Chapter Text
A couple weeks after taking Camelot back from Morgana, enemies of the crown are still taking advantage of the kingdom’s weakened state. The citadel is still undergoing major repairs, and a lot of the people’s energy is going into making the castle and lower town livable again. Magic users wronged by Uther, bandits, and enemy kingdoms rally together and take Morgana’s side in planning a calculated attack.
“What do we do?” Merlin asks Arthur as they shuffle people through the tunnels and to safety, trying to evacuate the castle and the lower town into a neighboring village as the knights fend off their attackers. It is past nightfall; all the torches are lit as they make their way through the tunnels. Arthur carries one in his hand, and Merlin follows closely so that he remains in Arthur’s light.
“I don’t know,” Arthur admits, his face determined and every bit the king Merlin knows him to be. “But we’re not backing down. I will not let her take Camelot, even if I have to face her on my last legs by myself.”
Merlin frowns at this. “I won’t let you do that. You know I won’t let that happen.”
Arthur scoffs good naturedly. “And who are you to stop me?” he says, keeping his eyes peeled for more enemies slipping through. As of right now, this passage is clear.
“You know I am happy to die by your side,” Merlin says. He feels dread pooling in his stomach for something bad approaching, and he wants to get things off his chest before it’s too late.
“Careful, Merlin. It’ll sound like you care,” the king says flippantly. He watches as the last of the people enter the tunnels. They make their way back up the stairs after ensuring that other knights are able to carry out the rest of the evacuation. Merlin is trailing after Arthur and they bicker over what is the best course of action when Merlin catches a glimpse of lightning from the royal gardens and figures standing by the fountain, and he knows that’s where Morgana is. He knows what he must do, because men are leaving and losing and hurting and dying. He turns to Arthur, feeling desperate and full of sorrow because this may be the last time Arthur will ever look at him with anything other than contempt.
“Arthur…” he starts, but his voice breaks. “I have a plan, but I don’t have time to explain it. Gather Gwaine, Lancelot, Elyan, Percival, Leon— anyone you can. Meet me in the royal gardens. You’ll know what to do when you get there.”
Arthur gives him a disbelieving look. “I don’t like when you go rogue,” he says flatly. “Nothing good ever comes from you going on your own.” It sounds like a warning, like Arthur is afraid that he may be hurt. Merlin feels strangely comforted by this.
“Please, Arthur. Trust me.”
Arthur takes a deep breath, considering. He looks at Merlin with something he’s unable to place, and reluctantly says, “Alright. Go on. I’ll be there.”
Merlin makes his way out of the castle and towards the royal gardens, where Arthur had found him once. But the clouds are dark, unlike that day, looming and threatening as Morgana rallies her troops for a final attack. The killing blow.
Merlin doesn’t allow her to finish her sentence before he sends a shockwave of magic through the gathered men and they all launch away from her, rendered unconscious. Her eyes land on him, and her expression sours.
“You,” she seethes. “It’s always you getting in my way.”
“I’m sorry it’s come to this,” Merlin apologizes, guilty for all that he has done and chosen not to do. Magic crackles in the air like lightning. Perhaps the lightning is called upon by magic,
She steps down from the fountain she had perched herself on. “You had magic, all this time. What will my little brother think of you? Will he hang you? Or perhaps light the pyre himself?”
Morgana cuts him down with each word that falls from her lips. She seems to sense it too, because she starts shooting sparks of lightning towards him and he deflects it with tornados and other magic that has become instinctual to him by now.
Merlin knows that Arthur has entered the clearing when Morgana stops fighting in lew of smirking at him. “Here comes the little king.” This proves to be a perfect distraction because Merlin turns to look at Arthur and the knights approaching and Morgana shoots him straight in the back. He falls to the ground with his lips forming Arthur’s name.
“Arthur,” he chokes out.
“Merlin–”
Morgana shoots a ring of fire around Merlin, isolating him from the knights and the king. “Brother. I’m so glad you were able to show up,” she sneers. Merlin makes an attempt to get on his knees, but the pain in his back is seering and all consuming. The smoke stings and fills his lungs.
“Stand down, Morgana. Your men are unconscious if not dead. If you surrender we can show you mercy.”
Morgana lets out a shrill laugh. “Mercy? Mercy, like what your father didn’t give to innocent magic users? To magic users like me?”
“He’s just as much your father as he is mine,” Arthur retorts. He looks desperate to get through the fire before Merlin succumbs to the flames. Morgana’s rage spikes and the flames rise higher. Arthur tries not to flinch at the heat.
“I hate him,” Morgana hisses. “I hate him, but right now I am focused on your pathetic little servant. Or, should I say, your sorcerer. ” Arthur glances to the ring of fire. It looks a lot like a pyre from where he stands, all-consuming and haunting. He can barely see Merlin's face, the heat waves are distorting his form and he's worried they've taken him, too.
“You’re lying,” he manages, but he doesn’t sound so sure. He still tries to make out Merlin in between the rising flames, searching for denial, something that tells him that Morgana's the one that's lying to him, not Merlin. Never Merlin.
“Am I?” Morgana taunts. She spreads her arms, gesturing towards all the unconscious men. “Who do you think did this? Because it would not have been me, dear brother. How could he do this alone?”
Merlin makes another attempt to stand, to explain himself to his king. But the smoke is filling his lungs and it makes him choke on the words. He sees the blurry figures of the knights just a few feet away.
“Let this be a lesson, Arthur, for who you trust.”
Morgana leaps towards Arthur, brandishing an ornate dagger, but Merlin yells out so loud and so long with such desperation it feels like he’s tearing up his throat, and rain pours from the skies to put out the flames. Morgana is hit by a gust of wind so powerful she launches back into one of the bushes and disappears from view. With the fire gone, Merlin can see Arthur and the knights clearly. He’s left on his knees from exhaustion as a clumsy explanation tumbles out of his lips.
When all is said and done, it’s just Merlin and Arthur, and it feels like the end of the world.
“You have magic,” Arthur breathes out. He’s in shock, body rigid and vulnerable as he comes to terms with what he’s just seen.
“I was born with it, Arthur. I didn’t choose to be like this,” he manages. His voice is raspy from all the smoke he has inhaled, and the pain almost brings him under.
Arthur’s expression shifts and it fills with betrayal and hurt and ice. “But you chose to lie. You lied for seven years. ” Merlin trembles as he stares up at Arthur helplessly. He doesn’t know what else to say.
“Get him to Gaius,” Arthur says dismissively, leveling him with a look so deadly that Merlin is afraid he’ll end up with his throat slit then and there. “Morgana’s nowhere to be found. Clear out, and see what needs to be done in the city.” Arthur sheaths his sword, leaving Merlin on the ground until Gwaine and Lance come to help him, and walks away.