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'That's disgusting.'

It wasn't often that Arthur could accuse Gwaine of understatement, but his simple words did not do the sight of the cave justice. Or the smell. The scene was not a horror for the eyes alone. The rank perfume of it had hit them first: a cloying, rotten meat fragrance that caught at the back of the throat and warned anything with an ounce of common sense to stay away. Instead, here they were, himself, his knights and Merlin, all hovering on the periphery to bear witness to... whatever this was.

'Why is it so... slimy?' Elyan asked, scraping his sword down a nearby rock and grimacing as he withdrew the blade. It remained connected via a glistening, viscous strand of ooze, and Arthur swallowed hard at the sight.

'It's been a hot summer, and the cave is dark and damp, so instead of drying out like a body left in the sun it did... this.' Merlin waved a hand towards the scene.

It was merciful, really, that the shadows hid most of the monster's corpse from sight. The bit they could see was bad enough. Its head had fallen into a shallow pool of what had once been clear water but was now reminiscent of putrid soup. The skin sagged from its face, and something occasionally dripped. There was a humid, sweaty feel to the air, and Arthur clenched his jaw, not sure he could say anything without throwing up and adding to the mess.

'Gods, that's revolting,' Lancelot croaked. He sounded strangled, as if he were doing his best not to breathe in. 'Merlin, can't you do something about the smell?'

'Not without the permission of the Crown Prince.'

Merlin's pointed, petty retort did not do much to improve Arthur's temper. He would have sighed, except that would involve inhaling too much of the vile air. Instead, he scrubbed a gauntleted palm over his face. 'Merlin, please fix the stench.'

'You'll have to be more specific, Sire. What exactly would you like me to do?'

One of the first things Arthur had done after discovering Merlin's magic was to order him not to use it unless Arthur gave permission. It was all he would do to wrest back some control of the situation and give himself a little peace. It was bad enough that he had not followed his father's laws and condemned Merlin to execution. Worse still that he could not even contemplate exile. Instead, he had sopped his conscience as best he could.

At first, Merlin had been blissfully obedient, but it didn't last long. Now, he seemed to take pleasure in making Arthur's life an inconvenience through not using his magic. Cold baths. Cold meals. Armour that was clean but did not sparkle and clothes that were badly mended. If it were life or death, he had no doubt Merlin would damn Arthur's command and save him anyway, but when it came to everything else, he was maliciously compliant.

And Arthur knew he only had himself to blame.

'Just... use your magic, will you?'

Merlin managed to look deeply disapproving and subtly delighted all at once. Gold flashed in his eyes, so beautiful that Arthur's breath caught in his chest. There was a faint sense of another presence, like warm sunlight or a strong wall at one's back: Merlin's power making itself known. A gentle breeze lifted Arthur's hair back from his face, and with it went the awful smell, thinning out until at last he could take a deep breath without fighting a retch.

'You could have done that from the start, couldn't you?' he complained.

'Not without my lord's permission.' Merlin's face was a picture of innocence, and Arthur struggled against the urge to shove him over into the pool of rotten slime as punishment.

'Perhaps, Sire, since it seems our services aren't needed to slay the beast, we should make our departure?' Leon suggested, ever the diplomat. Though when Arthur looked towards his Knight Commander, he noticed he appeared to be struggling to hide a smile at their squabbling. The other knights weren't much better. Maybe they all deserved a dunking in the foetid muck. It seemed a fitting punishment for all that he had to put up with. Still, he grimly restrained himself, and his annoyance faded a moment later as memory flared.

'You're right, Leon. We have discharged our service. However, Gaius was adamant about the ingredients he wanted. What was it. Liver?'

'And spleen,' Elyan added helpfully, his grin bright in his brown face as he looked towards where Merlin stood, already shaking his head. 'Just bits of them.'

'Requires intricate harvesting, I'm sure. The perfect job for the physician's apprentice.' Arthur looked at Merlin before gesturing to the shadows. 'Off you go, Merlin. That's an order.'

For a minute, he thought Merlin would refuse. He could see it in the defiant line of his shoulders and the twist of his lips. He puffed himself up like an irritated bantam hen before deflating just as quickly. 'Fine,' he grouched. 'Hold your breath. The smell will come back. The spell only covers a small area and I'm taking it with me.'

Arthur's protest choked in his throat as the rot slammed into him like a battering ram, somehow so much worse after the reprieve. He wasn't the only one. Percival made an awful noise before abandoning all pretence of decorum and retreating a dozen or so paces away, his sword-hand clamped over his nose.

It took only a few heartbeats for Arthur to follow. It smelled worse than a week-old battlefield, bad enough to make his eyes water, and he wondered if Merlin had been telling the truth about the weakness of his spell. He would not put it past him to lie. Petty seemed to be Merlin's middle name, these days.

'Should one of us have gone with him?' Lancelot asked from where he stood by Arthur's shoulder. Unlike the rest of them, he still had his hand on his sword. 'After all, something brought the beast to a sticky end.'

'It probably choked on a bone,' Gwaine replied. 'Serves it right for eating villagers.'

'Only one villager that we know of,' Leon replied, before inclining his head in acknowledgement. 'Though even that was one too many.'

'Even if something else did finish it off, it's not like it would hang around. That's been dead for longer than a week.' Elyan flicked a finger towards the beast's slack face. 'Merlin will be fine.'

Silence fell among them as time tiptoed past, marked out only by the whisper of the wind in the trees. No birds sang and nothing rustled in the undergrowth. Maybe every other living thing had the good sense to stay away.

At first, Arthur merely sighed, irritated at having to wait, but as a hundred heartbeats became a thousand or more, he began to shift his weight, drumming his fingers on the pommel of his sword. A quick, sideways glance had him meeting Lancelot's gaze, and the look they shared carried a growing weight of concern. The two of them stepped forward in a united stride, grasping their swords as they approached the mouth of the cave.

'Wait here,' he ordered the others, noticing that their faint traces of amusement had vanished. Now they all watched the scene with grim expressions, made nervous by Merlin's absence. 'Lancelot and I will find out what has distracted him.'

'Call out if you need us,' Leon urged.

'The same to you. Keep your eyes open.'

He wedged his hand over his nose, noting how Lancelot did the same as they plunged back into the fug, taking shallow breaths until they breached the invisible interface of Merlin's air cleansing spell. It passed over him like gossamer, a soft, welcoming touch, and Arthur tried to take comfort in it. Surely if some misfortune had befallen Merlin, the spell would have fizzled to nothing?

Cautiously, he and Lancelot skirted the monster's body, giving an outflung, twisted paw a wide berth. Alive, the creature would have been huge, easily three times the size in every direction as one of the draft horses Arthur saw working in the fields. If it had been standing, it would be higher in the shoulder than he was tall: a strange mix of cat and pig made even more grotesque in death.

At the cave's mouth, sunlight tore back the veil of shadows, but it did not reach far. There, chasing off the darkness, blue orbs of light bobbed in the air like fishing floats at sea. Arthur recognised them instantly, and something complicated twisted in his chest. He remembered being saved from Nimueh's spiders by an identical light. He should have known it was down to Merlin. Somehow, even when he lay at death's door, it seemed his thoughts always turned to Arthur.

'Mage-lights.' Lancelot gave a crooked smile at the sight, but it faded a moment later as his gaze fell back on the monster. 'Sire. Look.'

With a grimace, Arthur did as he was told. The cooler depths of the cave had slowed the decomposition somewhat. Not that it mattered. Even in an advanced state of rot, he would have noticed the damn creature appeared to be missing its back end. The body had been severed at the base of its ribs.

It might have made Merlin's job of harvesting the liver and spleen a bit easier. There was no denying that some of the shapes on the floor were its innards. There was also a huge smear of blood leading deeper down into the gullet of the cave.

'Merlin!' Arthur hissed, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling upright as he lifted his sword. He half expected some other monster to hiss in response, but all that happened was that one of the mage-lights bobbed towards him, darting back and forward like a dog trying to lead its master to something of interest.

Even Arthur could take a hint that blatant, and he followed the weaving dance of the ball of light, his gaze darting among the lingering shadows as he crept forward. It led them along the blood trail, and Arthur swallowed back a curse. Most people, on discovering something so horrific, would have fled, but not Merlin. No, his manservant instead chose to investigate, armed with nothing but magic of dubious strength and a tiny little knife, used for cutting up potion ingredients. It was enough to inspire a cold sweat down Arthur's spine.

At least the cave did not narrow down into a tunnel. It merely stretched back into the bedrock, turning a couple of winding corners before flaring into a larger cavern. In its centre lay what remained of the creature's lower half, not eaten, as Arthur expected, but intact. Merlin was staring at it, his profile pinched with consternation as he chewed his lip.

