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Merlin blinked fuzzily at his hands, feeling the familiar pulse of magic tingle through the fingertips. He looked down at the oversized boots at his feet, mindlessly yanking the trousers up as it slid down his legs. 

“Merlin!” 

He turned at his name, the tunic slipping over his shoulder at the movement.

A man came barreling through the gaps in the trees, sword in hand, and Merlin stumbled backwards from the ferocity in his expression. 

“Merlin?” the stranger repeated, lowering the blade. He stared at him with a slack jawed expression. “Is that…Merlin, is that you?” 

He nodded, eyes wide. “Where am I?”

“Oh, you idiot,” he said, shaking his head as he sheathed the sword. “You idiot.”

“‘M not an idiot!” Merlin said despite feeling very much one. He had no idea who this was or how he’d gotten here.

“No, of course not - you’re…a kid. Bloody hell.” The man looked panicked, whipping his head to look around for who could guess what.

“That’s a bad word!”

He laughed, startled then cleared his throat and knelt in front of Merlin, frowning. “Merlin, what’s the last thing you remember?”

Merlin took a step back and looked around. They were not in the woods by his home in Ealdor - the trees were thick, black, gnarled trunks with canopies so heavy he could only guess the time of day. His stomach was rumbling so maybe it was close to dinner. His legs ached a bit like —

“I was…running,” he said, “yes, chasing someone.” He turned around and pointed to the other side of the small clearing. “There was a man. I caught up to him here.”

Not just any man. A sorcerer. 

Merlin turned around so fast he tipped forward and the man caught his skinny arms to steady him. He gaped at him, eyes bulging, as he cradled the face in his tiny, tiny hands.

“Arthur!?” Merlin shouted. 

Arthur looked both relieved and horrified. “You remember? It is you in this - in this - what happened to you?”

“Aging spell,” he replied numbly as he slapped his own face, tracing his fingers through his hair,  over his ears, and down to his chest. “Oh, gods. We need to get back to Gaius.”

“How old are you?”

“I don’t know! Young?”

“You look like a baby.”

“What would you know about children?”

“I know plenty about brats!”

Merlin glared at the oversized prat. “Now is not the time to be childish, Arthur. It looks like even now I must be the adult!”

Before Arthur could say anything stupid, there was sound behind him - the gap he had come from - and in one fluid movement, Arthur rose, unsheathed his sword, and pushed Merlin behind him defensively.

“For the love of all that is good, Merlin, you better stay behind me this time.” 

Merlin stuck his tongue out at his back.

“Sire!”

He knew that voice. 

Arthur didn’t relax his fighting stance until the man was visible, followed shortly by another knight.

Merlin recognized their cloaks. 

Red. 

Pendragon red. 

These were Camelot knights. 

He took a discreet step back, heart in his throat, eyes darting for an escape -- wait, of course they’re Camelot knights. They were Arthur’s knights, and Arthur was King of Camelot.

Of course.  

“Uh, sire, are you aware there’s a - there’s a four year old behind you?”

“How do you know he’s four?” Arthur said, stepping out of the way so the knights formed a semi-circle around Merlin.

“I don’t. He just looks very small.”

“Everyone looks small to you, Percy. You’re a giant. Hi there, mate, I’m Gwaine.”

“Yes, Gwaine we’ve met.” He rolled his eyes as dramatically as he could. “Percival, you do rival these trees from down here.”

“We’ve met? Wait—“ Gwaine stomped over to him, sheathing his sword. Then hands were all over his face, tugging his ears and pinching his nose. Gwaine even spun him around a few times before having him face forward again, chin in his hand.

“Alright, enough,” Arthur swatted the other man’s hands away. “Yes, Merlin is a child.” 

“No, I’m not!” Merlin snapped, then shoved Gwaine away so ineffectually it was him that fell back. 

Arthur caught him by the back of his tunic. “He was hit with an aging spell.”

“Oh, that’s rich!” Gwaine said, laughing. “We’re going to get our Merlin in a four year old kid package? I can’t wait to get back to Camelot. You and I are going to have fun at the dice tables.”

“Your dear friend gets hit by an unknown aging spell and your first idea is to take him to a tavern?” Percival said. 

Gwaine shrugged. “He’s not actually a child. Imagine all the hilarious things he can get away saying!”

“We do need to get back, but you’re not going to the tavern, Merlin,” Arthur said, leading the way back toward the horses. “You spend enough time there as an adult. Let’s not start the bad habit so young, yes?”

By the time they got back to camp, the sun had begun to set. They would have to stay the night instead of traveling in the dark. Merlin was glad for this - he had a very hard time keeping up with the knights’ pace with his short legs and short stamina and too long trousers and too big boots. Several times in this walk, Merlin found himself holding back tears - which was odd - but, maybe not, he supposed he had been very brave today and the fluttery, wet feeling in his chest was just because he was tired and hungry and this was all a bit much. 

“Merlin, gather the firewood and get my— oh, right,” Arthur said, staring back at him once they stopped. “Guess you can’t really do your usual duties, not that I think four year old you would be any worse.”

The other men laughed at Merlin. He bit his trembling lower lip. Odd.

“I can still do them,” he said, stomping away - or he had meant to but Gwaine pulled him back.

“No way, mate. A hawk might swoop down and mistake you for a bunny rabbit. Stay here.”

More laughter. 

Merlin took a deep breath. He would not cry. He would not. He closed his eyes, head hung down and tried to get his breathing back to normal but it sped up and up and a hiccup became a sob and he was so upset and sad and knew he would never be happy again.

*

Arthur’s laughter died at the first awful sound of baby Merlin crying.

“Shh!” He snapped at his knights, who stopped laughing almost immediately. “Merlin!”

Merlin’s flushed face snapped up at his voice - and Arthur inwardly cringed at the sharpness in his tone. He didn’t mean it. He panicked.

The knights seemed at a loss as well. The normal Merlin didn’t cry. He was grumbling wit and snark. The most stupidly courageous of them all. Nothing scared Merlin. He would volunteer to be bait in terrifying missions. He rode into battle without armor. He drank poison. He fought dragons and wyverns. He chased down sorcerers unarmed and got enchanted and let his friends laugh at him. 

“What are you doing?” 

Merlin flinched, then he shrank back and cried in earnest.

“Merlin, stop,” Arthur commanded, walking closer. “You’re making too much noise. There’s an escaped sorcerer here, remember? Be reasonable.”

A hand on his shoulder stopped him, and he looked up to see Percival shaking his head. “May I, sire?”

Arthur nodded, unsure what exactly he was agreeing to but thoughts were a bit harder with the wailing three feet from him. He watched with a grimace as Percival stooped low and knelt in front of Merlin.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he said in a voice softer than he’d ever heard from the man. “Do you want up?”

Up? Arthur’s mouth fell open - in a very regal and dignified way. He blinked at Merlin pulling his balled fists from his puffy, red eyes to stare up at Percival, who took this moment of calm as permission to scoop him up. 

Merlin’s high pitched giggle made Arthur’s brain short circuit. He had never heard that sound from Merlin before and well - Arthur did not spend any time with children seeing as he was a knight and an unmarried king - it sounded very much like a laugh from a child. A real child. It suddenly hit him then - how bizarre and serious and bizarre this situation was because just last night Merlin was a man complaining in Arthur’s tent about how boorish he found this hunt while he stood between Arthur’s legs.

“I don’t understand why you had to go,” Merlin grumbled, knowing where Arthur went, he went. “You have a kingdom to run now.”  

Merlin dipped a rag in a bucket and tilted Arthur’s chin so he could swipe the dried blood underneath his jaw. 

It was a few days into the hunt and today the men finally killed something bigger than a rabbit.There was raucous laughter outside the tent, the beginnings of yet another loud, drunken evening.  

Arthur leaned back on his arms. His back ached from carrying a deer across his shoulders all the way back to camp, blood and fur all over his leathers. “It’s tradition, Merlin. My father used to go on this hunt with Lords Poppywash and Baylor. It was expected I go in his place.” 

Merlin made a disgusted face. “Ugh. Poppywash is a pig. Last time he was in Camelot, the chambermaids drew lots to be the poor girl who had to suffer his rooms.”

It was so like Merlin to hold a grudge on a man who did him no wrong but wronged some people he liked. Loyal to a fault, his Merlin. 

“Stop your fretting. There aren’t any girls on this trip,” Arthur said, knocking his knee against him, “except for you, of course.”

There was too much adrenaline earlier - they were on the trail of something big - Arthur thought maybe it was finally a boar, the point of this whole excursion - but the hulking figure in the shadow emerged shouting some words in an incomprehensible language that made the hairs on his neck rise. It happened in a blur. Arthur shoved Merlin aside as a force knocked him backwards into the knights. He caught a glimpse of Merlin giving chase before they even hit the ground.

“Put him down before you crack his head open!” Gwaine said, snapping Arthur out of his gawking.

The knight was tossing Merlin into the air so high that Gwaine hovered by with his arms out, watching as Merlin squealed in delight. 

“Percy, I swear!” 

“Relax, momma bear, I know what I’m doing,” Percival said, catching Merlin and throwing him again. “This the same man who wanted to use him to get at barmaids?”

Gwaine looked over to him. “Arthur, do something here!”

“Right. Percival, stop that,” he said, then cleared his throat. Arthur gave his orders to the knights to prepare for the evening and begin taking down parts of their camp in preparation to leave the following day. 

“What about Merlin?” Gwaine said as he wiped the boy’s tearstained face with a handkerchief.

“Give him here.”

Percival exchanged a look with Gwaine but moved forward anyway.

Merlin, seeing who he was being handed off to, outstretched his arms and grinned. “Arthur!”

“Are you sure you want to look after him, Princess? Something tells me you’ve never cut up grapes for anyone before.”

Arthur would have said something witty and cutting to that comment, surely, but Merlin wrapped his arms around his neck and laid his head on his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Arthur floated.

Breathless, he looked down at the carved cheekbones still prominent on his round face, the ridiculous ears, and the unruly black hair. From this angle, this could be Merlin’s son. Then, he looked up at him - those familiar blue eyes still a bit glassy from crying and his flushed face broke into a smile. Suddenly, this couldn’t be anyone but Merlin himself. Arthur hadn’t seen that smile in a long time. The cheeky, innocence behind it was years lighter than the smiles his normal Merlin gave him these days.

“I’m sorry for yelling earlier,” Arthur heard himself say. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Merlin nodded, and it seemed forgiveness was as easy to baby Merlin as his older counterpart - for Arthur, at least. 

“Where is that serving boy of yours? Michael, was it?” Poppywash said once the rest of the party had returned to camp. 

“It’s ‘Merlin,’ and what do you want, poopy?” 

Arthur stifled the startled noise his mouth made. Merlin, the normal Merlin, was borderline impertinent with him, sure, but generally refrained from disrespecting other nobles to their face. This one, however, stuck his tongue out at Lord Poppywash, his tiny fists at his hips.

“Merlin,” Arthur scolded, then turned to the other man. “Uh, funny story.”

It wasn’t grapes because, apparently, Merlin thought they looked like eyeballs, and he didn’t want those for dinner, but Arthur managed to cut up roasted vegetables that Merlin took maybe five or six bites of before declaring himself full and wanting to play with Percival again. Arthur kept him in his peripheral vision. Across the fire, Poppywash swallowed another glass of wine, laughing hard at the story Arthur spun about the aging spell. It sounded much less harrowing than what they actually experienced - better a joke than a panic.

“Well, he seems fine - mouth on him, that one - but I don’t see why you need to return,” Poppywash said, taking a bite of meat. 

“I’d like our court physician to make sure he’s alright and find a way to reverse the enchantment,” Arthur said.

Poppywash shrugged carelessly. “Oh, come on Arthur, my boy, we haven’t seen you since you were that age! He’s just a serving boy. You brought others.”

Baylor cleared his throat before interrupting. “I think His Majesty is as caring of his people as he is brave, Poppywash.” He turned to Arthur, a goblet of wine halfway to his mouth. “If I may suggest, Your Majesty, send a knight. No reason for you to go yourself and spoil your fun.”

Arthur never once considered sending Merlin back to Camelot without him. It didn’t occur to him how it might look to outsiders that the king himself would escort his servant. He glanced over to Merlin and his knights at the other campfire, a flash of envy, followed quickly by irritation, going through him.

He had watched that scene play out from his large, empty tent countless times: Merlin laughing with other men - his men - passing around wineskins around a roaring fire, someone telling a battle story or singing a lewd ballad. He watched for as long as he could before Merlin would look over and catch him, and his chest would ache painfully before letting the flap close as he retreated. He’d feel humiliated and angry, which wasn’t fair to himself or Merlin or anyone. He was Arthur Pendragon, king of the wealthiest, most powerful state in the five kingdoms. How much more could his selfish heart ask for?

“Sire, can I talk to you for a moment?” Gwaine asked beside him. 

Arthur squinted his eyes at his formality, but nodded at the two lords before directing Gwaine to his tent. He glanced back to make sure Percival was watching Merlin before entering.

“What is it?”

Gwaine ran his fingers through his hair as he paced. “Something’s wrong with Merlin.”

Arthur hid the spike of panic by deadpanning. “Yes. He’s four.”

Gwaine stopped walking to glare at Arthur. “Not what I meant,” he snarked, “or, maybe that’s it.” His face took on a glazed far away look of horrible realization. “Oh, gods, we need to get him back to Camelot.”

“Speak plainly, Gwaine.”

He glanced down at Arthur’s hand, which inexplicably started to reach for his sword. He exhaled forcefully. “Look, you know I didn’t grow up in Camelot. I don’t — I didn’t grow up believing magic is evil.”

“What part of ‘plainly’ didn’t you understand?”

Gwaine scoffed. “Okay, wished Merlin was here to call you a - a ‘clotplole’ for that. What I’m saying is - Merlin - just now, he seems like a real child. I was telling him he should get some sleep because we have an early day tomorrow, to see Gaius.”

Arthur refrained from interrupting but really he was at his limit.

“He doesn’t remember Gaius,” he said, “or, what he said was that he doesn’t know him. He’s acting like he’s never met the man - his guardian of the past, what, ten years?” 

“What?” Arthur said intelligently. 

“I think he’s reverting to his actual child self - no memories of us, of himself as an adult. He thinks - he thinks, we found him lost in the woods and would be taking him home to his mother. In Ealdor. Arthur, he’s talking about what he’s going to tell his friend Will of this little adventure. Merlin, our Merlin, told me about Will, his childhood friend that died years ago.”

“I don’t understand. He was himself earlier, just a few hours ago.”

Gwaine nodded. “I’ve spent years traveling. You learn a thing or two beyond which tavern has the best mead. I assumed you saw and knew for a fact it was an aging spell. So I wasn’t worried. Aging spells are… physical. They change how you look. They don’t alter your memories.”

Arthur swayed on his feet, running a hand harshly over his face. “Is it reversible?”

“If it had been an aging spell, then yes, but I think we’re dealing with something else here.”

“Is Merlin okay? Is he hurting?”

“No! No, he’s —“ Gwaine chuckled despite himself, “he’s fine. Adorable and mouthy and even clumsier than before.”

Arthur ignored his annoyance at Gwaine calling Merlin ‘adorable’ and plowed on. “Have you heard of a spell like this?”

He resumed his pacing. “I don’t even know what this is. A spell that… that actually reverses aging? To do it to someone else and - and not yourself to, I don’t know, live forever? Oh, but then I guess that younger version of you wouldn’t have older you’s wisdom and skill. Perpetually stuck as a dumb child seems more…” He paused, eyes fluttering close. “Like a curse. This is a curse, Arthur.”

Arthur inhaled deeply as something dark and ugly seethed in his gut. 

His father had preached to him about the evils of magic, but in his single-minded fear and rage against the practice, he had also doomed his people to be completely ignorant. Gaius was the only person in the royal household - in Camelot - that was spared from the Purge. In his youth, Arthur had believed this was because of his friendship and loyalty to his father. That his father loved the man. He figured out later that it was for his usefulness. Uther respected Gaius’s sciences, sure, but he also needed him. One person in his pocket who actually knew a bloody thing about magic. 

