Archive of Our Own ^beta

He felt the back of his head slam into the wall of the prince’s chambers. He could see the rumpled sheets on the bed where they had made love just that morning. An incongruous thought came to him. The bedding probably still smells of our coupling.

Such an odd thing to think of, when the man he loved had a dagger pressed to his throat, his eyes blazing with rage and hurt. He knew that he was going to die, his throat slit by the prince who meant everything to him.

Even with the knife at his throat, he could feel the hard muscled body pushing him against the wall, the strong left arm clamped around his back to hold him still for the strike. It felt like a lover’s embrace, warm and secure, and he relaxed into it. There was no point in tensing up in the face of the inevitable.

He could easily throw his opponent across the room and make his escape. The prince’s legendary skill as a fighter was no match for his own magic.

But he did nothing.

If Arthur wanted to kill him, he would let him.

He deserved it.

Merlin of Ealdor was a fatherless child.

It took him a while to realize that, of course.

As an infant, his whole experience was his mother, her soft skin and smiling eyes. She was everything to him, and they were a universe of two.

As he got a little older, a bright eyed toddler who loved getting into things, he realized that there were other people in the world. But he didn’t feel the lack of a father. How could he miss something that he had never had?

His earliest memory , from when he was about three, he supposed, was of walking through the village with his mother in the early evening, his chubby hand in hers, and her saying, “Look, Merlin, the evening star is out.” She swung him up into her arms and pointed, and his memory was of feeling safe and content and happy to be shown something so beautiful.

He didn’t remember the first time he used magic, but his mother told him of it later. He could hear in her voice both the pride and the fear that came from realizing her child had a gift that was beyond anything she had ever experienced. A gift that could very well be his undoing.

He started using magic well before he could walk and talk, she told him, and before he could understand any warning that the magic had to be a secret between them. Magic was not forbidden under their king’s rule, but there were many who feared it, and some who might try to exploit it. Hunith dreaded that if word got out about Merlin’s powers, someone might try to take him from her. That could not happen.

He was all she had.

Hunith had been nineteen when she had slept in the hayloft with Balinor, twenty when she gave birth to his son. Balinor was gone by then. In fact, he had left before she had the chance to tell him there was a baby on the way.

She had grown up in Ealdor, and while there had been some rumbling about her lack of a husband when she started showing, most people had been accepting. But it was a constant effort to keep a roof over her head and enough food in her belly to help the child grow inside her.

She worked in the fields alongside the men until she was too big and ungainly, in exchange for a share of grain or a few eggs. She had a kitchen garden, and she knew how to set a snare for a bird or a rabbit. She thatched her own roof and did cleaning and cooking for some of the single or widowed men in the village, all bartered for food or a very occasional coin. Sometimes one of the men would make a pass at her, despite her pregnancy, but no man ever made that mistake more than once.

Her life was a constant struggle for survival, and in the months before Merlin was born she still wept for her exiled love.

But once her child was born, she had no time for tears.

He came out red and wrinkled and squalling fretfully, and so small that the women spoke in hushed voices, saying that he was unlikely to survive. She pretended not to hear.

From the moment she held him, she was gone. He had blue eyes and a tracing of dark hair and ears that she had to admit were perhaps a shade on the floppy side.

To her he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She put him to her breast to suck, and she swore that whatever she had to give in this life, she would give to him.

He fooled the old women by making it through his first month, and after that he thrived. He was a sweet-tempered infant, content simply to watch her as she moved around their tiny hut. He rarely cried, and she sometimes had an odd feeling that there was an old soul looking out at her from those shockingly blue eyes.

The only time he ever fussed was when she tried to leave him with one of the other mothers in the village so she could resume work in the fields. The woman told her that he had screamed for an hour before finally falling into an exhausted sleep. The next time she tried to leave him, he cried so piteously that she gave up, and from then on she worked with Merlin strapped to her back.

Eventually she found other means for them to survive, raising chickens and making herbal salves and medicines and doing some weaving. It was a precarious existence, but Hunith fought ferociously to make sure the only child she would ever have survived each winter.

Merlin seemed like an ordinary infant until one cold morning when she stayed in bed a little later than usual. When she got up, she found a ten month old Merlin babbling in his cradle, contentedly playing with his only toy, a smooth wooden rattle she had bought from a traveling tinker. It was oddly beautiful for something so cheap, gourd-shaped with red and gold stripes painted on it, and it had small bells inside it that made noise when he shook it. He smiled toothlessly at her and clumsily waved the toy, which she was certain she had left on the table the night before.

She convinced herself that she had simply forgotten that she tucked it in with him, although it was not her usual habit. In fact, she preferred that he not have the rattle at night, because he would keep himself awake with it, he loved it so much.

That night she put the rattle under her pillow.

It was in Merlin’s cradle the next morning.

Hunith had scooped him up and clasped him tightly in her arms, sitting down on the floor and rocking back and forth with tears running down her face as she whispered, “Merlin, Merlin, what will become of you?”

The child had stared at her, the smile he had greeted her with fading and the corners of his little mouth turning down, anxious that he seemed to have displeased her. He searched her face, anxious for reassurance, and said softly,”Mam?”

It was the first time he had ever called her that, and she laughed through her tears. He looked confused for a moment, but then he did it again saying “Mam?” and adding a big smile.

The smile seemed a bit forced to Hunith, and she believed that he was trying to make her happy again. Wanting to please others was an early pattern for him.

She sat and rocked him for a very long time.

She explained to Merlin as soon as he could understand that the magic was something that absolutely had to be kept secret.

His toddler years were a challenge. She never left him alone after she found out he had special powers, for fear that he would do something that would get both of them driven from the village, or worse. The other women teased her about her devotion to her child, and she tried to put them off with a few light words. “I don’t have a man to get me with child once a year like your Bernard does,” she would tease back.

But the year Merlin turned four a sickness swept the village, and a third of the children died. And after that no one teased her about wanting to keep her child at her side at all times.

He was always an obedient child, anxious for her approval. He would try to help her with her daily chores even when he was too small to do anything but get in the way, and she was patient with him, letting him stick his pudgy fists in the dough she was kneading or sniff at the medicines she was mixing. He made her laugh at the way his face would scrunch up, and laughter was a rare treat in her hard life. When he got a little older, he joined in the tasks all children in the village were expected to do, gathering small sticks for firewood or helping her pick berries or mushrooms.

She loved him fiercely but she sometimes worried that he was being thrust into adult concerns far too young. He knew when she was worried about not having enough food in the house, or when she would lie awake wondering how many jars of salve or lengths of cloth she would have to sell or barter for them to survive another month. Before he could talk, he would come up to her and lay his head against her knee, trying to comfort her with his presence, and when he was older he would boast, “It’s all right, Mam, I will take care of you.”

She would smile at him and say, “We’ll take care of each other, sweetheart.”

Merlin was good at entertaining himself, happily playing with his few simple toys or just lying in the grass and daydreaming. If he got upset, she would find him in the corner of the cottage, with his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking back and forth to calm himself, not making any noise. Her heart went out to him when he was like that, but she told herself that it was good that he had a means of soothing himself.

Merlin was very fond of sweet foods like fruit and honey cakes, and sometimes ate more of them than she thought wise, even though he stayed nothing but skin and bones. But she sometimes worried that he liked the sweets a little too much. She would tell him lightly, “Moderation in all things, son.” He seemed to think that if one was good, two was better, and four was even better than that, to the point where on a couple of occasions he made himself sick gorging on sweets.

But then she brushed her concerns aside, telling herself that he was a little boy with few treats in his life, so it was natural for him to over-value the ones he had. And it wasn’t like anyone in Ealdor had the luxury of being fat. They all worked too hard.

Hunith knew that she wasn’t a perfect mother. Sometimes she was cross with him, and once when he was five she lost her temper. She had come home to find he had used his magic to get into a jar of honey she’d hidden in the back of a tall cupboard, eating way too much for one sitting and leaving a sticky mess on the floor and all over himself.

There was really no denying what he had done, but he tried anyway. “It wasn’t me, Mam,” he said desperately. “There was a man who came and got it down and gave it to me. He said he had more for you and it was all right for me to have it.”

“Don’t lie to me, Merlin,” she snapped at him. “I can abide anything but lying.” She continued harshly, “It’s a shame you can’t use your magic to do something that would help me instead of making more trouble for me.”

She felt guilty when she saw the silent tears running down his face, and she helped him clean up the mess and told him, “We will think no more about it,” even though she was bitterly regretting the loss of the honey. It had been difficult to obtain and she had hoped it would last until the spring.

That night, when she stroked his hair back from his face and kissed him goodnight, he whispered, “I’m sorry, Mam,” and she answered, “I’m sorry, too, I shouldn’t have been so angry. You’re just a little boy, and little boys get into things they shouldn’t sometimes.”

She had something she needed to tell him before they were done, though.

“Merlin, you may think that lying is the way out of a bad situation, but it really isn’t. It just makes it worse, and it makes your life so much more difficult. When I was your age, my father told me something I’ve never forgotten. He said, ‘Always tell the truth. That way you don’t have to keep track of what story you told to what person.’”

He’d nodded, then looked away and said very softly, “Am I bad?”

She’d answered him quickly. “Of course not, Merlin. You have a kind nature, and I’m proud of you. You may do bad things sometimes, but you are not bad, and you must never let anyone tell you that you are.” He’d dared to look at her then, and had one more question. “Is my magic bad?” His breath was ragged, like he was holding himself back from crying again.

“Merlin,” she’d told him firmly. “I don’t know why you’ve been given this gift, but your magic is not bad. I believe you will use it to make a difference in the world, to do something great and noble.” She rubbed his back gently and added, “Different is not bad. You must always remember that.”

He smiled at her and went to sleep, but even though he loved and trusted her, something about her words rang false to him. Young as he was, he knew that while being different might not be bad, it wasn’t good either.

Different meant always having to hide who he was.

In later years, after Will was gone, Hunith always said that she didn’t know what she would have done without him.

He and Merlin became fast friends when they were very small, and he was always welcome in her home, where she could keep a watchful eye on them and make sure that Merlin didn’t lose control of his magic in a childish tantrum.

She’d become very good at reading Merlin, and she could catch the expression on his face right before his eyes glowed gold. They developed a code, where she would warn him, “Merlin, watch your temper,” which he understood to mean, “Don’t do anything stupid with your magic.” Others sometimes wondered when they heard the words, because Merlin was known throughout Ealdor as a sweet-tempered, affectionate boy, always eager to please the adults around him. He didn’t seem like an angry or temperamental child.

But they supposed that Hunith knew how to handle her own son, and life was too busy to spend much time worrying about it.

When Merlin and Will got a bit older, six or seven, they were allowed to roam freely through the small village and the surrounding meadows and fields. There were not many one-child families in Ealdor, and the only reason Will had no siblings was that his mother and his two little sisters had died in the hard winter when Merlin was four. Will and Merlin became like brothers, and Hunith was grateful that Merlin had a companion his own age.

They’d spend long summer days lying in the grass beside the stream, lying on their backs staring at the clouds and going skinny-dipping when they got hot. In the winter, they made snow forts, and when they came in soaked to the skin Hunith would dry their clothes by the fire and make them tea with mint and honey.

They got in their fair share of mischief, too. Little things like picking apples from a cranky neighbor’s tree, or letting old Brom’s chickens out because they thought it was funny watching him turn red and jump up and down and curse.

She knew Merlin wasn’t a mean-spirited child, and when she caught him, or when someone complained to her, she always imposed a punishment of extra chores on him. But she was secretly glad to see him acting like an ordinary boy and blowing off some steam. Because she never forgot that he wasn’t an ordinary boy.

An ordinary boy couldn’t make a small light and pull his covers over his head, cradling it in his hand, because he was afraid of the dark.

She never told him that for all his attempts at stealth, she could see the blankets glowing and knew exactly what he was doing.

An ordinary boy didn’t bring her a small bunch of lily of the valley in January, claiming that he had found them growing in the woods. She had taken them from his grubby little fist, and thanked him for them, before taking one whiff of their sweet perfume and casting them into the cooking fire.

They’d had a long talk after that incident, Hunith earnestly explaining to him that flowers in mid-winter attracted exactly the kind of attention it was imperative that he avoid.

Most terrifying of all, an ordinary boy wouldn’t come home crying with a dead kitten that had been run over by a cart, and raise his hand to try to bring it back to life.

She had grabbed his hand and stopped him, and had told him with her fear sharp in her voice that he must never try to raise something from the dead. He had looked up at her, his eyes bright with tears, and asked simply, “Why? It was a good kitten. I don’t want it to be dead.”

“I don’t want it to be dead either, Merlin. But there is a natural order of things. Everything under the sun is born, and lives for a while, and then dies. If you try to take something back from where it is supposed to be, terrible things happen. Unimaginable things. It’s dark magic, and you must have nothing to do with it.”

He’d been shaken, but had seemed to accept her words. They’d buried the kitten together, and Merlin had wept some more, and they had walked back to their cottage hand in hand.

But as much as she loved her son, she sometimes wondered if he really understood, or if he was just pretending he did to keep the peace.

Merlin and Will were only six when Merlin did magic in front of him for the first time, and Hunith knew as soon as they came home what had happened. Their guilty little boy faces told her all she needed to know.

She’d crouched down in front of Will, making him meet her eyes, and said, “You love Merlin, don’t you, Will?” He had nodded. And then she asked him, “Will you help me keep him safe?”

“I will,” he answered solemnly.

Will had his faults. In his teens, and particularly after Merlin left Ealdor, he became bitter and sarcastic, his rage over his father’s death never leaving him.

But until his dying breath, he kept his promise to protect Merlin.

Hunith did her best to avoid speaking to Merlin about his father.

She didn’t know if he was alive or dead, but it made no difference to them. He was never coming back.

Uther had seen to that.

She sometimes let herself remember the few precious months she’d had with Balinor, the joys of young love and the hopes they’d had for their future. But she never let herself think about what it would be like if she had help with Merlin, how much easier it would be if Merlin had a father to guide him.

That kind of thinking was a luxury she couldn’t afford.

When Merlin was six, he’d asked her why he didn’t have a father when all the other children did, and she’d told him patiently that sometimes things in life didn’t work out the way you might like them to, and that he did have a father, but that he had left for good reasons and would be unable to come back.

When Merlin was seven, he’d come in one day with torn clothes and a split lip, When she found out he’d been fighting, she opened her mouth to scold him, but stopped when he burst into tears.

“They called you a slut,” he sobbed. “They said you lifted your skirt for a man who wasn’t your husband.”

She’d stroked his hair and soothed him, and when he finally stopped crying, she told him, “Never mind what those boys say. They’re just ignorant, and trying to make themselves feel big by tearing you down.”

“They’re stupid, they can’t do anything like I can do, I can hurt them if they aren’t careful,” he said sulkily.

Hunith was having none of that. “They’re foolish, certainly. But you are not better than they are just because you have magic. I know you are angry, but you know it would be wrong to use your magic to hurt them.” Her voice was stern.

Merlin hung his head, ashamed of his outburst, but he still felt like the other boys were inferior creatures, almost too backward for him to want to have anything to do with them. But he was smart enough to change the subject, so he said cautiously, “Is it true? Did you lie with a man when you were unmarried?”

She chose her words carefully. “It’s true that your father and I were never married. We hoped to be, but circumstances made that impossible. You are too young to understand, but sometimes passion doesn’t care what the world thinks. I loved your father, and he loved and honored me.” She added dryly, “Many of the children in the village have parents who got married because there was a baby on the way. It is not such a rare thing as those boys seem to think.”

That got a smile from Merlin, and she kissed him lightly on his messy black hair. “All you need to know is that you were made from love, and that I wouldn’t change a thing.”

She cleaned up his face and tsked at his torn shirt, which would have to be mended because she didn’t have the means to make him another one just now. Then she’d sent him off to try to catch a fish for their supper, telling him with a smile that he was the man of the house and had important jobs to do.

The man of the house. Seven year old Merlin liked the sound of that.

The year Merlin turned twelve, he shot up like a weed. Hunith had to grow accustomed to looking up at her son instead of down at him, and she had to scrounge even more to provide enough food to keep him growing.

When he was little she was able to fool him by taking very small portions and giving most of the food to him, claiming that she wasn’t hungry, but the day came when he wouldn’t stand for that and scrupulously divided all of the portions in equal halves.

She’d hoped he might have some skill at hunting or trapping to supplement their food stores. Unfortunately he was hopeless at both. But he was a hard worker, taking over the kitchen garden and the care of the chickens when he was quite young. He helped her gather the herbs for her medicines, and tended their stall at the market.

Ealdor was not prosperous, and the only two books in the entire village belonged to Hunith. She had learned to read and write in the three years she had spent in Camelot as a lady’s maid. Her mistress had been kind, and had taught her.

She kept the books hidden, because they were valuable and she wanted them to be something special just for her and Merlin. And she was wary of her neighbors in Ealdor thinking that she had gotten above her station.

There were many times when she was tempted to sell them to make ends meet, but she always resisted. The books were precious to her.

One was a book of medicine and herbal remedies, and one was a collection of tales about the time when magic had not been looked at as an evil, as it was now. She would read the stories to Merlin, his eyes shining as he heard the stories of witches and warlocks, dragons and heroes. She taught him his letters with the book, and in time he would read to her.

It didn’t take long for him to have both books memorized, but they still read them for entertainment, and Merlin would amuse her by adding embellishments to the stories, his narratives becoming more and more outrageous as time went on.

It didn’t matter if he changed the endings of stories from the fairy tale book, but when he made up stories about his real life, it was a concern. The imagination that had been endearing in a young child was worrisome in an older one.

She overheard Merlin telling Will that his father had left them a bag of gold, and a map so that he could find his way to his father when he was older. She scolded him for that, and made him tell Will in her presence that he had made it up.

But he didn’t seem to learn the lesson. The next week someone in the market told her that Merlin was boasting that he had rich relatives and that he was going to live with them soon. She made him muck out every pigsty in the village for that.

Over the next couple of years, she often had to tell him that there was a difference between being an entertainer and telling lies that could hurt people, and how important it was for him to know the difference. He was a very good storyteller, and she teased him that he could earn his living as a bard, with his easy charm. But she sometimes wondered whether he believed his own tall tales.

When he was thirteen she began to think seriously about his future, and to steel herself for the time when she would have to send him away from Ealdor. She had always known that a child so special could not stay forever in a tiny hamlet, so she fretted and planned, but said nothing to her son.

The people in Ealdor were basically good-hearted, but she knew that there might be financial gain involved in bringing Merlin to the attention of the new young king of Escetia, Cenred, who was said to deal in the darker side of magic. All it would take to have her boy taken from her by force was for one person to realize Merlin had special gifts and succumb to the temptation to turn him in to Cenred for a reward. She could not risk that.

She knew that sending Merlin to Camelot was dangerous, since Uther executed anyone even suspected of sorcery, even young children. Her first impulse was to send Merlin as far from Camelot as his feet could carry him.

But as Merlin entered manhood and came into his power, he would need a mentor who could guide him in using his magic for the good of all creatures, not for evil. She had known Gaius well when she lived in Camelot, spending her spare hours helping him in his role as a physician, and with Balinor lost to her Gaius was the only one she felt she could trust with Merlin’s secret.

And something inside her told her that Merlin belonged in Camelot. Someone with his unusual gifts couldn’t languish in a tiny village. Camelot was a wealthy kingdom, and he would have a chance to earn a good living, and see something of the wider world.

She had known Queen Ygraine slightly, and knew that she had died giving Uther a son and heir a year before her own son was born. Ygraine had been by all accounts a kind and fair woman, and she had held no prejudice against practitioners of magic.

Hunith hoped that when Ygraine’s son ascended to the throne, the ban on magic might be lifted. But even if it wasn’t, Ealdor wasn’t the right place for Merlin. And none of the other kingdoms had Camelot’s wealth and opportunities for advancement. She shuddered to think of Merlin living in the brutish conditions of Mercia or Essetir, where ignorance and poverty ruled the day. If Merlin was careful and learned to control his impulsiveness, he could have a good life in Camelot.

It would not have been unusual for a boy of Merlin’s class and status to be turned out from home at thirteen, to choose a trade or make his own way in the world. But she wasn’t ready for him to leave, so she kept putting off the decision. If anyone asked, she said that he was a help to her, and that there was plenty of time for deciding his future.

But when he was sixteen, a number of things happened that made her think that Merlin had to get out of Ealdor.

He and Will were getting in more trouble, nothing too serious, and nothing other boys their age didn’t do. They did extra work in haying season and bartered for a jug of mead, which they split one night, with disastrous results. Hunith had never in her life seen anyone empty his stomach as thoroughly as Merlin did the next morning.

She let him stay in bed for an hour, but then she made him get up and dressed and do his chores, although he had to stop periodically and lean against a wall for support. She hoped he learned the lesson that overindulgence could lead to misery.

Merlin and Will had sexual feelings, too, which Hunith was well aware was perfectly natural. She took pains to tell Merlin how long she might be away when she went out, knowing that he required some privacy to give in to a boy’s fevered needs, and she always made some noise when she returned. She also knew that Will shared the bed of a widow a good fifteen years older than he was, and there were a couple of girls in the village making eyes at Merlin.

She’d had a talk with him, pointing out the horrors of being a husband and father before he even had to shave every day, and he had promised her to be careful. But what was there to do in Ealdor for a bright, bored boy other than drink and try to get someone into the hayloft with him? It was a worry.

It wasn’t only girls who were interested in Merlin, either. She’d caught a couple of the men at the market giving him considering looks. Once she’d had to interrupt a conversation between Merlin and a man in his forties who was being far friendlier than circumstances warranted. She’d caught the look of disappointment on the man’s face as she hustled Merlin off. And she knew that some of the mischief the boys got up to behind the barns included group masturbation and maybe some awkward touching.

She wasn’t particularly concerned about the boys, but she didn’t want Merlin’s pretty face to attract the wrong kind of attention from men old enough to be his father. She didn’t want him to be led astray or get seduced into something he wasn’t ready to handle.

But the final factor in sending him away from home was that she could almost see his magic bubbling and shimmering and begging for release. Any adolescent boy is a huge bundle of want! with not much brain guiding his impulses, but in Merlin’s case his magic exacerbated the situation.

She knew she’d brought him up well, and that at his core he was a good person, but he had a rebellious streak, a best friend who was eager for mischief, and no father to guide him. She wasn’t sure exactly how it came about, because she brought him up to be polite and respectful, but he had little use for authority other than hers. In some ways she thought his confidence in his own judgment and abilities was a good thing, but she sometimes wondered if in his mind his special abilities put him above the law and above other people.

Merlin was a bit of a practical joker, and she turned a blind eye when she heard that all of the men in the village were pissing blue for a couple of days, or that a couple newly married had found their bed full of frogs. There was no point in punishing a boy for letting off steam.

He was clever enough not to get caught, but even without him being suspected of magic her neighbors were starting to mutter about Merlin having too much time on his hands.

The final straw for Hunith happened after Merlin saw old Niall kick his dog in a drunken rage, and then kick it again when it tried to run away. Merlin had put his hand on the angry man’s arm, saying, “That’s enough, old man.” He’d gotten a weak punch for his troubles.

The next day Niall was inexplicably lame, and had had to stay in bed for three days, sober because he couldn’t get to the tavern, and cranky because no one would bring him anything alcoholic to drink.

Hunith had visited the curmudgeon, and given him liniment for his leg. She’d come home, her mouth set straight and worry in the lines of her face.

“Merlin, can you tell me straight that you had nothing to do with Niall’s sudden lameness?” she demanded. His downcast eyes told her all she needed to know. Merlin would never lie to her in response to a direct question, but he could be evasive when he thought he could get away with it.

“Merlin,” she said sternly. “Look at me and give me an answer.”

He’d looked up at her, his expression half impish smile and half regretful eyes, and said, “He’ll be fine, it will only last a few days. I was just so angry at him, and it happened.” He shrugged his shoulders, giving her one of the cajoling looks he’d perfected in his cradle.

She seldom lost her temper with him, and she didn’t this time, but it was a near thing. Her voice was sharp. “Do not tell me, ‘it happened’, as if it has nothing to do with you and it is not your responsibility. And don’t tell me he will be fine, because you do not know that for sure. He is a human being, Merlin, a person, and you had no right to do that, no matter how angry you were. When he can’t use his leg, he can’t work, and he could go hungry next week for lack of that work.”

“He had no right to hurt his dog,” Merlin said stubbornly.

“Of course he didn’t! But can’t you see that him kicking his dog is no different than you using your magic to hurt him? I have no idea what gave you the idea that you have the wisdom and experience to sit in judgment on other people!” Her face softened, because she could never stay angry with her son for long, and she added, “I worry about you, Merlin. I worry about your casual arrogance about things you don’t understand. Everyone here likes you, but you can’t make your way through the world on nothing but blue eyes and charm. You have to think before you do things.”

Her words seemed to smooth the edge of his lingering anger, and he said, “I’m sorry, Mam,” in a contrite tone. She sent him over to Niall’s with a bowl of soup from their supper and orders to stay with him for a couple of hours and do what he could to entertain him.

While he was away, she sat by the fire, clutching her shawl to her even though it wasn’t particularly cold that evening.

She knew what she had to do.

The next morning she wrote to Gaius.

Merlin set out for Camelot with high hopes and high spirits. He had been sorry to leave Will and Hunith behind, but he was a man now, and it was time for him to find his own path.

He was excited to be going to the city where Uther held his court, a place far bigger than any place Merlin had ever been. The only trips he’d made outside of Ealdor were occasional marketing days to towns not much bigger than the sleepy village where he’d grown up. He wasn’t naïve enough to think that the streets of Camelot were paved with gold, but Hunith had told him enough stories that he was very excited indeed to see the beautiful castle and the bustling city.

It took him five days to walk there, and even though he was tired every night, he still had trouble sleeping because he was so excited about starting a new life.

There was one disturbing incident on the way to Camelot. He met up with a traveler named John, a middle-aged man with a friendly smile and a weather-beaten face who told him that he was headed towards Camelot and that he was welcome to walk with him for the company. John seemed very worldly to Merlin, and he made the time pass with stories about his adventures as a mercenary soldier.

That night they camped together and shared their food over the fire. John had a flask of whiskey that he was willing to share. It was rough stuff and burned on the way down, and John laughed at the face he made and teased him that he was probably unused to spirits. Merlin took the teasing as a challenge, wanting to show John that he could hold his liquor.

The whiskey must have been very strong, because he was high and silly after a single small taste. But he accepted a second shot when it was offered. He tried to stay awake and keep talking to John, but finally it was too much effort and he said politely, “I must be more tired than I thought, I need to go to sleep now.”

John wished him pleasant dreams, and Merlin fell asleep quickly.

An hour or so later, he was awakened by the sound of John taking a piss, and he rolled over to try to go back to sleep. But instead of going back to his own bedroll, John climbed on top of Merlin and began rubbing his body against Merlin’s, nuzzling at his neck.

Merlin was half-asleep and also fuzzy-headed from having more of the strong spirits than he was accustomed to, but he knew that he hadn’t been asked if he wanted to have a tumble, and he knew he wasn’t attracted to John. He pushed at John, saying, “Get off. Go away. I want to sleep.”

But John was a lot bigger and heavier than Merlin, and he couldn’t push him off. And even though Merlin hadn’t thought he wanted sex with John, he was getting hard from the friction, despite John’s foul breath and rough hands.

He turned his head away when John tried to kiss him, but John just chuckled and said, “Suit yourself.” He was fumbling with Merlin’s breeches, and when his calloused hand wrapped around Merlin’s cock and roughly jerked him off, Merlin didn’t say no. John made him come, saying “I knew you wanted it, little tease,” and after Merlin came John jerked himself off, his semen mixing with Merlin’s on Merlin’s belly and making a mess.

John grunted and fell asleep half on top of Merlin.

The next morning Merlin woke up feeling sticky and embarrassed. He didn’t find John attractive -- quite the opposite -- and he wondered why he hadn’t said no more forcefully.

John was still heavily asleep, snoring with his mouth open, and Merlin rolled out from under him and cleaned himself up as best he could. He didn’t want to face John and left fled the camp before the other man woke up, hurriedly packing his belongings and leaving at a half-run.

He didn’t feel good about what had happened, even though he told himself that he shouldn’t make a big deal about it. But he felt cheap, and he knew that the liquor he had drunk had made him an easy target for unwanted advances. When he was a couple of hours away from John, he stopped and bathed in a stream, shivering in the cold but happy to have the evidence of what had happened washed away.

He resolved not to drink with strangers again, and tried to forget the whole sordid incident.

Unfortunately for him, Merlin’s nature was such that difficult lessons usually had to be learned over and over again.

Merlin had arrived in Camelot planning to be so careful with his magic, but then he always planned to be careful. Somehow there always seemed to be a gap between his intentions and his reality.

But even the shock that came from seeing an execution almost as soon as he set foot in Camelot didn’t stop his unruly magic from reaching out to save Gaius when the old man took a tumble from his balcony. He stopped the fall, knowing that it could easily have been fatal.

His tongue was sometimes as unruly as his magic, and that was another thing that got him in trouble the first day he was in Camelot.

When he looked back in later years, he remembered every detail of that first meeting . How graceful Arthur has been as he swaggered about, how he bullied the hapless servant with the table top, how he played to the audience in the courtyard, how brightly Arthur’s teeth had flashed, and how the light reflected off his hair…

Arthur had behaved very badly, of course, and he and Merlin had disliked each other on sight.

But still, looking at Arthur had been like looking at the sun. He was beautiful, lithe, powerful, his graceful movements and well-formed muscles a strong contrast to Merlin’s skinny frame and pale skin.

If a young man like that had ever crossed Merlin’s path in Ealdor, he might have been jealous or resentful of his natural advantages. But he had never resented Arthur, even when he detested him.

Arthur bragged to Merlin that he’d been trained to kill since birth (and it took many months for Merlin to start wondering why Arthur had felt the need to impress him in the first place), but the truth was that he had been trained to be a prince since birth. Arthur was an only child whose mother had died giving birth to him, the sole heir to a kingdom that was not terribly secure, a boy who had never really been allowed to have a childhood. In time Merlin would come to see all these aspects of him.

But from the very beginning, he had seen Arthur as someone who would shape a kingdom, for good or for evil. Leadership came as easily to Arthur as breathing did to ordinary men.

They could not have been more unlike each other, but they were forced into an uneasy truce after Merlin’s magic saved Arthur when Mary Collins tried to take Uther’s son’s life in revenge for the death of her own son. Merlin loved life, and he could not see a person’s life threatened without doing something to try to stop it. And perhaps he was not quite as disdainful of Arthur as he pretended at the time, since he was dizzy with relief when he stopped the witch’s knife from killing Camelot’s prince.

And so he settled into his first few months in his new home, with so much to see and do and learn that sometimes he thought he must be living in a dream. Gaius had much to teach him, about medicine and herb lore and life at court. And it was a huge help when he realized that he had someone who could help him understand his magic.

In the early days he spent way too much time thinking about Arthur, about what a jerk he could be and about his overinflated ego and thoughtlessness. At first Merlin thought he was obsessing about Arthur because he had been ordered to be his servant, and was exposed to Arthur’s cockiness during most of his waking hours.

But as time went on, Merlin was forced to admit the strong pull he felt toward Arthur. There was no denying Arthur’s good looks and graceful command of his body, and Merlin found him attractive. He lied to himself about a lot of things, but he couldn’t lie to himself about that.

Gaius had been dumbfounded when he realized that the unassuming, coltish youth standing in front of him had worked powerful magic, magic the likes of which he had not seen in more than twenty years.

He’d been angry, the shock of nearly falling to death or serious injury followed by the shock of lying in the smashed remains of his bed and realizing that the bed was across the room from where it should have been. And the young man with the round face and the beauty of a cherub had lied to him, easily and automatically.

In later years, when Merlin was on the path to self-destruction, Gaius looked back on their first meeting and berated himself for not seeing those early hints of his protégé’s darker side.

In their first few minutes together, Merlin had lied. Twice.

“I have no idea what happened,” followed by, “That was nothing to do with me.”

He had shown his desire to please everyone around him and to be what people wanted him to be. And to do whatever it took to get out of a scrape.

When Gaius had confronted him angrily, asking, “Are you lying to me, boy?” Merlin had answered in frustration, “What do you want me to say?”

And Merlin had asked Gaius to cover up for him, saying, “You won’t say anything about, um…” , his sentence trailing off.

Gaius hadn’t said anything. He was fond of the lad from the start, unable to resist his soft voice and wide smiles. And he remembered Hunith with great warmth, and would not have betrayed her trust even if Merlin had not been a likable youth.

So Merlin settled into life in Gaius’s chambers, and if Gaius had had the gift of prognostication, he would have seen the dangers of Merlin’s eagerness to please and to pretend, to cover up the truth with an easy lie.

But he had no such gift, and there was so much good in Merlin that Gaius never thought much about that first meeting until bitter hindsight forced him to do so.

There were many things about his new life in Camelot that delighted Merlin.

For one thing, even though he was a servant and not a noble, he was living in luxury that he never could have imagined when he was a shabby urchin in Ealdor.

He and his mother had lived in one room. She had made a partition with a blanket around her bed to give them both at least an illusion of privacy. Merlin slept on a pallet on the floor in the warm months, and in the bitter winter months they shared her bed to conserve body heat.

In Camelot, he had his own little room, with a door that closed and that could even be barred from the inside if he so desired. He had a real bed, and although it was a bit small for his tall frame, it had plenty of blankets and he could ask for clean sheets from the castle laundry whenever he wanted.

He had access to a bathtub, too, something he had never experienced before. At home he had washed in the stream in the summer and shivering in front of the fire with a pail of water in winter.

Now Gaius had a bath ordered for himself every Sunday, and one brought up for Merlin midweek. The first time Merlin had slipped into a tub full of hot water, he thought life could hold no greater pleasure. Even the soap was luxurious. In Ealdor his mother made harsh brown soap and they used it for everything from laundry to bathing to scrubbing the dishes. In Camelot there was special soap just for baths, white and sweet smelling.

And the food was so much more varied and tasty than anything he’d had in Ealdor.

He had breakfast with Gaius, and that was usually oat porridge. And sometimes Gaius would prepare a simple meal in the evening, something like soup and bread. But Gaius often dined with the king, and Merlin was always welcome to eat in the kitchens.

As Arthur’s servant, Merlin was in and out of the kitchens all day. He was also expected to wait on Arthur at meals with Uther and Morgana and to help the kitchen staff at feasts.

The first time he’d gone to the kitchens, his jaw had dropped at the amount of food he saw there. Huge roasts of pork or lamb or venison, varieties of fruit he had never seen before, dozens of loaves of bread and huge wheels of cheese. He’d stood there looking his fill until a plump and ornery cook had swatted him on the bottom with a spatula, saying, “Stop gawking, boy, and take the prince his breakfast.”

Merlin soon became a favorite in the kitchen, and the under-cooks alternated between slapping his hand when he reached for a forbidden delicacy and setting aside special treats for him, masking their fondness with insults. “I can’t let it be known that a scarecrow like you is a servant working out of my kitchen,” one cook would say roughly. The next day another one would slip him a small canvas bag filled with dried fruit and walnuts, or a handful of cookies, muttering that his skinniness was scaring the little boys who turned the spit.

He noticed that the prince’s breakfast trays seemed to get heavier and more generously filled each day for the first week he was there, until they leveled off at a quantity that could comfortably feed two. Arthur, who Merlin still considered a bit thick, noticed the extra food and seemed puzzled by it. But then he took a long look at Merlin, raking him up and down with his eyes in a way that made Merlin feel like a horse at auction, and said roughly, “The kitchen staff must think I eat like a pig. Sit down and eat with me. Camelot is not so wealthy that we can afford to waste food.”

After that he almost always sat down to eat a second breakfast with Arthur, and was grateful for it. He still had qualms about Arthur, but at least in this respect he was a generous master.

The final luxury in Camelot was money, real coins like Merlin had only rarely seen in his life. The castle steward had explained to him that he was being provided with room and board as part of his compensation, and the value of that was taken into consideration in setting his wages. Being the personal servant to the crown prince was considered an honor, and put him in the upper echelon of the household in terms of wages.

When the steward had named his salary, Merlin had been disappointed, and had said quietly, “I’d hoped for a bit more for the year.” The steward had rolled his eyes and said “You really are a turniphead, aren’t you? The sum I named is paid quarterly.” Merlin had fallen all over himself thanking the man, until he’d finally said impatiently, “That’s enough, lad. Get back to your work and leave me to mine.” Merlin had left with a huge grin on his face, thinking happily of how much money he would be able to send Hunith and how much more comfortable she would be with his earnings supplementing her own.

It was his best day in Camelot yet.

As exciting and glamorous as Merlin’s new life in Camelot seemed compared to village life, there were still daily frustrations, and ever-present reminders that he was playing a dangerous game.

Almost the first thing he had seen in Camelot had been the execution of Thomas Collins, and it had marked his soul . He wasn’t sure exactly what Thomas had done, but he knew that any use of magic, no matter how small, invoked the death sentence. Gaius warned him that anyone suspected of using magic would be executed, often without the benefit of a trial. And if there was a trial, Uther was the sole judge, and he was hardly impartial. Gaius had warned him darkly that children as young as five had been put to death, as well as people who were clearly out of their wits.

He was afraid of the king , and did his best to stay out of his way. But since Arthur often was summoned to his father’s side, and for some unfathomable reason liked to have Merlin tag along after him, Merlin was often in Uther’s company.

The only way he could turn off his fear was to pretend that Uther’s silky menace amounted to nothing more dangerous than the tyranny displayed by any of the other rulers of the five kingdoms. Because if he truly considered the idea that Uther had been driven over the edge of madness by his hatred for magic, if he truly contemplated the number of innocent men, women, and children Uther had killed, he would not be able to pour the man’s wine and calmly offer him a piece of fruit from a serving tray.

It was a strain to put on a pleasant front for a man who would order him killed with less thought than he put into choosing his daily clothing.

Merlin sometimes found himself taking a sip or two of wine behind Uther’s back, just to steady his nerves. He was careful about it, though. He knew he had no head for alcohol.

There were a number of times when he took one of Gaius’s small flasks and poured leftover spirits into it when he was helping clear up after a feast. He was careful not to get caught, and he drank the smuggled alcohol in his room, where it didn’t matter how drunk he got.

He told himself that he worked hard, and that servants were expected to consume the leftovers.

He wasn’t doing anything wrong.

Gaius was a mentor and a friend, and for the first time in his life Merlin had some inkling of what he had lacked in his life due to his father’s absence. But Merlin sometimes chafed under Gaius’s rules and his constant exhortations to hide his magic, to be cautious.

Merlin was sixteen years old, and he wanted to live. If he had magic, it must be for a reason. What good was it to have what Gaius said were extraordinary powers if he was not allowed to use them?

Gaius was old, something past seventy, and had learned the habits of fear and evasion well in the years since Arthur’s birth. Merlin rebelled against Gaius’s cautiousness , and there were sometimes slammed doors and angry words.

But in the end, Gaius was the only person in Camelot who knew Merlin’s secret, and it was a relief to have even one person he could be himself with and whom he could trust. Gaius might be too committed to the status quo for Merlin’s liking, but he knew the old man would never betray him.

Merlin had more acquaintances than he had ever dreamed possible in sleepy Ealdor, and he knew he was generally liked. He could tell that some of the older servants thought he was a bit of a clumsy idiot, and that others were jealous of the country bumpkin who had gained a coveted position in the royal household so quickly, but most of the time he had no complaints about his treatment. Most people were kind.

