Merlin fic: The Long Shadow 1/2

[destina]

The Long Shadow
Merlin/Arthur, adult, 13,748 words, 5x13 coda
Summary: What's the point of being the most powerful sorcerer who ever walked the earth, if you can't tinker with destiny now and then? Spoilers for all of season five; goes AU just before the end of 5.13. There is non-explicit canon Arthur/Gwen in this story, but it is not the focus of the story itself.
Notes: Many thanks to nu_breed and walkawayslowly for their patience and amazing beta skills, and to killabeez for cheering me on and having many smart opinions.


The Long Shadow
by Destina

With all your magic, you can't save my life.

Merlin sat on the bank of the lake for hours, staring at Arthur's body, at the lifeless sprawl of his limbs and the pale shadows of his face. The sunlight slanted across his body, but where it should have given light to Arthur's smile, it served only to illuminate the grey stillness that settled on him. Camelot's golden king was no more, and still, Merlin couldn't take his eyes off Arthur's form.

Everything he was, everything he had been, he had given for his people, for this land, and Merlin would take it all back in the space of one thin heartbeat to see Arthur rise, and smile.

Arthur's sword lay on the grass where Merlin had thrown it, glinting with quiet reverence, as if it knew its king had fallen and would never touch it again. Merlin shifted his gaze to the sword. It had been a slight weight in his hand, when he had killed Morgana. Slight, but familiar. Memories flooded his mind, of Lancelot's proud face when they'd tipped the Cup of Life, and fresh tears flooded forth.

Lancelot would not greet Arthur in Avalon. No one would be there to welcome Arthur; he would be alone, and Merlin would be alone, and there was no hope of anything more. Merlin knew now that his destiny was to be alone; his life would never end, or at least, not until Arthur returned in Albion's distant future, if that part of the prophecy was even true. Kilgharrah had been right more than he was wrong, but the Crystal Cave had shown Merlin so many possible futures, and Merlin did not exist in all of them.

The blade had slid so easily into Morgana's chest -- a simple thrust forward, and all her malevolence had come to an overdue end. Not so difficult, to take an immortal life in this manner.

He could join Arthur, if he wished. One strike of the blade, and this terrible grief would turn to joy ever after.

He should find the horses, gather up their belongings; he should dress Arthur in his cloak, comb his hair, and smooth his armor over the wounded places of his body.

He should take up Arthur's sword once more, and cast it into the lake for safekeeping so no other mortal man could wield it. He had made a promise long ago to Kilgharrah, to whom he owed so much. Most of all, he should remove the temptation to end his own life, before that temptation became the focus of his every waking moment.

He did none of these things.

Instead, he slid Arthur's glove off to touch his bare hand, the fingers callused and limp in his grasp. He kissed each one in turn, then moved to the other hand. Arthur's bare hands, which wielded weapons as skillfully as they signed treaties, had never touched him these last two days, and Merlin had never noticed.

Merlin undressed Arthur carefully, taking his chain mail off first, then his gambeson, and finally his shredded, bloody shirt. At last, the fated wound was revealed to him -- a wound Merlin had used his magic to seal three times during their journey, hoping to staunch the flow of blood, even as Mordred's blade continued working its deadly poison deeper still within the fabric of Arthur's body. He touched the wound and used a thin thread of magic to widen it, opening the deadly path the magical shard had taken into Arthur's body.

With care, he pulled Arthur's body into his arms and staggered to his feet, then into the cool waters of the lake, one slow step at a time. When the water covered Arthur's face, Merlin began to weep again, but still he walked until his own head was beneath the water. The lake's magic began to stir, to question why he was there, and why he had brought Arthur's body into the waters instead of sending it on ahead alone.

He pulled the magic to him, gathering its enormous power close, and felt it the same way a traveler might feel a winter wind on his face as he braved a storm. The Sidhe magic resisted him, because he was not of its kind; the waters of Avalon were never meant to be under his control.

For a moment, he faltered, unsure this course was correct, until Balinor's voice echoed in his mind, strengthening his resolve.

You wield a power you cannot yet conceive of. Your destiny awaits.

Trust in what you are. Trust in what will be.

He had had enough of being told what his destiny was, and what was meant to be. Some lives were foretold, Kilgharrah had said. Arthur's was one such life, but Emrys' was another.

He was Emrys. He would decide.

The Sidhe were alarmed now. He felt their angry voices stabbing toward him, afraid of him and yet determined not to give way. What will be the sacrifice? What will you give us in return for this favor?

Merlin smiled. This is no favor. You will obey my will.

He closed his eyes and whispered, "Arthur, I will never fail you again."

Around him, the magic of the Sidhe coalesced into a roaring, silvered tide. Merlin sank into it, absorbing it, vibrating with his own newly discovered power mingled with the borrowed gifts of the Sidhe, and touched Arthur's wound with two fingers. No words were necessary; this was the power of life and death, as old as magic itself.

Arthur jerked in his arms as the shard from Mordred's blade left his heart and began its reluctant journey toward the surface of his skin.

A sacrifice, the Sidhe whispered, for his destiny!

He let his magic speak, refuting the notion of destiny and death, and held on tightly as Arthur's body curled into itself, trying to hold in the powerful poison which infected it. His magic could sense the shard, and the ancient power Aithusa had breathed into it -- but Aithusa's magic was unsteady, and no match for this terrible power Merlin had only just embraced.

As they sank past the clear surface, and into the murky depths of the lake, Merlin pressed his fingers more tightly to Arthur's skin, calling to Aithusa's magic in the most ancient language of dragons. The shard slipped ever closer, until finally it pierced the wound in reverse, struggling out of Arthur's body as if trying to be born. Merlin grasped it between his fingers and pulled, and it slipped free.

He dropped it into the lake, which began to bubble and churn as the angry, thwarted destiny of Mordred's sword polluted Avalon.

A life for a life, the Sidhe hissed angrily.

Merlin ignored their demands. He began to channel all his healing power into Arthur's body. He was aware of the sinuous, hopeful knitting of destiny around them as the tissues healed, as Arthur's heart sealed itself and shed all the pain and injury Arthur had endured. Faster and faster, Arthur's body accepted the magic, until it was enough, just enough.

Beneath Merlin's palm, Arthur's heart gave one huge, powerful lurch, and began to beat again.

Merlin leaned forward and pressed his lips to Arthur's, whispering, "Leofae." The water swallowed his magic and gave its gifts to Arthur in response. Merlin sent Arthur toward the surface with a gentle tendril of magic, and closed his eyes again as his king rose, ready to give the Sidhe what they demanded. It was worth it, worth anything, a thousand years at the bottom of the lake of Avalon, a thousand years of silence, even his magic, for the knowledge that Arthur would live on, that destiny was what was made of it, and not what they'd been told it must be.

