Archive of Our Own

“Sire? Arthur? Arthur! ”

Arthur sits up too fast, his eyes snapping open to find the stone walls surrounding him turning sideways and blurring. Once they stop moving, he realizes he doesn’t recognize these walls. There is a small, barred window above him letting golden light fill the room, and a thin layer of straw covers patches of the floor. He turns around to see a metal gate separating him from a curved hallway. It takes no time for the king to know he’s in a cell.

When he gets to his feet, taking in as much as he can while his senses wake up, Arthur knows three things right off the bat: his armor is gone, his shoulders are sore, and he is alone in the cell. There are noises echoing around the hallway, but whatever knocked him out has everything muddled together.

Left only in the clothes worn under his chainmail, he stretches his stiff arms and notes there is nothing binding him but a thick shackle wrapped around his left wrist. He tries to twist it off, but it just rubs painfully against his wrist.

Looking around the space, Arthur sighs. Given the size of the cell, he would’ve expected his men to be with him. It would be cramped with all six of them, but the space was too large for one person. 

As the muffled noises become more defined, he knows they are nearby. He specifically knows Gwaine is close enough for his yelling to give him a headache.

“ Arthur! Are you awake?”

Arthur’s attention is drawn to the firm but soft voice coming from his right. He can’t see the knight, but the hand banging against the rail nearest the wall belongs to Leon.

Going to the gate, Arthur grabs the hand and presses his face against the bars.

“Leon! What’s happened? Are you alright? Where are we?”

From this angle, both of them pressed to opposite sides of the same thick wall, he can only see the knight’s nose in his peripheral vision.

“I’m uninjured, sire. It seems we were ambushed in the middle of the night and brought to some… temple, I assume. No one has come for us yet.”

“The others? Are they with you?”

“No, we’re all-”

“Someone better have a good reason for locking us in here!” Gwaine’s voice rings out from Arthur’s left, answering his question.

“We all seem to be separated, sire,” Leon finishes. 

Arthur eases away from the corner, moving to the other side and looks as far as he can past the wall. The curved architecture allows him to see the far wall of another cell past Leon’s. Percival is standing there, as if waiting for his king to notice him. When they lock eyes, the tall man leans off the wall, ready to go into action despite the bars holding him back.

Percival’s armor has been taken as well, and Arthur sees a similar manacle on his left wrist.

“Leon, have you got-”

“And where the hell is Merlin? What have you bastards done with him?”

Arthur straightens at Gwaine’s shout, spinning around to look over his cell again. Had he missed the figure of his manservant in his delirious state? If they had been put to sleep by some sort of potion or smoke, surely Merlin would be the last to wake.

“Is Merlin not with any of you?” He raises his voice, coming to the center of the gate and pressing himself against it to look towards the other cells.

“He’s not with you, sire?” Elyan’s voice is to his left—closer than Gwaine’s.

“He’s not with me,” Leon says at the same time. 

Arthur makes eye contact with Percival who just shakes his head. He doesn’t need to see Gwaine to know Merlin’s not with him, but he looks to the farthest cell to find the last knight finally in a place he can see. He looks furious, but waits for whatever Arthur might say next.

“Ah, the young king awakes,” a smooth voice says behind him. All of the knights fall silent.

Arthur spins on his heel, finding an older man now standing where there had been nothing before. The man seems to be the same age his father was—a fact that has him cringing internally. Contemporaries of his late father rarely have good reason for throwing him into a cell.

His hair and beard are as white as snow, but his deep brown eyes flash golden as a single word passes his lips, sending Arthur to his knees.

“What do you want? And where is my servant?” His tone is harsher than he intended, giving away his urgency.

“Do not worry about him, King Arthur,” the stranger answers, hands clasped behind his back and with enough confidence to make the young king feel insecure. 

“Who are you?”

“You may call me Lord Gracey, sire,” he bows, but the formality reeks of the kind of sarcasm he expects from Merlin.

“Whatever grievances you have against me, you need not hold my knights and manservant hostage alongside me. Release them, and we can begin discussing negotiations.”

Gracey laughs, a small sound to remind Arthur who is in charge. It makes him want to punch him, but he is kept on his knees by some invisible hand.

“What I want ,” the old man says coolly as he paces around his prisoner, “is simply your participation.”

“Excuse me?”

He stops in front of Arthur again, a knowing look on his face. “I will not ask anything you do not wish to do.” Gracey pauses, as if waiting for another question but continues when Arthur opens his mouth. “A tournament is to begin at dawn. It lasts for the next three days. You and your knights will fight, and if you survive,” he squats down, making them eye level, “all of you will be set free.”

“Including Merlin.” It’s not a question, but the man answers anyway.

“When you finish the last battle, your servant will be reunited with you.” Lord Gracey spits out the word like it’s dirty, making Arthur more defensive.

“If you lay a hand on him, I’ll rip your arms from your shoulders!” Gwaine shouts, slamming his fist against the bars.

The man huffs, standing back up. He whispers words Arthur doesn’t understand, his eyes flash, and he disappears into a puff of smoke. The unknown force holding him down releases, and he jumps to his feet.

Before he can wonder where Lord Gracey went, the sound of someone stumbling into a metal gate has him looking towards the far left cell.

“It is not my hand you need worry about, Sir Gwaine.” The stranger’s voice carries from the same direction.

“Any of your men touch him, and I’ll-”

“You’ll find threatening me does nothing to help you or your friends.” There’s another beat of silence before the man appears in the hallway directly in front of Arthur’s cell. “You will each fight my warriors tomorrow. Someone will be by with food before the sun falls. I’d suggest getting a good night’s rest if you want to make it out of here alive.”

There is no room for argument as he vanishes.

***

When Merlin first begins to wake up, it comes to him in bursts—each tug dragging him closer to consciousness. By the last pull, his eyelids flutter open, taking in the dim light coming from above.

He stumbles, getting his feet underneath him. His hands are chained over his head, and the strain on his arms from holding his weight up makes him ache .

Rolling his shoulders, Merlin looks around the small circular cell and tries to remember what happened. He’d been asleep in the woods with the knights when he’d felt a surge of magic. Elyan had been on watch but only had time to make eye contact with Merlin before the spell hit them. The last thing Merlin remembered was reaching for Arthur before blacking out.

Now, it seems he is alone. Perhaps whatever sorcerer had captured Merlin was only after him, but he knows that’s just wishful thinking. 

The ceiling he’s chained from seems to be some sort of plate with several small holes that let in the late day sun. It’s barely enough light to give the cell a faint golden glow. He gets a sudden, overwhelming sense he’s underground.

Still tired but with his mind clearer, he closes his eyes and reaches out with his magic. The chains holding him don’t block it, but he can only feel around the rounded walls and to the door. Opening his eyes, he turns around, thankful that the restraints don’t hinder his movement too much. Merlin narrows in on the runes carved into the highest row of bricks. 

He lets out a sigh. Clearly whoever trapped him isn’t an amateur.

Only when his gaze shifts down does Merlin catch the thin, glowing strand running away from him and through the wall. He tries to focus on it, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. He briefly writes it off as a spider web catching the fading sunlight, but when he looks again—this time with magical intent—he sees not one, but five glowing golden trails of magic in front of him. 

Merlin realizes they must represent something, but his thoughts are cut off when the cell door opens behind him. As it does, his magic shuts itself away, making the golden threads vanish.

Spinning around, he finds himself face to face with an older man.

“Where is Arthur?” 

The man laughs, shaking his head. “He is unharmed, Emrys, ” he smiles when Merlin flinches at the name. “And he shall remain that way so long as his skill with a sword does not fail him. And so long as you don’t fail him as you have us.”

Merlin scrunches his eyebrows together. “What is that supposed to mean? What do you want?”

The smile turns sinister as he reaches forward and grips the young man’s throat. He doesn’t apply pressure—the gesture is just a reminder of who has the power. Merlin glances down and sees a similar rune inked into the man’s exposed wrist. The sorcerer’s presence finishes the spell that blocks his magic.

He leans in, his beard scratching Merlin’s cheek. “I want you to suffer for the magical blood that has been spilled because of your king .”

It takes every ounce of Merlin’s self control to not roll his eyes as the old man steps away. “So what, you’re going to torture me and keep Arthur and the knights prisoner? What do you get from keeping them here?”

The sorcerer lets go of his neck and circles to the other side, making Merlin turn to keep him out of his blind spot. He finds the man looking up in the direction the golden threads disappeared to. A sick feeling settles in Merlin’s stomach.

“You noticed them, the magic connecting you to your friends ,” he hisses the word as if he hates the idea of Emrys being close to the Knights of Camelot. 

It’s a sentiment Merlin’s used to hearing from other magic users.

“The summer solstice comes in three days. Your dear knights will fight in our ritual’s tournament over the course of those days. And they will fight to survive, killing anything they are put against in order to earn their freedom.” 

Merlin shakes his head and scoffs. “They’re not just mindless killers. You underestimate their compassion.”

“Compassion?!” The man turns, closing what little gap there had been between them. His eyes are full of anger, but he breathes slowly, calming himself. “And you underestimate what they are willing to fight for.”

He knows what he means. They’ve been promised freedom if they survive, but the warlock is not so easily blinded. He does not rise to the bait, keeping his expression calm.

“As part of the ritual, they will have the honor of spilling the blood of both willing warriors and magical beasts. And whether or not they die before the final battle, they will complete the sacrifice with their own lives.”

Merlin does fall for that, pulling against his restraints. “I will not let them die. You will have to kill me if you wish to even think of laying a single hand on them!”

The man laughs in Merlin’s face, the heat from his breath nearly making him cringe away. 

“No, I know you will not let them die. Which is exactly why you have complete control over how long they last in the arena.”

“What are you saying?”

Words of the Old Religion fill the room as the sorcerer’s eyes flash gold. The five golden strings reappear before him, some of them now moving—following the movements of the knight they are attached to.

“They will live so long as you live, Emrys,” he explains, circling behind Merlin again. This time, the young man doesn’t follow him, staying put to trace the trails back to his own heart. “You will keep them alive with your own life—your energy, your magic .”

Merlin breathes in sharply.

“I’d consider not acting out. They will feel any pain you feel. The more you struggle, the more you fight , the quicker you will run out of strength. And so,” he pauses, grabbing Merlin’s wrists and spinning him around to face him, “shall their source of strength run out.”

Merlin wants to lash out. Wants to put this sorcerer in his place, but his words sink in and have him stuck in place. The more energy he wastes now, the less time his friends have. 

“They will not play your games,” he spits out. “You will not break them!”

“Hmm,” the man muses, backing away. He whispers a word, and the chains drop, causing Merlin to fall to the ground. 

“Perhaps. But they will fight to secure your safety. And for your sake, you had better hope their reputation on the battlefield is true. Any injuries they receive will be mirrored onto you. And should you try to sever their connection to you, you’ll find the results… deadly to your knights.”

Merlin watches with hatred in his eyes as the man laughs and leaves him alone once more.

The last bit of daylight is gone, leaving only the faintest of moonlight to illuminate the cell until torches come to life outside the door. 

As soon as the sorcerer leaves, Merlin can feel his magic return to him. He looks at the strings, feeling the way they already pull his strength away from him.

He can’t use his magic to get them out or else they might fade faster. He can’t protect them or even let them know he is alright as he can’t reach past the walls of his cell. All Merlin can do to help his friends is curl up against the floor and save as much energy as possible while thinking of a plan.

***

Leon is the first to be taken from the cells.

The morning birds have only just started singing when two guards come down the hall. The sound of their armor clanking wakes all the knights from their restless sleep. 

He couldn’t quite say if he’d been the last to fall asleep, but they had all spent the remainder of the evening on edge after the sorcerer—Lord Gracey—left them. Leon took it upon himself to keep track of the others’ status.

He could only see the front and far back corner of Gwaine’s cell, but since the knight decided to pout in the opposite corner, he had lost sight of him.

Every so often Elyan rotated between the far front side of his cell—the only place Leon could see him—and the wall closest to Arthur.

Percival and Arthur were always out of sight because of their proximity, but Leon was sure the former stayed close to their shared wall. He could occasionally hear him move to the back of the cell, where the older knight guessed he was looking out the window.

Arthur, on the other hand, paced for hours. Leon had paced for a bit, but if they were to fight, he knew he’d need his energy. He also knew it was pointless to remind the king of this.

Now, he could hear all of the knights banging against the bars in front of each of them, yelling at the guards to give them information.

The first knight is quick to stand his ground as the armed men stop in front of his cell. One of them speaks an incantation and waves his hand, opening the gate. 

“Hey! What are you doing? Where are you taking him?” The king’s voice is closer than Leon had expected, but the guards offer no answers as they grab hold of his arms and force him out of the cell. 

They don’t bother chaining him, relying only on their strength—and magic, Leon is reminded as one mumbles something and shuts the gate with a flick of his wrist—to push him forward. He takes a quick look over his shoulder, locking eyes with Arthur for only a second.

“Leon!”

“Don’t you dare hurt him!”

“Bring him back here!”

He can hear the others shouting behind him. When the guards shove him past Percival’s cell, he gives him a stern look as the others continue to call out. The large knight gives him a curt nod. They don’t need words to understand each other.

If I don’t come back, protect the king.

Percival walks alongside the guards, and just before he has to stop, he whispers: “Look for Merlin.”

Leon tosses one last look over his shoulder to nod his understanding back at the other knight.

The guards lead him down a long, curved hallway. There are no more cells past Percival’s, and Leon doesn’t remember seeing any past Gwaine’s on the other side. It dawns on Leon that wherever they’re holding Merlin, he is nowhere near them.

The thought troubles Leon, but he foolishly hopes the younger man is being kept somewhere nicer.

Or perhaps he isn’t being held at all.

This new thought takes over as he’s led forward. What if Merlin isn’t being held in this temple at all? Maybe the sorcerer didn’t think a servant boy would hold any importance to these knights and had left him behind. Had they put their friend in danger by asking for him? 

Leon silently prays Merlin had the sense to go back to Camelot to get help. He knows that is the most foolish thing he could hope for.

If Merlin had been left in the forest, he would do everything to find them—to find Arthur.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts when the guards stop in front of a room and shove Leon inside.

It’s a sad excuse for an armory, and the men inside toss him crude armor: a plate for his shoulder and a brace for the wrist not covered by the magic shackle.

