Chapter Text
It’s been three days since Arthur, Merlin, Gwen, Gaius, and the knights returned to Camelot from Longstead. It’s been four days since Arthur and Lancelot rescued Merlin, Gwen, and the knights—who have no memories of the events—from the Lamia. It’s been a week since Arthur last saw Merlin happy.
Arthur knows that something is wrong with Merlin. Ever since they returned to Camelot, Merlin has been acting differently. So he goes to the person who knows Merlin best (besides himself), Lancelot.
He finds the knight walking in town with Gwen. “Lancelot,” Arthur says.
“Sire,” Lancelot says as he and Gwen give small bows. “Is something wrong?”
“I wanted to talk to you. About Merlin. Have you noticed he’s been acting differently since we returned to Camelot?”
Gwen’s eyes widen for a small moment. “I’m going to leave you two to talk,” she says and walks over to a shopping stall.
“Is she alright?” Arthur asks.
Lancelot watches his lady as she slowly tours the stalls. “She has been off since we returned. Any time I ask her what is wrong or what happened, she says everything is fine. I did notice something wrong with Merlin. I asked him, and he also said he was fine. I asked Gwen, and she told me to ask Merlin.”
Arthur sighs. “Something happened while they were with the other knights and the lamia. I don’t know why they won’t tell us, but it must have been dreadfully bad.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Merlin isn’t just off; he is completely not himself. He has been waking me up on time, cleaning my armor and chamber extra carefully, and addressing me as ‘sire’ and ‘my lord’.”
“He sounds like a normal servant.”
“He’s the perfect servant!” Arthur shouts with an exasperated smile. “That’s the problem. Merlin isn’t a perfect servant. He’s clumsy and rude and spends way too much time in the tavern, but he’s also honest and brave and unapologetically himself. He complains and slacks off, but he’s still always by my side. He’s my best friend, and something awful happened to him. I need to know what it was.”
Lancelot doesn’t respond. He opens his mouth like he is about to, but then closes it. After a while, he says, “Tell him.”
“What?” Arthur asks.
“Tell Merlin all of that. If you want him to talk to you about what happened, then he needs to know how much it is affecting you. So take him somewhere where there will be no distractions and tell him all of that, and ask him what is wrong with him.”
“And you think he will answer honestly?”
“If he knows how you really feel, then yes,” Lancelot says with a sincere look in his eyes. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, sire, I'd like to enjoy this fine day with my betrothed.” Lancelot bows and, after a nod from Arthur, walks over to Gwen.
Arthur stands there watching the happy couple as they browse the stalls, then he turns around and returns to the castle. As soon as he returns to his chambers, he starts planning. He finds the knights and tells them to be prepared to leave for a patrol the following day at midday. He also tells Lancelot to bring Gwen. He tells Merlin that night to have everything prepared.
They leave at midday and patrol the woods. The knights pick up their usual banter, and Arthur and Lancelot only briefly join in. They are more focused on Gwen and Merlin, who ride in silence. As the sun sets, Arthur prepares for the next part of his plan.
“We'd better make camp,” Arthur says as he stops his horse. “It’s getting dark. Merlin, go find some wood for the fire.”
Merlin gets off his horse and ties her to a tree. As he leaves, Elyan says, “Let me assist you.” He hands the reins of his horse to Gwaine and follows Merlin. When they return to camp with their arms full of wood, Merlin looks tense. They set the wood down, and Merlin begins to start a fire. Once there is a large enough flame, Gwaine lights a torch. Merlin’s eyes go wide at the sight of it. He stands, and as he does, the torch passes Merlin’s face a little too closely. Not close enough that someone would flinch, but Merlin does, and Arthur notices.
Merlin makes dinner for everyone as he does on every patrol. He serves Arthur first, then Leon, then the other knights, then Gwen. He only gets a couple of spoonfuls for himself. Arthur and the knights, excluding Lancelot, devour the stew fast. As they return their dishes to Merlin, Percival says, “That was the best stew you’ve ever made, Merlin,” and he pats Merlin on the back. Just a friendly pat. The knights pat him on the back all the time. But this time, Merlin freezes—just for a second—then flinches away, and Arthur sees it.
After dinner, they sit around the fire telling stories and laughing. Merlin is smiling. It might not be as large as usual, but it is still a smile. The fire burns down, and usually they would leave it and go to sleep, but it is a cold night, so, “Merlin,” Leon says, “we’ll need more wood to get through the night.”