When the Purge executed hundreds of people and drove thousands more to other kingdoms, it created chaos and scarcity. People resented the refugees for taking their kingdom’s resources. Even if they didn’t execute them, that hatred forced them to hide their magic, forced them into poverty and crime, which then fueled the people’s anger, justified it. And, well, that made allies for Camelot, for Uther’s war against magic. It brought business for Camelot - allowed them to cross borders to hunt sorcerers and the like for a pretty coin. Trade flowed. Allies made. His father’s legacy of bigotry and blood continued.

“Arthur, are you alright?”

He looked over at Gwaine’s concerned face. “Get Merlin,” he said, breathing hard, grip tight on the hilt of his sword. His chest was tight. He needed the armor off, needed to cool down. He yanked the cloak off and threw his sheathed sword to the ground.

“Are you—“

“Now, Gwaine!”

He left him alone to his breathing, to his useless scrabbling at his armor’s insipid buckles and knots. He wanted to shout, to break something, but after no time at all, the tent flap opened again and Gwaine walked with Percival hand in hand with Merlin. 

The wrong Merlin. 

Arthur was so angry he was shaking, and Merlin immediately flinched back, hiding behind Percival’s leg. 

“No, not you,” he whispered.

He needed his Merlin. The one who always told him exactly what he needed to hear when he couldn’t begin to fathom it himself. The one with unyielding faith in him - the kind of faith that made a man believe he could be king, title or not. The one with the blue eyes and big ears and brilliant, stupid mouth. 

This one had the same eyes and ears and trembling bottom lip when he said, “Arthur.”

All the anger fizzled out. He had no right to self-flagellation tonight. His father’s crown and legacy were his to bear, and he would fix this kingdom if it killed him. But first, he would fix his Merlin.

“Sorry,” he said, kneeling down to meet his eyes, “I’m not angry with you. I need…I just need my armor off, and you usually do that for me.”

Merlin’s eyes narrowed. “No, I don’t.”

“Right,” Arthur said, chuckling. “But I think Gwaine here can help me with that while you…while Percival gets you ready for bed. It’s late, and we’re going home early tomorrow.”

Merlin stepped out from behind Percival. “We’re seeing mom?”

“Um, no, my home first, then yours. I want to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Gaius.”

“Gaius has a lot of friends. You and Gwaine and Percy!”

“And you.”

“Me? How?”

“He’s a friend of your mother’s.”

“So he’s not a friend of mine,” Merlin said, dragging out the last word like he needed to spell that out for Arthur.

He chuckled. Seems any version of Merlin could make him laugh. He nodded at the two men as he stood. 

Gwaine rolled his eyes but got to removing his armor as Percival lifted Merlin up and made to leave.

“Where are you going?”

Percival looked over his shoulder. “Uh, to get him to bed? Sire.”

“He’s a child, Percival. He’s not going to sleep on the ground outside.” Arthur inclined his head toward his bed. “Bring me Merlin’s bed roll. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“Bring you and Gwaine too!” Merlin said as he slid down Percival with alarming speed.

“Uh,” Arthur said with utmost dignity. 

His knights looked to him for instructions. He had slept outside with his knights countless times but never had they all crammed in his tent before.

Merlin, oblivious to any propriety as usual, stumbled to the bed in the corner and jumped on the covers. “It’s so soft!”

Gwaine, finished removing his chainmail, said, “No need to play it up, mate, I’m sure Princess won’t change his mind.”

“Princess?”

“Yes, that’s Arthur, he loves that nickname.”

Merlin laid on his side, head propped up. “Just cause he has a bed?”

“No, cause he’s got a vag—“

Percival smacked him. “Gwaine!”

“Get out you two.”

Merlin shot up. “But!”

Arthur sighed and shrugged. “Sure. Fine, bring your shit.”

“Bad word!”

“Yeah, Percy," Gwaine said, rubbing the back of his head, "why don’t you hit him, hm?”

Percival, a truly intelligent man, bodily dragged him out. 

For all his insistence that Gwaine and Percival sleep in his tent, by the time they returned, Merlin was asleep. 

They set up the bedrolls at the foot of the bed in a haphazard circle and caught Percival up to Gwaine’s discovery. Percival, being of Camelot, knew nothing about magic, but he admitted that he also noticed Merlin’s change. 

“How are you so good with him?” Arthur made himself ask because the twinge of envy he had at seeing Merlin take to the other man so easily was inconvenient in the least.

Percival looked away. “I was the oldest of seven, and my youngest siblings were about his age.”

Arthur knew his whole family had been slaughtered when Cenred pillaged his village on his way to besiege the citadel. Percival had been away when it happened and returned to find his home burned to the ground. Soon after, in his grief, he had joined a band of swords for hire in a nearby town where he met Lancelot. Around that time, Merlin had called for Lancelot, and Percival, upon learning who the enemy would be, joined. In a way, Percival was here because of Merlin. 

Gwaine put a hand on Percival’s shoulder and the other man placed his large hand over it. They shared a look that seemed so intimate Arthur looked away. For a moment, it was like they’d forgotten he was there. Was this how his knights felt when he would look at Merlin?

“Thank you,” Gwaine said, “for looking after him. He needs us right now.”

Gwaine, too, was in his life because of Merlin. He couldn’t begrudge his care for him. They’d become friends even before Arthur made him a knight. Merlin had told him countless dumb stories about what he and Gwaine got up to in the town for dinner one night or gathering herbs for Gaius some afternoon. 

Arthur had a sudden startling thought that half of his best knights - Lancelot included - was probably more loyal to Merlin than him. At least, he had Leon, and maybe Elyan because he did rescue him from Cenred once, but then again, he did break it off with his sister so maybe that was a draw. 

He loved Guinevere, once, and he knew she loved him too, but she had loved Lancelot first. When he died - when he sacrificed himself for Arthur - it changed their relationship. A light had gone out of it - a king in love with a woman who loved a ghost - and no man could compare to a ghost. She would never be able to see Arthur and not see Lancelot, and he wasn’t cruel enough to put them both through that.

“We should get some sleep,” Arthur said before his thoughts spiraled further. “Get the candles.”

*

Merlin was in that rare, elusive, perfect position in bed where the pillow was just right, covers just high enough, and - and he had to pee. He refused to move, knowing from experience that if he moved he would lose this spot and never get it back even if he tossed and turned all night. Oh, but he really, really had to go. 

With great and sorrowful effort, he got up. He tiptoed around the bodies on the ground and made it out to the cool, dark air. He shivered. Percival had cut his trouser legs earlier so they didn’t drag but his tunic still hung down to his knees and he only wore large socks since someone saw fit to remove his boots. He briefly considered going back inside for one of the furs on the bed, but decided to be brave and just go pee.

He made it to the edge of camp where the forest thickened when he saw a man stalking toward him. 

“Who’s there!” The voice snapped.

“It’s me,” he said.

The man suddenly laughed. “Oh, the serving boy turned real boy! What are you doing out here?”

“Gotta pee.”

“Well, me too! Come on!”

Merlin thought he didn’t need the company but the man snatched him up before he could reply. He struggled against him, but he only tightened his grip.

“Kid! It’s dangerous out here, I’ll take you to the trough.”

“Don’t need to poop, poopy! Let go!”

The man - who he now knew was the one with Arthur from earlier - laughed again. His breath reeked, and he walked worse than he did when his trousers were twice as long as him, all sways and near falls.

“Whoops, that wine is really going through me! Camelot really has the best stuff, I tell ya! You like wine?”

“No!” 

“Arthur doesn’t let you drink?”

Merlin stopped struggling. Why would Arthur let him have wine? Wine was for grown ups. Mom didn’t even drink wine, and she was the best, most grown up ever. 

The man finally let him down by the trough and stood over him. “Go on.”

Merlin took a few steps from him and relieved himself. He heard the man do the same a few paces away. He was still going, groaning and talking all the while, when Merlin was done, so he left him to it. He made it several yards when the man stumbled after him, loudly whispering for him to wait. Merlin ran. He did not like this man. He just wanted to go back in the tent with Arthur and Gwaine and Percy and the lovely warmth of the covers. 

“You’re going the wrong way!” 

That got him to stop. Merlin looked around, but the camp was dimly lit with simmering campfires and the full moon. The tents looked similar, and there were many, many sleeping figures on the ground. He was pretty sure the big one on the other side of the camp belonged to Arthur because it was red and had a dragon on it and Merlin remembered that because his favorite color was red and he thought the dragon looked pretty.

Hands under his armpits lifted him up from the ground and he was once again pressed against the smelly man. 

“Alright, where’s your bedroll?”

Merlin confidently pointed at Arthur’s tent.

“No, that’s—“ he said, “oh. Oh! I didn’t know Arthur— well, if that’s the case, I’m sure he would be okay with you staying in my tent. Come.”

Merlin’s heart raced. Mom had warned him of men who would try to take him away. He panicked. “Mom!” 

There was a rumble from the bodies nearby, waking. 

“Be quiet!” The man hisses in his ear.

Merlin kicked himself free and was dropped to the ground. He scrambled up and ran to the tent. He didn’t slow even when he was inside and tripping over—

“Oof!” Arthur said - and it was Arthur he fell on top of because of the sudden sense of safe, safe, safe dousing the fear in his veins.

Merlin laid his head on his chest and eased his breathing.

Arthur’s arms came around him, cradling his head and rubbing his back. “Merlin? Where did you go?”

“Pee,” Merlin said in the quietest inside voice he had. 

“Should’ve woken me.”

“Just did.”

Arthur scoffed. “I meant before, you little prat.”

Merlin grinned and rubbed his face back and forth against his chest. “Big prat.”

Laying on Arthur was even nicer than the perfect sleep position. It was like when he surprised mom with an orange for her birthday last year and she teared up, she was so happy. It was like when he finally beat Will in their tree climbing race. It was like every time he used magic. It was like all the good moments in Merlin’s life - all at once.

*

Arthur walked back into his tent after telling the camp his plan to return to Camelot ahead of the others to the sight of his best knights brought to their knees in despair by a rampaging four year old.

Merlin bonelessly bent himself backwards over Gwaine’s shoulder so he was nearly upside down as Percival tried to wrangle trousers over his ankles. He kicked Percival in the face and pulled Gwaine’s hair, shouting, “I don’t want” over and over.

“What in the world is going on here?” Arthur said, then stepped on a plate of Merlin’s uneaten breakfast. “He hasn’t been fed?”

Both sets of eyes turned back to him with a glare so fierce that Arthur swallowed his other criticisms. 

“Merlin doesn’t want potatoes, sire,” Percival said through gritted teeth.

“Or trousers,” Gwaine said as he pulled Merlin’s tiny fist from his head.

“Merlin, you have…” Arthur said, then he was at a loss. He ordered his Merlin around to varying success when he was a fully grown prat, how much success could he have ordering this one? “Merlin, be reasonable. We have to see Gaius now.”

Merlin tried to throw himself out of Gwaine’s arms, couldn’t of course, and flailed around instead. “I don’t want Gaius. I want my mom!”

Arthur inhaled deeply and looked helplessly at the other two. 

“Okay, okay, your mom is with Gaius, see!” Gwaine said. “So, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner you see her.”

“Gwaine!” Arthur protested.

Merlin stopped thrashing about and let Gwaine put him on his feet. He immediately ran to Arthur, smashing his entire body against his legs and looking up guilelessly with his humongous eyes. “Arthur?”

Arthur knelt to meet him at eye level, fully prepared to set him straight when Merlin grabbed his face with his small hands and squeezed. 

“Mom is with Gaius?”

Arthur, mouth puckered, said, “Yes.”

"Promise?"

"Pwomise."

Liar, liar, trousers on fire.

Later, on horseback with Merlin chattering excitedly about what he was going to do back at Ealdor, Arthur hissed at Gwaine.

“Why did you do that?”

“You weren’t there, Princess,” Gwaine hissed right back, adjusting his grip on the reins. “We did what we had to do.”

“It’s true, sire,” Percival said with the solemn air of post-battle fatigue. “Sometimes kids that age need a little fib to get them through the day.”

“Besides,” Gwaine said, sniffing primly, “once Gaius fixes this, Merlin will be glad we didn’t bring his mommy into it.”

“Are you listening to me?” Merlin asked, turning his head up to look at him.

Arthur adjusted his hold on him so he wouldn’t fall. “Yes, you were saying there’s a pond by your house where you catch frogs with Will.”

Gwaine nodded at him, impressed, as if Arthur hadn’t mastered the art of listening to multiple inane conversations at once growing up in court.

“I think you should take your clothes off,” Merlin said.

All three men blustered at once. “What?” 

“Merlin!”

“When I introduce you to Will! He doesn’t like knights,” he said, “but maybe if he gets to know you first, he won’t mind the armor so much. His dad was a knight. He was killed last year because the lord of our lands is a big dumbo face.”

So, his distaste for the nobility started this young. Due to loyalty to a good friend - how Merlin. 

“But you’re not so bad - even you Gwaine!”

“Thanks, mate,” Gwaine said with good humor, “who do you like best? Me, Arthur, or Per—“

“Arthur!”

He laughed. “Really? What do you like about him?”

Arthur was glad he was a few paces ahead of the other two. His face had to be an embarrassing shade of red. He should protest for his dignity and normal Merlin’s, but his selfish heart wanted to hear this.

Merlin hummed thoughtfully. “He’s even better than a bed.”

His knights howled in laughter, and Arthur could feel the blush up to his ears. 

“Oh, gods!”

“He doesn’t mean it that way!”

“Which is even better!”

“Laughing at your king is treason.”

“You’re not a king, Arthur,” Merlin said, turning up to him with what could only be called a shit eating grin, “you’re a princess.”

They arrived at the citadel near midnight, which -  while technically a faster ride without their entire company with tents and supplies - was still longer than they hoped. Merlin had now been under this curse for over 24 hours, and it was clear to Arthur that he truly had no memory of his real self. 

A gnawing dread ate its way through his gut.

He wrapped his cloak tighter over Merlin, who had his face plastered against his shoulder, fast asleep. He had talked almost the entire ride, answering Gwaine’s increasingly dubious questions with the bold honesty of a child. He asked questions of his own and sought to include Percival, as if he knew the man tended to be a quieter voice in a conversation. He told stories - with voices - about his mom, Will, neighbors, and all the bloody farm animals he loved so much.

It made Arthur ache with how little he knew about the man he’d had by his side for a decade. Arthur wanted to ask for more stories about his childhood, how he was as an awkward adolescent, his first crush, first heartbreak, how he felt being so far from home now, what he wanted in the future.

First, he had to bring Merlin back to the present.

Gwaine knocked on Gaius’s door before Arthur shouldered his way in, cradling Merlin in his arms.

“Sire,” Gaius said as he rose out of bed. He had been asleep. “What’s happened?”

Suddenly, standing there in front of his court physician and his knights at his back, Arthur felt dizzy. 

“It’s…Merlin,” he said, then he peeled back the cloak from the boy in his arms.

Gaius took a shaky breath as he walked over and gingerly angled Merlin’s face for a better look.

Merlin twitched and opened his eyes. He blinked blearily at the old man without a flicker of recognition on his face.

“Merlin?” Gaius gasped.

Merlin stretched a bit and looked at Arthur. “We’re here?"

“Uh, yes,” he said, then nodded toward the other man. “Merlin, this is Gaius.”

He turned back to look at him. “Hello, Gaius,” he said with a smile. “Is my mom here?” He craned his neck around to look behind him and when he didn’t see his mother, wiggled out of Arthur’s arms.

Gaius took a step back, a flash of confusion on his face before turning that formidable raised eyebrow at Arthur, “Sire?”

Arthur opened his mouth to explain when Merlin tugged on his hand with surprising strength. “Hang on a second, Merlin.”

“Where’s mom?”

“He was cursed,” Arthur rushed to explain as that eyebrow rose higher and higher. “At first we thought it was an aging spell but Gwaine said that should only have changed his appearance, not actually turn him four—“

Merlin yanked him again, and this time Arthur knelt down to his level. “Arthur, where’s mom?”