But there were days when Merlin felt as isolated in Camelot as he had in Ealdor, perhaps even more so because he had to hide his magic from so many more people. In Ealdor, if things got to be too much for him, he could slip off to the woods or the meadows and let off steam with his magic if he felt like it. But in Camelot, someone had to know where he was at every moment, and the only time he was out in the open air was when he was hunting with Arthur or gathering plants for Gaius.

He didn’t like pretending that he was harmless and subservient when he knew he was so much more than that. Gaius had confirmed for him something that he had always felt- that his powers were extraordinary and unique. It was hard to spend his days polishing armor and scrubbing floors when he yearned to do something really important, something that could change the world.

When he was cuffed on the head for moving too slow while serving at a banquet or got yelled at simply because another servant was in a bad mood, it was hard not to think, If only you knew what I could do, you would treat me far better.

Or even Do that again and I will make you sorry.

He never acted on those feelings, and most of the time he was able to laugh at himself for those thoughts once he got a little distance from the situation. But there were days when he paced around his little room railing at how unfair it all was, not really caring if Gaius heard him or not.

He wasn’t sure how he would have gotten through those early days without his friendship with Gwen, who was the sweetest-tempered young woman Merlin had ever met. He liked so many things about her: her easy smile, her soft heart, her willingness to show him the ways of the castle and help him out, and her adorable rambling sentences.

She was so pretty, too, and she seemed so interested in him. He had been missing Will, and it was good to have a friend again.

His friend Will had never had a crush on him, though. Merlin was flattered by Gwen’s interest, and sometimes he wondered what it would be like to kiss her or to touch that lovely brown skin. But he had his hands full with adjusting to his new life in Camelot, and he was never sure if going after Gwen was really what he wanted.

If it was meant to be, it would happen. He didn’t need to be in a big hurry about it.

And while his mind was busy considering things that were meant to happen, he had the dragon to worry about, too.

For all the times in his childhood that his mother had entertained him with tales of a time when dragons flew free, Merlin had never imagined he would actually meet one.

It had been a childhood fantasy of his that someday he would ride on the back of a dragon, soaring far above the earth. But Hunith had told him sadly that the dragons were all dead, killed by Uther as part of his war against magic. She told him about all the marvelous things dragons could do, and how when she was a child she would sometimes see one gliding through the air.

Later, Merlin would come to understand that his mother had loved a Dragonlord, and that she had more knowledge of dragons than would be expected for a simple countrywoman. But as a child, he had just accepted the stories as part of the general omniscience of adults.

And now, as if all the other new things in his life weren’t enough to cope with, he was at the beck and call of a dragon who was maddening and confusing and really not a terribly nice creature, in Merlin’s opinion.

On the one hand, Kilgharrah flattered him by telling him that he had a great destiny before him, that his name would be known throughout the ages. Pretty heady stuff for a youth from Ealdor.

On the other hand, Kilgharrah insisted that he and Arthur were bound together for the rest of their lives, that they would share a great destiny.

This was not welcome news, considering his low opinion of Arthur.

The prince was arrogant, self-centered, and often short-tempered. His Royal Jerk-Off, as Merlin thought of him, was often rude to Merlin, treating him like a piece of furniture instead of a human being. He didn’t seem to know the words “please” or “thank you.” He seemed to delight in leaving messes for Merlin to clean up, and the list of chores he gave Merlin was so long that Merlin had to resort to magic just to keep his head above water.

Worst of all, Arthur totally refused to listen to Merlin, even when Merlin was right.

And yet…

He came to love Arthur, almost against his will.

His original view of Arthur as a spoiled and selfish lightweight changed when he saw that Arthur was completely dedicated to the people of Camelot. Arthur proved that almost as soon as Merlin became his servant, when he refused to withdraw from the single combat with Valiant even though he knew that he would most likely die at Valiant’s hands.

If the people needed their prince to die bravely and stupidly in front of their eyes, Arthur was prepared to give them what they needed.

Merlin was unable to whole- heartedly dislike Arthur after that, even though Arthur had dismissed him in a rage and then re-hired him with a casual assumption that Merlin would be happy to be his servant once more.

Once you become invested in a thing, it becomes more precious to you. In his first weeks in Camelot, Merlin saved Arthur’s life twice, once from Mary Collins’s throwing knife and once from Valiant’s sword and magical snakes.

In a sense, Arthur became valuable to Merlin precisely because he had already risked so much for him. If anyone had seen Merlin drop the chandelier on Mary Collins, nothing have kept him from the executioner’s axe, or worse, from the pyre. Not even the fact that he saved the prince’s life.

The same was true of the tournament with Valiant. Saving Arthur would not have prevented Merlin’s execution.

Merlin was careless with his magic in those days, not even checking to see if there was anyone around to see his eyes glow gold when he animated Valiant’s snakes.

He was young and foolish, and had the confidence of youth that nothing really bad could ever happen to him. The dragon was right about one thing, he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin, each matching the other in arrogance. Arthur’s arrogance sprang from his physical prowess and the privileges of his birth, and Merlin’s came from his knowledge that he had powers that ordinary people did not have.

After Merlin had saved Arthur’s life, it became important that Arthur survive. Otherwise all the risks he took would have been for nothing. And the enemies of Camelot, magical and otherwise, all seemed to take Arthur’s coming of age as a signal to come and take a shot at him. It kept Merlin very busy in his first few years in Camelot.

Long before Merlin fell in love with him, Arthur became Merlin’s charge, his responsibility, his purpose in life…just his.

Like it or not, Arthur was his.

“Mer-lin,” the prince intoned one morning, in that irritating way he had of emphasizing the first syllable of his servant’s name. “Didn’t I tell you that I don’t like my eggs scrambled, that I only like them soft-boiled?”

Merlin looked up from where he was cleaning Arthur’s second best pair of boots (and wasn’t he the lucky one to have four pairs of boots) and said reasonably, “I don’t actually cook your meals, I just bring up what Cook puts on your plate.”

“Well, you need to be assertive with her, be firm about what my likes and dislikes are, and then she’ll act accordingly.”

An image of Cook rose unbidden to Merlin’s consciousness. She was five feet three, weighed fourteen stone, and was red faced and mean. He shuddered with dread.

“You’re the prince. Why don’t you swan on down to the kitchens and be assertive with her?” Merlin asked.

“Have you seen her?” Arthur grinned. “She’s terrifying!”

“My point exactly,” Merlin said solemnly, and returned to his work with a smile on his face.

Merlin came to Camelot with a lot of optimism, and the naïve notion that he could use his magic to simply fix things when they needed fixing.

He didn’t want to listen to an overly cautious old man telling him that he had to wait to do great things, that he couldn’t even try to use his magic to save the people dying from the mysterious plague shortly after he arrived in Camelot.

And then when Gwen’s father was stricken, and Gwen came to Gaius desperate and in tears, he thought that it was only right to help her. She was his closest friend in Camelot, and he knew what it was like to have only one parent and how horrible it would be to for Gwen to lose him. And in a world where an unattached woman was often powerless, he knew how hard life would be for Gwen without her father’s income and his protection.

So he used his magic, and Gwen was arrested and came close to being executed. The whole thing backfired spectacularly, but when all was said and done Merlin wasn’t dissatisfied with the outcome.

Tom was still alive, and Gwen was still alive, and the afanc was defeated. And for the first time he had the intoxicating feeling of knowing that he could help Arthur defeat a magical foe, even if he was the only one who knew that Arthur’s torch blazed higher and brighter because of Merlin’s magic.

He could do a lot of good in the world with his magic, he felt it in his bones. . And just maybe, the dragon’s cryptic remarks about he and Arthur being two sides of the same coin were finally making some sense.

Merlin had been surprised when Arthur had immediately leapt to his defense when he had confessed to magic, and had been frustrated and humiliated by Uther and the counselors laughing at him. At first he’d just thought Arthur was being his usual clueless self, leaping to the false conclusion that Merlin was in love with Gwen.

But later, he wondered about how quickly and effectively Arthur had negated Merlin’s truthful confession, how clever he had been in saying exactly the words that would turn Uther from prosecutorial to amused and indulgent.

Arthur had saved Merlin from his own impetuosity, but Merlin wasn’t ready to admit that he needed to be saved. Still, it showed him a side of Arthur that he had never seen before.

He was left wondering if he had underestimated both Arthur’s intelligence, and his compassion.

Merlin sometimes cheated and used his magic to do some of his chores, but he knew how much Gaius disapproved and tried to do it stealthily, usually only in Arthur’s chambers with the door locked and Arthur committed to court matters for a few hours.

Arthur was very demanding. He didn’t seem to understand that Merlin was Gaius’s apprentice as well as his own manservant, and that Gaius needed some of Merlin’s time too. And as time went on Arthur seemed to want Merlin at his side constantly, requiring him to come out to the field for training, either to be batted about by Arthur under the guise of toughening him up, or just to watch Arthur train and carry his equipment.

He noticed that sometimes, when Arthur had struck a particularly good blow, Arthur’s gaze would turn to Merlin, just for a moment, to make sure that Merlin had seen.

That made Merlin feel strangely warm inside, but the feeling usually faded as soon as Arthur was in his chambers and became his bossy self. “My armor needs polishing, Mer-lin, and my tunic needs mending, and the sheets need changing and the floors in here are filthy, what do you do all day?”

Arthur’s sheets needed changing a lot, and the reason why was obvious to Merlin. As near as he could tell, the prince was going for some kind of record. Merlin sometimes sighed and thought, You’d think he’d fall straight into sleep after all that physical exertion all day.

Merlin did the same thing, of course. He and Arthur were nearly the same age, with Arthur only fourteen months older than he was. The burning fever to touch himself didn’t seem to abate no matter how hard he was working, and he supposed the same thing must be true of Arthur. And he smiled to himself, thinking that whether a young man was a penniless servant or the crown prince, he had the same needs.

And if he occasionally thought of Arthur on the training field as he pumped himself to completion, or fantasized that Arthur could be doing the same thing as Merlin at the same time, that was definitely something to keep to himself.

Merlin found himself listening to kitchen gossip about the prince, against his better judgment. He wanted to understand how Arthur could be so noble one moment and so self-centered the next.

He heard stories about Arthur’s childhood, like the time he and Morgana were seven, and he cut off one of her pigtails with his small dagger. When the furious little girl caught him, she wrestled him to the floor of the Great Hall and gave him a black eye. The servants had to dump a bucket of cold water on the two combatants to separate them.

The story was that Uther was so angry that he forbade riding for both of them for a week, and made the prince sit with Morgana and the court ladies and do embroidery.

The kitchen servant Merlin was gossiping with laughed. “He took it as a challenge, and by the end of the week his stitches were better than hers. Although that’s not saying much.”

Another time he heard the story of how twelve-year-old Arthur had saddled his pony and slipped away from the castle and gone hunting with a crossbow. He’d returned dirty and triumphant, with a small deer he had field dressed himself slung across the back of his saddle. The King had confined him to his room on bread and water for a day and a half, and when the maids had tried to slip him extra food he had refused it, saying that it would be dishonorable to cheat on his punishment. But the evening he was released from his room, there had been a festive dinner with the deer he had brought back as the main course. Uther had smiled proudly when he said, “My boy provided the meat tonight.”

Merlin also heard the sad story of Queen Ygraine’s death in childbirth, and how her last words had been, “I have given you a fine prince, my love.” And he heard how much Arthur resembled his mother in looks and temperament, the words always spoken in hushed tones because it was an unspoken rule in the castle that Ygraine’s name was never to be said aloud where the King might hear it. Merlin was warned by the other servants never to mention the dead queen in front of Uther.

It was something he and Arthur had in common then, each having grown up with only one parent. And with the remaining parent reluctant to speak of the absent one. But Arthur had it worse, Merlin reasoned. It must have been awful to know that his birth had been the cause of his mother’s death, although death in childbirth was a risk for any woman, peasant or queen. And while Uther loved Arthur, Merlin could see that, he also had a way of treating Arthur as if he would never be good enough. And unfortunately those dismissive moments occurred not just in private, but in public too.

He had seen Arthur’s shoulders stiffen and his cheeks turn red with embarrassment when Uther dressed him down in front of the court advisors. And he counted himself lucky that his only parent had been kind and affectionate, not cold and critical.

Perhaps someday he would be able to talk to Arthur about growing up with one parent missing, but now was not the time. There were too many barriers between them.

Sometimes he felt like there were two Arthurs. One was confident, privileged, a man who could brag that he had been trained to kill since birth and who was the best warrior in the kingdom before his eighteenth birthday. The other was insecure, self-doubting, and felt like he would never be good enough to earn his father’s confidence or his people’s love.

Merlin and Arthur spent a lot of time together, and the more time he spent with Arthur the more Merlin could see how isolated he was. Arthur got up early and spent his mornings training with his knights, pushing them hard and himself even harder. He spent afternoons with his father in endless meetings, training to become king someday. His only real free time was in the evening, and then only if there were no visiting diplomats to entertain.

Arthur took a lot of his meals alone, and the more Merlin saw of royal family life the more he thought perhaps Arthur wasn’t quite as lucky as it first appeared. When Merlin served at dinners where only Morgana and Uther and Arthur were present, he could sense the tensions among the three of them. Uther often spent most of the meal putting Arthur through a catechism of military strategy and tactics, or instructing Arthur about how he was to behave at an upcoming event.

Uther’s attitude toward his son and to his ward was sometimes warm and affectionate, but often judgmental and demanding. Every meal was like an elaborate court dance, with the steps complicated and precise. Merlin sometimes wondered why the three of them carried daggers, since their words were sharp enough to be weapons.

And in Merlin’s eyes, Uther’s relationship with Morgana was troubling. He was nearly as stern with her as he was with Arthur, but there was something else there, a desperate affection that sometimes seemed close to infatuation. He knew the story of how Morgana’s father Gorlois had been one of Uther’s best knights and closest friends, and that Uther had taken Morgana in after the death of both of her parents.

Morgana was exquisite, her perfect white skin and flashing eyes the object of admiration in any room she entered. Gwen said that she believed Arthur and Morgana would marry one day, and that Morgana would be the finest queen Camelot had ever known.

Merlin had his doubts about that.

It was obvious to him that there was a deep affection between Morgana and Arthur, and some hints of sexual attraction as well. But they squabbled like the brother and sister they had been raised as, and he thought their relationship was too prickly to ever support a marriage.

Besides, he had seen Sir Leon slipping out of Morgana’s chambers in the hour before dawn. He had been delivering an emergency medication to a visiting noble, and had stumbled across Leon and Morgana whispering a goodbye in her doorway. She was dressed in a filmy white nightgown, and he whispered something in her ear before kissing her hand and taking his leave, looking back at her over his shoulder as he walked away. Merlin had shrunk back into an alcove before they saw him, and kept what he had seen to himself.

He liked and respected Morgana, and she was entitled to her privacy.

If he was honest, he was a bit sad that Leon had gained something he himself had wanted, even though he knew she was unattainable. Gwen was pretty, but Morgana was a great beauty, the type of woman over whom wars were fought and kingdoms were ruined. He had never seen anyone so beautiful, with her white skin and green eyes and dark hair. She wore the finest perfumes and outlined her eyes with kohl, and her silk dresses rustled as she walked. All of these things made her seem exotic and totally unlike the girls he had grown up with. He had never imagined that there were women like Morgana in the world.

He wasn’t foolish enough to think that he would ever had a chance with someone who was Camelot’s princess in all but title, but it was hard to see his fantasy vanish into thin air. Seeing her with Leon made him realize that she was way out of his league, and always would be. He admired her and wished her well, and hoped she was clever enough to avoid both scandal and unwanted pregnancy.

He wished Leon well, too, and hoped that he didn’t end up losing his bollocks, either at the end of Uther’s blade, or of Morgana’s.

During his first weeks as Arthur’s servant, Merlin could see that the love Arthur received from his father and foster sister was real, but full of undercurrents and expectations.

But the love that Camelot had for its prince was clear to Merlin, even though Arthur sometimes doubted it.

The people of Camelot obviously adored Arthur, even though in the early months Merlin sometimes heard him criticized as spoiled and even a bit of a bully on occasion. Ygraine had been beloved during her brief reign, and the people loved her son by extension. Merlin saw the smiles and murmurs of “so handsome” and “such a perfect knight” as Arthur moved through the market or as he patrolled the streets with his knights. Merlin was proud, even though though that pride was tempered with the thought, no wonder his head is so big.

Arthur’s mercurial moods were confusing to Merlin.

One minute he would act as if having Merlin as his servant was a punishment, speaking to him curtly and making unreasonable demands on him.

The next minute he would be giving Merlin a smile so open and affectionate that Merlin could not help but smile back, feeling warmth bloom unexpectedly in his chest.

Once he’d caught Arthur studying him as he refilled Morgana’s wine goblet at a feast, looking between Merlin and Morgana with an unreadable expression. He’d asked him later why he had been staring at him, and Arthur had been flippant.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Merlin,” he’d drawled. But Arthur had thought better of his answer, and said, “I was noticing how much you and Morgana look alike, the same dark hair and white skin. You could almost be brother and sister.”

There would come a day when Merlin would remember those words, and be saddened by them.

Arthur took it into his head that Merlin had to have some training in fighting, which Merlin thought was a truly terrible idea. He came back from his first training sessions so sore that he could barely get out of bed the next day.

Arthur teased him mercilessly, telling him that there were old grannies in the Lower Town who could fight better than he could. And he dragged Merlin out onto the field again the next day, over his protests. They went at it for the same amount of time they had before, with Arthur banging away at Merlin and Merlin barely able to raise his arms to block him.

But when the session was over, Arthur gave Merlin the day off, grudgingly admitting that he was “not quite as useless as he was at the beginning.” He told Merlin that in the future he would have one training session a week, and when Merlin asked why, he said, “Everyone needs to know a little basic self-defense, Merlin. Even you.”

Merlin rolled his eyes as soon as the prince’s back was turned. If only you knew what I could do to you, you wouldn’t be so smug.

It was seeing the people’s hope for the great king Arthur might one day be that made Merlin commit to Arthur enough to drink poison for him. Or so he told himself, since he was still unable to admit that he liked Arthur for himself.

It wasn’t even a conscious decision on his part. His mother had always told him that he was too impulsive, and he proved her right when he reached for the poisoned goblet intended for Arthur. He just somehow knew that if someone had to die that day, it couldn’t be Arthur.

Even if he had to die himself to prevent it.

He locked his gaze on Arthur as he drank, and his last thought before he lost consciousness was satisfaction that he had saved his master.

In the days when he recovered from his sickness, Gwen and Gaius had slowly told him bits and pieces of what happened. The last thing he remembered clearly was raising the chalice in a little salute to Arthur before he drank from it.

Gaius had spoken to him somewhat sternly, saying, “You need to learn to use your head, boy. You nearly died.”

“But you saved me,” Merlin said, giving Gaius one of his patented bright smiles that usually got him out of scrapes.

“No, I didn’t save you, Merlin. Arthur did. Now that’s enough talking for right now, drink your broth.”

Merlin had stopped talking, but he found a witness easier to interrogate in Gwen.

Gwen was a pushover for anyone she liked, and particularly for Merlin. So he asked her directly, as they sat side by side at Gaius’s table, taking her hand and squeezing it to convey how important this was to him.

“Gwen, Gaius said that Arthur saved me. What did he do?”

Gwen had been hesitant at first. “Don’t you think you should rest more? I could read to you…”

“Gwen. Please. It’s important to me.”

“Well, Gaius said that the poison was distilled from the leaves of the Morteus plant, and that the only antidote had to be made from the flower of the same plant. Arthur wanted to go and obtain the flower, but Uther forbade it. So Arthur disobeyed him and went anyway, alone. Uther was furious!”

Merlin’s face showed his shock. “Arthur defied Uther? To get the flower for me?”

“He was so worried, Merlin. I’ve never seen him look like that before. And he nearly died in the caves, getting the flower.”

“What did Uther say when Arthur got back?” Merlin was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Arthur had done something brave and stupid just for him.

“He had Arthur thrown in the dungeons, and when Arthur gave him the flower and begged him to take it to Gaius to make the antidote, Uther refused. He threw it in the dirt outside of Arthur’s cell, and stomped on it.” Gwen’s eyes filled with tears when she told him of Uther’s cruelty, and she squeezed his hand tighter.

“So how am I still here, then?”

Gwen blushed and lowered her eyes. “I, um, I mean we, Morgana and Gaius and I, we heard that Uther had tried to destroy the flower. I took Arthur some food, and he refused it, taking a look at it and saying it was unfit to eat. But he had managed to retrieve the flower Uther stomped on, lying on the floor and stretching out his fingers. He put the flower on the plate, and I brought it to Gaius, and you were saved!” Gwen’s smile was brilliant. “He was so clever, and so brave.”

Merlin thought, It’s hard to believe this is the man who thought throwing knives at servants was good fun, immediately followed by, Gwen admires Arthur now, that’s a change.

But his strongest feeling was one of awe. I can’t believe that Arthur would do so much for me. He defied his father, went on a perilous journey, and even lay down on a dirty floor to save the crushed flower.

The cocky prince Merlin first met in the square would not have done so much for a servant, but Merlin found that it was easy to believe that Arthur had done what Gwen described. He had always felt that there must be more to Arthur than met the eye, that there was something noble beneath the arrogant exterior. And having that feeling confirmed made everything seem easier.

He had plenty to think about during his convalescence. He was as weak as a kitten, and had terrible muscle cramps which Gaius said were after-effects of the poison. Gwen brewed him willow bark tea, but when that didn’t help Gaius gave him a painkilling potion.

He didn’t like the taste, but there was no denying he liked the way it made him feel. He would doze off and wake up in a languorous haze, smiling at how soft and fuzzy everything looked. But Gaius noticed he was getting a bit dopey, and discontinued the medicine after the first few days.

At Gaius’s insistence, he spent several days sitting by a sunny window, wrapped in a blanket and doing nothing more strenuous than turning the pages of a book. He thought about Gwen kissing him, and how nice it had been, her sweet-smelling hair falling around his face and her lips so soft on his. It had definitely been more than all right.

Gwen was so pretty, and such a kind, sweet person. But Merlin found he didn’t think about her as much as he did in his first weeks in Camelot. He thought more about the time Arthur had come to see him in Gaius’s chambers while he was recovering.

Arthur’s words had been gruff but his eyes had been kind. Merlin had felt the warmth of Arthur’s arm so close to his neck, and he’d wanted to lean back against that arm, to just let go for a moment.

He hadn’t, of course. Despite what Arthur seemed to think, he wasn’t an idiot.

But that moment of affection was a turning point for him. He wasn’t able to harden his heart against Arthur ever again.

Gaius restricted him to half duty when he returned to work after drinking from the poisoned chalice, and the plan was that he would work mornings in Arthur’s chambers and spend the afternoons resting and studying Gaius’s herb books. Gaius had high hopes of turning him into a real physician’s apprentice, and even though Merlin felt that his path lay elsewhere, he went along with his teacher’s recommended course of study.

Knowledge of medicine could come in handy someday, after all.

One morning when Arthur was training his men, Merlin sat on the floor near the window of Arthur’s chambers, intending to polish his boots. He set to his work with a will, but he was still tired from his illness, and the warmth of the sun made him sleepy.

He must have dozed off, and when he awoke he was curled up on the floor, one hand still holding a boot and the other holding on to something soft. He blinked in surprise, and realized that his cheek was not resting on the hard stone of the floor, but on a cushion. And the soft thing he had his fingers tangled in was a fur throw.

That woke him up. Good grief, had he been sleepwalking and helped himself to the prince's bedding? That was the kind of thing that could end up with him in the stocks. He wasn't quite awake enough to sit up yet, but his eyes darted around the room, hoping he was alone and that his appropriation of Arthur's possessions wouldn't be discovered.

No such luck. Arthur was sitting propped up against the headboard of his bed, his legs crossed and very much at his ease. He had an apple in one hand and a book in the other, and his gaze was fixed on Merlin.

Merlin sat up slowly, pushing the luxurious fur away. "I'm sorry, sire," he said, his words thick with sleep. "I didn't mean to fall asleep, and I don't remember taking your blanket.” He looked down at the pillow, made of velvet and dyed Camelot red.Of course it was red, Merlin thought with an internal eyeroll. Wouldn't want the scion of Camelot forgetting who he was, would we? He turned back to the matter of determining exactly how much trouble he was in.

"Or, um, your pillow. I'm sorry I took your pillow, Sire. I don't remember doing that either." He said a brief but fervent prayer to the goddess that he hadn't drooled on the damn thing.

Arthur swung his legs off the bed and stalked toward Merlin like the hunter he was, lithe and menacing. He crouched down next to Merlin, and Merlin went still, like a rabbit caught in a trap, waiting to be finished off.

"Do you often sleepwalk, Mer-lin?" Arthur asked smoothly. And then his hand was reaching out, quick as a snake, and Merlin braced himself for a cuff on the head.

But instead, Arthur was reaching out to push Merlin's messy hair out of his face, and he briefly brushed his fingers along Merlin's cheekbone before he drew his hand away. Merlin was holding his breath, and he realized he must have looked scared, because Arthur said mockingly, "Relax, Merlin. I'm not going to beat you."

"That's a relief," Merlin muttered.

Arthur pretended not to hear him, and continued, "You haven't added sleepwalking to your long list of idiotic accomplishments. You were asleep on the floor, and you looked so pathetic that I took pity on you and covered you up. Consider it my good deed for the day."

Arthur's blue eyes were very intense and very close, and Merlin felt a flush rising in his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Arthur, I just sat down to work on your boots, and I guess the sun made me sleepy." He scrambled to his feet, cringing at his lack of grace, and hurriedly put the fur and the pillow back on the bed, his hands nervously smoothing them.

"There!" he said brightly. "I'll just finish your boots then, shall I?" He hoped he didn't look like as much of a fool as he felt.

Arthur was still staring at him. Then he shook his head as if ridding himself of an unwelcome thought and said, "Go back to Gaius, Merlin. If you're falling asleep on the floor, you must be not be as fully recovered as everyone thought. I won't need you until tomorrow morning." Merlin hesitated, and Arthur said impatiently, "Just go, Merlin."

So he went, stammering out his thanks, and spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in the windowsill alternately dozing and listening to Gaius explain how a complex medicine was compounded. But even as he tried to listen to his teacher, his mind kept going back to Arthur's unexpected kindness, and his inexplicable impatience. It was almost as if Arthur suddenly couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him.

The prince was an enigma; that much was certain.

Merlin had a problem with the way he looked.

To be precise, he had a problem with the way other people thought he looked.

There hadn't been any mirrors in Ealdor, but he'd studied his reflection in polished pieces of metal or the calm surface of a pond. He knew that his ears were too big, of course. When he was a child he'd always wished they were smaller, and flatter.

But he'd come to terms with them, and he thought he had nice eyes. The rest of his face was pretty unremarkable, and he knew he was pretty scrawny even though he ate like a horse.

But the girls in Ealdor had liked him. He'd never lacked for a partner at a Beltane dance, and he was grateful that he wasn't chubby and didn't have spots all over his face.

So that was pretty much that, as far as he was concerned. Until he came to Camelot.

His face seemed to provoke two different reactions.

The women all thought he was adorable, and cooed at him and pampered him.

Most of the men Merlin encountered thought he suffered from a mental deficiency, although a few of the younger ones tried to lure him into bed, and a few of the older ones did, too. Remembering his shame about what happened with John on the way to Camelot, Merlin had little interest in taking a tumble with any of the men who wanted him.

When you were a young man hiding a very big secret, there were benefits to being considered sweet but dim. So to keep his head on his shoulders where it belonged, Merlin upped his natural cheerfulness to the maximum and smiled broadly in response to pretty much any remark anyone addressed to him.

It was an act, but it was an act that came easily to him, and it seemed to make his life easier if everyone thought he was just a goofy kid, not too bright but amiable.

Uther certainly had no high opinion of his intelligence, and if the greybeards around him shared that view and thought Merlin was harmless, all the better.

You could get away with a lot more if everyone thought you were harmless.

Nothing would ever be the same after Will died.

When Arthur and Morgana and Gwen had come with him to Ealdor, he had felt a sense of friendship and belonging so strong that the memory of it stayed with him for the rest of his life.

Knowing that Arthur, and the two women, had left the comforts of Camelot behind in order to assist his village, his mother, was overwhelming.

And then there had been that scene before the fight, when he had been about to tell Arthur about his secret...

But the moment passed, and the day ended with Ealdor safe, but with his best friend dead and Arthur coldly rebuking him. “You should have told me, Merlin.”

He'd said goodbye to his mother, and she had hugged him and told him that she loved him and was proud of him, as she always did. The journey back from Ealdor was not nearly as pleasant as the journey there, even though they no longer feared dying at the hands of Kanen's men.

Morgana and Gwen were much the way they always were, but Arthur was quiet and remote, and Merlin was sick with grief.

They made camp the first night almost in silence, with everyone feeling the weight of Arthur's disapproval. Gwen tried to lighten the mood with her chatter, but when neither Arthur nor Merlin responded, she gave up, contenting herself with trying to comfort Merlin by giving him the biggest bowl of soup and sitting close to him by the fire, hesitantly patting his back every few minutes.

They turned in early, since no one was in the mood to talk much, and there was nothing else to entertain them. Arthur said "If we go to sleep early, we can rise at dawn and get back to Camelot in one day if we ride hard." He turned to Merlin, who had eaten very little and who had spent much of the evening in a silent reverie, and tried to tease him. “I know that’s one order you should be able to obey without arguing, you have a real talent for sleeping.”

But the attempt to lighten the mood fell flat, and Gwen and Morgana looked at Arthur reproachfully.

The men slept on one side of the fire and the women on the other, to preserve propriety. Gwen and Morgana put their bedrolls together and cuddled up for warmth. Merlin put his bedroll next to Arthur’s, but with several feet between them, more distance than he usually maintained because of Arthur’s mood.

He spared a thought for how they'd slept head to foot at his mother's house, relaxed and playful and on good terms. But mostly he let himself feel his sorrow.

During the preparations for Will’s funeral, and their leavetaking, Merlin had tried to be strong for Hunith, to not let her see how broken he was by Will’s death. And he’d done his best to act normal on the ride back, thinking that Arthur was angry enough with him without the added irritation of extravagant displays of grief.

But once he heard the quiet breathing that meant everyone was asleep, he let his heart open and the emotions flood in.

Will had been his best friend, his closest companion other than his mother for his entire life until he left for Camelot. Will had always stood by him, and in the end he had made the final choice to die for Merlin’s prince. The thoughts circled restlessly in his mind: If only I’d told Arthur when I had the chance, if only I’d just let Will stay out of it, if only I’d made sure Kanen was dead…

He didn’t realize that he was shaking with sobs, his fist stuffed into his mouth, until he felt a warm body sliding into the bedroll and strong arms wrapped around him. Arthur had moved so quickly that Merlin hadn’t realized it, and now they were lying on their sides, Merlin’s back to Arthur’s front. Arthur’s warm breath was at his ear, and he heard him whisper, “Hush, Merlin.” Merlin struggled a bit, because he hadn’t been expecting this and he wanted to be alone with his grief. But Arthur simply held him tighter, repeating the whispered, “Hush,” and Merlin stopped fighting. It did feel good to be held, to feel like he was safe for just a few moments. He felt the heel of Arthur’s hand, calloused from his sword, wiping the tears from his face, and a final whispered command. “Go to sleep.”

And little by little, with the comfort of another person holding him, Merlin relaxed, and eventually did fall into a troubled sleep.

When he woke in the morning, Arthur was already saddling the horses.

They both pretended nothing had happened. And Arthur continued to be distant with Merlin all the way back to Camelot.

When his best friend died, Merlin was overwhelmed by a deep sadness that would not leave him. He woke up feeling like he had an anvil on his chest, and sometimes he felt physical pain, like his heart was sore. . I always heard the word ‘heartache’ Merlin thought. But I never knew it was literally true.

The world seemed colorless and flat.

He had trouble sleeping, to the point where he almost dreaded going to bed at night. He would lie awake, replaying Will’s death over and over in his mind, trying to figure out some way he could have prevented it. He felt guilt about leaving Ealdor at all.

Will hadn’t been the same person when Merlin had come back, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Will would have been less harsh and angry if Merlin hadn’t chosen to leave. And he felt guilt because he’d been living his new life in Camelot without giving much thought to how Will was faring without him.

He knew Will was bitter about his father’s death, but it seemed that there was something more going on. But now he’d never know what it was.

Even when sleep came, it was not restful. He would wake up in a panic, with his heart pounding, and it would take a long time to get back to sleep.

Daily life seemed like a penance. He didn’t care about food, and noticed without much interest that his clothes were getting looser. Gossiping with Gwen seemed pointless ,and so did looking at pretty girls, or learning more magic. He trudged through his days in a fog of sadness and indifference.

But no matter how tired and sad he was, he still had duties to perform, both as Gaius’s assistant and as Arthur’s manservant. He still had to get up at sunrise and wake Arthur and help him dress and bring him his breakfast, no matter how tired or heartsick he felt.

He could tell that Gwen and Morgana were worried about him, and so was Gaius. They cast him anxious looks when they thought he wasn’t looking, and he could tell they sometimes had whispered conversations about him.

He couldn’t bring himself to care.

The only person who didn’t seem to be concerned about Merlin was Arthur, who treated him exactly the same way he always had. Arthur’s mix of casual contempt and casual affection were familiar and reassuring to Merlin, and he thought it was a blessing to have one person who was not constantly studying him or admonishing him.

And so it went for a month or so, until one day he brought in the tray with Arthur’s dinner and found Arthur already seated at the table, waiting for him.

Merlin automatically went into apology mode. “Am I late, Sire? I didn’t mean to be. Mary didn’t have the tray quite ready…” he trailed off. There was something in Arthur’s eyes that made Merlin stop talking.

“Sit, Merlin,” Arthur ordered. Merlin did as he was told, and Arthur pushed the heavily laden plate toward him. “Eat some of this.”

Merlin shook his head, and Arthur said impatiently, “They always give me enough for two, hoping you will eat the leftovers. Can’t you see that, Merlin? Everyone is concerned about you, right down to the youngest scullery maid in the kitchens. Why can’t you see how worried people are?”

Merlin shrugged. “I’m fine,” he said automatically.

Arthur slammed his hand into the table. “You are not fine,” he yelled. “You wander around here like a ghost, you’ve lost a stone and you were too skinny to begin with, and I haven’t seen you smile since we went to that godforsaken little village.”

Arthur’s anger seemed to light the fuse to Merlin’s. “Don’t talk about Ealdor like that! My mother lives there! And it’s full of good people!” But his anger burned out quickly, and he studied his fingernails and waited for Arthur to finish saying whatever he was going to say. His fingernails were dirty- another thing he had trouble working up the energy to care about.

To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur pulled his hand away from his body and set it on the table, covering it with his own. Arthur’s hand was broader than his, and warmer, and Merlin wished that it could warm the chill inside him. But it couldn’t.

Arthur squeezed his hand, maybe a little too hard, and said, “Merlin, what is bothering you? I know that Will was your best friend, but your grief seems excessive. What is it about him that you can’t let go? Was he your lov- ” Arthur stopped himself, took a deep breath, and said firmly, “You must tell me what is wrong.”

If Merlin still had any laughter left in him, he would have laughed. What should he tell Arthur first? That he was a sorcerer? That he had been lying since the first day he stepped into the castle? That he had killed for Arthur more than once?

Arthur was staring at him, impatiently waiting for an answer. So he gave him one, a partially true one. “Will is dead because of me.”

“No.” Arthur sounded very sure. “Will is dead because of Kanen, and because he decided to stand his ground for his people. It was his choice, not your responsibility.”

Merlin was tired of the conversation, tired of arguing, tired of Arthur’s disappointment in him. He cast his eyes down again, unwilling to continue the conversation. He heard Arthur sigh.

“Merlin, you are sick in spirit. I don’t think you are sleeping. I am going to give you the rest of the evening off, and I am ordering you to get a sleeping potion from Gaius and take it tonight.”

Merlin bowed, and began to clear the dishes. “No, leave it,” Arthur said. “I’ll get someone else to do it. Just go.”

Merlin turned and did as he was told, but when he reached the door he heard Arthur repeat his demand in a voice that brooked no argument. “Get a potion from Gaius.”

So Merlin asked Gaius for a sleeping draught, and for the first time in weeks Merlin slept soundly through the night.

Merlin’s sleep was deep and restful, so much so that when he finally woke up he could tell from the light in his room that it was mid-morning. He was groggy, but he knew he was very late for his duties, so he made himself get up and get dressed.

He came slowly down the short flight of stairs from his room to Gaius’s workroom, knotting his kerchief behind his neck as he walked. Gaius was working at the table, and Merlin exclaimed, “Why didn’t you wake me up? I am so late, Arthur will have my head!”

“Calm down, Arthur gave you the morning off,” Gaius answered. He studied him closely, and said, “You look better today, Merlin.”

“I feel better,” Merlin agreed. “Much better.” He didn’t tell Gaius that he felt rested but out if it; Gaius was smiling at him, and he didn’t want to worry him. He’d already caused Gaius a lot of concern, and he thought his trouble waking up was too trivial to mention.

So he smiled back, and it felt so good to start the day with a smile. Gaius said, “You should sit down and eat something.”

Merlin gave him an apologetic grin and grabbed an apple off the table as he walked by. “Not today, I don’t want to push my luck with Arthur. But tonight I think I want a bath, would that be a problem? I feel grubby, and my fingernails are filthy.”

“It won’t be a problem, Merlin,” the old man said, pleased to see Merlin taking an interest in how he looked again. When he’d been in the throes of mourning, he hadn’t cared if his clothes were stained and his hair was dirty.

Arthur was pleased with him, too. By the time he got to Arthur’s chambers he was more awake, and there was a lightness in his step that Arthur commented on.

“See, I told you that a sleeping potion would help,” Arthur observed, with just a hint of smugness in his voice.

“You’re right, Sire. It helped a lot.” For the first time since Will’s death, Merlin felt good. And he was able to laugh and joke with Arthur the way he had done before Will’s death.

The rest of the day went by so much more easily than usual, and Merlin would sometimes catch Arthur looking at him approvingly. Merlin guessed that Arthur was happy to have the old Merlin back, and it was good to have the ease of interaction that had eluded them for weeks.

And all it had taken was for Merlin to drink a couple of spoonfuls of a sleeping draught. It seemed like such a small thing to do to get such a big payoff.

That night he asked Gaius exactly what was in the potion.

“A small amount of poppy extract to help with sleep, chamomile to relax the muscles, valerian, and a couple of other herbs that have a soothing effect on the nerves,” Gaius replied promptly, always eager to pass on his medical knowledge to Merlin. “ Remember I’ve told you before, poppy syrup has to be used carefully. It can create a craving in the mind and body that is difficult to overcome. And in excessive doses, pure poppy syrup can cause death.”

Having warned Merlin to his satisfaction, Gaius moved to his desk and pulled out a quill and ink and a piece of paper. “Here, why don’t you copy out the formula? It may be of use to you in the future if you encounter a patient with the same symptoms you had.”

Merlin did as Gaius told him, and carefully stored the paper in the magic book he kept hidden in his room. He asked Gaius for another dose of the sleeping draught that night, and Gaius willingly gave it to him.