Merlin stands up quickly. “Yes, sir.” He walks off quickly. Arthur notices—and this time he thinks all of the knights do too.
Arthur wastes no time. He stands and says, “I’ll help you.”
Merlin doesn’t argue. He doesn’t tell Arthur he can gather wood by himself, as Arthur expects. He just nods and walks through the trees to gather wood.
They walk pretty far in silence. Eventually, Arthur can't take it anymore. “Merlin.”
Merlin stops and turns to Arthur, head low, eyes not meeting Arthur’s. “Yes, sire?”
Arthur steps towards Merlin. “I need to tell you something. I’m not sure how.” Arthur sees Merlin’s eyes glance up at him quickly and then return to the ground. “I know something is wrong with you and has been since we returned to Camelot from Longstead.”
“Sire, I…”
“That’s it!” Arthur interrupts, words sharper than he means. “You keep calling me ‘sire’ or ‘my lord,’ and you’re away cleaning all day, and you brought extra ingredients so the stew would taste perfect.”
“I don’t understand,” Merlin says, now looking at Arthur. “That is how a servant is meant to act.”
“But that’s not you. You are clumsy and call me a clotpole and a dollophead,” Arthur says with a smile and steps closer to Merlin. “But you’re also brave and honest and the most loyal person I’ve ever met. Not just to Camelot or a king but to your friends too.” He steps closer to Merlin as Merlin just watches. “I know something happened while you were with the lamia that you aren’t telling me, and I wanted to respect that, but I can’t when you are acting so hurt. Please,” he steps closer, close enough that he grabs Merlin’s arm gently.
“Tell me.”
Merlin feels Arthur grab his arm and stiffens. “No,” Merlin pulls his arm away. “No!” he yells, and his magic bursts out of him without warning. It throws Arthur backwards onto the ground a few feet away. Merlin steps forward to see if Arthur is okay, but then realizes what he just did and runs away, in the opposite direction of their camp.
Arthur gets up a minute later to find Merlin nowhere in sight. He returns to camp, and Lancelot is the first person to notice his return—alone.
“Arthur,” Lancelot says as he stands up from where hit sits beside Gwen, “where’s Merlin?”
The other knights and Gwen notice Merlin’s absence and stand as well. Arthur doesn’t answer. “Did something happen?” Gwaine asks.
Arthur’s jaw tightens. “He ran.”
“Ran?” Gwen repeats.
Arthur nods. “Merlin has magic,” he says. “I was trying to talk to him, and he was deflecting, so I grabbed his arm. Gently, even, but it seemed like he panicked or froze and then yelled no and threw me back with a blaze of magic. By the time I got up, he was gone.”
“Oh no,” Lancelot breathes out.
“What’s wrong?” Gwen asks.
“There is something you and Merlin aren’t telling us about what happened while you were with the lamia,” Lancelot confronts his betrothed. Gwen doesn’t deny it. “I know Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, and Percy can’t remember,” Lancelot continues, “so I am asking you, Gwen. Merlin has been different lately, and whatever happened has made him scared. He was scared when Arthur touched him, and his magic reacted to that to protect him. Now he is even more scared because he used magic in front of Arthur. He has been terrified of anyone finding out about his magic since long before I met him, but the person he was most scared of finding out,” he pauses and looks to the king, “is Arthur.”
“You knew?” Arthur asks.
“Since my first time in Camelot with the griffin,” Lancelot continues. “I didn’t kill it alone, I couldn’t have, Merlin enchanted my lance. I heard him and confronted him and promised I would keep his secret and protect him.”
The camp is silent. Arthur doesn’t speak right away. He plays past moments in his head—moments where he spoke about how evil magic is in front of Merlin, moments where Merlin agreed because he had to, and moments over the past week where Merlin has been pulling away. “All of this time,” Arthur whispers, “he was afraid of me.”
“Yes,” Lancelot answers honestly. “And no.”
“What do you mean?”
“That is not my story to tell. All of this is his to tell. We should go look for him.”
“I agree,” Arthur says, considering for a moment. “Lancelot and I will go back to the place where Merlin and I were and look from there.
The rest of you will stay here with Gwen in case he returns.”
“Don’t you think more of us should go look for him?” Gwaine asks.