'Merlin. What in the name of the gods are you doing?'

'Does this look wrong to you?'

Arthur shook his head, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. 'It's half a monster. I don't know how "right" you expect it to appear.'

'Look at its spine, Arthur. There's no marks from gnawing or anything, whatever did this bit it clean in two.'

That was not a mental picture Arthur wanted to have. The dead monster was enormous. He did not want to contemplate the size of a beast that bit it in half. 'Then perhaps we shouldn't hang around in case whatever killed it comes back?' he suggested, reaching out a hand to grab Merlin's wrist and scowling when he stepped out of reach. 'Merlin, what –'

'Arthur, a creature big enough to do this shouldn't exist.' Those blue eyes skimmed back and forth around the cavern, made fey and unearthly by the floating mage-lights. 'It would need too much food. Besides, the villagers said the monster was lizard-like. They mentioned nothing like that.' He gestured to one of the limp back paws.

'Generally, traumatised peasants do not make very good witnesses. Just get what you need and let's go.' He shook his head, not understanding Merlin's apparent fascination. If he did not know better, Arthur would think him enchanted, yet that did not seem right. He did not have the fixed, hollow-eyed look that most victims of bewitchment displayed. Instead, he looked sharper, more honed, balancing on the balls of his feet like a hunter ready to pounce: beautiful and strong.

Around them, the blue-green mage-lights increased in intensity, and Arthur's fingers choked the pommel of his sword as Merlin raised one hand, palm out with his fingers curved like claws.

'Bemelde geséðung.'

It was like the sun falling to earth to raze all in its path, or the flash of lightning with no roar to accompany it. Illumination burst across Arthur's vision, whiting out the world. When its veil drew back, he was left blinking aside spots, staring at a cavern floor devoid of any corpse or blood. The rancid stench had gone. Instead, the air was musky and feculent, like an animal den, and Arthur wet his lips, staring around as he searched for whatever made this place its home.

'A sssurprissse. Yesss it isss.'

The strange voice seemed to seep from the sparse shadows, and the scrape of shambling footsteps reached his ears. The figure was not tall, stooped and shrouded in dark robes. Yet there was something about it – a presence that sent thrills of fear shuddering down his spine. A wrongness that set his teeth on edge.

'Emryssss.'

At his side, Merlin twitched: a subtle movement towards the passage that would take them out of the cave. His right hand reached out as if he intended to urge Arthur and Lancelot behind him, into the shelter of his body.

Normally, Arthur would find such a gesture laughable. Merlin was lithe at best and skinny at worst. Physically, he had nothing on either of them, and yet one glance at the hard line of his shoulders and the tension in his jaw spoke of a power Arthur had never seen before. The feel of Merlin's magic in the air thickened, not a comforting wall at his back, but a shell of armour: impregnable. It was not something Arthur could see, but he felt it all the way down to his bones.

'Who are you?' he called out, his raised voice echoing around the cavern. 'What is your purpose here?'

A hacking sound emanated from the figure, its slight frame trembling beneath the force of what Arthur realised had to be laughter. It stepped forward, into the glow of one of the mage-lights, and Arthur flinched as empty, staring eye-sockets lifted to meet his gaze. The skin on the creature's face hung grey and slack, a black tongue writhing in a toothless mouth, yet it formed words with chilling ease.

'Vengeance.'

The sibilant hiss seemed to go on forever, amplified until Arthur realised that it came from more than one throat. At his side, Lancelot sucked in a breath, and Arthur rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, watching as three huge lizard creatures appeared to melt out of the stone itself.

Grey fell from their scales, revealing hints of bronze and emerald. Perhaps they might have been beautiful, if not for their fang-bristled mouths and talons as long as his arm. In a split-second of insight, he knew what had eaten the villager. If one of them decided to snap up a person in their jaws, it would barely be more than a mouthful.

He was so busy staring at the monsters that he almost did not notice the spell until it was too late.

'Rendaþ!'

'Bordhreóða!'

Merlin's voice was a thundercrack, untouched by fear. The air around them rippled with twisting gold and a crackling purple that was almost black. At any other time, Arthur might have stopped to admire it. Instead, he reached forward with his left arm, snatching at Merlin's wrist and dragging him along in his wake.

'Run!' he commanded, trusting Lancelot to keep pace as he darted back towards the cave entrance. The skittering scrape of claws rasped behind them, and he fought the desperate urge to look over his shoulder at their pursuers. His skin prickled with the imagined waft of hot, wretched breath across his nape, and his spine thrilled with the threat of sharp teeth snapping closed around his flesh.

'Run faster!' Merlin suggested, his long legs and the fact he wasn't weighed down by armour allowing him to outpace Arthur, their hands still clasped together as he pulled him along. His eyes gleamed gold in the darkness, and he muttered something under his breath.

Immediately, the bobbing mage-lights blazed like open flames, orange and white spearing outwards, annihilating their calm blue. They rushed downward, striking at the monsters who gave chase. The noise was spectacular, like a storm's fury directly overhead. It rolled through the air with a force all its own, pushing them on and plucking at Arthur's hair. A moment later, the stone beneath their feet heaved like some great wave. Arthur wobbled, his sprint disintegrating into an awkward, hopping stride as he tried to keep his balance.

'The roof!'

The crash of stone almost drowned out Lancelot's warning, and Arthur swore as a boulder the size of his horse flung itself towards the ground, shattering into shards that knifed through the air. It was followed by a hail of others, and he darted this way and that, untangling his fingers from Merlin's only to grab his arm, keeping him close and safe.

At first, he thought it was fair fortune stopping the debris from hitting him, but soon enough he noticed flares of gold in the gloom: Merlin's magic driving back anything that might have struck them down.

The glimmer of daylight ahead was a welcome sight, and Arthur sped up, barely noticing that the other half of the monstrous corpse had disappeared. He was too concerned about what was chasing them. He could just make out the silhouettes of the others, their swords drawn and flashing as they sprinted towards them.

Arthur raced from the cave mouth and skidded to a halt, shoving Merlin behind him to shield him with the breadth of his shoulders and the expanse of his back. He ignored Merlin's huff of protest. Out here, beneath an open sky and with all his knights at his side, he would far rather face the threat than run from it.

Dust and debris belched out in a plume of grey grit. It did nothing to hide the three pairs of silver eyes burning out of their depths, watching them all like cats might observe a nest of mice.

The creatures stepped forward, long, narrow muzzles agape. The sun did not deter them, merely setting their subtle scales agleam. Thick saliva dripped from their jaws, smattering on the ground, yet they did not lunge forward to strike. Instead, they waited, their gaze unblinking as they stared.

At first, Arthur thought they watched the knights, but when he shifted his stance, their eyes did not follow him, Instead, it was someone behind him who held them captivated.

Merlin.

Muscles trembled in the flank of the nearest one, like a dog who longed to pounce and was only restrained by its master's hand on its collar. A low growl, felt more than heard, rumbled up through Arthur's boots, intensifying when he ushered Merlin further back. As he did so, that same, choked laugh reached his ears: each breath hacked off like it hurt. Bare, skeletal feet pattered over the floor of the cave as the figure approached at a leisurely pace.

Here, the sunlight peeled back the veil of the shadows, and Arthur sensed his knights stiffen around him. Bird-like bones pressed against pallid skin wherever the robes did not cover, and that mutilated face was slashed with scars. Yet despite not having any eyes, Arthur knew they were being watched. Like the beasts the person controlled, their focus was not on Camelot's prince or the knights that rode beneath his banner, but on Merlin.

One hand reached out, beckoning, twig-like fingers curling inwards. Even without a word spoken, Arthur understood the deal on the table. If he surrendered Merlin, he and his knights would live.

'Never,' he spat, his jaw aching as his teeth clenched tight. His hand shifted its grip, changing the angle of his blade in preparation to fight, He retreated a step, trying to shepherd Merlin back even as the man himself surged forward: as if he were any match for three huge lizard monsters and the sorcerer who controlled them.

The black robes, turned grey with age and dust, whispered as the figure shrugged. Their shoulders rolled with a graceful indifference, and the curled fingers thrust outwards in mute command.

That was all it took. The monsters leapt, all coiled strength and gleaming fangs. Arthur's war cry was inarticulate, and he felt the knights brace themselves around him, ready to stare certain defeat in the face. Yet before he could do much more than shift his weight, muscles bunching to put strength behind the first blow, something pushed him back. His boots left tracks in the scant soil as his legs locked tight, his body held in a vice-like grip. Gwaine's shout of frustration suggested the others were in the same situation, and Arthur bared his teeth, struggling against the magic that held him in its grasp.