“She’s on her way,” he said patiently, “it takes time to get from Ealdor to Camelot.”

Merlin snatched his hands away from Arthur, all color draining out of his face. “You took me…to Camelot?”

“Yes—“

“Why?” He snapped.

Arthur was taken back. 

“You said I could go home.” He trembled, tears welling in his eyes as he looked wildly around the room. “I'm sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t do anything,” he stammered, breath hitching so violently it was like he was choking, “I’m careful— “

“Merlin? Merlin, calm down,” Arthur said, voice anything but calm himself, and reached for him.

Merlin bolted. 

Arthur snatched his arm on instinct.

Merlin yelped as he fell, landing on his bottom. He tried to crawl backwards away from him, digging his feet on the floor, his other hand trying to pry Arthur off. “I’m sorry — sorry, sorry, please! Let me go, please! I’m sorry!” 

The others froze in dumbfounded silence.

“Please. You promised,” he cried. “Mom! Mom!”

“What’s wrong?!” Arthur shouted over him. He pulled him closer.

Merlin lashed out with his other hand, scratching Arthur across the face. “I can’t — Camelot—“ His body suddenly arched like he had been shot.

Arthur caught his head before it hit the floor. He glanced at where the shot could have come from but it was just Gaius, looking terrified like he had never seen.

“What just—“

Gwaine was suddenly on the floor, trying to snatch Merlin’s unconscious body but Arthur tightened his grip on his arm. “Did you hit him? He was scared! It was an accident!”

Then Percival was hauling Gwaine back, who had his fist reared. “No, Gwaine! Arthur would never, you know he would never!”

Merlin practically hung suspended between them. The sound of their heavy breathing loud in the still, tense air.

Arthur recovered first, barely. “I’ll forgive you for that just this once,” he said with deadly calm, nodding at Gwaine’s raised arm.

He lowered it. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have actually…”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, smirking. “Yes you would’ve, and I would’ve had to kill you for it.”

Gwaine huffed out a rough laugh and eased his grip on Merlin, laying him on the floor gently between them.

Arthur couldn’t bear to let him go, so he just looked up at Gaius to draw attention back to the man who might actually have answers. “What just happened?”

The physician drew himself from the table he had been leaning heavily against. He inhaled. “I’m not,” he said slowly, “entirely sure yet. Lay him on this table so I can examine him, and you can tell me exactly what has happened to our Merlin.”

After Gaius confirmed Gwaine’s theory and Merlin’s good physical health, they were ushered out of the chambers. Gwaine groaned about needing a drink and Percival offered to go to the tavern with him but Arthur - well, he had a better idea.

That’s how they wound up haphazardly sitting on the kitchen counters with a mess of empty bottles and pilfered pastries, laughing at Arthur’s story about the time he and Merlin crawled through the smelly garbage troughs in Morgana’s castle on their way to stage a two-man rescue mission. Gwaine told the story of how he met the freakish, glowing blue creature in the caves that was, by all accounts, a good mate for saving his life. Percival was absolutely horrified that he was none the wiser of his location and condition for those two days and punched him in the arm for it. The other man fell sideways and took a platter with him to the floor with a loud crash. 

“Oi! Who’s in my kitchen at this godforsaken hour?" Cook bellowed as she thundered into the scene, brandishing an iron fire poker. “Thieves?!”

Upon seeing three grown men stand at attention like troublemaking schoolboys, she stumbled a step back, then seeing who the grown men were, dropped into a curtsy. “Your Majesty! Oh, and sires. forgive me, I didn’t know it was you.“

Arthur cleared his throat, vaguely remembering that, technically, this was his kitchen, his castle. “It’s alright, Cook. We, uh, we’ll get out of your way.”  He stepped over the spilled food, dusting crumbs off his chest. “Also, let someone know, I’d like a hot bath.”

Percival coughed, “Merlin.”

“Oh! Yes. Not Merlin. He, uh, has the night off.”

“Yes, mi’lord, is there anything else?”

Arthur glanced at the other two and their meaningful looks. “Yes, send clothes for a child to Gaius’s chambers.”

“A child, mi’lord?”

“For a boy of about four years,” Percival said.

“And boots,” Gwaine said.

“Yes, boots.”

“Is that all, sires?”

“And whatever else you think a child might need,” Arthur said with a shrug.

*

Merlin woke up with a gasp. He sat up, eyes glued to the old man standing beside him. “Where—"

“You’re safe, Merlin. Your mother, Hunith, asked me to take care of you,” he said, then he spoke in another language - something deeply comforting about its words - and his eyes flashed yellow. 

Merlin gasped as the book beside him hovered several inches before plopping back down. He looked up at Gaius with wide eyes. “You have magic.”

“Yes, and I’m sorry for making you sleep earlier. I had to make sure your secrets remained so,” he said, smiling gently. “I know you have magic too, and I will keep that secret, Merlin. I promise.”

Promise.

“But Arthur — he lied!”

“Arthur is a good man. He cares for you in his own way, but he is the King of Camelot. He does not know you have magic, and he must never find out. If he did, he would be forced to do something he doesn’t want. Do you understand?”

Merlin nodded numbly. Mom had told him that if the King of Camelot ever found out about Merlin’s magic, he would take him away. Will had also told him stories about Camelot, but he wasn’t sure how much of those were true or made up to scare him. “Arthur can’t be my friend.”

“Oh, Merlin…”

“You’re the one taking me home then?”

Gaius inhaled deeply, but he nodded.

Merlin fell back on the table in relief.

“In a few days.”

He shot up, glaring at him. “But you just said!”

He put his palms up placating. “Hunith wanted me to help you with your magic, to help you control it.”

Merlin gasped, all suspicion vanished, his eyes sparkling. “You’re going to teach me? I’ve never met anyone else with magic before! Wow! Do you want to see what I can do?”

“No, Merlin, we must be careful!”

But Merlin’s eyes glowed golden as he grinned, swinging his legs as the table - and everything else in the room not nailed down - levitated.

The books and tinctures and herbs and candles and shelves and chairs - they all hovered a foot above the ground, swaying softly.

Gaius turned in a circle where he stood, mouth hanging open. “Merlin,” he said in awe when he faced him again, “my boy, I never doubted it, but to see - at such an age - no training, no studies, no rituals - you were born with it. Incredible.”

Merlin flushed, pleased that Gaius didn’t look sad or scared like sometimes mom did when he did magic.  He lowered everything carefully, not a leaf out of place. 

“Magic is as natural to you as breathing,” he said, his eyes shiny, “one day, I have faith you’ll be free to be yourself. I have faith in you and the king.”

Merlin tilted his head curiously. Gaius was very kind, but a bit confused. Still, Merlin would not like to see him taken away either. 

*

The morning sun filtered hazily through the stained glass windows of the throne room as Arthur reread the short missive in his hand, jaw clenched and fingers drumming on the armrest. He had ordered the men to stay at camp to hunt down the sorcerer but it seemed Houses Poppywash and Baylor insisted on returning to Camelot. The company, minus the handful of knights, was on their way, likely arriving the following day. When they went on this hunt with his father, they never returned to the citadel afterwards. Arthur was not expecting two lords and their retinue to be housed for who knew how long. But, he supposed, they were nobles and Arthur should make nice.

“Leon,” he said, addressing the men standing at attention before the throne, “take Gwaine and Mordred back to that forest. I want that sorcerer found and brought to me alive. If Gaius can’t fix this, he will.”

In the corner of his eye, he can see Gwaine shifting and Arthur interrupted the predictable protest, turning to him. “Percival is better with Merlin and something tells me you’ll be very motivated to find the person responsible for this.”

He nodded with a vicious grin. “Yes, sire.”

“Elyan, run the usual drills with the men today, we’ll move the knighting ceremony tomorrow evening instead, so Houses Poppywash and Baylor can attend the feast. Percival, let Cook know.”

“Can’t Elyan do that, sire?”

“Oh, not you too, you’ve been spending far too much time with Gwaine.”

Percival blushed. “No, sire, I just mean - that perhaps Cook would appreciate hearing that news from someone who didn’t steal her precious dumplings the night before. I would gladly lead training today!”

The men chuckled, and Arthur, smirking, nodded his assent. As they filed out, he spotted Gaius hovering in the hall, greeting at his knights.

“Gaius,” Arthur called, standing to meet him halfway, “has Merlin woken up?” 

He walked in, looking sleep deprived. “Yes, sire,” he said. “He woke up shortly after you left. He’s fine, likely lost consciousness due to exhaustion. I’ve managed to buy us some time by convincing him that his mother asked me to watch him for a few days while she was away on some business.”

“That doesn’t explain his reaction to learning he was in Camelot.”

Gaius frowned at the three scabbing lines scratched on his cheek, hesitant. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Whatever it is, you know I wouldn’t punish Merlin - not now and not even when his lazy arse probably deserved a day in the stocks.”

He nodded. “I’ve never seen anything like this, sire. I gave him the potion to reverse an aging spell, but it did nothing. I spent all night monitoring him and by all physical accounts, Merlin is a healthy child. Nothing indicates he’s under some sort of memory enchantment either.”

“So, what do you mean?”

“Merlin is a child right now, sire, perhaps four or five years. In his mind, the violence of the Purge is still ongoing. He would’ve heard stories of evil sorcerers and heads rolling in public squares. Of course he’s terrified to be anywhere at the heart of such a place.”

“But he’s not a sorcerer.”

“That’s true, sire, but you…don’t know what it was like for everyone at that time. Magic or no, the paranoia was rampant.”

Arthur took a deep breath, hands on waist as he took a few steps. “Is there anything we can do? Anything you can think of? There must be some way to break this curse.”

“Perhaps, sire, but I’m going to need time,” Gaius said, “and help.”

“Anything you need.”

Gaius sighed, then chuckled to himself. “Merlin has done so much over the years that I now realize I’ve taken his aid for granted. He’s been invaluable, sire. It would be impossible for me to conduct this research, continue my rounds, deliveries, gather herbs, make medicine, and now watch over a small child.”

“Choose anyone in the household as a stand-in, whoever you feel qualified,” Arthur said, gesturing vaguely toward the doors, “and as for Merlin, I’ll have one of the servants pick him up from your chambers, take care of him.”

“Thank you, sire,” he said with a bow. He walked to the door, but turned around again. “With all due respect, may I suggest something for Merlin’s care?”

Arthur smiled. “Of course, Gaius, you’ve only looked after the idiot all these years.”

But the physician only crossed his hands in front of him, looking solemn and serious. “If in the next day or two, I cannot find a way to break the curse, we should send Merlin back to Ealdor, to his mother.”

“You’re joking,” Arthur said, scoffing.

“No, sire. Who else better qualified for that role?”

Arthur walked away, circling his throne. “For how long?”

Gaius shrugged. “As long as it takes,” he said, “or in the event we…don’t succeed, he will remain there, age naturally over the years.”

“No.”

“Arthur, it’s not ideal for Merlin to be raised by strangers.”

“But he’s not surrounded by strangers! This is his home,” Arthur snapped. “Merlin belongs here - with me.”

“Arthur, be reasonable.”

That was such a familiar, seemingly polite request that he had said to Merlin, the child, just yesterday, and to hear his old friend say it to him so placatingly irritated the bloody daylights out of Arthur. Be reasonable?

Merlin was effectively gone.

He would be damned if anyone physically took him away.

His breathing had grown erratic, jaw clenched, hands gripping the back of the throne. “Merlin does not leave the citadel without my permission. Is that clear?”

Gaius bowed his head. “Of course, sire.”

Arthur fought the tremble in his voice as he sat on the throne. “Sorry, Gaius, I know you’re worried, and you’re only one man.”

If his father hadn’t slaughtered everyone in the kingdom who practiced the Old Religion, alienated anyone who could help, burned all the books— 

“I’ve…been thinking,” Arthur said, “about the Purge, my father’s war on magic.”

“Yes, sire?”

He clenched his jaw, glancing over to make sure the doors were shut. “My whole life, my whole family - magic has torn it apart, yet I am not my father. I don’t find myself fueled with inconsolable rage about it. Instead, I am tired of being so ignorant, sick of solving but never preventing magical attacks. I wonder if I’ve been shortsighted.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“How did he know? Killing sorcerers is quite hard,” he said with a humorless grin, “I would know. So, how in the world did father nearly eradicate magic in Camelot? Sorcery can only be fought with sorcery. You’re a wealth of knowledge, Gaius, but what happens when you’re gone? What happens when you don’t know?”

He wasn’t expecting an answer and Gaius offered none. They only stared at each other quietly, each man thinking about duty and bloodshed and magic and Merlin.

*

Perking up at the sound of nails scratching the wooden door and deep barking, Merlin scrambled off the bed, laughing excitedly. He threw the door open, and three big dogs bounded in, licking his face and sniffing his hair. He giggled as he rubbed their faces, the soft, yellow fur felt nice in his hands. 

Someone in the halls was running and shouting, “Cavall! Get back ‘ere, boy! Aned! Aethelm!”

The dogs barked and ran out. 

“Hey!” Merlin rushed after them.

*

Arthur had decided to go see Merlin before holding court in the throne room. Gaius bristled, saying his audience, both nobles and commoners, waited just outside the doors, but - well, Arthur had started most mornings with that ridiculous “rise and shine, sire” and not hearing it today already grinded at his patience. He should go settle that annoyance before spending the rest of the morning settling matters of the state.

“Rise and shine, sire!” 

A sudden flood of light, Arthur grumbling and turning, and a warm, solid weight dropping over the covers. It was a routine with them by now. After about three seconds, Merlin would try to pry him out of bed. Sometimes he let himself get dragged, other times he would wrestle him so he’d topple over to the other side, face smushed on the pillow and complained that Arthur would be late to this and that, and so and so was arriving today, you’re expected to greet them.  

The sunlight slanted over Merlin’s eyes, the shade of blue like the lakes he had played around in his youth. Arthur could almost feel the exact temperature of water warmed by morning sun. 

“Get up, lazy daisy.” 

Let’s just stay here, Arthur could never say. 

The door to Gaius’s chambers was wide open. Arthur ran the last few yards, grabbing the doorway as he skidded to a stop. The room looked empty, no sign of a struggle or theft. He took large steps to cross and go up the stairs to Merlin’s room. The bed was unmade, but that could mean anything, normal Merlin was unbelievably messy so there must be little hope for baby Merlin.

“Merlin?” He called, checking under the bed, then the closet, and finally he stood at the top of the stairs as Gaius caught up to him. “I said he was not to leave without my permission.”

It wasn’t fair. He knew Gaius would never send Merlin away like this, something else happened, but his skin felt too tight, breathing erratic, and he needed some release. He stomped down and spotted mud by the door. There were paw prints stamped in the dirt. Arthur walked past a stunned Gaius to follow the trail. It led him outside to one of the courtyards. The sun was high in the sky now, the yard filling with people going about their errands. It was much harder to follow the trail here. Arthur turned in a circle, scanning the area with his heart in his throat when a high pitched scream rent the air. He turned in time to see Cavall dragging a small body as two of his other dogs barked and howled.

He moved without thinking, a full sprint as he whistled, hand on the hilt of his sword. The dog released Merlin and laid down, whimpering. 

Arthur loved his dogs, but if they hurt Merlin…

But Merlin sat up and turned over his shoulder to see where the dogs were looking toward. His hair was a mess, smattered with grass, and face streaked with dirt. 

Arthur stopped beside him and knelt, searching him for any bites. “Are you hurt?”

“Arthur!” Merlin said, smiling - then the expression dropped into something guarded. He looked past him. “Gaius!” Ignoring Arthur, he walked toward the other man. “How am I supposed to protect you from Arthur when you’re with Arthur?”

“Why would you need to protect Gaius from me?”

“Merlin, are you alright? Why would you leave the rooms like that?”

“I’m fine,” he said, pointing at the dogs, “just wanted to play!”

“You still shouldn’t be going off on your own.”

“That’s what I’m telling you!” He crossed his arms and stomped his foot.

Arthur plucked grass from the back of his head. “Merlin, why—”

Merlin whipped around and glared at him with all the fire of a wronged child. “Because you’re—“ He gasped, eyes going wide. He pressed his palm to his cheek. 

