthur, as Merlin had hardly slept since he had come back to Camelot. Unperturbed by the necessary concession of waiting for Merlin to wake, he seats himself down against an errant tree, and makes himself comfortable. Years of having to be always on alert for various reasons, assures him that when Merlin does finally wake, he will too. Leaning his head back against the trunk, he allows himself to drift into a light sleep. What feels like hours later, he wakes, to find Merlin gaping at him a bit, and the sun lowering itself down toward the horizon. Rubbing a hand over his face, Arthur surveys the area, noting that Merlin hadn't moved much since he had woken up.

"Is there any particular reason why our bed was not a suitable place for you to sleep?"

Sighing, Merlin shakes his head back and forth silently. Wiping away the obvious drool covering the left side of his face, he avoids the penetrating look being grazed over him. Lifting himself up, he offers a hand to Arthur, which the King readily takes. Toe to toe, the two remain in silent, with Arthur still assessing Merlin.

"I don't pretend to understand everything that goes on in your mind, Merlin, but I have a hard time believing that you're truly happy right now."

Visibly, Merlin becomes more downtrodden, which his companion notices immediately. Warily, he moves closer to the brunet, placing a hand against his cheek once he has entered his personal space. Softly, Arthur moves his thumb tentatively over the cheek beneath it.

"I'm not upset with you, Merlin. I just want to understand. If it's something I've done, or-"

"It's not you, Arthur. You're not to blame for any of this," Merlin croaks out, his voice breaking from disuse during sleep.

"Then who is? If someone is causing you such distress, I will immediately have them taken care of. No one is allowed to treat you-"

Again, Merlin cuts him off, but with a soft kiss to the lips this time. Once pulling away, he smiles wanly, searching for the right words. Sighing, Merlin looks up at him with tired eyes.

"I've been having nightmares. Every time I close my eyes, I see the destruction I've wrought in vivid detail. Those that could have been spared haunt me the second I drift into sleep, and it's suffocating."

Arthur nods, because this at least, he understands. Rather than responding, the blond leans back against a tree behind him. He had never forgiven himself for what atrocities he had committed in his father's name, and that had taken a toll on him. Occasionally, he still has nightmares, remembering a particular one, or handfuls even. Their eyes, had been his point of fixation on every kill he had ever made, which left an imprint of each victim in his brain. In the wee hours of the morning, on the nights he couldn't will his body to sleep, he finds himself pondering them as they flash through his mind. This, he believes, is his penance for what he has done. Never thinking on someone is the only way one truly dies for the last time, in his opinion.

"I am so sorry for all that you've given for me, and everything I've taken from you. I only hope that before I pass on one day that I can repay you for it all. I thought it was a stroke of luck that you feel the same way for me as I feel for you, but now I fear that it is a burden in and of itself," the King admits, his own eyes dropping to the forest floor.

As if he'd been startled, Merlin's eyes go wide.

"It's not, Arthur. You are one of the best parts of my life, even if it doesn't seem like it right now. I'm not sure how to explain it, but I hope you understand that I love you, and I wouldn't change that for anything. Everything I've done has been for you, first out of duty, and then eventually out of love."

"How can I possibly deserve someone like you?" Arthur murmurs, reaching to entwine his fingers between Merlin's own right hand.

"Same as how I deserve you, I suppose. I'm not perfect, just slightly less of a prat than you," Merlin smiles lightly, as he attempts a bit of humor.

"Perhaps," Arthur admits, returning the grin as he presses a kiss against top of the warlock's hand.

Breathing in the night air, the two remain standing there, comfortable in the silence. When the sun has all but set, the king glances over at Merlin, whose eyes are trained up at the slowly ascending moon. The illumination cast over his face is little, but even in the darkness, he can see the light. When dark blue eyes are locked with his once more, Arthur clears his throat, before speaking aloud.

"We should get back. You've got some herbs to deliver, and then supper to eat, seeing as you skipped it earlier."

"I hardly noticed, honestly. I haven't had much of an appetite."

"Yes, well, like it or not, you will be eating something before we retire for the evening."

"In case you've forgotten. I'm immortal. Food is no longer a necessity for my survival."

While Merlin had meant it as more of a joke than anything, Arthur on the other hand snaps at the comment.

"Must you be so stubborn? I am trying to take care of you!" the King yells, grateful that no one else is around.

Ripping his hand from Arthur's, Merlin moves slightly away from him. The move develops an invisible chasm between them.

"Well, stop it! I'm not some fair maiden, needing to be rescued. I'm Merlin, just as I always have been. I'm the same person I was before I saved your arse at Camlann, and I'll be me long after you and the whole of Camelot are gone!"

At his exclamation, anger flares throughout him to an unnatural high, and his magic takes on a mind of its own. What had been a clear night, with stars shining above them, suddenly becomes a moody sky, with rain pouring down over them. Instantly the area around them is soaked, and suddenly Merlin feels more drained than he had in weeks. Standing there, the sorcerer allows the downpour to drench him, while Arthur watches on feeling helpless in the current circumstance.

