Fic: Fool on the Hill - Part 5/6
Title: Fool on the Hill
Author: dyspraxicsheep
Rating: R
Word count: 33, 363 words
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Arthur, Guinevere, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, OCs, Morgana (mentioned), Uther (mentioned), Gaius (mentioned), Merlin/Arthur, Guinevere/Lancelot
Warnings: The canon of this story goes up to the end of series two and then branches off into an AU from that point. The warnings are character hurt, sex, blood, death, and imprisonment. Also very slightly implied non-consent, but you have to look hard to find it. If anyone finds a warning that I missed, please let me know!
Disclaimer:Merlin belongs to the BBC. I make absolutely no money from this, it's just something that I've written for fun.
Summary: It has been seven years since Arthur became the King of Camelot, and just as long since Merlin fled the kingdom. Arthur is finally taking steps to legalise the use of magic within his kingdom once and for all. Needing to secure an alliance with Rhewogydd, one of the most prosperous kingdoms to promote magic, where even the heir to the throne is a sorcerer, Arthur travels with Guinevere and his knights to the kingdom of ice.
Part Four
Night passed and Arthur awoke the next morning with no pain. He was confused for some moments as he looked about the dimly-lit hut, but eventually, his gaze settled on Merlin who had curled up on the stone slab of a floor beside the pallet, and he had to smile. He simply could not help himself. Tentatively, the King rose, pushing himself up into a sitting position and, slowly but surely, turning around so that he could kneel upon the cold floor and, supporting himself on the rough wall, he managed, eventually to stand. Merlin, of course, slept on, and his smile refused to vanish. Arthur knew it was foolish to feel happiness over such things, yet he could not stop himself. Perhaps he had only known Merlin in the past when he had overworked himself, but he had always been under the impression that his manservant, once asleep, would not wake up for anything. Well, he may awaken if prompted to by a bucket of water, but those days of arrogance and inconsideration for the feelings of others were well in the past.
Unsteady as he was on his feet, Arthur made his way around the hut by keeping one hand on the wall and, though he debated whether or not he ought to do such a thing, given the cold always in the air here, he stepped out through the archway and into the snow. Passing through the shimmering barrier that fit into every single gap within the ruin, Arthur felt a shiver take him. He could see the palace from here, and that had been the purpose of making his way outside. This was obviously a place that Merlin considered to be safe, and was apparently hidden away enough that none could find him. None of Taran’s knights or guards, at least. They were indeed on top of the hill, the base of which Arthur had fallen at, and this must have been the crumbling ruins that he had seen upon his approach, he realised belatedly, stepping away from the doorway and turning around so that he could take in the place in which he had stayed the night, the place where Merlin had sought refuge and freedom.
Something in the wood of the door, and the metal of the lock that absorbed magic. Uther would have given a great amount of money for such a prize, Arthur knew, as he took in the dilapidated and all-too ancient building before him. There were the remnants of joins about it, some rooms that had not survived the passage of what he supposed must have been time, or perhaps some magical interference, though he had never been an expert on that particular subject. There were piles of rubble on some of the more substantial chambers, though none was as complete as the one which he had come from. Looking at the place, as Merlin’s protective magic twinkled its way through any cracks in the stone and across the doorway, Arthur found himself hard-pressed to think precisely why it was that anyone would wish to find such a thing, much less to implement it against the sorcerer.
Taran had found a thing which could contain Arthur’s friend. The man whom he could now admit, without any trace of difficulty, doubt, or embarrassment, that he loved. And Rhewogydd’s King had decided to effectively imprison him. His fists clenched with this knowledge and the chill air was good if only to buffet his senses into something more reasonable. He could not, under any circumstances, declare war for this. It was too small a thing, in the grand scheme of everything that the King hoped to achieve, in spite of how much the very idea of what had been done to Merlin ate at his insides.
Ashamed as he was to say it, Arthur was not used to the cold, and he began to shiver enough that the time came for him to walk slowly back into the hut. He resisted the urge to touch the back of his head, to feel for the wound that must still be there, having had more experience than he could count with heavy impacts and his own skull. This was probably the reason why he failed in being able to count them, the King thought with a wry grin as he went back into the warmth of the ruin. Merlin must have slept enough because he stirred as the barriers were breached for the second time that morning and slowly sat up, blinking at the man stood in the doorway. “I didn’t think you would be well enough to walk for days yet,” the sorcerer commented as he stood, long hair waving loosely and rather haphazardly about his shoulders and down his back, and there was something about the mess of it that had the King remembering the way his sorcerer had once been. The man he had first laid eyes upon after so many years had been so highly polished that the gleam of him had shadowed the very essence of himself, and Arthur was pleased now to see that he had not changed so much after all.
“Turn around?” Merlin asked of him, and Arthur, trusting him with his entire being as he always had done up until the reveal of his true nature, turned around. It was second nature to put all his trust in the man again. He regretted ever having lost the trust now, and wished, more than anything, that he could take the past seven years back, that he could have overruled his own laws on magic straight away, the moment he had found out what Merlin was, but he simply could not, and it was too late for such regret. He was now looking to the future, toward making his reign a right and just one for all those that would live under it. He felt fingers in his hair, ghosting over the place that had hurt so much the day before, and he heard a surprised murmur come from the warlock, loud enough that he turned his head slightly look at him.
“What is it?” he questioned, not altogether worried if only because he knew the way that Merlin would sound when truly concerned about a situation. He usually went too grave and serious and it always served to inspire more fear than it saved.
“You’ve healed,” Merlin said simply, taking a step back from the King and clasping his hands together, frowning ever so slightly in such a way as made Arthur feel a sudden flash of concern when he turned about to look at him.
“But?” he asked, almost dreading the answer now that he saw the look on the sorcerer’s face.