The next day was a good day, too. Having a restful night’s sleep made all the difference, and Merlin could feel his grief over Will lessening bit by bit.

That night Merlin did not ask Gaius for the sleeping potion, he simply went to the shelf where the bottle was kept and poured out a dose. Gaius didn’t seem to notice, so Merlin did the same thing for the next several nights. He knew Gaius wouldn’t begrudge him something that he needed to help him sleep.

On the seventh night, Merlin got the full force of Gaius’s raised eyebrow when he went to pour out the medicine. “What?” he said, trying not to sound defensive.

“The sleeping draught is a short term remedy, Merlin. It is not intended to be used for more than a week or so.”

“It’s only been a week, hasn’t it?” Merlin kept his tone neutral and friendly. He was feeling a little panicky at the thought of being cut off, but he knew it wouldn’t be good if Gaius thought he was overly eager to keep using the medicine.

Gaius looked skeptical at Merlin’s response. “Yes, it has. Which is why I said that the medicine is not intended to be used for more than ‘a week or so.’ Overuse can lead to dependency, I told you that from the outset. I think it might be best if you didn’t use it tonight. Just see how well you sleep without it.” He saw the frown on Merlin’s face and said, “That isn’t an unreasonable thing to ask, is it?”

Merlin’s mind was moving rapidly, trying to think of a way to get Gaius to back down. Maybe he could offer to reduce the dose by half to buy some time. Or he could pretend to go along with Gaius’s suggestion, but come back to get the medicine after the old man was asleep.

But then he felt ashamed that he would even think of trying to trick the man who had done so much for him.

Gaius was right. It wouldn’t hurt to try to do without the medicine and see if he needed it anymore, or not. He was reluctant to give up the feeling of well-being he had when he awoke from a good night’s sleep, but surely Gaius knew more about it than he did.

So he answered, “Of course, Gaius. You’re the physician. I probably don’t need it anymore.”

Merlin didn’t sleep well at all that night.

Over breakfast the next morning Gaius asked him if he had trouble sleeping, and Merlin smiled brightly and answered, “No, I slept fine.”

“You look tired. Was it hard for you to sleep without the potion?”

Honestly, what did Gaius want from him? He wanted him to not use the sleeping draft, but he wanted Merlin to say everything was fine, too. Well, all right, he could do that.

“It’s fine, Gaius. I stayed up a little later than usual reading a book Geoffrey let me borrow, that’s why I look sleepy. Once I got to sleep I was fine, really.” Merlin realized that he was using the word “fine” more than he should be, and made a mental note not to use it again in this conversation.

“If you’re sure,” Gaius said, his tone suggesting that he didn’t quite believe Merlin.

“I’m sure,” Merlin said firmly.

He dragged a bit as he went about his duties that day, and he was regretting his medication- free night. Still, he wanted to do the right thing. He didn’t like the idea of being dependent on a sleeping potion.

So that night he did without it again.

But after tossing and turning for several hours, he admitted defeat. He wouldn’t be able to meet Arthur’s demands the next day if he was falling over from lack of sleep.

He crept into Gaius’s workroom as quietly as he could, his bare feet making no sound on the floor. He could hear the old man snoring, and Merlin already had a story ready in case he woke up. He would just tell him he needed a drink of water from the pitcher on the table. Gaius would accept that.

But Gaius slept on, and Merlin simply tipped the bottle back and took a couple of swigs, not wanting to take the time to measure out a dose.

He crept back to his bed and found the sleep that had eluded him.

At the time it had seemed so ordinary, such a small thing.

But later in his life, when Merlin could look at the past with some objectivity, he was able to point to that moment as the beginning of his descent into addiction.

He found that even though he was no longer consumed with grief over Will , he couldn’t sleep at all without the medicine, so he continued to take it each night. Gaius had mixed a rather large bottle, but Merlin could see the liquid level going down. It was the work of a moment to put a glamor on the bottle so that it appeared to always be at the same level. But in time the bottle was nearly empty, glamor or not, and Merlin needed more of it.

So he prepared a double batch while Gaius was called away to attend a birth. He left one bottle on the shelf in Gaius’s workroom, and took the other one and hid it under his bed with his magic book. He put an invisibility spell on the two items, and was relieved to know that he had a good supply of the medicine, which he had started referring to in his mind as Sógh, because he felt such a sense of comfort when he used it.

He felt safe knowing that he had the Sógh waiting for him at the end of the day. He didn’t have to worry about bad dreams, or about lying awake obsessing over Will’s death. He didn’t have to worry about destiny or coins or how badly he craved the touch of another body or anything else. He just fell into a deep and refreshing sleep.

He had to give Gaius credit for his skill in developing medicines, since the Sógh not only helped him sleep, but made him less anxious. His mood brightened, to the point where even Arthur noticed.

Merlin had always enjoyed getting Arthur ready in the morning, bringing him breakfast and putting his armor on before training. For a while after Ealdor it had been an effort to get through the morning routine with Arthur, with guilt making him slow and sad. But now he could banter with Arthur the way he always had, teasing and joking with him.

He smiled up at Arthur as he adjusted a troublesome buckle on one of the pauldrons, saying lightly, “Try not to dismember any of the knights today, they are on your side, after all. They’ll be much more useful with two arms and two legs.”

Arthur scoffed. “I hardly think you are in a position to be giving me advice how to train my knights, Merlin. Every time I try to teach you a bit of self-defense, you end up tripping over those big feet of yours. One would almost think they weren’t attached to your body, the way they always seem to be lying in wait for you.”

“Very funny, Sire,” Merlin said drily as he finished his work on the armor and stepped back, making sure everything was properly aligned. “I think you’ll do.” Arthur would more than do, but Merlin was keeping that thought to himself.

Merlin was starting to recognize that he was more interested in men than in women, and that was causing him some anxiety. He’d never had a problem with amateurish fumblings with the boys in Ealdor. He’d always assumed they touched each other was because it was convenient and didn’t involve the complications of wooing women. He’d always assumed that some day he’d marry some nice girl and live a conventional life It was scary to think that his future might be totally different.

If he thought too much about his desire for men, it made him nervous. Nervousness was another thing the Sógh helped.

Arthur didn’t need to know that Merlin was starting to wonder what it would be like to run his index finger down the strong line of Arthur’s jaw to feel the stubble there, or that sometimes in the morning he waited a few moments before waking Arthur up, so that he could look his fill.

He didn’t want Arthur to laugh at him for having such thoughts, or worse, to send him away.

Merlin was brought back from his musings about all the things he didn’t want Arthur to know by Arthur carelessly flicking his cheek and saying, “Stop woolgathering, I’m going to training now, and you have plenty to do in here.”

Arthur headed for the door, but stopped and looked back just before he stepped into the hallway. “It’s good to see you smiling again.” And before Merlin could think of a reply, Arthur was gone.

He filed that away in his mind. Arthur liked him better when he was smiling.

Arthur wasn’t the only one who liked Merlin better when he was smiling. Sometimes he felt like the whole damn castle was disappointed in him if he didn’t act cheerful and upbeat.

Arthur liked to tease Merlin that he was a great big girl because he didn’t like hunting and throwing a ball around and all the other things he and the knights were so fond of, but Merlin knew he was no girl. If he was, he wouldn’t have to spend so much time dealing with inappropriate erections.

But in one respect he sometimes wondered if the world did see him as a woman. Everyone always wanted him to act happy all the time, the same as they did with the female servants.

It seemed like he couldn’t move three feet in the castle without someone remarking on his expression.

He’s be down in the kitchens collecting Arthur’s dinner when one of the cooks would pinch his bottom and say, “Where’s that sweet smile today, love?”

He’d be minding his own business delivering something for Gaius, and one of the knights would accost him in the hallway and say, “Is something wrong, Merlin? You aren’t your usual cheerful self.”

Even Gaius would reprimand him if he seemed unhappy, telling him, “Don’t be showing that face while you do your work today, boy. No one likes it when you sulk.”

He didn’t think he was sulking. He just had a lot on his mind, what with all the magical attacks on Camelot, and taking care of Arthur, and their great destiny, and oh yes, the constant fear that his magic would be discovered and he would be executed.

But if people got off his back if he walked around looking like a cheerful idiot all the time, he could do that. It was easy.

The next time he had to mix up a batch of Sógh, he added an incantation he had learned to make the ingredients more potent. The magically enhanced Sógh worked even better than the original medicine, and Merlin felt just terrific when he used it.

He did notice that it was harder to get up in the morning, because he was sleeping so well, and that he seemed lethargic for at least a couple of hours in the morning. He found that he was even more clumsy than usual on those mornings, and once he got yelled at in the kitchens for dropping a tray full of food.

This was not a happy state of affairs, so Merlin gave some thought to what he should do about it. He considered giving up the Sógh, but he was unwilling to do that. He didn’t think it was hurting him, and it made his life easier.

Then it occurred to him that on the mornings he was especially tired, he could use a different medicine to perk him up. Just occasionally, not every morning.

He did some research on stimulant potions, and asked Gaius some carefully worded questions.

But in the end, he realized that he didn’t need a new substance. He was powerful enough that he could change the qualities of the Sógh with no more than a thought and a wave of his hand.

The first time he tried it, he was pleased to see that the liquid in the bottle changed from clear to red when he simply pushed a thought at it: I’m tired, help me wake up. He took a dose, and found that he had a spring in his step all morning. His work seemed easy, and he was so cheerful that Gwen commented on it.

“What’s gotten into you today, Merlin? You haven’t stopped smiling all morning.” She added, “Not that you aren’t usually cheerful, but this seems different…” She trailed off, looking at him uncertainly.

“Nope, nothing different,” he answered. “It’s just that the sun is shining and I woke up happy.” He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, which made her blush.

He wasn’t lying to her, he rationalized. She was happy for him, and there was no point in mucking that up with things she wouldn’t be able to understand.

He didn’t want her to worry.

Sometimes Merlin wished Arthur realized exactly what lengths Merlin would go to in order to save Arthur’s life. Sometimes he thought it was amusing, the way Arthur treated him with casual contempt, scoffing at the idea that Merlin could ever be of any real use to him. Merlin accepted it as a form of affection. Arthur teased him because it was the only way he knew to show that he liked him.

But when he was in a darker mood, he brooded about how blind Arthur was to not see his worth, and daydreamed about the time when Uther would be gone and he could reveal himself to Arthur. In those fantasies, Arthur was always awed by Merlin’s power and grateful to have it at his service.

He knew that it wouldn’t be that easy, of course. Arthur was in many ways his father’s son, and the ultimate realization that he had unknowingly had a sorcerer at his side would be a blow to Arthur’s pride, and probably enrage him. Merlin couldn’t dwell on that scenario for too long without becoming anxious, so when those thoughts arose he pushed them aside.

If he and Arthur had a great shared destiny, as the dragon promised, the fallout from the revelation of Merlin’s powers would take care of itself.

Occasionally, when Arthur was giving him a particularly hard time for no good reason, Merlin would have a dose of the Sógh in the early evening just to relax. . The enhancing spells worked very well, and it almost seemed that the spells he used made the Sógh know what he needed. After using the enhanced medicine for a few weeks, Merlin discovered that somehow the medicine turned blue when it transformed itself into an intoxicant. It remained clear when he used it to sleep, and it continued to turn red when he used it to help him get up and get moving in the morning.

It almost seemed as if the Sógh was trying to take care of him by letting him know through its hue what effect it would have. He knew that was fanciful, and that the medicine was not sentient.

But perhaps his magic was so sophisticated that it was interacting with its own creation.

That idea gave him a headache if he thought about it too long, so he pushed it aside. If his magic was so powerful that it could read his moods and provide for his needs, it was just possible that he wasn’t in control of it.

And that was a frightening thought.

Merlin was always careful with the potion when it was blue. He wasn’t a drunkard.

He would just have a small drink and return to his evening chores smiling and loose-limbed. It was the same thing as other men going to the tavern, he told himself. He didn’t care for the tavern most of the time. It was noisy, and it required him to spend his coins on cider and ale when he would just as soon save them up to help support Hunith.

His way was better.

He was able to take short breaks from the Sógh, just to prove he could. It did occasionally worry him that he used it so often, and for so many different purposes: to pick himself up, to get a little high on days when his life seemed particularly difficult, to relax into sleep at the end of the day.

So sometimes he wouldn’t take it in the morning, or in the evening. He was always pleased with himself when he skipped a dose, telling himself, See, you aren’t dependent on it. You’re fine.

Once he went a whole five days without it. But then Gwen’s father Tom, a man who had not an ounce of magic in him, was killed like a rabid dog by knights of Camelot, simply because of an unproved accusation of sorcery. It was a bitter example of how ruthless and delusional Uther was in pursuit of anyone even suspected of having magic.

Merlin went to Gwen’s house that night, and held her while she wept, stroking her hair and telling her that she would be all right in the end. He tried to get her to talk about Tom, and coaxed a smile out of her as she related one of her childhood memories of her parents.

It had been emotionally draining, and Merlin reached for the Sógh as soon as he got back to his room. He fell asleep thinking of Gwen’s sorrow and Uther’s cruelty, and of the growing anger in Morgana’s eyes, but the potion ensured that he fell asleep quickly.

He didn’t attempt going without it for several weeks after that.

In later years Merlin would understand that all the lies he told himself about the Sógh were classic excuses for a person who was in the thrall of a mood-altering substance.

I’m careful, I count how many doses I take, most days I only take one, sometimes two, never three. I could use clear Sógh to get to sleep and red Sógh to wake up and blue Sógh to relax, but I usually only use one of the three. Or maybe two.

I work hard, and no one appreciates it, so I deserve a little relaxation at the end of the day.

It’s no one’s business but mine what I do with my free time.

The Sógh is my creation. I control it; it doesn’t control me.

It’s just a tool, neither good nor bad.

He became an expert at covering up.

One sunny autumn day Morgana found him sitting in an alcove in the hallway to Arthur’s rooms, giggling to himself. She was sweeping by giving orders about some details of an upcoming banquet , Gwen following a respectful three steps behind her and saying, “Yes, of course, Morgana,” at appropriate intervals.

When Morgana saw him she drew herself up in her best regal manner and said imperiously, “Merlin, what are you doing? Are you drunk?”

He stopped giggling, although there was still laughter in his eyes. “No, milady. I was remembering something funny.”

Gwen was frantically trying to get his attention behind Morgana, and when he saw her open her eyes wide and make an upward pushing gesture with her hand, he belatedly realized that he should not remain lounging on the windowsill in the presence of the lady of the castle.

He quickly scrambled to his feet, cursing himself for being the slightest bit unsteady on his legs.

She gave him a disbelieving look. “You’re sitting by yourself in the middle of the day, giggling like a child, and you tell me you haven’t been drinking? What exactly were you remembering?”

He lowered his tone confidentially. “It was Arthur…”

He knew he had her when she said, “Oh, do tell me.” Her eyes gleamed at the prospect of hearing something to her foster brother’s discredit, and he quickly thought of a story to tell her. He certainly had a plentiful supply of amusing anecdotes about Arthur.

“He was going behind the changing screen to disrobe, and somehow he banged his head into the wall sconce, and it made a very loud noise.” Merlin went off in another fit of the giggles, partly because he was feeling a bit high and partly because it had been very funny indeed. “You should have heard him swear!”

“I wish I had been there,” Morgana said enviously. But then she recollected her position, and that she should not be seen standing around gossiping with a servant, even though in private she was usually very friendly to Merlin., So she said haughtily, “I imagine you have some work you could be doing?”

“Of course, milady,” Merlin answered, bowing his head respectfully as she walked away. Gwen cast a reproachful look at him over her shoulder and mouthed, “We need to talk,” behind Morgana’s back.

He wasn’t worried about Gwen turning him in, and he could handle her scoldings. Hell, he could always charm her out of them, although he knew she was genuinely worried about him.

Needlessly worried.

He gave himself a lecture about being more careful. There was really no reason for him to be using the Sógh in the daytime, he’d just been a bit bored with Arthur closeted with the king all day.

He’d almost gotten caught, and getting caught was the act of a stupid man. Merlin wasn’t stupid.

He promised himself he would be more careful in the future.

The supply of Sógh that had seemed so generous when he mixed it up didn’t seem to last as long as he thought it would.

So he started mixing up triple batches instead of double ones, carefully hiding them in his room.

As time went on, the substance began to seem more precious, an important part of his life in Camelot, and he developed a little ritual to enhance the experience.

He liked to sit in bed and sip his bedtime dose, which tasted like the finest spirits. So he took a small cup he saw in the storage room off the kitchen and which caught his eye. He slipped it into Gaius’s medicine bag when he was making deliveries, and no one ever missed it.

It had been pushed on to the back of a shelf, and he doubted that it had been used in years. It was a small cup with one handle, made of silver, and it had a simple design of twining ivy leaves around the rim. It had been black with tarnish when he found it, but he polished it with a muttered spell and it gleamed brightly in his hand every night.

He knew that the penalty for stealing from the King was a whipping, or even banishment in extreme cases. But somehow he didn’t care.

No one but him wanted it, and he wasn’t going to get caught with it. It stayed safe and secure, under a floorboard near his bed, with the magic book Gaius had given him and his supply of medicine.

And when he used it, he felt like a prince. If he and Arthur were two sides of the same coin, that should mean that they were equals.

Arthur could spare him one small silver cup.

Nothing in Merlin’s short life had prepared him for the events that culminated in the showdown at the Isle of The Blessed, and he supposed afterward that nothing could have. When he was an old, old man, he looked back at those events and thought, That was when I lost my innocence.

He went from terror that Arthur would die to the calm realization that there was no alternative but to offer his own life in exchange for Arthur’s. He knew by this time that he had committed everything he had to making Arthur the greatest king who had ever lived, and he was willing to die for him if that was what his destiny called upon him to do.

But his besetting faults, impulsiveness and arrogance, made him bargain poorly with Nimuehh. And his naivete nearly cost his mother’s life, and then Gaius’s, and in the end he had ended up killing Nimuehh, an act he thought necessary in the moment but had doubts about after he had time to reflect on it.

Nimuehh had been a bitter enemy of Uther’s, and had done great harm to Camelot, causing many deaths. She had plotted against Merlin himself. And she had nearly killed his mother, the only family he had, disfiguring her with a loathsome illness and causing her intense pain. And then Nimuehh had nearly killed the man who had protected and taught him from the day he came to Camelot. The sheer overpowering rage he had felt when he told her, “You should not have killed my friend,” had seemed like the cleanest, purest emotion he had ever had.

He had called down lightning from the heavens to strike down his enemy, and exulted in his power. He felt like nothing but energy, nothing but vengeance, his magic crackling and burning to do his bidding. It was a wonderful thing, to feel so powerful, to feel like a god distributing justice and vengeance as he saw fit.

But in the clear light of the next day, he wondered if there might have been another path, if he could somehow have made peace with Nimuehh, or perhaps imprisoned her and contained her power. Perhaps she and he had not needed to come to the end that they did.

She had been a priestess of the Old Religion, and as such entitled to reverence for her knowledge and her place in the natural order of the world. Perhaps, like the dragon chained in the caverns beneath Uther’s palace, she was the last of her kind. Had he really had the right to destroy her?

He was not a follower of the Old Religion, or of the new one brought from Rome that Arthur followed. His only religion was his belief in the united Albion that he and Arthur would create, a place of peace and prosperity where practitioners of magic could live without fear.

But how many people would have to die before Arthur ascended to the throne and united Albion?

Merlin had always been a peaceable youth, not much of a fighter despite his acceptance of Arthur’s challenge the second time they met. He hated hunting and disliked seeing any creature die. Living in a small village where everyone barely subsisted on the food available should have made him unsentimental. But as recently as a couple of years before he left Ealdor, he had felt slightly sick when he had to slaughter a hen he had raised from a chick because it was no longer laying.

In the short time since he had come to Camelot, he had killed for Arthur without a second thought. He had struck down Mary Collins, grieving mother of a man executed for practicing magic. And Nimuehh.

He had felt so good about killing her that in the heat of the moment he almost wished he could bring the bitch back to life so he could kill her again.

He felt sorry and ashamed when he remembered that thought.

He didn’t yet know the tale of how Nimuehh had helped to bring about Arthur’s birth, of the bargain Uther had made and later regretted. He didn’t know that Uther had betrayed Nimuehh and set her on the path to becoming evil and twisted. But he did know of Uther’s many crimes against those born with magic, of the cruelty and obsessions of a man who was perhaps not quite in his right mind.

In his darkest hours, he sometimes wondered if he was right to choose Uther’s son over his own kind.

In the weeks of Arthur’s recovery from the Questing Beast’s bite, Merlin veered between being jumpy and irritable, looking for danger around every corner, and being passive and indifferent to anything but direct threats to Arthur.

Then in the months while Merlin was still recovering mentally from the events at the Isle of the Blessed, Arthur became cold and distant to him for no reason that Merlin could discern, even going so far as to consider replacing him with Cedric, a sleazy new servant who, naturally, was part of an evil plot to bring down Camelot.

The hurt at how easily Arthur was ready to overlook his loyalty and replace him stung for a long time, and in combination with Merlin’s distress and guilt over the way he had handled the whole horrific incident of the Questing Beast, he was going about his duties like one of the walking wounded.

Arthur never noticed.

It was around that time that Merlin once again lost interest in food. It had happened before, for a short period of time after Will’s death, but this time it was more severe.

He had always been very thin, no matter how much food he packed away. But he had enjoyed eating and Hunith used to joke that the one thing he was never late for was supper. And when he had first come to Camelot he had been ecstatic to see so much good food available to him.

Now, eating felt like a chore. His mind went round and round his precarious position in Camelot. After his defeat of Nimuehh, he knew without a doubt that he truly was the most powerful sorcerer who had ever lived. But he had to hide that power all the time, and he had to hide who he was from everyone in Camelot except Gaius and the great dragon. It was exhausting, carrying the burden of deception and guilt, all for the sake of a man who seemed indifferent to him.

And he was never able to get away from Arthur. Sometimes he wondered if Arthur was aware of Merlin’s infatuation and was tormenting him on purpose. In his early days as Arthur’s servant he had spent more time alone, but as time went on Arthur seemed to require his presence at every meal, every training session, every hunt.

It was maddening for Merlin to spend all day every day so close to something he wanted and was never going to get.

His pain bubbled up he confessed to Gaius about Arthur, “Everything I do is for him.” But Arthur didn’t know, and Merlin wasn’t sure he would care if he did know. It was lonely, and depressing, and the sadnessn made him turn more to the Sógh and not care if he missed meals.

There were only a few mirrors in Camelot, but Merlin remembered checking himself out in the one in Morgana’s chambers when he had first arrived at Camelot. He had definitely been on the thin side, but his cheeks had been round and boyish.

Now he didn’t bother to look when he passed by a mirror.

His clothes got looser, so he tightened his belt, and occasionally did some magical alterations. He started wearing an extra shirt or two under his tunic so he looked like his body was more padded than it actually was. He was colder than he used to be, anyway. And running up and down the endless flights of stairs in the castle became harder every day. He just didn’t have the energy that he used to have.

Gwen and Gaius both commented on his weight loss, sounding concerned. But Merlin wasn’t worried about it. He had the Sógh, and he never felt hungry.

He knew he was lonely. His mind went around and around in circles about why the closeness he had felt with Arthur had vanished, why Arthur didn’t seem to care about him anymore. He was young, he hadn’t been touched in a sexual way since that incident on the road when he left Ealdor, and Arthur’s constant careless touches made him horny. He pleasured himself every morning and most nights, but it didn’t seem to help. He needed someone to care about who cared about him in return.

He wanted to be needed.

And as if the universe knew what his heart craved, it provided Freya.

Freya was comely and sweet and in serious trouble, and the part of Merlin that wanted to rescue everyone hooked right into that. She needed him in a way that Arthur certainly didn’t, and she looked at him like she was a hero, not an incompetent nobody. He was able to tell her about his magic, and it felt so good to be open about it.

It was fun to show off magic tricks for her, and to see the admiration in her eyes.

He let himself imagine what it would be like to leave Camelot with her, to become her husband, perhaps have a child with her. He certainly wasn’t afraid of hard work, and they could move to a village somewhere far away from Camelot. Maybe Hunith could come with them; he knew she would love Freya.

The idea of having an ordinary life with her somewhere where no one knew either of them seemed very appealing when contrasted with the guilt and unhappiness of his life in the castle.

When he kissed her, the world felt full of possibilities. He used his magic to gently flirt with her, and in the darkness of the caverns where he had hidden her away they each divested themselves of their virginity. They lay cuddled together, and he stroked her hair and promised her a happy ending.

But after he left her, he felt a lingering doubt that he was doing the right thing. He had told Arthur, “I’m happy to be your servant, until the day I die.” He meant it when he said it.

So why was he casting that away? Was it that he cared so much for Freya, or that he was using her as a substitute because Arthur seemed to care so little for him? And was it right for him to leave Gaius alone, with no one to run his errands for him and no one to take on some of the heavier jobs required of the palace physician?

He had a cup of Sógh while he pondered these things, and then he had another. He turned the matter over and over in his head, and finally concluded that leaving Camelot with Freya was what he wanted to do. He could be himself with her, and she needed him. Arthur didn’t.

Merlin was still awake, worrying about why Freya had not been in the caverns and where she was, when the alarm bells pealed. He rushed to the courtyard, and panicked when he realized that the bastet was Freya, and that the creature was cornered.

He looked between the bastet and Arthur, knowing he had to do something. But his mind seemed dull and his reflexes were slow, and he honestly didn’t know what to do. He didn’t know what to do.

He was well on his way to being in love with Freya, and he couldn’t let Arthur and his knights kill her in the bastet form. But he couldn’t let the monstrous creature kill Arthur, either. Or the knights.

He made a split second decision to use his magic to send a gargoyle crashing down from the castle walls to create a distraction. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, not the knights and certainly not the prince. He just wanted to give Freya a chance to get away.

But he judged badly, and the heavy stone statue narrowly missed Arthur and the knights. They jumped aside just in time.

He was terrified when he saw what he’d done, but he didn’t have time to stand around and wring his hands. He had to find Freya and help her.

He would have plenty of time later to think about how his carelessness with the Sógh almost cost Arthur his life.

If the universe had sent Freya to him because he needed her, it had an odd sense of humor, since it took her away almost as soon as he found her. The fire he set in the boat he filled with green boughs for her final journey was all too reminiscent of Will’s funeral pyre.

On some level he realized that it might not have worked out with Freya, and that tossing over his life in Camelot for a girl he barely knew, and one who was under a curse to boot, might have been a rash decision. But for all that, she was his first love, and he knew there would not be another like her.

He felt like his last chance for a normal life died with Freya.

And even worse, there was no one he could talk to about it. Certainly not Arthur.

Gaius seemed to see how sad Merlin was, and was kind to him. But Merlin’s sadness was mixed with shame over having almost killed Arthur with the gargoyle because he had mismanaged the Sógh. His guilt grew because he couldn’t confess to Gaius that he had been ready to leave him and everyone else in Camelot behind without so much as a word of goodbye.

So the burden of shame and guilt increased, and even though he tried to keep up a cheerful facade, it was hard to go about his work when he was totally miserable.

He must have looked pretty woebegone, because even Arthur noticed. He came to sit next to Merlin as he polished boots, and tried to cheer him up.

Merlin had known Arthur long enough to understand that his way of showing affection was physical, not verbal. So it wasn’t really a surprise when Arthur grabbed him and knuckled his head until Merlin yelped. But afterward when Arthur asked “Feel better now?” his smile was so open and warm that it nearly took Merlin’s breath away.

Maybe Arthur cared about him after all. Maybe the longing he felt for Arthur wasn’t entirely one-sided.

But he’d never find out if he made another stupid mistake like he’d made when he sent the gargoyle careening toward the man he had sworn to protect. He resolved to be more careful with the Sógh.

But he wasn’t ready to give it up completely. He needed it in his life.

He could be careful, he knew he could.

During the years Merlin spent in exile, he had plenty of time to think about Freya and what she had meant to him. And to bitterly regret that he had been unable to save her.

But he also regretted that he had been so eager to toss aside his destiny for a life that he’d known in his heart was never intended for him.

Merlin was not meant to spend his life with Freya, or any other woman. He was meant to be a king-maker.

But at a time when he had been uncertain about where he stood with Arthur, and generally unhappy with his life in Camelot, it seemed so easy to promise Freya, “I’m going to look after you.”

His older self could see the frustration coming out in his angry words to Gaius, “I am fed up with being careful.”

And he was filled with remorse when he recalled Gaius telling him, “There was a time when you thought twice before lying to me.”

There was a time when he thought twice before lying to anyone, Merlin reflected bitterly. And that was the time before he had fallen into a passionate affair with his treacherous love, Sógh.

It was a few careless words from Uther that brought the issue of Merlin’s weight loss to the forefront.

He was serving Uther and Arthur and a few trusted advisors at a small council dinner, doing his best despite feeling somewhat unwell, when Uther said casually to Gaius, “Do you never feed that boy of yours? He looks like a scarecrow.”

Suddenly everyone in the room was staring at him, and Arthur’s eyes were shocked. He looked as if he was seeing Merlin for the first time. And he looked angry.

That night in Arthur’s chambers, as Merlin tried to prepare the room for the night, Arthur stopped him with a hand on his wrist and said softly, “The bones of your wrist feel like a bird’s wing. What have you been doing to yourself, Merlin?”

Merlin tried to pull away, but Arthur wouldn’t let go of him. He was studying Merlin’s face, and he raised his other hand to trace the skin over his cheekbone, frowning as he did so.

He took a step back from Merlin and said, “Take off your shirt.”

“What?” Merlin sputtered, indignant. “No!”

“Take it off or I’ll take it off for you. I know you don’t have the strength to stop me.” Arthur’s voice was cold, but there was some strong emotion burning hotly in his eyes.

“You’re being stupid,” Merlin argued, but then Arthur was reaching for the collar of his shirt and he really didn’t want to have to buy a new one, so he said, “Okay, okay, but this is dumb…” His voice was muffled in the fabric of his shirt as he continued to complain, but when he pulled it off, along with the second shirt he always wore these days, he saw pity flash over Arthur’s face. He stopped talking.

They stared at each other for long seconds, Arthur looking down at Merlin’s protruding ribs and saying to himself in a tone of wonder, “How could I have been so blind?”

The lie came readily to Merlin’s lips. “I’ve always been thin. This is nothing unusual. I might have lost a few pounds, but I’ll gain them back when spring comes.”

Arthur held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Just…don’t. I’ve seen men come out of long imprisonments looking healthier than you do.”

Merlin opened his mouth to protest more, but Arthur used his most commanding voice.

“That’s enough, Merlin. I expect you to fix this. If you are still this thin in a month, I will tell Gaius that you are too sick to work, and I will remove you from my service. Do you understand me?”

Merlin’s mouth was set in an angry line, and he was clenching his fist, but he said, “Yes, sire,” in as neutral a tone as he could manage. He didn’t really believe that Arthur would remove him from his service. Their time together had forged a bond that was not so easily discarded.

But he couldn’t take that chance.

So he cut back on the Sógh, and made himself eat three meals a day even when he wasn’t hungry. He was really making an effort, and he could tell that he was starting to put on a bit of weight. Gwen started smiling at him again instead of looking hurt and worried every time she saw him.

He was just starting to feel like he was on the way back from despair when he found his father, and lost him within a day.

Merlin did what he had to do. He used his power as the last dragonlord to send Kilgharrah away, and he let Arthur believe that he had vanquished the dragon.

Merlin could almost have laughed at the bitter irony of finding the father he had longed for his whole life, only to lose him immediately. But he didn’t laugh, and he didn’t cry either.

He knew that he owed it to Hunith to tell her of the fate of the father of her child. But he wasn’t ready to go to Ealdor and have his mother see how awful he looked. That trip would have to wait until he felt more like himself.

He had lost his best friend, the first girl he had ever fallen for, his father.

He had nothing left. Nothing but Arthur.

And Arthur was in love with Gwen.

Sometimes it felt like the Sógh was his only friend.

At night he would lie in his bed, so weary of everything, and wondering at what he had become.

He had left Ealdor with such high hopes, thinking that he would have a place in the world, a place where he would fit in and be valued. But somehow it had all gone wrong, almost from the day he arrived.

He had a place all right, at Arthur’s side. And he believed in the destiny the dragon had foretold, a world in which he would help Arthur create a just and fair kingdom where all people could be safe and free from fear.

But he didn’t really fit in at Camelot. In some ways he was even lonelier than he had been in Ealdor, because he was bearing such terrible burdens alone.

In Ealdor he had had Will, and his mother. In Camelot, he had Gaius and Gwen, but even though he knew they loved him, he had to conceal so much from them. If Gwen knew how many people he had killed, he doubted she would look at him with so much affection and trust.

And if Gaius knew about the Sógh, he would be very angry. Possibly even angry enough to send him packing back to Ealdor.

That couldn’t happen. He knew that his earnings in Camelot made Hunith’s life more comfortable, and if he went back how would he support himself? He couldn’t put the burden of feeding him on his mother, now that he was a grown man.

No, he had to keep the Sógh a secret from Gaius. Deep as his affection for Merlin was, the physician wouldn’t understand.

In his most honest moments, Merlin had to admit that he was dependent on the Sógh. He had some faint glimmering that he was on a destructive path, and he sometimes wondered if Gaius might be able to help him stop using the medication.

But then he remembered how good it made him feel, and how it helped him with his sadness, and how he couldn’t sleep without it. And he told himself that he wasn’t quite ready to give up his daily aid.

He told himself, I’ll give it up next month.

Months went by, and Merlin thought he was doing okay.

One night, sitting by the fire in Gaius’s chambers after Gaius fell asleep, sipping carefully at a cup of Sógh that he had told Gaius was a cup of cider, he had a brilliant idea.

If the Sógh had some way of understanding what he needed, perhaps he should ask it for more. He had regained enough weight that Arthur got off his back about it, but he still didn’t feel particularly healthy, and it was still hard for him to choke down food with all the guilt and shame he carried around every day.

So the next morning when he had his usual small dose, he thought, “I need to gain more weight, and I need to look healthier so people will stop worrying about me.”

It wasn’t instantaneous, but over the next couple of weeks he noticed that he was getting back to the same weight he had been at when he came to Camelot. And he felt better, he was stronger and it wasn’t an effort to run up the stairs. He wasn’t eating any more than he had, because food still didn’t seem that appealing compared to the sweet taste of his potion, but he decided that the Sógh must be somehow adding the nutrients he needed to gain weight.

He thought he looked great. His eyes were bright, his hair was thick and shiny, and his skin was glowing. He noticed Arthur looking at him sometimes with a soft look on his face, as if he cared about him.

He wanted Arthur to care about him. Or maybe even be attracted to him.

He congratulated himself on how clever he was to have created a medicine that was everything he needed.

When he was a very old man, and a little bit wiser, he laughed at how easily he had been fooled by his creation. He knew by then that the appearance of health and health itself were two very different things.

Once you tell a lie, the next lie is easier.

Once you steal something, the next theft is easier.

And before you know it, you are lying and stealing as a matter of course, and you don’t even think about it.

After Merlin stole the cup, it was easy to steal Morgana’s dress for Freya. Morgana had dozens of them, she never even mentioned the loss, as far as he knew. Freya’s dress had been in tatters, after all, and a spoiled court lady could easily spare one dress that she never wore anyway.

After that, he stole three or four more things, justifying it to himself as a matter of fairness.

Once after some rather obnoxious noble guests had left, he slipped into the rooms they had used and found a little bottle of perfume sitting on the table by the bed. He opened the stopper and it smelled like the red roses Gwen loved so much. He knew the correct thing to do was to take it to the castle steward immediately, but the lady had been mean to the maid assigned to attend to her, a young girl new to castle life. He had seen her leaving the visiting lady’s room wiping tears from her eyes.

Merlin wasn’t inclined to return the bottle the guest had so carelessly left behind.

So he gave it to Gwen, telling her that he had bought it in the market for her. She had looked at him a bit doubtfully at first, but when he just smiled and didn’t embellish his story, she said “You shouldn’t have, Merlin,” and gave him an enthusiastic hug.

One thing he’d learned was that if you told an untruth and started babbling about it, people tended to know you were lying. Better to tell a simple tale and stick to it.

He had made Gwen happy, and he didn’t regret it for an instant.

He learned where the serving girl who had been crying stayed in the castle, and one morning when he knew she would be working he slipped into her room and put a silver comb he had taken from another departed guest into the pocket of her cloak. The next time he saw her, she looked much less anxious than she had before. She wasn’t wearing the comb, and he supposed she had sold it, but he felt like he had made up to her for the rich lady’s bad treatment.

After that it was easy to take a few things here and there.

He didn’t need much in the way of luxuries, and people would notice if he suddenly had a lot of things that were above his station. And he was content to live simply with Gaius.

But the occasional theft gave him an adrenaline rush that made a nice contrast with his everyday life in the castle.

So he used his magic to help him pilfer a few gold coins here and there from wealthy visitors to the castle, and he would entertain himself by slipping into houses in the lower town at night and leaving the money where it would be found in the morning. He liked to think of himself as a small scale philanthropist.

But it all ended rather badly when he saw Peter, a man he had tried to help, dragged from his house and whipped because one of the nobles Merlin had stolen from accused him of theft. A search of the house had unearthed the gold coin Merlin had stolen, and the man had no good explanation for how he had come to have it.

Merlin felt terrible about that.

He brought medicine for the man’s back, and enough food to last the family for the several days while Peter was unable to work. He bought the food with his own wages, feeling guilty and ashamed.

He had a vague realization that doing things that were wrong and then trying to fix them was creating a house of cards that was likely to topple, but then he had another dose of Sógh to steady his nerves and put the thought aside.

He rationalized that his intentions were good, but he was definitely going to have to be more careful.

It was a happy day in Merlin’s life when Gwaine waltzed into it.

Gwaine was all flashing white teeth and bright eyes, tossing his head to show off his shiny hair. He was good-looking, and he knew it. But he never took himself too seriously.

Merlin was charmed from the moment he saw him. And when Gwaine stuck out his hand and introduced himself, Merlin felt like he had a friend for life.

Gwaine liked Merlin and wasn’t afraid to show it. And he paid attention to Merlin in a way that made Merlin feel flattered, even as he laughed at Gwaine’s outrageousness.

After all the time he spent worrying over his relationship with Arthur, it was a welcome change to have an easy, uncomplicated person like Gwaine in his life. With Gwaine, what you saw was what you got. If he liked you, he let you know. If he fancied you, and he fancied a lot of people, he let you know that, too.

The first night Gwaine spent in Merlin’s bed, he was injured and exhausted, and the next day Gaius vetoed his idea of going out to the tavern with Merlin. So Merlin sneaked a couple of flasks of strong wine out of the kitchens, and he and Gwaine spent the evening getting to know each other. By the time the flasks were empty, Merlin had learned several bawdy songs, and was lying half on top of Gwaine, idly toying with Gwaine’s hair.

It was a surprise when Gwaine kissed him, but a very pleasant one. The room had been spinning just slightly, but Gwaine’s expert kisses grounded Merlin and gave him a focus. Merlin’s tipsiness just made the kissing more fun.

“Did you get me drunk just so you could bed me?” Merlin demanded, between giggles.

As always, Gwaine was honest. His tone was light as he answered, “I have to admit, it crossed my mind that you might be more receptive to my wicked advances with some wine in you. But I didn’t get you drunk. You got yourself drunk.”

Gwaine’s warm smile took the sting out of the words, and then he kissed Merlin again and did something with his tongue that made Merlin stop giggling and pull Gwaine closer, murmuring, “More please.”