Leon’s not entirely sure it’s magical, but there is a rune pressed into the iron and no matter how hard he had tried to pry the lock apart, it didn’t budge. Though, he didn’t try that hard. As far as he can tell, it’s not hurting any of them. If he had to guess, it was to keep the knights inside their cells—which seemed to be inescapable anyway.

If the gates were only unlocked with magic and the knights remained unarmed, they were at the sorcerers’ mercy. 

Once he finishes securing the armor, the guards push Leon toward the back door and hand him a sword. He briefly considers fighting them, but if his actions were to cause Arthur harm, he’d never forgive himself. 

Instead, he shakes out his nerves. He has no idea what to expect. Lord Gracey had said they would fight in a “tournament” but that could mean many things. Any test of skill can be waiting for him outside the confines of the armory. 

With no time to prepare, and already at a disadvantage without his full chainmail and armed with an unfamiliar sword, Leon has to be ready for anything.

Before he can worry, the double doors open, letting the morning light blind him. He squeezes his eyes shut, but someone shoves him out, making Leon stumble forward. 

He can’t hear the doors shut behind him as jeering shouts fill the air around him. As his vision returns to him, Leon turns around slowly, taking in the dusty circular arena surrounded by the tall, stone walls of an amphitheater. Several people sit in the stands—some dressed in robes similar to the sorcerer, while others look like guards and warriors.

Even though the crowd pales in comparison to the tournaments and melees held in Camelot, Leon can’t help but wonder how many of them are sorcerers or druids. Surely not all of them can have magic?

“Friends,” a voice booms around the arena. It takes Leon a moment to find Lord Gracey behind him, standing high above the field. “Followers,” he looks down, locking eyes with Leon, “and warriors.”

The sorcerer smirks at the sour look the knight gives him, but when his dark eyes flick to the opposite side of the arena, Leon looks over his shoulder. Another man has entered from the far side, wearing armor that matches those in the stands, much nicer than what he was provided.

The crowd cheers as the fighter raises his sword and spins around. It is clear to Leon he and the other knights were the only ones brought here unwillingly.

He takes a deep breath, centering himself as the man struts forward. There is no visible druid marking on his opponent, and no other indication of magic. Leon once again sends a silent prayer to whoever might be listening that the fight relies on sword alone.

“Let the tournament,” the sorcerer announces, “begin!”

***

Leon is first.

After the sorcerer left Merlin alone, it didn’t take him long to figure out which thread belonged to which knight. 

The one in the middle was Arthur—constantly moving left to right as if the king were trying to wear a path into the floor. The one to the right was Elyan. He occasionally paced, but more like he was trying to pass time rather than making plans.

The one next to Elyan was Gwaine. The magic trail tugged slightly as the knight moved as far away as he could, then didn’t move again. Farthest to the left was Percival. He only moved a few times—and each time he only left his spot for a moment before the thread sagged as he returned. 

Merlin wakes along with the knights, he guesses, as he feels them all pull at him unknowingly. Leon’s thread moves away from the others, and he follows it with his eyes as the knight walks around the circular temple. 

It is then he hears commotion above him, making him look up at the plate covering his cell. Morning light streaks through the tiny holes, bringing with them the telltale sounds of a crowd cheering. 

He watches Leon’s thread as it moves closer to him, the crowd going quiet at the sorcerer’s voice announcing the beginning of the fight. 

Merlin gets to his feet, reaching out for the trail with his chained hands. His fingers pass through the glowing light, yet he reaches up as high as he can as it settles right above him. He can’t quite reach the ceiling but shadows pass over the holes, making the cell darker than before—confirming what he had thought when he first woke in the cell. 

Not only is Merlin underground, he’s right underneath the battlefield, so close to his friends, yet so far away. 

Then comes the first taste of the enchantment. As Leon fights, Merlin feels tired . It’s not exhaustion yet, more like running up the steps of the castle, but he knows as the fights pile up, he’ll get weaker. And if he gets weaker, the knights are more likely to get hurt. 

He takes a deep breath, sitting back down and focusing on the present. He can only watch as the thread moves and tugs around the circle.

He feels a sudden soreness in his knee, but the sound of a sword cutting through flesh and the lack of agonizing pain tells Merlin that Leon has dealt a deadly strike.

When the crowd cheers, he briefly doubts himself until he can hear Leon’s tired groans above him as the man presumably gets to his feet. It is then he remembers the whole tournament is a ritual. Of course the gathered people are encouraging any bloodshed—it all feeds their archaic desires.

Merlin huffs, tilting his head against the wall. “Oh, that’s going to go to Arthur’s head.”

With his head angled up, he watches as Leon is led back to his cell and Elyan is taken next. 

It’s difficult for him to hear anything that isn’t right over his cell—which includes grunts and the sound of metal on metal. 

He can’t help the slight anxiety that sits in his stomach as the knights fight. It’s not that he doesn’t believe in their ability, but for the first time in a long time, he can’t do anything to help. Casting any spells—even self healing ones—will make him weaker. He can’t see their opponents or break the enchantment without hurting his friends. It’s the most useless Merlin’s felt in years, and that hurts him more than anything else about this situation.

So, he does what he can—despite it feeling like the bare minimum. He takes deep, calming breaths. He tries to keep himself grounded and quell the uncertainty filling his mind. He watches Elyan’s thread pull around the circle as he fights.

And when he is victorious, escorted back to his cell, he watches as Gwaine is sent to the arena and repeats the same steps.

By the time Arthur is brought out, Merlin already feels like he has worked a typical day, but the sun has only just passed its highest point in the sky. He’s thankful the small bit of light helps him keep track of the day. He’s also thankful that no one has gotten a serious injury yet. 

His knuckles have turned red, his shoulders ache, and his knees are sore. And though they are four knights worth of scratches and bruises, Merlin knows it is nothing he can’t handle.

Just as the thought crosses his mind, several sharp points of pain flare on his left shoulder blade. 

“Arthur!” Merlin gasps, crumbling forward from the pain. He recognizes the spread as a hit from a mace. 

He looks up to the light, clutching his shoulder as shadows dance past. His heart races as the pain continues to spread through his arm as the king continues his fight. Another few minutes pass before there is a sound of a sword dropping to the ground followed by a heavy thud—a much heavier thud than Arthur would make.

Merlin doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until the magic thread connecting him to Arthur moves back to the cells.

While Leon and Percival’s golden lines are led away, Merlin keeps his eyes locked on the middle thread while stretching his hand underneath his tunic, gingerly touching the injured area. He brings his hand back in front of him and releases a sigh of relief when there’s no blood. He’s certain it will only leave a nasty bruise, but if Arthur is to keep fighting—and if Merlin is to keep receiving the knights’ injuries—it will wear him out. 

More fights rage on above him until nightfall, and he feels as if he’s walked all the way from Camelot to Ealdor and back. There was some bleeding from a couple shallow cuts on his arms and one on his leg, but with one of his sleeves now completely torn apart, he stopped the bleeding with makeshift bandages.

Barely minutes after Gwaine and Elyan are returned to their prison, the door to his own cell opens and he feels his magic close off as the sorcerer enters the small space.

Merlin glares at the older man when he uses magic to lift his chained hands above his head, pulling at the injury on his shoulder. He squats down, making himself eye level with the young warlock.

“Your knights performed quite admirably, don’t you think?” 

“They’re not entertainment , you ass,” Merlin hisses.

“Gracey, please,” the man says, bowing his head down. “Though most address me as Lord Gracey,” he pauses, reaching out to gently stroke a finger down Merlin’s cheek, “I would never ask that of you, my lord .”

Merlin knows if he wouldn’t hurt himself further, he’d jerk away from the touch.

“If you’re so respectful of my title , you should release my friends and fight me yourself.”

The man chuckles, getting to his feet and exiting the room. Just as Merlin takes a deep breath of his returning magic, Gracey reenters the cell, making him gasp as if he’s being strangled.

“Breathe, Emrys.” A hand caresses the back of Merlin’s head, tilting his face up to make eye contact with the brown eyes looking down at him. Though his voice and gesture reads gentle, there is nothing but hatred and arrogance in the man’s expression.

When Merlin is able to breathe properly again—a task that reminds him just how tired he is—the sorcerer moves away.

“Can’t have you dying on us yet,” he says, revealing a plate of food and a cup of water that he’d stepped out to get. “My followers quite enjoyed watching the tournament today. I’d hate to rob them of a good show with Camelot’s finest knights.”

Lord Gracey leaves, causing the shackles to drop roughly onto Merlin’s head. He scrunches his face at the impact and eyes the food. If he’s to keep up his energy, he will need to eat.

Quickly reminded that the knights feel his pains, he hopes the minor headache doesn’t bother his friends too much and begins to eat.

***

Gwaine is awake before the guards clammer down the hall this time. 

He’d barely gotten any sleep after seemingly choking on his own air—he’d been able to hear Elyan gasping along with him in the next cell. When he got control again, he’d scrambled to the bars locking him in and could see Percival and Leon both with tears in their eyes at a similar pain. 

He feels like he hasn’t slept in days and as if he’s been going tavern to tavern for those days—it’s not how he should feel after a handful of skirmishes. He’s not too proud to admit the sorcerer’s warriors had put up quite the fight, but none had bested the Knights of Camelot. 

The moon is not shining when Gwaine sits up, but the morning sun has yet to rise. There’s a faint glow from the torches outside of the cells that does not reach the back corner he’s wedged himself into. He can hear someone snoring nearby—everyone but Percival is out of his view—and guesses it is Leon. He’s thankful at least one of them is able to sleep.

Looking down at the manacle on his wrist, Gwaine idly traces the unknown rune, mind wandering as pale light starts to seep into the cell from the barred window.

He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying to remember what he’d been thinking about before the need for sleep finally got the best of him. 

While the fights raged during the day, the others had done their best to relay any information and escape plans to each other. It was easier when the guards started taking multiple of them at once where they could whisper face to face. 

Merlin was nowhere to be found. The shackles were probably to keep them in their cells. Arthur had been hurt. Leon said it was nothing serious, but one of the sorcerer’s in the stands came into his cell after the fights and healed him.

Percival had watched the woman leave like a hawk. 

Then the choking started. 

Gwaine still can’t wrap his head around it, but the one thing the knights have in common is the iron restraints on their left wrists. It clearly meant something . He thinks it might be a means of torture—the unidentifiable pains and aches spoke to that—but no one had been present when the trouble began.

Not only do the attacks confuse him, but he can’t get over how strange he feels when he looks down at the rune. He knows nothing about magic or how it works, but his thoughts keep circling around to just how tired he is—he can see it in the others, too.

He opens his eyes just as the first songbird starts to sing. As it does, he now can recognize the sound of their audience filling up the colosseum—Arthur had called it a temple, but Gwaine knows a fighting ring when he sees one. Then, he hears the heavy footsteps of the guards coming for their first fighter.

When he gets to his feet, he can hear a few of the others do the same. Leon is already looking over at him from the gate. The guards don’t acknowledge him as they open Elyan’s cell.

“Elyan!” Arthur and Percival yell at the same time, joining the others watching from the bars of their cells.

The smallest knight shakes his head once as he passes the king. 

Gwaine feels his anger rising. He knows they’re all nervous about doing anything to put each other in danger—knows that his own confidence in his fighting skills is reflected in the others—but each time someone is taken away, he has that strange feeling again. Like each battle is wearing him out, whether he fights or not.

They’ve all tried prying the shackles off, with no avail. As soon as the guards and Elyan are out of sight and the other knights start relaying information to each other, Gwaine looks both ways down the hall. Once he’s satisfied there are no more guards nearby, he goes to the back wall and waits.

“Gwaine?” Percival whisper yells from the farthest wall, watching him with a curious look.

The rugged knight just shoots him a smirk right before the sounds of battle fill the corridor.

With the cover he needs, Gwaine swings his wrist hard against the stone wall. The loud clang hurts his head more than the impact hurts his arm, but when he doesn’t hear the sound of guards running to him, he continues, trying to hit the lock just right on a jagged brick.

“What is he up to?” Arthur says, unable to see him.

“I… haven’t got a clue, sire,” Leon answers. Gwaine can almost picture the head tilt by the tone of his voice.

After several hits, he’s starting to feel a dull pain, but he keeps going. Gwaine wants the shackle and the weird feeling it brings gone .

Another loud clang is drowned out by the sound of a loud roar from the arena. All of them freeze, Gwaine locking eyes with Percival and then leaning over to see Leon. There are cheers for several minutes before the guards shove Elyan back to his cell.

Gwaine goes still again, hoping he is not next, and allowing enough time to feel some foreign soreness. 

Once his neighbor’s cell is locked, they go to the king’s and take him to the fight.

“There are beasts, Arthur! Magical beasts!” Elyan yells after him.

Arthur turns around, wide eyed as he’s led away. “What!?”

“Elyan, what do you mean magical beasts?” Leon moves to the wall closest to Percival, both of them wear similar expressions to their king.

“I mean I just fought something with two heads, Leon!” Elyan sounds as worn out as Gwaine feels.

“You slew a beast?” Percival interjects.

“Yes!”

“With what?”

“The sword they gave me, what else?”

Leon and Percival look towards each other—unable to see one another, but somehow getting the point across.

“Not all magical beasts can be slain by ordinary weapons, Elyan,” Percival explains. “Some must be killed with magic-”

His words are cut off by the sound of another roar—this one much different from the one Elyan fought.

The conversation continues, and Gwaine turns back to his task. He can hear Elyan say his name, but ignores him and Leon’s exasperated answer. 

Over and over again, he slams his wrist into the brick, until one hit against the stone makes a different sound and Gwaine feels the instant the shackle unlocks. The iron falls to the floor and the knight follows in relief—taking his first deep breath since waking in the cell. His arm hurts more than he’d noticed before, but the rest of him feels awake and alert.

At least as awake and alert as he can be with his fights and lack of sleep.

Another pained roar fills the air, followed quickly by a large cheer. Acting fast, Gwaine kicks the shackle into the corner, throwing hay over it before the guards bring Arthur back to his cell. 

Gwaine spins on his heel, pulling his sleeve down over his now bare wrist, glaring as his gate is opened and two men come in. They grab him tightly around his biceps and roughly shove him by the other knights.

“Be cautious , Gwaine,” Leon says as he goes by.

“Don’t worry,” he responds with a wink. “I will be.”