“No, it isn’t that. I just didn’t expect you to have healed so quickly, and I’m trying to work out how it happened,” Merlin said, and then offered a smile to Arthur’s slightly panicked look, and it helped him to relax enough that the King chanced feeling the back of his own head. To him, it felt the same as any other day, with barely a slight tenderness to the touch that might signal there had ever been any damage.
The first thought to Arthur’s mind was that it must have been magic, and he sat on the floor, hand still at the back of his head. “I suppose that it is just as well,” the King said finally, staring at the way in which his fingers came away bloodless from what had been a nasty enough wound that Merlin had worried for his life, “I could not have stayed here long. Taran would have become suspicious of where you really are, with my absence as well, given that he knows where you came from, and the Knights, they would have suspected foul play. Not on your part, but on Taran’s. Although, I did tell Guinevere that I was going to find out whether the things that Taran told us were true, I don’t think she expected me gone this long.” What Arthur did not add was just how agreeable it would have been to remain here, where he did not have to think about the responsibility of fixing everything. But he needed to do just that; he absolutely had to return to the palace and set things right, and then, they would probably not sign the treaty, and leave. Arthur doubted, somehow, that Taran would be as eager to sign for peace when he would be more inclined to war. The King had probably never considered the fact that these envoys from Camelot would arrive, begin the negotiations for peace, and leave with his kingdom’s biggest asset.
“I want to be sure that you’re safe for travel,” Merlin told him, and there was a certain firmness to his voice that had Arthur nodding in spite of the fact that, out of the two of them, he ought to be the one in command, as things had always been between them. But given the warlock’s powers now, perhaps a partnership would be more adequate to describe the way they would have to behave around one another.
Later that day, Merlin took the pot from atop the fireplace and, pulling on the heavy, purple cloak with its black fur lining, made his way down to the river. Arthur watched him go, sitting cross-legged by the pallet, and it was strange to him, how it seemed now as though no time had passed, though he was fairly sure that they had never been in a situation as this one, staying in a hut that had, according to Merlin, belonged to the men who had been the ancestors of a portion of his own power, and while Arthur did not understand what that meant, he had nodded profusely as though he had. They had eaten the bread and cheese that Merlin had fetched with him on his flight from the palace, and it was all too clear to them both that they would have to return soon. The food had run out, thanks to the King’s presence, and Arthur’s words were true. The chaos that may ensue from their continued absence was not worth it when the alternative was returning, smoothing over the difficulties and returning, finally, to Camelot, though the latter part would take some time.
He had taken it upon himself to pick up one of Merlin’s books and look through it, out of interest, more than any real pursuit, and what he found was incomprehensible, as far as he was concerned. He set the book of magic back down on the floor and looked around the place for a few more minutes, until the warlock returned, the cauldron of fresh water levitating before him. Rather than place it on the fire as Arthur’s past had told him to expect, the sorcerer instead allowed it to sit in the centre of the stone flooring. His eyes flashed gold for the briefest moment and steam began to rise from the water, and once more, the King was left stunned at this display. It was only a tiny thing, of course; it was not as though Merlin had set out and moved a mountain, but even this mundane show of his power made him wonder how much ease Merlin had given up to serve him for all those years; when he could have made things so easy for himself, he instead hid in darkness. Darkness that Arthur’s father had enforced and that he himself had continued. He looked away for a moment, feeling guilty until the warlock called his attention back with a cloth that he held out.
It was white and almost a rag, the sort that Arthur usually expected to see on wounds that required dressing, but it would serve a different purpose today. He needed to wash the blood from his hair, needed it so that none would realise that a King had managed to be bested by no better than a common thug. Dipping the rag into the hot water and only wincing slightly when he wrung it out, the blonde man dabbed and wiped at the back of his head for a few moments until thought he ought to dip the rag again. He let it drop into the water and was slightly alarmed to see the dull red that it became, though head wounds always bled more; he knew that from all his years on the battle field. He continued this process until finally, the cloth came down clean and Merlin finally confirmed for him that he had succeeded in cleaning himself up sufficiently.
The sorcerer waved a hand at the water which purified almost instantly, shining clear once more as the pot it had been in moved itself to hang over the fire once more. Arthur found himself staring yet again, and this time, Merlin caught him at it, blue meeting blue as their eyes met and the King attempted to smile his way out of it, but it was too late, and they both knew it.
“What is it?” the old manservant asked as the blonde looked away from him and at the wall beyond Merlin’s shoulder.
“I still find it surprising that you can do all of that,” he said simply, and he gave a grin when Merlin’s laughter filled the stone ruin.
“I can do so much more,” he replied finally when his laughter had died down, his eyes shining this time with merriment as opposed to the golden sheen of magic, “But I understand. I don’t even think about it anymore, but all magic is impressive, no matter what it’s doing, it’s all amazing, and you shouldn’t feel strange for showing it admiration. It is its own creature and has its own nature. It does deserve that sort of respect.”
And Arthur nodded and did not give up the fact that the thing which he was truly showing his amazement over was Merlin and just how much he had given up over the years he had served him.
The blonde man closed the distance between them as Merlin opened his mouth to say something else about the wonder of magic and its practitioners or something similar, but Arthur wanted, more than anything now, to thank him for all that the warlock had ever done for him, and to show the man just how much he meant to him, and how much he had missed him over the seven, long years since he had seen him last. Their lips pressed together, and for once in his life, Merlin realised that it was perhaps advisable to stay silent. Well, to leave words out of the equation, at least.
For the warlock was not silent while the King kissed him, his distraction with Arthur’s lips leading him to forget himself, to give the occasional gasp and surprised moan at a thing that the blonde man had only ever dreamed would happen, and he supposed, given Merlin’s reactions, that he was going through something similar.