Arthur stiffened but didn’t move away.

“You’re hurt. I hurt you,” Merlin whispered, voice tremulous, quieter with every word. “I’m sorry. I was scared. I’m not… Camelot is not safe.”

He patted Merlin’s tiny hand covering the scratches on his cheek. “Nothing to forgive,” he said. “Camelot’s changed. It’s not the place you think it is. You’re safe here.” Then, upon seeing the doubt on his little face, he added, “I’ll show you. After lunch, we’ll go to the lower town. You’ll see.”

Merlin didn’t break his gaze, and it’d be unnerving if it were anyone else. He was standing so close, looking both dubious and hopeful, almost unbearably vulnerable. “Gaius will come?”

“No, Gaius has work.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes, tilting his chin. “You don’t?”

Arthur grinned. “I do. I’m the king, you know? I’m meant to be holding court right now, not kneeling in the dirt chasing after a rambunctious little prat.”

Merlin pulled his hand free. “Go on then.”

Arthur scoffed. “Are you dismissing me?”

He shrugged his bony shoulders and made incompressible growling noises at his dogs - that Arthur nearly forgot about. Merlin jumped in the middle of them, petting and pulling the dogs that were each double his size. They ran around him, barking and nuzzling. 

Arthur looked around, wondering idly where the handler got off to, or if the dogs escaped the kennels. 

“Merlin!” 

He looked over at Gwaine jogging over to them. Mordred chased after him, holding the reins on the horses.

“And sire! Gaius, morning,” he greeted as he came to stop beside Merlin and the dogs that circled around him protectively. “Merlin, how old are you today?”

“Four,” Merlin replied, holding up a hand with four, count them Gwaine, four fingers.

“You are so small.”

“This is how big I suppose to be at four,” Merlin said with all the sage surety of a four year old indeed. “Gah!” He suddenly slapped both hands over his ears.

Arthur lunged forward and collided with Gwaine on their way to shield Merlin. The dogs barked. He looked back at what they were barking at and saw Mordred watching them with confusion. 

Merlin stared at the knight with a pinched, uneasy expression.

“Ha, well, that’s got to be a good sign,” Gwaine said, “how lost could Merlin truly be if the sight of Mordred makes him scream? Our Merlin can barely refrain from doing that himself.”

Mordred grumbled, shifting away from them. “I’m meant to take you to Leon at the front gates.”

“Ah, come now, I was on my way.”

“We’re already late. It’ll take us all day to ride out.”

Arthur tuned them out to watch Merlin, whose pale face was turning red with concentration. “What are you doing?”

He stared at Mordred, shaking like he was exerting monstrous effort and through gritted teeth said, “Yellin’.”

Gwaine’s eyes bounced from Mordred to Merlin a couple of times before bursting out laughing. “Oh, you are so strange, mate. I’m going to bring you good news when I get back.” He roughed up his hair - breaking Merlin’s concentration - then his hands were wiping dirt off his cheek, pinching the tips of his ears, until Arthur had enough and pulled his hands off.

“Would you go?”

“Sheesh, Princess! He’s a mess, I’m just—“

“I got it. Go,” Arthur gave him a final shove. “And take the dogs with you.”

When Arthur saw Merlin a few hours later, he had been bathed, dressed, fed, freshly woken from a nap, and in a bloody bad mood. 

“We need to be goin’, His Majesty’s waiting!”

Arthur had been waiting, got sick of it. 

“No!”

“Merlin, stop giving her a hard time,” Arthur said as he walked inside the chambers. 

“No!”

“Oh! Your Majesty!”

“Don’t you trust me?”

“No!”

That stung more than it should. He inclined his head to the serving girl, dismissal clear. Once the door shut, he turned back to the child clutching a table leg and squatted down. 

“I understand why you’re scared,” Arthur said, “but it’s not like that anymore. It’s over.”

As the words left his lips, Arthur tasted the lie. The Purge was over, yes, but how different was it really to the Camelot baby Merlin was so terrified of? Magic was still banned and punishable by death. The outlying villages regularly executed suspected sorcerers. For gods’ sake, Merlin was attacked by a sorcerer two days ago and not one person in the entire citadel could name what spell was used. It was, by all measurable metrics, the same fearful and ignorant kingdom.

“I do trust you,” Merlin said so gently Arthur wondered if he could preternaturally sense his falling mood. “I don’t know why but it feels - in my heart - it feels good when you’re around. Like sunshine. We can’t be friends, I know, and I hafta’ protect Gaius, I know, but…” Merlin shook his head and crawled out.

Arthur put his hand on the edge of the table where he could bump his head. “Well, yes, you’re a child and I’m the king, so we can’t be friends, but why do you say we can't be friends?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” Then he held his hand out for him to hold and presumably lead the way. 

Arthur couldn’t help the fond laugh. 

He remembered a conversation like this in an inn a lifetime ago. Merlin had been uncharacteristically quiet, and Arthur told him that, perhaps, if he hadn’t been a prince, they might have got on, that Merlin would tell him his problems, that he would let Arthur know him. 

Percival, Elyan, and the knights were waiting at the bottom of the stairs, looking foreboding in full armor. 

“Percy!” Merlin called, bounding down the steps. 

“Merlin,” Arthur rushed after him, “don’t!”

But he had already launched himself off a step, arms outstretched like he never doubted Percival would catch him, which of course he did, or Arthur might have murdered him here in the courtyard. 

“Careful!” Percival said. “Gods, you were born fearless.”

“Or brainless,” Arthur said under his breath.

“‘’s okay! Gwaine’s not here to crack my head open.” 

“Actually, he was worried…never mind,” Percival said, then turning to Arthur, “We heard you’re heading off to the lower town, sire. We’ll gladly join you.”

Arthur took Merlin out of Percival’s arms and set him down. “Don’t stray, Merlin. We’re leaving in a minute.”

Of course, he skipped nearly out of sight immediately to talk nonsense to the horses beside the knights. 

“No need. We’ll only be gone a couple of hours.”

“But, sire,” Percival said urgently, “the knights believe you would be safer with us.”

Arthur quirked a brow. “Okay, what’s going on?”

He shrugged. “Merlin was attacked, and it could be the first of a deliberate assault, or some lone sorcerer we found by mistake in the woods. We don’t know anything.”

“Be that as it may, Percival, how am I going to convince a child it’s safe in Camelot if I can’t even walk through a bloody market without a full accompaniment of knights?” Arthur said, crossing his arms, “If he doesn’t trust that he’s safe in Camelot, what happened last night is going to happen again and again, and I will not gag and bind a child to force cooperation - even if it is to break the curse, even if the child is just Merlin.”

Percival sighed, then looked over at Elyan. “What about—what if it’s just us, sire? Me and Elyan.”

In hindsight, having them join was for the best. Elyan, who had grown up in the lower town, showed Merlin his favorite spots, introducing the child to the store owners who cooed and pawed at him, and Percival made use of those big muscles and carried the ever-growing amount of bags. Oh, it started off innocently enough. Merlin got really excited looking at brooms - in a way he never did while doing his chores - and after they had a laugh, he stomped his little foot, defending his happiness by saying that it was his favorite toy. 

“Brooms aren’t toys, Merlin, but that really does explain why you never knew what end to use.”

“I know what end! Mom and I share the one at my house - she uses it like this -“ he mimed sweeping, “I go!” He pretended to ride a horse. 

And that was funny and endearing, but then he explained how the handheld brushes and rags were castles and princesses and knights.

“Are you telling me all your toys are…are cleaning supplies?”

Merlin looked at each of them in turn, drawing back from their matching expressions, and put his hands behind his back. “No.”

After that all three men practically tripped over themselves to take Merlin to the nearest toy shop, trying to buy anything the boy slightly glanced at, all “what about this, Merlin? Do you like this?” or “we may as well get him two,” and every five minutes, “yes, Merlin, I am the King of Camelot, I can afford it.”

Arthur tossed Merlin’s new leather ball to Elyan, high enough that it sailed over Merlin, who stood between them. He had his head leaned so far back to track it that he was teetering off balanced, laughing and squealing. 

“That’s too high!” Merlin said.

Percival snatched the ball in the air before Elyan could catch it. Then he pulled Merlin up over his shoulders and gave him the ball. “Alright, sire, we’re ready.”

Merlin launched the ball at Arthur with glee.

It was much harder to throw the ball to Elyan over Merlin now that he was sitting nearly seven feet above the air with arms waving wildly. 

“Faster, Arthur! Faster!”

“You hold on to Percival!”

He threw the ball somewhat distractedly. It sailed clear over Merlin, Percival, and Elyan made a valiant effort to catch it, running backwards, but it smacked someone hard behind the head. 

“Ow!”

“My apolo—oh, ha,” Elyan said, snorting, “sorry.”

“Elyan? Why are you tossing a ball around in the markets - what are you, five?” 

“No, but he is, just about,” he said, pointing back to Merlin.

Guinevere’s brows rose as she took in the scene. “Percival, whose child is this? Hello, I’m Gwen.”

“Hi, Gwen. I’m Merlin.” 

“Merlin? As in…as in Merlin?”

“Yes, Merlin is Merlin. Merlin is on Percy. Merlin on Arthur!” As he said his name, he tipped backwards, arms outstretched so Arthur could catch him and pull him from Percival. Then, Merlin was laughing, falling against his chest as natural as anything.

“Your Majesty,” Guinevere curtseyed. “What is going on? Is that really…?”

“It’s a long story, but yes. Gaius is working on the cure,” he said, adjusting Merlin on his hip.

“But he’s alright?” She leaned forward and tucked his hair behind his ears.

“Oh yes,” Arthur said, grinning down at the boy in his arms who was ignoring them both, calling out to Percival and Elyan. “Gaius says he’s in good health.”

Merlin suddenly turned to them. “Gaius is my friend!”

“Yes, Merlin,” he said, then he turned to face her. “How are you, Gwen?”

“Fine. The shops are doing well. We’ve got a new apprentice,” she said offhandedly, staring at Merlin. “Merlin, do you know who I am?”

A few years ago, Guinevere reopened her father’s forge, allowing the occasional use of it while she worked at the castle, but gradually, it got busier, more profitable, and she chose to take over the business and leave her old role. Arthur didn’t begrudge her for it. It was probably a small mercy. At that point, their relationship had already ended, but they only rekindled their friendship once she was no longer expected to sweep his floors and bring him wine - go figure. These days, she had a head blacksmith, two apprentices working at her forge, and a shopkeep for the newly built store. 

Merlin nodded. “Gwen.”

“Yes, but do you remember me? We’re friends too.”

“Back home, Will is my only friend. I have a lot of friends here. Will is going to get jealous!”

“Will? Will is dead—“

Merlin flinched. “‘S not nice.”

“Take it easy, Gwen,” Elyan said, his hand on his sister’s shoulder as they seemed to communicate through their facial expressions. 

“Oh. Oh, yes, of course. I don’t mean dead like dead, I mean dead like… gone, but I mean sometimes ‘dead’ means ‘gone’ but not always. Anyway, I don’t mean— what I mean is,” Guinevere stuttered, “Will is not here.”

Merlin nodded along with this. “Yes, Will is at Ealdor with mom, but mom is on her way here.”

Now it was Arthur who flinched. 

“Your Majesty,” Percival said, coming over laden with bags, “should we not be heading back to the castle soon?” He nodded at Merlin, who was yawning and scratching his eyes.

“Mom’s coming,” he murmured before resting his head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering close. 

“Yes,” Arthur replied. “And Gwen, there is a feast tomorrow night, we’d love you to join.”

She gave him her half-mocking smile, “Then I shall be there, my lords.”

Arthur laid baby Merlin down on his bed. Gaius hadn’t returned to his chambers. Percival and Elyan had shrugged, offering to wait until the physician did return, but then their stomachs growled, so Arthur let them off and headed to his own room, Merlin drooling on his shoulder.

He had some work to do himself, and it must have been a couple of hours because a serving boy came in to light all the candles, followed by another with a large tray of food. The sun set in the window behind him, its rosy haze filtering in to bathe the room in a golden glow. Arthur looked over to Merlin, still sleeping, curled up on his side under the covers, face smushed familiarly into the pillow. Without thinking, he stood from his desk and got in bed, stretched out on top of the cover. He closed his eyes for a moment.

After five minutes or fifty, he woke to fussing.

“Mmph, stinky, get…get ‘mff!”

He stifled a laugh, feeling Merlin struggling under his armpit, his little hands trying to lift his arm which Arthur had apparently wrapped around his head. 

“Arfur!”

He eased his hold, looking down at the adorably scowling face glaring up at him. Arthur faked a yawn, “Oh, what’re you doing there?”

The flash of mischief in his eyes was too quick to be any warning. Merlin, the smug-faced prat, chomped down on Arthur’s bicep.

“Agh, Merlin!” Arthur shouted, not squealed because he was a king, as Merlin laughed at him. 

He reached over and tickled under his arms, forcing him to release his bite so he could twist away in futility because Arthur showed no mercy. No mercy for about three seconds - he wasn’t a monster, no one liked to be tickled. Arthur got out of bed and scooped him up by the middle, letting him droop like some kind of floppy, rolled blanket. 

Someone knocked on the door.

“Enter,” he said as he plopped him down on a chair at the dining table.

Gaius walked inside, bowing slightly. “Good evening, sire. I’m here for Merlin.”

“No, I want to stay,” Merlin said, clutching a handful of Arthur’s tunic.

“It’s fine, Gaius, sit,” he said, pointing to one of the seats, “we haven’t had dinner together in ages. Food is, uh, probably a bit cold.”

“We took a nap,” Merlin said, reaching for a chicken leg, which Arthur intercepted so he could cut it into smaller pieces.

“A nap?” Gaius turned that eyebrow at Arthur. “So close to bedtime?”

“I’m not going to sleep until tomorrow, Gaius, don’t be silly!”

“Good thing you want to stay here then,” he said, sitting with all the prim righteousness of a queen.

Arthur groaned while Merlin cheered.

“What did you do today?” Merlin asked, tearing into his chicken.

“I did my rounds, saw patients for treatment,” Gaius said, “delivered medicine in the castle.”

“You’re a physician?”

“Well, yes,” he said, chuckling softly as he plated himself food.

“When I grow up, I want to be a physician!”

“You do?” Arthur said, his fork freezing halfway to his mouth.

“Yes, sire, why did you think he came into my care all those years ago?”

Arthur opened and shut his mouth, a bit speechless really. He had never questioned it. Perhaps Merlin simply wanted to leave his village for a more exciting life, or he needed a better opportunity to provide for his family, or it was unavoidable destiny. All he knew was that Merlin was always meant to end up in Camelot.

“Years?” Merlin stood on the chair, palms on the table and turned, “Arthur, how many years are in two days?”

Arthur chuckled, easing him gently to sit down. “Depends who you spend it with.”

“You and me.”

“It’s no time at all,” he whispered, then he cleared his throat, turning to Gaius. “Is Merlin…even remotely close to ready?”

“Yes, sire, he’s ready.”

He waved his fork haphazardly. “But are you sure? I mean, are idiots allowed to be physicians?”

Merlin threw a half-chewed bite of food at his head.

“Merlin! That is grounds for treason,” Arthur snapped, peeling the meat off his cheek.

“Not ground tree reason, that is chicken.”

The plan to show Merlin that Camelot was safe had worked too well if the sounds of laughter and feet running down the corridor was anything to go by. Even in the throne room, Arthur could hear him laughing as some hapless servant chased him. 

Last night, Merlin played with his toys, which Arthur had servants bring to his room, as Gaius and Arthur discussed the non-aging spell aging spell. He said he searched the books in the library for hours and found nothing, which meant this was beyond his expertise and the meager offerings of knowledge Camelot held. 

“Who would know something?”

“Hmm,” he said, “perhaps the druids.”

So this morning Arthur sent messages out to the druids. They would have no reason to help him - what with his father driving them out of the forests and executing their associates in Camelot - but he had to hope they would at least be willing to meet. He would pay anything. He would agree to any term. If it came down to it, he would make them.