He dropped through the darkening water, cold, so cold.

A hand caught his arm, and its grip tightened, bruising, relentless. Merlin strained against it, but he began to rise, up toward the surface. Darkness swam before his eyes, taking him away from consciousness in jagged moments before returning him to himself, disoriented. As the surface neared, a shape loomed above him, but he had run out of air, and he gasped in water, succumbing to oblivion, for a moment.

When he opened his eyes, he curled on his side and began choking up lake water. The ground was hard beneath his back, the sun hot and bright on his face. He blinked, and in the space of a heartbeat, Arthur was leaning over him, hair dripping in Merlin's face, watching him with fear and bewilderment and, most of all, wonder. "You great idiot," Arthur breathed, and then he kissed Merlin, breathing into him, his lips warm and chapped and alive, oh, so beautifully alive.

Arthur's bruising kiss, and the bone-deep satisfaction of knowing Arthur would live, were the last things Merlin knew as he slipped into darkness.

**

Merlin woke some time later, jerking up from the ground and nearly falling into the small fire at his left. He turned his head, staring first at the fire he hadn't made, and then at what lay on the other side of it. Arthur slept on his back, sprawled shirtless, his hair a mess. The color had returned to his cheeks, and he was -- he was --

Merlin scrambled to his knees, then flung himself to Arthur's side, pressing a hand to his chest. The sickness that had burrowed into him, which had killed him, had retreated. In its place was Arthur's strong heartbeat, slow and sure. The wound was not fully healed, but it would, in time, with rest and continued assistance from Merlin's magic.

He sat back, tears welling, and stared his fill at his sleeping king.

Beside him, the waters of Avalon boiled furiously, still fighting to overcome the heavy magic of Mordred's blade. Siren whispers filled the air; the Sidhe were still insistent upon their price, but Merlin ignored them. Let them come try and take anything from him; he could stop them now, he knew this.

All of the people he loved had sacrificed enough.

A crashing behind him in the woods drew his attention, and he flung his hand out, only to be met with the sight of Percival emerging into the clearing. They stared at one another for a moment, and then Percival's gaze shifted to Arthur. "Does he live?" he asked, voice cracking.

"Yes," Merlin said, turning back to look at Arthur. He touched Arthur's shoulder, just to reassure himself that his own words were true.

"It's a miracle," Percival said, coming closer. He dropped down beside Merlin, and put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, shaking him gently.

Merlin didn't trust himself to speak, so he sat with Percival until the emotion choking his throat subsided. When he was able, he said, "We have to get him back to Camelot. He still needs a physician's attention. Morgana's dead, but Saxons are everywhere in the land."

"I know," Percival said. "Saw her body, back there. I was tracking her here." A shadow passed over his face then, and Merlin's stomach turned.

"What is it, Percival?"

Percival swallowed, and shook his head, trying twice before he could speak. "Gwaine."

"No," Merlin whispered. His fingers tightened around Arthur's arm.

Percival nodded. "My fault," he said, staring at Arthur. "For letting him persuade me to help him lay a trap for Morgana. Should've known better." Percival wiped a hand across his face. "He blamed himself, for what happened to Arthur - for the girl's betrayal. Hated himself for trusting her, and for her death."

Merlin drew in a long, shaky breath as he thought of Gwaine's smile when they'd said goodbye in the Valley of the Fallen Kings, and of the way Gwaine had always found time for him, no matter how difficult the favor Merlin asked, or how strange it may have seemed. Gwaine had loved him, and would have given anything for him, or for Arthur; his loyalty was unshakable. "He was a good man, and a good friend," Merlin said softly. "But he was his own man, and you couldn't have stopped him."

A muscle in Percival's jaw twitched, and he got to his feet, turning away. "Where are your horses?"

"Ran away," Merlin said. "They're in the wood, somewhere."

"I'll find them," Percival said. "You'll be all right here with Arthur?"

Merlin nodded, and Percival jogged off into the trees. So many lost this day; so many friends Merlin had sent into the afterlife. So many loved ones, who had given so much. Some part of him wondered that his own grief seemed remote, but he had no more tears to give this day. He would grieve for Gwaine in his own time; he would mourn his friend's loss forever.

"But not you," Merlin whispered, combing Arthur's hair back from his face. "Not this day." Arthur stirred, and shifted into Merlin's touch.

Not this day.

**

The ride back to Camelot took a full day, with Arthur asleep in the saddle in front of Merlin, held securely in his arms. Percival kept a hard pace, riding Arthur's horse, as his own had been nearly worn into the ground by the frantic effort to reach the lake before Morgana. They spoke little, both of them fixed on a single goal: return the king to Camelot before their enemies could mass again.

Merlin had no idea what had become of the Saxon leaders, once Mordred fell and Morgana left the battlefield. He had left hundreds dead at Camlann, their bodies scorched, but there were many more still within Camelot's borders.

He could protect them all if there was a need, but he was tired, and soon would have to sleep. He didn't dare leave Arthur solely in Percival's care. Not now. And he couldn't risk revealing his magic to Percival unless the need was dire. Much was yet to be decided, once Arthur was well again. It was a secret best kept, until Arthur chose to reveal it.

Merlin had never been so glad to near the gates of the Citadel, to see red cloaks swarming down upon them like bees from a hive and to hand over Arthur's sleeping form into the care and keeping of the men who loved him. He slid from the saddle and turned to find Gaius there, moving quickly toward him.

"My boy," he said, pulling Merlin into a rough embrace.

Merlin had thought he had no more tears to shed, but he was wrong. He bent his head and hugged Gaius, who drew in a shaky breath.

"You did it," Gaius said, smiling proudly at him.

"No," Merlin said, "I failed." He watched understanding dawn on Gaius' face, and then sorrow.

"Come," Gaius said. "Let us tend to the king, and then you can tell me everything that's happened."

For the next several hours, everything was a constant blur, one moment fading into the next with no clear edges. Gwen's joy at the sight of Arthur was matched only by the brilliant smile she bestowed upon Merlin, who knew immediately that she had realized his secret.

"Thank you," she whispered, putting her arms around him gently, as if afraid he had grown brittle in their hours apart. He held her to him for a moment, selfishly, glad there was one other who required no more lies. He was so very tired of the lies, now that there had been so much truth.