After some time, Merlin turns to Arthur, his eyes leaking their own liquid as well. Stepping forward slowly, so as not to spook him, the King moves steadily towards the warlock. When he is toe to toe with Merlin again, rather than pulling him out of the storm, the blond wraps his arms around the lankier man. Wracking sobs course through the sorcerer, continuing as the rain does, beating him down inside and out. Tightening his grip around Merlin, Arthur holds steadfast to the man, enduring it alongside him.

Some time later, the rain subsides, and with a whisper from Merlin, the clouds part to reveal a shimmering night sky.  Lifting up his head, the perspiration still sluicing down his face, Merlin displays his emotions openly. The sheer pain in his eyes is enough to knock Arthur off of his feet. Slowly, the King reaches out his hands, rubbing away what he can of the remaining tears from below Merlin’s eyes.

"I'm sorry if I've added to your worries. I only meant to make your life easier now," Arthur admits tentatively, his lungs nearly collapsing with the weight of his erratic breathing.

Exhaling a shaky breath, Merlin nods, dipping his head down to rest on Arthur's left shoulder. In the space of a few heartbeats, his arms are winding around the blond's widespread shoulders, which help him find stability for his steadily shivering form. Taking this as a good sign, the king renews his grip around the man in his arms. With the moon overhead, tracing out the lines of the living and inanimate objects alike below, the pair remain.

In the expanse around them, with the moon hung just so above, their surroundings have taken on an ethereal quality. Heavy breathing is the only sound that escapes them, as the two grasp onto each other. If the weight of the sorcerer leaning against him bothers him, Arthur says nothing. As the minutes have gone by, Merlin had all but dead-weighted on him, but still he makes no mention of this.

Many minutes later, Merlin finally lifts his head up just enough to level his gaze with the light blue eyes watching him intently.

"Thank you," Merlin all but whispers, exhaustion thick in his voice.

Arthur nods, still gripping the thinner man tightly.

"Anytime, Merlin," he responds, fondly.

"We should probably get back," the warlock states, looking at the ground, examining his boots.

Surveying him, Arthur nods in agreement.

"I'm sure Guinevere would appreciate the company, as much as the knowledge that you and I are both wholly intact."

"You've been out here for hours, Arthur. It's safe to assume that if she were worried about either of us, she would have sent a search party by this time."

"True. Do you have the energy to make it back?"

"I've been through worse," Merlin tosses out, before he can think better of it.

Instead of entertaining the response no doubt seconds from being said aloud, he turns from Arthur, and begins making his way back towards the castle. Relatively unsurprised, Arthur follows suit.
                 The next day, Arthur and Merlin keep a relative distance from one another, both busy with tasks that happen to take them as far from the other as possible. With it being the day before the tournament, there is little that either can do about this. While there is no malice that causes the separation, their sudden distance from each other can be felt by those closest to them, leaving some to wonder even what had happened the night before. Guinevere, the only one privy to any details regarding the affair at all, laughs at the penchant for gossip that the inhabitants of Camelot castle have.
                 Later that evening, while Merlin and Gwen had opted to eat a late meal with Hunith in her chamber, Arthur is at his desk buried under paperwork. Even with all of the sessions he had put in, it seems that the piles continue to expand, much to his displeasure. When his temporary manservant comes in to draw the bed and finish the last of his daily chores, he doesn't even glance up to watch him enter.

"Sire, will I be required to service you as Merlin once did, should your current circumstance with him turn sour?" Geraint asks airily, in a manner far more cheeky than even Merlin would have dared to speak.

Looking up from the swamp of parchment on his desk, Arthur grimaces, before replying with, "First of all, Geraint, you are hardly my type. You're arrogant in a way that's not attractive in the slightest, which I'm sure is why you've not had a single prospect for marriage thus far. You believe you are above everyone, even though I have it on good authority from Annis that you are a sub par knight, at best. Secondly, Merlin and I never had any kind of relationship while he was my servant, except a well ingrained friendship, not that it's any of your business. However, in that time, if you must know, I fell madly in love with him. He is kind, and brave, and a far better person than you will ever be, in my personal opinion,” Arthur states so matter of factly, take a breath before continuing. “Camelot was built on certain values, Geraint, and I hope that one day you will remember this conversation and then perhaps deign to learn a few of them. That is, after all, why you're here, is it not? Take a bit of advice from me, you could definitely learn something from my former servant, Merlin. With that being said, you're dismissed for the day. I've had about as much of you as I can stomach."

Shocked, Geraint merely nods, and then quickly stalks out of the room, his head spinning wildly. With disgust, Arthur listens to the door shutting behind the ever insolent man, intent on believing himself higher than his current station. With an attitude like that, it's no wonder why he had been freely given to Arthur. Shaking his head, the King returns to his work, more agitated than ever.
                The first morning of the tournament, Geraint finds Merlin polishing Arthur's swords in the armory. It's the first time the two have found each other alone with one another, ever since the incident outside.
                "Polishing the King's weapons? Isn't that the duty of a servant?" Geraint asks quizzically.