The only one who didn't move was Merlin, and panic popped in Arthur's chest when he realised that the power holding him at bay did not come from the blind mage. He recognised the feel of it, firm and warm, gentle but unwavering. Merlin's eyes shone like molten gold as he forced them all to retreat to a safe distance. He cast one quick look at Arthur and the knights, as if checking to make sure they were out of harm's way, before turning his attention back to the monsters as they raced over the intervening space.

'Rende stán engu ond deopnes æt se fir heorte!'

The trees shivered as the earth groaned: a deep bellow of sound like some beast awakening from an eternal slumber. An ear-splitting crack echoed through the air, and Arthur sucked in a breath, his curse of astonished fear falling useless from his lips as the ground beneath his feet jerked back, spilling him to his knees.

It was the most noise he had ever known. Small stones rattled up and down next to his gloved hand, and he heard the distinct sound of a tree-trunk breaking, snapped in two as the earth between its roots roiled. He ducked his head on instinct as the force of Merlin's magic reared back and plunged into the ground.

A delicate shiver raced over the soil, driving a web of cracks before it. The three lizard creatures watched with narrowed eyes, their mad chase halted as they hesitated: uncertain.

The breach was narrow at first, no further across than Arthur's middle finger was long. Another breathed word from Merlin and it yawned wide, the stone at its far edge raining down into the depths: a trickle becoming a cascade becoming a landslide. The earth groaned and slumped, giving way to the darkness.

Querulous sounds caught in the monsters' throats, the skin beneath their jaws pulsing in warning, but it was too late. The ground collapsed like sand, sending them tumbling, bellowing and raging, into the waiting abyss.

The eyeless mage spat something: a word that took shape and form, sailing like an arrow through the air. Arthur's shout of warning fell from his lips, but there was nothing he could do. His body remained locked in place, stopping him from lunging forward to push Merlin out of harm's way. Instead, he could only watch as the strange magic raked Merlin's side. He paled, staggering, and a low noise caught in Arthur's throat as he saw a wet patch bloom on Merlin's tunic, spreading rapidly.

Yet rather than a jeer of triumph, Merlin's opponent took a half-step back, that pallid face collapsing into blank shock before a twisted snarl drew their cheeks into a rictus.

The shift of the wind plucked at their tattered robe. Except, no, not a breath stirred the air. This was something else, and Arthur blinked, shaking his head as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. It was as if the figure were growing and twisting, strange angles erupting from the line of their back, stretching up and outwards. The ragged fabric of their clothes resisted before tearing completely, revealing what lay beneath.

If it had ever been human, those days were long gone. Arthur could feel the horror of the knights around him, trying to make sense of the sight as long, spidery limbs hoisted a withered body upwards. The toothless mouth parted in a threatening hiss, and a dozen spiny barbs flexed to life along each of its six arms. Where human legs would have been, there was nothing of the sort. Instead, a barbed tail seemed to grow from its ribs, lashing around as it juddered forward: its movements too jerky for any living thing.

The power holding him in place fell slack, and Arthur wasted no time, tearing himself free from its lingering tendrils and sprinting back to Merlin's side. The clatter of armour around him suggested his knights had done the same, racing forward to shield Merlin as the creature lunged across the chasm. Tattered fingernails scrabbled at the rock, its movements twitchy and strange as it scuttled and stretched like a spider navigating its web, picking its way over the gap towards them.

Merlin's voice was a fretful whisper of one spell after another, but a quick glance showed the power in his eyes dimming as he clutched one hand to his side.

'Go for the legs!' Arthur ordered his knights, his words tight and breathless. 'Cut it down so we can strike at its weak points.'

'Watch the tail!' Leon warned, waiting for the moment that the creature's first hand reappeared over the lip of the precipice. 'Now!'

It was a brief, hectic battle. Dark ichor soaked its pale grey skin, sword blades biting into bone. The strong sweep of Percival's claymore severed one leg, but it had less effect than he hoped. The creature only listed, putting its weight on the bloody wound as if it were of no consequence. It fought through them as if they were nothing but biting ants, swatting and lashing with its tail. Its blind sockets remained fixed on Merlin, the slant of its mouth hungry and mad.

In the end, that obsession was its downfall. The window of opportunity was small, but when it opened, Arthur took it without hesitation. A swing of its tail left its underbelly exposed, and Arthur slammed his sword upwards, feeling the give of skin and the odd, hot cling of meat against the blade. A blow from Elyan chopped the barbed tip off the tail as Leon sliced at another limb. They harried it relentlessly, but it was not until Arthur's sword was in its chest all the way to the hilt that it so much as staggered.

A noise escaped it, little more than a wheezing grunt of surprise. Its face pinched as, finally, it turned away from Merlin, its hollow rage draining from its expression. With one last yank, Arthur pulled his sword free, stepping back from the vile gush of fluid that drained from the injury.

It laughed again, three quick, stuttering sounds that jerked and twisted its body. One long limb, the human hand at its end more chilling than anything else, reached out towards Arthur's face. It was no speedy swipe, but a steady advance, like a mother comforting her child. Yet before it could get close, Merlin spat something: a volatile, final command that made the earth heave once more. Arthur and the knights were pitched one way while the creature staggered back, one of its feet slipping off the chasm's edge. There was a brief, weak scramble for purchase before the ground gave way, sending the mage careening down to join the creatures it had once commanded.

'Beclysan.'

Like a door banging in its threshold, the rift snapped shut, heat and a thin line of fire rising up like blood from a welt before it faded to nothing. In its place was a strange, long seam of molten rock: a twisted scar upon the land.

As Arthur watched, the soil turned rich and loamy as green leaves sprouted. He had never seen life move so quickly, leaves unfurling in the space between one blink and the next. Before he knew it, the clearing before the cave was covered in a carpet of grass and wildflowers: red poppies and yellow bird's-foot trefoil; spires of foxgloves in full bloom and a lush mat of daisies, as if the earth itself sought to hide what had happened.

'Bugger me,' Gwaine whispered, breaking the silent spell that seemed to have them all in its grasp.

Arthur spun around, stabbing his filthy sword into the ground as he sprinted to Merlin's side, clutching at his shoulders. The bite of his fingers had to be leaving bruises, but he could not gentle his touch, not when such furious fear drenched his skin in sweat and hammered at his heart. A thousand words pressed against the back of his teeth: praise and recriminations both. With great effort he swallowed them back, taking one steadying breath before he undid the knot of Merlin's belt and peeled back his tunic, taking in the wound.

Blood stained Merlin's skin reddish-brown, dribbling from the slash in his side. At least it did not gush, but nor did it slow as Arthur watched, and he hissed a quiet curse. Unfortunately, the horses had fled their picket, taking the packs and any useful supplies with them.

'It's all right,' Merlin promised, clamping his palm over the wound and ignoring the fact that blood welled between his fingers a moment later. 'It's not too bad.'

'Bad enough, and caused by magic,' Arthur bit out. 'Percival, Elyan, try and find the horses. Bring them back. We'll make camp, assuming it's safe?'

'I don't think anything's coming back from that.' Leon gestured to where the scar of stone had been, now covered with flowers. Nearby, the birdsong in the trees had started again, and as Arthur watched, a butterfly drifted towards one of the flowers, alighting on its petals to bask. Of the entire incident, only the cave remained, empty of corpses, monsters or worse.

'Sit,' he ordered, steadying Merlin as he bullied him down to the ground. He looked wan and sick, his lips bracketed with pain, and Arthur clenched his jaw in an effort not to fret. If Elyan and Percival didn't return with the horses soon, then he would need to start ripping something up for bandages. The problem was that they had little in the way of clean linen. They were, to a man, covered in sweat and grime. Only Merlin's scarf seemed to have been spared the worst, and Arthur pulled his gloves off, his fingers clumsy on the knot as he unravelled it from Merlin's throat.

'I'll buy you a new one,' he promised, folding it into a pad and easing Merlin's hand aside to press it to the wound. A quiet noise of pain pulsed in Merlin's throat, and Arthur murmured his apologies. 'This isn't like any injury I've ever seen. It doesn't seem deep, and yet it bleeds and bleeds.'

'It's the magic,' Merlin explained.

'Can't you do something? Heal yourself?'

Merlin shook his head, and Arthur scoffed in disbelief. 'So, you can do all that – rip the earth open and slam it shut again, but you can't mend a wound?'