“Announcing,” the herald said clearly, “the Lords of House Baylor and House Poppywash.”

Arthur smiled his polite court smile as the men bowed. “Welcome to Camelot, my lords,” he said. 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Baylor said. “We are grateful to you for allowing us to come on such short notice.”

“Yes, yes it was a shame we had to end the hunt early, and it’s been a long time since I’ve been to Camelot,” Poppywash added.

Arthur waved vaguely, a gesture he had seen his father do to mean anything from ‘sure, go on,’ to ‘you’re welcome’ to ‘yes, execution tomorrow at noon.’ 

As Baylor started up again, Arthur noticed activity at the back. 

Merlin was running through the doors with a serving girl after him. He crashed into the back of Gwaine’s legs, who swayed at impact but stayed up. He looked down and laughed. Then winked at the serving girl who was trying to pry Merlin off. He could almost hear Gwaine flirting.

Arthur craned his neck as subtly as he could so he could see Merlin’s giggling face. Gwaine leaned down to pick him up. It could be his imagination but Merlin seemed to have gained a bit of weight since being in the castle. Good.

His Merlin had also filled out very nicely the last couple of years. He had become a particularly dangerous combination of that patented snark, unfailing bravery, and broad shoulders. Arthur had almost forgotten how he had been all gangly limbs and big smiles back then. Baby Merlin, however, with his huge blue eyes, ridiculous high cheekbones and ears, he could almost pass for an elven child. 

“Well,” Arthur said, clearing his throat, then he nodded at the servants who would escort them to their prepared rooms. “We trust you’ll enjoy your stay. Tonight is the knighting ceremony. We invite you to join us.”

The next supplicant came forward.

*

Merlin, in Gwaine’s arms, sat at eye level with the strange knight from before. He narrowed his eyes on him as Gwaine talked to the woman who didn’t want him to come to the room with all the people to let him stay in the room with all the people.

Hello, Merlin thought. Hello! I heard you yesterday. You called me Emrys even though I’m Merlin. Did you mean to think at someone else?

The knight didn’t look at him, didn’t act like he heard him at all, but Merlin could see it somehow. There was something about this knight.

Hello? Hello! Talk to me! Hello! 

Merlin took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they glowed golden as he projected the thought.

H E L L O

The man flinched back hard, hands clamping over his ears as he finally - finally - looked at Merlin. 

“Ha! I knew you—“

His hand snaked out and slapped over his mouth. Quiet, Emrys, please. Yes, I hear you. Do not say anything, or you’ll get us killed. 

How are you doing this? This is amazing!  

What? 

Wow! There’s so much magic in Camelot. You’re even a knight! You have magic, don’t you? 

Before he could reply, Gwaine pulled Merlin away from his grasp. “Alright, Mordred?” 

“Uh. Yes.”

“Good. Do try not to smack him again, or Arthur will take your hands off.” He tilted his chin toward the front with a predatory smile that said he wouldn’t stop Arthur. 

Your name is Mordred? 

Yes. Mordred faced forward, face going neutral. Do you not remember me? From before? 

Before what? 

Never mind for now.  

Why? 

We can talk later. 

Why? 

Because Arthur is holding court. 

Why? 

It’s part of his duties. 

Why?

Because he’s the king? 

Why? 

Why is Arthur the king? 

Why? 

Mordred looked away from the king and the newest supplicant, turning just in time to see Merlin’s face barely containing the laugh bubbling out of him. 

Merlin was very happy to meet another person like him, but Mordred clearly took himself too seriously - it reminded him of Will - and the face he made when he realized Merlin was just going to see how long he could ask ‘why’ before Mordred gave up had him laughing so hard Gwaine nearly dropped him.

“Careful, or Arthur will have your hands!” Merlin teased, then looked over to the king and waved.

Gwaine snorted. “A few days and four year old Merlin’s already figured out he’s got Princess wrapped around his finger.”

But Mordred seemed not to hear as he gaped at Merlin, mouth slightly hanging. 

Merlin reached out and tapped his chin to close it. “Mom says you’ll catch flies like that.”

“I,” he started, “I’ve never made you laugh before.”

“Gods. Guess Arthur’s not the only one,” Gwaine said pointedly.

Mordred glared at him. “You’re one to talk.”

“Nah. This is different, he said with a grin, bouncing Merlin in his arms, “everyone knows he’s one of my best mates. You and Princess, however, pretend not to want our Merlin’s affections with hilarious results.”

Merlin giggled, hanging onto Gwaine’s shoulders. 

“It’s actually really funny watching you two show off when you think Merlin might be watching,” Gwaine said, laughing, “‘cause he gets annoyed and ends up ignoring you both. Percy and I make a bet on who glances back at him more during training.”

Mordred turned red, eyes casting around the cavernous room. 

*

Eventually the throne room cleared and Arthur stood from his seat and stretched. He waved the knights forward. Gwaine stayed in the back with Mordred for a moment, finally handing Merlin back to the serving girl. He watched her walk out the doors, Merlin yawning at her shoulder. 

“I suppose you already know I’m going to ask why you’re all back already,” Arthur said, perching on the arm of the throne.

“Sire,” Leon said, stepping forward. “We crossed with the rest of the men on their way back. They already had the sorcerer’s body.”

Arthur raised a brow. “Body?”

Leon shook his head. “He's dead, sire.” 

Arthur sighed. “I asked that you bring him back to me alive. What use is a dead sorcerer to me?”

“He was found dead, sire,” Leon continued, “just beyond the clearing where Merlin was found. The men thought he was killed by unnatural means. There’s no wound on him. He simply dropped dead, it seemed. We thought it might be helpful to examine the body. It’s with Gaius now.”

“Better than no leads at all then,” Arthur said. 

“Sire, do you recall the forest you found Merlin in?”

Arthur looked back into his memories of that night. It seemed like any other forest. “Yes, why?”

Leon glanced back at the men behind him, at the knights who he had stayed behind and who found the body. 

One of them stepped forward. “That…area, sire,” he said, “everything was dead. It was subtle at first, the edges looked like normal decay, but at one end - where the body was found - the trees were dead, like they’d been burned from inside out.”

Suddenly, Arthur remembered the huge, dead black trees. He had been out of mind with worry and then flooded with relief that Merlin was alive - a baby, but alive! - that he had scarcely noticed. It was true though. Even the grass was brown and dry, like the color had been leached out of it. On their walk back to camp, they heard nothing - no animals, no insects, just crunching of dead leaves under their boots.

“Report your findings to Gaius. Leave nothing out.”

Then he realized there was a dead body - not just any body but a dead sorcerer - in Gauis’s chambers - the very one that the serving girl would be taking the four year old child terrified of Camelot.

“Get M—“ he said, cut himself off and walked past the knights, “never mind, out of the way.”

He was too late. When he threw himself through the open door, Merlin was already standing in the room, staring at the corpse with tears down his cheeks. The serving girl tried to block his view as she ushered him out but he fought her, pushing her arms and twisting away. Gaius was explaining the situation but could hardly hear him over Merlin’s cries.

“It’s not the same, Merlin! This man attacked you!”

“Your Majesty!” 

Merlin turned around, eyes widening before suddenly slapping his own hands over his mouth and hiding behind the serving girl’s skirts. Arthur could hear him trying to stifle his own sobs. 

“This is my fault,” he said, seeing the two adults shift in discomfort, maybe they thought he was lulling them into a false hope before sacking them. But it was his fault - he should have anticipated Merlin’s reaction. He was sensitive and skittish as a man, of course he’d have a strong reaction to a dead body so young. Arthur squatted down. “Merlin, will you listen to me?”

He didn’t come out from behind the skirts, even when the girl tried to pull him round.

“This man had attacked us. We didn’t kill him because he was doing magic. We didn’t kill him at all actually. It was his spell that turned you so young. Look, I’m sure none of this makes any sense to you, but it’s the truth. I’m not lying to you, Merlin. Camelot has changed, though maybe not as much as we’d like. I’m working on that,” he said. 

In the corner of his eyes, Gaius flinched back, stunned. 

“Alright, Merlin? Do you believe me?”

Slowly, he edged around the girl and met his gaze. He was pale and shaky, eyes red and puffy, but walked bravely over to Arthur anyway. He sniffed. “I believe you, Arthur.”

He held out his hand to him and pulled him into his arms, pressing his nose into the mess of dark curls. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” 

Merlin pulled back to look him in the eyes, his hands cupped his face. He whispered, “I want to go home.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. He knew Merlin could feel him tense, and he was probably gripping him too tightly now by the way Merlin squirmed a bit.

“Please, I want to see mom,” Merlin said, quiet but insistent. 

He thought about lying again, saying his mom was away, or she’d be on her way soon, or whatever shit they’d been telling him these past few days. He even thought of sending for Hunith. He’d welcome her to Camelot, give her a job in the citadel, whatever it took to make Merlin stay. But Gaius had said it on that first morning - that if they failed to break the curse, then Merlin should be sent to Ealdor. 

Sudden rage flared in his gut. He glanced behind Merlin at the body on the table. It was his fault this happened. Bloody magic and bloody sorcerer once again. Arthur sighed.

“Okay. Tomorrow,” he said, taking Merlin’s hands in one of his. “I’ll take you home tomorrow.”

Merlin brightened up like he had swallowed a candle, grinning and jumping, still in the circle of Arthur’s arms. “You’re going to love Ealdor! I’ll show you the pond. And we can go tree climbing and swim in the lake!”

Arthur plastered a smile on his face as he stood. Then, he bent down and picked him up because he couldn’t stand to let him go, his weight had quickly become something grounding. Like this tiny boy was all that tethered him to the earth and without him, Arthur would float away as inconsequential as dead leaves and scattered feathers

He decided to spend the rest of his day with Merlin. 

First, he took him to the kennels and brought the dogs for them to play fetch in the grass courtyard behind the armory. Servants set up a picnic where he lounged and drank wine, watching Merlin chase and be chased by the adoring dogs. 

“Your Majesty,” a serving boy came to a stop beside him, breathing hard like he’d been running, “a message from the druids.” He bowed, handing him a letter.

Arthur shot up, nearly tearing it in half in his haste to open it. That reply came fast. That must mean the answer is a simple ‘yes, we’ll help,’ or a simple decision for Arthur to make them. He scanned the words and scoffed in disbelief.

“They will help us,” Arthur said in awe. He looked up to watch Merlin throw a ball, all three dogs bounding after it. “I am going to bring you home.”

Another toast went up - this time for the king and a good next harvest - as there seemed to be a toast in his name and some other knight, lord, lady, event every five minutes. It explained why the feast was louder, drunker, and messier than usual. Or perhaps, Arthur only believed this because he was so very aware that baby Merlin was in the banquet hall on one of the long tables with his knights, and gods, were there always children allowed at these feasts? Where are their parents? Guardians? At the head table where he sat with the newly minted knights and guests Poppywash and Baylor, he could hear the bawdy songs and raucous laughter sprouting from every other group. 

Beside him, Baylor was telling him a story, every other sentence somehow a compliment to him. Arthur listened with only one ear, he knew Baylor to be a harmless flatterer, almost forgettable in the way he was so similar to other nobles who tried to be grateful and useful to the Crown every second they spent time in his presence. At his other side, Poppywash ate and drank open-mounted as he recounted tales to the new knights of his own battles with a braggart’s flourish. In a way, he was the opposite of Baylor but cut from the same cloth, trying to be unimpressed as if it’d impress Arthur. 

A loud burst of activity in the table where Merlin sat pulled his attention. He couldn’t quite see what was happening. It was driving him crazy. Thank the gods when a few minutes later Mordred happened to be passing by.

“Sir Mordred,” Arthur called.

Mordred walked over and bowed, “Your Majesty.”

He briefly introduced the other lords out of politeness, then urged his knight closer so he could whisper, “What’s going on over there?”

He shifted guilty as he glanced over his shoulder at the table he had left. “Oh, um, they’re having Merlin try foods he hasn’t before like…lemons.”

Arthur nodded, amused with imagining Merlin’s flustered expression. 

“And, um, wine.”

Arthur turned his head slowly to glare at him. “What?”

“Just a taste, I think, sire. They thought it was funny. Merlin hated it, of course. I tried to…well, suppose it was quite funny,” he said, hiccuped. “Now, I think they’re having him try mead.”

Arthur excused himself from the table and walked over, Mordred trailing behind him looking cowed. 

Leon saw him first and surreptitiously tried to hide something behind his back. “Sire!”

The other knights turned and started making space for him to sit with them, all of them flushed pink with wine and laughter.

Arthur only had eyes for the boy sitting cross-legged on top of the table inexplicably wearing a knight’s helmet. “Alright, Merlin, come here, it’s nearly bedtime.”

Merlin stood on the table, hands on his hips, bobbling from the weight of the helmet. “But I’m not tired!”

“We have a long day tomorrow, come on, say goodnight.”

“Arthur, you are going to be a great father one day,” Gwaine said, slurring a bit, making the others laugh. “No, I mean it, he will! Look how he looks after our Merlin!”

“Someone has to be the adult,” he hedged.

Arthur - a father? Ha.

He couldn’t say he was particularly fatherly. Sure, he was a great warrior and trained boys to grow into men worthy of knighthood. He felt a sort of paternalistic responsibility and love toward his people as king. But Arthur never thought of what he might be like as a father - maybe he’d be just like Uther. Maybe not. 

Frankly, the only reason he cared for this child was because this child was Merlin. Arthur would look after any version of him because Merlin was his. 

Merlin popped the helmet off and dropped it on the table with a loud clatter. He walked along the surface, forcing men to get their plates and goblets out of the way, shouting “Oi!” as he made his way to Arthur.

“We’re in the middle of pennies!” He rested his palms on Arthur’s chest, patting frantically.

“You mean ‘pennying?’” Arthur chuckled despite himself. It was a drinking game where one would try to flip a coin into the opponent’s cup, whoever landed it first won and made the other drink. “I can’t imagine your presence is necessary for this game.”

“But I’m the judge!” Merlin said, spinning around to face the men. He pointed at one side of the table, “This team,” he pointed at the other “against this one!”

The men stamped their feet, cheering as they placed their cups of wine in front of them. 

“One round, sire, let us do one round!”

He rolled his eyes, but gestured for them to continue. 

It was meant to be one round, but Merlin proved to be a clever, eagle-eyed mediator, and something of a showman. Soon there was a crowd around their table, clamoring and waiting to play the winning team. Somehow, one of his knights tugged him to sit and join the games, and of course, Merlin made him play with multiple teams to ‘not hurt anyone’s feelings.’ Drunk, he was getting drunk - and he hadn’t been one to get drunk at a feast since he was an adolescent boy, before he was even Crown Prince. It was nice.

Merlin had fallen asleep in his arms half an hour ago. Arthur cradled him easily in one arm, while the other, he used to continue playing the next game. When he had his knights break up the second fight of the night, he thought it was time to get Merlin to bed. He gestured for a serving girl to take him to his rooms. 

It was then that he saw Guinevere across the hall. Had she been here all night? He stood from the table and walked over to her.

“Your Majesty,” she said with a bow, “you look like you’re having a good time.”

“Yes,” Arthur said, offering her his arm so they could take a turn about the room, less likely to be eavesdropped. “I got some good news today.”

“Oh? That’s wonderful.” She looked over his shoulder, searching. “Something to do with our mutual friend?”

He nodded, swiping a cup of water on the tray passing them. He explained the situation with the dead sorcerer and the druids. 

Guinevere bit her bottom lip. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to go yourself? Surely, you can send the knights. This isn’t like when we went to Ealdor years ago. You’re the king now.”

Arthur scoffed. “I can’t very well trust Merlin over to the knights, could I?”

She was quiet for a while, walking with him through the crowds gracefully. 

For a moment, Arthur could envision a different life where he married Guinevere. She would be his wife, his Queen. He could see her in a beautiful gown, crowned head held high. She would be wise and strong, and they might have been happy. 

“He’s very important to you, isn’t he?”

The image vanished. She was always too smart for him, and the mead and wine made him loose-lipped. “The most.”

She smiled at him with soft, painfully understanding eyes. “I know. I’m pleased.” 