***

Merlin has no idea what Elyan and Arthur are up to during their fights. He can hear the beasts howling above him as they are killed—a part of him overcome with guilt for the innocent creatures being slaughtered for these sorcerers’ ritual—but the intense ache in his left arm has him holding it close to his chest.

He can barely see the threads moving through the tears threatening to fall at the pain. He worries for them as the pain gets harder to ignore. 

His thoughts go through possibilities. Have they all been hurt before today’s battles and Merlin’s only just noticed it? Are the beasts attacking in a similar way? Did he somehow miss hurting himself in the night?

Then, as Arthur slays the creature, the pain stops and his mind stops racing. It completely disappears as if it had never happened. On top of that, it’s slightly easier for him to breathe. 

Fear grips him tight. His vision clears from the tears as if he’d commanded them to. Merlin watches until Arthur’s thread moves back to the cells and lets out a long breath.

Arthur is okay. The knights are okay. They’re all sore—if the overall stiffness in his body is anything to go by—but they are alive. Gracey must have been targeting him and eased off once he realized it didn’t have the desired effect on Merlin’s friends.

He closes his eyes for a moment when none of them are taken to the arena. There had been a lull in matches the day before, for whatever reason. It seems odd after only two fights, but Merlin doesn’t dare miss the chance to rest.

Only a few minutes pass before the cheers and roars from above have Merlin jumping to his feet, looking up at the shadows passing over the cell.

He knits his eyebrows together, spinning around to look at the golden trails of magic. There are still five leading to the knights. If they are all together, who is fighting the beast in the arena?

Merlin barely pays attention to the battle, looking intently at the threads. Without too much thought, he once again reaches out with his magic, trying to follow them out of his confines. He knows it’s a stupid idea—that using his magic will make him weaker and thus make the knights more susceptible to injury. Also, the spell on the cell is too strong. He still can’t feel past the circle of bricks surrounding him.

He huffs, hearing the third beast scream out its final breath. He understands how it must be feeling.

Even that small bit of magic has him feeling dizzy. He needs to buy his friends time to rest. So he does something more stupid. 

Taking just a few seconds to fortify himself, he feels his magic strengthen inside his chest. It will give him enough energy to restore his non-magical stamina before the next fight.

When he doesn’t feel like he’s going to fall over, he goes to the prison bars and bangs his fists against them.

“Hey! Gracey! Show yourself! Face me, you coward! Let me out of here!” Merlin screams out several more taunts, hoping there are any guards near him. 

He can’t imagine the sorcerer would leave him unattended, but besides yelling, there’s really no threat he poses. Even if he could reach further than the runes, Merlin can’t possibly do any spells that would actually help. He can only pray Gracey is as arrogant as he appears.

For once in Merlin’s life, his plan comes through.

He doesn’t back away as the sorcerer steps through the door, even as his magic leaves him. It knocks the air out of him again, but luck is on his side for the moment as his spell keeps him on his feet.

Lord Gracey doesn’t look mad. In fact, Merlin would say he looks pleased. They stare each other down for a few seconds—the sorcerer not restraining him further as he has before.

“Finally fighting back, Emrys?” His voice is smooth. The noise from above does not rise or fall. The tournament has halted if only for this moment. “I’m surprised it took this long.”

“You’ve not made it easy, Lord Gracey ,” Merlin doesn’t bother holding back his hatred. 

The sinister smile on the man’s face only grows, but he still does not advance. Neither does Merlin.

“Though I will admit,” he relaxes, and as he does, he takes up more space in the small cell. Merlin stays planted in the middle of the circle. “I did not foresee you doing something to jeopardize the chances of Sir Leon’s survival.”

“Leon?” Merlin’s composure falters for less than a second. 

The old sorcerer catches it.

“Yes,” he tilts his head, carefully watching Merlin’s expression. “I would have thought you’d identified your knights easily,” he pauses. “Or have I misjudged their importance to the great Druid King?”

Merlin keeps his face blank. He knows it’s a trap. Lord Gracey knows he knows. They stare at each other for a long time, the noise from the crowd getting quieter as the seconds tick by, both of them studying the other for answers.

In this close proximity, it’s impossible for Merlin to miss Gracey’s quick glance at the threads. Before he can do anything to distract him, the sorcerer calls out a spell, pinning Merlin against the wall.

All sense of control leaves the sorcerer’s face. He crowds against his prisoner, eyes flaring not with magic, but rage as the warlock’s hands are pulled high over his head by the chain. The strain against his bruised and tired shoulders is enough to make Merlin grimace. 

“You do not know who fought last?” The man’s voice is loud, and his hot breath makes Merlin want to melt into the wall. 

When he doesn’t answer, Gracey grabs his wrists with one hand, pulling him a few inches off the stones only to slam his sore body back against them. A pained gasp breaks free from his lungs.

The sorcerer’s brown eyes shift over his face, as if reading every thought he’s ever had. If the man were a druid, Merlin might be more worried about the possibility. 

Unfortunately, his luck has run out as Lord Gracey finds what he needs just from the young man’s expression.

Merlin doesn’t say a word, but he’s already given away enough. 

When the sorcerer leaves the cell with a dramatic turn, Merlin falls to his knees. The weight of exhaustion, his magic, and a creeping sense of dread forcing him to fold forward. With his forehead pressed against the cold floor, Merlin knows he’s messed up.

***

Something stops the tournament. Percival can hear the change in the crowd. 

The guards throw Gwaine into his cell. Someone he does not recognize comes running up to them, clearly out of breath, and whispers to them. The three of them leave without taking another knight.

“What’s happening?” Arthur asks from the middle cell, doing his best to look toward Gwaine.

“Beats me, princess,” he replies, tossing his hair out of his eyes. He sounds and acts more like himself than any of them have since their capture. “But we should be thankful we get a minute to breathe.”

“It’s too early for a break,” Elyan says. They all nod in agreement.

“Gwaine, what did you do-”

“ How dare you! ”

The booming voice of Lord Gracey fills the prison, cutting Arthur off. 

Percival is the only one to see the sorcerer appear in Gwaine’s cell in a puff of smoke and the knight stumble into the wall. He can hear Leon scramble to their shared wall, watching as the man corners their friend.

“Hey! Leave him alone!”

“What are you doing?!”

The older man reaches his hand out. From under the knight’s feet, the iron shackle flies straight into his waiting grasp. Percival steps forward, pressing himself completely against the bars. He quickly finds Elyan’s gaze and tries to convey his thoughts to him. Gwaine had gotten the shackle off. How had Gwaine gotten it off?

With a harsh word, the sorcerer has the man on his knees. Gwaine grunts when he hits the stone floor, fighting against invisible restraints that keep him down.

“You will learn not to test your luck—or the fate of your friends .”

Gracey grabs Gwaine’s arm and snaps the band back in place. As soon as it locks, Percival can feel himself tire. He watches as Elyan slouches against the wall. 

Just as his mind starts to place the pieces together, the sorcerer’s voice fills the air. The spell doesn’t finish before Gwaine’s face contorts with pain.

When the sorcerer stops casting, the grimace on the knight’s face is replaced with a scream so loud it makes the others flinch.

“Gwaine!” Percival yells as his friend folds in on himself.

“What are you doing to him?!” Leon is drowned out by another scream of pain.

Percival’s vision blurs for a moment, a slight tightness in his chest making him clutch the bars a little harder. 

“Stop this! Stop this now! ” Arthur’s voice rings out as his fist slams against the iron gate.

Gwaine falls to his side, rolling onto his back and gasping for breath. He purposefully keeps his face away from finding either Percival’s or Leon’s eyes.

Lord Gracey reaches forward and takes a fistful of his shirt, pulling him up to his face.

“You should be so lucky to have the power of Emrys flow through you, knight .” 

Gwaine drops to the ground with a heavy thud and a whimper he will definitely deny later on.

The sorcerer waves his hand and casts the spell to unlock the gate. When it shuts behind him, two guards run in and wait for his orders.

“Take the knight, and round up the waiting warriors,” Lord Gracey says, swiftly making his way out of the prison. “We will finish the morning as intended, but we must push forward with haste. We have no time for these sorts of incidents .” 

One of the guards opens Leon’s cell, and they begin to lead him out, but Gracey stops in front of them and turns around. He forces both the guards and the knight back against Percival’s gate, pointing his finger at Leon’s face.

“Should one of you try something like this again,” his eyes shift to Arthur. Leon pulls against the guards holding him as the sorcerer moves to the king, who stands tall and strong even when he’s pulled against the bars by his collar. “You will never see your servant alive again.”

Arthur starts to react but is shoved away as the guards escort Leon to the arena.

“If you hurt him, I’ll kill you!” Arthur shouts after the group, but none of them look back. He sighs loudly, hitting his head against the metal bars. He tilts his head towards Percival—just barely visibly at this angle—and nods his head towards the others. “Keep watch over Gwaine.”

“Yes, of course, sire.” Percival sits in the farthest front corner, watching as the knight pulls himself to the back wall, each movement taking all his energy. Percival makes eye contact with Elyan again and nods at the unspoken question. Gwaine is okay—or at least he’s not dead.

As he watches his friend’s steady breathing, Percival begins to go through the new information they’ve been given.

When Gwaine fought without the shackle, he had felt just the slightest bit more alert, and when it was put back on, that alertness went away. He knows Elyan had felt it, too, and would guess Arthur and Leon had as well. As the sorcerer tortured Gwaine, Percival had felt a ghost of that pain—nowhere near as bad as the source but enough for him to notice. 

Every match, whether he fights or not, leaves Percival more exhausted than the one before. He thinks about what Lord Gracey said after hurting Gwaine. He’d spoken about the power of Emrys. 

Emrys. 

It is a word Percival recognizes from his travels. Stories passed through druids and followers of the Old Religion alike, but he can’t remember exactly what it means besides some sort of magical creature. Perhaps the creature had given this faction a reserve of its power. Were the knights drawing on that power as they fought?

“Do you think they really have him?” Elyan’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

“What?” Arthur responds. 

Elyan shifts, looking across the prison at Percival, then in the direction of the king. “Merlin. Do you think he’s really being held here as we are?”

Gwaine flinches at their friend’s name.

“I just mean,” Elyan continues, “Leon suggested Gracey could be bluffing but…” 

“But it didn’t sound like he was bluffing,” Arthur finishes for him. 

Percival can’t see him, but he knows the king is clenching his jaw. 

“We can’t risk it.” Arthur raises his voice, making sure they all hear him. “I don’t like being used for anything, let alone some rogue magic users’ entertainment,” he grumbles the last part. “But I know Lord Gracey is not lying. He will find a way to hurt Merlin if we act out. So,” he pauses, taking a breath. “We save our strength for the next day, and when we survive their tournament, we will be released and reunited with Merlin. 

“Then, we bring reinforcements back to this temple and see if this sorcerer still wants to make threats.”

Elyan smiles, shaking his head as Gwaine rolls his eyes. 

“I don’t know that challenging a horde of sorcerers with warriors is your best idea, Arthur,” the knight finally speaks up. “But, so long as Merlin gets to watch us kick their asses, I’ll follow you bravely into battle.”

Arthur huffs out a laugh along with Percival and Elyan. “If he is here, that lazy idiot is probably watching us fight from the sidelines as we speak!”

“Then he’s hating every minute of it,” Percival mumbles.

“Either way, he’s going to complain to me about it, even though we’ve done all the hard work,” Arthur chuckles. 

The others join him, but Percival remains silent. He hears the sound of the beast fighting Leon and looks down at the shackle locked tight around his wrist. Something in the back of his mind tells him his king is wrong.

***

As soon as Gwaine is reconnected, Merlin almost blacks out from the instant loss of energy. Then the pain starts. It feels as if every muscle in his body is contracting at once. He cries out as the tightness grows, his heart beating fast against the spell until the pain stops just as quickly as it started.

He’s gasping for breath and doesn’t even notice when Leon is taken away until the thread is pulling around him. 

He feels horrible as the knight fights what sounds like a snake-like creature given the hissing. He can’t be mad at Leon for taking the energy Merlin sorely needs, but the weaker he gets, the more he wishes the knights would kill the beasts faster. He knows it’s redundant given he’s the reason they move slower and slower. 

Still , he thinks to himself, pushing his back further into the wall, it can’t be that hard.

Much to his surprise and delight, the roars of the crowd get louder and a minute later Leon is swapped out for Percival.

Merlin sighs loudly, taking a moment to push the exhaustion away so the knights can take what they need without feeling the side effects. He’s faced days without sleep and ones where one problem leads to another—he can sustain his five friends for another day.

In that time, Merlin needs to come up with an escape plan. If Arthur knew they were a part of a sacrifice, there’s no way he would willingly fight. Even if Lord Gracey had promised Merlin’s release, the king would have found a way to get them all out. 

Merlin is certain he’s the only one that knows how this tournament is meant to end and is the only one who can save them. He can’t sever the enchantment with magic—but thanks to Gwaine’s impulsiveness getting the best of him, Merlin knows whatever ties them together can be removed without consequence. 

Unfortunately, he’s too weak to escape his cell, fight a clan of rogue sorcerers, and free his friends.

Turning to lay on his back—his side sore from the hard floor—Merlin looks up at the four stationary threads. Arthur and Elyan have long since given up their pacing, which causes an unexpected sigh of relief to escape Merlin’s lips. 

It isn’t good they are too tired to release their nervous energy, but at least they’re no longer wasting his magic. His thoughts move towards what he will tell his friends if he sees them again.

No, he mentally shakes himself. Not if. When.

When Merlin sees his friends again, he will have to come up with a story as to where he’s been, how he’s broken out, and why he is so tired despite not fighting like them. He can practically hear Arthur calling him a lazy idiot.

Perhaps he doesn’t have to let on just how weak he feels. It won’t be the first time he's lied about his health to the king.

While he is lost in thought, he doesn’t notice that Percival is fighting quite a bit longer than usual until a loud cat-like screech pierces the air as a sharp pain scraps across Merlin’s stomach.

His scream is drowned out by the battle cry Percival lets out and the howling of a dying animal.

Merlin curls in on himself, hands pressing hard against the wound. He cries out as he tries to move himself into a sitting position, seeing his own blood covering his hand.

“Oh, goddess,” he breathes out, tears streaming down his face.

He lifts up his tunic to see three deep claw marks trailing from under the left side of his ribcage to his navel. The amount of blood is less concerning after the initial shock wears off, but the pain makes him want to pass out.