'Yours? Probably, if I tried hard enough. I'm no good at healing my own.' Merlin grunted, taking the cloth from Arthur's grasp before easing himself down to lie on the grass. 'It'll be fine. I just need to rest a minute.'

'Don't you dare go to sleep!' Arthur hissed, fear's fist clutching tight around his throat. He had seen other knights lie down to recover from their wounds only to never regain their feet. 'Talk to me. What was that thing?'

'Dunno.' Merlin wet his lips, blinking blearily up at the sky. It was a sunny day, the bright light incongruous with the horror they had found in the cave. 'Never seen anything like that before. The dead, oozing thing was an illusion, but the lizards, the ones it controlled? They fed on magic. That's probably why only one villager got eaten. They had some magical ability. It was that, not their flesh, that the creatures craved.'

And they had looked at Merlin as if he were a feast there for the taking.

Arthur pursed his lips, revisiting all the assumptions he had ever made about Merlin's magic. He had decided it was a benign talent: something for heating bathwater and tripping bandits with occasional well-placed tree roots, neither threatening nor worthy of punishment.

It had never crossed his mind to picture anything like what Merlin had just done – to shield them all from harm, for his mage-lights to become fireballs raining down on the enemy, to open the earth like that, as if the very elements were his to command... Of course, Merlin had obliquely mentioned the times he had saved Arthur's life, but he had thought it more about good fortune than much else. Now, he realised the truth of it.

Merlin was just as dangerous as any sorcerer his father had ever put to the pyre, perhaps more so. Yet Arthur was not afraid.

A quick glance at the remaining knights showed that he was not alone. No trace of uncertainty lingered in their familiar faces. Gwaine and Lancelot had gathered firewood while Leon stood guard, his sword at rest and his eyes scanning the clearing. Of all of them, Leon was the most similar to Arthur. He had been born and raised in Camelot, yet he did not quiver and quail, nor did he remain neutral. Instead, the look he cast in Merlin's direction was full of both blatant pride and deep concern.

'Keep talking,' Arthur prodded, noticing with a jolt that Merlin's lashes had fluttered shut and that the hand applying pressure to the wound appeared to be losing its grip. Merlin startled, as if he had been slipping into sleep, managing little more than a grunt as Arthur replaced Merlin's palm with his own and braced his shoulders before applying firm, stable pressure.

Merlin gasped, biting off a yelp of pain as he cast him a dark look, but Arthur did not waste his time with guilt. This was medicinal, and if it kept Merlin alert, then all the better. 'What else do you know? What about what she, or it, or whatever it was, said? Something to do with "Emrys"? What's that?'

When silence was his only answer, Arthur looked up from Merlin's injury, taking in the odd slant of his expression. Those blue eyes were looking straight up at the sky, their corners feathered by lines of something that Arthur couldn't quite place. He almost asked the question again, stopping only when Merlin sighed, his lips twisting ruefully. 'I am.'

'What?'

'I'm Emrys. At least, that's what the druids call me.' He sighed, closing his eyes again and shifting where he lay. 'It's – people know me. Of me. Or something. There are prophecies.'

Arthur pulled a face, not liking the sound of that. Some small, childish part of him protested that Merlin was his manservant. His duties and loyalties, first and foremost, should be with Arthur: not some destiny the druids believed. Ruthlessly, he pushed that aside. After all, Merlin was with him, wasn't he? He was right here by his side, throwing himself into danger when any knight might turn and run? He had not drifted away to join the druids, where his magic would be welcome and respected. Instead, he had stayed, a lowly servant, and risked discovery and death. Didn't that mean something?

'Sire.'

Leon's soft word of warning interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see Elyan and Percival, the horses in tow. However, it seemed their trusty steeds were not all they found in the forest. An old man dressed in simple robes walked at Percival's side. For all his wealth in years, he did not hobble, and there was an agile grace to his stride as he caught sight of Merlin and hurried forward.

'Prince Arthur.' He bowed in greeting, stopping his approach and spreading his hands in peace when Leon shifted to intercede. 'I am Alined. We have met once before, though it was brief.'

Arthur inclined his head. 'I remember.' Their meeting had been little more than a shared nod from the shadows when Arthur had deliberately led a patrol away from a druid camp not three months ago. He had been out on his father's orders, commanded to drive the scourge from their land by bullying or blood, but the edict sat ill on his shoulders. Whether his father saw it or not, the druids were people of Camelot too. There was little he could do to help their cause while he remained prince, but that, at least, had been in his power.

'I can help.' Alined gestured to where Merlin lay, watching without any apparent concern or alarm. 'We know the magic that dwelt in that cave, and how to counter it, but you will need to come with me back to our camp.'

'Can you walk?' Arthur asked, looking down at Merlin and giving a doubtful scowl when he nodded. 'Are you sure?'

'It's not far.' Merlin didn't make it a question. He spoke as if he knew where the camp lay, like it was true north pulling at some compass buried under his skin. Relief softened some of the pain in his features, and Arthur's heart twisted in his chest. 'Besides, the bleeding might have slowed a bit.'

Arthur moved his hand a fraction, shaking his head and clenching his teeth at the gore that made a lie of Merlin's hopes.

'The wound will get no worse, Sire, but nor will it get better without treatment,' Alined promised. 'Come with your knights, and keep your swords, not because you will need them but because I doubt you can be at ease after what has passed today.'

Leon's quiet breath of surprise matched Arthur's mood perfectly. In Alined's place, he did not think he could be so trusting. The knights of Camelot had been hounding the druids on Uther's orders for years. Sometimes, they merely chased them away, but others...

He swallowed, remembering the smoke and the screams, the blood and fear. More than one camp had been razed in his youth, when his command was still shaky and his character had not yet been forged into the man he was today. He carried those sins with him every day of his life, and yet here Alined stood, his druid mark on display and his gaze knowing but kind.

'You have my thanks. We will leave our swords at the camp's edge.' He noticed Leon's nod out of the corner of his eye and saw the subtle curve of Lancelot's smile. His father would be appalled to know that Arthur looked to his knights for approval, but it warmed him all the same. 'Bring the horses. Come on, Merlin. Up you get.'

He hauled him to his feet as gently as he could, wincing as he lost what little colour he had regained. The pallor of his skin made his eyes look shocking, cornflower blue, and for a moment Arthur thought that Merlin might swoon dead away.

Perhaps that would be easier. Then, at least, he could carry him. Instead, Merlin set his jaw and began to walk, a subtle limp becoming more pronounced with each passing moment. After no more than a dozen paces, Arthur stepped closer to Merlin's wounded side, wrapping his right arm around his waist and draping Merlin's left arm over the back of his neck, the better to support his weight.

The shadows between the trees welcomed them into their embrace. Arthur was busy concentrating on where he was putting his feet, guiding Merlin around tree roots and over stones so as not to jostle him. More than once, he considered scooping him up over his shoulder, but he knew Merlin would struggle and complain, which would only make the whole situation worse.

'Do we need to be worried about that?' Gwaine asked, sounding more curious than alarmed.

'What?'

'The flowers?'

Arthur paused, looking back and blinking at the bright trail of lush vegetation that marked their path through the wood. Long grasses wavered in a playful breeze, and a vine climbed the closest tree, racing towards the canopy as flowers burst open like stars upon its stems.

'He is bleeding magic: an effect of the spell that has struck him.' Alined explained, stepping back as a tree burst upwards with a great, creaking surge, swelling from seedling to sapling to full-grown in the space of a dozen heartbeats. 'We should hurry.'

'Aren't you worried about your camp?' Elyan asked, tugging at one of the horses, who was eating the bounty of grass with every sign of enthusiasm. 'I don't think this is going to stop when we get there.'

'We will act quickly. Already my Treani is mixing the cure.'

'Treani?' Percival asked, his voice unsure over the unfamiliar word. 'Is that a healer?'

'Of a sort. Calder is versed in herb-lore, but also in spells that help to ease the ills of magic. The elixir is a mixture of the two. One heals the body, while the other mends what lies beneath.'

'How did you know he would need it?' Arthur cocked his head, jostling Merlin gently in an effort to keep him awake. 'How did you even know to come and find us?'

The look Alined gave him was patient and touched with amusement. It was the same look Merlin got when the answer was simply "magic", and Arthur huffed in quiet annoyance. Thankfully, Alined was not as quick as Merlin to disregard the question.

'Emrys – Merlin – is important to the druids. We have always had the ability to speak mind-to-mind with one another. He can reach out, though he does not always do so deliberately. That was what happened today. We sensed his... alarm. We felt what hunted him. We knew how to act.'

Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin's waist, turning the answer over in his mind. A life at court meant he could hear what Alined did not say. Whatever it was that lived in that cave, the druids had known about it, and it was more than a passing awareness of one of Camelot's many dangers. He would have that story from Alined before the sun set, of that he was determined. His nerves still jangled with uncertainty and disgust at what he had seen, and his brain kept trying to tell him that what the mage had become was impossible. Part of soothing the fear that still lingered around him was understanding the unknown.

First, however, they needed to attend to Merlin.

A few minutes later, the druid camp swung into view. At first, there was nothing but trees, then indistinct outlines resolved into tents, their canvas green and brown to blend in with the forest. The familiar smell of a campfire perfumed the breeze, and Arthur could hear the sound of children playing. There were cooking pots steaming over the fire, and washing hung out on a line strung between two trees. The weight of so many staring eyes was not unexpected, but they lingered on the knights for only a second or two before everyone seemed to focus their attention in Merlin.

'Into the tent,' a middle-aged man ordered, pointing to one of the biggest shelters. 'Lie him down. This needs to be poured straight into the wound.' He cradled a bowl in his palms as he waited for Arthur to do as he was told, easing Merlin down onto a sparse bedroll. 'Someone will need to hold him still. I am afraid there is no painless way to do this.'

Wordlessly, Arthur braced Merlin's shoulders. Lancelot, who had trailed after them, added his weight to Merlin's shins, his fingers white-knuckled with his strength. 'Try and stay still,' Arthur urged, frowning down at Merlin's face. It was unusual to see him so quiet, and that gaze looked distinctly unfocussed now. The blood continued to ooze and seep, and Arthur wondered at how much there was for a body to lose.

'You are sure, Calder?' Alined murmured. 'I do not feel we have time to try again.'

Calder eyed the earth floor of the tent, which was already sprouting grass and a carpet of phlox. 'I am certain.' He knelt, dribbling the liquid from the lip of the bowl into the parted flesh. The concoction smelled of earth and fresh rain, but the moment it touched Merlin's skin, it took on a sickly-sweet edge that reminded Arthur forcefully of the foetid, rotten smell of the dead creature at the mouth of the cave. The illusion had been a thorough one, fooling all the senses, and gorge threatened to rise in his throat.

Only the twist of Merlin's body had him swallowing it back, focusing all his strength on the man beneath him. He writhed like a fish on a hook, bitten off gasps shuddering past his lips as the glimmer of tears beaded his lashes. The tendons on his bare neck stood out as he flung his head back, his jaw clenched tight against a pain Arthur did not wish to imagine.

Faint tendrils of fume rose from the wound, reminding him of smoke. Arthur watched, eagle-eyed, as Alined knelt by Calder's left hand, swiftly wiping away both blood and the odd, inky mixture of Calder's concoction. The colour changed to something thick and dark as Calder drained the last of the bowl, nodding in quick satisfaction before joining Alined in his efforts.

'He's done well,' he murmured. 'This is no easy cure.'

'What was the thing that hurt him?' Arthur asked, shifting one hand as Merlin's struggles weakened, his body falling lax as unconsciousness claimed him. Gently, he swept strands of hair from Merlin's sweat-glossed forehead before dropping his fingers to the hollow of his jaw, finding some solace in the beat of his pulse, a touch fast, but otherwise strong and steady. 'I know it was magic, but I need to know more than that. How can I protect Merlin – my people – against the bad magic if I do not understand?'

He meant his question to sound emphatic, but even to his own ear it came across as desperate. He sought out first Calder and then Alined, meeting their considering eyes without faltering as he waited for them to speak.

At length, Calder wrapped a hand around Alined's shoulder. 'You should explain. It is their due. I will ensure Emrys is comfortable.' He turned to Arthur, speaking with a kindly patience that reminded him of Gaius. 'Rest will bring about a full recovery. With your leave, Prince Arthur, I bid you join the others at the fireside. There are several elders among us who may answer all your questions.' His smile turned knowing at its edges when Arthur's fingers tightened their grasp on Merlin's shoulder. 'Your friend will be well-tended, and sleep will restore him to health. May I suggest you and your knights make plans to spend the night here?'

'It will take him that long to awaken?'

'Probably not, but riding on horseback will aggravate his wound. It would be best it has time to clot and seal. I expect him to stir by sundown.' Calder tilted his head. 'Perhaps a little longer, but not much.'

It was that promise that Arthur clung to as he reluctantly peeled himself from Merlin's side, following Alined and Lancelot out of the tent and into the camp. The other knights all looked up, worried faces blooming into hopeful smiles as Arthur set their minds at ease as best he could.

'Your sword, Sire?' Leon asked, holding out his hand for Arthur's blade. He had been too busy helping Merlin to leave it at the camp's boundary, as promised. Now, he did not even hesitate to unsheathe it, allowing Leon to dig it into the ground with the others.

All his knights had taken their ease. Elyan and Percival saw to the horses, laughing with the children who helped them. Gwaine was hovering around the cooking pot, charming morsels from the woman stirring it with quick smiles and sparkling eyes. Leon helped a young man string snares for rabbits, never venturing too far from camp, but not lingering at Arthur's side, either. If any of them had any doubts about the trustworthiness of the druids, they hid it well.

'Please, sit.' Alined gestured to the upturned logs dug into the soft earth around the campfire, waiting patiently as Arthur took the one opposite Merlin's tent, the better to keep an eye on whoever came and went. Lancelot sat quietly at his right hand, and Arthur wondered how much he already knew about what was happening. He had known of Merlin's magic for much longer than Arthur, yet one glance at his profile suggested he was intrigued, eager for the answers Alined had to offer.

'The individual that you vanquished today has been haunting the forests of Albion for more than thirty years.'

Arthur raised an eyebrow. Most of the difficulties he came across found their root in the Purge. To hear of something pre-dating it was enough to give him pause. 'A monster like that? How have I only just heard of it?'

'In more recent years, the Wrecan, as it became known, only awakened to feed the Thungor: the creatures it had under its command. They preyed upon users of magic and, once sated, slept.' Alined drew in a breath as he considered his words. 'Your father claims that magic is a corrupting force, something that turns even the best of men and women into things beyond redemption. Is this also your belief?'

Arthur's lashes fluttered, his jaw working before he shook his head, just once. 'Not anymore.' He had seen too much to contradict it, even as he watched his father's fear bleed into prejudice and tyranny. Maybe, in his youth, he had not bothered to question it, but since he became Crown Prince he had begun to have his doubts. Then, when he found out about Merlin's magic...

He could not picture it. He could not imagine ever turning to look at him and seeing something irredeemably evil.

'I think power, all power, whether it is held by a warlock, a high priestess, or a king can turn a mind to indifferent cruelty. Corruption is not unique to those who wield magic.' He wet his lips, lowering his voice. 'My father is proof enough of that.'

Alined looked at him, his unfaltering stare heavy with assessment. At last, he bowed his head, just once, the respect in the line of his shoulders and the stoop of his neck more graceful in Arthur's eyes than anything he saw at court.

'I confess, I did not think such a day would come, and it gratifies me to hear it. Yet, in the case of the Wrecan, Uther's belief holds true. It was a man, once, a druid: powerful and purposeful, but one without the restrictions of conscience and compassion. He craved strength, and he twisted his magic in order to hoard more for himself. He committed unspeakable acts: drinking blood, eating human flesh. He was ostracised and exiled, as is our way.'

He drew in a deep breath, his hands twisting in his lap. 'His anger drove him mad. He became obsessed with being the strongest mage and having his vengeance. Yet in the end, his magic abandoned him. He had to make do with stealing it from others. His last act of his own power was to bring the Thungor into being. When they ate, some of the magic they consumed travelled back to him to be put to use. What you saw today was the eventual result: his humanity long lost, and what was left of his mind focussed on nothing but the theft of magic from others. We are fortunate indeed that Emrys was able to defend himself.'

'And why is that?' Arthur watched Alined, fairly sure he already knew the answer. He had witnessed the Thungors' appetite. He had seen the intense focus of the mage. Merlin's magic was not a mere morsel for them, but a banquet.

'He is no ordinary warlock. There are many who believe he is the embodiment of magic itself. They would never have hungered again, and the Wrecan's power would have been without limit.'

Arthur blinked, grappling with the enormity of what Alined had said. He had expected to be told that Merlin was like the High Priestesses, powerful and adept at the weaving of spells: another sort of secret. This? It made Merlin sound more like some kind of god or force of nature: something beyond the simple hierarchy of peasant, courtier, prince and king. Something greater than all of them.

And he cleaned out Arthur's chamber pot!

'Merlin?' He pursed his lips, trying to marry the notion of it in his head. 'My Merlin?'