“No,” Arthur says, voice firm. “Stay here with Gwen and wait.” As Gwaine opens his mouth to argue, Arthur adds, “That’s an order.” He turns, grabs the torch, and walks into the trees without waiting for a response. After this, Lancelot looks at his friends, then follows Arthur into the trees.
They walk to the spot where Arthur and Merlin were and go further in the direction away from the camp. Lancelot decides to speak up, “Why did you order the other nights to stay with Gwen?”
Arthur doesn’t answer immediately, but eventually sighs. “Because I think the thing that has changed Merlin has something to do with them.” Arthur continues walking, but Lancelot stops. When Arthur notices, he stops and turns around. “Ever since we stopped and made camp, I’ve noticed reactions Merlin has been having. He was tense when he returned from collecting wood with Elyan, he flinched when Gwaine held the torch just barely close to his face, he froze and moved away when Percival patted him on the back, and he called Leon ‘Sir’. He’s had all of these reactions to them only, not to you or me, but we weren’t there with them. He only reacted to me when I grabbed him. Something happened. Someone touched him or burned him or hurt him in some way, and I have a feeling that it has something to do with them.” The last word came out with venom.
“Arthur,” Lancelot says softly. “They would never hurt any innocent, especially Merlin. I think Gwaine would rather give up alcohol than hurt Merlin.”
“But if they weren’t in their right mind, if the lamia had done something, then maybe they had no choice. You aren’t thinking about it all. Merlin isn’t the only one who’s been acting differently since returning.”
Lancelot pauses, “Gwen?”
“They have both been acting differently,” Arthur says quietly, “They are both keeping secrets. If they did something to him, they probably did something to her, too.”
They are both silent. “They won’t tell us the truth,” Lancelot finally says.
“Merlin will,” Arthur says confidently. “I know he will. I just have to assure him that he is safe. That I won’t punish him for practicing magic in Camelot.”
“You won’t?” Merlin asks as he pops out from behind a tree.
Arthur and Lancelot startle. “No,” Arthur answers cautiously. “I know you are a curious person, so I don’t blame you for wanting to learn. As long as you promise to stop, you won’t be punished.”
“I can’t just stop,” Merlin says as he walks to Arthur. “You don’t understand.”
“What are you talking about? Sorcerers can stop using magic whenever they want. Gaius did.”
“True,” Merlin says, stopping a few feet away from Arthur. “Sorcerers can stop whenever they choose. It might be hard, but it would be easy for you if I were a sorcerer. But I’m not. I’m a warlock.”
“A warlock?”
“I didn’t wake up one day and decide I wanted to commit the biggest crime in Camelot. I was born with my magic.”
“What? Why are you in Camelot?”
“Before I came the Camelot, my magic was getting too out of hand. The people in Ealdor were noticing. My mother sent a letter to Gaius asking him if he could take me in. I needed to control my powers, and she knew Gaius could help me learn.”
“So,” Arthur says, his voice tight, “You have been lying to me for over five years.” The words are harsher than he intends—fear, anger, and guilt building in his chest.
“I had no choice. Your father would have me killed.”
“My father is dead. He has been for months. But even before you could have told me.”
“And what would you have done?” Merlin shouts. “You are the King, you were the crown prince. You obey your father and the law. You kill me. Or what? You don’t, and you betray your father and kingdom for a servant.”
“I don’t know what I would have done.”
“And I didn’t want to put you in that position.” They are silent. Lancelot has walked away to give them space. “I have magic, Arthur. And I use it to protect you. I use it only for you, Arthur.”
“Why?” he asks. “Why protect the son of Uther Pendragon?”
Merlin hesitates. “Because of destiny. My destiny was foretold long ago. I am to protect the ‘Once and Future King’ and help him unite Albion and bring about a golden age where magic and people can exist together peacefully. You are that King, Arthur.”
“So all this time you’ve been by my side because of destiny?”
“No,” Merlin says. “It started that way, but you were right, I am an idiot because I grew to care for the prat whose father condemns my kind. That is why I have been by your side for all these years. And it’s why I won’t try to stop you if you choose to banish me or chop my head off, or burn me at the stake. Just know that no matter what you choose, I will find a way to protect you, Arthur.”
“I won’t,” Arthur says. “I won’t banish you, and I won’t kill you. You can’t talk like that. How could you think that I would kill you? No matter how I was raised, you are my best friend, and I won’t be what kills you.”