*

“Stupid! Idiot girl,” a man shouted, followed by a hard smack and a girl’s cry. 

Merlin woke up, recognizing that voice. Without hesitation, he threw himself out of the serving girl’s arms and ran to the sounds. 

“Wait!” 

But Merlin pushed the doors open into the bedroom and saw Poppywash holding a crying girl by the hair. He recognized her as one of the serving girls in the castle.

“Let her go!” He ran over to him and tried to pull his arm away.

“You’re the serving boy Arthur brought back! Gods, Arthur is too bloody soft on his servants if they all think they can act like this to their betters,” Poppywash spat. He swung his arm, backhanding Merlin hard enough across the face to drop him backwards off his feet.

“No! Please!” The serving girl Poppywash had in his grip tried to stop him from advancing on Merlin.

He suddenly released her hair and violently shoved her by the chest. “Another bloody useless servant!”

She fell backward, and time slowed - and slowed - and slowed. Her body hovered in the air.

“What? What the hell?” Poppywash stumbled back from the levitating girl. 

Her head floated inches from the edge of the desk at an angle which left no doubt would have snapped her neck had she fallen. 

On the floor, Merlin had an arm outstretched, eyes glowing. 

“You! You have magic! Ha!” He seemed a man possessed, jumping and pointing and screaming as Merlin lowered the girl to the floor gently. 

The other serving girl came to Merlin’s side, kneeling beside him, but he could hardly see her. Fear had blinded him. He thought of Gaius, how he would be taken away too - for helping him. He thought of Mordred - who also had magic and was a knight, so much to lose. He thought about his mom - who had told him over and over to be careful. Gods. 

Merlin scrambled backwards, away from them all, and made it a few feet to the door when someone yanked him backwards. He choked. Tears sprung from his eyes. A blade rushed toward him. 

Oh. 

Taken away meant killed.

When mom said they would take him away, what she meant was - they would kill him.

He closed his eyes and waited. Sorry. 

*

Mordred and Percival stared into each other's eyes as Arthur presided over their joined hands.

“Gentlemen, I expect a fair game,” he said with dramatic solemnity. “On three: one—“ 

The crowd gathered around them counted along. “Two!”

“Three!” Arthur released their hands and stepped back with the rest, watching and jeering as the two knights arm wrestled.

Gwaine and Elyan were counting out loud since there was a bet for how long Mordred could last. No point betting against Percival and his massive arms. 

Mordred was holding his own, the youngest knight with the most to prove evidently. The count was going up and up. He was shaking with effort, red faced from exertion or wine, likely both.

Percival grinned, pretending to yawn like it was easy. Their hands were shaking on the table. 

Leon started going around collecting coins from the losers, snapping back at the men saying it was fixed. 

Arthur was thinking he would have to break up another fight when Mordred yanked his arm from Percival in his rush to stand up. 

He opened his mouth and looked at Arthur, pale and breathless. “Emrys.”

Then, the entire banquet hall shook.

The glass panes on the windows rattled. Plates and goblets and jugs crashed to the floor. Cheering and laughter turned to panicked screams.

Arthur knew - deep in his gut like the way the sun knew the path to cross the sky - that Merlin needed him. He ran. Mordred and his knights followed after him instinctively as he raced out of the hall, shoving bodies out of his way. It seemed to happen in a flash - he was at the feast a second ago, a lifetime ago, and then he was in Poppywash’s rooms. Half of the bedroom looked perfectly normal. The other half had been raked by a giant, clawed beast. The wood floors ripped. The bed, chairs, desk all shattered like shipwreck in a storm. 

Merlin sat on the edge of destruction with his face a bruising, bloody mess. His pretty blue eyes glowing gold. 

Gold.  

Somehow, it was that detail that gutted him. How many times had he thought he had seen that flash of color in his Merlin’s eyes? A trick of the light, surely, or worse yet, his own awful, humiliating imagination seeing twinkles in the other man’s eyes. Oh, but it was the simplest explanation, of course. 

Poppywash hung suspended in the air, pressed against the wall. He saw Arthur and the knights standing dumbly at the door, and he started laughing. It was high and manic, saying over and over that he won and he would get what was coming to him now. It was all nonsense. Then, Arthur noticed the dagger in the man’s hand, and then Arthur was crossing the room to yank him from the wall. Poppywash looked relieved and smug for the two seconds it took for Arthur to pull his fist back and punch his face. 

The first hit bent his nose. 

The second hit broke the bone. 

The third landed on his eye socket. 

The fourth crushed it. 

Red. Red. Pendragon red.

Someone grabbed his arm on the next pull. 

“You’re going to kill him.” It was Leon.

And why not? Uther had killed hundreds. His father had killed hundreds. Arthur started laughing, similar to how Poppywash had been just moments ago - something off-kilter about it. He understood now. He had told Gaius just yesterday that he was not his father. He did not understand his inconsolable rage. 

He threw Poppywash at his feet. 

He would have killed this man a hundred times over in a hundred different ways for laying a finger on Merlin.

What would he have dragged the world through if Merlin was killed?

Pendragons and their red, red rage.

“By the power vested in me,” Arthur said, inhaling a deep breath to calm himself, “I strip you of your lands and title. Effective bloody well immediately.”

Poppywash coughed, trying to sit up. “You — you can’t do that. I…I’m a lord, she…she’s just a servant!”

Arthur looked back distractedly at the serving girls. One of them had a black eye and split lip. He hadn’t even noticed them. 

“And…and the boy has magic! This is Camelot! He should be behead—“

Arthur flashed the dagger he had taken from the man. “Not a word,” he said, squatting down to grab a fistful of hair, pressing the blade between his lips, scraping against teeth. “Not a word about him. Swear it. Or I will cut your tongue out now and ensure it.” 

Poppywash whimpered around the dagger. “I…I swear.”

Arthur stood slowly, tossing the dagger. “That goes for everyone in this room.” 

He took steadying breaths and turned to Merlin, who watched him straight-backed and trembling.

Merlin raised his chin a fraction higher.

Arthur couldn’t believe he was real. 

“Merlin, love, I swear,” he said, kneeling in front of him, “on my life, my kingdom, and my crown. You are safe.”

Arthur ached to say more, to promise his Merlin everything he could offer. But for this Merlin, baby Merlin, he simply held out a hand.

Merlin surged forward so quickly - so trusting - that it put a lump in Arthur’s throat. He put both tiny hands on his. “You’re hurt,” he whispered. His eyes glowed, and a warm sensation washed over his knuckles. 

Arthur watched in breathless fascination as the broken skin stitched itself close. Merlin didn’t say an incantation, didn’t need a hex bag or talisman. When the wound healed, he opened and closed a fist. “Incredible,” he said, then pulled Merlin into an embrace. “Thank you.”

It seemed that was all the permission he needed because Merlin immediately went limp, throwing his arms around his shoulders and started sobbing against the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I’m sorry. I have magic.”

“Ssh, I know, love. I think part of me has always known,” he said, burying his nose in his hair, "that there was something about you."

The knights dragged Poppywash out of the room. Another one helped the serving girls out.

Finding out about Mordred made him feel a bit stupid. 

Oh, that Mordred was this Mordred? What could Arthur say? He’d forgotten about the druid boy. It had been a busy few years - his half sister a witch, his father killed, he went through a break up, he became king, kingdom went through a couple of sieges. 

“Any chance you know how to break this curse and save us the trip to your people?”

The conversation with Gaius was mostly shrugs, nods, and eyebrows.

“So, every time you said he was at the tavern?”

Arthur didn’t quite have it in him to figure it all out yet. He was hollowed out and numb, so he left Merlin with Gaius, Poppywash with his knights, and went to the training grounds. 

He decimated the straw dummies. His arms screamed after a while, could barely hold the sword up, but he kept at his drills. There was little comfort in the repetition, frankly. 

What he really wanted to do was kill Poppywash.

And Merlin, the idiot.

He screamed, delivering the last strike with vicious fury. 

What did Merlin expect him to do?

His father would have executed him. Regardless of his age or what he meant to Arthur. Uther had killed women and children, his friends, former allies for following the Old Religion. And that’s how Arthur understood it - that it was a religion indeed, something one may have been born into and taught but chose to practice nevertheless. Merlin threw all of that in question. He had been born a sorcerer - the way one was born a man or beast. Perhaps that was common. Children being born with magic. How was Arthur to know? It wouldn’t have been their choice then. 

And frankly, what did it mean if it was a choice? Gaius practiced sorcery. He gave it up and swore loyalty to his father. Morgana chose to become a High Priestess. She aimed to take Camelot under the guise of revolution when Arthur knew it was revenge. In the end, Uther was mortally wounded by a man with a sword, not with sorcery, who was hired by another man who wanted revenge against Arthur, not Uther. For all his father’s hatred of magic, his death had little to do with it. As for Arthur, he had been perfectly willing to use magic when it suited him. No one would have executed him for it. No one could.

He found himself back at Gaius’s chambers. He knocked lightly before pushing the door open. He was surprised to find Gaius awake. It was nearly sunrise. He clenched his jaw at the sight.

“Sire,” he said, pausing in his packing.

Arthur walked deeper into the rooms, hand on the hilt of his sword. Gaius was packing children’s clothes. “Thought I told you Merlin doesn’t leave Camelot without my permission.”

“It’s for Ealdor,” he said, “if you were still going to take him home.”

Arthur twisted his mouth as if to say he wasn’t sure, shrugging carelessly even as he gripped the hilt tighter. “Where is he?”

“In his bed, sire.”

Arthur marched over to the small room, his breath releasing only once he laid eyes on him. He stood by the door for a while. 

Behind him, Gaius spoke softly, “Arthur, I’m sorry for keeping this from you. I only wanted to protect Merlin.”

He nodded. “Well, I thought it had been unnaturally long since someone I loved betrayed me.”

“Arthur—“

He held up a hand to silence him. “I want to hear it from him. I want to bring him back” he said, voice cracking, “and choke the bloody answers out of him myself.” He inhaled sharply, eyes prickling. “I don’t know what to do. I just want him back so I can ask him what I should do.”

“Perhaps you should get some rest, sire. I can make you a sleeping draught, if you like.”

Arthur tossed his head back, laughing harshly. He walked into Merlin’s room. “I don’t think you understand Gaius,” he said, sliding down the wall to sit, “I don’t trust that you won’t try to whisk him away from here. Maybe Gwaine would, Percival would certainly help him.” He rested his sword across his lap. “I’d hunt you all down of course.”

Gaius stood at the top of the stairs, arms full of blankets and pillows. He raised his brow, unimpressed. “I am under no delusion you would not scour the five kingdoms for him, Arthur.”

Despite himself, Arthur laughed. 

That night the King of Camelot slept on the floor by his liar, sorcerer manservant’s bed. He had to laugh.

*

Merlin rolled off the bed and landed in a heap on top of Arthur.

“Merlin.”

He didn’t respond, still asleep.

When he did wake, there was someone stroking his hair. He kept his eyes closed.

“So you’ve heard?” That was Arthur. His chest rumbled when he spoke.

“Elyan told me, or well, I made Elyan tell me. Something obviously happened. That earthquake was not natural. It was magic. I thought we were under attack, thankfully the guards got everyone out safely. I found Elyan this morning with the other knights. They had been escorting Poppywash out of the city.”

“Good. What are you doing here then?”

“I wanted to check on you.”

“How’d you know I’d be here?”

“Can’t imagine where else you’d be.”

“You didn’t check the dungeons?”

“I don’t think you would have thrown Merlin to the dungeons.”

“Why not? He’s a sorcerer. I should have. The pyre should be built in the square as we speak.”

“But here you are instead, holding him as he sleeps.”

“The laws against magic in Camelot are very severe. Not only do we kill magical people and creatures. We also kill any supporters, associates.”

“I know.”

“My father killed your father for selling something to a sorcerer. He never even used magic himself.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Gods, how did you ever love me?”

“Oh, Arthur. Is that really the question you’re asking?”

“How could—how could Merlin have stayed by my side this long?”

“I don’t know.”

“He must hate me.”

“Gaius gave up sorcery and pledged loyalty to the Crown, to Uther. Do you think Merlin would not do the same for you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I want him to.”

“So for him, you would make an exception? Allow him to use magic?”

“I think we both know that I…”

“That what?”

“Some days, I feel that he is half of me, that we are only whole together, and then there are days like this, when there is nothing - nothing - in this world except him. He’s everything. He’s the whole damn point.”

“You’ve always done what you felt was right, Arthur. I still believe in you. Your people believe in your wisdom and your strength. We will support and follow whatever you decide.”

“My father didn’t approve of how I’ve come to rule the kingdom.”

“How could you possibly know that? He’s been dead for years.”

“I brought his spirit back using a magical ritual.” 

“Oh.”

“‘Oh’ is right. I am a magic user. Hypocrite like my father. He killed my mother, you know? He used magic to give him an heir and when it cost her life, he blamed magic.”

“How…how do you know this?”

“Morgause summoned my mother’s spirit. Merlin had convinced me it was a trick so I’d spare my father’s life. But when I summoned my father’s spirit, I connected the dots. The only trick there was Merlin lying.”

“Arthur, that’s—“

“A terrible truth and closely-guarded secret I should kill you for knowing.”

“I would never betray your confidence.”

“Everyone I’ve loved betrays me, Gwen, don’t be daft. If you and I had stayed together, I’ve no doubt you would have broken my heart. I might have executed you for it, or exile I suppose.”

“And Merlin? What would you do to him now?”

“I want to kill him, mind you. I can’t. He’s four, and if it weren’t for some accidental magic, I might have died never knowing the truth about the man I hold dearest.”

“So, you’ll lift the ban?”

“To start.”

*

The knights and the King of Camelot arrived in Ealdor a few days later.

After the illuminating and disastrous night of the feast, Merlin had gone on with the stunning resilience of all children, as if he was never at risk of execution. He played with the dogs and spent time with the horses in the stables. He watched the royal court with the knights, ran about in the kitchens, and took naps in the king’s chambers. 

Arthur barely saw him, too busy with work. There would be time to hear all the stories and truths and lies of omission when he returned with his Merlin. For now, they had a mission to complete.

He cleared his throat and knocked on the door. He had a message sent ahead to Hunith to give notice of their visit and her son’s predicament.

She opened the door and bowed. “Your Majesty, come in, please.”

“Mom!” Merlin cried happily, throwing himself against her.

She wrapped her arms around the small boy, eyes wide as she looked up at Arthur. “Merlin?”

He nodded, pulling the hood off his head. He had warned her but he could empathize. It was strange for him to see baby Merlin, he could imagine how his mother would feel. Or, perhaps not.

Hunith started crying, bending down to embrace her son and pick him up. “Oh, gods, my son, you must’ve been so scared. I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! You’re safe now.”

Arthur sighed, looking around the small hut for a chair to sit. Of course, Hunith knew of her son’s magic. She must be terrified realizing that he was in Camelot like this, unable to control his magic. “He is safe,” he snapped. “He will always be safe with me.”

Hunith stood back, angling Merlin on her hip so her body blocked him slightly. “Your Majesty, I meant no offense. It’s just that—“

“Spare me, please,” he said. “Sit. We have a lot to discuss.”

“Yes, um, Merlin? Will you go feed the chickens out back please?” She sat down.

“I’d prefer that he stay here.”

Arthur ordered his men to remain hidden in the woods and set up camp. Ealdor was not in his kingdom and a company of Camelot knights, at best, would be cause for investigation, and at worst, trigger aggression. Gwaine, of course, insisted he lay eyes on the famous birthing place of ‘his second or third favorite person’ and waited outside with the horses.

Merlin tilted his head, but smiled brightly. He wiggled out of his mother’s arms, then stood on his tiptoes to press a kiss on her cheek before running over to Arthur. He squeezed himself between his legs and waved excitedly. “I want to see the chickens!”

Arthur sighed, but smiled back. Unable to stop himself, he pushed the hair from his eyes and pinched the tips of his large ears. Merlin batted his hands away, whining. “Alright, but stay where Gwaine can see you.”

“Okay!” 

And he was off.