Merlin and Percival briefly gave up their important intelligence - Morgana's death, and the Saxons roaming the land - to Leon, who asked few questions before heading off with Percival to ensure the citadel's defenses were reinforced.

Gaius examined Arthur carefully, with Gwen hovering over them anxiously, while Merlin sat nearby, watching. "The wound is clean of corruption, but the king will sleep for some time as the magic works its way out of his system."

Merlin rose from his chair feeling heavier than he had a few hours before. "I'll stay with him. I can use my magic to help the wound continue to close."

There it was again -- a look of wonder and delight on Gwen's face, which Merlin had never thought to see on any royal face where his magic was concerned. "I'll have a pallet brought into the royal bedchambers, and you'll stay with him there while he recovers," she said, shaking her head when Merlin began to protest. "No, it is important that you be near him, I understand. And you look so tired," she said, her cool hand soothing against his warm face. "You've already done so much for Arthur. You need to rest."

The fact that she understood so clearly he would not rest if Arthur was out of his sight was not lost on Merlin, but he had no strength with which to protest. He gave her a weak smile, and allowed her to lead the way as the knights moved Arthur to his own bed.

The moment the pallet was brought to Arthur's chambers, Merlin sat down on it, all his bones gone to water. He could still hear the distant call of the Sidhe, mournful, resentful, but he blocked them from his thoughts. He made to pull off his boots, or at least shed his still-damp jacket, but it was a thought only. In the space between his intention and the lift of his hand, he was sound asleep.

**

Soft sunlight striped across Merlin's blankets when he opened his eyes, and he sat up with a jerk. Someone had stripped him down to breeches and put one of his nightshirts on him - Gaius, he hoped -- and his boots were beside the bed. He was still grimy with sweat and dirt, but at least his eyes no longer felt as though they were on fire with exhaustion.

"I maintain that you're the laziest manservant any king has ever had to endure."

Merlin's head whipped to the left, and the sight of Arthur smiling down at him from the bed took his breath away. He got to his feet, stumbling a bit as he disentangled himself from the blankets, and made his way to Arthur's side, sitting gingerly on the edge of the mattress. "Arthur," he breathed, not bothering to hide his grin.

"Merlin," Arthur said, smiling.

"I didn't mean to sleep so long," Merlin said. "It's already day."

"You were awake for days while you were taking care of me, and doing...whatever it is you were doing before that, for which you still owe me an explanation, by the way," Arthur said, though the sternness of his tone was completely overshadowed by the warmth in his eyes. "Days, Merlin. You can be forgiven for a few short hours' sleep."

"I need to check the wound," Merlin said, unceremoniously tugging Arthur's tunic up.

"Here, now, have some care with the royal person!" Arthur batted at his hands, but without any real heat. Merlin gave him an exasperated look and bared the wound. "Gaius has already been by twice, and has pronounced me fit as can be."

"Well, Gaius doesn't know everything," Merlin said, laying his palm carefully over the wound. His magic flowed eagerly from him into Arthur, purging whatever evil it found.

Arthur was staring at him. "Still a bit strange, that."

"Yeah," Merlin answered, suddenly self-conscious that his hand was on Arthur's bare stomach. He snatched it back and arranged Arthur's shirt over his belly.

"Merlin...besides Gaius, does anyone else know you have magic?"

"Gwen has realized it, I think," Merlin said. "No one else in Camelot is aware."

"Good. For the time being, keep it that way. There are things I need to sort out, but I must be a well and able king to do so, do you understand?"

"Of course," Merlin said. He felt suddenly, acutely aware of all the things he had said to Arthur on their way to Avalon, all the many truths he'd told, the things he had held back for so long. It made him feel shy, to be so acutely known by his king, after so long in hiding, and Arthur's intense gaze didn't help matters. He cleared his throat. "I should fetch Gwen. She will want to see you, now that you're awake."

"In a moment," Arthur said. "There are so many things I want to ask you, so many things to talk about. You'll come back, once I've seen her?"

"I have no intention of leaving your side for long," Merlin said softly.

Arthur reached out and took Merlin's hand, and they sat that way, looking at each other, for a long moment. So much had passed between them that there was no pretending any longer they felt no affection for each other. Merlin had no idea how to unsay what had been said, and didn't want to try.

As if he could read Merlin's thoughts -- and perhaps he could, now, though in the form of what he saw in Merlin's eyes -- Arthur squeezed his hand. "Get some food for us both, while you're at it. I've had just about all I can take of that dreadful broth you've been stuffing down my throat."

"That dreadful broth kept you alive," Merlin said, raising his eyebrows.

"No," Arthur said, still gazing at him. "Not the broth."

Merlin flushed a bit and hopped off the bed, making for the door. The moment he threw it open, Gwen and Leon almost bowled him over, so urgent was their desire to see Arthur well and alive. Merlin watched them, smiling to himself, before closing the door quietly behind him.

**

"You say the Sidhe called for a sacrifice?" Gaius asked, as he cut a huge slice of pudding for Merlin and set the trencher in front of him with a spoon. "That is very old and dangerous magic, Merlin. As I'm sure you're aware."

"Yes." Merlin tasted the pudding; the moment it touched his tongue, he closed his eyes and made sounds of delicious joy. "This pudding is so good, Gaius."

"I told you, I'd have your favorite waiting."

"What, no porridge? No stew?"

"I know you have a deep affection for pudding," Gaius said. His smile made Merlin's heart grow in his chest. He grew serious again in an instant, though, and asked, "You invoked the power of life and death, then?"

Merlin put the spoon down, and pushed the trencher away, nodding. The weight of that fact settled between them, that Merlin could call upon a power so deeply rooted in the Old Religion that it was practically woven into the fabric of the world itself. "It comes naturally to me now."

Gaius' eyebrow arched, and he leaned back, appraising Merlin. "So, the time has come at last. You have come into your power, and have embraced what you were born to be."

There was nothing to say to that, because Merlin had only just begun to understand the nature of his power. Even glimpsing his true self, and recognizing what he was capable of, had not given him all the answers.

"I've held back certain things from you, over the years," Gaius said. "The name of Emrys was not unknown to me when you first walked through my door."

"Not sure what good it'd do to tell me now," Merlin said. "Too much like looking into the crystals -- none of it means anything, if I choose a different path."

"Fair enough," Gaius said, though Merlin knew him far too well to believe that would be the end of it. "But there is still the matter of the Sidhe. Their magic is as powerful as the dragons' magic -- too powerful to be ignored."