As he starts to hyperventilate, Merlin looks up at the thread that hasn’t moved from the arena.

“Percival!” He calls out weakly, leaning to the side.

The movement makes the pain worse, causing him to buckle forward. He barely catches himself with one hand as the sobs start. 

He can’t be dead. I can’t lose him. I can’t lose any of them.

Merlin’s mind races. Without too much thought, he presses his free hand onto the bleeding scratches and whispers out a mild healing spell—one that will only stop the bleeding. He crawls forward until he can press his knees against the wall right underneath the threads and pulls his upper body up as high as he can without reopening the wounds. 

The spell has taken what little magical energy he had, leaving the warlock to rely solely on his physical stamina to keep him and the knights alive.

He is fading fast, but through blurry eyes, Merlin can see Percival’s thread moving back to the cells.

“Perc-”

The last thought Merlin has is of his friend alive before the darkness takes over.

***

The two guards storm into the prison, followed closely by the same small woman who healed Arthur’s bruised shoulder and two large warriors dragging Percival’s limp body between them.

“Percival!” Gwaine yells. He pulls himself up with the bars of his cell, still weakened from the spell cast on him.

Leon takes in as much of the unconscious knight as he can. His shirt is torn to shreds around his center, blood soaking the fabric and dripping onto the floor.

After he hears the men drop Percival, the sorceress shuffles into the cell as they exit.

“What happened to him?” Arthur demands.

“Your giant fell hard,” one of the warriors says, a smile spreading across his face. There is no hostility in his voice—he even looks impressed. “Slew the great lion beast with his own mighty roar!”

Gwaine glares at the warriors as they leave, laughing. “I’ll kill them.”

“You’ll get your chance, knight . Eventually,” says one of the guards.

Four more guards take the warriors’ places. One speaks a spell, unlocking Leon, Gwaine, and Elyan’s cells. They split into pairs, roughly grabbing hold of each of them. They push Gwaine forward first, and Leon tries to reach out as he stumbles into the wall. 

The guards holding him tighten their grip, keeping him in place until Elyan is escorted by. He is pushed after him, quickly taking a look at where the sorceress is still healing Percival’s wounds. His heart sighs in relief as the knight takes a deep breath. 

The three are led back to the armory. At this point, they easily slip into the pathetic armor and take the swords they are given.

The man who gives him a sword scoffs, smirking when Leon narrows his eyebrows at the weapon.

“Lord Gracey is looking forward to this challenge,” someone behind him says. 

Leon looks over his shoulder, seeing a similar smirk on the man in front of Elyan.

“Any particular reason for that?” The knight has to look up to meet his eyes, irritation thick in his voice.

The man just laughs, shoving him towards the large doors with the others.

“Any ideas?” He whispers as the sounds of the crowd get louder behind the wooden barrier.

“Not any good ones,” Leon mumbles, flipping the sword around in his hand.

“Nothing we can’t handle, right?” Gwaine tries to flash them a smile, but he only quietly grunts in pain.

“Gwaine, are you-”

“Don’t worry about me, sunshine,” he cuts Leon off, rolling his shoulders back. “Let’s just get through this.”

Elyan shares a look with him, but they don’t bring up the obvious look of discomfort on Gwaine’s face.

The doors open, and the three knights are shoved out onto the field. They ignore the cheers as they look for whatever foe they face. The guards behind them push them forward. Their spears are at their backs until they reach the middle of the arena.

There are no cages—as there had been for their individual fights that morning—but Leon can see movement in the shadows of the arena entrance directly across from them. He elbows Elyan and gestures to it with his sword. 

There are scattered weapons around them, some he can’t remember being there before, and a dark red blot near the south side of the field.

“Keep your head up,” Leon says to Gwaine.

“I told you not to worry,” he grumbles back.

“You think Percival will be okay?” Elyan asks, surprising them both.

“I’m sure he will be,” Leon answers. “Though I’m not sure we should be focusing on that right now.”

“He mentioned something,” he continues, now looking down at their matching manacles. “Before you came back and he left.”

Leon doesn’t take his eyes off the beast being dragged into the sunlight. “Something about these enchantments?” 

They use any chance to pass along information, but something about this fight—and the empty feeling inside him—has Leon on edge.

His stomach drops as a creature is revealed from the shadows. Its face is that of an eagle, but the body is one of a lion. Its massive wings flap in the open space, knocking the handlers off their feet. It lets out a loud screech before it pounces on one of the fallen men, ripping his arm clean off with its beak. There’s a sick sense of familiarity as Leon watches it.

The audience roars with applause, causing Leon to tense up. How can they continue to cheer for the death of their own people?

“And when exactly did he mention that?” Gwaine says, shuffling in place as the beast takes notice of them. 

“After you passed out.”

“Ah- Move! ”

The three of them dive in opposite directions as the beast leaps at them, sharp talons piercing the ground where Gwaine had just stood.

“Anything that will help us, Elyan?!” Leon calls from where he now stands at the ready. 

The beast turns toward him, ready to pounce. He rolls over his shoulder, right under the creature’s belly, and drives his sword across it. It makes a sound he can only describe as an offended chirp when he notices he hasn’t left a scratch.

“He thinks maybe- Over here!” Elyan waves his hands over his head, getting the beast’s attention. “Oh, no.” He runs as the beast begins to flap its wings, hovering in the air.

It follows Elyan, diving at him right as he ducks. Its beak just misses his ear.

“Thinks maybe we’re tied to some sort of power!” He yells, stabbing up at the lion-like body in the air. 

His aim is perfect, but just as it had with Leon, the blade does not pierce its flesh.

“Power?” Gwaine shouts, now stumbling backward. 

The monster passes over Elyan, headed straight for its new target. Gwaine holds his ground, but his hands shake. He gives up at the last second, tumbling to the side and narrowly missing a talon to the shoulder.

“Yeah! And that it is limited! That’s why we’re wearing out so quickly- ah!” Elyan spins out of the path of the beast, once again dragging his sword across its hide.

“He thinks we have a limited amount of what? Magic? From some sort of creature?” Gwaine ducks again when the beast flies upward, high into the sky.

For a moment, its wings block out the sun, leaving them in shadow. They back up into each other, all looking up at the beast, waiting for it to strike.

“It makes sense,” Elyan says. His head is tilted back against Leon’s shoulder. The creature circles like a vulture over them.

“So no one knows what an ‘Emrys’ is, then?”

“No, just that Gracey spoke of it and whatever Percival has heard- Look out!” Leon shouts before diving away. 

The other two move away from the beast’s attack. Gwaine swings his sword at its front leg, but his blade glides right over it.

“These swords don’t leave a mark on it!” He yells, frustrated.

Then, Leon remembers. The griffin Arthur had faced alongside Lancelot so many years ago. Before Camelot had fallen to Morgause and her immortal army. Before the brave knight had given his life to protect the then prince and save the kingdom.

Gaius had said it could only be killed with a magical weapon. And yet, Lancelot had found one when Arthur could not. If he remembers correctly, Merlin had been with them.

Merlin. Who he still hasn’t found. Still separated from his friends.

His heart beat is frantic, and a panic he’s not used to fills his thoughts. Leon scans the field as the other two take turns riling up the beast. He shoves the emotion away, trying to find any sort of debris on the field that seems out of place. Then, he spots it.

“There!” Leon shouts, pointing across the arena. “The spear in front of the east gate!”

Gwaine starts for it, but as soon as he moves, the griffin dives and lands on the exact weapon they need, breaking the shaft into several pieces.

“No!” Gwaine shouts.

The three shuffle back to the center of the field again, gathered in one spot, protecting each other.

“Oh, we’re going to die,” Elyan says under his breath.

“We are not going to die, Elyan!” Leon nearly growls, determination filling him. “Remember why we continue to fight! We will survive this!”

“It isn’t looking too hopeful for us, Leon.” Gwaine’s voice is soft—the tone catches him off guard, but he shakes his head.

“No. No! We cannot give up hope!” The three duck down at the beast flies over their heads. “We must push forward so that we might see Camelot again! To keep the king safe! So that we might keep Merlin from harm!”

At the reminder, the knight stands straighter. It is exactly what Gwaine needs to hear.

“Merlin wouldn’t stop believing in us,” Elyan adds, as if trying to convince himself. “Even when the odds are against us, he always comes through!”

The beast roars over them, and they scatter in opposite directions. 

“He has always been Arthur’s hope,” Leon yells, right under the griffin. “Merlin is our hope! We must hold onto that if we are to see him again!”

“Without an enchanted weapon, there won’t be anything of us left to see Merlin again,” Gwaine calls out from his left. “Leon, get down!”

Leon dives to the ground, the creature’s tail grazing the side of his cheek, but he barely feels it. Just as he hits the ground, something tightens around his heart. He thinks for a moment the griffin managed to stab him—that he is dying in the middle of this arena. Never to see his friends—his king and dearest servant—again.

But then the tightness expands into something warm and powerful, washing over Leon like the sun on a beautiful summer’s day.

The sword in his hand somehow feels lighter, more familiar in his hand despite its foreign nature.

“Leon!”

The griffin roars, diving straight for the knight still laying in the dirt.

When Leon’s blade goes through the eagle-headed beast, he doesn’t even realize it is dead as the overwhelming sense of power disappears as quickly as it came.

It rolls over him—its talons completely missing him—letting him scramble to his feet. He gazes down at the sword piercing the griffin’s chest and swears, if only for a second, he can see a faint golden thread leading below the arena.

He stumbles back a step, watching as both Elyan and Gwaine fall to their knees once the creature cries out its final breath. It bleeds out, but Leon doesn’t get the time to figure out how or why before he, too, falls to his knees and passes out.

***

As soon as the last word of the spell left Merlin’s tongue, he fainted. 

He’d been so moved—so empowered —by what Leon said, he forced himself to reach past his cell. Using his magic to cling onto the knight’s thread, he kept to the smallest of cracks in the enchantment until he could feel his friend’s strength and hope.

Merlin visualized where the knight’s sword was gripped tight in his hand and used the last of his physical strength to whisper out the same spell he used on Lancelot’s spear all those years ago.

He knew he’d probably given up the energy his friends would need for the next day, but he couldn’t let them die. Not when they were fighting for him .

When Merlin starts to come to some time later, disbelief is the first thing he feels. For one, he can’t believe he’s still alive. The amount of power it took to even break through the enchantment restricting his magic would’ve been enough to knock him out for a day.

He also can’t believe the knights—his friends—were rallying around the simple notion of seeing him again. Of keeping him safe.

He can almost laugh at the irony of it, if the reality of what is to come wasn’t so horrific. They don’t know Lord Gracey means for them to die. He knows this for certain now, as the three managed to gather right over his cell.

Merlin had wanted so desperately to reach out and comfort Gwaine and Elyan at the broken sound of their voices. He even tried a little when he finally managed to reach Leon, but he doesn’t know if it had the desired effect.

He’s still so weak and worn out, he doesn’t notice the difference when the sorcerer steps into the circular room, completely cutting his magic.

He really only acknowledges his presence when he’s violently pulled to his feet by his wrists. Back in the same position he’d first woken up in two days prior, Merlin groans at the stretch of his aching shoulders and the barely-healed cuts on his stomach.

A hand wraps around his throat, squeezing just enough to make breathing more difficult.

Merlin finally opens his eyes, finding himself eye level with the older sorcerer. There is only hatred and anger in his golden eyes.

“I hope you thought that little spell was worth it, Emrys ,” he spits out the druid name.

“I think keeping my friends alive is always worth it, Gracey .” He tries to sound as intimidating, but Merlin’s fairly certain his words are slurring together.

The sorcerer lets go of him, and Merlin sags against the restraints. His wrists are in agonizing pain as they support all his weight, but he can’t find it in him to stand up straight.

“Keep them alive as much as you want tonight,” Gracey hisses. “You have sealed your fate along with theirs with that trick .”

Merlin blinks up at him, trying to understand his words.

“I will not let you hurt them-”

“You won’t have a choice!” He grabs Merlin by his tattered tunic, shaking him into alertness. “Your knights cannot finish today’s ritual,” he snarls. 

Merlin weakly smirks, happy with himself for hindering the group’s plans. The victory lasts for only a second before he smiles back.

“It’s an easy fix, Emrys.” He drops the warlock again, and Merlin hears his wrists snap.

Gasping out in pain, he doesn’t see the sinister look of satisfaction on Lord Gracey’s face.  

“The beasts will not be slaughtered, but that does not mean the magical blood needed won’t be spilled,” he says, standing up straight and backing towards the door. “I had hoped the death of your so-called friends would open your eyes, Great One. But I am confident your blood will be worth twice that of what would have been sacrificed tonight.”

Merlin glares up at him. “You’re welcome to try to kill me, but many others,” he takes a deep breath, tilting his head back to let in more air. “Sorcerers much more powerful than you, have tried and failed.”

“You misunderstand me.” Lord Gracey’s eyes flash gold again. The runes around the room glow brightly, and Merlin feels the enchantment strengthen. It feels too similar to the hand that had been around his throat, cutting off air to his lungs. “King Arthur and his loyal knights will not face any more beasts today. But in the morning, they will face a creature of their greatest fears.” 

Lord Gracey begins to chant a spell. Merlin vaguely recognizes it as some sort of glamour, but not one to change the caster’s appearance. He stiffens as realization drowns him.

When the spell is cast, Merlin weakens at the weight of it. His chains are released from the ceiling and he crumbles to the stone floor—the amount of pain he’s already feeling doesn’t change at the impact.

“Get as much rest as you can tonight, Emrys.” Gracey leaves, locking the door behind him. Merlin can’t feel the weak flicker of magic return. “Tomorrow, you face the Knights of Camelot. And they will fight to the death.”

***

Elyan finally sleeps. When he wakes, he’s not sure how long it’s been, but he remembers Leon killing the beast in the mid afternoon sun. Given the pale moonlight filling his cell, he knows he’s been out for hours.

He sits up, finding himself in the middle of the floor, instead of the side of the wall he’d been occupying most of his time imprisoned. His eyes are still heavy, but he can see Percival fast asleep near the gate of his cell. The bottom half of his shirt has been ripped away, revealing bandages wrapped around his midsection.

Leon had been dropped in a similar place as Elyan, clearly tossed onto the floor without much care after they all passed out in the arena. He can’t see Gwaine, but is certain he would find the same thing.

He pulls himself to the front corner and finds Arthur in his peripheral—wide awake, sitting as close to Leon as he can.