“This must have been what healed you so quickly,” the darker haired of the two said as he pressed the King down against the pallet, distracted now with placing the smallest kisses of adoration that Arthur had ever experienced in his life against his cheeks and neck, though he caught a small place with his teeth that had the older of the two men gasping.
“What?” he asked rather intelligently, confusion gripping him as he tried to come to a decision as to exactly what it was that Merlin was saying to him. His befuddled sense of being was not helped any when the warlock laughed breathlessly against his skin, apparently amused at being able to make the great King Arthur lose his composure, though he had always been excellent at it when they had been young. It seemed that to Merlin, at least, it was a good thing to see again. They were not so different as they had been, at the end of all things.
“When we kissed last night,” he said in the face of Arthur’s indignant glare over being laughed at, “I was wishing that I could make you well sooner than I expected your recovery to be, and I suppose that my magic… responded,” he added, and there was the sheepish grin that Arthur remembered from all those years ago. He could not find it within himself to mind too much when he was kissed yet again before he could ask any more questions.
The King could not be sure when his clothes left him, or indeed where they went, but gone they were, and he shot the warlock a confused look who just laughed again, and there was a lot of that at the moment, but Arthur found it easy to put the emotions down to relief that things were almost normal. Though he doubted that after this night things would ever go back to the way that they had been.
He felt keenly the way that Merlin kissed him, the way his hands felt as they left feather-light touches across his skin, and he was not altogether sure that all of the touches came from the warlock’s hands; some appeared to ghost against his skin with the lightest of caresses in places different to those he could see, but it all became unimportant. When the man he loved came to deepen the bond they had always shared in such an irrevocable way, it was all he could do to hold on to him and make the decision in those moments that he probably could never let Merlin go now, however noble his intent had been when he had suggested that the sorcerer ought to leave Rhewogydd with him. Arthur felt connected to Merlin in a way that he never had before, and when they lay together, out of breath and basking in a warmth that had not been there before, the King allowed himself his moments of weakness, where no one but his old manservant could see him, twining his fingers in hair that was longer by far than any that he had seen in his dreams before Merlin had come back into his life.
He wanted, desperately, to tell him that he loved him, to implore him to never leave his side, but he wouldn’t. Not when Merlin had been without true choices for so long. Whatever happened between them, whatever it was that took place from this moment on, it would be with no manipulation, no words designed to make Merlin want to stay with him without good cause. Not that Arthur was that sort of man by any stretch, but after Taran, he was wary of the sorcerer thinking him the same. Rhewogydd’s King, while a seemingly good man on his surface, had a certain sense and type of rotting beneath that Arthur almost wanted to dig from this kingdom, but it was not his place. All he could do was ensure that Merlin was removed from the man and to a better place, especially now that he knew with a certainty that he had heard the words spoken with his own ears. It was the warlock’s wish to be free and to return to Camelot with Arthur, Guinevere, and the knights. This night, whatever it was that they had shared, was not enough for Arthur to request that Merlin remain with him because he didn’t want that choice to be taken away from him. The man who had fallen asleep at his side now would have freedom, true freedom under no terms but the sorcerer’s own. He would see to that personally, if he had a chance to, which he was absolutely convinced that he did, Arthur decided as sleep came, creeping steadily up on him until it had him in its grasp and he willingly slipped into the first sweet dreams he had experienced in a very long time.
With the morning came a sight that Arthur had grown used to in the time that Merlin had served him for and that was the sight of the man moving about the room and seeing to it that things were clean, tidy, and put away. Of course, these actions only ever usually occurred in Arthur’s own chambers, and this was why it took him a few moments to place just why it was that the younger of the two of them saw fit to put everything away now. It was because they were leaving. A small bag was in the centre of the room and Merlin was putting his things inside it; in went the clothes that he had been wearing since Arthur had arrived at this place, and the book that the King had inspected the evening before. Other things had been packed, though he could not tell what they were as the dark haired man continued to pile things into the bag. Finally, Merlin went to the cupboard in the corner and, opening it, he took out a small bundle and placed it on top of the book. He laced the bag up and pulled it up onto his shoulder, leaving Arthur staring at him for a moment.
“I trust you can dress yourself after all this time, sire?” Merlin asked, and there was the hint of a challenge in his smile that Arthur was only too happy to rise to. After all, the warlock had managed to change back into his clothes of pomp and pageantry, and so Arthur ought to be able to manage his own. Merlin’s even seemed more ornate than anything the King had ever had to wear, and so, he climbed steadily to his feet and, once the warlock had presented him with the clothes that he had worn out on the night he had gone searching for the truth, he set about covering himself.
The picture was completed by the cloak that was not his own, and Arthur was ready. They left the hut, and as the King was walking entirely purposefully down the hill, it took him a moment or two to realise that the warlock had lingered behind, looking at the stone ruin. The blonde man doubled back on himself, trudged the few steps up that he had already taken in the opposite direction, and came to a stop at Merlin’s side. He didn’t say anything. Neither of them had to speak a word. A glance at the expression on his friend’s face spoke every word that he could not say. It would be a hard place for Merlin to leave behind, this small island of freedom. Here Arthur stood, a fool and a King on top of a hill in a country of ice, beside the man he had loved since the moment he had met him, even if he had failed to recognise the emotions for many years. Arthur was a fool, that much he knew.
After a time, Merlin turned away from the place, wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, and made his way down the steep side of the hill, Arthur at his heels.