"I know. I tried to give myself up to the lake in return for using Sidhe magic to heal Arthur, but Arthur pulled me up," Merlin said, not looking at Gaius, because he knew the disapproval he'd see on his face. "But I was wrong, and I refuse to give them any more. If I am Emrys, then they know I can drain the water from their lake, pull the magic out of it, with my powers. They should fear what I can do."

"Fortunately for us all, you are still the man you always were, and they need not fear you," Gaius said. "But take care, Merlin, for this may not be over."

The magic stirred within him, like fire racing along his spine, and he shook his head. "It ends now," he said, conscious of directing his magic toward that nagging demand in the back of his mind, even as he spoke to Gaius. "No more sacrifice."

The tiny magical signal subsided, and then dwindled to nothing, leaving blissful peace in its wake. Merlin stared down at the table, thinking of all the people he had not been able to save, when he did not truly understand his power. Freya. Lancelot.

Gwaine.

Gwaine's grin flashed in Merlin's mind's eye, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment against the belated prick of tears. There would be time for sadness later. "I must get back to Arthur now."

"Yes." Gaius patted his arm. "Now that he knows, so much will change, Merlin. This is the beginning of a golden time for Camelot; this much, I'm certain of."

"I hope you're right," Merlin said, flashing a smile.

The idea of a prosperous golden age fueled his steps as he ran through the citadel, dodging servants and knights alike, until he skidded to a halt outside Arthur's door. Leon stopped him there. "The queen is still with him, and they have requested not to be interrupted," Leon said.

"Oh," Merlin said, at a bit of a loss. He stepped back, aware of nothing except Arthur's life singing to him from the other side of the door. Arthur gave off waves of golden energy that were so close to magic, he could barely tell one from the other.

"Merlin, we all owe you a great debt of gratitude for what you've done," Leon said, extending his hand. "Your loyalty does you great credit, and you have saved our king. Thank you."

"Er, I only rode with him to the lake," Merlin said. "Any of his knights would have done it, if they'd found him."

"The knights don't have your knowledge of magical cures," Leon said. "You do yourself a disservice."

Anything Merlin might have said in response was forever lost as the door opened and Gwen appeared on the other side of it. There were tears in her eyes, and a sadness she quickly masked with a smile. "Merlin," she said. "Come in, the king is waiting for you."

"My lady," Merlin said, watching her go. Leon was watching her as well, a perplexed frown on his face.

"Merlin," came the insistent call from inside the room, and without another thought, Merlin turned to obey it.

**

For most of the day, Merlin sat at the end of Arthur's bed, his legs crossed under him, answering Arthur's questions -- why did you not confess your magic when we were in Ealdor to fight Kanan's oppression? What really happened to the dragon I thought I killed? Did you see Agravaine in the caverns as we escaped? -- and doing his best to paint a complete picture of every detail. Each answer led to another story, and yet another, and Merlin followed the threads as best as he was able.

Arthur sat propped up in the bed, listening intently, his eyes as bright as a small child's at story time, absorbing each new tale with wonder and occasional outrage. But it was mostly for show, and Merlin knew it, because the king's delight and his laughter made his feelings plain.

It was a dream realized, for Merlin, to face Arthur and bare every secret, from the smallest to the grandest, and feel no fear of punishment or hatred from Arthur -- no fear that he would be forced to leave Arthur unprotected if exiled; no fear that he would burn, or that Arthur would agonize over that choice.

Every so often, he stopped to call for food, or to examine Arthur's wound. Each time he touched Arthur's skin, it became harder and harder to move away, to create distance between them again. He gave of his magic, enduring Arthur's scrutiny each time, and settled back at the opposite end of the bed, content in his ministrations.

Gaius came late in the evening, after they'd had a supper of bread and cheese and pears, and found Merlin drooping, his head nearly on his chest by the time he jerked awake. "Merlin, you should rest -- as should your majesty," Gaius said, giving them both looks like guilty boys caught playing in the woodpile.

"In time," Arthur said, and when Gaius left, Merlin went back to chronicling their adventures. He was becoming addicted to Arthur's rapt attention, to his acceptance of all Merlin had offered his prince, and then his king. But it had been a long few days, and before long, Merlin was nodding off again in the middle of his tale.

Merlin startled awake when Arthur sat up in the bed, tugging the bed curtains closed. "Arthur, what--"

"Shhh," Arthur said. He reached over Merlin's head without pain, not quite easy in his motion, but no longer wincing in agony. "Help me."

Merlin slid from the bed and obliged him, pulling the rest of the curtains closed. He turned to go back to his pallet, but Arthur caught his wrist and pulled him back into the enclosed space, where it was dark and warm. "Merlin," Arthur whispered, pulling at him until Merlin slipped beneath the covers, his bare feet sliding on the soft sheets.

"Arthur, I should sleep on the pallet, in case Gwen --"

"She will not be back tonight," Arthur said, pulling the blankets up over them both. "And I want you close." Without explanation or apology, Arthur folded Merlin into his arms, pressing their bodies together gently chest to chest, his hands stroking up Merlin's back. "Take this tunic off."

Merlin's breath caught in his throat, and he froze, like a deer too close to a hunter to run. "Merlin," Arthur breathed, and lifted the hem of his tunic, pulling until Merlin was bare-chested and Arthur's hands were on his skin. "That's better."

Arthur's bandage scratched Merlin's belly, a reminder of why they were there, and Merlin shuddered. "Shhh," Arthur said again, as if Merlin was the one who'd been hurt, who needed comfort. "Rest now," he whispered, tucking Merlin into his body, Merlin's face resting at the join of Arthur's neck and shoulder.

Enfolded in warmth, and too tired to process the reasons why, Merlin dropped into a deep, dreamless sleep.

**

Arthur was on his feet by the next day, and walking about the day after, greeting his people in the courtyard and corridors. Merlin never tired of watching their adoration of him, or their relieved happiness that he had survived his injuries. Sometimes he walked alongside Arthur, and sometimes it was Gwen -- and sometimes, both of them.

Arthur leaned over to speak to excited children, and received gifts of bread and honey from the villagers. Many times, he turned his bemused smiles toward Merlin, and Merlin watched as those smiles warmed and turned private, only for him.

He and Arthur had not spoken of the fact Merlin had spent each night wrapped in Arthur's embrace, where his sleep had been restful and warm. It was what he wanted with his whole heart, and yet it troubled him, for Gwen's sake; she seemed to have forsaken the chambers she shared with Arthur altogether in the evenings, though she spent her afternoons talking softly with the king. But her smile was still as warm, and she still threw Merlin knowing looks when Arthur grumbled, and was difficult.

Merlin supposed there would be a reckoning, and it would come in its own time.