“Arthur,” Elyan whispers, lightly tapping the bars to get the king’s attention.

He locks eyes with the knight, visibly sighing with relief.

“Elyan,” he breathes out. A faint smile spreads across his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve picked the wrong fight,” he chuckles softly. 

“Gwaine must be rubbing off on us, then,” Arthur whispers back. 

Leon groans in his sleep, making both of them snap their attention to him.

“You should get some rest, Arthur,” Elyan says, gesturing to the others. “I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”

The side of Arthur’s mouth quirks up, but he doesn’t move. The silence drags on for several minutes.

“What if they’re hurting Merlin?” 

Elyan almost doesn’t catch what the king says, but at the sound of their friend’s name, he understands.

“Merlin is going to be okay,” he says firmly. 

Arthur looks over at him sadly. “How can you know? Something…” he trails off, looking towards the arena as if he can see through the brick wall of the temple. “Something bad happened today, Elyan. And I fear the worst.”

“You shouldn’t.” He replies quickly, softly. “We must have hope, Arthur. Merlin would. We will face whatever monster the sorcerer throws at us, and we will leave this horrible place victorious, reunited with our Merlin.”

The king’s gaze flicks back to him. He nods.

“You may be right.” When Elyan starts to smile, Arthur puts up his hand. “Just this once.”

Elyan lets out a small laugh, then settles against the wall, not bothering to move away. “We should get as much rest as we can, so Merlin doesn’t have to drag us back to Camelot when all is said and done.”

“Perhaps Merlin has rubbed off on you , too, Sir Elyan.” There’s the slightest hint of humor in Arthur’s voice, and it settles the nerves making themselves known in the knight’s heart.

He waits until he’s sure the king is sleeping before letting his eyelids slip close.

Exhaustion takes hold of him once again, and carries him into a dreamless sleep.

The hollering and cheering of the audience is louder than ever before, and it wakes Elyan up what feels like mere minutes after he’d fallen back asleep.

“This is it,” Gwaine says near him. “We win today, we get Merlin, we go home.”

“We have to stay vigilant,” Leon says. He nods to Elyan when they make eye contact. “The rest was needed, but if Percival is right, we must reserve our strength for whatever we face.”

The knight stands straighter at the sound of his name, looking between Gwaine and Elyan. 

They don’t get any more words in before several guards march in, stopping in pairs in front of each cell. With one simple spell, all the gates are flung open at once. 

Elyan jerks against the hold of the men on either side of him—an instinct not even the worst fatigue could break him of—but they just grip tighter as the other three are led out before him. When he glances behind him, Gwaine keeps his head held high. 

Elyan feels rested this time. It still isn’t near where he should be, but it’s better than he was the day before. And if Percival is right about their energy source, perhaps whatever “Emrys” is, has replenished itself in the time they haven’t been fighting. Whatever it might be, it feels different this time—freer.

He takes it as a small victory, even as the armory door is slammed shut behind him and the rudimentary armor is thrown at him.

Leon looks over at him, closer now since it is the first time all five have occupied the same room, and tries to give him an encouraging look.

They both know something has been off since their last battle, but neither know what. There’s a change in the air as a warrior steps forward from the shadows and roughly hands the first knight the same sword he wielded the day prior.

“Since it seems to favor you, knight.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Arthur speaks up. He turns to move across the room, but the guards grab his arm, keeping him in place.

The warrior sneers at him. “You might need help slaying this beast.”

All but the knights exit the armory, leaving them in the locked room until the doors open. 

They each look at one another, taking in everyone’s state. 

No one is brave enough yet to speak the first words, so the only sound is the muffled cheering above them.

Arthur clears his throat, finally stepping forward. The others follow suit—a shared feeling of relief passing over them as they take in their king’s presence. 

“One more battle, my friends,” he says carefully. “I feel whatever beast we face today will not go down easily, but so long as we look after each other and rely on what we know , we will see tomorrow.”

The knights smile at Arthur and each other. 

“And just as Gwaine said,” he nudges him. “We win the battle, we find Merlin , and then, we go home.”

Their own cheers are cut off by the double doors opening, revealing the arena and a caged creature already in the center of the battlefield.

The knights take a collective breath, readying themselves, before moving outside. 

The cheers get louder as they jog out. Elyan notes a storm brewing on the horizon and hopes the weather is on their side.

“Friends!” Lord Gracey’s voice booms around the colosseum. Elyan thinks for a moment it is thunder. “Followers! And warriors,” he looks down at the knights, then toward the creature.

When Elyan looks to his friends, they are all staring wide eyed towards the center of the field. He turns his attention to the beast and nearly stumbles back at what he sees.

A familiar boy looks back at him. The druid boy from the shrine—the one who had possessed him and tried to kill Arthur. He shivers at the sight.

“How can this be-”

“It can’t really be her,” Arthur whispers, shoulders tensing up. 

“Her?” Gwaine and Elyan speak at the same time.

“The summer solstice is upon us!” Gracey continues his speech, but the knights ignore him. 

They are huddled together watching as their foe seemingly writhes in shadows in its cage.

“It- it looks like Morgana ,” the king hisses. 

“Morgana?” Percival finally takes his eyes off the creature and looks down at Arthur. “I see the Lamia…”

“It is what we fear,” Leon speaks up. He looks at each of them. “It appears to me as the Great Dragon,” he inhales sharply. “Though… man-sized.”

“The druid boy,” Elyan’s voice shakes. He looks at Gwaine, waiting to hear what it is the seemingly fearless knight sees.

“A dark knight,” he answers with a cough.

“What does that even mean-”

“And to our honored guests,” the sorcerer’s voice drowns out Arthur’s. The five of them turn almost simultaneously to glare at him. “I wish you luck.”

***

The man’s eyes flash gold, and the knights look back, falling into position easily. The cage melts into the ground, leaving the creature shifting like shadows in front of them. 

Gwaine still only sees the knight. He looks back at him. The man in dark armor is not a man he’s ever met, but one from his nightmares. It is the man who killed his father. The darkness behind the visor reminds him of the storm clouds rolling closer.

“Forward!” 

The knights spread out, taking slow steps forward as the creature looks around at them. Its movements are frantic, unlike the other beasts they faced. They all seemed angry and attacked first. This one, Gwaine thinks sadly, is afraid of them.

But it is a magical creature. And one that is the only thing standing in their way of being set free and reunited with Merlin.

Gwaine attacks first. He sweeps his sword towards its legs, but it falls back, missing the strike. Arthur drives his sword down, but the creature rolls to the side. 

Elyan and Percival move in together, but before they can lunge, there is a flash of gold in the shadows of the visor and the knights go flying back.

“It’s attacking with magic!” Arthur yells. He twirls the sword in his hand, readjusting his grip. 

The five continue to try to land a hit, but every time they get close, the creature moves just out of the way or pushes them back or diverts the blades themselves.

The longer they fight and the more they miss, each tires out faster. They are not only fighting the creature but time itself. 

“We need a plan, Arthur!” Elyan yells, getting shoved away by invisible hands. 

None of the attacks are meant to hurt them, Gwaine realizes.

Percival comes in from high up, but the creature raises its arms, catching the blade between its hands. A look of confusion crosses the knight’s face, but in the light, Gwaine swears he can see a chain appear between the beast’s wrists.

Leon moves in from behind. When the blade strikes its target, the knights all feel it immediately . A horrible scream comes from the creature as a straight line of burning pain goes across Gwaine’s shoulder blades before they are all blown back from the creature.

Leon’s sword is thrown far away from him—clattering into the stone wall. The beast crumbles to the ground, and the thunder rolls overhead.

When Gwaine gets to his feet, the others are already huddled together. 

“It’s casting some sort of spell,” Leon says, out of breath and reaching for his own back. His hand comes back with no trace of blood. 

“We feel its pain,” Elyan says, watching the creature closely. It doesn’t get up while they are away from it.

“If we try to kill it-”

“It will likely kill us,” Arthur finishes for Leon. “We have to stop its magic somehow.”

“There!” Percival points in the direction of Leon’s sword. “There’s some sort of chain over there! I’ve seen the likes of them before, it could stop its magic!”

Arthur’s face changes—he has a battle plan.

“Three of us get it down. We can’t kill it, but if we can prevent it from moving, it probably won’t attack,” he points towards the thick iron chains and sword. “Whoever is left, run for the sword and restraints.”

“Aye.”

“Yes, sire.”

They are all running on adrenaline, but they have a plan and rush into battle. Percival throws his sword to Leon, relying on his strength alone.

The creature is slower now. Blood drips from its shifting, shadowy form. Gwaine thinks he catches a glimpse of the golden wings Leon must see as he narrowly misses jabbing the creature in the side with the hilt of his sword.

The knights get in closer, confusing it until finally Elyan kicks at where its knees probably are, sending it down on all fours.

When it throws its upper body up, Elyan, Gwaine, and Leon cross their swords in a triangle shape around the beast’s neck. With the flat of their blades, they push down against its shoulders, keeping it kneeling between them. They move forward, making the trap smaller.

“Go!” Leon barks at Arthur and Percival. 

They can all feel the weight of the loss of energy, but the two stumble off as the roar of the crowd gets louder. The sound of the audience rivaling the thunder around them.

Gwaine looks down at the shadowy knight, his hands shaking as he tries to keep the sword still. He glances down and takes in the ever moving form of his biggest fear. Where its braces were just a moment ago, are familiar shackles on pale wrists.

Gwaine .

He flinches at the sound, and feels the nick on his own neck as he grazes the beast.

“Gwaine! Stay alert!” Leon says, shaking just as bad as he is.

Gwaine, please. Hear me.

The voice is inside his head. He knows that voice. He looks down at the dark knight—its figure shifts constantly. The dragon wings, the druid boy’s drenched clothes, Morgana’s hair, the Lamia’s tail. But from the unknowable face behind the dark visor, golden eyes look up at him.

Gwaine, it’s me. You must trust me.

“Merlin?” Gwaine’s voice is barely a whisper.

“Yes, Gwaine, we will see Merlin! He will be with us soon,” Elyan yells, wobbling for a moment. “I can feel it.”

You have to trust me, Gwaine. Stick your arm out. 

Gwaine looks hard at the dark knight before him. Looks past the armor and shadows until the golden eyes suddenly feel far more like home than anything else.

Please, Gwaine!

Gwaine throws his sword and holds out his left arm far away from his body.

“Gwaine, what are you doing?!” Elyan yells, flipping his sword to be parallel to Leon’s.

Lightning crackles above them. 

His eyes never leave the dark knight, even as a bolt of lightning comes right at him.

Gwaine only moves when the shackle bursts into hundreds of pieces, falling onto his backside, and he takes a deep breath of air—as if he’d been drowning for days.

He looks down at his wrist, once again free of the restraint and whatever had him weighed down. 

“How did you-”

“Hold out your arms!” He yells, voice gruffer and more serious than he’s ever been before. When they both keep staring at him, he huffs. “Just do it!”

They both cast aside their swords, and two more bolts of lightning fall from the sky, perfectly striking the manacles and freeing them. He can see Elyan and Leon both breathe in the same relief he had.

The atmosphere of the crowd changes—they don’t get quieter, but instead of cheering in sport, shouts of fear and anger surround them.

“Hold out your arm!” Leon waves at Arthur and Percival, who are running back towards them with the sword and chain. They look at the three knights with confusion, until they see the scattered remains of iron.

“Stop!” Lord Gracey’s voice rings out. 

Percival and Arthur drop their findings and pause with their arms out. Both lose their restraints in the same manner as the others.

“Kill them! Kill them all!”

***

Warriors and sorcerers alike jump from the stands, racing toward the knights.

The five fall into formation, circling with their backs to the creature—their fears not the biggest concern at the moment.

Another bolt of lightning—the biggest yet—strikes right in the center of the arena behind them. Everyone shields their eyes as the sound of the last two iron shackles burst into dust. 

When the light fades, the creature is no longer left in a heap on the ground. In its wake, Merlin stands with tattered, bloody clothes, and eyes blazing gold.

They all take a step back from the sheer amount of power radiating off the man.

“Merlin, what-”

Arthur doesn’t get a chance to ask his question. Merlin is staring daggers at Lord Gracey, who, for the first time, wears a look of utter fear.

Merlin reaches for the heavens and points at the sorcerer, guiding the lightning right to their captor. When the first strike hits, several more bolts rain down, killing every single person who dares to try to hurt the knights.

The thunder booms louder than ever, but when Lord Gracey is nothing but ash, Merlin crumbles to the ground.

“Merlin!” Gwaine means to run to him, but Merlin falls forward, slamming his fists into the ground with a loud scream.

The earth underneath their feet shakes, making the knights reach out for each other to keep their balance. The rumble moves past them, and only when it clears Arthur who is farthest out, does the dirt crack and shift. When the ring of destruction reaches the temple walls, the stone falls around them, leaving nothing but smoke and debris in its wake.

Merlin gasps out in pain, and the dark clouds release their rain, settling the dust.

None of the knights speak a word. They either look at the ruins that had been their prison for the last few days or at the man heaving in the dirt.

The rain stops as quickly as it started as Merlin collapses to his side.

“Merlin!” Gwaine is the first to break into action. He slides on his knees into Merlin’s back, before he tries to turn him over.

There is blood soaking through makeshift bandages and his ruined clothes. He’s pale, and there’s no response to any of Gwaine’s jostling.

“Merlin, answer me!” He shakes the man's thin frame, feeling his heart swelling with unwanted emotion.

Merlin takes one harsh breath, eyes fluttering open, but unseeing.

“ O drakon, e male so ft… ” Merlin’s voice fades along with the golden light in his eyes. His eyelids close and his chest stops moving.

“ Merlin! ” Gwaine presses two fingers against his throat, searching for any indication of life. There is nothing under his touch. Gwaine screams, tearing open Merlin’s already ripped tunic. He presses his ear against his friend’s chest, listening for a heartbeat as if it were a secret.

“Look out!” Elyan points to the sky.

Arthur spins on his heel, looking where the knight points. A large dragon circles overhead, diving towards them.

“Together!” Arthur calls out, picking up a discarded sword. The other three fall in beside him.

The dragon lands with a large thud, crawling forward, ready to pounce. His golden eyes stare past the king and to the man in Gwaine’s arms.

“Stay back!” Arthur yells.

“Tell your knights to stand down , Arthur Pendragon!” The great beast roars.