Lancelot cleared his throat next to him, sounding as if he were stifling a laugh. A moment later, he grew serious, propping his elbows on his knees as he leaned forward. 'If he is, as you say, the embodiment of magic – someone clearly so important to your people – why would you send him to Camelot?'

'We did not. Fate guided his feet. Besides, a better question may be "Why does he stay?" The danger in which he places himself is considerable. If he were discovered... Well, you can already imagine. It is what you protect him from every day that you keep his secret.'

'Tell me, then: why does he stay?' Arthur glanced towards the tent, just about able to make out the outline of Merlin's sleeping form in the shadowed interior. 'Why risk it? He mentioned something about prophecy, but I've never known Merlin to believe in that kind of thing.'

'No,' Alined acknowledged, 'but it does not require that he do so, any more than tomorrow needs people to believe that it will follow today. It either happens, or it does not.'

'And if this one does?' Arthur swallowed, his heart lurching at his chest. It felt like he was standing on the lip of a precipice, teetering above a point of no return. 'What is it Merlin is meant to do? What does this prophecy say?'

Alined shifted where he sat, a flicker of uncertainty deepening the lines of his face. Calder's approach made him look up, offering a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. 'How fares Emrys?'

'Sleeping comfortably. Healing slowly. He will be well again, though this –' Calder reached out to touch one of the flowers that had sprung up in the camp when Merlin arrived. 'It will be interesting to see if it withers and fades as it should with the turn of the year, or if he has made an eternal garden. You have explained about the Wrecan?'

'I have. Prince Arthur asked about the prophecy. The one we believe.'

'There's more than one?' Lancelot asked.

'There are many. Some are scraps, nothing more. Others are withered, growing less likely with each day. The one that we, and many others, can see coming to fruition still holds steady, more than two decades after it was first foreseen. If anything, it has grown stronger and more certain these past two seasons.'

'But you will not tell us what it is?' Arthur sighed. He would have to be blind to miss the reluctance of the druids. They were tense beneath their robes and perched on the edge of their seats, rather than taking their comfort. 'You will not tell us how to keep Merlin safe? How to help him?'

'It does not involve Emrys alone. Your name is also mentioned.'

'And yet I know nothing of it, while Merlin does?'

The look on Alined's face could only be described as sour. 'Generally, we do not interfere. However, the same cannot be said for every creature of interest. It was the dragon, not the druids, who told Merlin of the prophecy.'

Arthur ran his tongue over his teeth. He knew about Kilgharrah. Of all Merlin's truths, that had been the one that came closest to condemning him. There were days when Arthur could still smell the smoke and the sickening stench of roasted flesh. The beast's thirst for vengeance had been powerful. He and Merlin had spoken of it, its anger and its cunning, just the once. 'Why? What was in it for the dragon?'

'Who can say?' Alined shrugged. 'Perhaps it hoped to bind Emrys closer to Camelot so that it could one day manipulate him into offering him freedom? Maybe he truly hoped that the prophecy would come to pass and saw it as the best way forward. I cannot speak for his motivations.’

The old man grimaced, as if he would like to see the dragon suffer for its rash action. 'I only know that, at that time and in the years since, that knowledge has been both a blessing and a curse to Emrys. It gave him purpose where purpose was sorely needed, and allowed him to find his place in Camelot where, otherwise, he might have turned his back, but it also forced a great burden upon his shoulders, making him second-guess his thoughts and actions. He was told too soon, before he was ready.'

Alined's steely gaze met Arthur's anew, sharp and thoughtful. 'Now, I feel he could bear it, but then? When his magic was still his secret to carry alone? The cost of the knowledge outweighed its comfort.'

'And what of me?' Arthur spread his hands in question, his heart pounding. 'Am I ready to hear it?'

'Are you?' A flicker of a smile ticked the corner of Alined's mouth, as if he found Arthur's frustration amusing. 'If you knew what your future held, would you try to change it or strive towards it? Would you question your every action, or trust in your heart to guide you true? That is the lesson Merlin has had to learn. That is how he summoned the courage to tell you of his magic, rather than allowing its discovery by an accident of chance.' Alined folded his hands in his lap. 'Do you have that courage, Prince Arthur?'

He did not answer straight away, giving the question the consideration it deserved. Around him, he could sense the subtle focus of the knights. They would be listening. At first, he had no doubt it was out of concern for Merlin. They were all his friends and, like Arthur, they all wanted to keep him safe from harm. Surely, if nothing else, knowing Merlin's so-called destiny would help them with that? If he had some great task to accomplish, then wasn't it their duty to help him in the endeavour?

Now, he wondered if they all felt the same prickling awareness that raced over his skin: a thrilling, whispering rush, as if they had all reached some fork in the road and now had to make their choice.

'Yes. I do.'

Alined smoothed a hand over his robe, giving a faint nod and smiling to himself. 'This particular prophecy implies that Emrys must protect you until you take the crown. At that time, it will be possible for magic to return to Camelot. Through his actions, and yours, it is foretold that the persecution of all magical people will come to an end, and the Old Ways will be welcome to live alongside the new. That is what lies at its heart.'

Arthur stared at the grass between his boots, absently admiring the clover that had sprung up in Merlin's wake as he turned Alined's words over in his mind. 'Why him?' He lifted his head, knowing he must look perplexed. 'He's no fighter. Even his magic is more about life than anything else.' He gestured at the lush vegetation that had flourished around them. 'Why was he chosen to protect me?'

'Some believe he was born for the very purpose,' Calder murmured, his own expression mirroring Arthur's distaste for that particular notion. 'Others believe it is because magic must prove itself after the Purge, and the excesses of power that came before it. All that most can agree on is that you and Emrys are tied: two sides of the same coin. One cannot thrive and triumph without the other. Without you, he has no true purpose, and without him?' The druid shrugged his shoulders. 'Without him, the truth is you would already be mourned a dozen times over. You would not have lived to come of age and become Crown Prince, let alone anything more, and any glorious future that may await you would be forever out of reach.'

'Uther thinks that the world does not need magic,' Alined added. 'Merlin is proof to the contrary. He has even saved the King's life, and has been called a traitor by some for doing so.'

'He did it for me.' Arthur bowed his head, his heart lurching to think of those who looked on Merlin with an unkind eye because of his actions. 'Because he knew I was not ready to be king. I'm still not.'

'But you are ready to see Merlin as he truly is, and to look upon yourself with that same knowing eye. That is a good place to start. It is possible that the prophecy may never fully come to pass. Perhaps, in your wisdom as king, magic will not find its way back to Camelot once more. I cannot say. However, maybe you knowing of the possibility will, itself, be the trigger to make it happen.' Alined spread his hands. 'That is why destinies are such troublesome things. People believe they are written in stone, when they are as changeable as the tides.'

Arthur's thoughts darted around like shoals of fish in the deep: a glimmering confusion. His considerations were not on some nebulous future and magic's return. Such a thing seemed too vast to be more than the faintest possibility – the seed of an idea that had taken root long before today. Instead, his mind went to the man in the tent nearby. The boy who had come to Camelot, a kingdom that would see him burn, and had remained because of the prophecy Alined mentioned. He had been told to protect Arthur, and he had, at great personal risk.

Was that the only reason Merlin had stayed? Not out of friendship, but out of duty?

That notion was like a spear sliding between his ribs, piercing his heart even as it hollowed his gut, but he forced himself to think through that initial, visceral reaction. He was no longer a boy, quick to take offence and braced for inevitable betrayal.

At first, perhaps things were different. He and Merlin had struck against each other like a flint and steel, their tempers sparking. Back then, Merlin had probably stayed for reasons that had very little to do with Arthur, but it had not taken long for that to change.

He was not so blind that he could not see that Merlin's devotion to him now had nothing to do with dragons and destinies.

Merlin was, first and foremost, his friend. There was no one he trusted more, not even after the secret of the magic came to light. He did not have such faith in anyone else, not his knights or his councillors or even his father. They, to varying degrees, looked at him and saw their commander, their future king and their heir. Merlin just saw him: Arthur. He stayed in Camelot because he wanted to. He read that every day in the warmth that gleamed in Merlin's gaze whenever he looked Arthur's way. He found that faith hidden in the smiles that curved his lips, and Arthur treasured every subtle glimpse of Merlin's care for him.

None of that was an act.

'Thank you,' he managed at last. 'For telling me.'

Alined and Calder both inclined their heads, the looks they gave him curious, but restrained. In Calder's eyes, at least, there seemed to be a spark of something else – a knowing warmth, as if he understood something that Arthur himself had not yet truly grasped– and he tilted his head towards the tent. 'Perhaps some solitude will help you sort through your thoughts, Prince Arthur?' he suggested. 'It would be of benefit for someone to watch over Emrys so that we know when he awakens.'