For a man who was not entirely sober and had a leg wound, Gwaine was awfully good in bed. Mind you, Merlin’s experience of such things was not extensive, just a few awkward fumbles with a couple of lads in Ealdor, and that incident with John that he preferred not to think about. And that single sweet night with Freya, where in retrospect he thought he had been too impatient to please her the way she deserved. But he could tell that Gwaine knew what he was doing.

Gwaine’s lovemaking felt like the best thing Merlin had ever had in his life. He had enjoyed lying with Freya, but it had been a bit awkward and neither of them was very experienced. And he found he preferred a man’s long muscles and strength to a woman’ s more delicate frame.

Merlin was eager to learn how two men could pleasure each other in bed, and Gwaine was a patient and enthusiastic teacher.

The first time Gwaine took it fast, murmuring in Merlin’s ear, “Such a pretty boy,” as he jerked him off. Merlin came embarrassingly fast, and afterward was so useless that he just watched Gwaine with a dopey grin on his face as he stripped his own cock and came all over Merlin’s belly.

They didn’t even get their clothes off that time, they were so eager. They fell asleep holding each other, the wine and the afterglow making them fall asleep before they’d even cleaned up.

Merlin woke up sticky and gross and hung over. But he still had a big smile on his face as he looked at the handsome man in his bed.

Someone wants me.

But even Gwaine’s skilled hands and rakish attitude didn’t take away Merlin’s longing for Arthur.

The next night, Gwaine undressed Merlin with nimble fingers and shushed him when he wanted to blow out the candle. “No, Merlin, I want to look at you, don’t be shy.”

Gwaine coaxed four orgasms out of him that night, and by the end Merlin was half-laughing as he pleaded for mercy. He had never really been kissed much before Gwaine, and Gwaine was an expert kisser, teaching Merlin all kinds of new tricks. They spent the first half hour in bed with Gwaine on top of him, just exploring his mouth.

He liked Gwaine. He liked how strong he was, and the way he could manhandle Merlin into position effortlessly. They had to be careful of his leg, which meant that Gwaine was mostly on top, but that was fine with Merlin. He liked the sensation of being held down, pushed into the mattress by the weight of someone bigger than he was. They didn’t actually fuck, but other than that they were pretty imaginative. Gwaine put his fingers and his mouth pretty much anywhere in Merlin’s body they would go, and taught Merlin to do the same for him.

He fisted his hands in all that luscious hair the first time Gwaine sucked him off, and tried not to be too noisy so he wouldn’t wake Gaius. Afterward he suspected that he had not been nearly as quiet as he intended to be, but Gwaine kissed him with the taste of Merlin’s come still in his mouth and whispered, “Someday I want to take you somewhere where you can make all the noise you want, sweetheart.”

It was a lovely interlude, and it made Merlin feel attractive and confident, smiling to himself that a charmer like Gwaine actually wanted him. Gwaine genuinely liked him, teasing him and drawing his life story out of him. Not the part about the magic, of course, but about how lonely and isolated he sometimes felt in Camelot.

Gwaine was smart, and funny, and brave. And as he so often did with people, Merlin underestimated him. Gwaine had a keen eye, and Merlin ended up being surprised by just how perceptive he was.

One morning they lay tangled in the well-used sheets on Merlin’s little bed and Gwaine said, “I’m not one to pry, and Lord knows I have secrets of my own, but if you ever want to tell me what is troubling you, I’m here.”

Merlin opened his mouth for the automatic denial, about to protest that nothing was troubling him, but Gwaine touched a finger to his lips to silence him. “I said if you ever want to tell me. Obviously you don’t right now. But I’d prefer you don’t lie to me.” And then he started kissing Merlin again, murmuring, “Let’s put those pretty lips to good use, hmmm?” And that was the end of that discussion. They only had a few nights together before Gwaine had to leave Camelot, but they were enough to satisfy Merlin’s craving for affection for a while. They said a private goodbye in Merlin’s room, and a public one in the halls of the castle. But because Gwaine was Gwaine, he managed to whisper something filthy in Merlin’s ear during their final hug, a promise to thoroughly fuck Merlin the next time they met. But by the time they met again, Merlin was sharing Arthur’s bed, and being involved with Gwaine was part of his past.

It started so subtly that Merlin wasn’t sure if he was imagining things. But over a period of weeks, he started seriously considering the notion that Arthur was trying to seduce him.

The first thing he noticed was that Arthur became much more polite. He stopped calling him names, and started saying “please” and “thank you.”

After Merlin had started looking healthier and hiding his sadness over Freya and Balinor better, he and Arthur had returned to their old way of bantering and easy conversation. But somehow Arthur seemed less at ease, and would look at Merlin with a slight frown on his face, as if he was troubled about something or trying to reach a decision.

He began asking Merlin strange questions, like, “Are you happy here in Camelot?” or “How is your mother doing?” But then he would seem too distracted to really listen to the answers.

Merlin would catch Arthur’s gaze on him during banquets, the expression on his face neutral but his eyes hot and speculative. It happened often enough that he began to believe that Arthur fancied him.

This was a strange idea, and Merlin kept turning it over and over in his head. As far as he knew, Arthur and Gwen had an understanding, and while they were keeping it under wraps due to Uther’s certain disapproval, Merlin had never doubted they were in love.

Now he didn’t know what to think.

Arthur asked him to stay in the evenings, and taught him how to play chess, claiming he was bored and that part of Merlin’s job was to entertain him.

Merlin enjoyed the lessons. Arthur’s fingers would brush against his as he showed Merlin how each of the pieces moved, and that slight touch sent a warm glow through Merlin. Arthur was patient as he explained strategy to Merlin, although it was sometimes hard to listen because Arthur looked so gorgeous in the firelight.

Arthur had wine sent to the room on the nights they played, and Merlin had learned enough in his time in Camelot to know that Arthur was serving him bottles that were far better than had been offered to him in the past. And plates of sweets and pastries that Merlin was fond of started appearing, too.

Over time, Arthur touched him more often and more deliberately, which kept Merlin in a confused and frustrated state.

Arthur had always touched Merlin a lot, clasping his shoulder and giving him a slight shove as he sent him off on some errand, or putting his hand on Merlin’s back if they stood close together. Merlin had accepted that as just the way Arthur was, since he saw Arthur doing the same thing with his knights.

But these touches were something new. Arthur would rest his knee against Merlin’s under the table and leave it there for several minutes, while Merlin gulped his wine and hoped he wasn’t turning red. Or he would come around Merlin’s side of the table, ostensibly to study the chess board from a new perspective, and lean over Merlin’s shoulder as he explained something, his cheek nearly touching Merlin’s and his warm breath in Merlin’s ear.

Merlin often left the chess games tugging his tunic down to hide his arousal, wondering exactly what Arthur was playing at. He would end those nights sipping a cup of Sógh in one hand as he lazily stroked himself with the other, prolonging the pleasure until it got to be too much and he got himself off in earnest.

Merlin had to find out if Arthur’s new interest in him had anything to do with Gwen, if perhaps they had had a falling out. So he stopped her in a corridor and asked if she could sit and talk with him for a few minutes. He cautiously raised the subject of how she and Arthur were getting along.

Gwen was no fool, and she had lived in Camelot long enough to learn caution. Her answer was measured. “Arthur always treats me with consideration. I have no complaints.”

Merlin held her gaze until she blushed and dropped her eyes, saying, “Merlin! What do you want from me? You know I can’t say too much.”

“I’m your friend, Gwen. You can trust me. It’s just, Arthur has been unusually mellow lately, and I wondered if maybe the two of you had come to an understanding?” He wasn’t being honest with her about his reasons for asking about her relationship with Arthur, but by this time he was so used to hiding his true feelings that he barely noticed he was deceiving her.

She stared at him in disbelief. “What kind of understanding could there be between the prince of Camelot and a serving girl? Uther would never let us marry, and I won’t be Arthur’s mistress.”

Merlin couldn’t help himself, he had to ask. “Has he asked you to do that?”

Gwen’s expression softened. “No, he hasn’t. He has told me that he will never do anything to harm me, and I believe him. He is always a perfect gentleman.” She blushed a little and said, “I won’t be having any bastard children, it wouldn’t be fair to them. And if I have a child out of wedlock, Arthur and I will never be able to marry.” She sounded sad, and then she added hastily,“Not that I really believe we will ever marry, anyway.”

Merlin pushed aside his own feelings to comfort his friend. “You don’t know that, Gwen. One day Arthur will be king, and then he will be able to marry whoever he wants. Uther won’t live forever.”

Gwen squeezed his hand to thank him for his encouragement, but seemed to pull herself more upright as she answered, “Uther is still vigorous, he could live another twenty years. And Arthur will have to marry and provide Camelot with an heir long before that.” She gathered up her basket of laundry and said, “I’m very fond of Arthur, and I enjoy his company. But I have to be realistic.” She gave Merlin a wistful smile and walked away.

The conversation gave Merlin a lot to think about. Arthur was chivalrous, but he was also usually direct in going after what he wanted. If he really loved Gwen, would he be content with longing looks and chaste kisses, or would he push for more?

And a woman in love didn’t usually use the words “very fond.”

The relationship might not be all that is seemed. And that gave Merlin hope.

Arthur finally made a move in early June, after two months of seemingly careless touches and questioning looks.

He dragged Merlin off on a hunting expedition, just the two of them, and told him to bring supplies for two nights. Merlin happily packed their things, remembering to include a flask of Sógh in the small bag of medical supplies he always carried in his saddlebag.

The day was fair and the air was balmy, and it felt good to be out in the open, leaving the pressures of Camelot behind him. Arthur led the way as he always did, warning Merlin of tricky bits on the trail or overhanging branches. He was in an unusually good mood, tossing bright smiles back at Merlin as he teased him about his riding.

When they reached some open fields, Arthur spurred his horse to a gallop, yelling, “C’mon, Merlin.” Despite Arthur’s jibes, Merlin knew that his riding had improved considerably, and he raced after Arthur, loving the competition and the exhilaration of the wind rushing past his face.

They galloped side by side for a couple of miles, then slowed to a canter and then a walk. Arthur knew of a place to water the horses, and when they got there it seemed like a perfect place to stop for lunch. The stream was only about eight feet wide in most places, but the water was clear, and they chose a place near the widest part where the rocks had formed a kind of pool.

They worked together smoothly, with Arthur taking care of the horses and Merlin spreading out a blanket and laying out the food. The banks of the stream were shaded by tall trees, and they munched their bread and cheese contentedly, passing a skin of cider back and forth. They didn’t talk, but it was a comfortable silence.

When they were finished, Merlin packed up the remains of the food, but was surprised to see Arthur moving to unsaddle the horses. “What about hunting?” he asked, but Arthur just shrugged and said, “I thought we could spend the afternoon here. Go for a swim.”

“A swim? Are you crazy? The water will be like ice!”

But Arthur was already done with the horses and was pulling his tunic over his head. He leaned over to tug his boots off, and then his hands were at the laces of his breeches and Merlin’s mouth was going dry.

He’d seen Arthur naked hundreds of times, of course, when he’d helped him in the bath or tended to him when he was wounded. But he’d never seen Arthur take off his clothes with such enthusiasm, and he was painfully aware of the contrast between Arthur’s smooth muscles and his own stringy frame.

Arthur grinned at him as he tossed his breeches and small clothes aside, saying, “C’mon! It’ll be fun! You can’t tell me you aren’t hot and sweaty after that ride.”

Merlin was opening his mouth to tell him just that, when Arthur advanced on him with a dangerous look in his eyes and said, “You can go in naked, or with your clothes on. Your choice.”

Arthur waited until Merlin had most of his clothes off before he waded into the stream. Merlin could feel himself getting hard at the sight of Arthur’s arse, and was horrified at the idea of Arthur catching him getting stiff. He’d often fantasized about what it would feel like to run his hand over the curve of that high plump bottom.

He gulped as he shed the rest of his clothes and raced past Arthur to the middle of the stream. The erection became a non-issue once he was waist-high in the icy cold water, and he yelped at the cold.

Arthur laughed and splashed him, and then the game was on. He ducked under water and hooked an arm around Merlin’s knees to pull him under, and they both came out spluttering and laughing. They wrestled in the water enthusiastically, and even though Arthur was stronger Merlin compensated by pulling more dirty tricks.

Chivalry didn’t always work to Arthur’s advantage,he thought triumphantly as he ducked Arthur under the water. But his triumph was short-lived as Arthur grabbed him again and pinned his arm behind his back. “It works every time, doesn’t it, Merlin?” Arthur taunted him, and Merlin remembered the first time he’d met Arthur in the courtyard.

So much had happened since then, both good and bad.

When they finally got tired of trying to drown each other, they floated on their backs and looked up at the sky through the canopy of leaves, legs or arms bumping occasionally.

Even Merlin had to grudgingly admit the water was refreshing, and they stayed in until their fingers got wrinkled.

They lay on the blanket again, waiting for the sun to dry them, and Merlin got the cider out again. They sipped at it and talked in a desultory way, enjoying the warmth of the sun and the pleasant tiredness that followed their roughhousing. They had laid the blanket out on soft grass, and it was as comfortable as Merlin’s bed in Camelot. He lay on his side and pulled a leg toward his chest like a stork, his favorite sleeping position, and before he knew it he was asleep.

When he woke up the sun was quite a bit lower in the sky. He wasn’t sure where he was for a moment, and was trying to figure it out when he saw Arthur’s face foot and a half from his own.

Arthur had one arm pillowed under his head and was gazing at Merlin intently, his eyes dark. He said nothing, just continued to stare, blinking lazily at Merlin.

The ardent expression on Arthur’s face made Merlin nervous, as did their close proximity. He pushed himself up on one arm and looked around for his clothes, starting a rushed flow of words that he hoped would cover his embarrassment. “It’s later than I thought, we must have been really tired, what are we going to do about finding food for supper…”

Arthur leaned over and brushed Merlin’s lips with his index finger, saying softly, “Now is not the time for talking.” The unexpected touch shocked Merlin into silence, and then Arthur leaned over and kissed him.

The kiss started soft and undemanding, and at first Merlin was frozen in place, not responding because his brain was having trouble catching up to what Arthur was doing. But then his body took over and he kissed back, and Arthur shifted so that he was half lying on Merlin and kissed him harder, his weight on his elbows and his hands cupping Merlin’s face. Merlin opened his mouth and all thought disappeared and he knew nothing but Arthur: the taste of Arthur filling his mouth, the feel of the callouses on Arthur’s hands as they moved across his jawline, the silky feel of Arthur’s hair as Merlin tentatively put up a hand to stroke it.

But eventually they had to surface for air and when they did, Merlin said simply, “Gwen?” and Arthur answered him, “Later. We’ll talk about Gwen later.” And when Arthur coaxed Merlin’s mouth open again, Merlin decided that later was time enough for talking.

The first time was frantic. With no clothes in their way, the craving to feel skin on skin was easy to satisfy, and Merlin slid his hands down the smooth skin of Arthur’s back on his way to finally, finally touching the muscular arse he’d been fantasizing about for months. Arthur’s hands were everywhere, sliding down the outside of Merlin’s thighs, running flat along his ribs, gripping at his shoulders. Arthur rolled Merlin’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making it harden, and shoved his knee between Merlin’s legs to get him to open them wider.

Merlin tried to flip them over once, just to see if he could, but Arthur growled in his ear and pulled his hands over his head, easily holding both of Merlin’s slender wrists in one hand. Merlin struggled a little as Arthur kept him pinned there, evwn though he secretly loved it, and then Arthur was sucking on his neck and making Merlin whimper. That will leave a bruise, he thought, but then Arthur’s hand was on his prick and any further thoughts fled.

He liked having Arthur on top of him, all that strength directed at keeping him in place so Arthur could do whatever he wanted to him. He liked the firm pressure of Arthur’s hand stroking him, his thumb swiping at the tip of Merlin’s cock and rubbing the clear fluid along the shaft. But what he mostly liked was that Arthur’s eyes never left his face as he got him off. Arthur’s expression was totally focused, as if he were trying to memorize every nuance of Merlin’s reaction, and Merlin blushed under his scrutiny.

He closed his eyes to avoid Arthur’s fierce gaze, but Arthur released his hands and palmed his cheek, saying, “Merlin, don’t look away.” So Merlin kept his eyes open as long as he could, gazing into Arthur’s eyes until he absolutely had to close them as he came with a groan that sounded earth-shatteringly loud in the quiet of the forest.

Arthur kept his hand lightly wrapped around Merlin’s cock as it softened, and then swiped his fingers through the mess on Merlin’s belly, spreading some of it on his own hard cock and some of it on the insides of Merlin’s thighs. “What are you doing?” Merlin asked, but the only answer he got was “Shhhh.” Then Arthur was shifting Merlin on to his side, and Merlin went easily, his limbs as loose and relaxed as a rag doll’s in his post-orgasmic bliss.

Arthur draped himself along Merlin’s back and eased his cock in between Merlin’s thighs, rutting in the soft skin, the slippery wetness of Merlin’s own come making the movement more sensuous. The top of Arthur’s cock brushed against Merlin’s balls on each stroke, and while Merlin wasn’t quite ready to go again, the friction felt good.

He could tell when Arthur came, even though Arthur was behind him. He went rigid and his arms tightened where they were wrapped around Merlin’s chest, and his teeth went into Merlin’s shoulder with a bitten-off sound.

Merlin was even more of a mess than he had been before, but he didn’t care. Arthur flipped over onto his back and pulled Merlin close to his side, murmuring phrases Merlin couldn’t quite understand into his hair as he stroked Merlin’s back.

Finally they had to get up and wash and dress or they would go hungry that night, and Merlin started the fire while Arthur took his crossbow into the woods to try to bag some game in the remaining hour of daylight. He managed to get a brace of rabbits, and they ate roasted meat with dried fruit and some bread that Merlin had tucked away in his pack. They didn’t talk much while they ate because they were both ravenous. But after they were done, they sat on opposite sides of the fire, exchanging awkward glances until Arthur patted the log he was sitting on and said, “C’mere.”

Merlin went, thinking that physical closeness was probably better than words, but when he moved to sit on the log next to Arthur, Arthur slid down and pulled Merlin between his legs, so that Merlin’s back was pressed against Arthur’s chest. They sat and watched the flames jump, and Arthur pulled Merlin closer, saying, “Just relax. I could hear the wheels grinding in your head from four feet away.”

Merlin spoke slowly, measuring his words. “I don’t know what is going on with you. Or with us, and this trip. I want to be here with you, you must know that. But I’m confused about why we are here.”

Arthur’s words were as careful and measured as Merlin’s were, as he said quietly into Merlin’s ear. “We’re here because I wanted to spend some time alone with you, away from my duties and all the prying eyes in Camelot. Can that be enough for right now?”

Merlin’s mind had been full of questions, but his attitude softened when he heard the request. Arthur had so little that was for him alone, he would not ruin it by demanding explanations. Besides, he was perfectly happy to be here. Camelot held its own pressures for him. So he relaxed into the warm circle of Arthur’s arms, at peace for the time being.

They got each other off again before going to sleep, quick hand jobs with most of their clothes on because the night air was chilly. Afterward Arthur complained mildly, “It will be more fun when I can get you naked in my bed.”

Merlin grinned like a fool when he realized that Arthur intended for them to continue to have sex once they returned to the castle, and he indulged himself with thoughts of making love in the big bed with its clean linen sheets and and piles of furs and velvet-covered quilts.

He was as happy as he could ever remember being, and his heart was full with the realization that the man he had been yearning for wanted him, too.

He waited until he was sure Arthur was asleep before getting up and finding his bottle of Sógh. He took a quick drink and had it back in his pack within a minute. Then he returned to lie next to Arthur, who roused a bit when Merlin eased into their joined bedrolls.

Merlin ran a soothing hand along Arthur’s arm, and Arthur slipped back into deeper sleep.

“Shhhh,” Merlin said. “Everything is fine.”

During his time in exile from Camelot, Merlin looked back on those few days as an idyll. But from the perspective that time gave, he could see that even the beginning of his relationship with Arthur was tainted by his dependence on the Sógh.

But without the benefit of hindsight, all Merlin could see was that the rush of new love was as heady as any potion, and he basked in the knowledge that his longing for Arthur was reciprocated.

They spent another two days by the stream, exploring each other’s bodies hour after hour. Merlin dug a small bottle of massage oil out of his pack, and offered it to Arthur with a shy smile and high color on his cheeks, and Arthur teased him mercilessly about his “maidenly blushes.” Finally Merlin said, “Fine, if you don’t want the oil I’ll just take it behind that tree over there and have a nice wank all by myself.” He took off for the woods at a run, looking back over his shoulder with a grin to make sure Arthur was following him. He was, and it ended with them scrabbling on the ground and Arthur dragging Merlin back to the blankets to test the various useful properties of the oil. When Merlin briefly got the upper hand, he climbed on top of Arthur and mock-threatened him. “I’ll show you maiden!”

And when Merlin used the oil to ease his way inside Arthur for the first time, Arthur complimented him for his forethought in bringing it along.

They caught fish and picked wild berries, and Merlin got a sunburn when he fell asleep without covering up at mid-day. Arthur even made Merlin toss a ball back and forth with him because he always had to be competing at something. Merlin mixed up a simple dough out of flour and water and salt, and they patted it around sticks and cooked it in the fire, tearing hot pieces off and burning their fingers, unable to stop because it tasted so good.

At night they lay looking at the stars, picking out the constellations they knew and comparing the Greek stories Arthur had learned about them with the somewhat different tales Merlin had learned in Ealdor.

Looking at the canopy of stars, Merlin decided to be brave and risk showing Arthur his heart. Keeping his eyes on the sky and his voice calm, he said, “I would pluck a star out of the heavens and give it to you, if I could.”

Arthur kissed the top of his head in thanks and said, “I know you would.”

But there was no declaration in return.

On the third morning they had to go back, and they worked together to pack up their things.

They were both quiet, not wanting it to end.

Merlin waited until Arthur had wandered off into the woods to take a piss before he uncapped his bottle of Sógh and took a healthy swig, as he had done each morning since they arrived.

But this time Arthur was fast or Merlin was slow, and Arthur saw him drinking it and stuffing it back into his saddlebag.

He came up silently behind Merlin where he was standing next to his horse. When he said, “What’s that?” Merlin startled and whirled around.

He must have looked scared, because Arthur put out a hand and gripped his shoulder, saying, “Easy there, Merlin. It’s just me.”

Merlin composed his features into a smile and hoped Arthur would drop it. But Arthur was not a stupid man, and he paid a lot of attention to Merlin’s expressions. “What was that?” he asked again. “Are you ill?”

“No, no, I’m fine, I just have a bit of a headache this morning. Sometimes I get bad ones, and Gaius told me that the best way to deal with them is to take medicine at the very beginning, to nip it in the bud.”

The lie rolled easily off Merlin’s lips. In fact, it was something he had heard Gaius say, so he hoped he sounded convincing.

Arthur was concerned. “If you feel worse, tell me and we can stop for a rest. We need to get back to Camelot tonight, but I don’t want you laid up in bed when we get there.”

Merlin agrees to tell him if the headache worsened, and they started back, with Merlin feeling sick and ashamed at having lied to Arthur, as well as angry with himself for his carelessness.

In fact, by trying to be quick and not measuring out the Sógh, Merlin had taken more than he intended, so much so that he felt fuzzy and stupid and started swaying on his horse. Arthur noticed, as he always did, and rode closer to Merlin, worry clear on his face.

The ride back was a nightmare, but Merlin gritted his teeth and endured it. That was what happened when he wasn’t careful with the potion. He lied to people he loved, and worried them unnecessarily.

He knew he should give up the Sógh, and promised himself he would do it soon. For the moment, he thought he just had to be smarter with it.

Arthur had been solicitous when they had finally reached Camelot, telling Merlin he had the evening off, and ordering him to go straight to bed. By this time, Merlin was feeling pretty sick, and gratefully took himself off to Gaius’s chambers.

He knew that public displays of affection would not be possible now that they were back in the real world, but he could hear something new in Arthur’s voice as he wished him goodnight, and he felt Arthur’s eyes on him as he walked away.

The next night, they had a talk.

Arthur waited until they were alone in his chambers and the dinner dishes were cleared. He poured a glass of wine for each of them and broached the subject of court politics, carefully watching Merlin for his reaction.

“Merlin, you must know that a kingdom without an heir is in a weak position, with the constant threat of chaos in the event of the reigning king’s death.”

Merlin nodded to show that he understood.

“In fact, having only one heir makes a kingdom weak. The unfortunate consequence of Queen Ygraine’s early death is that I have no brothers to take my place if I should die in battle.” He seemed to replay what he had said in his mind, and amended, “One of the unfortunate consequences of her death.”

“You aren’t going to die anytime soon, Arthur.”

Arthur gave Merlin a brief smile to acknowledge the statement, but said, “You can’t know that, Merlin.”

Actually, I do know that. The dragon promised that we would have a great destiny, together. Merlin kept this thought to himself and let Arthur continue.

“The people have been without a queen for more than twenty years. They need one, as a symbol and to do good works among them. And a wise woman to help him rule is an asset to any king.” He paused and looked down, fiddling with a trail of salt that had spilled on the wooden table. “I must marry and give Camelot an heir, Merlin, and I can’t let it wait forever.”

Merlin became exasperated and let it show. “I’m not a child, Arthur. You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know. I don’t see what any of this has to do with me.”

“Of course it has to do with you.” Arthur sounded a little exasperated himself. He continued, “Things have changed between us. I want to keep you as my friend, and as more than a friend when we are alone. But none of this will be for public consumption, you understand me?”

“No, I thought I’d tell everyone I run into about us.” Merlin was angry now and let it show. “My status in the castle will definitely improve once it’s known I’m warming your bed.” He put the heel of his hand to his eyes, because he knew there were tears there and he was damned if he was going to let Arthur see them fall. “What do you take me for?”

“Merlin.” Arthur put his hand on Merlin’s forearm, just letting it rest there until Merlin looked up at him again. “I take you for a loyal servant and companion, and I do trust you. But you didn’t grow up in court, and you may not be aware of what would happen if our relationship were known. Not just to me, but to you. Everyone would be looking for a way to get to me through you, and you could be manipulated or badly used. I don’t want that for you.”

Merlin’s anger faded as he let Arthur’s sensible words sink in. But there was something he had to know.

“What about Gwen? She’s my friend, and I don’t want to hurt her.”

Arthur got up from his chair and started pacing, and Merlin had to remind himself that Arthur was naturally a man of action rather than words. The pacing showed how hard this conversation was for Arthur. Merlin spared a thought from his own worries about where he stood with Arthur to remember how private Arthur was, and how hard it was for him to talk about matters of the heart.

Finally Arthur stopped pacing and leaned over the table so that he was close to Merlin, his palms flat on the table and his eyes locked with Merlin’s. He wore an expression of quiet determination, but Merlin could see a glimmer of something else in his eyes. He really cares about me, Merlin thought with wonder.

“I would not publicly humiliate my wife by flaunting a lover in front of the court. And I would feel terrible asking ask someone I cared about to share my favors.” Arthur paused, giving Merlin a searching look. “Gwen is a wonderful person, and I care about her very much. She would be a kind and just queen, and the people would come to love her for her good heart and her concern for the poor.”

He slumped back into his chair and said, “I believe she would be a good mother to my children.”

“But?” Merlin ventured.

“But….” Arthur seemed to be struggling to articulate what he felt, and finally gave up. “Camelot needs a Queen,” he repeated in a firm voice. “There are times when the needs of the people come before the needs of the King. Or his wishes.”

Silence hung heavy between them for several minutes after this confession. Merlin did not want to say the wrong thing, and he was touched that Arthur was able to show him his insecurities. Finally he said, “The two of you have time to work it out, and if you decide to marry her I will do what you think is best, and stop sharing your bed if that is what you want. Gwen is my friend, and if it would hurt her for us to be together once you are wed, I will do the right thing step aside.”

Merlin waited for Arthur to respond, noting details like the way his hair gleamed in the candlelight and how much tension there was in his hands, which Merlin knew were still only by an act of will. The response was surprising, as Arthur stood and pulled Merlin to his feet by the front of his tunic, his eyes dark with want. His words were challenging, “And what about you, Merlin? What do you want?”

Merlin whispered his response in Arthur’s ear, and they laughed as they tumbled into bed.

Merlin doubted that Arthur even realized that he hadn’t gotten an authentic answer to his question.

The next few months were like a honeymoon for Merlin.

He started arriving in Arthur’s chambers an hour earlier in the morning than he did before, so they could start the day by making love in Arthur’s bed.

It felt amazing to be getting something from Arthur that he had craved for so long, and he found that Arthur was a considerate and enthusiastic bedmate.

He usually ended the day in Arthur’s bed, too. But he never spent the night in Arthur’s chambers. They each had their reasons. Arthur was afraid of gossip, and Merlin needed to get back to his own room so he could take the Sógh he needed to get to sleep.

By this time Merlin had convinced himself that he needed the Sógh because of his magic. He told himself that the magic was a special circumstance, that he was special, and it naturally followed that he needed things that ordinary people did not need.

He knew how powerful he was. Nimuehh and Gaius had said they had never seen power like his. He tried to look at the Sógh as a type of fuel for his magic.

It salved his conscience.

His happiness with Arthur was tinged with some guilt and regret over his continued use of the Sógh, and the fact that he was hiding both his magic and the potion from Arthur. His lover had no idea that he couldn’t get through the day without using the medicine.

But most of the time he was able to push those feelings aside. He told himself that he was more effective and more powerful when he was taking the medicine, and that it was important to be in top form for all the times when Arthur was in danger.

He liked to tell himself that he was taking the Sógh for Arthur’s sake.

The honeymoon ended because of Morgana.

When it became clear that Morgana was the key to saving Camelot from Morgause’s dark magic, Merlin did what he had to do.

He wasn’t happy about the way he had betrayed Morgana for the greater good, and the memory of her struggling in his arms as she lay dying from the poison he had given her was front and center in his mind for weeks after it was over.

By this time he had killed any number of people in Arthur’s service, but this was different. Morgana had been his friend, one of the handful of people in Camelot he truly cared about. He spent long hours wondering where they had all gone wrong, if there was something different that any of them could have done to keep her from being corrupted by Morgause.

He remembered all the good things about Morgana- how she managed to keep a measure of independence in a world that viewed a young woman of high birth as a pawn to be traded for land or connections, how brave she was, the way she could get Arthur to do the right thing by showing him that he was more than his father’s son.

He missed her after Morgause spirited her away, and Arthur missed her, and Gwen cried when she thought no one could see. It was one of the worst times in his life.

He was the one who had started it all when he poisoned Morgana. He wasn’t sure if she was alive or dead, but he felt sick and sorry that he had been forced to hurt her.

It wasn’t pleasant to contemplate all the awful things he had done for his prince, and the prospect of all the even more awful things he would have to do to ensure that Camelot and Arthur thrived was grim. with Arthur wasn’t much comfort, because Arthur was hurting over Morgana, too, and felt much of the same guilt and confusion as Merlin did, although for different reasons.

Their lovemaking became more desperate, as if they both knew they had only each other to cling to where nothing was the same as it had been. Uther put even more pressure on his son, and each day the king seemed closer to madness as he poured more men and resources into the search for Morgana. Everyone in the castle was walking on eggshells, from the king’s most trusted advisors to the lowest scullery maid in the kitchen. No one knew when Uther might explode, and it made for a very tense atmosphere.

Merlin began to hear whisperings in the corridors that Uther cared far more for Morgana than for his own son. It seemed likely that Arthur heard similar whisperings.

It made Merlin angry that Uther didn’t value Arthur more once Morgana was gone, that her absence didn’t make him realize how important it was to nurture relationships while he had the chance. Uther barely spoke to Arthur anymore, except to demand information about how the campaign to find Morgana was going.

The whole twisted family dynamic was just one more reason that Merlin needed the Sógh. His medicine helped him navigate the treacherous waters of daily life in Camelot. And it helped him forget.

His relationship with Gaius was another source of guilt for Merlin. They seemed to see eye to eye less often these days, and the distance between them pained Merlin.

At the time, he attributed their increasingly frequent disagreements to Gaius’s inability to see that Merlin was an adult and knew what he was doing. In future years, when he had little to do except contemplate the path of his addiction, he could see that the Sógh clouded his judgment and magnified his character defects. But at the time he was unable to see that the deterioration of his relationship with Gaius had anything to do with the potion he took faithfully every morning and every night.

It sometimes felt to Merlin like Gaius disapproved of every single thing he did. His lectures to Merlin about hiding his magic and about not being so impulsive became more frequent, and more irritating to Merlin.

He suspected that Gaius knew about him and Arthur, although Merlin tried to be as careful as he could. But there was no hiding the fact that he spent less time in Gaius’s chambers and more time in Arthur’s.

And for all of Arthur’s fine talk about no one finding out about them, he had a bad habit of sucking bruises onto Merlin’s neck where the scarf didn’t cover them.

Gaius said nothing about that, and Merlin was grateful. But Merlin sometimes wondered if he was kidding himself about how well he was hiding his use of the Sógh.

There was an incident when Merlin returned from accompanying Arthur on one of the abortive search parties for Morgana, and he was so tired he went straight to bed and left his pack in the main room of Gaius’s chambers. When he got up, he saw Gaius with the pack at the main table, about to open the medicine packet.

The packet that contained six or seven neatly labeled vials of first aid medicines, and a large unlabeled bottle of Sógh.

“What are you doing?” he said sharply, making Gaius jump.

Gaius always recovered quickly, though, and he shot Merlin a keen look.

“And good morning to you, too, Merlin,” he said sardonically. “You seemed exhausted when you got back last night, I thought I would check the medical supplies for you, and replenish them if necessary. Uther may send Arthur out on another search at any moment, and I thought I would help you prepare.”

Merlin strode toward the table angrily and grabbed his pack, scooping the medical kit off the table. “I don’t need your help,” he snapped.

He put the bag in his room, and sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, trying to compose himself. The thought of Gaius finding the Sógh bottle and asking what it was made his stomach churn and his palms clammy, even though he was sure he could come up with a plausible lie.

Maybe it would be better if I just moved into the little room off Arthur’s chambers, he thought. It wouldn’t be unusual for the prince’s manservant to sleep there, and he would be safe from Gaius’s prying eyes.

But then he remembered that he couldn’t very well take his potion on a regular basis if he was living right under Arthur’s nose. And it would be far harder to make it and keep it concealed if he was no longer living with Gaius.

No, he would have to stay where he was.

Once he got over his reaction to nearly being caught, Merlin felt terrible about the way he had treated Gaius. Gaius had only been trying to help, and he used to replenish the medical supplies Merlin took with him whenever he left the castle with Arthur. But that had all been before Merlin had been taking the Sógh.

He went back to the main room and apologized to Gaius.

“I’m very sorry. I know you thought you were helping me out by checking the medicines. I must still be tired from the journey, and it makes me snappish.”

He wasn’t lying. He was sorry, and he didn’t want to be on bad terms with his friend.

Gaius accepted the apology, but added, “Merlin, if you will forgive my saying so, you seem troubled lately. Is there anything you want to talk about?”

Merlin gave him a bright, practiced smile. “No, I’m fine. I just need to catch up on my sleep.” He made a quick exit, saying he had to go get Arthur’s breakfast.

He knew Gaius wasn’t convinced, but it would have to be enough for now.

He would fix things with Gaius. Later.

That night Gaius tried again.

“Merlin, how long has it been since you went to visit Hunith?”

Merlin shrugged. “About a year, I think. Why do you ask?”

“I thought perhaps you could ask Arthur for a fortnight off, and we could go visit her, just the two of us. I think it would do you good to get away from Camelot.”

The suggestion made Merlin very uneasy, but he tried to cover that with a joke. “Get away from Camelot? I don’t think so. Arthur wouldn’t last two days without me, let alone two weeks. And I couldn’t possibly survive that long without Arthur making my life miserable.”

Gaius looked at him gravely. “Merlin. You’ve changed, and you don’t see it. You run yourself ragged, and you don’t seem to have anything in your life other than serving Arthur. I see you cutting corners on the work you do for me, and since Gwaine left you don’t seem to have any friends other than Gwen. And you don’t seem to talk to her much anymore, either. I think you would benefit from some time back at home, with Hunith. Get some perspective on things.”

For some time a nagging little voice in his head had been telling him he had an unhealthy dependence on the Sógh. Most of the time he was able to silence the voice, but Gaius’s words made him uncomfortable. He felt ashamed that Gaius had noticed his mistakes, which included improperly labeling a container of medicine. Fortunately Gaius had caught the error before any harm had been done, but it could have been serious.

He knew that he was not giving enough of his time and attention to Gaius, and a wave of guilt washed over him.

But he did not want to spend time in Ealdor. If Gaius could see changes in him, Hunith would see them even more clearly. And he just couldn’t deal with that right now.

So he lied again.

“You worry too much, Gaius. You’re like a hen with one chick, seeing trouble where there is none. I’m fine, I keep telling you that.”

And when Gaius seemed unconvinced, he added, “I will visit my mother in a month or two. I promise.”

He didn’t mean it, but it got Gaius off his back, and that was the important thing.

Their worst quarrel came when Gaius walked into Merlin’s room late one night, knocking and pushing the door open at the same time. Gaius’s jaw dropped in disbelief when he took in the scene before him.

Merlin was propped up in bed reading, sipping at his nighttime dose of Sógh from his favorite silver cup. He was nude, as far as Gaius could tell, and the sheets were pooled around his waist. Gaius quickly translated the Latin title of the book, and he could see that Merlin was reading a spell book that Gaius had not given him.

And the area around the bed was lit not with candles, but with magic. There was a soft glow all around the bed, brighter around the book.

Gaius’s mind took in all these details, and he also registered that Merlin was no longer a boy, but a young man, and a handsome one at that. His hair was tousled and his skin was smooth, and Gaius had the fleeting thought that Arthur was a lucky man.

But that thought disappeared when the anger kicked in.

“Merlin! What on earth are you doing?”

Merlin’s expressive face showed first shock, then fear, and finally he composed it into a neutral expression. He sounded almost bored and more than a little insolent as he said, “This is my room, Gaius. I expect you to knock before you enter it. Is there something you needed?”

“Never mind that!” Gaius could hear how shrill he sounded, but he didn’t care. “You are in here reading a book that you shouldn’t be reading, using magic to light the room when anyone could walk in, and what exactly is it that you’re drinking?” He strode toward the bed and grabbed the cup out of Merlin’s hand, moving so quickly that Merlin didn’t have time to resist. And truth be told, Merlin looked like he was a bit drunk, which made Gaius even angrier.

The liquid in the cup was clear and smelled faintly sweet when Gaius held it to his nose. He was about to dip a finger into it to taste it, when he took a more careful look at the cup. Small, one-handled, silver, with a design of ivy leaves around the rim. Suddenly he felt very old and very frightened.

“Get dressed, Merlin. You need to explain to me exactly how you came into possession of a cup that was one of the most cherished possessions of the late queen.”

Merlin wrapped his arms around himself, looking considerably less confident than he had when he first spoke to Gaius.

“Can it wait until morning? I’m tired.”

“No, it cannot wait until morning. This is very serious. And for the love of all the gods, put out that damned light!”

He left Merlin alone and sat at the work table waiting for him. The two of them had shared so much at this table, meals and stories and talk about magical lore. They had worked side by side at the table on innumerable occasions. But now Gaius was afraid that he had stood by like a lackwit while something terrible happened to the young man he loved like a son.