The journey through Rhewogydd’s lower villages was a slow one, and this was almost exclusively down to the simple fact that the sorcerer had to stop every few metres to call in on the many homes that they passed, to be greeted by people in the roads they walked through, and it was clear to the King that they all loved him. Adored the warlock as someone whom they would never be able to do without, certainly not now that he was here, and while Arthur felt sympathy for the people now, to know what they were going to lose, but he did not feel as terrible for them as he perhaps ought to. That was, of course, some of the King’s selfishness showing, and yet he was not so bothered by this fact that he thought to change it. No, the blonde was entirely happy with selfishness in this case, though it was not that he only thought of himself, not in this case, no. His thought were almost exclusively of the man who stood a few paces away from him, accepting a handful of balled up snow from a child who was very proud of their work. As they once more began their slow walk through the upper village to reach the palace, Merlin cradled the snowball close to him as though it really were a precious thing. They passed more and more homes, each with the warlock’s shimmering protection over them, and it was some long minutes before the ball lifted itself from the younger man’s hands and floated before them for seconds before it flew to hit Arthur square in the face. The King was left to wipe the smashed snow from his face and chase after the running sorcerer. There was nothing but happiness in the sound of Merlin’s laughter, and that alone had Arthur smiling as he chased him through the last of the village.
They reached the frozen lake toward which the path lead, and they crossed the ice by bridge, stopping their running as they approached the palace. A sentry must have seen them, for as soon as they stepped onto the stone paving of the courtyard, they were met by King Taran, and Sir Gwaine, though Arthur was under no doubt that his knight had arrived by pure chance of overhearing the sentry’s report; he did not think it at all likely that Taran had been courteous enough to alert any of Camelot’s court.
Yes, the sooner that they could return, the better. While Arthur had trusted Gaius implicitly to run the kingdom in the time that they were away, he was aware that the old man was now well into his eightieth year, and he did not want to place undue stress on the man for any longer than was necessary.
“Sire,” Gwaine said, bowing his head at the King, though his eyes were on Merlin.
“Welcome home, Merlin,” Taran said, sweeping his ward into an embrace that Arthur wanted to step away from, though he stood his ground. “You have done well to return King Arthur safely to us,” he went on, and the blonde man might have said something at that point, but for Merlin’s interruption.
“Sire,” the sorcerer began, his pack still balanced on his shoulder, “I wish to speak with you in private,” he said, and Arthur simply knew that the request for privacy would be to save Taran’s feelings. He watched with the faintest stirrings of jealousy as Merlin took the other King’s arm and walked with him into the palace, leaving him stood with one of his most trusted knights.
When he was certain that they were alone, Arthur finally spoke. “Gwaine, Merlin will return with us,” he said, “He is about to inform Taran about this fact, and then I suspect that we shall need to depart almost instantly. I do not see any future in which the man will be happy about the news and however strong or capable Merlin is, I would rather we avoid conflict entirely. Take Elyan with you, and make your way to the docks. We shall need passage by sundown,” he added.
“I’ll tell the others,” Gwaine said as the only indication that he had understood his orders, leaving the King to stand in the courtyard for long moments until it finally occurred to him that he ought to find his wife, though doubtless, she would be in the company of Lancelot. He would tell Guinevere what she needed to know, and he knew even now that she would be happy, that she would rejoice at the fact that finally, he had found happiness. That he had Merlin back.
Arthur found himself smiling as he entered the palace and made his way up the staircases toward the chambers that he and Guinevere shared. Indeed, he had been correct; his Queen was with Lancelot, though he overheard her quiet fretting on the other side of the door. She had not expected for Arthur to be absent for so long. He supposed that Gwaine had decided not to disturb Guinevere while he alerted the rest of the knights to the situation. He knocked at the door to alert them both to his presence, knowing well enough that each and every one of his knights were bound to be on high alert with their King absent in a strange country, and after he had waited several moments, he pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
"Arthur!" came Guinevere's surprised and relieved voice as she pulled away from where she had sat with Lancelot and crossed the room, her arms wrapping about him in an embrace, "We didn't know what had happened to you when you didn't come back," she said, hugging him as tight as she would were their relationship true rather than a carefully-crafted sham. But even if their marriage had failed, this woman was still his friend. His closest, if he excused Merlin, newly returned to his life.
The thought had Arthur smiling as he stroked back his wife's curls and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
"What has you so happy?" she questioned when he drew back, her hands resting upon his chest as she looked at him, her expression one of something not unlike disbelief. Arthur could not blame her, how rare his smiles had become.
"Merlin is planning to return with us," he said, the words leaving him in a rush as he shared the good news with Guinevere, watching as her face lit up with the news and she hugged him yet again. "We need to pack away everything, ready to leave. I've sent Gwaine and Elyan to ensure that the ship is ready. I don't think it wise to overstay our welcome."
"You must be so relieved," she said to him, and that was such an understatement that Arthur laughed, a moment that gave the Queen pause as she took in this new man, so like the one she had known in her youth.
Arthur watched as his wife's lover inclined his head in a short bow and left the chamber. He then turned back to Guinevere. He could not tell her all the details, it showed absolutely no respect; she never told him all that happened between she and Lancelot, after all.
"I love him," he said of Merlin, and watched the understanding in her face as she squeezed his hands gently.
"I know," his wife said simply, and this was her consent. "We all do, but none so much as you, I think," she added, and there was a sly smile on her face that had him laughing in disbelief, but also in relief that she accepted his choice. Well, not his choice, not really. He did not believe that he had any now, not when it came to the warlock. The feelings had begun long ago, before the man had been banished from Camelot, and now that he was here, they had rekindled with a passion, one that simply could not be denied.
"You might have told me you were still in contact with him," he said, but Guinevere simply shook her head.
"You wouldn't have heard it, not at the beginning, and then I had to continue the lie. When you decided to come here… I could say nothing, you must know that. You might have called the entire visit off."
The innocence in her face did not convince Arthur for a moment, but he simply smiled, kissed the crown of her head once more, and stepped away. "I understand," he said, though he could see more than she perhaps intended. In her deception, it seemed that she had hoped for an outcome not unlike this one, for his own happiness. Arthur could not and would not hold her in a negative light for this, not when it had resulted in having Merlin back.
"Thank you," he said after a time, and that was all.