On a sunny afternoon only seven days after the battle of Camlann, Arthur convened a miniature council -- only Gwen, Gaius, and Merlin, seated around the table in Arthur's chambers. Merlin threw open the windows and let in the fresh air - so high in the castle, bird song could be heard from the nests atop the parapets. The notes had a different texture now; Merlin could sense the poetry beneath the songs, the meaning in every note.

"The four of us in this room are the only people at court who know Merlin has magic," Arthur said, his hands folded in front of him on the table. Merlin had not had enough days yet to grow accustomed to hearing Arthur speak of his magic so matter-of-factly, and he caught himself gripping the arms of his chair too tightly. "This raises...questions. Issues, which we must confront, even though Morgana is no longer a threat."

Merlin cleared his throat. "Arthur, I once said to you that there was no place for magic in Camelot. Though the circumstances under which I made that statement have changed, my feelings have not."

"I remember that day all too well," Arthur said. The shadow of mistakes made crossed his face, even as Mordred's phantom voice echoed in Merlin's mind.

"Merlin, you've been breaking the law in the king's service for ten years." Gwen gave him a pointed look. "That's a bit hypocritical, don't you think?"

"Yes," Merlin said. "But once you open the door, there's no telling who'll walk through it. There are many magic-users who will be angry Morgana and Mordred have failed to take your life, Arthur, and some of them are still committed to the cause of your destruction."

"You will remember, my lord, the druid warriors who have breached the walls on several occasions now, looking for your blood," Gaius said. "Since Merlin has managed to subvert the most famous of all prophecies, and even the judgment of the triple goddess on your kingship, they will have to choose a new strategy for dealing with your rule."

"I could simply make magic legal again, and eliminate that threat altogether," Arthur said, but Merlin shook his head and said,

"And what happens the first time a magic-user uses their magic for ill, rather than good? You will have to hang them, and be accused of being no better than Uther, even though the circumstances require the execution. You cannot win."

"It is to Merlin's advantage to keep his identity a secret as well," Gaius said. "There are those who will come for Emrys, if he can be easily found. It is not well-known among the magic users who or what Emrys is. Only a small group of Cathars and Druids would know him on sight. In making him a target, you will make Camelot a target as well."

"I feel quite certain Merlin could defend himself with ease," Arthur said, holding Merlin's gaze. "But you are right, about making Camelot more of a target than she has already been. I'm quite sure our allies are tired of the wars on their borders, where we are concerned."

"I can do more good for you if I'm just...me," Merlin said, hoping he could make his point before Arthur began blustering about what he was going to propose. "I can't very well be at your side unless I have reason to be."

"You can't be serious," Arthur said, comprehending instantly. "You can't think I would allow you to trot along after me, polishing my armor and cooking stew for my men, now that I know."

"Where else would I be?" Merlin asked. "As your manservant, I've been beside you every step of the way. No one has ever questioned it; no one ever will. I will be there when I'm needed." He leaned forward. "Arthur, if you put me in a position where I can't accompany you, what good will I be to you?"

"I'll never treat you the way I did before," Arthur said.

"You'll have to treat me exactly the same, and I wouldn't have it any other way." Merlin sat back, a thread of vicious satisfaction winding around his heart. "If we can't be who we've always been, then we've learned nothing from each other." He took a breath, shoving aside memories of Arthur's body heavy in his arms, and added, "Arthur, you were nearly killed by magic - by the oldest magic, used to create a sword with obscene power, which we have not yet recovered. That is undeniable, and I won't take chances with your life."

He could see Arthur struggling with it, and a surge of love for his king overwhelmed him, because Arthur was nothing but a fair and honorable man, and everything in him resisted the idea that Merlin should not be honored. It was not what Merlin wanted, and he was counting on Arthur to see reason, and on Gwen and Gaius to help him get to that point.

"Do you foresee a time when I may lift the bans?" Arthur asked, and Merlin could swear Arthur sounded almost hopeful. Or perhaps it was his wishful thinking.

"Perhaps," Merlin said. "It's too early to say."

"And when I throw shoes at you, to keep up appearances?" Arthur asked, the frown easing just a bit.

"What else is new?" Merlin said, grinning. "I'd expect nothing less." He could feel Arthur's opposition slipping away, as if it had never surfaced at all. This is what they were, what they had always been; this was all he wanted, and from the look on Arthur's face, he felt the same.

"There is still the matter of how you've broken the law every time you've done magic," Gwen said, trying and failing to look severe about it. She produced a parchment from her sleeve, one which was sealed with red wax, and bore the imprint of the royal seal. She gave Arthur an apologetic look. "My lord, I found it necessary to use the seal you entrusted to me. I hope you can forgive me."

"Your actions are as my own," Arthur said, reaching out to take her hand. They smiled at each other, and Gwen handed the parchment to Merlin.

"This is a royal pardon," Gwen said, "for all lawbreaking acts you have committed in the past, and will commit under royal decree in future."

"Or without royal decree, since I know damn well you'll do exactly as you please," Arthur said.

Merlin took the parchment and set it on the table. It was not the pardon itself, but what it symbolized -- the trust of his king, and his queen -- which meant everything to him. How his life had changed, in such a short span of time; how little he could have predicted it.

"Thank you," he said quietly, looking from Arthur to Gwen.

"Right, then," Arthur said, squeezing Gwen's hand before he let it go. "I'm in need of a bath, and then I think we should dine in the small hall, downstairs, with Leon and Percival." He glanced at Merlin. "Snap to, Merlin, my bathwater won't haul itself."

"Sire," Merlin said, his head inclined at the most mocking angle he could manage.

"My lord, there is one other small matter I must bring to your attention," Gaius said. "As you know, Geoffrey has been instructed to remove all reference to sorcery from his chronicles of the battle at Camlann. Therefore he has attributed the deaths of those warriors to you, which brings your total kills to..." Gaius checked his papers, "...nine hundred and sixty Saxons."

The expression on Arthur's face was quite comical for a moment, though Merlin found he could not muster a smile. Arthur had in fact killed a high percentage of those men; Merlin had killed the rest. No matter how many times it was necessary, it would always eat at something inside him, something he could never put back to rights once a life was taken.

"Nine hundred and...?"

"Sixty, my lord."

"Well, we can't have my prowess exaggerated to that extent, now can we?" Arthur smirked. "Give me one hundred; split the rest among the senior knights who survived the battle, according the lion's share to Sir Leon."

"One hundred, Arthur?" Gwen fixed him with a stare. At least he had the good grace to look sheepish when he shrugged, which forced Merlin to hide a smile.