His feet following his words, the knight steps tentatively into the room in their wake.

Looking up, Merlin nods, before replying, "That it is. A servant I may no longer be, but some habits are hard to break. That, and no offense to you, but these are the only thing between Arthur's safety and possible death. To soothe my own anxieties, I prefer to tend to them so that I can make sure that he has the best possible chance. I'd rather not have shoddy workmanship be the reason his performance is even the slightest bit less than superb."

Contemplating this, Arthur's words still ringing in his ears from the night before, Geraint walks forward a bit further.

"Mind a bit of company?"

"Not at all. I'm just about done here, but you're welcome to sit with me until I've completed my task," Merlin replies, gesturing his cleaning cloth to the bench in front of him.

Nodding, the younger man moves to sit opposite of the sorcerer.

For a moment, the pair sit in relative silence, before Geraint speaks up again.

"Magic isn't outlawed anymore, and yet here you are, polishing the King's best swords by hand. Why is that, exactly?"

A slight smirk comes to Merlin's face, before he turns his attentions away from the current blade in his grasp to glance at Geraint briefly.

"Magic would make it easier, and probably quicker. As I said before though, old habits die hard. For years, I had to keep the secret of who I am, so it's not as easy to shed that thick skin I built up over time. When I first came to Camelot, I freely used magic at every chance I could, untamed like a young colt just out of its mare. Over the years I have honed my craft, and in the process, learned the value of a staying hand. Magic is beautiful, and more than those without it could ever imagine. The older I become though, the more value I see in doing certain things the way that utilizes magic only when necessary, rather than at every turn. In short, just because I can use it for everything, that doesn't mean I should."

Returning to his work, Merlin leaves room for Geraint to ponder on what he has said. Against his will, the knight turned manservant finds that perhaps he had misjudged Merlin far more than he cares to admit. When the sorcerer finishes his task, he wraps the blades with care, and then entrusts them to Geraint.

"Please be sure that no one touches these before Arthur. I would appreciate my hard work to remain intact."

"Of course. I'll be sure that it will not go to waste," Geraint assures, although reluctantly.

"Thank you," Merlin replies, before disembarking shortly after.

Stunned at the kindness he had been shown, despite his outright dislike of the man for weeks now, Geraint finds that once again his beliefs are being put to the test. Even later, as he stands outside of the tent flap, disposed of to watch for those individuals who are not welcome at the current time to see the King of Camelot or his lovers, he contemplates his current emotions.

Within the tent, both Merlin and Gwen are helping Arthur get ready, rather than him.
               "Good luck," Gwen bids, standing up on her tiptoes to reach up and place a kiss on her husband's lips.
                "Thank you Guinevere," Arthur replies softly, noting the slight intensity in her eyes, as if she is worried he might somehow fail to survive.

Reaching back, Gwen removes a hair ribbon that holds up her voluminous curls, then takes it and wraps it around Arthur's right shoulder. Smiling down at it, he presses a kiss against her forehead, before shifting his gaze to Merlin. Merlin, in a strange change of events, had remained mostly silent through the better part of the day, even disappearing for a good while after they had all risen out of bed. While this had given he and Gwen a chance to talk, it made him wonder whether Merlin was actually alright, or simply faking it for the benefit of him doing well in the tournament.

Sitting on a crate much too short for him and his long gangly legs, Merlin stares at the ground, while Arthur stares at him. As if he feels the heat of the gaze however, Merlin turns up his face to find the lighter blue eyes searching him intensely, as well as Gwen's. Rising from his seat, he gives the armor a last look over, before pressing a brief kiss against Arthur's cheek.

"You already know you're the strongest, most versatile warrior out there. I see no reason to inflate your ego even more. But," Merlin softens his voice a bit, "if it will make you feel better, you can have a bit of my scarf to wear."

Without pretense, Merlin speaks more tenderly, almost as if he is talking to himself, and suddenly a ribbon resembling the one that Gwen had given Arthur appears in Merlin's hand. Gingerly, he takes it, and then ties it to Arthur's other arm. Smiling at the gesture, the blond takes the sorcerer's face into his hands, before placing a brief kiss on his lips.

"Thank you, Merlin. I know you think this tournament is a funny way of expressing my feelings, but I did it for the week leading up to my wedding with Guinevere, and now this one is yours. I may not be able to claim you in front of the entire world, but this is just about the next best thing."

Before Merlin can reply, Geraint's voice filters through the flap of the tent, 
"Sire, your presence is requested out on the field."

Cursing the timing, Arthur ducks down one last time to place a kiss on each of their lips, before exiting to go towards the ring. Shortly after, Merlin escorts Gwen into the stands, where the two end up in a throng of people, some suspiciously staring at them, while others smile at the aesthetic of the pair together, cheering on the King.