Part Six
Author: dyspraxicsheep
Rating: R
Word count: 33, 363 words
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Arthur, Guinevere, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, OCs, Morgana (mentioned), Uther (mentioned), Gaius (mentioned), Merlin/Arthur, Guinevere/Lancelot
Warnings: The canon of this story goes up to the end of series two and then branches off into an AU from that point. The warnings are character hurt, sex, blood, death, and imprisonment. Also very slightly implied non-consent, but you have to look hard to find it. If anyone finds a warning that I missed, please let me know!
Disclaimer:Merlin belongs to the BBC. I make absolutely no money from this, it's just something that I've written for fun.
Summary: It has been seven years since Arthur became the King of Camelot, and just as long since Merlin fled the kingdom. Arthur is finally taking steps to legalise the use of magic within his kingdom once and for all. Needing to secure an alliance with Rhewogydd, one of the most prosperous kingdoms to promote magic, where even the heir to the throne is a sorcerer, Arthur travels with Guinevere and his knights to the kingdom of ice.
Part Four
Night passed and Arthur awoke the next morning with no pain. He was confused for some moments as he looked about the dimly-lit hut, but eventually, his gaze settled on Merlin who had curled up on the stone slab of a floor beside the pallet, and he had to smile. He simply could not help himself. Tentatively, the King rose, pushing himself up into a sitting position and, slowly but surely, turning around so that he could kneel upon the cold floor and, supporting himself on the rough wall, he managed, eventually to stand. Merlin, of course, slept on, and his smile refused to vanish. Arthur knew it was foolish to feel happiness over such things, yet he could not stop himself. Perhaps he had only known Merlin in the past when he had overworked himself, but he had always been under the impression that his manservant, once asleep, would not wake up for anything. Well, he may awaken if prompted to by a bucket of water, but those days of arrogance and inconsideration for the feelings of others were well in the past.
Unsteady as he was on his feet, Arthur made his way around the hut by keeping one hand on the wall and, though he debated whether or not he ought to do such a thing, given the cold always in the air here, he stepped out through the archway and into the snow. Passing through the shimmering barrier that fit into every single gap within the ruin, Arthur felt a shiver take him. He could see the palace from here, and that had been the purpose of making his way outside. This was obviously a place that Merlin considered to be safe, and was apparently hidden away enough that none could find him. None of Taran’s knights or guards, at least. They were indeed on top of the hill, the base of which Arthur had fallen at, and this must have been the crumbling ruins that he had seen upon his approach, he realised belatedly, stepping away from the doorway and turning around so that he could take in the place in which he had stayed the night, the place where Merlin had sought refuge and freedom.
Something in the wood of the door, and the metal of the lock that absorbed magic. Uther would have given a great amount of money for such a prize, Arthur knew, as he took in the dilapidated and all-too ancient building before him. There were the remnants of joins about it, some rooms that had not survived the passage of what he supposed must have been time, or perhaps some magical interference, though he had never been an expert on that particular subject. There were piles of rubble on some of the more substantial chambers, though none was as complete as the one which he had come from. Looking at the place, as Merlin’s protective magic twinkled its way through any cracks in the stone and across the doorway, Arthur found himself hard-pressed to think precisely why it was that anyone would wish to find such a thing, much less to implement it against the sorcerer.
Taran had found a thing which could contain Arthur’s friend. The man whom he could now admit, without any trace of difficulty, doubt, or embarrassment, that he loved. And Rhewogydd’s King had decided to effectively imprison him. His fists clenched with this knowledge and the chill air was good if only to buffet his senses into something more reasonable. He could not, under any circumstances, declare war for this. It was too small a thing, in the grand scheme of everything that the King hoped to achieve, in spite of how much the very idea of what had been done to Merlin ate at his insides.
Ashamed as he was to say it, Arthur was not used to the cold, and he began to shiver enough that the time came for him to walk slowly back into the hut. He resisted the urge to touch the back of his head, to feel for the wound that must still be there, having had more experience than he could count with heavy impacts and his own skull. This was probably the reason why he failed in being able to count them, the King thought with a wry grin as he went back into the warmth of the ruin. Merlin must have slept enough because he stirred as the barriers were breached for the second time that morning and slowly sat up, blinking at the man stood in the doorway. “I didn’t think you would be well enough to walk for days yet,” the sorcerer commented as he stood, long hair waving loosely and rather haphazardly about his shoulders and down his back, and there was something about the mess of it that had the King remembering the way his sorcerer had once been. The man he had first laid eyes upon after so many years had been so highly polished that the gleam of him had shadowed the very essence of himself, and Arthur was pleased now to see that he had not changed so much after all.
“Turn around?” Merlin asked of him, and Arthur, trusting him with his entire being as he always had done up until the reveal of his true nature, turned around. It was second nature to put all his trust in the man again. He regretted ever having lost the trust now, and wished, more than anything, that he could take the past seven years back, that he could have overruled his own laws on magic straight away, the moment he had found out what Merlin was, but he simply could not, and it was too late for such regret. He was now looking to the future, toward making his reign a right and just one for all those that would live under it. He felt fingers in his hair, ghosting over the place that had hurt so much the day before, and he heard a surprised murmur come from the warlock, loud enough that he turned his head slightly look at him.
“What is it?” he questioned, not altogether worried if only because he knew the way that Merlin would sound when truly concerned about a situation. He usually went too grave and serious and it always served to inspire more fear than it saved.
“You’ve healed,” Merlin said simply, taking a step back from the King and clasping his hands together, frowning ever so slightly in such a way as made Arthur feel a sudden flash of concern when he turned about to look at him.
“But?” he asked, almost dreading the answer now that he saw the look on the sorcerer’s face.