"As you wish, sire," Gaius said, marking a note.

"Thank you all," Arthur said. Dismissed, Merlin and Gaius stood, and Merlin began thinking through all the preparations for Arthur's bath as Arthur stepped behind the screen.

"Merlin." Gwen stood there, hands folded before her, chin tilted up. "May I have a word?"

"My lady," Merlin said, brightening at the idea of talking with her.

"I thought we might walk in the gardens for a bit, and talk."

He extended his arm to her, and she took it with a smile.

"Where are you going?" Arthur said, his head poked around the screen, looking first at Gwen, and then Merlin.

"It's the queen's prerogative to take the court's unofficial sorcerer out for some air in the garden," Gwen said. "He'll be along directly to heat your bath water, my helpless husband."

"Fine, then," Arthur grumbled, disappearing behind the screen again.

This time, Merlin did grin, and Gwen gave him a twinkling smile in return.

The gardens were shifting from winter to spring, and where one set of blossoms had just withered, a fresh set had begun to bloom. "Not much to look at while they're in transition, are they?" Gwen said, as they took their time around the cobblestone path.

Merlin stopped, and checked around, before whispering a request to Gwen's favorite flowerbed. A burst of purple and white flowers appeared, waving gloriously at them, anachronistic in their beauty. Gwen's soft gasp, and her pleased smile, made Merlin's heart glad.

"It is amazing to me that magic like this, which creates such beautiful things, can be warped and twisted to such evil purposes, as Morgana tried to do," Gwen said, bending down to pick four of the purple flowers for a tiny bouquet.

"It is the magic-user, and not the magic, my lady," Merlin said.

"Merlin, if you don't stop calling me 'my lady' I'm going to scream." Gwen sighed and sat down on the stone bench, holding the flowers in her lap. "Sit."

He did so, half-dreading what she planned to say, and half-needing to hear it.

"You remember, years ago, when you first came to Camelot? Arthur was such a bully then, so full of himself." Gwen smiled as she petted her flowers. "It was your influence over him which taught him how to act like a human being, Merlin."

"And yours," Merlin said, thinking of the ways Gwen had dared take Arthur to task when Merlin had not felt right doing so. "He learned manners because of you."

"He learned compassion because of you," Gwen said. "And wisdom, and so much more. I know I had a hand in it, but there's no question which of us has had the most influence on him. We are all fortunate you came into his life. And now, to learn you are the most powerful person any of us have ever known, or ever will know..." She broke off, twirling the flowers in her lap. "It is a great deal to absorb."

Merlin touched her hand briefly. "I'm the same person, Gwen. Nothing has changed."

"Everything has changed, Merlin." She looked up at him, and seemed to be searching for words. "I reminded myself today that you were first in his life, and always by his side, even before he took notice of me at all. It was actually I who was third, not you."

"No, Gwen," he began, but she put her hand up, and he subsided.

"Arthur had you first; he will have you always, and there are so many reasons to be grateful for it. I know I have Arthur's heart, there is no question, but...there is more to this, than that." She began braiding the flower stems together into a delicate, fragile wreath. "It is a small enough price to pay, to see my husband alive and well."

"Gwen." Merlin sank to his knees on the ground beside her; she looked down at him with wide, surprised eyes. "I never meant to exact a price. I expected nothing. I asked for nothing."

"Oh, Merlin." She reached out her hand again, so much like the way she had greeted him when he brought Arthur back to her, and smoothed his hair. "I know. And that's why he loves you. That's why he needs you, and I will not stand in the way of that need."

"You are the queen," Merlin said helplessly, even as Gwen took his hand and held it tightly.

She squeezed his fingers. "You mustn't trouble yourself about this any longer -- I know you, and I know you have done little but dwell on it. But don't." She smiled, and despite the lingering sadness there, he believed that smile. "Arthur has never asked me for anything, and he would not ask now, which is why I must think of him before myself. This is little enough for me to do."

"Gwen, I can't." Merlin put his head on her knee.

"You can, and you will," Gwen said, and now there was steel in her tone - the command of a queen who had grown used to using her authority when it was needed. "Don't pretend that it is something you haven't wanted, because I won't believe you. No one who has ever seen you with Arthur would believe it for a moment. Do us both the credit of acknowledging what he is to you; that is what makes this much easier to bear."

"All that I am is his," Merlin said. "I was born to serve him." The raw honesty was no less than he had said to Arthur, and yet it was so difficult to speak the words to Gwen, though she knew these truths well.

"Then all is as it should be." Gwen sighed, and Merlin looked up. "A ready heart can hold love for more than one person," she said, and in her eyes, Merlin saw the shadow of old love, and old grief. She straightened her shoulders. "Now, you should go and prepare the bath, before he begins bellowing for you and you decide to boil him in the water."

Merlin chuckled, and wiped wetness from his eyes. "Yes, my lady."

Gwen handed him the miniature wreath of flowers, her craft, made from his magic. "Thank you, Merlin, for refusing to give up. I'll never forget it."

He watched her go, cupping the purple flowers gently in his hand, and marveled at the grace of Camelot's queen.

**

For a while, it was strange, being Arthur's servant again. Merlin fetched meals and carried water, dressed Arthur and put up with his complaining about being pulled to and fro in the process, scrubbed and polished and stole cakes from Mary the Cook in the kitchens, just as he always had. The difference this time was in the way Arthur switched between modes with frightening precision -- heaping his usual insults and abuse upon Merlin when they were in the company of others, and treating him with friendly respect when they were alone, or with Gaius and Gwen.

"Will you stop this?" Merlin said one night, when Arthur had insisted Merlin eat with him at his table, and asked his opinion on the best way to position their forces toward the northern border, where the Saxons were still trickling across. It was not the way he'd always asked Merlin's opinion, no matter how much of that former dismissive posture had been an act. Instead, it was with genuine curiosity, as if suddenly Merlin had all the keys of wisdom, and Arthur had only to ask for the answers.

"Stop what?" Arthur asked, and the genuine confusion on his face was both endearing, and made Merlin want to murder him.

"This," Merlin said. He waved a hand at the table, which Arthur had told him to set for two before practically shoving Merlin into the second chair. "I don't want to be...this. Whatever this is."

Arthur sat back, giving Merlin an appraising look. "Things can't be the way they were before every minute, Merlin. I can't pretend that you're a helpless idiot anymore. I wouldn't think you'd expect me to try."