When Arthur's sparring match begins, both Merlin and Gwen are tense, at best. The two stare down at the blond haired man that they love, squaring off with his newest opponent, far below them. At first, it looks as if Arthur will take him easily, until for some unknown reason, his foot slips, giving his competitor the upper hand. Quickly, both Gwen and Merlin instinctively clasp hands, now more fearful of the outcome than ever.

Eventually, despite their worries, Arthur downs him easily enough. Letting him up, he allows the man to exit the ring before turning to face the applause meant for him. Looking up towards Merlin and Gwen, who have still yet to unclasp their tight grips on each other, he smiles brightly at the pair.
                 The second day of the tournament finds Merlin once again polishing Arthur's swords, unbeknownst still to the King. At finding that the sorcerer had once again disappeared in the morning, before either he or Guinevere could speak with him, the blond becomes frustrated, and then determined to tail him the next morning if he must. Down in the armory, however, Geraint finds himself sitting before Merlin, watching him work. The two men maintain a steady silence, as if an accord has been struck between them to do so. 
                 Geraint, still wrestling with his feelings of inadequacy, and pride, pays close attention to the way that Merlin works as if he were still a servant. A strange feeling in the pit of the younger man's stomach, makes its way throughout the whole of his body, giving him the overall general feeling of displeasure. His mind grapples with the knowledge that he was much further from the truth before, than he could possibly be now.

By the time Merlin is finished, he does much the same as the day before, entrusting the swords to Geraint. The blatant confidence in him is really the final straw. Never had he so openly trusted anyone, and here the King's lover is, expecting him to do as he was bid the day before. Were he inclined to do so, Geraint could easily allow harm to come to the King's weapons. Something other than fear of execution keeps him from doing so, however. Namely, the thought that he might prove himself to be just as worthless as Arthur had insinuated that he actually was.

When he arrives at the King's tent, Geraint places the swords on the crate that Merlin had occupied the day before. Arthur, taking notice that someone else had entered the tent, sneers a bit at the sight of his knight turned manservant. Spotting him placing the swords down, however, he goes straight for them to check on their level of maintenance. Finding them to be superb, he swivels his eyes over to Geraint, appraising him once more.

"Despite your other faults, the way you have kept my swords these past two days is commendable."

At this point, Geraint stands at the edge of a crossroads. For one brief moment, he entertains lying to the King. Then, the vision of Merlin waking far earlier than need be blooms into his mind, and he thinks nothing more of deceiving the man. Clearing his throat, he levels his gaze with Arthur.

"My liege, I am not the one you should thank for your swords being in the state they are."

"Oh?" Arthur intones, turning back to Geraint, now intrigued.

"I was not the one to polish them, Sire, Merlin was. He did so today, and the day before. I merely sat with him while he accomplished the task."

For a moment, the King falls silent. He glances over Geraint, who is standing there still, waiting for his reaction. Before a response is given, however, Merlin himself treads through the tent flap, finding Arthur looking at him as if he had risen the sun.

"Thank you, Geraint. That will be all," the King dismisses, not even taking his eyes away from his warlock.

Nodding, Geraint moves to exit, leaving the other two men behind. Outside of the tent, a satisfied feeling envelopes him, chasing away the uneasiness that had encumbered him previously.
                  Later that day, Geraint walks out of the King's tent to find Merlin and the Queen entertaining children. He had never been too keen on little ones, but their bright-eyed amusement never ceased to amaze him. Leaning against a tent pole, he watches on, amused by the pure glee on the warlock's face as he materializes blue butterflies into thin air.  All too soon, however, the spectacle disperses when a couple of brutish looking men step forward, which cause the children to scatter away.
                  One of them is tall, with long jet black hair, held back by a ribbon of some kind. Impossibly heavy set, Geraint has no doubt that were the man in a fight, his size would easily slow him down. His partner beside him has tawny hair, cut short, and is not much smaller than he, except in height. His hackles raised, Geraint views the moment with trepidation.

"I think we'll be doing the King a favor, ridding Camelot of you. Clearly you've enchanted him, or he would never consider doing as he has been," the man with the black hair states.

Gaping, Geraint is torn between running to Merlin's aid, or going to find Arthur. The Queen, however, steps in before he can.

"How dare you! Merlin would never do such a thing, to Arthur or anyone in the kingdom, for that matter!"

Consciously, she had moved to Merlin’s side moments ago, but the sorcerer still had yet to move.

"Enchanting the Queen too? That explains it. We'll just take care of this problem, right now," the taller of the two brutes states.

Spurred into action on pure adrenaline now, as well as horror at the fact that Merlin had yet to defend himself, Geraint moves forward.

"Gentlemen, I believe there's been a mistake. You cannot speak to him that way. Either you both are deranged, or incredibly stupid. I'm banking on both, actually."

Both men turn, sizing up Geraint, before snickering.

"Having a servant defend you?"

For the first time since his appointment as the King’s temporary manservant, Geraint suddenly understands how Merlin must have felt for a good portion of the years he was in the same position. Countless times, he must have dealt with being overlooked, simply owing to his station. Being unable to defend yourself against those above you, or being looked down upon at almost every turn, the realization makes Geraint ill inside, as he is now faced with the same problem.