When Merlin shuffled into the room and sat across from him, he looked young and scared. He started to say something, but Gaius stopped him.

“That cup belonged to the late Queen. It was given to her as a child, and it it was one of the few material objects she cared about. She used it every day. Uther kept it in memory of her, even though he couldn’t stand seeing most of her things, and it was lost several years ago. He turned the castle upside down looking for it. If you are caught with it, you will be severely punished for theft.”

Merlin was defensive. “I didn’t steal it! I found it in the kitchens, in a store room. It was just sitting on the back of a shelf. I didn’t know it had any value. No one was using it.”

“So you, what, just thought you would help yourself to it? Was there any of the king’s silver plate that you thought he might not need? Or maybe you could poke around in Morgana’s jewelry box and see if there’s anything you might like to have? She isn’t here, after all, and isn’t using it.”

Merlin had the grace to flush, and looked down, biting his lip. Gaius hammered the lesson home.

“It’s stealing, and you know it. Whoever that cup belonged to, you knew it did not belong to you, but you took it anyway. You could easily lose your place here if you were caught with it, and Arthur would not be able to protect you.”

In an instant, Merlin’s mood changed. His eyes blazed. “Arthur does not protect me. I protect him.”

“When did you become so arrogant, Merlin? And so blind? Arthur protects you every moment of every day, and has since you arrived in Camelot.” The old man’s voice rose as he became angrier at Merlin’s willfulness. “He protects you from the consequences of your unruly tongue. He protects you from Uther’s punishment when you behave stupidly, which I might add is pretty much on a daily basis. And he protects you from the jealousy and meanness you would be exposed to if it were known that you share his bed.”

Merlin looked shaken, and Gaius’s voice softened as he said, “I wonder at you, Merlin. You don’t see what is in front of your nose.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you don’t know, I can’t explain it to you. But you might want to actually talk to Arthur about what is going on between you.”

At Merlin’s surprised look, Gaius snorted. “If you think I haven’t known for quite some time that you are tupping the prince, think again. You’re pretty obvious, the two of you. But what I want to know is that you will put that cup back where you found it, first thing in the morning. And I want you to stop being so careless with your magic. I don’t want to see you with your head on a chopping block in the center of the courtyard, or hear you screaming in agony, tied to a burning pyre. Do you understand me?”

Merlin started to apologize, “I’m sorry…” but Gaius cut him off. “I don’t want your apologies, I want you to change your behavior.”

Merlin went back to his room, and only after he was gone did Gaius realize that Merlin never answered the question about what he was drinking.

The next day Merlin told Gaius that he had put the cup back in the kitchens. He seemed genuinely remorseful, and Gaius was satisfied. He told himself that Merlin was just a young man sowing his wild oats, and that nothing more needed to be done.

The lies Gaius told himself ended up costing both him and Merlin dearly.

Morgana was found and returned to her place in Camelot, and Merlin was almost sick with relief when she told him that she didn’t blame him for what he had done to her, that she understood.

She was lying, as it turned out, but Merlin was no longer living in Camelot when the true reason for her return was revealed.

An older Merlin would look back on the months when he still thought of himself as in control of his use of the Sógh as a period of supreme self-delusion, and he bitterly regretted every lie and every missed opportunity to be honest with those he loved. He wished over and over again that he could change the past. But he couldn’t.

After Morgana’s return he had some difficult times with Gaius, and there were days when they barely spoke to each other. But there were also days when they would work side by side tending to the sick, and Merlin could feel that Gaius was pleased with him. Gaius was like a father to him, and Merlin knew that no matter what, Gaius was on his side. And Gaius continued in his role as teacher and mentor, trying to pass on his years of experience with medicine and magic.

There were times when Merlin wanted to go to Gaius and ask for help in weaning himself from his use of the Sógh, but it was never the right moment, and he thought there was no urgency. He felt fine, and he felt like he needed the edge that the potion gave him. He felt extra smart, extra confident, extra powerful when he took it.

When he tried to do without it, he felt sick and weak. His hands would shake, and he could barely function.

Later, Merlin would understand that these symptoms were common to anyone trying to give up strong drink or opiates. But at the time, he thought he could figure out everything on his own.

Merlin always looked back on his last months in Camelot as bittersweet, the joy of his deepening relationship with Arthur so intertwined with his secret life of addiction and deception that he could never remember one without the other.

He would never be able to regret a single moment with Arthur, although he had plenty of other things to regret.

But he was young and in love, and there were days when he was giddy with happiness that had nothing to do with the Sógh . It was all Arthur.

Arthur had told him at the outset that they had to be careful, and seemed to want a relationship with no strings attached. Merlin accepted that their relationship would come to an end when Arthur married, and resolved to cherish each moment without expectation.

But it was Arthur who had trouble staying within the boundaries he himself had set out.

With each week that passed, Arthur grew more affectionate, speaking to him publicly with a gentleness that was so dramatically different from his prior way of addressing him that Merlin was sure the whole court would notice.

When they went out hunting, or to patrol the borders, the other knights treated Merlin with the same kindness they always had, but with an extra care and respect that Merlin finally realized was due to their acknowledging him as Arthur’s chosen favorite.

One day he had an awkward conversation with Leon about it. They were on the sidelines at training, and Leon was taking a break. He could see that Leon wanted to tell him something, and waited for him to come to the point. He trusted Leon, and he knew that Arthur did, too. Leon said tentatively, “We, that is some of the knights, we wanted to thank you.”

Merlin was puzzled. “For what?”

Leon made a vague gesture toward Arthur, showing one of the squires how to improve his feint, and said, “You know. He seems happy.” Merlin’s confusion must have shown on his face, because Leon said, “With you. He seems happy with you. I’ve never seen him so relaxed and open.”

Merlin was still cautious. “Has he said anything about….” He decided to mimic Leon and made a vague hand gesture of his own, waving between Arthur and himself.

Leon laughed. “Merlin, Arthur doesn’t talk about things. But it’s obvious to anyone who has eyes that he’s head over heels for you.”

Merlin was sure he was gaping like an idiot, but he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. But the conversation was cut short when Arthur looked over at them and frowned. He said with mock sternness, “Merlin, if you are quite done gossiping with Leon, young Brangaine here could use some water. And a sympathetic ear.”

Leon grinned. “See, he even gets jealous when you talk to me, and he knows he can trust me.” Merlin wasn’t sure he believed what Leon was saying, but he felt his blush as he said, “I have to go.”

Leon nodded in acknowledgement, but added, “Be careful, Merlin. It would be a terrible thing for him to lose you.” He added in a rough tone that poorly concealed his emotions, “None of us want to lose you.”

Leon’s words made Merlin look at Arthur with fresh eyes, and he started noticing things he had previously ignored. He’d always felt like he had to protect himself from feeling too much about Arthur, because that would make it easier when the end of their affair came.

But now that he was able to consider the possibility that Arthur truly cared about him, he saw the way Arthur’s face lit up when he caught sight of Merlin across a room. He realized that when Arthur clasped a hand around his wrist and murmured, “Stay,” when Merlin got up to go back to his own room late at night, he wasn’t just being polite to a bedmate, he really meant it.

He watched Gwen and Arthur together, and he saw affection and respect, but nothing that indicated they were yearning for each other. And he considered the possibility that if Arthur and Gwen did ever marry, it would be a business arrangement for the good of the kingdom.

Arthur was showing Merlin how he felt in every way but with words.

He was too conscientious to skip morning training, but these days he would give Merlin a swift kiss before he left and say, “See you in three hours?” even though they both knew Merlin was always waiting for him to help him out of his armor.

Arthur would try new tricks and techniques in bed, and Merlin wondered where these things were coming from until he found the book of erotic drawings and instruction Arthur had hidden at the bottom of a trunk of winter clothing.

Merlin’s Latin wasn’t as good as Arthur’s, but he understood enough to make him blush. And he was touched that Arthur was making it a priority to keep him happy in bed.

Arthur tried more and more to include Merlin in his thoughts, too. He patiently explained the political landscape to Merlin so that Merlin would better understand the meetings he attended. Even though his official purpose was to stand behind Arthur’s chair in case he needed anything, Merlin knew that Arthur wanted him to learn, and he was touched by that. And Merlin knew that Arthur valued the advice he gave in private.

If Merlin had let him, Arthur would have ordered fine new clothes for him, but when the seamstresses arrived in Arthur’s rooms and Merlin was told he was to be measured for new outfits, he rebelled.

They argued about it until Arthur sent the women away, and they were able to speak freely. Arthur glared at Merlin with his arms folded across his chest, saying angrily, “I didn’t think it would be the end of the world if I had some nice clothes made for you, clothes that befitted the crown prince’s personal servant. You’ve been wearing those same tunics and trousers and ratty scarves since you got here, and they’re wearing out.”

Merlin was stung. “My mother made me those scarves!”

“I respect and value your mother, but anyone who thought keeping your neck covered was a good idea clearly doesn’t have very good judgment about what’s attractive.”

“I need to wear the damn scarves, because you keep leaving love bites where you know you shouldn’t,” Merlin snapped back.

The argument ended with Arthur crowding Merlin against a wall and showing him exactly what he liked about his neck, and in the end they compromised and Merlin got some new clothes that were the same style and quality as the worn out ones. Merlin convinced Arthur that him suddenly dressing like a nobleman would attract attention they didn’t need.

They spent most evenings playing chess or reading together in front of the fire in Arthur’s room, and most nights making love. And finally Merlin felt secure enough to listen when Arthur asked him to stay, and spent the whole night in bed with him.

It was bliss, and it was the beginning of the end.

Merlin and Arthur had long precious weeks of what seemed to them like perfect happiness, running their hands down each other’s arms just because they could and wearing fond expressions when they thought no one was looking at them. Even Uther noticed how content Arthur seemed, complimenting Arthur at one of the family meals where Merlin and Gwen waited at the table.

“You look healthy, Arthur, and unusually happy. Is there something new in your life? Or someone new?” He smirked knowingly as he said this, and Morgana rolled her eyes.

“No, Father, nothing like that. I’m just glad that Morgana is back. And training is going well.”

Morgana gave Arthur a smile that to Merlin’s eyes seemed forced, and said, “Thank you, Arthur. I am glad to be back where I belong.”

If Merlin had been paying more attention, he might have pursued the thought that something seemed off in the way Morgana was acting. But he had his own concerns, and it became just another moment to regret, in the time when he had nothing but regrets and memories of lost opportunities to fill his days.

But at the time he cared about nothing but Arthur, and how close they were. And he was pondering what to do about the Sógh.

He wasn’t going to bring it into Arthur’s chambers, that would be foolish, and on some level it felt wrong. He usually went back to his room in Gaius’s chambers at dawn to change his clothes, walking the dark corridors smiling to himself about what he and Arthur had gotten up to the night before. And he would have a dose of Sógh before he left again. But he wasn’t taking it at night anymore.

He slept well with Arthur’s arms around him, and he was considering weaning himself off the potion altogether. Maybe it had served its purpose. But in the meantime it seemed to be calling to him, reminding him that he still needed it.

Merlin’s last day in Camelot started with everything his heart had craved, and ended in disaster.

Arthur kept him in bed later than usual that morning, making love to him with such tenderness that Merlin had to blink away tears at how loved he felt. The sun was well up when they woke again, and Arthur asked Merlin to go straight to the kitchen to get his breakfast, saying that he couldn’t be late for training. He added, “You can change later, when I’m on the field.”

Merlin couldn’t say, “No, sorry, I need to go get my potion before I can do my job.” So he did as Arthur requested.

In his memories, that morning was perfect and golden. They shared Arthur’s breakfast, and Arthur talked about the two of them going off to an inn incognito and spending a week never getting out of bed.

“Your bottom would get sore from me fucking you five times a day,” Merlin teased.

“Remind me to bring some rope,” Arthur grinned back. “And those scarves your mother made for you would make excellent gags.”

“Oh, but then my mouth wouldn’t be available for your favorite thing.”

Arthur conceded that Merlin had a point, and they went from posturing and poking fun at each other to a more serious discussion about Arthur’s hopes for change in Camelot once he was king.

But finally Arthur had to leave, and Merlin checked his work on Arthur’s armor one more time. Arthur turned to the door, but just before opening it he came back and took Merlin’s hand, saying, “Merlin,” in a low tone.

There was something different in Arthur’s eyes, something intense and powerful.

“Yes?” Merlin said quietly, not wanting to shatter the atmosphere between them with too much noise.

“I love you.”

Arthur lifted the hand he was still holding and turned it over, kissing the palm.

He was gone before Merlin could answer him.

The rest of the day was a fiasco. Merlin never even got a chance to make Arthur’s bed, and later in the day when he could spare a thought, he hoped that none of the maidservants had entered Arthur’s chambers. It would have been really obvious that someone had shared the prince’s bed. Merlin knew how fast gossip spread, and he didn’t want speculative eyes resting on him and Arthur.

After Arthur left, Merlin threw himself on the bed, flopping on his back with his arms and legs spread wide and a big grin on his face. Arthur said he loves me.” He thought his heart would burst with joy.

He had known for a long time that he loved Arthur, and hoped that the feeling was returned. But until that morning, he had not been certain.

Now he was.

With a light step, he took the breakfast things down to the kitchen and prepared to start the work day. He was on his way to Gaius’s chambers to wash and change when Gwen came running to find him, terror on her face.

Gwen had a close friend who was one of the undercooks. She was pregnant, and Gaius had determined that she was carrying twins. Shortly after midnight Adela had been on her way to the privy when she felt pain so sharp that she collapsed.

She was only seven months along, and she was bleeding.

They’d carried her up to Gaius’s chambers, and Gwen and Gaius had been up with her for the rest of the night. In the morning, Gaius had sent Gwen looking for Merlin because he needed his help.

He rushed back with Gwen, and they found Adela lying on the cot in the corner of the main room, looking pale and frightened. Gaius was sitting at her side, speaking softly to her.

“Merlin, I’m glad Gwen was able to find you. Gwen, sit with your friend while I talk to Merlin about how we should proceed.”

Gaius led him to a corner of the room and they spoke in hushed tones. “How is she?” Merlin asked. Although he knew Gaius couldn’t save every woman who gave birth in Camelot, Merlin knew how much Adela meant to Gwen. He knew childbirth was risky, but he didn’t want any woman in Camelot to die the way Arthur’s mother had.

Gaius said solemnly. “She’s already in labor. I’m going to try to stop it with herbs and by keeping her quiet, but if I can’t stop the labor pains, it is likely to be a difficult birth. Twins are always more dangerous, but these babies are not ready to be born. Their chances of survival are not good if they are born today.” He let out a heavy exhale, and suddenly looked very old and tired. “We must do our best. There are three lives at stake.”

Merlin’s heart was suddenly full of affection for this man, who had devoted his life to healing. “Adela could not be in better hands,” he told him. He gave Gaius a brief hug, and Gaius clung to him for a moment before pushing him away and saying, “We have work to do.”

Merlin felt closer to Gaius in that moment than he had in many months, and it lightened his heart even as he turned to the work at hand.

As the day wore on, it became clear that labor could not be halted and that the babies would have to be delivered. Merlin was on the run all day- fetching and carrying for Gaius, boiling water and making poultices, trying to reassure Adela’s anxious husband, giving directions to Gwen. At one point he even went to the lower town on a grim errand, asking to see if there were any women who would make suitable wet nurses if the babies survived and Adela did not.

Merlin fervently wished he had learned more healing magic, but he’d never seemed to have much of a gift for it and had put it aside in favor of other studies.

He was juggling so many tasks that he barely had a chance to sit down and had nothing to eat or drink but some water. And he forgot all about the fact that he had not had any Sógh since the morning of the day before.

The twins were born in the early evening, and they were well-formed but small and weak. Adela tried to nurse them, but they didn’t seem hungry. Gwen tucked them up in a basket, and Adela fell into an exhausted sleep.

Gaius looked exhausted, too, and Merlin told him that he would watch over Adela and her children while Gaius rested. Gaius admonished him to press on Adela’s womb periodically and make sure it was contracting and not getting spongy, and told Merlin to wake him immediately if there was any trouble.

Gwen was dozing in a chair, and Merlin realized that he was the only person in the room who was still awake. Gaius and Gwen were worn out from a long day on their feet caring for Adela.

His hands were shaking and he felt sick to his stomach, which he knew was a consequence of going too long without his potion. After taking a quick look at Adela and the infants, he went up to his room and gulped down a healthy dose of the Sógh.

He went back to his position by Adela’s bed, feeling the sweet relief of the medicine kicking in , a pleasant warmth surging through his belly and all of his limbs. He felt warm and relaxed, and like everything was going to be all right.

But he had once again miscalculated, and learned the bitter lesson that he was not the master of his potion. He drank too much of it too fast, and on an empty stomach, and it made him intoxicated and fuzzy-headed. He lay down on a bench near his sleeping patient, and the combination of the Sógh and the long day put him out like a light.

He was awakened from a fitful slumber by Gwen was shaking him, her voice frantic. “It’s Adela, she’s bleeding. And one of the babies doesn’t seem to be breathing.”

Merlin jumped up off the bench he’d been curled up on, and saw that the sheets and blankets on Adela’s cot were soaked with blood. She was unconscious, her face as white as the stones of the castle walls.

Time seemed to stop for a moment, and details of the scene around him seemed to burn into Merlin’s mind, where they would remain for the rest of his life. He saw the tears running down Gwen’s cheeks, and the soft glow of the lamplight in the room. He glanced over at the basket holding the twins, and noticed how tiny their fists were, and how unnaturally still one of them seemed. He watched Gwen snap out of her immobility and run to the other side of the room to wake Gaius.

How could this be happening? Adela was hemorrhaging, but he had kneaded her womb to help it contract, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?

He realized in horror that he had done it once, but that he should have been doing it every half hour or so.

Adela was dying, and it was his fault.

And one of the babies was already dead, and that was his fault too. He hadn’t been checking on them, either. He cursed himself for a lazy fool, but that wasn’t going to do Adela any good.

He had to do something.

His terror gave way to a fierce conviction that he could do something to make it right. He was the most powerful sorcerer who had ever lived, and by the gods he was going to do something with all that power. He didn’t have Hunith to rein him in, and Gaius was not fully awake yet, and he wouldn’t let anyone stop him even if they tried.

He could feel his magic burning in him, telling him to fix this.

Death would not win. Not tonight.

He pulled the bloody sheets off Adela and pressed his hands over her belly, letting his magic flow through his hands and yelling “desino” to make the damned bleeding stop. He pulled back her nightgown to check, but it was too hard to see if she was still hemorrhaging, so he ordered “illuminare” to light up the room so that it was as bright as mid-day.. He muttered a quick spell to clean up the mess on Adela’s body so he could see if fresh blood was coming out of her womb. It looked like there wasn’t new bleeding, but Adela was still unconscious and barely seemed to be breathing, so he struck her in the chest with his fist, hard, to shock her heart into beating more strongly. He put his hand on her forehead and willed her to breathe, and she did. Some color returned to her cheeks, and her breathing deepened.

He was so drunk on Sógh and magic and so intent on fixing his mistake that it meant nothing to him that Gwen was staring at him in shock, or that Gaius was frozen half out of his cot, dismay and disbelief on his face at Merlin’s open use of magic.

He saw these things, but he didn’t care.

What he didn’t see was Arthur standing stock still just inside the door to Gaius’s chambers, his eyes locked on Merlin.

In the many times he relived this event in his dreams, or reviewed it while awake, it all took on a slow motion quality, almost as if his magic had stilled time so that he would always remember each step in his descent to destruction.

He heard Adela’s voice, strained and pitched high, saying, “The babies, how do my babies fare?” He watched Gwen’s face as she regained the power of speech and said in an awed tone, “Merlin! Your eyes are gold.” He saw Gaius move across the room with amazing speed for a man his age, lifting the infant who wasn’t breathing out of the basket and laying it at the foot of Adela’s bed and trying to revive it.

He heard glass breaking as Gwen’s elbow knocked into a bottle of tonic and it smashed into the floor. He saw Gwen picking up the healthier child and clutching it to her chest as if to protect it from the sight of its womb-mate’s fate. He saw Gaius massaging the other twin’s chest with the heel of his hand, then peering into its face for any sign of life.

He saw Gaius shake his head and turn to Adela, saying softly, “I’m sorry. His lungs were immature, it often happens with children born too early. There was nothing anyone could have done.” He saw Gaius wrapping the child back up to give him back to his mother for her goodbyes.

He felt power surging through him, and he felt like he was pure light and pure energy and pure rage. He suddenly knew that he was the master of death, and nothing in the universe could deny him what he desired.

The child would live.

He roared, “No!” at the top of his lungs, and raised his hand to the lifeless infant, knowing that he had the power to bring it back to life. Gaius saw his intent and turned to him with an expression of utter disbelief. “Merlin, no,” he begged. “You cannot do this, it’s wrong. It’s a crime against nature. The child is gone, let him rest in peace.”

Merlin barely heard him. He could feel the surge of energy in his hands and arms as he focused on the small still form of Adela’s dead baby.

Gaius said loudly, “I will not let you do this, Merlin.” He stepped between Merlin and the child in Adela’s arms.

Merlin pushed past him and took the baby from Adela, who was too shocked to resist. Gaius came close to Merlin and tried to take the baby back.

And that was when Merlin shoved him to get him out of the way, and watched in horror as Gaius’s feet caught on a stool.

He seemed to hang in mid-air, his long robes tangled around his legs and his arms windmilling as he tried to catch himself. As Gwen screamed and Merlin’s mouth dropped in shock, Gaius tumbled to the floor and fell, breaking his neck.

Gaius only lived for a minute or so after the fall.

Merlin finally came to his senses and thrust the dead baby back into Adela’s arms. He knelt by his teacher’s side, weeping, finally sober enough to realize exactly what he had done. He held Gaius’s hand and sobbed, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Gaius.” The old man squeezed Merlin’s hand and seemed to be trying to say something, but was unable to speak.

And then the light left his eyes and he was gone.

Gwen was kneeling on the other side of Gaius’s body, fat tears running down her face although she was perfectly quiet and still. She whispered, “Merlin, what have you done?”

And then he was being jerked to his feet by a hand on his neck and Arthur said, his voice like ice, “He is a liar and a sorcerer and a murderer.

Merlin’s ears started buzzing and he felt faint when he heard Arthur proclaim him a murderer. He slumped in Arthur’s hold as realized the full enormity of his actions.

He raised his face to look at Arthur, dreading to see Arthur’s expression but needing to look anyway. Through his tears he saw that Leon was standing just behind Arthur, looking like he’d been poleaxed.

He saw the disgust and loathing in Arthur’s eyes, and the cold glittering hatred. “Do not speak to me,” Arthur commanded, his tone carefully controlled. But Merlin could hear the strong emotion under the surface.

Merlin almost laughed in hysteria. He wasn’t planning on speaking. There was nothing to say.

Arthur kept a painful grip on Merlin’s neck as he looked over his shoulder and said, “Don’t just stand there. Help Gwen.” Leon gently took Gwen’s hands in his own and raised her to her feet, walking her to a chair and pushing her gently into it. He looked around and heard a baby crying, so he picked up the baby who still lived and handed it to Gwen, and she automatically raised it to her shoulder to comfort it, her hand cradling the little head.

Merlin observed how tiny the child looked in Leon’s big hands, and how careful he was as he passed it to Gwen.

He saw Arthur giving some orders to Leon, although he couldn’t comprehend what they were. He saw Leon glancing down at Gaius’s body, and then at Merlin, shock and horror on his face.

It was the last thing he noticed, other than the sound of Adela keening over her dead child as Arthur pushed him out of the room.

Arthur had dragged him through the halls of Camelot before, but usually it was because he was playfully pulling him to bed. This time Arthur was rough, stopping once outside Gaius’s door to hiss at him, “If you try to escape I will gut you like a fish. Is that understood?”

Merlin said nothing, and Arthur slapped him with an open palm and repeated, “Is that understood?” The slap was a hard one, and it stung.

Merlin managed a nod, and stumbled along behind Arthur as best he could, the shock of Gaius’s death slowly wearing off and being replaced with waves of self-hatred. He supposed Arthur was taking him to the dungeons, although he couldn’t seem to look up from his feet to see where they were going.. He felt surprised that Arthur was doing it himself rather than turning him over to the guards.

He certainly expected to be executed in the morning. The use of magic in addition to the murder of Uther’s long time counselor and friend guaranteed him the axe, possibly the pyre.

He didn’t much care which it was, as long as it was over soon.

I’d like to see Kilgharrah again, he thought bitterly. I’d like to know what he has to say about destiny now.

He was astonished when they arrived not at the dungeons, but at Arthur’s chambers. Arthur pushed him through the door and shoved him to the floor, turning to lock the door behind him. Then he picked Merlin up by the back of his shirt and slammed him into the wall.

He felt the back of his head slam into the wall of the prince’s chambers. He could see the rumpled sheets on the bed where they had made love just that morning. An incongruous thought came to him. “The bedding probably still smells of our coupling.”

Merlin had smiled at Arthur as he eased down on Arthur’s cock, watching Arthur’s eyes narrow in pleasure. He knew that Arthur loved it like this, with Merlin doing most of the work as he pushed up with his thighs and then let himself slide down again. Merlin didn’t need his hands, so he used them to pin Arthur’s wrists to the mattress as he fucked himself. But soon Arthur became impatient and shook Merlin’s hands off, wrapping his own big hands around Merlin’s arse to lift him up and down.

Such an odd thing to think of, when the man he loved had a dagger pressed to his throat, his eyes blazing with rage and hurt. He knew that he was going to die, his throat slit by the prince who meant everything to him.

It was fitting that his death would be at Arthur’s hands. He had given his life to Arthur; he would give his death to Arthur,too .

Even with the knife at his throat, he could feel the hard muscled body pushing him against the wall, the strong left arm clamped around his back to hold him still for the strike. It felt like a lover’s embrace, warm and secure, and he relaxed into it. There was no point in tensing up in the face of the inevitable.

He’d always reveled in Arthur’s strength. It made him feel safe. He knew Arthur wouldn’t botch the job; the kill would be quick and clean.

He could easily throw his opponent across the room and make his escape. The prince’s legendary skill as a fighter was no match for his own magic.

Arthur had no idea of the extent of Merlin’s power. And now he never would.

But he did nothing.

If Arthur wanted to kill him, he would let him.

He deserved it.

Merlin saw Arthur’s hand tighten on the knife, and he closed his eyes to make it easier for both of them.

But when ten seconds passed and he was still alive, he opened them again.

Arthur let go of him with a small, contemptuous shove, and Merlin slid down the wall to the floor, feeling utterly exhausted and unable to stand. He was weak with relief that Arthur hadn’t killed him, and worn out from all the magic he had used. And he realized bitterly that the Sógh was still making his body languid and relaxed, intoxicating him even in the wreckage of his life that its use had caused.

He wanted to curl up on his side and weep, but tears would do him no good now, and he owed it to Arthur to hear what he had to say.

Arthur paced around the room, his dagger still in his hand.

“You are a sorcerer,” he said flatly.

“Yes,” Merlin agreed wearily. “I was born with magic.”

“And you concealed it from me for the past three years, even when you shared my bed.”

“Yes.”

Merlin made no effort to defend himself. What was the point? He had killed his friend, and a young mother was weeping over a dead baby. He knew his life was over.

“Have you ever used magic against me?”

“No. No. I wouldn’t….” Merlin was struggling to form words. His throat was choked with emotion, and he felt tears running down his face. “I would never hurt you, I always tried to protect you…” He trailed off, his excuses sounding lame even to his own ears.

Arthur continued to pace, too furious to stand still. He was a soldier, and he needed action.

“Were you trying to raise that child from the dead?”

Merlin was unable to meet Arthur’s eyes when he answered that question. He felt sick with shame.

“I was just trying to help...”

There was revulsion in Arthur’s eyes.

“So we can add necromancy to your other sins.”

Merlin had no answer to that.

“Get up, Merlin,” Arthur ordered. “I want you on your feet when you hear my judgment.”

It was hard for Merlin to get up. He was as weak as a kitten, and still felt drunk from the Sógh. But Arthur had given him an order, and he still had a shred of pride, so he slowly and painfully got to his feet, weaving slightly.

Arthur gave him a cold stare, and his voice was as cold as Merlin had ever heard it. “You will leave Camelot within the hour, never to return. You can take a horse, and whatever possessions you can carry in your saddlebags. I dislike wasting a horse on you, but I want you past The Valley of the Fallen Kings by sundown. Leon will watch you while you pack.”

Merlin was astonished. “But… the King. What about Gaius? What will you do?”

Arthur laughed harshly. “What I do is no longer any of your concern, Merlin.”

Merlin wiped tears away from his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’d rather you just killed me.”

That made Arthur even angrier. His eyes flashed, but he kept his voice light as he mocked Merlin. “Oh, that’s good. The tears are very pretty, and that trembling lip is a nice touch. You’re very seductive, Merlin, I have to give you credit for that.” He thought for a minute and added, “Just so we’re clear, I don’t care what you want. I won’t kill you, but if you want to die, feel free to kill yourself once you are out of Camelot’s borders.”

Merlin could hear the hurt underneath the bitterness in Arthur’s voice, and he tried one last time. “But why don’t you kill me? I need to understand.” His voice broke on a sob.

Arthur stepped into Merlin’s space, and for a minute Merlin thought he was going to hit him again. But then he grabbed him and gave him a fierce kiss, and Merlin knew it was the last one he would ever have from this man he loved.

The anger and sarcasm dropped away and Arthur looked at Merlin with honesty and sadness. “I am not going to kill you because I love you. And I never want to see you again.”

Arthur strode from the room with those words, and Leon came to escort Merlin back to Gaius’s chambers.

Gaius’s body was laid out on his bed, his hands neatly folded on his chest. Two older chambermaids were sitting by the body, and another was sitting by Adela, rocking a baby. Adela was lying still, and Merlin thought with a pang that exhaustion from a long labor and grief over her dead child had probably forced her into an exhausted sleep.

There was no sign of Gwen, or of the other infant’s corpse.

Merlin hurriedly packed his clothes under Leon’s watchful eye, and since it didn’t matter anymore he pulled the magic book Gaius had given him out from under his bed and put that in his pack, too. There was a bottle of Sógh with the magic book, so he packed that.

He put the silver cup he had loved so much on the table next to his bed, and said, “Please see that Arthur gets this, it belonged to his mother.”

He hadn’t returned it to the kitchens. He had lied to Gaius about that,too.

He picked up a bedroll and he was done.

They went to the stables, and Merlin was so shaky that Leon had to help him get on his horse. He gave him a packet once he was in the saddle, and said, “This is some bread and cheese for the journey.”

Merlin thanked him, and was about to signal the horse to ride out when Leon stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Merlin, I saw it, and so did Arthur. Gaius tripped. It was an accident.”

“I doubt that makes any difference to Gaius,” Merlin answered tiredly. “Goodbye, Leon.”

It was nearly dawn when he departed, and by the time Merlin had to leave the main road there was enough light in the sky to see where he was going. He rode until mid-day, stopping once to water the horse, and halted when he was just too tired to stay in the saddle anymore. He pulled his pack and bedroll off the horse, and whispered in its ear, “Go back home,” adding a spell to help it find the way.

There was a stream near where he stopped, and he found a place where he could take shelter a dozen yards from the rushing water. It was too small to be called a cave; it was really just a ledge of rock hanging over a patch of ground about twice the size of a man’s body. The dirt was hard-packed, and there was just enough height to sit up.

It would do.

He unrolled his bedroll under the ledge and lay down.

Just before he fell asleep he remembered the bottle of Sógh in his pack, and he forced himself to sit up and dig it out.

He poured it out on the ground, and used the last of his strength to throw the empty bottle as far from him as he could.

Then he sank into the blessed nothingness of sleep.

Merlin remembered little of the next few days.

He slept for a few hours, but when he woke he was violently ill. His head was throbbing with pain, and there was a metallic taste in his mouth. He was lying on his back, and when he tried to move his head, the small movement resulted in a wave of nausea so severe that he started throwing up immediately. It cost him everything he had to turn his head so he wouldn’t die from choking on his own vomit.

He threw up until there was nothing left in his stomach, and then the dry heaves started.

At first he thought he had picked up some contagion, but then he remembered how the hands of habitual drunkards shook when they were unable to obtain alcohol, and how people who used extracts of poppy to excess became violently ill when they tried to give them up. He realized that the sickness was his body’s reaction to suddenly being cut off from the potion he had used every day for well over a year.

The symptoms of vomiting and fever were so severe that in the beginning he was grateful that he had dumped out the Sógh, so that he wouldn’t be tempted to take it to end his agony. But as the pain and sickness continued, his willpower collapsed and he bitterly berated himself for making it impossible to have another dose of the potion. If he had been strong enough to get up and look for the bottle and try to coax a few drops out of it, he would have done it. But he was too weak to move.

He alternated between burning with fever and shaking with chills, and he had severe cramping as every muscle in his body tightened in agony. He slipped in and out of consciousness.

He had a few lucid intervals, and in those times he remembered that he had killed Gaius, and that one of Adela’s babies had died. And then he remembered the look on Arthur’s face when he said that he never wanted to see Merlin again, and he felt total despair.

But most of the time he was in the grip of fever-dreams, with events from his past jumbled together with nightmarish visions.

One moment he would see his mother’s face, smiling at him as she did when he was a child and reaching out to push his hair back from his brow with her cool hand.

But the next moment the woman leaning over him became Nimuehh, laughing at him, and saying, “I didn’t need to destroy you, Merlin. You did it yourself, with no help from me.”

And then the face became Gwen’s, her eyes filled with tears as she said, “What have you done?”

Visions of people from his past and present swirled around him, seeming real enough for him to reach out and touch. He saw Freya, her eyes filled with compassion and love. Will appeared to him as a seven year old boy, running through the fields near Ealdor and looking back and grinning at him, yelling, “Hurry up, slowpoke!” Balinor looked at him with sad eyes, asking if he knew a woman in Ealdor named Hunith.

Periodically he would wake up enough for another bout of dry heaves and he thought he would welcome death if it meant the pain wracking his body would cease. He sobbed, but no tears came, his body too feverish and dehydrated to spare them.

Then he would drift back into the dreams. He saw the terror on Morgana’s face as she realized that he had poisoned her. Kilgharrah visited him, shaking his head and saying reproachfully, “I hoped for better from you, young warlock. Arthur will never become the king he was meant to be, because of your weakness.”

Some of the visions were happy ones. He saw a cozy domestic scene with Gaius, the two of them working companionably together at the long table in Gaius’s chambers. He saw a time when he and Gwen had briefly abandoned their errands in the Lower Town for a quick game of hopscotch with a group of children, and he remembered how Gwen had laughed as she lifted her skirts above her ankles to jump through the squares.

He saw Arthur on the tournament field, his eyes shining as he acknowledged the cheers of the crowd.

And he saw Arthur in bed, smiling up at him with the sheets pooled around his waist, reaching out a muscled arm to clasp the back of Merlin’s head and pull him down for a kiss.

He fell into a more peaceful sleep with that vision in his mind.

When he finally woke up again, it was morning, but he thought not the first morning since he had crawled under the rock ledge. His body was no longer wracked with pain, but his head hurt and his limbs didn’t want to move. There was a stench around him, and he realized that he was lying in a puddle of vomit and piss and shit.

He felt dizzy and his mouth was like sand, and he realized that if he did not get some water in him he was probably going to die. He wasn’t sure dying was a bad idea, but he still had a bad taste in his mouth from throwing up, and his overpowering thirst eventually won out over his desire to just give up. So he forced himself to make the effort.

He was too weak to get up and walk, so he crawled down to the stream. It took him nearly an hour to crawl the dozen yards, and he passed out at least once more. When he got there he had to rest before he could lower his head to the water to drink.

The water tasted sweet and fresh, and it was the best thing he could ever remember tasting. He drank deeply, too deeply, and promptly threw up again.

How many times had Arthur told him to be careful with water after overexertion or illness? It seemed like even in this Merlin was unable to be moderate.

He waited ten more minutes, berating himself for stupidity, and then tried some small sips of water which he was able to keep down. Totally worn out, he lay on the bank and fell asleep again.

He was still in bad shape when he woke again, but he had enough strength to strip off his filthy clothes and cast them aside. He forced himself to dip his neckerchief in the water and scrub off most of the evidence of his sickness from his body, even though the water was so cold it made his teeth chatter. He didn’t have any soap, so he did the best he could, and when he was done the smell of vomit had receded, although it wasn’t completely gone.

He put his hands and feet in the water for a minute or two to let the current wash them, but he couldn’t bear the thought of actually getting in the icy cold water.

Everything was a struggle. He pulled clean clothes out of his pack and put them on, but he had to sit down again after that, as weak as a kitten. He waited a little while, then made himself clean his tiny shelter with pine boughs, so that he wouldn’t have to lie down in his own filth.

He spent the next two days curled up in his little cave, still sick but able to sleep more normally. He knew he had to some sort of plan for where to go and what to do next, but his mind refused to cooperate, circling endlessly back to his last night in Camelot.

He wanted to let himself really feel the pain of what he had lost. But he was too sick in mind and body for that to happen, so he let himself drift into numbness.

He managed to locate his water flask and fill it at the stream, so he didn’t have to keep making trips for water. But he was still so weak and dizzy that he had to crawl out of his little cave every time he had to take a piss, and he had to lean on a tree to support himself while he opened his breeches.

He wasn’t hungry, but he hadn’t eaten since the day he had left Camelot, and he knew that water alone wasn’t enough to keep him alive. He scrounged in his pack for the bread and cheese Leon had given him. The bread was hard and he soaked small bits of it in water until it was soft enough to chew. He made himself eat a small amount every couple of hours, even though it took effort. He knew he couldn’t handle the cheese and packed it away for later.

On the morning of the fourth day he awoke at dawn and started walking again.

When he left Camelot and was past The Valley of the Fallen Kings he had headed south, toward Ealdor, more out of habit than any conscious choice. But he knew he couldn’t go back to his village. He wasn’t ready to face Hunith, and his presence could bring trouble down on the village if Uther and Arthur decided to hunt for him.

He skirted around Ealdor and headed toward Caerleon, thinking that it was as good a place as any. He considered going to the shore and boarding a ship to somewhere far away, like Gaul, but he didn’t know the language and it seemed like too much effort. All he wanted was a place where he could burrow in and lick his wounds.

And he felt strangely reluctant to leave the island of Albion. If all he had left of Arthur was to walk the same ground, he would cling to that.

He walked every day for a week, surviving mostly on water and fruit he plucked from the trees. His wages in Camelot had been generous, and since he had taken his savings with him he didn’t have to worry about money for the foreseeable future. Sometimes when he got near a village he bought a loaf of bread or some dried meat to supplement his diet, but he never lingered. He didn’t want to be around people.

He finally found what he was looking for on the eighth day. It was a clearing on a small lake surrounded by the forest. There was a one room-hut half-hidden in the trees, clearly abandoned and almost falling down. The beach was rocky, and it looked like people rarely passed by the hut.

All he wanted was to live in isolation, and to be far enough away from Camelot to escape Uther’s notice. The hut was more than a league from the nearest village, and he hoped he would get the solitude he craved there.