Merlin stands shocked. “Arthur—”
“No!” Arthur steps just barely closer, not wanting Merlin to run off. “You don’t get to stand there and say you’d let me kill you and call it loyalty or destiny. You talk as though it is your only purpose in life to protect and serve me.”
Merlin opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again.
“Do you think I could live with myself if I did that to you? And if I banish you, do you think I would be able to wake up every day knowing you are out there somewhere hiding and afraid I might decide to come kill you?” The silence of the night stretches around them. Arthur takes a slow breath, unsteady. “I don’t want a protector. I don’t want destiny. I don’t want you to be with me because of any prophecy.”
Merlin’s breath shakes as he decides to step forward. They are a couple of feet away from each other now.
“I just want you,” Arthur says. The words surprise Merlin. “I want you alive,” he continues. “Arguing with me. Insulting me. Standing beside me, not because I’m ‘The Once and Future King’ but because I’m Arthur. And you’re Merlin.” Arthur pauses before he does what he thinks is the bravest thing he’s ever done. “And I love you. I have loved you for so long that I’m not even sure when it started.”
Merlin shakes his head. “Don’t.”
“What?” Arthur says.
“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” Merlin backs away. “Don’t say what you think will get me to stay. I am just a servant. A servant who has magic and has been lying to you for years. You don’t love me. You can’t.”
“Why can’t I?”
“Because if you do, that means that I have been in love with a man who loves me back for years, and I hid my feelings out of fear.”
“You…” Arthur says, “You love me?”
“I drank from a poisoned goblet for you after only being in Camelot for a few months. I tried to do it again months later. I have stuck by you even at your worst, most angry moments. I have lied to protect your feelings many times. That wasn’t all duty or destiny. It was love.”
Arthur steps close to Merlin and holds his hands out for Merlin to grab. When Merlin does, Arthur brings Merlin’s hands up to his face and kisses his knuckles. “I love you, Merlin. And maybe we both have been too afraid to say anything or do anything, but I’m not afraid anymore. I love you. I love everything about you. I love your blue eyes and big ears. Your clumsiness and idiotness. I love your gold eyes and magic, too. I love your loyalty and bravery,” They both are smiling big and crying.
“I love you too,” Merlin says as tears fall down his face. Before Arthur can respond, Merlin pulls his hands from Arthur’s and grabs Arthur’s face. He pulls him in and kisses him. It’s not what anyone would call perfect. It’s wet and messy and hard, but it is perfect because it’s Merlin and Arthur.
They pull apart at the sound of leaves rustling. They turn towards the sound to see a small, white dragon with light blue eyes stepping forward. It’s about the size of one of Arthur’s medium hunting dogs.
“Aithusa?” Merlin says.
“You know this dragon?” Arthur asks, hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Hello, Emrys,” Aithusa says in a soft, child-like voice.
“You learned to speak!” Merlin says joyously. “What are you doing here?”
“I left Kilgharrah,” she says. “He taught me to speak, but he is so angry and full of hatred. I remember you from when I hatched. You were kind. I wanted to come to you, and the closer I got, I felt your pain. I believe you need help.”
“I’m fine,” Merlin says.
“Don’t lie,” Arthur says. “You have been flinching and pulling away and trying to be the perfect servant ever since Lancelot and I rescued you all from the Lamia. Something happened. I can tell, Lancelot can tell. We asked Gwen, but she is keeping quiet. Please,” Arthur grabs Merlin’s hands, “tell me the truth.”
Merlin looks at Arthur, then at Aithusa.
“I can feel your pain, Emrys. Maybe it would hurt less if you told your friends.”
“Alright,” Merlin says after a moment of silence. “But it would be easier to do this all at once. We should return to the others.”
Arthur nodded. “Do you think they’d be scared by a dragon?”
Merlin laughed. “Probably.”
“After all of this, you will explain that to me, too.”
“Alright.”
The two of them walk, hand in hand, back to camp with Aithusa following behind them.
Gwen notices them first and runs to hug Merlin. He drops Arthur’s hand to return her hug.
“Oh, Merlin! You are okay.”
“Yes, I am.”
The knights, except Lancelot who is standing beside Gwen, get up and move to crowd Merlin, but Arthur steps forward without a word. The knights stop and don’t attempt to keep moving.
“And Arthur knows… everything?” Gwaine asks.
“I explained to him that I have magic.”