“You will not take him from us!” 

“And you will not take him from me !” The dragon’s voice reverberates through Arthur's chest.

The knights falter, looking between each other and the dragon. For the first time in his life, Leon looks like he wants to run.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Arthur asks harshly.

“Stand aside, Once and Future King.” Its voice is much quieter, but just as urgent. He stares down the giant beast, but lowers his sword. “Move back, Sir Knight.”

Gwaine doesn’t move until Leon comes up behind him and pulls him away.

“No!”

The dragon takes a deep breath, then blows a blazing fire over Merlin.

“No! What are you doing?!”

“Gwaine. Gwaine! Stop! Look,” Leon shakes him.

The fire isn’t a normal flame. Instead, it looks like golden dust, settling over their fallen friend. When the dragon backs away, the magic seeps into Merlin’s skin, and he draws in a sharp breath.

“Merlin!” Gwaine shoves Leon off and dives to his original spot, once again pressing the side of his head against the pale, cold chest. This time, the knight exhales a surprised huff. When he laughs, the others let out sighs of relief. 

“Oh, thank the gods,” Percival says under his breath, kneeling down next to him and getting to work on checking Merlin’s wounds.

“What are we supposed to do now?” Arthur’s focus never leaves the dragon—refusing to look at Merlin. His heart and head fighting over what he’s just seen and what it means for his closest friend’s future.

The dragon sits back, shaking its wings as it prepares to take flight. 

“Head west to Camelot, King Arthur,” it says, hovering in the air. “Make haste. And heed my words, Knights of the Round Table.” They all look up at the giant creature. “Should you hurt that which I have returned to you, there will be no force on earth to stop me from avenging him.”

Arthur doesn’t flinch at the words or the strong wind caused by the massive wings. When the beast is out of sight, he turns around, looking blankly at where Percival has joined Gwaine at Merlin’s side.

“Sire?” Leon asks, taking a step forward now that the dragon is gone.

Another moment passes in silence as the king’s thoughts return to the present.

“Supplies,” he finally speaks. “Search the remains of the temple for any usable supplies,” Arthur’s voice evens out when he gives orders. “Water and bandages are top priority.” He pauses, glancing at the blood soaking into the dirt under Merlin’s body. He visibly swallows before turning away. “Elyan, see if you can find any spear shafts that are unbroken. And any sort of material to use as a makeshift cot. A- a banner or cloak, anything.”

When he gives no more commands, Leon and Elyan break off in a jog in opposite directions. Arthur turns back to the others. Percival is hard at work, tearing the remains of his own shirt to bind Merlin’s broken bones. Gwaine is holding Merlin’s head in his lap, idly combing through his hair.

“Gwaine,” Arthur huffs. 

The knight looks up, a vacant look in his eyes until he finds the king’s irritated expression.

“We need supplies.” 

He walks over, grabbing Gwaine by the forearm and pulling him up. Gwaine shoves him away, ready to fight despite all their enemies being dead.

“Gwaine!” Arthur tightens his grip, holding him close. “Pecival can handle this,” his voice is rough, but quiet. “Can you?”

Gwaine snaps his head to him, looking him up and down. As his defenses go up, readying himself to verbally assault the king, he looks back one more time at Merlin.

Merlin—who is still unconscious and doesn’t offer any indication that he is alive other than the shallow rise and fall of his chest even as Percival pokes around the gashes.

Without a word, he shoves away from Arthur, walking towards the far side of the arena to help Leon and Elyan with their search. 

The king walks off in the other direction, where no one can see the tears he furiously wipes away.

***

The pain returns suddenly. Every part of Merlin’s body aches as his senses return to him. His eyes are too heavy to open. He can hear voices speaking, but he isn’t sure what they’re saying or who they belong to. There’s pressure around one of his wrists, and when it moves towards his elbow, it hurts more. 

Gentle fingers run through his hair, calming his restless thoughts. When he takes a deep breath, it reminds him of how sore he is, but the air fills his lungs, his magic swells, and no one takes it away from him. He feels safe, wherever it is he is.

He can’t remember how he got here, or what happened last, but as the caring hands readjust his arms, he tries to remember.

Lord Gracey had threatened him—enchanted him. And then…

Merlin goes stiff.

“Merlin?” A soft voice comes from above him. The fingers stop over his forehead.

He slowly opens his eyes to see Elyan looking down at him. He lifts his head from its resting spot in the knight’s lap and tries to sit up.

The movement makes his head spin.

“Easy, Merlin.” Percival’s big hands rest on his chest, guiding him back down. “You need to stay still.”

“I can’t-” his voice breaks. He tries to find the other knights—to find Arthur—but the night sky hides them in the shadows cast by the fire.

“It’s okay.” Percival puts his hand on his cheek and gently forces Merlin to look at him. Whatever the knight sees in his expression makes him frown. He leans in slowly, pressing his forehead to the warlock’s. “You’re safe, Emrys,” he whispers. 

Merlin jumps out of Elyan’s hold, sitting upright.

“How do you know that name?” Merlin nearly yells. His heart races in his chest as his mind tries to remember the tournament. Has someone told them? Has he told them?

“Merlin?” Gwaine’s sleepy voice calls from the other side of the fire.

His attention snaps to the other knight, now joined by a less-than-alert Leon and half awake Arthur. Merlin thinks he’s going to be sick.

He tries to back away from them, but Elyan throws his arm behind his back and Percival easily rests a hand on his ankle. 

“I- I can explain.” His voice is small again, looking directly into the large knight’s eyes. Merlin isn’t sure he can handle facing anyone else.

“There’s no need,” Percival says, smiling softly. “You saved us. Protected us and kept us alive.” He lifts his hand, offering it to Merlin. “We will not hurt you, Merlin.”

Hesitantly, Merlin takes his hand.

“Yeah, a dragon threatened us if we tried to kill you,” Gwaine says. His sudden appearance makes Merlin jump, but the sound of his voice makes him look up at him. He has his usual air of humor, but the desperation in the knight’s eyes makes Merlin shrink away.

“Kilgharrah won’t hurt you, he can’t,” he says quickly. Why on earth the dragon would threaten his friends, he isn’t sure. 

“Well, you should tell him that,” Gwaine huffs. 

“I can. I will, I promise. He won’t hurt you, I- I won’t-”

“Merlin.” Gwaine gets down on his knees, eye level with him. “I’m not afraid of you.” His voice is quiet. There is only sadness in his eyes. Merlin can’t stand it.

“Last I heard from you, you weren’t afraid of anything.” He smiles weakly, hoping Gwaine falls for the distraction.

A small grin breaks across his face, followed by a short laugh. “Well, I can’t say that anymore, but I promise you, that fear has nothing to do with your magic, Merlin.”

Hearing Gwaine speak so casually about his greatest secret has Merlin tense. 

“We should rotate shifts.” Arthur breaks the silence. 

When Merlin looks up at him, his closest friend is turned away from him. 

“Arthur-”

“You hear that, Elyan? I get my spot back,” Gwaine speaks over him. 

Merlin doesn’t look away from the king as the knights switch places. Gwaine settles against the tree and reaches forward to pull Merlin back to him. His hands are gentle and sure, and Merlin goes willingly, still watching Arthur.

“I’ll take over for you, Percival.” Leon stands behind him, waiting for Percival to finish cleaning the shallow wound on Merlin’s bicep. 

Before Percival leaves, he takes Merlin’s hand again, holding it close to his chest. “I did not realize the stories were real,” he says quietly. “But now I know that they are true—there is no greater power in history than love.”

Merlin raises his eyebrow, surprised at the knight’s words, but doesn’t get to speak before he lets go and follows Elyan to their bedrolls.

With one last look over the fire, Arthur finally meets Merlin’s gaze for a second, then sits back down, going back to sleep.

Merlin falls back into Gwaine’s lap—much to the knight’s pleasure—and sighs sadly until callused fingers begin tracing shapes on his scalp.

“Don’t fret over Arthur, Merlin,” Leon says.

He looks up at the first knight, finding something like anticipation in his eyes.

“He’s still… processing everything that happened. We all are,” he adds. His hands shake as he wraps another small cut. “It seems to be a bit easier for us, if only because we understand the weight of protecting the king.”

Merlin searches the knight’s face even though he isn’t looking at the warlock. An echo of the knight’s words in the arena pass through his thoughts.

Merlin is our hope!

“Leon.” He puts his hand atop the knight’s, stopping his shaking. “Did you mean what you said?”

Leon looks at him, eyes scanning his face as if trying to figure out what Merlin means. A look of recognition washes over him.

“Every word of it, Merlin.”

Merlin smiles, letting go of Leon and settling further into Gwaine. His eyes begin to droop as exhaustion takes over. His back hurts against Gwaine’s legs, and his limbs are sore even when he doesn’t move. He’s just about to fall asleep when Leon clears his throat.

Slowly opening his eyes, he sees the knight looking at him again.

“I’m sorry, Merlin,” he whispers.

Merlin knits his eyebrows together, tilting his head in confusion. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Leon.”

He shakes his head—his curls bouncing around. “I hurt you. We all hurt you, though unknowingly. But I…” he pauses, squeezing his eyes shut. “I struck you. I nearly killed you-”

“You all nearly killed me, Leon.” Merlin tries for humor, but it falls flat as Gwaine tenses underneath him. He stammers, trying to find a way to comfort his friends. “I just mean- it’s not your fault, any of you,” he rushes over his words. “Truthfully, the cut was more my fault. I enchanted the damned sword. It probably wouldn’t have been as bad if I hadn’t.”

When Leon gives him a confused look, Merlin tries to take back his words. “Not that I regret enchanting it! If it meant you living, I’d take a hundred enchanted swords to the back-”

“You enchanted my sword?” Leon asks quietly.

“Y- yeah?” 

The two knights look at each other—as if understanding some missing part of the story.

“That alone nearly took me out,” he continues. “But it was worth it. I heard what you said, and I finally felt some shred of hope again. I couldn’t let you die trying to protect me.” When they still don’t speak, he keeps talking. “Percival’s injury from the beast was fairly painful. Though I think it ironic Arthur got to feel what it’s like to take a mace to the back.”

His attempt at humor fails again.

“You felt… everything?” Gwaine asks, his fingers stilling in Merlin’s hair.

He tilts his head back instinctively, but when he sees the guilt in his friend’s eyes, he wishes he hadn’t looked. 

Gwaine takes the silence as an affirmative answer.

“Merls, I am so sorry-”

“No, Gwaine. Please, don’t apologize. Both of you. All of you. You didn’t know.” 

He tries to turn onto his stomach and get up, but the movement takes everything out of him. He almost passes out right there. The two knights settle him back down, trying to make sure he’s comfortable. Merlin can feel himself slipping—the pain becoming more unbearable by the second. His thoughts start to fade, but he can’t lose consciousness knowing Gwaine is upset.

“If you hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have known the shackles could be removed without hurting you. I would’ve-” his voice cracks off into a hiss of pain. 

He arches against the unwelcome reminder of his injuries. Gwaine moves to allow Merlin space to get comfortable. The knight’s hands hover over his skin, afraid to make anything worse. When he finally settles, Merlin knows he’s not going to stay awake much longer. He’s far too weak to heal himself, and the pain doesn’t dull this time.

“I would’ve let you kill me,” he says between broken breaths. “And you would’ve- would’ve died alongside me. I- I’d have failed Arthur and- and you.” He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “But I didn’t. I saved you.”

Merlin’s vision gets blurry—the pain forcing him into darkness. He can feel Gwaine bend forward, and dry lips press against his forehead.

“You did. You saved us, Merlin.”

He can’t see the smile on Gwaine’s face, but he can hear it in his voice. It’s enough to satisfy him, and he gives himself to the void with his own smile spreading across his lips.

***

As soon as the sun rises, the knights gather what little they have left. Besides the clothes on their backs and the armor that had survived, they only have what limited supplies they were able to scavenge from the destroyed temple. 

Elyan and Gwaine position themselves on either end of the makeshift cot Merlin is secured onto. The latter takes the back so he can watch over the sorcerer. Percival stays behind them while Leon follows closely behind Arthur, clearing the path for the others.

No one speaks as they make their way through the woods. Not even Gwaine tries to pass the time with stories. They head west—as the Great Dragon had instructed—but they have no idea how far away they are from Camelot.

Leon had been weary about trusting it—the beast of his nightmares—but he couldn’t deny that it had saved Merlin.

Merlin, who had summoned it. Merlin, who had called it by its true name. Merlin, who had taken its form during the battle when Leon had cut him down-

“Leon.” Elyan nudges him, pulling him out of his thoughts.

He looks around to see everyone has stopped, resting the unconscious man on a patch of moss. The sun has reached its highest point in the sky, blazing down on them where the treetops don’t meet to provide shade.

“We should make it to the outskirts of Camelot’s border by sunset,” Arthur announces, turning to face them all. “We’re in familiar territory, and hopefully a patrol will intercept us soon. We’ve made good time.”

“Yeah, because Merlin hasn’t woken since last night,” Gwaine grumbles.

Arthur’s entire body slumps, face turning gaunt. “As soon as we get to Camelot, we will get him to Gaius,” he says, not looking towards the unnaturally still body. 

“Then what?” Gwaine asks. Leon looks over his shoulder and sees the knight’s hand resting on the pommel of his sword. “What will you do after you know he’s not going to die? Again.” 

“Gwaine.” Percival’s tone is a warning, but even Leon needs to know what their king plans to do with Merlin. He wouldn’t betray Arthur, but he won’t see his friend punished for saving their lives.

Arthur stares down the knight farthest away from him, jaw clenched and his own sword hand itching to arm itself. 

After a few tense seconds of silence, a strained groan has them all looking at Merlin’s near lifeless form on the cot. 

“We will figure that out after Mer- he is healed.” Arthur says, turning away to continue marching on.

Percival and Leon switch duties with the other pair, lifting the stretcher and Merlin off the ground. It takes much more effort than it should—given how light the servant appears—but the events of the last few days have caught up to them. They are exhausted on their own accord and have no more water or rations to get them through another night.

The knights follow Arthur through the summer heat.

They remain in silence. Merlin does not make any indication that he is conscious—save some wet, rough coughs and moans of pain—even when they have to juggle the cot over loose rocks and slippery leaves. 

They don’t stop. The water is gone and there are no creeks nearby.

Even if there had been, Leon doubts they would have gone to them. The only thing on their minds is to get Merlin home.