"What kind of-"

Striding out of the tent, Arthur finds the scene before him, entirely unsure of what he has just walked into. The anger on Gwen’s face, while Merlin's remains a mask of indifference, is enough to clue him in that something is wrong. Swerving his eyes to the men opposite of both his Queen and Merlin, he finds them to be repulsive, in comparison. The strange gleam in their eyes is enough to worry him.

"What seems to be the problem here?" Arthur asks, stepping forward slowly.

"We were just becoming acquainted with your sorcerer, here. It seems he's done a fine job enchanting you and the Queen, as well as the entire staff in the citadel. We merely thought that it was in Camelot's interest if we rid you of him. Perhaps then, you'll realize how foolish it was to redact the magic ban."

Something in the way the men speak to him, as if he were but a mere child, turns his blood cold. That, and their clear intentions of killing Merlin.

"The pair of you would do well to step away from my Queen and our friend, lest either of you wish to find yourselves upon a pyre this very night," Arthur declares, venom laced in his voice.

"Sire," the second one sputters, while the first is anything but deterred.

Reaching for the knife in his boot, a flurry of motion happens, but Arthur is powerless to stop what occurs next. However, as Geraint is closer, he tackles the man going towards Merlin. The knife which had already left his hand, is stopped midair by Merlin, who walks away without another word once it drops to the brown earth below their feet.

Seconds later, Arthur has the assailant on the ground, ripping him from Geraint's hold.

"Tonight, you will burn for what you have done," he whispers viciously, using all of his force to pin the man to the ground.

Glancing behind him, he finds the other man watching on in trepidation. "If you do not wish to suffer the same fate as your friend, I suggest that you leave, right now. Let his death be a lesson to you, and all others who seek to harm my," he pauses, "Merlin."

"Yes, your Majesty," he replies, scampering away seconds later.

Looking up towards Geraint, Arthur dictates, "Inform Sirs Leon, Gwaine, and Percival of the latest developments. They will know what to do."

"Yes, Sire," Geraint replies, leaving forthwith.

Guinevere gazes on Arthur, a resolve to her that makes him sure of his reaction.

"I think I'll go find Merlin. I'm sure he's a bit shaken up."

"I will be with you both as soon as I can," the King promises, driving his knee further down into the man's back.
                 "Gwen, please go," Merlin requests, a pile of limbs on the floor, crying.
                 Despite his office being in utter disarray, where he'd thrown everything about in a fit of rage, Guinevere ignores his entreaty, choosing to step in.

"No," she states simply, shutting the door behind her.

Rather than replying, he remains silent, tears still falling from his face to the floor.

Sighing, Gwen studies the mess around them.

Finding an overturned chair, she picks it up and takes a seat.

"I can't pretend to know what you're feeling, Merlin. I can listen though. If you need to rage, fine. If you need to cry, then do so. But, please, do not push those who love you away in the times you need us most.”

Sitting back, she waits for a response, hoping he had at least taken a portion of what she had said to heart. His guilt, she is aware, is astronomical at this point. He feels remorse, despite all of the good he has done. He cannot see that perhaps the end does justify the means, because in the course of his choices, there had been many people hurt. A fact, which Arthur had relayed, that Morgana had unmercifully reminded him of before he had done away with her to protect the man and the kingdom that he loves.

"How do you do it? How can you so willingly look past what either of us have done? You know Arthur and I sometimes better than we know ourselves, and yet you still care for us greatly."

Sighing, Gwen wrings her hands in her laps.

"I am not so naive as to forget that over the span of many years, you both have engaged in questionable behavior. The pair of you have made many mistakes, but so have I. I'm not perfect, Merlin. I simply choose to see the good, and acknowledge the bad as it should be, in the past. You both regret what you did, and that is enough for me."

A heartbroken, yet still accusing glance is shot her way.

"Your mistakes are not so great, and barely scratch the surface of what I managed."

"What do you want me to say, then, Merlin? I have regrets too, but none of them can change my previous actions. All I can do is move forward, and learn from them, " Gwen declares, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.

"If the people knew-"

"If the people knew to the extent of what you have done, it would not change a thing, except perhaps enamour them to you even more. You are a good man, Merlin. You deserve happiness. You deserve this, just as I do, just as Arthur does. We have fought for so much, and now it's our turn to enjoy the fruits of our labor. Do not allow the past, or what those two buffoons said, to tear you apart. Remorse and grief are natural emotions, but neither can bring about changes to events long gone."

"Thank you Gwen," he murmurs, tears glistening in his eyes.

Rising from her chair, the Queen takes a seat beside him, squeezing her right hand over his left.

A few minutes later, the door opens, and Arthur finds them in this position.

"What on earth happened in here? It looks as if a storm has passed through."

"Something like that," Merlin croaks out, his voice not altogether back to normal just yet.

"Am I interrupting something? I can go, if-"

"Stay," Merlin almost begs, his eyes pleading for the man to come closer.