He walked into the hut and surveyed his new home. It was about eight feet square, made of stone, with a ratty blanket over the door and dust an inch thick on every surface. The previous occupant had left in a hurry, or perhaps died, and the few possessions he had left behind might be of some use to Merlin. There was a small rickety bed, with a moth-eaten bed cover and a straw mattress that mice were nesting in. There was an axe and a crude saw leaning against the back wall, and a single shelf held a large cooking pot and a tin plate. There was one chair and a table with a broken leg. The small chimney was damaged but looked like it still worked, so he would not freeze to death in the winter.

It was enough for him to begin with.

The first night he was too tired to do anything but take the mattress and blanket back into the forest and throw them away. The mice were welcome to them, but they were far too dirty for him to sleep on, no matter how badly he thought of himself at the moment. Once he picked them up, he could see that the ropes of the frame were rotted. He took the pot down to the lake and scrubbed it out, and filled it with clean water. He carried it back to the hut and drank deeply from it.

The next day he contemplated all the work that needed to be done to make the hut livable, but he knew that he would not use magic to assist him. He hadn’t used it at all since he sent his horse back to Camelot, and he wasn’t sure if he would ever use it again.

He no longer trusted his magic. It had created the Sógh.

He fashioned a crude broom to sweep the dirt and cobwebs out of the interior, and then cleared a fire pit a few yards from the door and marked it off with rocks from the beach. That took up the first day.

He spent the next day gathering and chopping wood, and as he sat by the fire that night he made a mental inventory of his pack, and of all the supplies he would need if he was going to live out here in the woods in any degree of comfort.

He had always kept a few basic supplies for camping rough in his pack, because he never knew where he and Arthur might find themselves. He had a flint and a sharp knife in the pack, a few bandages and simple medicines, and a bag of oats to make porridge.

Arthur had paid him well, and he had a bag of gold coins hidden in his room in Gaius’s chambers. He had nearly forgotten it, but Leon had stopped him and said, “If you have any money, you need to take it with you,” so he had retrieved it.

It was enough to buy the supplies he needed.

He needed soap, basic food items such as flour and salt and dried meat, a hammer and nails, some rope to redo the mattress frame, and some boards if he could get them. He would need to make a door to keep the winter winds out.

It took him two months to clean the hut and repair the chimney and the sagging walls. The work kept him busy, and most of the time it kept him from dwelling on his life in Camelot.

One exception was fixing the bed, which proved to be an unexpected reminder of Arthur.

He took the bed apart and reassembled it, putting the tongue and groove joints together correctly and using new rope to weave a frame. Then he laid more pine boughs over the rope and put his bedroll on top.

He thought of Arthur’s bed, all solid carved wood, with its soft mattress and smoothly woven sheets and brocade hangings. He had to stop for a moment, a wave of longing and regret surging through him.

He no longer had a place in Arthur’s bed, or anywhere else in Camelot. And most likely he would never see Arthur again.

When the hut was finally livable, he went back to his pack and took out the only personal possession he had taken from Camelot, other than the magic book and his clothing.

He took the little wooden dragon Balinor had carved for him, and put it on the shelf where he could see it when he woke up.

In addition to cleaning and repairing the hut, Merlin spent his first few weeks in Caerleon figuring out how he was going to ensure his survival.

Food was the first issue. He could forage for berries and mushrooms and greens, but he would need more than that. He had never been a hunter, and didn’t want to start now. He wanted to leave the denizens of the forest in peace.

On one of his trips into town he bought fishing line and hooks and seeds to start a garden.

One of the women in the market asked how he came by coins from Camelot, and he answered simply, “I’m a traveler.”

With his immediate survival taken care of, he needed to figure out what he was going to do with his life now that making Arthur a great king was no longer his destiny.

He tried to keep himself busy with physical work- repairing the roof of the cottage, chopping wood for the winter, catching fish and salting them to preserve them. In addition to the hard physical labor, he swam in the lake every day in lieu of bathing, and over the summer he could see his body changing. The muscles in his arms got bigger, and his skin turned a pale golden brown from all the time he spent outdoors.

He got up at dawn and he went to bed when night fell, and the only things he had to entertain himself with were watching the birds and studying his magic book.

He was never tempted to use his magic to make things easier, not even when he banged his thumb with the hammer trying to make a ladder or when the fish weren’t biting.

He realized that he had spent his whole life cutting corners, using his magic when it was easy and convenient, and he didn’t want to do that anymore.

He wanted to experience the world the way ordinary people experienced it, and not depend on his magic. He knew his magic was still there, but it felt like a banked-down fire. It didn’t soar through his body and bring him joy the way it had in the past.

The hard work wasn’t enough to keep his thoughts away from Arthur, and about how he had destroyed everything he cared about by his weakness for Sógh. He missed Arthur so much that he felt a dull heartache, and every morning he woke up feeling like someone had piled bricks on his chest.

His thoughts chased around in circles; if only I had gone to Gaius for help, if only I had told Arthur the truth about my magic, if only Balinor hadn’t died and could have given me a father’s guidance, if only, if only…

There were days when he considered killing himself.

He would take the knife out and set it on the table and study it for hours, thinking that it could be the means to ending his pain.

His body had grown healthy again, but his mind was still not healed.

He had some good days, when he was able to push the past aside and just concentrate on the tasks in front of him. But the good days were far outnumbered by the bad days, days when he wondered why he was even bothering to get up in the morning.

Most days he could get through his routine even if his mood was dark. But there were days when he simply lay on his bed all day, too sad to even get up and cook a meal. He would lie there, curled up on his side, thinking about all the people he had let down. He thought about his mother, and how she had sent him to Camelot with such high hopes. He bitterly berated himself that Will had died covering for Merlin, when Merlin was unworthy of Will’s faith.

And every time he thought of his friends in Camelot, he felt disgusted with himself. Gwen would never want to see him again, he was sure, and the same went for Leon and Lance and Gwaine. And every time he thought of Gaius, he was filled with self-loathing. Gaius had given him a home and treated him like a son, and Merlin had ended up causing his death.

One day he was sitting by the lake, watching the water lap gently at the shore as the sun began to set, and he suddenly knew what he had to do.

He lay sleepless in his bed that night, making his plan. When dawn came, he got up and sharpened his knife until it was so sharp that when he ran it across the pad of his index finger he didn’t even feel the thin line it left.

He didn’t see any point in getting blood all over the hut; someone might want to use it someday. Or maybe he was just reluctant to ruin the space he had worked so hard to repair. In any event, he planned to kill himself in the forest, where the animals would feed on his body.

He liked that idea, that his flesh would be useful. In a few weeks, nothing would be left of him but his bones, and in time even they would sink into the earth. And he would be at peace.

He didn’t bother with eating before he left. He wasn’t hungry, and there wasn’t any point. He did fill his waterskin so he wouldn’t be thirsty on his hike, and he picked up his knife and walked into the forest without a backward glance.

He walked until he was deep in the forest and he was starting to get tired. It was shady and cool, and he found a small glade with a stream. It looked like a good place.

He sat cross-legged by the stream and watched the water dance over the rocks. Then he pulled his knife from his belt and held it to his left wrist, intending to make a cross-shaped incision and then change hands and do the same thing on the right. He held the blade against the thin skin, seeing the blue of his veins and knowing that if he could just be resolute, it would all be over soon. Once the cuts were made, he could lie down and watch the water as his blood seeped from his body, an offering to the goddess.

But he couldn’t seem to make himself actually go through with the cut. He set the blade down on his lap and took several deep breaths, and picked it up again.

He still couldn’t do it.

After sitting there for an hour, he realized that today was not going to be the day he died, and he gave up and went back home.

He wished he could say that he had some revelation, or that some voice had spoken to him and told him that he had a great destiny, like the dragon used to do. But the truth was much more mundane. When push came to shove, he wanted to live more than he wanted to die.

He walked wearily back to his hut, telling himself that he could try again tomorrow if he wanted. But on some level he knew that it was time to stop being immobilized by the mistakes he had made, and to move forward.

He couldn’t change the events of his life; they were fixed in the past.

The next time he went to the market he bought a quill and ink and some parchment. And since other than his magic his only skills were the things he had learned from Gaius, he bought bottles and a brazier to distill herbs he found in the forest and make simple medicines to sell or trade for food.

He added an hour or two of mixing medicines to his daily routine. At night, when there was not enough light to continue his other work, he lit a candle and made himself write down all of the things that had happened to him in his life, with the hope of understanding where he had gone wrong and how to go forward.

He wasn’t sure where to start, so he made lists of all the people he had killed to protect Arthur. Or at least the ones whose names he knew.

The more he looked at his life in Camelot, the more he could see that he had committed himself to a noble goal, to protect and defend Arthur so that Albion could be united and people could live in peace and freedom.

But entwined with that goal was his own desire to be recognized as a sorcerer of heretofore unknown power, to be acknowledged as an essential part of Arthur’s ascension .

And it had all been complicated by the fact that he fell in love with the man he was supposed to serve.

He had taken on a terrible power when he decided to give all of himself to Arthur, the power to decide who lived and who died. And his Sógh-fuelled arrogance ultimately led him to believe that he could upset natural laws and raise the dead.

It hurt to remember how casually he had killed for Arthur, how in the days of his addiction he never looked back or regretted his choices. He wondered if all of the deaths he had caused were necessary.

The death that bothered him the most was that of Grunhilda, Princess Elena’s pixie nursemaid. He had blasted her to bits with the magical staff he had taken from Aelfrec, simply because he was in a hurry and she was in the way.

It was true that Grunhilda was part of a plot to put a Sidhe on the throne next to Arthur as his queen. But Grunhilda had genuinely loved Elena, and the two had a lifelong bond.

Merlin asked himself if he could have found a way to deal with her other than ending her life.

The more he thought about everything that had happened in Camelot during his stay, the more he realized that he had seen the world in black and white. He had seen people solely in terms of Arthur, whether they intended him good or ill.

But now he wondered if there were shades of grey that he hadn’t recognized.

He thought that Edwin Muirden’s death was necessary. He had been a threat to Gaius and Morgana and Uther, if not directly to Arthur. But from his new perspective, he could see that the scars on Edwin’s mind and body were a direct result of Uther’s maniacal war on magic, and a part of him could not really blame him for wanting to avenge the death of his parents.

If he had a chance to take revenge on Balinor’s killer, would he have done it? What if someone had murdered Hunith? He could understand what had driven Edwin, even if he disapproved of his actions.

Even Sophia and Aulric were not wholly evil, although he did not regret killing them. A part of him still felt that anyone who threatened so much as a hair on Arthur’s head deserved to be executed.

But Aulric was a loving father, willing to give up his chance at eternal life as a Sidhe in order for his daughter to enter the gateway. And there was no doubt that Sophia loved her father.

Upon reflection, he confirmed that he had done the right thing in killing them, but he was now able to acknowledge that they had human feelings and were not total monsters.

Gaius’s death weighed the most heavily on him. He could never be sure whether the shove that caused Gaius’s fall was a normal one, or was enhanced by the magic that was flowing through him.

But in the end, he decided that it didn’t matter. Whether the shove had been stronger because of magic or had the same force as an ordinary man would have used, the fact remained that he pushed Gaius because he was under the influence of a drug.

Even now, his mind came up with desperate rationalizations: Gaius was an old man, he could have died at any moment regardless of what Merlin did. Merlin had saved Gaius’s life more than once, so the extra months were a gift from Merlin anyway. It wasn’t Merlin’s fault that Gaius was tired and that he was unsteady on his feet due to his age, causing him to lose his balance when another man would have stayed on his feet.

Merlin watched those thoughts go by; he knew that he couldn’t always control his thoughts. But each time he came up with an excuse, he forced himself to remember what he had learned. It was wrong to shove Gaius. It was wrong to take the Sógh. It was wrong to think that he was all-powerful and above normal consequences. He became addicted to a substance he could not control, and he had deeply hurt the people he loved the most.

Over time, Merlin moved on from meditating on all the deaths he had caused, and started to look at his whole life, trying to understand where he had made the wrong choices.

It was the work of many months to examine his life and his conscience.

At first he was reluctant to be around people, worried that at any moment a hand would clap on his shoulder and he would be dragged back to Camelot to face Uther’s justice. And he didn’t feel like he was very good company in any event. But in time, he grew less fearful, and he felt the coldness inside him begin to thaw. He started talking to the villagers more easily and learning their names.

He used the name Medyr, since he thought it wasn’t safe to call himself Merlin.

He enjoyed getting to know the children, and when things were slow at the market he would teach them their letters or play games with them.

He knew that the potions and salves he made were of good quality, better than anything the local people had access to before he arrived, and he earned a reputation as a healer. He still wasn’t using magic, but he remembered his medical training with Gaius, and was able to prescribe the right remedy for a cough or a rash or a bellyache.

It made him happy to feel useful.

He heard news about Camelot, although he was careful not to show too much interest in it.

He knew that the recounting of events even from a neighboring kingdom was unreliable and that the truth often got garbled along the way, so he took everything he heard with a grain of salt. But if he heard the same story told by two or three people passing through the market, he gave it some credence.

These are the tidings from Camelot that Merlin heard from enough sources that he thought they were accurate.

Uther’s ward Morgana rose against him with the help of the sorceress Morgause, and with an army raised by Morgause and King Cenred, Morgana had captured the citadel and briefly occupied the throne of Camelot.

She threw Uther in prison and told the people that she had a right to the throne because she was Uther’s daughter.

No one understood how Morgana dared make a claim to the throne of Camelot. She was and female and illegitimate, and under the laws of primogeniture Arthur had the true claim to his father’s throne.

But only once Uther was dead.

There was no legal justification for Morgana’s claim to the throne, and the people of Camelot knew that and resisted her as much as they could. Her short reign was bloody.

After a week, Prince Arthur, who was sworn to protect and defend his King, made a daring raid with a handful of brave knights, and recaptured the castle. The witch Morgause had been mortally injured, although no one was sure how, and Morgana brought the walls of the throne room down with her screams, vanishing with Morgause in a puff of smoke.

People made the sign against the evil eye when they repeated this part of the tale.

Uther was a broken man after his daughter’s betrayal. He only lived for a month after Arthur rescued him, and died in his sleep. It was said that he died of a broken heart.

Arthur was crowned king, and within six months of his coronation married Guinevere, who had been Morgana’s servant and who was the daughter of a blacksmith.

His mother’s brother, Agravaine, had come to Camelot to advise the young king.

King Arthur was a just king, and he and his queen were much loved by the people. There was no heir yet, but surely such a healthy young couple would conceive soon.

It seemed that Arthur could become a great king without Merlin’s help, after all.

Merlin wore his hair somewhat longer than he had in Camelot, and he grew a close-trimmed beard. He didn’t see his own reflection often, but when he did he could see that he wasn’t a boy anymore. His shoulders were broader than they had been a couple of years before, and he wasn’t stick-thin anymore.

Sometimes he wondered what Arthur would think if he could see him.

In the fall a widowed farmer he was friendly with approached him at the market. He said, “Medyr, why don’t you stay with me this winter? You could help me with the animals, and you wouldn’t have to be out in the forest by yourself.” The man, Thomas, looked shy, twisting his cap between his hands, and Merlin could see that he wanted something more than help over the winter. Thomas said nervously, “I would treat you well. It’s not good to be alone.”

Merlin reached out and touched the other man’s hand, saying, “Thomas, look at me.” When the other man met his eyes he said, “I have no doubt that you would treat me well, and it is a kind offer. But I can’t.”

Thomas was not ready to drop his cause. “Why not?”

“I’m sorry,” was the only answer Merlin gave him.

He couldn’t tell Thomas that his heart belonged to Arthur, and always would. Queen or no queen.

Arthur and Guinevere had married with mutual affection and high hopes for the future, But as the months went on, it became clear to Gwen that her husband’s affections were elsewhere. He was generous and made it clear that he valued her counsel, but she knew something was missing.

She had known when she married him that he was grieving for Merlin, and his grief was still a part of him, although he hid it better than he had in the first weeks after Merlin was sent away from Camelot.

She grieved for Merlin, too, even as she wondered about the exact nature of Merlin and Arthur’s relationship.

Gwen had worked with Arthur to ensure that the details surrounding Gaius’s death did not become known. Adela had been so distraught over the loss of one of her children that she hardly knew what had happened, and Gwen comforted her friend while subtly reinforcing the idea that Gaius had tripped and fallen on his own. Adela was not one to question authority, and didn’t contradict anything Arthur or Gwen said.

Arthur gave Adela a handsome gift for her remaining child, and Gwen found her a better position in the castle.

Uther had been told that Gaius tripped and fell, and that his death was an accident. They told him that Merlin was so distraught over his mentor’s death that he decided to leave Camelot immediately.

Leon backed up the story. He was Arthur’s man, not Uther’s.

Arthur had ordered Gaius’s rooms searched, looking for some explanation of why Merlin had acted in a way that seemed so out of character. It was a shock that

Merlin was a sorcerer, but in addition to the magic he had seemed like a totally different person that night, aggressive and cold. Arthur secretly hoped that Merlin was not acting of his own free will, and that Leon would find some charm or magical device to explain Merlin’s behavior.

But all Leon found was a bottle of Sógh. They didn’t know what it was, and Gaius was not there to analyze it. But it smelled like a strong intoxicant, and Arthur sadly concluded that on the night of Gaius’s death, Merlin had been drunk, or drugged.

One night as Gwen lay in bed with Arthur, after yet another dutiful attempt to give Camelot an heir, she stroked his silky hair and said, “I miss him, too, you know.”

Arthur didn’t insult her by pretending not to know what she meant. After a long silence, he said quietly, “I knew he was taking some medicine he was trying to hide from me. I saw him do it several times, and I never said anything.”

She thought carefully before she answered him. “I knew something was wrong, too. But I always put off saying anything to him. He was always so bright and cheerful, I let myself believe that everything was all right. There is enough blame for all of us.”

Word got out that Merlin was a healer, and sometimes people came to him at his hut for medicine. He preferred to be alone except for the trips to market, but he never turned anyone away.

A couple of years after Merlin arrived in Caerleon, a young couple, Enid and Matthew, found their way to him. Matthew was leading a mule on which his wife sat, clutching a tiny infant to her chest. He could tell just by looking at them that they had spent long nights nursing the child.

They were very young, only sixteen or seventeen. Matthew said the child was feverish and had a bad cough, and could suckle only weakly.

“Come inside,” he said gently.

Enid lay the infant down on the small table where Merlin ate his meals. Merlin carefully unwrapped the small bundle. He could see immediately that the little boy was near death. His skin burned with fever, and he seemed to breathe with difficulty. There was foam around his tiny pouted lips, and when Merlin bent to put his ear to the child’s chest, he could hear rattling and wheezing in the baby’s lungs.

The young mother was swaying on her feet with exhaustion, and Merlin said to Matthew, “Let her lie down on the bed for a few minutes, she is worn out, and I can’t attend two patients.” He had a plan, but he wasn’t sure that he had the will to see it through.

He sent Matthew down to the lake to fetch water, and told him to build a fire and boil the water. He didn’t really need the water, but he also didn’t need any witnesses to what he was contemplating doing. He glanced back over his shoulder at Enid, who was curled up on her side on Merlin’s simple bed. Her eyes were closed and she looked like she might be asleep.

Now was the time for a decision.

He hadn’t used magic for any reason since he sent his borrowed horse back to Camelot the morning after Gaius’s death. That was more than two years ago. He wasn’t even sure he could do magic anymore. Maybe that was one more thing his misuse of the Sógh had taken from him.

He looked down at the child. He was perfectly formed, and would have been beautiful if he hadn’t been so sick.

Many children died in infancy; it was the way of the world. He could give the child back to his mother and let him slip away in her loving arms.

He couldn’t save every baby born in Albion.

But I can save this one.

The words came to him with absolute certainty.

He was still cautious enough about not drawing attention to himself that he pretended to treat the baby as any other competent healer would. He dipped a clean cloth into a bottle of willow bark tincture and squeezed a few drops into the infant’s unresisting mouth. That would help with the fever.

Then he undid the ties on the child’s dress and rubbed some salve into his chest. The salve had warming properties, and was good for coughs and colds. It would not help with lung fever, however, and that was what the child had.

He checked one more time. Matthew was still fussing with the fire, and Enid still had her eyes closed.

Merlin was very conscious of the possibility of failure. Healing magic had never been his forte, and his magic had lain dormant for a long time. He wasn’t even sure it was still there.

Nevertheless, he felt he had to try.

He placed his right hand gently over the child’s chest, his palm covering the whole expanse. He closed his eyes and concentrated, and he could feel the inflammation in the small lungs, the heat and swelling inside that was choking the child’s breath. He commanded that the baby’s lungs would clear, that he would breathe freely, and that he would be healthy and whole. He willed with everything he had that the child’s parents would leave his hut with smiles on their faces and a healthy son in their arms.

His whole body tingled with power, and he could feel the warmth and energy flowing from his hand into the child’s body. He placed his other hand on the baby’s head like a benediction, and he felt power flowing there too.

The child, who had been limp as a rag doll before Merlin touched him, stirred. A pink tinge came into his skin, and his purplish lips took on a more natural color. The little boy took a breath that sounded less labored than before, and opened his eyes and looked at Merlin.

It felt like a miracle.

Merlin smiled down at the baby, and wrapped him back up. He picked him up and held him against his chest for a moment, stroking his back and saying softly, “Now then, don’t scare your mam like that again, hmm?”

And then he shook Enid awake and placed her son in her arms, saying, “I think he is a bit better now.” He went and called Matthew, and the man rushed in with a fearful expression.

He left the three of them alone, the parents crying tears of joy as they examined their son and exclaimed over how much better he looked.

He wouldn’t let them pay him. He told them that the debt was on his side, and when they looked at him in confusion, he simply wished them good fortune and sent them on their way.

Healing the sick child was a turning point for Merlin.

After that, he felt that his magic might still do some good in the world, and he felt at peace.

He was able to forgive himself for Gaius’s death, acknowledging that it was an accident.

He knew that he was not blameless, but he also knew that he was not a murderer. His crime was arrogance and weakness, not deliberate killing.

He would never forget all the bad things he had done while he was in thrall to the Sógh, but he would no longer let the events of the past control his life.

And he began to hope that someday, he would see Arthur again, and that he could make amends.

Merlin concentrated on refining his skills as a healer, and he acted as a physician to anyone who asked his help. But he knew that healing magic, important as it was, was not his purpose. Kilgharrah had told him when he first arrived in Camelot that he and Arthur shared a great destiny, that they would create Albion together. If there was still any truth to that, and he had not destroyed his chance to someday stand at Arthur’s side, he needed to prepare.

Merlin had once told Arthur that he was happy to be his servant, until the day he died. Now he wasn’t sure if he would ever have another opportunity to serve Arthur, or whether Arthur would accept his help. The words “I never want to see you again,” echoed constantly in Merlin’s head.

He didn’t blame Arthur. In fact, he thought it was a miracle that Arthur had not had him executed on the spot. It had taken a long time for Arthur to open up and admit that he loved Merlin, and on the very same day Merlin had turned into a different person before his eyes. The sense of shock and betrayal must have been overwhelming.

For Arthur to banish him rather than enforcing Uther’s laws was a repudiation of the principles upon which Arthur had built his whole life. In allowing a person who he must have seen as a dangerous sorcerer to escape, Arthur had put his personal feelings for Merlin above his sworn oath to his father and the good of Camelot.

Merlin knew Arthur believed that magic was evil and that no practitioner of magic could ever be trusted. And in a sense he had proved Arthur right. How could Arthur ever trust anyone again when the man who had been sharing his bed had been lying to him for years about his magical abilities?

Merlin pitied Arthur. However badly it had ended between them, he thought that his leaving Camelot must have left a big hole in Arthur’s life. And within a year, Arthur had discovered that Morgana was his half-sister and that Uther too had lied to him. Arthur must have felt like there was no one he could trust.

Except Gwen, apparently, judging by the speed with which Arthur married her and crowned her his queen.

Merlin felt a sick rush of jealousy when he thought of Gwen and Arthur together, but he resolutely shoved it down. He had betrayed Arthur. It was no longer any of his business what Arthur did or with whom he shared his bed.

Merlin felt confident that his magic, even after the years of disuse, would do whatever he called upon it to do. But he began to wonder whether his reliance on instinct and his lack of self-discipline throughout his life made him less effective as a conduit for his magic than he might have been with more serious study.

Gaius had told him that he was unique, and that his ability to channel magic without training or spells was unprecedented. Merlin had always liked the idea that he was the only sorcerer in the world who could call down magic with nothing but a thought. But now he saw his past egotism as another thing that had set him up for his downfall with the Sógh.

He started spending several hours a day in meditation, and after he had been doing it for a couple of weeks, he could feel his magic becoming more focused. He began to feel that he was part of something larger than himself, and he felt a renewed sense of purpose.

If Arthur might someday need him, he had to be prepared. He decided to leave Caerleon and find out what was happening in Camelot.

But he had a couple of things he needed to do first.

At dawn on a late summer day he collected everything of value from his hut and put it in a cloth sack. There was no point in leaving his tools and household items when he would not need them again and they could be of use to someone else.

He put his clothing and his magic book and his carved dragon in his pack, the same pack he had left Camelot with three years ago. He closed the door of the hut, hoping that it might someday provide a refuge for another weary traveler. He took one last look at the lake, which had brought him calm in his most troubled hours, and started walking.

He went to the village and deposited his sack at the door of the poorest family in town, slipping a gold coin into it before he set it down. What they couldn’t use of his things they could sell or trade, and it made him happy to think that their winter might be easier because of him.

He said a silent goodbye to the people who had welcomed him into their community when he was at the lowest point in his life, and set out for Ealdor.

Hunith was sitting on a bench outside her cottage when he found her, shucking corn and putting the husks in a basket at her feet. Her glance was sharp when she first looked up. Strangers were rare in Ealdor, and often meant trouble.

He saw the moment when she recognized him. An expression of shock passed briefly over her face, and then her face crumpled with strong emotion and she flung her work aside to run to him.

He dropped his pack and held her, and she was half-laughing and half-crying as she wrapped one arm around his neck and cradled the back of his head with the other. She held him tight for several minutes, and just for a moment he remembered what it was like to be a small boy, safe in her arms.

But then he remembered how much had changed since he saw her last, and he loosened his hold on her and stepped away.

He hadn’t seen her in more than four years, and they silently studied each other.

She looked much the same as she always had, perhaps a bit thinner, and dressed in clothes that were not exactly shabby but not new either. He remembered with a pang of guilt that the money he had been sending her from his wages had ended when he left Camelot. He wondered how she had gotten by without it.

He noticed that there were new lines around her eyes, and he realized that in his mind she had stayed the same as when he had last seen her. She said softly, “I was afraid you were dead, Merlin. All this time and no word…” He started to say, “I’m sorry, Mam,” but then she seemed to collect herself, and said, “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later. You look like you could use a good meal.”

She led him into the cottage, and he was greeted by the tantalizing aroma of the stew on the hob. He hadn’t had a hot meal since he left Caerleon, and was grateful to have her seat him at the table and dish up the stew and some bread.

He looked around at the cottage, marveling that the two of them had lived in such a tiny place. But it was home, and he was happy to be there with her after so long.

There was one change that puzzled him. Hunith’s bed was covered with a blanket of fine material with elaborate embroidery, and he could see more blankets and some furs stacked in the corner. It seemed rude to question her about it when he had just arrived, so he filed it away in his mind to ask her about later.

They talked while they ate, although he could tell that Hunith was deliberately keeping the conversation light. She filled him in with news of some of the villagers, and didn’t ask him any questions, although he could tell from the anxious glances she shot him that she was eager to hear his story.

When she had filled his plate twice and they had cleared the table together, he picked up a bucket to get water to wash the dishes. She stopped him, saying, “That can wait. I want to hear what has happened since I last saw you.”

He obediently set the bucket down, and they sat by the fire, his body angled toward hers. She smiled at him, and said, “You aren’t a boy anymore, Merlin. You almost had to duck to get into the cottage, and you don’t look like a good breeze would blow you away anymore. You are so much stronger, and as handsome as I always knew you would grow to be, but I can see lines of trouble in your face, too. You look like you have had some hard times.”

She left it at that, and he knew it was his invitation to open his heart to her. He sat forward on his chair, his legs open and his hands clasped loosely between his knees, and he started. “There is a lot to tell, Mam, and you will probably think less of me when I am done.”

Her gaze was sober and accepting. “No matter what has happened, or what you may have done, you will always be my son. There is nothing you can tell me that will change that.”

So he told her everything that had happened since Will died. He told her about his black moods and his guilt, the beginning of the use of the Sógh, and how he was unable to halt his slide into dependence and deceit. He tried to gloss over his relationship with Arthur, but he wasn’t sure he could hide the emotion in his voice when he spoke of their closeness and how happy he had been in Arthur’s service.

Merlin didn’t falter when he told Hunith about how he had changed under the influence of the Sógh, about the mistakes he had made and the corners he had cut. But when he got to his last day in Camelot, and the terrible night of Gaius’s death, he had to look down, and his voice wavered.

He glanced at his mother when he described how Gaius fell and broke his neck, and saw that she did not seem shocked. It seemed odd, but he decided that she must have somehow learned of Gaius’s death, and continued telling her about the confrontation with Arthur. The only part he left out was Arthur saying that he loved him.

He concluded simply, “Arthur banished me. He was right to do that. I was unreliable because of my addiction, and I was a threat to the people I said I cared about.” He paused and for the first time spoke out loud what he had realized in his time alone. “I was out of control.”

Merlin had been talking for over an hour, and he was exhausted. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, waiting for Hunith’s judgment.

He opened his eyes again when he felt her hand closing over his, and saw that she was looking at him with the same acceptance and love he had always received from her.

She squeezed his hand, and said, “When was the last time you used the Sógh?”

“The night Gaius died.”

“Do you think you are safe from using it again?”

He shook his head. “I am never really safe from the temptation of misusing my power. But I have no craving for the potion, and I would rather cut off my right arm than let myself use it again.”

She sighed. “Then that will be enough for this day. Come, Merlin, you’re tired. We can talk more in the morning.”

He had to ask her one thing, though. “You were not surprised to learn that Gaius was dead?”

“I received word from Camelot. But that is a story for tomorrow.”

He laid out his bedroll on the floor by the fire, and lay listening to Hunith’s breathing until it evened out and he knew she was asleep.

It was the first time since he left Camelot that he had not been alone when he fell asleep.

Merlin spent two weeks in Ealdor. He helped Hunith with some of the heavier chores he used to do when he lived with her, and visited with people who were eager to greet Hunith’s long-lost son. He was pleasant but noncommittal with them about his life since he left the village, but he made sure to subtly question them about any news or rumors from Camelot.

In the evenings he spent long hours in conversation with Hunith. He told her about his regrets about the past, and about what he had done to heal himself and start a new life. They talked about Gaius, about his dedication to science and healing and all the things he had done for Merlin. But Hunith gently directed Merlin to see Gaius as a man with strengths and weaknesses, cautioning him not to idealize Gaius.

Merlin told her that he believed Gaius had failed Morgana by not helping her to accept her magical abilities, and that in retrospect he could see that Gaius had always been too ready to compromise and to defer to Uther at the expense of doing the right thing. He remembered how Gaius’s first advice to him was always to keep Arthur in the dark, and he wondered if things might have been different if he and Gaius had not shared an impulse to ignore unpleasant truths.

But none of that excused his actions on the day of Gaius’s death, or changed the fact that Gaius might still be alive if Merlin hadn’t abused the Sógh.

At one point Hunith told him, “It seems like Gaius’s death was an accident, caused by a dozen different factors. If he hadn’t been tired and unsteady on his feet, if he hadn’t tripped over the stool, if he hadn’t hit his head just so…”

Merlin interrupted her. “Mam, you are right that Gaius died as a result of a sequence of events, and that if any of them had been different, he might not have died that night. But the event that I am responsible for is shoving him, and there is no getting around that. His death may have been an accident in the sense that I did not intend it, but the fault is still mine, and I will carry it with me for the rest of my life.”

She gave him a long look and said, “I understand that you must carry it. But you must also learn from it. I still believe that your magic is a precious gift, and that you must use it for good.”

“I used to believe that my place was at Arthur’s side. I believed the dragon when he said we shared a great destiny. And now I don’t know if Arthur will ever be able to even look at me again. If I go back to Camelot, he will have me executed.”

Hunith answered, “I would not be so sure you know how Arthur feels. The Queen visited me…”

Merlin interrupted her. “Gwen was here?” He thought rapidly and added, “The fine blankets, she brought you those? I wondered where you got them.”

“Yes, the Queen was kind enough to bring me gifts. She came to see me a year ago, and she said in public that she wanted to see an old friend and see how Ealdor prospered. But when we were alone, she asked me for some advice, the kind of advice she might have asked her own mother if she were still alive. And she told me that one purpose of her visit was to see if there was any word of you.”

Merlin could feel his heart rate speeding up with anticipation and dread, but he answered her calmly. “Did she say anything about Arthur? Is he well?” He paused, not wanting to appear desperate but unable to stop himself from asking. “Did she say anything about Arthur’s attitude toward me?”

There was something in the look Hunith gave him that made him think that his carefully edited account of his relationship with Arthur had not fooled her.

“Gwen is very discreet, and she didn’t say very much. But she said that Arthur rarely talks about you…”

Merlin felt a sharp stab of disappointment, even though he knew that Arthur was not a man to talk easily about his feelings. He tuned out for a moment, and when he focused again he heard Hunith say, “but she said that he will not say that he misses you, but she knows he does, and that she hoped you would be able to come back to Camelot and make things right with him.”

Merlin’s thoughts were whirling, but they came back to something Hunith had said earlier. “Why did Gwen need advice? Is all well with her? And Arthur?”

Hunith waited a moment before she answered him. “I should not break Gwen’s confidence, but this is something that is openly gossiped about in the Five Kingdoms. She wanted advice about how to conceive.”

“Oh.” Merlin hoped that his voice didn’t convey his feelings about what his mother said. He knew that it was vitally important for Arthur to have an heir. He just didn’t want to think about the process of Arthur and his wife obtaining one.

Hunith added. “There was another matter that was troubling her as well. But I will not tell you about it; that really would be a betrayal. If you want to know how matters stand with Arthur and Gwen, you will need to ask them yourself, if you ever go back to Camelot.”

“I do intend to return, and see if there is anything I can do to repay the wrongs I have done. I am on my way back there, but I wanted to stop and see you first. I hear rumors about Morgana that trouble me, and I am afraid that Arthur is not safe from her.”

Hunith looked grave. “From what you and Gwen have said, it sounds like he will never be safe from her. She will not step back from the path she has taken, and Arthur will need to defeat her once and for all if there is ever to be peace in Camelot.”

“Then I must help to defeat her, if Arthur will accept my help. I will leave tomorrow, and go to the Druids. They have informants everywhere, and they may be able to give me some information about Morgana’s plans.”

He took a deep breath and let it out before he spoke. It would not be easy to say this, or for Hunith to hear it. But he was not going to deceive her about his intentions. “I will go to Camelot after I spend some time with the Druids, and see if Arthur will allow me to fight at his side. If he is not ready to forgive me, and if he wants to execute me, I will not stop him. I don’t want to die, but my life is meaningless if I can’t serve my king.”

There were tears in Hunith’s eyes, but she didn’t argue with him. “We must trust that the great dragon was right, and that you and Arthur are meant to create a powerful and just kingdom together. Your father had great faith in the wisdom of the dragons, and I share that faith. And I have infinite faith in you, Merlin.”

He shook his head and smiled ruefully. “You have to say that. You’re my mother.”

She cuffed him playfully on the head. “Then listen to your mother, and do what you know you need to do. Go back to Camelot and claim your place at Arthur’s side.”

Hunith sent him off with her blessing, and as much food as he could carry. He tried to stop her from slipping more biscuits and dried fruit into her bag, but stopped protesting when she said, “I haven’t been able to take care of you in so long, Merlin. Please let me do this.”

He promised her that he would send word to her when he could, and set off in the opposite direction from Camelot, to a forest where he knew there was a large Druid encampment. He didn’t seek the Druids out directly, but went a short way into the forest and sat with his back against a tree, content to sit and wait. Eventually he closed his eyes and let himself slip into a meditative state. He had much to do to prepare himself to fight at Arthur’s side again, and meditation was a part of that.

When he opened his eyes again, it was dusk. He had sensed a presence in the glade with him, and his senses proved correct. A group of five Druid men silently appeared out of the trees and bowed low to him. He rose and bowed back. In his mind, he heard the leader say “Lord Emrys,” in a respectful tone.

The man bowed again and extended an arm, inviting Merlin to follow him. Merlin walked beside him, and the other four men fell into a loose formation around them. Merlin wasn’t sure if they were there to protect him, or to make sure he didn’t try to leave, but it made no difference to him. He had no intention of leaving before he had the information he sought.

They walked into the forest for an hour, and finally came to a large encampment. The Druids were skilled at blending into the greenery, and Merlin didn’t see the tents until they were almost on top of them. He could sense their presence, though. Another advantage of honing his magical skills.

He could see children playing and people talking as they engaged in everyday chores, but as soon as the inhabitants caught sight of Merlin, the talking stopped and the little settlement became very still. All eyes were on him, and much to his embarrassment people started bowing as he walked past, so that by the time his group arrived at the largest tent everyone he saw had their head lowered to him.

He was ushered into the tent, and then he was alone with a man in late middle age, simply dressed but with an elaborately carved silver torque around his neck, indicating his status as a leader. The man had close-cropped white hair and green eyes, and he studied Merlin without speaking for a few moments. Then he said, “Emrys, I have long looked forward to meeting you. I am Calatin, the elder of this gathering.”

Merlin bowed to him, and answered with equal formality, “I have heard your name spoken throughout the Five Kingdoms as a man of great wisdom. I am honored by your welcome.” Calatin gestured to a seating area on the floor, with rugs and pillows stacked high and a low table stocked with food and wine. “Please, sit and take some refreshment.”

Merlin sat cross-legged on the floor and accepted the goblet of wine Calatin offered him. He did not want to appear disrespectful by immediately launching into his purpose for being there, so he sipped the wine and waited for his host to begin the conversation.

When Calatin spoke, his words surprised Merlin. He said, “Gaius was a good friend to me.”

Merlin answered from his heart. “He was a good friend to me, too.”

They sat in silence again, until Merlin said, “I assume you know how he died?”

Calatin inclined his head, looking serious, but not shocked. “Gaius died while pursuing his life’s work as a healer, helping a young woman in childbirth.”

“And because of me.”

“And because of you,” Calatin agreed calmly. “How can we help you, Emrys?”

“I know that the Druid people keep their finger on the pulse on what is going on in all of Albion. And I know that you can feel it when there is a dramatic shift in the quantity or quality of the magic being used. I serve King Arthur, and I believe that his kingdom and his life are in danger. Can you confirm this?”

“You speak of the Lady Morgana?” the Druid leader asked.

“Morgana has become twisted. The woman I knew would never have done anything to hurt the subjects of Camelot. She always pushed Arthur to put the needs of the common people ahead of his own desires, and sometimes ahead of what Uther ordered him to do. But now I hear reports that she had her archers fire directly into a crowd of men, women and children. The dragon Kilgarrah warned me that Morgana would turn to the side of darkness.” Merlin’s eyes filled with tears but he kept his voice from wavering as he said, “But as I did with so many things, I did not heed him.”

Calatin did not speak aloud when he answered, but Merlin heard the telepathic voice in his head. “You were young and untried, and you made mistakes, some very serious. But you are still Emrys, the one who was foretold. Do not despair. One day you will stand at Arthur’s right hand. Our seers have sworn it.”