“He is…he’s really a child. He has no memory of himself as an adult?”

“No, as we’ve said in the letter, the curse turned him four. We’re on the way to the druids for a cure,” Arthur said, leveling her with a calm, stony stare. “Why did you send your son to Camelot knowing he had magic, knowing who my father was?”

Hunith returned the stare, her back straightening vertebrae by vertebrae. Gods, he could see an afterimage of his Merlin in her expression. “I had enough of Uther controlling the men in my life. If Merlin wanted to be a physician, then I was going to send him to the best I know. I don’t have much, Your Majesty, but I am his mother. I would support him any way I could.”

“What do you mean the ‘men in your life?’”

She tilted her head. “What do you know of magic, my lord?”

“Barely anything at all,” Arthur said, grinning sardonically.

“I don’t have magic.”

Arthur scowled for a moment. “That would mean…”

“He got it from his father, yes.”

“Merlin told me he didn’t know his father.”

“He didn’t, but your father did.”

“Of course,” he said, sighing in resignation. Of bloody course his genocidal father had murdered Merlin’s father. It was Gwen all over again. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Does he know this?”

Hunith shrugged. “If he found out over the years of living in Camelot, he never said anything to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Arthur said suddenly. 

He had come into her home hostile. He had been exhausted and angry and frustrated but that had little to do with Hunith. Merlin wasn’t actually four years old. He had left Ealdor ten years ago. Who was he to come into her house and scold her for endangering her son by letting him be near his father?

“I’m sorry, Hunith.”

“I…I,” she said, softening, “don’t think there’s a need for that. Merlin has blossomed at your side, and gods, even now! Even when he’s like this, when you know his secret, you still like him.”

Arthur couldn’t help but raise a brow and scoff. What an understatement.

“I told him so when you first came here to help us all those years ago. I told him you two were two sides of the same coin.”

Fuck the coin. I would give him the other half of my crown.

“He’ll be safe in Camelot,” Arthur said.

“How?”

Arthur looked down at himself, mock checking his sword and armor. “I am the King of Camelot, no?”

She chuckled. “I see. Thank you, Your Majesty.”

Arthur smiled at her, standing up. “We will stay the night. Merlin would like to sleep here, of course. I’ll have Gwaine bring you his pack and he’ll return for him at first light. The next time you see your son, he will be himself again.” He turned around to walk back outside, but on a whim, turned to ask, “Merlin’s father, what was his name?”

Hunith stood as well. “Balinor,” she said proudly, “he was—“

“A dragonlord.”

She seemed surprised. “Yes. He, um, he fled Camelot with the help of a…a friend. He hid here for some time until Uther’s forces caught up to him.”

Arthur faced her completely, unsure what to do with his hands all of a sudden. “Hunith, he’s dead. He was killed a few years ago. He saved my life, and he was going to help us - Camelot, my father. He was a good man, and he died in his son's arms. I had no idea who he was to…to you, to Merlin.”

She fell back on the chair, hand on her chest as tears fell freely down her cheeks. “I…I assumed, but I guess, I had also hoped that, maybe, he was…”

Arthur, again, empathized. He had been there when it happened, an oblivious and insensitive fool. He remembered feeling his impotent anger that he had failed his kingdom. All the while, there was Merlin, his brave, strong Merlin, grieving.

“That means,” Hunith whispered, “Merlin is the last dragonlord.”

“What do you mean?”

“The power,” she said, “it passes down from father to son.”

Like crowns and rage and legacy. 

“Hm. Lots of those going around.”

*

Merlin shifted on the saddle to look back at the other knights. “Are we there yet?”

“Almost,” Mordred answered.

“Sit properly, Merlin,” Arthur instructed, wrapping his arm around his waist to adjust him forward.

“But it’s been hours! My butt hurts! Let’s stop at that pond!” 

“I don't see a pond,” Arthur said, looking around. 

Merlin pointed. “Over there! Maybe there are frogs. Let’s go catch some!”

“We're meeting with the druids, remember?”

“Mordred’s parents?” He turned to grin at Mordred.

“No, not parents, but they’re kin. I lived with them for a few years when I was young. I know these caves.”

“You grew up in a cave?”

Mordred glanced at Arthur before shaking his head. “Before the Great Purge, my people were allowed to own property and work, but these days, camps are made up around caves, natural water sources, and forests for shelter and food.”

“Oh. Did you like the pond by my house?”

“Uh, yes, it was a nice pond.”

“Does the pond by your cave have frogs?”

“I…I don’t know,” Mordred said.

“I’ll ask your kin!”

They can hear me like this?

Yes, they would be able to hear you the way I can.

Merlin faced forward, taking a deep breath and closing his eyes. He imagined a net - like the ones to catch fish in the rivers back home - growing bigger and bigger coming out of his head, stretching out over the trees, past the sparkly pond he can sense - and projected. 

A R E  T H E R E  F R O G S  O V E R  T H E R E

Mordred doubled over, nearly slipping out of his saddle. “Merlin, that is…too loud.”

Arthur peered around Merlin to look at his face; he frowned. “Are you using magic?”

“Mhm,” he said, “my mind can talk to his mind.”

“What? You can read minds?” Arthur said, blanching. “You…you’ve been able to read minds this whole time?”

“No, sire,” Mordred said quickly, “that’s not how it works. It’s simply another way we can communicate.”

Arthur breathed a sigh, then cleared his throat, turning a bit pink. “Merlin isn’t a druid. How could he do it?”

Morded smiled at Merlin as he shrugged. “He is Emrys.”

“Right, what exactly does that mean again?”

Merlin felt the shift in the air a second before Arthur and the knights did because he looked over at the exact spot the figures started appearing around them, like shadows peeling from the trees. He gasped. There were dozens of them.

*

Arthur shouted a command as the other knights seamlessly formed a defensive formation around their horse. He unsheathed his sword with one hand while the other held the reins. 

“Protect the king!”

“Gwaine, take Merlin and—“

“Wait!” Merlin said. “It’s them, Arthur! It’s them!”

One of the figures in a cloak walked forward with his hands out in peaceful surrender. He pulled the hood down and introduced himself as the leader of this group. “Hello, I am Iseldir, chieftain.”

“I know you,” Leon said, breathlessly. “You saved my life once.”

Iseldir nodded. “I am glad to see you are well, Sir Leon.”

“Yes,” Arthur said, “my father repaid that kindness by ordering me to take the Cup of Life from your people, and you gave it to me.”

“We believed that it would be better off under his protection,” he said, eyes falling to Merlin. “We can take him now and begin the ritual.” Then he took only one step before Arthur had his sword pointed at his neck.

“Now, now,” Arthur said, “eager as I am to get Merlin back to normal, you can’t expect me to hand him over to you. How would I know you wouldn't hold him hostage for ransom? That you won’t kill him in vengeance?”

Iseldir took a step back, scanning the faces of the other knights. Around them, the rest of the druid camp restlessly shifted closer.

“We cannot kill him,” he said. “He is Emrys.”

“Look, that means nothing to me.”

“We will not harm him, but we cannot help him if you do not trust us.”

Leon, the voice of reason as usual, trotted his horse in between them forcing Arthur to lower his blade or stab his own knight. “Arthur, sire, we’ve come this way to ask for their help. Let’s hear what they have to say. Besides, they didn’t say we couldn't stay with him, right?”

“Answer him.”

“You may stay with him,” Iseldir said. “All of you are welcome.”

Merlin was blinking up at them, his head swinging back and forth to follow the conversation. “I think we can trust them, Arthur.”

“Guess we don’t really have a choice. Tell us exactly what this ritual is.”

The druid chieftain tilted his head, smirking slightly. “Would you understand it if I did?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I didn’t know druids joke.”

Mordred cleared his throat. “I would understand it.”

Iseldir smiled warmly for the first time in this tense conversation. He scanned Mordred, taking in the armor, the Pendragon crest on his chest plate, and the red cape. “Hello, Sir Mordred, it is good to see you.”

“Hello, Iseldir. It’s good to see you too,” he said, then looking over to the crowd, “good to see everyone”

“Very well,” Iseldir said, facing Arthur again. “It is a ritual for energy reading. We perform it to uncover wards and spells upon a place or artifact to read magical signatures and intent.”

Arthur inwardly cringed. Magic and the Old Religion  were foreign languages to him, and frankly, he couldn’t help the slight wave of frustration, even impatience, listening to him. The last few days he had been working with Gaius and Geoffrey of Monmouth, the keeper of the Royal Library, on the most effective way to lift the ban on magic and draft laws to govern it within Camelot. It had been a practice in head banging exasperation. 

“Wow!” Merlin squeezed his hand and looked up at Arthur. “Arthur, did you hear that? They can read magic!”

Arthur sheathed his sword so he could hold Merlin steady as he buzzed with excitement, leaning forward to ask the druid chieftain questions. The touch grounded him, gave him calm and focus. In the end, just before they left, he completed a set of codes for magic in Camelot. Firstly, magic was no longer a capital crime. Secondly, it was legal to be practiced as long as it was not used to harm others or their property. Thirdly, magic users were welcome to live and work in Camelot. Merlin would be welcome to continue living and working back home - and there was no doubt whatsoever in Arthur - that he would be bringing him back home. 

Arthur gestured at Mordred, who went on to explain.

“On Merlin, it would be like diagnosing a patient, sire. They would discover if he had any spells on him, or if none, then the last one used, and then they could try to figure out the cure or antidote.”

“Well said, Mordred,” Iseldir said. “Our best healers will perform the ritual. It will be swift and painless.”

Arthur nodded. “Alright, what do you need for this ritual?”

Iseldir stepped back as three young women came forward. 

They pulled the hood off their cloaks and smiled up at Merlin. “Hello, Emrys,” they said in unison. “It’s an honor to meet you, and you as well, Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King.”

Arthur pulled Merlin a bit closer against him. He liked beautiful young women as much as the next man, sure, but when they looked exactly the same and spoke at the same time and called you strange things - well, it was just creepy enough. 

Merlin, of course, was all bouncing enthusiasm. “Are you one person or three?”

“That’s a wonderful question. We are one person in three parts.”

Merlin nodded sagely while Arthur looked over his shoulder to exchange looks with his knights.

Definitely creepy.

Still, they followed after the druids as they walked toward the caves where the ritual was to be held. 

“Arthur?”

“Hm.”

Merlin shifted so he could look up at him. He bit his lower lip, speaking softly, “I’m going then?”

Arthur leaned down and pressed his nose into his hair. “I’m coming with you. We’re all going with you.”

“Yes, but I am leaving,” he said, brushing Arthur away. “You’re getting other me.”

“I suppose that’s…true.”

Merlin’s eyes were watery and wide. “Will you miss me?”

Arthur peered into the familiar eyes and found that to be true - yes, he would miss this Merlin. He hadn’t been certain baby Merlin truly understood what had happened to him, but he trusted Arthur anyway. He trusted the King of Camelot anyway. This Merlin was innocent and curious. How much of those traits remained in his Merlin? How innocent could one be when loyalty had forced him to turn his back on his own kind? How much curiosity when one had to hide the truth about himself or risk execution? Suddenly, Arthur was breathless in wonder at how - how - had Merlin not killed him yet? Instead, his Merlin had offered his shoulder for something solid Arthur could lean on, cry on, hold onto as his family, his enemies tore into him, taking and taking and taking. Merlin never asked him for a bloody thing. He never asked for reward or recognition.

Nor revenge. Perhaps the crown jewel of all rewards in the eyes of a Pendragon. 

“Yes,” he said shakily. “I’ll miss you. I miss you now. There is so much I want to say to other you, so much we need to talk about, but I am grateful to you. If it weren’t for you, love, I may have never understood, never got the chance to finally do something in return.”

Merlin faced forward, squeezing his hand. “I’ll miss you too, Arthur, like this.”

At the threshold of the entrance, Arthur remembered Merlin’s funny feelings about places like this. Sacred grounds. It made him itch out of his skin, but he dismounted and ordered the men to sheath their weapons and leave them with horses. They exchanged looks but followed. The three women took Merlin by hand and together, they walked deeper into the caves. 

It was a labyrinthine of smooth stone walls and well-trodden dirt paths. There was a procession of cloaked figures ahead of him, and Arthur kept his eye on Merlin, who occasionally looked back over his shoulder to smile at him, like Arthur was the one who needed reassuring. 

In a wide, cavernous space, the druids spread out, and Arthur realized this must be a sort of base camp for them. There were tents and cooking stations in different spots, wires across their heads that hung clothes, furs, and tarps. He passed by a small, dirty bedroll on the ground with a wooden toy horse halfway tucked inside. 

The women with Merlin continued walking, so the knights followed until they were in another large, open space with rock walls looking inlaid with glowing crystals. It cast a bright blue hue over the room. They sat Merlin down on a flat rock in the center and surrounded him, two kneeling and one standing over him. They began to chant in a different language, the druid tongue, and a faint light shone on their palms. One woman ran her hands over the boy’s shoulders, chest, stomach, then back up his arms and hands. Another woman touched his legs, ankles, feet. The last one stood behind him and threaded her fingers into his hair, holding his head.

“Take it easy, Arthur, they’re not going to eat him,” Gwaine said, snickering. “I mean, I think?”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Arthur said.

“They’re not going to eat him,” Mordred said defensively.

“They’re pretty cute. Merlin’s blushing.” Gwaine said.

Arthur rolled his eyes.

“You think they’re cute?” Percival said.

“How long is this going to take?” Leon asked Mordred.

“It may take some time. If it were a recognizable spell, we wouldn’t need the ritual at all.”

“Merlin is not blushing,” Arthur said to Gwaine.

Gwaine seemed to cower away from Percival. “No you’re right, Princess, why would he? They’re not—“

“No,” Elyan said, chuckling, “he’s definitely turning red, look at his ears.”

“What does the ritual feel like?” Leon asked.

Mordred shrugged. “I’ve never had it used on me. I’m not sure, but Iseldir said it doesn’t hurt. I can ask Merlin.”

“Ask him if he’s alright,” Arthur ordered.

“Ask him if he thinks the girls are cute,” Elyan added.

“It was just a joke, Percy, just messing with Arthur,” Gwaine whispered to Percival.

Arthur saw the moment Mordred spoke to him through the strange mind-speak druid power because he gasped, eyes snapping to the knight.

“He’s alright,” Mordred said, a small smile on his lips. “I interrupted their conversation, apparently.”

“Huh.” Arthur crossed his arms. “What are they saying to him?”

“It doesn’t work like that, sire.”

“It can if they use their mouth. Hey!” Arthur said, startling everyone in the area. “Merlin, are you alright?”

“Yes, Arthur! I’m alright.”

“You can speak out loud, you know.”

Merlin frowned, scrunching up his face adorably. Then, he turned to the women around him, evidently speaking to them because they all giggled, and Merlin looked over at him triumphantly.

The knights snickered beside him. 

“That little prat. Doesn’t he realize they could be feeding him lies?”

“First, they want to eat him, now they’re feeding him! I think we should all sit and relax for a minute.”

Arthur and the knights settled down to wait. Mordred went off to talk to some druids he knew, wanting to ask about some woman named Kara. Leon went to join him. Arthur, Gwaine, Percival, and Elyan were in the middle of a card game when Iseldir came by, presumably to check on the progress. He offered dried fruits and bread, cups of wine. They accepted, and Arthur refused the alcohol at first, he wanted to be clear-headed, but he thought sharing a drink with a druid chieftain would be good. Symbolic. He invited the druid to join the game, eat and drink with them. It was odd, a bit awkward at first since Iseldir was apparently a very serious person and Arthur had been snappish earlier, but Arthur powered through, reminded of all his lessons in diplomacy. 

After some time, Iseldir paused suddenly and looked over at the center. The women finally stopped touching Merlin. The ritual finished. He went up to them, and Arthur followed without being invited. They seemed to stare at one other for a long moment. Arthur realized they were doing the mind-speak thing and signaled for Merlin to come to him.

“Are you alright?” He knelt down to look at him properly.

Merlin nodded but stayed out of his grasp. He seemed restless, probably didn’t want to be fussed over more. 