He seized the excuse gratefully, rising to his feet and pacing across the narrow clearing before ducking into the tent's shadowed confines. Out there, amidst magical wildflowers and talk of prophecy and destiny, he felt restless and on-edge. Heat burned the muscle of his thighs and tension wrapped his spine in knots, but the moment he slipped into Merlin's presence, all of that eased away.

Merlin himself might still be lost to sleep, but his magic was a vivid, comforting weight within the tent. It draped over Arthur's shoulders like a mantle, more blatant than he had ever known it. He had caught glimmers and sparks, before, hints of heat ruffling his hair and occasional tendrils of sensation, like the softest brush of fingers against his skin. Perhaps Merlin had been reining it in. Now, it encircled him unfettered, and despite the buzz of his thoughts, Arthur managed a smile.

The flowers he crushed under his feet released a sweet, heady fragrance as he settled on the ground next to Merlin's bedroll. The humble pallet had been cushioned with blankets and furs, which lay pulled up to cover Merlin's chest. His bloody tunic had vanished, leaving the curve of his shoulders bare, and Arthur allowed himself a moment to really look at the man who shared so much of his life these days.

It was hardly the first time he had found himself admiring the sweep of Merlin's lashes or the line of his profile, the fullness of his lips or the elegant length of his fingers. He could not say for sure when he had looked at Merlin one day and actually seen him. All he knew was that his mouth had gone dry and his heart wobbled on its throne beneath his ribs before picking up into a faster, rushing beat.

He had done his best to ignore it. The fact that Merlin was a man mattered far less in the eyes of many than the fact he was a servant, and even then, there were few in court who would bat an eye at the Prince taking a bed-warmer, but that was not what he wanted. He did not look at Merlin and think of a quick tumble to satisfy his more basic needs. He thought of warmth and understanding, acceptance and regard.

Besides, he would rather have Merlin's friendship and nothing more than risk the notion of Merlin coming to his bed out of duty. He was a servant, after all, and Arthur had questioned whether, if asked, Merlin would feel he could say no. There was no doubt that Arthur had power over him. Worse, when he found out about Merlin's magic, there was no denying the potential for blackmail. He could threaten to reveal Merlin's secret if he did not obey. Not that he ever would; the very idea appalled him, but the prospect of it lingered between them, holding Arthur back from looking too hard at the way his heart thrummed and his body leapt whenever Merlin so much as looked his way.

At least, it had, up until today.

Now, it was as if he regarded him with new, more knowledgeable eyes. Even if not for what the druids had said, he had seen the strength of Merlin's magic for himself. He may be a servant, but he was far from powerless. He could turn Camelot to rubble in the blink of an eye. He could kill Arthur with nothing but a word if he so chose. The might of kings and their kingdoms meant nothing to someone who could control the earth itself. Such a man could rule the known world, and yet Merlin had no such ambitions.

Merlin chose, every day, how to use his magic. He protected others with his spells, defending them and easing their suffering, because that was fundamentally who he was: someone kind and good who might feel anger but did not let it get the better of him. All those times Arthur had thrown something at his head in a fit of pique, Merlin could have blasted him to bits! Instead, he'd just ducked, or rolled his eyes, or on the rare occasion Arthur did some actual harm, complained loudly about him being a buffoon.

Honestly, Arthur had known for years that there was no way to force Merlin to do anything he didn't want to. His basic lack of regard for common etiquette was proof enough of that, but the disparity in rank lingered. Now, it was as if the last of his uncertainties had been swept away. Just because all of Camelot saw Merlin as a servant, it didn't change the truth. He was far, far more than that, and he always had been.

And Arthur had almost lost him today.

'I need you to wake up so I can yell at you,' he murmured, letting out a gusty sigh. 'If the druids hadn't been here to heal you, what would have happened? How much blood could you stand to lose before there was none left? All for the sake of protecting me.' He pursed his lips, reaching out and slipping his fingers into the lax curl of Merlin's palm. His skin was warm, heated by life even if Merlin himself remained silent and still. It could have been so very different. Any of them could have met their end today. It was only thanks to Merlin that they lived, Arthur was sure of that.

Gods, it was a humbling realisation to comprehend that for all his training, there were some things in this world he did not have the strength to fight.

'I also need to thank you,' he admitted. 'I had, perhaps, an inkling of how many times you'd saved my life in the past. I suspect the truth is you've done it far more often than you'll ever admit.' He pursed his lips, wrestling briefly with his own pride and the hissing voice of his father in the back of his head, telling him that princes did not admit they were wrong, least of all to servants. 'It's not that I don't know where I would be without you – "dead" is the answer. Calder made that clear. It's more a case of I don't know who I would be without you.'

'A prat.'

A huff of relief escaped him before he looked down into Merlin's face, taking in the glimmer of blue between sooty lashes, hazy, but present. 'Were you awake for all that?' he demanded, trying not to shift awkwardly where he sat. It was far easier to put aside his masks when he thought Merlin wasn't listening. Now he felt ridiculously exposed.

'Most of it,' Merlin admitted, his voice still soft and rough with the edges of sleep. It sent a prickle down Arthur's spine, and he swallowed hard, gathering the tattered remains of his composure around him.

'Are you all right? I should get Alined or Calder so they can check on you.'

'No.' Merlin's hand tightened around Arthur's, stopping him before he could scramble to his feet and flee in search of assistance. 'Not yet. I'm fine, but I'd rather not have to deal with the druids right now.'

Arthur hesitated, glancing at the small triangle of the tent opening. The view was bathed in the rich, gold light that filled the world just before sunset, and the noises of the camp seemed distant. Here, at least, there was the illusion of privacy, and Arthur suspected he understood Merlin's reluctance.

'Because of the prophecy?'

Merlin's grimace was almost a funny: a wrinkled nose and twisted lips, paired with wide, appalled eyes. 'They told you about that?'

Arthur smiled. Only Merlin could look embarrassed at the prospect of people's admiration and respect. 'They said it was your destiny to keep me safe until I take the throne. Apparently, once I rule, it will be possible for magic to return to Camelot.'

A huff escaped Merlin's lips, and he shifted on the pallet. Yet before he could do more than prop himself on his elbow, he hissed in pain and collapsed back to floor, his teeth clenched and his face pale. 'Ow.'

'Don't move!' Arthur snapped, his hands stretched out in a futile attempt to halt Merlin's efforts. 'What are you doing?'

'Trying to sit up. You're looming.'

With a sigh, Arthur shook his head, glaring in answer to Merlin's stubborn scowl. Merlin would do it, too. No matter what pain it caused him, he would bully his body through it if Arthur didn't find some kind of compromise.

'Stay there,' he ordered, hauling himself to his feet before plucking at the buckle of his pauldron. Getting out of his chainmail was a struggle without Merlin's help, but he managed it, stripping down to his gambeson and breeches before he hunkered down and shoved gently at Merlin's hip. A nudge or two got him to move over, making room on the pallet so Arthur could stretch out at his side, face-to-face with little more than a hand-span of space between them. 'Better?'

Merlin's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, the bare stretch of his throat mesmerising. 'Better,' he agreed at last, his voice intimate and low. It felt as if the broad horizons of the world narrowed down to just the two of them, and Arthur drank in the sight of the man at his side.

A complicated expression flickered across Merlin's features, and he bit his lip before speaking in a rush. 'I don't keep you safe because I think you'll bring magic back to Camelot or anything like that. It's not - It's not all because of some stupid prophecy. You know that, right?'

'Then why do you do it?'

'Because you're a clotpole who gets yourself into life-or-death situations every other week!' There was an edge of genuine distress beneath the exasperation in Merlin's voice, and one hand reached out, those long fingers snagging Arthur's wrist as if he could press the truth into his bones. 'One of the first things I ever did in Camelot was save your life, and it's barely stopped since.' He sighed, a tight, aggravated sound. 'You don't deserve to be the target of their anger. You're not the one who started the Purge. You're not the one who lights the pyres or gives the orders to chase the druids out. You're just Uther's only soft spot.'

'And people fear I will be just like him.'

'You won't be. You will be a great king, Arthur.'

Conviction lay like tempered iron beneath Merlin's words: unshakable. It was no sweet platitude offered by someone hoping to curry favour at court. Merlin spoke, and Arthur had no choice but to listen. 'Is this another prophecy?' he asked, hearing the faint tremor in his own voice and hating its presence, but part of him hungered for more of the faith in Merlin's voice. He felt as if he were constantly struggling against the burden of other people's doubts, and it was a breath of fresh air to hear such simple confidence.