"As you wish," Arthur declares softly, sealing the door behind him.

Looking to Gwen, he finds her eyes on him, signaling that they would speak about this later. Nodding, he goes to Merlin's other side, and sits down beside him. Rather than speaking, he takes Merlin's right hand within his own, and uses the other to cup his left cheek. When Merlin's eyes flutter shut, Arthur moves his lips forward, pressing them firmly against the brunet's own. Responding in kind, Merlin surges forward, and wraps his arms around his partner's neck. Gwen moves, allowing them the room to be how they need to. Gently, Arthur pulls Merlin to a standing position, where he can more fully wrap his arms protectively around the lanky man's body.

Excess tears that he had been holding back, begin pouring out from Merlin's eyes. Watching on, Gwen wonders if it would be bad timing if she were to wrap herself around from the other side. The perspiration falling though is quickly traded for a solid embrace between tongues. While Gwen has witnessed them together before, she has never intentionally placed herself in a position where she need be close enough to wonder whether her presence is necessary or not. For she is aware that they both love her, but sometimes, she notices how fiercely protective they can be of the time they share together.

The two had always been that way though, with the rest of the world unaware, they had something between them that burned brighter than the sun itself, she figures. Standing up to leave, Merlin is suddenly aware that she plans to exit the room. Breaking away from Arthur, he turns to her, searching her eyes for something. Reaching out tentatively, he twines his fingers with her own.

"If you'd like, I want you to stay," he whispers, suddenly crowding her space more than he ever does in the presence of anyone, except Arthur.

"Okay," she nods, looking back to gauge whether or not her husband liked the idea at all.

If he is put out by it, his eyes remain unaware of it. Intrigued, he watches as Merlin bends down and kisses her as he never had. The fire she feels on his lips is enough to singe them, and suddenly Gwen wonders what on earth he is planning, when one of his hands drops to her waist, while the other twines with her hair.

The last time she had kissed another man other than her own husband, she had sorely regretted it afterward. The memory of it searing through her mind, she pulls away, looking immediately to the blond, wondering what he'll say. No longer on the wall though, she finds him moving behind her, only to wrap his arms around her, and place a kiss on the side of her cheek.

"It's alright, love. That was then, and this is now," Arthur whispers.

The words turn over in her mind for a moment, while neither man dares touch her as they allow her to realize what Arthur is saying.

"If you want to leave Gwen, if this makes you uncomfortable in any way, you can leave, and I will not hold it against you. Neither will Arthur," Merlin adds, making sure she understands.

Looking up into Merlin's dark blue eyes, shining as bright as sapphires, she nods. A tentative silence remains for a moment, before she stands up on her toes to wrap her arms around the sorcerer, kissing him once again, full on the mouth. Surprised, but not displeased at all, the lanky man wraps his arms around her, soft enough that she could break away if she desires to do so. Arthur, rather than moving forward, to embrace her from the other side, opts to walk up behind Merlin and wrap his arms around the thinner man, placing soft kisses against his neck once he does.

Unfamiliar with the sensation of not one but two people surrounding him, encroaching upon his personal space, the warlock is unsure of what to do. Out of his element, he opts to remain thoroughly engrossed with the way his lips are molding around the soft ones pressed to his own, while enjoying the feel of what the blond is doing behind him.

In a variety of ways, the three move, some familiar, while others not. As the movements between them all become more heated, whimpers and moans frantically sound out into the otherwise still of the night. Soon, Gwen pulls away from Arthur, when she feels Merlin do the same from her. Glancing up at Merlin, Arthur signals that they follow him, presumably where they can retain some semblance of privacy. As it stands, anyone could walk through the entrance to his work space, none the wiser of what is behind the door.

Out in the corridor, Merlin locks the chamber up with a flick of his hand and mumbled spelled under heavy breathing, before allowing himself to be lead back to the royal bed chambers.

Sometime later, as all three lean back against the pillows, thoroughly relieved of energy and tension alike, Gwen turns to look at Merlin. Disregarding his flushed cheeks, and shaky respirations, she reaches for his hand. Looping her fingers around his, she smiles towards Arthur as he does the same.

"If that did nothing else, I hope you are now completely aware that you are not alone."

"Thank you Guinevere," he whispers, lifting her hand up to his mouth, then placing a soft kiss against it.

Unperturbed by the gesture, Arthur then protectively wraps his arms around the man between them, comfortably nestling his body around him. This is how they fall asleep, and Geraint finds them the next morning.

Smirking, he goes about his work, aware that he is being all but ignored. The King and Queen, much to his amusement, are still firmly wrapped around Merlin. Hardly a one of them stirs while he goes about the room, at least not until he opens the curtains, and then Arthur nearly falls out of bed at the sudden change in lighting within the room. Spying his temporary manservant, he merely nods, and takes the opportunity to slip away to relieve himself. Merlin stirs a moment later, when he becomes aware that Arthur is no longer in the bed. Carefully, he extracts himself from the Queen’s hold, making certain to cover her with the blankets once more.