“No, it isn’t that. I just didn’t expect you to have healed so quickly, and I’m trying to work out how it happened,” Merlin said, and then offered a smile to Arthur’s slightly panicked look, and it helped him to relax enough that the King chanced feeling the back of his own head. To him, it felt the same as any other day, with barely a slight tenderness to the touch that might signal there had ever been any damage.
The first thought to Arthur’s mind was that it must have been magic, and he sat on the floor, hand still at the back of his head. “I suppose that it is just as well,” the King said finally, staring at the way in which his fingers came away bloodless from what had been a nasty enough wound that Merlin had worried for his life, “I could not have stayed here long. Taran would have become suspicious of where you really are, with my absence as well, given that he knows where you came from, and the Knights, they would have suspected foul play. Not on your part, but on Taran’s. Although, I did tell Guinevere that I was going to find out whether the things that Taran told us were true, I don’t think she expected me gone this long.” What Arthur did not add was just how agreeable it would have been to remain here, where he did not have to think about the responsibility of fixing everything. But he needed to do just that; he absolutely had to return to the palace and set things right, and then, they would probably not sign the treaty, and leave. Arthur doubted, somehow, that Taran would be as eager to sign for peace when he would be more inclined to war. The King had probably never considered the fact that these envoys from Camelot would arrive, begin the negotiations for peace, and leave with his kingdom’s biggest asset.
“I want to be sure that you’re safe for travel,” Merlin told him, and there was a certain firmness to his voice that had Arthur nodding in spite of the fact that, out of the two of them, he ought to be the one in command, as things had always been between them. But given the warlock’s powers now, perhaps a partnership would be more adequate to describe the way they would have to behave around one another.
Later that day, Merlin took the pot from atop the fireplace and, pulling on the heavy, purple cloak with its black fur lining, made his way down to the river. Arthur watched him go, sitting cross-legged by the pallet, and it was strange to him, how it seemed now as though no time had passed, though he was fairly sure that they had never been in a situation as this one, staying in a hut that had, according to Merlin, belonged to the men who had been the ancestors of a portion of his own power, and while Arthur did not understand what that meant, he had nodded profusely as though he had. They had eaten the bread and cheese that Merlin had fetched with him on his flight from the palace, and it was all too clear to them both that they would have to return soon. The food had run out, thanks to the King’s presence, and Arthur’s words were true. The chaos that may ensue from their continued absence was not worth it when the alternative was returning, smoothing over the difficulties and returning, finally, to Camelot, though the latter part would take some time.
He had taken it upon himself to pick up one of Merlin’s books and look through it, out of interest, more than any real pursuit, and what he found was incomprehensible, as far as he was concerned. He set the book of magic back down on the floor and looked around the place for a few more minutes, until the warlock returned, the cauldron of fresh water levitating before him. Rather than place it on the fire as Arthur’s past had told him to expect, the sorcerer instead allowed it to sit in the centre of the stone flooring. His eyes flashed gold for the briefest moment and steam began to rise from the water, and once more, the King was left stunned at this display. It was only a tiny thing, of course; it was not as though Merlin had set out and moved a mountain, but even this mundane show of his power made him wonder how much ease Merlin had given up to serve him for all those years; when he could have made things so easy for himself, he instead hid in darkness. Darkness that Arthur’s father had enforced and that he himself had continued. He looked away for a moment, feeling guilty until the warlock called his attention back with a cloth that he held out.
It was white and almost a rag, the sort that Arthur usually expected to see on wounds that required dressing, but it would serve a different purpose today. He needed to wash the blood from his hair, needed it so that none would realise that a King had managed to be bested by no better than a common thug. Dipping the rag into the hot water and only wincing slightly when he wrung it out, the blonde man dabbed and wiped at the back of his head for a few moments until thought he ought to dip the rag again. He let it drop into the water and was slightly alarmed to see the dull red that it became, though head wounds always bled more; he knew that from all his years on the battle field. He continued this process until finally, the cloth came down clean and Merlin finally confirmed for him that he had succeeded in cleaning himself up sufficiently.
The sorcerer waved a hand at the water which purified almost instantly, shining clear once more as the pot it had been in moved itself to hang over the fire once more. Arthur found himself staring yet again, and this time, Merlin caught him at it, blue meeting blue as their eyes met and the King attempted to smile his way out of it, but it was too late, and they both knew it.
“What is it?” the old manservant asked as the blonde looked away from him and at the wall beyond Merlin’s shoulder.
“I still find it surprising that you can do all of that,” he said simply, and he gave a grin when Merlin’s laughter filled the stone ruin.
“I can do so much more,” he replied finally when his laughter had died down, his eyes shining this time with merriment as opposed to the golden sheen of magic, “But I understand. I don’t even think about it anymore, but all magic is impressive, no matter what it’s doing, it’s all amazing, and you shouldn’t feel strange for showing it admiration. It is its own creature and has its own nature. It does deserve that sort of respect.”
And Arthur nodded and did not give up the fact that the thing which he was truly showing his amazement over was Merlin and just how much he had given up over the years he had served him.
The blonde man closed the distance between them as Merlin opened his mouth to say something else about the wonder of magic and its practitioners or something similar, but Arthur wanted, more than anything now, to thank him for all that the warlock had ever done for him, and to show the man just how much he meant to him, and how much he had missed him over the seven, long years since he had seen him last. Their lips pressed together, and for once in his life, Merlin realised that it was perhaps advisable to stay silent. Well, to leave words out of the equation, at least.
For the warlock was not silent while the King kissed him, his distraction with Arthur’s lips leading him to forget himself, to give the occasional gasp and surprised moan at a thing that the blonde man had only ever dreamed would happen, and he supposed, given Merlin’s reactions, that he was going through something similar.
“This must have been what healed you so quickly,” the darker haired of the two said as he pressed the King down against the pallet, distracted now with placing the smallest kisses of adoration that Arthur had ever experienced in his life against his cheeks and neck, though he caught a small place with his teeth that had the older of the two men gasping.