"Well, you never had much trouble with it before, and I don't think you believed it much then, either," Merlin snapped, and then was sorry, because it was complicated and he could barely sort it out himself. In the last five years, he'd never hesitated to offer opinions or tell the king what he should or should not do. This shouldn't be different, except that it was, and it was making him slightly barmy.

"It's going to take time," Arthur said, as he went back to poring over the detailed maps of the kingdom.

Merlin's conversation with Gwen was always in the back of his mind, especially since Arthur had asked him to take up residence in the guest chambers next to Arthur's. Those rooms were never used now that Arthur was king. It was too difficult for the guards to keep track of guests so nearby in the evening hours; they preferred empty corridors, or only the most trusted knights and servants passing through. When Merlin waffled about the change, Arthur simply had his things moved while Merlin was busy with the laundry, and surprised him with dinner at his new table.

"I want you close," is all Arthur would say, when Merlin asked why.

More and more, the queen often did not appear in Arthur's chambers to dress for bed. She had her own chambers nearby as she had since they married, to be used when Arthur was busy with war council or other emergencies, and she sometimes kept to them. On those nights, Arthur drew Merlin into the bed with him over Merlin's token protests, caring not at all that it would look unusual to Leon or any other who barged in. They always talked quietly before they slept, and at some point, Arthur's arms usually went around Merlin as though it was the most natural of things.

Sometimes Merlin would wake in the mornings with his fingers curled in Arthur's shirt, and Arthur watching him, the expression on his face so tender Merlin felt he must close his eyes against the joy of it, or Arthur would mock him forever. But they never spoke of it, and Merlin waited, uncertain where this was to lead.

Merlin had found that everything was now measured in the number of days since he had found Arthur mortally wounded on the battlefield, and wondered when that marker of all things might begin to fade. They set out on a four-day patrol one grey morning a few weeks after Camlann with a larger party than Merlin was used to riding with. Patrols which used to require six knights now required a company of twenty, not counting Merlin or Arthur -- there were far too many Saxons in the wooded areas, and Arthur's safety was paramount.

Merlin rode with Arthur at the front, as always, and they easily resumed their old patterns of bickering with each other. The difference came when danger lurked nearby, and Merlin's sharp eyes and ears caught the change.

"What is it, Merlin?" Arthur would ask. Merlin could see him caught between the desire to dismiss Merlin in front of the others, and his anticipation of what Merlin might do. It was an odd sensation, to have the need for subterfuge in front of all the others, and yet not in front of Arthur.

This was how Arthur finally saw what he had managed to be oblivious to, before: the way Merlin always found the correct path with little effort; the way the forest rearranged itself behind them to cover their tracks; the way dense copse parted easily when Merlin was at the head of the party.

When Merlin went to find firewood for the evening camp, and came back with mostly dry wood despite the misting rain, Arthur bowed his head to hide his smile. Merlin was overwhelmed with the sudden urge to kiss that knowing smile from his face. The memory of Arthur's lips against his own, breathing warmth back into his cold body by the shores of Avalon, was never far from him.

He turned his back on his ridiculous emotions, and went to set up the small tent they would use to protect them from the rain.

Dinner was a meal of rabbit stew, cooked by Merlin from the rabbits Arthur and Leon killed. Rabbit had been Gwaine's favorite, and Merlin could hear his delighted praise even now. He had loved Merlin's campfire stew. The heavy sadness of loss always seemed to be draped around Merlin's shoulders, a worn cloak he could not throw off. He thought about Kilgharrah, and where he might go to die; he thought of Aithusa, alone, no one to comfort or teach her.

That was a situation Merlin could correct, and he would do it, soon. Once things were set to rights, in Camelot, he would summon Aithusa, and perhaps they would be less lonely together.

When he looked across the campfire, he saw the ache in his heart reflected on the faces of the others, most especially Percival, who seemed as lost as a pup. Merlin dished out extra for Percival and took it to him, pleased by his broad smile. "Thank you, Merlin," he said, taking the dish. "You do make the best stew."

There was more work to do -- washing the dishes, though the squires now took their turn, less willing to let Merlin do all the work since all knew he had been instrumental in saving their king -- and the night grew deeper, colder. Arthur slipped inside his tent, and Merlin went to retrieve his bedroll so he might stake out a place by the fire, lest he shiver himself to pieces all night.

Arthur was pulling off his boots when Merlin ducked inside. "Finally," Arthur said. "I feared you had fallen into the river and would be washing the pot from mid-stream."

"Funny," Merlin said, glaring for show. He turned to pick up his bedroll and it was not there. "What have you done with --?"

"You're sleeping here tonight," Arthur said. "Help me with this mail."

It was then that Merlin noticed the bedroll laid out on the ground, neatly, as a ground cover, and several furs piled on top. "I can't sleep in here with you, I'm just a servant," he said pointedly, as he yanked Arthur's mail off. "There's a perfectly nice fire out there."

"Which you'll miss, because you'll be sleeping in here," Arthur said, making a face at him. Arthur lifted up the furs and disappeared beneath them with a grunt. "Close the flap and get in here before I change my mind."

"Change it then, but give my blankets first."

"Merlin," Arthur growled, giving the impression of a very flat and grumpy bear in the tent.

Merlin rolled his eyes, and unbuckled his boots before crawling toward the pile of furs. "Take off that muddy jacket," Arthur said, muffled. Merlin shrugged it off and gingerly crawled beneath the furs. Arthur turned and reached for him smoothly, pulling him close until their bodies were aligned, shoulder to toe.

It was warm, and cozy, and Arthur's hot breath tickled Merlin's ear as he said, "There are some things that will be different now, Merlin. You'll simply have to get used to them. No more sleeping alone in the rain when there's a perfectly good tent."

He was quiet, then, and soon enough, his breath had evened out into sleep.

Merlin lay awake, reveling in the warmth and now-familiar joy of sleeping in Arthur's arms. For the first time in so many days, his mind was clear, and not fogged by exhaustion or racing with the need to protect Arthur. He hadn't had time to process what he'd learned in the Crystal Cave, or what it might mean for him.

His magic thrummed inside him constantly now, a growing song he couldn't ignore forever. It wanted him to set it free, to use it every waking moment as it was meant to be used. It wanted him to roam, to learn, to study; it wanted him to return to the cave and let magic surround him fully. His magic seemed to have grown a mind of his own, or maybe it was just that he could feel it now in ways he had only glimpsed before, like a blind man suddenly given the gift of sight.

To obey his magic, he would have to leave Camelot. The crystals had shown him that the end of Arthur's earthly journey would be the beginning of his journey as Emrys, but now that destiny was altered, and Merlin had no idea what to do with it. There would come a time when Arthur no longer needed him as he had these many years -- in fact, that time may already have begun, it was difficult to say -- and Merlin could leave him without fear of abandoning him to his doom.