The longer they walk, the shorter the distance between the king and the knights gets. When they reach a particularly overgrown area, Arthur steadies Leon and Percival as they try to miss the unseen obstacles in the grass. Gwaine doesn’t even object when he offers a stable hand as he jumps down from the thick roots.

Elyan takes the lead as the trees begin to look more familiar. Arthur falls back to Leon’s side, taking a quick glance at the sorcerer, then at Percival and Gwaine. He turns away sharply.

“You’re all mad at me,” he says quietly. “I’m not going to-” His voice cracks, but he covers it with a cough. “I’m not going to hurt him. I promise you that, Leon. I couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“I know that, sire,” Leon replies, not taking his eyes off Elyan.

Arthur scoffs. “Then why are you acting as if I’ve already sentenced him?”

Leon takes a deep breath, finding an expression that tells him not to bother asking permission to speak candidly. “You can’t even say Merlin’s name, Arthur. I understand you feel betrayed and that you are upset. I felt that, too, at first…” He trails off, watching Elyan dodge low hanging tree branches. 

“But it’s Merlin . He’d never hurt us, even when we’ve hurt him.” Leon feels his stomach twist with guilt. “He saved us. Took care of us when we didn’t know we needed it. Not just with magic, but with his kindness and compassion. He has acted as a knight unprompted and without title.

“I know he’s been keeping secrets, but I also know Merlin would not do so without reason. He loves you just as we do, sire. Do not judge him without hearing his story.”

Arthur doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t leave Leon’s side either. The first knight can only hope he’s said enough.

His thoughts are interrupted when Elyan leaps onto a rotting tree stump and looks ahead. 

“There ahead! The patrol!” He shouts, looking back with a smile on his face.

Arthur runs forward, waving his hands over his head, trying to get his men’s attention. “Sir Kay! Over here!”

Leon doesn’t hear their response. A loud choking sound behind him takes all his attention.

“Merlin!” Percival shouts as Leon turns around. 

The sorcerer is coughing violently, shaking all over. They set down the cot as Gwaine makes it to his side.

“Merls, come on, take a deep breath.” He tries to guide Merlin into a sitting position, but when his hand cups his head, the man vomits what little is in his stomach along with what looks like blood. “Merlin…”

Leon drops across from Gwaine, forcing Merlin onto his side as more blood and bile come up. Percival leaves them, knowing not to crowd Merlin, and helps flag down the patrolling knights.

“Merlin, look at me,” Gwaine pushes back Merlin’s sweaty hair. “He’s not hearing us,” he says angrily. “Merlin! Look at me!”

Leon puts his fingers against Merlin’s neck—his heartbeat too fast to mean anything good.

Multiple sets of feet rush to them, but neither move from the man’s side. 

“Kay, get me your horse,” Arthur demands. When the knight turns away, the king crouches down next to them. “Leon, you must get him to Gaius. Fast .”

Leon looks up then, searching the king’s face. “I cannot leave you in the forest, sire. Send Gwaine-”

“You are a better rider, Leon,” Gwaine says. Pain reads over his face, but even the brash knight knows he must let go of his pride right now. “You must go. I will not let anything happen to Arthur. But you have to go. For Merlin.”

Leon looks between the two as Merlin chokes on another breath.

“Sire! My horse!” Kay returns with the reins in hand.

Leon nods, on his feet in seconds. He mounts the horse as Arthur and Percival move Merlin into his arms as gently as possible. Even so, the sorcerer yelps in pain, tears streaming down his face as blood splatters across Leon’s shirt.

“ Go! ” 

Leon doesn’t hesitate as Arthur yells, holding Merlin tight against his chest with one hand as he rushes the horse on with the other.

He can’t hear the knights scrambling behind him or feel the soreness of the saddle underneath him. All Leon knows is the castle walls far off in the distance and the moans of pain muffled against his tunic.

“Hold on, Merlin. Hold on for us, please,” he whispers.

Leon races through the woods, relying on the horse’s instincts to weave around trees and leap over fallen branches. Every movement has Merlin crying out, but as the castle gets closer, the cries lessen. 

He doesn’t look down at the sorcerer. He knows what he will find will confirm his fears.

It isn’t until the sound of hooves clicking against cobblestone reverberates around the citadel walls that Leon realizes he’s holding his breath.

Many red capes flock to him as he slides off the horse, but after he gets Merlin back in his arms he pushes them away. “Move! The physician’s chambers! I must get to Gaius!”

His mind goes blank as he takes the familiar path through the halls—the lack of protest from his friend makes Leon sprint around the corners. 

A guard nearby doesn’t say a word as he pushes open the door to Gaius’s rooms.

“What on earth is happening- Sir Leon?” Gaius looks up from his work bench, eyes wide.

“He’s dying,” Leon pants. He stumbles over to the patient cot, getting Merlin safely on the thin mattress before collapsing to his knees next to him.

“Get the queen.” Leon can barely hear the physician speaking to the guard over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears.

“Please, Sir Leon.” A hand rests on his shoulder, but the knight can’t take his eyes off Merlin’s pained expression. “Tell me what has happened.”

Leon tries to breathe, but the air gets caught in his throat just as the tears break free.

***

It doesn’t take long for the others to make it to the castle once Leon takes off. The patrol doubled up on their horses, allowing the king and his inner circle of knights to take off on the remaining three steeds. 

Gwaine eagerly saddles up behind Arthur on the biggest horse, neither in the mood to waste time arguing positions. Percival takes off ahead of them—intending to relieve Leon assisting Gaius. Elyan keeps pace with them, even if his lighter load would allow him to make it home first.

None of them speak beyond urging the horses forward, thinking of nothing but getting to the castle.

As they break into the lower town, Arthur’s can see the path of destruction both Leon and Percival must have caused in the market. Vendors are picking up trampled flowers and dirty bolts of fabric. Everyone dives out of the way as the three try their best to avoid making more problems. He quickly notes to send someone back to help out after he’s sure Merlin is being taken care of.

It is then Arthur’s thoughts come crashing back to the forefront of his mind.

Merlin betrayed him, lied to him, saved him, and almost died for him. Gwaine said Merlin had died before the dragon showed up, but he couldn’t believe that. Why would a servant, let alone a magic one, die for him? 

But then again, Merlin isn’t just a sorcerer or servant. Leon had been right. Merlin was just as much his protector as any of the knights though it had never been asked of him.

When they stop in the courtyard, Gwaine jumps off and takes the steps three at a time, headed to the physician’s chambers. Elyan doesn’t immediately follow, though the king can see how much he wants to.

Merlin might very well actually die for him, but Arthur’s knights would tear the world apart for his manservant first.

“Go,” he says, sliding off the saddle. 

Elyan nods once before taking off after the other knight.

Arthur already knows he will not lose Merlin. Even if he finds out the sorcerer has been using him for some nefarious purpose, Arthur would step down from the throne before sending Merlin to his death.

He doesn’t acknowledge the stable hand who takes the horse before following right behind Elyan.

It’s a mad dash for the tower Merlin and Gaius call home, and when Arthur stumbles to a halt outside the door, he finds Elyan and Gwaine both out of breath standing over Leon.

The first knight looks up as the king walks towards the door.

“Gaius will have your head if you try that,” Gwaine mumbles. Arthur notices a small but bright red mark on his forehead he rubs at with his knuckles.

Arthur shakes his head, already making for the handle until a hand grips his forearm tight. He looks down at Leon, who is sitting just to the side of the door. “If Gaius doesn’t yell at you, the Queen will.”

“Gwen’s in there?!” Arthur thinks to barge in, then thinks better of facing the wrath of Guinevere. “Why is she in there?”

Leon’s hand falls away, leaving red behind in its wake. Arthur can see traces of what he knows is blood in the knight’s hair and down his face—signs of concern and impatience—and tries not to think about where the blood came from.

“She has the most experience assisting the physician, sire,” he answers. His curly hair sticks to the sweat and blood on his forehead and neck as he leans back against the stone wall. 

“And Merlin is her closest friend,” Elyan adds, sliding down the wall across from Leon. “She would want to help any way she can.”

Leon nods, as if to confirm what he’s said. “She kicked me out right as Percival arrived.” He sounds tired and closes his eyes. “I doubt I was being much help, but he almost took a bowl to the face that I’m sure was intended for me.”

“I had a bottle thrown at me after Gaius yelled,” Gwaine groans, still standing on the other side of Leon.

Arthur almost comments on Gwaine’s lack of listening skills, but the sound of hushed voices and shuffling from behind the door grabs his attention.

“How is he?” He doesn’t look away from the door but can still see Leon tilt his head to look up at him.

The knight lets out a long breath. “He’s alive,” Leon starts, sitting up a little straighter against the wall. “And that is truly all I know, sire.” 

Arthur looks down at him, a rebuke already on his lips.

Before he can scold him, Leon continues. “His injuries were barely healed from whatever magic the dragon used.” He tenses at the memory. 

Arthur nearly does, too. He’d been quite intimidated by the Great Dragon, but in the events following, it hadn’t occurred to him what Leon might be feeling. 

The knight keeps going. “Gaius made it sound like… like his body was tearing itself apart. That his-” He cuts himself off, locking eyes with the king. Too many seconds of tense silence pass before Leon looks away. “That Merlin’s magic was trying to heal faster than he could replenish it.”

Gwaine and Elyan have gone completely still. Arthur spares them both a glance, finding deep set exhaustion and concern etched into their faces.

“We took too much from him,” Elyan says quietly. He drops his face into his hands, visibly fighting against the tears that threaten to fall.

“We didn’t know.” Arthur responds, roughly falling into the wall next to him.

“Doesn’t make it any better,” Gwaine says just as softly. He, too, slides down the wall and barely avoids sitting on top of Leon. The older knight doesn’t try to shove him away, instead leaning his leg closer to him.

Arthur watches over the three of them as they lose their battles against the tears. He wants nothing more than to be rid of the aches and turmoil crushing his men, but he knows he cannot simply will this away. He finally takes their lead and crashes down next to Elyan, sitting directly opposite the door.

He can just barely hear Gwen and Gaius’s voices, though he can’t understand what they are saying. They don’t sound panicked—just focused and busy. He stares so long at the door that it starts to blur.

Shaking himself back into focus, Arthur feels a shoulder lean into him. When he looks over at Elyan, he finds him asleep, then looks over to see Gwaine and Leon nearly tangled together in a mess of hair and limbs also drifting into slumber.

A muffled, sharp screech of something being dragged across the floor snaps him back to the door. He knows Percival is doing everything he can to aid the physician and queen with both strength and his limited field medicine experience.

Arthur has never felt so helpless. 

Looking back at the other three, he knows he doesn’t have the energy to do anything other than worry and worrying will not help Merlin. 

So, despite knowing his friend’s fate is out of his hands, Arthur slouches against Elyan and lets his heavy eyelids drift closed.

***

Merlin can feel his magic desperately trying to bring him back from the edge of death. He can feel it pooling in his stomach and filling his lungs—pushing out the air and limited nutrients left in him. It pulls his skin together, trying to mend bleeding wounds and strained muscles. He can feel it in his bones, realigning the breaks in whichever position comes easiest.

His magic is tearing him apart and burning through his now undivided life force. 

Merlin tries to slow it down, take the injuries one at a time and make sure the mending is done properly. The harder he focuses, reigning the power in, the quicker he loses grip, and the magic blazes on again.

Fighting his own magic makes him weaker, and soon enough, the pain becomes so intense he is lost in it until he is numb and empty.

The darkness lasts for a long time. 

Until suddenly, the pain brightens. He gasps at the sensation, but this time when he reaches for his magic to ease the pain, it listens. His magic is focused, not draining his energy or drowning him or making things worse. 

He only feels slightly better, but Merlin sighs in relief. He absentmindedly reaches for the ache in his shoulders, but warm hands stop him.

“Easy, Merlin,” an equally warm and gentle voice warns. “You needn’t move too much.”

He tries to open his eyes, but the daylight pouring through the window blinds him. He groans, forgetting the voice’s warning and shields his eyes. As soon as he does, every part of his arm protests—from the skin around his wrist all the way down to the muscle in his shoulder.

“Merlin, what did I just say?” The voice gives a little laugh—tired but not surprised. “I can close that, give me a moment.”

He hears something creak—one of Gaius’s old stools—then the telltale sound of closing shutters. 

Before the person returns, Merlin tries to see again. It takes a few seconds, but his room slowly comes into focus as Gwen sits down on a seat next to his bed.

Her smile lights up the room enough to make up for the closed window, though tear tracks mark her face.

He reaches out, and she meets him halfway, intertwining their fingers. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve been crying over me,” he slurs, head still heavy with exhaustion.

He can barely keep his eyes open but can still see her strained smile.

“And so what if I have?” Gwen responds, tightening her grip on Merlin’s hand. 

“You really shouldn’t. I’m not worth your tears, my lady.”

Gwen nearly scoffs. “You can’t tell me who is worth my tears, Merlin. I am your queen, remember?” Her voice shakes, but he’s thankful for the ease of bantering with his oldest friend.

“I would never forget that,” he smiles, eyelids slipping closed.

“Rest, Merlin. You need it.”

He hums, looking at her. “No, I’m awake. Just… heavy.”

She rolls her eyes. “Because you are drained.” 

Gwen brings their hands to her lap, tracing circles over the back of his hand with her fingers. He notices the bandage wrapped around his wrist.

“Just tired, Gwen. I’m alright.” The soft patterns have him dozing off.

“You’ve been fighting against your own magic for days, Merlin. It’s okay that you are spent.”

Merlin’s eyes go wide, pulling his hand fast away from the queen. He tries to sit up and is greeted only with severe pain through his shoulders and down his back.

“Shit,” he hisses, throwing his head back against the wall. The headache he’d been ignoring makes itself known, as well as the ache in his chest. He becomes acutely aware of just how many bandages hold him together as the blanket falls away. As the pain spreads, he reaches for his magic again only to stop dead in his tracks as Gwen mentioning it was the cause of this.

“Merlin, please, you need to be still! You are hurt-” 

She moves to help him back down, but he flinches away—causing more pain.

He isn’t sure what she finds in his expression, but whatever it is clearly breaks her heart. Merlin immediately starts to back track.