“What?” he asked rather intelligently, confusion gripping him as he tried to come to a decision as to exactly what it was that Merlin was saying to him. His befuddled sense of being was not helped any when the warlock laughed breathlessly against his skin, apparently amused at being able to make the great King Arthur lose his composure, though he had always been excellent at it when they had been young. It seemed that to Merlin, at least, it was a good thing to see again. They were not so different as they had been, at the end of all things.
“When we kissed last night,” he said in the face of Arthur’s indignant glare over being laughed at, “I was wishing that I could make you well sooner than I expected your recovery to be, and I suppose that my magic… responded,” he added, and there was the sheepish grin that Arthur remembered from all those years ago. He could not find it within himself to mind too much when he was kissed yet again before he could ask any more questions.
The King could not be sure when his clothes left him, or indeed where they went, but gone they were, and he shot the warlock a confused look who just laughed again, and there was a lot of that at the moment, but Arthur found it easy to put the emotions down to relief that things were almost normal. Though he doubted that after this night things would ever go back to the way that they had been.
He felt keenly the way that Merlin kissed him, the way his hands felt as they left feather-light touches across his skin, and he was not altogether sure that all of the touches came from the warlock’s hands; some appeared to ghost against his skin with the lightest of caresses in places different to those he could see, but it all became unimportant. When the man he loved came to deepen the bond they had always shared in such an irrevocable way, it was all he could do to hold on to him and make the decision in those moments that he probably could never let Merlin go now, however noble his intent had been when he had suggested that the sorcerer ought to leave Rhewogydd with him. Arthur felt connected to Merlin in a way that he never had before, and when they lay together, out of breath and basking in a warmth that had not been there before, the King allowed himself his moments of weakness, where no one but his old manservant could see him, twining his fingers in hair that was longer by far than any that he had seen in his dreams before Merlin had come back into his life.
He wanted, desperately, to tell him that he loved him, to implore him to never leave his side, but he wouldn’t. Not when Merlin had been without true choices for so long. Whatever happened between them, whatever it was that took place from this moment on, it would be with no manipulation, no words designed to make Merlin want to stay with him without good cause. Not that Arthur was that sort of man by any stretch, but after Taran, he was wary of the sorcerer thinking him the same. Rhewogydd’s King, while a seemingly good man on his surface, had a certain sense and type of rotting beneath that Arthur almost wanted to dig from this kingdom, but it was not his place. All he could do was ensure that Merlin was removed from the man and to a better place, especially now that he knew with a certainty that he had heard the words spoken with his own ears. It was the warlock’s wish to be free and to return to Camelot with Arthur, Guinevere, and the knights. This night, whatever it was that they had shared, was not enough for Arthur to request that Merlin remain with him because he didn’t want that choice to be taken away from him. The man who had fallen asleep at his side now would have freedom, true freedom under no terms but the sorcerer’s own. He would see to that personally, if he had a chance to, which he was absolutely convinced that he did, Arthur decided as sleep came, creeping steadily up on him until it had him in its grasp and he willingly slipped into the first sweet dreams he had experienced in a very long time.
With the morning came a sight that Arthur had grown used to in the time that Merlin had served him for and that was the sight of the man moving about the room and seeing to it that things were clean, tidy, and put away. Of course, these actions only ever usually occurred in Arthur’s own chambers, and this was why it took him a few moments to place just why it was that the younger of the two of them saw fit to put everything away now. It was because they were leaving. A small bag was in the centre of the room and Merlin was putting his things inside it; in went the clothes that he had been wearing since Arthur had arrived at this place, and the book that the King had inspected the evening before. Other things had been packed, though he could not tell what they were as the dark haired man continued to pile things into the bag. Finally, Merlin went to the cupboard in the corner and, opening it, he took out a small bundle and placed it on top of the book. He laced the bag up and pulled it up onto his shoulder, leaving Arthur staring at him for a moment.
“I trust you can dress yourself after all this time, sire?” Merlin asked, and there was the hint of a challenge in his smile that Arthur was only too happy to rise to. After all, the warlock had managed to change back into his clothes of pomp and pageantry, and so Arthur ought to be able to manage his own. Merlin’s even seemed more ornate than anything the King had ever had to wear, and so, he climbed steadily to his feet and, once the warlock had presented him with the clothes that he had worn out on the night he had gone searching for the truth, he set about covering himself.
The picture was completed by the cloak that was not his own, and Arthur was ready. They left the hut, and as the King was walking entirely purposefully down the hill, it took him a moment or two to realise that the warlock had lingered behind, looking at the stone ruin. The blonde man doubled back on himself, trudged the few steps up that he had already taken in the opposite direction, and came to a stop at Merlin’s side. He didn’t say anything. Neither of them had to speak a word. A glance at the expression on his friend’s face spoke every word that he could not say. It would be a hard place for Merlin to leave behind, this small island of freedom. Here Arthur stood, a fool and a King on top of a hill in a country of ice, beside the man he had loved since the moment he had met him, even if he had failed to recognise the emotions for many years. Arthur was a fool, that much he knew.
After a time, Merlin turned away from the place, wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, and made his way down the steep side of the hill, Arthur at his heels.