His entire life had been centered around protecting Arthur. Once he had accomplished it, had defeated Morgana, he should have been free to go. But the idea of leaving now was...very difficult, and not simply because there was still danger to Arthur and his kingdom. His destiny was altered irrevocably now, as was Arthur's, and a part of Merlin wanted only to be happy, for a little while. To see Arthur happy, and content.

He turned his face into the softness of Arthur's shirt, where he could catch the sweat-salt scent of his skin, and sighed. There was so much he didn't understand, and somehow he would have to sort it all out, and choose the correct path. Even now he could still hear the Sidhe buzzing in the distance, and feel their siren call back to the lake, as if he could give up living now that he had only just begun to live at all.

Sleep was a long time coming, and arrived with fitful dreams of his father bathed in fire, standing at the edge of a roiling sea.

**

The second day of patrol was a long one, punctuated by short bursts of freezing rain. They rode up steep hills, the horses struggling, and Merlin eased the way by making the horses sure of foot, and hardening the ground beneath them. It was the sort of thing he had always done surreptitiously, but nothing felt hidden now. He was always glancing over his shoulder to see where Arthur was, and Arthur always seemed to be watching.

The weather was a misery every minute, and it was a relief to make camp that evening. Merlin gathered firewood and started the bonfire the old-fashioned way, despite the fact that he was sneezing all the while. In the back of his mind, he knew the warmth of Arthur's tent, his furs and his arms, was his for the taking. It sent pleasant shivers up his spine, the idea of Arthur curled up in the tent, waiting for him that evening.

He was seated on a log beside Sir Aran when the noise burst into his brain, drowning out the knights' laughter and their tavern tales.

EMRYS.

Merlin dropped his cup and threw his hands over his ears.

GIVE UNTO US THAT WHICH IS OURS.

He gasped, pawing a bit at his head as if he could somehow make the Sidhe voices stop vibrating in his skull.

"Merlin?" Arthur crouched beside him in the mud, pulling his hands away from his ears.

"It's...nothing," Merlin said, breathy, blinking his eyes open to peer blearily at Arthur. "Headache."

Instead of asking more questions, Arthur hauled him to his feet and bustled him toward the tent they shared. Merlin dropped to his knees just inside, one hand to his forehead, and Arthur knelt down beside him, yanking the tent flap closed. "Tell me," he demanded, his hand firm on Merlin's neck.

Briefly, Merlin gave thought to lying, but the very idea of it revolted him. They'd come so far in such a short span of days that it was disgusting to think of going backwards. "The Sidhe, at Avalon," he said. "They want something from me, in exchange for your life."

"And by something, you mean...?"

"The Old Religion requires a life for a life," Merlin said. "A sacrifice in kind. I gave them nothing when they restored you to me."

"So I'm living on borrowed time," Arthur said slowly.

"No," Merlin said, rubbing his head. The sensation of their chorus lingered, like the fading tones of a bell. He raised his head and looked at Arthur. "What is done can't be undone."

"That's why you were drowning," Arthur said. Merlin could see it unfolding in Arthur's mind, the understanding of what had occurred when he was summoned back from Avalon. "You tried to give yourself up to them."

"It was little enough," Merlin said, looking away. "Only the span of one lifetime."

A moment later, his head jerked as Arthur shook him hard, his hands gripping tight on Merlin's arms.

"Little enough? How dare you try to trade your life for mine? How dare you-" Arthur stopped, his mouth twisted into a frustrated line, as if he had no idea what words would suffice to convey his meaning, and then he yanked Merlin into his arms. "After everything you've done for me," Arthur said, "not this, too."

Merlin was very still against him, his heart pounding, and then slowly, he lifted his arms, putting them around Arthur, who only held him more tightly in return.

"Some sacrifices are mine to make, Merlin, and mine alone." Arthur let him go, and turned away to pull off his boots. The tense line of his shoulders made Merlin want to touch him there, to kiss a gentle dream into his skin and ease the burdens he carried.

As before, he assisted Arthur with removing his mail and wet clothing, but the air around them seemed heavy, laden with things unsaid. Once Merlin had shed his own wet things and laid out all their clothes to dry, Arthur took Merlin's hand and drew him down into the furs, into the warm cocoon. This was different than before; they were skin to skin, nothing but their small clothes to protect their modesty.

For a time, they were quiet, but Merlin could feel the tension in Arthur's body. When Merlin spoke, it was in hushed tones. "You've tried to give your life for your people a hundred times," he said, as Arthur's hands stroked long, smooth paths down his arm and back. "And every time, it has been my destiny to stand in the way, to offer myself in your place. I have done it gladly."

Arthur shook his head and shifted, restless. "If my destiny requires that I be alive, as you claim, then it also requires that you stand by my side to fulfill your destiny in turn."

"For you to stay alive, I may have to forsake that place," Merlin said. "Those are choices that must be made in the moment." He smiled in the darkness. "I've been making those decisions for ten years now. You must trust me, Arthur, to do what is right."

"I do trust you," Arthur murmured, "but you have this ridiculous habit of throwing yourself into danger. It has to stop."

"You wanted me to always be who I am," Merlin reminded him. It was a bit of a low blow, and it was rewarded by a noisy sigh from Arthur.

"Perhaps you should make smaller choices," Arthur said. "Like drying our wet clothes, so we won't chafe all day tomorrow."

Merlin did so with barely a thought, and Arthur's sharply indrawn breath told him the gold of his eyes had been visible in the dark. A moment later, Arthur's fingertips brushed gently over his face, just beneath his eyes. "How have I never noticed this before?"

"I have many talents you've failed to recognize," Merlin said, grinning, as Arthur's fingertips caught the edges of that smile.

"Clearly." A moment later, Arthur's lips brushed Merlin's cheek, and then lightly over his lips, before retreating.

"Tomorrow, I must ride to Avalon," Merlin said. "I must deal with the Sidhe."

"No," Arthur said, his arms tightening around Merlin.

"I have no intention of giving them my life, or my magic, or anything else," Merlin said. "I must make them understand."

"Promise me," Arthur said, his full kingly command voice stifled in the hush of their tent. "No more magical bargains."

"To the best of my ability, I promise you," Merlin said, aware it would not satisfy Arthur in the least. "I have to do what must be done, Arthur."

His king did not agree, but was wise enough not to argue, either. It was a small victory, another step on the road toward a new understanding between them.

continued in part two