Arthur doesn’t speak. He just stares, his eyes dark and cold. Then, without drawing attention to it, his hand finds Merlin’s, fingers curling around his in a quiet, calm grip. He squeezes Merlin’s hand lightly, and Merlin squeezes his in return.
The knights don’t notice this, and Gwaine says, “You’re not going to hurt him. You’d have to go through me.”
“And me,” Percival agrees.
“And me,” Elyan joins in.
There is a brief pause before Leon says, “Me too.” His words shock Arthur a little. “If I have to choose between obeying Camelot’s law or protecting Merlin, I’m choosing Merlin.”
Everyone is speechless, especially Merlin. There is a beat of silence. It’s broken by Arthur’s laughs. “You’d all betray your king and Camelot for Merlin?” No one answers; they all just stare at Arthur. Merlin looks at Arthur, sees the joy on his face, and smiles widely. Their hands are still clasped, now swinging slightly. Gwen gasps lightly. And Lancelot follows her gaze to see their hands.
“You can all relax,” Lancelot says as he steps to stand beside his fellow knights. “I think Merlin is safe with Arthur, and if you four were more observant, you’d see why.”
The knights look confused at Lancelot, then at Merlin and Arthur. Realisation dawns on them all at once. There’s a moment where no one speaks.
Then, “Damn,” Gwaine says, breaking the silence. “Looks like Gwen won the bet.”
She smiles triumphantly. “I expect my prizes to be delivered when we return to Camelot.”
“You will all explain this bet later,” Arthur says. “But first, there is something else we need to discuss.”
There is a rustle in the trees behind them, a pale flicker of movement just behind the firelight. Gwen is the first to notice, “Arthur…?”
Aithusa perches on a low branch, wings tucked close, her bright eyes fixed on Merlin. She makes no sound. “Yes,” Arthur says. “A dragon. Merlin will tell you all about her later, but first, he is going to tell us about what happened when you were all with the lamia.”
His voice is harder and colder, and it worries the knights. Merlin’s hand is still in Arthur’s. Arthur doesn’t tighten his grip—doesn’t want it to look like restraint. He only holds on the way he would hold on to a sword in a storm: steady, certain, not letting go.
Gwaine’s earlier bravado falters. Percival’s shoulders square as if he’s bracing for impact. Elyan looks between Merlin and Gwen, brow drawn tight. Leon stands very still, the way he does when he’s preparing to take a blow without flinching. Gwen is next to Merlin again, close enough that her sleeve brushes his. She isn’t smiling now. Lancelot watches quietly, expression unreadable. If he looks anything at all, it’s relieved—relieved that the truth is going to be spoken out loud at last.
They all move to sit around the fire. Arthur and Merlin still hand in hand next to each other, Gwen and Lancelot beside them. The other knights sit on the other side of the fire. Arthur draws a breath, slow and deliberate, and makes himself look at them one by one. Not like a friend. Like a king. “You will listen,” he says. No one speaks. “You will not interrupt. You will not argue. And you will not attempt to explain yourselves until Merlin is finished.” Arthur’s jaw tightens. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sire,” Leon says automatically.
Gwaine nods once. Percival does too. Elyan swallows and follows suit.
Arthur’s gaze shifts to Merlin. “You don’t have to do this,” he says, quieter now, only for him.
Merlin’s fingers twitch around Arthur’s. It’s not fear—not exactly. It’s the effort it takes to decide. “I do,” Merlin says. His voice is steady, but it costs him. “I… I can’t keep carrying it by myself.” Aithusa nods from her place in the trees.
The clearing goes even more silent, as if the world is leaning in. Merlin turns to face them. For a moment, he looks like he might back away again, might fold in on himself the way he has all week—small, polite, careful. Then his shoulders lift, just slightly, and settle. Not surrender. Not defiance. Something else. Determination.
“You don’t remember what happened,” Merlin says. “The Lamia took your memories. I know that.” His gaze flickers toward Elyan—brief, complicated—then to Leon, then to Gwaine. “And maybe you think that makes it easier. That if you don’t remember, it didn’t really happen.” No one speaks. “But I remember,” Merlin says. “Gwen remembers.” He glances at her. She doesn’t look away.