The journey through Rhewogydd’s lower villages was a slow one, and this was almost exclusively down to the simple fact that the sorcerer had to stop every few metres to call in on the many homes that they passed, to be greeted by people in the roads they walked through, and it was clear to the King that they all loved him. Adored the warlock as someone whom they would never be able to do without, certainly not now that he was here, and while Arthur felt sympathy for the people now, to know what they were going to lose, but he did not feel as terrible for them as he perhaps ought to. That was, of course, some of the King’s selfishness showing, and yet he was not so bothered by this fact that he thought to change it. No, the blonde was entirely happy with selfishness in this case, though it was not that he only thought of himself, not in this case, no. His thought were almost exclusively of the man who stood a few paces away from him, accepting a handful of balled up snow from a child who was very proud of their work. As they once more began their slow walk through the upper village to reach the palace, Merlin cradled the snowball close to him as though it really were a precious thing. They passed more and more homes, each with the warlock’s shimmering protection over them, and it was some long minutes before the ball lifted itself from the younger man’s hands and floated before them for seconds before it flew to hit Arthur square in the face. The King was left to wipe the smashed snow from his face and chase after the running sorcerer. There was nothing but happiness in the sound of Merlin’s laughter, and that alone had Arthur smiling as he chased him through the last of the village.
They reached the frozen lake toward which the path lead, and they crossed the ice by bridge, stopping their running as they approached the palace. A sentry must have seen them, for as soon as they stepped onto the stone paving of the courtyard, they were met by King Taran, and Sir Gwaine, though Arthur was under no doubt that his knight had arrived by pure chance of overhearing the sentry’s report; he did not think it at all likely that Taran had been courteous enough to alert any of Camelot’s court.
Yes, the sooner that they could return, the better. While Arthur had trusted Gaius implicitly to run the kingdom in the time that they were away, he was aware that the old man was now well into his eightieth year, and he did not want to place undue stress on the man for any longer than was necessary.
“Sire,” Gwaine said, bowing his head at the King, though his eyes were on Merlin.
“Welcome home, Merlin,” Taran said, sweeping his ward into an embrace that Arthur wanted to step away from, though he stood his ground. “You have done well to return King Arthur safely to us,” he went on, and the blonde man might have said something at that point, but for Merlin’s interruption.
“Sire,” the sorcerer began, his pack still balanced on his shoulder, “I wish to speak with you in private,” he said, and Arthur simply knew that the request for privacy would be to save Taran’s feelings. He watched with the faintest stirrings of jealousy as Merlin took the other King’s arm and walked with him into the palace, leaving him stood with one of his most trusted knights.
When he was certain that they were alone, Arthur finally spoke. “Gwaine, Merlin will return with us,” he said, “He is about to inform Taran about this fact, and then I suspect that we shall need to depart almost instantly. I do not see any future in which the man will be happy about the news and however strong or capable Merlin is, I would rather we avoid conflict entirely. Take Elyan with you, and make your way to the docks. We shall need passage by sundown,” he added.
“I’ll tell the others,” Gwaine said as the only indication that he had understood his orders, leaving the King to stand in the courtyard for long moments until it finally occurred to him that he ought to find his wife, though doubtless, she would be in the company of Lancelot. He would tell Guinevere what she needed to know, and he knew even now that she would be happy, that she would rejoice at the fact that finally, he had found happiness. That he had Merlin back.
Arthur found himself smiling as he entered the palace and made his way up the staircases toward the chambers that he and Guinevere shared. Indeed, he had been correct; his Queen was with Lancelot, though he overheard her quiet fretting on the other side of the door. She had not expected for Arthur to be absent for so long. He supposed that Gwaine had decided not to disturb Guinevere while he alerted the rest of the knights to the situation. He knocked at the door to alert them both to his presence, knowing well enough that each and every one of his knights were bound to be on high alert with their King absent in a strange country, and after he had waited several moments, he pushed the heavy door open and stepped inside.
"Arthur!" came Guinevere's surprised and relieved voice as she pulled away from where she had sat with Lancelot and crossed the room, her arms wrapping about him in an embrace, "We didn't know what had happened to you when you didn't come back," she said, hugging him as tight as she would were their relationship true rather than a carefully-crafted sham. But even if their marriage had failed, this woman was still his friend. His closest, if he excused Merlin, newly returned to his life.
The thought had Arthur smiling as he stroked back his wife's curls and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead.
"What has you so happy?" she questioned when he drew back, her hands resting upon his chest as she looked at him, her expression one of something not unlike disbelief. Arthur could not blame her, how rare his smiles had become.
"Merlin is planning to return with us," he said, the words leaving him in a rush as he shared the good news with Guinevere, watching as her face lit up with the news and she hugged him yet again. "We need to pack away everything, ready to leave. I've sent Gwaine and Elyan to ensure that the ship is ready. I don't think it wise to overstay our welcome."
"You must be so relieved," she said to him, and that was such an understatement that Arthur laughed, a moment that gave the Queen pause as she took in this new man, so like the one she had known in her youth.
Arthur watched as his wife's lover inclined his head in a short bow and left the chamber. He then turned back to Guinevere. He could not tell her all the details, it showed absolutely no respect; she never told him all that happened between she and Lancelot, after all.
"I love him," he said of Merlin, and watched the understanding in her face as she squeezed his hands gently.
"I know," his wife said simply, and this was her consent. "We all do, but none so much as you, I think," she added, and there was a sly smile on her face that had him laughing in disbelief, but also in relief that she accepted his choice. Well, not his choice, not really. He did not believe that he had any now, not when it came to the warlock. The feelings had begun long ago, before the man had been banished from Camelot, and now that he was here, they had rekindled with a passion, one that simply could not be denied.
"You might have told me you were still in contact with him," he said, but Guinevere simply shook her head.
"You wouldn't have heard it, not at the beginning, and then I had to continue the lie. When you decided to come here… I could say nothing, you must know that. You might have called the entire visit off."
The innocence in her face did not convince Arthur for a moment, but he simply smiled, kissed the crown of her head once more, and stepped away. "I understand," he said, though he could see more than she perhaps intended. In her deception, it seemed that she had hoped for an outcome not unlike this one, for his own happiness. Arthur could not and would not hold her in a negative light for this, not when it had resulted in having Merlin back.
"Thank you," he said after a time, and that was all.
Part Six