“No, Gwen. I’m so sorry, I’m sorry, I never wanted to hurt you or- or betray you or-”

“Merlin!” She sits on the small space available on the edge of the bed, hands planted firmly yet gently on his shoulders. Her eyes search his face again, stopping once they both have calmed down. “Merlin, I am in no way mad or upset with you, do you understand?”

Merlin looks her over, only just noticing she is wearing one of her old servant dresses and looks like she hasn’t slept in days. He nods slowly.

“Why?” He whispers, afraid both of them might crack if he speaks any louder.

Her hands leave his shoulders and instead lightly cup his face. “You are my friend, Merlin. You are my brother's and my husband’s friend, and all of the knights’ dearest companion. All you have done is protect us and care for us. How could I be mad about that?”

He doesn’t even feel the tears falling, only knows Gwen wipes them away. 

“You’re- you’re not afraid?”

Gwen smiles sadly, still holding Merlin’s face. “I only fear losing you, Merlin.” She leans forward, giving his forehead a featherlight kiss. 

Gwen knows. Gwen knows and doesn’t hate me , he thinks to himself, smiling. He feels safer in her embrace than he has in years, but as her hands slip away, his thoughts turn sour and in a split second of weakness he frowns.

“The others will not feel that way.” It’s a low thing to say, especially after Gwen has comforted him, and he knows it, but the realization nearly makes him cry.

Gwen doesn’t hate me, but Arthur must. The knights will feel betrayed. If they haven’t killed me yet, they will send me away as soon as they get the chance .

“Merlin.” Gwen takes his chin in her hand and makes him look at her. “I can nearly see your thoughts written on your face,” she crinkles her nose. “You might be surprised to know there are guards posted outside Gaius’s door specifically to send Arthur and the knights away because they are hellbent on spending every waking hour at your side.”

He tries to pull away, but she holds him fast. “Like you have been?”

She shakes her head, letting out a soft huff. “Gaius and I have been rotating shifts. You don’t need to worry about us while you heal.”

“I can’t stop it,” he admits, finally breaking away from her grasp. He drops his head in his hands, sending sparks of pain down his wrists. “I never wanted to be a burden.”

“You are not a burden, Merlin.” Her fingers comb through his short hair. “You have given so much for us, watching over you for a few hours a day is the least we can do. The others would do the same if they were any good at managing their expectations.” Her laugh makes Merlin look over at her. “I swear, Gaius nearly took up magic again just to keep Gwaine out of here. The other’s learned their lesson after the first lecture.”

“Gwaine’s never been good at following orders.” Merlin smiles, knowing the physician has probably already resorted to throwing things at the knight. He laughs with Gwen and it turns into a yawn.

“You need to rest,” she says again. 

She gets up and guides him back down, and this time, Merlin lets her. She pulls the cover over his chest, hiding the bandages once again. 

“You might be right,” he mumbles. He’s still in pain, but his friend’s presence has eased his mind and magic a great deal. His eyelids fall shut.

“Sleep well, Merlin. Your knights will see you when you wake again.”

The last thing he feels is Gwen’s fingers brushing his hair out of his face.

***

Just as Leon returns to his chambers after his first partial shift of guard duty since the tournament—tired and irritable—he hears a loud crash at the end of the knights’ quarters. The last door flies open, and Gwaine barrels out of his room with Elyan and Percival in tow.

“Percival! What’s happening?” He calls, abandoning the journey to his bed.

“Merlin’s awake!” Elyan responds instead. Both of them look back at him with smiles plastered on their faces.

As if by magic, his bad mood evaporates as he easily catches up to the others.

The four knights tumble through the hallways of the castle, noblemen and servants alike diving out of their way as they make for the physician’s quarters.

It isn’t until they skid to a halt outside the old wooden door that Leon takes a moment to consider that Merlin may not want to see them.

The thought settles heavy in the knight’s heart, but he doesn’t have time to linger on it. Gwaine doesn’t bother knocking before pushing the door open.

“Gaius, please tell me Merlin is still awake-” Gwaine stops dead in his tracks, causing Elyan and Percival to run into him. 

Leon peeks around them to see what has startled Gwaine into silence and is just as surprised to see Merlin sat at the workbench with Arthur sitting at a stool across from him.

The four knights stare at the pair, knowing they’ve just interrupted an important conversation. Arthur looks like he’s forcing himself to feign a sense of composure, while Merlin simply looks tired. He doesn’t look away from Arthur even as the king glares at his knights.

“Perhaps we should come back later.” Leon offers, pulling the others toward the door with him.

“No, you should stay!” Arthur says sarcastically, standing up from his seat.

Merlin doesn’t even flinch at the abrupt movement, the only indication that he isn’t sleeping with his eyes open is that he follows Arthur with his gaze.

“Make yourselves comfortable!” He gestures to the bench and scattered stools. “ Merlin doesn’t seem to be in the mood to be forthcoming about his condition or his abilities.” He slams his hands down on the table, leaning over to be eye level with his servant. “Even though he knows we already have the truth.”

The knights don’t move either direction as the king stares Merlin down. The younger man doesn’t buckle.

Leon had known Merlin to be stubborn, and he rarely ever took Arthur’s berating without some jest or sense of ease. This is different. There is no humor in his eyes and no ease in the tension of his shoulders.

It isn’t as easy to tell as it is with Arthur, but it becomes evident to Leon that Merlin is holding back just as much as—if not more than —the king.

“Sire…” Leon finally says. He goes around the other three knights, stepping cautiously to the pair. He realizes they’ve missed a big portion of information. He doesn’t want to upset his king, but he also doesn’t want to frighten Merlin and cause him to close himself off more. Neither look at him. “Permission to speak freely?”

Arthur glances over at him, composure cracking more as the seconds pass. “Granted,” he says angrily.

“Merlin has only just awakened. Perhaps he’ll be more ‘forthcoming’ once he’s had more time to rest and finish healing,” he speaks slowly, hoping his words don’t anger Arthur. “We can just take the moment to be thankful he’s awake and alive?”

Merlin does look over at Leon when he hears the guilt coloring his voice. A faint, comforting smile lasts only a few seconds before Arthur laughs dryly.

“You want to tell them what you told Gaius?” Arthur crosses his arms and looks expectantly at the sorcerer.

Merlin’s shoulders go stiff again as his eyes shift back and he stares daggers at him. He works his mouth, trying to decide if he’s going to speak or not.

“Go on,” Arthur waves his hand.

He presses his lips into a thin white line. He doesn’t stand down as he speaks. “I’ve rested plenty and all my injuries are healed, ” Merlin says through gritted teeth.

“Completely?” Elyan pushes past Percival and Gwaine, looking at him in disbelief. “You’ve completely healed yourself?”

When Merlin looks away from Arthur, his expression goes timid. He moves for the first time since the knights have entered, shyly rubbing the back of his neck and worrying his bottom lip.

“Yeah, yes. I’ve, um, completely healed myself,” he stumbles over his words. “For the most part.”

Leon can practically feel the same relief washing over the other three knights that fills him. This is the Merlin they know.

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘for the most part’?” Arthur asks before anyone else can. 

Merlin stiffens again. Gwaine jumps into action, moving to his side and placing a protective hand on his shoulder. There’s still an echo of betrayal on the knight’s face—despite Merlin being his best friend, there’s so much he doesn’t know about the man—but no one misses the way the sorcerer leans into the touch.

“Why don’t you back off, sire ,” Gwaine retorts. 

Leon moves without thinking, clearing the few steps across the room to stand at the edge of the table, placing himself in the middle.

“Gwaine,” he warns. 

Percival and Elyan fall in behind him, not taking either side, but not wanting to be out of the conversation.

“I mean ,” Merlin says, voice hard once again. “I still feel sore and… exhausted,” he pauses, fighting to not look away. “But my wounds are healed and my-” he cuts himself off, giving into the shame visibly creeping up his neck, turning his skin red, and looking down at the table.

“Say it.” Arthur leans in again, but he no longer sounds angry.

“My… my magic. ” He breathes in sharply, as if waiting for one of them to lash out. No one moves. Merlin breathes out and continues. “It stopped reacting to my distress and actually did what I needed it to.”

Merlin slowly looks up toward Gwaine, desperation creeping onto his face. Gwaine’s grip only tightens on his shoulder—a reminder of his support. He then turns his gaze to Leon, Elyan, and Percival. Leon tries his best to give him an understanding look, but whatever he finds makes him hunch away. He casts his eyes down again instead of looking at Arthur.

Leaning into Gwaine’s touch once again, Merlin closes his eyes and sighs before straightening his back and rolling the hand off his shoulder. He steels himself, looking up at the king with an unreadable expression.

“So, this is the part where you arrest me for my confession and hold a trial to discuss the best method of public execution, am I correct?”

***

Arthur falters—arms giving out under him and nearly falling face first into the table. The words out of the sorcerer’s mouth send a shiver of horror through his spine. He doesn’t need to look at his knights to know they share the same look of pure shock on their faces.

A chorus of “What?”’s and gasps are cut off by Arthur’s “Pardon?”

“You know I have magic and I used it to-” Merlin chokes on his words as the memory of the tournament settles in. His composure slips, showing the guilt and pain for a moment before he tries to put the mask back up. When he speaks again, his voice is much quieter. “I killed all those people.”

It takes longer than he’d like to admit for Arthur to regain any of his own composure. He has been so caught up in the anger at the lies and he still feels the bitter twist of betrayal, but never once did it cross his mind to sentence Merlin to death . 

“They would’ve killed us all, Merlin,” Gwaine says, sitting down on the bench, straddling either side and forcing Merlin to look at him. “They would have killed you . You saved us.”

Merlin shakes his head, wiping away tears that start to fall. “It doesn’t make a difference. I have magic ! You have my confession, just- just-”

“Is that why you think I came here?” Arthur says, breathless, looking wildly over Merlin’s face. He almost can’t believe his closest friend would think so lowly of him. “You think I came to weasel a confession out of you and then what? Send you to the pyre?”

Merlin flinches then. “I’d prefer something other than the pyre, but I don’t think I have any say in the matter-”

“Merlin!” Several of them yell at the same time. 

He tenses, looking up as Percival comes to his side and kneels down. “Merlin, no harm will come to you because of this. Do you not believe us?”

Merlin searches his face, then turns to Arthur—who is still fumbling to gain his composure—and then Leon.

“It’s the law,” he whispers.

“And I’m the king,” Arthur rolls his eyes.

“It’s still the law. That’s why… That’s why I never said anything,” Merlin says. “You can’t make an exception for me.”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighs. He can feel everyone’s eyes on him as he walks around the table, sliding easily between Gwaine’s knee and Percival. He crouches between them and looks up at his servant. He tries to make his tone light. “I’m not sure if you remember, but you are not the boss of me.”

The tears are coming fast now from Merlin’s eyes. “But I-”

“As far as I am concerned, you saved me and my men,” Arthur says, taking one of Merlin’s trembling hands. “And though we have much to discuss,” he tightens his grip, “I didn’t come here to sentence you. You even thinking that makes me realize I have a lot to work on. 

“And though I am still upset at the lies and,” he pauses, dropping his gaze for a brief second. “And I don’t know how I really feel about magic right now, what you did for us—what you were forced to do—far outweighs any of that.”

Merlin just stares at him, not saying a word as tears continue to stream down his cheeks, and Arthur’s heart aches . He’d been so lost when Merlin had revealed himself in the arena—he convinced himself the enchantment had found some bigger hidden fear of his. Merlin single handedly brought down the massive temple, then he dropped. 

If Gwaine hadn’t been so visibly devastated, he probably would have continued to believe it was just a vision of some deep seated fear he couldn’t bring himself to admit. 

When they’d traveled back to Camelot, Arthur had let himself be angry. The knights were clearly fine with taking care of Merlin, and he couldn’t stand the sight of his best friend so close to death. The less he cared for him, the angrier he could be.

But as Leon raced away from them, holding onto Merlin as if he were the most precious thing in the world, Arthur knew he would find a way to work things out. He realized there was no force on earth that could take Merlin away from him.

Of course, Arthur isn’t sure how to say all that to him. He’s given the best speech he can, and it still doesn’t repair the damage done. Despite the effort to be in the moment, he knows the only way through is forward.

“Not to mention,” he says, standing up and stepping away. “My loyal knights might just attempt a coup if I tried to have you killed.” He gives a half-hearted glare to them, and the tension between him and his men starts to crack. “I need someone around to convince them to keep their oaths.”

“Because you know Gwen won’t stop us,” Elyan laughs. He circles around the table until he’s standing behind Merlin, who cracks a smile—a real smile—at them.

“Well, I’m glad to know you lot are more loyal to my manservant than your king . Even though I am the one who decides what you do during training and patrols.”

All of them laugh together, and the stress all but disappears as Gwaine gives him a playful punch to the arm.

Merlin wipes the tears off his face and lets out a long breath. “I don’t deserve it,” he whispers. “Especially now that you know…”

“Merlin.” Leon is the last to join the huddle and is the most hesitant. Arthur rarely sees the first knight nervous, but he looks anxious to get too close. He knows Leon well enough to know he’s not afraid of Merlin, more afraid for him. He knows that he’s still haunted by the strike he landed on the sorcerer’s back in combat. 

Arthur takes another step back, making room for the knight and leaving him with no choice but to face Merlin.

Leon gives him a look that Arthur knows is as close to a glare the knight can muster for him, and Arthur only smiles back, nodding towards the spot.

He kneels down in front of Merlin and takes his hand. “I promise you, you do deserve it. Do you still remember what I said in the arena?”

Merlin looks at him with shining eyes and nods.

“That doesn’t change now that we know your truth. And though not all of us are as obvious as Gwaine is-”

“Ey!” Gwaine elbows him in the shoulder.

“We all care for you. And what this trial proved to me is maybe we are as dear to you as you are to us.”

Merlin dives forward, pulling Leon in tight. The knight stutters in surprise, but quickly reacts with an equally strong hug. Gwaine is not far behind, wrapping his arms around both of them, and grabbing Elyan by the shirt to tug him in.

“You, too, princess.” He reaches out for Arthur.

“You also don’t tell me what to do, Sir Gwaine ,” he says, slapping his hand away, but still moving into the pile.

Percival is the last to join, strong arms holding them all together, and Arthur has never been so sure he’s on the right path. Merlin has always believed in him, and for the first time, Arthur thinks he might be right for once.

“You will be explaining the dragon first, however.”

Merlin looks up at him with raised eyebrows. “Don’t ruin the moment, prat.”