Merlin inhales. Arthur feels it in their joined hands—the tremor that runs through Merlin’s fingers like a warning bell. “I could tell you,” Merlin says. “I could stand here and explain every word, every moment.” His mouth twists, something bitter and tired. “And you could decide I’m exaggerating. Or that I misunderstood. Or that the Lamia made you do it, so it doesn’t count.” Gwaine flinches at that, as if the truth has found its mark. Merlin’s gaze lifts. “So I’m not going to do that.”
Percival’s brow furrows. “Merlin—” Arthur’s head snaps toward him. Percival closes his mouth.
Merlin continues, voice still calm. “I’m going to show you.”
The words ripple through the group. Even Leon’s face changes—shock, then something like dread. Gwen’s hand comes up, hovering near Merlin’s shoulder, not touching yet. As if she wants to, and isn’t sure she has the right.
Arthur does not let go of Merlin’s hand. He shifts half a step closer, not to crowd him, but to make it clear—to everyone—that Merlin is not alone. Merlin glances at Arthur, just once. Arthur nods. “Show us,” Arthur says, low.
Merlin swallows and releases Arthur’s hand. Arthur feels the absence immediately, but doesn’t reach for him again. This has to be Merlin’s choice. Merlin steps toward the fire. The flames crackle softly, throwing light across his face. For a moment, he looks almost the same as he always does — a little tired, a little tense, trying not to draw attention to himself. Then he lifts his hands.
The air changes. Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just enough that Arthur feels it — the way the world seems to lean inward, like it’s listening. The firelight bends. A soft glow gathers around Merlin’s fingers, gold and steady. Controlled. Gwen draws a shaky breath. Elyan stiffens. Gwaine’s jaw tightens. Leon’s gaze fixes on Merlin’s hands, unblinking. Arthur doesn’t look away. Merlin closes his eyes.
The clearing darkens — not into night, but into something heavier. The fire in front of them flickers, and then it isn’t their fire anymore. The woods press in closer, branches clawing at the edges of the light. The air feels wrong — thick, charged, waiting. Arthur hears voices before he understands where he is.
“You dare to question our judgment?” Leon’s voice. In the memory, Merlin sits against a tree, shoulders drawn tight. Dirt streaks his hands. His mouth is open — mid-warning, mid-plea — but Leon has already stepped into his space. “You are not a knight,” Leon continues, his voice sharp and scornful. “You’re not even a physician. You’re nothing but a servant.” The words hit like a blow.
In the clearing, the real Leon goes rigid, as if the air has been knocked from his lungs.
Gwen, in the memory, speaks next, but is interrupted by Elyan. “Stay out of this, Gwen. It is none of your business.”
In the present, Elyan’s face drains of color.
The memory fractures. Voices rise. Accusations spill over one another. The knights turn on each other, blades half-drawn, anger snapping and uncontrolled.
The vision shifts — sharply this time. Percival steps into Merlin’s space, towering over him. “You heard Sir Leon. We’ve no interest in your opinion. So keep your mouth shut, or I’ll shut it for you.” Arthur’s chest aches. Merlin isn’t arguing. He isn’t fighting. He’s letting it happen.
The memory jumps again. Merlin tells the knights it was Lamia that attacked Elyan, and Leon yells and shoves Merlin to the cold, hard ground. Gwen speaks, which keeps Leon from possibly doing more.
Arthur’s hand curls into a fist at his side as the memory changes one last time.
Gwaine strides closer, a torch burning bright in his hand. His grin is sharp, dangerous. “Are you trying to tell me my business?”
Merlin steps back just slightly. “No, I’m just saying…”
“What?”
“Nothing,” Merlin turns away.
Gwaine just keeps looking at Merlin. He swings the torch in front of Merlin’s face, almost close enough to burn him. Merlin flinches. Gwaine walks away, leaving Merlin and Gwen alone with an unconscious Elyan.
Arthur feels like he’s been stabbed in the heart. Gwaine has lost all the color in his face. The vision dissolves, and the fire in front of them snaps back into focus.
Merlin sways, breath uneven, hands trembling at his sides. Arthur is there immediately — close, steady, not touching unless Merlin reaches. A tear falls down Gwen’s cheek as Lancelot pulls her into his chest.
No one speaks for what feels like hours. “That,” Merlin says at last, his voice raw but controlled, “is what you don’t remember.” No one responds. They all just sit around the fire, horrified by what they did to the person they all care so deeply for.