'There are prophecies about everything, Arthur. Most are nothing but lies.' Merlin huffed. 'There is one about you and your reign, separate from magic's return to Camelot, but I don't need a prophecy to know what you're capable of. You show it every day. In every choice you make, you demonstrate that you have qualities that your father has never claimed to possess.'

'Like what?'

'Mercy.' It was a whip-quick answer, and he watched Merlin's jaw move as if chewing on his words before he continued. 'When I told you about my magic, you could have thrown me on the pyre without a second thought. It's what your father's laws demanded. Failing that, you could have exiled me, but you didn't. You let me stay.'

'Because I didn't want you to go.' The truth slipped free of him; the words uttered before he could think twice. Arthur swallowed, watching the quick flutter of Merlin's eyelashes and the way he tilted his head against the pillow, as if to try and hide the shy half-smile Arthur's words had inspired. 'It wasn't mercy; it was selfishness.'

'No. If you were selfish, you would have done what was easy and had me arrested. Instead, you chose to keep my secret, despite the consequences if your father ever found out. Don't pretend it was a simple choice, Arthur. I was there. I know how you struggled.'

'Not with that. Not with what to do with you. There was never any question of punishment, Merlin.' Arthur wet his lips. He could think back on that first week with detached indifference now, but Merlin was right. It had been one of the hardest of his life, trying to reconcile his father's views on magic with everything he knew about Merlin and failing. He had privately questioned Uther's views many times, harbouring his doubts, but that was the moment he had been forced to admit the truth: Uther was wrong. Now, with every passing day, Arthur grew more certain of his convictions, and much of that was thanks to Merlin himself.

'You're a good man, Arthur Pendragon, and that is what will make you a good king,' Merlin murmured, his words as steady and sure as any sweeping proclamation.

'And once I'm safely on the throne?' His heart squeezed. This was the root of his fear, the one that had buried itself deep when Alined had outlined the prophecy, because in it there had been hints of something coming to an end: Merlin's obligation fulfilled. 'What then?'

'What do you mean?'

'The druids said that you must protect me until I become king. They said nothing about after.'

Merlin stuck out his chin, his eyes flashing in his pale face as his brow drew down. 'I'm not going anywhere,' he promised. 'You can bring magic back to Camelot or not, Arthur, but I'm not leaving you once the crown's on your head. You're stuck with me.'

Relief was a warm sea rising through him, easing the tension from his muscles and leaving him lax in the nest of furs at Merlin's side. A twist of emotion threatened to choke him, and he swallowed it back as a small grin curved his lips. 'Hmmm. Stuck with one of the most powerful warlocks to walk the earth – possibly the embodiment of magic itself – in my court? However will I manage?'

Merlin gave a quiet groan as Arthur repeated the druids' words. 'That's probably not true.'

'I saw what you did today. I don't doubt it for a second.' The memories assailed him afresh, visceral and terrible, wiping the smile from his face and striking a chill into the pit of his belly. He moved without thought, shifting closer to comfort himself with the warmth of Merlin's frame as he took Merlin's hand in his own, squeezing tight. 'Promise me you'll never do that again.'

'Magic?'

Arthur frowned, hating how small and resigned Merlin sounded, as if he understood Arthur's reasons and accepted his fate, no matter what the personal cost.

'Your magic is a part of you. I should have never have demanded you await my permission to use it in the first place, and I would not stop you now, even if I could. I meant that you must never try and leave me out of a fight again. You were standing up to those – things – and I couldn't even move. The spell you used pinned me in place. I could do nothing as the Wrecan –' He shook his head, his hair rustling against the makeshift pillow as words failed him. 'You could have died, and I could only have watched as it happened.'

'Arthur...' Merlin's grip was as tight as his own, the two of them clinging to each other. 'I was just trying to keep you safe, not because I thought you couldn't protect yourself, but because it wasn't your fight. It was me it was after.'

'All the more reason to let me help. Your magic is powerful, but it's not infallible. You're not alone, Merlin. Not anymore.'

He had never thought it needed to be said, but one look at Merlin's face was enough to realise that such a simple truth was a revelation to him. His eyes widened, his lashes fluttering in a swift blink, and Arthur wondered what it must be like to have no one to rely on but yourself. He had always had knights, and servants, and the threat of his father's power to fall back on. Merlin had faced gods knew what in Arthur's name, and with nothing but his own strength and skill to see him to safety.

Never again.

'You don't have to hide from me,' Arthur murmured. 'I know why, even when you told me about your magic, you didn't tell me about the strength of your power, but I'm telling you now: I want to know all of you, Merlin.'

It sounded as if he was talking about far more than just magic, and Arthur's heart skipped in his chest at his own confession. He had not meant to admit so much, but now he had there was no taking it back. Besides, he could not deny the truth of his own words, not when it uprooted itself from a place deep inside him to bloom in the air: soft with promise.

He had not noticed Merlin shift to grip at his gambeson, those long fingers clutching at the material. Nor did he realise that his own hand had drifted up to rest against the side of Merlin's neck, right over the quick trip of his pulse. It could have been threatening, but Merlin leant into the touch as if it were all he needed, relaxed and trusting in a way that stole Arthur's breath from his lungs.

'All of me?' Merlin whispered, his eyes limpid in the gathering dusk of the tent. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and Arthur pursed his own in response, his pulse like a war drum in the hollow of his throat.

All this time he had been looking at Merlin, desperate and wanting, he had never dared to search for anything that answered in kind. He had been too much of a coward to confront the possibility, too aware of all he stood to lose if it went wrong: his closest and best friend, despite his best efforts to keep Merlin at arm's length. Yet now there was no hiding from the heat in Merlin's gaze or the hope that etched its story across his expression. He looked like a man frantic to believe the evidence before him but convinced he must be wrong.

Gently, carefully, Arthur leaned in, pressing their foreheads together so that their noses brushed and their next breath mingled between them. It was a final moment of hesitation, a chance for either one of them to pull back behind the few remaining boundaries and back into the realms of friendship, yet neither of them did so. Instead, it was like succumbing to gravity – an inevitable relief – as Merlin tilted his head and slanted his lips over Arthur's.

It was a tremulous question of a kiss, a whisper of affection, and Arthur could taste the devotion that Merlin held on such a tight leash: a prize that could be all his if he only asked for it.

As if he could ever turn his back on such a gift.

Merlin moaned softly at the hesitant skim of Arthur's tongue over his bottom lip, opening his mouth in ready acceptance. Yet he was no docile recipient. His fingers slid into Arthur's hair, gripping with just enough pressure to tilt Arthur's head how he wanted it, sparking gentle heat into something tighter and more voracious until all other thoughts slipped away.

The rest of the world may as well have been mist for all Arthur cared. He was lost in the taste and scent of Merlin, in the whisper of his fingertips and the arch of his body. It felt as if something unsettled deep within him had slotted into place, sure and true, and Arthur knew that, having taken this step, there was no going back. In the space of a heartbeat, his whole life had changed for the better.

Without thinking, Arthur tightened his arm around Merlin's waist only to blink stupidly as Merlin recoiled, a hiss of pain snatched in between his teeth. It took Arthur's dazed mind a moment to realise what he had done before shame and panic rushed through him in equal measure.

'Are you all right?' He went to withdraw, huffing in amusement when Merlin clung to him like a vine, shifting only to ease the band of Arthur's arm away from the wound in his side. 'I forgot you were hurt.'

'I'll take that as a compliment.' Merlin's grin was like the sunrise, so bright it could light up the room. In fact, now that Arthur looked closer, there were glints of gold in those blue eyes, and the carpet of clover and phlox inside the tent had gained another thousand flowers. The presence of Merlin's magic around them was like the promise of a storm in the air: not a violent tempest to scour the earth, but soft rainfall to nurture it. Perhaps, considering how he was raised, Arthur should find its presence unsettling. Instead, the same as always, it simply felt like something right.

'You're sure about this?' Merlin asked, reaching up to brush his fingertips over Arthur's swollen lips, smiling when Arthur blessed them with another soft kiss.

'I've never been so sure of anything.'

And as he leaned in to claim another kiss, Arthur thought of the future and what it might hold, feeling none of the uncertainty that had dogged his footsteps since he became heir. For the first time, he realised that he could rise to the challenge of taking Camelot's throne when that day came. It was not a matter of prophecy or destiny; he did not care what seers had to say. Merlin was not alone any longer, and neither was he. Whatever path they walked, they would have each other.

Now, and always.