“Good, go join the others. I’ll be there soon.” 

Merlin smiled, skipping over to the knights.

Arthur stood and joined the others in time to hear Iseldir say, “Are you sure?”

“Yes. We are certain,” the women said aloud in unison. “Emrys was hit with a killing curse.”

Arthur’s head snapped back to Merlin, who laughed and played with the knights only a few feet away, as if he needed to confirm he was alive - had been alive. 

Then, the women spoke together, one after the other like they could complete the other's thoughts:

“As you can see, he is not dead,” one said.

“He cannot be dead,” second said.

“He is Emrys,” third said.

“Our years are like water in a cup, Arthur Pendragon.”

“The curse tipped the cup.”

“To spill his years.”

“Except Emrys.”

“He cannot die.”

“His cup refilled itself using life force around him.”

Arthur thought back when he found Merlin. “No,” he said, brows furrowed, trying to shake the memory loose. “He wasn’t doing magic. He still remembered himself then. He remembered me. We found him alone. The sorcerer was dead. Everything in that clearing was dead.”

“The dead trees, the dead sorcerer.”

“Emrys refilled his cup.”

“But not enough.”

“He stopped.”

“Did you stop him?”

Iseldir answered instead. “No. Emrys may have subconsciously stopped to prevent himself from taking Arthur Pendragon’s years.”

“So what? A killing curse hit him, but he healed himself by draining life out of every breathing thing around him?” Arthur tried to sound incredulous and flippant, but he had to suppress the shiver down his spine. 

That seemed like very powerful magic.

“Okay. Fine,” Arthur said, rallying, “can’t he just continue the healing spell?”

The women cast their eyes down and spoke together. “Yes, even at his age, Emrys could perform such a spell.”

“Good! What are we waiting for then?”

Their heads snapped up, looking at him horrified. “Emrys would decimate this entire kingdom.”

“And everyone in it.”

“If he were to take back his years.”

“What?” Arthur scoffed. “Merlin is not even in his thirtieth year. We just need to find a— an oak tree.”

“Emrys is eternal.”

Arthur lost his patience. “Why do you people keep calling him that?”

“That is what the prophecy calls him,” Iseldir said calmly. “Just as the prophecy calls you the Once and Future King.”

“I…I really can’t be bothered with all that prophecy nonsense. All I am trying to do is bring my friend back. So, now we know what cursed him. How do we reverse it?”

“The Fountain of Youth,” the women said to their chieftain.

“The Fountain of Youth? Gods.” Arthur refrained from rolling his eyes. “As I said, please, no prophecy, old tales, myths, and legends. I need something real.”

“It is real.”

“It is here.”

Arthur threw his hands up, glancing back toward the tunnel opening. “I think I need Mordred here. There might be some sort of mistranslation because why would he need to be younger?”

“The Fountain is a source of life many have given to,” the women said. “Emrys, however, will need to take.”

“And that’s…that’s enough? Better than, say, a flock of sheep?” 

Maybe he was being a touch disrespectful because they seemed just as exasperated at his ignorance as he was with their odd, all-encompassing crypticness. The women did not deign to answer him, simply stared blankly.

It was Iseldir who broke the standoff. “When you’re ready, we will take you there.”

That drinking and diplomacy was good for something at least, Iseldir seemed to like him more than these women did.

“Oh, the pond I was telling you about!” Merlin said as they hiked.

“How could you have seen this pond from down there?” Arthur said, swinging Merlin up a particularly steep step.

The druids did not live in these caves as a coincidence. The druid people worshipped nature in their practice of the Old Religion. They often guarded powerful tools and monuments. Iseldir’s group, in particular, protected the Fountain of Youth.

“It’s very loud.”

“Loud?"

“Mhm. That’s why I can see it from far away,” he said, crawling on his hands and knees to grab a root, “but I can see pretty far. Sometimes I can see things that haven’t happened yet. That’s the farthest.”

Arthur blinked. His Merlin was always strange - a bit evasive, somehow always knew too much, gave his all yet seemed to do very little. Baby Merlin, however, was so obviously, so bluntly, so honestly magical that it would be idiotic not to notice. Gods, Arthur laughed at himself, perhaps his Merlin was the same - just a much better liar - and Arthur too oblivious to notice. 

At the summit of the hill, there was a copse of willows and a spring with sparkling blue water. It was cooler, something bracing and electric in the air. The knights and druids stood between the trees and allowed Arthur to walk Merlin to the edge of the water. There had been chatter on the hike up - what with the knights and druids all hiking together for the better part of two hours - but they were quiet now, like they could sense the finality of this moment.

He called out to the women. “What now? Does he drink it? Bathe in it?”

“That is up to Emrys.”

Arthur could tell this was the best answer that he was going to receive, so he let Merlin get as close as he could to the springs before he put his hands on his shoulders. He knelt down, locked eyes with him. 

“Believe me, Merlin,” Arthur said softly, “I know I am the last person who should be guiding you on what to do here. I know next to nothing about magic. For so long, I’ve helped my father in his crusade against the Old Religion, and it’s left us ignorant and hateful and dangerous.” He cupped the back of his neck, stroking the hair curling at the nape. “But I got you here, didn’t I? I don’t know if this is going to work. I don’t even really know what you’re meant to do. All I know is that I can’t lose you.”

Merlin laughed. “Don’t worry, Arthur, I’ll be right back.” He turned and walked into the water. Casual. Like it was nothing. 

When he slipped under, Arthur lurched forward, panicked because, gods, why did he believe these druids? Merlin was four, did he even know how to swim? Arthur was still on his knees when the burst of golden light exploded from underwater. Arthur fell backwards, shielding his eyes. The light burned red behind his lids. Waves of heat pulsed, and Arthur could almost feel it singe the hairs on his arm. He scrambled backwards, teeth grinding, dimly aware of other voices behind him crying out.

It was like Merlin had summoned the sun. 

Seconds or an eternity passed, and the light died down. He opened his eyes, blinking away the white spots. The water sat still. Behind him, the knights were lowering their arms, but the druids were bowing their heads. Arthur faced forward just as a dark head of hair broke the surface, then broad shoulders, a bare chest, abdomen bisected by fine, black hair. Arthur’s eyes roamed greedily, unaware he was walking forward.

It was Merlin. His Merlin. His eyes were still shut, but there was a bright line at his lashes like fire burned behind the lids. When Merlin opened his eyes, they didn’t flash gold. It was as though his eyes had been gouged out, filled instead by stars. He heard a collective gasp and was vaguely aware of the druids kneeling, whispering, chanting. 

“Emrys. Emrys.”

Arthur froze in his steps. “Merlin?” 

The golden bursts of light turned to Arthur.  “Do I know you?” His voice was deep - deeper than he had ever heard it, it sounded suffused with echoes like Merlin was speaking in a cavern, voice echoing and booming. 

“Yes, you know me,” he managed to say. Arthur was trembling.

Merlin moved through the water like the earth itself was propelling him forward. He seemed ageless. One second he had a shadow of a beard and long white hair, and the next it was all gone. 

Emrys is eternal. 

“You know me, Merlin,” Arthur said urgently.

Merlin narrowed those terrible eyes at him, frowning for a moment before it dissolved into a grin. He blinked and the stars burning in his head vanished, replaced by deep blues and clear eyes. The change happened so suddenly Arthur feared he may have imagined it, except he could still feel the heat, the terror in his gut.

”Oh,” Merlin said in his achingly familiar voice, “you’re the big prat who’s about to walk into the Fountain of Youth because, apparently, you need to learn your lessons twice.”

Arthur laughed despite himself. “You’re an all powerful sorcerer. I’m sure you can age me back up.”

Merlin waded through the water normally, and the second he could reach him, Arthur pulled him out and against his chest. Merlin hissed at the impact. “Your armor is very cold.”

Arthur, still laughing - he might laugh forever, he was so bloody happy - cradled his face in his hands, running his fingers through the wet locks, thumbs caressing his dimpled cheeks.

“I don’t suppose you brought me clothes,” Merlin said, teeth chattering. 

Arthur scanned his face again, drinking in the details like a blind man seeing for the first time. “Hm? I brought baby Merlin clothes, of course.”

“I don’t think that’ll fit,” he said, eyes glancing down.

Arthur followed his gaze, and his mouth went a little dry at the realization that Merlin was wet, naked, and covering himself down there with his hands. “Ah. I really don’t see how that’s my problem, Merlin.”

“You are such an arse,” he snapped, pulling away weakly, eyes cast down, “I can’t believe you’re this unprepared. How’d you manage this last week without me, hm?”

“Are you alright?” Arthur asked, reaching out again, but Merlin jerked away.

He looked behind Arthur with such deliberate movement it could only be an attempt at distraction. “Hey. Why is everyone kneeling? Gods, not you too Gwaine! Mordred, get up.” He was shaking all over now, the water indistinguishable from sweat.

Arthur had forgotten about the dozens of bodies around them. “Merlin?”

The women came forward with a bundle of clothes. “If it pleases you, master.”

“Uh, okay, don’t call me that, but thank you.”

The knights finally recovered from their odd trance, coming to clap Merlin on the back. Arthur instinctively wanted to push them away, but Merlin wasn’t four anymore. He could manage himself, even if he were in the circle of knights, naked and shivering. Someone brushed his wet hair back and patted his shoulders, teasing and congratulating him. Arthur took several steps back, clenching his fists at his side.

“Alright, let me get dressed.”

The knights turned around to give him privacy, still heckling him good-naturedly, and Arthur was surprised, and once again, a bit put off when all the druids turned around as one - creepy.

“Thanks.” Merlin was putting on a brave face, but Arthur could see the tension in his shoulders, the shallow breaths, the way he wouldn't quite meet anyone’s eyes. 

He watched him dress, watched the skin disappear under coarse fabrics inch by inch until the thick, dark robes fell into folds over his body. The clothing was similar to what the other druids wore, except on Merlin, it made the hairs on his neck stand. Arthur had grown accustomed to his simple tunic, trousers, and neckerchief. Here on this hilltop, with the springs behind him and all these people turned away from him with heads down and eyes shut, he seemed ancient. The hood of the cloak cast his face in deep shadows for a moment before Merlin tugged it down. He was watching Arthur watch him, and Arthur ached to reach out and touch him, to make sure he was not the relic he seemed. 

*

Merlin could feel his magic underneath his skin pushing, pressing, and it was hard, to say the least, to stifle it. He didn’t want to scare Arthur and the knights, or the druids. So, he had to get away from them soon. He wasn’t sure what he needed exactly but standing still was taking every bit of willpower Merlin could muster. His teeth were chattering even as sweat beaded down his neck. He took a steadying breath, shutting his eyes tight.

“Merlin? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” Which he may have gotten away with if he hadn’t staggered and fallen to his knees.

“Merlin!” Arthur was at his side immediately, hand around his waist. 

Gods, he smelled good. Merlin bowed his head, unable to help the groan from his mouth. 

“You’re glowing.”

Merlin opened his eyes for a moment, holding his hands up. There was golden light sparking off his skin like he had been electrocuted. He called the magic in but, for once, it wouldn't listen - it was like a cooped up stallion finally let out for a run, wild and bucking, frantic even.

“Emrys?” Iseldir said, coming up beside him. “Maybe we can help.”

Merlin was so out of it he couldn’t answer, just kept groaning. His magic was burning him from within. If he could look inside himself, he knew his bones would be black, his blood curdling in his veins. His skin was the final flimsy barrier keeping it inside.

“What’s happening to him?” Arthur demanded. 

Merlin heard metal clinking, and he knew the knights were positioning themselves in a protective circle around himself and Arthur.

“It is possible,” the druid said, putting his hand on his forehead, “that Emrys is having difficulty suppressing his magic.”

“You mean…you mean he’s been suppressing this everyday the whole time?”

“He would have had his entire life to master it.”

“But now he’s having to relearn how to do it all at once,” Arthur said in awe.

“It’s killing him,” Iseldir said so quietly he may not have meant for them to hear.

“What? No. No, how can I help him? Please, Iseldir, how?”

“He is the only one able to hold such magic.” 

“Merlin?” Arthur was holding him close, shaking him. “Merlin, can you hear me? What do you need? Please, tell me what to do!”

Merlin opened his eyes, gasping hard, scrabbling at his own chest like he could expand his ribs outwards to make some damn space. “Arthur, get away,” he said through gritted teeth. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Merlin threw his arm out to shove Arthur aside.

Protect them, Merlin ordered the druids.

The druids shot forward and pulled the knights back to the trees. Arthur was fighting, shouting for him even as Merlin started speaking the ancient tongue. He threw his head back and roared in the language of his father and his father before him.

“Great Dragon, I summon you.” 

His voice split the air like lightning cracking across the darkening sky. The setting sun was a flickering candle, its light was thrown over the ground in unnatural shapes. Merlin was on his knees, biting back screams as he waited on the brink of something catastrophic. Finally, a dark shadow blotted out sunlight. The Great Dragon circled overhead, flying lower and lower, his massive wings casting them in cold, making the trees bow; then with a deafening roar, he landed beside Merlin. His talons broke the earth as he lowered his head to meet the dragonlord’s eyes. 

“I’m burning, Kilgharrah.”

“Then burn, young warlock.” 

Merlin surged upright. The moment his trembling hands pressed against the dragon’s chest, he let himself get wrenched apart.

*

Arthur watched in dumbstruck wonder as Merlin placed his hands on the massive, scaly torso. The dragon threw its head back, inhaled deeply, expansively and exhaled fire above. The flames lit the sky red and gold.

Merlin had summoned the sun.

He could feel the heat sweltering even behind the shimmering shields the druids put up in front of them. Beside him, he heard the druids cry out, his knights flinch back, but Arthur - he had never seen anything so magnificent.

Merlin, in all his power.

So. This was the truth.  

Arthur didn’t notice the tears streaming down his face until they wet his parted lips. He wiped it absentmindedly.

You’re beautiful, Merlin. 

He knew he couldn’t hear him, but he kept repeating the thoughts like a mantra, like prayer to the gods. 

As soon as Merlin hunched over, dropping to his knees, the dragon released a last gust of fiery breath, and Arthur lunged forward. The shield clawed at him as he passed through, but he couldn’t feel the pain. 

“Merlin!” He caught him as he fell back, sliding on the burnt grass.

The dragon turned its eyes on him, and Arthur belatedly realized that this was the very same dragon that nearly destroyed Camelot and killed hundreds of his people. So, it was Merlin that set it free. He dug deep, searching with scrambling fingers in his chest for the spike of anger, but all he held in his heart was unbelievable gratitude.

“Thank you,” Arthur said to the dragon.

It bowed its great head before taking off, wings beating hard enough to bend the charred trees.

“Arthur?” Merlin said, voice cracking.

“I’m here, I’m holding you,” he said, choking up.

“I suppose no chance you didn’t see that?”

He let out a wet chuckle. “I am, frankly, humiliated it took me this long to see it. You’re not exactly subtle,” he said, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “Is this a normal amount of magic for a man like you, or…?”

Merlin smirked arrogantly, a feat for someone draped over him, limp and sweaty. “There are no men like me.”

Arthur privately agreed but rolled his eyes anyway. “You summon one dragon.”

“Two dragons.” He grinned, patting the golden Pendragon insignia before pulling him down by the back of his head and pressing their lips together.

Now, Arthur had imagined kissing Merlin many times. He thought about glib sweet nothings he would say, or heartfelt confessions; he thought of hands tugging, tongue, and taste. He imagined kissing him in his bed chambers, or the stables, or after a battle. What he never thought to add to his fantasies was that Merlin’s mouth would sear him. 

The moment their lips pressed together, Arthur hissed like water splashed on hot stones. Felt like it too. Merlin’s lips were unnaturally hot - no, not unnatural - magic. Merlin licked inside his mouth, and Arthur moaned, gods, it was like kissing storm clouds. He shivered despite the heat because he could taste it - the dragon fire, that terrifying, bottomless power barely restrained behind his teeth.  

They broke apart, and Arthur, feverish as he looked into his eyes, blurted, “Marry me.”

Merlin laughed, shaking his head, “I love you too, dollophead.”