Throwing a light tunic over himself to cover his bare chest, he makes his way to the table where Geraint placed their morning meals. While Arthur had always been given more than either he or Gwen, it seems that Geraint has outdone himself this morning, making sure that each is given their fill. Glancing up to see the younger blond arranging Arthur’s attire for the day, Merlin finds a place warming in his heart to the man. He had defended him, after all.

“Geraint?” Merlin whispers, just loud enough to be heard by the man in question.

“Yes, my Lord,” he responds, turning to face Merlin.

For a moment, the address throws Merlin off, but he chooses to ignore it.

“Have you had a chance to eat this morning?”

“I have not.”

“Come have a seat then. I could hardly finish half of what you’ve brought me.”

From the door, Arthur watches the exchange, with curiosity brimming. When he had heard Merlin’s exclamation of the knight’s name, he had done an immediate about face in the hall, unknown to either of them. Geraint moves and seats himself opposite of Merlin eagerly, grateful for the kindness bestowed upon him. The pair remain there easily enough, with the brunet devoid of a single worry in the world.

“Thank you, for what you did yesterday,” Merlin commends, handing a plate over to the other man.

Geraint pauses whilst placing his plate down, “It was the right thing to do.”

“You stepped in on my behalf, knowing that I could have taken both of them easily.”

“May I be frank, for a moment?” Geraint asks, swallowing a grape down his throat.

“There’s honestly no need to ask, but yes, you may.”

When Merlin drops his hand to the table, after his gesture to continue, Geraint begins, “You looked frozen, like you were accepting what those deranged men were saying. I may never have witnessed you in action before, but I have been in the thick of skirmishes a number of times. Someone who means to protect himself would not have stood there as you did.”

Arthur had only witnessed half of the altercation, but finds himself agreeing with Geraint’s assumption.

For a moment, Merlin considers this, and then nods.

A sigh resounds, before Merlin drops the food from his hands back onto his plate.

"For years, I have spent the majority of my time protecting Arthur, or the citizens of Camelot. I took up that burden though and put aside my health and well being so that others would have their own. I know I should be happy. Everyone continuously tells me that's what I should be. I find that it's hard to, knowing what I've done, as well as what could have been had I chosen to go about things differently."

A feeling of anguish fills Arthur, after hearing the words that Merlin has spoken so easily to Geraint. With Merlin, it seems like pulling teeth to get him to express anything beyond what he might let slip on occasion. Yet here he is, opening up to a near stranger. Leaning against the wall, the king listens attentively, hoping to glean more information at least, despite his sadness at the fact that this is how he has come to hear it.

"Everyone has regrets, Merlin. No one is exempt from them, regardless of who they are. Do you think that the King has none, or even the Queen? You did the best with what you could. If I were in your position, I find it hard to believe that I could have done what you did half as well as you. You made mistakes, because you are human, and nothing more. If you continue to dwell on what you believe should have been, then what is now will be wasted with memories of the past."

"You've been eavesdropping, haven't you? That sounds precisely like something Arthur would say, if he were listening."

"He is a smart man, the King. You should listen to him once in awhile," Geraint states, his eyes boring into Merlin, as if he weren’t at least five years his junior.

A smile crinkles into Merlin’s features, before he replies goodnaturedly, “Indeed.”

The two eat in relative silence after this, with Arthur still outside, pretending as if he hasn't been this whole time. Some minutes later, he walks in, after actually leaving to make use of the facilities. Seating himself beside the warlock, he presses a kiss into his left cheek, which brings a blush to Merlin’s features.

Geraint regards them with amusement, finding it interesting that both men, who are volatile warriors in their own right, can be so soft with one another. Absentmindedly, the younger man wonders whether he will ever have such a relationship as the King has with either Merlin or the Queen. A person is lucky enough in one lifetime to have one, but Arthur Pendragon has been blessed with two.

Guinevere wakes shortly after the men finish their food, and she bestows both Merlin and Arthur a kiss each, before tucking into her own meal. While each of them dress together behind their screen, Geraint remains seated at the table, finishing off what he had been unable to while he and Merlin had conversed. Unlike a few days before, the curly haired woman is at least able to tolerate the man’s presence. Silence reigns supreme though, while both partake in their plates. By the time Merlin and Arthur have returned from behind the screen, both have finished off their breakfasts, and Geraint is up clearing away the dishes.

“My next match is later today. I trust that my armor is well tended to?” he swivels his gaze to Geraint.

“Yes, Sire. I shall check it once more, shortly. Is there anything else that you require?”

“Not at all. You may go, for now. I expect you to be at my tent later though, after the rest of your chores have been finished.”

“Of course. Until then,” the man grins, before exiting directly after.

“He seemed quite chipper this morning,” Gwen comments, throwing a glance at both Merlin and Arthur.

“So it would seem. I have a bit of work to attend to at the moment, so our time this morning must be cut short. However, later tonight, we should all take a ride out or something.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

“Alright,” Merlin responds, before bending down to kiss Guinevere on the right cheek.