A tremendous relief flowed through Merlin at having his dreams confirmed. For some time, as he had worked through the causes and consequences of his addiction, he had clung to the belief that he could redeem himself and serve Arthur.

He didn’t place blind faith in prophecy. There were too many ways that the words of seers could come to pass, not all of them positive. But it still warmed his heart to know that the Druids, like Kilgarrah, believed that he and Arthur had a shared destiny.

They talked long into the night, and Calatin told him that Morgana had formed an alliance with the Southron warlord Helios. “We have been watching Morgana since she first left Camelot, and she is single-minded in her determination to sit on her father’s throne. It seems to us that she has transferred her hatred for Uther to Arthur.”

Merlin shook his head in disbelief. “Arthur and Morgana certainly butted heads often enough, but there was always a very solid affection underneath their clashes. Morgana loved Arthur, I know she did. How could that love have disappeared?”

Calatin paused before he answered, obviously measuring his words to make sure they were exactly right. “I believe that in each person’s life there is a turning point, a point where he choose the path he will follow, either to the side of light or the side of darkness. Morgana made her choice when she allied herself with Morgause, Uther’s sworn enemy. And you made your choice after Gaius’s death. You walked away from the wreckage you had made of your life, and healed yourself. Now you are ready to serve Arthur again. We have observed your journey, and we honor you for it.”

Merlin didn’t ask how the Druids knew what had happened in Camelot and in Caerleon. He was aware they were in touch with everything on the isle of Albion.

“There is one other thing you need to know, Emrys. There is a traitor in Camelot, someone very close to the king. Arthur’s uncle, Agravaine, has committed himself to Morgana, and plans to help her overrun the kingdom.”

Merlin was stunned. Of all the things he thought he might hear, this was the last thing he expected. He knew he sounded childish when he spluttered, “But… but… Agravaine is Arthur’s mother’s brother. As far as I know, Arthur is Agravaine’s only kinsman, and the story in Camelot was always that both of Ygraine’s brothers were totally devoted to her. This makes no sense!”

“When did passions ever make sense, Emrys?” Calatin countered. “I don’t know what made Agravaine turn on his nephew, but what I tell you is true. Our scouts have seen him leave Camelot and travel to the cottage where Morgana lives, and have heard him pledge his loyalty to her. Perhaps he blames Uther for Ygraine’s death, and like Morgana has transferred the hatred from the father to the son. But there can be no doubt that he intends to help Morgana depose Arthur.”

Merlin must have still looked dumbfounded, because Calatin continued, “It appears that Agravaine is in love with Morgana. Perhaps he hopes that if he helps her attain the throne, she will marry him.” He added, “Surely you have seen enough of the world to know that there is often no explanation for romantic attraction. The heart wants what it wants.”

Merlin’s mind rebelled at the idea of Arthur’s uncle lusting after Arthur’s half-sister, but he pushed that aside. He was furious at the thought of Arthur being betrayed by someone who had arrived at Camelot proclaiming his desire to help the young king, someone who Arthur looked up to and trusted.

But Merlin’s emotions were no help to Arthur. He had to take action.

“If Agravaine is a traitor, he is almost certainly giving Morgana and the Southrons information on how to defeat Camelot. There are hidden tunnels underlying the citadel of Camelot, and knowledge of their location would be invaluable to invaders. And there may be other strategic decisions that Agravaine can influence to weaken the fortress.”

Calatin was silent, but his expression showed that he agreed.

Merlin knew what he had to do. “I will go to Camelot and warn Arthur.”

“I commend your decision, Emrys. But do you think that Arthur will listen to you?”

“I will make him listen,” Merlin answered grimly.

Merlin stayed with the Druids for a full month. He wanted to participate in their rituals and talk more with Calatin and the other Druid elders. And he wanted to prepare himself for the ordeal ahead of him.

He knew it would not be easy to get Arthur to believe that his uncle was a traitor. Arthur had only spoken of Agravaine a few times while Merlin had been in Camelot, but he had told Merlin about seeing Agravaine in a tournament when he was a child and how awed he was by the older man’s skill.

Arthur had always talked about how few relatives he had: no one but Uther on his father’s side, and no one but Agravaine on his mother’s. Perhaps because he had few family connections, Arthur had always placed great value on his kinship with Agravaine. Merlin had heard that Arthur had traveled in person to Agravaine to invite him to come to Camelot and be his advisor after Uther died.

It would definitely be a blow to Arthur, and Merlin undoubtedly was the wrong person to deal it to him. But he could not shirk from it.

If Arthur refused to listen to him, or if he had him arrested on sight, he would have to find another way to get through to him. He could not let Camelot be taken from the inside.

It was possible that Arthur would even try to make good on the threat to execute Merlin if he ever tried to return to Camelot. When Merlin had spent the first long lonely months alone, he had sometimes fantasized about returning with the intention of dying, as a perverted way of showing Arthur that he was loyal to him. But in those days, he had sometimes wanted to die.

Now, he wanted to live, and he hoped that he would not have to submit to Arthur killing him.

The night before Merlin left the Druid camp, Merlin and Calatin went on a long walk.

“You know that the Druids are a peaceful people and do not get involved in political disputes,” Calatin began.

Merlin nodded and answered, “You have not had any reason to believe the

promises of kings.” “Nonetheless, your Arthur is different.”

Merlin automatically interrupted. “He isn’t my Arthur…” but Calatin kept talking.

“He is linked to the Emrys that has been a part of our legends for many generations. Because of his connection with you, we believe that he will be a High King who will make the Five Kingdoms safe for all people, including practitioners of magic and followers of the Old Religion.”

“I believe that too,” Merlin said simply.

“If there is anything the Druid people can do to assist you that does not involve weapons or violence, please do not hesitate to send word.”

Merlin bowed in thanks, and they walked silently for a while longer.

“What is it you most fear in Camelot, Emrys?”

That was easy. “That Arthur will reject my warning.”

“And what do you have to guard against the most?”

That was a harder question. Merlin had so many things he had to be careful about after his world had crumbled around him. But he gave the answer that he had arrived at in many sleepless, bitter nights.

“The belief that I don’t need anyone else’s help, that I can handle everything myself.”

Calatin studied Merlin for a moment, and then he reached out and laid his palm on Merlin’s forehead like a benediction. “You have learned from your past, Emrys. Now it is time for you to face the future.”

Calatin insisted that Merlin take a horse to get back to Camelot, and because Merlin wanted to arrive there as soon as he could, he agreed to take it after his initial protests. He told Merlin to send the horse back with a spell to show it the way, and Merlin had a bitter memory of doing the same thing when sent the horse he used to flee Camelot back to the royal stables.

He arrived in the evening of the second day, and paused in a copse of trees to change his clothes. He only had two sets of clothing, but he changed into the clean ones and then said a quick spell to transform the simple homespun into linen and velvet. He hadn’t seen Arthur in a very long time, and he wanted to show that he wasn’t the same awkward peasant boy he had been when he left.

Besides, if he was going to be executed for being a sorcerer, he might as well look the part.

He had already decided that he did not want to meet Arthur for the first time in public. His reasoned that if there were witnesses, Arthur might feel the need to save face and do something decisive, like having Merlin immediately thrown into the dungeons.

And if he was honest with himself, he wanted to have a few moments alone with Arthur, because this meeting might be his last opportunity to spend time with him.

He cast a glamor to make his face nondescript and unmemorable and slipped into the castle as the gates were closing for the night.

Before he did anything else, he had to reacquaint himself with the rhythm of life in Camelot. He didn’t know if Arthur was still in the chambers he had occupied as prince, or whether he was in Uther’s rooms. He didn’t know if the queen shared Arthur’s rooms, or if she had her own. He needed to see Arthur alone for the first time, he was certain of that. It would be hard enough to say what he needed to say to Arthur without Gwen there.

He stuck to the shadows of the corridors, sending a “you don’t see me” message to anyone who glanced his way. He saw Leon and Gwaine walking together, deep in conversation, and his heart leapt to see his old friends again.

He lingered in an alcove until it was late enough that most of the castle would be settled for the night. He saw Gwen walking with a retinue of ladies, and he marveled at the change in her. She was no longer a shy serving girl, but a queen who was richly dressed and held her head high, smiling graciously as everyone bowed to her as she passed.

She had grown up while Merlin was away, he realized. And Camelot had a beautiful queen.

But not for long if Morgana and Agravaine had their way, he thought grimly.

He slipped unnoticed through the halls and learned that Arthur was occupying Uther’s former suite, and that Gwen had chambers near Arthur’s but not adjoining them. From what he had seen earlier, it looked like Gwen was retiring for the night. So he took a chance that he would find Arthur alone. There were two guards at the end of the hallway leading to Arthur’s chambers, and another two stationed outside the door. Merlin drew an invisibility spell around himself and walked right past them, opening the door silently.

Arthur must have had his old furnishings moved to Uther’s chambers, Because Arthur was sitting at the same table where Merlin had served him countless mealsMerlin had been well fucked over that table on several occasions, too, he thought with a pang.

Arthur was studying some papers, and he didn’t bother to raise his head to look at the person who had entered his chambers. “I don’t need anything, George, you can go to bed now.” His tone was polite but bored. And then he looked up.

Merlin saw Arthur’s eyes widen, as disbelief and then recognition flashed across his face. Merlin could see Arthur’s eyes go from the top of Merlin’s head down to his boots, and then up again to lock on Merlin’s eyes. Arthur was too disciplined to make a sound, but his amazement was clearly written on his face.

In a matter of seconds Arthur was on his feet, the knife he always kept at his belt in his hand.

Merlin waited for Arthur’s next move.

He’d been reading some boring paperwork, trying to put himself to sleep, when his servant came in. He didn’t sleep well these days.

He hadn’t glanced up when George first came in. George was always so silently efficient that Arthur tended to treat him like part of the furniture, or like a not-very-favorite hunting dog.

Gwen had chided him about that.

He forced himself to look up to acknowledge reliable, boring George, so unlike his last manservant, and had his hand on his knife even as he registered that there was a stranger in the room.

Not entirely a stranger, though.

The man was tall, slightly taller than Arthur himself, with dark hair curling toward his shoulders and dark stubble on his jaw. He was dressed in black trousers that were closely cut to cling to his legs, and knee- high black leather boots. His jacket was rich blue velvet with silver embroidery on the lapels and sleeves, as fine as anything Gwen’s women could produce.

He looked like a visiting prince. And he had Merlin’s face.

Even as he rose and gripped his weapon, his brain was whirling. The man looked older than Merlin, but then Merlin would have changed in the four years since he left. He looked at the intruder’s smooth white throat. That couldn’t be right, Merlin never left his throat bare. But he remembered what Merlin’s throat had looked like, when Arthur had pulled away that stupid rag Merlin was so fond of, and he knew how every inch of it felt under his tongue and teeth.

Another quick look at the man’s face and he was sure. There was no mistaking those cheekbones, or those eyes.

Or for that matter, those ears. Although Arthur noted that the longer hair obscured them somewhat.

He looked down the length of the table at his visitor. “Merlin,” he breathed.

Then he took a deep breath and yelled loudly and authoritatively, “Guards!”

Merlin had to struggle to keep his face neutral and his shoulders from slumping in disappointment when he heard Arthur call for the guards.

“They can’t hear you, Sire,” he said evenly. “No sounds will leave this room until we are finished.”

Arthur’s expression didn’t change an iota, and Merlin had to admire his coolness under pressure. Arthur gestured at him with the knife, ordering, “Sit, sorcerer, and keep your hands on the table where I can see them.”

If that wasn’t Arthur all over, pretending to be in charge even when he clearly wasn’t. Merlin would have laughed if hadn’t known it would anger Arthur.

He sat at the end of the table opposite Arthur, his hands loosely clasped on the wood in front of him. He hoped he wouldn’t have to take away Arthur’s knife. He had no desire to humiliate Arthur. But he would do it if he had to.

He had no intention of letting Arthur hurt him until he had warned him about the treachery in his court, and the danger advancing on Camelot.

“What do you want?” Arthur demanded, his voice harsh.

Merlin had tried to prepare himself for any possible response from Arthur. But he hadn’t been prepared for his own reaction to being in the same room with Arthur after all this time. He knew his heart was beating too fast, and he deliberately took a deep breath to calm himself before answering.

He studied Arthur, who was still on his feet, looking like he was poised to strike. Arthur’s face looked less boyish than it had when Merlin left, and his shoulders were broader. His hair still gleamed in the light, and his eyes were the same intense blue, although there were faint lines around them now. The pressures of being king showed.

Even though Merlin knew Arthur couldn’t hurt him unless he allowed it, Arthur looked dangerous enough to give him pause.

“Well?” Arthur demanded, and Merlin realized he hadn’t answered. He had been cataloguing the changes in Arthur’s appearance, saving them up in case this was the last time they met.

“I am here for two things, Arthur. To tell you how sorry I am for what I did, and to warn you that Camelot is in terrible danger.”

A shadow passed over Arthur’s face, and Merlin was unable to interpret the expression. But then Arthur’s expression became cold and stern again, and he said, “I have no interest in hearing your apologies. And I have no reason to believe anything you have to say about any danger to Camelot. I have heard enough of your lies to last me a lifetime.”

Merlin fought down an impulse to panic. He hadn’t expected this first meeting to be easy, and he knew that when Arthur was hurt he defended himself with cruelty. But if Arthur wouldn’t listen to him at all, his mission would fail.

He tried for a conciliatory note. “Can you not sit down, Arthur, so that we can talk like adults? We used to talk.”

That was the wrong thing to say. Anger flared in Arthur’s eyes. “You used to suck my cock, too. Things change.” Arthur’s tone was bitter as he continued. “You look good, Merlin. I see that I was remiss in not buying you fine clothes while you were my bedmate. Apparently the man you service now is more generous. My apologies.”

Merlin counted to ten, and made a determined effort to ignore Arthur’s taunts. He said, “Stand if you please. It makes no difference to me. But I am not leaving this room until I have said what I have to say. And you are not leaving until you have heard it.”

Arthur’s eyes flashed at that. “You do not give me orders, warlock.”

“I have a name. You used to use it a hundred times a day.”

“Are you here for a walk down memory lane, then?” Arthur sneered. “I have a lot of memories I can share with you. I remember lying to my father for you. I remember holding my wife when she sobbed at Gaius’s funeral. I remember having to explain to Gwaine and the other knights that you would not be coming back.”

Merlin did not fail to notice the slight emphasis Arthur put on the word “wife” and the challenging look he gave Merlin as he said it. He wants to hurt me by throwing Gwen at me, he realized. Arthur may hate me, but he isn’t indifferent to me.

Merlin tried to gather his thoughts to come up with something to say that would not make Arthur even angrier.

“I told you that if you came back to Camelot I would kill you. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t carry out that promise.” Arthur’s voice was hard, but Merlin could see the vulnerability in his eyes. Arthur didn’t want to kill him, he was certain of that.

Merlin rose and bent his head to show his respect for Arthur. But then he raised his head and looked Arthur straight in the face across the five feet that separated them.

“My liege,” he said formally. “I have come to tell you that I know I have done grievous harm to you and betrayed your trust. I was under the influence of a narcotic drug, a potion I concocted to ease my pain after Will died. I was wrong to use it and wrong to hide its use from you, the man I loved. I caused the death of a man who never wished me anything but good, and I hurt Gwen and my other friends here. I was wrong from start to finish, and I am very sorry for it. If you can ever find it in your heart to forgive me for the wrongs I have done to you and your household, it would mean the world to me. But I cannot demand forgiveness. That is a gift that is in your hands to grant or deny.”

Arthur said nothing, and Merlin took a deep breath and continued. “I have not used the potion since I left Camelot, and I swear on my mother’s life I will never use it or any mood-altering potion again. I am free of its thrall. And I promise I will never lie to you again. No matter the cost of telling the truth.”

Arthur slumped back into his chair, obviously struggling with strong emotion, but he was too much of a soldier to let his guard down. He still held his dagger, and he didn’t look away from Merlin, but he ran his free hand through his hair in frustration. When he spoke, his voice was rough.

“If what you say is true, I am happy that you have overcome your reliance on this substance. And I would like to think there is some explanation for what happened that last night; I have lost many hours of sleep wondering how you could have changed into such a different person.”

Merlin’s heart leapt at the thought that Arthur might not be totally hardened against him, but he could tell that Arthur wasn’t finished. He waited.

“Repentance is only a start in mending the damage you have done. Forgiveness will take longer, if it comes at all. You lied to me, Merlin. You shared my bed and you kept your secrets, and concealing your magic was as bad as abusing a potion. I can never trust you again, and I cannot let you stay in Camelot. I suggest you leave as stealthily as you came, and leave me and my queen in peace. Otherwise I may change my mind about letting you go.”

Merlin couldn’t help himself. He had to ask. “How is Gwen?”

“Gwen is a wise and generous queen. And anything beyond that is none of your business.”

Merlin looked around, and said softly, “I do not see a woman’s touch in these chambers.”

“Again, none of your business. Now tell me the second thing you came here to say, and then leave.”

Merlin wasn’t ready to move on to talking about Agravaine’s betrayal. He

ignored Arthur’s order and said, “I am sincerely sorry for the pain I caused Gwen.”

“You are sincerely sorry for a lot of things. It doesn’t change anything. Now get to the point. It’s been a long day and I am tired of your games.”

Merlin had relaxed a little when he realized Arthur wasn’t going to attack him. And even though Arthur was being cold and mean, he thought it could have gone worse. But the things he had to tell Arthur next were not things that Arthur would want to hear. He expected that things were about to get uglier.

Merlin closed his eyes and briefly prayed for the strength to get through what he had to say to Arthur. He began, “Sire, Morgana is once again plotting to invade Camelot and steal your throne. She has allied with a Southron warlord, Helios, and has an army ready to invade the citadel.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “How do you know this?”

“I have been hearing rumors of it for some time, and what I heard has been confirmed by the Druids, who have a network throughout all of the kingdoms of Albion. I have talked to people who have seen Morgana in the Southron kingdom, conferring with Helios. I have scried and seen the army preparing.”

“Scrying?” Arthur scoffed. “Are you some withered crone sitting at her fireside and selling love charms to foolish girls for a few pennies? I put no faith in scrying.”

Merlin let his anger show in his voice. “You should put faith in scrying, Arthur Pendragon. When I first knew you, Camelot was nearly destroyed by an afanc sent by the witch Nimuehh. She used scrying to spy on Camelot during that time. Oh, and when the flame of your torch leapt unnaturally high when you killed the afanc, that was because I magically enhanced it.”

Merlin was so angry that he could feel his eyes glowing gold and his magic echoing through his voice.

“I have used my magic to protect you more times than I can count. Did you never wonder at how many miraculous events took place just after you took a blow to the head? Do you have any idea how many people I have killed for you? You can hate me if you want, but do not mock my powers. The king of Camelot should be above such ignorance.”

Merlin’s anger left him in a rush, and he sank back into his chair, covering his eyes with his hand so that Arthur would no longer see them glowing gold. When he looked up again, he saw that Arthur looked grim, but not surprised. He dared to hope that perhaps in his absence Arthur had pieced together all the times when Merlin had used magic to aid him.

Arthur stared at Merlin for a long moment, and then said, “Is that what you have to tell me? That some petty Southron warlord is preparing for the battlefield?”

Merlin knew that what he had to say next would be the hardest thing for Arthur to accept. He said, “It is worse than that. There is a traitor in your inner circle, and he is loyal to Morgana. He feeds her information about Camelot’s defenses and about your plans. Morgana intends to take Camelot by invading the Citadel itself by stealth, not on the battlefield.”

Arthur scoffed. “I absolutely trust my advisers and my knights. Who is the man you accuse?”

“Your uncle, Agravaine.”

Arthur looked stunned for a moment. Then he said, “Get out.”

Merlin opened his mouth to explain further, and Arthur advanced on him, his eyes blazing and his knife once again in his hand.

“If you value your life, get out.”

Merlin knew better than to argue with Arthur when he was this angry. He shook his head in frustration, and reached a hand out toward Arthur before he realized the futility of that gesture. He turned and walked out the door, straight past the guards, who didn’t blink an eye.

He had pushed Arthur hard enough for one night.

Merlin was weary after his confrontation with Arthur, He needed to find some food and a safe place to sleep, and plan his next steps.

While he didn’t think the meeting with Arthur had gone particularly well, he thought that it could have gone worse. Arthur had been angry and sarcastic, but he had not outright rejected what Merlin had to say until Agravaine’s name was mentioned.

Maybe Merlin had given Arthur something to think about, and he would take a long hard look at Agravaine’s actions since he came to Camelot.

Merlin thought he would slip out to the stables and sleep in an empty stall, after he pilfered some food from the kitchens. He was heading in the direction of the kitchen through mostly deserted corridors when he heard footsteps behind him. Fighting the impulse to turn around, he tried to look like he was going about ordinary business in the castle. He moved closer to the wall, expecting the person behind him to just keep walking under the influence of Merlin’s anonymity spell. But he heard the footsteps behind him stop, and a voice say wonderingly, “Merlin?”

He whirled around, his hand raised for a defensive spell, as he frantically wondered who had recognized him. He was about to use magic to defend himself, but halted when he saw who it was.

It was Gwaine, dressed in chainmaille with his sword in his hand. He was alone, and his face was blank with astonishment. He repeated Merlin’s name again, softly.

Merlin let his mind run through the spell he had used when he entered the castle. He realized it had been something like “let no person who is a danger to me see me as out of place.” Arthur had been able to see him for who he was, and apparently Gwaine could too.

Gwaine had lowered his sword and swept Merlin into a bear hug, his whiskers scratching Merlin’s face as he murmured into Merlin’s ear, “I thought I would never see you again.”

Merlin returned the hug briefly, but shoved the other man away and said, “Gwaine, I can’t stay here. It isn’t safe. I have to get out of here, right now.”

“Oh no you don’t,” Gwaine said firmly. “You’re coming with me. You aren’t leaving until you tell me why you are here and where you have been all this time.”

Merlin knew he should stick with his original plan of getting out of the castle, but Gwaine had grabbed his arm and was propelling him along. And he had to admit, he felt a rush of warmth at Gwaine’s obvious pleasure in seeing him. He had been alone for so long, and he hadn’t thought anyone in Camelot would be happy that he came back.

So he let Gwaine pull him along, looking around fearfully to make sure no one else saw them. He could tell that Gwaine was leading him to the part of the castle where most of the knights were quartered, and finally Gwaine pulled him into a room and closed and barred the door.

The room was dark, and he waited by the door while Gwaine lit some candles. Then they stared at each other warily, until finally Gwaine said, “You’ve grown up, Merlin. I might not have recognized you in those fancy clothes, but your gait is still the same.” He gave Merlin a lopsided smile and added, “I’ve missed you. A lot of people have.”

Merlin felt tears pricking at his eyes at Gwaine’s words, but he needed to find out how much Gwaine knew about Merlin’s departure from Camelot. “Did anyone tell you why I left?”

Gwaine’s mood changed, and he laughed bitterly. “I was told the same thing everyone else was, that Gaius died in an accidental fall and that you were so distraught that you left Camelot that very night. I tried to talk to Arthur about it, and he told me that you had left Camelot for good. He also told me that if I ever mentioned your name again, I would be banished. I asked Leon and he said that he couldn’t tell me what happened, but that if I was smart I would forget about you.“

Gwaine paused and looked down, and when he looked at Merlin again he had a twisted smile on his lips. “But you know me, I’ve never been smart. So I told Arthur I had personal business to take care of and spent months looking for you. I started in Ealdor, and when it became clear that you hadn’t been there, I scoured the Five Kingdoms for you.”

Merlin winced. He had thought of Gwaine during his self-imposed exile, but he’d never dreamed that he would go to such lengths to find out what had happened to him.

He said softly, “Gwaine, I am so sorry.” And he wondered how many times he would have to say those words in the next few days, and whether he would ever be believed.

The pain was still there in Gwaine’s eyes as he shrugged and said, “I know I never meant as much to you as you did to me. I made peace with that a long time ago. And I believe that you must have had a good reason for leaving so abruptly. I would have given anything for some word from you, letting me know that you were all right, but I didn’t really expect it. I figured you and Arthur had fallen out, and I told myself that someday you would come back.” He finished ruefully, “And here you are.”

Knowing that another “I’m sorry” wasn’t going to make anything better, Merlin gave Gwaine the only thing he had to offer, the truth. “It’s a long story, but for right now I have to give you the bare bones. I left Camelot because I caused Gaius’s death, and because I lost Arthur’s trust. And because I’m a magic user.”

Gwaine didn’t bat an eye. He said quietly, “I think you had better tell me why you are here.”

Merlin felt that he should make his intentions clear. “I am not here to do any harm to Camelot or to Arthur. I came here on an urgent mission, to try to warn Arthur that his kingdom is in grave danger. I would not have come back otherwise, I know that I have forfeited my place here.”

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to tell me that you mean no harm to Arthur. No matter what has happened, I know that your only loyalty is to him.” He looked at Merlin more carefully. “You look like you are about to fall over. Come and sit down.”

Merlin sat at the small table tucked into a corner of the room, and accepted a glass of wine Gwaine poured for him. Gwaine waited until Merlin had taken a couple of sips before saying bluntly, “I assume you have a good reason for being here. I think you’d best tell me what it is.”

“I will, but I need you to tell me something first. What do you think of Agravaine?”

A look of distaste crossed Gwaine’s features. “He’s smooth, that one. Always so diplomatic about what he says, always so deferential to Arthur’s opinions. But there’s something off about him. Arthur relies heavily on his advice, but I just don’t like him.”

“What about the other knights, do they feel the same way?”

“Well, no one will openly criticize the king’s uncle, but I know that those who are most loyal to Arthur are concerned about Agravaine’s influence in the council chamber. No one has ever caught him doing anything improper, but there’s just something about him that doesn’t inspire trust. He’s a different person when he’s with Arthur than when he is with people he doesn’t consider important.” Gwaine added, “She tries to hide it, but the queen dislikes him.”

Merlin nodded. “I know nothing of Agravaine other than what I’ve heard, but I have been informed by people who have watched him closely that he is in league with Morgana, and hopes to put her back on the throne.’ Merlin had seldom seen Gwaine shocked. But for once the other man dropped his world-weary air

and said, “How could that be? How could Agravaine favor Uther’s bastard over his own sister’s son?”

Merlin shrugged. “It doesn’t make sense to me either, but it’s the truth. There was no love lost between Ygraine’s family and Uther, and it could be that in some twisted way Agravaine blames Arthur for Ygraine’s death.”

Merlin filled Gwaine in on where he had been since he left Camelot, and about what he knew of Morgana’s plans. After they had been talking for an hour, Gwaine noticed that Merlin was slumping in his chair from exhaustion. Gwaine cursed himself under his breath, saying, “I’m a fool, Merlin. I keep asking you questions when you obviously need food and rest. Wait here, I’ll go down to the kitchens and find you something to eat.”

Merlin dozed off in his chair while Gwaine was gone. It had been a long day, and the meeting with Arthur had been emotionally draining. He had tried to keep himself from having any expectations, but in his heart he had hoped that Arthur would be glad to see him. It was disappointing that Arthur had been so cold, even though Merlin had tried to prepare himself for rejection.

He woke up when Gwaine came back, and ate some of the bread and cheese and fruit even though he was almost too tired to be hungry. When he was done, he said, “I have to try to talk to Arthur again tomorrow, and see if I can convince him of Agravaine’s treachery. I was going to sleep in the stables.”

Gwaine shook his head decisively. “No, you can sleep here.”

Like those of the other knights, Gwaine’s room was simply furnished. There was one bed, although it was a decent size, and Merlin automatically said, “I can’t take your bed.”

“We’ll share it,” Gwaine said lazily, and then when Merlin’s eyes widened he added, “Relax, I don’t have designs on your virtue. Well, I do, but I’m not going to act on them when you are dead on your feet. Come on, you won’t be any use to Arthur unless you get some rest.”

Merlin was too tired to argue, and the bed did look better than the rough straw of the stables. So he slipped off his boots and his jacket and lay down, and Gwaine blew out the candles and got in with him.

It felt awkward being in the small bed with his former lover, and even though Merlin was physically tired he was wound up . The brief nap earlier had taken the edge off his sleepiness, and he lay for a long time going over his conversation with Arthur and trying to plan his next moves. But eventually he relaxed enough to sleep. Just as he drifted off he felt Gwaine put his arm around him as they lay with Merlin’s back to Gwaine’s chest, and he didn’t pull away.

It was the first physical intimacy he’d had since his last morning in Arthur’s bed, and it felt good after so many long months of being alone. Too good to resist, even though he knew the comfort Gwaine was offering him was only a substitute for what he really craved.

Merlin wanted to be in Arthur’s arms again, but he knew that was something he couldn’t have. So he let himself relax into Gwaine’s platonic embrace, and fell asleep.

When Merlin woke up the next morning, Gwaine was already awake and dressed for training. It took Merlin a moment to realize where he was, and it felt odd to be waking up with someone else in the room. Except for the weeks when he’d stayed in Ealdor and his mother had been on the other side of a blanket hung over a rope, he had woken up alone every day since his exile. Gwaine said, “I have to go. I think you’ll be safe if you stay here, the woman who cleans for the knights was here yesterday. What are you planning on doing today?”

Merlin was changing into his everyday clothes as he answered. “I need to talk to Arthur again, to try to convince him that I’m telling the truth about Agravaine. But I can’t do that until tonight. I think I’m going to see if I can get into Agravaine’s chambers and look for some evidence of his scheming.”

“Be careful, Merlin,” Gwaine said gravely.

“I will.”

After Gwaine left, Merlin put his anonymity spell in place and went into the courtyard to see whether there were any signs of a door to door search for him.

He took some comfort in the fact that Arthur had not raised an alarm the night before. Still, Arthur could have slept on it and decided that he wanted Merlin captured.

When he did not see any additional patrols or other evidence that the guards were looking for a fugitive, Merlin lurked near Agravaine until he went to a meeting with Arthur’s seneschal in one of the smaller audience rooms. His experience was that such meetings usually lasted at least an hour, so he took the opportunity to slip into Agravaine’s chambers.

A hasty search revealed nothing incriminating, but Merlin did discover that Agravaine had a stockpile of gold coins hidden in a trunk. That kind of money would generally be locked away under guard in the castle’s storerooms, and Merlin took it as evidence that Agravaine was ready to flee Camelot at a moment’s notice.

He searched more carefully, and when he ran his hand under the mattress, he found a small velvet bag with an emerald ring. It was a woman’s ring, with a distinctive design, and Merlin remembered seeing Morgana wearing it.

It wasn’t definitive proof that Agravaine was in league with Morgana, but it was something to show Arthur.

The day seemed long when he had little to do but wait until he could be alone with Arthur. Gwaine returned to his room at mid-day, and Merlin asked him if Arthur had warned the knights that Merlin was back.

Gwaine said he had not, but added, “He was in a foul mood, very aggressive. Leon had to tell him to go easy on the squires, and when he got to me I thought he was going to rip my head off with his bare hands.”

“Do you think he suspects I am staying in your rooms?”

Gwaine shrugged. “I don’t know. He must know that you are in the castle somewhere, but he doesn’t seem to be making much of an effort to find out where.”

Gwaine had to leave again for his duties, and Merlin spent most of the day pacing around Gwaine’s room, trying to figure out how he could convince Arthur that his reign was in terrible danger.

That night Merlin slipped into Arthur’s chambers the same way he had on the previous day.

It almost seemed as if Arthur was waiting for him. His expression was neutral, but Merlin knew him well enough that he could see the tension in the way Arthur was holding himself.

He bowed, and said, “Good evening, Sire.”

Arthur almost looked amused, although his tone was hostile. “I see you’ve finally learned some manners.”

“I’ve learned a lot of things, Arthur.”

Arthur gestured toward the table, and Merlin sat, trying to read Arthur’s mood. Arthur was casually dressed, as he had been the night before, but he still had a knife in his belt.

Well, at least he hasn’t drawn it yet. That’s progress, Merlin thought.

“Have you come to tell me more stories?”

Merlin got straight to the point. “I searched Agravaine’s chambers today. He had a large bag of gold hidden in his chambers.”

Arthur scoffed. “Would you expect it to be in plain sight? Agravaine is a wealthy man, maybe he likes to keep some of his money close. I keep a bag of gold hidden in here in case I ever need it for an emergency.”

“Not very well hidden,” Merlin replied. “It’s under your socks. Half the castle knows that. Or at least they did when I lived here.”

Arthur flushed a bit, but kept to his point. “You will need more than Agravaine keeping some gold close to hand to convince me that he’s a traitor.”

Merlin pulled the small velvet pouch containing Morgana’s emerald ring out of his pocket, and tossed it across the table at Arthur.

“I also found this in Agravaine’s room. Look at it. It’s Morgana’s.”

Arthur opened the pouch and held the ring up to the light, and Merlin could see strong emotion flicker across his face. But then the neutral, bored expression came back.

“It looks like one Morgana had. But there are a lot of emerald rings in the world. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Merlin sighed. He’d known Arthur was going to be stubborn, but this was going far even for him.

He tried to stay calm as he said, “You know as well as I do that the ring is unique. Uther had it commissioned for Morgana to wear at your coming of age ceremony, and you gave it to her yourself at the feast the night before.”

Arthur didn’t have an answer to that, and Merlin kept pressing him. “Why does Agravaine have Morgana’s ring? As far as you know they have never even met. The last time he visited Camelot before Uther died, you and Morgana were children, and Morgana didn’t live here yet. Yet he keeps her ring hidden in his bed.”

“Maybe he found it.” Arthur’s voice was flat.

“And decided to keep it? That’s not what an honest man would do.”

Arthur slammed his hand down on the table. “Enough! You go sneaking around in my uncle’s rooms and come back to me with circumstantial evidence that is weak at best. You will have to do better than that.”

Merlin was sorry to have to keep pushing, but Arthur’s kingdom and perhaps even his life depended on him seeing the truth about Agravaine.

“No, you are going to have to do better. The future of Camelot is at stake. Think about your uncle. Think about the way he acts, and the way people feel about him. Does Leon trust him? Does Gwen? Does he support your decisions, or is he always pushing his own ideas on you? And how did it happen that he showed up here after an absence of fifteen years?”

“I invited him here,” Arthur replied.

“Out of the clear blue sky? Or did he write to you first, suggesting that you could use the advice of a kinsman following Uther’s death? Offering his help?”

Arthur’s silence provided the answer. Merlin risked pushing a little more.

“How long did it take for him to start insinuating himself into every aspect of the running of this kingdom? And when did he start suggesting to you that you were too soft, that you weren’t the kind of king your father was?”

Merlin knew that was a low blow. The druids had told him about the incident where Arthur had been pushed by Agravaine to execute Queen Annis’s husband and how he had later regretted it and offered his own life to Annis.

Arthur flushed, and sent him away with the same words as the night before. “Get out.”

But as Merlin walked back to Gwaine’s room, he hoped that he had created some doubt about Agravaine in Arthur’s mind.

The attack on Camelot came just before dawn.

Gwaine leapt out of bed as soon as he heard the bells pealing the alarm, and Merlin was only a moment behind him, lighting the candles with magic so they could see what they were doing.

Merlin had never seen Gwaine move so fast as when he pulled his clothing and his chainmaille on, shoving his feet into his boots while Merlin handed him his sword and his gloves.

“I was not expecting an attack so soon,” Merlin said, grabbing his own clothing. He said a quick spell to change it from the velvet court clothes to his everyday garb. “Someone must have opened the gates for Morgana and Helios.”

He silently cursed himself for not coming to Camelot earlier. He had tarried in Ealdor and with the Druids, and he had nearly been too late.

Gwaine was already at the door, but he waited for Merlin. “If they are within the citadel, the battle may already be lost.”

“Then we have to find Arthur and get him to safety.”

Gwaine opened the door a crack and peered outside, then shut it again. “No one in the hallway right now.” He reached for the knife at his belt and handed it to Merlin, saying, “Take this, you may need it.” Merlin didn’t argue with him. He preferred to use magic to defend himself, but the knife might come in handy in close quarters.

With a quick look at Merlin to make sure he was ready, Gwaine opened the door again and they ran down the hallway toward the sound of the fighting. They both knew that they would find Arthur in the thick of it. He was not the kind of king who would cower in his throne room with an elite guard force, awaiting the outcome of the fray.

The corridors were dark and filled with smoke, and they could hear the metallic clang of weapons hitting armor and smell the sharp scent of blood. As soon as they turned the corner leading to the knights’ quarters they were set upon by a small band of invaders. Gwaine killed two of them, and Merlin sent the other three flying into the wall. Gwaine gave Merlin a look that was half amused and half impressed, and they continued toward the main battle.

Gwaine’s jauntiness in the face of danger was something Merlin had always admired. Gwaine was ahead of Merlin, trying to protect him, and Merlin had a fleeting thought. I could do worse than to die at this man’s side.

But neither Gwaine nor anyone else Merlin cared about was going to die tonight. Not if he could help it.

By the time they found Arthur, Gwaine had taken a slash to the upper part of his sword arm, and Merlin had been hit in the head with a mace. Fortunately it was only a glancing blow, although it still made him dizzy.

They kept moving, and caught up with Arthur fighting his way toward the parapet walk. He was easy to spot with his fair hair gleaming in the torchlight. Merlin remembered how often in his servant days he had tried to convince Arthur to wear a helmet in hand to hand combat, but Arthur never listened. They were still several yards away when Arthur received a hard hit to his side from a broadsword. Fortunately it didn’t draw blood, but from the way Arthur crumpled and nearly fell to the ground, Merlin was fairly certain that a couple of ribs had been broken.

Gwaine turned to deal with a group of Southron soldiers who were rushing at their backs, and he yelled, “Go! I’ll catch up.” Merlin rushed forward and caught Arthur, pulling him into the protection of a pillar on the parapet walk.

Arthur was stunned and unresisting, although he stiffened when he saw that it was Merlin who had pulled him away from the fighting. Merlin saw the enemy surging forward and pulled Arthur back further behind the pillar, and they watched as Morgana and Helios led a large force into the keep.

And then the proof that Merlin was right in his warnings came as Agravaine walked swiftly forward to join Morgana, his sword raised and an expression of triumph on his face.

Merlin watched Arthur’s face as he realized that his uncle had betrayed him, and saw his intention to attack. He grabbed Arthur’s arm to hold him back. “Not now, Arthur,” he hissed. “If you engage them now, it will be suicide.”

Arthur’s injuries made him weaker than he usually was, and Merlin was stronger than he had been when he left Camelot. Merlin was able to keep Arthur pinned in place until Morgana and Agravaine were out of sight.

Arthur turned to him with his face blank with shock, and Merlin knew he had to take charge. “Sire, we have to leave Camelot now.If Morgana finds you she will have you executed in the public square, for all of your people to see.”

Arthur still wasn’t moving, so Merlin grabbed his shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “You will come back and fight them, and you will beat them, but a good commander knows when it is time to retreat and regroup. You have always been a soldier before anything else. You know I am right.”

Arthur finally nodded in agreement, and Merlin half-supported and half-pushed him toward a secret exit that only the knights and a few trusted servants knew about. Uther had established it as a meeting place in case he ever had to flee Camelot, and Merlin had learned of it while in Arthur’s service.

He hoped that some of the knights would be there waiting for Arthur, and he was not disappointed. Leon and Elyan were there, with several horses already saddled. Elyan bristled when he saw Merlin, and drew his sword, but Leon stopped him, saying, “Not now, Elyan. Merlin is here on the king’s sufferance.”