Gwaine’s hands are clenched so tightly his knuckles have gone white. He doesn’t look at Merlin at first. He stares at the ground, jaw working like he’s trying to swallow something lodged in his throat. Then he turns to Arthur. “You should punish us.” The words come out rough, scraped raw on the way up. Arthur’s head snaps toward him. Gwaine finally looks up. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, but steady. “All of us,” he says. “Whatever you think’s fair.”
Percival nods once, sharp and decisive. “He’s right.”
Elyan’s voice is quieter. “We deserve it.”
Leon doesn’t speak immediately. When he does, his voice is flat, stripped of rank and ceremony. “We abused our authority. That alone warrants punishment.”
Arthur takes a step forward. The air seems to tighten around him. “You do not get to decide that,” Arthur says. His voice is low, dangerous. The kind of voice that once sent men scrambling to obey without question. “You have to face the consequences as they play out, not as you choose them to be.” He looks at them one by one, eyes blazing. “You threatened him. You shoved him. You used your rank, your size, and your weapons against someone who trusted you.” His jaw tightens. “Someone whom you all call a friend.” Gwaine flinches as if struck. Arthur turns slightly, just enough to glance at Merlin. Merlin is standing very still, shoulders tight, breath shallow.
Watching Arthur more than the knights.
That’s when Merlin steps forward. “Arthur.” His voice is quiet, but it cuts cleanly through the tension.
Arthur doesn’t look away from the knights. “They hurt you.”
“I know.” Merlin swallows. “But I won’t have you punish them for it.”
Arthur finally turns. “Merlin—”
“They weren’t themselves,” Merlin says. His hands tremble, but he doesn’t pull them back. “The Lamia twisted them. She pushed. They didn’t choose it.”
“That doesn’t erase what they did,” Arthur snaps.
“No,” Merlin agrees. “But it explains it.” He exhales slowly. “And I won’t let this—” he gestures vaguely between himself and the knights “—become something else I carry alone.” The knights look stricken. Gwaine’s breath hitches.
Arthur looks torn — fury battling something softer, something pained. He clenches his jaw, then steps back half a pace, visibly restraining himself. “Fine,” he says tightly. “But that doesn’t mean this ends without words.”
Gwaine doesn’t hesitate this time. He steps forward, stopping a careful distance from Merlin, like he’s afraid to get too close. “I’m sorry,” he says, voice breaking outright now. “I scared you. I used fire like it was a joke.” He shakes his head. “I don’t remember it. But you do, and I can’t imagine what it feels like. I am so sorry.” The last part is almost inaudible as Gwaine starts to sob.
Percival follows, slower. He doesn’t try to meet Merlin’s eyes. “I threatened you,” he says simply. “And you didn’t deserve it.”
Elyan’s voice is tight. “I told Gwen to stay out of it. I should’ve listened.” He looks at Merlin. “I should’ve listened to you.”
Leon steps forward last. He goes to one knee.
Arthur stiffens, but Merlin lifts a hand slightly, stopping him.
Leon’s head bows. “What I said to you was unforgivable,” he says. “I reduced you to your station, I used my rank to silence you.” His voice wavers for the first time. “I am sorry.”
Silence falls again — heavier now, but different. Lancelot speaks without moving from Gwen’s side. “You weren’t yourselves,” Lancelot says. “But they were. And they stood there and took it.”
Gwen finally steps forward. Not to Arthur. Not to the knights. To Merlin. She stands beside him, facing the knights. “I remember all of it,” she says. Her voice is steady, but her hands are shaking. “Every word. Every moment.” She meets their eyes. “What you did… none of you would ever do it if you were in your right mind. You don’t need to be punished. We don’t want you to be.”
No one argues. No one looks away. The fire crackles softly, too loud in the silence it leaves behind.
Arthur exhales slowly. “This,” he says, voice still hard, “is not finished.” His gaze flicks between the knights. “But it will be handled with honesty.” Then, quieter, to Merlin alone: “You don’t have to carry it anymore.”
Merlin nods once. And for the first time since that day, the night feels like it might let them breathe.
The fire has burned low, embers glowing dull red beneath the ash. Leon clears his throat. “It’s well past nightfall,” he says. “We should rest while we can. Tomorrow will come whether we’re ready or not.”
Arthur nods once. “We ride for Camelot at first light.”
No one argues. Bedrolls are laid out without comment. Armor is unbuckled. Swords set aside. Merlin sits by the dying fire a moment longer than the others. Arthur lingers too — close enough to be there, far enough not to crowd.