Lingering for a moment beside her, the two share a look that can only be described as affection.

“Oi, how dare you kiss my wife!” Arthur exclaims suddenly, causing Merlin to jump at the sound.

“You can’t be serious?” Merlin demands, suddenly on his guard.

“Don’t be daft, Merlin, of course I’m not,” Arthur assures warmly, moving forward to pull the man closer to himself.

Reluctantly, the brunet wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck, and returns the gesture.

“Don’t do that then. It was entirely unwarranted,” Merlin responds sourly.

“Would it make you happy to know that the sight of you both together, makes my heart just as pleased as if it were me with either of you?” Arthur informs, glancing between the two.

“Is that so?” Merlin queries, giving Arthur a searching look.

“It is. I’ve seen the way the pair of you look at each other. Perhaps at one time, just as it was with you and I, it was merely friendship. Then again, it could have been there from the start as well, and latent feelings are now coming to light. Whether it is the latter or the former, it matters to me not. What is relevant to me is whether or not you both are happy. It is true that we have had a decent arrangement thus far, and last night was highly enjoyable. However, I am aware that there is more to any relationship than just what occurs behind closed doors. What happens between you two is only as much my business as you wish it to be, but I do want you to know that whatever you both decide, I will be content. Should you two wish to be more to each other than lovers between the sheets, I will support it as well, regardless of what others think. Our kingdom is strong, and we would not be the first monarchs to have a consort, nor the last, I’m sure.”

Looking over to Gwen, both men gauge her reaction to Arthur’s little speech. Standing up, she joins them, and both wrap an arm around her from each side. Together the three stand there, holding one another.

“What do you say Gwen, should we give it a go, you and I?” Merlin asks, his eyes encouraging and bright.

“I see absolutely no reason as to why not,” she replies, grasping both of them equally tight.
               The rest of the tournament comes and goes. Naturally, as Merlin had professed, Arthur is the best warrior out there, which makes his win days later hardly a surprise to the citizens of Camelot. Years of his victories in countless brawls and tourneys have prepared them for the inevitability of him claiming yet another title. What not a one are ready for, except a select few, is what the King does after he comes away with another solid win.
               Ascending the stairs of the stands, he seeks out Merlin, while applause resound all around them.

“There is no one that I would rather share the glory of this triumph with than you. Were it not for you, I would not be here today,” Arthur assures him, pleading the brunet with his eyes to understand.

Releasing his hold of Guinevere’s left hand, Merlin allows himself to take the blond’s right hand, only to be led towards where Arthur had defeated his last opponent minutes before. Once there, Arthur lifts Merlin up onto his shoulders with relative ease, and the sorcerer begins utilizing his magic to make displays of grandeur shimmer throughout the sky above. For the first time in a long while, a tranquility like no other expands throughout Merlin’s heart and mind.
               The lights down below them flicker as visitors and citizens of Camelot mill around, waiting for the sun to fully set. With the ceremony for Merlin's appointment held earlier, and the tournament over in the very same day, the inhabitants of the realm are there to celebrate the dawn of a new age. In the morning, the kingdom’s visitors will trickle away, returning to their own lands. This night, however, they are all present to revel in the hope and love that the newest era of Camelot promises to usher in.
               On the balcony, high above the festivities, Arthur, Merlin, and Guinevere stand, regarding the scene below them thoughtfully. Wonder fills Merlin, as it did the first night he had ever lived in Camelot. Looking over at the King beside him, a soft smile traces itself across his lips. Spotting this, Arthur raises a bemused eyebrow, before placing a kiss on the brunet's temple. Going one step further, the King in a very un-statesmanlike manner grabs Merlin by the scruff and pulls him in a headlock, rubbing his knuckles against the dark locks, while Gwen watches them and rolls her eyes.

"So this is what I have to look forward to for the rest of our lives, hmm?" she demands, feigning displeasure.

"Yes," comes the emphatic reply, as the two tussle about below her.

"Others might disagree, but no one can convince me that either of you are anything but boys in mens’ attire," she says, laughter present in her voice as she shakes her full head of curls back and forth.

Crossing her arms and leaning over the balcony once more, an equal sense of peace fills the Queen. So much had occurred for them to reach this point, and even in spite of it all, Gwen would readily admit that this outcome is better than she had ever hoped for.

When Merlin manages to release himself from the strong arms wrapped around him, the two return to Gwen's side, a bit more winded than before. Sliding closer to Merlin, Gwen wraps her left arm around his waist, squeezing when she has a firm hold on him. Following suit, Arthur does the same, caressing her arm as he does. Their remaining hands intertwine with each of Merlin's free hands, and together they stand just like this. This gesture, although seemingly small to most, only further instills in the sorcerer one firm belief; that come what may, he need not fear the future, because for now he can face anything with both Arthur and Gwen at his sides. That, for the time being, is enough to bring happiness into his heart, and solace to his soul. The future, he decides, can wait.