Merlin wondered how Leon knew that, but it wasn’t important at the moment, and he said swiftly, “Help him onto his horse, he has a bad injury to his side. I think he has broken ribs. Be careful!”

Just as Leon and Elyan finished helping Arthur mount Hengroen, Percival and Gwaine arrived, out of breath from running, with Gwen between them. She was wearing a dark cloak thrown over men’s clothing, and she looked frightened but calm.

The men didn’t bother reporting to Arthur; the situation was clear to all of them. There weren’t enough horses for everyone, so Merlin doubled up with Gwaine and Gwen with Leon. Ordinarily Arthur would have taken Gwen up, but he would have a difficult enough time controlling his horse while injured without worrying about another rider.

They spurred their horses and left Camelot. None of them looked back.

“We should go to Ealdor,” Merlin argued. “It’s outside the borders of Camelot, and there is good will towards Arthur there. The people will hide us while we treat Arthur and Gwaine’s wounds, and we can regroup, figure out what to do next.”

They had stopped after riding hard for two hours, and Gwen was binding Arthur’s ribs, with Percival’s help. Arthur was stoic while they did it, but Merlin could see him biting his lip to keep from crying out.

Elyan looked at Merlin with some hostility. “Why should we listen to you? You’ve been gone for four years, and all of a sudden you show up with no warning, the same day that Camelot is attacked from within. I don’t know who you are anymore, or what your intentions are, and I have half a mind to just leave you here. Or to execute you.”

“Hush, Elyan,” Gwen said. “You have no reason to think Merlin had anything to do with Morgana’s invasion. Things are bad enough without fighting among ourselves.”

They debated it for a while, with Gwaine arguing for Ealdor and Leon suggesting they go to Mercia or even Cornwall. Finally Arthur cut through the debate. “Enough! We will go to Ealdor. It’s closest, and we need rest and supplies.”

They rode through the night, and Merlin watched with concern as Arthur had difficulty riding. He had a brief thought of casting a small spell on Arthur to stop him from swaying in the saddle, but he had promised himself during his long dark nights in the forest that he would never use magic on Arthur without his permission, unless it was to save his life. So he didn’t do any magic, but he was grateful to see Leon riding close to Arthur, ready to catch him if he started to fall.

They arrived at Ealdor early in the morning, all of them tired and hungry and very much the worse for wear. Merlin said he would go in on foot to warn Hunith that the village had unexpected royal guests, and with a flicker of his eyes and a slight jerk of his head Arthur signaled to Leon to go with him.

It hurt a little that Arthur didn’t trust him, but Merlin knew that Arthur had good reason for his distrust. So he and Leon left the others in the forest with the horses, and slipped into the hamlet.

Hunith greeted them calmly, asking just enough questions to get a clear understanding of why the king’s party was there, and then took charge. She found places to stable the horses and a place for the knights to sleep in the hayloft of the only barn in the village.

Arthur and Gwen came to her house, with Merlin. Elyan protested that one of the knights should stay with the king, but Arthur vetoed that idea. “I am not helpless, Elyan, and I trust Hunith completely.”

The unspoken words seemed to hang in the air. Even if I can’t trust Merlin…

When they got to the cottage, Arthur was clearly exhausted, although he tried to hide it. Hunith made some willow bark tea for Arthur, to help with the pain, and re-bound his ribs. Hunith insisted that Arthur and Gwen sleep in her bed, telling him when he protested that she wasn’t going to be using it in the daytime anyway.

Merlin lay down on a pallet by the fire, like he used to do before he left home, and fell asleep immediately. He was just too exhausted to worry about their situation.

When he woke again, Hunith was quietly moving around the cottage, preparing a simple meal. It was early evening, and he looked around for Arthur.

Arthur was still asleep, curled around Gwen with an arm around her waist. Merlin felt a sharp pain in his heart when he remembered how affectionate Arthur had been even in sleep, always wanting to be in contact with his bedmate.

As he watched them, Arthur opened his eyes and blinked, and Merlin could see it on his face as he remembered where he was and why he was there. Arthur stared straight at Merlin, and moved his hand from Gwen’s waist to just below her breast. He lightly caressed her nipple, his touch light enough not to wake her, and kept his eyes locked on Merlin’s as he deliberately moved to kiss Gwen’s hair.

All right then, Merlin thought. Message received. There is no room for me in your bed. Or your heart.

He nodded at Arthur to show that he understood, and Arthur slipped out of bed, pulling the covers up over the still-sleeping Gwen. Arthur turned at the doorway and gestured for Merlin to follow him.

They walked outdoors, and Arthur strode off to take a piss in a copse of trees behind Hunith’s cottage, When Arthur got back, he said, “Go and get the others.”

Merlin stiffened. “I am not your servant anymore, Arthur. You can’t talk to me like that.”

There was mockery in Arthur’s tone when he answered. “So much for ‘I’m happy to be your servant, until the day I die.’”

Merlin shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I do want to serve you, but not in the way I did before. I will do everything I can to return you to power, but I ask that you treat me with respect.”

They glared at each other for a few beats, and finally Arthur said with exaggerated courtesy, “Merlin, will you get the knights? They will want the meal your mother is preparing, and after we eat I need their counsel.”

Merlin bowed in acknowledgement of Arthur’s request and went to fetch the knights from the hayloft. Merlin wasn’t sure where Hunith found enough food to feed them all, but she’d always been good at stretching out the supplies she had. Gwen was up when they returned, helping Hunith get the meal on the table.

None of them had had a real meal in twenty-four hours, so they ate quickly and quietly. When they had finished, and after Gwen had thanked Hunith and the others joined in, Leon said respectfully, “Sire, do you have a plan?”

Arthur weighed his words before answering. “We must move on. I have no doubt that Morgana and Agravaine will come searching for me, and I cannot put Ealdor in danger. We must establish a camp and send spies to find out what is going on in Camelot. Then we will have to get together a force to take back my kingdom.”

Gwaine said, “The people have no love for Morgana. They will see her for the usurper she is, and her brief reign was bloody and miserable. “The others around the table nodded in agreement.

“You’re right,” Arthur said. “The people loved Morgana once and praised her for her beauty and compassion. Now they fear her.”

Arthur was in the middle of a sentence when Merlin thought he heard something. He held his hand up for silence and Arthur looked at him, annoyed at first but growing alert as he saw the expression on Merlin’s face. Stillness dropped over the table as they all strained to hear. All of the knights instinctively put their hands to their swords, and Merlin glanced at his mother and saw the fear on her face.

Time seemed to slow as each of them realized what they were hearing. It was the sound of a large group of riders on horseback, thundering into Ealdor.

Hunith spoke first, her voice not loud but very decisive. “Out the back!” Her cottage was so small that it only had one door, and it faced onto the main road in the village. But there was a window, covered only with a heavy cloth in milder weather, and the men vaulted through it, turning to help Gwen and Hunith.

They ran for the forest, looking back over their shoulders to see how close the soldiers were.

Agravaine was easily recognizable in the light from the torches his men carried, his horse rearing as he shouted orders. They saw the villagers running into the street in terror as the invaders set fire to thatched roofs and slashed at anything in their path. There were shouts and the sound of panicked animals.

Merlin felt a stab of guilt for the trouble he had brought down on his mother’s village. But Arthur’s survival was the only thing he could worry about right now.

Halfway to the woods he heard a bitten-off sound of pain from Gwen, who was running between Arthur and Leon. Arthur took her hand to pull her along, but they all kept going, although it was clear that Gwen was limping.

They reached the woods and were far enough in to be concealed for the moment when they stopped to catch their breath. It was a full moon, and there was just enough light to see. Gwen sat on a fallen log as Hunith knelt beside her to examine her ankle. Arthur went over to check on her, and Merlin could see Hunith shaking her head as she spoke to Arthur.

There appeared to be some kind of argument going on in low voices, but Leon interrupted took the rare step of interrupting the king.

“Arthur, we need to move.” His voice was urgent.

Gwen spoke, firmly. “Go without me. My ankle is badly sprained, I can’t run and I will just slow you down.”

“I’ll carry you,” Arthur argued.

“Arthur,” Leon said warningly.

Hunith said urgently, “I will stay with her. I know a place we can hide until the soldiers leave. Arthur, this is for the best.”

“We can’t stay here any longer,” Leon said again, and Merlin could see the moment when Arthur made his decision. He got up from where he had been crouching beside the two women and said, “Go, get to safety as fast as you can.” He squeezed Gwen’s hand, saying, “I will come back for you, I swear it,” and strode off.

Arthur was several yards ahead of him, with Leon and Gwaine on either side of him, when he yelled, “Merlin!” without even turning around. Arthur had always seemed to know exactly where Merlin was, and that ability persisted even after their years apart.

“I’ll be right behind you, Sire,” he answered. He waited until they were some distance away, and turned to Gwen and Hunith. “Go. I am going to take care of the soldiers.” The women both looked scared, but they did as he said, Hunith turning and giving her son a last concerned look before she took Gwen by the arm and led her into the woods as quickly as Gwen’s injured ankle would allow. Merlin lifted his head to the sky and called for Kilgarrah in the ancient language of the dragonlords. “Dragon! I need you!”

Kilgarrah appeared moments later, immediately perceiving the danger Merlin was in. He swooped down over Agravaine’s men, roasting them with his fiery breath.

Merlin heard their screams as he ran to catch up with his king.

They were a miserable little band, with nothing but their swords and the clothes on their backs. Merlin had grabbed his pack when they fled Hunith’s cottage, and it had a few basic supplies in it. They walked through the night, Arthur in the lead as always. Merlin had told Arthur about some caverns he had explored with Will when they were boys, three hours walk from Ealdor, and told him there were hidden caves where they could take shelter.

Lacking a better plan, Arthur had agreed.

After a couple of hours they stopped at a stream for a brief rest, and Merlin passed Arthur a small flask of strong wine he kept in his pack for medicinal purposes. Arthur took a couple of sips, and Merlin could see the lines of pain on his face lessen.

“What is troubling you, Arthur?” he asked softly.

“Oh, I don’t know, Mer -lin,” he answered angrily, and in spite of everything Merlin was pleased that Arthur was drawing out the first syllable of his name the way he had done when Merlin was always at his side. “Let’s see, I just had to abandon my wife, my half-sister has managed to take my throne twice now, and my chief advisor and only kinsman is a traitor.”

Arthur closed his eyes for a moment, as if afraid to continue his thoughts, and concluded bitterly, “I wonder if I should just release my knights and go overseas to find work as a mercenary. I’m starting to wonder if I deserve to be Camelot’s king. I’m good with a sword, but that’s all I have to offer my people. ”

Merlin could see how emotionally depleted Arthur was, and he instinctively reached out to touch him, putting his hand on Arthur’s forearm and trying to send warmth and healing with his touch.

“We can talk of this in the morning, Arthur,” he said, keeping his tone light. “You’re exhausted, and you’re hurt, and you’re worried about Gwen. And Agravaine’s treachery is a fresh wound. Things will look different once we find shelter and you can get some more rest.”

Arthur looked down at Merlin’s hand on his arm, and for a moment Merlin wondered if he was going to shake it off. But he didn’t, and Merlin gave his arm a final squeeze and removed his hand.

Arthur wasn’t ready to stop beating himself up, though. “And why did I trust Agravaine? Gwen tried to warn me that he wasn’t what he seemed, but I refused to listen. I’m a fool.” Merlin could hear the pain in Arthur’s voice.

Merlin spoke urgently this time. “You are not a fool. You are a great king. I know that you will reclaim your throne. You must believe me.”

Arthur didn’t answer. He took a final drink of water from the stream and stood, signaling the others that it was time to move on. Merlin could see him straighten his shoulders and pull his head high, putting on the mantle of kingship.

Merlin knew that however much it cost Arthur, he would put duty first. And at this moment, his duty was to lead his ragged band of knights to the caverns.

They were all flagging by the time they reached the caverns. Merlin kept a close eye on Arthur, and he could see him limping a little and occasionally bringing his arms around his bruised ribs, although he tried to hide his pain.

They found a small dry cave. They couldn’t risk a fire in case Agravaine was still chasing after them, but Merlin created a small bubble of light and had it hover in a corner of the cave. He could see the awe on the faces of the knights, and realized that except for Gwaine, they had not seen him do magic before.

They stayed close together for warmth, with Merlin and Arthur sitting propped against a wall at the end of the straggly line. They had filled their water skins at the stream, and Merlin distributed the small amount of dried food he had in his pack.

Arthur told Leon to take the first watch, and ordered the rest of them to try to sleep. Merlin spoke to Arthur softly, saying, “You’re in pain from your ribs. I could help you with that.”

Arthur turned his head away, saying, “I don’t need that kind of help.” But Merlin could see the small flash of hope in his eyes, and knew that Arthur, like anyone else who was injured, would welcome relief from pain.

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin said. “You have a hard battle ahead of you to defeat Morgana and reclaim your kingdom. You need to lead these men, and you can’t do it if you are not fighting fit. You’ll sleep better if you are in less pain, and be more effective tomorrow.” He tried to keep the pleading note out of his voice when he said, “I would stop whenever you said the word, I swear it.”

Merlin still knew Arthur well enough to know that an appeal to his duty to his men would be effective. Merlin could see Arthur weighing his words, and he could see the moment when Arthur’s desire to be stronger outweighed his distrust of magic. He said, “Go on, then.”

“Lie down,” Merlin said. He waited until Arthur complied, lying on his side with a small grunt of pain, and then knelt beside him, placing his hands on Arthur’s injured rib cage.

Merlin started small, not wanting to startle someone who was already skittish about what he was doing. He sent small tendrils of healing magic into the tissue beneath his fingers, and smiled when Arthur looked at him in surprise. “It’s warm,” Arthur murmured.

Merlin controlled the flow of the magic, letting it build up incrementally until he could feel that Arthur’s injuries were all but healed. The magic was intended to heal Arthur, not put him to sleep, but Merlin knew that Arthur was tired and wasn’t surprised when he saw Arthur’s eyes drift closed. Arthur leaned into Merlin’s touch as his body relaxed, and Merlin welcomed that even though he was fairly certain Arthur was unaware of what he was doing.

He waited until he was sure Arthur was asleep, and then lay down next to him. He waited quietly for fifteen minutes, until he could tell by the sound of the knights’ breathing that they were all deeply asleep, and then cast a spell to put Leon to sleep too.

He walked past Leon, who was slumped at the mouth of the cave. He waved a hand at him, silently commanding him to wake up in five minutes. As he left the cave, he cast protection wards on it so that Agravaine and his soldiers would not find it.

Merlin went back the way they had come, intent on discovering whether Agravaine was still following them.

It didn’t take long to find Camelot’s enemies. He almost walked into Agravaine, who was with a group of about a dozen soldiers, twice as many as the group in the cave.

Agravaine looked at him haughtily, and said, “You must be the infamous Merlin that everyone in Camelot can’t stop talking about. Where is Arthur?”

Merlin was surprised that Agravaine had heard about him, and silently blessed Arthur and Gwen and Leon for keeping the reason for his departure secret. That gave him an advantage over Agravaine.

Agravaine grew impatient with Merlin’s silence, and demanded, “Well, boy, answer me. Where is Arthur?”

Before ever he met Agravaine, Merlin had hated him for betraying Arthur. But at this moment of confrontation, all he felt was a cold determination.

“Be careful, Agravaine,” he warned.

Agravaine laughed, and signaled to the dozen men with him to attack Merlin.

Merlin raised his hand and sent all of them flying into the walls of the cavern. There was a sickening crunch as their necks snapped, but Merlin didn’t care. They were soldiers, and they had chosen the wrong side.

Agravaine looked at Merlin in astonishment and said, “You have magic!”

Merlin raised his hand again, intending to kill Agravaine. But he heard Arthur’s voice behind him, cold and commanding, saying, “Stop!”

Merlin stopped. He had promised to obey Arthur. But he kept his hand outstretched as Arthur walked up to stand beside him, sword in hand. Merlin shot a quick look at Arthur’s face and saw that his expression was impassive but his eyes were murderous.

“This is between me and my uncle, Merlin,” Arthur said. “Do not interfere.”

Merlin answered urgently, “He is a traitor, Arthur. Let me kill him.”

“No.” Arthur’s voice was deadly calm. “Killing him is my job.”

“If you can, princeling,” Agravaine said mockingly, moving in for the fight.

“Save your breath, uncle,” Arthur advised. “You’ll need it.”

Merlin stepped out of the way to give Arthur room to fight. He watched carefully as the two men circled each other. He wasn’t really worried about the outcome. Agravaine was twenty-five years older than Arthur, heavier and slower. His fondness for wine and rich food showed in his puffy face. Merlin doubted that Agravaine devoted himself to training every day like Arthur did.

But Agravaine was crafty, and he was desperate. And Arthur had been recently injured, although Merlin hoped the healing magic he had used in the cave had mostly taken care of Arthur’s injuries.

Merlin stayed out of the way, but he never took his eyes off the fight. He knew that it was important to Arthur to deal with Agravaine himself, and he respected that, but he would not hesitate to intervene if he saw Agravaine using magic or dirty tricks.

Agravaine struck first, and Arthur easily deflected the attack. The sound of swords clashing rang in the cavern, and if Merlin had not made a study of Arthur fighting he might have thought that the two were evenly matched. But he could tell that Arthur was holding back, using the time to determine Agravaine’s strengths and weaknesses as a fighter.

The fight picked up, and the sound of the swords clashing was loud in the small chamber. Merlin watched intently, listening to the heavy footfalls and panting breaths of an intense fight.

He could hear them talking a little as they fought. Arthur still wanted answers, and Agravaine seemed eager to finally tell Arthur what he thought of him.

Agravaine drew the first blood, a cut on Arthur’s forearm that didn’t look too serious to Merlin, although it was worrisome. But after that it quickly became apparent that Arthur was ready for this encounter to be over. He seemed to redouble his efforts, and his attacks became more vicious. Merlin watched anxiously, hoping that it would be over soon.

Arthur knocked Agravaine’s sword out of his hand, but as Merlin inwardly cursed Arthur for a noble fool, he allowed his uncle to pick up the sword again.

Merlin hoped desperately that this moment of gallantry wouldn’t end up costing Arthur his life. As far as Merlin was concerned, Agravaine had forfeited his right to any knightly courtesy or sportsmanship from Arthur.

They fought fiercely, and after ten minutes Merlin could tell that it would end soon. It was well known that Agravaine preferred scheming at the fireside to practice on the training field. He was no match for Arthur, who was thirty years younger and much more disciplined in his habits.

Even though years had passed, Merlin had watched Arthur fight so often that he knew exactly when Arthur was ready to go for the kill.

Arthur had been cool and composed throughout the fight, but when Merlin saw his expression grow hard he knew that Agravaine was a dead man. Arthur slipped under Agravaine’s guard and made a clean thrust to his heart.

Agravaine fell to the ground like a stone, and Arthur stood over him looking like a god of vengeance. Merlin came and stood just behind Arthur, his heart twisted as he heard the pain in Arthur’s voice. “Why?” Arthur demanded. “Why did you turn against me, your own kinsman?”

Agravaine was fading fast, but he could still summon a sneer. “Uther killed my sister. I hated him, and I hated you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. You were the one who should have died.”

“They say I look like my mother, I’m surprised that you don’t see her in me,” Arthur answered.

“You do look like her,” Agravaine panted out. “All the more reason to hate you.”

There was red foam around Agravaine’s mouth, and he breathed his last. Merlin felt a momentary flash of gratitude that Arthur would not have to hear any more hateful words from his kinsman’s mouth.

The click of boots on rock behind them made Arthur and Merlin whirl around, Arthur with his sword raised, and Merlin saw that another dozen or so of Agravaine’s men were coming for them. They were in a room of the caverns with only one exit, and were trapped against the wall.

Without even thinking about it, Merlin lifted a hand and sent a burst of magic toward the soldiers. They all dropped dead instantly, their hearts stopped by nothing more than a thought.

There was a clatter of metal on the ground as they all fell, and then silence.

“You killed them,” Arthur said, sounding like he didn’t quite believe it.

“I had to,” Merlin answered.

Merlin could see shock on Arthur’s face. He realized that Arthur had never seen Merlin use his magic on that scale before, and in fact had never seen Merlin use his magic to kill anyone, let alone a dozen men at a time.

Well, he thought , fighting down the urge to laugh inappropriately and a bit hysterically, I guess it’s time Arthur realized that I kill for him whenever the situation calls for it.

Arthur stared at Merlin for several more beats, his expression going flat and unreadable, and then he grabbed Merlin roughly by the arm and dragged him around a corner in the caverns, pushing him up against the wall. He crowded into Merlin, their faces inches apart. Merlin could see rage in Arthur’s eyes now, and he flashed back to the night he had left Camelot. Arthur had pinned him to a wall then, too, but at least this time he didn’t have a knife at Merlin’s throat.

He still looked dangerous, though, and Merlin wasn’t sure what was going to happen.

Merlin stared into Arthur’s eyes, refusing to submissively drop his gaze, even though he knew Arthur was hopped up on battle lust and anger. He wouldn’t use magic on Arthur, but he wasn’t going to stand there like some passive girl while Arthur manhandled him, either. He shoved at Arthur’s shoulders, saying angrily, “Get off me.”

Arthur’s response was to grab Merlin’s wrists and pin them over his head, shoving harder into him so that Merlin didn’t have quite enough air. Merlin gasped as Arthur pushed his leg between Merlin’s knees, forcing his thigh against Merlin’s crotch. Merlin had started to harden the moment Arthur had grabbed him, and he knew that Arthur could feel his hard prick now.

Merlin heard something that sounded a lot like a growl, and then Arthur flipped him around and shoved him into the cold stone wall. He kept one hand on Merlin’s neck as he pulled Merlin’s trousers down, and Merlin had a few seconds of feeling cold air on his bare arse before he felt Arthur’s prick grinding against him.

He struggled a bit for his pride’s sake. There was no love in what Arthur was doing, just a desire to rub off on warm flesh.

Arthur always wants a good fuck after he’s cheated death, and I happen to be handy, Merlin thought bitterly.

Arthur got himself off quickly, spilling his seed over Merlin’s arse and running his hand through it and then wiping it off on Merlin’s back. Merlin had become rock hard from the contact and the sounds Arthur made, and Arthur reached down and felt his prick. He jerked him off without bothering to even let him turn around, fast and rough and wordlessly.

Merlin let himself slump back against the wall, feeling like his legs could barely hold him up. He closed his eyes, trying to escape from the intimacy of what had just happened.

His eyes flew open when he felt Arthur’s warm hand cupping the side of his face. He leaned into the caress a little, and watched Arthur’s face as he said softly, “I hate you, you know.”

Merlin answered him wearily. “I know.”

“Clean yourself up. We have to get back to the others,” Arthur ordered.

Merlin did so as best he could, and trailed behind Arthur, feeling ashamed and sad.

With Agravaine dead, Arthur seemed reinvigorated, ready to take back the citadel.

The next morning Arthur was still cold to him, and wouldn’t meet his eyes, but he did let him join in discussions of what the next steps should be. Merlin knew that Arthur still didn’t trust him completely, but he seemed willing to use Merlin and his magic to achieve his goals. Merlin thought that what had tipped Arthur over into grudging acceptance was seeing him kill Agravaine’s soldiers, and was again filled with regret that he had not shown Arthur who he really was earlier in their relationship. If Arthur had known how willing Merlin was to protect Arthur, almost from the day he arrived in Camelot…

He realized that Arthur had been talking and that he hadn’t been paying attention.

“Are you bored, Merlin?” Arthur demanded. Merlin jumped and muttered an apology.

“If it’s not too much trouble, I have a kingdom to win back.”

“Yes, sire,” Merlin said guiltily.

Merlin half expected Arthur to roll his eyes at him as he did in the old days when he was caught wool-gathering. But those days were long gone.

“What can you do with your magic to help me regain my kingdom?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin answered with absolute confidence, “Whatever you need me to do.”

Arthur and his men set up a rough camp and spent several days working on a strategy to recover Camelot from Morgana. Arthur usually spent most of his time with Leon, but sometimes Arthur would ask Merlin to walk with him away from the others. It seemed to be easier for Arthur to talk to him when they were moving and didn’t have to look at each other, and Merlin remembered that Arthur had always thought best on his feet. Merlin told Arthur that he was a Dragonlord, and that Kilgarrah would do anything Merlin commanded. He told Arthur about Excalibur, the magical sword forged in a dragon’s breath, the sword that would always make Arthur a conqueror. He promised Arthur that if he gave it his all, Camelot would be his again.

Kilgarrah told them where to find the citizens who had fled Camelot, and with his people watching Arthur drew Excalibur from the great rock where Merlin had buried it up to the hilt.

When Arthur pulled it out and held it to the sky, he was so heart-stoppingly beautiful that Merlin knew he would never get over it.

He was Arthur’s until he drew his last breath.

Merlin went back to Camelot in disguise and scouted out the defenses. Arthur and Leon worked out a strategy, and the knights organized the men of the ragtag band of Camelot refugees into some sort of fighting force.

On the last night, Arthur’s inner circle sat by the fire, and when they were done going over the plans for the attack they started teasing each other and telling stories.

Merlin had encountered this before. Men who knew that the next day could be their last wanted to enjoy each other’s company while they could, and the laughter and ribald tales took the edge off the fear.

Even though the knights recognized that there was tension between Merlin and Arthur, they accepted Merlin back into their group warmly, even Elyan. When Leon slung his arm around Merlin’s shoulders affectionately, Merlin realized how much he had missed the companionship of the knights. After the last highly improbable tale of how one of the knights had lost his virginity, Arthur rose, saying “Get some rest. We march at dawn.”

Arthur always slept a little way away from the others, and as he walked away, he turned back and looked at Merlin, jerking his chin to indicate that Merlin should

follow him. Merlin was surprised. Arthur was treating him more politely, at least in public, but there was still resentment in his voice when he spoke to Merlin, and his eyes were cold. Merlin knew that Arthur was using him because of his magic, but since he had come back to Camelot for that reason, he couldn’t really complain.

Arthur lay on the ground, pulling his cloak around him, and after a moment’s hesitation Merlin lay down beside him. Merlin had a blanket, and he spread it over the two of them, although he was careful to stay a foot and a half away from Arthur’s body.

Merlin lay listening to Arthur’s breathing, and just as he thought Arthur had fallen asleep he heard him speak, very quietly.

“A part of me hated you for lying to me about your magic. And a bigger part of me hated you for making me banish you. But underneath all that, I still loved you.

God help me, I love you still.” “Arthur,” Merlin began.

“I don’t want to hear it right now.” Arthur rolled so that his back faced Merlin.

It took a good long while for Merlin to fall asleep.

In the end, Arthur defeated the Southron army.

Leon was on Arthur’s right side and Merlin on his left when he fought his way into the Throne Room, where Morgana was making her last stand. As soon as he entered the castle, Merlin cast a spell to nullify Morgana’s magic. Arthur killed Helios in a quick, brutal fight, and when it was over Morgana threw herself at her half-brother, a dagger in her hand.

Leon disarmed her, but she continued to claw at Arthur, screaming profanities, and he grabbed her arms and held her to his chest until she exhausted herself. It was only then that Merlin realized that she was insane, and that she would probably never again be the woman they had known and loved.

Arthur ordered iron chains to be brought and put around her wrists and neck. He told the guards to take her to the dungeons, to one of the more comfortable cells kept for imprisoned nobles.

He crossed the room to his throne when he was done, but at the last minute slumped down on the dais, gesturing to Leon to join him. Merlin faded to the back of the room and remained standing, his hands folded patiently behind his back, his pose that of the servant he used to be. He waited to see what the king would do next.

“We will have to find a suitable place for my sister to be kept. I won’t execute her, but I don’t want her in living underneath my castle. We will have to convene the Round Table to discuss it.”

Leon nodded his agreement.

“Please send a guard to Ealdor to bring the queen back.”

Leon bowed and left, and Arthur looked around at the wreckage of the throne room. “I wish Gwen were here, she would know how best to get things back in order. And I have no talent in directing the household staff.”

By this time the rest of Arthur’s knights had gathered, and Merlin quickly checked to see how they had fared. Elyan had a slash on his left thigh that was roughly bandaged but still bleeding, and Percival had a cut above his eye. Both wounds would need stitching. All of the knights had various scrapes and bruises, and looked exhausted. But there was a sense of satisfaction in the room, all of them knowing that Camelot was safe once again.

They all knew that the peace would not last. It never did.

But for today they had done their duty.

Merlin thought that Arthur had forgotten about him, but suddenly he found Arthur’s eyes on him. “Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice flat and his face unreadable.

Merlin knelt, keeping his eyes down. “Sire?”

“I am confining you to rooms in the North Tower, under guard.”

Merlin looked up at that, surprised, and Arthur continued, “I know that no guard can keep you from escaping. But I am asking for your word that you will stay there until I order otherwise.”

Merlin was crushed. After Arthur’s admission that he still loved him, he had hoped for something different. But he said, “You have my word, Sire,” and stood to leave.

Just as Merlin reached the door, two guards following behind him, Arthur said, “Merlin,” and he turned to look back. But Arthur thought better of what he was going to say, and they stood for a few seconds with their eyes locked.

Then Merlin bowed low and left.

Merlin stayed in the tower for a full month before he saw Arthur again.

It was lonely. His guards didn’t talk to him at all, and he had no visitors except the kitchen boy who brought his meals. The child was obviously terrified of him in the beginning, although Merlin tried to be kind to him and after the first week he would smile shyly at Merlin.

There was nothing particularly unpleasant about his confinement. The food was good, the laundry maid came every few days to collect his dirty clothes and bring back clean ones, and he could order a bath whenever he wanted one. There were plenty of books to read, and he was allowed outside for an hour a day in one of the walled gardens.

But he was bored, and he couldn’t stop thinking about Arthur.

He knew that it was hard for Arthur to talk about his feelings, and that made his admission the night before the battle all the more remarkable. And he knew in his heart that Arthur did love him. More than once in their last days together, he had glanced up to find Arthur’s eyes on him, his gaze full of intent.

He had his doubts about Arthur’s relationship with Gwen, too. Hunith had said that all was not well between Gwen and her husband, and from what Merlin had seen the first night he came back to Camelot, Arthur lived alone in his chambers.

He remembered that morning in Ealdor, when Arthur had caressed Gwen’s breast. Looking back, he could see that it wasn’t Arthur sending him a message that he was happily married and had no interest in Merlin. It seemed now like a deliberate attempt to hurt him, and he felt a bit bad for Gwen that she had been used in that little demonstration.

After Lancelot went away, Gwen had limited choices. Did she still mourn for him? Was she hoping he would return some day?

Maybe Arthur and Gwen were united in their desire to make Camelot flourish, but it seemed the marriage itself was more of a business arrangement than a love match.

But then his mind turned in a different direction. What if Arthur banished him again? What if he decided to have Merlin executed? What if he decided to keep Merlin prisoner forever, only letting him out when he needed magical assistance for a battle?

He drove himself crazy with these questions, and spent many hours pacing the floor.

When the full month had passed, and he was more heartsick by the day, he woke sometime after midnight to find the room lit by a single candle and Arthur looking down at him.

He instantly came to full wakefulness, sitting up in bed and saying quietly, “Why are you here?”

“Sssh,” was the only answer. “No words.”

Merlin obeyed, and watched in silence as Arthur pulled his white shirt over his head in a single smooth motion. Then he was taking off his trousers, and Merlin’s mouth went dry with the realization of what was going to happen.

Then Arthur was on top of him, holding him down and kissing him fiercely. The touches were rough and impatient, almost as if it were a wrestling match rather than lovemaking. Arthur scraped his nails along Merlin’s ribcage and his backside, and used his teeth to nip at Merlin’s nipples and lips.

Even though he loved the ferocity and enjoyed being manhandled into position, in the back of his mind Merlin thought that Arthur wanted to fuck him and punish him, perhaps in equal measure.

Well, he was fine with that, and ready to give as good as he got. Arthur gasped when Merlin bit him on the shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark, but immediately retaliated with a bite of his own on Merlin’s hip bone.

It was going really fast, and Arthur flipped him over onto his stomach and tried to jam a finger into him.

But it had been years since Merlin had been fucked, and he was too dry. Arthur groaned in frustration and growled, “We need oil. Oil or salve or magical lubrication, I don’t care which, but now.”

Merlin knew that he could make himself wet enough to ease Arthur’s way with magic, but he was reluctant to bring magic into a shared bed when Arthur still didn’t trust him. So he fumbled his hand into a bedside drawer, still pinned down by Arthur’s weight, and found a jar of medicinal salve. Arthur grabbed it without another word, and soon had two wet fingers inside Merlin, up to the first knuckle.

After the briefest of stretching, he rammed his prick into Merlin without finesse, bottoming out on the first stroke.

It hurt, and the rough fucking hurt too, but on some level also felt good and right. If Arthur wanted to punish Merlin, there was some small remaining part of Merlin that wanted to be punished. And after a couple of minutes the rhythmic thrusting started to feel good in spite of the pain.

He liked the feeling of being full, and he liked the feeling that Arthur was his slave in that moment, unable to stop, consumed by lust for Merlin.

He still remembered what Arthur sounded like when he was getting close, and he pushed himself up to try to take care of his aching prick. But Arthur beat him to it, fisting him with a slick hard grip.

Merlin came first, after only a handful of firm pulls, and Arthur followed him over the edge of orgasm, collapsing on his back afterward with a half-bitten off word.

Merlin thought the word started with an “M”, but he couldn’t be sure.

After Arthur pulled out, they lay in silence for a few minutes. Merlin noticed for the first time that the salve was heavily scented with roses. He briefly wondered who had made it.

He remembered Gaius preparing salves and medicines, and the flash of memory hurt, but he also felt love and respect for his mentor.

Then Arthur got up and dressed and left without a word, and Merlin lay there, feeling an ache in his bottom and breathing in the cloying smell of dead roses.

He felt empty, in more ways than one. Arthur came back the next night, and the night after that. The sex was still rough and combative, and silent. Merlin loved it on one level, but on another level he wondered how long it would be before Arthur would let him speak.

He had a thing or two to show Arthur, though. He wasn’t a skinny youth anymore, and his hard life in Caerleon had given him muscles that were almost as strong as Arthur’s. He noticed Arthur’s surprise at how strongly he could grip with his thighs, and the fact that he could easily flip Arthur over if he caught him unawares.

The fourth time Arthur slipped into his rooms, Merlin made sure the room was fully lit. He heard the king exchange a few words with the guards, and he decided he was tired of following orders. He spoke evenly as Arthur entered the room. “Interrogating the prisoner? Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Arthur had the grace to look embarrassed.

Merlin was fully dressed, and sitting in a chair. He gestured to the chair opposite him, saying, “We need to talk.”

Arthur shook his head. “We used to talk a lot, and all you did was lie to me.”

“You’re right. But if we don’t talk now, we will never get back to normal.”

This made Arthur angry. “What’s normal, Merlin? You sharing my bed every night, while hiding every bad thing you did, and treating me like a fool?”

“I never thought you were a fool, Arthur.” Merlin said quietly. “But if you think you can just fuck away all of our issues, you aren’t thinking straight. If you won’t talk to me, fine. But you need to either let me out or execute me. I’m not a whore, and I won’t let you come in here every night just for sex.”

Arthur’s face twisted unpleasantly as he said, “You don’t seem to mind it.” Merlin stood up and leaned over Arthur. “Don’t. Just don’t. It was never about just sex with us. Don’t lie to yourself about what we had.”

Something seemed to break in Arthur then, and he said, “I don’t know how to trust you anymore. I want to, but I’m afraid you will betray me again.”

Merlin sat down again. “That’s honest. And it’s a legitimate fear.”

“How can we get back, Merlin? I want to. It’s painful to me to have you here and to remember how close we used to be. And to remember how you broke my heart.”

“I don’t know. But I can tell you that yours was not the only heart that was broken.”

Arthur rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes to stop the tears that he didn’t want Merlin to see. But Merlin thought they had been hiding what they felt for too long.

He went to Arthur’s chair and pulled him up. Arthur was rigid in his arms at first, but he finally let go and leaned into the embrace.

Merlin held Arthur as tightly as he could, and murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I failed you.”

They held each other and wept for a good long while.

When the tears stopped, they lay down on the bed and slept, fully clothed.

When Merlin awoke the next morning, Arthur was gone, and he was still a prisoner.

Merlin spent a good part of the next day pacing around his room, wondering if he’d imagined that there had been a breakthrough with Arthur the night before.

He was so bored. He was sick of reading, sick of having no company all day, sick of walking around the tiny garden with eyes on him at all times. He needed to feel useful, even if all he did was act as a physician in a little village.

Just when he was wishing that he hadn’t promised Arthur not to use his magic to escape, he heard a knock on the door.

The guards usually knocked out of courtesy when they let the child in with Merlin’s food, but the dishes from the mid-day meal had already been cleared.

To his surprise, it wasn’t one of his usual guards. It was a well-dressed servant, who bowed to him and said formally, “The King requests that you join him for dinner in his chambers tonight, at the seventh bell.”

The servant didn’t wait for a response, since a request from the king was the same as an order.

Merlin bathed and dressed with care, berating himself for acting like a nervous maiden, and waited for the rest of the afternoon with what patience he could.

When it was finally time to go, he went to the door of his chambers and opened it.

He had expected to be escorted to the King’s chambers under guard, but to his surprise the corridor was empty. He wound his way through the maze of hallways and rooms until he reached the royal chambers. The castle looked orderly, with all signs of the Southron occupation gone.

It felt good to be out on his own after over a month of confinement.

There were two guards stationed at Arthur’s door, as always, but they simply looked straight ahead as he knocked.

There was no answer, so he pushed the door open.

Arthur was sitting by the fire, in his favorite chair with the lambskin thrown over it. He looked up when Merlin entered, and the expression on his face gave Merlin hope.

Arthur was in sleeping pants and a light tunic, and his hair gleamed in the firelight. As Merlin approached he noticed that Arthur smelled like the fine soap he used, and Merlin could tell from the dampness of his hair and the soft look of his skin that he had just gotten out of the bath.

The room was lit only by a couple of branches of candles, and there were no servants around. Merlin glanced at the bed, which was already turned down, and swallowed hard.

Arthur gestured to the other chair that had been drawn close to the fire, and Merlin sat, waiting for his king’s judgment.

Arthur kept his eyes on the flames when he finally spoke.

“I had a long talk with Gwen about our marriage. I told her that my heart belonged to another, and I don’t think she was surprised. We have agreed that I will continue to love and respect her as my queen, and that as long as she is discreet, she can give her affections elsewhere.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Merlin said sincerely.

“You don’t need to be sorry. Gwen and I started with high hopes, but we were never really right for each other. I think she thought she could do good as queen, and she has. And perhaps if I’d been able to give her children she would have been happier. But it wasn’t to be, and I never wanted them the way she did.”

He finally looked at Merlin.

“All I ever wanted was you.”

Merlin felt a rush of joy hit him, but it was tempered with regret. “I failed you, Arthur. I let myself become the slave of the Sógh, and I did terrible things, and I let you down.”

“I let you down, too, Merlin. I knew you were in trouble, and I turned a blind eye. I didn’t want to see that the man I loved was drowning.”

Arthur rose, and extended his hand to Merlin, who took it and let Arthur pull him to his feet. They stood inches apart from each other, drinking each other in, and Merlin said, “What do we do now?”

“We start over.”